“Awarded a hundred per cent.
For goodness of every description.”
(Presents prize.)
MISS SIMS, BULLDOGS, and PAGE.
Hail, oh hail to the modest maiden!
Hail, oh hail to the downcast eyes!
Now with all our plaudits laden,
See, she takes the well-earned prize.
Hail, Jane Annie, hail!
GIRLS. Hail, oh hail to the scheming maiden,
Hail, oh hail to the roguish eye!
Now she stands with honours laden,
They will know her by-and-bye.
Hail, Jane Annie, hail!
ENSEMBLE.
MISS SIMS, BULLDOGS, etc.
Hail, oh hail to her we honour!
Hail, oh hail to the blushing cheek!
Place the laurel wreath upon her,
See her crowned, and good, and meek!
Hail, Jane Annie, hail!
GIRLS.
Hail, oh hail to her they honour!
Hail to her unblushing cheek!
Place the laurel wreath upon her,
See her trying to look meek.
Hail, Jane Annie, hail!
CURTAIN.
ACT II.
SCENE. — Golf green near the school. River at back. BAB, a
prisoner, is walking up and down in CADDIE’s charge.
SONG. — CADDIE.
A page-boy am I
That young ladies decry,
Yes, yes, dears, you do, for I hear yer;
But it’s little you know
The volcanoes that glow
Inside of this little exterior.
Oh, you wouldn’t deride,
Could you step inside
Of this here pocket edition,
And, striking a light,
Perceive that this mite
Is on fire with a grand ambition.
BAB. But at present the buttons he’s wearing,
And he’s taking me out for an airing.
(Walks up and down.)
CADDIE. My wife I shall choose
From the class called the Blues,
Whose theory is that they hates men,
Of birthplaces galore
I mean to have more
Than him wot’s the eminent statesman.
A peerage I’ll take
For my progeny’s sake,
To refuse it I think would be shabby,
And I ask poor and rich
To my funeral, which
Will be held in Westminster Abbey.
Oh, you wouldn’t deride, etc.
Cries of “Fore! Fore!”
BAB. The girls are playing golf. (She holds up flag.)
CADDIE. Girls! Poor summer flies!
BAB. Do let me play, Caddie.
CADDIE. It’s agin the Missus’ orders. I’m your jailer, I am,
and Miss Sims’s words were: “Give the wench a little
exercise, but never leave her for a moment, or she will
be eloping again; and if she does,” said she, “you just
pull the big fire bell.”
BAB. But why not let me elope, Caddie? See, I go on my knees
to you. (Kneels.)
CADDIE. Get up! Get up!
BAB (rising). Cold, relentless! You have never loved!
CADDIE. Have I not? By gum!
BAB. You in love. With whom?
CADDIE (sadly). It’s all over for ever, no more.
BAB. She jilted you?
CADDIE. Well, it came to the same thing, I jilted her.
BAB. Why?
CADDIE. I wanted a bigger one.
BAB. And have you got a bigger one?
CADDIE. I have.
BAB. Whom?
CADDIE (pointing off stage). You see that agreeable
circumference coming this way?
BAB. Yes.
CADDIE. Well, that’s my new one.
BAB. Jane Annie!
BAB goes sadly up stage. A golf ball lands on green, CADDIE
pockets it. Enter JANE ANNIE with golf club. She looks for her
ball. CADDIE looks longingly at her and sighs aloud.
CADDIE. My charmer!
JANE A. Caddie, did you see my ball?
CADDIE. No, Miss, no balls have come this way.
JANE A. It is a strange thing that when you are acting as
caddie nearly all our balls get lost.
CADDIE. Yes, Miss.
JANE A. And what is stranger still, those same lost balls are
afterwards offered us for sale at your mother’s shop in
the village.
CADDIE. Ah, it be a puzzling world, Miss.
JANE A. (putting her hand in his pocket and producing ball).
Now it seems to me that this is my ball.
CADDIE. Extraordinary thing!
JANE A. How did it get there?
CADDIE. You must have played it into my pocket, Miss.
JANE A. Fibber! I feel sure that it fell dead just on the edge
of the hole — here. (Puts ball close to hall.)
CADDIE. No, Miss, now that you mention the circumstance, I
recollect that I picked it out of the bunker.
JANE A. Pooh! nonsense!
CADDIE. Is this fair, Miss?
JANE A. Of course it’s fair, so long as nobody sees me.
Besides, I’m told they often do it at Felixstowe.
Why, even Mr. Balf — (CADDIE signs silence to her,
pointing to private box as if fearful lest they should
be overheard. Exit CADDIE.)
BAB. Sneak!
JANE A. Are you a prisoner, Bab?
BAB. Yes, thanks to you. I shall tell everybody how good you
have been. (Sits down on rug.)
JANE A. How hateful of you to threaten to take away my
character.
BAB. Goody! Goody! Goody!
JANE A. (sitting down beside BAB). I’m not really good.
BAB. Yes, you are. You sha’n’t sit on my rug. (Pulls it
away.) Why, you promised last night to be dreadfully
naughty to-day, so as to make up for your goodness of
the past six months, and here you are as shamelessly
good as ever.
JANE A. You do me an injustice. The fun is about to begin.
Early this morning I hypnotized our dear mistress, and
made her write the most dreadful letters. Just
fancy, two of them were invitations to Tom and Jack to
come and bring as many male friends with them as they
could get together. She has not the least idea of what
she has done, of course! Ha! ha!
BAB. But why have you done this?
JANE A. So that in the confusion Tom and Jack may carry off the
girl of their heart.
BAB. But I can only marry one of them.
JANE A. Yes, but I can marry the other.
BAB. You! But I haven’t selected mine yet. That is my
difficulty.
JANE A. No, but I have! That removes your difficulty.
BAB. You toad!
JANE A. The one I have chosen is Jack.
BAB. Jack! Does he know?
JANE A. No, I am keeping it a surprise for him.
BAB. I don’t believe a word you have said.
JANE A. You can have my aid if you will promise to take Tom and
leave Jack for me. You can’t elope without my aid.
BAB. I shall.
JANE A. You sha’n’t!
BAB. Goody! Goody! Goody!
Cries of “Fore! Fore!” are heard, and a ball lands on the green.
JANE A. The girls.
BAB. Goody! Goody! Goody!
GIRLS enter in golf costume. JANE ANNIE, ROSE, MEG, and MILLY are
playing a foursome; the others are looking on. CADDIE accompanies
them as caddie.
CHORUS OF GIRLS.
To golf is sta
id for bashful maid,
So our schoolmistress thinks,
That’s why, ‘tis said, Queen Mary played
On famed St. Andrew’s links.
BAB (holding up her club). Niblick! }
JANE ANNIE (holding up her club). Driver! }
MILLY (holding up her club). Putter! }
MEG (holding up her club). Brassy! }
BAB. One up!
JANE ANNIE. Two to play!
ALL. We play the game as that Scotch lassie,
Mary, used to play.
This verse is sung with spirit; the second dejectedly.
GIRLS. The game was gay in Mary’s day,
Her foursomes were not lonely,
Maybe ‘cause they had not to play
On greens for ladies only!
BAB (as before). Niblicks! }
JANE ANNIE (as before). Drivers! }
MILLY (as before). Putters! }
MEG (as before). Brassies! }
BAB. One up!
JANE ANNIE. Two to play!
GIRLS. For partners we have only lassies,
Which was not Mary’s way.
MEG plays at hole and misses. CADDIE chuckles.
JANE A. You have flung away the hole.
ROSE plays at hole and misses. CADDIE grins.
MILLY. Silly! (ROSE weeps. MILLY plays into hole.) Hurrah!
Rose and I have done this hole in seventeen!
Enter MISS SIMS.
MISS S. Young ladies, as it is the last day of the term our
rules may be a little relaxed.
MILLY. Oh, you dear kind thing!
MISS S. Except in the case of Bab, who must remain a prisoner
all day.
BAB. Oh! Oh! Oh!
MISS S. So we shall admit some men to to-day’s festivities.
ALL. Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!
MISS S. But not real men.
ROSE. Boys?
MILLY. Oh, I’m going to bed!
MISS S. No, but half of you may be permitted for this day only
to assume the character of men. It will be quite as
amusing.
ALL (dismally). Oh!
MISS S. And very much safer.
MILLY (brightening). Perhaps this game will provide an answer
to a question in deportment which has often puzzled me.
It is this. Suppose a gentleman were to put his arm
round me, what would be the right thing for me to do?
ROSE. The right thing would be to scream.
MILLY. No. I think the right thing would be not to let on, so
that he shouldn’t have the satisfaction of knowing that
you noticed it.
BAB. I know what I should do if a man put his arm round me -
- I would stand still.
MISS S. Shameless! And what would you do, Jane Annie?
JANE A. I would run to you, madam, for protection.
MISS S. (fondling her). Dear Jane Annie! (To girls.) Now go.
Exeunt girls. BAB goes last in charge of CADDIE.
MISS S. Now, Jane Annie, dear, there is something strange I
want to speak to you about. You remember when you left
me in the study this morning?
JANE A. Yes, Miss Sims.
MISS S. Well, I must have dropped asleep immediately
afterwards, and I had the oddest dreams.
JANE A. (chuckles, but assumes an air of sympathy as MISS SIMS
turns towards her). Dreams, Miss Sims?
MISS S. Oh, the strangest dreams! I seemed to be writing such a
number of letters, but what they were about I cannot
imagine.
JANE A. Of course it was all fancy!
MISS S. But ten envelopes were missing when I woke.
JANE A. No!
MISS S. And my fingers were quite inky. I do hope I have not
done anything foolish in my sleep.
JANE A. I hope not.
MISS S. Especially just now, while the Proctor is here.
JANE A. Why specially while he is here?
MISS S. Ah, Jane Annie, he and I were once — (Sighs.)
JANE A. No, were you?
MISS S. I assure you he often — (Sighs.)
JANE A. Did he? Where?
MISS S. In the conservatory.
JANE A. Just where they do it to-day.
MISS S. But, alas! he — (Sighs.)
JANE A. How horrid of him.
MISS S. And so his presence here makes me think of early days
when — (Sighs.)
JANE A. Naturally.
SONG. — MISS SIMS.
A girl again I seem to be,
Though I’m an old schoolmistress grey;
Again a boy comes courting me,
Though he’s a hard-faced man to-day.
He calls me little golden-head,
I feel his kisses on my brow,
I still recall the words he said,
Though I’m an old schoolmistress now,
Youth dreams of what’s to be, I ween,
The future’s always far away;
But age must dream of what has been,
The past is always yesterday.
We meet, but he does not recall
The golden head, the love-lit eyes;
Our meetings and our partings all
To him are less than memories.
He twits the old schoolmistress prim,
Forgetful of his broken vow,
And that she owes it all to him
That she’s an old schoolmistress now.
Youth dreams of what’s to be, I ween, etc.
MISS SIMS is retiring up stage. She returns excitedly.
MISS S. There is a party of those impertinent Press Students
coming sown the river, who look as if they intended to
land upon our bank.
JANE A. (in horror). Oh, surely it cannot be. (Aside with
exultation.) The result of letter number one.
MISS S. Let us go and fetch Caddie to protect us.
Exeunt MISS SIMS and JANE ANNIE. Song of Oarsmen heard in the
distance and coming nearer.
BARCAROLLE. — PRESS STUDENTS
Where the willows shade the river,
Where the leaning rushes quiver,
Where the water weeds are shining,
Some enfolding, some entwining,
There we go! Cheerily oh!
Eight like one we dip and feather!
Steadily now! Stroke and bow!
Pulling along and all together!
They land, TOM among them.
Enter MISS SIMS, JANE ANNIE, and CADDIE.
MISS S. (shrinking from them). The wretches! (To CADDIE.) Order
them to go at once, Caddie.
CADDIE (turning up his sleeves fiercely). Come now, you had
best go quietly.
TOM. What does this sprat mean?
CADDIE. Sprat! Summer flies! Now, look here, are you going
quietly, or must I chuck the blooming lot of you into
the river?
TOM. There is some mistake, madam — we came here by
invitation.
CADDIE. Look here, I know that game.
MISS S. Impossible! By whose invitation?
TOM (producing letter). By yours — here is your letter.
(Hands it to her.)
JANE A. (aside). Exquisite!
MISS S. (reading). “Dear Mr. Tom, as I have seen you in the
neighbourhood of my school more than once, I venture to
ask whether you will do me the honour of attending a
garden party which I am giving to my girls this
afternoon. I want to show them a little life. Please
bring a few of those pleasant Press Students, and be
sure to come in cap and gown. It will be a free and
easy affair. My girls join me in sending love, and I am
yours
sincerely, Dinah Sims.” Oh!
CADDIE (shocked). Well, of all the — ! The old girl is coming
out of her hegg at last. (Exit.)
MISS S. Oh, Jane Annie, is it not dreadful? I could not have
written such a letter.
JANE A. Well, it is certainly in your writing.
TOM (aside). Now to look for Bab. (Exit.)
Enter CADDIE.
CADDIE. If you please, ma’am, the man has come with the Scotch
whisky.
MISS S. Whisky! there is some mistake. I never ordered any.
CADDIE. Why, ma’am, you sent me this morning with a letter to
the wine-merchant, ordering two dozen of whisky and one
Delphi Complete Works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Illustrated) Page 923
