"You
see," he added, "if I could find some sort of light work to do, and
kinder sled along, you know--until--"
He stopped, awkwardly.
I have heard several noted actors thrill their audiences with a
single phrase. I think I never was as honestly moved by any spoken
word as that "until," or the pause that followed it. He was
evidently quite unconscious of its effect, for as I took a seat
beside him on the sofa, and looked more closely in his waxen face,
I could see that he was evidently embarrassed, and would have
explained himself further, if I had not stopped him.
Possibly it was the dramatic idea, or possibly chance; but a few
days afterward, meeting a certain kind-hearted theatrical manager,
I asked him if he had any light employment for a man who was an
invalid? "Can he walk?" "Yes." "Stand up for fifteen minutes?"
"Yes." "Then I'll take him. He'll do for the last scene in the
'Destruction of Sennacherib'--it's a tremendous thing, you know.
We'll have two thousand people on the stage." I was a trifle
alarmed at the title, and ventured to suggest (without betraying my
poor friend's secret that he could not actively engage in the
"Destruction of Sennacherib," and that even the spectacle of it
might be too much for him.
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