and to that of the
actor-manager of the House. A rough table, a few chairs, a mirror which
had evidently seen better days in some grand mansion and a large
throne-chair which might equally well have satisfied the royalty of
Macbeth or Christopher Sly--its royalty, forsooth, being in its size,
for thus only could it lord-it over its mates--stood in the corner. Old
armour hung upon the wall, grim in the light of candles fixed in
braziers. Rushes were strewn about the floor.

Ah! Pepys, Pepys, was it here that you recalled "specially kissing of
Nell"? Mayhap; for we read in your book: "I kissed her, and so did my
wife, and a mighty pretty soul she is." Be that as it may, however, you
must have found Nell's lips very agreeable; for a great wit has
suggested that it was well that Mrs. Pepys was present on the occasion.

On great play-nights, however, this most unroyal room assumed the
proportions of royalty. Gallants and even lords sought entrance here and
elbowed their way about; and none dared say them nay. They forced a way
even upon the stage during the play, though not so commonly as before
the Restoration, yet still too much; and the players played as best they
could, and where best they could. _Billets-doux_ passed, sweet
words were said,--all in this dilapidated, unpretentious, candle-lighted
room.

At the moment of which we speak, the greenroom was deserted save for a
lad of twelve or fourteen years, who stood before the mirror, posing to
his personal satisfaction and occasionally delivering bits from
"Hamlet." He was none other than "Dick," the call-boy of the King's
House.

The lad struck a final attitude, his brow clouded. He assumed what
seemed to him the proper pose for the royal Dane. His meditations and
his pose, however, were broken in upon by the sudden entrance of Manager
Hart, flushed and in an unusual state of excitement.

"Where is my dagger, Dick?" he exclaimed, pacing the room.

The boy came to himself but slowly.

"What are you doing? Get my dagger, boy," wildly reiterated the irate
manager. "Don't you see there will be a stage-wait?" He cast an anxious
glance in the direction of the door which led to the stage.

"Where did you leave it, sir?" asked the lad, finally realizing that it
would be wise not to trifle at such a time.

"Never mind where I left it. Get it, get it; do you hear! Nell's on the
stage already." Hart rushed to the door and looked off in an increasing
state of excitement