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 *<ible.\
ACT n. MERELY MARY ANN. 29
all in threepenny pieces, but the vicar, he did give me such a holy
lecture that I did give my ninepence for the black people in Africa
to wash their souls, you know, sir. But next year missus is going
to pay me wages she is so good to me.
LANCELOT (studying telegram). Oh, everybody seems good to you.
MARY ANN. Yes, sir, everybody except Miss Rosie.
LANCELOT. Rosie what's the matter with Rosie I
MARY ANN. She will feed my canary.
LANCELOT. Well, but isn't that nice for the canary ?
MARY ANN (archly). It's nicer for Miss Rosie.
LANCELOT. What are you hiding there 1
MARY ANN. Nothing, sir.
LANCELOT. Yes, you are.
MARY ANN. Only my hand, sir (Shows it bare.) I didn't
know if I was to put on both gloves, being half a wire.
LANCELOT. Ha ! Ha ! So you hedged, one on, one off.
(Both laugh.)
MARY ANN. Yessir.
LANCELOT. Ha ! Ha ! Gives me an idea, I can take off half
the telegram. (Sits L. of talk. Counts on fingers.) " Pleased to
see you and Brahmson, if only to give him a piece of my mind."
Twelve words must go out. (Scratches and writes.) There ! Tell
the boy, only those three words. Here 1 You ought to be able to
read them by now.
MARY ANN. Yessir. (Reading painfully.) " Bring the
brute."
LANCELOT. Yes that's shorter, sweeter and cheaper.
(Both laugh.)
(MARY ANN draws off her glove, puts it in her pocket and exit.)
Have I got any whisky for the beggars ? (Opens sideboard, pro-
duces bottle turns it upside down.) Not a thimbleful. (Dolefully
swinging bottle.) No whisky, no wire, no money, no work published,
no (With tremendous transition.) By Jove 1 now I've got that
coda.
(His face afire with ecstasy, he seizes the pen and fribbles feverishly
on a sheet of ruled paper, humming gently to himself. Suddenly
a clarionet outside the window begins to play with many flourishes
" Kiss me good-night, dear love, Dream of the old delight," etc.
He hurls the pen on the table with an inarticulate roar, and jumps up.)
If I hear that sickly sentimental stuff again. I shall burst. (H*
rushes to window and throws it open.)
(The music is louder.)
Go away 1
(The music continues.)
SO MERELY MARY ANN. Aon II,
He smiles up at me. Der Teufel I No, I don't want an encore.
Great Scott ! And I haven't a penny to throw to him. (Looks
round desperately. Tears hair. There is a knock at the door. He
calls angrily in the new direction.) Oh, let me alone !
(The door opens and MBS. LEADBATTER enters, followed by ROSIE.)
MBS. LEADBATTER. Hexcuse me, sir, but Hi've let you alone
for six weeks, and Hi
LANCELOT. Give me a penny.
MBS. LEADBATTER. Give you a penny?
LANCELOT (c.). Don't argue, give me a penny I
ROSIE (L.). Here you are, Mr. Lancelot.
LANCELOT (clutches at it, hurls it into the street. The music ceases,
and he closes the window with a bang). Thank you, that's all '
(With a dismissing wave of the hand.)
MRS. LEADBATTER (L.C.). That's hall ! And you're sure you
don't want more than a penny of our 'ard-earned savings ?
ROSIE (L.). Hush, Ma !
MRS. LEADBATTER (angrily). Well, you talk to 'im then, you're
a laidy. I'm only a 'ard-working widow. I 'ad to keep two 'usbands
eating their 'eads off, and if I'd a wanted a third I'd a haxed 'im.
ROSIE. Oh, Ma ! (Giggles.)
MRS. LEADBATTER. Don't " Oh, Ma " me ! I've got a proposal
to make, and I shall make it.
ROSIE (in higher giggling key). Oh, Ma !
LANCELOT. Yes, yes what is your proposal ? Sit down.
MRS. LEADBATTER. Thank you, sir. (Sits L. of table.) Well
sir, I did think that you that sleeping and heating and drinking
'ere for nothing all these weeks, you'd feel uncomfortable like,
not being one of my 'usbands.
(RosiE, giggling, tugging at MBS. LEADBATTEB'S sleeve.)
LANCELOT (frowning at ROSIE). Quite so, quite so. It is uncom-
fortable.
MBS. LEADBATTER (triumphantly). You see, Rosie ! And so
we thought you'd like to work it out.
LANCELOT. Work it out ! Help Mary Ann, you mean ?
ROSIE (giggling). Oh, no, sir ! What I suggested to Ma was
MBS. LEADBATTEB. Don't interrupt your helders. You see,
sir, Rosie and me 'ave been thinking of taking lessons on the
pianner
LANCELOT. Rosie and you t
ROSIE (giggling). Ma means only me.
LANCELOT. Oh !
MBS. LEADBATTEB. Yes, I'm bringing hup Rosie to be a laidy,
LANCELOT. So I see. But have you got a piano of your own !
MBS. LEADBATTEB. Oh, no, sir.
Ao H. MERELY MARY ANN. 31
LANCELOT. Well, but how is your Rosie to practise ? Unless
she practises several hours a day, my lessons would be wasted.
MRS. LEADBATTEB. Ah, you don't know my Rosie. You mustn't
judge her by hother gals
ROSIE (giggling). Oh, Ma, yon make me blush !
LANCELOT (E.C.). My good woman, I practised six hours a day
myself.
MRS. LEADBATTER. Yes, but it don't come so natural to a man.
It's like darning socks. You give Rosie lessons hevery day, and
we'll arrange to leave you alone till your money comes in.
(LANCELOT paces agitatedly up and down.)
Well, sir, is it a bargain !
LANCELOT (clenches his fist). Yes dirt cheap. Sit down !
(RosiE goes up c., seizes music stool and plants it down with a jerk
that sends it twirling round and round.)
MRS. LEADBATTER (starting up). Oh, not yet I 'aven't time
to stay now. I've four teas to make. (Grosses to door.) We'll
come back after tea.
LANCELOT. But you're not both taking lessons ?
MRS. LEADBATTER. Well, sir, Rosie couldn't very well be so
long alone with a gentleman, could she ?
ROSIE (giggling). Oh, Ma, you make me blush 1
(Exeunt.)
(LANCELOT paces wildly up and down, then throws himself into his
armchair in utter abandonment. A knock, he does not answer.
Another knock ; lie makes no sign. The door opens, and MARY ANN
enters with laden tray, deposits it on chaw near door t and starts
putting on her gloves.)
LANCELOT (looking up eagerly). Ah, the wire from Gasco !
MARY ANN. No, sir. (Shows hands.) I've got them both on.
And I've put three cups. (Turns and extracts small table-cloth from
sideboard.)
LANCELOT. Three ! Whom for 1
MARY ANN. The gentlemen who are coming Mr. Peter and the
Brute.
LANCELOT. Oh, ah 1 (Laughing.) What thoughtfulness !
Come here, child.
(MARY ANN, dropping cloth on sideboard, goes to his chair.)
(Taking her in his arms.) Oh, Mary Ann, I'm so miserable !
MARY ANN. Then hadn't you better have your pen, Mr. Lance-
lot ? (Breaks away to find pen and gives it to him.)
LANCELOT. Ah, you agree with Shelley. They learn in suffering
what they teach in song, eh ? (He pulls her gently down to him.)
32 MERELY MARY ANN. ACT II.
MARY ANN (kneeling by his chair). Yessir. And the song stops
the suffering. No matter what I'm doing, plates, or steps, or carpets,
if your music is going ... I feel back in the country, standing
at sunset under the big ellum by the stream. Eh, my word, it was
nice in the spring-time, with the bluebells (Looks up shyly.)
LANCELOT (patting her hair). Yes, yes go on so my music
takes you back to the green country.
MARY ANN (ecstatically). Eessir. That gives me the wings
and I flap 'em and am off and (with growing ecstasy) when I
heard the music outside just now
LANCELOT (shrieks). What! (Throws pen.) Ach, Himmel !
(Goes across foot of table and up to window.)
(MARY ANN jumps from his side in terror.)
MARY ANN. Oh, sir, you'd better have your pen, sir. (Picks
up pen again.)
LANCELOT (laughing). No, no. Go on. (Coming down c., leans
on chair behind table.) So you liked " Good-night and Good-bye " ?
MARY ANN. Oughtn't I to ha' liked it, sir ?
LANCELOT. Oh, yes it's the correct thing. England is crazy
over it. Keeley Lesterre that's the lucky composer's name has
made a fortune by it. (Moves to L. of table.) His portrait is in
all the magazines here, look 1 (Standing in front of table shows
MARY ANN magazine.) Waving hair, rolling eyes, curling moustache,
great white brow, and every girl who squalls " Kiss me good-night,
dear love," is dying to kiss him. So you see you're quite in the
fashion, aren't you ?
MARY ANN. No, sir. I don't want to kiss him.
LANCELOT (L.O., laughing). You funny little Mary Ann, one for-
gives you everything, even admiration of Keeley Lesterre.
MARY ANN (R.O.). Please, sir, it's because the song makes me
think of my mother.
LANCELOT. Eh ?
MARY ANN. That's what she said to me when she died. Kiss,
me, dear love, good-night. (Breaks down.)
LANCELOT. Now, now, don't cry. (Crosses to fireplace.)
MARY ANN. I'm not crying, sir. (Begins clearing away litter
from half the table in order to lay cloth.) I am so happy when I think
of her of her and little Sally and feyther all together in Heaven.
Only I was so silly when she laid dying, what do you think I did ?
LANCELOT (down R.). Heaven knows. Offered her your canary ?
(Leans on R. of piano.)
MARY ANN (behind table). No, sir. But she kept saying she was
going to little Sally, so I brought her flowers, and apples and bits
of cake to take to little Sally with my love. I put them on her
pillow, but the flowers faded, and the cake got mouldy mother
was such a long time dying and at last (smiling through tears)
I ate the apples myself. After a while she forgot about little Sally
ACT II. MERELY MARY ANN. 33
and said she was going to see my big brother again and I thought
she was going to America but her last words were (breaks down)
like the song.
LANCELOT. Yes, yes, dear, you're quite right to like it. (Turns
to fireplace.)
MARY ANN. And besides, it reminds me of you. (Finishes
clearing litter.)
LANCELOT (perturbed again). Of me ?
MARY ANN. Yes you kiss me good-night.
LANCELOT (uneasily). Yes, yes, I know but you mustn't talk
about it. (Grosses up R.C.)
MARY ANN. No, sir I only tell Dick.
LANCELOT (alarmed). Dick ?
MARY ANN. My canary, sir. (Spreads the cloth over half the
talk.)
LANCELOT (moving down R.). Oh, ah, yes ! I thought it might
be your wicked brother.
MARY ANN. That's Tom, sir.
LANCELOT. Ah, yes, Tom. Well, it's lucky Dick isn't a parrot.
(Paces up R.).
MARY ANN. You'd better have your pen, sir 1 (Offers it again )
LANCELOT (taking it). You insist on my writing to-day $
MARY ANN. Yes, sir.
(There is the violent ring of a bell. MARY ANN hastily f?i5 over and
fetches laden tray from chair and puts it on
Missus will be cross.
LANCELOT. Bother missus. Stay here.
MARY ANN (smiling at him). Oh, no, sir, I mustn't. Ill come
back with the tea. (Tears off gloves and dashes out.)
LANCELOT. Dear little Mary Ann, you've given me my pen again
it's symbolic, for you are coming to me in music, translating your-
self into rippling waves of sound, you and your sunset and your
bluebells, and your big ellums by the river -
(Listens with rapt expression as to an inward celestial symphony,
then sits at table and scrawls in inspiration. Several knocks on the
door. He pays no attention, but scribbles in feverish ecstasy. Door
bursts open, revealing MRS. LEADBATTER and ROSIE.)
MRS. LEADBATTER (cheerfully). 'Ere we are !
LANCELOT (looking up). What do you want ? (Writes on rhap-
sodically.)
MRS. LEADBATTER. We want to tune up.
ROSIE (giggles). Oh, Ma ! (Giggles.)
LANCELOT (hurling his pen away into the coal scuttle). Come along,
Rosie, up you tune. (Angrily sets music stool whirling again.)
ROSIE (moves up to c.). Do I go on the roundabouts ?
14 MERELY MARY ANN. ACT II.
MBS. LEADBATTEB. Don't be frisky, Rosie. Wait till the stool
stops.
LANCELOT. And you, Mrs. Leadbatter, where would you like to sit ?
MBS. LEADBATTEB. It ain't as I feared to trust her with you, sir.
ROSIE. Oh, Ma !
MBS. LEADBATTEB. For I knows, sir, you're a gentleman. But
it's the neighbours they'll talk so when I tell 'em about it (Sits
chair L. by door.)
ROSIE. Oh, Ma ! (Giggles, sits on stool, striking the notes with
one finger, producing a faint suggestion of " Daisy, Daisy," amid
giggks.)
MBS. LEADBATTEB (beamingly). There, sir ! She makes it go.
What did I tell you, sir ? She gets her music genius from her father ;
he was a wonder on the concertina you couldn't get him to stop.
LANCELOT (on ROSIE'S right). You mustn't play with one
finger. Begin with your first finger. Like this ! (Plays scale.)
(RosiE giggling tries the scale. Bus.)
No, no, that's not your first finger this (Dabs her thumb on key.)
ROSIE. That's my thumb, sir.
MBS. LEADBATTEB. You don't call her thumbs fingers.
LANCELOT. No, I call her fingers thumbs.
(Bus. LANCELOT biting his lips, his fingers working nervously.)
MBS. LEADBATTEB. But, hexcoose me, sir, I don't hear no toons.
LANCELOT (coming down to B. of MBS. LEADBATTEB.) Oh, it's
tunes you want. (Clenching his fist.)
MBS. LEADBATTEB. What helse ?
CANABY. Sweet, sweet, etc.
MBS. LEADBATTEB. There ! That bird's got more toon to hit !
LANCELOT. But Rosie can't be a canary at one jump.
MBS. LEADBATTEB. You don't make a beginning, sir. Mrs.
Robins, across the street, is marrying 'er heldest gal to a hiron-
monger next Monday, and I wanted Rosie to play at the wedding.
LANCELOT (through his clenched teeth). Well, what tune would
you like I Name your tune.
MBS. LBADBATTEB. Oh, I'm not particular, so long as it's lively.
ROSIE. Oh, no, Ma, I want to learn something classical.
LANCELOT (placing a chair on ROSIE'S left and sitting on it, grimly).
Ah, classical
ROSIE. Yes, like " Kiss me good-night, de "
(With a great wild-beast cry LANCELOT sweeps both hands over piano
in fiendish discord. The canary screams. ROSIE and MBS. LEAD-
BATTER jump up, the door bursts open and PETEB rushes in. LANCE-
LOT races over to him, and takes both his hands and almost falls
into his arms.)
LANCELOT. Peter ! Thank goodness ! (Turns to ROSIE ana
Aow n. MERELY MARY ANN. 35
MRS. LEADBATTER.) Later on, my good creatures, later on. (Moves
to window and opens it.)
MRS. LEADBATTER (angrily). I'd 'ave you remember that Rosie
hexpects to be treated like a laidy.
ROSIE (giggling). Oh, Ma ! (Dragging her out.)
MRS. LEADBATTER. And I'm a 'ard-working widow and my
hasthma is awful ; I can't trollop up and down stairs as I did when
I first
LANCELOT. Give me a little breathing space. (Crosses down to
fireplace.)
PETER (looking slowly up at ceiling and down at floor with comical
wonder L.C.). I hope I didn't interrupt a proposal for Rosie's
hand.
LANCELOT (R.C., lights pipe). Rosie's hand ! Beastly butter-
fingered paw (foot of table). But you couldn't have got my repty
telegram ?
PETER (laughing). I took that for granted, as we were coming
whatever you said. We were playing whist at the club ; I made
Brahmson go round to his office to have all your stuff swept together.
I'm glad he hasn't taken the tiniest thing.
LANCELOT. Glad ? (Moves a little to him.)
PETER (L.C.). Yes, you'd have accused me of bribing him to
publish it.
LANCELOT (smiling, crosses to him). I dare say I should. But
he'll be sorry when he sees my Symphony in B flat Major is to be done
at the Queen's Hall. (Moves back to down R.)
PETER. Oh, it is ? That's ripping. When ?
LANCELOT. I'm expecting to hear the date any instant from
Gasco.
PETER (groaning). From Gasco ! Oh dear, I hope I shall live
to hear your B flat Major. But my heart is not as good as it might
be.
LANCELOT (breaking down). It certainly isn't. (Turns away
sits on armchair R.)
PETER. Poor Lancelot ! (Grosses to R.C.). Don't you know
Gasco is short for Gas and Co. ? Ah ! how these artistic chaps do
gas. Their promises are beautiful bubbles from soft soap, and
made to burst. By the way, a little gas here would be an improve-
ment. How short the days are getting ! (Turns up c.) Got a
match, Lancelot ?
LANCELOT. Oh, Mary Ann always hides them somewhere. (A
knock.) There she is with the tea.
PETER. Ah, I've got matches. (Produces box from pocket.)
LANCELOT. Come in!
(Enter MARY ANN, dimly seen with the teapot t which she places on chair.)
PETER (strikes a match. MARY ANN is brilliantly revealed drawing
on gloves). Hallo ! (Drops match.}
16 MERELY MARY ANN. Ao II.
LANCELOT (B.C., abashed). Clumsy ! You'll burn Mrs. Lead
batter's carpet.
(MARY ANN'S hands are now bare again.)
PETER. What on earth were you putting on gloves for, my girl ?
(LANCELOT flushes and turns away uneasily.)
MARY ANN (tearfully). Please, sir, I've got to go out and I'm in
a hurry I
PETER (L.O.). Then why did you take them off again !
(MARY ANN bursts into a flood of tears and runs from the room.)
Now I've offended her. Did you see how she tossed her pretty
head ? Why, she's left the teapot on the chair. What an odd
girl!
LANCELOT (R.). She's got such a lot to do. (Lights gas over the
mantelpiece.) I suppose she sometimes gets a bit queer in the head.
PETER (L.C.). I don't think it's that she looks much brighter
ihan when I saw her in the passage that night and her accent
sounds quite refined. She must have picked it up from you.
LANCELOT. Nonsense, nonsense 1 Bring over that teapot.
PETER (stretches out hand). Oh 1 It's scalding no wonder
Mary Ann put on gloves !
LANCELOT. Yes, I dare say that was the reason. Take er take
an antimacassar.
PETER. And scorch it ?
LANCELOT. I'd like to make a bonfire of them all.
PETER (lifts teapot). It's all right. My handkerchief will do.
CANARY (with sudden loud song). Sweet, sweet I
PETER (drops teapot). What's that ?
LANCELOT. Oh, you gomeril 1 Only a canary.
PETER. It's all right. Only a little spilt. (Wipes carpet with
handkerchief.) You should warn a fellow. I never knew you kept
pets. (Rises, the teapot still in his hand.)
LANCELOT. I don't. It isn't mine.
PETBE, Whose is it ?
LANCELOT. Mary Ann's.
PETER. Mary Ann's ? (Starts letting tea pour out of spout.)
LANCELOT. That carpet will be ruined. Mary Ann asked to be
allowed to keep the bird here it's sunnier.
PETER (wiping the new mess, wringing out handkerchief over carpet t
to LANCELOT'S frenzy). But doesn't it worry you when you're at
work a rival composer ! (Beginning to pour tea into a cup.)
LANCELOT. Not so much as my rivals on the barrel organ not
BO much as that charlatan Keeley Lesterre.
PETER. Keeley Lesterre I (Pours tea outside cup on cloth, etc.
At L.O.) Oh, it's too scalding I'll, I'll have to send you a pound
Ao H. MERELY MARY ANN. 87
of our best Belgravian Blend. (Wipes cloth with handkerchief.}
But don't you find it a bore to feed the little stranger ? I suppose
you give it seed, biscuits Booking up from the mopping) I hope
you don't give it butter.
LANCELOT (R.O., roaring). Don't be an ass !
(PBTEB falls into chair.)
You don't suppose I bother my head whether the thing eats butter
or marmalade. (Goes to table, begins to pour out tea. Bus.)
PETER (taking him up sharp). Who feeds it then ?
LANCELOT. Mary Ann, I suppose ! Sugar !
PETER. She hangs about here feeding it ?
LANCELOT. Pitch that dirty rag out of the window ! I believe
it eats all day long gets supplied in the morning like a coal-scuttle.
Sugar ? (Louder than before.)
PETER (going to and opening window solemnly). Lancelot, (throws
handkerchief out) Mary Ann's mashed on you. (Shuts window.)
LANCELOT. Don't ! I loathe that word. Besides, now I come
to think of it, Rosie feeds it also. Sugar ? ( Very loud.)
PETER (coming down L.C.). Then Rosie is dead nuts too.
LANCELOT. Good Heavens ! (Pitching a number of lumps of
sugar into PETER'S cup.) One would think I were Keeley Lesterre
himself the maiden's prayer. (Pours tea for himself.)
PETER (eagerly). I wish you were ! I wish to Heaven you'd
knock off a popular ballad, and with the profits give us a grand
opera.
LANCELOT. Never! Take your tea.
PETER. Look here (Taking up tea.) Don't swear now !
Money-making music is just a trick and I want to show you.
(Produces music from pocket.)
LANCELOT. Oh, I know the trick treacle !
PETER. No, treacle's not enough. It must be a particular
brand. (Takes mouthful of tea.)
LANCELOT. Golden syrup. Phaugh ! The sweet sticky stuff !
PETER (sputtering). Not so damned sweet and sticky as this
stuff ! (Sets down tea disgustedly. Unrolls music slowly and
impressively.) Now, this is the sort of thing I want you to
imitate.
LANCELOT (shrieks). Not " Good-night and Good-bye," I hope !
PETER (coolly). Don't hope so loud. It is !
LANCELOT (rising). Then good-bye and good-night ! (About to
tear it up.)
PETER. Hold on ! That's not your property.
LANCELOT. Imitate that I I'd rather teach it to Rosie ! Yes,
ha ! ha ! ha ! That will be indeed a revenge. I can imagine no
worse fate for a song than to be played by Rosie 1 (Places it tm
rack of piano.)
38 MERELY MARY ANN. ACT II,
PETER. You are teaching Rosie ?
(LANCELOT strikes keys.)
Oh, poor chap !
(Embarrassed pause. LANCELOT drinks tea PETER takes up the
MS. LANCELOT has been writing and peruses it.)
How charming I I say, you must go on with this. (Takes bread-
and-butter.)
LANCELOT. Ach Himmel ! I was just in the vein and then
that Rosie came and giggled it all away.
PETER (reading on and munching). Delicious !
LANCELOT (gratified). Ah, what does it suggest to you ?
PETER (reading MS. slowly and waving his arm in time comically
as he excogitates). The woodland a rippling river innocence a
nymph
LANCELOT. By Jove ! You've got some musical soul after all,
Peter. (PETER gives an insulted " Tut.") It is about a maiden,
simple and sweet, dreaming amid the bluebells by the stream at
Bunset.
PETER (eating bread-and-butter comically). And who is this won-
derful woodland creature who has inspired you so ?
LANCELOT. Oh er just er imagination.
PETER. And what shall you call it ?
LANCELOT. Merely " Meadowsweet." (A knock.) Yes ?
MARY ANN. Not any higher, sir !
(Enter MARY ANN bearing a cheap wooden box on her head, followed
by BRAHMSON, very fat, in fur coat ; as he enters he removes
very broad-brimmed, low hat and waves it courteously.)
BRAHMSON (speaking with strong German accent only partially
indicated in the following text). Ach, Mr. Lancelot, pardon that I
am a leetle late my driver did not know ze way.
LANCELOT (extending hand). I'm delighted to see you, Mr.
Brahmson.
BRAHMSON. Ah, more sarcasm. Wie geht's, Peter ? (Gives his
left hand to PETER, who is L. of him). If I had known before that
Mr. Lancelot was a friend of yours, I should have made an exception.
But how can I see composers ? Zo many geniuses, zo few bublishers !
(Sits L. of table.)
LANCELOT. Forgive me if I wrote rudely.
BRAHMSON. Ach, everybody writes rudely. If I don't bublish,
zey call me a fool
MARY ANN (at door correcting). Brute ! (All turn.)
BRAHMSON. Zo ?
LANCELOT. She is talking to her canary.
CANARY. Sweet ! sweet !
BRAHMSON. And if I do bublish they call me a cheat. Nicht
wahr. Peter !
ACT II. MERELY MARY ANN. 39
PETER (L.C., confused). I never er I but what's in that box ?
BRAHMSON. Your friend's manuscripts I
PETER. What I
LANCELOT. I never sent you all that.
BRAHMSON. Yes, indeed, mein friend, leetle by leetle, like ze
nowflakes that make ze avalanche. Colossal! Your letters of
abuse Na ! zat would need anozer box.
PETER. Poor Mary Ann ! (Goes to help the box down.)
MARY ANN (moving 'back). They're not heavy, sir.
PETER. Mary Ann carrying the music of the future what a
symbolic picture !
BRAHMSON (rises). Allow me, my child.
(BRAHMSON takes box and tenders it formally to LANCELOT. MARY
ANN crosses up back toe., then to fireplace.)
With zanks !
LANCELOT. Thank you ! (Stands it down R. of 'table.) And may
I give you a cup of tea ?
(PETER goes to and kneels by box. He opens it and searches in the
music.)
BRAHMSON. You shall first give me my receipt. (Hands LANCE-
LOT paper to sign.)
LANCELOT. Certainly. Where is my pen ? Mary Ann, you're
always tidying away my pen.
MARY ANN (with a smile). Here it is, sir. (Taking pen from the
coal-scuttle.)
LANCELOT. How did it get there ? (He writes receipt.)
BRAHMSON. But you have not looked to see. I vant no more
letters.
LANCELOT. Oh, I dare say it's all right.
PETER (examining box). Ah, there's that sonata ! (He takes it to
piano and begins playing it.)
(LANCELOT signs sikntly and hands paper to BRAHMSON.)
BRAHMSON. Zank you. And now ve can talk. (Sits L. of table.)
Beliefe me, mein friend, I vould not give you zese back if there
was von single thing I could sell, a set of lancers or a taking song
LANCELOT. But I sent you songs. (Rummages in box, throwing
some on floor, and drags out MSS.) Get away, tea-peddler.
(Pushes PETER away ftom piano and puts a song on rack over the
other piece. PETER crosses down R., sits in armchair.) Listen to this !
No, you needn't listen, run away, Mary Ann I (Begins to play.)
(MARY ANN exit sorrowfully.)
BRAHMSON (looking over his shoulder). And / need not listen
eizer. Look at your aggompaniments all accidentals. You'll
never get ze young ladies to play that.
40 MERELY MARY ANN. AOT II.
LANCELOT (rises, comes to table). I don't write for young ladies
(Sits.)
BRAHMSON. But I bublish for zem. Mein Gott I Where els
are my customers to come from ?
LANCELOT. Do you mean to say that a musician in this God-
forsaken country must have no chords but tonics and dominants !
BRAHMSON. He can have zem at home in ze box ! And zen
your melody itself quite out of ze average young lady's gompass.
PETER (B., at fire). Yes, Lancelot. In music Rosie rules the
roost.
BRAHMSON (now standing, picking up song, revealing another
underneath). No, von't do, von't do. Ah, now, zis song (picking
up the under one) zat I rejoice to see you are studying, " Good-night
and Good-bye."
(LANCELOT makes a great sweep with his arm, smashes all the tea
things and moves L.)
PETEB. Oh, Brahmson, you shouldn't have mentioned that, it'i
his red rag
BRAHMSON. Ah, he is jealous of you, vhat !
PETER. Hush ! Hush ! (Makes frantic signs to him.)
BRAHMSON. Let him be jealous. All ze better. Now I tell him
ze royalties I haf paid you.
PETER (desperately). Shut up ! (Pulling BRAHMSON'S coat.)
BRAHMSON (slowly and unctuously). On zat one song
LANCELOT. You paid Peter !
PETER. He's joking. (Looks daggers at BRAHMSON.)
BRAHMSON. It vas no joke four thousand pounds. (Clapping
him on the back.) Vhat, my great little Keeley Lesterre 1 (Turns up c.)
LANCELOT (L. of table, flaring up as if to tear PETER to pieces).
You are Keeley Lesterre ?
PETER (seizes bread knife and tenders it to LANCELOT). Cut off
my head and be done with it.
LANCELOT. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!
PETER. I don't see where the fun comes in. (Crosses down B.)
LANCELOT. You ! You are the romantic, eye-rolling, moustache-
waving, white-browed Keeley Lesterre Oh heavens ! (Seizes the
magazine.) Look upon this picture and on this. (Imitating some-
body's Hamlet.)
PETER (sullenly). I can't help Brahmson's dodges.
BRAHMSON (behind table laughing). Ze papers come to me for a
portrait of Keeley Lesterre, I give zem a portrait to please my
young ladies. Peter, he is not suitable for a sentimental gomposer,
vhat I No great white brow, no curly hair he 1 he ! he !
LANCELOT (doubled up with laughter, he sits L. of table). Ha !
Ha! Ha! Ha!
PETER. Haven't you cackled enough f
AOT H. MERELY MARY ANN. 41
BRAHMS ON. Now you Mr. Lancelot Heaven has made you
ze very thing you haf only to write ze song to match and zat
box proves you have ze talent for anything. To show you I do not
flatter, here (producing notebook) I buy ze song for thirty pounds
paid in advance and the words you haf for nothing. Vere are
ey ? (Looks in pocketbook.) Ah, here. Ze song will be called
" Adieu and farevell," and it goes, " Von kiss, my dear, farevell."
LANCELOT (rising). But that's the same as " Good- night and
Good-bye"!
PETER. That's the idea, always stick close to a success.
BRAHMSON. Zere, mein friend. (Rolls up the three ten-pound
notes in the paper of words.) Ze words and ze money you give me
back ze words and ze music. (Puts them on table near LANCELOT.)
LANCELOT (taking it up and parodying BRAHMSON' s manner).
With zanks. (Places them on table near BRAHMSON.)
PETER (down .). Don't be an idiot, Lancelot. You must keep
the pot boiling.
LANCELOT (moving to PETER). Thank you. Keep your teapot
wisdom to yourself.
PETER. This is only by -play, old chap. I do music after busi-
ness. Why shouldn't you do business after music ?
BRAHMSON (adds another ten-pound note). Zere's another ten.
And anozer twenty-five if the sale exceeds ten thousand. And zat's
my last word. (Pushes the notes and paper of words towards LANCE-
LOT turns up o.)
LANCELOT (R.C.). You have heard mine.
(Enter MARY ANN with a telegram on tray, her hands 'bare.)
LANCELOT. Ah the wire from Gasco ! (Rushes over to get it
and tears it open frenziedly his face falls lets telegram flutter to the
ground.)
PETER (R.). From Gas and Co. !
LANCELOT (L.C., despairing whisper). Yes you were right.
MARY ANN (L. , perceives crockery). Oh dear, everything's smashed
up 1 (A pause, goes to LANCELOT.) Is there any answer, sir ?
LANCELOT (walks slowly to the table, takes up notes and puts them
in pocket tragically). There is my answer !
PETER. Hooray! I could do a waltz. (Seizes a chair and
toaUzes.)
(MARY ANN picks up telegram and hands it to LANCELOT, who drops
it on floor.)
" Kiss me, dear love." Oh ! (Stops waltz abruptly.) No oSence,
old fellow. (Catches sight of MARY ANN looking mystified.) All
right, Mary Ann, no answer.
(MARY ANN crosses him to door.)
42 MERELY MARY ANN. Ac* II.
Stop ! (Crosses to L.) I'm sorry I made you cry before here's
half a crown get yourself another pair of gloves.
MARY ANN. No, thank you, sir. (Dignified exit with tray.)
PETER. The little minx 1 (Turns up L.)
LANCELOT (tragically). She refuses and I accept.
BRAHMSON (R.C.). Von wise, von foolish.
LANCELOT. No I Let us be fools together (Draws out notes.)
(Door bursts open, admitting MRS. LEADBATTER and ROSIE.)
MRS. LEADBATTER. Hexcoose me, sir, but I can't wait about
hall day Heavens, my carpet is ruined 1 (Kneels, feeling carpet.)
ROSIE. And the crockery golly ! (Recovering gentility.)
What a catastrophe 1
LANCELOT. Take your money (gives her one note) ; take your
crockery (gives another) ; take your carpet (gives a third) ; take a week's
notice (gives her the last), and take your departure (gives her the paper
of words.)
MRS. LEADBATTER (clutching money, and seizing ROSIE'S hand
again). Come away, Rosie, he's taken again. (Frightened exit of
both, ROSIE giggling hysterically.)
BRAHMSON (c., laughing). Adieu and farevell with a vengeance.
Vat!
PETER (L.C.). Yes, I think we'd better go too. (To BRAHMSON.)
You'll get your song. (To LANCELOT.) Good-bye, old man.
LANCELOT. Good-bye. I'm sorry this vulgar scene should have
occurred.
PETER. I'm not. It woke you up. When inclined to dream
again, remember Rosie.
BRAHMSON (goes to LANCELOT and shakes hands). And write for
her. Auf Wiedersehen.
(Exeunt PETER and BRAHMSON.)
LANCELOT. Write for Rosie ! Heavens, and I thought teach-
ing her was the lowest hell. (Goes up to window and sits on sill.)
(MARY ANN enters with tray containing three notes, gold, silver,
coppers, and papers. She puts it on chair, and draws on her gloves.)
LANCELOT. Dear Mary Ann, she is the one comfort left me.
(MARY ANN brings the letter-tray.)
MARY ANN (o.). Your receipt and your change, sir, and missus
says she's only charged you half a suvrin for the crockery and the
carpet, but it's sovereign, not suvrin, isn't it, sir ?
LANCELOT (R.C.). I don't care whether she's charged suvrins or
sovereigns. Three notes back and lots of gold, and silver and coppers.
I'm quite rich. Ah, that must be the receipt (takes up the paper
ACT II. MERELY MARY ANN. 43
of words, read* fa surprise) " Adieu and farewell." Ha ! ha !
Did I give her that too ?
MARY ANN ( /, r ; ' ' ly) . Yessir.
LANCELOT (/ ). How funny, for I did- give notice. (Moves
to armchair R.)
MARY ANN (tragically). You're going ?
LANCELOT. Yes, thank God. (Sits.)
MARY ANN, Oh, please sir, then I must go too. (Now behind
the talk.)
LANCELOT. You ? Where ?
MARY ANN. Wherever you lodge, sir. I can get work at the
same place.
LANCELOT (rises). But, my child, I'm going to the country.
(He goes to her.)
MARY ANN (R.C.). Oh, please sir, I should like that better.
LANCELOT. You simple little thing ! (Takes her face in his
hands then puts her from him and walks about it in agitation. Stops
at canary.) Dick, Dick, was ever a man so tempted ?
CANARY. Sweet, sweet ! (Carols with varying cadence.)
MARY ANN. Please, sir, if you lived in a farm, I could help the
farmer's missus, and drive the milk-cart.
(The bird still sings.)
LANCELOT (to the canary). You are right, Dick, it would be a
charity to rescue her from this drudgery. (Aloud.) Well, perhaps
(Coming down c.)
MARY ANN (joyfully). Oh, I'll tell the missus. (Starts towards
door.)
LANCELOT. Hush I Nobody must ever know. (Detaining her.)
MARY ANN. Not missus ?
LANCELOT. No, no. It must be a secret between us like the
gloves. Do you understand ? (He moves towards the fire and then
speaks half to himself.) We've both slaved and suffered without
reward we need a little sunshine, a little of the joy of life.
(Returning towards MARY ANN.) Yes, you shall come with me.
MARY ANN. Oh, Mr. Lancelot ! (Runs to him hysterically.)
LANCELOT. My little good fairy shall flap her wings and fly away
with me to the green country, and we shall be alone in a little cottage
you and I
MARY ANN (with innocent surprise). By ourselves !
LANCELOT. Yes, you shall be my little housekeeper and in the
evening at sunset you shall fold your wings, and stand by the river
and dream.
(The canary sings louder.)
MARY ANN. Oh, Mr. Lancelot 1 And we will take the canary
too!
LANCELOT. Yes. dear !
44 MERELY MARY ANN. ACT II.
MARY ANN. Just we three !
LANCELOT. . Just we three and the music box.
MARY ANN (slowly wistfully). And the music. (Nestles to him.}
(The canary stops.)
LANCELOT (with passion and solemnity). And then then it will
not be good-bye nor good-night. Do you understand ?
MARY ANN. Yes, sir ! (Nestles closer to him.)
LANCELOT. But think, think, Mary Ann ! (Gently puts her
away.) Do you understand ?
MARY ANN. Yes, sir, I understand (coming to him again.)
I shall be with you always.
LANCELOT. Well ! I shall look after you always.
MARY ANN. Yes, yes, always ! (Nestles to him again.)
LANCELOT. Oh, you little white Topsy ! I don't believe you
know how you came into the world. I dare say you " 'specs you
growed."
MARY ANN. No, sir, God made me.
(He puts her away again and stands looking at her, conscience str i
ACT HI
Tke same SCENE a week later. It is evening. The gas i$ lit.
MSS. all neatly cleared away. A syphon and whisky on the table.
MARY ANN is discovered on her knees, cording ike music box,
while LANCELOT with his back to the fire is smoking a pipe.
MARY ANN (down R. tying on the label, a little hampered by her
gloves). There, sir. The music is ready to go.
LANCELOT (gaily). Heady to accompany us, eh 1 And we've
lots of it to finish in the cottage, haven't we, child !
MARY ANN. Oh, Mr. Lancelot 1
CANARY. Sweet, sweet, etc.
MARY ANN (crosses up c.) Oh, please, sir, how am I to steal the
canary out ?
LANCELOT. Dick had better go with my luggage in the morning.
Make me a present of him, then you'll have nothing to hamper you
when you follow me on Thursday.
MARY ANN. Thursday will be such a long time.
LANCELOT. Why, scarcely long enough to evade suspicion.
Only two days after me, little silly 1 You don't want missus to
come and drag you back, do you ? (Sits in armchair.)
MARY ANN (shudders). No, sir. Then I'll put one of your labels
on it. (Ties a label while canary sings. The bell rings outside,
mingling with the singing.) Oh, please, sir, I must go. (Crosses to
L.)
LANCELOT. All right, child, run away !
MARY ANN (at door, drawing off her gloves, returns). Oh, Mr.
Lancelot I
LANCELOT. Well? (Rises and moves to table. The bett goes
igain.)
MARY ANN. I feel as if she is dragging me away from you.
LANCELOT (kindly). Nonsense, nonsense! (Touches her hair.)
MARY ANN. Oh, Mr. Lancelot, I'm all of a shiver !
LANCELOT. I don't wonder with that miserable thin dress.
(Touching it.) But you won't wear that much longer, thank good-
ness.
MABY ANN. Thank you, sir, and (ecstatically) Spring is com-
ing, too. (The bell clangs. Her face changes. She shivers violently.)
45
46 MERELY MARY ANN. ACT DDL
Oh, Mr. Lancelot, it sounds so angry. (Runs to him as if for pro-
tection.) If she should have found out !
LANCELOT. Nonsense! Unless you've been silly.
MARY ANN. No, sir, but please, sir, I don't want to go down. I
feel as if I shall never see you again.
LANCELOT. Crybaby! I'm not going till the morning. Why,
even to-morrow (smiling) you'll bring me my breakfast.
MARY ANN. Yec, sir, and (ecstatically) I'll do your boots !
LANCELOT. Ah, that reminds me you might brush my clothes
I'm going out to-night with Peter.
MARY ANN. Thank you, sir. (Runs behind screen.)
LANCELOT. Dear little Mary Ann ! It will be nice to rescue her
from this drudgery. (Stops and examines the music box.) How
neatly she's corded it. She will be very useful. (Moves to fireplace.
There is a knock.) Come in !
(RosiE enters.)
ROSIE. Is Mary Ann here ?
LANCELOT. Yes, she is getting out my clothes.
ROSIE (going towards screen). Mary Ann !
(MARY ANN appears from behind screen.)
You must come at once most particular.
MARY ANN (advancing, carrying dress clothes in bare hands). Yes,
miss.
(Exeunt ROSIE and MARY ANN ; the latter, holding the clothes, looks back
at LANCELOT with the same pitiful sense of being dragged away.)
LANCELOT (moving to canary). Well, Dick, so you are going back
to the country !
CANARY. Sweet, sweet, etc.
LANCELOT. Yes. I'd be as happy as you if only I had Brahm-
son's wretched song off my mind. (Pulls paper of words out of
pocket reads.) " Adieu and farewell ! " (Puts it on piano rack,
sits down and runs his hands over the keys, muttering.) What a
blessing to be done with it and Mrs. Leadbatter together ! (Sings.)
" One kiss, my dear, farewell ! "
Oh, if I could only get Peter's treacle out of my head I (Tries a
bar or two. It still comes rather like " Good-night and Good-bye.")
PETER (outside). May I come in ?
LANCELOT. Talk of the treacle
(He gets up. PETER enters. He wears an overcoat over his evening
dress.)
PETER (L.O.). Nobody seems to be about and the hall door waa
wide open what's up ?
ACT m. MERELY MARY ANN. 47
LANCELOT (a). Nothing that I'm aware of. What brings you ?
Our dinner off ?
PETER. No fear ! I've just dropped in on my way to our Bel-
grLvian branch, to remind you. Lady Chelmer has summoned me
suddenly.
LANCELOT. Lady Chelmer ?
PETER. Oh, did I never tell you of the society personage who
recommends our tea to the peerage ?
LANCELOT. Awful !
PETER. Awful? It's lovely tea. Ask your brother! Well,
good-bye. My cab's waiting. Glad you hadn't forgotten !
LANCELOT. Forgotten ! Instead of eternally tossing up chops
or steaks I'm quite looking forward to a civilized meal.
PETER. That's jolly because I've got some pretty women to
meet you
LANCELOT (vexed rises). Oh, shan't we be alone ? Why didn't
you say so ? (Sarcastic.) Are they tea dealers or adorers of
treacle ?
PETER. Shut up ! All crazy to meet you.
LANCELOT (R.C.). Me ? You must have been gassing!
PETER. Well, why shouldn't I be proud to be a pal of the coming
genius ?
LANCELOT. Coming! (Points to paper on piano.) "Adieu
and farewell." The going genius.
PETER. Of course it'll go. But that's just tuning up. Wait !
Miss Brooke Miss Brooke (impressively) was saying (imitating
her mincing accents), " How ripping it would be to bring out an opera
of your friend's at Covent Garden 1 " she's the daughter of Brooke,
the Copper King, you know.
LANCELOT. What ! You villain ! (Advances threateningly.) Is
it matrimonial designs upon me you've got now ?
PETER. Don't rumple my jewelled shirt ! You shall sit next to
Lady Lucy, who hasn't a penny. May I have a whisky-and-soda ?
LANCELOT. Help yourself ! (PETER does so from the syphon and
whisky on the table.) I wonder, Peter, you've not married, sur-
rounded by all these adorers. (Grosses to piano.)
PETER. All what adorers ? Nobody knows I'm Keeley Lesterre.
LANCELOT. Then I shall tell Lady Lucy.
PETER (nearly choking as he drinks). For Heaven's sake ! That
would do for me altogether. So long as the dear creatures don't see
me they can go on adoring me. Now with you (Drinks.)
LANCELOT. So long as they don't hear me (Sits at piano.)
PETER. Rubbish ! Everybody hasn't got donkey's ears. (Looks
*t piano.) Ah, Brahmson's imitation egg. I'm glad you're hatch-
ing that I Shan't interrupt you. Au revoir ! (Hastens to
door.)
LANCELOT. Auf Wiedersehen ! (Still sitting at piano and playing.)
PETER (looking around with hand on doorhandle). Don't have an
48 MERELY MABY ANN. Acw HI.
attack of inspiration and forget to dress you've only half an hour.
(Looking at watch.)
LANCELOT (playing softly). Don't worry ! (Feeling for the desired
tune of " Adieu and farewell.") Mary Ann is brushing my togs now.
It will be nice to talk to a woman of one's world again.
PETER. I'd better pick you up, all the same, on my way back.
(Opens door.)
LANCELOT. As you will.
MBS. LEADBATTER'S voice (in loud tones as from the parlour below).
Not another stroke of work do you do in my 'ouse, Mary Ann.
LANCELOT (springing up). What's that ?
PETER. Only poor Mary Ann getting into a row.
(Sounds of MARY ANN'S sobs.)
LANCELOT. Is that she crying ?
PETER (half outside). I'm afraid so. (Sobs outside.) Poor
little thing. And she won't take my half-crowns. Well, I must
fly my Belgravian branch will be closing.
(Exit and bangs door.)
LANCELOT. What has happened ? (Paces up and down MARY
ANN'S sobs are faintly heard. After awhile he opens the door and
listens.)
MRS. LEADBATTER (from outside now nearer as from the passage).
Not a word about 'im all this time. Oh, the sly little baggage !
Who could hever 'ave believed it ?
(LANCELOT closes door, terror-stricken.)
LANCELOT. The little silly has gone and given it all away. What
the devil am I to say ? (Paces again.) I'd better face the music.
(Opens door and calls down.) Is that you, Mrs. Leadbatter ? What's
all this noise about ? I can't work.
MRS. LEADBATTER (speaking up the stairs). And who can work,
I should like to know, with such goings on t I'm glad there's the
clergyman 'ere to tell 'er what's right.
LANCELOT (staggering back). The clergyman t
REV. SAMUEL SMEDGE (oily voice from below). I'm sorry, sir,
to have interfered with your work, but
MRS. LEADBATTER (outside below). Yes, you go hup sir, and
tell him the rights and wrongs of it.
LANCELOT. Lord ! (Paces to and fro.)
REV. SAMUEL SMEDGE (near door). May I come in ?
LANCELOT. De-de-lighted.
(Enter REV. SAMUEL SMEDGE, closely followed by MRS. LEADBATTER.)
REV. SAMUEL SMEDQE. The Rev. Samuel Smedge, at your service.
LUTCELOT. I want no services. Be seated, pray I mean pl<
ACT m. MERELY MARY ANN. 49
REV. SAMUEL SMEDGE. Thank you. (Looks around, selects the
chair L. of table and sinks voluptuously into it.)
MRS. LEADBATTER. The 'oly gentleman is the vicar from Mary
Ann's village.
LANCELOT. Ah, the kangaroo ! Er a nasty cold day. (Pokes
the fire with shovel.) Er will you have a drink, Mr. Smudge ? I
mean Srnedge.
REV. SAMUEL SMEDGE. You're very kind. A glass of water.
LANCELOT (looks around). I I'm afraid there's only soda-water.
(LANCELOT rings bell.)
MRS. LEADBATTER (crosses to R.C.). Oh, no, sir, you mustn't, sir
Mary Ann's hoff.
LANCELOT. Off ? (Drops shovel.)
MRS. LEADBATTER. Hoff duty for ever.
REV. SAMUEL SMEDGE. Never mind soda-water will do.
MRS. LEADBATTER. The sly little minx do you think I can keep
such a gal in my kitchen ?
LANCELOT (alarmed). Such a girl ? (Takes up whisky bottle
absent-mindedly.)
MRS. LEADBATTER. A gal as is goin' to 'ave 'er own norse and
kerridge.
LANCELOT. Norse and kerridge ? (Puzzled pours whisky
absent-mindedly into the vicar's glass.)
REV. SAMUEL SMEDGE. Our worthy friend means horse and
carriage.
LANCELOT. Yes, but what does horse and carriage mean ?
(Puts glass to syphon.)
MRS. LEADBATTER. I may be a hignorant woman, but I do know
'arf a million is enough for a norse and kerridge.
LANCELOT (squirting soda over table). Half a million !
REV. SAMUEL SMEDGE. Such in round figures in pounds sterling
is the fortune our dear Mary Ann has come into.
LANCELOT. Mary Ann has come into a fortune ? (Dazedly hands
glass to vicar.) I hope that's not too weak for you.
REV. SAMUEL SMEDGE (taking it with apparent abstraction). Thank
you. Yes, the dear child (drinks) has become a great heiress.
(Drinks to dregs and with glass still to mouth says) It is a deep
happiness (puts down glass) to all of us who have watched over
her.
MRS. LEADBATTER (hysterically). I'm sure 'er own mother
couldn't 'ave watched over 'er more, 'and and foot, the happle of
my heye heddicated 'er out of 'er country talk and kep' 'er out
o* loose company, as you yourself, sir (to LANCELOT) can bear
witness. (Sits on musicbox.)
LANCELOT. But where ? How ? Who I
MRS. LEADBATTER. 'Ow ? 'Oo ? 'E!
REV. SAMUEL SMEDOE (solemnly). Her brother, Tom.
60 MERELY MARY ANN. ACT Tit
MRS, LEADBATTER. And never said a word about 'im, the sly
little minx 1
LANCELOT (stiU dazed). The wicked brother Tom ?
REV. SAMUEL SMEDGE (holding up hands of deprecation). He is
gone beyond our earthly judgment. He disturbed my sermons
grievously by wilful coughing, but I forgive him freely. Our dearly
beloved sister (waving hand) will make a better use of his half-
million under Providence (His hand descends rhetorically
on his own heart as with suggestion Providence is he.)
MRS. LEADBATTER. Amen !
LANCELOT. But where did he get all his money ?
REV. SAMUEL SMEDGE. Petroleum wells. I believe the technical
expression is " he struck ile." I only heard from the American
lawyers on Saturday night, and I tarried but to preach on Sunday,
despite the anxiety of my flock that I should at once hasten to
London. You see, all who knew her hunger grievously for their
dear Mary Arm.
(A knock. Enter ROSIE with dress clothes and awed demeanour.)
ROSIE. You rang, sir ? Miss Mary Ann is engaged. And I've
brought your clothes.
LANCELOT. Thank you.
(She puts them behind screen.)
(LANCELOT sits on table, swinging his legs nervously.')
MRS. LEADBATTER. And bring the 'oly gentleman some water,
Rosie.
REV. SAMUEL SMEDGE. Pray, pray do not trouble. I find soda-
water a most satisfactory substitute.
MRS. LEADBATTER (to ROSIE, as she emerges from screen). Is Misa
Mary Ann left hofl yowling ?
ROSIE. No, Ma !
MRS. LEADBATTER. Go and give 'er a cup of tea with a little
sperrits in it.
(RosiE exits solemnly never more to giggle.)
REV. SAMUEL SMEDGE. Spirits !
MRS. LEADBATTER (reassuringly). Oh, I've always trained her
up for duty, your 'oliness, and now hit' shall wasted. (Wrings her
hands and collapses on music-box.)
REV. SAMUEL SMEDGE (consolingly). No, no, good work is never
wasted.
MRS. LEADBATTER. Not wasted, your 'oliness ? Ain't you taking
'er where there's no boots to black and no beds to make ? Didn't
I 'ave to drag the clothes brush from 'er 'and and tell 'er that she
was a laidy ? (To LANCELOT.) " 'Ere's a suvrin, Mary Ann," say
I, "go and buy yourself a decent dress and jacket. You can't go
ACT III. MERELY MARY ANN. 61
with that good kind gentleman in the dirty print. And get a pair
of gloves," says I. No sooner was the gloves out of my mouth than
she busts like a water-pipe
LANCELOT (apprehensively hurriedly). Ah, her brother's death,
no doubt.
MRS. LEADBATTER. My Rosie never had nobody to die and leave
her money, poor dear child, hexcept me, please Gawd. (Weeps.)
REV. SAMUEL SMEDGE. Do not weep. You have done your
duty by our dear Mary Ann, since I entrusted her to your loving
care. What a comfort, sir, to see such goodness in lowly places.
LANCELOT (looking down on MRS. LEADBATTER on the music-boa
' gruntingly). Yes, yes.
REV. SAMUEL SMEDGE. Particularly when there is so much
wickedness seated on high.
LANCELOT (slipping down uneasily from table). Yes, yes. (With
outstretched hands of farewell, walks to vicar, who shows no signs of
yoing.) Must you go ? I'm so glad -I mean I'm so sorry ! But I'm
glad about Mary Ann.
(MRS. LEADBATTER rises and crosses to L.C. behind table.)
REV. SAMUEL SMEDGE. The whole countryside is glad. In fact
her return on Thursday afternoon will almost assume the dimen-
sions of a fete.
LANCELOT (crosses to o.). You are not taking her till Thursday
afternoon ?
MRS. LEADBATTER. She couldn't go in that dirty print. (Grosses
to door L.)
REV. SAMUEL SMEDGE. In my foolish masculine way I did not
think of clothes. Mrs. Smedge will be grievously disappointed at
my return without the dear child. But I must journey up again to
this roaring Metropolis, to and fro to and fro like a weaver*!
shuttle.
MRS. LEADBATTER. Oh, you can have Mr. Lancelot's bed to
morrow, and for to-night, your 'oliness
REV. SAMUEL SMEDGE (waving hand). No duty is duty. Good
bye till Thursday afternoon.
(MRS. LEADBATTER opens door for him.)
Thank you so much for the soda-water.
(Exeunt REV. SAMUEL SMEDGE and MRS. LEADBATTEB.)
LANCELOT (wiping his forehead). Phew ! (Whistles.)
CANARY (reply to whistle). Two, two. (Gradually launches into
jubilant melody.)
(LANCELOT walks to screen, but turns as if forgetting his intentions,
strides silently, as in tumultuous thought, three times across the room,
and at last turns upon the rapturous canary.)
62 MERELY MARY ANN. ACT III.
LANCELOT (savagely). Oh, you think you're going to have a golden
cage, do you ? (Canary stops.) Blind fate, showering her gifts
on babes and sucklings! (Stops awestruck with sudden thought, in
lower tones, sinking gradually to a whisper.) Blind fate ? Or is
there a seeing Providence ? Was Mary Ann right ? And God
made her ? And watches over her ? Was she right ? (Sinks
broodingly into armchair. Buries head in hands.)
(A timid knock. No answer.)
(Enter MARY ANN carrying a tray with knife and fork, glass, plates,
etc., which she places on chair left of table, while she slowly drags on
her gloves. Her eyes are ringed with tears and she is shaken with
suppressed sobs. She clears table, extracts white cloth from sideboard
and lays it, every now and then stealing a pathetic glance at the im-
mobile LANCELOT. At last an uncontrollably loud sob bursts from her.)
LANCELOT (jumps to his feet). Mary Ann !
MARY ANN (choking down sob). Yessir.
LANCELOT (rubbing eyes at sight of laid table and MARY ANN, as
if he might have been dreaming). Is it true is it true you have
come into half a million ?
MARY ANN. Yessir and will you have steak or chops ?
LANCELOT (mechanically taking out coin and tossing it). Heads
steak, tails chops ! (Examines coin.) Chops ! (Glumly.) I've lost.
I always lose ! (Suddenly recalling facts.) Oh, but you mustn't !
You mustn't wait on me any more
MARY ANN. I shall always wait on you, Mr. Lancelot.
LANCELOT (R.C.). But your vicar is taking you away on Thursday
afternoon.
MARY ANN (great burst of joy). Not till Thursday afternoon f
Then that will be easy, I shall be gone.
LANCELOT. Gone ? Where ?
MARY ANN. With you, sir. And will you have tomatoes or
potatoes ? (Turns away and rummages in sideboard, kneeling.)
LANCELOT (petulantly). Mary Ann 1
MARY ANN (looking up servant-like). Yessir 1
LANCELOT. Are you foolish ?
MARY ANN (tearfully). No, Mr. Lancelot.
LANCELOT. But you talk as if you were. You mustn't run away
from the vicar just when he's going to get you your money. (Sits
on table.)
MARY ANN (rising with cruet-stand). But I don't want to go
with the vicar. (Moving towards him. ) You said you would take me.
LANCELOT (retreating). Yes yea but don't you understand
that that I can wait ?
MARY ANN. Can't the vicar wait ?
LANCELOT. Listen to me, Mary Ann. (She places cruet suttenty
on table.)
Aow m. MERELY MARY ANN. 3
MART AWN. Yessir.
LANCELOT. You're a young woman, not a baby. Just strive to
grasp what I'm going to tell you.
MARY ANN. Yessir. (Funibles impatiently at gloves.)
LANCELOT. You are now the owner of half a million five
hundred thousand pounds. Think of ten sovereigns, ten golden
sovereigns like the one Mrs. Leadbatter gave you, then (stretches
arms perpendicularly) ten times as much as that ; then (heightens
arms further) ten times as much as that, then (arms at widest)
ten times as much as that, then (further widening being impossible,
sweeps arms round the horizon) fifty times as much as all that. Do
you understand how rich you are ?
MARY ANN. Yessir, and will you have tomatoes or potatoes ?
Please, sir, tell me quick. Miss Rosie is outside and she might stop
my going with you.
LANCELOT. But don't you see I can't now ?
MARY ANN (moving L.). Then I'll make it tomatoes, they go best
with chops.
LANCELOT (groaning). She's hopeless. (Turns away. A knock.)
Yes?
(Enter ROSIE, not closing door. She moves and talks in same grave
awe.)
ROSIE. Ma instructs me to say, will you please not let Miss Mary
Ann do anything menial.
LANCELOT (R.C., grumpily). Miss Mary Ann must please herself.
Good-bye both of you, I've got to dress. (Hastens behind screen.)
Oh, what an ass I am ! (Pops head around screen.) I say, I don't
want chops, I'm going out. (Disappears.)
ROSIE (takes tray from chair). Please go down, Miss Mary Ann, I'll
clear.
MARY ANN. No.
(MARY ANN makes for tray and seizes it. ROSIE endeavours to wrest tl
from her. Tug-of-war in grim silence, the latent jealousy of the two
girls adding to its earnestness. The superior strength of ROSIE drags
MARY ANN towards the open door. MRS. LEADBATTEB appears
on threshold. Holds up hands in horror.)
MRS. LEADBATTER. Take off that cap, Miss Mary Ann.
(Grabs for cap. MARY ANN puts up her hand and ROSIE staggers
back with the tray. MRS. LEADBATTER hastens towards table to
clear it. MARY ANN left in miserable defeat.)
LANCELOT. You there, Mrs. Leadbatter ? (Throws muddy dress
thoes around screen.) Quick, please !
'MARY ANN makes a desperate rush past MRS. LEADBATTER, who
has plates, etc., in her hands, grabs thoes and disappears.)
64 MERELY MARY ANN. ACT III,
MRS. LEADBATTER (paralysed). The most hobstinate, hungrate-
ful millionairess I hever 'ad in the 'ouse.
ROSIE (solemnly). Oh, Ma 1 (Takes plates from MRS. LEAD-
BATTER and puts them on tray.)
MRS. LEADBATTER. Well, so she is. Worse than Betsy Jemima.
Keeps on 'er cap hout of spite just to make the neighbours think
I've halways hill-treated 'er and kep' 'er down. And I begged 'er
to go and sit in the drorin'-room and fold 'er arms like a real laidy.
LANCELOT. Don't worry me. You make me crazy to-day. I've
forgotten to wash.
MRS. LEADBATTER. Just like that Jemima ! She never washed.
(Helps with clearing.) Rosy cheeks like a happle, but a worm hin-
side the way that 'ussy turned on me
LANCELOT (spluttering in water). It was the worm that turned.
MRS. LEADBATTER. A worm ! A wiper ! A dirty wiper !
LANCELOT (behind screen). Yes, you might have given me a clean
cowel.
MRS. LEADBATTER. A clean towel ! when you're going to-
morrow !
(Exit ROSIE with laden tray. MRS. LEADBATTER folds cloth.)
LANCELOT (behind screen). I'm going to-night I shall sleep at a
friend's I'll write you where to send my things.
MRS. LEADBATTER. A nice bother packing up your hodds and
hends (puts cloth in sideboard) before my new general comes in.
(Grumbling exit.)
LANCELOT. A general taking this room ? What's happened to
your lodgings ? Swarming with heiresses and generals. But why
don't they bring up my shoes ?
(Emerges nearly dressed. Rings bell by fireplace after a brief
interval occupied in dressing, enter MARY ANN.)
MARY ANN. Please, sir (smiling) I dodged them both. (Be-
gins putting on gloves.)
LANCELOT. Oh, hang your gloves, I want my shoes.
MARY ANN. I've only done one, sir.
LANCELOT. Well, be quick with the other no I mean don't
finish the other at all no, I mean er oh, Donner und Blitzen !
(Rumples his hair.)
MARY ANN. You'd better have your pen, sir.
LANCELOT. Oh, no, never again !
MARY ANN. Don't be roary, sir. Who's to do your boots in the
cottage if not me ?
LANCELOT. Mary Ann ! (Crosses to L.O.)
MARY ANN. Yes, Mr. Lancelot.
LANCELOT. You're not going to a cottage, but to a fine manor
house like the squired
ACT IIL MERELY MARY ANN. 06
MARY ANN. Oh, are we, sir ?
LANCELOT (vexed). I'm talking of your manor-house beautiful
furniture, carpets, pictures all bought with your money do you
understand ?
MARY ANN. Please, sir, then couldn't the money run to a large
farm instead, with lots of cows and pigs ?
LANCELOT (groans). You can have fifty farms and legions of
pigs.
MARY ANN (in joyous wonder). 0-h-h ! (Weeping.) Oh-h-h !
(Wipes eyes with apron.)
LANCELOT (R.C.). What's up now ?
MARY ANN. Feyther I mean father would have been so happy.
Meat every day and pudden on Sunday. (With joyous transition.)
And could I have a piano ?
LANCELOT. Yes, pigs, puddings, pianos, kangaroos even. All
that the heart of maiden can desire. (Moves up behind armchair R.)
MARY ANN. And will you learn me to play ?
LANCELOT. Ahem ! that's a little more difficult.
MARY ANN. I'll try so hard, sir.
LANCELOT. But (smiling forcedly) I may not be at the farm.
MARY ANN (feverishly). Oh, but you will. You will take me
there instead of to the cottage.
LANCELOT (moves to R.C. with feigned playfulness). No, I should
be out of place among all those pigs.
MARY ANN. Oh, no, sir, you wouldn't
LANCELOT. Thank you. But I can't go to your farm.
MARY ANN. Then I'll come to your cottage.
LANCELOT. What ! And leave all those pigs !
MARY ANN. Please, sir, you're the only one I want.
LANCELOT. Thank you, again, but don't you see that everything
is altered ?
MARY ANN. What's altered ? You are here, and here be I.
LANCELOT. Ah, but it's a different you, now. (Turns away.)
MARY ANN. No, Mr. Lancelot. (Seizes his hand.)
LANCELOT. Yes, it is. You are somebody now. Before, no one
cared or bothered about you you were no more than a dead leaf
whirling in the street.
MARY ANN (clinging to him). Yes, you cared you bothered about
me.
LANCELOT. Yes, yes, but now the world's eyes are on you
people will talk if you go away with me.
MARY ANN. Why will they talk ? What harm shall I do them ?
LANCELOT. It's yourself you will harm.
MARY ANN. No, sir, I shall be happy.
LANCELOT (confused). Yes, but er one day you will want to
marry.
' MARY ANN. No, Mr. Lancelot, I don't want to marry. I don't
ever want to go away from you.
56 MERELY MARY ANN. ACT HI
LANCELOT (coughing uneasily). I see you understand i'm not
going to marry you.
MARY ANN. Yes, sir.
LANCELOT. And that I never intended to marry you ?
MARY ANN. Yes, sir.
LANCELOT. But don't you see how Oh ! I'm a brute 1
MARY ANN. Oh, no, sir, you're not a music publisher.
LANCELOT. Worse.
MARY ANN. Oh, no, sir. You have made me so happy.
LANCELOT. Then remain so. To take you with me would be
wicked.
MARY ANN. But you didn't mind being wicked before ? (Getting
anxious.)
LANCELOT. I'm not sure I mind now. (Grosses to her, takes her
hand.) It's for your sake, Mary Ann. Be sensible and go back
quietly on Thursday with the vicar.
MARY ANN (tearfully). But then I shan't know how to come
to you.
LANCELOT (drops her hand). Absolutely hopeless. You mustn't
come with me. Everybody will talk of you as they did of
Tom.
MARY ANN (sobbing). I don't care. I was a dead leaf so long.
Nobody ever bothered to call me wicked then. (Sits sobbing L.
of table.)
LANCELOT. Hush ! Hush ! (Goes to door L, and closes it more
tightly.) Understand once for all. Even if you were simple enough
to go with me, I couldn't be rogue enough to take you. It would
be doing you a terrible wrong.
MARY ANN. Why more so than before I
LANCELOT (wincing). You had better go downstairs Mrs.
Leadbatter will wonder
MARY ANN (frenziedly, comprehension of parting at last daivning).
You are going away without me 1 (Clings to him.)
LANCELOT. Hush ! Hush !
MARY ANN (shriekingly). You are going away without me I
shall never see you again !
LANCELOT. Be sensible, Mary Ann. You are going to have a
very happy life, all silks and satins
MARY ANN. You won't take me with you !
LANCELOT (losing his temper). Don't you understand that that's
impossible unless (contemptuously) unless I marry you.
MARY ANN (ceasing to sob- breathes plaintively). Can't you marry
me then ?
LANCELOT. Yo know it's impossible.
MARY ANN. Why is it impossible ?
LANCELOT. Oh, because (slowly) because oh, it'a impossible 1
MARY ANN (L.O.). Why is it impossible ? I should wait on you
just the same.
ACT HI. MERELY MARY ANN. 57
PETER (in a loud cheery voice outside as he knocks at the door).
Can I come in ?
(MARY ANN frenziedly tears off her gloves, which she has gradually
putted on.)
LANCELOT. Delighted, old chap. (Moves to fireplace.)
(Enter PETER.)
(In a loud voice.) And you'll bring up my shoes, Mary Ann.
MARY ANN (chokingly). Yessir.
(Flits past PETER and exit.)
PETER (goes to piano, picks up a piece of LANCELOT'S music).
Well, are you ready ?
LANCELOT. Only got to get into my shoes.
PETER (as he studies the music). Your shoes ! How I wish
Keeley Lesterre was in them !
LANCELOT. Do you ? I feel like cutting my throat.
PETER (still studying music). Ah, these blues are the penalty
of genius. But I'd pay it gladly to speak like this to the souls of
men. (Drops deliberately into chair L. of table.) I'm only a mer-
chant ; tea by day and tunes by night, and the tunes are only fit
to be given away with a pound of the tea. Ah (tragically) when
I think of the sacred fervour with which I set out for Leipsic ; the
music throbbing at my heart (drops head disconsolately on hands)
the divine ambition (With sudden shriek as his fingers become
aware of his face.) I'm not shaved ! (Jumps up.)
LANCELOT (laughing.) You can use my razor, old man.
PETER. Your razor, no thank you, I remember Leipsic. (Goes
to door.) I'll find a barber's pole in a moment. Ah, here come
your shoes.
(Enter ROSIB through open door with shoes.)
Shan't be five minutes.
(Exit.)
ROSIB. Miss Mary Ann requested me to bring you these.
(Puts shoes near armchair. Solemn exit.)
LANCELOT. Poor little Mary Ann I (The canary sings.) Oh,
Dick, Dick, what a foolish, adorable little mistress you've got I
(Quoting tenderly.) She would wait on me just the same ! But it
is impossible, isn't it Dick 1
CANARY. Sweet, sweet I
LANCELOT. Ah, you don't think it so impossible. But yon
don't know the world, Dick, any more than your mistress. (Kicks
against music-box.) And yet I might starve for all the world cares.
And my songs might lie unknown for ever, rotting in this coffin.
68 MERELY MARY ANN. ACT HI.
(Spurns music -box with foot.) Have I the right to refuse them life,
and wings and immortality ? Have I the right to withhold happi-
ness from Mary Ann ? (Falls into armchair and broods. Perceives
shoes, and begins to kick off his slippers. Tries to put on shoe, it
won't go.) Wrong foot ! (Tries the other it won't go.) What the
deuce ! (Inserts his hand.) Something stuck in it no wonder !
(Begins to pull it out, produces glove.) A glove ? (Explores other
foot and produces the fellow. Examines them, puzzled for a moment,
then understands.) Ah ! Mary Ann's ! She has sent me back my
gloves. (Half hysterically.) How funny !
(Puts shoes on. As he is finishing door opens, and enter MARY ANN.
He jumps up. She tries to retreat.)
MARY ANN. Please sir, I'm sorry I thought you were gone
with Mr. Ffeter. I heard the cab so I came for my canary.
LANCELOT. Oho ! You gave that to me !
MARY ANN (joyously). Would you really like it ?
LANCELOT. I should love to have it.
MARY ANN. Then (Her face falls.) No, I know it's not
right.
LANCELOT (puzzled). Not right ?
MARY ANN. If people part they have to give back the presents.
I remember that from our village.
LANCELOT (touched smiling). Then I'll buy the canary.
MARY ANN. Oh, I couldn't sell Dick ! (Goes up and brings
cage to table c.)
LANCELOT. Not for these gloves ? (Produces and dangles them.)
MARY ANN (L.C.). Oh, do you think it wouldn't be wrong, Mr.
Lancelot ? I don't want to be wicked. You see as I was doin'
your shoes, I was thinking of mother and Sally and our black pig,
and the way the organ played in church, and all at once somehow
I knew it was wicked to bother you any more instead of going to
the vicar. And so I put the gloves back in your boots. You didn't
think I don't want them, did you, sir ? (Kisses them fervidly.)
And I do understand why it's impossible for you to marry me
I'm not good enough for you, sir.
LANCELOT (bowing his head). No, Mary Ann, 7'm not good enough
for you. That's the truth, the bare truth without gloves.
MARY ANN. I don't understand you, sir.
LANCELOT. Heaven forbid you should ! We artists only really
care for our art. If I were to marry you it would only be for your
half -million. (Crosses down R.) I'm a pauper. And you may be the
only person who will ever have heard my music.
MARY ANN. Oh, Mr. Lancelot, I'm so sorry. (Grosses to him.)
LANCELOT. I didn't mean to get your pity. I'm a man, and I
dare say I shall pull through. But even at the best, before I get
half a million sovereigns out of this box (Spurns music-box
with hit foot.) Ah well ! I'm not blaming you it's a funny world.
AOT III. MERELY MARY ANN. 59
So beware of men like me poor and selfish. And when you do
marry
MARY ANN (R.C., bursting into tears at last). Oh, Mr. Lancelot !
But I know I shall never marry anybody else.
LANCELOT. Hush ! Hush ! I thought you were going to be a
good girl and not cry again. Dry your eyes now, will you ?
MARY ANN (choking down tears). Yessir. (Lifts apron.)
LANCELOT. Here, take my handkerchief.
MARY ANN (still sobbing). Yessir. (Wipes her eyes.) But I
won't marry anybody else.
LANCELOT. Ah, wait till they've taught you arts and graces
and dressed you up in silks and fluflery fortunately everything
will help you to forget this nightmare of Mrs. Leadbatter's lodgings.
Promise me you will try to forget.
MARY ANN. Yessir if you will do me a favour.
LANCELOT. Certainly, my child, if I can. (Takes her hand.)
MARY ANN. You have the money, Mr. Lancelot, instead of me.
LANCELOT (turning away.) Now, now, Mary Ann, after talking
so sensibly. Ask any other favour, not that.
MARY ANN. Then please, sir, would you (hesitates) play me
" Good-night and Good-bye " ?
(LANCELOT kisses her hand. He plays the chorus softly and tenderly.
MARY ANN in tears. PETER enters softly.)
PETER. Bravo ! Bravo ! Best compliment you ever paid me
in my life, Lancelot. And Mary Ann in tears. (Going to her.)
Thank you too, Mary Ann. You can't refuse my half-crown now.
(Offers it.)
MARY ANN (very subdued). Thank you very much, sir. (Pockets
it.)
LANCELOT. Ha, ha, ha !
PETER (puzzled). What's the joke now ? Oh, this white on my
coat. (Takes off overcoat.) Brush this white off, Mary Ann, sharp !
(MARY ANN takes it silently and goes behind screen.)
(To LANCELOT.) Well, now you've been studying my song, I
suppose Brahmson
LANCELOT. Never ! Adieu and farewell. (Great sweeping ges-
ture.) I must give Brahmson his money back, so I'll be glad of the
two hundred I lent you at Leipsic.
PETER (overwhelmed). Oh, Lancelot. I
LANCELOT (claps him on the back). But I must draw the line at
the fifty interest.
PETER. I dare say you're right I'm only a tea-merchant.
(MARY ANN reappears and helps him on with his coat.)
Oh, but this will give you a free year for work ! Oh, Lancelot how
glorious 1
00 MERELY MARY ANN. ACT IIL
LANCELOT (feverishly). Yes, I must work I must work. Come.
I'm so glad I'm not alone to-night. (Links arm in PETER'S.) Yes,
a free year for work for work I
(Exeunt.)
(Pause. MARY ANN stands stonily as they are heard descending (he
stairs and opening door. The door slams. Then she rushes to
window and throws it open. Noise of cab driving off she snaps
down window, staggers blindly, tears streaming down her cheeks.
She turns to canary cage on table o.)
MARY ANN. Good-bye, Dick ! Good-bye ! You're his now.
Good-bye, Dick. I shall never see you again. Take care of he.
Sing to he. Don't let he be miserable. Sing to he. Sing to be.
(FaUs against cage in a passion of tears.)
CdBTAIB.
ACT IV
En the rise of the curtain a voice is heard singing with entrancing
pathos the opening bars of " Mariana in the Moated Grange,"
and as the curtain ascends, the HON. MBS. FITZGEORGE is discovered
singing by the grand piano to the left of the drawing-room of Mead
Manor Hall which gives by the door in the back wall on the grounds
and by doors R. to a corridor. LADY CHELMER, an elderly peeress,
is playing the accompaniment. In the centre of the scene sits a
smart society matron, LADY GLYNN. CAROLINE, the elderly COUN-
TESS OF FOXWELL, sits fast asleep, Tier daughter GLADYS is seated
with ROWENA in a niche up B.C.
MBS. FITZGEORGE (L.C., singing).
" She only said, my life is dreary ;
He cometh not, she said.
She said, I am a- weary, a- weary;
I would that I were dead."
(At end of song general handclapping.)
LADY FOXWELL (B.C., waking up and yawning). Ah, here come
the men !
GLADYS (rises B.). No, mother ; man cometh not, that's just
what Mrs. Fitzgeorge has been singing.
LADY FOXWELL (as MRS. FITZGEORGE comes from piano towards
centre). Ah, Mrs. Fitzgeorge, you sang that delightfully such
verve, such gaiety !
LADY CHELMER (L., comes towards centre, and shaking her finger
at LADY FOXWELL). Caroline, you've been caught napping !
(Sits in armchair L.)
LADY FOXWELL (feebly). It's so warm !
LADY GLYNN (flippantly). And so slow till the men come in,
"I am a- weary, a-weiry."
(SMEDGE heard coughing outside door.)
Ah, there is a man.
HOWARD. Mr. Samuel Smedget
(Enter SMEDGE, B.)
LADY GLYNN (sinking back). No, there isn't!
63
64 MERELY MARY ANN. Ao* IV.
SMEDQH. How do you do, Lady Chelmer ? But where ia our
little Mary Ann ?
LADY CHELMER (puzzled). Where is who !
SMEDQE (coughing}. Ahem ! Ahem ! I said where is our littlb
Marian ? She asked me to drop in about her orphanage concert.
LADY CHELMER. How tiresome of her I
(SMEDQE starts.)
I mean anything to excuse her doing her duties as hostess. She's
fled to the library now with the village schoolmistress.
SMEDQE. Good works, Lady Chelmer, are more than good din-
ners. I am deeply grateful that, though it must be some six years
since Marian passed from under my wing, she still remains true to
the teachings I endeavoured
LADY FOXWELL (inquisitively, eyeing him through lorgnette).
You knew Marian before she became Lady Chelmer's ward ?
LADY CHELMER (hastily). Marian's family has been connected
for generations with Mr. Smedge's former parish. (Introducing.)
The Rev. Samuel Smedge, the Countess of Foxwell,
(SMEDGE bobs at every name.)
Lady Glynn, Mrs. Fitzgeorge, Miss Fitzgeorge, Lady Gladys
Valentine.
SMEDQE (overwhelmed). Your Ladyships' obedient servant !
Yes, I baptized dear Marian, and when Providence carried her to
these parts, she could not rest until I had accepted a benefice in
her gift. You see she has been almost a child of my own, never
out of my sight, so to speak, except of course during her sojournings
in the centre of fashion and luxury, whither a mere labourer in the
rural vineyard could not follow her. It has been a great pleasure to
watch her grow up- though of course the moment came when I
felt that her wealth and talents grievously demanded the atmo-
sphere that only a member of your esteemed order could supply ;
I count myself fortunate to have persuaded Lady Chelmer
LADY CHELMER (uneasily). Yes, yes, everybody understands
SMEDQE. In consideration of
LADY CHELMER. Don't speak of it I was only too glad.
SMEDQE. In consideration of
(LADY CHSLMER coughs violently.)
May I offer you a eucalyptus jujube ?
LADY CHELMER. No, thank you, Marian will be expecting you.
SMEDQE. Thank you so much. As I was saying, in considera-
tion of Marian's rich promise
LADY CHELMER (anxious to stop kim). You will find her in the
library.
SMMIMB. Yea. that is where I always find her. And to we our
Aow IV. MERELY MARY ANN. 6
little Marian browsing among the old folios is most edifying, especi-
ally when one considers that for years her only schoolmistress
LADY CHELMEB (sharply). The schoolmistress is with her now.
They are both expecting you about the concert arrangements
SMEDGB. Dear me, yes, yes I fly to the good work.
(Hastens towards door. HOWARD enters with coffee.)
Ah, I may as well wait for the coffee.
LADY CHELMER. Howard will bring it to you in the library.
SMEDGE. Thank you that will be indeed a delightful combina-
tion, coffee and charity. (Is going.)
LADY CHELMER (absently). And Chartreuse. Certainly.
SMEDQE (turning severely). I said charity, Lady Chelmer,
cofiee and charity.
LADY CHELMER. I beg your pardon.
LADY FOXWELL (refusing HOWARD'S tray). No, thank you.
I should lose my beauty sleep.
(Suppressed amusement among other ladies. Business of handing
coffee during ensuing scene.)
SMEDGE (coming back). Ah, coffee keeps you awake, Countess.
I have often wished it could be handed round among my congrega-
tion on sultry summer afternoons. (Going out.)
MRS. FITZGEORGE. What a barbarous idea !
SMEDGE (coming back). Barbarous, madam ?
LADY GLYNN (demurely). Mrs. Fitzgeorge means that on sultry
afternoons coffee would be cruelly hot.
SMEDGE. Ah, yes, I see. But in these days of long dinners and
short sermons
LADY GLYNN. Short sermons ! I never heard a sermon that
struck me as short did you, Lady Foxwell !
LADY FOXWELL (yawning). I feel I rarely retain any sense of
the passage of time.
SMEDGE. But people sit through thirteen-course dinners, whereas
if I were to announce an exhortation under thirteen heads
OMNES. Oh i
(General shudder and groan.)
MRS. FITZGEORGE. Pray don't thirteen's an unlucky number.
LADY CHELMER (to HOWARD). Take Mr. Smedge's coffee to the
library.
HOWARD. Yes, my lady.
(Exit.)
SMEDGE. The very farm-labourers, nowadays, try to ape theii
betters by yawning and shuffling. Even the pew-opener
LADY CHELMER. You are keeping Marian waiting.
66 MERELY MARY ANN. Aow IV,
SMEDGE. That would be indeed a grievous, nay an unpardonable
sin. (Hastens to door.) Au revoir, your ladyships, I trust we shall
all meet on Sunday. (Bows and exit his head re-appears at door.)
Since you mentioned the Chartreuse
(Exit.)
MRS. FITZQEORGE. What is this concert of Marian's ?
LADY CHELMER. It is to build a country home for little London
orphans.
GLADYS. Oh, mother ! How good Marian is ! I wish I could
be like her.
LADY FOXWELL (sighing). I wish you could, my dear, you'd be
rolling in money.
GLADYS. I'd rather be rolling in hay. Oh, those sweet little
pigs Marian took us to see !
MRS. FITZGEORGE. Do you mean the village cnildren ?
ROWENA. Oh, no, mother. Six real little pigs that have lost
their mother. How they did squeal !
LADY GLYNN. Quite an orphanage concert !
(Laughter.)
LADY CHELMER (smiling). You will all have to patronize Marian's
As for you, Caroline, we shall find you a specially soft stall to sleep
in.
LADY FOXWELL (R.C.). Oh, you mustn't suppose I don't like
music why, I sat all through the opera of that new-fangled com-
poser, what's his name, Lancelot, at Covent Garden the night the
King and Queen were there, and I'm sure I never slept a wink not
even afterwards. (Yawns and relapses to sleepiness.)
LADY CHELMER (L.). Poor dear Caroline but all we want is
your name on the list of patrons. A Countess always draws asleep
or awake ! (Laugh.) Meantime Gladys shall play you a lullaby.
GLADYS. I don't see anything I know.
(RowENA and GLADYS examine music on niche.)
LADY GLYNN (rising, coming down to LADY CHELMER). How
many tickets will you let me off with ? I don't mind giving you
my Sunday bridge winnings.
LADY CHELMER (L.). Bridge on Sunday ! (Horrified.)
LADY GLYNN (crosses to piano in laughing apology). Oh, charity
covereth a multitude of wins ! Look at Mrs. de Courcy, who was
once actually caught cheating, and now she opens hospital bazaars
and is the pink of propriety.
LADY FOXWELL (waking up sharply, R.C.). The pink of propriety
the rouge of propriety, I should call her.
(Laughter of the group of matron* J
ACT IV. MERELY MARY ANN. 67
MRS. FITZGEORGE. But I thought she was so good worked in
the East End and all that.
LADY GLYNN (c.). My dear, the East End is the only place
where you can be sure of not meeting your husband. What do
you suppose takes the young Countess of Darley to WhitechapeJ
three times a week ? And why does Mrs. Van Rossiter
(MARIAN appears at the door at the back. LADY GLYNN, though
neither seeing nor hearing her, seems to feel the presence of innocence,
stops abruptly and looks round. All look round.)
LADY CHELMER (to MARIAN). Have you finished with Mr. Srnedge
already ?
MARIAN. Yes he was anxious to see a man in the dining-room.
LADY GLYNN (with forced gaiety). We must rout them all out.
Who volunteers ?
MRS. FITZGEORGE. All right, I'm with you.
LADY GLYNN. Come along, then. Cheer up, Lady Foxwell.
We'll man the drawing-room.
(Exeunt LADY GLYNN and MRS. FITZGEORGE R.)
MARIAN. Oh, Auntie, it's a sin to be indoors. Come out, Rowena
and Gladys. The very moonshine is like a mist of white roses.
Won't you come too ?
LADY CHELMER. I should catch cold, dear. Besides, I must
remain at my post if you desert yours. I expect one or two more
people
MARIAN. More people ! Oh dear I Then we must get back
soon. Come, children, let us make hay while the moon shines.
(The three girls exeunt. LADY FOXWELL goes up after them, then
returns c.)
LADY FOXWELL (B.C., uneasily). Whom are you expecting,
Angela ?
LADY CHELMER (L.C.). Ah, that's a secret I have kept from
Marian herself. Such a pleasant surprise for her !
LADY FOXWELL (R.C.). Who, in Heaven's name?
LADY CHELMER (L.C.). Curiously enough the very man you just
mentioned.
LADY FOXWELL. I mentioned no man !
LADY CHELMER. Yes, Caroline, the composer whose opera kept
you awake.
LADY FOXWELL (R.O.). Lancelot ?
LADY CHELMER (L.C.). Yes, Marian adores his music. That very
opera of his, Maid Marian (crosses to R.o.) curious I never noticed
before her name was in it that new opera was the only thing that
drew her up to town last season. Imagine what a delightful sur-
prise it will be for her to make the lion's actual acquaintance, and
I MERELY MARY ANN. ACT IV.
what a still more delightful surprise to learn that he's consented to
organize our Orphanage Concert! (Grosses B.)
LADY FOXWELL (drops into chair in curve of piano L.O.). Oh,
Angela, is that fair to Valentine ?
LADY CHELMEB. Fair to Lord Valentine !
LADY FOXWELL. Yes, you promised that to-night you would
give my boy a chance of proposing to Marian.
LADY CHELMER. And so I will, Caroline for the sake of our old
friendship, but I tell you candidly he hasn't the ghost of a chance.
LADY FOXWELL. We shall see she's only a squire's daughter,
you say.
LADY CHBLMEB (coughs uneasily). Ahem ! yes (Drops into
chair R.)
LADY FOXWELL. And my Tom brings her an ancient title. His
is just the full rich nature she needs to supplement hers.
LADY CHELMER. And hers is just the full rich bank balance he
needs to supplement his.
LADY FOXWELL. Don't be vulgar, Angela. How can you men-
tion Marian's money ! Ugh ! it gives me a shiver of jealousy all
down my spine. Oh dear ! What's the good of being a Countess
with nothing to count ? (Buries head in hands.)
LADY CHELMER (going to her tenderly). My poor dear Caroline I
Haven't I been through it all ? Didn't I even have to push Peter's
tea in Belgravia before Marian saved me from my sins of commis-
sion t
LADY FOXWELL (looking up). Peter's tea ! I never heard of it.
LADY CHELMER (laughing). Oh, but you've drunk it. And Peter
is even better than his tea. I'm sorry I lost sight of him for so many
years. It was he who, when we met by chance in town, promised to
get me the great Lancelot.
LADY FOXWELL. But does this Peter supply composers as well
as tea ?
LADY CHELMEB. No, no. (Laughing.) He is Lancelot's friend,
ind so he's bringing him down to-night to arrange details.
LADY FOXWELL (burying her head again). Oh, I feel as though my
poor boy were being thrown to the lion.
LADY CHELMER (going up to writing-table B.C.). Lord Valentino
as a Christian martyr ! Ha ! ha ! ha I Don't be alarmed, Caroline.
Your boy shall have his chance. Mr. Lancelot isn't even staying
with us. Lions appear to love village inns and sawdust.
LADY FOXWELL (rising). But these young girls are so silly.
Don't you remember the feminine craze for Keeley Lesterre ? That
fashion went out with bishop sleeves, and this season Lancelot is all
the rage.
LADY CHELMEB. Pooh! As if Marian
LADY FOXWELL. In any case the creature's turning up wiB
spoil the tete-a-tete we were contriving for Val
LADY CHBLMER. Hush ! here come the girls I
AOT IV. MERELY MARY ANN. 69
(Enter the three girls.)
MARIAN (clapping hands childishly as she perceives no new-comers).
Hurrah ! We can take another turn.
LADY CHELMER. No, don't go. Gladys was about to play.
GLADYS. Not before Marian ! She's such an authority on music.
MARIAN. I ? Oh, Gladys !
ROWENA. Well, you are an authority on Lancelot's music.
MARIAN (agitated). Oh, nonsense ! Er (pretending to catch
sight of coffee cup) is this my coffee ? (Pushes electric button on
watt.)
ROWENA. I do hope Lancelot will write music to Shakespeare,
because now that we have a great English composer
GLADYS (up L.). Yes, and wouldn't it be lovely if Lancelot
would interpret Browning ?
ROWENA (L.C.). Ah ! the " Last ride together " how Lancelot
would revel in that, Marian !
GLADYS (coming c.). Yes, and how the tone-poet of " Meadow-
sweet " would translate the lyric of the English April
LADY FOXWELL (L.C.). Lancelot ! Lancelot ! All lost their
heads over Lancelot and all talking of the man as if he was their
brother ! Why has he only a Christian name ? The fellow's a
charlatan.
LADY CHELMEB. Oh, Caroline, I hear he's a baronet's son.
MARIAN (sitting c.). A composer has a right to use any pen-name
he pleases. Besides, he was always known as Mr. Lancelot, even in
his days of obscurity.
(Enter HOWARD.)
LADY FOXWELL (alarmed). Yes, and nice tales I hear of those
same shady days. He may have been a baronet's son, but he was
disinherited for his gambling and extravagance.
MARIAN. As he was a younger son, he could scarcely have been
disinherited.
LADY CHELMEB. You seem very well up in Mr. Lancelot's bio-
graphy.
MABIAN. I read the papers, Auntie, like everybody else. These
tales are false. (Perceiving HOWARD.) This coffee is cold, another
cup, please.
(Exit HOWABD.)
Mr. Lancelot's only extravagance was burning his landlady's gaa
all night, his only gambling was tossing for chops or steaks, and
rather than write for the debased taste of his time, Mr. Lancelot
lived in one room.
LADY FOXWELL (interrupting). Oh, yes, that's all advertise-
ment I wonder an intelligent girl like you can be taken in by these
newspaper paragraphs.
70 MERELY MARY ANN. ACT IV.
MARIAN. That wasn't in the papers I know it personally.
LADY CHELMER (alarmed. Rises crosses to LADY FOXWELL
L.C.) Now, my dear, you know that is impossible.
MARIAN (defiantly). I heard him play his music when he was poor
and struggling.
GLADYS. Oh, how interesting! (Grosses to c. Sits beside
MARIAN.)
(Re-enter HOWARD with coffee.)
Do tell us about it, Marian, there's a darling. Did he come and see
you ?
MARIAN. I used to give him tea. (Taking coffee from HOWARD.)
GLADYS. And did he take sugar and milk like an ordinary mortal ?
ROWENA. And did he confide in you ?
GLADYS. And was he clean-shaven ?
ROWENA. And did he call himself Lancelot ?
GLADYS. And did he wear his hair long ?
ROWENA. And was he in love with anybody ?
(The questions tumble out one on top of another.)
LADY FOXWELL (seated R. suspiciously putting up lorgnette).
And where was all this ?
LADY CHELMER (alarmed nervously fanning herself). Ah, I
remember now of course he was Marian's music master before
he was famous.
ROWENA. Oh, how nice for Marian !
GLADYS. I suppose he was one of those delightful monsters of
music masters who roar at you if you make a mistake.
MARIAN (laughing). Yes, he could roar. But he roared more at
Rosie.
LADY FOXWELL (L. sharply). Who was Rosie !
MARIAN. One of his pupils.
LADY CHELMER (L.O., anxiously). The Duchess of Danbury has
a Rosie.
MARIAN. No, it wasn't that Rosie.
LADY CHELMER. Ah, I recollect dear I think I have heard
you speak of Rosie her mother entertained a good deal, I believe.
MARIAN (smiling). Yes. In fact, it was at one of her house-
parties that I first met Mr. Lancelot.
LADY FOXWELL (sharply). How long were you under him ?
MARIAN. Only a month or two.
LADY CHELMER (intervening). Ah, no wonder I had forgotten.
And I hope he has forgotten you, dear.
MARIAN. Why, Auntie? What does it matter? We shall
never meet.
LADY CHELMER (L.O., coughing uneasily). Ahem ! Well if you
do you mustn't remind him he was once merely a music-master.
AOT IV. MERELY MARY ANN. 71
MARIAN irises]. And merely a baronet's son ! You are quite
right, Auntie. (Turns away and stares out of door towards the moon.)
(ROWENA and GLADYS move down B.)
LADY CHELMER (c., sotto voce). And you're quite right, Caroline.
I'll send a note to Peter not to bring him.
LADY FOXWELL (L., sotto voce). Oh, do, Angela I
(LADY CHELMER goes to writing-table and writes. There is no break in
the conversation.)
GLADYS. I wish I could play his music better but I'm so lazy !
(Fans herself.) Marian, did you ever do any work with the brush ?
MARIAN (turning with faint smile from door). Oh, yes, heaps !
LADY CHELMER (looking back agitatedly from the writing-table,
quill in hand). Did you ? The dear child keeps her accomplish-
ments hidden.
MARIAN. Before I lived with you, Auntie, I worked every day
with the brush most industriously. I have since thought my work
lacked soul, though there was a good deal of polish. (Comes down
to c. a little.)
(LADY CHELMER resumes writing.)
ROWENA. And did you have a studio with a top light f
(LADY CHELMER looks up uneasily.)
MARIAN (c.). Oh, a sort of studio on the top floor.
GLADYS (clapping her hands girlishly). What fun I And could
you work in oil ?
(LADY CHELMER resumes writing.)
MARIAN. Oh, yes.
(LADY CHELMER alarmed again.)
Generally still life.
(LADY CHELMER resumes writing.)
ROWENA. Ah, fruit and flower pieces I
MARIAN. No, fish and meat
LADY CHELMER (alarmed again). Ah, like the Dutch school.
(Rings bell.)
GLADYS. But I suppose you chiefly worked in water.
MARIAN. A good deal in water, and a good deal in charcoal,
(Enter HOWARD B.)
LADY CHELMER. Send that to the Inn at once 1
HOWARD. Yes, my lady.
(Exit B.)
7t MERELY MARY ANN. ACT TV.
LADY FOXWELL (rising). Marian seems quite an Admirable
Crichton in the arts. For my part I belong to the old generation,
and I think
GLADYS. Oh, mother!
LADY FOXWELL. Oh, yes, Gladys, I know I'm talking heresy
but I think girls should be first of all good housekeepers. (Goes
up.)
MABIAN. I quite agree with you, Lady Foxwell. (Walks to
piano, aits on stool, takes off her gloves, and touches keys idly.)
(LADY FOXWELL joins LADY CHELMER up L.C.)
(Enter LORD VALENTINE, a gilded youth, wearing a monocle and
slightly limping. The other ladies brisk up perceptibly.)
LADY CHELMEB. Alone, Lord Valentine?
LORD VALENTINB. Yes Lady Glynn and Mrs. Fitzgeorge
romped in and carried off some of us to play billiards the parson
was holding forth to the others, so I thought I'd let him have a free
run. (Limps to MARIAN and bends over her.)
LADY FOXWELL (aside to LADY CHELMER). I don't like these
modern manners carrying off the men such selfishness ! But it
will give my boy his chance.
MARIAN (still touching keys softly). Your ankle is not still
troubling you, I hope, Lord Valentine ?
LORD VALENTINE (in low confidential tone). Thank you, no.
Your sympathy is superior to arnica, you see. But I'd like to wring
that confounded chauffeur's neck. You see I was crawling down the
hill oh, quite under forty miles an hour
(Dumb show talk.)
LADY FOXWELL. Gladys, Rowena, Lady Chelmer proposes we
should all walk in the grounds and see (signals with her Jan and
nods meaningly) what was it you said we should see, Angela ?
LADY CHELMER (taking the hint). Was it the tarragon you had
never seen growing ?
LADY FOXWELL. Of course, of course. Gladys, Rowena,
(marshalling them) Lady Chelmer is going to show us the tarragon
(Pointedly.) Marion knows it, of course.
ROWENA (going up with GLADYS). Oh, how kind ! I should like
to see so rare and romantic a herb. But won't you catch cold,
Lady Chelmer ?
LADY CHELMER. No, no, dear, it seems so much warmer.
GLADYS. But we can't see it very well by night.
LADY FOXWELL. Not in this wonderful moonlight !
LADY CHELMER. It isn't so much the sight it is the peculiar
taste (Chivying them out, aided by LADY FOXWELL.)
(Exeunt OMNES into grounds except LORD VALENTINE and MARIAN.)
ACT IV. MERELY MARY ANN. 73
LORD VALENTINE (up stage). Oh, I'm so glad they've left the
course clear !
MARIAN (bored). Ah, you don't like society, Lord Valentine ?
LORD VALENTINE. Not me. Give me a snug little car for two ;
can't stand drags.
MARIAN (bored). Ah, drags! (Yawns. Embarrassed pause.)
LORD VALENTINE. Er er have you ever driven a motor-car ?
MARIAN (face lighting up at prospect of amusing herself). No,
only a milk-cart.
LORD VALENTINE (dropping eyeglass). A milk-cart !
MARIAN (with pretended astonishment). Haven't you ever seen a
milk-cart ?
LORD VALENTINE. Yes : often on my way home from supper.
But whatever made you drive a milk-cart ?
MARIAN. My father. I milked the cows myself.
LORD VALENTINE. Milked the cows ! Whatever did you milk
the cows for ?
MARIAN. For the milk. Suppose we join the others t (Rises
from piano.)
LORD VALENTINE. But you've seen the beastly tarraboom.
MARIAN (with pretended naivete). Tarragon ! It is not beastly ;
it's used for flavouring vinegar.
LORD VALENTINE. Vinegar ! (Makes wry mouth.) No, I won't
go I can't connect you with vinegar. I can only connect you with
sugar and spice, you know.
MARIAN. Really, Lord Valentine ?
LORD VALENTINE (encouraged). I say (adjusting eyeglass)
I wish you wouldn't call me Lord Valentine.
MARIAN (pretended naivete). Oh, have I got your title wrong ?
LORD VALENTINE. No, no, I mean, let me be Valentine your
Valentine ! (She shakes her head.) Well then Tom just your
Tommy, eh ? And let me call you Marian, merely Marian.
HOWARD (throwing open doors and ushering in visitors). Mr.
Lancelot !
(Enter LANCELOT, followed by PETER.)
(MARIAN start s, mechanically picks up gloves lying on top of piano.)
LORD VALENTINE (simultaneously). D n 1 Why don't they
toot ? (Grosses down L.)
HOWARD (announcing). Mr. Peter- (Pauses dubiously.) I beg
your pardon, sir ?
PETER. Yes, never mind. Just Peter.
HOWARD (repeating announcement). Mr. Peter.
MARIAN (who has just recovered her composure during this brief
colloquy, advances, holding gloves in left hand). How do you do, Mr.
Lancelot ? The composer, I presume t So pleased to know you.
Had no idea you were in these parts. How do you do, Mr. Peter ?
Pretty country, is it not ? You must excuse my aunt a moment j
74 MERELY MARY ANN. ACT IV.
she has gone into the grounds she will be so sorry won't you sit
down ? I will call her. (Goes to casement, evidently anxious to escape
and conceal her emotion.}
LORD VALENTINE. Shall I help you find her ?
MARIAN. No, thank you, Lord Valentine your ankle I know
my way to the tarragon. (Drops gloves from left hand.)
(PETER is down R.)
LANCELOT (rushing forward to pick them up). Your gloves !
MARIAN (taking them). Oh, thank you. Lord Valentine, won't
you entertain my aunt's friends ?
(Exit.)
(LANCELOT stands rapt looking after her.)
PETER. What a lovely girl !
LORD VALENTINE (L.C.). I should say so. Best British make.
The French may be better for a sprintbut for absence of noise
and vibration, and reliable steering apparatus, the native article
takes the cup.
LANCELOT (c., turning). Who is she ?
PETER (down R.). You heard her say Lady Chelmer's niece.
LORD VALENTINE. Oh, she isn't really.
LANCELOT. Not really ? (Coming down.)
LORD VALENTINE (c.). She's an orphan ; but Lady Chelmer
was a friend of the squire her father, don't you know I
LANCELOT (blankly). Oh!
LORD VALENTINE. And so she steers Marian.
LANCELOT (convulsively). Marian ?
LORD VALENTINB (o.). What's exploded !
PETER (laughingly). Nothing ! Nothing ! Mr. Lancelot wrote
an opera called Maid Marian, so the name always excites him.
LORD VALENTINE (L.C.). Oh, are you that Lancelot ? My
mother dragged me to the trial performance.
(LANCELOT, embarrassed, sits at table and takes up book.)
PETER (R.). You don't seem pleased !
LORD VALENTINE (smiling). Well, the pace was a bit slow, wasn't
it ? But then I'm no referee, for I can't tell " God save the King "
from " The girl I left behind me," except by the people taking off
their hats, so Mr. Lancelot mustn't mind.
LANCELOT. No, no, certainly not ! You say Lady Chelmer
steers her
LORD VALENTINE. Yes, but ( With complacent significance.)
She'll have a licensed driver soon.
LANCELOT. Ah !
LORD VALENTINE. Do you mind if I go and see if she's run into
anything she hasn't lit up ?
(Exit through the door into the garden.)
AowIV. MERELY MARY ANN. 7fi
PETER (crosses over to piano). Well, I don't think Maid Marian
is to be congratulated on her choice.
LANCELOT. Oh, I rather like the motor-maniac. He's the only
man who hasn't gushed over Maid Marian.
PETER. He has the real thing to gush over.
LANCELOT (rising). I don't think I'll wait for Lady Chelmer
PETER (alarmed). Not wait ?
LANCELOT. I feel a beastly wave of the blues coming on it's
the sight of these society people, these Philistine butterflies
PETER (L.). But the concert for the orphanage ?
LANCELOT (c.). I'm sorry I promised. Why are you so grateful
to Lady Chelmer ? Did she boom " Good-night and Good-bye " ?
PETER. Don't speak ill of the dead. It was our tea she boomed,
and although I have scarcely seen her since our Belgravian branch
shut up when she came into money five or six years ago, still
(Enter HOWARD with a note.)
HOWARD. Beg pardon, sir, but this note from her Ladyship
has been sent after you from the inn.
(PETER takes it. Exit HOWARD.)
PETER (reads it). What's this ? Lady Chelmer is in bed with
raging neuralgia. Oh I (Disgusted.) And I did think that woman
was truthful.
LANCELOT. What ! When she boomed your tea ! (Grosses to R.)
PETER (angrily). Let us clear out immediately.
LANCELOT. I suggested sooner. (Both start towards door.)
(Re-enter MARIAN from the grounds.)
MARIAN. I am so sorry my aunt begs you to excuse her
she
PETER (witheringlyn.c.). Oh, certainly, I trust her neuralgia
is less raging.
MARIAN (c., with genuine innocence). Oh, how did you know ?
It has just come on through her being in the night air. She has
gone to her room. She hopes to arrange about the concert in the
morning. How good it is of Mr. Lancelot to help my orphans !
I did not know.
(Re-enter LORD VALENTINE from the grounds.)
LORD VALENTINE (crosses to R. of MARIAN). Ah, there you are !
I've been all over the course.
MARIAN. Instead of entertaining Lady Chelmer's friends ?
(Turns to him, dumb show talk.)
PETER (R.C. sotto voce). Come on, Lancelot.
LANCELOT. Not yet. (R., behind Chesterfield.)
PETER. But your fit of the blues 1
LANCELOT. It's going.
76 MERELY MARY ANN Ac* IV.
PETER. So am I I won't be insulted.
LANCELOT. You're a blithering imbecile I Take the chauffeur
round the course. I want to talk to this girl.
PETER (R.C.). Oh, you geniuses ! Every day a new face. (Goes
to casement. Aloud.} What a lovely full moon, Lord Valentine!
LORD VALENTINE (c.). Yes, like a Rolls Royce. Wouldn't
you like to take your friend into the grounds and see the tarragon
blooming ?
MARIAN (L.O.). Nonsense ! The tarragon isn't blooming.
LORD VALENTINE (c.). Well, taste the blooming tarragon I
mean taste the tarragon.
MARIAN. No, no, Lord Valentine. You mustn't inflict your
hobbies on Lady Chelmer's friends. I'm sure they'd much rather
join the others in the billiard-room.
LANCELOT. Oh, but my friend is an enthusiast on tarragon,
aren't you, Peter ? You're always talking of tarragon tarragon
and motor-cars.
PETER. I am always delighted to taste tarragon or curse
motor-cars. Brr S I'm rather blind in the dark. Won't you
give me your arm ? (Seizes LORD VALENTINE'S arm and drags him
towards casement.)
LORD VALENTINE (desperately). I I can't walk my ankle
MARIAN (anxious not to be alone with LANCELOT). Yes yes we
will come too. (Moving.)
(Exeunt LORD VALENTINE and PETER into the grounds.)
LANCELOT. Oh, please !
(She stops.)
Don't let us interfere with these two congenial souls tarragon and
a tooter is all they ask to make them happy.
MARIAN. Then let us join the rest of the world in the billiard-
room. We can get to it through the grounds. (Moves again
towards window.) You'll like to know Lady Gladys Valentine
and Miss Fitzgeorge.
LANCELOT (R.C.). Thank you ; it will be so hot there.
MARIAN (trying another tack). Lady Chelmer will be so sorry
shall I go up and see if she can possibly come down ?
LANCELOT. Oh, please don't ! It will increase her neuralgia.
MARIAN (smiling resignedly). Well, I've offered you several
chances of not being bored. (Grosses to Chesterfield and sits.)
LANCELOT. I'm taking the best. (Sits on chair R.C.)
MARIAN. Oh, I'm sure I could not entertain a genius, except
unawares I've met one or two in town, and they are most diffi-
cult. I could almost wager that within ten minutes you will be
saying or doing something extraordinary.
LANCELOT. Done !
MARIAN. Oh, I didn't mean it literally.
Ac* IV. MERELY MARY ANN. 77
LANCELOT. But I do, what will you wager ?
MARIAN. Oh, what ladies usually wager a pair of gloves
(LANCELOT starts.)
And I know I shall win. Take authors now. (Rattling on to cove?
emotion.) If you talk to them about themselves, they look
daggers, and if you talk about their rivals, dynamite. But of all
geniuses commend me to actors. I was introduced to a tragedian
at Henley last year and when he saw a comedian punting a Princess,
he (after rising, she holds up her hands.) Oh ! Do you know I
often wish geniuses had a tail to lash !
LANCELOT (springing up). Mary Ann ! (Takes a step forward.)
MARIAN (freezingly drawing back). I beg your pardon !
LANCELOT. Forgive me. (Passing hand over eyes.) I am not
myself to night I fancied
MARIAN. I told you you would lose the gloves. Let me take
you to the billiard-room. (Crosses to L.C. up.)
LANCELOT. No please there, I am better, we were talking of
geniuses.
MARIAN (sits at piano). And a rival one. Would you rather I
talked about your opera ?
LANCELOT. No, no. But wasn't it strange it should be called
by your name ?
MARIAN. Marian ! Why, that's as common as Mary Ann !
There are myriads of Marians.
LANCELOT. But only one for me.
MARIAN. Ah, your heroine is a reality.
LANCELOT. She was. My " Meadowsweet " is dedicated to her.
MARIAN. She is dead ?
LANCELOT. I do not know. She went out of my life.
MARIAN. How strange 1 Just like Dick !
LANCELOT. Dick !
MARIAN (at piano). Just a memory you stirred ! But I can't
say I cared much for your living Maid Marian I mean of course
Signora Favella she looked the part, but her upper register is so
thin.
LANCELOT. Her upper register's not so bad ; it was her not
looking the part that I minded. But that would be too much to
expect. I have never seen any one like my Maid Marian except
you.
MARIAN (rises and goes to window laughing nervously). Except
me ! How ridiculous !
LANCELOT (with passionate movement). Yes, your eyes, your
hair, your smile, the trie!-: of your lips, the cadence of your voice
everything reminds me of her.
MARIAN (turns with a sigh). Oh dear 1 Geniuses are difficult to
entertain.
7 MERELY MARY ANN. ACT IV.
LANCELOT. No, no. Please don't misunderstand me. I'm not
flattering you.
MARIAN. Don't misunderstand me, Mr. Lancelot. I'm not at
all flattered to resemble an operatic Maid Marian. I'd rather be
plain Mary Ann.
LANCELOT. Mary Ann ! I I yes, yes ; I don't know what's
the matter with me to-night. (Sits on Chesterfield R.C., puts head
on hands.) Forgive me I ought not to have come I'm feeling
so miserable. (His attitude suggests similar scene in Act II.)
MARIA j* (looks round sees LADY CHELMER'S quill, seizes it and
presents it to him, completing the suggestion of the above scene). Then
hadn't you better have your pen, Mr. Lancelot ?
LANCELOT (jumps up again). You are Mary Ann !
MARIAN (c. retreats, drops pen ; in strange defiant tones). Yes,
I am Mary Ann !
LANCELOT. Then I have found you at last !
MARIAN (coldly). No, you have found merely Marian.
LANCELOT. Ah, I realize that but simply to see you again is
rapture. I wish you every happiness.
MARIAN. Why ?
LANCELOT. Are you free ? Are you still Maid Marian ? Free ?
MARIAN. What is my freedom to you ? I was free six years ago.
LANCELOT. But then I was not the Lancelot of to-day. What
had I to offer in return for your gold ?
MARIAN (with tragic hauteur). Your love, which was more to
me than millions.
LANCELOT. Ah, I was mad no, no, it was not your money
don't let me take credit for fine feelings it was your menial station,
it was the world's opinion, I was too miserably proud to marry
you.
MARIAN. I did not seek to marry you.
LANCELOT. If I had only listened to my heart ! But my pride
trampled on it and broke it I let you go and yet you did not
let me go, dear dream-child. Your innocence, your perfect faith,
were the inspiration of my songs ; when I was in gloom, you brought
me my pen, when I repined against fate I remembered your cheerful
drudgery. And now to find you again to know you are free !
Oh, can't you forgive ?
MARIAN. Certainly. You've lost the gloves half a dozen times,
but I let you off. (Grosses up R.c.)
LANCELOT. You give me mockery, not pity.
MARIAN (back L.C.). You said you didn't want my pity you
were a man and would pull through. Oh, yes, I remember your
words Pity 1 The world's opinion was so much to you and have
you not fame ? " We artists only care for our art." And haven't
you plenty of it to care for ? Pity ! My money loomed so large
to you. And haven't you plenty of your own ?
LANCELOT (L.C.). Fame, music, money they are like the bag
Ac* IV. MERELY MARY ANN. 1%
of diamonds the thirsty Arab found in the desert. Love is all
that counts.
MARIAN. Then surely you don't thirst for love. Did you
not impress on me the universal adoration for Keeley Lesterre ?
How much more then for Lancelot ! (She moves down R. a little.)
LANCELOT (moving R.C.). Yes, I will not lie to you. It is the
tragedy of the artist to be drawn to beauty as the moth to the flame,
but for me the flame was always dull and smoky by the side of
your white fire. Oh, your purity, Mary Ann I You don't know
how it has brought into my life the clearness of skies at dawn
the love you offered me so recklessly in your girlish innocence has
been to me whiter than the first buds of spring Ah, I tried to put
it all into my " Pastoral Reverie," but how short I fell !
MARIAN. Ah, no. "Meadowsweet" is divine!
LANCELOT (joyfully). You know it ? I ought to have called it
not " Meadowsweet " merely " Mary Ann " I And so, do you
wonder, though I saw lovely faces enough, never could I find that
perfect trust, that lovely innocence which flowered in your soul
alone, like some marvellous blossom that flowers but once in a
century.
MARIAN (overcome sits on the Chesterfield). That trust, that
innocence . . . are dead.
LANCELOT (c.). Don't say that, Mary Ann.
MARIAN. Dead. . . . And Dick ?
LANCELOT. Dead.
MARIAN. Poor Dick ! (Buries her face in hands.)
LANCELOT. Oh, I loved it. Was it not the last link between us ?
I fed it myself. I gave it seed, biscuits I was most careful not to
give it marmalade.
MARIAN (half laughing half crying). Poor Mr. Lancelot ! I
do not blame you. " But you see they have only such brief lives.
Faith and innocence and all the little joyous birds that sing within
us and flutter against the cage of our hearts. Poor Innocence !
Poor Faith ! Poor Dick !
LANCELOT. And I have killed them all.
MARIAN (wearily). No not Dick 1 And perhaps the others
too died of age. One cannot live in a world like this and keep one's
illusions. (Rises.) Oh, Lancelot, why did I not die too 1 (Grosses
tO L.C.)
LANCELOT. Ah, you love me, you love me still!
MARIAN. No, nothing sings at my heart any more.
LANCELOT. Ah, let me try ! (As if to embrace her.)
MARIAN. Too late 1 Why does everything in life come too
late ? Money Love
LANCELOT (bowing his head). Fame Repentance
MARIAN. Yes, it is a sad world and I am so tired. Gooa
night.
LANCELOT (terrified). But not good-bve ?
* MERELY MARY ANN. Ac* IT,
MARIAN. Yes, it is better so. (Is about to ring the bell.)
LANCELOT (springs at her and holds her to him). No, no, you shall
not go ! I cannot let you go I
MARIAN (struggling). You must ! You must I
LANCELOT. But I love you. Dearest, be my wife and
MARIAN. You are to let me go.
LANCELOT (releasing her and staggering back a pause. Thm
with attitudes and positions exactly the reverse of those in Act III.,
he drooping and she dignified). Can't you marry me ?
MARIAN. It is impossible.
LANCELOT. Why is it impossible ?
MARIAN. Because because oh, it's impossible. (Makes a
hopeless gesture and totters out through the door.)
(LANCELOT looks after her stonily, then drops brokenly on to the musir
stool. After a while his hands begin to touch the keys softly. Ana,
gradually he glides into the chorus, played very pathetically , of " Good-
nighl and Good-bye." As he finishes ther* is a knock at the door.)
LANCELOT (without turning head). Yes, old fellow, I'm here.
(Stops playing.)
(Enter MARY ANN in her old cap and apron, pulling on her gloves.
LANCELOT becomes aware of her and turns on stool.)
LANCELOT. Mary Ann !
MARY ANN. Yessir. (Cheerfully smiling through tears.)
(LANCELOT stands.)
The birds at my heart started singing (Pause.) And so I came
back!
LANCELOT. But you said your love was dead, you could not
marry me.
MARY ANN. That was Marian, sir. This is merely Mary Ann
(Falls into his arms.)
(Music : " Kiss me Good-night " in orchestra, strings and reed owiy
POLLYANNA
"The glad play," in 3 acts. By Catherine Chisholm
Gushing. Based on the novel by Eleanor H. Porter. 5
males, 6 females. 2 interiors. Costumes, modern. Playe
2% hours.
The story has to do with the experiences of an orphan girl
who is thrust, unwelcome, into the home of a maiden aunt. In
Bpite of the tribulations that beset her life she manages to find
something to be glad about, and brings light into sunless lives.
Finally, Pollyanna straightens out the love affairs of her elders,
and last, but not least, finds happiness for herself in the heart
of Jimmy. "Pollyanna" is a glad play and one which is bound
to give one a better appreciation of people and the world. It
reflects the humor, tenderness and humanity that gave the story
such wonderful popularity among young and old.
Produced at the Hudson Theatre, New York, and for two sea-
eons on tour, by George C. Tyler, with Helen Hayes in the part
of "Pollyanna." (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents.
THE CHARM SCHOOL
A comedy in 3 acts. By Alice Duer Miller and Robert
Milton. 6 males, 10 females (may be played by 5 males
and 8 females). Any number of school girls may be used
in the ensembles. Scenes, 2 interiors. Modern costumes.
Plays 2% hours.
The story of "The Charm School" is familiar to Mrs. Miller's
readers. It relates the adventures of a handsome young auto-
mobile salesman, scarcely out of his 'teens, who, upon inheriting
a girls' boarding-school from a maiden aunt, insists on running it
himself, according to his own ideas, chief of which is, by the
way, that the dominant feature in the education of the young
girls of to-day should be CHARM. The situations that arise are
teeming with humor clean, wholesome humor. In the end the
young man gives up the school, and promises to wait until the
most precocious of his pupils reaches a marriageable age. The
play has the freshness of youth, the inspiration of an extravagant
but novel idea, the charm of originality, and the promise of whole-
fiome, sanely amusing, pleasant entertainment. We strongly rec-
ommend it for high school production. It was first produced at
the Bijou Theatre, New York, then toured the country. Two
companies are now playing it in England. (Royalty, twenty-five
dollars.) Price, 75 Cents.
SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York City
Our New Descriptive Catalogue Sent Free on Request
KICK IN
Play in 4 acts. By Willard Mack. 7 males, 5 females.
2 interiors. Modern costumes. Plays 2% hours.
"Kick In" is the latest of the very few available mystery
plays. Like "Within the Law," "Seven Keys to Baldpate,"
"The Thirteenth Chair," and "In the Next Room," it is one
of those thrillers which are accurately described as "not having
a dull moment in it from beginning to end." It is a play with
all the ingredients of popularity, not at all difficult to set or to
act; the plot carries it along, and the situations are built with
that skill and knowledge of the theatre for which Willard Mack
is known. An ideal mystery melodrama, for high schools and
colleges. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents.
TILLY OF BLOOMSBURY
("Happy-Go-Lucky.") A comedy in 3 acts. By Ian
Hay. 9 males, 7 females. 2 interior scenes. Modern
dress. Plays a full evening.
Into an aristocratic family comes Tilly, lovable and youthful,
with ideas and manners which greatly upset the circle. Tilly
is so frankly honest that she makes no secret of her tre-
mendous affection for the young son of the family; this brings her
into many difficulties. But her troubles have a joyous end in
charmingly blended scenes of sentiment and humor. This comedy
presents an opportunity for fine acting, handsome stage settings,
and beautiful costuming. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.)
Price, 75 Cents.
BILLY
Farce-comedy in 3 acts. By George Cameron, 10 males,
5 females. (A few minor male parts can be doubled, mak-
ing the cast 7 males, 5 females.) 1 exterior. Costumes,
modern. Plays 2^ hours.
The action of the play takes place on the S. S. "Florida,"
bound for Havana. The story has to do with the disappearance of
ft set of false teeth, which creates endless complications among
passengers and crew, and furnishes two and a quarter hours of
the heartiest laughter. One of the funniest comedies produced in
the last dozen years on the American stage is "Billy" (some-
times called "Billy's Tombstones"), in which the la.te Sidney
Drew achieved a hit in New York and later toured the country
several times. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents.
SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York City
Our New Descriptive Catalogue Sent Free on Request
ARE YOU 'A MASON?
Farce in 3 acts. By Leo Ditrichstein. 7 males, 7 ft-
males. Modern costumes. Plays 2% hours. 1 interior.
"Are You a Mason?" is one of those delightful farces lik*
'Charley 'g Aunt" that are always fresh. "A mother and a
daughter," says the critic of the New York Htrald, "had hus-
bands who account for absences from the joint household on
frequent evenings, falsely pretending to be Masons. The mea
do not know each other's duplicity, and each tells his wife
having advanced to leadership in his lodge. The older woma
was so well pleased with her husband's supposed distinction ia
the order that she made him promise to put up the name of a
visiting friend for membership. Further perplexity over tha
principal liar arose when a suitor for his second daughter's hand
proved to be a real Mason. ... To tell the story of the play
would require volumes, its complications are so numerous. It is
a house of cards. One card wrongly placed and the whole thing
would collapse. But it stands, an example of remarkable in-
genuity. You wonder at the end of the first act how the fun
can be kept up on such a slender foundation. But it continues
and grows to the last curtain." One of the most hilariously
amusing farces ever written, especially suited to schools and
Masonic Lodges. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 76 ttmt,
KEMPY
'A delightful comedy in 3 acts. By J. C. Nugent and
Elliott Nugent. 4 males, 4 females. 1 interior throughout.
Costumes, modern. Plays 2% hours.
No wonder "Kempy" has been such a tremendous hi* in New-
York, Chicago wherever it has played. It snaps with wit and
humor of the most delightful kind. It's electric. It's small-
town folk perfectly pictured. Full of types of varied sorts, each
one done to a turn and served with zestful sauce. An ideal
entertainment for amusement purposes. The story is about a high-
falutin* daughter who in a fit of pique marries the young plumber-
architect, who comes to fix the water pipes, just because he
"understands" her, having read her book and having sworn to
marry the authoress. But in that story lies all the humor that
kept the audience laughing every second of every act. Of course
there are lots of ramifications, each of which bears its own brand
of laughter-making potentials. But the plot and the story are
not the main things. There is, for instance, the work of the
company. The fun growing out of this family mixup is lively and
clean. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents.
SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York City
Our New Descriptive Catalogue Sent Free on Request
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