'My dresser finds out from the box-office.

I never take the C sharp if there are less than three thousand.' 'I'll stop that!' growled Schreiermeyer.
'As you please!' Stromboli shrugged his massive shoulders.

'C sharp is not in the engagement!' 'It shall be in the next! I won't sign without it!' 'I won't sign at all!' retorted the tenor with a sneer of superiority.
'You need not talk of conditions, for I shall not come to America again!' 'Oh, do stop quarrelling!' laughed Cordova as they reached the door of her box, for she had heard similar amenities exchanged twenty times already, and she knew that they meant nothing at all on either side.
'Have you any beer ?' inquired Stromboli of the Primadonna, as if nothing had happened.
'Bring some beer, Bob!' Schreiermeyer called out over his shoulder to some one in the distance.
'Yes, sir,' answered a rough voice, far off, and with a foreign accent.
The three entered the Primadonna's dressing-room together.

It was a hideous place, as all dressing-rooms are which are never used two days in succession by the same actress or singer; very different from the pretty cells in the beehive of the Comedie Francaise where each pensioner or shareholder is lodged like a queen bee by herself, for years at a time.
The walls of Cordova's dressing-room were more or less white-washed where the plaster had not been damaged.

There was a dingy full-length mirror, a shabby toilet-table; there were a few crazy chairs, the wretched furniture which is generally to be found in actresses' dressing-rooms, notwithstanding the marvellous descriptions invented by romancers.