‘Well, yes, I will play Vortigern.’
‘And Mrs. Siddons will play Edmunda?’
‘Nay, sir, that is a question for herself. I cannot answer for Sarah; she always takes her own way.’
‘To hear you talk one would think she was your wife instead of your sister,’ said the manager laughing. ‘Then the Country Girl’ (so Mrs. Jordan was called from her first success, which had been made in that piece) ‘shall be Flavia, who has to appear in man’s clothes; she loves to wear the breeches, as the poor Duke has long discovered. Well, we’ll take your friend Shakespeare’s play, Mr. Erin.’ And the manager rose from his chair with a yawn, like one who has concluded a distasteful business.
‘But, ahem! nothing has been said about terms,’ suggested the antiquary.
‘Terms? Does he mean money?’ said the manager, looking towards the tragedian with an air of extreme astonishment, as though he would say, ‘Can I believe my ears?’
‘I am almost inclined to believe he does,’ replied the other, smiling for the first time.
‘But surely not money down; not ready money, he can’t mean that.’
The antiquary’s face unmistakably implied that he did.
‘Good heavens, Mr. Erin, who has any ready money? I was just talking of the Duke of Clarence, has he any ready money? Not a guinea—though you should threaten to drown him, like his namesake, in a butt of malmsey—to save his life.’