“They would not listen to me,” said Mr Saltzburg brokenly. “The more I talked, the more they did not listen!” He winced at a painful memory. “Miss Trevor stole my baton, and then they all lined up and sang the ‘Star-Spangled Banner’!”
“Not the words?” cried Wally incredulously. “Don’t tell me they knew the words!”
“Mr Miller is still up there, arguing with them. But it will be of no use. What shall we do?” asked Mr Saltzburg helplessly. “We ought to have rung up half an hour ago. What shall we do-oo-oo?”
“We must go and talk to Goble,” said Wally. “Something has got to be settled quick. When I left, the audience was getting so impatient that I thought he was going to walk out on us. He’s one of those nasty, determined-looking men. So come along!”
Mr Goble, intercepted as he was about to turn for another walk up-stage, eyed the deputation sourly and put the same question that the stage director had put to Mr Saltzburg.
“Well?”
Wally came briskly to the point.
“You’ll have to give in,” he said, “or else go and make a speech to the audience, the burden of which will be that they can have their money back by applying at the box-office. These Joans of Arc have got you by the short hairs!”
“I won’t give in!”
“Then give out!” said Wally. “Or pay out, if you prefer it. Trot along and tell the audience that the four dollars fifty in the house will be refunded.”