The manager winked at 'im. "It's the part of a Zulu chief," he ses, in a
whisper.

Rupert started. "But I should 'ave to black my face," he ses.

"A little," ses the manager; "but you'd soon get on to better parts--and
see wot a fine disguise it is."

He stood 'im two more glasses o' sherry wine, and, arter he' ad drunk
'em, Rupert gave way. The manager patted 'im on the back, and said that
if he wasn't earning fifty pounds a week in a year's time he'd eat his
'ead; and the barmaid, wot 'ad come back agin, said it was the best thing
he could do with it, and she wondered he 'adn't thought of it afore.

They went out separate, as the manager said it would be better for them
not to be seen together, and Rupert, keeping about a dozen yards behind,
follered 'im down the Mile End Road. By and by the manager stopped
outside a shop-window wot 'ad been boarded up and stuck all over with
savages dancing and killing white people and hunting elephants, and,
arter turning round and giving Rupert a nod, opened the door with a key
and went inside.

"That's all right," he ses, as Rupert follered 'im in. "This is my wife,
Mrs. Alfredi," he ses, introducing 'im to a fat, red-'aired lady wot was
sitting inside sewing. "She has performed before all the crowned 'eads
of Europe. That di'mond brooch she's wearing was a present from the
Emperor of Germany, but, being a married man, he asked 'er to keep it
quiet."

Rupert shook 'ands with Mrs. Alfredi, and then her 'usband led 'im to a