iably the greatest offenders in this respect, and yet, when they
are refused orders, they at once book seats for the play. Of course
there are certain people who are thoroughly entitled to orders, and I am
only too glad to give them in such cases, but I draw the line at giving
them to _any_ one who chooses to ask me. _I_ can't go into a restaurant
and get a dinner for nothing--I wish I could; a tailor won't make me a
coat for nothing--why should I play to people for nothing? They cannot
have any idea how much it costs to keep up a theatre, or perhaps they'd
have a little more consideration for one. It's a rotten, bad system, and
it ought to be done away with." Later on in the evening Mr. Toole and I
drove down to the theatre together, and we resumed our conversation in
his very interesting little dressing-room. I congratulated him on the
long run which "Walker London" was having; "but don't long runs tend to
artificiality?" I asked. "No," said Mr. Toole; "a new audience every
evening saves you from that, to a great extent, especially with an
earnest man. Earnestness is everything in an actor, but if you're
apathetic you're lost. Still, I sometimes look at _Paul Pry's_
umbrella," continued Mr. Toole, pointing to the quaint, queer, green old
article that answered to that description, and which stood by itself in
a corner of the room, "and wish I could play _Paul Pry_ again, but I
don't see much chance of that at present. Why, it will soon be
'Walker's' first birthday. I suppose they'll want me to make a speech.
And speech-making always bothers me, for I am very nervous. But I
daresay I shall 'gammon' through somehow." I observed, "Well, I must say
you 'gammon' through very well, for I always think you are one of the
easiest speakers of the day." To which Mr. Toole replied, "Well, for my
part, I think repose is everything. Quiet humour is always much more
telling than noisy fun, and to feel your part deeply is far more than
mere elocution." "Do you think that the training that young people on
the stage get, now-a-days, is as thorough as it was in your early days,
Mr. Toole?" "Well," he said, "I don't think that young actors get so
much practice as they did in the old days when Irving and I used to be
for years together on a stock company in Edinburgh. He and I and Helen
Faucit have played all the parts in Shakespeare together. But travelling
companies have altered all that now-a-days. Still I think I must say
that I've got a