I Laugh, Too, Though Of Course In My Sleeve, At The
Bustle And Importance And Trouble And Perplexities Of Our Manager, Who
Is Harassing Himself To Death In The Hopeless Effort To Please Every
Body.
I have found among my fellow subalterns two or three quondam managers,
who, like myself, have wielded the sceptres of country theatres; and we
have many a sly joke together at the expense of the manager and the
public.
Sometimes, too, we meet like deposed and exiled kings, talk
over the events of our respective reigns; moralize over a tankard of
ale, and laugh at the humbug of the great and little world; which, I
take it, is the very essence of practical philosophy.
Thus end the anecdotes of Buckthorne and his friends. A few mornings
after our hearing the history of the ex-manager, he bounced into my
room before I was out of bed.
"Give me joy! give me joy!" said he, rubbing his hands with the utmost
glee, "my great expectations are realized!"
I stared at him with a look of wonder and inquiry. "My booby cousin is
dead!" cried he, "may he rest in peace! He nearly broke his neck in a
fall from his horse in a fox-chase. By good luck he lived long enough
to make his will. He has made me his heir, partly out of an odd feeling
of retributive justice, and partly because, as he says, none of his own
family or friends know how to enjoy such an estate.
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