Part 5 (1/2)

”Dear me, now, that's a pity!” exclaimed the stranger, taking off his hat and wiping his hot, bald head. ”Dear old Roger--it's years since we met, and I was quite looking forward to enjoying a chat with him about old times. Well, well, another day will do, no doubt. You don't live at the Court, do you?”

”I? Oh, no,” said Austin. ”I only visit there. It is such a charming place!”

”Shouldn't wonder,” remarked the other, nodding. ”Our friend's a rich man, and can afford to gratify his tastes--which are rather expensive ones, or used to be when I knew him years ago. I must squeeze an hour to go and see him some time or other while I'm here, if I can only manage it.”

”Then you are not here for long?” asked Austin, wondering who the man could be.

”Depends upon business, young gentleman,” replied the stranger.

”Depends upon how we draw. We shall have a week for certain, but after that----”

”How you draw?” repeated Austin, politely mystified.

”Yes, draw--what houses we draw, to be sure,” explained the stranger.

”What, haven't you seen the bills? I'm on tour with 'Sardanapalus'!”

A ray of light flashed upon Austin's memory. ”Oh! I think I understand,” he ventured hesitatingly. ”Are you--can you perhaps be--er--Mr Buckskin?”

”For Buckskin read Buskin, and you may boast of having hazarded a particularly shrewd guess,” replied the gentleman. ”Bucephalus Buskin, at your service; and, of course, the public's.”

”Ah, now I know,” exclaimed Austin. ”The greatest actor in Europe, on or off the stage.”

”Oh come, now, come; spare my blushes, young gentleman, draw it a _little_ milder!” cried the delighted manager, almost bursting with mock modesty. ”Greatest actor in Europe--oh, very funny, very good indeed! Off the stage, too! Oh dear, dear, dear, what wags there are in the world! And pray, young gentleman, from whom did you pick up that?”

”I think it must have been the milkman,” replied Austin simply.

”The milkman, eh? A most discriminating milkman, 'pon my word. Well, it's always encouraging to find appreciation of high art, even among milkmen,” observed Mr Buskin. ”Only shows how much we owe the growing education of the ma.s.ses to the drama. Talk of the press, the pulpit, the schoolroom----”

”I believe he was quoting an advertis.e.m.e.nt,” interpolated Austin.

”An ad., eh?” said the mummer, somewhat disconcerted. ”Oh, well, I shouldn't be surprised. Of course _I_ have nothing to do with such things. That's the business of the advance-agent. And did he really put in that? I positively must speak to him about it. A good fellow, you know, but rather inclined to let his zeal outrun his discretion.

It's not good business to raise too great expectations, is it, now?”

Austin, in his innocence, scarcely took in the meaning of all this.

But it was clear enough that Mr Buskin was a great personage in his way, and extremely modest into the bargain. His interest was now very much excited, and he awaited eagerly what the communicative gentleman would say next.

”I should think it would take,” continued Mr Buskin, warming to his subject. ”It's a most magnificent spectacle when it's properly done--as we do it. There's a scene in the third act--the Banquet in the Royal Palace--that's something you won't forget as long as you live. A gorgeous hall, brilliantly illuminated--the whole Court in glittering costumes--the tables covered with gold and silver plate. Peals of thunder, and a frightful tempest raging outside. In the midst of the revels a conspiracy breaks out--enter Pania, b.l.o.o.d.y--Sardanapalus a.s.sumes a suit of armour, and admires himself in a looking-gla.s.s--and then the rival armies burst in, and a terrific battle ensues----”

”What, in the dining-room?” asked the astonished Austin.

”Well, well, the poet allows himself a bit of licence there, I admit; but that only gives us an opportunity of showing what fine stage-management can do,” said Mr Buskin complacently. ”It's a magnificent situation. You'll say you never saw anything like it since you were born, you just mark my words.”

”It certainly must be very wonderful,” remarked Austin. ”But I'm afraid I'm rather ignorant of such matters. What _is_ 'Sardanapalus,'

may I ask?”

”What, never heard of Byron's 'Sardanapalus'?” exclaimed the actor, throwing up his hands. ”Why, it's one of the finest things ever put upon the boards. Full of telling effects, and not too many bothering lengths, you know. The Poet Laureate, dear good man, worried my life out a year ago to let him write a play upon the subject especially for me. The part of Sardanapalus was to be devised so as to bring out all my particular--er--capabilities, and any little hints that might occur to me were to be acted upon and embodied in the text. But I wouldn't hear of it. 'Me dear Alfred,' I said, 'it isn't that I underrate your very well-known talents, but Byron's good enough for _me_. Hang it all, you know, an artist owes something to the cla.s.sics of his country.' So now, if that uneasy spirit ever looks this way from the land of the eternal shades, he'll see something at least to comfort him. He'll see that one actor, at least, not unknown to Europe, has vindicated his reputation as a playwright in the face of the British public.”

Austin felt immensely flattered at such confidences being vouchsafed to him by the eminent exponent of Lord Byron, and said he was certain that the theatre would be crammed. Mr Buskin shrugged his shoulders, and replied he was sure he hoped so.

”And now,” he added, ”I think I'll be walking back. And look you here, young gentleman. We've had a pleasant meeting, and I'd like to see you again. Just take this card”--scribbling a few words on it in pencil--”and the night you favour us with your presence in the house, come round and see me in me dressing-room between the acts. You've only to show that, and they'll let you in at once. I'd like your impressions of the thing while it's going on.”