It was the Theater Royal's most successful piece. The inhabitants of that little Staffordshire town had heard of the Duke of Wellington and they applauded him to the echo. Every night when they played that stirring drama, after Mr. Copas had taken his fill of the applause, there were calls for the Duke, and Mr. Mole would appear leading Josephine by the hand. At the top of their success Mr. Copas decided to move on. "In this business," he said, "you have to know when to go. You have to leave 'em ripe for the next visit, and go away and squeeze another orange. I said to Mrs. Copas, the night you came, that you looked like luck. You've done it. If you'll stay, sir, I'll give you a pound a week. You're a nartist, you are. That Wellington bit of yours without a word to say--d'you know what we call that? We call that 'olding the stage. It takes a nartist to do that." Mr. Mole took this praise with becoming modesty and said that he would stay, for the present. Then he added: "And about Matilda?" "She's my own niece," replied Mr. Copas, "but I don't mind telling you that she's not a bit o' good. She ain't got the voice. She ain't got the fizzikew. When there's a bit o' real acting to be done, she isn't there. She just isn't there. There's a hole where she ought to be. I'm bothered about that girl, I am, bothered. She doesn't earn her keep." "I thought she was very charming." "Pretty and all that, but that's not acting. Set her against Mrs. Copas and where is she?" Mr. Mole's own private opinion was that on the stage Mrs. Copas was repulsive. However, he kept that to himself. Very quietly he said: "If Matilda goes, I go." Mr. Copas looked very mysterious and winked at him vigorously. Then he grinned and held out a dirty hand. "Put it there, my boy, put it there. What's yours?" Within half an hour he had coaxed another ten pounds out of Mr. Mole's pocket and Matilda's tenure of the part of Josephine was guaranteed.