"Adams! Adams! Adams!"
The singing ceased.
The cry was taken up, repeated, screeched.
A commotion was observed in the box and then a tall figure arose. It was the manager. A silence that was awesome descended upon the house.
He held up his hand.
"I'm sorry," he began.
"Adams!" some one shrieked. Part of the audience laughed. The rest hissed.
"I am sorry," the manager resumed, "but Mr. Adams is not here to-night."
He sat down.
It was well that at that instant the orchestra commenced a medley of college airs by way of overture.