ANECDOTE OF THEODORE HOOK.

Globe, Volume IX, Issue 1244, 2 March 1878, Page 3

ANECDOTE OF THEODORE HOOK.

Strolling one day arm-in-arm with Daniel Terry, the actor, up a street in Soho, his nostrils were assailed by a most savoury odour. Looking down an area, he saw the servants in the kitchen below dressing up a fine dinner. “A party, no doubt," said Terry; “ jolly dogs ! what a feast! I should like to make one of them.” “ I’ll take a bet I do,” replied Hook. “Call for me here at 10.” Leaving his friend, he mounted the steps and knocked at the door. Believing him to be one of the expected guests, the servant conducted him to the drawingroom, where a number of people were already assembled. Making himself perfectly at home, he had half a dozen people about him, laughing at his bons mots, before the Host discovered that a stranger was present. “I beg your pardon, sir,” he said, addressing the uninvited one, “ Your name?— I did not quite catch it; servants are so incorrect.” “ Smith, sir, Smith,” replied the unblushing Theodore, “ don’t apologise; you are quite right, sir, servants are great blockheads. I remember a most remarkable instance of their mistakes.” “But really, sir,” interrupted the host mildly, “ I did not anticipate the pleasure of Mr Smith’s company to dinner. Whom do you suppose you are addressing ?” “Mr Thompson, of course,” answered Hook, “an old friend of my father’s. I received a kind invitation from you yesterday, on my arrival from Liverpool, to dine with you to-day, family party, come in boots you said.” The host at once disclaimed the name of Thompson, or any knowledge of the vivacious Smith. “ Good heavens ! then I have come to the wrong house,” exclaimed the hoaxer ; “ my dear sir, how can I apologise ? so awkward, too, and I have asked a friend to call forme.” The old gentleman, probably thinking so witty a personage would make an excellent addition to his party, begged him to remain. With a profusion of apologies, Hook at first pretended to decline—ultimately accepted. Everybody was delighted wit h him, all the evening he kept up a constant fire of wit and repartee, and ultimately sat down to the piano, and sang extempore verses on every one present. In the midst of these the door opened, and, true to his appointment, in walked Terry, at the sight of whom, striking a new key, he sang: — I’m very much pleased with your fare, Your cellar’s as fine as your cook; My friend’s Mr Terry, the player, And I’m Mr Theodore Hook. And “that name,” says Lockhart, “was already enough to put any wig in Guildhall out of curl.”