Scene Second
The Blackbird, the Pheasant-hen,laterChantecler
The Pheasant-hen[Panting, tragically earnest.] I ran all the way.—You were there.—Oh, I am half dead with terror!—Well you must have overheard their dreadful secret! You, his friend!
The Blackbird[Cheerfully rummaging among the moss.] Or the thigh of a katydid will do.
The Pheasant-henI was watching from a distance. I crouched in a ditch—[In an anguished voice.] Well?
The Blackbird[In genuine surprise.] Well, what?
The Pheasant-henTheir conspiracy—
The Blackbird[Calmly.] It all went off very nicely.
The Pheasant-henWhat do you mean?
The BlackbirdThe shadow was a correct and appropriate blue, and the Owls said perfectly characteristic things.
The Pheasant-hen[In wild alarm.] Heavens, they plotted his death?
The BlackbirdHis decease, which is not nearly so bad.
The Pheasant-henBut—
The BlackbirdDon’t smite your brow! In spite of the Screech-Owl’s grave and self-important tone, I shouldn’t wonder if it all amounted to very little.
The Pheasant-henThose Owls—
The BlackbirdAre good enough in their various parts, but it’s the old excessive style of acting.
The Pheasant-henI beg your pardon?
The BlackbirdBack numbers!
The Pheasant-henOh?
The BlackbirdThey have eyelashes, fancy, all the way round their eyes! It’s too much of a good thing, really.—And that black plot, those desperately dark designs, all that belongs to the year one; you can see moss growing on its back!
The Pheasant-hen[Fluttering hither and thither feverishly.] I am never quite sure of understanding when a person is talking in fun.
The Blackbird[Winking at her.] No flies on your acting!
The Pheasant-henSurely you wouldn’t be laughing if he were in danger? Those ruffians—?
The BlackbirdPrattlers! Wooden Swords! Knights of Hot Air!
The Pheasant-henBut Scops—?
The BlackbirdA stuffed Owl!
The Pheasant-henAnd the Great Bubo—?
The BlackbirdJust two ten-candle-power lamps, to be turned on and off with a switch,—crick-crack! And Flammeolus, two lamps likewise—but acetylene!
The Pheasant-hen[Bewildered by his imagery.] And so—?
The BlackbirdNo, trembling Gypsy, there’s not enough in this great plot to choke a flea withal!
The Pheasant-henTruly? I have been so horribly afraid—
The BlackbirdFear, I warn you, lovely Zingara, leads to dyspepsia! It’s because he keeps his eye closed and buried in the sand that the ostrich has preserved his famous digestion!
The Pheasant-henSo it might seem.
The BlackbirdWe have in these latter days bowed Tragedy respectfully out of the house!
The Pheasant-henBut had we not best warn Chantecler, so that—
The BlackbirdHe would go instantly and challenge them. And then such a whetting of steel!
The Pheasant-henYou are right. So he would.
The BlackbirdOn your principle, mad Gitana, an oak-gall could be made into a world.
The Pheasant-henYou have much good sense.
The BlackbirdDaughter of the forest, I have.
Chantecler’s Voice[Outside.] Coa—
The Pheasant-henChantecler!
Chantecler[Approaching on the left, between the hollies, calls from afar.] Who is there?
The Pheasant-henIt is I !
Chantecler[Still from a distance.] Alone?
The Pheasant-hen[With a significant look at theBlackbird.] Yes, alone.
The Blackbird[Understanding.] I vanish—I am off to supper.
The Pheasant-hen[Low to theBlackbird.] And so—?
The Blackbird[Motioning her to be silent.] Keep it dark! [As he is leaving, by the right, in the manner of one giving an order to a waiter.] Earwigs for one!
The Pheasant-hen[Low.] It is wiser, you think, not to tell him?
The Blackbird[Before disappearing among the flower-pots.] Well, rather!