"That is President Galleo," Edith told him.
"Jove! He's a regal-looking chap," Kirk exclaimed.
"He's very much of a man, too, yet even here there is a color
line. Nobody acknowledges it, but the old Castilian families are
keenly aware of it just the same."
As the last measured strain died out the audience reseated itself,
the introduction to "La Tosca" sounded, and the curtain rose.
Although the names of the performers were unknown to Kirk, their
voices were remarkably good, and he soon became absorbed in the
drama. A sudden lonesomeness surged over him as he recalled
another night when he and Darwin K. Anthony had heard these same
notes sung. But then they had sat enthralled by the art of Caruso,
Scotti, and the ravishing Cavalieri. It had been one of the rare
hours when he and his father had felt themselves really in
sympathy. The Governor had come down for some fabulous directors'
meeting, he remembered, and had wired his son to run in from New
Haven for the evening. They had been real chums that night, and
even at their modest little supper afterward, when the old
gentleman had rowed with the waiter and cursed his dyspepsia, they
had laughed and chatted like cronies. Yet a week later they had
quarrelled.
With an unexpected access of tenderness, Anthony Jr.
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