Mrs. Dot E-Book

William Somerset Maugham

• Herausgeber: Interactive Media
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

"Mrs. Dot: A Farce" by William Somerset Maugham is a delightful comedic play revolving around the vivacious and wealthy widow, Mrs. Dot. Set in the early 20th-century British society, the story unfolds as suitors vie for her affection, leading to a series of humorous misunderstandings and witty exchanges. With sharp dialogue and satirical insights, Maugham crafts a charming farce that pokes fun at social pretensions and the pursuit of love, all while showcasing Mrs. Dot's spirited independence and cleverness.

Leseprobe

William Somerset Maugham

Mrs. Dot: A Farce

New Edition

New Edition

Published by Sovereign Classic

This Edition

First published in 2021

Copyright © 2021 Sovereign Classic

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 9781787362710

Contents

CHARACTERS

THE FIRST ACT

THE SECOND ACT

THE THIRD ACT

CHARACTERS

Mrs. Worthley

Freddie Perkins, her nephew and secretary

Miss Eliza MacGregor, her aunt

Gerald Halstane

James Blenkinsop

Lady Sellenger

Nellie, her daughter

Charles, Gerald’s servant

Mason, Mrs. Worthley’s Butler

Mr. Wright, a tailor

Mr. Rixon, Gerald’s solicitor

Blenkinsop’s Man

Time: The present day

Act I—Gerald’s rooms in Grafton Street

Acts II and III—Mrs. Worthley’s house on the river

THE FIRST ACT

Scene: Gerald’s rooms in Grafton Street. A man’s room, pleasantly furnished, with very comfortable arm-chairs, and prints on the walls. Books are lying about, and smoking utensils.

Charles, Gerald Halstane’s servant, opens the door. Mr. Wright comes in, a dapper young man, smartly dressed.

Charles.

There, you can see for yourself that Mr. Halstane is not at home.

Mr. Wright.

Very well, I’ll wait for him.

Charles.

You’ll have to wait till midnight, because I don’t expect him in.

Mr. Wright.

Last time I came you said he’d be back in half an hour, and when I returned you said he’d just gone out. You don’t catch me napping a second time.

Charles.

The governor don’t take impertinence lying down, Mr. Wright, and he’ll look upon it as a great liberty your dunning him in this way.

Mr. Wright.

I don’t know about taking impertinence, but he’ll have to take a summons if my account is not settled at once.

[There is a ring at the bell.

Charles.

[Ironically.] Make yourself quite at home, won’t you?

Mr. Wright.

Thank you. I will.

[Charles goes out and leaves the door open so that the conversation with Rixon, the solicitor, is heard.

Rixon.

[Outside.] Is Mr. Halstane in?

Charles.

No, sir. He’s gone to his club.

Rixon.

Well, I’ll ring him up. I must see him on a matter of the very greatest importance. You’re on the telephone, aren’t you?

Charles.

Yes, sir. But there’s a person waiting to see him.

Rixon.

[Coming in.] Oh, never mind.

[Rixon is a short, rubicund man, with white whiskers and a hearty manner.

Mr. Wright.

[Going towards him.] Mr. Rixon. [Rixon looks at him without recognising him.] Don’t you remember me, sir? I’m the junior partner in Andrews and Wright.

Rixon.

Of course I do. I saw your father on business the other day. [To Charles.] Where’s the telephone book?

Charles.

I’ll just go and fetch it, sir. Mr. Halstane lent it to the gentleman upstairs.

Rixon.

Be as quick as you can.

[Charles goes out.

Rixon.

[To Mr. Wright.] What are you doing here?

Mr. Wright.

Well, the fact is, we’ve got a very large account with Halstane, and I’m told he’s in queer street. I want to get the money before the crash comes.

Rixon.

Queer street? The man’s just come into seven thousand a year.

Mr. Wright.

What!

Rixon.

That’s why I’m running all over the place to find him. You know he’s a relation of the Hollingtons. I was at her ladyship’s not half an hour ago—the Dowager, you know—my firm has acted for the whole family for the last hundred years. Well, I’d hardly arrived before a message came from the War Office to say that her grandson, the present lord, had been killed in India. So as soon as I could, I bolted round here. Mr. Halstane is the next heir, and he comes into seven thousand a year and the title.

Mr. Wright.

My gracious, that’s a piece of luck.

Rixon.

I don’t mind telling you now that he’d pretty well come to the end of his tether. Your money was all right because he’d have paid everything up, but he wouldn’t have had much left.

Mr. Wright.

Of course he doesn’t know anything about this yet?

Rixon.

Not a word. For all he knows, he’s a ruined man, and here am I trying to get him on the telephone to tell him he’s come into a peerage and a very handsome income.

[Charles enters with the telephone book.

Charles.

7869 Gerrard, sir.

Rixon.

Thanks.

[He rings up and asks for the number.

Rixon.

7869 Gerrard, please, Miss.... What? Confound it, the line’s engaged.... I must go round to his club in a cab. I suppose you don’t want to wait here now, Wright?

Mr. Wright.

No, sir. I’ll get back to the shop.

Charles.

I ’ope you’ll suit your own convenience, sir. [Charles shows them out and comes back.] I don’t know what these tradespeople are coming to when they expect gentlemen to pay their bills.

[He seats himself in the most comfortable chair in the room and puts his feet on the table. His back is to the door. The newspaper is lying by his side. He shuts his eyes and dozes.

[Gerald enters silently, followed immediately by Blenkinsop and Freddie Perkins.

[Gerald is a handsome man of seven or eight and twenty, simple in his manners, carefully dressed but without exaggeration. Freddie is a vivacious boy of two and twenty, Blenkinsop is an old bachelor of five and forty; he is well-preserved and takes a good deal of care of his appearance. He is dressed in the height of fashion.

[For a moment they look silently at Charles, who wakes with a start and jumps up in confusion.

Charles.

I beg your pardon, sir; I didn’t hear you come in.

Gerald.

[With an ironical politeness which he preserves during all his remarks to Charles.] Pray don’t let us disturb you. I shall never forgive myself if I think I’ve interrupted your nap.

Charles.

Shall I take your hat, sir?

Gerald.

It’s very kind of you. I shouldn’t like you to put yourself out.

Freddie.

[Sitting down.] By Jove, what a ripping chair! No wonder that Charles went to sleep.

Charles.

Mr. Rixon has just been, sir. He’s gone on to the club.

Gerald.

[With a laugh.] I’m not sorry to miss him. One’s solicitor seldom has any good news to bring one.

Charles.

Will you have the whiskey and soda, sir?

Gerald.

If it wouldn’t give you too much trouble.

[Charles goes out, and Gerald hands the cigarette box to Blenkinsop and Freddie.

Gerald.

Sit down and make yourself comfortable, James.

Blenkinsop.

To do that is one of the few principles I’ve adhered to in the course of an easy and unadventurous life.

[Charles enters with a tray on which are glasses, whiskey and sodas.

Charles.

Is there anything else you want, sir?

Gerald.

If you can spare me two minutes of your valuable time, I should like to make a few observations to you.

Freddie.

Collect yourself, Charles, to receive the words of wisdom that fall from Mr. Halstane’s lips.

Charles.

Things is very bad on the Stock Exchange, sir.

Gerald.

Charles, I have no objection to your sitting in my arm-chair and putting your feet on my table. I am willing to ignore the fact that you smoke my cigars and drink my whiskey.

Blenkinsop.

[Sipping.] You show excellent judgment, Charles. The whiskey’s capital.

Charles.

[Imperturbably.] Pot-still, sir. Fifteen years in bottle.

Gerald.

I can even bear with equanimity that you should read my letters. For the most part they’re excessively tedious, and they will only show you how deplorable is the education of the upper classes. But I must insist on your not reading my paper till I’ve done with it.

Charles.

I’m very sorry, sir. I thought there was no objection.

Gerald.

A newspaper, a suit of clothes, and a bottle of wine are three things at which I prefer....

Charles.

To ’ave the first cut in, sir.

Gerald.

I thank you, Charles; I couldn’t have expressed my meaning more idiomatically.

Freddie.

[Laughing.] You’d better have a drink.

Charles.

Allow me, sir.

[He mixes a whiskey and soda.

Gerald.

You need not pour out the whiskey with such a generous hand as when you help yourself. Thank you.

Charles.

Them mining shares of yours is very low, sir.

Gerald.

They are.

Charles.

If you’ll remember, sir, I was all against them at the time you bought.

Blenkinsop.

You are a jewel, Charles, if besides administering to your master’s wants you advise him in his financial transactions.

Gerald.

Unless I’m mistaken, Charles strongly recommended me to invest my money in public-houses.

Charles.

Them being frequented in peace and war, and not subject to clandestine removals. In peace men drink to celebrate their ’appiness, and in war to drown their sorrow.

Gerald.

[Smiling.] You are a philosopher, Charles, and it cuts me to the quick that I should be forced to deny myself the charm of your conversation.

Charles.

[Astonished.] I beg your pardon, sir?

Gerald.

I am endeavouring to give you notice in such a manner as not to outrage your susceptibilities.

Charles.

Me, sir? I’m sorry if I don’t give satisfaction.

Gerald.

On the contrary, you give every satisfaction. It has never been my good fortune to run across a servant who had an equal talent for blacking boots and for repartee. I am grateful for the care with which you have kept my wardrobe, and the encouragement you have offered to my attempts at humour. I have never seen you perturbed by a rebuke, or discouraged by ill-temper. Your merits, in fact, are overwhelming, but I’m afraid I must ask you to find another place.

Blenkinsop.

You really shouldn’t be so abrupt, Gerald. Look at him staggering under the blow.

Charles.

I’m very comfortable here, sir. Can you give me no reason for this decision?

Gerald.

You gave it yourself, Charles. As you justly observed, them mining shares is very low. You are sufficiently acquainted with my correspondence to be aware that my creditors have passed with singular unanimity from the stage of remonstrance to that of indignation.

Blenkinsop.

I say, I’m sorry to hear this, old man.

Charles.

If it’s just a matter of wages, sir, I shall be ’appy to wait till it suits your convenience to pay me.

Gerald.

[With a smile of thanks.] I’m grateful to you for that, Charles; but, honestly, do you think half-measures can be of any use to me?

Charles.

Well, sir, so far as I’m acquainted with your circumstances....

Gerald.

Come, come, this modesty ill becomes you. Is there a bill in this room, or a solicitor’s letter, with which you are not intimately acquainted?

Charles.

Well, sir, if you ask me outright—things is pretty bad.

Freddie.

I say, don’t play the ass any more. What the deuce does it all mean?

Gerald.

I’m sorry the manner in which I’m imparting to you an interesting piece of information, doesn’t meet with your approval. Would you like me to tear my hair in handfuls?

Blenkinsop.

It would be picturesque, but painful.

Freddie.

Are you really broke?

Gerald.

So much so that I’ve to-day sublet my rooms. In a week, Charles, I shall cast the dust of London off my feet, a victim to the British custom of primogeniture.

Charles.

Yes, sir.

Gerald.

Have you the least idea what I mean?

Charles.

No, sir.

Gerald.

Well, I feel certain that during some of the many leisure moments you have enjoyed in my service, you have cast an eye upon that page in Burke upon which my name figures—insignificantly.

Charles.