CHAPTER VIII

AT the Obelisk streets radiate, and the trams going to London have to make their choice. The theatre in the road that leads to Blackfriars Bridge is a theatre of middle age, with its own opinion of the many juvenile competitors that have sprung up during recent years in near and in distant suburbs: it endeavours to preserve the semblance of youth and modernity by putting on four white globes of electric light, but its age is betrayed by a dozen women with aprons full of oranges, "Two a punny, a punny for two" (oranges are not eaten in the new theatres), and a tray on high trestles loaded with pigs' trotters, which no one ever buys. Some steps go up to the shilling and the sixpenny seats; early doors, which exact from the over-anxious an additional threepence, are in a dark alley at the side, at the end of which is a door that leads to the box-office by day and the stage entrance by night. The outside of the house has coloured posters of grisly scenes that make the passer-by chill with fear: a yellow woman hurled down a blue precipice; the same lady bound by cords to a grandfather's clock, which shows the hour as three minutes to twelve, and facing her two crape masked men with pistols; underneath the horrid words, "At midnight, my lady, you die." A pleasanter note in the frames of photographs that hang slightly askew. Here, Mr. Lawrence Railton as a wicked Italian (at any rate, his moustache turns upwards, as Gratiano in a third-hand costume of the Louis the Fifteenth period, as Inspector Beagle in "Tracking the Criminal," and in as many more characters as the frame will carry). In the centre, Mr. Lawrence Railton as the art of the photographer would have him be in real life, evening dress, insufficient chin, contemptuous smile--the portrait which occupied the position of honour on Rosalind's mantelpiece.

A conspicuous evening for Erb, by reason of the circumstance that he had the honour of conveying Rosalind to the theatre; this because her father, having borrowed individual shillings on individual days from her on the promise of accompanying her had, at the last moment, come into a windfall of two and threepence, and had thereupon remembered an urgent appointment with a dramatist of note at a public-house just off the Strand. "Should the fates be kind," said Rosalind's father, "I shall endeavour to honour the performance with my presence later on." Louisa, interested in everything that interested Erb, had organised a raffle at her factory for a circle ticket, and a chapel-going girl, who had picked the highest number out of a straw hat accompanied her, with the full anticipation--this being her first visit to the play--that she was about to witness scenes that might well imperil her future existence; unwilling, all the same, to give her prize away or to sell. Erb, confronted with the responsibility of transporting three ladies, had vague ideas of a four-wheeler, but remembered in time that this would excite criticism from members ever anxious to detect and crush any effort he might make to commit the unpardonable sin of "putting on side;" compensation came in being allowed to walk by the side of Rosalind, who, near Camberwell Gate, seemed to be dressed prettily but with restraint, but who, as they approached the Elephant and Castle, increased in smartness by contrast with the surroundings of Walworth Road. There were crossings to be managed, and Erb, in the most artful way, assisted her here by insinuating his arm underneath her cape, wondering at his own courage, and rather astonished to find that he was not reproved. Rosalind's manner differed from that of other young women of the district in that she dispensed with the defiant attitude which they assumed, never to be varied from the first introduction to the last farewell.

"And now the question is," said Louisa's colleague, "ought I to go in or ought I to stay outside?"

"Considering you've got a ticket," replied little Louisa satirically, "it seems a pity to go in. Why not stay outside and 'ave an orange instead?"

"Oh," said the chapel-goer recklessly, "now I'm here I may jest as well go on with it. In for a penny in for a pound. If the worst comes to the worst, I can shut me eyes and-- Who's that lifting his cap to you?"

"'Ullo," remarked Louisa, "you alive still?"

The lad threw away the end of his cigarette, and, advancing, remarked in a bass voice that he had thought it as well to come up on the off chance of meeting Louisa.

"My present young man," said Louisa, introducing the lad.

"Well," said the chapel young woman resignedly, "this is the beginning of it."

Erb, again assisting, took Rosalind up the broad stone staircase; swing doors permitted them to go into the warm, talkative theatre. A few shouts of recognition were raised from various quarters as Erb went in, and he nodded his head in return, but he looked sternly at the direction whence a cry came of "Is that the missus, Erb?" and the chaffing question was not repeated. Down near the stage the orchestra made discordant sounds, the cornet blew a few notes of a frivolous air for practice. Erb bought a programme for Rosalind, and asked if anything else was required; but Rosalind, from a satin bag which hung from her wrist, produced a pair of early Victorian opera glasses, bearing an inscription addressed to her mother, "From a few Gallery Boys," and said, "No, thank you," with a smile that made his head spin round.

"But would you mind," she flushed as she leaned forward to whisper this, "would you mind telling Mr. Railton that I--I should _very_ much like to see him after the show?"

At the stage door a postman had just called, and Erb, waiting for permission to go in whilst the door-keeper sorted the letters, could not help noticing that a violet envelope, in a feminine handwriting, was placed under the clip marked R; it was addressed to Lawrence Railton, Esquire. The doorkeeper gave permission with a jerk of the head, as though preferring not to compromise himself by speech, and Erb went up through the narrow corridor where the office and the dressing-rooms were situated. Cards were pinned on the door of the latter, and one of them bore, in eccentric type, the name of the gentleman for whom Rosalind had given him the message. A lady's head came out cautiously from one of the other rooms and called in a shrill voice, "Mag-gie!" A middle-aged woman flew from somewhere in reply with a pair of shoes. Below, the orchestra started the overture of an elderly comic opera; a boy, in a cap, came along the corridor shouting, "Beginners, please!"

"She got in everything for the entire week," said a triumphant voice inside the room, "settled for my washing, cashed up for every blessed thing, and I've never paid the old girl a sou from that day to this. Hullo! what's blown this in?"

Two young men in the small room, and each making-up in front of a looking-glass; before them open tin cases, powder puffs, sticks of grease paint; bits of linen of many colours. On the walls previous occupiers had drawn rough caricatures: here and there someone had stuck an applauding newspaper notice, or a butterfly advertisement. Neither of the young men looked round as Erb came in, but each viewed his reflection in the looking-glass.

"Name of Railton?" said Erb, inquiringly.

"That's me," replied one of the two, still gazing into his looking-glass.

"My name's Barnes. I'm secretary to the R.C.A.S."

"Any connection with the press?" asked Mr. Railton, fixing a white whisker at the side of his floridly made-up face.

"Not at present!"

"Then what the devil do you mean," demanded the other hotly, "by forcing your way into the room of two professional men? What--"

"Yes," said the man at the other glass, taking up a hand-mirror to examine the back of his head, "what the deuce next, I wonder? For two pins I'd take him by the scruff of his neck and pitch him downstairs." He glanced at Erb, and added rather hastily to Mr. Railton: "If I were you."

"I shall most certainly complain to the management," went on Mr. Railton. "It isn't the first time."

"I don't know," said his companion, "what they think the profession's made of. Because we allow ourselves to be treated like a flock of sheep they seem to think they can do just what they damn well please."

"I've a precious good mind," said Mr. Railton, vehemently, "to hand in my notice. Would, too, if it wasn't for the sake of the rest of the crowd."

He ceased for a second, whilst he made lines down either side of his mouth, falling back from the mirror to consider the effect.

"Quite finished?" asked Erb, good humouredly. "If so, I should like to tell you, my fiery-tempered warriors, that I have only called with a message from Miss Danks--Miss Rosalind Danks."

"That's one of yours, Lorrie!"

"You mean," said Mr. Railton casually, as he toned down a line with the powder-puff, "a dot and carry one girl?"

"Miss Danks," said Erb, "is the leastest bit lame." He repeated precisely the message which Rosalind had given him, and Mr. Railton clicked his tongue to intimate impatience. "I'll call in again later on," said Erb, "when you've finished your little bit, and then I can take you round to where she's sitting."

"Now, why in the world," cried Mr. Railton, throwing a hairbrush on the floor violently, "why in the world can't people mind their own business? There's a class of persons going about on this earth, my dear Chippy--"

"I know what you are going to say," remarked the other approvingly.

"And if I had my will I'd hang the whole shoot of them. I would, honestly."

"I quite believe you would," said Chippy.

"And I'd draw and quarter them afterwards."

"And then burn 'em," suggested Chippy.

"And then burn 'em."

"Would you amiable gentlemen like to have the door closed?" asked Erb.

"Put yourself outside first," recommended Mr. Railton.

The stage and its eccentricities attracted Erb as they attract everyone, and, a licensed person for the evening, he went about through the feverish atmosphere, meeting people who appeared ridiculous as they stood at the side of the stage waiting to go on, but who, as he knew, would look more life-like than life with the footlights intervening. Pimple-faced men, in tweed caps, hidden from the audience, held up unreliable trees; kept a hand on a ladder, which enabled the leading lady to go up and speak to her lover from the casemented upper window of a cottage; ran against each other at every fair opportunity, complaining in hoarse whispers of clumsiness. A boy came holding clusters of shining pewter cans by the handles, and peace was restored amongst the stage hands, but for the folk in evening dress, with unnatural eyes and amazing faces, who stood about ready to go on, there remained the strain of excitement; some of them soliloquised in a corner, whilst others talked in extravagant terms of dispraise concerning the new leading lady, hinting that no doubt she was a very good girl and kind to her mother, but that she could not act, my dear old boy, for nuts, or for toffee, or for apples, or other rewards of a moderate nature. These seemed to be only their private views, for they were discarded when the leading lady came down the ladder, and they then gathered round her and told her that she was playing for all she was worth, that she had managed to extract more from that one scene than her predecessor had obtained from the entire play, and hinting quite plainly that it was a dear and a precious privilege to be playing in the same company with her. Mr. Lawrence Railton brought for the leading lady a wooden chair; a middle-aged bird (who was her dresser) hopped forward bringing a woollen shawl, that had started by being white and still showed some traces of its original intention, to place around her shoulders.

"I don't know," said Mr. Railton, stretching his arms, when, having been ousted from attendance by others, he had strolled up towards Erb, "I don't feel much like acting to-night!"

"Do you ever?" asked Erb.

"It's wonderful," went on the young man, "simply and absolutely wonderful the different moods that one goes through, and the effect they have on one's performance. I go on giving much the same rendering of a part for several nights on end, and, suddenly, I seem to get a flash of inspiration."

"Better language!" recommended Erb.

"A flash of inspiration," said the white whiskered young man with perfect confidence, and keeping his eye on the stage. "It all comes in a moment as it were. And then, by Jove! one can fairly electrify an audience. One sees the house absolutely rise."

"And go out?" asked Erb.

On the stage the leading man (who was an honest gentleman farmer, showing the gentleman by wearing patent boots, and the farmer by carrying a hunting crop), cried aloud demanding of misfortune whether she had finished her fell conspiracy against him, and this, it appeared, was the cue for Lawrence Railton in his white whiskers and frock-coated suit and a brown hand-bag to go on with the announcement that he had come to foreclose a mortgage, information which the house, knowing vaguely that it boded no good to the hero, received with groans and hisses. Erb, watching from the side, prepared for an exhibition of superior acting on the part of Mr. Railton, and was somewhat astonished to find that, instead of playing a part that forwarded the action of the piece, he was a mere butt sent on in order to be kicked off, treatment served out to him by an honest labourer, faithful to his master and with considerable humour in his disposition. Any expectations that Railton would take a more serious part in the melodrama were set aside, in a later scene of