Belloc. ``You're
going to the top. I'd hate to see you contented at the
bottom. Aren't you learning a good deal that'll be
useful later on?''
``That's why I'm reconciled to it,'' said she. ``The
stage director, Mr. Ransdell, is teaching me everything
--even how to sing. He knows his business.''
Ransdell not only knew, but also took endless pains
with her. He was a tall, thin, dark man, strikingly
handsome in the distinguished way. So distinguished
looking was he that to meet him was to wonder why he
had not made a great name for himself. An extraordinary
mind he certainly had, and an insight into the
reasons for things that is given only to genius. He
had failed as a composer, failed as a playwright, failed
as a singer, failed as an actor. He had been forced
to take up the profession of putting on dramatic and
musical plays, a profession that required vast knowledge
and high talents and paid for them in niggardly
fashion both in money and in fame. Crossley owed to
him more than to any other single element the series
of successes that had made him rich; yet the ten thousand
a year Crossley paid him was regarded as evidence
of Crossley's lavish generosity and was so.
Pages:
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475