The Great Adventure | Page 9

I may be wrong, but it occurred to me your idea was that
you'd like to have a look at me before giving yourself away, as it were.
Of course, I sent you my photographs, but photographs aren't much
better than gravestones--for being reliable, and some folks are
prejudiced against matrimonial agencies, even when they make use of
them. It's natural. Now I've got no such prejudice. If you want to get
married you want to get married, and there you are. It's no use
pretending you don't. And there's as much chance of being happy
through a matrimonial agency as any other way. At least--that's what I
think.

CARVE. (Collecting his wits.) Just so.
JANET. You may tell me that people who go to a matrimonial agency
stand a chance of getting let in. Well, people who don't go to a
matrimonial agency stand a chance of getting let in, too. Besides, I
shouldn't give a baby a razor for a birthday present, and I shouldn't
advise a young girl to go to a matrimonial agency. But I'm not a young
girl. If it's a question of the male sex, I may say that I've been there
before. You understand me?
CARVE. Quite.
JANET. Well, I think I told you pretty nearly everything important in
my letter. Didn't I?
CARVE. Let me see now----
JANET. I mean the one I sent to the office of the Matrimonial News.
CARVE. (Mechanically feeling in his pockets, pulling out papers and
putting them back.) Where did I put it? Oh, perhaps it's in the pocket of
another coat. (Goes to a coat of SHAWN'S hanging on inner knob of
double doors, and empties all the pockets, bringing the contents,
including a newspaper, to the table.)
JANET. (Picking up an envelope.) Yes, that's it--I can feel the
photograph. You seem to keep things in the pockets of all your coats.
CARVE. If you knew what I've been through this last day or two----
JANET. (Soothingly.) Yes, yes.
CARVE. I haven't had a quiet moment. Now----(Reading letter.) "Dear
Sir, in reply to your advertisement, I write to you with particulars of my
case. I am a widow, aged thirty-two years----"
JANET. And anybody that likes can see my birth certificate. That's
what I call talking.
CARVE. My dear lady! (Continuing to read.) "Thirty-two years. My
father was a jobbing builder, well known in Putney and Wandsworth.
My husband was a rent collector and estate agent. He died four years
ago of appendicitis (hesitating) caught----"
JANET. Caused.
CARVE. I beg pardon, "--caused by accidentally swallowing a bristle
out of his tooth-brush, the same being discovered at the operation. I am
an orphan, a widow, and have no children. In consequence I feel very
lonely, and my first experience not being distasteful, indeed the reverse,
I am anxious to try again, provided I can meet with a sincere helpmeet

of good family. I am the owner of the above house, rated at forty-five
pounds a year, in one of the nicest streets in Putney, and I have private
means of some three pounds a week, from brewery shares bringing in
fifteen per cent. I will say nothing about my appearance, but enclose
latest carte-de-visite photograph."
JANET. I had it taken on purpose.
CARVE. "As to my tastes, I will only say that as a general rule they are
quiet. If the above seems in your line, I shall be obliged if you will
write and send me particulars of yourself, with photographs.--Yours
truly, JANET CANNOT." Well, Mrs. Cannot, your letter is an absolute
model.
JANET. I suppose you did get dozens?
CARVE. Well----By the way, what's this type-written thing in the
envelope?
JANET. (Looking at it.) It looks like a copy of your answer.
CARVE. Oh!
JANET. If it isn't a rude question, Mr. Shawn, why do you typewrite
your letters? It seems so--what shall I say?--public.
CARVE. (Half to himself.) So thats the explanation of the typewriter.
JANET. (Puzzled.) I suppose it's because you're a private secretary.
CARVE. (Equally puzzled.) Private secretary! I--shall we just glance
through my reply? (Reads.) "My dear Mrs. Cannot, your letter inspires
me with more confidence than any of the dozens of others I have
received." (They look at each other, smiling.) "As regards myself, I
should state at once that I am and have been for many years private
secretary, indeed I may say almost companion, to the celebrated painter.
Mr. Ilam Carve, whose magnificent pictures you are doubtless familiar
with."
JANET. No, I'm not.
CARVE. Really. "We have been knocking about England together for
longer than I care to remember, and I personally am anxious for a
change. Our present existence is very expensive. I feel the need of a
home and the companionship of just such a woman as