The manager coughed behind his ’and.  “And go back to the Army?” he ses.  “Well, I should be sorry to lose you, but I won’t stand in your way.”

Mrs. Alfredi, wot was standing by, stuffed her pocket-’ankercher in ’er mouth, and Rupert began to feel a bit uneasy in his mind.

“If I did,” he ses, “you’d get into trouble for ’elping me to desert.”

“Desert!” ses Mr. Alfredi.  “I don’t know anything about your deserting.”

“Ho!” ses Rupert.  “And wot about my uniform?”

“Uniform?” ses Mr. Alfredi.  “Wot uniform?  I ain’t seen no uniform.  Where is it?”

Rupert didn’t answer ’im, but arter they ’ad gone ’ome he told George that he ’ad ’ad enough of acting and he should go.

“Where to?” ses George.

“I’ll find somewhere,” ses Rupert.  “I sha’n’t starve.”

“You might ketch your death o’ cold, though,” ses George.

Rupert said he didn’t mind, and then he shut ’is eyes and pretended to be asleep.  His idea was to wait till George was asleep and then pinch ’is clothes; consequently ’is feelings when ’e opened one eye and saw George getting into bed with ’is clothes on won’t bear thinking about.  He laid awake for hours, and three times that night George, who was a very heavy sleeper, woke up and found Rupert busy tucking him in.

By the end of the week Rupert was getting desperate.  He hated being black for one thing, and the more he washed the better color he looked.  He didn’t mind the black for out o’ doors, in case the Army was looking for ’im, but ‘aving no clothes he couldn’t get out o’ doors; and when he said he wouldn’t perform unless he got some, Mr. Alfredi dropped ’ints about having ’im took up for a deserter.

“I’ve ’ad my suspicions of it for some days,” he ses, with a wink, “though you did come to me in a nice serge suit and tell me you was an actor.  Now, you be a good boy for another week and I’ll advance you a couple o’ pounds to get some clothes with.”

Rupert asked him to let ’im have it then, but ’e wouldn’t, and for another week he ’ad to pretend ’e was a Zulu of an evening, and try and persuade Kumbo that he was an English gentleman of a daytime.

He got the money at the end of the week and ’ad to sign a paper to give a month’s notice any time he wanted to leave, but he didn’t mind that at all, being determined the fust time he got outside the place to run away and ship as a nigger cook if ’e couldn’t get the black off.

He made a list o’ things out for George to get for ’im, but there seemed to be such a lot for two pounds that Mr. Alfredi shook his ’ead over it; and arter calling ’imself a soft-’arted fool, and saying he’d finish up in the workhouse, he made it three pounds and told George to look sharp.

“He’s a very good marketer,” he ses, arter George ’ad gone; “he don’t mind wot trouble he takes.  He’ll very likely haggle for hours to get sixpence knocked off the trousers or twopence off the shirt.”