“'I only want the ticket for the Royalty Theatre,' I answered. 'Penton says you've got it.'”
“'I don't know where it is,' he growled.”
“I found it after some little search upon his desk.”
“'Who's going?' he asked.”
“'I am,' I said. And I went.”
“They have never discovered to this day that I appointed myself. Penton thinks I am some relation of the proprietress, and in consequence everybody treats me with marked respect. Mrs. Wallace herself, the proprietress, thinks I am the discovery of Penton, in whose judgment she has great faith; and with her I get on admirably. The paper I don't think is doing too well, and the salary is small, but sufficient. Journalism suits my temperament, and I dare say I shall keep to it.”
“You've been somewhat of a rolling stone hitherto,” I commented.
He laughed. “From the stone's point of view,” he answered, “I never could see the advantage of being smothered in moss. I should always prefer remaining the stone, unhidden, able to move and see about me. But now, to speak of other matters, what are your plans for the immediate future? Your opera, thanks to the gentlemen, the gods have dubbed 'Goggles,' will, I fancy, run through the winter. Are you getting any salary?”
“Thirty shillings a week,” I explained to him, “with full salary for matinees.”
“Say two pounds,” he replied. “With my three we could set up an establishment of our own. I have an idea that is original. Shall we work it out together?”