"Georgie"
capital. With twenty pounds behind me, I could cover the first halls and the first fortnight's salaries and railway fares; and a show always pays, if it's decently run.
"Among the revivalists?" I murmured inquiringly.
She shook her head gravely.
"Not in South Wales. I've been here before with the Blue Bohemians. The miners aren't human. They're wild beasts. There was a row once here in Neath at night. Every miner in the town was drunk, and our men had to fight their way home from the show and look after the girls at the same time. When we got to the inn, the landlord thought we were the mob and wouldn't let us in for ages. The tenor had his head cut open. It's not a nice place."
And then at last we heard Georgie's voice in the hall. He came in, but not alone. A small, sandy man followed him up behind. With a manner half-swaggering, half-deprecatory, he acknowledged the introduction.
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