The interior of the theatre had a strong smell of orange peel and lamp oil, with an undercurrent of sawdust, which - together with the individual odours of the patrons perspiring under the heat of the gas lamps - competed vigorously for Mr Headstone's olfactory attentions. Grateful that he had secured the privacy of a box for himself and his companions, the pedagogue gave the number to the assistant box-keeper and followed him, pausing only to exchange words with those individuals upon whose feet he inadvertently trod or whose eyes he unwittingly elbowed. One burly patron who received both of these attentions expressed his dissatisfaction with the arrangement by threatening to 'smilfligate' any man who took such another liberty, and might indeed have made good his word - whatever his word meant - had not a young gentleman come to Mr Headstone's aid and guided him without further incident to his box.
This individual was by his own admission a theatrical young gentleman, and had an infinite relish for all pieces which displayed the fullest resources of the establishment. In this respect, he assured Mr Headstone that Mr Vincent Crummles of Provincial Celebrity would not disappoint. In a recent performance in Portsmouth he had contrived to work in a real pump and two washing-tubs into a performance of Romeo and Juliet, which addition the celebrated critic Mr Curdle had proclaimed as 'an exquisite embodiment of the poet's visions.' As it was well known in theatrical circles that Mr Crummles had recently acquired several new items of ironmongery, the evening's performance was greatly anticipated.
Mr Charles Dickens
