ing for the curtain to go up. At last, his emotional nature
cracking under the strain of this suspense, he had left his
conductor's chair and plunged down under the stage by way of the
musician's bolthole to ascertain what was causing the delay.

"What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it?" enquired Mr.
Saltzburg. "I wait and wait and wait and wait and wait.... We cannot
play the overture again. What is it? What has happened?"

Mr. Goble, that overwrought soul, had betaken himself to the wings
where he was striding up and down with his hands behind his back,
chewing his cigar. The stage-director braced himself once more to the
task of explanation.

"The girls have struck!"

Mr. Saltzburg blinked through his glasses.

"The girls?" he repeated blankly.

"Oh, damn it!" cried the stage-director, his patience at last giving
way. "You know what a girl is, don't you?"

"They have what?"

"Struck! Walked out on us! Refused to go on!"

Mr. Saltzburg reeled under the blow.

"But it is impossible! Who is to sing the opening chorus?"

In the presence of one to whom he could relieve his mind without fear
of consequences, the stage-director became savagely jocular.

"That's all arranged," he said. "We're going to dress the carpenters
in skirts. The audience won't notice anything wrong."

"Should I speak to Mr. Goble?" queried Mr. Saltzburg doubtfully.

"Yes, if you don't value your life," returned the stage-director.

Mr. Saltzburg pondered.

"I will go and speak to the childrun," he said. "I will talk to them.
They know _me_! I will make them be reasonable."

He bustled off in the direction taken by Mr. Miller, his coat-tails
flying behind him. The stage-director, with a tired sigh, turned to
face Wally, who had come in through the iron pass-door from the
auditorium.

"Hullo!" said Wally cheerfully. "Going strong? How's everybody at
home? Fine? So am I! By the way, am I wrong or did I hear something
about a theatrical entertainment of some sort here to-night?" He
looked about him at the empty stage. In the wings, on the prompt side,
could be discerned the flannel-clad forms of the gentlemanly members
of the male ensemble, all dressed up for Mrs. Stuyvesant van Dyke's
tennis party. One or two of the principals were standing perplexedly
in the lower entrance. The O.P. side had been given over by general
consent to Mr. Goble for his perambulations. Every now and then he
would flash into view through an openi