“Everything, I understand,” said Bobby. “I came around to see you—”
“Who’s running the show?” demanded Spratt.
“Their manager decamped with the money—with what little there was,” explained Bobby, “and they came to me by accident. I understand you have an open date next week.”
“It’s not open now,” declared Spratt. “The date is filled with the Neapolitan Grand Opera Company.”
“There doesn’t seem to be much use of my talking, then,” said Bobby, smiling.
“Not much,” said Spratt. “They’re a good company, but I’ve noticed from the reports that they’ve been badly managed. The Dago that brought them over didn’t know the show business in this country and tried to run the circus himself; and, of course, they’ve gone on the rocks. It’s great luck that they landed here. I just heard a bit ago that they were in town. I suppose they’re flat broke.”
“Why, yes,” said Bobby. “I just went up to the Hotel Larken and said I’d be responsible for their hotel bill.”
“Oh,” said Spratt. “Then you’re backing them for their week here.”
“Well, I’m not quite sure about that,” hesitated Bobby.
“If you don’t, I will,” offered Spratt. “There’s a long line of full-dress Willies here that’ll draw their week’s wages in advance to attend grand opera in cabs. At two and a half for the first sixteen rows they’ll pack the house for the week, and every diamond in the hock-shops will get an airing for the occasion. But you saw it first, Burnit, and I won’t interfere.”