“Who knocks at this door?” said a solemn voice.
“The one above,” said Tootles, in an equally mysterious whisper.
The door was opened cautiously, and Madame Probasco’s streaked curls appeared. From inside came the unmistakable scent of a pork chop frying.
“How do you do?” said Tootles, affably, with a radiating smile. “And how are all the little spirits?”
“Oh, it’s you?” said Madame Probasco, descending to a conversational tone.
“Only me; and in distress—oh, nothing for the spirits to do, but I need a sphinx. Thought you might have one on the premises?”
“A sphinx? I have a sphinx,” said Madame Probasco, ceremoniously.
“May I enter?”
Madame Probasco was still hesitating, considering the advisability of introducing such a visitor behind the scenes, when the memory of the pork chop decided her. She hurried back, followed by Tootles, who witnessed the rescue with an expression of sympathy, while seeking among the black-curtained partitions for the abode of ghostly aids.