And still all might have been well, I fancy, but for the extremely
conscientious views of Mr. Jackson in the matter of our costuming and
make-up. With his lines fairly learned, Cousin Egbert on the night of
our dress rehearsal was called upon first to don the garb of the
foreign carpenter he was to enact, the same involving shorts and gray
woollen hose to his knees, at which he protested violently. So far as
I could gather, his modesty was affronted by this revelation of his
lower legs. Being at length persuaded to this sacrifice, he next
submitted his face to Mr. Jackson, who adjusted it to a labouring
person's beard and eyebrows, crimsoning the cheeks and nose heavily
with grease-paint and crowning all with an unkempt wig.
The result, I am bound to say, was artistic in the extreme. No one
would have suspected the identity of Cousin Egbert, and I had hopes
that he would feel a new courage for his part when he beheld himself.
Instead, however, after one quick glance into the glass he emitted a
gasp of horror that was most eloquent, and thereafter refused to be
comforted, holding himself aloof and glaring hideously at all who
approached him. Rather like a mad dog he was.
Half an hour later, when all was ready for our first act, Cousin
Egbert was not to be found.
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