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

is repeated. Jimmie retreats to the right as Mrs. Upjohn goes to the door and opens it. Roper is outside.

Roper.

Entering, in high spirits. Hullo, hullo, hullo, hul-lo! Embracing Mrs. Upjohn. Morning, Ma! Advancing. Any more bids for the handsome gilt candelabra with the crystal drops? Ha, ha, ha! To Jimmie. Morning, Jimmie! Looking down, upon Lily, eagerly. Well, Lil! Well, my pet!

Lily.

In a weary tone, giving him the tips of her fingers and then turning upon her side with her face to the back of the settee. How are you, Uncle Lal?

Roper.

Chilled. Oh, I—thank you, Lil— After a short pause, to Mrs. Upjohn—glancing at Lily. Not up to much to-day?

Mrs. Upjohn.

Glumly. No great shakes.

Roper.

Dancing too hard, I ’spect.

Mrs. Upjohn.

A deal too ’ard.

Roper.

After another pause. Anything else amiss, Ma?

Mrs. Upjohn.

Sitting upon the box-ottoman—to Jimmie, who is at the piano examining some of the music. You tell Lal, Jimmie.

Roper.

T-t-tell—? To Jimmie, who comes to the settee—apprehensively. Jimmie——!

Jimmie.

Behind the settee, gravely. No, the old Pandora isn’t going to score this time, Lal.

Roper.

Isn’t going to—? I d-d-don’t follow you.

Mrs. Upjohn.

Be plain, Jimmie.

Jimmie.

Endeavouring to relieve the situation. Ha, ha! Nature’s taken precious good care of that, in my case.

Roper.

Angrily. Now, look here, Jimmie! A jest is a capital thing in its way. No man has a keener sense of humour than Lal Roper. But there are occasions when it’s out o’ place, and this is one of ’em, my dear; and if it’s not putting you to serious inconvenience——

Jimmie.

Also losing her temper. Oh, well, then, have it in the neck! Lil’s declined young Farncombe. There! And when you crack a joke next, Mr. Roper, I beg you’ll contrive to favour us with a little variety; flouncing away because you bore me pallid with your rotten wheezes, and always have done.

Roper.

Going to Mrs. Upjohn, aghast at the tidings. Ma——!

Mrs. Upjohn.

To Roper, under her breath. Won’t draw ’im into ’er net, Uncle.

Roper.

Won’t draw him into her——?

Jimmie.

At the back. K-n-e-double t—net!

Mrs. Upjohn.

Pacifically. Jimmie——!

Jimmie.

Mimicking Roper derisively. Hullo, hullo, hullo, hul-lo! Fresh fish from the sea! Buy ’em on the beach; buy ’em on the beach; buy ’em on the beach!

Roper.

To Jimmie, indignantly. Jimmie Birch——!

Jimmie.

Sitting upon the fauteuil-stool. Ha, ha!

Roper.

To Mrs. Upjohn, wiping his brow. Of course, there is this to be said, Ma. Rallying at the idea. It may be wise of dear Lil to decline Farncombe at first. It—it—it—it doesn’t do for a girl, does it, to appear to throw herself at any man, let alone a young fellow of the position—the—the—the social status——!

Lily.

Suddenly sitting up and putting her feet to the floor again. Oh, for mercy’s sake, cease discussing my affairs in my presence! To Mrs. Upjohn. Mother, why do you keep Uncle Lal in the dark? To Jimmie. Jimmie, why don’t you——?

Roper.

In the dark!

Mrs. Upjohn.

Yes, Lal; your flyin’ out at Jimmie over ’er ’armless joke stopped ’er finishin’.

Roper.

Finishing——?

Mrs. Upjohn.

Lil’s not on’y refused young Farncombe but she’s gone an’ plighted ’erself to another individual.

Roper.

Plighted herself——?

Lily.

Passionately. To one of the best! To one of the best!

Roper.

Stupefied. Do I—do I know him?

Jimmie.

Ha!

Lily.

Know him! You know him sufficiently to have plotted and schemed to prevent his being asked to the party last night.

Jimmie.

To Lily. Did Lal do that?

Lily.

Did he!

Jimmie.

Impudence!

Roper.

Sitting in the arm-chair by the centre table—quietly. Jeyes!

Jimmie.

Nicko.

Lily.

Firmly. Nicko.

Mrs. Upjohn.

But the Captain was at the party last night notwithstandin’.

Jimmie.

To Mrs. Upjohn. Nonsense, Ma!

Lily.

Yes, Nicko managed to get into the theatre somehow or other.

Jimmie.

To Lily. And watched you and young Farncombe——!

Lily.

And stationed himself under the portico of Twenty seven, to see who brought me home.

Jimmie.

Oh——!

Mrs. Upjohn.

’E’s always been frightfully jealous, the Captain ’as.

Jimmie.

Looking at Roper. Oh, so really it’s entirely owing to Lal Roper’s interference that matters were brought to a head this morning!

Lily.

Her eyes flashing. Entirely.

Mrs. Upjohn.

Joining in the attack upon Roper. Yes, if Lal ’ad been content to mind ’is own business——

Jimmie.

And hadn’t meddled——!

Mrs. Upjohn.

An’ muddled——!

Jimmie.

Things might have gone on much the same as before.

Mrs. Upjohn.

An’ might ’ave ended different.

Lily.

Rising and walking away to the right. Ah, no, mother——!

Jimmie.

Rising and joining Lily. Certainly they might.

Mrs. Upjohn.

Rising. Any’ow I ’ope it’ll be a lesson to Lal——

Jimmie.

Do you, Ma!

Mrs. Upjohn.

Moving over to the girls. Not to put ’is fingers into other people’s pies.

Jimmie.

To Mrs. Upjohn, with a withering glance at Roper. Oh, you are sanguine!

Roper.

Rising and straightening himself out. Ma—Mrs. Upjohn—Lily——

Jimmie.

Scornfully. Hullo, hullo, hullo, hul-lo——!

Roper.

To Jimmie. P’sh! Impressively. Ma—Lily—for years—longer than it’s agreeable to count—I’ve been a patron of the drama—particularly musical comedy, of which I’ve studied the development with especial interest.

Jimmie.

Resting her elbows upon the back of the settee. Yes, you’ve studied a lot of development, Lal, in your day.

Roper.

Ignoring Jimmie. It’s been a fad with me; I put it no higher than that. Producing his gloves. But I’ve devoted time to it——

Jimmie.

Any amount.

Roper.

Drawing a glove on. Often to the neglect of my ventures in the City. Here I am now, for instance.

Jimmie.

That’s obvious.

Roper.

And—I frankly admit it—I’ve had more than one serious dispute with Mrs. Roper on the subject. Jimmie softly whistles a few bars of “Rule, Britannia.” Yesterday, by a coincidence— feeling the outside of his breast-pocket letter from the wife—full o’ complaints—haven’t been to Bexhill, to her and the kids, for weeks. And to do Ellen Roper justice, she’s not the woman to grumble without cause. Picking up his hat and cane which he has placed upon the centre table. Dash it all, home ties are home ties! Polishing his hat with his sleeve. And, taking one consideration with another—and after this—this occurrence—it’s my intention for the future—my firm intention——

Lily.

Running to Roper and throwing her arms around his neck. Oh, Uncle Lal, not altogether! We’re tired and cross this morning! Not altogether!

Mrs. Upjohn.

Behind the centre table. No, no, Uncle, you mustn’t——!

Lily.

To Roper. Forgive us! Coaxingly. Mother and Jimmie are cats——!

Mrs. Upjohn and Jimmie.

Oh——!

The door on the left opens, and Gladys enters with a card on a salver.

Gladys.

Advancing to Lily. Are you in?

Lily.

In?

Gladys.

Surveying Lily with mingled disdain and pity. Oh you do look washed out!

Lily.

Going to Gladys. Never you mind whether I look washed out or not. Who is it?

Lily takes the card, reads some writing upon it, and stands twiddling the card in her fingers.

Gladys.

They’re in the dining-room.

Lily.

To Gladys, after a pause. W-wait outside—on the landing.

Gladys.

Oh, all right. This won’t get my silver cleaned.

Gladys withdraws. Lily waits for the door to close and then walks about distractedly.

Lily.

Oh, why can’t they leave me alone! What do they want with me now, both of them!

Mrs. Upjohn.

Moving towards Lily. ’Oo——?

Lily.

Nicko’s downstairs—with Lord Farncombe.

Mrs. Upjohn.

Lord Farncombe——!

Roper.

And Jeyes!

Lily.

Reading the card again. Nicko asks me to see him and the boy together. Roper and Mrs. Upjohn go to Lily, one on each side of her, and try to read the card. She pushes them from her and sits in the arm-chair by the centre table. I won’t; I won’t.

Jimmie.

Joining Mrs. Upjohn and Roper. Yes, yes, Lil; do.

Mrs. Upjohn.

Bewildered. Wot——?

Jimmie.

Perhaps they’ve arrived at a friendly understanding——!

Roper.

Understanding?

Jimmie.

Excitedly. And have come to propose that Lil should choose between them!

Roper.

Great Scot——!

Lily.

I have chosen; I have chosen. It’s settled.

Roper.

Undoubtedly she ought to see them.

Lily.

It’s a shame to persecute me so—a shame!

Jimmie, Mrs. Upjohn, and Roper.

Behind Lily’s chair. Lil! Lily——!

Mrs. Upjohn.

Give ’em a minute, dear.

Roper.

Hear what they’ve got to say.

Jimmie.

It would be uncivil not to.

Lily.

Oh—! Oh——!

Jimmie.

Buck up, Lil!

Roper.

My pet!

Mrs. Upjohn.

’Ark to reason, dearie.

To Lily, urgently.

Jimmie, Mrs. Upjohn, and Roper.

Lil! Lily——!

Lily.

Yielding helplessly. Oh, very well——

Jimmie, Mrs. Upjohn, and Roper.

Ah——!

Lily.

Tell Gladys—when I ring——

Jimmie.

Flying to the door on the left. I’ll tell her.

Roper.

To Mrs. Upjohn, importantly. Lucky I was on the spot; lucky I was on the spot.

Jimmie.

On the landing, to Gladys. Bring the gentlemen up when Miss Lily rings.

Lily.

Rising and pacing the room on the right. Give me some stockings!

Mrs. Upjohn.

Hurrying into the bedroom. Yes, dearie. As she disappears. Maud——!

Jimmie.

Returning and closing the door and then whispering to Roper. Bet my boots that’s it!

Roper.

To Jimmie, in a whisper. Choose between ’em!

Jimmie.

What else can it be?

Roper.

I can’t——

Jimmie.

Throwing herself into Roper’s arms. Oh, if it is!

Roper.

Hugging her. Oh——!

Jimmie.

Suddenly, releasing herself. Oh——! Haughtily. Thought you were Lily.

Mrs. Upjohn returns, carrying a pair of stockings. Lily seats herself upon the fauteuil-stool where, concealed by the centre table, she draws on the stockings with Mrs. Upjohn’s assistance.

Lily.

Whimpering. Oh—! Oh——!

Mrs. Upjohn.

Don’t, dearie; don’t. Mother’s ’ere.

Roper.

Impatiently. I—ah—I think I’ll run downstairs and shake hands with Jeyes and Farncombe while Lily’s tidying herself.

Jimmie.

Who has moved over to the right—to Roper. Be careful. I should advise you not to risk it.

Roper.

At the door. Risk it?

Jimmie.

If Nicko knows you were the cause of his being shut out of the party last night, he’ll simply throttle you.

Roper.

Opening the door. Throttle me! Formidably. Throttle Lal Roper——!

He disappears, closing the door, as Maud enters from the bedroom with a pair of shoes.

Lily.

Weakly. Oh! Oh! Oh! Get me something to keep these up with.

Jimmie.

To Maud. Ribbon——

Mrs. Upjohn.

Snatching the shoes from Maud. Ribbon.

Maud opens one of the drawers underneath the further cupboard on the left and finds a roll of bright, new ribbon, while Jimmie, searching among the objects on the centre table, discovers the case of manicure instruments and takes from it a pair of scissors.

Lily.

Putting on her shoes—to Mrs. Upjohn. No, no; that’s the left foot—oh——!

Mrs. Upjohn.

Don’t agitate yourself, dearie. Mother’s ’ere.

Maud comes to the centre table with the ribbon and Jimmie cuts off two lengths from the roll.

Maud.

To Jimmie. Morning, Miss Jimmie!

Jimmie.

To Maud. Morning!

Lily.

To Mrs. Upjohn. Where’s the mirror? Where’s the mirror?

Mrs. Upjohn.

Taking the mirror from the table and giving it to Lily. ’Ere it is, dearie; ’ere it is. An’ I’m ’ere too.

Lily.

Viewing herself in the mirror and running her hand over her hair. Oh, how horrid I look! Jimmie goes to Lily with the two lengths of ribbon and Maud replaces the roll in the drawer. Ring the bell. Jimmie hands Lily the garters, relieving her of the mirror, and Mrs. Upjohn hastens to the fireplace and presses the bell-push continuously. That’ll do, Maud;