AT AN AFTERNOON ENTERTAINMENT.
Scene—Prince's Hall, Piccadilly. Among the Audience are—A London Aunt, and her Eldest Daughter, with a Cousin from the Country, who is just a little difficult to amuse; a Serious-minded Lady from Brixton, with a more frivolous Friend; a pair of Fiancés; and an Unsophisticated Father, with an Up-to-date little Daughter. An exhibition of "Pure Sleight-of-Hand" has just been given on the Stage.
The Serious Lady. Clever? Yes, my dear, it is clever enough, if that's all; but I never can quite reconcile my conscience to encouraging a fellow-creature to make a living by deliberate deception!
Her Friend. Oh, I don't see any harm in conjuring, myself.
The S. L. I can't forget that Pharaoh had his Sorcerers and Magicians, and how they acted!
Her Friend. Ah, I never saw them.
The London Aunt (to her Niece). Enjoying it, Sophy? Such a treat for you, to see really good conjuring!
Sophy. Yes, Aunt, thank you. But our new Curate did that trick with two rabbits at the last Penny Readings we had!
[A calico screen is brought forward on which the Entertainer throws various shadows with his hands.
The S. L. Is that a little house at the corner? Oh, he doesn't do that with his hands—then I see no merit in it. Who's that? (A small male shadow, cast by the performer's right hand, crosses the screen, and knocks timidly at the door, which is opened by the left hand, in the character of a little Lady. The couple embrace effusively, and retire inside.) Ah, that's the husband coming home!
[Another male shadow enters and knocks furiously, while the little Lady reconnoitres cautiously from the window above.
Her Friend. I expect that must be the husband.
The S. L. What?—and the wife behaving like that in his absence! If I thought that was the—— (The first male shadow comes out, and fights the second, who retreats, worsted.) I never saw anything so scandalous. How you can call yourself consistent, and sit there and laugh at such things——!
Her Friend (apologetically). I can't help laughing—and, after all, perhaps they're only rival lovers, or he's her father, or something.
The S. L. And she inviting one to come into the house in that bold way—a nice example for young persons! Look there, he's come back with a flageolet, and she's actually poured a jug of water on his head out of the window! "Only a pair of hands," did you say? So it may be—but we all know who it is that "Finds some mischief still For idle hands to do"—and there we have an illustration of it, my dear.
[She shakes herself down in her sealskins with virtuous disapproval.
The Unsophisticated Father (who has been roaring with laughter). Capital! It is amazingly clever, 'pon my word! Can't imagine how they do these things—can you, Vivvie? [To Up-to-Date Child.
Miss Vivien. Oh, well I've seen so much conjuring at parties, you know, Father, that I don't notice it particularly,—but it's nice to see you so amused!
The U. F. I'm young, you see, Vivvie; but I hope you're not bored?
Miss V. No, I'm not bored—only I thought there'd be some Serpentine dancing, and more of the Music Hall about it.
The U. F. Music Hall! Why, what do you know about Music Halls, eh?
Miss V. (with calm superiority). Several of their songs—if you call that anything.
The U. F. I should be inclined to call it a good deal too much!
Miss V. (compassionately). Would you? Poor dear Father! But you never were very modern, were you?
[A Blind-folded Lady on the Stage has been reading and adding up figures on a black board, and now offers to tell the day of the week of any person's birth in the audience.
Her Colleague. Will some gentleman kindly oblige me with the date of his birth?
The Fiancée. Now, Jack, tell yours. I want you to.
Jack (in an unnaturally gruff voice). Fourteenth of February, eighteen-sixty-nine!
The Blindfolded Lady (with the air of the Delphic Pythia). Yes—that fell upon a Monday. [Applause.
Her Coll. Is that correct, Sir?
Jack. Don't know.
[He reddens, and tries to look unconscious.
Her Coll. Now I will ask the Lady if she can mention some event of importance that took place on the same date.
The Bl. L. Let me think. Yes. (Solemnly.) On the same date, in the year seventeen-hundred-and-thirty-seven, goloshes were first invented! [Loud applause.
Miss V. (as the pair retire). Well, thank goodness, we've seen the last of that beastly black-board. I didn't come here to add up sums. What is it next? Oh, a "Farmyard Imitator." I expect that will be rather rot, Father, don't you?
[Enter a Gentleman in evening dress who gives realistic imitations of various live-stock.
The Country Cousin. That's exactly the way our little Berkshire pig grunts, and "Sweetlips" calls her calf just like that—and, oh, Katie, I wonder if he could have heard our Dorkings clucking at home—I think he must have—he does it so exactly the same!
Katie. Then you do think that's clever, Sophy?
Sophy. Oh, well—for an imitation, you know!
[A "Sensational Cage Mystery" is introduced; a pretty child is shut up in a cage, which is opened a moment after, and found to contain a Negro who capers out, grinning.
The London Aunt. Sophy, do you see that?—there's a black man there now, instead!
Sophy (without enthusiasm). Yes, Aunt, I see, thank you.
Katie. Don't you like it, Sophy?
Sophy. I don't see why it need have been a Nigger!
The S. L. (after a "Humorous Musical Sketch" by a clever and, charming young Lady). Like that, my dear?—a Young Woman giving a description of how she actually went on the Stage, and imitating men in that way! It was as much as I could do to sit still in my seat!
Her Friend. I must say I thought it was very amusing.
The S. L. Amusing? I daresay. But, to my mind, young girls have no business to be amusing, and take off other people. I've no opinion of such ways myself. I don't know what my dear Mother would have done if I'd ever been amusing—she would have broken her heart, I do believe!
The Friend (to herself). She wouldn't have split her sides, that's very certain!
[A Lady Physiognomist appears in cap and gown, and invites a subject to step upon the stage, and have his or her character revealed.
"He blinks and smiles in feeble confusion."
Jack (to his Fiancée). No, I say—but look here, Flossie, really I'd rather not—with all these people looking!
Flossie. Then I shall think you've something to conceal, Jack—you wouldn't like me to feel that already, would you?
[Jack, resignedly, mounts the platform, and occupies a chair, in which he blinks and smiles in feeble confusion, while the Professor studies his features dispassionately.
The Lady Phys. The first thing to notice is the disposition of the ears. Now here we have a Gentleman whose ears stick out in a very remarkable manner. [Delight of Audience.
Flossie (to herself). They do—awfully! I never noticed it before. But it really rather suits him; at least—— [She meditates.
The L. Ph. This denotes an original and inquiring mind; this gentleman takes nothing on trust—likes to see everything for himself; he observes a good deal more than he ever says anything about. His nose is wide at the tip, showing a trustful and confiding disposition; it has a bump in the centre, denoting a moderate amount of combativeness. The nostrils indicate a keen sense of humour. (Here Jack giggles bashfully.) There is a twist in the upper lip, which indicates—well, I won't say that he would actually tell an untruth—but if he had the opportunity for doing so, he has the capacity for taking advantage of it. I think that is all I have to say about this Gentleman.
Flossie (to Jack, after he has returned to her side). Jack, if you can't leave off having an original and inquiring mind, you must at least promise me one thing—it's very little to ask!
Jack. You know I'd do any blessed thing in the world for you Flossie,—what is it?
Flossie. Only to wear an elastic round your ears at night, Jack!
The Unsophisticated Father (at the conclusion of the exhibition, as the Missing Lady disappears with a bang, in full view of the Audience). There, Vivvie; she's vanished clean away. What do you say to that, eh?
Vivien (composedly). Well, I think we may as well vanish too Father. It's all over!
The S. L. (going out). I don't wish to judge others—far from it—but, speaking for myself, Eliza, I cannot feel this has been a profitable method of employing precious moments which can never be recalled.
Her Friend. Oh, it's quite early. You'll have plenty of time to get a cup of tea, and do some shopping before it's dark.
The S. L. (severely). That was not precisely what I meant, Eliza!
[But it is precisely what she does.