"Most audiences are, when they have good acting—real good acting—the real 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' provivision; 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 him 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 down stairs. " We have fallen upon strange times, and God only knows the end of them; but I am tired with the events of these three days, and will postpone reflection till to-morrow—if I can."
