"You're on the balcony, my dear--up left. 'And now ta-ta, my Romeo'! Get on with it, get on!" "One moment, Miss Vavasour!" put in the Tenor, coming back. "You mustn't speak too soon, there; I expect an encore! Take your cue from me." She nodded helplessly. "'And now ta-ta, my Romeo.'" "''T is not the nightingale, let's have a lark!'" read the prompter. "'Come out to supper!---- 'For thou art as glorious to this night, being o'er my 'ead----'" "Come to cues!" said Mr. Quisby, stamping. "'When 'e bestrides the liezy-piecing clouds, And siles upon the bosom of the air,'" gabbled the prompter. "'Bosom of the air'!" bellowed Mr. Quisby. "Pick up your cues, Miss Vavasour, for Gawd's sake!" "I beg your pardon, I didn't hear it, Mr. Quisby," she stammered. "Well, then, listen, my girl! What do you suppose we're here for? 'Bosom of the air'--caper down centre. Lightly--_lightly_! Great Scot! not like that. You come down like a sack o' coals." "The girl has no experience," remarked Miss Jinman in a deep undertone to all about her. "Go back," shouted Mr. Quisby. "'Bosom of the air,' now again! What have you to say as you run down?" "I forget," she whimpered. "What's the line, Mr.--er--you?" "I--I'm just looking to see," said the prompter. "Looking to see?" yelled Mr. Quisby, furiously, throwing up his arms. "Upon my life and soul it's maddening! What's your business, what are you engaged as, what is it you're supposed to be? _Are_ you the prompter, or are you not? Good -- ------ is it asking too much of a man with the book in his hand to follow the lines? I've got the whole weight of the production on me, I've done the work of twenty men, I'm wearing myself out--and nobody takes the trouble to study a part, or to read the 'scrip! Ladies and gentlemen, the ensanguined rehearsal is dismissed, while the prompter looks for the line!" "'Supper? Oh, it will be a merry evening!' read the prompter, sulkily. "Very well then! Now, Miss Vavasour! let's have it." "I think it's v-v-very hard on me," said Miss Vavasour, beginning to cry; "I've only had the p-part three days." "Come, come, do your best! You've nothing to cry about, I've been very patient with you. 'Supper? Oh, it _will_ be a merry evening!' Trip down _pretty_; speak as you come." "_Very_ hard on me," she sobbed; "I think it's m-m-most unfeeling!" "Bring me a chair!" called Mr. Quisby to no one in particular. "Look here, my girl, I'm going to see you do it if we have to stop on the stage till the doors open. Understand? If I keep you here till the curtain rises, I'll see you do it! 'Bosom of the air!' Now take it up sharp." "A bit of _all_ right, keeping the Company 'ere to see a novice taught her business, I _don't_ think," grumbled the low comedian. Miss Vavasour, still sobbing, drooped to where the balcony was to be imagined. She sniffed violently, and, with an effort at sprightly grace, scuttled down the stage again.