The 'Mind the Paint' Girl: A Comedy in Four Acts

Lily.

Taking her cup of tea from Farncombe. Thanks.

De Castro.

Helping Lily to milk. Milk-ho!

Bland.

Sugar?

Lily.

Br-r-r-rh! I’m putting on weight as it is.

Roper.

Offering the bread-and-butter, etc.—facetiously. Ices, sweets or chocolates, full piano-score!

Lily.

Nothing to eat, Uncle; I dine at six.

Mrs. Upjohn.

Calling to Jeyes from the tea-table. Captain, ain’t you goin’ to ’ave any tea?

Jeyes.

Moodily examining the presents on the writing-table. No, thank you, Mrs. Upjohn.

Bland.

To Jimmie, after she has been helped to milk. Sugar?

Jimmie.

Two lumps.

Roper.

Pushing Bland and de Castro aside, imitating a female voice. Ices, sweets or chocolates, full piano-score!

Jimmie.

Cutting a slice of cake. Lal, the world ’ud be a much happier place to live in if Lloyd George taxed your jokes.

Von Rettenmayer, Bland, and de Castro.

Returning to the tea-table. Ha, ha, ha, ha!

Lily.

To Farncombe, who remains standing near her. Seen our show at the Pandora?

Farncombe.

Gazing at her. Twenty-three times.

Lily.

Not really?

Farncombe.

This week and last, every night.

Lily.

Running her eye over him. You in the Guards, by any chance?

Farncombe.

Nodding. Yes.

Lily.

Smiling. Ah, you’ll never do a braver deed than seeing our show twenty-three times.

Jimmie.

As Roper leaves her to go to the table, her mouth full of cake. Boys! Choking. Heugh, heugh, heugh! Wait a minute; I’ve swallowed some of the Baron’s German. Gulping. B-oys, seriously—no rot— raising her tea-cup jolly good health to Lily! There is a cry of approbation from Bland, Von Rettenmayer, de Castro and Roper. Farncombe fetches himself a cup of tea from the tea-table. She’s a white woman, Lily is—the staunchest, truest pal, where she takes a liking——

Bland, Von Rettenmayer, de Castro, and Roper.

Hear, hear!

Mrs. Upjohn.

Pressing forward through the men and going to Lily. And the best daughter breathing. Embracing Lily and then turning to the others. D’ye notice the new dress I’m wearin’ this afternoon?

Lily.

Don’t, mother; don’t.

Mrs. Upjohn.

Fifteen guineas it’s cost her. Sitting in the chair on the extreme left, proudly. Madame Godolphin made it, and a ’at to go with it ong sweet.

Lily.

To Mrs. Upjohn. Hu-s-s-sh!

Jimmie.

Well—— sipping her tea as if drinking a toast in a cup of tea!

Bland, de Castro, and Roper.

Sipping their tea. In a cup o’ tea!

Von Rettenmayer.

Drinking. In a gob o’ dea!

Jimmie.

To Von Rettenmayer, mockingly. Gob o’ dea!

Lily.

Waving her hand. Thank you, Jimmie. Thank you, dear boys, from the bottom of my heart.

Jimmie.

To the men. By Jove, she saved me once from going home to a cheap lodging and taking a dose of rat-killer!

Von Rettenmayer.

Behind Roper and de Castro, peeping over their shoulders. A pidy—a gread pidy.

Jimmie.

To Von Rettenmayer. I’ll attend to you presently, Baron.

Lily.

To Jimmie. I remember. A wretched little shrimp you looked that day.

Jimmie.

To everybody. It was my first morning at the Pandora. They’d had me up from Harrogate in a hurry, to take Gwennie Harker’s place. I’d been playing her part in the Number Two Co. in the country; and she’d left ’em in a hole, to get married to a stupid lord—— To Farncombe, finding him standing near her. Sorry. I was to have only one rehearsal; clenching her fist and, oh, didn’t they treat me abominably! Miss Ensor was late and we were all hanging about on the stage, waiting for her. I’ve never felt so cold in my life, or so lonely. Not a word of welcome, not a nod, from a single soul; simply a blank stare occasionally from a haughty beauty with a curled lip! And at last, when I was on the point of howling, I became conscious that somebody was watching me—a tall, pretty thing in a lavender frock——

De Castro.

Sitting in the chair in the middle of the room. Lil.

Jimmie.

I caught her eye, and she came straight over to me and sat down beside me. “Shaky?” she said. “A corpse,” I said. And she quietly laid hold of my hand and held it till Dolly Ensor condescended to stroll in. And when I got up I asked her who she was, and she told me. “Oh, my God,” I said, “I’ll never forget your kindness! Why, of course, you’re the ‘Mind the Paint’ girl——!”

Roper, de Castro, and Von Rettenmayer.

Singing. “Mind the paint! Mind the paint! Tra, lal, la, lal, la, lal, la, lal, la, lal, tra, la, la, la——!”

Bland seats himself at the piano and thumps out the air of the refrain of “Mind the Paint.” The three men, mouthing the time silently, wave their arms, and Lily’s head and body move from side to side.

Bland.

With a groan. Ugh! Is there anything more ancient than a four-year-old comic song? Playing a few bars of the melody of the song. Shade of Nineveh and all the buried cities!

Roper, Von Rettenmayer, and de Castro.

To Lily, coaxingly. Lily! Goddess! Lil!

Lily.

Shaking her head. Oh, boys, it’s gone. Pressing temples. I couldn’t——

Bland plays the introductory symphony and then pauses. Then she sings, he accompanying her. In a moment or two, the song comes back to her readily and she gives it with great witchery and allurement. Jeyes starts up and goes to the window in the wall on the right and looks out.

Lily.

Singing.

Rising and coming to the middle of the room, Lily repeats the refrain, dancing to it gracefully. Jimmie also rises and she, Roper, Von Rettenmayer, and de Castro join in the chorus and the dance, the three men very extravagantly. Farncombe looks on, enraptured, while Mrs. Upjohn beats time with her hands.

Lily.

Singing.

The refrain is repeated as before, Mrs. Upjohn rising and taking a share in it. Then Lily drops on to the settee before the writing-table, laughing and holding up her hands in protest.

Lily.

No more, boys! Roper, Von Rettenmayer, and de Castro gather round her, applauding her and urging her to continue. No, no; no more! I’ve had such a stiff day——

Mrs. Upjohn.

With sudden energy, to everybody. Out you go, all of you; out you go!

Jimmie.

To the men. Come on; let’s mizzle. Shaking hands with Farncombe. Cruel of us to tire her so.

Mrs. Upjohn.

Tapping Von Rettenmayer on the shoulder. Now, then, Baron!

Von Rettenmayer.

Shaking hands with Lily. I’m goming.

Jimmie.

Taking Von Rettenmayer to the door. Well, gome!

Mrs. Upjohn.

Pulling Roper away from Lily. Now, Uncle!

Roper.

Adjusting his coat. Mind the paint, Ma.

Jimmie.

Calling out. Good-bye, Lil!

Lily.

As she shakes hands with de Castro, calling to Jimmie. Good-bye!

Jimmie and Von Rettenmayer disappear.

Mrs. Upjohn.

Now, Mr. de Castro! Moving with Roper towards the door. ’Owever d’ye think she’s goin’ to get through her work to-night!

De Castro.

Pausing to comb his moustache. Quite right, Ma—— thoughtlessly and a thupper and a danthe afterwardth.

Roper.

Turning upon him quickly. Sssh! In a low voice. Dam fool!

De Castro.

Clapping his hand to his mouth. Oh——!

They glance at Jeyes who, hearing de Castro’s remark, has left the window and come forward a step or two.

Roper.

Uneasily. Er—good-bye, Nicko.

De Castro.

To Jeyes, in the same way. G-good-bye.

Jeyes.

To both, dryly. Good-bye.

Bland.

Talking to Lily, neither of them having heard de Castro’s slip. That jingle—an echo of old times, eh?

Lily.

Looking up at him. Yes, but not better times than these times, Vin?

Bland.

Sadly, holding her hand. Ah, Lil, there are so many tunes in life left for you, my dear!

Roper.

At the door, with Mrs. Upjohn and de Castro—to Bland. Come along, Vincent.

Bland joins the group at the door as Farncombe approaches Lily.

Farncombe.

Shaking hands with her. Thank you. With fervour. Glorious!

Lily.

Reproachfully. For shame!

Farncombe.

I mean it.

Lily.

T’sh! Lightly. See you again some day, perhaps?

Farncombe.

Ah, yes—

Roper.

Calling to Farncombe. Coming our way, Farncombe?

Roper, Bland, and de Castro depart. Farncombe bows to Lily and makes for the door.

Farncombe.

To Jeyes. Good-bye, Captain Jeyes.

Jeyes.

Who has wandered to the entrance to the conservatory, where he is now standing with his back to the room—half turning. Good-bye.

Farncombe.

Shaking hands with Mrs. Upjohn. Delightful! Enjoyed myself amazingly.

Mrs. Upjohn.

Graciously. Oh, we’re always glad when a few folks pop in— he wrings her hand if they don’t over-stay their welcome.

Farncombe.

Naturally. Hurriedly. Good-bye. He vanishes.

Mrs. Upjohn.

Remaining at the door. Captain——

Jeyes.

Advancing. I want just half a dozen words with Lily, Mrs. Upjohn.

Lily.

To Mrs. Upjohn. Tell Maud to put out my old green frock, mother; I’ll be up in a minute or two.

Mrs. Upjohn.

To Jeyes. Now, you won’t keep ’er longer, will you?

Jeyes.

Grimly. No, no; I know she won’t be in bed till four o’clock to-morrow morning at the earliest. Mrs. Upjohn goes out, closing the door, and Jeyes comes to Lily. So Smythe is giving you a grand feed to-night at the theatre, Lil?

Lily.

Arranging the pillows on the settee. In the foyer.

Jeyes.

And a dance, it appears.

Lily.

Yawning. Oh-h-h-h! Lying upon the settee at full length. Who told you, grumpy?

Jeyes.

Roper and your mother told me about the supper. You didn’t.

Lily.

Ha, ha! You were in such a vile mood last night, coming home.

Jeyes.

Who will there be to dance with to-night?

Lily.

The men of the Company.

Jeyes.

That doesn’t sound very inspiring.

Lily.

Rather school-treaty, isn’t it!

Jeyes.

Nobody from outside?

Lily.

No; it’s to be only the men in the theatre and the principal ladies.

Jeyes.

Roper’s going.

Lily.

Uncle Lal? Oh, well, he’s hardly from outside.

Jeyes.

And de Castro.

Lily.

Sam?

Jeyes.

I’m sure of it, from something I heard him say just now.

Lily.

Sam used to finance Carlton. I suppose they reckon him one of us.

Jeyes.

Sitting in the chair in the middle of the room. Smythe might have extended the compliment to me, Lil. He knows how I stand towards you.

Lily.

Awfully sorry; I can’t help it.

Jeyes.

Twining his fingers together. You see, if Roper and de Castro are asked, there may be others.

Lily.

Changing her position. Oh, lal, lal, lal, lal, la!

Jeyes.

With a set jaw. Some of the more juvenile “boys,” perhaps. Examining his nails. Lil.

Lily.

What?

Jeyes.

When did you make the acquaintance of the young sprig o’ the nobility who’s been here this afternoon?

Lily.

Lord Farncombe? Bertie brought him and introduced him one day last week.

Jeyes.

Ha! He’s at your feet now.

Lily.

Phuh!

Jeyes.

Oh, you may “phuh”! He’s in front every blessed night. There he sits, Row B., three stalls from the end, prompt side!

Lily.

There are a few good-looking girls at the Pandora besides your humble servant.

Jeyes.

Rubbish! His glass follows you all over the stage. I watched him talking to you in this room——

Lily.

Raising herself. Did you indeed!

Jeyes.

Beating his clenched hands upon the arms of his chair. God in heaven! First it’s one, then it’s another, chasing you!

Lily.

Putting her feet to the ground. Oh, you’re maddening, Nicko! You are; you’re maddening. Last night it was Stewie Heneage you chose to be jealous of, simply because you’d heard him sounding my praises at Catani’s! You almost broke the window of the car, you went on so!

Jeyes.

I confess I object to Heneage, or any man, raving about you at the top of his voice in a public place.

Lily.

Sakes alive, why shouldn’t Stewie rave about me in a public place, if he feels like it! I belong to the public. He might rave about a girl who’s a jolly sight less deserving of being raved about, as a girl and an artist, than I am.

Jeyes.

Well, we’ll dismiss Heneage.

Lily.

Yes, exit Stewie and enter somebody else for you fuss and fume about. This afternoon it’s Lord Farncombe, and to-morrow it’ll be a fresh person altogether. One ’ud think, to hear you, that I don’t know how to take care of myself, and of any poor boy who loses his head over me! Rising and walking away. You’re growing worse and worse with your jealousy, Nicko. Stop it! I’m surprised at you, after all these years! It’s beginning to fret me, and that’s bad for my spirits and bad for me in business. At the tea-table, grabbing a piece of bread-and-butter and biting at it. And now you’re making me spoil my dinner— relenting and that’s not good for me either, you brute!

Jeyes.

His hands hanging loosely between his knees, sighing heavily. Oh, Lily, Lily——!

Lily.

Yes, oh, Lily, Lily!

Jeyes.

Why—why don’t you put me out of my misery?

Lily.

Munching. Poison you?

Jeyes.

Marry me.

Lily.

Behind his chair. Marry you? Taking his handkerchief from his breast-pocket and wiping her fingers upon it—sarcastically. Have you come to tell me you’ve got some work to do at last? Break it gently, Nicko; the shock might be too great for me.

Jeyes.

Oh, I’d find a billet soon enough, Lil, if only I’d an incentive to hunt for it.

Lily.

Incentive! You had an incentive twelve months ago, when I was willing to engage myself to you absolutely if you could obtain a good secretaryship or something of the sort.

Jeyes.

I—I’ve no fancy for a beggarly secretaryship.

Lily.

No; all you’ve a fancy for, seemingly, is for living on your unfortunate people. Throwing him his handkerchief and leaving him. How a man of your age can rest satisfied with being a burden to others passes my dull comprehension!

Jeyes.

I—I have been a bit slack, I own—I have been a bit leisurely; but——

Lily.

Inspecting some of the flowers about the room. Nicko, that pendant, or whatever it is, you’ve given me—I don’t want to hurt you, but I won’t accept it. You take it away with you; do you hear?

Jeyes.

Not heeding her, weakly. Lil——

Lily.

I’m in earnest; you remove it from off my premises.

Jeyes.

Lil— she returns to him my eldest brother—Robert— looking up at her Bob— She nods inquiringly. Bob’s at me to go out to Rhodesia, to manage a group of stock farms he’s interested in near Bulawayo.

Lily.

Oh, why don’t you go?

Jeyes.

Forlornly. Rhodesia! Bulawayo! Looking up at her again with a dismal smile. Come with me?

Lily.

Don’t be absurd.

Jeyes.

Rising and putting his hands upon her shoulders. No, you wouldn’t care a straw—not a brass farthing—if I did go, would yer!

Lily.

Softening again. Stuff! I should miss you horribly. Toying with a button of his waistcoat. Who’d bring me home from the theatre at night then, and from rehearsals; who——?

Jeyes.

Ah, who! His grip tightening on her. Who!

Lily.

Wincing. Ssss! You’ll bruise my skin if you’re not careful.

Jeyes.

Taking her hand and crumpling it in his. Well, it might be that you’d miss me for a while—the old dog that you’re accustomed to find lying on your door-mat; pressing her hand to his lips but you don’t love me, Lil—not even as much as you did a year ago. You don’t love me!

Lily.

With a faint shrug of her shoulders. Perhaps I don’t, in the way you mean; wistfully perhaps it’s not in me really to love anybody in a marrying way. Meeting his eyes. Still, as you say——

Jeyes.

As I say——?

Lily.

Pursing her mouth at him winningly. I’m accustomed to you, Nicko. He draws her to him; but, with a laugh, she checks him by offering him her head to kiss. There— putting the point of her finger playfully on the crown of her head you may there. As he kisses her. Now I must run upstairs, or mother’ll whack me.

Jeyes.

Detaining her. Won’t you allow me to fetch you after the dance?

Lily.

Three or four in the morning! No; I’ll give you a rest. Uncle Lal or Sam’ll take on your job. Going to the door. And don’t try to see me to-morrow.

Jeyes.

Sharply. Why not?

Lily.

Not till you turn up at night as usual. I shall be a shocking rag all day.

Jeyes.

Breaking out. Yes, I expect you’ll manage to enjoy yourself thoroughly, and dance yourself off your feet, whoever your partners may be!

Lily.

Wilfully. Expect I shall. Tossing her head up. Ha, ha! I’ll do my best.

She departs, leaving him standing near the tea-table. He takes out his handkerchief and mops his brow. As he does so, his eyes rest upon the telephone-instrument on the writing-table and he stares at it. He hesitates, as if struggling to resist an impulse; then he goes quickly to the instrument and puts the receiver to his ear.

Jeyes.

After a pause. Gerrard, three, eight, four, eight. Discovering that Lily has left the door wide open, he lays the receiver upon the writing-table and goes to the door and shuts it. Then he returns to the writing-table and again listens at the receiver. Is that the office of the Pandora Theatre?... Suddenly, imitating the voice of de Castro. Ith Mithter Morrith Cooling in?... I’m Mithter de Castro ... Tham de Castro ... Gone, ith he?... Oh, ith that you, Mithter Hickthon?... Yeth, you’ll do ... About the thupper-party to-night that Mithter Smythe ith giving to Mith Parradell ... Yer there?... I didn’t quite underthtand whether ith to be at the theatre or at a rethtaurong ... At the theatre?... Oh, yeth ... A largth party?... Oh, that ith nithe!... Who are the guesth, d’ye know?... Yeth?... Yeth?... Oh, an’ the boyth!... oh, thome o’ the boyth are comin’, are they!... Hey?... Haven’t got the litht from Mithter Roper yet?... Oh, he’th been helpin’ to get it up!... Oh, we shall have a thplendid time!... The boyth!... Yeth!... Yeth!... ha, ha, ha, ha!... thankth.... goo’bye!

He replaces the receiver and stands looking at the door for a moment. Then, with his head bent and his hands clasped behind him, he goes slowly out.

END OF THE FIRST ACT.

THE SECOND ACT

The scene is an artistically decorated refreshment-saloon—or “foyer”—on the first-circle floor of a theatre. The wall facing the spectator is panelled partly in glass, and through the glazed panels the corridor behind the circle, and the doors admitting to the circle, are seen. The right-hand wall is panelled in a similar way, showing the landing at the top of the principal staircase and an entrance to the corridor. Some music-stands and stools are on the landing, arranged for a small orchestra.

In the right-hand wall there is a double swing-door giving on to the landing; and in the wall at the back, opening on to, and from, the corridor, there is a single swing-door on the left and another on the right. The left-hand door is fastened back into the saloon by a hook. Between the two doors in the back wall runs the refreshment-counter.

In one of the further corners of the saloon there is a plaster statue representing the Muse of Comedy, in the opposite corner a companion figure of Dancing. In the wall on the left, the grate hidden by flowers, is a fireplace with a fender-stool before it, and on either side of the fireplace there is a capacious and richly upholstered arm-chair. A settee of like design stands against the wall on the right between the double-door and the spectator.

The counter is decked-out as a sideboard, and at equal distances from each other there are four round tables laid for a supper-party of twenty-six persons. There are eight chairs at one table and six at each of the others, the chairs being of the sort usually supplied by ball-caterers.

The saloon and the landing without are brilliantly lighted, the corridor less brightly.

Luigi and four waiters—one of whom has a curly head and a fair beard ending in two flamboyant points—are putting the finishing touches to the laying of the tables, while Morris Cooling, a person of imposing presence displaying a vast expanse of shirt-front, is engaged in placing upon each of the serviettes a card bearing the name of a guest.

Cooling.

Referring to a plan of the tables which he has in his hand. Miss Connify—Miss Connify—Miss Connify—where’s Miss Connify? Ah, here you are, my dear— moving to Miss Connify’s chair and putting a card upon her serviette next to old Arthur.

The four waiters, obeying a direction in dumb-show from Luigi, go out at the door on the left.

Luigi.

A little, dark, active man—viewing the tables with satisfaction. Tables look nice, Mr. Cooling?

Cooling.

Absorbed. Not bad—not bad—not bad. Luigi follows the waiters. Miss Kato? Moving to another table and laying a card upon a serviette. Gabrielle.

Roper bustles in through the double-door, in high feather.

Roper.

Hul-lo! Cutting a caper. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, and how are you to-morrow!

Cooling.

Deep in his plan of the tables. Hullo, Lal!

Roper.

Surveying the tables. Splendid! Going from one table to another. Seating ’em, hey?

Cooling.

Mr. Palk—Mr. Palk—Mr. Palk? Placing another card. Albert.

Roper.

Which d’ye make your principal table?

Cooling.

There it is; you’re at it.

Roper.

Ah, yes. Examining the cards. “Miss Lily Parradell—”! His jaw falling. Why, you’ve gone and put the Baron on her right!

Cooling.

Unconsciously. Well, what’s the objection?

Roper.

Where’s Farncombe? Where’s Lord Farncombe?

Cooling.

On the other side, with Dolly Stidulph and Enid.

Roper.

Rats!

Cooling.

What do you mean by Rats? Advancing to the principal table—nettled. Look heah, Lal——!

Roper.

My dear fellow, Miss Parradell is the heroine o’ the party; the seat next to her is the seat of honour.

Cooling.

That’s why I’ve put the Baron there. With things as they are between England and Germany——

Roper.

If Germany doesn’t like it, she must lump it. Lord Farncombe’s the eldest son of an Earl; you can’t get over that.

Cooling.

Picking up Farncombe’s card. Oh, have it your own way.