But during all the morning performances he was the idol of his audience
and looked it! The climax of his popularity came during the fifth
overture of the Schofield and Williams Military Band, when the music
was quite drowned in the agitated clamours of Miss Rennsdale, who was
endeavouring to ascend the stairs in spite of the physical dissuasion of
her governess.
"I WON'T go home to lunch!" screamed Miss Rennsdale, her voice
accompanied by a sound of ripping. "I WILL hear the tattooed wild boy
talk some more! It's lovely--I WILL hear him talk! I WILL! I WILL! I
want to listen to Verman--I WANT to--I WANT to----"
Wailing, she was borne away--of her sex not the first to be fascinated
by obscurity, nor the last to champion its eloquence.
Verman was almost unendurable after this, but, like many, many other
managers, Schofield and Williams restrained their choler, and even
laughed fulsomely when their principal attraction essayed the role of a
comedian in private, and capered and squawked in sheer, fatuous vanity.
The first performance of the afternoon rivalled the successes of the
morning, and although Miss Rennsdale was detained at home, thus drying
up the single source of cash income developed before lunch, Maurice Levy
appeared, escorting Marjorie Jones, and paid coin for two admissions,
dropping the money into Sam's hand with a careless--nay, a
contemptuous--gesture. At sight of Marjorie, Penrod Schofield flushed
under his new moustache (repainted since noon) and lectured as he had
never lectured before.
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