and
elevenpence halfpenny.' Oh, the days--the days when a jest like this
could shake the ribs with mirth!

And Mistress MacAlister, painfully intoxicated at the dinner hour of 2
p.m., and the uncooked leg of young pork in the larder.

'D'ye thenk ah'm goin' to cuik till ye on the Sabba' Day? Ye'll no
be findin' th' irreligious sort o' betches that'll do that for ye in
Dundee, ah'm thenkin'.'

And the little soft-spoken lady from New Orleans, whose husband had been
a General--in Del Oro--and an old friend of Darco's in his campaigning
days. And the execution in the house. And Darco signing a cheque for
twice the amount claimed, and blubbering like a great fat baby, and
swearing to burn the cheque if she thanked him by another word. Old
Darco, the nerve-tearer, the inordinate pyramid of vanity, the tender,
the generous, the loyal. Sweetest fruit in sourest rind! Sleep on,
old Darco. God makes none gentler in heart, though He makes many more
beloved.

And how men do, on all hands, unconsciously lay themselves out to
delight the budding genial satirist! Here is Darco, wealthy and
prosperous as he has never been before, launching out fearlessly, and
bearing with him _the_ splendour of the stage--the great Montgomery
Bassett. Darco, in consultation with the glorious creature, the question
being in which of his unrivalled and majestic assumptions he shall first
appear:

'It doesn't matter, dear boy,' says Mr. Montgomery Bassett, in that
noble voice, a voice rich as the king of all the wines of Burgundy--'it
doesn't matter the toss up of a blind beggar's farthing. The people
don't come to see the play, my boy; they come to see me. They'd come to
see me if I played in Punch and Judy.'

And the late leading man, now dethroned, and put to second business:

'Bassett! Montgomery Bassett! I could act his head off, dear boy. He
is the rottenest stick that ever stalked upon a stage. He can't get in
front of that infernal Roman nose, sir. "Now," says Bassett, "I'm going
to be pathetic;" and the Roman nose says, "I'll see you damned first."
"And now," says Bassett, "we'll have a bit of comedy." "Oh no, you
won't," says the nose. You might as well try to act behind a barn-door
as to act behind that nose. Just fill me out a little tot of Scotch,
darling laddie. I want to lose the taste of Bassett.'

And the leading lady and the _ingenue_ who hung together like twin
cherries on one stalk, bathed in soft dews of tenderness, until