INTRODUCTORY NOTETHE PERSONS OF THE PLAYTHE MAGISTRATEACT I.ACT II.ACT III—Scene 1.ACT III—Scene 2.TRANSCRIBER’S NOTEThe MagistrateTHE PLAYS OF ARTHUR W. PINEROPaper cover, 1s 6d; cloth, 2s 6d eachTHE TIMESTHE PROFLIGATETHE CABINET MINISTERTHE HOBBY-HORSELADY BOUNTIFULTHE MAGISTRATEDANDY DICKSWEET LAVENDERTHE SCHOOLMISTRESSTHE WEAKER SEXTHE AMAZONS*THE SECOND MRS. TANQUERAYTHE NOTORIOUS MRS. EBBSMITHTHE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBTTHE PRINCESS AND THE BUTTERFLYTRELAWNY OF THE “WELLS”†THE GAY LORD QUEXIRISLETTYA WIFE WITHOUT A SMILEHIS HOUSE IN ORDERTHE THUNDERBOLTMID-CHANNELPRESERVING MR. PANMURETHE “MIND THE PAINT” GIRL* This Play can be had in library form, 4to, cloth,with a portrait, 5s.† A Limited Edition of this play on hand-madepaper, with a new portrait, 10s net.THE PINERO BIRTHDAY BOOKSelected and Arranged by MYRA HAMILTONWith a Portrait, cloth extra, price 2s 6d.LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANNThe MagistrateA FARCEIn Three ActsByARTHUR W. PINEROLONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANNFirst Impression1892;New Impressions1894,1895, 1897, 1899, 1901,1903, 1905, 1907, 1909,1911; 1914CopyrightAll rights reservedEntered at Stationers’ HallEntered at the Library of CongressWashington, U.S.A.INTRODUCTORY NOTE.“THE MAGISTRATE” is, after “Sweet Lavender,” perhaps the most popular of Mr. Pinero’s plays, and it is particularly interesting as being the first of his works in which his own individuality found absolutely independent expression, and emphatically and triumphantly asserted itself. In fact, this farce marks an epoch in the dramatist’s career, and shows him creating a really new and original order of English comic play, the further development of which may be traced in the successive plays which, together with “The Magistrate,” formed the famous Court series of farces, namely, “The Schoolmistress,” “Dandy Dick,” and “The Cabinet Minister.”Because Mr. Pinero had previously written “The Rocket,” and “In Chancery,” for Mr. Edward Terry, who has performed them times out of number in London and the provinces with considerable success, it has beenassumed that “The Magistrate” was also written for Mr. Terry. But this was not the case. As a matter of fact Mr. Pinero wrote the play quite independently, and on its completion he was to have read it to Mr. Charles Wyndham, but the necessities of the Court Theatre intervened. The management of the late Mr. John Clayton and Arthur Cecil was decidedly in low water in 1884 and the earlier part of 1885; play after play had been produced without success, when at length application was made to Mr. Pinero for a new piece. They had been performing serious plays, and he read them “The Weaker Sex,” which he had written some little time before; but Mr. Clayton felt uncertain about this play, which, by the way, Mr. and Mrs. Kendal have since produced, and then Mr. Pinero, mentioning the new comic play he had just finished, suggested that perhaps an entirely new order of entertainment might serve to change the fortunes of the house. “The Magistrate” was immediately accepted and produced, and his conjecture proved correct, for the luck of the theatre promptly turned.“The Magistrate” was produced at the Court Theatre on Saturday, March 21, 1885, with a cast, particulars of which will be found in the following copy of the first night programme:—ROYAL COURT THEATRE,SLOANE SQUARE, S.W.Lessees and Managers:Mr. John Clayton and Mr. Arthur Cecil.THIS EVENING, SATURDAY, MARCH 21,At a Quarter to Nine o’clock,WILL BE PRODUCED FOR THE FIRST TIME,THE MAGISTRATE,AN ORIGINAL FARCE, IN THREE ACTS,BYA. W. PINERO.Mr. PosketMr. Bullamy}Magistrates of the Mulberry Street Police Court{Mr.Arthur Cecil.Mr.Fred Cape.Colonel Lukyn(from Bengal—retired)Mr.John Clayton.Captain Horace Vale(Shropshire Fusiliers)Mr.F. Kerr.Cis Farringdon(Mrs. Posket’s son, by her first marriage)Mr.H. Eversfield.Achille Blond(Proprietor of the Hôtel des Princes)Mr.Chevalier.Isidore(a Waiter)Mr.Delane.Mr. Wormington(Chief Clerk at Mulberry Street)Mr.Gilbert Trent.Inspector MessiterSerjeant LuggConstable Harris}MetropolitanPolice{Mr.Albert Sims.Mr.Lugg.Mr.Burnley.Wyke(Servant at Mr. Posket’s)Mr.Fayre.Agatha Posket(late Farringdon,néeVerrinder)Mrs.John Wood.Charlotte(her Sister)MissMarion Terry.Beatie Tomlinson(a Young Lady reduced to teaching music)MissNorreys.PophamMissLa Coste.ACT I.THE FAMILY SKELETON.At Mr. Posket’s, Bloomsbury.ACT II.IT LEAVES ITS CUPBOARD.Room in the Hôtel des Princes, Meek Street.ACT III.IT CRUMBLES.Scene 1.—The Magistrates Room, Mulberry Street.Scene 2.—At the Poskets’ again.Preceded by a Comedietta byA. W. DUBOURG,entitledTWENTY MINUTES UNDER AN UMBRELLA.Cousin Kate. . . MissNorreys.Cousin Frank. . . Mr.H. Reeves Smith.Musical Director. MR. CARL ARMBRUSTER.Secretary. MR. GEORGE COLEMAN.The success of “The Magistrate” was immediate, and the Court Theatre was crowded night after night for morethan a year, the play being presented over 300 times. So prosperous was the run that there was no cessation during the Summer holiday season, and when Mr. Arthur Cecil went abroad for his vacation, his place as Posket was taken by Mr. Beerbohm Tree, while Miss Lottie Venne and Mrs. Tree in like manner relieved Mrs. John Wood and Miss Marion Terry.This success, however, was not confined to London, for three companies were soon carrying the play triumphantly over the English provinces, while in September 1885 Mr. Pinero went to New York to produce his work at Daly’s Theatre. Mr. Daly had suggested that Miss Ada Rehan should play the boy, Cis Farringdon, but to this the author objected, and Miss Rehan played Mrs. Posket, while Mr. Posket was represented by Mr. James Lewis, and Colonel Lukyn by Mr. John Drew. “The Magistrate” enjoyed an exceptionally long run in New York, as well as in Boston, and in the latter city it is now performed every year, being included in the regular season of classic English comedies at the Boston Museum. “The Magistrate” has also been played throughout the United States, the late John T. Raymond having been closely associated with the play for a considerable time.“The Magistrate” has travelled more widely than mostmodern English plays, and, besides being a stock piece in Australia, India, and South Africa, it has been translated into more than one foreign tongue. Under the title “Der Blaue Grotte” (“The Blue Grotto”) it is constantly played all over Germany and Austria, while in the Slavonic language it is a favourite play at the National Theatre, Prague. At one time a proposal was made, through the late Mr. John Clayton, that “The Magistrate” should be adapted to the French stage, but the suggestions of the proposed Parisian adapter were, though eminently characteristic, of such a nature that Mr. Pinero did not feel justified in acceding to them.While Mrs. John Wood and Mr. Arthur Chudleigh were still joint managers of the Court, there was some intention of reviving “The Magistrate” at that theatre, but as matters afterwards developed, Mr. Pinero arranged that the revival should take place under the auspices of Mr. Edward Terry, who accordingly appeared as Mr. Posket at his own theatre on Wednesday, April 13, 1892.Malcolm C. Salaman.THE PERSONS OF THE PLAYMr. Posket(Magistrate of the Mulberry Street Police Court)Agatha PosketCis Farringdon(her Son)Charlotte Verrinder(her Sister)Colonel LukynCaptain Horace ValeBeatie TomlinsonMr. Bullamy(Magistrate of the Mulberry Street Police Court)Achille BlondIsidoreMr. WormingtonInspector MessiterSerjeant LuggConstable Harris}(Metropolitan Police)WykePophamTHE FIRST ACTTHE FAMILY SKELETONTHE SECOND ACTIT LEAVES ITS CUPBOARDTHE THIRD ACTIT CRUMBLESTHE MAGISTRATETHE FIRST ACTThe scene represents a well-furnished drawing-room in the house ofMr. Posketin Bloomsbury.Beatie Tomlinson,a pretty, simply dressed little girl of about sixteen, is playing the piano, asCis Farringdon,a manly youth wearing an Eton jacket, enters the room.Cis.Beatie!Beatie.Cis dear! Dinner isn’t over, surely?Cis.Not quite. I had one of my convenient headaches and cleared out. [Taking an apple and some cobnuts from his pocket and giving them toBeatie.] These are for you, dear, with my love. I sneaked ’em off the sideboard as I came out.Beatie.Oh, I mustn’t take them!Cis.Yes, you may—it’s my share of dessert. Besides, it’s a horrid shame you don’t grub with us.Beatie.What, a poor little music mistress!Cis.Yes. They’re only going to give you four guineas a quarter. Fancy getting a girl like you for four guineas a quarter—why, an eighth of you is worth more than that! Now peg away at your apple.[Produces a cigarette.Beatie.There’s company at dinner, isn’t there?[Munching her apple.Cis.Well, hardly. Aunt Charlotte hasn’t arrived yet, so there’s only old Bullamy.Beatie.Isn’t old Bullamy anybody?Cis.Old Bullamy—well, he’s only like the guv’nor, a police magistrate at the Mulberry Street Police Court.Beatie.Oh, does each police court have two magistrates?Cis.[Proudly.] All the best have two.Beatie.Don’t they quarrel over getting the interesting cases? I should.Cis.I don’t know how they manage—perhaps they toss up who’s to hear the big sensations. There’s a Mrs. Beldam, who is rather a bore sometimes; I know the Guv always lets old Bullamy attend to her. But, as a rule, I fancy they go half and half, in a friendly way. [Lighting cigarette.] For instance, if the guv’nor wants to go to the Derby he lets old Bullamy have the Oaks—and so on, see?[He sits on the floor, comfortably reclining againstBeatie,and puffing his cigarette.Beatie.Oh, I say, Cis, won’t your mamma be angry when she finds I haven’t gone home?Cis.Oh, put it on to your pupil. Say I’m very backward.Beatie.I think you are extremely forward—in some ways. [Biting the apple and speaking with her mouth full.] I do wish I could get you to concentrate your attention on your music lessons. But I wouldn’t get you into a scrape!Cis.No fear of that. Ma is too proud of me.Beatie.But there’s your step-father.Cis.The dear old guv’nor! Why, he is too good-natured to say “Bo!” to a goose. You know, Beatie, I was at a school at Brighton when ma got married—when she got married the second time, I mean—and the guv’nor and I didn’t make each other’s acquaintance till after the honeymoon.Beatie.Oh, fancy your step-father blindly accepting such a responsibility.[Gives him a cobnut to crack for her.Cis.Yes, wasn’t the guv’nor soft! I might have been a very indifferent sort of young fellow for all he knew.[Having cracked the nut with his teeth, he returns it to her.Beatie.Thank you, dear.Cis.Well, when I heard the new dad was a police magistrate, Iwasscared. Said I to myself, “If I don’t mind my P’s and Q’s, the guv’nor—from force of habit—will fine me all my pocket-money.” But it’s quite the reverse—he’s the mildest, meekest——[The door opens suddenly.] Look out! Some one coming![They both jump up,Beatiescattering the nuts that are in her lap all over the floor.Cisthrows his cigarette into the fireplace and sits at the piano, playing a simple exercise, very badly.Beatiestands behind him counting.Beatie.One—and two—and one—and two.Wyke,the butler, appears at the door, and mysteriously closes it after him.Wyke.Ssss! Master Cis! Master Cis!Cis.Hallo—what is it, Wyke?Wyke.[Producing a decanter from under his coat.] The port wine what you asked for, sir. I couldn’t get it away before—the old gentlemen do hug port wine so.Cis.Got a glass?Wyke.Yes, sir. [Producing wine-glass from his pocket, and pouring out wine.] What ain’t missed ain’t mourned, eh, Master Cis?Cis.[Offering wine.] Here you are, Beatie dear.Beatie.The idea of such a thing! I couldn’t!Cis.Why not?Beatie.If I merely sipped it I shouldn’t be able to give you your music lesson properly. Drink it yourself, you dear, thoughtful boy.Cis.I shan’t—it’s for you.Beatie.I can’t drink it!Cis.You must.Beatie.I won’t!Cis.You’re disagreeable!Beatie.Not half so disagreeable as you are.[They wrangle.Wyke.[To himself, watching them.] What a young gentleman it is! and only fourteen! Fourteen—he behaves like forty! [Cischokes as he is drinking the wine;Beatiepats him on the back.] Why, even Cook has made a ’ash of everything, since he’s been in the house, and as for Popham——! [Seeing some one approaching.] Look out, Master Cis![Cisreturns to the piano,Beatiecounting as before.Wykepretends to arrange the window curtains, concealing the decanter behind him.Beatie.One and two—and one and two—and one, &c.EnterPopham,a smart-looking maid-servant.Popham.Wyke, where’s the port?Wyke.[Vacantly.] Port?Popham.Port wine. Missus is furious.Wyke.Port?Popham.[Pointing to the decanter.] Why! There! You’re carrying it about with you!Wyke.Why, so I am! Carrying it about with me! Shows what a sharp eye I keep on the guv’nor’s wines. Carrying it about with me! Missus will be amused.[Goes out.Popham.[EyeingCisandBeatie.] There’s that boy withheragain! Minx! Her two hours was up long ago. Why doesn’t she go home? Master Cis, I’ve got a message for you.Cis.[Rising from the piano.] For me, Popham?Popham.Yes, sir. [Quietly to him.] The message is from a young lady who up to last Wednesday was all in all to you. Her name is Emma Popham.Cis.[Trying to get away.] Oh, go along, Popham!Popham.[Holding his sleeve.] Ah, it wasn’t “Go along, Popham” till that music girl came into the house. I will go along, but—cast your eye over this before you sleep to-night. [She takes out of her pocket-handkerchief a piece of printed paper which she hands him between her finger and thumb.] Part of a story in “Bow Bells,” called “Jilted; or, Could Blood Atone?” Wrap it in your handkerchief—it came round the butter.[She goes out;Cisthrows the paper into the grate.Cis.Bother the girl! Beatie, she’s jealous of you!Beatie.A parlour-maid jealous ofme—and with a bit of a child of fourteen!Cis.I may be only fourteen, but I feel like a grown-up man! You’re only sixteen—there’s not much difference—and if you will only wait for me, I’ll soon catch you up and be as much a man as you are a woman. Will you wait for me, Beatie?Beatie.I can’t—I’m getting older every minute!Cis.Oh, I wish I could borrow five or six years from somebody!Beatie.Many a person would be glad to lend them. [Lovingly.] And oh, I wish you could!Cis.[Putting his arm round her.] You do! Why?Beatie.Because I—because——Cis.[Listening.] Look out! Here’s the mater![They run to the piano, he resumes playing, and she counting as before.Beatie.One and two—and one—and two, &c.EnterAgatha Posket,a handsome, showy woman, of about thirty-six, looking perhaps younger.Agatha Posket.Why, Cis child, at your music again?Cis.Yes, ma, always at it. You’ll spoil my taste by forcing it if you’re not careful.Agatha Posket.We have no right to keep Miss Tomlinson so late.Beatie.Oh, thank you, it doesn’t matter. I—I—am afraid we’re not making—very—great—progress.Cis.[Winking atBeatie.] Well, if I play that again, will you kiss me?Beatie.[Demurely.] I don’t know, I’m sure. [ToAgatha Posket.] May I promise that, ma’am?[Sits in the window recess.Cis,joining her, puts his arm round her waist.Agatha Posket.No, certainly not. [To herself, watching them.] If I could only persuade Æneas to dismiss thisprotégéeof his, and to engage a music-master, it would ease my conscience a little. If this girl knew the truth, how indignant she would be! And then there is the injustice to the boy himself, and to my husband’s friends who are always petting and fondling and caressing what they call “a fine little man of fourteen!” Fourteen! Oh, what an idiot I have been to conceal my child’s real age! [Looking at the clock.] Charlotte is late; I wish she would come. It will be a relief to worry her with my troubles.Mr. Posket.[Talking outside.] We smoke all over the house, Bullamy, all over the house.Agatha Posket.I will speak to Æneas about this little girl, at any rate.EnterMr. Posket,a mild gentleman of about fifty, smoking a cigarette, followed byMr. Bullamy,a fat, red-faced man with a bronchial cough and general huskiness.Mr. Posket.Smoke anywhere, Bullamy—smoke anywhere.Mr. Bullamy.Not with my bronchitis, thank ye.Mr. Posket.[Beaming atAgatha Posket.] Ah, my darling!Mr. Bullamy.[Producing a small box from his waistcoat pocket.] All I take after dinner is a jujube—sometimes two. [Offering the box.] May I tempt Mrs. Posket?Agatha Posket.No, thank you. [Treading on one of the nuts which have been scattered over the room.] How provoking—who brings nuts into the drawing-room?Mr. Posket.Miss Tomlinson still here? [ToBeatie.] Don’t go, don’t go. Glad to see Cis so fond of his music. Your sister Charlotte is behind her time, my darling.Agatha Posket.Her train is delayed, I suppose.Mr. Posket.You must stay and see my sister-in-law, Bullamy.Mr. Bullamy.Pleasure—pleasure!Mr. Posket.Ihave never met her yet, we will share first impressions. In the interim, will Miss Tomlinson delight us with a little music?Mr. Bullamy.[Bustling up to the piano.] If this young lady is going to sing she might like one of my jujubes.[Beatiesits at the piano withCisandMr. Bullamyon each side of her.Mr. Poskettreads on a nut as he walks over to his wife.Mr. Posket.Dear me—how come nuts into the drawing-room? [ToAgatha.] Of what is my darling thinking so deeply? [Treads on another nut.] Another! My pet, there are nuts on the drawing-room carpet!Agatha Posket.Yes, I want to speak to you, Æneas.Mr. Posket.About the nuts?Agatha Posket.No—about Miss Tomlinson—your littleprotégée.Mr. Posket.Ah, nice little thing.Agatha Posket.Very. But not old enough to exert any decided influence over the boy’s musical future. Why not engage a master?Mr. Posket.What, for a mere child?Agatha Posket.A mere child—oh!Mr. Posket.A boy of fourteen!Agatha Posket.[To herself.] Fourteen!Mr. Posket.A boy of fourteen, not yet out of Czerny’s exercises.Agatha Posket.[To herself.] If we were alone now, I might have the desperation to tell him all!Mr. Posket.Besides, my darling, you know the interest I take in Miss Tomlinson; she is one of the brightest little spots on my hobby-horse. Like all our servants, like everybody in my employ, she has been brought to my notice through the unhappy medium of the Police Court over which it is my destiny to preside. Our servant, Wyke, a man with a beautiful nature, is the son of a person I committed for trial for marryingthree wives. To this day, Wyke is ignorant as to which of those three wives he is the son of! Cook was once a notorious dipsomaniac, and has even now not entirely freed herself from early influences. Popham is the unclaimed charge of a convicted baby-farmer. Even our milkman came before me as a man who had refused to submit specimens to the analytic inspector. And this poor child, what is she?Agatha Posket.Yes, I know.Mr. Posket.The daughter of a superannuated General, who abstracted four silk umbrellas from the Army and Navy Stores—and on a fine day too![Beatieceases playing.Mr. Bullamy.Very good—very good!Mr. Posket.Thank you—thank you!Mr. Bullamy.[ToMr. Posket,coughing and laughing and popping a jujube into his mouth.] My dear Posket, I really must congratulate you on that boy of yours—your stepson. A most wonderful lad. So confoundedly advanced too.Mr. Posket.Yes, isn’t he? Eh!Mr. Bullamy.[Confidentially.] While the piano was going on just now, he told me one of the most humorous stories I’ve ever heard. [Laughing heartily and panting, then taking another jujube.] Ha, ha, bless me, I don’t know when I have taken so many jujubes!Mr. Posket.My dear Bullamy, my entire marriage is the greatest possible success. A little romantic, too. [Pointing toAgatha Posket.] Beautiful woman!Mr. Bullamy.Very, very. I never committed a more stylish, elegant creature.Mr. Posket.Thank you, Bullamy—we met abroad, at Spa, when I was on my holiday.Wykeenters with tea-tray, which he hands round.Mr. Bullamy.I shall go there next year.Mr. Posket.She lost her first husband about twelve months ago in India. He was an army contractor.Beatie.[ToCisat the piano.] I must go now—there’s no excuse for staying any longer.Cis.[To her disconsolately.] What the deuce shallIdo?Mr. Posket.[Pouring out milk.] Dear me, this milk seems very poor. When he died, she came to England, placed her boy at a school in Brighton, and then moved about quietly from place to place, drinking——[Sips tea.Mr. Bullamy.Drinking?Mr. Posket.The waters—she’s a little dyspeptic. [Wykegoes out.] We encountered each other at theTours des Fontaines—by accident I trod upon her dress——Beatie.Good-night, Cis dear.Cis.Oh!Mr. Posket.[Continuing toMr. Bullamy.] I apologised. We talked about the weather, we drank out of the same glass, discovered that we both suffered from the same ailment, and the result is complete happiness.[He bends overAgatha Posketgallantly.Agatha Posket.Æneas![He kisses her, thenCiskissesBeatie,loudly;Mr. PosketandMr. Bullamyboth listen puzzled.Mr. Posket.Echo?Mr. Bullamy.Suppose so![He kisses the back of his hand experimentally;BeatiekissesCis.Mr. Bullamy.Yes.Mr. Posket.Curious. [ToMr. Bullamy.] Romantic story, isn’t it?Beatie.Good-night, Mrs. Posket! I shall be here early to-morrow morning.Agatha Posket.I am afraid you are neglecting your other pupils.Beatie.Oh, they’re not so interesting as Cis—[correcting herself] Master Farringdon. Good-night.Agatha Posket.Good-night, dear.[Beatiegoes out quietly;Agatha PosketjoinsCis.Mr. Posket.[ToMr. Bullamy.] We were married abroad without consulting friends or relations on either side. That’s how it is I have never seen my sister-in-law, Miss Verrinder, who is coming from Shropshire to stay with us—she ought to——Wykeenters.Wyke.Miss Verrinder has come, ma’am.Mr. Posket.Here she is.Agatha Posket.Charlotte?Charlotte,a fine handsome girl, enters, followed byPophamwith hand luggage.Agatha Posket.[Kissing her.] My dear Charley.[Wykegoes out.Charlotte.Aggy darling, aren’t I late! There’s a fog on the line—you could cut it with a knife. [SeeingCis.] Is that your boy?Agatha Posket.Yes.Charlotte.Good gracious! What is he doing in an Eton jacket at his age?Agatha Posket.[Softly toCharlotte.] Hush! don’t say a word about my boy’s age yet awhile.Charlotte.Oh!Agatha Posket.[About to introduceMr. Posket.] There is my husband.Charlotte.[MistakingMr. Bullamyfor him.] Oh! how could she! [ToMr. Bullamy,turning her cheek to him.] I congratulate you—I suppose you ought to kiss me.Agatha Posket.No, no!Mr. Posket.Welcome to my house, Miss Verrinder.Charlotte.Oh, I beg your pardon. How do you do?Mr. Bullamy.[To himself.] Mrs. Posket’s an interfering woman.Mr. Posket.[Pointing toMr. Bullamy.] Mr. Bullamy.[Mr. Bullamy,aggrieved, bows stiffly.Agatha Posket.[ToCharlotte.] Come upstairs, dear; will you have some tea?Charlotte.No thank you, pet, but I should like a glass of soda water.Agatha Posket.Soda water!Charlotte.Well dear, you can put what you like at the bottom of it.[Agatha PosketandCharlottego out,Pophamfollowing.Popham.[ToCis.] Give me back my “Bow Bells,” when you have read it, you imp.[Goes out.Cis.By Jove, Guv, isn’t Aunt Charlotte a stunner?Mr. Posket.Seems a charming woman.Mr. Bullamy.Posket’s got the wrong one! That comes of marrying without first seeing the lady’s relations.Cis.Come along, Guv—let’s have a gamble—Mr. Bullamy will join us.[Opens the card-table, arranges chairs and candles.Mr. Bullamy.A gamble?Mr. Posket.Yes—the boy has taught me a new game called “Fireworks;” his mother isn’t aware that we play for money, of course, but we do.Mr. Bullamy.Ha, ha, ha! Who wins?Mr. Posket.He does now—but he says I shall win when I know the game better.Mr. Bullamy.What a boy he is!Mr. Posket.Isn’t he a wonderful lad? And only fourteen, too. I’ll tell you something else—perhaps you had better not mention it to his mother.Mr. Bullamy.No, no, certainly not.Mr. Posket.He’s invested a little money for me.Mr. Bullamy.What in?Mr. Posket.Notin—on—on Sillikin for the Lincolnshire Handicap. Sillikin to win and Butterscotch one, two, three.Mr. Bullamy.Good Lord!Mr. Posket.Yes, the dear boy said, “Guv, it isn’t fair you should give me all the tips, I’ll give you some,”—andhe did—he gave me Sillikin and Butterscotch. He’ll manage it for you, if you like. “Plank it down,” he calls it.Mr. Bullamy.[Chuckling and choking.] Ha! ha! Ho! ho! [Taking a jujube.] This boy will ruin me in jujubes.Cis.All ready! Look sharp! Guv, lend me a sov to start with?Mr. Posket.A sov to start with? [They sit at the table.Agatha PosketandCharlottecome into the room.] We didn’t think you would return so soon, my darling.Agatha Posket.Go on amusing yourselves, I insist, only don’t teach my Cis to play cards.Mr. Bullamy.Ho! ho!Mr. Posket.[ToMr. Bullamy.] Hush! Hush!Agatha Posket.[ToCharlotte.] I’m glad of this—we can tell each other our miseries undisturbed. Will you begin?Charlotte.Well, at last I am engaged to Captain Horace Vale.Agatha Posket.Oh! Charley, I’m so glad!Charlotte.Yes—so is he—he says. He proposed to me at the Hunt Ball—in the passage—Tuesday week.Agatha Posket.What did he say?Charlotte.He said, “By Jove, I love you awfully.”Agatha Posket.Well—and what did you say?Charlotte.Oh, I said, “Well, if you’re going to be as eloquent as all that, by Jove, I can’t stand out.” So we settled it, in the passage. He bars flirting till after we’re married. That’s my misery. What’s yours, Aggy?Agatha Posket.Something awful!Charlotte.Cheer up, Aggy! What is it?Agatha Posket.Well, Charley, you know I lost my poor dear first husband at a very delicate age.Charlotte.Well, you were five-and-thirty, dear.Agatha Posket.Yes, that’s what I mean. Five-and-thirty is a very delicate age to find yourself single. You’re neither one thing nor the other. You’re not exactly a two-year-old, and you don’t care to pull a hansom. However, I soon met Mr. Posket at Spa—bless him!Charlotte.And you nominated yourself for the Matrimonial Stakes. Mr. Farringdon’s The Widow, by Bereavement, out of Mourning, ten pounds extra.Agatha Posket.Yes, Charley, and in less than a month I went triumphantly over the course. But, Charley dear, I didn’t carry the fair weight for age—and that’s my trouble.Charlotte.Oh, dear!Agatha Posket.Undervaluing Æneas’ love, in a moment of, I hope, not unjustifiable vanity, I took five years from my total, which made me thirty-one on my wedding morning.Charlotte.Well, dear, many a misguided woman has done that before you.Agatha Posket.Yes, Charley, but don’t you see the consequences? It has thrown everything out. As I am now thirty-one, instead of thirty-six as I ought to be, it stands toreason that I couldn’t have been married twenty years ago, which I was. So I have had to fib in proportion.Charlotte.I see—making your first marriage occur only fifteen years ago.Agatha Posket.Exactly.Charlotte.Well then, dear, why worry yourself further?Agatha Posket.Why, dear, don’t you see? If I am only thirty-one now, my boy couldn’t have been born nineteen years ago, and if he could, he oughtn’t to have been, because, on my own showing, I wasn’t married till four years later. Now you see the result!Charlotte.Which is, that that fine strapping young gentleman over there is only fourteen.Agatha Posket.Precisely. Isn’t it awkward! and his moustache is becoming more and more obvious every day.Charlotte.What does the boy himself believe?Agatha Posket.He believes his mother, of course, as a boy should. As a prudent woman, I always kept him in ignorance of his age—in case of necessity. But it is terribly hardon the poor child, because his aims, instincts, and ambitions are all so horribly in advance of his condition. His food, his books, his amusements are out of keeping with his palate, his brain, and his disposition; and with all this suffering—his wretched mother has the remorseful consciousness of having shortened her offspring’s life.Charlotte.Oh, come, you haven’t quite done that.Agatha Posket.Yes, I have—because, if he lives to be a hundred, he must be buried at ninety-five.Charlotte.That’s true.Agatha Posket.Then, there’s another aspect. He’s a great favourite with all our friends—women friends especially. Even his little music mistress and the girl-servants hug and kiss him because he’s such an engaging boy, and I can’t stop it. But it’s very awful to see these innocent women fondling a young man of nineteen.Charlotte.The women don’t know it.Agatha Posket.But they’d like to know it. I mean they ought to know it! The other day I found my poor boy sitting on Lady Jenkins’s lap, and in the presence of Sir George. I have no right to compromise Lady Jenkinsin that way. And now, Charley, you see the whirlpool in which I am struggling—if you can throw me a rope, pray do.Charlotte.What sort of a man is Mr. Posket, Aggy?Agatha Posket.The best creature in the world. He’s a practical philanthropist.Charlotte.Um—he’s a Police Magistrate, too, isn’t he?Agatha Posket.Yes, but he pays out of his own pocket half the fines he inflicts. That’s why he has had a reprimand from the Home Office for inflicting such light penalties. All our servants have graduated at Mulberry Street. Most of the pictures in the dining-room are genuine Constables.Charlotte.Take my advice—tell him the whole story.Agatha Posket.I dare not!Charlotte.Why?Agatha Posket.I should have to take such a back seat for the rest of my married life.[The party at the card-table breaks up.Mr. Bullamy.[Grumpily.] No, thank you, not another minute. [ToMr. Posket.] What is the use of talking about revenge, my dear Posket, when I haven’t a penny piece left to play with?Mr. Posket.I’m in the same predicament! Cis will lend us some money, won’t you, Cis?Cis.Rather!Mr. Bullamy.No, thank ye, that boy is one too many for me. I’ve never met such a child. Good-night, Mrs. Posket. [Treads on a nut.] Confound the nuts!Agatha Posket.Going so early?Cis.[ToMr. Posket.] I hate a bad loser, don’t you Guv?Agatha Posket.Show Mr. Bullamy down stairs, Cis.Mr. Bullamy.Good-night, Posket. Oh! I haven’t a shilling left for my cabman.Cis.I’ll pay the cab.Mr. Bullamy.No, thank you! I’ll walk. [Opening jujube box.] Bah! Not even a jujube left and on a foggy night, too! Ugh![Goes out.EnterWykewith four letters on salver.Cis.[ToWyke.] Any for me?Wyke.One, sir.Cis.[To himself.] From Achille Blond; lucky the mater didn’t see it.[Goes out.[Wykehands letters toAgatha Posket,who takes two, then toMr. Posket,who takes one.
INTRODUCTORY NOTETHE PERSONS OF THE PLAYTHE MAGISTRATEACT I.ACT II.ACT III—Scene 1.ACT III—Scene 2.TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
INTRODUCTORY NOTE
THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY
THE MAGISTRATE
ACT I.
ACT II.
ACT III—Scene 1.
ACT III—Scene 2.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
The Magistrate
THE PLAYS OF ARTHUR W. PINERO
Paper cover, 1s 6d; cloth, 2s 6d each
The Magistrate
A FARCEIn Three Acts
ByARTHUR W. PINERO
LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN
First Impression1892;New Impressions1894,1895, 1897, 1899, 1901,1903, 1905, 1907, 1909,1911; 1914
“THE MAGISTRATE” is, after “Sweet Lavender,” perhaps the most popular of Mr. Pinero’s plays, and it is particularly interesting as being the first of his works in which his own individuality found absolutely independent expression, and emphatically and triumphantly asserted itself. In fact, this farce marks an epoch in the dramatist’s career, and shows him creating a really new and original order of English comic play, the further development of which may be traced in the successive plays which, together with “The Magistrate,” formed the famous Court series of farces, namely, “The Schoolmistress,” “Dandy Dick,” and “The Cabinet Minister.”
Because Mr. Pinero had previously written “The Rocket,” and “In Chancery,” for Mr. Edward Terry, who has performed them times out of number in London and the provinces with considerable success, it has beenassumed that “The Magistrate” was also written for Mr. Terry. But this was not the case. As a matter of fact Mr. Pinero wrote the play quite independently, and on its completion he was to have read it to Mr. Charles Wyndham, but the necessities of the Court Theatre intervened. The management of the late Mr. John Clayton and Arthur Cecil was decidedly in low water in 1884 and the earlier part of 1885; play after play had been produced without success, when at length application was made to Mr. Pinero for a new piece. They had been performing serious plays, and he read them “The Weaker Sex,” which he had written some little time before; but Mr. Clayton felt uncertain about this play, which, by the way, Mr. and Mrs. Kendal have since produced, and then Mr. Pinero, mentioning the new comic play he had just finished, suggested that perhaps an entirely new order of entertainment might serve to change the fortunes of the house. “The Magistrate” was immediately accepted and produced, and his conjecture proved correct, for the luck of the theatre promptly turned.
“The Magistrate” was produced at the Court Theatre on Saturday, March 21, 1885, with a cast, particulars of which will be found in the following copy of the first night programme:—
ROYAL COURT THEATRE,
SLOANE SQUARE, S.W.
Lessees and Managers:Mr. John Clayton and Mr. Arthur Cecil.
THIS EVENING, SATURDAY, MARCH 21,
At a Quarter to Nine o’clock,
WILL BE PRODUCED FOR THE FIRST TIME,
THE MAGISTRATE,
AN ORIGINAL FARCE, IN THREE ACTS,
BY
A. W. PINERO.
Mr. PosketMr. Bullamy}Magistrates of the Mulberry Street Police Court{Mr.Arthur Cecil.Mr.Fred Cape.Colonel Lukyn(from Bengal—retired)Mr.John Clayton.Captain Horace Vale(Shropshire Fusiliers)Mr.F. Kerr.Cis Farringdon(Mrs. Posket’s son, by her first marriage)Mr.H. Eversfield.Achille Blond(Proprietor of the Hôtel des Princes)Mr.Chevalier.Isidore(a Waiter)Mr.Delane.Mr. Wormington(Chief Clerk at Mulberry Street)Mr.Gilbert Trent.Inspector MessiterSerjeant LuggConstable Harris}MetropolitanPolice{Mr.Albert Sims.Mr.Lugg.Mr.Burnley.Wyke(Servant at Mr. Posket’s)Mr.Fayre.Agatha Posket(late Farringdon,néeVerrinder)Mrs.John Wood.Charlotte(her Sister)MissMarion Terry.Beatie Tomlinson(a Young Lady reduced to teaching music)MissNorreys.PophamMissLa Coste.
ACT I.
THE FAMILY SKELETON.
At Mr. Posket’s, Bloomsbury.
ACT II.
IT LEAVES ITS CUPBOARD.
Room in the Hôtel des Princes, Meek Street.
ACT III.
IT CRUMBLES.
Scene 1.—The Magistrates Room, Mulberry Street.
Scene 2.—At the Poskets’ again.
Preceded by a Comedietta by
A. W. DUBOURG,
entitled
TWENTY MINUTES UNDER AN UMBRELLA.
Cousin Kate. . . MissNorreys.
Cousin Frank. . . Mr.H. Reeves Smith.
Musical Director. MR. CARL ARMBRUSTER.
Secretary. MR. GEORGE COLEMAN.
The success of “The Magistrate” was immediate, and the Court Theatre was crowded night after night for morethan a year, the play being presented over 300 times. So prosperous was the run that there was no cessation during the Summer holiday season, and when Mr. Arthur Cecil went abroad for his vacation, his place as Posket was taken by Mr. Beerbohm Tree, while Miss Lottie Venne and Mrs. Tree in like manner relieved Mrs. John Wood and Miss Marion Terry.
This success, however, was not confined to London, for three companies were soon carrying the play triumphantly over the English provinces, while in September 1885 Mr. Pinero went to New York to produce his work at Daly’s Theatre. Mr. Daly had suggested that Miss Ada Rehan should play the boy, Cis Farringdon, but to this the author objected, and Miss Rehan played Mrs. Posket, while Mr. Posket was represented by Mr. James Lewis, and Colonel Lukyn by Mr. John Drew. “The Magistrate” enjoyed an exceptionally long run in New York, as well as in Boston, and in the latter city it is now performed every year, being included in the regular season of classic English comedies at the Boston Museum. “The Magistrate” has also been played throughout the United States, the late John T. Raymond having been closely associated with the play for a considerable time.
“The Magistrate” has travelled more widely than mostmodern English plays, and, besides being a stock piece in Australia, India, and South Africa, it has been translated into more than one foreign tongue. Under the title “Der Blaue Grotte” (“The Blue Grotto”) it is constantly played all over Germany and Austria, while in the Slavonic language it is a favourite play at the National Theatre, Prague. At one time a proposal was made, through the late Mr. John Clayton, that “The Magistrate” should be adapted to the French stage, but the suggestions of the proposed Parisian adapter were, though eminently characteristic, of such a nature that Mr. Pinero did not feel justified in acceding to them.
While Mrs. John Wood and Mr. Arthur Chudleigh were still joint managers of the Court, there was some intention of reviving “The Magistrate” at that theatre, but as matters afterwards developed, Mr. Pinero arranged that the revival should take place under the auspices of Mr. Edward Terry, who accordingly appeared as Mr. Posket at his own theatre on Wednesday, April 13, 1892.
Malcolm C. Salaman.
Mr. Posket(Magistrate of the Mulberry Street Police Court)Agatha PosketCis Farringdon(her Son)Charlotte Verrinder(her Sister)Colonel LukynCaptain Horace ValeBeatie TomlinsonMr. Bullamy(Magistrate of the Mulberry Street Police Court)Achille BlondIsidoreMr. WormingtonInspector MessiterSerjeant LuggConstable Harris}(Metropolitan Police)WykePopham
THE FIRST ACT
THE FAMILY SKELETON
THE SECOND ACT
IT LEAVES ITS CUPBOARD
THE THIRD ACT
IT CRUMBLES
The scene represents a well-furnished drawing-room in the house ofMr. Posketin Bloomsbury.
Beatie Tomlinson,a pretty, simply dressed little girl of about sixteen, is playing the piano, asCis Farringdon,a manly youth wearing an Eton jacket, enters the room.
Cis.
Beatie!
Beatie.
Cis dear! Dinner isn’t over, surely?
Cis.
Not quite. I had one of my convenient headaches and cleared out. [Taking an apple and some cobnuts from his pocket and giving them toBeatie.] These are for you, dear, with my love. I sneaked ’em off the sideboard as I came out.
Beatie.
Oh, I mustn’t take them!
Cis.
Yes, you may—it’s my share of dessert. Besides, it’s a horrid shame you don’t grub with us.
Beatie.
What, a poor little music mistress!
Cis.
Yes. They’re only going to give you four guineas a quarter. Fancy getting a girl like you for four guineas a quarter—why, an eighth of you is worth more than that! Now peg away at your apple.
[Produces a cigarette.
Beatie.
There’s company at dinner, isn’t there?
[Munching her apple.
Cis.
Well, hardly. Aunt Charlotte hasn’t arrived yet, so there’s only old Bullamy.
Beatie.
Isn’t old Bullamy anybody?
Cis.
Old Bullamy—well, he’s only like the guv’nor, a police magistrate at the Mulberry Street Police Court.
Beatie.
Oh, does each police court have two magistrates?
Cis.
[Proudly.] All the best have two.
Beatie.
Don’t they quarrel over getting the interesting cases? I should.
Cis.
I don’t know how they manage—perhaps they toss up who’s to hear the big sensations. There’s a Mrs. Beldam, who is rather a bore sometimes; I know the Guv always lets old Bullamy attend to her. But, as a rule, I fancy they go half and half, in a friendly way. [Lighting cigarette.] For instance, if the guv’nor wants to go to the Derby he lets old Bullamy have the Oaks—and so on, see?
[He sits on the floor, comfortably reclining againstBeatie,and puffing his cigarette.
Beatie.
Oh, I say, Cis, won’t your mamma be angry when she finds I haven’t gone home?
Cis.
Oh, put it on to your pupil. Say I’m very backward.
Beatie.
I think you are extremely forward—in some ways. [Biting the apple and speaking with her mouth full.] I do wish I could get you to concentrate your attention on your music lessons. But I wouldn’t get you into a scrape!
Cis.
No fear of that. Ma is too proud of me.
Beatie.
But there’s your step-father.
Cis.
The dear old guv’nor! Why, he is too good-natured to say “Bo!” to a goose. You know, Beatie, I was at a school at Brighton when ma got married—when she got married the second time, I mean—and the guv’nor and I didn’t make each other’s acquaintance till after the honeymoon.
Beatie.
Oh, fancy your step-father blindly accepting such a responsibility.
[Gives him a cobnut to crack for her.
Cis.
Yes, wasn’t the guv’nor soft! I might have been a very indifferent sort of young fellow for all he knew.
[Having cracked the nut with his teeth, he returns it to her.
Beatie.
Thank you, dear.
Cis.
Well, when I heard the new dad was a police magistrate, Iwasscared. Said I to myself, “If I don’t mind my P’s and Q’s, the guv’nor—from force of habit—will fine me all my pocket-money.” But it’s quite the reverse—he’s the mildest, meekest——[The door opens suddenly.] Look out! Some one coming!
[They both jump up,Beatiescattering the nuts that are in her lap all over the floor.Cisthrows his cigarette into the fireplace and sits at the piano, playing a simple exercise, very badly.Beatiestands behind him counting.
Beatie.
One—and two—and one—and two.
Wyke,the butler, appears at the door, and mysteriously closes it after him.
Wyke.
Ssss! Master Cis! Master Cis!
Cis.
Hallo—what is it, Wyke?
Wyke.
[Producing a decanter from under his coat.] The port wine what you asked for, sir. I couldn’t get it away before—the old gentlemen do hug port wine so.
Cis.
Got a glass?
Wyke.
Yes, sir. [Producing wine-glass from his pocket, and pouring out wine.] What ain’t missed ain’t mourned, eh, Master Cis?
Cis.
[Offering wine.] Here you are, Beatie dear.
Beatie.
The idea of such a thing! I couldn’t!
Cis.
Why not?
Beatie.
If I merely sipped it I shouldn’t be able to give you your music lesson properly. Drink it yourself, you dear, thoughtful boy.
Cis.
I shan’t—it’s for you.
Beatie.
I can’t drink it!
Cis.
You must.
Beatie.
I won’t!
Cis.
You’re disagreeable!
Beatie.
Not half so disagreeable as you are.
[They wrangle.
Wyke.
[To himself, watching them.] What a young gentleman it is! and only fourteen! Fourteen—he behaves like forty! [Cischokes as he is drinking the wine;Beatiepats him on the back.] Why, even Cook has made a ’ash of everything, since he’s been in the house, and as for Popham——! [Seeing some one approaching.] Look out, Master Cis!
[Cisreturns to the piano,Beatiecounting as before.Wykepretends to arrange the window curtains, concealing the decanter behind him.
Beatie.
One and two—and one and two—and one, &c.
EnterPopham,a smart-looking maid-servant.
Popham.
Wyke, where’s the port?
Wyke.
[Vacantly.] Port?
Popham.
Port wine. Missus is furious.
Wyke.
Port?
Popham.
[Pointing to the decanter.] Why! There! You’re carrying it about with you!
Wyke.
Why, so I am! Carrying it about with me! Shows what a sharp eye I keep on the guv’nor’s wines. Carrying it about with me! Missus will be amused.
[Goes out.
Popham.
[EyeingCisandBeatie.] There’s that boy withheragain! Minx! Her two hours was up long ago. Why doesn’t she go home? Master Cis, I’ve got a message for you.
Cis.
[Rising from the piano.] For me, Popham?
Popham.
Yes, sir. [Quietly to him.] The message is from a young lady who up to last Wednesday was all in all to you. Her name is Emma Popham.
Cis.
[Trying to get away.] Oh, go along, Popham!
Popham.
[Holding his sleeve.] Ah, it wasn’t “Go along, Popham” till that music girl came into the house. I will go along, but—cast your eye over this before you sleep to-night. [She takes out of her pocket-handkerchief a piece of printed paper which she hands him between her finger and thumb.] Part of a story in “Bow Bells,” called “Jilted; or, Could Blood Atone?” Wrap it in your handkerchief—it came round the butter.
[She goes out;Cisthrows the paper into the grate.
Cis.
Bother the girl! Beatie, she’s jealous of you!
Beatie.
A parlour-maid jealous ofme—and with a bit of a child of fourteen!
Cis.
I may be only fourteen, but I feel like a grown-up man! You’re only sixteen—there’s not much difference—and if you will only wait for me, I’ll soon catch you up and be as much a man as you are a woman. Will you wait for me, Beatie?
Beatie.
I can’t—I’m getting older every minute!
Cis.
Oh, I wish I could borrow five or six years from somebody!
Beatie.
Many a person would be glad to lend them. [Lovingly.] And oh, I wish you could!
Cis.
[Putting his arm round her.] You do! Why?
Beatie.
Because I—because——
Cis.
[Listening.] Look out! Here’s the mater!
[They run to the piano, he resumes playing, and she counting as before.
Beatie.
One and two—and one—and two, &c.
EnterAgatha Posket,a handsome, showy woman, of about thirty-six, looking perhaps younger.
Agatha Posket.
Why, Cis child, at your music again?
Cis.
Yes, ma, always at it. You’ll spoil my taste by forcing it if you’re not careful.
Agatha Posket.
We have no right to keep Miss Tomlinson so late.
Beatie.
Oh, thank you, it doesn’t matter. I—I—am afraid we’re not making—very—great—progress.
Cis.
[Winking atBeatie.] Well, if I play that again, will you kiss me?
Beatie.
[Demurely.] I don’t know, I’m sure. [ToAgatha Posket.] May I promise that, ma’am?
[Sits in the window recess.Cis,joining her, puts his arm round her waist.
Agatha Posket.
No, certainly not. [To herself, watching them.] If I could only persuade Æneas to dismiss thisprotégéeof his, and to engage a music-master, it would ease my conscience a little. If this girl knew the truth, how indignant she would be! And then there is the injustice to the boy himself, and to my husband’s friends who are always petting and fondling and caressing what they call “a fine little man of fourteen!” Fourteen! Oh, what an idiot I have been to conceal my child’s real age! [Looking at the clock.] Charlotte is late; I wish she would come. It will be a relief to worry her with my troubles.
Mr. Posket.
[Talking outside.] We smoke all over the house, Bullamy, all over the house.
Agatha Posket.
I will speak to Æneas about this little girl, at any rate.
EnterMr. Posket,a mild gentleman of about fifty, smoking a cigarette, followed byMr. Bullamy,a fat, red-faced man with a bronchial cough and general huskiness.
Mr. Posket.
Smoke anywhere, Bullamy—smoke anywhere.
Mr. Bullamy.
Not with my bronchitis, thank ye.
Mr. Posket.
[Beaming atAgatha Posket.] Ah, my darling!
Mr. Bullamy.
[Producing a small box from his waistcoat pocket.] All I take after dinner is a jujube—sometimes two. [Offering the box.] May I tempt Mrs. Posket?
Agatha Posket.
No, thank you. [Treading on one of the nuts which have been scattered over the room.] How provoking—who brings nuts into the drawing-room?
Mr. Posket.
Miss Tomlinson still here? [ToBeatie.] Don’t go, don’t go. Glad to see Cis so fond of his music. Your sister Charlotte is behind her time, my darling.
Agatha Posket.
Her train is delayed, I suppose.
Mr. Posket.
You must stay and see my sister-in-law, Bullamy.
Mr. Bullamy.
Pleasure—pleasure!
Mr. Posket.
Ihave never met her yet, we will share first impressions. In the interim, will Miss Tomlinson delight us with a little music?
Mr. Bullamy.
[Bustling up to the piano.] If this young lady is going to sing she might like one of my jujubes.
[Beatiesits at the piano withCisandMr. Bullamyon each side of her.Mr. Poskettreads on a nut as he walks over to his wife.
Mr. Posket.
Dear me—how come nuts into the drawing-room? [ToAgatha.] Of what is my darling thinking so deeply? [Treads on another nut.] Another! My pet, there are nuts on the drawing-room carpet!
Agatha Posket.
Yes, I want to speak to you, Æneas.
Mr. Posket.
About the nuts?
Agatha Posket.
No—about Miss Tomlinson—your littleprotégée.
Mr. Posket.
Ah, nice little thing.
Agatha Posket.
Very. But not old enough to exert any decided influence over the boy’s musical future. Why not engage a master?
Mr. Posket.
What, for a mere child?
Agatha Posket.
A mere child—oh!
Mr. Posket.
A boy of fourteen!
Agatha Posket.
[To herself.] Fourteen!
Mr. Posket.
A boy of fourteen, not yet out of Czerny’s exercises.
Agatha Posket.
[To herself.] If we were alone now, I might have the desperation to tell him all!
Mr. Posket.
Besides, my darling, you know the interest I take in Miss Tomlinson; she is one of the brightest little spots on my hobby-horse. Like all our servants, like everybody in my employ, she has been brought to my notice through the unhappy medium of the Police Court over which it is my destiny to preside. Our servant, Wyke, a man with a beautiful nature, is the son of a person I committed for trial for marryingthree wives. To this day, Wyke is ignorant as to which of those three wives he is the son of! Cook was once a notorious dipsomaniac, and has even now not entirely freed herself from early influences. Popham is the unclaimed charge of a convicted baby-farmer. Even our milkman came before me as a man who had refused to submit specimens to the analytic inspector. And this poor child, what is she?
Agatha Posket.
Yes, I know.
Mr. Posket.
The daughter of a superannuated General, who abstracted four silk umbrellas from the Army and Navy Stores—and on a fine day too!
[Beatieceases playing.
Mr. Bullamy.
Very good—very good!
Mr. Posket.
Thank you—thank you!
Mr. Bullamy.
[ToMr. Posket,coughing and laughing and popping a jujube into his mouth.] My dear Posket, I really must congratulate you on that boy of yours—your stepson. A most wonderful lad. So confoundedly advanced too.
Mr. Posket.
Yes, isn’t he? Eh!
Mr. Bullamy.
[Confidentially.] While the piano was going on just now, he told me one of the most humorous stories I’ve ever heard. [Laughing heartily and panting, then taking another jujube.] Ha, ha, bless me, I don’t know when I have taken so many jujubes!
Mr. Posket.
My dear Bullamy, my entire marriage is the greatest possible success. A little romantic, too. [Pointing toAgatha Posket.] Beautiful woman!
Mr. Bullamy.
Very, very. I never committed a more stylish, elegant creature.
Mr. Posket.
Thank you, Bullamy—we met abroad, at Spa, when I was on my holiday.
Wykeenters with tea-tray, which he hands round.
Mr. Bullamy.
I shall go there next year.
Mr. Posket.
She lost her first husband about twelve months ago in India. He was an army contractor.
Beatie.
[ToCisat the piano.] I must go now—there’s no excuse for staying any longer.
Cis.
[To her disconsolately.] What the deuce shallIdo?
Mr. Posket.
[Pouring out milk.] Dear me, this milk seems very poor. When he died, she came to England, placed her boy at a school in Brighton, and then moved about quietly from place to place, drinking——
[Sips tea.
Mr. Bullamy.
Drinking?
Mr. Posket.
The waters—she’s a little dyspeptic. [Wykegoes out.] We encountered each other at theTours des Fontaines—by accident I trod upon her dress——
Beatie.
Good-night, Cis dear.
Cis.
Oh!
Mr. Posket.
[Continuing toMr. Bullamy.] I apologised. We talked about the weather, we drank out of the same glass, discovered that we both suffered from the same ailment, and the result is complete happiness.
[He bends overAgatha Posketgallantly.
Agatha Posket.
Æneas!
[He kisses her, thenCiskissesBeatie,loudly;Mr. PosketandMr. Bullamyboth listen puzzled.
Mr. Posket.
Echo?
Mr. Bullamy.
Suppose so!
[He kisses the back of his hand experimentally;BeatiekissesCis.
Mr. Bullamy.
Yes.
Mr. Posket.
Curious. [ToMr. Bullamy.] Romantic story, isn’t it?
Beatie.
Good-night, Mrs. Posket! I shall be here early to-morrow morning.
Agatha Posket.
I am afraid you are neglecting your other pupils.
Beatie.
Oh, they’re not so interesting as Cis—[correcting herself] Master Farringdon. Good-night.
Agatha Posket.
Good-night, dear.
[Beatiegoes out quietly;Agatha PosketjoinsCis.
Mr. Posket.
[ToMr. Bullamy.] We were married abroad without consulting friends or relations on either side. That’s how it is I have never seen my sister-in-law, Miss Verrinder, who is coming from Shropshire to stay with us—she ought to——
Wykeenters.
Wyke.
Miss Verrinder has come, ma’am.
Mr. Posket.
Here she is.
Agatha Posket.
Charlotte?
Charlotte,a fine handsome girl, enters, followed byPophamwith hand luggage.
Agatha Posket.
[Kissing her.] My dear Charley.
[Wykegoes out.
Charlotte.
Aggy darling, aren’t I late! There’s a fog on the line—you could cut it with a knife. [SeeingCis.] Is that your boy?
Agatha Posket.
Yes.
Charlotte.
Good gracious! What is he doing in an Eton jacket at his age?
Agatha Posket.
[Softly toCharlotte.] Hush! don’t say a word about my boy’s age yet awhile.
Charlotte.
Oh!
Agatha Posket.
[About to introduceMr. Posket.] There is my husband.
Charlotte.
[MistakingMr. Bullamyfor him.] Oh! how could she! [ToMr. Bullamy,turning her cheek to him.] I congratulate you—I suppose you ought to kiss me.
Agatha Posket.
No, no!
Mr. Posket.
Welcome to my house, Miss Verrinder.
Charlotte.
Oh, I beg your pardon. How do you do?
Mr. Bullamy.
[To himself.] Mrs. Posket’s an interfering woman.
Mr. Posket.
[Pointing toMr. Bullamy.] Mr. Bullamy.
[Mr. Bullamy,aggrieved, bows stiffly.
Agatha Posket.
[ToCharlotte.] Come upstairs, dear; will you have some tea?
Charlotte.
No thank you, pet, but I should like a glass of soda water.
Agatha Posket.
Soda water!
Charlotte.
Well dear, you can put what you like at the bottom of it.
[Agatha PosketandCharlottego out,Pophamfollowing.
Popham.
[ToCis.] Give me back my “Bow Bells,” when you have read it, you imp.
[Goes out.
Cis.
By Jove, Guv, isn’t Aunt Charlotte a stunner?
Mr. Posket.
Seems a charming woman.
Mr. Bullamy.
Posket’s got the wrong one! That comes of marrying without first seeing the lady’s relations.
Cis.
Come along, Guv—let’s have a gamble—Mr. Bullamy will join us.
[Opens the card-table, arranges chairs and candles.
Mr. Bullamy.
A gamble?
Mr. Posket.
Yes—the boy has taught me a new game called “Fireworks;” his mother isn’t aware that we play for money, of course, but we do.
Mr. Bullamy.
Ha, ha, ha! Who wins?
Mr. Posket.
He does now—but he says I shall win when I know the game better.
Mr. Bullamy.
What a boy he is!
Mr. Posket.
Isn’t he a wonderful lad? And only fourteen, too. I’ll tell you something else—perhaps you had better not mention it to his mother.
Mr. Bullamy.
No, no, certainly not.
Mr. Posket.
He’s invested a little money for me.
Mr. Bullamy.
What in?
Mr. Posket.
Notin—on—on Sillikin for the Lincolnshire Handicap. Sillikin to win and Butterscotch one, two, three.
Mr. Bullamy.
Good Lord!
Mr. Posket.
Yes, the dear boy said, “Guv, it isn’t fair you should give me all the tips, I’ll give you some,”—andhe did—he gave me Sillikin and Butterscotch. He’ll manage it for you, if you like. “Plank it down,” he calls it.
Mr. Bullamy.
[Chuckling and choking.] Ha! ha! Ho! ho! [Taking a jujube.] This boy will ruin me in jujubes.
Cis.
All ready! Look sharp! Guv, lend me a sov to start with?
Mr. Posket.
A sov to start with? [They sit at the table.Agatha PosketandCharlottecome into the room.] We didn’t think you would return so soon, my darling.
Agatha Posket.
Go on amusing yourselves, I insist, only don’t teach my Cis to play cards.
Mr. Bullamy.
Ho! ho!
Mr. Posket.
[ToMr. Bullamy.] Hush! Hush!
Agatha Posket.
[ToCharlotte.] I’m glad of this—we can tell each other our miseries undisturbed. Will you begin?
Charlotte.
Well, at last I am engaged to Captain Horace Vale.
Agatha Posket.
Oh! Charley, I’m so glad!
Charlotte.
Yes—so is he—he says. He proposed to me at the Hunt Ball—in the passage—Tuesday week.
Agatha Posket.
What did he say?
Charlotte.
He said, “By Jove, I love you awfully.”
Agatha Posket.
Well—and what did you say?
Charlotte.
Oh, I said, “Well, if you’re going to be as eloquent as all that, by Jove, I can’t stand out.” So we settled it, in the passage. He bars flirting till after we’re married. That’s my misery. What’s yours, Aggy?
Agatha Posket.
Something awful!
Charlotte.
Cheer up, Aggy! What is it?
Agatha Posket.
Well, Charley, you know I lost my poor dear first husband at a very delicate age.
Charlotte.
Well, you were five-and-thirty, dear.
Agatha Posket.
Yes, that’s what I mean. Five-and-thirty is a very delicate age to find yourself single. You’re neither one thing nor the other. You’re not exactly a two-year-old, and you don’t care to pull a hansom. However, I soon met Mr. Posket at Spa—bless him!
Charlotte.
And you nominated yourself for the Matrimonial Stakes. Mr. Farringdon’s The Widow, by Bereavement, out of Mourning, ten pounds extra.
Agatha Posket.
Yes, Charley, and in less than a month I went triumphantly over the course. But, Charley dear, I didn’t carry the fair weight for age—and that’s my trouble.
Charlotte.
Oh, dear!
Agatha Posket.
Undervaluing Æneas’ love, in a moment of, I hope, not unjustifiable vanity, I took five years from my total, which made me thirty-one on my wedding morning.
Charlotte.
Well, dear, many a misguided woman has done that before you.
Agatha Posket.
Yes, Charley, but don’t you see the consequences? It has thrown everything out. As I am now thirty-one, instead of thirty-six as I ought to be, it stands toreason that I couldn’t have been married twenty years ago, which I was. So I have had to fib in proportion.
Charlotte.
I see—making your first marriage occur only fifteen years ago.
Agatha Posket.
Exactly.
Charlotte.
Well then, dear, why worry yourself further?
Agatha Posket.
Why, dear, don’t you see? If I am only thirty-one now, my boy couldn’t have been born nineteen years ago, and if he could, he oughtn’t to have been, because, on my own showing, I wasn’t married till four years later. Now you see the result!
Charlotte.
Which is, that that fine strapping young gentleman over there is only fourteen.
Agatha Posket.
Precisely. Isn’t it awkward! and his moustache is becoming more and more obvious every day.
Charlotte.
What does the boy himself believe?
Agatha Posket.
He believes his mother, of course, as a boy should. As a prudent woman, I always kept him in ignorance of his age—in case of necessity. But it is terribly hardon the poor child, because his aims, instincts, and ambitions are all so horribly in advance of his condition. His food, his books, his amusements are out of keeping with his palate, his brain, and his disposition; and with all this suffering—his wretched mother has the remorseful consciousness of having shortened her offspring’s life.
Charlotte.
Oh, come, you haven’t quite done that.
Agatha Posket.
Yes, I have—because, if he lives to be a hundred, he must be buried at ninety-five.
Charlotte.
That’s true.
Agatha Posket.
Then, there’s another aspect. He’s a great favourite with all our friends—women friends especially. Even his little music mistress and the girl-servants hug and kiss him because he’s such an engaging boy, and I can’t stop it. But it’s very awful to see these innocent women fondling a young man of nineteen.
Charlotte.
The women don’t know it.
Agatha Posket.
But they’d like to know it. I mean they ought to know it! The other day I found my poor boy sitting on Lady Jenkins’s lap, and in the presence of Sir George. I have no right to compromise Lady Jenkinsin that way. And now, Charley, you see the whirlpool in which I am struggling—if you can throw me a rope, pray do.
Charlotte.
What sort of a man is Mr. Posket, Aggy?
Agatha Posket.
The best creature in the world. He’s a practical philanthropist.
Charlotte.
Um—he’s a Police Magistrate, too, isn’t he?
Agatha Posket.
Yes, but he pays out of his own pocket half the fines he inflicts. That’s why he has had a reprimand from the Home Office for inflicting such light penalties. All our servants have graduated at Mulberry Street. Most of the pictures in the dining-room are genuine Constables.
Charlotte.
Take my advice—tell him the whole story.
Agatha Posket.
I dare not!
Charlotte.
Why?
Agatha Posket.
I should have to take such a back seat for the rest of my married life.
[The party at the card-table breaks up.
Mr. Bullamy.
[Grumpily.] No, thank you, not another minute. [ToMr. Posket.] What is the use of talking about revenge, my dear Posket, when I haven’t a penny piece left to play with?
Mr. Posket.
I’m in the same predicament! Cis will lend us some money, won’t you, Cis?
Cis.
Rather!
Mr. Bullamy.
No, thank ye, that boy is one too many for me. I’ve never met such a child. Good-night, Mrs. Posket. [Treads on a nut.] Confound the nuts!
Agatha Posket.
Going so early?
Cis.
[ToMr. Posket.] I hate a bad loser, don’t you Guv?
Agatha Posket.
Show Mr. Bullamy down stairs, Cis.
Mr. Bullamy.
Good-night, Posket. Oh! I haven’t a shilling left for my cabman.
Cis.
I’ll pay the cab.
Mr. Bullamy.
No, thank you! I’ll walk. [Opening jujube box.] Bah! Not even a jujube left and on a foggy night, too! Ugh!
[Goes out.
EnterWykewith four letters on salver.
Cis.
[ToWyke.] Any for me?
Wyke.
One, sir.
Cis.
[To himself.] From Achille Blond; lucky the mater didn’t see it.
[Goes out.
[Wykehands letters toAgatha Posket,who takes two, then toMr. Posket,who takes one.