Los Angeles daily herald., 1889-04-08


Ekeu! fugaces labuntur Gnni! Ah me |!
where was [?
Follow me down narrow street lead
ing from the Strand to the river; Villiers
street, think it was called, but it has
been improved out of the map of London
TO make room for the Charing- Cross rail-
way station. Let us enter dingy lodg-
ing house and mount four flights of dark
and greasy stairs. The door facing the
visitors is that of the back attic, or rather
the back garret, for the room is nestled
in the roof of the building and receives
its light from dormer window. 1t is
small; SO is its remit shillings week.
The fur niture consists of low iron bed
stead, two wicked looking chairs, and a
washstand; there are neither curtains
nor carpet; a plain substantial table,
covered with manuscripts and writing
material, stands near the window. The
mantelpiece accommodates row of
books, consisting of prizes won at school,
in their snowy bindings; a score of
French novels, ragged and disreputable
as their contents; copy of Voltaire' 3
Philosophical Dictionary; Shakespeare
and collection OF Cumberland's London
stage, fianked by an earthenware pot Of
tea and monstrous teacup.
Leaning at the open window ,contemplat-
ing the vista of chimney pots and discon-
ISOLATE tiled roofs that spread away to the
smoky horizon of Lambeth, sat the
lodger in this Bohemian asylum. He
was something older than boy and
younger than a man. His slim figure,
broad in the shoulders, thin in the flank
his black hair and gray-blue eyes; his
complexion, as fair as that of girl, in
,dicate the Irish race. The clock OF st.
Martins neighboring church struck
three.
''Three o'clock!" he murmured; "the
rehearsal must be over by this time.
They told me this is the best time to see
ahim. 1t shall be my last effort"
so saying, he slung himself into pea.
jacket, snatched his hat, and dived down
the four flights of stairs. With swift
steps, half in resolution, half in despair,
he crossed the Strand, made his way up
Bedford street, along Henrietta street,
and into Covent- Garden Market. Cross
ing that filthy metropolitan nuisance,
always reeking with rotting vegetable
refuse, he sped round the block into the
by-street in which was situated the stage
door Of the old Covent-Garden Theatre.
1t looked like the vestibule of a prison.
The stage doorkeeper recognized him
with a nod, half familiar, half sym
pathetic.
sis the rehearsal over YETI" asked the
visitor.
''Oh, yes, an hour ago."
"Will you please take my name up tc
Mr.. Charles MathewsW
''It is all right" replied the janitor
glancing at the card. "Mr. Mathews hal
been expecting to see you since
o'clock"
The visitor stood agape.
''Did you not get the message?" con
stinued the official.
81? Mop stammered the youth
dngling all over with delight and aston
ishment. "When did he send?"
"An hour ago. Oh! here is his owl
man. say, Williams, take this gentle
mans name to Mr.. Mathews, quick. Sa.
Mr.. Madison Morton is waiting"
Williams had vanished before thu
young man could gasp out: "Nol 1t il
q mistake. My name is Lee Moreton.
''Then why did you not tell me SOP
growIed the porter.
''You never asked me-" retorted til,
boy, who stood for some moments irreso
lutte. Then the situation burst upor
him, and while he was laughing, in spite
of his chagrin and disappointment, Will
liams reappeared.
"This way, sir, take care. The stair
case is dark. Allow me to guide you. .
And up the dismal stairs and across the
gloomy stage they went, until they
CROPPED their way into corridor into
which several doors opened. At one oi
these the guide knocked discreetly, and,
withdrawing aside, invited his compan-
ion to enter a comfortably-furn
room, half parlor, half office. Facing
the fire sat gentleman in light-gray
dressing gown, faced with blue silk; his
back was turned to the door by which
his visitor had entered. He was read
ing manuscript Without raising his
head he motioned the intruder with his
hand TO a chair.
"One moment, my dear Morton. Sit
down. Not word until l have finished
this scene-just half page"
The young man took the chair and
waited the managers leisure, rehearsing
the apology he should make. At length
Charles Mathews rose, and, putting aside
the manuscript on the mantelpiece, took
to poking the fire vigorously.
"Well, Morton, you have put plenty of
fun and animal spirits into that farce of
yours, but somehow it does not read like
your work. l like the part you have
written for me immensely"
''I beg your pardon, Mr.. Mathews, be-
gan the youth timidly.
'tHello!" exclaimed the comedian,
turning round and scanning his visitor
with amused wonder. "Who are you ?"
"My name is Moreton, and by mistake
have been shown to your room. Allow
me to explain how it happened" and he
did so.
Mathews laughed heartily at the
blander, and then, eyeing the youth
with some curiousity, asked what he
wished to see him about. Young More
ton told him that he had sent him
manuscript of one-act piece some weeks
previously, in the hope that he would
iind time to look it over; that he had
called many times-he was ashamed to
confess how many. Mathews listened
HNEWVr rfana