Class P P c: ] 7 Book 'J:^k fopyriglrt F j^ \5cu CfKEXRIGHT DEPOSm THE BIG DRUM A COMEDY IN FOUR ACTS 91. W. mntxo'6 Paps THE AHAZONS ^^'^c®^ Three Acts. Seven males, five females. Costumes, modern ; scenery, not difficult. Plays a full evening. THE CABINET MINISTER J^^--^^or^^^-^s. Ten males, nine females. Costumes, modern society ; scenery, three interiors. Plays a full evening. DANDY DICR ^^*^^ ^ Three Acts. Se"ven males, four females. Costumes, modern ; scenery, two interiors. Plays two hours and a half. THE 6AY LORD OUEX ^o^^edy in Four Acts. Four males, ten ^ females. Costiunes, modern ; scenery, two interiors and an exterior. Plays a full evening. HfS ROnSF IN ODDFR ^o^^^y^Fo^^-^^^^s* ^Ine males, four females. Costumes, modern ; scenery, three Interiors, Plays a full evening. THE HOBBY HORSE ^^^'^^^y ^ Three Acts. Ten males, five females. Costumes, modern; scenery easy. Plays two hours and a half. IRIS I^rama in Five Acts. Seven males, seven females. Costumes, modern ; scenery, three interiors. Plays a full evening, LADY BOUNTIFUL ^^*^ ^ ^^^^ ■^^*^" -^^Sl^t males, seven fe- males. Costumes, modern ; scenery, four in- teriors, not easy. Plays a full evening. I FTTY I^rama in Four Acts and an Epilogue. Ten males, five f e- ^ males. Costumes, modem ; scenery complicated. Plays a full evening. Sent prepaid on receipt of price by Waltn ^. QBafier & Company No. 5 Hamilton Place, Boston, Massachusetts /f i THE BIG DRUM • • The desire of fame betrays an ambitious man into indecencies that lessen his reputation ; he is still afraid lest any of his actions should be thrown away in private. Addison, THE BIG DRUM A Comedy in Four Acts By ARTHUR PINERO K All rights reserved under the International Copy- right Act. Performance forbidden and right of repre- sentation reserved. Application for the right of per- forming this play must be made to the author in care of the publishers. BOSTON WALTER H. BAKER & CO. LONDON WILLIAM HEINEMANN MCMXV The Big Drum '^^^S> . THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY \'\ Philip Mackworth. Sir Randle Filson, Knt. Bertram Filson, his son. Sir Timothy Barradell, Bart. Robert Roope. COLLINGHAM GrEEN. Leonard Westrip, Sir Randle s secretary. Alfred Dunning, of Sillitoe and Dunning s Private Detective Agency. NoYES, Mr. Roope' s servant. Underwood, servant at Sir Randle s. John, Mr. MackwortK s servant. A Waiter. Ottoline de ChaumiS, Comtesse de CHAUMifi, nee Filson. Lady Filson. Hon. Mrs. Godfrey Anslow. Mrs. Walter Quebec. Miss Tracer, Lady Filson s secretary. Period. — 1913. Copyright, 191 5, by Arthur Wing Pinero As author and proprietor All rights reserved iJ)cin 4257:1 ACT I Robert Roope's Flat in South Audley Street. June. ACT II Morning-room at Sir Randle Filson's, Ennismore Gardens. The next day. ACT III Mackworth's Chambers, Gray's Inn. November. ACT IV The same place. The following morning. The curtain falls for a i7iomeni in the course of the First and Third Acts. This play was produced in London^ at the St. 'James' s Theatre^ on Wednesday^ Septejnher /, /p/f PLEASE READ CAREFULLY The acting rights of this play are reserved by the author. Performance is strictly forbidden unless his express consent, or that of his agent, has first been obtained, and attention is called to the penalties provided by law for any infringements of his rights, as follows : "Sec. 4966; — Any person publicly performing or representing any dramatic or musical composition for which copyright has been obtained, without the consent of the proprietor of said dramatic or musical composi- tion, or his heirs and assigns, shall be liable for damages therefor, such damages in all cases to be assessed at such sum, not less than one hundred dollars for the first and fifty dollars for every subsequent performance, as to the court shall appear to be just. If the unlawful performance and rep- resentation be wilful and for profit, such person or persons shall be guilty of a misdemeanor, and upon conviction be imprisoned for a period not exceeding one year." — U. S. Revised Statutes, Title bo. Chap. 3. PREFACE The Big Drum is published exactly as it was written, and as it was originally performed. At its first repre- sentation, however, the audience was reported to have been saddened by its " unhappy ending." Pressure was forthwith put upon me to reconcile Philip and Ottoline at the finish, and at the third performance of the play the curtain fell upon the picture, violently and crudely brought about, of Ottoline in Philip's arms. I made the alteration against my principles and against my conscience, and yet not altogether unwiUingly. For we live in depressing times ; and perhaps in such times it is the first duty of a writer for the stage to make con- cessions to his audiences and, above everything, to try to afford them a complete, if brief, distraction from the gloom which awaits them outside the theatre. My excuse for having at the start provided an " un- happy " ending is that I was bhnd enough not to regard the ultimate break between Phihp and Ottoline as really unhappy for either party. On the contrary, I looked upon the separation of these two people as a fortunate occurrence for both ; and I conceived it as a piece of ironic comedy which might not prove unentertaining that the falling away of Philip from his high resolves was checked by the woman he had once despised and who had at last grown to know and to despise herself, vii viii PREFACE But comedy of this order has a knack of cutting rather deeply, of ceasing, in some minds, to be comedy at all ; and it may be said that this is what has happened in the present instance. Luckily it is equally true that certain matters are less painful, because less actual, in print than upon the stage. The " wicked publisher," therefore, even when bombs are dropping round him, can afford to be more independent than the theatrical manager ; and for this reason I have not hesitated to ask my friend Mr. Heinemann to publish The Big Drum in its original form. Arthur Pinero. London, « September^ igiS- The Big Drum THE FIRST ACT The scene is a roomy elegantly decorated, in a fiat in South Audley Street. On the right , two windows give a view, through muslin curtains, of the opposite houses. In the wall facing the spectator are two doors, one on the right, the other on the left. The left-hand door opens into the room from a dimly-lighted corridor, the door on the right from the dining-room. Between the doors there is a handsome fireplace. No fire is burning and the grate is banked with fiowers. When the dining-room door is opened, a sideboard and a side-table are seen in the fur- ther room, upon which are dishes of fruit, an array of ice-plates and finger-bowls, liquors in decanters, glasses, silver, etc. The pictures, the ornaments upon the mantelpiece, and the articles of furniture are few but choice. A high-backed settee stands on the right of the fireplace ; near the settee is a fauteuil-stool ; facing the settee is a Charles II arm- chair. On the left of the room there is a small table with a chair beside it ; on the right, not far from the nearer window, are a writing-table and writing- chair. Pieces of bric-a-brac lie upon the tables, where there are also some graceful statuettes in ivory and bronze. Afi- 1 d THE BIO DRUM other high-backed settee Jills the space between the tviri' dozvs, and in each window there is an armchair of the same period as the one at the fireplace. The street is full of sunlight, \Note: Throughout^ " right " and ** left '* are the specta- tor's right and left, not the actor'' s.~\ [Robert Roope, seated at the writitig-table, is sealing a letter. No yes enters at the door on the left, followed by Philip Mackworth. NOYES. {Announcing Philip.] Mr. Mackworth. Roope. \_A simple-looking gentleman of fifty, scrupulously attired —jumping up and shaking hands warmly with Philip as the servant withdraws.'^ My dear Phil ! Philip. {A negligently — almost shabbily — dressed man in his late thirties, with a handsome but worn face.'] My dear Robbie ! Roope, A triumph, to have dragged you out ! \_Looking at his watch.] Luncheon isn't till a quarter-to-two. I asked you for half-past-one because I want to have a quiet little jaw with you beforehand. Philip. Delightful. Roope. Er — I'd better tell you at once, old chap, whom you'll meet here to-day. THE BIO DRUM $ Philip. Aha ! Your tone presages a most distinguished guest. [^Sealm£- himself in the chair by the small table J\ Is she a grande-duchesse, or is he a crowned head ? ROOPE. [Smiling rather uneasily.'] Wait. I work up to my great effect by degrees. We shall only be six. CoUing- ham Green Philip. [/« disgust.'] Oh, lord ! ROOPE. Now, Phil, don't be naughty. Philip. The fellow who does the Society gossip for the Planet ! RooPE. And does it remarkably neatly, in my opinion. Philip. Pouah ! [Leaning back in his chair, his legs outstretched, and spouting^ " Mrs. Trevelyan Potter, wearing a gown of yellow charmeuse exquisitely draped with chiffon, gave a dance for her niece Miss Hermione Stubbs at the Ritz Hotel last night." That sort o* stuff! RooPE. [Pained.] Somebody has to supply it. Philip. " Pretty Mrs. Claud Grymes came on from the opera in her pearls, and Lady Beakly looked younger than her daughter in blue." 4 THE BIG DRUM ROOPE. \_Ruefully.'] You don't grow a bit more reasonable, Phil ; not a bit. Philip. I beg pardon. Go ahead. ROOPE. \Sitting on the fauteuil-stooL'\ Mrs. Godfrey Anslow and Mrs. Waily Quebec. Abuse theni. Philip. Bless their innocent hearts ! I'heyU be glad to meet Mr. Green. RoOPE. I trust so. Philip. \Scowling.^ A couple of pushing, advertising women. RoOPE. Really ! Philip. Ha, ha ! Sorry. That's five, with you and me. RooPE. That's five, as you justly observe. \Clearing his ihroatJ\ H'm! H'm! Philip. The sixth ? I prepare myself for your great effect. RooPE. \_With an effort.'] Er — Madame de Chaumid is in Lon- don, Phil. THE BIG DRUM 5 Philip. [Sitting upright.'] Madame de Chaumie ! \_Disturbed.1 Is she coming ? ROOPE. Y-y-yes. Philip. [Rising.'] Confound you, Robbie RooPE. [Hastily.] She has got rid of her house in Paris and rejoined her people. She's with them in Ennismore Gardens. Philip. Thank you, I'm aware of it. One reads of OttoHne's movements in every rag one picks up. [Walking over to the right.] She's the biggest chasseuse of the crowd. ROOPE. I assure you she appears very much altered. Philip. What, can the leopard change his spots ! ROOPE. Her family may still bang the big drum occasionally, and give it an extra whack on her account ; but Ottoline herself Philip. Faugh ! [Returning to Roope.] Why the devil have you done this ? Roope. [Feebly.] I confess, in the hope of bringing about a reconciliation. 6 THE BIG DEUM Philip. You — you good-natured old meddler. \_Quickly.'] Does she expect to find me here ? ROOPE. No. Philip. [Making for the door on the leftj] I'll bolt, then. RooPE. \_Rising and seizing him.~\ You shall do nothing of the kmd. [Forcing him down upon the fauieuil-siooL'] You'll upset my luncheon-table ! [Tidying himself. ~\ You're most inconsiderate ; you are positively. And you've dis- arranged my necktie. Philip. [In a low voice.'\ How is she looking, Robbie ? RoOPE. Brilliant. [Putting his necktie in order ^ Is that straight ? BriUiant. Philip. [Gazing into space.\ Ten years ago, old man ! ROOPE. Quite. Philip. It was at her father and mother's, in Paris, that I made ^^«^ acquaintance. Recollect? ROOPE. Perfectly ; in the Avenue Montaigne. I had a flat in the Palais-Royal at the time. THE BIG DRUM 7 Philip. IScorn/u/ly.'] You were one of the smart set. It was worth their while to get hold of you. ROOPE. My dear Phil, do be moderately fair. You weren't in the smart set. Philip. No ; I was trying my hand at journalism in those days. Dreadful trade ! I was Paris correspondent to the Whitehall Gazette. That's why / was favored. \Ab' ruptly.'] Robbie ROOPE. Hey? Philip. You'll scarcely credit it. One evening, while I was at work, Ottoline turned up with her maid at my lodgings in the Rue Soufflot, sent the maid out of the room, and proposed that I should "mention" her family in my letters to the Whitehall. ROOPE. Mention them ? Philip. Drag in allusions to 'em constantly — their entertain- ments and so forth ; boom them, in fact. RooPE. Was that the cause of the — the final ? Philip. [Nodding.'\ Yes. The following week her engagement to de Chaumie was announced. 8 THE BIG DRmr ROOPE. {After a slight pause.'] Well, in spite of all this, I'm convinced she was genuinely attached to you, Phil — as fond of you as you were of her. Philip. {Resting his head on his hands.] Oh, shut up ! ROOPE. Anyhow, here's an opportunity of testing it, dear ex- cellent friend. She's been a widow twelve months ; you need have no delicacy on that score. Philip. {Looking up.] Why, do you suggest .'* RooPE. Certainly ; and without delay. I hear there's a shoal of men after her, including Tim Barradell. Philip. {With a grim smile 7] " Bacon " Barradell? ROOPE. {Assentingly J] They say Sir Timothy's in constant at- tendance. Philip. And what chance, do you imagine, would a poor liter- ary cove stand against a real live baronet — and the largest bacon-curer in Ireland ? ROOPE. {Rubbing his chin.] You never know. Women are romantic creatures. She might prefer the author of those absorbing works of fiction whose pages often wrap up Tim Barradell' s rashers. THE BIG DRUM 9 Philip. \_Rising.'\ Ha, ha, ha ! \Giving himself a shake.'] Even so it can't be done, Robbie ; though I'm gratetul to you for your amiable Httle plot. \_lVa/kmg about.'] Heavens above, if Ottoline married me, she'd be puffing my wares on the sly before the honeymoon was half over! ROOPE. And a jolly good job too. [^Moving to the left, pee- vishly.] The truth is, my dear Phil, you're a crank — an absolute crank — on the subject of the — ah — the natural desire of some people to keep themselves in the public eye. Mercy on us, if it comes to that, rm an adver- tiser ! Philip. If it comes to that, you miserable old sinner, you are. RooPE. I admit it, frankly. I own it gratifies me exceedingly to see my httle dinner-parties and tea-parties, here or at my club, chronicled in the press. And it gratifies my friends also. Many of them wouldn't honor me at all if my list of guests wasn't in the fashionable intelligence next morning. Philip. Oh ! ROOPE. Yes, you may roar. I declare I shudder to think of the diff'erence it'ud make to me socially if I didn't ad- vertise. Philip. Robbie, I blush for you. 10 THE BIG DRUM ROOPE. Tosh ! It's an advertising age. Philip. \Stalking to the fireplace. '\ It's a beastly vulgar age. ROOPE. It's the age I happen to live in, and I accommodate myself to it. \Pacing the room as he warms to his theme.'] And if it's necessary for a private individual such as my- self to advertise, as I maintain it is, how much more necessary is it for you to do so — a novelist, a poet, a would-be playwright, a man with something to sell ! Dash it, they've got to advertise soap, and soap's essential! Why not Hterature, which isnt? And yet you won't find the name of Mr. Phihp Mackworth in the papers from one year's end to another, except in a scrubby criticism now and again. Philip. \^Calmiy.'\ Excuse me, there are the publishers' an- nouncements. RooPE. Publishers' announcements ! I'm not speaking of the regular advertising columns. What I want to see are paragraphs concerning you mixed up with the news of the day, information about you and your habits, inter- views with you, letters from you on every conceivable topic Philip. ^Grinning.'] Do you ! ROOPE. [yotning Philip.] Oh, my dear Phil, I entreat you, feed the papers ! It isn't as if you hadn't talent ; you THE BIO DRUM 11 ^ave. Advertising minus talent goes a long way ; ad- vertising phts talent is irresistible. Feed the papers. The more you do for them, the more they'll do for you. Quid pro quo. To the advertiser shall advertisement be given. Newspaper men are the nicest chaps in the world. Feed them gratis with bright and amusin' " copy," as you term it, and they'll love and protect you for ever. Philip. Not for ever, Robbie. Whom the press loves die young. ROOPE. It's fickle, you mean — some day it'll turn and rend you ? Perhaps. Still, if you make hay while the sun shines Philip. The sun ! You don't call that the sun ! [^Disdainfully,'] P'ssh ! ROOPE. [Leaving him.^ Oh, Fve no patience with you ! [Spluttering.'] Upon my word, your hatred of publicity is — is — is — is morbid. It's worse than morbid — it's Vic- torian. [Sitting in the chair by the small table.] There ! I can't say anything severer. Philip. [Advancing."] Yes, but wait a moment, Robbie. Who says I have a hatred of publicity? / haven't said any- thing so absurd. Don't I write for the public ? RooPE- Exactly 1 12 THE BIG DRUM Philip. [Standing near Roope.] I have no dislike for publicity — for fame. By George, sir, I covet it, if I can win it honestly and decently ! Roope. [Shrugging his shoulders.'] Ah ! Philip. And I humble myself before the men and women of my craft — and they are many — who succeed in winning it in that fashion, or who are content to remain obscure. But for the rest — the hustlers of the pen, the seekers after mere blatant applause, the pickers-up of cheap popu- larity — I've a profound contempt for them and their methods. Roope. You can't deny the ability of some of 'em. Philip. Deny it ! Of course I don't deny it. But no amount of abihty, of genius if you will, absolves the follower of any art from the obligation of conducting himself as a modest gentleman Roope. Ah, there's where you're so hopelessly Victorian and out o' date ! Philip. Well, that's my creed ; and, whether I've talent or not, I'd rather snuff out, when my time comes, neglected and a pauper than go back on it. [Walking away and pacing the roo7n.'] Oh, but I'm not discouraged, my dear Robbie — not a scrap! I'm not discouraged, though you do re- gard me as a dismal failure. THE BIG DRUM 13 ROOPE. \Pej)recatingly.'\ No, no ! Philip. I shall collar the great public yet. You mark me, I shall collar 'em yet, and without stooping to the tricks and devices you advocate ! \_Returning to Roope.] Robbie Roope. \^Rising?^ Hey ? Philip, \Laying his hands on Roope's shoulders.'] If my next book — my autumn book — isn't a mighty go, I — I'll eat my hat. Roope. \Sadly.'] Dear excellent friend, perhaps you'll be obliged to, for nourishment. Philip. Ha, ha, ha ! \Taking R.OOVK s arm.'] Oddly enough — oddly enough, the story deals vi'ith the very subject we've been discussing. Roope. [ Without enthusiasm.] Indeed ? Philip. Yes. You hit on the title a few ramutes ago. Roope. Really ? Philip. When you were talking of Ottoline and her people. \Dropping his voice.] " The Big Drum." 14 THE BIG DRUM ROOPE. [ Thoughtfully^ C-c-capital ! Philip. Titterton, my new publisher, is tremendously taken with the scheme of the thing — keen as mustard about it. ROOPE. Er — pardon me, Phil Philip. Eh? ROOPE. \Fingering the lapel of Philip's coat.'l I say, old man, you wouldn't be guilty of the deplorably bad taste of putting me into it, would you t PhiliPo {Slapping him on the back.'] Ha, ha ! My dear Rob- bie, half the polite world is in it. Don't tell me you wish to be left out in the cold ! ROOPE. [Thoroughly alarmed.] Dear excellent friend [NoYES enters again at the door on the left, pre- ceding COLLINGHAM GrEEN. NOYES. [Announcing Green, and then retiring.] Mr. CoUing- ham Green. Green. \A gaily-dressed, genial soul, with a flower in his buttonhole, a monocle, a waxed moustache, and a skilful arrangement of a sparse head of hair — shaking hands with RooPE.] How are you, my deah fellow ? THE BIO DRUM 16 ROOPE. My dear Colly, delighted to see you. Green. An awful scramble to get heah. I was afraid I shouldn't be able to manage it. ROOPE. You'd have broken our hearts if you hadn't. You know Mackworth? Green. And his charming works. [Shaking hands with Philip.] Haven't met you for evah so long. Philip. I^ow d'ye do? Green. Ouf ! I must sit down. [^Sitting on the fauteuil-stool and taking off a pair of delicately tinted gloves^ The Season is killing me. I'm shaw I sha'n't last till Good- wood, Robbie. ROOPE. Yes, it's a shockin' rush, isn't it! Green. Haw! You ovAy fancy you're rushed. Your life is a rest-cure compared with mine. You've no conception, either of you, what my days are just now. Philip. [Finding himself addressed.'] Exhausting, no doubt. Green. Take to-day, for example. I was in my bath at half- past-seven 16 THE BIG DRUM ROOPE. Half-past-seven ! Green. Though I wasn't in bed till two this morning. At eight I had a cup of coffee and a piece of dry toast, and skimmed the papers. From eight-thirty till ten I dictated a special article on our modern Enghsh hostesses — "The Hostesses of England : Is Hospitality Declining ? " a question I answer in the negative ROOPE. [/« a murmur. '\ Quite right. Green. At ten o'clock, a man from Clapp and Beazley's with some patterns of socks and underwear. Disposed of him, dressed, and by a quarter-to-eleven I was in the Park. Strolled up and down with Lady Ventnor and Sir Hill Birch and saw everybody there was to be seen. I nevah make a single note ; my memory's marvellous. Left the Park at twelve and took a taxi to inquire after Lord Har- rogate, Charlie Sievewright, and old Lady Dorcas Newn- ham. I'm not boring you ? ROOPE. Boring us ! Green. Lady Dorcas caught sight of me from her window and hailed me in. I sat with her for twenty minutes — "Greenie" she always calls me — [mimicking] "Now, Greenie, what's the noos ? " Haw, haw, haw ! I walked away from Lady Dorcas's, and was in upper Grosvenor Street punctually at one. [ 7o Roope.] There's been a meeting at the Baroness Van der Meer's to-day, you know, over this fete at the Albert Hall. THE BIO DRUM 17 ROOPE. Ah, yes ; I'm to be in Lady Freddy Hoyle's Plantage- net group. I'm a knight in attendance on King John. Green. I had a short private chat with the Baroness, and fol- lowed her into the drawing-room. They were still at it when I sneaked out at a side door, and heah I am. RooPE. Extraordinary! Hey, Phil? Philip. \Leaning against the chair by the writing-table, dryly. ~\ Most interesting. Green. [ To Philip, rising.'] I lunch with Roope — [to Roope] you'll have to let me off at three, Robbie — and then my grind begins again. Roope. [Throwing up his hands in admiration^ Oh ! Green. Horse Show, two musical parties — Lady Godalming's and Mrs. Reggie Mosenstein's ; then home and more dictation to my secretary. Dine with Sir Patrick and Lady Logan at the Carlton, and then to the Opera with my spy-glass. From Covent Garden I dash down to Fleet Street, write my late stuff, and my day's done — unless I've strength left for Lady Ronaldshaw's dance and a crush at Mrs. Hume-Cutler's. Roope. [Repeating his former action^ Oh ! Oh ! [Noyes reappear^. 18 THE BIG DRUM NOYES. Mrs. Walter Quebec. [Mrs. Walter Quebec enters and Noyes with- draws. ROOPE. [Taking Mrs. Quebec's hand."] My dear Mrs. Wally, how are you ? Mrs. Quebec. [A bright, energetic, fairly young /ady.'] How'r you, Robbie ? Walter is so grieved ; he's lunching at the Auto with Tony Baxter. He did try to wriggle out of it [Discovering Green and going to him with her hand extended?^ Oh, I am glad ! You're just the man I'm dying to see. Green. [Kissing her hand.'] Haw ! Mrs. Quebec. Lady Skewes and I are getting up a concert in aid of the poor sufferers from the earthquake in — what's the name of the place ? — I forget— Lady Skewes knows it— and we want you to say a lot about us in your darhng paper. Only distinguished amateurs ; that's where the novelty comes in. Lady Skewes is going to play the violin, if she can pull herself together— she hasn't played for centuries — [seeing Philip, advancing, and shaking hands with him'casnaUy'\ how d'ye do ? — [to Green] and I've promised to sing. Green. Splendid. RoOPE. But how captivating ! THE BIG DRUM 19 Mrs. Quebec. [To Green.] I've sung so seldom since my marriage, and they've had such a difficulty to lure me out of my tiny wee shell. Would you mind dwelling on that a little? Green. Of course not ; anything I can do, deah lady Mrs. Quebec. That's too utterly sweet of you. You shall have full particulars to-morrow. I wouldn't bother you, but it's charity, isn't it? Oh, and there's something else I want you to be kind over ! [Noyes returns. Noyes. Mrs. Godfrey Anslow. \_7he Hon. Mrs. Godfrey Anslow enters and Noyes goes out again. Mrs. Anslow. \A tall, languishing woman with a toneless drawl — to RooPE.] Am I late ? Roope. [Pressing her hand.'\ Not a second, my very dear friend. Mrs. Anslow. Can't help it if I am. My car got smashed up last week in Roehampton Lane, and the motor people have lent me the original ark, on wheels. [Mrs. Quebec comes to her.'\ Hullo, Esme ! Mrs. Quebec. [Shaking hands.'] How'r you, Millicent? 20 THE BIG DRUM Mrs. Anslovv. l^Going to Green and giving him her hand.'] Oh, and here's that horrid Mr. Green ! Green. My deah Mrs. Anslow ! Mrs, Quebec. Horrid ! What's he done ? [^Sitting in the chat?' by the small table.] I consider him a white-robed angel. Mrs. Anslow. I sent him a long account of my accident at Roehamp- ton and he hasn't condescended to take the slightest notice of it, Mrs. Quebec. Oh. Mr. Green ! Mrs. Anslow. \To Green.] It's cruel of you. Green. \^To Mrs. Anslow, twiddling his moustacheT] Alack and alas, deah lady, motor collisions are not quite in my line ! Mrs. Anslow. You might have passed it on to the accident man. Or you could have said that I'm to be seen riding in the Row evidently none the worse for my recent shock. Thaf s in your line. Green. Haw! I might have done that, certainly, \ Tapping his brow.] Fact is — height of the Season — perfectly dis- tracted THE BIG DRUM 21 Mrs. Anslow. l^lViik the air of a martyr.'] It doesn't matter. I shan't trouble you again. I've never been a favorite of yours Green. {Appealingly.] Haw! Don't ! Mrs. Anslow. It's true. I was one of the few stall-holders at the Army and Navy Bazaar whose gowns you didn't de- scribe \Seeing Philip and nodding to him hazily.] How d'ye do? ROOPE. \_Prompting her.] Mr. Mackworth [Mrs. Anslow goes to Philip and proffers him a limp hand. Green retreats to the fireplace and Mrs. Quebec rises and pursues him. Mrs. Anslow. \To Philip.] I think we met once at my cousins', the Fairfields'. Philip. S^Bowing^ Yes. Mrs. Anslow. You write, don't you ? Philip. \_Evasively.] Oh ! Roope. \jfoining them.] My dear Mrs. Anslow, Mr. Mack- worth is one of the most gifted authors of the present day. S2 THE BIG DRUM Philip. [Giaring at Roope.] Tsssh ! ROOPE. [Tb Mrs. Anslow.] Get his books from your library instantly. I envy you the treat in store for you [NOYES again appears. NOYES. Madame de Chaumie. [Ottoline de CHAUMif enters — a beautiful, pale, elegant young 'W07nan of three-and-thirty, with a slightly foreign air and perfect refine- ment of manner. NoYES reti?'es. Everybody is manifestly pleased to see Ottoline, except Philip who picks up a little figure from the writing-table and examines it critically. Roope. \Hurrying to her and taking her hand.'] Ah ! Ottoline. Robbie dear! Mrs. Quebec. {Going to Ottoline.] Oh ! \They embrace.] This is lovely ! Ottoline. \To Mrs. Anslow, who comes to her.] Millicent ! \_To Green, who bustles forward and kisses her hand.] How do you do ? Mrs. Quebec. {To Ottoline.] You didn't stay long at the Railtons' last night, Ottoline. THE BIG DBmi 123 Ottoline. I had a headache — mother was so vexed with me Mrs. Anslow. Headache or not, you looked divine. Mrs. Quebec. A vision ! Green. [7*':',XX'' Ottoline. To coax you to herald us in your weekly causeries. \Wincing.'\ Horrible of me, //?«/ was; horrible, hor- rible, horrible ! [^Replacing an object upon the table and: moving to the other side of the roomP^ However, L wasn't destined to share the earliest of the London triumphs. \Bitterly^ Mine awaited me in Paris, and at Vaude- mont-Baudricourt, as the Comtesse- de Chaumie ! \_Shiv- ering.'] Ugh-h-h-h ! [^She is about to sit in th^ chair on the left when he comes to heritnpulsiv^Iy andrTrestrMnSrher. ■' <.- My poor girl '"-" "Philip^ ' ,'>'\'\^\^^ ^ Ottoline. [ With abandon. ] Ah 1 V--C JrHILIP» _r»\; f.fy r'OC^'j ^'*:3'^'^r'?'^'> My poor dear girl ! > /. r .^ v"?v J>Tor" Ottoline. ofi^irv^ao'/ ''-'". It's a relief to me to open my heart to you, Philip. [//e leads her to the Jauteuil'Stool.'\ Robbie won't inter- rupt us yet awhile, will he ? •?;""■ '^^ .wX'n'''. \ ^. a -v^ .'\o THE BIO DRUM 36 Philip. We'll kick him out if he does. \_7^he)f sit, dose together, upon the fauteuii-stool.'] Oh, but he won't ! This is a deep- laid plot of the old chap's Ottoline. Plot? Philip. To invite us here to-day, you and me, to — to Ottoline. Amener un rapprochement f Philip. Exactly. Ottoline. [Softly. 1^ Ha, ha ! Dear old Robbie ! [He laughs with her.'] Dear, dear old Robbie ! [Her laughter dies out, leaving her with a serious, appealing face. ~\ Phil Philip. Eh? Ottoline. Your sneer — your sneer about me and the papers Philip. Sneer ? Ottoline. I detected it. Almost the first thing you said to me when I arrived was that you'd been gathering news of me lately from the papers ! 36 THE BIO DRUM Philip. [Gen//y.^ Forgive me. Ottoline. It's been none of my doing ; I've finished with /e snob- bisme entirely. \Pleadingly.'\ You don't doubt me .'' Philip. \^Patthig her hand.'\ No — no. Ottoline. Nowadays I detest coming across my name in print. But my people — [^with a little moue] they will persist in ! Philip. Beating the big drum? Ottoline. Ha! \_B rushing her hair fro7ii her brow fretfully. '\ Oh! Oh, Phil, it was bUndness on my part to return to them — sheer blindness ! Philip. Blindness ? Ottoline. They've been urging me to do it ever since my hus- band's death ; so I had ample time to consider the step. But I didn't reahze, till I'd settled down in Ennismore Gardens, how thoroughly I Philip. [Finding she doesn't co7itinue.'\ How thoroughly ? Ottoline. How thoroughly I've grown away from them — ceased to be one of them. [Stamping herfoot,^ Oh, I know I'm THE BIG DRUM 37 ungrateful ; and that they're proud of me, and pet and spoil me ; [contracting her shoulder-blades] but they make my flesh feel quite raw — mother. Dad, and my brother Bertram ! Their intense satisfaction with themselves, and everything appertaining to them, irritates me to such a pitch that I'm often obliged to rush out of the room to stop myself from being rude. \Impetuously7] And then to have to watch Dad and mother still pushing, scheming, intriguing ; always with the affectation of despising reclame, yet doing nothing — not the most simple act — without a careful eye to it ! Years ago, as I've said, there was an intelligible motive for our paltry ambitions ; but now, when they hsive force les pories and can afford to be sincere and independent——! \_Checking herself.] But I oughtn't to speak of my folks like this, ought I, even to you whom I can trust ! [Penitently.] It's awfully wrong of me. I — I beg your pardon. Philip. [After a short silence.] What do you intend to do, then, Otto, ultimately — reestabhsh yourself in Paris ? Ottoline. [Drearily.] Paris ! Is Paris so full of cheerful mem- ories for me, do you suppose, that I should cling to it ! Philip. [Soothingly.] Oh, come ! Ottoline. I travelled about for some months after I became a widow, and when I saw Paris again ! [Starting up as if to rid herself of disagreeable sensations.] No, my one great desire is to escape from it all, Phil — \jnoving to the chair on the left] to escape ! Philip. \_Rising.] Escape ? 38 TEE BIO DRUM Ottoline. To alter the whole current of my life, if it's possible, [sinking into the chair] and to breathe some fresh air ! \_Fanning herself with her hand.] Phew-w-w-w ! Philip. H'm ! [Approaching her and looking down upon her.] According to report, Ottoline, you'd have very little diffi- culty in — escaping. Ottoline. [Glancing up at him.] Report ? Philip. Rumor has it that there are at least a dozen ardent admirers at your feet, each with a wedding-ring in his waistcoat-pocket. Ottoline. [Reproachfully , her eyes meeting his.] Why, have you been listening to tittle-tattle as well as studying newspaper paragraphs ! [He bows, good-humoredly .] My dear Philip, allowing for exaggeration, granting that my soufiirants number half a dozen, which of them would enable me to fill my lungs with fresh air ? Who are they, these enter- prising men ? Philip. [Leaving her abruptly and going to the mantelpiece.] Oh, pray don't ask me I I don't know who the fellows are — except — they say — Sir Timothy Barradell Ottoline. [Lightly but softly.] Sir Timothy ! Sir Timothy has only just succeeded in fighting his way into the world I'm sick and tired of ! [Shaking her head.] Poor Sir Tim ! [Pityingly.] Ha, ha, ha, ha! THE BIG DRUM 39 Philip. \^His back towards her.'] Otto — - OttolinE. Yes ? Philip. What sort of world would you be willing to exchange for your present one, my dear ? Ottoline. What sort ? Philip. What sort — spiritual and material ? Ottoline. [^Resiing her elbow upon the arm of her chair and her chin upon her hand, musingiy.] Oh, I believe any world would content me that's totally different from the world I've lived in so long ; any world that isn't flat and stale and stifling ; that isn't made up of shams, and petty aims and appetites ; any world that — well, such a world as you used to picture, Phil, when you preached your gospel to a selfish, common girl under the chestnuts in the Allee de Longchamp and the Champs-Elysees ! [Half laugh- ing, half sighing.] Ha, la, la, la ! \Again Ihere is a pause, and then he walks to the further window and gazes into the street once more. Philip. \In a low voice.] Ten years ago. Otto ! Ottoline, Ten years ago ! 40 THE BIG DRUM Philip. \_Partly in jest, partly seriously-l Do the buds still sprout on those trees in the Allee de Longchamp and the Champs-Elysees, can you tell me? Ottoline. [^Falling in with his humor.'] Ha, ha ! Every spring, cher ami, regularly. Philip. And the milk at the Cafe d'Armenonville and the Pre-Catelan — is it still rich and delectable? Ottoline To the young, I assume ; scarcely to the aged widow ! Philip. Or the grey-haired scribbler ! Ha, ha, ha, ha ! Ottoline. Ha, ha, ha, ha ! [^He turns and advances to her slowly, looking at her fixedly and earnestly. Philip. Ottoline — I wonder whether you'd care to walk under those trees with me again, for sentiment's sake, some fine day in the future ! Ottoline. \Staring at him.'] C-care — — ? Philip. And if you would, whether I ought to tempt you to risk it ! THE BIG DRUM 41 Ottoline. [^Rising, smiling but discom,posedJ\ To — to risk finding that le lait rC est pas cremeux, do you mean ? Philip. \Tenderly.'\ To risk even that. [^Drawing nearer to her.\ Otto ! Ottoline. I — I should be delighted — if— if ever Philip. No, no ; not as friends. Otto — save in the best sense Ottoline. {Faintly :\ I— I don't Philip. As husband and wife. \_She stands quite still.'] Hus- band and wife ! Some day when I've achieved a solid success ; when I've captured the great public, and can come to you, not as a poor, struggling writer, but hold- ing my prizes in both hands ! Ottoline. {Putting her hand to her forehead.'] It — it's not too late, is it ? Philip. {Recoiling.'] Too late — for me — to be successful ? Ottoline. {Passionately.] Oh, my God, don't say that to me — {going to him, and clinging to him] too late for me to recover a little of what I've lost ! ^ TMABIO^DEUM Philip. [^Pressmg her to him.'\ Ah ! Too l^te for neither of us. It's'a bargain ?..._.,. ]_ \. ;^ .cu^\^...'j^, .:..,. Ottoline. Yes — yes; but— — - ^ ^ Philip. . — ~ l,..0 ^a.a But ? ^, ^ l^Her head drooping.'] Must it be — some day? [/V/- eouslyJ] Some da.y \ Philip. There are signs in the sky ; the day isn't far distant ! OxTOLi^fE. -w. - — - .^..K. ; .^ I — I've money, Philip Philip. H' sssh \ ■ {.J^rawm'fig.] OttohueJr/ioS: . ju JUG - ... Ottoline. .. ..iov c; ^jinozi Ah, je vois qns voire orgueiies^ plus fort-que voire amour ! ^^ — Philip. Ha, ha! Peut-Hre ; je ne m'en defends pas... You consent? ^^ _^^-^ ^^ ^^ Ottoline.^ ^ ^j ; w. ..;.;;/ {Pouting.] I may let my people know of the arrange- ment, may I not? You'll see them? Philip. My dear, what wauld be gained by that ngwf \\ttijyJi THE BIG DRUM 43 Ottoline. It would enable you to come often to Ennismore Gardens, and have cozy teas with me in my room. We couldn't be — what we are — on the sly indefinitely ; it's impracticable. There'll be a storm at first, but it will soon blow over. \Making a wry face. '\ Still, if you'd rather Philip. No, no ; I'll see them, if you wish me to. \Nodding^ We'll be open and aboveboard from the start. Ottoline. Ha, ha ! \Sighing happily. '\ Ah-h-h-h ! Philip. \^His tone changing to one of misgiving. '\ Ah, Otto, I begin to be afraid that I oughtn't — that I oughtn't to have spoken to you Ottoline. Why? Philip. \Gravely^ You will never be patient — you'll never be content to wait, if need be ! Ottoline. Content, no. But patient ! [In a whisper.'] Shall I tell you a secret ? Philip. Well? Ottoline. I've been waiting — waiting for you— in my dreams— for ten years ! 44 THE BIG DRUM Philip. [Ardently.'] Otto ! Ottoline. Isn't Mfl/ patience ? \_Their lips meet in a lingering kiss. The handle of the door on the left is heard to rattle. Look- ing at the door, they draw back from one an- other. The handle rattles again, Philip. It's that idiot Robbie. Ottoline. Ha, ha, ha, ha ! \The door opens, and Roope appears, with an air of unconcern. Roope. [Humming.] Tra, lal, lal, la ! That' s done, dear excellent friends ! [Closing the door, and coming forward.] Upon my word, letters are the curse of one's exist- ence ! Ottoline. Ha, ha ! [Seizing him.] Robbie ! Roope. [Startled.] Hey Ottoline. I can't take you to Lady Paulton's — or anywhere else. Philip and I are going to spend the rest of the afternoon here, if you'll let us — and talk — and talk ! [Sud- denly embracing him, and kissing him upon the c/ieek.] Ah! Que vous Ues gentill Merci — merci — merci f THE BIG DRUM 46 [Sitiing in the chair on the left and unpinning her hat. '\ Ha, ha, ha, ha ! ROOPE. {Turning to Philip, his eyes bolting?^ Phil ! Philip. \_Nodding.'\ Yes. {Wringing Roope's hand.'\ Much obliged, Robbie. END OF THE FIRST ACT THE SECOND ACT The scene is a morning-roomy richly furnished and deco- rated f in a house in Ennismore Gardens. The walls are of panelled wood for two-thirds of their height, the rest being covered with silk. In the wall at the back, between the centre and the left-hand corner , there is a handsome double-door opening upon another door, covered in thick cloth, which is supposed to give admittance to the ■ library. On the right, in a piece of wall running ob- liquely towards the spectator from the back wall to the right-hand wall, is a companion double- door to that on the lefty with the difference that the panels of the upper part of this door are glazed. A silk curtain obscures the glazed panels to the height of about seven feet from the floor, and above the curtain there is a view of a spacious hall. When the glazed door is opened, it is seen that the hall is appropriately furnished. J win- dow is at the further end of it, letting in light from the street, and on the right of the window there is a lofty screen arranged in such a manner as to suggest that it conceals the front door of the house. The fireplace, where a bank of fiowers hides the grate ^ is in the left-hand wall of the room. On the further side of the fireplace there is an armchair, and before the fire- place a settee. Behind the settee, also facing the fire- place, are a writing-table and chair ; close to the fur- ther side of the writing-table is a smaller chair ; and at the nearer end of the settee, but at some distance from 46 IpMje'bio'deum ^it 7/, Stands a low-backed armchair which is turned in the direction of the door on the right, ' ^,.'---,-,-\ On the other side of the roomy facing the spectator and fol- lowing the line of the oblique wall, is a second settee. - • On the left of this settee is. an armchair ^ on the right a '- ^ - raund table ' and another chair. Books and periodicals are strewn upon the table. Against the wall at the backy between the door s^ are -an- oblong table and a chair ; a^d. other., articles of furniture And embellisJimmt—^cabi' ,.. nets of various kinds, jar dinieresy mirror Sy lamps y etc., etc.— occupy spaces not provided for in this denript ion. ' Among other objects upon the oblong table are some framed photographs y conspicuously displayed y of members of the 'Royal . Family, and a book-rack containing books of ref- erence. ."- ■ // is daylight. £Mrss Tracer, a fed-hair edy sprightly young lady. If seated upon the settee oft the right y turning the leaves of a pic- ture-paper. A note-book y with a pencil stud in //, lies by her side. There is a knock at the door on the left. ._^., .,,^ _ v.- Miss Tracer. {Calling out. ^^ Eh? \The door qpens^nd Leonard Westrip appears. He carries a pile ofpress-jcuttings.. ^ ~ - - - Westrip.. ^ \A fresh-colored, boyish young m.an.\ I beg your pardon— "[5^i?m^^ that Mjss TRACER is a/c?/?^] oh, "good- morning. Miss Tracer. Good-morning. :^ y^to? v.'Iv v/'^ "^ 48 !rHE BIO DitUM Westrip. [^Entering and closing the door7\ Lady Filson isn't down yet? Miss Tracer. No. \Tossing the picture-paper on to the round table i\ She didn't get to bed till pretty late last night, I suspect. Westrip. \AdvancingJ\ I thought she'd like to look through these. \Showingyi.\?>'S>T'^KQ.^^ the press-cuttings?!^ From the press-cutting agency. Miss Tracer. \Picking up her note-book and rising^ You bet she would ! Westrip. [Handing her the press-cuttings.'] Let me have them back again, please. Sir Randle hardly had time to glance at them before he went out. Miss Tracer. [Inquisitively, elevating her eyebrows J] He's out very early ? Westrip. Yes ; he's gone to a memorial service. Miss Tracer. Another! [With a twinkle.] That's the third this month. Westrip. So it is. I'm awfully sorry for him. THE BIG DRUM 49 Miss Tracer. [Laughing slyly.'] He, he, he ! Ho, ho ! Westrip. [Surprised.'] What is there to laugh at. Miss Tracer ? Miss Tracer. You don't believe he has ever really known half the people he mourns, do you ? Westrip. Not known them ! Miss Tracer. [| Crossing to the writing-table and laying the press-cut- titigs upon it.] Guileless youth ! Wait till you've breathed the air of this establishment a little longer. Westrip. [Puzzled.^ But if he hasn't known them, why should he ? Miss Tracer. For the sake of figuring among a lot of prominent per- sonages, of course. Westrip. [Incredulously.] Oh, Miss Tracer ! Miss Tracer. Gospel. [ Taking up the press-cuttings and looking through them.] Many are the sympathetic souls who are grief-stricken in these days for the same reason. Here we are ! [Reading from a cutting.] Late Viscount Peters- field . . . memorial service . . . St. Margaret's, Westminster . . . among those present . . . h'm, h'm, h'm . . . Sir Randle Filson . . , 50 THE BIG DRUM wreaths were sent by . . . h'm, h'm, h'm, h'm . . . Sir Randle and Lady Filson ! [Replacing the press-cuttings upon the iable.'\ Ha, ha, ha, ha ! [Checking herse/f and turning to Westrip.] Our conversa- tion is strictly private, Mr. Westrip ? Westrip. [Somewhat disturbed^ Strictly. Miss Tracer. [Smiling at him winningly and ?noving to the settee be- fore the pireplace.~\ You're a nice boy ; I'm sure you wouldn't make mischief. [Sinking on to the settee with a yawn^ Oh ! Oh, I'm so weary ! Westrip. Weary .'* Before you've begun your morning's work! Miss Tracer. Before I've begun it ! I had a parade down-stairs in the servants' hall at a quarter-to- ten. Westrip. Parade ? Miss Tracer. We've two new women in the house who are perfect idiots. They can t remember to say, " yes, my lady " and " no, my lady " and " very good, my lady " when- ever Lady Filson speaks to them. One of them actually addressed her yesterday as " ma'am." I wonder the roof didn't fall in. Westrip. [Meditatively.l I've noticed that Sir Randle and Lady Filson have a great rehsh for being Sir'd and Lady'd, THE BIG DRUM 51 Miss Tracer. Ha, ha! Rather! \_Over her shoulder^ You take a friendly hint. If your predecessor had Sir Randled and Lady Filson'd them more frequently, you wouldn't be standing in his shoes at this moment. Westrip. \In the middle of the room, his hands in his pockets^ Why was Sir Randle knighted, do you know ? Miss Tracer. Built a large drill-hall for the Territorials near his country place at Bramsfold. Westrip. \^[nnocently.'\ Oh, is he interested in the Territorials? Miss Tracer. {Partly raising herself. '\ Interested in the Territorials ! How simple you are ! He cares as much for the Terri- torials as I care for snakes. [Kneeling upon the settee and resting her arms on the back of it, talkatively.'] The drill- hall was her notion ; she engineered the whole affair. Westrip. {Opening his eyes wider and wider. '\ Lady Filson ? Miss Tracer. {Nodding^ Her maid's my informant. A few years ago he was growing frightfully down-in-the-mouth. He fancied he'd got stuck, as it were — that everybody was getting an honor but himself. So the blessed shanty was run up in a devil of a hurry — excuse my Greek ; and as soon as it was dry, Mrs. Filson, as she then was, wrote to some big-wig or other — without her husband's knowl- edge, she explained — and called attention to the service 52 THE BIG DRUM he'd rendered to the cause of patriotism. Lambert saw the draft of the letter on her mistress's dressing-table. \Shaking with laughter. ~\ Ho, ho, ho! And what d'ye think ? Westrip. W-well? Miss Tracer. The corrections were in his handwriting ! Westrip. \Shocked7\ In Sir Randle's ! Miss Tracer. [yumpingupr\ Phiou ! I'm fearfully indiscreet. {^Go- ing to Westrip and touching his coat-sleeve. '] Between ourselves, Mr. Westrip ! Westrip. [Moving to the round table.~\ Quite — quite. Miss Tracer. [Following him.'\ Oh, they're not a bad sort, by any means, if you just humor them a bit. We all have our little weaknesses, haven't we ? I've mine, I confess. Westrip. They've both been excessively kind to me. [Turning to her.^ And as for Madame de Chaumi^ Miss Tracer. Oh, she's a dear — a regular dear ! Westrip. [Fervently. ~\ By Jove, isn't she I THE BIO DRUM 6^ Miss Tracer. But then, my theory is that she was changed at her birth. She s not a genuine Filson, I'll swear. [Sud- denly walking away from him.'\ H'sh ! [Lady Filson, a handsome , complacent woman of about fifty-seven, enters from the hall. Lady Filson. \Who carries a hand-bag crammed with letters ^ cards of invitation, etc.'] Good-morning. Miss Tracer and Westrip. Good-morning, Lady Filson. Lady Filson. \_Closing the door and advancing.] Oh, Mr. Westrip, I wish you'd try to find the last number of the Trifler. It must have been taken out of my bedroom by one of the servants. Westrip. [Searching among the periodicals on the round table.] Certainly, Lady Filson. Miss Tracer. Oh, Lady Filson, don't keep that horrid snapshot of you and Sir Randle ! It's too unflattering. Lady Filson. \At the writing-table.] As if that mattered ! So are the portraits of Lord and Lady Sturminster on the same page. [Sitting at the table and emptying her bag.] These absurd things give Sir Randle and me a hearty laugh ; that's why I preserve them. 64 THE BIO DRUM Westrip. It isn't here. [Going to the glazed door^ 1*11 hunt for it down-stairs. Lady Filson. Thank you. [Discovering the pile of press-cuttings.'] What's this? [Affecting annoyance.] Not more press- cuttings I [Beginning to devour the cuttings.] Tcht, tcht, tcht ! [As Westrip reaches the door, Bertram Filson enters. He is wearing riding-dress. Bertram. [A conceited, pompous young man of thirty.] Good- morning, Mr. Westrip. Westrip. Good-morning, Mr. Filson. [Westrip ^(£?(?j out, closing the door. Bertram. [Tb Miss Tracer.] Good-morning, Miss Tracer. Miss Tracer. [ Who has seated herself in the chair at ihefufiher side of the writing- table — meekly.] Good-morning. Lady Filson. [Half turning to Bertram, the press-cuttings in her hand.] Ah, my darling ! Was that you I saw speaking to Underwood as I came through the hall ? Bertram. Yes, mother dear. [Bending over her and kissing her.] How are you ? THE BIG DRUM ^ Lady Filson. \_Dotingly .'] Enjoyed your ride, my pet ? Bertram. Fairly, mother. Lady Filson. Only fairly ? Bertram. [^Shutting his eyes.'} Such an appalling crowd of ordi- nary people in the Row, 1 mean t'say. Lady Filson. How dreadful for you ! [Giving him the press-cuttings.'] Sit down, if you're not too warm, and look at this rubbish while I talk to Miss Tracer. Bertram. Press-cuttings? Lady Filson. Isn't it strange, the way the papers follow all our doings ! Bertram. Not in the least, mother. \Sitting upon the settee on the right and reading the press-cuttings^ I mean t'say, I consider it perfectly right and proper. Lady Filson. \Soriing her letters and cards — to Miss Tracer.] There's not much this morning, Miss Tracer. [Hand- ing some letters to Miss Tracer.] You can deal with these. Miss Tracer. Thank you, Lady Filson. 56 THE BIO DRUM Lady Filson. [^Reading a letier.~\ Lady Skewes and Mrs. Walter Quebec . . . arranging a concert in aid of . . . [sighing] tickets, of course ! . . . what tiring women ! . . . [turning the sheet] oh ! . . . niay they in- clude me in their list of patronesses? . . . Princess Cagliari-Tamponi, the Countess of Harrogate, the Viscountess Chepmell, Lady Kathleen Tring . . . [laying the letter aside] delighted. [Heaping together the cards and the rest of the letters.] I must answer those myself. [T^ Miss Tracer.] That's all. [Miss Tracer risesJ] Get on with the invitations for July the eighth as quickly as you can. Miss Tracer. [Going to the glazed door.] Yes, Lady Filson. Lady Filson. [Turning.] Miss Tracer Miss Tracer. [Halting.] Yes, Lady Filson? Lady Filson. I think Madame de Chaumie wants you to do some little commissions for her. Kindly see her before you go to your room. Bertram. [7o Miss Tracer, looking up.] No, no ; don't. Lady Filson. [72? Bertram.] Not? Bertram. My sister is engaged, mother. TME BIG DRUM 57 Lady Filson. Engaged ? Bertram. With Sir Timothy Barradell. Lady Filson. Oh ? [r^ Miss Tracer.] By-and-by, then. Miss Tracer. Yes, Lady Filson, [Miss Tracer departs, closing the door. Lady Filson. [ To Bertram, eagerfy."] Sir Timothy ! Bertram. He called half-an-hour ago, mother, Underwood tells me, with a note for Ottoline. Lady Filson. From himself? Bertram. Presumably ; and Dilworth came down and took him up to her boudoir. Lady Filson. [^Rising."] An unusual time of day for a call ! \^AP' proaching Bertram and speaking under her breath.'] Are matters coming to a head between them, my dear boy ? Bertram. Don't ask me, mother. [^Rising."] You are as capable of forming an opinion as I am, I mean t'say. 58 THE BIG DRUM Lady Filson. I've a feeling that something is in the air. He posi- tively shadowed her last night at the Gorhams' ! Bertram. \Knitting his brows.'\ I admit I should prefer, if my sister contemplates marrying again, that her choice fell on one of the others. Lady Filson. Mr. Trefusis — or George Delacour ? Bertram. Even Trevor Wilson. [ Wincing.'] The idea of a mer- chant brother-in-law doesn't appeal to me very strongly, I mean t'say. Lady Filson. Bertram. Lady Filson. Still, a baronet — And I suppose — Oh, enormously ! Bertram. [Magnanimously.] Anyhow, my dear mother, if Otto- line is fond of the man, I promise you that not a murmur from me shall mar their happiness. Lady Filson. [Tenderly, pinching his chin.] My darling ! Bertram. [ With a shiver.] I'm afraid I am getting a little chilled ; [giving her the press-cuttings] I'll go and change. THE BIG DRUM 69 Lady Filson. Oh, my pet, run away at once ! [She moves to the settee on the right. He pauses to gaze at her. Bertram. You look exceedingly handsome this morning, mother. Lady Filson. [Gratified^ Do I, Bertram? [Seating herself upon the settee, and again applying herself to the press-cuttings, as Bertram goes to the glazed door.~\ In spite of my late hours ! Bertram. [opening the doori] Here's my father [Sir Randle Filson enters, dressed in mourn- ing. He is a man of sixty-three, of cominand- ing presence, with a head resembling that of Alexandre Dumas Fils in the portrait by Meis- sonier, and a bland, florid manner, fie seems to derive much satisfaction from listening to the rich modulations of his voice. Sir Randle. Bertram, my boy ! [Kissing him upon the cheek."] Been riding, eh? Bertram. Yes. I'm just going to change, father. Sir Randle. 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. 60 THE BIG DRUM Lady Filson. \_Beamingupon Sir Randle.] You haven't been long, Randle. Sir Randle. \A cloud overshadowing hisface.~] I didn't remain for the Dead March, Winnie. \l'aking off his black gioves.'] 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. No reporters ! Lady Filson. Sir Randle. Not a single pressman in the porch. \_B lowing into a glove. '] Pfhh ! Poor old Macfarlane ! [Pulling at his second glove.'] The pubhc will never learn the names of those who assembled, at serious inconvenience to them- selves, 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 obhgation to send flowers. Lady Filson- \With a change of tone ?^ Er — Randle THE BIG DRUM 61 Sir Randle \_Putting his gloves into his tail-pocket^ Yes, dear. Lady Filson. \_Significantly.'\ Sir Timothy is up-stairs. Sir Randle. Sir Timothy Barradell ? Lady Filson. \Nodding7\ With Ottohne, 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 armchair on the left of the settee, and pursing his lips.l ^^ may mean nothing. Lady Filson. Oh, nothing. Sir Randle. [Examining his nailsJ] A nice, amiable fellow. Lady Filson. Full of fine quahties, if I'm any jud^e of character. 62 THE BIG DRUM 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 soundhdid., Randle. Sir Randle. [Leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes,] " Lady Barradell." Lady Filson. [In the same way.] " Lady Barradell." Sir Randle. [In a murmur, but with great gusto.] " A marriage is arranged and will shortly take place between Sir Timothy Barradell, Bart., of i6, The Albany, and Bryanstown Park, County Wicklovv, and Ottoline, widow of the late Comte de Chaumie, only daughter of Sir Randle and Lady Filson, of 71, Ennismore Gardens, and Pickhurst, Bramsfold, Sussex." Lady Filson. [After a short />ause, in a low voice.] Darling Ottoline ! What a wedding she shall have ! [Again there is a pause, and then Sir Randle leaves his chair and seats himself beside Lady Filson, THE BIG DRUM 63 Sir Randle. \_Putting his arm round her, fondly. '\ Mother ! [ They look at one another, and he draws her to him and kisses her. As he does so, the glazed door opens and Westrip returns, carrying an illus- trated-weekly. Lady Filson rises hastily and goes to the writing-table. Westrip. \Handing her the paper.'\ It was in the servants' hall, Lady Filson. Lady Filson. \_Laying the paper and the press-cuttings upon the writ- ing-table, and sitting at the table and busying herself with her letters.'] Thank you so much. Westrip. [ To Sir Randle.] Are you ready for me now, Sir Randle ? Sir Randle. [Abstractedly.'] Er — is there anything of grave im- portance to-day, Mr. Westrip ? I forget. Westrip. [Coming to him.] Boxfield and Henderson, the pho- tographers, are anxious to photograph you and Lady Filson for their series of " Notable People," Sir Randle. Sir Randle. [Rolling his head from side to side.] Oh ! Oh, dear ; oh, dear ! Lady Filson. [Wearily.] Oh, dear! 64 THE BIG DRUM Sir Randle. How we are pestered, Lady Filson and I ! Lady Filson. Terrible ! Sir Randle. No peace ! No peace ! Lady Filson. Or privacy. Westrip. [^Producing a note-book from his pocket.'] They will at- tend here any morning convenient to you and Lady Filson, Sir Randle. It won't take ten minutes. Sir Randle. [To Lady Filson, resignedly.'] Winnie ? Lady Filson. [^Entering the appointment on a tablet.] Tuesday at eleven. Sir Randle. \To Westrip.] Remind me. Westrip. [ Writing in his note-book.] Yes, Sir Randle. Sir Randle. And advise Madame de Chaumie and Mr. Bertram, with my love, of the appointment. Her ladyship and I will be photographed with our children grouped round us. Westrip. [7d7 Sir Randle.] Then there's a telegram from th^ Daily Monitor, Sir Randle r TBE BIG DBl^M 65 Sir Randle. [Puffing himself out.'] Ah, yes! The editor solicits my views upon — what is the subject of the discussion which is being carried on in his admirable journal, Mr. Westrip? Westrip. *' Should Women Marry under Thirty ? " Sir Randle. H'm! {Musingly.^ Should Women Marry under Thirty ? [/i? Westrip.] Reply paid ? Westrip. Forty -eight words. Sir Randle. [Rising and strolling across to Lady Filson, as if seeking for inspiratio?i.'\ Should Women Marry under Thirty? [Humming.^ H'm, h'm, h'm ! [To Lady Filson.] Winnie ? Lady Filson. [Looking up at him.'] I was considerably under thirty when we married, Randle. Sir Randle. [Triumphantly.] Ha! {Chuckling.] Ho, ho, ho! Capital ! Ho, ho, ho ! [Patting Lady Filson' s shoul- der.] Clever ! Clever ! [ To Westrip, grandly.] There we have my response to the inquiry, Mr. Westrip. [Clos- ing his eyes again.] Sir Randle Filson's views are best expressed by the statement that Lady Filson was con- siderably under thirty when she did him the honor of — er — becoming his wife. 66 THE BIO DRUM Westrip. Excellent, sir. Sir Randle. [^Opening his eyes.'] Pray amplify that in graceful lan- guage, Mr. Westrip — restricting yourself to forty-eight words \^//e breaks off, interrupted by the appeat'ance of Ottoline at the glazed door.] Ah, my darling ! Ottoline. Good-morning, Dad. \To Westrip.] Good-morning, Westrip. \_Shyly^ Good-morning. Ottoline. \To Sir Randle — advancing a few steps, but leaving the door open.] Are you and mother busy ? Sir Randle. Not at all. Lady Filson. \Who has turned in her chair at Ottoline' s entrance.] Not at all, Otto. Sir Randle. [7b Westrip.] I will join you in the library, Mr. Westrip. [Westrip withdraws at the door on the left, and Sir Randle goes to Ottoline and embraces her.] My dear child ! Ottoline. [/« rather a strained voice,] Sir Timothy Bairadell is here. Dad. Sir Randle. I heard he had called. TEE BIG DRUM fgt Lady Filson. So sweet of him to treat us informally ! Ottoline. \_To Lady Filson.] He would like to see you and Dad for a minute or two, mother Lady Filson. Charmed ! Sir Randle. Delighted ! Ottoline. Just to — just to bid you good-bye. Lady Filson. Good-bye ? Sir Randle. Good-bye ? Ottoline. Yes ; he's going away — abroad — for some months. [^IVith a motion of her head towards the hall.'] He's in the hall. May I ? Lady Filson. [^Rising. '\ Er — do. Sir Randle. Do. Ottoline. [Returning to the door and calling.'] Sir Timothy ! [There is a brief pause, during which SiR Randle and Lady Filson interrogate each other si- 68 THE BIG DRUM lently, and then Sir Timothy Barradell enters. He is a well-knit, pleasant-looking Irishmati of about forty, speaking with a slight brogue. Lady Filson. [^Advancing to greet him.'] My dear Sir Timothy ! Sir Timothy. [^As they shake hattds.'] And how's my lady this morn- ing? Are you well? Ottoline. [At the door.] I'll leave you Sir Timothy. [Turning to her hastily.] Ah ! [Taking her hand.] I'm not to see you again? Ottoline. [Shaking her head.] No. [Smiling.'] We've said good- bye up-stairs. [ Withdrawing her hand.] Que Dieu vous protege! Good luck to you ! Sir Timothy. [Ruefully.] Luck! [In an undertone:] I've never had anything else till now ; and now it's out entirely. Ottoline. [Gently.] Shsssh ! [She goes into the hall and he stands watching her till she disappears. Then he closes the doof and faces Lady Filson and Sir Randel. Sir Timothy. [Mournfully but good- humoredly.] Ha ! That' s over. TEE BIG DRUM 69 Lady Filson. Over? Sir Randle. Over ? Sir Timothy. Over. {^Passing Lady Filson and shaking hands with Sir Randle,] It might be that it 'ud be more decent and appropriate for me to write you a letter, Sir Randle ; but I'm not much of a hand at letter-writing, and I've your daughter's permission to tell you by word of mouth that — that she — [to Lady Filson] but perhaps you can guess, both of you ? Guess ? Guess ? Lady Filson. Sir Randle. Sir Timothy. \Rumpling his hair.'\ The fact is, it isn't exactly easy or agreeable to describe what's occurred in plain terms. Sir Randle. [Encouragingly .~\ Can't you — can't you give us a hint ? Lady Filson. The merest hint Sir Timothy. Hint, is it! Ah, I can manage that. [With a bold effort.'] You're not to have me for your son-in-law. Is that hint enough.'' 70 THE BIO DRUM Lady Filson. \Under her breath.'] Oh ! Sir Randle. God bless me! Frankly, I had no conception Lady Filson. Nor I — the faintest. Sir Timothy. And as I've received a great deal of kindness and hospi- tality in this house, I thought that, in common gratitude, I ought to explain the cause of my abrupt disappearance from your circle. Sir Randle. \^In a tone of deep commiseration^ I — I understand. You — you intend to ? Sir Timothy. To take a trip round the world, to endeavor to recover some of the wind that's been knocked out of me. Sir Randle. \Closing his eyes.] Distressing ! Distressing ! Lady Filson. Most. {Com^ing to Sir Timothy, feelingly^ Oh — oh, Sir Timothy ! Sir Timothy. [ With sudden bitterness^ Ah, Sir Timothy, Sir Timothy, Sir Timothy ! And what's the use of my baronetcy now, will you inform me — the baronetcy I bought and paid for, in hard cash, to better my footing in society ? The mockery of it ! Now that I've lost Iier, the one woman I shall THE BIG DRUM 71 ever love, I don't care a rap for my footing in society ; \walking away] and anybody may have my baronetcy for tuppence ! Sir Randle. [^Reprovingly.'] My good friend ! Sir Timothy. [Turning to Sir Randle and Lady Filson.] And why not! The only advantage of my baronetcy, it strikes me, is that I'm charged double prices at every hotel I lay my head in, and am expected to shower gold on the waiters. [Sitting on the settee on the right and leaning his head on his hand,] Oh, the mockery of it ; the mockery of it ! Sir Randle. [Going to him,] If my profound sympathy — and Lady Filson's — [to Lady Filson] I may speak for you, Winnie ? Lady Filson. Certainly. Sir Randle. [To Sir Timothy.] If our profound sympathy is the smallest consolation to you Sir Timothy. [Emphatically, raising his head.] It is not. [With a despairing gestured] I'm broken-hearted, Sir Randle. That's what I am ; I'm broken-hearted. Lady Filson. [Sitting in the low-backed armchair on the left.] Oh, dear ! 72 THE BIG DRUM Sir Timothy. [Sighing.'] If I'd had the pluck to declare myself sooner, it might have been different. [Staring before him.'] From the moment I first set eyes on her, at the dinner-party you gave to welcome her on her arrival in London — from that moment I was captured completely, body and soul. The sight of her as she stood in the drawing-room beside her mother, with her pretty, white face and her elegant figure, and a gown clinging to her that looked as though she'd been born in it — 'twill never fade from me if 1 live to be as old as a dozen Methuselahs ! Sir Randle. \_P*yingly.'] Er — has Ottoline — I have no desire to probe an open wound — has she assigned any — rea- son ? Sir Timothy. {^Rousing himself.'] For rejecting me ? Sir Randle. \With a wave of the hand.] For Lady Filson. For not seeing her way clear Sir Randle. To — er — in short — accept you ? Sir Timothy. She has. Lady Fxlson. Has she ! THE BIG DRUM 73 Sir Timothy. The best — and, for me, the worst — of reasons. There's another man in the case. Another ■ Another Sir Randle. Lady Filson. Sir Randle. \To Lady Filson.] Extraordinary ! Lady Filson. Bewildering. Sir Randle. We have been Wind, Winnie. Lady Filson. Absolutely. Sir Timothy. And, whoever he may be, I trust he'll worship her as devoutly as I do, and treat her with half the gentleness rd have treated her with, had she selected tne for her Number Two. Sir Randle. [Piously.'] Amen! [7^? Lady Filson.] Winifred ? Lady Filson. [Rather fretfully ] Amen. Sir Timothy. [Rising.'] And with that sentiment on my lips, and in every fibre of my body, I'll relieve you of my 74 TEE BIO DRUM depressing company. [_Gotn£- to Lady Filson, who rises at his approach^ and taking her hand.'\ My dear lady Lady Filson. \Genuinelyi\ My dear Sir Timothy ! Sir Randle. \_Moving to the glazed door.'] Painful ! Painful ! [As Sir Timothy turns from Lady Filson, Bertram reappears, in morning- dress, enter- ing from the hall. Bertram. [Drawing back on seeing Sir Timothy.] Oh ! \lo Sir Randle.] Am I intruding ? Sir Randle. Come in, my boy. You're just in time to give a part- ing grasp of the hand to our friend here. Bertram, [Advancing to Sir Timothy, surprised.] Parting ? Lady Filson. [To Bertram.] Sir Timothy is going abroad, Ber- tram. Bertram. Really.-* [27? Sir Timothy.] Er — on business? Sir Timothy. Well, not precisely on pleasure. [Shaking hands with Bertram.] Good-bye to you. Bertram. [Puzzled.] Good-bye. [Sir Timothy makes a final bow to Lady Filson and departs, followedby Sir Randle, THE BIG DRUM 75 who leaves the door open. Bertram tu7'ns to Lady Fil- SON inquiringly7[ What ? Lady Filson. [Pointing to the open door."] H'sh ! [Bertram shuts the door andhATtY Filson seats herself upon the settee on the right. Bertram. [Coming to her.~\ What has happened, mother? Lady Filson. What I conjectured. I was certain of it. Bertram. He has proposed to my sister? Lady Filson. Yes. Bertram. [Struck by his mother s manner. ~\ She has refused him ? Lady Filson. [Nodding. '\ She's dprise with another man. Bertram. Who is it ? Lady Filson. She didn't Bertram. Is it Trefusis ? Lady Filson. /beheve it's Delacour. 76 THE BIG DRUM Bertram. \_Waiking about. ~\ Possibly! Possibly! Lady Filson. \^Anxiously.~\ I do liope she realizes what she's doing, Bertram. Sir Timothy could buy them both up, with something to spare. Bertram. I agree, my dear mother ; but it would have been hor- ribly offensive to us, I mean t'say, to see the name of Ottoline's husband branded upon sides of bacon in the windows of the provision-shops. Lady Filson. Oh, disgusting ! \_Brightening.'\ How sensibly you look at things, darling 1 Bertram. \Taking up a position before the fireplace^ Whereas George Delacour and Edward Trefusis are undeniably gentlemen — gentlemen by birth and breeding, 1 mean t'say. Lady Filson. Trefusis is connected, through his brother, with the Northcrofts ! Bertram. Quite so. If Ottoline married Edward, she would be Lady Juliet's sister-in-law. Lady Filson. Upon my word, Bertie, I don't know which of the two I'd rather it turned out to be ! [Sir Randle returns, with a solemn countenance. He closes the door and comes forward. THE BIO DRUM *11 Sir Randle. [7i7LADY FiLSON.] A melancholy morning, Winnie. Lady Filson. {Sighing.'l Ahhh! Sir Randle. [Producing a black-edged pocket-handkerchief and un- folding iti\ Poor Macfarlane — and then this! [Blowing his Jiose.'] Upsetting ! Upsetting ! [Glancing at Ber- tram.] Does Bertram ? Lady Filson. I've told him. Bertram. My dear father, I cannot — I cannot profess to regret my sister's decision. I mean to say ! Sir Randle. [Suddenly. ~\ Nor L [In an outburst, pacing the room.'] Nor I. I must be candid. It's my nature to be candid. A damned tradesman ! Bertram. Exactly. It shows my sister's delicacy and refinement, I mean t'say. Sir Randle. [To Lady Filson, halting.'] Who, in your opinion, Winnie — — ? Lady Filson. rm inclined to think it's Mr. Delacour. Sir Randle. [Resuming his walk.] So be it. [Raising his arms.] If I am to lose my child a second time — so be it. 78 TBE BIG DRUM Bertram. /venture to suggest it may be Edward Trefusis. Sir Randle. [Ti? Bertram, halting again.'] My dear boy, in a mat- ter of this kind, I fancy we can rely on your motlier's wonderful powers of penetration. Bertram. [^Bowing.l^ Pardon, father. Lady Filson. [Closing her eyes.] " Mrs. George Delacour." Sir Randle. [Partly closing his eyes and again resuming his walk.] •* A marriage is arranged and will shortly take place be- tween George Holmby Delacour, of — of-— of — — " Bertram. [Closing his eyes ^ " 90, St. James's Street " Sir Randle. [//ailing and opening his eyes.] One thing J heartily deplore, Winifred Lady Filson. [Opening her eyes.] What is that, Randle ? Sir Randle. Ottoline being a widow, there can be no bridesmaids ; which deprives us of the happiness of paying a pretty comphment to the daughters of several families of dis- tinction whom we have the privilege of numbering among our acquaintances. THE BIG DRUM 79 Lady Filson. There can be no bridesmaids, strictly speaking ; but a widow may be accompanied to the altar by a bevy of Maids of Honor. Sir Randle. Ah, yes 1 An equally good opportunity for an impos- ing — [closifig his eyes] and reverential display I [To Lady Fli.SON.] Lady Maundrell's girl Sybil, eh, Winnie? Lady Filson. Decidedly. And Lady Eva Sherringham, Bertram. Lady Lilian and Lady Constance Foxe — — Sir Randle. Lady Irene Pallant [Lady Filson rises and almost runs to the writing- table, where she sits and snatches at a sheet of paper. Sir Randle follows her ajtd stands beside her. Bertram. \Reclining upon the settee on the left.] Lady Blanche Finnis Lady Filson. [Seizing her pen.] Wait; don't be so quick! [Writ- ing.] " Hon. Sybil Maundrell " [The glazed door is opened softly and Ottoline enters. She pauses, looking at the group at the writing-table. Sir Randle. [To Lady Filson, as she writes.] Lady Eva Sherring- ham so ^HE BIO DRUM Bertram. Ladies Lilian and Constance Foxe Lady Filson. \_lVriting.'] " Lady Eva Sherringham — Ladies Lilian and Constance Foxe " Bertram. Lady Irene Pallant Sir Randle. I pray there may be no captious opposition from Ottoline. Lady Filson. Surely she doesn't want to be married like a middle- class widow from Putney ! \^M^rittng\. " Lady Blanche Finnis " Bertram. If pages are permissible — to carry my sister's train, I mean t'say Sir Randle. Pages — yes, yes Bertram. There are the two Galbraith boys — Httle Lord Wens- leydale and his brother Herbert Lady Filson. \_Writing.~\ Such picturesque children! Sir Randle. I doubt whether the bare civilities which have passed between ourselves and Lord and Lady Galbraith TEE BIG DRUM 81 Lady Filson. They are country neighbors. Bertram. No harm in approaching them, my dear father. I mean to say ! [Ottoline shuts the door with a click. Sir Randle and Lady Filson turn, startled, and Lady Filson slips the list into a drawer. Sir Randle. \Benignly.'\ Otto ? Ottoline. \Jn a steady voice.'] Sorry to disturb you all over your elaborate preparations, Dad. I see Sir Timothy has saved me the trouble of breaking the news. Sir Randle. Y-you ? Ottoline. \_Nodding.'] You were too absorbed. I couldn't help Hstening. Sir Randle. Ahem! Sir Timothy didn't volunteer t\\Q information, Ottoline Ottoline. Peu mimporte ! [Advancing, smiling on one side of her Mouth.'] What a grand wedding you are planning for me! Quel projets mirifiques ! Sir Randle. \_Embarrassed.] Your dear rriother was — er — merely jotting down — — 82 THE BIO DRUM Ottoline. [^Passing her hands over her face and walking to the settee on the right.'\ Ha, ha, ha, ha ! Lady Filson. \Rising and moving to the fireplace, cojnpiainingly.'] Really, Ottohne ! Ottoline. [Sitting upon the settee, '\ Ha, ha, ha ! Lady Filson. \To Bertram, who is slowly getting to his feet.'] Go away, Bertie darling. Ottoline. Mais pourquoif Bertie knows everything, obviously. Lady Filson. Why shouldn't he, Otto? Your brother is as interested as we are Ottoline. But of course! Nature llement / [With a shrug.'] C est line affaire de famille. \To Bertram, who is now at the door on the left, his hand on the door-handle^ Come back, Bertie. \Repeating her wry smile.'] 1 shall be glad to receive your congratulations with mother's and Dad's. [To Sir Randle and Lady Filson.] Sit down, Dad ; sit down, mother. [Sir Randle sits in the chair on the left of the settee on the right. Lady Filson in the low- backed armchair, and Bertram at the oblong table.] Are you very much surprised, dear people ? Sir Randle. Surprised ? Hardly. THE BIG DRUM 83 Lady Filson. Poor Sir Timothy ! No, we are hardly surprised, Ottoline. Ottoline. Ah, but I don't mean surprised at my — having made Sir Timothy unhappy ; I mean surprised at hearing there is — some one else Sir Randle. My dear child, that surprises us even less. Lady Filson. Your dear father and I, Ottoline, are not unaware of the many eligible men who are — how shall I put it? — pursuing you with their attentions. Sir Randle. Parents are notoriously short-sighted ; but they are not necessarily — er — what are the things? — tssh ! — the crea- tures that flutter Bertram. Bats, father. Sir Randle. \_To Bertram.] Thank you, my boy. Ottoline. [^Tn a rigid attitude. "^ It's cowardly of me, perhaps, but I almost wish I had told Sir Timothy — a little more Lady Filson, Cowardly ? 84 THE BIG DRUM Ottoline. So that he might have taken the edge off the announce- ment I'm going to make — and spared me Sir Randle. The edge Lady Filson. Spared you ? [Staring at Ottoline.] Ottohne, what on earth ! Ottoline. [Relaxingr^ Oh, I know I'm behaving as if I were a girl instead of a woman who has been married — a widow — free — independent — \to Sir Randle] thanks to your hberahty, Dad ! But, being at home, I seem to have lost, in a measure, my sense of personal hberty Sir Randle. [Blandly but uneasily. ~\ My child ! Ottoline. That's it! Child! Now that I've returned to you, I'm still a child — still an object for you to fix your hopes and expectations upon. The situation has slipped back, in your minds, pretty much to what it was in the old days in the Avenue Montaigne. You may protest that it isn't so, but it is. \Atiempti7ig a laugh.~\ That's why my knees are shaking at this moment, and my spine's all of a jelly ! [She rises and goes to the chair at the writing-table and grips the chair-rail. The others follow her apprehensively with their eyes.'] I — I'm afraid I'm about to disappoint you. Ladv Filson. H-how? THE BIG DMUM 85 Sir Randle. Disap-point us ? Ottoline. lAdrupi/y.'] What's the time, Dad? Sir Randle. \Looking at a clock standing on a commode against the wall on the righi.~\ Twenty minutes past eleven. Ottoline. He — he will be here at half-past. Don't be angry. I've asked him to come — to explain his position clearly to you and mother with regard to me. There's to be nothing underhand — rien de secret! Lady Filson. A-asked whom ? Ottoline. \Throwing her head backr^ Ho! You'll think I'm ushering in an endless string of lovers this morning ! I promise you this is the last. Sir Randle. Who is coming ? Ottoline. \Sitting at the writing-table and, her elbows on the table, supporting her chin on her fists. '[ Mr. Mackworth. Lady Filson. {After a pause. ] M ack worth ? Ottoline. Philip Mackworth. 86 THE BIO DRUM Lady Filson. \_Duiiy.'] Isn't he the journalist man you — you earned on with once, in Paris? Ottoline. What an expression, mother ! Well — yes. Sir Randle. [Simply. 1 Good God ! Ottoline. He doesn't write for the papers any longer. Lady Filson. W-what ? Ottoline. A novelist chiefly. Lady Filson. IFaintly.'] Oh ! Sir Randle. Successful ? Ottoline. It depends on what you call success. Sir Randle. /call success what everybody calls success. Bertram. \Rising, stricke}i.~\ There are novelists and novelists, I mean t'say. THE BIO DRUM 87 Ottoline. Don't imagine that I am apologizing for him, please, in the sHghtest degree ; but no, he hasn t been successful up to the present, in the usual acceptation of the term. Lady Filson. [Searching for her handkerchief^ Where — where have you ? Ottoline. I met him yesterday at Robbie Roope's, at lunch. [Lady Filson ^;2^j her handkerchief and applies it to her eyes.] Oh, there's no need to cry, mother dear. For mercy's sake ! Lady Filson. Oh, Otto ! [Tiising and crossing to the settee on the right, whimpering.] Oh, Randle ! \To Bertram, who comes to her.] Oh, my boy ! Sir Randle. [Gazing blinkingly at the ceiling as Lady Filson sinks upon the settee.] Incredible! Incredible! Bertram. [Sitting beside Lady Filson, dazed,] My dear mother ! Ottoline. [Starting up.] Oh, do try to be understanding and sympathetic ! Mr. Mackworth is a high-souled, noble fellow. If I'd been honest with myself, I should have married him ten years ago. To me this is a golden dream come true. Recollect my bitter experience of the other sort of marriage ! [ Walking away to the fireplace.] Why grudge me a spark of romance in my life ! gg fHE BIG DRUM Sir Randle. [^Raising his handsJ] Romance ! Lady Filson. [7^ Sir Randle and Bertram.] Just now she was resenting our considering her a child ! Ottoline. \Looking down upon thefiowers in the grate.'] Romance doesn't belong to youth, mother. Youth is greedy for reality — the toy that feels solid in its fingers, /was, and bruised myself with it. After such a lesson as I've had, one yearns for something less tangible — something that lifts one morally out of oneself — an ideal ! Sir Randle. Ha ! An extract from a novel of Mr. Mackworth's apparently 1 Lady Filson. [^Harshly.'] Ha, ha, ha, ha ! Ottoline. \_Turning sharply and comi7ig forward.] Sssh ! Don't you sneer, mother! Don't you sneer. Dad! \Her eyes flashing.] C est au-dessus de vous de sentir ce qu il y a d'eleve et de grand! [^Fiercely.] Tenez! Qu il vous piaise ou non ! \She is checked by the entrance of Underwood from the hall. Underwood. [Addressing the back of Lady Filson's head.] Mr, Philip Mackworth, m'lady. Lady Filson. [Straightening herself] Not for me. [Firmly.] For Madame de Chaumi^. THE BIG DRUM 89 Underwood. I beg pardon, m'lady. The gentleman inquired for your ladyship Ottoline. [To Underwood.] In the drawing-room — \with a queenly atr] no, in my own room. Underwood. ITo Ottoline.] Yes, mad'm. [Underwood withdraws, Ottoline. {Approaching Sir Randle and Lady Filson.] Dad — mother — — ? Lady Filson. Your father may do as he chooses, \Rising and cross- ing to the writing-table, where she sits and prepares to write. 1^ I have letters to answer. Ottoline. [72? Sir Randle.] Dad ? Sir Randle. \RisingJ\ Impossible — impossible. [Marching to the Jirepiace.'\ I cannot act apart from your dear mother. [His back to the fireplace, virtuously. '\ I never act apart from your dear mother. Ottoline. Comme vous voudrez I [Moving to the glazed door and there pausing^ You won t ? [Sir Randle blinks at the ceiling again. Lady Filson scribbles audibly with a scratchy pen. QiiQiA^^ goes out, closing the door. 90 THE BIG DRUM Bertram. \yuinping up as the door shuts — in an expostulaiory ioner^ Good heavens ! My dear father — my dear mother ! Sir Randle. \_Coniing to earthy Eh ? Bertram. \Agitatedly7^ My sister will pack her trunks and be off to an hotel if you're not careful. She won't stand this, I mean t'say. There'll be a marriage at the regis- trar's, or some ghastly proceeding — a scandal — all kinds of gossip ! Lady Filson. [Throwing down her pen and rising — holding her he art. '\ Oh ! Bertram. [ With energy^ I mean to say ! Sir Randle. {To Lady Filson, blankly. '\ Winnie ? Lady Filson. R-Randle ? Sir Randle. [^Biting his nails. "] He's right. [Bertram hastens to the glazed door.'] Dear Bertram is right. Bertram. \Opening the door.] You'll see him ? Lady Filson. Y-yes. THE BIO DRUM 9l Sir Randle. Yes. [Bertram disappears. Sir Randle paces the room at the back, waving his arms.'] Oh ! Oh ! Lady Filson. [Going to the fireplace.] I won't be civil to him, Randle ! The impertinence of his visit ! I won't be civil to him ! Sir Randle. A calamity ! An unmerited calamity ! Lady Filson. [Dropping on to the settee before the fireplace.] She's mad ! That's the only excuse I can make for her I Sir Randle. Stark mad ! A calamity. Lady Filson. You remember the man ? Sir Randle. [ Taking a book from the rack on the oblong table and hurriedly turning its pages.] A supercilious, patronizing person — son of a wretched country parson — used to loll against the wall of your salon — with his nose in the air. Lady Filson. [Tearfully^ A stroke of bad fortune at last, Randle ! Fancy ! Everything has always gone so well with us ! Sir Randle. [Suddenly y groaning.] Oh ! 92 THE BIG DRUM Lady Filson. \_Over her shoulder.'] What is it? I can't bear much more Sir Randle. He isn't even in Whos Who, Winnie ! [Bertram returns, out of breath. Bertram. I caught her on the stairs. [Closing the door.] She'll bring him down. Lady Filson. [Weakly.] I won't be civil to him. I refuse to be civil to him. Sir Randle. [Replacing the book in the rack and sitting in the chair at the oblong table— groaning again.] Oh ! [There is a short silence, Bertram slowly ad- vances. Bertram. [Heavily, drawing his hand across his brow.] Of course, my dear father — my dear mother — we must do our utmost to quash it — strain every nerve, I mean t'say, to stop my sister from committing this stupendous act of folly. Lady Filson. [Rocking herself to and fro.] Oh! Oh! Sir Randle. A beggarly author ! Bertram. [The picture of dejection.] But if the worst comes to the worst — if she's obdurate, I mean t'say — an alUance THE BIG DRUM 93 between Society and Literature — I suppose there's no actual disgrace in it. Sir Randle. A duffer — a duffer whose trash doesn't sell ! Lady Filson. Taking advantage of a silly, emotional woman, to feather his nest ! Sir Randle. [Rising and pacing up and down between the glazed door and the settee on the right.'] I shall have difficulty — [shaking his uplifted fist] I shall have difficulty in re- straining myself from denouncing Mr. Mackworth in her presence ! Bertram. [Dismally.] As to the wedding, there's no reason that I can see — because a lady marries a literary man, I mean t'say — why the function should be a shabby one. Lady Filson. [Rising and moving about at the back distractedly^ That it sha'n't be! If we can't prevent my poor girl from throwing herself away, I'm determined her wedding shall be smart and impressive ! Sir Randle. [Bitterly, with wild gestures.] ' ' The interesting engage- ment is announced of Mr. — Mr. " Bertram. [Wandering to the fireplace ^ his chin on his breast^ Philip, father. 94 THE BIG DRUM Sir Randle. " — Mr. Philip Mackworth, the well-known novelist, to Ottoline, widow of the late Comte de Chaumie — [_peepmg into the hall through the side of one of the cur- tains of the glazed door — his voice dying to a muiter\ only daughter of Sir Randle and Lady Filson ' ' Lady Filson. " Mrs.— Philip— Mackworth " ! Ha, ha, ha! Mrs. Philip Nobody ! Bertram. \jfoining her.'] Perhaps it would be wiser, mother, for me to retire while the interview takes place. Lady Filson. \Falling upon his neck.] Oh, my dear boy ! Sir Randle. [Getting away fro7n the door.] They're coming ! Bertram. IQuichly.] I'm near you if you want me, I mean t'say [//e goes out at the door on the left. Lady Filson hastily resumes her seat at the writi fig- table, and Sir Randle, pulling himself together, crosses to the fireplace. The glazed door opens and Ottoline appears with Philip. Ottoline. [Quietly.] Mr. Mackworth, mother — Dad Philip. {^Advancing to Lady Filson cordially.] How do you do, Lady Filson? THE BIG DRUM 95 Lady Filson. [^Giving him a reluctant hand and eyeing him askance with mingled aversion and indignation. '\ H-how do you do? Philip. This is very good of you. [Bowing to Sir Randle.] How are you, Sir Randle ? Sir Randle. [His head in the air, severely^ How do you do, Mr. Mackworth ? Philip. [Breaking the ice."] We — we meet after many years Sir Randle. Many. Lady Filson. [Still examining Philip.] M-many. Philip. And— if you've ever bestowed a thought on me since the old Paris days — in a way you can scarcely have ex- pected. Lady Filson. [ Turning to the writing-table to conceal her repugnance,'] Scarcely. Sir Randle. Scarcely. Philip. [To Sir Randle] Oh, I am not vain enough, Sir Randle, to flatter myself that what you have heard from 96 THE BIG DRUM Ottoline gives you and Lady Filson unmixed pleasure. On the contrary Lady Filson. \_GuIptng.'] Pleasure ! \Unable to repress herself, '\ Un- mixed ! Ho, ho, ho, ho ! Sir Randle. {Restraining her.'] Winifred ! Ottoline. {Coming to Lady Filson and touching her gently — in a low voice. ] M other ! Philip. {Smiling at Ottoline apologetically.'] It's my fault ; I provoked that. {Walking away to the right'] I ex- pressed myself rather clumsily, I'm afraid. Sir Randle. {Expanding his chest and advancing to Philip.] I gather from my daughter, Mr. Mackworth, that you are here for the purpose of " explaining your position " in re- lation to her. I believe I quote her words accurately Ottoline. {Moving to the fireplace^ Yes, Dad. Philip. That is so, Sir Randle — if you and Lady Filson will have the patience [Sir Randle motions Philip to the settee on the right. Philip sits. Then Ottoline sits on the settee before the fireplace, and SiR Randle in the armchair by Philip. Lady Filson turns in her chair to listen. THE BIQ DRUM 97 Sir Randle. \To Philip, majestically. '\ Before you embark upon your explanation, permit me to define my position — mine and Lady Filson's. [Philip nodsT^ I am going to make a confession to you ; and I should like to feel that I am making it as one gentleman to another. [Philip nods again!\ Mr. Mackworth, Lady Filson and I are ambi- tious people. Not for ourselves. For ourselves, all we desire is rest and retirement — [closing his eyes~\ if it were possible, obscurity. But where our children are con- cerned, it is different ; and, to be frank — I must be frank — we had hoped that, in the event of Ottoline remarry- ing, she would contract such a marriage as is commonly described as briUiant. Philip. [_Dryly.'\ Such a marriage as her marriage to Monsieur de Chaumie, for example. Sir Randle. [Closing his eyes.'\ De mortuis, Mr. Mackworth ! I must decline Philip. I merely wished, as a basis of argument, to get at your exact interpretation of brilliancy. Sir Randle. [Dismissing the point with a wave of the hand."] It is easy for you, therefore, as you have already intimated, to judge what are our sensations at receiving my daugh- ter's communication. Philip. [^Nodding.'] They are distinctly disagreeable. d8 THE BIO DRUM Sir Randle. [Conscientiously.'] They are — I won't exaggerate — I mustn't exaggerate — they are not far removed from dis- may. Lady Filson. Utter dismay. Sir Randle. [Shifting- his chair — to Philip,] I learn — I learn from Ottoline that you have forsaken the field of journaUsm, Mr. Mackworth, and now devote yourself exclusively to creative work? [Another nod from Philip.] But you have not — to use my daughter's phrase — up to the present — er Philip. [Nursing his leg.'] Please go on. Sir Randle. You have not been eminently successful ? Philip. Not yet. Not with the wide public. No ; not yet. Sir Randle. Forgive me — any private resources ? Philip. None worth mentioning. Two-hundred-a-year, left me by an old aunt. Lady Filson. [ Under her breath.] Ho ! Sir Randle. [To her.] My dear ! [7c> Philip,] On the other hand, Mr. Mackworth, as you are probably aware, my THE BIG DRUM 99 daughter is — no, I won't say a rich woman — I will say comfortably provided for ; not by the late Comte de Chaumie, but by myself. [Ciosing his eyesS^ I have never been a niggardly parent, Mr. Mackworth. Ottoline. \Softly, without turning^ Indeed, no, Dad ! Philip. \^To Sir Randle, bluntly.'] Yes, I do know of the set- tlement you made upon Ottoline on her marriage, and of your having supplemented it when she became a widow. Very handsome of you. Lady Filson. \As before.] Ha ! Sir Randle. \_Leaning back in his chair.] There then, my dear Mr. Mackworth, is the state of the case. Ottohne is beyond our control ■ — — Lady Filson. Unhappily. Sir Randle. If she will deal this crushing blow to her mother and myself, we must bow our heads to it. But, for the sake of your self-esteem, I beg you to reflect ! {^Partly to Philip, partly at Ottoline.] What construction would be put upon a union between you and Madame de Chaumie — between a lady of means and — I wz/^/be cruel — I must be brutal — a man who is — commercially at least — a failure ? Lady Filson. There could only be one construction put upon it ! loo THE BIO DRUM Ottoline. [i?wmjf.] Mother ! Philip. [72? Sir Randle, caimlyJ] Oh, but— ah, Ottoline hasn't told you ! Ottoline. [Ti? Philip.] No, I hadn't time, Philip Philip. My dear Sir Randle — [rising and going to Lady Fil- SOn] — my dear Lady Filson — let me dispel your anxiety for the preservation of my self-esteem. Ottohne and I have no idea of getting married yet awhile. Ottoline, No, mother. Lady Filson. When, pray ? Philip. We have agreed to wait until I have ceased to be — commercially — a failure. Ottoline. [To Sir Randle and Lady Filson.] Until he has ob- tained public recognition ; [coming forward^ until, in fact, even the members of one s own family, Dad, can't im- pute unworthy motives. Sir Randle. [To Philip, incredulously — rising. 1 Until you have ob- tained public recognition, Mr. Mackworth ? Philip. [Smiling.'] Well, it may sound extravagant THE BIG DRUM 101 Lady Filson. Grotesque ! Sir Randle. [ Walking about on the extreme nghtl\ Amazing ! Ottoline. Why grotesque ; why amazing ? [Sitting in the iow backed armchair.'] All that is amazing about it is that Philip should lack the superior courage which enables a man, in special circumstances, to sink his pride and ignore ill-natured comments. Philip. [7b Lady Filson.] At any rate, this is the arrange- ment that OttoHne and I have entered into ; and I sug- gest, with every respect, that you and Sir Randle should raise no obstacle to my seeing her under your roof occa- sionally. Lady Filson. As being preferable to hole-and-corner meetings in friends' houses ! Ottoline. l^Cootly.'] Or under lamp-posts in the streets — yes, mother. Lady Filson. \_Rising and crossing to the round table.] Ottoline ! Sir Randle. {Bearing down upon Philip.] May I ask, Mr. Mack- worth, how long you have been following your precarious profession? Pardon my ignorance. My reading is con- fined to our great journals; and there your name has escaped me. 102 THE BIG DRUM Philip. Oh, I've been at it for nearly ten years. Lady Filson. Ten years ! Philip. [Ti? Sir Randle.] I began soon after I left Paris. Sir Randle. And what ground, sir, have you for anticipating that you will ever achieve popularity as a writer? Lady Filson. [^Sitting in the chair by the round table ^ Preposterous ! Ottoline. \Stamping her foot. '\ Mother ! [ 7l> SiR Randle.] Philip has high expectations of his next novel, Dad. It is to be published in the autumn — September. Sir Randle. \^To Philip.] And should that prove no more success- ful with the "wide public" than those which have preceded it ? Philip. ' Then I — then I fling another at 'em. Sir Randle. Which would occupy you ? Philip. Twelve months. Lady Filson. And if that fails ! THE BIO DRUM 103 Philip. [Smiling again, but rather constrainedly.'] Ah, you travel too quickly for me, Lady Filson — you and Sir Randle ! You heap disaster on disaster Sir Randle. If that fails, another twelve-months' labor ! Lady Filson. While my daughter is wasting the best years of her life! Sir Randle. [Indignantly.'] Really, Mr. M ack worth ! [Throwing himself upon the settee on the right.] Really ! I appeal to you ! Is this fair? Lady Filson. Is it fair to Ottoline ? Ottoline. Absolument ! So that it satisfies me to spend the best years of my life in this manner, I don't see what anybody has to complain of. Mon Dieu! I am reheved to think that some of my best years are still mine to squander ! Sir Randle. [To Philip, who is standing by the writing-table in thought, a look of disquiet on his face— persistently^ Mr. Mackworth ! Ottoline. [Rising impatiently^ My dear Dad — my dear mother — I propose that we postpone this discussion until Mr. Mackworth' s new book has failed to attract the public, \crossi7ig to Sir Randle] and that in the meantime he 104 TEE BIQ DRUM sha'n't be scowled at when he presents himself in Ennis- more Gardens. [Seating herself beside Sir Randle and slipping her arm through his.^ Dad ! Lady Filson. \To Philip.] Mr. Mackworth 1 Philip. [Rousing himself and turning to Sir Randle and Lady Filson — abruptly^ Look here, Sir Randle ! Look here, Lady Filson ! I own that this arrangement between OttoUne and me is an odd one. It was arrived at yester- day impulsively ; and, in her interests, there is a good deal to be said against it. Lady Filson. There's nothing to be said for it. Oh ! Sir Randle. [72> Lady Filson.] Winifred [7^ Philip.] Well, Mr. Mackworth? Philip. Well, Sir Randle, I — I'm prepared to take a sporting chance. It may be that I am misled by the sanguine temperament of the artist, who is apt to believe that his latest production will shake the earth to its foundation. I've gammoned myself before into such a behef, but — \resolutely\ I'll stake everything on my next book! I give you my word that if it isn't a success — an indispu- table popular success — I will join you both, in all sincerity, in urging Ottoline to break with me. Come ! Does that mollify you ? [There is a short silence. Sir Randle ««^Lady Filson look at each other in surprise and Ottoline stares at Philip open-mouthed^ THE BIG DRUM 105 Ottoline. Philip 1 Philip. [To Sir Randle.] Sir Randle ? Sir Randle. [ To Lady Filson.] Winnie ? Lady Filson. [/« a softer tone.'] It certainly seems to me that Mr. Mack worth's undertaking — as far as it goes Ottoline. {^IVith a queer laugh.] Ha, ha, ha ! As far as it goes, mother! {Rising, thoughtfully.] Doesn't it go a Uttle too far ? {Contracting her brows.] It disposes of 7ne as if I were of no more account than a sawdust doll! \_To Philip.] Ah, traitor! {In a low voice.] Vos promesses a unefemme sont sans valeur! Philip. {Taking her hands reassuringly.] No, no ! Ottoline. {Withdrawing her hands.] Zut ! {Moving slowly towards the glazed door.] You have acquitted yourself bravely, inon cher Monsieur Philippe l {Shrugging her shoulders.] Say good-bye and let me turn you out in disgrace. Philip. {Deprecatingly^ Ha, ha, ha! {Going to Lady Fil- son.] Good-bye, Lady Filson. {She rises and shakes hands with him.] Have I bought my right of entree ? I may ring your bell at discreet intervals till the end of the season? 106 THE BIG DRUM Lady Filson. [5/^K.] Ottoline is her own mistress, Mr. Mack- worth ; \_more amiably] but apart from her, you will receive a card from me — music — Tuesday, July the eighth. [He bows and she crosses to the fireplace. Then he shakes hands with Sir Randle, who has risen and is standing in the middle of the room. Philip. [ To Sir Randle.] Good-bye. Sir Randle. [Detaining Philip, searchingly.'] Er — pardon me — this new novel of yours, on which you place so much reliance — pray don't think me curious Ottoline. [Suddenly.] Ha ! [Coming to the back of the settee on the right, her eyes gleaming scornfully at SiR Randle.] Tell my father, Philip— tell him Philip. [Shaking his head at her and frowning^ Otto Ottoline. Do ; as you told it to me yesterday. [Satirically.] It will help him to understand why your name has escaped him in the great journals ! Sir Randle. Any confidence you may repose in me, Mr. Mack- worth THE BIO DRUM 107 Ottoline. \_Prompiing Philip.] It's called — allonst racontez done / Philip. {After a further look of protest at Ottoline — to Sir Randle, hesitatingly .'\ It's called "The Big Drum," Sir Randle. Sir Randle. {Elevating his eyebrows?^ " The Big Drum " ? {With an innocent air.^ Military ? No ; social. Social ? Philip. Sir Randle. Philip. {Leaning against the armchair on the left of the settee on the right!] It's an attempt to portray the struggle for notoriety — for self-advertisement — we see going on around us to-day. Sir Randle. Ah, yes ; lamentable ! Philip. {Deliberately, but losing himself in his subject as he proceeds.] It shows a vast crowd of men and women, sir, forcing themselves upon public attention without a shred of modesty, fighting to obtain it as if they are fighting for bread and meat. It shows how dignity and reserve have been cast aside as virtues that are anti- quated and outworn, until half the world — the world that should be orderly, harmonious, beautiful — has become 108 THE BIG DRUM an arena for the exhibition of vulgar ostentation or al- most superhuman egoism — a cockpit resounding with raucous voices bellowing one against the other ! Sir Randle. [^Ciosing his eyes.'] A terrible picture ! Lady Filson. [ Closing her eyes.] Terrible . Philip. It shows the bishop and the judge playing to the gallery, the politician adopting the methods of the cheap-jack, the duchess vying with the puffing draper ; it shows how even true genius submits itself to condi- tions that are accepted and excused as "modern," and is found elbowing and pushing in the hurly-burly. It shows how the ordinary decencies of life are sacrificed to the paragraphist, the interviewer, and the ghoul with the camera ; how the home is stripped of its sanctity, blessed charity made a vehicle for display, the very graveyard transformed into a parade ground ; while the outsider looks on with a sinking of the vitals because the drumstick is beyond his reach and the bom-bom-bom is not for him / It shows ! \Checking himself and leaving the armchair with a short laugh.] Oh, well, that's the setting of my story. Sir Randle ! I won't in- flict the details upon you. Sir Randle. Er — h'm — {expansively] an excellent theme, Mr. Mack- worth ; a most promising theme ! {To Lady Filson.] Eh, Winifred ? Lady Filson. {Politely.] Excellent ; quite, quite excellent! THE BTO DRUM 109 Philip. [Bowing to Lady Filson and going to Ottoline.] Thank you. Ottoline. [To VaiiAV, glowingly. '\ Splendid! [Laying her hand upon his arm7\ You have purged your disgrace. {Softly?^ You may come and see me to-morrow. Philip. [To Ottoline.] Ha, ha — ~! Sir Randle. [In response to a final bow from Philip.] Good-bye. Lady Filson. Good-hyt. [Ottoline opens the glazed door and Philip follows her into the hall. Immediately the door is shut. Lady Filson hurries to Sir Randle. Sir Randle. [In high spirits.l Winnie ! Lady Filson. That will never be a popular success, Randle ! Sir Randle. Never. An offensive book ! Lady Filson. Ho, ho, ho, ho ! ilO THE BIG DRUM Sir Randle. A grossly offensive book ! Lady Filson. [^Anxiously. ~\ He — he'll keep his word ? Sir Randle. To join us in persuading her to drop him Lady Filson. If it fails ? Sir Randle. \^Wttk conviction.'] Yes. {^Walking about.'] Yes. We must be just. We owe it to ourselves to be just to Mr. Mackworth. He is not altogether devoid of gentleman- like scruples. Lady Filson. [Breathlessly.] And — and she ? Sir Randle. I trust — I trust that my child's monstrous infatuation will have cooled down by the autumn. Lady Filson. [Supporting herself by the chair at the writing-table , her hand to her heart — exhausted.] Oh ! Oh, dear ! Sir Randle. [Returning to her.] I conducted the affair with skill and tact, Winifred ? Lady Filson. [Rallying.] It was masterly — [kissing hijn] mas- terly tBE BIO DRUM 111 Sir Randle. [Proudiy.'\ Ha! [She sits at the writing-table again and takes up her pen as SiR Randle stalks to the door on the left. Lady Filson. Masterly ! Sir Randle. [Opening the door.'] Bertram — Bertram, my boy — Bertie ! [He disappears. Lady Filson scribbles vio- lently. END OF THE SECOND ACT THE THIRD ACT The scene represents two rooms y connected by a pair of wide doors y in a set of residential chambers on the upper floor of a house in Grafs Inn. The further room is the dining-room, the nearer room a study. In the wall at the back of the dining-room are two windows ; in the right-hand wall is a door leading to the kitchen ; and in the left-hand wall a door opens from a vestibule, where, opposite this door, there is another door which gives on to the landing of the common stair. In the study, a door in the right-hand wall admits to a bedroom ; in the wall facing the spectator is a door opening into the room from the vestibule ; and beyond the door on the right, in a piece of wall cutting off the corner of the room, is the fireplace. A bright fire is burning. The rooms are wainscotted to the ceilings and have a decrepit, old-world air, and the odds and ends of furni- ture — all characteristic of the dwelling of a poor literary man of refined taste — are in keeping with the surround- ings. In the dining-room there are half-a-dozen chairs of various patterns, a sideboard or two, a corner -cup- board, a ^* grandfather *' clock, and a large round table. In the study, set out into the room at the same angle as the fireplace, is a writing-table. A chair stands at the writing-table, its back to the fire, and in the front of the table is a well-worn settee. On the left of the settee 112 THE BIG DRUM 113 is a smaller table, on which are an assortment of pipes, a box of cigars and another of cigarettes, a tobacco-jar, an ash-tray, and a bowl of matches ; and on the left of the table is a capacious armchair. There is an arm- chair on either side of the fireplace ; and against the right-hand wall, on the nearer side of the bedroom door, is a cabinet. On the other side of the room, facing the bedroom door, there is a second settee, and behind the settee is an oblong table littered with books and magazines. At a little distance from this table stands an armchair, and against the wall at the back, on the left of the big doors, is a chair of a lighter sort. Also against the back wall, but on the left of the door opening from the vestibule, is a table with a telephone-instrument upon it, and running along the left-hand wall is a dwarf book- case, unglazed, packed with books which look as if they would be none the worse for being dusted and put in order. In the vestibule, against the wall on the rights there is a small table on which are Philip's hats, caps, and gloves ; and an overcoat and a man's cape are hanging on some pegs. It is late on a November afternoon. Curtains are drawn across the dining-room windows, and the room is lighted rather dimly by an electric lamp standing upon a side- board. A warm glow proceeds from the nearer right- hand corner as from a fire. The study is lighted by a couple of standard lamps and a library-lamp on the writing-table, and the vestibule by a lamp suspended from the ceiling. The big doors are open. 114 THE BIG DRUM [Philip, a pipe in his mouth and wearing an old velvet jacket, is lying upon the settee on the right, reading a book by the light of the lamp on the writing-table. In the dining-room^ John and a waiter — the latter in his shirt-sleeves — are at the round table, unfolding a white table-cloth, John. \A cheery little man in seedy clothes — to the waiter^ softly^ Careful! Don't crease it. Philip. \ Raising his eyes from his book.'] What's the time, John? John. Quarter-to-six, sir. Philip. Have my things come from the tailor's yet ? John. [_Laying the cloth with the aid of the waiter.'] Yes, sir ; while you were dozing, [^Ecstatically.] They're lovely, sir. \_A bell rings in the vestibule.] Expect that's the cook, sir. \_He bustles into the vestibule from the dining- room. There is a short pause and then he reappears, enter- ing the study at the door opening from the vestibule^ followed by ROOPE.] It's Mr. Roope, sir ! Philip. No ! [Throwing his book aside and jumping up r] Why, Robbie \ THE BIG DRUM 115 ROOPE. \^As they shake hands vigorously^] My dear fellow ! Philip. Return of the wanderer ! When did you get back ? RooPE. Last night. Philip. Take your coat off, you old ruffian. [^Putting his pipe down.] I am glad. RoOPE. \To John, who relieves him of his hat, overcoat, and nee kerchief 7] How 2lX^ you, John? John. Splendid, Mr. Roope. {Beaming.] Our new novel is sech a success, sir. Philip. Ha, ha, ha, ha ! Roope. \To John.] So Mr. Mackworth wrote and told me. [Giving his gloves to John.] Congratulate you, John. John. \JDespositing the hat, coat, etc., upon the settee on the left.] Thank you, sir. Roope. \Crossing to the fireplace, rubbing his hands, as John retires to the dining-room.] Oh, my dear Phil, this dread- ful climate aft^r th? sunshine of the La^o Mag^fiore ! 116 THE BIG DRUM Philip. [ Walking about and spouting, in high spirits. "] ' ' Italia ! O Italia ! thou who hast the fatal gift of beauty ! ' * ROOPE. Sir Loftus and Lady Glazebrook were moving on to Rome, or I really believe I could have endured another month at their villa, bores as they are, dear kind souls ! [^Looking towards the dining-room, where John a7id the waiter are now placing a handsome centre-piece offiowers upon the round table.'] Hallo ! A dinner-party, Phil ? Philip. Dinner-party ? A banquet ! ROOPE. To celebrate the success of the book ? Philip. That and something more. This festival, sir, of the preparations for which you are a privileged spectator — [shouting to John] shut those doors, John John. Yessir. Philip. [Sitting in the chair on the left of the smoking-table as John closes the big doors.] This festival, my dear Robbie — [glancing over his shoulder to assure hi7nself that the doors are closed] this festival also celebrates my formal engagement to Madame de Chaumie. RooPE, [Triumphantly.] Aha| THE BIG DRUM IVi Philip. [Taking a cigarette from the box at his side."] Ottoline and I are to be married soon after Christmas. The civilized world is to be startled by the announcement on Monday. ROOPE. [Advancing."] My dear chap, I've never heard any- thing that has given me greater pleasure. [Philip q^ers RooPE the cigarette-box.] No, I won't smoke. [Seating himself upon the settee on the right.] When was it settled ? Philip. [Lighting his cigarette^ The day before yesterday. I got Titterton to write me a letter — Titterton, my publisher — certifying to the enormous sales of the book, and sent it on to Sir Randle Filson. Nothing Uke documentary evidence, Robbie. [Leaning back in his chair with out- stretched legs a?td exhaling a wreath of tobacco-smoke.] Twenty-five thousand copies, my boy, up to date, and still going strong. ROOPE. Wonderful. Philip. Phew ! The critics treated me generously enough, but it hung fire damnably at first. At one particularly heUish moment I could have sworn it wouldn't do more than my usual fifteen or eighteen hundred, and I cursed myself for having been such a besotted fool as to pin my faith to it. [Sitting upright.] And then, suddenly, a rush — a tre- mendous rush ! Twenty-four thousand went off in less than six weeks. Almost uncanny, eh ? [louching the tobacco-jar.] Oh, lord, sometimes I think I've been put- ting opium into my pipe instead of this innocent baccy. lid THE BIG DRUM and that I shall wake up to the necessity of counting my pence again and apologizing to John for being in arrear with his wages ! ROOPE. And Titterton's letter brought the Filsons round? Philip. l_Nodiim£:'] Brought 'em round ; and I must say they've accomplished the change of attitude most graciously. ROOPE. [Oracular/y.'] Graciously or grudgingly, they couldn't help themselves, dear excellent friend. As you had pledged yourself in effect to resign the lady if your book was a failure, it follows that they were bound to clasp you to their bosoms if it succeeded. I don't want to detract from the amiabihty of the Filsons for an in- stant Philip. Anyhow, their opposition is at an end, and all is rosy. \_Rising and facing the room.~\ Master Bertram is a trifle glum and stand-offish perhaps, but Sir Randle ! Ha, ha, ha ! Sir Randle has taken Literature under his wing, Robbie, from Chaucer to Kipling, in the person of his prospective son-in-law. You'd imagine, to listen to him, that to estabHsh ties of relationship with a Hterary man has been his chief aim in life. RooPE. \jferking his head in the direction of the dining-room. '\ And this is to be a family gathering ? Philip. The first in the altered circumstances. I proposed a feast at a smart restaurant, but Sir Randle preferred the THE BIG DBVM 119 atmosphere which has conduced, as he puts it, to the creation of so many of my brilliant compositions. [Be- hind the stnoking-table, dropping the end of his cigarette into the ash-tray — gaily ^ Robbie, I've had a magnificent suit of joy-rags made for the occasion ! ROOPE. \Earnestly.'\ Good ! I rejoice to hear it, dear excel- lent friend, and I hope it portends a wholesale order to your tailor and your intention to show yourself in society again freely. \_With a laugh, Philip goes to the fireplace and stands looking into the fire^ Begin leaving your cards at once. No more sulking in your tent ! \Rising and crossing to the other side of the room.'] You have arrived, my dear chap; I read your name in two papers in my cabin yesterday. [Marching up and down.] Your foot is on the ladder ; you bid fair to become a celebrity, if you are not one already ; and your ap- proaching marriage sheds additional lustre on you. I envy you, Phil ; I do, positively. Philip. [Facing Roope.] Oh, of course, I shall be seen about with Ottoline during our engagement. After- wards Roope. [Halting.] Afterwards ? Philip. Everything will depend on my wife — [relishing the word] my wife. Ottohne has rather lost her taste for Society with a capital S, remember. Roope. [Testily.] That was her mood last June, when she was hypped and discontented. With a husband she can be proud of, surely ! 125 THE BIO DRUM Philip. {^Coming forward.'] As a matter of fact, Robbie, I'm inclined to agree with you ; I've been staring into my fire, or out of my windows here, a jolly sight too much. \_Expanding his chest.'\ It'll be refreshing to me to rub shoulders with people again for a bit — \smiling'\ even to find myself the object of a httle interest and curiosity. ROOPE. \Delighted.'\ Dear excellent friend ! Philip. Ha, ha ! You see, I'm not without my share of petty vanity. I'm consistent, though. Didn't I tell you in South Audley Street that I was as eager for fame as any man living, if only I could win it in my own way? ROOPE. You did. Philip. \Exultingly.'\ Well, I have won it in my own way, haven't I! {Hitting the palm of his hand with hisfst.\ I've done what I determined to do, Robbie ; what I knew I should do, sooner or later! I've got there — got there ! — by simple, honest means ! Isn't it glorious ? RooPE. {Cautiously.] I admit Philip. {Breaking in.] Oh, I don't pretend that there haven't been moments in my years of stress and struggle when I've been tempted to join the gaudy, cackUng fowl whose feathers I flatter myself I've plucked pretty thoroughly in my book ! But I've resisted the devil THE BIG DRUM 121 by prayers and fasting ; and, by George, sir, I wouldn't swap my modest victory for the vogue of the biggest boomster in England ! \_B0i5ier0usly.'] Ha, ha, ha ! Whoop ! \Seizing Roope and shaking him.'\ Dare to preach your gospel to me now, you arch-apostle of quackery and self-advertisement ! Roope. \Peevishly, releasing himself. "l Upon my word, Phil ! [ The bell rings again. Philip. The cook! \To Roope, seeing that he is putting on his muffler.'] Don't go. Roope. I must, \7aking up his over coat. ^ I merely ran along to shake hands with you, and I m sorry I took the trouble. [Philip helps him into his overcoat laughingly.] Thanks. Philip. \_Suddenly .] Robbie ! Roope. \Struggling with an obstinate sleeve^ Hey ? Philip. It's just struck me. Where 2xt you dining to-night ? Roope. At the Garrick, with Hughie Champion. [^Picking up his hat and gloves.] He's getting horribly deaf and tedi- ous ; but I had nothing better. Philip. Bother Colonel Champion ! I wish you could have dined with me. 122 TEE BIG DRUM ROOPE. [His hat on his head, drawing on his gloves.'\ Dear t^Q.€\\&Vi\. friend ! I should be out of place. Philip. Rubbish ! Your presence would be peculiarly ap- propriate, my dear Robbie. Wasn't it you who brought Ottoline and me together, God bless yer! [Observing that RoOPE is weakening. '\ There's heaps of room for an extra chair. Everybody 'ud be delighted. RooPE. [Meditatively^ I could telephone to Hughie excusing myself. He didn't ask me till this afternoon. [With an injured air.'\ I resent a short notice. Philip. [His eyes twinkling.~\ Quite right. Mine's short too ROOPE. That's different. Philip. Entirely. You'll come? ROOPE. If you're certain the Filsons and Madame de Chau- mi6 Philip. Certain. [Following Roope to the door admitting to the vestibule.'] Eight o'clock. Roope. [Opening the door.] Charming. THE BIO DRUM 123 Philip. Won't you let John fetch you a taxi ? ROOPE. [Shaking hands with Philip.] No, I'll walk into Hol- born. [In the doorway.'] Oh, by-the-by, I've a message for you, Phil. Philip. From whom ? RooPE. Barradell, of all people in tlie world. Philip. [Surprised.] Sir Timothy ? ROOPE. He's home. I crossed with him yesterday, and we travelled in the same carriage from Dover. Philip. What's the message? ROOPE. He saw your book in my bag, and began talking about you. He said he hadn't met you for years, but that I was to give you his warm regards. Philip. Indeed ? ROOPE. [Asiufeiy.] My impression is that he's heard rumors concerning you and Madame de Chaumi^ while he's been away, and that he's anxious to show he has no ill-will. I suppose your calling so often in Ennismore Gardens has been remarked. 124 THE BIG DRUM Philip. Extremely civil of him, if that's the case. \_Loftily.'\ Decent sort of fellow, I recollect. ROOPE. \_Going into the vestibule.'] Very ; very. Philip. Poor chap ! RooPE. {^Opening the outer door.'] Eight o'clock, dear excellent friend. Philip. [At his elbow,] Sharp. RooPE. [Disappearing.] Au revoir! Philip. Au revoir / [Calling after Roope.] Mind that corner ! 'Closing the outer door zvith a bang and shouting^ John ! 'Coming back into the study.] John! [Closing the vesti- bule door.] John ! [Going to the big doors and opening the one on the left a little way.] John ! [Ottoline, richly dressed in furs, steps through the opening and confronts him. Her cheeks are flushed and her manner has lost some of its repose. Ottoline. [Shutting the door behind her as she enters— playfully.] Qu est-ce que vous desirez John? Philip. [Catching her in his arms.] My dear girl ! THE BIG DRUM 125 Ottoline. Ha, ha! I'm not going to stop a minute. [^Rapidiy^l I've been to tea with Kitty Millington ; and as I was get- ting into my car, I suddenly thought ! \_He kisses her.'\ I waited in there to avoid Robbie Roope." Philip. Robbie came back yesterday. I hope I haven't done wrong ; I've asked him to dine here to-night. Ottoline. Wrong! Dear old Robbie! But I didn't want him just now. [Loosening her wrap and hunting for a pocket in it.'\ I've brought you a little gift, Phil — en souvenir de cette soiree Philip. [Reprovingly.^ Oh ! Ottoline. I got it at Cartier's this afternoon. I meant to slip it into your serviette to-night quietly, but it's burning a hole in my pocket. [She produces a small jewel-case and pre- sents it to him^ Will you wear that in your tie some- times ? Philip. [Opening the case and gazing at its contents. '\ Phiou ! [She leaves him, walking away to the fireplace.'\ What a gorgeous pearl! [He follows her and they stand side by side, he holding the case at arm' s-length admiringly, his other arm round her waist.'] You shouldn't, Otto. You're incorrigible. Ottoline. [Leaning her head against his shoulder — softly.] J>hil 126 THE BIG DRUM Philip. \Still gazing at the scarf-pin.'\ To-morrow I'll buy the most beautiful silk scarf ever weaved. Ottoline. Phil, I've a feeling that it's from to-night, when I sit at your table — how sweet your flowers are ; I couldn't help noticing them ! — I've a feehng that it's from to-night that we really belong to each other. Philip. [^Pressing her closer to him.'] Ah ! Ottoline. [ With a shiver, closing her eyes.] What has gone be- fore has been hateful — hateful ! Philip. \Looking down upon her fondly. \ Hateful ? Ottoline. Until — until your book commenced to sell, at any rate. Suspense — a horrid sensation of uneasiness, mistrust — the fear that, through your foohsh, hasty promise to mother and Dad, you might, after all, unite with them to cheat me out of my happiness ! That's what it has been to me, Philip. Philip. {Rallying her, but a little guiltily. 1 Ha, ha, ha ! You goose ! I knew exactly how events would shape. Otto ; hadn't a doubt on the subject. {Shutting the jewel-case with a snap and a flourish.'] I knew Ottoline, {Releasing herself.] Ah, yes, I dare say I've been dreadfully stupid. {Shaking herself, as if to rid herself of THE BIG DRUM 127 unpleasant memories, and again leaving kirn."] Well ! Sans adieu ! \Fasteni71g her wrap.'] Get your hat and take me down-stairs. Philip. Wait a moment! \_Chuckling.~\ Ho, ho ! I'm not to be outdone altogether. \Pocketing her gift, he goes to the cabinet on the right and unlocks it. She watches him from the middle of the room. Presently he comes to her, carrying a little ring-case."] Take off your glove — [^point- ing to her left hand] that one. \She removes her glove tremulously. He takes a ring from the case, tosses the case on to the writing-table, and slips the ring on her third finger.] By George, I'm in luck ; blessed if it doesn't fit! \She surveys the ring in silence for a while ; then she puts her arms round his neck and hides her face on his breast. Ottoline. \Almost inaudibly.] Oh, Phil ! Philip. {Tenderly.] And so this is the end of the journey, Otto! Ottoline. \In a whisper.] The end ? Philip. The dreary journey in opposite directions you and I set out upon nearly eleven years ago in Paris. Ottoline. [ Quivering. ] Ah ! Philip. My dear, what does it matter as long as our roads meet at last, and meet where there are clear pools to bathe our 128 THE BIG DRUM vagabond feet and sunshine to heal our sore bodies! \_She raises her head and nimmages for her handkerchief^ Otto ! Ottoline. Yes? Philip. In April — eh ? Ottoline. {^Drying her eyes."] April ? Philip. You haven't forgotten tiie compact we entered into at Robbie Roope's? Ottoline. [Brightening.'] Ah, no ! Philip. In April we walk under the chestnut-trees once more in the Champs-Ely sees I Ottoline. [^Smiling through her tears.] And the AUee de Long- champ ! Philip. As husband and wife — we shall be an old married couple by then ! Ottoline. \Pulling on her glove.] And drink milk at the d'Armenonville ! Philip. And the Pr^-Catelan | THE BIO DRUM 129 Ottoline. And we'll make pilgrimages, Phil ! Philip. Yes, we'll gaze up at the windows of my gloomy lodg- ings in the Rue Soufflot — what was the number ? — — Ottoline. [^Contracting her drows.'] Quarante-trois bis. Philip. [BanteringiyJ] Where you honored me with a visit, madame, with your maid Nannette — — Ottoline. [Warding off the recollection with a gesture.'\ Oh, don't ! Philip. Ha, ha, ha ! A shame of me ! Ottoline. [Turning from him.'\ Do get your hat and coat. Philip. [Going into the vestibule, '\ Where's your car ? Ottoline. [Mcnjing towards the vestibule. '\ In South Square. Philip. [Returning to her, a cape over his shoulders, a soft hat on his head. \ Eight o'clock! Ottoline. Eight o'clock. [He takes her hands and they stand looking into each other^s eyes. 130 THE BIG DRUM Philip. [After a pause.\ Fancy ! Ottoline. [Faintlyr^ Fancy ! \_He is drawing her to him slowly when, uttering a low cry, she embraces him wildly and passionately 7\ Oh ! [Clinging to him.'] Oh, Phil ! Oh — oh — oh ! Philip. [Responding to her embrace.'] Otto — Otto ! Ottoline. [Breaking from him.] Oh ! [She hurries to the outer door. He follows her quickly, closing the vestibule door after him. Then the outer door is heard to shut, and the curtain falls. After a short interval, the cur- tain rises again, showing all the doors closed and the study in darkness save for the light of the fire. The bell rings, and again there is an interval ; and then the vestibule door is opened by John — attired for rvaiting at table — and Bertram brushes past hi?n and enters. Ber- tram is in evening dress. Bertram. [As he enters, brusquely.] Yes, I know I'm a little too soon. I want to speak to Mr, Mackworth — before the others come, I mean t'say [John switches on the light of a lamp by the vesti- bule door. It is now seen that Bertram is greatly flustered and excited. John. [Taking Bertram's hat, overcoat, etc.] I'll tell Mr. Mackworth, sir. He's dressin'. THE BIG DUUM 131 [John, eyeing Bertram wonderingly, goes to the door of the bedroom. There, having switched on the light of another lamp, he knocks. Philip. \JFrom the bedroomJ\ Yes ? John. [Opening the door a few inches.'] Mr. Filson, sir. Philip. [Calling out.] Hallo, Bertram ! John. Mr. Filson wants to speak to you, sir. Philip. I'll be with him in ten seconds. Leave the door open. John. Yessir. [John withdraws, carrying Bertram's outdoor things into the vestibule and shutting the vesti- bule door. Philip. [Calling to Bertram again.] I'm in the throes of tying a bow, old man. Sit down. [Bertram, glaring at the bedroom door, remains standing.] O'ho, that's fine ! Ha, ha, ha ! I warn you, I'm an overpowering swell to-night. A new suit of clothes, Bertram, devised and executed in less than thirty-six hours ! And a fit, sir ; every item of it ! You'll be green with envy when you see this coat. I'm ready for you. Handkerchief ? [Shouting.] John ! Oh, here it is! [Switching off the light in the bedroom and appearing, immaculately dressed, in the 13S THE BIO DRUM doorway, ~\ Behold! [^Closing the door and advancing to Bertram.] How are you, Bertram ? [Bertram refuses Philip' s ha7id by putting his own behind his back. Philip raises his eyebrows.^ Oh ? \A pause.'\ Anything amiss ? \Observing Bertram's heated look.~\ You don't look well, Filson. Bertram. [^Breathing heavily.'] No, I'm not well — I mean t'say, I'm sick with indignation Philip. What about ? Bertram. You've attempted to play us all a rascally trick, Mack- worth ; a low, scurvy, contemptible Philip. [Frowning.'] A trick ? Bertram. I've just come from Mr. Dunning — a man I've thought it my duty to employ in the interests of my family — Silh- toe and Dunning, the private-inquiry people Philip. Private-inquiry people ? Bertram. Dunning rang me up an hour ago, and I went down to him. The discovery wasn't chnched till this after- noon Philip. The discovery ? THE BIG DRUM 133 Bertram. \Derisively.'\ Ho ! This precious book of yours — "The Big Drum"! A grand success, Mackworth ! Philip. {^Perplexed.'] I don't Bertram. " The Big Drum " ! Wouldn't " The Big Fraud " be a more suitable title, I mean t'say ? Philip. Fraud ? Bertram. Reached its twenty-fifth thousand, and the demand still continues ! You and Mr. what's-his-name — Titter- ton — ought to be publicly exposed, Mackworth ; and if we were in the least spiteful and vindictive Philip. [Tightening his lips.'] Are you sober, Filson ? Bertram. Now, don't you be insolent, because it won't answer. [Philip winces, but restrains himself.'] The question is, what are we to do to-night— {or Ottoline's sake, I mean t'say. We must spare her as much shock and distress as possible. I assume you've sufficient decency left to agree with me there. My father and mother too — they're quite ignorant of the steps I've been taking Philip. {Controlling himself with difficulty.] My good fellow, will you condescend to explain ? 134 THE BIG DRUM Bertram. \_Walking away.'] Oh, it's no use, Mackworth — this air of innocence ! \Puffing himself out and strutting to and fro on the left.] It's simply wasted effort, I mean t'say. In five minutes I can have Dunning here with the whole disreputable story. He's close by — bottom of Chancery Lane. He'll be at his office till half-past- eleven Philip. \^Between his teeth — thrusting his hands into his trousef' pockets.] Very accommodating of him ! Bertram. I tried to get on to my father from Dunning' s — to ask his advice, I mean t'say — but he'd dressed early and gone to one of his clubs, and they couldn't tell me which one. \_Halting and looking at his watch.] My suggestion is that you and I should struggle through this farce of a dinner as best we can — as if nothing had happened, I mean t'say — and that I should re- serve the disclosure of your caddish conduct till to- morrow. You assent to that course, Mackworth ? [Dabbing his forehead with his handkerchief] Thank heaven, the announcement of the engagement hasn't appeared ! Philip. \In a calm voice.] Bertram — [Pointing to the chair on the left of the S7no king-table] Bertie, old man — [seating himself easily upon the settee on the right] you're your sister's brother and I'm not going to lose my temper Bertram. [Sneeringly.] My dear sir THE BIG DRUM 136 Philip. \Leaning back and crossing his legs^^ One thing I seem to grasp clearly ; and that is that, while I've been endeavoring to concihate you, and make a pal of you, you've been leaguing yourself with a tame detective with the idea of injuring me in some way with Ottoline and your father and mother. \Folding his arms.~\ That's correct, isn't it ? Bertram. [ With a disdainful shrug.'] If you think it will benefit you to distort my motives, Mackworth, pray do so. \_Returning to the middle of the room.~\ What I've done, I've done, as I've already stated, from a sheer sense of duty Philip. \Again pointing to the chair.] Please ! You'll look less formidable, old man Bertram. [Sitting, haughtily.] Knowing what depended on the fate of your book, I felt from the first that you might be unscrupulous enough to induce your pubhsher to repre- sent it as being a popular success — in order to impose on us, I mean t'say — though actually it was another of your failures to hit the mark ; and when Titterton started blowing the trumpet so loudly, my suspicions increased. [Philip slowly unfolds his arms.] As for desiring to in- jure you with my family at any price, I scorn the charge. I've had the delicacy to refrain from even mentioning my suspicions to my father and mother, let alone Otto- line. [Puffin'^ his necktie straight and smoothing his hair and his slightly crumpled shirt-front.] Deeply as I regret your connection with my sister, I should have been only too happy, I mean t'say, if my poor opinion of you had been falsified. 136 THE BIG DRUM Philip. \^His hands clenched, but preserving his suavity. '\ Ex- tremely grateful to you, Bertie. I see ! And so, bur- dened by these suspicions, you carried them to Mr. — Mr. Gunning? Bertram. Dunning. I didn't regard it as a job for a respectable soUcitor Philip. {Politely?^ Didnt you ! Bertram. Not that there's anything against Dunning Philip. {Uncrossing his legs and sitting upright. '\ Well, that brings us to the point, doesn't it? Bertram. The point ? Philip. The precise, and illuminating, details of the fable your friend at the bottom of Chancery Lane is fooling you with. Bertram. [/« a pitying tone.'] Oh, my dear Mack worth ! I re- peat, it's no use your adopting this attitude. You don't reahze how completely you're bowled over, I mean t'say. Dunning' s got incontestable proofs — — Philip. {^Jumping up, unable to repress himself any longer^ Damn the impudent scoundrel ! [ The bell rings. THE BIG DRUM 137 Bertram. [Listening.'] Your bell ! Philip. [Striding to the left and then to the fireplace.] You said he's still at his office, didn't you? Bertram. [Rising.] Yes. Philip. [Pointing to the telephone , imperatively.] Get him here at once. Bertram. [Rather taken aback.] At once ? Philip. I'll deal with this gentleman promptly. Bertram. [Icily.] Not before Ottoline and my parents, I hope f Philip. [Seizing the poker and attacking the fire furiously.] Be- fore Ottoline and your parents. Bertram. A most painful scene for them, I mean t'say Philip. A painful scene for you and Mr. Dunning. Bertram. After dinner — when they've gone — you and I'll go (iown to Dunning 138 THE BIO DRUM Philip. \_FHnging the poker into the grate and facing BERTRAM.] Confound you, you don't suppose I'm going to act on your suggestion, and grin through a long meal with this between us ! [^Pointing to the telephone again.'] Ring him up, you treacherous httle whelp — quick ! [^Advancing.'] \i you won't ! Bertram. \_BristHng.'\ Oh, very good ! {^Pausing on his way to the telephone and addressing Philip with an evil expres- sion.] You were always a bully and a blusterer, Mack- worth ; but, take my word for it, if you fancy you can bully Mr. Dunning, and bluster to my family, with any satisfactory results to yourself, you're vastly mistaken. Philip. {Gruffly.] I beg your pardon ; sorry I exploded. Bertram. {Scowling.] It's of no consequence. \At the telephone, his ear to the receiver.] I am absolutely indifferent to your vulgar abuse, I mean t'say. [John announces ^oov^. Note: "Roof's, and the rest of the guests divest themselves of their over- coats, wraps, etc. , in the vestibule before enter- ing the room. Mr. Roope. John. Roope. {Greeting Philip as John withdraws.] Am I the first f Philip. [Glancing at Bertram.] No. THE BIG DRUM 139 Bertram. [^speaking into the telephone."] Holborn, three eight nine eight. ROOPE. [ Waving his hand to Bertram.] Ah ! How are you, my dear Mr. Filson ? Bertram. [77? RooPE, sulkily.] How'r you? Excuse me ROOPE. [7^ Philip.] My dear Phil, these excursions to the east are delightful ; they are positively. The sights fill me with amazement. I Philip. [Cutting him short by leading him to the fireplace.] Robbie RooPE. Hey ? Philip. [Grimly, dropping his voice.] Are you hungry? ROOPE. Dear excellent friend, since you put the question so plainly, I don't mind avowing that I am — devilish hungry. Why ? Philip. There may be a slight delay, old chap. ROOPE. Delay ? 140 THE BIG DRUM Philip. Yes, the east hasn't exhausted its marvels yet, by a long chalk. ROOPE. [^Looking at him curiously.~\ Nothing the matter, Phil ? Bertram. \Suddenly, into the telephone. '\ That you, Dun- ning ? Philip. [ To RooPE.] Robbie \_Tuming to the fire, Philip talks rapidly and energetically to Roope i7i undertones. Bertram. \_Into the telephone.'] Filson. . . . Mr. Filson. . . . I'm speaking from Gray's Inn. . . . Gray's Inn — Mr. Mackworth's chambers — 2, Friars Court. . . . You're wanted, Dunning. . . . Now — immediately. . . . Yes, jump into a taxicab and come up, will you ? . . . Roope. [To Philip, aloud, opening his eyes widely.'] My dear Phil ! Philip. \_lVith a big laugh.] Ha, ha, ha, ha ! Bertram. [77? Philip, angrily.] Quiet ! I can't hear. [^Intothe telephone.] I can't hear ; there's such a beastly noise going on — what? . . . Dash it, you can get something to eat at any time ! I mean to say — ! . . . Eh ? . . . [^Ir- ritably.] Oh, of course you may have a wash and brush THE BIO DRUM 141 up ! . . . Yes, he is. . . . You're coming, then? . . , Right ! Goo' bye. ROOPE. [7b Philip, who has resumed his communication to RooPE — incredulously. '\ Dear excellent friend ! \The door-bell rings again. Philip. Ah — — ! \Pausing on his way to the vestibule door — to Bertram.] Mr. Dunning will favor us with his distin- guished company ? Bertram. {Behind the table on the left, loweringly .'\ In a few min- utes. He's washing. Philip. Washing? Some of his customer's dirty linen? [As he opens the vestibule door, John admits Sir Randle Fil- SON at the outer door.'\ Ah, Sir Randle ! Sir Randle. [Heartily, '] Well, Philip, my boy ! [ While John is taking his hat, overcoat^ etc.'] Are my dear wife and daughter here yet ? Philip. Not yet. Sir Randle. I looked in at Brooks's on my way to you. I hadn't been there for months. [7b John.] My muffler in the right-hand pocket. Thank you. [Entering and shaking hands with Philip.] Ha ! They gave me quite a warm welcome. Very gratifying. [Roope advances.] Mr. Roope ! [Shaking hands with Roope as Philip shuts the vestibule door.] An unexpected pleasure ! 142 TEE BIG DRUM ROOPE. \^Uneasiiy.] Er — I am rather an interloper, I'm afraid, my dear Sir Randle Sir Randle. {Retaining his hand.'] No. [Emphatically.'] No. This is one of Philip's many happy inspirations. If my memory is accurate, it was at your charming flat in South Audley Street that he and my darling child — — {Discovering Bertram, who is now by the settee on the left.] Bertie ! {Going to him.] I haven't seen you all day , Bertie dear. {Kissing him on the forehead^ Busy, eh? Bertram. {Stiffly.] Yes, father. Philip. {At the chair on the left of the smoking-table, dryly.] Bertram has been teUing me how busy he has been, Sir Randle Sir Randle. {Not perceiving the general air of restraint^] That re- minds me — {moving, full of importance, to the settee on the right— feeling in his breast-pocket] the announcement of the engagement, Philip — {seating himself and producing a pocketbook] Lady Filson and I drew it up this morn- ing. {Hunting among some letters and papers.] I believe it is in the conventional form ; but we so thoroughly sympathize with you and Ottoline in your dislike for any- thing that savors of pomp and flourish that we hesitate, without your sanction, to — {selecting a paper and hatiding it to Philip] ah! {To Roope, who has returned to the fireplace — over his shoulder.] I am treating you as one of ourselves, Mr. Roope THE BIG DRUM 143 ROOPE. [/« a murmur.'] Dear excellent friend ! Sir Randle. \_To Philip.] We propose to insert it only in the three or four principal journals Philip. [^Frowning at the paper,] Sir Randle -™™ Sir Randle. ^Blandly.] Eh? Philip. Haven't you given me the wrong paper ? Sir Randle. \With a look of alarm, hurriedly putting on his pince- nez and searching in his pocketbook again.] The wrong — — ? Philip. This has " Universal News Agency " written in the corner of it. Sir Randle. [Holding out his hand for the paper, faintly.] Oh f Philip. \_Ignoring Sir Randle's hand — reading.] " The extra- ordinary stir, which we venture to prophesy will not soon be eclipsed, made by Mr. Philip Mackworth's recent novel, ' The Big Drum,' lends additional interest to the announcement of his forthcoming marriage to the beauti- ful Madame de Chaumid — ' ' [ The bell rings. He listens to it, and then goes 07i reading.] •• — the beautiful Madame de Chaumie, daughter of the widely and deservedly 144 THE BIG DRUM popular — the widely and deservedly popular Sir Randle and Lady Filson " [^Afier reading it to the end silently, he restores the paper to Sir Randle with a smile and a slight bow. Sir Randle. \Collecting hvnself?^ Er — Lady Filson and I thought it might be prudent, Philip, to — er — to give a lead to the inevitable comments of the press. \_Repiacmg the paper in his pocketbook.~\ If you object, my dear boy Philip. \Wtth a motion of the head towards the vestibule door.'\ That must be Lady Filson and Ottoline. \^He goes to the door and opens it. Lady Filson and Ottoline are in the vestibule and John is taking luAin Filson' s wrap from her. Lady Filson. \Briinming over with good humor,'] Ah, Philip ! Don't say we're late ! Philip. [^Lightly.'] I won't. Lady Filson. [Entering and shaking hands with him."] Your stair- case is so dark, it takes an age to climb it. [To Roope, who comes forward, shaking hands with him.'] How nice ! Ottoline told me, coming along, that we were to meet you. Roope. [Bending over her hand.] Dear lady ! THE BIG DRUM 145 Lady Filson. \Coining to Sir Randle.] There you are, Randle ! [Nodding to Bertram, who is sitting aloof in the chair on the extreme left.'] Bertie darling ! [Sir Randle risesJ] Aren't these rooms quaint and cozy, Randle? Sir Randle. [Still somewhat disconcerted.] For a solitary man, ideal. [Solemnly.] If ever I had the misfortune to be left alone in the world Lady Filson. [Sitting on the settee on the right.] Ho, my dear! [Philip has joined Ottoline in the vestibule. He now follows her into the room, shutting the vesiibide door. She is elegantly dressed in white and, though she has recovered her usual stateliness and composure, is a picture of radiant happiness. Ottoline. [Giving her hand to Roope, who raises it to his lips — • sweetly^ I am glad you are home, Robbie, and that you are here to-night. [ To Lady Filson and Sir Randle.] Mother — Dad — [espying Bertram] oh, and there's Ber- tram — don't be scandalized, any of you! [To Roope, resting her hands on his shoulders.] Une fois de plus, mon atnty pour vous temoigner ma gratitude ! [She kisses him. Lady Filson laughs indul- gently, and Sir Randle, wagging his head, moves to the fireplace. Roope. Ha, ha, ha ! Ottoline. Ha, ha, ha! [Going to the fireplace.] Ah, what a lovely fire ! [To Sir Randle, as Roope seats himself in 146 THE BIG DRU3I the chair by the smo king-table and prepares to make him- self agreeable to Lady Filson.] Share it with me, Dad, and let me warm my toes before dinner. I'm frozen ! Philip. \Coming to the middle of the 7'ooni.'\ My dear Ottoline — Lady Filson — Sir Randle — I fear we shall all have time to warm our toes before dinner. [Roope, who is about to address a remark to Lady Filson, ^z//5 his hand to his mouth, and Sir Randle and Lady Filson look at Philip inquiringly^ You mustn't blame me wholly for the hitch in my poor entertainment Lady Filson. \Amiably.\ The kitchen! I guess your difficulties, Phihp Philip. No, nor my kitchen either Ottoline. \Turning the chair on the nearer side of the fireplace so that it faces the fire.~\ The cook wasn't punctual ! {^Installing herself in the chair."] Ah, la, la I Ces cuisinieres causent la moitie des ennuis sur cette terre ! Philip. Oh, yes, the cook was punctual. \^His manner hardening a little.] The truth is, we are waiting for a Mr. Dunning. Lady Filson. Mr. ? Sir Randle, Mr. ? THE BIG DRUM 147 Ottoline. [From her chair, where she is almost completely hidden froin the others — comfortably .'\ Good gracious ! Who's Mr. Dunning, Philip? [John and the waiter open the big doors. The dining-table, round which the chairs are now arranged t is prettily lighted by shaded candles, Philip. ITo ]OKii, sharply.'] John John. Yessir ? Philip. Tell the cook to keep the dinner back for a Uttle while. Do you hear? John. lAstonished.] Keep dinner back, sir ? Philip. Yes. And when Mr. Dunning calls — Idistinctly] Dunning Yessir. John. Philip. I'll see him. Show him in. John. Yessir. Philip. You may serve dinner as soon as he's gone. I'll ring. yoHN and the waiter withdraw into the kitchen^ 148 THE BIG DRUM whereupon Philip, after watching their depar- iuret deliberately closes the big doors. Rocpe» who has been picking at his nails nervously ^ rises and steals away to the left, and Sir Randle, advancing a step or two, exchanges questioning glances with Lady Filson. Ottoline. [^Laughingly.'] What a terrible shock ! I was fright- ened that PhiHp had sprung a strange guest upon us. [As Philip is shutting the doors."] Vous Hes bien mys- terieux, Phil? Why are we to starve until this Mr. Dun- ning has come and gone ? Philip. Because if I tried to eat without having first disposed of the reptile, Otto, I should choke. Lady Filson. [Bewildered.] Reptile ? Ottoline. Philip ! Philip. [At the chair beside the smo king-table — to Lady Filson.] I apologize very humbly for making you and Sir Randle, and dear Ottoline, parties to such unpleasant proceed- ings, Lady Filson ; but the necessity is forced upon me. [Coming forward.] Mr. Dunning is one of those crawl- ing creatures who conduct what are known as confidential inquiries. In other words, he's a private detective — an odd sort of person to present to you ! Lady Filson. [ Under her breath.] Great heavens ! THE BIG DRUM I4d Philip. And he has lightened your son's purse, presumably, and crammed his willing ears with some ridiculous, fantastic tale concerning my book — "The Big Drum." Mr, Dunning professes to have discovered that 1 have conspired with a wicked publisher to deceive you all ; that the book's another of my miss-hits, and that I'm a designing rogue and har. [To Bertram.] Come on, Bertram ; don't sit there as if you were a stuffed figure ! Speak out, and tell your father and mother what you've been up to ! Lady Filson. \Open-mouthed.'\ Bertie ! Sir Randle. [Moving towards Bertram, mildly. '\ Bertram, my boy ? Bertram. [Curling his lip — to Philip.] Oh, you seem to be get- ting on exceedingly well without my assistance. Mack- worth. I'm content to hold my tongue till Dunning arrives, I mean t'say. Philip. [Approaching Lady Filson.] You see. Lady Filson, Master Bertram is endowed with an exceptionally active brain ; and when I gave those assurances to you and Sir Randle last June, it occurred to him that, in the event of my book failing to attract the market, there was a dan- ger of my palming it off, with the kind aid of my pub- lisher, as the out-and-out triumph I'd bragged of in advance ; and the loud blasts of Titterton's trumpet strengthened Master Bertie's apprehensions. [Ottoline, unobserved, rises unsteadily and, with her eyes fixed fiercely 150 THE BIG DRUM upon Bertram, crosses the room at the back."] So what does he do, bless him for his devotion to his belongings ! To safeguard his parents from being jockeyed, and as a brotherly precaution, he enlists the services, on the sly, of the obliging Mr, Dunning. We shall shortly have an opportunity of judging vi'hat that individual's game is. \_With a shrug.'] He may have stumbled legitimately into a mare's nest ; but I doubt it. These ruffians'll stick at nothing to keep an ingenuous client on the hook \_He is interrupted by feeling Ottoline's hand upon his arm. He lays his hand on hers gently.] Otto dear Ottoline. \_Clutching him lightly and articulating with an effort.] It — it's infamous — shameful! My — my brother! It's infamous ! Philip. Oh, it'll be all over in ten minutes. And then Bertie and I will shake hands — won't we, Bertie ? — and forget the wretched incident Ottoline. {^Confronting Bertram, trembling with passiofi.] How dare you ! How dare you meddle with my affairs — mine and Mr. Mackworth's! How dare you ! Bertram. [Straightening himself] Look heah, Ottoline ! Ottoline. Stand up when I speak to you ! [Bertram gets to his feet in a hurry. Lady Filson. [Appealingly.] Otto ! THE BIG DRUM 151 Ottoline. \_To Bertram.] All your life you've been paltry, odious, detestable Look heah Bertram. Ottoline. But this I My God ! For you — for any of us — to impugn the honesty of a man whose shadow we're not fit to walk in ! Sir Randle. [To Lady Filson— /az«^^.] Winifred ! Ottoline. [To Bertram.] You — you — you're no better than your common, hired spy ! Lady Filson. [Rising and going to Ottoline.] My child, remem- ber ! Ottoline. [Clenching her hands and hissing her words at Ber- tram.] C est la verite ! Tu 71 es quune canaille — une vile canaille ./ Lady Filson. Control yourself, I beg! Ottoline. [To Lady Filson.] Leave me alone ! [She passes Lady Filson and sits on the settee on the right with glittering eyes and heaving bosom. Philip has withdrawn to the fireplace and is standing looking into the fire. 156 THE BIG DRUM Lady Filson. [7i? Bertram.] Bertie dear, I'm surprised at you! To do a thing like this behind our backs ! Bertram. My dear mother, I knew that you and father wouldn't do it Lady Filson. I should think not, indeed ! Sir Randle. [To Bertram.] Your mother and 1 1 Lady Filson. [Horrified at the notion 7\ Oh ! Bertram. Upon my word, this is rather rough ! [Walking away ^ I mean to say ! Philip. [Turning.'\ We mustn't be too hard on poor Bertram, Lady Filson Bertram. [Pacing the room near the big doors. '\ Poor Bertram ! Ho! Sir Randle. [To Philip.] I trust we are never unduly hard on our children, my dear Phihp Philip. To do him justice, he was most anxious to postpone these dreadful revelations till to-morrow tHE JSIQ t)EUM 15a Bektram. Exactly 1 {Throwing himself into the chair between the big doors and the vestibuie door.'] I predicted a scene ! I predicted a scene ! Philip. [To Sir Randle and Lady Filson, ^entieniiy.'] Per- haps it would have been wiser of me — more considerate — to have complied with his wishes. But 1 was in a fury — naturally Lady Filson. [Sitting on the settee on the left.'] Naturally. Sir Randle. And excusably. I myself, in similar circum- stances Philip. [Rubbing his head.] Why the deuce couldn't he have kept his twopenny thunderbolt in his pocket for a few hours, instead of launching it to-night and spoiling our sole a la Morny and our ris de veau / Ottoline. [Gradually composing herself and regaining her dig- nity.] P-P-Philip Philip. [Coming to the smoking-table.] Eh ? Ottoline. [Passing her handkerchief over her lips.] Need you — need you see this man to-night? Can't you stop him coming — or send him away ? Philip. Not see him ? 164 THE BIQ DRUM Ottoline. Why — why should you stoop to see him at all ? Why shouldn't the matter be allowed to drop — to drop? Philip. Drop ! Ottoline. It — it's too monstrous; too absurd. [7b Bertram, with a laugh.'] Ha, ha, ha ! Bertie — Bertie dear — — Bertram. [Suileniy,'] Yes? Ottoline. Ha, ha! I almost scared you out of your wits, didn't I ? Bertram. You've behaved excessively rudely Lady Filson. Bertram — Bertram Bertram. I mean to say, mother ! What becomes of family loyalty ? Ottoline. [To Bertram, coaxingly.'] Forgive me, Bertram. I'm ashamed of my violent outburst. Forgive me Roope. {^Who has been effacing himself behind the table on the left, appearing at the nearer end of the table.] Er — dear excellent friends — [Sir Randle and Lady Filson look at Roope as if he had fallen from the skies, and Ber- THE BIO DRUM 155 TRAM Scares at him resentfuUy\ dear excellent friends, if I may be permitted to make an observation Philip. \To RooPE.] Go ahead, old man. ROOPE. In my opinion, it would be a thousand pities not to see Mr. Dunning to-night, and have done with him. {Cheerfully^ The fish is ruined — we must resign our- selves to that ; {sitting in the chair on the extreme leff] but the other dishes, if the cook is fairly competent Sir Randle. [Advancing.l Mr. Roope's opinion is my opinion also. {Ponderously.'] As to whether Lady Filson and my daughter should withdraw into an adjoining room Lady Filson. / feel with Phihp ; we couldn't sit down to dinner with this cloud hanging over us Sir Randle. [Sitting in the chair by the smoking-table.~\ Impossible ! I must be frank. Impossible ! RooPE. Dear Madame de Chaumie will pardon me for differ- ing with her, but you can't very well ignore even a fellow of this stamp — {glancing at Bertram] especially, if I understand aright, my excellent friend over there still per- sists Bertram. {Morosely. \ Yes, you do understand aright, Roope. I've every confidence in Dunning, I mean t'say 156 THE BIG DRUM Philip. [ Turning away, angrily. '\ Oh ! Lady Filson. \Severeiy,'] Bertie ! Sir Randle. Bertram, my boy / \_Tke bell rings. There is a short silence, and then Bertram rises and pulls down his waistcoat portentously. Bertram. Here he is. Ottoline. {To Lady Filson, in a low voice.'\ Mother ? Lady Filson. \To Philip.] Tio you wish us to withdraw, Philip? Philip. \Sitting at the writing-table. '\ Not at all, Lady Filson. [Switching on the light of the library-lamp, sternly.'\ On the contrary, I should like you both to remain. Lady Filson. \To Ottoline.] Otto dear ? Ottoline. {Adjusting a comb in her hair.'] Oh, certainly, mother, I'll stay. Lady Filson. {Arranging her skirt and settling herself majestically P^ Of this we may be perfectly sure ; when my son finds that he has been misled, purposely or unintentionally, he will be only too ready — too ready THE BIG DRUM 157 Sir Randle. [Leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes7\ That goes without saying, Winifred. A gentleman — an Eng- lish gentleman Bertram. \Who is watching the vestibule door — over his shoulder, snappishly .'\ Oh, of course, father, if it turns out that I've been sold, I'll eat humble-pie abjectly. ROOPE. [Shaking a finger at Bertram.] Ha, ha ! I hope you've brought a voracious appetite with you, dear ex- cellent friend. Bertram. [To RooPE, ex asperated. '\ Look heah, Mr. Roope ! [The vestibule door opens and John announces Dunning. John. Mr, Dunning. [Dunning enters and John retires. Mr. Alfred Dunning is a spruce, middle-aged, shrewd- faced man with an affable but rather curt manner. He is in his hat and overcoat. Dunning. [To Bertram.] Haven't kept you long, have I? I just had a cup o' cocoa [He checks himself on seeing so large an assembly, removes his hat, and includes every- body in a summary bow.'] Evening. Bertram. [To Dunning.] Larger gathering than you expected. [Indicating the various personages by a glance.] Sir Randle and |-ady Filson — my father find mother -.— ^ 158 THE BIG DRUM Dunning. \^To Sir Randle and Lady Filson.] Evening. Bertram. My sister, Madame de Chaumie Dunning. [r^ Ottoline.] Evening. Bertram. Mr. Roope — Mr. Mackworth Dunning. [To them.'] Evening. [Sir Randle, Lady Filson, a?id Roope, look- ing at Dunning out of the comers of their eyes, acktiowledge the introductio7i by a slight movement. Philip nods unfieasant/y. Otto- line, with a stony coiintetiance, also eyes Dun- ning askance, and gives the barest possible incli}iaiion of her head on being named. Bertram. [Bringing forward the chair on which he has been sitting and planting it nearer to Sir Randle and Lady Filson — to Dunning.] I suppose you may Dunning. [ Taki7ig off his gloves and overcoat — to Phi Li p . ] D'ye mind if I slip my coat off, Mr. Mackworth i Philip. [Grow ling. 1 No. Dunning. Don't want to get overheated, and catch the flue. Fve got Mrs. D, in bed with a bad cold, as it is. TEE BIG DRUM 159 Bertram. [To Dunning.] Now, then, Mr. Dunning! I'll trouble you to give us an account of your operations in this business from the outset Dunning. [Hanging his coat over the back of the chair."] Pleasure. Bertram. The business of Mr. Mackworth's new book, I mean t'say. Dunning. [Sitting and placing his hat on thejloor.'] Pleasure. Bertram. Middle of October, wasn't it, when I ? Dunning. Later. [Producing a dog s-eared little memorandum-book and turning its leaves with a moistened thumb. ~\ Here we are — the twenty-fourth. [To everybody, referring to his notes as he proceeds — glibly.] Mr. Filson called on me and Mr. Sillitoe, ladies and gentlemen, on the twenty- fourth of last month with reference to a book by Mr. P. Mackworth — "The Big Drum" — published September the second, and drew our attention to the advertisements of Mr. Mackworth's pubHsher — Mr. Clifford Titterton, of John Street, Adelphi — relating to the same. Mr. F. hav- ing made us acquainted with the special circumstances of the case, and furnished us with his reasons for doubting Titterton's flowery statements, [wetting his thumb again and turning to the next leaf of his note-book] on the following day, the twenty-fifth, I purchased a copy of the said book at Messrs. Blake and Hodgson's in the Strand, Mr. Hodgson himself informing me in the course of con versa- 160 THE BIG DRUM tion that, as far as his firm was concerned, the book wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary. \_Repeaiing the thumb process^ I then proceeded to pump one of the gals — er — to interrogate one of the assistants — at a circu- lating library Mrs. D. subscribes to, with a similar result. [ Turning to the next leaf.'] My next step Sir Randle. I wonder whether these elaborate preliminaries ? Bertram. Oh, don't interrupt, father ! I mean to say / Dunning. \Jmperturbably.'\ My next step was to place the book in the hands of a lady whose liter'y judgment is a great deal sounder than mine or Mr. Sillitoe's — I allude to Mrs. D. — and her report was that, though amusing in parts, she didn't see anything in it to set the Thames on fire. Philip. \Laughing in spite of himself .] Ha, ha, ha! ROOPE, Ha, ha ! \To Philip, with mock sympathy.] Dear excellent friend ! Bertram. \To RooPE.] Yes, all right, Mr. Roope ! Dunning. \Tuming to the next leaf] I and Mr. Sillitoe then had another confab — er — consultation with Mr. Filson, and we pointed out to him that it was up to his father and mother to challenge Titterton's assertions and invite proof of their accuracy. THE BIO DBUM 161 ROOPE, {^Quietly. 1 Obviously ! Dunning. Mr. F. , however, giving us to understand that he was acting solely on his own, and that he wished the investi- gation kept from his family, we proposed a different plan Bertram. To which I reluctantly assented. Dunning. To get hold of somebody in Titterton's office — one of his employees, male or female Lady Filson. [Shocked.'] Oh ! Oh, Bertie ! Ottoline. [Rising, with a gesture of disgust.] Ah ! Sir Randle. [TJ? Bertram] Really! Really, Bertram ! [Seeing Ottoline rise, Philip also rises and comes to her. Lady Filson. That a son of mine should countenance ! Ottoline. [Panting,] Oh, but this is — this is outrageous! [To Sir Randle and Lady Filson.] Dad — mother — why should we degrade ourselves by listening any further? [7b Philip.] Philip 1 16^ THE BIG DBXiM Philip. \_Patting her shoulder soothingly.'] Tsch, tsch, tsch ! Bertram. \_To Lady Filson a7id Sir Randle.] My dear mother — my dear father — you're so impatient ! Philip. [ To Ottoline.] Tsch, tsch ! Go back to the fire and toast your toes again. Bertram . I consider I was fully justified, I mean t'say \_Falteringly Ottoline returns to the fireplace. She stands there for a few secoftds, clutching the mantel-shelf and then subsides into the chair before the fire. Philip advances to the settee on the right. Philip. [ To Dunning.] Sorry we have checked your flow of eloquence, Mr. Dunning, even for a moment. \Sitting7\ I wouldn't miss a syllable of it. \_Airily^ Do, please, continue. Sir Randle. \_Looking at his watch.] My dear Philip ! Bertram. [ To Dunning, wearily^ Oh, come to the man — what's his name, Dunning ? — Merry weather ! Dunning. [ Turning several pages of his note-book with his wet thumb.] Merrifield. THE BIG DRUM 163 Bertram. Merrifield. \_Passing behind Dunning and half-seating hiinself on the further end of the table on the left, '\ Skip everything in between ; \sarcastically\ my father and mother are dying for their dinner. Lady Filson. Bertram ! Dunning. \_Finding the rnemorandwn he is searching for, and quoting from it.'\ Henry Merrifield — entry clerk to Tit- terton — left Titterton, after a row, on the fifteenth of the present month Bertram. A stroke of luck — Mr. Merrifield — if ever there was one ! I mean t'say — — Dunning. \To everybody.'] Having gleaned certain significant facts from the said Henry Merrifield, ladies and gentle- men, \_referring to his notes] I paid two visits last week to the offices of Messrs. Hopwood & Co., of 6, Car- michael Lane, Walbrook, described in fresh paint on their door as Shipping and General Agents ; and the conclusion I arrived at was that Messrs. Hopwood & Co. were a myth and their offices a blind, the latter consisting of a small room on the ground floor, eight foot by twelve, and their staff of the caretakers of the prem- ises — Mr. and Mrs. Sweasy — an old woman and her hus- band ROOPE. [7^ Dunning.] If I may venture to interpose again, what on earth have Messrs. Hopwood ? 164 TEE BIG DRUM Sir Randle. Yes, what have Messrs. Hopwood ? Bertram. \_Over his shoulder. '\ Ho! What have Messrs. Hop- wood ! ROOPE. \To 'Be.wtka^, pointing to Dunning.] I am address- ing this gentleman, dear excellent friend Dunning. \_To RooPE.] I'll tell you, sir. [^Incisively.l^ It's to the bogus firm of Hopwood & Co. that the bulk of the volumes of Mr. Mackworth's new book have been consigned. Bertram. \Getting off the table, eagerly.'] Dunning has seen them, I mean t'say Sir Randle. [7b Bertram, startled.'] Be silent, Bertie ! Lady Filson. \To Bertram, holding her breath.] Do be quiet ! RooPE. \_Blankly.] The — the bulk of the volumes ? Philip. [Staring at Dunning.] The — the bulk of the ? Dunning. \To Sir Randle and Roope.] Yes, gentlemen, the books are in a mouldy cellar, also rented by Messrs. Hopwood. at 6, Carmichael Lane. There's thousands THE BIG DRUM 165 of them there, in cases — some of the cases with ship- ping marks on them, some marked for inland dehvery. I've inspected them this afternoon — overhauled them. Mr. Sweasy had gone over to the Borough to see his married niece, and I managed to get the right side of Mrs. S. Sir Randle. \Sofily, looking from one to the other.'] Curious ! Curi- ous! Lady Filson. [Forcing a smile.] How — -how strange ! ROOPE. [To Lady Filson, a little disturbed.'] Why strange, dear Lady Filson ? Shipping and other marks on the cases ! These people are forwarding agents Dunning. [Showing his teeth.] Nobody makes the least effort to despatch the cases, though. That's singular, isn't it? But ! ROOPE. Dunning. [To RooPE.] My good sir, in the whole of our expe- rience — mine and Mr. Sillitoe's — we've never come across a neater bit of hankey-pankey — [to Philip] no offence — and if Merrifield hadn't smelt a rat RooPE. But — but — but — the cost of it all, my dear Mr. Dun- ning ! I don't know much about these things — the ex- pense of manufacturing many thousands of copies of Mr. Mackworth's new book ! 166 THE BIG DRUM Sir Randle. \_Aiertly.'] Quite so ! Surely, if we were to be deceived, a simpler method could have been found ? ROOPE. [ With energy. '] Besides, what has Mr. Titterton to gain by the deception ? Sir Randle. True ! True ! What has he to gain ? Philip. \_Who is sitting with his hands hanging loosely, utterly bewildered — rousing himself. '\ Good God, yes ! What has Titterton to gain by joining me in a blackguardly scheme to — to — to ? Dunning. [7^ Sir Randle and Roope.] Well, gentlemen, in the first place, it's plain that Titterton was too fly to risk being easily blown upon Bertram. He was prepared to prove that the books have been manufactured and delivered, I mean t'say Dunning. And in the second place, on the question of expense, the speculation was a tolerably safe one. Lady Filson. \Keenly.'\ Speculation ? Dunning. Madarme dee Showmeeay being, according to my in- structions — \to Lady Filson, after a glance in Ottoline's directiori\ no offence, ladies — \Jo Sir Randle and Roope] THE BIO DRUM 167 Madarme dee Showmeeay being what is usually termed a catch, Mr. Mackworth would have been in a position, after his marriage, to reimburse Titterton [Philip starts to his feet with a cry of rage. Philip. Oh ! ROOPE. \jfumping up and hurrying to '^niL.iP^pacifying him.'\ My dear Phil — my dear old. chap Philip. [^Grasping Roope's armJ] Robbie [Sir Randle rises and goes to Lady Filson. She also rises as he approaches her. They gaze at each other with expressionless faces. Roope. \To Philip.] Where does Titterton live ? Philip. Gordon Square. Roope. [^Pointing to the telephone. '\ Telephone — have him round Philip. He's not in London. Roope. Not ? Philip. He's gone to the Riviera — left this morning. \Cross- ing to Sir Randle and Lady Filson — appealingly.'] 168 THE BIG DRUM Lady Filson — Sir Randle— ^^« don't believe that Titter- ton and I could be guilty of such an arrant piece of knavery, do you? Ho, ho, ho ! It's preposterous. Sir Randle. [^Constrainedly.'] Frankly — I must be frank — I hardly know what to believe. Lady Filson. [Pursing her mouth.] We — we hardly know what to believe. Philip. [Leaving them,] Ah ! ROOPE. [ Who has dropped into the chair by the smo king-table — to Sir Randle.] Sir Randle — dear excellent friend — let us meet Mr, Dunning to-morrow at Messrs. Hopwood's in Carmichael Lane — we three — you and I and Mack- worth Philip. [Pacing up and down between the table on the left and the bookcase.] Yes, yes — before I wire to Titterton — or see Curtis, his manager RooPE. [Over his shoulder, to Dunning.] Hey, Mr. Dunning? Dunning. Pleasure. [While this has been going on, DvimiNG has put his note-book away and risen, gathering up his hat and overcoat as he does so. Bertram is now assisting him into his coat. THE BIG DRUM 169 Sir Randle. \_Advancing a step or two^ At what hour ? Dunning. \Briskly^ Ten-thirty suit you, gentlemen ? Sir Randle, Philip, and Roope. [ Together.'^ Half-past-ten. Roope. [Scribbling with a pocket-pencil on his shirt-cuff^ 6, Carmichael Lane, Walbrook Dunning. [Pulling down his under-coat.'] I'll be there. Roope. [Lowering his hands suddenly and leaning back in his chair, as if about to administer a poser^ By the way, Mr. Dunning, you tell us you have a strong conviction tliat Messrs. Hopwood & Co. are a myth, and their offices a sham — [caustic ally'\ may I ask whether you've tried to ascertain who is the actual tenant of the room and cellar in Carmichael Lane ? Bertram. [Sniggering?^ Why, Titterton, of course. I mean to say 1 Roope. [ Waving Bertram down^l Dear excellent friend ! Dunning. [ Taking up his hat, which he has laid upon the smoking' table — to Roope, with a satisfied air7[ Mr. SiUitoe's got that in hand, sir. What I have ascertained is that a young feller strolls in occasionally and smokes a ciga- rette 170 THE BIQ DRUM Bertram. And pokes about in the cellar Dunning. Calls himself Hopwood. But the name written on the lining of his hat — \io Bertram, carelessly] oh, I forgot to mention this to you, Mr. Filson. {^Producing his memorandum-book again.'\ Old mother Sweasy was ex- amining the young man's outdoor apparel the other day. [Turning the pages with his wet thumb.'\ The name on the hning of his hat is — \_finding the entry] is " Westrip." " Leonard Westrip." Bertram. Westrip ? Sir Randle. Leonard — Westrip ? Lady Filson. Mr. Westrip! Sir Randle. [To Dunning, blinking.] Mr. Westrip is my secre- tary. Bertram. [To Dunning, agape.] He's my father's secretary. Dunning. [To Sir Randle.] Your seckert'ry ? Philip. [Coming to the nearer end of the settee on the left.] The — the — the fair boy I've seen in Ennismore Gardens ! THE BIG DRUM 171 ROOPE. [Rising and Joitiing SiR Randle andl^ATiY Filson — expressing his amazement by flourishing his arms.^ Oh, my dear excellent friends ! Lady Filson. ITo Sir Randle.] Randle— what — what next ! Sir Randle. ^Closing his eyes.'] Astounding ! Astounding ! Dunning. \^Looking about him, rather aggressively?^ Well, I seem to have accidentally dropped a bombshell among you ! Will any lady or gentleman kindly oblige with some par- ticulars ? \To Ottoline, who checks him with an imperious gesture — changing his tone.] I beg your pardon, madarme [Ottoline has left her chair and come to the writing-table, where, with a drawn face and downcast eyes, she is now standing erect, Ottoline. \To Dunning, repeating her gesture.] Stop! \To Lady Filson and Sir Randle, in a strained voice.] Mother — Dad [Everybody looks at her, surprised at her manner. Lady Filson. Otto dear ? Ottoline. I — I can't allow you all to be mystified any longer. I — I can clear this matter up. Sir Randle. You, my darling ? 172 THE BIG DRUM Ottoline. \Steadying herself by resting her finger-tips upon the tabie.~\ The — the explanation is that Mr. Westrip — \with a wan smile'\ poor boy — he would jump into the sea for me if I bade him — the explanation is that Mr. Westrip has been — helping me Lady Filson. _? Helping you Sir Randle. Helping you f Ottoline. \Inclining her head.'] Helping me. He — he \_ Raising her eyes defiantly and confro7iting them all."] Ecoutez I Robbie Roope has asked who is the actual tenant of the cellar and room in Carmichael Lane. \^Breathing deeply.] /am. Lady Filson. {^Advancing a few steps.] You are ! N-n-nonsense ! Ottoline. Mr. Westrip took the place for me — my arrangement with Titterton made it necessary Lady Filson. With Titterton ! Then he— he has ? Ottoline. Yes. The thousands of copies — packed in the cases with the lying labels — / have bought them — they're mine Lady Filson. Y-y-yours ! THE BIG i)BUM 173 Ottoline. I — I was afraid the book had failed — and I went to Titterton — and bargained with him Lady Filson. So — so everything — everything that your brother and Mr. — Mr. Dunning have surmised ? Ottoline. Everything, mother — except that I am the culprit, and Mr. Mackworth is the victim. Lady Filson. Ottohne ! Ottoline. [^Passing her hand over her brmv.'] It — it's horrible of me to give Titterton away — but — what can I do ? — \^She turns her back upon them sharply and, leaning against the table, searches for her handkerchief. "^ Oh ! Need Mr. Dunning stay ? [Bertram, aghast, nudges Dunning and hurries to the vestibule door. Dunning follows him into the vestibule on tiptoe. Slowly and delib- erately Philip moves to the middle of the rootn and stands there with his hands clenched, glar- ing into space. Sir Randle, his jaw falling, sits in the chair on the extreme left. Lady Filson. {Touching Philip's arm sympathetic ally. '\ Oh, Philip ! Dunning. \To Bertram, in a whisper.'] Phiou ! Rummy devel- opment this, Mr. Filson! 174 TEE BIG DRUM Bertram. [ To Dunning , in the sa?ne way."] Awful. [ Opening the outer door.~\ I — I'll see you in the m-m-morning. Dunning. Pleasure. [^Raising his voice."] Evening, ladies and gentlemen. Lady Filson. [^Again sitting on the settee on the left, also searchittg/or her handkerchief?^ G-g-good-night. Sir Randle. \Weakly.'\ Good-night. ROOPE. \Who has wandered to the bookcase like a man in a trance. ] Good-night. [Dunning disappears, and Bertram closes the outer door and co7nes back into the room. Shutting the vestibule door, he si^iks into the chair lately vacated by Dunning. There is a silence, broken at length by a low, grating laugh from Philip. Philip. Ha, ha, ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha ! Lady Filson. {Dolefully.] Oh, OttoUne— Ottoline Philip. Ha, ha, ha ! THE BIG DRUM 176 Ottoline. [Creeping to the nearer end of the writing-tab le.'\ H'ssh! H'ssh! Philip— Philip ! Philip. \Loudly7[ Ho, ho, ho ! Ottoline. Don't ! don't ! [Making a movement of entreaty towards him.'\ Phil — Phil ! [His laughter ceases abruptly and he looks her full in the face. Philip. [After a moment's pause, bitingly.'] Thank you — thank you — [turning from her and seating himself in the chair by the smoking-table and resting his chin on his fist'] thank you. [Again there is a pause, and then Ottoline draws herself up proudly and moves in a stately fashion towards the vestibule door. Ottoline. [At Bertram's side.'\ Bertram — my cloak [Bertram rises meekly and fetches her cloak. Sir Randle. [Getting to his feet and approaching Philip — mourn- fully. '\ Your mother's wrap, also, Bertram. Lady Filson. [Rising.'\ Yes, let us all go home. Sir Randle. [To Philip, laying a hand on his shoulder."] My daughter has brought great humihation upon us — upon 176 TBE BIG DRUM her family, my dear Philip — by this — I must be harsh — by this unladylike transaction Lady Filson. I have never felt so ashamed in my life ! Sir Randle. [7^ Philip.] By-and-by I shall be better able to com- mand language in which to express my profound regret. \Offering his hand.'] For the present — good-night, and God bless you ! Philip. \Shaking Sir Handle's hand mechanically.'] Good- night. [As Sir Randle turns away, Lady Filson comes to Philip. Bertram, having helped Ottoline with her cloak, now brings Lady Filson' s wrap from the vestibule. Sir Randle takes it from him, and Bertram then returns to the vestibule and puts on his overcoat. Lady Filson. \To Philip, who rises ^^ You must have us to dinner another time, Philip. If I eat a crust to-night it will be as much as I shall manage. [Speaking lower, with genuine feeling.'] Oh, my dear boy, don t be too cast down — over your clever book, I mean ! [Taking him by the shoulders^ It's a cruel disappointment for you — and you don't deserve it. May I ? [She pulls him to her and kisses him.'] Good-night. Philip. [Gratefully.] Good-night. [Lady Filson leaves Vruat' and looks about for THE BIG DRUM 177 her wrap. Sir Randle puts her into it and then goes into the vestibule and wrestles with his overcoat. Bertram. \Coming to Philip, humbly.'] M — M — Mackworth — I — 1 Philip. \_Kindly.'] No, no ; don't you bother, old man Bertram. I — I could kick myself, Mackworth, I could indeed. I've been a sneak and a cad, I mean t'say, and — and I'm properly paid out Philip. [Shaking him gently.'] Why, what are you remorse- ful for ? You've only brought out the truth, Bertie Bertram. Yes, but I mean to say / Philip. And / mean to say that I'm in your debt for showing me that I've been a vain, credulous ass. Now be off and get some food. [Holding out his hand.] Good- night. Bertram. [Wringing Philip's hand.] Good-night, Mackworth. [Turning from Philip and seeing Roope, who, anxiously following events, is standing by the chair on the extreme left.] Good-night, Roope. Roope, G-g-good-night. 178 THE BIO DRUM Lady Filson. \_Haif in the room and half in the vestibule — to RooPE, remembering his existence^ Oh, good-night, Mr. Roope ! ROOPE. Good-night, dear Lady Filson. Sir Randle. \In the vestibule.'\ Good-night, Mr. Roope. Roope. Good-night. Good-night, dear excellent friends. Lady Filson. \To Ottoline, who is lingering by the big doors."] Ottoline [Lady Filson and Bertram Join Sir Randle in the vestibule and Sir Randle o^ens the outer door. Philip, his hands behind him and his chin on his breast, has walked to the fireplace and is standing there looking fixedly into the fire. Ottoline slowly comes forward and fingers the back of the chair by the smoking-table . Ottoline. Good-night, Philip. \He turns to her, makes her a stiff , formal bow , and faces the fire again. Roope. [Advancing to her — under his breath.] Oh ! Ottoline. {Giving him her hand.] Ah ! [ With a plaintive shrug.] Vous voyez I C'estfini apres tout I THE BIG DRUM 179 ROOPE. No, no Ottoline. [^Withdrawing her hand.'] Pst ! '^Throwing her head up.] Good-night, Robbie. [ With a queenly air she sweeps into the vestibule and follows Sir Randle and Lady Filson out on to the landing. Bertram closes the vestibule door, and immediately afterwards the outer door slams. ROOPE. [ To Philip, in an agony.] No, no, Phil ! It mustn't end like this ! Good lord, man, reflect — consider what you're chucking away! You're mad — absolutely mad! [Philip calmly presses a bell-push at the side of the fire- place.] I'll go after 'em — and talk to her. I'll talk to her, [Running to the vestibule door and opening it.] Don't wait for me. [Going into the vestibule and grab- bing his hat and overcoat.] It's a tiff — a lovers' tiff! It's nothing but a lovers' tiff I [Shutting the vestibule door, piteously.^^ Oh, my dear excellent friend ! [John appears, opening one of the big doors a little way. Again the outer door slams. Philip. \To John, sternly.] Dinner. John. [Looking for the guests — dumbfoundered.] D-d-dinner, sir? Philip, Serve dinner. 180 TEE BIG DRUM John. \^His eyes bolting.'] The — the — the ladies and gentle- men have gone, sir ! Philip. Yes. I'm dining alone. [John vanishes precipitately ; whereupon Philip strides to the big doors, thrusts them wide open with a blow of his fists, and sits at the dining- table. END OF THE THIRD ACT THE FOURTH ACT The scene is the same, the light that of a fine winter morning. The big doors are open, and from the din- ing-room windows, where the curtains are now drawn back, there is a view of some buildings opposite and, through a space between the buildings, of the tops of the bare trees in Grafs Inn garden. Save for a chair with a crumpled napkin upon it which stands at the dining-table before the remains of Philip's breakfast, the disposition of the furniture is as when first shown. A fire is burning in the nearer room. [Philip, dressed as at the opening of the preceding act, is seated on the settee on the right, moodily puffing at his pipe. RooPE faces him, in the chair by the smoking- table, with a mournful air. Roope is in his overcoat and is nursing his hat. Philip. [ To Roope, shortly, as if continuing a conversation^ Well? Roope. Well, what happened was this. I \^He breaks off to glance over his shoulder into the further room. Philip. Go on. Nobody'U hear you. John's out. 181 182 THE BIG DRUM ROOPE. What happened was this. I overtook 'em at the bottom of the stairs, and begged 'em to let me go back with them to Ennismore Gardens. Lady Filson and I got into one cab. Sir Randle and Madame de Chaumie into another. Bertram Filson slunk off to his club. At Ennismore Gardens we had the most depressin' meal I've ever sat down to, and then Madame Ottoline pro- posed that I should smoke a cigarette in her boudoir. [^Distressed. ~\ Oh, my dear Phil ! Philip. W-w-what ? RooPE. I can't bear to see a woman in tears ; I can't, posi- tively. Philip. [^Between his teeth.~\ Confound you, Robbie, who can ! Don't brag about it. ROOPE. At first she swept up and down the room like an out- raged Empress. Her skirts created quite a wind. I won't attempt to tell you all the bitter things she said Philip. Of me? RooPE. And of me, dear excellent friend. Philip. \Grimly.'\ For your share in the business. THE BIG DRUM 183 ROOPE. \^With a nod.'] The fatal luncheon in South Audley Street. However, she soon softened, and came and knelt by the fire. And suddenly — you've seen a child fall on the pavement and cut its knees, haven't you, Phil ? Philip. Of course I have. RooPE. That's how she cried. I was really alarmed. Philip. The — the end of it being ? ROOPE. [^Dismally.'] The end of it being that she went off to bed, declaring that she recognizes that the breach be- tween you is beyond healing, and that she's resolved never to cross your path again if she can avoid it. Philip. [Laying his pipe aside.] Ha ! [Scowling at Roope.] And so this is the result of your self-appointed mission, is it? Roope. [Hurt.] That's rather ungrateful, Phil Philip. [Starting up and walking away to the left.] P'sha ! Roope. If you'd heard how I reasoned with her ! lU THE BIO DRUM Philip. [Striding up and down.'] What had I better do? It's good of you to be here so early. [Roope rises,] I'm not ungrateful, Robbie. Advise me. Roope. [Sti^y.] I assume, from your tone, that what you wish to do is to — er ? Philip. To abase myself before her ; to grovel at her feet and crave her pardon for my behavior of last night. What else should I want to do, in God's name ! Roope. [Z>rj//>/.] I see, you've slept on it. Philip. Laid awake on it. [^Fierceiy.] Do I look as if I'd slept the sleep of a healthy infant ? Roope. I don't know anything about infants, I am happy to say, healthy or ailing ; but certainly your treatment of Madame de Chaumi^ was atrocious. Philip. Brutal, savage, inhuman ! [Halting and extending his arms.] And what's been her fault ? She's dared to love me eagerly, impetuously, uncontrollably — me, a con- ceited, egotistical fellow who is no more worth her de- votion than the pompous beast who opens her father's front-door ! And because, out of her love, she commits a heedless, impulsive act which deals a blow at my rotten pride, I slap her face and turn my back upon her, and mE BIG DRUM 16S Suffer her to leave my rooms as though she's a char- woman detected in prigging silver from my cash-box ! \Clasping his brow and groaning. '\ Oh ! {In sudden fury at seeing RoOPE thoughtfully examining his hat.'] Damn it, Robbie, stop fiddling with your hat or you'll drive me crazy ! {He sits on the settee on the left and rests his head on his fists. Roope hastily deposits his hat on the smo king-table. Roope. {Approaching Philip coldly.] I was considering, dear excellent friend— but perhaps in your present state of irritability Philip. {Holding out his hand penitently."] Shut up ! Roope. {Presenting Philip with two fingers.] I was consider- ing — when you almost sprang at my throat — I was con- sidering that it isn't at all unlikely that Madame de Chaumie's frame of mind is a trifle less inflexible this morning. She has slept — or laid awake — on the events of last night too, recollect. Philip. {Raising his head.] Having been kicked out of this place a {^w hours ago, her affection for me revives with the rattle of the milk-cans ! Roope. {Evasively.] At any rate, she must be conscious that you were smarting under provocation. She confessed as much during our talk. {Magnanimously.] Even /admit you had provocation. 186 THE BIG DRUM Philip. That never influenced a woman, Robbie. Besides, I've insulted this one before — grossly insulted her, in the old days in Paris ROOPE. Ancient history ! My advice is — since you invite it — my advice is that you write her a letter Philip. I've composed half-a-dozen already. \Poiniing to a waste-paper basket by the writing-table^ The pieces are in that basket. ROOPE. No, no ; not a highly-wrought performance. Simply a line, asking her to receive you. [Philip rises listlessly.' Send it along by messenger. \With growing enthusiasjn. Look here ! I'll take it ! Philip. \Gloomily, his hand on Roope's shoulder^ Ho, ho! You — you indefatigable old Cupid ! RooPE. \_Loo king at his watch.'] Quarter-past-ten. \_Excitedly.'] Phil, I bet you a hundred guineas — \correcting himself] er — well — five pounds — I bet you five pounds I'm with you again, with a favorable reply, before twelve ! Philip. {Clapping RooPE on the back.] Done ! {Crossing to the writing-table,] At the worst, I've earned a fiver. RooPE. \As Philip sits at the table and takes a sheet of paper and an envelope from a drawer.] May I suggest ? THE BIG DRUM 187 Philip. \I)ipping his pen in the ink.~\ Fire away, old chap. ROOPE. [Seeking for inspiration by gazing at the ceiling 7\ H'm \_Dictating.'] " Forgive me. I forgive you. When may I come to you? " [2b Philip.] Not another word. Philip. \_As he writes.'\ By George, you've got the romantic touch, Robbie ! If you'd been a hterary bloke, what sellers ^^z^'^ have written ! ROOPE. [Behind the smoking- table, sjnoothing his hair compla- cently^ Funny, your remark. As a matter of fact, I used to dabble a little in pen-and-ink as a young man. Philip. [Reading, a tender ring in his voice, ~\ " Forgive me. I forgive you. When may I come to you?" [Adding his signature.'] "Philip," ROOPE. Admirable ! Philip. [Folding and enclosing the note — catching some of Roope's hopefulness. '\ In the meantime I'll array myself in my Sunday-best — [moistening the envelope'] on the chance Roope. Do ; at once. [Putting on his hat.~\ She may summon you by telephone 188 TEE BIG DRUM Philip. \_Addressing the envelope^ She gave me a scarf-pin yesterday — such a beauty. {Softlyr^ I'll wear it. \Ris- ing and giving the note to Roope.] Bless you, old boy ! [RooPE pockets the note, grasps Philip's hand hurriedly, and bustles to the vestibule door. Roope. My quickest way is the Tube to Bayswater, and then a taxi across the Park [//«? has entered the vestibule — omitting to close the door in his haste — and has opened the outer door when Philip calls to him, Philip. [Standing behind the smoking-table — with a change of manner 7\ Robbie Roope. Hey? Philip. Robbie [Roope returns to Philip reluctantly, leav- ing the outer door open. ] Oh, Robbie — [gripping Roope' s arm'] how I boasted to you of my triumph — my grand victory ! How I swaggered and bellowed, and crowed over you ! Roope. [Fidgeting to get away.'] Yes, but we won't discuss that now, Phil Philip. [Detaining him.] Wait. [Brokenly.] Robbie — should Ottoline show any inclination to — to patch matters up, you may tell her — as from me — that I — I've done with it. THE BIG DRUM 189 ROOPE. [ lVonderingiy.'\ Done with it ? Philip. My career as a writing-man. It's finished. [Hanging his head.'\ I'm sorry to break faith with her people ; but she may take me, if she will, on her own terms — a poor devil who has proved a duffer at his job, and who is con- tent henceforth to be nothing but her humble slave and dependant. RooPE. [Energetically.'] My dear Phil, for heaven's sake, don't entertain such a notion ! Abandon your career just when you're making a noise in the world ! Philip. [Throwing up his hands.] Noise in the world ! ROOPE. When you're getting the finest advertisement an author could possibly desire ! Philip. [ Choking.] Advertisement ! ROOPE. I can sympathize with your feeHng mortified at not scoring entirely off your own bat ; but, deuce take it, your book is in its thirteenth edition ! Philip. [Laughing wildly^ Ho, ho, ho ! [Moving to the fire- place.] Ha, ha, ha, ha ! ROOPE. [Testily.] Oh, I'm glad I amuse you \ 190 TEE BIG DRUM Philip. [Coming to the settee on the right."] You're marvellous, Robbie — incomparable ! ROOPE. [Again preparing to depart."] Indeed ? Philip. Ha, ha, ha ! [A moment earlier. Sir Timothy Barradell has appeared in the vestibule, trying, in the dim light there, to decipher the name on the outer door. Hearing the sound of voices, he turns and reveals himself. Sir Timothy. [Looking into the room and encountering Roope.] Roope ! Roope. [As they shake hands — astonished.] Dear excellent friend, what a surprise ! Sir Timothy. Ah, don't flatter yourself you're the only early riser in London! [SeeingV^aiAY^ Mr.;Mackworth — [advancing] I found your door open and I took the liberty Philip. [Meeting him in the middle of the room.] Sir Timothy Barradell, isn't it ? Sir Timothy. It is. [They shake hands, cordially on Sir Timothy's part, with more formality on Philip's.] It's an un- ceremonious hour for a call, but if you'd spare me five minutes THE BIG DRUM 191 Philip. \_Civilly.'\ Pray sit down, \jfoining ROOPE at the entrance to the vestibule. '\ Robbie has to run away RooPE. {Diplomatic ally. '\ Can't stay another moment. {Wav- ing a hand to Sir Timothy.] Au revoir, dear Sir Timothy ! Sir Timothy. [Laying his hat upon the settee on the right and taking off his gloves.'] So long ! [Philip and Roope stare at Sir Timothy, whose back is towards them. Roope gives Philip an inquiring look, which Philip answers by a shrug and a shake of the head ; and then Philip lets Roope out and comes back into the room. Sir Timothy turns to him.] I'm afraid you think I'm presuming on a very sUght acquaintance, Mr. Mackworth Philip. {Shutting the vestibule door.] Not in the least. Sir Timothy. Anyhow I'll not waste more of your valuable time than I can help. [Philip points to the settee and the two men sit, Sir Timothy on the settee, Philip in the chair by the smoking-table. Sir Timothy inspects the toes of his boots.] Mr. Mackworth, I— I won't beat about the bush— it's a delicate subject I'm approaching you on. Philip. {Leaning back in his chair.] Really? Sir Timothy. An extremely delicate s\xh]tct— [raising his eyes] Madame de Chaumie. 192 THE BIG DRUM Philip. Madame de Chaumie ? Sir Timothy. In the first place, I suppose you're aware that I had the temerity to propose marriage to the lady in the sum- mer of this year ? Philip. Yes, I'm aware of it. Madame de Chaumie informed me of the circumstance. Sir Timothy. \_Nodding!^ She would ; she would. \Straightening himself.~\ Well, Mr. Mackworth, while I was abroad I heard from various sources that you had become a pretty regular visitor at the house of her parents, and that you and she were to be seen together occasionally in the secluded spots of Kensington Gardens ; and I naturally inferred that it was yourself she'd had the good taste to single out from among her numerous suitors. Philip. \With a smiVe.l I'd rather you didn't put it in that way, Sir Timothy ; but I guessed yesterday that the facts of the case had reached you through some channel or other. Sir Timothy. Yesterday ? Philip. When Robbie Roope brought me your kind greetings. Sir Timothy. Ah, that's nice of you ! l^Cons/ratned/y.'] That's — nice of you, THE BIO DRUM 193 Philip. \Changing his position and unbending. 1 But tell me ! I don't know yet what you have to say to me about Madame de Chaumie — but why should you find it em- barrassing to speak of her to me ? \Getitly.'\ We're men of the world, you and I ; and it isn't the rule of life that the prize always goes to the most deserving. [ With animation^ " And in the world, as in the school, I'd say, how fate may change and shift ; The prize be sometimes with the fool, The race not alv/ays to the swift. The strong may yield, the good may fall. The great man be a vulgar clown. The knave be hfted over all. The kind cast pitilessly down." So sang one of the noblest gentlemen who have ever fol- lowed my calling ! [7 here is a brief silence , and />^^« Sir TiMOTHY rises abruptly and walks to the fireplace. Philip looks after him, perplexed. Sir Timothy. \Facing the fire.'] Mr. Mackworth Philip. Eh? Sir Timothy. I saw Bertram Filson last night — her brother. Philip. [^Pricking up his ears.] You did ? Where ? 194 THE BIO DRUM Sir Timothy. At the club — the Junior Somerset. He came in late, looking a bit out of gear, and ate a mouthful of dinner and drank a whole bottle of Pommery ; and afterwards he joined me in the smoking-room and — and was exceed- ingly communicative. Philip. [^Attentively.'] Oh? Sir Timothy. I didn't encourage him to babble — \_turning] 'twas he that insisted on confiding to me what had oc- curred Philip. Occurred ? Sir Timothy. That you and Madame de Chaumie had had a serious difference, and that there's small prospect of its being bridged over. Philip. l^Glaring.] Oh, he confided that to you, did he, Sir Timothy ? Sir Timothy. He did. Philip. [Rising and pacing up and down on the left."] And what the devil does Filson mean by gossiping about me at a club — me and my relations with Madame de Chaumie ! TEE BIG DRUM 195 Sir Timothy. {Advancing a littler^ Ah, don't be angry I The cham- pagne he'd drunk had loosened his tongue. And then, I'm a friend of the family Philip. Infernal puppy ! Sir Timothy. Referring to Filson ? Philip. Of course. Sir Timothy. {Mildly. '\ Well, whether young Filson's a puppy or not, now perhaps you begin to appreciate my motive for intruding on you ? Philip. {Halting. '\ Hardly. Sir Timothy. You don't! {Rumpling his hair."] I'll try to make it plainer to you. {Behind the smo king-tab le."] Er — will I smoke one of your cigarettes ? Philip. {Frigidly polite. ~\ Please. Sir Timothy. {Taking a cigarette from the box on the table.'] Mr. Mackworth, if Filson's prognostications as to the re- sult of the quarrel between you and his sister are fulfilled, it's my intention, after a decent interval, to renew my appeal to her to marry me. {Striking a match.'l Is that clear? 196 THE BIG DRUM Philip. Perfectly. [SiifflyJ] But all the same, I'm still at a loss Sir TimothYo [Lighting his cigarette.'] At a loss, are you ! [ Warmly.'] You're at a loss to understand that I'm not the sort of man who'd steal a march upon another where a woman's concerned, and take advantage of his misfortunes in a dirty manner ! [Coming to Philip.] Mackworth — I'll drop the Mister, if you've no objection — Mackworth, I promise you I won't move a step till I have your assur- ance that your split with Madame de Chaumie is a mortal one, and that the coast is open to all comers. That's my part o' the bargain, and I expect you on your side to treat me with equal fairness and frankness. [Offering his hand.] You will? Philip. My dear Sir Timothy — my dear Barradeli — [shaking Sir Timothy's hand heartily] you're the most chival- rous fellow I've ever met ! Sir Timothy. [ Walking away.] Ah, go on now ! Philip. [Following him.] I apologize sincerely for being so curt. Sir Timothy. Don't mention it. Philip. It's true, Ottoline and I have had a bad fall out. [Keenly.] Did Filson give you any particulars ? THE BIG DRUM 197 Sir Timothy. I gathered 'twas something arising out of a book of yours Philip. Y-y-yes ; a silly affair in which I was utterly in the wrong. I lost my accursed temper — made a disgrace- ful exhibition of myself. \Touching Sir Timothy's arm.'\ I will be quite straight with you, Barradell — Robbie Roope has just gone to her with a note from me. I don't want to pain you ; but Robbie and I hope that, after a night's rest \The bell rings in the vestibule^ Excuse me — my servant isn't in. [He goes into the vesti- bule, leaving the door open. Sir Timothy picks up his hat. On opening the outer door, Philip confronts Otto- line.] Otto ! Ottoline. \In the doorway, giving him both her hands."] Are you alone, Philip? Philip. [Drawing her into the vestibule, his eyes sparkling^ No. [ With a motion of his head."] Sir Timothy Barra- dell [Ottoline passes Philip and enters the room, holding out her hand to Sir Timothy. Her eyes are black-rimmed from sleeplessness ; but whatever asperity she has displayed overnight has disappeared, and she is again full of soft- ness and charm. Ottoline. Sir Tim ! Philip. [Shutting the outer door — breathing freely. "^ Kind of Sir Timothy to look me up, isn't it ? 198 THE BIG DRUM Ottoline. \_7o Sir Timothy.] Vous eies un vaurien! When did you return ? Sir Timothy. \Who has flung his cigarette into the grate — ere stf alien. ~\ The day before yesterday. Ottoline. Then I mustn't scold you for not having been to see us yet. \Wonderingly.'\ You find time to call on Mr. Mackworth, though ! Sir Timothy. \With .a gulp.~\ I — I was on my way to my solicitors, who are in Raymond Buildings, and J remembered that I knew Mackworth years ago Philip. \_Loitering near the vestibule door, impatient for Sir Timothy's departure. '\ When I was a roUicking man- about-town, eh, Barradell ! Sir Timothy. {^Retaining Ottoline' s hand — to her, earnestly.'] My dear Madame de Chaumie Ottoline. Yes? Sir Timothy. \_Bracing himself] A little bird brought the news to me shortly after I left England. [She lowers her eyes.] I — I congratulate you and Mackworth — I congratulate you from the core of my heart. Ottoline. {In a quiet voice. '\ Thank you, dear Sir Timothy. THE BIG DRUM 199 Sir Timothy. May you both be as happy as you deserve to be, and even happier ! Philip. Sir Timothy. [Squeezing her handJ] Good-bye for the present. Ottoline. [Smilingly.'] Good-bye. [He passes her and joins Philip. Unseen by Ottoline — who proceeds to loosen her coat at the settee on the right — Philip again gives Sir Timothy a vigorous hand-shake. Sir Timothy responds to it disconsolately, and is following Philip into the vesti- bule when he hears Ottoline call to him.] Sir Tim ! Sir Tlmothy. [Turning.] Hallo ! Ottoline. [Lightly^ Is your car here "i Sir Timothy. [Brightening^ It is. Ottoline. You may give me a lift to Bond Street, if your business with your lawyers won't keep you long. Sir Timothy. [Emfhatically^ It will not. [Beaming.] I told you a lie. I've no business with my lawyers. I came here ex- pressly to improve my acquaintance with the man who's to be your husband, and for no other purpose. [They all laugh merrily. 200 THE BIG DRUM Ottoline. Ha, ha, ha ! \To Sir Timothy.] Wait for me in South Square, then. I sha'n't be many minutes. Sir Timothy. [Going into the vestibule.'] Ah, I'd wait an eternity ! [Philip and Sir Timothy shake hands once more, and then Philip lets Sir Timothy out. Philip. \_As he shuts the outer door.] By George, he's a splendid chap ! \He comes back into the room, closes the vestibule door, and advances to Ottoline and stands before her humbly,] Oh, OttoUne — oh, my dear girl ! Shall I go down on my knees to you .'' Ottoline. [/« a subdued tone.] If you do, I shall have to kneel to you, Phil. Philip. [Slowly folding her in his arms.] Ah ! Ah ! Ah ! [In her ear.] What a night I've spent ! Ottoline. [Almost inaudibly.] And 1 1 [He seats her upon the settee on the right and sits beside her, linking his hand in hers. Philip. How merciful this is of you ! I've just sent you a letter by Robbie Roope, begging you to see me ; you've missed him. [Smiling^ It isn't as eloquent as some I started writing at five o'clock this morning. Would you like to hear it ? [She nods. He recites his note tenderly^ " For- give me. I forgive you. When may I come to you?'* That's all. THE BIG DRUM 201 Ottoline. Isnt that eloquent, Phil ? Philip. [Smiling againJ] It's concise — and as long as you for- give me — [eyeing her with a shadow of fear \ you're sure you've forgiven me ? Ottoline. Sure. Philip. [Persistently.'] Without reserve ? Ottoline. Should I be here — [indicating their proximity] and kere — if I hadn't ? Philip. [Pressing her hand to his lips ardently, and then freeing her shoulders from her coat.] Take this off Ottoline. [Gently resisting^] Poor Sir Timothy ! Philip. [In high spirits.] Oh, a little exercise won't do Sir Timothy any harm ! [Helping her to slip her arms out of her coat.] Dash it, you might have let me escort you to Bond Street ! Ottoline. No, no ; your work Philip. [/lis brew clouding^ W-w-work - ? 202 THE BIG DRUM Ottoline. You mustn't lose your morning's work. [IViere is a short pause, and then he rises and moves a few steps away from her. With an impassive countenance, she Jingers the buttons of her gloves. Philip. [Stroking the pattern of the carpet with his foot.'] Otto Ottoline. {Looking up. '\ Yes, Phil? Philip. I asked Robbie to tell you, if he had the opportunity, that I've decided to make my farewell salaam to author- ship. I'm no good at it ; I'm a frost ; I realize it at last. I've had my final whack on the jaw : I've fought — how many rounds? — and now I take the count and slink out of the ring, beat. [Producing his keys, he goes to the cabinet on the right, unlocks it, and selects from several cardboard portfolios one which he carries to the writing- table. While he is doing this, Ottoline — still with an expressionless face— rises and tnoves to the left, where she stands watching him. He opens the portfolio and, with a pained look, handles the sheets of manuscript in z/.] Ha ! You and I have often talked over this, haven't we, Otto? Ottoline. [Calmly. "] Often. Philip. [Taking the manuscript from the portfolio — thought- fully. "] It was to have been — oh, such an advance on my previous stuff — kindlier, less strenuous, more urbane ! THE BIG DRUM 203 Success — success ! — had sweetened the gall in me ! \_Glancing at a partly covered page.'] Here's where I broke off yesterday. \_With a shrug.] In every man's life there's a chapter uncompleted, in one form or an- other! \_Throwing the manuscript into the portfolio.] Pst! Get back to your hole; I'll burn you later on. \_He rejoins her. She half turns from him, averting her head.] So end ray pitiful strivings and ambitions ! \Lay- ing his hand on her shoulder.] Ah, it's a miserable match you're making, Ottoline ! My two-hundred-a-year will rig me out suitably, and provide me with tobacco ; and the dribblets coming to me from my old books — through the honest publishers I deserted for Mr. Titterton ! — the dribblets coming from my old books will enable me to present you with a nosegay on the anniversaries of our wedding-day, and — by the time your hair's white — to refund you the money Titterton' s had from you. And there — with a little fame unjustly won, which, thank God, '11 soon die ! — there you have the sum of my posses- sions ! [Seizing her arms and twisting her round.] Oh, but I'll be your mate, my dear — your loyal companion and protector — comrade and lover ! \He is about to embrace her again, but she keeps him off by placing her hands against his breast. Ottoline. [Steeling herself. ] Phil Philip. [Unsuspectingly.] Eh? Ottoline. /arrived at a decision during the night too, Phil. Philip. Yes? 204 THE BIG DRUM Ottoline. Don't — don't loathe me. [Shaking her head gravely. '\ I am not going to marry you. Philip. \Staring at her.'\ You're not going to — marry me? Ottoline. No, Philip. Philip. [After another pause^ You — you're overwrought, Otto ; you've had no sleep. Neither of us has had any sleep Ottoline. Oh, but I'm quite clear-headed Philip. [Bewildered.'] Why, just now you said you'd forgiven me — repeated it ! Ottoline. I do repeat it. If I've anything to forgive, I forgive you a thousand times Philip. And you allowed me to — to take you in my arms Ottoline. You shall take me in your arms again, Phil, once more, before we part, if you wish to. I'm not a girl, though you call me one Philip. [Sternly.'] Look here ! You don't imagine for an instant that I shall accept this ! You ! The big drum 205 Ottoline. Ssh ! Try not to be hasty ; try to be reasonable. Listen to me PliiLlP. You — you mean me to understand that, in consequence of this wretched Titterton affair, you've changed your mind, and intend to chuck me ! Ottoline. Yes, I mean you to understand that. Philip. [ Turning from her indignantly .~\ Oh ! Ottoline. [Sitting in the chair by the smoking-table.^^ Philip — Philip [He hesitates, then seats himself on the settee opposite to her. She speaks with great firmness and deliberation.'^ Philip, while you were lying awake last night, or walking about your room, didn't you — think f Philip. [Hotly.'] Think Ottoline. No, no — soberly, steadily, searchingly. Evidently not, c her ami! [Bending forward. '\ Phil, after what has happened, can't you see me as I really am? , Philip. As you — are ? Ottoline. An incurably vulgar woman. An incurably common, vulgar woman. Nobody but a woman whose vulgarity is past praying for could have conceived such a scheme as I planned and carried out with that man Clifford 206 THE BIQ DRUM Titterton — nobody. This — how shall I term it?- — this re* finement of mine is merely on the surface. We women are like the — what's the name of the little reptile? — the chameleon, isn't it? We catch the color of our sur- roundings. But what we were, we continue to be — in the grain. The vulgar-minded OttoHne Filson, who captivated, and disgusted, you in Paris is before you at this moment. The only difference is that then she was a natural person, and now she plays les grands roles. \Sitting upright and pressing her temples.'] Oh, I have fooled myself as well as you, Phil — deluded myself ! Philip. You're dog-tired, Otto. Your brain's in a fever. All you've done, you've done from your love for me, my dear — your deep, passionate love Ottoline. [^Wincing.'] Passionate love — parfaitement I [Looking at him.] But that feeling's over, Phil. Philip. Over? Ottoline. [Simply.] I shall always love you — always — always ; but my passion exhausted itself last night. For months it has borne me along on a wave. It was that that swept me to the door of Titterton 's office in John Street, Adelphi ; it was strong enough to drive me to any length. But last night, in those dreadful small hours, the wave beat itself out, and threw me up on to the rocks, and left me shivering — naked — ashamed — [draw- ing a deep breath] ah, but in my right senses ! [She unbuttons her left-hand glove, rolls the hand of the glove over her wrist, and takes her engagement-ring from her finger. TEE BIG DRUM 20t Philip. \_AgkasL'] Otto ! Otto ! What are you doing ! What are you doing ! \_Ske lays the ring carefully upon the smoking-table and rises and walks away. He rises with her, following her.'] To-morrow — when you've had some sleep — to-morrow I Ottoline. Never. Don't deceive yourself, Philip. [Going to the fireplaceJ] If anything was needed to strengthen my resolution, the announcement you've just made would supply it. Philip. \On the left. '\ Announcement? Ottoline. With regard to your hterary work. [Turning to him.'\ Ne voyez-vous pas ! I have begun to degrade you al- ready ! Philip. [Consciously 7\ Degrade me ? Ottoline. Degrade you. If I hadn't come into your life again, you would have accepted your reverse — your failure to gain popularity by your latest book — as you've accepted similar disappointments — with a shrug and a confident snap of your fingers. [Advancing^] But I've humbled you — bruised your spirit — shaken your courage ; and now you express your wiUingness — you I — to throw your pen aside, and tack yourself to my skirts, and to figure meekly for the rest of your existence as " Mrs. Mackworth's hus- band" ! [At the nearer end of the writing-tab le.] Mon Dieu I This is what I have brought you to ! dpd THE BIG DRUM Philip. [Biting his lip.'\ You — you wouldn't have me profit by the advertisement I've got out of " The Big Drum," Ot- toline — \ironically\ the finest advertisement I could wish for, according to Robbie ! You wouldn't have me sink as low as that? Ottoline. You can write under an alias — a nom de plume — until you've won your proper place Philip. \Uneasily.'\ Oh, well — perhaps — by-and-by — when we had settled down, you and I — and things had adjusted themselves Ottoline. Yes, when you'd grown sick and weary of your new environment, and had had time to reflect on the horrid trick I'd employed to get hold of you, and had learned to despise me for it, you'd creep back to your desk and make an effort to pick up the broken threads ! \Co7ning to the settee on the rightJ] Eh Men / Do you know what would happen then, Phil ? Philip. W-w-what ? Ottoline. [Intensely^ I should puff you, under the rose — quietly pull the strings — use all the influence I could rake up Philip. No, no Ottoline. I should. It's in my blood. I couldn't resist it. Whether you wrote as Jones, or Smith, or Robinson, THE BIG DRUM 209 you'd find Jones, Smith, or Robinson artfully puffed and paragraphed and thrust under people's noses in the papers. I'm an incurably vulgar woman, I tell you ! [Snatching at her coat — harshiy.'] Ah, que je me connais ; que je me connais ! [She fumbles for the armholes of her coat. He goes to her quickly and they stand holding the coat between them and looking at each other. Philip. [After a silence.'\ You — you're determi»ed ? Ottoline. Determined. Philip. You — you cant be ! Ottoline. I am — I swear I am. Philip. [After a further silence. '\ Then it is — as you said last night ? Ottoline. What did I say last night ? I forget. Philip. [In a husky voice.~\ C est fini — apres tout! Ottoline. [Inclining her head.'\ C'estfini — afires tout. Philip. [Bitterly."] Ho! Ho, ho, ho! [Another pause. ^ So when — when April comes — we — we sha'n't ! 210 THE BIG DRUM Ottoline. [Lowering her eyes — all gentleness again.'] We sha'n't walk under the trees in the Champs-Elysees, Phil Philip. Nor in the Allee de Longchamp — where we Ottoline. No, nor in the Allee de Longchamp. Philip. [Releasing her coat and thrusting his hands into his trouser-pockets.'] Somebody else'll gulp the milk at the Cafe d'Armenonville ! Ottoline. And at the Pre-Catalan Philip. And there'll be no one to gaze sentimentally at my old windows in the Rue Soufflot Ottoline. [Softly.'] Quarante-trois bis. [Sighing.] No one. Philip. [With a hollow laugh,] Ha, ha, ha ! C'estfini — apres tout I Ottoline. [\Firmly.] C est fini — apres tout. [She holds out her coat to him and he helps her into it. Suddenly, while her hack is turned to him, he utters a guttiiral cry and grips her shoulders savagely. She turns in surprise, her hand to her shoulder.] Oh, Phil- ! THE BIG DRUM 211 Philip. \Pointing at her.~\ I see ! I see ! I see the end of it ! You'll marry Barradell ! You'll marry the fellow who's cooling his heels down below in South Square ! Ottoline. {Placidly, fastening her coat. '\ I may. Philip. \Choking.'\ Oh \ Ottoline. I may, if I marry at all — and he bothers any more about me. Philip. {Stamping up and down. '\ Bacon Barradell I Bacon Barradell ! The wife of Bacon Barradell ! Ottoline. {With a sad smile. '\ He has social aims ; a vulgar, pushing woman would be a serviceable partner for Sir Tim. Philip. Oh ! Oh ! {Dropping on to the settee on the left and burying his face in his hands.'] Ho, well, more power to him! He can sell his bacon; I — I can't sell my books ! {Again there is a silence, and then, putting on her left-hand glove, she goes to Philip and stands over him, compassionately, Ottoline. Mon pauvre Philippe, it's you, not I, who will take another view of things to-morrow. {He makes a gesture of dissent^ Ah, come, come, come ! You have never loved me as I have loved you. Unconsciously — with- 212 THE BIG DRUM out perceiving it — one may be half a poseuse ; but at least I've been sincere in my love for you, and in hun- gering to be your wife. \Giving him her right hand.~\ You're the best I've ever known, dear; by far the best I've ever known. \^He presses her hand to his brow con- vulsively.'] But when we had our talk in South Audley Street, how did you serve me? You insisted on my waiting — waiting ; I who had cherished your image in my mind for years! You guessed I shouldn't have patience — you almost prophesied as much ; but still — I was to wait ! Philip. [^Inarticulately.'] Oh, Otto ! Ottoline. [^Withdrawing her hand.] What did that show, Phil? It showed — as your compromise with mother and Dad showed afterwards — that the success of the book you were engaged upon came first with you ; that marrying me was to be only an incident in your career ; that you didn't love me sufficiently to bend your pride or vary your programme a jot. [He gets to his feet, startled, dumbfoundered. He attempts to speak, but she checks him.] H'sh! H'sh! I'm scolding you; but, for your sake, I wouldn't have it otherwise. Now that I'm sane and cool, I wouldn't have it otherwise. Philip. [Struggling for words — thickly.] Ottoline — Ottoline — [his voice dying away] I ! Ottoline. [Taking his hands in hers.] Good-bye. Don't come down-stairs with me. Let me leave you sitting at your table, at work — at work on that incomplete chapter. We shall tumble up against one another, I dare say, at odd times, but this is the last we shall see of each other dans THE BIG DRUM 21:^ t intimite ; and I want to print on my memory the sight of you — \_ pointing to the writing-table] there — keeping your flag ilying. [^Putting her arms round him — in a whisper.'] Keep your flag flying, Philip! Don't — don't sulk with your art, and be false to yourself, because a trumpery woman has fretted and disturbed you. Keep your flag flying — \_kissing him] my — my dead hero ! \_She untwines her arms and steps back. Slowly, with his hands hanging loosely, and his chin upon his breast, VviWA.^ passes her and goes to the writing-table. There, dully and mechanically, he takes the unfinished page of manuscript from the portfolio, arranges it upon the blotting-pad and, seating himself at the table, picks up his pen. Very softly OXTOLINE opens the vestibule door, gives Philip a last look over her shoulder, and enters the vestibule, closing the door behind her. There is a pause, during which Philip sits staring at his inkstand, and then the outer door slams. With art exclamation, Philip drops his pen, leaps up, and rushes to the vesti- bule door. Philip. Otto! Otto! \_Loudly?^ OttoUne ! {With his hand on the door-handle, he wavers, his eyes shifting wildly to and from the writing-table. Then, with a mighty effort, he pulls himself together, strides to the stno king- table, and loads and lights his pipe. Puffing at his pipe fiercely, he reseats himself before his manuscript and, grab- bing his pen, forces himself to write. He has written a word or two when he falters — stops— and lays his head upon his arm on the table. His shoulders heaving.] Oh, Otto— Otto 1 THE END WILLOWDALE A Play in Three Acts by Arthur Lewis Tubbs. Seven males, five fe- males. Scenery, two easy interiors ; costumes, modern. This is a play of exceptional interest and power. Admirably suited for amateur perform- ance, all the parts being good. Godfrey is an admirable heavy part, Joel, Lem and Simon capital character parts, Mis' Hazey a novel eccentric bit, and Oleander a part of screaming comedy. Plays two hours and a quarter. Price, 2^ cents THE VILLAGE SCHOOL MA'AM A Play in Three Acts by Arthur Lewis Tubbs. Six males, five females. Costumes, modern ; scenes, an interior and an exterior, or can be played in two interiors. Plays two hours or more. Combines a strong sympathetic interest with an abundance of comedy. The parts are unusually equal in opportunity, are vigorously drawn and easily actable. No dialect parts, but plenty of variety in the comedy roles and lots of amusing incident. Can be strongly recommended. Price, 2^ cents BAR HAVEN A Comedy in Three Acts by Gordan V. May. Six males, five females. Costumes, modern ; scenery, two interiors and an exterior, not difficult. Plays two hours. An excellent piece, mingling a strongly serious interest with abundant humor. Offers a great variety of good parts of nearly equal opportunity. Admirably suited for amateur performance, and strongly recommended. Price, 2^ cents DOWN IN MAINE A Drama in Four Acts by Charles Townsend. Eight male, four female characters. This play has no villains, no tangled plot nor sentimental love scenes; yet the climaxes are strong, the action brisk, and the humor genial, and the characters strongly drawn. Can be played in any hall ; scenery, of the easiest sort. Properties, few and simple ; costumes, modern. Plays a full evening. Strongly recommended. Price^ 2j cents HIGBEE OF HARVARD A Comedy Drama in Three Acts by Charles Townsend. Five males, four females. Modern costumes ; scenes, two interioi-s and an exterior — the latter may be played as well in an interior, if preferred. Plays a full evening. A clever, up-to-date piece, well suited for amateur performance. No small parts; all good. Good plot, full of incident, no love-making, interest strong and sustained. Price, ij cents HOW JIM MADE GOOD A Comedy Drama in Four Acts by Charles S. Bird. Seven males, three females ; two male parts can be doubled. Costumes, modern ; scenery, three interiors. Plays two hours. An unusually sympathetic play, well suited to amateurs. Clean and easy to get up. Recommended to high schools. All the parts are good. Price, 2^ cents TAKING THE CENSUS IN BINGVILLE An Entertainment in One Act by Jessie A. Kelley. Fourteen males, eight females. Costumes, modern ; scenery, unimportant. Plays an hour and a half. One of the always popular go-as-you-please entertainments; just a lot of laughs strung on a very slender wire of story. Full of eccen- tric character bits and chances for local hits. A sure success for the laughter-loving. Recommended for church societies or intimate com- munities. Price, 2^ cents MISS PRIM'S KINDERGARTEN An Entertainment in One Scene by Jessie A. Kelley. Ten males, eleven females. No scenery or curtain needed; costumes introduce grown people dressed as children. Plays an hour and a half. Full of laughs and a sure hit with the audience. All the parts very easy except the Teacher's, and as it is possible for her to use a book, the entertain- ment can be got up with exceptional ease and quickness. Can be recom- mended. Price, 2j cents THE PACKING OF THE HOME MIS- SIONARY BARREL An Entertainment in One Scene by Mrs. Henry A. Hallock. Ten fe- males. Costumes, modern ; scenery, unimportant. Plays thirty minutes. One of those little satires of feminine ways that are so popular even with the ladies; very shrewd and effective, but perfectly good-natured. An as- sured success and very easy to get up. Strongly recommended. Price, IS cents A MODERN SEWING SOCIETY An Entertainment in One Scene by O. W. Gleason. Fourteen females. Costumes, modern ; no scenery required. May be easily presented on a bare platform. Plays forty-five minutes. A humorous picture of this much-abused institution, briskly and vivaciously written and full of " points." Its characters offer a wide variety of opportunity for local hits, and satire of local characters and institutions. Price, ij cents HOW THE CLUB WAS FORMED An Entertainment in Three Scenes by Mrs. O. W. Gleason. Eighteen females. Costumes, modern ; scenery, unimportant. Plays one and a half hours. A humorous skit on the Woman's Club suited for perform- ance by either young or middle-aged women. Full of points and chances for local hits and thus a sure laugh-maker. Parts well distributed ; can be recommended. Price, 75 cents SCENES IN THE UNION DEPOT A Humorous Entertainment in One Scene by Laura M. Parsons. Twenty-four males, eighteen females and eight children, but can be played by less if desired. Scenery, unimportant ; costumes, modern. Full of humorous points and chances to introduce local hits. Plays from an hour up, according to specialties introduced. Price, 25 cents A REGIMENT OF TWO A Farcical Comedy in Three Acts by Anthony E. Wills. Six males, four females. Modern costumes. Scene, an interior, the same for all three acts. Plays a full evening. A lively, up-to-date farce, easy to pro- duce and full of laughs from beginning to end. All the parts good — no small ones. German comedy characters for both male and female, and " wild west " character part and English character comedy. Strongly recommended. Frice, 2^ cents MISS BUZBY'S BOARDERS A Comedy in Three Acts by Arthur Lewis Tubbs. Five male, six fe- male characters. Costumes, modern ; scenery, two easy interiors. Plays two hours. In a lighter vein than this writer's other pieces, but just as strong, and offers plenty of comedy. All the parts good ; four call for strong acting. Several good character parts and effect! "e heavy character. Dialogue especially good. A sure hit. Pricey 2^ cents VALLEY FARM A Dram?, in Four Acts by Arthur Lewis Tubbs, Six males, six females. Scenery, two interiors and an exterior. Costumes, modern. An admirable play for amateurs, very sympathetic in theme, and with lots of good parts. Hetty is a strong lead, and Perry Deane and Silas great parts ; while Azariali, Lizy Ann Tucker and Verbena are full of fun. Plays a full evening. Frice, 45 cents THE MISSING MISS MILLER A Comedy in Three Acts by Harold A, Clarke. Six males, five fe- males. Scenery, two interiors ; costumes, modern. Plays a full etfijing. A bright and up-to-date farce comedy of the liveliest type. All the parts good ; full of opportunity for all hands. Easy to produce and strongly recommended. Good lone ; might answer for schools, but is a sure hit for amateur theatricals. Professional stage rights reserved. Frice^ 2^ cents OUT OF TOWN A Comedy in Three Acts by Bell Elliot Palmer. Three males, five fe- males. Scene, an interior, the same for all three acts; costumes, modern. Plays an hour and a half, A clever and interesting comedy, very easy to produce and recommended for amateur performance. All the parts good. A safe piece for a fastidious audience, as its theme and treatment are alike beyond reproach. Price, 2^ cents GADSBY'S GIRLS A Farce in Three Acts by Bertha Currier Porter. Five males, fdtir fe- males. Costumes, modern ; scenery, an exterior and an interior. Plays an hour and a half. An exceptionally bright and vivacious little piece, full of action. Gadsby's adventures with the fiancees of three of his friends are full of interest and fun. All the parts good. Well suited for high school performance. Price, 2^ cents THF MAfilSTRATF ^^^'^^ ^° Three Acts. Twelve males, four UAlllym !♦ females. Costumes, modem; scene^T, all interior. Plays two lioiirs and a half . ^ THE NOTORIOUS MRS. EBBSMriB ?'r" J" f°7 ^f EigLt males, five females. Costumes, modem ; scenery, all interiors. Plays a full evening. TffE FR0FLI6ATE ^^y^^ourActs. seven males, Ave females. Scenery, three interiors, rather elaborate ; costumes, modem. Plays a fiQl evening. THE SCPOOLMiSTRESS ^^.rcetn Three Acts. Nine males, seven females. Costtmaes, modem; scenery, three interiors. Plays a full evening. TBE SECOND MRS. TANQDERAY «7toF„„rActs. Eight ^ males, five females. Cos- tumes, modern ; scenery, three interiors. Plays a full evening. SWEET LAVENDER ^^^^^y ^ Three Acts. Seven males, four females. Scene, a single interior; costumes, mo iu Plays a full evening. THE TIMES ^°^®<^y ^^ Four Acts. Six males, seven females. Scene, a single interior ; costume?, modern. Plays a full evening. THE WEAKER SEX ^°°^®*^y ^^ Three Acts, Eight males, eight females. Costumes, modern ; scenery, two Interiors. Playp a full evening. A WIFE WITHOUT A SMILE ""T^l *%^T ^r% ^"" ^ males, four females. Costumes, modem ; scene, a single interior. Plays a full evening. Sent prepaid on receipt of price by Walttv !^* ISafeer & Company No. 5 Hamilton Place, Boston, Massachusetts %yt Willmm Waxxtn etittton of ^lapfi AS YOII I I¥F IT Comedy in Five Acts. Thirteen males, four Aij iww JUiuiw It females. Costumes, picturesque ; scenery, va- ried. Plays a full evening. CAMII I F ^"^a^a in Five Acts. Nine males, five females. Cos- VAiTiU4i4L< tumes, modern ; scenery, varied. Plays a full evening. INdOMAff -^^y ^^ ^^^® ^^^^- Thirteen males, three females. inuviu/ux Scenery varied; costumes. Greek. Plays a full evening. MARY STUART Tragedy in Five Acts. Thirteen males, four fe- iiK/ii.\t uM.\)t\M\>. males, and supernumeraries. Costumes, of the period ; scenery, varied and elaborate. Plays a full evening. THE MERCHANT OF VENICE iT^li^^ffJSll: SSf^S; picturesque ; scenery varied. Plays a full evening. RFCHFIIFII I'lay in Five Acts. Fifteen males, two females. Scen- iMvui^xyxi^v ery elaborate ; costumes of the period. Plays a full evening. THE RIVAT S Comedy in Five Acts. Nine males, five females. A 1114 niTAi^iJ Scenery varied; costumes of the period. Plgys a « full evening. SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER SSfe^L ■? S,er&en'er,'£ ried ; costumes of the period. Plays a full evening. TWELFTH NlfiHT; OR, WHAT YOII WILL iX^A^'mfiJe': three females. Costumes, picturesque ; scenery, varied. Plays a full evening. Sent prepaid on receipt of price by Salter 1^. TBaSer & Company No. 5 Hamilton Place, Boston, Massachusetts Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: April 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 1 1 1 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 1 6066 (724)779-2111