"Where should I have to go?" asked Butler. "To what country?"
"To Belgium, of course," replied Tommy. "The manager is a Belgian, like myself—we are compatriots."
The clown, judging that his companion had decided to accept the offer, left him, saying:
"I am going to find the manager and tell him my friend Butler will be his professor of Japanese singing canaries."
Butler sighed, then swallowed another glass of whisky.
Pushing his way among the crowded tables of the front downstairs room, the clown reached the end of the room. He approached a clean-shaven man seated before a full glass: it was untouched.
"Monsieur Juve?" asked Tommy in a low voice.
Juve nodded.
"That is so: at present, Tommy, musical Belgian clown. And you are Monsieur Paul, theatrical manager.... That is according to our arrangement, is it not?"