The Dear Departed

THE DEAR DEPARTED

The scene is the sitting-room of a small house in a lower middle-class dis-trict of a provincial town. On the spectator's left is the window, with theblinds down. A sofa is in front of it. On his right is a fireplace with an arm-chair by it. In the middle of the wall facing the spectator is the door intothe passage. To the left of the door a cheap, shabby chest of drawers, to theright a sideboard. In the middle of the room is the table, with chairs roundit. Ornaments and a cheap American clock are on the mantelpiece, in thehearth a kettle. By the sideboard a pair of gaudy new carpet slippers. Thetable is partly laid for tea, and the necessaries for the meal are on the side-board, as also are copies of an evening paper and of Tit-Bits and Pearson'sWeekly. Turning to the left through the door takes you to the front door;to the right, upstairs. In the passage a hat-stand is visible.

When the curtain rises MRS. SLATER is seen laying the table. She is avigorous, plump, red-faced vulgar woman, prepared to do any amount ofstraight talking to get her own way. She is in black, but not in completemourning. She listens a moment and then goes to the window, opens it andcalls into the street.

MRS. SLATER (sharply). Victoria,Victoria! D'ye hear? Come in, willyou?(MHS. SLATER closes window andputs the blind straight and then re-turns to her work at the table, VIC-TORIA, a precocious girl of ten,dressed in colors, enters.)MRS. s. I'm amazed at you, Vic-toria; I really am. How you canbe gallivanting about in the streetwith your grandfather lying deadand cold upstairs, I don't know. Beoff now, and change your dress be-fore your Aunt Elizabeth and yourUncle Ben come. It would never dofor them to find you in colors.

VICTORIA. What are they comingfor? They haven't been here forages.

MRS. s. They're coming to talkover poor grandpa's affairs. Your

father sent them a telegram as soonas we found he was dead. (A noiseis heard) Good gracious, that'snever them. (MRS. SLATER hurriesto the door and opens it) No, thankgoodness: it's only your father.(HENBY SLATER, a stooping, heavyman with a drooping moustache, en-ters. He is wearing a black tail coat,gray trousers, a black tie and abowler hat. He carries a little paperparcel.)HENRY. Not come yet, eh?

MRS. s. You can see they haven't,can't you? Now, Victoria, be off up-stairs and that quick. Put yourwhite frock on with a black sash.(VICTORIA goes out.)

MRS. s. (to HENRY). I'm not satis-fied, but it's the best we can dotill our new black's ready, and Benand Elizabeth will never have

269

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270 STANLEY HOUGHTONthought about mourning yet, sowe'll outshine them there, (HENRYsits in the armchair by the fire) Getyour boots off, Henry; Elizabeth'sthat prying she notices the leastspeck of dirt.

HENRY. I'm wondering if they'llcome at all. When you and Eliza-beth quarrelled she said she'd neverset foot in your house again.

MRS. s. Shell come fast enough afterher share of what grandfather's left.You know how hard she can bewhen she likes. Where she gets itfrom I can't tell.(MRS. SLATER unwraps the parcelHENRY has brought. It containssliced tongue, which she puts on adish on the table.)

HENRY. I suppose it's in the family.

MRS. s. What do you mean by that,Henry Slater?

HENRY. I was referring to yourfather, not to you. Where are myslippers?

MRS. s. In the kitchen; but youwant a new pair, those old onesare nearly worn out. (Nearly break-ing down) You don't seem to realizewhat it's costing me to bear up likeI am doing. My heart's fit to breakwhen I see the little trifles that be-longed to grandfather lying around,and think he'll never use them again.(Briskly) Here! you'd better wearthese slippers of grandfather's now.It's lucky he'd just got a new pair.HENRY. They'll be very small for me,my dear.

MRS. s. They'll stretch, won't they?I'm not going to have them wasted.

(She has finished laying the table.)Henry, I've been thinking aboutthat bureau of grandfather's that'sin his bedroom. You know I alwayswanted to have it after he died.

HENRY. You must arrange with Eliz-abeth when you're dividing thingsup.

MRS. s. Elizabeth's that sharp she'llsee I'm after it, and she'll drivea hard bargain over it. Eh, what itis to have a low, money-grubbingspirit!

HENRY. Perhaps she's got her eye onthe bureau as well.

MRS. s. She's never been here sincegrandfather bought it. If it was onlydown here instead of in his room,she'd never guess it wasn't our own.

HENRY (startled). Amelia! (Herises.)MHS. s. Henry, why shouldn't webring that bureau down here now?We could do it before they come.

HENRY (stupefied). I wouldn't careto.

MRS. s. Don't look so daft. Why not?

HENRY. It doesn't seem delicate,somehow.

MRS. s. We could put that shabbyold chest of drawers upstairs wherethe bureau is now. Elizabeth couldhave that and welcome. I've alwayswanted to get rid of it. (She pointsto the drawers.)HENRY. Suppose they come whenwe're doing it.


THE DEAR DEPARTEDMRS. s. I'll fasten the front door.Get your coat off, Henry; wellchange it.(MRS. SLATER goes out to fasten thefront door, HENRY takes his coat off.MRS. SLATER reappears.)

MRS. s. I'll run up and move thechairs out of the way.(VICTORIA appears, dressed accord-ing to her mother's instructions.)

vie. Will you fasten my frock upthe back, Mother?

MRS. s. I'm busy; get your father todoit.(MRS. SLATER hurries upstairs, andHENRY fastens the frock.)vie. What have you got your coatoff for, Father?

HENRY. Mother and me is going tobring grandfather's bureau downhere.

vie. (after a moment's thought).Are we pinching it before AuntElizabeth comes?

HENRY (shocked). No, my child.Grandpa gave it your mother beforehe died.

vie. This morning?

HENRY. Yes.

vie. Ah! He was drunk this morning.

HENRY. Hush; you mustn't ever sayhe was drunk, now.(HENRY has fastened the frock, andMRS. SLATER appears carrying ahandsome clock under her arm.)MRS. s. I thought I'd fetch thisdown as well. (She puts it on the

271mantelpiece) Our clock's worthnothing and this always appealed tome.

vie. That's grandpa's clock.

MRS. s. Chut! Be quiet! It's oursnow. Come, Henry, lift your end.Victoria, don't breathe a word toyour aunt about the clock and thebureau. (They carry the chest ofdrawers through the doorway.)vie. (to herself). I thought we'dpinched them.(After a short pause there is a sharpknock at the front door.)MRS. s. (from upstairs). Victoria, ifthat's your aunt and uncle you'renot to open the door.(VICTORIA peeps through the win-dow.)vie. Mother, it's them!

MRS. s. You're not to open thedoor till I come down. (Knockingrepeated) Let them knock away.(There is a heavy bumping noise.)Mind the wall, Henry.(HENRY and MRS. SLATER, very hotand flushed, stagger in with a prettyold-fashioned bureau containing alocked desk. They put it where thechest of drawers was, and straightenthe ornaments, etc. The knocking isrepeated.)MRS. s. That was a near thing. Openthe door, Victoria. Now, Henry, getyour coat on. (She helps him.)HENRY. Did we knock much plasteroff the wall?

MRS. s. Never mind the plaster.Do I look all right? (Straighteningher hair at the glass) Just watch


272 STANLEY HOUGHTONElizabeth's face when she sees we'reall in half mourning. (Throwinghim Tit-Bits) Take this and sitdown. Try and look as if we'd beenwaiting for them.(HENRY sits in the armchair andMRS. SLATER left of table. They readostentatiously, VICTORIA ushers inBEN and MRS. JORDAN. The latter isa stout, complacent woman with animpassive face and an irritating airof being always right. She is wear-ing a complete and deadly outfit ofnew mourning crowned by a greatblack hat with plumes, BEN is also incomplete new mourning, with blackgloves and a band round his hat. Heis rather a jolly little man, accus-tomed to be humorous, but at pres-ent trying to adapt himself to theregrettable occasion. He has abright, chirpy little voice, MRS. JOR-DAN sails into the room and solemnlygoes straight to MRS. SLATER andkisses her. The men shake hands.MRS. JORDAN kisses HENRY. BENkisses MRS. SLATER. Not a word isspoken, MRS. SLATER furtively in-spects the new mourning.)MRS. JORDAN. Well, Amelia, and sohe's "gone" at last.

MRS. s. Yes, he's gone. He wasseventy-two a fortnight last Sunday.(She sniffs back a tear, MRS. JORDANsits on the left of the table, MRS.SLATER on the right, HENRY in thearmchair, BEN on the sofa with VIC-TORIA near him.)

BEN (chirpily). Now, Amelia, youmustn't give way. We've all got todie some time or other. It mighthave been worse.

MRS. s. I don't see how.

HENRY. It's taken you a long time toget here, Elizabeth.

MRS. j . Oh, I couldn't do it. I reallycouldn't do it.

MRS. s. (suspiciously). Couldn't dowhat?

MRS. j . I couldn't start without get-ting the mourning. (Glancing at hersister.)

MRS. s. We've ordered ours, youmay be sure. (Acidly) I nevercould fancy buying ready-madethings.

MRS. j . No? For myself it's such arelief to get into the black. And nowperhaps you'll tell us all about it.What did the doctor say?

MRS. s. Oh, he's not been near yet.

MRS. j . Not been near?BEN (in the same breath). Didn'tyou send for him at once?

MRS. s. Of course I did. Do you takeme for a fool? I sent Henry at oncefor Dr. Pringle, but he was out.

BEN. You should have gone for an-other. Eh, Eliza?

MRS. j . Oh, yes. It's a fatal mistake.MRS. s. Pringle attended him whenhe was alive and Pringle shall at-tend him when he's dead. That'sprofessional etiquette.

BEN. Well, you know your own busi-ness best, but

BEN. It might have been one of us. MRS. J . Yesit's a fatal mistake.


THE DEAR DEPARTED 273MRS. s. Don't talk so silly, Eliza-beth. What good could a doctorhave done?

MRS. J. Look at the many cases ofpersons being restored to life hoursafter they were thought to be"gone."

HENRY. That's when they've beendrowned. Your father wasn'tdrowned, Elizabeth.

BEN (humorously). There wasn'tmuch fear of that. If there was onething he couldn't bear it was water.(He laughs, but no one else does.)MRS. j . (pained). Ben!(BEN is crushed at once.)MRS. s. (piqued). I'm sure hewashed regular enough.

MRS. J. If he did take a drop toomuch at times, we'll not dwell onthat, now.

MRS. s. Father had been "merry"this morning. He went out soonafter breakfast to pay his insurance.

BEN. My word, it's a good thing hedid.

MRS. j . He always was thoughtfulin that way. He was too honorableto have "gone" without paying hispremium.

MRS. s. Well, he must have goneround to the Ring-o'-Bells after-wards, for he came in as merryas a sandboy. I says, "We're onlywaiting Henry to start dinner.""Dinner," he says, "I don't want nodinner, I'm going to bed!"

BEN (shaking his head). Ah! Dear,dear.

HENRY. And when I came in I foundhim undressed sure enough andsnug in bed. (He rises and standson the hearthrug.)MRS. j . (definitely). Yes, he'd hada "warning." I'm sure of that. Didhe know you?

HENRY. Yes. He spoke to me.

MRS. j . Did he say he'd had a"warning"?

HENRY. No. He said, "Henry, wouldyou mind taking my boots off; I for-got before I got into bed."

MRS. j . He must have been wander-ing.

HENRY. No, he'd got 'em on all right.

MRS. s. And when we'd finisheddinner I thought I'd take up a bitof something on a tray. He waslying there for all the world as if hewas asleep, so I put the tray downon the bureau(correcting her-self) on the chest of drawersandwent to waken him. (A pause) Hewas quite cold.

HENRY. Then I heard Amelia callingfor me, and I ran upstairs.

MRS. s. Of course we could do noth-

MRS. j . He was "gone"?HENRY. There wasn't any doubt.

MRS. j . I always knew he'd go sud-den in the end.(A pause, they wipe their eyes andsniff back tears.)MRS. s. (rising briskly at length; in a


274 STANLEY HOUGHTONbusinesslike tone). Well, will you goup and look at him now, or shall wehave tea?

MRS. j . What do you say, Ben?BEN. I'm not particular.

MRS. j . (surveying the table). Wellthen, if the kettle's nearly ready wemay as well have tea first.(MRS. SLATER puts the kettle on thefire and gets tea ready.)HENRY. One thing we may as welldecide now: the announcement inthe papers.

MRS. j . I was thinking of that. Whatwould you put?

MRS. s. At the residence of hisdaughter, 235, Upper CornbankStreet, etc.

HENRY. You wouldn't care for a bitof poetry?

MRS. j . I like "Never Forgotten." It'srefined.

HENRY. Yes, but it's rather soon forthat.

BEN. You couldn't very well haveforgot him the day after.

MRS. s. I always fancy "A lovinghusband, a kind father, and a faith-ful friend."

BEN (doubtfully). Do you thinkthat's right?

HENRY. I don't think it matterswhether it's right or not.

MRS. j . No, it's more for the look ofthe thing.

HENRY. I saw a verse in The Eve-ning News yesterday. Proper poetry,it was. It rhymed. (He gets thepaper and reads)"Despised and forgotten by some

you may beBut the spot that contains you issacred to we."

MRS. j . That'll never do. You don'tsay "Sacred to we."

HENRY. It's in the paper.

MRS. s. You wouldn't say it if youwere speaking properly, but it's dif-ferent in poetry.

HENRY. Poetic license, you know.

MRS. j . No, that'll never do. Wewant a verse that says how much weloved him and refers to all his goodqualities and says what a heavy losswe've had.

MRS. s. You want a whole poem.That'll cost a good lot.

MRS. J. Well, we'll think about itafter tea, and then we'll lookthrough his bits of things and makea list of them. There's all the furni-ture in his room.

HENRY. There's no jewellery or valu-ables of that sort.

MRS. j . Except his gold watch. Hepromised that to our Jimmy.

MRS. s. Promised your Jimmy! Inever heard of that.

MRS. J. Oh, but he did, Amelia,when he was living with us. He wasvery fond of Jimmy.

MRS. s. Well. (Amazed) I don'tknow!


THE DEAR DEPARTEDBEN. Anyhow, there's his insurancemoney. Have you got the receipt forthe premium he paid this morning?

MHS. s. I've not seen it.(VICTORIA jumps up from the sofaand comes behind the table.)

vie. Mother, I don't think grandpawent to pay his insurance this morn-ing.

MRS. s. He went out.

vie. Yes, but he didn't go into thetown. He met old Mr. Tattersalldown the street, and they went offpast St. Philips's Church.

MRS. s. To the Ring-o'-Bells, I'll bebound.

BEN. The Ring-o'-Bells?

MRS. s. That public-house that JohnShorrock's widow keeps. He is al-ways hanging about there. Oh, if hehasn't paid it

BEN. Do you think he hasn't paid it?Was it overdue?

MRS. s. I should think it was over-due.

MRS. j . Something tells me he's notpaid it. I've a "warning," I know it;he's not paid it.

BEN. The drunken old beggar.

MRS. j . He's done it on purpose, justto annoy us.

MRS. s. After all I've done for him,having to put up with him in thehouse these three years. It's nothingshort of swindling.

75MRS. j . I had to put up with him forfive years.

MRS. s. And you were trying to turnhim over to us all the time.

HENRY. But we don't know for cer-tain that he's not paid the premium.

MRS. j . I do. It's come over me all atonce that he hasn't.

MRS. s. Victoria, run upstairs andfetch that bunch of keys that's onyour grandpa's dressing table.

vie (timidly). In grandpa's room?MRS. s. Yes.

vie. II don't like to.

MRS. s. Don't talk so silly. There's noone can hurt you. (VICTORIA goesout reluctantly) Well see if he'slocked the receipt up in the bureau.

BEN. In where? In this thing? (Herises and examines it.)MRS. j . (also rising). Where did youpick that up, Amelia? It's new sincelast I was here.(They examine it closely.)MRS. s. OhHenry picked it up oneday.

MRS. j . I like it. It's artistic. Did youbuy it at an auction?

HENRY. Eh? Where did I buy it,Amelia?

MRS. j . Yes, at an auction.BEN (disparagingly). Oh, second-hand.


276

MRS. j . Don't show your ignorance,Ben. All artistic things are second-hand. Look at those old masters.(VICTORIA returns, very scared. Shecloses the door after her.)Vic. Mother! Mother!

MRS. s. What is it, child?

Vic. Grandpa's getting up.

BEN. What?

MRS. s. What do you say?

vie. Grandpa's getting up.

MRS. j . The child's crazy.

STANLEY HOUGHTONABEL. What's the matter with littleVicky? (He sees BEN and MRS. JOR-DAN. ) Hello! What brings you here?How's yourself, Ben?(ABEL thrusts his hand at BEN, whoskips back smartly and retreats withMRS. JORDAN to a safe distance he-low the sofa.)MRS. s. (approaching ABEL gin-gerly). Grandfather, is that you?(She pokes him with her hand tosee if he is solid.)ABEL. Of course it's me. Don't dothat, 'Melia. What the devil do youmean by this tomfoolery?

MRS. s. (to the others). He's notdead.

MRS. s. Don't talk so silly. Don't youknow your grandpa's dead? BEN. Doesn't seem like it.vie. No, no; he's getting up. I sawhim.(They are transfixed with amaze-ment; BEN and MRS. JORDAN left oftable; VICTORIA clings to MRS.SLATER, right of table; HENRY nearfireplace.)MRS. j . You'd better go up and seefor yourself, Amelia.

MRS. s. Herecome with me,Henry.(HENRY draws back terrified.)BEN (suddenly). Hist! Listen.(They look at the door. A slightchuckling is heard outside. The dooropens, revealing an old man clad ina faded but gay dressing-gown. Heis in his stockinged feet. Althoughover seventy he is vigorous and wellcolored; his bright, malicious eyestwinkle under his heavy, reddish-gray eyebrows. He is obviouslyeither grandfather ABEL MERRY-WEATHER or else his ghost.)

ABEL (irritated by the whispering).You've kept away long enough, Liz-zie; and now you've come you don'tseem over-pleased to see me.

MRS. j . You took us by surprise,Father. Are you keeping quite well?

ABEL (trying to catch the words).Eh? What?

MRS. j . Are you quite well?ABEL. Ay, I'm right enough but fora bit of a headache. I wouldn't mindbetting that I'm not the first in thishouse to be carried to the cemetery.I always think Henry there looksnone too healthy.

MRS. j . Well, I never!(ABEL crosses to the armchair andHENRY gets out of his way to thefront of the table.)ABEL. 'Melia, what the dickens did Ido with my new slippers?


THE DEAR DEPARTED 277MRS. s. (confused). Aren't they bythe hearth, Grandfather?

ABEL. I don't see them. (ObservingHENRY trying to remove the slip-pers) Why, you've got 'em on,Henry.

MRS. s. (promptly). I told him toput them on to stretch them, theywere that new and hard. Now,Henry, (MRS. SLATER snatches theslippers from HENRY and gives themto ABEL, who puts them on and sitsin armchair.)

MRS. j (to BEN) . Well, I don't callthat delicate, stepping into a deadman's shoes in such haste.(HENRY goes up to the window andpulls up the blind, VICTORIA rumacross to ABEL and sits on the floorat his feet.)

vie. Oh, Grandpa, I'm so gladyou're not dead.

MRS. s. (in a vindictive whisper).Hold your tongue, Victoria.

ABEL. Eh? What's that? Who's gonedead?

MRS. s. (loudly). Victoria says she'ssorry about your head.

ABEL. Ah, thank you, Vicky, but I'mfeeling better.

MHS. s. (to MRS. j . ) . He's so fond ofVictoria.

MRS. j . (to MRS. s.). Yes; he's fondof our Jimmy, too.

MRS. s. You'd better ask him if hepromised your Jimmy his goldwatch,

MRS. J . (disconcerted). I couldn'tjust now. I don't feel equal to it.

ABEL. Why, Ben, you're in mourn-ing! And Lizzie too. And 'Melia, andHenry and little Vicky! Who's gonedead? It's some one in the family.(He chuckles.)

MRS. S. NO one you know, Father. Arelation of Ben's.

^ E L . And what relation of Ben's?

M R S g H i s

B N (ft) ^ g_}_ Do n e

ABEL-

e a r' dear. And what was his

n a m e> Benl^

BEN (at a loss). Erer. (He crossesto front of table.)MRS. s. (prompting). Frederick.

MRS. J . (prompting). Albert.

BEN. ErFredAlbIsaac.

ABEL. Isaac? And where did yourbrother Isaac die?

BEN. Inerin Australia.

ABEL. Dear, dear. He'd be olderthan you, eh?

BEN. Yes, five year.

ABEL. Ay, ay. Are you going to thefuneral?

BEN. Oh, yes.

MRS. s. and MRS. J. NO, no.


278

BEN. No, of course not. (He retiresto the left.)ABEL (rising). Well, I supposeyou've only been waiting for me tobegin tea. I'm feeling hungry.

MHS. s. (taking up the kettle). I'llmake tea.

ABEL. Come along, now; sit youdown and let's be jolly.(ABEL sits at the head of the table,facing spectator, BEN and MRS. JOR-DAN on the left, VICTORIA brings achair and sits by ABEL. MHS. SLATERand HENRY sit on the right. Both thewomen are next to ABEL. )

MRS. s. Henry, give Grandpa sometongue.

ABEL. Thank you. I'll make a start.(He helps himself to bread and but-ter.)(HENRY serves the tongue and MRS.SLATER pours out tea. Only ABELeats with any heartiness.)

BEN. Glad to see you've got an ap-petite, Mr. Merryweather, althoughyou've not been so well.

ABEL. Nothing serious. I've been ly-ing down for a bit.

MRS. s. Been to sleep, Grandfather?

ABEL. No, I've not been to sleep.

MRS. s. and HENRY. Oh!

ABEL (eating and drinking). I can'texactly call everything to mind, butI remember I was a bit dazed, like.I couldn't move an inch, hand orfoot.

STANLEY HOUGHTONBEN. And could you see and hear,Mr. Merryweather?

ABEL. Yes, but I don't rememberseeing anything particular. Mus-tard, Ben.(BEN passes the mustard.)

MBS. s. Of course not, Grandfather.It was all your fancy. You must havebeen asleep.

ABEL (snappishly). I tell you Iwasn't asleep, 'Melia. Damn it, Iought to know.

MRS. j . Didn't you see Henry orAmelia come into the room?

ABEL (scratching his head). Nowlet me think

MRS. s. I wouldn't press him, Eliza-beth. Don't press him.

HENRY. No. I wouldn't worry him.

ABEL (suddenly recollecting). Ay,begad! 'Melia and Henry, what thedevil did you mean by shifting mybureau out of my bedroom? (HENRYand MRS. SLATER are speechless)D'you hear me? Henry! 'Melia!

MRS. j . What bureau was that,Father?

ABEL. Why, my bureau, the one Ibought

MRS. j . (pointing to the bureau).Was it that one, Father?

ABEL. Ah, that's it. What's it doinghere? Eh? (A pause. The clock onthe mantelpiece strikes six. Everyone looks at it) Drat me if that isn't


THE DEAR DEPARTEDmy clock, too. What the devil's beengoing on in this house?(A slight pause.)

BEN. Well, 111 be hanged.

MRS. J. (rising). I'll tell you what'sbeen going on in this house, Father.Nothing short of robbery.

MRS. S. Be quiet, Elizabeth.

MBS. j . I'll not be quiet. Oh, I callit double-faced.

HENBY. Now, now, Elizabeth.

MBS. j . And you, too. Are you sucha poor creature that you must doevery dirty thing she tells you?

MRS. s. (rising). Remember whereyou are, Elizabeth.

HENRY (rising). Come, come. Noquarrelling.

BEN (rising). My wire s every rightto speak her own mind.

MRS. s. Then she can speak it out-side, not here.

ABEL (thumping the table). Damnit all, will some one tell me what'sbeen going on?

MRS. j . Yes, I will. I'll not see yourobbed.

ABEL. Who's been robbing me?

MBS. j . Amelia and Henry. They'vestolen your clock and bureau,(Working herself up) Theysneaked into your room like a thiefin the night and stole them after youwere dead.

279HENRY and MRS. S. Hush! Quiet,Elizabeth!

MBS. j . I'll not be stopped. After youwere dead, I say.

ABEL. After who was dead?

MRS. J . YOU.

. g u t i 'm n o t

MBS. j . N 0 ) but they thought youwere.(A pause, ABEL gazes round atthem.)ABEL. Oho! So that's why you're allin black today. You thought I wasdead. (He chuckles) That was abig mistake. (He sits and resumeshis tea.)

MBS. s. (sobbing). Grandfather.ABEL I t d i d n> t t a k e y o u l o n g t 0 s t a r tdividing my things between you.

MRS. j . No, Father; you mustnt^ ^ f11* w\simPlY get"of them on her o w n ac

"count.

ABEL-

Y o u a l w a v s w e r e a k e e n one,

Amelia. I suppose you thought thewill wasn't fair.

HENBY. Did you make a will?

ABEL. Yes, it was locked up in thebureau.

MRS. J . And what was in it, Father?

ABEL. That doesn't matter now. I'mthinking of destroying it and mak-ing another.


28o STANLEY HOUGHTONMRS. s. (sobbing). Grandfather,you'll not be hard on me.

ABEL. Ill trouble you for anothercup of tea, 'Melia; two lumps andplenty of milk.

MRS. s. With pleasure, Grandfather.(She pours out the tea.)ABEL. I don't want to be hard onany one. I'll tell you what I'm goingto do. Since your mother died, I'velived part of the time with you,'Melia, and part with you, Lizzie.Well, I shall make a new will, leav-ing all my bits of things to whoeverI'm living with when I die. Howdoes that strike you?

HENHY. It's a bit of a lottery, like.

MHS. j . And who do you intend tolive with from now?

ABEL (drinking his tea). I'm justcoming to that.

MRS. j . You know, Father, it's quitetime you came to live with us again.We'd make you very comfortable.

MRS. s. No, he's not been with us aslong as he was with you.

MRS. j . I may be wrong, but I don'tthink Father will fancy living onwith you after what's happened to-day.

ABEL. So you'd like to have meagain, Lizzie?

MRS. j . You know we're ready foryou to make your home with us foras long as you please.

ABEL. What do you say to that,'Melia?

MRS. s. All I can say is that Eliza-beth's changed her mind in the lasttwo years. (Rising) Grandfather,do you know what the quarrel be-tween us was about?

MRS. j . Amelia, don't be a fool; sitdown.

MRS. s. No, if I'm not to have him,you shan't either. We quarrelled be-cause Elizabeth said she wouldn'ttake you off our hands at any price.She said she'd had enough of you tolast a life-time, and we'd got to keepyou.

ABEL. It seems to me that neither ofyou has any cause to feel proudabout the way you've treated me.

MRS. s. If I've done anything wrong,I'm sure I'm sorry for it.

MRS. j . And I can't say more thanthat, too.

ABEL. It's a bit late to say it, now.You neither of you cared to put upwith me.

MRS. s. and MRS. J . NO, no, Grand-father.

ABEL. Ay, you both say that becauseof what I've told you about leavingmy money. Well, since you don'twant me I'll go to some one thatdoes.

BEN. Come, Mr. Merryweather,you've got to live with one of yourdaughters.

ABEL. I'll tell you what I've got todo. On Monday next I've got to dothree things. I've got to go to thelawyer's and alter my will; and I've


THE DEAR DEPARTED 28!got to go to the insurance office andpay my premium; and I've got to goto St. Philips's Church and get mar-ried.

BEN and HENBY. What!

MBS. j . Get married!MBS. s. He's out of his senses.(General consternation.)ABEL. I say I'm going to get mar-ried.

MRS. S. Who tO?

ABEL. To Mrs. John Shorrocks whokeeps the Ring-o'-Bells. We've hadit fixed up a good while now, but Iwas keeping it for a pleasant sur-prise. (He rises) I felt I was a bitof a burden to you, so I found someone who'd think it a pleasure to lookafter me. We shall be very glad tosee you at the ceremony. (He getsto the door) Till Monday then.Twelve o'clock at St. Philips'sChurch. (Opening the door) Its agood thing you brought that bureaudownstairs, 'Melia. It'll be handierto carry across to the Ring-o'-Bellson Monday. (He goes out.)

CURTAIN


The Drums of OudeA DRAMA IN ONE ACT

BY AUSTIN STRONG

Dedicated to my wifeMary Strong.A. S.


COPYRIGHT, 1 9 1 8 , BY AUSTIN STRONGALL RIGHTS RESERVED

CAUTION: Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that Drums ofOude, being fully protected under the copyright laws of the United Statesof America, the British Empire, including the Dominion of Canada, and allother countries of the Copyright Union, is subject to a royalty. All rights,including professional, amateur, motion pictures, recitation, public reading,radio broadcasting and the rights of translation into foreign languages arestrictly reserved. Amateurs may produce this play upon payment of a roy-alty of ten dollars for each performance, payable one week before theplay is to be given, to Samuel French, at 25 West 45th St., New York, N. Y.,or 811 West 7th St., Los Angeles, Calif., or if in Canada, to Samuel French(Canada) Ltd., at 480 University Avenue, Toronto, Ont.


CHARACTERSCAPTAIN HECTOR MCGREGORLIEUTENANT ALAN HARTLEYSERGEANT MCDOUGALSTEWART, the sentryTwo HINDUSTANI SERVANTSMRS. JACK CLAYTON, Hartley's sisterA PRIVATE

SCENE: An interior of a palace in Northern India, occupied by Britishtroops.TIME: Spring of 18S7.


THE DRUMS OF OUDE

Music before curtain rises to be of that mysterious, nervous Indian quality,in a minor key, with the barbaric drum-beat measure throughout.

All lights out. Theater in total darkness. Drumming is heard, from beyondthe stage, mingled with faint cries. This drumming must be great in vol-ume, yet low in key. It stops short.

Repeats itself and again stops short. The curtain has gone up in the dark-ness. The audience first becomes aware of the moonlit Indian City, in thedistance, over the top of an intervening forest.

Then they see the outline of the archway and the stage itself, which is astore-room in an old Indian Palace, now occupied by the British. There isno furniture in the room except a piano, R., and a business desk, R., rear.A large Indian carpet is upon the floor. The only decorations are twocrossed swords on either side of the arch.

Sentry STEWART, in Highland uniform, passes beyond the arch, in themoonlight, from R. to L. Pause. He returns. Pause. Then again from R. toL. The drumming swells in the distance and seems to come from the IndianCity. As the SENTRY appears on his return beat, the drumming ceases. Hehalts center of archway and turns a puzzled face toward the audience andlistens intently. Dead silence.

He is seen to breathe a sigh of relief, straighten himself and continue hisstolid march. Silence.

Then with a crash door L. bursts open and MCGREGOR slides in. He shutsthe door softly and swiftly and listens intently wUh his ear to the panels.He gives a glance at the open arch, then takes three steps center, stoops,takes hold of the corner of carpet and flings it back. Rises, goes back to doorL. and listens at panels again. Then returns center and opens a trap-doorwhich was beneath the carpet. The trap-door is three feet square and eightinches thick.

He looks carefully in and then closing it returns the carpet to its place,stands on it, and listens intently, his eyes to the audience. He then drawsfrom his left-hand coat pocket a large leather cigar case. Chooses a cigarand returns case. He then slowly backs to wall R. When he reaches it hestrikes a match upon it with a downward sweep of his hand. He lights cigarand carefully putting out the match, he assumes a graceful, easy position,his back against the wall, his hands rammed deep in his coat pockets andhis right foot crossed over his left, his eyes always on the corner of thecarpet.

STEWART, the sentry, is seen to pass at rear. He halts again and listens asif he heard something. He turns his face toward the audience to listen bet-ter, and with a start becomes aware of MCGREGOR'S presence. He brings hismusket sharply to the shoulder, comes down the stage and halts three pacesfrom MCGREGOR, his face toward the audience. He makes the stiff soldier'ssalute, right hand across the body.

MCGREGOR continues smoking and regarding the carpet. (Pause.)287


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The Dear Departed