From these bitter remarks, it may be inferred that there were two ways of looking at the performances of the Infant Phenomenon, but as jealousy is well known to be unjust in its criticism, and as the Infant was too highly praised by her own band of admirers to be much affected by such remarks, if any of them reached her ears, there is no evidence that her joy was diminished by reason of the complaints of captious fault-finders.

At the first evening performance which Nicholas witnessed, he found the various members of the company very much changed; by reason of false hair, false color, false calves, false muscles, they had become different beings; the stage also was set in the most elaborate fashion,—­in short everything was on a scale of the utmost splendor and preparation.

Nicholas was standing contemplating the first scene when the manager accosted him.

“Been in front to-night?” said Mr. Crummles.

“No,” replied Nicholas, “not yet.  I am going to see the play.”

“We’ve had a pretty good Let,” said Mr. Crummles.  “Four front places in the centre, and the whole of the stage box.”

“Oh, indeed!” said Nicholas; “a family, I suppose?”

“Yes,” replied Mr. Crummles.  “It’s an affecting thing.  There are six children, and they never come unless the Phenomenon plays.”

It would have been difficult for any party to have visited the theatre on a night when the Phenomenon did not play, inasmuch as she always sustained one, and not uncommonly two or three characters, every night; but Nicholas, sympathizing with the feelings of a father, refrained from hinting at this trifling circumstance, and Mr. Crummies continued: 

“Six,—­pa and ma eight,—­aunt nine,—­governess ten,—­grandfather and grandmother, twelve.  Then, there’s the footman who stands outside with a bag of oranges and a jug of toast-and-water, and sees the play for nothing through the little pane of glass in the box-door—­it’s cheap at a guinea; they gain by taking a box.”

“I wonder you allow so many,” observed Nicholas.

“There’s no help for it,” replied Mr. Crummles; “it’s always expected in the country.  If there are six children, six people come to hold them in their laps.  Ring in the orchestra, Grudden!”

It was Mr. Crummles’ habit to give a benefit performance, commonly called a “bespeak,” to any member of his company fortunate enough to have either a birthday or any other anniversary of sufficient importance to challenge attention on the posters, and not long after Nicholas entered the company, this honor fell to the lot of one of the prominent actresses, Miss Snevellicci.  Mr. Crummles then informed Nicholas that there was some work for him to do before that event took place.