PHOEBE. (_looking out after him_) Mercy on me! what is he about? he's
getting legs first into a chimney pot! Stop, stop, you'll drop into
our third floor!
TRIPTOLE. (_without_) I don't care! (_disappears--then suddenly
shouting_) Holloa! I'm stuck fast!--help!
_At this moment JONATHAN runs on at door, L. C., followed by a
POLICEMAN--PHOEBE hastily draws curtain before the window_--(_this
will give time to strike the slanting roof_)
JONATH. Now, then, what's the matter?
PHOEBE. (_pretending to be very busy picking up the linen_) Only the
wind been and blown the linen about--that's all, uncle.
POLICEMAN. Ugh! Well, as I don't suppose you mean to give the wind in
charge, and as I don't see how I could take it into custody if you
did, I shall be off.
_Exit at door, L. C._
JONATH. Come along, Phoebe, come along, I say.
PHOEBE. (_looking anxiously towards window_) Yes, but let me finish
picking up the clothes first.
JONATH. I'll help you--there. (_they put linen into basket_) And now
come along. (_takes hold of one end of the basket and PHOEBE of the
other_)
PHOEBE. (_aside_) Poor dear Triptolemus! what will become of him?
JONATH. Now, come along, will you?
_Exit with PHOEBE, door L. C._
SCENE SECOND.--_Third Floor--A small comfortably furnished
Apartment--table and chairs. On the table are implements of the bonnet
making business, work, &c., &c.--door, L. 3 E.--another door,
R. 2 E.--at R. C., a fireplace, practicable--at L. C., a
window--candles on table. Loud rapping heard from without at door,
L. 3 E._
ARABEL. (_from door R. 2 E._) I'm coming!
(_she enters in a fashionable evening dress, very much exaggerated,
which she is in the act of fastening behind--knocking repeated_)
ARABEL. Don't be in such a hurry; I can't let anybody in till I've
hook-and-eyed myself. (_going to door L._) Who's there?
PHOEBE. (_without_) It's only I--Phoebe.
ARABEL. (_opening door, L. 3 E.--PHOEBE enters hurriedly_) How you
frightened me, to be sure! But--(_seeing PHOEBE who is fidgetting, and
looking anxiously towards the fireplace_) What's the matter, Phoebe?
PHOEBE. No-thing; you haven't heard anything drop, have you? I
mean----
ARABELLA. Drop? not I! What do you mean?
PHOEBE. Why--I---- (_aside_) Then he's still sticking in the chimney?
Poor, dear Trip! he must be a regular nigger by this time!
ARABELLA. Well, I must go and finish dressing!
(_goes out again, at door, R. 2 E.--PHOEBE watches her anxiously out,
then runs to fireplace, and calls up the chimney_)
PHOEBE. Triptolemus! Triptolemus! are you still there?
TRIPTOLE. (_from chimney_) Yes! Whoever takes this house will have to
take me as one of the fixtures.
PHOEBE. There's nobody here. You can come down! Make haste--
(_impatiently_) make haste! (_here one or both of TRIPTOLEMUS'S legs
appear hanging down, and swaying about, as if trying to find a resting
place, at the same moment, a knocking is heard at the door,
L. 3 E.--alarmed_) There's somebody coming! You must get up
again--make haste!
TRIPTOLE. Oh, bother! (_kicking his legs violently about--knocks down
the fire irons, which are standing on each side of the fire place--the
legs are then suddenly drawn up, and disappear_)
_ARABELLA enters suddenly, R. 2 E., sideways as before._
ARABEL. What a dreadful noise! (_she has her pork-pie hat on, and
carries her shawl over her arm--here the knocking is repeated louder_)
Ah! there he is, at last! (_calling_) Come in, Mr. Sharp, come in.
_Enter LUKE SHARP, L. 3 E.--he is dressed in a black dress coat,
nankeen trousers, very short, white stockings, and shoes, a white
waistcoat, and white cravat, with large full bows--his hair very
shortly cut, or else very elaborately frizzed._
ARABEL. (_reproachfully_) At last, Mr. Sharp! Well, sir, I must say
you haven't hurried yourself.
PHOEBE. Never mind. Now the sooner you start, the sooner you'll be at
the theatre. (_aside_) And the sooner poor dear Trip will be
liberated. (_hurrying ARABELLA on with her shawl_) There, now you're
ready.
ARABEL. Yes, now I'm ready.
(_LUKE who has been looking on in a very dejected manner, utters a
deep sigh, then goes up to ARABELLA, takes her shawl, and places it on
a chair, then uttering another deep sigh is about to take off
ARABELLA'S hat_)
Goodness me, Mr. Sharp, what are you doing?
SHARP. (_in a sepulchral tone_) My _dooty_--my melancholy _dooty,_
Miss Arabella. In a word, the theatre is no go--the orders is wasted,
and we are disap_point_ed in our hopes.
ARABEL. What! after the trouble of this elaborate toilette! No, I will
not be disap_point_ed, as you call it!
PHOEBE. (_aside to her_) That's right.
ARABEL. I _will_ go!
PHOEBE. (_aside to her_) Stick to that.
SHARP. Impossible! inclination points one way--dooty another.
ARABEL. (_very impatiently_) Explain yourself, sir!
(_here TRIPTOLEMUS'S legs again appear, swaying about--kick the fire
irons down again, and then are suddenly drawn up_)
What can be the matter with the fire irons? Again, Mr. Sharp, are you
going to explain?
SHARP. I am; the particulars is this ways: my employer, Mr.
Cheesecake, has got the purviding of the eatables for Mr. Bunny's
supper this evening; and being, as you know, of a asthmatic
constitution, _I_ am obligated to do _dooty_ for him.
(_here TRIPTOLEMUS'S legs again appear dangling down, they kick about
violently, and one of his shoes is kicked off and falls on the stage,
PHOEBE hastily picks it up and pockets it_)
ARABEL. What's that?
PHOEBE. No-thing.
ARABEL. (_taking off her hat_) Well, I suppose it can't be helped.
SHARP. And now, Miss Arabella, I've an agreeable surprise for you. The
particklers is this ways--my govenor, Mr. Cheesecake, is about to
retire himself into the bosom of private life; and then, Miss
Arabella, I step into the business, and _you_ walk into the Bath buns,
apple tarts, ices, acidulated drops, and kisses! (_tenderly_)
ARABEL. I'm sure I feel highly flattered, Mr. Sharp; but I cannot
dispose of my hand without the consent of my family.
SHARP. Family! I understood you were a horphan.
ARABEL. So I am; when I say my family, I allude to my gallant brother,
Captain Hardaport, who is now actively engaged in his country's
service.
SHARP. Where?
ARABEL. On the coast of Devonshire, in the herring fishery. (_here the
legs appear, as before, kicking violently, and trying to find a
resting place_)
SHARP. And now Miss Arabella, I've another agreeable surprise for you.
ARABEL. What?
SHARP. I've _a_ppropriated a pie--_w_eal and _h_am, which is now in a
'_a_mper _o_utside, along with all the ingredients for a bowl of
punch, except the hot water.
ARABEL. Oh, I can soon manage that, by lighting the fire.
PHOEBE. (_starting--aside_) Oh, lud! Poor Trip will be roasted alive!
(_aloud and very quickly_) You needn't light the fire; I'll run for
some hot water, and be back immediately. Don't light the fire on any
account.
_Hastily runs out L. door._
ARABEL. The water ought to be quite hot--oughtn't it, Mr. Sharp?
SHARP. Biling!
ARABEL. Then perhaps you'll put a light to the fire; it's all ready
laid. Where have I put the lucifer matches? (_looking on the table,
and tossing the things about_) Perhaps they're in my bed room.
_Goes out at R. 2 E._
SHARP. (_finding the box of matches on the table_) Here they are, Miss
Arabella! (_goes to fireplace, kneels down, strikes a light, and
applies it--the fire suddenly lights--immediately a loud shouting,
&c., heard from chimney, and TRIPTOLEMUS comes down with a run into
the grate_) Help! thieves! murder! (_roaring with fright, and rushing
wildly off at L. 3 E._)
_At the same moment, ARABELLA runs in alarmed from R. 2 E._
ARABEL. Mercy on me! what is the matter?
(_TRIPTOLEMUS scrambles out of the grate, staggers forward, and falls
helplessly on a chair, which is covered with white or light coloured
chintz--ARABELLA runs behind the table, exclaiming
"Ah!"--TRIPTOLEMUS'S face and hands are still blackened, and his coat
is ripped up to the collar behind_)
Who are you?--why don't you speak? Who let you up here, sir?
TRIPTOLE. (_in a plaintive tone_) Nobody let me up; I let myself down.
ARABEL. What do you want, sir?
TRIPTOLE. A basin of water, a cake of soap, and a clean towel.
(_rising, and approaching her--the chair appears all blackened_)
ARABEL. Leave this room this moment.
TRIPTOLE. (_aside_) With a sanguinary vampire and an infuriated uncle
ready to pounce upon me; not if I know it. (_aside_) Leave this
room--and this room _a_ room with _you_ in it. (_aside_) I'll flatter
her a bit. (_aloud_) You--you that for three long years I have
enshrined in the very innermost interstices of this heart! Leave
you--you!--pooh, pooh!
ARABEL. Your face is not familiar to me!
TRIPTOLE. How can you possibly tell till I've washed it?
ARABEL. Once more, young man, I beg you'll beat a retreat.
TRIPTOLE. (_pretending great emotion_) It's too much--it's too much!
(_feeling for his handkerchief in both his coat pockets, one after the
other_) Allow me. (_taking ARABELLA'S handkerchief out of her
hand--wipes his eyes, and then his face with it, and returns it, all
smudged with black, to ARABELLA_) Thank you!
ARABEL. Sir, when I tell you that I am every moment expecting an
arrival----
TRIPTOLE. A rival?
ARABEL. An arrival.
TRIPTOLE. Ann who?
ARABEL. Pshaw!
TRIPTOLE. I don't know her.
CAPT. H. (_without, in a loud voice_) Don't tell me! I know she's
aloft; so clear the gangway, you lubber!
TRIPTOLE. }
} (_together_) That voice!
ARABEL. }
TRIPTOLE. It's he! my vampire! my brawny ruffian!
ARABEL. My brother! and I, who thought he was catching herrings!
TRIPTOLE. Not he; he was trying to catch _me_!
CAPT. H. (_outside_) Now, Arabella, my girl, shew us a light, will
you?
(_the handle of the door is heard to turn, and as the door slightly
opens, TRIPTOLEMUS precipitates himself against it, shuts it, and
draws the bolt_)
ARABEL. What's to be done? if he comes in, you're a dead man!
TRIPTOLE. And if I go out, I'm _another_ dead man!
(_here the door is violently shaken_)
CAPTAIN HARDAPORT. (_in a thundering voice_) Now then, look alive!
TRIPTOLE. (_in a loud whisper to ARABELLA_) Say you're ill in
bed--with the measles--or the nettle rash.
CAPT. H. (_with another bang at the door_) I can't stop here all day,
shiver my timbers if I can--so open the door.
TRIPTOLE. Don't!--let him shiver his timbers. You can form but a faint
idea of the exquisite delight I should feel at his shivering his
timbers.
CAPT. H. (_without_) You won't let me in. Then here goes!
(_a tremendous shaking and knocking at the door--TRIPTOLEMUS, in an
agony of fear, rushes to the window, throws it open, puts out one leg,
then looks down, and hurriedly draws it back again--here other and
more violent blows against the door, which is burst open at the very
moment that TRIPTOLEMUS rushes frantically into ARABELLA'S room, at
R. 2 E.--CAPTAIN HARDAPORT, in a rough pea jacket, tarpaulin coat, and
the other peculiarities of a sailor's costume, comes in, looks about
the room, then walks up to ARABELLA, looks her full in the face, then
looks again about the room--ARABELLA, who has thrown herself on her
chair, has snatched up some worsted work, and pretends to be very busy
over it_)
CAPT. H. You were talking to somebody.
ARABEL. (_looking up from her work, and pretending great unconcern_)
Did you speak?
CAPT. H. Yes; I said you were talking to somebody.
ARABEL. I was.
CAPT. H. Who?
ARABEL. Myself; 'tis a habit I've got when I'm alone and want a little
conversation.
CAPT. H. Umph! it sounded to _me_ like a man's voice. (_with
intention, and looking intently at her_) Umph! (_suspiciously_) Now
listen to me, sister Bella. (_taking a chair and sitting down_) You
must know---- (_here a noise is heard in room, R. 2 E._) What's that?
ARABEL. (_striving to conceal her alarm_) What?
CAPT. H. That noise.
ARABEL. Where?
CAPT. H. (_looking suspiciously at ARABELLA, and then pointing to
room, R. 2 E._) There.
ARABEL. (_quickly_) Oh! it's only Mrs. Sheepshanks, the charwoman,
putting my room to rights; she always comes on Mondays.