Drawing Rooms, Second Floor, and Attics: A Farce, in One Act

by John Maddison Morton

Hastily runs out L. door.

ARABEL. The water ought to be quite hot—oughtn’t it, Mr. Sharp?

SHARP. Biling!

ARABEL. Then perhaps you’ll put a light to the fire; it’s all ready laid. Where have I put the lucifer matches? (looking on the table, and tossing the things about) Perhaps they’re in my bed room.

Goes out at R. 2 E.

SHARP. (finding the box of matches on the table) Here they are, Miss Arabella! (goes to fireplace, kneels down, strikes a light, and applies it—the fire suddenly lights—immediately a loud shouting, &c., heard from chimney, and TRIPTOLEMUS comes down with a run into the grate) Help! thieves! murder! (roaring with fright, and rushing wildly off at L. 3 E.)

At the same moment, ARABELLA runs in alarmed from R. 2 E.

ARABEL. Mercy on me! what is the matter?

(TRIPTOLEMUS scrambles out of the grate, staggers forward, and falls helplessly on a chair, which is covered with white or light coloured chintz—ARABELLA runs behind the table, exclaiming “Ah!”—TRIPTOLEMUS’S face and hands are still blackened, and his coat is ripped up to the collar behind)