“Don’t laugh, you horrid man,” I exclaimed; “just come and help.”
He took a little gentle persuading, but finally gave in, and being provided with another white garment he began to assist, and he and I finally finished that wondrous scene-painting together.
After a long vista of years Mrs. Beerbohm Tree—who, it will be remembered, also acted with us in Harley Street—and Weedon Grossmith—who helped me paint the scenery for our little performance—were playing the two leading parts together at Drury Lane in Cecil Raleigh’s Flood Tide.
The two little daughters of the Trees, aged six and eight respectively, were taken by their father one afternoon to see their mother play at the Lane. They sat with him in a box, and enjoyed the performance immensely.
“Well, do you like it better than Richard II.?” asked Tree.
There was a pause. Each small maiden looked at the other, ere replying:
“It isn’t quite the same, but we like it just as much.”
When they reached home they were asked by a friend which of the two plays they really liked best.
“Oh, mother’s,” for naturally the melodrama had appealed to their juvenile minds, “but we did not like to tell father so, because we thought it might hurt his feelings.”
The part that delighted them most at Drury Lane was the descent of the rain, that wonderful rain which had caused so much excitement, and which was composed of four tons of rice and spangles thrown from above, and verily gave the effect of a shower of water.