th my work."

"It's impossible not to take cold," said Mildred. "You are unreasonable
with me."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Go get well," he said.

The sore throat finally yielded to the treatment of Dr. Hicks, the
throat-specialist. His bill was seventy-five dollars. But while the
swelling in the tonsils subsided it did not depart. She could take
lessons again. Some days she sang as well as ever, and on those days
Jennings was charming. Other days she sang atrociously, and Jennings
treated her as if she were doing it deliberately. A third and worse
state was that of the days when she in the same half-hour alternately
sang well and badly. On those days Jennings acted like a lunatic. He
raved up and down the studio, all but swearing at her. At first she
was afraid of him--withered under his scorn, feared he would throw open
his door and order her out and forbid her ever to enter again. But
gradually she came to understand him--not enough to lose her fear of
him altogether, but enough to lose the fear of his giving up so
profitable a pupil.

The truth was that Jennings, like every man who succeeds at anything in
this world, operated upon a system to which he rigidly adhered. He was
a man of small talent and knowledge, but of great, persistence and not
a little common sense. He had tried to be a singer, had failed because
his voice was small and unreliable. He had adopted teaching singing as
a means of getting a living. He had learned just enough about it to
enable him to teach the technical elements--what is set down in the
books. By observing other and older teachers he had got together a
teaching system that was as good--and as bad--as any, and this he
dubbed the Jennings Method and proceeded to exploit as the only one
worth while. When that method was worked out and perfected, he ceased
learning, ceased to give a thought to the professional side of his
profession, just as most professional men do. He would have resented a
suggestion or a new idea as an attack upon the Jennings Method. The
overwhelming majority of the human race--indeed, all but a small
handful--have this passion for stagnation, this ferocity against
change. It is in large part due to laziness; for a new idea means work
in learning it and in unlearning the old ideas that have been true
until the unwelcome advent of the new. In part also this resistance to
the new idea arises from a fear that the new idea, if tolerated, will
put o