"They're all done. There wasn't much
work on them, comparatively."
_"Good morrow, good mother,
Good mother, good morrow!
By some means or other,
Pray banish your sorrow!"_
sang Tiddy, frisking gently up to her. "It's our turn next, Joy.
Clarence says he thinks we ought to emigrate in a body to the Opry
House, and go through this thing _right_."
John moaned.
"Clarence is always having unnecessary thoughts of that sort. To
hear him talk, you would think we had spent the last two weeks going
through it wrong."
"So we have," said Clarence. "Come now--all out. We are going over
to rehearse on the august boards of the opera house, and then we are
going home for brief bites, and then we are going back for a dress
rehearsal. Tomorrow night is the night, and may the Lord have mercy
on your souls!"
At this reminder Clarence's weary company bestirred itself. The
principals had been rehearsing, as usual, at the Hewitt house. They
were to meet the chorus, it appeared, at the village opera house,
and go through the whole thing there with the orchestra of tomorrow
night; a kind-hearted orchestra which was willing to rehearse twice.
"Why any of us ever began this thing, I _don't_ see," growled
John, as he deftly captured Joy, having made a neat flank movement
which prevented Clarence from getting her. "Do you know, Joy"--he
was putting her cloak on for her in the hall by this time--"I've
seen about half as much of you as I would if I hadn't been lured
into this.
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