"But I have made all my arrangements. The whole world knows that I am
going on board at Tilbury."

Just then the door opened, and a servant announced:

"Mr. Carlo Trent."

Sir John Pilgrim rushed like a locomotive to the threshold and seized
both Carlo Trent's hands with such a violence of welcome that Carlo
Trent's eyeglass fell out of his eye and the purple ribbon dangled to
his waist.

"Come in, come in!" said Sir John. "And begin to read at once. I've
been looking out of the window for you for the last quarter of an
hour. Alderman, this is Mr. Carlo Trent, the well-known dramatic poet.
Trent, this is one of the greatest geniuses in London.... Ah! You know
each other? It's not surprising! No, don't stop to shake hands. Sit
down here, Trent. Sit down on this chair.... Here, Snip, take his hat.
Worry it! Worry it! Now, Trent, don't read to _me_. It might make you
nervous and hurried. Read to Miss Taft and Chung and to Mr. Givington
over there. Imagine that they are the great and enlightened public.
You have imagination, haven't you, being a poet?"

Sir John had accomplished the change of mood with the rapidity of a
transformation scene--in which form of art, by the way, he was a great
adept.

Carlo Trent, somewhat breathless, took a manuscript from his pocket,
opened it, and announced: "The Orient Pearl."

"Oh!" breathed Edward Henry.

For some thirty minutes Edward Henry listened to hexameters, the first
he had ever heard. The effect of them on his moral organism was
worse than he had expected. He glanced about at the other auditors.
Givington had opened a box of tubes and was spreading colours on his
palette. The Chinaman's eyes were closed while his face still grinned.
Snip was asleep on the parquet. Miss Taft bit the end of a pencil with
her agreeable teeth. Sir John Pilgrim lay at full length on a sofa,
occasionally lifting his legs. Edward Henry despaired of help in his
great need. But just as his desperation was becoming too acute to be
borne, Carlo Trent ejaculated the word "Curtain." It was the first
word that Edward Henry had clearly understood.

"That's the first act," said Carlo Trent, wiping his face. 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 d