The Ghost of Jerry Bundler | Page 2

seen in the fireplace the low murmurs of the characters heard, and gradually get louder as lights come up to when SOMERS' voice tops all.
(The stage occupied by all characters except GEORGE the waiter. Discovered, PENFOLD, sitting in arm chair L. of fire, above it. DOCTOR LEEK standing above fire and leaning on mantel-shelf. HIRST sitting on settle below fire and nearest to audience. SOMERS seated on settle with him but above him. MALCOLM and BELDON on chairs R. C., facing fire. ALL are smoking, and drink from their respective glasses from time to time. SOMERS has just finished a story as Curtain rises.)
OMNES. Oh, I say, that sounds impossible, etc.
SOMERS. Haunted or not haunted, the fact remains that no one stays in the house long. It's been let to several tenants since the time of the murder, but they never completed their tenancy. The last tenant held out for a month, but at last he gave up like the rest, and cleared out, although he had done the place up thoroughly, and must have been pounds out of pocket by the transaction.
MALCOLM. Well, it's a capital ghost story, I admit, that is, as a story, but I for one can't swallow it.
HIRST. I don't know, it is not nearly so improbable as some I have heard. Of course it's an old idea that spirits like to get into the company of human beings. A man told me once, that he travelled down by the Great Western, with a ghost as fellow passenger, and hadn't the slightest suspicion of it, until the inspector came for tickets. My friend said, the way that ghost tried to keep up appearances, by feeling in all its pockets, and even looking on the floor for its ticket, was quite touching. Ultimately it gave it up, and with a loud groan vanished through the ventilator.
(SOMERS, MALCOLM and LEEK laugh heartily.)
BELDON. Oh, I say come now, that'll do.
PENFOLD (seriously). Personally I don't think it's a subject for jesting. I have never seen an apparition myself, but I have known people who have, and I consider that they form a very interesting link between us and the after life. There's a ghost story connected with this house, you know.
OMNES. Eh! Oh? Really!
MALCOLM (rising and going to mantelpiece, takes up his glass of toddy). Well, I have used this house for some years now. I travel for Blennet and Burgess--wool--and come here regularly three times a year, and I've never heard of it. (Sits down again on his chair, holding glass in his hand.)
LEEK. And I've been here pretty often too, though I have only been in practice here for a couple of years, and I have never heard it mentioned, and I must say I don't believe in anything of the sort. In my opinion ghosts are the invention of weak-minded idiots.
PENFOLD. Weak-minded idiots or not, there is a ghost story connected with this house, but it dates a long time back.
(GEORGE, the waiter, enters D. L. with tray and serviette.)
Oh, here's George, he'll bear me out. You've heard of Jerry Bundler, George?
GEORGE (C.). Well, I've just 'eard odds and ends, sir, but I never put much count to 'em. There was one chap 'ere, who was under me when fust I come, he said he seed it, and the Guv'nor sacked him there and then. (Goes to table by window, puts tray down, takes up glass and wipes it slowly.)
(MEN laugh.)
PENFOLD. Well, my father was a native of this town, and he knew the story well. He was a truthful man and a steady churchgoer. But I have heard him declare that once in his life he saw the ghost of Jerry Bundler in this house; let me see, George, you don't remember my old dad, do you?
(GEORGE puts down glasses over table.)
GEORGE. No, sir. I come here forty years ago next Easter, but I fancy he was before my time.
PENFOLD. Yes, though not by long. He died when I was twenty, and I shall be sixty-two next month, but that's neither here nor there.
(GEORGE goes up to table C. tidying up and listening.)
LEEK. Who was this Jerry Bundler?
PENFOLD. A London thief, pickpocket, highwayman--anything he could turn his dishonest hand to, and he was run to earth in this house some eighty years ago.
(GEORGE puts glass down and stands listening.)
He took his last supper in this room.
(PENFOLD leans forward. BELDON looks round to L. nervously.)
That night soon after he had gone to bed, a couple of Bow Street runners, the predecessors of our present detective force turned up here. They had followed him from London, but had lost scent a bit, so didn't arrive till late. A word to the landlord, whose description of the stranger who had retired to rest, pointed to the fact that