The wife and child of the melancholy but Reverend Coles, having seen through the falsity of the life they had chosen, and battered by the glittering villainies of Black Moustache’s patent leather boots and doubtful champagne, had returned weepingly, to implore his forgiveness and his blessing, and he, instead of replying, “I forgive and bless you,” had smiled idiotically and said, “Chase me!”
The house rocked and fell about with laughter.
The unprecedented success of his sally made a profound impression upon Eliphalet. He saw himself as a comedian—a funny man. The last of his self-control fell from him, and he gave himself over to rickety horse-play and clumsy mafficking. He overset chairs and tables, and laughed stupidly, He turned tragedy into farce, and the Reverend Coles from a figure of pathos became a figure of fun.
The “mother” and “daughter,” friends of many preceding tours, strove nobly, but without avail, to keep the scene together, and were eventually driven from the stage in desperation, and genuine tears. Then the temper of the audience, who knew real tears from the acted variety, underwent a complete change, and became nasty.
“ ’Ee! Tha’s droonk, man!”
“Shame to un! Pull un orf.”
“Booooo-booooo!”
“Ought to ’ave our money back.”
“Comin’ on like that.”
“Spoiling of a fine play!”