It was dull for them, too. London is never at its best in early
September, even for the _habitue_. There was nothing to do. Most
of the theatres were shut. The streets were damp and dirty. It was all
very well for the generals, appearing every night in the glare and
glitter of the footlights; but for the rank and file the occupation of
London spelt pure boredom.

London was, in fact, a human powder-magazine. And it was Clarence
Chugwater who with a firm hand applied the match that was to set it in
a blaze.




Chapter 6

THE BOMB-SHELL


Clarence had called at the offices of the _Encore_ on a Friday.
The paper's publishing day is Thursday. The _Encore_ is the Times
of the music-hall world. It casts its curses here, bestows its
benedictions (sparely) there. The _Encore_ criticising the latest
action of the Variety Artists' Federation is the nearest modern
approach to Jove hurling the thunderbolt. Its motto is, "Cry havoc, and
let loose the performing dogs of war."

It so happened that on the Thursday following his momentous visit to
Wellington Street, there was need of someone on the staff of Clarence's