"Oh, no! That is not absolutely necessary. Don't you know that many of the Eyetalian opera singers in these days are Irish, some are English, a big bunch are Dutch, Poles or Scandinavians, and quite a sprinkling of them Americans. No, it isn't essential to use the accent in private. You will be announced as Signor Nibsinsky!"
"Is that an Eyetalian name?"
"Oh, Nibs, don't be so specific. Nibsinsky is as valid a name as any artist might select to adopt. I give it the Russian smack because of my Russian proclivities."
"Say no more, old man. Let it go at that."
"So far as the chorus is concerned, we know where we stand and what we can do—and the audience will before the show is over. As for jokes and funny business—they are easy. But, say, we ought to ring in a couple of instrumental solos. The banjo, of course, will do for one. It is new, because it is very old. So that's all right. For the other—now, let me think. By Jove, I've struck it! Little 'Un, you can do a violin solo in great shape."
"What! Me do a violin solo," answered the dwarf. "Why, you know very well I can only play a little bit, and only in an amateur way. Oh, no! Oh, no! Not this trip."
"Easy there, my festive fiddler. Easy there, and loan me your ear. I'll arrange that all right. You will be announced as a pupil of the great Ysaye, and of course, being a pupil of that wonderful magician of the violin, you must start in with a classical selection from one of those old masters. Which of them there's no use wasting time over. They won't be recognized. Then when it comes for you to get in your classic work, all you've got to do is to play as crazy as you can, bend your body, hug your fiddle, make your bow saw wood over the strings, look at times as if you were going into a trance or a fit, do any blame thing that may appear eccentric—for that, you know, is one of the characteristics of genius and originality—and you'll catch the crowd every time."
"But, say, Handy, what about the wig?"
"Oh, that's all serene. We've got it. You don't for a moment imagine I would have you go on as a star fiddler without a bushy head of hair! Not much. As the poet sings—'There's music in the hair.'"
"That settles it. My mind is easier now."