Snip
awakened.
Edward Henry rose, and, in the hush, tiptoed round to the sofa.
"Good-bye, Sir John," he whispered.
"You're not going?"
"I am, Sir John."
The head of his profession sat up. "How right you are!" said he. "How
right you are! Trent, I knew from the first words it wouldn't do. It
lacks colour. I want something more crimson, more like the brighter
parts of this jacket, something--" He waved hands in the air. "The
Alderman agrees with me. He's going. Don't trouble to read any more,
Trent. But drop in any time--any time. Chung, what o'clock is it?"
"It is nearly noon," said Edward Henry, in the tone of an old friend.
"Well, I'm sorry you can't oblige me, Sir John. I'm off to see Sir
Gerald Pompey now."
"But who says I can't oblige you?" protested Sir John. "Who knows
what sacrifices I would not make in the highest interests of the
profession? Alderman, you jump to conclusions with the agility of an
acrobat, but they are false conclusions! Miss Taft, the telephone!
Chung, my coat! Good-bye, Trent, good-bye!"
An hour later Edward Henry met Mr. Marrier at the Grand Babylon Hotel.
"Well, sir," said Mr. Marrier, "you are the greatest man that ever
lived!"
"Why?"
Mr. Marrier showed him the stop-press news of a penny evening paper,
which read: "Sir John Pilgrim has abandoned his ceremonious departure
from Tilbury, in order to lay the corner-stone of the new Regent
Theatre on Wednesday week.
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