“Ah, that was where you were all over the place. First, you want a low, distant report, then a whistle—SShhreeee—e—u—u—cr—umpp. Something like that they go.”
“Very effective! This is most valuable.”
Under the subtle influence of appreciation the warrior developed his theme and gave many graphic illustrations of the din of battle, each of which the stage mind of Eliphalet Cardomay rapidly translated to the possible resources of the property-room.
“Finally, when the rebels blow up the gate you want a noise—a real noise. That twopenny maroon you explode wouldn’t lift a wicket off a nursery door.”
“And I thought that effect was fairly good,” said Eliphalet plaintively.
“I can only tell you it made me laugh.”
“We must change it, then—it must be changed at once. I pride myself on presenting nothing but the best to my audience. Many thanks, Captain Raeburn; you have rendered me a great service. I shall rehearse the battle-scene very thoroughly and utilise all your valuable suggestions. If you and your friend would honour me by accepting a box for Friday night’s performance, I think I can promise you a reflection of the real thing.”
Probably Mr. Bryan realised that Raeburn would drop a brick, so without giving him time to refuse he gracefully accepted the invitation on behalf of both. And when Eliphalet had wished them “Good night” and departed, he said:
“We’d insulted him quite enough, my dear fellow; we should have been inexcusably rude to have said ‘No.’ ”
“A silly old gas-bag,” smiled Raeburn. “We’ll go, then. Anything for a laugh.”