Punch (98.1890)

Aran, 26, 1890.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. _193

MR. PUNCH'S MORAL MUSIC-HALL DRAMAS.

(continued from p. 145.)
No. 12.—UNDER THE HARROW.

A Conventional Comedy-Melodrama, in Tivo Acts.

ACT. II.—Scene—Same as in Act I. ; viz., the Morning-room at
Natterjack Hall. Evening of same day. Enter Blethebs.

Blethers. Another of [Sir Poshbubt's "birthdays almost gone—and
my secret still untold! _ (Dodders.) I can't keep it up much longer
. . . Ha, here comes his Lordship—he does look mortal bad, that he
do! Miss Vebbena ain't treated him too well, from all I can hear,
poor young feller!

Enter Lord Bleshugh.

Lord Bleshugh. Blethebs, hy the memory of the innumerable
half-crowns that have passed between us, be my friend now! I
have no others left. Persuade your young Mistress to come hither—
you need not tell her Jam here, you understand. Be discreet, and
this florin shall be yours !

Blethers. Leave it to me, my Lord. I'd tell a lie for less than
that, any day, old as I am! [Exit.

Lord Bl. I cannot rest till I have heard from her own lips that
the past few hours have been nothing but a horrible dream , . .
She is coming! Now for the truth! [Enter Vebbena.

child, are you aware of the very serious nature of your act ? An act
of which, as a Justice of the Peace, I am bound to take some official
cognizance!

Verb. Do not scold me, Papa. "Was it not done for your sake i
Sir P. I cannot accept such an excuse as that. I fear your

motives were less disinterested than you would have me believe.

And now, Vebbena, what will you do ? As your father, I would

gladly screen you—but, as a Magistrate, I cannot promise to be more

than passive.

Verb. Listen, Papa. I have thought of a plan—why should I
not wheel this sofa to the head of the front-door steps, and tip it
over ? They will only think he fell down when intoxicated—for he
had taken far too much wine, Papa!

Sir P. Always the same quick-witted little fairy! Go, my child,
but be careful that none of the servants see you. (Veeb. wheels the
sofa and Spikee's body out, l.tj.e.) My poor impulsive darling, I
do hope she will not be seen—servants do make such mischief! But
there's an end of Spikee, at any rate. I should not have liked him
for a son-in-law, and with him, goes the only person who knows my
unhappy secret!

Enter Blethebs.
Blethers. Sir Poshbuet, I have a secret to reveal which I can
preserve no longer—it concerns something that happened many
years ago—it is connected with your birthday, Sir Poshbuet.

1 (quailing). What, another! H must stop his tongue at

Verbena. Papa, did you want me? (Becog- ^ all hazards. Ha,'the rotten sash-line ! (To Bl.)

^^i^j^hJ^^"^^ fkiimky elo- yonder window!

mality.) My Lord, to what do I owe this—this "^Hiil^'MT^Il^ the night air is growing chill

unexpected intrusion ? [Pants violently. [Blethebs goes to window at back. Slow

LordBl. Verbena, tell me, you cannot really ,li^^^g^KVpJh music. As he approaches it, Lobd Bleshugh

prefer that seedy snob m the burst boots to me ? < enters (e 2 e), and, with a smothered cry of

Verb, (aside). How can I tell him the truth horror, drags Mm back by the coat-tails—

without betraying dear Papa? No, I must lie, , , -HHraHflP' J»st More [the window falls with a tremen-

though it kills me. (To Lord B.) Lord Bibs- JMh ■' '. i',' •msWff9BBm$^% dous crash.

htoh, I have been trifling with you. I-I never MMM^ < „ia|i|te= /SVr P. Bleshugh ! What have you done ?
loved you. . ,, ,, ... , , '?£ndm^& tQ$tfWW8Km^ Lord Blesh' (turnip). Saved Mm from an un-
ion/ B. I see, and all the while your heart ] r i > - j^^^E timely end—and you from—crime
was given to a howling cad ? ^^{w^^^^^W^ ~ [Collapse of Sir P. Enter Vebbena, terrified.

Verb. And if it was, who can account for the #alk^^^^^^LCi.-.r'r Verb. Papa, Papa, hide me ! The night-air and

vagaries of a girlish fancy ! We women are ilLlilfci^^fff^MHW*- the cold stone steps have restored Mb. Spikee to

capricious beings, you know. (With hysterical ^gg*-, V-\^^&K^!SSr" life and consciousness! He is coming to denounce

gaiety.) But you are unjust to Mr. Spikee— S^^^^^^0^ ~ - me—you—both of us ! He is awfully annoyed'

he has not yet howled in my presence— (aside)— ~ * ,. WsSj^^^F . ' Sir P. (recklessly). It is useless to appeal to

though I very nearly did in Ms! % ' " _- _ me, child. I have enough to do to look after

Lord B. And you really love him ? T.---i= e^==? myself—now! [Enter Spikee, indignant.

Verb. I—I love him. (Aside.) My heart will ■=^fV .h- ' Spiker. Pretty treatment for a gentleman, this •

break! e^^fe- .^^Srl^S-.-sg^ligp nere> Poshbuet, this young lady has

Lord B. Then I have no more to say. Fare- ^^^s=^SsT=::^^^^^^=^r\ „clloked mewith a cushion, and then pitched me
well, Vebbena ! Be as happy as the knowledge that you have ■
wrecked one of the brightest careers, and soured one of the sweetest
natures in the county, will permit. (Goes up stage, and returns.)
A few days since you presented me with a cloth pen-wiper, in the
shape of a dog of unknown breed. If you will kindly wait here
for half-an-hour, I shall have much pleasure in returning a memento
which I have no longer the right to retain, and there are several
little things I gave you which I can take back with me at the same
time, if you will have them put up in readiness. [Exit.

Verbena. Oh, he is cruel, cruel! but I shall keep the little bone
yard-measure, and the diamond pig—they are all I have to remind
me of him! [Enter Spikee, slightly intoxicated.

Spiker (throwing himself on sofa without seeing Veeb.) I don'
know how it is, but I feel precioush shleepy, somehow. P'raps I
did partake lil' too freely of Sir Poshbuet's gen'rous Burgundy.
Wunner why they call it " gen'rous "—it didn't give me anything
—'cept a bloomin' headache! However, I punished it, and old
Poshbuet had to look on and let me. He-he ! (Examining his hand.)
Who'd think, to look at thish thumb,_ that there was a real live
Baronet squirmin' under it. But there ish! [Snores.

Verb, (bitterly). And that thing is my affianced husband! Ah,
no, I cannot go through with it, he is too repulsive! If I could but
find a way to free myself without compromising poor Papa. The
sofa-cushion! Dare I ? It would be quite painless . . . Surely the
removal of such an odious wretch cannot be Murder ... I will!
(Slow music. She gets a cushion, and presses it tightly over Spikee's
head.) Oh, I wish he wouldn't gurgle like that, and how he does
kick ! he cannot even die like a gentleman! (Spikee's kicks become
more and more feeble, and eventually cease.) How still he lies! I
almost wish . . . Mr. Spikee, Mr. Spi-kee! . . no answer—oh, I
really have suffocated him! (Enter Sir Posh.) Tou, Papa ?

Sir Posh. What, Verbena, sitting with, hem—Samuel in the
gloaming? (Sings, with forced hilarity.) "In the gloaming, oh,
my darling ! " that's as it should be—quite as it should be!

Verb, (in dull strained accents). Don't sing. Papa, I cannot bear
it—just yet. I have just suffocated Mr. Spikee with a sofa-cushion.
See ! [Shows the body.

Sir Posh. Then I am safe—he will tell no tales now! But, my

down the front steps—I might have broken my neck!

Sir P. It was an oversight which I lament, but for which I must
decline to be answerable. Tou must settle your differences with her
Spiker. And you, too, old horse! Tou had a hand in this, I know'
and I '11 pay you out for it now. My life ain't safe if I marry a,
girl like that, so I've made up my mind to split, and be done with it'
Sir P. (contemptuously). If you don't, Blethebs will. So do your
worst, you hound!

Spiker. Very well, then ; I will. (To the rest.) I denounce this
man for travelling with a half-ticket from Edgware Road to Baker
Street on his thirteenth birthday, the 31st of March, twenty-seven
years ago this very day. [Sensation.

Blethers. Hear me; it was not his thirteenth birthday! Sir
Poshbuet's birthday falls on the 1st of April—to-morrow ! I was
sent to register the birth, and, by a blunder, which I have repented
bitterly ever since, unfortunately gave the wrong date. Till this
moment I have never had the manliness or sincerity to oonf ess my
error, for fear of losing my situation.

Sir P. (to Spikee). Do you hear, you paltry knave ? I was not
thirteen. Consequently, I was under age, and the Bye-laws are still
unbroken. Your hold over me is gone—gone for ever !
Spiker. H'm—Spikee spiked this time!_ [Retires up disconcerted.
Lord Bl. And you did not really love him, after all, Vebbena ?
Verb, (with arch pride). Have I not proved my indifference ?
Lord Bl. But I forget—you admitted that you were but trifling
with my affection—take back your pin-cushion.

Verb. Keep it. All that I did was done to spare my father!
Sir Posh. Who, as a matter of fact, was innocent—but I forgive
you, child, for your unworthy suspicions. Bleshugh, my boy,
you ha,ve saved me from unnecessarily depriving myself of the
services of an old retainer. Blethebs, I condone a dissimulation
for which you have done much to atone. Spikee, you vile and
miserable rascal, be oil, and be thankful that I have sufficient
magnanimity to refrain from giving you in charge. (Spikee sneaks
off, crushed.) And now, my children, and my faithful old servant,
congratulate me tnat I am no longer—-

Verbena and Lord Bleshugh (together). Under the Harrow !

[Affecting Family Tableau and quick Curtain.

vol. xcvrn.

s