The Squire Part 2

{Izod.} _(slouches over to door L., with a scowl)_ You don't care if the Squire does snub your poor brother. Faugh! you've nothing of the gipsy but the skin. _(He goes out into outhouse, door L.)_

{Chris.} _(looks at the keys, and slips them into her pocket)_ A bunch of his keys; they are safer in my pocket than in Izod's--poor Izod is so impulsive.

_(she crosses to R. C., goes up the steps and calls at door. Calling)_ Squire! Squire! Here's Gilbert Hythe with two men. Don't let 'em bring their boots indoors.

_(Izod appears at door L.)_

{Izod.} _(savagely)_ Christiana!

{Chris.} _(turning)_ Hus.h.!.+ _(coming down steps)_

{Izod.} How long am I to be treated like this?

{Chris.} _(going towards L.)_ What's wrong, dear?

{Izod.} What's wrong! Why, it's only cold meat!

{Chris.} Go in, Izod! Here's the Squire! go in!

_(She pushes Izod in L.)_

_(Kate Verity comes out of house R., C. and down the steps; she is a pretty woman, bright, fresh, and cheery; she carries a small key-basket containing keys, and an account book and pencil, which she places on R., table as she turns from Gilbert; she throws the shawl over the mounting stone as Gilbert Hythe appears in the archway, followed by Robjohns, Junior, a mild-looking, fair youth, and a shabby person in black with a red face.)_

I'm close at hand if you want me, Squire. Here's Gilbert! _(she goes into outhouse L.)_

{Kate.} What are you doing with the gun, Gilbert?

{Gil.} I've been putting the ferrets at the ricks.

_(holding out hand eagerly)_ Good afternoon, Squire.

{Kate.} _(shakes her head at Gil.)_ What a mania you have for shaking hands, Gilbert.

{Gil.} _(withdrawing his hand)_ I beg your pardon.

{Kate.} Who are those men?

{Gil.} The son of old Robjohns, the fiddler, and a reporting man on the "Mercury."

{Kate.} Well, Master Robjohns, how's your father?

_(sits R.)_

_(Rob. comes down L., C., nervously.)_

{Rob.} _(with a dialect)_ Father's respects, and he's ill a-bed with rheumatics, and he hopes it'll make no difference.

{Kate.} Who's to play the fiddle to-morrow night for the harvest folks?

{Rob.} Father wants _me_ to take his place. I'm not nearly such a good fiddler as father is, and he hopes it'll make no difference.

{Kate.} Your father has played at every harvest feast here for the last five and twenty years--is he very ill?

{Rob.} Father's respects, and he's as _bad_ as he can _well_ be, and he hopes it'll make no difference.

{Kate.} Good gracious! Gilbert, have you sent the doctor?

{Gil.} The doctor's busy with an invalid at the White Lion at Market-Sinfield--a stranger.

{Kate.} No stranger has a right to all the doctor.

_(rises and stands by table R., making notes in book)_ All right, Master Robjohns, you shall play the fiddle to-morrow night.

{Rob.} Thank'ee, Squire.

{Kate.} Christie!

{Gil.} Christie!

{Chris.} _(from within L.)_ Yes!

{Kate.} Give Master Robjohns something to drink.

{Chris.} _(appearing at the door)_ Yes, Squire.

_(She retires.)_

{Kate.} And give my love--the Squire's love--to father, and tell him to keep a good heart.

{Rob.} Thank'ee, Squire. But father sends his respects, and thinks he's a dead 'un, and hopes it'll make no difference.

_(Rob. goes over to L. meeting Chris., who gives him a mug of milk and retires. Rob. sits L., and drinks on form.)_

{Kate.} _(sits on stone C., sharply to the Shabby Person, who is up stage)_ Now then, sir, what do you want?

{S. P.} _(who is evidently addicted to drink)_ I--oh yes. _(to Gil.)_ Is this Miss Verity?

{Gil.} That is the Squire, _(behind Squire a little to her L.)_

{S. P.} The Squire!

{Gil.} The Squire in these parts is the person who owns Verity's lands. Miss Verity chooses to be regarded as the Squire, and to be called so. _(pa.s.ses behind Squire)_

{S. P.} Quite so. _(he comes down L., C.)_ Hem!

The editor of the "Pagley Mercury and Market- Sinfield Herald," with which are incorporated the "Inn-Keeper's Manual" and the "Agriculturists'

Guide," presents his compliments to Squire Verity, and, regarding the ever-spreading influence of modern journalism, requests that I, its representative, may be permitted to be present at Squire Verity's Harvest Feast to-morrow evening. _(Kate laughs heartily. The S. P. looks round at Rob. to ascertain the cause of her amus.e.m.e.nt)_ Journalism is as a tree, its root is embedded in our const.i.tution, while its branches--

{Kate.} All right; you can come.

{S. P.} _(raising his arms)_ While its branches--

{Kate.} All right; you can come.