Part 1

HOW TO SETTLE ACCOUNTS WITH YOUR LAUNDRESS.

AN ORIGINAL FARCE, IN ONE ACT.

BY J. STIRLING COYNE.

_First performed at the Theatre Royal, Adelphi, Monday, July _26, 1847.

Dramatis Personæ

WHITTINGTON WIDGETTS (A West-end Tailor) Mr. Wright.

BARNEY TWILL (Widgett's Page and Light Porter) Mr. Ryan.

JACOB BROWN (A Hairdresser at the Opera) Mr. Munyard.

POSTMAN Mr. Lindon.

WAITER Mr. Mitchenson.

MDLLE. CHERI BOUNCE (An Opera Dancer) Miss E. Harding.

MARY WHITE (A Young Laundress) Miss Woolgar.

TIME OF REPRESENTATION.--Fifty minutes.

COSTUME.

WHITTINGTON WIDGETTS.--_First dress:_ Blue coat; white vest; gray plaid trousers. _Second dress:_ Green coat; pink vest. _Third dress:_ Black coat.

BARNEY TWILL.--Green page's suit.

JACOB BROWN.--Puce frock coat; blue vest; nankeen trousers.

MDLLE. CHERI BOUNCE.--Fashionable silk dress; blue satin visite, trimmed with lace; pink bonnet.

MARY WHITE.--_First dress:_ Pink print dress; green shawl; and straw bonnet. _Second dress:_ Blue blouse; drab leggings; red cravat; and fancy cap. _Third dress:_ Drab paletot; white vest; and trousers.

STAGE DIRECTIONS.

EXITS AND ENTRANCES.--R. means _Right;_ L. _Left;_ D. F. _Door in Flat;_ R. D. _Right Door; _L. D. _Left Door;_ S. E. _Second Entrance;_ U. E. _Upper Entrance;_ M. D. _Middle Door;_ L. U. E. _Left Upper Entrance;_ R. U. E. _Right Upper Entrance;_ L. S. E. _Left Second Entrance;_ P. S. _Prompt Side;_ O. P. _Opposite Prompt._

RELATIVE POSITIONS.--R. means _Right;_ L. _Left;_ C. _Centre;_ R. C. _Right of Centre;_ L. C. _Left of Centre._

R. RC. C. LC. L.

*** _The Reader is supposed to be on the Stage, facing the Audience._

HOW TO SETTLE ACCOUNTS WITH YOUR LAUNDRESS.

SCENE.--_A Tailor's Show-room, Jermyn-street, handsomely fitted up with cheval glass, large round table in centre, fashionable chairs, &c. A dummy figure, dressed in the extreme mode, near window. Articles of gentlemen's attire exhibited in window, L. U. E. Door of entrance to street, L. S. E. Fireplace and chimney-glass, R. E. Door to Widgetts' chamber, R. S. E. Large pair of folding-doors, C. F., opening towards the stage; beyond these doors, a passage to the kitchen, in which stands a stillion, with a water-butt standing on it. At the end of this passage, the door of the kitchen. A round table, C., with writing materials and lighted candle upon it. A print of the fashions and tailor's patterns cut in brown paper on the wall. Table at back, L., on which is a table lamp. Another table at back, R., on which is a bottle of brandy and glasses. TWILL discovered brushing the coat on the dummy figure, and singing a verse of an Irish song. A postman's knock at door, L._

TWILL. Whist! I'll bet a pinny that's the post.

(_Runs to door and opens it._)

_POSTMAN appears._

POST. Mr. Widgetts!

(_Gives letter to Twill._)

TWILL. Thank you, sir. Maybe you've got a bit of a letter for me, from my poor mother in Ireland? I'm not particular--the first that comes to hand in the bundle will do.

POST. No, I haven't one for you.

TWILL. Thank you, sir. Maybe you'd have one the next time. Good-bye, sir.

[_Postman goes away. Twill, reading the address on the letter._

"Whittington Widgetts, Esquire." Ow wow! Esquire! the devil a ha'porth less. "Whittington Widgetts, Esquire, Hierokosma, Jarmyn Street." Hierokosma! That's French for a tailor's shop. By the Attorney-General 'twould give a man a headache in his elbow to write such a cramp word. (_Smells the letter._) Why then it smells elegant intirely. (_Goes to door, R., and enters while speaking._) Mr. Widgetts, here's a letter for you, sir.

(_Returns immediately from the room, re-commences his song, and begins to brush the figure again. A church clock in the neighbourhood strikes eight._)

WID. Twill!

(_Speaking from the door of chamber, R._)

TWILL. There, listen to that row. That master of mine will persist in calling me Twill, though he knows my name is Barney Toole, because Twill, he says, is genteeler.

WID. What o'clock is that, Twill?

TWILL. Eight o'clock, sir.

WID. Put up the shutters.

TWILL. What the devil can he mean? We never shut until nine o'clock.

_Enter WIDGETTS from chamber, R., kissing a note which he holds._

WID. Well, don't you hear me? Put up the shutters and close the establishment, directly.

TWILL. Of coorse, sir. Never say it twice.

(_Twill runs out by door, L., and is seen putting up the window shutters outside._)

WID. This night I devote to the tender union of love and lobsters. The adorable Ma'amselle Cheri Bounce, the ballet dancer, at last consents to partake a little quiet supper with me here this evening. I must read her charming note once more. (_Reads._) "Ma'amselle Cheri Bounce presents compliments to Mr. Whittington Widgetts, will feel happy to sup with Mr. W. W. this evening. Ma'amselle C. B. fears that female notions don't correspond with supping with a single gent, but lobsters is stronger than prudence, therefore trusts to indulgence; at nine o'clock precise. P.S.--I'll come in my blue visite and my native innocence, and hopes you'll treat them with proper delicacy." Glorious! Angelic creature! (_Kisses the letter and puts it in his waistcoat pocket._) Oh! Widgetts, you lucky rascal, to have the happiness of a private and confidential supper with that magnificent girl, whose image has never left my mind since the evening I danced with her at the Casino. (_Calls._) Twill!

TWILL. (_entering from door, L._) Sir?

WID. You must run directly to the tavern, over the way, and order them to send a roast fowl and lobster, in the shell, here, at nine o'clock.

TWILL. Roast fowl, sir?

WID. And lobster. He--hem! I expect a particular party to sup with me.

TWILL. Coorse you'll want cigars, sir?

WID. No. The party, Twill, is a lady and don't smoke.

TWILL. A lady! Tare my agers, sir. Does the lady bring the lady's maid with her?

WID. Don't be impertinent, Twill, but listen to me. The party I expect is Ma'amselle Cheri Bounce, a splendid creature, who dances on a limited income, with the strictest regard to propriety, at the Opera House, and gives lessons to private pupils in the _pokar_ and the waltz _ah do tongs_.

TWILL. Whoo! She must be a switcher. (_Going._) I'll run directly, sir.

WID. Stay! I must make myself attractive for the interesting occasion. Give me the coat that has just been finished for Sir Chippin Porrage, and the waistcoat that's to be sent home to-morrow morning for the Honourable Cecil Harrowgate's wedding. (_Twill hands a dress coat and waistcoat from the table, L._) I'll give them an air of gentility by wearing them this evening. That will do. There, be off now.

TWILL. Ha, ha! By the powers o' war, when you get them on your back, sir, you'll be like Mulligan's dog, your own father wouldn't know you.

_Widgetts carries the coat and waistcoat into his bed-room, R., Twill is going towards door, L., when MARY WHITE, the laundress, enters, carrying a basket of clothes under her arm._

MARY. Here, Twill, take my basket, good chap. Is master at home?

TWILL. (_Takes basket._) Yes, he _is_ at home. (_Aside._) Take my basket, good chap. Well, there's no bearing the impudence of the lower orders. (_Sets down basket, R., and calls at door, R._) Please, sir, here's the laundress come for your clothes. (_Crosses to door, L. Aside._) Good chap!

[_Exit, R._

WID. (_entering, R., aside._) She always comes at an awkward crisis. (_Mary takes off her shawl and sits, L._) Mary, my dear, you're rather late this evening.

MARY. Oh dear, yes! I've been half over the town for my customers' washing, and I'm almost tired to death, but I left yours for last, that we might have a comfortable chat together. Stop a minute though till I take off my clogs.

[_She goes into the kitchen passing through the folding-doors._

WID. (_Apart._) The poor creature loves me to distraction, but she's painfully familiar; she forgets that our positions are materially altered since I was a journeyman tailor in a two pair back, struggling to make love and trousers for the small remuneration of fifteen shillings a week. Mary White is an uncommon nice girl--as a laundress, but my sentiments is changed respecting her as a wife.

_MARY WHITE re-enters and comes down, L._

MARY. Now, Widgy, dear---- Oh, good gracious, what a love of a waistcoat you've on! Let me look at it, do? Well, it's a real beauty.

WID. Stylish, eh? The last Paris touch.

MARY. You used not to wear such waistcoats as that when you lived in Fuller's Rents.

WID. Oh, no, no! Ha, ha! (_Aside._) I wish she'd cut Fuller's Rents.

MARY. Do you know, Widgy, I don't think you're at all improved since you fell in for that fortune, by a legacy you never expected. When you lived in Fuller's Rents you used to walk out with me on a Sunday. You never walk with me at all now.

WID. Walking's vulgar, my dear.

MARY. And you sometimes used to take me at half-price to the theatres.

WID. Theatres is low, my dear.

MARY. And you remember how we used to go together to Greenwich, with a paper of ham sandwiches in my basket, and sit under the trees in the park, and talk, and laugh--law! how we used to laugh to be sure!--and then you used to talk of love and constancy and connubial felicitude in a little back parlour, and a heap of beautiful things.

WID. (_Aside._) A heap of rubbish.

MARY. And you know, Widgy, dear, when we enter that happy state----

WID. What state do you allude to, Miss White?

MARY. The marriage state, of course.

WID. Oh, indeed. Ah!

MARY. You don't forget, I hope, that I have your promissory note on the back of twenty-nine unpaid washing bills to make me your lawful wife. (_Produces several papers._) There they are--and there's the last of them. (_Reads._) "Six months after date I promise to marry Miss Mary White." There, sir, you're due next Monday.

WID. Am I! Then I'm afraid I sha'n't be prepared to take myself up. I'll let myself be protested.

MARY. No, you sha'n't; you've been protested often enough. I can't be put off any longer, and understand me, Mr. Widgetts, I _won't_ neither.

WID. (_Aside._) There's a savage hymeneal look in her eye that makes me shiver in my Alberts. I must soothe her a little or I shall have a scene. Why, Mary, my dear, now don't be angry, you know it's one of my jokes.

MARY. Well, you'd better not try any more of them, for I don't like them. No woman does.

WID. No, of course, no woman does. Ha, ha, ha! Quite proper too, my dear.

MARY. Well, now that matter's settled, I'll go and collect your soiled things, for it's getting late.

WID. Do so, Mary; you'll find them in my room as usual. (_Sits at table, L. C._) I'll make out the list as you call them out. (_Mary White enters room, R., and Widgetts prepares to write._) She's resolved to make me her victim and I don't know how to get rid of her. I'd give----

MARY. (_Inside._) Four shirts.

WID. (_Writes._) Four shirts. She's a perfect treasure at shirt buttons; but what is shirt buttons to a bosom that beats for another.

MARY. (_Inside._) One false front.

WID. (_Writes._) One false front. She'd make a comfortable little wife if she only had----

MARY. (_Inside._) A pair of white trousers.

WID. (_Writes._) A pair of white trousers. Ah! I wore those ducks at the Casino last Wednesday, and Ma'amselle Cheri Bounce observed, while I was handing her a glass of champagne---- Ecod, 'tis well I recollected it--I've forgotten to order champagne for my supper. I must run over to the tavern myself and tell them to send some.

[_Snatches up his hat and exit, L._

MARY. (_Entering with the white waistcoat worn by Widgetts at first, and a note in her hand._) Well, you're a pretty careless fellow, to leave your letters in your waistcoat pocket. Where is he gone to? (_Examines the note curiously. Reads._) "Whittington Widgetts, Esq." It's a woman's hand. I've a good mind to read it. I've no secrets from him and he has none from me--or, at least he oughtn't to--so it can be no harm. (_Opens note and reads hastily._) "Ma'amselle Cheri Bounce"--Ah!--"compliments--happy to sup with Mr. W. W. this evening--female notions--single gent--lobsters is stronger than prudence--therefore trusts to indulgence, at nine o'clock precise." Oh, the minx! (_Reads._) "P.S.--I'll come in my blue visite and my native innocence." Oh, Widgetts, the false deceitful wretch, to deceive me and wash out all his promises; to wring my heart and mangle my affections like that. (_Sobbing._) But I--I--don't care not a pin's point; no, I despise him and hate him worse than poison, and I'll--I'll--I'll--tell him so. (_Sobbing._) I'll--I'll----

_Enter JACOB BROWN, L. door._

BROWN. (_Angrily._) Where's Widgetts! I want to see Widgetts.

MARY. Then you want to see a good-for-nothing fellow.

BROWN. Exactly, and I shouldn't mind adding that I consider him an numbug.

MARY. A wretch!

BROWN. Most decidedly.

MARY. A puppy!

BROWN. Not a doubt of it. You see we're unanimous in our verdict. That man, ma'am, has been a _reptile_ in my path, a _wiper_ to all _my_ hopes, and an _adder_ to all my woes; he has lacerated my heart and singed the tender buds of young affection here.

(_Lays his hands on his bosom._)

MARY. Ah! What has he done?

BROWN. He has _done me_, ma'am--_me_, Brown; that's what he's done. Cut me out with Ma'amselle Cheri Bounce.

MARY. Cheri Bounce! Ah! (_Aside._) She that's to sup to-night with Widgetts.

BROWN. I'm an 'airdresser, ma'am, my name's Brown, and I've a professional engagement at the Opera House, where I cultivate romance and ringlets amongst the ladies of the ballet. There I first beheld the lovely Cheri Bounce, the very image of the wax Wenus in my shop window. I loved her, not for her foreign grace, but for her native hair. Oh, she had such a head of real hair; and, oh, the showers of tears and the bottles of Macassar oil that I've poured upon it nobody would believe! Well, I toasted her for two years regularly, and at length she consented to become _Brown_. Well, we were to have been married, I had bought my wedding suit, when this fellow Widgetts, came to take the curl out of my happiness. We quarrelled about him last Saturday, and grew so warm that we've been cool ever since. But that's not all. This very day, I heard that she had accepted an invitation to sup with him to-night; but I'll prevent _that;_ he shall fight me--one of us must fall--let him choose his own weapons--curling irons if he likes.

MARY. Don't be rash, Brown. Widgetts has deceived _me_ and wronged _you;_ we must take a better way of being revenged on him.

BROWN. How? What way? Tell me! I'll do anything to be down on Widgetts.

MARY. Then you must assist me in a scheme I've just thought of. Here, carry this stuffed gentleman into the kitchen there.

(_Pointing to dummy figure._)

BROWN. This chap! Come along, old fellow. (_Takes him up._) Why he's a regular railway speculator--nothing but a man of straw.

MARY. (_Taking a gown and other articles of female attire out of her basket._) Aye, here's a gown, petticoat, and stockings--(_takes a pair of green boots out of her pocket_)--and a pair of green boots. Now, Brown, you must dress the figure in these clothes.

(_Gives him clothes._)

BROWN. Dress him in these! Why, bless you, I don't know how. I'm not a lady's maid.

MARY. Oh, never mind; you'll manage very well! There, make haste, and do as I tell you.

BROWN. Well, I'm only made to order, so I'll try and do my best.

[_Exit through the folding-doors into the passage, and then through the door beyond into kitchen._

MARY. (_Sits at table, R. C._) Now to write to Widgetts and tell him of my melancholy end. (_Writes and reads._) "Base man,--I have discovered the truth of your falsity, and know all about the lobsters and the cretur that's to sup with you to-night. Oh, Widgetts, once, you swore to love none but Mary _White;_ but now, your vows is _blew_ to the winds. I sha'n't trouble you no more with my _mangled_ feelings, for I'm going to drown myself in the water-butt in your kitchen; where you'll find me. Adieu, Widgetts! I forgive you; but I know that my ghost and them lobsters will sit heavy on your stomach to-night. So no more at present from your departed--MARY WHITE."

BROWN. (_Coming into the passage from the kitchen and showing the figure dressed in the clothes given him by Mary._) Here she is. Will she do?

MARY. Oh! beautifully! Ha, ha, ha, ha! I can't help laughing at the droll figure I cut. (_Folds and directs the letter._) There lies the train that's to blow up Widgetts. (_Rises._) Now, Brown, we must pop her head downwards into the water-butt.

BROWN. Well, that's easily done.

MARY. (_Widgetts heard singing in the street._) Hark! I hear Widgetts coming. Quick, we must get out by the back door quietly.

[_Mary White exits into the passage, and closes the folding-doors after her._

_Enter WIDGETTS by street door, L._

WID. I've ordered the champagne--these opera girls all drink champagne, when they can get it. I wonder is _she_ here still. (_Looks into chamber, R._) Ah, bravo! She's gone. (_Sees the letter on table, C._) Ah, a letter--for me? (_Opens it carelessly, starts, and reads to himself._) Oh, oh, oh! What? (_Reads._) "Mary White--I'm going to drown myself in the water-butt, where you'll find me." Gracious powers! "Adieu, Widgetts, I forgive you." Poor dear soul. "But my ghost, and them lobsters will sit heavy on your stomach to-night." Horrible idea! It can't be true--she'd never go to commit such a catastrophe in my establishment. Make a coroner's inquest of herself in my private water-butt, when the Thames is open to all! No, she's only said so to frighten me. (_Throws letter on the floor and goes to folding-doors._) Why Mary, Mary, my dear, don't be foolish! Ha, ha, ha, ha! I know it's one of your jokes. Ha, ha! Little rogue! Ha! ha! Ha! ha! (_Throws open folding-doors and discovers the dummy figure, which has been dressed in female garments, with the legs and part of the dress sticking out of the water-butt, a pair of women's green boots on the feet of the figure. Widgetts totters back, horrified at the sight._) Oh, oh, oh! She done it. She's there, with her legs sticking out of the water-butt, and her green Sunday boots on her feet--and the vital spark extinct. Oh, it's too dreadful a sight for human feelings them legs, and them green boots. (_Returns, and closes the folding-doors._) What an awful sensation 'twill make when it's found out; they'll have my _head_ in all the print shops, and my _tale_ in all the newspapers--I shall be brought out at half the theatres too. They'll make _three_ shocking acts of one fatal act at the Victoria, and they'll have the real water and water-butt at the Surrey. (_Rises._) What's to be done? I'm in a desperate state of mind, and feel as if I could take my own measure for an unmade coffin.

TWILL. (_Who has entered at the last words._) I've ordered it, sir, for nine precisely.

WID. (_Starts._) Ordered it? What?

TWILL. The fowl and the lobster in the shell.

WID. Oh, ha! I was thinking of another _shell_. Ha, ha, ha, ha! Light the lamp, Twill. (_With forced gaiety._) We'll have a jolly night. Ha, ha, ha, ha!

"Old King Cole was a jolly old soul, and a jolly old soul was he; He called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl, And he called for his fiddlers three."

TWILL. Ay, master, that's the way to drown old care.

WID. Drown who, sir? Do you mean, sir, that anyone is drowned in this establishment?

TWILL. Me, sir, not I, sir--I only----

WID. Go and lay the table for supper. (_Twill picks up Mary White's letter from the floor, twists it into an allumette, and lighting it at the candle, lights with it the lamp on table at back. Widgetts walking about in a state of agitation and endeavouring to sing._) It's an awful business; but at all events, they can't charge me with the deed. I have her letter to prove she made away with herself; _that_ will clear me. (_Searches his pockets hastily._) Where is it? What have I done with it? (_Looking about the floor._) Eh, no, no! Twill, Twill, have you seen a letter lying about here?

TWILL. Letter! I found a piece of crumpled paper on the floor, that I've lighted the lamp with; there's a bit of it left though.

(_Gives him a fragment of the burnt letter_)

WID. (_Glances hastily at it._) Oh, heivings, you've lighted the lamp, and snuffed out the candle of my precious existence!

TWILL. Why, what's the matter, Mr. Widgetts? You are going to faint. Stop, till I'll fetch you a glass of water from the water-butt.

WID. (_Interposing to prevent Twill going to the kitchen._) Water! Forbear!

TWILL. Bless me, how dreadful you look.

WID. Do I? Ah, very likely! I've been seized with a sudden swimming in the water-butt--the head--the head, I mean.

TWILL. By my sowl, I see how it is--the murder's out.

WID. (_Collaring him._) Murder--what murder do you allude to? Who's done it, sir? Speak!

TWILL. Asy, Mr. Widgetts--asy, sir--sure I know you've been taking a drop too much.

WID. A drop! (_Aside._) The word puts me in a cold perspiration. Oh, ay! Ha, ha, ha! You may go, Twill; I sha'n't want you any longer. Stop! You haven't had any enjoyment lately; there's an order for the Adelphi; go there, my boy, and be happy. (_Gives him a card._)

TWILL. Oh, thank you, sir. May be I'm not a lucky boy.

[_Exit Twill hastily, L._

WID. Now he's gone, I can reflect upon my terrible situation. _She_ must be removed. But how? That's the point.

_He stands, buried in thought, as MARY WHITE, disguised as a boy, wearing an old blouse, enters._

MARY. Aei--aei--yoo--

WID. Eh! Who are you? What do you want?

MARY. E-eh? You must speak up, I'm rather hard of hearing.

WID. (_Bawling._) I say, what do you want?

MARY. I'm Mary White, the laundress's, young man, and I'm come to carry home her basket of clothes.

WID. The devil! (_Speaking very loud._) She's gone, my good fellow--she's been gone these two hours.

MARY. Two hours! Well, I'm in no hurry, I can stop. But I may as well eat my supper while I'm waiting. I've got a plummy slice of ham in my pocket--(_pulls a crust of bread and a slice of ham wrapped in a play-bill, from her pocket_)--and a play-bill too, for a table-cloth. (_Spreading bill on table._) I think that's coming it rather genteel. (_Takes a clasp knife out of her pocket._) Fond of ham, old fellow?

WID. (_At the opposite side of table._) Why, you impudent young vagabond, you don't mean to say you're agoing to sup here? Be off, and be damn'd to you.

MARY. Well, you _are_ a regular brick, and I don't mind if I do take some of your pickles.

WID. (_Bawls._) Zounds! I say, you mustn't sup here.

MARY. Mustn't sup here. (_Rises._) Why didn't you say so at once? Never mind, I'll go into the kitchen, and take it there. (_Going._)

WID. (_Alarmed._) To the kitchen! (_Holds her._) Not for the world. You quite misunderstood me. Don't disturb yourself. Sit down, do. (_Pushes her again into the chair. Aside._) What's to become of me? I'd pitch him into the street, only I'm afraid of making a disturbance. There's no making him hear. Ecod! I know what I'll do; I'll run and borrow the speaking-trumpet that I saw this morning hanging at Smith, the broker's, door, and speak to him through _that_. (_Going, returns._) Stay! The devil might tempt him to peep into the kitchen, I'll lock the door.

[_Locks the folding-door, goes through pantomime, expressive of sorrow for his victim in the water-butt, and exit, L._