MR. GARRICK (_hastily_).—I perceive, sir, a stir among the company. The
gentleman who is taking the chair has notable eyebrows; he must be——
MR. SHAKESPEARE.—Master George Robey. I’ve heard of him and his eyebrows.
MR. G.—No, no, ’tis Sir Arthur Pinero, an actor-dramatist like yourself,
sir.
MR. SHAKESPEARE.—Beshrew me, but I would hear the chimes at midnight with
him and drink a health unto his knighthood. (_Sings._) “And let me the
canakin clink, clink, and——”
THE HOUSE (_indignantly_).—Sh-h-h!
MR. SHAKESPEARE.—A murrain on these gallants! They have no ear for a
catch and should get them to a monastery. But I’ll sit like my grandsire,
carved in alabaster. Who’s the young spark, now speaking?
DR. J. (_shocked_).—The young spark, sir, is His Royal Highness the
Prince of Wales.
MR. SHERIDAN.—Egad! This reminds me of old times, but the young man is
not a bit like my friend Prinny. And though _I_ managed Drury Lane, I
never got Prinny on _my_ stage.
DR. J.—Sir, your Prinny never had so good a cause to be there. He only
_thought_ he fought in the wars; but this Prince is a real ex-Service
man, pleading for the ex-Service men, his comrades in arms. He has been
a soldier, and not a man of us in this box but wishes he could say as
much for himself. Every man thinks meanly of himself for not having been
a soldier; but he will think less meanly if he can help those who have.
That is the very purpose of this numerous assembly.
MR. SHAKESPEARE.—Oh, most learned doctor, a Daniel come to judgment! I’
faith I am most heartily of thy mind, and would drink a loving toast to
the young Prince and another to the ex-Service fellows, and eke a third
to this—how runs it?—this numerous assembly. (_Sings._) “And let me the
canakin clink, clink, and——”
THE HOUSE (_in a frenzy of indignation_).—Sh-h-h! Turn him out!
(_Hisses._)
MR. SHAKESPEARE.—What! the “bird”! Well-a-day, this isn’t the first time
they’ve hissed my Ghost.
MR. KEAN.—Sir, they’ve hissed _me_!
MR. SHAKESPEARE.—Ha! say’st thou, honest Ned! But thou wast a jackanapes
to let thyself be caught with the Alderman’s wife and——
Mrs. S. (_icily_).—Mr. Shakespeare, there are ladies present.
MR. SHERIDAN (_whispering to Dr. J._).—But what does little Davy here,
doctor? He has always been represented as very saving.
DR. J.—No, sir. Davy is a liberal man. He has given away more money than
any man in England. There may be a little vanity mixed, but he has shown
that money is not his first object.
At this moment Charon popped his head in at the door, pulling his
forelock, and said, “Time, gen’lemen, time!” The house was rising and I
took the opportunity to step back, unperceived, into the corridor. Mr.
Shakespeare led the procession out, declaring that, as he had come in
a galliard, he must return in a coranto, and offering to dance it with
Mrs. Siddons, who, however, excused herself, saying that she knew no
touch of it, though she had of old taken great strides in her profession.
Dr. Johnson turned back, when half way out, to touch the doorpost.
Mr. Garrick sallied forth arm-in-arm with Mr. Kean and Mr. Sheridan.
“Egad!” chuckled Mr. Sheridan, “Garrick between Tragedy and Comedy,” and
subsequently caused some confusion by tumbling down the stairs and lying
helpless at the bottom. When the attendants ran to his assistance and
asked his name, he said he was Mr. Wilberforce. As they emerged under
the portico the crowd outside raised a loud cheer, and Mr. Shakespeare
doffed his plumed cap and bowed graciously to right and left until they
told him that the crowd were cheering the Prince of Wales, when he looked
crestfallen and called those within earshot “groundlings” and “lousy
knaves.” As he jumped into a taxi, I heard him direct the driver to the
“Mermaid,” when Dr. Johnson, running up and puffing loudly, cried, “A
tavern chair is the throne of human felicity. But the ‘Mitre’ is the
nearer. Let us go there, and I’ll have a frisk with you.” And as the taxi
disappeared down Catherine Street, my ear caught the distant strain, “And
let me the canakin clink, clink.”