UC-NRLF Elfe, MERELY MARY ANN BY ISRAEL ZANGWILL SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th St., New York {1.00 PRICE IN U.S.A. MRS. PARTRIDGE PRESENTS Comedy in 3 acts. By Mary Kennedy and Ruth thorne. 6 males, 6 females. Modern costumes. 2 interiors. Plays 2V 2 hours. The characters, scenes and situations are thoroughly up-to- date in this altogether delightful American comedy. The heroine is a woman of tremendous energy, who manages a business as* ehe manages everything with great success, and at home pro- aides over the destinies of a growing son and daughter. He* etruggle to give the children the opportunities she herself had missed, and the children's ultimate revolt against her well-meant management that is the basis of the plot. The son who is cast for the part of artist and the daughter who is to go on the stag*. offer numerous opportunities for the development of the comio possibilities in the theme. The play is one of the most delightful, yet thought-provoking American comedies of recent years, and is warmly recommended (o all amateur groups. (Royalty oa application.) Price, 75 Cents, IN THE NEXT ROOM Melodrama in 3 acts. By Eleanor Eobson and Harriet Ford. 8 males, 3 females. 2 interiors. Modern costumes. Plays 2% hours. "Philip Vantine has bought a rare copy of an original Boule cabinet and ordered it shipped to his New York home from Paris. When it arrives it is found to be the original itself, the pos- eession of which is desired by mary strange people. Before the mystery concerned with the cabinet's shipment can be cleared up, two persons meet mysterious death fooling with it and the happiness of many otherwise happy actors is threatened" (Burns Mantle). A first-rate mystery play, comprising all the elements of suspense, curiosity, comedy and drama. "In the Next Room" is quite easy to stage. It can be unreservedly recommended to schools and colleges, (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Stret, New York City Our New Descriptive Catalogue Sent Free on Request MERELY MARY ANN Comedy in Four Acts ADAPTED BY ISRAEL ZANGWILL FROM HIS STORY OF THE SAME NAME All Rights Reserved CAUTION : Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that "MERELY MARY ANN," being fully protected under the Copy- right laws of the United States of America, and the British Empire, is subject to a royalty and anyone presenting the play without the consent of the owners or their authorized agents will be liable to the penalties by law provided. Applications for the professional and amateur acting rights must be made to Samuel French, at 25 West 45th Street, New York, N. Y., or at 811 West 7th Street, Los Angeles, Calif. NEW YORK SAMUEL FRENCH INCORPORATED 1898 25 WEST 45-TH STREET LONDON SAMUEL FRENCH, LTD. 26 SOUTHAMPTON STREET STRAND, W.C2 SAMUEL FRENCH INCORPORATED, 1898 811 WEST ?TH STREET Los ANGELES, CALIF. BANNER PLAY BUREAU, INC. 6ifr POST STREET SAN FRANCISCO (9) CALIF. REVISED, 1921, BY ISRAEL ZANGWILL COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY ISRAEL ZANGWILL ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Especial notice should be taken that the possession of this book without a valid contract for production first having been obtained from the publisher, confers no right or license to professionals or amateurs to produce the play publicly or in private for gain or charity. In its present form this play is dedicated to the read- ing public only, and no performance, representation, produc- tion, recitation, or public reading, or radio broadcasting may be given except by special arrangement with Samuel French, at 25 West 45th Street, New York, or at 811 West 7th Street, Los Angeles, Calif. This play may be presented by amateurs upon payment of a royalty of Twenty-Five Dollars for each perform- ance, payable to Samuel French, at 25 West 45th Street, New York, or at 811 West 7th Street, Los Angeles, Calif., one week before the date when the play is given. Professional royalty quoted on application to Samuel French. Whenever the play is produced the following notice must appear on all programs, printing and advertising for the play : "Produced by special arrangement with Samuel French." Attention is called to the penalty provided by law for any infringement of the author's rights, as follows : "SECTION 4966: Any person publicly performing or rep- resenting any dramatic or musical composition for which copyright has been obtained, without the consent of the proprietor of said dramatic or musical composition, or his heirs and assigns, shall be liable for damages thereof, such damages, in all cases to be assessed at such sum, not less than one hundred dollars for the first and fifty dol- lars for every subsequent performance, as to the court shall appear to be just. If the unlawful performance and representation be wilful and for profit, such person or persons shall be guilty of a misdemeanor, and upon con- viction shall be imprisoned for a period not exceeding one year." U. S. Revised Statutes: Title 60, Chap. 3. MERELY MARY ANN MEN LANCELOT (a Composer) PETER (in Business) HERR BRAHMSON (a Music Publisher) REV. SAMUEL SMEDGE (a Country Vicar) O'GoRMAN ( a Journalist) JIM BLAYDES (a Medical Student) LORD VALENTINE (of the Automobile Club) WOMEN MRS. LEADBATTER (a Lodging-house Keeper) ROSIE (her daughter) THE SISTERS TRIPPET (KITTY AND POLLY, Music Hall Dancers) LADY CHELMER a Poor Peeress) CAROLINE, COUNTESS OF FOXWELL (her friend) THE HON. MRS. FITZGEORGE (in Society) LADY GLYNN (of the Smart Set) LADY GLADYS VALENTINE (the Countess's daughter) ROWENA FITZGEORGE (Mrs. Fitzgeorge's daughter) MARY ANN (merely) CREATURES DICK (a Canary) HOWARD (a Butler) 130 ACT I Hall of Mrs. Leadbatter's Lodging house in South London. ACT II Lancelot's Bed-Sitting Room. ACT III The Same. ACT IV Drawing-room of Mead Manor Hall. A month between Act I and II ; a week between Act II and III Six years between Act III and IV. MERELY MARY ANN ACT I The SCENE represents the hall of MRS. LEADBATTER'S lodging house. The hall door is R., with letter box and door mat. There is also a window in this wall. There are two hall chairs, one up stage R. and another down stage R., a hat rack and umbrella stand these two latter furnished with sundry coats and hats of all colours, sticks and umbrellas of all shapes. On the hall table stand five bedroom candlesticks with matches, three little heaps of letters, postcards and newspapers, and a large clothes brush. Gaudy oleographs on passage wall. The dining-room door is R.C. Car- peted stairs lead to LANCELOT'S door, L., with a little landing, "both visible ere the stairs turn. Before these stairs goes the passage leading past thehall bench to the kitchen and parlour doors L. The gas is burning in the hall lamp, but rather dimly, with suggestion of lateness and economy. The stage is empty. The wind and rain are heard swishing outside. After a while a latchkey is heard to adjust itself in the lock, the door opens and O'GORMAN, a pock-marked, good-humoured, rather seedy journalist, stands half in and half out, his head turning towards an unseen driver, his lowered umbrella dripping. 0' GORMAN (to unseen CABMAN, who is heard growling and grumbling hoarsely in reply throughout this speech). What do I call that ? I call it quite enough for three-quarters of a mile. Eh ? It's a wet night. Pwhat else would I be taking a cab for, begorra ? Pwhat 's that ? I must give you sixpence more ? Needs must when the divil drives, eh ? Is that it ? No, divil take me, don't you try swearing at me, because I'm a journalist and can bate you at it. Sacre-bleu, Donner-Blitzen, Amsterdam, Rotterdam and the Hellespont ! (Enters and bangs door.) Mother in heaven ! Pwhat a blessing to get the paper to bed ! ( Yawns, puts wet umbrella in stand, sings.) '* Kiss me good-night, dear love. Drame of the old delight, My spirit is summoned -** Bad luck to it ! Shall I never get the tune out of my head ? It's as catching as 'flu, and I've got it bad. Divil take Keeley Lesterre 8 MERELY MARY ANN. ACT I. and his " Good-night and Good-bye." Any letters ? (Takes hit pile.) Ah, from Nancy, the darlint. " Drame of the old delight ! " There I go again ! I'm as bad as a barrel organ. (Strikes match, lights his candle, and begins to walk upstairs.) (MBS. LEADBATTER'S voice, coming from kitchen, singing softly in outrageous Cockney accent.) " Dream of the old delight, My spirit is summoned above." (Enter MRS. LEADBATTER L. She is stout, slipshod and frowsy, and carries a candlestick.) O'GoRMAN (in unconscious duet with MRS. LEADBATTER). " Kiss me, dear love, good-night." (Turns.) Eh? (Embarrassed pause ; both holding candlesticks high to see each other, he half-way upstairs, she at bottom.) Ah, a nasty night, Mrs. Leadbatter. MRS. LEADBATTER (at L.C.). Yes, Mr. O'Gorman, I do 'ope all the gents 'ave shut their windows. If I shut them, they say there's not henough hair, and if I leaves them open they say there's too much water. O'GoRMAN. I dare say we lead you the divil of a life between us all. You must feel as if you had seven husbands to mother, each more unreasonable than the other six. MRS. LEADBATTER. Oh, no, no. (Shaking head.) Seven lodgers is child's play to one 'usband. And I've buried two. O'GoRMAN. The divil admire you ! (Mounting further.) Pleasant dramesl MRS. LEADBATTER. Same to you, Mr. O'Gorman. (Grosses towards table up R.) O'GoRMAN (hums). " Drame of the old delight." (Turns.) Och, by the way, Mrs, Leadbatter, don't forget to take in my paper for me in the morning the Sunday Sledgehammer, you know. MRS. LEADBATTER (back again a little). Yes, sir, though I can't stomach newspapers coming out on Sunday. I may be a hignorant person who can't read them, but I do know Sunday is for rest. O'GoRMAN. Sure, it's right you are, and I shan't get up till Monday afternoon. (Both laugh.) MRS. LEADBATTEB Well, sir, I 'opes it will be forgiven me OD ACT I. MERELY MARY ANN. 9 O'GoRMAN. Don't worry about getting into Heaven. I'll give ye a press ticket. Good night. (Disappears heard singing) " Kiss me good-night, dear love." MRS. LEADBATTER (sings). " Dream of the old delight, My spirit is summoned above ** Goodness me, these wet humbrellas will be the ruin of my humbrella stand (Puts candle on hall table, and takes O'GORMAN'S um- brella towards the kitchen. A double rat-tat at the street door.) What can that be at this hour ! (Galls down to kitchen.) Mary Ann ! Mary Ann ! Don't you hear a knock ? Drat that girl. When she's wanted in the kitchen she's in the hattic, and when the droring- room bell rings, she's in the coal 'ole. (Rat-tat.) All right, all right, don't be so himpatient ! You ain't one of my 'usbands come back. (Shuffles to door and half opens it.) A MESSENGER BOY'S voice. Mr. Lancelot ! MRS. LEADBATTER. He's hout, and 'igh time 'e was hin. (Look- ing at coats on hall rack. A MESSENGER BOY'S voice. Sign, please. MRS. LEADBATTER. Bother Mr. Lancelot. Folks ought not to be worried at such hours. Past eleven, and my 'and's gone to sleep. (Galls towards lower regions.) Rosie ! ROSIE (from parlour). Yes, Ma I'm busy. MRS. LEADBATTER. Oh, you're always such a busy bee. Come 'ere and sign. (Moves over a little B.) ROSIE. Oh, bother ! (MESSENGER BOY heard whistling, " Kiss me good-night, dear love," etc.) (RosiE enters from parlour door, holding pen and papers. ROSIE is of the barmaid type ; coarse beauty, over-dressed, over-good- looking, flaxen-haired. She speaks in a pretentiously genteel manner.) MRS. LEADBATTER. It's for that Mr. Lancelot. ROSIE. Oh ! (Quickens her pace, signs, receives letter and places it on hall table.) (MRS. LEADBATTER closes the door and drops into a hall chair, down R The whistling ceases.) MRS. LEADBATTER. You oughtn't to stay hup so late a-readin them love-tales. ROSIE (coming down R.C.). Oh, Ma ! Why, I was doing the bills for the week, before going to uncle's. MRS. LEADBATTER. But the week hain't finished. There might be more breakages if we've a bit of luck. I 'ope you've charged the third floor front with the jug 'e cracked. 10 MERELY MARY ANN. Aoa 1. ROSIE (examining the bill with a guilty air). IB is it cracked ? MBS. LEADBATTER (springs up). Yes, and you as well you'll be telling me next you 'aven't put heighteenpence hextra for the *ot supper of the second floor back. ROSIE (consulting bill). Did he have it hot ? MRS. LEADBATTER. Yes, and you'll 'ave it 'ot. (Advances threateningly. ROSIE backs away from her.) Where's the use of your grand heddication ? Hall you do is to sprawl on sofas and snivel over story books. There's no henergy about the gals nowa- days. Why, when I was your hage I was a widow. You 'aven't forgotten to charge Mr. Lancelot for keeping the gas burning all Thursday night, now 'ave you ? ROSIE (L.C.). Oh, Mr. Lancelot wouldn't like that his gas is inclusive. MRS. LEADBATTER (R.C.). Hinclusive ? Yes, all day, not all night. It's henough we throw in London fogs that's hinclusive henough. Besides, Mr. Lancelot howes me so much already 'e won't mind howing me another shilling. He's more worrit than hall the lodgers put together, what with his pianner busting out any moment like a barrel-organ. ROSIE. Oh, Ma 1 Mr. Lancelot plays like an angel. MRS. LEADBATTER. I never 'card as hangels could play the pianner. 'Arps is their hinstmment. But you're hall the same, you gals. Crazy over a good-looking young man. Wait till you're a widow you'll know better. Has for Mary Ann, she broke the blue gravy dish through 'urrying to answer 'is bell. ROSIE (tossing her head moving down L.). I don't think yo^i ought to class me with Mary Ann ! MRS. LEADBATTER (R.C.). 'Eaven forbid. Hall I say is you're hall alike. Ah, there she is at last. (MARY ANN in a patched print dress and a dirty apron has appeared on the landing at head of stairs, carrying in her apron a motley pile of men's dirty boots of every shape and size. She is a slim, pretty, almost poetic figure, despite the smut or two on her face, and her wan, under-fed look. During the following scene, until she speaks, Rosie busies herself with making out bills, using the left wall as a backing.) MRS. LEADBATTER. Mary Ann! MARY ANN. Yes'm. (Descending.) MRS. LEADBATTER (R.C.). Have all them boots gone to bed ? MARY ANN. Yes'm. (Descending.) MRS. LEADBATTER (turns to hall table.) Ah, yes only five candle- sticks. No ladies' shoes ? MARY ANN. No, mum the Sisters Trippet ain't home from the theatre. MRS. LEADBATTER. The theayter. Ain't I told you often enough! AC* L MERELY MARY ANN. 11 MARY ANN (c.). The theayter. MRS. LEADBATTER. And wlio else is hout besides Mr. Lancelot ? MARY ANN. The young man from the hospital. MRS. LEADBATTER. The 'Orspital ! You country booby 1 MARY ANN. The 'Orspital. MRS. LEADBATTER. Well, you can wait to turn out the gas and lockup. Rosie and me is going to bed. (Takes candle from table.} MARY ANN (c.). Yes'm. (Gapes.) MRS. LEADBATTER. Don't stand opening your mouth like a pillar box. (MARY ANN closes her mouth hastily.) (Moving down R.O., vrith a touch of kindness.) You needn't do the boots to-night. MARY ANN. Please, mum, I don't mind, if I might do them upstairs in my bedroom. MRS. LEADBATTER. What! Are you afraid of the black- beetles ? MARY ANN. No, mum, but I can see the moon. MRS. LEADBATTER (R.C.). The moon 1 So that's what you've been hup to hall this while mooning the precious hours away. MARY ANN. No, mum, the rain did hide the moon, but it's giving over now, and the stars are coming out. MRS. LEADBATTER. The stars ! What next ? Well, I never. ROSIE (L.). It's all moonshine, Ma, she just wants to get with her canary. MRS. LEADBATTER. Yes, that reminds me. I do 'ope, Mary Ann, you'll keep that 'orrid bird of yours quiet ; it quite broke up my rest last night. MARY ANN. I'm so sorry, mum. I can't make out why he did sing all in the dark and cold. I'll talk to he. MRS. LEADBATTER. Not to 'ee, silly. To hit. MARY ANN. To hit. MRS. LEADBATTER. Come along, Rosie. (RosiE crosses up to table, and looks over letters, holding them up to light.) What a worrit to heddicate you. I'll never take a country gal again. Well, go and talk to your blessed bird. (Going to stairs.) MARY ANN. Oh, thank you, mum. I'll get the blacking brushes. (Pours out boots in passage and hastens towards kitchen.) MRS. LEADBATTER. And, Mary Ann I MARY ANN. Yes'm. MRS. LEADBATTER. You won't gawk at your moon and forget my gas. (Going upstairs.) MARY ANN. No, mum. MRS. LEADBATTER (goes one step higher.) And see that the wet humbrellas don't spile me humbrella stand. 12 MERELY MARY ANN. Acs I. MARY ANN. Yes'm. MRS. LEADBATTER (some stairs higher). And be hup sharp to take in the milk can these harea thieves is gettin' bold as brass. MARY ANN. Yes'm. (RosiE ascends stairs.) MRS. LEADBATTER (on landing). And don't forget to-morrow's the Lord's day, and the third floor back must be waked for hearly church. MARY ANN. Yes'm. ROSIE (on the landing). And, Mary Ann ! I shan't be here to-morrow, so you'll wait on the Sisters Trippet. MARY ANN. Yes'm. MRS. LEADBATTER (invisible). Oh, and get the Sunday Sledge- 'ammer when you 'ear the newsboy. MARY ANN. Yes'm. (A pause. Silence. The wind heard again, but not the rain. Then the noise of JIM BLAYDES fumbling outside the hall door.) JIM (invisible, from outside). Dash that keyhole ! Where has it hie ! got to ? ( Yawning long fumbling ; impatient shaking ; at last a timid knock. MARY ANN runs up gaping, with the blacking brushes in her hand, and opens the door. JIM BLAYDES enters, a little but not too much the worse for liquor, in a mackintosh, a gaudy tie, and a medical student air.) Sorry to trouble you been cutting up corpses in the hospital. (Grosses up to table.) MARY ANN (to herself). Oh dear ! he can't say 'orspital. (Kindly.) I'm going up, sir, you can lean on me. JIM. Thank you not without my letters. (Staggers sUghtly.) Makes nerves unsteady cutting up corpses real live corpsea, (Takes his two letters.) That is two letters, isn't it, Mary Ann ? (With morbid nervous jocularity.) One, two, eh ? MARY ANN (reassuringly.) Yes, sir. (Lights his candle and gives it to him.) JIM (at o. joyously). I'm all right. (Takes candle.) I'm all right don't want to lean on you (Sings.) " My spirit is summoned above '* (Catches sight of medley of dirty boots, and covers eyes with hand, then reassures himself.) I'm all right, I'm all right, that's only one dirty pair of boots, isn't it, Mary Ann ? Only one pair of boots, eh ? MARY ANN (at R.O.). I wish it was, sir. (Crosses to him and helps him upstairs.) (He sings " Kiss me good-night.") (Noise of cab driving up, and LANCELOT'S voice calls out, " Whoa there 1 " After a pause a latchkey is heard in lock, door half opens I. MERELY MARY ANN. 13 and LANCELOT is seen, a tall, handsome young man in rough artistic tweeds, with artistic hair and fingers.) LANCELOT. Well, good night, Peter. Glad we met again. So good of you to give me a lift. Good night. (Enter LANCELOT with umbrella. PETER half pushing in behind him. PETER in evening dress elegant opera cape, opera hat short t squat, the Sancho Panza to LANCELOT'S Don Quixote.) PETER. No, not good night, Lancelot. I've got heaps more to yarn about after all these years. LANCELOT. I'm sorry I can't ask you in. I've nowhere to receive visitors. PETER. Nowhere to receive visitors ? What the devil are you making such a fuss about ? LANCELOT. Hush ! Everybody's asleep. PETER. Rot ! (Forces himself in.) Why, here's a chair. (Plumps into hall chair below door.) And a better one than we had in our German garret. (Closes opera hat with a decisive snap.) LANCELOT (flapping his hat angrily on a peg). Our garret at Leipsic was sanctified by music, by inspiration. All around one heard violins, pianos, harps, fresh young singing voices, everywhere was the atmosphere of art. PETER. And garlic. LANCELOT. Better than the boiled cabbage of British apart- ments. Pah I Stale and heavy as that British opera to-night. And here's a miserable light. (Angrily turns hall lamp much higher.) Ach Himmel, what a country 1 (Digs his umbrella savagely into the stand.) And look there ! (Indicates MARY ANN, who just appears on landing above and is descending.) Look at that creature with her smuts, and think of the rosy-faced Frauleins of the Father- land ! PETER (down B., rising, looking). I think she's rather pretty. LANCELOT (up B.C.). That's what you said of to-night's opera, you old stall-fed ox. But we didn't think so in the gallery, I can tell you. We just booed. PETER. Sounds as if you were the oxen. You've got German measles. Let me help you off with your coat. (Takes LANCELOT'S coat and hangs it on rack.) (LANCELOT to MARY ANN, who has come to a standstill at the foot of the stairs, and is staring awestruck at the extravagantly burning gas). Well, Polly, Betsy, Jane, or whatever your name may be, what are you waiting for ? MARY ANN (tearfully). Please, sir, to fasten up and turn out that gas. LANCELOT (at R.C., crossly). Well, you can't just yet. PETER (crossing down L. kindly). All right, my child, I'll see he does it. 14 MERELY MARY ANN. Ac* I. MARY ANN. Oh, don't, please, sir, there's the ladies PETER. Ah, ladies live here too ? MARY ANN (at o.). Yessir, very grand ladies. The Sisters Trippet from the theatre I mean theaytre. PETER. No, you don't, you mean the music hall. They're not really sisters, are they ? LANCELOT (grimly). Step-dance sisters ! You see what I've tome to. (Stumbles against boots.) And what in the name of Eng- land, home and beauty, are these beastly boots doing ! (Kicks them.) MARY ANN (at c.). Please, sir, I'm taking them up to clean. fathers them up fa apron.) LANCELOT (R.C.). Well, hurry up, and clean your face too, while you are about it. PETER (at L.C., bustling to pick up a remote boot and put it in MARY ANN'S lap). There you are, Polly. Is that your name ? MARY ANN. No, sir. Mary Ann. PETER. Mary Ann what ? MARY ANN. Mary Ann ; that's all, sir. PETER. Merely Mary Ann ? MARY ANN. Yes, sir. LANCELOT (dropping on chair R.). Ah, Peter, when in the ecstasy of composition we would deem ourselves Gods, these are the Hebes a mocking fate sends up with our tea. (MARY ANN starts to go.) By the way, Mary Ann, I'm hiring a better piano it's coming in on Monday a grand piano I suppose it will have to come up through the window these staircases are so beastly narrow. Do you never have a stout lodger, I wonder ? MARY ANN (up c.). Oh, yes, sir. Some time ago we had quite a fat gentleman. LANCELOT (at R.). Ah ! And did he go up through the window by a pulley ? MARY ANN. No, sir. He lived on the ground floor. PETER (L.). Ha! Ha! Ha! LANCELOT (getting up and coming towards MARY ANN). Shut up, you hyena, you'll wake up the house. Anyhow, you know what a piano is ; I suppose you'd know it from a kangaroo ? MARY ANN (c.). Yes, sir. A kangaroo could get upstairs of itself. PETER. Ha ! Ha ! LANCELOT (disconcerted). Oh, you've seen a kangaroo, have you ? MARY ANN. Oh, yes, sir, it came to the village fair in a circus. A beasty with the jumps. LANCELOT. Oh, then, since you know so much, perhaps you can play the piano too? ACT I. MERELY MARY ANN. 15 MARY ANN (at c. blushing and hanging her head). No, sir, missus never showed me how to do that. LANCELOT (at B.C.). Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! This is a real original. But you would be willing to play ? MARY ANN (tearfully). Please, sir, it does play a little when I dust it. PETER (at L,C.). Oh, let the child go to bed. Good night, Mary Ann. MARY ANN. Good night, sir. (Ascends with the boots.) LANCELOT. Here ! Put out the whisky and a couple of glasses in my room as you go up. MARY ANN. Yessir. (Hastens up to his room's door and exit through it.) PETER (crossing over to LANCELOT). I say, Lancelot, adversity doesn't seem to agree with you. You quite made that poor child's cheeks wet. LANCELOT. It will wash away her smuts. Did you see her hands black and red like lobsters ? Ugh ! Why doesn't she wear gloves ? (Turns towards table.) PETER. Wear gloves ! You are too funny, Lancelot. Ah, how you aristocrats do hate the poor I No wonder there are French Revolutions. LANCELOT. Hallo ! (Catches sight of a letter.) Confound Mary Ann. Here's an express letter waiting all this time. PETER. Oh, no hurry. It's only from me. LANCELOT. From you ? PETER. Yes, I forgot to post it till after the opera, so I got a messenger boy, little thinking I should walk right into you the moment after. Life is too funny. After hunting for you for years, I stumble on your address this morning at Brahmson's, and to- night LANCELOT. Brahmson's ? The music publisher ? What were you doing there ? You said you'd chucked music ! PETER, (moving to L.C., uneasy). Oh I you see he's a chum of mine. And so he was telling me LANCELOT (at R.C.). He was telling you ! Is he visible ? Does he really exist ? Has he a body ? PETER. Ha ! Ha ! Has Brahmson a body ? I should say he has ; the kind that would have to come up through the window by a pulley. LANCELOT. Never once have I been able to get at him such a prickly hedge of clerks. PETER. Ha ! Ha ! But your abusive letters have got at him he says he thinks you have hurled at him even more abuse than manuscripts. MARY ANN (passing out of LANCELOT'S room on upward way). I've put the whisky out, sir. (Exit upstairt.) 16 MERELY MARY ANN. AOT I. LANCELOT. But Brahmson doesn't know my real name only Mr. Lancelot. How did you get to know it was I ? PETER. By the good music and the bad language. LANCELOT. Then why doesn't he publish it ? PETER. The bad language ? LANCELOT. Go to blazes ! (Moves to down R., begins to tear open letter.) PETER (anxiously). No, no. (Following over a little.) No need to read it now wait till I've gone. LANCELOT. And did he tell you about my sonata that he's gone and lost ? PETER. Brahmson never loses, not even money. LANCELOT. Then why won't he publish it ? PETER. I just told you he never loses money. Don't swear you ought to love him. He's a German. I prefer the Scotch and I'm going to get it. (Goes towards the stairs, ascends a couple noisily.) LANCELOT (moving up stage). Hush 1 People are asleep. PETER. Not so many stairs as at Leipsic, old man, nicht wahr ? LANCELOT. No, mein lieber, there were ninety-seven. PETER. Ninety-six; I used to count them. LANCELOT. Ninety-seven. I remember it rhymed with Heaven. PETER (turning and looking down). I hope you've forgiven me, lieber Lancelot, for my fall from Heaven. LANCELOT. I've nothing to forgive. (Takes up his candle.) If you chose to chuck up music and go into business, that's your own affair. PETER (pleadingly). Most of us do it sooner or later. LANCELOT. You're right look at to-night's opera. That chap's gone into business with a vengeance. And I did think once he might be the Saviour of British Music. (Prepares to strike a match it goes out.) PETER. Never mind the place is open for you. LANCELOT (strikes a match). Bah. the British public is not worth writing for ! Keeley Lesterre is all they're fit for. (Mockingly and mincingly.) "Kiss me, dear love, good night, Dream of the old delight." Ugh! It's like treacle. (His match goes out he strikes another.) PETER. There are worse things than treacle. To tell the truth, / am (checks himself) an admirer of Keeley Lesterre. LANCELOT (lighting his candle). I see you are fast qualifying for a musical critic. Ifitreet door opens with a dash, and LANCELOT'S candle is blown out by the entry of the SISTERS TRIPPET, who speak rapidly as they come in, scarcely noticing LANCELOT'S exclamation which follows.) LANOErx>T. The devil 1 ACT I. MERELY MARY ANN. 17 POLLY. She didn't get a hand. KITTY. She can't dance for nuts. POLLY. She'll be all right for the provs. KITTY. And wanted to be starred bigger than us. POLLY. Cheek ! KITTY AND POLLY (they have been throwing off cloaks and revealing elaborate beauties and toilettes and suggesting anything but sister- hood. Now speaking in different keys as they perceive they've blown out LANCELOT'S light). Awfully sorry. (LANCELOT turns his back rudely on them and fumbles nervously at the letter, trying to open it. PETER, half-way up the stairs, turns and looks at newcomers.) POLLY. Lovely night after the rain. (Repeats.) Isn't it a lovely night after the rain ? (Grosses up to table.) (LANCELOT grunts.) A postcard for you, Kitty ! KITTY (lighting candle). Only a measly postcard ? Oh, Polly, we forgot to buy the cigarettes. (Comes down R.C.) POLLY (o.). Good Lord ! And everything's shut. PETER. Can I oblige you ? (Descends stairs, crosses to L.c. takes out cigarette-case.) I have lots. (LANCELOT stamps his foot.) KITTY AND POLLY. Thanks, awfully. KITTY (R.O.). You living here ? PETER (L.C.). No. Just seeing my friend. POLLY (o. coquettishly). I'm so sorry. PETER. So am I. (LANCELOT moves towards L., tears at letter savagely. The SISTERS light their candle. KITTY lights LANCELOT'S.) KITTY. I've lit your candle again. (LANCELOT does not reply. The SISTERS ascend.) KITTY (looking back to PETER). I wish you'd get your pal to write us music for a dance. LANCELOT (down L. cursing deeply). God forbid I POLLY. For money, not for love. KITTY. We ain't mean we'd pay a guinea. LANCELOT (grinding his teeth). Donner und Blitzen ! KITTY AND POLLY (up the stairs). Good night. PETER (R.C.). Good night. KITTY (calls down to PETER). I say, old fellow, you'd better put a poultice on your pal's head take down the swelling. (Leans 18 MERELY MARY ANN. ACT I. over balustrade, to LANCELOT, near kitchen door.) Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo ? (SISTERS disappear laughing.) (PETER throwing kisses up to them.) LANCELOT (pausing with opened but unread letter). I'm ashamed of you, Peter. PETER. What's up ? Can't I do a Christian kindness ? LANCELOT. Christian kindness ! All they wanted was to flirt they've got trunks of cigarettes and all you wanted was to flirt. PETER. All right don't bite my head off I'm not a monster of perfection like you. LANCELOT. Bah I Where's your self-respect ? (Still growling, draws out cheque.) What's this ? (Peruses letter.) PETER. Oh, er (takes out his cigarette case, drops it nervously picks it up, takes out cigarette, drops it, picks it up, tries to light it) the money you lent me. LANCELOT (looking up, hisses in white heat). How dare you ! PETER (R.C., dropping the match). What ! Mustn't I smoke ? LANCELOT (L.C.). You may smoke in Hades, you confounded counter-jumper ! A cheque for two hundred and fifty pounds. PETER (apologetically). Hush ! Hush ! I've only added inter- est at five per cent. LANCELOT. Interest ! That's the last straw ! Because I'm reduced to Trippet Sisters and Mary Anns, you PETER. It's your own money. LANCELOT. Am I a moneylender ? I gave you the money. PETER. You did, Lancelot most magnificently. You paid for your old school-fellow's training at Leipsic when his commercial papa offered him an office stool or starvation. You were a baronet's son, I was a tea-merchant's, yet you LANCELOT (graciously). Art is a republic. PETER. Then let me be even with you. In those youthful days of revolt against our " stern parients," when you wouldn't go into the Church, and I wouldn't go into the City, everything was clouded in a magnificent mist. But now I see more straight. Where's my self-respect, you ask. You rob me of it if you don't take my cheque. Since I did the prodigal son dodge, I am simply rolling in money. LANCELOT. Roll on what's that to me? (Tears cheque and strews it into a score of fragments.) PETER (dolefully as he stoops). Oh, dear, more work for Mary Ann ! (Crawls picking up pieces.) LANCELOT. And now you can just roll home (crosses to dining- room door and takes down whistle from it) I'll call a hansom. (Open* hall door.) ACT I. MERELY MARY ANN. 19 PETER. But see, I'm on my knees to you I'm taking back my money (picks up pieces) every bit of it. (LANCELOT remorselessly whistles for a cab. PETER jumps up and drags him in, struggling, half -laughing, half -serious.) You're a blithering, bloated aristocrat ; you're just wallowing in pride. LANCELOT. Hush ! You'll wake the house. PETER. Beastly patrician pride. And this is my French Revolu- tion. (Forces him into chair below door R.) LANCELOT (half angry half laughing). You bourgeois bully ! You haven't lost your muscle since we wrestled in our German garret. PETER. Beware then or you'll be wiped out By the way (crosses to c.) how is your big brother, the baronet ? Has he married an American heiress yet ? LANCELOT. Heaven forbid ! (Rising, hangs whistle on door, then comes down stage ayain.) We marry a girl whose father has struck ile ! Ugh ! PETER. Why not ? The girl's polished with the oil. LANCELOT. Reeking with it, you mean. No, Peter, in our family we marry ladies. PETER. Yes, but what do you call a lady 1 LANCELOT. Mary Ann 1 (MARY ANN is seen on landing, holding candle, her face washed.) MARY ANN. Yessir. I only came for to turn out that gas. (Staring wistfully at its extravagant flare.) LANCELOT. My friend hasn't gone yet. PETER. Hasn't come yet, you mean. (Moves towards stairs.) Let's have one drink for Leipsic and auld lang syne and then I'll skedaddle. I know Mary Ann won't sleep till I'm off her mind, will you ? MARY ANN. No, sir, I promised missus. LANCELOT. Well, come along, Peter. (Taxes candle from table.) (They go up. As they mount, a passing chorus of male voices in the street, accompanied by a concertina, commences " Kiss me good- night, dear love." Start singing very low R., gradually louder and die away in distance L. LANCELOT makes a face.) Oh, these Saturday-night street ruffians ! PETER. They might be doing worse. (Exeunt into LANCELOT'S room. Street chorus is continued. " Dream of the old delight, My spirit is summoned above, Kiss me, dear love, good-night." And when finished, re-starts, dying away in the distance. MARY ANN listens, emotionally entranced, humming chorus, puts her candle on 20 MERELY MARY ANN. Aow I. table, picks up remaining bits of cheque, lastly takes up the brush and vigorously brushes LANCELOT'S coat as it hangs in the hall. LAN- CELOT and PETER are heard drinking, crying " Prosit," and winding up with " Gaudeamus Igitur." The joyous student-song mingles with the close of the street-song. As they emerge, PETER comically finishes the song like an opera singer, but LANCELOT silences him abruptly by reminding him with a gesture that the house is asleep.) PETER. So that's a bargain you'll dine with me next Tuesday. Happy thought. Why not invite Brahmson to meet you ? LANCELOT (angrily). Damnable thought. If Brahmson won't take my music on its merits, I'll have none of your sly underhand patronizing tricks ; none of your d d dodges (pushing him half playfully down remaining stairs), do you hear, Peter ? PETER (jumping down R.C.). Yes, I hear but I'd rather hear your music. Even I couldn't induce Brahmson to bring out new- fangled stufi like yours so you needn't be alarmed. Lancelot, I'm afraid you're in for a terrible fight. And even genius doesn't always win. How are you to live? LANCELOT. One can always die. PETER. That seems such a waste of time especially when there is that two hundred and fifty yes, don't kick me. Good night, old chap. (Opens his opera hat with a plop, and takes umbrella from stand.) LANCELOT. Good night, lieber Peter. (Places candle on table. Puts hand on PETER'S shoulder, as they move slowly towards the door, passing MARY ANN without noticing her.) I forgive you for that cheque you've brought me such pleasant memories of our dear old garret. I see the Heinstrasse and the quaint tall houses, and hear again the first whispers of fame and love it's all flowing through my brain in fluttering chords and spring-like melodies. PETER. Then write them down at once, old chap. Lebt wohl I (Opens door and glides off.) LANCELOT. Auf Wiedersehen! PETER. Auf Wiedersehen ! (Outside.) LANCELOT (stands sentimentally at door looking out). Lieber Peter I (Bell ready up R.) (A longish pause Silence MARY ANN watching Mm lovingly. A church clock slowly booms twelve.) LANCELOT. Ah, midnight. (Turns pensively. In surprise.) Mary Ann ! MARY ANN (c.). Yessir. LANCELOT (R.C.). I'm so sorry I didn't mean to keep you wait- ing you must be dying for bed. (Going up stairs.) MARY ANN. No, sir, I could wait up for hours, if (Flushet.\ Aow I. MERELY MARY ANN. 2) LANCELOT. If what, my child ? (Pauses on stairs and turn* head.) MARY ANN (L.O.). If you was going to play the music you told Mr. Peter about. LANCELOT (blankly). The musio I told Peter MARY ANN. That's in your brain. The fluttering strings and springy tunes. LANCELOT (interested, laughing). If I played it now ? MARY ANN (moving to R.C.). Yessir. LANCELOT (coming to L.C.). And how about your sleep f MARY ANN. Please, sir, it's better than sleep. LANCELOT. I'm afraid the rest of the house wouldn't think BO. MARY ANN. You could play very soft, sir. LANCELOT. So you've got an ear. MARY ANN. Yessir. LANCELOT. A pretty ear, too. MARY ANN. Yessir. LANCELOT. Ah, you know you're pretty. MARY ANN. Yessir. The vicar of our village told me that was why Mrs. Leadbatter must take care of me. LANCELOT. Ah, the village where the kangaroo came. MARY ANN. Yessir. Mr. Smedge. LANCELOT. I'm glad you're a country girl I hope you went a-milking f MARY ANN (enthusiastically relapsing into her dialect). Eessir ! And I did drive the milk-cart, and I did ride on a pony to the second pasture to count the sheep and heifers. LANCELOT. Then you are a farmer's daughter? MARY ANN. Eessir. My f eyther had only fower little fields, but we had a niceish garden with plum trees and gillyflowers and roses. LANCELOT. Better and better. The roses haven't quite faded yet. (Strokes her cheeks.) How old were you when you came to London ? MARY ANN (puzzling it out). I were eight years old when mother died, and thirteen when feyther died. LANCELOT. And how old are you now ! MARY ANN. I I don't know, sir. I'll ask missus. LANCELOT. And whatever she tells you, you'll be. MARY ANN. Yessir. LANCELOT. Oh dear, what a funny little Topsy ! (Crosses her and moves to R.) MARY ANN. I'm not topsy-turvey, I haven't kept count. LANCELOT (turning to her). What ! No birthdays ? MARY ANN (L.O.). Only Miss Rosie's ; I always do her work on her birthday. LANCELOT. What a shame ! MARY ANN. Oh, it only comes once a year, air. 22 MERELY MARY ANN. Acm I. LANCELOT. Like Christmas. MARY ANN. Oh, no sir, not so heavy as Christmas. And last year I don't think Miss Rosie's birthday did come at all. LANCELOT. Ah, she's taking a year off ! MARY ANN. Yessir. (Both laugh.) LANCELOT. But your own birthdays MARY ANN. There's no one to keep those, sir. LANCELOT. Then you are quite alone in the world ? MARY ANN. No, sir. (Moves up to him R.) There's my canary. They sold everything when feyther died, but I did cry so the vicar's wife she did buy Dick back for me. LANCELOT. But haven't you any brothers and sisters ? MARY ANN. Little Sally, she died. And my big brother Tom I never did see. Oh, but I mustn't mention his name, mother said. LANCELOT. Mustn't mention his name ? Why ? MARY ANN (half weeping). He's so wicked. He wouldn't go to church. LANCELOT. Dear me! MARY ANN. No, sir or if he did, mother said, he coughed so loud all make-believe that he had to be sent out. He led a bad life, sir, and now he's in America. LANCELOT. Serve him right. Poor lonely little Mary Ann ! (Draws her towards him.) I'm sorry I spoke so crossly to you before. There there. (Kisses her. She retreats shyly.) Oh, don't run away. (He takes her hands then as he feels their roughness, makey a grimace and says) I shall have to buy you a pair of gloves. MARY ANN. Oh, sir I (Then disappointed.) But I never goes out ! LANCELOT. I never go out. MARY ANN. I never go out. LANCELOT. That doesn't matter. I want you to wear them indoors. MARY ANN. But what'd missus say ? LANCELOT. Missus needn't see them. You shall only wear them when you come to me. MARY ANN. Oh, thank you, sir, that witt be grand ! LANCELOT (holding her in his arms). And if there is anything else I can do to help a poor little girl MARY ANN. Oh, sir, if you would be so good ! (Breaks from his arms.) Wait a moment, sir. (Rushes up stairs two at a time.) LANCELOT. What the devil ! (Stares after her. Then with sudden transition.) Good God ! What have I done ? (Takes out handker- chief and wipes lips.) To sink to a Mary Ann. Faugh ! (Rubs vigorously.) I must have drunk too much whisky. (Paces agitatr edly.) And I slanged Peter for talking to the Sisters Trippet ... 1 Whatever does she want me to do I ACT I. MERELY MARY ANN. 23 (MARY ANN rushes back, holding a large canary cage.) MARY ANN. Please, sir, would you let my canary stay in your room ? LANCELOT (amazed). Your canary ? MARY ANN. Yessir. Missus don't like him in mine. And there's more air and sunshine in yours, and such a nice nail for the cage. LANCELOT (impatiently). Oh, hang your canary ! MARY ANN. Thank you, sir. (Hastens up to his room and exit through the door.) LANCELOT. A pretty mess I've got intol Already she's given me a keepsake. A keepsake from Mary Ann 1 Oh, Peter, Peter, why did you come and make me sentimental and semi-sober I (Wipes mouth nervously again.) MARY ANN (re-enters, runs downstairs). Please, sir, I'm so happy, and so is the canary. LANCELOT (sullenly). I hope he won't chortle in his joy. (Grosses to stairs.) MARY ANN. No, sir, I talked to he. (LANCELOT turns saying " Eh ? ") I mean to hit. LANCELOT (brusquely). All right good night. (Exit up stairs into room.) MARY ANN. Good night, sir. (Watches him upstairs till he disappears, then begins humming happily "Kiss me good-night, dear lore." She locks and bolts the door and puts up the chain. As she stands on chair to turn out gas, his door opens and his boots are thrown out with an angry crash, and the door is banged as with a curse. MARY ANN turns out hall lamp, slowly ascends the stairs, her candle making the one spot of light in the darkness. She stumbles against LANCELOT'S boots midway and kneels to pick them up.) God bless you, Mr. Lancelot, and my canary I o o ACT H SCENE. LANCELOT'S bed-sitting room, furnished heavily in lodging house style, antimacassars on furniture, and bad pictures hanging. The sideboard is ugly. At the back are a pallet bed and washing stand, the former hidden absolutely by a tall screen, in which a quill pen is stuck. There is a mirror on the mantelpiece. The large table is covered with litter of manuscripts and printed music, magazines, books, etc. Same litter everywhere. Duplicate quill pen in coal scuttle. The canary cage is hung on the left side of the window. It is late afternoon, the light gradually fading. LANCELOT is discovered sitting despondently playing at the piano. The canary's rapturous singing holds the stage a moment or two. It must rarely die abruptly throughout the scene and may sometimes go advan- tageously with passages of dialogue, like an orchestral accompani- ment. The specially obligatory outbursts of song are indicated in their place. LANCELOT (to canary). Shut up! (To himself.) How would this do for the coda ? (Plays a few bars. The canary only gradually ceases its trills.) Ach, waiting for that telegram unnerves me I Will that telegram never come ? (Leans head on keyboard.) ROSIE (knocking and entering with a large note on a tray. He does not notice her). Good afternoon, Mr. Lancelot. LANCELOT (sitting up galvanized). Ah, is that my wire ? ROSIE. No, sir, your bill. (Crosses to him.) LANCELOT. Oh ! (Collapses again.) ROSIE. For six weeks. (LANCELOT takes it up.) And Ma instructed me to say she is unhappily compelled to ask for imme- diate payment, but hopes you will not take it as an expression of the faintest distrust since she has the completest confidence in the word of a true gentleman, but it is merely to be regarded as a painful necessity consequent on her own quarterly bills coming in. LANCELOT. Ha ! (Opens it.) ROSIE (goes to canary and feeds it). How is my pet ? Didems now ? Tune up now, you ungrateful little beast. LANCELOT (feels in his pockets, turns them out gloomily, rises, picks up an MS.). I suppose your mother hasn't got change for a sonata in D minor? 25 2fl MERELY MARY ANN. AOT EL ROSIB. A what, sir ? (Comes down a little L.O.) LANCELOT. Never mind. In a few years this may be worth a hundred times your bill ; it may be circulating when the coins of Victoria are called in, and yet to-day (Throws it down angrily.) ROSIE. I'll ask her, Mr. Lancelot. LANCELOT (taking up another). Tell your mother this symphony In B flat major is to be performed at the Queen's Hall this season. ROSIE (L.C.). What date, sir ? LANCELOT. That's what I'm expecting a wire about every instant from Gasco, and then (drops on stool again) I ought to be able to get some money. (He plays.) ROSIE. I hope you will, Mr. Lancelot, I do hope you will (crosses towards door) for (shyly) we should miss you. (Hasty exit.) LANCELOT (he stops playing and jumps up). Was that a threat ? I'm to be chucked. Even Mary Ann's place is safer. (Rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat downstairs) Ah, the telegram from Gasco at last ! (Strides agitatedly up and down the room. Finally MARY ANN knocks. He is now near the fire.) Come in ! (MARY ANN opens door and closes it behind her, puts letter-tray on chair, produces gloves from her pocket and begins slowly putting them on.) (Testily.) What are you doing ? MARY ANN. Please, sir, pulling on my gloves. LANCELOT (stamping foot with impatience). Yes, yes, but not when there's a wire. (Rushes towards tray.) MARY ANN (dropping gloves in agitation, seizing the tray and presenting it respectfully). But you said I was always to put them on inside your door. LANCELOT. Silly ! Not when there is a wire. (Tears it open. MARY ANN picks up gloves.) The devil ! MARY ANN (nearly in tears). Yessir. (She is going.) LANCELOT. Here, wait. Reply prepaid. MARY ANN. Yessir. LANCELOT. I needn't have been in such a hurry ; it's not the one I was expecting. You may put on your gloves. (Grosses to R.C.) MARY ANN. Thank you, sir. (Begins to pull them on.) LANCELOT. Poor little Mary Annl It's only from Peter you know Peter ? MARY ANN. Yessir, the nice, kind gentleman- LANCELOT. Ah (walks away to R. up and down) not the nasty wild beast that I am ! ACT H. MERELY MARY ANN. 27 MARY ANN. Please, sir, wild beasts are not nasty. I liked the lion in the circus and you walk about like the lion did up and down his cage, up and down. LANCELOT (laughing, leaning on piano). I'm like a caged lion, eh ? MARY ANN (smiling up at him). Yessir, I often wish you had a tail to lash. LANCELOT. A tail ! MARY ANN. Yessir. You've only got your hair to tear, and that must hurt, sir. LANCELOT. Ha ! Ha ! So you pity the poor caged lion without a tail 1 (Gomes down R. of table.) MARY ANN (smiling). But you can roar, sir. LANCELOT. Ha ! Ha ! Does that frighten my little girl ? (Leant on table.) MARY ANN. No, sir, I am glad. Because the more you roar, the more you write the lovely music. Oh, yes, sir, I quite prefer you roary. LANCELOT. Do I write best when I'm roary ? MARY ANN. Oh my, sir ! The moment I hear you growling I fill up the inkstand, and hunt around for your pen. LANCELOT. Why, isn't my pen always on the table ? MARY ANN (at L.C., laughing). Oh, no, sir. I do wish, sir, you would aim near the fender, because I can mend the quill, but it's more trouble to take the ink out of the carpet. LANCELOT. I'm sorry, Mary Ann. I didn't know I threw my pen about. MARY ANN. I don't mind, sir, it's only the missus at least I do tremble sometimes for the canary. LANCELOT. My pen couldn't go through the wires. MARY ANN. No, sir, not if you tried for it. But it's wonderful the places I have picked up that pen in. My, here it is now, sticking in the screen like an arrow (Picks it up, points it with her scissors comes down R. close to him). LANCELOT. Ach Himmel ! It's very kind of you. (Sticks point in his hair and sits on bottom R. end of table.) You're quite my good fairy, aren't you ? MARY ANN. No, sir, I do try to be good, but I can't be a fairy I haven't got wings. LANCELOT (his arms round her). Why, what would you do with wings ? (Smiling.) MARY ANN. Flap them and fly away to the green country. LANCELOT. Without me ? (Kissing her.) MARY ANN. Oh, no, sir ; you've learnt me to talk like a gentle- man, and to wear gloves like a lady. LANCELOT. You never kiss anybody but me ? MARY ANN. No, Mr. Lancelot, and I never shall, sir, never. LANCELOT (dropping her uneasily). The telegraph boy will be fuming. (Crosses down B. to fireplace.) 28 MERELY MARY ANN. ACT U. MARY ANN. Not he, sir ; he likes his leisure. LANCELOT (smiling and re-reading telegram). Peter wants to bring Brahmson here to tea. MARY ANN. Yessir. LANCELOT. The great music publisher. MARY ANN. Yessir. LANCELOT (glumly). And Peter tells me Brahmson is sending back all my MSS. MARY ANN (outburst of joy). I'm so glad, sir. (Grosses to c.) LANCELOT. You don't understand. Brahmson's a Philistine. MARY ANN. What, sir, out of the Bible ? (L.C.) LANCELOT. Never mind too difficult for you. A Brute. MARY ANN. Yessir. LANCELOT (half to himself moves up.). But I don't like Brahm- son coming here and seeing my bed. (Looks morbidly towards screen.) MARY ANN (reassuringly). Please, sir, I put clean sheets this morning. LANCELOT. You little goose ! (Moves down to top of table.) But I can't lose the opportunity of giving Brahmson a piece of my mind. MARY ANN. Yes, skim it off the top, sir it will do you good. Oh, dear, I do wish you had a tail to lash. (Moves L.) LANCELOT. Where is my pen ? Mary Ann, what have you done with my pen ? It's never where I put it. MARY ANN. Yes, it is, sir. (Draws it out of his hair. Bus. MARY ANN humming " Kiss me good-night," etc.) (LANCELOT takes it and writes on the reply telegram.) LANCELOT. There ! (Gives it to her on tray.) MARY ANN (taking it). Yessir. (At door she draws off her gloves before her exit.) CANARY. Two, two ! LANCELOT. Shut up ! (Rises and goes up to cage.) She thinks I adore you just as she never suspects the gloves are to hide her red hands. Oh, what a hypocrite I'm becoming. (Moves down R.) (A little pause, then a timid knock.) MARY ANN (enters holding the reply telegram in one gloved hand t the other carefully behind her). Please, sir, the telegraph boy says it's sixpence more only sixpence prepaid. LANCELOT (crossing to her c. and taking it). Oh, dear, am I not an ass 1 MARY ANN (L.C.). You can't help it, sir. You're so clever ! LANCELOT. You wound and heal in one. But have I got six- pence ? (Feeling in pocket.) No, not a copper. Haven't you got sixpence, Mary Ann ? MARY ANN. No, sir once I had ninepence, (LANCELOT sits impatiently L. of *