_The scene represents the stage of a theatre with the proscenium arch,
and the dark and empty auditorium in the distance. The curtain is
raised. The stage extends a few feet beyond the line of the proscenium,
and is terminated by a row of old-fashioned footlights with metal
reflectors. On the left, from the proscenium arch runs a wall, in which
is an open doorway supposed to admit to the Green-room. Right and
left of the stage are the "P." and "O. P." and the first and second
entrances, with wings running in grooves, according to the old fashion.
Against the wall are some "flats." Just below the footlights is a
T-light, burning gas, and below this the prompt-table. On the right of
the prompt-table is a chair, and on the left another. Against the edge
of the proscenium arch is another chair; and nearer, on the right,
stands a large throne-chair, with a gilt frame and red velvet seat, now
much dilapidated. In the "second entrance" there are a "property" stool,
a table, and a chair, all of a similar style to the throne-chair and in
like condition, and on the center, as if placed therefor the purpose of
rehearsal, are a small circular table and a chair. On this table is a
work-basket containing a ball of wool and a pair of knitting-needles;
and on the prompt-table there is a book. A faded and ragged green baize
covers the floor of the stage. The wings, and the flats and borders,
suggest by their appearance a theatre fallen somewhat into decay.
The light is a dismal one, but it is relieved by a shaft of' sunlight
entering through a window in the flies on the right._
[_Mrs. Telfer is seated upon the throne-chair, in an attitude of
dejection. Telfer enters from the Green-room._]
_Telfer._
[_Coming to her._] Is that you, Violet?
_Mrs. Telfer._
Is the reading over?
_Telfer._
Almost. My part is confined to the latter 'alf of the second act; so
being close to the Green-room door [_with a sigh_], I stole away.
_Mrs. Telfer._
It affords you no opportunity, James?
_Telfer._
[_Shaking his head._] A mere fragment.
_Mrs. Telfer._
[_Rising._]Well, but a few good speeches to a man of your stamp----
_Telfer._
Yes, but this is so line-y, Violet; so very line-y. And what d'ye think
the character is described as?
_Mrs. Telfer._
What?
_Telfer._
"An old, stagey, out-of-date actor."
[_They stand looking at each other for a moment, silently._]
_Mrs. Telfer._
[_Falteringly._] Will you--be able--to get near it, James?
_Telfer._
[_Looking away from her._] I dare say-----
_Mrs. Telfer._
[_Laying a hand upon his shoulder._] That's all right, then.
_Telfer._
And you--what have they called you for, if you're not in the play? They
'ave not dared to suggest understudy?
_Mrs. Telfer._
[_Playing with her fingers._]They don't ask me to act at all, James.
_Telfer._
Don't ask you---!
_Mrs. Telfer._
Miss Parrott offers me the position of Wardrobe-mistress.
_Telfer._
Violet!
_Mrs. Telfer._
Hush!
_Telfer._
Let us both go home.
_Mrs. Telfer._
[_Restraining him._] No, let us remain. We've been idle six months, and
I can't bear to see you without your watch and all your comforts about
you.
_Telfer._
[_Pointing toward the Green-room._] And so this new-fangled stuff, and
these dandified people, are to push us, and such as us, from our stools!
_Mrs. Telfer._
Yes, James, just as some other new fashion will, in course of time, push
_them_ from their stools.
[_From the Green-room comes the sound of a slight clapping of hands,
followed by a murmur of voices. The Telfers move away. Imogen,
elaborately dressed, enters from the Green-room and goes leisurely to
the prompt-table. She is followed by Tom, manuscript in hand, smarter
than usual in appearance; and he by O'Dwyer,--an excitable Irishman
of about forty, with an extravagant head of hair,--who carries a small
bundle of "parts" in brown-paper covers. Tom and O'Dwyer join Imogen._]
_O'Dwyer._
[_To Tom._] Mr. Wrench, I congratulate ye; I have that honor, sir. Your
piece will do, sir; it will take the town, mark me.
_Tom._
Thank you, O'Dwyer.
_Imogen._
Look at the sunshine! there's a good omen, at any rate.
_O'Dwyer._
Oh, sunshine's nothing. [_To Tom._] But did ye observe the gloom on
their faces whilst ye were read in'?
_Imogen._
[_Anxiously._] Yes, they did look glum.
_O'Dwyer._
Glum! it might have been a funeral! There's a healthy prognostication
for ye, if ye loike! it's infallible.
[_A keen-faced gentleman and a lady enter, from the Green-room, and
stroll across the stage to the right, where they lean against the wings
and talk. Then two young gentlemen enter, and Rose follows._]
Note.--The actors and the actress appearing for the first time in this
act, as members of the Pantheon Company, are outwardly greatly superior
to the Gadds, the Telfers, and Colpoys.
_Rose._
[_Shaking hands with Telfer._] Why didn't you sit near me, Mr. Telfer?
[_Going to Mrs. Telfer._] Fancy our being together again, and at the
West End! [_To Telfer._] Do you like the play?
_Telfer._
Like it! there's not a speech in it, my dear--not a real speech; nothing
to dig your teeth into---
_O'Dwyer._
[_Allotting the parts, under the direction of Tom and Imogen._] Mr.
Mortimer! [_One of the young gentlemen advances and receives his part
from O'Dwyer, and retires, reading it._] Mr. Denzil!
[_The keen-faced gentleman takes his part, then joins Imogen on her
left and talks to her. The lady now has something to say to the solitary
young gentleman._]
_Tom._
[_To O'Dwyer, quietly, handing him a part._] Miss Brewster.
_O'Dwyer._
[_Beckoning to the lady, who does not observe him, her back being
towards him._] Come here, my love.
_Tom._
[_To O'Dwyer._] No, no, O'Dwyer--not your "love."
_O'Dwyer._
[_Perplexed._] Not?
_Tom._
No.
_O'Dwyer._
No?
_Tom._
Why, you are meeting her this morning for the first time.
_O'Dwyer._
That's true enough. [_Approaching the lady and handing her the part._]
Miss Brewster.
_The Lady._
Much obliged.
_O'Dwyer._
[_Quietly to her._] It 'll fit ye like a glove, darlin'. [_The lady
sits, conning her part. O'Dwyer returns to the table._]
_Telfer._
[_To Rose._] Your lover in the play? which of these young sparks plays
your lover--Harold or Gerald----?
_Rose._
Gerald. I don't know. There are some people not here to-day, I believe.
_O'Dwyer._
Mr. Hunston!
[_The second young gentleman advances, receives his part, and joins the
other young gentleman in the wings._]
_Rose._
Not that young man, I hope. Isn't he a little bandy?
_Telfer._
One of the finest Macduffs I ever fought with was bow-legged.
_O'Dwyer._
Mr. Teller.
_Tom._
[_To O'Dwyer._] No, no--Telfer.
_O'Dwyer._
Telfer!
[_Telfer draws himself erect, puts his hand in his breast, but otherwise
remains stationary._]
_Mrs. Telfer._
[_Anxiously._] That's you, James.
_O'Dwyer._
Come on, Mr. Telfer! look alive, sir!
_Tom._
[_To O'Dwyer._] Sssh, sssh, sssh! don't, don't----!
[_Telfer advances to the prompt-table, slowly. He receives his part
from O'Dwyer. To Telfer, awkwardly._] I--I hope the little part of Poggs
appeals to you, Mr. Telfer. Only a sketch, of course; but there was
nothing else--quite--in your-------
_Telfer._
Nothing? to whose share does the Earl fall?
_Tom._
Oh; Mr. Denzil plays Lord Parracourt.
_Telfer._
Denzil? I've never 'eard of 'im. Will you get to me to-day?
_Tom._
We--we expect to do so.
_Telfer._
Very well. [_Stiffly._] Let me be called in the street. [_He stalks
away._]
_Mrs. Telfer._
[_Relieved._] Thank Heaven! I was afraid James would break out.
_Rose._
[_To Mrs. Telfer._] But you, dear Mrs. Telfer--you weren't at the
reading--what are _you_ cast for?
_Mrs. Telfer._
I? [_Wiping away a tear._] I am the Wardrobe-mistress of this theatre.
_Rose._
You! [_Embracing her._] Oh! oh!
_Mrs. Telfer._
[_Composing herself._] Miss Trelawny--Rose--my child, if we are set to
scrub a floor--and we may come to that yet--let us make up our minds to
scrub it legitimately--with dignity----
[_She disappears and is seen no more._]
_O'Dwyer._