"Precisely," said Mr. Welwyn. "You have hit off the situation to a nicety." He laughed, in high spirits. His resilient nature had entirely recovered from the humiliation of the morning. "Meanwhile"--he produced a sheet of note-paper--"I shall be obliged if you will kindly commit these notes to memory."

Mr. Stillbottle laboriously perused the doc.u.ment.

"Lord love a duck!" he observed in a dazed voice--"What's this?"

"A list of--let us say, your entrances and exits this afternoon,"

explained Mr. Welwyn smoothly. "You understand theatrical terms, I believe."

He had struck the right chord. Mr. Stillbottle's rheumy eye lit up.

"Entrances and ex-- oho! Now I begin to take you," he said. "We 're agoin' to do drawing-room theatricals, are we? Kind o' benefit matinee--eh?"

"In a sense, yes," replied Mr. Welwyn. "Are you endowed with the dramatic instinct?"

"Come again!" said Mr. Stillbottle politely.

"Could you play a part, do you think?"

"Could I play a part?" repeated Mr. Stillbottle witheringly. "Could a duck swim? Why, I was _in_ the profession, off and on, for a matter of fourteen years."

"In what capacity?" asked Mr. Welwyn, much interested.

"Well, I've bin a good many things," said the versatile Stillbottle, putting his feet up on the sofa. "I've bin a guest in the palace of the Dook of Alsatia; I 've bin the middle bit of the sea-serpent--what you might call the prime cut--in a ballet of fish; and I was once the second wave on the O.P. side of the storm what wrecked Sinbad the Sailor."

Mr. Welwyn smiled sympathetically. Here was another rolling stone.

"What made you abandon such a promising career, Mr. Stillbottle?" he asked.

The late prime cut of the sea-serpent shook his head gloomily.

"The old story," he said--"professional jealousy. It started with my bein' cast for the front legs of a elephant in a pantomime. That was the stage-manager's bit of spite. My usual place is the _'ind_ legs--and that takes a bit of doing, I can tell you. (The 'ind legs 'as to wag the tail, you see.) If I was to tell you the number of 'ind legs I'd played, you'd be surprised," he continued, plunging into an orgy of irrelevant reminiscence. "Why, I recollect in eighty-four, at the Old Brit., 'Oxton way--"

"But what was the matter with the front legs you were speaking of?"

enquired Mr. Welwyn opportunely.

"The matter," replied Mr. Stillbottle testily, "was that they was n't _'ind_ legs. Not bein' used to them, I stepped in wrong way round on the first night. We got shoved on the stage somehow, but every time we started to move I ran straight into the 'ind legs. In the end we broke the elephant's back between us. What was more, we spoiled the Princ.i.p.al Boy's best song. The audience was much too occupied watchin' a elephant givin' a imitation of a camel to listen to _'er_. Besides, she was sittin' on the elephant 'erself at the time, and bein' rather stout, 'ad 'er work cut out to 'old on. She got me fired next day. Said I was n't sober."

"That was a libel, of course," said Mr. Welwyn soothingly.

"In a manner of speakin'," replied Mr. Stillbottle guardedly--"yes." He took up Mr. Welwyn's sheet of note-paper again.

"What is all this?" he enquired rather querulously. "Stage directions, or cues, or what?"

"Everything," said Mr. Welwyn. "Your lines and business, in fact."

Mr. Stillbottle nodded comprehendingly, and proceeded to read aloud:--

"_When front-door bell rings, answer door and show party up, asking their names and announcing them distinctly._"

"You can do that?"

"I'll 'ave a dash for it, anyway. Then: _Bring in tea and put it on tea-table_."

Mr. Stillbottle's unsteady gaze wandered round the apartment until it encountered the table.

"Tea-table, left centre," he remarked to himself. "_Then, at irregular intervals, come in and make the following remarks to me_:--that's you, I suppose?"

Mr. Welwyn nodded, and Mr. Stillbottle read the paper aloud to the end.

Then he slowly folded it up, and remarked, not altogether unreasonably, that he was d.a.m.ned. He added a respectful rider in the French tongue, to the effect that Mr. Welwyn was _tres moutarde_.

"You understand," said his employer with great seriousness--he had crossed the Rubicon now, and was determined to risk nothing by imperfect rehearsal--"you must use your own discretion as to when you come in with your messages. About once every ten minutes, I should say."

"Don't you think, governor," suggested Mr. Stillbottle, almost timidly, "that that last stretcher--the one about the shover--is just a bit _too_ thick? Suppose your guests start askin' to see the car--what, then?

You'll be in the cart, you know!"

"It is all right," said Mr. Welwyn. "I am giving the car up, on account of recent taxation, and so on. It is in the market now, and may be sold at any moment--to-day, perhaps."

"I beg pardon," said Mr. Stillbottle humbly. "I see I can teach you nothing." Then he added, conversationally: "Did you ever know a Captain Slingsby, by any chance?"

"No. Who was he?"

"Another of the lads, like yourself. I thought perhaps you might have been workin' with him at some time. I came acrost him once or twice. He was a pretty tough nut. His line was to dress up as a curate and get himself adopted by rich widders; but he was n't the artist you are, sir.

He 'ad n't your education, I should say. Are the whole family in this, may I enquire?"

"Er--yes," replied Mr. Welwyn helplessly.

"Ah!" Mr. Stillbottle nodded his head. "I thought somehow that I had come on a happy visit to the Nut Family as soon as I got acquainted with your two youngest. Well, it's a pleasure to work with people at the top of their profession, and I'll see you through."

Mr. Welwyn thanked him, almost inaudibly.

"But when do you suppose," pursued Mr. Stillbottle, transferring his feet from the sofa to the floor, "that I shall get out of this Dramatic Academy of yours? I 'ave n't come 'ere for a _course_, you know. Are you going to touch the tea-party for the money, or let me distrain on the furniture, or what?"

"I can't tell you at present," said Mr. Welwyn; "but I will endeavour to arrange something by the evening."

"Well, let me know soon, ole sport," said Mr. Stillbottle--"that's all.

I 'ave my arrangements to make, too, remember. My _word_, look at Mother!"

This interjection was occasioned by the entrance of Mrs. Welwyn and Amelia, dressed for the party. Mrs. Welwyn was arrayed in a quieter and more tasteful fashion than might have been expected. Her costume, which had been designed and constructed by her eldest daughter, would have struck an impartial critic as one which made the very best of her age and figure. Amelia wore a short white frock, with a blue sash. Her long coppery hair flowed to her waist, and her hazel eyes were aglow with excitement.

"Father dear, what do you think of the way Tilly has turned me out?"

enquired Mrs. Welwyn gaily.

For the moment her troubles were behind her. For once she was suitably--and to the outward eye expensively--attired; and the knowledge of the fact had induced in her humble but feminine soul that degree of minor intoxication which the materially-minded male usually achieves, more grossly but less extravagantly, by means of a pint of champagne.

Slowly gyrating for the delectation of her husband, Mrs. Welwyn unexpectedly encountered the unsympathetic gaze of Mr. Stillbottle. She blushed red, and ceased to revolve.

"Oh, that you?" she exclaimed, in an embarra.s.sed voice.

"Yes, it's me--what's left of me," replied Mr. Stillbottle lugubriously.