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On the Ice
Scene —The Serpentine. On the bank, several persons are having their skates put on; practised Skaters being irritable and impatient, and others curiously the reverse, at any delay in the operation
Chorus of Unemployed Skate-Fasteners. 'Oo'll 'ave a pair on for an hour? Good Sport to-day, Sir! Try a pair on, Mum! (to any particularly stout Lady). Will yer walk inter my porler, Sir? corpet all the w'y! 'Ad the pleasure o' puttin' on your skites last year, Miss! Best skates in London, Sir! [Exhibiting a primæval pair.
The Usual Comic Cockney (to his Friend, who has undertaken to instruct him). No 'urry, old man – this joker ain't arf finished with me yet! (To Skate-Fastener.) Easy with that jimlet, Guv'nor. My 'eel ain't 'orn, like a 'orse's 'oof! If you're goin' to strap me up as toight as all that, I shell 'ave to go to bed in them skites!.. Well, what is it now?
Skate-Fastener. Reg'lar thing fur Gen'lm'n as 'ires skates ter leave somethink be'ind, jest as security like —anythink'll do – a gold watch and chain, if yer got sech a thing about yer!
The C. C. Oh, I dessay – not me!
Skate-F. (wounded). Why, yer needn't be afroid! I shorn't run away – you'll find me 'ere when yer come back!
The C. C. Ah, that will be noice! But all the sime, a watch is a thing that slips out of mind so easy, yer know. You might go and forgit all about it. 'Ere's a match-box instead; it ain't silver!
Skate-F. (with respect). Ah, you do know the world, you do!
The C. C. Now, Alf, old man, I'm ready for yer! Give us 'old of yer 'and… Go slow now. What's the Vestry about not to put some gravel down 'ere? It's downright dangerous! Whoo-up! Blowed if I ain't got some other party's legs on!.. Sloide more? Whadjer torking about! I'm sloidin' every way at once, I am!.. Stroike out? I've struck sparks enough out of the back o' my 'ed, if that's all!.. Git up? Ketch me! I'm a deal syfer settin' dayown, and I'll sty 'ere! [He stays.
A Nervous Skater (hobbling cautiously down the bank – to Friend). I – I don't know how I shall be in these, you know – haven't had a pair on for years. (Striking out.) Well, come – (relieved) – skating's one of those things you never forget – all a question of poise and equi – confound the things! No, I'm all right, thanks – lump in the ice, that's all! As I was saying, skating soon comes back to – thought I was gone that time! Stick by me, old fellow, till I begin to feel my – Oh, hang it all!.. Eh? surely we have been on more than five minutes! Worst of skating is, your feet get so cold!.. These are beastly skates. Did you hear that crack? Well, you may stay on if you like, but I'm not going to risk my life for a few minutes' pleasure! [He returns to bank.
The Fond Mother (from bank, to Children on the ice). That's right. Alma, you're doing it beautifully– don't walk so much! (To French Governess). Alma fay bocoo de progray, may elle ne glisse assez – nayse par, Ma'amzell?
Mademoiselle. C'est Ella qui est la plus habile, elle patine dejà très bien – et avec un aplomb!
The F. M. Wee-wee; may Ella est la plus viaile, vous savvy. Look at Ella, Alma, and see how she does it!
Mad. Vous marchez toujours – toujours, Alma; tâchez donc de glisser un petit peu – c'est beaucoup plus facile!
Alma. Snay pas facile quand vous avez les skates toutes sur un côté – comme moi, Ma'amzell!
F. M. Ne repondy à Ma'amzell, Alma, and watch Ella!
Ella. Regardez-moi, Alma. Je puis voler vîte – oh, mais vîte … oh I have hurt myself so!
Alma (with sisterly sympathy.) That's what comes of trying to show off, Ella, darling! [Ella is helped to the bank.
A Paternal Skate-Fastener. 'Ere you are, Missie – set down on this 'ere cheer – and you, too, my little dear – lor, they won't do them cheers no 'arm, Mum, bless their little 'arts! Lemme tyke yer little skites orf, my pooties. I'll be keerful, Mum – got childring o' my own at 'ome – the moral o' your two, Mum!
The F. M. (to Governess). Sayt un homme avec un bong ker. Avez-vous – er – des cuivres, Ma'amzell?
The P. S. (disgustedly). Wot? – only two bloomin' browns fur tykin' the skites orf them two kids' trotters! I want a shellin' orf o' you fur that job, I do… "Not another penny?" Well, if you do everythink as cheap as you do yer skiting, you orter be puttin' money by, you ought! That's right, tyke them snivellin' kids 'ome – blow me if ever I – &c., &c., &c. [Exit party, pursued by powerful metaphors.
The Egotistic Skater (in charge of a small Niece). Just see if you can get along by yourself a little – I'll come back presently. Practise striking out.
The Niece. But, Uncle, directly I strike out, I fall down!
The E. S. (encouragingly). You will at first, till you get into it – gives you confidence. Keep on at it – don't stand about, or you'll catch cold. I shall be keeping my eye on you! [Skates off to better ice.
The Fancy Skater (to less accomplished Friend). This is a pretty figure – sort of variation of the "Cross Cut," ending up with "The Vine"; it's done this way (illustrating), quarter of circle on outside edge forwards; then sudden stop – (He sits down with violence). Didn't quite come off that time!
The Friend. The sudden stop came off right enough, old fellow!
The F. S. I'll show you again – it's really a neat thing when it's well done; you do it all on one leg, like this —
[Executes an elaborate back-fall
His Friend. You seem to do most of it on no legs at all, old chap!
The F. S. Haven't practised it lately, that's all. Now here's a figure I invented myself. "The Swooping Hawk" I call it.
His Friend (unkindly – as the F. S. comes down in the form of a St. Andrew's Cross). Y – yes. More like a Spread Eagle though, ain't it?
Pretty Girl (to Mr. Ackmey, who has been privileged to take charge of herself and her Plain Sister). Do come and tell me if I'm doing it right, Mr. Ackmey. You said you'd go round with me!
The Plain S. How can you be so selfish, Florrie? You've had ever so much more practice than I have! Mr. Ackmey, I wish you'd look at my left boot – it will go like that. Is it my ankle – or what? And this strap is hurting me so! Couldn't you loosen it, or take me back to the man, or something? Florrie can get on quite well alone, can't she?
Mr. A. (temporising feebly). Er – suppose I give each of you a hand, eh?
The Plain S. No; I can't go along fast, like you and Florrie. You promised to look after me, and I'm perfectly helpless alone!
The Pretty S. Then, am I to go by myself, Mr. Ackmey?
Mr. A. I – I think – just for a little, if you don't mind!
The Pretty S. Mind? Not a bit! There's Clara Willoughby and her brother on the next ring, I'll go over to them. Take good care of Alice, Mr. Ackmey. Good-bye for the present.
[She goes; Alice doesn't think Mr. A. is "nearly so nice as he used to be."
The Reckless Rough. Now then, I'm on 'ere. Clear the way, all of yer! Parties must look out fur themselves when they see me a comin', I carn't stop fur nobody!
[Rushes round the ring at a tremendous pace
An Admiring Sweeper (following his movements with enthusiasm). Theer he goes – the Ornimental Skyter! Look at 'im a buzzin' round! Lor, it's a treat to see 'im bowlin' 'em all over like a lot er bloomin' ninepins! Go it, ole Franky, my son – don't you stop to apollergise!.. Ah, there he goes on his nut agen! 'E don't care, not 'e!.. Orf he goes agin!.. That's another on 'em down, and ole Franky atop – 'e'll 'ave the ring all to 'isself presently! Up agin! Oh, ain't he lovely! I never see his loike afore nowheres… Round yer go – that's the stoyle! My eyes, if he ain't upset another – a lydy this time – she's done 'er skytin fur the d'y any 'ow! and ole Frank knocked silly… Well, I ain't larfed ser much in all my life! [He is left laughing.
In a Fog
(A Reminiscence of the Past Month.)
Scene —Main thoroughfare near Hyde Park. Time 8 P.M. Nothing visible anywhere, but very much audible; horses slipping and plunging, wheels grinding, crashes, jolts, and English as she is spoke on such occasions
Mrs. Flusters (who is seated in a brougham with her husband, on their way to dine with some friends in Cromwell Road). We shall be dreadfully late, I know we shall! I'm sure Peacock could go faster than this if he liked – he always loses his head when there's much traffic. Do tell him to make haste!
Mr. F. Better let him alone – he knows what he's doing.
Mrs. F. I don't believe he does, or he wouldn't dawdle like this. If you won't speak to him, I must. (Lets down the glass and puts out her head.) Peacock!
A Blurred Shadow on the Box. Yes, M'm.
Mrs. F. What are we stopping for like this?
The Shadow. Fog very thick just 'ere, M'm. Can't see what's in front of us, M'm.
Mrs. F. It's just as safe to keep moving as to stand still – go on at once.
The S. Very good, M'm. (To horse.) Pull urp! [Crash!
Voice from the Unseen. What the blanky blank, &c.
Peacock. There is suthin in front, M'm. A van, from 'is langwich, M'm.
Mrs. F. (sinking back). Marmaduke, this is awful. I'd no idea the fog was like this – or I should never have – (With temper.) Really, people have no right to ask one out on such a night.
Mr. F. (with the common sense that makes him "so aggravating at times"). Well, Fanny, you could hardly expect 'em to foresee the weather three weeks ahead!
Mrs. F. At all events, you might have seen what it was going to be as you came home from the Temple. Then we could have sent a telegram!
Mr. F. It seemed to be lifting then, and besides, I – ah – regard a dinner-engagement as a species of kindly social contract, not to be broken except under pressing necessity.
Mrs. F. You mean you heard me say there was nothing but cold meat in the house, and you know you'll get a good dinner at the Cordon-Blewitts, – not that we are likely to get there to-night. Have you any idea whereabouts we are?
Mr. F. (calmly). None whatever.
Mrs. F. Then ask Peacock.
Mr. F. (lets down his window, and leans out). Peacock!
The Shadow. Sir?
Mr. F. Where have we got to now?
Peacock. I ain't rightly sure, Sir.
Mrs. F. Tell him to turn round, and go home.
Mr. F. It's no use going on like this. Turn back.
Peacock. I dursn't leave the kerb – all I got to go by, Sir.
Mr. F. Then take one of the lamps, and lead the horse.
Peacock. It's the young 'orse, Sir.
Mr. F. (sinking back). We must put up with it, I suppose.
[A smart crack is heard at the back of the carriage
More Voices. Now, then, why the blanky dash, &c., &c.
Mrs. F. Marmaduke, I can't sit here, and know that a bus-pole may come between us at any moment. Let us get out, and take a cab home at once.
Mr. F. There's only one objection to that suggestion – viz., that it's perfectly impossible to tell a cab from a piano-organ. We must find out where we are first, and then turn. Peacock, drive on as well as you can, and stop when you come to a shop.
Mrs. F. What do you want to stop at a shop for?
Mr. F. Why, then I can go in, and ask where we are.
Mrs. F. And how do you expect them to know where we are! (She sees a smear of light in the distance.) Marmaduke, there's a linkman. Get out quick, and hire him to lead the way.
Mr. F. (who gets out, and follows in the direction of the light, grumbling to himself). Hallo! – not past the park yet – here's the railings! Well, if I keep close to them, I shall – (He suddenly collides with a bench). Phew! Oh, confound it! (He rubs his shins.) Now, if it hadn't been for Fanny, I – Where's that linkman? Hi! – you there! – stop! (The light stops.) Look here – I want you to come to my carriage, and show my man the way out of this!
Voice From Behind the Railings. We got to find our own way out fust, Guv'nor. We're inside!
A Belated Reveller (lurching up to Mr. F.) Beg your pardon, bur cou' you dreck me nearesht way – er – Dawshon Plashe?
Mr. F. (savagely). First turning to the right, third to the left, and then straight on till you come to it!
The B. R. I'm exsheedingly 'blished; (confidentially) fact ish, I'm shuffrin' shli' 'fection eyeshi', an' I 'shure you, can't shee anyshing dishtingly to-ni'. (He cannons against a lamp-post, to which he clings affectionately, as a Policeman emerges from the gloom.)
Policeman. Now then, what are you doing 'ere, eh?
The B. R. Itsh all ri', P'lishman, thish gerrilman – (patting lamp-post affectionately) – has kindly promished shee me home.
Mr. F. Hang it! Where's Peacock and the brougham? (He discovers a phantom vehicle by the kerb, and gets in angrily.) Now, look here, my dear, it's no earthly good – !
Occupant of the Brougham. (who is not Fanny). Coward, touch a defenceless woman if you dare! I have nothing on me of any value. Help! Police!
[Mr. F., seeing that explanation is useless, lets himself out again, precipitately, dodges the Policeman, and bolts, favoured by the fog, until all danger of pursuit is passed, at the end of which time he suddenly realizes that it is perfectly hopeless to attempt to find his own carriage again. He gropes his way home, and some hours later, after an extemporised cold supper, is rejoined by his Wife
Mrs. F. (cheerfully). So there you are, Marmaduke! I wasn't anxious – I felt sure you'd find your way back somehow!
Mr. F. (not in the best of tempers). Find my way back! It was the only thing I could do. But where have you been all this time, Fanny?
Mrs. F. Where? Why, at the Blewitts, to be sure. You see, after you got out, we had to keep moving on, and by and by the fog got better, and we could see where we were going to, – and the Blewitts had put off dinner half an hour, so I was not so very late. Such a nice dinner! Everybody turned up except you, Marmaduke – but I told them how it was. Oh, and old Lady Horehound was there, and said a man had actually got into her brougham, and tried to wrench off one of her most valuable bracelets! – only she spoke to him so severely that he was struck with remorse, or something, and got out again! And it was by the Park, close to where you left me. Just fancy, Marmaduke, he might have got into the carriage with me, instead!
Mr. F. (gloomily). Yes, he might– only, he – er —didn't, you know!
Bricks without Straw
Scene —A Village School-room. A Juvenile Treat is in progress, and a Magic Lantern, hired for the occasion, "with set of slides complete – to last one hour," is about to be exhibited
The Vicar's Daughter (suddenly recognizing the New Curate, who is blinking unsuspectingly in the lantern rays). Oh, Mr. Tootler, you've just come in time to help us! The man with the lantern says he only manages the slides, and can't do the talking part. And I've asked lots of people, and no one will volunteer. Would you mind just explaining the pictures to the children? It's only a little Nursery tale —Valentine and Orson– I chose that, because it's less hackneyed, and has such an excellent moral, you know. I'm sure you'll do it so beautifully!
Mr. Tootler (a shy man). I – I'd do it with pleasure, I'm sure – only I really don't know anything about Valentine and Orson!
The V.'s D. Oh, what does that matter? I can tell you the outline in two minutes. (She tells him.) But it's got to last an hour, so you must spin it out as much as ever you can.
Mr. Tootler (to himself). Ought I to neglect such a golden opportunity of winning these young hearts? No. (Aloud.) I will – er – do my best, and perhaps I had better begin at once, as they seem to be getting – er – rather unruly at the further end of the room. (He clears his throat.) Children, you must be very quiet and attentive, and then we shall be able, as we purpose this evening, to show you some scenes illustrative of the – er – beautiful old story of Valentine and Orson, which I doubt not is familiar to you all. (Rustic applause, conveyed by stamping and shrill cheers, after which a picture is thrown on the screen representing a Village Festival.) Here, children, we have a view of – er – (with sudden inspiration) – Valentine's Native Village. It is – er – his birthday, and Valentine, being a young man who is universally beloved on account of his amiability and good conduct – (To the Vicar's D. "Is that correct?" The V.'s D. "Quite, quite correct!") – good conduct, the villagers are celebrating the – er – auspicious event by general rejoicings. How true it is that if we are only good, we may, young as we are, count upon gaining the affection and esteem of all around us! (A Youthful Rustic, with a tendency to heckle. "Ef 'ee plaze, Zur, which on 'em be Valentoine?") Valentine, we may be very sure, would not be absent on such an occasion, although, owing to the crowd, we cannot distinguish him. But, wherever he is, however he may be occupied, he little thinks that, before long, he will have to encounter the terrible Orson, the Wild Man of the Woods! Ah, dear children, we all have our Wild Man of the Woods to fight. With some of us it is – (He improves the occasion). Our next picture represents – (To Assistant). Sure this comes next? Oh, they're all numbered, are they? Very well – represents a forest – er – the home of Orson. If we were permitted to peep behind one of those trunks, we should doubtless see Orson himself, crouching in readiness to spring upon the unsuspecting Valentine. So, often when we – &c., &c. The next scene we shall show you represents the – er – burning of Valentine's ship. Valentine has gone on a voyage, with the object of – er – finding Orson. If the boat in the picture was only larger, we could no doubt identify Valentine, sitting there undismayed, calmly confident that, notwithstanding this – er – unfortunate interruption, he will be guided, sooner or later, to his – er – goal. Yes, dear children, if we only have patience, if we only have faith, &c., &c. Here we see – (an enormous Bison is suddenly depicted on the screen) eh? oh, yes – here we have a specimen of – er – Orson's pursuits. He chases the bison. Some of you may not know what a bison is. It is a kind of hairy cow, and – (He describes the habits of these creatures as fully as he is able.) (The Youthful Rustic. "Theer baint nawone a-erntin' of 'un, Zur.") What? Oh, but there is, you know. Orson is pursuing him, only – er – the bison, being a very fleet animal, has outrun his pursuer for the moment. Sometimes we flatter ourselves that we have outrun our pursuer – but, depend upon it, &c., &c. But now let us see what Valentine is about – (Discovering, not without surprise, that the next picture is a Scene in the Arctic Regions). Well, you see, he has succeeded in reaching the coast, and here he is – in a sledge drawn by a reindeer, with nothing to guide him but the Aurora Borealis, hastening towards the spot where he has been told he will find Orson. He doesn't despair, doesn't lose heart – he is sure that, if he only keeps on, if he – er – only continues, only perseveres – (Aside. What drivel I am talking! To Assistant. I say, are there many more of this sort? because we don't seem to be getting on!) – Well, now we come to – (a Moonlight Scene, with a Cottage in Winter, appears) – to the – ah – home of Valentine's mother. You will observe a light in the casement. By that light the good old woman is sitting, longing and praying for the return of her gallant boy. Ah, dear children, what a thing a good old mother is! (To the Vicar's Daughter.) "I really can not keep on like this much longer. I'm positively certain these slides are out of order!" The V.'s D. "Oh, no; I'm sure it's all right. Do please go on. They're so interested!" The Young Heckler. "'Ow 'bout Valentoine, Zur? – wheer be 'ee?" Ah, where is Valentine, indeed? (To Ass.) Next slide – quick! (Recognises with dismay a View of the Grand Canal.) No – but, I say —really, I can't– Here we have Valentine at Venice. He has reached that beautiful city, – well called the Queen of the Adriatic, – at last! He contemplates it from his gondola, and yet he has no heart just now to take in all the beauty of the scene. He feels that he is still no nearer to finding Orson than before. (The Young Heckler. "Naw moor be we, Zur. We ain't zeed nayther on 'em zo fur!" Tumult, and a general demand for the instant production of Orson or Valentine.) Now, children, children! this is very irregular. You must allow me to tell this story my own way. I assure you that you will see them both in good time, if you only keep still! (To Ass.) I can't stand this any more Valentine and Orson must be underneath the rest. Find them, and shove them in quick. Never mind the numbering! (The screen remains blank while the Assistant fumbles.) Well, have you got them?
The Assistant. No, Sir; I'm rather afraid they ain't here. Fact is, they've sent me out with the wrong set o' slides. This ain't Valentine and Orson—it's a miscellaneous lot, Sir!
