The Project Gutenberg eBook, Niobe, All Smiles, by Harry Paulton and Edward A. (Edward Antonio) Paulton

Niobe, All Smiles

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NIOBE,
ALL SMILES

A Farcical Comedy in Three Acts

BY
HARRY AND EDWARD PAULTON

Copyright, 1904, by T. H. French.

New York:
SAMUEL FRENCH,
PUBLISHER,
24, WEST 22nd STREET.

London:
SAMUEL FRENCH Ltd.,
PUBLISHERS,
26, SOUTHAMPTON ST.,
STRAND.

[NIOBE, ALL SMILES.]

[CAST OF CHARACTERS.]

ACT I.—Dunn’s Drawing Room. Looking to the North. (7.15 p.m.) In the Absence of the Family.

ACT II.—Same. Looking to the South. In the Presence of the Family.

ACT III.—Same. Looking to West. Afternoon of the Same Day.

Time.—Present. Location.—London.

NIOBE, ALL SMILES

[ACT I.]

Scene.—Dunn’s drawing-room. At the L. of front corner, a large bay window on to the street; L. C. an arched opening with portiere to stairs and entrance hall; R. door to dining-room. On the R. of entrance a four-fold screen like a box case, surrounding Statue of Niobe, in which is a Vampire opening at back. An opening also in Flat behind screen. One fold of screen opens to L. of stage towards centre opening. Two folds open to R. Small castors on the bottom of opening folds. Piano R. below door; couch in front of it; table L. C.; chairs R. and L. of it; piano stool, foot stool, chairs, etc.

At rise of curtain, Hattie R. at piano; Helen standing C., beating time to Hattie’s playing “The Maiden’s Prayer” for opening of act; Carrie seated L. of table L. C.; Beatrice seated R. of table, discovered examining album, sketches, etc.; after curtain is up, Mary enters from R. with three small cups and saucers on tray; Helen up C., takes one, drinks, Mary offers other cups to Carrie and Beatrice; Carrie offers one to Beatrice.

Bea. (with album) Who in the name of goodness is that dreadful looking guy?

Car. That is Mr. Dunn when he was a boy.

Bea. Your husband! oh!

Mary after offering coffee to Beatrice passes front of table to L., giving coffee to Carrie.

Car. Are you quite sure you won’t take coffee?

Bea. Quite sure!

After this Mary going up L. to exit C.

Hel. (up C., sternly) Mary, the fire!

Mary goes to fireplace L., puts tray on chair; Mary poking the fire—Helen eyes Mary severely.

Hat. (at piano R., finishes playing) Oh, Helen! That’s twice this evening I’ve played the “Maiden’s Prayer.”

Hel. (up C.; turning to Hattie fiercely) You will play the “Maiden’s Prayer” twice morning and evening until you are perfect.

Helen turns from Hattie and drinks coffee.

Hat. (impertinently) Ugh! I’d like to catch you saying your maiden prayers twice morning and evening.

Hattie turns—resumes playing.

Mary. (advancing C. to Helen, tray in hand) What time shall I order the carriage round?

Hel. Seven fifty.

Helen returns cup to Mary—Mary exits C. and R. at back.

We shall be at the Theatre then before the Curtain goes up.

Helen advances R. C., severely watches Hattie play—with glasses on.

Hat. Well, you oughtn’t to do it. You’ll lose caste if you get to your seats without disturbing the performance.

Hattie playing softly while she talks.

Hel. (advancing to Beatrice, L. C.) Beatrice, you are well posted on Theatrical matters; is the play we are going to see to-night strictly proper?

Bea. I know nothing to the contrary. (closing album.)

Hattie plays ff.

Hel. (very angrily) Hattie! Take your foot off the loud pedal; we can’t hear ourselves speaking.

Hattie shuts up piano petulantly; pouting as sits on couch, back to audience.

Car. (rising) I was sorry Mr. Sillocks couldn’t come to dinner.

Carrie goes to window down L., looks out.

Bea. Papa regretted it very much, but he is sure to be here to escort us. (crosses R. to couch and sits.)

Car. I’m glad of that, because Corney is never satisfactory as a Chaperon.

Bea. Oh, Carrie, I’m sure Corney is most attentive.

Hel. (L. C.) If you were his sister, you would not think so. He neglects us shamefully.

Hat. (R.) Quite right, too! It’s a pity if a fellow can’t stick to the girl he’s spooning. (sitting R. and laughingly hugging Bea.)

Hel. Hattie! You are a very slangy child. Such terms are most improper.

Hat. Corney uses them, and I don’t know any better way of saying it. (crosses to C.)

Hel. Could you not say adhere to the lady he’s engaged to?

Hattie crosses back to sofa.

Bea. We can hardly consider ourselves engaged, while Corney is, so to speak, on trial. If Papa approves of him, of course we shall be married.

Bus.; Hattie and Beatrice quietly congratulate each other.

Hel. I’m sorry I cannot live with you and manage the household, but Carrie could not get along without me. She has no talent for management and Peter is too engrossed with outside business.

Hat. (laughingly) If you’d watched him at dinner, you’d think he did not neglect his inside business.

Carrie and Beatrice laugh.

Hel. (sternly) I can see nothing humorous in that ribald remark.

Car. (L.) A man of Peter’s excitable temperament has enough worry abroad, he deserves to enjoy himself at home.

Carrie goes up L. to fireplace, puts cup on mantelpiece, as if looking for something.

Hel. But he brings his worries home with him. I’m sure we didn’t want that troublesome Statue in the house, though Mr. Tompkins does think it the greatest treasure on earth. He calls it Niobe Lachrymans,—whatever that means.

Bea. Why did Mr. Dunn bring it home? (knock and bell.)

Mary crosses at back from R. to L.

Hel. For safety he says; it is insured in the Universal, of which Mr. Dunn is Manager, for quite a large sum, and as Mr. Dunn granted the policy on his own responsibility, he is anxious to guard the Statue from injury.

Bea. (curiously) I should like to look at it.

Beatrice rises, going up towards screen.

Hel. (interrupts her) Not while Hattie is in the room.

Hat. (on couch R.) Oh! I’ve seen it, and why not! It’s decent enough. She only shows a bit of her shoulder; it’s nothing to the display at Society balls.

Hel. Hattie! The child is incorrigible. (goes up R. C.)

Car. (at fireplace up L.) Where are the Opera glasses?

Hat. Better ask Corney. He was at the Alhambra last evening.

Beatrice at piano, looking at music.

Hel. (turns) Oh, you dreadful girl! (door slams off L. U. E.)

Mary. (L. C.) They’re in the drawing room, Sir!

Sillocks enters L. C.; Mary crosses L. to R., always in front of stairs.

Sill. (C.) Good evening! Here we are! 7:30 to the tick! How’s Dunn?

Car. (at fireplace L.) My husband is very well, thank you!

Sill. How are you? (to Helen, coming down C.) Hello, Bea. (to Beatrice) Ah! Hattie! (Hattie crosses to Sillocks, C., who takes off overcoat.) and the babies, my little cherubs, Bertie and Maud.

Hel. (crossing at back to fireplace) They are in the nursery; we don’t allow them in the drawing-room.

Car. (down L. of L. C. table) They ought to be in bed; it is past their hour.

Beatrice crosses at back to fireplace.

Sill. Very early, isn’t it? even for infants?

Hel. Judging from results, no! Look what a healthy child Hattie is. Few girls have so fresh a complexion.

Hat. Unless they get it at the Chemist’s. (Sillocks laughs.)

Beatrice goes up L. to fireplace; Hattie puts on Sillocks’ hat, goes up stage C. at back; places coat and hat on rack in hallway; Sillocks sits R. of table.

Dunn. (without R.) No! No! Everything is comparative; smoking is bad, but chewing is a precious sight worse; and have you reached the limit of comparative noxiousness then? No, sir; no! (Dunn enters with Corney R. D. Corney crosses to Beatrice L.) Hallo, Sillocks! Did you notice how Nitrates were at closing?

Sill. (coming down front in centre to Dunn) 92½, a point and a quarter rise. You’re not interested in that Electric Light Consolidation scheme, are you?

Dunn. (R. C.) No! There’s no money in it.—Well! That’s my opinion.

Sill. Aren’t you coming with us to the Theatre?

Dunn. I? Oh no!

Sill. Why not?

Dunn. Not asked. Never intrude where I’m not wanted.

Sill. But your wife——

Dunn. Well, my wife——They did ask me to go once or twice; but owing to some business, I couldn’t accept; now, I never get the chance of refusing.

Sillocks goes and sits R. of table, opens album; Dunn up C., looking at his paper.

Hel. (back of table) Peter, if you wish to see the children while we are away, go up to them in the nursery. Carrie does not approve of their coming into the drawing-room.

Corn. (advancing slightly down L.) Quite right! Children up to a certain age should be kept in a room as devoid of furniture as possible; the only way to keep them out of mischief, is to chain them up to a ring in the wall——

Bea. What horrible notions you have Corney!

Leaving Corney, she goes up and crosses at back to R.

Sill. (looking at album) Hallo, legs! (Helen turns quickly, comes down to back of table) You’ve got some choice specimens of the Ballet here, I see!

Hat. (starting for table from R. corner) Where? Let’s have a look at them.

Hel. (commandingly) Stand back, Hattie! I must know before we proceed any further, how this indelicate picture happens to be placed by the side of mine, in the album?

Hattie goes to Beatrice up R., laughing.

Corn. (down L., aside) Hang it! I shall be ruined with Beatrice if Sillocks suspects me.

Hel. Corney!

Corn. (alarmed) Yes!

Hel. Do you know anything of this?

Corn. Why yes! Peter put ’em there!

Dunn. (down C.) What! I put them there?

Corn. (crosses to Dunn C.) Yes, of course, now—what’s the good of denying it, old man? (aside, digging Dunn’s ribs as he gets R. of him) Say yes, or Sillocks won’t approve of me.

Car. (advances slightly L.) Is that true Peter? Did you put them there?

Dunn. (perplexed) Well—(Corney looks at him) Yes—I suppose I must have done.

Corn. (over Dunn’s shoulder) Thanks—one extra lie can’t press much on your conscience.

Corney turns to Beatrice, who is R. C.

Bea. I’m so glad it wasn’t you, Corney.

Corn. So am I. Don’t make such a fuss about it, Helen, there’s no great crime in having photos of pretty girls.

Beatrice and Corney go up towards dining-room R. H.

Hel. (at back of table, with a withering glance at Dunn) Then we may fairly assume that those yellow-backed French novels I found in the study, are yours also?

Dunn. (turning C.) Mine!! Look here, Helen——

Corn. (turns quickly, coming back to C.) Helen! You’re too prying by half! Peter never imagined for a moment that you’d rake them out.

Dunn looks at Corney inquiringly.

Hat. (R.) Oh, Helen; they’re not so very dreadful! At least, the one I read wasn’t.

Hel. What! Oh, Carrie! What are we to do?

Corn. There’s not so much harm in these French books after all. They’re very much over-rated—I mean, exaggerated.

Dunn. I suppose Dobbin sent them up in a mistake for a bundle of circulars. (aside to Corney, with paper, his back to audience) What is it? What’s the idea?

Corn. Old Sillocks! Must stand well with the father. It’s all right, you can bear it. I cannot stand wrong——

Bea. Corney!

Corn. Oh, excuse me, Bea.

Joins Beatrice and exits with her in earnest conversation R. U. E., after pushing Hattie out of the way.

Hel. It is fortunate the servants are ignorant of French; it is a blessing they cannot realize the enormity of your offence.

Dunn goes to couch, sitting.

Dunn. (C.) I’m as bad as the servants—Neither can I.

Car. (crossing to Dunn, sits L. of him) It is fortunate we detected them before the new Governess arrived.

Dunn. Yes; it wouldn’t do to throw temptation in her way.

Hat. (R. of couch) When is she coming, Peter?

Dunn. I can’t tell you that. She has started—I believe, but has found it agreeable to call on some friends at Leamington.

Car. Then she may not be here for a day or two.

Dunn. It looks like it. She has sent her Leamington address, so she probably expects a message from us.

Hel. (coming fiercely to Dunn) Why have you kept this knowledge from us?

Dunn. You could have had it any time for the asking.

Hel. Where is her note?

Dunn. There’s no occasion to put on that tragedy queen expression. Here it is—(selects and gives letter.)

Hel. (crosses L. as she reads) Madeline Mifton, care of Mrs. Miller, Barton street.

Hat. Did she seem a jolly sort of girl?

Hel. (turning L. corner) She’s not engaged to be jolly!

Hattie with toss of her head, goes up R.

Dunn. She appeared to me an agreeable kind of person, and the people at Chester, where she was living, spoke very well of her.

Car. (arm in Dunn’s) I hope she will be good to the children.

Dunn. Well! She looked the kind of person who would be good to the children.

Hel. You have so little discrimination—I ought to have gone to Chester myself.

Goes up L. near fireplace.

Dunn. Well, nobody stopped you; and you have her references anyway. (Carrie soothes him and up to fireplace to Helen.)

Sill. I’m sorry you’re not going with us, Dunn.

Dunn. (crossing Sillocks and sitting L. of table) It’s just as well as it happens; I’ve had a letter from Tompkins, saying that he’s going to be in town for a few hours; he is sure to run in to look at his treasures.

Sill. I saw in the Telegraph that he had bought the celebrated statue “Niobe” from the Bernoldi collection; is that so?

Dunn. Yes! I have it here in the house. We have insured it for £10,000.

Sill. A good sum—what was your idea of bringing it here?

Helen, Hattie and Carrie up at back near fireplace.

Dunn. Oh! Mr. Tompkin’s new mansion, at Henley, isn’t ready yet; and I did not care to risk it in storage.

Sill. You don’t go in for curiosities yourself?

Dunn. No! No money in ’em! I’ve a genuine Rembrandt in the dining-room,—said to be worth £12,000.

Sill. Yours?

Dunn. No! Tompkins’s! Come and have a look at it—it may be your only chance. Just as well to be able to say you’ve seen these things.

Exit Sillocks and Dunn R. D., both talking; Hattie follows to door, mimicking them; then turns to Helen.

Hat. We ought to get our wraps on now. It’s a quarter to eight.

Hel. (going C.) How impatient you are!

Hat. No more so than you; only you think it clever to look as wooden as a Chinese idol.

Hel. Hattie! We’ll leave you behind if you’re not good.

Helen exits C. and R. up stairs.

Hat. (calling after her) You’d send me to bed without my supper too, if you could, only I have had it.

Car. (with pretended severity) Don’t be so forward, Hattie!

Carrie exits C. and R. up stairs; Corney and Beatrice enter from R. D., spooning.

Corn. Oh yes, Bea, if I asked you very sweetly, wouldn’t you? (Hattie gets in front of them.)

Bea. Here is Hattie?

Hat. (laughing with hands behind her) Disturbed again, eh? Poor dears. Can’t you get left to yourselves anywhere?

Corn. Yes, here—if you leave us. Get out.

Corney goes for Hattie C.; Beatrice drops down R. to couch and sits.

Hat. Now behave Corney, or I’ll tell Helen who put the photos in the album.

Corn. Be off, Miss Impudence—(runs her off upstairs R. C.) That girl’s a terror. (returns to Bea, speaking as he comes down) You can’t think Beatrice—(sits on couch) You can’t think.

Hat. (returning) You can think; we haven’t much time, Bea; you’ll be late.

Corn. Will you get out—(Corney chases her round table and up stairs C. and R.; he returns) She gets worse and worse! (looking back after Hattie.)

Bea. I didn’t see anything so dreadful in the photos, Corney; if you own up to them, I don’t mind.

Corn. Oh, well! If you don’t mind, I will!

Bea. I thought they couldn’t be poor Mr. Dunn’s; he looked so innocent.

Corn. (seated on couch R., laughing) Yes, Peter’s appearance does rather discount him.

Bea. It was too bad to infer they were his.

Corn. Oh, he doesn’t mind. We put everything on to Peter; and I’m so much afraid of your father’s displeasure; you don’t know the treasure you are Bea; and the fume a fellow gets in for fear of losing you. (with arm round Bea.)

Bea. Why should you be so anxious? If your past was only blameless.

Corn. (absent minded) Yes! If it only was!

Bea. Do you tell me it is not?

Corn. (quickly) No! Of course I don’t, you don’t think I’m such a jay—gay—gay deceiver? (turns slightly away) If we were only married. Then I shouldn’t have to be so careful.

Bea. Have you to be careful?

Corn. Of myself, yes! But then, you can take care of me; and I can be careful of you; and I shan’t have to invent stories about Art photographs, or French Novels.

Bea. Novels, Corney?

Corn. Though they’re not really mine; Innings brought them here.

Bea. We’ve not seen Mr. Innings lately.

Corn. Not for two or three days; he’s away on business.

Bea. I thought he had no business to be away upon.

Corn. No! he has no business to be away, when I want him here—that is—he isn’t away on his business. It’s business of mine.

Bea. (curiously) Business of yours?

Corn. Yes! well! pleasure more than business—when I say pleasure I mean business—I wanted a change—but I couldn’t spare the time—and Phil could—he took the change—it was really my change; for he paid the time before; you know how one fellow will take another fellow’s change. He’s a most obliging fellow.

Knock; Hattie runs down stairs.

Hat. Here’s Mr. Innings, Corney!

Hattie rushes off L.

Corn. Thank goodness—I was getting a bit mixed. (goes L. as Innings enters C. from L., Hattie following.) How are you, Phil?

Bea. Good evening, Mr. Innings!

Inn. Good evening, Miss Sillocks!

Innings down R.

Bea. Come Hattie!

Beatrice going up C.

Hat. (C., gushing at Innings) Oh, there’s heaps of time; it’s so rude to leave Mr. Innings.

Corn. (going up to Hattie) You haven’t a minute; the carriage is at the door now; I’ll do the polite to Innings.

Corney sees girls off C. R. up stairs and returns to Innings.

What kept you so long? I expected you yesterday!

Inn. (taking off gloves as he sits on couch) I had more to do than I thought. You said——

Corn. (C. anxiously) Never mind what I said; what have you to say? Your news?

Inn. Well! I went to Cambridge you know——

Corn. And you have come back, I know, but what did you do there? What have you discovered?

Inn. I found Ethel——

Corn. Good!

Inn. Was no longer there——

Corn. Then you didn’t find her?

Inn. (sitting on couch) No; nor the slightest trace of where she had gone.

Corn. (goes L. and up round table) Then she’ll turn up when least expected; what a confounded fool I was! If the affair reaches old Sillocks’s ears, good bye to Beatrice; hang it! I’d have discovered something if I’d gone. (sits R. of table.)

Inn. (rises and coming C.) It wasn’t much, but I discovered something—I learnt that Ethel had a sister, a governess. Did you know Ethel had a sister, a governess?

Corn. Yes, but I never saw her!

Inn. Knew you’d think I hadn’t tried, if I didn’t find out something; so obtained the address of Sister, at a situation in Chester—went to Chester; sister had left—referred to a friend. Miss Topping; found Topping; worked round stealthily to subject, but the moment I mentioned Ethel’s name, Miss T. shut up like an Oyster; no news there, except that Ethel’s sister, Madeline Mifton——

Corn. Yes!

Inn. Had gone to a situation as governess, in London. Resigned a good situation, for “some ridiculous notion”—that’s what Miss T. called it—of coming to London—to look up—or hunt down—a young man to whom her sister was or had been engaged.

Corn. (delighted) Ridiculous notion! Good for Topping! She might as well search for a needle in a haystack—I’m safe enough.

Knock; Mary crosses from R. to L. at back.

Inn. I wonder she didn’t pursue you herself, instead of putting the sister on your track.

Corn. Well, Ethel is something like myself—she cannot stand worry.

Door slam; enter Mary C. from L.; Innings goes to R. of table.

Mary. Mr. Tompkins!

Corn. Show him in, and I’ll send Mr. Dunn to him. (Mary exits to L.; Corney goes over to door R.) Peter! Here’s Mr. Tompkins—I’m going to the Theatre Phil, so I can’t stop and entertain you. I’m immensely tickled with the idea of the Sister coming to London to hunt me down. I shall think of nothing else all the evening.

Dunn. (speaking as he enters from room R.) How de do, Tompkins, (Innings going towards Dunn) why, it’s Innings! (Dunn down to couch) I thought you said Mr. Tompkins was here.

Corn. He is here.

Dunn. Where?

Corn. There! (indicating hall off C.) How you do worry, Peter!

Corney and Innings exit into dining-room R., as Tompkins enters L. C.; Dunn rises and meets him C.

Tomp. Let me thank you, Mr. Dunn, for taking such particular care of my treasure. It was most considerate of you to bring it into your own house.

Tompkins posing L. C.

Dunn. (R. C.) Not at all! I was anxious to have it unpacked, just to make sure it hadn’t suffered in shipment.

Tomp. (enthusiastically—taking off gloves) Ah! you thought of the centuries that beautiful form had retained its completeness, without damage or disfigurement, and were impressed with a tender, almost loving, care.

Dunn. Not a bit! I thought of the loss to our Company if it got chipped. There was no sentiment or friendship in the business. Sentiment’s all very well, but there’s no money in it.

Dunn crosses to window, L. C.; Sillocks enters from dining-room R.; lights begin to go slowly down.

Sill. (R. C.) How do you do, Mr. Tompkins. I congratulate you Sir, on the possession of such a gem.

Tomp. (L. C.) Beautiful, is it not?

Sill. (R. C.) Grand! A painting like that——

Tomp. Painting! I am speaking of my Statue, Niobe.

Sill. Oh, I haven’t seen it.

Tomp. (C.) Ah, when you do! Where among your moderns is a work like it? Where among your Sculptors, the peer of Phidias, Praxiteles, Scophas or Polydorus of Rhodes?

Dunn. (L. of table) And which of the whole lot would compare with Edison?

Tomp. Ah, Dunn! You are not familiar with the Elgin Marbles.

Dunn. Haven’t played a game since I was a boy! (sits L. of table)

Tomp. (despondently) Sculpture is dead now Sillocks.

Sill. Don’t despond Tompkins, it may revive!

Dunn. Sculpture’s right enough in its way—but it isn’t in it with the Telephone, or the Telegraph, or the Tape, or the Typewriter.

Tomp. Ugh! All such inventions tend to warp the noblest traits of human nature.

Dunn. Statues are all right for decorating Parks, but there’s no money in them.

Sill. I’m in favor of the modern myself.

Tomp. And I sigh for the Antique—(sits R. of table L. C.) I should like to have lived in the days of Homer!

Dunn. Not for me. I can’t fancy existence without cheap postage, fast steamers, and penny-in-the-slot machines. I countenance every improvement. Move with the times I say, and get ahead of ’em if you can. (rise) I’m getting the Electric light put in now; we make our connection from the street here, just as you do with your gas.

Tomp. I hate gas. I would go back to the pine torch or the days of candles!