And he was followed, in his turn, by a frightened little nursemaid,
carrying a fat baby, also screaming. All the children screamed.
"Capital byplay!" said the old man aside. "Did you notice the
nursemaid's look of terror? It was simply perfect!"
"You have struck quite a new vein," I said. "To most of us Life and
its pleasures seem like a mine that is nearly worked out."
"Worked out!" exclaimed the Earl. "For any one with true dramatic
instincts, it is only the Overture that is ended! The real treat has
yet to begin. You go to a theatre, and pay your ten shillings for a
stall, and what do you get for your money? Perhaps it's a dialogue
between a couple of farmers--unnatural in their overdone caricature of
farmers' dress---more unnatural in their constrained attitudes and
gestures--most unnatural in their attempts at ease and geniality in
their talk. Go instead and take a seat in a third-class
railway-carriage, and you'll get the same dialogue done to the life!
Front-seats--no orchestra to block the view--and nothing to pay!"
"Which reminds me," said Eric. "There is nothing to pay on receiving a
telegram! Shall we enquire for one?" And he and Lady Muriel strolled
off in the direction of the Telegraph-Office.
"I wonder if Shakespeare had that thought in his mind," I said,
"when he wrote 'All the world's a stage'?"
The old man sighed. "And so it is, "he said, "look at it as you will.
Life is indeed a drama; a drama with but few encores--and no bouquets!"
he added dreamily.
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