Mr. Smith told us about himself presently—how he had come into a little money and was now in a position to give up his work (which, he said, had been of a subordinate character, but didn’t specify) and seriously devote himself to the stage. We listened to him very patiently and made a huge supper. And afterwards, when we had seen Mr. Smith home to his wife and family off the Tottenham Court Road, Brightwin said that to be stage-struck at Mr. Smith’s age and with his figure was a tragedy of the deepest dye. “There are only certain parts he could play,” explained Brightwin to me; “but his voice belongs to quite a different order of parts. He has the voice of a tragedian and the body of a second low comedian. In fact, there is no hope for him that I can see. “He might, however, start a theatre; which would be hope for us, if we kept in with him,” added Brightwin thoughtfully. IX My victorious career received a very serious check about this period. I had, of course, bought Aristotle’s _Poetics_ and a cheap edition of _Hamlet_, and on one or two occasions I much regret to say that Mr. Westonshaugh, the best and kindest of men, had found me reading them when I ought to have been registering policies of insurance. He had rather a stealthy way of approaching the staff of the Country Department from the rear, and, though a large man, revealed the instincts of a hunter wonderfully developed; so that he was often upon his game, which generally consisted of junior clerks, before the quarry was roused and aware of its danger. The first time he cautioned me; but the second time I grieve to relate that he reported me. It was, of course, his duty to do so; and I believe he regretted the necessity. But so it was; and it meant that I had to go before the Secretary of the Apollo and meet him face to face, much to my disadvantage.