Some people, I am told,
don't want a view of the stage."
"Then they had better not come to my theatre," said Edward Henry.
"All which," commented Sir John, "gives me no clue whatever to the
reason why you are sitting here by my side and calmly eating my eggs
and toast, and drinking my coffee."
Admittedly, Edward Henry was nervous. Admittedly, he was a provincial
in the presence of one of the most illustrious personages in the
Empire. Nevertheless, he controlled his nervousness, and reflected:
"Nobody else from the Five Towns would or could have done what I am
doing. Moreover, this chap is a mountebank. In the Five Towns they
would kow-tow to him, but they would laugh at him. They would mighty
soon add _him_ up. Why should I be nervous? I'm as good as he is." He
finished with the thought which has inspired many a timid man with new
courage in a desperate crisis: "The fellow can't eat me."
Then he said aloud:
"I want to ask you a question, Sir John."
"One?"
"One. Are you the head of the theatrical profession, or is Sir Gerald
Pompey?"
"_Sir_ Gerald Pompey?"
"_Sir_ Gerald Pompey. Haven't you seen the papers this morning?"
Sir John Pilgrim turned pale. Springing up, he seized the topmost of
an undisturbed pile of daily papers, and feverishly opened it.
"Bah!" he muttered.
He was continually thus imitating his own behaviour on the stage.
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