Festivities are held in honour of Nicholas, whosuddenly withdraws himself from the Society of MrVincent Crummles and his Theatrical Companions.

　　Mr Vincent Crummles was no sooner acquainted with thepublic announcement which Nicholas had maderelative to the probability of his shortly ceasing to be amember of the company, than he evinced many tokens of grief andconsternation; and, in the extremity of his despair, even held outcertain vague promises of a speedy improvement not only in theamount of his regular salary, but also in the contingentemoluments appertaining to his authorship. Finding Nicholas bentupon quitting the society—for he had now determined that, even ifno further tidings came from Newman, he would, at all hazards,ease his mind by repairing to London and ascertaining the exactposition of his sister—Mr Crummles was fain to content himself bycalculating the chances of his coming back again, and takingprompt and energetic measures to make the most of him before hewent away.

　　‘Let me see,’ said Mr Crummles, taking off his outlaw’s wig, thebetter to arrive at a cool-headed view of the whole case. ‘Let mesee. This is Wednesday night. We’ll have posters out the first thingin the morning, announcing positively your last appearance fortomorrow.’

　　‘But perhaps it may not be my last appearance, you know,’ saidNicholas. ‘Unless I am summoned away, I should be sorry to inconvenience you by leaving before the end of the week.’

　　‘So much the better,’ returned Mr Crummles. ‘We can havepositively your last appearance, on Thursday—re-engagement forone night more, on Friday—and, yielding to the wishes ofnumerous influential patrons, who were disappointed in obtainingseats, on Saturday. That ought to bring three very decent houses.’

　　‘Then I am to make three last appearances, am I?’ inquiredNicholas, smiling.

　　‘Yes,’ rejoined the manager, scratching his head with an air ofsome vexation; ‘three is not enough, and it’s very bungling andirregular not to have more, but if we can’t help it we can’t, sothere’s no use in talking. A novelty would be very desirable. Youcouldn’t sing a comic song on the pony’s back, could you?’

　　‘No,’ replied Nicholas, ‘I couldn’t indeed.’

　　‘It has drawn money before now,’ said Mr Crummles, with alook of disappointment. ‘What do you think of a brilliant display offireworks?’

　　‘That it would be rather expensive,’ replied Nicholas, drily.

　　‘Eighteen-pence would do it,’ said Mr Crummles. ‘You on thetop of a pair of steps with the phenomenon in an attitude;“Farewell!” on a transparency behind; and nine people at thewings with a squib in each hand—all the dozen and a half going offat once—it would be very grand—awful from the front, quiteawful.’

　　As Nicholas appeared by no means impressed with thesolemnity of the proposed effect, but, on the contrary, received theproposition in a most irreverent manner, and laughed at it veryheartily, Mr Crummles abandoned the project in its birth, andgloomily observed that they must make up the best bill they could with combats and hornpipes, and so stick to the legitimate drama.

　　For the purpose of carrying this object into instant execution,the manager at once repaired to a small dressing-room, adjacent,where Mrs Crummles was then occupied in exchanging thehabiliments of a melodramatic empress for the ordinary attire ofmatrons in the nineteenth century. And with the assistance of thislady, and the accomplished Mrs Grudden (who had quite a geniusfor making out bills, being a great hand at throwing in the notes ofadmiration, and knowing from long experience exactly where thelargest capitals ought to go), he seriously applied himself to thecomposition of the poster.

　　‘Heigho!’ sighed Nicholas, as he threw himself back in theprompter’s chair, after telegraphing the needful directions toSmike, who had been playing a meagre tailor in the interlude,with one skirt to his coat, and a little pocket-handkerchief with alarge hole in it, and a woollen nightcap, and a red nose, and otherdistinctive marks peculiar to tailors on the stage. ‘Heigho! I wishall this were over.’

　　‘Over, Mr Johnson!’ repeated a female voice behind him, in akind of plaintive surprise.

　　‘It was an ungallant speech, certainly,’ said Nicholas, looking upto see who the speaker was, and recognising Miss Snevellicci. ‘Iwould not have made it if I had known you had been withinhearing.’

　　‘What a dear that Mr Digby is!’ said Miss Snevellicci, as thetailor went off on the opposite side, at the end of the piece, withgreat applause. (Smike’s theatrical name was Digby.)‘I’ll tell him presently, for his gratification, that you said so,’

　　returned Nicholas.

　　 ‘Oh you naughty thing!’ rejoined Miss Snevellicci. ‘I don’t knowthough, that I should much mind his knowing my opinion of him;with some other people, indeed, it might be—’ Here MissSnevellicci stopped, as though waiting to be questioned, but noquestioning came, for Nicholas was thinking about more seriousmatters.

　　‘How kind it is of you,’ resumed Miss Snevellicci, after a shortsilence, ‘to sit waiting here for him night after night, night afternight, no matter how tired you are; and taking so much pains withhim, and doing it all with as much delight and readiness as if youwere coining gold by it!’

　　‘He well deserves all the kindness I can show him, and a greatdeal more,’ said Nicholas. ‘He is the most grateful, single-hearted,affectionate creature that ever breathed.’

　　‘So odd, too,’ remarked Miss Snevellicci, ‘isn’t he?’

　　‘God help him, and those who have made him so; he is indeed,’

　　rejoined Nicholas, shaking his head.

　　‘He is such a devilish close chap,’ said Mr Folair, who had comeup a little before, and now joined in the conversation. ‘Nobody canever get anything out of him.’

　　‘What should they get out of him?’ asked Nicholas, turninground with some abruptness.

　　‘Zooks! what a fire-eater you are, Johnson!’ returned Mr Folair,pulling up the heel of his dancing shoe. ‘I’m only talking of thenatural curiosity of the people here, to know what he has beenabout all his life.’

　　‘Poor fellow! it is pretty plain, I should think, that he has not theintellect to have been about anything of much importance to themor anybody else,’ said Nicholas.

　　 ‘Ay,’ rejoined the actor, contemplating the effect of his face in alamp reflector, ‘but that involves the whole question, you know.’

　　‘What question?’ asked Nicholas.

　　‘Why, the who he is and what he is, and how you two, who areso different, came to be such close companions,’ replied Mr Folair,delighted with the opportunity of saying something disagreeable.

　　‘That’s in everybody’s mouth.’

　　‘The “everybody” of the theatre, I suppose?’ said Nicholas,contemptuously.

　　‘In it and out of it too,’ replied the actor. ‘Why, you know,Lenville says—’

　　‘I thought I had silenced him effectually,’ interrupted Nicholas,reddening.

　　‘Perhaps you have,’ rejoined the immovable Mr Folair; ‘if youhave, he said this before he was silenced: Lenville says that you’rea regular stick of an actor, and that it’s only the mystery about youthat has caused you to go down with the people here, and thatCrummles keeps it up for his own sake; though Lenville says hedon’t believe there’s anything at all in it, except your having gotinto a scrape and run away from somewhere, for doing somethingor other.’

　　‘Oh!’ said Nicholas, forcing a smile.

　　‘That’s a part of what he says,’ added Mr Folair. ‘I mention it asthe friend of both parties, and in strict confidence. I don’t agreewith him, you know. He says he takes Digby to be more knavethan fool; and old Fluggers, who does the heavy business youknow, he says that when he delivered messages at Covent Gardenthe season before last, there used to be a pickpocket hoveringabout the coach-stand who had exactly the face of Digby; though, as he very properly says, Digby may not be the same, but only hisbrother, or some near relation.’

　　‘Oh!’ cried Nicholas again.

　　‘Yes,’ said Mr Folair, with undisturbed calmness, ‘that’s whatthey say. I thought I’d tell you, because really you ought to know.

　　Oh! here’s this blessed phenomenon at last. Ugh, you littleimposition, I should like to—quite ready, my darling,—humbug—Ring up, Mrs G., and let the favourite wake ’em.’

　　Uttering in a loud voice such of the latter allusions as werecomplimentary to the unconscious phenomenon, and giving therest in a confidential ‘aside’ to Nicholas, Mr Folair followed theascent of the curtain with his eyes, regarded with a sneer thereception of Miss Crummles as the Maiden, and, falling back astep or two to advance with the better effect, uttered a preliminaryhowl, and ‘went on’ chattering his teeth and brandishing his tintomahawk as the Indian Savage.

　　‘So these are some of the stories they invent about us, andbandy from mouth to mouth!’ thought Nicholas. ‘If a man wouldcommit an inexpiable offence against any society, large or small,let him be successful. They will forgive him any crime but that.’

　　‘You surely don’t mind what that malicious creature says, MrJohnson?’ observed Miss Snevellicci in her most winning tones.

　　‘Not I,’ replied Nicholas. ‘If I were going to remain here, I mightthink it worth my while to embroil myself. As it is, let them talk tillthey are hoarse. But here,’ added Nicholas, as Smike approached,‘here comes the subject of a portion of their good-nature, so let heand I say good night together.’

　　‘No, I will not let either of you say anything of the kind,’

　　returned Miss Snevellicci. ‘You must come home and see mama, who only came to Portsmouth today, and is dying to behold you.

　　Led, my dear, persuade Mr Johnson.’

　　‘Oh, I’m sure,’ returned Miss Ledrook, with considerablevivacity, ‘if you can’t persuade him—’ Miss Ledrook said no more,but intimated, by a dexterous playfulness, that if Miss Snevelliccicouldn’t persuade him, nobody could.

　　‘Mr and Mrs Lillyvick have taken lodgings in our house, andshare our sitting-room for the present,’ said Miss Snevellicci.

　　‘Won’t that induce you?’

　　‘Surely,’ returned Nicholas, ‘I can require no possibleinducement beyond your invitation.’

　　‘Oh no! I dare say,’ rejoined Miss Snevellicci. And Miss Ledrooksaid, ‘Upon my word!’ Upon which Miss Snevellicci said that MissLedrook was a giddy thing; and Miss Ledrook said that MissSnevellicci needn’t colour up quite so much; and Miss Snevelliccibeat Miss Ledrook, and Miss Ledrook beat Miss Snevellicci.

　　‘Come,’ said Miss Ledrook, ‘it’s high time we were there, or weshall have poor Mrs Snevellicci thinking that you have run awaywith her daughter, Mr Johnson; and then we should have a prettyto-do.’

　　‘My dear Led,’ remonstrated Miss Snevellicci, ‘how you do talk!’

　　Miss Ledrook made no answer, but taking Smike’s arm in hers,left her friend and Nicholas to follow at their pleasure; which itpleased them, or rather pleased Nicholas, who had no great fancyfor a tête-à-tête under the circumstances, to do at once.

　　There were not wanting matters of conversation when theyreached the street, for it turned out that Miss Snevellicci had asmall basket to carry home, and Miss Ledrook a small bandbox,both containing such minor articles of theatrical costume as the lady performers usually carried to and fro every evening. Nicholaswould insist upon carrying the basket, and Miss Snevellicci wouldinsist upon carrying it herself, which gave rise to a struggle, inwhich Nicholas captured the basket and the bandbox likewise.

　　Then Nicholas said, that he wondered what could possibly beinside the basket, and attempted to peep in, whereat MissSnevellicci screamed, and declared that if she thought he hadseen, she was sure she should faint away. This declaration wasfollowed by a similar attempt on the bandbox, and similardemonstrations on the part of Miss Ledrook, and then both ladiesvowed that they wouldn’t move a step further until Nicholas hadpromised that he wouldn’t offer to peep again. At last Nicholaspledged himself to betray no further curiosity, and they walked on:

　　both ladies giggling very much, and declaring that they never hadseen such a wicked creature in all their born days—never.

　　Lightening the way with such pleasantry as this, they arrived atthe tailor’s house in no time; and here they made quite a littleparty, there being present besides Mr Lillyvick and Mrs Lillyvick,not only Miss Snevellicci’s mama, but her papa also. And anuncommonly fine man Miss Snevellicci’s papa was, with a hooknose, and a white forehead, and curly black hair, and high cheekbones, and altogether quite a handsome face, only a little pimplyas though with drinking. He had a very broad chest had MissSnevellicci’s papa, and he wore a threadbare blue dress-coatbuttoned with gilt buttons tight across it; and he no sooner sawNicholas come into the room, than he whipped the two forefingersof his right hand in between the two centre buttons, and stickinghis other arm gracefully a-kimbo seemed to say, ‘Now, here I am,my buck, and what have you got to say to me?’

　　 Such was, and in such an attitude sat Miss Snevellicci’s papa,who had been in the profession ever since he had first played theten-year-old imps in the Christmas pantomimes; who could sing alittle, dance a little, fence a little, act a little, and do everything alittle, but not much; who had been sometimes in the ballet, andsometimes in the chorus, at every theatre in London; who wasalways selected in virtue of his figure to play the military visitorsand the speechless noblemen; who always wore a smart dress, andcame on arm-in-arm with a smart lady in short petticoats,—andalways did it too with such an air that people in the pit had beenseveral times known to cry out ‘Bravo!’ under the impression thathe was somebody. Such was Miss Snevellicci’s papa, upon whomsome envious persons cast the imputation that he occasionallybeat Miss Snevellicci’s mama, who was still a dancer, with a neatlittle figure and some remains of good looks; and who now sat, asshe danced,—being rather too old for the full glare of the footlights,—in the background.

　　To these good people Nicholas was presented with muchformality. The introduction being completed, Miss Snevellicci’spapa (who was scented with rum-and-water) said that he wasdelighted to make the acquaintance of a gentleman so highlytalented; and furthermore remarked, that there hadn’t been sucha hit made—no, not since the first appearance of his friend MrGlavormelly, at the Coburg.

　　‘You have seen him, sir?’ said Miss Snevellicci’s papa.

　　‘No, really I never did,’ replied Nicholas.

　　‘You never saw my friend Glavormelly, sir!’ said MissSnevellicci’s papa. ‘Then you have never seen acting yet. If he hadlived—’

　　 ‘Oh, he is dead, is he?’ interrupted Nicholas.

　　‘He is,’ said Mr Snevellicci, ‘but he isn’t in Westminster Abbey,more’s the shame. He was a—. Well, no matter. He is gone to thatbourne from whence no traveller returns. I hope he is appreciatedthere.’

　　So saying Miss Snevellicci’s papa rubbed the tip of his nosewith a very yellow silk handkerchief, and gave the company tounderstand that these recollections overcame him.

　　‘Well, Mr Lillyvick,’ said Nicholas, ‘and how are you?’

　　‘Quite well, sir,’ replied the collector. ‘There is nothing like themarried state, sir, depend upon it.’

　　‘Indeed!’ said Nicholas, laughing.

　　‘Ah! nothing like it, sir,’ replied Mr Lillyvick solemnly. ‘How doyou think,’ whispered the collector, drawing him aside, ‘how doyou think she looks tonight?’

　　‘As handsome as ever,’ replied Nicholas, glancing at the lateMiss Petowker.

　　‘Why, there’s air about her, sir,’ whispered the collector, ‘that Inever saw in anybody. Look at her, now she moves to put thekettle on. There! Isn’t it fascination, sir?’

　　‘You’re a lucky man,’ said Nicholas.

　　‘Ha, ha, ha!’ rejoined the collector. ‘No. Do you think I amthough, eh? Perhaps I may be, perhaps I may be. I say, I couldn’thave done much better if I had been a young man, could I? Youcouldn’t have done much better yourself, could you—eh—couldyou?’ With such inquires, and many more such, Mr Lillyvickjerked his elbow into Nicholas’s side, and chuckled till his facebecame quite purple in the attempt to keep down his satisfaction.

　　By this time the cloth had been laid under the joint superintendence of all the ladies, upon two tables put together,one being high and narrow, and the other low and broad. Therewere oysters at the top, sausages at the bottom, a pair of snuffersin the centre, and baked potatoes wherever it was most convenientto put them. Two additional chairs were brought in from thebedroom: Miss Snevellicci sat at the head of the table, and MrLillyvick at the foot; and Nicholas had not only the honour ofsitting next Miss Snevellicci, but of having Miss Snevellicci’smama on his right hand, and Miss Snevellicci’s papa over the way.

　　In short, he was the hero of the feast; and when the table wascleared and something warm introduced, Miss Snevellicci’s papagot up and proposed his health in a speech containing suchaffecting allusions to his coming departure, that Miss Snevellicciwept, and was compelled to retire into the bedroom.

　　‘Hush! Don’t take any notice of it,’ said Miss Ledrook, peepingin from the bedroom. ‘Say, when she comes back, that she exertsherself too much.’

　　Miss Ledrook eked out this speech with so many mysteriousnods and frowns before she shut the door again, that a profoundsilence came upon all the company, during which MissSnevellicci’s papa looked very big indeed—several sizes largerthan life—at everybody in turn, but particularly at Nicholas, andkept on perpetually emptying his tumbler and filling it again, untilthe ladies returned in a cluster, with Miss Snevellicci among them.

　　‘Yo............