_Sir John._ Sirrah, there's nothing got by Murder but a Halter: My Talent lies towards Drunkenness and Simony.

_Watchman._ Why that now was spoke like a Man of Parts, Neighbours; it's pity he should be so disguis'd.

_Sir John._ You lye--I'm not disguis'd; for I am drunk bare-fac'd.

_Watchman._ Look you here again--This is a mad Parson, Mr. Constable; I'll lay a Pot of Ale upon's Head, he's a good Preacher.

_Constable._ Come, Sir, out of Respect to your Calling, I shan't put you into the Round house; but we must secure you in our Drawing-Room till Morning, that you may do no Mischief. So, come along.

_Sir John._ You may put me where you will, Sirrah, now you have overcome me--But if I can't do Mischief, I'll think of Mischief--in spite of your Teeth, you Dog you. (_Exeunt._)[52]

YOU NEVER CAN TELL

ACT IV

_Waiter. (Entering anxiously through the window._) Beg pardon, ma'am; but can you tell me what became of that--(_He recognizes Bohun, and loses all his self-possession. Bohun waits rigidly for him to pull himself together. After a pathetic exhibition of confusion, he recovers himself sufficiently to address Bohun weakly, but coherently._) Beg pardon, sir, I'm sure, sir. Was--was it you, sir?

_Bohun._ (_Ruthlessly._) It was I.

_Waiter._ (_Brokenly._) Yes, sir. (_Unable to restrain his tears._) You in a false nose, Walter! (_He sinks faintly into a chair at the table._) I beg your pardon, ma'am, I'm sure. A little giddiness--

_Bohun._ (_Commandingly._) You will excuse him, Mrs. Clandon, when I inform you that he is my father.

_Waiter._ (_Heartbroken._) Oh, no, no, Walter. A waiter for your father on the top of a false nose! What will they think of you?

_Mrs. Clandon._ (_Going to the waiter's chair in her kindest manner._) I am delighted to hear it, Mr. Bohun. Your father has been an excellent friend to us since we came here. (_Bohun bows gravely._)

_Waiter._ (_Shaking his head._) Oh, no, ma'am. It's very kind of you--very ladylike and affable indeed, ma'am; but I should feel at a great disadvantage off my own proper footing. Never mind my being the gentleman's father, ma'am: it is only the accident of birth, after all, ma'am. (_He gets up feebly._) You'll excuse me, I'm sure, having interrupted your business.

(_He begins to make his way along the table, supporting himself from chair to chair, with his eye on the door._)

(_Bohun._) One moment. (_The waiter stops, with a sinking heart._) My father was a witness of what pa.s.sed to-day, was he not, Mrs. Clandon?

_Mrs. Clandon._ Yes, most of it, I think.

_Bohun._ In that case we shall want him.

_Waiter._ (_Pleading._) I hope it may not be necessary, sir. Busy evening for me, sir, with that ball: very busy evening indeed, sir.

_Bohun._ (_Inexorably._) We shall want you.

_Mrs. Clandon._ (_Politely._) Sit down, won't you?

_Waiter._ (_Earnestly._) Oh, if you please, ma'am, I really must draw the line at sitting down. I couldn't let myself be seen doing such a thing, ma'am: thank you, I am sure, all the same.

(_He looks round from face to face wretchedly, with an expression that would melt a heart of stone._)

_Gloria._ Don't let us waste time. William only wants to go on taking care of us. I should like a cup of coffee.

_Waiter._ (_Brightening perceptibly._) Coffee, miss? (_He gives a little gasp of hope._) Certainly, miss. Thank you, miss: very timely, miss, very thoughtful and considerate indeed. (_To Mrs. Clandon, timidly, but expectantly._) Anything for you, ma'am?

_Mrs. Clandon._ Er--oh, yes: it's so hot, I think we might have a jug of claret cup.

_Waiter._ (_Beaming._) Claret cup, ma'am! Certainly ma'am.

_Gloria._ Oh, well, I'll have claret cup instead of coffee. Put some cuc.u.mber in it.

_Waiter._ (_Delightedly._) Cuc.u.mber, miss! yes, miss. (_To Bohun._) Anything special for you, sir? You don't like cuc.u.mber, sir.

_Bohun._ If Mrs. Clandon will allow me--syphon, Scotch.

_Waiter._ Right, sir. (_To Crampton._) Irish for you, sir, I think sir? (_Crampton a.s.sents with a grunt. The waiter looks enquiringly at Valentine._)

_Valentine._ I like the cuc.u.mber.

_Waiter._ Right, sir. (_Summing up._) Claret cup, syphon, one Scotch, and one Irish?

_Mrs. Clandon._ I think that's right.

_Waiter._ (_Perfectly happy._) Right ma'am. Directly, ma'am. Thank you.

(_He ambles off through the window, having sounded the whole gamut of human happiness, from the bottom to the top in a little over two minutes_.)[53]

THE CRADLE (LE BERCEAU)

ACT I. SCENE 9

[Laurence and Raymond, her first husband, meet by chance by the sick bed of their little boy, M. de Girieu, the second husband, who is madly jealous of Raymond, and of Laurence's love for her boy, has just refused Raymond's request to be allowed to watch by the child till he is out of danger. Resting confidently on the control over Laurence and the boy which the laws give him, M. de Girieu is sure he can keep his wife and her former husband apart.]

_Long silent scene. The door of little Julien's room opens softly.

Laurence appears with a paper in her hand. The two men separate, watching her intently. She looks out for a long time, then shuts the door, taking every precaution not to make a noise. After a gesture of profound grief, she comes forward, deeply moved, but tearless. She makes no more gestures. Her face is grave. Very simply she goes straight to Raymond._

_Raymond._ (_Very simply to Laurence._) Well?

_Laurence._ (_In the same manner._) He has just dropped asleep.

_Ray._ The fever?

_Lau._ Constant.

_Ray._ Has the temperature been taken?

_Lau._ Yes.

_Ray._ How much?

_Lau._ Thirty-nine.