And he’s not the only one who feels that way. The Beatles drew packed crowds in Hamburg, and their popularity only increases once they’re back home. So much so that customers are coming into NEMS, the biggest and best record store in Liverpool, asking for the single of “My Bonnie” that the Beatles recorded with Sheridan.

At the Cavern, DJ and host Bob Wooler introduces the boys by the nicknames he’s given them. “John Lennon, ‘The Singing Rage!’ Paul McCartney, ‘The Rockin’ Riot!’ George Harrison, ‘Sheik of Araby!’ And Pete Best, ‘The Bashful Beat!’”

John Lennon starts singing, standing with his legs spread wide apart—a stance Wooler privately refers to as John’s trademark, that way “the girls up front would be looking up his legs, keeping a watch on the crotch.”

After their set, Paul’s dad, Jim McCartney, who works nearby, stops by to hand over groceries and instructions for preparing dinner to Paul while John tries to cadge a “ciggie” from a girl. Then he notices George talking to “some very posh rich feller” who’s wearing a fancy suit and carrying a gold cigarette case. John heads toward them, but the man has disappeared by the time John gets there.

“Who’s that?” John asks George.

“Mr. Epstein. He’s the store manager at NEMS.”

I thought he looked familiar. John spends a lot of time at NEMS buying records, especially obscure R&B.

Mr. Epstein comes back on several occasions and chats with the band. John is flattered by the attention, but why the interest? The Epsteins own NEMS, and twenty-seven-year-old Brian’s got a big house on Queens Drive, drives a Ford Zodiac, and speaks like a member of the royal family—a skill no doubt acquired through his years spent at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art.

When Brian invites them to come ’round NEMS on November 29, John’s still suspicious. There are a lot of con men around, and he’s not sure if Brian’s one of them.

The boys, dressed in their leathers and cowboy boots, arrive late—and a bit drunk, after having first spent some time at the Grapes pub.

John explains that they signed a six-page contract written in German, without the benefit of a translation, for Bert Kaempfert on June 19, 1961. As Paul will later say, “We signed all sorts of contracts when we were about eighteen, because we had no manager and we didn’t know what we were doing.”

“It seems to me with everything going on, someone ought to be looking after you.” Brian asks how much the band earns.

“75p each per night,” they reply. “That’s above the normal rate at the Cavern.”

Brian looks shocked. He genuinely feels them to be worth far more, later saying, “I hoped that even if I were not to run their affairs completely I could at least secure a decent rate for their performances.”