The parts that used to be funny no longer seem so. No one mentions the riot, but there is a long silence in which each man attends to his own glass. When Garrett speaks again, he appears to have changed the subject. “Did you ever see Ira Aldridge act?” he asks.

“The African? No,” Father says.

“I saw him play Othello at Covent Garden. He was glorious. And the audience knew it, if the critics did not.”

Suddenly Edwin is having trouble following the conversation.

An African? As Othello? He must have misheard.

“Kean was a great admirer of Aldridge,” Garrett says, so he hasn’t changed the subject after all. Clearly, despite Father’s story, Garrett remains a great admirer of Kean’s and wants Father to know this. “Do you know what Coleridge, the poet, said about Kean? Coleridge said that watching Kean act was like reading Shakespeare by lightning flashes.”

“No, I never heard that before.” Father’s voice is mild and possibly only Edwin hears the sarcasm. Because everyone has heard that and if there were an exception, it would not be Father. Two days ago, on the street, a man had told Father that the weather was very fine. Father had fallen to his knees. “Your powers of observation astonish me,” he’d said. “Fine weather indeed. And you the one to notice! I bow before you, sir.” His tone then had been much the same.

Father begins the arduous task of standing up. “The hour grows late,” he says although late is long over and early has come round again.

One of the younger men fetches Father his coat. “Edmund Kean’s son Charles is also a fine actor,” he says. “Which of your sons will take up your mantle, Mr. Booth?”

A long moment passes. Father says nothing, but after he puts his arm through the sleeve of his coat, his hand lands on Edwin’s shoulder. If Edmund Kean has a son who acts, then by God, Junius Brutus Booth will have the same.

—

Edwin and his father walk back to their hotel together. The night has turned chilly. The streets are mostly deserted, the lamps dark, the moon down, the birds silent in the trees, the crickets silent in the grass. Edwin is so tired that walking is an effort, but so giddy with Father’s sudden approval, he thinks he’ll never be able to sleep. He shivers, which might be the cold and might be excitement. Father’s hand rests again on his shoulder, but this is just to stay upright. Edwin notices for the first time that he’s grown taller than his father.