Sir Charles knew him again in a moment, and at sight of him bolted. They
met at the door. "Ah! Mr. Triplet!" said the fugitive, "enchanted -- to
wish you good-morning!" and he plunged into the hiding-places of the
theater.
"That is a very polite gentleman!" thought Triplet. He was followed by
the call-boy, to whom he was explaining that his avocations, though
numerous, would not prevent his paying Mr. Rich the compliment of waiting
all day in his green-room, sooner than go without an answer to three
important propositions, in which the town and the arts were concerned.
"What is your name?" said the boy of business to the man of words.
"Mr. Triplet," said Triplet.
"Triplet? There is something for you in the hall," said the urchin, and
went off to fetch it.
"I knew it," said Triplet to himself; "they are accepted. There's a note
in the hall to fix the reading." He then derided his own absurdity in
having ever for a moment desponded. "Master of three arts, by each of
which men grow fat, how was it possible he should starve all his days!"
He enjoyed a natural vanity for a few moments, and then came more
generous feelings. What sparkling eyes there would be in Lambeth to-day!
The butcher, at sight of Mr. Rich's handwriting, would give him credit.
Jane should have a new gown.
But when his tragedies were played, and he paid! El Dorado! His children
should be the neatest in the street.
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