I spoke sharply to the plumbers, who were standing in a circle behind the dressing-rooms; but they answered sullenly that they could do no more work that day. Indignant and alarmed, I ordered them to come out to the stage, and, after some hesitation, they filed out, a sulky, silent lot of workmen, with their tools already gathered up and tied in their kits. At once I noticed that a new man had appeared among them--a red-faced, stocky man wearing a frock-coat and a shiny silk hat. "Who is the master-workman here?" I asked. "I am," said a man in blue overalls. "Well," said I, "why don't you fix those steam-fittings?" There was a silence. The man in the silk hat smirked. "Well?" said I. "Come, come, that's all right," said the man in the silk hat. "These men know their business without you tellin' them." "Who are you?" I demanded, sharply. "Oh, I'm just a walkin' delegate," he replied, with a sneer. "There's a strike in New York and I come over here to tie this here exposition up. See?" "You mean to say you won't let these men finish their work?" I asked, thunderstruck. "That's about it, young man," he said, coolly. Furious, I glanced at my watch, then at the thermometers, which now registered only 75 deg.. Already I could hear the first-comers of the audience arriving in the body of the hall. Already a stage-hand was turning up the footlights and dragging chairs and tables hither and thither. "What will you take to stay and attend to those steam-pipes?" I demanded, desperately. "It can't be done nohow," observed the man in the silk hat. "That New York strike is good for a month yet." Then, turning to the workmen, he nodded and, to my horror, the whole gang filed out after him, turning deaf ears to my entreaties and threats. There was a deathly silence, then Sir Peter exploded into a vivid shower of words. The Countess, pale as a ghost, gave me a heart-breaking look. The Crown-Prince wept. "Great Heaven!" I cried; "the thermometers have fallen to 70 deg.!" The King of Finland sat down on a chair and pressed his hands over his eyes. Baron de Becasse ran round and round, uttering subdued and plaintive screams; Sir Peter swore steadily. "Gentlemen," I cried, desperately, "we must save those eggs! They are on the very eve of hatching! Who will volunteer?" "To do what?" moaned the Crown-Prince. "I'll show you," I exclaimed, running to the incubators and beckoning to the Baron to aid me. In a moment we had rolled out the great egg, made a nest on the stage floor with the bales of cotton-wool, and placed the egg in it. One after another we rolled out the remaining eggs, building for each its nest of cotton; and at last the five enormous eggs lay there in a row behind the green curtain. "Now," said I, excitedly, to the King, "you must get up on that egg and try to keep it warm."