He was obviously enjoying himself.
The advent of Mr Higgs completed his satisfaction, for the audience
greeted the comedian with roars of applause. As a rule Eckleton took
its drama through the medium of third-rate touring companies, which
came down with plays that had not managed to attract London to any
great extent, and were trying to make up for failures in the
metropolis by long tours in the provinces. It was seldom that an actor
of the Higgs type paid the town a visit, and in a play, too, which had
positively never appeared before on any stage. Eckleton appreciated
the compliment.
"Listen," said Fenn's brother. "Isn't that just the part for him? It's
just like he was in the dressing-room, eh? Short sentences and
everything. The funny part of it is that I didn't know the man when I
wrote the play. It was all luck."
Mr Higgs' performance sealed the success of the piece. The house
laughed at everything he said. He sang a song in his gasping way, and
they laughed still more. Fenn's brother became incoherent with
delight. The verdict of Eckleton was hardly likely to affect London
theatre-goers, but it was very pleasant notwithstanding. Like every
playwright with his first piece, he had been haunted by the idea that
his dialogue "would not act", that, however humorous it might be to a
reader, it would fall flat when spoken.
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