A fresh shower of bravoes. “Keep your feet off my head!” cried a man in the pit to one in the gallery. “Bah!” gave back the other, drawing in a huge boot between the wickets; “in this theatre one can not stretch his legs.” “Silence! Hear the _impresario_!” “Beginning on Sunday night,” said the man on the stage, “I shall have the distinct honour of presenting to the highly discriminating taste of the most esteemed and eminent patrons of La Scala an extraordinary singer of canzonets.” “Bravo, Signor Grabbini!” “Silence!” “Meal cakes! A soldo each!” “Silence, thou donkey!” “With your permission, ladies and gentlemen,” the _impresario_ went on, bowing low, “I will proceed. The artist to whom I have referred is--ah! my friends--she is an angel of delight--a glorious type, a creature magnificent. My word of honour, the most beautiful woman in New York--nay, in all America. To the artistic world she is known as Juno the Superb. Pay strict attention, my compatriots. The evening of the Feast of Sunday will indeed be an occasion most extraordinary, for it is my honoured privilege to inform you that in addition to the famous comedies and the exquisite Juno, there will be an oyster cook in the audience under the especial administration of the management, who will prepare soups of sea fruit in true Neapolitan style and at prices the most moderate.” “_Bravissimo!_” “Meal----” “Silence! _Evviva_ the oyster cook!” “With these my humble words, highly prized patrons, I will conclude, and from the depth of my heart beg you to accept my most cordial gratitude, and the assurance that in the future as well as the past you will find me ever alert to serve faithfully and to the plenitude of my power the highly esteemed, the eminent, the generous Italian colony.” “Long live the _impresario_!” was rained from all parts as he backed off, salaaming. “_Evviva_ Juno the Superb!” piped one voice. “And the oyster soup!” thundered a Sicilian hod-carrier. At length the curtain was raised on the last act of the tragedy, and the knights and ladies, buffoons and sages, soldiers and huntsmen, began moving about the stage gingerly, with great skill avoiding collision as they crossed or ducking their heads when they made exits, hurried or slow, through the dollhouse doors. On the Feast of Sunday a packed theatre bore witness to the wisdom of Signor Grabbini’s change of policy. From the base-board of the stage, which was fringed by a row of shrubby black heads, to the last tier of benches there was no vacant seat. The first of the short comedies was reeled off without a single toe trodden on, since it required only five _dramatis personæ_. Not a joke went begging, for the audience heard them all twice--first from the prompter, who bawled them from his little green coop at the footlights, and again from the mouths of the actors.