The 'Mind the Paint' Girl by Arthur Wing Pinero (books for men to read TXT) š
FARNCOMBE.
[Nodding to ROPER and then coming forward and addressing MRS. UPJOHN.] I-- er-- I think I'll go for a little walk and come back later on, if I may.
MRS. UPJOHN.
[Contentedly.] Oh, jest as you like.
FARNCOMBE.
[Moving towards the door.] In about a quarter-of-an-hour.
MRS. UPJOHN.
If we don't see you again, I'll tell Lil you've been 'ere.
FARNCOMBE.
[At the door.] Oh, but you will; you will see me again.
MRS. UPJOHN.
Well, please yourself and you please your dearest friend, as Lil's dad used to say.
FARNCOMBE.
Thank you-- thank you very much.
[He disappears, closing the door after him.
MRS. UPJOHN.
[To ROPER, looking up.] I b'lieve you gave that young man the 'int to go, Uncle.
ROPER.
I did; told him I wanted to talk business with you.
MRS. UPJOHN.
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Farncombe.
Not a word.
Roper.
Rising and walking away to the left. Iāve warned the others. Returning to Farncombe who has also risen. By-the-bye, if Lily should mention the supper in the course of conversation, remember, sheās not in the conspiracy.
Farncombe.
Conspiracy?
Roper.
To shunt Nicko. Weāre letting her think there are to be no outsiders.
Farncombe.
Becoming slightly puzzled by Roperās manner. Why, would she very much like Captain Jeyes to be asked?
Roper.
Rather impatiently. Havenāt I told you, once youāre a friend of Lilāsāā! Looking towards the door. Is this Ma? Mrs. Upjohn enters. Hul-lo, Ma!
Mrs. Upjohn.
A podgy little, gaily dressed woman of five-and-fifty with a stupid, good-humoured face. āUllo, Uncle!
Roper.
Lord Farncombeāā
Mrs. Upjohn.
Advancing and shaking hands with Farncombe. Glad to see you āere again. You āave been before, āavenāt you?
Farncombe.
Last week.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Of course; you came with Mr. Bertie Fulkerson. But somebody or otherās always poppinā in. Pleasantly. Lil sees too many, I say. Itās tirinā for āer. Wonāt you set?
Roper.
Lord Farncombeās brought Lily some flowers, Ma. To Farncombe. Where are they?
Farncombe.
Who, after waiting for Mrs. Upjohn to settle herself upon the settee in front of the writing-table, sits in the chair at the end of the setteeāpointing to a large basket of flowers. On the piano.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Barely glancing at the flowers. āOw kind of āim! Sech a waste oā money too! They do go off so quick.
Roper.
Reading the cards attached to the various floral gifts. Where is Lil?
Mrs. Upjohn.
Sheās settinā to a risinā young artist in Fitzroy StreetāClaude Morgan. She wonāt be āome till past five. So tirinā for āer.
Roper.
Never heard of Morgan.
Mrs. Upjohn.
No, nor anybody else. Thatās what I tell āer. Why waste your time givinā settinās to a risinā young artist when the big men āud go down on their āands and knees to do you? But thatās Lil all over. Sheās the best-natured girl in the world, and so she gets imposed on all round.
Farncombe.
Gallantly. I prophesy that Mr. Morganās picture of Miss Parradell wonāt have dried before heās quite famous.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Turning a pair of dull eyes full upon him. āOw do you mean?
Farncombe.
Disconcerted. ErāI meanā
Mrs. Upjohn.
Why wonāt it āave dried?
Farncombe.
I mean he will have become celebrated before it has dried.
Mrs. Upjohn.
āIs pictures never do dry, you mean?
Roper.
No, no, Ma!
Mrs. Upjohn.
āOwever, it doesnāt matter. āE isnāt even goinā to put āer name to it.
Roper.
Why not?
Mrs. Upjohn.
You may well ask. āEās bent on callinā it āThe āMind the Paintā Girl.ā
Roper.
Whatās wrong with that? Everybodyāll recognise who that is.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Unconvinced. āEr nameās printed on all āer photos.
Farncombe.
The first time I had the pleasure of seeing your daughter on the stage, Mrs. Upjohn, a man next to me said, āHere comes the āMind the Paintā girl.ā
Mrs. Upjohn.
Cheering up. Oh, well, pārāaps young Morgan knows āis own business best. Letās āope so, at any rate.
Roper.
By the tea-table, beckoning to Farncombe. Farncombeāā
Farncombe.
To Roper. Eh? To Mrs. Upjohn, rising. Excuse me.
Farncombe joins Roper, whereupon Mrs. Upjohn goes to the writing-table and, seating herself there, examines the jewellery delightedly.
Roper.
To Farncombe, in a whisper. Do me a favour.
Farncombe.
Certainly.
Roper.
Looking at his watch. Itās only half-past four. Take a turn round the Square. Iāve some business to talk over with the old lady.
Farncombe.
Nodding to Roper and then coming forward and addressing Mrs. Upjohn. IāerāI think Iāll go for a little walk and come back later on, if I may.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Contentedly. Oh, jest as you like.
Farncombe.
Moving towards the door. In about a quarter-of-an-hour.
Mrs. Upjohn.
If we donāt see you again, Iāll tell Lil youāve been āere.
Farncombe.
At the door. Oh, but you will; you will see me again.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Well, please yourself and you please your dearest friend, as Lilās dad used to say.
Farncombe.
Thank youāthank you very much.
He disappears, closing the door after him.
Mrs. Upjohn.
To Roper, looking up. I bālieve you gave that young man the āint to go, Uncle.
Roper.
I did; told him I wanted to talk business with you.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Business? Resuming her inspection of the trinkets. This is a āandsome thing Mr. Grimwoodās sent āer.
Roper.
His hands in his trouser-pockets, contemplating Mrs. Upjohn desperately. Upon my soul, Ma, youāre a champion!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Now wot āave I done!
Roper.
Well, you might spread yourself a little over young Farncombe.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Spread myself! Why should I?
Roper.
Lord Farncombe!
Mrs. Upjohn.
I treat āem all alike; so does Lil. āEās not the first title weāve āad āere, not by a dozen.
Roper.
No, but damn it allā! I beg your pardonāā
Mrs. Upjohn.
Beaming. So you oughtāswearinā like a trooper.
Roper.
This chapās in love with her.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Oh, theyāre all in love with āer; or āave been, one time or another.
Roper.
Yes, but theyāre not all Farncombes and theyāre not all marrying men. Iām prepared to bet my boots that if Lil and young Farncombe could be thrown togetherāā! Sitting on the settee in front of the writing-table as Mrs. Upjohn rises and comes forward. Here! Do talk it over.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Placidly. Whereās the use oā talkinā it over? Itās wastinā oneās breath. Moving to the settee by the piano. My Lil doesnāt want to marryāanyāow not yet awhile; sheās āappy and contented as she is. Sitting and smoothing out her skirt. When she does, I sāpose itāll be the Captain.
Roper.
Between his teeth. The Captain! Quietly. Ma, the day Lil marries Nicko Jeyes, you and sheāll see the last oā me.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Oh, donāt say that, Uncle.
Roper.
I do say it. The disappointment āud be more than I could stand. Selfish, designing beggar!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Now, no low abuse.
Roper.
A fellow who gets on the soft side of Lil before sheās out of her teensābefore sheās made any position to speak of; and when she has made a position, and heās practically on his uppers, sticks to her like a limpet!
Mrs. Upjohn.
She sticks to āim, too. It meant a deal to Lil in āer āumble days, reckālectāreceivinā attentions from a gentleman in the army. She doesnāt forget that.
Roper.
Jumping up and walking about. Itās cruel; thatās what it isāitās cruel. Hereās Gwennie Harker and Maidie Trevail both married to peersā sons, and Eva Shafto to a baronetāall of āem Pandora girls; and Lilāsheās left high and dry, engaged to a nobody! Itās cruel!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Sheās not ackshally engaged.
Roper.
Ho, ho!
Mrs. Upjohn.
The ideer was, when āe shirked goinā to India anā gave up soldierinā, so as to be near āer, that āe should get something to do in London; then they were to be engaged.
Roper.
Sarcastically. Oh, to be just, I admit heās in no hurry. Heās been a whole year looking for something to do in Londonālooking for it at Cataniās and at the Pandora bars!
Mrs. Upjohn.
āE āas to be on the spot at night, to bring Lil āome after āer work.
Roper.
Exactly! And when a decent, eligible young chap comes along, and means business, heās choked off by finding Nicko Jeyes in possession. Stopping before Mrs. Upjohn. But, I say!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Wot?
Roper.
Farncombe hasnāt tumbled to it yet.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Indifferently. āAsnāt āe?
Roper.
Bertie Fulkersonās held his tongue about it; so have the other boys whoāre friends of Farncombeās. They see heās hard hit. Enthusiastically. Oh, theyāre good boys; theyāre good, loyal boys! Thereās not one of them who wouldnāt throw up his hat if Nicko got the chuck. Suddenly. Ma!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Startled. Hey?
Roper.
Dropping his voice. This little spree to-night at the theatreāLil thinks itās to be merely among the members of the Company.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Aināt it?
Roper.
Sitting beside her. You keep quiet, now. No, it isnāt.
Mrs. Upjohn.
āOoāā?
Roper.
The boysāand Farncombe.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Disturbed. Gracious! Thereāll be an awful fuss with the Captain to-morrer.
Roper.
Snapping his fingers. Pishhh!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Rising and walking away to the right. āEās so āorribly jealous. When Lil tells āim āoo was at the party, thereāll be a frightful kick-up!
Roper.
Falling into despondency. Oh, I dare say Iām a fool for my pains, Ma. Nothingāll come of it. Rising and pacing the room again. Farncombeās as shy as a school-girl; heād be on a desert island with a pretty woman for a month without squeezing her hand.
Mrs. Upjohn.
In an altered tone. Uncle.
Roper.
Hullo!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Thoughtfully. I shouldnāt raise any objection, bear in mind, if Lil could be weaned away from the Captain and took a fancy to young Farncombe.
Roper.
Objection!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Sitting on the settee in front of the writing-table. All said anā done, to be Lady F., with no need to work if youāre not disposed to, is better than beinā Mrs. Captain Jeyes anā āavinā to linger on the stage, pārāaps, till you drop, to āelp keep the pot aā boilinā. Opening her eyes widely. Lady F.!
Roper.
Coming to her. And Countess of Godalming when his father dies.
Mrs. Upjohn.
I sāpose thereād be any amount of unpleasantness with the famāly?
Roper.
Disdainfully. The family!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Thereās generally a rumpus in sech cases.
Roper.
Why, Ma, these tiptop families ought to feel jolly grateful that weāre mixing the breed for them a bit. Look at the two lads whoāve married Gwennie Harker and Maidie TrevailāKinterton and Glenroy; and FawcusāSir George FawcusāEva Shaftoās husband; they havenāt a chin or a forehead between āem, and their chests are as narrow as a ten-inch plank.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Quite true.
Roper.
Farncombe himself, heās inclined to be weedy. I maintain itās a grand thing for our English nobs that their slips of sons have taken to marrying young women of the stamp of Maidie Trevail and Gwennie Harkerāor Lil; keen-witted young women full of the joy of life, with strong frames, beautiful hair and fine eyes, and healthy pink gums and big white teeth. Sneer at the Pandora girls! Great Scot, itās my belief that the Pandora girlsāll be the salvation of the aristocracy in this country in the long run!
Captain Nicholas Jeyes lounges in. He is a man of about five-and-thirty, already slightly grey-haired, who has gone to seed. Roper sits in the chair in the middle of the room rather guiltily and Mrs. Upjohn puts on a propitiatory grin.
Jeyes.
Nodding to Mrs. Upjohn and Roper as he closes the door. Afternoon, Mrs. Upjohn. Howārāyou, Roper?
Mrs. Upjohn.
Ah, Captain!
Roper.
Hullo, Nicko!
Jeyes.
Advancing. Lily not in?
Mrs. Upjohn.
No; sheās in Fitzroy Street, settinā to Morgan.
Jeyes.
Frowning. Why didnāt she ask me to go with her?
Mrs. Upjohn.
Dunāno, Iām sure. Sheās took Miss Birch.
Jeyes.
With a grunt. Oh? Looking round. Flowers.
Mrs. Upjohn.
āEaps of āem, aināt there?
Roper.
Jerking his head towards the writing-table. Yes, and some nice presents over here.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Sheās beat āer record this year, Lil āas, out anā out.
Jeyes goes to the writing-table and Roper and Mrs. Upjohn rise and wander away, the former to the conservatory, the latter to the settee by the piano.
Jeyes.
Scowling at the presents. Very nice. Picking up a case of jewellery. Ve-ry nice. Throwing the case down angrily. Confound āem, what the devil do they take her for!
Roper.
At the entrance to the conservatory. I may remark that one of those gifts is from me, Jeyes.
Jeyes.
Oh, Iām not alluding to you.
Roper.
Stiffly. Much obliged.
Jeyes.
Coming
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