As that vehicle stood in the open street,
ready to start, and Nicholas was about to enter it, he was not a little
astonished to find himself suddenly clutched in a violent embrace which
nearly took him off his legs; while Mr. Crummles' voice exclaimed, "It
is he--my friend, my friend!"
"Bless my heart," cried Nicholas, struggling in the manager's arms,
"What are you about?"
The manager made no reply, but strained him to his breast again,
exclaiming, "Farewell, my noble, my lion-hearted boy!"
In fact Mr. Crummles, who could never lose any opportunity for
professional display, had turned out for the express purpose of taking a
public farewell of Nicholas, and to render it the more imposing, the
elder Master Crummles was going through a similar ceremony with Smike;
while Master Percy Crummles, with a second-hand cloak worn theatrically
over his left shoulder, stood by, in attitude of an attendant officer
waiting to convey two victims to the scaffold.
The lookers-on laughed very heartily, and as it was well to put a good
face upon the matter, Nicholas laughed too, when he had succeeded in
disengaging himself; and rescuing the astonished Smike, climbed up to
the coach-roof after him, waving farewell, as they rolled away.
Some years later, when Nicholas was residing in London, under very
different circumstances from those of his Portsmouth experience, and
with a very different occupation; walking home one evening, he stood
outside a minor theatre which he had to pass, and found himself poring
over a huge play-bill which announced in large letters;
_Positively the last appearance of Mr.
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