"Bravo!" I cried, clapping my hands together until my palms ached.
"More!"
"There is no more," said Sir Henry, with a gratified smile. "You see,
recited before ten or twenty thousand people with the same verve that I
put into 'Eugene Aram,' or 'Ten Little Nigger Boys,' so much enthusiasm
is aroused that I cannot go on. The applause never stops, so of course a
second verse would be a mere waste of material."
"Quite so," I observed. Then a thought came to me which I resolved to
turn to my profit. "Sir Henry," I said, "I'll bet a box of cigars
against a box for your performance to-night that I can guess who wrote
that poem for you in one guess."
"Done!" he replied, eagerly.
"Austin," said I.
"Make Miss Witherup out a ticket for Box A for the 'Merchant of Venice'
to-night," cried the famous actor to his secretary. "How the deuce did
you know?"
"Oh, that was easy," I replied, much gratified at having won my wager.
"I don't believe any one else could have thought of a rhyme to triumphs
like 'cry Humphs'!"
"You have wonderful insight," remarked Sir Henry. "But come, Miss
Witherup, I did not mean to receive you in a box, or on a bare stage.
What is your favorite style of interior decoration?"
His question puzzled me. I did not know but that possibly Sir Henry's
words were a delicate method of suggesting luncheon, and then it
occurred to me that this could not possibly be so at that hour, one
o'clock. Actors never eat at hours which seem regular to others. I
hazarded an answer, however, and all was made clear at once.
"I have a leaning towards the Empire style," said I.
Sir Henry turned immediately and roared upward into the drops: "Hi,
Billie, set the third act of 'Sans Gene,' and tell my valet to get out
my Bonapartes. The lady has a leaning towards the Empire. Excuse me for
one moment, Miss Witherup," he added, turning to me. "If you will remain
where you are until I have the room ready for you, I will join you there
in five minutes."
[Illustration: "I SAT QUIETLY IN THE BOX"]
The curtain was immediately lowered, and I sat quietly in the box, as
requested, wondering greatly what was going to happen. Five minutes
later the curtain rose again, and there, where all had been bare and
cheerless, I saw the brilliantly lit room wherein Bonaparte as Emperor
has his interview with his ex-laundress. It was cosey, comfortable, and
perfect in every detail, and while I was admiring, who should appear at
the rear entrance but Bonaparte himself--or, rather, Sir Henry made up
as Bonaparte.
"Dear me, Sir Henry!" I cried, delightedly. "You do me too much honor."
"That were impossible," he replied, gallantly. "Still, lest you be
embarrassed by such preparations to receive you, let me say that this is
my invariable custom, and when I know in advance of the tastes of my
callers, all is ready when they arrive. Unfortunately, I have had to
keep you waiting because I did not know your tastes."
"Do you mean to say that you adapt your scenery and personal make-up to
the likings of the individual who calls?" I cried, amazed.
"Always," said he. "It is easy, and I think courteous. For instance,
when the Archbishop of Canterbury calls upon me I have Canterbury
Cathedral set here, and wear vestments, and receive him in truly
ecclesiastical style. The organ is kept going, and lines of choir-boys,
suitably garbed, pass constantly in and out.
"When the King of Denmark called I had the throne-room scene of 'Hamlet'
set, and we talked, with his Majesty sitting on the throne, and myself,
clad as the melancholy Prince, reclining on a rug before him. He
expressed himself as being vastly entertained. It gave him pleasure, and
was no trouble to me beyond giving orders to the stage-manager. Then
when an old boyhood friend of mine who had gone wrong came to see me,
hearing that he was an inebriate, as well as a thief, I received him in
the character of Dubose, in the attic scene of the 'Lyons Mail.'"
"A very interesting plan," said I, "and one which I should think would
be much appreciated by all."
"True," replied Sir Henry. And then he laughed. "It never failed but
once," said he. "And then it wasn't my fault. Old Beerbohm Tree came to
visit me one morning, and I had the graveyard scene of 'Hamlet' set, and
myself appeared as the crushed tragedian. I thought Tree had some sense
of humor and could appreciate the joke, but I was mistaken. He got as
mad as a hatter, and started away in a rage. If he hadn't fallen into
the grave on the way out, I'd never have had a chance to explain that I
didn't mean anything by it."
By this time I had clambered back to the stage again, and was about to
sit down on one of the very handsome Empire sofas in the room, when Sir
Henry gave a leap of at least two feet in the air, and roared with rage.
[Illustration: "'SEND THE PROPERTY-MAN HERE!' HE CRIED"]
"Send the property-man here!" he cried, trembling all over and turning
white in the face. "Send him here; bring him in chains. If he's
up-stairs, throw him down; if he's down-stairs, put him in a catapult
and throw him up. It matters not how he comes, as long as he comes."
I shrank back in terror. The man's rage seemed almost ungovernable, and
I observed that he held a poker in his hand. Up and down the room he
strode, muttering imprecations upon the property-man, until I felt that
if I did not wish to see murder done I would better withdraw.
"Excuse me, Sir Henry," said I, rising, and speaking timidly, "I think
perhaps I'd better go."
"Sit down!" he retorted, imperiously, pointing at the sofa with the
poker. I sat down, and just then the property-man arrived.
"Want me, S'rennery?" he said.
Irving gazed at him, with a terrible frown wrinkling his forehead, for a
full minute, during which it seemed to me that the whole building
trembled, and I could almost hear the seats in the top gallery creak
with nervousness.
"Want you?" he retorted, witheringly. "Yes, I want you--as an usher,
perhaps; as a flunky to announce that a carriage waits; as a Roman
citizen to say Hi-hi! but as a property-man, never!"
There was another ominous pause, and I could see that the sarcasm of the
master sank deeply into the soul of the hireling.
"Wha--what 'ave I done, S'rennery?" asked the trembling property-man.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" roared Sir Henry. "Look upon that poker and see!"
The man looked, and sank sobbing to the floor.
"Heaven help me!" he moaned. "I have a sick grandfather, S'rennery," he
added. "I was up with him all night."
The great man immediately became all tenderness. Throwing the poker to
one side, he sprang to where his unfortunate property-man lay, and
raised him up.
"Why the devil didn't you say so?" he said, sympathetically. "I didn't
know it, Henderson, my dear old boy. Never mind the poker. Let it go. I
forgive you that. Here, take this L20 note, and don't come back until
your grandfather is well again."
It was a beautiful scene, and so pathetic that I almost wept. The
property-man rose to his feet, and putting the L20 note in his pocket,
walked dejectedly away.
Sir Henry turned to me, and said, his voice husky with emotion: "Pardon
me, Miss Witherup! I was provoked."
"It was a magnificent scene, Sir Henry," said I. "But what was the
matter with the poker? I thought it rather a good one."
"It is," said he, sitting down on a small chair and twiddling his
thumbs. "But, you see, this is an Empire scene, and that confounded
thing is a Marie Antoinette poker. Why, if that had happened at a
public performance, I should have been ruined."
"Might not Bonaparte have used a Marie Antoinette poker?" I asked, to
draw him out.
"Bonaparte, Miss Witherup," he answered, "might have done anything but
that. You see, by the time he became Emperor every bit of household
stuff in the palace had been stolen by the French mobs. Therefore it is
fair to assume that the palace was entirely refurnished when Bonaparte
came in, and as at that time there was no craze for Louis Quinze, or
Louis Seize, or Louis number this, that, and the other, it is not at all
probable that Napoleon would have taken the trouble to snoop around the
second-hand shops for a poker of that kind. Indeed, it is more than
probable that everything he had in the palace was absolutely new."
"What a wonderful mind you must have, Sir Henry, to think of these
things!" I said, enthusiastically.
"Miss Witherup," said the actor-knight, impressively, "this is an age
of wonderful minds, and there are so many of them that he who wishes to
rise above his fellows must be careful of every detail. Would I have
been a knight to-day had it not been for my care of details? Never. It
would have gone to Willie Edouin, or to my friend Tree, or to some other
actor of the same grade. My principle, Miss Witherup, is not original. I
look after the details, and the results take care of themselves. It is
the old proverb of the pennies and the pounds all over again."
"It is wisdom," I said, oracularly. "But it must be wearing."
"Oh no," said Sir Henry, with a gesture of self-deprecation. "There are
so many details that I have had to make up a staff of advisers. As a
matter of fact, I am not a man. I am a combination of men. In the
popular mind I embody the wisdom, the taste, the culture, the learning
of many. In fact, Miss Witherup, while I am not London, London finds
artistic expression in me."
"And you are coming to America again?" I asked, rising, for I felt I
ought to go, I was so awed by the humble confession of my host.
"Some day," said he. "When times are better."
"Why, Sir Henry," I cried, "you who have just given L20 to your
property-man can surely afford to cross--"
"I referred, madam," he interrupted, "to times in America, for I
contemplate charging $5 a stall when next I visit you. You see, my next
visit will be the first of a series of twenty farewell seasons which I
propose to make in the States, which I love dearly. Don't forget that,
please--_which I love dearly_. I want your people to know."
"I shall not, Sir Henry," said I, holding out my hand. "Good-bye."
"Say _au revoir_," he replied. "I shall surely see you at to-night's
performance."
And so we parted.
On the way down the Strand, back to my rooms, I met the property-man,
who was evidently waiting for me.
"Excuse me, miss," said he, "but you saw?"
"Saw what?" said I.
"How he called me down about the Marie Antoinette poker?" he replied,
nervously.
"Yes," said I, "I did."
[Illustration: "'IT WAS ALL ARRANGED BEFOREHAND, MISS'"]
"Well, it was all arranged beforehand, miss, so that you would be
impressed by his love for and careful attention to details. That's all,"
said he. "We other fellers at the Lyceum has some pride, miss, and we
wants you to understand that S'rennery isn't the only genius on the
programme, by good long odds. It's not knowin' that that made her
Majesty the Queen make her mistake."
"I didn't know, Mr. Henderson, that her Majesty had made a mistake,"
said I, coldly.
"Well, she did, miss. She knighted S'rennery as a individual, when she'd
ought to have knighted the whole bloomin' theaytre. There's others than
him as does it!" he observed, proudly. "King Somebody knighted a piece
of steak. Why couldn't the Queen knight the theaytre?"
Which struck me as an idea of some force, although I am a great admirer
of a man who, like Sir Henry, can dominate an institution of such
manifest excellence.