"The left, the left!" cried Alice. "Now you ought to be on."
"Oh what shall I say?" cried our new hero.
"Say—'Devastating Monster! my arm is mortal, and my sword was forged by human fingers, but this shield is invincible as ——'"
"Second Prince," called Charles impatiently, and Mr. Clinton was hustled on.
He was greeted with loud applause. He said afterwards that this put his part out of his head, that Alice had told him wrong, and that the shield was too small for him.
As a matter of fact he hammered and stammered and got himself and the piece into such confusion, that Philip lost patience as he lay awaiting his cue. With a fierce bellow he emerged from his cask, and roaring, "Avaunt, knight of the invincible shield and craven heart!" he crossed the stage with the full clatter of his canvas joints, and chased Mr. Clinton off at the left centre.
Once behind the scenes, he refused to go on again. He said that he had never played without a proper part at his uncle's in Dublin, and thought our plan quite a mistake. Besides which, he had got toothache, and preferred to join the audience, which he did, and the play went on without him.
I was acting as stage-manager in the intervals of my part, when I noticed Mr. Clinton (not the ex-Prince, but his father, the surgeon) get up, and hastily leave his place among the spectators. But just as I was wondering at this, I was recalled to business by delay on the part of Bobby, who ought to have been on (with the lights down) as the Twelfth Traveller.
I found him at the left wing, with all the twelve hats fitted one over another, the whole pile resting on a chair.
"Bob, what are you after? You ought to be on."