“Really! Well, I never saw a soldier with his thumbs down before—in fact, I don’t think you are a soldier at all.”
Mr. Gilbert turned to the stage manager hastily, and said:
“I told you I wanted soldiers.”
“But there is a sergeant,” he replied.
“Sergeant,” called Mr. Gilbert, “step forward.” Which the sergeant did.
“You know your business,” the author remarked, watching the man’s movements, “but these fellows know nothing. Either bring me real soldiers, or else take these five men and drill them until at least they know how to stand properly before they come near me again.”
Later in the proceedings a dozen sailors marched on: he went up to them, asked some questions about how they would man the yard-arm, and on hearing their reply said:
“I see you know your business, you’ll do.”
As it turned out, they were all Naval Reserve men, so no wonder they knew their business. Still, Mr. Gilbert’s universal knowledge of all sorts and conditions of men struck me as wonderful on this and many other occasions. No more perfect stage manager exists, and no one gets more out of his actors and actresses.