he explained as he turned to her again.
"He's the conductor of the orchestra at the Orpheum, you know. I
gather from what he says that there are some stranded musicians here
who probably speak worse English than myself, and he's sending them up
to me to see about arranging a benefit for them. You'd better wait; it
might be fun, or you might want to help arrange the benefit."

"No," disclaimed Agnes, laughing and drawing her impedimenta together
for departure, "I'll leave both the fun and the philanthropy to you. I
know you're quite able to take care of them. I'll just wait long
enough to hear how we're to get rid of the water down in Florida. I
suppose we bore holes in the ground and let it run out."

"By no means," laughed Bobby. "It's no where near so absurdly simple
as that," and he turned once more to the prospectus which lay open on
the desk before them.

Before they were through with it there suddenly erupted into the outer
office, where Johnson and Applerod glared at each other day by day
over their books, a pandemonium of gabbling. Agnes, with a little
exclamation of dismay at the time she had wasted, rose in a hurry, and
immediately after she passed through the door there bounded into the
room a rotund little German with enormous and extremely thick glasses
upon his knob of a nose, a grizzled mustache that poked straight up on
both sides of that knob, and an absurd toupee that flared straight out
all around on top of the bald spot to which it was pasted. Behind him
trailed a pudgy man of so exactly the Herr Professor's height and
build that it seemed as if they were cast in the same spherical mold,
but he was much younger and had jet black hair and a jet black
mustache of such tiny proportions as to excite amazement and even awe.
Still behind him was as unusually large young woman, fully a head
taller than either of the two men, who had an abundance of jet black
hair, and was dressed in a very rich robe and wrap, both of which were
somewhat soiled and worn.

"Signor R-r-r-r-icardo, der grosse tenore--Mees-ter Burnit,"
introduced the rotund little German, with a deep bow commensurate with
the greatness of the great tenor. "Signorina Car-r-r-avaggio--Mees-ter
Burnit. I, Mees-ter Burnit, _Ich bin_ Brofessor Fruehlingsvogel."

Bobby, for the lack of any other handy greeting, merely bowed and
smiled, whereupon Signorina Caravaggio, stepping into a breach which
otherwise would certainly have been embarrassing,