The scene represents a sitting room on the first floor of a respectable
lodging house. On the right are two sash-windows, having Venetian blinds
and giving a view of houses on the other side of the street. The grate
of the fireplace is hidden by an ornament composed of shavings and paper
roses. Over the fireplace is a mirror: on each side there is a sideboard
cupboard. On the left is a door, and a landing is seen outside. Between
the windows stand a cottage piano and a piano stool. Above the sofa, on
the left, stands a large black trunk, the lid bulging with its contents
and displaying some soiled theatrical finery. On the front of the trunk,
in faded lettering, appear the words "Miss Violet Sylvester, Theatre
Royal, Drury Lane." Under the sofa there are two or three pairs
of ladies' satin shoes, much the worse for wear, and on the sofa a
white-satin bodice, yellow with age, a heap of dog-eared playbooks, and
some other litter of a like character. On the top of the piano there is
a wig-block, with a man's wig upon it, and in the corners of the room
there stand some walking sticks and a few theatrical swords. In the
center of the stage is a large circular table. There is a clean cover
upon it, and on the top of the sideboard cupboards are knives and
forks, plate, glass, cruet-stands, and some gaudy flowers in vases--all
suggesting preparations for festivity. The woodwork of the room is
grained, the ceiling plainly whitewashed, and the wall paper is of
a neutral tint and much faded. The pictures are engravings in maple
frames, and a portrait or two, in oil, framed in gilt. The furniture,
curtains, and carpet are worn, but everything is clean and well-kept.
The light is that of afternoon in early summer.
Mrs. Mossop--a portly, middle-aged Jewish lady, elaborately attired--is
laying the tablecloth. Ablett enters hastily, divesting himself of his
coat as he does so. He is dressed in rusty black for "waiting."
_Mrs. Mossop._
[_In a fluster._] Oh, here you are, Mr. Ablett----!
_Ablett._
Good-day, Mrs. Mossop.
_Mrs. Mossop._
[_Bringing the cruet-stands._] I declare I thought you'd forgotten me.
_Ablett._
[_Hanging his coat upon a curtain-knob, and turning up his shirt
sleeves._] I'd begun to fear I should never escape from the shop, ma'am.
Jest as I was preparin' to clean myself, the 'ole universe seemed to cry
aloud for pertaters. [_Relieving Mrs. Mossop of the cruet-stands, and
satisfying himself as to the contents of the various bottles._] Now you
take a seat, Mrs. Mossop. You 'ave but to say "Mr. Ablett, lay for so
many," and the exact number shall be laid for.
_Mrs. Mossop._
[_Sinking into the armchair._] I hope the affliction of short breath may
be spared you, Ablett. Ten is the number.
_Ablett._
[_Whipping up the mustard energetically._] Short-breathed you may be,
ma'am, but not short-sighted. That gal of yours is no ordinary gal, but
to 'ave set 'er to wait on ten persons would 'ave been to 'ave caught
disaster. [_Bringing knives and forks, glass, etc., and glancing round
the room as he does so._] I am in Mr. and Mrs. Telfer's setting-room, I
believe, ma'am?
_Mrs. Mossop._
[_Surveying the apartment complacently._] And what a handsomely
proportioned room it is, to be sure!
_Ablett._
May I h'ask if I am to 'ave the honor of includin' my triflin' fee for
this job in their weekly book?
_Mrs. Mossop._
No, Ablett--a separate bill, please. The Telfers kindly give the use of
their apartment, to save the cost of holding the ceremony at the "Clown"
Tavern; but share and share alike over the expenses is to be the order
of the day.
_Ablett._
I thank you, ma'am. [_Rubbing up the knives with a napkin._] You let
fall the word "ceremony," ma'am-----
_Mrs. Mossop._
Ah, Ablett, and a sad one--a farewell cold collation to Miss Trelawny.
_Ablett._