TOUCHIT.--Well, godson!
GEORGE.--Give us a cigar!
TOUCHIT.--Oh, you enfant terrible!
MILLIKEN [wheezily].--Ah--ahem--George Touchit! you wouldn't
mind--a--smoking that cigar in the garden, would you? Ah--ah!
TOUCHIT.--Hullo! What's in the wind now? You used to be a most
inveterate smoker, Horace.
MILLIKEN.--The fact is--my mother-in-law--Lady Kicklebury--doesn't like
it, and while she's with us, you know--
TOUCHIT.--Of course, of course [throws away cigar]. I beg her ladyship's
pardon. I remember when you were courting her daughter she used not to
mind it.
MILLIKEN.--Don't--don't allude to those times. [He looks up at his
wife's picture.]
GEORGE.--My mamma was a Kicklebury. The Kickleburys are the oldest
family in all the world. My name is George Kicklebury Milliken, of
Pigeoncot, Hants; the Grove, Richmond, Surrey; and Portland Place,
London, Esquire--my name is.
TOUCHIT.--You have forgotten Billiter Street, hemp and tallow merchant.
GEORGE.--Oh, bother! I don't care about that. I shall leave that when
I'm a man: when I'm a man and come into my property.
MILLIKEN.--You come into your property?
GEORGE.--I shall, you know, when you're dead, Papa. I shall have this
house, and Pigeoncot; and the house in town--no, I don't mind about the
house in town--and I shan't let Bella live with me--no, I won't.
BELLA.--No; I won't live with YOU. And I'LL have Pigeoncot.
GEORGE.--You shan't have Pigeoncot. I'll have it: and the ponies: and I
won't let you ride them--and the dogs, and you shan't have even a
puppy to play with and the dairy and won't I have as much cream as I
like--that's all!
TOUCHIT.--What a darling boy! Your children are brought up beautifully,
Milliken. It's quite delightful to see them together.
GEORGE.--And I shall sink the name of Milliken, I shall.
MILLIKEN.--Sink the name? why, George?
GEORGE.--Because the Millikens are nobodies--grandmamma says they are
nobodies. The Kickleburys are gentlemen, and came over with William the
Conqueror.
BELLA.--I know when that was. One thousand one hundred and one thousand
one hundred and onety-one!
GEORGE.--Bother when they came over! But I know this, when I come into
the property I shall sink the name of Milliken.
MILLIKEN.--So you are ashamed of your father's name, are you, George, my
boy?
GEORGE.--Ashamed! No, I ain't ashamed. Only Kicklebury is sweller. I
know it is. Grandmamma says so.
BELLA.--MY grandmamma does not say so. MY dear grandmamma says that
family pride is sinful, and all belongs to this wicked world; and that
in a very few years what our names are will not matter.
GEORGE.--Yes, she says so because her father kept a shop; and so did
Pa's father keep a sort of shop--only Pa's a gentleman now.
TOUCHIT.--Darling child! How I wish I were married! If I had such a dear
boy as you, George, do you know what I would give him?
GEORGE [quite pleased].--What would you give him, god-papa?
TOUCHIT.--I would give him as sound a flogging as ever boy had, my
darling. I would whip this nonsense out of him. I would send him to
school, where I would pray that he might be well thrashed: and if
when he came home he was still ashamed of his father, I would put him
apprentice to a chimney-sweep--that's what I would do.
GEORGE.--I'm glad you're not my father, that's all.
BELLA.--And I'M glad you're not my father, because you are a wicked man!
MILLIKEN.--Arabella!
BELLA.--Grandmamma says so. He is a worldly man, and the world is
wicked. And he goes to the play: and he smokes, and he says--
TOUCHIT.--Bella, what do I say?
BELLA.--Oh, something dreadful! You know you do! I heard you say it to
the cabman.
TOUCHIT.--So I did, so I did! He asked me fifteen shillings from
Piccadilly, and I told him to go to--to somebody whose name begins with
a D.
CHILDREN.--Here's another carriage passing.
BELLA.--The Lady Rumble's carriage.
GEORGE.--No, it ain't: it's Captain Boxer's carriage [they run into the
garden].
TOUCHIT.--And this is the pass to which you have brought yourself,
Horace Milliken! Why, in your wife's time, it was better than this, my
poor fellow!
MILLIKEN.--Don't speak of her in THAT way, George Touchit!
TOUCHIT.--What have I said? I am only regretting her loss for our sake.
She tyrannized over you; turned your friends out of doors; took your
name out of your clubs; dragged you about from party to party, though
you can no more dance than a bear, and from opera to opera, though you
don't know "God Save the Queen" from "Rule Britannia." You don't, sir;
you know you don't. But Arabella was better than her mother, who has
taken possession of you since your widowhood.
MILLIKEN.--My dear fellow! no, she hasn't. There's MY mother.
TOUCHIT.--Yes, to be sure, there's Mrs. Bonnington, and they quarrel
over you like the two ladies over the baby before King Solomon.
MILLIKEN.--Play the satirist, my good friend! laugh at my weakness!
TOUCHIT.--I know you to be as plucky a fellow as ever stepped, Milliken,
when a man's in the case. I know you and I stood up to each other for an
hour and a half at Westminster.
MILLIKEN.--Thank you! We were both dragons of war! tremendous champions!
Perhaps I am a little soft as regards women. I know my weakness well
enough; but in my case what is my remedy? Put yourself in my position.
Be a widower with two young children. What is more natural than that
the mother of my poor wife should come and superintend my family? My own
mother can't. She has a half-dozen of little half brothers and sisters,
and a husband of her own to attend to. I dare say Mr. Bonnington and my
mother will come to dinner to-day.
TOUCHIT.--Of course they will, my poor old Milliken, you don't dare to
dine without them.
MILLIKEN.--Don't go on in that manner, George Touchit! Why should not my
step-father and my mother dine with me? I can afford it. I am a domestic
man and like to see my relations about me. I am in the city all day.
TOUCHIT.--Luckily for you.
MILLIKEN.--And my pleasure of an evening is to sit under my own vine and
under my own fig-tree with my own olive-branches round about me; to sit
by my fire with my children at my knees: to coze over a snug bottle of
claret after dinner with a friend like you to share it; to see the young
folks at the breakfast-table of a morning, and to kiss them and so off
to business with a cheerful heart. This was my scheme in marrying, had
it pleased heaven to prosper my plan. When I was a boy and came from
school and college, I used to see Mr. Bonnington, my father-in-law, with
HIS young ones clustering round about him, so happy to be with him! so
eager to wait on him! all down on their little knees round my mother
before breakfast or jumping up on his after dinner. It was who should
reach his hat, and who should bring his coat, and who should fetch his
umbrella, and who should get the last kiss.
TOUCHIT.--What? didn't he kiss YOU? Oh, the hard-hearted old ogre!
MILLIKEN.--DON'T, Touchit! Don't laugh at Mr. Bonnington! he is as good
a fellow as ever breathed. Between you and me, as my half brothers and
sisters increased and multiplied year after year, I used to feel rather
lonely, rather bowled out, you understand. But I saw them so happy that
I longed to have a home of my own. When my mother proposed Arabella for
me (for she and Lady Kicklebury were immense friends at one time), I was
glad enough to give up clubs and bachelorhood, and to settle down as a
married man. My mother acted for the best. My poor wife's character,
my mother used to say, changed after marriage. I was not as happy as I
hoped to be; but I tried for it. George, I am not so comfortable now as
I might be. A house without a mistress, with two mothers-in-law reigning
over it--one worldly and aristocratic, another what you call serious,
though she don't mind a rubber of whist: I give you my honor my mother
plays a game at whist, and an uncommonly good game too--each woman
dragging over a child to her side: of course such a family cannot be
comfortable. [Bell rings.] There's the first dinner-bell. Go and dress,
for heaven's sake.
TOUCHIT.--Why dress? There is no company!
MILLIKEN.--Why? ah! her ladyship likes it, you see. And it costs nothing
to humor her. Quick, for she don't like to be kept waiting.
TOUCHIT.--Horace Milliken! what a pity it is the law declares a widower
shall not marry his wife's mother! She would marry you else,--she would,
on my word.
Enter JOHN.
JOHN.--I have took the Captain's things in the blue room, sir. [Exeunt
gentlemen, JOHN arranges tables, &c.]
Ha! Mrs. Prior! I ain't partial to Mrs. Prior. I think she's an artful
old dodger, Mrs. Prior. I think there's mystery in her unfathomable
pockets, and schemes in the folds of her umbrella. But--but she's
Julia's mother, and for the beloved one's sake I am civil to her.
MRS. PRIOR.--Thank you Charles [to the Page, who has been seen to let
her in at the garden-gate], I am so much obliged to you! Good afternoon,
Mr. Howell. Is my daughter--are the darling children well? Oh, I am
quite tired and weary! Three horrid omnibuses were full, and I have had
to walk the whole weary long way. Ah, times are changed with me, Mr.
Howell. Once when I was young and strong, I had my husband's carriage to
ride in.
JOHN [aside].--His carriage! his coal-wagon! I know well enough who old
Prior was. A merchant? yes, a pretty merchant! kep' a lodging-house,
share in a barge, touting for orders, and at last a snug little place in
the Gazette.
MRS. PRIOR.--How is your cough, Mr. Howell? I have brought you some
lozenges for it [takes numberless articles from her pocket], and if
you would take them of a night and morning--oh, indeed, you would get
better! The late Sir Henry Halford recommended them to Mr. Prior. He
was his late Majesty's physician and ours. You know we have seen happier
times, Mr. Howell. Oh, I am quite tired and faint.
JOHN.--Will you take anything before the school-room tea, ma'am? You
will stop to tea, I hope, with Miss Prior, and our young folks?
MRS. PRIOR.--Thank you: a little glass of wine when one is so faint--a
little crumb of biscuit when one is so old and tired! I have not been
accustomed to want, you know; and in my poor dear Mr. Prior's time--