The Benefit of the Doubt; a Comedy in Three ActsPinero, Arthur Wing
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The Benefit of the Doubt; a Comedy in Three Acts
Pinero, Arthur Wing
English drama -- 19th century
SHAFTO.
Forget all round, my dear Jack—that’s the ticket; for the future,
cultivate a single-minded devotion to yourself——
JOHN.
And the horses! You’re right, Denzil. By the bye, I had a line from
O’Halligan yesterday—where is it? [_Going to a writing-table and
rummaging among the litter there._] He fancies Kildaowen very strongly.
The mare’s feeding well; that’s always been their difficulty, you know——
SHAFTO.
[_Quietly, looking towards the window._] Jack.
JOHN.
Eh?
SHAFTO.
Who’s that woman out there?
[ELPHICK _ceases playing_.
JOHN.
Where?
SHAFTO.
In your garden.
[JOHN _looks towards the window_; ELPHICK _rises and makes
one of the group_.
JOHN.
[_After a pause._] I don’t see anybody.
SHAFTO.
She’s behind the laurels now.
JOHN.
[_About to go to the window._] One of the maids——
SHAFTO.
[_Laying his hand on_ JOHN’S _arm_.] Wait a bit. [_Goes cautiously to
the window, peeps out, and comes away._] I say, old chap.
JOHN.
What’s the matter?
SHAFTO.
I thought so. It’s your wife. [_There is a moment’s pause, then an
excited movement from_ JOHN.] Stop! [_A pause._] What are you going to
do?
JOHN.
[_Dazed._] Do!... do!...
SHAFTO.
Not anything stoopid, Jack?
JOHN.
[_Excitedly._] Clear out for a minute, you two fellows.
[SHAFTO _goes up the steps and into the library, drawing
the_ portière _across the door as he disappears_.
JOHN.
Get out, Peter!
ELPHICK.
[_Going up the steps and pausing at the door._] Jack.
JOHN.
What is it?
ELPHICK.
[_With an empty expression of face and voice._] Don’t do anything weak.
JOHN.
Get out! [ELPHICK _disappears_. JOHN _hurriedly glances round the room
and arranges a displaced chair. Then he discovers that_ ELPHICK _has
left the banjo upon the settee, and he seizes it impatiently_.] Oh——
[_Going to the door of the library and drawing aside the_ portière.]
Here! Peter! catch! [_He throws the banjo into the room, and readjusts
the_ portière. _The instrument is heard to fall with a crash to the
floor. He looks into the library, hastily._] I beg your pardon, old
fellow. [_He descends the steps and goes to the window and opens it,
speaking in a low voice._] Is any one there? [_A pause._] Someone’s
there.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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