THE THIRD ACT

The first scene is the Magistrate’s room at Mulberry Street Police Court, with a doorway covered by curtains, leading directly into the Court, and a door opening into a passage. It is the morning after the events of the last Act.

Police Sergeant Lugg, a middle-aged man with a slight country dialect, enters with “The Times” newspaper, and proceeds to cut it and glance at its contents, while he hums a song.

Mr. Wormington, an elderly, trim and precise man, enters.

Mr. Wormington.

Good morning, Lugg.

Lugg.

Morning, Mr. Wormington.

Mr. Wormington.

Mr. Posket not arrived yet?

Lugg.

Not yet, sir. Hullo! [Reading.] “Raid on a West End Hotel.—At an early hour this morning——”

Mr. Wormington.

Yes, I’ve read that—a case of assault upon the police.

Lugg.

Why, these must be the folks who’ve been so precious rampageous all night.

Mr. Wormington.

Very likely.

Lugg.

Yes, sir, protestin’ and protestin’ till they protested everybody’s sleep away. Nice-looking women, too, though, as I tell Mrs. Lugg, now-a-days there’s no telling who’s the lady and who isn’t. Who’s got this job, sir?

Mr. Wormington.

Inspector Messiter.

Lugg.

Messiter! That’s luck! Why he’s the worst elocutionist in the force, sir.[*] [As he arranges the newspaper upon the table, he catches sight of Mr. Wormington’s necktie, which is bright red.] Well, I—excuse me, Mr. Wormington, but all the years I’ve had the honour of knowin’ you, sir, I’ve never seen you wear a necktie with, so to speak, a dash of colour in it.

* A City magistrate, censuring a constable for the indistinctness of his utterances in the witness box, suggested that the police should be instructed in a method of delivering evidence articulately.

Mr. Wormington.

Well, Lugg, no, that’s true, but to-day is an exceptional occasion with me. It is, in fact, the twenty-fifth anniversary of my marriage, and I thought it due to Mrs. Wormington to vary, in some slight degree, the sombreness of my attire. I confess I am a little uneasy in case Mr. Posket should consider it at all disrespectful to the Court.

Lugg.

Not he, sir.

Mr. Wormington.

I don’t know. Mr. Posket is punctiliousness itself in dress, and his cravat’s invariably black. However, it is not every man who has a silver wedding-day.

Lugg.

It’s not every one as wants one, sir.

[Mr. Wormington goes out; at the same moment Mr. Posket enters quickly, and leans on his chair as if exhausted. His appearance is extremely wretched; he is still in evening dress, but his clothes are muddy, and his linen soiled and crumpled, while across the bridge of his nose he has a small strip of black plaster.

Mr. Posket.

[Faintly.] Good morning, Lugg.

Lugg.

Good morning to you, sir. Regretting the liberty I’m taking, sir—I’ve seen you look more strong and hearty.

Mr. Posket.

I am fairly well, thank you, Lugg. My night was rather—rather disturbed. Lugg!

Lugg.

Sir?

Mr. Posket.

Have any inquiries been made about me, this morning—any messenger from Mrs. Posket, for instance, to ask how I am?

Lugg.

No, sir.

Mr. Posket.

Oh! my child, my stepson, young Mr. Farringdon, has not called, has he?

Lugg.

No, sir.

Mr. Posket.

[To himself.] Where can that boy be? [To Lugg.] Thank you, that’s all.

Lugg.

[Who has been eyeing Mr. Posket with astonishment, goes to the door, and then touches the bridge of his nose.] Nasty cut while shavin’, sir?

[Lugg goes out.

Mr. Posket.

Where can that boy have got to? If I could only remember how, when, and where we parted! I think it was at Kilburn. Let me think—first, the kitchen. [Putting his hand to his side as if severely bruised.] Oh! Cis was all right, because I fell underneath; I felt it was my duty to do so. Then what occurred? A dark room, redolent of onions and cabbages and paraffine oil, and Cis dragging me over the stone floor, saying, “We’re in the scullery, Guv; let’s try and find the tradesmen’s door.” Next, the night air—oh, how refreshing! “Cis, my boy, we will both learn a lesson from to-night—never deceive.” Where are we? In Argyll Street. “Look out, Guv, they’re after us.” Then—then, as Cis remarked when we were getting over the railings of Portman Square—then the fun began. We over into the square—they after us. Over again, into Baker Street. Down Baker Street. Curious recollections, whilst running, of my first visit, as a happy child, to Madame Tussaud’s, and wondering whether her removal had affected my fortunes. “Come on, Guv—you’re getting blown.” Where are we? Park Road. What am I doing? Getting up out of puddle. St. John’s Wood. The cricket-ground. “I say, Guv, what a run this would be at Lord’s, wouldn’t it? and no fear of being run out either, more fear of being run in.” “What road is this, Cis?” Maida Vale. Good gracious! A pious aunt of mine once lived in Hamilton Terrace; she never thought I should come to this. “Guv?” “Yes, my boy.” “Let’s get this kind-hearted coffee-stall keeper to hide us.” We apply. “Will you assist two unfortunate gentlemen?” “No, blowed if I will.” “Why not?” “ ’Cos I’m agoin’ to join in the chase after you.” Ah! Off again, along Maida Vale! On, on, heaven knows how or where, ’till at last, no sound of pursuit, no Cis, no breath, and the early Kilburn buses starting to town. Then I came back again, and not much too soon for the Court. [Going up to the washstand and looking into the little mirror, with a low groan.] Oh, how shockingly awful I look, and how stiff and sore I feel! [Taking off his coat and hanging it on a peg, then washing his hands.] What a weak and double-faced creature to be a magistrate! I really ought to get some member of Parliament to ask a question about me in the House. Where’s the soap? I shall put five pounds and costs into the poor’s box to-morrow. But I deserve a most severe caution. Ah, perhaps I shall get that from Agatha. [He takes off his white tie, rolls it up and crams it into his pocket.] When Wormington arrives I will borrow some money and send out for a black cravat! All my pocket money is in my overcoat at the Hotel des Princes. If the police seize it there is some consolation in knowing that that money will never be returned to me. [There is a knock at the door.] Come in!

Lugg enters.

Lugg.

Your servant, Mr. Wyke, wants to see you, sir

Mr. Posket.

Bring him in. [Lugg goes out.] Wyke! From Agatha! From Agatha!

Lugg re-enters with Wyke.

Wyke.

Ahem! Good morning, sir.

Mr. Posket.

Good morning, Wyke. Ahem! Is Master Farringdon quite well?

Wyke.

He hadn’t arrived home, when I left, sir.

Mr. Posket.

Oh! Where is that boy? [To Wyke.] How’s your mistress this morning, Wyke?

Wyke.

Very well, I hope, sir; she ain’t come home yet, either.

Mr. Posket.

Not returned—nor Miss Verrinder?

Wyke.

No, sir—neither of them.

Mr. Posket.

[To himself.] Lady Jenkins is worse, they are still nursing her! Good women, true women!

Wyke.

[To himself.] That’s eased his deceivin’ old mind.

Mr. Posket.

[To himself.] Now, if the servants don’t betray me and Cis returns safely, the worst is over. To what a depth I have fallen when I rejoice at Lady Jenkins’ indisposition!

Wyke.

Cook thought you ought to know that the mistress hadn’t come home, sir.

Mr. Posket.

Certainly. Take a cab at once to Campden Hill and bring me back word how poor Lady Jenkins is. Tell Mrs. Posket I will come on the moment the Court rises.

Wyke.

Yes, sir.

Mr. Posket.

And, Wyke. It is not at all necessary that Mrs. Posket should know of my absence with Master Farringdon from home last night. Mrs. Posket’s present anxieties are more than sufficient. Inform Cook, and Popham, and the other servants that I shall recognise their discretion in the same spirit I have already displayed towards you.

Wyke.

[With sarcasm.] Thank you, sir. I will. [He produces from his waistcoat-pocket a small packet of money done up in newspaper, which he throws down upon the table.] Meanwhile, sir, I thought you would like to count up the little present of money you gave me last night, and in case you thought you’d been over-liberal, sir, you might halve the amount. It isn’t no good spoiling of us all, sir.

Lugg enters.

Mr. Posket.

You are an excellent servant, Wyke; I am very pleased. I will see you when you return from Lady Jenkins’s. Be quick.

Wyke.

Yes, sir. [To himself.] He won’t give me twopence again in a hurry.

[He goes out; Lugg is about to follow.

Mr. Posket.

Oh, Lugg, I want you to go to the nearest hosier’s and purchase me a neat cravat.

Lugg.

[Looking inquisitively at Mr. Posket.] A necktie, sir?

Mr. Posket.

Yes. [Turning up his coat collar to shield himself from Lugg’s gaze.] A necktie—a necktie.

Lugg.

What sort of a kind of one, sir?

Mr. Posket.

Oh, one like Mr. Wormington’s.

Lugg.

One like he’s wearing this morning, sir?

Mr. Posket.

Of course, of course, of course.

Lugg.

[To himself.] Fancy him being jealous of Mr. Wormington, now. Very good, sir—what price, sir?

Mr. Posket.

The best. [To himself.] There now, I’ve no money. [Seeing the packet on table.] Oh, pay for it with this, Lugg.

Lugg.

Yes, sir.

Mr. Posket.

And keep the change for your trouble.

Lugg.

Thank you, sir; thank you, sir—very much obliged to you, sir. [To himself.] That’s like a liberal gentleman.

[Lugg goes out as Mr. Wormington enters through the curtains with the charge sheet in his hand. Mr. Wormington, on seeing Mr. Posket, uneasily tucks his pocket-handkerchief in his collar so as to hide his necktie.

Mr. Wormington.

H’m! Good morning.

Mr. Posket.

Good morning, Wormington.

Mr. Wormington.

The charge sheet.

Mr. Posket.

Sit down.

[Mr. Wormington puts on his spectacles; Mr. Posket also attempts to put on his spectacles, but hurts the bridge of his nose, winces, and desists.

Mr. Posket.

[To himself.] My nose is extremely painful. [To Mr. Wormington.] You have a bad cold I am afraid, Wormington—bronchial?

Mr. Wormington.

Ahem! Well—ah—the fact is—you may have noticed how very chilly the nights are.

Mr. Posket.

Very, very.

Mr. Wormington.

The only way to maintain the circulation is to run as fast as one can.

Mr. Posket.

To run—as fast as one can—yes—quite so.

Mr. Wormington.

[To himself, looking at Mr. Posket’s shirt front.] How very extraordinary—he is wearing no cravat whatever!

Mr. Posket.

[Buttoning up his coat to avoid Mr. Wormington’s gaze.] Anything important this morning?

Mr. Wormington.

Nothing particular after the first charge, a serious business arising out of the raid on the “Hotel des Princes.”

Mr. Posket.

[Starting.] “Hotel des Princes?”

Mr. Wormington.

Inspector Messiter found six persons supping there at one o’clock this morning. Two contrived to escape.

Mr. Posket.

Dear me—I am surprised—I mean, did they?

Mr. Wormington.

But they left their overcoats behind them, and it is believed they will be traced.

Mr. Posket.

Oh, do you—do you think it is worth while? The police have a great deal to occupy them just now.

Mr. Wormington.

But surely if the police see their way to capture anybody we had better raise no obstacle.

Mr. Posket.

No—no—quite so—never struck me.

Mr. Wormington.

[Referring to charge sheet.] The remaining four it was found necessary to take into custody.

Mr. Posket.

Good gracious! What a good job the other two didn’t wait. I beg your pardon—I mean—you say we have four?

Mr. Wormington.

Yes, on the charge of obstructing the police. The first assault occurred in the supper-room—the second in the four-wheeled cab on the way to the station. There were five persons in the cab at the time—the two women, the two men, and the Inspector.

Mr. Posket.

Dear me, it must have been a very complicated assault. Who are the unfortunate people?

Mr. Wormington.

The men are of some position. [Reading.] “Alexander Lukyn, Colonel”——

Mr. Posket.

Lukyn! I—I—know Colonel Lukyn; we are old schoolfellows.

Mr. Wormington.

Very sad! [Reading.] The other is “Horace, &c. &c. Vale—Captain—Shropshire Fusiliers.”

Mr. Posket.

And the ladies?

Mr. Wormington.

Call themselves, “Alice Emmeline Fitzgerald and Harriet Macnamara.”

Mr. Posket.

[To himself.] Which is the lady who was under the table with me?

Mr. Wormington.

They are not recognised by the police at present, but they furnish incorrect addresses, and their demeanour is generally violent and unsatisfactory.

Mr. Posket.

[To himself.] Who pinched me—Alice or Harriet?

Mr. Wormington.

I mention this case because it seems to be one calling for most stringent measures.

Mr. Posket.

Wouldn’t a fine, and a severe warning from the Bench, to the two persons who have got away——

Mr. Wormington.

I think not. Consider, Mr. Posket, not only defying the licensing laws, but obstructing the police!

Mr. Posket.

That’s true—it is hard, when the police are doing anything, that they should be obstructed.

Lugg enters.

Lugg.

[Attempting to conceal some annoyance.] Your necktie, sir.

Mr. Posket.

S-ssh!

Mr. Wormington.

[To himself.] Then he came without one—dear me!

Lugg.

[Clapping down a paper parcel on the table.] As near like Mr. Wormington’s as possible—brighter if anything.

Mr. Posket.

[Opening the parcel, and finding a very common, gaudy neckkerchief.] Good gracious! What a horrible affair!

Lugg.

According to my information, sir—like Mr. Wormington’s.

Mr. Posket.

Mr. Wormington would never be seen in such an abominable colour.

Mr. Wormington.

Well—really—I—[Removing the handkerchief from his throat.] I am extremely sorry.

Mr. Posket.

My dear Wormington!

Mr. Wormington.

I happen to be wearing something similar—the first time for five-and-twenty years.

Mr. Posket.

Oh, I beg your pardon. [To himself.] Everything seems against me.

Lugg.

One-and-nine it come to, sir. [Producing the paper packet of money and laying it upon the table.] And I brought back all the money you gave me, thinking you’d like to look over it quietly. Really, sir, I never showed up smaller in any shop in all my life!

Mr. Posket.

Upon my word. First one and then another! What is wrong with the money. [Opens the packet.] Twopence! [To himself.] That man Wyke will tell all to Agatha! Oh, everything is against me.

[Lugg has opened the door, taken a card from some one outside, and handed it to Mr. Wormington.

Mr. Wormington.

From cell No. 3.

[Handing the card to Mr. Posket.

Mr. Posket.

[Reading.] “Dear Posket, for the love of goodness see me before the sitting of the Court. Alexander Lukyn.” Poor dear Lukyn! What on earth shall I do?

Mr. Wormington.

Such a course would be most unusual.

Mr. Posket.

Everything is unusual. Your cravat is unusual. This prisoner is invited to dine at my house to-day—that’s peculiar. He is my wife’s first husband’s only child’s god-father—that’s a little out of the ordinary.

Mr. Wormington.

The charge is so serious!

Mr. Posket.

But I am a man as well as a magistrate, advise me, Wormington, advise me!

Mr. Wormington.

Well—you can apply to yourself for permission to grant Colonel Lukyn’s request.

Mr. Posket.

[Hastily scribbling on Lukyn’s card.] I do—I do—and after much conflicting argument I consent to see Colonel Lukyn here, immediately. [Handing the card to Mr. Wormington who passes it to Lugg, who then goes out.] Don’t leave me, Wormington—you must stand by me to see that I remain calm, firm, and judicial. [He hastily puts on the red necktie in an untidy manner.] Poor Lukyn, I must sink the friend in the magistrate, and in dealing with his errors apply the scourge to myself. [To Mr. Wormington.] Wormington, tap me on the shoulder when I am inclined to be more than usually unusual.

[Mr. Wormington stands behind him, and Lugg enters with Lukyn. Lukyn’s dress-clothes are much soiled and disordered, and he, too, has a small strip of plaster upon the bridge of his nose. There is a constrained pause, Lukyn and Mr. Posket both cough.

Lukyn.

[To himself.] Poor Posket!

Mr. Posket.

[To himself.] Poor Lukyn!

Lukyn.

[To himself.] I suppose he has been sitting up for his wife all night, poor devil! [To Mr. Posket.] Ahem! How are you, Posket?

[Mr. Wormington touches Mr. Posket’s shoulder.

Mr. Posket.

I regret to see you in this terrible position, Colonel Lukyn.

Lukyn.

By George, old fellow, I regret to find myself in it. [Sitting, and taking up newspaper.] I suppose they’ve got us in the “Times,” confound ’em!

[While Lukyn is reading the paper, Mr. Posket and Mr. Wormington hold a hurried consultation respecting Lukyn’s behaviour.

Mr. Posket.

H’m! [To Lugg.] Sergeant, I think Colonel Lukyn may be accommodated with a chair.

Lugg.

He’s in it, sir.

Lukyn.

[Rising and putting down paper.] Beg your pardon, forgot where I was. I suppose everything must be formal in this confounded place?

Mr. Posket.

I am afraid, Colonel Lukyn, it will be necessary even here to preserve strictly our unfortunate relative positions. [Lukyn bows.] Sit down. [Lukyn sits again. Posket takes up the charge sheet.] Colonel Lukyn! In addressing you now, I am speaking, not as a man, but, as an instrument of the law. As a man I may, or may not, be a weak, vicious, despicable creature.

Lukyn.

Certainly—of course.

Mr. Posket.

But, as a magistrate I am bound to say you fill me with pain and astonishment.

Lukyn.

Quite right—every man to his trade, go on, Posket.

Mr. Posket.

[Turning his chair to face Lukyn.] Alexander Lukyn—when I look at you—when I look at you—— [He attempts to put on his spectacles.] Ah—my nose. [To Lukyn.] I say, when I look at you, Alexander Lukyn, I confront a most mournful spectacle. A military officer, trained in the ways of discipline and smartness, now, in consequence of his own misdoings, lamentably bruised and battered, shamefully disfigured by plaster, with his apparel soiled and damaged—all terrible evidence of a conflict with that power of which I am the representative.

Lukyn.

[Turning his chair to face Mr. Posket.] Well, Posket, if it comes to that, when I look at you, when I look at you—[He attempts to fix his glass in his eye.] Confound my nose! [To Mr. Posket.] When I look at you, you are not a very imposing object, this morning.

Mr. Posket.

Lukyn!

Lukyn.

You look quite as shaky as I do—and you’re not quite innocent of court plaster.

Mr. Posket.

Lukyn! Really!

Lukyn.

And as for our attire, we neither of us look as if we had slipped out of a bandbox.

Mr. Posket.

Don’t, Lukyn, don’t! Pray respect my legal status! [Mr. Wormington leads Mr. Posket, who has risen, back to his seat.] Thank you, Wormington. Alexander Lukyn, I have spoken. It remains for you to state your motive in seeking this painful interview.

Lukyn.

Certainly! H’m! You know, of course, that I am not alone in this affair?

Mr. Posket.

[Referring to charge sheet.] Three persons appear to be charged with you.

Lukyn.

Yes. Two others got away. Cowards! If ever I find them, I’ll destroy them!

Mr. Posket.

Lukyn!

Lukyn.

I will! Another job for you, Posket.

Mr. Posket.

[With dignity.] I beg your pardon, in the event of such a deplorable occurrence, I should not occupy my present position. Go on, sir.

Lukyn.

Horace Vale and I are prepared to stand the brunt of our misdeeds. But, Posket, there are ladies in the case.

Mr. Posket.

In the annals of the Mulberry Street Police Court such a circumstance is not unprecedented.

Lukyn.

Two helpless, forlorn ladies.

Mr. Posket.

[Referring to charge sheet.] Alice Emmeline Fitzgerald and Harriet Macnamara. Oh, Lukyn, Lukyn!

Lukyn.

Pooh! I ask no favour for myself or Vale, but I come to you, Posket, to beg you to use your power to release these two ladies without a moment’s delay.

[Mr. Wormington touches Mr. Posket’s shoulder.

Mr. Posket.

Upon my word, Lukyn! Do you think I am to be undermined?

Lukyn.

Undermine the devil, sir! Don’t talk to me! Let these ladies go, I say! Don’t bring them into Court, don’t see their faces—don’t hear their voices—if you do, you’ll regret it!

Mr. Posket.

Colonel Lukyn!

Lukyn.

[Leaning across the table and gripping Mr. Posket by the shoulder.] Posket, do you know that one of these ladies is a married lady?

Mr. Posket.

Of course I don’t, sir. I blush to hear it.

Lukyn.

And do you know that from the moment this married lady steps into your confounded Court, the happiness, the contentment of a doting husband, become a confounded wreck and ruin?

Mr. Posket.

Then, sir, let it be my harrowing task to open the eyes of this foolish doting man to the treachery, the perfidy, which nestles upon his very hearthrug!

Lukyn.

Oh, lor’! Be careful, Posket! By George, be careful!

Mr. Posket.

Alexander Lukyn, you are my friend. Amongst the personal property taken from you when you entered these precincts may have been found a memorandum of an engagement to dine at my house to-night at a quarter to eight o’clock. But, Lukyn, I solemnly prepare you, you stand in danger of being late for dinner! I go further—I am not sure, after this morning’s proceedings, that Mrs. Posket will be ready to receive you.

Lukyn.

I’m confoundedly certain she won’t!

Mr. Posket.

Therefore, Lukyn, as an English husband and father it will be my duty to teach you and your disreputable companions [referring to charge-sheet], Alice Emmeline Fitzgerald and Harriet Macnamara, some rudimentary notions of propriety and decorum.

Lukyn.

Confound you, Posket—listen!

Mr. Posket.

I am listening, sir, to the guiding voice of Mrs. Posket—that newly-made wife still blushing from the embarrassment of her second marriage, and that voice says, “Strike for the sanctity of hearth and home, for the credit of the wives of England—no mercy!”

Mr. Wormington.

It is time to go into Court, sir. The charge against Colonel Lukyn is first on the list.

Lukyn.

Posket, I’ll give you one last chance! If I write upon a scrap of paper the real names of these two unfortunate ladies, will you shut yourself up for a moment, away from observation, and read these names before you go into Court?

Mr. Posket.

Certainly not, Colonel Lukyn! I cannot be influenced by private information in dealing with an offence which is, in my opinion, as black as—as my cravat! Ahem!

[Mr. Wormington and Mr. Posket look at each other’s necktie and turn up their collars hastily.

Lukyn.

[To himself.] There’s no help for it. [To Mr. Posket.] Then Posket, you must have the plain truth where you stand, by George! The two ladies who are my companions in this affair are——

Mr. Posket.

Sergeant! Colonel Lukyn will now join his party.

[Lugg steps up to Lukyn sharply.

Lukyn.

[Boiling with indignation.] What, sir? What?

Mr. Posket.

Lukyn, I think we both have engagements—will you excuse me?

Lukyn.

Posket! You’ve gone too far! If you went down on your knees, which you appear to have been recently doing, and begged the names of these two ladies, you shouldn’t have ’em! No sir, by George, you shouldn’t.

Mr. Posket.

Good morning, Colonel Lukyn.

Lukyn.

You’ve lectured me, pooh-poohed me, snubbed me—a soldier, sir—a soldier! But when I think of your dinner-party to-night, with my empty chair, like Banquo, by George, sir—and the chief dish composed of a well-browned, well-basted, family skeleton, served up under the best silver cover, I pity you, Posket! Good morning!

[He marches out with Lugg.

Mr. Posket.

Ah! Thank goodness that ordeal is passed. Now, Wormington, I think I am ready to face the duties of the day! Shall we go into Court?

Mr. Wormington.

Certainly, sir.

[Mr. Wormington gathers up papers from the table. Mr. Posket with a shaking hand pours out water from carafe and drinks.

Mr. Posket.

My breakfast. [To Mr. Wormington.] I hope I defended the sanctity of the Englishman’s hearth, Wormington?

Mr. Wormington.

You did, indeed. As a married man, I thank you.

Mr. Posket.

Give me your arm, Wormington! I am not very well this morning, and this interview with Colonel Lukyn has shaken me. I think your coat-collar is turned up, Wormington.

Mr. Wormington.

So is yours, I fancy, sir.

Mr. Posket.

Ahem!

[They turn their collars down; Mr. Posket takes Mr. Wormington’s arm. They are going towards the curtains when Wyke enters hurriedly at the door.

Wyke.

Excuse me, sir.

Mr. Wormington.

Hush! hush! Mr. Posket is just going into Court.

Wyke.

Lady Jenkins has sent me back to tell you that she hasn’t seen the missis for the last week or more.

Mr. Posket.

Mrs. Posket went to Campden Hill with Miss Verrinder last night!

Wyke.

They haven’t arrived there, sir.

Mr. Posket.

Haven’t arrived!

Wyke.

No sir—and even a slow four-wheeler won’t account for that.

Mr. Posket.

Wormington! there’s something wrong! Mrs. Posket quitted a fairly happy home last night and has not been seen or heard of since!

Mr. Wormington.

Pray don’t be anxious, sir, the Court is waiting.

Mr. Posket.

But I am anxious! Tell Sergeant Lugg to look over the Accident-Book, this morning’s Hospital Returns, List of Missing Children, Suspicious Pledges People left Chargeable to the Parish, Attend to your Window Fastenings——! I—I—Wormington, Mrs. Posket and I disagreed last night.

Mr. Wormington.

Don’t think of it, sir! you should hear me and Mrs. Wormington! Pray do come into Court.

Mr. Posket.

Court! I’m totally unfit for business! totally unfit for business!

[Mr. Wormington hurries him off through the curtains. Lugg enters, almost breathless.

Lugg.

We’ve got charge one in the Dock—all four of ’em. [Seeing Wyke.] Hallo! you back again!

Wyke.

Yes—seems so. [They stand facing each other, dabbing their foreheads with their handkerchiefs.] Phew! you seem warm.

Lugg.

Phew! you don’t seem so cool.

Wyke.

I’ve been lookin’ after two ladies.

Lugg.

So have I.

Wyke.

I haven’t found ’em.

Lugg.

If I’d known, I’d a been pleased to lend you our two.

[From the other side of the curtains there is the sound of a shriek from Agatha Posket and Charlotte.

Wyke.

Lor’! what’s that!

Lugg.

That is our two. Don’t notice them—they’re hystericals. They’re mild now to what they have been. I say, old fellow—is your guv’nor all right in his head?

Wyke.

I suppose so—why?

Lugg.

I’ve a partickler reason for asking. Does he ever tell you to buy him anything and keep the change?

Wyke.

What d’yer mean?

Lugg.

Well, does he ever come down handsome for your extry exertion—do you ever get any tips?

Wyke.

Rather. What do you think he made me a present of last night?

Lugg.

Don’t know.

Wyke.

Twopence—to buy a new umbrella.

Lugg.

Well, I’m blessed! And he gave me the same sum to get him a silk necktie. It’s my opinion he’s got a softening of the brain. [Another shriek from the two women, a cry from Mr. Posket, and then a hubbub are heard. Running up to the curtains and looking through.] Hallo! what’s wrong? Here! I told you so—he’s broken out, he’s broken out.

Wyke.

Who’s broken out?

Lugg.

The lunatic. Keep back, I’m wanted.

[He goes through the curtains.

Wyke.

[Looking after him.] Look at the guv’nor waving his arms and going on anyhow at the prisoners! Prisoners! Gracious goodness—it’s the missis!

[Amid a confused sound of voices Mr. Posket is brought in, through the curtains, by Mr. Wormington. Lugg follows.

Mr. Posket.

Wormington! Wormington! the two ladies! the two ladies! I know them!

Mr. Wormington.

It’s all right, sir, it’s all right—don’t be upset, sir!

Mr. Posket.

I’m not well; what shall I do?

Mr. Wormington.

Nothing further, sir. What you have done is quite in form.

Mr. Posket.

What I have done?

Mr. Wormington.

Yes, sir—you did precisely what I suggested—took the words from me. They pleaded guilty.

Mr. Posket.

Guilty!

Mr. Wormington.

Yes, sir—and you sentenced them.

Mr. Posket.

Sentenced them! The ladies!

Mr. Wormington.

Yes, sir. You’ve given them seven days, without the option of a fine.

[Mr. Posket collapses into Mr. Wormington’s arms.

THE SECOND SCENE.

The scene changes to Mr. Posket’s drawing-room, as in the first act.

Beatie enters timidly, dressed in simple walking-costume.

Beatie.

How dreadfully early. Eleven o’clock, and I’m not supposed to come till four. I wonder why I want to instruct Cis all day. I’m not nearly so enthusiastic about the two little girls I teach in Russell Square.

Popham enters. Her eyes are red as if from crying.

Popham.

[Drawing back on seeing Beatie.] That music person again. I beg your pardon—I ain’t got no instructions to prepare no drawing-room for no lessons till four o’clock.

Beatie.

I wish to see Mrs. Posket.

Popham.

She hasn’t come home.

Beatie.

Oh then—er—um—Master Farringdon will do.

Popham.

[In tears.] He haven’t come home either!

Beatie.

Oh, where is he?

Popham.

No one knows! His wicked old stepfather took him out late last night and hasn’t returned him. Such a night as it was, too, and him still wearing his summer under-vests.

Beatie.

Mr. Posket?

Popham.

Mr. Posket—no, my Cis!

Beatie.

How dare you speak of Master Farringdon in that familiar way?

Popham.

How dare I? Because me and him formed an attachment before ever you darkened our doors. [Taking a folded printed paper from her pocket.] You may put down the iron ’eel too heavy, Miss Tomlinson. I refer you to Bow Bells—“First Love is Best Love; or, The Earl’s Choice.”

[As Popham offers the paper, Cis enters, looking very pale, worn-out, and dishevelled.

Popham and Beatie.

Oh!

Cis.

[Staggering to a chair.] Where’s the mater?

Popham.

Not home yet.

Cis.

Thank giminy!

Beatie.

He’s ill!

Popham.

Oh!

[Beatie, assisted by Popham, quickly wheels the large armchair forward, they catch hold of Cis and place him in it, he submits limply.

Beatie.

[Taking Cis’s hand.] What is the matter, Cis dear? Tell Beatie.

Popham.

[Taking his other hand.] Well, I’m sure! Who’s given you raisins and ketchup from the store cupboard? Come back to Emma!

[Cis, with his eyes closed, gives a murmur.

Beatie.

He’s whispering!

[They both bob their heads down to listen.

Popham.

He says his head’s a-whirling.

Beatie.

Put him on the sofa.

[They take off his boots, loosen his necktie, and dab his forehead with water out of a flower-vase.

Cis.

I—I—I wish you two girls would leave off.

Beatie.

He’s speaking again. He hasn’t had any breakfast! He’s hungry!

Popham.

Hungry! I thought he looked thin! Wait a minute, dear! Emma Popham knows what her boy fancies!

[She runs out of the room.

Cis.

Oh, Beatie, hold my head while I ask you something.

Beatie.

Yes, darling!

Cis.

No lady would marry a gentleman who had been a convict, would she?

Beatie.

No; certainly not!

Cis.

I thought not! Well, Beatie, I’ve been run after by a policeman.

Beatie.

[Leaving him.] Oh!

Cis.

Not caught, you know, only run after; and, walking home from Hendon this morning, I came to the conclusion that I ought to settle down in life. Beatie—could I write out a paper promising to marry you when I’m one-and-twenty?

Beatie.

Don’t be a silly boy—of course you could.

Cis.

Then I shall; and when I feel inclined to have a spree, I shall think of that paper and say, “Cis Farringdon, if you ever get locked up, you’ll lose the most beautiful girl in the world.”

Beatie.

And so you will.

[He goes to the writing-table.

Cis.

I’d better write it now, before my head gets well again.

[He writes; she bends over him.

Beatie.

You simple, foolish, Cis! If your head is so queer, shall I tell you what to say?

Popham enters, carrying a tray with breakfast dishes.

Popham.

[To herself.] He won’t think so much of her now. His breakfast is my triumph. [To Cis.] Coffee, bacon, and a teacake.

Beatie.

Hush! Master Farringdon is writing something very important.

Popham.

[Going to the window.] That’s a cab at our door.

Cis.

It must be the mater—I’m off!

[He picks up his boots and goes out quickly.

Beatie.

[Following him with the paper and inkstand.] Cis! Cis! You haven’t finished the promise! You haven’t finished the promise!

Lugg.

[Heard outside.] All right, sir—I’ve got you—I’ve got you.

[Popham opens the door.

Popham.

The master and a policeman! [Lugg enters supporting Mr. Posket who sinks into an armchair with a groan.] Oh, what’s the matter?

Lugg.

All right, my good girl, you run downstairs and fetch a drop of brandy and water.

Mr. Posket.

[Hurrying out.] Oh!

Lugg.

Now don’t take on so, sir. It’s what might happen to any married gentleman. Now, you’re all right now, sir. And I’ll hurry back to the Court to see whether they’ve sent for Mr. Bullamy.

Mr. Posket.

My wife! My wife!

Lugg.

Oh, come now, sir, what is seven days! Why many a married gentleman in your position, sir, would have been glad to have made it fourteen.

Mr. Posket.

Go away—leave me.

Lugg.

Certainly, sir. [Popham re-enters with a small tumbler of brandy and water; he takes it from her and drinks it.] It’s not wanted. I’m thankful to say he’s better.

Popham.

[To Lugg.] If you please, cook presents her compliments, and she would be glad of the pleasure of your company downstairs, before leavin’.

[They go out.

Mr. Posket.

Agatha and Lukyn! Agatha and Lukyn supping together at the Hotel des Princes, while I was at home and asleep—while I ought to have been at home and asleep! It’s awful!

Cis.

[Looking in at the door and entering.] Hallo, Guv!

Mr. Posket.

[Starting up.] Cis!

Cis.

Where did you fetch, Guv?

Mr. Posket.

Where did I fetch! You wretched boy! I fetched Kilburn, and I’ll fetch you a sound whipping when I recover my composure.

Cis.

What for?

Mr. Posket.

For leading me astray, sir. Yours is the first bad companionship I have ever formed! Evil communication with you, sir, has corrupted me! [Taking Cis by the collar and shaking him.] Why did you abandon me at Kilburn?

Cis.

Because you were quite done, and I branched off to draw the crowd away from you after me.

Mr. Posket.

Did you, Cis, did you? [Putting his hand on Cis’s shoulder.] My boy—my boy! Oh, Cis, we’re in such trouble!

Cis.

You weren’t caught, Guv?

Mr. Posket.

No—but do you know who the ladies are who were supping at the Hotel des Princes?

Cis.

No—do you?

Mr. Posket.

Do I? They were your mother and Aunt Charlotte.

Cis.

The mater and Aunt Charlotte! Ha, ha, ha! [Laughing and dancing with delight.] Ha! ha! Oh, I say, Guv, what a lark!

Mr. Posket.

A lark! They were taken to the police station!

Cis.

[Changing his tone.] My mother?

Mr. Posket.

They were brought before the magistrate and sentenced.

Cis.

Sentenced?

Mr. Posket.

To seven days’ imprisonment.

Cis.

Oh!

[He puts his hat on fiercely.

Mr. Posket.

What are you going to do?

Cis.

Get my mother out first, and then break every bone in that magistrate’s body.

Mr. Posket.

Cis! Cis! he’s an unhappy wretch and he did his duty.

Cis.

His duty! To send another magistrate’s wife to prison! Guv, I’m only a boy, but I know what professional etiquette is! Come along! Which is the police station?

Mr. Posket.

Mulberry Street.

Cis.

Who’s the magistrate?

Mr. Posket.

I am!

Cis.

You! [Seizing Mr. Posket by the collar and shaking him.] You dare to lock up my mother! Come with me and get her out!

[He is dragging Mr. Posket towards the door, when Mr. Bullamy enters breathlessly.

Mr. Bullamy.

My dear Posket!

Cis.

[Seizing Mr. Bullamy and dragging him with Mr. Posket to the door.] Come with me and get my mother out.

Mr. Bullamy.

Leave me alone, sir! She is out! I managed it.

Mr. Posket and Cis.

[Together.] How?

Mr. Bullamy.

Wormington sent to me when you were taken ill. When I arrived at the Court, he had discovered, from your man-servant, Mrs. Posket’s awful position.

Cis.

You leave my mother alone! Go on!

Mr. Bullamy.

Said I to myself, “This won’t do, I must extricate these people somehow!” [To Mr. Posket.] I’m not so damned conscientious as you are, Posket.

Cis.

Bravo! Go on!

Mr. Bullamy.

[Producing his jujube box.] The first thing I did was to take a jujube.

Cis.

[Snatching the jujube box from him.] Will you make haste?

Mr. Bullamy.

Then said I to Wormington, “Posket was non compos mentis when he heard this case—I’m going to re-open the matter!”

Cis.

Hurrah!

Mr. Bullamy.

And I did! And what do you think I found out from the proprietor of the hotel!

Mr. Posket and Cis.

What?

Mr. Bullamy.

That this young scamp, Mr. Cecil Farringdon, hires a room at the “Hotel des Princes.”

Cis.

I know that.

Mr. Bullamy.

And that Mr. Farringdon was there last night with some low stockbroker of the name of Skinner.

Cis.

Go on—go on! [Offering him the jujube box.] Take a jujube!

Mr. Bullamy.

[Taking a jujube.] Now the law, which seems to me quite perfect, allows a man who rents a little apartment at an inn to eat and drink with his friends all night long.

Cis.

Well?

Mr. Bullamy.

So said I from the bench, “These ladies and gentlemen appear to be friends or relatives of a certain lodger in the ‘Hotel des Princes.’ ”

Cis.

So they are!

Mr. Bullamy.

“They were all discovered in one room.”

Mr. Posket.

So we were—I mean, so they were!

Mr. Bullamy.

“And I shall adjourn the case for a week to give Mr. Farringdon an opportunity of claiming these people as his guests.”

Cis.

Three cheers for Bullamy.

Mr. Bullamy.

So I censured the police for their interference and released the ladies on their own recognisances.

Mr. Posket.

[Taking Mr. Bullamy’s hand.] And the men?

Mr. Bullamy.

Well, unfortunately, Wormington took upon himself to despatch the men to the House of Correction before I arrived.

Mr. Posket.

I’m glad of it! They are dissolute villains! I’m glad of it.

Popham enters.

Popham.

Oh, sir! Here’s the missis and Miss Verrinder! In such a plight!

Cis.

The mater! Guv, you explain!

[He hurries out. Mr. Posket rapidly retires into the window recess. Agatha Posket and Charlotte enter, pale, red-eyed, and agitated. Popham goes out.

Agatha Posket and Charlotte.

[Falling on to Mr. Bullamy’s shoulders.] O—o—h—h!

Mr. Bullamy.

My dear ladies!

Agatha Posket.

Preserver!

Charlotte.

Friend!

Agatha Posket.

How is my boy?

Mr. Bullamy.

Never better.

Agatha Posket.

And the man who condemned his wife and sister-in-law to the miseries of a jail!

Mr. Bullamy.

Ahem! Posket—oh—he——

Agatha Posket.

Is he well enough to be told what that wife thinks of him?

Mr. Bullamy.

It might cause a relapse!

Agatha Posket.

It is my duty to risk that.

Charlotte.

[Raising the covers of the dishes on the table.] Food!

Agatha Posket.

Ah!

[Agatha Posket and Charlotte begin to devour a teacake voraciously.

Mr. Posket.

[Advancing with an attempt at dignity.] Agatha Posket.

Agatha Posket.

[Rising, with her mouth full, and a piece of teacake in her hand.] Sir!

[Charlotte takes the tray and everything on it from the table and goes towards the door.

Mr. Bullamy.

[Going to the door.] There’s going to be an explanation.

Charlotte.

[At the door.] There’s going to be an explanation.

[Charlotte and Mr. Bullamy go out quietly.

Mr. Posket.

How dare you look me in the face, madam?

Agatha Posket.

How dare you look at anybody in any position, sir? You send your wife to prison for pushing a mere policeman.

Mr. Posket.

I didn’t know what I was doing.

Agatha Posket.

Not when you requested two ladies to raise their veils and show their faces in the dock? We shouldn’t have been discovered but for that.

Mr. Posket.

It was my duty.

Agatha Posket.

Duty! You don’t go to the police court again alone! I guess now, Æneas Posket, why you clung to a single life so long. You liked it!

Mr. Posket.

I wish I had.

Agatha Posket.

Why didn’t you marry till you were fifty?

Mr. Posket.

Perhaps I hadn’t met a widow, madam.

Agatha Posket.

Paltry excuse. You revelled in a dissolute bachelorhood!

Mr. Posket.

Hah! Whist every evening!

Agatha Posket.

You can’t play whist alone. You’re an expert at hiding too!

Mr. Posket.

If I were I should thrash your boy!

Agatha Posket.

When you wished to conceal yourself last night, you selected a table with a lady under it.

Mr. Posket.

Ah, did you pinch me, or did Charlotte?

Agatha Posket.

I did—Charlotte’s a single girl.

Mr. Posket.

I fancy, madam, you found my conduct under that table perfectly respectful?

Agatha Posket.

I don’t know—I was too agitated to notice.

Mr. Posket.

Evasion—you’re like all the women.

Agatha Posket.

Profligate! You oughtn’t to know that!

Mr. Posket.

No wife of mine sups, unknown to me, with dissolute military men; we will have a judicial separation, Mrs. Posket.

Agatha Posket.

Certainly—I suppose you’ll manage that at your police court, too?

Mr. Posket.

I shall send for my solicitor at once.

Agatha Posket.

Æneas! Mr. Posket! Whatever happens, you shall not have the custody of my boy.

Mr. Posket.

Your boy! I take charge of him? Agatha Posket, he has been my evil genius! He has made me a gambler at an atrocious game, called “Fireworks”—he has tortured my mind with abstruse speculations concerning “Sillikin” and “Butterscotch” for the St. Leger—he has caused me to cower before servants, and to fly before the police.

Agatha Posket.

He! My Cis?

Cis enters having changed his clothes.

Cis.

[Breezily.] Hallo, mater—got back?

Agatha Posket.

You wicked boy! You dare to have apartments at the “Hotel des Princes!”

Mr. Posket.

Yes—and it was to put a stop to that which induced me to go to Meek Street last night.

Cis.

Don’t be angry, mater! I’ve got you out of your difficulties.

Mr. Posket.

But you got me into mine!

Cis.

Well, I know I did—one can’t be always doing the right thing! It isn’t Guv’s fault—there!

Mr. Posket.

Swear it!

Agatha Posket.

No, he doesn’t know the nature of an oath! I believe him! Æneas, I see now, this is all the result of a lack of candour on my part. Tell me, have you ever particularly observed this child?

Mr. Posket.

Oh!

Agatha Posket.

Has it ever struck you he is a little forward?

Mr. Posket.

Sometimes.

Agatha Posket.

You are wrong; he is awfully backward. [Taking Mr. Posket’s hand.] Æneas; men always think they are marrying angels, and women would be angels if they never had to grow old. That warps their dispositions. I have deceived you, Æneas.

Mr. Posket.

Ah! Lukyn!

Agatha Posket.

No—no—you don’t understand! Lukyn was my boy’s godfather in eighteen sixty-six.

Mr. Posket.

1866?

Cis.

1886?

Cis and Mr. Posket.

[Together, reckoning rapidly upon their fingers.] 1886.

Agatha Posket.

S-s-s-h! Don’t count! Cis, go away! [To Mr. Posket.] When you proposed to me in the “Pantheon” at Spa, you particularly remarked, “Mrs. Farringdon, I love you for yourself alone.”

Mr. Posket.

I know I did.

Agatha Posket.

Those were terrible words to address to a widow with a son of nineteen. [Cis and Mr. Posket again reckon rapidly upon their fingers.] Don’t count, Æneas, don’t count! Those words tempted me. I glanced at my face in a neighbouring mirror, and I said “Æneas is fifty—why should I—a mere woman, compete with him on the question of age? He has already the advantage—I will be generous—I will add to it!” I led you to believe I had been married only fifteen years ago, I deceived you and my boy as to his real age, and I told you I was but one-and-thirty.

Mr. Posket.

It wasn’t the truth?

Agatha Posket.

Ah! I merely lacked woman’s commonest fault, exaggeration.

Mr. Posket.

But—Lukyn?

Agatha Posket.

Knows the real facts. I went to him last night to beg him not to disturb an arrangement which had brought happiness to all parties. Look. In place of a wayward, troublesome child, I now present you with a youth old enough to be a joy, comfort, and support!

Cis.

Oh, I say, mater, this is a frightful sell for a fellow.

Agatha Posket.

Go to your room, sir.

Cis.

I always thought there was something wrong with me. Blessed if I’m not behind the age!

[Cis goes out.

Agatha Posket.

Forgive me, Æneas. Look at my bonnet! A night in Mulberry Street, without even a powder-puff, is an awful expiation.

Mr. Posket.

Agatha! How do I know Cis won’t be five-and twenty to-morrow?

Agatha Posket.

No—no—you know the worst, and as long as I live, I’ll never deceive you again—except in little things.

Lukyn and Vale enter.

Lukyn.

[Boiling with rage.] By George, Posket!

Mr. Posket.

My dear Lukyn!

Lukyn.

Do you know I am a confounded jail-bird, sir?

Mr. Posket.

An accident!

Lukyn.

And do you know what has happened to me in jail—a soldier, sir—an officer?

Mr. Posket.

No!

Lukyn.

I have been washed by the authorities.

Mr. Posket.

Lukyn, no!

Charlotte has entered, and she rushes across to Vale.

Charlotte.

Horace! Horace! Not you, too?

Vale.

By Jove, Charlotte, I would have died first.

Mr. Bullamy enters quickly.

Mr. Bullamy.

Mr. Posket, I shall choke, sir! Inspector Messiter is downstairs and says that Isidore, the waiter, swears that you are the man who escaped from Meek Street last night.

Lukyn.

What?

Mr. Bullamy.

This is a public scandal, sir!

Lukyn.

Your game is up, sir!

Mr. Bullamy.

You have brought a stain upon a spotless police court!

Lukyn.

And lectured me upon propriety and decorum.

Mr. Posket.

Gentlemen, gentlemen, when you have heard my story you will pity me.

Lukyn and Mr. Bullamy.

[Laughing ironically.] Ha! ha!

Mr. Posket.

You will find your old friend a Man, a Martyr, and a Magistrate!

Cis enters, pulling Beatie after him.

Cis.

Come on, Beatie! Guv—mater! here’s news! Beatie and I have made up our minds to be married.

Agatha Posket.

Oh!

Popham enters with champagne and glasses.

Mr. Posket.

What’s this?

Cis.

Bellinger—’74—extra dry—to drink our health and happiness.

Charlotte.

Champagne! It may save my life!

Agatha Posket.

Miss Tomlinson, go home!

Mr. Posket.

Stop! Cis Farringdon, my dear boy, you are but nineteen at present, but you were only fourteen yesterday, so you are a growing lad; on the day you marry and start for Canada, I will give you a thousand pounds!

Popham.

[Putting her apron to her eyes.] Oh!

Cis.

[Embracing Beatie.] Hurrah! We’ll be married directly.

Agatha Posket.

He’s an infant! I forbid it!

Mr. Posket.

I am his legal guardian. Gentlemen, bear witness! I solemnly consent to that little wretch’s marriage!

[Agatha Posket sinks into a chair.

THE END.

Printed by Ballantyne & Company Ltd
Tavistock Street Covent Garden London

Transcriber’s Note

This transcription is based on scanned images of two different copies posted by the Internet Archive. The primary source is posted at:

[archive.org/details/magistratefarcei00pinerich]

These images, scanned from a copy in the University of California, Berkeley Library, are of an edition printed in London by William Heinemann in 1914. Note that the Internet Archive identifier-access page for this copy incorrectly lists the publisher as W. H. Baker. The secondary source is posted at:

[archive.org/details/cu31924013536556]

These images, scanned from a copy in the Cornell University Library, are of an edition printed in New York by the United States Book Company.

The Heinemann (H) edition served as the copy-text for this transcription. The United States Book Company (US) edition changed spelling to American standards. For example, “colour” became “color”, “recognise” became “recognize”, “some one” became “someone”, and “lor’ ” became “Lor’ ”. The US edition also has minor deviations from playscript formatting conventions fairly standard at the time. While the H edition used the standard convention of printing entrances as centered and italicized without brackets, the US edition printed them with brackets. In addition, while the H edition generally did not close the brackets on stage directions right after a line of dialogue, the US edition did. Unfortunately, the H edition suffers from some minor editorial problems and printing errors such as missing punctuation marks, particularly next to margins and at the bottom of a page. In contrast, the US edition has few editorial or printing problems. When there was a question about the text in the H edition, the US text was consulted. In general, where context made a reading obvious, the obvious reading was given the benefit of the doubt without comment.

The following changes were noted:

Some inconsistences that existed in both H and US were allowed to stand. For example, characters are occasionally referred to slightly differently in the stage directions, e.g., “Posket” vs. “Mr. Posket”. The name of the hotel in Act Two is spelled with an “ô” in the cast and scene lists at the beginning of the play but is spelled with an “o” elsewhere in the text. Lugg's rank is spelled "Serjeant" in the cast list and "Sergeant" elsewhere. Both “missis” and “missus” are used. The number for Lukyn’s address is both “19a” and “19A”. Variant spellings in H such as “neckkerchief” and “table-cloth” were not changed.

The html version of this etext attempts to reproduce the layout of the printed text. However, some concessions have been made, partly to simplify coding and partly to facilitate the generation of files from the html file. For example, stage directions at the end of a line of dialogue were placed on the next line, indented the same amount from the left margin, and coded as hanging paragraphs. The layout of the title page was simplified. The simultaneous speech on page 81 was coded so as to avoid the use of an html table. The footnote on p. 110 was enclosed in a border.