SCENE XIII.--_"Behind" at the Eldorado._ TIME--_about_ 10 P.M.; _the Stage at the back of the Scene-cloth is in partial darkness; in the centre, a pile of lumber and properties. Bare whitewashed brick walls; at one side, two canvas cabins for the Lady-Artistes to change their costumes; near them a deal table, with a jug and glasses. At one of the wings, behind the proscenium, a shelf and small mirror, at which the Comedians can arrange their make-up, and a frame, in which a placard, with each Artiste's number, is inserted before his or her entrance. A "turn" has just been concluded, and the Stage is clear._ _The Stage-Manager_ (_bustling up to_ Footman, _in crimson plush breeches_). Now then, look alive, there, can't you, they're getting impatient in front. Why don't you change the number? _Footman_ (_with aggrieved dignity_). Because, Sir, Mr. ALF REDBEAK ought to come on, by rights, and, not 'aving chosen to appear yet, I think you'll see yourself, on reflection, as it would be totally---- _Stage-M._ Well, don't argue about it; here's Miss LUSHBOY ready to go on, put _her_ number up! _Footm._ I always understood it was the regulation 'ere that no number was to be put up until the band-parts were passed into the orchestra; which Miss LUSHBOY'S music most certainly has not been handed in yet, and, that bein' so---- _Stage-M._ You can spare a good yard off that tongue of yours, you can; put Miss LUSHBOY'S number up, and----Ah, here comes Mr. REDBEAK; never mind. _Enter_ Mr. REDBEAK, _breathless_. _Mr. Redbeak._ Phew! I've had a job to get 'ere in time, I can tell you. (_The Orchestra strikes up._) 'Ullo, _that_ ain't mine. (_To_ Footman.) What are you about? Put up my number--sharp, now! _Miss Lushboy_ (_to_ Footman). Here, let me go on; I've been messing about long enough. What are you taking my number out for? _Footm._ Now, look 'ere, Miss, I can't please everybody! (_Indicating_ Stage-Manager.) You are as well aware as what I am that it's for _him_ to give the word 'ere, not me. I'm on'y actin' under what---- _Mr. Redb._ It's crule, you know, that's what it is--crule. I've got to go right across London for my next turn, and---- _The Stage-M._ (_returning_). What the blazes are we waiting for _now_? ALF, dear boy, you should come up to time. (_To_ Footman.) Why don't you do as you're told? You're getting too big for your boots, it strikes me! (_To_ Miss LUSHBOY.) There, go on, my dear, go on. [Miss L. _bounds on to the stage, and begins her song_. _Mr. Redb._ (_to_ Footman). I've got a bone to pick with you, old feller. Don't you go wool-gatherin' to-night, as you did last. I've told you till I'm tired that when you see me chuck this property piecrust into the wings you've got to throw down these fire-irons--it's a safe laugh every time it comes off, and you know 'ow important it is, and yet you forget it nine times out of ten! What's the good of me thinkin' out my business when you go and crab it for me?