Fortune was not actually staring him in the face, but it was
hanging on behind.

By one o'clock in the morning Nickie was carrying round a champagne
bottle in his left hand, from which he refreshed himself, and he was no
longer able to walk a chalk line as wide as a tram with an certainty, and
had got into the way of clinging to the curtains and hangings; but this
was all accepted as part of an excellent piece of caricature, and earned
our hero some applause.

Just before supper a lady, dressed as Portia, came forward, and pinned a
neat design of gold laurel leaves and emeralds on the breast of Mr.
Nicholas Crips. It was the prize for the best sustained character, which
the host had offered his guests in a frivolous mood. Nickie bowed in
acknowledgment of applause, and then, with the bottle in one hand, and
his hat in the other, he appealed to Portia.

"Could you spare a copper, kind lydie, to assist a poor orphan what's
laid up with lumbago in the feet. I've bin bed-ridden fer ten years,
lydie, and I lost both me legs in th' battle of Waterloo. On'y a penny
for the battered 'ero good, kind lydie."

At supper Nickie declined to unmask. He would not remove his preposterous
false nose. He also excited doubts and misgivings by the depth of his
thirst and his almost miraculous capacity for food. After supper he was
simply impossible.

Nicholas Crips in his sober moments was quiet and unpretentious in his
rascalities, his temperament was naturally mild; but under the influence
of strong drink he always developed tremendous belief in his own
magnificence, strutted about and fondly fancied himself a king. He was
wholly and completely drunk when he charged into the ballroom at two in
the morning, brandishing a full bottle, and singing uproariously. He
staggered into the middle of the dancers, whirling his magnum.

"Room" he cried. "Room, there, for King Solomon in all his glory" He
whirled his bottle again, and the dancers broke before him. A Sir Toby
Belch got the thick end of the bottle in his natural fatness, and
collapsed with a groan. "Remove the body!" ordered Nickie, magnificently.
"D'ye hear me, there, minions? Remove these offensive remain from the
royal presence."

The guests had retreated against the walls, and Nickie held the floor.
Nobody believed this to be an artistic effort to sustain the character.
Weary Willie was as drunk as a lord. He tittered a wild Indian whoop, and
sang the chorus of "at the Old