"Laroche!" shouted Ivan.
"Irresponsible; and—too much money."
"Um—a—oh—this new man we hear of—Monsieur Kashkine, of Moscow."
"He's literary, rather than musical. No real time for classes."
"Wieniawski, then?"
"By nature a virtuoso. It would be rather a pity to waste his technique and pin him down to a teacher's life. With a composer, the thing's different. One can always find time for composition, even while teaching. But practice knocks any possibility of other work on the head at once."
There was a pause. Ivan, at the end of his suggestions, began to feel puzzled at Rubinstein's coming to him with such questions at all. Presently, however, he decided that this was not the real object of the visit; and asked, with a change of tone: "Well, have you some new work for me?—Some copying?"
"I've got some new work for you, certainly. But not copying."
"What then?"
"Well—this. I want you to leave here for Moscow, with me, in five days; and prepare to take Serov's place in the new Conservatoire."