“What’s he mean when he says that bit about the drapery department?” demanded the young lady.
Her companion shook her head darkly, and volunteered: “It’s the grief ’as turned ’is brain.”
“Ah! that must be it. Gone loopy like.”
Eliphalet, in his dressing-room, was in a fine rage.
“Get that cork out, d’y’hear!” he admonished. “How the deuce am I to take med-cine with the cork in?”
“A didna knaw tha wanted any more,” said the dresser.
“ ’S no excuse. Get it out! My cold’s worse—mush worse. Le’s have it.” And, snatching the bottle, he knocked off its neck and drank what remained of the fluid.
“You don’ seem to—t’understand I’m a ver’ important pers’n—great actor—Eliphalet Card’may. You’re a low feller—but a good chap—one of the nicest and mos’ delightful chaps I ever met——”
“Second act beginners, please,” yelled the call-boy.
Eliphalet passed a hand over his brow. “Dear me!” he said. “I dunno. Yes, yes—I’m coming—I’m all ri’, qui’ all ri’.”