A Sketch At Covent Garden Theatre.
Before Supper the proceedings are rather decorous than lively; the dancers in fancy dress forming a very decided minority, and appearing uncomfortably conscious of their costume. A Masker got up as a highly realistic Hatstand, hobbles painfully towards a friend who is disguised as a huge Cannon.
The Hatstand (huskily, through a fox's mask in the centre of his case, to the Cannon). Just a trifle slow up to the present, eh?
The Cannon (shifting the carriage and wheels to a less uncomfortable position.) Yes, it don't seem to me as lively as usual—drags, don't you know.
The Hatstand (heroically). Well, we must wake 'em up, that's all—put a little go into the thing!
[They endeavour to promote gaiety by crawling through the crowd, which regards them with compassionate wonder.
A Black Domino (to a Clown, who is tapping the barometer on the Hatstand's back). Here, mind how you damage the furniture, SAMMY, it may be here on the hire system.
[The Hatstand executes a cumbrous caper by way of repartee, and stumbles on.
A Folly (to a highly respectable Bedouin in a burnous and gold spectacles). Well, all I can say is, you don't seem to me to behave much like an Arab!
The Bedouin (uneasily, as he waltzes with conscientious regularity). Don't I? How ought I to behave then?
The Folly. I should have thought you'd jump about and howl, the way Bedouins do howl. You know!
The Bed. (dubiously). Um—well, you see, my dear, I—I don't feel up to that sort of thing—before supper.
The Folly (losing all respect for him). No—nor yet after it. I expect you've told some old four-wheel caravan to come and fetch you home early, and you'll turn into your little tent at the usual time—that's the sort of wild Bedouin you are! Don't let me keep you. [She leaves him.
The Bed. (alone). If she only knew the absolute horror I have of making myself conspicuous, she wouldn't expect it!
Mephistopheles (to a Picador). This was the only thing I could get to go in. How do you think it suits me?
The Picador (with candour). Well, I must say, old fellow, you do look a beast!
[Mephisto appears wounded.
A Masker (with his face painted brown, and in a costume of coloured paper decorated with small boxes and packets, to a Blue Domino). You see what I am, don't you? The Parcels Post! Had a lot of trouble thinking it out. Look at my face, for instance, I made that up, with string—marks and all, to look like a brown-paper parcel.
The Blue Domino. Pity you haven't got something inside it, isn't it?
The Parcels Post (feebly). Don't you be too sharp. And it really is a first-rate idea. All these parcels now—I suppose there must be fifty of 'em at least—
The Blue Domino. Are there? Well, I wish you'd go and get sorted somewhere else. I haven't time for it myself.
Sardonic Spectator (pityingly—to a Masker in a violent perspiration, who represents Sindbad carrying the Old Man of the Sea). 'Ow you are worrying yourself to be sure!
A Polite Stranger (accosting an Individual who is personifying the London County Council by the aid of a hat surmounted by a sky-sign, a cork bridge and a tin tramcar, a toy Clown and a butterfly on his chest, a portrait of Mlle. Zoeo on his back, a miniature fireman under an extinguisher, and a model crane, which he winds up and down with evident enjoyment). Excuse me, Sir, but would you mind showing us round you—or is there a catalogue to your little collection?
[The L.C.C. maintains a dignified silence.
Pierrot (critically to Cleopatra). Very nice indeed, my dear girl,—except that they ought to have given you a serpent to carry, you know'
Cleopatra. Oh, they did—only I left it in the Cloak-room.
A Man with a False Nose (to a Friend who is wearing his natural organ). Why, I thought you said you were coming in a nose?
His Friend. So I did (he produces an enormous nose and cheeks from his tail-pocket). But it's no mortal use; the minute I put it on I'm recognised (plaintively). And I gave one-and-ninepence for the beastly thing, too!
Young Man of the Period (meeting a female acquaintance attired in ferns, rock-work, and coloured shells, illuminated by portable electric light). Hul-lo! You are a swell! And what are you supposed to be?
The Lady in Rock-work. Can't you see? I'm a Fairy Grotto. Good idea, isn't it?
He. Rippin'! But what the mischief have you got on your shoulder?
She. Oh, that's an aquarium—real goldfish. See!
[Exhibiting them with pride.
He. Ain't you lettin' 'em sit up rather late? They will be chippy to-morrow—off colour, don't you know.
She. Will they? What ought I to do for them, then?
He. Do? Oh, just put a brandy-and-soda in their tank.
Later; Supper is going on in the Boxes and Supper-room, and the festivity has been further increased by the arrival of a party of Low Comedians and Music-Hall Stars. The Lancers have been danced with more abandonment, and several entirely new and original figures.
The Chevalier Bayard (at the Refreshment Bar—to a Watteau Shepherdess). I say, you come along and dance with me, will you?—and look here, if you dance well, I'll give you a drink when it's over. If you don t dance to please me, you'll get nothing. See?
The Watteau Shepherdess (with delicate disdain). 'Ere, you go along, you silly ass!
[Hits him with her crook.
A Gentleman who has obviously supped (catching hold of a passing Acquaintance, whose hand he wrings affectionately). Dear ole HUGHIE! don't go away just yet. Shtop an' talk with me. Got lotsh er things say to you, dear ole boy—mosh 'portant things! Shure you, you're the on'y man in the wide world I ever kicked a care—cared a kick about. Don't you leave me, HUGHIE!
Hughie (who is looking for his partner). Not now, old man—can't stop. See you later!
[He makes his escape.
The Affect. G. (confidentially—to a Policeman). Thash a very dear ole pal o' mine, plishman, a very dear ole pal. Worsht of him ish—shimply imposhble get a lit' rational conversation with him. No sheriousness in his character!
[Exit unsteadily towards Bar, in blissful unconsciousness that somebody has attached a large false nose and spectacles to the buttons of his coat-tails.
A Troubadour (jealously—to an Arleguina). No—but look here, you might just as well say right put which costume you like best—mine or—(indicating a Cavalier on her other side)—his.
Arleguina (cautiously—not desiring to offend either). Well, I'd rather be him—not as a man, I wouldn't—but, as myself, I'd like to be this one.
[Both appear equally satisfied and soothed by this diplomatic, but slightly mystic response.
A Vivandière (to a Martyr, who is shuffling along inside a property-trunk, covered with twigs, and supposed to represent a Bird in the Hand). Well, that's one way of coming out to enjoy yourself, I suppose!
A Middle-aged Man (wandering behind the Orchestra). It's beastly dull, that's what it is—none of the give-and-take humour and practical fun you get in Paris or Vienna!... That's a nice, simple-looking little thing in the seat over there. (The simple-looking little thing peeps at him, with one eye over her fan, in arch invitation.) Gad, I'll go up and talk to her—it will be something to do, at any rate—she looks as if she wouldn't mind. (He goes up.) Think I know your face—haven't we met before?
The Simple Little Thing (after an elaborate wink aside at a Fireman). Shouldn't wonder. Don't you run away yet. Sit down and talk to me—do now. No, not that side—try the arm-chair, it's more comfortable.
The M.M. (throwing himself gracefully into a well-padded chintz chair). Well, really—(The chair suddenly digs him in the ribs with one of its elbows). Eh, look here now—'pon my—(He attempts to rise, and finds himself tightly pinioned by the arms of the chair.) There's some confounded fool inside this chair!
The Simple Little Thing (tickling him under the chin with her fan). Shouldn't call yourself names! I'm going—don't get up on my account. [She goes off, laughing; a crowd collects and heartily enjoys his situation.
The M.M. (later—very red after his release). If I could have found a policeman, I'd have given that chair in custody! It's scandalous to call that coming in Fancy Dress! [Exit indignantly.