Mr Punch's Model Music Hall Songs and Dramas Part 27

[_Swaggers insolently out as_ VERB. _enters._

_Sir P._ My child, I have just received an offer for your hand. I know not if you will consent?

_Verb._ I can guess who has made that offer, and why. I consent with all my heart, dear Papa.

_Sir P._ Can I trust my ears! You consent? n.o.ble girl!

[_He embraces her._

_Verb._ I was quite sure dear Bleshugh meant to speak, and I _do_ love him very much.

_Sir P._ (_starting_). It is not Lord Bleshugh, my child, but Mr. Samuel Spiker, the gentleman (for he is at heart a gentleman) whom I introduced to you just now.

_Verb._ I have seen so little of him, Papa, I cannot love him--you must really excuse me!

_Sir P._ Ah, but you will, my darling, you _will_--I know your unselfish nature--you will, to save your poor old dad from a terrible disgrace ...

yes, _disgrace_, listen! Twenty-seven years ago--(_he tells her all_).

Verbena, at this very moment, there is a subscription on foot in the county to present me with my photograph, done by an itinerant photographer of the highest eminence, and framed and glazed ready for hanging. Is that photograph never to know the nail which even now awaits it? Can you not surrender a pa.s.sing girlish fancy, to spare your fond old father's fame? Mr. Spiker is peculiar, perhaps, in many ways--not quite of our _monde_--but he loves you sincerely, my child, and that is in itself a recommendation. Ah, I see--my prayers are vain ... be happy, then. As for me, let the police come--I am ready!

[_Weeps._

_Verb._ Not so, Papa; I will marry this Mr. Spiker, since it is your wish.

[Sir POSH. _dries his eyes._

_Sir P._ Here, Spiker, my dear fellow, it is all right. Come in. She accepts you.

_Enter_ SPIKER.

_Sp._ Thought she would. Sensible little gal! Well, Miss, you shan't regret it. Bless you, we'll be as chummy together as a couple of little d.i.c.ky-birds.

_Verb._ Mr. Spiker, let us understand one another. I will do my best to be a good wife to you--but chumminess is not mine to give, nor can I promise ever to be your d.i.c.ky-bird.

_Enter_ LORD BLESHUGH.

_Lord B._ Sir Poshbury, may I have five minutes with you? Verbena, you need not go. (_Looking at_ SPIKER.) Perhaps this person will kindly relieve us of his presence.

_Sp._ Sorry to disoblige, old fellow, but I'm on duty where Miss Verbena is now, you see, as she's just promised to be my wife.

_Lord B._ _Your_ wife!

_Verb._ (_faintly_). Yes, Lord Bleshugh, his _wife_!

_Sir P._ Yes, my poor boy, _his_ wife!

[VERBENA _totters, and falls heavily in a dead faint,_ R.C., _upsetting a flower-stand;_ LORD BLESHUGH _staggers, and swoons on sofa, C., overturning a table of knicknacks;_ SIR POSHBURY _sinks into chair,_ L.C., _and covers his face with his hands._

_Sp._ (_looking down on them triumphantly_). Under the Harrow, by Gad!

Under the Harrow!

[_Curtain, and end of Act I._

ACT II.

SCENE--_Same as in Act I.; viz., the Morning-Room at Natterjack Hall. Evening of same day. Enter_ BLETHERS.

_Blethers._ Another of Sir Poshbury's birthdays almost gone--and my secret still untold! (_Dodders._) I can't keep it up much longer.... Ha, here comes his Lords.h.i.+p--he does look mortal bad, that he do! Miss Verbena ain't treated him too well, from all I can hear, poor young feller!

_Enter_ LORD BLESHUGH.

_Lord Bleshugh._ Blethers, by the memory of the innumerable half-crowns that have pa.s.sed between us, be my friend now--I have no others left.

Persuade your young Mistress to come hither--you need not tell her _I_ am here, you understand. Be discreet, and this florin shall be yours!

_Blethers._ Leave it to me, my lord. I'd tell a lie for less than that, any day, old as I am!

[_Exit._

_Lord Bl._ I cannot rest till I have heard from her own lips that the past few hours have been nothing but a horrible dream.... She is coming!

Now for the truth!

_Enter_ VERBENA.

_Verbena._ Papa, did you want me? (_Recognises Lord B.--controls herself to a cold formality._) My lord, to what do I owe this--this unexpected intrusion?

[_Pants violently._

_Lord Bl._ Verbena, tell me, you cannot really prefer that seedy sn.o.b in the burst boots to me?

_Verb._ (_aside_). How can I tell him the truth without betraying dear Papa? No, I must lie, though it kills me. (_To Lord B._) Lord Bleshugh, I have been trifling with you. I--I never loved you.

_Lord B._ I see, and all the while your heart was given to a howling cad?

_Verb._ And if it was, who can account for the vagaries of a girlish fancy! We women are capricious beings, you know. (_With hysterical gaiety._) But you are unjust to Mr. Spiker--he has not _yet_ howled in _my_ presence--(_aside_)--though I very nearly did in _his_!

_Lord B._ And you really love him?

_Verb._ I--I love him. (_Aside._) My heart will break!

_Lord B._ Then I have no more to say. Farewell, Verbena! Be as happy as the knowledge that you have wrecked one of the brightest careers, and soured one of the sweetest natures in the county, will permit. (_Goes up stage, and returns._) A few days since you presented me with a cloth pen-wiper, in the shape of a dog of unknown breed. If you will kindly wait here for half-an-hour, I shall have much pleasure in returning a memento which I have no longer the right to retain, and there are several little things I gave you which I can take back with me at the same time, if you will have them put up in readiness.

[_Exit._

_Verbena._ Oh, he is cruel, cruel! but I shall keep the little bone yard-measure, and the diamond pig--they are all I have to remind me of him!

_Enter_ SPIKER, _slightly intoxicated._

_Spiker._ (_throwing himself on sofa without seeing Verb._) I don' know how it is, but I feel precioush shleepy, somehow. P'raps I _did_ partake lil' too freely of Sir Poshbury's gen'rous Burgundy. Wunner why they call it "gen'rous"--it didn't give _me_ anything--'cept a bloomin'

headache! However, I punished it, and old Poshbury had to look on and let me. He-he! (_Examining his hand._) Who'd think, to look at thish thumb, that there was a real live Baronet squirmin' under it. But there is.h.!.+

[_Snores._

[Ill.u.s.tration: Spiker spiked.]

_Verb._ (_bitterly_). And _that_ thing is my affianced husband Ah, no I cannot go through with it, he is _too_ repulsive! If I could but find a way to free myself without compromising poor Papa. The sofa-cus.h.i.+on!