“You’ll do no more of this sort of thing, do you hear?” he added, almost roughly. “It’s not fittin’! This isn’t the time for jawin’, but I’ve been meanin’ to say somethin’ for weeks, an’ the Lord only knows what it’s been like, holdin’ it in. This is goin’ to be the wind-up of your private Hippodrome, so you can just be makin’ the most of it, an’ gettin’ ready for shuttin’ down!”
He stumped off again, and fell almost into the arms of Grant, sitting in the middle of the front row. He greeted him moodily.
“Goin’ to start an opposition meetin’, old man? Verity’s agitatin’ somethin’ alarmin’ because that prize squawker of hers hasn’t turned up yet.”
“Do you mean Blackburn?” Grant got up, paling slightly, and Larry nodded.
“He’s found missin’, an’ I’m off Sherlock-Holmesin’ round the village pubs, an’ if he’s not in drawin’-room form I’ll have an amusin’ evenin’ entertainin’ him on my own. You can trust me for that.”
“I’ll come with you,” Grant said impulsively, but Larry would have none of him.
“Thanks. I can stand up to Billy all right without any parsons holdin’ my hat,” he returned unkindly. (Larry, as well as Christian, had figured in the ring, but had been pronounced unsafe.) “If you’re hankerin’ after bein’ useful, you can start in sellin’ the programmes,” he added, thrusting the pink papers into Grant’s hands, “an’ be sure you’re on the spot an’ throwin’ flowers if any of the squawkers gets a really bad drop.”
He disappeared beyond the fast-filling seats; and as he went out at the main entrance, Billy-boy slipped in by the stage-door. A minute earlier, Larrupper would have discovered him, as he had prophesied, fortifying the artistic temperament in the Red Lion; but he was still sufficiently sober to read a clock, and an ironic Providence steered him safely past Verity with a respectful salute to his place beside the piano. The curve of the grand formed a comfortable prop, and his trainer, beholding him decorously seated, breathed a sigh of relief and took a final glance at the audience before ringing up the curtain.
The room was full now, the whole district being well represented, from the dear old things who had known her from childhood and thought her amazingly clever, to the dear young ones who were being brought up in the same belief and the fear of Cantacute. They had come prepared to enjoy themselves, confidently looking for a good programme. Verity knew the standard they expected, and thought uncomfortably of one or two doubtful items; then recollected Billy-boy’s magnetic genius for keeping stragglers together, and took heart.
Christian and Mrs. Stanley were sitting in the second row, with Rishwald within “collecting” distance just behind, and Callander, looking uneasily for fire-exits and ventilators. The Bracewell girls, inspired by the atmosphere, were trying to persuade the doctor to join a choral society. Perhaps they remembered Garrick’s advice to his tongue-tied acquaintance,—“If you c-c-c-c-can’t s-speak, why d-d-don’t you sing?”