_Tom._
Look to the springs, good Ablett, for this comely lady will be my
companion.
_Mrs. Mossop._
Dooce take your impudence! Give me your other hand. Haven't you been to
rehearsal this morning with the rest of 'em?
_Tom._
I have, and have left my companions still toiling. My share in the
interpretation of Sheridan Knowles's immortal work did not necessitate
my remaining after the first act.
_Mrs. Mossop._
Another poor part, I suppose, Mr. Wrench?
_Tom._
Another, and to-morrow yet another, and on Saturday two others--all
equally, damnably rotten.
_Mrs. Mossop._
Ah, well, well! somebody must play the bad parts in this world, on and
off the stage. There [_returning the scissors_], there's no more edge
left to fray; we've come to the soft. [_He points the scissors at his
breast._] Ah! don't do that!
[Illustration: 0025]
_Tom._
You are right, sweet Mossop, I won't perish on an empty stomach.
[_Taking her aside._] But tell me, shall I disgrace the feast, eh? Is my
appearance too scandalously seedy?
_Mrs. Mossop._
Not _it_, my dear.
_Tom._
Miss Trelawny--do you think she'll regard me as a blot on the banquet?
[_wistfully_] do you, Beccy?
_Mrs. Mossop._
She! la! don't distress yourself. She'll be too excited to notice you.
_Tom._
H'm, yes! now I recollect, she has always been that. Thanks, Beccy.
[_A knock, at the front-door, is heard. Mrs. Mossop hurries to the
window down the stage._]
_Mrs. Mossop._
Who's that? [_Opening the window and looking out._] It's Miss Parrott!
Miss Parrott's arrived!
_Tom._
Jenny Parrott? Has Jenny condescended------?
_Mrs. Mossop._
Jenny! Where are your manners, Mr. Wrench? Tom.
[_Grandiloquently._] Miss Imogen Parrott, of the Olympic Theatre.
_Mrs. Mossop._
[_At the door, to Ablett._] Put your coat on, Ablett. We are not selling
cabbages. [_She disappears and is heard speaking in the distance._] Step
up, Miss Parrott! Tell Miss Parrott to mind that mat, Sarah--!
Be quick, Ablett, be quick! The élite is below! More dispatch, good
Ablett!
_Ablett._
[_To Tom, spitefully, while struggling into his coat._] Miss Trelawny's
leavin' will make all the difference to the old "Wells." The season'll
terminate abrupt, and then the comp'ny 'll be h'out, Mr. Wrench--h'out,
sir!
_Tom._
[_Adjusting his necktie, at the mirror over the piano._] Which will
lighten the demand for the spongy turnip and the watery marrow, my poor
Ablett.
_Ablett._
[_Under his breath. _] Presumpshus! [_He produces a pair of white cotton
gloves, and having put one on makes a horrifying discovery._] Two lefts!
That's Mrs. Ablett all over!
[_During the rest of the act, he is continually in difficulties, through
his efforts to wear one of the gloves upon his right hand. Mrs. Mossop
now re-enters, with Imogen Parrott. Imogen is a pretty, lighthearted
young woman, of about seven-and-twenty, daintily dressed._]
_Mrs. Mossop._
[_To Imogen._] There, it might be only yesterday you lodged in my house,
to see you gliding up those stairs! And this the very room you shared
with poor Miss Brooker!
_Imogen._
[_Advancing to Tom. _] Well, Wrench, and how are you?
_Tom._
[_Bringing her a chair, demonstratively dusting the seat of it with his
pocket-handkerchief_]. Thank you, much the same as when you used to call
me Tom.
_Imogen._
Oh, but I have turned over a new leaf, you know, since I have been at
the Olympic.
_Mrs. Mossop._