nother well. Each saw another's idea and caught it, with the
certainty of a boy catching a ball. The audience roared with laughter;
the carpenters and scene-shifters--against the rule of the
theatre--crowded into the entrances with answering laughter; but the man
in the box gave no sign.

Worse and worse we went on. Mr. Daly, white with anger, came behind the
scene, gasping out, "Are they utterly mad?" to the little Frenchman whom
he had made prompter because he could not speak English well enough to
prompt us; who, frantically pulling his hair, cried, "Oui! oui! zey are
all mad--mad like ze dog in ze summer-time!"

Mr. Daly stamped his feet and cleared his throat to attract our
attention; but, trusting to Mr. Matthews's protection, we grinned
cheerfully at him and continued on our downward path. At last we reached
the "climax," and suddenly I heard Mr. Matthews say, "She's got
him--look--I think she's won!"

I could not help it--I turned my head to see if the "graven image" could
really laugh. Yes, he was moving! his face wore some faint expression;
but--but he was turning slowly to the laughing audience, and the
expression on his face was one of _wonder!_

Matthews groaned aloud, the curtain fell, and Daly was upon us. Matthews
said the cause of the whole business was that man in the box; while Mr.
Daly angrily declared, "The man in the box could have nothing to do with
the affair, since he was _deaf_ and _dumb_, and had been all his life."

I remember sitting down very hard and very suddenly. I remember that
Davidge, who was an Englishman, "blasted" a good many things under his
breath; and then Mr. Matthews, exclaiming with wonder, told us he had
been playing for years in a farce where this very scene was enacted, the
whole play consisting in the actors' efforts to win the approbation of a
man who was a deaf mute.

So once more a play was found to reflect a situation in real life.

[Illustration: _Charles Matthews_]

_CHAPTER III

IN CONNECTION WITH "DIVORCE" AND DALY'S_

"Divorce" had just settled down for its long run, when one evening I
received a letter whose weight and bulk made me wonder whether the
envelope contained a "last will and testament" or a "three-act play." On
opening it I found it perfectly correct in appearance, on excellent
paper, in the clearest handwriting, and using the most perfect
orthography and grammar: a gentleman had nevertheless gently, almost
tenderly, reproached me