WALTER. Jack, I’m very ill. I haven’t been out of doors till last
night for weeks. Nothing but work at what my father left me. He gave
_his_ lifetime to it and then left it to me. It ought to have been the
invention of the age. I went on the spree last night, when the whole
thing failed.
JACK. I have some news for you about your stepmother, Mrs. Everest.
By the idiotic conditions of your late father’s will--if the old lady
marries again before your birthday on Monday next the whole fortune he
left becomes not yours but hers.
WALTER. He meant it the other way about.
JACK. Yes, but that is how the will reads--instead of writing “_He_
shall inherit,” your father wrote “_she_ shall inherit.” She is the
“she.” About forty-five thou., isn’t it?
WALTER. Nearer fifty.
JACK. An adventurer named Potterfield has lately come to the village,
found out about the will, made love to the old lady, got a special
license, and is bringing her to town to marry her to-morrow.
WALTER. What?
JACK. Stella is coming here directly. This wedding must be stopped or
postponed.
WALTER. Jack, something’s got to be done--suppose I were taken
ill--very ill.
JACK. No good at all.
WALTER. Well, suppose that--no, that’s no use--suppose again that--no,
that’s no good either. I have a dim kind of idea that in some way my
invention is going to help us.
JACK. You said it had failed.
WALTER. It failed living; it might be of use dead. (_Swiss Jodel._)
Hullo, tra la la! (_Momentary dissipated business._)
(_STELLA enters D. in F._)
WALTER. Hullo, Stella how are you? Jack has told me all about this
adventurer, Potterfield. I’ve an idea to checkmate my stepmother.
(_Gives her seat._) I’m going to postpone their marriage not by being
ill--I’m going to die. What do you think of that?
JACK. I think it’s the weakest thing I ever heard of.
WALTER. In that cupboard there is a figure exactly like myself which
was timed to spring into existence yesterday at 5 p.m.--only it didn’t.
It’s the work my father never completed. Something went wrong. There
the figure is and will remain, dead as a nut. I even dressed it in my
best clothes, gave it a name, too, christened it Cyril Davidson.