"Well, I think I could manage that department," said Nicholas.
"To be sure you could," replied Mr. Crummies. "' For further particulars see small hand-bills'—we might have half a volume in everyone of them. Pieces too; why, you could write us a piece to bring out the whole strength of the company, whenever we wanted one."
"I am not quite so confident about that," replied Nicholas. "But I dare say I could scribble something now and then that would suit you."
"We'll have a new show-piece out directly," said the manager. "Let me see—peculiar resources of this establishment—new and splendid scenery—you must manage to introduce a real pump and two washing-tubs."
"Into the piece!" said Nicholas.
"Yes," replied the manager. "I bought 'em cheap, at a sale the other day; and they'll come in admirably. That's the London plan. They look up some dresses, and properties, and have a piece written to fit them. Most of the theatres keep an author on purpose."
"Indeed!" cried Nicholas.
"Oh yes," said the manager; "a common thing. It'll look very well in the bills in separate lines—Real pump!—Splendid tubs!—Great attraction! You don't happen to be anything of an artist, do you?"
"That is not one of my accomplishments," rejoined Nicholas.
"Ah! Then it can't be helped," said the manager. "If you had been, we might have had a large woodcut of the last scene for the posters, showing the whole depth of the stage, with the pump and tubs in the middle; but however, if you're not, it can't be helped."
"What should I get for all this?" inquired Nicholas, after a few moments' reflection. "Could I live by it?"
"Live by it!" said the manager. "Like a prince. With your own salary, and your friend's, and your writings, you'd make—ah! you'd make a pound a week!"
"You don't say so."
"I do indeed, and if we had a run of good houses, nearly double the money."
Nicliolas shrugged his shoulders, but sheer destitution was before him; and if he could summon fortitude to undergo the extremes of want and hardship, for what had he rescued his helpless charge if it were only to bear as hard a fate as that from which he had wrested him? It was easy to think of seventy miles as nothing, when he was in the same town with the man who had treated him so ill and roused his bitterest thoughts; but now it seemed far enough. What if he went abroad, and his mother or Kate were to die the while?
Without more deliberation he hastily declared that it was a bargain, and gave Mr. Vincent Crummles his hand upon it.
