“I went from Barry Sullivan to join the ‘Murderous Moment’ Company, and that,” said the Professor, striking his waistcoat, “was perhaps one of the biggest triumphs ever witnessed on the dramatic stage. From that hour, sir, from that hour I never looked back.” The high-voiced pupil in the front room finished his lesson, and his wife took him off with the congratulatory remark that he promised well to make her relatives at forthcoming parties sit up with astonishment. The Professor’s daughter, seeing them both to the front door, remarked that her pupil would be able to find his way alone the next time, whereupon the pupil’s wife answered darkly, “Do you really think I should let him go out?” “Shall I settle with you?” asked Erb. “My daughter Rosalind,” said the Professor regretfully, “insists, as a general rule, on taking charge of the business side, but on this occasion—” “If that’s the rule,” interrupted Erb, “don’t let’s break it. I don’t want any misunderstanding about matters of cash.” “There have been times in my life, sir, when money has been as nothing to me. Will you believe that there was a time in my professional career when I earnt twenty guineas—twenty of the best—per week?” “Since you ask me, my answer is ‘No.’” “You are quite right,” said the Professor, and in no way disconcerted. “Let us be exact in our statements or perish. Not twenty guineas, twenty pounds. But that,” he went on rather hurriedly, “that was at a time when real acting, sir, was appreciated. Nowadays they walk in from the streets. Ee-locution is a lost art; acting, real acting, is not to be seen on the London boards. If you have a cigarette about you, I can get a light from the fireplace.” Erb acted upon this hint, and listened for the girl’s voice. “Her mother,” went on the Professor, puffing at the cigarette, and then looking at it disparagingly, “her mother before she fell ill—mind, I’m not complaining—was perhaps, without exception, the most diversified arteest that ever graced the dramatic stage. Ingénue, old woman, soubrette, nothing came amiss to her. That was the difference between us—she liked work. And when, just before the end, when I’d been out of engagement for some time, she had an offer for the pair of us, two pounds ten the couple, such was her indomitable spirit that she actually wanted to accept it. But I said ‘No.’ I put my foot down. I admit,” said the Professor genially, “that I lost my temper with her. I told her pretty definitely that I had made up my mind—” “Your _what_?” inquired Erb. “That poverty I could face, dee-privation I could endure, hunger and thirst I could welcome with o-pen arms, but a contemptuous proposition such as this I could not, should not, and would not tolerate. I repeated this,” added the Professor with a fine roll and a sweep of the left hand, “at the inquest.” “You’re a nice one, I don’t think,” said Erb critically. “How is it they let you live on?”