The Jewish young man bent over and whispered something to his master, who took a long look at the girls.
"However, I might find you two extra places. What experience have you had? None, eh? Can you sing? You think so. Um—yes—all girls think they can sing. Well, I'll give you a chance, but I can't offer more than a guinea a week of seven performances. If you don't like to take that, there are plenty who will and be grateful. It's my Number One company."
Norah did not wait for Lily, but accepted for both of them.
"Are they going to let us have the club in Lisle Street, Fitzmaurice?" the manager turned to inquire of his assistant.
"Yes, Mr. Keal. The club has arranged to lend their concert-room every morning and afternoon this week, but if you want any evening calls we shall have to make other arrangements."
"But —— it all," Mr. Keal exclaimed, "when are we going to get the stage?"
"They won't be able to let us have it till the week before Christmas."
"That's a nice ruddy job," grumbled Mr. Keal. "All right, dears," he said, "go in there and get your contracts." He pointed to the room adjoining, where, amid an infernal rattle of typewriters, Lily and Norah sold their untried talents to Mr. Keal for a guinea a week of seven performances, extra matinées to be paid for at half rate, and a fortnight's salary in lieu of notice to be considered just. When she took up the pen to sign the contract Norah paused.
"You've put your own name, Lily," she said, doubtfully.
"Oh, I can't be bothered to think of a new name. Besides, my own is quite a good one for the stage."