The incident was interrupted by new-comers who had also known Lily when she was that high. They brought fresh news from Lisle Street. They had had a drink with P. T. Clifton himself, had had a drink with an author who was writing a book on the business.
“Another josser who’s sure to talk a lot of nonsense!” cried Lily. “If only they told the truth and described us as we are, a sight better than the society ladies, who come and wait for pros outside the stage-door!”
And they went on. The healths they had drunk with this girl and that girl; and new turns: competitors who were cropping up ... names ... names ... Ave Maria? Dead, they said: somewhere in Ecuador or Peru.
Then Lily stretched herself to her full length in the sheets, feeling weary, weary, crushed under all that talk.
And Trampy just didn’t write, sent no money at all. She blushed for him ... in spite of her wish to catch him tripping, before witnesses. She was ashamed to be his wife, his only wife, his little wife for ever.
On that day, as it happened, Jimmy came to pay her a visit. His engagement at the Kolossal was ending. He was to perform at the London Hippodrome, before going to the States. A certain air of respect surrounded him from the moment he entered the room, that Jimmy who already stood higher than any of them among the famous bill-toppers! And they gradually retired, as though Lily would prefer that. It was no use her saying, “Do stay!” They went all the same; and Lily was left alone with him, a little embarrassed and yet flattered at being thought on such good terms with Jimmy. As for him, he had just heard about Lily’s illness, Trampy’s absence, and hurried to see her, bringing her the good news that the lawsuit was over. Trampy would have nothing more to pay....
From that day, Jimmy was sometimes seen at Lily’s. He spoke little, sat down on the basket trunk, listened, thought of things. He was known to have his mind full of an invention superior to “Bridging the Abyss,” one could expect anything from him: a wonderful chap Jimmy, a bit cracked, though, with ideas of his own which went the round of the profession and were variously appreciated. A fund for stage-children; a reserve upon their earnings, to be banked and kept untouched till they came of age; a home of rest for the old and the sick; a weekly matinée for the benefit of the fund....
Jimmy described the piteous lot of those who grow old in a profession intended for youth: but a few shillings a month paid into the fund, a benefit performance or two ... and our home is established and endowed and we should see no more stars flung aside, to die in hopeless poverty, after amusing crowds of people for years and years.
“I’m with you,” said Lily, laughing. “Put me down for a pension for my old age ... if ever I reach old age ... ugh, ugh!”
And she coughed, with the embroidered handkerchief at her lips.