An Original Comedietta, in One Act.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
SIR FELIX FRITTERLY.
ARTHUR VALLANCE.
COLONEL COSEY.
LADY FRITTERLY.
MYRTLE VANE.
SCENE.—Sir Felix Fritterly’s Country-house.
A handsomely furnished apartment. Bay-window (practicable) with curtains at R. U. E., conservatory C., doors R. and L., couch at R. C., chairs, piano, etc. COLONEL discovered lying on couch, his handkerchief over his head—ARTHUR VALLANCE in morning costume.
ARTH. (looking at COLONEL). Still asleep! And yet I must awake him (striking a very loud chord on the piano).
COL. (pulling handkerchief off his head and sitting bolt upright on couch). Come in! (Seeing ARTHUR.) Oh, it’s you? For goodness’ sake, Arthur, don’t make such an infernal noise! Do you want to dislocate that implement of torture?
ARTH. Don’t you like it, uncle? I thought you were fond of music!
COL. You don’t call that music, do you? (getting up from couch). I accept your friend Fritterly’s invitation to his country-house for a few weeks’ quiet—
ARTH. Well, you’ve got it, haven’t you?
COL. Don’t interrupt me (snappishly).
ARTH. I was merely anticipating—
COL. Who the deuce wants you to anticipate! Take things as I do, and wait till they come round! My idea of a quiet life is to get up at eleven, when the world has been thoroughly aired by that beneficent warming-pan, the sun; next, breakfast at twelve—twelve’s a lovely hour for breakfast—have the morning papers all to yourself, and escape being dragged round the grounds like the rest of the visitors—to see the early peas, and the asparagus beds, and spring onions!
ARTH. Ha! ha! Well, what next?
COL. Breakfast over, a quiet nap; a bit of lunch at three; a heavenly slumber till dinner-time at seven; a cup of coffee, a cigar, and to bed at ten! That’s my idea of a rational, peaceful existence!
ARTH. You’d better by half shoulder your gun and have a pop at the partridges!
COL. Thankee—I never went out with a gun but once in my life, and then I shot a couple of dogs and a game-keeper; so I gave it up; for if I’d gone on as I began, dogs and game-keepers would have been at a premium long before this!
ARTH. Ah! it was a bad business for you, uncle, that you didn’t take a wife.
COL. It would have been a precious deal worse for my wife if I had!
ARTH. Well, every one to his taste. What you call existence I call a state of positive torpidity. It may suit you; but at my age a man hungers and thirsts after a little more excitement.
COL. Then why the deuce don’t you take it? Go out fishing—in the duck-pond—or go and see the cows milked, or the pigs fed; or, better still, here’s no end of excitement for you under your very nose.
ARTH. Where?
COL. At that window (pointing to window); gardener always at work rolling the lawn, or watering the flowers, or picking up worms, or killing slugs, and without the slightest fatigue for you; all you have to do is to settle yourself down at the window—
ARTH. Settle down, eh? My dear uncle, that’s the very thing I want to do! In a word, Myrtle Vane—Lady Fritterly’s sister—
COL. Ugh! The old story over again, eh? Lady Fritterly’s sister is a niceish sort of girl—
ARTH. (indignantly). Niceish sort of girl! She’s an angel!
COL. Rubbish! Besides, as I said before, you’re too young to marry yet; wait another ten or fifteen years, and then begin to look about you. You haven’t popped to her, have you?
ARTH. Popped?
COL. Proposed!
ARTH. No!
COL. Then how do you know she’d have you?
ARTH. Of course I don’t know; but I think she might.
COL. There’s a conceited young puppy for you!
ARTH. (coaxingly). Especially if you’ll encourage my attentions—like my dear, kind old uncle!
COL. Which your “dear, kind old uncle” doesn’t intend to do.
ARTH. You don’t, eh? Very well, then listen to me! I shall do something desperate!
COL. Wait till I get out of the room! (Feeling his pulse.) I thought as much! Going like a windmill in a gale of wind! This excitement’s too much for me, I must take a sedative! (takes pillbox out of his pocket; opens it, and tosses two pills into his mouth one after the other). And now, young fellow, listen to me. If you are so anxious to settle, as you call it, better begin with your bootmaker! In a word, you don’t marry yet with my consent. Marry without it, and I leave every shilling I’ve got to—to the Society for the Suppression of Virtue—I mean the Propagation of Vice—I don’t know what I’m talking about! (swallows two more pills, and hurries out at R., slamming door violently after him).
ARTH. Just as easy to argue him out of his prejudices as it would be to make a Quaker kick his mother’s— Oh! here comes Myrtle! What a contrast!—he all apathy—she all impetuosity! Of course I shall have to give her an account of my morning’s employment, as usual, which consists of breakfast—three slices of toast, a rasher of bacon, a couple of eggs, and a cup of coffee! and not a bad morning’s work, either!
Enter MYRTLE at C. in morning dress—a large garden hat and gloves.
MYRT. Good-morning, Mr. Vallance! has nature no attractions for you, that you remain in-doors such a lovely day as this? Following your uncle’s example, as usual, I presume?
ARTH. On the contrary, I’ve been very hard at work, I assure you, trying to reduce my uncle’s bump of obstinacy.
MYRT. But in vain?—the protuberance defied your efforts. And has that been your entire morning’s work?
ARTH. Physically, yes! Mentally, no!
MYRT. The physical we’ll dismiss; the mental consisting of—reading the newspaper, eh? (smiling).
ARTH. What can a man do such weather as this? It’s too hot to walk, too early for billiards—only fit for smoking. By-the-bye, I did manage to get as far as the stables, where I had a cigar.
MYRT. And this is the new leaf you promised me you would turn over—a tobacco-leaf! You are sadly deficient in energy, Mr. Vallance.
ARTH. I confess it. But brought up as I was from my earliest infancy under my uncle—
MYRT. (smiling). Under your uncle?
ARTH. Yes—(suddenly)—no, of course not. I mean under his supervision—how can I be otherwise than I am? He resents the slightest approach to activity as a slur on himself; and the highest compliment you can pay him is to yawn in his face (checking a yawn with difficulty).
MYRT. I beg pardon—I’m afraid I’m in the way.
ARTH. Not at all! But why are you in such a hurry to go?
MYRT. To allow you more leisure for (imitating ARTHUR’S yawn)—you know!
ARTH. Oh, Myrtle—do you object to my calling you Myrtle?
MYRT. You should have asked that question before you did.
ARTH. If my tongue has been silent, surely my eyes must have spoken for me?
MYRT. (stiffly). Mr. Vallance, you forget yourself!
ARTH. Because I was thinking of you (tenderly).
MYRT. (aside). This is getting too serious. (Aloud.) But you really must excuse me. I have my plants to attend to—a favorite creeper especially that requires nailing up.
ARTH. Let me go with you. I’ll make myself so useful—you’ll see how hard I’ll work. I’ll hold the ladder for you, and hand you up the hammer and tin-tacks!
MYRT. What an exertion! And all for me! Ha! ha! ha!
ARTH. (annoyed). I see how it is, madam; you’ve no feeling, or you wouldn’t treat me so cruelly, so capriciously! If you had the slightest particle of regard for me, you’d let me hand you up the hammer and tin-tacks!
MYRT. You accuse me of caprice! you, who never knew what it is to be in earnest!
ARTH. I am so now, I assure you.
MYRT. Then listen to me, Arthur Vallance. Let me see that you possess some energy, some enthusiasm, some strength of will, then I may, perhaps, give you a better answer. Good-morning.
[Goes out at C. towards R.
ARTH. (calling after). Stop, Myrtle! Do let me come and hand you up the hammer and tin-tacks! So! I’m to do something energetic, am I? Drown myself in the duck-pond? Yes!—no. I have it! I’ll say good-by to Fritterly, and cut this place at once! And then, Miss Vane, perhaps you’ll be sorry—perhaps you’ll regret that you didn’t let me hand you up the hammer and tin-tacks! Let me see, there’s an express to town at three. (Looking at his watch.) I can catch that. My traps can follow (hurrying up towards door L. H., and coming into collision with SIR FELIX, who enters at the same time).
SIR F. Holloa, old fellow, where the deuce are you off to in such a hurry?
ARTH. Don’t ask me—I’m going out of my mind!
SIR F. The deuce you are! Well, if I may judge by appearances, it won’t take you very long to get to the end of that journey! Confound it, man, will you explain?
ARTH. Well, you know the feelings I entertain towards Miss Vane?
SIR F. Myrtle? Yes.
ARTH. Well, you’ll hardly believe it; but when I proposed to her just now—
SIR F. You proposed to her? (astonished).
ARTH. Yes—to hand her up the hammer and tin-tacks—
SIR F. (astonished). Hammer and tin-tacks? What the deuce are you talking about?
ARTH. (helplessly). I’m sure I don’t know—yes, I do. She said that when I showed a little energy—a little enthusiasm—a little something else, she’d perhaps give me a better answer.
SIR F. A better answer! What on earth can that mean?
ARTH. I can’t tell! (Suddenly.) Yes, I can, of course! It can only mean one thing (enthusiastically)—that she will let me hand her up the hammer—
SIR F. (shouting). Confound it, drop that hammer! You’ve been hammering that hammer into my ears for the last ten minutes! Now! (turning VALLANCE round to him face to face) speak like a man of sense—if you’ve got any left in you!
ARTH. Well, then, I ventured to speak to my uncle—
SIR F. Old Cosey?
ARTH. Yes, old Cosey—about Myrtle, and he coolly told me I mustn’t think of getting married for the next ten or fifteen years!
SIR F. Come, I like that!
ARTH. Do you? It’s more than I do—unless, he said, he saw some urgent necessity for it; but that if I married without his consent he’d disinherit me.
SIR F. Is that all?
ARTH. All! It strikes me as being quite enough. No, it isn’t all—it’s only half, for Myrtle—
SIR F. (cutting him short). Never mind Myrtle; I know all about her. She thinks you a bit of a milksop—s—so do I; that you’ve no energy—not an atom! no will of your own—never had! and that in order to reinstate yourself in her good opinion you must do something desperate! So you shall! Now what do you mean to do?
ARTH. Show a proper spirit, and—run away!
SIR F. Run away! Certainly not—fling yourself into my arms and I’ll pull you through! So cheer up!
ARTH. It’s very easy to say “cheer up” to a fellow who feels himself between two stools, with the certainty of coming down a cropper!
SIR F. But what’s the use of giving you advice? You’d never follow it! You haven’t the pluck to do anything desperate!
ARTH. I told uncle I would! But I’m not going to make away with myself merely to prove that I’m a man of my word!
SIR F. Pshaw! Now let’s understand each other. Myrtle insists on your giving her a convincing proof of energy—pluck—determination—and all that sort of thing! You’re not limited as to the direction they may take?
ARTH. Not at all!
SIR F. Good—and your uncle refuses his consent to your marriage unless he sees some urgent necessity for it?
ARTH. Exactly!
SIR F. Then the same medicine will do for both! Old Cosey has a great regard for propriety and morality, and all that sort of thing—hasn’t he?
ARTH. Intense!
SIR F. Then we’ll give him such a shock on that score, he’ll think that his opposition to your wishes has driven you frantic with despair!
ARTH. But Myrtle?
SIR F. Has only to imagine there’s a chance of your turning out a “naughty, good-for-nothing reprobate,” and she’ll be only too glad to reclaim her lost sheep at once!
ARTH. What then?
SIR F. Oh, then we must borrow a wrinkle from the French! As your uncle won’t hear of your taking a wife of your own, take somebody else’s!—no matter whose. Take mine; she’s the handiest!
ARTH. Don’t be absurd!
SIR F. I’m perfectly serious! All your uncle wants is to snooze away his existence. We must wake the old boy up!!
ARTH. How?
SIR F. By an elopement!! A pretended one, of course, which you shall propose to my wife, and he shall overhear!
ARTH. I propose an elopement to Lady Fritterly? She’ll be indignant!
SIR F. How do you know that? She may feel flattered! At any rate I’ll take all the responsibility!—you may be as fascinating as you choose! Ha! ha!
ARTH. But, man alive, I’m not in the habit of running away with other people’s wives! I shouldn’t know how to begin. Something in this style?—“Please, ma’am, will you run away with me?”
SIR F. Not half tender enough! (Clasping his hands and with exaggerated passion.) “Loveliest of women”—then down on your knee—it don’t matter which—both if you like. Then exclaim, “My bosom’s torn with conflicting emotions”—“my brain is in a whirlwind of agony and despair”—tearing your hair out by handfuls all the time. Don’t forget that!
ARTH. Stop! Don’t be in such a confounded hurry! Let me see! “Loveliest of women,” one! (counting on his fingers)—“conflicting emotions,” two!—“agony,” three!—“despair,” four! Can’t you make it five—one for each finger?
SIR F. Five—the elopement!—there you must come out a little stronger—(declaiming in exaggerated tone)—“Let us fly, loved one!—horses are in readiness to bear us to the nearest station, where the flashing express shall whirl us to—to—” anywhere you like—Madagascar—Seringapatam—Pegwell Bay—no matter!
ARTH. Oh! that’s the style, is it? By Jove, I’ve half a mind to chance it! But when is this precious scheme of yours to come off?
SIR F. At once! As soon as I can secure the presence of my wife, and old Cosey as a listener!—he always takes a nap on this couch when the coast is clear—(turns the couch round with back to the audience). There!—now, you take a stroll in the grounds—I’ll hide behind the window-curtains and give you the signal to come in. Be off! (pushing him up stage).
ARTH. Wait a minute—(counting on his fingers)—“Loveliest of women,” “conflicting emotions,” “agony,” “paggony”—no, not “paggony,” “despair.” Let me see, what’s the little finger?
SIR F. The elopement!
ARTH. All right!
[Exit at C. towards R., counting his fingers.
SIR F. He’s gone at last! I ought to have been born in an atmosphere of diplomacy to develop my talent for intrigue! Ha, ha, ha! how this “little game” of mine will astonish them! But they all want waking up in this house! Cosey’s an old hedgehog, all prickles and prejudices! Arthur’s—never mind what! Myrtle’s a crab-apple—pleasant to look at, but occasionally rather tart to the taste! (here LADY FRITTERLY enters at door L., unperceived by SIR FELIX). As for my wife (here LADY F. stops and listens), she’s a charming woman; but she has one fault, for which I’d gladly exchange a good many of her virtues—she’s so dreadfully proper! Shall I take her into my confidence? No! she hates jokes—especially mine. How she will stare when Arthur opens his batteries!—ha—ha!—run away with my wife!—the notion’s too absurd.
LADY F. (aside). Indeed! So, so, husband of mine!—(comes down and taps SIR FELIX on the shoulder). Felix!
SIR F. (turning). Grace! (Aside.) I wonder if she overheard!
LADY F. You seem merry!—laughing at your own jokes? Quite right you should, for nobody else does!
SIR F. Thank you! (Aside.) All right! she didn’t hear anything. Perhaps I’d better prepare her, just a little bit, or she might petrify poor Arthur with one of her tragedy looks before he opens his mouth, and then he’d take to his heels to a certainty! (Aloud.) By-the-bye, my dear Grace, have you noticed anything peculiar in young Vallance’s behavior lately?
LADY F. No; he seems as apathetic as ever; he may, perhaps, have shown a little more attention to me than usual (with intention).
SIR F. (aside). The deuce he has! I wonder what she’ll say presently when he comes out with his “agony” and “despair?” (Aloud.) I don’t mean his behavior to you—but to Myrtle! He’s not half so spooney—I mean attentive—as he used to be, and I fear there’s a reason for it! (with significance).
LADY F. Indeed!
SIR F. Yes! he may be smitten with somebody else! At his age the affections are fickle, volatile—skipping like a flea—
LADY F. Felix!
SIR F. I mean sipping like a bee from flower to flower! Myrtle is young—very young; but even youth like hers may become insipid! The love of every precocious boy of fifteen is a woman of thirty! I began at twelve!
LADY F. A woman of thirty—my age! Understand, sir, that no woman cares to be reminded of her age when she is turned thirty, any more than that she wears false hair! Your remark, therefore, is scarcely polite; but with your wife it appears you consider no such politeness necessary!
SIR F. Politeness! My dear Grace, what is politeness, after all?—merely the gloss of society! I suppose you’ll admit that the shiny stuff they put on the top of the buns doesn’t make them taste any the sweeter?
LADY F. Spare me your absurd similes, and don’t mistake flippancy for wit!
SIR F. (aside). That’s a dig in the ribs for me! (Aloud.) But we are wandering from our subject! Do you think Myrtle loves Vallance at all?
LADY F. I fancy she likes him well enough!
SIR F. “Well enough” won’t do! She must like him a great deal better—as I believe she would if we could only make her just a little bit jealous!
LADY F. Perhaps so—but how? My lady’s-maid is no beauty! The house-maid’s no chicken! The cook’s too fat! And there’s no one else!
SIR F. No, exactly! (Here LADY FRITTERLY turns and goes up stage.) Are you going out this morning?
LADY F. Yes, unless you wish for the pleasure of my society here!
SIR F. Well, it would be a novelty!
LADY F. And you promise to spare me the infliction of those melancholy exhibitions which you call jokes?
SIR F. I’ll be as dull as an undertaker! Suppose you put a few stitches into that smoking-cap of mine, which has been your sole occupation in needle-work for the last two years and a half!
LADY F. Be it so! It’s in my room—I’ll fetch it! (Aside as she goes up stage.) So—so—he’s evidently got some “little game” on hand—which it will be my business to find out! (Turning to SIR F.) Ta! ta!
[Goes out at door L. H.
SIR F. Poor, unsuspecting innocent, it’s too bad to take advantage of her simplicity! Ah! here comes old Cosey for his forty winks—better and better—but he mustn’t see me! (Hides behind window-curtain.)
Enter COLONEL at R.; looks round.
COL. Nobody here! got it all to myself! That’s just what I like! I was afraid of meeting Fritterly! He’s a pleasant fellow enough in his way, but I prefer being out of his way! To be within the sound of his voice is like living over a printing-office—one continual clatter! Now, then, for a little solitary rumination!—there’s nothing equals it. Look at a cow—how she enjoys it! and isn’t she the most peaceful of all animals? Who ever heard of a cow in a passion? See the touching resignation with which she allows herself to be milked! I wish Arthur had more of that docile animal in his composition! he wouldn’t talk of doing something desperate! Now, then, for a delicious nap! (Ties his handkerchief over his head and lies down on couch, and no longer in sight of audience.)
SIR F. (peeping from behind curtain). Thank you, colonel, for your flattering opinion of me; but I’ll be even with you! I wonder if he’s asleep? (advancing on tiptoe to couch). Yes, sound as a top! Now, then, to call in Arthur! Stop a bit! let me first perform the part of the benevolent robin in the “Babes in the Wood,” and cover this “Sleeping Beauty” up! (Carefully spreading several antimacassars over COSEY.) There! now for Arthur! (Runs to window and waves his hand.) All right; he sees me!
Enter VALLANCE at C.
ARTH. Well, you still stick to your plan?
SIR F. Like a horse-leech. My wife will be here directly!
ARTH. But Uncle Cosey?
SIR F. Comfortably tucked in there (pointing to couch), to be roused from the land of dreams when the proper time arrives with this implement (taking a long feather brush). Sure you’ve got your part in this little domestic drama by heart? Rehearse!
ARTH. “Loveliest of women,” “emotions,” “agony,” “Seringapatam,” “despair,” “Pegwell Bay”—
SIR F. Keep on going over it, like the multiplication-table; but hang it, man, don’t look as lively as if you were waiting in a dentist’s back parlor! (Suddenly.) Here comes my wife! (hurriedly hiding behind curtains).
Enter LADY FRITTERLY at L. H., carrying a smoking-cap.
LADY F. (seeing VALLANCE). Mr. Vallance?
ARTH. Lady Fritterly! (bowing).
LADY F. (aside). The ball is about to open! (Aloud.) Won’t you be seated? (seating herself at L., ARTHUR moving a chair to some distance from LADY F., and seating himself). A lovely morning, is it not? (beginning to work at the smoking-cap).
ARTH. Delicious!
LADY F. Quite cool and pleasant!
ARTH. (aside). I feel quite hot and unpleasant!
LADY F. By-the-bye, do you know where my husband is?
ARTH. (fidgeting on his chair). Not exactly; but I believe he’s somewhere or other, or if not there, somewhere else.
SIR F. (who has peeped out, listening). Idiot! (hiding again).
LADY F. (observing the movement of the curtain. Aside). He’s there! traitor! (Aloud.) I’m sure I ought to feel deeply grateful to him for leaving so agreeable a substitute.
SIR F. (listening). That ought to encourage him!
ARTH. (aside). It’s time I began, if I’m going to begin at all! (Suddenly, and clasping his hands.) Oh, Lady Fritterly, pardon my agitation; but agitated as I am with the agitations that agitate me—the agony, the despair— (Aside.) I shall stick fast presently; I know I shall!
SIR F. (listening). That’s better.
ARTH. But say—say you forgive me!
LADY F. Forgive you! for what? (insinuatingly, and moving her chair nearer to ARTHUR, who draws his back).
ARTH. For the confession which, alas! (here a very deep sigh) I am about to make.
LADY F. Continue, I beg!
ARTH. Oh, madam, dear madam, dearest madam, if you only knew all!
LADY F. Hall? A gentleman of your acquaintance?
ARTH. I didn’t say Hall, madam! Let me observe, Lady Fritterly, that this is no subject for levity.
LADY F. No one would imagine it was, from your countenance, Mr. Vallance. Its solemnity is positively, painfully ludicrous!
SIR F. (listening). Why the deuce don’t he open his batteries?
ARTH. (seeing SIR FELIX, who is making energetic signs to him to proceed with his love-making. Aside). Well, since he will insist upon it, here goes! (Aloud, and in an ultra impassioned tone.) Loveliest of women!—pardon the apparent insanity of the remark—I love you! adore you! in fact, I rather like you! Behold me at your feet! (flopping down on one knee. Here SIR F. reaches over and tickles COSEY with the feather brush, who starts up and shows his head above the back of couch; then, seeing he is not alone, withdraws his head again out of sight).
LADY F. (with pretended emotion). Love me, Mr. Vallance? (Aside.) So this is the “little game,” is it? (Aloud.) Well, is that all?
ARTH. All? (Aside). And pretty well too, I think; what the deuce would she have? (Aloud, and very enthusiastically.) No, madam, it is not all! I’ve only just begun! Oh, could you but know the conflicting emotions, the agony, the despair— (counting on his fingers. Aside.) I forgot the rest! (Aloud.) Say, say that you love me in return! (seizing her hand).
LADY F. (with pretended emotion). Oh, Mr. Vallance, you’re too vehement; release my hand!
ARTH. (aside). Release her hand! Come, I like that! I wish she’d let go of mine (trying to disengage his hand, then catching another glimpse of SIR F., who by signs encourages him to proceed. Aloud). Release this hand? Not till I’ve finished! Loved one! let us fly; horses are waiting—flashing express—distant clime—Seringapatam—Madagascar—the Sandwich Islands—anywhere.
LADY F. (with pretended emotion and an affecting faintness). A sudden faintness (leaning against VALLANCE); oh, support me!
SIR F. (looking out). Holloa! holloa!
LADY F. (looking up in ARTHUR’S face, and with mock sentimentality). Oh! Arthur, Arthur!
SIR F. (behind). Damn it, she calls him Arthur!
ARTH. (aside). I’ve been getting on too fast!
LADY F. (pathetically to VALLANCE). Spare my blushes; I guess all you would say.
ARTH. (aside). Do you? That’s lucky, for I’m regularly stumped.
LADY F. (suddenly grasping VALLANCE by the wrist and dragging him forward, almost upsetting him). Listen! my husband is not unkind, though he might be kinder; he is not ill-looking, indeed, he might be uglier; but he has one terrible defect. (SIR F. here leans forward and listens.) He really flatters himself that he possesses a fund of wit; that he is literally running over with fun; whereas the poor man really doesn’t possess a single particle of either. It’s very sad, isn’t it?
ARTH. Melancholy in the extreme.
LADY F. And I’m sure, as for humor—
ARTH. He’s just about as much in him as an old cab horse! (FELIX shakes his fist at VALLANCE.)
LADY F. But alas! for every one of his dismal jokes that you hear I am doomed to listen to a hundred! Is it to be wondered at, then, that I should pant, crave for a change?—(gradually getting more excited)—that I should find the temptation you offer me too great to resist?
ARTH. (aghast). Eh! what? You don’t mean to say you consent?
LADY F. Of course I do! (with enthusiasm). What woman could resist the Sandwich Islands, and you for a companion! In five minutes expect me here on this spot. Give me but time to pack up my jewels, a dozen or two dresses, and a sprinkling of hats, and I’ll be with you, my Arthur! (Going—stops.) You won’t mind my bringing my favorite little pug-dog, of course you won’t—(going—stops again)—and a couple of kittens—a thousand thanks—and you won’t object to putting the parrot cage under your arm? I thought not.
[Runs hastily out at L. H.
(During the above scene COSEY occasionally shows his head above the back of the couch and withdraws it again.)
ARTH. A parrot cage under my arm all the way to the Sandwich Islands! (Shouting after LADY F.) Stop! madam, Lady Fritterly, don’t hurry yourself; take your own time—one hour, two hours, six weeks, any time you like. Wheugh! here’s a pretty state of affairs; catch me running off with another man’s couple of kittens—I mean wives—no, wife again! (thrusting both hands into his trousers-pockets and walking violently to and fro, then flings himself into a chair at L. SIR FELIX hurries down and drops into a chair at R. COLONEL rolls off the end of couch enveloped in antimacassars, and seats himself in chair at C. All pull out their white pocket-handkerchiefs, and indulge in extravagant business, etc.).
ARTH. (not seeing them). Poor Sir Felix!—a pretty kettle of fish he’s made of it! I’ve been too fascinating!
SIR F. (coming hurriedly down). Don’t talk nonsense, sir! But of course this is all a joke! Why don’t you say it’s all a joke?
ARTH. It’s anything but a joke for me!—all the way to the Sandwich Isles with a parrot cage under my arm!—how would you like it?
SIR F. Pshaw! you carried the thing too far, sir!—a devilish deal too far!
ARTH. Come, I like that! I only did what you told me!—except that I didn’t tear my hair out by handfuls!
COL. (counting his pulse). A hundred and twenty at the very least! (tossing a couple of pills into his mouth—then to VALLANCE). Now, sir, what do you mean by making love to Lady Fritterly, and proposing an elopement to her? It’s scandalous, sir!
ARTH. Not the slightest doubt about it, uncle! but I only did it to oblige Sir Felix!
COL. Oblige Sir Felix by running off with his wife?
ARTH. Yes! in order to show you what a desperate dog I had become, so that you might put me out of the way of temptation by consenting to my marriage with Myrtle! But now—(with a deep sigh)—that’s all knocked on the head!
SIR F. How so?
ARTH. Because, my dear fellow, your wife having accepted, I am bound, as a man of honor, to run away with her!
COL. (turning to SIR F.). Of course, as a man of honor, we’re bound to run away with her!
ARTH. A lady—(here COLONEL turns to him)—for whom I entertain the highest respect!
COL. (turning to SIR F.). A lady for whom we entertain the highest respect!
ARTH. But—(here COLONEL turns again to him)—for whom I don’t care two pins!
COL. (turning to SIR F.). But for whom we don’t care two pins!
SIR F. (fiercely to COLONEL). You needn’t be insulting by associating Lady Fritterly with that paltry amount of haberdashery!
COL. (feeling his pulse). I shall be in a raging fever presently! (two more pills). What’s to be done? (To VALLANCE.) Recollect you’ve got to ascertain when the next train starts for the Sandwich Islands!
ARTH. Hang it, Sir Felix! can’t you suggest something? I look to you, with your extravagant devices, to extricate me!
COL. (to SIR F.). Yes, sir! We insist on your extricating us from your extravagant devices!
SIR F. Well, I confess I’ve made a slight mistake this time, but all isn’t lost. Lady Fritterly will be here directly, when I flatter myself she’ll hear something to her advantage—(looking off at C.) Here comes Myrtle!—couldn’t be better! Now then, hide yourselves—both of you!
ARTH. Certainly not!
COL. Certainly not!
ARTH. Another of your infernal schemes! If this fails, I really shall do something desperate! (During this SIR FELIX has been edging him up towards curtains, and at last pushes him behind them at R.)
COL. (in a helpless tone). My system won’t survive this sort of thing! I’m sure it won’t.
SIR F. (hurrying down). Now, colonel, on to your couch before Myrtle sees you! (edging him up towards couch).
COL. (resisting). But I don’t want to go to sleep! I’m thoroughly wide-awake.
SIR F. Nonsense! (forces COLONEL on couch, and heaping pillows over him).
COL. (showing his head). Tuck me up if you like, but, confound it, don’t smother me! (keeps rising, SIR FELIX pushing him down again at each attempt).
ARTH. (putting his head out from curtain). Sir Felix!
COL. (showing his head above couch). Sir Felix! (SIR F. seizes the nearest pillow and throws it at COLONEL’S head).
SIR F. Silence! both of you!
Enter MYRTLE at door L. H.
MYRT. (laughing aside as she enters). Ha! ha! poor Sir Felix! Grace has told me all, and I am to humor the joke, while she watches the result from the conservatory!
(During the following, until LADY F.’S entrance, the COLONEL shows his head occasionally above the back of the couch, but withdraws it again at a sign from SIR FELIX.)
SIR F. (aside). Now for it—(coming down—takes MYRTLE’S hand, and in an exaggerated tone of grief). Myrtle! Myrtle! in me you behold a broken-hearted husband!
MYRT. (aside). Very well acted, indeed! (Aloud, and in a pretended tone of commiseration). Broken-hearted?
SIR F. When I say “broken-hearted,” I don’t wish you to infer that the centre of my organic functions is snapped in half like a stick of firewood—far from it, Myrtle. But I’m broken-hearted for all that!
MYRT. Absurd! while you have Grace and me to console you!
SIR F. Grace no longer. She has deserted me, and for young Vallance! (falling into chair and burying his face in his hands).
Here LADY F. appears at C., listening.
SIR F. (peeping out at the corner of his handkerchief, and seeing her. Aside). She’s there! (Aloud.) Yes, Myrtle, I’m a wretched, abandoned man!
MYRT. You can’t be serious?
SIR F. It’s too true!
MYRT. What—what do you intend doing?
SIR F. I did think of shooting the young man!—but it’ll be a far greater punishment to let him live! Think what the poor, unhappy youth will have to suffer from Grace’s “little bits of temper!” poor devil! I know what I had to go through. (LADY F. shakes her hand at SIR F.)
MYRT. But surely you will try and prevent Grace’s departure?
SIR F. (indifferently). I think not!—better as it is. I’m getting used to the idea! I confess it was I who advised Vallance to make just a certain little amount of love to my wife in order to excite your jealousy and show you what energy the young man was capable of; but I must confess I was not at all prepared for the perfect torrent of impassioned eloquence with which he poured forth his unhallowed flame! (Here VALLANCE shakes both his fists at SIR F.)
SIR F. Besides, Myrtle, dear Myrtle, as you very sensibly observed just now, shall I not have you to console me? (with an exaggerated tender look).
MYRT. (alarmed). Me?
SIR F. Why not? Your lover doesn’t care a pin’s point about you, or he wouldn’t have agreed to my plan. My wife has about the same amount of affection for me, or she’d have withered him up with her scorn at the first go-off. This sort of thing! (putting on a haughty and scornful look).
MYRT. Well, what then?
SIR F. Can you ask? Oh, my Myrtle! my beloved Myrtle—behold me at your feet! (falling on both his knees and seizing her hand. Aside.) If Grace stands this, I’m a New Zealander!
MYRT. Monster! (flinging SIR FELIX from her, who falls on his face. LADY FRITTERLY and VALLANCE hurry down).
LADY F. So, Sir Felix Fritterly!
ARTH. So, Sir Felix Fritterly!
SIR F. (getting up quietly and dusting his knees with his pocket-handkerchief. Then suddenly bursting out into a loud laugh). Ha, ha, ha! Surely, my dear Grace, you didn’t really think I was in earnest?
LADY F. (smiling). As much in earnest, probably, as you thought me. (SIR FELIX takes her hand and kisses it.)
ARTH. (joyously to LADY F.). Then you don’t love me after all? You won’t insist on my accompanying you to the Sandwich Islands?
LADY F. (drawing herself up). Mr. Vallance! (To SIR FELIX.) Well, I confess you have the best of the game.
SIR F. And the last laugh!
ARTH. Myrtle, have I fulfilled your conditions? have I shown some little amount of energy?
MYRT. Yes, with a vengeance!
ARTH. And may I hope—
SIR F. Have him now, Myrtle, while you can get him!
LADY F. Keep her to her promise, Mr. Vallance!
ARTH. Gladly! But it all depends on my uncle how soon!
SIR F. Then he shall decide at once! Turn out, old tortoise! (Wheels couch round to face the audience, and pulling off the antimacassars, etc.) Hang me if he isn’t fast asleep! Wake up! (tickling COLONEL with the feather brush).
COL. All right! Bring me my shaving-water! (Sitting up, and looking about him.) Holloa!
ARTH. Have you forgotten all about the elopement, uncle?
COL. Elopement! Why, you ought to have been half way to the Sandwich Islands by this time!
ARTH. Ha! ha! We’ve arranged that little matter differently.
COL. (crustily). Then what the deuce did you wake me up for?
SIR F. To let you go off to sleep again in a more comfortable frame of mind.
LADY F. Come, colonel! Arthur’s desperately in love with Myrtle.
SIR F. And Myrtle’s over head and ears in love with—
MYRT. (interrupting him). Felix!
SIR F. With herself! They only wait your benediction.
COL. Bother the benediction! I’ll settle a thousand a year on them!
SIR F. (shaking his hand). The most sensible thing you’ve said for a long time; and now you may go to sleep again as soon as you like.
COL. Thank you! (Feeling his pulse.) Ninety! That’s better!
SIR F. But a word at parting here! (To audience.) How account for our eccentric behavior? Shall we boldly forestall the critics and say at once—
MYRT. Quite foreign in sentiment—
ARTH. Obviously borrowed from our lively neighbors—
COL. (sententiously). Possessing all their levity with regard to those domestic ties—
LADY F. (putting her hand over his mouth). In short—Taken from the French!
CURTAIN FALLS.