)
There remained but one part to fill, that of the father of the
serving-maid, an uncouth sort of drinking-man, quite low-class, who,
in my opinion, should never have been allowed on the stage at all,
since no moral lesson is taught by him. It was in the casting of this
part that Mr. Jackson showed himself of a forgiving nature. He offered
it to Cousin Egbert, saying he was the true "type"--"with his weak,
dissolute face"--and that "types" were all the rage in theatricals.
At first the latter heatedly declined the honour, but after being
urged and browbeaten for three days by Mrs. Effie he somewhat sullenly
consented, being shown that there were not many lines for him to
learn. From the first, I think, he was rendered quite miserable by the
ordeal before him, yet he submitted to the rehearsals with a rather
pathetic desire to please, and for a time all seemed well. Many an
hour found him mugging away at the book, earnestly striving to
memorize the part, or, as he quaintly expressed it, "that there piece
they want me to speak." But as the day of our performance drew near it
became evident to me, at least, that he was in a desperately black
state of mind. As best I could I cheered him with words of praise, but
his eye met mine blankly at such times and I could see him shudder
poignantly while waiting the moment of his entrance.
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