me."

"Beastly voice," declared Landry Court. "He almost broke there once.
Too bad. He's not what he used to be. It seems he's terribly
dissipated--drinks. Yes, sir, like a fish. He had delirium tremens once
behind the scenes in Philadelphia, and stabbed a scene shifter with his
stage dagger. A bad lot, to say the least."

"Now, Landry," protested Mrs. Cressler, "you're making it up as you go
along." And in the laugh that followed Landry himself joined.

"After all," said Corthell, "this music seems to be just the right
medium between the naive melody of the Italian school and the elaborate
complexity of Wagner. I can't help but be carried away with it at
times--in spite of my better judgment."

Jadwin, who had been smoking a cigar in the vestibule during the
entr'acte, rubbed his chin reflectively.

"Well," he said, "it's all very fine. I've no doubt of that, but I give
you my word I would rather hear my old governor take his guitar and
sing 'Father, oh father, come home with me now,' than all the
fiddle-faddle, tweedle-deedle opera business in the whole world."

But the orchestra was returning, the musicians crawling out one by one
from a little door beneath the stage hardly bigger than the entrance of
a rabbit hutch. They settled themselves in front of their racks,
adjusting their coat-tails, fingering their sheet music. Soon they
began to tune up, and a vague bourdon of many sounds--the subdued snarl
of the cornets, the dull mutter of the bass viols, the liquid gurgling
of the flageolets and wood-wind instruments, now and then pierced by
the strident chirps and cries of the violins, rose into the air
dominating the incessant clamour of conversation that came from all
parts of the theatre.

Then suddenly the house lights sank and the footlights rose. From all
over the theatre came energetic whispers of "Sh! Sh!" Three strokes, as
of a great mallet, sepulchral, grave, came from behind the wings; the
leader of the orchestra raised his baton, then brought it slowly down,
and while from all the instruments at once issued a prolonged minor
chord, emphasised by a muffled roll of the kettle-drum, the curtain
rose upon a mediaeval public square. The soprano was seated languidly
upon a bench. Her grande scene occurred in this act. Her hair was
un-bound; she wore a loose robe of cream white, with flowing sleeves,
which left the arms bare to the shoulder. At the waist it was caught in
by a girdle of silk rope.

"This