They gave performances every arf hour from ha'-past six to ten, and Rupert felt ready to drop. His feet was sore with dancing and his throat ached with singing Zulu, but wot upset 'im more than anything was an elderly old party wot would keep jabbing 'im in the ribs with her umbrella to see whether he could laugh.
They 'ad supper arter they 'ad closed, and then Mr. Alfredi and 'is wife went off, and Rupert and George made up beds for themselves in the shop, while Kumbo 'ad a little place to herself at the back.
He did better than ever next night, and they all said he was improving fast; and Mr. Alfredi told 'im in a whisper that he thought he was better at it than Kumbo. “Not that I should mind 'er knowing much,” he ses, “seeing that she's took such a fancy to you.”
“Ah, I was going to speak to you about that,” ses Rupert. “Forwardness is no name for it; if she don't keep 'erself to 'erself, I shall chuck the whole thing up.”
The manager coughed behind his 'and. “And go back to the Army?” he ses. “Well, I should be sorry to lose you, but I won't stand in your way.”
Mrs. Alfredi, wot was standing by, stuffed her pocket-'ankercher in 'er mouth, and Rupert began to feel a bit uneasy in his mind.
“If I did,” he ses, “you'd get into trouble for 'elping me to desert.”
“Desert!” ses Mr. Alfredi. “I don't know anything about your deserting.”