Alma. Well, he can go back express.
Sir H. One moment, Mrs. Blake. Who is this gentleman?
Alma. My manager. I don’t know what he wants.
Sir H. See him, by all means. Perhaps he’ll stay to dinner if I ask him.
Alma. Ah, you don’t know Dick. He’ll probably stay to dinner whether you ask him or not. He’s one of the old school of managers; they’re almost extinct now. Dick’s the sole survivor.
Sir H. I’m one of the old school myself, and shall be glad to meet him.
Susan. Here he is, with Mr. Chetwynd.
Re-enter Ned, with Mr. Dodson Dick, R.
Ned. This way, Mr. Dick. (goes up to easel)
Dick. (crosses to Alma) Ah, there she is. (Exit Susan, R.) Didn’t expect to see me, did you? Here’s a nice how d’you-do. Within four weeks of opening, and Sparkle not delivered his first act. Thought I’d run down and tell you. What are we to do?