Joe's M. So laudable his wish, I would not cross it—
(Mysteriously.) He knows not there are jam-pots in yon closet!
Chorus. Away we go tripping,
From boughs to be stripping
Each pear, plum, and pippin
Pomona supplies!
When homeward we've brought 'em,
Those products of Autumn,
We'll carefully sort 'em
(One of our old Music-hall rhymes),
According to size! [Repeat as they caper out.
[Joe's Mother, after one fond, lingering look behind, follows: the voices are heard more and more faintly in the distance. Stage darkens: the last ray of sunset illumines key of jam-cupboard door.
Joe. At last I am alone! Suppose I tried
That cupboard—just to see what's kept inside?
[Seems drawn towards it by some fatal fascination.
There might be Guava jelly, and a plummy cake,
For such a prize I'd laugh to scorn a stomach-ache!
[Laughs a stomach-ache to scorn.
And yet (hesitating) who knows?—a pill ... perchance—a powder!
(Desperately.) What then? To scorn I'll laugh them—even louder!
[Fetches chair and unlocks cupboard. Doors fall open with loud clang, revealing Interior of Jam Closet (painted by Hawes Craven). Joe mounts chair to explore shelves.
"How sorry I am, He ate raspberry jam, And currants that stood on the shelf!"—Vide Poem.
Joe (speaking with mouth full and back to audience).
'Tis raspberry—of all the jams my favourite;
I'll clear the pot, whate'er I have to pay for it!
And finish up with currants from this shelf ...
Who'll ever see me?
The Demon of the Jam Closet (rising slowly from an immense pot of preserves).
No one—but Myself!
[The cupboard is lit up by an infernal glare (courteously lent by the Lyceum Management from "Faust" properties); weird music; Joe turns slowly and confronts the Demon with awestruck eyes. N.B.—Great opportunity for powerful acting here.
The Demon (with a bland sneer). Pray don't mind me—I will await your leisure.