scenic artists wandered in with model scenes under their arms. A great
cloud of chorus-ladies settled upon the theater like flies. Even
Bromham Rhodes and R. P. de Parys--those human pythons--showed signs of
activity. They cornered Roland one day near Swan and Edgar's, steered
him into the Piccadilly Grill-room and, over a hearty lunch, read him
extracts from a brown-paper-covered manuscript which, they informed
him, was the first act.

It looked a battered sort of manuscript and, indeed, it had every right
to be. Under various titles and at various times, Bromham Rhodes' and
R. P. de Parys' first act had been refused by practically every
responsible manager in London. As "Oh! What a Life!" it had failed to
satisfy the directors of the Empire. Re-christened "Wow-Wow!" it had
been rejected by the Alhambra. The Hippodrome had refused to consider
it, even under the name of "Hullo, Cellar-Flap!" It was now called,
"Pass Along, Please!" and, according to its authors, was a real revue.

Roland was to learn, as the days went on, that in the world in which he
was moving everything was real revue that was not a stunt or a corking
effect. He floundered in a sea of real revue, stunts, and corking
effects. As far as he could gather, the main difference between these
things was that real revue was something which had been stolen from
some previous English production, whereas a stunt or a corking effect
was something which had been looted from New York. A judicious blend of
these, he was given to understand, constituted the sort of thing the
public wanted.

Rehearsals began before, in Roland's opinion, his little army was
properly supplied with ammunition. True, they had the first act, but
even the authors agreed that it wanted bringing up-to-date in parts.