“Wants to see you, eh?” murmured the man.
“Yes,” called back Larry, now some distance away. The young reporter little realized how true his hastily-spoken words would prove to be.
The young newspaper reporter pushed on. He was amid a confusion of scenery now. Tree stumps, castle walls, the ceilings of rooms, a pair of stairs, an arbor covered with trailing vines—the various things used to set the stage. He threaded in and out among them.
A man in a dress suit confronted him, a man whom Larry at once recognized as Madame Androletti’s manager.
“Who are you? What do you want?” the manager asked suspiciously.
Larry realized that he could not bluff this man.
“I’m from the Leader,” said the young reporter quickly. “My card,” and he extended one. “What’s the matter? I’m sure something is wrong. I’ve got to have the story. Why did Madame Androletti faint? What’s up now?”
The manager glanced at Larry’s card.
“Ah, from the Leader, eh? Well, your paper has been very kind to us. I will tell you, though I do not usually see the need of sensationalism. However, there is none here. As you may perhaps know, Madame Androletti, whom I have the honor of representing, personally, travels about with her young son, Lorenzo. He is her only child, and, since the death of his father, he has been en tour with his mother. He is always somewhere on the stage when she sings.
“She is very nervous about him, and just now, after her final number, she missed him. She feared he might have strayed away, and been hurt, and she called out. That raised a little alarm, and, as we all know how devoted she is to him, we all began a search for the lad.”