"They're a long way off, I guess, if they are," said he.
"And won't arrive in time, that's clear. Hadn't you better postpone the business sine die?"
"We've nothing else left for it, I fear," said Mr. J., taking a last careful survey of the well-lighted solitary salle: adding, "We must dismiss."
"That ceremony will be quite superfluous," observed I, "unless as far as we ourselves are concerned, and our sable friends here."
I had observed that the two or three little knots occupying the intervals of the side-scenes were evidently interested observers of our debate, and grieved and disappointed by the result. I should have liked to have put them all into the front, and then have acted to them, could one have insured their not being intruded on by any stray white-man. As it was, Mr. Jefferson begged me to consider myself at perfect liberty.
"It's provoking too," added my good-humoured manager, who was quite a philosopher in his vocation; "for it's a pretty theatre, isn't it?"
"It is a very pretty theatre," responded I. And so it was, exceedingly so. It had been built when the place flourished, and the community was prosperous and could afford to be merry. Now, trade having decayed, and money ceased to circulate, the blood has also grown stagnant amongst this once gay people: the fire is out and the drama's spirit fled.
Mr. Jefferson, however, had a much more summary mode of accounting for our desolate state; for, on my suggesting that his bills might have been ill distributed or his notice insufficient,—being rather desirous thus to find a loophole for my vanity to creep out of,—he convinced me that all points of 'vantage had been most provokingly well cared for.
"What the plague can be the reason they won't come for once, at least, Mr. J.? One would be less surprised at their not answering to a second summons."