"I beg your pardon? Oh, I'm trying for my first engagement; I haven't acted yet at all."
The other showed surprise and some contempt.
"A novice, are you! Good Lord, it's no good your coming to the agents, my dear; they can't find shops for us."
"I paid Mr. Passmore the usual fee," said Mamie; "he promised he'd do what he could."
The little woman smiled, and turned her shoulder to her, declining further discussion. Another girl rang the bell, but withdrew with a sigh as she perceived the futility of waiting. The cadaverous man came out, with "an engagement" writ large upon his features. He stowed a type-written part into the pocket of his overcoat, and nodded good-bye to an acquaintance, whose cast of countenance proclaimed him a low comedian.
"Got anything, dear boy?" inquired the latter in a husky whisper.
"They want me for the White Slaves Company—the Father. Offered four. Of course I refused point-blank. 'No,' I said, 'six.' 'Oh,' he said, 'impossible!' I wouldn't budge; what do you think! Why, I had eight with Kavanagh, and she's as good as booked me for her next tour. 'I don't mind,' I said; 'I'll go to the Harcourts!' They've been trying to get me back, and he knows it. 'Don't do that,' he said; 'say five, my boy!' 'Six!' I said, 'and I only take it then to fill in.' 'Well, they want you,' he said; 'you're the only man for the part, and I suppose you've got to have your own terms; but they wouldn't pay it to anybody else.'" His salary was to be three-pounds-ten, and he could have shed tears of relief to get it.
"Damn fine, old chap!" said the low comedian, who didn't believe him. "Is the comedy part open, do you know? I might——"
"Don't think so; fancy they're complete." His manner was already condescending. "Olive oil!"
"Now, I can't see you people to-day!" exclaimed Mr. Passmore, putting up his hands impatiently. "No good, Miss Forbes," as a girl made a dart towards him with a nervous smile that was meant to be ingratiating; "got nothing for you, it's no use.... What do you want, my dear?"