“That’s the fust coat,” he ses.  “Now take a stool in front of the fire and let it soak in.”

He gave ’im another coat arf an hour arterwards, while George curled his ’air, and when ’e was dressed in bracelets round ’is ankles and wrists, and a leopard-skin over his shoulder, he was as fine a Zulu as you could wish for to see.  His lips was naturally thick and his nose flat, and even his eyes ’appened to be about the right color.

“He’s a fair perfect treat,” ses Mr. Alfredi.  “Fetch Kumbo in, George.”

The little man went out, and came back agin shoving in a fat, stumpy Zulu woman wot began to grin and chatter like a poll-parrot the moment she saw Rupert.

“It’s all right,” ses Mr. Alfredi; “she’s took a fancy to you.”

“Is—­is she an actress?” ses Rupert.

“One o’ the best,” ses the manager.  “She’ll teach you to dance and shy assegais.  Pore thing! she buried her ’usband the day afore we come here, but you’ll be surprised to see ’ow skittish she can be when she has got over it a bit.”

They sat there while Rupert practised—­till he started shying the assegais, that is—­and then they went out and left ’im with Kumbo.  Considering that she ’ad only just buried her ’usband, Rupert found her quite skittish enough, and he couldn’t ’elp wondering wot she’d be like when she’d got over her grief a bit more.

The manager and George said he ’ad got on wonderfully, and arter talking it over with Mrs. Alfredi they decided to open that evening, and pore Rupert found out that the shop was the theatre, and all the acting he’d got to do was to dance war-dances and sing in Zulu to people wot had paid a penny a ’ead.  He was a bit nervous at fust, for fear anybody should find out that ’e wasn’t a real Zulu, because the manager said they’d tear ’im to pieces if they did, and eat ’im arterwards, but arter a time ’is nervousness wore off and he jumped about like a monkey.

They gave performances every arf hour from ha’-past six to ten, and Rupert felt ready to drop.  His feet was sore with dancing and his throat ached with singing Zulu, but wot upset ’im more than anything was an elderly old party wot would keep jabbing ’im in the ribs with her umbrella to see whether he could laugh.

[Illustration:  An elderly old party wot would keep jabbing ’im in the ribs with her umbrella.]

They ’ad supper arter they ’ad closed, and then Mr. Alfredi and ’is wife went off, and Rupert and George made up beds for themselves in the shop, while Kumbo ’ad a little place to herself at the back.

He did better than ever next night, and they all said he was improving fast; and Mr. Alfredi told ’im in a whisper that he thought he was better at it than Kumbo.  “Not that I should mind ’er knowing much,” he ses, “seeing that she’s took such a fancy to you.”

“Ah, I was going to speak to you about that,” ses Rupert.  “Forwardness is no name for it; if she don’t keep ’erself to ’erself, I shall chuck the whole thing up.”