Jimmy accepted. To open in a theater made for himself seemed preferable to Jimmy to launching his new invention in a closed hall, such as the London Hippodrome, for instance, which did not provide the aperture in the roof, the door opening on to the stars, which he required to obtain his effect upon the crowd. And that was why, in the work at the Astrarium, everything turned upon Jimmy. He was responsible to both Harrasford and himself. For that matter, he was fully equal to the interests at stake. Harrasford, a great judge of men, intrusted everything to Jimmy, the sensational bill-topper, removed above all jealousy; and he left it to his experience to construct the program. Harrasford himself, the chief and master, rarely left London; he managed all his theaters from his office, with the ’phone at his ear, or else flew like the wind in every direction, buying a theater here, picking up a star there, on the wing. It was not until the third week that he came to see for himself how the work was doing and to discuss the accounts. His broad back was seen, followed by Jimmy, to plunge down the plastery corridors, to pass under the
scaffoldings. He looked like a conqueror, tracing with his finger the plan of the palace that was to rise upon the ruins of the destroyed city; or else he would point out things with a jerk of the chin:
“The proscenium pushed forward to here, eh, Jimmy? A cluster of electric lights here. Another there. And what about your trick, Jimmy?”
“You must imagine the house in darkness,” said Jimmy, “and blue and green rays falling on the stage from above. Through the blue, we send a great dazzling beam, from over there, lighting up every inch of the house, a terrific light, the light of the Last Judgment....”
“Good!” said Harrasford. “We want two or three fits of hysterics at the opening, real ones, not hired at two bob a night,” he added, with a wink. “They’re working, up there,” he continued, a piece of old plastering falling on his shoulder, as they crossed the floor of the house, denuded of its seats.
“It’s the opening in the roof,” said Jimmy. “I should have liked to show you ... the staircase is blocked with scaffoldings ...”
But Harrasford, at the risk of breaking his neck, had already grasped the rungs of a provisional ladder, made of spokes stuck through one of the four beams which rose from the floor to the ceiling and supported it, while the whole of the space between them was being opened. The architect was there when Harrasford came out on the roof. He showed him four piers of strong masonry which were being built against the outer walls, explained that two T irons of considerable strength would rest with their ends on the piers and run across the roofing from wall to wall. Two other irons, also parallel, but running lengthwise, would be bolted to the first two. This arrangement would make a horizontal frame of twenty by thirty feet. They would then remove the beams which supported the roof during the operations. When the plastering was finished and the gilding applied, this would form, as seen from below, a handsome frame to the sky. The architect also explained how the truncated roof would be secured to the frame, forming a whole as firm as a rock, and how a light iron sash, completely glazed, could be drawn along the two transverse T irons, thus opening or closing the hall as desired.
“The whole thing’s worked from below by electricity,” said Jimmy.
“How long will it take?” asked Harrasford.
“It’s all ready. It’s only got to be fixed up,” said the architect.