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

a good play. Looking at his hands. I’ll go and have a wash and brush up. Luigi returns, entering at the door on the left, and goes behind the counter. The waiters follow him, carrying some melons lying upon ice in plated dishes. They deposit the dishes upon the counter and Luigi proceeds to cut the melon into slices. Cooling resumes, at a table on the left, the placing of the cards. As Smythe is moving towards the right-hand door at the back, Stewart Heneage and Gerald Grimwood—two exquisitely dressed youths with blank faces—enter from the landing. Smythe shakes hands with them. Ha, Mr. Heneage! Ha, Mr. Grimwood! Heneage and Grimwood murmur some polite expressions. Excuse me; I’m just going to wash my hands. De Castro enters, also at the double-door, and Smythe shakes hands with him. Heneage and Grimwood drift over to Cooling, who hails them warmly. How do, Sam! Back in a moment; just going to wash my hands.

De Castro.

Detaining him. I thay, Carlton.

Smythe.

Eh?

De Castro.

Lowering his voice. I’ve been in front again to-night. Magnifithent! Marvellouth!

Smythe.

Resignedly. It’ll do; I shall get a couple o’ years out of it.

De Castro.

There’th jutht one little improvement I’d like to thee, if I may thuggetht it.

Smythe.

What’s that?

De Castro.

Linking his arm in Smythe’s. You’re thure you won’t conthider me prethumptuouth?

Smythe.

Of course not; very kind of yer.

De Castro.

In Smythe’s ear. If you could give Gabth—Mith Kato—a tiny bit more to do in the thecond act——!

Smythe.

Nodding. Ah, yes, yes.

De Castro.

She’th a little lump o’ talent, that gal, if you only realithed it; a perfect little lump o’ talent.

Smythe.

Trying to escape. Er—I’ll think it over.

De Castro.

Will yer! An extra thong! That’th all it need be—an extra thong! Oh, it would be thuch an improvement! Von Rettenmayer enters at the double-door. The waiters now go to the tables and lay a plate with a slice of melon upon it at each cover. Here’th the Baron. We’ve been thitting together to-night, I and the Baron. Wringing Smythe’s hand. Thankth. Joining Cooling and the others on the left as Smythe greets Von Rettenmayer. Hullo, Morrith! Shaking hands with Heneage and Grimwood. Well, boyth!

Smythe.

Shaking hands with Von Rettenmayer. Glad to see yer, Baron.

Von Rettenmayer.

Zo good of you to haf me.

Smythe.

Excuse me; I’m just going to wash my hands.

Von Rettenmayer.

Detaining him. Bardon me—one moment——

Smythe.

Eh?

Von Rettenmayer.

Dropping his voice. May I dake the liberdy of indulging in a liddle griticism on your eggcellent blay?

Smythe.

Certainly.

Von Rettenmayer.

Drawing Smythe away from the tables. Gome here. His mouth close to Smythe’s ear. The zecond aggd!

Smythe.

Second act; what’s the matter with it?

Von Rettenmayer.

The pard where the gharming Miss Barradell is ghanging her gostume——

Smythe.

Yes?

Von Rettenmayer.

That is where the biece reguires lifding— with a gesture lifding.

Smythe.

Lifting?

Von Rettenmayer.

Mr. Davish—Mr. Balk—eggsdremely glever; slipping his arm through Smythe’s but if you could zee your way glear to gif Enid—Miss Mongreiff—anoder dance——

Smythe.

Nodding. Ah, h’m, h’m.

Von Rettenmayer.

It would remove the zolitary imberfection.

Smythe.

Er—I’ll think it over. Releasing himself. I’m just going to wash my hands. We’ll talk about it later.

Von Rettenmayer.

Schoensten Dank. Going to the men on the left. Aha, Mr. Gooling! My dear Steward—my dear Jerry——!

As Smythe is again making for the door on the left, Mrs. Stidulph enters from the landing with Colonel Stidulph.

Smythe.

To Mrs. Stidulph. Ha, Dolly! Kissing her. How are you, my dear?

Mrs. Stidulph.

A mature but still beautiful woman, gorgeously dressed and wearing showy jewels—with a lofty air. How are you, Carlton?

Smythe.

To Stidulph. How d’ye do, Arthur? Delighted to see yer.

Mrs. Stidulph.

Lucky I’m able to come to you to-night. It’s so difficult to catch me in the season.

Smythe.

Been in front?

Mrs. Stidulph.

M’yes; in a tone of boredom oh, yes.

Smythe.

What, don’t you like it?

Mrs. Stidulph.

Oh, I don’t say I dislike it; shrugging her shoulders but one can’t forget what one used to do here in the old days.

Stidulph.

An elderly, distinguished-looking man with a meek voice and a courteous but rather nervous manner. I’ve had a most enjoyable evening, Carlton. So bright; so very bright!

Mrs. Stidulph.

To Stidulph, sneeringly. Oh, anything pleases you; you’d laugh at Punch and Judy.

Smythe.

I’m just running away to wash my hands. Looking towards the men on the left. You know Von Rettenmayer?

Mrs. Stidulph.

Know him! Why, he was about in my time! Crossing to Von Rettenmayer, followed by Stidulph. Karl!

Von Rettenmayer.

My dear lady! Kissing her hand perfunctorily. What bliss! Shaking hands with Stidulph. Golonel!

Mrs. Stidulph.

Shaking hands with de Castro. How are you, Sam?

De Castro.

Ah, Dolly! To Stidulph. Hullo, Arthur!

Cooling.

Presenting Heneage and Grimwood to the Stidulphs. Mr. Stewart Heneage—Mr. Gerald Grimwood——

As the Stidulphs leave Smythe, Herbert Fulkerson enters from the landing with Farncombe. In dumb-show, Smythe and Fulkerson greet each other and then Fulkerson introduces Farncombe.

Smythe.

Shaking hands with Farncombe. Glad to make your acquaintance.

Farncombe.

Glad to make yours, Mr. Smythe—and in such circumstances!

Fulkerson.

A white-faced young man with red eyes and of dissipated appearance—espying Mrs. Stidulph. By Jove, if it isn’t Dolly Ensor! Hurrying to Mrs. Stidulph. What cheer, Dolly!

Mrs. Stidulph.

Coldly. How do you do, Mr. Fulkerson?

Fulkerson.

Slightly abashed. Oh, I—I’m pretty middlin’, thanks; hope you’re the same. Nodding to Stidulph. Evenin’, Arthur.

Vincent Bland has sauntered in at the door on the left and now joins the group surrounding the Stidulphs.

Bland.

Nodding to Heneage and Grimwood. H’lo, Stewart! H’lo, Jerry! Coming to the Stidulphs. Dolly——Colonel——

Smythe.

To Farncombe. I’ll be back in a minute or two; I’m just going to wash my hands.

Fulkerson.

Calling to Farncombe. Hi! Eddie!

Farncombe crosses to Fulkerson and is presented by him to the Stidulphs. Gabrielle Kato enters at the right-hand door at the back, meeting Smythe as he is going out. The waiters have finished setting the plates of melon upon the tables and now withdraw, carrying the plated dishes and preceded by Luigi, at the door on the left.

Smythe.

To Gabrielle. Ha, Gabby, my dear! Quite well, eh?

Gabrielle.

A pretty young woman with a fretful little face expressive of extreme dissatisfaction with the world—looking at Smythe spiritlessly. This is a treat. Why, you haven’t been to see us for ages.

Smythe.

Cunningly. I see you all far oftener than you suspect.

Gabrielle.

Do you? That is sly of you.

Smythe.

Leaving her. I’m just going to have a wash and brush up.

Gabrielle.

Really? Oh, you are full of news.

He departs as de Castro approaches Gabrielle.

De Castro.

In a low voice. Hullo, Gabth! How are you to-night?

Gabrielle.

Oh, I’m all right, I s’pose. Isn’t it hot?

De Castro.

Not at his ease with her. It ith inclined that way.

Daphne Dure, Nita Trevenna, Douglas Glynn, and Albert Palk enter at the door on the left. Nita is a tall, handsome girl, Daphne a plump, little, fair, baby-faced thing. They are charmingly dressed, as are all the ladies of the Pandora Theatre. Glynn and Palk—the latter a short, thick-set man who might reasonably be a low comedian—are two professional-looking gentlemen of the best class. The arrivals are warmly hailed by Fulkerson, Von Rettenmayer, Heneage, and Grimwood and, with more reserve, by Mrs. Stidulph. Stidulph has seated himself wearily in the armchair on the nearer side of the fireplace and, beyond listening to Bland who is talking to him, has withdrawn himself from the proceedings.

Fulkerson.

To Farncombe. Here’s Daphne Dure—and Nita Trevenna. Going to the new comers. Hullo, Daphne! Hullo, Nita! How’r’yer, Douglas! Hullo, Albert!

Daphne and Nita.

How d’ye do, Bertie? To Von Rettenmayer. How d’ye do, Von?

Von Rettenmayer.

Kissing their hands. Dear ladies! To Glynn and Palk. Aha, Mr. Glynn—Mr. Balk—!

Daphne and Nita.

To Heneage and Grimwood. How d’ye do, Stewie? How d’ye do, Jerry? To Mrs. Stidulph. Oh, Dolly! That you, Dolly?

Mrs. Stidulph.

Well, girls!

Fulkerson.

Here! I want to introdooce Lord Farncombe. Miss Dure—Miss Trevenna—Lord Farncombe. Douglas—Albert—Lord Farncombe.

Nita.

Pouncing upon Cooling. I say, Morris!

Cooling.

What is it, my dear?

Nita.

Is it true that little Kennedy’s met with an accident?

Cooling.

Yes; can’t join us.

Fulkerson.

The Dwarf! What’s happened?

Cooling.

Ran his car into a ’bus, just outside the theatre.

Nita.

Oh!

Cooling.

Pitched himself forward on to his head.

Nita.

His head!

Daphne.

With a simper. Don’t be anxious, Nita; there’s nothing to hurt there.

Von Rettenmayer.

Poor Dwarf!

Gabrielle and de Castro now move over to the others.

Fulkerson.

Hullo, Gabs! Hullo, Sam!

Gabrielle.

Ah, Bertie!

Von Rettenmayer.

Kissing Gabrielle’s hand. Gabrielle!

Gabrielle.

Ah, Von! To Heneage and Grimwood. Ah, boys! To Mrs. Stidulph. How’r’ you?

De Castro.

Shaking hands. Daphne—Nita—Douglath—Albert—!

Fulkerson.

I want to introdooce Lord Farncombe. Miss Kato—Lord Farncombe——

A band of musicians have mustered upon the landing and there is the sound of the tuning of instruments.

Cooling.

Hurrying across to the double-door. No, no; no music yet. Wait for Miss Parradell! As he reaches the double-door, Roper enters quickly at the right-hand door at the back and seizes his arm. Eh?

Roper.

To Cooling. It’s all right; she’ll be round in a minute.

Cooling.

Amiable?

Roper.

Angelic. She’s wearing a new dress, and that’s taken her mind off it.

Cooling.

Her bark’s always worse than her bite. I knew it ’ud blow over.

Roper.

Formidably. Oh, but I have given her such a talking to! Cooling passes through the double-door, and instructs the leader of the band, while Roper bustles over to the throng on the left. Hul-lo! Imitating a street news-vendor. Speshul edishun, cricket, py-per! Shaking hands all round. Dolly—Nita—Gabs— Daphne! Douglas—Albert! Ah, here you are, Farncombe! Discovering Stidulph. Hul-lo, Colonel! Results, py-per, extry speshul!

Enid Moncreiff, Wilfrid Tavish, and Sigismund Shirley enter at the right-hand door at the back. Enid is a long, spare-figured girl with the lissom walk of a dancer; Tavish and Shirley are tall, clean-shaven men of gentlemanlike appearance. Von Rettenmayer makes for Enid eagerly and is followed, at a more moderate pace, by Heneage, Grimwood, and de Castro, and by Fulkerson bringing Farncombe.

Von Rettenmayer.

Miss Mongreiff! Kissing Enid’s hand with fervour. Your dancing was more zurprizing to-night than ever. To Tavish and Shirley. Aha, my friends!

Enid.

Shaking hands with Heneage, Grimwood, and de Castro. Well, Stew! How are you, Jerry! Sam!

Fulkerson.

I want to introdooce Lord Farncombe. Miss Moncreiff—Lord Farncombe.

Roper.

Hurrying across. Hul-lo, here’s Enid!

De Castro.

Shaking hands with Tavish and Shirley. Piethe went thplendidly thith evenin’, didn’t it?

Fulkerson.

Shaking hands with Tavish and Shirley. I want to introdooce Lord Farncombe. Mr. Tavish—Mr. Shirley—Lord Farncombe.

Enid.

Coming forward to greet Mrs. Stidulph who advances to her. Dolly dear!

Mrs. Stidulph.

Embracing Enid. Enid darling! Good gracious, you’re becoming an absolute skeleton!

Enid.

Indeed? Well,