Treats of the company of Mr Vincent Crummles, and of his
affairs, domestic and theatrical
AS MR CRUMMLES had a strange four-legged animal in the inn stables, which he
called a pony, and a vehicle of unknown design, on which he bestowed the
appellation of a four-wheeled phaeton, Nicholas proceeded on his journey next
morning with greater ease than he had expected: the manager and himself
occupying the front seat: and the Master Crummleses and Smike being packed
together behind, in company with a wicker basket defended from wet by a stout
oilskin, in which were the broad-swords, pistols, pigtails, nautical costumes,
and other professional necessaries of the aforesaid young gentlemen.
The pony took his time upon the road, and -- possibly in consequence of his
theatrical education -- evinced, every now and then, a strong inclination to lie
down. However, Mr Vincent Crummles kept him up pretty well, by jerking the rein,
and plying the whip; and when these means failed, and the animal came to a
stand, the elder Master Crummles got out and kicked him. By dint of these
encouragements, he was persuaded to move from time to time, and they jogged on
(as Mr Crummles truly observed) very comfortably for all parties.
`He's a good pony at bottom,' said Mr Crummles, turning to Nicholas.
He might have been at bottom, but he certainly was not at top, seeing that
his coat was of the roughest and most ill-favoured kind. So, Nicholas merely
observed that he shouldn't wonder if he was.
`Many and many is the circuit this pony has gone,' said Mr Crummles, flicking
him skilfully on the eyelid for old acquaintance' sake. `He is quite one of us.
His mother was on the stage.'
`Was she?' rejoined Nicholas.
`She ate apple-pie at a circus for upwards of fourteen years,' said the
manager; `fired pistols, and went to bed in a nightcap; and, in short, took the
low comedy entirely. His father was a dancer.'.
`Was he at all distinguished?'
`Not very,' said the manager. `He was rather a low sort of pony. The fact is,
he had been originally jobbed out by the day, and he never quite got over his
old habits. He was clever in melodrama too, but too broad -- too broad. When the
mother died, he took the port-wine business.'
`The port-wine business!' cried Nicholas.
`Drinking port-wine with the clown,' said the manager; `but he was greedy,
and one night bit off the bowl of the glass, and choked himself, so his
vulgarity was the death of him at last.'
The descendant of this ill-starred animal requiring increased attention from
Mr Crummles as he progressed in his day's work, that gentleman had very little
time for conversation. Nicholas was thus left at leisure to entertain himself
with his own thoughts, until they arrived at the drawbridge at Portsmouth, when
Mr Crummles pulled up.
`We'll get down here,' said the manager, `and the boys will take him round to
the stable, and call at my lodgings with the luggage. You had better let yours
be taken there, for the present.'
Thanking Mr Vincent Crummles for his obliging offer, Nicholas jumped out,
and, giving Smike his arm, accompanied the manager up High Street on their way
to the theatre; feeling nervous and uncomfortable enough at the prospect of an
immediate introduction to a scene so new to him.
They passed a great many bills, pasted against the walls and displayed in
windows, wherein the names of Mr Vincent Crummles, Mrs Vincent Crummles, Master
Crummles, Master P. Crummles, and Miss Crummles, were printed in very large
letters, and everything else in very small ones; and, turning at length into an
entry, in which was a strong smell of orange-peel and lamp-oil, with an
under-current of sawdust, groped their way through a dark passage, and,
descending a step or two, threaded a little maze of canvas screens and paint
pots, and emerged upon the stage of the Portsmouth Theatre.
`Here we are,' said Mr Crummles.
It was not very light, but Nicholas found himself close to the first entrance
on the prompt side, among bare walls, dusty scenes, mildewed clouds, heavily
daubed draperies, and dirty floors. He looked about him; ceiling, pit, boxes,
gallery, orchestra, fittings, and decorations of every kind, -- all looked
coarse, cold, gloomy, and wretched.
`Is this a theatre?' whispered Smike, in amazement; `I thought it was a blaze
of light and finery.'
`Why, so it is,' replied Nicholas, hardly less surprised; `but not by day,
Smike -- not by day.'
The manager's voice recalled him from a more careful inspection of the
building, to the opposite side of the proscenium, where, at a small mahogany
table with rickety legs and of an oblong shape, sat a stout, portly female,
apparently between forty and fifty, in a tarnished silk cloak, with her bonnet
dangling by the strings in her hand, and her hair (of which she had a great
quantity) braided in a large festoon over each temple.
`Mr Johnson,' said the manager (for Nicholas had given the name which Newman
Noggs had bestowed upon him in his conversation with Mrs Kenwigs), `let me
introduce Mrs Vincent Crummles."
`I am glad to see you, sir,' said Mrs Vincent Crummles, in a sepulchral
voice. `I am very glad to see you, and still more happy to hail you as a
promising member of our corps.'
The lady shook Nicholas by the hand as she addressed him in these terms; he
saw it was a large one, but had not expected quite such an iron grip as that
with which she honoured him.
`And this,' said the lady, crossing to Smike, as tragic actresses cross when
they obey a stage direction, `and this is the other. You too, are welcome, sir.'
`He'll do, I think, my dear?' said the manager, taking a pinch of snuff.
`He is admirable,' replied the lady. `An acquisition indeed.'
As Mrs Vincent Crummles recrossed back to the table, there bounded on to the
stage from some mysterious inlet, a little girl in a dirty white frock with
tucks up to the knees, short trousers, sandaled shoes, white spencer, pink gauze
bonnet, green veil and curl papers; who turned a pirouette, cut twice in the
air, turned another pirouette, then, looking off at the opposite wing, shrieked,
bounded forward to within six inches of the footlights, and fell into a
beautiful attitude of terror, as a shabby gentleman in an old pair of buff
slippers came in at one powerful slide, and chattering his teeth, fiercely
brandished a walking-stick.
`They are going through the Indian Savage and the Maiden,' said Mrs Crummles.
`Oh!' said the manager, `the little ballet interlude. Very good, go on. A
little this way, if you please, Mr Johnson. That'll do. Now!'
The manager clapped his hands as a signal to proceed, and the savage,
becoming ferocious, made a slide towards the maiden; but the maiden avoided him
in six twirls, and came down, at the end of the last one, upon the very points
of her toes. This seemed to make some impression upon the savage; for, after a
little more ferocity and chasing of the maiden into corners, he began to relent,
and stroked his face several times with his right thumb and four fingers,
thereby intimating that he was struck with admiration of the maiden's beauty.
Acting upon the impulse of this passion, he (the savage) began to hit himself
severe thumps in the chest, and to exhibit other indications of being
desperately in love, which being rather a prosy proceeding, was very likely the
cause of the maiden's falling asleep; whether it was or no, asleep she did fall,
sound as a church, on a sloping bank, and the savage perceiving it, leant his
left ear on his left hand, and nodded sideways, to intimate to all whom it might
concern that she was asleep, and no shamming. Being left to himself, the savage
had a dance, all alone. Just as he left off, the maiden woke up, rubbed her
eyes, got off the bank, and had a dance all alone too -- such a dance that the
savage looked on in ecstasy all the while, and when it was done, plucked from a
neighbouring tree some botanical curiosity, resembling a small pickled cabbage,
and offered it to the maiden, who at first wouldn't have it, but on the savage
shedding tears relented. Then the savage jumped for joy; then the maiden jumped
for rapture at the sweet smell of the pickled cabbage. Then the savage and the
maiden danced violently together, and, finally, the savage dropped down on one
knee, and the maiden stood on one leg upon his other knee; thus concluding the
ballet, and leaving the spectators in a state of pleasing uncertainty, whether
she would ultimately marry the savage, or return to her friends.
`Very well indeed,' said Mr Crummles; `bravo!'
`Bravo!' cried Nicholas, resolved to make the best of everything.
`Beautiful!'
`This, sir,' said Mr Vincent Crummles, bringing the maiden forward, `this is
the infant phenomenon -- Miss Ninetta Crummles.'
`Your daughter?' inquired Nicholas.
`My daughter -- my daughter,' replied Mr Vincent Crummles; `the idol of every
place we go into, sir. We have had complimentary letters about this girl, sir,
from the nobility and gentry of almost every town in England.'
`I am not surprised at that,' said Nicholas; `she must be quite a natural
genius.'
`Quite a -- !' Mr Crummles stopped: language was not powerful enough to
describe the infant phenomenon. `I'll tell you what, sir,' he said; `the talent
of this child is not to be imagined. She must be seen, sir -- seen -- to be ever
so faintly appreciated. There; go to your mother, my dear.'
`May I ask how old she is?' inquired Nicholas.
`You may, sir,' replied Mr Crummles, looking steadily in his questioner's
face, as some men do when they have doubts about being implicitly believed in
what they are going to say. `She is ten years of age, sir.'
`Not more!'
`Not a day.'
`Dear me!' said Nicholas, `it's extraordinary.'
It was; for the infant phenomenon, though of short stature, had a
comparatively aged countenance, and had moreover been precisely the same age --
not perhaps to the full extent of the memory of the oldest inhabitant, but
certainly for five good years. But she had been kept up late every night, and
put upon an unlimited allowance of gin-and-water from infancy, to prevent her
growing tall, and perhaps this system of training had produced in the infant
phenomenon these additional phenomena.
While this short dialogue was going on, the gentleman who had enacted the
savage, came up, with his walking shoes on his feet, and his slippers in his
hand, to within a few paces, as if desirous to join in the conversation. Deeming
this a good opportunity, he put in his word.
`Talent there, sir!' said the savage, nodding towards Miss Crummles.
Nicholas assented.
`Ah!' said the actor, setting his teeth together, and drawing in his breath
with a hissing sound, `she oughtn't to be in the provinces, she oughtn't.'
`What do you mean?' asked the manager.
`I mean to say,' replied the other, warmly, `that she is too good for country
boards, and that she ought to be in one of the large houses in London, or
nowhere; and I tell you more, without mincing the matter, that if it wasn't for
envy and jealousy in some quarter that you know of, she would be. Perhaps you'll
introduce me here, Mr Crummles.'
`Mr Folair,' said the manager, presenting him to Nicholas.
`Happy to know you, sir.' Mr Folair touched the brim of his hat with his
forefinger, and then shook hands. `A recruit, sir, I understand?'
`An unworthy one,' replied Nicholas.
`Did you ever see such a set-out as that?' whispered the actor, drawing him
away, as Crummles left them to speak to his wife.
`As what?'
Mr Folair made a funny face from his pantomime collection, and pointed over
his shoulder.
`You don't mean the infant phenomenon?'
`Infant humbug, sir,' replied Mr Folair. `There isn't a female child of
common sharpness in a charity school, that couldn't do better than that. She may
thank her stars she was born a manager's daughter.'
`You seem to take it to heart,' observed Nicholas, with a smile.
`Yes, by Jove, and well I may,' said Mr Folair, drawing his arm through his,
and walking him up and down the stage. `Isn't it enough to make a man crusty to
see that little sprawler put up in the best business every night, and actually
keeping money out of the house, by being forced down the people's throats, while
other people are passed over? Isn't it extraordinary to see a man's confounded
family conceit blinding him, even to his own interest? Why I know of fifteen and
sixpence that came to Southampton one night last month, to see me dance the
Highland Fling; and what's the consequence? I've never been put up in it since
-- never once -- while the "infant phenomenon" has been grinning through
artificial flowers at five people and a baby in the pit, and two boys in the
gallery, every night.'
`If I may judge from what I have seen of you,' said Nicholas, `you must be a
valuable member of the company.'
`Oh!' replied Mr Folair, beating his slippers together, to knock the dust
out; `I can come it pretty well -- nobody better, perhaps, in my own line -- but
having such business as one gets here, is like putting lead on one's feet
instead of chalk, and dancing in fetters without the credit of it. Holloa, old
fellow, how are you?'
The gentleman addressed in these latter words was a dark-complexioned man,
inclining indeed to sallow, with long thick black hair, and very evident
inclinations (although he was close shaved) of a stiff beard, and whiskers of
the same deep shade. His age did not appear to exceed thirty, though many at
first sight would have considered him much older, as his face was long, and very
pale, from the constant application of stage paint. He wore a checked shirt, an
old green coat with new gilt buttons, a neckerchief of broad red and green
stripes, and full blue trousers; he carried, too, a common ash walking-stick,
apparently more for show than use, as he flourished it about, with the hooked
end downwards, except when he raised it for a few seconds, and throwing himself
into a fencing attitude, made a pass or two at the side-scenes, or at any other
object, animate or inanimate, that chanced to afford him a pretty good mark at
the moment.
`Well, Tommy,' said this gentleman, making a thrust at his friend, who
parried it dexterously with his slipper, `what's the news?'
`A new appearance, that's all,' replied Mr Folair, looking at Nicholas.
`Do the honours, Tommy, do the honours,' said the other gentleman, tapping
him reproachfully on the crown of the hat with his stick.
`This is Mr Lenville, who does our first tragedy, Mr Johnson,' said the
pantomimist.
`Except when old bricks and mortar takes it into his head to do it himself,
you should add, Tommy,' remarked Mr Lenville. `You know who bricks and mortar
is, I suppose, sir?'
`I do not, indeed,' replied Nicholas.
`We call Crummles that, because his style of acting is rather in the heavy
and ponderous way,' said Mr Lenville. `I mustn't be cracking jokes though, for
I've got a part of twelve lengths here, which I must be up in tomorrow night,
and I haven't had time to look at it yet; I'm a confounded quick study, that's
one comfort.'
Consoling himself with this reflection, Mr Lenville drew from his coat pocket
a greasy and crumpled manuscript, and, having made another pass at his friend,
proceeded to walk to and fro, conning it to himself and indulging occasionally
in such appropriate action as his imagination and the text suggested.
A pretty general muster of the company had by this time taken place; for
besides Mr Lenville and his friend Tommy, there were present, a slim young
gentleman with weak eyes, who played the low-spirited lovers and sang tenor
songs, and who had come arm-in-arm with the comic countryman -- a man with a
turned-up nose, large mouth, broad face, and staring eyes. Making himself very
amiable to the infant phenomenon, was an inebriated elderly gentleman in the
last depths of shabbiness, who played the calm and virtuous old men; and paying
especial court to Mrs Crummles was another elderly gentleman, a shade more
respectable, who played the irascible old men -- those funny fellows who have
nephews in the army and perpetually run about with thick sticks to compel them
to marry heiresses. Besides these, there was a roving-looking person in a rough
great-coat, who strode up and down in front of the lamps, flourishing a dress
cane, and rattling away, in an undertone, with great vivacity for the amusement
of an ideal audience. He was not quite so young as he had been, and his figure
was rather running to seed; but there was an air of exaggerated gentility about
him, which bespoke the hero of swaggering comedy. There was, also, a little
group of three or four young men with lantern jaws and thick eyebrows, who were
conversing in one corner; but they seemed to be of secondary importance, and
laughed and talked together without attracting any attention.
The ladies were gathered in a little knot by themselves round the rickety
table before mentioned. There was Miss Snevellicci -- who could do anything,
from a medley dance to Lady Macbeth, and also always played some part in blue
silk knee-smalls at her benefit -- glancing, from the depths of her coal-scuttle
straw bonnet, at Nicholas, and affecting to be absorbed in the recital of a
diverting story to her friend Miss Ledrook, who had brought her work, and was
making up a ruff in the most natural manner possible. There was Miss Belvawney
-- who seldom aspired to speaking parts, and usually went on as a page in white
silk hose, to stand with one leg bent, and contemplate the audience, or to go in
and out after Mr Crummles in stately tragedy -- twisting up the ringlets of the
beautiful Miss Bravassa, who had once had her likeness taken `in character' by
an engraver's apprentice, whereof impressions were hung up for sale in the
pastry-cook's window, and the greengrocer's, and at the circulating library, and
the box-office, whenever the announce bills came out for her annual night. There
was Mrs Lenville, in a very limp bonnet and veil, decidedly in that way in which
she would wish to be if she truly loved Mr Lenville; there was Miss Gazingi,
within an imitation ermine boa tied in a loose knot round her neck, flogging Mr
Crummles, junior, with both ends, in fun. Lastly, there was Mrs Grudden in a
brown cloth pelisse and a beaver bonnet, who assisted Mrs Crummles in her
domestic affairs, and took money at the doors, and dressed the ladies, and swept
the house, and held the prompt book when everybody else was on for the last
scene, and acted any kind of part on any emergency without ever learning it, and
was put down in the bills under my name or names whatever, that occurred to Mr
Crummles as looking well in print.
Mr Folair having obligingly confided these particulars to Nicholas, left him
to mingle with his fellows; the work of personal introduction was completed by
Mr Vincent Crummles, who publicly heralded the new actor as a prodigy of genius
and learning.
`I beg your pardon,' said Miss Snevellicci, sidling towards Nicholas, `but
did you ever play at Canterbury?'
`I never did,' replied Nicholas.
`I recollect meeting a gentleman at Canterbury,' said Miss Snevellicci, `only
for a few moments, for I was leaving the company as he joined it, so like you
that I felt almost certain it was the same.'
`I see you now for the first time,' rejoined Nicholas with all due gallantry.
`I am sure I never saw you before; I couldn't have forgotten it.'
`Oh, I'm sure -- it's very flattering of you to say so,' retorted Miss
Snevellicci with a graceful bend. `Now I look at you again, I see that the
gentleman at Canterbury hadn't the same eyes as you -- you'll think me very
foolish for taking notice of such things, won't you?'
`Not at all,' said Nicholas. `How can I feel otherwise than flattered by your
notice in any way?'
`Oh! you men are such vain creatures!' cried Miss Snevellicci. Whereupon, she
became charmingly confused, and, pulling out her pocket-handkerchief from a
faded pink silk reticule with a gilt clasp, called to Miss Ledrook --
`Led, my dear,' said Miss Snevellicci.
`Well, what is the matter?' said Miss Ledrook.
`It's not the same.'
`Not the same what?'
`Canterbury -- you know what I mean. Come here! I want to speak to you.'
But Miss Ledrook wouldn't come to Miss Snevellicci, so Miss Snevellicci was
obliged to go to Miss Ledrook, which she did, in a skipping manner that was
quite fascinating; and Miss Ledrook evidently joked Miss Snevellicci about being
struck with Nicholas; for, after some playful whispering, Miss Snevellicci hit
Miss Ledrook very hard on the backs of her hands, and retired up, in a state of
pleasing confusion.
`Ladies and gentlemen,' said Mr Vincent Crummles, who had been writing on a
piece of paper, `we'll call the Mortal Struggle tomorrow at ten; everybody for
the procession. Intrigue, and Ways and Means, you're all up in, so we shall only
want one rehearsal. Everybody at ten, if you please.'
`Everybody at ten,' repeated Mrs Grudden, looking about her.
`On Monday morning we shall read a new piece,' said Mr Crummles; `the name's
not known yet, but everybody will have a good part. Mr Johnson will take care of
that.'
`Hallo!' said Nicholas, starting. `I--'
`On Monday morning,' repeated Mr Crummles, raising his voice, to drown the
unfortunate Mr Johnson's remonstrance; `that'll do, ladies and gentlemen.'
The ladies and gentlemen required no second notice to quit; and, in a few
minutes, the theatre was deserted, save by the Crummles family, Nicholas, and
Smike.
`Upon my word,' said Nicholas, taking the manager aside, `I don't think I can
be ready by Monday.'
`Pooh, pooh,' replied Mr Crummles.
`But really I can't,' returned Nicholas; `my invention is not accustomed to
these demands, or possibly I might produce--'
`Invention! what the devil's that got to do with it!' cried the manager
hastily.
`Everything, my dear sir.'
`Nothing, my dear sir,' retorted the manager, with evident impatience. `Do
you understand French?'
`Perfectly well.'
`Very good,' said the manager, opening the table drawer, and giving a roll of
paper from it to Nicholas. `There! Just turn that into English, and put your
name on the title-page. Damn me,' said Mr Crummles, angrily, `if I haven't often
said that I wouldn't have a man or woman in my company that wasn't master of the
language, so that they might learn it from the original, and play it in English,
and save all this trouble and expense.'
Nicholas smiled and pocketed the play.
`What are you going to do about your lodgings?' said Mr Crummles.
Nicholas could not help thinking that, for the first week, it would be an
uncommon convenience to have a turn-up bedstead in the pit, but he merely
remarked that he had not turned his thoughts that way.
`Come home with me then,' said Mr Crummles, `and my boys shall go with you
after dinner, and show you the most likely place.'
The offer was not to be refused; Nicholas and Mr Crummles gave Mrs Crummles
an arm each, and walked up the street in stately array. Smike, the boys, and the
phenomenon, went home by a shorter cut, and Mrs Grudden remained behind to take
some cold Irish stew and a pint of porter in the box-office.
Mrs Crummles trod the pavement as if she were going to immediate execution
with an animating consciousness of innocence, and that heroic fortitude which
virtue alone inspires. Mr Crummles, on the other hand, assumed the look and gait
of a hardened despot; but they both attracted some notice from many of the
passers-by, and when they heard a whisper of `Mr and Mrs Crummles!' or saw a
little boy run back to stare them in the face, the severe expression of their
countenances relaxed, for they felt it was popularity.
Mr Crummles lived in St Thomas's Street, at the house of one Bulph, a pilot,
who sported a boat-green door, with window-frames of the same colour, and had
the little finger of a drowned man on his parlour mantelshelf, with other
maritime and natural curiosities. He displayed also a brass knocker, a brass
plate, and a brass bell-handle, all very bright and shining; and had a mast,
with a vane on the top of it, in his back-yard.
`You are welcome,' said Mrs Crummles, turning round to Nicholas when they
reached the bow-windowed front room on the first floor.
Nicholas bowed his acknowledgments, and was unfeignedly glad to see the cloth
laid.
`We have but a shoulder of mutton with onion sauce,' said Mrs Crummles, in
the same charnel-house voice; `but such as our dinner is, we beg you to partake
of it.'
`You are very good,' replied Nicholas, `I shall do it ample justice.'
`Vincent,' said Mrs Crummles, `what is the hour?'
`Five minutes past dinner-time,' said Mr Crummles.
Mrs Crummles rang the bell. `Let the mutton and onion sauce appear.'
The slave who attended upon Mr Bulph's lodgers, disappeared, and after a
short interval reappeared with the festive banquet. Nicholas and the infant
phenomenon opposed each other at the pembroke-table, and Smike and the master
Crummleses dined on the sofa bedstead.
`Are they very theatrical people here?' asked Nicholas.
`No,' replied Mr Crummles, shaking his head, `far from it--far from it.'
`I pity them,' observed Mrs Crummles.
`So do I,' said Nicholas; `if they have no relish for theatrical
entertainments, properly conducted.'
`Then they have none, sir,' rejoined Mr Crummles. `To the infant's benefit,
last year, on which occasion she repeated three of her most popular characters,
and also appeared in the Fairy Porcupine, as originally performed by her, there
was a house of no more than four pound twelve.'
`Is it possible?' cried Nicholas.
`And two pound of that was trust, pa,' said the phenomenon.
`And two pound of that was trust,' repeated Mr Crummles. `Mrs Crummles
herself has played to mere handfuls.'
`But they are always a taking audience, Vincent,' said the manager's wife.
`Most audiences are, when they have good acting--real good acting--the
regular thing,' replied Mr Crummles, forcibly.
`Do you give lessons, ma'am?' inquired Nicholas.
`I do,' said Mrs Crummles.
`There is no teaching here, I suppose?'
`There has been,' said Mrs Crummles. `I have received pupils here. I imparted
tuition to the daughter of a dealer in ships' provision; but it afterwards
appeared that she was insane when she first came to me. It was very
extraordinary that she should come, under such circumstances.'
Not feeling quite so sure of that, Nicholas thought it best to hold his
peace.
`Let me see,' said the manager cogitating after dinner. `Would you like some
nice little part with the infant?'
`You are very good,' replied Nicholas hastily; `but I think perhaps it would
be better if I had somebody of my own size at first, in case I should turn out
awkward. I should feel more at home, perhaps.'
`True,' said the manager. `Perhaps you would. And you could play up to the
infant, in time, you know.'
`Certainly,' replied Nicholas: devoutly hoping that it would be a very long
time before he was honoured with this distinction.
`Then I'll tell you what we'll do,' said Mr Crummles. `You shall study Romeo
when you've done that piece--don't forget to throw the pump and tubs in
by-the-bye--Juliet Miss Snevellicci, old Grudden the nurse.--Yes, that'll do
very well. Rover too;--you might get up Rover while you were about it, and
Cassio, and Jeremy Diddler. You can easily knock them off; one part helps the
other so much. Here they are, cues and all.'
With these hasty general directions Mr Crummles thrust a number of little
books into the faltering hands of Nicholas, and bidding his eldest son go with
him and show where lodgings were to be had, shook him by the hand, and wished
him good-night.
There is no lack of comfortable furnished apartments in Portsmouth, and no
difficulty in finding some that are proportionate to very slender finances; but
the former were too good, and the latter too bad, and they went into so many
houses, and came out unsuited, that Nicholas seriously began to think he should
be obliged to ask permission to spend the night in the theatre, after all.
Eventually, however, they stumbled upon two small rooms up three pair of
stairs, or rather two pair and a ladder, at a tobacconist's shop, on the Common
Hard: a dirty street leading down to the dockyard. These Nicholas engaged, only
too happy to have escaped any request for payment of a week's rent beforehand.
`There! Lay down our personal property, Smike,' he said, after showing young
Crummles downstairs. `We have fallen upon strange times, and Heaven only knows
the end of them; but I am tired with the events of these three days, and will
postpone reflection till tomorrow--if I can.'
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