The first performance of this play in London took place at the St. Martin’s Theatre on March 6, 1923, with the following cast: _Nancy Broxopp_ Mary Jerrold. _Mary_ Margaret Carter. _Broxopp_ Edmund Gwenn. _Benham_ J. H. Roberts. _Alice_ Gwen Hubbard. _Honoria Johns_ Marjorie Gabain. _Jack Broxopp_ Ian Hunter. _Iris Tenterden_ Faith Celli. _Sir Roger Tenterden_ Dawson Milward. _Norah Field_ Beatrix Thomson. _Ronald Derwent_ Richard Bird. THE GREAT BROXOPP ACT I SCENE: _The GREAT BROXOPP’S lodgings in Bloomsbury; a humble room in late Victorian days, for BROXOPP has only just begun. He has been married for six months, and we see NANCY (the dear) at work, while her husband is looking for it. He is an advertising agent, in the days when advertising agents did not lunch with peers and newspaper proprietors. Probably he would prefer to call himself an “adviser to men of business.” As we see from a large advertisement over the sideboard—drawn and lettered by hand (NANCY’S)—he has been hoping to advise SPENLOW on the best way to sell his suspenders. SPENLOW, we are assured, “gives that natty appearance.” The comfort, says THE GREAT ONE, in an inspired moment:_ “_The comfort is immense With Spenlow’s great invention! Other makes mean Suspense, But Spenlow means Suspension!!_” _Many such inspirations decorate the walls—some accepted, some even paid for—and NANCY is now making a fair copy of one of them._ _MARY, the Broxopps’ servant—NANCY thought they could do without one, but the GREAT BROXOPP wanted to be called “Yes, sir,” and insisted on it—well then, MARY comes in._ * * * * * NANCY (_without looking up_). Yes, Mary? MARY. It’s about the dinner, ma’am. NANCY (_with a sigh_). Yes, I was afraid it was. It isn’t a very nice subject to talk about, is it, Mary? MARY. Well, ma’am, it has its awkwardness like. NANCY (_after a pause, but not very hopefully_). How is the joint looking? MARY. Well, it’s past looking like anything very much. NANCY. Well, there’s the bone. MARY. Yes, there’s the bone. NANCY (_gaily_). Well, there we are, Mary. Soup. MARY. If you remember, ma’am, we had soup yesterday. NANCY (_wistfully_). Couldn’t you—couldn’t you squeeze it again, Mary? MARY. It’s past squeezing, ma’am—in this world. NANCY. I was reading in a book the other day about two people who went out to dinner one night—they always dine late in books, Mary—and ordered a grilled bone. It seemed such a funny thing to have, when they had everything else to choose from. I suppose _our_ bone——? MARY. Grilling wouldn’t do it no good, ma’am. NANCY. Well, I suppose we mustn’t blame it. It has been a good joint to _us_. MARY. A good stayer, as you might say. NANCY. Yes. Well, I suppose we shall have to get another.