going on to the stage.

The Grand Duke dressed in the large room with the other male turns.
There were no private dressing-rooms at the Magnum. Clarence sat down
on a basket-trunk belonging to the Premier Troupe of Bounding Zouaves
of the Desert, and waited. The four athletic young gentlemen who
composed the troupe were dressing after their turn. They took no notice
of Clarence.

Presently one Zouave spoke.

"Bit off to-night, Bill. Cold house."

"Not 'arf," replied his colleague. "Gave me the shivers."

"Wonder how his nibs'll go."

Evidently he referred to the Grand Duke.

"Oh, _'e's_ all right. They eat his sort of swank. Seems to me the
profession's going to the dogs, what with these bloomin' amytoors an'
all. Got the 'airbrush, 'Arry?"

Harry, a tall, silent Zouave, handed over the hairbrush.

Bill continued.

"I'd like to see him go on of a Monday night at the old Mogul. They'd
soon show him. It gives me the fair 'ump, it does, these toffs coming
in and taking the bread out of our mouths. Why can't he give us chaps a