eight o'clock
It must have been about a week after this rummy little episode that George Caffyn called me up and asked me if I would care to go and see a run-through of his show . `` Ask Dad , '' it seemed , was to open out of town in Schenectady on the following Monday , and this was to be a sort of preliminary dress-rehearsal . A preliminary dress-rehearsal , old George explained , was the same as a regular dress-rehearsal inasmuch as it was apt to look like nothing on earth and last into the small hours , but more exciting because they would n't be timing the piece and consequently all the blighters who on these occasions let their angry passions rise would have plenty of scope for interruptions , with the result that a pleasant time would be had by all . The thing was billed to start at eight o'clock , so I rolled up at ten-fifteen , so as not to have too long to wait before they began . The dress-parade was still going on . George was on the stage , talking to a cove in shirt-sleeves and an absolutely round chappie with big spectacles and a practically hairless dome . I had seen George with the latter merchant once or twice at the club , and I knew that he was Blumenfield , the manager .