"Chaw-lee!" shouted an imperative voice. "Chaw-ley! Chaw-lee!"
"Ah!" cried a thin voice from somewhere behind the stage.
"Get down that light! Give us your ambers! No, not the blues! Your ambers! Where's Jimber? I say, where is Jimber?"
Mr. Mulworth, the stage producer, who was the speaker, appeared running sidewise down an uncovered avenue between two rows of stalls close to the stage. Although a large man, he proceeded with remarkable rapidity. Emerging into the open he came upon Claude.
"Oh, Mr. Crayford is here. He wants very much to see you."
"Where is he?"
"Somewhere behind. I think he's viewing camels. Can you come with me?"
"Of course!"
He went off quickly with Mr. Mulworth, who shouted:
"I say, where is Jimber?" to some unknown personality as he ran toward a door which gave on to the stage.