The Red House Mystery and Other Novels. A. A. Milne
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Anything the matter? You don't look your usual bright self.
JAMES. I--er--seem to have dropped asleep in front of the fire. Most unusual thing for me to have done. Most unusual.
PHILIP. Let that be a lesson to you not to get up so early. Of course, if you're in the Army you can't help yourself. Thank Heaven I'm out of it, and my own master again.
JAMES. Ah, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. Sit down, Philip. (He indicates the chair by the fire.)
PHILIP (taking a chair by the table). You have that, uncle; I shall be all right here.
JAMES (hastily). No, no; you come here. (He gives PHILIP the armchair and sits by the table himself.) I should be dropping off again. (He laughs awkwardly.)
PHILIP. Righto. (He puts his hand to his pocket. UNCLE JAMES shivers and looks at him to horror. PHILIP brings out his pipe, and a sickly grin of relief comes into JAMES'S face.)
JAMES. I suppose you smoked a lot in France?
PHILIP. Rather! Nothing else to do. It's allowed in here?
JAMES (hastily). Yes, yes, of course. (PHILIP lights his pipe.) Well now, Philip, what are you going to do, now you've left the Army?
PHILIP (promptly). Burn my uniform and sell my revolver.
JAMES (starting at the word "revolver"). Sell your revolver, eh?
PHILIP (surprised). Well, I don't want it now, do I?
JAMES. No. ... Oh no. ... Oh, most certainly not, I should say. Oh, I can't see why you should want it at all. (With an uneasy laugh) You're in England now. No need for revolvers here--eh?
PHILIP (staring at him). Well, no, I hope not.
JAMES (hastily). Quite so. Well now, Philip, what next? We must find a profession for you.
PHILIP (yawning). I suppose so. I haven't really thought about it much.
JAMES. You never wanted to be an architect?
PHILIP (surprised). Architect? (JAMES rubs his head and wonders what made him think of architect.)
JAMES. Or anything like that.
PHILIP. It's a bit late, isn't it?
JAMES. Well, if you're four years behind, so is everybody else. (He feels vaguely that he has heard this argument before.)
PHILIP (smiling): To tell the truth, I don't feel I mind much anyway. Anything you like--except a commissionaire. I absolutely refuse to wear uniform again.
JAMES. How would you like to come into the business?
PHILIP. The jam business? Well, I don't know. You wouldn't want me to salute you in the mornings?
JAMES. My dear boy, no!
PHILIP. All right, I'll try it if you like. I don't know if I shall be any good--what do you do?
JAMES. It's your experience in managing and--er--handling men which I hope will be of value.
PHILIP. Oh, I can do that all right. (Stretching himself luxuriously) Uncle James, do you realize that I'm never going to salute again, or wear a uniform, or get wet--really wet, I mean--or examine men's feet, or stand to attention when I'm spoken to, or-- oh, lots more things. And best of all, I'm never going to be frightened again. Have you ever known what it is to be afraid-- really afraid?
JAMES (embarrassed). I--er--well--(He coughs.)
PHILIP. No, you couldn't--not really afraid of death, I mean. Well, that's over now. Good lord! I could spend the rest of my life in the British Museum and be happy. ...
JAMES (getting up). All right, we'll try you in the office. I expect you want a holiday first, though.
PHILIP (getting up). My dear uncle, this is holiday. Being in London is holiday. Buying an evening paper--wearing a waistcoat again--running after a bus--anything--it's all holiday.
JAMES. All right, then, come along with me now, and I'll introduce you to Mr. Bamford.
PHILIP. Right. Who's he?
JAMES. Our manager. A little stiff, but a very good fellow. He'll be delighted to hear that you are coming into the firm.
PHILIP (smiling). Perhaps I'd better bring my revolver, in case he isn't.
JAMES (laughing with forced heartiness as they go together to the door). Ha, ha! A good joke that! Ha, ha, ha! A good joke--but only a joke, of course. Ha, ha! He, he, he!
[PHILIP goes out. JAMES, following him, turns at the door, and looks round the room in a bewildered way. Was it a dream, or wasn't it? He will never be quite certain.]
BELINDA
An April Folly in Three Acts
CHARACTERS
BELINDA TREMAYNE. DELIA (her daughter). HAROLD BAXTER. CLAUDE DEVENISH. JOHN TREMAYNE. BETTY.
The action takes place in Belinda's country-house in Devonshire at the end of April.
This play was first produced by Mr. Dion Boucicault at the New Theatre, London, on April 8, 1918, with the following cast:
Belinda Tremayne--IRENE VANBRUGH. Delia--ISOBEL ELSOM. Harold Baxter--DION BOUCICAULT. Claude Devenish--DENNIS NEILSON-TERRY. John Tremayne--BEN WEBSTER. Betty--ANNE WALDEN.
BELINDA
ACT I
[It is a lovely April afternoon--a foretaste of summer--in BELINDA'S garden.]
[BETTY, a middle-aged servant, is fastening a hammock--its first appearance this year--between two trees at the back. In front of these there is a solid oak garden-table, with a comfortable chair on the right of it and a straight-backed one on the left. There are books, papers, and magazines on the table. BELINDA, of whom we shall know more presently, is on the other side of the open windows which look on to the garden, talking to BETTY.]
BELINDA (from inside the house). Are you sure you're tying it up tightly enough, Betty?
BETTY (coming to front of hammock). Yes, ma'am; I think it's firm.
BELINDA. Because I'm not the fairy I used to be.
BETTY (trying the knots at the other end of the hammock). Yes, ma'am; it's quite firm this end too.
BELINDA. It's not the ends I'm frightened of; it's the middle where the weight's coming. (She comes into the garden.) It looks very nice.
BETTY. Yes, ma'am.
BELINDA (trying the middle of it with her hand). I asked them at the Stores if they were quite _sure_ it would bear me, and they said it would take anything up to--I forget how many tons. I know I thought it was rather rude of them. (Looking at it anxiously) How does one get in? So trying to be a sailor!
BETTY. I think you sit in it, ma'am, and then (explaining with her hands) throw your legs over.
BELINDA. I see. (She sits gingerly in the hammock, and then, with a sudden flutter of white, does what BETTY suggests.) Yes. (Regretfully.) I'm afraid that was rather wasted on