Mr. Redb. No fear. Oh dear, oh dear, such a rush as it is!
[He goes on grumbling.
A Small Boy (who has been sitting patiently on a chair by the wing—to Stage-Manager). If you please, Sir, will Mr. Wildfire want me to-night?
Miss L. Want you, indeed, you silly kid! What would Mr. Wildfire want a shrimp like you for?
The Boy. If he's going to do the Sandwich Man 'ere to-night, he'll want me, I know. Why, it all depends on me, that song does. (To Stage-M.) Is he going to do the Sandwich Man to-night, Sir?
Stage-M. Oh, don't bother me; wait till he comes and you'll find out. (To Miss L.) I suppose you've heard he's talking of not renewing his engagement after to-night—giving up the halls altogether!
Miss L. And no great loss either! I don't see anything particular about his songs myself. As for all that gas about his raising the tone of the halls, it's sickening. Anyone would suppose we lowered it!
Miss Cissie Cinders (coming out of a dressing-cabin, in a battered old velvet hat and broken feathers, with her face smudged). Who's that you're talking about? Wildfire? Ah, my dear, this 'Igh Art and Littery rot'll be the ruin of the 'alls—him and his articles in the swell magazines, praising us all up—he can keep his praises to himself—I don't want 'em! I've never set up to refine the public myself, or else I could fake it easy enough!
[She passes on to stage.
Mr. Gus. Tadman (Variety Vocalist). We could all do it, come to that. But there, he won't last, you'll see. Why, look at the 'it I made with my "Rorty Naughty Nell"! That was a good song if you like, and well-written, mind yer. But lor, it's clean forgotten now. I 'ear Wildfire's bringing out a play to-night at the Hilarity, it'll serve him right if it gets the bird, going back on his own profession like that! (To Miss Cinders, who has just sung.) House cold to-night?