"Frances, but for the thinness of my locks I'd pull out my hair in despair at your obstinacy," I cried. "I am telling you that they are selling that book faster than they can print it and that money will soon be flowing into my coffers. Jamieson has intimated that I could have a large advance at once, if I wanted it. Moreover, Richetti is—he isn't going to charge anything. He—he says that you can pay him long after your tuition is ended."
She came to me, swiftly, and put her hands on my shoulders, her eyes searching mine, which could not stand her gaze.
"My poor dear Dave. You—you are such a poor hand at deceiving. I—I don't think you could fool even Baby Paul. There is too much candor and honesty in you for that sort of thing."
"Well," I answered, rather lamely, "I—I told him, of course, that I would guarantee the payment of his honorarium, and he answered that he must try your voice first, because, if it was not promising, he would refuse to waste his time on it. He was very frank. Then he told me that Jamieson's note stated that I was a scrittore celebre, a romanziero molto distinto, and that whatever arrangements I wanted to make would be perfectly satisfactory. He declared, with his hand on his heart, that money was a great means to an end, but that the thing that really mattered in this world was art, Per Bacco! and the bel canto from voices divine! And now, my dear child, you and I are trembling over the edge of a most frightful quarrel, of a bitter fight, of weepings and gnashings of teeth! You shall obey me, or I will take Baby Paul and feed him to the hippopotamuses—no, they eat hay and carrots and things; but I will throw him to the bears in the pit or squeeze him through the bars of the lion's cage. Do you hear me?"
She took a step back and sank in the armchair, her hands covering her face.
"Hello! What's the matter?" came from the open doorway.
It was Frieda, a fat and rosy dea ex machina, arriving to my rescue.
"Frances," I informed her, "is beginning to shed tears, because she is going to Richetti's to have her voice made over again, renovated like my gray suit. She wants to weep, because she will have to sing scales and other horrid things, and be scolded when she is naughty and does not open her mouth properly."
"Oh! I'm so glad!" chuckled Frieda, her double chin becoming more pronounced owing to the grin upon her features. "Isn't it fine!"
"But—but it means that David wants me to be a drag on him," objected Frances, rising quickly. "He is guaranteeing the fees, and—and I should probably have to stop working at Madame Félicie's, and it means——"