THE MENAGERIE RACE.
SCENE—The terrace in front of Hauberk Hall, which the LARKSPURS have taken for the Summer. TIME—An August afternoon. Miss STELLA LARKSPUR—a young lady with great energy and a talent for organisation—has insisted upon all the Guests taking part in a Menagerie Race.
The Rev. Ninian Headnote, the Local Curate (to Mr. PLUMLEY DUFF—after uneasily regarding Miss STELLA, as she shakes up some pieces of folded paper in a hat). Can you give me any idea of the precise nature of this amusement—er—nothing resembling a gambling transaction, I suppose?—or I really—
Mr. Plumley Duff. Well, I'm given to understand that we shall each be expected to take an animal of some sort, and drive it along with a string tied to its leg. Sounds childish—to me.
The Curate (relieved). Oh, exactly, I see. Most entertaining, I'm sure! (He coos.) What wonderful ingenuity one sees in devising ever-fresh pastimes, do we not? Indeed, yes!
Miss Stella. There, I've shuffled all the animals now. (Presenting the hat.) Mr. HEADNOTE, will you draw first?
The Curate. Oh, really. Am I to take one of these? Charmed! (He draws.) Now I wonder what my fate—(Opening the paper.) The Monkey! (His face falls.) Is there a Monkey here? Dear me, how very interesting!
Dick Gatling (of H.M. Gunboat "Weasel"). Brought him over my last cruise from Colombo. No end of a jolly little beast—bites like the—like blazes, you know!
Miss Stella (to her Cousin). Now, DICK, I won't have you taking away poor Jacko's character like that. He's only bitten BINNS—and, well, there was the gardener's boy—but I'm sure he teased him. You won't tease him, will you, Mr. HEADNOTE?
The Curate. I—I shouldn't dream of it, Miss STELLA,—on the contrary, I—(To himself.) Was it quite discreet to let myself be drawn into this? Shall I not risk lowering my office by publicly associating myself with a—a Monkey? I feel certain the Vicar would disapprove strongly.
Dick (to Colonel KEMPTON). Drawn your animal yet, Sir?
The Colonel (heatedly). Yes, I have—and I wish I'd kept out of this infernal tomfoolery. Why the mischief don't they leave a man in peace and quietness on a hot afternoon like this? Here am I, routed out of a comfortable seat to go and drive a confounded White Rabbit, Sir! Idiotic, I call it!
The Curate. Pardon me, Colonel KEMPTON; but if you object to the Rabbit, I would not at all mind undertaking it myself—and you could take my Monkey—
The Colonel. Thanks—but I won't deprive you. A Rabbit is quite responsibility enough for me!
The Curate (to himself, disappointed). He's afraid of a poor harmless Monkey—and he an Army man, too! But I don't see why I—
Miss Gussie Grissell. Oh, Mr. HEADNOTE, isn't it ridiculous! They've given me a Kitten! It makes me feel too absurdly young!
The Curate (eagerly). If you would prefer a—a more appropriate animal, there's a Monkey, which I am sure—(To himself, as Miss G. turns away indignantly). This Monkey doesn't seem very popular—there must be someone here who—I'll try the American Lady—they are generally eccentric. (To Mrs. HEBER K. BANGS.) I hope Fortune has been kind to you, Mrs. BANGS?
Mrs. Bangs. Well, I don't know; there are quadrupeds that can trot faster over the measured mile than a Tortoise, and that's my animal.
The Curate (with sympathy). Dear me! That is a trial, indeed, for you! But if you would prefer something rather more exciting, I should be most happy, I'm sure, to exchange my Monkey—
Dick Gatling (bustling up). Hallo, what's that? No, no, Mrs. BANGS—be true to your Tortoise. I tell you he's going to romp in—Æsop's tip, don't you know? I've backed you to win or a place. I say, what do you think I've drawn—the Mutton! Just my luck!
The Curate. DICK, just come this way a moment—I've a proposition to make; it's occurred to me that the Monkey would feel more—more at home with you, and, in short, I—
Mr. Plumley Duff (plaintively, to Miss CYNTHIA CHAFFERS). I shouldn't have minded any other animal—but to be paired off with a Goose!
Miss Chaffers (consolingly). You're better off than I am, at all events—I've got a Puppy!
Mr. Duff. Have you? (After a pause—sentimentally.) Happy Puppy!
Miss C. He'll be anything but a happy Puppy if he doesn't win.
Mr. Duff. Oh, but he's sure to. I know I would, if I was your Puppy!
Miss C. I'm not so sure of that. Don't they lodge objections, or something, for boring?
Mr. Fanshawe. Can anybody inform me whether I'm expected to go and catch my Peacock? Because I'll be hanged if—
The Curate. Oh, Miss STELLA, it's all right—Mr. GATLING thinks that it would be better if he undertook the Monkey himself; so we've arranged to—
Miss Stella. Oh, nonsense, DICK! I can't have you taking advantage of Mr. HEADNOTE's good-nature like that. What's the use of drawing lots at all if you don't keep to them? Of course Mr. HEADNOTE will keep the Monkey.
[The unfortunate Curate accepts his lot with Christian resignation.
Dick. Well, that's settled—but I say, STELLA, where's my Mutton's moorings—and what's to be the course?
Stella. The course is straight up the Avenue from the Lodge to the House, and I've told them to get all the beasts down there ready for us; so we'd better go at once.