CAST OF CHARACTERS.
Sir Algernon Alwvn of Alwyn on Alwyn, Bart.,
a man with a manor and a park.
Henry Alwyn, his brother.
Lady Dorothy Newman (commonly called Lady
Banjo).
Lucy Newman, her sister.
The Rev. Dr. Parsifal Penryck (commonly
called “Pen and Ink’’).
Major the Hon. Marengo Marjoribanks (com
monly called “Stubbles”), uncle to Sir Al
gernon.
Lady Marjory Marjoribanks, aunt to Sir Al
gernon.
Robert Doolittle Marjoribanks, son of Major
and Lady Marjoribanks.
Guillaume Perseverance Poynter (commonly
called "Pressed Beef”).
Messrs. Pudge and McPherson, family lawyers.
Harriet McPherson, wife of the junior partner.
Fraser, a butler.
Messengers, servants, etc.
ii
The pei iod is 1880. The place is a country
house near Oxford in England. Scene—The li
brary at Alwyn Hall.
LGERNON (outside): On no ac
count, Fraser, let me be disturbed
—(entering—stands by table)—I
must realize my position,—letters
—accounts!—Since father died, I
have been in a dream, a bad dream
—everything has gone to the dogs
—bills unpaid—steward postponed
—even Harry—my little brother
Harry—at Oxford—neglected. First
dinner since poor dad died. (Aloud)
Yes—There’s Lady Banjo—con
-found it—I mean Lady Newman—
our worthy pastor, Dr. Penryck—
Maj. the Hon. Marengo Marjori
banks—my gallant uncle—Cousin
Bobbie—good chap, Bobbie—Rob
ert Doolittle Marjoribanks, best
fellow in the world,—yes, yes, Fra
ser, in a minute!
(Going to window)—"All mine as
far as eye can see! All this is
mine! He said to Egypt's king,”—
Tush, I’m quoting—Polycrates, bad
luck! Poor dad died and I in my
turn became Sir Algernon Marjoribanks Alwyn, seventh
baronet, of Alwyn on Alwyn—with an income derived
from railroad stocks—principally American according
to Fudge and McPherson, our family lawyers, of nearly
£10,000 a year.—Fudge says, to be exact, nine thousand
eight hundred and sixty-eight pounds, nine shillings and
six pence, after deducting commissions who draws the
commissions? Fudge, I suppose, and McPherson?
Let me see. what did he explain? In the first place
he demonstrated, quite unnecessarily, that I was sole heir
to the title and estate. Estate consists of 1,500 acres of
park land. Dad had a row with his tenants some 20
years ago and evicted the lot—turned every inch of
ground into park and garden and paddock—ornamental
lakes, and so on. Result very charming, but without pe
cuniary advantages. Moreover, Alwyn hall and park, etc.,
etc., entailed and can't be sold or rented, and, according
to terms of dad’s will, there are to be no farms and no
tenants. The chap that happens to be baronet must live
on his income of £10,000 derived from railroad stock,
bonds, etc.—he must, keep up the hounds, the chapel, the
conservatories, the nursery, etc., etc. So if it were not
for the railroads Sir Algernon Alwyn, Bart., would be
Sir Algernon Alwyn, Beggar. However, the bonds are
there, safe enough in a tin box, at the law office of
Messrs. Fudge and McPherson.
There are Harry's letters—drat the boy—he never
writes unless he wants something (sitting down and ta
king up letters).—Immediate! urgent!—very urgent! de
liver immediately!—forward at once!—well, he’s certainly
in a hurry—I’d better open the last one—no use reading
the lot.—The devil!—what’s this?
“Algie—This is simply to say that if the money is not
here by nine o’clock on Tuesday, I shall blow out my
worthless brains—”
Tues—why, to-day's Tuesday!—and it’s five o'clock!
—let's see the first letter (opens and reads):
“Played with Lord Rook, Sir Winslow Sharper—oh, of
course—got ^>*-£650 in debt to Rook and Sharper—
honor!—family honor!—will repay all from small income
—you must send at once, etc.”
Of course—of course, and I’ll send for Master Harry
to keep out of the clutches of my Lord Rook in future,—
college life!—nice place for innocent boys—brandies and
sodas—cigars—cards—phew!—Well, here goes—tele
graph blank—
"Will honor your dtait mage and Aicfnerson—a.t>uu.
Algernon Alwyn.”
What? Oh, a note? Just come? All right. Be off with
the telegram. Oh—Fudge and McPherson? Business, I
suppose? A woman’s hand? Fudge and McPherson al
ways typewrite. (Opens letter.) What's this?
“My Dear Sir Algernon—I am addressing myself to you
in the hope that dreadful as this communication must
necessarily be—and—believe me, no less dreadful for you
to receive than for me to write,—it will come less harsh
ly from one whom you have known so long and who was
once your dear mother's devoted companion and friend.—
My poor husband is so stricken by the blow which has
suddenly blasted our happiness, that he has fallen into a
stupor from which, 1 fear, nothing but a miracle can rouse
him. Dear Sir Algernon, I will not keep you in suspense
but tell you briefly—and perhaps you will say brutally,
that our senior partner. Mr. Fudge, to whom my husband
looked up with such childlike confidence and pride, left
suddenly last week for Australia—yesterday my husband
found it necessary to go to your box for some papers, the
interest, being due on several of your investments, when
he discovered that the box was empty!—every security
of yours which had been in the hands of Fudge and Mc
Pherson had disappeared! Hoping against hope my hus
band searched everywhere but no trace of your papers
could be found,—he came home in the evening—pale,
distraught, confessed his trouble to me and then sank into
the stupor from which nothing can rouse him. My heart
is bleeding for my husband—my heart is bleeding for you
—I am hoping, hoping still that there may be some mis
take. But Mr. Fudge's sudden departure—the disappear
ance of all your securities, so easily converted into cash,
and the fact that Mr. Fudge drew nearly every penny
standing to our credit in the bank, can, 1 fear, point at
but one conclusion: Mr. Fudge, whom we so honored and
revered in this community, is a thief!—With tears of sor
row and shame, I am your most distressed servant,
Harriet McPrehson.”
(Rises.) Ruined! gone! everything gone!—not. a penny
left!—cleaned out! Impossible!—I can’t realize it! How
do I feel—a beggar! A few moments ago 1 was rich—or
thought I was—now I'm a beggar—with a mansion and a
park—here goes—( writes):
"Dear Old Nunkey—Can you let me have a cheque for
ii thou' by bearer—Looking forward to seeing you all at
dinner this evening! "Your affectionate nephew,
Algie.”
There. Fraser!—Tell Tom to run across to Uncle Mar
joribanks with this note and hurry back!—If he stops to
talk to Matilda Ann, I’ll take his scalp.
But Lucy!—Lucy?—Lucy won't want to be married to
a pauper with a mansion and a park—but I know what it
will be:—Nothing will change me—Rich or poor, I am
yours, Lucy.—Dear old girl (writes).
“My darling Lucy—I have just had an awful shock—
Mrs. McPherson writes to say that old Fudge has left for
Australia and taken my little ‘all’ with him,—I love you
and shall never love anyone but you in all my life, but of
course you won’t marry a beggar (even with a mansion
and a park), and so, dear, you are free, unless it is your
choice to wait until I shall have recovered by hard work
my lost fortune. As for me, I am yours until death, only
I thought it right to let you know, and even If you give me
up, I am, your devoted slave. Algernon.”
But she won’t give me up,—I know she won't—my little
Lucy—(folds letter and addresses envelope, rising) Fraser
—(rings bell)—Fraser—(goes to door)—
Here’s a letter from auntie and a long letter from
uncle:
“Algernon—I am, I may say, fatally wounded—(Good
heavens—has he shot himself?)—treacherously shot, mor
tally injured by a member of my family.—The gun that
fired the shot Is no other than the letter I have Just re
ceived from you,—no Martini-Henry could have done its
work better. This morn*ng while on a reconnoitering ex
pedition in the village I ran across Mrs. McPherson. As
she was flying signals of distress, I halted on my march
to question her and I dfew from her the information that
her husband's partner, Fudge, had absconded with your
funds.—The blow was so severe that I was obliged to
abandon my position and retire upon the nearest public
house, which happened to be the Alwyn Arms. Here I for
tified and entrenched myself and it was not until the aft
ernoon that I felt sufficiently strengthened to continue
the advance on Marengo House. You can imagine my
horror on opening your dispatch to discover the treachery
of one, upon whose loyalty I would have staked the cam
paign. Had it not been for the reconnoisance this morn
ing I should have been under the impression, that, still
amply endowed with the fortune your father bequeathed
to you, and which you have so recklessly squandered.—
(squandered?—recklessly!)—you required a momentary
loan of £1,000 and with the motto of my house “noblesse
oblige” ever before my eyes, I should have instantly com
plied—I, an old soldier, would have marched unsuspect
ingly into the ambush your cunning had prepared for my
destruction. I enclose a few lines from your heart-broken
aunt. Marengo Majoribanks.
Late Major Her Majesty's Dragoon Guards.”
“N. B.—I need not say that it will be out of the ques
tion for me or any member of my family to accept your
invitation to dinner this evening.”
The old—the old—no, I won’t—I won’t abuse him be
hind his back, but when I see him I'll let him know!
(Sighs), (writes):
“My Dear Doctor, and My Dear Old Friend—A calamity
has overtaken me—to be brief—Fudge has disappeared
with all my money—I am, of course, temporarily embar
rassed. Remembering your many expressions of good
will and your oft repeated request that I should apply
to you when in trouble, I do not hesitate now to ask you
to aid me by giving bearer your cheque for £1,000, for
which I enclose my I. O. U.—I hope that in spite of my
misfortune you will not fail to come to dinner this even
ing and we'll uncork a bottle of ’74 to drown our sorrow.
Always your affectionate friend,
Algernon Alwyn.”
An, let s see wnat Auntie Munch has to say (opens let
ter, reads):
“My Dear Algernon—Your uncle has just, with the
greatest delicacy and with all possible consideration for
my feeble condition, broken to me the fearful crash that
has enveloped our house in its awful pall!—To think that
only a few moments ago 1 was a happy woman watering
my beloved roses in a sunlit garden, when out of a clear
sky the bolt fell and ravaged in an instant, like a pack
of cards, the beautiful placid sea on which we were sail
ing so peacefully. To think, Algernon, that you, in, whom
1 have always had such mistaken faith, should have been
the serpent to gnaw away with one blow the founda
tions of our confidence in humanity!—Your poor uncle
says that by your act you have placed yourself within
the power of the police and without the pale of society.
You will know, of course, why it would have been im
possible for us to comply with your attempt to rob us,
by yielding up a thousand pounds: We have your
cousin Robert to consider! and it is, as you are aware,
compounding a felony to rob Peter to pay Paul. I ani
with every expression of sorrow and horror, your com
pletely collapsed aunt,
Marjory Marjoribanks,”
“P- S. And oh, Algernon, 1 was looking forward with
so much pleasure to our first dinner this evening, that is
another sad blow!—P. S. P. S.—you will have to dis
charge that expensive cook!”
This is getting worse and worse!—Why, oh. why
doesn’t Tom come back with a word from Lucy—then I
wouldn't mind that abusive nonsense!—Six to dinner_
three friends gone—No, that's not fair to Bobbie—
(writes):
"Dear Old Bobbie—I suppose you’ve heard by now of
my smash?—all gone—nothing left but the house and the
park.—Have you any dollars to spare? If so, bring them
around at dinner time, if you can get out without a row—
We ll have one more good dinner and laugh and chaff
and drink brown sherry!— never mind about the dollars if
you're hard up, but come! From your old fag,
Algie.”
(Tears letter open):
“My Dear Sir Algernon”—Oh—formal—I think I'll sit
down (sits)—"My Dear Sir Algernon—Lucy being par
ticularly engaged,—Mr. Robert Marjoribanks is visiting
us this afternoon,”—damn Robert Marjoribanks!—"I am
taking it upon myself to answer your letter. As soon
as the dear child read what you had to say she was great
ly distressed, and came to confide in me. My Dear Sir
Algernon, I am forced to admire your honesty in at once
apprising my poor girl of your changed position and the
correct and sensible view you take of the situation. To
marry upon nothing a year would be absurd and it would
take you years to retrieve your fortune. My daughter
quite agrees with me in believing that when poverty
walks in at the door love flies out at the window. You
must not imagine from this that Lucy is not deeply
moved and dreadfully upset. She extends to you all her
heartfelt sympathy! She would write to you herself but
she is on the very verge of a break-down and the neces
sity to entertain her guests forces her to present a brave
front to the world!—and since the engagement has to be
broken off it is better to do it now and at once, rather
than to prolong the suffering by senseless shilly-shallying.
Judging by your own most sensible letter, 1 have every
reason to believe that you will coincide with me in this.
With sincere regard from us both and every expression of
good will and sympathy, believe me to be, dear Sir Alger
non, Yours faithfully,
Anita Turnival Newman.”
"P. S.—I think it would be better for us not to come
to your dinner this evening, so will you please accept our
thanks and regrets?”
I don't believe it—I can’t believe it—Lucy—to throw
me over like that! Lucy, a heartless woman of
the world! Lucy to love,—to pretend to love me
for my income! No, I’ll not believe it! If my faith in
her is lost there is indeed nothing left.
Oh, one from Bobbie—(opens letter):
‘‘Awfully sorry, old chappie, it’s a damned shame!.
Wish I could help you! Was just coming over to ask)
you for a pony. I’m stony broke. Can't come to dinner—
Wish I could!—Governor stormy! Swore like a trooper!1
—Says he disowns you. The Newmans have corralled me
for dinner. If you want to get rid of your nags I think I
can make a trade. Keep your hair on—you’re not the
first codger that has come to grief. Speculation's the
devil, but I never thought you were a plunger?—Here’s
how! Bobble.”
Speculation! Plunger! Very soon they’ll accuse me
of robbing a bank! And shortly they’ll have me arrested
for murder! What was that game we used to play?
You place a lot of people in a line and you say something
innocent to the party at one end, and by the time it's
been passed to the other end it isn’t fit for publication.
So that’s what they’ve told Lucy. Plunger! No wonder
she doesn’t want to marry an idiot. (Sits down. Writes):
“My Dear Mr. Poynter—Bad news travels fast and
therefore no doubt you have heard by now of the serious
financial loss I have sustained. I am in immediate need
of (I won’t ask for a thou’ this time, only enough to save
Harry), of £600, and I venture to ask you if you will
assist me? If yes, will you please send me your cheque
by bearer? I should not write if I had not known you
all my life as an old and valued friend of my father and
of, yours very truly, and with many thinks in advance,
Algernon Alwyn.”
Reply from Dr. Penryck? (Reads):
‘‘The Rectory, Tuesday.
“This is no time, my poor boy, to preach a homily or to
point a lesson. By now, I imagine, your spirit is sufficient
ly chastened not to need from my lips any word of re
proof, reproach, criticism or condemnation. Your money
was your own, but I must say that if my beloved friend’s
fortune was to be scattered to the four winds in so brief
a space of time, I would have prayed heaven to direct
its flow into a course more worthy of his hallowed mem
ory! Think, too.' what suffering you entail on him who
has known and loved you since you were an infant; who
held you in these old arms and whose now palsied fingers
first guided your baby eyes across the animal alphabet!
I can not feel that I am to blame. Had you listened to
my precepts early in life and later benefited by my coun
sel, had you taken full advantage of my still more recent
after-dinner talks, when, with a light and playful touch
I none the less earnestly endeavored to sow in your mind
the seeds of wisdom, you would not now be seated upon
the stool of repentance, contemplating the crumbling
ruins of an erstwhile regal fortune!—Alas, your life at
Oxford was but the prelude to your present fall:—Let
him that is without sin cast the first stone, but still I
must decline to become particeps criminis by lending you
money. No, it may be that, what appears to be now a
great affliction may become the cornerstone of your sal
vation! Perhaps, my dear Algernon, the loss of your
wealth may make a man of you. Take your knapsack
and your wander-staff and sail for America!—Would
1 were young enough to accompany you! Heaven forbid
that I should deny you consolation or advice, and I will
come at eight and take a parting glass with you and wish
you godspeed and a better life!
“Your true friend.
rarsnai fenryck.
(A knock at the door. He goes to door—comes down
with letter):
Wait a minute, Fraser (opens the letter). To be sure:
"Dear Sir: I am in receipt of your favor of thiB
date, f shall be happy to advance the amount named
providing the collateral or security you propose to offer
is first-class. I regret to say an important business en
gagement will prevent me from accepting your invita
tion to dinner this evening. Yours faithfully,
Guillaume Perseverance Poynter.”
Wait a minute, Fraser,—(writes rapidly):
“Dear Hal—Pm sending William with the dog cart
for you. Leave a note for Messrs. Rook and Sharper to
come on here after dinner and I'll satisfy them. I en
close a line for them. Don't fail to be here by eight
o’clock for dinner.
So! And
"Your Algie.”
“Sir Algernon Alwyn presents his compliments to Lord
Rook and Sir Winslow Sharper, and he will be glad to
see them at Alwyn Hall this evening when he will satisfy
any claims against his brother to the full extent of his
Sir Algernon's, fortune.”
Things are about as black as they can be—and I don’t
(A tap at the window)—what’s that?—(tap is repeia
—somebody at the window,—burglar,—well, he's n
come!—policeman perhaps!—(tap repeated—goesto*
dow, leans out)—
Lucy!
S’sh!
(A pair of arms are seen encircling his neck fat
instant.)
Lucy! Lucy, don’t go!—Lucy! She’s gone—but *■
oh—oh—(comes down with a note in his hand)—Read!
“My Dear, Dear, Old Darling—I wonder if you)
lieve what the mater wrote you? How could you? sin
just told me.—My poor, poor darling—I’m going to ml
across as soon as I’m dressed, when everybody will be)
their rooms, and give you one kiss—and, dearest, ik
is to tell you that rich or poor, I am yours to death
Lucy,"
Now, fall walls!—come earthquake! torture mel-bin
me!—what do I care?—Lucy loves me!—Lucy’s truet»
me.—All the world may go against me, but my Lucy’fi
my Lucy and she’s my Lucy still.
(Knock at the door—goes to door)—Letter?
(Whistles a tune-—opens letter)—
“Dear Sir—Not hearing from you up to closing Um,
I venture to remind you that I sent you a most ta|»
tant communication yesterday. Tliinkingthat the letternay
have escaped your notice I venture now to call your It
tention to it and request the honor of your commaiiii
I am, dear sir, Your obedient servant,
“George Henry Honeymoon.”
Well, just wait a minute, Fraser, and 1 11 see what#
is—(looks over letters on table)—Oh. yes, here's aItt
ter to be sure,—County Bank—(opens letter).
“Dear Sir—I have the honor to inform you that it
fore leaving for Australia, Mr. Fudge, of the firm d
Messrs. Fudge & McPherson, deposited with us, for salt
keeping, securities, etc., standing in your name andd
which Messrs. Fudge & McPherson had charge."—Whai
What!—“Mr. Fudge desires us to inform you of this a#
to say that Mr. McPherson being in very delicate healti
he thought it wiser, subject to your consent, to put yo»
affairs for the present in our hands. Mr. Fudge w
obliged to leave in great haste for Sidney by yesterday!
steamer, to attend to your uncle, Mr. Mortimer Alwy
the great brewer”—(h’m, I’ve never seen him)—"who
we understand to be suffering from an incurable disea
and whose heir we believe you are. We are sending ?
cheque book under separate cover, and awaiting your
structions, we have the honor to be, dear sir,
“Your obedient servants, i
"London & County Bank, Ltd,.
“Per G. H. Honeymat.’
Good Lord, Fraser, bring me a whisky and soda—fl
has been too much—and Fraser, tell the messenger!
call at the bank to-morrow morning and see Mr. Hon
man—bring me a whisky and soda if you want to s
my life?
Ah, here's one from old Ryan,—old sawbones Rj*
(opens letter)—
"Dear Sir—Mr. Fudge wishes me to inform you!
fore leaving to wind up the affairs of your uncle In I
tralia that I have been called in by him in consults
with Drs. Clark & Sorrywait, and that we have come
the conclusion that Mr. McPherson will not be able to
tend to business for some time, his memory being
severely affected that it is almost certain that he is*
fering from a serious disease of the brain,"—h’m, It's
etc., etc.
(Sits down)—Lucy first (writes):
'Dearest, Dearest, Dearest Lucy—It's all right—**
found all the money and more. My apologies to Jr
mother—tell her to leave everything—I mean, leave
ner and come and dine with me and to bring all her sue
—and not to forget YOU-—more anon. "Your Algi®
(Takes another sheet of paper):
“Dear Old Nunkey—It \vas a false alarm—the rnonej
all here—every penny and more in sight—bring Aui
here to dinner at once or never speak again to your
fectionate nephew, Algla
(Now for the American!)
“Dear Mr. Poynter—I’m sorry to have troubled f0*
it was all a mistake—I am still in possession of ntf
tune and I hear that it is to be shortly much increas
Put off (hat important business engagement and joht
' Yours very truly, with many apologies,
Algernon AW*
(An hour later)—H'm—So here we all are again! u
were, only a little wiser. No, we won’t be cynlcal
take the world as we find it and we’ll thank God f<k
—(pours out whisky andsoda)—Here’s to Lucy! (W
Ah, there they come—(great noise heard on
goes to door—opens it wide)—Come up!—Come UP'9
one of you and welcome! Lucy!
(Quick curtain.)
In Gypsy Land. „ lot
Koumania is par excellence the land of the g/P'’
the Tsigani, as these wandering folk are called, con r
some 250,000 of the total population of G,000,000. A
years ago they wrere kept in a state of regular s
being freely bought and sold, the Roumanian gojer
owning 80,000 of them. It was not till tia [(
were granted their freedom, and since that lime 3
them have accordingly been either rogues or va® ^
or both, wandering hither and thither, a nuisance
est people. _,nsyr»o
In their native Koumania, it is said that the S>r ^
is rapidly dwindling away, owing to interraarra■ ^
the Roumanians. Throughout the other countr e ^
world, however, which they haunt, little ^1UlI1.Uvfyi)|t
been noticed in their ranks. Indeed, in France ^
become such a pest that radical measures B :
taken to oust them from the country.