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The Riding-Class
Scene —A Riding-school, on a raw chilly afternoon. The gas is lighted, but does not lend much cheerfulness to the interior, which is bare and bleak, and pervaded by a bluish haze. Members of the Class discovered standing about on the tan, waiting for their horses to be brought in. At the further end is an alcove, with a small balcony, in which Mrs. Bilbow-Kay, the Mother of one of the Equestrians, is seated with a young female Friend
Mrs. Bilbow-Kay. Oh, Robert used to ride very nicely indeed when he was a boy; but he has been out of practice lately, and so, as the Doctor ordered him horse-exercise, I thought it would be wiser for him to take a few lessons. Such an excellent change for any one with sedentary pursuits!
The Friend. But isn't riding a sedentary pursuit, too?
Mrs. B. – K. Robert says he doesn't find it so.
[Enter the Riding Master
Riding Master (saluting with cane). Evenin', Gentlemen – your 'orses will be in directly; 'ope we shall see some ridin' this time. (Clatter without; enter Stablemen with horses.) Let me see – Mr. Bilbow-Kay, Sir, you'd better ride the Shar; he ain't been out all day, so he'll want some 'andling. (Mr. B. – K., with a sickly smile, accepts a tall and lively horse.) No, Mr. Tongs, that ain't your 'orse to-day – you've got beyond 'im, Sir. We'll put you up on Lady Loo; she's a bit rough till you get on terms with her, but you'll be all right on her after a bit. Yes, Mr. Joggles, Sir, you take Kangaroo, please. Mr. Bumpas, I've 'ad the Artful Dodger out for you; and mind he don't get rid of you so easy as he did Mr. Gripper last time. Got a nice 'orse for you, Mr. 'Arry Sniggers, Sir —Frar Diavolo. You mustn't take no notice of his bucking a bit at starting – he'll soon leave it off.
Mr. Sniggers (who conceals his qualms under a forced facetiousness). Soon leave me off you mean!
R. M. (after distributing the remaining horses). Now then – bring your 'orses up into line, and stand by, ready to mount at the word of command, reins taken up in the left 'and with the second and little fingers, and a lock of the 'orse's mane twisted round the first. Mount! That 'orse ain't a bicycle, Mr. Sniggers. [Mr. S. (in an undertone). No – worse luck!] Number off! Walk! I shall give the word to trot directly, so now's the time to improve your seats – that back a bit straighter, Mr. 'Ooper. No. 4 just fall out, and we'll let them stirrup-leathers down another 'ole or two for yer. (No. 4, who has just been congratulating himself that his stirrups were conveniently high, has to see them let down to a distance where he can just touch them by stretching.) Now you're all comfortable. ["Oh, are we?" from Mr. S.] Trot! Mr. Tongs, Sir, 'old that 'orse in – he's gettin' away with you already. Very bad, Mr. Joggles, Sir – keep those 'eels down! Lost your stirrup, Mr. Jelly? Never mind that —feel for it, Sir. I want you to be independent of the irons. I'm going to make you ride without 'em presently. (Mr. Jelly shivers in his saddle.) Captin' Cropper, Sir; if that Volunteer ridgment as you're goin' to be the Major of sees you like you are now, on a field-day – they'll 'ave to fall out to larf, Sir! (Mr. Cropper devoutly wishes he had been less ingenuous as to his motive for practising his riding.) Now, Mr. Sniggers, make that 'orse learn 'oo's the master! [Mr. S. "He knows, the brute!"]
Mrs. B. – K. He's very rude to all the Class, except dear Robert – but then Robert has such a nice easy seat.
The R. M. Mr. Bilbow-Kay, Sir, try and set a bit closer. Why, you ain't no more 'old on that saddle than a stamp with the gum licked off! Can-ter! You're, all right, Mr. Joggles – it's on'y his play; set down on your saddle, Sir!.. I didn't say on the ground!
Mrs. B. – K. (anxiously to her Son, as he passes). Bob, are you quite sure you're safe? (To Friend.) His horse is snorting so dreadfully!
R. M. 'Alt! Every Gentleman take his feet out of the stirrups, and cross them on the saddle in front of him. Not your feet, Mr. Sniggers, we ain't Turks 'ere!
Mr. S. (sotto voce). "There's one bloomin' Turk 'ere, anyway!"
R. M. Now then – Walk!.. Trot! Set back, Gentlemen, set back all – 'old on by your knees, not the pommels. I see you, Mr. Jelly, kitchin' old o' the mane – I shall 'ave to give you a 'ogged 'orse next time you come. Quicken up a bit – this is a ride, not a funeral. Why, I could roll faster than you're trotting! Lor, you're like a row o' Guy Foxes on 'orseback, you are! Ah, I thought I'd see one o' you orf! Goa-ron, all o' you, you don't come 'ere to play at ridin' – I'll make you ride afore I've done with you! 'Ullo, Mr. Joggles, nearly gone that time, Sir! There, that'll do – or we'll 'ave all your saddles to let unfurnished. Wa – alk! Mr. Bilbow-Kay, when your 'orse changes his pace sudden, it don't look well for you to be found settin' 'arf way up his neck, and it gives him a bad opinion of yer, Sir. Uncross stirrups! Trot on! It ain't no mortal use your clucking to that mare, Mr. Tongs, Sir, because she don't understand the langwidge – touch her with your 'eel in the ribs. Mr. Sniggers, that 'orse is doin' jest what he likes with you. 'It 'im, Sir; he's no friends and few relations!
Mr. S. (with spirit). I ain't going to 'it 'im. If you want him 'it, get up and do it yourself!
R. M. When I say "Circle Right" – odd numbers'll wheel round and fall in be'ind even ones. Circle Right!.. Well, if ever I – I didn't tell yer to fall off be'ind. Ketch your 'orses and stick to 'em next time. Right In-cline! O' course, Mr. Joggles, if you prefer takin' that animal for a little ride all by himself we'll let you out in the streets – otherwise p'raps you'll kindly follow yer leader. Captain Cropper, Sir, if you let that curb out a bit more, Reindeer wouldn't be 'arf so narsty with yer… Ah, now you 'ave done it. You want your reins painted different colours and labelled, Sir, you do. 'Alt, the rest of you… Now, seein' you're shook down in your saddles a bit – ["Shook up's more like it!" from Mr. S.] – we'll 'ave the 'urdles in and show you a bit o' Donnybrook! (The Class endeavours to assume an air of delighted anticipation at this pleasing prospect.) To Assistant R. M., (who has entered and said something in an undertone.) Eh, Captin' 'Edstall here, and wants to try the grey cob over 'urdles? Ask him if he'll come in now – we're just going to do some jumping.
Assist. R. M. This lot don't look much like going over 'urdles – 'cept in front o' the 'orse, but I'll tell the Captain.
[The hurdles are brought in and propped up. Enter a well-turned-out Stranger, on a grey cob
Mr. Sniggers (to him). You ain't lost nothing by coming late, I can tell yer. We've bin having a gay old time in 'ere – made us ride without sterrups, he did!
Captain Headstall. Haw, really? Didn't get grassed, did you?
Mr. S. Well, me and my 'orse separated by mutual consent. I ain't what you call a fancy 'orseman. We've got to go at that 'urdle in a minute. How do you like the ideer, eh? It's no good funking it – it's got to be done!
R. M. Now, Captin – not you, Captin Cropper – Captin 'Edstall I mean, will you show them the way over, please?
[Captain H. rides at it; the cob jumps too short, and knocks the hurdle down – to his rider's intense disgust
Mr. S. I say, Guvnor, that was a near thing. I wonder you weren't off.
Capt. H. I – ah – don't often come off.
Mr. S. You won't say that when you've been 'ere a few times. You see, they've put you on a quiet animal this journey. I shall try to get him myself next time. He be'aves like a gentleman, he does.
Capt. H. You won't mount him, if you take my advice – he has rather a delicate mouth.
Mr. S. Oh, I don't mind that – I should ride him on the curb o' course.
[The Class ride at the hurdle one by one
R. M. Now, Mr. Sniggers, give 'im more of 'is 'ed than that, Sir – or he'll take it… Oh, Lor, well, it's soft falling luckily! Mr. Joggles, Sir, keep him back till you're in a line with it… Better, Sir; you come down true on your saddle afterwards anyway!.. Mr. Parabole!.. Ah, would you? Told you he was tricky, Sir! Try him at it again… Now – over!.. Yes, and it is over, and no mistake!
Mrs. B. – K. Now it's Robert's turn. I'm afraid he's been overtiring himself, he looks so pale. Bob, you won't let him jump too high, will you? – Oh, I daren't look. Tell me, my love, – is he safe?
Her Friend. Perfectly – they're just brushing him down.
AFTERWARDS
Mrs. B. – K. (to her Son). Oh, Bob, you must never think of jumping again – it is such a dangerous amusement!
Robert (who has been cursing the hour in which he informed his parent of the exact whereabouts of the school). It's all right with a horse that knows how to jump. Mine didn't.
The Friend. I thought you seemed to jump a good deal higher than the horse did. They ought to be trained to keep close under you, oughtn't they? [Robert wonders if she is as guileless as she looks.]
Capt. Cropper (to the R. M.) Oh, takes about eight months, with a lesson every day, to make a man efficient in the Cavalry, does it? But, look here – I suppose four more lessons will put me all right, eh? I've had eight, y' know.
R. M. Well, Sir, if you arsk me, I dunno as another arf dozen 'll do you any 'arm – but, o'course, that's just as you feel about it.
[Captain Cropper endeavours to extract encouragement from this Delphic response.]
The Impromptu Charade-Party
Scene —The Library of a Country-House; the tables and chairs are heaped with brocades, draperies, and properties of all kinds, which the Ladies of the company are trying on, while the men rack their brains for a suitable Word. In a secluded corner, Mr. Nightingale and Miss Rose are conversing in whispers
Mr. Whipster (Stage-Manager and Organizer – self-appointed). No – but I say, really, you know, we must try and decide on something – we've been out half-an-hour, and the people will be getting impatient! (To the Ladies.) Do come and help; it's really no use dressing up till we've settled what we're going to do. Can't anybody think of a good Word?
Miss Larkspur. We ought to make a continuous story of it, with the same plot and characters all through. We did that once at the Grange, and it was awfully good – just like a regular Comedy!
Mr. Whipster. Ah, but we've got to hit on a Word first. Come – nobody got an idea? Nightingale, you're not much use over there, you know. I hope you and Miss Rose have been putting your heads together?
Mr. Nightingale (confused). Eh? No, nothing of the sort! Oh, ah – yes, we've thought of a lot of Words.
Miss Rose. Only you've driven them all out of our heads again!
[They resume their conversation
Mr. Wh. Well, do make a suggestion, somebody! Professor, won't you give us a Word?
Chorus of Ladies. Oh, do, Professor – you're sure to think of something clever!
Professor Pollen (modestly). Well, really, I've so little experience in these matters that – A Word has just occurred to me, however; I don't know, of course, whether it will meet with approval – (he beams at them with modest pride through his spectacles) – it's "Monocotyledonous."
Chorus of Ladies. Charming! Monocottle – Oh, can't we do that?
Mr. Wh. (dubiously). We might – but – er – what's it mean?
Prof. Pollen. It's a simple botanical term, signifying a plant which has only one cup-shaped leaf, or seed-lobe. Plants with two are termed —
Mr. Wh. I don't see how we're going to act a plant with only one seed-lobe myself – and then the syllables – "mon" – "oh" – "cot" – "till" – we shouldn't get done before midnight, you know!
Prof. Pollen (with mild pique). Well, I merely threw it out as a suggestion. I thought it could have been made amusing. No doubt I was wrong; no doubt.
Mr. Settee (nervously). I've thought of a word. How would – er – "Familiar" do?
Mr. Wh. (severely). Now, really, Settee, do try not to footle like this!
[Mr. Settee subsides amidst general disapproval
Mr. Flinders (with a flash of genius). I've got it —Gamboge!
Mr. Wh. Gamboge, eh? Let's see how that would work: – "Gam" – "booge." How do you see it yourself?
[Mr. Flinders discovers on reflection, that he doesn't see it, and the suggestion is allowed to drop
Miss Pelagia Rhys. I've an idea. Familiar! "Fame" – "ill" – "liar," you know.
[Chorus of applause
Mr. Wh. Capital! The very thing – congratulate you, Miss Rhys!
Mr. Settee (sotto voce). But I say, look here, I suggested that, you know, and you said – !
Mr. Wh. (ditto). What on earth does it matter who suggests it, so long as it's right? Don't be an ass, Settee! (Aloud.) How are we going to do the first syllable "Fame," eh? [Mr. Settee sulks.
Mr. Pushington. Oh, that's easy. One of us must come on as a Poet, and all the ladies must crowd round flattering him, and making a lot of him, asking him for his autograph, and so on. I don't mind doing the Poet myself, if nobody else feels up to it.
[He begins to dress for the part by turning his dress-coat inside out, and putting on a turban and a Liberty sash, by way of indicating the eccentricity of genius; the Ladies adorn themselves with a similar regard to realism, and even more care for appearances
AFTER THE FIRST SYLLABLE
The Performers return from the drawing-room, followed by faint applause.
Mr. Pushington. Went capitally, that syllable, eh? (No response.) You might have played up to me a little more than you did – you others. You let me do everything!
Miss Larkspur. You never let any of us get a word in!
Mr. Pushington. Because you all talked at once, that was all. Now then – "ill." I'll be a celebrated Doctor, and you all come to me one by one, and say you're ill– see?
[Attires himself for the rôle of a Physician in a dressing-gown and an old yeomanry helmet
Mr. Whipster (huffily). Seems to me I may as well go and sit with the audience – I'm no use here!
Mr. Pushington. Oh, yes, Whipster, I want you to be my confidential butler, and show the patients in.
[Mr. W. accepts – with a view to showing Pushington that other people can act as well as he
AFTER THE SECOND SYLLABLE
Mr. Pushington. Seemed to drag a little, somehow! There was no necessity for you to make all those long soliloquies, Whipster. A Doctor's confidential servant wouldn't chatter so much!
Mr. Whipster. You were so confoundedly solemn over it, I had to put some fun in somewhere!
Mr. P. Well, you might have put it where some one could see it. Nobody laughed.
Professor Pollen. I don't know, Mr. Pushington, why, when I was describing my symptoms – which I can vouch for as scientifically correct – you persisted in kicking my legs under the table – it was unprofessional, Sir, and extremely painful!
Mr. Pushington. I was only trying to hint to you that as there were a dozen other people to follow, it was time you cut the interview short, Professor – that one syllable alone has taken nearly an hour.
Miss Buckram. If I had known the kind of questions you were going to ask me, Mr. Pushington, I should certainly not have exposed myself to them. I say no more, but I must positively decline to appear with you again.
Mr. Pushington. Oh, but really, you know, in Charades one gets carried away at times. I assure you, I hadn't the remotest (&c., &c.—until Miss Buckram is partly mollified.) Now then – last syllable. Look here, I'll be a regular impostor, don't you know, and all of you come on and say what a liar I am. We ought to make that screamingly funny!
AFTER THE THIRD SYLLABLE
Mr. Pushington. Muddled? Of course it was muddled – you all called me a liar before I opened my mouth!
The Rest. But you didn't seem to know how to begin, and we had to bring the Word in somehow.
Pushington. Bring it in? – but you needn't have let it out. There was Settee there, shouting "liar" till he was black in the face. We must have looked a set of idiots from the front. I sha'n't go in again (muttering). It's no use acting Charades with people who don't understand it. There; settle the Word yourselves!
AFTER THE WORD. AMONG THE AUDIENCE
General Murmur. What can it be? Not Turk, I suppose, or Magician? – Quarrelling? – Parnellite – Impertinence? Shall we give it up? No, they like us to guess, poor things; and besides, if we don't they'll do another; and it is getting so late, and such a long drive home. Oh, they're all coming back; then it is over. No, indeed, we can't imagine. "Familiar!" To be sure —how clever, and how well you all acted it, to be sure – you must be quite tired after it all. I am sure we– hem – are deeply indebted to you… My dear Miss Rose, how wonderfully you disguised yourself, I never recognized you a bit, nor you, Mr. Nightingale. What part did you take?
Mr. Nightingale. I – er – didn't take any particular part – wasn't wanted, you know.
Miss Rose. Not to act, – so we stayed outside and – and – arranged things.
An Old Lady. Indeed? Then you had all the hard work, and none of the pleasure, my dear, I'm afraid.
Miss Rose (sweetly). Oh no. I mean yes! – but we didn't mind it much.
The O. L. And which of you settled what the Word was to be?
Mr. N. Well, I believe we settled that together.
[Carriages are announced; departure of guests who are not of the house-party. In the Smoking-room, Mr. Pushington discovers that he does not seem exactly popular with the other men, and puts it down to jealousy
A Christmas Romp
Scene – Mrs. Chipperfield's Drawing-room. It is after the Christmas dinner, and the Gentlemen have not yet appeared. Mrs. C. is laboriously attempting to be gracious to her Brother's Fiancée, whose acquaintance she has made for the first time, and with whom she is disappointed. Married Sisters and Maiden Aunts confer in corners with a sleepy acidity
First Married Sister (to Second). I felt quite sorry for Fred, to see him sitting there, looking – and no wonder – so ashamed of himself – but I always will say, and I always must say, Caroline, that if you and Robert had been firmer with him when he was younger, he would never have turned out so badly! Now, there's my George – &c., &c.
Mrs. C. (to the Fiancée). Well, my dear, I don't approve of young men getting engaged until they have some prospect of being able to marry, and dear Algy was always my favourite brother, and I've seen so much misery from long engagements. However, we must hope for the best, that's all!
A Maiden Aunt (to Second Ditto). Exactly what struck me, Martha. One waiter would have been quite sufficient, and if James must be grand and give champagne, he might have given us a little more of it; I'm sure I'd little else but foam in my glass! And every plate as cold as a stone, and you and I the only people who were not considered worthy of silver forks, and the children encouraged to behave as they please, and Joseph Podmore made such a fuss with, because he's well off – and not enough sweetbread to go the round. Ah, well, thank goodness, we needn't dine here for another year!
Mr. Chipperfield (at the door). Sorry to cut you short in your cigar, Uncle, and you, Limpett; but fact is, being Christmas night, I thought we'd come up a little sooner and all have a bit of a romp… Well, Emily, my dear, here we are, all of us – ready for anything in the way of a frolic – what's it to be? Forfeits, games, Puss in the Corner, something to cheer us all up, eh? Won't any one make a suggestion?
[General expression of gloomy blankness
Algernon (to his Fiancée – whom he wants to see shine). Zeffie, you know no end of games – what's that one you played at home, with potatoes and a salt-spoon, you know?
Zeffie (blushing). No, please, Algy! I don't know any games, indeed, I couldn't really!
Mr. C. Uncle Joseph will set us going, I'm sure – what do you say, Uncle?
Uncle Joseph. Well, I won't say "no" to a quiet rubber.
Mrs. C. But, you see, we can't all play in that, and there is a pack of cards in the house somewhere; but I know two of the aces are gone, and I don't think all the court cards were there the last time we played. Still, if you can manage with what is left, we might get up a game for you.
Uncle J. (grimly). Thank you, my dear, but, on the whole, I think I would almost rather romp —
Mr. C. Uncle Joseph votes for romping! What do you say to Dumb Crambo? Great fun – half of us go out, and come in on all-fours, to rhyme to "cat," or "bat," or something —you can play that, Limpett?
Mr. Limpett. If I must find a rhyme to cat, I prefer, so soon after dinner, not to go on all-fours for it, I confess.
Mr. C. Well, let's have something quieter, then – only do settle. Musical Chairs, eh?
Algy. Zeffie will play the piano for you – she plays beautifully.
Zeffie. Not without notes, Algy, and I forgot to bring my music with me. Shall we play "Consequences"? It's a very quiet game – you play it sitting down, with paper and pencil, you know!
Mr. Limpett (sardonically, and sotto voce). Ah, this is something like a rollick now. "Consequences," eh?
Algy (who has overheard – in a savage undertone). If that isn't good enough for you, suggest something better – or shut up!
[Mr. L. prefers the latter alternative
Mr. C. Now, then, have you given everybody a piece of paper, Emily? Caroline, you're going to play – we can't leave you out of it.
Aunt Caroline. No, James, I'd rather look on, and see you all enjoying yourselves – I've no animal spirits now!
Mr. C. Oh, nonsense! Christmas-time, you know. Let's be jolly while we can – give her a pencil, Emily!
Aunt C. No, I can't, really. You must excuse me. I know I'm a wet blanket; but, when I think that I mayn't be with you another Christmas, we may most of us be dead by then, why – (sobs).
Fred (the Family Failure). That's right, Mater – trust you to see the humorous side of everything!
Another Aunt. For shame, Fred! If you don't know who is responsible for your poor mother's low spirits, others do!
[The Family Failure collapses
Mr. Limpett. Well, as we've all got pencils, is there any reason why the revelry should not commence?
Mr. C. No – don't let's waste any more time. Miss Zeffie says she will write down on the top of her paper "Who met whom" (must be a Lady and Gentleman in the party, you know), then she folds it down, and passes it on to the next, who writes, "What he said to her" – the next, "What she said to him" – next, "What the consequences were," and the last, "What the world said." Capital game – first-rate. Now, then!
[The whole party pass papers in silence from one to another, and scribble industriously with knitted brows
Mr. C. Time's up, all of you. I'll read the first paper aloud. (Glances at it, and explodes.) He-he! – this is really very funny. (Reads.) "Uncle Joseph met Aunt Caroline at the – ho – ho! – the Empire! He said to her, 'What are the wild waves saying!' and she said to him, 'It's time you were taken away!' The consequences were that they both went and had their hair cut, and the world said they had always suspected there was something between them!"
Uncle J. I consider that a piece of confounded impertinence!
[Puffs
Aunt C. It's not true. I never met Joseph at the Empire. I don't go to such places. I didn't think I should be insulted like this – (Weeps) – on Christmas too!
Aunts' Chorus. Fred again!
[They regard the Family Failure indignantly
Mr. C. There, there, it was all fun – no harm meant. I'll read the next. "Mr. Limpett met Miss Zeffie in the Burlington Arcade. He said to her, 'O, you little duck!' She said to him, 'Fowls are cheap to-day!' The consequences were that they never smiled again, and the world said, 'What price hot potatoes?'" (Everybody looks depressed.) H'm – not bad – but I think we'll play something else now.
[Zeffie perceives that Algy is not pleased with her
Tommy (to Uncle Joseph). Uncle, why didn't you carve at dinner?
Uncle J. Well, Tommy, because the carving was done at a side table – and uncommon badly done, too. Why do you want to know?
Tommy. Parpar thought you would carve, I know. He told Mummy she must ask you, because —
Mrs. C. (with a prophetic instinct). Now, Tommy, you mustn't tease your Uncle. Come away, and tell your new Aunt Zeffie what you're going to do with your Christmas boxes.
Tommy. But mayn't I tell him what Parpar said, first?
Mrs. C. No, no; by and by – not now! [She averts the danger.
[Later; the Company are playing "Hide the Thimble"; i.e., someone has planted that article in a place so conspicuous that few would expect to find it there. As each person catches sight of it, he or she sits down. Uncle Joseph is still, to the general merriment, wandering about and getting angrier every moment
Mr. C. That's it, Uncle, you're warm– you're getting warm!
Uncle J. (boiling over). Warm, Sir? I am warm – and something more, I can tell you! [Sits down with a bump.
Mr. C. You haven't seen it! I'm sure you haven't seen it. Come now, Uncle!
Uncle J. Never mind whether I have or have not. Perhaps I don't want to see it, Sir!
The Children. Then do you give it up? Do you want to be told? Why, it's staring you in the face all the time!
Uncle J. I don't care whether it's staring or not – I don't want to be told anything more about it.
The Children. Then you're cheating, Uncle – you must go on walking till you do see it!
Uncle J. Oh, that's it, eh? Very well, then – I'll walk!
[Walks out, leaving the company paralysed
Mrs. C. Run after him, Tommy, and tell him – quick!
[Exit Tommy
Mr. C. (feebly). I think when Uncle Joseph does come back, we'd better try to think of some game he can't lose his temper at. Ah, here's Tommy!
Tommy. I told him – but he went all the same, and slammed the door. He said I was to go back and tell you that you would find he was cut up – and cut up rough, too!
Mrs. C. But what did you tell him?
Tommy. Why, only that Parpar asked him to come to-night because he was sure to cut up well. You said I might!
