by Unknown
DELIA: Ay, why not?
PETER (handing pistol to Delia): Ladies first.
TIA: No, all together — see here are more pistols (gets pistols from Table, keeps one, gives Delia one) Grandpapa, we all fire when you say three —
(in line down C.)
PETER: One — two — Have you found a good place Delia? Have you vine leaves in your hair, Tia? Very well — One-two — the brandy!
DELIA: No.
PETER: One — Two — I say, where is it we are going to?
TIA: Where?
DELIA: Ah where?
PETER: Let us say to — to Hedda’s — one — two — one, two, three —
(All fire and fall Peter in C.) Enter George L.
GEORGE: Someone been shooting rubbish here, just fancy that.
(sits at table C.)
PETER (sitting up)-. Just fancy that! — it is my cue
Well I don’t fancy them — do you?
I think that all the Ibsen ladies
Should find a place and go to Hades.
GEORGE (without looking up): Just fancy that. Just think of that.
TIA (sitting up): You, take a Hedda, you’re a toff
She’s like her pistol, she goes off
Of Ibsen women, boys beware
They all have vine leaves in their hair.
GEORGE: Just fancy that, just think of that.
DELIA (sitting up): Wives of the future, then begorra
I’m glad that I don’t live tomorrow.
I’m flesh and blood — I’ll tell you, bah
They’re nothing but automata.
(The three rise singing)
ALL: We’re nothing but automata.
(They dance like wooden figures)
PETER: I say there’s another verse in Gosse’s version.
GEORGE: Just fancy that, just think of that.
PETER: Let’s go to Toole’s his version says,
For it’s a rare — rare good place
Your taste his plays are sure to strike
And there you’ll find the kind you like.
(They dance and die as in waxwork)
CURTAIN
WALKER, LONDON
Produced at Toole’s Theatre on February 25, 1892, with following cast:
Jasper Phipps...J. L. Toole
Kit Upjohn...C.M. Lowne
Andrew McPhail...Seymour Hicks
W. G...Cecil Ramsey
Ben...George Skelton
Mrs. Golightly...Effie Liston
Bell Golightly, B.A...Irene Vanbrugh
Nanny O’Brien...Mary Ansell
Sarah Rigg...Eliza Johnstone
Penny... Mary Brough
The play ran for 511 performances.
WALKER, LONDON
SCENE: A houseboat on the Thames. The blinds are down. Time: morning. A canoe and punt on bank at the bow are tied to houseboat. Someone in distance is playing a penny whistle. W. G. is lying on plank lazily writing a letter. Presently he sleeps. Nanny is on deck fishing. Mrs. Golightly is seen pulling up blind in saloon. The table is set for breakfast on deck. The opposite blind is also going up, giving a view of river and towpath. Mrs. Golightly sits at the window and knits. Andrew is seen in the saloon with no coat, waistcoat or collar. Bell is in the cabin. Nanny raises line. She has her hair only partially done.
VOICE (off). Houseboat ahoy! Milk!
(MRS GOLIGHTLY draws curtains of saloon, bell draws blinds of cabin and dips jug out for water. Andrew draws curtains, bell drops jug into river and fishes for it with umbrella.)
W. G. Breakfast ready, Mater?
MRS GOLIGHTLY. No, what are you doing, W. G.?
VOICE. Hi! Milk!
ANDREW. W. G., why don’t you go across for the milk?
(Noise of breaking dishes is heard.)
NANNY (to herself). Penny breaking dishes again.
(PENNY enters through saloon, throws broken dishes into river. The splash brings NANNY to deck where she continues fishing, W. G. takes piece of crockery and throws it down in front of MRS. GOLIGHTLY. She starts.)
VOICE. Milk! Milk!
NANNY. W. G., do go across for the milk. I do believe he is asleep. (Descends ladder and bends over him.) I wonder if I could win a pair of gloves from W. G.
(She kisses him. He jumps up and pulls his hand indignantly across his mouth.)
W. G. Stop that! Just think if anybody had seen you.
NANNY. Pooh! the time will come when you will be willing to give anything for a kiss.
W. G. Rot! You have no right to bring such charges against a fellow.
NANNY. A fellow! You horrid little boy.
W. G. Little boy! I ‘mas tall as you!
(Turns and measures back to back. He looks to see if she’s tiptoeing and pushes her down.)
NANNY. YOU call yourself W. G. because you think you are a great cricketer and I can bowl you myself.
W. G. You bowl me! Oh, that time — because my foot slipped. (Goes.)
VOICE. Milk! Ahoy!
MRS. GOLIGHTLY (speaking out at window). W. G. (counts stitches) 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28. W. G., do pull across for the milk!
W. G. I’ll go, but it’s an awful swot! (Gets into punt.)
NANNY. And W. G., you needn’t expect me to play in the cricket match on Saturday if you say I bowled you unfairly.
W. G. (alarmed). Don’t say you won’t play, Cousin Nanny. I say, I’m not angry with you for kissing me; I know girls can’t help it. And look here, read that letter I’ve been writing to Daly Major, and you’ll see how I crack up your leg hits.
(Exit W. G. in punt. He is heard whistling after out of sight, until nanny is on deck, nanny looks at letter, laughs and runs on deck.)
NANNY (leaning over railing). Listen, you people!
(BELL, ANDREW and MRS. GOLIGHTLY put their heads out.)
Do you want to hear W. G.’s candid opinion of you? It is in a letter to a school friend.
BELL. And very ungrammatical, I fear.
ANDREW. Yes, I don’t think you will have two B.A.s in your family, Mrs. Golightly.
MRS. GOLIGHTLY. One is enough. 15, 16, 17, 18, 19.
(Goes on knitting while BELL puts finishing touches to her hair.)
NANNY (reading). ‘Dear old boy, I take up the pen to tell you we are in a houseboat this month, and it is the mater’s houseboat, and she knits all day, like she does everywhere.’ BELL (scornfully). Like she does!
NANNY. ‘My sister Bell is also here and you will regret to hear she has had the cheek to take a B. A. of London, and I am ashamed of her knowing all about the Differential Calculus and Greek verbs, it not being womanly; but you were wrong in thinking she would wear blue spectacles.’
ANDREW. That’s one for you, Miss Golightly.
NANNY. ‘There is another girl on board, my cousin Nanny, and we are to have a cricket match next Saturday in the village, men versus women. Nanny is good at high leg ones but I can always bowl her with a daisy cutter.’ He can’t!
ANDREW. One for you, Miss O’Brien.
NANNY. Yes, and here is one for you. ‘There is a Scotch chap staying with us, called Andrew McPhail, and I’m rather glad he is here — I’m rather glad he is here, because he’s as bad a scholar as myself. He is an Edinburgh medical student, and is waiting to hear whether he passed his exam, to be a doctor, and he will hear by telegram on Saturday, but I don’t expect he’ll pass; and neither does Bell. She says he—’
BELL. Nanny!
NANNY. I’ll miss that. Hum — um — um! ‘McPhail is rather soft on my cous—’ — hum! (With emphasis)
‘McPhail is rather soft!’ Ah, Bell. Here is something about Mr. Upjohn. ‘Who do you think is staying at the inn? One of the greatest men of the day, namely Kit Upjohn who made 121 for Middlesex against Notts, and even then was only bowled off his pads.’ BELL. A poor kind of greatness!
NANNY. ‘But though Upjohn is such a swell he isn’t stuck up, and he treats Bell just like as if she was his equal. He comes to the houseboat eve
ry day, and lets her jaw away to him about choosing a profession, and sometimes the three of us go for a walk, and then he offers me a cane-handled bat if I can run the mile in six minutes.’ Oh, Bell!
BELL (indignantly). It isn’t true!
NANNY. What isn’t?
BELL. What you imply!
NANNY. What did I imply?
BELL. That I — that Mr. Upjohn — that we — oh! (Retires from window, NANNY beckons to ANDREW, who saunters into saloon up ladder to deck.) They all seem to think I’m in love with Mr. Upjohn, a man who laughs every time I speak of woman’s true position to him. I can’t love him. I won’t.
(Pulls down blind.)
(A crash is heard, MRS. GOLIGHTLY raises hands in horror. Exits.)
NANNY (to ANDREW on deck). And how have you slept, sir?
ANDREW. Badly. I dreamt I had been plucked in the exam.
NANNY. You have not got used to that dream yet?
(Instead of answering ANDREW becomes rigid; there is a horrified look in his face; he draws a diagram in the air with his fingers and mutters.)
Whatever is the matter?
ANDREW. I have just remembered — I believe — Oh, Miss O’Brien, I think I gave the wrong answer to question five. (Continues to glare and mutter.)
NANNY. What was it?
ANDREW. ‘Take a stomach; remove the—’
NANNY (putting fingers to her ears). Disgusting!
ANDREW (coming to). We all have them, Miss O’Brien.
NANNY. I suppose we have, but, sure, we needn’t let on! That’s the worst of being a doctor.
ANDREW. I’m not a doctor yet. Oh, to be one, to prescribe, to operate. To cut off legs! (Sits.)
NANNY (after looking over at BELL’S window). Mr. McPhail, did you ever propose to a lady?
ANDREW. No, but I want to — Nanny —
NANNY. Hush! If you were a lady and knew that a man was about to propose to you, and you meant to accept him, how should you — dress?
ANDREW. Dress?
NANNY. Or suppose you meant to refuse him, then how should you dress?
ANDREW. Really?
NANNY. Stupid! I am quite certain from Mr. Upjohn’s manner yesterday that he will propose to Bell to-day. Now if I know it, you may be sure she knows it, and even you must see that she is taking twice as long to dress this morning as usual. Does that mean that she is to accept or refuse him?
ANDREW. Accept obviously, because if she meant the other thing, she would not care how she looked.
NANNY. I think the reverse; if she was to say yes, it would not much matter how she looked, because he would be seeing her so often afterwards. But if it is to be no, she would naturally dress carefully.
ANDREW. Why?
NANNY. SO that he should have her at her prettiest to remember her by after he goes to Manitoba!
ANDREW. But Miss Golightly despises dress — she told me so herself.
NANNY. Pooh! I should like to see her wear a last year’s frock.
ANDREW. Miss O’Brien, did you dress carefully to-day?
NANNY. Awfully carefully! (Pause.)
ANDREW. You ‘re a bonny wee lassie!
NANNY. No compliments, but I see you are a Scotchman now, and I used to doubt it.
ANDREW. Why?
NANNY. Because you never say ‘Bang went saxpence whatever,’ and then you don’t wear the national costume.
ANDREW. What national costume? (NANNY points to her skirts and to his legs.) Oh, it’s only the English tourists that wear that; besides, you ‘re not national either, for though you ‘re an Irish girl, you don’t flirt!
NANNY. NO, never. Oh! there’s a fly in my eye!
ANDREW. Fly in your eye! Oh, I must operate at once.
(They sit up back. He tries to get fly out of her eye. BELL pulls up blind and MRS. GOLIGHTLY speaks to her through saloon window.)
MRS. GOLIGHTLY. Bell, the milk will be turned before W. G. comes across with it. He is so slow.
BELL. As we used to say at Girton, tardus in rebus gerendis.
MRS. GOLIGHTLY. Very likely, but that does not explain why the milk will not keep in this weather.
BELL. The reason is obvious — as the temperature rises, the bacillus lacticus —
MRS. GOLIGHTLY. You will give me a headache, Bell.
(W. G. heard whistling, BELL withdraws her head.)
MRS. GOLIGHTLY. Ah, I hear W. G. (Goes to stern; NANNY and ANDREW are waving to someone.)
KIT (not yet visible). Good morning, Mrs. Golightly.
MRS. GOLIGHTLY. Good morning, Mr. Upjohn.
(Punt draws up with UPJOHN and W. G. in it.)
KIT. I happened to be on the towpath, so —
W. G. SO I asked him to breakfast. Is it ready? We can’t keep Upjohn waiting.
MRS. GOLIGHTLY. In twenty minutes.
(ANDREW and NANNY go.)
W. G. Then we can go for a spin first.
KIT. No, I — I —
W. G. Oh, you don’t need to do the polite.
MRS. GOLIGHTLY. But perhaps —
KIT. I would indeed.
MRS. GOLIGHTLY. Take me instead, W. G. (She steps into punt, and KIT on to ledge of saloon door with milk can in his hand. Punt goes off.)
(Enter BELL into saloon.)
KIT. Miss Golightly!
BELL (starting and putting her hand to her heart). You startled me!
KIT (entering). I am so sorry. This is — the milk.
BELL. Thank you. (Puts it on table.)
KIT. When you saw me just now, you — you put your hand to your heart.
BELL. I was taken aback. Per torrita would you say, or simply trépida?
KIT. I did not come here to talk Latin grammar, Miss Golightly, you were fourth wrangler and I am only a plain man. (Pause.) A plain man, I said.
BELL. I did not contradict you.
KIT. But last night I asked you a question and you promised to give me your answer to-day. Is it yes or no? (She turns away agitatedly.) Do you care for me at all, Miss Golightly?
BELL. How can I, when we are on opposite sides on every question?
KIT. Do you? It is not a matter of logic.
BELL. It is — it ought to be. I don’t see how I can love you. I have reduced love to syllogistic form —
KIT. Oh!
BELL. On an old examination paper.
KIT. And what was the conclusion?
BELL. That it is absurd to think I love you.
KIT. What of that, if you do think it! Where is that paper? (He comes near to her.)
BELL. I — I tore it up, Kit! (They embrace.) Don’t!
KIT. Why not?
BELL. It is so — unintellectual.
KIT. But if we like it?
BELL. How can we? There is nothing in it.
KIT. You quaint darling!
BELL (stamping her foot). No! Promise, Kit, that you will never again call me such names.
KIT. But —
BELL. They are degrading!
KIT. Nonsense, child!
BELL. Child! Do you not see that you are insulting me?
KIT (kissing her). My beautiful!
BELL. You must never pay those infantile compliments to my personal appearance. If you love me, let it be for my mind alone, for all other love is founded on an ontological misconception.
KIT. We can settle all these little matters when you are my wife, Bell.
BELL. No, let us understand each other now. I must be your helpmate in all things. Should I seem unreasonable you must never humour me. No laughing me out of my arguments, nor kissing away my judgment. You will never yield to me for that most despicable of all reasons, because you think me pretty.
KIT. I will do my best to make you happy.
BELL. You will give up smoking?
KIT (after a pause — decidedly). No!
