a man came up to him, said he could not come there, and gruffly
requested him to show his ticket.

"I haven't got one. What is this place?" said Malcolm, whom the
aspect of the man had suddenly rendered doubtful, mouthing his English
with Scotch deliberation. The man gave him a look of contemptuous
surprise, and turning to another who lounged behind him with his
hands in his pockets, said--"Tom, here's a gentleman as wants to
know where he is: can you tell him?" The person addressed laughed,
and gave Malcolm a queer look.

"Every cock crows on his own midden," said Malcolm, "but if I were
on mine, I would try to be civil."

"You go down there, and pay for a pit ticket, and you'll soon know
where you are, mate," said Tom.

He obeyed, and after a few inquiries, and the outlay of two
shillings, found himself in the pit of one of the largest of the
London theatres.



CHAPTER X: THE TEMPEST


The play was begun, and the stage was the centre of light. Thither
Malcolm's eyes were drawn the instant he entered. He was all but
unaware of the multitude of faces about him, and his attention was
at once fascinated by the lovely show revealed in soft radiance. But