“The point is this, my lord, as you know, no one is able to recognise anyone. No high-collared cloak nor slouch hat and mask could be a better disguise than this general unmasking. You know the adage: ‘Tell the truth, and no one will believe you.’ We can add another truism: ‘Show yourself as you are, and no one will know you.’ No doubt, there is still a little mannerism that clings to the individual, by which one could recognise their identity; but it would require a strenuous effort of the mind, and a wonderful memory of personal tricks, to be able to arrive at knowing who’s who. So I have bethought myself of a plan. We artists of the Music Hall alone possess the art of observation. You see, we have made a special study of the physiognomy, and have stored our brains with all the particularities of Society leaders, the oddities of the clergy, of City magnates and gutter marionettes. Some remedy must be found at once for this present state of affairs, or else the whole edifice of Society will disappear, and we artists will perish in the downfall. The remedy cannot come from the Upper Ten, I am afraid, for they have no memory nor any observing powers. I beg your pardon, my lord, but I am speaking very openly on the subject, and you must excuse me if I feel the position very keenly.” “Go on, my dear Danford; what you say is very true and very interesting. I am beginning to see what you mean. By the way, I think I see the Duke of Southdown on that chair—shall we walk up to him? You might tell him of your plan.” “Do nothing of the kind!” hurriedly said the mimic, laying a firm hand on Lord Somerville’s arm. “The man you take for His Grace is a driver of the London General Omnibus Company. Now, my lord, you see what mistakes you are likely to make.” “By God, I could have sworn this was the Duke! But, Danford, do you never commit such solecisms?” “No, very rarely.” Danford shook his head knowingly, and over his thin lips flitted that indefinable smile for which he was so renowned on the boards. “But there you are, you have not made a special study of human physiognomy, and have not through hard plodding acquired that sense of observation, that keenness of perception, that we have, for you have had no need to retain the facial grimaces and queer movements of individuals. To-day the Music Halls are closed and we are broke, but in this wreckage, we artists have saved our precious faculty of memorising. The profession has therefore decided to make a new move; this morning I saw the manager of the Tivoli, who asked me to be the intermediary between the profession and the aristocracy—of which, my lord, you are one of the strongest columns. This state of things looks as if it were going to last, and as we cannot prevent it we must boom it.” “I follow you, Danford, and am curious to know what you will propose as a remedy.”