“I couldn’t ‘give’ you an introduction, Mr. Corkey, because Wilson himself would not allow that. I am, of course, enormously rich, but it is always understood between me and the great tragedian that I get some little honorarium for these introductions. Personally, I do not want any such thing; but he feels that a nominal sum of three to five guineas ought to pass before young fellows are lifted to the immense privilege of his personal acquaintance, and enabled actually to tread the boards with him in some of his most impassioned creations. The money I give to the Home for Decayed Gentlewomen at Newington Butts—in which I am deeply interested. Thus, you see, these introductions to Mr. Wilson Barrett serve two great ends: they advance the cause of the Decayed Gentlewomen—the number of whom would much distress you to learn—and they enable the aspirant to theatrical honours to begin his career under the most promising circumstances that it is possible to conceive.” “But I ought to go through the mill, like Mr. Barrett himself and Mr. Henry Irving and all famous actors have done,” I said; and Mr. Tupper agreed with me. “Have no fear for that,” he answered. “Wilson will see to that. He is more than strict and, while allowing reasonable freedom for the expansion of individual genius, will take very good care you have severe training and plenty of hard work. But the point is that you must go through his mill and not another’s. It is no good going to Wilson after some lesser man has taught you to speak and walk and act. You would only have to unlearn these things. If you want to flourish in his school of tragedy, which is, of course, the most famous in England at the moment, you must go to him, as it were, empty—a blank sheet—a virgin page whereon he can impress his great principles. Will you have apple tart, plum tart, or tapioca pudding and Surrey cream?” I took apple tart, but Mr. Tupper said that sweet dishes were fatal to the working of his mind in poetical invention, so he had celery and cheese. “I see Wilson to-night,” he resumed. “To be quite frank, I have to tell him about a lad who is very anxious to join him, and wishes to give me fifty pounds for the introduction; but such is my strange gift of intuition in these cases, that I would far rather introduce you to the theatre than the youth in question. You are clearly in earnest and I doubt if he is. You have a theatrical personality and he has not. Your voice is well suited for the higher drama; his is a cockney voice and will always place him at a disadvantage save in comedy. Had it been in your power to go before Wilson this week, I should have substituted your name for the other. I wish cordially there were no sordid question of money. I would even advance you five guineas myself. But you are as delicate-minded as I am. You would not like me to do that.” I assured him that such a thing was out of the question.