Mr. Crummles was no sooner acquainted with the news than he evinced many
tokens of grief, but finding Nicholas determined in his purpose, at once
suggested a grand farewell performance, to be advertised as a brilliant
display of fireworks.
"That would be rather expensive," suggested Nicholas dryly.
"Eighteen-pence would do it," said Mr. Crummles; "You on the top of a
pair of steps with the Phenomenon in an attitude; 'FAREWELL,' on a
transparency behind; and nine people at the wings with a squib in each
hand--all the dozen and a half going off at once--it would be very
grand--awful from the front, quite awful."
As Nicholas appeared by no means impressed with the idea, but laughed
heartily at it, Mr. Crummles abandoned the project, and gloomily
observed that they must make up the best bill they could, with combats
and hornpipes, and so stick to the legitimate drama.
Next day the posters appeared, and the public were informed that Mr.
Johnson would have the honor of making his last appearance that evening,
and that an early application for places was requested, in consequence
of the extraordinary overflow attendant on his performances.
Upon entering the theatre that night, Nicholas found all the company in
a state of extreme excitement, and Mr. Crummles at once informed him in
an agitated voice that there was a London manager in one of the boxes.
"It's the Phenomenon, depend upon it, sir," said Crummies.
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