. There was
no detail too small for Henry Irving's notice. He never missed anything
that was cumulative--that would contribute something to the whole
effect.

The messenger who came in to announce something always needed a great
deal of rehearsal. There were processions, and half processions, quiet
bits when no word was spoken. There was _timing_. Nothing was left to
chance.

In the master carpenter, Arnott, we had a splendid man. He inspired
confidence at once through his strong, able personality, and, as time
went on, deserved it through all the knowledge he acquired and through
his excellence in never making a difficulty.

"You shall have it," was no bluff from Arnott. You _did_ "have it."

We could not find precisely the right material for one of my dresses in
"The Cup." At last, poking about myself in quest of it, I came across
the very thing at Liberty's--a saffron silk with a design woven into it
by hand with many-colored threads and little jewels. I brought a yard to
rehearsal. It was declared perfect, but I declared the price
prohibitive.

"It's twelve guineas a yard, and I shall want yards and yards!"

In these days I am afraid they would not only put such material on to
the leading lady, but on to the supers too! At the Lyceum _wanton_
extravagance was unknown.

"Where can I get anything at all like it?"

"You leave it to me," said Arnott. "I'll get it for you. That'll be all
right.

"But, Arnott, it's a hand-woven Indian material. How _can_ you get it?"

"You leave it to me," Arnott repeated in his slow, quiet, confident way.
"Do you mind letting me have this yard as a pattern?"

He went off with it, and before the dress rehearsal had produced about
twenty yards of silk, which on the stage looked better than the
twelve-guinea original.

"There's plenty more if you want it," he said dryly.

He had had some raw silk dyed the exact saffron. He had had two blocks
made, one red and the other black, and the design had been printed, and
a few cheap spangles had been added to replace the real jewels. My toga
looked beautiful.

This was but one of the many emergencies to which Arnott rose with
talent and promptitude.

With the staff of the theater he was a bit of a bully--one of those men
not easily roused, but being vexed, "nasty in the extreme!" As a
craftsman he had wonderful taste, and could copy antique furniture so
that one could not tell the copy from the original.

The great aim at the L