“What does one do in this dam place?” he asked with a yawn.

The manager, instantly recognizing that he was speaking to a member of the aristocracy, made haste to reply.  Othello was being played at the town theatre.  His daughter, who had already been three times, told him that it was simply sweet.  He was sure his lordship ...

Mr Levinski dismissed him, and considered the point.  He had to amuse himself with something that evening, and the choice apparently lay between Othello and the local Directory.  He picked up the Directory.  By a lucky chance for Eustace Merrowby it was three years old.  Mr Levinski put on his fur coat and went to see Othello.

For some time he was as bored as he had expected to be, but half-way through the Third Act he began to wake up.  There was something in the playing of the principal actor which moved him strangely.  He looked at his programme.  “Othello—­Mr Eustace Merrowby.”  Mr Levinski frowned thoughtfully.  “Merrowby?” he said to himself.  “I don’t know the name, but he’s the man I want.”  He took out the gold pencil presented to him by the Emperor—­(the station-master had had a tie-pin)—­and wrote a note.

He was finishing breakfast next morning when Mr Merrowby was announced.

“Ah, good-morning,” said Mr Levinski, “good-morning.  You find me very busy,” and here he began to turn the pages of the Directory backwards and forwards, “but I can give you a moment.  What is it you want?”

“You asked me to call on you,” said Eustace.

“Did I, did I?” He passed his hand across his brow with a noble gesture.  “I am so busy, I forget.  Ah, now I remember.  I saw you play Othello last night.  You are the man I want.  I am producing ’Oom Baas,’ the great South African drama, next April at my theatre.  Perhaps you know?”

“I have read about it in the papers,” said Eustace.  In all the papers (he might have added) every day, for the last six months.

“Good.  Then you may have heard that one of the scenes is an ostrich farm.  I want you to play ‘Tommy.’”

“One of the ostriches?” asked Eustace.

“I do not offer the part of an ostrich to a man who has played Othello.  Tommy is the Kaffir boy who looks after the farm.  It is a black part, like your present one, but not so long.  In London you cannot expect to take the leading parts just yet.”

“This is very kind of you,” cried Eustace gratefully.  “I have always longed to get to London.  And to start in your theatre!—­it’s a wonderful chance.”

“Good,” said Mr Levinski.  “Then that’s settled.”  He waved Eustace away and took up the Directory again with a business-like air.

And so Eustace Merrowby came to London.  It is a great thing for a young actor to come to London.  As Mr Levinski had warned him, his new part was not so big as that of Othello; he had to say “Hofo tsetse!”—­which was alleged to be Kaffir for “Down, sir!”—­to the big ostrich.  But to be at the St George’s Theatre at all was an honour which most men would envy him, and his association with a real ostrich was bound to bring him before the public in the pages of the illustrated papers.