The bell rang; the first guest had arrived.
CHAPTER XIX
Vanya’s concert had been enough of a success to attract the attention of genuine music-lovers and an impecunious impresario––an irresponsible promoter celebrated for rushing headlong into things and being kicked headlong out of them.
All promising virtuosi had cut their wisdom teeth on him; all had acquired experience and its accompanying toothache; none had acquired wealth until free of this ubiquitous impresario.
His name was Wilding: he seized upon Vanya; and that gentle and disconcerted dreamer offered no resistance.
So Wilding began to haunt Vanya’s apartment at all hours of the day, rushing in with characteristic enthusiasm to discuss the vast campaign of nation-wide concerts which in his mind’s eye were already materialising.
Marya had no faith in him and was becoming very tired of his noise and bustle in the stillness and subdued light which meant home to her, and which this loud, excitable, untidy man was eternally invading.
Always he was shouting at Vanya: “It’s a knock-out! It will go big! big! big! We got ’em started in Baltimore!”––a fact, but none of his doing! “We’ll play Philadelphia next; I’m fixin’ it for you. All you gotta do is go there and the yelling starts. Well, I guess. Some riot, believe me!”
Wilding had no money in the beginning. After a 277 while, Vanya had none, or very little; but the impresario wore a new fur coat and spats. And Broadway winked wearily and said: “He’s got another!”––doubtless deeming specification mere redundancy.