of virtuoso log-sawing from Julius, Mattie appeared from stage right, sans placard-boy jacket and hat, an imp on roller skates. He whisked past the sleeping tramp, communicated to the audience by a wide dawning grin the gag he had in mind, and bent down to untie his skates and re-tie them on Julius’s feet.
Then he pulled a brown paper bag out of his pocket, blew the bag up, scrumpled the neck tight, and smacked it with the other hand, to make a great explosion in Julius’s ear. The tramp started awake, leaped to his feet in a flurry of newsprint, and sailed on the roller skates straight into the orchestra pit—
But no! He veered left at the very verge, one leg swinging out over the pit, then whirling him in a fancy spin while he batted newspaper here and everywhere, except the sheet which covered his eyes, to the delight of the audience and of Mattie—until Julius fell spectacularly on his commodious behind, arms and legs clutching to retain his prizes. Since there came an enormous crash of cymbals at exactly that moment, either the timpanist had been forewarned, or he was unusually wide awake, thought Gentry, watching from the observation window.
He sighed and began the long climb down the stairs on swollen and aching legs.
Julius struggled to his feet but fell again, again and again, wheels rolling out from under him no matter how he placed them.
Clover, watching all this in the wings, believed he’d have to stop, but then would come another attempt, another roll. Mattie was laughing so hard he could barely stand up, this being the first time he’d done the turn, his hilarity pitched the higher since he could not know how badly Drawbank was going to take all this.
‘In what way is this to blackmail me?’ Gentry asked Julius interestedly, as he came offstage.
‘My voice shall not ring out in this Ephesus, this Delphi of the mind,’ whispered Julius into Gentry’s ear, crepe beard tickling considerably, ‘until the Bella–Clovers are compensated commensurate with their endeavours! I say this to your ear alone,’ he added prudently, gesturing with one fan-shaped hand to make Clover recede behind a curtain-leg.
‘Well, Julius,’ Gentry confided, ‘the awkward thing is, you are compensated commensurate with your windage, due to your unexpected arrival like an orphan on my doorstep, and Syb’s skilful playing on my heartstrings …’
‘You! You have no heart to string,’ Julius pronounced.
‘… and therefore the exchequer is entirely empty, my dear old boy—and since the busting of Sunderland and the Irishman I am merely going into a fraction less debt, daily. There is no more compensation to be had, unless you would like me to direct Johnny Drawbank to divvy up your allotment and hand a portion over to the delightful girls. No? Ah, I thought not. Good day to you then.’
Not cowed, but pensive, Julius did his German professor at the nine o’clock show.
A Tenderfoot Act
After watching Julius cavort in their cause, Aurora gathered her courage and went to Gentry herself that evening. Her mother had not come to bed till after midnight the night before, and her hands were red and split in the morning. Aurora calculated the odds of Gentry firing them on the spot, and concluded that on balance, he would want to keep them. But it was clear that the theatre had no money to spare, and possible that Drawbank was pressing Gentry to reduce the numbers on the bill. The matter needed delicate handling.
She found him putting on his topcoat in his cubbyhole office.
‘I believe my mother is shy to speak to you, sir,’ she said, trying not to halt in her delivery. ‘But I know there was a plan to revisit our arrangement, and I hope we have been—’ She couldn’t say giving satisfaction as if they were parlourmaids. ‘I think we have been pleasing the crowds.’
Gentry looked hunted.
‘Here’s my proposal,’ Aurora said. ‘Your lessons are worth a great deal to us, at least half of what we might expect to get, I think $60 or $70 a week for a tenderfoot act. If you’ll keep teaching us, we’ll work for you for $30 a week, and keep that arrangement to ourselves—but you’d have to let us have the Act 1 closer spot, and more time for dancing.’
‘That’s the second-best spot.’
Did he think she didn’t know that? She waited, trying not to reveal anything. Like a game of beggar-your-neighbour with Papa and Mr. Dyment.