Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays Part 55

JAMES [_who, during the foregoing scene, has been full of uneasy gestures; leaping with incredible swiftness from the shelter of the screen_]. Sir!

ROSAMUND [_pus.h.i.+ng Gerald quickly away_]. Gerald!

JAMES. May I inquire, sir, what is the precise significance of this att.i.tudinising? [_Gerald has scarcely yet abandoned his amorous pose, but now does so quickly_]. Are we in the middle of a scene from "Romeo and Juliet," or is this 9:30 A. M. in the nineteenth century? If Miss Fife had played the "Moonlight Sonata" to you, or looked at you as Madge does, there might perhaps have been some shadow of an excuse for your extraordinary and infamous conduct. But since she has performed neither of these feats of skill, I fail to grasp--I say I fail to grasp--er--

GERALD [_slowly recovering from an amazement which has rendered him mute_]. Rosie, a man concealed in your apartment! But perhaps it is the piano-tuner. I am willing to believe the best.

ROSAMUND. Let me introduce Mr. James Brett, my future husband. Jim, this is Gerald.

JAMES. I have gathered as much. [_The men bow stiffly._]

ROSAMUND [_dreamily_]. Poor, poor Gerald! [_Her tone is full of feeling.

James is evidently deeply affected by it. He walks calmly and steadily to the table and picks up the revolver._]

GERALD. Sir, that tool is mine.

JAMES. Sir, the fact remains that it is an engine of destruction, and that I intend to use it. Rosamund, the tone in which you uttered those three words, "Poor, poor Gerald!" convinces me, a keen observer of symptoms, that I no longer possess your love. Without your love, life to me is meaningless. I object to anything meaningless--even a word. I shall therefore venture to deprive myself of life. Good-by! [_To Gerald._] Sir, I may see you later. [_Raises the revolver to his temples._]

ROSAMUND [_appealing to Gerald to interfere_]. Gerald.

GERALD. Mr. Brett, I repeat that that revolver is mine. It would be a serious breach of good manners if you used it without my consent, a social solecism of which I believe you, as a friend of Miss Fife's, to be absolutely incapable. Still, as the instrument happens to be in your hand, you may use it--but not on yourself. Have the goodness, sir, to aim at me. I could not permit myself to stand in the way of another's happiness, as I should do if I continued to exist. At the same time I have conscientious objections to suicide. You will therefore do me a service by aiming straight. Above all things, don't hit Miss Fife. I merely mention it because I perceive that you are unaccustomed to the use of firearms. [_Folds his arms._]

JAMES. Rosamund, _do_ you love me?

ROSAMUND. My Jim!

JAMES [_deeply moved_]. The possessive p.r.o.noun convinces me that you do.

[_Smiling blandly._] Sir, I will grant your most reasonable demand.

[_Aims at Gerald._]

ROSAMUND [_half shrieking_]. I don't love you if you shoot Gerald.

JAMES. But, my dear, this is irrational. He has asked me to shoot him, and I have as good as promised to do so.

ROSAMUND [_entreating_]. James, in two hours we are to be married....

Think of the complications.

GERALD. Married! To-day! Then I withdraw my request.

JAMES. Yes; perhaps it will be as well. [_Lowers revolver._]

GERALD. I have never yet knowingly asked a friend, even an acquaintance, to shoot me on his wedding-day, and I will not begin now. Moreover, now I come to think of it, the revolver wasn't loaded. Mr. Brett, I inadvertently put you in a ridiculous position. I apologize.

JAMES. I accept the apology. [_The general tension slackens. Both the men begin to whistle gently, in the effort after unconcern._]

ROSAMUND. Jim, will you oblige me by putting that revolver down somewhere. I know it isn't loaded; but so many people have been killed by guns that weren't loaded that I should feel safer.... [_He puts it down on the table._] Thank you!

JAMES [_picking up letter_]. By the way, here's that letter that came just now. Aren't you going to open it? The writing seems to me to be something like Lottie d.i.c.kinson's.

ROSAMUND [_taking the letter_]. It isn't Lottie's; it's her sister's.

[_Stares at envelope._] I know what it is. I _know_ what it is. Lottie is ill, or dead, or something, and can't come and be a witness at the wedding. I'm sure it's that. Now, if she's dead we can't _be_ married to-day; it wouldn't be decent. And it's frightfully unlucky to have a wedding postponed. Oh, but there isn't a black border on the envelope, so she can't be _dead_. And yet perhaps it was so sudden they hadn't time to buy mourning stationery! This is the result of your coming here this morning. I felt sure something would happen. Didn't I tell you so?

JAMES. No, you didn't, my dear. But why don't you open the letter?

ROSAMUND. I am opening it as fast as I can. [_Reads it hurriedly._]

There! I said so! Lottie fell off her bicycle last night, and broke her ankle--won't be able to stir for a fortnight--in great pain--hopes it won't _inconvenience_ us!

JAMES. Inconvenience! I must say I regard it as very thoughtless of Lottie to go bicycling the very night before our wedding. Where did she fall off?

ROSAMUND. Sloane Street.

JAMES. That makes it positively criminal. She always falls off in Sloane Street. She makes a regular practice of it. I have noticed it before.

ROSAMUND. Perhaps she did it on purpose.

JAMES. Not a doubt of it!

ROSAMUND. She doesn't want us to get married!

JAMES. I have sometimes suspected that she had a certain tenderness for me. [_Endeavoring to look meek._]

ROSAMUND. The cat!

JAMES. By no means. Cats are never sympathetic. She is. Let us be just before we are jealous.

ROSAMUND. Jealous! My dear James! Have you noticed how her skirts hang?

JAMES. Hang her skirts!

ROSAMUND. You wish to defend her?

JAMES. On the contrary; it was I who first accused her. [_Gerald, to avoid the approaching storm, seeks the shelter of the screen, sits down, and taking some paper from his pocket begins thoughtfully to write._]

ROSAMUND. My dear James, let me advise you to keep quite, quite calm.

You are a little bit upset.

JAMES. I am a perfect cuc.u.mber. But I can hear you breathing.

ROSAMUND. If you are a cuc.u.mber, you are a very indelicate cuc.u.mber. I'm not breathing more than is necessary to sustain life.

JAMES. Yes, you are; and what's more you'll cry in a minute if you don't take care. You're getting worked up.

ROSAMUND. No, I shan't. [_Sits down and cries._]

JAMES. What did I tell you? Now perhaps you will inform me what we are quarreling about, because I haven't the least idea.

ROSAMUND [_through her sobs_]. I do think it's horrid of Lottie. We can't be married with one witness. And I didn't want to be married at a registry office at all.

JAMES. My pet, we can easily get another witness. As for the registry office, it was yourself who proposed it, as a way out of a difficulty.