"Wot's all this about a fire?" he demanded.
Jill's friend stopped.
"A fire?" He looked at Jill. "Did you hear anything about a fire?"
"They all come bustin' past 'ere yelling there's a fire," persisted the door-man.
"By George! Now I come to think of it, you're perfectly right! There is a fire! If you wait here a little longer you'll get it in the small of the back. Take the advice of an old friend who means you well and vanish. In the inspired words of the lad we've just parted from, 'op it!"
The stage-door man turned this over in his mind for a space.
"But I'm supposed to stay 'ere till eleven-thirty and lock up!" he said. "That's what I'm supposed to do. Stay 'ere till eleven-thirty and lock up! And it ain't but ten forty-five now."
"I see the difficulty," said Jill's companion thoughtfully.
"Well, Casabianca, I'm afraid I don't see how to help you. It's a matter for your own conscience. I don't want to lure you from the burning deck; on the other hand, if you stick on here you'll most certainly be fired on both sides.... But, tell me. You spoke about locking up something at eleven-thirty. What are you supposed to lock up?"
"Why, the theatre."