"But now, Mr. Rugge, I am all ears; perhaps you will be kind enough to be all tale."
With tragic aspect, unrelaxed by that jeu de mots, and still wholly unrecognizing in the massive form and discolored swollen countenance of the rough-clad stranger the elegant proportions, the healthful, blooming, showy face, and elaborate fopperies of the Jasper Losely who had sold to him a Phenomenon which proved so evanishing, Rugge entered into a prolix history of his wrongs at the hands of Waife, of Losely, of Sophy. Only of Mrs. Crane did he speak with respect; and Jasper then for the first time learned—and rather with anger for the interference than gratitude for the generosity—that she had repaid the £100, and thereby canceled Rugge's claim upon the child. The exmanager then proceeded to the narrative of his subsequent misfortunes—all of which he laid to the charge of Waife and the Phenomenon. "Sir," said he, "I was ambitious. From my childhood's hour I dreamed of the great York Theater—dreamed of it literally thrice. Fatal Vision! But, like other dreams, that dream would have faded—been forgotten in the workday world—and I should not have fallen into the sere and yellow, but have had, as formerly, troops of friends, and not been reduced to the horrors of poverty and a faithful Hag. But, Sir, when I first took to my bosom that fiend, William Waife, he exhibited a genius, Sir, that Dowton (you have seen Dowton?—grand!) was a stick as compared with. Then my ambition, Sir, blazed and flared up—obstreperous, and my childhood's dream haunted me; and I went about musing—[Hag, you recollect!]—and muttering 'The Royal Theater at York.' But incredible though it seem, the ungrateful scorpion left me, with a treacherous design to exhibit the parts I had fostered, on the London boards; and even-handed Justice, Sir, returned the poisoned chalice to his lips, causing him to lose an eye and to hobble—besides splitting up his voice—which served him right. And again I took the scorpion for the sake of the Phenomenon. I had a babe myself once, Sir, though you may not think it. Gormerick (that is this faithful Hag) gave the babe Daffy's Elixir, in teething; but it died—convulsions. I comforted myself when that Phenomenon came out on my stage—in pink satin and pearls. 'Ha!' I said, 'the great York Theater shall yet be mine!' The haunting idea became a Mania, Sir. The learned say that there is a Mania called Money Mania[1]—when one can think but of the one thing needful—as the guilty Thane saw the dagger, Sir—you understand. And when the
- ↑ Query—Monomania.
