became suddenly serious, and slipping his arm through
mine, led me by unfrequented paths.

"Now, about this new opera," he said; "we don't want any of the old
stale business. Give us something new."

I suggested that to do so might be difficult.

"Not at all," he answered. "Now, my idea is this. I am a young fellow,
and I'm in love with a girl."

I promised to make a note of it.

"Her father, apoplectic old idiot--make him comic: 'Damme, sir! By gad!'
all that sort of thing."

By persuading him that I understood what he meant, I rose in his
estimation.

"He won't have anything to say to me--thinks I'm an ass. I'm a simple
sort of fellow--on the outside. But I'm not such a fool as I look."

"You don't think we are getting too much out of the groove?" I enquired.

His opinion was that the more so the better.

"Very well. Then, in the second act I disguise myself. I'll come on as
an organ-grinder, sing a song in broken English, then as a policeman,
or a young swell about town. Give me plenty of opportunity, that's the
great thing--opportunity to be really funny, I mean. We don't want any
of the old stale tricks."

I promised him my support.

"Put a little pathos in it," he added, "give me a scene where I can show
them I've something else in me besides merely humour. We don't want to
make them howl, but just to feel a little. Let's send them out of the
theatre saying: 'Well, Charlie's often made me laugh, but I'm damned if
I knew he could make me cry before!' See what I mean?"

I told him I thought I did.

The leading lady, meeting us on our return, requested, with pretty tone
of authority, everybody else to go away and leave us. There were cries
of "Naughty!" The leading lady, laughing girlishly, took me by the hand
and ran away with me.

"I want to talk to you," said the leading lady, as soon as we had
reached a secluded seat overlooking the river, "about my part in the new
opera. Now, can't you give me something original? Do."

Her pleading was so pretty, there was nothing for it but to pledge
compliance.

"I am so tired of being the simple village maiden," said the leading
lady; "what I want is a part with some opportunity in it--a coquettish
part. I can flirt," assured me the leading lady, archly. "Try me."

I satisfied her of my perfect faith.

"You might," said the leading lady, "see your way to making the plot
depend upon me. It always seems to me that the woman's part is never
made enough o