VI
ONE afternoon in April, Theodore Thomas, the conductor of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, had turned out his desk light and was about to leave his office in the Auditorium Building, when Harsanyi appeared in the doorway. The conductor welcomed him with a hearty hand-grip and threw off the overcoat he had just put on. He pushed Harsanyi into a chair and sat down at his burdened desk, pointing to the piles of papers and railway folders upon it.
"Another tour, clear to the coast. This traveling is the part of my work that grinds me, Andor. You know what it means: bad food, dirt, noise, exhaustion for the men and for me. I 'm not so young as I once was. It 's time I quit the highway. This is the last tour, I swear!"
"Then I 'm sorry for the highway. I remember when I first heard you in Pittsburg, long ago. It was a life-line you threw me. It 's about one of the people along your highway that I 've come to see you. Whom do you consider the best teacher for voice in Chicago?"
Mr. Thomas frowned and pulled his heavy mustache. "Let me see; I suppose on the whole Madison Bowers is the best. He 's intelligent, and he had good training. I don't like him."
Harsanyi nodded. "I thought there was no one else. I don't like him, either, so I hesitated. But I suppose he must do, for the present."
"Have you found anything promising? One of your own students?"
"Yes, sir. A young Swedish, girl from somewhere in Colorado. She is very talented, and she seems to me to have a remarkable voice."
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