(_A Story in Scenes_).
SCENE XIII.--_"Behind" at the Eldorado._ TIME--_about_ 10 P.M.; _the
Stage at the back of the Scene-cloth is in partial darkness; in the
centre, a pile of lumber and properties. Bare whitewashed brick walls;
at one side, two canvas cabins for the Lady-Artistes to change their
costumes; near them a deal table, with a jug and glasses. At one of
the wings, behind the proscenium, a shelf and small mirror, at which
the Comedians can arrange their make-up, and a frame, in which a
placard, with each Artiste's number, is inserted before his or her
entrance. A "turn" has just been concluded, and the Stage is clear._
_The Stage-Manager_ (_bustling up to_ Footman, _in crimson plush
breeches_). Now then, look alive, there, can't you, they're getting
impatient in front. Why don't you change the number?
_Footman_ (_with aggrieved dignity_). Because, Sir, Mr. ALF REDBEAK
ought to come on, by rights, and, not 'aving chosen to appear yet, I
think you'll see yourself, on reflection, as it would be totally----
_Stage-M._ Well, don't argue about it; here's Miss LUSHBOY ready to go
on, put _her_ number up!
_Footm._ I always understood it was the regulation 'ere that no number
was to be put up until the band-parts were passed into the orchestra;
which Miss LUSHBOY'S music most certainly has not been handed in yet,
and, that bein' so----
_Stage-M._ You can spare a good yard off that tongue of yours, you
can; put Miss LUSHBOY'S number up, and----Ah, here comes Mr. REDBEAK;
never mind.
_Enter_ Mr. REDBEAK, _breathless_.
_Mr. Redbeak._ Phew! I've had a job to get 'ere in time, I can tell
you. (_The Orchestra strikes up._) 'Ullo, _that_ ain't mine. (_To_
Footman.) What are you about? Put up my number--sharp, now!
_Miss Lushboy_ (_to_ Footman). Here, let me go on; I've been messing
about long enough. What are you taking my number out for?
_Footm._ Now, look 'ere, Miss, I can't please everybody! (_Indicating_
Stage-Manager.) You are as well aware as what I am that it's for _him_
to give the word 'ere, not me. I'm on'y actin' under what----
_Mr. Redb._ It's crule, you know, that's what it is--crule. I've got
to go right across London for my next turn, and----
_The Stage-M._ (_returning_). What the blazes are we waiting for
_now_? ALF, dear boy, you should come up to time. (_To_ Footman.) Why
don't you do as you're told? You're getting too big for your boots, it
strikes me! (_To_ Miss LUSHBOY.) There, go on, my dear, go on.
[Miss L. _bounds on to the stage, and begins her song_.
_Mr. Redb._ (_to_ Footman). I've got a bone to pick with you, old
feller. Don't you go wool-gatherin' to-night, as you did last. I've
told you till I'm tired that when you see me chuck this
property piecrust into the wings you've got to throw down these
fire-irons--it's a safe laugh every time it comes off, and you know
'ow important it is, and yet you forget it nine times out of ten!
What's the good of me thinkin' out my business when you go and crab it
for me?
_Footm._ (_pathetically_). Mr. REDBEAK, Sir, you'll excuse me, but
I'm on'y one man 'ere, I ain't a 'undred. _Don't_ thank 'eaven for
it, Sir, it's 'ard when a man as tries to do his best, and with all my
responsibilities on him----
_Mr. Redb._ (_impatiently_). Oh, cheese it; you're not on a stool in
'Ide Park, are you? I'm only _tellin'_ you.
[Illustration: "It's like singing to a lot of 'ap'ny ices!"]
_Miss L._ (_on stage, singing chorus_).
Say, boys, say, if you'd like to come. Who's for a merry old
"Tiddley-um?"
Fall in behind, and we'll all get "blind," before they close the
pub!
You're not jays, so you won't refuse. Join our band, for we're on
the booze,
And you'll see some larks with the rollicking sparks of the Rowdy
Razzle Club!
(_Here she capers off, brandishing a gibus, and has a difficulty in
opening the practicable door in the wing._ _To_ Footman.) There you
are _again!_ How often am I to tell you to keep that wood open for my
dance off? I break my fingers over it every blessed night, and lose my
encore as well!
_Footm._ I'm exceedingly sorry, miss, but the fact of the matter is my
attention was took off at the time owing to----
_Miss L._ Oh, hold _your_ jaw, do.
_Footm._ (_to himself_). I'm to hold my jaw! Oh, these hartistes, they
lead me a dorg's life among 'em!
_Mr. Redb._ (_touching_ Miss L.'s _coat as she passes_). What's that
badge you're wearing? Salvation Army, Temperance, Primrose League, or
what?
_Miss L._ No, only the colours of the Balls Pond Football Team;
they presented them to me the other day. I told them _I_ didn't play
football.
_Mr. Redb._ You're pretty fair at the 'igh kick though, ain't you?
There, there. 'Alf time. Goin' on again?
_Miss L._ With a cold like mine? Not likely. Just look at my
tongue! (_She protrudes the tip of an indigo-coloured tongue for his
inspection._)
_Mr. Redb._ (_concerned_). Why, it's like one o' those Chow-chow dogs,
I'm blest if it isn't! You _are_ off colour to-night, no mistake!
_Miss L._ Oh, that's the remedy, not the disease--liquorice, you know.
_Stage-M._ Now, ALF, if you're in such a hurry, go on. Cut it as short
as you like--no extra turns to-night.
_Mr. Redb._ No fear. Oh dear, oh dear, such a rush as it is!
[_He goes on grumbling._
_A Small Boy_ (_who has been sitting patiently on a chair by the
wing--to_ Stage-Manager). If you please, Sir, will Mr. WILDFIRE want
me to-night?
_Miss L._ Want you, indeed, you silly kid! What would Mr. WILDFIRE
want a shrimp like you for?
_The Boy._ If he's going to do the Sandwich Man 'ere to-night, he'll
want me, _I_ know. Why, it all _depends_ on me, that song does. (_To_
Stage-M.) _Is_ he going to do the Sandwich Man to-night, Sir?
_Stage-M._ Oh, don't bother me; wait till he comes and you'll find
out. (_To_ Miss L.) I suppose you've heard he's talking of not
renewing his engagement after to-night--giving up the halls
altogether!
_Miss L._ And no great loss either! I don't see anything particular
about his songs myself. As for all that gas about his raising the tone
of the halls, it's sickening. Anyone would suppose we _lowered_ it!
_Miss Cissie Cinders (coming out of a dressing-cabin, in a battered
old velvet hat and broken feathers, with her face smudged)._ Who's
that you're talking about? WILDFIRE? Ah, my dear, this 'Igh Art and
Littery rot'll be the ruin of the 'alls--him and his articles in
the swell magazines, praising us all up--he can keep his praises to
himself--_I_ don't want 'em! I've never set up to refine the public
myself, or else I could fake it easy enough!
[_She passes on to stage._
_Mr. Gus. Tadman_ (_Variety Vocalist_). We could all do it, come to
that. But there, he won't last, you'll see. Why, look at the 'it I
made with my "_Rorty Naughty Nell_"! That _was_ a good song if you
like, and well-written, mind yer. But lor, it's clean forgotten now.
I 'ear WILDFIRE'S bringing out a play to-night at the Hilarity, it'll
serve him right if it gets the bird, going back on his own profession
like that! (_To_ Miss CINDERS, _who has just sung_.) House cold
to-night?
_Miss Cinders_ (_in a temper_). Cold, it's like singing to a lot
of 'ap'ny ices! I used to have the choruses all sung for me when I
brought out that song first; and now they've let me go off without a
'and! We shall see whether they'll rise to WILDFIRE to-night. Ah, here
he is. Actually coming up to speak to us; there's an honour!
_Miss Betsy Beno_ (_to_ WILDFIRE, _as he passes the table where she is
sitting waiting for her turn_). 'Ere, WATTY, old man, stop and 'ave
a drop along of me. Do--there's plenty 'ere! (_as_ WILDFIRE _excuses
himself laughingly_). Well, I'm sure--refusing to drink when a lady
goes out of her way to ask him--he hasn't the manners of a pig! And I
draw my sixty quid a week the same as he does!
_Mr. Tadman._ Well, dear boy, how's the play getting on? Not a frost,
I hope?
_Wildfire._ No; I just looked in on my way from the Val. here, and
they seemed to think it was all right; but I couldn't stay till the
finish. They're going to send round and let me know. (_To the_ Small
Boy, _who has approached anxiously_.) Oh, there you are, youngster!
Yes, I shall want you--for the last time, you know.
_The Boy._ Why, you--you ain't going to take the part away from me,
Sir, when I created it, too!
_Wildf._ (_patting his shoulder kindly_). I'm giving up singing
altogether--that's why. Never mind; I'll see it makes no difference to
you, so don't you distress yourself. We'll find you something or other
to do.
_The Boy_ (_with a gulp_). If I ain't going to be with _you_ any
more, I--I don't care _what_ 'appens, Sir. I'd as soon throw up the
perfession myself, I would!
[_He turns away into a dark corner._
_Wildf._ (_to himself, as he goes to the wing_). Nice boy that; didn't
think he'd care so much; must keep an eye on him. _Flattery_ must
be over now. I wish I could have stayed to see it out; it was going
magnificently; but there were some rather risky scenes ahead. Still, I
believe it's a success; and, if it is, I shall have done with all this
for ever after to-night. I can go to ALTHEA and tell her, without----
By Jove! wasn't it to-night that Old TOOVEY was to be in front? I
wonder what he'll think of it. (_He looks at himself in the mirror._)
He'll have some difficulty in recognising me in this get up. Well, I
shall know on Monday. (_He goes on, and sings; then rushes back to the
wing to change his costume, with the assistance of his dresser._) Yes,
the coat, now, dresser, please. (_To himself, as he paints some lines
on his face._) I couldn't see anyone at all like old TOOVEY. Very odd!
They must have sent him the box, I suppose. Well, it doesn't
matter; if he didn't think it necessary to come, so much the better.
(_Aloud._) Wigpaste, please. Now the boards. All right--I'm ready.
(_To the Boy._) Now, youngster, look out for your cue.
[_He goes on._
_The Limelight Man_ (_up in the flies--to himself_). What's wrong with
Mr. WILDFIRE? He as nearly broke down just now as----and I can't keep
the limelight on him nohow to-night! He can't have been drinking--he
ain't _that_ sort. But he do look bad--it's as much as ever he can do
to go through with it; somethink's given him a turn.
_Wildfire_ (_to himself, as he goes back to the wing, unsteadily_).
She's here--and, what's worse, she's recognised me! She must have, or
she would never have looked like that. If I could only have told her
first; but, to discover it like this,--she'll think I meant to----
(_He pitches away his boards in a fury._) Well, I've done for
myself--it's all over! (_To his dresser._) A note, eh?
[_He opens it, and reads the contents mechanically_; Mr. TADMAN
_and one or two other artistes come up with curiosity on seeing his
expression_.
_Tadm._ Why, WILDFIRE, old man, what's this? Play gone wrong? Never
mind, dear boy, we can't have everything. But what's the report, eh?
_Wildf._ (_impatiently_). Oh, I don't know. What does it matter now?
(_He lets the note fall._) There, you can read it if you want to know.
[_He walks away._
_Tadm._ (_with complacency_). Poor chap, he's hard hit! But I could
have told him it wasn't to be expected that---- (_He picks up the
note, and reads it with a falling jaw._) Hullo! What's the meaning of
this? It says the piece is a tremendous go--safe for a long run--had
to raise the rag again and again. Why, he'll make his fortune over
this alone; and yet, look at him! (_Pointing to_ WILDFIRE, _who has
seated himself on the pile of lumber, in utter dejection_.) And all
those fools in front clapping and stamping for him to come on again.
What _more_ does the feller want, I wonder!