KRONBORG
the business she s studied with this cast. Necker 's singing Brünnhilde; she may help her, if it 's not one of her sore nights."
"Is she sore at Thea?" Dr. Archie asked wonderingly.
"My dear man, Necker 's sore at everything. She 's breaking up; too early; just when she ought to be at her best. There 's one story that she is struggling under some serious malady, another that she learned a bad method at the Prague Conservatory and has ruined her organ. She 's the sorest thing in the world. If she weathers this winter through, it 'll be her last. She 's paying for it with the last rags of her voice. And men—" Fred whistled softly.
"Well, what then?"
"Then our girl may come in for some of it. It 's dog eat dog, in this game as in every other."
The cab stopped and Fred and Dr. Archie hurried to the box office. The Monday-night house was sold out. They bought standing room and entered the auditorium just as the press representative of the house was thanking the audience for their patience and telling them that although Madame Gloeckler was too ill to sing, Miss Kronborg had kindly consented to finish her part. This announcement was met with vehement applause from the upper circles of the house.
"She has her—constituents," Dr. Archie murmured.
"Yes, up there, where they 're young and hungry. These people down here have dined too well. They won't mind, however. They like fires and accidents and divertissements. Two Sieglindes are more unusual than one, so they 'll be satisfied."
After the final disappearance of the mother of Siegfried, Ottenburg and the doctor slipped out through the crowd and left the house. Near the stage entrance Fred found the driver who had brought Thea down. He dismissed him and got a larger car. He and Archie waited on the sidewalk,
439
