The Project Gutenberg eBook of Jack Straw , by W. Somerset Maugham.

This play was produced at the Vaudeville Theatre on March 26, 1908, with the following cast:

JACK STRAW

CHARACTERS

Waiters at the Grand Babylon Hotel and Footmen at Taverner, the Parker-Jennings’ place in Cheshire

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.

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.

[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.

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.

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.

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?

He used to go to the City every morning with a black bag in one hand and an umbrella in the other.

One day an uncle in the North, from whom they vaguely had expectations, died suddenly and left them nearly two millions.

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.

So, with a burst of hospitality, you asked them down to Taverner, and they took it for twenty-one years.

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.

[Dryly.] You have left out an essential detail in the account of your relations with these good folk.

[Smiling.] You have omitted to mention that when they took Taverner they agreed to pay an exorbitant rent.

They could well afford it. Besides, it was a historic place. It was worth whatever I could get for it.

Parker-Jennings may be very vulgar, but he’s as shrewd a man as you’d find anywhere between Park Lane and Jerusalem.

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.

[After a brief pause.] I was crippled with mortgages, and I had to send my boys to Eton.

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.

[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.

Two coffees and two Benedictines. But you’re not my usual waiter. Where’s Pierre?

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.

[Laughing.] It’s really very odd that waiters should address you as my dear fellow.

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.

Very. I believe Jack Straw was a highwayman, or something like that, and he’s given his name to a public-house in Hampstead.

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.

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.

I can only tell you that he’s thoroughly at home in whatever society he finds himself.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Half a sovereign. My dear fellow, when you offer me a tip of five shillings you are presuming unwarrantably on our former acquaintance.

I will keep one shilling as an adequate remuneration for my services and return you four.

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.

It’s very kind of you. But will not your duties here detain you?... Mr. Straw—Lady Wanley.

[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.

I have often been impressed by the piety with which they bury their maternal grandmothers.

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.

I can well imagine that nothing could be more respectable than to import eggs to Soho.

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.

I am relieved to hear that your appearance in this capacity is not due to embarrassed circumstances.

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.

[Smiling to Rosie.] My dear, what are you doing in this sink of iniquity? I am surprised to see you. And Lewis!

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.

Oh, we’re so happy there, and everything’s beautiful, and we just love the house.

I don’t believe you know Mr. Holland. Ambrose, this is Rosie, Jasper Neville’s daughter. You knew him well, didn’t you?

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.

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.

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.

We’re all under a debt of gratitude to you, Lady Wanley. Every one worships them in the parish.

You know, they will work so hard, we could hardly persuade them to come up to London for two or three days.

[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.

D’you know the Parker-Jennings are here? Isn’t it nice? They will be surprised when they see us, won’t they, Lewis?

[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.

She’s a dear, isn’t she? I’m so fond of her, and she’s simply devoted to Lewis.

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.

She’s the only one of the family who hasn’t had her head turned by all the money.

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.

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.

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.

Oh well, if they’re nice to you, I forgive them. Mrs. Jennings can cut me till she’s blue in the face.

None except that our Emperor is growing old. All these domestic troubles of his are breaking him down.

[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.

Every Christmas the Emperor receives a letter from him, sent from different parts of the world, saying he’s well and happy.

Tell me, how is that nice young attaché of yours that I met at luncheon the other day.

The nice young attaché has come to a bad end. I’ve had to send him back to Pomerania.

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.

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.

I’m delighted to meet you. I’ve heard wonderful stories of your good works in the parish.

[To Rosie.] If you will allow me I should like to call on you when I come down to Cheshire.

I can see Mrs. Jennings’ face when she hears that the Count has been to see you, my dear.

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.

[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.

[Shaking hands with Mrs. Withers.] I was hoping we should have a chance of speaking to you.

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?

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.

[Enthusiastically to Mrs. Parker-Jennings.] Aren’t you surprised to see us here? Mr. and Mrs. Withers are giving us such a treat.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Hold your tongue, Ethel. I’ve been wanting to give those people a lesson for some time. Where’s our table, Robert?

[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.

I don’t know what they want to engage these dirty foreigners for, they make me sick.

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.

I wish you wouldn’t call me mother, Ethel. It sounds so common. Why don’t you call me mamma?

Oh, that’s little Flossie Squaretoes. I’ll go and give her a look up in a minute.

I wish you were a little more like your brother, Ethel. He knows ’ow to live up to ’is position.

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?

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?

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....

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.

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.

By Jove, I wish it had been one of the men. I should have liked to knock him down and stamp on him.

My dear Lewis, how nice and unchristian of you! I always said you were just the right sort of saint for me.

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.

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.

Don’t you remember that story Adrian von Bremer told us about the attaché? Let’s try it on Mrs. Jennings.

Oh, don’t make any objections. You must remember. He introduced his valet to a woman as a foreign nobleman of sorts.

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....

Your friend the waiter. I’m sure he’ll do it if you ask him. He’ll look upon it as an adventure.

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.

I daresay your ladyship thinks it odd that a waiter should have susceptibilities.

Then pray let me hear it. You always disapprove of everything that is not hopelessly commonplace.

They’re the worst sort of parvenus. I think they’re the greatest snobs in London. I have a little grudge against them.

[Slightly embarrassed.] I want to introduce you to them—as a foreign nobleman.

You seem to think you can keep me waiting all day. I suppose that’s why you’re called a waiter.

This coffee’s disgusting. I don’t know what you make it out of. It tastes like ditchwater.

And look sharp about it, or you’ll find yourself decorated with an order you don’t know in your country.

I can’t think why they don’t have English waiters in a smart hotel like this instead of these damned foreigners.

[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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I’m ready now. It’s three o’clock, and Pierre is waiting in the basement to put on this uniform.

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.

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.

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.

The position will be very humiliating to me. For all I know it may bring me into uncomfortable relations with the police.

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.

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.

You’d better try and invent some character who you’re quite sure doesn’t exist.

Pray do not put yourselves to the trouble of thinking. You will introduce me to your friends as the Archduke Sebastian of Pomerania.

To invent an imaginary one would be ridiculous. Your friends would only need to look in the Almanack de Gotha to discover the fraud.

But Count von Bremer was talking to us about him just now. The Archduke Sebastian is the man who mysteriously disappeared.

It’s because his whereabouts are unknown that he’s the safest person to choose.

Strange as it may seem to you, a royal prince eats, drinks, breathes, and behaves generally very much like men of baser clay.

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.

After all, Mrs. Jennings will probably never have heard of this trumpery Archduke.

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?

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.

Despise ’em! I don’t despise people who’ve got eighty thousand a year. They’re trying to hook me for their girl.

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.

Whoever talked of romance? There’s half a million down on one side and an old-established marquisate on the other.

Well, the filly’s kicking. Have to put a red ribbon on her tail, don’t you know.

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.

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.

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.

I was just having an argument with the mater as to what relation he was to the Duke of Sherwin.

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.

Don’t you? Not know Sherwin? I must introduce you to him. I’m sure he’d like to know you. Thorough sportsman.

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.

Jack Straw comes in, hat and cane in hand. He wears a very smart suit, tail coat, grey trousers, &c.

[Shaking hands with him.] How d’you do. I think your father was ambassador in Pomerania for some time.

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.

[Gaily.] But unless you introduce me to Lord Serlo he won’t know who on earth I am.

I thought every one knew, at least by sight, the—Archduke Sebastian of Pomerania.

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?

I’ve always had a great sympathy for Pomerania. Most wonderful country in Europe, that’s what I always say.

I haven’t ever been there, you know, sir. But I know all about it through Adrian von Bremer.

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.

Mr. Parker-Jennings is the great philanthropist. He’s provided books to put in all Mr. Carnegie’s free libraries.

He’s sitting over there with my mother and sister. Shall I go and fetch him, sir?

[Putting up his eyeglass.] I beg your pardon, I did not catch what you said.... Pray repeat it.

But look here, Vincent, I don’t know how to talk to Royalty. How shall I address him?

Oh, that’s all right. Say Sir wherever you can slip it in and when you can’t say Royal Highness.

[Shaking hands with her.] I’m delighted to make your acquaintance. [Turning to Parker-Jennings.] I have often heard of you, Mr.... Mr....

[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.

[Very nervously.] I try to do my little best, you know, sir, your Royal Highness.

THE SECOND ACT

The band has come, my dear, and they’re ready to start playing the moment any one turns up.

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.

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?

I’ve just been round the refreshment tents. There’s one thing, people can’t say we haven’t spread ourselves out.

[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.

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.

That’s through me, pater. You’d never have known him if I hadn’t been on the spot.

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.

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.?

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.

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.

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.

Well, I’m for the bird in the hand, mater. The Archduke don’t look much like a marrying man to me.

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.

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?

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.

Well, somebody must go and wake him up. I’ve asked ’alf the county to meet him, and he can’t go on sleeping.

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.

Oh, yes—Lady Wanley and Holland. I thought we might have a jolly little game of bridge in the garden. What have you got the village band in for?

Cost me £150 to have them down. Special train from London, and I don’t know what all.

We know you’re not used to these grand affairs, Maria, and we thought you might want a couple of old friends to do something for you.

Oh, thank you. But there are plenty of servants. May I introduce Mr. and Mrs. Withers to your Royal ’Ighness.

We were just going into the garden. I daresay people will begin to come presently.

Well, ten days ago your people were all over me. I suppose you know why as well as I do.

It was dear Lord Serlo all day long; they couldn’t have enough of me. Rippin’ good chap, Serlo. Just the sort of cove one would like to have for a son-in-law.

Half a mo. I ain’t done yet. Eminently suitable match, and all that sort of thing, only the young lady couldn’t stick me at any price.

Better have it out, you know; rotten, keepin’ things on your chest. Don’t blame the young lady. Don’t know that I should much fancy myself if I was a blushing damsel. Not everybody’s money. Got a bit damaged in transit, eh, what? Been mixed up in one or two scandals. Not the right thing for an old-established marquess. Bit inclined to drink. No harm in him, you know, but not the sort of man you’d like to spend the rest of your life with. Young woman got a mind of her own. Lets the noble lord see she wouldn’t take him if he was given away with a pound of tea. All right, says noble lord, bet’s off. Not much, says mother of young woman. Half a million goin’ beggin’. Give her time to get used to you. Fascinating cove really. More she knows you more she’ll like you. Come down and stay in the country.

All right, says noble lord, I’m on. Jolly nice girl, and all that sort of thing. Noble lord rather smit. Thinks if she’ll have him he’ll turn over a new leaf—give up everythin’ rotten and try and make her a good husband. Rather taken with the idea of double harness. He may look a fool, but noble lord knows a good thing when he sees it, and the young lady’s about the best thing he’s ever set eyes on.

Now don’t interrupt me. I’ve just got into a good steady canter, and I’ll get it all off my chest at once.

Well, when eligible marquess gets down in the country, what d’you think he finds? Blessed if there ain’t a foreign prince on the scene. My word, that’s enough to put the noble lord’s aristocratic nose right out of joint, ain’t it? Look here, old boy, you keep your weather eye open, and all that sort of thing, says the noble lord to himself. May be an ass, don’t you know, but when there’s a bloomin’ hurricane comin’ along he can see which way the wind is blowin’. Brother rather chilly, father rather chilly, mother regular iceberg. All right, says noble lord to himself, but what about Pretty Polly?

For the last month Pretty Polly had been simply turnin’ her back on noble lord, snubbin’ him right and left, and all of a sudden she becomes extraordinary affable. Hulloa, what’s this, says noble lord, and his little heart goes pit-a-pat. He may be a fool, but he ain’t a damned fool, and in a day or two he tumbles to it. So, like a wise man, he packs his bag and hooks it.

All right. No spoof. My dear, I just saw that you were fairly knocked silly by the Archduke, and there wasn’t a ghost of a chance for little Ned Serlo.

Oh, yes, it is. You see, I’m a bit knocked silly myself, and that makes you precious far-sighted.

All right, you needn’t get up on your hind legs. I’m not goin’ to propose to you now. I know it would be no precious good. At first I didn’t care twopence; it was just a business arrangement—half a million down on one side and an old-established marquisate on the other. But now.... Well, you know I’m rather an ass at saying what I mean—when I really mean it.

[Smiling.] You see, I knew them before they were rich. When you’ve lived all your life in a sordid narrow way, it’s very hard to have such enormous wealth as ours.

It never struck you that it’s devilish hard to be a marquess with no means of livelihood but your title. And the worst of a title is that it’ll get you plenty of credit, but dooced little hard cash.

Well, look here, what I wanted to say is this: it’s no business of mine about the Archduke. You know, I don’t know much about royalty, but I don’t think a foreign prince is likely to marry the daughter of nobody in particular just because she’s got nice eyes and a pot of money. [Ethel is about to speak.] No, let me go on. You may be going to have a rotten time, and I just want you to know that if at any time you want me—well, you know what I mean, don’t you. Let’s forget that you’re an heiress, and I’m an old-established marquess. You’re an awfully ripping sort, and I’m just Ned Serlo. I’m not a bad sort either, and perhaps we might be happy together.

[Touched.] It’s very charming of you. I’m so glad that I know you better now. Whatever happens I know I can count on you.

That’s all right then. Meanwhile noble lord’s goin’ to hook it—leave the coast clear, and bear it like a man, don’t you know.

[Getting up.] Not at all, sir. I thought I’d go and have a look at the party.

Do go and pretend you’re me, there’s a good fellow, and shake hands with some of those confounded people. You’ll see where I ought to stand, because there’s a little piece of red carpet on the lawn.

The only advantage I’ve ever been able to find in being a royal personage is that when anybody’s in your way you just tell him to go, and he goes.

I’m sure you ought. But, you see, that’s another advantage of being a royal personage, that you can’t go till I give you your dismissal. I say, don’t you hate parties?

So do I. Let’s pretend there isn’t one, shall we? I say, why don’t you sit down and make yourself comfy?

That’s jolly. I wish we had a regiment of soldiers there to turn all those people out.

Until I was sixteen the most exalted person I’d ever met in my life was a London County Councillor. I’m not quite sure if I know how to behave with royal personages.

Why on earth don’t you buy a book on etiquette? I always carry one about with me.

I wonder if she’s got the same as mine. You know I never can remember to call a serviette a napkin.

And look here, d’you know that you ought never to call a chicken a fowl? It’s awfully bad form. I wonder if that’s in your mother’s books. I say, what charming eyes you have.

That’s another of the advantages of being a royal personage, that you can make pretty speeches, and no one takes them seriously.

But you know, I’m a very insignificant royal personage. You mustn’t think I’m anything very grand really.

You see, there are seventy-nine archdukes and duchesses in Pomerania. My grandfather had seventeen children, and they all married. How many children would each have had to make seventy-nine of us?

But you see I can’t be very important, can I? And of course I’ve got practically no money to speak of.

It’s very good of you to put me at my ease. Then you wont mind if I say exactly what I want to?

You won’t give me good advice, will you? I’ve got seventy-nine relations, and they all do that.

I’ll bear whatever else you say with fortitude. We’ll pretend that you’re just Miss So-and-So.

Ask me for the moon, and it shall be left at your front door by Carter Paterson to-morrow morning.

I didn’t mean actually this minute. But if it suited your arrangements to go to-morrow....

Couldn’t you ask me something easier than that? Ask me for a lawyer who never told a lie, and I’ll deliver him to you, bound hand and foot.

[With a change of tone.] Don’t you see that you’re exposing me every day to the most cruel humiliation?

Oh, don’t pretend you don’t understand. I’ve seen the twinkle in your eyes when my mother set a little trap for you to fall in.

But what do you think I felt when I knew how clearly you saw that she was throwing me at your head?

It’s a distinctly pleasing sensation to have a pretty girl thrown at your head.

What would you say if I told you that I came because I loved you at first sight?

[Imperturbably.] Do you think you’d like me any better if I weren’t an Archduke?

I have no doubt that if I were just a penniless adventurer you’d simply dote upon me.

You know, I’m afraid you’re hopelessly romantic. You’ve confessed your attachment to me, and just because I happen incautiously to have chosen an Emperor for my grandfather, you want me to go away. It’s so unreasonable.

I look upon your request that I should go away as equivalent to an avowal of undying passion.

I’d say you were the most audacious, impudent, and impertinent man I’d ever seen in my life.

Ah, I was hoping to have the pleasure of seeing you. You wrote me a little note, Mr. Holland.

[Ironically.] I ventured to ask if I might have a few minutes’ private conversation with you.

I think it’s wonderful. One couldn’t suspect for a moment that he’s only....

I wish to goodness we hadn’t ever thought of this fool trick. I knew it would lead to all sorts of bother.

It’s no good saying that now. We must keep our heads and get out of it as best we can.

Oh, that’s just like a man. You’re trying to put the whole blame on me. What are you going to do?

Whatever happens, there must be no scene. I couldn’t bear to see him publicly humiliated.

After all, I’m not a girl—I’m the mother of two healthy boys with enormous appetites. I think the man has bewitched me.

It’s no good saying that. Of course he’s the most fascinating creature I’ve ever seen in my life.

But I think it’s much better the young man should disappear as mysteriously as he came.

There we’re quite agreed. And we’ll tell him so with considerable frankness.

[Frigidly.] I beg your pardon. [Pause.] Perhaps you’d be good enough to put down my hat.

I don’t think you’re in a very good humour this afternoon, Mr. Holland. I venture to think your manners leave something to be desired.

[Very amiably.] Have you forgotten the waiter’s uniform which fitted you so wonderfully, Mr. Straw?

[Calmly.] Quite. I only remember the condition your ladyship was good enough to agree to, when I accepted your humorous suggestion.

I am quite willing to listen to you, my dear Holland. Your conversation is often interesting and sometimes epigrammatic. I stipulate only that you should use those forms of politeness which are usual between a person of your position and a person of mine.

I should never have consented to this folly if I’d known to what it was going to lead. In a moment of uncontrollable irritation, because Mrs. Jennings had behaved with the greatest insolence to a defenceless girl, we made up our minds to punish her. There was no great harm in it. We thought perhaps she’d ask you to dinner, and there would be an end of it. It never dawned on us that you’d come and stay here indefinitely.

[With a little laugh, disarmed by his impudence.] You’re perfectly irresistible.

You’ve taken the words out of my mouth, that’s just what I was going to say to you.

My dear lady, I’ve been trying to understand myself for the last thirty odd years. By the way, how old am I, Holland?

Well, my dear fellow, I think it’s very careless of you. You might have looked it out. Supposing some one had asked me my age?

Your devoted servant, madam. Who could be anything else after knowing you for ten minutes?

Much too nice. That is why I beseech your Royal Highness graciously to take his departure.

Oh, my dear Holland, I wonder if you’d very much mind going to see if my red carpet is still in its place.

I’ve been wondering for the last week what I should do if I signified his dismissal to any one, and he flatly refused to go. Very awkward, isn’t it?

Of course a hundred years ago I’d have cast him into a dungeon. But, between ourselves, I don’t happen to have a dungeon handy.

Now look here, we’ve had enough of this nonsense. The joke has gone far enough. Are you going or not?

But don’t you know that I have only to say two words for you to be kicked out of the house by the servants?

Now look here, Jack, we’ve been old pals, and we’ve gone through a deuce of a lot together. I don’t want to say beastly things to you. I know I’ve made a fool of myself, but you’re a decent chap. You must see that it’s necessary for you to go at once.

I cannot for the life of me see anything of the sort. I have no other engagements, and the country is charming at this time of year.

What language to use to a royal personage! I assure you we’re not used to such frankness.

You’re going to commit the most disgraceful action of your life. Do you think any one can’t see that you’re madly in love with Ethel Jennings?

It’s an unfortunate manner that’s quite likely to get you into trouble with widow ladies.

In that case you can only applaud my determination to marry as quickly as possible.

My dear madam, when I make a joke I always laugh quickly, so that there should be no doubt about it.

My dear fellow, what is the use of getting violently excited about it? More especially as I haven’t yet proposed to the young lady.

I think you must be stark staring mad. You don’t suppose for a moment that we shall allow you to carry out such an odious deception. I can’t imagine how you can even think of anything so heartless and cruel.

It’s going too far. You must understand that it’s impossible. I beseech you to leave Taverner immediately.

It drives me to distraction that I should have to refuse your smallest whim, but in this matter [with a dramatic flourish] I am adamant.

Now, look here, we’ve talked about it enough. Either you leave this place immediately or I shall tell Mrs. Jennings the whole story.

It is only fair to give you that satisfaction. That was part of our arrangement.

My dear Holland, I really believe you’re rather nervous about the disclosure which it is evidently your duty to make.

For your own sake I ask you once more: will you give me your word of honour to leave the house and under no circumstances communicate with any member of the family?

It’s charming of you to give me one more chance. I can only repeat that I am deeply in love with Ethel, and I have every intention of marrying her.

Good heavens, the whole thing was done so that you might have an opportunity to crow over Mrs. Jennings. Now you’re going to have it.

Oh, your Royal ’Ighness, we’ve been looking for you everywhere. We couldn’t make out what ’ad become of you.

I say, mater, what on earth are you doing? Hurry up, the duchess has just driven up.... Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. I didn’t know you were there.

Vincent, go and fetch your sister. I have something important to say that it is necessary for her to hear.

Nothing has happened to displease me. I’m in the best possible humour, thank you.

[Seeing Ethel.] Oh, there you are. [Addressing himself to the company in general.] I have something very painful to say, and I don’t know how I’m going to make it clear to you.

I’m like a historical character whose name I can’t remember at the moment: I never change my mind.

Mrs. Jennings, I’m afraid there’s no use in my trying to excuse myself. I had better just tell you everything as shortly as I can.

Mr. Holland, don’t you think it can wait till later? The duchess ’as just come, and it’ll look so funny if I’m not there to receive her.

I daresay you remember that a fortnight ago we all met at the Grand Babylon Hotel.

How could I forget, when that was the auspicious occasion of my introduction to his Royal ’Ighness.

You may remember, also, that Mr. and Mrs. Abbott were sitting with us in the lounge.

I ’ave other things to do than to remember where Mr. and Mrs. Abbott were sitting.

I daresay you’ve forgotten that you behaved very cruelly to her. We were all very indignant. We thought it necessary to punish you.

I find it very difficult to say what I have to—I realise now that the whole business has been preposterously silly—I can manage far better if you don’t interrupt.

It struck me that it would be amusing to pass off a nobody as a person of great consequence. I had just recognised one of the waiters as an old friend of mine. I introduced him to you as the Archduke Sebastian of Pomerania.

[With the greatest urbanity.] Madam, I stepped out of the uniform of a waiter at the Grand Babylon Hotel into the sober garb of the person you now see before you.

Then you’re nothing short of an impostor. Oh! Oh! Now, then, Jennings, you’re a man. Do something.

Oh, you fool, you fool! You’ve ’ad the education. You’ve been to Oxford, and we gave you four thousand a year. Didn’t you learn enough to tell the difference between an archduke and a waiter?

Who’s Serlo? Fine marquess he is—spends all his time with stable boys and barmaids. How do I know he is a marquess?

Is there no one who can do something? And that man stands there as if he didn’t care a ball of worsted. Don’t you be too sure, my young friend. It’s your Royal ’Ighness this, and your Royal ’Ighness that. And we had to call you sir. Waiter, ’alf a pint of bitter, and look sharp about it.

My dear lady, you’re so voluble, it would be difficult for me to get a word in edgeways.

Ah, there you have me, for in point of fact I can think of no appropriate observation.

And you’ve been laughing at me all the time, ’ave you? Well, you’re going to laugh on the other side of your face now, young feller-my-lad.

Oh, I wish they were all dead. I know why they come here. D’you think I don’t know that they call me a vulgar old woman behind my back? But they come all the same because I’ve got two millions of money. I’m so rich that they can’t ’elp coming.

You know, I don’t want to seem stuck up, but in point of fact they’ve come to-day to meet me. Don’t you think I’d better go and make myself amiable to them?

I’m afraid she’ll make a point of it. Even duchesses have a weakness for royal personages.

The motto on my coat of arms is audacity. Only we put it in Latin because it sounds better.

Come. I am convinced that the duchess is growing restive. I will murmur a few soft nothings in her ear.

Oh, well, I suppose the only thing is to risk it. But you just wait, young man, you wait.

Don’t you make too sure about that. He’s coming right enough. The British aristocracy was quite willing to ’ob-nob with the Parker-Jennings, but this duty foreigner wouldn’t be seen in the same street with us. And you all sniggered up your sleeves, because you thought you was getting a bit of your own back. But I’ve got ’im to-day, and I was going to fling him in your faces. I wrote ’im a personal letter—as if I’d known him all my life—and said....

And said ’is Royal ’Ighness particularly wished him to come. I sent the letter by one of the footmen this morning.

Well, they mustn’t meet. You must say that the Archduke has been seized with sudden indisposition.

Besides, Count von Bremer would probably insist on seeing him. It must have come as a great surprise that the Archduke Sebastian had turned up.

My dear people, don’t put yourselves out. If Count von Bremer has come here to see me, it would be manifestly most discourteous to rob him of that pleasure.

I have since seen in the paper that the Archduchess Anastasia has had twins, which makes eighty-one. What more probable than that the Ambassador has never seen the Archduke Sebastian?

In any case, he can’t have set eyes on him for four years, because nobody has.

Have you ever met a waiter who couldn’t discourse fluently in seven languages at least?

Like a beastly native, madam. But I may suggest to you that there will be no need, since if I address the Count in English it would be the height of discourtesy for him to answer in any other tongue.

Well, of all the cheek I’ve ever come across in my life, you just about take the cake.

Maria, the Count is looking for you everywhere. [Seeing Jack Straw.] Oh, I beg your pardon, sir.

It will be a great pleasure to His Majesty to know that you are in England, sir. I have ventured to telegraph to him.

[To Mrs. Parker-Jennings.] Will you forgive us if we take a little stroll in the rose garden?

[Grimly.] I am much honoured, sir, that your Royal Highness should condescend to walk in my rose garden.

Come. [He takes the Count’s arm. At the door the Count hesitates.] [Motioning to him to go first.] No, I pray you. I am at home here—the most comfortable, hospitable home I have known for many a long day.

You do us a great honour, sir. [The Count goes out. Just as he is going Jack Straw turns round and gives Mrs. Parker-Jennings an elaborate wink.] [Furiously.] You, you, you, you, damned waiter!

THE THIRD ACT

You trust your father for that. Oh, I thought I should never get through last night. Eighteen people to dinner, and me on pins and needles the whole time.

[Indignantly.] You’ve been and gone and made another old fool of yourself, Jennings.

[With a deprecating laugh.] I’m afraid it’s the same old fool as usual, Maria.

It isn’t a question of when he’s going. Your father went to him and said he was to clear out before twelve o’clock or we’d send for the police, come what might. That’s what you told him, Robert, isn’t it?

Well, my dear, he insisted on having one of the footmen in the room. He said he didn’t like this English habit of ours of having no servants at the breakfast-table.

Don’t talk to me. You must ’ave ’ad some opportunity to give him a piece of your mind.

How could I get rid of ’im last night, with eighteen people come to dinner to meet ’im?

Oh, I never want to set eyes on her again. I know she was at the bottom of this.

So I ’ave, and for Holland too. They got us into the mess, and they must get us out of it. It’s just as bad for them as for us now. That’s one comfort.

Hulloa, there you are! I was just hunting around for some one to give me a cigarette.

Jolly party you gave yesterday, Mrs. Jennings. It was a great success, wasn’t it? [Turning to Parker-Jennings.] By the way, what was that port we drank last night?

No, you don’t, my friend. You may be able to bluff Jennings, but you don’t bluff me.

Bluff? Bluff? I flatter myself on my knowledge of English, but I don’t think I’ve ever come across that word.

Haven’t you? Perhaps you ’aven’t come across the word skilly either? But, unless you look out, you’ll know what it is before you want to.

[Sitting down lazily.] I can’t help feeling the interval between breakfast and luncheon in a country house is one of the most agreeable moments of the day.

[Looking at him blandly.] You have all the airs of a conspirator in a romantic play, my friend. You only want a false beard and some blue spectacles to make the picture perfect.

We’ve talked it over, my ’usband and me, and we’re no fools, whatever you may think. You richly deserve to be ’anded over to the police.

One moment. To which character are you now addressing yourself, to the Archduke Sebastian or the waiter from the Grand Babylon Hotel?

You certainly wouldn’t do that to a royal personage, would you? You must be concerned for the moment with Jack Straw.

And we’re willing to let you go. Your luggage shall be packed, the motor shall take you to the station.

Oh, we’ll see him off. Anything to get rid of ’im safely. There’s a train in an hour from now. And I ’ave only one piece of advice to you, and that is, take the chance while you’ve got it.

I always think it hard that it should be so difficult to make people do that when you’re trying to be funny, and so easy when you’re trying to be serious.

You don’t want me to tell my footman to take you by the scruff of the neck, and....

My dear lady, let us keep perfectly calm. It would become neither of us to lose our tempers.

You put it in such a brutal way. Let us say rather, that I cannot tear myself away from your hospitable roof.

Well, I really haven’t quite made up my mind. I’m proposing to await developments.

Hold your tongue, Vincent.... [To Jack Straw.] Oh, my friend, I’m sorry for you. Those nice white ’ands of yours will look pretty after they’ve been picking oakum for six months.

Well, Vincent, ’ow much longer are you going to stand there like a stuffed owl?

Do my eyes deceive me, or is that a local paper that I see? [He takes it up.] Ah, I surmised that it would have an account of your garden party. Two columns of it, by Jove! You must wish you hadn’t asked so many people. [Reading.] The Duchess of St. Erth, the Marchioness of Mereston, the Marquess of Mereston, Lord and Lady Hollington, Viscount Parnaby—dear me, how smart—Lady Wanley, Mr. and Mrs. Lamberville, the Bishop of Sheffield, and the Honourable Mrs. Spratte.... I say, won’t your humbler friends grind their teeth with envy. But doesn’t it say anything about me? Here it is. [Reading.] “The Archduke Sebastian looked every inch a prince.” I said so. [Reading to himself.] Oh, spare my blushes. [Aloud.] “His Royal Highness enchanted every one by the grace of his bearing and the charm of his Imperial personality.” Blood will tell.

[To Parker-Jennings.] Are you going to stand there and let this man insult me, Robert?

[Blandly.] And what do you imagine all these noble and distinguished persons will think when they read in the next number of the local paper that the royal personage whose hand they were so pleased to shake—I did my duty like a hero, didn’t I?—was serving coffee and liqueurs a fortnight ago in the Grand Babylon Hotel?

I can hear a titter rising softly in the village, with the doctor and the parson and the solicitor, whom you didn’t ask to your party, and I can hear it increase to a ripple of laughter as the story spreads through Cheshire. I can hear a Homeric peal as it travels from county to county. It’s a great guffaw in Manchester and Liverpool and the cities of the North, and already I hear the deep laughter of Bristol and Portsmouth and the West. And when it reaches London—you know how things go in London, it’s so large that it takes it a little time really to get hold of anything, but when at last it comes, can’t you see the huge city holding its aching sides and bellowing with laughter. But I’ll tell you who won’t see the joke—[taking up the paper and reading]—oh, they’ll laugh very much on the wrong side of their mouths; the Duchess of St. Erth, the Marchioness of Mereston, and my Lady Hollington and my Lord Parnaby, and the Bishop of Sheffield and the Honourable Mrs. Spratte.

I can see you flying before the laughter like three tremulous leaves before the wind, and the laughter will pursue you to Paris, where they’ll make little songs about you on the boulevards, and the Riviera, where they’ll sell your photographs on picture postcards. I can see you fleeing across the Atlantic to hide your heads in the immensity of America, and there the Yellow Press, pea-green with frenzy, will pile column of ridicule upon column of invective. Oh, my dear lady, do you think it isn’t worth while to endure six months hard labour to amuse the world so profoundly?

Tell me something I don’t know. We’re in the man’s hands, and he knows it.

[With an amiable smile.] I thought you would come to see the situation from my point of view.

At the present moment, with your permission, I am going to have a small brandy and soda. Ring the bell, Vincent.

For your own sake, I warn you to behave with the utmost decorum before the servant.

You know just as well as we do that the last thing we want is a scandal, and you’ve got us on toast.

If you’ll go quietly and at once we’ll give you a couple of hundred pounds. There!

Oh, this is a blow. To think that any one should be willing to give two hundred pounds to get rid of me! And I’ve always flattered myself that I was such an agreeable guest in a country house.

Madam, nothing will induce me to leave you till I have eradicated the unfortunate impression which I appear to have made on you.

You know, it makes me feel very uncomfortable to hear you discussing me like this. Wouldn’t you like me to retire?

Look here, Jack, you’ve made fools of the whole lot of us. Won’t you be a brick and clear out? We really are in a deuce of a scrape.

I am always touched by an appeal to my better nature, but in this case I propose to steel myself against your entreaties.

Don’t lose your temper. You’ll only say something foolish, and I shall score off you.

That, strange as it may seem to you, has already been suggested, but I have explained to dear Mrs. Jennings the inconvenience of that course.

Mrs. Withers is in her motor, madam, and wishes to know if you can see her for a moment.

I wonder if you’d very much mind her coming in. I thought her such a nice woman, I should like to see her again.

My own ’ouse isn’t my own now. I’m forced to see every one I don’t want to. If there’s any one I can’t bear it’s Fanny Withers. I only asked her yesterday because I thought she’d eat her ’eart out with jealousy. She’s a snob if you like. I don’t know what she wants to come here for at this hour. [To Jack Straw.] Impostor! Impostor!

You know, upon my word you’re all very ungrateful. I lent an éclat to your party which has found lasting fame in the columns of the local paper. I chatted cordially with the Duchess of St. Erth, I allowed the Bishop of Sheffield to tell me harrowing stories about the immorality of the very best people, and when Count what’s his name....

Adrian von Bremer—you might trouble to remember the name of your own Ambassador.

And when Count von Bremer came on the scene, and you were all at your wits’ end, I carried the whole thing off in a way which only my native modesty prevents me from describing as superb.

How he didn’t find you out I don’t know. I was on pins and needles all the time he was here.

Oh, my dear, I had to pop in just to tell you how beautifully everything went off yesterday.

Are you going to favour us much longer with your presence in the neighbourhood, sir?

Mrs. Jennings is the most amiable hostess. Don’t you think it would be nice if we took a turn in the garden, Mrs. Jennings? I’m sure Lady Wanley would like you to show her your roses.

We have it on good authority that a thing of beauty is a joy for ever. Mr. Jennings will show them to you again to-day.

Be so good as to tell her the moment she comes in that I should be very grateful if I could see her.

There, you see he actually orders me about now. I’m beginning to think we shall never get rid of him. I feel that he’ll stay on here always. I can see him growing old under this roof, eating my food and drinking my wine, and sending in his tailor’s bills for Jennings to pay. And it’s all your doing.

What’s the good of being sorry? The only thing you can do is to ’elp us to get rid of ’im. And it’s ruined Ethel’s chances with Serlo. He won’t look at her now.

I’m only thankful she wouldn’t ’ave anything to do with that man when we thought ’e was an Archduke.

Do you know, if I were you I’d let her see him. I have an idea that when he’s had a talk with her he’ll be quite willing to go.

I do ’ope she ’asn’t tired you. She’s such a walker, ain’t you, my dear?

Maria, he’s cutting all our prize roses for the show and giving them to Fannie Withers.

I thought they were very nice. That’s why it struck me Mrs. Withers might like them.

I wish I had that little book of etiquette on me. I wonder if it says anything about prize roses. [To Ethel.] I haven’t had the pleasure of saying good-morning to you yet.

You know, old man, I don’t want to seem disagreeable, but when Miss Jennings and I went for a walk we had some sort of idea that by the time we came back you’d have hooked it, don’t you know.

My dear Holland, I wonder if you’d do me the service of telling Mrs. Withers that dear Mrs. Jennings is putting the roses into a basket for her.

[Laughing against his will.] It’s not the least use being angry with you, Jack. I’ll go by all means.

I was wondering how I could suggest to you with proper delicacy that you might conveniently follow his example.

I don’t know where that comes in. You’ve got about the biggest cheek that I’ve ever come across.

To tell you the truth, it has been my only means of livelihood for the last four years.

You force me to say what I would rather have left unsaid. I’m horrified that you should be so hatefully cruel. I think it’s infamous that you should lend yourself to a stupid practical joke.

It makes him feel very uncomfortable. He’s full of tact too—I’ll make him a grand vizier—and he’s feeling awfully de trop.

[To Ethel.] Won’t you hear what I’ve got to say for myself? You don’t think I care twopence about their practical joke? I came here because it was my only chance of seeing you.

[Unable to prevent a laugh.] You know, you’re too absurd. I know I ought to be very angry with you, but I can’t.

Then I’ll remind you. You asked me to go away—because I was a royal personage. Do you still want me to go if I’m only a waiter?

You know, if I had been a royal personage and disguised myself as a waiter in order to be by your side you’d have thought it very romantic. Why should it shock you when it is a waiter who for the same reason assumes the royal personage?

Have you? In that case I can only congratulate myself that I’m the champion amateur boxer in Pomerania.

Upon my soul, I’ve never made a proposal of marriage under such embarrassing circumstances. [To Ethel.] Now, my dear, don’t be unreasonable. You practically refused me yesterday because I was an Archduke. You’re not going to refuse me now because I’m nobody in particular?

Well, it may have escaped your notice, but there’s the very good reason that you’re just as much in love with me as I am with you.

It’s very easy to convince you. Lord Serlo, you were good enough to tell me yesterday that....

[With a low bow.] Mr. Straw, I beg to announce to you my engagement with Miss Ethel Parker-Jennings.

I’m still unconvinced. I’m afraid you’re incorrigibly romantic, my dear, and I’m certain your mamma will be very much annoyed.

And he’s got some one with him in his motor, who looks suspiciously like a policeman in plain clothes.

What’s to be done? For ’eaven’s sake, don’t stand there grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Now, look here. You’ve played a nasty trick on me, but you’ve got the cheek of the devil. I don’t want you to get into trouble. I don’t know what there is about you, but I can’t ’elp liking you.

Madam, only the importunate presence of your lord and master prevents me from hurling myself at your feet.

[With a dramatic gesture.] Madam, my mother’s only son has never fled before a foe. I will stay and face the music.

I’m not thinking of myself now. If there is a scandal I’m rich enough to make people forget it.

If you were only pressing me to stay this unanimity would be extremely flattering.

The man’s mad. The man’s as mad as a March ’are. He ought to be shut up in a lunatic asylum.

I forget if Napoleon was one of my ancestors, but I feel just like him at this moment. “J’y suis, j’y reste.”

By the way, talking about roses, have you had that bunch put in a basket that I cut for Mrs. Withers?

His Majesty is all eagerness to see you again. He is expecting a letter from you by every post. [He goes up to Ethel.] Madam, I am commanded by my august master to offer you his most cordial greeting.

Then nothing remains but for me to make my declaration in due form. Mrs. Jennings, I have my grandfather’s permission to ask you for your daughter’s hand in marriage.

[Breaking out.] But the man’s an impostor. He’s no more the Archduke Sebastian than I am.

Oh, well, if you like you can ’ave it. You were there when it all started. I suppose I got out the wrong side of bed that morning, and when Mrs. Thing-a-magig, the Vicar’s wife, come up to me at the Grand Babylon Hotel, I snubbed her. I’ve been very sorry for it since, and I’ve been punished for it. They knew I was an old snob—like you, Florrie—they thought they’d pay me out. They got one of the waiters from the ’otel to dress up like a gentleman, and they introduced him as the Archduke Sebastian.

Yes, that! He’s a waiter, that’s what he is. And for the last week I’ve been making a perfect fool of myself over ’im.

[Much mystified.] But—I don’t understand. I’ve known the Archduke Sebastian since he was born.

You’re mistaken. This person and I were in America together. I lived with him for two years. I don’t know his real name, but he passes under that of Jack Straw.

Of course he is. The only mystery is how he turned up here when we’ve been hunting the whole world for the last four years to find him.

Perhaps you will allow me to explain. Four years ago I fell desperately in love with a lady whose speciality it was to kick higher than any one else in the world. She could kick a man’s tall hat off his head with such grace that I asked her to marry me. My grandfather refused to consent, and the lady was hurried over the frontier. [With a glance at Ethel.] I was a romantic dog myself in those days, and I followed her, only to find that she had already three more or less lawful husbands. The sight of them, and the conviction that her peculiar talent would not greatly add to the felicity of domestic life, cured me of my passion. But the world did seem a bit hollow and empty, and I thought I’d see how it looked from the point of view of a man who had nothing but his wits to live on. After trying it, I tell you frankly that I much prefer living on the revenues which rise from the strength of arm of my ancestors. When you saw me at the Grand Babylon Hotel I was preparing to return to the bosom of my family, but I saw this young lady, and the chance offering, decided to come down here. It was not unnatural that when I was asked to assume a grandiloquent name I should assume my own. Yesterday, when I met Count von Bremer, I begged him to wire to the Emperor, asking for his consent to my marriage with Miss Ethel Jennings.

I have only to add that the Emperor, delighted with the prospect of seeing once more his favourite grandson, has gladly given his consent.

They went in at the ear of a waiter, Madam, and slipped out at that of an Archduke.

And now it only rests with you to give peace to an aged Emperor, satisfaction to eighty-one Archdukes, and happiness to your unworthy servant.

[Going to Serlo.] Now, my dear friend, you’ve got the chance of a lifetime. It’s quite clear to me that there’s only one course open to you. Take the centre of the stage and renounce the lady with all the moving expressions you can think of.

Look here, old man, I don’t think I quite like the way you keep on pulling my leg.

I may be a blithering ass, but I can see without your tellin’ me that Ethel wouldn’t have had me at any price if she hadn’t wanted to score off you.

Oh, how some men throw away their chances! Strike the pathetic note, old man, or you’re done. When you’ve finished there oughtn’t to be a dry eye in the place.

Well, the fact is—it had entirely slipped my memory at the moment, but I had a letter this morning from the lady’s solicitor to remind me—I happen to be engaged to a young woman who can kick a man’s topper off too.

[To Jack Straw with a smile.] I ought to be very angry with you. You’ve laughed at me all the time. I don’t believe you’ll ever take me seriously. If I really were the romantic creature you say I am, I’d be very dignified and refuse to have anything to do with you at all.

But like all women you’re very sensible at heart, and you’ll do nothing of the kind.

It’s not because I’m sensible, but because I suppose you were quite right in what you said just now.

Bless you! I’d throw myself down on the floor and implore you to walk on me only I’m convinced you’d take me at my word.

[With enormous satisfaction.] I knew he was an Archduke all the time. You can’t deceive a mother.

[With a start.] There’s one thing I must break to you at once. Pomerania is in some ways still a barbarous country. We have a dreadful law that when a member of the royal family marries a foreigner not of royal blood, his wife’s relations are prohibited from entering it.

My dear lady, it grieves me infinitely to say it, but no sooner had you crossed our frontier than you would be instantly beheaded.

Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:
I’m so glad that I know you better know=> I’m so glad that I know you better now {pg 70}
takes out her handkerchief, rolls it up ball=> takes out her handkerchief, rolls it up into a ball {pg 124}

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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

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Jack Straw: A Farce in Three Acts

Jack Straw

JACK STRAW

CHARACTERS

JACK STRAW

THE FIRST ACT

THE SECOND ACT

THE THIRD ACT

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