A stage-hand came up with a piece of paper in his hand.

"Young feller in spectacles and a rum sort o' suit give me this for
your 'Ighness."

The Prince snatched it from his hand.

The note was written in a round, boyish hand. It was signed, "A
Friend." It ran:--"The men who booed you to-night were sent for that
purpose by General Vodkakoff, who is jealous of you because of the
paragraphs in the _Encore_ this week."

Prince Otto became suddenly calm.

"Excuse me, your Highness," said the stage-manager anxiously, as he
moved, "you can't go round to the front. Stand by, Bill."

"Right, sir!" said the stage-hands.

Prince Otto smiled pleasantly.

"There is no danger. I do not intend to go to the front. I am going to
look in at the Scotch Stores for a moment."

"Oh, in that case, your Highness, good-night, your Highness! Better
luck to-morrow, your Highness!"

* * * * *