t　the　outside　counter　and　walked　on　home　toward　the　hospital。　Outside　the　little　bar　up　the　street　from　the　Scala　there　were　some　people　I　knew；　a　vice…consul；　two　fellows　who　studied　singing；　and　Ettore　Moretti；　an　Italian　from　San　Francisco　who　was　in　the　Italian　army。　I　had　a　drink　with　them。　One　of　the　singers　was　named　Ralph　Simmons；　and　he　was　singing　under　the　name　of　Enrico　DelCredo。　I　never　knew　how　well　he　could　sing　but　he　was　always　on　the　point　of　something　very　big　happening。　He　was　fat　and　looked　shopworn　around　the　nose　and　mouth　as　though　he　had　hayfever。　He　had　e　back　from　singing　in　Piacenza。　He　had　sung　Tosca　and　it　had　been　wonderful。

〃Of　course　you've　never　heard　me　sing；〃　he　said。

〃When　will　you　sing　here？〃

〃I'll　be　at　the　Scala　in　the　fall。〃

〃I'll　bet　they　throw　the　benches　at　you；〃　Ettore　said。　〃Did　you　hear　how　they　threw　the　benches　at　him　in　Modena？〃

〃It's　a　damned　lie。〃

〃They　threw　the　benches　at　him；〃　Ettore　said。　〃I　was　there。　I　threw　six　benches　myself。〃

〃You're　just　a　wop　from　Frisco。〃

〃He　can't　pronounce　Italian；〃　Ettore　said。　〃Everywhere　he　goes　they　throw　the　benches　at　him。〃

〃Piacenza's　the　toughest　house　to　sing　in　the　north　of　Italy；〃　the　other　tenor　said。　〃Believe　me　that's　a　tough　little　house　to　sing。〃　This　tenor's　name　was　Edgar　Saunders；　and　he　sang　under　the　name　of　Edouardo　Giovanni。

〃I'd　like　to　be　there　to　see　them　throw　the　benches　at　you。〃　Ettore　said。　〃You　can't　sing　Italian。〃

〃He's　a　nut；〃　said　Edgar　Saunders。　〃All　he　knows　how　to　say　is　throw　benches。〃

〃That's　all　they　know　how　to　do　when　you　two　sing；〃　Ettore　said。　〃Then　when　you　go　to　America　you'll　tell　about　your　triumphs　at　the　Scala。　They　wouldn't　let　you　get　by　the　first　note　at