Mr. Saltzburg reeled under the blow.
"But it is impossible! Who is to sing the opening chorus?"
In the presence of one to whom he could relieve his mind without fear of consequences, the stage-director became savagely jocular.
"That's all arranged," he said. "We're going to dress the carpenters in skirts. The audience won't notice anything wrong."
"Should I speak to Mr. Goble?" queried Mr. Saltzburg doubtfully.
"Yes, if you don't value your life," returned the stage-director.
Mr. Saltzburg pondered.
"I will go and speak to the childrun," he said. "I will talk to them. They know me! I will make them be reasonable."
He bustled off in the direction taken by Mr. Miller, his coat-tails flying behind him. The stage-director, with a tired sigh, turned to face Wally, who had come in through the iron pass-door from the auditorium.
"Hullo!" said Wally cheerfully. "Going strong? How's everybody at home? Fine? So am I! By the way, am I wrong or did I hear something about a theatrical entertainment of some sort here to-night?" He looked about him at the empty stage. In the wings, on the prompt side, could be discerned the flannel-clad forms of the gentlemanly members of the male ensemble, all dressed up for Mrs. Stuyvesant van Dyke's tennis party. One or two of the principals were standing perplexedly in the lower entrance. The O.P. side had been given over by general consent to Mr. Goble for his perambulations. Every now and then he would flash into view through an opening in the scenery. "I understood that to-night was the night for the great revival of comic opera. Where are the comics, and why aren't they opping?"