The concert went on, and it seemed that nothing more out of the ordinary was to happen. The orchestra played its numbers to perfection, as nearly as Larry could tell, and, as for the singing, he made up his mind that he would report to Mr. Rosberg that it was “slick.”
Larry was not very well “up,” on musical terms, but he knew that the Leader was not paying him as a musical critic, and he did not worry.
“Anyhow, there’ll be a good story in how she collapsed in the middle of a song, whether the report of the concert is good or not,” mused Larry.
Madame Androletti came on several times, and sang as encores a number of songs not down on the program. She seemed to be in unusually good spirits, and was roundly applauded. Not a trace of her former indisposition was noticeable.
“I’ll have to wait a bit after the concert is over,” Larry whispered to his companion, during a pause in the program.
“Why?” she asked.
“I want to get an interview with Madame Androletti, and I’ve got to ask the orchestra leader what those extra numbers were.”
“I can do that for you,” offered Molly readily. “I know some of them, as it is, and I can easily get the names of the others.”
“Will you?” he asked eagerly. “That’ll be fine! Then we won’t have to wait so long. Are you sure you won’t mind?”
“Not a bit,” she replied, with a smile. “I fancy I would like to be a reporter.”