Fur-coated and Trilby-hatted, Eliphalet Cardomay entered the stage-door of the Duke of Connaught’s and mixed with the company. It was curious what little notice was taken of him. He might have been nobody. Presently a business-manager came and asked if he were Mr. Cardomay, and, learning this was the case, carried him off to an office near the roof to sign contracts and discuss details.
“I shall require my own poster to be used,” said Eliphalet.
The business manager shook his head. “Sorry,” was all he said. Then added, “Reiter is doing the posters, you see.” It was said so conclusively that argument was out of the question.
Eliphalet fell back on his second line of defences.
“I take it that my name will come first on the bills.”
“No. Characters in order of their appearance is the way we are working it. Shall we get back to the stage?”
He was led down through countless corridors until they arrived at their destination. Here Oscar Raven came forward and introduced him to several of his fellow-players.
“Let’s get at it,” came a voice from the stalls. “How de do, Mr. Cardomay. You’ve read the part, I suppose?”
“I have not only read the part,” he replied, “I have studied the first act.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Wakefield cheerfully replied. “You may have got hold of the wrong end of the stick. Here, wait a bit. I’ll come up.”