(CONTINUED FROM P. 145.)
No. IX.--UNDER THE HARROW.
_A Conventional Comedy-Melodrama, in Two Acts._
ACT. II.--SCENE--_Same as in Act I.; viz., the Morning-room at
Natterjack Hall. Evening of same day. Enter_ BLETHERS.
_Blethers._ Another of Sir POSHBURY'S birthdays almost gone--and my
secret still untold! (_Dodders._) I can't keep it up much longer ...
Ha, here comes his Lordship--he does look mortal bad, that he do! Miss
VERBENA ain't treated him too well, from all I can hear, poor young
feller!
_Enter_ Lord BLESHUGH.
_Lord Bleshugh._ BLETHERS, by the memory of the innumerable
half-crowns that have passed between us, be my friend now! I have no
others left. Persuade your young Mistress to come hither--you need
not tell her _I_ am here, you understand. Be discreet, and this florin
shall be yours!
_Blethers._ Leave it to me, my Lord. I'd tell a lie for less than
that, any day, old as I am! [_Exit._
_Lord Bl._ I cannot rest till I have heard from her own lips that
the past few hours have been nothing but a horrible dream ... She is
coming! Now for the truth! [_Enter_ VERBENA.
_Verbena._ Papa, did you want me? (_Recognises Lord B.--controls
herself to a cold formality._) My Lord, to what do I owe this--this
unexpected intrusion? [_Pants violently._
_Lord Bl._ VERBENA, tell me, you cannot really prefer that seedy snob
in the burst boots to me?
_Verb. (aside)._ How can I tell him the truth without betraying
dear Papa? No, I must lie, though it kills me. (_To_ Lord B.) Lord
BLESHUGH, I have been trifling with you. I--I never loved you.
_Lord B._ I see, and all the while your heart was given to a howling
cad?
_Verb._ And if it was, who can account for the vagaries of a girlish
fancy! We women are capricious beings, you know. (_With hysterical
gaiety._) But you are unjust to Mr. SPIKER--he has not _yet_ howled in
my presence--(aside)--though I very nearly did in _his_!
_Lord B._ And you really love him?
_Verb._ I--I love him. (_Aside._) My heart will break!
_Lord B._ Then I have no more to say. Farewell, VERBENA! Be as happy
as the knowledge that you have wrecked one of the brightest careers,
and soured one of the sweetest natures in the county, will permit.
(_Goes up stage, and returns._) A few days since you presented me with
a cloth pen-wiper, in the shape of a dog of unknown breed. If you
will kindly wait here for half-an-hour, I shall have much pleasure in
returning a memento which I have no longer the right to retain, and
there are several little things I gave you which I can take back
with me at the same time, if you will have them put up in readiness.
[_Exit._
_Verbena._ Oh, he is cruel, cruel! but I shall keep the little bone
yard-measure, and the diamond pig--they are all I have to remind me of
him! [_Enter_ SPIKER, _slightly intoxicated_.
_Spiker (throwing himself on sofa without seeing_ VERB.) I don' know
how it is, but I feel precioush shleepy, somehow. P'raps I did partake
lil' too freely of Sir POSHBURY'S gen'rous Burgundy. Wunner why they
call it "gen'rous"--it didn't give _me_ anything 'cept a bloomin'
headache! However, I punished it, and old POSHBURY had to look on and
let me. He-he! (_Examining his hand._) Who'd think, to look at thish
thumb, that there was a real live Baronet squirmin' under it. But
there ish! [_Snores._
_Verb. (bitterly)._ And _that_ thing is my affianced husband! Ah, no,
I cannot go through with it, he is _too_ repulsive! If I could
but find a way to free myself without compromising poor Papa. The
sofa-cushion! Dare I? It would be quite painless ... Surely the
removal of such an odious wretch cannot be _Murder_ ... I will! (_Slow
music. She gets a cushion, and presses it tightly over_ SPIKER'S
_head_.) Oh, I wish he wouldn't gurgle like that, and how he does
kick! he cannot even die like a gentleman! (SPIKER'S _kicks become
more and more feeble, and eventually cease_.) How still he lies! I
almost wish ... Mr. SPIKER, Mr. SPI-KER!... no answer--oh, I really
_have_ suffocated him! (_Enter_ Sir POSH.) You, Papa?
_Sir Posh._ What, VERBENA, sitting with, hem--SAMUEL in the gloaming?
(_Sings, with forced hilarity._) "In the gloaming, oh, my darling!"
that's as it should be--quite as it should be!
_Verb. (in dull strained accents)._ Don't sing, Papa, I cannot bear
it--just yet. I have just suffocated Mr. SPIKER with a sofa-cushion.
See! [_Shows the body._
_Sir Posh._ Then I am safe--he will tell no tales now! But, my child,
are you aware of the very serious nature of your act? An act of
which, as a Justice of the Peace, I am bound to take some official
cognizance!
_Verb._ Do not scold me, Papa. Was it not done for _your_ sake?
_Sir P._ I cannot accept such an excuse as that. I fear your motives
were less disinterested than you would have me believe. And now,
VERBENA, what will _you_ do? As your father, I would gladly screen
you--but, as a Magistrate, I cannot promise to be more than passive.
_Verb._ Listen, Papa. I have thought of a plan--why should I not wheel
this sofa to the head of the front-door steps, and tip it over? They
will only think he fell down when intoxicated--for he _had_ taken far
too much wine, Papa!
_Sir P._ Always the same quick-witted little fairy! Go, my child, but
be careful that none of the servants see you. (VERB. _wheels the sofa
and_ SPIKER'S _body out_, L.U.E.) My poor impulsive darling, I do hope
she will not be seen--servants do make such mischief! But there's
an end of SPIKER, at any rate. I should _not_ have liked him for a
son-in-law, and with him, goes the only person who knows my unhappy
secret!
_Enter_ BLETHERS.
_Blethers._ Sir POSHBURY, I have a secret to reveal which I can
preserve no longer--it concerns something that happened many years
ago--it is connected with your _birthday_, Sir POSHBURY.
_Sir P. (quailing)._ What, _another_! I must stop _his_ tongue at all
hazards. Ha, the rotten sash-line! (_To_ BL.) I will hear you, but
first close yonder window, the night air is growing chill.
[BLETHERS _goes to window at back. Slow music. As he approaches it_,
LORD BLESHUGH _enters_ (R 2 E), _and, with a smothered cry of horror,
drags him back by the coat-tails--just before the window falls with a
tremendous crash_.
_Sir P._ BLESHUGH! What have you done?
_Lord Blesh. (sternly)._ Saved _him_ from an untimely end--and _you_
from--crime.
[_Collapse of_ Sir P. _Enter_ VERBENA, _terrified._
_Verb._ Papa, Papa, hide me! The night-air and the cold stone steps
have restored MR. SPIKER to life and consciousness! He is coming to
denounce me--you--both of us! He is awfully annoyed!
_Sir P. (recklessly)._ It is useless to appeal to me, child. I have
enough to do to look after myself--now! [_Enter_ SPIKER, _indignant_.
[Illustration]
_Spiker._ Pretty treatment for a gentleman, this! Look here, POSHBURY,
this young lady has choked me with a cushion, and then pitched me down
the front steps--I might have broken my neck!
_Sir P._ It was an oversight which I lament, but for which I must
decline to be answerable. You must settle your differences with her.
_Spiker._ And you, too, old horse! _You_ had a hand in this, I know,
and I'll pay you out for it now. My life ain't safe if I marry a girl
like that, so I've made up my mind to split, and be done with it!
_Sir P. (contemptuously)._ If you don't, BLETHERS _will_. So do your
worst, you hound!
_Spiker._ Very well, then; I will. (_To the rest._) I denounce this
man for travelling with a half-ticket from Edgware Road to Baker
Street on his thirteenth birthday, the 31st of March, twenty-seven
years ago this very day. [_Sensation._
_Blethers._ Hear me; it was _not_ his thirteenth birthday! Sir
POSHBURY'S birthday falls on the 1st of April--_to-morrow!_ I was
sent to register the birth, and, by a blunder, which I have repented
bitterly ever since, unfortunately gave the wrong date. Till this
moment I have never had the manliness or sincerity to confess my
error, for fear of losing my situation.
_Sir P. (to_ SPIKER). Do you hear, you paltry knave? I was _not_
thirteen. Consequently, I was under age, and the Bye-laws are still
unbroken. Your hold over me is gone--gone for ever!
_Spiker._ H'm--SPIKER spiked this time! [_Retires up disconcerted._
_Lord Bl._ And you did not really love him, after all, VERBENA?
_Verb. (with arch pride)._ Have I not proved my indifference?
_Lord Bl._ But I forget--you admitted that you were but trifling with
my affection--take back your pin-cushion.
_Verb._ Keep it. All that I did was done to spare my father!
_Sir Posh._ Who, as a matter of fact, was innocent--but I forgive you,
child, for your unworthy suspicions. BLESHUGH, my boy, you have saved
me from unnecessarily depriving myself of the services of an old
retainer. BLETHERS, I condone a dissimulation for which you have done
much to atone. SPIKER, you vile and miserable rascal, be off, and be
thankful that I have sufficient magnanimity to refrain from giving you
in charge. (SPIKER _sneaks off, crushed_.) And now, my children, and
my faithful old servant, congratulate me that I am no longer----
_Verbena and Lord Bleshugh (together)._ Under the Harrow!
[_Affecting Family Tableau and quick Curtain._
* * * * *
[Illustration: BLANK REFUSAL.
_B-lf-r._ "QUITE EASY TO GET THE MONEY, IF YOU'LL BACK THE BILL."
_P-rn-ll._ "NO, THANK YOU!"]
* * * * *
THE ROYAL SOCIETY OF PAINTERS IN WATER-COLOURS.--Sir JOHN GILBERT
leads off with an excellent landscape "_Autumn_," which is full of
his best quality. The presidential key-note thus struck, seems to have
been taken up by the rest of the exhibitors, for in the present show
there is certainly a preponderance of landscapes. Among the most
notable contributions may be named those by Messrs. BIRKET FOSTER,
A. D. FRIPP, T. LLOYD, C. B. PHILLIP, HEMY, SMALLFIELD, MARSHALL,
GOODWIN, WATERLOW, E. K. JOHNSON, STACY MARKS, HENSHALL, J. D. WATSON,
T. J. WATSON, HENRY MOORE, CARL HAAG, Miss CLARA MONTALBA, Mrs.
ALLINGHAM and Miss C. PHILLOTT. The exhibition, though it appears to
be not so large as usual, is a very interesting one.
"AN UNCONSIDERED TRIFLE."--One of the clever young men who assist in
that excellent _Daily Telegraph_ salad, "London Day by Day," without
which, served fresh and fresh every morning, life would not be worth
living, said, last Tuesday, that "the latest on 'Change is that
STANLEY declares he never saw EMIN PASHA. Why? Because there's no M in
Pasha." _Mr. Punch_, December 21, 1889, originated it in this form:--
A MYTHICAL PERSON: EMIN PASHA.--Why this fuss about a man who does not
exist? There's no _M in_ "Pasha."
"It's of no consequence;" only, given as the latest quotation on
'Change, was not quite up to date for "London Day by Day."
* * * * *