“By Jove!” he exclaimed. “Did you say you were at liberty?”
“Just at present, yes.”
“Then, if I can get you, you are the very man I want.”
The old man shook his head.
“Your play can contain no part I would care to interpret,” he said, with apparent regret.
“But I think it is possible that you might be induced to play the part. I had a man for it, but I lost him. I was on my way to the Orpheum, to see if I could not find another to fill his place.”
“What sort of a part is it?” asked Burns, plainly endeavoring to conceal his eagerness.
“It is comedy.”
“What!” cried the old actor, aghast and horrified. “Wouldst offer me such a part? Dost think I—I who have played Hamlet, Brutus, Lear and Othello—would stoop so low? ‘This is the most unkindest cut of all!’”
“But there is money in it—good, sure money. I have several thousand dollars to back me, and I am going out with my piece to make or break. I shall keep it on the road several weeks, at any cost.”