Yardsley. Good idea. Only don’t say yonder basement by mistake.
Enter Perkins, followed by Barlow.
Perkins. Here’s Mr. Featherhead. He’s rehearsing too. As I opened the door he said, “Give me good-morrow.”
Barlow (smiling). Yes; and Thaddeus replied, “Good-yesterday, me friend,” in tones which reminded me of Irving with bronchitis. What’s this I hear about Henderson’s grandmother?
Yardsley. Thrown up the part.
Barlow. His grandmother?
Yardsley. No—idiot—Henderson. He’s thrown up his grandmother—oh, hang it!—you know what I mean.
Mrs. Perkins. I hope you’re not going to net gervous, Mr. Yardsley. If you break down, what on earth will become of the rest of us?
Yardsley. I hope not—but I am. I’m as nervous as a cat living its ninth life. Here we are three or four hours before the performance, and no one knows whether we’ll be able to go through it or not. My reputation as a manager is at stake. Barlow, how are you getting along on those lines in the revelation scene?
Barlow. Had ’em down fine on the cable-car as I came up. Ha-ha! People thought I was crazy, I guess. I was so full of it I kept repeating it softly to myself all the way up; but when we got to that Fourteenth Street curve the car gave a fearful lurch and fairly shook the words “villanous viper” out of me; and as I was standing when we began the turn, and was left confronting a testy old gentleman upon whose feet I had trodden twice, at the finish, I nearly got into trouble.