On the other side of the proscenium, ensconced (and the word was made
to express just this)--ensconced in a porter's chair is Uncle Edward.
It is an old porter's chair, for they seem not to make them nowadays.
This one indeed was given to Uncle Edward by a club that had no further
use for it, having cured the draughts in its front hall by puttin
a patent door that the fat members stuck in and that tried to cut the
thin members in half. A cross between a sentry-box and a cradle stuck
on end it is, and very, very suitable to sit upright in and pretend
you're not asleep. Years of that sitting in by porters, and of leaning
against by under-porters and messengers who keep you awake with their
chatter, and of daily dusting and rubbing, have made its leather
uniform softly glow and its brass buttons shine till it looks a
comfortable piece of furniture indeed. Now the side of a stage is
draughty at the best of times, and Uncle Edward, says he, is by no
means so young as he was (a real live joke to him that outworn phrase
is), and how he managed before he had it he really cannot think!
However early you come to the performance you always find him there.
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