CORNELL
UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

 

GIFT OF

Cornell University
Dept. of Theatre Arts

 

 

 

 
‘Op-o’-Me-Thumb

A PLAY IN ONE ACT

‘FREDERICK FENN
AND

RICHARD PRYCE

CopyRIGHT, 1904, BY SAMUEL FRENCH

 

@AUTION :—Professionals and Amateurs are hereby notifieg
that this play is fully copyrighted under the existing lawe of
the United States Government, and nobody is allowed
to do this play without first having obtained

permission of Samuel French.

New York Lonpon
SAMUEL FRENCH SAMUEL FRENCH, Lip
PUBLISHER 26 SOUTHAMPTON STREET,

28-30 WEST 38TH STREET STRAND
‘Op-o’-Me-Thumb

Produced by the Stage Society at the Court Theatre, Lon-
don, 14th Marsh, 1904.

CHARACTERS.

\
MapAME JEANNE Marte NapoLeon vE GALLiFeT DIDIER
Miss Marianne Caldwell.

Crem (Mrs.) GALLoway.......... Miss Annie Goward.
ROSE: JORDAN is caiclesetirdasneeceens Miss Margaret Busse. .
Ceci crea »Miss Florence Lloyd.

AMANDA AFFLICK...........+.+.-.Miss Hilda Trevelyan.

Horace GREENSMITH.......:.++... Mr. H. Nye Chart.

Then (by arrangement with Mr. Frank Curzon) by Mr.
George Alexander at St. James’ Theatre, London,
23d April, 1904, with the following cast:

Mapame DIDIER............00085 Mrs, Kemmis.
CLEM . sitcsnsssanue sewaeneneniecace Mrs, Fairclough.

Rosz Jorpvan (her original character)
Miss Margaret Busse.
Miss Frances Wetherall.

Amanpba AFFLICK (her original character)
Miss Hilda Trevelayn.

Horacrk GreensMitH (his original character)
Mr. iH. Nye Chart.
 

 

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06 TPAMATIC TLEB

’Op-o’-Me-Thumb

eee

‘Scenz: Working room-at Madame Didiev’s. Lauvidry
cin Soho. “In front of me large shop window that
gives on-to the street there hangs a lace curtain.
Upon the.glass of the apper hdlf of a door “Madame
: Se Re aera “may ‘be read bock-
words.

Its “Saturday evening ‘before an August bonk-holiday.
MavaMe: with goffering irons ts finishing a cap ‘bt
‘stage back L. Rose JorvaN stands on a chair ‘put-
ting paper packets of cotlars and cuffs into pigeon
holes. Crem (Mrs.) GaLiroway is mending -socks,
éic., ot small table R. Ceeste is sitting on a‘cen-
tre table marking of ‘collars, etc., in account book,
or slipping pink. tissue paper into a stack of shirts,
and singing as she swings'her feet.

Cateste. Eve invher garden she was-a lady,
‘She neverigrew old n’ fady.
‘She-might *a’ bin there to-day-dy,
But she was inquisitive.
I’d never ’a bin s’ crazy,
Vou wait: till: Vm “alf-a‘daisy,
See me'with a chance to.be :lazy.
‘T’'d‘keep you all-ative!
“Mavawze ‘You’ have-make out’zose’ bills, Celeste?
Cereste. (Nodding.)
‘Oh wait till’ Pm ’alf a'daisy,
Snakes! F’d send ’em :all ‘back to’ blazy.
ow give me the chance to be lazy,
Ctem. ‘ Couldi’t be much Jazier than what you are now,
“} bhould’think—daisy or-no daisy. :
Curzste. Couldn’t I? I'd have a bit of a try!

5

~
6 *OP-’O-ME-THUMB
(Resumes.)

Oh when I’m a real lady,
In a barouche I shall parady—(She breaks off
suddenly.) Where’s Amanda?

CieM. (Sarcastically.) | Want a little ’elp with y’
singin’?

Cezste. Where is Amanda?

Rose. Gone to Strahan’s.

CeLeste. What for?

Roser. They never sent them things they wrote about.

CeLeste. (Stopping in her work.) Do they expect us
to do ’em this time o’ day! /

MapaMe. (Coming down.) No. No. Like always
you excite yourself for nothing. Goon. Goon. What
is Monday? ’Oliday, is it not? Very well. They close.
I close. I ’ave the things ’ere for Tuesday, hein? You
mind your business. Always wanting to know.

Cereste. (Appeased.) Well, you never do know with
shops. It wouldn’t be the first time. It was Strahan
wanted the collars dressed in two hours last week, wasn’t
it, for some customer or other. I wouldn’t ’a’ done ’em,
I know. Oh ho. (She hums to herself for a moment or
two.) Well, well. When I’m married and ’ave a ’usband
to keep me—

MapamMeE. Keep you! Bah, you know nothing, you.
A man wants a wife who will work. Mon Dieu, if one is
to be lazy it will not be the wife. Look at me.

Crem. (Mrs.) Gattoway. (Who has gone up to table
at back to fetch more things and who now comes down.)
You’re right, Madam. ’Usbands is all very well in their
way, as I should be the first to deny, me of course bein’
different and independent so to speak, but when it comes
to which is to do the work—

Cereste. Listen to Clem.

Ciem. Not so much of y’r Clem. Mrs. Galloway, if
you please. You seem to forget who I am. _ I’ve got
me ring. I ’ave, and me lines if I do come ’ere to oblige—
Mr. Galloway ’avin’ poor ’ealth—besides private means,
bein’ a pensioneer.

CeLeste. Pensioneer! Four pence a day, isn’t it, dear?
-—and gone before twelve, they tell me, at the Pig or
aoe A fine pensioneer! You wait until I bring mine
along.

Crem. Yes, I daresay there'll be some waitin’ to do.
What's your ’usband goin’ to be if I may make so bold
to inquire?

Cerestz. ’Aven’t quite made up me mind. But I’m
’OP-~O-ME-THUMB ?

just about tired of this. I’m not sure as I shan’t go and
be a actress for a change, and stand in the limelight and
‘ave bokays thrown at me—ere chuck us some of those
things, Rose—(begins to work frantically)—and—and ‘ave
lords waitin’ at the stage door to take the ’orses out of me
carriage—

Cirm. (Loughs.) You'll be wantin’ to be a child of
myst’ry next, like Amanda.

Cerestz, (Pausing, seriously.) Do you think she is?

Cirm. Is what?

Crrestz. A child of myst’ry—what she says I mean.
You know—all that about ’er father and about them jewels
as somebody gives ’er. Do you know she washed that
there ao again last week. She says it’ll be fetched one
of these days and then there'll be a surprise for us.

Rose. Surprise! Garn! A little image like ’er?
Ain't room for much up ’er sleeve. Little ’aporth o’

mis’ry! :
Cerestes. (Thoughtfully.) Well I don’t know.
Things do ’appen, y’ know. I wonder 'oo ’er father reely
is. (Mystified.) She's so close about ‘im, ain’t she?
And then there is that shirt—there’s no goin’ against that.
Ciem. (Shortly.) Lots of customers forgets things.
Cereste. Yes, but the care she takes of it. It’s bin
"ere best part of a year, and I don’t know ’ow many times
she ‘asn't dressed it. There may be something in it, y’

ow.

Rose. (Pulling a long paper parcel out of one of the
large pigeon holes—reading.) “Mr. ’Orris Greensmith, to
be called for.” (Opening the paper a little and looking
inside.) Blest if I don’t believe she’s done it up again.
It ’ad pink paper in last week and now it’s blue. "Ve we
got any blue paper, madam? No. I thought not.

Crem. (Interested.) She must ’a’ bought it.

Czrreste. There. :

Rose. Well! J#li never be fetched. If ’e’s ’er mash
why doesn’t ’e come ’ere and fetch it?

LESTE. She says it’s a sort of a token, see? while ’e’s
away. Something to ’old by, she says. And then, ’e
does send ’er\ things.

Cuzm. (Weightily.) ’As any body seen ’em?

Cereste. N-no, but there was a brooch, I b’lieve, and a
necktie.

Crem. (Coming to the table c. to fetch scissors L. and
pausing in her work to gossip.) Well, why doesn’t she
wear ’em? That's it, y see. Why doesn’t she wear ’em?

Cereste. (As if struck by this for the first time.) Yes.
Why doesn’t she?
8 : ’OP“0-ME-THUMB

“Crem. (Sits at table R. and talks confidentially.) That’s
where the test comes in. Why. doesn’t she wear ’em—
"stead of that bit of -crape,-say? Not that Ive amy thing
.to say against that. She ’as: plenty of deaths in ’er fam-
ily—that I will say for er. .

Rose. (Contemptuously.) Lots of people ’as relations
die. Any one can. ;

Ciem. (Generously.) No, give everybody their due,
I say, and she does ’ave her afflictions. I’ve been »be-
xeaved; meself and I know what it is.

“Rose. Crape’s cheap enough. And she don’t. ask us
‘to none of ’er funerals. eo

Ciem. (Forgetting Amanda and showing an inclina-
tion to lose herself in pleasant retrospect.) Fun'’rals—
-the fun’rals I’ve been to in my time! "There was me
‘Sister’s “usband (she goes batk to her place R.-as -she
speaks)—all my family’s married well, that I am thankful
to.say—and when she lost ’im she done the thing ’andsome -
I tell y. (To Cerzste.) Gimme them vests—no—there
“by the socks. Under y’ ‘nose, stupid! There was as many
-as:three mournin’ coaches an’ a ’earse with plumes—and
the ’atbands!—well!—and afterwards we—

'Ceneste, That'll do, Clem. We know all about that—
-and y’ cousins too as died at ’Ighb'ry. It’s Amanda ‘I’m
talking about, not you. I wonder whether she could show
us one of them presents... Good mind to ask ‘er. Why
.don’t she come in? \

Rose. Gone a errand, I tell y’.

Ceteste. Well, she might be back be now, I should
: think. .Talk about ’ares and tortoise shells! ‘I’d ’a’done
it on me ’ead. She’s a fair crawler, Amanda is.

Rose. (Laconically.) Legs is short.

poeste So’s time, and I don’t want to-be ‘ere all

night. :
Mapame. (Coming down.) She is little, -but she is
good. She work. She does not talk, talk, talk. She
is not singing when she should be working. Where
should I be, me, with another like you? And this-Satur-
day and I forced to go out at five! Five, mon Dieu,-and
it wants but ten minutes. (She goes up L. R.)

Cexeste. (Absently.) I wonder whether she’s-got any
body to take ’er out a Monday. Think she ’as? ~

Rose. It'd be a funny sort o’ feller as ’d -want to.
(She looks over her shoulder towards the glass door.)
’Ere she is. ’Ere’s Mandy.

(The door x. is pushed, open and AMANDA AFFLICK
comes in backwards pulling after her a washing basket
’OP-’0-ME-THUMB 9

nearly as large as herself, She is an odd, forlorn look-
ae ttle figure with id eyes and o pathetic ion.

he has Be an air of being quite capable of taking care
of herself.)

Rose. Well, Craipe.

Mapame, Ah, you have come back. You have brought
the money. (AMANDA hands her a paper and some loose
change.) That is right. Now I may go and you will
help these good for nothings to finish. (She takes the cap
on its stand and puts it on end of table back, then goes
into inner room L. whence she returns a moment or two
later with her cloak.) :

Cevzste. (To AMANDA.) Didn't ‘appen to meet ch’
father, did ie

Crem. We thought perhaps as you was gone s’ long
that you'd ran away with that mash o’ yours—im as goes
without ‘is shirt. ’Orris Whatsaname. .

Amanpa, Oh. Did y’? (She sidles past Clem who
ts leaning over a basket and giving her an intentional
‘shove, sends her sprawling across tt.) Now then, iS
can’t y’ make room for a lady?

Ciem. (Getting up, and angry.) They don’t teach y’
manners in the work’us, do they Clumsy?

Amanpa. You'll find out when you get there, dear.

Rose. (Linking arms with CELESTE L., coming towards
Amanpa in front of table c.) We've got a new bow to-
day. (She points to a band of black crape rownd AMAN-
DA's orm.) ‘

Oxeste. So she ’as! Where did y’ git that, S’rimp?
‘(CAMANDA arranges the bow on her arm, pulling out the
ends.)

Amanpa. I’ve been doin’ a little shoppin’ this after-
moon, and I bought this Rembrandt in case you was took
off sudden, S’leste. S’leste! (She gives a little chuckle.)
It is a name, ain’t it? Where did y’ git it? Off the front
of a shop, eh?

Pretty Celeste
"Ad a very weak chest.
Hf ’er chest ’d been stronger
Me tale 'd been longer.
(She hoists herself on the table.)

(Crem ond Rose lowgh shrilly. Crreste Rashes.)

Cxreste, Weak chest y'self. What's wrong with my
chest? gg :

AManva. (Sitting on table.) ‘Bit narret, dear, isn’
it? But p'raps it’s the cut d’ y’ bodice, Sotne of ‘those
podice-’ands cin spoil things a treat, can't they?
io ’OP-’O-ME-THUMB

Crests. What do y’ know about it. You shut y’ face.
You! you ain’t got no figger, you never dresses, you ain't
got enough ’air to go in a locket, and every feller I know
says as you're a bloomin’ little monkey without a stick,
So, now, there!

MapaMe. (Bustling into outdoor things and interpos-
ing to prevent the quarrel developing.) Now, now, now!
One would think that in life there was nothing to do.
You quarrel, you talk, you sing. Do I sing? Mon Dieu,
no. Celeste she sing till she make my ’ead ache, and
then it is you. (To AMANDa, who gets off table.) And you
all talk, talk, talk like I don’t know what. For shame.
Now I go, and you, Celeste, will go to Madame Jones with
er things—they are listed, eh?—and Mrs. Galloway will
take M. Gigot ’is waistcoat, and Rose, you will not forget
Miss Smeet’s dress. She must ’ave it to-night. Now
quick all of you. Amanda will wait for me. I shall not
be long. Now attention! No more singing, do you ’ear?
You can sing if you want, in the street, and then you will
be run in for drink to punish you. (She goes out L.)

(Rose jumps off her chair.)

Rose. Is she gone? Lord, I wish it was Monday! I
shan’t git up all to-morrow so’s to rest meself. Do ’ope
it’ll be fine.

Citem. I expect it will, Makes such a difference, bank
*oliday, don’t it? P’tickler when it’s ’Am’stead.

Rose. Course it’s’Am’stead. What d’ you think.

Cuem. (Crossing to Rost and CELESTE R.) We should
’a’ gone there too, only for Mr. Galloway ’avin’ a aunt at
Greenwich—though of course bein’ married I’m different,
so to speak. We shall go be tram, I expect, and then
there ’s th’ ‘ill in the Park, an’ the ’eath close by an’ all.

‘But I don’t know as I shouldn’t like to be goin’ with y’.

Rose. (Half ignoring Her.) Wish you was, dear.
(Turning to CELestE.) S’leste, you an’ Albert will be
ready, won’t you? You must be ’ere first thing, cause of
me and my friend pickin’ y’ up.

(CLEM goes up L., presently returns to her work Rr.)

CeLestz. We'll be ready. Rather. What ho!(Seeing
Amanpa, who has been looking from one to another and
who stands a little bit wistfully outside the group.) Well,
Mandy, got someone to take y’ out Monday, eh?

Amanpba. (Starts and pulls herself together.) I—I
don’t know as I can go out at all a Monday. Y! see

-prop’ly speakin’ I’m in mournin’.

Ceveste. You're always in mournin’ *oliday time~you
was at Easter, too. I believe meselfi——
’OP-’O-ME-THUMB 1

Amanpa, (Quickly.) Well, so I was. I lost me aunt
on the mother’s side just before Good Friday. This (she
touches crape bow) is for me cousin’s niece as passed
away quietly last week in—in Kensington. We—we ’ad
been estranged for some time, but now she is gone I bear
er no malice, and she shall never ’ave it to say as I didn’t
pay ’er proper respect. And besides I don’t know as I
care to go out in my circumstances, |

CeLeste. Your circumstances! What are they?

Amanpa. Oh, well—till—till *e comes for me, y’

ow.

Rose. Till ’e comes for ’is shirt, eh ?—the tall ’andsome
stranger as none of us ’as never seen—n’ never won't.
(She jumps on a chair again and takes out parcel.) Garn.
You’ve made it all up about ’im, I believe. “Mr. ’Orris
Greensmith, to be called for’! ‘Miss Amanda Afflick, to
be called for”! That’s more like it. ’Ere, Clem! Ketch.
(She pitches parce¥'té'- Mrs. Gattoway.)

AMANDA. (Startixe-forward.) Give it ’ere.

Crem. (Holding it high.) Y’ been washin’ it again,
Crapie, eae
» Amanpal2>ivecttlére. ’Tain’t yours,

Ciem. Ketch, S’leste. (She throws it to CELESTE.)

CecesTE' Better not wash it any more. It’s gettin’ so
thin it ‘Il bloweaWay one of these days.

Amanna. 2-4Fi¢feely.) Give it me.

Ceteste. ? Not x6 fast.

AMANDA.OOGI¥e: iPte me!

Cexeste, 1Telflius the truth then. You been coddin’ us
about it all tildtime/?avent you? ‘Orris or whatever ’e’s
called ’as leftidt!’erd @lidn’t take no notice of y’ at all, now
did ’e? bron

Amanpa. (Aft'back of centre table as CELESTE dances
round with shiré) 3\Didn’t ’e? P’raps ’e’s never wrote
to me neither, ‘letters and letters on scented paper with
crests and coaf#@%"‘drms—and sealing wax too. You're
jealous all the lot o’ y’! Give it ’ere. You'll mess it.
Oh (half crying) you'll mess it and ’e might come for it
to-day. Give it’’ere,’

Crem. Let ’er’’ave it, S’leste.

Cereste, (Holds tt high.) If I do will y’ show me that
brooch? © ait

AMANDA. Whatbrooch?

Cereste. You know. The one you told us about.
The mirinycher set in diamonds. *

AMANDA. (Affecting unconcern.) Oh, ’aven’t I
shown it to y’?
12 ’OP-’0-ME-THUMB

Cereste. No n’ none of ’is presents. If I give it y’,
will y’?

Amanpa. (Hesitates.) I—I don’t know where I put it.

CeLeste. Well then the bracelet with the turquoise.

Amanpa. I—I lent that to me cousin for ’er niece’s
funeral. She ’asn’t sent it back yet.

CeLesTe. Well then one of the other things then—some
present as ’e’s give y’, will y’?

Amanpa. Give me my shift.

Ceteste. Will y’ then?

Amanpa, All right.

Cetzste. There y’ are, Kipper! Ketch!

(AmaNnpa catches the shirt and with her back to the
others gently fondles it for a moment as a mother might
fondle a child. Then pulling a chair forward and climbing
it she puts the parcel safely away on a shelf.)

CELESTE, Seein’s believin’ y’. know, and when we've
seen—no ’anky-panky mindje!~some jewel or some-
thing.

Amanpa. All right.

‘i Crem. (Indulgently.) Let ‘er alone, S’leste. That'll

0.

Amanpa. (Standing on chair to put away the shirt,
turns fiercely.) ’Ere what’s it got to do with you. You
keep your oar out of my wheel. I can take care of me-
self, Mrs, Clementina William Galloway. You think just
because I’m not twelve feet ‘igh and six foot round like
some people as I can’t ’old me own with a pack of chat-
terin’ girls like S’leste ’ere and Rose Allelujah Jordan.
One more river to cross! What ho! I spurn the lot of
you. You’re no more to me than a herd of buzzin’ flies.
(Quieting down.) I go ’ome from ’ere and I set on the
sofa and read ’is letters, and all what ’appens in this ’ouse
0’ bondage is no more to me than a dream of the night!

Crem. Does ’e know what your temper is?

Rose. Little spitfire!

Amanpa. There dear, I don’t mean it. Only y’ see
when y’r ’eads full of more important things and there’s
wonderful changes loomin’ before y’ it’s apt to make y’ a
bit ’asty. There, Clem, (goes to her) I didn’t mean to
be cross. One of these days you shall know all.

Cereste. (Impressed in spite of herself.) When did
y’ ear from ’im last? 2

AMANDA. Wednesday week—no, Tuesday it would be.

Rosg. Did ’e send y’ anything then?

Amanpa. ’E’s goin’ to.

Crrzste. Something nice!
*OP-’O-ME-THUMB 33

(Amanna nods.)

Crests. Is it a ring?

Amanpa. No.

Crem. ’E’s too sharp for that, eh Mandy?’

Amanpa. Better than that. (Gets on the table again.)
It’s-—it’s 3 hairloom—one of those things you wear in: it
at the op’ra.

Crreste. I know—a tarara.

Amanpa. Yes. (The girls stop working and loll on
the table listening open-mouthed.) It sticks in y’r ’ead
with spikes and it's got diamonds and em’rals,and stars.
a oor t sticks up like a crown and. it glitters—At to

ini

Cxszstz. 'E must ’ave a lot o’ money.

Rose. Seems to chuck it about, don’t ’e?

Ceestz. But you ain't seew ’im again?

Amanpa. No. But ’e’s comin’.

"Ere?

AMANDA. Yes. There’s a understandin’, y’ see. There's
clouds on the horizon—that why there’s all this mystery.
But when ’e fetches ’is shirt—it’s a sort of a sign, see—I
shall know that bright days are in store.

Crem. (Joining the table group after affecting indiffer-
ence.) But what I want to know is—me of course ‘avin’
a ’ome of me own and bein’ in a responsible p’sition so to
speak—what I want to. know—is ’e going to marry y’?

Amanpa. When ’e’s: asked me father.

Ross. Asked y’ father?

AMANDA, Everybody respectable does that. A young
fella comes along and ’e says, isn’t she beautiful, ’e says,
Yd die for ’er, I wish she'd walk on me, through my ’eart
first. But ’e don’t say nothing to ’er, not till ’e’s been to
’er father—if ’e’s any class, y’ know.

Rose. But you’re not beautiful. I’m a lot better look-
in’ than what you are and I shouldn't like any chap to go
to my father.

AMANDA. (Saweetly.) Of course if y’ father "appens to
be doin’ a bit in ’Olloway it makes, a difference.

Rose. ’Olloway! Jail bird y’self! I don’t believe a
werd of it, I don’t believe—

Cereste. Easy, Rose. (Pulling her away). Let’s ’ear.
(To Amanoa,) ’As ’e seen y’ father

Amanpa, Not set iecanye boca of law suits, and
then there’s a missin’ will, y’ see.

CeLeste. Missin’ will?

AmaNDA. (Setting herself again on table c.) Well,
there should be be rights, but I think we’ve got over that.
Y’ see it’s like this: My father wanted me to grow up
14 *OP-0-ME-THUMB

without any rank or pearls or carriages so as.I shall be
loved just for myself alone—

Ciem. She’s coddin’, She’s only a workus girl and
never ’ad no father.

Amanpa. I’m not. It’s true. I’ve thought about it
and dreamt about it till I know it’s true. Besides you'll
see. I’m goin’ to ’im in oh such a little while.

Ceteste. And what about ’Orris?

Amanpa. I shall ask ’im if ’e loves me passionately,
and if ’e says yes, I shall lay one white jew'ld ’and in ‘is,
and look into ’is pleadin’ eyes and say, ’Orris, because you
loved me truly when I was pore and in disguise, you shall
*ave your reward.

Cereste. (To the others.) It sounds all right, don’t
it?

Cirm. (Rises). ’Ere, come along, girls. What's the
. good o’ ’angin’ about listenin’ to all this rubbish when we
got these things to take ’fore we can go. ’Ere, bustle up,
S’leste. The old woman ’Il be back again mongdewing
like Lord-save-us-all if she finds they ain’t gone. (Cz-
LESTE and ROSE go into inner room.to put on thet hats
and coats.) You show us that present, Corpsie, or find
some one to take y’ out a Monday, and then p’raps we'll
see about believin’ y’.. Come Rose. (She goes tto in-
ner room L.) ;

Amanpa. (Absently and waving her hand.) I have
always loved you, Orris. Now your patience is rewarded.
Rise and take me to my carriage.

Rose. (Putting on her hat and helping CELESTE with
her coat as she and CLEM. reappear with their things.)
Carriage! You find somebody with a moke and:a barrer
to take y’ to ’Amstead.

AmanpDéA. (Loftily.) Vm not goin’ on Monday. Bank
’olidy! It’s just for ordinary people as ‘ave no prospex
and nothing better to think of.

Rose. Oh, indeed. (She picks up basket back centre.)
Well I ’ope, Miss Amander Afflick, as you'll enjoy yours
all alone by y’r own self with nobody asked y' to go
with ’em!

Crem. Don’t git run away with by a earl or anything
like that while we’re out.

CerestTe. So long, Corpsie. Y’ got to show us one of
them presents, y know. ’Ere, wait for me, Rose.

(They troop out L. with their packages.)

Amanpna, (When the door has closed behind them sits
still for a moment or two. When she lifts her face it ts
4
'‘OP-'O0-ME-THUMB 15

seen to be working. To herself.) Monday! I should
like to be goin’ to ’Amstead—or anywheres. They might
’a’ asked me to go with ’em. Somebody might. Nobody
never won't. Never, never, never. ’Oo wants me? ’Oo
could? I couldn’t. Oh, well.

(She sniffs drily and getting up and moving to rack.
climbs the chair again and takes down the rescued shirt.,
Very carefully and lovingly she refolds it in its covering,
holds it to her for a moment and puts it back on the shelf.
She is turning once more to the room when the door ts
flung open and Horace GREENSMITH enters R. He is a
young workman of sufficiently ordinary appearance, the
type of navvy who may always bé seen in London breaking
up main thoroughfares with sledge-hammer and wedge.)

Horace. ’Ere, two-foot-nothing. Where’s Mother
Didier ?

AMANDA. (Getting off chair quickly.) Oh, Mr. Green-
smith! I thought you was dead. Oh! (Sits.) Oh!

Horace. Mr. Greensmith! You know my name. And
who might you be to think I was dead?

Amanpa. Oh—you must excuse me—but I did indeed.
(She puts her hand over her heart.)

Horace. Did y’. Well, I’m jolly well not.

Amanpa. (Faintly.) Oh, it’s like one from the grave.
I shall be all right in a minute.

Horace. Well be quick about it. Now are y’ better!
Very well then, touchin’ a shirt I left ’ere. Has the old
woman sold it or lost it? Is she goin’ to fork it out or
does she want me to summons her for it? Go an’ arsk
’er. Look slippy.

Amanpa. It’s all right, Mr. Greensmith. It’s been took
pertikler care of. (Fetches it, and undoing the paper in
which it is wrapped, displays the shirt to him proudly.)

Horace. Jeroosalem! Did y’ wash it yesterday?

Amanpa. Yes, Mr. Greensmith.

Horace. Not so much o’ y’ Mr. Greensmith. ’Oo told
y’ to wash it yesterday! Did the old woman twig I was
comin’ ?

Amanpa. No, Mr.—Orris. I’ve washed it every week,
ever since you. left it so as to ‘ave it ready for you.

Horace. S’help me Jimmy, you must be ’ard up for
something to do! Y’ don’t think I’m going to pay for all
that, do y’? ;

Amanpa, Oh, no, Mr. Greensmith. If you was to
stuff the money down me throat wild horses wouldn't
make me swallow it.
16 'OP--O-ME-THUMB

Horace. H’m! Well, I ain't going to. What's the
damage, anyhow? ;

AMANDS, We don’t want you to pay anything, neelly.

Horace. Oh, we don’t, don’t wet That suits me At
You may stick over the door then, Washers by appoint+
ment to: Orris Greensmith, Esquire. Do. you do. all y'r
work like that? Is this a charitable institution or what
is. it?

Awanpa. Oh, no, Mr. Orris, we aren’t. charitable, oh, not
at all. You see we—that is J thought we should naver see
you no more. You'd been away so long—there seemed
nothing else to think. :

Horace. Well, I'm jiggered. Deaders on the free list
eh? ‘Oly Moses!

AmMaNDA. You don’t think it was a liberty, do you?

Horace. (Looks at her a moment and then bursts out
laughing.) Strike me silly if I ever came across anything
quite as dotty. before. I was dead, was I, and this: was a
blasted souvenir. ’Oo the blazes. wanted. a blasted souvenir
of me? Not you!

Amanpa. I know it was a fiberty, Mr. Greensmith.

Horace. ’Ere, ’andte me carefully. I shall faint.

Amanpa. I’m very sorry if you’re angry.

Horace. Was you ’ere when I come before?

Amanpa. (Eagerly.) Oh, yes, Mr. Orris. It was at
a quarter to five one Wednesday—don’t you recklekt? It
was in October, the 15th and there was a crool fog all the
morning. You was coughin’ and saying things about the
weather.

Horace. Was I?

Amanpa. Don’t you remember?

Horace. I remember the fog—but then I remember a
lot, of fogs.

Amanpa. I’ve thought of it every day since.

Horace, ‘Ere, what, are you anyway?

Amanpa. I'ma orphin, I don't say so but I am—only
to. you [ mean, I-—what’ll you think of me, Mr. Green-
smith ?—-I—I was born in the Union.

Horace. I got no call to think one way or the otiter.

AMANDA. I wouldn’t’a’ told no one else. But I couldn't
tell you—-well, what I tell the others.

HORACE. The others? Are there any more ‘ere like
you?

Amanna, Qh, no, I don’t think there’s any others any-
where like me.

Horace. No, I dessay not.

Amanpa. Of course, I’m not very tall. We don't grow
*OP-’0-ME-THUMB 17

much in the work’ouse—but some o’ them large girls is
very fickle, don’t you think so, Mr. Greensmith?

Horace. No girls is any good.

Amanpa. Oh, Mr. Orris, you ain’t married, are y’?

Horace. Not much.

Amanpa, (Relieved.) Oh—I thought jes fer a
moment—you mustn’t mind me. Oh, I am glad.

Horace. Married. Yah. Knows tog much about it,

Amanpa. I'm glad ye’re not married, any way. Y’ see,
Mr. Greensmith, if you won’t think it a liberty what I am
telling you, I always thought of you as a sort of
oe prince, y’ see; and they aren’t never married, are

ey f

Horace. (Stretches out one leg and looks at it
dubiously.) ‘Ere, my ’ead ’ll go if I stop much longer. A
fairy—you’ve been ill, ’aven’t you?

Amanpsa. Oh no, Mr. ’Orris, I’m never ill. I’m very
strong, and work! Well, you should see me on a busy
day! It’s enly—

Horace, Only what?

Amanpa. Well, when you ain’t got much of y’r own
you do dream. about beautiful things, don’t you? -That’s
how I came to think of you.

Horace. Thank you—very kind of you, don’t mention
it. (Pause.) Well chuck us the shirt.

Amanna. (Brings it to him slowly.) I suppose you'll
send us some other things.

orAGE. Don’t know; can’t say.
AMANDA furtively wipes one eye.)

Horace. Hello. What’s the matter with y’?

Amanpa. Oh, nothing.

Horace. What's that crape for?

Amanpa. I say it’s for relations. :

Horace. Qh, well, pull up. your socks and grin, y’ can’t

., ave y' relations always, y’ know. |

Amanpa. I never ‘ad no relations.

Horace. Well what d’ y’ wear the bow for then? Y’
don’t know what y’re talking about. Y’ wears it for your,
relations and you never ’ad none. Rottin’ sort of goin’
into mourning that. Where’s y’ father?

(Amanpa shakes her head.)

Horace. Oh, well—where’s y’ mother, anyway?

Amanpa. She’s'dead—she died when I was quite little—
oh well, littler than. I am now. But it ain’t for ’er.

Horace. ’Oo is it for? : .

Awmaypa, You won't tell the other girls, will y’?

Horace. No. What should I want t’ go jawin’ about
you for?
18 ’OP-’O-ME-THUMB

Amanpa. You see, I tell them that I got a father
who's rich—ever so rich—and who’s coming to take me
away, see, like in a story. I’m in disguise now, but one
day ’e’ll come and say “Apparel ’er in ermine,” and then I
shall go away and be a lady. I used to think he would
really come, but now I guess ’e’s dead, though I tell them
’e’s comin’. I don’t wear it for ’im though. I keep on
changin’ ’oo it’s for. Y’ see I felt I must wear it. (Looks
up shyly.) But I can take it off now, Mr. ’Orris.

(A pause.)

Horace. Well of all. Give us the shirt.

AMANDA. Are y’ goin’ at once?

Horace. Well, since you are so pressin’ I got about ’alf
a minute t’ waste. Now then.

Amanpa. Nothin’, I jes wanted to see you. Y’ can
smoke if y’ like.

Horace. Make meself at ’ome, eh, and what for! (Sits
on table.)

Amanpa. (Coming near to him wu. standing beside
him.) YY’ said y’ wasn’t married. Are y’ in love, Mr.
Greensmith?

Horace. Oh, chuck it. What’s that to do with you?

Amanpa. I want to know pertickler.

Horace. Well, I ain’t\jes’ now.

Amanpa. I expect lots o’ girls is in love with you.

Horace. Oh, yes. I can't ’ardly get down the street
for ’em. 4

Amanpa, You wouldn’t say I was pretty, would y’ Mr.
Greensmith? i

Horace. I ’aven’t thought about it.

Amanpa. You wouldn’t think about it, would y’?

Horace. (Jndulgently.) W-ell—

AmanpA. Eh? but looks ain’t everythng, are they?
Some o’ them pretty girls they aren’t content when one
feller likes ’em, they wants a lot o’ chaps to say as they’re
beautiful.

Horace. Don’t I know it? ’Orris Greensmith ain’t
goin’ to be one of them.

AMmaNpba. You ain’t very ’asty, are you?

Horace. Middlin’. What's up?

Amanpa. I don’t hardly like to tell y’.

Horace. ‘Ere, what y’ been doin’ of? (Stops in act of
lighting pipe and stares at her with match in his hand.)

Amanpa. (Wriggling in front of him.) I want to tell
y’, Mr. Greensmith, but I’m afraid you won't like it.

Horace. Not knowing, can’t say. Stand still, can’t y’?

Amanpa, Y’ might turn round, will y’, and look out
the winder? I don’t like bein’ looked at—then I'll tell y’.
’OP-’O-ME-THUMB 19

Horace. (Stares at her hard a minute.) Well, there
ain’t much to look at, is there? Now then. (Turns round
and lights up pipe.)

Amanpa. Y’ see—y’ see—it’s like this, Mr. ’Orris. You
comin’ in and seein’ me last year and never comin’ ’ere
again all the girls what's ’ere says as ’ow you were in love
with me.

Horace. (Turning round promptly.) What! Me!
Wodder they take me for? In love—! Lord save us.

Amanpa. Y’ know girls will talk, Mr. ’Orris.

Horace. Yuss, they talks right enough if you give them
‘alf a chance. Well, is that what.y’ wanted to tell me,
‘cause if so y’ could ’a’ kep’ it to y’self.

Amanpa. That ain’t all

Horace. ’Ope y’ jolly well told ‘em I wasn

Amanpa. No. I didn’t tell ’em that.

Horace. D’y’ mean to tell me a pack o’ girls thinks
as I— (Roars with laughter. AMAaNvA stands shamefaced
and nervous.)

‘ AmaNpA. I ’oped y’ wouldn’t laugh, Mr. ’Orris.

Horace. Wouldn’t laugh. Ho no! but it is a hit thick,
isn’t it! So I'm in love with you, am I? Would y’ like t’
get on the table and then y’r lovin’ ’usband could give y’
a kiss.

(Amanpa begins to get on table.) :

& Horace. (Amazed.) Did y’ think I was really goin’ to

iss y’?

Amanpa, I should like y to kiss me, Mr. ’Orris.

Horace. (Sinks into chair.) Phew. Ere, I’m gettin’
‘ot. Give us a chance. You go too quick fer me.

Amanva. (Squatting on the table and smoothing her
dress and pulling it over her boots.) I didn’t know as
gentlemen didn’t like bein’ kissed.

Horace. ’Ere, let’s look at y’.

(Pause.) hs

Amanpna. (Looking at him diffidently.) You are ’and-
some, aren't you, Mr. ’Orris, but I s’pose you know that.

Horace. I’ve ’eard something about it.

Amanpa. That ain’t all what I told ’y jes’ now.

Horace. What! .

Amanpa. All the other girls they’ve got fellers to give
’em things. : i

Horace. You don’t say so. Well, you ain’t goin’ to
catch me— . ‘ : :

AMANDA. Oh, no, but I didn’t like their sayin’ as

_nobody ever giv’ me anything, so | bin tellin’ them as you
gave me lots an’ ’eaps 0 things—dimonds and joolery and
20 *OP~O-ME-THUMB

watches—’andsome, ’y know. I didn’t know as you'd come
back. I’d waited so-long——and at last I went into mournin’
—but I kep’ on sayin’ about the presents and letters, and.
now I ’aven’t even anything to be in mournin’ for, and
they'll, say as they always knew as I was kiddin’, and.
(sniffs) they didn’t—they reelly thought it was true what
I told them. I know it was a liberty, Mr. ’Orris, but I
‘oped you wouldn’t mind.

Horace. (Whistles. Slowly.) They thinks as I’ve
been stuffing you up with presents. ;

AMmaNbA. Yes, Mr. ’Orris.

Horace. Well you'ye just about made a nice mess of:
things, ain’t y’?

AMANDA. Couldn’t you—

Horace. Couldn’t I do it really. Not much.

Amanpa. I didn’t mean that, but as you ain’t dead
cquidn’t you go on sayin’ nothin’ and let me go on
pretendin’ >—

Horace. No.

Amanpba. It wouldn’t cost y’ nothin’. Why won't y’?

Horace. Yes. Why won’t I?

Amanpa. (Walking away very much downcast,) 1
thought you might like to oblige a lady.

Horace. What next!

(AMANDA goes up to window and dries her eyes with
her apron.)

Horace. What ’r y’ snuffling about, y’ little beggar?

Amanpa. Nothin’, Mr. ’Orris.

Horace. They must be a preciqus lot o’ mugs them girls
if they swaller a tale like that. I never heard o’ such a
thing. (He leans against table with his back to audience.)

AMANDA. They didn’t helieve it for a. long while, but
now they believes it, an’ about me father, too.

Horace. Father! Didn’t y’ say he was a gonner—

AMANDA. (Faintly and tearfully.) I don’t krow,
though I guess. But (rather proudly) they think I’ve. got
a father as rich as ever ’e could. be, and ’andsome, more
’andsome even than you.
ee Pretty sort o’ father to leave you in this ‘ele
then.

AmaNDA, They think, ’e’s comin’ to fetch. me.

Fiorace. Best ’urry up I should say.

AMANDA, (Gives a little gesture.) Oh, don’t you see!
I got nothing, Mr. ’Orris—nothing. (She subsides and.
burying her face in the hollow of her arm cries silently.)

(Pause.)

Horace. ‘Ere, funny, you needn’t drown the place out,
’OP-’0-ME-THUMB au

Tell ’em what you blasted well like. I don't care. (Kicks
a tlothes basket.) I don’t care.

AmaNpa. Oh, Mr. 'Orris. ;

Horace. Yes, oh, Mr. ’Orris, but you don’t catch me
coming ‘ere no more. :

AMANDA. You won't come ’ere again! -

' oe No fear. Is it likely? What d’ye take me
for

oe Then I don’t know as I'll tell ’em anything
then.

Horace. Suit yourself.

Amanpa. I'd rather—oh, I don’t care what they think.

Horace. Look ’ere, nipper. (He comes to her.) I'm
golm’ to talk like a father to you. You're puttin’ y’r money
on the wrong ’orse—not as I’m a wrong’un mindje, but if
you was to talk to some chaps like this—

Amanpa. (Quickly.) Oh, but I wouldn't.

Horace. That’s all right then. Now you give me my
shirt and I’ll be off and (generously) you tell those girls
fast what you damn well please.

Amanpa. (Looking at the parcel lingeringly.) You're
goin’ to take it.

Horace. Time I did, isn’t it?

AmANpbA. I shan’t ‘ave nothin’ to remember y’ by.

Horace. Would y’ like a lock o’ me ‘air? ’Ere—ere’s
a present for y’.. (He takes a pin owt of his tie.) Gold
pin, 42 carat, diamond mounted, pearl centre, em’rald
border encrusted with rubies. (Polishes it on his sleeve.)
New cut 2-9.' There, my dear.

Amanpa. (Delighted.) Oh, Mr. ’Orris!

Horace. Now we're quits.

Amanpa. (Excitedly.) 1 did want something to show
to S'leste, and it-is lovely, lovely, but—but—

Horace. What now?

Amanpa. It means as you’re goin’ for ever. Couldn’t—
iouldii't you keep it and not—

Horace. Not what? :

AMANDA. Not go. It—it’s like you dyin’ all over
again.

Horace. Well of all the treats— .

AmManpa. (With a new thought.) Where are y’ goin’
now? :

Horace. ’Ome, I s’pose. :

Amawnpa, We-—we do send things—

Horace. What are y’ drivin’ at? : i

AwanvA Say I was to bring y’ this. Or if you'd wait
a little bit I might carry it out for you. It’s nice strollin’
in the summer evenin’s, Mr. ’Orris, and it'd be no trouble
22 "OP-’0-ME-THUMB

Horace. (Stooping, with his hands on his knees, and
thus bringing his face on to o level with hers.) Come
with me, d’y’ mean?

AMANDA. Yes. :

Horace. Yes. We could go for strolls every evenin’,
eh?

Amanpna, (With o long breath.) Oh—ye-es.

Horace. (Mimicking her.) Ye-es! What d’ y’ think
my friends ’d say? Why, as we was walkin’ out.

Amanpa. I wouldn’t mind, Mr. ’Orris.

Horace. But what price me?

Amanpa. I shouldn’t expect y’ to marry me.

Horace. Much obliged. Thank y’

Amanpa. I didn’t even dream as yd marry me really.

Horace, Well then, if you was to come messin’ about
with me what’d your girls ’ere say? You don’t want to
lose y’ character, I s’pose.

AmanbDa. J wouldn't mind, Mr. ’Orris.

Horace. So’elp me Bob. You don’t seem to mind any-
thing. (He walks half-way to the door and pauses.) Ere.
Are all o’ you girls goin’ out a Monday?

Amanpa, The others are, Rose and S’leste and Clem—
that’s Mrs. Galloway.

Horace. But what about you?

AmanNpbA. I—I’m supposed to be in mournin’.

Horace, ’As nobody asked y’?

(AmanpaA hangs her head.)

Horace. ’As nobody asked y’?

Amanpa. I—(she bites her lip)—I can’t pretend any
more. (Breaking down.) No. Nobody’s never asked
me. (She sobs.) I s’pose- now nobody never will. I see
’em all start times and times with their fellas. Oh, it
don’t matter. Only I didn’t mean as you should know.
( Sits.) ;

Herace. Where are they goin’?

Amanpa. (Sobbing gently.) ’Amstead. Oh, it don’t
matter, Mr, ’Orris.

Horace. Yes it do. (He moves about restlessly for a
minute, then stares at her intently.) Look ’ere. Shall I
take y’? :

AMANDA, D’ y’ mean it?

Horace. Did I say it? Very well then.

AMANDA, Oh, Mr. ’Orris.

Horace. I’ll get a trap and we'll go to ’Amstead.

Amanpa. (In ecstasy.) Oh, Mr. ’Orris.

Horace. All right. That’s settled. I'll call for you
Yere at nine sharp Monday mornin’,

AMANDA Y’ won't change y’ mind.
’OP-/0-ME-THUMB a3

Horace. No. If I say I'll do a thing I'll do it.

Amanva. And I may tell S’leste and the others.

Horace. Tell the ’ole world if y’ like. Tell all Soho.
_ Amanpa. (Dancing and clapping her hands and sing-
ing.) Oh, it'll be joyful, joyful, joyful, joyful! I’ll wear
me bfue dress that buttons up the back, and I’ve got a ’at
as I "hardly worn yet. Won't the other girls stare! Not
one of ’em’s got a fella like you. Rose’s Jim—why ’e’s
not much bigger than me. And S’leste’s Albit—’e’s only
a dustman. And as for Mr. Galloway—if ’e’s sober be
nine o’clock in the mornin’ Clem’ll ’ave something to be
thankful for. Oh, Mr. ’Orris. Sat’dy, Sundy, Mondy. A
ole day to look forward in. There won't be a ’appier lady
anyhere Monday than what I shall be. You'll be ’ere be
nine. (Coming back to him.) That’s when the others go.

Horace. D’ they start from ’ere?

AMANDA. Yes.

Horace. (Shifting his feet.) Nine o'clock, that’s all
right, but I think it’d be better to meet by the Dispens’ry,
see—in Paul street.

Amanpa. (Her face falling a little.) Paul street—
right down there?

Horace. What’s the matter with Paul street? Every-
one knows the Dispens’ry. It’s a good place to meet,
ain’t it.

Amanpa. I should ’a’ liked you to come ’ere.

Horace. hat’s the difference?

Amanpa. “(Reluctantly.) I should ’a’ liked ’em all to
see me goin’ off with y’. They won't more than ’alf
believe else. ;

Horace. Paul street’s much more convenient.

AMANDA. There won't be the crowd there is ’ere.

Horace. No. That’s it. We don’t want no crowds, do
we? It'll be much better to go quietly from Paul street,
won't it? You be there at nine and I'll come along and
pick y’ up. Then we shan’t ’ave no waitin’ about.

(Amanpa looks at him slowly.)

Horace. You could be at the corner, couldn’t you,
where that little court is, and come out when I whistled.

AMANDA. (Still looking at him.) Yes. I needn’t show
meself till you come.

Horace. That's right.

A little pause.
te ee tect was thinkin’ there’s such ’undreds

of people goes to ’Amstead. We don’t want to go there,
do we? What'd y’ say to the forest?
Amanpa. Eppin’?
24 ’OP--O-ME-THUMB *

Horace. Yes. I know a nice quiet ‘little bit of it where
we could go.

Amanpa, (Meekly.) I don’t mind, Mr. ’Orris. (She
walks away from him.)

Horace. All right then. Monday, nine o'clock. Paul
street. Blest if I wasn’t goin’ without me shirt after all.
Ta-ta. (Js about to go.)

Amanpba. (Calling him back just as he ts at the door.)
Mr. ‘Orris..

Horace. Yes.

Amanpa. I—I can’t go after all.

Horace. (Coming back.) ‘Can't go!

AMANDA. No.

Horace. What d’ y’ mean, can’t go?

Amanpa, What I say. I—(recovering herself with an
effort)—I been pretendin’. Just to see what you'd do.

Horace. Pretendin’!

Amanpa. Yes. (Nervous and excited, but gaining con-
fidence as she proceeds.) You see I shouldn’t be allowed
to go out with strangers. My people wouldn’t let me. I’ve
been brought up different. I’m afraid you'll be very
angry, but none of that about me bein’ a orphin or born
in the Union is true. I’m the child of poor but respectable
parents, and I’ve bin very strictly brought up, and so,
though I’m very much obliged to you, Mr. Greensmith, I
mustn’t accept your kind invitation.

Horace. Strike me pink!

Amanpa. You don’t mind me ’avin’ a bit df a lark with
y’, do y’? It was so dull ’ere while the others was out.
I couldn't ’elp it. Ha, ha, ha. If you was to seen y’r own
face! You got a soft ’eart, that I will say. Ha, ha, ha.

Horace. Made a fool of me, ’ave y. All right my girl.
Wait till I bring y’ more washin’ to do.

AMANDA. There don’t be angry.

Horace. Angry. ’Oo’s angry? It’s enough to make any-
one angry. Why—

AMANDA. Garn. You know very well as it’s a relief.

Horace. Relief?

Amanna. (Half hysterical.) Not to ’ave to take me
out—a little ’op-o’-me-thumb like me. Ain’t it now? And
’ave everybody laughin’ at y’, and askin’ y’ what it was,
and where y’d picked it up, and why thew ’adn’t drowned
it when it was born. Ho, ho. It’d be a poor world, eh,
if we didn’t get a bit o’ fun out of it some’ow, and some
of us was meant to supply all the fun for the others, it’s
my opinion. Lord, when you ‘thought I was cryin’ I
thought I should ’a died. Laugh! Whenever I think of it
I shall most split meself. Y’ don’t mind, old man, do y’?
‘OP-'0-ME-THUMB 25

Horace. I’ve a good mind to wring y’ neck for y’.
Amanpa. No, don’t do that. May I keep the pin?
Horace. Keep what y’ like.

Amanpa. I will then. Now say y’ ain't angry before

go.

Horace. I'll be blowed if I do.

Amanpa. Jes’ to show there’s no ill feelin’.

Horace. Git out.

Amanpa. Say it. (She stands looking up at him
bremulously.)

Horace. 'Ere. (Stores at her hard, then takes her
hands and pulls her round to the light.) Why! What'r-ye
playin’ at? Tell the truth and shame the devil. Twig? I
was a fool to say as I’d take y’. We wasn’t made for each
other—what d’ye call yerself ‘op-o’-me-thumb? but you’re
a game little ’un, and ’Orris Greensmith’s goin’ to
sling ’is bloomin’ ’ook. See! Now gi’ us that kiss I
asked y’ for. (Kisses her quickly and in shame-faced
manner, but very kindly, then whips up hat and shirt and
goes out quietly.. She stands for a moment or two sway-
sng. When she looks up he ts gone.)

Amanpa. ’E kissed me! (Wonderingly.) 'E kissed
me. O-oh. ( She looks round and begins mechanically to
put the room tidy. Presently she bethinks her of the pin.
She takes it out of the bosom of her dress where she has
stuck tt.) °E was ashamed of me, too. I s’pose I ought
to spurn it. I ought really to ’a thrown it at ‘is false feet
and said: “Take back the jew’ls with which you ’ave loaded
me, they are poisonin’ me,” but (shaking her head and rub-
-bing the stones on her sleeve to make them shine) I can't.
Qh, Mr. ’Orris, you’ve broken my ’eart and stuck a pin in
it. But you did kiss me. You can’t take back y’ kiss. I
shan’t wait to hear their talk. Me pretendin’s over and
done with. (She pulls off her crape bow and holds tt to
her lips.) There’s nobody—nobody now for me to pre-
tend. Oh, Mfr. ’Orris—Mr. ’Orris. (She crouches in a
shabby little heap in the middle of the empty room as the

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