The Second Series Plays | Page 9

I say, Freda. Anything the matter? You seem awfully down.
[FREDA does not answer.]

DOT. You haven't looked anything of a lollipop lately.
FREDA. I'm quite all right, thank you, Miss Dot.
DOT. Has Mother been givin' you a tonic?
FREDA. [Smiling a little] Not yet.
DOT. That doesn't account for it then. [With a sudden warm impulse]
What is it, Freda?
FREDA. Nothing.
DOT. [Switching of on a different line of thought] Are you very busy
this morning?
FREDA. Only this cloak for my lady.
DOT. Oh! that can wait. I may have to get you in to prompt, if I can't
keep 'em straight. [Gloomily] They stray so. Would you mind?
FREDA. [Stolidly] I shall be very glad, Miss Dot.
DOT. [Eyeing her dubiously] All right. Let's see--what did I want?
JOAN has come in.
JOAN. Look here, Dot; about the baby in this scene. I'm sure I ought to
make more of it.
DOT. Romantic little beast! [She plucks the footstool out by one ear,
and holds it forth] Let's see you try!
JOAN. [Recoiling] But, Dot, what are we really going to have for the
baby? I can't rehearse with that thing. Can't you suggest something,
Freda?
FREDA. Borrow a real one, Miss Joan. There are some that don't count
much.
JOAN. Freda, how horrible!
DOT. [Dropping the footstool back into the basket] You'll just put up
with what you're given.
Then as CHRISTINE and MABEL LANFARNE Come in, FREDA
turns abruptly and goes out.
DOT. Buck up! Where are Bill and Harold? [To JOAN] Go and find
them, mouse-cat.
But BILL and HAROLD, followed by LATTER, are already in the
doorway. They come in, and LATTER, stumbling over the waste-paper
basket, takes it up to improve its position.
DOT. Drop that cradle, John! [As he picks the footstool out of it] Leave
the baby in! Now then! Bill, you enter there! [She points to the
workroom door where BILL and MABEL range themselves close to

the piano; while HAROLD goes to the window] John! get off the stage!
Now then, "Eccles enters breathless, Esther and Polly rise." Wait a
minute. I know now. [She opens the workroom door] Freda, I wanted a
bandbox.
HAROLD. [Cheerfully] I hate beginning to rehearse, you know, you
feel such a fool.
DOT. [With her bandbox-gloomily] You'll feel more of a fool when
you have begun. [To BILL, who is staring into the workroom] Shut the
door. Now. [BILL shuts the door.]
LATTER. [Advancing] Look here! I want to clear up a point of
psychology before we start.
DOT. Good Lord!
LATTER. When I bring in the milk--ought I to bring it in seriously-- as
if I were accustomed--I mean, I maintain that if I'm----
JOAN. Oh! John, but I don't think it's meant that you should----
DOT. Shut up! Go back, John! Blow the milk! Begin, begin, begin!
Bill!
LATTER. [Turning round and again advancing] But I think you
underrate the importance of my entrance altogether.
MABEL. Oh! no, Mr. Latter!
LATTER. I don't in the least want to destroy the balance of the scene,
but I do want to be clear about the spirit. What is the spirit?
DOT. [With gloom] Rollicking!
LATTER. Well, I don't think so. We shall run a great risk, with this
play, if we rollick.
DOT. Shall we? Now look here----!
MABEL. [Softly to BILL] Mr. Cheshire!
BILL. [Desperately] Let's get on!
DOT. [Waving LATTER back] Begin, begin! At last! [But JACKSON
has came in.]
JACKSON. [To CHRISTINE] Studdenham says, Mm, if the young
ladies want to see the spaniel pups, he's brought 'em round.
JOAN. [Starting up] Oh! come 'on, John! [She flies towards the door,
followed by LATTER.]
DOT. [Gesticulating with her book] Stop! You---- [CHRISTINE and
HAROLD also rush past.]
DOT. [Despairingly] First pick! [Tearing her hair] Pigs! Devils! [She

rushes after them. BILL and MABEL are left alone.]
MABEL. [Mockingly] And don't you want one of the spaniel pups?
BILL. [Painfully reserved and sullen, and conscious of the workroom
door] Can't keep a dog in town. You can have one, if you like. The
breeding's all right.
MABEL. Sixth Pick?
BILL. The girls'll give you one of theirs. They only fancy they want
'em.
Mann. [Moving nearer to him, with her hands clasped behind her] You
know, you remind me awfully of your father. Except that you're not
nearly so polite. I don't understand you English-lords of the soil. The
way you have of disposing of your females. [With a sudden change of
voice] What was the matter with you last night? [Softly] Won't you tell
me?
BILL. Nothing to tell.
MABEL. Ah! no, Mr. Bill.
BILL. [Almost succumbing to her voice--then sullenly] Worried, I
suppose.
MABEL. [Returning to her mocking] Quite got over it?
BILL. Don't chaff me, please.
MABEL. You