The question of wages had caused Edward Henry some apprehensions.
He had learnt in a couple of days that a hundred pounds a week was a
trifle on the stage. He had soon heard of performers who worked for
"nominal" salaries of forty and fifty a week. For a manager twenty
pounds a week seemed to be a usual figure. But in the Five Towns three
pounds a week is regarded as very goodish pay for any sub-ordinate,
and Edward Henry could not rid himself all at once of native
standards. He had therefore, with diffidence, offered three pounds a
week to the aristocratic Marrier. And Mr. Marrier had not refused
it, nor ceased to smile. On three pounds a week he haunted the best
restaurants, taxi-cabs, and other resorts, and his garb seemed always
to be smarter than Edward Henry's--especially in such details as
waistcoat slips.
Of course Mr. Marrier had a taxi-cab waiting exactly opposite the
coach from which Edward Henry descended. It was just this kind of
efficient attention that was gradually endearing him to his employer.
"How goes it?" said Edward Henry, curtly, as they drove down to
the Grand Babylon Hotel--now Edward Henry's regular headquarters in
London.
Said Mr. Marrier:
"I suppose you've seen another of 'em's got a knighthood?"
"No," said Edward Henry. "Who?" He knew that by "'em" Mr. Marrier
meant the great race of actor-managers.
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