The Big Drum: A Comedy in Four ActsPinero, Arthur Wing
General
The Big Drum: A Comedy in Four Acts
Pinero, Arthur Wing
Comedy plays; English drama
That's right; don't risk catching cold, whatever you do. [_Seeing_ LADY
FILSON _and coming forward._] Ah, your dear mother _is_ down!
[BERTRAM _goes out, closing the door._
LADY FILSON.
[_Beaming upon_ SIR RANDLE.] You haven't been long, Randle.
SIR RANDLE.
[_A cloud overshadowing his face._] I didn't remain for the Dead March,
Winnie. [_Taking off his black gloves._] I need hardly have troubled to
go at all, as it turned out.
LADY FILSON.
Why, dear?
SIR RANDLE.
The sad business was most abominably mismanaged. No reporters.
LADY FILSON.
No reporters!
SIR RANDLE.
Not a single pressman in the porch. [_Blowing into a glove._] Pfhh!
Poor old Macfarlane! [_Pulling at his second glove._] The public will
never learn the names of those who assembled, at serious inconvenience
to themselves, to pay respect to his memory.
LADY FILSON.
Shocking!
SIR RANDLE.
[_Blowing._] Pfhh! [_Folding the gloves neatly._] I am almost glad, in
the circumstances, that I didn't regard it as an event which laid me
under an obligation to send flowers.
LADY FILSON.
[_With a change of tone._] Er--Randle----
SIR RANDLE.
[_Putting his gloves into his tail-pocket._] Yes, dear.
LADY FILSON.
[_Significantly._] Sir Timothy is upstairs.
SIR RANDLE.
Sir Timothy Barradell?
LADY FILSON.
[_Nodding._] With Ottoline, in her sitting-room.
SIR RANDLE.
Indeed?
LADY FILSON.
He brought a note for her half-an-hour ago, evidently asking her to
receive him.
SIR RANDLE.
[_Going to_ LADY FILSON.] An early call!
LADY FILSON.
Extremely.
SIR RANDLE.
[_Sitting near her, in the arm-chair on the left of the settee, and
pursing his lips._] It may mean nothing.
LADY FILSON.
Oh, nothing.
SIR RANDLE.
[_Examining his nails._] A nice, amiable fellow.
LADY FILSON.
Full of fine qualities, if I'm any judge of character.
SIR RANDLE.
None the worse for being self-made, Winnie.
LADY FILSON.
Not in _my_ estimation.
SIR RANDLE.
H'm, h'm, h'm, h'm----!
LADY FILSON.
[_Softly._] It wouldn't _sound_ bad, Randle.
SIR RANDLE.
[_Leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes._] "Lady Barradell."
LADY FILSON.
[_In the same way._] "Lady Barradell."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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