I told him that I
might very well do so if it were a question of writing something he
would find personally instructive, and rose to go, with the intention of
slamming the door behind me.
But he called me back and insisted that he meant no offence, that he
simply must have live, up-to-date copy or nothing at all. He proposed a
popular article on art, and wondered if I could write something about
the Dutch masters, with special reference to the recent notable
exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum. I was obliged to confess that I
had missed the exhibition by two weeks. "Well," he said, patiently,
"there is opera. You might do something about the singers. You have
heard Mary Garden, of course?" I told him no. Only the other day I had
irrevocably decided to hear Mary Garden in "Thais" next season; and the
next morning I learned that Mr. Hammerstein had gone out of business.
He continued to be patient with me. "There's 'Chantecler,' to be sure,
although that is ancient history by this time. Have you read the play?"
I had not, but just here an inspiration came. "You sneered at Homer just
now," I said.
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