Mary Broome: A Comedy, in Four Acts

by Allan Monkhouse

LEONARD. Quite good, Edgar, if you could only get a pleasant tone into your voice. As you say it it’s so bad socially. And how are you, Sheila?

SHEILA. I’m quite well, thank you.

LEONARD. Chilly, chilly. Mother, you’ve got an awkward job this evening.

TIMBRELL. Don’t be absurd, sir.

[MRS. TIMBRELL and MARY retire up the stage and sit down together. ADA and SHEILA also converse together in whispers with MRS. PENDLETON. The four men are to the front.]

PENDLETON. And what are you doing with yourself now, Leonard?

LEONARD. Still at the old game, sir; still at the old game.

PENDLETON. Indeed! What’s that?

LEONARD. Well, do you know I had to fill up my census paper the other day and I was rather bothered to describe myself. Of course I’m a literary man but that hardly seems to cover the ground. I’m really a kind of sponge but that doesn’t rank as a regular trade.

TIMBRELL. You’ll make nothing of him, Pendleton, when he’s in this humour.