“Faith, my dear,” laughed the Captain, “I would fain believe that he is a terrible person for a poet, for, by the Lord, he nearly had his head broke by me on the first night that you went to the Pantheon; and I swear that I never crack a skull unless it be that of a person who is accustomed to spread terror around.”
“Some poets' skulls, sir, are not so easily cracked,” said Mrs. Abington.
“Nay, my dear madam,” cried her vis-à-vis, “you must pardon me for saying that I do not think you express your meaning with any great exactness. I take it that you mean, madam, that on the well known kitchen principle that cracked objects last longer than others, a poet's pate, being cracked originally, survives the assaults that would overcome a sound head.”
“I meant nothing like that, Captain,” said Mrs. Abington. Then she turned to Goldsmith, who stood by, fingering his roll of manuscript. “Come, Dr. Goldsmith,” she cried, “seat yourself by me, and partake of supper. I vow that I will not even glance at that act of your new play which I perceive you have brought to me, until we have supped.”
“Nay, madam,” stuttered Goldsmith; “I have already had my humble meal; still——”
He glanced from the dishes on the table to Captain Jackson, who gave a hoarse laugh, crying—
“Ha, I wondered if the traditions of the trade were about to be violated by our most admirable Doctor. I thought it likely that he would allow himself to be persuaded. But I swear that he has no regard for the romance which he preaches, or else he would not form the third at a party. Has he never heard that the third in a party is the inevitable kill-joy?”
“You wrong my friend Dr. Goldsmith, Captain,” said the actress in smiling remonstrance that seemed to beg of him to take an indulgent view of the poet's weakness. “You wrong him, sir. Dr. Goldsmith is a man of parts. He is a wit as well as a poet, and he will not stay very long; will you, Dr. Goldsmith?”
She acted the part so well that but for the side glance which she cast at him, Goldsmith might have believed her to be in earnest. For his own part he was acting to perfection the rôle of the hack author who was patronised till he found himself in the gutter. He could only smile in a sickly way as he laid down his hat beside a chair over which Jackson's cloak was flung, and placed in it the roll of manuscript, preparatory to seating himself.
“Madam, I am your servant,” he murmured; “Sir, I am your most obedient to command. I feel the honour of being permitted to sup in such distinguished company.”