PIFF. (Up c.) That’s never done now, sir, in good society. My late lamented master, the Count de Fizziani—
ALLEN. (Springing up, working Piff. round, from table l. to desk r.) Oh, you go to your late lamented master, the fizzing Count, and tell him to—I have had eno’ of him and I’ve had eno’ of you. Blest if I’ve had a happy moment since you came into the house. You’ve dressed me up like a tailor’s dummy, and curled my hair like a Sunday school kid; you’ve made me talk like a man in a play, and walk like a monkey on stilts. Thee’ve chivied me about from morning till night, and thee’ve rammed that old lamented corpse of yours down my throat every two minutes of the day. I’ve put up wi’ it all for a long while because I thought thee meant well, and wur a-trying to make me into a gentleman, but blest if I think thee knows much more about the genuine article than I does, and I’m going to go it in my own way now. Look here. (Takes off his tie and collar and throws them down and jumps on them, pulls off his coat and throws it in a corner, nifties his hair, unbuttons and throws back his waistcoat, kicks off his boots, and throws himself into easy chair, sticks his feet on table, takes long pull from the pot, slams it on table> again, and commences to smoke his pipe vigorously, looking defiantly at Piff.) That’s the sort o’ man I’m going to be now. (Sits l.)
PIFF. (Who has stood aghast, moving off.) Very well, sir; then I have only to say that I wash my hands of you entirely. (Pause.) You can’t make a gentleman out of a pig’s ear. (Sneeringly).
ALLEN. (Puffing quietly at pipe.) No, it ain’t the usual method.
PIFF. (By door c. muttering to himself, but meant to be heard by Allen.) Only what I might have expected from mixing myself up with such canaille. (Pauses. Allen takes no notice.) Pray understand, sir, I give you a week’s warning on the spot. My late master, the—
ALLEN. (Springing up and throwing book at him. Piff. exits r.) Yes. (Piff. again appears hurriedly at door r. and cries, “Upstart bumpkin,” and exit quickly.) I’ll give ’ee my toe on the spot if I hear any more of—(reseats himself, with a grunt of disgust; a pause, during which he smokes.) He is right, I wurn’t meant for a gentleman after all. Some of us was built for gaiters, and some on us for patent leather shoes, and I be one of the gaiter sort—all my tastes are low. I doan’t like claret and I doan’t like cigarettes. I’m uncomfortable in a collar (picking his up and fixing it) and I prefer shove-ha’penny to billiards. (Sighs, continues dreamily.) Ah, I’d gie a trifle to be going to spend this evening at the Dunkery Arms a-halping to sing a chorus with old Joe Steddles and young Jem Whalley and Jack Clouter. Ah, he’d got a fine voice, had old Jack Clouter. Never heard a man sing so loud in all my life. Lord, I shall never forget her’s doing “Rock me to sleep, mother,” round at the lodge, and a waking up mother Hammond’s three kids just as her’d got un all off to sleep. Lord, how her let us have it. (Laughing.) Ah, us went home early that night. (Chuckling.) They comed back wi’ me, old Jack and Jim, and Deb made us a veal pasty for supper. (Smiling.) Ah, her do make good—
(Enter Peters, followed by Purtwee, door c., says, “Mr. Purtwee,” takes P.‘s hat and exit. Allen rises and commences to pick up his various articles of apparel and re fix them while talking to Purt.)
PURT. (Coming forward.) Well, my boy.
ALLEN. Ah, it does me good to see thee again.
PURT. How are you?