PR 4399 .B3 H8 Copy 1 DE WITT'S ACTING PLAYS. /0i'i^ \ (Number 3.) (^' ^ U'-)^ ■=>/ ilOO.OOO. iJAN ORIGIi^AL COMEDY IIV THREE ACTS. By henry J. BYEON. Author of - War to the Knife," '•Dundreary Married." J'l ST PKQDTJCED AT THE PRINCE OF WHILES THEATRE, LON- DON, UNDER THE MAXAGEMENT OF MISS MARIE WTLTON, OX MAT 5tH, 1867. TO -VTHICH AEE AODKD A dasc- Option of the Costume-Cast of the Characters— Entrances and Exits- Relative Positions of the Performers on the Stage, and the whole of the Stage Business. ROBERT M. DE WITT, PUBLISHER .^y^ No. 13 Frttnlcfbrt Street. ■^ .A-Sat'JL'Ja, An Original Comedy in Three Acts. By T. W. Re NETT PLAYS! ]VE^\^ PLAYS Price Fifteen Cents Each, IVTOBODY^S CHILD. DRAMATIC PLAY IN THREE AC !y mm PHILLIPS, Esq., Author of the " Ticket of Leave." "Paul's Return, This play has been a great success. It has run over fort at the Surrey Theatre, London, and still kept the stage at la^- It is a wonderfully effective drama, abounding iis Mini". ;■;, and beautifully effective Tableaux. Nothing more really ari popular has been put on the stage in a long time. It h.is 2^ :ters in all, including subordinates. ij This edition contains every information for easily puftvat. the !{ on the stage. Costumes, Positions, Scenery, List of C/ir-c".- &c. By H. J. BYRO\, One of the most Popular English Dramatists. This is one of the most effective of recent plays. It iu, . v ! a run in London, and is being extensively played in the Province: is country it has been very successfully produced at W a Hack ere, N. Y., Selwyn's Theatre, Boston, and other iir?t cla tres. It has 12 characters in all, including subordinates. Not only the list of Characters, Costumes, &c., will be found in ■dition I but every other possible information as regards Soenery crties. Positions, &c., &c., are given in the plainest manner. o jfli. iS "X" ORIGINAL COMEDY. IN THREE ByT. W. ROBERTSON, Esq., Author of "Ours," "Society," k This edition contains full descriptions of Costumes — 1 ry — Stage arrangements, &c. + Copies tnnilerl, postatje paid, on receipt of price A HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS. AN ORIGINAL COMEDY IN THREE ACTS. By henry J; BYRON, ■A Author of " William Tell With a Vengeance," " Lancashire Lass," <&c., &c. AS FIRST PERFORMED AT THE PRINCE OF WALES THEATRE. LONDON, UNDER THE MANAGEMENT OF MISS MARIE WILTON, MAY 5TH, 1866. TO WHICH ARE ADDED A DESCRIPTION OF THE COSTUME— CAST OF THE CHARACTERS EK- TKANCES AND EXITS — RELATIVE POSITIONS OF THE PER- FORMERS ON THE STAGE, AND THE WHOLE OF THE STAGE BUSINESS. NEW YORK : ROBERT M. DE WITT, PUBLISHER. No. 13 Frankfort Street. :B3 Gcraid Goodwin, Major Blucksliaw, Sir Kuiiisey Waters, Charker, Joe Barlow, Pennythorue, Pyefincli, \Ir. Fluker, Gibbons, Alice Barlow, Mrs. Barlow, Arabella Bell, Jane Plover, CASr OF CHARACTERS. Frincecf Wales Theatre, London, May btk, 1866. - - AV. S. Bancroft, ■ - Mr. F. Dewar. - • Mr. J. Tindall. Mr. Trafford. - » Mr. May. - • Mr. J. Clarke. - - Mr. W. H. MontgovMiry, - - Mr. J. Hare. Miss Wilton. Miss Larkin. Miss B. Wilton. Miss B. GoodaU, COSTUMES OF THE DAT. FSOPFJtTIFS- -Stockings, tray, decanter, glasses, table, uhairs, sofa, piano. SCENERY. ACT I. — Parlor behind Barlow's sTiop. Door into Shop. ^ 3 J - Door. Parlour, comfortably furnlBbed' SIX MONTHS ARE SUPPOSED TO ELAPSE. ACT 11. — Clmmbers in St.' James's. SIX MONTHS ARE SUPPOSED TO ELAPSE. ACT lU.-Same as Act I. Stage Directions. — R. means Jtrfhi: of Stage, fac'ng the Audience ; L. Left ; C. Cmtrc ; R. C. Right of centre ; ' L. C. Left of centre. D. F. Boor in the Flat, or Scene running across the back of tlie Stage ; C. D. F. Centre Door in the Flat ; R. D. F. Right Door in the Flat ; L. C. F. Left Door in the Flat; R. D. Right Door ; L. 1). Left Door ; 1 E. First Entrance ; 2 E. Second En- trance ; U. E. Upper Entrance ; 1, 2 or 3 G. First, Seconi or Third Groove. R. R. C. C. L. C. L. The reader is supposed to be upon the Stage facing ihe audience. G.Fl EST OF J, H_ p^^^^^ A HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS. S ACT I. Scene. — Parlour behind Joe Barlmc s shop, comfortably furnished — door into shop, ti. c. ; door, m., fire-place. L. Mrs Barlow discovered sitting, R. c, darning stockings, receiving the ■ visit of Miss Jane Plover and Miss Arabella Pell, two trades- men s daughters. Mrs. Barlow, (r. c.) Well, my dears, if you were to talk for an hour, you'd never make me thiuk different. Besides, marriage in- deed ! what business have two young bits of gals like you to think of getting married ? Jane. (l. c.) La, Mrs. Barlow, what do you suppose we've got to think about ? Mrs. B. Oh, go along with you. Jane. I dare say j-ou did, ^vhen you were our age. It's only natur- al, isn't it, Arabella? /^ Arabella, {l. a gushing girl) Of course it is, Jane dear. Mrs. B. Parcel ot rubbisli. Now you, Jane Plover, now what do you know about housekeeping? Jane. Well, I can make my own bonnets, can't I, Arabella ? Arab. Yes, Jane dear. Mrs. B. How ab mt cooking now? Jane. Oh, when I marry I hope it'll be to some one who can afford to keep me a cook. One marries to better one's condition, Mrs. Bar- low, not to be made a negr > slave of. Akab. I should think not indeed ! catch me cooking for any man. Mrs. B. Well, my niece Alice can cook. JANt:. Now you know it's not fair to bring Alice forward as an ex- ample. Alice can do everything better than anybody else. Au.\B. Yes, everything ! Jane, Every one owns that, and nobody's a bit jealous of her. I al- ways will say, that if ever there was a loveable, amiable, downright specimen of a girl, Alice Barlow is the identical party ; don't, I Arabella ? Arab. That you do, Jane dear. Mrs. B. Ah, you wheedling young thing, you know how to get round an old woman, not is anything you could say in Ally's praise Wt.uld be too much ; eversince she was so high, she's been a joy and a comfort to her uncle and me. Jane. Well, Mrs. Barlow, in course of time she'll have to be a joy and comfort to somebody else ; it's only natural, you know. As Mrs. Mc Whirter, who gave that lovely lecture at the school-room, last week, on " Woman's Rights," said, with a beautiful sweep of the arm, " Matrimony," says she, " Matrimony is woman's missive /" Arab. Mission, not missive, Jane dear. 6 A HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS. Jane. Don't catch nie up, Arabella, I was close to the lecturer, in the sUilling Seals, whilst you was at ihe back, amon;r the " three- pen nys." Arab. That's a bad habit of yours, lording it over parties who haven't a ])roper allowance from their pa. It, isn't eveiy one's pa who's a master builder, and made his fortune running up terraces, that look as it they'd been built of card paper instead of bricks and mortar. Jane. Now, Arabella, don't you be annoyinj,^ Arab. Then don't you aggravate. Mrs. B. There, there, don't quarrel, girls ; woman's missionary or not, Alice isn't thinking of niariiage. Jane. Not as far as you know, Mrs. Barlow. Arab. By the way, how's your lodger getting on, ma'am ? Mrs. B. Thai's best known to himself, my dear. Arab. And he keeps himself to himself, 1 fancy. I call him a regu- lar mystery. But he's Very handsome, isn't he, Jane dear. Jane. Bless the man ! do you think I ever looked at him ? Akab. There's no liarm in expressing an opinion ; it isn't every one who's engaged to a cornchandler. Jane, {looking at Jier watch) Gracious me, Mrs. Barlow, how late it is, we must l-e i-ff. Arab. No, and it isn't every one who has a gold watch to flaunt in the faces of parties whose parents have been improvident. I'll warrant Alice hasn't got a gold watch. Mrs. B. Indeed she has though ; her uncle gave her a beauty on her last birthday. Jane. Be?id( s, don't you know Alice has a fortune coming to her, hasn't she, Mrs. Barlow ? Mrs. B. She don't like it talked about ; it's no secret that her father left her comfortably ofT. But, Hess my heart, what can have become of Joe? {the girls get ■up.) Arab. I suppose you'd thinkit rude if I was to ask what your lodger is, Mrs. Barlow. Jane, Arabella, how you can Mrs. B. Not a bit, my dear, when you see him ask him. Arab. La, no, I meant that perhaps you might Mrs. B. (crossly) I know nothing about him. Where can Joe be ? ^ANE. Well, good morning, Mrs. BariOw ; give my love to Alice. {shaking hands) Arab. And mine too, and a million million kisses, {shaking hands) Jane. How can you be so childish ? Arab. Do mind your own business, Jane dear. J.\NE. It's quite ridiculous in one of your ytars. Arab. Never mind what it is. {they go off, L. D., icrangling) Mrs. B. Bless the man, what a lime he is always going into the City, Bother the City, why can't he be happy in the Boro.' It's only of late that he's taken to rambling off goodness knows where. Joe never spoke a false word to me in his life, but I must say there are times when I mistrust that "City." Half-past four, {sits arid taps her foot impatiently) Dear! dear! and there's always a rush of business when he's away, customers seem to pour in just out of aggravation, {sits R., arm cJiair) Enter Joe Barlow, c. d. Joe. Well, old woman, {observes that Mrs. Barlow is annoyed.icinks aside) A trifle grumpy as per usua! Hum I {alotid) What's the mailer, misses 1 ACT I, 7 Mrs. B. Oh, what a time you've been pliilnndrin' abont. Joe. What's the use of trying into Ibrbiyu lau^uagas ? I ain't been a pliilandrin,' I've been in the Ciiy. Mus. B. Oil, you're always ^oinof to the City. Joe. Well, it ain't my fault, old \v(uiian. It's business. If every one was blown up for beinfj obiif^ed to jro into the City it'd come precious hard on a many. Wouldn't the homnibases catch it, that's all. (aside) Twelve per cent, if it's a penny. If she only knew half — but no, she'd object to the risk— she's like the party in the play," shu's got no specklela- tion in her eye." Twelve per cent, if it's a i^enny , (turns upstage and takes off his hat. dr.) Mus. B (k. c.) Been buyinn^ stock I suppose? Joe. (l. c.) Ye — es, a little. We're short of soda too. {Joe jyuts hat on piano, (l.) and they sit) MiJS. B. We'll {xive the City a rest for a bit, Joe, for we've got more in the place than we shall ever isut rid of. There's soapeuough to see us out if we live to be a pair of Methoosallunis. Joe. Well, there's Alice to inherit it ain't tliere ? Mrs. B. Ah, Alice will never keep the shop, Joe. Joe. Why not? she's got no lofty ideas, has slie ? What would you have her do Y sell up the business and set up fir a fine hidy, or take to something light and gen-tt^el, miilinery or something of that sort ; or g'o out for a governess, eh? That's a very agreeable sort of lite I've heard, and the number of young noblemen as frequently proposes and is accep;ed is quite surprising. Mrs, B, {much annoyed) Now, Joe, Joe, don't nag — you know I can't stand uauriring, Joe. I don t want to appear out of temper. Joe. Out of temper, old woman! no fear of your being out of it, you'll always have plenty of it by you. Mrs. B. There, that's always the way you come back from the City ; you go out quite pleasant, and you come back that rampageous there's no spi^aking to you. OU I'd like to give that City a bit of my mind, (rises) Joe. Oh, ray dear, the City don't want it, (rises) Mrs. B. Alice has no notion of marrying a young nobleman, or above herself in any way. Look at Pennythorne, what a match he'd be, but she'll scarcely give him a civil W(jrd, more especially of Lite — hem I I say more especially of late, Joe. I say more especially Joe. All ril way, and felt miserable, and kep' awake and didn't put no oil on my Lair, lost my ai^petite all rej^'lar. Mrs. B. (rat/wr pleased) Oh, pn iilnn'r ■^•\t}i your nonsense I Penny- thorne's rich. Loo'K at the hors-s and carriages he keeps. Joe. Yes, to "Let out for 'ire," — put that in. Mrs. B. S le'd have got to like him in time, only there's a certain reason w!iy she doesn't now. JoF. Oil, the reason's plain enough — she detests him. I'm afraid it's one that'll last. Mrs. B. Yes, but I believe you're so blind that you don't or won't eee the real cause- 8.. A HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS. Joe. Now look liere, don'i keeyi a driving about the bash if you've got anything to comiiiunicate, ppnak up. Mrs. B. It was an evil day when you allowed that young man Goodwin to come liere and lodge. Joe. {xchistles) Oh, well, you made no objection. The room was no use to us ; ind — and — why 1 thought you were very partial to the young man. Mrs. B. Oh yes, at first ; but — he's very strange. I don't under- stand him ; and — he's dreadfully shabby. Joe. Shabby ? why he's always paid his rent regler, and William tells me he's given him a shilling a week for cleaning his boots. Mrs. B- Used to do. Ncnv he cleans them himself. Joe. Does 'em better, perhaps. Mrs. B. No, it's because he's ashamed to shew 'em, I've noticed his clothes getting more and more threadbare. He's as poor as poor can be, Joe. Joe. ''i^^ell, I don't suppose he'd select a back bed room in the Bor- ough if he was rolling in wealth. You don't expect to have lords for lodgers, do you Mrs. B. What convinces me more than anything is, that I've lately missed his watch and chain. Joe. Well, my dear, so lo?g as you don't miss yours, it don't sig- nify. Mrs. B. Then I've seen him go out in the dark with parcels and come back without 'em ; that looks suspicious. Joe. On the contrary, if he had gone out with nothing and come haekyv'ith parcels, it might have appeared odd. Mrs. B. Besides, I believe he's half : tarved ; why he's nothing like as stout as he was when he came here, and looks as pale Joe. Ha, it's not the colour of his face, it's the colour of his money you're afraid of missing. As for being thin, p'raps he's going in for Bantum. I'm sorry to hear all this ; but still I can't see that it's our business ; the young man's never asked a favour or borrowed a penny of us, has he ? Mrs. B. No, he's as proud as he can be ; and the poorer he grows the more distant he gets. That's what annoys me more than all. If he'd come down a bit humble in his way it would only look proper I think. I don't believe in paupers a giving themselves airs. Joe. Come, come, I say, you're going a little too far. Pauper's a hard word. Mrs. B. Well, never mind, Joe. I shall have him out. He'd bet- ter go before there's any bother. Suppose anything should happen — him took ill — and not a penny. Don't you see what a nice set out it would be for us ? Haven't you got a luad on your shoulders ? Joe. Yes, but I believe I've got a heart underneath 'em. So have you, old woman, and his being poor's not the reason for all this. What was the hint you dropped just now about Alice? Mrs. B. Well, ever since that young man's been here, she's been like another girl. His fine genteel haughty ways turned her head. I can see as far as most, Joe. Joe. Yes, you can See a great deal further than other folks, and Bometimes a good deal more. I've had many a talk with Mr. Good- win, and though he's a little shy, I believe he's an honest young gen- tleman — aye, gentleman ! As for Alice, I can depend on her, my dear. She'll never cause us a tear. I could trust her anywhere and with anybody — always could ; I think any one will allow that, when I de- clare that at the early age of five I could leave her alone with the figs. I Mbs. B. Well, I shall turn him out ! {rising) ACT I. 9 Joe. {ridng) Where ? Into the cruel streets, and him without a friend. You're comfortable off, luy dear, and don't know what it is to want a meal ; but I was a poor lad once, Sue — a poor lad with no borne, and no friend.*. I've known what it is lo drop from sheer hun- ger, anoint. Did I do lightly in quarrelling with Unc'e Desborough — quitting his society — leavinu- India, and com- ing to England to seek my fortune, unaided ? Well, ye-es, I think I did. It's true I threw away all chance of inheriting his money ; but then as he chose to marry again, my prospects were destroyed already. There's sjiire to be a family, (rises) tliere always is in these cases. But one thing's quite certain — honour, common honesty even demands that I should leave this house. I'll go and see if I can find something even more moderate than my present abode. Enter Alice, r. d. Good morning, Miss Barlow. Alice, (r.) You are surely not going out, Mr. Goodwin, it's pouriiig with rain. Gerald, (l.) Is it ! dear me. I assure you I've no objection to rain. I rather like rain. Rain, 1 believe is — a — good for the crops. 10 A IIUXDRED THOUSAND POUNDS. Alice. Yes, but as you don't happen to bo the crops, wouldn't it be better it you -waited till it was over, or took uncle's umbrella? Gerald. Oh dear, no, thank you. (aside) I mifjlit be able to stand the rain, but I c mldn't survive Mr. Barlow's umbrella, (aloud) As you say, I think it wmild be bolter to postpone goin>r out for the present, (puts doipn hat) I was only f^oin'i-out to seeii some other apartments. I — I am }NY. {suddenly dropping tlie insinuating) Why not? Alice. I liavo said I thank you for your kindness, and can only re- peat that I cannot accept your hand. Penny. You won't, ch ? Alice. I connot. Penny. Somebody else has Alic.o. Pray do not continue the subject (crossing, I-.) Penny, (u) You're liia<;iug away such a chance as you won't get again. Don't be a fool, Alice, (crossing, R.) Alice, (l.) Mr. Pi-nnythorne, you forjiet. yourself, (crossing, R.) Ne- ver mention this subject to me again. Exit, k. door. Penny, (going rip) You're a fine proud madam, you»xe ; a nice haugh- ty aristocratic knock-ine-down air you've fi:ot. Yes, and I like you all the b-itter for it. (coming down) I hate your patient docile animals ; giverae a brute, with a bit of temper, and there's some pleasure in fight- ing with it, and breaking it, and getting the best of it. And I'll get the bjstof you, my pretty filly, or I'm mucu mistaken — She's no lover, I've watched her closely, and I should have known it if she had. Old Barlow keeps no company, I'm young, pretty well off, not so baddook- injT, but she won't have me. And yet some f jlks talk about women equalling us in hintellect, Fluker. (heard loithin shop) Thank you — thank you very much, b«t I want to speak to him alone. Thank you — thank you very much, Flukeii, aimni little elderly man icith a fumy vvxnner, puts his head in then enters door C. Yes, lie is here, all right, (closes the door) Penny, (cikde) Who's this party t (turns tip, n. — Flvkeu looks at 7dm through glasses admiringly) Fluk. (down L.) Ha 1 Quite ignorant of the event which has so al- tered his immediate prospects, " Alas ! how heedless of their fate the little creatures play.' Hem! scarcely an apt quotation perhaps, as in this instance the little crearure is not playiuir, (goes to L., before fire) Penny, (aside) Awkward situation — why don't someone come? (Fluker goes up to bach, coining down, h) Take a chair, sir? (gives arm chair, R.) Fluk. (blandly) Thaijk you-^tUank you very much ! (goes iXDimd chair too.) Fine day! Penny, (down, l ) Was rainmg. Fluk. (l. C.) Quite right, it was; but not now — teas raining^rrrz's fine. Ha ! ha! ha! Penny. Who is he, I wonder? (leaning against mantel piece) FX..UK, (L. c. — aside) There's no mistaking tha likeness. There's no object in breaking the news too suddenly ; I'll draw him out, and ob- serve his character — it's my way. (sits and indicates thai he^mshes Pen- NYTHORNB to s't too — both Seated— to Pennytuorke. qfcer looking round) This is a strange world, sir. Penny, (l. C.) You'll excuse me, but you don't consider that an origi- nal remark, do you ? 14 A HUNDRED THOUSAND i^OUKDS. Fluk. (R. C.) Ila ! ha ! ha 1 Very ffood ! very well put. No, it is far from orifriaal. But tiien what is original, woaid you be kind euouiih to inform me now ? Penny. Well Fluk. Thank you, thank you very much. Penny. My osller, T haves like a — (Alice looks at him) Well, there, I don't say anythinof against him ; he's goc a conscience. People with a hundred thousand pounds even have consciences I believe ; and that'll talk to him harder tlian I could. Alice, {a'ossing, c.) You're sure he's out for a lonp: time? Pyef. (r.) i'es, or 'I'll never have consented to your coming here. As it is, I tnmble in my shoes. Joe. Cl.) Ahl and very comfortable shoes they are to tremble in, John Pyelincli. There, my dear, 3-ou've had your wish. Alice. I wished to see the place he lived in dear uncle! When I go away I can picture the whole scene : see him in his handsome rooms surrounded by his friends, who all love him so : see him with his face liglited up with happiness — hear his ringing laugh, his cheery voice, It was a loolish fancy, but it's only for this once, uncle Joe — only tliia once, {sinks on to a chair, c.) Joe. (aside) I do not understand women ; I've been married forty year come May, and know nothing about 'em — they're what my Sun- day paper calls a terra hincognito. Pyep. Quite anrree 1 witli you as regards terror, {crossing, c.) Joe. Tiiey're like spaniels, John, the liarsii^ r you are to 'em, the more fond they grow of you. It wae a misiake his saying lie loved her — he knew she was coming into a tidy property, and as he was hard up, why Alice, {rising) Don't speak like that of him — I am sure he loved me — it is not fair to think he could marry one in my humble station — it would disgrace him amongst his friends, who are people of his own class. Joe. (c) Not many of 'em, I hope, for the sake of society. Alice. Besides I should be so out of place as the wife of a rich genth?- man ; people would look down upon me and laugh at my ignorant ways, Joe. (c) Ignorant of what! Ignorant of pretence and sham, and fine Frenchified airs. Alice. Oh, uncle, uncle, you wrong him — you do, indeed ! Ton spenk of pour pride, that pride I share, and though lam not ashamed to tell you tliat I love liim still, I shall remember what is due to you, and to myself, {sits, R.) Pyef. {down, L.) Ahl Ill-assorted matches nre dreadful things. When I was in the service of old Mrs. \Vigsby, Oriental widow, in Bruton Street, with a lac of rupees and one tooth, I might have made a splendid marriage, for the old ] ar y's Hie was one long ogle ; but " No," I says, " Pyefinch," I says, " better is penury with the girl of your affections, tlian the silken lap of luxury when sentiments and Bets of leeth do not assimulate. Joe. Well, I don't oft n come into this neighbourhood so I'll take the opportunity of going to see my old irirnd Ned Loinax in Princes Street ; he's in the oil and colour line is Ned, and going on wonderfni. I shall be backsoon. Ally, my dear, {going — aside to Pyefinch) Como along, and leave her alone a bit, John — slie'U have a reg'lar good cry, and como back to the Boro' quite refreshed. Come alonir ! Exit Pyefinch and Joe, door L. Alice, {looking after Joe. and leaning on chair) Kind, dear good uncle Joe ; no sudden access of wealth would have changed 2/o^r simple honest nature. Fortune may smile or frown on you ; but rich or poor you would be the same, I know. But, Gerald, should 7 have acted so ? And yet, compared with him, I was actually rich ; but he never knew it when he asked me to be his wife. Tliey cannot accuse him of tliat at all events, {icalks dmcn) It was my own fault, I should have told SsOi A HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS. him all — liavo placed the money ia liis hands, and bid him use it for tlie best. " You shall not begiu your wedded life by feeling ashamed of your husband." Those were his words, and he meant them. Oh, money, money 1 how I hate its very name ! Enter Pyefinch, rapidly, doicn \,. Ptef. Here's master coming down the street with Major Blackshaw. Whatever is to be done ? Alice. O'.i, let me ^» — let me po ! (rising and going, L ) Pykf {stopping her) Oh, but he's hurrying along, so you''re sure to meet him. Alice. Anything rather than that. What shall I do ? What shall I do? Pyef. What shall you do? What shall I do ? What does he mean by coming back unexpected, and taking a party unawares ? There he is on the stairs. Alice, {in alarm) Oli, why did I ever come ? Why did I ever c )me ? Gerald, {witlutut Ij .) On the contrary, my dear fellow, I'm only too glad I met you. Alice. {tremMingly, and greatly agitated) Put me somewhere, any- where. I'd rather die than meet him here. Pyef. Th^re, there — go in there. They'll go poon. Alice hurries into room, K. Pyef. {his back to door) This'll be a warning , to me: perhaps a month's warning. Oh, woman — woman ! it's my opinion — — Enter Gekald, door, l — he is dressed in the first style of fashion. Gerald. Come along, Blackshaw, what a slow fL41owyou are. Come along. {j>uts his hat doion ii.) Enter Major Blackshaw, door, l, Majob. (l) Slow and sure, my dear fellow, slow and sure. If I'd been as impetuous as you, I should never have been worth a penny. {takes off gloves and sits, looking at Pyefinch, who is fidgctting about toith his back to the door, R.) Has your man got St. Vitus's dance. Pyef. Certainly not, sir. Major. Can't bear fidgetty people. Gerald. You needn't stay, Pyefinch. Pyef. {coming down, L,) Beg pardon, sir — thought you might want Major, Not at present, Pyef. Very good, sir, {aside) The cold water that's running down my back, would float a hirou clad. Exit door L. Major. Besides those stairs are no joke, they're contrived to test people's tendency to palpitation of the lieait I should say, like those at tlie insurance officr^s. Gerald, (r.) Now, Blackshaw. don't talk shop. It's an extraord- inary tiling, you never can drop that British and Foreign National Aus- tralasian, what is it Company of yours. I can never master the title ; what is it for the thousand and oneth time? M.VJOR. Ha, never mind the title, my volatile young friend ; it'ssut ficient for you that you are to be a director. Have a weed ? Gerald. Not at present, thanks. Major. Should, {lights cigar) Smoking steadies the nerves. What would life be without smoke ? a dreary blank. Apropos of blank, my generally vivacious friend, you don't s^'etn in your usual spirits. Gerald. Oh, yes, I am, Blackshaw — it's only your fancy. Major. "Fancy?" Don't deal ia the article; leave that sort of ACT n, 21 thing to poets, wlio're all inspired idiots. One of 'em— is'nt it Shake- speare ? says, " whai's in a mime ?" He never started a company ; un- less it was a tlieatrical one ! Gerald. You profess great reverence for titles, Blacksliaw— yet I never see your name at any fashionable gatherings. 1 should have thought now Majok. Sliould you ? My young friend, you're new to this fott of thing — I'm not— socially swells bore me — late hours vi'ould interfere with business. Business before everything ! By the way, you're still of the same mind about the Brittanic and Australasian — of course a few thousands will be a trifle to you. Money makes money, and I shall beable to introduce you to a dozen good things. Gerald. Oli! I'm in your hands, Blackshaw, and when I get the money Major. Ali, Fluker'sisa horrid dilatory firm — meanwhile look ou me as your banker. Gerald. Thanks, Blackshaw — I'm deeply in your debt as it is, {hangs his head dejectedly.) Major, {after looking at him) You'll excuse me making the remark, but what deuced bad company you are. Gerald. I know it — bad company for my friends, worse for myself. Major. Liver. Gerald. No ! no 1 Major. Heart perhaps. Gerald, {sighing) That's nearer. Major. Bad for a man of business. Never fell in love myself — never had time. Excuse me, but are the s^mptons always of this de- pressing nature ? I thought Cupid was ratlier a lively card. Gerald. I wish I coud make light of it, Blackshaw, but I can't. It's very hard to feel that one's a scoundrel I Majob. I suppose it is — I never was a scoundrel myself — never had time. Gerald. I wish I could say as much ! Major- A scoundrel with a hundred thousand pounds. The thing's impossible, (rmrfe) Wants to confide. Young people always do. {aloud) Yiiu're gteting misanthropical. You're too well off. You're suffering from a 1 effusion of : filuance ou the brain. You've got too much money. Gerald, {icith passion) Money — what can money do? Major. What can't it do, you mean. Gerald. It can't bring back a man's peace of mind. It cnn never wipe out the memory of a wicked deed, {comes closer and hecovies more intense) Blackshaw, wlien I hadn't a shilling I loved a girl as well and purely as a man could love. I little thought how mean and selfish would that love become, when money came and made a coward of me. Half blind — half mad — I could not hear the voice of honour, it was drowned in the rustle of the notes, and the rattle of the gold ; and when the short and feverish dream was over, I woke to find myself with conscience as my grim companion. By night and day it is be- side me, taimting me with the recollection of a mean aud wretched act. Blackshaw, you talk of money, why man, I'd give every penny I possess to own once more the honest heart I had six months ago. Major, {aside) Very violent symptoms indeed ; violent remedies alone are effectual in such cases, {aloud) You should get away for a bit ; should buy a yacht and do the Mediterranean, or an alpenstock, and go in for mountains. There's rather a run upon Norway, just now. Why not try Iceland ? {aside) That would cool him. 22 A HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS. QeuaLD. No, I've seen enouo;l> of '.lie world — too much. Major. I presmue she was in a liuuible station ! Gerald. Yes, ^-lle was. Majo:!. {aside)Tt\ey generally aro. {aloud) A regular case of affoo- tion on both sides, eh ! Gerald. Shu loved me when I was poor. Major, (aside) That was weak, (aloud) And you love lier still ? Gervi.d. B'tter than my lit'.:! Majou (aside) II -'s very younir. (aloud) Yim see in your nositioa yoi can aff »rd to do almost anything — but marry. Gerald, (laughs snecringhj) Major. Never married myself— never had time. In society .you'll find yourself a sort of social target, with everybody aiming at your g.)ll. But you musn't think of marrying. Ger.\ld. I do not think of it. Major. That's right, (hitching chair towards Gekald) Now, we're men of the world. Gerald. I'm afraid we are. M.vjor. You must cast asile all this second-hand chivalry. It's all very well in plays and novels, but it don't do in real life. You've a career before you, and mnsn't be clogged with a wife. Time enough to think of that in ten years. After all it isn't doing these sort of people a kindness by m:irryii»g them. She'd have been out of her element. If your conscience pricks you, and you can't help thinking about her, make lier a handsom : allowance, and GEn.\LD. (turning towards him) And what? Major. Make a lady of her, hut not Mrs. Goodwin. Ger.\.ld. (turning jiarcelg upon him and seizing him) Scoundrel I Re- call those words 1 Recall them, Blackshaw, or I'll Major. Take your han Is oflf me, you impetuous fool, are you mad? Enter Alice, r. dooi', coma down, lu Gerald. Unsay them, or I'll shake the lite out of you. Major. Hands off! or I'll (goes up, I., c.) A1.ICK. (coming down) Help! (jerald ! (she pauses awlcwardlt/) (MAJOtt who has been about to grapple tcith Gerald, after apatise, bows to Alice, and with a look of amazement goes up, 11. Ger.\ld. Alice! you here. Alice. Forgive me. I — I — will never come again. It was foolish and wrong of me. I beg your pardon, Gerald — Mr. Goodwin. Gerald, (about to approach her) Alice. Alice, (proudly) W e are strangers now : may you be happy Gerald, (bitterly) Happy I Alice, (r.) We shall never meet again I It w&s through my own wilUul f.dly that we have met now. You cannot regret it more than I do. Gerald, (c.) I do not regret it, Alice, since it gives me an opportuni- ty of asking your pardon very — very humbly for my conduct — with that pardon grant me one word of hope. Alice. You seem to forget that your friend is present. Farewell ! (jgoiny) Sill RuMSEY. (heard without) 'Ra.l ha! capital — capital! Chark- {without) Ha! ha! not bad I think ! Alice, (distressed) Oh, why did I ever come ! Major. A pleasant affair, this. Enter Pyefinch, l. drops dovm, L. ACT II. 23 Ptbf. (announcing) Sir Rumsey Waters, and Mr. Charker ! (seeing Alice) Oh, the murder's out! Enter Sir Rumsey Waters and Ch.vrker, l., th'i/ pause on seeing Alice. Snt Run. Hem, Ciiarker, 1 m afrai i we're Chark. Yes, Sir Rimisey, I'm afraid we are. Djosid fine girl! (ilietj go up, L.) Gerald. Alice — Miss Bailow — permit ine to see you Enter ion, door, h. jDE No, thankee -IM do iliat ! Alice. Uncle ! (ruling to him, and liidlng Iter faee from the others) M.\joR. (R. c, ^t> Sir UuMSEV and Ch.\ukek) lia.UL-r uMph-asanL nnbroiriio — 1 suouldn't advise you tj joke hiiu ab.Jiit it. {retires up, L. c. with CharivEu and Sir Rumsey) Joe. (aside) I'll br ak ever/ bone in John Pyefinch"s skin for tellinrj us mere wouldn't be not a soul here till the evening. Tiiia will be a warning to you, Ally, my child. You would come, and a nice uiets you've made of it. Gerald, (r) Mr. Barlow, I am greatly to blume ; but not in this instance, believe me. Joe. Bah ! Come, Ally. Alice. Uncle, don't part with liim in anger. Surely he is free to act as he pleases. You would for z... unnoticed. Sir R. a capital notion — you always are tumbling over capital no, ttons — the "Biitish and Australasian" was j'(?w7* notion, major, and a deuced good one too. Gerald. Now, Sir Rumsey, drop the " Company." Don't let's have the skeleton at the banquet. By-the-by, talking of skeletons, where's Fluker ? {turning round a little) Major. Sneaked home, depend upon it. He shied at the Trafalgar — a close-fisted old hunks ! Like the knights of old, '• a stirrup cup, and tlien to hors ■ 1" Gerald. Bumpers, my boys ; remember I'm host to-day. Sir R. and Major. No, no ! (iERALD. But 1 insist, sir. Confound it! don't cross my humor. Sir R. The Trafalgar by all means. The old room, Blackshaw— tlie snug one with the bay window. Major. Yes. 'Twas in Trafalgar Bay ! Ha, ha, ha ! {they aU laugh) During the laughter, reenter If^UKER, very pale and greatly agitated — he advances towards Gerald, touches him on the shoulder — (jerald tu7-)is towards him — Pennytiiornr appears watching the scene at door) Fluk. Mr. — Mr. Goodwin Gerald. Bad habit that of tapping people on the shonldei, Fluker - thought I was arrested. What's the matter ? ACT II. 25 Majob. Ha, ba 1 You arrested witli jour wealth, tLat's a grand idea. Fluk. Just come aside a moment. Piiew ! {mpes his brow leitfi his' handkerchief, much agitated, and goes down idth Gerald) Major. Taku care, Goodwin; avoid c.)nsiiltations with our friend tliere ; tliere's six-and-eijflitpence in his every syllable. Fluk. {to Gerald) My d^ar sir, bear it — bear it 1 lie a man. Life's made up of diaHppoiutments — bitter disajipointuients I Gerald, {seriously) Well, eir? Fluk The hundrt^d thousand pounds GsR-VLD. Yes. {tlie Guests uho liaoe risen and come down a little, R., begin to listen) Fluk. We thouj^lit the evidence of your uncle's death would prove indisputable. Tliis mail was to brmu: ample proofs*, so that everything mifjht have been concluded ; but ithasu't brought anjthing of the kind — on the contrary it's brought Gerald. Well ? Fluk. Your uncle himself, (pause) Gerald. You — you are certain ot ibis? Pesny. {at door, L. ) 1 am, lor I've seen him. Gerald. You, sir? Penny. Yes, 7ne, sir. I was at Mr. Flukei's office on business, when Mr. Desboroufjh walked in, all alive, oh ; and a pretty rage he's in about people killing him when he only had a jungle fever. He used pretty strong language about you, anil said Geii.\ld. Enough, sir. (Pennythorne retires np,!^. — Guests croi^)^ round him) And so the bubble's burst ! {sits, R. c, mth his head in, his hands) Fluk. Don't take it to heart, my dear sir — don't tak it to heart. Major. Hem 1 Goodwin this is horrible ! {coming dawn) How about my uumi'rous advances? Fluk. {aside) My numerous advances too. And the bills you've run up on tlio strength of tlie money. Oh, this is awful I Chark. {coming down, R.) And by gad, sir, I introduced him to my tailor. Sir R. {doicn, L.) And I thought I was doing Dregs, the wine mer- chant, a good turn when I told him not to think of sending in his bill to lum — the impostor ! Penny. And there's a tidy sum owing to me too, for horses' keep ; and my friends, Tippeu and Burns, of Long Acre, tliey'vo been let in nicely. Him a ordering a uiad plieeaton, and a brougham, and a patent dog cart on a new principle, and then never paying for them. Sir R. Tiiat's not at all a new principle, my friend. Major. Fluker, you've behaved like a lunatic ! How dare you allow your friends to be let in like this ? How dare you, sir ? Fluk. Diimme, sir — don't Lully me. We all know why j^cw lent him money. Majok. Do you daru to insinuate Fluk. Dj you dare to ridse your hand threateningly tome, sir? {snaps his fingers at tlie JSIajor, then turns from him indignantly, xcith his hands under his coat tails) Sir R. Come ! come ! come ! This is disgraceful ! Fluk. Tlieu how dare he M.\jOR What does he mean hy— {retires up, C.) Penny. Oh ! it's downright abominable 1 regTar robbery I Swindler I impostor ! {crosses. R. C.) Pyef. {without) No, no, you musn't. 2G A HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS. Alice. (icithotU) Lot me pass, I s ly ! I will see — I will speak to him {at the sound of her voice Gerald appears struck irith shame') Pemny. Alice liere. Wlial's ihe uicaninijf of this V Enter Alice and Joe, door L. Joe. Ally! Ally I iny dear. Alice. What's this 1 ht- ar ? Tell ine — tell me, some one. {looking round) Penny. Mr. Goodwin here's no more right to the hundred thousand pounds than I have. Ilia uncle's alive, and heie he's been a flinging money about as didn't bilong to hini, a getting into debt, and me and the rest of tiie creditors won't, get a copper. Alice. (L. c.,) Mi-. Goodwin — Gerald, is this true ? Gbuald. (ii. c ) Y(=s, every word. Alice. And you will Ije disgraced, imprisioned perhaps — Oh ! how much does it all conu; t — all that he 1 as to make good ? Major, (back, ii.) Three or four thousand pounds, il it's a penny. Alice. Uncle Joe, you are well < fi' — and my money comes to more than that. Gerald, 1 have enough to clear you. He shall have it every shilling! Joe. (l.) No, no ! you don't know what you are saying — You don't know wnat you are doing 1 {half aside to her) You haven't got the money, Alice. Yes, my father left it you in trust for me, and he shall 7iave it. Joe. But I tell you it's go — {stops suddenly) Gerald, (c, seated)8pnre yourvvords,Sir, Ihavenotyet fallen solow as to accept money from the woman I have wronged. Alice, (l. c, to Joe) You hear him — he rejects my cflTer; he never thought of money when he said lie loved me. Look at him, uncle Joe — deserted and despised by the friends who so recently fawned upon, and flattered him. There is not one amongst them who would move a step to save him from contempt and misery; you stood aloof from him wlien he was rich; now tliat he is poor, despised, a ruined man — oh, uncle Joe, won't you — icon't you give Jdm your hand now ? (Joe gices his hand to Gerald, icho clasps it icith his head bowed — Alice with a convulsive sob falls tipon her uncle's breast, l.) Guests grouped, Gerald. Joe. Alice. R. L. END OP TIIE SECOND ACT. A C T I I I. ■ Scene. — Same as Act I. !Mrs. Barlow seated at accounts, back at table, r, c. — Joe pacing the stage- Jajsje a7id Arabella ^eaferf, r, Joe. (l.) Bah ! Parcel of women. Love ! Fiddlesticks! no such thing as love alter eighteen — very well for school girls ; sensible women think of a home, and a comfortable future. Love in a cottage is pretty enough to talk about, but it don't pay. Jane. (L.)Oh, you know you don't mean it, Mr. Barlow ! There isn't a warmer hearted man in the Boro' than you, I know. Is there, Arabella? Arab. (R.) That there isn't, Jane dear. ACT in. 27 Joe. Nothing of tlie kind — I'm not good-hearted. If ever I have been I'm not ^oiufj to be so any moro. It dou't pay.Jane Plover, it don't pay. (during this he is pacing stage) Jane. Who was it but you who advised me not to have anything to do with young Rawkins, the corucliandler, who kept liis gig, and was quite the genileman ? W'lio was it but you who told me lie'd come to no good, ami that I'd bettei- marry a yjoor man, if lionest, and industri- ous, than all the cornchandlers iu the world ? Yes, and when I said no, aai ho married Jenny, didn't the wheel come off the gig only the very next, week, and pitcii onhis luad and poor Jenny's a widow.aml me, still ia the mnrket ; and you to say j^ou haven't a good heart too. Why it's quite rich, Mr. B irlow. Mrs. B. [at table at back, n.) That's right ; give it him, girls, he de- servos all he gets, evory bit. (a little soured) Joe. (stopping) There, there, my own flesh and blood a revolting against me. Go on, go on ; I can bear it, ray back's broad enough. (paces again) Jane. Tueu look at the way you took that young man Goodwin by the hand, wlien he hadn't a friend, and him to turn round like au un- gr.iteful fell >w and despise Joe. (turning sharply) Hold your tongue — hold your tongue, Jane Plover — an I don't tallv about things you don't understand. Jane. Well, I'm sure, Arabella. Ar.\b. I think we're dee tro, Jane dear. Mrs. B. Oh, don't be surprised, my dear?:, he's just as rude to me He's a changed man is my husband. Don't look lor any civility from him. Jane, (offended) We don't, mum. Mks. B. Look at him, he's as different as possible from what he was a year ago — he's always got a scowl on his face and a cross word for every on^^. Why, bless my heari ! he don't even comb lis hair as he used to. (Joe's hair is stvMby, rougli, and uncomfortable) Joe. You leave my hair alone, Mrs. Barlow ; if it is untidy it's my own. Mrs. B. That's a hint to me, dear, which if I am drove to a front it's my misfortune, and not my fault, coming as I do, of a bald family. Jane. Of course, and no man would throw it in your face. Joe. Ha, ha ! I am not a man, I am a monster. Arab. Many a true word spoken in jest, Mr. Barlow. Come, Jane dear, let's continue our prommynade. Joe. Ha, ha! prommynade ! Gals don't take a walk now — they prom- mynade. Ha, ha ! (the Girls go towards door) Jane. Good morninc, Mrs. Barlow. Ar.\b. Good morning — good morning, Mr. Barlow, and may your temper improve. Jane. Not likely, I'm sure. Arab. Far from it. Mrs. B. Good morning, we all have our trials. Joe. There — there, continue your prommynard. HaUy vous ong — liaUy vous ong. (the Girls go of, Mrs. B. looking at Joe, and JoK look- ing at her.) Mrs. B. (her arms akimbo) Well, sir? Joe. (ditto) Well, mum ? Mrs. B. P'raps you'll inform me how long this is to last ? Joe. Well I should say about a week, at the end of which time — en- ter the brokers, off goes the goods, and down comes the curtain : that s the pro-grame . .- —. - .38 A HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS. Mrs. B. And then ? ' Joe. Then there's nothing for us but to walk. Mks. B. Walk ! Joe. Or, if you prefer it, prommynard. "What's done can't be un- done. (Mrs. B. sits and rocks her chair in grief, r) There — there you are at it again ; can't you sit still and look ruin in the face like a sensi- ble woman. Mrs. B. Oh, Joe — Joe! to think it should come to this after all thesa years. If you'd only confided in your wife, instead of takii g the ad- vice of a parcel of adventurers, this would never have happened. Joe. That's right — revile me when all I did, I fancied was for the best. Alice don't say a word against me, though she might have me up as a robber if she chose. Mrs. B. {frightened) Oh, Joe, don't talk like that ! Joe. It's true — wasn't the money left to me in trust for her, with the under.-tanding it was to be invested in certain securities — and didn't I go and put it all into a concern jis was only a swindle after all ? Mrs. B. (tcith fervour) With your own, Joe — your own went with it, recollect that — you've lost every shilling as well as she. Joe. Well, that ain't any consolation ! Mrs. B. Oh yes, it is, Joe, oh yes it is. (determinedly) Joe. I could have bore this, if it had only been us, but to think mf Ally — the best girl that ever breathed should have lost every penny. Mrs. B. What do you mean ? She's young and got the world be- fore her. If she was willing to give up her money to one who treated her like Gerald Goodwin, I hope she don't grudge it to her own uncle, who nursed her in his arms when she was an infant and who always loved her so, and treated her so well. If her father did leave her some money, who helped him to make it but you? Didn't you do all you could for him when he hadn't a friend? — besides, she can marrv some- body with money, which )'ou can't. Joe. (aside) That's very well put. Mrs. B. And she's going to, like a sensible girl. Joe. (sighs heavily') Ah ! Mrs. B. What's that for? I know you're going to begin your old complaints against Mr. Pennythorne ! Mr. Pennythorne's behaved like a man of honour ! He didn't go tumbling into a sham fortune and cry off — no, he's been a friend throughout, and more so than ever of late. Joe. (aside) Ah, if he knew my awful position ! Mrs. B. And though he knew all about Alice's fondness for another, he's renewed bis proposals like a gentleman — Alice must marry him of course ? Joe. Well, he has stuck to his colors, that's certain, and he's always eajing he despises money, too, which is lucky ; but still when I think of his marrying my Ally Mrs. B. Oh ! you must put your feelings in your pocket, Joe. Joe. Well, as I've got nothing else to put there, I 'spose I must. Now I'll be off and see Ned Lomax — perhaps he can lend me a hand till things right tliemselves a bit. Tliere's generally some fragments of the worst wreck, and if I could but keep afloat tor a few months we might carry on. Five and twenty years ago I lent Ned eighty pound — wonder if he remembers it now. He's got a country house, and keeps his carriage. Mrs. B. Then he don't remember it. Joe. Mrs. Barlow, I wouldn't have such an opinion of human na- ture as you've got, not to be made the Emperor of Russia — and that's Baying a good deal for a tallow chandler, (going to door, c.) ACT III. 29 Mb3. B. Well, good-bye, Joe — wish you luck, old man — hope your frieud NedU send you home in his carriage. Joe. Oil — oil, you — you Mackyvelli ! Exit, door, c. Mrs. B. Mackyvelli, indeed! I wonder who she was, Ned Loinax lend any one a shillini?, that's not likely. He was always a hard-hearted fellow was Lomax, even when he was a young man, and hearts are like Dutch cheeses, the older they grow, the harder they get. However, to give the what's his-name his due, I will say Mr. Fluker Fluk. {putting Jiis headin door) Might I — a Mrs. B. {starting) hxw, Mr. Fluker I what a turn you gave me, sir. Talk of the old pentleman, and Fluk. {l,., pleasantly) And a lawyer appears. Ha! ha! thank you- thank you very much, (comes down, and looks through his glasses very mysteriously ) Mks. B. (r., aside) I'm not over fond of lawyers. I don't feel quite easy. Perhaps he's come on disagreeable business. Fluk. Hem] Mrs. Barlow — is a — Mr. Barlow in ? Mrs. B. No, he's not. (aside) Don't like this manner. He's trying to ogle I do believe. Fluk. You'll excuse this visit I'm sure. Mrs. B. {in adownrigJit way) Yes ; if it's on business. Fl.uk. Very well put. Hem, no ; it isn't exactly on business, (look- ing at Iter with his head on one side) -iJrs. B. (aside) Wiiat can he mean? I'm all of a tremble. Fluk. Mrs. Barlow, you'll pardon my putting ihe question, but are you partial to foreigners ? Mrs. B. (looking at him) *Ate 'em. FiiUK. (smiling) No, no, no. Mrs. B. But I do. Mr. Pennythorne's opinions and mine on the sub- ject are identifi d. Fx,UK. Now, Mrs. Barlow, I've a proposal to make toyoa Mrs. B. Go on, sir, but don't forget I'm a married woman. Fluic 0!i, you are, you are — very much so. But— a — perhaps I'd better call him in. Have I your permission to call him in? Mrs. B. Call who in ? Fluk. The Count. Count, would yoa step this way. Mrs. B. Oh, Joe woulHn't allow this, if he was at home. Enter the Count (Major, disguised), Fluk. Mrs. Barlow, this is Count Qrawbouski. Hem! Count Graw- bouski, Mrs, Barlow, (the Count shrugs his shoulders and botes, Mrs. B.uiLow gives a sort of half courtesy, half hob, confused and rather irritated) Fluk. Look at that noble wreck. (Mrs. Barlow looks a little con' temptuously at the Count, who strikes an, attitude, R.) Mrs. Barlow, that man is indeed a patriot. Mrs. B. I never knew but one patriot, and he took away father's boots. But what do you want me to do ? Fluk. To come to the point, Mrs. Barlow, you have a two pair back — don't deny it, madam, for I see it in your eye. I have a distinct re- membrance too of it's being let to Mr. Goodwin. It is not elaborately furnished. Count ; but conscious virtue can sleep anywhere. (CoCNT shrugs his shoulders, and expressss his acquiescence in pantomime.) Mrs B. Bless the man, what's he doing? Can't he speak English? Count, (with a shrug) Leetel. FuTK. Leetle, Mrs. Barlow, leetle. Understand me, ma'am, that I am responsible for the Count's rent. Mrs. B. But what makes you bring him here of all places? FliUK. I will not deny, ma'am, the Count is at present under a politt 80 A IIUNDaEO THOUSAND POUNDS. cal cloud. He wishes his whereabouts to be a secret. It would be as well, perhaps, if you called him— say Browu. Mrs. B. What, Count Brown ? Fluk. No, no, with the magnanimity of true greatness, the Count will uuiiertake to waive his title fur the present. Mes. B. (aside) Well, it's wrontj to refuse money., especially at a time like the present, (lookivg at CouKT) He don't look ;isif he'd give much trouble, and Alice could talk to liim in his native language. Well, I shouldn't like to bean outcast in a foreign land myself. He shall have the room, {to Flukeu) Well, sir, if the gentleman don't ob- j ct to the room being rather small. (Count ahrur/s his shoulders and shakes his head) Fluk. He is satiated with the gilded salons of the continent, Mrs. Barlow, and pines for the solitude and security of the British bedroom. Mrs. B. And don't mind the Saw Mills at the back ? (Count repeats action) Fluk. He prefers Saw Mills at the back. Mrs. B. And can put up with the smell of vinegar in the store room, just by. (CotTNT ill exaggerated action expresses hisuiter contempt for the trifling annoyance) Fluk. (proudly) W^hat's the odour of vinegar to a Grawbouski. Eh, Count '! (Count snaps his fingers contemptuously) Oh, I think Ave may s^^ttle terms at once, ma'am. Would you step this way. (moving, towards shop door) Mrs. B. (going, tlien stopping abruptly) Wait a minute, my mind rai^'gives me about one thing — cookery. Foreigners are bo very particular. Fluk. Make your mind quite easy, madam! I think, Count, I ex- press your culinary sentiments, when I assure Mrs. B. that you are content wich the (with shrug and strong French accent) Bif-tek.lachop, le sausage, (the Count expresses his satisfaction at each article) Oh yes, ma'am — plain roast and boiled. Mrs. B. Then we can make tlie gentleman comfortably I've no doubt. Fluk. Of course : step this way, ma'am ! (going door, c.) Yes, very quiet person — y( s, yes. Exeunt Mrs. Barlow and Flukkr into sJiop; the Count icatclies them off, then takes off green spectacles, cliscovering Blacksiiaw. Major. Hang m^ if 1 could liave stood it much longer — I'm not used to this masquerading— still I'm in Fluker's liands, and I can't help myself — he says I must keep out of the way, and certainly he has Bhevvn some ingenuity in his selection of a hi'iing place for the unlucky Chairman of the British Australasian Joint Stock Discount and Gen- eral Loan Company, who is temporarily *' up a tree." I couldn't help the affair going wrong — misfortunes will happen in the best regulated companies ! Pleasant to take up a newspaper, and find oneself called a defrauder of the widow and the orphan, and ail because the aflfair turned out a mull. In the great world of speculation it's all a toss up whether you're " a man of great commercial enterprise," or " a monster in human form" — I've come into the latter category. Who's this com- ing in now? The figure seems familiar. He's chucking a lady customer under the chin — the fiirure seems very familiar, (goes up, R.) Enter Pennythorne, from shop. ' Pennt. (talking as he comes in) Sorry he's out, but he won't be long I dare eay ! Pleasant si^ries of misfortunes I've had, and no mistake — well, it can't go on much longer ; whaton earth's come to the business I don't know; and then to put all my ecrgs in one basket — and such a basket. It's soma consolation to know I can't be worse off than I am ACT III. 31 though ; and it's another to kaow that old Barlovr thinks I'm well to do. The old fox thinks he's hooked a rich husband for his dainty doll of a niece. It'll astonish a few of 'em when they find out I haven't a shilling. It'll teach her a lesson too ; a stuck-up, satirical madam. I'll brinjj her down a peg or two. If it hadn't been for that scoundrel Blackshaw, and his precious Discount Australasian thing-a-my-gig, I could have carried on. But I'll lay my hand upon him some day, the vagabond, {suddenly finds himself beside Blackshaw, who is standing perfectly still, Pennythoune gives a roar of alarm, and starts hack) Now tiien, what do you mean by startling parties like that ? Count, (r., shrugging his shoulders) Pardon. Penny, (l.) Oli. you're a foreigner, are you. I'll let him see. I haven't stayed at Bolosne for the month together for nothing. Quel est votre business? Who etes vous? {Coxsmr shakes his head) Penny. What ignorant foUers foreigners are. Don't seem to know hid own language. Enter Mrs. Barlow, c. door Mrs. B. If you'll step this way, sir, I'll shew you the room, {going towards R. door) You'll excuse us, Mr. Penny ihorne. (Mrs. Barlow, going towards R. door, motums t?ie Count to go first) Count, {placing his hand on his heart and bowing) Non, non. Places aux datnes. {repeats " Places aux dames," with very English accent) Mrs. B. {aside) Well, I don't think much of his language. Exit Mrs. Barlow, r. door. Count, (turning to Pennythorne and bowing) Au revoir, Monsieur Pennisornes. Penny, {loftily) Oh, footer twor, footer twor. {Exit Count, r. door Pennythorne ioA;e« owf Ata ftooA) A nice mull I've made of my bets too ; I'd have laid my life on " Swindler," bar none, but the brute dis- appointed the knowing ones, and I stanl to lose a little fortune; at least I shan't stand to lose it, for if i can't square old Barlow, I shall be oS like a shot. Tliree thousand pounds would set me right, and Alice has all tliat. {muses over his book) Enter Joe Barlow, c, door. Joe. {entering) No ffo, old woman. Ned's abroad. Oh, you're not there, {loudly) Well. Pennytliorne I {dapping him 0)itlie back — Pennt- TUOKNE starts and hides his book) Penny, (r.) Oii, it's you. What a start you gave me. (aside) I'll strike whilst the iron's hoc. {turns up, R.) Joe. (l.) Pennyihornii's my last chance — he's rich, and might assist me. I must get 'em married out of hand, and then, as he's feathered his nest well, a thousand or two will be nothing to him. Penny, {sitting, r.) I say Barlow, lei's come to the point about Alice Joe. With all my heart, (aside, taking a chair, R.) What do you propose ? Penny. Well, for my part, I hate long engagements, Joe. So do I — so do I ! Penny, (aside) He's in a good humour— it's all right (aloud) Some people, now, wou'dwantmarriagj Battlements and lawyer's bills, and rubbish ; but between friends Joe. O'i, absurd absurd ! (aside) That would expose me at once. Penny, (aside) I couldn't settle anything. Joe. And after all, what's money? You're well to do, and can keep my nieca like a lady ; but still Penny. Yes — yes, and with Alice's trifling fortune—— Joe. He, hem, ha ! Whoever get's Alice, gets a treasure. 32 ' A HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS. Penny, {aside) I knew she hud a tidy lump, but I daren't press him. {aloud)For my part I despise money— I'l's Ally 1 want not lier property. Joe. {seizing his hand) PennytUoine, my worthy iriend, your senii- meuts do you lionor ! 1 don't iouk lor a ricli husband for my niecf — give me an indusirious steady man lilie yourself before all your wealthy folks. Penny, {seizing Mm hy the hand) Joe Barlow, you're a credit to hu- man nature ! {aside, turning off, k.) He won't cai e a button when he knows everylliintr. {inds hack chair) Joe. {turning off, aside) Wlien 1 explain all to him he won't mind it a brass farden. Q>uts back chair) Enter Alice, door r. Joe. Mr. Pennythorne's been speakinfr ajjain about his marriage and he's determined not to wait any longer. (ALICE starts sliglitly) Penny, {advancing to her) What's the use of jmtting it off, we d(m't get any younger, Alice, ^as Pennythorne speaks to her, JoE watches Tier, L., anxiously) Come, I haven't behaved badly, many a thin-skinned cliap would have had no more to say to a girl, after such conduct as yours; but I'm willing to overlook the past, and I ask you to be mine. It's your uncle's wish. Ain't it. Barlow ? Why don't you back a party up when he's breaking down ? Alice, (c.) Is it — is it your wish, un«le Joe? Joe. (l., speaking with an effort) Yea, yes. Ally, {aside) I can't look her in the face, {aloud) It you marry him, Ally, you'll — you'll be do- ing your old uncle a fjreat service, my dear. Alice, (r. c, coldly) Then "it shall be as you wish. Penny. Hoorah 1 Alice, {to Pennythorne) D('»not hope that I could ever love you. Penny. (R) you'll learn to. People who know me thoroughly posi- tively adore me. Uncle-in-law, as is to be, I'll run down to Doctors' Commons at once. Strike whilst the iron's hot. {crossing c, almost with quiet ferocity to Joe) Don't you let her change her mind. I won't be trifled witli. Joe. {fiercely turning on Mm) Who'sgoinr to trifle with you? Penny. There, there, I didn't mean ir, Ta, la, Alice, love, {kisses his hand to her) I shall be back soon, {sings) " Love was once a little boy. hei gj abroad. (Alice, u., gives a sligM start) Ibr some years. I could not leave Ea^iau I without one word — {with emotion) one word of 'fare- well. Alice. To that farewell, I may now add a deep and fervent wish for your happiness in your {slight pause) married life. I can scarcely till ik this mitc'i is one of your owu cuoico, still that choice I had no rior it to question, J >B. Gerald Goodwin, I'll be plain with yon. My niece loved you deeply — truly. You said you loved her — you know how you behaved ? TuBu wlien, with the forgiving heart of a loving woman, she oflFered all her little fortune to retrieve your honor, you kept away from Ler — fora; )t her. Alice. (foucMng his arm, aside) Uncle Joe ! Gerald. I never knew sho had a farthin.>:' till that moment. Was it for lUJ when 1 was once more a begirar to come and seek her ? No 1 Could I, after the way in which I had treated her, come and pray to be forgiven? What would you have said then? But enough of ' this — Alica, farewell ! Alice, {to Joe, aside) He never knew till then that I had money, uicie Joe. He does not know now that we are poor. Joe. {aside) Well, well, it's best as it is — its best as it is. Eitir 'iJlyii. B.iRLOW, hurriedly, from "R., in a great state of agitation. Mr3. B. Joe, Joe — oh, Joe I {sits on sofa, up R., and appears faint). Joe. Hero, fetch your aunt a glass of water. Ally. What is it, my dear ? Mrs. B. No, never mind. Oh, Joe, the disgrace ! the disgrace 1 {buriea her he:ii in her hands) Joe What disgrace ? Speak out ? Mrs. B. It's an execution, Joe — the bailiffs. Oh, to think that I siio'.tl I live to see this day 1 Joe. (r., overcome, aside) It's come ! It's come ! {patting her on the ba'^'c) Nivjr mind ; clie-r uo. old woman — it'll all come right. M.xi. B. (r. c, clasping his hand) Oh, Joe, you never told me it was as b 1 1 as this. GsR.ALD. (l.) Mrs. Barlow I Alice ! what does all this mean? Joe. (b.) It means that I have baen a scoundrel. AtilCB. (ti. c.) It m3ans that uncle Joj has been unfortunate— very aaf)rcunate — iitt we are — beggars^ Gbr.vld. Why I have always understood^ ALIC3. (L. C.) I know ! I know ! — you were mistaken. My money has been lost, and unde Joe's as well. Joe Evjry penny, Gerald Goodwin, every penny ; and the baili3s a sittin' like a inkybus in tlie shop. GSRV'.D I'm in a mazel O'l, this must not be— shall not be I Un- cle Ddsb.jrough, though a strange and headstrong man, lias a god heart, ani he'shall know of this at once. He heard of your noble con- duct, Alice, and he will never suffer this, {crossing, B. C.) Bear up, my kind oil friend ! Alice, cheer them both ; and, take my word for it, thia 84 A HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS. tnisfortune sliall be averted, (excitedly) Alice 1 Alice I iVe got a thousand things to say, but I caa'D say iliera now — wait just a little; I'll soon be back. Here, get out of the way ! {pushing aside Gibbons, %oho Ims entered, L.) GiBBOiNS. We're in no particular hurry, Mr. Barlow, and we'll wait in the shop till you're more composed, (aside to Alice, who has followed Gerald to door) Tell him to bear up, miss ; bless your innocent 'art, it's nothing' when you're used to it. (Exit c. Alice. Don't be cast down, uncle Joe ; something assures me that Gerald can assist you through it. You saw how pained and surprised he was at the sudden discovery of your misfortune. Joe. Ah, there was a reassuring tone about his manner. Ally, and he may be able to do something. His voice sounded cheery, old girl, and it's a pleasant er voice than — -' Penny, (heard in shop) All in, eh I that's all right. Joe. a pleasanter voice than Pennythorne's. Enter Pennythorne — Alice's hack is towards him — Mrs. Barlow's head is in, her hands, and Joe is sitting looking at the ground. Penny, (l., singing) " Oh, there's nothing half so sweet in life as love's young dream." I flew away in such a precious hurry on the wings of love, Alice, that I forgot Doctor's Commons would be shut afore, I could get there ; when I found how late it was, I turned back to come and spend a pleasant evening, (sings) " For there's nothing half so sweet in life as love's young dre" — well, you're a lively family group, you are. (pause) Blest if you ain't like the Chamber of Horrors at Madame two-swords. Now then, you rollicking old ile and colour- man, what's the matter? Alice, (c, comes to him) Mr. Pennythorne, since you left us just now, we have suffered a great blow. Penny. Who's been hittin' any of you? Only tell me — don't mind confiding in me, I'll stick by you. Joe. (in chair, R., aside to Mrs. Barlow) Pennythorne says he'll stick by us. He don't care lor money. He's a good fellow alter all's said and done. Mrs. B. (inarm chair) I always said he was, but you never be- lieved me. Penny. I hate your unsympathetic humbugs. Give me the heart that can feel for another, (aside) Some near relation popped off, I suppose. Alice, (l. c.) You see uncle Joe meant all for the best ; but he has been unlortunate, very unfortunate. Penny, (aside) Unfortunate with his money I — these things will happen. Alice. He meant well, but we are all liable to mistakes, and poor uncle Joe made a great and fatal one, when he speculated beyond his means. Penny, (countenance changing) Speculated beyond his — go on, go on. Alice. You are his friend — his old and valued friend — you will not add to his present anguish by one unkind word — you will stand by him now that he is well nigh broken-hearted — now that he is ruined. You have always said yoa did not care for money. You have been prudent and lucky, and you can assist poor uncle Joe in his present trouble, (with downcast looks) I have often spoken to you harshly, rudely, and I a-k your forgiveness — If — if — you care for me as you have always said — you will — (looks at him) stretch forth a generous ACT ILL 35 hand and help [pie expression of Penntthorne's face stops Tier — she pauses.) Penny, (after a slight pause, in a quiet voice') Is this real or sham : It's no get up to try me, is it, V Alice. It is too real. We have lost every shilling, irretrievably, and are little better than bejfpars. Penny, (still in a constrained quiet tone) And i/our money ? Joe. (at back) Gone, Penuythorne, pone — every farthincf 1 Penny, {mth his hands in his pockets, and in a loud voice) Well, you're a nice lot I This is pr> tty disgraceful abominable conduct, 1 his is. You'd have tricked me beautiful, I don't -wonder at your M-ant inir to hurry on the match ; no, nor you either, ■with your palavering 8pi^eches, now it's no longer any good playing the high and mighty. (Alice is du7nbfoundered, and unable to speak^ Mrs. B. Joe, I must speak. Joe. Be quiet, {to Pek^jythgrne) Why you always declared you de- spised money. Penny. And you been in business for forty year.'' and fool enough to believe me! I can't find words to express my contempt for you. Mrs. B. Joe, I icill si)eak. Joe. Be quiet, you silly v/oman, you. Penny. You're a parcel of swindlers altogether, pretending to hava money when you haven't a shilling. Tell you what it is, Mr. Barlow, you're an impostor, that's what yow are. (approaches^ almost imnacingly to Joe) Alice, (interposing and turning upon Pennythorne) Leave the lionse sir! (pointiny to door) Penny. Eli I Alice. Leave the house, I say and never dare to set your foot in it again ; yonder lies your road ; take it, ere I summons those who will thrust ycu like a car into the street. Go! Penny, (abashed ajid slinking towards door) I'm — I'm going, (aside) What a fury ! (to Alice ichoJiac retired tip) Good bye, you — you h.v2en:i — you — A nice time I should have had with you, too. (finds himself close to Gibbons icho has entered c. door) GiBB. I beg your pardon. Is your name Pennythorne, Livery Stable- keeper, and setterer ? Penny. Course it is. GiBB. Sorry for it, but I must arrest you at the suit of Slangem & Co. Penny. What? JoK. (crossi7ig,Ji. c.) Arrest him! There's some mistake. He's a Weajl^liy man. diBB. Well, his creditors will be only too lia])py to 'car it. He's up to his eyes in debt with all his tradesmen, his paper's everywhere, he got a bill of sale on his furniture, and won't he find a precious long list of detainers, after he's been an hour in Curcitor-street, that's all. Wealthy, why he's only been staving off people by telling 'em ho w;>.s going to marry an heiress. Alice, (l.) Can it be possible. Joe. (r. c. jumping) Why, you rascally swindler, what do you mean ? Pretending to liavo money w .ea you haveu't a shilling. I tell you what it is, Mr Pennythorne, you're an impostor, thut's wiiat you Mrs. B. (a.., quietly) Pennythorne, I always thought you were a scoundrel. Joe. "(r. c.) Ho, ha ! ho! That's good, (to PennythorHE) Ha, ha! I don't wonder at your wanting to hurry on the match. Ha, ha I ■we're well rid of eac'.i other, my worthy fi'icad. (crossec, K.) 36 A HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS. Pennt. (c, back) That's rigbt, trample on me. Kick a fallen tower Telien he's down. Lead me to your Sponging Establishment, Officer of the Sheriff, where you charge eighteen pence for a sheet of note paper and half-a-crown a day for the pen and ink. But you won't get much out of me. I don't want to play the swell at a guinea a minute, and saall go to prison, I shall feel at home there, bo Farewell, Barlow, till we meet. Within the walls of Whitecross Street. Exit Pennythorne and Gibbons. Job. There's a mean-spirited 'ound, a letting himself down to talk poetry. Alice. Never mini him, uncle Joe, he isn't worth your anger. Enter Pyefinch, hurriedly and out of breath, door l. Pyef. {down, L.) Here, I say 1 Where's — w here's Mr. Goodwin? Alice. Has anything happened ? Pyep. Anything? Ha, ha ! its according to what you call anything. I sliould think so. But where is he ? Alice. He left here some little time back, prom ieing to return shortly Pyef. I heard lie was here, and master's sent me post haste after him. Enter Count, door L. — he pauccc abruptly on seeing Pyefinch. Count, {ande) Why, that's Goodwin's man — I've tumbled into pleas- ant quarteis hci.e. It's like everything that Fluker does, he always makes a botch of it. Joe. I thought his uncle never wanted to see him again. Pyef. So everybody imagined. But blood is stronger than water.and Mr. Desborough's a good sort notwithstanding his odd temper. Look at his taking me when his nepliew bust up, and iDaking me his own man. Lucky thing, too, after I'd lost all my savings in that atrocious Black- shaw's twenty per cent, paying swindle. You see Mrs. Desborough the young wife as master married in India Alice. Yes. Pyef. Well it was an ill-assorted match from the first, and Mrs. Desborough, not to put too fine a point upon it, has Joe. Well. Pyep. (l.) He-loped. Well, you see, master is sixty-sis ir so, and his wife not more than twenty-four. Take twenty -four from sixty-sis and what remains ? Count, (aside) Mrs. Desl orough doesen't, evidently. Pyef. (turning to him) 1 beg your pardon, what did you remark ? wasn't aware that strangers was present, (speaks aside to Joe) Alice, down r. a little) If they should be reconciled once more, and Gorald not go abroad but stay at home, and but no, that can never, never be now. Re-enter Gerald, c. Pyef. Here he is.