“You never ought to have married out of the profession, Julie. I’m not saying a word against the late—I can’t remember his name; never could—but you shouldn’t have done it, an artist like you. Shall I ever forget the way you used to knock them with ‘Rumpty-tiddley-umpty-ay’?”
“Ah! how wonderful you were in that act, Joe.” Aunt Julia sighed. “Do you remember the back-fall you used to do down the steps? I always have said that you did the best back-fall in the profession.”
“I couldn’t do it now!”
“Do you remember how we put it across at the Canterbury, Joe? Think of it! The Canterbury’s a moving-picture house now, and the old Mogul runs French revues.”
“I’m glad I’m not there to see them.”
“Joe, tell me, why did you leave England?”
“Well, I—I wanted a change. No I’ll tell you the truth, kid. I wanted you, Julie. You went off and married that—whatever that stage-door johnny’s name was—and it broke me all up.”
Aunt Julia was staring at him. She is what they call a well-preserved woman. It’s easy to see that, twenty-five years ago, she must have been something quite extraordinary to look at. Even now she’s almost beautiful. She has very large brown eyes, a mass of soft grey hair, and the complexion of a girl of seventeen.
“Joe, you aren’t going to tell me you were fond of me yourself!”
“Of course I was fond of you. Why did I let you have all the fat in ‘Fun in a Teashop’? Why did I hang about upstage while you sang ‘Rumpty-tiddley-umpty-ay’? Do you remember my giving you a bag of buns when we were on the road at Bristol?”