THE SONG OF THE LARK
"I have done my best. But I can only play with a voice, and this is not a voice to be played with. I think she will be a musician, whatever happens. She is not quick, but she is solid, real; not like these others. My wife says that with that girl one swallow does not make a summer."
Mr. Thomas laughed. "Tell Mrs. Harsanyi that her remark conveys something to me. Don't let yourself get too much interested. Voices are so often disappointing; especially women's voices. So much chance about it, so many factors."
"Perhaps that is why they interest one. All the intelligence and talent in the world can't make a singer. The voice is a wild thing. It can t be bred in captivity. It is a sport, like the silver fox. It happens."
Mr. Thomas smiled into Harsanyi's gleaming eye. "Why have n't you brought her to sing for me?"
"I 've been tempted to, but I knew you were driven to death, with this tour confronting you."
"Oh, I can always find time to listen to a girl who has a voice, if she means business. I 'm sorry I 'm leaving so soon. I could advise you better if I had heard her. I can sometimes give a singer suggestions. I 've worked so much with them."
"You 're the only conductor I know who is not snobbish about singers." Harsanyi spoke warmly.
"Dear me, why should I be? They 've learned from me, and I 've learned from them." As they rose, Thomas took the younger man affectionately by the arm. "Tell me about that wife of yours. Is she well, and as lovely as ever? And such fine children! Come to see me oftener, when I get back. I miss it when you don't."
The two men left the Auditorium Building together. Harsanyi walked home. Even a short talk with Thomas always stimulated him. As he walked he was recalling an evening they once spent together in Cincinnati.
Harsanyi was the soloist at one of Thomas's concerts
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