[Mary White exits into the passage, and closes the folding-doors after her.
Enter WIDGETTS by street door, L.
Wid. I’ve ordered the champagne—these opera girls all drink champagne, when they can get it. I wonder is she here still. (Looks into chamber, R.) Ah, bravo! She’s gone. (Sees the letter on table, C.) Ah, a letter—for me? (Opens it carelessly, starts, and reads to himself.) Oh, oh, oh! What? (Reads.) “Mary White—I’m going to drown myself in the water-butt, where you’ll find me.” Gracious powers! “Adieu, Widgetts, I forgive you.” Poor dear soul. “But my ghost, and them lobsters will sit heavy on your stomach to-night.” Horrible idea! It can’t be true—she’d never go to commit such a catastrophe in my establishment. Make a coroner’s inquest of herself in my private water-butt, when the Thames is open to all! No, she’s only said so to frighten me. (Throws letter on the floor and goes to folding-doors.) Why Mary, Mary, my dear, don’t be foolish! Ha, ha, ha, ha! I know it’s one of your jokes. Ha, ha! Little rogue! Ha! ha! Ha! ha! (Throws open folding-doors and discovers the dummy figure, which has been dressed in female garments, with the legs and part of the dress sticking out of the water-butt, a pair of women’s green boots on the feet of the figure. Widgetts totters back, horrified at the sight.) Oh, oh, oh! She done it. She’s there, with her legs sticking out of the water-butt, and her green Sunday boots on her feet—and the vital spark extinct. Oh, it’s too dreadful a sight for human feelings them legs, and them green boots. (Returns, and closes the folding-doors.) What an awful sensation ’twill make when it’s found out; they’ll have my head in all the print shops, and my tale in all the newspapers—I shall be brought out at half the theatres too. They’ll make three shocking acts of one fatal act at the Victoria, and they’ll have the real water and water-butt at the Surrey. (Rises.) What’s to be done? I’m in a desperate state of mind, and feel as if I could take my own measure for an unmade coffin.
Twill. (Who has entered at the last words.) I’ve ordered it, sir, for nine precisely.
Wid. (Starts.) Ordered it? What?
Twill. The fowl and the lobster in the shell.
Wid. Oh, ha! I was thinking of another shell. Ha, ha, ha, ha! Light the lamp, Twill. (With forced gaiety.) We’ll have a jolly night. Ha, ha, ha, ha!
“Old King Cole was a jolly old soul, and a jolly old soul was he;
He called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl,
And he called for his fiddlers three.”
Twill. Ay, master, that’s the way to drown old care.
Wid. Drown who, sir? Do you mean, sir, that anyone is drowned in this establishment?