(_A Fragmentary Christmas Tragedy._)
[Illustration]
_The atmosphere of the chamber is heavy with a portentous sense of
paralysing dread; the fire cowers in the grate, cold at its very
heart; the gas-flame shudders with a shuddering not caused by water in
the pipes._ Mr. DREDFERLEY CORNERD, _seated in his arm-chair, glares
at his newspaper with preoccupied and unreceptive eye; while ever
and again his hand passes nervously over his care-lined brow_. Mrs.
DREDFERLEY CORNERD _glances furtively at him through the perforations
of her fancy-work, held between tremulous fingers; her eye is
dilated, while her pale brow is puckered by the lines that whisper of
prescience of impending calamity_. Mr. DREDFERLEY CORNERD _feels
that his wife's eye is upon him; he strives to avoid her gaze; but,
fascinated, yields; and their eyes meet_.
_Mrs. Dredferley Cornerd_ (_huskily_). JAMES----
[_Thrice he raised his outspread hands in wild, unvoiced
deprecation; he clutches at his throat, as if suffocating;
then buries his face in his trembling hands, and, in a hollow,
far-off gurgle, says "Go on!" She goes to him, and smoothes
his throbbing brow._
_Mrs. D. C._ JAMES, let us nerve ourselves to it once more! Let us
remember DUTY! Come; we will plunge at once into the thick of it. What
is JANE to have?
_Mr. Dredferley Cornerd_ (_hurling himself from his chair, his
eye ablaze with unspeakable hate_). Nothing--a bottle of poison--a
dynamite bomb--the cat-o'-nine tails! Hear me, MARY-ANN. One year ago,
at this very season that brings this haunting, maddening torture
of the selection of Christmas presents, my sister JANE sent us that
ormolu clock which at this very moment glares upon us from that
mantel-piece! I loathe ormolu. Had we not laboured and struggled, you
and I, to furnish this, our dining-room, in perfect taste, all in
old oak and Flemish pottery. Then, in the very moment of our triumph,
arrived that loathsome clock of ormolu, and crushed our whole design!
It _had_ to go there, lest we gave offence. I hate my sister JANE!
_Mrs. D. C._ Well, let us, for the moment, then, dismiss your sister
JANE. Now what are we to give to JOSEPH?
_Mr. D. C._ MARY-ANN, I loathe that man! Well knowing how I hated
summer-houses--abominations filled with creeping horrors--he gave me
one just seven years ago. It makes our garden hideous to this day; I
will _not_ speak of him----
_Mrs. D. C._ Well, then, the JONESES. They gave _us_----
_Mr. D. C._ MARY-ANN, I know they did. We have to eat them still
whenever they drop in to meals. A lamprey makes me--(_shudders_) ugh!
They give us seven barrels twice a year! No, MARY-ANN; I will not
threaten you, but breathe their name no more.
_Mrs. D. C._ Well, put them off. But now there's Mrs. BLENKINSOP.
_Mr. D. C._ The cat! She gave us six outrageous oleographs, all green
and yellow, framed in blazing gold, and said we ought to hang them in
the hall. Our hall is Japanese; we'd left six spaces for kakemonos of
subdued design, and there we had to hang those oleographs. I loathe
our hall--I never enter it--I come round always by the garden door!
Woman, you madden me! You'll mention next the hated name of Cousin
ICHABOD----!
_Mrs. D. C._ I was about to.
_Mr. D. C._ Cousin ICHABOD presented to me, fifteen years ago, a pair
of silver brushes. At the time I had but little hair; that very year
I lost the rest. Still those accursed brushes mockingly gibber on my
dressing-table. They _must_ be there, for Cousin ICHABOD drops in at
unexpected moments! Once I hurled them from the window. One of them
caught ICHABOD, approaching up the path, over the eye, and raised a
livid bump. I writhe with detestation of his name. Would that
that brush---- Unhand me, MARY-ANN; see, I am calm. For years have
thoughtless friends encumbered us with Christmas presents quite
unsuited to our tastes and our requirements. What do we want with
seven berceaunettes (our children being two), with fifteen inkstands,
with twenty biscuit boxes, and thirty-five illuminated hanging
almanacks? For years we've played the shameless hypocrite, pretending
to adore these gruesome gifts; and now I bid you mark me, MARY-ANN; I
mean REVENGE. Yes, let us to the council, and plan what gifts to such
and such; the most unsuitable that we can hit on. Here's PARKER'S
list, and PORRINGE'S, and SPRITELEY'S. Come, here are wedding dresses;
sister JANE is sixty and a spinster; I will send her a wedding
gown--(_hysterically_) a dozen wedding gowns! Write, MARY-ANN, to
PARKER for a dozen. Then JOSEPH. JOSEPH, ha! I have it; JOSEPH goes
mad with fright on passing near a dog. To-morrow I will seek the Lost
Dogs' Home, and pick out fifty of the savagest--all bloodhounds, mark
you! I will drag the pack to JOSEPH'S door, and leave them with the
maid. And now the JONESES. Silence, MARY-ANN! I do not need cold water
on my temples! You shall _not_ stroke my head, and murmur "Shish!" You
shall _not_ scream for cook, and BLENKINSOP, and GEORGE, and JANE. I'm
calm. The JONESES--hurr! Let me get at them! Back--unhand me! Ha!----
[Illustration]
[_He swoons. Curtain._
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