The Humorist
"In any other, business," said I gravely, "it is considered criminal to start without capital. In yours it seems—"
"But don't you understand," Lappin said persuasively, "if I'd had a bit of luck, and if the crowd had turned up, I should have taken good money here, and paid off at the end of the week right enough. I've got no luck just now. I thought perhaps it was my name, so I changed it. But this one's no better. I expect you know me pretty well by my old one," he finished modestly.
"What was it?" Drusilla asked.
"Hall Smilo." He spoke with simple pride. In the window the dark-haired comedienne laughed softly to herself.
"I ran the halls under that name," he said, with a large wave of his hand. "I was touring in the Midlands before that with my wife—'Madame Merillian's Choir,' we called it. It was in Lent, you see, and it's always as well to run your show as a Choir in Lent. Gives a pious tone to your bills."
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