"I feel exactly the same in regard to the stage, Mrs Clay, but I like concerts, when the singers just come out and sing—do you not?"
"That ain't so bad, I admit."
"You would not object to Dawn singing on a platform, would you?"
"No; doesn't she often sing on the platform in Noonoon? They're always after her for some concert or another. It's a bad plan to sing too much for them. They don't thank you for it. They'd only say we're tired of him or her, and the one who'd be sour an' wouldn't sing often would be considered great."
"Well, let her have lessons, so she could sing with greater ease at these concerts."
"She can sing well enough for that. It would be throwing away money for nothink."
"But if trained she could sometimes command a fee."
"I've got plenty to keep her without that," said the old lady, bridling, "and it might give her stronger notions for the stage."
I was thankful that I had never published my calling.
"I had me own ideas of them before—walkin' about, and everythink they do or say they're wonderin' what people is thinkin' of them, and if they're observin' what great bein's they are. An' I've seen 'em here—goin' in fer drink an' all bad practices, and w'en I remonstrate with 'em, 'It's me temperament,' says they, an' led me to believe by the airs of them that this temperament makes 'em superior to the likes of ordinary human bein's like me an' you; an' this temperament that makes 'em not fit to do honest common work, but is makin' 'em low crawlers, is the thing that at the same time makes 'em superior. I don't see meself how the two things can be reconciled. There must be reason in everythink."