II
"Sole proprietor of the Regent Theatre."
These were the words which Edward Henry wrote on a visiting-cardand which procured him immediate admittance to the uniquespectacle--reputed to be one of the most enthralling sights inLondon--of Sir John Pilgrim at breakfast.
In a very spacious front-room of his flat (so celebrated for itsGobelins tapestries and its truly wonderful parquet-flooring) sat SirJohn Pilgrim at a large hexagonal mahogany table. At one side of thetable a small square of white diaper was arranged, and on this squarewere an apparatus for boiling eggs, another for making toast, anda third for making coffee. Sir John, with the assistance of a youngChinaman and a fox-terrier, who flitted around him, was indeed eatingand drinking. The vast remainder of the table was gleamingly bare,save for newspapers and letters opened and unopened which Sir Johntossed about. Opposite to him sat a secretary whose fluffy hair,neat white _chemisette_, and tender years gave her an appearance ofhelpless fragility in front of the powerful and ruthless celebrity.Sir John's crimson-socked left foot stuck out from the table, emergingfrom the left half of a lovely new pair of brown trousers, and restingon a piece of white paper. Before this white paper knelt a man in afrock-coat who was drawing an outline on the paper round Sir John'sfoot.
"You _are_ a bootmaker, aren't you?" Sir John was saying airily.
"Yes, Sir John."
"Excuse me!" said Sir John. "I only wanted to be sure. I fancied fromthe way you caressed my corn with that pencil that you might be anartist on one of the illustrated papers. My mistake!" He was bendingdown. Then suddenly straightening himself he called across the room:"I say, Givington, did you notice my pose then--my expression as Iused the word 'caressed'? How would that do?"
And Edward Henry now observed in a corner of the room a man, standingin front of an easel and sketching somewhat grossly thereon incharcoal. This man said:
"If you won't bother me, Sir John, I won't bother you."
"Ah! Givington! Ah! Givington!" murmured Sir John still moreairily--at breakfast he was either airy or nothing. "You're gettingon in the world. You aren't merely an A.R.A.;--you're making money! Ayear ago you'd never have had the courage to address me in that tone.Well, I sincerely congratulate you.... Here, Snip, here's my dentist'sbill--worry it, worry it! Good dog! Worry it!" (The dog growled nowover a torn document beneath the table.) "Miss Taft, you might seethat a _communique _ goes out to the effect that I gave my firstsitting to Mr. Saracen Givington, A.R.A., this morning. The activitiesof Mr. Saracen Givington are of interest to the world, and rightlyso! You'd better come round to the other side for the right foot, Mr.Bootmaker. The journey is simply nothing."
And then, and not till then, did Sir John Pilgrim turn his large andhandsome middle-aged blond face in the direction of Alderman EdwardHenry Machin.
"Pardon my curiosity," said Sir John, "but who are you?"
"My name is Machin--Alderman Machin," said Edward Henry. "I sent up mycard and you asked me to come in."
"Ha!" Sir John exclaimed, seizing an egg. "Will you crack an egg withme, Alderman? I can crack an egg with anybody."
"Thanks," said Edward Henry. "I'll be very glad to." And he advancedtowards the table.
Sir John hesitated. The fact was that, though he dissembled his dismaywith marked histrionic skill, he was unquestionably overwhelmed byastonishment. In the course of years he had airily invited hundredsof callers to crack an egg with him--the joke was one of hisfavourites--but nobody had ever ventured to accept the invitation.
"Chung," he said weakly, "lay a cover for the Alderman."
Edward Henry sat down quite close to Sir John. He could discern allthe details of Sir John's face and costume. The tremendous celebritywas wearing a lounge-suit somewhat like his own, but instead of thecoat he had a blue dressing-jacket with crimson facings; the sleevesended in rather long wristbands, which were unfastened, the opalcuff-links drooping each from a single hole. Perhaps for the firsttime in his life Edward Henry intimately understood what idiosyncraticelegance was. He could almost feel the emanating personality of SirJohn Pilgrim, and he was intimidated by it; he was intimidated byits hardness, its harshness, its terrific egotism, its utterly brazenquality. Sir John's glance was the most purely arrogant that EdwardHenry had ever encountered. It knew no reticence. And Edward Henrythought: "When this chap dies he'll want to die in public, with thereporters round his bed and a private secretary taking down messages."
"This is rather a lark," said Sir John, recovering.
"It is," said Edward Henry, who now felicitously perceived that a larkit indeed was, and ought to be treated as such. "It shall be a lark!"he said to himself.
Sir John dictated a letter to Miss Taft, and before the letter wasfinished the grinning Chung had laid a place for Edward Henry, andSnip had inspected him and passed him for one of the right sort.
"Had I said that this is rather a lark?" Sir John inquired, the letteraccomplished.
"I forget," said Edward Henry.
"Because I don't like to say the same thing twice over if I can helpit. It _is_ a lark though, isn't it?"
"Undoubtedly," said Edward Henry, decapitating an egg. "I only hopethat I'm not interrupting you."
"Not in the least," said Sir John. "Breakfast is my sole free time. Inanother half hour I assure you I shall be attending to three or fourthings at once." He leant over towards Edward Henry. "But between youand me, Alderman, quite privately, if it isn't a rude question, whatdid you come for?"
"Well," said Edward Henry, "as I wrote on my card, I'm the soleproprietor of the Regent Theatre--"
"But there is no Regent Theatre," Sir John interrupted him.
"No. Not strictly. But there will be. It's in course of construction.We're up to the first floor."
"Dear me! A suburban theatre, no doubt?"
"Do you mean to say, Sir John," cried Edward Henry, "that you haven'tnoticed it? It's within a few yards of Piccadilly Circus."
"Really!" said Sir John. "You see my theatre is in Lower Regent Streetand I never go to Piccadilly Circus. I make a point of not goingto Piccadilly Circus. Miss Taft, how long is it since I went toPiccadilly Circus? Forgive me, young woman, I was forgetting--youaren't old enough to remember. Well, never mind details.... And whatis there remarkable about the Regent Theatre, Alderman?"
"I intend it to be a theatre of the highest class, Sir John," saidEdward Henry. "Nothing but the very best will be seen on its boards."
"That's not remarkable, Alderman. We're all like that. Haven't younoticed it?"
"Then secondly," said Edward Henry, "I am the sole proprietor. Ihave no financial backers, no mortgages, no partners. I have made nocontracts with anybody."
"That," said Sir John, "is not unremarkable. In fact many persons whodo not happen to possess my own robust capacity for belief might notcredit your statement."
"And thirdly," said Edward Henry, "every member of the audience--evenin the boxes, the most expensive seats--will have a full view of thewhole of the stage--or, in the alternative, at _matinees_, a full viewof a lady's hat."
"Alderman," said Sir John, gravely, "before I offer you another egg,let me warn you against carrying remarkableness too far. You may beregarded as eccentric if you go on like that. Some people, I am told,don't want a view of the stage."
"Then they had better not come to my theatre," said Edward Henry.
"All which," commented Sir John, "gives me no clue whatever to thereason why you are sitting here by my side and calmly eating my eggsand toast, and drinking my coffee."
Admittedly, Edward Henry was nervous. Admittedly, he was a provincialin the presence of one of the most illustrious personages in theEmpire. Nevertheless, he controlled his nervousness, and reflected:
"Nobody else from the Five Towns would or could have done what I amdoing. Moreover, this chap is a mountebank. In the Five Towns theywould kow-tow to him, but they would laugh at him. They would mightysoon add _him_ up. Why should I be nervous? I'm as good as he is." Hefinished wit
h the thought which has inspired many a timid man with newcourage in a desperate crisis: "The fellow can't eat me."
Then he said aloud:
"I want to ask you a question, Sir John."
"One?"
"One. Are you the head of the theatrical profession, or is Sir GeraldPompey?"
"_Sir_ Gerald Pompey?"
"_Sir_ Gerald Pompey. Haven't you seen the papers this morning?"
Sir John Pilgrim turned pale. Springing up, he seized the topmost ofan undisturbed pile of daily papers, and feverishly opened it.
"Bah!" he muttered.
He was continually thus imitating his own behaviour on the stage. Theorigin of his renowned breakfasts lay in the fact that he had onceplayed the part of a millionaire-ambassador who juggled at breakfastwith his own affairs and the affairs of the world. The stage-breakfastof a millionaire-ambassador created by a playwright on the verge ofbankruptcy had appealed to his imagination and influenced all themornings of his life.
"They've done it just to irritate me as I'm starting off on my world'stour," he muttered, coursing round the table. Then he stopped andgazed at Edward Henry. "This is a political knighthood," said he. "Ithas nothing to do with the stage. It is not like my knighthood, isit?"
"Certainly not," Edward Henry agreed. "But you know how people willtalk, Sir John. People will be going about this very morningand saying that Sir Gerald is at last the head of the theatricalprofession. I came here for your authoritative opinion. I know you'reunbiased."
Sir John resumed his chair.
"As for Pompey's qualifications as a head," he murmured, "I knownothing of them. I fancy his heart is excellent. I only saw him twice,once in his own theatre, and once in Bond Street. I should be inclinedto say that on the stage he looks more like a gentleman than anygentleman ought to look, and that in the street he might be mistakenfor an actor.... How will that suit you?"
"It's a clue," said Edward Henry.
"Alderman!" exclaimed Sir John, "I believe that if I didn't keep afirm hand on myself I should soon begin to like you. Have another cupof coffee. Chung!... Good-bye, Bootmaker, good-bye!"
"I only want to know for certain who is the head," said Edward Henry,"because I mean to invite the head of the theatrical profession to laythe corner-stone of my new theatre."
"Ah!"
"When do you start on your world's tour, Sir John?"
"I leave Tilbury, with my entire company, scenery and effects, onthe morning of Tuesday week, by the _Kandahar_. I shall play first atCairo."
"How awkward!" said Edward Henry. "I meant to ask you to lay the stoneon the very next afternoon--Wednesday, that is!"
"Indeed!"
"Yes, Sir John. The ceremony will be a very original affair--veryoriginal!"
"A foundation-stone-laying!" mused Sir John. "But if you're alreadyup to the first floor, how can you be laying the foundation-stone onWednesday week?"
"I didn't say foundation-stone. I said corners-tone," Edward Henrycorrected him. "An entire novelty! That's why we can't be ready beforeWednesday week."
"And you want to advertise your house by getting the head of theprofession to assist?"
"That is exactly my idea."
"Well," said Sir John, "whatever else you may lack, Mr. Alderman, youare not lacking in nerve, if you expect to succeed in _that_."
Edward Henry smiled. "I have already heard, in a roundabout way," hereplied, "that Sir Gerald Pompey would not be unwilling to officiate.My only difficulty is that I'm a truthful man by nature. Whoeverofficiates I shall of course have to have him labelled, in my owninterests, as the head of the theatrical profession, and I don't wantto say anything that isn't true."
There was a pause.
"Now, Sir John, couldn't you stay a day or two longer in London, andjoin the ship at Marseilles instead of going on board at Tilbury?"
"But I have made all my arrangements. The whole world knows that I amgoing on board at Tilbury."
Just then the door opened, and a servant announced:
"Mr. Carlo Trent."
Sir John Pilgrim rushed like a locomotive to the threshold and seizedboth Carlo Trent's hands with such a violence of welcome that CarloTrent's eyeglass fell out of his eye and the purple ribbon dangled tohis waist.
"Come in, come in!" said Sir John. "And begin to read at once. I'vebeen looking out of the window for you for the last quarter of anhour. Alderman, this is Mr. Carlo Trent, the well-known dramatic poet.Trent, this is one of the greatest geniuses in London.... Ah! You knoweach other? It's not surprising! No, don't stop to shake hands. Sitdown here, Trent. Sit down on this chair.... Here, Snip, take his hat.Worry it! Worry it! Now, Trent, don't read to _me_. It might make younervous and hurried. Read to Miss Taft and Chung and to Mr. Givingtonover there. Imagine that they are the great and enlightened public.You have imagination, haven't you, being a poet?"
Sir John had accomplished the change of mood with the rapidity of atransformation scene--in which form of art, by the way, he was a greatadept.
Carlo Trent, somewhat breathless, took a manuscript from his pocket,opened it, and announced: "The Orient Pearl."
"Oh!" breathed Edward Henry.
For some thirty minutes Edward Henry listened to hexameters, the firsthe had ever heard. The effect of them on his moral organism wasworse than he had expected. He glanced about at the other auditors.Givington had opened a box of tubes and was spreading colours on hispalette. The Chinaman's eyes were closed while his face still grinned.Snip was asleep on the parquet. Miss Taft bit the end of a pencil withher agreeable teeth. Sir John Pilgrim lay at full length on a sofa,occasionally lifting his legs. Edward Henry despaired of help in hisgreat need. But just as his desperation was becoming too acute to beborne, Carlo Trent ejaculated the word "Curtain." It was the firstword that Edward Henry had clearly understood.
"That's the first act," said Carlo Trent, wiping his face. Snipawakened.
Edward Henry rose, and, in the hush, tiptoed round to the sofa.
"Good-bye, Sir John," he whispered.
"You're not going?"
"I am, Sir John."
The head of his profession sat up. "How right you are!" said he. "Howright you are! Trent, I knew from the first words it wouldn't do. Itlacks colour. I want something more crimson, more like the brighterparts of this jacket, something--" He waved hands in the air. "TheAlderman agrees with me. He's going. Don't trouble to read any more,Trent. But drop in any time--any time. Chung, what o'clock is it?"
"It is nearly noon," said Edward Henry, in the tone of an old friend."Well, I'm sorry you can't oblige me, Sir John. I'm off to see SirGerald Pompey now."
"But who says I can't oblige you?" protested Sir John. "Who knowswhat sacrifices I would not make in the highest interests of theprofession? Alderman, you jump to conclusions with the agility of anacrobat, but they are false conclusions! Miss Taft, the telephone!Chung, my coat! Good-bye, Trent, good-bye!"
An hour later Edward Henry met Mr. Marrier at the Grand Babylon Hotel.
"Well, sir," said Mr. Marrier, "you are the greatest man that everlived!"
"Why?"
Mr. Marrier showed him the stop-press news of a penny evening paper,which read: "Sir John Pilgrim has abandoned his ceremonious departurefrom Tilbury, in order to lay the corner-stone of the new RegentTheatre on Wednesday week. He and Miss Cora Pryde will join the_Kandahar_ at Marseilles."
"You needn't do any advertaysing," said Mr. Marrier. "Pilgrim will doall the advertaysing for you."
The Regent Page 31
