Part 67 (2/2)
”But even your Mr. Fossy mustn't know my real name or address,” she stipulated.
”Who shall I say you are?”
”Nelly O'Neill.”
”Ripping. Flows from the tongue like music.”
”Then it's rippling you mean.”
”What a tongue! Wait till Fossy sees you.”
”Will he ask me to stick it out?”
”Oh, Lord, I wish I had your repartee. But I'm thinking--Nelly O'Neill--doesn't it give you away a bit?”
”Keeps me a bit, too. I shouldn't like to lose myself altogether--gain reputation for another woman.”
Fossy proved to be a gentleman named Josephs, who in a tiny triangular room near the stage of the Half-and-Half listened critically to her comic singing, shook his head and said he would let her know. Eileen left the room with leaden heart and feet.
”Wait for me a moment, please,” Jolly Jack Jenkins called after her, and she hung about timidly, jostled by dirty attendants and painted performers. She was reading a warning to artistes that any improper songs or lines would lead to their instant dismissal, and regretting more than ever her incompetence for this innocent profession, when she heard the ba.s.s chorister's big breathing behind her.
”Bravo! You knocked him all of a heap.”
”Rubbis.h.!.+ Don't try to cheer me.”
”You!” Jolly Jack Jenkins opened his eyes. ”You taken in by Fossy! He'll suggest your doing a trial turn next Sat.u.r.day night when the public are least critical, you'll make a furore, and he'll offer you two guineas a week.”
”A pleasing picture, but quite visionary. Why, he didn't even ask for an address to write to!”
”Oh, I dare say he thought care of me would find you. No, don't glower at me--I don't mean anything wrong.”
”I hope you didn't let him misunderstand--”
”You asked me not to let him know too much. Fossy has to do so much with queer folk--”
”Yes, I saw he had to warn them against improper songs.”
Jolly Jack Jenkins exploded in a guffaw.
”I'm sorry I came,” said Eileen, in vague distress.
”Fossy isn't,” he retorted. ”He was clean bowled over. In that Irish fox-hunting song all the gallery will be shouting 'Tally-ho!' Where did you pick it up?”
”I didn't _pick_ it up, I _made_ it up for the occasion.”
”By Jove! I have to pay a guinea to a bloodsucking composer when _I_ want a song. Oh, Fossy's spotted a winner this time.”
”Why is he called Fossy?”
<script>