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Quhayne, it had taken a decanter and a-half of neat vodka to bring him up to the scratch. The agent ridiculed the idea. "Why, your Grand Grace," he cried, "there won't be anything of that sort. You ain't going to be starred as a comic. You're a Refined Lecturer and Society Monologue Artist. 'How I Invaded England, with lights down and the cinematograph going. We can easily fake the pictures."
And in a quarter of an hour Solly Quhayne, having pushed his way through a mixed crowd of Tricky Serios and Versatile Comedians and Patterers who had been waiting to see him for the last hour and a half, was bowling off in a taximeter-cab to the Russian lines at Hampstead. General Vodkakoff received his visitor civilly, but at first without enthusiasm.
Quhayne was urging his taxidriver to exceed the speed-limit in the direction of Tottenham. Clarence read the news of the two engagements on the tape at the office of his paper, but the first intimation the general public had of it was through the medium of headlines: Clarence chuckled grimly as the tape clicked out the news. The end had begun.
It was not till the middle of September that anyone conceived what one would have thought the obvious idea of offering music-hall engagements to the invading generals. The first man to think of it was Solly Quhayne, the rising young agent. Solly was the son of Abraham Cohen, an eminent agent of the Victorian era.
It was he who secured the engagements of the generals." "The same, sir." "Proceed." The other resumed his story. "It is my duty to sit in a sort of rabbit-hutch in the outer office, take the callers' names, and especially to see that they don't get through to Mr. Quhayne till he wishes to receive them. That is the most exacting part of my day's work.
Private Biggs, who had brought his sparkling limado and a bath-bun with him from the other table, took a sip of the former, and embarked upon his narrative. "I am employed, sir," he said, "as a sort of junior clerk and office-boy by Mr. Solly Quhayne, the music-hall agent." Clarence tapped his brow thoughtfully; then his face cleared. "I remember.
Colquhoun. They were engrossed in their conversation, and did not notice me for a moment. With no wish to play the eavesdropper, I could not help but overhear. They were talking about the generals. 'Yes, I know they're press-agented at eight seventy-five, dear boy, I heard Mr. Quhayne say, 'but between you and me and the door-knob that isn't what they're getting.
And Whether his success hasn't compelled Agent Quhayne to purchase a larger-sized hat? And Whether it isn't a fact that, though they are press-agented at the same figure, Prince Otto is getting fifty a week more than Grand Duke Vodkakoff? And If it is not so, why a little bird has assured us that the Prince is being paid five hundred a week and the Grand Duke only four hundred and fifty?
The Grand Duke made another objection. "I understand," he said, "it is etiquette for music-hall artists in their spare time to eat er fried fish with their fingers. Must I do that? I doubt if I could manage it." Mr Quhayne once more became the human semaphore. "S'elp me! Of course you needn't! All the leading pros, eat it with a spoon.
You wouldn't believe how full of the purest swank some of these pros. are. Tell you they've got an appointment as soon as look at you. Artful beggars!" Clarence nodded sympathetically. "This morning an Acrobat and Society Contortionist made such a fuss that in the end I had to take his card in to the private office. Mr. Quhayne was there talking to a gentleman whom I recognised as his brother, Mr.
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