The rest of us
did not aspire so high. There were always five performances and
weeks of busy rehearsal; and whether we came to sit and stifle as
the prompter, to be the dumb (or rather the inarticulate)
recipients of Carter's dog whip in the TAMING OF THE SHREW, or
having earned our spurs, to lose one more illusion in a leading
part, we were always sure at least of a long and an exciting
holiday in mirthful company.
In this laborious annual diversion, Fleeming's part was large. I
never thought him an actor, but he was something of a mimic, which
stood him in stead. Thus he had seen Got in Poirier; and his own
Poirier, when he came to play it, breathed meritoriously of the
model. The last part I saw him play was Triplet, and at first I
thought it promised well. But alas! the boys went for a holiday,
missed a train, and were not heard of at home till late at night.
Poor Fleeming, the man who never hesitated to give his sons a
chisel or a gun, or to send them abroad in a canoe or on a horse,
toiled all day at his rehearsal, growing hourly paler, Triplet
growing hourly less meritorious.
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