Meanwhile Villiers, thinking the flask contained brandy, or at least whisky, took a long drink of it, but found to his horror it was merely a weak solution of sherry and water.
‘Oh, my poor stomach,’ he gasped, taking the flask from his lips.
‘Colic?’ inquired the stranger with a pleasant smile, as he put back the letter and pencil, ‘hot water fomentations are what you need. Wonderful cure. Will bring you to life again though you were at your last gasp. Ha!’ struck with a sudden idea, ‘“His Last Gasp”, good title for a melodrama--mustn’t forget that,’ and out came the letter and the pencil again.
Mr Villiers explained in a somewhat gruff tone that it was not colic, but that his medical attendant allowed him to drink nothing but whisky.
‘To be taken twenty times a day, I presume,’ observed the stranger, with a wink; ‘no offence meant, sir,’ as Villiers showed a disposition to resent this, ‘merely a repartee. Good for a comedy, I fancy; what do you think?’
‘I think,’ said Mr Villiers, handing him back the flask, ‘that you’re very eccentric.’
‘Eccentric?’ replied the other, in an airy tone, ‘not at all, sir. I’m merely a civilized being with the veneer off. I am not hidden under an artificial coat of manner. No, I laugh--ha! ha! I skip, ha! ha!’ with a light trip on one foot. ‘I cry,’ in a dismal tone. ‘In fact, I am a man in his natural state--civilized sufficiently, but not over civilized.’
‘What’s your name?’ asked Mr Villiers, wondering whether the portly gentleman was mad.
For reply the stranger dived into another pocket, and, bringing to light a long bill-poster, held it up before Mr Villiers.
‘Read! mark! and inwardly digest!’ he said in a muffled tone behind the bill.
This document set forth in red, black, and blue letters, that the celebrated Wopples Family, consisting of twelve star artistes, were now in Ballarat, and would that night appear at the Academy of Music in their new and original farcical comedy, called ‘The Cruet-Stand’. Act I: Pepper! Act II: Mustard! Act III: Vinegar.
‘You, then,’ said Villiers, after he had perused this document, ‘are Mr Wopples?’
‘Theodore Wopples, at your service,’ said that gentleman, rolling up the bill, then putting it into his pocket, he produced therefrom a batch of tickets. ‘One of these,’ handing a ticket to Villiers, ‘will admit you to the stalls tonight, where you will see myself and the children in “The Cruet-Stand”.’