Electrics.  Yes.

Vane.  Now pass to the change.  Take your floats off altogether.

Foreson. [Calling up] Floats out. [They go out.]

Vane.  Cut off that lamp. [The lamp goes out] Put a little amber in your back batten.  Mark that!  Now pass to the end.  Mr Foreson!

Foreson.  Sir?

Vane.  Black out

Foreson. [Calling up] Black out!

     [The lights go out.]

Vane.  Give us your first lighting-lamp on.  And then the two changes.  Quick as you can.  Put some pep into it.  Mr Foreson!

Foreson.  Sir?

Vane.  Stand for me where Miss Hellgrove comes in.  Foreson crosses to the window.  No, no!—­by the curtain.

     [Foreson takes his stand by the curtain; and suddenly the three
     lighting effects are rendered quickly and with miraculous
     exactness.]

Good!  Leave it at that.  We’ll begin.  Mr Foreson, send up to Mr Frust.

     [He moves from the auditorium and ascends on to the Stage, by
     some steps Stage Right.]

Foreson.  Herb!  Call the boss, and tell beginners to stand by.  Sharp, now!

     [Herbert gets out of the chair, and goes off Right.]

     [Foreson is going off Left as Vane mounts the Stage.]

Vane.  Mr Foreson.

Foreson. [Re-appearing] Sir?

Vane.  I want “Props.”

Foreson. [In a stentorian voice] “Props!”

     [Another moth-eaten man appears through the French windows.]

Vane.  Is that boulder firm?

Props. [Going to where, in front of the back-cloth, and apparently among its apple trees, lies the counterfeitment of a mossy boulder; he puts his foot on it] If, you don’t put too much weight on it, sir.

Vane.  It won’t creak?

Props.  Nao. [He mounts on it, and a dolorous creaking arises.]

Vane.  Make that right.  Let me see that lute.

[Props produces a property lute.  While they scrutinize it, a broad man with broad leathery clean-shaven face and small mouth, occupied by the butt end of a cigar, has come on to the stage from Stage Left, and stands waiting to be noticed.]

Props. [Attracted by the scent of the cigar] The Boss, Sir.

Vane. [Turning to “Props”] That’ll do, then.

     ["Props” goes out through the French windows.]

Vane. [To Frust] Now, sir, we’re all ready for rehearsal of
“Orpheus with his Lute.”

Frust. [In a cosmopolitan voice] “Orphoos with his loot!” That his loot, Mr Vane?  Why didn’t he pinch something more precious?  Has this high-brow curtain-raiser of yours got any “pep” in it?