Festivities are held in honour of Nicholas, whosuddenly withdraws himself from the Society of MrVincent Crummles and his Theatrical Companions.
Mr Vincent Crummles was no sooner acquainted with thepublic announcement which Nicholas had maderelative to the probability of his shortly ceasing to be amember of the company, than he evinced many tokens of grief andconsternation; and, in the extremity of his despair, even held outcertain vague promises of a speedy improvement not only in theamount of his regular salary, but also in the contingentemoluments appertaining to his authorship. Finding Nicholas bentupon quitting the society—for he had now determined that, even ifno further tidings came from Newman, he would, at all hazards,ease his mind by repairing to London and ascertaining the exactposition of his sister—Mr Crummles was fain to content himself bycalculating the chances of his coming back again, and takingprompt and energetic measures to make the most of him before hewent away.
‘Let me see,’ said Mr Crummles, taking off his outlaw’s wig, thebetter to arrive at a cool-headed view of the whole case. ‘Let mesee. This is Wednesday night. We’ll have posters out the first thingin the morning, announcing positively your last appearance fortomorrow.’
‘But perhaps it may not be my last appearance, you know,’ saidNicholas. ‘Unless I am summoned away, I should be sorry to inconvenience you by leaving before the end of the week.’
‘So much the better,’ returned Mr Crummles. ‘We can havepositively your last appearance, on Thursday—re-engagement forone night more, on Friday—and, yielding to the wishes ofnumerous influential patrons, who were disappointed in obtainingseats, on Saturday. That ought to bring three very decent houses.’
‘Then I am to make three last appearances, am I?’ inquiredNicholas, smiling.
‘Yes,’ rejoined the manager, scratching his head with an air ofsome vexation; ‘three is not enough, and it’s very bungling andirregular not to have more, but if we can’t help it we can’t, sothere’s no use in talking. A novelty would be very desirable. Youcouldn’t sing a comic song on the pony’s back, could you?’
‘No,’ replied Nicholas, ‘I couldn’t indeed.’
‘It has drawn money before now,’ said Mr Crummles, with alook of disappointment. ‘What do you think of a brilliant display offireworks?’
‘That it would be rather expensive,’ replied Nicholas, drily.
‘Eighteen-pence would do it,’ said Mr Crummles. ‘You on thetop of a pair of steps with the phenomenon in an attitude;“Farewell!” on a transparency behind; and nine people at thewings with a squib in each hand—all the dozen and a half going offat once—it would be very grand—awful from the front, quiteawful.’
As Nicholas appeared by no means impressed with thesolemnity of the proposed effect, but, on the contrary, received theproposition in a most irreverent manner, and laughed at it veryheartily, Mr Crummles abandoned the project in its birth, andgloomily observed that they must make up the best bill they could with combats and hornpipes, and so stick to the legitimate drama.
For the purpose of carrying this object into instant execution,the manager at once repaired to a small dressing-room, adjacent,where Mrs Crummles was then occupied in exchanging thehabiliments of a melodramatic empress for the ordinary attire ofmatrons in the nineteenth century. And with the assistance of thislady, and the accomplished Mrs Grudden (who had quite a geniusfor making out bills, being a great hand at throwing in the notes ofadmiration, and knowing from long experience exactly where thelargest capitals ought to go), he seriously applied himself to thecomposition of the poster.
‘Heigho!’ sighed Nicholas, as he threw himself back in theprompter’s chair, after telegraphing the needful directions toSmike, who had been playing a meagre tailor in the interlude,with one skirt to his coat, and a little pocket-handkerchief with alarge hole in it, and a woollen nightcap, and a red nose, and otherdistinctive marks peculiar to tailors on the stage. ‘Heigho! I wishall this were over.’
‘Over, Mr Johnson!’ repeated a female voice behind him, in akind of plaintive surprise.
‘It was an ungallant speech, certainly,’ said Nicholas, looking upto see who the speaker was, and recognising Miss Snevellicci. ‘Iwould not have made it if I had known you had been withinhearing.’
‘What a dear that Mr Digby is!’ said Miss Snevellicci, as thetailor went off on the opposite side, at the end of the piece, withgreat applause. (Smike’s theatrical name was Digby.)‘I’ll tell him presently, for his gratification, that you said so,’
returned Nicholas.
‘Oh you naughty thing!’ rejoined Miss Snevellicci. ‘I don’t knowthough, that I should much mind his knowing my opinion of him;with some other people, indeed, it might be—’ Here MissSnevellicci stopped, as though waiting to be questioned, but noquestioning came, for Nicholas was thinking about more seriousmatters.
‘How kind it is of you,’ resumed Miss Snevellicci, after a shortsilence, ‘to sit waiting here for him night after night, night afternight, no matter how tired you are; and taking so much pains withhim, and doing it all with as much delight and readiness as if youwere coining gold by it!’
‘He well deserves all the kindness I can show him, and a greatdeal more,’ said Nicholas. ‘He is the most grateful, single-hearted,affectionate creature that ever breathed.’
‘So odd, too,’ remarked Miss Snevellicci, ‘isn’t he?’
‘God help him, and those who have made him so; he is indeed,’
rejoined Nicholas, shaking his head.
‘He is such a devilish close chap,’ said Mr Folair, who had comeup a little before, and now joined in the conversation. ‘Nobody canever get anything out of him.’
‘What should they get out of him?’ asked Nicholas, turninground with some abruptness.
‘Zooks! what a fire-eater you are, Johnson!’ returned Mr Folair,pulling up the heel of his dancing shoe. ‘I’m only talking of thenatural curiosity of the people here, to know what he has beenabout all his life.’
‘Poor fellow! it is pretty plain, I should think, that he has not theintellect to have been about anything of much importance to themor anybody else,’ said Nicholas.
‘Ay,’ rejoined the actor, contemplating the effect of his face in alamp reflector, ‘but that involves the whole question, you know.’
‘What question?’ asked Nicholas.
‘Why, the who he is and what he is, and how you two, who areso different, came to be such close companions,’ replied Mr Folair,delighted with the opportunity of saying something disagreeable.
‘That’s in everybody’s mouth.’
‘The “everybody” of the theatre, I suppose?’ said Nicholas,contemptuously.
‘In it and out of it too,’ replied the actor. ‘Why, you know,Lenville says—’
‘I thought I had silenced him effectually,’ interrupted Nicholas,reddening.
‘Perhaps you have,’ rejoined the immovable Mr Folair; ‘if youhave, he said this before he was silenced: Lenville says that you’rea regular stick of an actor, and that it’s only the mystery about youthat has caused you to go down with the people here, and thatCrummles keeps it up for his own sake; though Lenville says hedon’t believe there’s anything at all in it, except your having gotinto a scrape and run away from somewhere, for doing somethingor other.’
‘Oh!’ said Nicholas, forcing a smile.
‘That’s a part of what he says,’ added Mr Folair. ‘I mention it asthe friend of both parties, and in strict confidence. I don’t agreewith him, you know. He says he takes Digby to be more knavethan fool; and old Fluggers, who does the heavy business youknow, he says that when he delivered messages at Covent Gardenthe season before last, there used to be a pickpocket hoveringabout the coach-stand who had exactly the face of Digby; though, as he very properly says, Digby may not be the same, but only hisbrother, or some near relation.’
‘Oh!’ cried Nicholas again.
‘Yes,’ said Mr Folair, with undisturbed calmness, ‘that’s whatthey say. I thought I’d tell you, because really you ought to know.
Oh! here’s this blessed phenomenon at last. Ugh, you littleimposition, I should like to—quite ready, my darling,—humbug—Ring up, Mrs G., and let the favourite wake ’em.’
Uttering in a loud voice such of the latter allusions as werecomplimentary to the unconscious phenomenon, and giving therest in a confidential ‘aside’ to Nicholas, Mr Folair followed theascent of the curtain with his eyes, regarded with a sneer thereception of Miss Crummles as the Maiden, and, falling back astep or two to advance with the better effect, uttered a preliminaryhowl, and ‘went on’ chattering his teeth and brandishing his tintomahawk as the Indian Savage.
‘So these are some of the stories they invent about us, andbandy from mouth to mouth!’ thought Nicholas. ‘If a man wouldcommit an inexpiable offence against any society, large or small,let him be successful. They will forgive him any crime but that.’
‘You surely don’t mind what that malicious creature says, MrJohnson?’ observed Miss Snevellicci in her most winning tones.
‘Not I,’ replied Nicholas. ‘If I were going to remain here, I mightthink it worth my while to embroil myself. As it is, let them talk tillthey are hoarse. But here,’ added Nicholas, as Smike approached,‘here comes the subject of a portion of their good-nature, so let heand I say good night together.’
‘No, I will not let either of you say anything of the kind,’
returned Miss Snevellicci. ‘You must come home and see mama, who only came to Portsmouth today, and is dying to behold you.
Led, my dear, persuade Mr Johnson.’
‘Oh, I’m sure,’ returned Miss Ledrook, with considerablevivacity, ‘if you can’t persuade him—’ Miss Ledrook said no more,but intimated, by a dexterous playfulness, that if Miss Snevelliccicouldn’t persuade him, nobody could.
‘Mr and Mrs Lillyvick have taken lodgings in our house, andshare our sitting-room for the present,’ said Miss Snevellicci.
‘Won’t that induce you?’
‘Surely,’ returned Nicholas, ‘I can require no possibleinducement beyond your invitation.’
‘Oh no! I dare say,’ rejoined Miss Snevellicci. And Miss Ledrooksaid, ‘Upon my word!’ Upon which Miss Snevellicci said that MissLedrook was a giddy thing; and Miss Ledrook said that MissSnevellicci needn’t colour up quite so much; and Miss Snevelliccibeat Miss Ledrook, and Miss Ledrook beat Miss Snevellicci.
‘Come,’ said Miss Ledrook, ‘it’s high time we were there, or weshall have poor Mrs Snevellicci thinking that you have run awaywith her daughter, Mr Johnson; and then we should have a prettyto-do.’
‘My dear Led,’ remonstrated Miss Snevellicci, ‘how you do talk!’
Miss Ledrook made no answer, but taking Smike’s arm in hers,left her friend and Nicholas to follow at their pleasure; which itpleased them, or rather pleased Nicholas, who had no great fancyfor a tête-à-tête under the circumstances, to do at once.
There were not wanting matters of conversation when theyreached the street, for it turned out that Miss Snevellicci had asmall basket to carry home, and Miss Ledrook a small bandbox,both containing such minor articles of theatrical costume as the lady performers usually carried to and fro every evening. Nicholaswould insist upon carrying the basket, and Miss Snevellicci wouldinsist upon carrying it herself, which gave rise to a struggle, inwhich Nicholas captured the basket and the bandbox likewise.
Then Nicholas said, that he wondered what could possibly beinside the basket, and attempted to peep in, whereat MissSnevellicci screamed, and declared that if she thought he hadseen, she was sure she should faint away. This declaration wasfollowed by a similar attempt on the bandbox, and similardemonstrations on the part of Miss Ledrook, and then both ladiesvowed that they wouldn’t move a step further until Nicholas hadpromised that he wouldn’t offer to peep again. At last Nicholaspledged himself to betray no further curiosity, and they walked on:
both ladies giggling very much, and declaring that they never hadseen such a wicked creature in all their born days—never.
Lightening the way with such pleasantry as this, they arrived atthe tailor’s house in no time; and here they made quite a littleparty, there being present besides Mr Lillyvick and Mrs Lillyvick,not only Miss Snevellicci’s mama, but her papa also. And anuncommonly fine man Miss Snevellicci’s papa was, with a hooknose, and a white forehead, and curly black hair, and high cheekbones, and altogether quite a handsome face, only a little pimplyas though with drinking. He had a very broad chest had MissSnevellicci’s papa, and he wore a threadbare blue dress-coatbuttoned with gilt buttons tight across it; and he no sooner sawNicholas come into the room, than he whipped the two forefingersof his right hand in between the two centre buttons, and stickinghis other arm gracefully a-kimbo seemed to say, ‘Now, here I am,my buck, and what have you got to say to me?’
Such was, and in such an attitude sat Miss Snevellicci’s papa,who had been in the profession ever since he had first played theten-year-old imps in the Christmas pantomimes; who could sing alittle, dance a little, fence a little, act a little, and do everything alittle, but not much; who had been sometimes in the ballet, andsometimes in the chorus, at every theatre in London; who wasalways selected in virtue of his figure to play the military visitorsand the speechless noblemen; who always wore a smart dress, andcame on arm-in-arm with a smart lady in short petticoats,—andalways did it too with such an air that people in the pit had beenseveral times known to cry out ‘Bravo!’ under the impression thathe was somebody. Such was Miss Snevellicci’s papa, upon whomsome envious persons cast the imputation that he occasionallybeat Miss Snevellicci’s mama, who was still a dancer, with a neatlittle figure and some remains of good looks; and who now sat, asshe danced,—being rather too old for the full glare of the footlights,—in the background.
To these good people Nicholas was presented with muchformality. The introduction being completed, Miss Snevellicci’spapa (who was scented with rum-and-water) said that he wasdelighted to make the acquaintance of a gentleman so highlytalented; and furthermore remarked, that there hadn’t been sucha hit made—no, not since the first appearance of his friend MrGlavormelly, at the Coburg.
‘You have seen him, sir?’ said Miss Snevellicci’s papa.
‘No, really I never did,’ replied Nicholas.
‘You never saw my friend Glavormelly, sir!’ said MissSnevellicci’s papa. ‘Then you have never seen acting yet. If he hadlived—’
‘Oh, he is dead, is he?’ interrupted Nicholas.
‘He is,’ said Mr Snevellicci, ‘but he isn’t in Westminster Abbey,more’s the shame. He was a—. Well, no matter. He is gone to thatbourne from whence no traveller returns. I hope he is appreciatedthere.’
So saying Miss Snevellicci’s papa rubbed the tip of his nosewith a very yellow silk handkerchief, and gave the company tounderstand that these recollections overcame him.
‘Well, Mr Lillyvick,’ said Nicholas, ‘and how are you?’
‘Quite well, sir,’ replied the collector. ‘There is nothing like themarried state, sir, depend upon it.’
‘Indeed!’ said Nicholas, laughing.
‘Ah! nothing like it, sir,’ replied Mr Lillyvick solemnly. ‘How doyou think,’ whispered the collector, drawing him aside, ‘how doyou think she looks tonight?’
‘As handsome as ever,’ replied Nicholas, glancing at the lateMiss Petowker.
‘Why, there’s air about her, sir,’ whispered the collector, ‘that Inever saw in anybody. Look at her, now she moves to put thekettle on. There! Isn’t it fascination, sir?’
‘You’re a lucky man,’ said Nicholas.
‘Ha, ha, ha!’ rejoined the collector. ‘No. Do you think I amthough, eh? Perhaps I may be, perhaps I may be. I say, I couldn’thave done much better if I had been a young man, could I? Youcouldn’t have done much better yourself, could you—eh—couldyou?’ With such inquires, and many more such, Mr Lillyvickjerked his elbow into Nicholas’s side, and chuckled till his facebecame quite purple in the attempt to keep down his satisfaction.
By this time the cloth had been laid under the joint superintendence of all the ladies, upon two tables put together,one being high and narrow, and the other low and broad. Therewere oysters at the top, sausages at the bottom, a pair of snuffersin the centre, and baked potatoes wherever it was most convenientto put them. Two additional chairs were brought in from thebedroom: Miss Snevellicci sat at the head of the table, and MrLillyvick at the foot; and Nicholas had not only the honour ofsitting next Miss Snevellicci, but of having Miss Snevellicci’smama on his right hand, and Miss Snevellicci’s papa over the way.
In short, he was the hero of the feast; and when the table wascleared and something warm introduced, Miss Snevellicci’s papagot up and proposed his health in a speech containing suchaffecting allusions to his coming departure, that Miss Snevellicciwept, and was compelled to retire into the bedroom.
‘Hush! Don’t take any notice of it,’ said Miss Ledrook, peepingin from the bedroom. ‘Say, when she comes back, that she exertsherself too much.’
Miss Ledrook eked out this speech with so many mysteriousnods and frowns before she shut the door again, that a profoundsilence came upon all the company, during which MissSnevellicci’s papa looked very big indeed—several sizes largerthan life—at everybody in turn, but particularly at Nicholas, andkept on perpetually emptying his tumbler and filling it again, untilthe ladies returned in a cluster, with Miss Snevellicci among them.
‘You needn’t alarm yourself a bit, Mr Snevellicci,’ said MrsLillyvick. ‘She is only a little weak and nervous; she has been soever since the morning.’
‘Oh,’ said Mr Snevellicci, ‘that’s all, is it?’
‘Oh yes, that’s all. Don’t make a fuss about it,’ cried all the ladies together.
Now this was not exactly the kind of reply suited to MrSnevellicci’s importance as a man and a father, so he picked outthe unfortunate Mrs Snevellicci, and asked her what the devil shemeant by talking to him in that way.
‘Dear me, my dear!’ said Mrs Snevellicci.
‘Don’t call me your dear, ma’am,’ said Mr Snevellicci, ‘if youplease.’
‘Pray, pa, don’t,’ interposed Miss Snevellicci.
‘Don’t what, my child?’
‘Talk in that way.’
‘Why not?’ said Mr Snevellicci. ‘I hope you don’t supposethere’s anybody here who is to prevent my talking as I like?’
‘Nobody wants to, pa,’ rejoined his daughter.
‘Nobody would if they did want to,’ said Mr Snevellicci. ‘I amnot ashamed of myself, Snevellicci is my name; I’m to be found inBroad Court, Bow Street, when I’m in town. If I’m not at home, letany man ask for me at the stage-door. Damme, they know me atthe stage-door I suppose. Most men have seen my portrait at thecigar shop round the corner. I’ve been mentioned in thenewspapers before now, haven’t I? Talk! I’ll tell you what; if Ifound out that any man had been tampering with the affections ofmy daughter, I wouldn’t talk. I’d astonish him without talking;that’s my way.’
So saying, Mr Snevellicci struck the palm of his left hand threesmart blows with his clenched fist; pulled a phantom nose with hisright thumb and forefinger, and swallowed another glassful at adraught. ‘That’s my way,’ repeated Mr Snevellicci.
Most public characters have their failings; and the truth is that Mr Snevellicci was a little addicted to drinking; or, if the wholetruth must be told, that he was scarcely ever sober. He knew in hiscups three distinct stages of intoxication,—the dignified—thequarrelsome—the amorous. When professionally engaged henever got beyond the dignified; in private circles he went throughall three, passing from one to another with a rapidity of transitionoften rather perplexing to those who had not the honour of hisacquaintance.
Thus Mr Snevellicci had no sooner swallowed another glassfulthan he smiled upon all present in happy forgetfulness of havingexhibited symptoms of pugnacity, and proposed ‘The ladies! Blesstheir hearts!’ in a most vivacious manner.
‘I love ’em,’ said Mr Snevellicci, looking round the table, ‘I love’em, every one.’
‘Not every one,’ reasoned Mr Lillyvick, mildly.
‘Yes, every one,’ repeated Mr Snevellicci.
‘That would include the married ladies, you know,’ said MrLillyvick.
‘I love them too, sir,’ said Mr Snevellicci.
The collector looked into the surrounding faces with an aspectof grave astonishment, seeming to say, ‘This is a nice man!’ andappeared a little surprised that Mrs Lillyvick’s manner yielded noevidences of horror and indignation.
‘One good turn deserves another,’ said Mr Snevellicci. ‘I lovethem and they love me.’ And as if this avowal were not made insufficient disregard and defiance of all moral obligations, what didMr Snevellicci do? He winked—winked openly and undisguisedly;winked with his right eye—upon Henrietta Lillyvick!
The collector fell back in his chair in the intensity of his astonishment. If anybody had winked at her as HenriettaPetowker, it would have been indecorous in the last degree; but asMrs Lillyvick! While he thought of it in a cold perspiration, andwondered whether it was possible that he could be dreaming, MrSnevellicci repeated the wink, and drinking to Mrs Lillyvick indumb show, actually blew her a kiss! Mr Lillyvick left his chair,walked straight up to the other end of the table, and fell uponhim—literally fell upon him—instantaneously. Mr Lillyvick was nolight weight, and consequently when he fell upon Mr Snevellicci,Mr Snevellicci fell under the table. Mr Lillyvick followed him, andthe ladies screamed.
‘What is the matter with the men! Are they mad?’ criedNicholas, diving under the table, dragging up the collector bymain force, and thrusting him, all doubled up, into a chair, as if hehad been a stuffed figure. ‘What do you mean to do? What do youwant to do? What is the matter with you?’
While Nicholas raised up the collector, Smike had performedthe same office for Mr Snevellicci, who now regarded his lateadversary in tipsy amazement.
‘Look here, sir,’ replied Mr Lillyvick, pointing to his astonishedwife, ‘here is purity and elegance combined, whose feelings havebeen outraged—violated, sir!’
‘Lor, what nonsense he talks!’ exclaimed Mrs Lillyvick inanswer to the inquiring look of Nicholas. ‘Nobody has saidanything to me.’
‘Said, Henrietta!’ cried the collector. ‘Didn’t I see him—’ MrLillyvick couldn’t bring himself to utter the word, but hecounterfeited the motion of the eye.
‘Well!’ cried Mrs Lillyvick. ‘Do you suppose nobody is ever to look at me? A pretty thing to be married indeed, if that was law!’
‘You didn’t mind it?’ cried the collector.
‘Mind it!’ repeated Mrs Lillyvick contemptuously. ‘You ought togo down on your knees and beg everybody’s pardon, that youought.’
‘Pardon, my dear?’ said the dismayed collector.
‘Yes, and mine first,’ replied Mrs Lillyvick. ‘Do you suppose Iain’t the best judge of what’s proper and what’s improper?’
‘To be sure,’ cried all the ladies. ‘Do you suppose WE shouldn’tbe the first to speak, if there was anything that ought to be takennotice of?’
‘Do you suppose they don’t know, sir?’ said Miss Snevellicci’spapa, pulling up his collar, and muttering something about apunching of heads, and being only withheld by considerations ofage. With which Miss Snevellicci’s papa looked steadily andsternly at Mr Lillyvick for some seconds, and then risingdeliberately from his chair, kissed the ladies all round, beginningwith Mrs Lillyvick.
The unhappy collector looked piteously at his wife, as if to seewhether there was any one trait of Miss Petowker left in MrsLillyvick, and finding too surely that there was not, begged pardonof all the company with great humility, and sat down such a crestfallen, dispirited, disenchanted man, that despite all his selfishnessand dotage, he was quite an object of compassion.
Miss Snevellicci’s papa being greatly exalted by this triumph,and incontestable proof of his popularity with the fair sex, quicklygrew convivial, not to say uproarious; volunteering more than onesong of no inconsiderable length, and regaling the social circlebetween-whiles with recollections of divers splendid women who had been supposed to entertain a passion for himself, several ofwhom he toasted by name, taking occasion to remark at the sametime that if he had been a little more alive to his own interest, hemight have been rolling at that moment in his chariot-and-four.
These reminiscences appeared to awaken no very torturing pangsin the breast of Mrs Snevellicci, who was sufficiently occupied indescanting to Nicholas upon the manifold accomplishments andmerits of her daughter. Nor was the young lady herself at allbehind-hand in displaying her choicest allurements; but these,heightened as they were by the artifices of Miss Ledrook, had noeffect whatever in increasing the attentions of Nicholas, who, withthe precedent of Miss Squeers still fresh in his memory, steadilyresisted every fascination, and placed so strict a guard upon hisbehaviour that when he had taken his leave the ladies wereunanimous in pronouncing him quite a monster of insensibility.
Next day the posters appeared in due course, and the publicwere informed, in all the colours of the rainbow, and in lettersafflicted with every possible variation of spinal deformity, how thatMr Johnson would have the honour of making his last appearancethat evening, and how that an early application for places wasrequested, in consequence of the extraordinary overflow attendanton his performances,—it being a remarkable fact in theatricalhistory, but one long since established beyond dispute, that it is ahopeless endeavour to attract people to a theatre unless they canbe first brought to believe that they will never get into it.
Nicholas was somewhat at a loss, on entering the theatre atnight, to account for the unusual perturbation and excitementvisible in the countenances of all the company, but he was not longin doubt as to the cause, for before he could make any inquiry respecting it Mr Crummles approached, and in an agitated tone ofvoice, informed him that there was a London manager in theboxes.
‘It’s the phenomenon, depend upon it, sir,’ said Crummles,dragging Nicholas to the little hole in the curtain that he mightlook through at the London manager. ‘I have not the smallestdoubt it’s the fame of the phenomenon—that’s the man; him in thegreat-coat and no shirt-collar. She shall have ten pound a week,Johnson; she shall not appear on the London boards for a farthingless. They shan’t engage her either, unless they engage MrsCrummles too—twenty pound a week for the pair; or I’ll tell youwhat, I’ll throw in myself and the two boys, and they shall have thefamily for thirty. I can’t say fairer than that. They must take us all,if none of us will go without the others. That’s the way some of theLondon people do, and it always answers. Thirty pound a week—it’s too cheap, Johnson. It’s dirt cheap.’
Nicholas replied, that it certainly was; and Mr VincentCrummles taking several huge pinches of snuff to compose hisfeelings, hurried away to tell Mrs Crummles that he had quitesettled the only terms that could be accepted, and had resolvednot to abate one single farthing.
When everybody was dressed and the curtain went up, theexcitement occasioned by the presence of the London managerincreased a thousand-fold. Everybody happened to know that theLondon manager had come down specially to witness his or herown performance, and all were in a flutter of anxiety andexpectation. Some of those who were not on in the first scene,hurried to the wings, and there stretched their necks to have apeep at him; others stole up into the two little private boxes over the stage-doors, and from that position reconnoitred the Londonmanager. Once the London manager was seen to smile—he smiledat the comic countryman’s pretending to catch a blue-bottle, whileMrs Crummles was making her greatest effect. ‘Very good, my finefellow,’ said Mr Crummles, shaking his fist at the comiccountryman when he came off, ‘you leave this company nextSaturday night.’
In the same way, everybody who was on the stage beheld noaudience but one individual; everybody played to the Londonmanager. When Mr Lenville in a sudden burst of passion calledthe emperor a miscreant, and then biting his glove, said, ‘But Imust dissemble,’ instead of looking gloomily at the boards and sowaiting for his cue, as is proper in such cases, he kept his eye fixedupon the London manager. When Miss Bravassa sang her song ather lover, who according to custom stood ready to shake handswith her between the verses, they looked, not at each other, but atthe London manager. Mr Crummles died point blank at him; andwhen the two guards came in to take the body off after a very harddeath, it was seen to open its eyes and glance at the Londonmanager. At length the London manager was discovered to beasleep, and shortly after that he woke up and went away,whereupon all the company fell foul of the unhappy comiccountryman, declaring that his buffoonery was the sole cause; andMr Crummles said, that he had put up with it a long time, but thathe really couldn’t stand it any longer, and therefore would feelobliged by his looking out for another engagement.
All this was the occasion of much amusement to Nicholas,whose only feeling upon the subject was one of sincere satisfactionthat the great man went away before he appeared. He went through his part in the two last pieces as briskly as he could, andhaving been received with unbounded favour and unprecedentedapplause—so said the bills for next day, which had been printedan hour or two before—he took Smike’s arm and walked home tobed.
With the post next morning came a letter from Newman Noggs,very inky, very short, very dirty, very small, and very mysterious,urging Nicholas to return to London instantly; not to lose aninstant; to be there that night if possible.
‘I will,’ said Nicholas. ‘Heaven knows I have remained here forthe best, and sorely against my own will; but even now I may havedallied too long. What can have happened? Smike, my good fellow,here—take my purse. Put our things together, and pay what littledebts we owe—quick, and we shall be in time for the morningcoach. I will only tell them that we are going, and will return toyou immediately.’
So saying, he took his hat, and hurrying away to the lodgings ofMr Crummles, applied his hand to the knocker with such heartygood-will, that he awakened that gentleman, who was still in bed,and caused Mr Bulph the pilot to take his morning’s pipe verynearly out of his mouth in the extremity of his surprise.
The door being opened, Nicholas ran upstairs without anyceremony, and bursting into the darkened sitting-room on theone-pair front, found that the two Master Crummleses had sprungout of the sofa-bedstead and were putting on their clothes withgreat rapidity, under the impression that it was the middle of thenight, and the next house was on fire.
Before he could undeceive them, Mr Crummles came down in aflannel gown and nightcap; and to him Nicholas briefly explained that circumstances had occurred which rendered it necessary forhim to repair to London immediately.
‘So goodbye,’ said Nicholas; ‘goodbye, goodbye.’
He was half-way downstairs before Mr Crummles hadsufficiently recovered his surprise to gasp out something about theposters.
‘I can’t help it,’ replied Nicholas. ‘Set whatever I may haveearned this week against them, or if that will not repay you, say atonce what will. Quick, quick.’
‘We’ll cry quits about that,’ returned Crummles. ‘But can’t wehave one last night more?’
‘Not an hour—not a minute,’ replied Nicholas, impatiently.
‘Won’t you stop to say something to Mrs Crummles?’ asked themanager, following him down to the door.
‘I couldn’t stop if it were to prolong my life a score of years,’
rejoined Nicholas. ‘Here, take my hand, and with it my heartythanks.—Oh! that I should have been fooling here!’
Accompanying these words with an impatient stamp upon theground, he tore himself from the manager’s detaining grasp, anddarting rapidly down the street was out of sight in an instant.
‘Dear me, dear me,’ said Mr Crummles, looking wistfullytowards the point at which he had just disappeared; ‘if he onlyacted like that, what a deal of money he’d draw! He should havekept upon this circuit; he’d have been very useful to me. But hedon’t know what’s good for him. He is an impetuous youth. Youngmen are rash, very rash.’
Mr Crummles being in a moralising mood, might possibly havemoralised for some minutes longer if he had not mechanically puthis hand towards his waistcoat pocket, where he was accustomed to keep his snuff. The absence of any pocket at all in the usualdirection, suddenly recalled to his recollection the fact that he hadno waistcoat on; and this leading him to a contemplation of theextreme scantiness of his attire, he shut the door abruptly, andretired upstairs with great precipitation.
Smike had made good speed while Nicholas was absent, andwith his help everything was soon ready for their departure. Theyscarcely stopped to take a morsel of breakfast, and in less than halfan hour arrived at the coach-office: quite out of breath with thehaste they had made to reach it in time. There were yet a fewminutes to spare, so, having secured the places, Nicholas hurriedinto a slopseller’s hard by, and bought Smike a great-coat. Itwould have been rather large for a substantial yeoman, but theshopman averring (and with considerable truth) that it was a mostuncommon fit, Nicholas would have purchased it in his impatienceif it had been twice the size.
As they hurried up to the coach, which was now in the openstreet and all ready for starting, Nicholas was not a littleastonished to find himself suddenly clutched in a close and violentembrace, which nearly took him off his legs; nor was hisamazement at all lessened by hearing the voice of Mr Crummlesexclaim, ‘It is he—my friend, my friend!’
‘Bless my heart,’ cried Nicholas, struggling in the manager’sarms, ‘what are you about?’
The manager made no reply, but strained him to his breastagain, exclaiming as he did so, ‘Farewell, my noble, my lionhearted boy!’
In fact, Mr Crummles, who could never lose any opportunity forprofessional display, had turned out for the express purpose of taking a public farewell of Nicholas; and to render it the moreimposing, he was now, to that young gentleman’s most profoundannoyance, inflicting upon him a rapid succession of stageembraces, which, as everybody knows, are performed by theembracer’s laying his or her chin on the shoulder of the object ofaffection, and looking over it. This Mr Crummles did in the higheststyle of melodrama, pouring forth at the same time all the mostdismal forms of farewell he could think of, out of the stock pieces.
Nor was this all, for the elder Master Crummles was going througha similar ceremony with Smike; while Master Percy Crummles,with a very little second-hand camlet cloak, worn theatrically overhis left shoulder, stood by, in the attitude of an attendant officer,waiting to convey the two victims to the scaffold.
The lookers-on laughed very heartily, and as it was as well toput a good face upon the matter, Nicholas laughed too when hehad succeeded in disengaging himself; and rescuing theastonished Smike, climbed up to the coach roof after him, andkissed his hand in honour of the absent Mrs Crummles as theyrolled away.
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