And the late leading man, now dethroned, and put to second business:
‘Bassett! Montgomery Bassett! I could act his head off, dear boy. He is the rottenest stick that ever stalked upon a stage. He can’t get in front of that infernal Roman nose, sir. “Now,” says Bassett, “I’m going to be pathetic;” and the Roman nose says, “I’ll see you damned first.” “And now,” says Bassett, “we’ll have a bit of comedy.” “Oh no, you won’t,” says the nose. You might as well try to act behind a barn-door as to act behind that nose. Just fill me out a little tot of Scotch, darling laddie. I want to lose the taste of Bassett.’
And the leading lady and the ingénue who hung together like twin cherries on one stalk, bathed in soft dews of tenderness, until Bassett praised the one and not the other, and the leading lady called the ingénue ‘Chit’ and the ingénue retorted ‘Wrinkles!’ And the reconciliation at the champagne supper which Darco gave when Bassett went away, when the tears they shed must have tasted of the wine.
Oh, the days—the days, long years before he set out on his Journey of Despair, when mirth had no malice, and tears were tributaries to pity!
‘I have vound oudt,’ said Darco, one day, ‘that our paggage man is a pantit He is ropping eferypoty, and I have kiven him a fortnight’s vages, and the bag to carry. That is my liddle chockular vay to say he has got the zack. I haf dele-graphed for a new man, and he will come from Lonton by the seven-thirty train. His name is Warr, and you will know him by his nose, which is pigger than your fist, and as hot to look at as the powels of the Phalarian Pull. It ought to be an acony to garry it, but he laughs pehint it in the distance. But I nodice it always zeems to make his eyes vater.’
Paul went to meet this phenomenon, and from the train Mr. Warr of the Nonconformist printing-office stepped out, carrying the work of art before him like an oriflamme.
‘Mr. Warr, I believe?’ said Paul.
‘The same, sir,’ said Mr. Warr, with a spinal inclination.
Paul’s face was framed in a virginal fringe of brown beard, and he was dressed by a London theatrical tailor. Mr. Wan-had no memory of him.
‘I am Mr. Darco’s private secretary,’ said Paul. ‘That is the address of your lodgings, and when you have taken your traps there Mr. Darco will meet you at the theatre.’