Chickson advanced with a sliding motion, and then paused, as if he had
forgotten what to do. Mrs. Slapman was heard to whisper something
(probably the cue), but he only rolled his eyes heavily in response. A
look of displeasure marred her serene features, and, instead of fainting
away in Signor Rodicaso's arms, as she should have done, she dropped
into the embrace of her father, taking that personage quite
unexpectedly, and nearly knocking him off his chair.
Chickson projected himself forward at the same time to catch her, and,
in so doing, lost his balance, and just escaped, by an effort, from
sprawling on the floor.
Then he looked helplessly at the audience; and there was no longer any
doubt entertained that Chickson was slightly intoxicated. Getting drunk,
now and then, was an infirmity of Chickson's genius.
The stage manager had the good sense to ring down the curtain on this
painful scene, and, the next moment, there was a dull sound, as of
somebody falling on the floor behind the green baize.
After an interval of fifteen minutes--protracted by the "unexpected
indisposition" of the poet, and the consequent necessity of intrusting
Signor Rodicaso to other hands--the curtain rises again, and discloses
Alberto in a humble cot, surrounded by three-legged stools, and other
evidences of extreme poverty.
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