PHILIP BURNE-JONES' SKETCH OF HIMSELF.
THUMBNAIL BY PHIL MAY.
The groups of actors, actresses, musicians or artists, as the case may be, stand here and there chatting unconcernedly, while the various employés rush hither and thither, dodging between them like a pack of startled deer. And down at the desk sits Mr. Clarkson himself, characteristically occupied in doing twenty things at once. First, it is a genial word with a well-known star across the top of his desk. Then a word is exchanged with a distant group, during which the telephone rings up, and there is the Prince of Wales' fancy-dress ball costume to be discussed. Sir Henry Irving wants a wig curled, or possibly a new elephant is required in a hurry for a West-end pantomime.
Meanwhile assistants momentarily consult him, till you begin to think it is a miracle his reason survives; yet somehow all are answered, and additional orders are shouted to others in the far corners of the building into the bargain. This strange mixture of hustle and scurry on the one hand and on the other is a feature of Clarkson's I have never yet missed, although I have visited the place times without number.
Needless to say, there is scarcely a member of the artistic professions whom Mr. Clarkson cannot number among his friends. He is always ready with an apropos story should any of them be mentioned, or should you evince any special interest in the subject it is quite possible he will show you his famous albums, and point out the absent one's autograph and remarks.
The autograph books—for there are two of them—are the most wonderful of their kind in the world, containing as they do the signatures of almost every member of the theatrical profession, both here and abroad.
SIR HENRY IRVING'S AUTOGRAPH.
There are many hundreds of them, many accompanied by quotations from favourite parts, snatches of verse, stage catch phrases identified with their names, and so forth.