Von Bremer.
I have only to add that the Emperor, delighted with the prospect of seeing once more his favourite grandson, has gladly given his consent.
Mrs. Parker-Jennings.
And when I think of all the things I’ve called you these last few hours....
Jack Straw.
They went in at the ear of a waiter, Madam, and slipped out at that of an Archduke.
[He goes up to Ethel.
Jack Straw.
And now it only rests with you to give peace to an aged Emperor, satisfaction to eighty-one Archdukes, and happiness to your unworthy servant.
Ethel.
I am engaged to be married to Lord Serlo.
Mrs. Parker-Jennings.
What! I know nothing about this.
Jack Straw.
I knew our mamma wouldn’t be pleased.
Ethel.
The fact remains.
Jack Straw.
[Going to Serlo.] Now, my dear friend, you’ve got the chance of a lifetime. It’s quite clear to me that there’s only one course open to you. Take the centre of the stage and renounce the lady with all the moving expressions you can think of.
Serlo.
Look here, old man, I don’t think I quite like the way you keep on pulling my leg.
Jack Straw.
Put a little dignity into it, man.
Serlo.
I may be a blithering ass, but I can see without your tellin’ me that Ethel wouldn’t have had me at any price if she hadn’t wanted to score off you.
Jack Straw.
Oh, how some men throw away their chances! Strike the pathetic note, old man, or you’re done. When you’ve finished there oughtn’t to be a dry eye in the place.
Serlo.
Well, the fact is — it had entirely slipped my memory at the moment, but I had a letter this morning from the lady’s solicitor to remind me — I happen to be engaged to a young woman who can kick a man’s topper off too.
Jack Straw.
By Jove, I wonder if it’s the same one.
Ethel.
Why didn’t you tell me?
Serlo.
Well, you know, it was a bit awk when you — er....
Jack Straw.
Threw yourself at his head.
Ethel.
[To Jack Straw with a smile.] I ought to be very angry with you. You’ve laughed at me all the time. I don’t believe you’ll ever take me seriously. If I really were the romantic creature you say I am, I’d be very dignified and refuse to have anything to do with you at all.
Jack Straw.
But like all women you’re very sensible at heart, and you’ll do nothing of the kind.
Ethel.
It’s not because I’m sensible, but because I suppose you were quite right in what you said just now.
Jack Straw.
Bless you! I’d throw myself down on the floor and implore you to walk on me only I’m convinced you’d take me at my word.
Mrs. Parker-Jennings.
[With enormous satisfaction.] I knew he was an Archduke all the time. You can’t deceive a mother.
Jack Straw.
[With a start.] There’s one thing I must break to you at once. Pomerania is in some ways still a barbarous country. We have a dreadful law that when a member of the royal family marries a foreigner not of royal blood, his wife’s relations are prohibited from entering it.
Mrs. Parker-Jennings.
I should like to see any one prohibit me from going to see my own daughter.
Jack Straw.
My dear lady, it grieves me infinitely to say it, but no sooner had you crossed our frontier than you would be instantly beheaded.
Mrs. Parker-Jennings.
Truly, sir, a barbarous country.
THE END
MRS DOT
CONTENTS
CHARACTERS
THE FIRST ACT
THE SECOND ACT
THE THIRD ACT
CHARACTERS
This play, originally called Worthley’s Entire, was produced at the Comedy Theatre on April 26, 1908, with the following cast:
James Blenkinsop
Fred Kerr
Gerald Halstane
W. Graham Browne
Freddie Perkins
Kenneth Douglas
Charles
Herbert Ross
Mr. Rixon
George Bellamy
Mason
Horton Cooper
Mr. Wright
Brian Egerton
George
H. Gerrish
Lady Sellenger
Marie Illington
Nellie Sellenger
Lydia Billbrooke
Miss Eliza MacGregor
Lena Halliday
Mrs. Worthley
Marie Tempest
Mrs. Worthley
Freddie Perkins, her nephew and secretary
Miss Eliza MacGregor, her aunt
Gerald Halstane
James Blenkinsop
Lady Sellenger
Nellie, her daughter
Charles, Gerald’s servant
Mason, Mrs. Worthley’s Butler
Mr. Wright, a tailor
Mr. Rixon, Gerald’s solicitor
Blenkinsop’s Man
Time: The present day
Act I — Gerald’s rooms in Grafton Street
Acts II and III — Mrs. Worthley’s house on the river
The Performing Rights of this play are fully protected, and permission to perform it, whether by Amateurs or Professionals, must be obtained in advance from the author’s Sole Agent, R. Golding Bright, 20 Green Street, Leicester Square, London, W.C., from whom all particulars can be obtained.
THE FIRST ACT
Scene: Gerald’s rooms in Grafton Street. A man’s room, pleasantly furnished, with very comfortable arm-chairs, and prints on the walls. Books are lying about, and smoking utensils.
Charles, Gerald Halstane’s servant, opens the door. Mr. Wright comes in, a dapper young man, smartly dressed.
Charles.
There, you can see for yourself that Mr. Halstane is not at home.
Mr. Wright.
Very well, I’ll wait for him.
Charles.
You’ll have to wait till midnight, because I don’t expect him in.
Mr. Wright.
Last time I came you said he’d be back in half an hour, and when I returned you said he’d just gone out. You don’t catch me napping a second time.
Charles.
The governor don’t take impertinence lying down, Mr. Wright, and he’ll look upon it as a great liberty your dunning him in this way.
Mr. Wright.
I don’t know about taking impertinence, but he’ll have to take a summons if my account is not settled at once.
[There is a ring at the bell.
Charles.
[Ironically.] Make yourself quite at home, won’t you?
Mr. Wright.
Thank you. I will.
[Charles goes out and leaves the door open so that the conversation with Rixon, the solicitor, is heard.
Rixon.
[Outside.] Is Mr. Halstane in?
Charles.
No, sir. He’s gone to his club.
Rixon.
Well, I’ll ring him up. I must see him on a matter of the very greatest importance. You’re on the telephone, aren’t you?
Charles.
Yes, sir. But there’s a person waiting to see him.
Rixon.
[Coming in.] Oh, never mind.
[Rixon is a short, rubicund man, with white whiskers and a hearty manner.
Mr. Wright.
[Going towards him.] Mr. Rixon. [Rixon looks at him without recognising him.] Don’t you remember me, sir? I’m the junior partner in Andrews and Wright.
Rixon.
Of course I do. I saw your father on business the other day. [To Charles.] Where’s the telephone book?
Charles.<
br />
I’ll just go and fetch it, sir. Mr. Halstane lent it to the gentleman upstairs.
Rixon.
Be as quick as you can.
[Charles goes out.
Rixon.
[To Mr. Wright.] What are you doing here?
Mr. Wright.
Well, the fact is, we’ve got a very large account with Halstane, and I’m told he’s in queer street. I want to get the money before the crash comes.
Rixon.
Queer street? The man’s just come into seven thousand a year.
Mr. Wright.
What!
Rixon.
That’s why I’m running all over the place to find him. You know he’s a relation of the Hollingtons. I was at her ladyship’s not half an hour ago — the Dowager, you know — my firm has acted for the whole family for the last hundred years. Well, I’d hardly arrived before a message came from the War Office to say that her grandson, the present lord, had been killed in India. So as soon as I could, I bolted round here. Mr. Halstane is the next heir, and he comes into seven thousand a year and the title.
Mr. Wright.
My gracious, that’s a piece of luck.
Rixon.
I don’t mind telling you now that he’d pretty well come to the end of his tether. Your money was all right because he’d have paid everything up, but he wouldn’t have had much left.
Mr. Wright.
Of course he doesn’t know anything about this yet?
Rixon.
Not a word. For all he knows, he’s a ruined man, and here am I trying to get him on the telephone to tell him he’s come into a peerage and a very handsome income.
[Charles enters with the telephone book.
Charles.
7869 Gerrard, sir.
Rixon.
Thanks.
[He rings up and asks for the number.
Rixon.
7869 Gerrard, please, Miss.... What? Confound it, the line’s engaged.... I must go round to his club in a cab. I suppose you don’t want to wait here now, Wright?
Mr. Wright.
No, sir. I’ll get back to the shop.
Charles.
I ‘ope you’ll suit your own convenience, sir. [Charles shows them out and comes back.] I don’t know what these tradespeople are coming to when they expect gentlemen to pay their bills.
[He seats himself in the most comfortable chair in the room and puts his feet on the table. His back is to the door. The newspaper is lying by his side. He shuts his eyes and dozes.
[Gerald enters silently, followed immediately by Blenkinsop and Freddie Perkins.
[Gerald is a handsome man of seven or eight and twenty, simple in his manners, carefully dressed but without exaggeration. Freddie is a vivacious boy of two and twenty, Blenkinsop is an old bachelor of five and forty; he is well-preserved and takes a good deal of care of his appearance. He is dressed in the height of fashion.
[For a moment they look silently at Charles, who wakes with a start and jumps up in confusion.
Charles.
I beg your pardon, sir; I didn’t hear you come in.
Gerald.
[With an ironical politeness which he preserves during all his remarks to Charles.] Pray don’t let us disturb you. I shall never forgive myself if I think I’ve interrupted your nap.
Charles.
Shall I take your hat, sir?
Gerald.
It’s very kind of you. I shouldn’t like you to put yourself out.
Freddie.
[Sitting down.] By Jove, what a ripping chair! No wonder that Charles went to sleep.
Charles.
Mr. Rixon has just been, sir. He’s gone on to the club.
Gerald.
[With a laugh.] I’m not sorry to miss him. One’s solicitor seldom has any good news to bring one.
Charles.
Will you have the whiskey and soda, sir?
Gerald.
If it wouldn’t give you too much trouble.
[Charles goes out, and Gerald hands the cigarette box to Blenkinsop and Freddie.
Gerald.
Sit down and make yourself comfortable, James.
Blenkinsop.
To do that is one of the few principles I’ve adhered to in the course of an easy and unadventurous life.
[Charles enters with a tray on which are glasses, whiskey and sodas.
Charles.
Is there anything else you want, sir?
Gerald.
If you can spare me two minutes of your valuable time, I should like to make a few observations to you.
Freddie.
Collect yourself, Charles, to receive the words of wisdom that fall from Mr. Halstane’s lips.
Charles.
Things is very bad on the Stock Exchange, sir.
Gerald.
Charles, I have no objection to your sitting in my arm-chair and putting your feet on my table. I am willing to ignore the fact that you smoke my cigars and drink my whiskey.
Blenkinsop.
[Sipping.] You show excellent judgment, Charles. The whiskey’s capital.
Charles.
[Imperturbably.] Pot-still, sir. Fifteen years in bottle.
Gerald.
I can even bear with equanimity that you should read my letters. For the most part they’re excessively tedious, and they will only show you how deplorable is the education of the upper classes. But I must insist on your not reading my paper till I’ve done with it.
Charles.
I’m very sorry, sir. I thought there was no objection.
Gerald.
A newspaper, a suit of clothes, and a bottle of wine are three things at which I prefer....
Charles.
To ‘ave the first cut in, sir.
Gerald.
I thank you, Charles; I couldn’t have expressed my meaning more idiomatically.
Freddie.
[Laughing.] You’d better have a drink.
Charles.
Allow me, sir.
[He mixes a whiskey and soda.
Gerald.
You need not pour out the whiskey with such a generous hand as when you help yourself. Thank you.
Charles.
Them mining shares of yours is very low, sir.
Gerald.
They are.
Charles.
If you’ll remember, sir, I was all against them at the time you bought.
Blenkinsop.
You are a jewel, Charles, if besides administering to your master’s wants you advise him in his financial transactions.
Gerald.
Unless I’m mistaken, Charles strongly recommended me to invest my money in public-houses.
Charles.
Them being frequented in peace and war, and not subject to clandestine removals. In peace men drink to celebrate their ‘appiness, and in war to drown their sorrow.
Gerald.
[Smiling.] You are a philosopher, Charles, and it cuts me to the quick that I should be forced to deny myself the charm of your conversation.
Charles.
[Astonished.] I beg your pardon, sir?
Gerald.
I am endeavouring to give you notice in such a manner as not to outrage your susceptibilities.
Charles.
Me, sir? I’m sorry if I don’t give satisfaction.
Gerald.
On the contrary, you give every satisfaction. It has never been my good fortune to run across a servant who had an equal talent for blacking boots and for repartee. I am grateful for the care with which you have kept my wardrobe, and the encouragement you have offered to my attempts at humour. I have never seen you perturbed by a rebuke, or discouraged by ill-temper. Your merits, in fact, are overwhelming, but I’m afraid I must ask you to find another place.
Blenkinsop.
You really shouldn’t be so abrupt, Gerald. Look at him staggering under the blow.
Charles.
I’m very comfortable here, sir. Can you give m
e no reason for this decision?
Gerald.
You gave it yourself, Charles. As you justly observed, them mining shares is very low. You are sufficiently acquainted with my correspondence to be aware that my creditors have passed with singular unanimity from the stage of remonstrance to that of indignation.
Blenkinsop.
I say, I’m sorry to hear this, old man.
Charles.
If it’s just a matter of wages, sir, I shall be ‘appy to wait till it suits your convenience to pay me.
Gerald.
[With a smile of thanks.] I’m grateful to you for that, Charles; but, honestly, do you think half-measures can be of any use to me?
Charles.
Well, sir, so far as I’m acquainted with your circumstances....
Gerald.
Come, come, this modesty ill becomes you. Is there a bill in this room, or a solicitor’s letter, with which you are not intimately acquainted?
Charles.
Well, sir, if you ask me outright — things is pretty bad.
Freddie.
I say, don’t play the ass any more. What the deuce does it all mean?
Gerald.
I’m sorry the manner in which I’m imparting to you an interesting piece of information, doesn’t meet with your approval. Would you like me to tear my hair in handfuls?
Blenkinsop.
It would be picturesque, but painful.
Freddie.
Are you really broke?
Gerald.
So much so that I’ve to-day sublet my rooms. In a week, Charles, I shall cast the dust of London off my feet, a victim to the British custom of primogeniture.
Charles.
Yes, sir.
Gerald.
Have you the least idea what I mean?
Charles.
No, sir.
Gerald.
Delphi Collected Works of W. Somerset Maugham (Illustrated) Page 336