UNDER THE ROSE.
(A Story in Scenes.)
Scene II.—Same as preceding. Mr. Toovey is slowly recovering from the mental collapse produced by the mention of the word "Eldorado."
Mrs. Toovey. Althea is out of the room, Pa, so there is no reason why you should not speak out plainly.
Mr. Toovey (to himself). No reason—oh! But I must say something. If only I knew whether it was my Eldorado—but, no, it's a mere coincidence! (Aloud—shakily.) Charles, my boy, you—you've shocked me very much indeed, as you can see. But, about the name of this establishment, now—isn't it a curious one for—for a music-hall, Charles? M—mightn't it be confused with—well—say a mine, now?
Mrs. T. Theophilus, this is scarcely the tone——. I expected you to give this misguided boy a solemn warning of the ruin he may incur by having anything to do with such a haunt.
Mr. T. (to himself). Ah, I'm afraid I'm only too well qualified to do that. (Aloud.) I do, Charles, I do—though at the same time, I can quite understand how one may, unwittingly—I mean, you might not be aware of——
Mrs. T. You, Pa, of all people in the world, trying to find excuses for his depravity! The very name of the place is enough to indicate its nature!
Mr. T. (hastily). No, my love, surely not. There I think you go too far—too far altogether!
Mrs. T. I appeal to Mr. Curphew to say whether such a place is a proper resort for any young man.
Curphew (to himself). Wish I was well out of this! (Aloud.) I—I really don't feel qualified to give an opinion, Mrs. Toovey. Many young men do go to them, I believe.
Charles (to himself). Is this chap a prig, or a humbug? I'll draw him. (Aloud.) I suppose, from that, you never think of going yourself?
Mrs. T. Mr. Curphew's tastes are rather different from yours, Charles. I am very sure that he is never to be seen among the audience at any music-hall, are you, Mr. Curphew?
Curph. (to himself). Could I break it to her gently, I wonder. (Aloud.) Never—my professional duties make that impossible.
Charles (to himself). I knew he was a muff! (Aloud.) I should have thought you could easily get a pass to any place you wanted to go—in your profession.
Curph. (to himself). He suspects something. (Aloud.) Should you? Why?
Charles. Oh, as you're on a newspaper, you know. Don't they always have a free pass for everywhere?
Curph. If they have, I have never had occasion to make use of it.
Charles. Well, of course you may turn up your nose at music-halls, and say they're not intellectual enough for you.
Curph. Pardon me, I never said I turned up my nose at them, though you'll admit they don't profess to make a strong appeal to the intellect.
Charles. If they did, you wouldn't catch me there. But I can tell you, it's not so bad as you seem to think; every now and then they get hold of a really good thing. You might do worse than drop into the El. or the Val., the Valhalla, you know, some evening—just to hear Walter Wildfire.
Curph. Much obliged; but I can't imagine myself going there for such a purpose.
Mrs. T. Charles, if you suppose Mr. Curphew would allow himself to be corrupted by a boy like you——
Charles. But look here, Aunt. Walter Wildfire's all right—he is really; he was a gentleman, and all that, before he took to this sort of thing, and he writes all his own songs—and ripping they are, too! His line is the Broken-down Plunger, you know. (Mrs. T. repudiates any knowledge of this type.) He's got one song about a Hansom Cabby who has to drive the girl he was engaged to before he was broke, and she's married some other fellow since, and has got her little daughter with her, and the child gives him his fare, and—well, somehow it makes you feel choky when he sings it. Even Mr. Curphew couldn't find anything to complain of in Walter Wildfire!
Althea (who has entered during this speech). Mamma, I can't find your spectacles anywhere. Mr. Curphew, who is this Walter Wildfire Charles is so enthusiastic about?
Mrs. T. (hastily). No one that Mr. Curphew knows anything of—and certainly not a fit person to be mentioned in your hearing, my dear, so let us say no more about it. Supper must be on the table by this time; we had better go in, and try to find a more befitting topic for conversation. Charles, have the goodness to put this—this disgraceful paper in your pocket, and let me see no more of it. I shall get your Uncle to speak to you seriously after supper.
Mr. T. (aloud, with alacrity). Yes, my love, I shall certainly speak to Charles after supper—very seriously. (To himself.) And end this awful uncertainty!
Curph. (to himself, as he follows to the Dining-room). "Not a fit person to be mentioned in her hearing!" I wonder. Would she say the same if she knew? When shall I be able to tell her? It would be madness as yet.
Scene III.—The Study. Mr. Toovey and Charles are alone together. Mr. Toovey has found it impossible to come to the point.
Charles (looking at his watch). I say, Uncle, I'm afraid I must trouble you for that wigging at once, if I'm going to catch my train back. You've only seven-and-a-half minutes left to exhort me in, so make the most of it.
Mr. T. (with embarrassment). Yes, Charles, but—I don't wish to be hard on you, my boy—we are all liable to err, and—and, in point of fact, the reason I was a little upset at the mention of the Eldorado is, that a very dear old friend of mine, Charles, has lately lost a considerable sum through investing in a Company of the same name—and, just for the moment, it struck me that it might have been the music-hall—which of course is absurd, eh?
Charles. Rather! He couldn't possibly have lost it in the music-hall, Uncle; it's ridiculous!
Mr. T. (relieved). Just what I thought. A man in his—ah—responsible position—oh no. But he's lost it in this other Company. And they've demanded a hundred and seventy-five pounds over and above the five hundred he paid on his shares. Now you know the law. Can they do that, Charles? Is he legally liable to pay?
Charles. Couldn't possibly say without knowing all the facts. It's a Limited Company, I suppose?
Mr. T. I—I don't know, Charles, but I can show you the official document which—ah—happens to be in my hands. I'm afraid I didn't examine it very carefully—I was too upset. (He goes to his secrétaire, and returns with a paper, which he offers for Charles's inspection.) You won't mind my covering up the name? My—my friend wouldn't care for it to be seen—I'm sure.
Charles (glances at the top of the paper, and roars with laughter). I say, Uncle, your friend must be a jolly old juggins!
Mr. T. (miserably). I don't think he could be described as jolly just now, Charles.
Charles. No, but I mean, not all there, you know—trifle weak in the upper story.
Mr. T. (with dignity). He never professed to be a man of business, Charles, any more than myself, and his inexperience was shamefully abused—most shamefully!
Charles. Abused! But look here, Uncle, do you mean to say you don't see that this is a dividend warrant!
Mr. T. I believe that is what they call it. And—and is he bound to send them a cheque for it at once, Charles?
Charles. Send them a cheque? Great Scott! Why it is a cheque! They're paying him. It's the half-yearly dividend on his five hundred, at the rate of seventy per cent. And he was going to——Oh, Lord!
"If I were you, I wouldn't mention this to Aunt."
Mr. T. (rising, and shaking C.'s hands with effusion). My dear Charles; how can I thank you? If you knew what a load you've taken off my mind! Then the Company isn't bankrupt—it's paying seventy per cent.! Why, I needn't mind telling your Aunt. (With restored complacency.) Of course, my boy, I have never occupied myself with City matters—but, none the less, I believe I can trust my natural shrewdness—I had a sort of instinct, Charles, from the first, that that mine was perfectly sound. I knew I could trust Larkins.
Charles. You, Uncle! Then it was you who was your friend all the time? Oh, you're really too rich, you know!
Mr. T. I have never desired it; but it will certainly be a very useful addition to our—ah—modest income, Charles. But you should check yourself, my boy, in this—ah—immoderate laughter. There is nothing that I can see to cause such mirth in the fact of your Uncle's having made a fortunate investment in a gold-mine.
Charles (as soon as he can speak). But it ain't a mine, Uncle, it—it's the music-hall! Give you my word it is. If you don't believe me, look at the address on the warrant, and you'll see it's the same as on this programme. You're a shareholder in the Eldorado Palace of Varieties, Piccadilly!
Mr. T. (falling back). No, Charles! I—I acquired them in the most perfect innocence!
Charles. Innocence! I'd back you for that against an entire Infant School, Uncle. But I say, I must be off now. If I were you, I wouldn't mention this to Aunt. And look here. I'd better leave you this. (He hands him the Eldorado programme.) It's more in your line than mine now.
[He goes out, and is heard chuckling in the hall and down to the front gate.
Mr. T. (alone). That ribald, unfeeling boy! What a Sunday I've had! And how am I ever to tell Cornelia now? (A bell rings.) That's to call the servants up to prayers. (He stuffs the programme into his pocket hastily, and rises.) No, I can't. I can't conduct family prayers with the knowledge that I'm a shareholder in—in a Palace of Varieties! I shall slip quietly off to bed.
Phœbe (entering). Missus wished me to tell you she was only waiting for you, Sir.
Mr. T. Phœbe, tell your mistress I'm feeling poorly again, and have gone to bed. (To himself.) If I could only be sure I don't talk in my sleep!
[He shuffles upstairs.
End of Scene III.
A (Frequently) Rising M.P.—Mr. T. G. Bowles is quite "a new boy" in the House, yet has he none of the diffidence of most other new boys. His continuous questions and his easy oratory will win for him the styles and titles of "The Flowing Bowles" and "The Sparkling Bowles." If Mr. P. adopts him as a frequent and favourite subject for an object lesson, such as were Sibthorpe and some others in past times, he may attain the very highest position as "Bowles of Punch."
