The dinner was a dismal failure, so far as the guest of the party was concerned. He was unable to swallow a morsel, so parched had his throat become through sheer nervousness, and he could not be induced to partake of more than a single glass of wine. He was evermore glancing at the clock and expressing a hope that the dinner would be over in good time to allow of their driving comfortably to the theatre.
Dr. Johnson was at first greatly concerned on learning from Reynolds that Goldsmith was eating nothing; but when Goldsmith, in his nervousness, began to boast of the fine dinners of which he had partaken at Lord Clare's house, and of the splendour of the banquets which took place daily in the common hall of Trinity College, Dublin, Johnson gave all his attention to his own plate, and addressed no further word to him—not even to remind him, as he described the glories of Trinity College to his friend Burke, that Burke had been at the college with him.
While there was still plenty of time to spare even for walking to the theatre, Goldsmith left the room hastily, explaining elaborately that he had forgotten to brush his hat before leaving his chambers, and he meant to have the omission repaired without delay.
He never returned.
CHAPTER XIII.
The party remained in the room for some time, and when at last a waiter from the bar was sent for and requested to tell Dr. Goldsmith, who was having his hat brushed, that his party were ready to leave the house, the man stated that Dr. Goldsmith had left some time ago, hurrying in the direction of Pall Mall.
“Psha! sir,” said Johnson to Burke, “Dr. Goldsmith is little better than a fool.” Johnson did not know what such nervousness as Goldsmith's was.
“Yes,” said Burke, “Dr. Goldsmith is, I suppose, the greatest fool that ever wrote the best poem of a century, the best novel of a century, and let us hope that, after the lapse of a few hours, I may be able to say the best comedy of a century.”