In about two minutes Sullivan was in the very midst of his career.
"I never went in for high art, you know. All rot! I found I could
write melodies that people liked and remembered." (He was so used to
reading interviews with himself in popular weeklies that he had caught
the formalistic phraseology, and he was ready apparently to mistake
even his cousin for an interviewer. But I liked him.) "And I could get
rather classy effects out of an orchestra. And so I kept on. I didn't
try to be Wagner. I just stuck to Sullivan Smith. And, my boy, let me
tell you it's only five years since 'The Japanese Cat' was produced,
and I'm only twenty-seven, my boy! And now, who is there that doesn't
know me?" He put his elbows on the onyx. "Privately, between cousins,
you know, I made seven thousand quid last year, and spent half that. I
live on half my income; always have done; always shall. Good
principle! I'm a man of business, I am, Carl Foster. Give the public
what they want, and save half your income--that's the ticket. Look at
me. I've got to act the duke; it pays, so I do it. I am a duke. I get
twopence apiece royalty on my photographs. That's what you'll never
reach up to, not if you're the biggest doctor in the world." He
laughed. "By the way, how's Jem getting along? Still practising at
Totnes?"
"Yes," I said.
"Doing well?"
"Oh! So--so! You see, we haven't got seven thousand a year, but we've
got five hundred each, and Jem's more interested in hunting than in
doctoring. He wants me to go into partnership with him. But I don't
see myself."
"Ambitious, eh, like I was? Got your degree in Edinburgh?"
I nodded, but modestly disclaimed being ambitious like he was.
"And your sister Lilian?"
"She's keeping house for Jem."
"Pretty girl, isn't she?"
"Yes," I said doubtfully. "Sings well, too."
"So you cultivate music down there?"
"Rather!" I said. "That is, Lilian does, and I do when I'm with her.
We're pretty mad on it. I was dead set on hearing Rosetta Rosa in
'Lohengrin' to-night, but there isn't a seat to be had. I suppose I
shall push myself into the gallery."
"No, you won't," Sullivan put in sharply. "I've got a box. There'll be
a chair for you. You'll see my wife. I should never have dreamt of
going. Wagner bores me, though I must say I've got a few tips from
him. But when we heard what a rush there was for seats Emmeline
thought we ought to go, and I never cross her if I can help it. I made
Smart give us a box."
"I shall be delighted to come," I said. "There's only one Smart, I
suppose? You mean Sir Cyril?"