MRS. DOT

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

(Uniform with this Volume)

LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN

Mrs. Dot

A FARCE
In Three Acts
By W. S. MAUGHAM

LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN
MCMXII

All rights reserved

This play, originally called Worthley’s Entire, was produced at the Comedy Theatre on April 26, 1908, with the following cast:

MRS. DOT

CHARACTERS

Time: The present day

Act I—Gerald’s rooms in Grafton Street

Acts II and III—Mrs. Worthley’s house on the river

The Performing Rights of this play are fully protected, and permission to perform it, whether by Amateurs or Professionals, must be obtained in advance from the author’s Sole Agent, R. Golding Bright, 20 Green Street, Leicester Square, London, W.C., from whom all particulars can be obtained.

MRS. DOT

THE FIRST ACT

Scene: Gerald’s rooms in Grafton Street. A man’s room, pleasantly furnished, with very comfortable arm-chairs, and prints on the walls. Books are lying about, and smoking utensils.

Charles, Gerald Halstane’s servant, opens the door. Mr. Wright comes in, a dapper young man, smartly dressed.

Charles.

There, you can see for yourself that Mr. Halstane is not at home.

Mr. Wright.

Very well, I’ll wait for him.

Charles.

You’ll have to wait till midnight, because I don’t expect him in.

Mr. Wright.

Last time I came you said he’d be back in half an hour, and when I returned you said he’d just gone out. You don’t catch me napping a second time.

Charles.

The governor don’t take impertinence lying down, Mr. Wright, and he’ll look upon it as a great liberty your dunning him in this way.

Mr. Wright.

I don’t know about taking impertinence, but he’ll have to take a summons if my account is not settled at once.

[There is a ring at the bell.

Charles.

[Ironically.] Make yourself quite at home, won’t you?

Mr. Wright.

Thank you. I will.

[Charles goes out and leaves the door open so that the conversation with Rixon, the solicitor, is heard.

Rixon.

[Outside.] Is Mr. Halstane in?

Charles.

No, sir. He’s gone to his club.

Rixon.

Well, I’ll ring him up. I must see him on a matter of the very greatest importance. You’re on the telephone, aren’t you?

Charles.

Yes, sir. But there’s a person waiting to see him.

Rixon.

[Coming in.] Oh, never mind.

[Rixon is a short, rubicund man, with white whiskers and a hearty manner.

Mr. Wright.

[Going towards him.] Mr. Rixon. [Rixon looks at him without recognising him.] Don’t you remember me, sir? I’m the junior partner in Andrews and Wright.

Rixon.

Of course I do. I saw your father on business the other day. [To Charles.] Where’s the telephone book?

Charles.

I’ll just go and fetch it, sir. Mr. Halstane lent it to the gentleman upstairs.

Rixon.

Be as quick as you can.

[Charles goes out.

Rixon.

[To Mr. Wright.] What are you doing here?

Mr. Wright.

Well, the fact is, we’ve got a very large account with Halstane, and I’m told he’s in queer street. I want to get the money before the crash comes.

Rixon.

Queer street? The man’s just come into seven thousand a year.

Mr. Wright.

What!

Rixon.

That’s why I’m running all over the place to find him. You know he’s a relation of the Hollingtons. I was at her ladyship’s not half an hour ago—the Dowager, you know—my firm has acted for the whole family for the last hundred years. Well, I’d hardly arrived before a message came from the War Office to say that her grandson, the present lord, had been killed in India. So as soon as I could, I bolted round here. Mr. Halstane is the next heir, and he comes into seven thousand a year and the title.

Mr. Wright.

My gracious, that’s a piece of luck.

Rixon.

I don’t mind telling you now that he’d pretty well come to the end of his tether. Your money was all right because he’d have paid everything up, but he wouldn’t have had much left.

Mr. Wright.

Of course he doesn’t know anything about this yet?

Rixon.

Not a word. For all he knows, he’s a ruined man, and here am I trying to get him on the telephone to tell him he’s come into a peerage and a very handsome income.

[Charles enters with the telephone book.

Charles.

7869 Gerrard, sir.

Rixon.

Thanks.

[He rings up and asks for the number.

Rixon.

7869 Gerrard, please, Miss.... What? Confound it, the line’s engaged.... I must go round to his club in a cab. I suppose you don’t want to wait here now, Wright?

Mr. Wright.

No, sir. I’ll get back to the shop.

Charles.

I ’ope you’ll suit your own convenience, sir. [Charles shows them out and comes back.] I don’t know what these tradespeople are coming to when they expect gentlemen to pay their bills.

[He seats himself in the most comfortable chair in the room and puts his feet on the table. His back is to the door. The newspaper is lying by his side. He shuts his eyes and dozes.

[Gerald enters silently, followed immediately by Blenkinsop and Freddie Perkins.

[Gerald is a handsome man of seven or eight and twenty, simple in his manners, carefully dressed but without exaggeration. Freddie is a vivacious boy of two and twenty, Blenkinsop is an old bachelor of five and forty; he is well-preserved and takes a good deal of care of his appearance. He is dressed in the height of fashion.

[For a moment they look silently at Charles, who wakes with a start and jumps up in confusion.

Charles.

I beg your pardon, sir; I didn’t hear you come in.

Gerald.

[With an ironical politeness which he preserves during all his remarks to Charles.] Pray don’t let us disturb you. I shall never forgive myself if I think I’ve interrupted your nap.

Charles.

Shall I take your hat, sir?

Gerald.

It’s very kind of you. I shouldn’t like you to put yourself out.

Freddie.

[Sitting down.] By Jove, what a ripping chair! No wonder that Charles went to sleep.

Charles.

Mr. Rixon has just been, sir. He’s gone on to the club.

Gerald.

[With a laugh.] I’m not sorry to miss him. One’s solicitor seldom has any good news to bring one.

Charles.

Will you have the whiskey and soda, sir?

Gerald.

If it wouldn’t give you too much trouble.

[Charles goes out, and Gerald hands the cigarette box to Blenkinsop and Freddie.

Gerald.

Sit down and make yourself comfortable, James.

Blenkinsop.

To do that is one of the few principles I’ve adhered to in the course of an easy and unadventurous life.

[Charles enters with a tray on which are glasses, whiskey and sodas.

Charles.

Is there anything else you want, sir?

Gerald.

If you can spare me two minutes of your valuable time, I should like to make a few observations to you.

Freddie.

Collect yourself, Charles, to receive the words of wisdom that fall from Mr. Halstane’s lips.

Charles.

Things is very bad on the Stock Exchange, sir.

Gerald.

Charles, I have no objection to your sitting in my arm-chair and putting your feet on my table. I am willing to ignore the fact that you smoke my cigars and drink my whiskey.

Blenkinsop.

[Sipping.] You show excellent judgment, Charles. The whiskey’s capital.

Charles.

[Imperturbably.] Pot-still, sir. Fifteen years in bottle.

Gerald.

I can even bear with equanimity that you should read my letters. For the most part they’re excessively tedious, and they will only show you how deplorable is the education of the upper classes. But I must insist on your not reading my paper till I’ve done with it.

Charles.

I’m very sorry, sir. I thought there was no objection.

Gerald.

A newspaper, a suit of clothes, and a bottle of wine are three things at which I prefer....

Charles.

To ’ave the first cut in, sir.

Gerald.

I thank you, Charles; I couldn’t have expressed my meaning more idiomatically.

Freddie.

[Laughing.] You’d better have a drink.

Charles.

Allow me, sir.

[He mixes a whiskey and soda.

Gerald.

You need not pour out the whiskey with such a generous hand as when you help yourself. Thank you.

Charles.

Them mining shares of yours is very low, sir.

Gerald.

They are.

Charles.

If you’ll remember, sir, I was all against them at the time you bought.

Blenkinsop.

You are a jewel, Charles, if besides administering to your master’s wants you advise him in his financial transactions.

Gerald.

Unless I’m mistaken, Charles strongly recommended me to invest my money in public-houses.

Charles.

Them being frequented in peace and war, and not subject to clandestine removals. In peace men drink to celebrate their ’appiness, and in war to drown their sorrow.

Gerald.

[Smiling.] You are a philosopher, Charles, and it cuts me to the quick that I should be forced to deny myself the charm of your conversation.

Charles.

[Astonished.] I beg your pardon, sir?

Gerald.

I am endeavouring to give you notice in such a manner as not to outrage your susceptibilities.

Charles.

Me, sir? I’m sorry if I don’t give satisfaction.

Gerald.

On the contrary, you give every satisfaction. It has never been my good fortune to run across a servant who had an equal talent for blacking boots and for repartee. I am grateful for the care with which you have kept my wardrobe, and the encouragement you have offered to my attempts at humour. I have never seen you perturbed by a rebuke, or discouraged by ill-temper. Your merits, in fact, are overwhelming, but I’m afraid I must ask you to find another place.

Blenkinsop.

You really shouldn’t be so abrupt, Gerald. Look at him staggering under the blow.

Charles.

I’m very comfortable here, sir. Can you give me no reason for this decision?

Gerald.

You gave it yourself, Charles. As you justly observed, them mining shares is very low. You are sufficiently acquainted with my correspondence to be aware that my creditors have passed with singular unanimity from the stage of remonstrance to that of indignation.

Blenkinsop.

I say, I’m sorry to hear this, old man.

Charles.

If it’s just a matter of wages, sir, I shall be ’appy to wait till it suits your convenience to pay me.

Gerald.

[With a smile of thanks.] I’m grateful to you for that, Charles; but, honestly, do you think half-measures can be of any use to me?

Charles.

Well, sir, so far as I’m acquainted with your circumstances....

Gerald.

Come, come, this modesty ill becomes you. Is there a bill in this room, or a solicitor’s letter, with which you are not intimately acquainted?

Charles.

Well, sir, if you ask me outright—things is pretty bad.

Freddie.

I say, don’t play the ass any more. What the deuce does it all mean?

Gerald.

I’m sorry the manner in which I’m imparting to you an interesting piece of information, doesn’t meet with your approval. Would you like me to tear my hair in handfuls?

Blenkinsop.

It would be picturesque, but painful.

Freddie.

Are you really broke?

Gerald.

So much so that I’ve to-day sublet my rooms. In a week, Charles, I shall cast the dust of London off my feet, a victim to the British custom of primogeniture.

Charles.

Yes, sir.

Gerald.

Have you the least idea what I mean?

Charles.

No, sir.

Gerald.

Well, I feel certain that during some of the many leisure moments you have enjoyed in my service, you have cast an eye upon that page in Burke upon which my name figures—insignificantly.

Charles.

Begging your pardon, sir, I looked you up in the Peerage before I accepted the situation.

Gerald.

It rejoices me to learn that your investigations were satisfactory.

Charles.

Well, sir, always having lived before with titled gentlemen, I felt I owed it to myself to be careful.

Gerald.

I am overpowered by your condescension, Charles. It never occurred to me that you were taking my character while I was taking yours.

Charles.

If servants wanted as good characters from masters as masters want from servants, I ’ave an idea that many gentlemen would ’ave to clean their own boots.

Gerald.

You scintillate, Charles, but I deplore your tendency to digress.

Charles.

I beg pardon, sir. As you was the second son of an honourable and very well connected, I didn’t mind stretching a point. If I may say so, your father was almost a nobleman.

Gerald.

The consequence is, however, that I was brought up without in the least knowing how to earn my living. I belong to that vast army of younger sons whose sole means of livelihood is a connection with a peer of the realm and such mother-wit as Dame Nature has provided them with.

[A ring is heard.

Charles.

There’s some one at the door, sir. Are you at home?

Gerald.

No, I expect two ladies to tea in half an hour, but you must admit no one else. These gentlemen will be forced to deprive me of their society in twenty-five minutes.

Blenkinsop.

Not at all. Not at all.

Gerald.

I repeat with considerable firmness that these gentlemen will be compelled by a previous engagement to leave me in twenty minutes.

Blenkinsop.

It’ll be difficult after that to make our departure seem perfectly natural, won’t it?

[A second ring is heard.

Gerald.

Nobody’s to come in.

Charles.

Very good, sir.

[He goes out.

Blenkinsop.

I say, old man, I’m awfully sorry to hear this bad news of yours. Can’t I do anything to help you?

Gerald.

No, thanks.

[The bell is rung continuously, with the greatest impatience.

Freddie.

By Jove, whoever your visitor is, he doesn’t like being kept waiting.

Mrs. Dot.

[Outside.] Is Mr. Halstane at home?

Freddie.

[Softly.] Why, it’s my aunt.

Blenkinsop.

Mrs. Dot.

Gerald.

Ssh!

Charles.

Not at home, madam.

Mrs. Dot.

[Outside.] Nonsense. I want to see him very particularly.

Charles.

I’m very sorry, madam. Mr. Halstane went out not five minutes ago. I almost wonder you didn’t meet him on the stairs.

Mrs. Dot.

Yes, I know all about that.

[Mrs. Worthley comes in. She is a pretty little woman, very wonderfully gowned. She is frank, open and full of spirits. Charles follows her into the room.

Mrs. Dot.

Oh! Three of you. Charles, how can you tell such stories?

Charles.

[Very gravely.] Mr. Halstane is not at home, madam.

Gerald.

[Coming forward and taking her hand.] Charles is shocked at your lack of decorum.

Mrs. Dot.

Run away, Charles. And don’t do it again.... I suppose you think this sort of thing isn’t done in the best families?

Charles.

[Stiffly.] No, madam.

Mrs. Dot.

I saw one of my drays outside, so I thought I’d just look in to see how you liked it.

Charles.

[Icily.] I beg your pardon, madam?

Mrs. Dot.

The beer, my good man, the beer! Don’t you know that I’m Worthley’s Entire?

Charles.

I never gave the subject a thought, madam.

Mrs. Dot.

And very good our half-crown family ale is, although I say it as shouldn’t.

Gerald.

You may go, Charles.

[Without a word, much on his dignity Charles departs.

Gerald.

[Gaily.] It’s fortunate I’ve just given him notice, because Charles would certainly never stay in a house where he’d been so grossly insulted.

Mrs. Dot.

I love shocking Charles. He’s so genteel. Whenever I come here I see him obviously trying not to show that he’s perfectly well aware that I have anything to do with trade.

Blenkinsop.

The world is so degenerate that it’s only among domestic servants that you find any respect for landed gentry and any contempt for commerce.

Mrs. Dot.

[To Freddie.] I’m glad to see that you’re not ruining your health by working too hard as my secretary.

Freddie.