Perkins. Oh, is it? Laundry is a nice place for a desk. Plenty of
starch handy to stiffen up a writer's nerve, and scrubbing-boards
galore to polish up his wits. And I suppose my papers are up in the
attic?
Mrs. Perkins. No; they're stowed away safely in the nursery. Now
please don't complain!
Perkins. Me? Complain? I never complain. I didn't say a word when
Yardsley had my Cruikshanks torn from their shelves and chucked into
a clothes-basket and carried into the butler's pantry, did I? Did I
say as much as one little word? I wanted to say one little word, I
admit, but I didn't. Did I? If I did, I withdraw it. I'm fond of
this sort of thing. The greatest joy in life is to be found in
arranging and rearranging a library, and I seem to be in for joy
enough to kill. What time are the--these amateur Thespians coming?
Mrs. Perkins (looking at her watch). They're due now; it's half-past
four. (Sits down and opens play-book. Rehearses.) No, not for all
the world would I do this thing, Lord Muddleton. There is no need to
ask it of me. I am firm. I shall--
Perkins, Oh, let up, my dear! I've been getting that for breakfast,
dinner, and tea for two weeks now, and I'm awfully tired of it. When
I asked for a second cup of coffee at breakfast Sunday, you retorted,
"No, not for all the world would I do this thing, Lord Muddleton!"
When I asked you where my dress ties were, you informed me that it
was "what baseness," or words to that effect; and so on, until I
hardly know where I am at. (Catches sight of the chest.) Hello!
How did that happen to escape the general devastation? What are you
going to do with that oak chest?
Mrs. Perkins. It is for the real earl to hide in just before he
confronts Muddleton with the evidence of his crime.
Perkins. But--that holds all my loose prints, Bess. By Jove! I
can't have that, you know. You amateur counterfeiters have got to
understand just one thing. I'll submit to the laundering of my
manuscripts, the butler's-pantrying of my Cruikshanks, but I'll be
hanged if I'll allow even a real earl, much less a base imitation of
one, to wallow in my engravings.
Mrs. Perkins. You needn't worry about your old engravings. They're
perfectly safe, I've put them in the Saratoga trunk in the attic.
(Rehearsing.) And if you ask it of me once again, I shall have to
summon my servants to have you shown the door. Henry Cobb is the
friend of my girlhood, and--