And, by the way, talking of Sir Alfred reminds me of a journalistic advertising “stunt” I worked while I was playing at the Palace some time back. In conjunction with a Press man I knew, I arranged to bring off a “fake” rescue on Hungerford Bridge about two o’clock one morning.
At this time there was not a soul on the bridge, but I raced off the Surrey end, and gasped out to a policeman that there were a couple of hooligans up there assaulting an old gentleman. “I’ve given them a pretty good hiding, officer,” I said, “sorry I can’t stop”; and I ran off towards Waterloo Station, as though in a hurry to catch a train.
Next day there appeared in most of the London papers an account of the “attempted outrage,” with the addition that the old gentleman who had been assaulted was wishful to thank his unknown rescuer, and ask his acceptance of a ten-pound note.
That night, at the Palace, I called Mr. Butt’s attention to the account of the affair in one of the evening papers.
“It refers to me,” I told him. “I was the rescuer.”
“Good lad!” he cried, shaking me by the hand. “But what about the ten pounds?”
“Well,” I said, “I don’t like taking that. After all I only did my duty in protecting a harmless old man from a couple of ruffians. Suppose I hand over the money to the Music-hall Benevolent Fund?”
Naturally he thought this was very kind and generous of me, and he told several people about it. My Press man also let the story be known, and the result was that I got the reception of my life when I appeared on the stage later on.
It was a splendid “advert.,” and cheap at the price—£15: which was what it cost me; £10 of which I had of course to find out of my own pocket for the M.H.B. Fund, and £5 which I handed over to my friend the Press man.
Once fairly launched on my career, the rest was comparatively easy. Nevertheless, there were occasional spells of out of work, known euphemistically in the profession as “resting,” and it was during one of these intervals of enforced leisure that I first made acquaintance with the Continent. I had been performing at the Empire, Hastings, with the two Brothers Griffiths, well known in connection with their famous Blondin donkey act, and as they, like me, were out of an engagement, they proposed running over to Paris, in order to take a look round, and see if they could not book an engagement or two there.