_JACK STRAW_
_JACK STRAW_
_A FARCE_
_In Three Acts_
_BY W. S. MAUGHAM_
_LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN_
_MCMXII_
_Copyright, London William Heinemann, 1912_
This play was produced at the Vaudeville Theatre on March 26, 1908, with
the following cast:
JACK STRAW CHARLES HAWTREY
COUNT VON BREMER H. R. HIGNETT
MARQUESS OF SERLO LOUIS GOODRICH
REV. LEWIS ABBOTT CHARLES TROODE
AMBROSE HOLLAND EDMUND MAURICE
MR. PARKER-JENNINGS ROBERT WHITE, JUNR
VINCENT PARKER-JENNINGS PERCY R. GOODYER
HEAD WAITER VINCENT ERNE
SERVANT NORMAN WRIGHTON
LADY WANLEY VANE FEATHERSTONE
ETHEL PARKER-JENNINGS DAGMAR WIEHE
ROSIE ABBOTT MONA HARRISON
MRS. WITHERS JOY CHATWYN
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS LOTTIE VENNE
_JACK STRAW_
_CHARACTERS_
JACK STRAW
Mr. PARKER-JENNINGS
Mrs. PARKER-JENNINGS
VINCENT
ETHEL
AMBROSE HOLLAND
LADY WANLEY
LORD SERLO
COUNT ADRIAN VON BREMER
HORTON WITHERS
Mrs. WITHERS
The Rev. LEWIS ABBOTT
ROSIE ABBOTT
Waiters at the Grand Babylon Hotel and Footmen at Taverner, the
Parker-Jennings’ place in Cheshire
TIME: _The Present Day_
ACT I--_The Lounge of the Grand Babylon Hotel_
ACTS II and III--_The Parker-Jennings’ place in Cheshire_
_The Performing Rights of this play are fully protected, and
permission to perform it, whether by Amateurs or Professionals,
must be obtained in advance from the author’s Sole Agent, R.
Golding Bright, 20 Green Street, Leicester Square, London, W.C.,
from whom all particulars can be obtained._
JACK STRAW
THE FIRST ACT
SCENE: _The lounge and winter garden of the Grand Babylon Hotel.
There are palms and flowers in profusion, and numbers of little
tables, surrounded each by two or three chairs. Several people are
seated, drinking coffee and liqueurs. At the back a flight of steps
leads to the restaurant, separated from the winter garden by a
leaded glass partition and swinging doors. In the restaurant a band
is playing._
_Two or three waiters in uniform are standing about or serving
customers._
AMBROSE HOLLAND _and_ LADY WANLEY _come out from the restaurant. He
is a well-dressed, elegant man of five and thirty. She is a
handsome widow of uncertain age._
LADY WANLEY.
[_Pausing at the foot of the steps._] Where shall we sit?
HOLLAND.
Let us choose a retired corner where we can gossip in peace.
LADY WANLEY.
Nonsense! I didn’t come to the Grand Babylon in order to blush unseen. I
caught sight of a number of people during luncheon, who I’m quite
determined shall catch sight of me now.
HOLLAND.
I was sufficiently gallant to have eyes for you only.
LADY WANLEY.
[_Pointing to a table._] Shall we sit there?
HOLLAND.
D’you mind sitting on the other side? The waiter’s rather a pal of mine.
LADY WANLEY.
[_Sitting down._] What queer friends you have.
HOLLAND.
Waiter.
A WAITER.
[_Coming forward._] Your waiter will be here in one minute, sir.
HOLLAND.
[_To_ LADY WANLEY.] You see, I’ve knocked about in so many places that I
have friends in every city in the world and every rank in life.
LADY WANLEY.
I suppose you saw the Parker-Jennings? They were sitting three tables
from us.
HOLLAND.
I did.
LADY WANLEY.
Do you know that she cut me dead when I came in?
HOLLAND.
I’ve long told you that Mrs. Parker-Jennings is growing exclusive.
LADY WANLEY.
But, my dear Ambrose, that she should have the impudence to cut me....
HOLLAND.
[_Smiling._] I respect her for it.
LADY WANLEY.
I’m much obliged to you.
HOLLAND.
I don’t think it does much credit to her heart, but it certainly does to
her understanding. She has discovered that a title nowadays is not
nearly such a good passport to the world of fashion as she thought it
was. She knows you’re as poor as a church mouse, and she’s realised that
in Society the poor are quite rightly hated and despised by all who know
them.
LADY WANLEY.
Yes, but remember the circumstances. Five years ago the Parker-Jennings
didn’t know a soul in the world. They’d lived in Brixton all their
lives.
HOLLAND.
It has been whispered to me that in those days they were known as Mr.
and Mrs. Bob Jennings--not nearly so smart, is it?
LADY WANLEY.
He used to go to the City every morning with a black bag in one hand and
an umbrella in the other.
HOLLAND.
I wish that confounded waiter would come.
LADY WANLEY.
One day an uncle in the North, from whom they vaguely had expectations,
died suddenly and left them nearly two millions.
HOLLAND.
Some people are so lucky in the way they choose their uncles.
LADY WANLEY.
He was a hardware manufacturer, and no one dreamt that he had a tenth
part of that fortune. I came across them in Switzerland and found they
were looking for a house.
HOLLAND.
So, with a burst of hospitality, you asked them down to Taverner, and
they took it for twenty-one years.
LADY WANLEY.
I introduced them to every one in the county. I gave little parties so
that they might meet people. And now, if you please, the woman cuts me.
HOLLAND.
[_Dryly._] You have left out an essential detail in the account of your
relations with these good folk.
LADY WANLEY.
Have I?
HOLLAND.
[_Smiling._] You have omitted to mention that when they took Taverner
they agreed to pay an exorbitant rent.
LADY WANLEY.
They could well afford it. Besides, it was a historic place. It was
worth whatever I could get for it.
HOLLAND.
Parker-Jennings may be very vulgar, but he’s as shrewd a man as you’d
find anywhere between Park Lane and Jerusalem.
LADY WANLEY.
I haven’t the least idea what you’re talking about.
HOLLAND.
Haven’t you? Well, then, I venture to suggest that if Mr.
Parker-Jennings gave you such an enormous rent for Taverner, it was on a
certain understanding. He was wise enough to find out that people can
live in Cheshire all their lives and never know a soul. I don’t suppose
he put it in the agreement between you, but unless I am very much
mistaken he took your place only on the condition that you should get
every one to call.
LADY WANLEY.
[_After a brief pause._] I was crippled with mortgages, and I had to
send my boys to Eton.
HOLLAND.
Good heavens, I’m not blaming you. I only wish to point out that if you
introduced Mrs. Jennings to your friends, it was a matter of business
rather than of sentiment.
LADY WANLEY.
[_With a little laugh._] I suppose you think it’s very natural that she
should wish to kick away the ladder by which she climbed.
[_A_ WAITER _comes up to_ HOLLAND.
WAITER (JACK STRAW).
Yes, sir.
HOLLAND.
Two coffees and two Benedictines. But you’re not my usual waiter.
Where’s Pierre?
WAITER.
[_Blandly._] He’s attending the funeral of an elderly female relative,
sir.
[HOLLAND _looks up quickly, and then stares in a puzzled way_.
HOLLAND.
I seem to know your face. Have I seen you anywhere?
WAITER.
[_With a smile._] Mr. Ambrose Holland, I think.
HOLLAND.
Jack Straw! What on earth are you doing here?
JACK STRAW.
My dear fellow, it is possible to be no less of a philosopher in the
uniform of a waiter at the Grand Babylon Hotel than in the gown of a
professor at the University of Oxford.
[_He goes out._
LADY WANLEY.
[_Laughing._] It’s really very odd that waiters should address you as my
dear fellow.
HOLLAND.
What an extraordinary encounter!
LADY WANLEY.
Please tell me who your friend is.
HOLLAND.
I haven’t the ghost of an idea.
LADY WANLEY.
My dear Ambrose.
HOLLAND.
I first met him in the States. I was in considerable financial
difficulties in those days--it’s three or four years ago now--and I got
a small part in a travelling company. Jack Straw was a member of it, and
we became great friends.
LADY WANLEY.
Is that his name?
HOLLAND.
So he assures me.
LADY WANLEY.
It’s very improbable, isn’t it?
HOLLAND.
Very. I believe Jack Straw was a highwayman, or something like that, and
he’s given his name to a public-house in Hampstead.
LADY WANLEY.
He must be an extraordinary man.
HOLLAND.
He is. I don’t know whether I admire most his self-assurance or his
resourcefulness. I spent with him the last two years before my ship
came home. We had some pretty rough times together, but he was a pillar
of strength. Difficulties seemed to arise only that he might surmount
them.
LADY WANLEY.
He sounds quite splendid.
HOLLAND.
The worst of living with him was that you had no breathing-time. He’s a
man with an uncontrollable love of adventure. Prosperity bores him to
death, and time after time, when we’d managed to get out of rough water
into smooth, he’d throw up everything for some wild goose chase.
LADY WANLEY.
But who are his people?
HOLLAND.
Heaven only knows. I know he isn’t English, though he speaks it
wonderfully.
LADY WANLEY.
Is he by way of being a gentleman?
HOLLAND.
I can only tell you that he’s thoroughly at home in whatever society he
finds himself.
LADY WANLEY.
I daresay that’s not a bad definition of a gentleman.
HOLLAND.
He’s sailed before the mast, been a bar-tender in New York, and an
engine-driver on the Canadian Pacific. He’s been a miner up in the
Klondyke, and he’s worked on a ranch in Texas. And if he’s a waiter now,
I daresay he’ll be an organ-grinder next week, and a company-promoter
the week after. I’ve seen half a dozen fortunes within his grasp, and
he’s let them all slip through his fingers from sheer indifference to
money.
LADY WANLEY.
Here he is with the coffee.
[JACK STRAW _comes in with coffee and liqueurs_.
HOLLAND.
I should be overwhelmed with confusion at allowing you to wait on me, if
I did not feel certain that it appeals enormously to your sense of
humour.
JACK STRAW.
It has occurred to me that you will feel a natural hesitation about
giving me a tip. I may as well tell you at once that I shall feel none
about taking it.
HOLLAND.
It’s thoughtful of you to warn me. How much do I owe you?
JACK STRAW.
Two shillings the coffee and three shillings the liqueur. The prices
seem exorbitant to me, but I suppose people must expect to pay for the
privilege of letting their friends see them at the best hotel in Europe.
HOLLAND.
[_Putting down a coin._] Don’t bother about the change.
JACK STRAW.
Half a sovereign. My dear fellow, when you offer me a tip of five
shillings you are presuming unwarrantably on our former acquaintance.
HOLLAND.
[_Helplessly._] I’m sure I beg your pardon.
JACK STRAW.
I will keep one shilling as an adequate remuneration for my services and
return you four.
HOLLAND.
I am overpowered by your condescension.
JACK STRAW.
[_To_ LADY WANLEY, _who has put a cigarette in her mouth_.] Light,
madam?
HOLLAND.
I should like to ask you to sit down.
JACK STRAW.
It would be eminently improper. Besides, I have other tables to attend
to. But I shall be delighted to dine with you to-night if you have no
other engagement.
HOLLAND.
It’s very kind of you. But will not your duties here detain you?... Mr.
Straw--Lady Wanley.
JACK STRAW.
[_Bowing._] How do you do. I’m only engaged here for the afternoon. Your
ladyship is aware that the lower orders make a speciality in the decease
of elderly female relatives.
LADY WANLEY.
I have often been impressed by the piety with which they bury their
maternal grandmothers.
JACK STRAW.
It appears that Pierre, an old acquaintance of mine, wished to attend
the funeral of a widowed aunt, the relic of an egg importer in Soho, and
a highly respectable person.
LADY WANLEY.
I can well imagine that nothing could be more respectable than to import
eggs to Soho.
JACK STRAW.
The head-waiter, who is an excellent fellow, with female relatives of
his own, promised to overlook his absence if he could find a substitute.
Pierre, like myself, is a person of somewhat striking physique and could
find no one able to wear his clothes. He confided his distress to me,
and I, knowing that his uniform would fit me like a glove offered, at
once to step into the--breach.
HOLLAND.
I am relieved to hear that your appearance in this capacity is not due
to embarrassed circumstances.
JACK STRAW.
I deplore the hastiness of your reasoning. My circumstances are
excessively embarrassed. Excuse me, I see some people who are proposing
to sit at one of my tables.
[_Meanwhile people have been coming down from the restaurant and
sitting at the various tables. Waiters have been handing them
coffee._ HORTON WITHERS _and_ MRS. WITHERS _come down, accompanied
by the_ REV. LEWIS ABBOTT _and_ MRS. ABBOTT (ROSIE). JACK STRAW
_leaves_ HOLLAND _and_ LADY WANLEY _to attend to some people_.
LADY WANLEY.
There are the Withers. Why, they’ve got Rosie with them and her husband.
[_She gets up and goes towards the_ WITHERS, _who are honest,
simple people, not distinguished, but good-natured and kindly_.
LEWIS ABBOTT _is a nice-looking, frank young parson_. ROSIE _is
very pretty and fragile. She is simply dressed._
LADY WANLEY.
[_Smiling to_ ROSIE.] My dear, what are you doing in this sink of
iniquity? I am surprised to see you. And Lewis!
[_She shakes hands, evidently delighted to see them._
WITHERS.
We’ve brought them up to London for a little jaunt.
HOLLAND.
Won’t you all sit at our table? There’s plenty of room.
WITHERS.
That’s very kind of you. [_To his wife._] Fanny, you know Mr. Holland.
MRS. WITHERS.
Yes, of course I do. How do you do, Lady Wanley.
LADY WANLEY.
How do you do? Now you two young things must sit one on each side of me,
and you must tell me all about Taverner.
ROSIE.
Oh, we’re so happy there, and everything’s beautiful, and we just love
the house.
LADY WANLEY.
I don’t believe you know Mr. Holland. Ambrose, this is Rosie, Jasper
Neville’s daughter. You knew him well, didn’t you?
HOLLAND.
Of course I did.
LADY WANLEY.
And this is Rosie’s husband and my new Vicar at Taverner.
ABBOTT.
It makes me feel awfully grand.
LADY WANLEY.
I adore them both, so you must like them. These dear things were waiting
to be married. Lewis was a curate in some dreadfully shabby suburb, and
he’s a saint.
ABBOTT.
I wish you wouldn’t say such absurd things about me.
LADY WANLEY.
Nonsense. He’s a saint, but quite a modern nice sort of saint, who plays
cricket and doesn’t wear a hair shirt. And of course he couldn’t marry
Rosie, who hadn’t a penny to bless herself with, but Providence came to
the rescue and carried off our old Vicar with influenza.
ROSIE.
What dreadful things you say, Lady Wanley!
LADY WANLEY.
And the living’s in my gift, so I gave it to them, and there they are.
ROSIE.
You have been nice to us.
LADY WANLEY.
My dears, you’re the only really good people I’ve ever known in my life.
I used to think my boys were till they went to Eton, and now I know
they’re devils.
WITHERS.
We’re all under a debt of gratitude to you, Lady Wanley. Every one
worships them in the parish.
ABBOTT.
Every one’s been very jolly, and they all try to make things easy for
us.
MRS. WITHERS.
You know, they will work so hard, we could hardly persuade them to come
up to London for two or three days.
WITHERS.
I daresay you’ve heard that we’ve taken a little place near Taverner.
HOLLAND.
Lady Wanley was telling me at luncheon.
LADY WANLEY.
[_To_ ROSIE.] And are you enjoying yourself in London, darling?
ROSIE.
[_Enthusiastically._] Oh, it’s simply splendid. You don’t know what a
treat it is to us to come to the Grand Babylon. It makes us feel so
smart. And to-night we’re going to the Gaiety.
LADY WANLEY.
[_To_ WITHERS.] It’s very nice of you to be so good to these young
people.
MRS. WITHERS.
It’s a pleasure to us to see how they enjoy everything.
ROSIE.
D’you know the Parker-Jennings are here? Isn’t it nice? They will be
surprised when they see us, won’t they, Lewis?
MRS. WITHERS.
[_With a little sniff._] I see Maria Jennings has got a lord with her.
HOLLAND.
Serlo, isn’t it? I thought I saw him.
WITHERS.
I suppose you know they’re trying to hook him for Ethel?
LADY WANLEY.
Good heavens!
MRS. WITHERS.
[_With a shrug of the shoulders._] As long as he’s a Marquess, and he’s
that all right, Maria Jennings don’t mind the rest.
LADY WANLEY.
I hope Ethel will refuse to have anything to do with him.
ROSIE.
She’s a dear, isn’t she? I’m so fond of her, and she’s simply devoted to
Lewis.
LADY WANLEY.
My dear, do you never say anything against any one?
ROSIE.
[_With a laugh._] Seldom. Everybody’s so nice.
LADY WANLEY.
It must make conversation very difficult. But Ethel is a charming girl,
and I shouldn’t like her to fall into the hands of that disgraceful
young rip.
MRS. WITHERS.
She’s the only one of the family who hasn’t had her head turned by all
the money.
LADY WANLEY.
Of course you knew Mrs. Jennings before she was the exalted person she
is now.
MRS. WITHERS.
Bless you, I’ve known her all my life. We went to the Brixton High
School together, and I was a bridesmaid at her wedding. Why, we used to
be popping in and out of one another’s houses all day long.
WITHERS.
And now, if you please, she’ll hardly look at us.
ABBOTT.
I’m afraid people don’t much like her at Taverner, but she’s done
everything she could for us, and they’re awfully generous.
ROSIE.
I don’t care what anybody says about her, she’s been perfectly sweet to
me. She told me that I might come to the Hall whenever I wanted to, and
I’m always dropping in to lunch there.
LADY WANLEY.
Oh well, if they’re nice to you, I forgive them. Mrs. Jennings can cut
me till she’s blue in the face.
ROSIE.
Oh look, there’s the Count.
[_A distinguished-looking old man comes out of the restaurant and
walks slowly down the steps._
LADY WANLEY.
It’s Adrian von Bremer. How on earth d’you know him?
ROSIE.
I don’t, but he’s rented a place in Cheshire, and he came to church
once.
LADY WANLEY.
It’s the Pomeranian Ambassador, you know.
MRS. WITHERS.
I know him well by sight.
LADY WANLEY.
I wish he’d come and talk to us. I should like to introduce Lewis to
him.
HOLLAND.
He’s as blind as a bat. I don’t suppose he’ll see us.
[_Meanwhile_ VON BREMER _has reflectively put an eyeglass in his
eye, and looks round as he walks out. He catches sight of_ LADY
WANLEY, _and smiling, comes up to her_.
VON BREMER.
How do you do.
HOLLAND.
You look as if you were just going.
VON BREMER.
I am. I had my coffee in the restaurant.
LADY WANLEY.
What is the news in Pomerania?
VON BREMER.
None except that our Emperor is growing old. All these domestic troubles
of his are breaking him down.
LADY WANLEY.
Poor old thing.
HOLLAND.
I suppose nothing has been heard of the Archduke Sebastian?
VON BREMER.
Nothing. We’ve given up the search.
HOLLAND.
[_To_ LADY WANLEY.] You remember that affair, don’t you? There was some
quarrel in the domestic circle, and the Archduke Sebastian suddenly
disappeared--four years ago, now, isn’t it?--and hasn’t been heard of
since. He simply vanished into thin air.
LADY WANLEY.
But how do you know he’s alive?
VON BREMER.
Every Christmas the Emperor receives a letter from him, sent from
different parts of the world, saying he’s well and happy.
LADY WANLEY.
It’s really very romantic. I wonder what on earth he’s doing.
VON BREMER.
Heaven only knows.
LADY WANLEY.
Tell me, how is that nice young _attaché_ of yours that I met at
luncheon the other day.
VON BREMER.
The nice young _attaché_ has come to a bad end. I’ve had to send him
back to Pomerania.
LADY WANLEY.
Really?
VON BREMER.
The story is rather entertaining. There’s an American woman here who has
a passion for titles, and it occurred to my _attaché_ one day to
introduce his valet to her as Count So-and-So. Of course she was full of
attentions and immediately asked the valet to dinner. Presently the
story came to my ears. I really couldn’t have my _attachés_ playing
practical jokes of that sort, and so I sent him home.
LADY WANLEY.
Poor boy, he was so nice.
VON BREMER.
Good-bye.
LADY WANLEY.
Oh, may I introduce Mr. Abbott to you. He’s your new Vicar at Taverner.
And this is Mrs. Abbott. You must be very nice to her.
VON BREMER.
I’m delighted to meet you. I’ve heard wonderful stories of your good
works in the parish.
ABBOTT.
It’s very kind of you to say so.
VON BREMER.
[_To_ ROSIE.] If you will allow me I should like to call on you when I
come down to Cheshire.
ROSIE.
I shall be so pleased to see you.
VON BREMER.
Good-bye.
[_He bows and goes out._
ROSIE.
Wasn’t it nice of him to say he’d call? You know, he never goes
anywhere.
WITHERS.
I can see Mrs. Jennings’ face when she hears that the Count has been to
see you, my dear.
HOLLAND.
Why do you say that?
MRS. WITHERS.
The Count lives next door to them in the country, and they’ve moved
heaven and earth to know him, but he simply won’t look at them. Maria
would give her eyes if he’d call on her.
ROSIE.
How can you say such horrid things about her!
[_During the last two or three speeches_ MR. _and_ MRS.
PARKER-JENNINGS _come down the steps, followed by_ ETHEL, VINCENT
_and_ SERLO. SERLO _goes over to talk to a flashily dressed girl at
another table_. PARKER-JENNINGS _is a little stoutish man, very
common and self-assertive_. _His wife is of a determined
appearance, vulgar, and magnificently dressed._ VINCENT _is showy
and aggressive_. ETHEL _is very charming and very pretty_. SERLO
_is quite insignificant_. MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS _comes down the
centre of the stage, with her party, elaborately ignoring_ LADY
WANLEY’S _table_. ROSIE _gets up and goes to her impulsively_. MRS.
WITHERS _and her husband rise_.
ROSIE.
Mrs. Jennings, I am so glad to see you.
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
[_Frigidly putting up her glasses._] Mrs. Abbott.
WITHERS.
Hullo, Bob, old man, how are the chicks?
PARKER-JENNINGS.
We’re all in the best of ’ealth, thank you.
ETHEL.
[_Shaking hands with_ MRS. WITHERS.] I was hoping we should have a
chance of speaking to you.
MRS. WITHERS.
What a picture you look, my dear! What’s the matter with Vincent? Why
are you trying to look as if you’d never seen me before?
VINCENT.
You’ll never allow me to forget you, Mrs. Withers.
MRS. WITHERS.
No, I won’t. And many’s the time I’ve bathed you, my lad, in that little
back room in St. John’s Road, Brixton, and don’t you forget that either.
ROSIE.
[_Enthusiastically to_ MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.] Aren’t you surprised to
see us here? Mr. and Mrs. Withers are giving us such a treat.
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
I shouldn’t ’ave thought this quite the place for a clergyman’s wife to
come to. I confess I’m surprised you should find time to leave your work
at Taverner in order to gad about in London.
[ROSIE _is taken aback by the snub, and her face falls_.
ROSIE.
But we’re only here for a day or two. We shall be home on Thursday. I
was wondering if I might come up to luncheon as Lewis has got to go out.
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
I’m expecting Lord Serlo’s mother and Lady Eleanor King to stay with me,
so perhaps you’d better not come up to the ’all for a few days. I’m sure
you understand, don’t you. I don’t want to ’urt your feelings, but I
don’t think you’re quite the sort of person they’d like to meet.
[ROSIE _gives a little gasp_.
ETHEL.
[_Indignantly._] Mother.
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
I’ll let you know when it’s convenient for you to call. I’m afraid
you’re a little inclined to be pushing, my dear. You don’t mind my
telling you, do you? It’s not quite the correct thing in a clergyman’s
wife.
[_She turns her back on_ ROSIE, _who is left gasping. She tries to
choke her sobs, but tears of mortification roll down her cheeks._
LADY WANLEY.
Oh, the cad, the cad.
[_She makes_ ROSIE _sit down and comforts her_.
ETHEL.
Mother, how could you.
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
Hold your tongue, Ethel. I’ve been wanting to give those people a lesson
for some time. Where’s our table, Robert?
PARKER-JENNINGS.
There are some people sitting there, my dear. We shall ’ave to take this
one.
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
Didn’t you tell the waiter to reserve it? Waiter!
JACK STRAW.
Yes, madam.
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
You must tell those people that that table’s taken.
JACK STRAW.
I’m very sorry, madam. Will this one not do instead?
ETHEL.
Yes, mother. Let’s sit here.
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
I’m not going to let people push me into any ’ole and corner they like.
VINCENT.
Cheek, I call it.
PARKER-JENNINGS.
Come on, sit down, mother.
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
[_Unwillingly taking her seat at a vacant table._] How often ’ave I told
you not to call me mother? My name’s Marion; I’m sure you ought to know
it by now.
PARKER-JENNINGS.
Is it? I always thought it was Maria.
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
[_To_ JACK STRAW.] What are you waiting there for?
JACK STRAW.
I thought the gentleman wished to give an order, madam.
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
Why didn’t you keep that table, eh?
JACK STRAW.
I’m very sorry, madam, I daresay I misunderstood you.
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
Don’t you know English?
JACK STRAW.
Perfectly, madam.
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
I don’t know what they want to engage these dirty foreigners for, they
make me sick.
ETHEL.
Mother, he can hear every word you say.
PARKER-JENNINGS.
Two coffees, and bring all the liqueurs you’ve got.
JACK STRAW.
Very well, sir, cigars or cigarettes?
PARKER-JENNINGS.
Bring some cigars, and none of your twopenny stinkers. Bring the most
expensive cigars you’ve got. I’ll soon show them who I am.
JACK STRAW.
Very well, sir.
[_Exit._
ETHEL.
Mother, how could you be so brutal to poor Rosie. What has she done to
you?
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
I wish you wouldn’t call me mother, Ethel. It sounds so common. Why
don’t you call me mamma?
PARKER-JENNINGS.
Who’s ’is lordship talking to?
VINCENT.
Oh, that’s little Flossie Squaretoes. I’ll go and give her a look up in
a minute.
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
I wish you were a little more like your brother, Ethel. He knows ’ow to
live up to ’is position.
VINCENT.
Aitches, mater, aitches.
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
Oh, you always say I drop my aitches, Vincent. Well, if I do I can
afford it.
VINCENT.
You’re wrong, mater, only the aristocracy can afford to drop their
aitches.
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
Oh, well, p’raps we shall be aristocracy one of these days, eh, Robert?
PARKER-JENNINGS.
You leave it to me, my dear. If money can do it.... I say, ’is lordship
lapped up that ’ock of mine at luncheon, didn’t he?
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
I wish you could get out of that ’abit of yours of always looking at
what people eat and drink. And what if he did lap it up. You didn’t put
it there for people to look at, did you?
VINCENT.
I say, Ethel, you needn’t have turned your back on him all the time.
ETHEL.
I thought he drank too much.
VINCENT.
Your ideas are so beastly middle-class. You mustn’t expect a man like
Serlo to do things like--like the people we used to know at....
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
That’ll do, Vincent. We all know quite well where we used to live before
your father’s poor uncle was taken, and you needn’t refer to it. [ETHEL
_shrugs her shoulders impatiently_.] It seems to me that Vincent and I
are the only ones of the family who know ’ow to live up to our position.
[JACK STRAW _comes up with the coffee and liqueurs. Another waiter hands
round the cigars._ SERLO _rejoins them_.] [_Very affably._] Come and sit
by me, Lord Serlo. Now what liqueurs will you ’ave? If there’s anything
you fancy, you just ask for it.
[ROSIE _gives a little sob_.
LADY WANLEY.
Oh, my dear, don’t, don’t. You mustn’t mind.
ROSIE.
I feel so frightfully humiliated. She asked me to go to the hall
whenever I felt inclined, and I thought she really meant it. I never
knew that I wasn’t wanted. It’s so awful to know that they only thought
me horribly pushing.
ABBOTT.
By Jove, I wish it had been one of the men. I should have liked to knock
him down and stamp on him.
LADY WANLEY.
My dear Lewis, how nice and unchristian of you! I always said you were
just the right sort of saint for me.
MRS. WITHERS.
Wouldn’t you like to come away now, my dear?
ROSIE.
Oh yes, I feel I want to hide myself.
LADY WANLEY.
Good-bye darling, don’t take it too much to heart. [_The_ WITHERS,
ABBOTT, _and_ ROSIE _shake hands with_ HOLLAND _and_ LADY WANLEY, _and
go out_.] Did you ever hear anything so fiendish? Oh, if I could only
make that woman suffer as she’s made poor little Rosie suffer.
[_Suddenly_ LADY WANLEY _gets an idea. She leans forward._] Ambrose.
HOLLAND.
What’s the matter?
LADY WANLEY.
I’ve got it.
HOLLAND.
What d’you mean?
LADY WANLEY.
One of these days Mrs. Jennings will give her eyes not to have insulted
that poor child. I’m going to give her a lesson that she’ll never
forget.
HOLLAND.
She deserves pretty well anything that your feminine spite can suggest.
LADY WANLEY.
I can do nothing without you, Ambrose.
HOLLAND.
Don’t ask me to do anything very disreputable.
LADY WANLEY.
I’ve got her in the hollow of my hand, Ambrose.
HOLLAND.
Well?
LADY WANLEY.
Don’t you remember that story Adrian von Bremer told us about the
_attaché_? Let’s try it on Mrs. Jennings.
HOLLAND.
But....
LADY WANLEY.
Oh, don’t make any objections. You _must_ remember. He introduced his
valet to a woman as a foreign nobleman of sorts.
HOLLAND.
I’m bound to say I thought it a very silly trick.
LADY WANLEY.
I have no patience with you. Think how exactly the punishment fits the
crime. What a triumph it would be if we got Mrs. Parker-Jennings to
take to her bosom....
HOLLAND.
Who?
LADY WANLEY.
Your friend the waiter. I’m sure he’ll do it if you ask him. He’ll look
upon it as an adventure.
HOLLAND.
I don’t think he’d do it. He’s an odd fellow.
LADY WANLEY.
Oh, but ask him. There can be no harm in that.
HOLLAND.
It’s all very well. But one has to consider the possible complications.
LADY WANLEY.
There can’t be any complications. We only want to punish an insolent
snob who’s wantonly insulted a woman who never hurt a fly in her life.
[JACK STRAW _comes up to their table_.
JACK STRAW.
Have you done with the Benedictine, sir?
LADY WANLEY.
Mr. Straw, will you do something for me?
JACK STRAW.
Anything in the world, madam.
LADY WANLEY.
Mr. Holland tells me you’re a man of spirit.
JACK STRAW.
Pray tell Mr. Holland he’s a man of discernment.
LADY WANLEY.
Are you ready still for any adventure that comes your way?
JACK STRAW.
So long as I can do it with clean hands.
LADY WANLEY.
Dear me.
JACK STRAW.
I daresay your ladyship thinks it odd that a waiter should have
susceptibilities.
HOLLAND.
Let me tell you at once that I highly disapprove of Lady Wanley’s idea.
JACK STRAW.
Then pray let me hear it. You always disapprove of everything that is
not hopelessly commonplace.
LADY WANLEY.
You told us just now that you were only temporarily engaged here.
JACK STRAW.
Quite right, madam.
LADY WANLEY.
You see those people over there--two women and three men?
JACK STRAW.
The elder lady was so amiable as to call me a dirty foreigner.
LADY WANLEY.
They’re the worst sort of _parvenus_. I think they’re the greatest snobs
in London. I have a little grudge against them.
JACK STRAW.
Yes?
LADY WANLEY.
[_Slightly embarrassed._] I want to introduce you to them--as a foreign
nobleman.
JACK STRAW.
[_Giving her a searching look._] Why?
PARKER-JENNINGS.
[_Loudly._] Waiter.
LADY WANLEY.
It would amuse me to see them fawn upon you.
[_A pause._
JACK STRAW.
No, I’m afraid I can’t do that.
LADY WANLEY.
[_Frigidly._] Then we’ll say no more about it.
PARKER-JENNINGS.
[_Loudly._] Waiter.
JACK STRAW.
[_Going to him._] Yes, sir.
PARKER-JENNINGS.
Why the devil don’t you hurry up. I’ve called three times.
JACK STRAW.
[_Blandly._] I’m very sorry, sir. I was engaged at another table.
PARKER-JENNINGS.
You seem to think you can keep me waiting all day. I suppose that’s why
you’re called a waiter.
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
Robert, don’t make jokes with menials.
PARKER-JENNINGS.
I’ve got a good mind to report you to the management.
ETHEL.
Papa, he came as quickly as he could.
PARKER-JENNINGS.
This coffee’s disgusting. I don’t know what you make it out of. It
tastes like ditchwater.
JACK STRAW.
I’m very sorry, sir. Let me get you some more.
PARKER-JENNINGS.
And look sharp about it, or you’ll find yourself decorated with an order
you don’t know in your country.
JACK STRAW.
I beg your pardon, sir?
PARKER-JENNINGS.
The order of the boot.
VINCENT.
I can’t think why they don’t have English waiters in a smart hotel like
this instead of these damned foreigners.
PARKER-JENNINGS.
Now then, look slippy.
[JACK STRAW _has fixed his eyes on_ ETHEL. _She has been looking
down. She gives him a glance. He takes the coffee things and gives
them to another waiter._
ETHEL.
[_Her voice trembling with indignation._] How can you talk like that to
a man who can’t defend himself! It’s so cowardly to insult a servant who
daren’t answer.
VINCENT.
I should think not indeed. I should like to see any servant answer me.
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
You never ’ave learnt ’ow to treat servants, Ethel. You always talk to
them as if they was one of ourselves. I wish you could take a leaf out
of Vincent’s book. Treat ’em like dirt, and they’ll respect you.
[JACK STRAW, _having given instructions to the waiter, goes to_
HOLLAND _and_ LADY WANLEY.
JACK STRAW.
I’m willing to do what you asked me to.
HOLLAND.
Why have you changed your mind?
JACK STRAW.
To tell you the truth I’m perfectly indifferent to the rudeness and the
vulgarity of your friends, but I think I should like to know that young
lady.
HOLLAND.
Would you, by Jove!
JACK STRAW.
When her father insulted me, the most ravishing colour came into her
pale cheeks, and she looked at me with the most beautiful eyes in the
world. And they were veiled with tears.
LADY WANLEY.
And is that enough to make you change your mind?
HOLLAND.
Fortunately Mr. Straw is not in the habit of falling in love, or I
should refuse to hear anything more of this cracked-brained scheme.
LADY WANLEY.
When will you be ready?
JACK STRAW.
I’m ready now. It’s three o’clock, and Pierre is waiting in the basement
to put on this uniform.
LADY WANLEY.
We couldn’t find a better place than this to effect an introduction.
JACK STRAW.
Give me two minutes to change my clothes, and I am at your service.
LADY WANLEY.
You have indeed an adventurous spirit.
JACK STRAW.
But I must make one condition--two, in fact.
LADY WANLEY.
What are they?
JACK STRAW.
Well, although you have glided over the point with singular discretion,
it is plain that you do not want me to assume a certain character merely
in order to enjoy a private snigger at the expense of these amiable
people.
LADY WANLEY.
I don’t think I know what you mean?
JACK STRAW.
Madam, it is always dangerous to count too much on the stupidity of
one’s fellows. We shall arrange this matter much better if you realise
that I’m a person of some shrewdness.
HOLLAND.
Go on.
JACK STRAW.
It is evident that you wish these good folk to take me to their bosom in
order that you may have the opportunity of telling them one day that I’m
merely an impostor.
LADY WANLEY.
I really hadn’t thought about that.
JACK STRAW.
I venture to suspect that you rate your intelligence too low.
LADY WANLEY.
Well, what is your condition?
JACK STRAW.
The position will be very humiliating to me. For all I know it may bring
me into uncomfortable relations with the police.
HOLLAND.
I think the whole plan had better be dropped. It will lead to endless
bother.
JACK STRAW.
I have no wish to drop it. You want to revenge yourself on some people
who have insulted you. I, for reasons of my own, am willing to help. But
I make the condition that you do not disclose the truth till I give you
leave. I promise not to withhold it unreasonably.
LADY WANLEY.
I accept that. And the second condition?
JACK STRAW.
Is very easy. I insist that you should behave towards me, whether we’re
alone or in public, as you naturally would if I were really the
individual I propose to personate.
LADY WANLEY.
That’s only fair. Now who can we suggest that you should be?
HOLLAND.
You’d better try and invent some character who you’re quite sure doesn’t
exist.
LADY WANLEY.
We want something very extravagant and high-sounding.
JACK STRAW.
Pray do not put yourselves to the trouble of thinking. You will
introduce me to your friends as the Archduke Sebastian of Pomerania.
HOLLAND.
What!
LADY WANLEY.
But that’s a real person!
JACK STRAW.
To invent an imaginary one would be ridiculous. Your friends would only
need to look in the Almanack de Gotha to discover the fraud.
LADY WANLEY.
But Count von Bremer was talking to us about him just now. The Archduke
Sebastian is the man who mysteriously disappeared.
JACK STRAW.
It’s because his whereabouts are unknown that he’s the safest person to
choose.
HOLLAND.
You would never be able to pass yourself off for an Archduke.
JACK STRAW.
Strange as it may seem to you, a royal prince eats, drinks, breathes,
and behaves generally very much like men of baser clay.
LADY WANLEY.
You’d be found out in a week.
JACK STRAW.
But how do you know I’m not the Archduke Sebastian?
HOLLAND.
[_With a scornful laugh._] You look it.
LADY WANLEY.
But you’d want a suite and all sorts of things.
JACK STRAW.
The man is notoriously eccentric. I think it very likely that the
company of a stuffy old Colonel of Dragoons would bore him to death.
HOLLAND.
It’s preposterous.
JACK STRAW.
You may either take it or leave it. I will be the Archduke Sebastian or
nobody.
LADY WANLEY.
After all, Mrs. Jennings will probably never have heard of this trumpery
Archduke.
JACK STRAW.
And if she has, what more probable than that, having had enough of
retirement, he should enter once more upon the position which is his by
rights?
LADY WANLEY.
[_Looking at_ HOLLAND.] It makes the joke infinitely better.
JACK STRAW.
You must make up your minds at once.
LADY WANLEY.
Ambrose, let’s toss. Heads it is, and tails it isn’t.
HOLLAND.
All right. [_He tosses a coin._] Tails.
LADY WANLEY.
I said, tails it is, didn’t I?... I’m willing to risk it.
JACK STRAW.
Give me two minutes.
[_He goes out._
HOLLAND.
Heaven only knows what will be the end of it.
[LORD SERLO _comes up to them_.
SERLO.
Hello, Ambrose. How’s life? How d’ye do?
LADY WANLEY.
What have you been doing?
SERLO.
I’ve been lettin’ Jennings’ Patent Hardware stand me a lunch. My word,
that old woman’s so vulgar she just about takes the roof of your head
off.
HOLLAND.
Why do you lunch with people you thoroughly despise?
SERLO.
Despise ’em! I don’t despise people who’ve got eighty thousand a year.
They’re trying to hook me for their girl.
HOLLAND.
And are you proposing to--throw yourself away?
SERLO.
She’s a very neat-steppin’ little filly--swallowed a poker in her
childhood--regrettable accident in the nursery, don’t you know, but
sound in wind and limb and all that sort of thing.
LADY WANLEY.
I admire your romantic air.
SERLO.
Whoever talked of romance? There’s half a million down on one side and
an old-established marquisate on the other.
HOLLAND.
When is the happy event to take place?
SERLO.
Well, as soon as we can get over a triflin’ impediment.
LADY WANLEY.
What’s that?
SERLO.
Well, the filly’s kicking. Have to put a red ribbon on her tail, don’t
you know.
LADY WANLEY.
She’s refusing the coronet you lay at her feet?
SERLO.
Won’t touch it with the fag end of a barge pole. I was sittin’ next to
her at lunch, and she simply turned her back on me--no mistakin’ it,
don’t you know. Wouldn’t let me get a word in edgeways. Mother’s all
over me, father’s all over me, son’s all over me. What’s the good of
that? Can’t marry them. Rotten, I call it. Came over here to have a bit
of a rest.
LADY WANLEY.
[_Laughing._] And how d’you like Vincent?
SERLO.
Rotten bounder. Can’t stick him at any price, knows too many lords for
me. When he’s my brother-in-law--hoof him out, don’t you know--double
quick march. Pretty Polly’s all very well but I’m not takin’ her family.
Can’t do it for half a million, don’t you know. Must be practical.
[VINCENT _comes up to them_.
VINCENT.
How d’you do, Lady Wanley? I saw you driving with Lady Mary Ware
yesterday. Such a nice girl, isn’t she? I suppose you know her brother
Tregury, don’t you? Great pal of mine at Oxford.
LADY WANLEY.
He’s my second cousin, Mr. Jennings, and he pronounces his name
Tregary.
VINCENT.
Oh yes, of course. I always used to call him Tregury for fun.
LADY WANLEY.
Did you?
HOLLAND.
You have a very keen sense of humour.
VINCENT.
I was just having an argument with the mater as to what relation he was
to the Duke of Sherwin.
LADY WANLEY.
I’m afraid I haven’t your intimate knowledge of the peerage, but I
should think the only relation they’ve had in common for the last two
centuries is that lamented monarch, Charles II.
VINCENT.
[_To_ SERLO.] Nice chap, Sherwin.
SERLO.
Dunno him.
VINCENT.
Don’t you? Not know Sherwin? I must introduce you to him. I’m sure he’d
like to know you. Thorough sportsman.
SERLO.
Is he?
VINCENT.
Yes, rather. I saw him looking on at a cricket match the other day.
Great pal of my governor’s, you know. Thorough English gentleman.
SERLO.
They’d get on well together.
LADY WANLEY.
[_To_ HOLLAND.] Here is our friend.
JACK STRAW _comes in, hat and cane in hand. He wears a very smart
suit, tail coat, grey trousers, &c._
JACK STRAW.
I’m so sorry I couldn’t come to lunch with you.
[_He shakes_ LADY WANLEY’S _hand, she slightly curtsies to him_.
MRS. JENNINGS _nudges her husband, and they both stare with all
their eyes_.
LADY WANLEY.
It’s very good of you to have come now, sir.
JACK STRAW.
Ah, my dear Holland, you are looking the picture of health.
HOLLAND.
It’s very kind of you, sir.
LADY WANLEY.
May I introduce Lord Serlo to you?
JACK STRAW.
[_Shaking hands with him._] How d’you do. I think your father was
ambassador in Pomerania for some time.
SERLO.
Yes, he was.
HOLLAND.
[_Surprised._] How did you know that--sir?
JACK STRAW.
I remember him quite well. He used to play with me when I was a little
boy. I was so sorry to hear of his death.
SERLO.
He wasn’t a bad old buffer. Kept me dooced short of money, though.
JACK STRAW.
[_Gaily._] But unless you introduce me to Lord Serlo he won’t know who
on earth I am.
LADY WANLEY.
I thought every one knew, at least by sight, the--Archduke Sebastian of
Pomerania.
JACK STRAW.
You talk of me as if I were a notorious character. [_Meanwhile_ VINCENT
_has been making frantic signs to be introduced, coughing and shuffling
on his feet_. JACK STRAW _looks at him through his eyeglass_.] Won’t you
introduce your friend to me?
LADY WANLEY.
Mr. Vincent Parker-Jennings.
VINCENT.
I’m very proud and honoured to make your Royal Highness’s acquaintance.
JACK STRAW.
It’s very polite of you to say so.
VINCENT.
I’ve always had a great sympathy for Pomerania. Most wonderful country
in Europe, that’s what I always say.
JACK STRAW.
I will tell my grandfather you think so. He will be pleased and
flattered.
VINCENT.
I haven’t ever been there, you know, sir. But I know all about it
through Adrian von Bremer.
HOLLAND.
[_Hastily._] Your ambassador lives quite near Mr. Jennings.
JACK STRAW.
Oh yes.
VINCENT.
His place marches with ours, don’t you know. He’s a great pal of my
people’s. Jolly old thing, isn’t he, sir? Thorough sportsman. That’s
what I call a gentleman.
JACK STRAW.
I seem to know your name so well.
LADY WANLEY.
Mr. Parker-Jennings is the great philanthropist. He’s provided books to
put in all Mr. Carnegie’s free libraries.
JACK STRAW.
What a noble act. I should very much like to make his acquaintance.
VINCENT.
He’s sitting over there with my mother and sister. Shall I go and fetch
him, sir?
JACK STRAW.
It’s very kind of you to take so much trouble.
HOLLAND.
[_To_ JACK STRAW _in an undertone_.] For goodness sake be careful.
JACK STRAW.
[_Putting up his eyeglass._] I beg your pardon, I did not catch what you
said.... Pray repeat it.
HOLLAND.
[_Embarrassed._] It was of no consequence, sir.
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
[_To_ VINCENT.] Who is he, Vincent? I saw ’er curtsey to him.
VINCENT.
Come along, pater. He wants to be introduced to you.
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
I’m coming too, Vincent.
VINCENT.
Awfully jolly chap. Archduke Sebastian. What ho!
PARKER-JENNINGS.
But look here, Vincent, I don’t know how to talk to Royalty. How shall I
address him?
VINCENT.
Oh, that’s all right. Say _Sir_ wherever you can slip it in and when you
can’t say _Royal Highness_.
[JACK STRAW _comes forward a little with_ LADY WANLEY.
LADY WANLEY.
This is Mrs. Parker-Jennings.
JACK STRAW.
[_Shaking hands with her._] I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.
[_Turning to_ PARKER-JENNINGS.] I have often heard of you, Mr.... Mr....
LADY WANLEY.
[_Prompting._] Parker-Jennings.
JACK STRAW.
[_With a relieved smile._] Mr. Parker-Jennings. I’m sure I wish we had
in my country more men of your public spirit and disinterestedness.
PARKER-JENNINGS.
[_Very nervously._] I try to do my little best, you know, sir, your
Royal Highness.
JACK STRAW.
Won’t you introduce me to your daughter?
PARKER-JENNINGS.
I’m sure, sir, your Royal Highness is very affable. Ethel!
[ETHEL _slowly comes forward, and curtsies_. _He looks at her
steadily, takes her hand and kisses it._
VINCENT.
[_In an undertone._] What ho!
END OF THE FIRST ACT.
THE SECOND ACT
_The drawing-room at Taverner, the_ PARKER-JENNINGS’ _place in
Cheshire_. _Large French windows lead out on to the garden._ MRS.
PARKER-JENNINGS, _magnificently dressed, is standing in the middle
of the room_. PARKER-JENNINGS _comes in, rubbing his hands_.
PARKER-JENNINGS.
The band has come, my dear, and they’re ready to start playing the
moment any one turns up.
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
’Ave you told ’em about the Pomeranian anthem?
PARKER-JENNINGS.
What do you think, my dear?
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
I wish you wouldn’t answer me like that. Why don’t you say yes or no? I
can’t abide these city ways of yours.
PARKER-JENNINGS.
I was only being facetious, my dear.
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
I should ’ave thought you’d learned by now that it’s vulgar to be funny.
You’ve never ’eard a duchess make a joke, ’ave you?
VINCENT _comes in_.
VINCENT.
I’ve just been round the refreshment tents. There’s one thing, people
can’t say we haven’t spread ourselves out.
PARKER-JENNINGS.
[_Rubbing his hands._] I ’aven’t spared a single expense. The band’s
down from London, and the refreshments are from Gunter’s. There’s not a
cigar on the place that cost less than one and six--and that’s the
wholesale price.
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
Oh, we’ve done it well, there’s no denying that. I’ve asked the Withers,
Robert. Florrie Withers will be mad with jealousy. I shouldn’t wonder if
she didn’t choke with envy when she swallowed a caviar sandwich.
PARKER-JENNINGS.
It was a rare stroke of business when we got the Archduke to come and
stay.
VINCENT.
That’s through me, pater. You’d never have known him if I hadn’t been on
the spot.
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
And I’ve asked Lady Wanley. I just want her to see that I can get on
without her. All the county’s coming. I sent ’em all cards, whether I
knew ’em or not, and they’ve all accepted.
PARKER-JENNINGS.
Don’t you remember, Marion, how bucked we were in the old days when Mrs.
Bromsgrove came to dine with us, because her husband was on the L.C.C.?
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
I wish she could see me now. D’you remember ’ow she used to patronise
me? I wish all that stuck-up lot on Brixton ’ill was here to see us
’ob-nob with the aristocracy.
PARKER-JENNINGS.
It’s the Archduke that done it, my dear.
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
What’s Serlo now? Marquis of Serlo--pooh. He isn’t going to get any more
opportunities from me--and if he says anything I’ll just send him off
with a flea in his ear.
VINCENT.
Draw it mild, mater.
PARKER-JENNINGS.
Your mother’s a great woman, Vincent. This is the day of her life.
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
I wish I ’adn’t been such a fool as to ask Serlo to stay here. And it’s
just like that aggravating girl. When I wanted Ethel to marry him, she
wouldn’t so much as look at him, and now that she can have some one else
for the asking, she’s with ’im all day.
VINCENT.
Well, I’m for the bird in the hand, mater. The Archduke don’t look much
like a marrying man to me.
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
Don’t you worry about that, my dear. Every man’s a marrying man when
he’s got a chance of a pretty girl with ’alf a million of money.
PARKER-JENNINGS.
Here she is.
ETHEL _comes in with_ LORD SERLO.
ETHEL.
The Withers have just motored over, mother.
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
They would be first, wouldn’t they? I expect Florrie Withers was waiting
on the doorstep till the clock struck four. Where’s his Royal Highness?
ETHEL.
I don’t know at all.
SERLO.
He’s asleep in the garden; he’s sittin’ in the most comfortable
arm-chair in the place, with another for each of his legs, and he’s
clasping in his hands what looks suspiciously like a very long gin and
soda to me.
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
Well, somebody must go and wake him up. I’ve asked ’alf the county to
meet him, and he can’t go on sleeping.
JACK STRAW _comes in_.
JACK STRAW.
I say, what have you got a beastly band playing the Pomeranian anthem
for? Woke me up. I was having such a jolly sleep too.
MRS. PARKER-JENNINGS.
[_Very affably._] The people are just coming, sir.
JACK STRAW.
What people?
PARKER-JENNINGS.
All the very best people in Cheshire, sir--no outsiders to-day. What ho!
JACK STRAW.
Good lord, are you giving a party?