# On the Stage—and Off/Chapter 12

Chapter XII.
"Mad Mat" takes advantage of an Opportunity.
I had a day in London before starting off on my next venture, and so looked in at my old theatre. I knew none of the company, but the workmen and supers were mostly the same that I had left there. Dear old Jim was in his usual state, and greeted me with a pleasant—
"Hulloa! you seem jolly fond of the place, you do. What the deuce brings you here?"
I explained that it was a hankering to see him once again.
"Mad Mat" was there, too. The pantomime was still running, and Mat played a demon with a pasteboard head. He was suffering great injustice nightly, so it appeared from what he told me. He was recalled regularly at the end of the scene in which he and his brother demons were knocked about by the low comedian, but the management would not allow him to go on again and bow.
"They are jealous," whispered Mat to me, as we strolled into The Rodney (it would be unprofessional for an actor to meet a human creature whose swallowing organization was intact, and not ​propose a drink)—"jealous, that's what it is. I'm getting too popular, and they think I shall cut them out."
The poor fellow was madder than ever, and I was just thinking so at the very moment that he turned to me and said:
"Do you think I'm mad? candidly now."
It's a little awkward when a maniac asks you point-blank if you think he's mad. Before I could collect myself sufficiently to reply, he continued:
"People often say I'm mad—I've heard them. Even if I am, it isn't the thing to throw in a gentleman's teeth, but I'm not—I'm not. You don't think I am, do you?"
I was that "took aback," as Mrs. Brown would put it, that, if I had not had the presence of mind to gulp down a good mouthful of whisky and water, I don't know what I should have done. I then managed to get out something about "a few slight eccentricities, perhaps, but———"
"That's it," he cried, excitedly, "'eccentricities'—and they call that being mad. But they won't call me mad long—wait till I've made my name. They won't call me mad then. Mad! It's they're the fools, to think a man's mad when he isn't. Ha, ha, my boy, I'll surprise 'em one day. I'll shew the fools—the dolts—the idiots, who's been mad. 'Great genius is to madness close allied.' Who said that, eh? He was a genius, and they called him mad, perhaps. They're fools—all fools, I tell you. They can't tell the difference between madness ​and genius, but I'll shew them some day—some day."
Fortunately there was nobody else in the bar where we were, or his ravings would have attracted an unpleasant amount of attention. He wanted to give me a taste of his quality then and there in his favourite rôle of Romeo, and I only kept him quiet by promising to call that night and hear him rehearse the part.
When we were ready to go out, I put my hand in my pocket to pay, but, to my horror, Mat was before me, and laid down the money on the counter. Nor would any argument induce him to take it up again. He was hurt at the suggestion even, and reminded me that I had stood treat on the last occasion—about three months ago. It was impossible to force the money on him. He was as proud on his six shillings a week as Croesus on sixty thousand a year, and I was compelled to let him have his way. So he paid the eightpence, and then we parted on the understanding that I was to see him later on at his "lodgings."—"They are not what I could wish," he explained, "but you will, I am sure, overlook a few bachelor inconveniences. The place suits me well enough—for the present."
Hearing a lunatic go through Romeo is not the pleasantest way of passing the night, but I should not have had pluck enough to disappoint the poor fellow, even if I had not promised, and, accordingly, after having spent the evening enjoying the un​usual luxury of sitting quiet, and seeing other people excite themselves for my amusement, I made my way to the address Mat had given me.
The house was in a narrow court at the back of the New Cut. The front door stood wide open, though it was twelve o'clock, and a bitterly cold night. A child lay huddled up on the doorstep, and a woman was sleeping in the passage. I stumbled over the woman, groping my way along in the dark. She seemed used to being trodden upon though, for she only looked up unconcernedly, and went to sleep again at once. Mat had told me his place was at the very top, so I went on until there were no more stairs, and then I looked round me. Seeing a light coming from one of the rooms, I peered in through the half-open door, and saw a fantastic object, decked in gaudy colours and with long flowing hair, sitting on the edge of a broken-down bedstead. I didn't know what to make of it at first, but it soon occurred to me that it must be Mat, fully made-up as Romeo, and I went in.
I thought, when I had seen him a few hours before, that he looked queer—even for him—but now, his haggard face daubed with paint, and his great eyes staring out of it more wildly than ever, he positively frightened me. He held out his hand, which was thin and white, but remained seated.
"Excuse my rising," he said slowly, in a weak voice, "I feel so strange. I don't think I can go through the part to-night. So sorry to have ​brought you here for nothing, but you must come and see me some other time."
I got him to lie down on the bed just as he was, and covered him with the old rags that were on it. He lay still for a few minutes, then he looked up and said:
"I won't forget you, L———, when I'm well off. You've been friendly to me when I was poor: I shan't forget it, my boy. My opportunity will soon come now—very soon, and then———"
He didn't finish the sentence, but began to murmur bits of the part to himself, and in a little while he dropped asleep. I stole softly out, and went in search of a doctor. I got hold of one at last, and returned with him to Mat's attic. He was still asleep, and after arranging matters as well as I could with the doctor, I left, for I had to be on my way early in the morning.
I never expected to see Mat again, and I never did. People who have lived for any length of time on six shillings a week don't take long to die when they set about it, and, two days after I had seen him, Mad Mat's opportunity came, and he took it.