“Fraaank! Fr—a—!” gugle—gugle.
Cartwright: “My God!—in the river—drowning! I—I am coming!”
Eliphalet Cardomay leaned forward tensely in his stall, as with superb abandon the hero whipped off his dress coat and, casting it from him, sprang on to the rail of the bridge. With hands high above his head—posed for a magnificent dive—he stood there for one breathless second—then suddenly his body went all limp, his hands fell to his sides, and he faltered:
“It’s no use—I can’t do it, sir.”
And Eliphalet Cardomay, for the first time on record, swore before his entire company.
“Damnation!” The word rang out like a tocsin. Then, tearing off his hat, he kicked it across the auditorium and high up into the dress-circle.
“Lamentable creature!” he cried. “Wretched poltroon!”
Mr. Cartwright slowly descended from the rostrum.
“It is not part of my professional ambition to leap into a net,” he faltered.
“Leap!” echoed Eliphalet wildly. “Leap! Dare you employ such a word? I have seen a tile fall from a roof with more grace. I have seen a blind man stumble on a banana-skin with greater dignity. But a more pitiable craven-hearted exhibition than yours I—I——” Words failed him. “You have ruined my belief in the younger generation—you have shattered my belief in myself. Manning, Manning! what are we going to do about it?”