Mr. Punch at the Play - LightNovelsOnl.com
You're reading novel online at LightNovelsOnl.com. Please use the follow button to get notifications about your favorite novels and its latest chapters so you can come back anytime and won't miss anything.
[_He does nothing._
_She._ Well, you may as well go on. It will be something, anyhow.
(_Yawns._) Nothing ever seems to happen in this play. I don't know why. It isn't my fault. Oh, go on.
_He._ All right. Don't suppose it amuses me, though. Darling, I love you--will you marry me?
_She_ (_very wearily_). Oh, I suppose so.
_He._ Thanks very much. (_Kisses her._) There!
[_Returns proudly to his seat, and does nothing._
_She_ (_with sudden excitement_). Supposing I had said "No," would you have shot yourself?--would you have gone to the front?--would your life have been a blank hereafter? Would anything interesting have happened?
_He_ (_with a great determination in his eyes_). Had you spurned my love----
_She_ (_excitedly_). Yes, yes?
_He_ (_with emotion_).--I should have--I should have--done nothing.
[_Does it._
_She._ Oh!
_He._ Yes. As for shooting or drowning myself if any little thing of that sort had happened it would have been _off_ the stage. I hope I know my place.
[_She does nothing._
_He_ (_politely_). I don't know if you're keen about stopping here?
If not, we might----
_She._ We must wait till somebody else comes on.
_He._ True. (_Reflects deeply._) Er--do you mote much?
[_She sleeps. The audience follows suit. Curtain eventually._
[Ill.u.s.tration: HOW HE OUGHT _NOT_ TO LOOK
_Excited Prompter_ (_to the Ghost of Hamlet's father, who is working himself up to the most funereal aspect he can a.s.sume_).
"Now then, Walker, _LOOK ALIVE_!"]
[Ill.u.s.tration: PREHISTORIC SHAKSPEARE.--"MACBETH"
"Infirm of purpose!
Give me the daggers."--_Act II. Sc. 2._]
[Ill.u.s.tration: MUSIC-HALL INANITIES.--I.
_Miss Birdie Vandeleur ("Society's Pet"--vide her advertis.e.m.e.nts pa.s.sim) bawls the refrain of her latest song_:--
"Ow, I am sow orferly _shy_, boys!
I am, and I kennot tell wy, boys!
Some dy, wen I'm owlder, Per'aps I'll git bowlder, But naow I am orfer-ly shy!"]
[Ill.u.s.tration: MUSIC-HALL INANITIES.--II. The Ill.u.s.trative Method.
'E's not a _tall_ man--Nor a _short_ man--But he's just the man for me.'
"Not in the army--Nor the nivy--But the royal artill-er-ee!"]
ATTENTION AT THE PLAY.
(_As performed at many London Theatres_)
SCENE--_Interior of a Private Box._
TIME--_Towards the end of the First Act of an established success._
PRESENT--_A party of Four._
_No. 1_ (_gazing through opera gla.s.ses_). A good house. Do you know anyone?
_No. 2._ Not a soul. Stay--aren't those the Fitzsnooks?
_No. 3_ (_also using a magnifier_). You mean the woman in the red feather at the end of the third row of the stalls?
_No. 4._ You have spotted them. They have got Bobby Tenterfore with them. You know, the Johnnie in the F. O.
_No. 1._ I thought Mr. Tenterfore was at Vienna.
_No. 4._ No; he _was_ going, but they sent another chap. Brought him back from somewhere in the tropics.
_No. 3._ Then what is Mr. Tenterfore doing in town?
_No. 4._ Oh! come home on leave. Lots of that sort of thing at the F. O.
_No. 1_ (_having grown weary of looking at the audience_). By the way, _a propos de bottes_, I have some money to invest. Can you suggest anything?
_No. 3._ They say that Diddlers Deferred will turn up trumps.
