Footman (with aggrieved dignity). Because, Sir, Mr. Alf Redbeak ought to come on, by rights, and, not 'aving chosen to appear yet, I think you'll see yourself, on reflection, as it would be totally——
Stage-M. Well, don't argue about it; here's Miss Lushboy ready to go on, put her number up!
Footm. I always understood it was the regulation 'ere that no number was to be put up until the band-parts were passed into the orchestra; which Miss Lushboy's music most certainly has not been handed in yet, and, that bein' so——
Stage-M. You can spare a good yard off that tongue of yours, you can; put Miss Lushboy's number up, and——Ah, here comes Mr. Redbeak; never mind.
Enter Mr. Redbeak, breathless.
Mr. Redbeak. Phew! I've had a job to get 'ere in time, I can tell you. (The Orchestra strikes up.) 'Ullo, that ain't mine. (To Footman.) What are you about? Put up my number—sharp, now!
Miss Lushboy (to Footman). Here, let me go on; I've been messing about long enough. What are you taking my number out for?
Footm. Now, look 'ere, Miss, I can't please everybody! (Indicating Stage-Manager.) You are as well aware as what I am that it's for him to give the word 'ere, not me. I'm on'y actin' under what——
Mr. Redb. It's crule, you know, that's what it is—crule. I've got to go right across London for my next turn, and——
The Stage-M. (returning). What the blazes are we waiting for now? Alf, dear boy, you should come up to time. (To Footman.) Why don't you do as you're told? You're getting too big for your boots, it strikes me! (To Miss Lushboy.) There, go on, my dear, go on.