“No, Larry, I want you to cover it for me. Report it, if you like that better. Say, look here, old man” (Larry was not an old man by any means, but the term was used as a friendly one), “this is my wedding anniversary to-night, and I promised my little lady that I’d come home early to a supper celebration she’s gotten up. Then, at the last minute, the editor wants me to cover this concert. Seems as though Madame Androletti has some pull with the paper, and wants a representative at her concert, though I don’t see why the morning paper reporters wouldn’t do as well.
“But, as you know, I’ve been doing theatricals and musicales for this sheet for some time, and they want me to cover this. Not that I need to do it personally, but they expect me to look after it. Now, I don’t want to go, and that’s why I’m asking you to cover it for me.”
“But look here!” cried Larry, lamely accepting the tickets which the other held out. “I don’t know anything about music. That is, not enough to report a concert. I like it, and all that, but I don’t know how to grind out that stuff about high notes, coloratura work, placement, ensemble, vocal range, and all that sort of thing, that I see in your accounts of musical doings every once in a while. I’d make a mess of it.”
“That’s all right, Larry,” spoke the musical critic. “I’ve thought of that. I’ll do all the fancy ‘word-slinging.’ I’ll write the story to-morrow morning. All I want you to do is to go there and bring me back a program. You can ask the leader of the orchestra if it was carried out. He’ll jot down the names of any extra numbers the madame may have sung as encores. Then it will be up to me. I know nearly all the concert pieces anyhow, and I can fix up an account.
“Just you keep your eyes open, size up the crowd, watch how the lady sings, get me a few notes about her bouquets and all that, and I’ll do the rest. It won’t be the first time I’ve written about a concert without being there.”
“But,” objected Larry, “I won’t know whether she’s singing good, bad or indifferent.”
“No trouble about that,” spoke the other. “Madame Androletti always sings well. I’ve heard her.”
“But won’t Mr. Emberg object?” asked Larry, naming the city editor.
“No, I’ve fixed it with him. I asked him if I couldn’t get some one to cover the concert for me, on account of my celebration to-night, and he said it was up to me. So I’ve drawn you. Pshaw, Larry, it’s easy! Anybody who can solve a million-dollar bank mystery the way you did, can surely cover a simple concert.”
“But it’s so different,” objected the young reporter.