by Unknown
JANE A. I took that whole in two!
JANE ANNIE joins the others in boat. All wave handkerchiefs.
PROCTOR. Hyp-hyp-hyp-
CHORUS. -notize!
MISS S. Another!
CHORUS. Hyp-hyp-hypnotize!
PROCTOR. One more!
CHORUS. Hyp-hyp-hypnotize!
JANE A. (from boat). Now, old things, wake up!
Exit boat. MISS SIMS and PROCTOR wake up.
BULLDOGS enter excitedly.
MISS S. What is this?
PROCTOR. Who is in that boat?
MILLY. It’s Bab and Jane Annie going away to be married.
MISS S. What?
CADDIE (rushing on). I can’t stand it! I can’t stand it! Man
and boy I’ve been here eighteen months, and I never
thought to see such goings on as this. I gives a
month’s warning from to-day.
The carriage is seen crossing.
MILLY. The carriage! There they go!
FINALE.
MILLY. The moral of this story is —
GIRLS. You mustn’t do this, you mustn’t do this;
MILLY. Or to express it still more pat —
GIRLS. You mustn’t do that, you mustn’t do that.
MISS SIMS. You’ve learned it now without a hitch —
MEN. We mustn’t do what, we mustn’t do which?
MISS SIMS. Well, you have learned it, have you not?
MEN. We mustn’t do which, we mustn’t do what?
PROCTOR. The moral I will now explain,
Just wait while I expound it;
It teaches that we ne’er again
Should try to — oh, confound it!
I very much want to tell you all —
You’d like to hear about it —
But just this point I can’t recall,
So, though it’s most material,
You’d best go home without it.
ALL. You’d best go home without it.
THE PROFESSOR’S LOVE STORY
Produced at the Comedy Theatre on June 25, 1894, with the following cast:
The Professor...E. S. Willard
Lucy White...Bessie Hatton
Dowager Lady Gilding…Nannie Craddock
Henders...Royce Carleton
Pete...F. H. Tyler
Dr. Cosens...H. Cane
Sir George Gilding...Bassett Roe
Effie Proctor...Mrs. H. Cane
Dr. Yellowlees...Hugh Harting
Miss Agnes Goodwillie..Mrs. G. Canninge
Lady Gilding...Keith Wakeman
Servants...Messrs. Moore and Maxwell
The play was transferred to the Garrick Theatre. It ran for 88 performances. Revived at the Savoy on September 7, 1916, by H. B. Irving, it ran for 235 performances.
CONTENTS
ACT I
ACT II
ACT III
ACT I
SCENE: The Professor’s study in London. Time: Half-past nine a m. As the curtain rises Effie enters with the morning letters which she places on the table. There is a moment’s comedy out of her reading inquisitively two postcards. The first evidently amuses her. The second, to which she takes a magnifying glass, puzzles her. Enter Lucy White.
LUCY (catching her at it). Good morning, Effie.
EFFIE (guiltily leaving letters). Good morning, Miss White.
LUCY. Has the Professor seen his letters yet?
EFFIE. No, he hasna come into the study yet. He’s no that length. (Importantly) The Doctor’s examining him again, tapping away at his chest as if it was the front door.
LUCY (smiling). Oh, the Doctor’s examining him again. Then I’ll run through the letters.
(LUCY sits and opens letters.)
EFFIE. I hope the Professor’s no very ill.
LUCY (smiling demurely). I hope not, Effie.
EFFIE. I dinna understand you, lassie; I would say you was good-hearted and yet you have just a queer smile on your face when I speak about the Professor’s illness.
LUCY. I smile, Effie? Oh no, I’m crying gently. (Wipes away a pretended tear with a handkerchief.) And now that I have wiped away this insistent tear, tell me what sort of a man is this Dr. Cosens?
EFFIE. Well, he’s no what I call good-looking.
LUCY. Poor lost soul! Oh, I must do that again. (Wipes away another tear.) The Professor and he are old friends, are they not?
EFFIE. I’ve heard Miss Goodwillie say they were at the college at Edinburgh together, but they see little of one another now. You see, the Doctor married and the Professor didna.
LUCY. And after that, naturally they despised one another EFFIE. Why?
LUCY (laughing). Well, of course, neither was quite certain whether the other hadn’t done best. Is the Doctor Scotch?
EFFIE. No, he’s just English. But you dinna ask if the Professor’s any better to-day.
LUCY (smiling). No, I don’t.
EFFIE (aside). Laughing again! (Aloud) Why not?
LUCY. Because you couldn’t know, Effie, unless you had been listening at the keyhole, and I am sure you would never do that. Just as I am sure you haven’t read those postcards.
COSENS (coming half out of door). Nothing to alarm yourself about, Professor — I assure you I understand your case perfectly, perfectly! (Shuts door, sees EFFIE but not LUCY.) Effie, what is the matter with the Professor?
EFFIE. Have you no found out, Doctor?
LUCY. Effie!
COSENS (startled). I didn’t see you, madam. The Professor’s secretary, I presume?
LUCY. Yes, that’s all. I’m Miss White.
COSENS. I hope you are very well, Miss White.
LUCY. Thank you, yes. I only wish we could say the same of the Professor.
COSENS (professionally). Ah!
LUCY. May I say I am so glad he is in your hands? A sad case, Doctor. Effie, have you seen my handkerchief? (She dabs her eyes with it.)
COSENS (suspiciously). Ho!
LUCY (demurely). Is the Professor’s a very uncommon complaint, Dr. Cosens?
COSENS. At first sight, Miss White, quite the reverse. He is suffering from a severe disinclination to work. One of the commonest complaints in the world.
EFFIE. But he never had it before. All his life he has been the hardest worker in London.
LUCY (sitting down to letters). And he has every incentive to work just now, for he is at the last chapter of his great book.
EFFIE. Ay, it must be a serious illness that keeps him frae finishing his great book.
LUCY. And so, Doctor, we are all so glad that you understand his case perfectly. I hope he said 99 nicely to-day.
COSENS (frowning). H’m! Don’t let me interfere with your work, Miss White.
EFFIE. What’s the name of his illness, sir?
COSENS. The name?
LUCY. We mustn’t ask such questions, Effie. We may be sure the Doctor has an excellent reason for not telling us its name. Have you not, Doctor?
(COSENS winces.)
And I think I know the reason, don’t you think I do, Doctor? Such a sad reason! (Gets out handkerchief.)
COSENS (exasperated). Miss White — I — really — will you please to put away that handkerchief!
LUCY (as if frightened). Effie, have I been doing anything wrong?
COSENS (with a happy idea). You talk too much, Miss White. You are not looking well. I want to know your temperature.
(Puts thermometer into her mouth and chuckles.)
Now, Effie, I want to ask you some questions. I suppose the Professor has been living his usual jog-trot life, eh?
EFFIE. Oh! Ay! For the five years I have been with him, one year has just been like another. He has been six months here, lecturing and writing and making explosions in the laboratory. And then six months at Tullochmains in Scotland, writing and making explosions, but not lecturing.
COSENS. He still goes to Tullochmains for his vacation, I suppose?
EFFIE. Yes, and though he’s su
ch a great man now, he just lives on quietly in the cottage that used to be his father’s. Miss Goodwillie, his sister, went there a month since to get it ready.
COSENS. Does she know of his illness?
EFFIE. No, for if she did, she would come back to London by the first train.
COSENS. H’m! I wonder if I should telegraph for Miss Goodwillie?
(LUCY taps on drinking-glass with paper-knife and makes inarticulate sounds with her mouth.)
What is it?
(LUCY makes signs that she wants the thermometer removed, COSENS goes right to LUCY and takes it out.)
COSENS. Ha! Normal! Thank you, Effie.
(EFFIE exits.)
You want to say something, Miss White?
LUCY. Only this, Doctor, that if you telegraph for Miss Goodwillie to come to London, you will, of course, tell her what is the matter with the Professor, though you won’t tell us.
COSENS. H’m! Ah — ahem! I won’t send for Miss Goodwillie, Miss White.
LUCY (who is writing out a telegram). Is there any prescription to be made up?
COSENS. No, I —
LUCY. I thought there was always a prescription. And as I am going to the telegraph office I could leave it at the chemist’s.
COSENS. Thank you. Just a moment till I write it out.
(He sits, and there is a little comedy got out of his not knowing what to write. He looks at her sideways. She is very demure. He writes.)
Please see that it is made up at once.
LUCY (earnestly). Yes, indeed. I’ll run all the way!
(She goes.)
(COSENS looks after her suspiciously. He rings bell. Enter EFFIE.)
COSENS. Effie, what was the expression on Miss White’s face when you passed her in the hall just now?
EFFIE. She was laughing, sir.
COSENS. H’m! I thought so, Effie. Call her back.
(Exit EFFIE. COSENS alone, pulls himself together. Enter LUCY.)
LUCY. You want me?
COSENS. Miss White, you are a clever girl, and I have been making a fool of myself. Give me back that prescription.
(She does so; he tears it in two and throws it into wastepaper basket.)
LUCY. Why do you do that?
COSENS. In acknowledgment of my defeat. You have guessed rightly, Miss White; the Professor’s case baffles me.
LUCY (frankly). That’s honest. I like you now.
COSENS. H’m! I’m not sure whether I like you.
LUCY. Oh, dear! (Produces handkerchief.)
COSENS. None of that.
(She puts away handkerchief)
You have taught me a lesson, Miss White.
LUCY. My Aunt Emily used to say that if it were not for women, men would never learn anything.
COSENS. H’m! I don’t know that I like your Aunt Emily either. Well, I admit I don’t know what is the matter with the Professor. (Suddenly seizing her wrist.) Do you?
LUCY (affecting indignation). How dare you insult me! Just because I am the poor secretary! If I had a brother —
(She goes off in tears.)
COSENS (contrite, calling after her.) I beg your pardon, Miss White. How could you know? I am a brute to make you cry. (Suddenly suspicious.) Was she crying?
(Enter EFFIE with a glass of water and a box of pills.)
EFFIE. Did you call, sir?
COSENS. Effie, did Miss White seem much affected when she went out just now?
EFFIE. Yes, sir, she was laughing.
COSENS. Laughing! Damn! I am going after her.
(Exit.)
EFFIE (going to door after him and calling). Is the master to go on taking his pills? (Reads inscription on pill-box.) One pill to be taken every four hours. (Lays them on small table. She begins to tidy up table, though evidently aware that this is forbidden.)
(Enter the PROFESSOR in long dressing-gown. He pauses in deep thought, stands on tiptoe, sighs, sees EFFIE.)
PROFESSOR. Effie, what are you doing at that table? Go away. Go away. Mustn’t do that — very wrong.
EFFIE. I will tidy.
PROFESSOR. You shall not tidy.
EFFIE. If I remain on here, I tidy.
PROFESSOR. Then you shall not remain on here.
EFFIE. What way to talk is that? How could you do without me?
PROFESSOR. That’s true. Don’t leave me, Effie. Effie, tidy upstairs, tidy downstairs, tidy all the drawers, tidy the kitchen range — tidy me, if you must — (Appealing) But don’t tidy that table!
(She moves from table to small table and takes box of pills and tumbler, bringing them to table. The PROFESSOR goes to back of chair, drums on it with his fingers, stands on tiptoe, sighs, sees EFFIE offering him glass of water, takes it, holds it up to light, says:)
What’s this?
EFFIE. The pills the Doctor prescribed.
PROFESSOR. Oh yes, the pills. (Stares.) I don’t believe the Doctor knows what is the matter with me. Go away, woman. I must work, work.
(Exit EFFIE. The PROFESSOR puts down glass of water, takes a pill and sip of water, puts glass back and pill-box on table. Sits at table, takes up pen — arranges papers — lapses into thought, bites pen, cries ‘Come, come’ — waits for a moment. Starts and rearranges papers. Is perplexed by the idea that EFFIE told him to do something but cannot remember what it is. Is about to call her, remembers the pills, takes one and a sip of water. He tries to work. Absently dips pen in glass of water, finds it won’t work, puts pen in mouth, reaches for large ink-bottle, puts ink in water, takes up fresh pen, dips in inkstand, writes. He is bothered by pen in mouth. Removes it, stops, pauses, struck by a thought. Puts pen behind ear, takes pill, takes up inky water, is surprised, sees another goblet, fills it with water, goes on writing without drinking. Leaves off. Rings bell. Takes up fresh pen. EFFIE enters.)
PROFESSOR. Well, well, what is it? What do you want?
EFFIE. You rang, sir?
PROFESSOR (absently). Did I? What for? (Pause.) Perhaps I rang for my boots, Effie?
EFFIE. You have them on.
PROFESSOR. Have I? (Lifting up left foot.) Bless me, so I have.
EFFIE. Was it for Miss White?
PROFESSOR (always unconsciously happy at mention of her name). Ah, that’s it. Surely she is very late this morning.
EFFIE. She has been here, but she went to the telegraph office.
PROFESSOR (gloomily). Oh!
(Pause.)
EFFIE. Is there anything else you want, sir?
PROFESSOR. HOW can I get on with my work, Effie, if you will stand there chattering all day? Go away — go away!
(EFFIE goes quickly. The PROFESSOR writes. Clock on mantelpiece begins to strike ten, and the PROFESSOR, writing with his right hand, waves it to be silent with his left.)
Hush! Silence! Quiet there! (Listens to last stroke.)
Come in, come in! (Calling) Effie!
(EFFIE enters.)
EFFIE. What is it now?
PROFESSOR. I think I heard Miss White knocking.
EFFIE. No, sir. (Seeing clock.) It was just your clock striking. Miss White’s at the telegraph office.
PROFESSOR. Still at the telegraph office.
(EFFIE goes. He goes on writing. Short knock. He starts to his feet and shakes his fist at the clock, calling:) Effie!
(EFFIE enters.)
Stop that clock!
EFFIE. Eh! It was a knock this time.
(Knock.)
PROFESSOR. Ah! But that’s not Miss White’s knock.
EFFIE (aside). I canna remember your ever knowing anybody’s knock before. (Goes to window.) I can just see a gentleman’s back. It looks to me like the back of one of those folks you call literary aspirants. What come wi’ an introduction and read their manuscripts to you.
PROFESSOR (excitedly). Don’t let him in.
(Knock.)
EFFIE. He seems determined to get in.
PROFESSOR. Keep the door on the chain. Say I’m out.
