In short, the success both of new piece and new actor was complete, and when Miss Snevellicci was called for at the end of the play, Nicholas led her on, and divided the applause.
XXV
Concerning a young lady from London, who joins the company, and an elderly admirer who follows in her train; with an affecting ceremony consequent on their arrival.
The new piece being a decided hit, was announced for every evening of performance until further notice, and the evenings when the theatre was closed, were reduced from three in the week to two. Nor were these the only tokens of extraordinary success; for, on the succeeding Saturday, Nicholas received, by favour of the indefatigable Mrs. Grudden, no less a sum than thirty shillings; besides which substantial reward, he enjoyed considerable fame and honour: having a presentation copy of Mr. Curdle’s pamphlet forwarded to the theatre, with that gentleman’s own autograph (in itself an inestimable treasure) on the flyleaf, accompanied with a note, containing many expressions of approval, and an unsolicited assurance that Mr. Curdle would be very happy to read Shakespeare to him for three hours every morning before breakfast during his stay in the town.
“I’ve got another novelty, Johnson,” said Mr. Crummles one morning in great glee.
“What’s that?” rejoined Nicholas. “The pony?”
“No, no, we never come to the pony till everything else has failed,” said Mr. Crummles. “I don’t think we shall come to the pony at all, this season. No, no, not the pony.”
“A boy phenomenon, perhaps?” suggested Nicholas.
“There is only one phenomenon, sir,” replied Mr. Crummles impressively, “and that’s a girl.”
“Very true,” said Nicholas. “I beg your pardon. Then I don’t know what it is, I am sure.”
“What should you say to a young lady from London?” inquired Mr. Crummles. “Miss So-and-so, of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane?”
“I should say she would look very well in the bills,” said Nicholas.
“You’re about right there,” said Mr. Crummles; “and if you had said she would look very well upon the stage too, you wouldn’t have been far out. Look here; what do you think of this?”
With this inquiry Mr. Crummles unfolded a red poster, and a blue poster, and a yellow poster, at the top of each of which public notification was inscribed in enormous characters—“First appearance of the unrivalled Miss Petowker of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane!”
“Dear me!” said Nicholas, “I know that lady.”
“Then you are acquainted with as much talent as was ever compressed into one young person’s body,” retorted Mr. Crummles, rolling up the bills again; “that is, talent of a certain sort—of a certain sort. ‘The Blood Drinker,’ ” added Mr. Crummles with a prophetic sigh, “ ‘The Blood Drinker’ will die with that girl; and she’s the only sylph I ever saw, who could stand upon one leg, and play the tambourine on her other knee, like a sylph.”
“When does she come down?” asked Nicholas.
“We expect her today,” replied Mr. Crummles. “She is an old friend of Mrs. Crummles’s. Mrs. Crummles saw what she could do—always knew it from the first. She taught her, indeed, nearly all she knows. Mrs. Crummles was the original Blood Drinker.”
“Was she, indeed?”
“Yes. She was obliged to give it up though.”
“Did it disagree with her?” asked Nicholas.
“Not so much with her, as with her audiences,” replied Mr. Crummles. “Nobody could stand it. It was too tremendous. You don’t quite know what Mrs. Crummles is yet.”
Nicholas ventured to insinuate that he thought he did.
“No, no, you don’t,” said Mr. Crummles; “you don’t, indeed. I don’t, and that’s a fact. I don’t think her country will, till she is dead. Some new proof of talent bursts from that astonishing woman every year of her life. Look at her—mother of six children—three of ’em alive, and all upon the stage!”
“Extraordinary!” cried Nicholas.
“Ah! extraordinary indeed,” rejoined Mr. Crummles, taking a complacent pinch of snuff, and shaking his head gravely. “I pledge you my professional word I didn’t even know she could dance, till her last benefit, and then she played Juliet, and Helen Macgregor, and did the skipping-rope hornpipe between the pieces. The very first time I saw that admirable woman, Johnson,” said Mr. Crummles, drawing a little nearer, and speaking in the tone of confidential friendship, “she stood upon her head on the butt-end of a spear, surrounded with blazing fireworks.”
“You astonish me!” said Nicholas.
“She astonished me!” returned Mr. Crummles, with a very serious countenance. “Such grace, coupled with such dignity! I adored her from that moment!”
The arrival of the gifted subject of these remarks put an abrupt termination to Mr. Crummles’s eulogium. Almost immediately afterwards, Master Percy Crummles entered with a letter, which had arrived by the General Post, and was directed to his gracious mother; at sight of the superscription whereof, Mrs. Crummles exclaimed, “From Henrietta Petowker, I do declare!” and instantly became absorbed in the contents.
“Is it—?” inquired Mr. Crummles, hesitating.
“Oh, yes, it’s all right,” replied
