"Stuff and nonsense!" ses the big man. "Don't tell me. You've got an
actor's face. I'm a manager myself, and I know. I don't mind telling
you that I refused twenty-three men and forty-eight ladies only
yesterday."

"I wonder you don't drop down dead," ses the barmaid, lifting up 'is
glass to wipe down the counter.

The manager looked at her, and, arter she 'ad gone to talk to a gentleman
in the next bar wot was knocking double knocks on the counter with a pint
pot, he whispered to Rupert that she 'ad been one of them.

"She can't act a bit," he ses. "Now, look 'ere; I'm a business man and
my time is valuable. I don't know nothing, and I don't want to know
nothing; but, if a nice young feller, like yourself, for example, was
tired of the Army and wanted to escape, I've got one part left in my
company that 'ud suit 'im down to the ground."

"Wot about being reckernized?" ses Rupert.

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