She may thank her stars she was born a manager's daughter.'
`You seem to take it to heart,' observed Nicholas, with a smile.
`Yes, by Jove, and well I may,' said Mr Folair, drawing his arm through his, and walking him up and down the stage. `Isn't it enough to make a man crusty to see that little sprawler put up in the best business every night, and actually keeping money out of the house, by being forced down the people's throats, while other people are passed over? Isn't it extraordinary to see a man's confounded family conceit blinding him, even to his own interest? Why I know of fifteen and sixpence that came to Southampton one night last month, to see me dance the Highland Fling; and what's the consequence? I've never been put up in it since -- never once -- while the "infant phenomenon" has been grinning through artificial flowers at five people and a baby in the pit, and two boys in the gallery, every night.'
`If I may judge from what I have seen of you,' said Nicholas, `you must be a valuable member of the company.'
`Oh!' replied Mr Folair, beating his slippers together, to knock the dust out; `I can come it pretty well -- nobody better, perhaps, in my own line -- but having such business as one gets here, is like putting lead on one's feet instead of chalk, and dancing in fetters without the credit of it. Holloa, old fellow, how are you?'
The gentleman addressed in these latter words was a dark-complexioned man, inclining indeed to sallow, with long thick black hair, and very evident inclinations (although he was close shaved) of a stiff beard, and whiskers of the same deep shade. His age did not appear to exceed thirty, though many at first sight would have considered him much older, as his face was long, and very pale, from the constant application of stage paint. He wore a checked shirt, an old green coat with new gilt buttons, a neckerchief of broad red and green stripes, and full blue trousers; he carried, too, a common ash walking-stick, apparently more for show than use, as he flourished it about, with the hooked end downwards, except when he raised it for a few seconds, and throwing himself into a fencing attitude, made a pass or two at the side-scenes, or at any other object, animate or inanimate, that chanced to afford him a pretty good mark at the moment.
`Well, Tommy,' said this gentleman, ****** a thrust at his friend, who parried it dexterously with his slipper, `what's the news?'
`A new appearance, that's all,' replied Mr Folair, looking at Nicholas.
`Do the honours, Tommy, do the honours,' said the other gentleman, tapping him reproachfully on the crown of the hat with his stick.
`This is Mr Lenville, who does our first tragedy, Mr Johnson,' said the pantomimist.
`Except when old bricks and mortar takes it into his head to do it himself, you should add, Tommy,' remarked Mr Lenville. `You know who bricks and mortar is, I suppose, sir?'
`I do not, indeed,' replied Nicholas.
`We call Crummles that, because his style of acting is rather in the heavy and ponderous way,' said Mr Lenville. `I mustn't be cracking jokes though, for I've got a part of twelve lengths here, which I must be up in tomorrow night, and I haven't had time to look at it yet; I'm a confounded quick study, that's one comfort.'
Consoling himself with this reflection, Mr Lenville drew from his coat pocket a greasy and crumpled manuscript, and, having made another pass at his friend, proceeded to walk to and fro, conning it to himself and indulging occasionally in such appropriate action as his imagination and the text suggested.
A pretty general muster of the company had by this time taken place;for besides Mr Lenville and his friend Tommy, there were present, a slim young gentleman with weak eyes, who played the low-spirited lovers and sang tenor songs, and who had come arm-in-arm with the comic countryman -- a man with a turned-up nose, large mouth, broad face, and staring eyes.
Making himself very amiable to the infant phenomenon, was an inebriated elderly gentleman in the last depths of shabbiness, who played the calm and virtuous old men; and paying especial court to Mrs Crummles was another elderly gentleman, a shade more respectable, who played the irascible old men -- those funny fellows who have nephews in the army and perpetually run about with thick sticks to compel them to marry heiresses. Besides these, there was a roving-looking person in a rough great-coat, who strode up and down in front of the lamps, flourishing a dress cane, and rattling away, in an undertone, with great vivacity for the amusement of an ideal audience. He was not quite so young as he had been, and his figure was rather running to seed; but there was an air of exaggerated gentility about him, which bespoke the hero of swaggering comedy. There was, also, a little group of three or four young men with lantern jaws and thick eyebrows, who were conversing in one corner; but they seemed to be of secondary importance, and laughed and talked together without attracting any attention.
The ladies were gathered in a little knot by themselves round the rickety table before mentioned. There was Miss Snevellicci -- who could do anything, from a medley dance to Lady Macbeth, and also always played some part in blue silk knee-smalls at her benefit -- glancing, from the depths of her coal-scuttle straw bonnet, at Nicholas, and affecting to be absorbed in the recital of a diverting story to her friend Miss Ledrook, who had brought her work, and was ****** up a ruff in the most natural manner possible.
