"What will you take to stay and attend to those steam-pipes?" I
demanded, desperately.

"It can't be done nohow," observed the man in the silk hat. "That New
York strike is good for a month yet." Then, turning to the workmen, he
nodded and, to my horror, the whole gang filed out after him, turning
deaf ears to my entreaties and threats.

There was a deathly silence, then Sir Peter exploded into a vivid
shower of words. The Countess, pale as a ghost, gave me a
heart-breaking look. The Crown-Prince wept.

"Great Heaven!" I cried; "the thermometers have fallen to 70°!"

The King of Finland sat down on a chair and pressed his hands over his
eyes. Baron de Becasse ran round and round, uttering subdued and
plaintive screams; Sir Peter swore steadily.

"Gentlemen," I cried, desperately, "we must save those eggs! They are
on the very eve of hatching! Who will volunteer?"

"To do what?" moaned the Crown-Prince.

"I'll show you," I exclaimed, running to the incubators and beckoning
to the Baron to aid me.

In a moment we had rolled out the great egg, made a nest on the stage
floor with the bales of cotton-wool, and placed the egg in it. One
after another we rolled out the remaining eggs, building for each its