KIPPS
"Be all right in a minute," he added, "calm," and sat still. . . .
Kipps stared in commiseration of such success. Then he heard footsteps, and went quickly to the house doorway. "Jest a minute," he said. "Don't go in the shop, Ann, for a minute. It's Chitterlow. He's a bit essited. But he'll be better in a minute. It's knocked him over a bit. You see"—his voice sank to a hushed note as one who announces death—"'e's made a success with his play."
He pushed her back, lest she should see the scandal of another male's tears. . . .
Soon Chitterlow felt better, but for a little while his manner was even alarmingly subdued. "I had to come and tell you," he said. "I had to astonish someone. Muriel—she'll be first-rate, of course. But she's over at Dymchurch." He blew his nose with enormous noise, and emerged instantly a merely garrulous optimist.
"I expect she'll be precious glad.”
"She doesn't know yet, my dear boy. She's at Dymchurch—with a friend. She's seen some of my first nights before. . . . Better out of it. . . . I'm going to her now. I've been up all night—talking to the Boys and all that. I'm a bit off it just for a bit. But—it Knocked 'em. It Knocked everybody."
He stared at the floor and went on in a monotone. "They laughed a bit at the beginning—but nothing like a settled laugh—not until the second act—you know-the chap with the beetle down his neck. Little Chisholme did that bit to rights. Then they began—to rights." His voice warmed and increased.
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