



Produced by Paul Haxo from page images generously made
available by the Internet Archive and the University of
California, Berkeley and Cornell University libraries.





THE MAGISTRATE


THE PLAYS OF ARTHUR W. PINERO
Paper cover, 1s 6d; cloth, 2s 6d each

THE TIMES
THE PROFLIGATE
THE CABINET MINISTER
THE HOBBY-HORSE
LADY BOUNTIFUL
THE MAGISTRATE
DANDY DICK
SWEET LAVENDER
THE SCHOOLMISTRESS
THE WEAKER SEX
THE AMAZONS
*THE SECOND MRS. TANQUERAY
THE NOTORIOUS MRS. EBBSMITH
THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT
THE PRINCESS AND THE BUTTERFLY
TRELAWNY OF THE "WELLS"
+THE GAY LORD QUEX
IRIS
LETTY
A WIFE WITHOUT A SMILE
HIS HOUSE IN ORDER
THE THUNDERBOLT
MID-CHANNEL
PRESERVING MR. PANMURE
THE "MIND THE PAINT" GIRL

* This Play can be had in library form, 4to, cloth,
with a portrait, 5s.
+ A Limited Edition of this play on hand-made
paper, with a new portrait, 10s net.

THE PINERO BIRTHDAY BOOK
SELECTED AND ARRANGED BY MYRA HAMILTON
With a Portrait, cloth extra, price 2s 6d.

_LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN_


THE MAGISTRATE

A FARCE
In Three Acts

_BY ARTHUR W. PINERO_

LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN


_First Impression_ 1892;
_New Impressions_ 1894,
1895, 1897, 1899, 1901,
1903, 1905, 1907, 1909,
1911; 1914

Copyright
All rights reserved
Entered at Stationers' Hall
Entered at the Library of Congress
Washington, U.S.A.


INTRODUCTORY NOTE.

"THE MAGISTRATE" is, after "Sweet Lavender," perhaps the most popular
of Mr. Pinero's plays, and it is particularly interesting as being the
first of his works in which his own individuality found absolutely
independent expression, and emphatically and triumphantly asserted
itself. In fact, this farce marks an epoch in the dramatist's career,
and shows him creating a really new and original order of English
comic play, the further development of which may be traced in the
successive plays which, together with "The Magistrate," formed the
famous Court series of farces, namely, "The Schoolmistress," "Dandy
Dick," and "The Cabinet Minister."

Because Mr. Pinero had previously written "The Rocket," and "In
Chancery," for Mr. Edward Terry, who has performed them times out of
number in London and the provinces with considerable success, it has
been assumed that "The Magistrate" was also written for Mr. Terry. But
this was not the case. As a matter of fact Mr. Pinero wrote the play
quite independently, and on its completion he was to have read it to
Mr. Charles Wyndham, but the necessities of the Court Theatre
intervened. The management of the late Mr. John Clayton and Arthur
Cecil was decidedly in low water in 1884 and the earlier part of 1885;
play after play had been produced without success, when at length
application was made to Mr. Pinero for a new piece. They had been
performing serious plays, and he read them "The Weaker Sex," which he
had written some little time before; but Mr. Clayton felt uncertain
about this play, which, by the way, Mr. and Mrs. Kendal have since
produced, and then Mr. Pinero, mentioning the new comic play he had
just finished, suggested that perhaps an entirely new order of
entertainment might serve to change the fortunes of the house. "The
Magistrate" was immediately accepted and produced, and his conjecture
proved correct, for the luck of the theatre promptly turned.

"The Magistrate" was produced at the Court Theatre on Saturday, March
21, 1885, with a cast, particulars of which will be found in the
following copy of the first night programme:--

ROYAL COURT THEATRE,

SLOANE SQUARE, S.W.

_Lessees and Managers:_
Mr. John Clayton and Mr. Arthur Cecil.

THIS EVENING, SATURDAY, MARCH 21,

_At a Quarter to Nine o'clock,_

WILL BE PRODUCED FOR THE FIRST TIME,

THE MAGISTRATE,

AN ORIGINAL FARCE, IN THREE ACTS,

BY

A. W. PINERO.

MR. POSKET  }  Magistrates of the Mulberry  { Mr. ARTHUR CECIL.
MR. BULLAMY }      Street Police Court      { Mr. FRED CAPE.
COLONEL LUKYN (from Bengal--retired)          Mr. JOHN CLAYTON.
CAPTAIN HORACE VALE (Shropshire Fusiliers)    Mr. F. KERR.
CIS FARRINGDON (Mrs. Posket's son, by her
     first marriage)                          Mr. H. EVERSFIELD.
ACHILLE BLOND (Proprietor of the Hotel
     des Princes)                             Mr. CHEVALIER.
ISIDORE (a Waiter)                            Mr. DELANE.
MR. WORMINGTON (Chief Clerk at Mulberry
     Street)                                  Mr. GILBERT TRENT.
INSPECTOR MESSITER }                        { Mr. ALBERT SIMS.
SERJEANT LUGG      } Metropolitan Police    { Mr. LUGG.
CONSTABLE HARRIS   }                        { Mr. BURNLEY.
WYKE (Servant at Mr. Posket's)                Mr. FAYRE.
____________

AGATHA POSKET (late Farringdon, _nee_
     Verrinder)                               Mrs. JOHN WOOD.
CHARLOTTE (her Sister)                        Miss MARION TERRY.
BEATIE TOMLINSON (a Young Lady reduced
     to teaching music)                       Miss NORREYS.
POPHAM                                        Miss LA COSTE.


ACT I.
THE FAMILY SKELETON.
_At Mr. Posket's, Bloomsbury._
____________

ACT II.
IT LEAVES ITS CUPBOARD.
_Room in the Hotel des Princes, Meek Street._
____________

ACT III.
IT CRUMBLES.
SCENE 1.--_The Magistrates Room, Mulberry Street._
SCENE 2.--_At the Poskets' again._
____________

PRECEDED BY A COMEDIETTA BY
A. W. DUBOURG,
ENTITLED
TWENTY MINUTES UNDER AN UMBRELLA.

Cousin Kate   .   .   .   Miss NORREYS.
Cousin Frank  .   .   .   Mr. H. REEVES SMITH.
____________

_Musical Director_   .   MR. CARL ARMBRUSTER.
_Secretary_   .   MR. GEORGE COLEMAN.

The success of "The Magistrate" was immediate, and the Court Theatre
was crowded night after night for more than a year, the play being
presented over 300 times. So prosperous was the run that there was no
cessation during the Summer holiday season, and when Mr. Arthur Cecil
went abroad for his vacation, his place as Posket was taken by Mr.
Beerbohm Tree, while Miss Lottie Venne and Mrs. Tree in like manner
relieved Mrs. John Wood and Miss Marion Terry.

This success, however, was not confined to London, for three companies
were soon carrying the play triumphantly over the English provinces,
while in September 1885 Mr. Pinero went to New York to produce his
work at Daly's Theatre. Mr. Daly had suggested that Miss Ada Rehan
should play the boy, Cis Farringdon, but to this the author objected,
and Miss Rehan played Mrs. Posket, while Mr. Posket was represented by
Mr. James Lewis, and Colonel Lukyn by Mr. John Drew. "The Magistrate"
enjoyed an exceptionally long run in New York, as well as in Boston,
and in the latter city it is now performed every year, being included
in the regular season of classic English comedies at the Boston
Museum. "The Magistrate" has also been played throughout the United
States, the late John T. Raymond having been closely associated with
the play for a considerable time.

"The Magistrate" has travelled more widely than most modern English
plays, and, besides being a stock piece in Australia, India, and South
Africa, it has been translated into more than one foreign tongue.
Under the title "Der Blaue Grotte" ("The Blue Grotto") it is
constantly played all over Germany and Austria, while in the Slavonic
language it is a favourite play at the National Theatre, Prague. At
one time a proposal was made, through the late Mr. John Clayton, that
"The Magistrate" should be adapted to the French stage, but the
suggestions of the proposed Parisian adapter were, though eminently
characteristic, of such a nature that Mr. Pinero did not feel
justified in acceding to them.

While Mrs. John Wood and Mr. Arthur Chudleigh were still joint
managers of the Court, there was some intention of reviving "The
Magistrate" at that theatre, but as matters afterwards developed, Mr.
Pinero arranged that the revival should take place under the auspices
of Mr. Edward Terry, who accordingly appeared as Mr. Posket at his own
theatre on Wednesday, April 13, 1892.

     MALCOLM C. SALAMAN.


THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY

MR. POSKET (Magistrate of the Mulberry Street Police Court)
AGATHA POSKET
CIS FARRINGDON (her Son)
CHARLOTTE VERRINDER (her Sister)
COLONEL LUKYN
CAPTAIN HORACE VALE
BEATIE TOMLINSON
MR. BULLAMY (Magistrate of the Mulberry Street Police Court)
ACHILLE BLOND
ISIDORE
MR. WORMINGTON
INSPECTOR MESSITER  }
SERJEANT LUGG       } (Metropolitan Police)
CONSTABLE HARRIS    }
WYKE
POPHAM


_THE FIRST ACT_
THE FAMILY SKELETON

_THE SECOND ACT_
IT LEAVES ITS CUPBOARD

_THE THIRD ACT_
IT CRUMBLES



THE MAGISTRATE

THE FIRST ACT

_The scene represents a well-furnished drawing-room in the house of
MR. POSKET in Bloomsbury._

_BEATIE TOMLINSON, a pretty, simply dressed little girl of about
sixteen, is playing the piano, as CIS FARRINGDON, a manly youth
wearing an Eton jacket, enters the room._

CIS.

Beatie!

BEATIE.

Cis dear! Dinner isn't over, surely?

CIS.

Not quite. I had one of my convenient headaches and cleared out.
[_Taking an apple and some cobnuts from his pocket and giving them to
BEATIE._] These are for you, dear, with my love. I sneaked 'em off the
sideboard as I came out.

BEATIE.

Oh, I mustn't take them!

CIS.

Yes, you may--it's my share of dessert. Besides, it's a horrid shame
you don't grub with us.

BEATIE.

What, a poor little music mistress!

CIS.

Yes. They're only going to give you four guineas a quarter. Fancy
getting a girl like you for four guineas a quarter--why, an eighth of
you is worth more than that! Now peg away at your apple.

[_Produces a cigarette._

BEATIE.

There's company at dinner, isn't there?

[_Munching her apple._

CIS.

Well, hardly. Aunt Charlotte hasn't arrived yet, so there's only old
Bullamy.

BEATIE.

Isn't old Bullamy anybody?

CIS.

Old Bullamy--well, he's only like the guv'nor, a police magistrate at
the Mulberry Street Police Court.

BEATIE.

Oh, does each police court have two magistrates?

CIS.

[_Proudly._] All the best have two.

BEATIE.

Don't they quarrel over getting the interesting cases? I should.

CIS.

I don't know how they manage--perhaps they toss up who's to hear the
big sensations. There's a Mrs. Beldam, who is rather a bore sometimes;
I know the Guv always lets old Bullamy attend to her. But, as a rule,
I fancy they go half and half, in a friendly way. [_Lighting
cigarette._] For instance, if the guv'nor wants to go to the Derby he
lets old Bullamy have the Oaks--and so on, see?

[_He sits on the floor, comfortably reclining against BEATIE, and
puffing his cigarette._

BEATIE.

Oh, I say, Cis, won't your mamma be angry when she finds I haven't
gone home?

CIS.

Oh, put it on to your pupil. Say I'm very backward.

BEATIE.

I think you are extremely forward--in some ways. [_Biting the apple
and speaking with her mouth full._] I do wish I could get you to
concentrate your attention on your music lessons. But I wouldn't get
you into a scrape!

CIS.

No fear of that. Ma is too proud of me.

BEATIE.

But there's your step-father.

CIS.

The dear old guv'nor! Why, he is too good-natured to say "Bo!" to a
goose. You know, Beatie, I was at a school at Brighton when ma got
married--when she got married the second time, I mean--and the guv'nor
and I didn't make each other's acquaintance till after the honeymoon.

BEATIE.

Oh, fancy your step-father blindly accepting such a responsibility.

[_Gives him a cobnut to crack for her._

CIS.

Yes, wasn't the guv'nor soft! I might have been a very indifferent
sort of young fellow for all he knew.

[_Having cracked the nut with his teeth, he returns it to her._

BEATIE.

Thank you, dear.

CIS.

Well, when I heard the new dad was a police magistrate, I _was_
scared. Said I to myself, "If I don't mind my P's and Q's, the
guv'nor--from force of habit--will fine me all my pocket-money." But
it's quite the reverse--he's the mildest, meekest----[_The door opens
suddenly._] Look out! Some one coming!

[_They both jump up, BEATIE scattering the nuts that are in her lap
all over the floor. CIS throws his cigarette into the fireplace and
sits at the piano, playing a simple exercise, very badly. BEATIE
stands behind him counting._

BEATIE.

One--and two--and one--and two.

_WYKE, the butler, appears at the door, and mysteriously closes it
after him._

WYKE.

Ssss! Master Cis! Master Cis!

CIS.

Hallo--what is it, Wyke?

WYKE.

[_Producing a decanter from under his coat._] The port wine what you
asked for, sir. I couldn't get it away before--the old gentlemen do
hug port wine so.

CIS.

Got a glass?

WYKE.

Yes, sir. [_Producing wine-glass from his pocket, and pouring out
wine._] What ain't missed ain't mourned, eh, Master Cis?

CIS.

[_Offering wine._] Here you are, Beatie dear.

BEATIE.

The idea of such a thing! I couldn't!

CIS.

Why not?

BEATIE.

If I merely sipped it I shouldn't be able to give you your music
lesson properly. Drink it yourself, you dear, thoughtful boy.

CIS.

I shan't--it's for you.

BEATIE.

I can't drink it!

CIS.

You must.

BEATIE.

I won't!

CIS.

You're disagreeable!

BEATIE.

Not half so disagreeable as you are.

[_They wrangle._

WYKE.

[_To himself, watching them._] What a young gentleman it is! and only
fourteen! Fourteen--he behaves like forty! [_CIS chokes as he is
drinking the wine; BEATIE pats him on the back._] Why, even Cook has
made a 'ash of everything, since he's been in the house, and as for
Popham----! [_Seeing some one approaching._] Look out, Master Cis!

[_CIS returns to the piano, BEATIE counting as before. WYKE pretends
to arrange the window curtains, concealing the decanter behind him._

BEATIE.

One and two--and one and two--and one, &c.

_Enter POPHAM, a smart-looking maid-servant._

POPHAM.

Wyke, where's the port?

WYKE.

[_Vacantly._] Port?

POPHAM.

Port wine. Missus is furious.

WYKE.

Port?

POPHAM.

[_Pointing to the decanter._] Why! There! You're carrying it about
with you!

WYKE.

Why, so I am! Carrying it about with me! Shows what a sharp eye I keep
on the guv'nor's wines. Carrying it about with me! Missus will be
amused.

[_Goes out._

POPHAM.

[_Eyeing CIS and BEATIE._] There's that boy with _her_ again! Minx!
Her two hours was up long ago. Why doesn't she go home? Master Cis,
I've got a message for you.

CIS.

[_Rising from the piano._] For me, Popham?

POPHAM.

Yes, sir. [_Quietly to him._] The message is from a young lady who up
to last Wednesday was all in all to you. Her name is Emma Popham.

CIS.

[_Trying to get away._] Oh, go along, Popham!

POPHAM.

[_Holding his sleeve._] Ah, it wasn't "Go along, Popham" till that
music girl came into the house. I will go along, but--cast your eye
over this before you sleep to-night. [_She takes out of her
pocket-handkerchief a piece of printed paper which she hands him
between her finger and thumb._] Part of a story in "Bow Bells," called
"Jilted; or, Could Blood Atone?" Wrap it in your handkerchief--it came
round the butter.

[_She goes out; CIS throws the paper into the grate._

CIS.

Bother the girl! Beatie, she's jealous of you!

BEATIE.

A parlour-maid jealous of _me_--and with a bit of a child of fourteen!

CIS.

I may be only fourteen, but I feel like a grown-up man! You're only
sixteen--there's not much difference--and if you will only wait for
me, I'll soon catch you up and be as much a man as you are a woman.
Will you wait for me, Beatie?

BEATIE.

I can't--I'm getting older every minute!

CIS.

Oh, I wish I could borrow five or six years from somebody!

BEATIE.

Many a person would be glad to lend them. [_Lovingly._] And oh, I wish
you could!

CIS.

[_Putting his arm round her._] You do! Why?

BEATIE.

Because I--because----

CIS.

[_Listening._] Look out! Here's the mater!

[_They run to the piano, he resumes playing, and she counting as
before._

BEATIE.

One and two--and one--and two, &c.

_Enter AGATHA POSKET, a handsome, showy woman, of about thirty-six,
looking perhaps younger._

AGATHA POSKET.

Why, Cis child, at your music again?

CIS.

Yes, ma, always at it. You'll spoil my taste by forcing it if you're
not careful.

AGATHA POSKET.

We have no right to keep Miss Tomlinson so late.

BEATIE.

Oh, thank you, it doesn't matter. I--I--am afraid we're not
making--very--great--progress.

CIS.

[_Winking at BEATIE._] Well, if I play that again, will you kiss me?

BEATIE.

[_Demurely._] I don't know, I'm sure. [_To AGATHA POSKET._] May I
promise that, ma'am?

[_Sits in the window recess. CIS, joining her, puts his arm round her
waist._

AGATHA POSKET.

No, certainly not. [_To herself, watching them._] If I could only
persuade AEneas to dismiss this _protegee_ of his, and to engage a
music-master, it would ease my conscience a little. If this girl knew
the truth, how indignant she would be! And then there is the injustice
to the boy himself, and to my husband's friends who are always petting
and fondling and caressing what they call "a fine little man of
fourteen!" Fourteen! Oh, what an idiot I have been to conceal my
child's real age! [_Looking at the clock._] Charlotte is late; I wish
she would come. It will be a relief to worry her with my troubles.

MR. POSKET.

[_Talking outside._] We smoke all over the house, Bullamy, all over
the house.

AGATHA POSKET.

I will speak to AEneas about this little girl, at any rate.

_Enter MR. POSKET, a mild gentleman of about fifty, smoking a
cigarette, followed by MR. BULLAMY, a fat, red-faced man with a
bronchial cough and general huskiness._

MR. POSKET.

Smoke anywhere, Bullamy--smoke anywhere.

MR. BULLAMY.

Not with my bronchitis, thank ye.

MR. POSKET.

[_Beaming at AGATHA POSKET._] Ah, my darling!

MR. BULLAMY.

[_Producing a small box from his waistcoat pocket._] All I take after
dinner is a jujube--sometimes two. [_Offering the box._] May I tempt
Mrs. Posket?

AGATHA POSKET.

No, thank you. [_Treading on one of the nuts which have been scattered
over the room._] How provoking--who brings nuts into the drawing-room?

MR. POSKET.

Miss Tomlinson still here? [_To BEATIE._] Don't go, don't go. Glad to
see Cis so fond of his music. Your sister Charlotte is behind her
time, my darling.

AGATHA POSKET.

Her train is delayed, I suppose.

MR. POSKET.

You must stay and see my sister-in-law, Bullamy.

MR. BULLAMY.

Pleasure--pleasure!

MR. POSKET.

_I_ have never met her yet, we will share first impressions. In the
interim, will Miss Tomlinson delight us with a little music?

MR. BULLAMY.

[_Bustling up to the piano._] If this young lady is going to sing she
might like one of my jujubes.

[_BEATIE sits at the piano with CIS and MR. BULLAMY on each side of
her. MR. POSKET treads on a nut as he walks over to his wife._

MR. POSKET.

Dear me--how come nuts into the drawing-room? [_To AGATHA._] Of what
is my darling thinking so deeply? [_Treads on another nut._] Another!
My pet, there are nuts on the drawing-room carpet!

AGATHA POSKET.

Yes, I want to speak to you, AEneas.

MR. POSKET.

About the nuts?

AGATHA POSKET.

No--about Miss Tomlinson--your little _protegee._

MR. POSKET.

Ah, nice little thing.

AGATHA POSKET.

Very. But not old enough to exert any decided influence over the boy's
musical future. Why not engage a master?

MR. POSKET.

What, for a mere child?

AGATHA POSKET.

A mere child--oh!

MR. POSKET.

A boy of fourteen!

AGATHA POSKET.

[_To herself._] Fourteen!

MR. POSKET.

A boy of fourteen, not yet out of Czerny's exercises.

AGATHA POSKET.

[_To herself._] If we were alone now, I might have the desperation to
tell him all!

MR. POSKET.

Besides, my darling, you know the interest I take in Miss Tomlinson;
she is one of the brightest little spots on my hobby-horse. Like all
our servants, like everybody in my employ, she has been brought to my
notice through the unhappy medium of the Police Court over which it is
my destiny to preside. Our servant, Wyke, a man with a beautiful
nature, is the son of a person I committed for trial for marrying
three wives. To this day, Wyke is ignorant as to which of those three
wives he is the son of! Cook was once a notorious dipsomaniac, and has
even now not entirely freed herself from early influences. Popham is
the unclaimed charge of a convicted baby-farmer. Even our milkman came
before me as a man who had refused to submit specimens to the analytic
inspector. And this poor child, what is she?

AGATHA POSKET.

Yes, I know.

MR. POSKET.

The daughter of a superannuated General, who abstracted four silk
umbrellas from the Army and Navy Stores--and on a fine day too!

[_BEATIE ceases playing._

MR. BULLAMY.

Very good--very good!

MR. POSKET.

Thank you--thank you!

MR. BULLAMY.

[_To MR. POSKET, coughing and laughing and popping a jujube into his
mouth._] My dear Posket, I really must congratulate you on that boy of
yours--your stepson. A most wonderful lad. So confoundedly advanced
too.

MR. POSKET.

Yes, isn't he? Eh!

MR. BULLAMY.

[_Confidentially._] While the piano was going on just now, he told me
one of the most humorous stories I've ever heard. [_Laughing heartily
and panting, then taking another jujube._] Ha, ha, bless me, I don't
know when I have taken so many jujubes!

MR. POSKET.

My dear Bullamy, my entire marriage is the greatest possible success.
A little romantic, too. [_Pointing to AGATHA POSKET._] Beautiful
woman!

MR. BULLAMY.

Very, very. I never committed a more stylish, elegant creature.

MR. POSKET.

Thank you, Bullamy--we met abroad, at Spa, when I was on my holiday.

_WYKE enters with tea-tray, which he hands round._

MR. BULLAMY.

I shall go there next year.

MR. POSKET.

She lost her first husband about twelve months ago in India. He was an
army contractor.

BEATIE.

[_To CIS at the piano._] I must go now--there's no excuse for staying
any longer.

CIS.

[_To her disconsolately._] What the deuce shall _I_ do?

MR. POSKET.

[_Pouring out milk._] Dear me, this milk seems very poor. When he
died, she came to England, placed her boy at a school in Brighton, and
then moved about quietly from place to place, drinking----

[_Sips tea._

MR. BULLAMY.

Drinking?

MR. POSKET.

The waters--she's a little dyspeptic. [_WYKE goes out._] We
encountered each other at the _Tours des Fontaines_--by accident I
trod upon her dress----

BEATIE.

Good-night, Cis dear.

CIS.

Oh!

MR. POSKET.

[_Continuing to MR. BULLAMY._] I apologised. We talked about the
weather, we drank out of the same glass, discovered that we both
suffered from the same ailment, and the result is complete happiness.

[_He bends over AGATHA POSKET gallantly._

AGATHA POSKET.

AEneas!

[_He kisses her, then CIS kisses BEATIE, loudly; MR. POSKET and MR.
BULLAMY both listen puzzled._

MR. POSKET.

Echo?

MR. BULLAMY.

Suppose so!

[_He kisses the back of his hand experimentally; BEATIE kisses CIS._

MR. BULLAMY.

Yes.

MR. POSKET.

Curious. [_To MR. BULLAMY._] Romantic story, isn't it?

BEATIE.

Good-night, Mrs. Posket! I shall be here early to-morrow morning.

AGATHA POSKET.

I am afraid you are neglecting your other pupils.

BEATIE.

Oh, they're not so interesting as Cis--[_correcting herself_] Master
Farringdon. Good-night.

AGATHA POSKET.

Good-night, dear.

[_BEATIE goes out quietly; AGATHA POSKET joins CIS._

MR. POSKET.

[_To MR. BULLAMY._] We were married abroad without consulting friends
or relations on either side. That's how it is I have never seen my
sister-in-law, Miss Verrinder, who is coming from Shropshire to stay
with us--she ought to----

_WYKE enters._

WYKE.

Miss Verrinder has come, ma'am.

MR. POSKET.

Here she is.

AGATHA POSKET.

Charlotte?

_CHARLOTTE, a fine handsome girl, enters, followed by POPHAM with hand
luggage._

AGATHA POSKET.

[_Kissing her._] My dear Charley.

[_WYKE goes out._

CHARLOTTE.

Aggy darling, aren't I late! There's a fog on the line--you could cut
it with a knife. [_Seeing CIS._] Is that your boy?

AGATHA POSKET.

Yes.

CHARLOTTE.

Good gracious! What is he doing in an Eton jacket at his age?

AGATHA POSKET.

[_Softly to CHARLOTTE._] Hush! don't say a word about my boy's age yet
awhile.

CHARLOTTE.

Oh!

AGATHA POSKET.

[_About to introduce MR. POSKET._] There is my husband.

CHARLOTTE.

[_Mistaking MR. BULLAMY for him._] Oh! how could she! [_To MR.
BULLAMY, turning her cheek to him._] I congratulate you--I suppose you
ought to kiss me.

AGATHA POSKET.

No, no!

MR. POSKET.

Welcome to my house, Miss Verrinder.

CHARLOTTE.

Oh, I beg your pardon. How do you do?

MR. BULLAMY.

[_To himself._] Mrs. Posket's an interfering woman.

MR. POSKET.

[_Pointing to MR. BULLAMY._] Mr. Bullamy.

[_MR. BULLAMY, aggrieved, bows stiffly._

AGATHA POSKET.

[_To CHARLOTTE._] Come upstairs, dear; will you have some tea?

CHARLOTTE.

No thank you, pet, but I should like a glass of soda water.

AGATHA POSKET.

Soda water!

CHARLOTTE.

Well dear, you can put what you like at the bottom of it.

[_AGATHA POSKET and CHARLOTTE go out, POPHAM following._

POPHAM.

[_To CIS._] Give me back my "Bow Bells," when you have read it, you
imp.

[_Goes out._

CIS.

By Jove, Guv, isn't Aunt Charlotte a stunner?

MR. POSKET.

Seems a charming woman.

MR. BULLAMY.

Posket's got the wrong one! That comes of marrying without first
seeing the lady's relations.

CIS.

Come along, Guv--let's have a gamble--Mr. Bullamy will join us.

[_Opens the card-table, arranges chairs and candles._

MR. BULLAMY.

A gamble?

MR. POSKET.

Yes--the boy has taught me a new game called "Fireworks;" his mother
isn't aware that we play for money, of course, but we do.

MR. BULLAMY.

Ha, ha, ha! Who wins?

MR. POSKET.

He does now--but he says I shall win when I know the game better.

MR. BULLAMY.

What a boy he is!

MR. POSKET.

Isn't he a wonderful lad? And only fourteen, too. I'll tell you
something else--perhaps you had better not mention it to his mother.

MR. BULLAMY.

No, no, certainly not.

MR. POSKET.

He's invested a little money for me.

MR. BULLAMY.

What in?

MR. POSKET.

Not _in_--_on_--on Sillikin for the Lincolnshire Handicap. Sillikin to
win and Butterscotch one, two, three.

MR. BULLAMY.

Good Lord!

MR. POSKET.

Yes, the dear boy said, "Guv, it isn't fair you should give me all the
tips, I'll give you some,"--and he did--he gave me Sillikin and
Butterscotch. He'll manage it for you, if you like. "Plank it down,"
he calls it.

MR. BULLAMY.

[_Chuckling and choking._] Ha! ha! Ho! ho! [_Taking a jujube._] This
boy will ruin me in jujubes.

CIS.

All ready! Look sharp! Guv, lend me a sov to start with?

MR. POSKET.

A sov to start with? [_They sit at the table. AGATHA POSKET and
CHARLOTTE come into the room._] We didn't think you would return so
soon, my darling.

AGATHA POSKET.

Go on amusing yourselves, I insist, only don't teach my Cis to play
cards.

MR. BULLAMY.

Ho! ho!

MR. POSKET.

[_To MR. BULLAMY._] Hush! Hush!

AGATHA POSKET.

[_To CHARLOTTE._] I'm glad of this--we can tell each other our
miseries undisturbed. Will you begin?

CHARLOTTE.

Well, at last I am engaged to Captain Horace Vale.

AGATHA POSKET.

Oh! Charley, I'm so glad!

CHARLOTTE.

Yes--so is he--he says. He proposed to me at the Hunt Ball--in the
passage--Tuesday week.

AGATHA POSKET.

What did he say?

CHARLOTTE.

He said, "By Jove, I love you awfully."

AGATHA POSKET.

Well--and what did you say?

CHARLOTTE.

Oh, I said, "Well, if you're going to be as eloquent as all that, by
Jove, I can't stand out." So we settled it, in the passage. He bars
flirting till after we're married. That's my misery. What's yours,
Aggy?

AGATHA POSKET.

Something awful!

CHARLOTTE.

Cheer up, Aggy! What is it?

AGATHA POSKET.

Well, Charley, you know I lost my poor dear first husband at a very
delicate age.

CHARLOTTE.

Well, you were five-and-thirty, dear.

AGATHA POSKET.

Yes, that's what I mean. Five-and-thirty is a very delicate age to
find yourself single. You're neither one thing nor the other. You're
not exactly a two-year-old, and you don't care to pull a hansom.
However, I soon met Mr. Posket at Spa--bless him!

CHARLOTTE.

And you nominated yourself for the Matrimonial Stakes. Mr.
Farringdon's The Widow, by Bereavement, out of Mourning, ten pounds
extra.

AGATHA POSKET.

Yes, Charley, and in less than a month I went triumphantly over the
course. But, Charley dear, I didn't carry the fair weight for age--and
that's my trouble.

CHARLOTTE.

Oh, dear!

AGATHA POSKET.

Undervaluing AEneas' love, in a moment of, I hope, not unjustifiable
vanity, I took five years from my total, which made me thirty-one on
my wedding morning.

CHARLOTTE.

Well, dear, many a misguided woman has done that before you.

AGATHA POSKET.

Yes, Charley, but don't you see the consequences? It has thrown
everything out. As I am now thirty-one, instead of thirty-six as I
ought to be, it stands to reason that I couldn't have been married
twenty years ago, which I was. So I have had to fib in proportion.

CHARLOTTE.

I see--making your first marriage occur only fifteen years ago.

AGATHA POSKET.

Exactly.

CHARLOTTE.

Well then, dear, why worry yourself further?

AGATHA POSKET.

Why, dear, don't you see? If I am only thirty-one now, my boy couldn't
have been born nineteen years ago, and if he could, he oughtn't to
have been, because, on my own showing, I wasn't married till four
years later. Now you see the result!

CHARLOTTE.

Which is, that that fine strapping young gentleman over there is only
fourteen.

AGATHA POSKET.

Precisely. Isn't it awkward! and his moustache is becoming more and
more obvious every day.

CHARLOTTE.

What does the boy himself believe?

AGATHA POSKET.

He believes his mother, of course, as a boy should. As a prudent
woman, I always kept him in ignorance of his age--in case of
necessity. But it is terribly hard on the poor child, because his
aims, instincts, and ambitions are all so horribly in advance of his
condition. His food, his books, his amusements are out of keeping with
his palate, his brain, and his disposition; and with all this
suffering--his wretched mother has the remorseful consciousness of
having shortened her offspring's life.

CHARLOTTE.

Oh, come, you haven't quite done that.

AGATHA POSKET.

Yes, I have--because, if he lives to be a hundred, he must be buried
at ninety-five.

CHARLOTTE.

That's true.

AGATHA POSKET.

Then, there's another aspect. He's a great favourite with all our
friends--women friends especially. Even his little music mistress and
the girl-servants hug and kiss him because he's such an engaging boy,
and I can't stop it. But it's very awful to see these innocent women
fondling a young man of nineteen.

CHARLOTTE.

The women don't know it.

AGATHA POSKET.

But they'd like to know it. I mean they ought to know it! The other
day I found my poor boy sitting on Lady Jenkins's lap, and in the
presence of Sir George. I have no right to compromise Lady Jenkins in
that way. And now, Charley, you see the whirlpool in which I am
struggling--if you can throw me a rope, pray do.

CHARLOTTE.

What sort of a man is Mr. Posket, Aggy?

AGATHA POSKET.

The best creature in the world. He's a practical philanthropist.

CHARLOTTE.

Um--he's a Police Magistrate, too, isn't he?

AGATHA POSKET.

Yes, but he pays out of his own pocket half the fines he inflicts.
That's why he has had a reprimand from the Home Office for inflicting
such light penalties. All our servants have graduated at Mulberry
Street. Most of the pictures in the dining-room are genuine
Constables.

CHARLOTTE.

Take my advice--tell him the whole story.

AGATHA POSKET.

I dare not!

CHARLOTTE.

Why?

AGATHA POSKET.

I should have to take such a back seat for the rest of my married
life.

[_The party at the card-table breaks up._

MR. BULLAMY.

[_Grumpily._] No, thank you, not another minute. [_To MR. POSKET._]
What is the use of talking about revenge, my dear Posket, when I
haven't a penny piece left to play with?

MR. POSKET.

I'm in the same predicament! Cis will lend us some money, won't you,
Cis?

CIS.

Rather!

MR. BULLAMY.

No, thank ye, that boy is one too many for me. I've never met such a
child. Good-night, Mrs. Posket. [_Treads on a nut._] Confound the
nuts!

AGATHA POSKET.

Going so early?

CIS.

[_To MR. POSKET._] I hate a bad loser, don't you Guv?

AGATHA POSKET.

Show Mr. Bullamy down stairs, Cis.

MR. BULLAMY.

Good-night, Posket. Oh! I haven't a shilling left for my cabman.

CIS.

I'll pay the cab.

MR. BULLAMY.

No, thank you! I'll walk. [_Opening jujube box._] Bah! Not even a
jujube left and on a foggy night, too! Ugh!

[_Goes out._

_Enter WYKE with four letters on salver._

CIS.

[_To WYKE._] Any for me?

WYKE.

One, sir.

CIS.

[_To himself._] From Achille Blond; lucky the mater didn't see it.

[_Goes out._

[_WYKE hands letters to AGATHA POSKET, who takes two, then to MR.
POSKET, who takes one._

AGATHA POSKET.

This is for you, Charley--already.

[_WYKE goes out._

CHARLOTTE.

Spare my blushes, dear--it's from Horace, Captain Vale. The dear
wretch knew I was coming to you. Heigho! Will you excuse me?

MR. POSKET.

Certainly.

AGATHA POSKET.

Excuse me, please?

CHARLOTTE.

Certainly, my dear.

MR. POSKET.

Certainly, my darling. Excuse me, won't you?

CHARLOTTE.

Oh, certainly.

AGATHA POSKET.

Certainly, AEneas.

[_Simultaneously they all open their letters, and lean back and read._

AGATHA POSKET.

[_Reading._] Lady Jenkins is not feeling very well.

CHARLOTTE.

If Captain Horace Vale stood before me at this moment, I'd slap his
face!

AGATHA POSKET.

Charlotte!

CHARLOTTE.

[_Reading._] "Dear Miss Verrinder,--Your desperate flirtation with
Major Bristow at the Meet on Tuesday last, three days after our
engagement, has just come to my knowledge. Your letters and gifts,
including the gold-headed hair-pin given me at the Hunt Ball, shall be
returned to-morrow. By Jove, all is over! Horace Vale." Oh, dear!

AGATHA POSKET.

Oh, Charley, I'm so sorry! However, you can deny it.

CHARLOTTE.

[_Weeping._] That's the worst of it, I can't.

MR. POSKET.

[_To AGATHA POSKET._] My darling, you will be delighted. A note from
Colonel Lukyn.

AGATHA POSKET.

Lukyn--Lukyn? I seem to know the name.

MR. POSKET.

An old schoolfellow of mine who went to India many years ago. He has
just come home. I met him at the club last night and asked him to name
an evening to dine with us. He accepts for to-morrow.

AGATHA POSKET.

Lukyn, Lukyn?

MR. POSKET.

Listen. [_Reading._] "It will be especially delightful to me, as I
believe I am an old friend of your wife and of her first husband. You
may recall me to her recollection by reminding her that I am the
Captain Lukyn who stood sponsor to her boy when he was christened at
Baroda."

AGATHA POSKET.

[_Giving a loud scream._] Oh!

MR. POSKET.

My dear!

AGATHA POSKET.

I've twisted my foot.

MR. POSKET.

How _do_ nuts come into the drawing-room?

CHARLOTTE.

[_Quietly to AGATHA POSKET._] Aggy?

AGATHA POSKET.

[_To CHARLOTTE._] The boy's god-father.

CHARLOTTE.

When was the child christened?

AGATHA POSKET.

A month after he was born. They always are.

MR. POSKET.

[_Reading the letter again._] This is _very_ pleasant.

AGATHA POSKET.

[_To MR. POSKET._] Let--let me see the letter, I--I may recognise the
handwriting.

MR. POSKET.

[_Handing her the letter._] Certainly, my pet. [_To himself._]
Awakened memories of Number One. That's the worst of marrying a widow;
somebody is always proving her previous convictions.

AGATHA POSKET.

[_To CHARLOTTE._] "No. 19a, Cork Street!" Charley, put on your things
and come with me.

CHARLOTTE.

Agatha, you're mad!

AGATHA POSKET.

I'm going to shut this man's mouth before he comes into this house
to-morrow.

CHARLOTTE.

Wait _till_ he comes.

AGATHA POSKET.

Yes, till he stalks in here with his "How d'ye do, Posket? Haven't
seen your wife since the year '66, by Gad, sir!" Not I! AEneas!

MR. POSKET.

My dear.

AGATHA POSKET.

Lady Jenkins--Adelaide--is very ill; she can't put her foot to the
ground with neuralgia.

[_Taking the letter from her pocket, and giving it to him._

MR. POSKET.

Bless me!

AGATHA POSKET.

We have known each other for six long years.

MR. POSKET.

Only six weeks, my love.

AGATHA POSKET.

Weeks _are_ years in close friendship. My place is by her side.

MR. POSKET.

[_Reading the letter._] "Slightly indisposed, caught trifling cold at
the Dog Show. Where do you buy your handkerchiefs?" There's nothing
about neuralgia or putting her foot to the ground here, my darling.

AGATHA POSKET.

No, but can't you read between the lines, AEneas? That is the letter of
a woman who is not at all well.

MR. POSKET.

All right, my darling, if you are bent upon going I will accompany
you.

AGATHA POSKET.

Certainly not, AEneas--Charlotte insists on being my companion; we can
keep each other warm in a closed cab.

MR. POSKET.

But can't I make a third?

AGATHA POSKET.

Don't be so forgetful, AEneas--don't you know that in a four-wheeled
cab, the fewer knees there are the better.

[_AGATHA POSKET and CHARLOTTE go out._

_CIS comes in hurriedly._

CIS.

What's the matter, Guv?

MR. POSKET.

Your mother and Miss Verrinder are going out.

CIS.

Out of their minds? It's a horrid night.

MR. POSKET.

Yes, but Lady Jenkins is ill.

CIS.

Oh! Is ma mentioned in the will?

MR. POSKET.

Good gracious, what a boy! No, Cis, your mother is merely going to sit
by Lady Jenkins' bedside, to hold her hand, and to tell her where one
goes to--to buy pocket-handkerchiefs.

CIS.

By Jove! The mater can't be home again till half-past twelve or one
o'clock.

MR. POSKET.

Much later if Lady Jenkins' condition is alarming.

CIS.

Hurray! [_He takes the watch out of MR. POSKET'S pocket._] Just
half-past ten. Greenwich mean, eh, Guv?

[_He puts the watch to his ear, pulling MR. POSKET towards him by the
chain._

MR. POSKET.

What an extraordinary lad!

CIS.

[_Returning watch._] Thanks. They have to get from here to Campden
Hill and back again. I'll tell Wyke to get them the worst horse on the
rank.

MR. POSKET.

My dear child!

CIS.

Three-quarters of an hour's journey from here at least. Twice
three-quarters, one hour and a half. An hour with Lady Jenkins--when
women get together, you know, Guv, they do talk--that's two hours and
a half. Good. Guv, will you come with me?

MR. POSKET.

Go with you! Where?

CIS.

Hotel des Princes, Meek Street. A sharp hansom does it in ten minutes.

MR. POSKET.

Meek Street, Hotel des Princes! Child, do you know what you're talking
about?

CIS.

Rather. Look here, Guv, honour bright--no blab if I show you a letter.

MR. POSKET.

I won't promise anything.

CIS.

You won't! Do you know, Guv, you are doing a very unwise thing to
check the confidence of a lad like me?

MR. POSKET.

Cis, my boy!

CIS.

Can you calculate the inestimable benefit it is to a youngster to have
some one always at his elbow, some one older, wiser, and better off
than himself?

MR. POSKET.

Of course, Cis, of course, I _want_ you to make a companion of me.

CIS.

Then how the deuce can I do that if you won't come with me to Meek
Street?

MR. POSKET.

Yes, but deceiving your mother!

CIS.

_Deceiving_ the mater would be to tell her a crammer--a thing, I hope,
we're both of us much above.

MR. POSKET.

Good boy, good boy.

CIS.

_Concealing_ the fact that we're going to have a bit of supper at the
Hotel des Princes, is doing my mother a great kindness, because it
would upset her considerably to know of the circumstances. You've been
wrong, Guv, but we won't say anything more about that. Read the
letter.

[_Gives MR. POSKET the letter._

MR. POSKET.

[_Reading in a dazed sort of a way._] "Hotel des Princes, Meek Street,
W. Dear Sir,--Unless you drop in and settle your arrears, I really
cannot keep your room for you any longer. Yours obediently, Achille
Blond. Cecil Farringdon, Esq." Good heavens! You have a room at the
Hotel das Princes!

CIS.

A room! It's little better than a coop.

MR. POSKET.

You don't occupy it?

CIS.

But my friends do. When I was at Brighton I was in with the best
set--hope I always shall be. I left Brighton--nice hole I was in. You
see, Guv, I didn't want my friends to make free with your house.

MR. POSKET.

Oh, didn't you?

CIS.

So I took a room at the Hotel des Princes--when I want to put a man up
he goes there. You see, Guv, it's _you_ I've been considering more
than myself.

MR. POSKET.

But you are a mere child.

CIS.

A fellow is just as old as he feels. I feel no end of a man. Hush,
they're coming down! I'm off to tell Wyke about the rickety
four-wheeler.

MR. POSKET.

Cis, Cis! Your mother will discover I have been out.

CIS.

Oh, I forgot, you're married, aren't you?

MR. POSKET.

Married!

CIS.

Say you are going to the club.

MR. POSKET.

But that's not the truth, sir!

CIS.

Yes it is. We'll pop in at the club on our way, and you can give me a
bitters.

[_Goes out._

MR. POSKET.

Good gracious, what a boy! Hotel des Princes, Meek Street! What shall
I do? Tell his mother? Why, it would turn her hair grey. If I could
only get a quiet word with this Mr. Achille Blond, I could put a stop
to everything. That is my best course, not to lose a moment in
rescuing the child from his boyish indiscretion. Yes, I must go with
Cis to Meek Street.

_Enter AGATHA POSKET and CHARLOTTE, elegantly dressed._

AGATHA POSKET.

Have you sent for a cab, AEneas?

MR. POSKET.

Cis is looking after that.

AGATHA POSKET.

Poor Cis! How late we keep him up.

_CIS comes in._

CIS.

Wyke has gone for a cab, ma dear.

AGATHA POSKET.

Thank you, Cis darling.

CIS.

If you'll excuse me, I'll go to my room. I've another bad headache
coming on.

AGATHA POSKET.

[_Kissing him._] Run along, my boy.

CIS.

Good-night, ma. Good-night, Aunt Charlotte.

CHARLOTTE.

Good-night, Cis.

AGATHA POSKET.

[_To herself._] I wish the cab would come.

[_AGATHA POSKET and CHARLOTTE look out of the window._

CIS.

[_At the door._] Ahem! Good-night, Guv.

MR. POSKET.

You've told a story--two, sir! You said you were going up to your
room.

CIS.

So I am--to dress.

MR. POSKET.

You said you had a bad headache coming on.

CIS.

So I have, Guv. I always get a bad headache at the Hotel des Princes.

[_Goes out._

MR. POSKET.

Oh, what a boy!

AGATHA POSKET.

[_To herself._] When will that cab come?

MR. POSKET.

Ahem! My pet, the idea has struck me that, as you are going out, it
would not be a bad notion for me to pop into my club.

AGATHA POSKET.

The club! You were there last night.

MR. POSKET.

I know, my darling. Many men look in at their clubs every night.

AGATHA POSKET.

A nice example for Cis, truly! I particularly desire that you should
remain at home to-night, AEneas.

MR. POSKET.

[_To himself._] Oh, dear me!

CHARLOTTE.

[_To AGATHA POSKET._] Why not let him go to the club, Agatha?

AGATHA POSKET.

He might meet Colonel Lukyn there.

CHARLOTTE.

If Colonel Lukyn is there we shan't find him in Cork Street!

AGATHA POSKET.

Then we follow him to the club.

CHARLOTTE.

Ladies never call at a club.

AGATHA POSKET.

Such things have been known.

_WYKE enters._

WYKE.

[_Grinning behind his hand._] The cab is coming, ma'am.

AGATHA POSKET.

Coming? Why didn't you bring it with you?

WYKE.

I walk quicker than the cab, ma'am. It's a good horse, slow, but very
certain.

AGATHA POSKET.

We will come down.

WYKE.

[_To himself._] Just what the horse has done. [_To AGATHA POSKET._]
Yes, ma'am.

[_WYKE goes out._

AGATHA POSKET.

Good-night, AEneas.

MR. POSKET.

[_Nervously._] I wish you would allow me to go to the club, my pet.

AGATHA POSKET.

AEneas, I am surprised at your obstinacy. It is so very different from
my first husband.

MR. POSKET.

Really, Agatha, I am shocked. I presume the late Mr. Farringdon
occasionally used his clubs.

AGATHA POSKET.

Indian clubs. Indian clubs are good for the liver, London clubs are
not. Good-night!

MR. POSKET.

I'll see you to your cab, Agatha.

AGATHA POSKET.

No, thank you.

MR. POSKET.

Upon my word!

CHARLOTTE.

[_To AGATHA POSKET._] Why not?

AGATHA POSKET.

He would want to give the direction to the cabman!

CHARLOTTE.

The first tiff. [_To MR. POSKET._] Good-night, Mr. Posket.

MR. POSKET.

Good-night, Miss Verrinder.

AGATHA POSKET.

[_To MR. POSKET._] Have you any message for Lady Jenkins?

MR. POSKET.

Confound Lady Jenkins.

AGATHA POSKET.

I will deliver your message in the presence of Sir George, who, I may
remind you, is the permanent Secretary at the Home Office.

[_AGATHA POSKET and CHARLOTTE go out; MR. POSKET paces up and down
excitedly._

MR. POSKET.

Gurrh? I'm not to go to the club! I set a bad example to Cis! Ha! ha!
I am different from her first husband. Yes, I am--I'm alive for one
thing. I--I--I--I--I'm dashed if I don't go out with the boy.

CIS.

[_Putting his head in at the door._] Coast clear, Guv? All right.

_Enter CIS, in fashionable evening dress, carrying MR. POSKET'S
overcoat and hat._

CIS.

Here are your hat and overcoat.

MR. POSKET.

Where on earth did you get that dress suit?

CIS.

Mum's the word, Guv. Brighton tailor--six months' credit. He promised
to send in the bill to you, so the mater won't know. [_Putting MR.
POSKET'S hat on his head._] By Jove, Guv, don't my togs show you up?

MR. POSKET.

I won't go, I won't go. I've never met such a boy before.

CIS.

[_Proceeds to help him with his overcoat._] Mind your arm, Guv. You've
got your hand in a pocket. No, no--that's a tear in the lining. That's
it.

MR. POSKET.

I forbid you to go out!

CIS.

Yes, Guv. And I forbid you to eat any of those devilled oysters we
shall get at the Hotel des Princes. Now you're right!

MR. POSKET.

I am not right!

CIS.

Oh, I forgot! [_He pulls out a handful of loose money._] I found this
money in your desk, Guv. You had better take it out with you; you may
want it. Here you are--gold, silver, and coppers. [_He empties the
money into MR. POSKET'S overcoat pocket._] One last precaution, and
then we're off.

[_Goes to the writing-table, and writes on a half-sheet of
note-paper._

MR. POSKET.

I shall take a turn round the Square, and then come home again! I will
not be influenced by a mere child! A man of my responsible position--a
magistrate--supping slily at the Hotel des Princes, in Meek
Street--it's horrible.

CIS.

Now, then--we'll creep downstairs quietly so as not to bring Wyke from
his pantry. [_Giving MR. POSKET paper._] You stick that up
prominently, while I blow out the candles.

[_CIS blows out the candles on the piano._

MR. POSKET.

[_Reading._] "Your master and Mr. Cecil Farringdon are going to bed.
Don't disturb them." I will not be a partner to any written document.
This is untrue.

CIS.

No, it isn't--we are going to bed when we come home. Make haste, Guv.

MR. POSKET.

Oh, what a boy.

[_Pinning the paper on to the curtain._

CIS.

[_Turning down the lamp, and watching MR. POSKET._] Hallo, Guv! hallo!
You're an old hand at this sort of game, are you?

MR. POSKET.

How dare you!

CIS.

[_Taking MR. POSKET'S arm._] Now, then, don't breathe.

MR. POSKET.

[_Quite demoralised._] Cis! Cis! Wait a minute--wait a minute!

CIS.

Hold up, Guv. [_WYKE enters._] Oh, bother!

WYKE.

[_To MR. POSKET._] Going out, sir?

MR. POSKET.

[_Struggling to be articulate._] No--yes--that is--partially--half
round the Square, and possibly--er--um--back again. [_To CIS._] Oh,
you bad boy!

WYKE.

[_Coolly going up to the paper on curtains._] Shall I take this down
now, sir?

MR. POSKET.

[_Quietly to CIS._] I'm in an awful position! What am I to do?

CIS.

Do as I do--tip him.

MR. POSKET.

What!

CIS.

Tip him.

MR. POSKET.

Oh, yes--yes. Where's my money?

[_CIS takes two coins out of MR. POSKET'S pocket and gives them to him
without looking at them._

CIS.

[_To MR. POSKET._] Give him that.

MR. POSKET.

Yes.

CIS.

And say--"Wyke, you want a new umbrella--buy a very good one. Your
mistress has a latch-key, so go to bed."

MR. POSKET.

Wyke!

WYKE.

Yes, sir.

MR. POSKET.

[_Giving him money._] Go to bed--buy a very good one. Your mistress
has a latch-key--so--so you want a new umbrella!

WYKE.

All right, sir. You can depend on me. Are you well muffled up, sir?
Mind you take care of him, Master Cis.

CIS.

[_Supporting MR. POSKET; MR. POSKET groaning softly._] Capital, Guv,
capital. Are you hungry?

MR. POSKET.

Hungry! You're a wicked boy. I've told a falsehood.

CIS.

No, you haven't, Guv--he really does want a new umbrella.

MR. POSKET.

Does he, Cis? Does he? Thank heaven!

[_They go out._

WYKE.

[_Looking at money_] Here! What, twopence! [_Throws the coins down in
disgust._] I'll tell the missus.

END OF THE FIRST ACT.



THE SECOND ACT

_The scene is a supper-room at the Hotel des Princes, Meek Street,
with two doors--the one leading into an adjoining room, the other into
a passage--and a window opening on to a balcony._

_ISIDORE, a French waiter, is showing in CIS and MR. POSKET._

CIS.

Come on, Guv--come on. How are you, Isidore?

ISIDORE.

I beg your pardon--I am quite well, and so are you, zank you.

CIS.

I want a pretty little light supper for myself and my friend, Mr.
Skinner.

ISIDORE.

Mr. Skinner.

MR. POSKET.

[_To CIS._] Skinner! Is some one else coming?

CIS.

No, no. You're Skinner.

MR. POSKET.

Oh!

[_Wanders round the room._

CIS.

Mr. Skinner, of the Stock Exchange. What have you ready?

ISIDORE.

[_In an undertone to CIS._] I beg your pardon--very good--but Monsieur
Blond he say to me, "Isidore, listen now; if Mr. Farringdon he come
here, you say, I beg your pardon, you are a nice gentleman, but will
you pay your little account when it is quite convenient, before you
leave the house at once."

CIS.

Quite so, there's no difficulty about that. What's the bill?

ISIDORE.

[_Gives the bill._] I beg your pardon. Eight pounds four shillings.

CIS.

Phew! Here go my winnings from old Bullamy and the Guv. [_Counting out
money._] Two pounds short. [_Turning to MR. POSKET, who is carefully
examining the scratches on the mirrors._] Skinner! Skinner!

MR. POSKET.

Visitors evidently scratch their names on the mirrors. Dear me! Surely
this is a spurious title--"Lottie, Duchess of Fulham!" How very
curious!

CIS.

Skinner, got any money with you?

MR. POSKET.

Yes, Cis, my boy.

[_Feels for his money._

CIS.

You always keep it in that pocket, Skinner.

MR. POSKET.

[_Taking out money._] Oh, yes.

[_CIS takes two sovereigns from MR. POSKET and gives the amount of his
bill to ISIDORE, who goes to the sideboard to count out change._

CIS.

No putting the change to bed, Isidore,

MR. POSKET.

What's that?

CIS.

Putting the change to bed! Isidore will show you. [_To ISIDORE, who
comes to them with the change and the bill on a plate._] Isidore, show
Mr. Skinner how you put silver to bed.

ISIDORE.

Oh, Mr. Farringdon, I beg your pardon--no, no!

MR. POSKET.

It would be most instructive.

ISIDORE.

Very good. [_Goes to the table, upon which he puts plate._] Say I have
to give you change sixteen shillings.

MR. POSKET.

Certainly.

ISIDORE.

Very good. Before I bring it to you I slip a little half-crown under
the bill--so. Then I put what is left on the top of the bill, and I
say, "I beg your pardon, your change." You take it, you give me two
shillings for myself, and all is right.

MR. POSKET.

[_Counting the silver on the bill with the end of his glasses._] Yes,
but suppose I count the silver, it is half-a-crown short!

ISIDORE.

Then I say, "I beg your pardon, how dare you say that?" Then I do so.
[_He pulls the bill from the plate._] Then I say, "The bill is eight
pounds four shillings [_handing the plate_], count again."

MR. POSKET.

Ah, of course, it's all right now.

ISIDORE.

Very good, then you give me five shillings for doubting me. Do it; do
it.

MR. POSKET.

[_In a daze, giving him the five shillings._] Like this?

ISIDORE.

Yes, like that. [_Slipping the money into his pocket._] I beg your
pardon--thank you. [_Handing CIS the rest of the change._] Your
change, Mr. Farringdon.

CIS.

Oh, I say, Isidore.

_BLOND, a fat, middle-aged French hotel-keeper, enters with a letter
in his hand._

ISIDORE.

Monsieur Blond.

BLOND.

Good evening, Mr. Farringdon.

ISIDORE.

[_Quietly to BLOND._] Ze bill is all right.

CIS.

Good evening. [_Introducing MR. POSKET._] My friend, Mr. Harvey
Skinner, of the Stock Exchange.

BLOND.

Very pleased to see you. [_To CIS._] Are you going to enjoy
yourselves?

CIS.

Rather.

BLOND.

You usually eat in this room, but you don't mind giving it up for
to-night--now, do you?

CIS.

Oh, Achille!

BLOND.

Come, come, to please me. A cab has just brought a letter from an old
customer of mine, a gentleman I haven't seen for over twenty years,
who wants to sup with a friend in this room to-night. It's quite true.
[_Giving CIS a letter._]

CIS.

[_Reading to himself._] "19A, Cork Street. Dear Blond,--Fresh, or
rather, stale from India--want to sup with my friend, Captain Vale,
to-night, at my old table in my old room. Must do this for Auld Lang
Syne. Yours, Alexander Lukyn." [_To BLOND._] Oh, let him have it.
Where will you put us?

BLOND.

You shall have the best room in the house, the one next to this. This
room--pah! Come with me. [_To MR. POSKET._] Have you known Mr.
Farringdon for a long time?

MR. POSKET.

No, no. Not very long.

BLOND.

Ah, he is a fine fellow--Mr. Farringdon. Now, if you please. You can
go through this door.

[_Wheels sofa away and unlocks the door._

CIS.

[_To MR. POSKET._] You'll look better after a glass or two of Pommery,
Guv.

MR. POSKET.

No, no, Cis--now, no champagne.

CIS.

No champagne, not for my friend, Harvey Skinner! Come, Guv--dig me in
the ribs--like this. [_Digging him in the ribs._] Chuck!

MR. POSKET.

[_Shrinking._] Oh, don't!

CIS.

And say, Hey! Go on, Guv.

MR. POSKET.

I can't--I can't. I don't know what it may mean.

CIS.

[_Digging him in the ribs again._] Go on--ch-uck!

MR. POSKET.

What, like this? [_Returning the dig._] Ch-uck.

CIS.

That's it, that's it. Ha, ha! You are going it, Guv.

MR. POSKET.

Am I, Cis? Am I? [_Waving his arm._] Hey!

CIS AND MR. POSKET.

Hey!

CIS.

Ha, ha! Come on! Serve the supper, Achille.

BLOND.

Ah! he is a grand fellow, Mr. Farringdon. [_CIS and MR. POSKET go into
the other room._] [_To ISIDORE._] Replace the _canape._

[_There is a sharp knock at the other door. BLOND follows CIS and MR.
POSKET into the other room, then locks the door on the inside._

ISIDORE.

Come in, please.

_COLONEL LUKYN and CAPTAIN VALE enter the room. LUKYN is a portly,
grey-haired, good-looking military man; VALE is pale-faced and
heavy-eyed, while his manner is languid and dejected._

LUKYN.

This is the room. Come in, Vale. This is my old supper-room--I haven't
set foot here for over twenty years. By George, I hope to sup here for
another twenty.

VALE.

[_Dejectedly._] Do you? In less than that, unless I am lucky enough to
fall in some foreign set-to, I shall be in Kensal Green.

LUKYN.

[_Looking round the room sentimentally._] Twenty years ago! Confound
'em, they've painted it.

VALE.

My people have eight shelves in the Catacombs at Kensal Green.

LUKYN.

Nonsense, man, nonsense. You're a little low. Waiter, take our coats.

VALE.

Don't check me, Lukyn. My shelf is four from the bottom.

LUKYN.

You'll forget the number of your shelf before you're half way through
your oysters.

VALE.

[_Shaking his head._] An oyster merely reminds me of my own particular
shell.

[_ISIDORE begins to remove VALE'S coat._

LUKYN.

Ha, ha! Ha, ha!

VALE.

Don't, Lukyn, don't. [_In an undertone to LUKYN._] It's very good of
you, but, by Jove, my heart is broken. [_To ISIDORE._] Mind my flower,
waiter, confound you.

[_He adjusts flower in his button-hole._

ISIDORE.

You have ordered supper, sir?

LUKYN.

Yes, on the back of my note to Mr. Blond. Serve it at once.

ISIDORE.

I beg your pardon, sir, at once.

[_He goes out._

LUKYN.

So, you've been badly treated by a woman, eh, Vale?

VALE.

Shockingly. Between man and man, a Miss Verrinder--Charlotte.
[_Turning away._] Excuse me, Lukyn.

[_Produces a folded silk handkerchief, shakes it out, and gently blows
his nose._

LUKYN.

[_Lighting a cigarette._] Certainly--certainly--does you great credit.
Pretty woman?

VALE.

Oh, lovely! A most magnificent set of teeth. All real, as far as I can
ascertain.

LUKYN.

No?

VALE.

Fact.

LUKYN.

Great loss;--have a cigarette.

VALE.

[_Taking case from LUKYN._] Parascho's?

LUKYN.

Yes. Was she--full grown?

VALE.

[_Lighting his cigarette._] Just perfection. She rides eight-stone
fifteen, and I have lost her, Lukyn. Beautiful tobacco.

LUKYN.

What finished it?

VALE.

She gave a man a pair of worked slippers three days after our
engagement.

LUKYN.

No?

VALE.

Fact. You remember Bristow--Gordon Bristow?

LUKYN.

Perfectly. Best fellow in the world.

VALE.

He wears them.

LUKYN.

Villain! Will you begin with a light wine, or go right on to the
champagne?

VALE.

By Jove, it's broken my heart, old fellow. I'll go right on to the
champagne, please. Lukyn, I shall make you my executor.

LUKYN.

Pooh! You'll outlive me! Why don't they bring the supper? My heart has
been broken like yours. It was broken first in Ireland in '55. It was
broken again in London in '61, but in 1870 it was smashed in Calcutta,
by a married lady that time.

VALE.

A married lady?

LUKYN.

Yes, my late wife. Talk about broken hearts, my boy, when you've won
your lady, not when you've lost her. [_Enter ISIDORE with a tray of
supper things._] The supper. [_To VALE._] Hungry?

VALE.

[_Mournfully._] Very.

_Enter BLOND, with an envelope._

BLOND.

Colonel Lukyn.

LUKYN.

Ah, Blond, how are you? Not a day older. What have you got there?

BLOND.

[_Quietly to LUKYN in an undertone._] Two ladies, Colonel, downstairs
in a cab, must see you for a few minutes alone.

LUKYN.

Good gracious! Excuse me, Vale. [_Takes the envelope from BLOND, and
opens it: reading the enclosed card._] Mrs. Posket--Mrs. Posket! "Mrs.
Posket entreats Colonel Lukyn to see her for five minutes upon a
matter of urgent necessity, and free from observation." By George!
Posket must be ill in bed--I thought he looked seedy last night. [_To
BLOND._] Of course--of course. Say I'll come down.

BLOND.

It is raining outside. I had better ask them up.

LUKYN.

Do--do. I'll get Captain Vale to step into another room. Be quick.
Tell 'em I am quite alone.

BLOND.

Yes, Colonel.

[_Hurries out._

CIS.

[_In the next room rattling glasses and calling._] Waiter! Waiter!
Waiter-r-r! Where the deuce are you?

ISIDORE.

Coming, sir, coming. I beg your pardon.

[_Bustles out._

LUKYN.

My dear Vale, I am dreadfully sorry to bother you. Two ladies, one the
wife of a very old friend of mine, have followed me here and want half
a dozen words with me alone. I am in your hands--how can I manage it?

VALE.

My dear fellow, don't mention it. Let me go into another room.

LUKYN.

Thank you, very much. You're so hungry too. Where's the waiter?
Confound him, he's gone!

VALE.

All right. I'll pop in here.

[_He passes behind sofa and tries the door leading into the other
room._

CIS.

[_Within._] What do you want? Who's there?

VALE.

Occupied--never mind--I'll find my way somewhere.

[_There is a knock; VALE draws back._

BLOND.

[_Without._] Colonel, are you alone? The ladies.

LUKYN.

One moment. Deuce take it, Vale! The ladies don't want to be seen. By
George--I remember. There's a little balcony to that window; step out
for a few moments--keep quiet--I shan't detain you--it's nothing
important--husband must have had a fit or something.

VALE.

Oh, certainly!

LUKYN.

Good fellow--here's your hat.

[_In his haste he fetches his own hat._

BLOND.

[_Outside, knocking._] Colonel, Colonel!

LUKYN.

One moment. [_Giving his hat to VALE._] Awfully sorry. You're so
hungry too. [_VALE puts on the hat, which is much too large for him._]
Ah, that's my hat.

VALE.

My dear Lukyn--don't mention it.

[_Opening the window and going out._

LUKYN.

[_Drawing the curtain over the recess._] Just room for him to stand
like a man in a sentry-box. Come in, Blond.

_BLOND shows in AGATHA and CHARLOTTE, both wearing veils._

AGATHA POSKET.

[_Agitated._] Oh, Colonel Lukyn!

LUKYN.

Pray compose yourself, pray compose yourself!

AGATHA POSKET.

What will you think?

LUKYN.

That I am perfectly enchanted.

AGATHA POSKET.

Thank you. [_Pointing to CHARLOTTE._] My sister.

[_LUKYN and CHARLOTTE bow._

LUKYN.

Be seated. Blond? [_Softly to him._] Keep the waiter out till I
ring--that's all.

[_The loud pattering of rain is heard._

BLOND.

Yes, Colonel.

LUKYN.

Good gracious, Blond! What's that?

BLOND.

The rain outside. It is cats and dogs.

LUKYN.

[_Horrified._] By George, is it? [_To himself, looking towards
window._] Poor devil! [_To BLOND._] There isn't any method of getting
off that balcony, is there?

BLOND.

No--unless by getting on to it.

LUKYN.

What do you mean?

BLOND.

It is not at all safe. Don't use it.

[_LUKYN stands horror-stricken; BLOND goes out. Heavy rain is heard._

LUKYN.

[_After some nervous glances at the window, wiping perspiration from
his forehead._] I am honoured, Mrs. Posket, by this visit--though for
a moment--I can't imagine----

AGATHA POSKET.

Colonel Lukyn, we drove to Cork Street to your lodgings, and there
your servant told us you were supping at the Hotel des Princes, with a
friend. No one will be shown into this room while we are here?

LUKYN.

No--we--ah--shall not be disturbed. [_To himself._] Good heavens,
suppose I never see him alive again!

AGATHA POSKET.

[_Sighing wearily._] Ah!

LUKYN.

I'm afraid you've come to tell me Posket is ill.

AGATHA POSKET.

I--no--my husband is at home.

[_A sharp gust of wind is heard with the rain._

LUKYN.

Lord forgive me! I've killed him.

AGATHA POSKET.

[_With horror._] Colonel Lukyn!

LUKYN.

Madam!

AGATHA POSKET.

Indeed Mr. Posket is at home.

LUKYN.

[_Glancing at the window._] Is he? I wish we all were.

AGATHA POSKET.

[_To herself._] Sunstroke evidently. Poor fellow! [_To LUKYN._] I
assure you my husband is at home, quite well, and by this time
sleeping soundly.

[_CIS and MR. POSKET are heard laughing in the next room._

ISIDORE.

[_Within._] You are two funny gentlemen, I beg your pardon.

AGATHA POSKET.

[_Startled._] What is that?

LUKYN.

In the next room. [_Raps at the door._] Hush--hush, hush!

CHARLOTTE.

Get it over, Aggy, and let us go home. I am so awfully hungry.

LUKYN.

[_Peering through the curtains._] It is still bearing him. What's his
weight? Surely he can't scale over ten stone. Lord, how wet he is!

AGATHA POSKET.

Colonel Lukyn!

LUKYN.

[_Leaving the window sharply._] Madam, command me!

AGATHA POSKET.

Colonel Lukyn, we knew each other at Baroda twenty years ago.

LUKYN.

When I look at you, impossible.

AGATHA POSKET.

Ah, then you mustn't look at me.

LUKYN.

Equally impossible.

CHARLOTTE.

[_To herself._] Oh, I feel quite out of this.

AGATHA POSKET.

You were at my little boy's christening.

LUKYN.

[_Absently._] Yes--yes--certainly.

AGATHA POSKET.

You remember what a fine little fellow he was.

LUKYN.

[_Thoughtfully._] Not a pound over ten stone.

AGATHA POSKET.

Colonel Lukyn!

LUKYN.

I beg your pardon, yes--I was at the christening of your boy.

AGATHA POSKET.

[_To herself._] One of the worst cases of sunstroke I have ever known.

LUKYN.

I remember the child very well. Has he still got that absurd mug?

AGATHA POSKET.

Colonel Lukyn!

LUKYN.

Madam!

AGATHA POSKET.

My child is, and always was--perfect.

LUKYN.

You misunderstand me! I was his godfather; I gave him a silver cup.

AGATHA POSKET.

Oh, do excuse me. How did I become acquainted with such a vulgar
expression? I don't know where I pick up my slang. It must be through
loitering at shop windows. Oh, oh, oh!

LUKYN.

Pray compose yourself. I'll leave you for a moment.

[_Going to the window._

AGATHA POSKET.

[_To CHARLOTTE._] How shall I begin, Charley?

CHARLOTTE.

Make a bold plunge, do! The odour of cooking here, to a hungry woman,
is maddening.

[_VALE softly opens the window and comes into the recess, but remains
concealed by the curtain._

VALE.

[_To himself._] This is too bad of Lukyn! I'm wet to the skin and
frightfully hungry! Who the deuce are these women?

AGATHA POSKET.

Colonel Lukyn!

LUKYN.

Madam. [_Listening._] No crash yet.

AGATHA POSKET.

[_Impulsively laying her hand upon his arm._] Friend of twenty years!
I will be quite candid with you. You are going to dine with us,
to-morrow?

LUKYN.

Madam, I will repay your candour as it deserves. I am.

AGATHA POSKET.

My husband knows of your acquaintance with the circumstances of my
first marriage. I know what men are. When the women leave the
dinner-table, men become retrospective. Now, to-morrow night, over
dessert, I beg you not to give my husband dates.

LUKYN.

Eh?

AGATHA POSKET.

Keep anything like dates from him.

LUKYN.

Mustn't eat stone fruit?

AGATHA POSKET.

No, I mean years, months, days, dates connected with my marriage with
Mr. Farringdon.

LUKYN.

Dear me, sore subject!

AGATHA POSKET.

I will be more than candid with you. My present husband, having a very
short vacation in the discharge of his public duties, wooed me but for
three weeks; you, who have in your time courted and married, know the
material of which that happy period is made up. The future is
all-engrossing to the man; the presents--I mean the present, a joyous
dream to the woman. But in dealing with my past I met with more than
ordinary difficulties.

LUKYN.

Don't see why--late husband died a natural death--wasn't stood on a
balcony or anything.

AGATHA POSKET.

Colonel Lukyn, you know I was six-and-thirty at the time of my recent
marriage!

LUKYN.

You surprise me!

AGATHA POSKET.

You know it! Be frank, Lukyn! Am I not six-and-thirty?

LUKYN.

You are.

AGATHA POSKET.

Very well, then. In a three weeks' engagement how was it possible for
me to deal with the various episodes of six-and-thirty years? The past
may be pleasant, golden, beautiful--but one may have too much of a
good thing.

LUKYN.

[_To himself._] I am in that position now.

AGATHA POSKET.

The man who was courting me was seeking relaxation from the discharge
of multifarious responsibilities. How could I tax an already wearied
attention with the recital of the events of thirty-six years?

LUKYN.

What did you do?

AGATHA POSKET.

Out of consideration for the man I loved, I sacrificed five years of
happy girlhood--told him I was but one-and-thirty--that I had been
married only fifteen years previously--that my boy was but fourteen!

LUKYN.

By George, madam, and am I to subscribe to all this?

AGATHA POSKET.

I only ask you to avoid the question of dates.

LUKYN.

But, at a man's dinner-table----

AGATHA POSKET.

You need not spoil a man's dinner. Not only a man's--but a woman's!
Lukyn, Lukyn! Promise!

LUKYN.

Give me a second to think.

[_LUKYN, turning away, discovers CHARLOTTE in the act of lifting the
covers from the dishes and inspecting the contents._

LUKYN.

Ah, devilled oysters!

CHARLOTTE.

Oh!

[_Drops dish-cover with a crash, and runs over to the table and speaks
to AGATHA POSKET._

LUKYN.

Don't go--pray look at 'em again--wish I could persuade you to taste
them. What am I to do? Shall I promise? Poor Posket! If I don't
promise she'll cry and won't go home. The oysters are nearly
cold--cold! What must _he_ be! [_Drawing aside the curtain, and not
seeing VALE, he staggers back._] Gone--and without a cry--brave
fellow, brave fellow!

AGATHA POSKET.

Colonel Lukyn.

LUKYN.

Decay of stamina in the army--pah! The young 'uns are worthy of our
best days.

AGATHA POSKET.

Colonel Lukyn, will you promise?

LUKYN.

Promise? Anything, my dear madam, anything.

AGATHA POSKET.

Ah, thank you! May I ask you to see us to our cab?

LUKYN.

Certainly! Thank heaven, they're going!

AGATHA POSKET.

[_To CHARLOTTE._] It's all right; come along!

CHARLOTTE.

[_To AGATHA POSKET._] Oh, those oysters look so nice.

LUKYN.

[_To himself._] Stop! In my trouble, I am forgetting even the
commonest courtesies to these ladies. [_To AGATHA POSKET._] You have a
long journey before you. I am sure your husband would not forgive me
for letting you face such weather unprepared. Let me recommend an
oyster or two and a thimbleful of champagne.

AGATHA POSKET.

No, thank you, Colonel Lukyn.

CHARLOTTE.

[_To AGATHA POSKET._] Say yes. I'm starving.

LUKYN.

As you please. [_To himself._] I knew they'd refuse. I've done my
duty.

CHARLOTTE.

[_To AGATHA POSKET._] I was in the train till seven o'clock. Wait till
you're a _bona-fide_ traveller--accept.

AGATHA POSKET.

Ahem! Colonel, the fact is my poor sister has been travelling all day
and is a little exhausted.

LUKYN.

[_Horrified._] You don't mean to say you're going to give me the
inestimable pleasure. [_CHARLOTTE looks across at him, nodding and
smiling._] I am delighted.

[_CHARLOTTE sits hungrily at table; LUKYN fetches a bottle of
champagne from the sideboard._

AGATHA POSKET.

[_To CHARLOTTE._] Charlotte, I am surprised.

CHARLOTTE.

[_To AGATHA POSKET._] Nonsense, the best people come here. Some of
them have left their names on the mirrors.

VALE.

[_Behind the curtain._] This is much too bad of Lukyn. What are they
doing now? [_LUKYN draws the cork._] Confound it, they're having my
supper!

[_LUKYN pours out wine._

CHARLOTTE.

Why doesn't he give me something to eat?

[_There is a clatter of knives and forks heard from the other room,
then a burst of laughter from CIS._

AGATHA POSKET.

[_Starting._] Charley, hark! How strange!

CHARLOTTE.

Very. This bread is beautiful.

[_CIS is heard singing the chorus of a comic song boisterously._

AGATHA POSKET.

Don't you recognise that voice?

CHARLOTTE.

[_Munching._] The only voice I recognise is the voice of hunger.

AGATHA POSKET.

I am overwrought, I suppose.

[_LUKYN, with his head drooping, fetches the dish of oysters from the
sideboard._

VALE.

[_Behind the curtains._] He has taken the oysters. I've seen him do
it.

LUKYN.

The oysters.

[_LUKYN sinks into his chair at the table and leans his head upon his
hand; the two women look at each other._

CHARLOTTE.

[_To AGATHA POSKET._] Anything wrong?

AGATHA POSKET.

Sunstroke--bad case!

CHARLOTTE.

Oh--poor fellow. [_She gently lifts the corner of the dish, sniffs,
then replaces cover._] No plates.

AGATHA POSKET.

Ask for them.

CHARLOTTE.

You ask.

AGATHA POSKET.

You're hungry.

CHARLOTTE.

You're married. Comes better from you.

VALE.

[_Behind curtains._] This silence is terrible.

AGATHA POSKET.

[_To LUKYN._] Ahem! Ahem!

LUKYN.

[_Looking up suddenly._] Eh?

AGATHA POSKET.

There are no plates.

LUKYN.

No plates? No plates? It's my fault. Pardon me. Where are the plates?

[_VALE, still invisible, stretches out his hand through the curtain,
takes up the plates and presents them to LUKYN, who recoils._

VALE.

[_In a whisper._] Here are the plates. Look sharp, Lukyn.

LUKYN.

Vale! safe and sound! [_He takes the plates, then grasps VALE'S
extended hand._] Bless you, old fellow. I'm myself again. [_Going
gaily to the table with the plates._] My dear ladies, I blush--I
positively blush--I am the worst host in the world.

VALE.

[_To himself._] By Jove, that's true.

AGATHA POSKET.

Not at all--not at all.

LUKYN.

[_Helping the ladies._] I'll make amends, by George! You may have
noticed I've been confoundedly out of sorts. That's my temperament--
now up, now down. I've just taken a turn, ha, ha! Oysters.

[_Handing plate to AGATHA POSKET._

AGATHA POSKET.

Thank you.

LUKYN.

Ah! I've passed many a happy hour in this room. The present is not the
least happy.

CHARLOTTE.

[_Trying to attract his attention._] Ahem! Ahem!

LUKYN.

[_Gazing up at the ceiling._] My first visit to the Hotel des Princes
was in the year--the year--let me think.

CHARLOTTE.

[_Whispering to AGATHA POSKET._] Isn't he going to help me?

LUKYN.

Was it in '55?

AGATHA POSKET.

[_Quickly passing her plate over to CHARLOTTE._] I'm not hungry.

CHARLOTTE.

You're a dear.

LUKYN.

[_Emphatically._] It _was_ in '55. I'm forgetful again--pardon me.
[_He hands plate of oysters to CHARLOTTE, and is surprised to find her
eating vigorously._] Why, I thought I---- [_To AGATHA POSKET._] My
dear madam, a thousand apologies. [_He helps her and then himself._]
Pah! they're cold--icy--you could skate on 'em. There's a dish of
something else over there.

[_He goes to the sideboard; VALE'S hand is again stretched forth with
the other covered dish._

VALE.

I say, Lukyn.

LUKYN.

[_Taking the dish._] Thanks, old fellow. [_He returns to the table and
lifts the cover._] Soles--they look tempting. If there are only some
lemons! Surely they are not so brutal as to have forgotten the lemons.
Where are they? [_He returns to the sideboard._] Where are they? [_In
an undertone to VALE._] Have you seen any lemons?

AGATHA POSKET.

Pray, think less of us, Colonel Lukyn. Let me take care of you.

LUKYN.

You're very kind. I wish you would let me ring for some lemons.

[_VALE'S hand comes as before from behind the curtain to the
sideboard, finds the dish of lemons, and holds it out at arm's
length._

VALE.

[_In a whisper._] Lemons.

[_AGATHA POSKET is helping LUKYN, when suddenly CHARLOTTE, with her
fork in the air, leans back open-mouthed, staring wildly at VALE'S arm
extended with the dish._

CHARLOTTE.

[_In terror._] Agatha! Agatha!

AGATHA POSKET.

Charlotte! what's the matter, Charley?

CHARLOTTE.

Agatha!

AGATHA POSKET.

You're ill, Charlotte! Surely you are not choking?

CHARLOTTE.

[_Pointing to the curtains._] Look, look!

[_They both scream._

LUKYN.

Don't be alarmed--I----

CHARLOTTE.      }

What's that?    }
                } [_Together._]
AGATHA POSKET.  }

Who's that?     }

LUKYN.

I can explain. Don't condemn till you've heard. I--I---- Damn it, sir,
put these lemons down!

CHARLOTTE.

He calls him "Sir"--it must be a man.

LUKYN.

It is a man. I am not in a position to deny that.

AGATHA POSKET.

Really, Colonel Lukyn!

LUKYN.

It is my friend. He--he--he's merely waiting for his supper.

AGATHA POSKET.

Your friend. [_To CHARLOTTE._] Come home, dear.

LUKYN.

Do, do hear me! To avoid the embarrassment of your encountering a
stranger, he retreated to the balcony.

AGATHA POSKET.

To the balcony? You have shamefully compromised two trusting women,
Colonel Lukyn.

LUKYN.

I would have laid down my life rather than have done so. I did lay
down my friend's life.

AGATHA POSKET.

He has overheard every confidential word I have spoken to you.

LUKYN.

Hear his explanation. Why the devil don't you corroborate me, sir?

VALE.

[_From behind the curtain._] Certainly, I assure you I heard next to
nothing.

CHARLOTTE.

[_Grasping AGATHA POSKET'S arm._] Oh, Agatha!

VALE.

I didn't come in till I was exceedingly wet.

LUKYN.

[_To AGATHA POSKET._] You hear that?

VALE.

And when I did come in----

CHARLOTTE.

[_Hysterically._] Horace!

VALE.

I beg your pardon.

CHARLOTTE.

It's Horace, Captain Vale.

VALE.

[_Coming from behind the curtain, looking terribly wet._]
Charlotte--Miss Verrinder.

CHARLOTTE.

What are you doing here? What a fright you look.

VALE.

What am I doing here, Miss Verrinder? Really, Lukyn, your conduct
calls for some little explanation.

LUKYN.

My conduct, sir?

VALE.

You make some paltry excuse to turn me out in the rain while you
entertain a lady who you know has very recently broken my heart.

LUKYN.

I didn't know anything of the kind.

VALE.

I told you, Colonel Lukyn--this isn't the conduct of an officer and a
gentleman.

LUKYN.

Whose isn't, yours or mine?

VALE.

Mine. I mean yours.

LUKYN.

You are in the presence of ladies, sir; take off my hat.

VALE.

I beg your pardon. I didn't know I had it on.

[_He throws the hat away, and the two men exchange angry words._

CHARLOTTE.

He's a very good-looking fellow; you don't see a man at his best when
he's wet through.

AGATHA POSKET.

[_To LUKYN._] Colonel Lukyn, do you ever intend to send for a cab?

LUKYN.

Certainly, madam.

VALE.

One moment. I have some personal explanation to exchange with Miss
Verrinder.

CHARLOTTE.

[_To AGATHA POSKET._] The slippers. [_To VALE._] I am quite ready,
Captain Vale.

VALE.

Thank you. Colonel Lukyn, will you oblige me by stepping out on to
that balcony?

LUKYN.

Certainly not, sir.

VALE.

You're afraid of the wet, Colonel Lukyn; you are no soldier.

LUKYN.

You know better, sir. As a matter of fact, that balcony can't bear a
man like me.

VALE.

Which shows that inanimate objects have a great deal of common-sense,
sir.

LUKYN.

You don't prove it in your own instance, Captain Vale.

VALE.

That's a verbal quibble, sir.

[_They talk angrily._

AGATHA POSKET.

[_To CHARLOTTE._] It's frightfully late. Tell him to write to you.

CHARLOTTE.

I must speak to him to-night; life is too short for letters.

AGATHA POSKET.

Then he can telegraph.

CHARLOTTE.

Half-penny a word and he has nothing but his pay.

AGATHA POSKET.

Very well, then, Lady Jenkins has a telephone. I'll take you there to
tea to-morrow. If he loves you, tell him to ring up 1338091.

CHARLOTTE.

You thoughtful angel!

LUKYN.

Mrs. Posket--Miss Verrinder--ahem--we----

VALE.

Colonel Lukyn and myself----

LUKYN.

Captain Vale and I fear that we have been betrayed, in a moment of----

VALE.

Natural irritation.

LUKYN.

Natural irritation, into the atrocious impropriety of differing----

VALE.

Before ladies.

LUKYN.

Charming ladies----

VALE.

We beg your pardon--Lukyn!

LUKYN.

Vale. [_They grasp hands._] Mrs. Posket, I am now going out to hail a
cab.

AGATHA POSKET.

Pray do.

LUKYN.

Miss Verrinder, the process will occupy five minutes.

VALE.

[_Giving his hat to LUKYN._] Lukyn, I return your kindness--my hat.

LUKYN.

Thank you, my boy.

[_LUKYN puts on VALE'S hat, which is much too small for him. As he is
going out there is a knock at the door; he opens it; BLOND is
outside._

BLOND.

Colonel, it is ten minutes past the time of closing, may I ask you to
dismiss your party?

LUKYN.

Pooh! Isn't this a free country?

[_He goes out._

BLOND.

Yes, you are free to go home, Colonel. I shall get into trouble.

[_Following him out._

CHARLOTTE.

[_To AGATHA POSKET._] I'll have the first word. Really, Captain Vale,
I'm surprised at you.

VALE.

There was a happy time, Miss Verrinder, when I might have been
surprised at you.

CHARLOTTE.

A few hours ago it was--"By Jove, all is over." Now I find you with a
bosom friend enjoying devilled oysters.

VALE.

I beg your pardon, I find you enjoying devilled oysters.

CHARLOTTE.

Horace Vale, you forget you have forfeited the right to exercise any
control over my diet.

VALE.

One would think I had broken off our engagement.

CHARLOTTE.

If you have not, who has? I have your letter saying all is over
between us. [_Putting her handkerchief to her eyes._] That letter will
be stamped tomorrow at Somerset House. I know how to protect myself.

VALE.

Charlotte, can you explain your conduct with Gordon Bristow?

CHARLOTTE.

I could if I chose; a young lady can explain anything.

VALE.

But he is showing your gift to our fellows all over the place.

CHARLOTTE.

It was a debt of honour. He laid me a box of gloves to a pair of
slippers about "Forked Lightning" for the Regimental Cup, and "Forked
Lightning" went tender at the heel. I couldn't come to you with debts
hanging over me. [_Crying._] I'm too conscientious.

VALE.

By Jove, I've been a brute.

CHARLOTTE.

Y-y-yes.

VALE.

Can you forget I ever wrote that letter?

CHARLOTTE.

That must be a question of time. [_She lays her head on his shoulder
and then removes it._] How damp you are. [_She puts her handkerchief
upon his shoulder, and replaces her head. She moves his arm gradually
up and arranges it round her shoulder._] If you went on anyhow every
time I discharged an obligation, we should be most unhappy.

VALE.

I promise you I won't mention Bristow's slippers again. By Jove, I
won't--there.

CHARLOTTE.

Very well, then, if you do that I'll give you my word I won't pay any
more debts before our marriage.

VALE.

My darling!

[_About to embrace him, but remembering that he is wet._

CHARLOTTE.

No--no--you are too damp.

ISIDORE.

[_Outside._] I beg your pardon, it is a quarter of an hour over our
time.

[_AGATHA POSKET has been sitting on the sofa; suddenly she starts,
listening intently._

MR. POSKET.

[_Outside._] I know--I know. I'm going directly I can get the boy
away.

AGATHA POSKET.

[_To herself._] AEneas!

CIS.

[_Outside._] All right, Guv, you finish your bottle.

AGATHA POSKET.

My boy.

ISIDORE.

[_Outside._] Gentlemen, come--come.

AGATHA POSKET.

[_To herself._] Miserable deceiver! This, then, is the club, and the
wretched man conspires to drag my boy down to his own awful level.
What shall I do? I daren't make myself known here. I know; I'll hurry
home, and if I reach there before AEneas, which I shall do, I'll sit up
for him.

_LUKYN returns._

AGATHA POSKET.

Is the cab at the door?

LUKYN.

It is.

AGATHA POSKET.

Charlotte! Charlotte!

[_Drawing her veil down._

CHARLOTTE.

I'm ready, dear. [_To VALE._] Married sisters are always a little
thoughtless.

VALE.

[_Offering his arm._] Permit me.


LUKYN.

[_Offering his arm to AGATHA POSKET._] My dear madam.

_They are all four about to leave when BLOND enters hurriedly._

BLOND.

[_Holding up his hand for silence._] Hush! Hush!

LUKYN.

What's the matter?

BLOND.

The police!

ALL.

[_In a whisper._] The police!

BLOND.

[_Quietly._] The police are downstairs at the door. I told you so.

CHARLOTTE.

[_Clinging to VALE._] Oh, dear! Oh, dear!

AGATHA POSKET.

Gracious powers!

BLOND.

Keep quiet, please. They may be satisfied with Madame Blond's
assurances. I must put you in darkness; they can see the light here if
they go round to the back.

[_Blows out candles, and turns down the other lights._

AGATHA POSKET AND CHARLOTTE.

Oh!

BLOND.

Keep quiet, please! My licence is once marked already. Colonel Lukyn,
thank you for this.

[_He goes out._

AGATHA POSKET.

[_Whimpering._] Miserable men! What have you done? Are you criminals?

CHARLOTTE.

You haven't deserted or anything on my account, have you, Horace?

LUKYN.

Hush! Don't be alarmed. Our time has passed so agreeably that we have
overstepped the prescribed hour for closing the hotel. That's all.

AGATHA POSKET.

What can they do to us?

LUKYN.

At the worst, take our names and addresses, and summon us for being
here during prohibited hours.

AGATHA POSKET.

Oh!

CHARLOTTE.

[_To VALE._] Horace, can't you speak?

VALE.

By Jove, I very much regret this.

_ISIDORE enters._

LUKYN.

Well, well?

ISIDORE.

I beg your pardon, the police have come in.

LUKYN.

The devil! [_To AGATHA POSKET._] My dear lady, don't faint at such a
moment.

_BLOND enters quickly, carrying a rug._

BLOND.

They are going over the house! Hide!

AGATHA POSKET AND CHARLOTTE.

Oh!

[_There is a general commotion._

BLOND.

They have put a man at the back. Keep away from the window. [_They are
all bustling, and everybody is talking in whispers; LUKYN places
AGATHA POSKET under the table, where she is concealed by the cover; he
gets behind the overcoats hanging from the pegs; VALE and CHARLOTTE
crouch down behind sofa._] Thank you very much. I am going to put
Isidore to bed on the sofa. That will explain the light which has just
gone out. [_ISIDORE quietly places himself upon the sofa; BLOND
covering him with the rug._] Thank you very much.

[_He goes out._

AGATHA POSKET.

[_In a stifled voice._] Charley! Charley!

CHARLOTTE.

Yes.

AGATHA POSKET.

Where are you?

CHARLOTTE.

Here.

AGATHA POSKET.

Oh, where is Captain Vale?

CHARLOTTE.

I think he's near me.

VALE.

By Jove, Charlotte, I am!

AGATHA POSKET.

Colonel Lukyn!

LUKYN.

[_From behind the coats._] Here, madam!

AGATHA POSKET.

Don't leave us.

LUKYN.

Madam, I am a soldier.

CHARLOTTE.

[_To VALE._] Oh, Horace, at such a moment what a comfort we must be to
each other.

VALE.

My dear Charlotte, it's incalculable.

[_ISIDORE gently raises himself and looks over the back of sofa._

CHARLOTTE.

[_In terror._] What's that?

ISIDORE.

[_Softly._] I beg your pardon.

_BLOND enters quietly, followed by CIS and MR. POSKET on tip-toe, MR.
POSKET holding on to CIS._

BLOND.

This way; be quick. Excuse me, the police are just entering the room
in which these gentlemen were having supper. One of them is anxious
not to be asked any questions. Please to hide him and his friend
somewhere. They are both very nice gentlemen.

[_He goes out, leaving CIS and MR. POSKET._

MR. POSKET.

Cis, Cis. Advise me, my boy, advise me.

CIS.

It's all right, Guv, it's all right. Get behind something.

[_AGATHA POSKET peeps from under the table-cloth._

AGATHA POSKET.

AEneas, and my child!

[_MR. POSKET and CIS wander about, looking for hiding-places._

VALE.

[_To CIS._] Go away.

CIS.

Oh!

LUKYN.

[_To MR. POSKET, who is fumbling at the coats._] No, no.

BLOND.

[_Popping his head in._] The police--coming.

[_CIS disappears behind the window-curtain. MR. POSKET dives under the
table._

AGATHA POSKET.

Oh!

MR. POSKET.

[_To AGATHA POSKET in a whisper._] I beg your pardon. I think I am
addressing a lady. I am entirely the victim of circumstances. Accept
my apologies for this apparent intrusion. [_No answer._] Madam, I
applaud your reticence, though any statement made under the present
circumstances would not be used against you. Where is that boy? Oh!
Madam, it may be acute nervousness on your part, but you are certainly
pinching my arm.

[_There is the sound of heavy feet outside, then MESSITER, a gruff
matter-of-fact Inspector of Police, enters, followed by HARRIS, a
constable, and ACHILLE BLOND._

BLOND.

You need not trouble yourself--take my word for it.

MESSITER.

No trouble, Mr. Blond, thank you. [_Sniffing._] Candles--blown
out--lately. This is where the light was.

BLOND.

Perhaps. My servant, Isidore, sleeps here; he has only just gone to
bed.

MESSITER.

Oh! [_Taking a bull's-eye lantern from HARRIS and throwing the light
on ISIDORE, who is apparently sleeping soundly._] Dead tired, I
suppose?

BLOND.

I suppose so.

MESSITER.

[_Slightly turning down the covering._] He sleeps in his clothes?

BLOND.

Oh yes.

MESSITER.

Always?

BLOND.

Always--it is a rule of the hotel.

MESSITER.

Oh!--why's that?

BLOND.

To be ready for the morning.

MESSITER.

All right--all right. [_Throwing the rug and blanket aside._] Isidore,
go downstairs and give your full name and particulars to Sergeant
Jarvis.

ISIDORE.

[_Rising instantly._] Yes, sir--very good.

BLOND.

[_To ISIDORE._] Why do you wake up so soon? Devil take you!

ISIDORE.

I beg your pardon.

[_He goes out._

MESSITER.

What is underneath that window, Mr. Blond?

BLOND.

The skylight over the kitchen--devil take it!

MESSITER.

Thank you--_you_ can go down to the sergeant now, Mr. Blond.

BLOND.

With pleasure--devil take me!

[_He goes out._

MESSITER.

Now then, Harris.

HARRIS.

Yes, sir.

MESSITER.

Keep perfectly still and hold your breath as long as you can.

HARRIS.

Hold my breath, sir?

MESSITER.

Yes--I want to hear how many people are breathing in this room. Are
you ready?

HARRIS.

Yes, sir.

MESSITER.

Go! [_HARRIS stands still, tightly compressing his lips; MESSITER
quickly examines his face by the light of the lantern, then walks
round the room, listening, and nodding his head with satisfaction as
he passes the various hiding-places. HARRIS writhes in agony; in the
end he gives it up and breathes heavily._] Harris!

HARRIS.

[_Exhausted._] Yes, sir!

MESSITER.

You're breathing.

HARRIS.

Oh lor', yes, sir!

MESSITER.

You'll report yourself to-night!

HARRIS.

I held on till I nearly went off, sir.

MESSITER.

[_Giving him the bull's-eye._] Don't argue, but light up. There are
half a dozen people concealed in this room. [_There is a cry from the
women. CHARLOTTE and VALE rise; LUKYN steps from behind the coats._] I
thought so. [_As MESSITER turns, AGATHA POSKET and MR. POSKET rise,
CIS comes quickly, catches hold of MR. POSKET, and drags him across to
the window._]

CIS.

[To MR. POSKET.] Come on, Guv. Come on!

[_They disappear through the curtain as HARRIS turns up the lights.
Then then is a cry and the sound of a crash._

AGATHA POSKET.

They're killed!

[_MESSITER looks through the window._

MESSITER.

No, they're not; they've gone into the kitchen and the balcony with
them. Look sharp, Harris.

[_HARRIS goes out quickly._

LUKYN.

[_To MESSITER._] I shall report you for this, sir.

MESSITER.

[_Taking out his note-book._] Very sorry, sir; it's my duty.

LUKYN.

Duty, sir! Coming your confounded detective tricks on ladies and
gentlemen! How dare you make ladies and gentlemen suspend their
breathing till they nearly have apoplexy? Do you know I'm a
short-necked man, sir?

MESSITER.

I didn't want you to leave off breathing, sir. I wanted you to breathe
louder. Your name and address, sir.

LUKYN.

Gur-r-r-h!

MESSITER.

Army gentleman, sir?

LUKYN.

How do you know that?

MESSITER.

Short style of speaking, sir. Army gentlemen run a bit brusquish when
on in years.

LUKYN.

Oh! Alexander Lukyn--Colonel--Her Majesty's Cheshire Light Infantry,
late 41st Foot, 3rd Battalion--Bengal--Retired.

MESSITER.

[_Writing._] Hotel or club, Colonel?

LUKYN.

Neither. 19A, Cork Street--lodgings.

MESSITER.

[_Writing._] Very nice part, Colonel. Thank you.

LUKYN.

Bah!

MESSITER.

Other gentleman?

VALE.

[_With languid hauteur._] Horace Edmund Cholmeley Clive Napier Vale.
Captain--Shropshire Fusiliers--Stark's Hotel, Conduit Street.

MESSITER.

[_Writing._] Retired, sir?

VALE.

No, confound you--active!

MESSITER.

Thank you, Captain. Ahem! Beg pardon. The--the ladies.

[_CHARLOTTE clings to VALE, AGATHA POSKET to LUKYN._

CHARLOTTE AND AGATHA POSKET.

No--no! No--no!

LUKYN.

[_To AGATHA POSKET._] All right--all right--trust to me! [_To
MESSITER._] Well, sir?

MESSITER.

Names and addresses, please.

LUKYN.

Officer--my good fellow--tell me now--er--um--at the present moment,
what are you most in want of?

MESSITER.

These two ladies' names and addresses, please. Be quick, Colonel.
[_Pointing to AGATHA POSKET._] That lady first.

LUKYN.

Christian names--er--ah--er--Alice Emmeline.

MESSITER.

[_Writing._] Alice Emmeline. Surname?

LUKYN.

Er--um--Fitzgerald--101, Wilton Street, Piccadilly.

MESSITER.

Single lady?

LUKYN.

Quite.

MESSITER.

Very good, sir.

AGATHA POSKET.

[_To LUKYN, tearfully._] Oh, thank you, such a nice address too.

MESSITER.

[_To VALE._] Now, Captain, please--that lady.

VALE.

[_Who has been re-assuring CHARLOTTE._] Haw! ha! this lady
is--ah--um--the other lady's sister.

MESSITER.

Single lady, sir?

VALE.

Certainly.

MESSITER.

[_Writing._] Christian name, Captain?

VALE.

Ah--um--Harriett.

MESSITER.

[_Writing._] Surname.

VALE.

Er--Macnamara.

MESSITER.

[_With a grim smile._] Quite so. Lives with her sister, of course,
sir?

VALE.

Of course.

MESSITER.

Where at, sir?

VALE.

Albert Mansions, Victoria Street.

CHARLOTTE.

[_To VALE._] Oh, thank you, I always fancied that spot.

MESSITER.

Very much obliged, gentlemen,

LUKYN.

[_Who has listened to VALE'S answers in helpless horror._] By George,
well out of it!

[_CHARLOTTE totters across to AGATHA POSKET, who embraces her._

LUKYN.

[_Taking down the overcoats and throwing one to VALE._] Vale, your
coat.

_HARRIS enters._

HARRIS.

[_To MESSITER._] Very sorry, sir; the two other gentlemen got clean
off, through the back scullery door--old hands, to all appearance.

[_MESSITER stamps his foot, with an exclamation._

AGATHA POSKET.

[_To herself._] My boy--saved!

LUKYN.

[_To HARRIS, who stands before the door._] Constable, get out of the
way.

MESSITER.

[_Sharply._] Harris!

HARRIS.

[_Without moving._] Yes, sir.

MESSITER.

You will leave the hotel with these ladies, and not lose sight of them
till you've ascertained what their names _are,_ and where they _do_
live.

LUKYN AND VALE.

What!

AGATHA POSKET AND CHARLOTTE.

Oh!

MESSITER.

Your own fault, gentlemen; it's my duty.

LUKYN.

And it is _my_ duty to save these helpless women from the protecting
laws of my confounded country! Vale!

VALE.

[_Putting his coat on the sofa._] Active!

LUKYN.

[_To HARRIS._] Let these ladies pass! [_He takes HARRIS by the collar
and flings him over to VALE, who throws him over towards the ladies,
who push him away. MESSITER puts a whistle to his mouth and blows;
there is an immediate answer from without._] More of your fellows
outside?

MESSITER.

Yes, sir, at your service. Very sorry, gentlemen, but you and your
party are in my custody.

LUKYN AND VALE.

What?

AGATHA POSKET AND CHARLOTTE.

Oh!

MESSITER.

For assaulting this man in the execution of his duty.

LUKYN.

You'll dare to lock us up all night?

MESSITER.

It's one o'clock now, Colonel--you'll come on first thing in the
morning.

LUKYN.

Come on? At what Court?

MESSITER.

Mulberry Street.

AGATHA POSKET.

Ah! The magistrate?

MESSITER.

Mr. Posket, mum.

[_AGATHA POSKET sinks into a chair, CHARLOTTE at her feet; LUKYN,
overcome, falls on VALE'S shoulders._

END OF THE SECOND ACT.



THE THIRD ACT

_The first scene is the Magistrate's room at Mulberry Street Police
Court, with a doorway covered by curtains, leading directly into the
Court, and a door opening into a passage. It is the morning after the
events of the last Act._

_POLICE SERGEANT LUGG, a middle-aged man with a slight country
dialect, enters with "The Times" newspaper, and proceeds to cut it and
glance at its contents, while he hums a song._

_MR. WORMINGTON, an elderly, trim and precise man, enters._

MR. WORMINGTON.

Good morning, Lugg.

LUGG.

Morning, Mr. Wormington.

MR. WORMINGTON.

Mr. Posket not arrived yet?

LUGG.

Not yet, sir. Hullo! [_Reading._] "Raid on a West End Hotel.--At an
early hour this morning----"

MR. WORMINGTON.

Yes, I've read that--a case of assault upon the police.

LUGG.

Why, these must be the folks who've been so precious rampageous all
night.

MR. WORMINGTON.

Very likely.

LUGG.

Yes, sir, protestin' and protestin' till they protested everybody's
sleep away. Nice-looking women, too, though, as I tell Mrs. Lugg,
now-a-days there's no telling who's the lady and who isn't. Who's got
this job, sir?

MR. WORMINGTON.

Inspector Messiter.

LUGG.

Messiter! That's luck! Why he's the worst elocutionist in the force,
sir.[*] [_As he arranges the newspaper upon the table, he catches
sight of MR. WORMINGTON'S necktie, which is bright red._] Well,
I--excuse me, Mr. Wormington, but all the years I've had the honour of
knowin' you, sir, I've never seen you wear a necktie with, so to
speak, a dash of colour in it.

----------

[*] A City magistrate, censuring a constable for the indistinctness of
his utterances in the witness box, suggested that the police should be
instructed in a method of delivering evidence articulately.

----------

MR. WORMINGTON.

Well, Lugg, no, that's true, but to-day is an exceptional occasion
with me. It is, in fact, the twenty-fifth anniversary of my marriage,
and I thought it due to Mrs. Wormington to vary, in some slight
degree, the sombreness of my attire. I confess I am a little uneasy in
case Mr. Posket should consider it at all disrespectful to the Court.

LUGG.

Not he, sir.

MR. WORMINGTON.

I don't know. Mr. Posket is punctiliousness itself in dress, and his
cravat's invariably black. However, it is not every man who has a
silver wedding-day.

LUGG.

It's not every one as wants one, sir.

[_MR. WORMINGTON goes out; at the same moment MR. POSKET enters
quickly, and leans on his chair as if exhausted. His appearance is
extremely wretched; he is still in evening dress, but his clothes are
muddy, and his linen soiled and crumpled, while across the bridge of
his nose he has a small strip of black plaster._

MR. POSKET.

[_Faintly._] Good morning, Lugg.

LUGG.

Good morning to you, sir. Regretting the liberty I'm taking, sir--I've
seen you look more strong and hearty.

MR. POSKET.

I am fairly well, thank you, Lugg. My night was rather--rather
disturbed. Lugg!

LUGG.

Sir?

MR. POSKET.

Have any inquiries been made about me, this morning--any messenger
from Mrs. Posket, for instance, to ask how I am?

LUGG.

No, sir.

MR. POSKET.

Oh! my child, my stepson, young Mr. Farringdon, has not called, has
he?

LUGG.

No, sir.

MR. POSKET.

[_To himself._] Where can that boy be? [_To LUGG._] Thank you, that's
all.

LUGG.

[_Who has been eyeing MR. POSKET with astonishment, goes to the door,
and then touches the bridge of his nose._] Nasty cut while shavin',
sir?

[_LUGG goes out._

MR. POSKET.

Where can that boy have got to? If I could only remember how, when,
and where we parted! I think it was at Kilburn. Let me think--first,
the kitchen. [_Putting his hand to his side as if severely bruised._]
Oh! Cis was all right, because I fell underneath; I felt it was my
duty to do so. Then what occurred? A dark room, redolent of onions and
cabbages and paraffine oil, and Cis dragging me over the stone floor,
saying, "We're in the scullery, Guv; let's try and find the
tradesmen's door." Next, the night air--oh, how refreshing! "Cis, my
boy, we will both learn a lesson from to-night--never deceive." Where
are we? In Argyll Street. "Look out, Guv, they're after us."
Then--then, as Cis remarked when we were getting over the railings of
Portman Square--then the fun began. We over into the square--they
after us. Over again, into Baker Street. Down Baker Street. Curious
recollections, whilst running, of my first visit, as a happy child, to
Madame Tussaud's, and wondering whether her removal had affected my
fortunes. "Come on, Guv--you're getting blown." Where are we? Park
Road. What am I doing? Getting up out of puddle. St. John's Wood. The
cricket-ground. "I say, Guv, what a run this would be at Lord's,
wouldn't it? and no fear of being run out either, more fear of being
run in." "What road is this, Cis?" Maida Vale. Good gracious! A pious
aunt of mine once lived in Hamilton Terrace; she never thought I
should come to this. "Guv?" "Yes, my boy." "Let's get this
kind-hearted coffee-stall keeper to hide us." We apply. "Will you
assist two unfortunate gentlemen?" "No, blowed if I will." "Why not?"
" 'Cos I'm agoin' to join in the chase after you." Ah! Off again,
along Maida Vale! On, on, heaven knows how or where, 'till at last, no
sound of pursuit, no Cis, no breath, and the early Kilburn buses
starting to town. Then I came back again, and not much too soon for
the Court. [_Going up to the washstand and looking into the little
mirror, with a low groan._] Oh, how shockingly awful I look, and how
stiff and sore I feel! [_Taking off his coat and hanging it on a peg,
then washing his hands._] What a weak and double-faced creature to be
a magistrate! I really ought to get some member of Parliament to ask a
question about me in the House. Where's the soap? I shall put five
pounds and costs into the poor's box to-morrow. But I deserve a most
severe caution. Ah, perhaps I shall get that from Agatha. [_He takes
off his white tie, rolls it up and crams it into his pocket._] When
Wormington arrives I will borrow some money and send out for a black
cravat! All my pocket money is in my overcoat at the Hotel des
Princes. If the police seize it there is some consolation in knowing
that that money will never be returned to me. [_There is a knock at
the door._] Come in!

_LUGG enters._

LUGG.

Your servant, Mr. Wyke, wants to see you, sir

MR. POSKET.

Bring him in. [_LUGG goes out._] Wyke! From Agatha! From Agatha!

_LUGG re-enters with WYKE._

WYKE.

Ahem! Good morning, sir.

MR. POSKET.

Good morning, Wyke. Ahem! Is Master Farringdon quite well?

WYKE.

He hadn't arrived home, when I left, sir.

MR. POSKET.

Oh! Where is that boy? [_To WYKE._] How's your mistress this morning,
Wyke?

WYKE.

Very well, I hope, sir; _she_ ain't come home yet, either.

MR. POSKET.

Not returned--nor Miss Verrinder?

WYKE.

No, sir--neither of them.

MR. POSKET.

[_To himself._] Lady Jenkins is worse, they are still nursing her!
Good women, true women!

WYKE.

[_To himself._] That's eased his deceivin' old mind.

MR. POSKET.

[_To himself._] Now, if the servants don't betray me and Cis returns
safely, the worst is over. To what a depth I have fallen when I
rejoice at Lady Jenkins' indisposition!

WYKE.

Cook thought you ought to know that the mistress hadn't come home,
sir.

MR. POSKET.

Certainly. Take a cab at once to Campden Hill and bring me back word
how poor Lady Jenkins is. Tell Mrs. Posket I will come on the moment
the Court rises.

WYKE.

Yes, sir.

MR. POSKET.

And, Wyke. It is not at all necessary that Mrs. Posket should know of
my absence with Master Farringdon from home last night. Mrs. Posket's
present anxieties are more than sufficient. Inform Cook, and Popham,
and the other servants that I shall recognise their discretion in the
same spirit I have already displayed towards you.

WYKE.

[_With sarcasm._] Thank you, sir. I will. [_He produces from his
waistcoat-pocket a small packet of money done up in newspaper, which
he throws down upon the table._] Meanwhile, sir, I thought you would
like to count up the little present of money you gave me last night,
and in case you thought you'd been over-liberal, sir, you might halve
the amount. It isn't no good spoiling of us all, sir.

_LUGG enters._

MR. POSKET.

You are an excellent servant, Wyke; I am very pleased. I will see you
when you return from Lady Jenkins's. Be quick.

WYKE.

Yes, sir. [_To himself._] He won't give me twopence again in a hurry.

[_He goes out; LUGG is about to follow._

MR. POSKET.

Oh, Lugg, I want you to go to the nearest hosier's and purchase me a
neat cravat.

LUGG.

[_Looking inquisitively at MR. POSKET._] A necktie, sir?

MR. POSKET.

Yes. [_Turning up his coat collar to shield himself from LUGG'S
gaze._] A necktie--a necktie.

LUGG.

What sort of a kind of one, sir?

MR. POSKET.

Oh, one like Mr. Wormington's.

LUGG.

One like he's wearing this morning, sir?

MR. POSKET.

Of course, of course, of course.

LUGG.

[_To himself._] Fancy him being jealous of Mr. Wormington, now. Very
good, sir--what price, sir?

MR. POSKET.

The best. [_To himself._] There now, I've no money. [_Seeing the
packet on table._] Oh, pay for it with this, Lugg.

LUGG.

Yes, sir.

MR. POSKET.

And keep the change for your trouble.

LUGG.

Thank you, sir; thank you, sir--very much obliged to you, sir. [_To
himself._] That's like a liberal gentleman.

[_LUGG goes out as MR. WORMINGTON enters through the curtains with the
charge sheet in his hand. MR. WORMINGTON, on seeing MR. POSKET,
uneasily tucks his pocket-handkerchief in his collar so as to hide his
necktie._

MR. WORMINGTON.

H'm! Good morning.

MR. POSKET.

Good morning, Wormington.

MR. WORMINGTON.

The charge sheet.

MR. POSKET.

Sit down.

[_MR. WORMINGTON puts on his spectacles; MR. POSKET also attempts to
put on his spectacles, but hurts the bridge of his nose, winces, and
desists._

MR. POSKET.

[_To himself._] My nose is extremely painful. [_To MR. WORMINGTON._]
You have a bad cold I am afraid, Wormington--bronchial?

MR. WORMINGTON.

Ahem! Well--ah--the fact is--you may have noticed how very chilly the
nights are.

MR. POSKET.

Very, very.

MR. WORMINGTON.

The only way to maintain the circulation is to run as fast as one can.

MR. POSKET.

To run--as fast as one can--yes--quite so.

MR. WORMINGTON.

[_To himself, looking at MR. POSKET'S shirt front._] How very
extraordinary--he is wearing no cravat whatever!

MR. POSKET.

[_Buttoning up his coat to avoid MR. WORMINGTON'S gaze._] Anything
important this morning?

MR. WORMINGTON.

Nothing particular after the first charge, a serious business arising
out of the raid on the "Hotel des Princes."

MR. POSKET.

[_Starting._] "Hotel des Princes?"

MR. WORMINGTON.

Inspector Messiter found six persons supping there at one o'clock this
morning. Two contrived to escape.

MR. POSKET.

Dear me--I am surprised--I mean, did they?

MR. WORMINGTON.

But they left their overcoats behind them, and it is believed they
will be traced.

MR. POSKET.

Oh, do you--do you think it is worth while? The police have a great
deal to occupy them just now.

MR. WORMINGTON.

But surely if the police see their way to capture anybody we had
better raise no obstacle.

MR. POSKET.

No--no--quite so--never struck me.

MR. WORMINGTON.

[_Referring to charge sheet._] The remaining four it was found
necessary to take into custody.

MR. POSKET.

Good gracious! What a good job the other two didn't wait. I beg your
pardon--I mean--you say we have four?

MR. WORMINGTON.

Yes, on the charge of obstructing the police. The first assault
occurred in the supper-room--the second in the four-wheeled cab on the
way to the station. There were five persons in the cab at the
time--the two women, the two men, and the Inspector.

MR. POSKET.

Dear me, it must have been a very complicated assault. Who are the
unfortunate people?

MR. WORMINGTON.

The men are of some position. [_Reading._] "Alexander Lukyn,
Colonel"----

MR. POSKET.

Lukyn! I--I--know Colonel Lukyn; we are old schoolfellows.

MR. WORMINGTON.

Very sad! [_Reading._] The other is "Horace, &c. &c.
Vale--Captain--Shropshire Fusiliers."

MR. POSKET.

And the ladies?

MR. WORMINGTON.

Call themselves, "Alice Emmeline Fitzgerald and Harriet Macnamara."

MR. POSKET.

[_To himself._] Which is the lady who was under the table with me?

MR. WORMINGTON.

They are not recognised by the police at present, but they furnish
incorrect addresses, and their demeanour is generally violent and
unsatisfactory.

MR. POSKET.

[_To himself._] Who pinched me--Alice or Harriet?

MR. WORMINGTON.

I mention this case because it seems to be one calling for most
stringent measures.

MR. POSKET.

Wouldn't a fine, and a severe warning from the Bench, to the two
persons who have got away----

MR. WORMINGTON.

I think not. Consider, Mr. Posket, not only defying the licensing
laws, but obstructing the police!

MR. POSKET.

That's true--it is hard, when the police are doing anything, that they
should be obstructed.

_LUGG enters._

LUGG.

[_Attempting to conceal some annoyance._] Your necktie, sir.

MR. POSKET.

S-ssh!

MR. WORMINGTON.

[_To himself._] Then he _came_ without one--dear me!

LUGG.

[_Clapping down a paper parcel on the table._] As near like Mr.
Wormington's as possible--brighter if anything.

MR. POSKET.

[_Opening the parcel, and finding a very common, gaudy neckkerchief._]
Good gracious! What a horrible affair!

LUGG.

According to my information, sir--like Mr. Wormington's.

MR. POSKET.

Mr. Wormington would never be seen in such an abominable colour.

MR. WORMINGTON.

Well--really--I--[_Removing the handkerchief from his throat._] I am
extremely sorry.

MR. POSKET.

My dear Wormington!

MR. WORMINGTON.

I happen to be wearing something similar--the first time for
five-and-twenty years.

MR. POSKET.

Oh, I beg your pardon. [_To himself._] Everything seems against me.

LUGG.

One-and-nine it come to, sir. [_Producing the paper packet of money
and laying it upon the table._] And I brought back all the money you
gave me, thinking you'd like to look over it quietly. Really, sir, I
never showed up smaller in any shop in all my life!

MR. POSKET.

Upon my word. First one and then another! What _is_ wrong with the
money. [_Opens the packet._] Twopence! [_To himself._] That man Wyke
will tell all to Agatha! Oh, everything is against me.

[_LUGG has opened the door, taken a card from some one outside, and
handed it to MR. WORMINGTON._

MR. WORMINGTON.

From cell No. 3.

[_Handing the card to MR. POSKET._

MR. POSKET.

[_Reading._] "Dear Posket, for the love of goodness see me before the
sitting of the Court. Alexander Lukyn." Poor dear Lukyn! What on earth
shall I do?

MR. WORMINGTON.

Such a course would be most unusual.

MR. POSKET.

Everything is unusual. Your cravat is unusual. This prisoner is
invited to dine at my house to-day--that's peculiar. He is my wife's
first husband's only child's god-father--that's a little out of the
ordinary.

MR. WORMINGTON.

The charge is so serious!

MR. POSKET.

But I am a man as well as a magistrate, advise me, Wormington, advise
me!

MR. WORMINGTON.

Well--you can apply to yourself for permission to grant Colonel
Lukyn's request.

MR. POSKET.

[_Hastily scribbling on LUKYN'S card._] I do--I do--and after much
conflicting argument I consent to see Colonel Lukyn here, immediately.
[_Handing the card to MR. WORMINGTON who passes it to LUGG, who then
goes out._] Don't leave me, Wormington--you must stand by me to see
that I remain calm, firm, and judicial. [_He hastily puts on the red
necktie in an untidy manner._] Poor Lukyn, I must sink the friend in
the magistrate, and in dealing with his errors apply the scourge to
myself. [_To MR. WORMINGTON._] Wormington, tap me on the shoulder when
I am inclined to be more than usually unusual.

[_MR. WORMINGTON stands behind him, and LUGG enters with LUKYN.
LUKYN'S dress-clothes are much soiled and disordered, and he, too, has
a small strip of plaster upon the bridge of his nose. There is a
constrained pause, LUKYN and MR. POSKET both cough._

LUKYN.

[_To himself._] Poor Posket!

MR. POSKET.

[_To himself._] Poor Lukyn!

LUKYN.

[_To himself._] I suppose he has been sitting up for his wife all
night, poor devil! [_To MR. POSKET._] Ahem! How are you, Posket?

[_MR. WORMINGTON touches MR. POSKET'S shoulder._

MR. POSKET.

I regret to see you in this terrible position, Colonel Lukyn.

LUKYN.

By George, old fellow, I regret to find myself in it. [_Sitting, and
taking up newspaper._] I suppose they've got us in the "Times,"
confound 'em!

[_While LUKYN is reading the paper, MR. POSKET and MR. WORMINGTON hold
a hurried consultation respecting LUKYN'S behaviour._

MR. POSKET.

H'm! [_To LUGG._] Sergeant, I think Colonel Lukyn may be accommodated
with a chair.

LUGG.

He's in it, sir.

LUKYN.

[_Rising and putting down paper._] Beg your pardon, forgot where I
was. I suppose everything must be formal in this confounded place?

MR. POSKET.

I am afraid, Colonel Lukyn, it will be necessary even here to preserve
strictly our unfortunate relative positions. [_LUKYN bows._] Sit down.
[_LUKYN sits again. POSKET takes up the charge sheet._] Colonel Lukyn!
In addressing you now, I am speaking, not as a man, but, as an
instrument of the law. As a man I may, or may not, be a weak, vicious,
despicable creature.

LUKYN.

Certainly--of course.

MR. POSKET.

But, as a magistrate I am bound to say you fill me with pain and
astonishment.

LUKYN.

Quite right--every man to his trade, go on, Posket.

MR. POSKET.

[_Turning his chair to face LUKYN._] Alexander Lukyn--when I look at
you--when I look at you---- [_He attempts to put on his spectacles._]
Ah--my nose. [_To LUKYN._] I say, when I look at you, Alexander Lukyn,
I confront a most mournful spectacle. A military officer, trained in
the ways of discipline and smartness, now, in consequence of his own
misdoings, lamentably bruised and battered, shamefully disfigured by
plaster, with his apparel soiled and damaged--all terrible evidence of
a conflict with that power of which I am the representative.

LUKYN.

[_Turning his chair to face MR. POSKET._] Well, Posket, if it comes to
that, when I look at you, when I look at you--[_He attempts to fix his
glass in his eye._] Confound my nose! [_To MR. POSKET._] When I look
at you, _you_ are not a very imposing object, this morning.

MR. POSKET.

Lukyn!

LUKYN.

You look quite as shaky as I do--and you're not quite innocent of
court plaster.

MR. POSKET.

Lukyn! Really!

LUKYN.

And as for our attire, we neither of us look as if we had slipped out
of a bandbox.

MR. POSKET.

Don't, Lukyn, don't! Pray respect my legal status! [_MR. WORMINGTON
leads MR. POSKET, who has risen, back to his seat._] Thank you,
Wormington. Alexander Lukyn, I have spoken. It remains for you to
state your motive in seeking this painful interview.

LUKYN.

Certainly! H'm! You know, of course, that I am not alone in this
affair?

MR. POSKET.

[_Referring to charge sheet._] Three persons appear to be charged with
you.

LUKYN.

Yes. Two others got away. Cowards! If ever I find them, I'll destroy
them!

MR. POSKET.

Lukyn!

LUKYN.

I will! Another job for you, Posket.

MR. POSKET.

[_With dignity._] I beg your pardon, in the event of such a deplorable
occurrence, I should not occupy my present position. Go on, sir.

LUKYN.

Horace Vale and I are prepared to stand the brunt of our misdeeds.
But, Posket, there are ladies in the case.

MR. POSKET.

In the annals of the Mulberry Street Police Court such a circumstance
is not unprecedented.

LUKYN.

Two helpless, forlorn ladies.

MR. POSKET.

[_Referring to charge sheet._] Alice Emmeline Fitzgerald and Harriet
Macnamara. Oh, Lukyn, Lukyn!

LUKYN.

Pooh! I ask no favour for myself or Vale, but I come to you, Posket,
to beg you to use your power to release these two ladies without a
moment's delay.

[_MR. WORMINGTON touches MR. POSKET'S shoulder._

MR. POSKET.

Upon my word, Lukyn! Do you think I am to be undermined?

LUKYN.

Undermine the devil, sir! Don't talk to me! Let these ladies go, I
say! Don't bring them into Court, don't see their faces--don't hear
their voices--if you do, you'll regret it!

MR. POSKET.

Colonel Lukyn!

LUKYN.

[_Leaning across the table and gripping MR. POSKET by the shoulder._]
Posket, do you know that one of these ladies is a married lady?

MR. POSKET.

Of course I don't, sir. I blush to hear it.

LUKYN.

And do you know that from the moment this married lady steps into your
confounded Court, the happiness, the contentment of a doting husband,
become a confounded wreck and ruin?

MR. POSKET.

Then, sir, let it be my harrowing task to open the eyes of this
foolish doting man to the treachery, the perfidy, which nestles upon
his very hearthrug!

LUKYN.

Oh, lor'! Be careful, Posket! By George, be careful!

MR. POSKET.

Alexander Lukyn, you are my friend. Amongst the personal property
taken from you when you entered these precincts may have been found a
memorandum of an engagement to dine at my house to-night at a quarter
to eight o'clock. But, Lukyn, I solemnly prepare you, you stand in
danger of being late for dinner! I go further--I am not sure, after
this morning's proceedings, that Mrs. Posket will be ready to receive
you.

LUKYN.

I'm confoundedly certain she _won't!_

MR. POSKET.

Therefore, Lukyn, as an English husband and father it will be my duty
to teach you and your disreputable companions [_referring to
charge-sheet_], Alice Emmeline Fitzgerald and Harriet Macnamara, some
rudimentary notions of propriety and decorum.

LUKYN.

Confound you, Posket--listen!

MR. POSKET.

I am listening, sir, to the guiding voice of Mrs. Posket--that
newly-made wife still blushing from the embarrassment of her second
marriage, and that voice says, "Strike for the sanctity of hearth and
home, for the credit of the wives of England--no mercy!"

MR. WORMINGTON.

It is time to go into Court, sir. The charge against Colonel Lukyn is
first on the list.

LUKYN.

Posket, I'll give you one last chance! If I write upon a scrap of
paper the real names of these two unfortunate ladies, will you shut
yourself up for a moment, away from observation, and read these names
before you go into Court?

MR. POSKET.

Certainly not, Colonel Lukyn! I cannot be influenced by private
information in dealing with an offence which is, in my opinion, as
black as--as my cravat! Ahem!

[_MR. WORMINGTON and MR. POSKET look at each other's necktie and turn
up their collars hastily._

LUKYN.

[_To himself._] There's no help for it. [_To MR. POSKET._] Then
Posket, you must have the plain truth where you stand, by George! The
two ladies who are my companions in this affair are----

MR. POSKET.

Sergeant! Colonel Lukyn will now join his party.

[_LUGG steps up to LUKYN sharply._

LUKYN.

[_Boiling with indignation._] What, sir? What?

MR. POSKET.

Lukyn, I think we both have engagements--will you excuse me?

LUKYN.

Posket! You've gone too far! If you went down on your knees, which you
appear to have been recently doing, and begged the names of these two
ladies, you shouldn't have 'em! No sir, by George, you shouldn't.

MR. POSKET.

Good morning, Colonel Lukyn.

LUKYN.

You've lectured me, pooh-poohed me, snubbed me--a soldier, sir--a
soldier! But when I think of your dinner-party to-night, with my empty
chair, like Banquo, by George, sir--and the chief dish composed of a
well-browned, well-basted, family skeleton, served up under the best
silver cover, I pity you, Posket! Good morning!

[_He marches out with LUGG._

MR. POSKET.

Ah! Thank goodness that ordeal is passed. Now, Wormington, I think I
am ready to face the duties of the day! Shall we go into Court?

MR. WORMINGTON.

Certainly, sir.

[_MR. WORMINGTON gathers up papers from the table. MR. POSKET with a
shaking hand pours out water from carafe and drinks._

MR. POSKET.

My breakfast. [_To MR. WORMINGTON._] I hope I defended the sanctity of
the Englishman's hearth, Wormington?

MR. WORMINGTON.

You did, indeed. As a married man, I thank you.

MR. POSKET.

Give me your arm, Wormington! I am not very well this morning, and
this interview with Colonel Lukyn has shaken me. I think your
coat-collar is turned up, Wormington.

MR. WORMINGTON.

So is yours, I fancy, sir.

MR. POSKET.

Ahem!

[_They turn their collars down; MR. POSKET takes MR. WORMINGTON'S arm.
They are going towards the curtains when WYKE enters hurriedly at the
door._

WYKE.

Excuse me, sir.

MR. WORMINGTON.

Hush! hush! Mr. Posket is just going into Court.

WYKE.

Lady Jenkins has sent me back to tell you that she hasn't seen the
missis for the last week or more.

MR. POSKET.

Mrs. Posket went to Campden Hill with Miss Verrinder last night!

WYKE.

They haven't arrived there, sir.

MR. POSKET.

Haven't arrived!

WYKE.

No sir--and even a slow four-wheeler won't account for that.

MR. POSKET.

Wormington! there's something wrong! Mrs. Posket quitted a fairly
happy home last night and has not been seen or heard of since!

MR. WORMINGTON.

Pray don't be anxious, sir, the Court is waiting.

MR. POSKET.

But I am anxious! Tell Sergeant Lugg to look over the Accident-Book,
this morning's Hospital Returns, List of Missing Children, Suspicious
Pledges People left Chargeable to the Parish, Attend to your Window
Fastenings----! I--I--Wormington, Mrs. Posket and I disagreed last
night.

MR. WORMINGTON.

Don't think of it, sir! you should hear me and Mrs. Wormington! Pray
do come into Court.

MR. POSKET.

Court! I'm totally unfit for business! totally unfit for business!

[_MR. WORMINGTON hurries him off through the curtains. LUGG enters,
almost breathless._

LUGG.

We've got charge one in the Dock--all four of 'em. [_Seeing WYKE._]
Hallo! you back again!

WYKE.

Yes--seems so. [_They stand facing each other, dabbing their foreheads
with their handkerchiefs._] Phew! you seem warm.

LUGG.

Phew! you don't seem so cool.

WYKE.

I've been lookin' after two ladies.

LUGG.

So have I.

WYKE.

I haven't found 'em.

LUGG.

If I'd known, I'd a been pleased to lend you our two.

[_From the other side of the curtains there is the sound of a shriek
from AGATHA POSKET and CHARLOTTE._

WYKE.

Lor'! what's that!

LUGG.

That _is_ our two. Don't notice them--they're hystericals. They're
mild now to what they have been. I say, old fellow--is your guv'nor
all right in his head?

WYKE.

I suppose so--why?

LUGG.

I've a partickler reason for asking. Does he ever tell you to buy him
anything and keep the change?

WYKE.

What d'yer mean?

LUGG.

Well, does he ever come down handsome for your extry exertion--do you
ever get any tips?

WYKE.

Rather. What do you think he made me a present of last night?

LUGG.

Don't know.

WYKE.

Twopence--to buy a new umbrella.

LUGG.

Well, I'm blessed! And he gave me the same sum to get him a silk
necktie. It's my opinion he's got a softening of the brain. [_Another
shriek from the two women, a cry from MR. POSKET, and then a hubbub
are heard. Running up to the curtains and looking through._] Hallo!
what's wrong? Here! I told you so--he's broken out, he's broken out.

WYKE.

Who's broken out?

LUGG.

The lunatic. Keep back, I'm wanted.

[_He goes through the curtains._

WYKE.

[_Looking after him._] Look at the guv'nor waving his arms and going
on anyhow at the prisoners! Prisoners! Gracious goodness--it's the
missis!

[_Amid a confused sound of voices MR. POSKET is brought in, through
the curtains, by MR. WORMINGTON. LUGG follows._

MR. POSKET.

Wormington! Wormington! the two ladies! the two ladies! I know them!

MR. WORMINGTON.

It's all right, sir, it's all right--don't be upset, sir!

MR. POSKET.

I'm not well; what shall I do?

MR. WORMINGTON.

Nothing further, sir. What you have done is quite in form.

MR. POSKET.

What I _have_ done?

MR. WORMINGTON.

Yes, sir--you did precisely what I suggested--took the words from me.
They pleaded guilty.

MR. POSKET.

Guilty!

MR. WORMINGTON.

Yes, sir--and you sentenced them.

MR. POSKET.

Sentenced them! The ladies!

MR. WORMINGTON.

Yes, sir. You've given them seven days, without the option of a fine.

[_MR. POSKET collapses into MR. WORMINGTON'S arms._



THE SECOND SCENE.

_The scene changes to MR. POSKET'S drawing-room, as in the first act._

_BEATIE enters timidly, dressed in simple walking-costume._

BEATIE.

How dreadfully early. Eleven o'clock, and I'm not supposed to come
till four. I wonder why I want to instruct Cis all day. I'm not nearly
so enthusiastic about the two little girls I teach in Russell Square.

_POPHAM enters. Her eyes are red as if from crying._

POPHAM.

[_Drawing back on seeing BEATIE._] That music person again. I beg your
pardon--I ain't got no instructions to prepare no drawing-room for no
lessons till four o'clock.

BEATIE.

I wish to see Mrs. Posket.

POPHAM.

She hasn't come home.

BEATIE.

Oh then--er--um--Master Farringdon will do.

POPHAM.

[_In tears._] He haven't come home either!

BEATIE.

Oh, where is he?

POPHAM.

No one knows! His wicked old stepfather took him out late last night
and hasn't returned him. Such a night as it was, too, and him still
wearing his summer under-vests.

BEATIE.

Mr. Posket?

POPHAM.

Mr. Posket--no, my Cis!

BEATIE.

How dare you speak of Master Farringdon in that familiar way?

POPHAM.

How dare I? Because me and him formed an attachment before ever you
darkened our doors. [_Taking a folded printed paper from her pocket._]
You may put down the iron 'eel too heavy, Miss Tomlinson. I refer you
to _Bow Bells_--"First Love is Best Love; or, The Earl's Choice."

[_As POPHAM offers the paper, CIS enters, looking very pale, worn-out,
and dishevelled._

POPHAM AND BEATIE.

Oh!

CIS.

[_Staggering to a chair._] Where's the mater?

POPHAM.

Not home yet.

CIS.

Thank giminy!

BEATIE.

He's ill!

POPHAM.

Oh!

[_BEATIE, assisted by POPHAM, quickly wheels the large armchair
forward, they catch hold of CIS and place him in it, he submits
limply._

BEATIE.

[_Taking CIS'S hand._] What is the matter, Cis dear? Tell Beatie.

POPHAM.

[_Taking his other hand._] Well, I'm sure! Who's given you raisins and
ketchup from the store cupboard? Come back to Emma!

[_CIS, with his eyes closed, gives a murmur._

BEATIE.

He's whispering!

[_They both bob their heads down to listen._

POPHAM.

He says his head's a-whirling.

BEATIE.

Put him on the sofa.

[_They take off his boots, loosen his necktie, and dab his forehead
with water out of a flower-vase._

CIS.

I--I--I wish you two girls would leave off.

BEATIE.

He's speaking again. He hasn't had any breakfast! He's hungry!

POPHAM.

Hungry! I thought he looked thin! Wait a minute, dear! Emma Popham
knows what her boy fancies!

[_She runs out of the room._

CIS.

Oh, Beatie, hold my head while I ask you something.

BEATIE.

Yes, darling!

CIS.

No lady would marry a gentleman who had been a convict, would she?

BEATIE.

No; certainly not!

CIS.

I thought not! Well, Beatie, I've been run after by a policeman.

BEATIE.

[_Leaving him._] Oh!

CIS.

Not caught, you know, only run after; and, walking home from Hendon
this morning, I came to the conclusion that I ought to settle down in
life. Beatie--could I write out a paper promising to marry you when
I'm one-and-twenty?

BEATIE.

Don't be a silly boy--of course you could.

CIS.

Then I shall; and when I feel inclined to have a spree, I shall think
of that paper and say, "Cis Farringdon, if you ever get locked up,
you'll lose the most beautiful girl in the world."

BEATIE.

And so you will.

[_He goes to the writing-table._

CIS.

I'd better write it now, before my head gets well again.

[_He writes; she bends over him._

BEATIE.

You simple, foolish, Cis! If your head is so queer, shall I tell you
what to say?

_POPHAM enters, carrying a tray with breakfast dishes._

POPHAM.

[_To herself._] He won't think so much of _her_ now. His breakfast is
my triumph. [_To CIS._] Coffee, bacon, and a teacake.

BEATIE.

Hush! Master Farringdon is writing something very important.

POPHAM.

[_Going to the window._] That's a cab at our door.

CIS.

It must be the mater--I'm off!

[_He picks up his boots and goes out quickly._

BEATIE.

[_Following him with the paper and inkstand._] Cis! Cis! You haven't
finished the promise! You haven't finished the promise!

LUGG.

[_Heard outside._] All right, sir--I've got you--I've got you.

[_POPHAM opens the door._

POPHAM.

The master and a policeman! [_LUGG enters supporting MR. POSKET who
sinks into an armchair with a groan._] Oh, what's the matter?

LUGG.

All right, my good girl, you run downstairs and fetch a drop of brandy
and water.

MR. POSKET.

[_Hurrying out._] Oh!

LUGG.

Now don't take on so, sir. It's what might happen to any married
gentleman. Now, you're all right now, sir. And I'll hurry back to the
Court to see whether they've sent for Mr. Bullamy.

MR. POSKET.

My wife! My wife!

LUGG.

Oh, come now, sir, what _is_ seven days! Why many a married gentleman
in your position, sir, would have been glad to have made it fourteen.

MR. POSKET.

Go away--leave me.

LUGG.

Certainly, sir. [_POPHAM re-enters with a small tumbler of brandy and
water; he takes it from her and drinks it._] It's not wanted. I'm
thankful to say he's better.

POPHAM.

[_To LUGG._] If you please, cook presents her compliments, and she
would be glad of the pleasure of your company downstairs, before
leavin'.

[_They go out._

MR. POSKET.

Agatha and Lukyn! Agatha and Lukyn supping together at the Hotel des
Princes, while I was at home and asleep--while I ought to have been at
home and asleep! It's awful!

CIS.

[_Looking in at the door and entering._] Hallo, Guv!

MR. POSKET.

[_Starting up._] Cis!

CIS.

Where did you fetch, Guv?

MR. POSKET.

Where did I fetch! You wretched boy! I fetched Kilburn, and I'll fetch
you a sound whipping when I recover my composure.

CIS.

What for?

MR. POSKET.

For leading me astray, sir. Yours is the first bad companionship I
have ever formed! Evil communication with you, sir, has corrupted me!
[_Taking CIS by the collar and shaking him._] Why did you abandon me
at Kilburn?

CIS.

Because you were quite done, and I branched off to draw the crowd away
from you after me.

MR. POSKET.

Did you, Cis, did you? [_Putting his hand on CIS'S shoulder._] My
boy--my boy! Oh, Cis, we're in such trouble!

CIS.

You weren't caught, Guv?

MR. POSKET.

No--but do you know who the ladies are who were supping at the Hotel
des Princes?

CIS.

No--do you?

MR. POSKET.

Do I? They were your mother and Aunt Charlotte.

CIS.

The mater and Aunt Charlotte! Ha, ha, ha! [_Laughing and dancing with
delight._] Ha! ha! Oh, I say, Guv, what a lark!

MR. POSKET.

A lark! They were taken to the police station!

CIS.

[_Changing his tone._] My mother?

MR. POSKET.

They were brought before the magistrate and sentenced.

CIS.

Sentenced?

MR. POSKET.

To seven days' imprisonment.

CIS.

Oh!

[_He puts his hat on fiercely._

MR. POSKET.

What are you going to do?

CIS.

Get my mother out first, and then break every bone in that
magistrate's body.

MR. POSKET.

Cis! Cis! he's an unhappy wretch and he did his duty.

CIS.

His duty! To send another magistrate's wife to prison! Guv, I'm only a
boy, but I know what professional etiquette is! Come along! Which is
the police station?

MR. POSKET.

Mulberry Street.

CIS.

Who's the magistrate?

MR. POSKET.

I am!

CIS.

You! [_Seizing MR. POSKET by the collar and shaking him._] You dare to
lock up my mother! Come with me and get her out!

[_He is dragging MR. POSKET towards the door, when MR. BULLAMY enters
breathlessly._

MR. BULLAMY.

My dear Posket!

CIS.

[_Seizing MR. BULLAMY and dragging him with MR. POSKET to the door._]
Come with me and get my mother out.

MR. BULLAMY.

Leave me alone, sir! She _is_ out! I managed it.

MR. POSKET AND CIS.

[_Together._] How?

MR. BULLAMY.

Wormington sent to me when you were taken ill. When I arrived at the
Court, he had discovered, from your man-servant, Mrs. Posket's awful
position.

CIS.

You leave my mother alone! Go on!

MR. BULLAMY.

Said I to myself, "This won't do, I must extricate these people
somehow!" [_To MR. POSKET._] I'm not so damned conscientious as you
are, Posket.

CIS.

Bravo! Go on!

MR. BULLAMY.

[_Producing his jujube box._] The first thing I did was to take a
jujube.

CIS.

[_Snatching the jujube box from him._] Will you make haste?

MR. BULLAMY.

Then said I to Wormington, "Posket was _non compos mentis_ when he
heard this case--I'm going to re-open the matter!"

CIS.

Hurrah!

MR. BULLAMY.

And I did! And what do you think I found out from the proprietor of
the hotel!

MR. POSKET AND CIS.

What?

MR. BULLAMY.

That this young scamp, Mr. Cecil Farringdon, hires a room at the
"Hotel des Princes."

CIS.

I know that.

MR. BULLAMY.

And that Mr. Farringdon was there last night with some low stockbroker
of the name of Skinner.

CIS.

Go on--go on! [_Offering him the jujube box._] Take a jujube!

MR. BULLAMY.

[_Taking a jujube._] Now the law, which seems to me quite perfect,
allows a man who rents a little apartment at an inn to eat and drink
with his friends all night long.

CIS.

Well?

MR. BULLAMY.

So said I from the bench, "These ladies and gentlemen appear to be
friends or relatives of a certain lodger in the 'Hotel des Princes.' "

CIS.

So they are!

MR. BULLAMY.

"They were all discovered in one room."

MR. POSKET.

So we were--I mean, so they were!

MR. BULLAMY.

"And I shall adjourn the case for a week to give Mr. Farringdon an
opportunity of claiming these people as his guests."

CIS.

Three cheers for Bullamy.

MR. BULLAMY.

So I censured the police for their interference and released the
ladies on their own recognisances.

MR. POSKET.

[_Taking MR. BULLAMY'S hand._] And the men?

MR. BULLAMY.

Well, unfortunately, Wormington took upon himself to despatch the men
to the House of Correction before I arrived.

MR. POSKET.

I'm glad of it! They are dissolute villains! I'm glad of it.

_POPHAM enters._

POPHAM.

Oh, sir! Here's the missis and Miss Verrinder! In such a plight!

CIS.

The mater! Guv, you explain!

[_He hurries out. MR. POSKET rapidly retires into the window recess.
AGATHA POSKET and CHARLOTTE enter, pale, red-eyed, and agitated.
POPHAM goes out._

AGATHA POSKET AND CHARLOTTE.

[_Falling on to MR. BULLAMY'S shoulders._] O--o--h--h!

MR. BULLAMY.

My dear ladies!

AGATHA POSKET.

Preserver!

CHARLOTTE.

Friend!

AGATHA POSKET.

How is my boy?

MR. BULLAMY.

Never better.

AGATHA POSKET.

And the man who condemned his wife and sister-in-law to the miseries
of a jail!

MR. BULLAMY.

Ahem! Posket--oh--he----

AGATHA POSKET.

Is he well enough to be told what that wife thinks of him?

MR. BULLAMY.

It might cause a relapse!

AGATHA POSKET.

It is my duty to risk that.

CHARLOTTE.

[_Raising the covers of the dishes on the table._] Food!

AGATHA POSKET.

Ah!

[_AGATHA POSKET and CHARLOTTE begin to devour a teacake voraciously._

MR. POSKET.

[_Advancing with an attempt at dignity._] Agatha Posket.

AGATHA POSKET.

[_Rising, with her mouth full, and a piece of teacake in her hand._]
Sir!

[_CHARLOTTE takes the tray and everything on it from the table and
goes towards the door._

MR. BULLAMY.

[_Going to the door._] There's going to be an explanation.

CHARLOTTE.

[_At the door._] There's going to be an explanation.

[_CHARLOTTE and MR. BULLAMY go out quietly._

MR. POSKET.

How dare you look me in the face, madam?

AGATHA POSKET.

How dare you look at anybody in any position, sir? You send your wife
to prison for pushing a mere policeman.

MR. POSKET.

I didn't know what I was doing.

AGATHA POSKET.

Not when you requested two ladies to raise their veils and show their
faces in the dock? We shouldn't have been discovered but for that.

MR. POSKET.

It was my duty.

AGATHA POSKET.

Duty! You don't go to the police court again alone! I guess now, AEneas
Posket, why you clung to a single life so long. _You liked it!_

MR. POSKET.

I wish I had.

AGATHA POSKET.

Why didn't you marry till you were fifty?

MR. POSKET.

Perhaps I hadn't met a widow, madam.

AGATHA POSKET.

Paltry excuse. You revelled in a dissolute bachelorhood!

MR. POSKET.

Hah! Whist every evening!

AGATHA POSKET.

You can't play whist _alone._ You're an expert at hiding too!

MR. POSKET.

If I were I should thrash your boy!

AGATHA POSKET.

When you wished to conceal yourself last night, you selected a table
with a lady under it.

MR. POSKET.

Ah, did you pinch me, or did Charlotte?

AGATHA POSKET.

I did--Charlotte's a single girl.

MR. POSKET.

I fancy, madam, you found my conduct under that table perfectly
respectful?

AGATHA POSKET.

I don't know--I was too agitated to notice.

MR. POSKET.

Evasion--you're like all the women.

AGATHA POSKET.

Profligate! You oughtn't to know that!

MR. POSKET.

No wife of mine sups, unknown to me, with dissolute military men; we
will have a judicial separation, Mrs. Posket.

AGATHA POSKET.

Certainly--I suppose you'll manage that at your police court, too?

MR. POSKET.

I shall send for my solicitor at once.

AGATHA POSKET.

AEneas! Mr. Posket! Whatever happens, you shall not have the custody of
my boy.

MR. POSKET.

Your boy! _I_ take charge of _him?_ Agatha Posket, he has been my evil
genius! He has made me a gambler at an atrocious game, called
"Fireworks"--he has tortured my mind with abstruse speculations
concerning "Sillikin" and "Butterscotch" for the St. Leger--he has
caused me to cower before servants, and to fly before the police.

AGATHA POSKET.

He! My Cis?

_CIS enters having changed his clothes._

CIS.

[_Breezily._] Hallo, mater--got back?

AGATHA POSKET.

You wicked boy! You dare to have apartments at the "Hotel des
Princes!"

MR. POSKET.

Yes--and it was to put a stop to that which induced me to go to Meek
Street last night.

CIS.

Don't be angry, mater! I've got you out of your difficulties.

MR. POSKET.

But you got me into mine!

CIS.

Well, I know I did--one can't be always doing the right thing! It
isn't Guv's fault--there!

MR. POSKET.

Swear it!

AGATHA POSKET.

No, he doesn't know the nature of an oath! I believe him! AEneas, I see
now, this is all the result of a lack of candour on my part. Tell me,
have you ever particularly observed this child?

MR. POSKET.

Oh!

AGATHA POSKET.

Has it ever struck you he is a little forward?

MR. POSKET.

Sometimes.

AGATHA POSKET.

You are wrong; he is awfully backward. [_Taking MR. POSKET'S hand._]
AEneas; men always think they are marrying angels, and women would be
angels if they never had to grow old. That warps their dispositions. I
have deceived you, AEneas.

MR. POSKET.

Ah! Lukyn!

AGATHA POSKET.

No--no--you don't understand! Lukyn was my boy's godfather in eighteen
sixty-six.

MR. POSKET.

1866?

CIS.

1886?

CIS AND MR. POSKET.

[_Together, reckoning rapidly upon their fingers._] 1886.

AGATHA POSKET.

S-s-s-h! Don't count! Cis, go away! [_To MR. POSKET._] When you
proposed to me in the "Pantheon" at Spa, you particularly remarked,
"Mrs. Farringdon, I love you for yourself _alone."_

MR. POSKET.

I know I did.

AGATHA POSKET.

Those were terrible words to address to a widow with a son of
nineteen. [_CIS and MR. POSKET again reckon rapidly upon their
fingers._] Don't count, AEneas, don't count! Those words tempted me. I
glanced at my face in a neighbouring mirror, and I said "AEneas is
fifty--why should I--a mere woman, compete with him on the question of
age? He has already the advantage--I will be generous--I will add to
it!" I led you to believe I had been married only fifteen years ago, I
deceived you and my boy as to his real age, and I told you I was but
one-and-thirty.

MR. POSKET.

It wasn't the truth?

AGATHA POSKET.

Ah! I merely lacked woman's commonest fault, exaggeration.

MR. POSKET.

But--Lukyn?

AGATHA POSKET.

Knows the real facts. I went to him last night to beg him not to
disturb an arrangement which had brought happiness to all parties.
Look. In place of a wayward, troublesome child, I now present you with
a youth old enough to be a joy, comfort, and support!

CIS.

Oh, I say, mater, this is a frightful sell for a fellow.

AGATHA POSKET.

Go to your room, sir.

CIS.

I always thought there was something wrong with me. Blessed if I'm not
behind the age!

[_CIS goes out._

AGATHA POSKET.

Forgive me, AEneas. Look at my bonnet! A night in Mulberry Street,
without even a powder-puff, is an awful expiation.

MR. POSKET.

Agatha! How do I know Cis won't be five-and twenty to-morrow?

AGATHA POSKET.

No--no--you know the worst, and as long as I live, I'll never deceive
you again--except in little things.

_LUKYN and VALE enter._

LUKYN.

[_Boiling with rage._] By George, Posket!

MR. POSKET.

My dear Lukyn!

LUKYN.

Do you know I am a confounded jail-bird, sir?

MR. POSKET.

An accident!

LUKYN.

And do you know what has happened to me in jail--a soldier, sir--an
officer?

MR. POSKET.

No!

LUKYN.

I have been washed by the authorities.

MR. POSKET.

Lukyn, no!

_CHARLOTTE has entered, and she rushes across to VALE._

CHARLOTTE.

Horace! Horace! Not you, too?

VALE.

By Jove, Charlotte, I would have died first.

_MR. BULLAMY enters quickly._

MR. BULLAMY.

Mr. Posket, I shall choke, sir! Inspector Messiter is downstairs and
says that Isidore, the waiter, swears that you are the man who escaped
from Meek Street last night.

LUKYN.

What?

MR. BULLAMY.

This is a public scandal, sir!

LUKYN.

Your game is up, sir!

MR. BULLAMY.

You have brought a stain upon a spotless police court!

LUKYN.

And lectured me upon propriety and decorum.

MR. POSKET.

Gentlemen, gentlemen, when you have heard my story you will pity me.

LUKYN AND MR. BULLAMY.

[_Laughing ironically._] Ha! ha!

MR. POSKET.

You will find your old friend a Man, a Martyr, and a Magistrate!

_CIS enters, pulling BEATIE after him._

CIS.

Come on, Beatie! Guv--mater! here's news! Beatie and I have made up
our minds to be married.

AGATHA POSKET.

Oh!

_POPHAM enters with champagne and glasses._

MR. POSKET.

What's this?

CIS.

Bellinger--'74--extra dry--to drink our health and happiness.

CHARLOTTE.

Champagne! It may save my life!

AGATHA POSKET.

Miss Tomlinson, go home!

MR. POSKET.

Stop! Cis Farringdon, my dear boy, you are but nineteen at present,
but you were only fourteen yesterday, so you are a growing lad; on the
day you marry and start for Canada, I will give you a thousand pounds!

POPHAM.

[_Putting her apron to her eyes._] Oh!

CIS.

[_Embracing BEATIE._] Hurrah! We'll be married directly.

AGATHA POSKET.

He's an infant! I forbid it!

MR. POSKET.

I am his legal guardian. Gentlemen, bear witness! I solemnly consent
to that little wretch's marriage!

[_AGATHA POSKET sinks into a chair._

THE END.


Printed by Ballantyne & Company Ltd
Tavistock Street Covent Garden London



Transcriber's Note

This transcription is based on scanned images of two different copies
posted by the Internet Archive. The primary source is posted at:

archive.org/details/magistratefarcei00pinerich

These images, scanned from a copy in the University of California,
Berkeley Library, are of an edition printed in London by William
Heinemann in 1914. Note that the Internet Archive identifier-access
page for this copy incorrectly lists the publisher as W. H. Baker. The
secondary source is posted at:

archive.org/details/cu31924013536556

These images, scanned from a copy in the Cornell University Library,
are of an edition printed in New York by the United States Book
Company.

The Heinemann (H) edition served as the copy-text for this
transcription. The United States Book Company (US) edition changed
spelling to American standards. For example, "colour" became "color",
"recognise" became "recognize", "some one" became "someone", and
"lor'" became "Lor'". The US edition also has minor deviations from
playscript formatting conventions fairly standard at the time. While
the H edition used the standard convention of printing entrances as
centered and italicized without brackets, the US edition printed them
with brackets. In addition, while the H edition generally did not
close the brackets on stage directions right after a line of dialogue,
the US edition did. Unfortunately, the H edition suffers from some
minor editorial problems and printing errors such as missing
punctuation marks, particularly next to margins and at the bottom of a
page. In contrast, the US edition has few editorial or printing
problems. When there was a question about the text in the H edition,
the US text was consulted. In general, where context made a reading
obvious, the obvious reading was given the benefit of the doubt
without comment.

The following changes were noted:

- p. v: ..."The Schoolmistress," 'Dandy Dick," and "The Cabinet
Minister."--Changed the single quotation mark before "Dandy" to a
double quotation mark.

- p. vii: Added periods after "Mrs. JOHN WOOD" and "Miss MARION TERRY"
for consistency.

- p. 8: ...but I feel like a grown up man!--Inserted hyphen between
"grown" and "up". (US)

- p. 14: May I promise that, m'am?--Changed "m'am" to "ma'am" to be
consistent with elsewhere in H and also US ed.

- p. 15: MR. BULLAMY--Added a period to end of character title.

- p. 26: He's a great favourite with all our friends--women friends
especially--Added period to end of sentence.

- p. 37: MR. POSKET--Added a period to end of character title.

- p. 37: [_Gives MR. POSKET the letter._]--Moved to next line (US) and
deleted closing bracket to be consistent with other stage directions
in H.

- p. 59: [_Produces a folded silk handerchief..._--Changed
"_handerchief_" to "_handkerchief_".

- p. 63: There's a little balcony to that window, step out...--Changed
comma to a semicolon. (US)

- p. 88: A few hours ago it was--"By Jove, all is over.'--Changed
closing single quotation mark to closing double quotation mark.

- p. 90: I know--I know. I'm going directly I can get the boy
away--Added period to end of sentence.

- p. 93: [_To VALE_] Horace, can't you speak?--Added period after
"VALE" for consistency.

- p. 98: To be ready for the morning--Added period to end of sentence.

- p. 99: What is underneath that window, Mr. Blond--Added question
mark to end of sentence.

- p. 100: You're breathing--Added period to end of sentence.

- p. 103: Very nice part, Colonel. Thank you--Added a period after
"Thank you".

- p. 103: Horace Edmund Cholmeley Clive Napier Vale
Captain--Shropshire Fusiliers--Stark's Hotel, Conduit Street.--Added a
period after "Vale". (US)

- p. 110: ...a method of delivering evidence articulately--Added a
period to end of sentence.

- p. 113: "Cos I'm agoin' to join in the chase after you."--Inserted
an apostrophe before "Cos". (US)

- p. 114: Bring him in. [_LUGG goes out._ Wyke! From Agatha!--Added a
closing bracket after "out."

- p. 115: Tell Mrs. Posket I will come on the moment the Court
rises--Added a period to end of sentence.

- p. 119: Two contrived to escape--Added a period to end of sentence.

- p. 125: I regret to see you in this terrible position, Colonel
Lukyn--Added a period to end of sentence.

- P. 126: He's in it sir.--Added a comma after "it". (US and
consistent elsewhere in H)

- p. 126: [_LUKYN sits again._] [_POSKET takes up the charge
sheet._]--Deleted closing and opening brackets after "again." (US)

- p. 134: _They turn their collars down, MR. POSKET takes MR.
WORMINGTON'S arm._--Changed comma to a semicolon. (US)

- p. 136: I haven t found 'em.--Added an apostrophe between "haven"
and "t".

- p. 137: It's my opinion he's got a softening of the brain--Added
period to end of sentence.

- p. 137: [_He goes through the curtains._]--Moved to next line (US)
and deleted closing bracket to be consistent with other stage
directions in H.

- p. 144: [_Following him with the paper and inkstand_]--Added period
after inkstand for consistency. (US)

- p. 150: I'm going to re-open the matter!--Added closing double
quotation mark at end of sentence. (US)

- p. 153: ...who condemned his wife and sister in-law to the miseries
of a jail!--Inserted a hyphen between "sister" and "in-law".

- p. 159: S-s-s h! Don't count!--Added hyphen between "S-s-s" and "h!"
(US)

- p. 161: _CHARLOTTE has entered, and she rushes across to
VALE_--Added a period to the end of the sentence.

Some inconsistences that existed in both H and US were allowed to
stand. For example, characters are occasionally referred to slightly
differently in the stage directions, e.g., "POSKET" vs. "MR. POSKET".
The name of the hotel in Act Two is spelled with an "o" in the cast
and scene lists at the beginning of the play but is spelled with an
"o" elsewhere in the text. Lugg's rank is spelled "Serjeant" in the
cast list and "Sergeant" elsewhere. Both "missis" and "missus" are
used. The number for Lukyn's address is both "19a" and "19A". Variant
spellings in H such as "neckkerchief" and "table-cloth" were not
changed.

The html version of this etext attempts to reproduce the layout of the
printed text. However, some concessions have been made, partly to
simplify coding and partly to facilitate the generation of files from
the html file. For example, stage directions at the end of a line of
dialogue were placed on the next line, indented the same amount from
the left margin, and coded as hanging paragraphs. The layout of the
title page was simplified. The simultaneous speech on page 81 was
coded so as to avoid the use of an html table. The footnote on p. 110
was enclosed in a border.







End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Magistrate, by Arthur Pinero

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