Short Plays

at that time discovered that you were the only person in the whole military establishment of this capital who could be trusted to remember where anything was, or to understand an order and obey it. Mrs. Farrell It’s no good flattherin’ me. I’m too old. Mitchener Not at all, Mrs. Farrell. How is your daughter? Mrs. Farrell Which daughther? Mitchener The one who has made such a gratifying success in the Music Halls. Mrs. Farrell There’s no music halls nowadays: they’re Variety Theatres. She’s got an offer of marriage from a young jook. Mitchener Is it possible? What did you do? Mrs. Farrell I told his mother on him. Mitchener Oh! What did she say? Mrs. Farrell She was as pleased as Punch. Thank Heaven, she says, he’s got somebody that’ll be able to keep him when the supertax is put up to twenty shillings in the pound. Mitchener But your daughter herself? What did she say? Mrs. Farrell Accepted him, of course. What else would a young fool like her do? He inthrojooced her to the Poet Laureate, thinkin’ she’d inspire him. Mitchener Did she? Mrs. Farrell Faith, I dunna. All I know is she walked up to him as bold as brass ’n’ said, “Write me a sketch, dear.” Afther all the throuble I’ve took with that child’s manners she’s no more notion how to behave herself than a pig. You’ll have to wear General Sandstone’s uniform: it’s the ony one in the place, because he won’t lend it to the shows. Mitchener But Sandstone’s clothes won’t fit me. Mrs. Farrell Unmoved. Then you’ll have to fit them. Why shouldn’t they fitchya as well as they fitted General Blake at the Mansion House? Mitchener They didn’t fit him. He looked a frightful guy. Mrs. Farrell Well, you must do the best you can with them. You can’t exhibit your clothes and wear them too. Mitchener And the public thinks the lot of a commanding officer a happy one! Oh, if they could only see the seamy side of it. He returns to his table to resume work. Mrs. Farrell If they could only see the seamy side o’ General Sandstone’s uniform, where his flask rubs agen’ the buckle of his braces, they’d tell him he ought to get a new one. Let alone the way he swears at me. Mitchener When a man has risked his life on eight battlefields, Mrs. Farrell, he has given sufficient proof of his self-control to be excused a little strong language. Mrs. Farrell Would you put up with bad language from me because I’ve risked me life eight times in childbed? Mitchener My dear Mrs. Farrell, you surely would not compare a risk of that harmless domestic kind to the fearful risks of the battlefield. Mrs. Farrell I wouldn’t compare risks run to bear livin’ people into the world to risks run to blow dhem out of it. A mother’s risk is jooty: a soldier’s is nothin but divilmint. Mitchener Nettled. Let me tell you, Mrs. Farrell, that if the men did not fight, the women would have to fight themselves. We spare you that at all events. Mrs. Farrell You can’t help yourselves. If three-quarters of you was killed we could replace you with the help of the other quarter. If three-quarters of us was killed how many people would there be in England in another generation? If it wasn’t for that, the men’d put the fightin’ on us just as they put all the other dhrudgery. What would you do if we was all kilt? Would you go to bed and have twins? Mitchener Really, Mrs. Farrell, you must discuss these questions with a medical man. You make me blush, positively. Mrs. Farrell Grumbling to herself. A good job too. If I could have made Farrell blush I wouldn’t have had to risk me life so often. You ’n’ your risks ’n’ your bravery ’n’ your self-conthrol indeed! “Why don’t you conthrol yourself?” I sez to Farrell. “It’s agen’ me religion,” he sez. Mitchener Plaintively. Mrs. Farrell: you’re a woman of very powerful mind. I’m not qualified to argue these delicate matters with you. I ask you to spare me, and to be good enough to take these clothes to Mr. Balsquith when the ladies leave. The Orderly comes in. The Orderly Lady Corinthia Fanshawe and Mrs. Banger want to see you, sir. Mr. Balsquith told me to tell you. Mrs. Farrell They’ve come about the vote. I don’t know whether it’s dhem dhat want it or dhem dhat doesn’t want it: anyhow, they’re all alike when they get into a state about it. She goes out, having gathered Balsquith’s suffragette disguise from the desk. Mitchener Is Mr. Balsquith not with them? The Orderly No, sir. Couldn’t stand Mrs. Banger, I expect. Fair caution she is. Chuckling. Couldn’t help larfin’ when I sor ’im ’op it. Mitchener Highly incensed. How dare you indulge in this unseemly mirth in the presence of your commanding officer? Have you no sense of a soldier’s duty? The Orderly Sadly. I’m afraid I shan’t ever get the ’ang of it, sir. You see, my father has a tidy little barber’s business down off Shoreditch; and I was brought up to be chatty and easy-like with everybody. I tell you, when I drew the number in the conscription it gev my old mother the needle and it gev me the ’ump. I should take it very kind, sir, if you’d let me off the drill and let me shave you instead. You’d appreciate my qualities then: you would indeed, sir. I shan’t never do myself jastice at soljerin’, sir. I can’t bring myself to think of it as proper work for a man with an active mind, as you might say, sir. ’Arf of it’s only ’ousemaidin’; and t’other ’arf is dress-up and make-believe. Mitchener Stuff, sir. It’s the easiest life in the world. Once you learn your drill, all you have to do is to hold your tongue and obey your orders. The Orderly But I do assure you, sir, ’arf the time they’re the wrong orders; and I get