“Play the rôle of an interviewer, and write the stories yourself,” I suggested.
“I will,” said Fiske. “Your plan has this advantage,—I shall get the copy in proper time for the printer.”
II.
And this Christmas chat is the result of the dramatic editor’s decision.
“It was a gloomy, rainy, miserable day. The theatre, always a dreary place in the morning, seemed even more depressing than usual. Mr. Irving was rehearsing the first act of ‘Richard III.,’ possibly with a view to Baltimore or Chicago.
“With that infinite patience which some philosophers define as genius, Mr. Irving went over and over the lines of Richard and Lady Ann, and acted all the business of the scene. His street costume and tall silk hat appeared ridiculously incongruous with his sword and his words. He knelt upon the stage and showed Lady Ann how to take hold of the weapon and threaten to kill him. He rose and repeated her speeches with appropriate gestures. He knelt again, gave her the cues, and watched her from under his heavy eyebrows, while she again rehearsed the scene.
“Repeated a dozen times, this performance became as monotonous as the dripping of the rain without, or the slow motions of the cleaners in the front of the theatre. At last, with a few final kindly words, the Lady Ann was dismissed, and Mr. Irving sat down wearily at the prompter’s table.
“‘Where shall you eat your Christmas dinner?’ I inquired.