“If the old man doesn’t die first; in that case, there’s a brother who will come and claim them, it seems. They’re a fortune, the two Bambinis, to whomever secures them.”
“One dress-coat more on the stage,” said Harrasford. “And next?”
“Topsy Turvy Tom.”
“Oh, yes, I know!” said Harrasford, laughing. “The fellow who used to wear leaden armlets to harden his muscles and smash Clifton’s jaw.”
“That’s the one,” said Jimmy, laughing in his turn. “A threat of Clifton’s, who said that he would ‘make him dance the hornpipe on his hands, damn it!’ suggested the idea of a turn to him, so they say. He set to work with superhuman energy—and now he is a bill-topper....”
“Well done!” cried Harrasford, banging his fist on the table. “There’s no country but old England can turn out bulldogs like that, lads who jump from the gutter to the top of the bill! That’s what I call a man! And what’s his turn like?”
“A scene of his own: the front of a palace. A pink marble figure, naked down to the waist, supports a huge cornice. A thunder of big drums, a flash of lime-light and the palace splits from top to bottom. The figure staggers, falls on its hands and gives a stupendous acrobatic performance: somersaults on the hands; waltzing; treading the ball: the ‘hornpipe, damn it!’ And then Tom stands on his feet, all in shadow. A powerful ray of light is thrown upon him, and you see the muscles of the abdomen slowly moving, the pectoral muscles quivering, the deltoids leaping and starting, the biceps swelling; and, when he turns round, the rhomboids hollowing out, the muscles of the back rolling: the triumph of the human machine ... and of Tom.”
“And of will,” said Harrasford. “How much?”
“So much.”
“It’s worth it. And next?”