by Unknown
they are all anxious to take the first “first class” in
journalism.
GREG. Besides, they feel that if they don’t hurry up, some
lady student will take it before them.
MISS S. It is a way that lady students have.
PROCTOR. But it was duty brought me here. I have private
information that an undergraduate named Findlater —
popularly known as Tom, is carrying on a — a — a —
GREG. A flirtation.
PROCTOR. A — a flirtation — (He is reluctant to take the word
from GREG, but can think of no other. GREG is
triumphant.) — with a certain — certain — one of
these — ah! what do you call those little things that
grow into women?
GREG. A girl.
PROCTOR (annoyed). A — a — girl — in this seminary.
MISS S. Impossible! Could it be Bab?
GREG. Bab was the name.
PROCTOR glares at GREG, with whom SIM expostulates in dumb show.
JANE A. (aside). Tom! Tom! But I am sure the naughty word I
heard her say was Jack! (Exit JANE ANNIE.)
PROCTOR. Tom is coming to serenade her from this hall window.
Now I have come here to watch, and if he is guilty, to
have him sent down. Ha! ha! conceive his discomfiture
when he climbs up to this window and is met — not by
his sweetheart — but my cry of —
GREG. Name and college.
SIM (quaking). I don’t know what is to become of him! (To
GREG.) Don’t be so dashed independent!
PROCTOR (fiercely). Watch at the windows!
BULLDOGS go to windows.
MISS S. Dear friend, you must be mistaken.
PROCTOR. Mistaken? I am a Proctor. Besides, if you are so
confident, you cannot complain of my putting the matter
to the proof, and I propose watching here. Where can I
hide?
MISS S. (pointing to clock). Do you think you could get
into this?
PROCTOR. The clock! Why not? I can just do it.
MISS S. Good. And I shall watch downstairs, for I know that my
school can triumphantly stand the test.
DUET. — MISS SIMS and PROCTOR.
MISS SIMS. Strictly tended plants are mine,
Breakfast early, bed at nine —
PROCTOR. Plants that need some watching.
MISS SIMS. Their regard for beauty slight is,
Mental charm their chief delight is —
PROCTOR. Mischief ever hatching.
MISS SIMS. Flirt’s a word at which they frown,
Man they know is but a noun —
PROCTOR. A noun they can’t decline.
MISS SIMS. Eyes they never use amiss,
When they take the air like this,
In a maiden line. (Business.)
PROCTOR. Yet I take this information
With some mental reservation,
And I think it most imprudent,
Thus to fire the callow student,
Or the young divine.
MISS SIMS. Helpful books they read — not Gyp,
But the courting scenes they skip —
PROCTOR. Or at least they say so.
MISS SIMS. If the heroine who charms
Sinks into her lover’s arms —
PROCTOR. They hope to be some day so.
MISS SIMS. No, their comment prim and terse is,
Namely “What a hard plight hers is!”
PROCTOR. Oh, this is quite too fine!
MISS SIMS. And mankind with scorn they view,
As they walk out two and two,
In a maiden line. (Business.)
ENSEMBLE.
{ MISS SIMS. Yet he takes my wise instructions
{ With considerable deductions;
{ For such sights are bad, I know
{ For the budding medico,
{ Or the young divine.
{ PROCTOR. Yet I take Miss Sims’ instructions
{ With considerable deductions;
{ For such sights are bad, I know
{ For the budding medico,
{ Or the young divine.
GREG. Thank you so much. What is that called?
MISS S. It is a little thing of my own.
GREG. How delightful!
MISS S. I am so glad you like it.
GREG. You sing with so much expression.
MISS S. Do you really think so?
GREG. Won’t you favour us with another?
MISS S. That is the only one I know.
GREG. How very charming! (PROCTOR orders him back to window.)
PROCTOR. Ah me! Neither of us has forgotten the days when we
were lovers. What a pity we quarrelled!
MISS S. (questioningly). I suppose we have quite outgrown that
affection?
PROCTOR. Oh, quite. (BULLDOGS at the window make signs as if
they saw someone. Soft flute is heard outside.) Ah! he
comes! It is Tom! (PROCTOR gets into the clock, MISS
SIMS assisting him. PROCTOR looking out.) How’s that?
MISS S. Wonderful! If the face had hands you could pass for the
clock any day. And here they are. (Puts her spectacles
on PROCTOR.) There! and now I shall watch downstairs.
PROCTOR. Hi! a moment. What have you set me at?
MISS S. Ten past nine. (Exit.)
PROCTOR. Now the minute hand is in my left eye and I can see
nothing. I wish she had put me on half an hour.
GREG (coming down). I beg to inform you, sir — he’s gone!
Sim, where can the Proctor have vanished to?
SIM (coming down). I am glad he isn’t here. What is to be
done? We didn’t see what the Proctor expected us to
see.
GREG. Is that our fault?
SIM. Hush! Of course it is, Greg. You will say we saw the
undergraduate, eh, Greg?
PROCTOR (aside). What?
GREG. But we didn’t. It was a soldier we saw.
PROCTOR (aside). Eh?
SIM. Oh, what is to be done?
GREG. Tell him the truth.
SIM. Oh, Greg, don’t be so independent! Think of the time
when you were a little child on your mother’s knee.
(GREG is much affected.)
DUET. — SIM and GREG.
SIM. When a bulldog I became,
Independence was my game,
But since my course I’m steering
By a rule that is more wise,
For I hear with other’s hearing,
And I see with other’s eyes.
GREG (derisively). Tooral, looral-ly!
SIM. That’s a risky think to say.
GREG. It’s my platform, I reply.
SIM. Platforms, Greg, are cheap to-day.
GREG. Which nobody can deny.
Man’s a man for a’ that, Sim.
SIM. For a what? say I,
GREG. For a that.
SIM. A that? what’s that?
GREG (after reflecting). Tooral, looral-ly!
BOTH. Up with caps and freedom hail!
Here’s the new election cry;
Man’s a man if born a male,
Tooral, looral, looral-ly!
GREG. Proc’s are spry, but I see through them!
I’m the man that will undo them!
With a wit like razors’ edges,
Twit them in the ‘Varsitee;
This the thin edge of the wedge is,
Spell them with a little p.
SIM (derisively). Tooral, looral-ly!
GREG. Culture’s fudge — see how I flout it,
SIM. Culture doesn’t pay, that’s why;
GREG. We reformers do without it,
SIM. Which nobody can deny.
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GREG. Mad you are, my friend, go to!
SIM. Go to where? say I,
GREG. The missing word I leave to you.
SIM (after reflecting). Tooral, looral-ly!
BOTH. Up with caps and freedom hail!
Here’s the new election cry;
Man’s a man if born a male,
Tooral, looral, looral-ly!
DANCE.
Boots are placed outside the doors at this point. The BULLDOGS
look scared, and exeunt downstairs.
Enter CADDIE. He collects boots in a laundress’s basket. The
boots he loves are not among them. He is distressed. JANE ANNIE’s
door opens and she puts out her boots. He is elated and goes for
them. While he is getting them BAB’s arm appears outside her
door, groping for her boots. As she doesn’t find then she comes
out and looks for them. She sees basket, glides to it unseen by
CADDIE, picks out her boots and exit with them. CADDIE returns
with JANE ANNIE’s boots, fondling them. He sits down on basket
and kisses them. Then he rises and tries to drop them among the
others. This strikes him as sacrilege. He shakes his head, then
ties the laces of JANE ANNIE’s boots together, slings them over
his head, and exit, carrying basket.
PROCTOR. What is he up to? If I had only being going, I should
be at the half-hour by this time, and then I could see
with the left eye. Ten past nine! I little thought that
the time would come when the grand ambition of my life
would be to be nine-thirty. What is he doing upstairs?
Hallo! a girl, and after some mischief. I wonder if I
dare ask her to put me on twenty minutes. I feel very
queer, as if I was turning into a real clock. I hope I
sha’n’t strike.
ROSE and MILLY come softly out of their rooms.
MILLY. I have been thinking so much of what Bab told us that I
can’t go to bed.
ROSE. Nor I — Oh, Milly!
MILLY. What time is it, Rose?
ROSE (holding candle to clock). Half-past nine.
PROCTOR (aside). I wish it was!
ROSE (to MILLY). What?
MILLY. I didn’t speak.
Flute heard outside.
ROSE. Listen!
MILLY. Oh, Rose! I am all of a tremble; turn up the gas.
BAB enters. Flute playing continues.
ROSE. It is he — Jack!
BAB (trembling). No, that is Tom!
MILLY. The other one!
BAB. Milly, he must have heard that I am to elope with Jack
and doubtless he has come here to shoot me.
MILLY. How romantic!
ROSE. How delightful!
PROCTOR. How out of tune!
MILLY. Perhaps he has only come to ask you to give him back
his presents.
ROSE. How horrid of him to bother you when you don’t care for
him.
BAB. I never said I didn’t care for him.
MILLY. Oh!
ROSE. I hear him climbing up the ivy.
MILLY. He is coming to the window.
BAB. If he and Jack meet they will fight. (To GIRLS.) Leave
us.
ROSE and MILLY exeunt. BAB hides. TOM enters from the window. He
is very sad.
BALLAD. — TOM.
It was the time of thistledown,
The corn we wandered through;
She plucked the lover’s thistledown,
As maids are wont to do.
She blew upon the thistledown,
“He loves, he loves me not!”
And from the loyal thistledown,
“He loves” the answer got.
She did not ask the thistledown
If her own love were true;
No need to ask the thistledown,
She thought — as maidens do.
But had she asked the thistledown,
This answer she’d have got,
“Your false breath stains the thistledown,
He loves, but you love not.”
BAB (coming down). Tom! (They embrace.)
TOM. Then you do love me?
BAB (kissing him). Oh no, this is only saying goodbye.
TOM. You fling me over?
BAB. Jack insists on it.
TOM. Have you forgotten that day on the river, when —
BAB. When you kissed my hand? Oh, Tom, but I have been on
the river since then with Jack, and he —
TOM. Kissed your hand also?
BAB. No, he did not kiss my — hand. (TOM takes something
wrapped in paper from his pocket.) What is that?
TOM. The glove you gave me. (Gives it to her.) Give it to
Jack. (Hands her something else.)
BAB. And what is this?
TOM. A hairpin. Give it to Jack. Goodbye!
BAB. Ah, Tom, you will soon forget me.
TOM. I am a man who loves but once, and then for aye.
BAB. You will be heartbroken about me all your life?
TOM. Till the grave close on me.
BAB. Dear Tom, you make me so happy. Now, kiss me
passionately for the last time. You must see that it is
not my fault. (He is about to kiss her, then sadly lets
her go.)
DUET. — TOM and BAB.
TOM. O eyes that spoke to me of truth,
Farewell, deceptive mirror!
BAB. Thus you describe them, yet forsooth,
You look into the mirror!
TOM. Sweet mouth that pouted for my kiss,
Farewell, sweet lying mouth!
BAB. The words you’re using are amiss,
Yet sweet you call my mouth!
TOM. O heart that throbbed a tale untrue,
Farewell, you falsely beat!
BAB. Although it may not beat for you,
The words you say are sweet.
TOM. False one, farewell, I harm you not;
To him depart, and scathless;
Be mine to bear my dreary lot,
Struck down by woman faithless.
For you, a jilt, my heart has bled,
My cup with grief you fill.
Ah, tell me, empty little head,
Why ‘tis I love you still?
BAB. He loves me still, he loves me true,
He worships at my feet.
My heart may never beat for you,
And yet your words are sweet.
ENSEMBLE.
TOM. BAB.
‘Tis so; yet joy be thine, Ah, how can joy be mine,
Though hopeless future mine, If hopeless fate is thine?
Farewell! Farewell!
BAB (aside). Ah! am I sure that it is Jack whom I love
best? And yet, my promise!
JANE ANNIE steals downstairs.
BAB. Fly, Tom! It is Jane Annie, the sneak!
TOM hurries to window where JANE ANNIE meets him. The PROCTOR
comes stealthily out of clock.
PROCTOR. Name and college!
TOM jumps through the window , PROCTOR seizes JANE ANNIE. BAB
listens unseen.
JANE A. Unhand me! I am Jane Annie, the model girl od the
school.
PROCTOR. You are Bab, the flirting-girl!
JANE A. You are mistaken, I —
PROCTOR. Mistaken! — I! Have I not told you that I am a
Proctor?
JANE A. It was Bab who was flirting, and I came to warn you.
PROCTOR. Yes, it was Bab, and you are Bab. (Seeing BAB.) Girl,
what is the name of this chit?
BAB. That is Bab, sir, and my name is Jane Annie.
JANE A. Oh!
PROCTOR. Exactly! She has assumed your name.
BAB. Oh, Bab, how c
ould you!
PROCTOR. I caught her in the act of eloping with an
undergraduate through this window.
BAB. Naughty!
JANE A. You wicked little wretch! Sir, I am —
PROCTOR. You are about to be shut up in your bedroom for the
night. Which is her room, Jane Annie?
JANE A. You —
BAB. In the attic there.
PROCTOR. Come!
PROCTOR drags JANE ANNIE upstairs, and pushes her into her room.
