A hush fell over the stage. It was Elsie Gwyn who spoke. "I asked Mr. Telford to give me a trial as Jenny Burrow. He said that I was not sufficiently experienced and could not create such a part. I thought I could. Of course what I have just said was all——"
"Fudge and Florrie," broke in Walters, as if to reassert his claims as a comedian.
"Exactly, Mr. Walters. You'll forgive me, won't you?"
"Sure, girl," he said genially. "There's no one here who'll ever want to quarrel with you after to-day," he added, at which there was a laugh.
"Now, Mr. Telford," said Elsie, "can I or can I not play the part of Jenny Burrow?"
"Play it, girl, I should think you could," cried Telford, jumping up from the chair. "But you've given me the fright of my life. Come along upstairs and we'll sign a contract."
The two left the stage together, and the company trooped out after them, knowing that rehearsal was over for that day.
Roger Telford was a sportsman, and too happy at the termination of his nightmare to bear malice. He was delighted to find that his luck had not failed him, and that he had found an actress capable of creating the part that he had found such difficulty in casting.
"She knew some fancy words," was Bindle's comment. "She ought to get on."
"Was she a success?" enquired Sallie eagerly.