The two students held a hasty conference. The first obligation, of course, was to pay the artist. The local people to whom they owed money for the rental of the hall, the advertising, the printing, and all the rest, would probably accept i.o.u.’s until they could find a way to pay their debts. Fortunately for the two students, word of this leaked out to Paderewski. He took quite a different view of the situation. “Add up all the expenses of presenting this concert, down to the last penny,” he told the young men. “Then subtract it from the box office receipts. Whatever you have left is enough for me.” “But Mr. Paderewski—that will leave you $400 short of your fee! Let us give you a note and pay it back as soon as—” “No, no, no.” He waved aside the suggestion good-naturedly. “It is enough. After all, if I did not _earn_ my fee for you, why should you pay it to me?” This was the sort of fuzzy remark that nearly drove poor Goerlitz out of his mind. “I hope that some day there’ll be something I can do for you!” young Hoover said, as managers and artist shook hands. But he felt slightly foolish as soon as he said it. It was unlikely that a poor engineering student would ever be able to do anything for the most famous concert artist in the world. It is possible for a person to be blessed with generosity and yet be a little short on patience. Since Paderewski had both virtues to an amazing degree, he gave his time as easily as he gave his money, and of the two commodities, time is often more valuable. Although it often bored him to the point of stupefaction, he was unfailingly polite about hearing young pianists play. A night in Kansas City was typical. Paderewski had played a tremendous recital before an enormous audience—nearly seventeen thousand people. After the performance, as he greeted his friends and admirers backstage, he recognized a lady whom he knew as a former Leschetizky pupil. Her name was Mrs. White. A serious-looking boy of about twelve or thirteen was standing with her as she waited for the crowd to disperse. After mutual greetings she came straight to the point. “Mr. Paderewski, this boy is one of my prize pupils. Right now he’s working on the Minuet. And he’s having some difficulty with the turn.” Paderewski smiled. Ah the Minuet! The Paderewski Minuet in G! How many youngsters all over the world were “working” on the Minuet! And most of them were having trouble with the turn. Paderewski looked at the boy. “Sit down at the piano, young man!” he said sternly, his eyes twinkling. (“He scared me half to death!” the student, glancing back over that evening from a vantage point of sixty years, would say.) [Illustration: _Paderewski married Mme. Gorska._]