The 'Mind the Paint' Girl by Arthur Wing Pinero (i am malala young readers edition TXT) 📖

support her. Then come Heneage and Nita, Grimwood and Daphne, Tavish and Flo, Von Rettenmayer and Enid, de Castro and Gabrielle, Roper and Mrs. Stidulph, Farncombe and Jimmie, Bland and Evangeline, Cooling and Sybil, and Smythe and Olga. Singing the chorus of the “Mind the Paint” song, and dancing to it wildly, they circle the saloon twice, go out at the right-hand door at the back, return at the door on the left, and finally disappear through the double-door and along the landing. The waiters, who have brought up the rear of the procession, gather, with Luigi, in the left-hand corner, clapping their hands, and Stidulph returns, entering at the right-hand door at the back.

Lily.

Waving her bouquet and shrieking with laughter. Ha, ha, ha, ha! Don’t drop me! Don’t drop me!

Heneage and Grimwood.

Yelling. Whoop! Whoop!

Fulkerson.

Deliriously, endeavouring to stand upon his head. Wh-o-o-op!

Jimmie.

Breaking from the rank and jumping on to the further settee—singing. “Mind the paint! Mind the paint! A girl is not a sinner just because she’s not a saint!——”

Lily.

Ha, ha, ha! You’ll drop me! Oh——!

As the procession passes out of sight, followed by Luigi and the waiters, Jeyes departs at the door on the left and Stidulph once more goes to the counter and lights a cigarette.

END OF THE SECOND ACT.

THE THIRD ACT

The scene is Lily’s boudoir—a room upon the second floor of her house, adjoining her bedroom. The decorations, though delicate, are gay, with a good deal of pink in them.

In the wall facing the spectator are two doors, one on the left, the other in the centre. The left-hand door opens into the room from the landing, where the staircase is shown; the centre door admits to the bedroom. In the right-hand wall there are two sash-windows giving a view of the tops of trees growing in a square; in the opposite wall, the grate hidden by a low, painted screen, is the fireplace.

A prettily designed “fitment” runs along the left-hand wall and the further wall, taking in the fireplace and doors as part of its scheme. On either side of the fireplace there is a cupboard with drawers beneath it; between the door on the left and the door in the centre is a similar cupboard; and on the right of the centre door, extending to the right-hand wall, there is a wardrobe with sliding doors. The cupboard doors are glazed and curtained in pink silk.

In the middle of the room, a little to the right, there is a large and comfortable settee, and on the left of the settee is a table littered with books, magazines, a scent-atomizer, a small silver-framed mirror, a case of manicure instruments, a box of cigarettes and a match-stand, and other odds and ends. Behind the table there is a fauteuil-stool, and on the right of the table a cosy arm-chair. A second arm-chair stands apart, between the table in the centre and the fireplace.

On the extreme left of the room, on the nearer side of the fireplace, there is a box-ottoman; on the other side of the room, by the nearer window, are a small writing-table and chair; standing across the right-hand corner, the key-board towards the further window, are a cottage-piano and a music-stool; and at the back of the piano there is another small chair, with some soiled gloves upon it.

A quantity of music is heaped untidily on the top of the piano; one of the wardrobe doors is open, revealing some dresses hanging within; and the edge of a lace petticoat, with its insertion of coloured ribbon, peeps out from under the carelessly-closed lid of the box-ottoman. Two milliner’s hat-boxes are on the floor by the ottoman, and a pair of satin slippers are lying, one here, one there, under the centre table.

The window-blinds are down but the daylight is seen through them.

The door on the left opens and Lily, still carrying her bouquet, enters and makes straight for the windows and draws up the blinds, letting in the clear, morning light. She is followed by Enid, Gabrielle, Daphne, and Jimmie and they by Farncombe, Von Rettenmayer, de Castro, Roper, Fulkerson, and Bland. They are all pale and haggard, and slightly dishevelled, but everybody seems broad awake except Daphne, who is borne down by sleepiness. Some of the men are smoking.

Lily.

Laying her bouquet upon the table in the centre as she crosses to the windows—to the women. Come in, dears; drawing up the blind of the nearer window come in, boys. Take off your things for a minute.

Fulkerson.

Whose inebriety has reached the argumentative stage. Working classhes! Don’ talk t’ me ’bout th’ working classhes!

Jimmie.

H’sh! Shut up, Bertie.

Fulkerson.

I’m s’h’ick o’ th’ ve’y mention o’ th’ name—working classhes!

Jimmie.

Sit on his head, somebody. We shall wake Ma and the servants.

Lily.

Taking off her wrap and hanging it up in the wardrobe. Don’t worry; you won’t wake my servants. And mother’s bound to hear us; she sleeps so lightly when I’m out.

Daphne.

Gaping violently. Oh-h-h-h!

Jimmie.

Clapping her hand over Daphne’s mouth. Manners!

Fulkerson.

Depositing his overcoat and hat upon the fauteuil-stool. One ’ud ’magine th’ working-man’sh th’ on’y pershon who ever does day’sh work! Ridiculush!

Von Rettenmayer and Bland.

Ha, ha, ha, ha!

De Castro.

Thome truth in what Bertie’th thayin’, though. For inthtanthe——

Fulkerson.

With great disgust. Br’ish working-man!

Roper.

By Jove, yes! When I think o’ the work Mr. Lionel Hesketh Roper manages to dispose of in the course of a day——!

Von Rettenmayer and de Castro have placed their overcoats and hats upon the chair at the back of the piano and Farncombe, Bland, and Roper have piled theirs on the arm-chair on the left. Enid and Gabrielle throw their wraps upon the settee, Daphne drops hers upon the box-ottoman, and Jimmie puts hers over the arm of the chair by the centre table.

Lily.

To everybody. I’ll just run upstairs and tell mother that all’s serene. She goes to the door on the left; Farncombe, Bland, and Roper get in each other’s way in their desire to open it for her. If any of you want a drink, you must hunt for it yourselves in the dining-room. To Roper. You play host, Uncle Lal.

She disappears, turning to the left and ascending the stairs.

Roper.

Briskly. Now, then, give your orders, gents! Coming forward. Ladies, don’t all speak at once.

Fulkerson.

Making for the door. I’ll have sma’ whiskeyan’ soda.

He goes along the landing and down the stairs.

Bland.

Following him. No, no! Bertie! Bertie——!

Jimmie.

Seated in the arm-chair by the centre table—to Roper. Stop it. We’ll have trouble enough to get that boy home as it is.

Roper hurries out after Bland and Fulkerson. Von Rettenmayer and de Castro also move to the door.

Von Rettenmayer.

To Enid, who is sitting with Gabrielle on the settee. Enid——?

Enid.

A glass of soda-water.

Gabrielle.

Same for me, Von.

Von Rettenmayer.

To Jimmie. Jimmie——?

Jimmie.

No, thanks.

Von Rettenmayer.

Looking down upon Daphne, who has curled herself up on the box-ottoman and is already asleep—sentimentally. Baby—baby——

Daphne.

Half sighing, half moaning. Ah-h-h-h!

Jimmie.

To Von Rettenmayer. Don’t disturb her. Let her have her snooze in peace.

Von Rettenmayer.

Still contemplating Daphne. Shall I bring you your boddle, you preddy liddle baby?

Enid.

Annoyed. Don’t be an idiot, Karl. To de Castro, who is talking to Farncombe. Sam, will you fetch me some soda-water?

Von Rettenmayer.

To Enid, bestirring himself. I beg bardon.

He goes out, with de Castro. Enid has taken the mirror from the table and now looks at herself in it.

Enid.

What a sight! To Gabrielle. I wonder whether Lil would mind me going into her bedroom?

Gabrielle.

Taking the mirror from Enid. Of course she wouldn’t. Viewing herself with dismay. Oh, I’m yellower than you!

She jumps up, throwing the mirror upon the settee, and goes to the door in the centre. Enid follows her and the two girls open the door narrowly and withdraw. Jimmie rises and picks up the mirror.

Jimmie.

With one knee upon the settee, surveying herself. Ugh, you lovely creature! Glancing at Farncombe as she readjusts a comb, and finding that he is gazing at her earnestly. Turn your face to the wall, please; I’m about to use my puff.

Suddenly, with rapid movements, he shuts the door on the left, gives a quick look at Daphne, assures himself that the centre door is closed, and comes to Jimmie. She stares at him in astonishment.

Farncombe.

Standing at the back of the settee—in a low voice. Miss Birch, you’re Miss Parradell’s friend—her great friend. Will you be a friend of mine too, and do me a service?

Jimmie.

Startled. It—it all depends——

Farncombe.

Beg her to allow me to remain behind, with you, for a few minutes after the others have gone.

Jimmie.

Remain—you and I?

Farncombe.

And then, if she will, will you wait in the next room while I speak to her? Miss Birch, I—I must speak to her.

Jimmie.

W-w-wouldn’t—to-morrow——?

Farncombe.

It is to-morrow now. It’s day.

Jimmie.

Dropping her eyes. She’s tired.

Farncombe.

Five minutes—no longer. Entreatingly. Won’t you try to arrange it for me?

Jimmie.

Pursing her lips. H’m! I’d stay; delighted. Demurely. It doesn’t matter how tired I feel.

Farncombe.

Contritely. I’m a brute!

Jimmie.

But I really think the arranging is your job, Lord Farncombe.

Farncombe.

I know I should make a bungle of it with all these people round me, and attract attention. You’re clever.

Jimmie.

Raising her eyes to his, abruptly. Look here! Do I guess correctly?

Farncombe.

What——?

She pulls him towards her and whispers into his ear. He nods. She whispers again, breathlessly, and then releases him.

Jimmie.

Eh? Eh?

Farncombe.

Drawing back and facing her, firmly. Yes.

Jimmie.

Walking away, in a flutter. Oh! Oh! Oh!

Farncombe.

You’ll help me? She pauses, deliberating. You’ll help me?

Jimmie.

Returning to him, with an air of prudence. I tell you what I will do. Pointing to the writing-table. Scribble her a note—a line—and I’ll give it to her. That won’t attract attention. I’ve no objection to do that for you. Hurry up! He sits at the writing-table and searches for writing materials. In the drawer. He opens a drawer and takes out a sheet of note-paper. Standing at the other side of the table, she selects a pen and hands it to him. A “J” suit you?

Farncombe.

Taking the pen from her. What shall I say?

Jimmie.

Ho, ho! Well, I never! He writes. Oh, but it isn’t exactly a love-letter, is it? Simply say—what was the expression you used just now?—“will you allow me to remain behind for a few minutes with Miss Birch after the others have gone?”

Farncombe.

Writing. Thank you.

Jimmie.

With a little wriggle. Call me Jimmie if you like.

Farncombe.

Thank you.

Jimmie.

Knitting her brow thoughtfully. I suppose you ought to give her an inkling, though—the merest hint—of the reason, oughtn’t you?

Farncombe.

Looking up. Ought I?

Jimmie.

Well, you don’t want her to think it’s only to chat about the weather——!

Farncombe.

For heaven’s sake, don’t chaff me! writing “—after the others have gone?” Biting his pen. How would this do? “I know I am presuming a lot, but I—I can’t