Michael and His Lost Angel: A Play in Five Acts

by Henry Arthur Jones

AUDR. Half-past six. I shall have a cold, dark voyage.

MICH. And it is just a little rough. But Hannaford is a careful boatman.

AUDR. It’s not Hannaford who is coming for me. I telegraphed for Withycombe.

MICH. (pause—very pale and cold). Withycombe? But you always employ Hannaford?

AUDR. Yes; and I did write out one telegram to him, and then I thought I should like to go back in the boat that always takes you. So I tore up the telegram to Hannaford, and telegraphed to Withycombe.

MICH. Withycombe?

AUDR. Yes, what’s the matter?

MICH. He lives alone. When he goes out, he locks up his cottage. Your telegram will wait at the post office.

AUDR. Why?

MICH. Withycombe has gone over to Saint Margaret’s with Gibbard and my uncle. They stay there the night.