‘Then it’s a pity you did not come on a better errand. I want nothing to do with the young vagabond in any way. He and I are strangers. Eh, now?’
‘He is a very clever and talented young gentleman; and let me tell you, sir, that you ought to be very proud of him.’
‘Proud of my nephew, who is an actor!—an actor! Pooh!’ The Captain spoke with a considerable degree of contempt.
‘I am an actor, sir,’ was Mr Brooker’s withering reply, in his most sepulchral tones.
The Captain turned red, coughed, and fidgeted. ‘Nothing personal, sir—nothing personal,’ he spluttered. ‘I only spoke in general terms.’
‘You spoke in depreciatory terms, sir, respecting something about which you evidently know little or nothing.’
The Captain winced. He was not in the habit of being lectured, and the sensation was not a pleasant one, but he felt the justice of the reproof.
‘Ah, sir, the actor’s profession is one of the noblest in the world,’ resumed Mr Brooker, changing from his Hamlet to his Mercutio voice; ‘and your nephew bids fair to become a shining ornament in it. I know of few young men who have progressed so rapidly in so short a time, and the press notices he has had are something remarkable. Here are a few of them, sir, only a few of them, which I have brought together. Oblige me by casting your eye over them, sir, and then tell me what you think.’ Speaking thus, Mr Brooker produced from his pocket-book three or four sheets of paper, on which had been gummed sundry cuttings from different newspapers, and handed them to the Captain.
That gentleman having put on his glasses, read the extracts through deliberately and carefully. ‘Bless my heart! this is most extraordinary!’ he remarked when he had done. ‘And do all these fine words refer to that graceless young scamp of a nephew of mine?’
‘Every one of them, sir; and he deserves all that’s said of him.’