“What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it?” enquired Mr Saltzburg. “I wait and wait and wait and wait and wait. — We cannot play the overture again. What is it? What has happened?”
Mr Goble, that overwrought soul, had betaken himself to the wings, where he was striding up and down with his hands behind his back, chewing his cigar. The stage director braced himself once more to the task of explanation.
“The girls have struck!”
Mr Saltzburg blinked through his glasses.
“The girls?” he repeated blankly.
“Oh, damn it!” cried the stage director, his patience at last giving way. “You know what a girl is, don’t you?”
“They have what?”
“Struck! Walked out on us! Refused to go on!”
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 children,” 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 coattails 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 tonight?” 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 tonight was the night for the great revival of comic opera. Where are the comics, and why aren’t they opping?”
The stage director repeated his formula once more.
“The girls have struck!”
“So have the clocks,” said Wally. “It’s past nine.”
“The chorus refuse to go on.”
“No, really! Just artistic loathing of the rotten piece, or is there some other reason?”
“They’re sore because one of them has been given her notice, and they say they won’t give a show unless she’s taken back. They’ve struck. That Mariner girl started it.”
“She did!” Wally’s interest became keener. “She would!” he said approvingly. “She’s a heroine!”
“Little devil! I never liked that girl!”
“Now there,” said Wally, “is just the point on which we differ. I have always liked her, and I’ve known her all my life. So, shipmate, if you have any derogatory remarks to make about Miss Mariner, keep them where they belong—there!” He prodded the other sharply in the stomach. He was smiling pleasantly, but the stage director, catching his eye, decided that his advice was good and should be followed. It is just as bad for the home if the head of the family gets his neck broken as if he succumbs to apoplexy.
“You surely aren’t on their side?” he said.
“Me!” said Wally. “Of course I am. I’m always on the side of the down-trodden and oppressed. If you know of a dirtier trick than firing a girl just before the opening, so that they won’t have to pay her two weeks’ salary, mention it. Till you do, I’ll go on believing that it is the limit. Of course I’m on the girls’ side. I’ll make them a speech if they want me to, or head the procession with a banner if they are going to parade down the boardwalk. I’m for ’em, Father Abraham, a hundred thousand strong. And then a few! If you want my considered opinion, our old friend Goble has asked for it and got it. And I’m glad—glad—glad, if you don’t mind my quoting Pollyanna for a moment. I hope it chokes him!”