“Mr. Harper,” she asked, “do you generally take charge of concerts?”
“Generally, Madame?” he returned. “Always! Yes, I’ve been in this game for twenty-three years now. I can remember when Joe Hofmann was a kid piano player and when Kreisler was a baby prodigy. I’ve put on some pretty big shows here, all right.”
Mrs. Loamford wondered what she ought to say.
“Now, about this program,” continued Harper, “make that last group light and effective. Hand ’em something they can sink their teeth in. Give ’em a tune. A lot of singers have been peddling this damn modern stuff till it gives you one wonderful pain to listen to it. It’s all right, I suppose. A lot of ginks jumped on old Dick Wagner when he put on his operas. But if you’re giving a recital for an average audience, remember it’s full of low-down rough-necks like me.”
“My daughter,” said Mrs. Loamford, “knows many melodious songs by very good composers.”
“Well, that’s what I call good news! Just put ’em on the program, little lady.”
Harper pressed a button on the desk and the pretty stenographer entered.
“Listen, Classy,” he said. “Go into the press coop and dig Tommy out, if he’s not too busy.”
“Now,” he resumed, “make up that program and get it down here tomorrow or the day after, so we can get up a little circular. Shoot me a tintype of yourself so we can get a cut made for the circular. Who’s playing the piano for you?”
“We hadn’t selected anyone,” said Mrs. Loamford.
“Well, I guess you want a good young pianist,” ventured Harper. “Some fellow who can make the old box stand up when you're singing.”
[118]
