"Fifty a night at a dollar a head! I could have them hanging out of the galleries of the Hippodrome at that price."
"I know you could, Bert."
A match flickered to reveal the cunning face of the unbearded mystic. Rajah Brahman was lighting another cigarette. The man in the chair laughed slightly as he glimpsed the ex-Hindu on the throne.
"I would have said to ditch her long ago," declared the self-styled rajah, "if I hadn't figured that some day she would bring in a good one like this Mrs. Garwood.
"You know, chief, this racket has its troubles. I've found that out on the road. I can learn plenty when I crash the circles without my whiskers."
"What's the difficulty?"
"If you get a smart fellow like Jacques," answered Rajah Brahman, "he's too anxious to grab the big money for himself. If you get a small-timer like Anita Marie, she can't deliver the real goods."
"Which do you prefer?"
"The small-timers are best — if they manage to deliver. They know when they're over their depth. They know they can't compete with a big shot.
"They're only too glad to play into favor and send along a real customer. They're satisfied with a small cut, too, because they don't know what big money is."