No. III.—REALISATION.
Scene—Theatre Royal, Blankbury, on the first night of the performance of the well-known Comedy of "Heads or Tails?" by the "Thespian Perambulators." Time, 7:50 P.M. A "brilliant and fashionable assemblage" is gradually filling the house. In the Stalls are many distinguished Amateurs of both Sexes, including Lady Surbiton, who has brought her husband and Mrs. Gagmore (Lady Surbiton's particular friend). The rest of the Stalls are occupied by the immediate friends and relations of the Actors. A few professional Critics are to be seen. They are addressed with much politeness by the Amateurs in front of the House, and "played to" with feverish anxiety by the Amateurs on the Stage. The Orchestra is composed of excellent Amateur Musicians. The Curtain has not yet risen.
Lady Surbiton (to Mrs. Gagmore). My dear, it's a wonder we ever got here. Charles of course forgot the date, and told me only yesterday he'd invited some men to stay for a shoot. He had to listen to reason, though, and so we spent all yesterday sending telegrams to put them off. I've been at every performance of The Thespians for years, and it wouldn't do to begin missing them now, would it?
Mrs. Gagmore. Certainly not, dear, it would have been quite a calamity. There's the Duchess of Middlesex nodding to you.
Lady S. So it is. (Smiles sweetly at the Duchess, who is sitting three rows off.) I call it scandalous of her to come out like this when both her twins have got the measles. Did I tell you I lent Mr. Spinks my pet parrot, Penelope, for this performance?
Mrs. G. No, dear. I didn't know they ever played it with a parrot.
Lady S. Well, they don't usually, but Mr. Spinks told me that, after studying the piece very very carefully, he had come to the conclusion that there ought to be a parrot in Lady Shorthorn's drawing-room, and he begged me to lend him mine. Fortunately it scarcely ever talks. Oh, there's Mr. Penfold! How old he's getting to look. He never seems to have a good word to say for anyone in his critiques. They're very late in beginning. I hope nothing has happened to Penelope. Ah! at last.
The Orchestra strikes up. After a few minutes the Curtain rises on "the Drawing-room at Bullivant Court." Sc. 1, Act 1. Harry Hall, in livery as John the Footman, is reclining on a sofa, reading a magazine. Penelope, in her cage, is a conspicuous object on the O.P. side.
John (yawning). "Nothink in the Fortnightly, as per usual. Heigh-ho! This is slow work. Who's that?"
Enter Belinda, the Nursery-maid. The usual amatory scene follows. They both disappear, as Tiffington Spinks enters made up as "Colonel Debenham," with a saffron complexion, a grey moustache, a red tie and an iron-grey wig. He shivers. A great deal of preliminary applause. He bows with dignity, conscious of his fame, and proceeds.
Col. Debenham. "Ugh! how horribly cold this is. I shall have to speak seriously to Shorthorn about the state of his fires."
Penelope the Parrot (suddenly and with terrible distinctness). "Old fool!" [A titter from the irreverent. Spinks pays no heed to the interruption.
Lady Surbiton. How awful! I declare I haven't heard Penelope speak for six months. I hope to heaven she won't do it again.
Mrs. Gagmore. I thought it sounded so natural.
Lord S. So it did, that's why it was so out of place. He's getting on all right now, though.
Col. Debenham (concluding a peppery soliloquy). "And as for Lady Shorthorn and that spiteful cat of a sister of hers, all I can say of Tom Debenham is——"
Penelope (loudly). "Old fool!"
[Whistles up and down the scale. Much laughter. Spinks feels that violent measures are necessary if the piece is not to be utterly ruined. He perceives Jarp standing at the wings made up as Binns the Butler. A happy thought flashes on him. He nods meaningly at Jarp.
Col. Debenham (improvising gag). "Oh, confound that bird! I must have it removed. I'll ring for the butler."
[Rings. Enter Jarp as Binns.
Binns. "'Er Ladyship's compliments, Colonel Debenham, and she would like——"
Spinks (in a whisper of concentrated fury to Jarp). Not yet; take that infernal parrot away, quick!
Jarp (loses his head; still the Butler is strong within him). "'Er Ladyship is served!"
Spinks (aloud). "Oh, nonsense—nonsense, man! You're an idiot. Here, take this bird, and kill it!"
[Seizes cage, thrusts it into the flustered Jarp's arms, and pushes him off, the Parrot, horribly frightened, yelling, "Old fool!"
Lady Surbiton. How dare he speak of Penelope in that way? Kill her! If Mr. Jarp so much as lays a finger upon her——
Lord S. She'll bite him. Oh, you may make your mind quite easy about that parrot. She's bitten every finger of mine to the bone, and I'm certain she's quite equal to defending herself against Jarp.
The Act proceeds without any further hitch, until Belinda wheels on her double perambulator containing two red-headed infants, one of whom is terrified into tears and calls for "Father!" in a shrill voice. After this everything, however, goes well, and the Curtain falls amidst thunders of applause.
Behind the Curtain.
Spinks. Yes, Gushby, I believe you did it. You were closeted with that parrot for an hour yesterday. I believe you deliberately taught it to say that, in order to crab my part. What's more, I'm certain of it, for I distinctly recognised your voice in the parrot's.
Gushby. Pooh! nonsense! If I had taught it to say anything, it would have been something worse than that, you may be sure.
Spinks. You always were kind. As for Jarp, he was in the plot. Otherwise do you think any man could have made such a fool of himself?
In Front of the Curtain.
Lady Surbiton. That's what I've always said. There's so much esprit de corps and good feeling amongst Amateurs—none of that wretched jealousy and bickering which ruins professionals.
Mrs. Gagmore. It is delightful to listen to them, certainly. They all look and act like perfect gentlemen. All Mr. Jarp's Butlers are splendid. You can see at a glance that they have only been with good families.
Behind the Curtain.
Hon. B. Boldero. I fancy we shall have good notices to-morrow in the Morning Moonbeam. I saw Penfold laughing immensely.
Spinks (down on his luck). Did you? (Plucking up a bit.) Well, it "went" capitally. It was only that blessed parrot.
[Goes off intending to buy several copies of next morning's "Moonbeam."
In Front of the Curtain.
Mr. Penfold (to his neighbour, a brother journalist): Are you going to write anything about this? I have got to do a short notice for the Morning Moonbeam. It's no use abusing these fellows. That's been tried. I'll give them a little butter this time, and see whether that won't stop them. How would it do to say something like this?—"We advise the Thespians to keep clear as much as they can of professionalism. Of course, tradition demands that the ladies' parts should be played by professionals, but the introduction of a professional parrot and a professional baby in the First Act was a mistake, which might have ruined the performance."
[His Friend nods approval. Exeunt severally. Imagine tableau next day. Delight of Amateurs on reading the notice of their performance in the "Moonbeam."