"Ah! They change the bill very frequently out there—stock companies, I believe?"
"Very frequently," I replied, which was quite true.
"It must be very hard work, I should imagine."
I assented.
Our conversation continued in this way for some time. During it all he never asked me once directly or indirectly whether I had ever been upon the stage, so I felt my conscience perfectly clear in conforming my answers to the questions he put without volunteering anything else.
At last Mr. Barrington seemed satisfied. "Well, Mr. Harold Kyrle," he said, "I think you will suit me. Go round to Blackmore's, the agents, in Garrick Street, give him this note and he will give you a contract. The salary will be two pounds per week. We find costumes, except wigs, shoes, stockings, swords, jewelry and laces. Will that suit you?"
Anything would have suited me! With a profusion of thanks in my heart, which I carefully concealed from him, I bowed myself out of Mr. Charles Barrington's presence and walked out into the strand.
My poor brother was waiting for me nearby. When I told him of my success he stared at me open-mouthed.
"Well, I'm damned!" he said.
"All right, old chap, don't anticipate things," I responded gleefully. "Now let's go up to this bally agent's, or whatever he is, 'sign on,' and then we'll go and 'wet' the commission. Where is Blackmore's?"
"You don't mean to say that he has made you go to Blackmore's?" exclaimed my brother.
"He has. Why shouldn't he?"
"Only that Blackmore will take ten per cent of your miserable salary for ten weeks, that is all."
"The devil he will," cried I.
"It's a sort of authorized custom of the profession," explained my brother. "You'll have to submit until
