the door, and there was Tom, who, tired out after his eventful night, had fallen fast asleep on the floor. The box-opener stepped in and politely hinted that it was six o'clock and time to go home.
'Grrooonnn,' said Tom.
'I hear you,' said the box-opener; 'you're asleep, my good man, but you'll sleep better still in your own bed. Come, come, your wife must be getting quite anxious! Upon my word I don't believe he hears a word I say. How heavily he sleeps!' And she shook him by the shoulder.
'Grrrooonnn!'
'All right, all right! This isn't a time to make believe. Besides, we all know you. There now, they're putting out the lights. Shall I send for a cab for you?'
'Grrroooonnn.'
'Come, come, the Odéon Theatre isn't an inn; come, be off! Oh, that's what you're after, is it? Fie, Monsieur Odry, fie! I shall call the guard; the inspector hasn't gone to bed yet. Ah, indeed! You won't obey rules! You are trying to beat me, are you? You would beat a woman—and a former artiste to M. Odry, would you? For shame! But we shall see. Here, help—police—inspector—help!'
'What's the matter?' cried the fireman on duty.
'Help!' screamed the box-opener, 'help!'
'What's the matter?' asked the sergeant commanding the patrol.
'Oh, it's old mother what's her name, shrieking for help in one of the stage boxes.'
'Coming!' shouted the sergeant.
'This way, Mr. Sergeant, this way,' cried the box-opener.
'All right, my dear, here I am. But where are you?'
'Don't be afraid; there are no steps—straight on this way—he's in the corner. Oh, the rascal, he's as strong as a Turk!'
