"What are you doing here? I
told Bobo to keep people out, the treacherous rascal! For heavens sake
go and leave me in peace; I tell you Galitsin, go! Don't come near me."

The Manager laughed: "Composing, Velasco?"

"Can't you see it? Of course I am composing. Go!" He waved his hand
towards the door. "Don't talk."

"You must talk with me," exclaimed the Manager briskly, "Now Velasco,
there's no use, you will have to listen to reason. The way you are
behaving is outrageous, abominable! All your German engagements have
gone to the wall. My desk is piled high with letters; the agents are
furious. In Leipzig the Gewandhaus was entirely sold out a fortnight
ago. In Dresden there isn't a seat left. Why the money loss is
something tremendous! I had a telegram this morning; they are nearly
crazy. You must keep your engagements; you will ruin your career
utterly, absolutely. You will never dare show your face in Germany
again. And here you sit composing--composing! Good heavens, you look
like it! You look as if you had been on a bat for a week! You look
drunk, Velasco, drunk! I never saw such a change in a man! Come--wake
up! Rouse yourself! Take the train tonight."

The Manager laid his arm on the young Musician's shoulder and patted it
soothingly.

"Take the night train, Velasco. You ought to be playing, not
composing! You know that as well as I do. If you go tonight, you will
reach Leipzig in time. It makes a difference of thousands of roubles
to me as well as to you; remember that. You musicians have no
conscience. Come, Velasco--are you listening?"

The Musician stood listless, his hands in his pockets, staring down at
the bricks of the chimney piece.

"What is that?" he exclaimed, "Were you speaking?--Oh, damn you,
Galitsin, why don't you go? I'm not a slave! I won't stir one step in
Germany if I don't feel like it; I swear I won't! Cancel everything,
everything. Heavens! I couldn't play if I tried! You managers are
like the old man of the mountain; you want to sit on my neck and lash
me on as if I were Sinbad. All for the sake of a few dirty roubles to
put in your pocket! What do I care? I won't do it, I tell you. Go
and manage somebody else; get another slave. Petrokoff over there in
Moscow! He will be like a little lamb and eat out of your hand. Now
be off--be off! Your voice is like a bee buzzing."

Velasco threw himself back in his chair again and blinked defiantly