T ain't what you think," said Mrs. Timson-Smith, sharply. "Come to that, we might as well go back to Camberwell Green and keep one general."
"But it seems such a bold thing to do," urged Mr. Timson-Smith, meekly. "We don't even know the gentleman; I'm sure I've never even seen him act."
"Well, don't tell anybody else so. I only saw him myself once, when I went in the Jacksons' box; and I'd had such a hearty dinner I fell asleep till the middle of the last act, and the poor man had been stabbed, or poisoned, or something, the act before. But I enjoyed myself immensely."
"Do you really mean, Maria"
"Marie, if you please, Mr. S.," broke in his wife, chillingly. "At my time of life a letter more or less doesn't matter; and the other's more delicate-like. What I mean is that I intend to ask this man down here; I mean to let some of these people round about understand that we're in with the best of them and know what to do. With all your money they haven't hesitated to snub you; they only call when they want something for a charity. I tell you, Tim, that if we once get the great Mr. Leopold Wakerley down here, over a week-end, they'll come flocking round us like the pigeons used to when we threw out crumbs and corn in the old back garden at Camberwell Green. Besides, it's done every day; these actors expect it."
"Well, my dear—Marie," said Mr. Timson-Smith, with a gulp, "I suppose you'll have your own way."
"Of course I shall," replied the lady, calmly. "And I tell you, Tim, it'll be the easiest thing in the world. These sort of people are only too grateful to be asked to sit down with the nobs; he'll jump at it. And we might get him to speak a piece, or anything of that kind, in the drawing-room. Come to that, I wouldn't mind if he blacked himself and gave us a bit of that gent who smothered somebody in the Tower of London."
"Would the drawing-room hold him?" innocently asked Mr. Timson-Smith.
"You leave details to me," said his wife. "As he'll be play-acting on Saturday night we might get him down by the last train, or even on Sunday morning. And I'll send out the biggest lot of invitations I can; I'll send a private note with each, letting 'em know who's coming. Gracious!—we'll pack the place!"
Let it be explained that Mr. Timson-Smith—late of the City and of Camberwell Green—had suddenly come into money. Mr. Timson-Smith (known to his intimates as Timothy Smith; the change of name and the hyphen were an inspiration on the part of Mrs. Timson-Smith) had been a very happy and contented little man during the years he had taken the early train from Camberwell every morning (Sundays excepted) and the late train back at night, to and from the City. He had not been quite so happy since this change of fortune. Mrs. Timson-Smith—a large lady, with certain large social aspirations—had seen the dream of her life fulfilled, had taken an estate within reasonable distance of London, and had patiently waited [or the county to call upon her. The patience with which she had waited had grown into impatience as time went on. Now, at last, she saw a chance to capture them and to get her name into the papers in one breathless hour.
The house of the Timson-Smiths was all that it should be; gorgeous flunkeys got in each other's way, with nothing particular to do; splendid horses drew the equally splendid carriage of little Mr. Timson-Smith and large Mrs. Timson-Smith about the country lanes. Mr. Timson-Smith told himself, at times, that he was "getting used to it"; if the truth be told, he was a little afraid of the gorgeous flunkeys, and was not quite sure if he could find his way about his own house. Having a sublime belief in Mrs. Timson-Smith, however, he felt that it would be all right in time.
A certain young and fashionable actor had recently gone into management on his own account; had played difficult parts in an eccentric way, and yet with some distinction; had, in a word, been taken up by Society. Mrs. Timson-Smith saw here her chance; to get this man down to her beautiful house, and make much of him, and have obscure country people to meet him, would give her at once that position to which she had aspired. So she wrote to him—addressing the letter to the theatre.
Gushingly she expressed a desire to meet him; said how much pleasure it would afford Mr. Timson-Smith and herself if Mr. Leopold Wakerley would give them the pleasure of his company at the Hall on Saturday evening next, to stay until the Monday following. Every arrangement should be made for the comfort of the great Wakerley—and so on and so forth.