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           Thegentlemancalledto,cameupandexaminedmytickets,andsaid:“Whogaveyouthese?”Isaid,ratherindignantly:“Mr.Merton,ofcourse.”Hesaid:“Merton?Who’she?”Ianswered,rathersharply:“Yououghttoknow,hisname’sgoodatanytheatreinLondon.”Hereplied:“Oh!isit?Well,itain’tnogoodhere.Thesetickets,whicharenotdated,wereissuedunderMr.Swinstead’smanagement,whichhassincechangedhands.”WhileIwashavingsomeveryunpleasantwordswiththeman,James,whohadgoneupstairswiththeladies,calledout:“Comeon!”Iwentupafterthem,andaverycivilattendantsaid:“Thisway,please,boxH.”IsaidtoJames:“Why,howonearthdidyoumanageit?”andtomyhorrorhereplied:“Why,paidforitofcourse.”

           Thiswashumiliatingenough,andIcouldscarcelyfollowtheplay,butIwasdoomedtostillfurtherhumiliation.Iwasleaningoutofthebox,whenmytie—alittleblackbowwhichfastenedontothestudbymeansofanewpatent—fellintothepitbelow.Aclumsymannotnoticingit,hadhisfootonitforeversolongbeforehediscoveredit.Hethenpickeditupandeventuallyflungitunderthenextseatindisgust.Whatwiththeboxincidentandthetie,Ifeltquitemiserable.Mr.James,ofSutton,wasverygood.Hesaid:“Don’tworry—noonewillnoticeitwithyourbeard.ThatistheonlyadvantageofgrowingonethatIcansee.”Therewasnooccasionforthatremark,forCarrieisveryproudofmybeard.