THE MAN WHO ALWAYS MAKES THE RIGHT REMARK. H'm. Haven't seen anything I
could carry away with me.
HIS FLIPPANT FRIEND. Too many people about, eh? Never mind, old chap,
you _may_ manage to sneak an umbrella down stairs--I won't say anything!
[_Disgust of his companion, who descends stairs in offended silence, as
scene closes._
At the Horse Show.
TIME--_About 3.30_. _Leaping Competition about to begin. The
Competitors are ranged in a line at the upper end of the Hall
while the attendants place the hedges in position. Amongst the
Spectators in the Area are--a Saturnine Stableman from the
country; a Cockney Groom; a Morbid Man; a Man who is apparently
under the impression that he is the only person gifted with
sight; a Critic who is extremely severe upon other people's
seats; a Judge of Horseflesh; and Two Women who can't see as
well as they could wish._
THE DESCRIPTIVE MAN. They've got both the fences up now, d'ye see?
There's the judges going to start the jumping; each rider's got a ticket
with his number on his back. See? The first man's horse don't seem to
care about jumping this afternoon--see how he's dancing about. Now he's
going at it--there, he's cleared it! Now he'll have to jump the next
one!
[_Keeps up a running fire of these instructive and valuable observations
throughout the proceedings._
THE JUDGE OF HORSEFLESH. Rare good shoulders that one has.
THE SEVERE CRITIC (_taking the remark to apply to the horse's rider_).
H'm, yes--rather--pity he sticks his elbows out quite so much, though.
[_His Friend regards him in silent astonishment. Another Competitor
clears a fence, but exhibits a considerable amount of daylight._
THE SATURNINE STABLEMAN (_encouragingly_). You'll 'ev to set back a bit
next journey, Guv'nor!
THE COCKNEY GROOM. 'Orses 'ud jump better if the fences was a bit
'igher.
THE S. S. They'll be plenty 'oigh enough fur some on 'em.
THE SEVERE CRITIC. Ugly seat that fellow has--all anyhow when the horse
jumps.
JUDGE OF HORSEFLESH. Has he? I didn't notice--I was looking at the
horse. [SEVERE CRITIC _feels snubbed_.
THE S. S. (_soothingly, as the Competitor with the loose seat comes
round again_). _That's_ not good, Guv'nor!
THE COCKNEY GROOM. 'Ere's a little bit o' fashion coming down next--why,
there's quite a boy on his back.
THE S. S. 'E won't be on 'im long if he don't look out. Cup an ball _I_
call it!
THE MORBID MAN. I suppose there's always a accident o' some sort before
they've finished.
FIRST WOMAN. Oh, don't, for goodness' sake, talk like that--I'm sure _I_
don't want to see nothing 'appen.
SECOND WOMAN. Well, you may make your mind easy--for you won't see
nothing here; you _would_ have it this was the best place to come to!
FIRST WOMAN. I only said there was no sense in paying extra for the
balcony, when you can go in the area for nothing.
SECOND WOMAN (_snorting_). Area, indeed! It might be a good deal airier
than what it is, I'm sure--I shall melt if I stay here much longer.
THE MORBID MAN, There's one thing about being so close to the jump as
this--if the 'orse jumps sideways--as 'osses will do every now and
then--he'll be right in among us before we know where we are, and then
there'll be a pretty how-de-do!
SECOND WOMAN (_to her Friend_). Oh, come away, do--it's bad enough to
see nothing, let alone having a great 'orse coming down atop of us, and
me coming out in my best bonnet, too--come away! [_They leave_.
THE DESCRIPTIVE MAN. Now, they're going to make 'em do some in-and-out
jumping, see? they're putting the fences close together--that'll puzzle
some of them--ah, he's over both of 'em; very clean that one jumps! Over
again! He's got to do it all twice, you see.
THE JUDGE OF HORSEFLESH. Temperate horse, that chestnut.
THE SEVERE CRITIC. Is he, though?--but I suppose they _have_ to be here,
eh? Not allowed champagne or whiskey or anything before they go in--like
they are on a race-course?
THE J. OF H. No, they insist on every horse taking the pledge before
they'll enter him.
THE DESCRIPTIVE MAN. Each of 'em's had a turn at the in-and-out jump
now. What's coming next? Oh, the five-barred gate--they're going over
that now, and the stone wall--see them putting the bricks on top? That's
to _raise_ it.
THE MORBID MAN. None of 'em been off yet; but (_hopefully_) there'll be
a nasty fall or two over this business--there's been many a neck broke
over a lower gate than that.
[_A Competitor clears the gate easily, holding the reins casually in his
right hand._
THE J. OF H. That man can ride.
THE SEVERE CRITIC. Pretty well--not what I call _business_,
though--going over a gate with one hand, like that.
THE J. OF H. Didn't know you were such an authority.
THE S. C. (_modestly_). Oh, I can tell when a fellow has a good seat. I
used to ride a good deal at one time. Don't get the chance much
now--worse luck!
THE J. OF H. Well, I can give you a chance, as it happens. (SEVERE
CRITIC _accepts with enthusiasm, and the inward reflection that the
chance is much less likely to come off than he is himself_.) You wait
till the show is over, and they let the horses in for exercise. I know a
man who's got a cob here--regular little devil to go--bucks a bit at
times--but you won't mind that. I'll take you round to the stall and get
my friend to let you try him on the tan. How will that do you, eh?
THE SEVERE CRITIC (_almost speechless with gratitude_). Oh--er--it will
_do_ me right enough--capital! That is--it _would_, if I hadn't an
appointment, and had my riding things on, and wasn't feeling rather out
of sorts, and hadn't promised to go home and take my wife in the Park,
and it's her birthday, too, and, then, I've long made it a rule never to
mount a strange horse, and--er--so you understand how it is don't you?
THE J. OF H. Quite, my dear fellow. (_As, for that matter, he has done
from the first._)
THE COCKNEY GROOM (_alluding to a man who is riding at the gate_).
'Ere's a rough 'un this bloke's on! (_Horse rises at gate; his rider
shouts "Hoo, over!" and the gate falls amidst general derision._) Over?
Ah, I should just think it _was_ over!
THE SATURNINE STABLEMAN (_as horseman passes_). Yer needn't ha' "Hoo'd"
for that much!
[_The Small Boy, precariously perched on an immense animal, follows; his
horse, becoming unmanageable, declines the gate, and leaps the hurdle at
the side._
THE S. S. Ah, you're a _artful_ lad, you are--thought you'd take it
where it was easiest, eh?--you'll 'ev to goo back and try agen you will.
CHORUS OF SYMPATHETIC BYSTANDERS. Take him at it again, boy; _you're_
all right!... Hold him in tighter, my lad.... Let out your reins a bit!
Lor, they didn't ought to let a boy like that ride.... He ain't no more
'old on that big 'orse than if he was a fly on him!... Keep his 'ed
straighter next time.... Enough to try a boy's nerve! &c., &c.
[_The Boy takes the horse back, and eventually clears the gate amidst
immense and well-deserved applause._
THE MORBID MAN (_disappointed_). Well, I fully expected to see _'im_
took off on a shutter.
THE DESCRIPTIVE MAN. It's the water-jump next--see; that's it in the
middle; there's the water, underneath the hedge; they'll have to clear
the 'ole of that--or else fall in and get a wetting. They've taken all
the horses round to the other entrance--they'll come in from that side
directly.
[Illustration: "HE EXPECTED THERE WOULD HAVE BEEN MORE TO SEE."]
[_One of the Judges holds up his stick as a signal; wild shouts
of "Hoy-hoy! Whorr-oosh!" from within, as a Competitor dashes
out and clears hedge and ditch by a foot or two. Deafening
applause. A second horseman rides at it, and lands--if the word
is allowable--neatly in the water. Roars of laughter as he
scrambles out._
THE MORBID MAN. Call that a brook! It ain't a couple of inches
deep--it's more mud than water! No fear (_he means "no hope"_) of any on
'em getting a ducking over that!
[_And so it turns out; the horses take the jump with more or
less success, but without a single saddle being vacated. The
proceedings terminate for the afternoon amidst demonstrations
of hearty satisfaction from all but_ THE MORBID MAN, _who had
expected there would have been "more to see."_
At a Dance.
THE HOSTESS _is receiving her Guests at the head of the staircase_; _a_
CONSCIENTIOUSLY LITERAL MAN _presents himself_.
HOSTESS (_with a gracious smile, and her eyes directed to the people
immediately behind him_). _So_ glad you were able to come--how do you
_do_?
THE CONSCIENTIOUSLY LITERAL MAN. Well, if you had asked me that question
this afternoon, I should have said I was in for a severe attack of
malarial fever--I had all the symptoms--but, about seven o'clock this
evening, they suddenly passed off, and--
[_Perceives, to his surprise, that his Hostess's attention is wandering,
and decides to tell her the rest later in the evening._
MR. CLUMPSOLE. How do you do, Miss Thistledown? Can you give me a dance?
MISS THISTLEDOWN (_who has danced with him before_--once). With
pleasure--let me see, the third extra after supper? Don't forget.
MISS BRUSKLEIGH (_to Major Erser_). Afraid I can't give you anything
just now--but if you see me standing about later on, you can come and
ask me again, you know.
MR. BOLDOVER (_glancing eagerly round the room as he enters, and
soliloquising mentally_). She ought to be here by this time, if she's
coming--can't see her though--she's certainly not dancing. There's her
sister over there with the mother. She _hasn't_ come, or she'd be with
them. Poor-looking lot of girls here to-night--don't think much of this
music--get away as soon as I can, no _go_ about the thing!... Hooray!
There she is, after all! Jolly waltz this is they're playing! How pretty
she's looking--how pretty _all_ the girls are looking! If I can only get
her to give me one dance, and sit out most of it somewhere! I feel as
if I could talk to her to-night. By Jove, I'll try it!
[_Watches his opportunity, and is cautiously making his way towards his
divinity, when he is intercepted._
MRS. GRAPPLETON. Mr. Boldover, I do believe you were going to _cut_ me!
(_MR. B. protests and apologises._) Well, _I_ forgive you. I've been
wanting to have another talk with you for ever so long. I've been
thinking so _much_ of what you said that evening about Browning's
relation to Science and the Supernatural. Suppose you take me down
stairs for an ice or something, and we can have it out comfortably
together.
[_Dismay of Mr. B._, _who has entirely forgotten any theories he may
have advanced on the subject, but has no option but to comply_; _as he
leaves the room with_ MRS. GRAPPLETON _on his arm, he has a torturing
glimpse of_ MISS ROUNDARM, _apparently absorbed in her partner's
conversation_.
MR. SENIOR ROPPE (_as he waltzes_). Oh, you needn't feel convicted of
extraordinary ignorance, I assure you, Miss Featherhead. You would be
surprised if you knew how many really clever persons have found that
simple little problem of nought divided by one too much for them. Would
you have supposed, by the way, that there is a reservoir in Pennsylvania
containing a sufficient number of gallons to supply all London for
eighteen months? You don't quite realize it, I see. "How many gallons is
that?" Well, let me calculate roughly--taking the population of London
at four millions, and the average daily consumption for each individual
at--no, I can't work it out with sufficient accuracy while I am dancing;
suppose we sit down, and I'll do it for you on my shirt-cuff--oh, very
well; then I'll work it out when I get home, and send you the result
to-morrow, if you will allow me.
MR. CULDERSACK (_who has provided himself beforehand with a set of
topics for conversation--to his partner, as they halt for a moment_).
Er--(_consults some hieroglyphics on his cuff stealthily_)--have you
read Stanley's book yet?
MISS TABULA RAISER. No, I haven't. Is it interesting?
MR. CULDERSACK. I can't say. I've not seen it myself. Shall we--er--?
[_They take another turn._
[Illustration: "ER--" (CONSULTS SOME HIEROGLYPHICS ON HIS CUFF
STEALTHILY).]
MR. C. I suppose you have--er--been to the (_hesitates between the
Academy and the Military Exhibition--decides on latter topic as
fresher_) Military Exhibition?
MISS T. R. No--not yet. What do you think of it?
MR. C. Oh--_I_ haven't been either. Er--do you care to--?
[_They take another turn._
MR. C. (_after third halt_). Er--do you take any interest in politics?
MISS T. R. Not a bit.
MR. C. (_much relieved_). No more do I. (_Considers that he has
satisfied all mental requirements._) Er--let me take you down stairs for
an ice.
[_They go._
MRS. GRAPPLETON (_re-entering with_ MR. BOLDOVER, _after a discussion
that has outlasted two ices and a plate of strawberries_). Well, I
thought you would have explained my difficulties better than _that_--oh,
what a _delicious_ waltz! Doesn't it set you longing to dance?
MR. B. (_who sees_ MISS ROUNDARM _in the distance, disengaged_). Yes, I
really think I must--. [_Preparing to escape._
MRS. GRAPPLETON. I'm getting such an old thing, that really I oughtn't
to--but well, just this _once_, as my husband isn't here.
[MR. BOLDOVER _resigns himself to necessity once more_.
FIRST CHAPERON (_to second ditto_). How sweet it is of your eldest girl
to dance with that absurd Mr. Clumpsole! It's really too _bad_ of him to
make such an exhibition of her--one can't help smiling at them!
SECOND CH. Oh, Ethel never can bear to hurt any one's feelings--so
different from some girls! By the way, I've not seen _your_ daughter
dancing to-night--men who dance are so scarce nowadays--I suppose they
think they have the right to be a little fastidious.
FIRST CH. Bella has been out so much this week, that she doesn't care to
dance except with a really first-rate partner. She is not so easily
pleased as your Ethel, I'm afraid.
SECOND CH. Ethel is _young_, you see, and, when one is pressed so much
to dance, one can hardly refuse, _can_ one? When she has had as many
seasons as BELLA, she will be less energetic, I dare say.
[MR. BOLDOVER _has at last succeeded in approaching_ MISS ROUNDARM, _and
even in inducing her to sit out a dance with him_; _but, having led her
to a convenient alcove, he finds himself totally unable to give any
adequate expression to the rapture he feels at being by her side_.
MR. B. (_determined to lead up to it somehow_). I--I was rather
thinking--(_he_ meant _to say_, "_devoutly hoping_," _but, to his own
bitter disgust, it comes out like this_)--I should meet you here
to-night.
MISS R. Were you? Why?
MR. B. (_with a sudden dread of going too far just yet_). Oh
(_carelessly_), you know how one _does_ wonder who will be at a place,
and who won't.
MISS R. No, indeed, I don't--_how_ does one wonder?
MR. B. (_with a vague notion of implying a complimentary exception in
her case_). Oh, well, generally--(_with the fatal tendency of a shy man
to a sweeping statement_)--one may be pretty sure of meeting just the
people one least wants to see, you know.
MISS R. And so you thought you would probably meet me. I _see_.
MR. B. (_overwhelmed with confusion, and not in the least knowing what
he says_). No, no, I didn't think that--I hoped you mightn't--I mean, I
was afraid you might--
[_Stops short, oppressed by the impossibility of explaining._
MISS R. You are not very complimentary to-night, are you?
MR. B. I can't pay compliments--to _you_--I don't know how it is, but I
never can talk to you as I can to other people!
MISS R. Are you amusing when you are with other people?
MR. B. At all events I can find things to say to _them_.
_Enter_ ANOTHER MAN.
ANOTHER MAN (_to_ MISS R.). Our dance, I think?
MISS R. (_who had intended to get out of it_). I was wondering if you
ever meant to come for it. (_To_ MR. B., _as they rise_.) Now I sha'n't
feel I am depriving the other people! (_Perceives the speechless agony
in his expression, and relents._) Well, you can have the next after this
if you care about it--only _do_ try to think of something in the
meantime! (_As she goes off._) You will--won't you?
MR. B. (_to himself_). She's given me another chance! If only I can rise
to it. Let me see--what shall I begin with? _I_ know--_Supper!_ She
hasn't been down yet.
HIS HOSTESS. Oh, Mr. Boldover, you're not dancing this--do be good and
take some one down to supper--those poor Chaperons are dying for some
food.
[Mr. B. _takes down a Matron whose repast is protracted through three
waltzes and a set of Lancers_--_he comes up to find_ MISS ROUNDARM
_gone_, _and the Musicians putting up their instruments_.
COACHMAN AT DOOR (_to Linkman, as_ MR. B. _goes down the steps_). That's
the _lot_, Jim!
[Mr. B. _walks home, wishing the Park Gates were not shut, so as to
render the Serpentine inaccessible_.