“Aye, and another bottle beside.”
“Drugged!—p’raps he’s killed himself.” Then, in a roar: “Where the hell did he get the stuff?”
Mr. Dyson fell back a step and covered his mouth guiltily.
“You?” Manning jerked out the monosyllable threateningly.
“I did mention—I—I told him it was good,” faltered Mr. Dyson.
“Then,” said Freddie Manning, “you’ll go right on before the curtain and tell the house just exactly what’s happened. The Guv-nor’s going home to bed right now, and, look here again, you’d better state the facts pretty lucid, for I swear I’ll break your neck if it gets about that the Guv’nor was tight.”
From the distance came the sound of a mighty roar of laughter. Simultaneously they turned and saw, for the first time, that Eliphalet Cardomay had gone.
“He’s on!” exclaimed Manning and, followed by Mr. Dyson, made a dash for the wings.
He was on! That was the opinion of the entire audience.
One of the great dramatic moments of the play had been wrecked and lay in splinters on the stage. A scene, the moving nature of which would have wrung tears from a stone, had, by a single line, been turned into an ecstasy of laughter.