"I leave Tilbury with my entire company, scenery and effects, on the morning of Tuesday week, by the _Kandahar_. I shall play first in Cairo." "How awkward!" said Edward Henry. "I meant to ask you to lay the stone on the very next afternoon--Wednesday, that is!" "Indeed!" "Yes, Sir John. The ceremony will be a very original affair--very original!" "A foundation-stone-laying!" mused Sir John. "But if you’re already up to the first floor, how can you be laying the foundation-stone on Wednesday week?" "I didn’t say foundation-stone. I said corner-stone," Edward Henry corrected him. "An entire novelty! That’s why we can’t be ready before Wednesday week." "And you want to advertise your house by getting the head of the profession to assist?" "That is exactly my idea." "Well," said Sir John. "Whatever else you may lack, Mr. Alderman, you are not lacking in nerve, if you expect to succeed in _that_." Edward Henry smiled. "I have already heard, in a round-about way," he replied, "that Sir Gerald Pompey would not be unwilling to officiate. My only difficulty is that I’m a truthful man by nature. Whoever officiates, I shall of course have to have him labelled, in my own interests, as the head of the theatrical profession, and I don’t want to say anything that isn’t true." There was a pause. "Now, Sir John, couldn’t you stay a day or two longer in London and join the ship at Marseilles instead of going on board at Tilbury?" "But I have made all my arrangements. The whole world knows that I am going on board at Tilbury." Just then the door opened and a servant announced: "Mr. Carlo Trent." Sir John Pilgrim rushed like a locomotive to the threshold and seized both Carlo Trent’s hands with such a violence of welcome that Carlo Trent’s eyeglass fell out of his eye and the purple ribbon dangled to his waist. "Come in, come in!" said Sir John. "And begin to read at once. I’ve been looking out of the window for you for the last quarter of an hour. Alderman, this is Mr. Carlo Trent, the well-known dramatic poet. Trent, this is one of the greatest geniuses in London.... Ah! You know each other? It’s not surprising! No, don’t stop to shake hands. Sit down here, Trent. Sit down on this chair.... Here, Snip, take his hat. Worry it! Worry it! Now, Trent, don’t read to _me_. It might make you nervous and hurried. Read to Miss Taft and Chung, and to Mr. Givington over there. Imagine that they are the great and enlightened public. You have imagination, haven’t you, being a poet?" Sir John had accomplished the change of mood with the rapidity of a transformation-scene--in which form of art, by the way, he was a great adept. Carlo Trent, somewhat breathless, took a manuscript from his pocket, opened it, and announced: "The Orient Pearl." "Oh!" breathed Edward Henry.