Fanny’s First Play

goes out. Mrs. Gilbey I wonder what she wants, Rob? Gilbey If she wants money, she shan’t have it. Not a farthing. A nice thing, everybody seeing her on our doorstep! If it wasn’t that she may tell us something about the lad, I’d have Juggins put the hussy into the street. Juggins Returning and announcing. Miss Delaney. He waits for express orders before placing a chair for this visitor. Miss Delaney comes in. She is a young lady of hilarious disposition, very tolerable good looks, and killing clothes. She is so affable and confidential that it is very difficult to keep her at a distance by any process short of flinging her out of the house. Dora Plunging at once into privileged intimacy and into the middle of the room. How d’ye do, both. I’m a friend of Bobby’s. He told me all about you once, in a moment of confidence. Of course he never let on who he was at the police court. Gilbey Police court! Mrs. Gilbey Looking apprehensively at Juggins. Tch⁠—! Juggins: a chair. Dora Oh, I’ve let it out, have I! Contemplating Juggins approvingly as he places a chair for her between the table and the sideboard. But he’s the right sort: I can see that. Buttonholing him. You won’t let on downstairs, old man, will you? Juggins The family can rely on my absolute discretion. He withdraws. Dora Sitting down genteelly. I don’t know what you’ll say to me: you know I really have no right to come here; but then what was I to do? You know Holy Joe, Bobby’s tutor, don’t you? But of course you do. Gilbey With dignity. I know Mr. Joseph Grenfell, the brother of Monsignor Grenfell, if it is of him you are speaking. Dora Wide-eyed and much amused. No!!! You don’t tell me that old geezer has a brother a Monsignor! And you’re Catholics! And I never knew it, though I’ve known Bobby ever so long! But of course the last thing you find out about a person is their religion, isn’t it? Mrs. Gilbey We’re not Catholics. But when the Samuelses got an Archdeacon’s son to form their boy’s mind, Mr. Gilbey thought Bobby ought to have a chance too. And the Monsignor is a customer. Mr. Gilbey consulted him about Bobby; and he recommended a brother of his that was more sinned against than sinning. Gilbey On tenderhooks. She don’t want to hear about that, Maria. To Dora. What’s your business? Dora I’m afraid it was all my fault. Gilbey What was all your fault? I’m half distracted. I don’t know what has happened to the boy: he’s been lost these fourteen days⁠— Mrs. Gilbey A fortnight, Rob. Gilbey —and not a word have we heard of him since. Mrs. Gilbey Don’t fuss, Rob. Gilbey Yelling. I will fuss. You’ve no feeling. You don’t care what becomes of the lad. He sits down savagely. Dora Soothingly. You’ve been anxious about him. Of course. How thoughtless of me not to begin by telling you he’s quite safe. Indeed he’s in the safest place in the world, as one may say: safe under lock and key. Gilbey Horrified, pitiable. Oh my⁠—His breath fails him. Do you mean that when he was in the police court he was in the dock? Oh, Maria! Oh, great Lord! What has he done? What has he got for it? Desperate. Will you tell me or will you see me go mad on my own carpet? Dora Sweetly. Yes, old dear⁠— Mrs. Gilbey Starting at the familiarity. Well! Dora Continuing. I’ll tell you: but don’t you worry: he’s all right. I came out myself this morning: there was such a crowd! and a band! they thought I was a suffragette: only fancy! You see it was like this. Holy Joe got talking about how he’d been a champion sprinter at college. Mrs. Gilbey A what? Dora A sprinter. He said he was the fastest hundred yards runner in England. We were all in the old cowshed that night. Mrs. Gilbey What old cowshed? Gilbey Groaning. Oh, get on. Get on. Dora Oh, of course you wouldn’t know. How silly of me! It’s a rather go-ahead sort of music hall in Stepney. We call it the old cowshed. Mrs. Gilbey Does Mr. Grenfell take Bobby to music halls? Dora No. Bobby takes him. But Holy Joe likes it: fairly laps it up like a kitten, poor old dear. Well, Bobby says to me, “Darling⁠—” Mrs. Gilbey Placidly. Why does he call you Darling? Dora Oh, everybody calls me Darling: it’s a sort of name I’ve got. Darling Dora, you know. Well, he says, “Darling, if you can get Holy Joe to sprint a hundred yards, I’ll stand you that squiffer with the gold keys.” Mrs. Gilbey Does he call his tutor Holy Joe to his face? Gilbey clutches at his hair in his impatience. Dora Well, what would he call him? After all, Holy Joe is Holy Joe; and boys will be boys. Mrs. Gilbey What’s a squiffer? Dora Oh, of course: excuse my vulgarity: a concertina. There’s one in a shop in Green Street, ivory inlaid, with gold keys and Russia leather bellows; and Bobby knew I hankered after it; but he couldn’t afford it, poor lad, though I knew he just longed to give it to me. Gilbey Maria: if you keep interrupting with silly questions, I shall go out of my senses. Here’s the boy in gaol and me disgraced forever; and all you care to know is what a squiffer is. Dora Well, remember it has gold keys. The man wouldn’t take a penny less than 15 pounds for it. It was a presentation one. Gilbey Shouting at her. Where’s my son? What’s happened to my son? Will you tell me that, and stop cackling about your squiffer? Dora Oh, ain’t we impatient! Well, it does you credit, old dear. And you needn’t fuss: there’s no disgrace. Bobby behaved like a perfect gentleman. Besides, it was all my fault. I’ll