The social side of music-hall life—The Vaudeville Club—A telephone wheeze—The swanking “pro.” and his mythical salary—About “tops” and “bottoms”—Ring up “625 Chiswick”—“Big Fred” and Fred Lindrum—A queer billiard match—An unexpected dénouement—Roberts and the Australian billiard marker—I make of myself a human telescope—Growing to order—Willard the original “man who grew”—Puzzling a Scotland Yard “’tec”—My most wonderful fall—I make a “hit” in a double sense—A Wigan wheeze—The performer who got too much “bird”—A blood-thirsty barber—My worst insult.
The social side of the music-hall artiste’s life centres largely round the Vaudeville Club in the Charing Cross Road, and which is owned and run by the Water Rats, of which I am proud to be a member.
I recall a very funny little incident that happened here not long since. A lot of us were in the place, some playing billiards, some chatting together, etc., when there entered a certain well-known “pro.” who was notorious for swanking about the big salaries he commanded.
Going into the telephone-box, and carefully leaving the door ajar, so that we could hear what he was saying, he rang up a number, and the following one-sided dialogue took place.
“Hello!—Hello, I say!—Is that you, Mr. So-and-So?”
(We pricked up our ears at this, for the name he mentioned was that of one of the biggest men in the music-hall world.)
“Oh, it is?—Good!—About Monday next. I—eh? I say about Monday next. I got your letter this morning. Thanks! But two hundred pounds a week is no good to me.”
(We gasped, and looked at one another.)
“Eh!—What’s that?—You’ll make it two hundred and fifty pounds? Not good enough, old chap. Ha! Ha! My terms are three hundred pounds a week, or nothing doing.”
(Everybody craned forward their necks, listening intently.)