231.—BUT ONE SEAT LEFT.
The public performer has frequently cause to ejaculate, "Deliver me from my friends." And there is no time when this exclamation is more appropriate than when he is pestered by his acquaintances for complimentary tickets to his concerts or recitals. If this demand came only from friends it would not be so bad; but more frequently it is the friend that pays his way and some chance acquaintance or even total stranger that unblushingly proffers his request for complimentaries.
Not every artist can keep his good humor under such provocation, or come out of the ordeal as neatly as did Rubinstein when, some years ago an old lady rushed up to him in London with,
"Oh, Mr. Rubinstein, I am so glad to meet you; all of the tickets are sold and I have tried in vain to purchase a seat to your recital. Do you not have a seat you could let me take?"
"Madame," replied the great artist, "there is but one seat at my disposal, but you are welcome to that if you will take it."
"Oh, thank you, a thousand thanks, Mr. Rubinstein. Where is it?"
"At the piano," was the smiling reply.