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Updated: May 22, 2025
Dusk had given way to gaslight, and Parson Jack still paced the streets, intending but still deferring to find a dinner and a night's lodging. He had shaken hands with Major Bromham in a mood of curious exaltation. He had decided almost without a struggle. To his mind the question was a clear one of right and wrong, and no argument helped it.
"Where is the money coming from?" said Bromham Rhodes. "My friend, Mr. Bleke, is putting up the money," said Miss Verepoint, with dignity. "He has taken the Windsor Theater." The interest of the two authors in their host, till then languid, increased with a jerk. "Has he? By Jove!" they cried. "We must get together and talk this over."
This was due to the fact that what revue-writing exacts from its exponents is the constant assimilation of food and drink. Bromham Rhodes had the largest appetite in London; but, on the other hand, R. P. de Parys was a better drinker. "Well, dear old thing!" said Bromham Rhodes. "Well, old child!" said R. P. de Parys. Both these remarks were addressed to Miss Verepoint.
She was sitting in his favorite chair. There were also present Bromham Rhodes and R. P. de Parys, who had made themselves completely at home with a couple of his cigars and whisky from the oldest bin. "So here you are at last!" said Miss Verepoint, querulously. "The valet told us you were expected back this morning, so we waited.
The morning after her return, Miss Monro said: "Do you feel strong enough to see Dixon?" "Is he here?" "He is at the canon's house. He sent for him from Bromham, in order that he might be ready for you to see him when you wished." "Please let him come directly," said Ellinor, flushing and trembling.
Under various titles and at various times, Bromham Rhodes' and R. P. de Parys' first act had been refused by practically every responsible manager in London. As "Oh! What a Life!" it had failed to satisfy the directors of the Empire. Re-christened "Wow-Wow!" it had been rejected by the Alhambra. The Hippodrome had refused to consider it, even under the name of "Hullo, Cellar-Flap!"
"How I wish I had known of all this years and years ago: I could have stood between you and so much!" Those who pass through the village of Bromham, and pause to look over the laurel-hedge that separates the rectory garden from the road, may often see, on summer days, an old, old man, sitting in a wicker-chair, out upon the lawn.
Johnson was ever willing to assist. One summer evening in early June she wakened into memory, Miss Monro heard the faint piping voice, as she kept her watch by the bedside. "Where is Dixon?" asked she. "At the canon's house at Bromham." This was the name of Dr. Livingstone's county parish. "Why?" "We thought it better to get him into country air and fresh scenes at once." "How is he?"
"Do I? Then I am doubtless an ass." "You think this Major Bromham should have written to me direct I see that you do. Well, he lives no farther away than Plymouth. I might run up and call on him. Why, to be sure" Parson Jack's brow cleared "and he can give me the address of the wife and children."
The completion of that tiresome second act, which had brooded over their lives like an ugly cloud, could now be postponed indefinitely. "Of course," said R. P. de Parys, thoughtfully, "our contract with you makes it obligatory on you to produce our revue by a certain date but I dare say, Bromham, we could meet Roly there, couldn't we?" "Sure!" said Rhodes.
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