The Toff In Town

achieved a seraphic smile. This was reflected on the face of the tenor; the pianist also beamed broadly.

A curious thing happened.

Everyone in the studio stopped whatever he was doing and looked at the Italian. In the small studio his voice was loud but the notes were perfect, and they flowed easily and smoothly, he swayed slightly to and fro, keeping his hands raised, as if without effort. The tenor’s eyes were half-closed and dreamy, he were holding them out to some invisible maiden, appealing, beseeching.

Even Allen was affected.

Rollison fought against the seductive beauty of the singing and glanced at Allen, seeing his face relieved of strain—not smiling, but almost serene, as if he had been taken into a new world of peace. The tough-rough busker watched the tenor without blinking. The smartly-dressed man who was probably the wandering artist had his mouth open, and he also swayed from the waist. The two Danes held hands tightly. The little crowd which Rollison could not identify was the last to come under the spell, but its members fell eventually. Hedley looked dreamy. The weary-looking man, who wore a cream-coloured linen coat and flannel trousers, shed his tiredness. Two girl members of the staff stood near the piano.

The singer stopped but the spell remained, until he lunged forward and gripped one end of the blue-and-pink tie, and cried:

“It was wonderful—yes, yes, wonderful! ”

Then he was submerged in a welter of congratulations from his friends. Hedley sent an inquiring glance towards the glass partition, where the earnest-looking man, smiling with quiet satisfaction, shook his head. Hedley turned to one of the girls and said sotto voce:

“We’ll give him another try-out at the last minute, let him rest now.”

Another man came into the room, dressed in navy blue, wearing brown suede shoes, ruddy-faced, smiling and cheerful. Hedley called him “Bill”, and brought him immediately to Rollison and Allen. Rollison stood up, Allen hesitated before following his example. If Hedley and “Bill” noticed that Allen seemed strained, they showed no sign.

“This is Bill Wentworth, who will interview you, Mr. Allen,” said Hedley. “Mr. Allen—Mr. Rollison.”

Wentworth had a quick, firm handshake.

“Satisfied with your script?” Hedley asked Allen.

“Er—I’d like a few alterations,” said Allen. “If—if that’s all right with you.”

“Oh, of course,” said Hedley. That’s easy enough, we’ll have a look at it in a minute. Better give the young Danes a run through,” he added to Wentworth, and took him off, saying: “Won’t keep you a jiff. Now there’s no need to worry,” he said to the Danes. “Just read naturally, don’t raise or lower your voice too much. The mike’s “live” on both sides.”

“Live?” queried the girl, brushing her blonde hair back from her forehead.

“Er—it can pick up anything you say, even a whisper,” said Hedley. “Speak into it, not to one side—keep a foot away. Don’t let the script rustle too much, or the mike will pick that up, too.”

The Danish girl gripped the script tightly, until her knuckles showed white and the paper quivered violently. Her companion moistened his lips, stared at the mike and then at Wentworth, who had his copy of the script flat on the table in front of him. He was calm, friendly and reassuring. He leaned forward and whispered something, and then looked round.

“Quiet, everyone, please,” called Hedley.

A hush fell on the chattering Italians, but they continued to whisper earnestly near the piano. Wentworth opened with a summary of the organization which the Danes represented, finishing with the question:

“And you like it here in England? ”

“Oh, we do!” exclaimed the girl.

“It is wonderful!” cried the boy.

Wentworth shook his head and sat back, tapping his script. Hedley raised his hands hopelessly and watched, half-way between the table and Rollison and Allen.

“I’m sure it’s wonderful,” said Wentworth patiently, “but you have to read from the script—from the paper. Now, look—I finish by saying: “And you like it here in England?” and then Hilda—not you, Hans, you come next, when I’ve spoken again. Hilda, you answer, just as it says on the paper. Forget about the microphone, just follow my words on the paper as you’re told there—see your name?”

“But how foolish!” cried Hilda.

“I shall never do this,” muttered Hans. That thing—it frightens me.” He glared at the microphone.

“Oh, yes you will,” said Wentworth reassuringly. “Now try again.” He read casually and fluently, and finished: “And you like it here in England?”

Hedley turned away from them, cutting them from Rollison’s view, and bending low near Allen.

“We must whisper,” he said. “Have you the alterations in the script?”

“Yes, they’re down here,” said Allen.

“Let me have a look at them.” Hedley took the script and began to read, scratching his chin as he did so. Wentworth, the boy and the girl continued to read, and Rollison judged that they were still giving trouble, the girl dropped her voice too much at the end of every sentence, the boy had a tendency to shout.