Mr Punch's Model Music Hall Songs and Dramas Part 28

_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 cus.h.i.+on, and presses it tightly over_ SPIKER'S _head._) Oh, I _wish_ he wouldn't gurgle like that, and how he does kick! He cannot even die like a gentleman! (SPIKER'S _kicks become more and more feeble and eventually cease._) How still he lies! I almost wish ... Mr. Spiker, Mr.

Spi-ker!... no answer--oh, I really _have_ suffocated him! (_Enter_ Sir POSH.) You, 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. Spiker with a sofa-cus.h.i.+on.

See!

[_Shows the body._

_Sir Posh._ Then I am safe--he will tell no tales now! But, my 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?

_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, Verbena, what will _you_ do? As your father, I would gladly screen you--but, as a Magistrate, I cannot promise to be more than pa.s.sive.

_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. (VERB. _wheels the sofa and_ SPIKER'S _body out,_ L.U.E.) My poor impulsive darling, I do hope she will not be seen--servants _do_ make such mischief! But there's an end of Spiker, 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_ BLETHERS.

_Blethers._ Sir Poshbury, 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 Poshbury.

_Sir P._ (_quailing_). What, _another_! I must stop _his_ tongue at all hazards. Ah, the rotten sash-line! (_To_ BLETHERS.) I will hear you, but first close yonder window, the night-air is growing chill.

[BLETHERS _goes to window at back. Slow music. As he approaches it,_ Lord BLESHUGH _enters_ (R 2 E), _and, with a smothered cry of horror, drags him back by the coat-tails--just before the window falls with a tremendous crash._

_Sir P._ Bleshugh! What have you done?

_Lord Blesh._ (_sternly_). Saved _him_ from an untimely end--and _you_ from--crime!

_Collapse of_ Sir P. _Enter_ VERBENA, _terrified._

_Verb._ Papa, Papa, hide me! The night-air and the cold stone steps have restored Mr. Spiker to life and consciousness! He is coming to denounce me--you--both of us! He is awfully annoyed!

_Sir P._ (_recklessly_). It is useless to appeal to me, child. I have enough to do to look after myself--now.

[_Enter_ SPIKER, _indignant._

_Spiker._ Pretty treatment for a gentleman, this! Look here, Poshbury, this young lady has choked me with a cus.h.i.+on, and then pitched me 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. You must settle your differences with her.

_Spiker._ And you too, old horse! _You_ had a hand in this, I know, and I'll 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, Blethers _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 Poshbury'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 confess my error, for fear of losing my situation.

_Sir P._ (_to_ SPIKER). 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--Spiker spiked this time!

[_Retires up disconcerted._

_Lord Bl._ And you did not really love him, after all, Verbena?

_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-cus.h.i.+on!

_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 have saved me from unnecessarily depriving myself of the services of an old retainer.

Blethers, I condone a dissimulation for which you have done much to atone. Spiker, you vile and miserable rascal, be off, and be thankful that I have sufficient magnanimity to refrain from giving you in charge.

(SPIKER _sneaks off crushed._) And now, my children, and my faithful old servant, congratulate me that I am no longer----

_Verbena and Lord Bleshugh_ (_together_). Under the Harrow!

[_Affecting Family Tableau and quick Curtain._

X.--TOMMY AND HIS SISTER JANE

[Ill.u.s.tration: Tommy and Jane.]

Once more we draw upon our favourite source of inspiration--the poems of the Misses Taylor. The dramatist is serenely confident that the new London County Council Censor of Plays, whenever that much-desired official is appointed, will highly approve of this little piece on account of the multiplicity of its morals. It is intended to teach, amongst other useful lessons, that--as the poem on which it is founded puts it--"Fruit in lanes is seldom good"; also, that it is not always prudent to take a hint: again, that constructive murder is distinctly reprehensible, and should never be indulged in by persons who cannot control their countenances afterwards. Lastly, that suicide may often be averted by the exercise of a little _savoir vivre_.

TOMMY AND HIS SISTER JANE.

CHARACTERS.

_Tommy and his Sister Jane (Taylorian Twins, and awful examples)._

_Their Wicked Uncle (plagiarised from a forgotten Nursery Story, and slightly altered)._

_Old Farmer Copeer (skilled in the use of horse and cattle medicines)._

SCENE--_A shady lane; on the right, a gate, leading to the farm; left, some bashes, covered with practicable scarlet berries._