`Ah!' said the actor, setting his teeth together, and drawing in his breath with a hissing sound, `she oughtn't to be in the provinces, she oughtn't.'

`What do you mean?' asked the manager.

`I mean to say,' replied the other, warmly, `that she is too good for country boards, and that she ought to be in one of the large houses in London, or nowhere; and I tell you more, without mincing the matter, that if it wasn't for envy and jealousy in some quarter that you know of, she would be. Perhaps you'll introduce me here, Mr Crummles.'

`Mr Folair,' said the manager, presenting him to Nicholas.

`Happy to know you, sir.' Mr Folair touched the brim of his hat with his forefinger, and then shook hands. `A recruit, sir, I understand?'

`An unworthy one,' replied Nicholas.

`Did you ever see such a set-out as that?' whispered the actor, drawing him away, as Crummles left them to speak to his wife.

`As what?'

Mr Folair made a funny face from his pantomime collection, and pointed over his shoulder.

`You don't mean the infant phenomenon?'

`Infant humbug, sir,' replied Mr Folair. `There isn't a female child of common sharpness in a charity school, that couldn't do better than that. She may thank her stars she was born a manager's daughter.'

`You seem to take it to heart,' observed Nicholas, with a smile.

`Yes, by Jove, and well I may,' said Mr Folair, drawing his arm through his, and walking him up and down the stage. `Isn't it enough to make a man crusty to see that little sprawler put up in the best business every night, and actually keeping money out of the house, by being forced down the people's throats, while other people are passed over? Isn't it extraordinary to see a man's confounded family conceit blinding him, even to his own interest? Why I know of fifteen and sixpence that came to Southampton one night last month, to see me dance the Highland Fling; and what's the consequence? I've never been put up in it since -- never once -- while the "infant phenomenon" has been grinning through artificial flowers at five people and a baby in the pit, and two boys in the gallery, every night.'

`If I may judge from what I have seen of you,' said Nicholas, `you must be a valuable member of the company.'

`Oh!' replied Mr Folair, beating his slippers together, to knock the dust out; `I can come it pretty well -- nobody better, perhaps, in my own line -- but having such business as one gets here, is like putting lead on one's feet instead of chalk, and dancing in fetters without the credit of it. Holloa, old fellow, how are you?'

The gentleman addressed in these latter words was a dark-complexioned man, inclining indeed to sallow, with long thick black hair, and very evident inclinations (although he was close shaved) of a stiff beard, and whiskers of the same deep shade. His age did not appear to exceed thirty, though many at first sight would have considered him much older, as his face was long, and very pale, from the constant application of stage paint. He wore a checked shirt, an old green coat with new gilt buttons, a neckerchief of broad red and green stripes, and full blue trousers; he carried, too, a common ash walking-stick, apparently more for show than use, as he flourished it about, with the hooked end downwards, except when he