"How late you are! Will you sing now?"
I need scarcely say there was no song; but there was a supper, of which I took full advantage.
Yet another incident, which occurred in my dressing-room at the Opera Comique, and which is indelible on my memory:
A laird sent his Scotch butler to me one evening to make inquiries respecting my entertainment. The butler, an elderly, pompous, and exceedingly stupid man, produced a piece of note-paper containing a string of questions which he was instructed to ask me.
The first question was: "Can Mr. Grossmith give an entertainment at Aberdeen on Jan.——?"
I replied that my nightly engagement at the theatre would totally prevent my accepting an engagement at Aberdeen. I could only sing at afternoon parties in town, or a short distance from it.
The butler, with a broad Scotch accent, which I need not imitate here, said:
"Ye'll have the goodness to answer this question, please. 'Can Mr. Grossmith give an entertainment at Aberdeen on Jan.——?'"
"No; I cannot," I replied.
The butler continued reading: