"You must know Jack, Miss Warrender," she said, as they shook hands. "I don't know what I should do without him, my dear," she continued. "He always leads the applause in front, you know, and he talks to the professional people for me, when I have the misfortune to meet them in the daytime."
"Doosid responsible position, Miss Warrender, I can tell you; one needs a constitution of iron, Miss Warrender; they're so awfully hospitable, that talking with them first always means drinking with them afterwards. It's bad enough for my wife to have quitted the scenes of her former triumphs for the coarser joys of the play-house. But dramatic talent, my dear young lady, will assert itself. If my wife had been Empress of all the Russias, sooner or later her destiny would have declared itself, and she would have sought the only sphere which could content a woman of her talent and ambition."
Now Mrs. Charmington's talents as an actress were microscopical. She was good looking, she had a decently good memory, and she was a dogged, plodding woman, with a good eye to the main chance. Her principle was to buy a fairly good article, to pay a good price for it, and then to make her little experiment upon the body of the vile, by hacking her piece through the provinces, say for six months; and then producing it for a short London season. There is no doubt that by time and patience it is possible to get even a little child to recite a piece of poetry with a certain amount of effect, and so it was with Mrs. Charmington. It must be remembered first, that Mrs. Charmington did not buy rubbish. She went to the great Mr. Breitmann, and she made a bargain with him. Breitmann was a man of five-and-forty; he stood six feet in his stockings, he was fair, with a quantity of light curly hair, and he had big fat fingers, which were perpetually playing upon an imaginary pianoforte; when they weren't running over an invisible keyboard, Mr. William Breitmann was engaged in extending them separately, one after the other, in a succession of violent cracks. Now the reason Mrs. Charmington went to Mr. Breitmann was, that Breitmann was a particularly independent person, who declined dancing gratuitous attendance upon Mrs. Charmington or anybody else. In vain had she favoured him with a royal command, written upon crocodile paper, headed by a magnificent monogram, illuminated in many colours, in which Mr. Breitmann was informed that "Mrs. Charmington would be pleased if Mr. Breitmann would kindly call upon her on Tuesday, at three, as she wished to talk over a matter of business with him." A rude and cruel answer, short and to the point, came by return of post:
"Madam,
"I have no business with you.
"Yours obediently,
"W. Breitmann."
Then she sent an ambassador. Jack Charmington called four times upon the dramatist at his club, but even then, after bribing the page boy to indiscreetly admit that the great Breitmann was on the premises, he still found him sufficiently difficult to approach. As Jack stood in the little bare den marked "Strangers' Room," he heard voices in loud talking, with occasional shouts of laughter; then he heard a gruff and angry voice grunt in an irritated manner, "Charmington, what is Charmington? I don't know Charmington. Tell him to go to——." And here a door slammed violently.
The page boy entered the strangers' room and communicated to Mr. Charmington the fact that the great man was busy.
"Did you tell him I wanted to see him on business?"
"They all say that, sir," replied the boy; "he's a very busy gentleman Mr. Breitmann, sir, if you please."
Charmington then sat down and wrote a polite note, in which he informed Mr. Breitmann that he desired a short interview with him on a matter of vital importance to them both. A second half-crown was administered to the page boy, and in a few moments the door of the strangers' room was violently flung open, and Mr. Breitmann himself suddenly burst in. Breitmann never entered a room, he always burst in. The suddenness of his entry startled Charmington considerably; he was still more astonished at the tone in which Breitmann addressed him. That gentleman carried poor Jack's note in his hand.
"What is your vital business, sir? I have no vital business with you."