twenty-five dollars. We have plenty of ways of filling a house. Ever so many people are willing to go to concerts if some one will send them passes.”
“Anyone who wants to hear my daughter should pay for their tickets!”
“That’s not an uncommon point-of-view. If you wish it, we can suspend the pass list. In that event, however, I won’t answer for the attendance.”
He turned to Dorothy.
“May I ask you, Miss Loamford, how you feel about it?"
She saw no grounds for debate in the matter.
“I’d rather have a good audience,” said Dorothy.
“It is rather discouraging to sing to rows of empty seats,” observed Maxwell. “There’s nothing degrading about issuing passes. I assure you that we have to do it, much as I regret it, for several of our most famous artists. There are very few concerts given in this city which do not depend for their patronage to some ex- tent on the holders of free admissions. I dare say that you received many passes when you were at the conservatory.
“Let me give you an instance. You may remember Klopfer, who despite his name was a violinist, not a pianist. He had a tremendous reputation abroad. It was said that his name on one poster in a public place was sufficient to sell out any concert hall in Vienna. When he came here he was certain that he could draw equally well. His manager permitted Klopfer to place in the contract a clause to the effect that no free tickets were to be issued to any of his recitals. Klopfer scored a great artistic success as a performer of serious music. Yet, when his second recital was announced, the total box-office sale amounted to seventeen dollars the day before the
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