_Jam-loving Joe._ By that renowned Melodramatic Serio-Comic, Miss CONNIE
CURDLER.
_Joe's Mother_ (_the very part for_ Mrs. BANCROFT _if she can only be
induced to make her re-appearance_).
_John, a Gardener._ By the great Pink-eyed Unmusical Zulu.
_Jim-Jam, the Fermentation Fiend._ By Mr. BEERBOHM TREE (_who has kindly
consented to undertake the part_).
_Chorus of Plum and Pear Gatherers, from the Savoy_ (_by kind permission
of_ Mr. D'OYLY CARTE).
SCENE.--_The Store-room at sunset, with view of exterior of Jam
Cupboard, and orchard in distance._
_Enter_ JOE.
"As JOE was at play, Near the cupboard one day, When he thought no one
saw him but himself."--_Vide Poem._
_Joe_ (_dreamily_). 'Tis passing strange that I so partial am
To playing in the neighbourhood of Jam!
[_Here_ Miss CURDLER _will introduce her great humorous Satirical
Medley, illustrative of the Sports of Childhood, and entitled, "Some
Little Gymes we all of us 'ave Plied;" after which, Enter_ JOE'S
_Mother, followed by_ JOHN _and the Chorus, with baskets, ladders, &c.,
for gathering fruit._
"His Mother and JOHN, To the garden had gone, To gather ripe
pears and ripe plums."--_Poem._
_Joe's Mother_ (_with forced cheerfulness_)--
Let's hope, my friends, to find our pears and plums,
Unharmed by wopses, and untouched by wums.
[_Chorus signify assent in the usual manner by holding up the right
hand._
_Solo_--JOHN.
Fruit when gathered ripe, is wholesome--
Otherwise if eaten green.
Once I knew a boy who stole some--
[_With a glance at_ JOE, who turns aside to conceal his
confusion.
His internal pangs were keen!
_Chorus_ (_virtuously_). 'Tis the doom of all who're mean,
Their internal pangs are keen!
_Joe's Mother_ (_aside_). By what misgivings is a mother
tortured!
I'll keep my eye on JOSEPH in the orchard.
[_She invites him with a gesture to follow._
_Joe_ (_earnestly_). Nay, Mother, here I'll stay till you
have done.
Temptation it is ever best to shun!
_Joe's M._ So laudable his wish, I would not cross it--
(_Mysteriously._) He knows not there are jam-pots in yon
closet!
_Chorus._ Away we go tripping,
From boughs to be stripping
Each pear, plum, and pippin
Pomona supplies!
When homeward we've brought 'em,
Those products of Autumn,
We'll carefully sort 'em
(_One of our old Music-hall rhymes_),
According to size! [_Repeat as they caper out._
[JOE'S Mother, _after one fond, lingering look behind, follows: the
voices are heard more and more faintly in the distance. Stage darkens;
the last ray of sunset illumines key of jam-cupboard door._
_Joe._ At last I am alone! Suppose I tried
That cupboard--just to see what's kept inside?
[_Seems drawn towards it by some fatal fascination._
There _might_ be Guava jelly, and a plummy cake,
For such a prize I'd laugh to scorn a stomach-ache!
[_Laughs a stomach-ache to scorn._
And yet (_hesitating_) who knows?--a pill?... perchance--a powder!
(_Desperately_). What then? To scorn I'll laugh them--even louder!
[_Fetches chair and unlocks cupboard. Doors fall open with loud clang,
revealing Interior of Jam Closet_ (_painted by_ HAWES CRAVEN). JOE
_mounts chair to explore shelves. Vide poem, "How sorry I am, He ate
raspberry jam, And currants that stood on the shelf!"_
_Joe_ (_speaking with mouth full, and back to audience_).
'Tis raspberry--of all the jams my favourite;
I'll clear the pot, whate'er I have to pay for it!
And finish up with currants from this shelf....
Who'll ever see me?
_The Demon of the Jam Closet_ (_rising slowly from an immense pot of
preserves_). None--except Myself!
[_The cupboard is lit up by an infernal glare_ (_courteously lent by the
Lyceum Management from "Faust" properties_); _weird music;_ JOE _turns
slowly and confronts the Demon with awestruck eyes;_ N.B.--_Great
opportunity for powerful acting here._
_The Demon_ (_with a bland sneer_). Pray don't mind _me_--I will await
your leisure.
_Joe_ (_automatically_). Of your acquaintance, Sir, I've not the
pleasure.
Who _are_ you? Wherefore have you intervened?
_The Demon_ (_quietly_). My name is "Jim-Jam"; occupation--fiend.
_Joe_ (_cowering limply on his chair_). O Mr. Fiend, I _know_ it's
very wrong of me!
_Demon_ (_politely_). Don't mention it--but please to come "along of"
me?
_Joe_ (_imploringly_). Do let me off this once,--ha! you're relenting,
You smile----
_Demon_ (_grimly_). 'Tis nothing but my jam fermenting!
[_Catches_ JOE'S _ankle, and assists him to descend._
_Joe._ You'll drive me mad!
_Demon_ (_carelessly_). I _may_--before I've done with you!
_Joe._ What do you want?
_Demon_ (_darkly_). To have a little fun with you!
Of fiendish humour now I'll give a specimen.
[_Chases him round and round Stage, and proceeds to smear him hideously
with jam._
_Joe_ (_piteously_). Oh, don't! I feel _so_ sticky. _What_ a mess
I'm in!
_Demon_ (_with affected sympathy_). That _is_ the worst of jam--it's
apt to stain you.
[_To_ JOE, _as he frantically endeavours to remove the traces of his
crime._
I see you're busy--so I'll not detain you!
[_Vanishes down star-trap with a diabolical laugh. Cupboard-doors close
with a clang; all lights down._ JOE _stands gazing blankly for some
moments, and then drags himself off Stage. His Mother and_ JOHN, _with
Pear- and Plum-gatherers bearing laden baskets, appear at doors at back
of Scene, in faint light of torches._
_Re-enter Joe_ (_bearing a candle and wringing his hands_). Out, jammed
spot! What--will these hands _never_ be clean? Here's the smell of the
raspberry jam still! All the powders of Gregory cannot unsweeten this
little hand.... (_Moaning._) Oh, oh, oh!
[_This passage has been accused of bearing too close a resemblance to
one in a popular Stage Play; if so, the coincidence is purely
accidental, as the Dramatist is not in the habit of reading such profane
literature._
_Joe's Mother._ Ah! what an icy dread my heart benumbs!
See--stains on all his fingers, _and_ his thumbs!
"What JOE was about, His Mother found out, When she look'd at his
fingers and thumbs."--_Poem again._
Nay, JOSEPH--'tis your mother ... speak to her!
_Joe_ (_tonelessly, as before_). Lady, I know you not (_touches lower
part of waistcoat_); but, prithee, undo this button. I think I have jam
in all my veins, and I would fain sleep. When I am gone, lay me in a
plain white jelly-pot, with a parchment cover, and on the label
write----but come nearer, I have a secret for your ear alone ... there
are strange things in some cupboards! Demons should keep in the
dust-bin. (_With a ghastly smile._) I know not what ails me, but I am
not feeling at all well.
[JOE'S Mother _stands a few steps from him, with her hands twisted in
her hair, and stares at him in speechless terror._
_Joe_ (_to the Chorus_). I would shake hands with you all, were not my
fingers so sticky. We eat marmalade, but we know not what it is made of.
Hush! if JIM-JAM comes again, tell him that I am not at home.
Loo-loo-loo!
_All_ (_with conviction_). Some shock has turned his brine!
_Joe_ (_sitting down on floor, and weaving straws in his hair_). My
curse upon him that invented jam. Let us all play Tibbits.
[_Laughs vacantly: all gather round him, shaking their heads, his_
Mother _falls fainting at his feet, as Curtain falls upon a strong and
moral, though undeniably gloomy dénoûment._
* * * * *