a prince in his own right; and the
low-spirited lover, a desponding captive. There was a gorgeous banquet
ready spread for the third act, consisting of two pasteboard vases, one
plate of biscuits, a black bottle, and a vinegar cruet; and, in short,
everything was on a scale of the utmost splendour and preparation.

Nicholas was standing with his back to the curtain, now contemplating
the first scene, which was a Gothic archway, about two feet shorter
than Mr Crummles, through which that gentleman was to make his first
entrance, and now listening to a couple of people who were cracking nuts
in the gallery, wondering whether they made the whole audience, when the
manager himself walked familiarly up and accosted him.

'Been in front tonight?' said Mr Crummles.

'No,' replied Nicholas, 'not yet. I am going to see the play.'

'We've had a pretty good Let,' said Mr Crummles. 'Four front places in
the centre, and the whole of the stage-box.'

'Oh, indeed!' said Nicholas; 'a family, I suppose?'

'Yes,' replied Mr Crummles, 'yes. It's an affecting thing. There are six
children, and they never come unless the phenomenon plays.'

It would have been difficult for any party, family, or otherwise, to
have visited the theatre on a night when the phenomenon did NOT play,
inasmuch as she always sustained one, and not uncommonly two or three,
characters, every night; but Nicholas, sympathising with the feelings of
a father, refrained from hinting at this trifling circumstance, and Mr
Crummles continued to talk, uninterrupted by him.

'Six,' said that gentleman; 'pa and ma eight, aunt nine, governess
ten, grandfather and grandmother twelve. Then, there's the footman, who
stands outside, with a bag of oranges and a jug of toast-and-water,
and sees the play for nothing through the little pane of glass in the
box-door--it's cheap at a guinea; they gain by taking a box.'

'I wonder you allow so many,' observed Nicholas.

'There's no help for it,' replied Mr Crummles; 'it's always expected in
the country. If there are six children, six people come to hold them in
their laps. A family-box carries double always. Ring in the orchestra,
Grudden!'

That useful lady did as she was requested, and shortly afterwards the
tuning of three fiddles was heard. Which process having been protracted
as long as it was supposed that the patience of the audience could
possibly bear it, was put a stop to by another jerk of the bell, which,
being the