The understudy's dressed? Salerne. He is. Sir T. And Groom? Asleep? Salerne. As sound as Noah. Sir T. Have him sent home. Salerne. The other principals? Sir T. Detain them still. I must rehearse the play. ACT III Scene: Sir Tristram Sumner's Reception-room in the Grosvenor Theatre. At the back a door opens into a business-room. On the left is the Dressing-room. The entrance to the Reception-room is on the right. Hildreth is writing at a table when the act begins. Enter Abbot. Hildreth. What? Is the curtain down? Abbot. Not yet. Hildreth. The play? Abbot. Still-born: so dead a house I never saw. To-day's rehearsal sealed our doom. I pled-- I prayed him on my knees to touch no tone, No movement, entrance, exit, gesture, pause, Procession, picture, colour, light or shade; But that she-devil and walking-ghost, his wife, Had roused a deadlier devil in him: our chief Undoes a month's fine artistry in three Sick hours of mischief. Hildreth. I've seen the thing before: Rehearsal is the purgatory of plays; It fits them for beatitude; but turn Rehearsal into hell, then farewell heaven. Abbot. A pin-prick does it. [Enter Salerne.] Well, Salerne--Heaven, hell, And purgatory, what's the matter, man? Why, you're as grey as putty! Salerne. Where were you? Abbot. When? Salerne. When the curtain fell. Abbot. I sheltered here. I'm barometric: I predicted frost, And feared I might catch cold. Salerne. Your death of cold. The chief was hissed. Abbot. Sir Tristram Sumner hissed? Impossible! Hildreth. He was not hissed! Salerne. He was. A solitary hiss at first; and then The gallery caught it up and let it loose, Like gas escaping from an old-time batten. Abbot. But was it meant for him? Salerne. Straight at his head And not a hand to drown it. Hildreth. No applause? Salerne. Before the hiss a little civil noise, But not a cry, no cheer, no name, no call. Hildreth. Why did he come before the curtain then? Salerne. Fatuitous: his instinct failed him quite. Abbot. He thought his personality might win A vote of confidence against the play. Salerne. That was his hope, no doubt. Ah, here he comes! [Enter Sir Tristram Sumner as Ulysses. His dresser, Temple, follows him, carrying a portmanteau, which he sets on a chair. While Sir Tristram is changing he sometimes stands in the doorway of his dressing-room and sometimes speaks from within. Temple takes from the portmanteau Sir Tristram's evening dress and goes into the dressing-room.] Sir T. Who had the gallery to-night? Abbot. A man Appointed yesterday. Sir T. A novice?