“Bravo, Signor Grabbini!”
“Silence!”
“Meal cakes! A soldo each!”
“Silence, thou donkey!”
“With your permission, ladies and gentlemen,” the impresario went on, bowing low, “I will proceed. The artist to whom I have referred is—ah! my friends—she is an angel of delight—a glorious type, a creature magnificent. My word of honour, the most beautiful woman in New York—nay, in all America. To the artistic world she is known as Juno the Superb. Pay strict attention, my compatriots. The evening of the Feast of Sunday will indeed be an occasion most extraordinary, for it is my honoured privilege to inform you that in addition to the famous comedies and the exquisite Juno, there will be an oyster cook in the audience under the especial administration of the management, who will prepare soups of sea fruit in true Neapolitan style and at prices the most moderate.”
“Bravissimo!”
“Meal——”
“Silence! Evviva the oyster cook!”
“With these my humble words, highly prized patrons, I will conclude, and from the depth of my heart beg you to accept my most cordial gratitude, and the assurance that in the future as well as the past you will find me ever alert to serve faithfully and to the plenitude of my power the highly esteemed, the eminent, the generous Italian colony.”
“Long live the impresario!” was rained from all parts as he backed off, salaaming.