Everything went on smoothly for three days. The butler never attempted his usual midnight visits to the alehouse, but went to bed in proper time, and paid particular court to Mrs. Pomfret, in order to dispel her suspicions. She had never had any idea of the real fact, that he and Felix were joined in a plot with house-breakers to rob the house, but thought he only went out at irregular hours to indulge himself in his passion for drinking. Thus stood affairs the night before Mrs. Churchill’s birthday. Corkscrew, by the housekeeper’s means, ventured to present a petition that he might go to the play the next day, and his request was granted. Franklin came into the kitchen just when all the servants had gathered round the butler, who, with great importance, was reading aloud the play-bill. Everybody present soon began to speak at once, and with great enthusiasm talked of the playhouse, the actors, and actresses; and then Felix, in the first pause, turned to Franklin, and said, “Lord, you know nothing of all this! _you_ never went to a play, did you?” “Never,” said Franklin, and felt, he did not know why, a little ashamed; and he longed extremely to go to one. “How should you like to go to the play with me to-morrow?” said Corkscrew. “Oh,” exclaimed Franklin, “I should like it exceedingly.” “And do you think mistress would let you if I asked?” “I think maybe she would, if Mrs. Pomfret asked her.” “But then you have no money, have you?” “No,” said Franklin, sighing. “But stay,” said Corkscrew, “what I am thinking of is, that if mistress will let you go, I’ll treat you myself, rather than that you should he disappointed.” Delight, surprise and gratitude appeared in Franklin’s face at these words. Corkscrew rejoiced to see that now, at least, he had found a most powerful temptation. “Well then, I’ll go just now and ask her. In the meantime, lend me the key of the house door for a minute or two.” “The key!” answered Franklin, starting; “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that, for I’ve promised my mistress never to let it out of my own hands.” “But how will she know anything of the matter? Run, run, and get it for us.” “No, I _cannot_,” replied Franklin, resisting the push which the butler gave his shoulder. “You can’t?” cried Corkscrew, changing his tone; “then, sir, I can’t take you to the play.” “Very well, sir,” said Franklin, sorrowfully, but with steadiness. “Very well, sir,” said Felix, mimicking him, “you need not look so important, nor fancy yourself such a great man, because you’re master of a key.” “Say no more to him,” interrupted Corkscrew: “let him alone to take his own way. Felix, you would have no objection, I suppose, to going to the play with me?”