Ch. 2: Slaves of the Lamp

The music-room on the top floor of Number Five was filled with the
"Aladdin" company at rehearsal. Dickson Quartus, commonly known as
Dick Four, was Aladdin, stage-manager, ballet-master, half the
orchestra, and largely librettist, for the "book" had been rewritten
and filled with local allusions. The pantomime was to be given next
week, in the down-stairs study occupied by Aladdin, Abanazar, and the
Emperor of China. The Slave of the Lamp, with the Princess
Badroulbadour and the Widow Twankay, owned Number Five study across
the same landing, so that the company could be easily assembled. The
floor shook to the stamp-and-go of the ballet, while Aladdin, in pink
cotton tights, a blue and tinsel jacket, and a plumed hat, banged
alternately on the piano and his banjo. He was the moving spirit of
the game, as befitted a senior who had passed his Army Preliminary
and hoped to enter Sandhurst next spring.

Aladdin came to his own at last, Abanazar lay poisoned on the floor,
the Widow Twankay danced her dance, and the company decided it would
"come all right on the night."

"What about the last song, though?" said the Emperor, a tallish,
fair-headed boy with a ghost of a mustache, at which he pulled
manfully. "We need a rousing old tune."

"'John Peel'? 'Drink, Puppy, Drink'?" suggested Abanazar, smoothing
his baggy lilac pajamas. "Pussy" Abanazar never looked more than
one-half awake, but he owned a soft, slow smile which well suited the
part of the Wicked Uncle.

"Stale," said Aladdin. "Might as well have 'Grandfather's Clock.'
What's that thing you were humming at prep. last night, Stalky?"

Stalky, The Slave of the Lamp, in black tights and doublet, a black
silk half-mask on his forehead, whistled lazily where he lay on the
top of the piano. It was a catchy music-hall tune.

Dick Four cocked his head critically, and squinted down a large red
nose.

"Once more, and I can pick it up," he said, strumming. "Sing the
words."

"Arrah, Patsy, mind the baby! Arrah, Patsy, mind the child! Wrap him
in an overcoat, he's surely going wild! Arrah, Patsy, mind the baby!
just you mind the child awhile! He'll kick and bite and cry all
night! Arrah, Patsy, mind the child!"

"Rippin'! Oh, rippin'!" said Dick Four. "Only we shan't have any piano
on the night. We must work it with the banjoes--play an' dance at
the same time. You try, Tertius."

The Emperor pushed aside his pea-green sleeves of state, and followed
Dick Four on a heavy nickel plated banjo.

"Yes, but I'm dead all this time. Bung in the middle of the stage,