_Mona House, the Town Mansion of the Marquis of Manx, which has been
lent for a Sale of Work in aid of the "Fund for Super-annuated
Skirt-dancers," under the patronage of Royalty and other distinguished
personages_.
_In the Entrance Hall._
MRS. WYLIE DEDHEAD (_attempting to insinuate herself between the
barriers_). Excuse me; I only wanted to pop in for a moment, just to see
if a lady friend of mine is in there, that's _all_!
The LADY MONEY-TAKER (_blandly_). If you will let me know your friend's
name--?
MRS. W. D. (_splendide mendax_). She's assisting the dear Duchess.
_Now_, perhaps, you will allow me to pass!
The L. M. Afraid I can't, really. But if you mean Lady Honor
Hyndlegges--_she_ is the only lady at the Duchess's stall--I could send
_in_ for her. Or of course, if you like to pay half-a-crown----
MRS. W. D. (_hastily_). Thank you, I--I won't disturb her
ladyship. I had no _idea_ there was any charge for admission,
and--(_bristling_)--allow me to say I consider such regulations _most_
absurd.
The L. M. (_sweetly, with a half glance at the bowl of coins on the
table_). Quite _too_ ridiculous, ain't they? _Good_ afternoon!
MRS. W. D. (_audibly, as she flounces out_). If they suppose _I'm_ going
to pay half-a-crown for the privilege of being _fleeced_----!
FOOTMAN (_on steps, sotto voce, to confrere_). "Fleeced"! that's a good
'un, eh? _She_ ain't brought much wool in with _her_!
His CONFRERE. On'y what's stuffed inside of her ear. [_They resume their
former impassive dignity._
_In the Venetian Gallery--where the Bazaar is being held._
A LOYAL OLD LADY (_at the top of her voice--to_ STALL-KEEPER). Which of
'em's the Princess, my dear, eh? It's her I paid _my_ money to see.
The STALL-KEEPER (_in a dismayed whisper_). Ssh! Not _quite_ so loud!
There--just opposite--petunia bow in her bonnet--selling kittens.
The L. O. L. (_planting herself on a chair_). So _that's_ her! Well, she
_is_ dressed plain--for a Royalty--but looks _pleasant_ enough. I
wouldn't mind taking one o' them kittens off her Royal 'Ighness myself,
if they was going at all reasonable. But there, I expect, the cats
_'ere_ is meat for my masters, so to speak; and you see, my dear, 'aving
the promise of a tortoise-shell Tom from the lady as keeps the Dairy
next door, whenever----
[_She finds, with surprise, that her confidences are not encouraged_.
MISS ST. LEGER DE MAYNE (_persuasively to_ MRS. NIBBLER). Do let me show
you some of this exquisite work, all embroidered entirely by hand, you
see!
MRS. NIBBLER (_edging away_). Lovely--_quite_ lovely; but I
think--a--I'll just take a look round before I----
MISS DE M. If there is any _particular_ thing you were looking for,
perhaps _I_ could----
MRS. N. (_becoming confidential_). Well, I _did_ think if I could come
across a nice _sideboard-cloth_----
MISS DE M. (_to herself_). What on earth's a sideboard-cloth? (_Aloud._)
Why, I've the very _thing_! See--all worked in Russian stitch!
MRS. N. (_dubiously_). I thought they were always quite plain. And
what's that queer sort of flap-thing for?
MISS DE M. Oh, _that_? That's--a--to cover up the spoons, and forks,
and things; quite the latest fashion, _now_, you know.
MRS. N. (_with self-assertion_). I _have_ noticed it at several dinner
parties I've been to in society lately, certainly. Still I am not sure
that----
MISS DE M. I always have them on my _own_ sideboard now--my husband
won't _hear_ of any others.... Then, I _may_ put this one in paper for
you? fifteen-and-sixpence--thanks _so_ much! (_To her colleague, as_
Mrs. N. _departs_). Connie, I've got rid of that awful nightgown case at
_last_!
MRS. MAYCUP. A--you _don't_ happen to have a small bag to hold a
powder-puff, and so on, you know?
MISS DE M. I _had_ some very pretty ones; but I'm afraid they're
all--oh, no, there's just _one_ left--crimson velvet and real
_passementerie_. (_She produces a bag_). Too trotty for words, isn't it?
MRS. MAYCUP (_tacitly admitting its trottiness_). But then--that sort of
purse shape----Could I get a small pair of folding curling-irons into
it, should you think, at a pinch?
MISS DE M. You could get _anything_ into it--at a pinch. I've one myself
which will hold--well, I can't tell you what it _won't_ hold!
Half-a-guinea--so _many_ thanks! (_To herself, as_ MRS. MAYCUP _carries
off her_ _bag_.) What _would_ the vicar's wife say if she knew I'd sold
her church collection bag for _that_! But it's all in a good cause!
(_An_ ELDERLY LADY _comes up_.) May I show you some of these----?
The ELDERLY LADY. Well, I was wondering if you had such a thing as a
good warm pair of sleeping socks; because, these bitter nights, I do
find I suffer so from cold in my feet.
MISS DE M. (_with effusion_). Ah, then I can _feel_ for you--so do _I_!
At least, I _used_ to before I tried--(_To herself._) Where _is_ that
pair of thick woollen driving-gloves? Ah, _I_ know. (_Aloud._)--these.
I've found them _such_ a comfort!
The E. L. (_suspiciously_). They have rather a queer----And then they
are divided at the ends, too.
MISS DE M. Oh, haven't you seen _those_ before? Doctors consider them so
much healthier, don't you know.
The E. L. I daresay they are, my dear. But aren't the--(_with delicate
embarrassment_)--the separated parts rather long?
MISS DE M. Do you _think_ so? They allow so much more freedom, you see;
and then, of course, they'll shrink.
The E. L. That's true, my dear. Well, I'll take a pair, as you recommend
them so strongly.
MISS DE M. I'm quite _sure_ you'll never regret it!
(_To herself, as the_ E. L. _retires, charmed_.) I'd give _anything_ to
see the poor old thing trying to put them on!
MISS MIMOSA TENDRILL (_to herself_). I do so _hate_ hawking this horrid
old thing about! (_Forlornly, to_ MRS. ALLBUTT-INNETT.) I--I beg your
pardon; but _will_ you give me ten-and-sixpence for this lovely
work-basket?
MRS. ALLBUTT-INNETT. My good girl, let me tell you I've been pestered to
buy that identical basket at every bazaar I've set foot in for the last
twelve-month, and how you can have the face to ask ten-and-six for
it--you must think I've more money than wit!
MISS TENDR. (_abashed_). Well--_eighteenpence_ then? (_To herself, as_
Mrs. A. I. _closes promptly_.) There, I've sold _something_, anyhow!
The HON. DIANA D'AUTENBAS (_to herself_). It's rather fun selling at a
Bazaar; one can let oneself _go_ so much more! (_To the first man she
meets._) I'm sure you'll buy one of my buttonholes--now _won't_ you? If
I fasten it in for you myself?
MR. CADNEY ROWSER. A button'ole, eh? Think I'm not classy enough as I
am?
MISS D'AUT. I don't think _anyone_ could accuse you of not being
"_classy_;" still a flower would just give the finishing-touch.
MR. C. R. (_modestly_). Rats!--if you'll pass the reedom. But you've
such a way with you that--there--'ow much.
MISS D'AUT. Only five shillings. Nothing to _you_!
MR. C. R. Five bob? You're a artful girl, _you_ are! "_Fang de
Seakale_," and no error! But I'm _on_ it; it's worth the money to 'ave a
flower fastened in by such fair 'ands. I won't 'owl--not even if you
_do_ run a pin into me.... What? You ain't done a'ready! No _'urry_, yer
know.... 'Ere, won't you come along to the refreshment-stall, and 'ave a
little something at my expense. Do!
MISS D'AUT. I think you must imagine you are talking to a barmaid!
MR. C. R. (_with gallantry_). I on'y wish barmaids was 'alf as pleasant
and sociable as _you_, Miss. But they're a precious stuck-up lot, _I_
can assure you!
MISS D'AUT. (_to herself as she escapes_). I suppose one ought to put up
with this sort of thing--for a charity!
MRS. BABBICOMBE (_at the Toy Stall, to the Belle of the Bazaar, aged
three-and-a-half_). You _perfect_ duck! You're simply too _sweet_! I
_must_ find you something. (_She tempers generosity with discretion by
presenting her with a small pair of knitted doll's socks_.) There,
darling!
The BELLE'S MOTHER. What do you say to the kind lady _now_, Marjory?
MARJORY (_a practical young person, to the donor_). Now div me a dolly
to put ve socks on.
[MRS. B. _finds herself obliged to repair this omission_.
A YOUNG LADY RAFFLER (_to a_ YOUNG MAN). Do take a ticket for this
charmin' _sachet_. Only half-a-crown!
The YOUNG MAN. Delighted! If you'll put in for this _splendid_ cigar
cabinet. Two shillin's!
[_The_ YOUNG LADY _realises that she has encountered an Augur, and
passes on_.
MISS DE. M. (_to_ MR. ISTHMIAN GATWICK). Can't I tempt you with this
tea-cosy? It's so absurdly cheap!
MR. ISTHMIAN GATWICK (_with dignity_). A-thanks; I think not. Never
_take_ tea, don't you know.
MISS DE M. (_with her characteristic adaptability_). Really? No more do
_I_. But you _could_ use it as a _smoking-cap_, you know. _I_ always----
[_Recollects herself, and breaks off in confusion_.
[Illustration: "You have lofty ambitions and the artistic
temperament."]
MISS OPHELIA PALMER (_in the "Wizard's Cave"--to_ MR. CADNEY ROWSER).
Yes, your hand indicates an intensely refined and spiritual nature; you
are perhaps a _little_ too indifferent to your personal comfort where
that of others is concerned; sensitive--too much so for your own
happiness, perhaps--you feel things keenly when you _do_ feel them. You
have lofty ambitions and the artistic temperament--seven-and-sixpence,
please.
MR. C. R. (_impressed_). Well, Miss, if you can read all that for
seven-and-six on the palm of my 'and, I wonder what you _wouldn't_ see
for 'alf a quid on the sole o' my boot!
[MISS P.'S _belief in Chiromancy sustains a severe shock_.
BOBBIE PATTERSON (_outside tent, as Showman_). This way to the
Marvellous Jumping Bean from Mexico! Threepence!
VOICE FROM TENT. Bobbie! Stop! The Bean's _lost_! Lady Honor's horrid
Thought-reading Poodle has just stepped in and swallowed it.
BOBBIE. Ladies and Gentlemen, owing to sudden domestic calamity, the
Bean has been unavoidably compelled to retire, and will be unable to
appear till further notice.
MISS SMYLIE (_to_ MR. OTIS BARLEYWATER, _who--in his own set--is
considered "almost equal to Corney Grain"_). I thought you were giving
your entertainment in the library? Why _aren't_ you?
MR. OTIS BARLEYWATER (_in a tone of injury_). Why? Because I can't give my
imitations of Arthur Roberts and Yvette Guilbert with anything _like_
the requisite "go," unless I get a better audience than three
programme-sellers, all under ten, and the cloak-room maid--_that's_ why!
MRS. ALLBUTT-INNETT (_as she leaves, for the benefit of bystanders_). I
must say, the house is _most_ disappointing--not at _all_ what I should
expect a _Marquis_ to live in. Why, my _own_ reception-rooms are very
nearly as large, and decorated in a much more modern style!
BOBBIE PATTERSON (_to a_ "DOOSID GOOD-NATURED FELLOW, _who doesn't care
what he does," and whom he has just discovered inside a case got up to
represent an automatic sweetmeat machine_). Why, my dear old _chap_! No
idea it was _you_ inside that thing! Enjoying yourself in there, eh?
The DOOSID GOOD-NATURED FELLOW (_fluffily, from the interior_). Enjoying
myself! With the beastly pennies droppin' down into my boots, and the
kids howlin' because all the confounded chocolates have worked up
between my shoulder-blades, and I can't shake 'em out of the slit in my
arm? I'd like to see _you_ tryin' it!
The L. O. L. (_to a stranger, who is approaching the_ _Princess's
stall_). 'Ere, Mister, where are your manners? 'Ats off in the presence
o' Royalty!
[_She pokes him in the back with her umbrella; the stranger turns,
smiles slightly, and passes on._
A WELL-INFORMED BYSTANDER. You are evidently unaware, Madam, that the
gentleman you have just addressed is His Serene Highness the Prince of
Potsdam!
The L. O. L. (_aghast_). Her '_usban_'! And me a jobbin' of 'im with my
umbrella! 'Ere, let me get out!
[_She staggers out, in deadly terror of being sent to the Tower on the
spot._
[Illustration]