A Scene That Miscarried.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXVI, Issue 14, 7 April 1906, Page 20

A Scene That Miscarried.

We were playing at the Princess’ Theatre, Hdinbnrgh, and one morning, walking along Prinees-street, we met Sir Henry—then, of course, Mr— Irviiig, writes Huntly Wright in tin* course of some autobiographical notes in M.A.P. ’ Afy lather introduced me, and the great man shook hands and made some kindly remark. 1 was quite overcome when he left—the hand he had shaken I felt T ought never to wash again. In the evening Mr. Irving came to the theatre to see our performance. You can imagine the general excitement behind when it became known that he was “in front.” The piece was •'false T.iglits,” ami 1 took the part of a particularly brutal prison warder. For the benefit of those lucky people who do not know me I may say that I am a little man, and was no bigger as a youth. In the great scene of the play I had to illtreat the hero, first shaking and buffeting him, and afterwards tying him up ami thrashing hint unmercifully. fhe thrashing I could manage easily enough, but the shaking was dilHeult. as the hero was about live times iny size. The only way we could manage it was for me to hang on to the hero’s coat-lapels while he staggered about, really shaking me—a clear ease of the tail wagging the dog. In one corner of the eell was a sort of infernal machine, secreted there by the hero’s friends, ami destine.l to go off at the close of the scene, blowing in the wall of tlie cell and thus enabling the hero to escape. Well, we put so much energy into our struggle that night that my peaked cap fell off. The stage was half-darken-ed, and in groping about to find my cap I picked up the infernal machine instead, and hastily clapped it on my head. It went oil' at onee with a bang, scaring me out of my life; the eijll walls failed to collapse, for nobody was ready, and naturally the scene was completely spoiled. 1 staggered oil' the stage the most miserable creature on earth. “Oh, you. you—you beauty,” I said to myself: “Irving in front and you go and make a hideous find of yourself like this. Well, well, you've done for yourself this time, anyway.” Then I saw, or thought J saw, a stool, tottered to it. and sat down. Hut it was a fireman’s bucket full of water, and it and my cup of tribulation overflowed.