CINDERELLA. You see we’re to have a bite of supper before I
start—to celebrate the night.
POLICEMAN. Supper with the kids! When I was a kid in the country at
Badgery—you’ve done it again!
CINDERELLA. Done what?
POLICEMAN (_with that strange feeling of being at home_). I suppose
I would be in the way?
CINDERELLA. There’s not very much to eat. There’s just one for each.
POLICEMAN. I’ve had my supper.
CINDERELLA (_seeing her way_). Have you? Then I would be very
pleased if you would stay.
POLICEMAN. Thank you kindly.
(_She prepares the table for the feast. Eyes sparkle from
the boxes._)
CINDERELLA (_shining_). This is the first party we’ve ever had.
Please keep an eye on the door in case there’s a knock.
(_She darts into her bedroom, and her charges are more at
their ease._)
MARIE (_sitting up, the better to display her nightgown_).
Monsieur, Monsieur, Voilà!
GLADYS. Cinderella made it out of watching a shop window.
POLICEMAN (_like one who has known his hostess from infancy_). Just
like her.
MARIE (_holding up a finger that is adorned with a ring_). Monsieur!
GLADYS (_more practical_). The fire’s going out.
POLICEMAN (_recklessly_). In with another penny. (_He feeds the
fire with that noble coin._) Fellow allies, I’m just going to take
a peep into the German trench! Hah!
(_He stealthily mounts a chair and puts his hand into
Gretchen’s box. We must presume that it is bitten by the
invisible occupant, for he withdraws it hurriedly to the
hearty delight of the spectators. This mirth changes to
rapture as_ CINDERELLA _makes a conceited entrance carrying
a jug of milk and five hot potatoes in their jackets.
Handsomely laden as she is, it is her attire that calls
forth the applause. She is now wearing the traditional
short brown dress of_ CINDERELLA, _and her hair hangs
loose. She tries to look modest._)
CINDERELLA (_displaying herself_). What do you think?
POLICEMAN (_again in Badgery_). Great! Turn round. And I suppose
you made it yourself out of a shop window?
CINDERELLA. No, we didn’t need no shop window; we all knew exactly
what I was wearing when the knock came.
GLADYS. Of course we did.
(_A potato is passed up to each and a cup of milk between
two. There is also a delicious saucerful of melted lard
into which they dip._ GRETCHEN _is now as much in evidence
as the others, and quite as attractive—the fun becomes fast
and furious_.)
CINDERELLA (_to_ POLICEMAN). A potato?
POLICEMAN. No, I thank you.
CINDERELLA. Just a snack?
POLICEMAN. Thank you.
(_She shares with him._)
CINDERELLA. A little dip?
POLICEMAN. No, I thank you.
CINDERELLA. Just to look friendly.
POLICEMAN. I thank you. (_Dipping._) To you, Cinderella.
CINDERELLA. I thank you.
POLICEMAN (_proposing a toast_). The King!
CINDERELLA (_rather consciously_). And the Prince of Wales.
GLADYS. And father.
POLICEMAN. The King, the Prince of Wales, and father.
(_The toast is drunk, dipped and eaten with acclamation._
GLADYS, _uninvited, recites ‘The Mariners of England.’_
MARIE-THERESE _follows (without waiting for the end) with
the Marseillaise, and_ GRETCHEN _puts out her tongue at
both. Our_ POLICEMAN _having intimated that he desires to
propose another toast of a more lengthy character, the
children are lifted down and placed in their nightgowns at
the table_.)
POLICEMAN (_suddenly becoming nervous_). I have now the honour to
propose absent friends.
GLADYS (_with an inspiration to which_ MARIE-THERESE _bows
elegantly_). Vive la France!
POLICEMAN. I mean our friends at the Front. And they have their
children, too. Your boxes we know about, but I daresay there’s many
similar and even queerer places, where the children, the smallest
of our allies, are sleeping this night within the sound of shells.
MARIE. La petite Belgique. La pauvre enfant!
DELPHINE (_proudly_). Me!