"She hasn't been spoken to like that for thirty years," said he.
"But don't you agree with me?" asked Edward Henry.
"Yes," said Marrier, "I _agree_ with you--"
"And doesn't your friend Carlo want his precious hexameters to be
heard?"
"We baoth agree with you," said Marrier. "The fact is, we've done all
we could, but it's no use. She's splendid, only--" He paused.
"Only you can't make out ten per cent of what she says," Edward Henry
finished for him. "Well, I've got no use for that in my theatre." He
found a singular pleasure in emphasizing the phrase, "my theatre."
"That's all very well," said Marrier. "But what are you going to _do_
about it? I've tried everything. _You've_ come in and burst up the
entire show, if you'll forgive my saying saoh!"
"Do?" exclaimed Edward Henry. "It's perfectly simple. All you have to
do is to act. God bless my soul, aren't you getting fifteen pounds a
week, and aren't you my acting-manager? Act, then! You've done enough
hinting. You've proved that hints are no good. You'd have known that
from your birth up, Marrier, if you'd been born in the Five Towns.
Act, my boy."
"But haow? If she won't go on, she won't."
"Is her understudy in the theatre?"
"Yes. It's Miss Cunningham, you know."
"What salary does she get?"
"Ten pounds a week."
"What for?"
"Well--partly to understudy, I suppose.
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