"
Shortly after midnight the dramatic editor of that newspaper Miss Jones
daily lent to Mrs. Mogley, having sent up the last page of his notice of
the new play at Palmer's, was confronted by the office-boy ushering to the
side of his desk a tall, spare, smooth-faced man with a sober countenance,
an ill-concealed manner of being somewhat over-awed by his surroundings,
and a coat frayed at the edges.
"I'm Mr. Thomas Mogley," said this apparition.
"Ah! Have a cigarette, Mr. Mogley?" replied the dramatic editor, absently,
lighting one himself.
"Thank you, sir. I was this evening, but am not now, the leading comedian
of the company that played Wilkins's 'Faust' at the ---- Theatre. I played
Mephisto." (He had begun his speech in a dignified manner, but now he spoke
quickly and in a quivering voice.) "I was a failure--a very great failure.
My wife is extremely ill. If she knew I was a failure, it would kill her,
so I told her I made a success. I have really never made a success in my
life. She is sure to read your paper to-morrow. Will you kindly not speak
of my failure in your criticism of the performance? She cannot live later
than to-morrow morning, and I should not like--you see--I have never
deigned to solicit favours from the press before, sir, and--"
"I understand, Mr.
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