Miser Farebrother (Vol. 1-3). B. L. Farjeon
of risk. Linton has his play in his pocket: he shall read it to you—or, rather, I will read it to you—before we leave you to-night. Linton is an execrable reader of his own works. He is so nervous and fidgety and undramatic that he misses every point. If ever I feel inclined to punch his head it is when he is reading his manuscript to the company in the green-room. Many a good play has been rejected because of this incapacity; many a bad play has been accepted because of the fervour and the magnetism of the author, who, carried away himself (frequently by inordinate vanity), has carried away a theatrical manager, and actors too sometimes, and warped their judgment. I will read Linton's play fairly, so that you will be able to form a proper estimate of it. Just consider, Leth: the bill is not due for six months. In three or four weeks at the furthest Linton's piece will be produced. The manager of the Star Theatre would like to rush it on sooner, but I shall insist upon a proper number of rehearsals. I shall stage-manage it myself, and that should be a guarantee. Two weeks after the production of the piece I shall have the pleasure—I beg Linton's pardon: he will have the pleasure—of handing you the sum of three hundred pounds in a new suit of clothes. Not the money thus clothed, but the happy author. That will be four months before the money is to be paid to Mr. Jeremiah Pamflett. You can keep it and use it for those four months if you wish."
"I shall pay it at once," said Mr. Lethbridge, "and get back the bill."
"Then you will do it?"
"I will do it," said Mr. Lethbridge: "and I wish Mr. Linton every success."
"Linton, old chap," exclaimed Kiss, "your fortune's made!"
Mr. Linton raised his eyes. The tears were brimming over in them, and running down his face.
"How can I thank you?" he said to Mr. Lethbridge. "When everything looked so dark, and when I did not know which way to turn——" He could not go on.
"There's a silver lining to every cloud," said Kiss, "and if it can be seen anywhere in this wilderness city it can be seen here, in my friend Leth's house. I call a blessing upon it. When you crossed this threshold you dropped on your feet. But I told you how it would be. Now, Leth, perhaps you would like to hear that, hearing I was out of an engagement, the manager of the Eden Theatre offered me terms, but I have such faith in Linton's new piece that I refused and kept myself open for it."
"I am perfectly satisfied," said Mr. Lethbridge.
"We can settle the affair at once, if you like," said Kiss.
"Certainly, at once," assented Mr. Lethbridge.
"I brought the bill with me, and here it is on stamped paper."
He produced it, and Mr. Lethbridge, reading it through, accepted it, making it payable at the bank in which he had for so long a time held a position of trust.
"Aunt Leth sent me to tell you," said Phœbe, popping in her head, "that tea is ready."
"Thank you, Phœbe," said Mr. Lethbridge; "come in. I want to introduce Mr. Linton to you."
How little did the bright and beautiful girl suspect that within the last few moments an awful and tragic thread had been woven into her life!
She entered the room, and looked timidly at the poor author.
"Not a word for me?" said Kiss.
"Yes, Mr. Kiss," said Phœbe, giving him her hand.
"Mr. Linton—Phœbe," said her uncle Leth, encircling her waist with his arm. "This is my niece, Mr. Linton, whom I love as a daughter."
"Mr. Pamflett was speaking of you yesterday," said Mr. Linton.
"Mr. Pamflett!" exclaimed Phœbe, shrinking at the name.
"Yes. He said you were the most lovely girl in all London, and that there was no service you could call upon him to render which he would not cheerfully perform."
"I scarcely know him, sir," murmured Phoebe.
"Let us go in to tea," said Mr. Lethbridge, "or mother will be impatient. A terrible tyrant, Mr. Linton; a terrible tyrant!"
CHAPTER XII.
THE READING OF THE NEW PLAY.
It was the merriest tea-party imaginable; and Aunt Leth's mind was at ease, in consequence of the time which had been afforded her to make suitable preparations for so eminent a guest as the dramatic author. In pouring out the tea, she helped him last, saying gaily,
"The first of the coffee, Mr. Linton, the last of the tea."
"A good homely saying," he observed. "I used to hear it from my mother. Though, really, I do not deserve such attention."
"Don't believe him, Aunt Leth," said Kiss. "Your dramatic author is as fond of the best as any common mortal."
The idea of comparing a dramatic author to a common mortal was certainly not to be lightly accepted by the young folk round the tea-table, who regarded Mr. Linton as a being far above and removed from the general run of people. It was to them almost a surprise that he spoke and ate in exactly the same way as their other acquaintances; and out of the depths of their admiration, everything he did seemed to be invested with a certain superiority which raised him above his fellows. They cast timid and covert looks upon him, and noted his movements, so as to be able to give a faithful description of him, by-and-by, to their friends. It was fortunate for him that their observance was not too obtrusive, or it might have spoilt his appetite. As it was, he made an excellent tea, and tucked away the bread and butter and ham and eggs with a zest which delighted Aunt Leth. He declared that he had never tasted such tea, nor such eggs, nor such bacon, nor such bread and butter, nor such gooseberry jam; and, if appearances were to be trusted, and there was any value in words, never did mortal enjoy himself more than this poor author, who had been lifted from despair by the generous kindness of Uncle Leth. Kiss had imparted, hastily and confidentially, to Aunt Leth some particulars of Mr. Linton's circumstances, and had found time to descant upon his friend's virtues as a domestic man, of his love for his wife and children, and of his brave struggles against fortune. Aunt Leth's heart went out to Mr. Linton, and she said how proud she would be if he would bring his wife and little ones to see them. He replied that the honour would be on his side; but that, with his hostess's permission, he would wait until his new piece was produced at the Star Theatre. This temporizing reply was dictated by his sensitive spirit. He and his wife lived in two rooms, in a not very distinguished neighbourhood, and he was afraid of a return visit and its consequent humiliation. When his play was produced he would be able to remove to better quarters, and his wife would buy a new dress; then the acquaintanceship with this charming family could commence, and he would be in a position to return their hospitality.
"A new play!" exclaimed Aunt Leth. "Do you appear in it, Mr. Kiss?"
"Yes," said Kiss. "We hope to see you in the theatre on the first night. Uncle Leth has promised to supply each of you with a big stick, so that you may lead the applause."
"But there will be no getting in," said Aunt Leth.
"Linton will reserve a private box for you," said Kiss.
Eager heads turned to the poor author, eager eyes gazed at him.
"Madam," said Mr. Linton, "I shall be honoured if you will accept it. If you do not, I feel that my play will meet with failure."
"You are very good," said Aunt Leth. "We have never been to a first night, and have read so much about them. I am sure your play will be a great success; there can be no doubt of that."
The thoughts of Fanny and Phœbe instantly flew to the question of dress. A private box on a first night! An event to be always remembered, especially with a play which was certain to be the talk of the town. It must be properly honoured.
"Mr. Linton has the manuscript of the play with him," said Kiss, "and if you have nothing better to occupy your time to-night I propose to read it to