He thundered out the question, expanding still further his broad chest.
Nello temporised. The great director was evidently in a confidential mood. It was as well to fall in with his humour.
“Ah, why, Monsieur? I should like to know. I am sure I should learn a good deal.”
Degraux, in his present mood, was pleased to have a listener. The concert was going on splendidly with experienced stars. It no longer required his attention.
“Listen, my young friend! I devoted myself to the business side of art. I saw more money was to be made out of exploiting other people than being exploited by others. Do you understand?”
“I think I do,” said the young Italian, who was fairly shrewd for his years. “In fact, I am sure I do.”
“Good! Gay followed the artistic side.” Degraux snapped his fingers contemptuously. “The result: poor Gay, at his age, conducting a small orchestra at the Parthenon—a good one, I admit; but what is the remuneration? I, Paul Degraux,” again he tapped his broad chest significantly, “am here in a great position. I have followed the business side of art; poor old Gay has followed the artistic side. Bah!”
“You advise me, Monsieur, to cultivate the business side?” queried the young man.
“Of course. I am giving you good advice; sound advice. You have made a little stir here, certain things may follow from it. But still, you have not the reputation of Bauquel, second-rater that he is. Bauquel will be on his knees to me next week, and of course I shall take him back. It may be, when you come to me again, I can only give you a second place in the programme. The way will be hard from the artistic point of view.”
Nello listened with deep attention. Degraux was a man of business to his finger-tips. Certainly he was giving him good advice.