I gave the requisite pledge.  “And that ere arf-crown?” he said.  I nodded assent to what was evidently in his mind.  Then he resumed.  “It’s a beautiful piece.  The play, I mean,” he explained; being fearful lest I should consider him as over-eager for the coveted and covenanted reward.  “I’m sure o’ that.  The horther says so, and DILEY says so, and Miss O’GRADY says so; she’s got the ’eroine to play,—­and oh, don’t she die in the lawst Act just proper, with pink light and a couple o’ angels to carry ’er up!  Then there’s Mr. KEANE ’ARRIS, ’e touches ’em all up with ’is sword, ’places his back to the wall, and defies the mob,’ is what the book says.  So you may take it from me, it’s fust-rate.”

I thanked my intelligent little friend for his information, and was proceeding to put a further question about the music for this new Drama, which, as everyone will soon know, is to be a real chef d’oeuvre of Sir HAUTHOR SUNNIVUN, when a step was heard approaching across the stage—­the deepest, by the way, in London—­to where we were talking.

“That’s ’im,” said the boy, trembling. “’E’s a noble-’earted master, so kind and generous, but ’e ’ates deception, and it would be more than my place is worth to let ’im catch me talking these ’ere dead secrets to you.  Give us the coin.  I’m orf!”

And, before I was able to carry out my portion of the contract, he was gone.  And in another moment—­so was I.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  BRUIN JUNIOR.

“May this be my poison, if my Bear ever dances but to the very genteelest of tunes, ‘Water-parted,’ or ‘The Minuet in Ariadne.’” She Stoops to Conquer.

Viceroy (to Miss India, loquitur).  “DON’T BE ALARMED, MY DEAR!  THIS BEAR NEVER DANCES BUT TO THE VERY GENTEELEST OF TUNES!”

Lord LANSDOWNE, loquitur:—­

  Be easy, my darling!  He doesn’t come snarling,
    Or rearing, or hugging, this young Dancing Bear. 
  With you (and with pleasure) he’ll tread a gay measure,
    A captive of courtesy, under my care;
  His chain is all golden.  Your heart ’twill embolden,
    And calm that dusk bosom which timidly shrinks. 
  Sincere hospitality is, in reality,
    Safest of shackles;—­just look at the links!

  Alarmists saw ruin in prospects of Bruin,
    The Great Northern Bear, treading India’s soil. 
  How bogies may blind us!  On our side the Indus
    They fancy friend Ursa spies nothing but spoil;
  But Ursa’s invited to come, and delighted
    To visit you, not as aggressor, but guest. 
  So welcome him brightly, and treat him politely. 
    And trip with him lightly, you’ll find it far best,