First Performed at the Theatre Royal, Haymarket, Under the Management of Mr. Buckstone. On Thursday, September 20th, 1859.
The action takes place at Mr. Percival Floff's house at Clapham.
Time –– 1859.
Visitors' bell! I wonder who that can possibly be!
My dear Mrs. Jubkins, how are you?
Thank you, my darling, quite well.
Who would ever have dreamt of seeing you here? and so early, too!
That's just it. I have dropt in early on purpose. I have come to suggest we should all go and have a delightful day at the Crystal Palace.
At the Crystal Palace?
Sidney will defray all the expense. He did not come home till I don't know what o'clock
last night, or rather, this morning, from the grand dinner of the new Volunteer Rifle Corps
they have got up. And he was in such a state. I did not say much to him then,
because I could not. He was off to sleep in no time. But this morning, when he woke, I told
him a piece of my mind. He requested me to be quiet, because he had got a headache. Of
course, my dear, I was not foolish enough to throw away an opportunity like that! He has
given me the money to purchase a love of a dress I have long wanted,
Upstairs, locked in his room. Talk of your Sidney! Percival has been going on far worse.
He didn't return from his Rifle dinner till just five o'clock this morning, and the
first thing he did was to turn all my chest of drawers topsy turvy!
I'd topsy turvy him! what did he do that for?
He said he wanted a pen. I told him he would be more likely to find one in the inkstand. On this, he went down stairs—in about a quarter of an hour I heard him go out again, and return in about five minutes or so; when he came up, I inquired where he had been—he replied, "To post a letter!" and on my asking to whom, answered—"To the devil!"
Oh, the wretch! if he had done that to me, my dear, I would have made the place so hot for him that he would have considered it a relief to go after his letter. But you are too good-natured.
I can't help it! Percival has such a sweet temper; and it's only when he's ruffled—
Yes, but he's ruffled very often—go on, though. What did he do next?
He usually goes off to sleep the moment he gets into bed. Besides which, he is accustomed to undress himself. This morning, however, he sternly refused to take off his uniform, as he calls it, and was not still a minute.
You don't say so!
Yes, he kept tumbling and tossing about so, that, at half past seven, I got up, perfectly worn out. Directly I left the room, he jumped out of bed, bolted the door, and has refused to open it since. I have not the slightest notion what he has been doing, except that, at frequent intervals, he paces up and down like a lynx in a cage.
That's headache, my dear. But such proceedings cannot be allowed. We must prove to these gentlemen riflemen that, whatever they might– and of course would– do with a foreign foe, they can't get the better of their wives so easily. But come, go and get ready. Sidney will be here soon—at least, he had better.
Just let me finish these two or three stitches. There's the paper—our local paper—" The Clapham Scourge," with which is incorporated the "Brixton Scarifier."
Thank you!
What?
I do not know yet, but I will read it. "Infamous Conduct at Clapham!" Oh, how interesting!
How exciting! and how well written!
Is it not? but what a wanton act. A poor dummy! I declare I shall be afraid to trust Sidney
out after dark.
Come with me—perhaps Percival will undo the door more readily if he hears your voice.
Ah, good morning, Mrs. Floff—quite well, I hope?
Quite, thank you.
Where's Percival?
Mr. Floff has not come down yet. Like some other person, who shall be nameless, he was not home till late.
Oh, indeed! Yes, I—
But we are going up stairs
Do, my dear—we have not much time to lose, if we are to have a nice long day at the Palace.
Ah, Floff, old boy, how are you?
Oh!
What?
Don't! If you don't don't, it will be the worse for you.
What is the matter? How queer you look; and still in uniform. Have you been
catching it too?
Catching what? I have attempted to catch nothing, therefore, I say, catching what?
How excited you are!
I am not excited! I am simply irritated, and with good cause. As a baby, I was remarkable for an angelic sweetness of temper, and, as an adult, I have not belied the promise of my infancy. I am the gentlest creature in the world, and I never get angry except when any one puts me in a passion. Do you hear?—except when any one puts me in a passion.
Calm yourself!
I shan't.
Ain't you well?
Ain't I well?
Come, we are all going to the Crystal Palace.
That is a falsehood. We are not all going to the Crystal Palace—I am not going to
the Crystal Palace—I am going a trifle further—I am going to America.
To America?
To America. A, m, e, r, i, k—no, с, а.
You are joking.
I am not joking. I would give three pounds ten at this moment for a flat iron—a
simple, domestic flat iron—to break your head for daring to make such an assertion.
Why, Percival, my boy, what have I done?
What have you done? You have made me what I am.
What are you?
Don't you know?
No—unless you are drunk.
Ha, ha! I wish I were. Do you pretend to forget what occurred last night?
I know we were very jolly, and came home part of the way together, after having dined with each other at our mess.
The real mess had not begun then. Don't you remember what happened afterwards?.
You alarm me. What?
What! Good gracious! have you forgotten that, as we were nearly home, on turning a corner, we saw, opposite Gloss's shop, a—a man—a—a human being—in fact, with his back towards us.
I have not the smallest remembrance of such a thing.
Then you were more intoxicated than I thought you were. On beholding the individual in question what did I do?
What?
Nothing.
Well!
It is not well. I forbid you to use that—that—
Word.
No—that—that pronoun again—It was not well. There was a demon by my side—that demon said to
me " I say, Floff, my boy, what a mark that fellow would be at a long range." Giving way to
my natural spirits—or, perhaps, to the wine I had taken, I—the innocent Floff—the "Floff, my
boy," of the
And—
I did pink him off.
You—you—you don't mean to say you—you—you killed him?
Your assertion is both premature and erroneous—I do mean to say so—I saw the wretched being fall—I flung away my rifle, like a fool—so did you.
So did I—
Like another. I ran, followed by you. When I stopped I was in a profuse perspiration, and a brick field at Hackney—you were nowhere. I took breath, and then took a cab to Hammersmith.
Why to Hammersmith, when you reside at Clapham?
To put the myrmidons of justice off my track. I then got into a cab, and drove to Whitechapel, where I saw another—I took it, and drove to Battersea—I alighted, and walked to Clapham. I reached my own once happy dwelling. I went to bed, but I could not sleep, no more could Euphemia; she said I kicked about so. Did you ever go to Madame Tussaud's Chamber of Horrors?
Never.
You never enjoyed the artistic and humanising treat of seeing our glorious British murderers in waxwork?
Never.
Then save the extra sixpence, and look at me.
This is frightful! I now remember all. I had fancied it was a dream..
The officers of justice will soon be on my track. Every knock I hear at the door I expect to be a policeman. I have written to Consols—my stockbroker—to realise for me without loss of time. I went out and posted the letter myself before I retired to to bed last night. I am awaiting his answer every minute. Directly I get the money, I am off to America—to the backwoods—to the very backest of the backwoods, where they're not particular about shooting a man.
Does Mrs. Floff know of your determination?
Not a word. She is profoundly ignorant both of that and of my crime. Mind you do not arouse her suspicions. If you do—tremble! you are my accomplice.
I beg your pardon, I—
I beg yours—you urged me to the fatal deed. Whether you wanted the man's watch or anything else, I do not know—but you had, no doubt, your motives.
I won't put up with this—I won't be bullied any longer by any one.
Who wants to bully you? I say you are my accomplice. Indeed, I am not sure you ought not to be considered the murderer.
I never shot him.
But your rifle did.
My rifle !
Remember, we were comparing rifles. I had got yours, and you mine, and, when the weapons are found, as they no doubt will be it will be evident which of the two launched the deadly bullet.
But you know the truth?
Nobody else does though.
You could never be base enough—
I could. Hush, here come our unhappy wives.
Well, gentlemen, here we are. Why, surely, Percival, you are not going in that costume?
I am not going at all.
Not going at all?
To you, Mrs. F. I answer decidedly not.
How can Jubkins take care of us both?
Jubkins will not go either.
This is most extraordinary. But I am afraid you are mistaken.
Why, my dear—
Of course you do—that is enough.
Yes, that is enough.
But not sufficient.
The fact is—I—
Anything.
Business of importance—
No prevarication, sir!
Yes, I know that—I—but—
Mr. Jubkins!
Polly—
Don't Polly me, sir!
Might I suggest, as you seem to be growing rather warm, that the air of the garden would prove cooler, and, consequently, more agreeable than the atmosphere of this room?
I understand you, Mr. Floff.
Thank heaven, for her sake, she has gone! I felt my blood rising. I am determined to throw off this dreadful yoke.
Mr. Jubkins, may I request the honour of your society?
With pleasure, my dear!
Your friend, Mrs. Jubkins, seems a sweet creature.
It would be well if all women possessed her spirit.
Perhaps it would—but if, Mrs. Percival Floff, you wish by that remark to convey any allusion, however distant, to yourself, I beg to state that I have no objection to your possessing quite as much spirit as your friend—
Well then—
Provided you keep it carefully bottled up.
Oh, Percival, my pet! Why do you speak thus harshly, my own one?
Don't, Euphemia, don't! Don't address me in that way—I can't bear it—it is too much for my mild and yielding disposition!
What is a matter wiz a little darling, then?
Wife of my bosom—I—but—no, I must be firm—I must resist your affectionate, though slightly childish, blandishments.
No, you musn't! Does a pretty darling lookee ill?
No, he shan't! Stop! on second thoughts, he shall. Give him one.
No, his darling does not think another glass good for him.
Perhaps it is not! Then give him the decanter!
That! why a policeman to be sure.
Is not
Yes, that is because—
Hush!
My pet—
My sweet one, oblige me by doing as you are desired, and leaving me for a while, I—I—have
something of importance to discuss with that individual—go, there's a sweet dear!
disinterested
pity—
Here, my dear, is the—
I beg pardon, you said—
I was speaking to my husband, who, I thought was here.
Phemy, have you seen my pocket-book?
Coming, dear!
This is a rum start. I wonder what they want with me? "Mr. Floff wishes particularly to see you—" what's his motive? I'll soon find out; I was not born yesterday, nor the day before—no, I was born at an early period of my existence—It's about my visiting Mary, I suppose—they object to my using their kitchen, that's it. Well, it's only swearing I was never there—but mum, I hear some one a coming.
How dye do—o—o—you—you—I—
He's very waxy—I'll manage him, though.
Oh, ye—e—s, all right!
Oh! I knowed it was!
He knowed it was!
I could not be mistaken in you—I've seed you too often for that.
Seed me too often! how he's looking at me.
You don't seem quite the thing.
No, not quite—a little faint!
Well, to be sure, it is trying weather.
"Trying weather!" If that's not a plain hint—
Mary, be quiet. What do you mean by screaming in that way! I insist on an explanation.
Well, when—when—when, I seed a policeman in our parlour, I thought there must be something wrong.
And a very natural thought, too, young woman,
There, arrange the things; put two glasses, and leave the room.
Of course I were.
I beg pardon.
I say I were—I were aware—
Oh, I see But suppose, before entering on business, we take a bit of something, and a glass of something else, eh?
With all my heart!
Can anything be more evident? "His duty to me!" he would imply, of course, that, if
adequately remunerated, he is ready to sacrifice for me his duty.
I thought you would by the look of you.
Now your duty is off your mind, let us come to the matter at once. I know why you are here.
So do I—because you sent for me.
Then let's come to the point.
Fire away!
Don't—I mean I suppose you would not mind waiting for twenty-four hours or so.
Where? what for?
Why, you know—I—I—remarked you from that window.
Did you?
Yes!
Well, ain't I obliged to pass the house?
But you are not obliged to stop and examine every brick in it, and then it is no use denying it—towards you personally I feel no animosity. As for your superiors, I pledge you my word they shall never hear anything about it.
He's a queer gent.
Don't—don't talk like that!
It would not be for long.
If it were only for five minutes, it would be too much. Come, now, for a consideration
He is a rum card—I begin to think a bit of his thatch is off.
Don't trifle with my tenderest feelings! How much?
For what?
Why this affected ignorance? the price of your silence for twenty-four hours.
Then it's nothing about me and Mary. But what is it about?
Will twenty pounds do?
Now none of that! What do you take me for?
Well, then, thirty—I'm not particular about a tenner.
No more am I, so suppose we say forty.
Very well—will that be enough?
Don't be in too great a hurry, Alfred. If he is mad, it ain't no fault o' your'n.
Yes!
Is forty pounds—
Ah!
I don't want to be hard on you.
Oh, thank you—thank you!
But, if you'd make it a trifle more, I might retire from the Force and set up a private inquiry office of my own—I've a good nose for that sort of thing—and I don't mind telling you, at this very moment, I've a very nice little case on hand.
Oh, a nice little case!
This very morning at Mr. Gloss's—
How delicately he shows me that he knows all, without compromising himself.
The tailor.
Oh, yes!
Not a bit of it—I'm used to such cases. We've lots on 'em. You don't see half in the papers—we keep 'em out. If we was to put 'em all in, there'd be no room for anything else. I see you are not so used to this game as I am!
I am not—I give you my word I am not. My dear sir, say no more, but name your sum.
I must have half an hour to consider.
Half-an-hour—wouldn't ten minutes do?
Never you worrit yourself, I'm in no hurry—I ain't off duty till eight o'clock, and I'm
very comfortable here. By the bye, just get some more of that wine. See, this is a dead man!
Ah, yes! I'll soon bring him to life again, though.
I say, just bring it in the garden, will you? and if you've a pipe, I should not mind doing a bit of smoke.
All right!
All right—I believe you it is all right. I shall make a tidy day's work on it—I shall. This comes of a man having his wits about him. I saw his motive in a jiffey—he's mad—mad as a march hare—and I'm the only person as has found it out. Ah, ah! trust me for seeing as far as most people into a brick wall.
Why, where is Percival? gone again!
Ah, Euphemia! the very person I wanted. Take this bottle of wine and pipe to the gentleman in the garden.
What gentleman, my dear?
The gentleman—the gentleman—with the bright buttons in blue.
The policeman!
No—yes—I can't say. Do as I bid you.
Oh! there's something I do not understand—some-thing horrid!
Who told you so ? no, no, it's only a little joke—a trifling wager of a thousand pounds.
What, with a policeman?
He– he's –not a policeman.
What is he, then?
Why, he's—
Yes!
Gentlemen do such things sometimes. He's made a wager that he would be a policeman for a week, and have the run of ten kitchens, and five cooks in love with him, and he's nearly won—he's told me all—he's a lord.
A lord!
Yes.
I thought there was something peculiar about him.
So there is, my dear.
I have been so mistaken in him! now I understand many things I formerly saw in the wrong light. Oh! tell me all!
I will, shortly—to-morrow or next year, or some other approximate period. But take him the
wine, and oblige her poor, kind, gentle husband by being quick about it.
When will all this end? how will all this end? I am particularly anxious about the "how!"
Why does not Consols forward the money?
I was! I've had such a scene with Mrs. Jubkins. It ended by my going out by the garden gate at the back and coming round by the front.
Sneaking round, you mean—use the right expression.
Mrs. J. insisted on my taking her to the Palace, and sent me to call a cab.
Well, you don't expect to find a cab here, do you?
No, I wanted to know what I am to do.
Nothing, and do it at once.
So I will, but
You will do no such thing.
Come—I—I—won't be bullied by—
Ah! do you forget you are my accomplice?
Yes, but—but—Mrs. Jubkins—
Never mind her.
I don't know.
He don't know when he regulated his watch! Then it must want looking after. I want to know if mine is right, that I may be in time for the train to catch the American mail steamer. Just walk to the electric clock opposite Hungerford Market. Mind! walk! and, when you return, I'll tell you what to do next.
But consider—
Miscreant don't ruffle me!
How great is the power of calm reason!
Oh, Percival dear!
What is it, Mrs. P. !
That policeman—your friend, I mean—is so strange—so free!
He's a child of nature.
Then nature has neglected his education. I think he's rather the worse for wine—but—
But what?
Oh, I don't like to tell you. Promise that you won't be angry—that you won't—won't fly out!
Not possessing wings, I promise I will not.
Well, then, he has been making love to me—there, don't storm.
Reason tells me to despise such trifles.
He actually put his arm round my waist.
It's only his playfulness, in conjunction with the general custom of the aristocracy. There, go and—and—talk gently to him.
But what is worse, he has been kissing Mrs. Jubkins.
That's Jubkins's business.
And I must say, since Mrs. Jubkins knows he's a nobleman she seems to like it.
Oh, you told her he was a swell? Why, it was a secret.
Was it ?
Yes, but it's always the same. When a woman is not strong enough to keep a secret herself, she fancies she may succeed better by getting a friend to help her. But don't stand talking here. Go immediately and rejoin my—my friend.
Yes, Percival, I'm off!
Where can that idiot, Consols, be so long? Ah! I hear footsteps on the stairs. It is he with the money.
What! you here again? I thought I told you—
Yes, I know, but I thought it might be better to do as Mrs. J. desired, and so, I got a cab. It's waiting outside.
Let it wait.
Yes, but it's two shillings an hour.
Pay it.
Yes, but I had better go and tell Polly.
You will do no such thing.
Why, look there! that fellow, the policeman, is running after Mrs. Floff. Do you approve of such goings-on?
How dare you ask such a question?
Then why do you allow it?
Unhappy wretch! that person in buttons is the bloodhead—no, I mean blue hound, on our track. I wish to divert his attention—to fill up his leisure till my broker sends the money, and then—
But you might find some other means of filling up his leisure besides permitting him to behave thus to your wife.
Oh, that's nothing!
Nothing!
No, nothing, compared with what he's been doing with yours.
With mine?
Yes, with yours!
This is infamous! I will bear it no longer! Why,
Because she likes it!
Let me go—let me go!
Just leave them alone.
Oh, nonsense!
What do you mean? if I submit to see him run after Mrs. Floff, what right have you to complain of any little act of playfulness evinced towards Mrs. Jubkins!
Look there! why, now he's kissing her again—I can't bear to look at it!
Then turn your head the other way.
I—I—won't put up with it.
My strength can stand no more—I hear some one! it's the broker with my money.
No, sir, he ain't.
When he does—
P'raps you'd better tell Susan what to do when he does, as I may not be here.
Not be here! you appear agitated. What is the matter? Has—the—the—Governor of Newgate—no, I don't mean that!
Oh, it's nothing, Mr. Floff, only I wanted to have a word with you, sir. I have come to give you warning to quit.
There –be calm—be calm.
Yes, sir, I will be calm.
Your Alfred Charles?
It's no use disguising on it; and now I know why missus has always been a watching him so closely whenever he came near here to see me, which I am free to confess—just like a cat a watching of a mouse—she ought to be ashamed of herself, she ought!
Mary—Mary, your emotion runs away with you.
I've seen her. He could not come near the place but what I was sure of seeing her head over
the blind in the parlour. Oh, it was a blind. I know now why she liked to look at
him—so she is fonder of Alfred Charles Mutton than she ought to be!
Nonsense! yet if it were true— She fond of Mutton! you don't mean to insinuate—but no—impossible! if you knew all—
What! do you know any more, and take it so quietly?
You misunderstand me.
I've been looking at 'em out of the staircase window—
Hush! your mistress may have had her reasons.
Of course! she likes him!
Ah, mind what you say!
And so does mother Jubkins, too.
Nonsense!
It's a shame a horrid shame. What needs have you to make him come up here, a filling of him
with wine, when he was quite contented with the kitchen, and the run of the beer barrel
That accounts for the rapid consumption of my Allsopp. But let me banish from my mind my
weekly bills.
Ah, look there! oh, the hussy! Give me my wages, sir, and let me go.
Mary, there is a mystery—
Where?
In my breast—in the breast of your unfortunate master. Retract your resolution. Wait only for four-and-twenty hours.
No!
For twelve!
Not an instant! I will go and tell them what I think—I will scratch their eyes out!
Defer the execution of your threat till—till—
I ain't!
Well, then, you ain't.
What, are you beginning too?
I must stop her! Mary—Mary! If she insults that detective I am lost.
This is a rum place! I've left 'em in the garden having a nice row. Ain't the large one's
husband a catchin' it neither? my eye !
Don't, sir—let me go.
I won't—I won't! Let me beg—let me supplicate—let me beseech—I will even say, let me ask
you to be quiet.
Halloa!
Ah!
My dear sir—
Don't talk to me!
Don't—lock it up in your own manly breast.
As for you, Mary, I blush for you!
Blush for yourself, Mr. Mutton– and you'll have quite enough to do.
What! talk to me like that, when I saw him at your feet?
Suppose you did! what then? I saw you when I was a watching of you in the
garden.
Hush! respect his feelings.
But go on, I've done with you—I despise you. Don't imagine I am speaking in a passion. I've
done with you for ever. I was never calmer in my life—never; so there now.
My eye! she's left her mark, at any rate.
Can it be? he after my wife, as well as me; but I will put an end to this!
Ah, that reminds me I—I—ain't going to stand this—I shall arrest you.
I must temporize.
Ain't I?
But w—h—a—t for?
You know well enongh—come along.
Wait! stop!
Pooh!
On my honour as a gentleman, it was—I—I was coming quietly home.
Coming quietly home! What's that to do with Mary?
Nothing!
Well, then, if you think you can carry on these pranks with a young girl—
It was a man.
A man!
Yes.
That won't do.
Well, if it was a girl, she had on a coat and trousers.
When?
Last night.
He is mad!
No, no—will a hundred do?
A hundred pounds?
Yes.
Money down?
Yes.
Where is it?
There, count them?
I mean to.
Reprobate! oh, Phemy, if ever I meet him in New York—which I never shall—he shall have cause to remember it!
Mr. Floff!
Floff!
Percival!
Speak all at once, and then I shall hear you better.
I have been insulted, sir, and Mr. Jubkins demands satisfaction. Mr. Jubkins, you demand satisfaction, don't you?
Yes, my dear,
Was not I told he was a lord, and did not he keep up the imposition, kissing me and going on just like one, till your servant Mary came and told me, in very coarse language, the truth.
I'm in a fog! I a lord! What can be their motive? it is –it must be—this is a private madhouse, or an Agapemone.
Oh, Percival!
I'm going—I only want my wages.
Mr. Floff, that person—
I'm no more a person than you are, mum.
Don't talk to me.
Why did you encourage Alfred Charles Mutton ?
I encourage him!
He's as good as the guy you have got, and you seemed to think him rather
better.
Is that the way in which you address a lady?
No—I've got another way for a lady!
Mr. Jubkins, I—I order you to turn that creature ut of the room.
But, my dear—
Mr. Jubkins!
Mary, go!
I shan't!
Then I
You turn her out! wait a moment!
I can't bear this any longer—I will not bear it any longer. I—I—order you to leave the
room.
You! you did not talk so just now, when I found you alone with her, a kneeling at her feet.
What! my Percival at her feet! then this is why you sent me into the garden. Oh dear! oh
dear!
See what you have done, you monster! and this, Mr. Jubkins, is the man you call your friend.
I, my dear—no, that is, yes.
This is the finishing blow—lead me to the scaffold, and have done with it. I will reveal the name of my accomplice.
Floff!
Or rather of the principal.
Percival, I am your friend.
And, before I do so, I will have some little satisfaction—I'll fight you.
No, no—don't.
No, no—let 'em have it out.
I will report you—I will.
My husband in danger! I will protect you.
Come away, ma'am.
You shan't touch my missus, whatever has happened.
Come, come!
Holloa! you leave her alone though she did smack my face, I loved her once.
I won't.
You won't? Then I shall take you.
There's the bell!
We hear it!
Oh!
Ah!
It's all up with me!
I'm not well.
I think I see their motive.
Percival, my own, what is this?
Brandy—brandy!
There is a knock at the door. Come in!
No!
Good morning, ladies and gentlemen—I—
Oh, don't you!
If you are engaged—
No—merely a nice little family party.
I think I had better say what I have to say to you alone.
Euphemia, retire.
But, Percival—
Retire.
Mr. Jubkins, do you permit this?
I don't care, ma'am, whether he does or no.
Come, I say.
No, you don't– we want you. Lock the door.
There's no key.
Lean against it then. If you let in a soul, I'll murder you.
Don't go on like that!
I will—I—I—I'm a tiger.
My name is Pad, sir—Pad! Mr. Gloss's foreman.
Oh!
I have come from Mr. Gloss, who is prevented from coming himself—
I should rather think so.
Of course I need not refer to what took place last night?
Oh, they are pushing so!
Mr. Gloss was greatly hurt.
I've no doubt of it.
He felt exceedingly warm about it at first.
He's cold enough now.
We found these rifles, Nos. 20 and 21, and 21 is discharged.
That's my rifle. We are prepared for all!
I am not. Speak for yourself.
We need not let any one know a syllable about it.
Oh, I can't keep them out much longer.
Well, but—the—the body! What will you do with that?
Oh, that will do again.
Do again?
Or we might burn it.
Where?
Anywhere—in the back kitchen; unless it would be of any use to you. Mr. Gloss said that—
Mr. Gloss said
We have no wish to impose on you, and therefore, I have brought the head for your inspection.
Whose head?
The head you put a ball in last night.
Ah!
What, his—his—his head?
Well, yes, it was his, but—
Was his! Ah, I understand. Why—why did you bring it here?
He sent it for you to look at.
Who sent it to me to look at?
Mr. Gloss.
If I ain't mad, you are the damndest liar that ever lived.
Sir, my name is Pad! I am not a liar at least, not out of business I have brought the head
in that bag, and I will show it you.
Ah. what's that? A gimlet!
Jubkins, you fool, why don't you come and help me?
Ah!
Softly!
I call this most ungentlemanly. I'm sure ten pounds is not such a large sum!
Ten pounds!
And considering it's the best wax—
Wax!
Just as you like I shan't grieve!
Thanks—thanks! We are not assassins!
He was in it too, was he? I knew it. Never mind, I'm all right—I know what he meant now. Well, I've a good capital for my private inquiry office!—a hundred pounds and a gimlet!
And a wife.
Let this be a lesson, Percival, dear—don't go shooting dummies any more.
I won't promise—for we don't know what sort of dummies may come in our way—especially those that might try to effect a landing somewhere. To them we should be happy to give a lesson, and prove that Englishmen will very soon, thank goodness, know something about THE RIFLE, AND HOW TO USE IT.