06 The Head of Kay's

happened that on the evening on which his brother’s play was to be produced the headmaster was giving his once- a-term dinner to the house-prefects. This simplified matters wonderfully. The only time when his absence from the house was at all likely to be discovered would be at prayers, which took place at half-past nine. The prefects’ dinner solved this difficulty for him. Kay would not expect him to be at prayers, thinking he was over at the Head’s, while the Head, if he noticed his absence at all, would imagine that he was staying away from the dinner owing to a headache or some other malady. It seemed tempting Providence not to take advantage of such an excellent piece of luck. For the rest, detection was practically impossible. Kennedy’s advent to the house had ousted Fenn from the dormitory in which he had slept hitherto, and, there being no bed available in any of the other dormitories, he had been put into the spare room usually reserved for invalids whose invalidism was not of a sufficiently infectious kind to demand their removal to the infirmary. As for getting back into the house, he would leave the window of his study unfastened. He could easily climb on to the window-ledge, and so to bed without let or hindrance.

The distance from Kay’s to the town was a mile and a half. If he started at the hour when he should have been starting for the school house, he would arrive just in time to see the curtain go up.

Having settled these facts definitely in his mind, he got his books together and went over to school.

XV

DOWN TOWN

Fenn arrived at the theatre a quarter of an hour before the curtain rose. Going down a gloomy alley of the High Street, he found himself at the stage door, where he made inquiries of a depressed-looking man with a bad cold in the head as to the whereabouts of his brother. It seemed that he was with Mr Higgs. If he would wait, said the doorkeeper, his name should be sent up. Fenn waited, while the doorkeeper made polite conversation by describing his symptoms to him in a hoarse growl. Presently the minion who had been despatched to the upper regions with Fenn’s message returned. Would he go upstairs, third door on the left. Fenn followed the instructions, and found himself in a small room, a third of which was filled by a huge iron-bound chest, another third by a very stout man and a dressing-table, while the rest of the space was comparatively empty, being occupied by a wooden chair with three legs. On this seat his brother was trying to balance himself, giving what part of his attention was not required for this feat to listening to some story the fat man was telling him. Fenn had heard his deep voice booming as he went up the passage.

His brother did the honours.

“Glad to see you, glad to see you,” said Mr Higgs, for the fat man was none other than that celebrity. “Take a seat.”

Fenn sat down on the chest and promptly tore his trousers on a jagged piece of iron.

“These provincial dressing-rooms!” said Mr Higgs, by way of comment. “No room! Never any room! No chairs! Nothing!”

He spoke in short, quick sentences, and gasped between each. Fenn said it really didn’t matter—he was quite comfortable.

“Haven’t they done anything about it?” asked Fenn’s brother, resuming the conversation which Fenn’s entrance had interrupted. “We’ve been having a burglary here,” he explained. “Somebody got into the theatre last night through a window. I don’t know what they expected to find.”

“Why,” said Fenn, “we’ve had a burglar up our way too. Chap broke into the school house and went through the old man’s drawing-room. The school house men have been talking about nothing else ever since. I wonder if it’s the same crew.”

Mr Higgs turned in his chair, and waved a stick of grease paint impressively to emphasise his point.

“There,” he said. “There! What I’ve been saying all along. No doubt of it. Organised gang. And what are the police doing? Nothing, sir, nothing. Making inquiries. Rot! What’s the good of inquiries?”

Fenn’s brother suggested mildly that inquiries were a good beginning. You must start somehow. Mr Higgs scouted the idea.

“There ought not to be any doubt, sir. They ought to know. To KNOW,” he added, with firmness.

At this point there filtered through the closed doors the strains of the opening chorus.

“By Jove, it’s begun!” said Fenn’s brother. “Come on, Bob.”

“Where are we going to?” asked Fenn, as he followed. “The wings?”

But it seemed that the rules of Mr Higgs’ company prevented any outsider taking up his position in that desirable quarter. The only place from which it was possible to watch the performance, except by going to the front of the house, was the “flies,” situated near the roof of the building.

Fenn found all the pleasures of novelty in watching the players from this lofty position. Judged by the cold light of reason, it was not the best place from which to see a play. It was possible to gain only a very foreshortened view of the actors. But it was a change after sitting “in front”.

The piece was progressing merrily. The gifted author, at first silent and pale, began now to show signs of gratification. Now and again he chuckled as some jeu de mots hit the mark and drew a quick gust of laughter from the unseen audience. Occasionally he would nudge Fenn to draw his attention to some good bit of dialogue which was approaching. He was obviously enjoying himself.

The advent of Mr Higgs completed his satisfaction, for the audience greeted the comedian with roars of applause. As a rule Eckleton took its drama through the medium of third-rate touring companies, which came down with plays that had not managed to attract London to any great extent, and were trying to make up for failures in the metropolis by long tours in the provinces. It was seldom that an actor of the Higgs type paid the town a visit, and in a play, too, which had positively never appeared before on any stage. Eckleton appreciated the compliment.

“Listen,” said Fenn’s brother. “Isn’t that just the part for him? It’s just like he was in the dressing-room, eh? Short sentences and everything. The funny part of it is that I didn’t know the man when I wrote the play. It was all luck.”

Mr Higgs’ performance sealed the success of the piece. The house laughed at everything he said. He sang a song in his gasping way, and they laughed still more. Fenn’s brother became incoherent with delight. The verdict of Eckleton was hardly likely to affect London theatre-goers, but it was very pleasant notwithstanding. Like every playwright with his first piece, he had been haunted by the idea that his dialogue “would not act”, that, however