Treats of the Company of Mr Vincent Crummles,and of his Affairs, Domestic and Theatrical.

　　As Mr Crummles had a strange four-legged animal in theinn stables, which he called a pony, and a vehicle ofunknown design, on which he bestowed the appellation ofa four-wheeled phaeton, Nicholas proceeded on his journey nextmorning with greater ease than he had expected: the manager andhimself occupying the front seat: and the Master Crummleses andSmike being packed together behind, in company with a wickerbasket defended from wet by a stout oilskin, in which were thebroad-swords, pistols, pigtails, nautical costumes, and otherprofessional necessaries of the aforesaid young gentlemen.

　　The pony took his time upon the road, and—possibly inconsequence of his theatrical education—evinced, every now andthen, a strong inclination to lie down. However, Mr VincentCrummles kept him up pretty well, by jerking the rein, and plyingthe whip; and when these means failed, and the animal came to astand, the elder Master Crummles got out and kicked him. By dintof these encouragements, he was persuaded to move from time totime, and they jogged on (as Mr Crummles truly observed) verycomfortably for all parties.

　　‘He’s a good pony at bottom,’ said Mr Crummles, turning toNicholas.

　　He might have been at bottom, but he certainly was not at top,seeing that his coat was of the roughest and most ill-favoured kind.

　　 So, Nicholas merely observed that he shouldn’t wonder if he was.

　　‘Many and many is the circuit this pony has gone,’ said MrCrummles, flicking him skilfully on the eyelid for oldacquaintance’ sake. ‘He is quite one of us. His mother was on thestage.’

　　‘Was she?’ rejoined Nicholas.

　　‘She ate apple-pie at a circus for upwards of fourteen years,’

　　said the manager; ‘fired pistols, and went to bed in a nightcap;and, in short, took the low comedy entirely. His father was adancer.’

　　‘Was he at all distinguished?’

　　‘Not very,’ said the manager. ‘He was rather a low sort of pony.

　　The fact is, he had been originally jobbed out by the day, and henever quite got over his old habits. He was clever in melodramatoo, but too broad—too broad. When the mother died, he took theport-wine business.’

　　‘The port-wine business!’ cried Nicholas.

　　‘Drinking port-wine with the clown,’ said the manager; ‘but hewas greedy, and one night bit off the bowl of the glass, and chokedhimself, so his vulgarity was the death of him at last.’

　　The descendant of this ill-starred animal requiring increasedattention from Mr Crummles as he progressed in his day’s work,that gentleman had very little time for conversation. Nicholas wasthus left at leisure to entertain himself with his own thoughts, untilthey arrived at the drawbridge at Portsmouth, when Mr Crummlespulled up.

　　‘We’ll get down here,’ said the manager, ‘and the boys will takehim round to the stable, and call at my lodgings with the luggage.

　　You had better let yours be taken there, for the present.’

　　 Thanking Mr Vincent Crummles for his obliging offer, Nicholasjumped out, and, giving Smike his arm, accompanied the managerup High Street on their way to the theatre; feeling nervous anduncomfortable enough at the prospect of an immediateintroduction to a scene so new to him.

　　They passed a great many bills, pasted against the walls anddisplayed in windows, wherein the names of Mr VincentCrummles, Mrs Vincent Crummles, Master Crummles, Master P.

　　Crummles, and Miss Crummles, were printed in very large letters,and everything else in very small ones; and, turning at length intoan entry, in which was a strong smell of orange-peel and lamp-oil,with an under-current of sawdust, groped their way through adark passage, and, descending a step or two, threaded a little mazeof canvas screens and paint pots, and emerged upon the stage ofthe Portsmouth Theatre.

　　‘Here we are,’ said Mr Crummles.

　　It was not very light, but Nicholas found himself close to thefirst entrance on the prompt side, among bare walls, dusty scenes,mildewed clouds, heavily daubed draperies, and dirty floors. Helooked about him; ceiling, pit, boxes, gallery, orchestra, fittings,and decorations of every kind,—all looked coarse, cold, gloomy,and wretched.

　　‘Is this a theatre?’ whispered Smike, in amazement; ‘I thoughtit was a blaze of light and finery.’

　　‘Why, so it is,’ replied Nicholas, hardly less surprised; ‘but notby day, Smike—not by day.’

　　The manager’s voice recalled him from a more carefulinspection of the building, to the opposite side of the proscenium,where, at a small mahogany table with rickety legs and of an oblong shape, sat a stout, portly female, apparently between fortyand fifty, in a tarnished silk cloak, with her bonnet dangling by thestrings in her hand, and her hair (of which she had a greatquantity) braided in a large festoon over each temple.

　　‘Mr Johnson,’ said the manager (for Nicholas had given thename which Newman Noggs had bestowed upon him in hisconversation with Mrs Kenwigs), ‘let me introduce Mrs VincentCrummles.’

　　‘I am glad to see you, sir,’ said Mrs Vincent Crummles, in asepulchral voice. ‘I am very glad to see you, and still more happyto hail you as a promising member of our corps.’

　　The lady shook Nicholas by the hand as she addressed him inthese terms; he saw it was a large one, but had not expected quitesuch an iron grip as that with which she honoured him.

　　‘And this,’ said the lady, crossing to Smike, as tragic actressescross when they obey a stage direction, ‘and this is the other. Youtoo, are welcome, sir.’

　　‘He’ll do, I think, my dear?’ said the manager, taking a pinch ofsnuff.

　　‘He is admirable,’ replied the lady. ‘An acquisition indeed.’

　　As Mrs Vincent Crummles recrossed back to the table, therebounded on to the stage from some mysterious inlet, a little girl ina dirty white frock with tucks up to the knees, short trousers,sandaled shoes, white spencer, pink gauze bonnet, green veil andcurl papers; who turned a pirouette, cut twice in the air, turnedanother pirouette, then, looking off at the opposite wing, shrieked,bounded forward to within six inches of the footlights, and fell intoa beautiful attitude of terror, as a shabby gentleman in an old pairof buff slippers came in at one powerful slide, and chattering his teeth, fiercely brandished a walking-stick.

　　‘They are going through the Indian Savage and the Maiden,’

　　said Mrs Crummles.

　　‘Oh!’ said the manager, ‘the little ballet interlude. Very good, goon. A little this way, if you please, Mr Johnson. That’ll do. Now!’

　　The manager clapped his hands as a signal to proceed, and thesavage, becoming ferocious, made a slide towards the maiden; butthe maiden avoided him in six twirls, and came down, at the end ofthe last one, upon the very points of her toes. This seemed to makesome impression upon the savage; for, after a little more ferocityand chasing of the maiden into corners, he began to relent, andstroked his face several times with his right thumb and fourfingers, thereby intimating that he was struck with admiration ofthe maiden’s beauty. Acting upon the impulse of this passion, he(the savage) began to hit himself severe thumps in the chest, andto exhibit other indications of being desperately in love, whichbeing rather a prosy proceeding, was very likely the cause of themaiden’s falling asleep; whether it was or no, asleep she did fall,sound as a church, on a sloping bank, and the savage perceiving it,leant his left ear on his left hand, and nodded sideways, to intimateto all whom it might concern that she was asleep, and noshamming. Being left to himself, the savage had a dance, all alone.

　　Just as he left off, the maiden woke up, rubbed her eyes, got off thebank, and had a dance all alone too—such a dance that the savagelooked on in ecstasy all the while, and when it was done, pluckedfrom a neighbouring tree some botanical curiosity, resembling asmall pickled cabbage, and offered it to the maiden, who at firstwouldn’t have it, but on the savage shedding tears relented. Thenthe savage jumped for joy; then the maiden jumped for rapture at the sweet smell of the pickled cabbage. Then the savage and themaiden danced violently together, and, finally, the savage droppeddown on one knee, and the maiden stood on one leg upon hisother knee; thus concluding the ballet, and leaving the spectatorsin a state of pleasing uncertainty, whether she would ultimatelymarry the savage, or return to her friends.

　　‘Very well indeed,’ said Mr Crummles; ‘bravo!’

　　‘Bravo!’ cried Nicholas, resolved to make the best of everything.

　　‘Beautiful!’ ‘This, sir,’ said Mr Vincent Crummles, bringing themaiden forward, ‘this is the infant phenomenon—Miss NinettaCrummles.’

　　‘Your daughter?’ inquired Nicholas.

　　‘My daughter—my daughter,’ replied Mr Vincent Crummles;‘the idol of every place we go into, sir. We have had complimentaryletters about this girl, sir, from the nobility and gentry of almostevery town in England.’

　　‘I am not surprised at that,’ said Nicholas; ‘she must be quite anatural genius.’

　　‘Quite a—!’ Mr Crummles stopped: language was not powerfulenough to describe the infant phenomenon. ‘I’ll tell you what, sir,’

　　he said; ‘the talent of this child is not to be imagined. She must beseen, sir—seen—to be ever so faintly appreciated. There; go toyour mother, my dear.’

　　‘May I ask how old she is?’ inquired Nicholas.

　　‘You may, sir,’ replied Mr Crummles, looking steadily in hisquestioner’s face, as some men do when they have doubts aboutbeing implicitly believed in what they are going to say. ‘She is tenyears of age, sir.’

　　‘Not more!’

　　 ‘Not a day.’

　　‘Dear me!’ said Nicholas, ‘it’s extraordinary.’

　　It was; for the infant phenomenon, though of short stature, hada comparatively aged countenance, and had moreover beenprecisely the same age—not perhaps to the full extent of thememory of the oldest inhabitant, but certainly for five good years.

　　But she had been kept up late every night, and put upon anunlimited allowance of gin-and-water from infancy, to prevent hergrowing tall, and perhaps this system of training had produced inthe infant phenomenon these additional phenomena.

　　While this short dialogue was going on, the gentleman who hadenacted the savage, came up, with his walking shoes on his feet,and his slippers in his hand, to within a few paces, as if desirous tojoin in the conversation. Deeming this a good opportunity, he putin his word.

　　‘Talent there, sir!’ said the savage, nodding towards MissCrummles.

　　Nicholas assented.

　　‘Ah!’ said the actor, setting his teeth together, and drawing inhis breath with a hissing sound, ‘she oughtn’t to be in theprovinces, she oughtn’t.’

　　‘What do you mean?’ asked the manager.

　　‘I mean to say,’ replied the other, warmly, ‘that she is too goodfor country boards, and that she ought to be in one of the largehouses in London, or nowhere; and I tell you more, withoutmincing the matter, that if it wasn’t for envy and jealousy in somequarter that you know of, she would be. Perhaps you’ll introduceme here, Mr Crummles.’

　　‘Mr Folair,’ said the manager, presenting him to Nicholas.

　　 ‘Happy to know you, sir.’ Mr Folair touched the brim of his hatwith his forefinger, and then shook hands. ‘A recruit, sir, Iunderstand?’

　　‘An unworthy one,’ replied Nicholas.

　　‘Did you ever see such a set-out as that?’ whispered the actor,drawing him away, as Crummles left them to speak to his wife.

　　‘As what?’

　　Mr Folair made a funny face from his pantomime collection,and pointed over his shoulder.

　　‘You don’t mean the infant phenomenon?’

　　‘Infant humbug, sir,’ replied Mr Folair. ‘There isn’t a femalechild of common sharpness in a charity school, that couldn’t dobetter than that. She may thank her stars she was born amanager’s daughter.’

　　‘You seem to take it to heart,’ observed Nicholas, with a smile.

　　‘Yes, by Jove, and well I may,’ said Mr Folair, drawing his armthrough his, and walking him up and down the stage. ‘Isn’t itenough to make a man crusty to see that little sprawler put up inthe best business every night, and actually keeping money out ofthe house, by being forced down the people’s throats, while otherpeople are passed over? Isn’t it extraordinary to see a man’sconfounded family conceit blinding him, even to his own interest?

　　Why I know of fifteen and sixpence that came to Southampton onenight last month, to see me dance the Highland Fling; and what’sthe consequence? I’ve never been put up in it since—never once—while the “infant phenomenon” has been grinning throughartificial flowers at five people and a baby in the pit, and two boysin the gallery, every night.’

　　‘If I may judge from what I have seen of you,’ said Nicholas, ‘you must be a valuable member of the company.’

　　‘Oh!’ replied Mr Folair, beating his slippers together, to knockthe dust out; ‘I can come it pretty well—nobody better, perhaps, inmy own line—but having such business as one gets here, is likeputting lead on one’s feet instead of chalk, and dancing in fetterswithout the credit of it. Holloa, old fellow, how are you?’

　　The gentleman addressed in these latter words was a dark-complexioned man, inclining indeed to sallow, with long thickblack hair, and very evident inclinations (although he was closeshaved) of a stiff beard, and whiskers of the same deep shade. Hisage did not appear to exceed thirty, though many at first sightwould have considered him much older, as his face was long, andvery pale, from the constant application of stage paint. He wore achecked shirt, an old green coat with new gilt buttons, aneckerchief of broad red and green stripes, and full blue trousers;he carried, too, a common ash walking-stick, apparently more forshow than use, as he flourished it about, with the hooked enddownwards, except when he raised it for a few seconds, andthrowing himself into a fencing attitude, made a pass or two at theside-scenes, or at any other object, animate or inanimate, thatchanced to afford him a pretty good mark at the moment.

　　‘Well, Tommy,’ said this gentleman, making a thrust at hisfriend, who parried it dexterously with his slipper, ‘what’s thenews?’

　　‘A new appearance, that’s all,’ replied Mr Folair, looking atNicholas.

　　‘Do the honours, Tommy, do the honours,’ said the othergentleman, tapping him reproac............