There was a murmur of disapprobation mingled with some cheering. Tavernake left his place and walked around to the back of the hall. Presently the manager came out to him.
“I am sorry to trouble you, sir,” Tavernake said, “but I heard your announcement just now from the front. Can you give me the address of Professor Franklin? I am a friend, and I should like to go and see them.”
The manager pointed to the stage-doorkeeper.
“This man will give it you,” he announced, shortly. “It's quite close. I shall look in myself after the show to know how the young lady is.”
Tavernake procured the address and set out in the taxicab which he had kept waiting. The driver listened to the direction doubtfully.
“It's a poor sort of neighborhood, sir,” he remarked.
“We've got to go there,” Tavernake told him.
They reached it in a few minutes, a miserable street indeed. Tavernake knocked at the door of the house to which he was directed, with sinking heart. A man, collarless and half dressed, in carpet slippers, opened the door after a few moments' waiting.
“Well, what is it?” he asked, gruffly.
“Is Professor Franklin here?” Tavernake inquired.