Part 50 (1/2)

The opportunity for a private conversation with Freddie did not occur immediately. For ten minutes he remained alone on the stage, absorbing abusive tuition from Mr. Miller: and at the end of that period a further ten minutes was occupied with the rehearsing of the number with the leading lady and the rest of the male chorus. When, finally, a roar from the back of the auditorium announced the arrival of Mr.

Goble and at the same time indicated Mr. Goble's desire that the stage should be cleared and the rehearsal proper begin, a wan smile of recognition and a faint ”What ho!” was all that Freddie was able to bestow upon Jill, before, with the rest of the ensemble, they had to go out and group themselves for the opening chorus. It was only when this had been run through four times and the stage left vacant for two of the princ.i.p.als to play a scene that Jill was able to draw the Last of the Rookes aside in a dark corner and put him to the question.

”Freddie, what are you doing here?”

Freddie mopped his streaming brow. Johnson Miller's idea of an opening chorus was always strenuous. On the present occasion, the ensemble were supposed to be guests at a Long Island house-party, and Mr.

Miller's conception of the gathering suggested that he supposed house-party guests on Long Island to consist exclusively of victims of St. Vitus' dance. Freddie was feeling limp, battered, and exhausted: and, from what he had gathered, the worst was yet to come.

”Eh?” he said feebly.

”What are you doing here?”

”Oh, ah, yes! I see what you mean! I suppose you're surprised to find me in New York, what?”

”I'm not surprised to find you in New York. I knew you had come over.

But I am surprised to find you on the stage, being bullied by Mr.

Miller.”

”I say,” said Freddie in an awed voice. ”He's a bit of a nut, that lad, what? He reminds me of the troops of Midian in the hymn. The chappies who prowled and prowled around. I'll bet he's worn a groove in the carpet. Like a jolly old tiger at the Zoo at feeding time.

Wouldn't be surprised at any moment to look down and find him biting a piece out of my leg!”

Jill seized his arm and shook it.

”Don't _ramble_, Freddie! Tell me how you got here.”

”Oh, that was pretty simple. I had a letter of introduction to this chappie Pilkington who's running this show, and, we having got tolerably pally in the last few days, I went to him and asked him to let me join the merry throng. I said I didn't want any money, and the little bit of work I would do wouldn't make any difference, so he said 'Right ho!' or words to that effect, and here I am.”

”But why? You can't be doing this for fun, surely?”

”Fun!” A pained expression came into Freddie's face. ”My idea of fun isn't anything in which jolly old Miller, the bird with the snowy hair, is permitted to mix. Something tells me that that lad is going to make it his life-work picking on me. No, I didn't do this for fun.

I had a talk with Wally Mason the night before last, and he seemed to think that being in the chorus wasn't the sort of thing you ought to be doing, so I thought it over and decided that I ought to join the troupe too. Then I could always be on the spot, don't you know, if there was any trouble. I mean to say, I'm not much of a chap and all that sort of thing, but still I might come in handy one of these times. Keep a fatherly eye on you, don't you know, and what not!”

Jill was touched. ”You're a dear, Freddie!”

”I thought, don't you know, it would make poor old Derek a bit easier in his mind.”

Jill froze.

”I don't want to talk about Derek, Freddie, please.”

”Oh, I know what you must be feeling. Pretty sick, I'll bet, what? But if you could see him now....”

”I don't want to talk about him!”

”He's pretty cut up, you know. Regrets bitterly and all that sort of thing. He wants you to come back again.”

”I see! He sent you to fetch me?”