"Then you are not here for long?" asked Austin, wondering who the man could be.
"Depends upon business, young gentleman," replied the stranger. "Depends upon how we draw. We shall have a week for certain, but after that——"
"How you draw?" repeated Austin, politely mystified.
"Yes, draw—what houses we draw, to be sure," explained the stranger. "What, haven't you seen the bills? I'm on tour with 'Sardanapalus'!"
A ray of light flashed upon Austin's memory. "Oh! I think I understand," he ventured hesitatingly. "Are you—can you perhaps be—er—Mr Buckskin?"
"For Buckskin read Buskin, and you may boast of having hazarded a particularly shrewd guess," replied the gentleman. "Bucephalus Buskin, at your service; and, of course, the public's."
"Ah, now I know," exclaimed Austin. "The greatest actor in Europe, on or off the stage."
"Oh come, now, come; spare my blushes, young gentleman, draw it a little milder!" cried the delighted manager, almost bursting with mock modesty. "Greatest actor in Europe—oh, very funny, very good indeed! Off the stage, too! Oh dear, dear, dear, what wags there are in the world! And pray, young gentleman, from whom did you pick up that?"
"I think it must have been the milkman," replied Austin simply.
"The milkman, eh? A most discriminating milkman, 'pon my word. Well, it's always encouraging to find appreciation of high art, even among milkmen," observed Mr Buskin. "Only shows how much we owe the growing education of the masses to the drama. Talk of the press, the pulpit, the schoolroom——"