Men's Wives [57]
band. Miss Horsman, Mr. Craw, my dear Mrs. Ravenswing, shall we begin the trio? Silence, gentlemen, if you please; it is a little piece from my opera of the 'Brigand's Bride.' Miss Horsman takes the Page's part, Mr. Craw is Stiletto the Brigand, my accomplished pupil is the Bride;" and the music began. "THE BRIDE. "My heart with joy is beating, My eyes with tears are dim; "THE PAGE. "Her heart with joy is beating Her eyes are fixed on him; "THE BRIGAND. "My heart with rage is beating, In blood my eye-balls swim!" What may have been the merits of the music or the singing, I, of course, cannot guess. Lady Thrum sat opposite the tea-cups, nodding her head and beating time very gravely. Lord Roundtowers, by her side, nodded his head too, for awhile, and then fell asleep. I should have done the same but for the manager, whose actions were worth of remark. He sang with all the three singers, and a great deal louder than any of them; he shouted bravo! or hissed as he thought proper; he criticised all the points of Mrs. Walker's person. "She'll do, Crump, she'll do--a splendid arm--you'll see her eyes in the shilling gallery! What sort of a foot has she? She's five feet three, if she's an inch! Bravo--slap up--capital- -hurrah!" And he concluded by saying, with the aid of the Ravenswing, he would put Ligonier's nose out of Joint! The enthusiasm of Mr. Slang almost reconciled Lady Thrum to the abruptness of his manners, and even caused Sir George to forget that his chorus had been interrupted by the obstreperous familiarity of the manager. "And what do YOU think, Mr. Bludyer," said the tailor, delighted that his protegee should be thus winning all hearts: "isn't Mrs. Walker a tip-top singer, eh, sir?" "I think she's a very bad one, Mr. Woolsey," said the illustrious author, wishing to abbreviate all communications with a tailor to whom he owed forty pounds. "Then, sir," says Mr. Woolsey, fiercely, "I'll--I'll thank you to pay me my little bill!" It is true there was no connection between Mrs. Walker's singing and Woolsey's little bill; that the "THEN, sir," was perfectly illogical on Woolsey's part; but it was a very happy hit for the future fortunes of Mrs. Walker. Who knows what would have come of her debut but for that "Then, sir," and whether a "smashing article" from the Tomahawk might not have ruined her for ever? "Are you a relation of Mrs. Walker's?" said Mr. Bludyer, in reply to the angry tailor. "What's that to you, whether I am or not?" replied Woolsey, fiercely. "But I'm the friend of Mrs. Walker, sir; proud am I to say so, sir; and, as the poet says, sir, 'a little learning's a dangerous thing,' sir; and I think a man who don't pay his bills may keep his tongue quiet at least, sir, and not abuse a lady, sir, whom everybody else praises, sir. You shan't humbug ME any more, sir; you shall hear from my attorney to-morrow, so mark that!" "Hush, my dear Mr. Woolsey," cried the literary man, "don't make a noise; come into this window: is Mrs. Walker REALLY a friend of yours?" "I've told you so, sir." "Well, in that case, I shall do my utmost to serve her and, look you, Woolsey, any article you choose to send about her to the Tomahawk I promise you I'll put in." "WILL you, though? then we'll say nothing about the little bill." "You may do on that point," answered Bludyer, haughtily, "exactly as you please. I am not to be frightened from my duty, mind that; and mind, too, that I can write a slashing article better than any man in England: I could crush her by ten lines." The tables were now turned, and it was Woolsey's turn to be alarmed. "Pooh! pooh! I WAS angry," said he, "because you abuse Mrs. Walker, who's an angel on earth; but I'm very willing to apologise. I say--come--let me take your measure for some new clothes, eh! Mr. B.?" "I'll come to your shop," answered the literary man, quite appeased. "Silence! they're beginning another song." The songs, which I don't attempt to describe (and, upon my word and honour, as far as I can understand