CLARENCE--THE LAST PHASE
The brilliantly-lighted auditorium of the Palace Theatre.
Everywhere a murmur and stir. The orchestra is playing a selection. In
the stalls fair women and brave men converse in excited whispers. One
catches sentences here and there.
"Quite a boy, I believe!"
"How perfectly sweet!"
"'Pon honour, Lady Gussie, I couldn't say. Bertie Bertison, of the
Bachelors', says a feller told him it was a clear thousand."
"Do you hear that? Mr. Bertison says that this boy is getting a
thousand a week."
"Why, that's more than either of those horrid generals got."
"It's a lot of money, isn't it?"
"Of course, he did save the country, didn't he?"
"You may depend they wouldn't give it him if he wasn't worth it."
"Met him last night at the Duchess's hop. Seems a decent little chap.
No side and that, if you know what I mean. Hullo, there's his number!"
The orchestra stops. The number 7 is displayed. A burst of applause,
swelling into a roar as the curtain rises.
A stout man in crinkled evening-dress walks on to the stage.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he says, "I 'ave the 'onour to-night to
introduce to you one whose name is, as the saying goes, a nouse'old
word. It is thanks to 'im, to this 'ero whom I 'ave the 'onour to
introduce to you to-night, that our beloved England no longer writhes
beneath the ruthless 'eel of the alien oppressor. It was this 'ero's
genius--and, I may say--er--I may say genius--that, unaided, 'it upon
the only way for removing the cruel conqueror from our beloved 'earths
and 'omes. It was this 'ero who, 'aving first allowed the invaders to
claw each other to 'ash (if I may be permitted the expression) after
the well-known precedent of the Kilkenny cats, thereupon firmly and
without flinching, stepped bravely in with his fellow-'eros--need I say
I allude to our gallant Boy Scouts?--and dexterously gave what-for in
no uncertain manner to the few survivors who remained."
Here the orator bowed, and took advantage of the applause to replenish
his stock of breath. When his face had begun to lose the purple tinge,
he raised his hand.
"I 'ave only to add," he resumed, "that this 'ero is engaged
exclusively by the management of the Palace Theatre of Varieties, at a
figure previously undreamed of in the annals of the music-hall stage.
He is in receipt of the magnificent weekly salary of no less than one
thousand one 'undred and fifty pounds a week."
Thunderous applause.
"I 'ave little more to add. This 'ero will first perform a few of those
physical exercises which have made our Boy Scouts what they are, such
as deep breathing, twisting the right leg firmly round the neck, and
hopping on one foot across the stage. He will then give an exhibition
of the various calls and cries of the Boy Scouts--all, as you doubtless
know, skilful imitations of real living animals. In this connection I
'ave to assure you that he 'as nothing whatsoever in 'is mouth, as it
'as been sometimes suggested. In conclusion he will deliver a short
address on the subject of 'is great exploits. Ladies and gentlemen, I
have finished, and it only now remains for me to retire, 'aving duly
announced to you England's Darling Son, the Country's 'Ero, the
Nation's Proudest Possession--Clarence Chugwater."
A moment's breathless suspense, a crash from the orchestra, and the
audience are standing on their seats, cheering, shouting, stamping.
A small sturdy, spectacled figure is on the stage.
It is Clarence, the Boy of Destiny.