lls. His
constant enthusiasm and refreshing observations were a tonic to Hillard.

At the hotel in Naples they found a batch of mail. There was a letter
which held particular interest to Merrihew. It was from the consul at
Rome, a reply to Millard's inquiries regarding the American Comic Opera
Company.

"We'll now find out where your charming Kitty is," Hillard said,
breaking the seal.

But they didn't. On the contrary, the writer hadn't the slightest idea
where the play-actors were or had gone. They had opened a two weeks'
engagement at the Teatro Quirino. There had been a good house on the
opening night; the remainder of the week did not show the sale of a
hundred tickets. It was a fallacy that traveling Americans had any
desire to witness American productions in Italy. So, then, the managers
of the theater had abruptly canceled the engagement. The American
manager had shown neither foresight nor common sense. He had, in the
first place, come with his own scenery and costumes, upon which he had
to pay large duties, and would have to pay further duties each time he
entered a large city. His backer withdrew his support; and the
percentage demanded by the managers in Florence, Genoa, Milan and Venice
was so exorbitant (although they had agreed to a moderate term in the
beginning) that it would have been nothing short of foolhardiness to try
to fill the bookings. The singing of the prima donna, however, had
created a highly favorable impression among the critics; but she was
unknown, and to be unknown was next to positive failure, financially.
This information, the writer explained, had been obtained by personal
investigation. The costumes and scenery had been confiscated; and the
manager and his backer had sailed for America, leaving the members of
the company to get back the best way they could. As none of the players
had come to the consulate for assistance, their whereabouts were
unknown. The writer also advised Mr. Hillard not to put his money in any
like adventure. Italy was strongly against any foreign invasion, aside
from the American trolley-car.

"That's hard luck," growled Merrihew, who saw his hopes go down the
horizon.

"But it makes me out a pretty good prophet," was Hillard's rejoinder.
"The Angel's money gave out. Too many obstacles. To conquer a people and
a government by light opera--it can't be done here. And so the American
Comic Opera Company at the present moment is vegetating in some little
_