Short Plays

on the table. Right of table, a chair, in which the Manager’s Wife is seated. Another chair, empty, left on table. At the desk stands the Manager, ghastly pale. (Applause.) When silence is restored he makes two or three visible efforts to speak. The Manager’s Wife Aside. Courage, dear. The Manager Smiling with effort. Oh, quite so, quite so. Don’t be frightened, dearest. I am quite self-possessed. It would be very silly for me to⁠—er⁠—there is no occasion for nervousness⁠—I⁠—er⁠—quite accustomed to public life⁠—er⁠—ahem! He opens the manuscript, raises his head, and takes breath. Er⁠—He flattens the manuscript out with his hand, affecting the ease and large gesture of an orator. The desk collapses with an appalling clatter. He collapses, shaking with nervousness, into the chair. The Manager’s Wife Running to him solicitously. Never mind, dear, it was only the desk. Come, come now. You’re better now, aren’t you? The audience is waiting. The Manager I thought it was the station. The Manager’s Wife There’s no station there now, dear; it’s quite safe. Replacing the MS. on the desk. There! That’s right. She sits down and composes herself to listen. The Manager Beginning his speech. Dear friends⁠—I wish I could call you ladies and gentlemen⁠— The Manager’s Wife Hm! Hm! Hm! The Manager What’s the matter? The Manager’s Wife Prompting him. Ladies and gentlemen⁠—I wish I could call you dear friends. The Manager Well, what did I say? The Manager’s Wife You said it the other way about. No matter. Go on. They will understand. The Manager Well, what difference does it make? Testily. How am I to make a speech if I am to be interrupted in this way? To the audience. Excuse my poor wife, ladies and gentlemen. She is naturally a little nervous tonight. You will overlook a woman’s weakness. To his wife. Compose yourself, my dear. Ahem! He returns to the MS. The piece of land on which our theatre is built is mentioned in Domesday Book, and you will be glad to hear that I have succeeded in tracing its history almost year by year for the eight hundred years that have elapsed since that book⁠—perhaps the most interesting of all English books⁠—was written. That history I now propose to impart to you. Winifred, I really cannot make a speech if you look at your watch. If you think I am going on too long, say so. The Manager’s Wife Not at all, dear. But our friends may not be so fond of history as you are. The Manager Why not? I am surprised at you, Winifred. Do you suppose that this is an ordinary frivolous audience of mere playgoers? You are behind the times. Look at our friend Tree, making a fortune out of Roman history! Look at the Court Theatre; they listen to this sort of thing for three hours at a stretch there. Look at the Royal Institution, the Statistical Society, the House of Commons! Are we less scholarly, less cultured, less serious than the audiences there? I say nothing of my own humble powers, but am I less entertaining than an average Cabinet Minister? You show great ignorance of the times we live in, Winifred, and if my speech bores you, that only shows that you are not in the movement. I am determined that this theatre shall be in the movement. The Manager’s Wife Well, all I can tell you is that if you don’t get a little more movement into your speech, there won’t be time for Toddles. The Manager That does not matter. We can omit Toddles if necessary. I have played Toddles before. If you suppose I am burning to play Toddles again you are very much mistaken. If the true nature of my talent were understood I should be playing Hamlet. Ask the audience whether they would not like to see me play Hamlet. Enthusiastic assent. There! You ask me why I don’t play Hamlet instead of Toddles. The Manager’s Wife I never asked you anything of the kind. The Manager Please don’t contradict me, Winifred⁠—at least, not in public. I say you ask me why I don’t play Hamlet instead of Toddles. Well, the reason is that anybody can play Hamlet, but it takes me to play Toddles. I leave Hamlet to those who can provide no livelier form of entertainment. Resolutely returning to the MS. I am now going back to the year eleven hundred. The Stage Manager Coming on in desperation. No, sir, you can’t go back all that way; you promised me you would be done in ten minutes. I’ve got to set for the first act. The Manager Well, is it my fault? My wife won’t let me speak. I have not been able to get in a word edgeways. Coaxing. Come, there’s a dear, good chap. Just let me have another twenty minutes or so. The audience wants to hear my speech. You wouldn’t disappoint them, would you? The Stage Manager Going. Well, it’s as you please, sir; not as I please. Only don’t blame me if the audience loses its last train and comes back to sleep in the theatre, that’s all. He goes off with the air of a man who is prepared for the worst. During the conversation with the Stage Manager, the Manager’s Wife, unobserved by her husband, steals the manuscript; replaces the last two leaves of it on the desk; puts the rest on her chair and sits down on it. The Manager That man is hopelessly frivolous; I really must get a more cultured staff. To the audience. Ladies and gentlemen, I’m extremely sorry for these unfortunate interruptions and delays; you can see that they are not my fault. Returning to the desk. Ahem! Er⁠—hallo! I am getting along faster than I thought. I shall not keep you much longer now. Resuming his oration. Ladies and