RALPH ESSENDEAN, _aged about fifty, is discovered at a
writing-desk. He studies a newspaper, from which he reads aloud,
thoughtfully:--"So that a successful play may bring its author
anything from five to twenty thousand pounds." He lays down the
paper, mutters, "H'm!" and taking up a pencil bites it
meditatively. Enter Mrs. Essendean._
_Mrs. Essendean_ (_crossing to Ralph, and placing her hand on his
shoulder, asks affectionately_). Well, dear, and how is the play getting
on?
_Ralph_ (_irritably_). You talk of the play, Matilda, as though it were
possible to write a four-act drama in ten minutes. The play is not
getting on at all well, for the simple reason that I am only just
thinking out the idea.
_Mrs. Essendean_ (_seating herself by the table_). How nice, dear! And
what _is_ the idea?
_Ralph_ (_grimly_). That is just what I am wondering about. Now if you
will kindly retire to the kitchen and make an omelette, or discharge the
cook, I shall be obliged.
[_Leans over his desk._
_Mrs. E._ But, dear, I am sure the cook is a most excellent servant,
and----
_Ralph_ (_turning round and speaking with repressed exasperation_). That
was simply my attempt at a humorous explanation of my wish to be alone,
Matilda.
_Mrs. E._ (_smiling indulgently and rising_). Well, dear, of course if
it's going to be a _funny_ play, I know you would like to be alone.
(_Pausing at the open door._) And will you read it to us after dinner?
You know the Willoughby-Smythes will be here, and Mr. and Mrs. Vallance
from the Bank are coming in afterwards. I am sure they would like to
hear it.
_Ralph_ (_irritably_). The play isn't written yet. (_Plaintively._) _Do_
go!
_Mrs. E._ (_sweetly_). I'm sure you'd like to be alone. Don't keep
dinner waiting.
[_Beams on him affectionately and exits. Ralph gives a sigh of
relief, rumples his hair, and then writes for a few minutes. Then
pauses, leans back, biting his pencil, when the door is flung open,
and a very good imitation of a whirlwind bursts into the room. The
whirlwind is a robust person of forty, he has a large round red
face fringed with sandy whiskers, and is one mass of health and
happiness. He wears Norfolk jacket, knickerbockers, gaiters and
thick boots, and carries a golfing bag. He slaps Ralph heartily on
the back, and laughs boisterously. Ralph collapses._
_Tom_ (_heartily_). How are you? Going strong--what? Asked the wife for
you, and she told me you were in here writing a play. Rippin' idea--what?
_Ralph_ (_worried, but striving to be pleasant and polite_). What do you
want, old chap?
_Tom_ (_cheerfully_). Nothin' particular, only just to see how you were
gettin' on--what? Do you good to have half an hour out, just a few
holes--golf--what?
_Ralph_ (_with great self-restraint_). Thanks, old man. Not now. You
don't mind my asking you to leave me to myself a bit?
_Tom_ (_amiably rising and picking up his bag_). All right, old chap,
you know best--what? Thought I'd just look in--hey?--what? Well, I'm
off. (_Goes to door, thinks for a moment, and then turns round._) I say,
I know Thingummy's acting manager. If I can put in a word about your
play--hey?--what?
_Ralph_ (_rises hurriedly. Shakes hands with Tom, and skilfully
manoeuvres him into the passage, then calls after him_). Good-bye, old
man, and many thanks. (_Closes the door and returns to his desk,
grinding his teeth._) Confound him! (_Takes up paper and writes a few
lines, then reads aloud._) "Puffington puts the letter in his pocket and
passes his hand through his hair. He groans 'O, why did I ever write
those letters? I know Flossie, and this means fifty pounds at least, and
if ever my mother-in-law gets to hear of it! O lor, here she is'" (_Puts
down the paper and looks up at the ceiling._) Now, speaking to myself as
one man to another, I can't help thinking that this sort of thing has
been done before. I seem to have heard it somewhere. I'll--I'll--try a
fresh start. (_Writes hurriedly for a few minutes and then reads._)
"Scene.--Fashionable watering place, the beach is crowded; on the pier
the band is playing a dreamy waltz. Edwin and Maud are discovered in an
open boat. _Edwin._ You must be tired of rowing, sweetest; come and
steer. _Maud._ Just as you like, darling. (_As they change seats the
boat capsizes. After clinging for twenty minutes to the upturned keel,
they are rescued by a passing steamer._)" That's all right for a
"situation," but there seems a lack of dialogue. They can't very well
talk while they are clinging to the boat; and what the deuce could they
be talking about before? If I let them drown I shall have to introduce
fresh characters. Bother! (_Meditates with frowning brow._) Playwriting
appears to present more difficulties than I thought. (_Takes up a
newspaper._) "May bring in anything from five to twenty thousand
pounds!" Sounds tempting, but I wonder how it's done?
[_Takes a cigar from the mantelpiece, lights it, and, seating
himself near the fire, smokes thoughtfully. Gradually his head
sinks back on to the top of the chair, the cigar drops from his
relaxed fingers, and as he sleeps, the shadow of a smile breaks
across his face. An hour elapses; he is still sleeping. Enter Mrs.
Essendean, who brushes against the writing-table and sweeps the
sheets of manuscript to the ground._
_Mrs. Essendean_ (_crossing to Ralph and lightly shaking him_). My dear,
my dear, not dressed yet! Do you know the time--just the half-hour.
(_Ralph starts up._) Eh? (_Looks at the clock._) Nearly half past, by
Jove! I shan't be two seconds.
[_Rushes hastily from the room._
_Mrs. Essendean (picks up the extinguished cigar, and drops it daintily
into the fire. Looks round the room and sees the littering
manuscript._) What an untidy old thing it is! (_Picks up the sheets,
crumples them into a ball and throws them into the waste-paper basket._)
There, that looks better.
[_Gazes into the mirror, pats her hair, and exit._
(_End of the play._)
* * * * *
[Illustration: PARADOXICAL.--_Ethel._ "It was a most wonderful
performance, Aunt Tabitha! First, she was shot out of a cannon's mouth
on to a trapeze fifteen yards above the orchestra, and then she swung
herself up till she stood on a rope on one leg at least a hundred and
twenty feet above our heads!" _Aunt Tabitha._ "Ah! I always think a
woman _lowers_ herself when she does that!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: FORM
_First Masher._ "Let's stop and look at Punch and Judy, old chappie!
I've heard it's as good as a play."
_Second Masher._ "I dessay it is, my brave boy. But we ain't dressed,
you know!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: PROPERTY HAS ITS RIGHTS
SCENE: _Mr. Foote Lyter's back Drawing-room. Private Theatricals. Dress
Rehearsal._
_Mr. Foote Lyter._ "I say, Drawle, while the Duke is having his scene
with Dora, where am _I_ to stand!" _Captain Drawle_ (_amateur stage
manager_). "Well--er--my dear fellow--er--er--it's your own house, you
know--_you can stand where you like_!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE POINT OF VIEW.--_Exasperated Old Gentleman_ (_to lady
in front of him_). "Excuse me, madam, but my seat has cost me ten
shillings, and I want to see. Your hat----" _The Lady._ "My hat has cost
me ten _guineas_, sir, and I want it to _be seen_!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: Tomkins, who has recently made his appearance _en
amateur_ as the Melancholy Dane, goes to have his photograph taken "in
character." Unfortunately, on reaching the corner of the street, he
finds _the road is up_, and he has to walk to the door! Tableau!!]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Clever Juvenile_ (_loq._). "Shakspeare? Pooh! For my
part I consider Shakspeare a very much over-rated man."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE FORTHCOMING PANTOMIME
_Astonished Friend._ "Why!--Why! What on earth are these?"
_Manager._ "These? Oh! These are _fairies_!!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: MR. PUNCH'S PATENT MATINEE HAT.
Fitted with binocular glasses for the benefit of those sitting behind
its wearer.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: HEARD AT A PROVINCIAL CIRCUS.--_Wag_ (_to unfortunate
small gent, who has vainly endeavoured to persuade lady to remove her
hat_). "Don't you see she's got a bird in her hat, sitting? You wouldn't
have the lady addle-headed, would you?"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE AMATEURS.--_Suburban Roscius._ "Ah, I saw you were at
our 'theatricals' the other night. How did you like my assumption of
_Hamlet_?" _Candid Friend._ "My dear f'llar--great'st piece of
assumption I ever saw i' m' life!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: CAUSE AND EFFECT
_Eminent Provincial Tragedian._ "Come hithorr, sweet one! Your mothorr
tells me that you shed teorrs during my soliloquy in exile, last night!"
_Sweet One._ "Yes, sir. Mother kept on pinching me, 'cause I was so
sleepy!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: "EXCLUSIVE"
_Our Philanthropist_ (_who often takes the shilling gallery_--_to his
neighbour_). "Only a middling house."
_Unwashed Artisan._ "Ay--that sixpence extry, 'rather heavy for the
likes o' huz, y'know. But there's one thing--it keeps out the
riff-raff!!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE DRAMA.--_AEsthetic Critic_ (_at the club, after the
theatre_). "Can you imagine anything more utterly solemn than the
_denoument_ in _Romeo and Juliet_? Two lovers, both dying in the same
vault! What fate more weirdly tragic could----"
_Cynical Old Bachelor_ (_who has evidently never read the play_).
"Um--'s no knowing. The author might 'a' married 'em!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Distinguished Amateur_ (_about to make his first
appearance in public at a concert for the people_). "Oh, I _do_ feel so
nervous!" _Sympathetic Friend._ "Oh, there's no occasion to be nervous,
my dear fellow. They applaud _anything_!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE MAIDEN'S POINT OF VIEW.--_Mamma_ (_to Maud, who has
been with her brother to the play, and is full of it_). "But was there
no _love_ in the piece, then?" _Maud._ "_Love?_ Oh dear no, mamma. The
principal characters were _husband and wife_, you know!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: LA COMEDIE FRANCAISE
_Jones_ (_who understands French so well, although he does not speak
it_), _reading over list of pieces to be played at the Gaiety_:--"'Le
Gendre de M. Poirier.' Why, what gender _should_ the man be, I should
like to know!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: "THOSE WHO LIVE IN GLASS HOUSES," ETC.--_The Bishop._ "I
hope your grandchildren liked the circus, Lady Godiva. That was a
wonderful performance of Mlle. Petitpas on the bare-backed steed, wasn't
it?"
_Lady Godiva._ "Yes--a--but I dislike those bare-backed performances.
They're so risky, you know!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: A very cold audience. (Suggestion for the stalls in
mid-winter)]
* * * * *
[Illustration: A CASE OF "NO COMPRENNY"
"Ha! Mistare Robinson! 'Ow do you do? 'Av you seen ze last new piece at
ze 'Olleborne? Supairrb! Splendeed!! Good!!!"
"A--no--I don't patronise the English drama. I like finish, delicacy,
refinement; and I'm happy to say I've secured tickets for all the French
plays!"
"Tiens! Mais vous savez le Francais, alors?"
"A--I beg your pardon?"
"Je vous demande si vous savez le Francais, parbleu! Cruche, Melon,
Baudet, Dinde, Jobard, Cretin, Momie, Colin-Maillard que vous etes?"
"A--quite so! No doubt! A--by the bye, have you seen Jones lately?"]
* * * * *