"Where are they?" interrupted Spratt eagerly, all his abstraction gone. "At the Hotel Larken," began Bobby again. "I--" "Have they got their props and scenery?" "Everything, I understand," said Bobby. "I came around to see you--" "Who's running the show?" demanded Spratt. "Their manager decamped with the money--with what little there was," explained Bobby, "and they came to me by accident. I understand you have an open date next week." "It's not open now," declared Spratt. "The date is filled with the Neapolitan Grand Opera Company." "There doesn't seem to be much use of my talking, then," said Bobby, smiling. "Not much," said Spratt. "They're a good company, but I've noticed from the reports that they've been badly managed. The Dago that brought them over didn't know the show business in this country and tried to run the circus himself; and, of course, they've gone on the rocks. It's great luck that they landed here. I just heard a bit ago that they were in town. I suppose they're flat broke." "Why, yes," said Bobby. "I just went up to the Hotel Larken and said I'd be responsible for their hotel bill." "Oh," said Spratt. "Then you're backing them for their week here." "Well, I'm not quite sure about that," hesitated Bobby. "If you don't, I will," offered Spratt. "There's a long line of full-dress Willies here that'll draw their week's wages in advance to attend grand opera in cabs. At two and a half for the first sixteen rows they'll pack the house for the week, and every diamond in the hock-shops will get an airing for the occasion. But you saw it first, Burnit, and I won't interfere." "Well, I don't know," Bobby again hesitated. "I haven't fully--" "Go ahead," urged Spratt heartily. "It's your pick-up and I'll get mine. Hey, Spencer!" A thin young man, with hair so light that he seemed to have no hair at all and no eyebrows, came in. "We've booked the Neapolitan Grand Opera Company for next week. Have they got Caravaggio and Ricardo with them?" he asked, turning abruptly to Bobby. Bobby, with a smile, nodded his head. "All right, Spence; get busy on some press stuff for the afternoon papers. You can fake notices about them from what you know. Use two-inch streamers clear across the pages, then you can get some fresh stuff and the repertoire to-night for the morning papers. Play it up strong, Spence. Use plenty of space; and, say, tell Billy to get ready for a three o'clock rehearsal. Now, Burnit, let's go up to the Larken and make arrangements." "We might just as well wait an hour," counseled Bobby. "The only one I found in the crowd who could speak English was Signorina Caravaggio." "I know her," said Spratt. "Her other name's Nora McGinnis. Smart woman, too, and straight as a string; and sing! Why, that big ox can sing a bird off a tree." "She's just gone over to lunch with Biff Bates at the Spender," observed Bobby, "and we'd better wait for her. She seems to be the leading spirit."