“One of the best,” I replied.
He looked round in dismay.
“But where are the waiters?” he asked.
“Not allowed among the audience any more,” I told him; “in fact, some music-halls don’t even have licences.”
He stared at me in astonishment and sank into apathy. Coming up again he said, “Do you remember those two fellows with enormous stomachs and hooked sticks? They were funny, if you like. Don’t you have that sort of thing any more?”
“No,” I said.
“Do you remember that act,” he said—“I believe it was called the Risley act—where a man lay on his back, with his legs up in the air, and flung his family about with his feet? That was jolly clever. Don’t you have that any more?”
“No,” I said.
“And the Sisters something or other,” he said, “dashed pretty girls, who did everything at the same time—are they gone for ever?”
“For ever,” I said.