"Yes, of course," he said. "But you know there has always been a sort of mystery about the stage. It holds us to the past, makes us children, afraid of ghosts. It has a peculiar smell; and one thing about it is, that all the people on the stage seem to be foreigners, it makes no difference how well you may have been acquainted with them. I don't know that it's true in all cases. Come to think of it, you don't seem strange to me."
"There has always been a prejudice against the stage, in England and America," I replied. "Our race cannot associate art and religion, when, in fact, there's true religion in every phase of art."
"Well, now, I don't know about that, Belford. The Pagans worshiped idols and some of their idols were works of art, but there was no true religion in that. But be that as it may, we're going to make a success of this thing."
A number of boys, having scented an unusual activity, were hanging about the door, and one of them made bold to ask if there was going to be a show. The Senator answered him. "Yes, there is, my little man, and we'll want you to take around some bills when it comes, next fall. Whose son are you, anyway?"
"Mr. Vark's."
"Oh, yes, the shoemaker down stairs. Well, run along now."
The boys scampered off, and the Senator, looking about, declared that we were making great progress. "Yes, Sir, we'll coin money here; and do you know, Belford, I am beginning to believe that money is a pretty good thing after all? Yes, Sir, I have about arrived at that conclusion. It won't take a man to Heaven, but it arms him against a hell on earth. Let me see, there was something else I intended to say. Oh, yes. Now it's all right to be friendly with everybody, but intimacy is a dangerous thing. Encourage it and the first thing you know the loafers about town will begin to call you by your first name. That kills a man if he's in any sort of public life. Why, Sir, if I had let those fellows call me Giles, I couldn't have remained in the Senate more than one term; would have killed me, Sir, as dead as a door nail. In this human family a man thinks more of you in the long run if you compel him to bow to you than if you permit him to put his arm on your shoulder. Our natures respect exclusiveness. We may make fun of what we conceive to be a groundless dignity, but at its face we bow to it. Well, you can now begin your correspondence. I have put money to your credit at the bank, and there's nothing to keep you from going ahead. There are some other little details that can be arranged at our leisure. And now, as to a boarding place. Our hotels are not first class. And here's what I regard as a good idea. This room off here you can fit up as a sleeping apartment, and you can take your meals at a restaurant. Suit you?"
"Perfectly. And I want to thank you for your—"
"Wait till the end of next season, Sir; we haven't time now. And, by the way, I want you to come out to the house as often as you can conveniently. Just come and go as you please. Well, Mr. Manager, I'll bid you good-morning."
My room was airy, and, proportioned in that wastefulness of space which marks one of the interior differences between the town and the great city, it afforded the luxury of many an imaginary path over which I could walk in meditation upon my play; and that piece of work was uppermost in my mind. It was my hope to exist as a manager until I could pip the shell as a dramatist—selfish, I confess; and so is art a selfishness, and so is every high-born longing in the breast of man. Indeed, philanthropy itself cannot escape the accusation: To give to the needy awakens the applause of the conscience.