"It ain't much to tell, but it was curous,--that it was. It's six weeks ago now, as I was a-sittin' in this old shop, finishin' some letters for the post, when I looked up and saw a female in the doorway with a veil on. I was goin' on with my letters, takin' no notice, for there's _always_ somebody here, in and out all day they are, when the female lifted up her finger first warning-like, like the ghosts on the stage, and then pointin' to Tom, the boy there, motioned that he should go out of the room. I was a little surprised; for though I had enough of that sort of thing many years ago, I've got out of it now. I thought it was a case of smite; I did indeed. However, I sealed up the letters, and told Tom to take 'em to the post; and then the female came in, shuttin' the door behind her. When she lifted her veil, I thought I knew the face, but couldn't tell where; however she soon reminded me of that first-rate gaff, in--where was it?--out Oxford Street way, where she did the Mysterious Lady, and Seenor Cocqualiqui the conjurin', and Ted Spicer sung comic songs. I remembered her at once then, and asked her what she wanted. 'An engagement,' she says. 'All right,' I says; 'what for?' 'Singin'-chambermaid, walkin'-lady, utility, anything,' she says. 'Walkin'-lady, to grow into leadin' high comedy, 's your line, my dear,' I says: 'you're too tall for chambermaids, and too good for utility. Now, let's look up a place for you.' I was goin' to my books, but she stopped me. 'I don't want a place,' she says; 'I ain't goin' to stop in England; all I want from you,' she says, 'is two or three letters of introduction to managers in New York. You've seen me before the public; and though you've never seen me act, you could tell I wasn't likely to be nervous or stammer, or forget my words.' 'No fear of that,' I says. 'Very well then,' she says, 'as I don't want to hang about when I get there, but want them to give me an appearance at once, just you write me the letters, and'--puttin' two sovereigns on the table--'make 'em as strong as you can for the money.' Oh, a clever girl she is! I sat down to write the letters, and in the middle of the first I looked up, and I says, 'The bearer, Miss ----, what name shall I say?' 'Leave it blank, Mr. Trapman, please,' says she, burstin' out laughin'; 'I haven't decided what my name's to be,' she says; 'and when I have, I think I can fill it in so that no one will know it ain't your writin'.' So I gave her the letters and she went away; and that's my story." Mr. Griffiths looked downhearted, and was apparently afraid that his patron would imagine he had not had his money's worth; but Mr. Effingham, on the contrary, seemed in much better spirits, and thanked Mr. Trapman, and proposed an adjournment to the Rougepot close by in Salad Yard, where they had their amicable glasses of ale, and discussed the state of the theatrical profession generally.