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

I say, Lil.

Lily.

What?

Gabrielle.

How much did you make out of rubber last year through Lal?

Lily.

Rubber, rubber, rubber? Br-r-r-rh! I don’t know. To Roper. How much?

Roper.

Four-fifty.

Gabrielle.

There!

Lily.

I did my house up with it—gave the job to young Charlie Ramsden who’s gone in for decorating——

Roper.

Yes, and blued the whole lot at one go!

Lily.

Laughing. Blued it completely. Ha, ha, ha! Singing. “What does the blue sea Whisper to me-ee—!” Farncombe appears at her side with the waiter carrying the ices. Ices!

Roper.

Leaving Gabrielle and, with his hands in his pockets, walking about exultingly. Ices, sweets or chocolates, full piano-score! Hul-lo, here! Ha, ha, ha!

Glynn and Olga and de Castro and Evangeline have entered at the right-hand door at the back. Olga and Evangeline seat themselves upon the further settee in the centre and Glynn and de Castro summon a waiter to attend upon them. Shirley and Flo now enter at the door on the left and go to the counter. At the same moment Smythe, Cooling, and Tavish enter at the right-hand door at the back, Smythe smoking a huge cigar. They also stand at the counter and are served with drinks by Luigi. Lily and Gabrielle having each taken an ice, the waiter with the ices moves away and offers his ices to the other ladies. Another waiter carries round a tray on which are a box of cigarettes and the spirit-lamp, and the bearded waiter moves about with the dish of sandwiches. Some of the ladies light cigarettes, a few of the men take sandwiches.

Cooling.

As he enters with Smythe and Tavish. Haw, haw, haw! You’re wonderful, Chief. To Tavish. The Chief’s in great form, Willy. To Stidulph. Colonel, listen to the Chief.

Mrs. Stidulph.

To Von Rettenmayer, confidentially. Of course, this is strictly between ourselves—though I almost hinted as much to Smythe—but the fact is the Pandora isn’t in the least what it was, Karl.

Von Rettenmayer.

Noding is what it was, my dear Dolly, and nobody.

Mrs. Stidulph.

Fanning herself. I suppose he can’t find the artists; that’s it. If you don’t have the artists—! Shutting up her fan. You recollect my “Polly Taggart” in The Merry Milliner?

Von Rettenmayer.

Stifling a yawn. Gharming; gharming.

Farncombe is bending over Lily while she is eating her ice and they are talking lightly but intently. Gabrielle, finding that she is “out of it,” rises with a pout and, carrying her plate, joins the ladies and men who are at the fireplace. Bland enters with Jimmie at the door on the left.

Mrs. Stidulph.

To Von Rettenmayer. I hate blowing my own trumpet, but I was looking through my press-cuttings only yesterday. I’ve never seen such notices as I had for “Polly Taggart.”

Von Rettenmayer.

Closing his eyes. Vavourable?

Mrs. Stidulph.

Favourable! They make me blush to read them. Stupid of me; but they make me blush, positively.

Jimmie comes to Lily, Bland following her. On her way she sees the handkerchief and powder-puff lying upon the floor.

Jimmie.

Why, there it is! Picking up the handkerchief and puff, and rubbing the puff, which is an extremely ragged one, over her nose—singing sentimentally. “There are no friends like the old friends, The constant, tried, and true;—” Sitting beside Lily. Room for a little ’un?

Lily, without interrupting her talk with Farncombe, lays her hand on Jimmie’s for a moment.

Bland.

To Jimmie. Bring you anything?

Jimmie.

Wrapping the puff in the handkerchief tenderly and slipping it into her bosom. A liqueur of petrol and a lucifer-match.

Bland.

Leaving her. Oh, go on!

Mrs. Stidulph.

To Von Rettenmayer. And then to give it all up, as I was idiot enough to do when I married, and for a life as dull as ditch-water! If ever a woman sacrificed herself in this world——!

Fulkerson and Daphne enter at the door on the left and hurry to the counter.

Fulkerson.

Boisterously. Time! Time! To those standing at the counter. ’Low me. ’Low me. To Luigi. Glass o’ lemonade and a whiskey-and-soda. Quick with the whiskey-and-soda.

Mrs. Stidulph.

To Von Rettenmayer. But I don’t intend to stick to that arrangement. If I can’t get back into the theatres, there are the halls! I was telling the Colonel this morning——

Roper.

Appearing before Mrs. Stidulph, his programme in his hand. Ours, Dolly.

Von Rettenmayer.

Rising with alacrity. Aha! Bowing to Mrs. Stidulph. I yield with relugtance.

Roper sits beside Mrs. Stidulph and Von Rettenmayer hastens to Enid.

Roper.

To Mrs. Stidulph. Another waltz.

Daphne.

To Heneage, who is claiming her. Wait till I’ve finished my drink, Stewie.

Bland.

To Nita. Nita.

Nita.

No; this is with Douglas.

Bland.

Nothing o’ the sort.

Nita.

Referring to her programme. You’re correct; my mistake.

De Castro.

Coming to Gabrielle who is talking to Sybil. Gabth.

Gabrielle.

Dolefully. Oh, you again!

De Castro.

Mortified. Afraid tho.

The sound of distant music is again heard, and there is a great deal of bustle as the men claim their partners. Tavish goes to Evangeline, Grimwood to, Flo, Palk and Glynn to Olga and Sybil, and gradually the assemblage melts away.

Fulkerson.

Coming to Jimmie, who is conning her programme, and standing before her—reading from his programme. “Vawlse. Cry dee cure.”

Jimmie.

With withering accuracy. “Valse. Cri de cœur.”

Fulkerson.

Wagging his head. Very likely. Come along, Jimmie.

Jimmie.

Rising and shaking herself out. Jane to you, if you please.

Fulkerson.

Tosh!

Jimmie.

I was christened Jane, Herbert.

Fulkerson.

Well, I wasn’t at the christening, see.

Jimmie.

No; but if you are not more careful of those feet of yours while you’re waltzing, you will be at my funeral.

She takes his arm and they go out at the door on the left. Smythe, Stidulph, Cooling, and Shirley follow, talking together. All the couples have now disappeared except Von Rettenmayer and Enid and Farncombe and Lily. Von Rettenmayer and Enid are at the counter, where Luigi is giving Von Rettenmayer a glass of champagne, and the waiters are busying themselves in collecting the soiled glasses, plates, etc., which have been left upon the mantel-piece and chairs. The bearded waiter comes to Lily and she hands him her plate.

Farncombe.

To Lily. Shall we go down?

She rises, leaving her bouquet upon the settee, and is about to put her arm through Farncombe’s when she checks herself and looks at her programme.

Lily.

Frowning. Tsss!

Farncombe.

Eh?

Lily.

In a low voice. One, two, three, four—! Why, this—this is our fifth dance!

Farncombe.

Softly. Yes.

Lily.

Five out of eight!

Farncombe.

Looking at his programme. And 10, 12, and 14 are mine, too.

Lily.

With a movement of her shoulders, accepting his arm. How unfair!

Farncombe.

As they go to the right-hand door at the back. Unfair?

Lily.

To the others. I can’t think what made me so thoughtless.

They disappear. Two of the waiters carry out the soiled glasses, etc.; another follows with the ices, and the bearded waiter with the strawberries-and-cream. After a while, Luigi also withdraws.

Enid.

Leaving the counter with Von Rettenmayer. Well, what did you say to him?

Von Rettenmayer.

I told him the biece wants lifding in the zecond aggd and that he ought to gif you anoder dance.

Enid.

On the right. What did he say?

Von Rettenmayer.

He will think it over!

Enid.

Scornfully. Ha! That’s Smythe’s invariable formula, cunning old fox!

Von Rettenmayer.

But we are to dalk aboud it lader. I am waiding to ged him alone.

Enid.

Pff! You won’t get him alone, you stupid; he’ll take precious good care of that. Finding that Luigi and the waiters have departed, and walking across to the left. Ah, but it isn’t dancing my mind’s dwelling on just now, dear boy.

Von Rettenmayer.

Following her. Nod?

Enid.

It’s rest I’m yearning for—my holiday!—rest for my weary bones. Turning to him without a sign of disturbance. Karl, I’m simply bursting with rage.

Von Rettenmayer.

Rage?

Enid.

That wretched hotel at Ostend—the Plage! They’ve the confounded impudence to ask me a hundred-and-twenty-five francs a day for two cubby-holes on the third floor, for my aunt and me.

Von Rettenmayer.

Monsdrous. With a shrug. But Ostend is—Ostend.

Enid.

Thanks for the information. Is that all the sympathy you can offer?

Von Rettenmayer.

Bardon. Humbly. There may be gheaper hodels.

Enid.

Where the common people pay for their beds and meals with Cook’s coupons! Sitting upon the arm of the further settee in the centre and swinging her feet. Oh, it doesn’t matter. I suppose it’ll have to be Swanage, or some brisk resort of that description. Sighing. So be it! Humming. Tra, lal, lal, la——!

Von Rettenmayer.

Sitting on the nearer settee in the centre, close to her, with an anxious expression. A hundred-and-twendy-five frangks a day?

Enid.

Including nothing—absolutely nothing!

Von Rettenmayer.

Biting his nails. Prezisely! There’s the eading and dringking.

Enid.

One can’t starve, that’s certain.

Von Rettenmayer.

Which would amound to——?

Enid.

Watching him out of the corner of her eye. I believe aunt and I could manage to feed ourselves on forty francs a day—or fifty—at a pinch.

Von Rettenmayer.

His face growing longer and longer. A hundred-and-twendy-five—and fifdy——

Enid.

A hundred-and-seventy-five. Stroking his hair with a finger. Call it two hundred.

Von Rettenmayer.

Leaning back appalled. Fifdy-sigs bounds a weeg!

Enid.

Sixty, in round figures.

Von Rettenmayer.

For a fordnight?

Enid.

Oh, no, dear; a fortnight’s no use.

Von Rettenmayer.

But one begomes sig of a blace afder a fordnight.

Enid.

If you only go for enjoyment; not if you go for rest—rest.

Von Rettenmayer.

Three weegs, then?

Enid.

A month. Smythe gives me the whole of August.

Von Rettenmayer.

Passing his hand across his forehead. A month!

Enid.

Rising and carefully picking a piece of fluff from her skirt. We’re losing this dance. Shall we have a turn?

He gets to his feet with some difficulty and then faces her.

Von Rettenmayer.

Breathing heavily. Enid——

Enid.

Guilelessly. Yes?

Von Rettenmayer.

Putting his heels together and bowing to her. If you would permid me to be your bangker during your sday at Ostend—four weegs——

Enid.

Karl——

Von Rettenmayer.

I should be mosd gradified.

Enid.

Going to him. I couldn’t. Such an obligation!

Von Rettenmayer.

Bowing again. On my side.

Enid.

Giving him her hands. Of course, I’d defray my travelling expenses, and tips and incidentals——

Von Rettenmayer.

Raising her hands to his lips. Ah!——

Enid.

Not a penny of those should fall on you. Withdrawing her hands quickly and backing away from him. H’sh!

Stidulph enters at the door on the left and again wanders to the counter.

Stidulph.

Taking another cigarette. You’re missing a very pretty waltz, Miss Moncreiff.

Enid.

Going to the door on the left, Von Rettenmayer following her. I was just saying so to the Baron.

Enid and Von Rettenmayer disappear. Stidulph lights his cigarette and is leaving the counter when Gabrielle and de Castro enter at the right-hand door at the back, de Castro looking exceedingly sulky.

Stidulph.

To Gabrielle and de Castro. Ah, Miss Kato; ah, Sam! A pleasant party, eh?

De Castro.

Shortly. Yeth. Stidulph goes out at the right-hand door at the back. De Castro crosses to the left and then turns to Gabrielle. Dam pleathant