"Not for the King of England, not me," said the Lessee and Manager haughtily. "We open on Boxin' Night with Aladdin, and the bills are printed."
Oh, vain Lessee! Little he recked of the Napoleonic faculty of Mr. Hollins in combination with his cheque-*book. Meetings of indignation were held in Blackhampton and its environs, but after all, the loss of the famous midland city was the gain of the great metropolis.
Miss Caspar had come, had been seen, had overcome.
"'Core!" roared the bloods in the stalls.
"'Core!" echoed the cads in the pit.
"'Core!" cried the young ladies in the dress circle.
"'Core!" yelled the members of nature's nobility, cheek by jowl with the magnificent ceiling.
Mary Caspar's cold was really frightful, but she couldn't help herself, poor girl. Once more she took 'em all to Arcadee—Marge and Timothy and Alice Clara and Dick and the Babe and Helen and Lucy Nanna and certainly Uncle Phil. As for poor Father, he leaned back against the wall with his hands in his pockets, and almost wished he hadn't come. There was something about that girl taking 'em all to Arcadee that somehow—no, dash it all, he must learn to keep that upper lip a bit stiffer.
"'Core!" shouted Father—but so feebly that nobody heard him.
