This brought the play on to Act II, which consisted mainly of situations arising out of the indiscriminate use of doors and windows for entrances and exits. The bailiff’s mother-in-law (Mrs Wopples) appears in this act, and, being in want of a new dress, takes the cruet stand to her ‘uncle’ and pawns it; so Act II ends with a general onslaught of the decayed family on Mrs Wopples.

Then the orchestra played the ‘Wopples’ Waltz’, dedicated to Mr Theodore Wopples by Mr Handel Wopples, and during the performance of this Mr Villiers walked into the theatre. He was a little pale, as was only natural after such an adventure as he had been engaged in, but otherwise seemed all right. He walked up to the first row of the stalls, and took his seat beside a young man of about twenty-five, who was evidently much amused at the performance.

‘Hullo, Villiers!’ said this young gentleman, turning round to the new arrival, ‘what d’ye think of the play?’

‘Only just got in,’ returned Mr Villiers, sulkily, looking at his programme. ‘Any good?’ in a more amiable tone.

‘Well, not bad,’ returned the other, pulling up his collar; ‘I’ve seen it in Melbourne, you know—the original, I mean; this is a very second-hand affair.’

Mr Villiers nodded, and became absorbed in his programme; so, seeing he was disinclined for more conversation, the young gentleman turned his attention to the ‘Wopples Waltz’, which was now being played fast and furiously by the indefatigable orchestra of two.

Bartholomew Jarper—generally called Barty by his friends—was a bank clerk, and had come up to Ballarat on a visit. He was well known in Melbourne society, and looked upon himself quite as a leader of fashion. He went everywhere, danced divinely—so the ladies said—sang two or three little songs, and played the same accompaniment to each of them, was seen constantly at the theatres, plunged a little at the races, and was altogether an extremely gay dog. It is, then, little to be wondered at that, satiated as he was with Melbourne gaiety, he should be vastly critical of the humble efforts of the Wopples family to please him. He had met Villiers at his hotel, when both of them being inebriated they swore eternal friendship. Mr Villiers, however, was very sulky on this particular night, for his head still pained him, so Barty stared round the house in a supercilious manner, and sucked the nob of his cane for refreshment between the acts.

Just as the orchestra were making their final plunge into the finale of the ‘Wopples’ Waltz’, M. Vandeloup, cool and calm as usual, strolled into the theatre, and, seeing a vacant seat beside Villiers, walked over and took it.

‘Good evening, my friend,’ he said, touching Villiers on the shoulder. ‘Enjoying the play, eh?’

Villiers angrily pushed away the Frenchman’s hand and glared vindictively at him.

‘Ah, you still bear malice for that little episode of the ditch,’ said Vandeloup with a gay laugh. ‘Come, now, this is a mistake; let us be friends.’

‘Go to the devil!’ growled Villiers, crossly.

‘All right, my friend,’ said M. Vandeloup, serenely crossing his legs. ‘We’ll all end up by paying a visit to that gentleman, but while we are on earth we may as well be pleasant. Seen your wife lately?’

This apparently careless inquiry caused Mr Villiers to jump suddenly out of his seat, much to the astonishment of Barty, who did not know for what reason he was standing up.

‘Ah! you want to look at the house, I suppose,’ remarked M. Vandeloup, lazily; ‘the building is extremely ugly, but there are some redeeming features in it. I refer, of course, to the number of pretty girls,’ and Gaston turned round and looked steadily at a red- haired damsel behind him, who blushed and giggled, thinking he was referring to her.

Villiers resumed his seat with a sigh, and seeing that it was quite useless to quarrel with Vandeloup, owing to that young man’s coolness, resolved to make the best of a bad job, and held out his hand with a view to reconciliation.

‘It’s no use fighting with you,’ he said, with an uneasy laugh, as the other took his hand, ‘you are so deuced amiable.’

‘I am,’ replied Gaston, calmly examining his programme; ‘I practise all the Christian virtues.’

Here Barty, on whom the Frenchman’s appearance and conversation had produced an impression, requested Villiers, in a stage whisper, to introduce him—which was done. Vandeloup looked the young man coolly up and down, and eventually decided that Mr Barty Jarper was a ‘cad’, for whatever his morals might be, the Frenchman was a thorough gentleman. However, as he was always diplomatic, he did not give utterance to his idea, but taking a seat next to Barty’s, he talked glibly to him until the orchestra finished with a few final bangs, and the curtain drew up on Act III.

The scene was the interior of a pawnshop, where the pawnbroker, a gentleman of Hebraic descent (Mr Buckstone Wopples), sells the cruet to the dishonest steward, who has come back from America disguised as a sailor. The decayed family all rush in to buy the cruet stand, but on finding it gone, overwhelm the pawnbroker with reproaches, so that to quiet them he hides them all over the shop, on the chance that the dishonest steward will come back. The dishonest steward does so, and having found the will tears it up on the stage, upon which he is assaulted by the decayed family, who rush out from all parts. Ultimately, he reveals himself and hands back the cruet stand and the estates to the decayed family, after which a general marrying all round took place, which proceeding was very gratifying to the boys in the gallery, who gave their opinions very freely, and the curtain fell amid thunders of applause. Altogether ‘The Cruet Stand’ was a success, and would have a steady run of three nights at least, so Mr Wopples said—and as a manager of long standing, he was thoroughly well up in the subject.

Villiers, Vandeloup, and Barty went out and had a drink, and as none of them felt inclined to go to bed, Villiers told them he knew Mr Theodore Wopples, and proposed that they should go behind the scenes and see him. This was unanimously carried, and after some difficulty with the door-keeper—a crusty old man with a red face and white hair, that stood straight up in a tuft, and made him look like an infuriated cockatoo—they obtained access to the mysterious regions of the stage, and there found Master Sheridan Wopples practising a breakdown while waiting for the rest of the family to get ready. This charming youth, who was small, dried-up and wonderfully sharp, volunteered to guide them to his father’s dressing-room, and on knocking at the door Mr Wopples’ voice boomed out ‘Come in,’ in such an unexpected manner that it made them all jump.

On entering the room they found Mr Wopples, dressed in a light tweed suit, and just putting on his coat. It was a small room, with a flaring gas-jet, under which there was a dressing-table littered over with grease, paints, powder, vaseline and wigs, and upon it stood a small looking-glass. A great basket-box with the lid wide open stood at the end of the room, with a lot of clothes piled up on it, and numerous other garments were hung up upon the walls. A washstand, with a basin full of soapy water, stood under a curtainless window, and there was only one chair to be seen, which Mr Wopples politely offered to his visitor. Mr Villiers, however, told him he had brought two gentlemen to introduce to him, at which Mr Wopples was delighted; and on the introduction taking place, assured both Vandeloup and Barty that it was one of the proudest moments of his life-a stock phrase he always used when introduced to visitors.