(A PURELY IMAGINARY SKETCH.)
_ARGUMENT--MRS. FLITTERMOUSE, having got up a party to assist her in
giving an Entertainment at the East End, has called a meeting for the
purpose of settling the items in the programme._
_MRS. FLITTERMOUSE'S Drawing-room in Park Lane. Everybody discovered
drinking tea, and chatting on matters totally unconnected with
Philanthropy._
MRS. FLITTERMOUSE (_imploringly_). Now, _please_, everybody, _do_
attend! It's quite impossible to settle anything while you're all
talking about something else. (_Apologies, protests, constrained
silence._) Selina, dear, what do you think it would be best to begin
with?
The DOWAGER LADY DAMPIER. My dear Fritilla, I have no suggestion to
offer. You know my opinion about the whole thing. The people don't want
to be elevated, and--if they did--entertaining them is not the proper
means to set about it. But I don't wish to discourage you.
MRS. FLITT. Oh, but I think we could do so _much_ to give them a taste
for more rational and refined amusements, poor things, to wean them from
the coarse pleasures which are all they have at present. Only we must
really decide what each of us is going to do.
MRS. PERSE-WEAVER. A violin solo is always popular. And my daughter
Cecilia will be delighted to play for you. She has been taught by the
best----
CECELIA. Oh, Mother, I couldn't, really! I've never played in public. I
_know_ I should break down!
LADY DAMP. In that case, my dear, it would be certainly unwise on your
part to attempt it.
MRS. P.-W. Nonsense, Cecilia, nonsense. You _won't_ break down, and it
wouldn't matter in the least if you did. _They_ wouldn't notice
anything. And it will be such excellent practice for you to get
accustomed to a platform, too. Of _course_ she will play for you, dear
Mrs. Flittermouse!
MRS. FLITT. It will be _so_ good of you, Miss Weaver. And it won't be
like playing to a _real_ audience, you know--poor people are so easily
pleased, poor dears. Then I will put that down to begin with. (_She
makes a note._) Now we must have something quite different for the
next--a reading or something.
LADY HONOR HYNDLEGGS. A--nothin' _humorous_, I hope. I do think we ought
to avoid anythin' like descendin' to their level, don't you know.
MR. LOVEGROOVE. Might try something out of _Pickwick_. "_Bob Sawyer's
Party_," you know. Can't go far wrong with anything out of Dickens.
MISS DIOVA ROSE. Can't endure him myself. All his characters are so
fearfully common; still--(_tolerantly_) I daresay it might
amuse--a--that class of persons.
MRS FLITT. I must say I agree with Lady Honor. We should try and aim as
high as possible--and well, I think _not_ Dickens, dear Mr. Lovegroove.
_Tennyson_ might do perhaps; he's written some charmin' pieces.
MR. LOVEGR. Well, fact is, I don't go in for poetry much myself. But
I'll read anythin' of his you think I'm equal to.
MRS. FLITT. Why--a--really, it's so long since I--and I'm afraid I
haven't one of his poems in the house. I suppose they are down at
Barn-end. But I could send to Cutt and Hawthorn's. I daresay _they_
would have a copy somewhere.
MISS SIBSON-GABLER. Surely Tennyson is rather--a--retrograde? Why not
read them something to set them _thinking_? It would be an interesting
experiment to try the effect of that marvellous Last Scene in the
_Doll's House_. I'd love to read it. It would be like a breath of fresh
air to them!
MRS. P.-W. Oh, I've seen that at the Langham Hall. You remember,
Cecilia, my taking you there? And Corney Grain played _Noah_. To be
sure--we were _quite_ amused by it all.
MISS S.-G. (_coldly_). This is _not_ amusing--it's a play of Ibsen's.
MRS. FLITT. Is that the man who wrote the piece at the Criterion--what
is it, _The Toy Shop_? Wyndham acted in it.
LADY DAMP. No, no; IBSEN is the person there's been all this fuss about
in the papers--he goes in for unconventionality and all that. I may be
wrong, but I think it is _such_ a mistake to have anything
unconventional in an entertainment for the people.
MRS. FLITT. But if he's being _talked_ about, dear Lady Dampier, people
might like to know something about him. But perhaps we'd better leave
Ibsen open, then. Now, what shall we have next?
MISS SKIPWORTH. I tell you what would fetch them--a skirt-dance. I'll
dance for you--like a shot. It would be no end of fun doin' it on a
regular platform, and I've been studyin' Flossie Frillington, at the
Inanity, till I've caught her style exactly.
[Illustration: "To-night is ours!"]
MR. KEMPTON. Oh, I say, you can give her a stone and a beatin' any day,
give you my word you can. She doesn't put anythin' like the go into it
you do.
[_MISS S. accepts this tribute with complacency._
MRS. FLITT. A skirt-dance will be the very thing. It's sure to please
the people we shall bring over for it--and of course they'll be in the
front rows. Yes, I must put _that_ down. We ought to have a song next.
Mrs. Tuberose, you promised to come and sing for us--you will, won't
you?
MRS. TUBEROSE. Delighted! I rather thought of doing a dear little song
Stephan Otis has just brought out. It's called "_Forbidden Fruit_," and
he wrote it expressly for me. It goes like this.
[_She sits down at the piano, and sings, with infinite
expression and tenderness._
"Only the moon espies our bliss,
Through the conscious clusters of clematis,
Shedding star-sweet showers.
To-morrow the world will have gone amiss--
Now I gaze in your eyes, love, I thrill to your kiss--
So let us remember naught but this:
That To-night is ours!
Yes, this passionate, perilous, exquisite night--
Is Ours!"
SEVERAL VOICES. Charmin'.... Otis puts so much real feeling into all his
songs ... quite a little gem! &c., &c.
LADY DAMP. I should have thought myself that it was rather advanced--for
an East-End audience--
MRS. TUBEROSE (_nettled_). Really, dear Lady Dampier, if people see
nothing to object in it _here_, I don't see why they should be more
particular at the East-End!
MRS. FLITT. Oh, no,--and as if it matters what the _words_ are in the
song. I daresay if one heard _their_ songs----Now we want another
song--something as different as possible.
MR. GARDINIER. Heard a capital song at the "Pav." the other
night--something about a Cock-eyed Kipper. Just suit my voice. I could
easily get the words and music, and do that for you--if you like.
SEVERAL VOICES. A Cock-eyed Kipper! It sounds too killing! Oh, we _must_
have that!
LADY DAMP. Might I ask what kind of creature a--a "Cock-eyed Kipper" may
be?
MR. GARD. Oh, well, I suppose it's a sort of a dried herring--with a
squint, don't you know.
LADY DAMP. I see no humour in making light of a personal deformity, I
must say.
MR. GARD. Oh, don't you? _They_ will--it'll go with a scream there!
MISS DIOVA ROSE. Yes, poor dears--and we mustn't mind being just a
little vulgar for once--to cheer them up.
LADY HONOR. I have been to the Pavilion and the Tivoli myself, and I
heard nothing to object to. I know I was much more amused than I ever am
at theatres--_they_ bore me to death.
MR. BAGOTRIX. We might finish up with _Mrs. Jarley's Waxworks_, you
know. Some of you can be the figures, and I'll come on in a bonnet and
shawl as _Mrs. Jarley_, and wind you up and describe you. I've done it
at lots of places in the country; brought in personal allusions and all
that sort of thing, and made everybody roar.
LADY DAMP. But will the East-Enders understand your personal allusions?
MR. BAG. Well, you see, the people in the front rows will, which is all
_I_ want.
LADY HONOR (_suspiciously_). Isn't _Mrs. Jarley_ out of _Pickwick_,
though? That's Dickens, surely!
MR. BAG. (_reassuringly_). Nothing but the name, Lady Honor. I make up
all the patter myself, so that'll be all right--just good-natured chaff,
you know; if anybody's offended--as I've known them to be--it's no fault
of mine.
MRS. FLITT. Oh, I'm sure you will make it funny,--and about getting
someone to preside--I suppose we ought to ask the Vicar of the nearest
church?
LADY HONOR. Wouldn't it be better to get somebody--a--more in Society,
don't you know?
MRS. FLITT. And he might offer to pay for hiring the Hall, and the other
expenses. I never thought of that. I'll see whom I can get. Really I
think it ought to be great fun, and we shall have the satisfaction of
feeling we are doing real good, which is such a comfort!
[Illustration]