Short Plays

into trouble when I obey them. The sergeant’s orders is all right; but the officers don’t know what they’re talkin’ about. Why, the ’orses knows better sometimes. “Fours,” says Lieutenant Trevor at the gate of Buck’nam Palace only this mornin’ when we was on duty for a State visit to the Coal Trust. I was fourth man like in the first file; and when I started the ’orse ’eld back; and the sergeant was on to me straight. “Threes, you bally fool,” ’e whispers. An’ ’e was on to me again about it when we come back, and called me a fathead, ’e did. “What am I to do,” I says: “the lieutenant’s orders was fours,” I says. “I’ll show you who’s lieutenant here,” ’e says. “In future you attend to my orders and not to ’iz,” ’e says: “what does ’e know about it?” ’e says. “You didn’t give me any orders,” I says. “Couldn’t you see for yourself there wasn’t room for fours,” ’e says: “why can’t you think?” “General Mitchener tells me I’m not to think, but to obey orders,” I says. “Is Mitchener your sergeant or am I?” ’e says in his bullyin’ way. “You are,” I says. “Well,” ’e says, “you got to do what your sergeant tells you: that’s discipline,” ’e says. “And what am I to do for the General?” I says. “You’re to let him talk,” ’e says: “that’s what ’e’s for.” Mitchener Groaning. It is impossible for the human mind to conceive anything more dreadful than this. You’re a disgrace to the service. The Orderly Deeply wounded. The service is a disgrace to me. When my mother’s people pass me in the street with this uniform on, I ’ardly know which way to look. There never was a soldier in my fam’ly before. Mitchener There never was anything else in mine, sir. The Orderly My mother’s second cousin was one of the Parkinsons o’ Stepney. Almost in tears. What do you know of the feelings of a respectable family in the middle station of life? I can’t bear to be looked down on as a common soldier. Why can’t my father be let buy my discharge? You’ve done away with the soldier’s right to ’ave his discharge bought for him by his relations. The country didn’t know you were going to do that or it’d never ’ave stood it. Is an Englishman to be made a mockery like this? Mitchener Silence. Attention. Right about face. March. The Orderly Retiring to the standing desk and bedewing it with passionate tears. Oh that I should have lived to be spoke to as if I was the lowest of the low! Me! that has shaved a City of London aldermen wiv me own hand. Mitchener Poltroon. Crybaby. Well, better disgrace yourself here than disgrace your country on the field of battle. The Orderly Angrily coming to the table. Who’s going to disgrace his country on the field of battle. It’s not fightin’ I object to: it’s soljerin’. Show me a German and I’ll have a go at him as fast as you or any man. But to ’ave me time wasted like this, an’ be stuck in a sentry box at a street corner for an ornament to be stared at; and to be told “right about face: march,” if I speak as one man to another: that ain’t pluck: that ain’t fightin’: that ain’t patriotism: it’s bein’ made a bloomin’ sheep of. Mitchener A sheep has many valuable military qualities. Emulate them, don’t disparage them. The Orderly Oh, wot’s the good of talkin’ to you? If I wasn’t a poor soldier I could punch your head for forty shillins or a month. But because you’re my commandin’ officer you deprive me of my right to a magistrate, and make a compliment of giving me two years ’ard ’sted o’ shootin’ me. Why can’t you take your chance the same as any civilian does? Mitchener Rising majestically. I search the pages of history in vain for a parallel to such a speech made by a private to a General. But for the coherence of your remarks I should conclude that you were drunk. As it is, you must be mad. You shall be placed under restraint at once. Call the guard. The Orderly Call your grandmother. If you take one man off the doors the place’ll be full of suffragettes before you can wink. Mitchener Then arrest yourself; and off with you to the guardroom. The Orderly What am I to arrest myself for? Mitchener That’s nothing to you. You have your orders: obey them. Do you hear. Right about face. March. The Orderly How would you feel if you was told to right-about-face and march as if you was a doormat? Mitchener I should feel as if my country had spoken through the voice of my officer. I should feel proud and honored to be able to serve my country by obeying its commands. No thought of self, no vulgar preoccupation with my own petty vanity, could touch my mind at such a moment. To me my officer would not be a mere man: he would be for the moment⁠—whatever his personal frailties⁠—the incarnation of our national destiny. The Orderly What I’m saying to you is the voice of old England a jolly sight more than all this rot that you get out of books. I’d rather be spoke to by a sergeant than by you. He tells me to go to hell when I challenges him to argue it out like a man. It ain’t polite; but it’s English. What you say ain’t anything at all. You don’t act on it yourself. You don’t believe in it. You’d punch my head if I tried it on you; and serve me right. And look here. Here’s another point for you to argue⁠— Mitchener With a shriek of protest. No⁠— Mrs. Banger comes in followed by Lady Corinthia Fanshawe. Mrs. Banger is a masculine woman of forty with a powerful voice and great