Jessie Trim

CHAPTER XXXII.

JESSIE MAKES AN EXPLANATION.

Jessie walked straight into the parlour, where both uncle Bryan and my mother were sitting.

'You are anxious to know,' she said, addressing my mother, 'where I go to of a morning.'

'Yes, my dear,' answered my mother.

I saw that uncle Bryan was listening, and I saw also by the expression in his face that the matter was new to him; my mother had not complained to him of Jessie.

'Chris has been speaking to me about it,' said Jessie, 'and I thought it best to tell you myself. I go to Mr. Rackstraw's.'

'Who is he, my dear?' asked my mother.

'He is a gentleman who teaches young ladies--I beg your pardon'--(with the slightest possible glance at uncle Bryan)--'young women how to act; he educates them for the stage.'

'But surely, my dear,' remonstrated my mother, 'you have no intention of becoming an actress.'

'Why not? I am not wise, I know, and I am very wilful, and passionate, and unreasonable.' She resolutely moved a step from my mother, who was approaching her tenderly. 'But I have sense enough to think of my future, and I do not see what I could do better. I have been acting for a long time at Miss West's; we have often had little private performances there--Chris has seen them.' There was grief, but no reproach, in my mother's eyes as she looked at me. 'When I first commenced to act, I did it purely out of fun, and I had no serious intention of taking to the stage; but when I grew so unhappy here as to know that I was bringing discord among those who loved each other, and to whom I was in a certain sense a stranger, and when day after day the feeling grew stronger that I was not welcome in this house, I thought of what was before me in the future. It must be very sweet, I think, to be dependent upon those who love you; it is very bitter, I know, to be dependent upon those who hate you.'

'Stop!' cried uncle Bryan, in an agitated tone. 'I say nothing as to whether you are right or wrong in your construction of the feelings entertained towards you here. You are a woman in your ideas, although almost a child in years, and you have evidently settled with yourself that you will not be led----'

'Who is to lead me?' said Jessie, pale and trembling. 'I have asked to be led, and you know the result. Not quite out of hard-heartedness, but with some shadow of good feeling--though perhaps you will not give me credit for being capable of anything of the sort--I have asked to be shown what is right and what is wrong; and if I, somewhat wilfully, preferred to be shown by example and not by words, was I so very much to blame, after all?'

'You are clever enough,' he said, 'to twist things into the shape you like best----'

'No,' she exclaimed, interrupting him again; 'be just. You know what I refer to, and you know I have spoken exactly the truth. Do not say I have misrepresented it.'

'I beg your pardon,' he said, in a manly tone, and with a frankness which compelled admiration. I was wrong. You have stated exactly the truth, and in a truthful way. But if you really wished to be taught, what better teacher could you have than the one before you?'--with a motion of his hand towards my mother--'if you had doubts, where could you find a better counsellor?'

'You are master,' said Jessie, firmly and gently; 'you gave me shelter and protection. Chris reminded me of that a little while ago when we were speaking of you, and I was angry with him for it--unreasonably angry. It is not to be wondered at that I should look to you for counsel.'

'If there were two roads before you,' he said, 'one, dark and bleak and bare'--he touched his breast'--the other, fair and bright and sweetened by most unselfish tenderness'--he laid his hand upon the hand of my mother--'which would you choose?'

'I cannot answer you; you are wiser than I am, but I do not think you can see my heart.'

'I see,' he said, with a glance at my mother's white face, 'things which you do not seem to comprehend.'

'The time may come,' she retorted, 'when you will be more just towards me, and I must wait until then.'

'Well, well,' he said, with a sigh; 'you say it is bitter to be dependent upon those who hate you. Leave me out of the question. My sister loves you; Chris loves you. Can you not be content with this, and let me go my way?'

'No; for I have been dependent upon you, not upon them.'

'Have I ever said a word which led you to believe I begrudged you shelter here?'

'Never; but we do not judge always by words.'

She seemed to have caught uncle Bryan's talent for short crisp sentences, in which there was much truth.

'Go on with your explanation,' he said.

She turned to my mother.

'You saw me yesterday in a cab with a gentleman. His name is Mr. Glover, and he is a friend of Mr. Rackstraw. He offered to see me home, and wanted to come to the door with me, but I thought uncle Bryan would not approve of it.'

'I should not have approved of it,' said uncle Bryan, 'and I do not approve of any person seeing you home in a clandestine way.'

'And, my dear child,' added my mother, 'he is a stranger to us, and must be almost a stranger to you.'

'He is a gentleman,' said Jessie.

'A gentleman!' repeated uncle Bryan scornfully.

'That is nothing against him. I like gentlemen. Mr. Rackstraw tells me that Mr. Glover can help me to get an engagement on the stage, and I must consider that. He treats me with the greatest respect.'

'Who pays this Mr. Rackstraw,' asked uncle Bryan, 'for the lessons he gives you? His business is not entirely philanthropic, I presume, and he does not teach young ladies for nothing.'

'Of course I have no money to pay him; I am to pay him by and by, out of any money I may earn.'

'You are determined, then, to become an actress?'

'I am determined to get my own living, and I believe I shall do well on the stage. I cannot continue to live in a state of dependence. If I had a mother or a father, or if I were happy here, it would be different.'

'I suppose you can be made happy,' said uncle Bryan, 'by being indulged in all your whims and caprices, and by being allowed to act and think exactly as you please, without restraint.'

'No,' replied Jessie tearfully, 'I only want kindness; I cannot live without it.'

She turned to leave the room, with signs of agitation on her face, when uncle Bryan desired her to stay.

'There is something more,' he said. 'In the event of this gentleman--Mr. Glover--seeing you home again, he must not do so clandestinely. I owe a duty to you which I must perform, however distasteful it may be to you.'

'It is not distasteful to me,' she replied. 'Mr. Glover would have seen me to the door yesterday but for my refusal to allow him. I am truly anxious to do what is right.'

My uneasiness with respect to this discovery would have been unbearable but for a change in my circumstances which placed the day more at my own disposal. I had advanced steadily in my trade, and was by this time a thoroughly good engraver. I think I brought into my work more than mere mechanical exactness, and some blocks of my engraving which went out of Mr. Eden's office attracted meritorious attention. I knew of men who were earning good wages--far higher than I was receiving--by taking work from master engravers, and executing it at home. Why could I not do the same? I should not then be so tied down as not to have an hour or two in the middle of the day to myself; and in the event of my availing myself of the opportunity, I could easily make up for lost time by working an hour or two later in the night. I mentioned this to Jessie, and said that then I could come to Mr. Rackstraw's, and bring her home of an afternoon--instead of Mr. Glover, I added.

'I would sooner,' said Jessie, 'that you saw me home than Mr. Glover. I believe you are jealous of him, you foolish boy! You have no occasion to be.'

Such a crumb of comfort as this would console me for days.

'And then I shall be my own master,' I said to myself proudly.

My employer anticipated my wish; he was a generous conscientious man, and I had earned his respect. He called me into his office, and, almost in the exact words I have set down, proposed that I should do as I wished.

'You will not only be able to earn more money,' he said, but in a few years you may be able yourself to set up as a master, and take apprentices of your own. I shall be able to give you plenty of work, and you will find that your time will be as fully occupied as you can desire it to be. Let me give you one piece of advice: never promise what you cannot perform; if you say you will deliver a block at a certain time, keep your word, if you have to sit up all night to finish your work. Let it get to be known that you are a man whose word can be depended upon, and you are sure to be prosperous.'

I thanked him, and commenced almost immediately on the new system, with my hands full of work. So behold me now, with my bedroom, in which there was a good light, fitted up with table and bench, working steadily at home, to my mother's great delight.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

MR. GLOVER.

I soon made the acquaintance of Mr. Glover. In pursuance of my plans, I presented myself at Mr. Rackstraw's office every day at a certain hour, for the purpose of seeing Jessie home. I had of course previously consulted Jessie, and she had acquiesced in the arrangement. It was a serious encroachment upon my working hours, but I made up for it in the night, and between sunrise and sunrise I always performed a fair day's work. On the very first occasion of my presenting myself at Mr. Rackstraw's office, I found Mr. Glover there. Having sent in my name to Jessie, I waited in an outer room, the walls of which were lavishly decorated with paintings and photographs of actors and actresses, in the proportion of about one of the former to twenty of the latter. As I was studying these, Jessie made her appearance, followed by Mr. Glover; she was waving him off lightly, and saying as she entered,

'No, thank you; I will not trouble you to-day. Chris has come to see me home.'

'Oh,' he answered, without casting a glance in my direction. 'Chris has come to see you home! Is Chris your brother?'

'No,' she said, 'I haven't a brother or a sister in the world.'

He condescended to look at me after this, and held out his hand to me with smiling cordiality. I took it awkwardly, for I felt myself but a common person by his side.

'Chris and I must become better acquainted,' he said. 'I remember now; I saw this young gentleman at Miss West's on the night of your performance there. He threw you two bouquets.' Jessie nodded. 'And very handsome bouquets they were,' he continued; 'he eclipsed us all by his gallantry; but I had no idea I was to have the pleasure that night of making your acquaintance, Jessie, or I might have entered the field against him. Any friend of yours must be a friend of mine.'

Then he bade us both good-day, without any attempt to press his attentions upon Jessie. Jessie asked me what I thought of him, and I could not help answering that he seemed to be a gentleman, but made some demur to his addressing her by her Christian name.

'Oh, that is the fashion in the profession,' said Jessie carelessly; there is nothing in that.'

'He is not an actor, is he, Jessie?'

'No; he is something in the City.'

This vague definition of many a man's occupation, common as it is, was new to me, and I inquired what the 'something' was. Jessie could not enlighten me. I continued my inquiries by asking her how she knew that he was something in the City. He himself had told her, Mr. Rackstraw had told her, and young ladies whose acquaintance she had made at Mr. Rackstraw's had also told her.

'He is at Mr. Rackstraw's every day, Jessie?' I said.

'Nearly every day, Chris,' she answered, and closed the subject of conversation by saying that, at all events, Mr. Glover was a perfect gentleman.

I did not find him to be otherwise; he was uniformly courteous to me, and I could not make open complaint against him because his courtesy was of a kind which a superior yields to an inferior. He was a gentleman, and I was a common workman; I chafed at it inwardly, nevertheless. I would have avoided him if I could, but he would not allow me to do so. The second time I walked into Mr. Rackstraw's office I met him at the door, and he fastened on to me. I had come for Jessie? Yes. Was I coming every day for Jessie? Yes. I had plenty of spare time then? Yes. I was fond of Jessie, he supposed? I answered as briefly as was consistent with bare civility, but I made no reply to his last question. He was neither surprised nor exacting. As I did not answer the question, he answered it himself. It was natural that I should be fond other; we had been brought up together as brother and sister, he had been given to understand; yes, it was natural that I should be fond of her in that way--natural, indeed, that we should be fond of each other in that way. He had been given to understand, also, that we were not in any way related to one another; but he could see that in an instant, without being told. Jessie was a lady, evidently; I might tell her he said that, if I pleased, for he was never ashamed of what he said or did; Jessie was a lady in her manners, in her speech, in her ideas; and these things do not come to one by instinct, or even by education; they must be born in one.

This and much more he said; conveying by implication (what indeed I knew already) that Jessie was far above me, and (what I could not doubt) that he was a gentleman, and I was not. He had a trick of playing with his moustaches, which he continually curled into his mouth with his fingers as he spoke; and even at that early period of our acquaintanceship, I, in my instinctive dislike of him, thought there was something stealthy in the action. Standing before me, with his fingers to his mouth, Mr. Glover there and then commenced to expatiate upon a theme of which I heard a great deal afterwards from his lips: this theme was his good name, of which he was evidently very proud. There was not a stain upon it, nor upon that of any of his connections; he had never harboured a thought to tarnish his character, which was above reproach. He did not express these sentiments in the words I have used, but these were the pith of them, and there was a distinct assertion in his utterances that he was much better than his fellow-creatures. I, listening to him, understood exactly what he meant to convey to my comprehension: that even if we twain had been equal in station, his high character and stainless name would have placed him far above me.

In a week from this time Jessie told me that Mr. Glover had made closer inquiries about me, and hearing that I was a wood engraver, had expressed his intention of interesting himself in my career. I was not pleased at this; I did not wish to be placed under an obligation to Mr. Glover, and I muttered something to this effect to Jessie. She seemed surprised, but made no comment upon it. Mr. Glover, however, was as good as his word. I received a letter from a master engraver, desiring me to call upon him, with reference to some work he wished to give me. The hour fixed for the appointment was the hour at which I was due at Mr. Rackstraw's. I had no choice but to comply; and I made arrangements that afternoon, not only to engrave some blocks of a superior description, but to submit sketches of my own, upon wood, for a Christmas story which was to be published that year. The interview was a long one, and when I arrived home, I was not pleased to find Mr. Glover chatting to my mother in our sitting-room. He had seen Jessie home, and, in compliance with uncle Bryan's desire, had brought her to the door. An introduction to uncle Bryan and my mother naturally followed, and thus he was introduced to the house. He asked me pleasantly whether I had made satisfactory arrangements, and confessed that he had been the means of introducing this better kind of work to me. He received my mother's thanks graciously, and it made me mad to see that she thought it was a stroke of great good fortune to have won such a patron. What could I do but thank him also for the introduction? That I did so in an ungracious and even in a sullen manner did not seem to strike him; Jessie noticed it, however.

'You don't seem pleased, Chris,' she said, following me out of the room.

'I don't know what my feelings are,' I replied; from any other hands than his, the work that I have received to-day would have delighted me beyond measure. But I had better not speak; it will be best for me to hold my tongue.'

'Why?'

'Because I seem never to dare to say what I think; and I don't like to play the hypocrite.'

'You don't say what you think,' Jessie said, 'because you are conscious that your thoughts are unjust.'

'Perhaps it is so; but I can't make myself believe that they are.'

'You haven't a good opinion of Mr. Glover.'

'I am not grateful for his patronage; I don't mind saying that.'

It would have been more truthful in me to have said that the instinctive aversion with which he had at first inspired me was fast changing to a feeling of hatred. I hated him for his smooth manner, and hated him the more for it because it was impossible to find fault with it; I hated him for his civility to me, and hated him the more because he refused to notice that my manner towards him, if not the words I used, plainly showed that I did not desire his friendship or patronage. But I could have multiplied my reasons, which might have all been summed up in one cause of dislike--his attentions to Jessie.

'Don't come to the Wests' for me to-night, Chris,' Jessie said, after a little quiet pondering.

'Why not, Jessie?' I asked, with a sinking heart.

'Because I don't want to be made more unhappy than I am already. Besides, you must devote your attention more to your work, and less to me. I am not the most important thing in the world to you.'

'You are,' I said gloomily; 'how often have I told you so! You don't believe what I have said, then!' I turned from her in sorrowful passion.

'Chris, Chris,' she said, 'I am not, I must not be, your only consideration. You have other duties before you, and you must not forget them or neglect them, as you have hitherto done.'

I thought she referred to my work, and I answered that I did not neglect it, and that I could perform great things if she were kinder to me.

'Am I not kind to you?' she exclaimed. 'Is it my fault that you are so wrapt up in your own feelings that you are regardless of the feelings of others? If you are blind, I am not. If you are selfish, I am not. If you forget your duty, I shall not forget mine.'

These were the unkindest words she had ever spoken to me, and they were a terrible torture to me.

'Do I show myself to be blind and selfish,' I said, 'and do I forget my duty in loving you as you know I love you, and in wishing to be where you are?' She did not reply. 'But perhaps,' I added bitterly, 'you have another reason for not wishing me to come to the Wests' to-night.'

'What other reason?' she asked quietly.

'Perhaps Mr. Glover is to be there;' and the next moment I would have made any sacrifice to have recalled what I had said. But it was too late. How often do we plunge daggers into our hearts by inconsiderate words, rashly spoken, as these were!

Jessie looked at me swiftly, with a fire in her eyes which I had never seen there before, and with hot blood in her face; but in another moment she was as white as death.

'Jessie!' I cried repentantly, seizing her hand.

She tore it from me indignantly.

'I will ask him to come!' she said, and left me, ready to kill myself for my cruel injustice.

That night I watched outside the house of the Wests', and made false the words I had spoken to Jessie but a short time since, when I asked her if she thought I would play the spy upon her. I was careful that she should not see me, for, if she did, I felt that I should never have been forgiven. If I proved my words false, Jessie proved hers true. Mr. Glover was at the Wests', and walked home with her. I waited until she was in the house, and then I followed Mr. Glover at a distance. I had no distinct intention in my mind; I simply felt that I must follow him; he seemed to draw me after him. I have no doubt that, if a clear meaning could have been evolved from my whirling thoughts, and had been shown to me, I should have been shocked at it. He walked for a couple of miles, and then hailed a cab; after that I wandered about miserably, without thinking where I was walking, without thinking of the time. It was only when I found myself on a bridge six miles from Paradise-row, and heard the hour strike, that I awoke to consciousness as it were and walked slowly home. The faithful mother was sitting up for me.

'My darling child,' she said, with a sob of grief at the misery she saw in my face, 'where have you been? What has kept you out so late?'

I put her from me in silence, and went into my room, and locked the door. As I did so, I thought I heard the door of my mother's bedroom above open and close. But I dismissed the fancy, and went to bed with a heavy heart.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

TURK WEST'S APPEARANCE AT THE WEST-END THEATRE, AND ITS RESULTS.

Early in the morning I watched for an opportunity to endeavour to make peace with Jessie. My mother had been in great anxiety about me during the night, and had come down to my bedroom three or four times, whispering my name at the door; but I pretended to be asleep, and as the door was locked, she could not enter the room. I passed a sleepless night, and tossed about in bed, longing for daylight. When it came, I rose and commenced to work, and even in the midst of my great unhappiness I found comfort in it, for I loved it. At seven o'clock I heard my mother calling to me, and I opened my door.

'At work so soon, my dear!' she said, in a tone of exquisite tenderness.

I answered that I had a great deal of work in hand, and that it would not do for me to be idle. She sat by my side, and was saying meekly that her boy must not work too hard, but must take proper rest, when she broke down. Looking at her, I saw an expression of such yearning devotion in her pale face, such sweet and wistful love, that, softened for a moment, I laid my head on her shoulder, and sobbed quietly. Her tears flowed with mine.

'Ill could help you, dear child!' she murmured.

You cannot--you cannot,' I murmured in reply. Mother, Jessie must not go out this morning without my seeing her. I must speak to her alone.'

Soon after breakfast, when uncle Bryan was in the shop, I heard her tell Jessie to wait in the parlour for a minute or two, and then I knew that Jessie was alone. I immediately opened my door, which led into the parlour, and stepped to Jessie's side. She did not look at me.

'I have come to ask you to forgive me,' I said.

'What have I to forgive?' she asked.

'You know,' I answered. 'What I said yesterday about Mr. Glover. I did not mean it, Jessie; I spoke in passion. It was cruel of me. Say that you forgive me, Jessie.'

'It was unjust as well as cruel,' she said; but I am not the only person you are cruel to. Do you know what time your mother came to bed this morning?'

'It was very late,' I said remorsefully.

'Have you any idea what she suffered while she waited up for you, Chris? Because you and I have quarrelled, is that a reason why you should be cruel to her?'

'I have been doubly wrong,' I said, 'but I have made my peace with her.'

'Yes, that is easy with such a nature as hers; mine is harder.'

'Still you forgive me; say that you forgive me, Jessie.'

'Yes, I forgive you,' she said coldly; 'not because you were unkind to me, for I deserve that, perhaps, but because you were unjust to me.'

I could extract nothing more than this from her, and I was fain to be satisfied. But I saw clearly enough that she was less cordial towards me than heretofore. The spirit that animated and sweetened our intercourse in the dear old days seemed to have fled, never to return. But I had something in my mind which, when carried out, might, I thought, be the means of reëstablishing myself in Jessie's favour. Her birthday was approaching; in a fortnight she would be eighteen years of age. From the day on which Jessie had given me, as a birthday present, the silver locket, with the words engraven on it, 'To Chris, with Jessie's love,' I had had many anxious consultations with myself as to what kind of gift I should give her on her birthday, and I had resolved that a gold Geneva watch and chain would be appropriate and acceptable. I had seen the very thing I wanted in a jeweller's shop, and the price asked for the pretty ornament--seven pounds--was not beyond my means, for I had been saving money for some time, and was now earning more than two pounds a week. On the very day on which Jessie and I made up our quarrel, I went to the jeweller's and purchased the birthday gift, and gave instructions that on the inside of the case should be engraven, From Chris to Jessie, on her eighteenth birthday. With undying love.' In my state of mind nothing less fervent would satisfy me. Being attracted by a plain ivory brooch, in the form of a true lover's knot, I purchased that also, and felt, as I did so, that that would complete our reconciliation. As I sat at my work after the transaction of this business, I thought of what had passed between me and Jessie when she gave me the silver locket, and I reproached myself very strongly for having uttered a word to give her pain. Was not the inscription, 'To Chris, with Jessie's love,' sufficient? I decided that it was, and I resolutely refused to harbour the words of Mr. Glover which came to my mind, to the effect that Jessie and I had been brought up as brother and sister, and that it was natural we should be fond of each other in that way. How, thought I, could I ever have been so mad as to entertain a doubt of Jessie? She was better than I, cleverer than I, and she saw faults in me which she wished to correct, and she was also naturally hurt at my suspicions of her. Well, I would never again suspect her; from this moment I would have the fullest faith in her goodness, her purity, her love. It was in this mood that I presented myself at Mr. Rackstraw's office, somewhat doubtful of the manner in which Jessie would receive me, but resolved to show her in every possible way how truly I loved her and what faith I had in her. Mr. Glover was there of course, and we all three walked together from the office. That I abased myself before him is true, and it is quite as true, notwithstanding the resolution I had formed, that I despised myself for so doing. Jessie looked at me thoughtfully, and seemed to be considering within herself whether she approved of my new mood. For this reason Mr. Glover found her a somewhat inattentive listener to his confidential utterances, the intervals between which he improved by talking to and at me on his pet theme--his character and good name. Before we had walked a mile, Jessie proposed that she and I should take an ..omnibus home, as she was tired, and Mr. Glover left us. On our way she told me that Mr. Rackstraw had offered her an engagement on the stage. Did she intend to accept it? I asked; and she said that she had deferred her answer until after her birthday.

'I wish with all my heart,' I said, that you were not going on the stage; not that there is any harm in it, Jessie, nor that there could be harm in anything you do, but because it seems as if it will take you away from us.'

'Do you think,' was the reply, 'that a woman has not an ambition as well as a man? If I have a talent--and I really think I have, Chris--why should I not turn it to good account? Besides, I have my plans. I owe money, Chris.'

To Mr. Rackstraw for your lessons. Well, I can pay that, Jessie. All that I have is yours, and you don't know how rich I am growing.'

'You are too good to me, Chris,' she said, giving me her hand, which I took and held close in mine beneath her mantle; in that moment all my trouble vanished, and a feeling of ineffable delight brought peace to my heart once more. Will nothing cure you?'

'Nothing will ever cure me of loving you,' I said, in a glad whisper. 'You would not wish that.'

She turned the subject.

'I owe other money as well. I owe a great deal to uncle Bryan; he is poor, and I should like to pay him. But we'll not talk of this any more just now, Chris; wait till my birthday comes.'

'You will have a secret to tell me then, Jessie.'

'Yes; I have thought a great deal lately of the letter I am to read for the first time on that day.'

'And you have never had the curiosity to open it, Jessie?'

'Oh yes, I have; but I have never opened it. I can be steadfast and faithful, Chris, as well as other people. Let us call in together and see Josey West.'

'Ah,' said that little woman, with a shrewd glance at us as we entered, so you two lovers have been making it up?'

'Don't be foolish, Josey,' exclaimed Jessie.

'How do you know we ever quarrelled?' I asked, in high spirits.

'How do I know that it will be night to-night, you meant to ask.

Because I'm crooked, you think I can't see things perhaps. Have you seen Turk?'

'No,' I answered.

'He has gone to your house to tell you something. I dare say he is waiting there for you. Here is a rose for you.'

I took and dropped it.

'Ah,' said the queer little creature, 'because a rose is pretty and fresh, and smells sweet, you think it can't prick you! There, get along with you, Mr. Wiseacre, and mind how you handle your roses for the future.'

Turk had great news to communicate. His chance had come. By a fortunate combination of circumstances, an opening had occurred in a West-end theatre, and he was to make his first appearance there on the ensuing Saturday night in the new play that had been written for him.

'It's a fluke, Chris, my boy, a fluke,' he said, walking up and down the room excitedly; 'a sensation piece that the lessee thought would be a great draw is a most complete failure, as it deserves to be. He must either fill his house with paper or play to empty benches, so he withdraws his sensation piece, and gives me a show. We came out without much of a flourish; but we shall astonish them, Chris, my boy. The simple announcement of a new play and a new actor at that theatre is sufficient to draw all the critics, and we shall have a great house and a great triumph. You shall come, Chris, my boy; you shall come to witness the effect I shall produce. You shall go into the pit; here is an order for you. I don't ask you to take a big stick with you--I scorn to solicit undeserved applause; but at the same time every friend is a friend, and what's the use of a friend if he isn't friendly, eh, Chris, my boy?--a word to the wise; you understand; there's no need of anything more betwixt us. The piece will be wretchedly put upon the stage; there will be no scenery to speak of; the stock actors who play the other parts will be--well, no better than they should be, Chris, my boy, and, in addition, they will not be disposed to regard with favour a man who is an actor, Chris, my boy, and who comes to break down vicious monopolies and vicious systems. But what matter these small drawbacks to Turk West? They daunt not him! Resolved to conquer, he goes in and wins. Turk's sun will rise on Saturday night, Chris, my boy, and ever after it will blaze--that's the word, sir, Chris, my boy--blaze refulgent, and all the lesser suns shall pale before it.'

'But if you should fail,' I suggested.

He glared at me in incredulous astonishment.

'There's no such word in Turk's vocabulary, Chris, my boy. The man who goes in with an idea that he will fail generally does fail, and deserves to fail. Is there any want of pluck in Turk West? Is there any want of stamina in him? No, no. It's no game of chance that he plays. On Saturday night next he throws double sixes. And after that he'll be able to serve his friends.'

Did his family know of it? I asked.

'Yes, they know of it,' he replied, and those who can come will be there--in different parts of the theatre, Chris, my boy, strangers to each other. And old Mac will be there, with an oak stick; it's an off night with him. Here are a couple more orders which you may like to give to friends,' with most significant emphasis on the last word.

I fully understood his meaning, and I gave the orders to persons who promised to applaud Turk on every available opportunity, and who, I have good reason for believing, basely betrayed their trust; but there are not more ungrateful persons in the world than those who go to a theatre without paying. The receipt of an order has a baleful effect upon them; it deadens their sense of enjoyment, and makes them miserably hypercritical. On the following Saturday I made my way to the West-end theatre in a state of great expectation and excitement. Meeting with a man in the streets who sold walking-sticks, I purchased the stoutest in his collection, and, thus armed, seated myself in the front of the pit, half an hour before the curtain rose. The theatre was quite filled before the performances commenced, and a fashionable company was assembled in the stalls and private boxes. I recognised several members of Turk West's family in different parts of the house, who stared at me stolidly, and made no response to my familiar nods. Debating with myself upon the reason of this, I came to the conclusion that they had resolved not to know any person on that night lest they might be set down as partisans of Turk, and thus tarnish the genuineness of his triumph. The conclusion was strengthened by the circumstance which I noted, that they seemed to be perfectly oblivious of each other's existence; but there was certainly a family likeness in the sticks they carried. Studying the playbill, I found that a piece of some importance would be played first, and that Turk would not make his appearance until past nine o' clock. I paid but little attention to the drama in which Turk was not; my stick was as indifferent as myself; and the other sticks witnessed this part of the performance in mute inglorious ease; nevertheless there was a good deal of applause when the curtain fell. About this time there straggled into the stalls and private boxes certain persons whom a communicative stranger who sat next to me, and who appeared to be a wonderful authority on all matters connected with the drama, pointed out as notabilities.

The critics were the most interesting persons in my eyes, and I stared at them with interest, and with some feeling of disappointment because they were so like ordinary mortals. I asked my neighbour what he thought of Mr. Turk West as an actor--when I mentioned the name of my friend, I consulted my playbill with the air of one to whom he was a stranger--and I learnt to my mortification that he had never heard of him. He did not seem to be very sanguine of the success of the new play or the new actor, and I was mean enough to agree with him. The title of the play was Twice Wedded, or Torn Asunder; and in due time the curtain rose for its introduction to the audience. I cannot undertake to describe it, for the reasons that a good deal of it was not heard, that the actors and actresses were imperfect in their parts, and that the story was so involved and mysterious as to baffle description. The heroine, it appeared, had been twice married--once, many years ago to Turk, who had been torn from his wife, for no assignable reason, on the wedding-day, and who was supposed to have died in battle (what battle, and why he went to battle, were not explained); and afterwards to a person whose identity I was not successful in discovering. Turk played two characters, an Irish servant and the first husband, who instead of dying in battle, as he should have done, had been confined in a madhouse, from which he had just made his escape. After a comic scene as the Irish servant, which was mildly tolerated by the audience, Turk came on in a high-peaked hat, a long cloak, and hessian boots, and hearing that his wife had married again, behaved in so mad a manner as to fully justify his long incarceration. Being a very short man, Turk's appearance in this costume was even in my eyes most ludicrous; no effort of imagination could have made a hero of him, and as (for the sake of contrast, I suppose, with his other character) he spoke in the most lugubrious tone, the audience went through various transitions of feeling. First, they were, as I have said, mildly tolerant; then they became impatient, then indignant, and then, there was something so really comic in the little man's despair, they hooted and laughed at him. Directly the feeling of derision came into play, even I knew that both Turk and his new and original drama were, in dramatic parlance, 'damned.' An unfortunate word which Turk used was taken up as a catchword by the audience, and they flung it at him with merciless enjoyment. They literally screamed with laughter when he was most serious, and even the critics threw themselves back in their seats and showed by their merriment (for critics are rarely merry) that they were tasting a new sensation. In vain the sticks rapped approval; in vain did Turk's friends endeavour to stem the current. The knowing man who sat next to me declared, as he wiped his eyes, that he would not have missed this first night for anything. It's the richest thing I've ever seen,' he said; and, like a coward as I was, I flung away Turk's colours, and basely murmured that it was the richest thing I had ever seen. I was very sorry for poor Turk, and more so because he was so brave all through. He did not exhibit the slightest sign of discomposure at this miscarriage of his ambition, but faithfully spoke every word of his part, until the curtain finally fell amidst peals of laughter; and then the stage-manager came forward and stated that the new drama would not be played again.

When I was out of the theatre, I was almost inclined to run away, for I felt that the verdict was a just one, and I was afraid that Turk might wish me to declare otherwise; but I liked him too well to desert him. I waited for him near the stage-door, and so did a few other of his friends, who seemed to regard their big sticks, as I did mine, with gloomy disgust. Turk soon made his appearance, and, to my surprise, with a cheerful countenance. Not a word was said about his failure. We adjourned to a neighbouring tap, and talked of anything but the drama. Old Mac was there, enjoying his toddy, but he did not at first join in the conversation. Turk, also, was silent. Suddenly old Mac burst out:

'Hang it, my sons, let's speak! Turk, you acted bravely. I was never prouder of my profession than I was to-night when I saw you go manfully and artistically through your part in defiance of the senseless howlings of the envious crew. If I could have broken all their heads with one blow of my stick--did you hear it going, Turk? I stuck to you, my son; I stuck to you like a man--I'd have done it! Dammee, I'd have done it, to see where the brains were. I'd have made a quarry with thousands of these quartered slaves as high as I could pick my lance! Thank you; I will. Another glass of whisky-toddy, miss--as before. As before!' Here old Mac drew the back of his left hand across his eyes, and holding out his right sympathisingly, said: 'Turk, my boy, drown dull care! A small piece of lemon, if you please, miss. Here's confusion to the rabble!'

'Now what's the use of beating about the bush?' demanded Turk, a little huskily. 'I'm not such an ass as not to see that I've made a failure. Is Turk West going to bury his head in the sand, like an ostrich, and refuse to see it? Not he! Well, I'm not the first, and sha'n't be the last. Pass me the pewter, Chris. It served me right. I ought to have taken more time; I ought to have gone on by degrees; I ought to have stuck to my last. I've had my lesson, and I mean to profit by it. Mac, old boy, you and I will never meet again at Philippi. I've had my dream, and it's over.'

'The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces!' murmured old Mac.

'It was all the fault of the piece,' said one. 'What audience could be expected to stand such a hash?'

'It wasn't all the fault of the piece,' retorted Turk manfully. 'We were both to blame. It isn't a first-rate piece. I can see that now; but there's merit in it, merit, my boy, although the subject is an unfortunate one. I've brought desolation upon more than one breast to-night.' He beat his own, and the action would have been ludicrous, but for the genuine tone in which he spoke. 'The author had set his all upon the hazard of the die, and I saw him rush from the side-wings, with the salt tears running down his face. What did I say I'd throw to-night, Chris, my boy? Double sixes? Well, I threw for both, and threw double blank. A nice bungler I am I! My mind's made up. Othello's occupation's gone! Turk West acts no more.'

'Nonsense, old fellow, nonsense!' his friends remonstrated. 'You'll think better of it.'

'I've said it,' cried Turk, with stern resolve. 'I act no more.'

'In that case,' said old Mac, in a tone of gloomy desperation, 'I'll take another glass of whisky-toddy. Little does the English stage know what it has lost this night!'