The proscenium was surmounted by the German and English flags
intertwined, the walls were adorned with oleograph portraits of the
Kaiser, his father and grandfather, Bismarck and Von Moltke, and the
audience consisted largely of lively young German Jews and Jewesses in
evening dress, some Polish Jews, and a sprinkling of other foreigners.
During Aggie's turn Glory was conscious that two strangers out of
another world altogether had entered the club and were standing at the
back.
“Toffs,” said Charlie, looking at them over her shoulder, and then,
answering to himself the meaning of their looks, “No, my luds! 'Tain't
the first we've seen of sech!”
Then Aggie came up with an oily person in a flowered waistcoat and said,
“This is my friend, guv'nor, and she wouldn't mind doing a turn if you
asked her.”
“If de miss vill oblige,” began the oily one, and then the blood rushed
to Glory's face, and before she knew what else had happened, her hat
and ulster were in Aggie's hands and she was walking up the steps to the
stage.
There was some applause when she went on, but she was in a dazed
condition and it all seemed to be taking place a hundred miles away.
She heard her own voice saying, “Ladies and gentlemen, with your kind
permission I will endeavour to give you an imitation----” and something
more. Down to that moment her breath had been coming and going in hot
gasps, and she had felt a dryness in her throat; but every symptom
of nervousness suddenly disappeared, and she threw up her head like a
charger in battle.
Then she sang. It was only a common street song, and everybody had heard
it a thousand times. She sang “And her golden hair was hanging down her
back” after the manner of a line of factory girls going home from work
at night. Arm-in-arm, decked in their Vandyke hats, slashed with red
ribbons and crowned with ostrich feathers, with their free step, their
shrill voices--they were there before everybody's eyes, everybody could
see them, everybody could recognise them, and before the end of the
first verse there were shouts and squeals of laughter.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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