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WHEN WE WERE 
 TWENTY-ONE 
 
 /?j 
 
 dome&s in font Hcts 
 
 BY 
 
 H. V. ESMOND 
 
 Copyright, 1903, by^ Samuel French 
 
 Caution : — Amateurs are hereby notified that this play is fully copyrighted 
 under the existing laws of the United States Government, and they are not 
 allowed to produce this play without first having obtained permission 
 from Samuel French, 24 West 22d Street, New York City, U. S. A. 
 
 New York 
 SAMUEL FRENCH 
 
 PUBLISHER 
 
 26 WEST 22D STREET 
 
 London 
 SAMUEL FRENCH, 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
 89 STRAND 
 
 Ltd. 
 
' THt LIBRARY OF 
 CONGRESS, 
 
 Two Copies Keceived 
 
 MAY 8 1903 
 
 Copyright hniry 
 hXcu^. i I- /CI ^ 
 CLASS /^ XXc No. 
 
 3^ 1 ^ ^ 
 
 COPY B. 
 
 
 WHEN WE WEEE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 Performed at the Comedy Theatre, London, Sept. 2, 1901. 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Richard Carewe Mr. Nat Goodwin 
 
 Sir Horace Plumely, Bart, (commonly called Wad- 
 dles) Mr. Neil O'Brien 
 
 Colonel Miles Grahame (the Soldier Man) 
 
 Mr. J. R. Crawford 
 
 Terrence McGrath (the Doctor) Mr. F. H Tyler 
 
 Richard Terrence Miles Audaine (the Imp.) 
 
 Mr. Arnold Daly 
 
 Herbert C1or?ie. . , . . , Mr. Fred Tiden 
 
 David rji^scH Mr. Bassett ivoe 
 
 IIp'GiiiE Hex MONT. Mr. Ernest Lawford 
 
 Wallis Brundalll Mr. Ivo Dawson 
 
 Mrs. Ericson. Miss Ingram 
 
 :F^yll;«:b; (fcei^ daughte/. Miss Maxine Elliott 
 
 ELarA' GitYNEfeK' (known as the Firefly) 
 
 Miss Constance Collier 
 
 Budgie Culpepper 
 
 Babette (Kara's Maid) 
 
WHEN WE WEEE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene. — Dick Carew's room in his fiat in Clement's 
 Inn. A man's room. Old-fashioned, comfortable 
 chairs, with the leather well-worn. On the r. side 
 of the room a Mg fire-place with fender seat all round 
 it. The wall is nearly entirely hook-cases. The 
 hangings are darJc red. The over-mantel is old black 
 oak, also the old-fashioned bureau, which is down l. 
 against the wall. There is a deep, comfortable Ches- 
 terfield sofa above the fire-place, and a comfortable 
 arm-chair below it, facing up stage. There is a door 
 down R. of the fire-place, and a door l. c. at back, 
 I'^hich opens into the hall — showing the hall — hat- 
 rdcks, coats, etc., and the hall door, which opens on to 
 the staircase of the building. There is a large loin- 
 dow opposite the fire-place with a very crooked blind. 
 A card-table is set out between the window and the 
 fire-place, a little l. of the centre, below it is a smaller 
 table, with a half-empty, old-fashioned whiskey decan- 
 ter, five glasses, and numerous syphons of soda-water 
 — both on and under the table. Various ash-trays, 
 pipes, and cigar-ends about — also packs of cards. The 
 room has evidently just been the scene of a card 
 party. The door is open that leads to the hall, and 
 through it comes the sotind of men's voices and laugh- 
 ter. A moment after the curtain rises, Mrs. Ericson 
 comes in from the door, doivn r. She is a sweet- 
 looking, fragile old lady. She gives a little ejacula- 
 tion of dismay. 
 
 Mrs. E. Oh, my dear — the smoke. Phyllis, dearie, 
 come and help me to open the window. 
 
 3 
 
4 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 (Phyllis enters after her mother, and is lilcewise a lit- 
 tle dismayed at the disorder of the room.) 
 
 Phyll. They are having a party, aren't they? Foo! 
 the heat! 
 
 Mrs. E. Dick would have a fire — and it's June! 
 
 Phyll. (has helped to open the window and is now 
 trying to straighten the blind) Dick says a " card- 
 party " wouldn't be anything without a fire. What is 
 the matter with this beastly old blind — it will keep 
 crooked? 
 
 Mrs. E. (nervously) My dear — there's something 
 burning. 
 
 Phyll. (turning excitedly) Oh, look about — look 
 about, it's Dick's cigar end for a certainty. 
 
 (The two women commence to hunt) 
 
 Here it is — on the oak, of course. He is a careless old 
 thing, isn't he? He'd be burnt down regularly if I 
 wasn't here to look after him He dropped one into the 
 drawing-room piano yesterday, and we didn't find it 
 out for a quarter of an hour, and then we couldn't get at 
 it, so we had to spill milk down to put it out, and that 
 isn't the best thing for a piano. 
 
 (The hall-door bell rings, and as Mrs. Ericson is close 
 to it, she opens it and — ) 
 
 Mrs, E. Oh, Mr. Corrie, it's you. 
 
 Herbert, (a frank, cheerful youth) Hallo, Mrs. 
 Ericson, Dick sent down to me about an hour ago, to 
 know if I had any cards. I was out, but I got his 
 message when I came in just now, and thought I'd bring 
 'em up myself. How are you? (smiling at Phyllis) 
 One pack's nearly new, the two others aren't quite, and, 
 in fact, I don't think any of 'em are perfect. What does 
 this sudden burst of dissipation mean? 
 
 Phyll. (gravely) One of the Trinity has got a 
 birthday. 
 
 Herbert, (with due solemnity) Ohoh! Which one? 
 
 Phyll. Sir Horace. The little fat one. 
 
 Herbert. Is that the one they call "Waddles"? 
 
 Phyll. Yes. 
 
 Mrs. E. I do hope that little bed in the box-room 
 will hold him. 
 
 Phyll. Of course it will hold him, mother — he's not 
 so very fat. He's "just comfortable." 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE 6 
 
 Herbert. He's staying here? 
 
 Phyll. Dick's putting him up for the night, other- 
 wise he'd have had to go early to catch the last train, 
 and as it's his birthday, of course that wouldn't have 
 done at all. 
 
 Herbert, (fanning himself) I say — you're awfully 
 hot in here. 
 
 Phyll. Dick would have a fire. 
 
 Herbert. Where's the Imp? 
 
 Phyll. Oh, the Imp's gone out to have a quiet even- 
 ing of his own. He's too young to stand the shock of 
 such a revel as this party. 
 
 Herbert, (chuckles) H'm! It strikes me that the 
 Imp isn't quite as young as he looks. Oh, I beg your 
 pardon. Miss Ericson. 
 
 Phyll. Not at all. 
 
 Herbert. Somehow it's difficult to think of the Imp 
 as an engaged man. 
 
 Phyll. It is very difficult, isn't it? 
 
 Herbert. He's a jolly lucky chap — oh, I beg pardon, 
 I didn't mean that. 
 
 Phyll. Oh, I hope you did, because I quite agree with 
 you. 
 
 Herbert. That's a spiffing dog-cart Dick's given him. 
 
 Mrs. E. (turning round aghast) What? 
 
 Phyll. Dog-cart! 
 
 Herbert. Oh! Didn't you know — er — well, p'raps it 
 was a hired one — only — well — he did rather lead me to 
 suppose that he was its sole proprietor. 
 
 (Sound of pushing "bacTc chairs comes mingled with the 
 chatter from the adjoining room.) 
 
 Hallo! I must get. 
 
 Mrs. E. Stop and see Dick. 
 
 Herbert. Not I — when four old veterans like that 
 get together and have a birthday, they don't want any 
 extraneous juveniles knocking about — give him the 
 cards. I hope the packs are perfect, but I doubt it. 
 
 Mrs. E. Oh, I don't think it'll matter one or two 
 being gone, nothing ever seems to matter much to Dick. 
 
 (Herbert laughs, and icith a cheery " Good-night " goes 
 out, not closing the hall-door after him.) 
 
 Phyll. (gravely) That's funny about Imp and the 
 dog-cart. I wonder, does Dick know? 
 
6 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 Mrs. E. I don't expect he knows half that young man 
 is up to behind his back. 
 
 Phyll. (gravely) Mother, you mustn't say disre- 
 spectful things about the Imp, he's my future husband! 
 
 Mrs. E. Yes, dear, I know he is — bother the boy! 
 He's left the door open, (she goes to the outer door, her 
 eye falls on something hy the mat) Goodness! {she 
 stops and picks up a key) The latch-key — now who put 
 that under the mat? (a pause) Are any of the ser- 
 vants out at this hour? No, they're not. I saw them 
 go to bed ages ago. 
 
 Phyll. I put it there, mother. It's all right — oh, 
 don't look amazed. The Imp asked me to — he's likely 
 to be a little late and he's mislaid his own. 
 
 Mrs. E. (puzzled) But he's gone to his aunt's at 
 
 Phyll. (imth a little laugh) Oh, no, he hasn't. 
 
 Mrs. E. But 
 
 Phyll. Mother dear, don't be old-fashioned. The 
 Imp isn't a child — he can go to a Music-hall if he likes. 
 Another dirty old damp cigar, (looking at cigar) It's 
 Dick's — he chews his ends. 
 
 Mrs. E. But — Oh, Dick thicks he's gone to his aunt's, 
 and it seems almost like de<!eiving him. 
 
 Phyll. If the Imp deceives Dick — Dick's only got 
 himself to blame. I think Dick makes himself very 
 ridiculous about the Imp. I don't deceive Dick. I 
 merely push a silly little latch-key under a very dirty 
 mat, that's all. Mother dear, if anybody saw you glar- 
 ing at me like that, they'd be bound to think I was a 
 monstrosity out of a show. Smooth your face out, and 
 come to bed, there's a dear. 
 
 Mrs. E. Phyllis, I really don't believe I shall ever be 
 able to understand you. 
 
 Phyll. That's because of the difference in our ages 
 — you're so very young, and I'm so very old. 
 
 Mrs. E. (feebly) Why are you? 
 
 Phyll. (with a laugh) Because, if I'm going to be 
 married to the Imp, I shall need to know a great deal. 
 
 Mrs. E. It's very upsetting. 
 
 Phyll. What is? 
 
 Mrs. E. Oh, everything. I'm sometimes tempted to 
 think — you won't marry him at all. 
 
 Phyll. I will. I said I would, and everybody was 
 pleased, and so I suppose I was — fearfully — pleased. 
 After all, nothing matters as long as other people are 
 pleased, does it? 
 
 Mrs. E. It's very nice to please others, if it doesn't 
 worry one. 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. Y 
 
 Phyll. Well, now could it worry one to bs married 
 to such an ideal husband as the Imp? 
 
 Mrs. E. I suppose not. 
 
 Phyll. (suddenly) Come along, mother dear, they're 
 coming. We don't want to be convicted of keeping 
 them tidy. 
 
 (She puts her arm round her mother and hurries her 
 off. The door is flung open, and amid a general bab- 
 ble, Waddles and the Soldiee-Man stalk in arm-in-arm. 
 The Soldier-Man is smoking a large cigar and Wad- 
 dles is carrying a drink. Waddles, otherwise knoion 
 as Sir Horace Plumely, is a little, round, cherubic 
 man of about 45. The Soldier-Man, otheriuise known 
 as Colonel Miles Grahame, is very tall — very mili- 
 tary, bronzed and handsome, a suspicion of grey in 
 his hair.) 
 
 Waddles, (with a sigh of content) Oh, good gra- 
 cious me — we're having a splendid evening. 
 
 S. Man. It's a very impressive sight to watch you 
 over a dish of plover's eggs. Waddles. 
 
 Waddles. Can't resist 'em — never could — there's 
 something in their shape that appeals to me. 
 
 (The Doctor, a well set up, genial Irishman of about 
 five and forty, enters ivith a small spirit-lamp in his 
 hand — lighting his cigar and speaking through the 
 puffs.) 
 
 Doctor. Will ye believe it, boys — wid all my flow of 
 eloquence, I can't persuade Master Dick that it's his 
 duty to marry the old lady. What's to be done about 
 it at all— at all? 
 
 (Dick enters laden with cigars and cigarette boxes.) 
 
 Dick. Lazy demons. Leave me to carry everything, 
 as usual. 
 
 Waddles. You're the host — I'm the guest of honour — 
 it's your duty, all of you, to wait on me. Soldier-Man, 
 fetch me more plover's egggs. 
 
 S. Man. Daren't; you'd burst, and I'd be called to the 
 inquest. 
 
 Dick. Oh, dear, oh, dear, I haven't laughed as much 
 for years as I have this evening. 
 
 Doctor. If you'd only propose to the old lady 
 
 Dick. Shut up, or I'll — (throtos cushion at him) 
 
8 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 S. Man. (gravely) Really, ye know, this fire's a 
 damn nuisance. 
 
 Doctor. It is that. Couldn't ye put it out somehow, 
 Dick? 
 
 Dick, (ruefully staring at it) It was such a devil of 
 a job to put it in. 
 
 Waddles, (fanning himself) I must own, I really 
 have felt it a little oppressive once or twice. 
 
 Dick, (hopefully) I vote we don't notice it; it'll be 
 all right then. 
 
 S. Man. Theoretically it may be all right — but prac- 
 tically — phew! 
 
 Dick. Let's take our coats off. (then with a chuckle 
 to the Soldiee-Man) Do you remember the night we 
 took our coats off in Princes' Street, Edinburgh? 
 
 S. Man. Rather. By Gad, what a pasting you gave 
 the brute, Dickie! 
 
 Doctor, (with a note of solemn admiration in his 
 voice) Ah — it's a beautiful fighter ye were in those 
 days, Masther Dick. 
 
 (Dick chuckles.) 
 
 Waddles, (sparring at the Doctor) I was a bit use- 
 ful if I was pushed, wasn't I^ Miles? 
 
 Doctor. Ye were so — but, thank the Lord — ye weren't 
 often pushed. 
 
 Waddles. D'ye remember the day that by my su- 
 perior agility and address I compelled you to apologise 
 on one knee for winking at my best girl behind my 
 back? 
 
 Doctor. I have never yet managed to remember what 
 never happened. 
 
 'Dick. Come, boys. The cards are getting cold. 
 
 Waddles, (rising quickly and going to table) That's 
 right! What I say is — is this a card-party, or is it 
 isn't? 
 
 Doctor. Come along, then. 
 
 Waddles. My luck must turn. I've lost pounds 
 and pounds. 
 
 S. Man. You don't look it, Waddles. 
 
 Dick. Leave my little friend's figure alone — who in- 
 sults him, insults me — Hello! (then turning with a 
 chuckle to Waddles) D'ye remember that night in the 
 Rue Mont Pamane, we upset the claret over one pack 
 of cards — and then sent down to the room under- 
 neath 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 9 
 
 Waddles, (chuckling) I know, the room with the 
 red blinds. 
 
 S. Man. Ha! Always drawn. 
 
 Dick. Yes — and — d'ye remember the message that 
 came back — and then we went down ourselves — we 
 three. 
 
 Waddles. Me first. 
 
 Dick. Yes, and I was next, and slipped over those 
 infernal tins. 
 
 S. Man. Gads, yes, I remember. 
 
 Dick. And how all the giggling stopped dead when 
 we opened the door. 
 
 S. Man. By George, yes! 
 
 (And all the men sit hack, their faces teaming with 
 the memories of that night so long ago. There is a 
 pause.) 
 
 Waddles, (breaks it hy murmuring with his eyes 
 half closed and a beaming smile on his plump little Jace) 
 One of 'em — the fair one — had her hair all down. I re- 
 member. 
 
 (Another pause.) 
 
 S. Man. (gravely) Ah! Soft hair it was too, very 
 soft and long — very — very long. 
 
 Waddles, (sitting up quickly) Yes, I remember 
 now — you did me out of a nice thing that night with 
 your lanky legs and your bony shoulders. I'm not sure 
 it's diplomacy for a man of my build to be seen about 
 by ladies with a man of yours. 
 
 S. Man. You wern't your present magnificent propor- 
 tions then, Waddles — you were a slim little freckled, im- 
 pudent — scaramouch. 
 
 Waddles. I was — I was — oh, I know I was. (and 
 he beams again with renewed delight) 
 
 Dick. Oh, those days — those nights. What times we 
 used to have. 
 
 Waddles. And will again. 
 
 Doctor. 
 
 Dick. 
 
 S. Man. 
 (together) Rather — one of these fine days. 
 
 Waddles, (after a pause) I don't think I was ever 
 very, was I? 
 
 Dick. Well, I don't know about very freckled, was 
 he, Miles? 
 
10 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 Doctor. Well, lie was freckled, anyhow. 
 
 Waddles. I don't care if I was. {he looks cheer- 
 fully at the circle round the table — the Soldier-Man has 
 begun to deal) Oh dear, oh dear. We're all just as 
 young as we were then. 
 
 (There is a pause, the three men look up with a wry 
 face. ) 
 
 Dick. Just as young. 
 
 S. Man. 
 
 Doctor. 
 (together) Ahem — just. 
 
 Waddles, (patting his own bald spot apprehensively) 
 Well!! almost — anyhow. I fear I'm beginning to lose a 
 little control over my figure, but in some respects I'm 
 sure we're younger, aren't we, Dickie? 
 
 Dick. Much younger. Misdeal again. Miles. 
 
 Doctor. That's the third time. It's the lobster's 
 flown to your head, my poor boy. 
 
 S. Man. (smiling) Ah, the young 'uns of to-day 
 don't know how to enjoy life as we knew how to enjoy 
 it. They're all so damned calculatory. 
 
 Dick. No such word. 
 
 5S. Man. You know what I mean. We, Dickie, you 
 and I, never stopped in the old days to turn things over 
 in our minds and grow grey over counting the chances 
 of what would or wouldn't happen. Vv'^e went slap at 
 everything, like the healthy young devils we were. 
 
 Waddles. Are. 
 
 All. Are, of course. 
 
 S. Man. And if we got our ears boxed — damme — it 
 did us good — and — er — if we didn't get our ears boxed — 
 well 
 
 Dick, (cheerfully, speaking for him) Damme, that 
 did us good, too. 
 
 General Chorus, (cheerfully) So it did, of course 
 it did. 
 
 Doctor. Ah, we are a merry Trinity. 
 
 Waddles, (quickly) Quadrity! Don't forget me, 
 if you please. 
 
 S. Man. Ah, Waddy, you're not an original member 
 — you grew on to it later. 
 
 Dick. You did — you plump little parasite. 
 
 Doctor. It was three years later you threw in your- 
 self on us, Waddy dear. 
 
 Waddles, (gloomy) I know it was. But oh, after 
 all these years don't you think it would be more gen- 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. H 
 
 tlemanly of you three to forget your blessed Trinity, and 
 start friends level? 
 
 S. Man. Damme! I've mis-dealt again. 
 
 Doctor. It must be the lobster — it couldn't be the 
 wine. 
 
 Dick. Here, I'll have a go this time. 
 
 S. Man. {leaning hack in his chair and stretching 
 his long legs) Remember that night in Boulogne when 
 we 
 
 Dick, (gravel) Ought we to discuss that before 
 Waddles — he's very young. 
 
 Doctor. And very immature. 
 
 Waddles. It is my birthday. I won't keep on being 
 got at, and my glass has been empty for ages. 
 
 Dick, (rising quickly) My dear Waddy, I'm aw- 
 fully sorry. I left the drinks in the dining room. You 
 deal on where I left off — oh — where did I leave off — 
 never mind, go on where I did. I don't know, a card 
 or two more or less won't make much difference at 
 this time of night. 
 
 Doctor, (counting the cards) Count your cards, 
 boys. 
 
 (They do so. Then the Doctor folds his hands across 
 his middle and lets his roving eyes rest on a photo- 
 graph of Phyllis that hangs on the wall.) 
 
 (placidly) It's a wonderful invention, this photography 
 — sure that's a speaking likeness of the child. 
 
 (The other two, adsorbed in counting, merely grunt.) 
 
 She's a beautiful gyurl! 
 
 S. Man. She is. 
 
 Waddles. Beautiful indeed. 
 
 Doctor. Why did none of us have the chance of 
 meeting such an angel when we were the Imp's age? 
 
 S. Man. Because we'd all have got married, and then 
 none of us would have been here to-night. 
 
 Waddles, (having counted) Seven. 
 
 S. Man. And seven here. The Imp's a lucky little 
 chap. 
 
 Waddles. He is so — no, it's eight I have. 
 
 Doctor. Be — devil the cyards. I can't count for 
 thinking. 
 
 Waddles. It's my belief the Imp will have to let 
 off a lot of steam before he's fit to run in double har- 
 ness. 
 
12 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 {The two others give grunts of mutual acquiescence. 
 Then there is a pause, broken "by — ) 
 
 All. I wish — {they stop and each looTcs at the other) 
 Doctor. What? 
 
 (Waddles and the Soldier-Man pick up their cards a 
 little sheepishly.) 
 
 S. Man. Nothing. 
 
 Doctor, {looking at them both, quizzically) It's the 
 same case wid all of us, I'm thinking. 
 
 Waddles. What's that? 
 
 S. Man. I fail to follow. 
 
 Doctor, {gravely) Why, all of us u'd gladly lay 
 down in the mud, and let Miss Phylley dance herself 
 thro' life on our bedabbled corpses. 
 
 Waddles, {loftily) Not at all — not at all. 
 
 S. Man. Not I. 
 
 Doctor, {shaking his head) Ye're fooling your- 
 selves, the facts is as I say. Howld yer whist. Here 
 he comes and the whiskey wine. 
 
 (Dick enters with a bottle from Tantalus.) 
 
 Dick. It's nearly empty. 
 
 Doctor. Nearly empty, it is that an' more. Never 
 mind — when it's finished, we can all go and forage in 
 the barrel. Here are your cards, my son. 
 
 Dick, {sitting down and picking up his cards) 
 Miles, how the dickens do you keep so tidy? You don't 
 even get tobacco ash on your trousers {and he brushes 
 himself vigorously with his hands) 
 
 S. Man. It's constitutional. 
 
 Doctor, {looking at his cards) 1 propose. 
 
 Waddles, {looking at his hand) I pass. 
 
 Dick. Half a minute. I haven't looked at my hand. 
 I wish to goodness the Imp were here. I find his ad- 
 vice at cards most invaluable. 
 
 Doctor. His father was a good card player. 
 
 Dick. Card playing's a gift, {then looking round at 
 the other players) What's happened? 
 
 S. Man. Proposal over there. 
 
 Dick, {as he laboriously arranges and examines his 
 cards) Jolly tactful of him to go out to-night, so that 
 we four should be all to ourselves, wasn't it? 
 
 Waddles. Very — we're waiting for you — what do 
 you do? 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 13 
 
 Dick. Oh, is it me to shout? Oh, I pass — no, I don't 
 — I'll accept you, Doctor. 
 
 Waddles. Come on, we'll down 'em. My lead. 
 
 Dick. Hallo, I've only got twelve cards, {he counts 
 them out) 
 
 S. Man. It's an imperfect pack — it must be. 
 
 Dick. Try another, and deal again. 
 
 S. Man. I'm a bit sick of dealing, somebody else have 
 a go. 
 
 Doctor, (cheerfully) I'll do it. (and he deals 
 while the others watch him) 
 
 S. Man. I say, old man — I hear you didn't take that 
 fishing after all. 
 
 Dick. No. 
 
 S. Man. Why the dickens didn't you — it's quite the 
 best. 
 
 Dick. I daresay, but I came to the conclusion that I 
 couldn't afford it. 
 
 S. Man. Rubbish! 
 
 Dick. It's fact. 
 
 S. Man. Then I expect you let the Imp run away 
 with all the spare cash, eh. Master Dick? 
 
 (Dick smiles.) 
 
 Dick. He runs away with a good deal, bless him. 
 
 DocTOE. It's a mistake. 
 
 Dick. What is? 
 
 Waddles. You spoil him. 
 
 Dick. I don't. 
 
 Doctor, (interposing quickly) Ah, now do let's drop 
 the Imp, and get on with our game. We're the Imps to- 
 night, not 21, any man Jack of us. 
 
 (The others pay no attention to him, and the Soldier- 
 Man goes on gravely.) 
 
 S. Man. I think, Dick, if you'll allow me to say so, 
 you're wrong in letting him run away with the idea 
 that his income is unlimited. 
 
 Dick. He's welcome to all I've got — and he knows it. 
 
 Waddles. And doesn't scruple to make use of his 
 knowledge, I'm thinking. 
 
 S. Man. That's all very well, old man — but I don't 
 think you've got more than enough for yourself. 
 
 Dick. Oh, I want very little. 
 
 Waddles. Why have you given up your cob, Dickie? 
 
 Dick. (Shoving his fingers through his hair) Oh, I 
 I dunno. 
 
14: WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 S. Man. You didn't shoot last year. How was that? 
 
 Dick. Er — I dunno. 
 
 Waddles. I do; you think the money is more profita- 
 ble squandered on the boy. 
 
 Dick. Well, p'raps I do. 
 
 S. Man. Rot. 
 
 Doctor. Not at all. 
 
 Waddles. You spoil him. 
 
 S. Man. Does he know that you're giving up all the 
 fun you used to get out of life, that he may enjoy him- 
 self more than's good for him? 
 
 Dick. He doesn't, because I'm not. 
 
 Doctor. You let him have every mortal thing he 
 wants. 
 
 Dick. I don't. 
 
 Waddles. If he cried for the moon you'd make an 
 effort to get it for him. 
 
 Dick. So would all of you. 
 
 Waddles. It can't be a good training. 
 
 Doctor. No, indeed it can't. 
 
 Dick. Look here, it's all very well to round on me, 
 but — but, under the circumstances, I don't think I've 
 turned the boy out badly. 
 
 (Waddles shakes his head and groans.) 
 
 I think he's a splendid fellow, if you ask me. 
 
 S. Man. So do I — that's not quite the point. 
 
 Dick. Of course, I may have gone wrong in one or 
 two little things 
 
 Doctor. Ye've gone wrong on more than one or two 
 little things to my certain knowledge. 
 
 Dick. Still I've done my best to turn him out all right. 
 Suppose you three chaps have a go at him now. Every 
 little helps, and I'm jolly sure that out of our united 
 experiences we ought to be able to teach him a thing 
 or two. 
 
 Waddles, (beamingly) I'm sure any one of us 
 could instruct him how to have a high old time. 
 
 Dick, (shortly) That's not what I mean. 
 
 Doctor. Shut up, Waddles, you're a rake. 
 
 (Waddles chortles with conscious pride.) 
 
 S. Man. Now we are on this subject, I should like 
 to know how he does really stand — financially, I mean. 
 
 Dick, (a little embarrassed) Oh, he's all right that 
 way. 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 15 
 
 Doctor. Let's see, how auld was he when he became 
 our property? 
 
 Dick. Two. 
 
 S. Man. And from then till now 
 
 Waddles. Nineteen years. 
 
 S. Man. He has been your old man of the sea — that is 
 to say — he has lived with you? 
 
 (Dick nods.) 
 
 Doctor. And we've each contributed a paltry £25 per 
 annum for the little beggar's maintenance. 
 
 Waddles. And what with tutors for this and tutors 
 for that and sending him to Harrow and buying him 
 books and cricket bats, I don't think that there can be 
 much margin on that hundred a year. 
 
 S. Man. Dickie, as co-guardians with you of that boy 
 — we demand to know — vv-Iiat is his financial position? 
 
 Dick. Well, as a matter fact, he's all right. That — 
 er — £100 a year that we've arranged to let him have — I — 
 er — well, as a matter of fact, I've made that a sort of 
 a sinking fund for him — I — I've never touched that. 
 It's been left to accumulate and — er — well, it's about 
 £3000 now. 
 
 Waddles, (hangs the table) I thought as much. 
 
 Doctor. So did I. 
 
 S. Man. Then you have paid for his entire bringing 
 up — ever since he's belonged to us? 
 
 Dick. It's been all right. I didn't want the money 
 for myself, and I thought our allowances would be very 
 handy for him in a lump sum when he came of age. 
 
 S. Man. You've done more than was necessary. 
 
 Waddles. Much more than he had any right to ex- 
 pect. 
 
 Dick, {rising quietly) I don't think so, any one of 
 you in my place would have done just the same. 
 
 (He rises and goes to his desk.) 
 
 He is Charlie's boy — (a silence falls on the men) you 
 remember when old Charlie came and told the four of 
 us he meant to be married. 
 
 Waddles. And what a silly ass sort of thing we 
 thought it was then. 
 
 Doctor, (shaking his head sadly) Oh, dear old 
 Charlie — one of the best. 
 
 Dick, (sadly) One of the best. 
 
16 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 (Another pause — the men's minds drift dack into the 
 past.) 
 
 That wedding day. 
 
 Waddles. One of my boots was too tight. 
 
 S. Man. I was best man. 
 
 Waddles. Only because ye looked most showy walk- 
 ing up the aisle. 
 
 Dick. Then two years afterwards the coming of the 
 Imp, and the passing away of Mrs. Charlie. Poor old 
 chap, how lonely and desolate it seemed to leave him. 
 Do you remember how we used to watch him from our 
 windows walking up and down that field behind the 
 stables day in, day out, with the Imp huddled up in his 
 arms? 
 
 Doctor. He was hard hit — poor old son. 
 
 Waddles. He was that. 
 
 S. Man. Broke him up. 
 
 Dick. He'd have got out of it, had it not been for his 
 dread of leaving the Imp alone. Do you remember this 
 — (he goes to the desk and takes out a worn letter and 
 reads) " Im going, old man — and somehow I don't 
 much care. I've never given much thought to the other 
 side — but anyhow she's there. Dick, I want to speak of 
 my boy. I'm leaving him. I'm helpless. I'm leaving 
 him alone, there is only you, you and the Trinity, boys 
 look after my boy when I'm gone. Make a man of him, 
 make him what you know he ought to be. Make the 
 Trinity proud of him, for their old Charlie's sake, let 
 him step into my place with you all, let him be one of 
 us. I'm leaving him so terribly alone. Oh, for God's 
 sake, Dick, be Father— Mother— be all to him." (Dick 
 stops and refolds the letter) And— and— I've done it, 
 boys. I've been father and mother and — and, oh, I've 
 been a damn fool, I daresay— but I've done my best. 
 (then with a sudden outburst) Hang it all, so have 
 you, you've all made fools of yourselves about him at 
 one time or another. You— (7ie points a scornful finger 
 at the Soldter-Man) You've swaggered down Piccadilly 
 with him sittting on your shoulders rubbing your top 
 hat the wrong way. I was with you and saw even the 
 cabmen laughing, (then he turns fiercely on Waddles) 
 You— you were caught in a four-wheeler in Pall Mall 
 with a rocking horse on top, a most invidious position 
 for an unmarried man. (they all laugh) You laugh 
 at me. Very well— laugh away. I'm a hen with one 
 chicken, I daresay, and a hen with one chicken I'll be to 
 the end of the chapter, but I mean that chicken to be a 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 17 
 
 bally swan before I go and tell Charlie how we've reared 
 his boy. 
 
 (And very excited he goes across to the bureau and re- 
 places the letter, shutting the drawer with a snap.) 
 
 Doctor. Well, well, well — he's a fine ould youngster — 
 but all this has given me the doldrums, Dickie, me son 
 — excursh into the larder, and trot out another jug of 
 whiskey wine. 
 
 Dick. I — I — I'm awfully sorry. I didn't mean to get 
 so serious. 
 
 Waddles. Let's get on with our game; there won't be 
 time for me to get that £7 back if we don't. 
 
 Dick. Come along, Waddy, — you shall have it, if I 
 have to revoke to give it you — wait till I get the whiskey, 
 where the devil are the matches. 
 
 Waddles. Hurry up. 
 
 S. Man. You chaps drink too much. Waddles, how 
 is it you (^n not keep your waistcoat buttoned? 
 
 WADDLEt. Oh, do leave my wardrobe alone. 
 
 (Dick retires to the pantry, laughing.) 
 
 S. Man. There never was a man so completely de- 
 voted to any one as Dick is to that boy. 
 
 Waddles. Talk of love of women. 
 
 DocTOB. If anything happened to him he's — what's 
 that? 
 
 (A pause, they all listen.) 
 
 S. Man. Some one at the front door. 
 
 {Another pause. The door is heard to open and close 
 softly, then another pause, then the room door opens 
 softly and the Imp peers in — he is surprised at the 
 sight of the Trinity, hut smiles at them a little va- 
 santly. ) ^ 
 
 Imp. Hullo! 
 
 (The Trinity glare at him in dismay.) 
 
 S. Man. Good God! 
 
 Waddles. Imp, where have you been? 
 Imp. (with a chuckle) Sh — 1. Spen'in' the evenin' 
 with my fiancee. 
 
18 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 Doctor, (with a shout) What! 
 
 S. Man. You young idiot, where in thunder have you 
 been? 
 
 Imp. Sh — 1 — it's a secret — doncher tell Dick. 
 
 Waddles. Phyllis. 
 
 Imp. Sir Horace, I dinnot refer to Phyllis. Phyllis' 
 sweet girl — but she's not my fiancee. Don't you tell 
 Dick I sezzo, I'm keepin' my fiancee back for a bit. 
 I'll s'prize you all with her some day. Now if I could 
 get to bed. They made me drink heaps of things all 
 mixed up together to see if I was a man now that's 
 over. I shewed 'em I was a man — and so — now — now 
 do you think you could put me to bed, Sir 'Grace? 
 
 (Dick heard oft.) 
 
 S. Man. Here's Dick — keep him out. I'll get the 
 young beggar to bed. 
 
 Waddles. Oh, Dick must never know. 
 
 Doctor. Quick! Man — quick! He must know he's 
 come home. 
 
 S. Man. Yes, but not how he's come home. 
 
 Imp. Oh, I'm so awfully unwell — don' mention this 
 111' matter to Dick. 
 
 Doctor. He's coming. 
 
 S. Man. Lock the door. 
 
 (He grahs the bewildered Imp and rushes oft with him, 
 while Waddles goes to intercept Dick. He shuts the 
 door and hunts for the key.) 
 
 Waddles. There's no key. 
 
 S. Man. Keep him out for a minute anyhow. 
 
 (He and Doctor exit with Imp.) 
 
 Dick, (pushing against door) Hullo, what's against 
 the door? (a pause) Open, one of you chaps— my 
 hands are full. 
 
 Waddles. Ye can't come in. 
 
 DiCH. What do ye mean? 
 
 Waddles. I won't let ye in till ye swear that for a 
 whole year ye won't make a single rude remark about 
 the gradual disappearance of the hair on the top of my 
 head. 
 
 Dick. All right. I swear. 
 
 Waddles, (looking round in agony for the others) 
 Holy powers, I wonder will they be long. 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 19 
 
 Dick. Take your fat little carcas out of the way. 
 Waddles, 
 
 Waddles. What's that? Fat little carcas — I think 
 you said. 
 
 Dick. Fat little carcas — fat head! Open the door. 
 
 Waddles. Withdraw your " fat little carcas " and I 
 will move. Apologise — apologise! 
 
 Dick. Oh, I apologise. Miles, take the little beggar 
 away. 
 
 (A crash of glass from outside the door.) 
 
 Oh, damn! 
 
 Waddles. What's that? 
 
 Dick. You blithering idiot, you've made me drop the 
 whiskey. 
 
 Waddles. Oh, and here's a blessed stream trickling 
 under the door. 
 
 Dick. Lap it up — I'm soaked to the skin. 
 
 Waddles. Oh, think of the waste of whiskey. Go, 
 get some more, there's a pet lamb. 
 
 (Dick retires, grumbling, as the Doctor and Soldier- 
 Man re-enter.) 
 
 Waddles, (excitedly) I kept him out — is he 
 
 Doctor. Yes, he's in bed — Phew — what the dickens 
 are we to do now at all — at all. 
 
 S. Man. Dick mustn't see him till the morning. 
 
 Waddles. Don't let him know he's home — he doesn't 
 expect him to-night — so, it'll be all right. 
 
 Doctor. What the devil did he mean about his 
 " fiancee." 
 
 Waddles. Who can she be? 
 
 S. Man. a bar-maid for a sovereign. 
 
 Waddles. What'll Dick say? 
 
 S. Man. Nothing — if he's wise. Eh! Here he comes. 
 
 (Dick enters with the whiskey in a jug and the broken 
 Tantalus bottle.) 
 
 Dick. Here I am — look at me — thanks to you luna- 
 tics, I'm smelling like a preambulating public house. 
 
 Doctor. Good gracious — what's up wid you? 
 
 Dick. What do you mean by letting him play such 
 tricks? You're old enough to know better — so you are, 
 Miles — just look at the state of my trousers. 
 
 Doctor. Well — well. Maybe it's a blessing in dis- 
 
20 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 guise. What wid whiskey inside and out, the prospects 
 of the evening are improving. 
 
 Waddles. It serves you right; how dare you be 
 serious on my forty-seventh birthday? 
 
 S. Man. Forty-seventh nonsense! Twenty-first — 
 time enough to be forty-seven to-morrow morning. 
 Here's fortune to us boys! Dickie, what's that thing of 
 old Thackeray's you used to spout under the influence 
 of liquor? 
 
 Waddles, (clapping his hands) " In the brave days 
 when I was twenty-one." 
 
 S. Man. That's it. 
 
 Doctor. Sure, I've not heard it for years. 
 
 Dick. Here's your drink, Waddles! Good gad, I 
 feel as if I was at school again. How did the old thing 
 go? 
 
 (And he recites the poem, the three fellows waving 
 their glasses and chiming in cheerily with the re- 
 frain. ) 
 
 With pensive eyes the little room I view 
 Where in my youth I weathered it so long 
 With a wild mistress, a staunch friend or two. 
 And a light heart, still bursting into song. 
 Making a mock of Life and all its cares 
 Rich in the glory of my rising sun. 
 Lightly I vaulted up four pair of stairs, 
 In the brave days when I was twenty-one. 
 
 To dream long dreams of beauty, love, and power, 
 From founts of hope that never will out-run, 
 To drain all life's quintessence in an hour, 
 Give me the days when I was twenty-one. 
 
 (And as he finishes he lifts his glass,) 
 
 A toast, boys, a toast — all standing! 
 
 (They all rise.) 
 
 Good luck and long life to the Trinity. 
 Waddles, (fiercely) Quadrity! 
 Omnes. (raising glasses) Quadrity! 
 
 (They drink; as they are doing so, the door softly opens 
 and Phyllis looks in, smiling.) 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 21 
 
 Phyll. (softly) Good-night! 
 
 (All the men wheel round towards her and echo.) 
 
 Omnes. Good-night! 
 
 (There is a slight pause, no one moves and she kisses 
 her hand; they all gravely kiss theirs to her, and she 
 softly closes the door and disappears — there is an- 
 other pause, and a half sigh escapes from all the men 
 as they stand looking at the door.) 
 
 Dick, (tenderly) Bless her. (then, ivith a change 
 of tone) Come along. I'm sure it's my turn to deal. 
 
 (They all go hack to the card tal)le and sit down as the) 
 CURTAIN FALLS. 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 The same scene. Next morning. 
 
 (Dick and Phyllis and Mrs. Ericson and Waddles just 
 finishing breakfact.) 
 
 Dick, (passing his cup to Phyllis) You're a terri- 
 ble chap for late hours, Waddles. 
 
 Sir H, Only on my birthday. 
 
 Dick. What's the matter with the Imp, he's not 
 down yet? 
 
 Phyll. This is your third cup, Dick. 
 
 Dick. I always require four after a night with Wad- 
 dles—don't I, Waddles? 
 
 (Sir H., half turied in his tea-cup, mum'bles an indis- 
 tinct reply.) 
 
 Mrs. E. I hope that little bed didn't inconvenience 
 you, Sir Horace. 
 
 Sir H. Oh, not a bit. I only rolled out once. 
 
 Mrs. E. Oh, Sir Horace, I'm so grieved. 
 
 Dick. Not at all — his tendency to roll is not due to 
 the size of the bed, is it Waddles? 
 
 {The Imp enters, a little heavy-eyed, but with an affecta- 
 tion of cheerfulness.) 
 
 Imp. Morning — morning, every one. 
 
 Dich. Hullo, boy. 
 
 Others. Good morning. Imp. 
 
 Imp. I'm jolly late — so sorry. I was shaving. 
 
 Sir H. (gravely enquiring) I beg pardon? 
 
 Imp. (turning to him) Shaving — Sir Horace! 
 
 Sir H. (as if much impressed) Oh — I see — shaving 
 • — yes, of course, very wise — very wise. 
 
 Mrs. E. (giving him a plate) I'm afraid the bacon 
 is quite cold, dear. 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 23 
 
 Imp. (with a slight shudder) Bacon — I really don't 
 think I can this morning. 
 
 (Waddles chuckles.) 
 
 Is there any toast left? 
 
 (Phyllis rings the hell.) 
 
 Thanks, old girl. 
 
 Dick. You weren't at a birthday, Impy — you ought 
 to be able to take your food. 
 
 Sir H. I have often found that an evening spent in 
 peaceful, homely talk produces a disinclination for rich 
 food in the morning. I observe my theory proved in 
 your case this morning, Master Richard. 
 
 Imp. (with a nervous laugh) Do you? Could I 
 have some more hot water? 
 
 (Phyllis runs and rings.) 
 
 Thanks, old girl. 
 
 (Maid enters.) 
 
 Some more toast and hot water, Dodd. 
 
 Dick. You bolted off to bed very mysteriously last 
 night. 
 
 Sir H. Richard did as his elders bid him, like a good 
 boy — didn't you, Richard? 
 
 Imp. Yes. 
 
 Sir H. Richard was most desirous to say good-night 
 to you, Dick — but, on our promising that you would 
 tuck him up when he was safely in bed — he consented 
 to retire without your good-night kiss. 
 
 Dick. Shut up. Waddles. Phyllis, it's Friday — if you 
 let me have your accounts and my cheque book, I'll 
 write one out. I shan't be a minute. Waddles, old man; 
 you're not going till the three-thirty, are you? 
 
 Sir H. (who has never taken his eyes off the Imp, 
 much to the Imp's discomfort) No! Richard, don't 
 you think a Bromo Seltzer would do you good? 
 
 Dick. Eh? 
 
 Sir H. He doesn't feel well — do you, Richard? 
 
 Imp. (quickly, darting a furious glance at Sir H.) 
 Quite well, thank you. 
 
 Sir H. Dick, I think he's sickening for something. 
 Won't somebody look at his tongue? 
 
24 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 Dick, (cheerily) Anything wrong, Imp? 
 
 Imp. (laughing) Of course not, Dick. It's Sir 
 Horace's joke, that's all. Wish they'd bring that toast. 
 
 Phyll. They had to make it, you know — you're so 
 late, I expect the fire was just made up. 
 
 Dick, (a^ door) Here's his toast. No, it's his hot 
 water. I shan't be a moment, old man. 
 (Dick goes out as the Maid enters with water jug. 
 
 Mrs. Ericson goes to small work tahle. Sir H. ap- 
 pears absorbed in the morning paper.) 
 
 Sib H. (to himself) Sh! Dear — dear — dear! 
 
 Mrs. E. What's that? 
 
 Sir H. Sad — sad case! Poor young fellow! 
 
 Phyll. (lightly) What happened? 
 
 Sir H. Oh, sad case. This young fellow, it appears — 
 nice young fellow — sweet nature and all that — plenty 
 of loving friends — happy home and all that. But weak 
 — very weak — falls into bad hands — sits up late — drinks 
 heaps of things all mixed up to prove that he was a 
 man — what's the result? Proves he's only a young fool 
 — and next morning at breakfast he's seized with a 
 violent 
 
 (The Imp chokes into his tea-cup — and Phyllis and 
 Sib H. rise hurriedly to avoid damage.) 
 
 Sir H. (waving the paper at him) Damme, Sir — 
 pull yourself together or you'll choke. 
 
 Phyll. Well, Imp, as you don't seem to be eating 
 any breakfast, I'll go and get the accounts for Dick. 
 
 Imp. (through his choke) Cut along. 
 
 Mrs. E. Did you change your vest, this morning? 
 
 Sir H. (looking up, then turning fiercely to the 
 Imp) Do you hear, sir — did you change your vest 
 this morning? 
 
 Imp. Hang it all — yes, I suppose so. 
 
 Mrs. E. (almost to herself) I'd better see those 
 new ones must be marked — (she gathers up her work 
 and hurries out) 
 
 (Pause. Sir H. glares at the Imp a moment, then re- 
 turns with a grunt to his paper. The Imp rises and 
 lights a cigarette.) 
 
 Sib H. (not looking up) That's mere bravado — you 
 can't enjoy your cigarette this morning. 
 
 Imp. (after a pause, chucks it into the grate) 1 
 can't. 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 25 
 
 (Sir H. grunts.) 
 
 Imp. (with Ms back to Sir H. and his foot on the 
 fender, stares into the empty grate) I say 
 
 (Sir H., not moving, grunts again.) 
 
 It — it — was jolly good of you chaps not to tell Dick. 
 
 Sir H. (shortly) Don't call me a chap, boy. 
 
 Imp. I beg your pardon. 
 
 Sir H. And Colonel Grahame would be exceedingly 
 annoyed if he heard himself described so familiarly by a 
 boy of your age. 
 
 Imp. He's too good a sort to mind. 
 
 Sir H. He's no such thing. 
 
 Imp. You needn't run him down — you know he's a 
 friend of Dick's. 
 
 Sir H. Run him down! God bless my soul. How 
 dare you! 
 
 Imp. He's a good sort, whatever you may say. 
 
 Sir H. Whatever I — good gracious — are you aware 
 that you're a young scamp? 
 
 Imp. I am not 
 
 (He lights another cigarette.) 
 
 Sir H. You'll be sick, sir — throw it away. The 
 Colonel has often expressed to me the deep regret with 
 which he has noticed the growing disrespect that the 
 young men of to-day have for their elders. 
 
 Imp. (quietly) I don't think any one would have 
 occasion to say that if all our elders were like you 
 four chaps. 
 
 (A pause.) 
 
 Sir H. (completely mollified) Give me one of your 
 cigarettes. 
 
 (The Imp hands him his case.) 
 
 Now, then, what's all this about this woman? 
 
 Imp. (innocently) What woman? 
 
 Sir H. (with scorn) Your disreputable fiancee. 
 
 Imp. (with an affectation of surprise) Phyllis? 
 
 Sir H. (jumping out of his chair) How dare you, 
 sir? 
 
 Imp. Isn't Phyllis my fiancee? 
 
26 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 Sib H. She is, sir. 
 
 Imp. Then, what do you mean by calling her disrep- 
 utable? I don't think it's right to speak of your friends 
 behind their backs in the way you do. 
 
 Sir H. I do not. 
 
 Imp. You said the Colonel wasn't a good sort. 
 
 Sir H. No such thing. 
 
 Imp. And now you tell me Phyllis is disreputable. 
 
 Sir H. How dare you? 
 
 Imp. I shall have to ask you to prove your state- 
 ment. 
 
 Sir H. I meant the woman you're keeping back — the 
 one you're going to surprise us with. Tell me all about 
 her. 
 
 Imp. {gravely) Really, Sir Horace — gentlemen do 
 not discuss their little affaires de coeur with each other 
 after breakfast — not good form. 
 
 Sir H. Good form be damned — how dare you? 
 
 Imp. Dick has always begged me to endeavour to dis- 
 courage bad language among my friends — would you 
 mind trying to check your tendency? You'll find it will 
 get quite a hold on you, if you don't watch yourself. 
 Even I have had to be careful. 
 
 Sir H. You're an impertinent young jackanapes. 
 
 Imp. (slowly) No, I'm not — {there is a long pause) 
 I'm awfully miserable, that's all. 
 
 Sir H. (insinuatingly) Poor old Imp — (he goes to 
 the boy and puts his hand on his shoulder) What's her 
 name? 
 
 Imp. Nothing of the sort. 
 
 Sir H. Don't you think you'd better tell Dick all 
 about it? 
 
 Imp. Not yet. 
 
 Sir H. (very quietly) Are you behaving quite hon- 
 orably towards Phyllis? 
 
 (A pause.) 
 
 You had too much liquor last night, you've got a head 
 on you. Come along, sir — we'll walk briskly down to 
 my club, have a Brandy and Soda, and chat the whole 
 thing over like men. 
 
 Imp. (languidly) I don't mind the Brandy and 
 Soda — but, you'll have to tackle the talk. 
 
 Sir H. (handing him clothes brush) We'll see about 
 that. Kindly brush me. 
 
 (The Imp does as he is told.) 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY ONE. 27 
 
 And don't you ever allow yourself to fall into Dick's 
 never sufficiently to be regretted notion that a peck or 
 two of dust on a man's frock coat is a matter of minor 
 importance. I was very fond of a dear dirty fellow of 
 that sort once — but he came to no good — the dust was too 
 heavy on him, it weighed him down. P'raps the way 
 he whiskeyed and watered it made it a little heavier. 
 Ready? 
 
 Imp. Yes. 
 
 Sir. H. Trot along, then, there's a good boy — we'll be 
 back before lunch anyhow. 
 
 (The two of them turn to go out; Sir H. takes the Imp's 
 arin affectionately. As they do so, Dick and Phyllis 
 enter.) 
 
 Dick. Sorry I was so long, but the Chancellor of the 
 Exchequer was very complicated this morning. 
 
 Phyllis. I wasn't a bit — it's only one or two places 
 in the adding up that I got wrong. 
 
 Dick. How the Imp and I ever paid for a single meal 
 before you and your mother came and took us in hand, 
 beats me. Going out, Waddles? 
 
 Sir H. Richard and I were going for a short consti- 
 tutional to the club. I want to see if there are any let- 
 ters; we shan't be more than twenty minutes at the 
 outside. 
 
 Dick. The Doctor and the Soldier-Man are to be 
 round here about 12:30. 
 
 Sir H. I know — come, Richard. 
 
 (Exit as before.) 
 
 Dick, (sitting down, resignedly) Well, I'm ready to 
 hear the rest now. 
 
 Phyll. It's no good making a joke of it — you know 
 it's true. 
 
 Dick. Well, say it is. I'm living beyond my means. 
 
 Phyll. No, you're not — we're living beyond your 
 mea ns — look at the money you squander on me — look at 
 the money you squander on mother — look at the money 
 you squander on the Imp — look at his clothes, look at 
 my clothes — then look at your own old things, it's per- 
 fectly disgraceful — and then. Colonel Grahame tells me 
 you used to have a little shooting in Scotland, and since 
 you've supported us you've had to give it up — so with 
 your horse and everything else — it's all for other people 
 —never anything for yourself. 
 
28 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 Dick. That's where you're all wrong — it's all for 
 myself. I'm very fond of your mother. I love the 
 Imp — and — I (a pause; he looks up and meets her eye) 
 have the greatest respect for you — so, when I see those 
 that I'm fond of, those I love, and those I respect, all 
 happy and contented, I puff myself up with righteous 
 pride and wouldn't change places with the Emperor of 
 Germany. 
 
 Phyll. Dick why do you respect me? 
 
 Dick, (bluntly) I don't know. 
 
 Phyll. It's very unkind of you, I consider. Is it 
 because I owe everything in the world to you? 
 
 Dick. Good Lord, no! 
 
 Phyll. Is it because I'm such a good adder up? 
 
 Dick. P'raps! 
 
 Phyll. Or is it because the Imp has graciously con- 
 sented to make me his wife? 
 
 Dick. Why do you put it that way? 
 
 Phyll. Isn't that the proper way tc speak of his 
 omnipotence? I'm the sort of woman who loves to bow 
 down before her husband and beg him to put his heel 
 upon her neck. 
 
 Dick, (a little puzzled) Are you really? 
 
 Phyll. And the Imp is to be my husband, and I long 
 for him to show his power and grind me beneath an 
 iron heel of authority. 
 
 Dick. Oh, I don't think the Imp would ever do a 
 thing like that. He'll be master of his own house and 
 all that, of course, but 
 
 Phyll. Will he — do you really think he will? 
 
 Dick. I don't think I've considered the matter. 
 
 Phyll. I have; the Imp and I will chat it over some 
 day; I daresay we shall come to an understanding. I 
 think I must try and do something that'll make you not 
 respect me quite so much. 
 
 Dick. Eh? 
 
 Phyll. It's an awful nuisance to be so fearfully re- 
 spected — it makes one feel quite lonely, almost as if 
 one was a marble statue out in the east wind. I should 
 have to put up with being respected if I were a fright 
 like the pictures of Queen Elizabeth — but as I'm only 
 me — it's different. Couldn't you give up respecting me 
 so fearfully? Just now and then. 
 
 Dick. I — I don't see that it's possible — but — I'll have 
 a try if you like. 
 
 Phyll. {delightedly) Will you, really? Oh do — 
 begin now. 
 
 Dick. Well — I — er — it isn't a thing one can do all at 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 29 
 
 once, is it? You'd have to — sort of — give me a lead, 
 you know. 
 
 Phyll. Would I — oh, yes, I suppose that is the best 
 way — well, suppose I do this — I put this arm round your 
 shoulder, so — (she is standing behind his chair) and 
 then I lean my cheek against the back of your head 
 sympathetically, like this — How does that feel? 
 
 Dick. Feels as if I was going to be electrocuted. 
 
 Phyll. Oh! 
 
 Dick. You mustn't ruffle my hair, you know, coz the 
 Soldier-Man's coming to lunch, and — if — everybody's 
 hair isn't smarmy, he loses his appetite. 
 
 Phyll. Oh, bother the Colonel— let's talk about our- 
 selves. Dick, what is the thing you wish for most in 
 the world? 
 
 Dick. To see 
 
 Phyll. Don't say it— (quickly) I know exactly 
 what you're going to say. (and with a choke, she moves 
 quickly from him and goes up to the windoiv) 
 
 Dick. (a little surprised at her tone) Do you 
 really? 
 
 Phyll. Yes. 
 
 Dick. What was I going to say? 
 
 Phyll. To see me and the Imp happily married, 
 weren't you? 
 
 Dick. Well, as a matter of fact, I was. 
 
 Phyll. Oh, I'm so glad — it's the thing I wish for most, 
 too — isn't it lucky that you should make all these plans 
 for us — and we should be so pleased about it? Oh, but 
 doesn't such happiness make one nervous — one begins 
 to dread one's unworthiness and to feel sure that some- 
 thing must happen sooner or later to prevent it coming 
 off. Oh! if anything happened to prevent this — I — think 
 I should die — just fade away from grief — don't you, 
 Dick? 
 
 Dick. Nothing will happen, dear! 
 
 Phyll. Are you sure — Oh, say you're quite sure. 
 
 Dick. I'm quite sure — sure. 
 
 Phyll. Suppose the Imp were to tire of me? 
 
 Dick. That's impossible. 
 
 Phyll. (snuggling up to him) Is it, Dick — why is 
 it? 
 
 Dick. Because — oh — because you are you, I suppose. 
 
 Phyll. Don't you think if you were in the Imp's 
 place you might get a little tired of me sometimes, just 
 a little? 
 
 Dick. No — not a little. 
 
30 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 Phyll. Ah — but you haven't ever pictured yourself 
 in the Imp's place. 
 
 Dick, (softly, as if to himself) Yes, I have often. 
 
 Phyll. (Rising and looking him full in the eyes) 
 Have you — pictured yourself married to me — oh, Dick! 
 (then tenderly) Was it nice? 
 
 Dick. (with a laugh) Here — here — here — come 
 along now — Finances! we've chatted enough nonsense 
 for one morning. 
 
 Phyll. Yes, I think we've done very well — consid- 
 ering. 
 
 Dick. Let's see — £473 — in the current account wasn't 
 it? 
 
 Phyll. Yes. 
 
 Dick, (lightly) Then who dares to say the firm 
 isn't flourishing? 
 
 (A pause, Phyllis looks out at nothing in particular.) 
 
 Phyll. How odd it would be, wouldn't it? 
 
 Dick, (looking up) What? 
 
 Phyll. What you're always picturing to yourself. 
 
 Dick. . (aghast at the notion) You're a trying young 
 woman to make a casual remark to. I'm always pic- 
 turing myself married to all sorts of very nice people — 
 why I've pictured myself married to your mother be- 
 fore now. 
 
 Phyll. So have I — in fact, I've suggested it to 
 mother often. 
 
 Dick. Thank you, very much. I think I shall get 
 through these papers more quickly in my own room. 
 
 (He rises — so does she.) 
 
 Phyll. I'll come with him. 
 Dick, (firmly) You'll do no such thing. 
 Phyll. But I'd like to. 
 
 Dick. I don't care — you've pictured your mother as 
 my wife 
 
 (Enter Mrs. Ericson.) 
 
 So you've pictured me as your other parent, so perhaps 
 you will go a step further and picture yourself doing 
 what your parent tells you for once in a way. 
 
 Phyll. Yes, papa dear. 
 
 Mrs. E. Papa dear! 
 
 Dick, (aghast) No, no, dear lady — No — no — not at 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 31 
 
 all — merely a silly dream. Please don't consider it 
 seriously — a dream — merely a dream. (Tie dashes out) 
 
 (Mrs. E. looks after Dick, then 1)ack to his door, and 
 says hurriedly.) 
 
 Mrs. E. Phyllis! 
 
 Phyll. (someivhat startled ty her tone) Mother! 
 
 Mbs. E. Oh my dear, I've done a dreadful thing, I 
 know it was very wrong of me — but I couldn't help it. 
 
 Phyll. Gracious — what have you done? 
 
 Mrs, E. I found a crumpled letter in the hall — and I 
 picked it up and smoothed it out to see who it belonged 
 to, and, as I was smoothing it out I accidentally read 
 a little and — and — oh it gave me such a shock that I 
 read it all — I — I've read it twice or three times — I don't 
 know which and oh — I really don't know what to say 
 or think. 
 
 Phyll. Whose letter was it? 
 
 Mrs. E. It was a woman's letter — (a pause) to Dick. 
 
 Phyll. To Dick? 
 
 Mrs. E. Yes! he — he's making arrangements to be 
 married, and — he doesn't want any of us to know. 
 
 Phyll. (slowly) Making arrangements to be — How 
 do you know? 
 
 Mrs. E. Oh, there's quite a lot about it in the letter. 
 
 Phyll. Arrangements to be 
 
 (A pause.) 
 
 Mrs. E. It will be terribly inconvenient for us — of 
 course, he won't want us with him then. 
 
 Phyll. Are you sure? 
 
 Mrs. E. Oh, perfectly sure. I think Dick might have 
 been more open with us — after all we've done for him. 
 
 Phyll. What have we done for him, but sponge on 
 him and spend his money? 
 
 Mrs. E. (helplessly leaving the letter) Oh, what am 
 I to do with it— (a pause) I— I think I'll go and drop 
 it behind the coats again. 
 
 Phyll. No — give it to Dick — if it's his. 
 
 Mbs. E. My dear, I daren't. 
 
 Phyll. Give it to me, then — I will. 
 
 Mrs. E. (a little nervous) I don't think you ought 
 to read it dear — some of it is a little 
 
 Phyll. (with a litter smile) Don't be alarmed, I 
 don't intend to read it. 
 
 Mrs. E. (handing it to her with a parting glance at 
 
32 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 it) They really must be very much in love with each 
 other. 
 
 (Phyllis takes the letter and fights against her desire 
 to read it — but eventually she gives way, and with a 
 little gasp, she reads it hurriedly — then she turns her 
 horrified gaze and meets her mother's eyes.) 
 
 Phyll. (completely awed) What sort of woman is 
 she? 
 
 Mrs. E. (feebly) I think she must be a foreigner. 
 I've heard foreign ladies are frequently very fluent. 
 
 (Phyllis is standing staring into space — her mother is 
 sitting on the sofa, in an attitude of deep dejection 
 — as Dick enters.) 
 
 Dick. I told you that the Trinity are lunching with 
 
 us again to (he stops and looks at them both in 
 
 surprise) 
 
 (Phyllis, without turning to him or looking at him, 
 holds out the letter toioards him.) 
 
 Phyll. You dropped this. 
 
 (He takes it in surprise — reads it in silence, then folds 
 it up, puts it in his pocket, and looks steadily at 
 Phyllis.) 
 
 Dick. Where did you find it? 
 
 Phyll. Mother found it behind the coats in the hall. 
 
 Dick. Oh! (a pause) You have read it? 
 
 Mrs. E. (with a gulp) I didn't mean to. 
 
 Dick. Of course not. 
 
 Phyll. (haughtily) I read it because I chose to. 
 
 Dick. Yes — (a pause) — Well! 
 
 Mrs. E. The — I'm very sorry — but this is very unex- 
 pected — I'm sure, I wish you every happiness, Mr. 
 Carew, if you're half as good a husband as you have been 
 a friend — your wife will be a lucky woman. (holding 
 out her hand to him) 
 
 Phyll. I hope you'll be very happy, Dick — very — 
 very — happy. You deserve to be, only — you might have 
 trusted me with the secret, mightn't you? 
 
 Dick. I — I wish I had. 
 
 Phyll. Kara Glynesk. It's a pretty name — I aeem 
 to have seen it somewhere. 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 33 
 
 Dick. You may have — it's all over the walls and on 
 most of the 'buses. She performs at the Garden Thea- 
 tre. 
 
 Mrs. E. (horrified) She performs! 
 
 Dick. You've seen the large, scarlet picture of her on 
 the walls, there's one on the boardings opposite. 
 
 Phyll. That woman! Oh, Dick! (then she re- 
 covers herself) I do hope that you'll both be very — 
 very happy. 
 
 Dick. Oh, I expect it'll be all right. I daresay she is 
 not as red as she's painted, you know. 
 
 Mrs. E. It was a lucky thing the servants didn't find 
 the letter. 
 
 Dick. Very. 
 
 Phyll. Does the Imp know? 
 
 Dick. Nobody knows — but you and your mother. 
 
 Mrs. E. You may rely on our discretion — at least, I 
 can only answer for my own. We shall be seven for 
 lunch. I had better attend to my household duties be- 
 fore they are transferred to abler hands than mine. 
 
 Dick. Eh? 
 
 Mrs. E. The future Mrs. Carewe. 
 
 Dick. Oh, yes, of course — she will naturally expecet 
 to er 
 
 (Mrs. "E.goes out a little stiffly.) 
 
 Phyll. (stands staring at the floor, then at last she 
 says, with an effort) It's a terrible thing for a woman 
 to have to acknowledge herself a failure. 
 
 Dick. What do you mean? 
 
 Phyll. I don't think you'd understand. (another 
 pause, and then she laughs a little) Fancy my having 
 to say that of you — I couldn't have said that yester- 
 day. 
 
 Dick. There are a great many things none of us can 
 understand. 
 
 Phyll. It was the dearest wish of my heart to be 
 your true friend and — and — see how hopeless it has 
 been. 
 
 Dick. Don't say that — oh, don't say that, you hurt 
 me. 
 
 Phyll. Haven't you hurt vie? 
 
 Dick. How? I — I didn't mean to. 
 
 Phyll. Of course, I'm awfully glad you're going to 
 get married. The Imp and I have often felt that the 
 one drawback to our complete happiness was the fact 
 that you'd be left so lonely. Now, of course — it's all 
 
34 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 splendid — but what hurts is that you didn't let me share 
 your secret with you — that you didn't trust me. And 
 all these years I've tried so hard to make you trust me 
 ■ — and see how miserably I have failed. (a long pause, 
 then she says, impulsively) Dick — Dick — I didn't mean 
 to be a beast — I hope you'll be awfully happy — I do, in- 
 deed — I do, indeed. 
 
 (The hall door opens and the Imp and Sir H. reappear. 
 The Ijmp is seen to disappear hurriedly down the outer 
 passage, while Sir H. conies into the room.) 
 
 Sir H, God bless my soul — young lady, your future 
 husband is a most erratic young man. I take him out 
 for a short walk, and a serious chat, to be washed down 
 with a glass of milk — and we haven't gone a hundred 
 yards — before he gives a gasp and makes a bolt for 
 home, saying he'd forgotten his pocket handkerchief or 
 something equally infantile. I — hallo! Dick, what's 
 gone wrong with you? 
 
 Dick. Nothing, old man — come to my sanctum — we'll 
 have a quiet smoke. 
 
 Phyll. {aside to Dick) Do the Trinity know? 
 
 Dick. Not a word. 
 
 Sir H. There's something in that prospect that 
 pleases — but surely we're as well off here? 
 
 Dick. Not a bit of it. Come to my room. 
 
 (Dick goes out.) 
 
 Sir H. Lord — he's a masterful creature — that's the 
 way he used to order me about 30 years ago. 
 
 Phyll. (bitterly) Is it? 
 
 Sir H. When he was a boy 
 
 Phyll. Oh, I daresay he was just like other boys as 
 now he is just like other men. 
 
 Sir H. (puzzled) I'm referring to Dick. 
 
 Phyll. So am I 
 
 (Sir H. is atout to speak, when Dick calls him sharply, 
 and Sir H. hurries out very perplexed and with his 
 face full of concern. Phyllis stands motionless for 
 a moment, then swiftly presses her hands to her tem- 
 ples,, and cries out.) 
 
 I won't believe it — it isn't true. How could such a 
 thing be true? 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 35 
 
 (The Imp enters in a great state of agitation, looking 
 hurriedly about him — she watches his movements 
 listlessly for a moment.) 
 
 Lost anything? 
 
 Imp. (shortly) No. 
 
 (A pause. He glances round the room furtively — she 
 watching him; suddenly a thought flashes into her 
 face, and she gasps.) 
 
 Phyll. Richard — Dick! (she springs to her feet, 
 pointing at him) You! — you! — Oh, you darling, you 
 darling! 
 
 (And, to his intense astonishment, she flings her arms 
 round his neck and hugs him — laughing hysteric- 
 ally) 
 
 Imp. Here — good gracious! Hang it all, Phyllis, 
 don't be an ass. 
 
 Phyll. (half laughing, half crying) Isn't it like 
 him? Oh, isn't it just like him? 
 
 Imp. Like who? 
 
 Phyll. Nobody. Imp — Imp — you're a miserable — 
 hopeless — immoral, horrid young man — but, oh. Imp, 
 you darling — you've made me fearfully happy. 
 
 Imp. (gloomily) Have I? I — I suppose I have, 
 (a pause) that's the worst of it. 
 
 Phyll. What's that? 
 
 Imp. I — er — look here, Phyllis, it's no good going on 
 like this, is it? I — I can't stand it, you know — it keeps 
 me awake at nights thinking of it — and goodness knows 
 what with everything I want all the sleep I can get 
 just now. 
 
 Phyll. Beauty sleep? 
 
 Imp. Look here — I — that is — you and I — er — I mean 
 it's no good beating about the bush is it? 
 
 Phyll, I don't understand — I — Imp, what is it? — 
 something terrible has happened, I see it in your face. 
 Oh — Imp, don't, don't tell me anything has happened. 
 
 Imp. Well — you see it's this way. (he stops awk- 
 wardly) 
 
 Phyll. (with an assumption of terrified anticipa- 
 tion) Don't say any more just yet — give me time — 
 you're a man — be — be very gentle with me. Imp — I — I'm 
 only a weak, loving woman. 
 
 Imp. (with a gulp) Well, you see — when you and I 
 
36 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 — were engaged — we — well — we didn't know as much of 
 the world as we do now — did we? 
 
 (a pause, she rises and faces him.) 
 
 (nervously) I say, Phyllis, don't look at a fellow like 
 that — it's hard enough for me as it is. Goodness knows. 
 
 Phyll. {slowly) What is hard enough for you as it 
 is? 
 
 Imp. Why, to have to tell a girl that's fond of you 
 
 (he stops again) 
 
 Phyll. Don't say it, Mr. Audaine, I understand. 
 
 (A long pause.) 
 
 Imp. You — you don't think any the worse of me, do 
 you, Phyllis? 
 
 Phyll. I — I — somehow, I can't think at all — every- 
 thing seems dark — my brain won't work — it's numb. 
 
 Imp. (in agony) Oh, I say, don't — there's a dear 
 girl — I — know it must be awful for you — but — but — Oh, 
 what could I do, Phyllis — I couldn't help myself. I 
 fought against it, I did, indeed. 
 
 Phyll. You — you — love — some one — else? 
 
 Imp. I — I — couldn't help it, really, 
 
 Phyll. Tell me — everything. I — I won't faint, I can 
 be very brave. 
 
 Imp, I will — there isn't very much to tell. 
 
 Phyll. Who is she? 
 
 Imp. She's the most beautiful woman in the world. 
 
 Phyll. Oh, Imp — what does beauty matter? Is she 
 very — very good? 
 
 Imp. Er — of course, she's good, 
 
 Phyll. Is she very — very religious — and domesti- 
 cated? 
 
 Imp. I don't know about very religious or the other 
 thing. But she's got glorious eyes. Oh, if you could 
 only look into her eyes — you'd know how good 
 she was then, 
 
 Phyll. Yes, I expect I should — Imp, I will not let 
 the world know the — the heartaches I shall have to bear, 
 I will be very brave, you shall take mother and me to 
 call. 
 
 Imp, Eh? Oh, would you — you see — it — it isn't 
 quite definite just yet, 
 
 Phyll. Doesn't she love you? 
 
 Imp. Yes, of course, that part of it's all right, but — 
 you see, marriage is a jolly serious thing — it's for life, 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 37 
 
 you know. For good and all — and all that. So one 
 can't only think of the love part — there are settlements 
 and things. I shall have to settle all I've got on her, 
 of course. * 
 
 Phyll. Does she insist on that? 
 
 Imp. She doesn't, of course — but — she's got a friend 
 — a sort of business manager, she calls him — rather a 
 cad of a fellow, I think — and — er 
 
 Phyll. He does. 
 
 Imp. Yes — yes — He's quite right — and all that, of 
 course — but — I — well, I don't exactly know how much 
 I've got to settle. I expect I'm pretty well off — but — 
 that, of course, up to now has been Dick's affair. 
 
 Phyll. What will Dick say? 
 
 Imp. Ah — that's it. 
 
 Phyll. You haven't told him? 
 
 Imp. Of course, I haven't — not yet — he couldn't un- 
 derstand. 
 
 Phyll. Why couldn't he? 
 
 Imp. Oh, what could a fellow like Dick know about 
 love, and all that! 
 
 Phyll. Ah — what, indeed? 
 
 Imp. It's awfully good of you to take it so well, 
 Phyl — it is indeed — not one girl in a hundred would 
 have been such a brick. 
 
 Phyll. I feel it very deeply, Richard — but I show 
 nothing I — I am very proud; if — if — this blow should 
 happen to change my nature, — I — I — shall do something 
 great — I — I'll go on the stage. My name shall be in 
 every man's mouth, my photograph on every man's man- 
 telpiece, my face in every shop window and my figure 
 in full upon every wall. I've got a tendency that way, 
 I know, because, when a week ago an old man with a 
 long brush and a pail pasted on the boarding opposite 
 this window a poster of a glorious creature — an ideal 
 woman with crimson limbs and flame coloured hair, 
 something seemed to wake up inside me, and as I 
 watched the figure standing boldly out limb by limb 
 against a background of gauzy drapery — I realized how 
 narrow was life's look-out for me. How could I hope 
 to win and keep the love of an honest man — and now it 
 has all come true. Oh, Imp, Imp, if years ago I had 
 cast to the winds all petticoats and prudery, I might 
 have proved worthy of you now. But — but — as it is, I 
 must school myself to think that all is for the best. 
 
 Imp. Well, of course, it is no good crying over spilt 
 milk, is it, Phyl— and— and — it's awfully odd you should 
 mention her — but — it — that's she 
 
38 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 Phyll. (looking up at him as if completely l)ewil- 
 dered) She — (then in an awed whisper) The one on 
 the wall? 
 
 (He nods.) 
 
 Oh, Imp — she loves you? 
 
 Imp. Yes — it — it somehow takes my breath away 
 when I think of it. 
 
 Phyll. (after a pause) Oh, Richard, where will you 
 be able to keep such a wonderful thing as that? 
 
 Imp. I haven't spoken to her about it yet — but I've 
 been looking about for a flat. 
 
 Phyll. (with a shudder) A fiat! You couldn't — 
 you couldn't — that would be terrible — don't you see? 
 Can't you feel how terrible that would be? 
 
 Imp. Well — we must make a beginning somewhere — 
 mustn't we? 
 
 Phyll. It seems such a waste to keep her in one 
 flat. 
 
 Imp. She — she's a good deal more homely than you'd 
 think she is from that picture you know. 
 
 Phyll. Ah? 
 
 (Mrs. Ericson calls from the other room.) 
 
 Mrs. E. Phyllis, dear — you'll make the hock cup, 
 won't you? 
 
 Phyll. Yes, mother, I'm coming — (then, in a whis- 
 per) Does she make hock cup, Richard? 
 
 Imp. I don't know. 
 
 Phyll. You've drunk so much of mine — but — I don't 
 mean to reproach you. Imp, I don't, indeed — perhaps you 
 wouldn't have if you'd known how everything was going 
 to turn out. 
 
 Imp. (suddenly) Great Scott! 
 
 Phyll. What is it? 
 
 Imp. That letter — I forgot. I must find it. I came 
 home on purpose. 
 
 Phyll. There was a letter picked up behind the coats 
 in the hall. 
 
 Imp. Where is it? 
 
 Phyll. Dick has it. 
 
 Imp. (toith horror) Dick! 
 
 Phyll. Does it matter? 
 
 Imp. Oh, my goodness — suppose he should read it! 
 
 Phyll. (loftily) People with any sense of honour 
 don't read other people's letters. 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 39 
 
 Imp. But— but— this was a fearfully private letter. 
 Phyll. Oh, of course, that does make a difference. 
 
 (Dick enters — a pause.) 
 
 Dick, (gravely to Imp) Will you come to my study, 
 I want to have a talk with you. 
 
 Phyll. (quickly seeing the Imp's dismay) He can't 
 come now. He has something very important to do for 
 me. 
 
 Dick. But — 
 
 Phyll. It's very important, Dick. Go at once, Imp. 
 
 Imp. (looking at her gratefully) I — I must go now, 
 Dick — I — I — won't be long. 
 
 Dick. Very well, (he goes to the window and looks 
 out listlessly) 
 
 (Phyllis watches him mischievously.) 
 
 Phyll. Is it a good likeness, Dick? 
 Dick, (not understanding) What? 
 Phyll. The picture on the wall. 
 
 (Dick catches her meaning, and with a groan pulls the 
 blind doion and leaves the window.) 
 
 (very gravely) I should have thought that you were 
 the last man in the world to fall in love with that sort 
 of woman, 
 
 Dick, (shortly) Oh. 
 
 Phyll. Yes— it only proves to me how right mother 
 always is. 
 
 Dick. What do you mean? 
 
 Phyll. You see, mother having been married— 
 knows a great deal about men. 
 
 Dick. Ah! 
 
 Phyll. And she isn't a bit surprised. 
 
 Dick. Isn't she? I'm glad. 
 
 Phyll. No— she says the quiet, fair men are gener- 
 ally like that. 
 
 Dick. Like what? 
 
 Phyll. Oh — you know — easily attracted by— by pic- 
 tures on the wall. 
 
 Dick. I didn't know your mother was so observant. 
 
 Phyll. Because you're going to be married, you 
 needn't be rude to my mother. 
 
 Dick. I wasn't rude to your mother. 
 
40 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 Phyll. I think you were — you mayn't have meant it, 
 Dick — but I think you decidedly were 
 
 Dick. Oh, don't worry me, dear — I — I'm not in the 
 mood to-day. 
 
 Phyll. Poor old Dick — have you got a headache? 
 
 Dick. Yes. 
 
 Phyll. Then I won't worry — I — I'll be very sympa- 
 thetic. I — I'll let you tell me about yourself — and — 
 and your plans for the future with your wife that is 
 to be. 
 
 (Dick groans a little.) 
 
 She — she seems to be very beautiful, Dick. Is she 
 really as beautiful as that? 
 
 Dick. I suppose so. 
 
 Phyll. Oh, you must know. " Suppose so " sounds so 
 cold — perhaps you don't like talking about her to me, 
 do you mind talking about her to me, Dick? 
 
 Dick. No. 
 
 Phyll. I wonder do you love her as much as I love 
 the Imp? 
 
 Dick. I daresay. 
 
 Phyll. Isn't it beautiful, being in love, Dick — 
 doesn't it make one feel good and peaceful — and — and 
 sunshiny. Don't you glow all over with pride and hap- 
 piness every time you see that picture on the wall. 
 
 Dick. No, I don't, if you really want to know. 
 
 Phyll. Don't you — how odd. I should love to see a 
 picture of the Imp on the wall — that size. 
 
 Dick. Would you? 
 
 Phyll. Yes, and every time I saw a crowd of ladies 
 looking at it I should say to myself — look away ladies, 
 all that belongs to me. Just how you must feel when 
 you see everybody — even the policeman, looking at 
 your future wife's picture. Do you approve of the drap- 
 ery being so — so far away? 
 
 Dick. No. 
 
 Phyll. I'm glad you don't, because I don't either. 
 
 Dick. Will you kindly be quiet? I'm not in the 
 mood for this sort of talk. 
 
 Phyll. Dick. 
 
 Dick. Oh, run away, there's a dear — I've lots of 
 things to think about. 
 
 Phyll. You've lost your temper. 
 
 Dick. I daresay I have. 
 
 Phyll. Well, as you've lost your temper and prac- 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 41 
 
 tically told me to leave the room — I won't try to be nice 
 to you any more. 
 
 Dick. That's a good thing. 
 
 PnYLL. Is it? And I'll tell the truth to you now. I 
 think it's disgusting your being in love with a woman 
 like that. 
 
 Dick. I daresay. 
 
 Phyll. And if it had been any one I'd been really 
 fond of 
 
 Dick, (rising) If — if it had been the Imp? 
 
 Phyll. (proudly) That's impossible, the Imp is en- 
 gaged to me, but if it had been the Imp, even the Imp — 
 no matter how much I loved him, I'd never have spoken 
 to him again. 
 
 Dick. Would it break your heart never to speak to 
 him again? 
 
 Phyll. That's a curious question for you to ask, con- 
 sidering that our marriage has been almost entirely ar- 
 ranged by you. 
 
 Dick, (sadly) Yes — yes — I know. 
 
 Phyll. I think it's rather mean to suggest to me of 
 all people that the Imp could do such a thing. 
 
 Dick. I didn't. 
 
 Phyll. I'm in error again, I suppose, or my hearing 
 must be defective. 
 
 Dick. Oh, do leave me alone. 
 
 Phyll. You won't be worried with me much longer. 
 After I'm married and you're married, I don't suppose 
 we shall see much of each other, for I don't think either 
 the Imp or I would ever be likely to be very friendly 
 with the red lady on the wall. 
 
 Dick. Have you done? 
 
 Phyll. Very nearly. I don't mind telling you that 
 now mother's worst suspicions are confirmed, it's just 
 possible that her principles won't allow us to trespass 
 on your hospitality much longer. 
 
 Dick. Oh, and how long has your mother had these 
 suspicions of me, may I ask? 
 
 Phyll. Oh, about three years. 
 
 Dick. Ever since you've been living here — eating my 
 bread and 
 
 Phyll. We didn't eat much bread. 
 
 Dick. It's a pity your mother didn't realize what a 
 bad lot I was a year or two sooner. 
 
 Phyll. Oh, I think she did — but she often said to 
 me — it wasn't wise to throw out dirty water before we'd 
 got in clean, (a pause — she says softly, thinking she 
 
42 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 has gone too far) Dick, that isn't true. She never 
 said that. 
 Dick, (wearily) No, I don't suppose she did. 
 
 (He is sitting listlessly, very tired, very dejected, look- 
 ing at the pattern on the carpet. Phyllis goes to the 
 door — turns and stands looking lovingly at him for 
 a moment, then, ivith a little happy silent laugh, she 
 creeps quietly to the back of his chair, throws her 
 arms round his neck and kissing him gently, runs 
 from the room. Dick looks up, startled — half rises, 
 then sinks back again.) 
 
 Now, what made her do a silly thing like that? (he 
 runs his fingers hopelessly through his hair) 
 
 (Sir H. comes in from the study.) 
 
 Sir H. Isn't he about? 
 
 Dick. He's just gone out to get something for Phyl. 
 
 Sir H. It's a bit of a facer, isn't it? 
 
 Dick. On my soul, I don't quite know where to be- 
 gin. 
 
 Sir H. I don't expect it's anything very serious — 
 boys will be boys. 
 
 Dick. He is engaged to be married to the sweetest 
 girl in England. 
 
 Sir H. Oh, I don't defend it. 
 
 Dick, (going to the window and pulling up the blind 
 — then again remembering the poster) Damn the 
 poster. 
 
 (The bell rings.) 
 
 There he is. 
 
 (The Maid goes to the hall door and opens it.) 
 
 Doctor, (heard off) Any one at home? 
 Dick. It's Terry and the Soldier-Man. 
 
 (He goes out into the hall.) 
 
 Morning, you fellows — You're just in time. 
 
 S. Man. Morning, Dick — where's Waddles? 
 
 Dick. He's here — we — we're all here, you're just in 
 time for a council of war. (he comes down) 
 
 Doctor, (to the S. Man) Corporal— it's all out. 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 43 
 
 S. Man. Council of war — good — what's the trouble, 
 Dick? 
 Dick. Sit down! 
 
 {They sit down.) 
 
 Read this. 
 S. Man. (glancing at letter) To you? 
 Dick. No, to the Imp. 
 
 (He hands the letter to the Doctor, who reads it in 
 silence — and gives a low whistle.) 
 
 Doctor. Shall I 
 
 Dick, (grimly) Pass it on. 
 
 (The Doctor hands it to Col. Grahame, who also reads 
 it and grunts — offers it to Waddles.) 
 
 Sir *H. Not again, thank you. 
 
 (The Soldier-Man puts it on the talle and there is a mo- 
 ment's silence.) 
 
 Doctor. What sort of looking woman is she? 
 Dick. Judge! 
 
 (He goes up to the ivindoiv, the three men follow him 
 and follow the direction of his pointing finger.) 
 
 Sir H. (gazes placidly at the poster, then murmurs 
 to himself) Very — very soothing. 
 
 S. Man. The Firefly! by all that's damnable. 
 
 Dick. Is she 
 
 S. Man. (answering the unspoken question) Quite 
 one of the most notorious. 
 
 Dick, (facing the three silent men) And now I 
 shall be glad to know what we are going to do. 
 
 Doctor. How did you find it out? 
 
 Dick. Mrs. Ericson picked up that letter, read it, 
 handed it on to Phyllis, who also read it and handed it 
 on to me. 
 
 Doctor. To Phyllis! Good God — and she engaged 
 to him! 
 
 S. Man. Poor girl! What a blow for her. 
 
 Dick. That's the one slice of luck in the whole mis- 
 erable business. 
 
 Doctor. Doesn't she care for him? 
 
44 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 Dick. Of course, she worships him. 
 
 Doctor. Then where's the slice of luck? 
 
 Dick. They think the lady is in love with me. 
 
 Omnes. What! 
 
 Dick, (taking up letter) "Dick." I'm Dick. The 
 Imp's Richard, too, but he's never Dick to us — he's the 
 Imp. So I'm — thanks to that trivial misunderstanding 
 — the future husband of that scarlet horror stuck upon 
 the wall. However, that doesn't matter, my shoulders 
 are broad enough to bear even that. I'm all right, it's 
 the Imp's got to be looked after, or else he'll burn his 
 fingers. Good God, I've rescued from danger before I — 
 I've seen him through scarlet fever — diphtheria — all the 
 other ills of his babyhood — this is a very similar sort 
 of complaint, and if we can't pull him through, his 
 father was a poor judge of guardians when he gave the 
 boy to us. We'll talk to him — we'll open his juvenile 
 eyes — we'll 
 
 S. Man. Do you suppose we'll succeed in convincing 
 him? 
 
 (A long pause.) . . 
 
 Dick, (wearily) No. I don't suppose we shall — 
 at first. We've got to put this thing right, ye know. 
 We're responsible to Charlie for the boy's life and we'll 
 take jolly good care he doesn't spoil it by this sort of 
 thing. 
 
 S. Man. Phyllis must be considered — wouldn't it be 
 as well to let their marriage be broken off for the pres- 
 ent? 
 
 Dick. Man alive, if she knew he'd — he'd turned his at- 
 tention to this sort of thing, she'd never speak to him 
 again — she's as proud as Lucifer. 
 
 Sir H. Are you sure she loves him? 
 , Dick. Certain. I asked her just now — she was 
 rounding on me about it — telling me how contemptible 
 she thought it all — and — and — and I asked her what 
 she'd have done if — if it had been the Imp — and she said 
 that she'd give him up and hate him forever — though 
 she knew it would break her heart, 
 
 S. Man. Um! That does make it awkward, doesn't 
 it? 
 
 Sir H. Well, there's fact one she loves him — now then 
 — fact two is he doesn't love her. And fact three, they 
 certainly ought not to be married under such condi- 
 tions. 
 
 Dick. No, no— you're going all wrong. You're wrong 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 45 
 
 in saying he doesn't love her — he does in his heart of 
 hearts. This (pointing to the window) — sort of thing 
 — is — isn't pleasant, of course, but it — it's only his youth 
 — you know. We all seem to go through it — at least so 
 I'm told. When he finds out what it's all worth he'll 
 sicken of it, damn quick, and then he'll marry and set- 
 tle down — and — and — be the man we all want to see him. 
 
 Doctor. Do you think that sort of thing (pointing to 
 poster) is a necessary part of a young man's education? 
 
 Dick. Certainly not, but now that he has tumbled 
 into the water, let's pick him out and dry him as quickly 
 as we can. 
 
 Sir H. I don't think it will do him any harm. 
 
 Doctor. And I'm sure it won't do him any good. 
 
 (The door opens and the Imp enters quietly — he glances 
 at the four men — closes the door behind him and 
 comes sloivly down into the room.) 
 
 Imp. You — (he clears his throat) You are all very 
 solemn — are you talking about me? 
 Dick. Yes. 
 
 Imp. I — I dropped a letter. 
 Dick. Here it is. 
 
 (The Imp takes it, folds it up — and puis it in his pocket 
 — he then strolls with affected nonchlance to the fire- 
 place and lights a cigarette — a pause.) 
 
 (slowly) I have read your letter. 
 
 Imp. (looking at him as if greatly astonished) You 
 have read my letter? 
 
 Dick, (gravely) Yes. 
 
 Sir H. We've all read your letter. 
 
 Imp. Really? I always thought there were some 
 things gentlemen did not do. 
 
 Dick, (gently) Don't let's begin like this. You 
 know that we four would do anything in the world to 
 help you. 
 
 Imp. Even to reading my letters. I'm grateful. 
 
 S. Man. So you ought to be. There are damn few 
 hoy's letters I'd take the trouble to read. 
 
 Imp. I hope you all found it interesting. 
 
 Doctor, (slowly) We did that. 
 
 (A pause — none of the Quadrity know quite how to "be- 
 gin — the Imp's attitude has rather upset their calcula- 
 tions. The Imp blows a few rings of smoke and 
 
46 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 waves them aside gracefully with his hand, then says 
 enquiringly.) 
 
 Imp. Well — and now? 
 
 Dick. Now we — we want you to tell us all about it. 
 
 Imp. Surely, the letter doesn't leave me much to tell. 
 
 Dick. It leaves a great deal. Come, come, old man — 
 we've all been young 'uns in our time — let's have your 
 version of this little love story. 
 
 Imp. There is very little to tell. I have asked Miss 
 Glynesk 
 
 S. Man. The FireHy. 
 
 Imp. (gives him a glance and continues) I have 
 asked Miss Glynesk to be my wife, and she has done me 
 the honour to say all right. 
 
 Sir H. Oh, has she? 
 
 Sir H. Devil doubt her! 
 
 Dick. Yes — I — I gathered that from the letter — but — 
 but — you see, old man — there are many things to be 
 considered — things, that in your impetuosity you may 
 have overlooked. Now here we are — four sober-minded, 
 middle-aged men — whose — well, I know I'm in this 
 speaking for myself — whose principal thought in life 
 is to try and make things smooth for you. That's so, 
 isn't it, you chaps? 
 
 S. Man. Certainly. 
 
 Sir H. Quite so. 
 
 Doctor. It is that. 
 
 Imp. I know, of course, I know all about that, and 
 I don't want you to think I'm a conceited young ass — but 
 there comes a time in every man's life when his own 
 judgment is of greater use to him than other people's. 
 
 Dick. Perhaps this is not that time. 
 
 Imp. I think it is. (then there is a pause and the 
 Imp throws his cigarette, half finished, into the fire- 
 place) 
 
 Dick, (slowly) What does your own judgment 
 prompt you to do? 
 
 Imp. To marry the woman I love. 
 
 S. Man. The Firefly. 
 
 Dick. She — she is a good deal older than you are — 
 isn't she, old man? 
 
 Imp. She is a little older, 
 
 Dick, (slowly) And I hear — that she has seen a 
 good deal, of the world. 
 
 Imp. I believe she has travelled a great deal. 
 
 Sir H. (chiming in) I suppose you know that peo- 
 ple say 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 47 
 
 Imp. (interrupting) I should have thought, Sir 
 Horace, j^ou'd have learnt by this time to pay no atten- 
 tion to what "people say " — for myself, when I know a 
 person, I form my own judgment — and — " People can 
 say " what they please — for all I care. 
 
 Dick. You're right — you're quite right, of course — 
 but in this instance 
 
 Imp. (breaking in) Look here. I know you were 
 all great friends of my father — and you've been jolly 
 good to me and all that, but on this subject, I may as 
 well tell you I shouldn't have allowed even him to in- 
 terfere—it's my affair, and I've made up my mind about 
 it. 
 
 Dick, (gently) You're wrong, old man — nothing in 
 this life is ever entirely one's own affair. Nobody can 
 ever say, I stand alone — every step you take in life, 
 whether towards evil or towards good, reacts upon your 
 surroundings. Now I — oh, good God! you know I don't 
 want to preach — I couldn't, I'm not built that way — 
 I only want you to be — well, here we are, five fellows — 
 let's all talk this matter over, find out what's the best 
 thing to do and make up our minds, whether we like 
 it or not, to do it. If it's best for you to marry this 
 lady — marry her, and good luck to you — if it's best not 
 to marry her — don't; let's hammer it out amongst us. 
 Your father — the dearest, bravest, truest chap that ever 
 stepped in shoe leather — gave you into our keeping when 
 you were so high — we swore among ourselves to make 
 you worthy of him — and we're going to try to keep our 
 word. 
 
 Imp. Is it making me worthy of him to try and make 
 me break my promise to a woman? 
 
 S. Man. (quietly) Which woman — which promise, 
 you have given two. 
 
 (T?ie shot goes home. The Imp loolcs at him for a mo- 
 ment, then turns away — and leans his head against 
 his arms on the mantelpiece, then speaks brokenly, 
 after a pause.) 
 
 Imp. I — you can't ask me to marry a woman I don't 
 love— I thought I did once— but I didn't— I know that 
 now. 
 
 S. Man. You got engaged to her. 
 
 Imp. I— I was a fool— but— but everybody seemed to 
 think it was all right — Dick wished it — you all wished 
 it — and — and — (in a low voice) she seemed to wish it, 
 too. 
 
48 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 Sir H. (jumps up, excited) You young cad — do 
 you 
 
 Dick, (restraining him) Hush! 
 
 Imp. (breaking in hotly) Oh, I don't mean that she 
 said so. I merely mean, everybody seemed to expect it 
 — and — and — we drifted into it. I'm very sorry and all 
 that, of course — but it's done, and it can't be helped. 
 
 Dick. It can be helped. Now, listen • 
 
 Imp. (getting rather flustrated — quickly) Oh, it's 
 no good talking — you may just as well realize that in 
 this matter I'll listen to no one. I know what a good 
 friend you've been to me, Dick, and I'm grateful — but 
 I'm no longer a boy. I'm old enough to manage my 
 own affairs, and I intend to do it. 
 
 S. Man. (breaking in brightly) Of course — we're 
 all on the wrong tack, Dick, old fellow, we've been 
 mounting the high horse and talking to the Imp as if he 
 were a child. He isn't, he's a man of the world as we 
 are — except that he's handicapped by being in love — we 
 aren't . Now then. Imp — let's have your view of the 
 situation as a man of the world. So it is absolutely es- 
 sential to your happiness that you — er — marry this 
 lady? 
 
 Imp. (shortly) Yes. 
 
 S. Man. Then you must have put your case before 
 her very clumsily. 
 
 Imp. (fiercely) What do you mean? 
 
 S. Man. I don't think she has ever been approached 
 with ceremony before. 
 
 Imp. (starts forward furiously) You coward! 
 
 (All the men rise except the Soldier Man.) 
 
 jy (silencing them all with a shout) Stop there!' 
 
 Imp. (passionately) Don't believe it^ Dick — don't 
 believe it — it isn't true. 
 
 Dick. Hush! Hush! Let's talk it out quietly— for 
 pity's sake. 
 
 Imp. I won't stand quietly here and hear the woman 
 I love insulted, even by you. 
 
 S. Man. Quite right — and if I told you certain facts 
 concerning this lady's past, and gave you my honour 
 that they were facts, you wouldn't believe me. 
 
 Imp. I'd know that they were lies. 
 
 S. Man. Quite right. Now that we know where we 
 are — I can hold my tongue. 
 
 Imp. You'd better. 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 49 
 
 (The Soldier-Man laughs — there is going to be another 
 outbreak — again Dick checks it.) 
 
 Dick. Stop this, I say. 
 
 Imp. Yes, I will stop this once and for all — I'll go. 
 
 Dick. Where? 
 
 Imp. To her! I'll get her to fix our wedding day 
 once and for all. 
 
 Dick, (springs to the door and intercepts him) Not 
 yet. Not yet! 
 
 Imp. You can't keep me. I'm of age — I do as I 
 choose now. 
 
 Dick. Listen 
 
 Imp. I've listened till I'm tired — what's the use of 
 staying here with my hands behind my back while the 
 woman I love is insulted? 
 
 Dick. No — no! 
 
 Imp. (stamping) I say yes — (a pause, then very 
 quietly) Let me go, please, Dick. 
 
 Dick, (gently) We — we're all a little excited now, 
 old man — when you come back 
 
 Imp. (sloivly) I shall not come back. 
 
 (A pause.) 
 
 Dick, (looks at him and at last speaks with an ef- 
 fort) You will not come back? 
 
 Imp. What's the use? I love her — nobody under- 
 stands. 
 
 Dick. You — you want to go away from me? 
 
 Imp. I don't " want " to. You leave m.e no choice — 
 you believe what he says — (he points to Col. Geahame 
 — a pause) Don't you? 
 
 Dick, (slowly) Yes. 
 
 Imp. (with a little choke) Then wouldn't you de- 
 spise me if I stayed? 
 
 (There is a pause arid Dick slowly moves away from 
 the door and down toivards the fireplace. The Laip 
 stands irresolute for a moment, as if there was some- 
 thing he would like to say — hut the thought fails 
 to find expression, and. h? turns to go — at the door 
 he stops and turns to Dick pleadingly.) 
 
 You — you've been very good to me, Dick — I — I'm going 
 to her — won't you wish me luck? 
 
 Dick, (after a pause, says huskily) I — I'm think- 
 ing of your father — if she is worthy of him — worthy of 
 
50 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 you — then, good luck to you, Imp — good luck. {he 
 "buries his head on his folded arms) 
 
 Imp. (gladly) Thanks, Dick, thanks. I'll tell her 
 what you say. (and he turns and darts out, slamming 
 the door) 
 
 (They all rise except Dick.) 
 
 S. Man. Great Scott, Dick — what do you mean by 
 that? 
 
 Dick. God knows — the boy may be right, after all — 
 he knows the woman — I don't. 
 
 S. Man. (emphatically) I do — she's been the ruin 
 of half a dozen men of my acquaintance. 
 
 Dick. No — no! 
 
 S. Man. I tell you, yes; if the boy wants to marry 
 her, she'll marry him — spend his money — then he who 
 bids more will carry her off, husband or no husband. 
 She's for sale, I tell you — for sale. To be bought as 
 one would buy a flower. 
 
 Dick, (starting up fiercely — striking the table with 
 his fist) Is she? Then, I'll buy her — I'll buy her — 
 she's mine — she shan't belong to him and wreck his life 
 — she shall belong to me, if the price is high — stand by 
 me 
 
 Sib H. Mine's yours. 
 
 Doctor. And mine. 
 
 S. Man. And mine! 
 
 Dick. Good men! The Trinity sees this through. 
 
 QUICK CURTAIN. 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 51 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene. — A gaudily furnished room. Many photographs 
 of The Firefly. A flaming red poster pinned to the 
 curtains; a table, carpet on the centre of stage, and 
 much debris about; soda ivater bottles and a tanta- 
 lus lying on the floor— the room giving every evi- 
 dence of having been the scene of a disturbance. 
 
 {Various lithos of Kara on walls and floor in her various 
 big parts. Babette, a French maid, viciously pretty, 
 heard expostulating in Kara's room.) 
 
 Bab. Oh, Madame, mais c'est impossible — vraiment, 
 vraiment, c'est impossible. 
 
 Kara, (off) I don't care if it is— it's got to be done. 
 Look alive now, look alive! 
 
 (Babette enters.) 
 
 Bab. Oh, I 'ate air. I ate 'air! An' she 'ave spilt 
 de table— Oh, I say— too bad— too bad— too bad! (pick- 
 ing up the things) She 'ave crack 'im— so stoopid! so 
 very stoopid! I 'ate air! 
 
 (Bells rings.) 
 
 Dat is Mistaire 'Ughie's ring. Oh, he will catch it 'ot 
 — so 'ot! pretty quick, I tell 'im! 
 
 (Goes up and out at back. Hall door heard to open 
 and Hughie's voice.) 
 
 Babette. Hello, Babette, what's all the bobbery? 
 
 Bab. Oh, mon Dieu, mon Dieii, mon Dieu! 
 
 HuGHiE. (enters) Mon Dieu-ing ain't enlightening, 
 Babette. I repeat, what's the bobbery? (he looks 
 round ot the disordered room) Hello— been bavin' a bit 
 of a beano here, ain't yon? ^ 
 
 Bab. Beano! Oh, mon Dieu! dat v/ord is much too 
 
52 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 little. You know quite soon — pretty dam quick. Vas 
 Madame's brougham at ze door? 
 
 HuGHiE. Yes. 
 
 Bab. Good! (she goes to door) Ze carriage is wait- 
 ing, Madame. 
 
 Kaka. Let it wait! 
 
 Bab. (picks up some broken china) Look, she crack 
 'im in her rage. I sink she crack you, too, pretty dam 
 quick, too. 
 
 HuGHiE. Crack me? Really that seems superfluous, 
 considering she broke me a few years ago. Again I en- 
 quire solicitously, what is the bobbery? 
 
 Bab. (with meaning) I think you know. 
 
 HucxHiE. Well, if you put it like that — I think I do. 
 
 Bab. She sent for you, eh? 
 
 HuGHiE. To be sent for by the Firefly is a distinc- 
 tion. 
 
 Bab. This time it is an extinction, my frien'. 
 
 HuGHiE. Your English is getting quite encyclopsedic. 
 
 Bab. Encyclopagdic? I do not know him. Madame 
 have sent for ze ozair damn fool, too. 
 
 HuGHiE. (sitting up) Wallis? 
 
 Bab. Wallis. Oui, oui, oui — oh yes. She crack 'im, 
 too, I 'ope so. 
 
 HuGHiE. Again superfluous. Our firefly likewise 
 broke him beyond any riveting exactly four months be- 
 fore she performed the same operation for me — but, tell 
 me why this craving to jump upon the pieces now? 
 
 Bab. You know, you — you little peeg — you have 
 played a trick on us. What was it you both tell her 
 about zat nice little boy — ze Imp boy? 
 
 HuGHiE. Young Audaine? Oh, only a few facts about 
 his great wealth. 
 
 Bab. (with a squeal) His wealth — is — oh — if you 
 was not so infant, so young, I would like to say some 
 sings in my own language. It was your plot — Mr. 
 Wallis' plot — his plot — little damn fool! He swear he 
 was so rich, so rich — five thousand a year to come soon. 
 She, Madame, lose her head — she believe, and she get 
 what you call hustle, and she have 
 
 HuGHiE. (springing to his feet with a shout of de- 
 light) Not married him — don't tell me she's married 
 him! 
 
 Bab. I tell you nozing. I leave dat to Madame — she 
 tell you all dam.n quick. 
 
 (Bell rings, and a faint cough heard.) 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 53 
 
 Mr. Wallis! I know 'is cough— stoopid, stoopid, silly 
 cough. 
 
 HuGHiE. (almost to himself) By Jove! if we've 
 bluffed Ler into that! what a score! Jumping Jehosha- 
 phat, what a score! 
 
 (Wallis enters, an immaculate youth.) 
 
 Wallis. Hello, Hughie! Firefly telegraphed for me 
 to call. 
 
 Hughie. And for me. Wallis, my little one, she's 
 swallowed it, hook and all, hook and all— we can call 
 quits at last. 
 
 Wallis. What! Has she— you don't 
 
 Hughie. And our friend, the amorous youth 
 
 Wallis. She's not 
 
 Hughie. She has— she's married him! She's mar- 
 ried him! Christians awake! ain't there going to be 
 a row. 
 
 Bab. Zare has been a row already. She 'ave turned 
 'im out of doors. 
 
 Hughie. Already! 
 
 Bab. Dey was married dis morning. 
 
 Wallis. Who was present? 
 
 Bab. Only I— me— was. Oh, it is a grand secret. No 
 one at all know, save Madame, Monsieur et moi. 
 
 Hughie. My word, when his people find out, won't 
 there be a shindy! 
 
 Bab. He have not told zem yet. By Gar, I don't 
 think he evaire tell anyone at all now— after what oc- 
 cur zis afternoon. 
 
 Hughie. You mean to say she turned him out of 
 doors? 
 
 Bab. Ah, oui — pourquoi non? 
 
 Wallis But her husband — whoop! wouldn't I have 
 liked to have been present! 
 
 Hughie. Get on, Babette, you're slow enough to be 
 English. Tell us what happened? 
 
 Bab. Well, zis is it. Aftaire ze ceremony, zay come ■ 
 home 'ere and have a little lunch— quite charming— 
 oh, quite nice— but Monsieur 'e seem to 'ave somesing 
 on his mind. 
 Wallis. Should think he had just! 
 Bab. But still all vaire charming, vaire nice! After 
 lunch zey come in here and Madame Kara smoke a 
 cigarette— 'e light it for her— vaire nice— vaire charm- 
 ing— zen, all of a sudden, Madame take his hand. For- 
 give her, she say, she very extravagant woman, and she 
 
54 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 go to ze bureau and she take out all zese. (pointing to 
 letters of all sorts and conditions that are scattered 
 about the room) 
 
 HuGHiE. What are those? 
 
 Bab. Bills, bills, bills — all zem is damn nasty bills. 
 Ob, I 'ate bills! And she says to Monsieur, in such a 
 sweet, sweet way, dat he will forgive her not mention- 
 ing zem before — zey slip 'er memory — and she know he 
 will pay zem all at once — so nice of 'im. 
 
 Wallis. Go on — go on — this is great! 
 
 HuGHiE. What then? 
 
 Bab. Zen it was mos' surprisin'— suddenly he springs 
 up an' zrow out 'is arms, and say wiz passion: " I 'ave 
 deceive you, I am not rich man, only poor man rich in 
 love. I love you, I love you, I am liar, cheat, black- 
 guard, but I love you — all I 'ave is I love you. 
 
 HUGHIE. 1 
 
 AND [■ And then? 
 Wallis. ) 
 
 (A pause — Babette says very quietly.) 
 Bab. {quaintly) You 'ave met Madame! 
 
 HUGHIE. ] 
 
 AND j- What happened? 
 
 Wallis. ) 
 
 Bab. (softly) Oh, a few little sings 'appen— just a 
 few. (she points to broken china) I feel sorry for ze 
 boy— ze— Oh, I mus' say I feel sorry for ze husband- 
 she strike him full — once, twice, three times. 
 
 HuGHiE. (quietly) What did he do? 
 
 Bab. (gravely) He stand quite still— ver' white— 
 ver' white and ver', ver still, and look at her wiz his 
 great, sad eyes, and — and he bow his head. 
 
 (Bell rings violently.) - 
 
 Madame's bell! I come, pretty so damn quick, I come. 
 
 (She exits hurriedly.) 
 
 HuGHiE. By Jove, who would have thought she'd 
 have been fooled so easily? 
 
 Wallis. Greed, old son, greed— they're all alike. 
 Dangle a golden plum and they'll gollop it down and 
 chance the indigestion— and I must say we played our 
 cards very well. There was every excuse for her be- 
 lievin' the young 'un was a bally little gold mine. 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 65 
 
 HuGHiE. An' of course, when he didn't deny it, 
 she 
 
 Wallis. Oh, we're brainy little fellahs, both of us— 
 ain't we, little son? 
 
 HuGHiE. I'm brainy enough to think it wiser to 
 (pantomimes ''getting out") before her ladyship has 
 her little chat with us. You see, one must never neg- 
 lect precedent, and she hit him — once, twice, three 
 times. And I never was good in the ring. Will 
 you 
 
 Wallts. Oh, let's see her — she'll be deuced waxy — 
 and the laugh's up to us now. 
 
 HuGHiE. But the one, two, three 
 
 Wallis. Chance it, little son— we're both of us pretty 
 dodgy. I wonder what she'll do about it? Married to 
 that kid without a farthing— gad, it's a rare lark! What 
 the devil will his people say when they hear of it! It's 
 pretty rough on them. 
 
 HuGHiE. Yes, she isn't exactly an acquisition to a 
 domestic circle. 
 
 (HuGHiE has heen up at Mck helping himself to whiskey 
 and soda.) 
 
 Have one? It's about the last time we'll drink with the 
 Firefly — we ain't so popular as we were. 
 
 Wallis. Better fortify myself for the meeting. (he 
 helps himself) Heard the news about Jimmy Hirsch? 
 
 HuGHiE. Bankrupt? 
 
 Wallis. No, on top again— cleared fourteen thou, 
 over a Caranian deal. He'll be buzzin' around the Fire- 
 fly again before you know where you are — that's my 
 prophecy, little son. 
 
 HuGHiE. If Jimmy Hirsch has got the dibs that 
 means good-bye to little Hubby. 'Pon my soul, I b'lieve 
 Jimmy Hirsch is the only man Firefly ever cared a brass 
 button for. 
 
 (Bell rings.) 
 
 HuGHiE. Perhaps this is the redoubtable James. 
 Wallis. What'll he say to the marriage? 
 HuGHiE. That also will be interesting to observe. 
 
 (Babette crosses and opens door. A handsome, rather 
 loud voiced girl enters in hall dress.) 
 
 Budgie. Isn't your mistress ready, Babette? 
 
56 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 Bab. Not yet — not quite yet — it is only her 'air. 
 
 HUGHIE. j 
 
 AND V Hello, Budgie. 
 
 Wallis. j 
 
 Budgie. Hello, you chaps, aren't you coming to 
 Covent Garden? 
 
 HuGHiE. Later. 
 
 Wallis. Kara has, what she is pleased to call, busi- 
 ness with us. 
 
 (Kara calls.) 
 
 Kara. Babette! Babette! 
 
 Bab. I come. 
 
 HuGHiE. Oh, we must tell Budgie — it's too rich. 
 
 Budgie. Fire away. 
 
 HuGHiE. You know the young chap Kara met at the 
 races — you were there. 
 
 Budgie. The boy who blushed if one said " Boo." 
 
 Wallis. That's the chap — ward of a barrister, 
 Carewe. 
 
 Budgie. Well, what of it? 
 
 HuGHiE. It's the rarest thing you ever heard — come 
 here and I'll whisper. Kara married him secretly this 
 morning, so I'm told. 
 
 Budgie. What!! 
 
 Wallis. Isn't it regal? I tell you, Hughie and I de- 
 serve a medal — we spoofed her clean. 
 
 Budgie. Kara married him? Nonsense! He hasn't 
 a sixpence. 
 
 HuGUiE. We know that — that's where the joke comes 
 in. Our Firefly was led to believe that the young 'un 
 was a bally little gold mine. 
 
 Budgie, (amazed and delighted) You don't mean to 
 say she — oh, go on — go on — what a lark! 
 
 Wallis. 'Course, Hughie and I are very fond of the 
 Firefly, but well, she didn't let either of us down too 
 gently, did she? So when she told us about this youth 
 wantin' to marry her, we got this brilliant idea. Hughie 
 dropped a hint about his colossal prospects, and I 
 chimed in with a bit on my own 
 
 Hughie. Then we got hold of the youth 
 
 Wallis. And having convinced him that she'd send 
 him to the right — about if he hadn't £5000 a year 
 
 Hughie. He apparently posed as the possessor of 
 many but imaginary millions, sooner than get the push. 
 
 Budgie. By Jove, it's ripping! What a sell for Kara 
 — won't she be sick! 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 57 
 
 HuGHiE. I think she is. 
 
 Budgie, (bubbling over with suppressed delight, goes 
 quickly to door of Kara's room and calls) Kara, dear, 
 I can't wait — I positively can't wait — I'll take a han- 
 som. 
 
 Kara. All right. 
 
 Budgie. I must get there before she does — it's one of 
 the best stories I've ever had a chance to tell. By-by, 
 boys — we shall all meet later, if there's anything left 
 of you when she's had her little say. By-by. 
 
 Hug HIE. ] 
 
 AND !■ By-by. 
 
 Wallis. J 
 
 Hughie. Sweet girl! 
 
 Wallis. Sympathetic little soul! 
 
 (Enter Babette.) 
 
 Bab. Madame comes — en garde, Messieurs — she is 
 very calm. 
 
 (Exit Babette at back.) 
 
 Wallis. Calm! — Rather wish we hadn't stayed, don't 
 you? 
 
 Hughie. She always was rather — difficult — when she 
 calm. Wally, my son, one toast before we expire — 
 Here's wishing all women where they ought to be. 
 
 Wallis. Where's that? 
 
 Hughie. Well, I was goin' to say the bottom of the 
 sea, but it would be such a doocid chilly process callin' 
 on 'em. 
 
 (Kara heard calling " Babette.") 
 
 * Wallis. Buck up! She's coming. 
 
 (They link arms and stand with their backs to the fire. 
 Kara enters.) 
 
 Kara. Oh, you're here? 
 Wallis. Hello, Kara. 
 Hughie. You look beautiful, ma belle. 
 Kara. I want just five minutes' chat with you two 
 boys. 
 Wallis. Delighted — only too delighted! 
 Hughie. We're in luck, ain't we, old friend? 
 
68 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 Kaea. Do you know what you are — yes, the pair of 
 you? 
 
 HuGHiE. Liars? 
 
 Wallis. Do tell us what we've done. 
 
 Kara. You know. You think you've both been clever 
 — you will find your joke a poor one before I've done. 
 He has told me everything — he has nothing — nothing 
 whatever. Oh, I don't blame him — the young fool is in 
 love with me — lies were his only chance, but if the 
 power is ever given me to repay you two, I'll flay you 
 for your joke — I'll flay you! You can remember that. 
 
 HuGHiE. Such remarks make general conversation 
 just a little difficult — don't you think, ma belle? 
 
 Wallis. I — I — er — well, I positively don't know 
 where to look, and that's a fact, old son. 
 
 HuGHiE. Ain't he really got any fortune, Kara? 
 
 Kara. As if you didn't know. 
 
 HuGHiE. Then, 'pon my word, it just shows how dif- 
 ficult it is to believe in appearances. 
 
 Wallis. We thought he was a gold mine, didn't we? 
 
 HuGHiE. I'd have backed my boots on it — after all 
 we'd heard. 
 
 Kara, (looking at them with scorn) I sent for you 
 to tell you what I thought of you. I wanted to — but 
 now you're here and I look at you, I wonder why I can 
 be angry with such things as you — you're not men, or if 
 you are, then men are such worms that I don't wonder 
 that it's a glory to some of us to trample you under- 
 foot. 
 
 HuGHiE. Not worms, ma belle, not worms — don't 
 trample worms. Call us grapes, ma belle, not worms — 
 beautiful, beautiful grapes — then crush us under your 
 feet and give us to tie world in wine — charming — quite 
 charming. I'm in rather good form, ain't I, old son? 
 (he hums jovially " Oh, call us the fine Muscatel " to the 
 tune of " They Call Me the Belle of New York. ") 
 
 (Babette enters hurriedly.) 
 
 Bab. Madame will pardon me 
 
 Kara. What— what— what? 
 
 Bab. Madame get married in all such a hurry, she 
 forget sings. 
 Kara. What's that? 
 Bab. Zis letter from Mr. Carewe. 
 Hughie. 
 
 and y Carewe!' 
 Wallis. 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 59 
 
 (Kara is struggling angrily into pair of long gloves.) 
 
 Kara. Carewe? Who is he? 
 
 Bab. Ze Unknown Man — ze lunatic — ze £1000. 
 
 Kara. Bah! Tear it up — who said I'd see him? 
 
 Bab. Ze letter made Madame so laugh. Madame 
 said " I will see him," and he is coming to-night. I 'ad 
 forgot. You fix the appointment. I post ze letter — but 
 den we get married so damn quick — we forgot sings. 
 
 Kara. Send him away. I'm not in the mood to laugh 
 at fools to-night. 
 
 Bab. He is, of course, fool. But £1000— that not so 
 fool. 
 
 Kara. Who wants his £1000. 
 
 Bab. Madame does. 
 
 Kara. Quite right — so I do. 
 
 Wallis. Unknown man? 
 
 HUGHIE. £1000. 
 
 Wallis. Carewe, too. What's up? 
 
 Kara, (fiercely) Give me the letter, (she snatches 
 it and reads, then laughs) It's preposterous! No man 
 could be such a fool. 
 
 HuGHiE. May we know? 
 
 Kara. What's it got to do with you? (she reads 
 again) £1000 — what if he should mean it— it — what if 
 it shouldn't be a joke? 
 
 Bab. I think him no joke — it read like great sense to 
 me. 
 
 Kara. It would to a fool like you. Shall I see him? 
 
 (A pause — again she looks at the letter.) 
 
 What time did I say I'd see him? 
 
 Bab. Just now — it is on the strike. 
 
 Kara. Oh, is it? (a pause, then suddenly) I won't 
 see him! I've had enough worry for one day. My 
 cloak, Babette. I'm going to the ball. 
 
 Bab. Mais Madame — ! 
 
 Kara. My cloak, I say. 
 
 Bab. Oh, mon Dieu, mon Dieu — ! 
 
 (She picks up cloak from chair; as she puts it on Kara 
 she whispers.) 
 
 £1000 is a £1000— Madame forgets. Suppose he mean 
 it? Sousand pounds 
 
 (The outdoor hell rings.) 
 
60 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 He is yere! 
 
 (A pause; they all look at each other; then suddenly 
 Kara flings oft her cloak. ) 
 
 Kaba. Hang it all — I'll see him! Get out, you two! 
 
 HuGHiE. But, Kara 
 
 Wallis. Ma belle 
 
 Kara. I'll settle our little score later; for the present 
 — get out. I'm going to talk over a little business with 
 this gentleman. 
 
 HuGHiE. I wonder would your husband quite app- 
 rove. 
 
 Kara, (comes to him — he moves behind chair) 
 Have you forgotten the old saying: "He laughs best 
 who laughs last?" You'll both of you remember it 
 yet. Good-night. Stop. I know nothing of this fel- 
 low. He may be a madman for all I know — wait there 
 you two. If he's tame, I can manage him — if he isn't, 
 you must — that's all. 
 
 Wallis. (aghast) A madman! 
 
 HuGHiE. They have the strength of ten men. 
 
 Kara. What's his name again? (looks at letter) 
 Richard Carewe — know him? 
 
 HuGHiE. Richard Carewe? (to W.) Do we? 
 
 Wallis. Richard Carewe? (to H.) Do we? 
 
 (A pause.) 
 
 HuGHiE. No, we don't. 
 Wallis. Never heard of him. 
 
 (Kara talks to Babette.) 
 
 Wallis. (to Hughie) The Imp's guardian. 
 
 HuGHiE. Let's stay and see the fun. 
 
 Wallis. Rather! 
 
 Hughie. What makes you think he's mad? 
 
 Kara. He has practically written and told me so. 
 Into that room, please — you needn't come out unless I 
 call you — into that room, please. 
 
 Hughie. Charmed, I'm sure, to be chucker-out, 
 
 Wallis. Always ready to die in the cause of beauty 
 in distress. 
 
 Kara. Thank you.— Into that room. 
 
 (They retire into room, l.) 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 61 
 
 Kara, (to Babette) Bring me the glass. 
 
 (Babette 'brings her hand-glass and Kaba arranges her 
 hair.) 
 
 All right. 
 
 (Babette goes out, closing the door. Kara suddenly 
 rises and goes to door of the room where the two men 
 have retired, shaking her fist at it.) 
 
 You've tricked nie — you've tricked me — but you shall pay 
 for it — you shall all pay for it — every man Jack of you! 
 
 (Babette now returns with a card on tray.) 
 
 (takes it and reads) Richard Carewe — what have you 
 done with him? 
 
 Babette. He is in ze dining room. 
 
 Kara. Idiot! If you'd only use the little brains 
 you've got, Babette, you would realize that I can't see 
 Mr. Carewe through brick walls and a hall passage — 
 bring him here. 
 
 Babette. Oui, Madame. 
 
 Kara, (re-reading letter) £1000, and he doesn't 
 
 wish to see me — doesn't wish to talk to me 
 
 It's the most extraordinary proposition; I wonder what's 
 his game? 
 
 Babette. (announces) Mr. Richard Carewe. 
 
 (Dick enters. Kara rises and meets him — there is a 
 slight pause.) 
 
 Kara. Hew do you do, Mr. Carewe? 
 DiCKN. How do you do? 
 
 (Another pause.) 
 
 Kara. I — I — (laughs) It's a little awkward ,isn't 
 it? Won't you sit down? 
 
 Dick, (slowly) You got my letter? 
 
 Kara. Oh, yes, I got your letter. Do you know, I 
 pictured you quite a different sort of man. I thought 
 you must be a very old man. (pause) Are you sane? 
 
 Dick. Perfectly. 
 
 Kara. Your proposition is — odd — isn't it? 
 
 Dick. I suppose it is. 
 
62 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 Kara. I beg your pardon — would you like a whiskey 
 and soda? 
 
 Dick. No, thank you. 
 
 Kara, (taking up letter) Here's your letter. Come 
 now — it's a joke, isn't it? 
 
 Dick. No. 
 
 Dick. No. 
 
 Kara. You really mean it? 
 
 Dick. Absolutely. 
 
 Kara, (slowly, looking at letter) You will give me 
 £1000 if I will make my friends believe that you are 
 — a — friend of mine? 
 
 Dick. Yes. 
 
 Kara, (referring to letter) For a month, you desire 
 that our names shall be linked together — dear me, how 
 comic it seems! And during that time you do not 
 wish to speak to me — nor even to see me? 
 
 (Dick boivs his head.) 
 
 You must be quite m.ad, you know? 
 
 Dick. Do you accept my offer? 
 
 Kara. Well, one can hardly accept £1000 without 
 seriously thinking it over, can one? What does it en- 
 tail? 
 
 Dick. Nothing but what is expressed in the letter. 
 
 Kara. It seems just a little too good to be true, 
 doesn't it? You don't happen to have brought the 
 money with you, do you? 
 
 Dick. Yes — I told you in my letter that I would. 
 
 Kara, (rising in amazement) Then it's real — it's 
 not a joke? 
 
 Dick. Why should I joke? 
 
 sbara. Well, upon my word — (she stares at him) 
 Oh, I think I see the game. You want to waken my 
 curiosity — to arouse my interest in you? 
 
 Dick. No. 
 
 Kara. Oh, yes, you do. Well, it's an expensive way, 
 but I'm not sure that it's a bad one. (she laughs) 
 Come now — I challenge you — you won't give me your 
 word of honour that you will never seek to improve upon 
 the conditions of your offer? That you'll never want 
 to change your mind about not seeing me? 
 
 Dick. I give you my word of honour now. 
 
 Kara. Well, you're quite the oddest person I have 
 ever come across. Let me see the money — convince me 
 it isn't a dream. 
 
 Dick, (taking out letter) The money is here. 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 63 
 
 Kara. It's not a cheque, is it? 
 
 Dick. No, two bank notes. 
 
 Kara. By Jove — you do mean business. 
 
 Dick. Understand, from the time you take this our 
 
 compact begins. 
 
 Kara. Quite so — and it holds good for one month, 
 
 Dick. Yes. 
 
 Kara. You know you've no earthly security that I 
 shall earn this money. 
 
 Dick. Oh, yes, I have. 
 
 Kara. What? 
 
 Dick. Your sense of honour. 
 
 Kara. Is that meant for a joke? 
 
 Dick. No. 
 
 (A pause.) 
 
 Kara. You're a most extraordinary person. 
 
 Dick. Is it to be a bargain? 
 
 Kara. Yes. (she holds out her hand for the notes) 
 
 Dick, (gives them to her) Thank you. I — I can 
 go now — we have met for the first and the last time. 
 Good-bye. 
 
 (A pause.) 
 
 I must ask you to forgive me for — for this insult. 
 
 Kara. I like it, believe me. It's one of the pleas- 
 antest insults I've ever experienced. 
 
 Dick. But — but there is so much at stake. 
 
 Kara. What do you mean? 
 
 Dick. I — I cannot tell you. 
 
 Kara. It really doesn't matter — the money speaks — 
 and between you and me and the post, I wanted it 
 rather badly. Good-bye, Protector-of-the-Poor. 
 
 Dick. Good-bye. 
 
 (The bell rings.) 
 
 Dick, (turns and says hesitatingly) Some one 
 
 Kara. Well? Oh, you don't want to be seen here, 
 
 don't you? Is that it? You do good by stealth and 
 
 blush to be caught on the stairs! 
 
 (Babette is heard to open the door and exclaim in 
 surprise. ) 
 
 Bab. Monsieur! 
 
64 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 (A man's voice is heard.) 
 
 HiRSCH. Back again! Is she in? 
 
 Kara, (starts up) Hirsch! Jim! Back again! 
 Back again! Quick — quick! do you mind? — go in there. 
 I — I — this gentleman — I'd rather he didn't see you. 
 Quick — just for a minute — do you mind. 
 
 (Dick dows and goes into the other room, r.) 
 
 Kara. Jim! — why has he come back? Why has he 
 come back? 
 
 (The door opens and Hirsh enters. He is a heavily- 
 built, poiverful-looking man of Jewish extraction. She 
 stands rigid — he comes slowly down — a silence.) 
 
 Hirsch. Well? ' - 
 
 Kara. How dare you come back? 
 
 Hirsch. That's foolish — you knew I'd come sooner 
 or later, didn't you? 
 
 Kara. I— I 
 
 Hirsch. Kara, (he holds, out his arms) 
 
 Kara. No, no! 
 
 Hirsch. What do you mean? 
 
 Kara. You must go — you must go — we — we — never 
 again! (fiercely) It's over — I told you! (she stamps) 
 I told you once and for all, it's over. Never again! 
 
 Hirsch. Wrong — always again — always and always 
 — and you know it. 
 
 Kara. Oh, why have you come back? 
 
 Hirsch. You left me eight months ago because luck 
 turned against me. 
 
 Kara. I left you because you were sold up. I'm not 
 good at sleeping on bare boards. 
 
 Hirsch. Luck has turned again — you must come 
 back. 
 
 Kaba. Must! 
 
 Hirsch. Must! You know me — when I say a thing 
 I mean it. We will go South to-morrow. 
 
 Kara. Not to-morrow. 
 
 Hirsch. When will you be ready? 
 
 Kara, (taking up letter, glancing at it, then slowly 
 tearing it up) I have just made a contract. 
 
 Hirsch. For how long? 
 
 Kara. One month from to-day. 
 
 Hirsch. It is too long — break it. 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 65 
 
 Kara. No — curiously enough, it's a contract I cannot 
 break. 
 
 HiKscH. Strange contract. 
 
 Kara. It is. 
 
 HiRscH. What prevents you breaking it? 
 
 Kara, (with a laugh) My sense of honour. 
 
 HiRSCH. Rubbish! 
 
 Kara. I thought that would amuse you — it amuses 
 me rather. 
 
 HiRSCH. Break it. 
 
 Kara. You must be patient. 
 
 HiRSCH. I have been patient for eight months. I 
 have stifled every thought — I have shut myself up with 
 my dream of you, and compelled the luck to turn. It 
 has turned. We are £14,000 to the good. When that is 
 gone, I will be patient again — for the present, we will 
 go South to-morrow. 
 
 Kar^ I have said no. 
 
 Kirs'- Look at me. — It isn't wise to play the fool 
 with me. 
 
 Kara. You must wait a month. 
 
 HiRSCH. I will wait until, to-morrow. 
 
 Kara. Don't be foolish — you bore me. 
 
 HiRSCH. It's no contract — it's a man. 
 
 (Enter Imp.) 
 
 Kara. What if it is — that's my affair! 
 
 HiRSCH. You dare! 
 
 Kara. My dear Jimmy, you're not the only man in 
 the world, you know. 
 
 HiRSCH. Who is he? 
 
 Kara. You wouldn't know him. 
 
 HiRSCH. Who is he? 
 
 Kara. If you really wish to know, his name is Rich- 
 ard Carewe. (she calls) Mr. Carewe. 
 
 HiRSCH. (starting forward fiercely) He's there! — 
 you love him. 
 
 (Dick enters,) 
 
 Kara, (with a defiant laugh) What if I do? 
 HiRscH. (throwing over the table) You devil! 
 Kara. Help me! (she backs to the sideboard) 
 
 (HiRscH springs towards her with uplifted hand; simul- 
 taneously the Imp rushes down to stop him. Then 
 Dick, by a quick movement, intercepts and seizes the 
 boy. 
 
 5 
 
QQ WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 Imp. Keep back! 
 
 Dick, (holding him) Go home. This is my quarrel. 
 
 Kara moves down r. 
 
 You heard what she said. She's mine. 
 
 Imp. (facing him in a blaze of anger) Liar! She's 
 my wife! 
 
 (There is a long silence. Hughie, Wallis and Babette 
 have entered. Dick turns slowly to Kara. 
 
 Dick. Is this true? 
 Kara. Yes. 
 
 Imp. (in a voice shaken by paicion, and still facing 
 Dick) Tell them you have lied, 
 
 Dick, (very slowly) I've lied — I beg your pardon. 
 
 (Another long, tense silence, broken by a light laugh 
 from Kara.) 
 
 Imp. (turns to her, imploringly) Kara! 
 
 Kara, (coldly) Have you forgotten what I said to 
 you to-day? 
 
 (There is a pause, and, as the Imp sinks back heart- 
 broken upon the sofa, she flings back her head haught- 
 ily and sweeps to the door, saying loudly.) 
 
 Kara. My cloak, Babette. Show these gentlemen out. 
 Jimmy, take me to my carriage. I will explain. 
 
 (HiRSCH laughs, and she sweeps out of the room on his 
 arm. The hall door shuts with a bang.) 
 
 Dick, (holding out his arms, pleadingly) My boy, 
 my boy! 
 
 Imp. (facing him, says slowly and quietly) Never 
 again — you've killed it! 
 
 (He turns from him and goes out of the house. Dick 
 stands for a moment, motionless, heart-broken; then 
 he repeats in a whisper, mechancially.) 
 
 Dick, You've killed it! Why, since he was so high, 
 
 I've Never again — he doesn't mean it — he — he can't 
 
 mean it. 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY -ONE. 67 
 
 Bab. {comes to him with his hat and cloak) For 
 Monsieur. 
 
 Dick, (looks at her dazed, then realizes) Yes — I 
 forgot — Oh, yes. He didn't mean it. I — I will go after 
 him — he didn't mean it — he didn't mean it! 
 
 (He goes slowly out after the hoy. Wallis and Hughie 
 turn to each other and lift their glasses meaningly.) 
 
 Hughie. Chin-chin, old son! Quite a busy evening! 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 \ 
 
G8 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Time. — The same night — ahoitt an hour later. 
 
 Scene. — Dick's room in the demerit's Inn. Mrs. Eric- 
 sow dozing in an easy chair — Phyllis loorking by her 
 side. After a slight pause, she rises and goes to the 
 window — draws the curtains a little and looks out. 
 
 Mrs. E. sits up ivith a start) I must have dozed, 
 it must be very late. 
 
 Phyll. Very late. 
 
 Mrs. E. Oh, my dear — we can't sit up any more. 
 
 Phyll. We must — he can't be much longer now, at 
 least — you needn't, mother, dear — I must. 
 
 Mrs. E. Well, anyhow if I do sit up, I'll do it lying 
 down in my room, this low chair gives me cricKs in my 
 neck. 
 
 Phyll. It'll be an awful blow to him. 
 
 Mrs. E. Yes, dear, I'm afraid it will. What it is 
 about young men that makes them go off and get mar- 
 ried like that, I don't know. Are you going to stay 
 here, or are you coming with me? 
 
 Phyll. I'll stay here. 
 
 Mrs. E. I couldn't keep my eyes open sitting up, 
 perhaps it'll be better lying down. Oh, do lie down, too, 
 dear, you look worn out, 
 
 Phyll. I'm all right. We must be very kind to him 
 when he comes, mother. 
 
 Mrs. E. Yes, we will be — if I can keep awake. 
 
 (Mrs. Ericson goes sleepily to her room — leaving Phyl- 
 lis at the window.) 
 
 Phyll. Oh, what can it be that keeps him! 
 {Footsteps heard outside — then the electric hell rings.) 
 Here they are! {she runs to hall door and opens it) 
 
 (Sir Hobace, the Doctor and Col. Graeme come in.) 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 69 
 
 Where's Dick? 
 
 Waddles. Isn't he here? 
 
 Col. We thought he was here. 
 
 Phyll. Hasn't he been with you? 
 
 Col Yes! 
 
 Phyll. (looking from one to the other— observing 
 their embarrassment) What's happened? 
 
 (They don't answer.) 
 
 He had a letter from that woman this afternoon. I 
 recognized the writing on the envelope. Are they mar- 
 ried? 
 
 CoL: Who? 
 
 f hyll. The Imp and she. 
 
 {The three look greatly surprised.) 
 
 CoL. You know — how did you know? 
 
 Phyll. I knew days ago. The Imp told me— and— 
 and— I got this letter this afternoon, saying that by the 
 time I received it he'd be a married man. 
 
 Waddles. Oh, why didn't you tell Dick? 
 
 Phyll. I'd promised not to. He wanted to tell Dick 
 himself. Besides, Dick must have known, because he 
 got a note from the Imp's wife this afternoon. 
 
 Col. But unfortunately the note did not say a word 
 about the marriage. ^ ^ ^ 
 
 Phyll. (amazed) Didn't say— I don t understand 
 that. Would you mind telling me what's happened? 
 I'm quite old enough to be told things. I'm not break- 
 ing my heart for the Imp. I gave him his freedom very 
 v/illingly. Tell me — Dick is suffering, I know that. 
 He's keeping everything from me. I want to help him 
 —I must help him— tell me what's happened. 
 
 Col. I think we'd better. , ^ 
 
 Doctor. Ah, shure— I'm glad you're not breakin 
 your heart for the boy. 
 
 Phyll. So am I. Tell me about Dick, please. 
 
 Col. Well— this lady that the Imp has married 
 
 Doctor. Wasn't a desirable party at all— at all. 
 Col. And so Dick went to-night by appointment to 
 — to buy her off. 
 Phyll. Too late? 
 Waddles. Too late. 
 Doctor. That's just the devil of it. 
 Col. And— and— the Imp and Dick have— well— they 
 
70 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 haven't exactly quarreled — but the boy knows now that 
 his marriage has been a mistake. 
 
 Phyll. Already? 
 
 Col. I think the lady has transferred her afEections 
 to some one else. 
 
 Phyll. But she only got married to-day. 
 
 Waddles. Some ladies are a little fickle, Phyllis dear. 
 
 Phyll. Something awful must have happened. 
 
 The three men nod.) 
 
 {in a whisper) What? 
 
 CoL. We don't know — yet. 
 
 Phyll. Oh, Dick — poor Dick! 
 
 Waddles. If you'd seen him walk oiit of that place 
 to-night, you'd have said poor Dick, indeed. 
 
 Col. You see Dick, knowing nothing of the marriage, 
 proved to the boy — that the woman wasn't fit to be any 
 man's wife. 
 
 Doctor. And all the time the two were married. 
 
 (There is a long, disconsolate pause.) 
 
 Phyll. Where is he now — somewhere out there alone 
 with it all. Oh, dear, oh, dear! (she goes to the win- 
 dow and leaning against the curtains she has one quiet 
 little sob all to herself) 
 
 (The three men look at each other— then the Doctor 
 says in a whisper.) 
 
 Doctor. It's Dick she loves, after all. 
 
 (The other two look at his incredulously for a moment, 
 then, as the idea takes root — the Col. gives a low 
 whistle.) 
 
 Waddles, (gasps) You're right, you're right. Oh, 
 what fools we've been! 
 
 Doctor. We've found the silver lining, boys, there'll 
 be a new member in the firm. 
 
 CoL. But, does Dick 
 
 Doctor, (breaking in with a smile) Av course he 
 does — shure, don't we all? 
 
 (The three men draw a long breath and turn and look 
 gently at the girl — she is still standing staring out 
 into the night waiting for Dick to come.) 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 71 
 
 (tenderly) When he comes in, ye'll try and comfort 
 him — won't you, my dear? 
 
 Phyll. Oh, if only I could. 
 
 Sir H. He'll be very lonely, Phyl. 
 
 DOCTOR. Ah, if there was only some sweet woman 
 who loved him-who could take his tired head upon 
 her heart and tell him not to grieve-that 'ud do him 
 good, I'm thinkin'. 
 
 Waddles, {ahruptly) Is your mother up? 
 
 Doctor, (rounds on him) Ah, shure— whats the 
 
 good of that? XI- X T ^«« 
 
 Waddles. My gracious, I didn't mean that. I was 
 
 ^^PHYLL^ ^^coming away from the window wearily) 
 It's very late, if you'd like anything to eat and drink- 
 it's all on the table in the dining room. 
 Waddles. That's what I meant, man, when I said - 
 Phyll. (suddenly listening) Hush! (a pause) 
 He's coming. 
 
 (8he goes up to door and listens.) 
 
 Doctor. What did I tell you! She knows his step. 
 Boys! I'm thinkin' this blow is the softest thing Mas- 
 ther Dick has ever sthruck. ,^ ^. . _^^9 
 
 Phyll. Shall— shall we go into the dinmg room? 
 
 Doctor, (a little astonished) For why? 
 
 Phyll. Perhaps he— he might like to be alone to- 
 night—just to-night. 
 
 Waddles. Well, I think p'raps four of us is too many, 
 but — maybe — one. 
 
 Doctor, 
 and 
 
 Colonel. 
 Yes, yes! 
 
 (They move hurriedly out) 
 
 Waddles, (to Phyllis) You stay! 
 
 (He goes out after the other two. The outer door is 
 opened with a latch-key and Dick comes m wearily— 
 he passes across the hall and into his oion room. 
 ThroiDS his hat and coat on to a chair and stands for 
 a moment lost in his thoughts. He doesn't see Phyl- 
 LIS, who is in an alcove of the window. After a hit, 
 he goes to the desk, unlocks it, takes out the letter— 
 
72 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 and reads it through, then holding it tenderly, as if 
 it were a living thing — he whispers.) 
 
 Dick. I did my best, old man, I did my best. 
 
 (Phyllis comes in quietly — closing the door after her. 
 She steals across to him and puts her hand tenderly 
 on his shoulder.) 
 
 Aren't you in bed? 
 
 Phyll, No, dear. 
 
 Dick. You should be child, it's late. 
 
 Phyll. Is it? (then, with great tenderness, she 
 slips her hand into his) Oh, Dick, dear, you look so 
 tired. 
 
 Dick. Do I? 
 
 Phyll. You're not angry because I waited up? I 
 knew you'd be tired, and I — I thought you might be 
 lonely. So — so — I wanted to be with you, if you'd let 
 me. I know about it all, Dick — the marriage — and — 
 the rest. 
 
 Dick. You know? 
 
 Phyll. The Trinity told me. 
 
 Dick, (a great pity comes over him for herq I did 
 it for the best, dear. I'm very sorry. 
 
 Phyll. Don't be sorry for me, Dick. He told me 
 days ago about her, and I was glad he didn't love me — 
 because — I didn't love him either. 
 
 Dick. You didn't? 
 
 Phyll. No! Where is he? 
 
 Dick. I don't know. (then, with a long, indrawn 
 sol), he sinks into the chair by the table and buries his 
 head on his hands) Ih, my boy — my boy! 
 
 Phyll. Oh, don't, Dick, don't. 
 
 Dick. I tried my best to save him, I did, indeed. 
 
 Phyll. I know you did, he knows you did. 
 
 Dick. He doesn't, he hates me — how can he help it, 
 he hates me — oh, my boy, my boy! 
 
 Phyll. Dick! 
 
 Dick, (rising and moving from her) Don't, dear, 
 please don't. Leave me alone, I — I'd sooner be alone, 
 just now. 
 
 (And Phyllis, understanding, goes quietly away. He 
 has moved towards the mantelpiece and bowed his 
 head, there is a long silence, he stands there alone 
 in his grief.) 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. Y3 
 
 Be father — mother — all to him — and this is what I've 
 done! 
 
 (The hall door is heard to open and shut again softly, 
 Dick is heedless of it, then the door of his room opens 
 and the Imp comes in. Dick, at the sound, looks up 
 and sees him. There is a pause.) 
 
 Dick, (gently) You have come back? 
 
 Imp. (with a laugh) Are you surprised? 
 
 Dick. Yes. 
 
 Imp. (bitterly) When a man arranges to lie away 
 a woman's reputation to her husband, he shouldn't be 
 surprised if the husband has a word to say on the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 (Dick looks at him, then says slowly.) 
 
 Dick. I knew nothing of the marriage. What I did, 
 I did for your sake. 
 
 Imp. Thank you very much. 
 
 Dick. I don't think you were wise to come here to- 
 night — we — we can't see things clearly yet. You'd bet- 
 ter go; come back to-morrow, perhaps then you will be 
 able to understand. 
 
 Imp. Oh, I quite understand now. I've learnt my 
 lesson pretty thoroughly, thanks to you all. A woman, 
 even, a man's wife, is a thing to be bought and sold. 
 If you've taught me nothing else, Dick, you've taught 
 me that. 
 
 Dick. I've never taught you anything that wasn't 
 true. No woman worthy of the name is to be bought. 
 
 Ifflp. Ah, I know 'em now — you don't. Who was the 
 chap who said every woman was at heart a wrong 'un? 
 He knew life. It's only the accident of birth and cir- 
 cumstances. Why, I daresay Phyllis 
 
 Dick, (sternly) Stop there! (then very quietly) 
 You'd better go, we are neither of us in a fit state to 
 talk this matter over. We'd say what we didn't mean, 
 and — and I might get angry with you. (a pause) I 
 have asked your pardon for my share in this; at the 
 same time, I must ask you to remember that I did what 
 I thought was right. 
 
 Imp. Our views of right and wrong differ. 
 
 Dick, (gently) They may to-night. I'm sure they 
 won't to-morrow. (he goes to the door and opens it) 
 
 Imp. (hotly) I'm not going yet. There's a good 
 deal I've got to say to you. 
 
74 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 Dick. And a good deal I've got to say to you, but not 
 to-night. 
 
 Imp. {raising his voice) I will 
 
 Dick. Hush! I said not to-night. 
 
 Imp. (stamping) I will know the truth of this 
 damned conspiracy against me. 
 
 Dick. Stop! 
 
 Imp. It has been a conspiracy, and you know it. 
 What were you all at the club for? 
 
 Dick, (quietly) I shall expect you in the morning. 
 
 Imp. (getting beyond himself, faces Dick in a rage) 
 Tell me now. 
 
 Dick. I shall expect you in the morning. 
 
 Imp. (lifting his hand to strike) You — you 
 
 (Dick seizes his arm and holds him for an instant as 
 in a vice, then lets him go, and says gently.) 
 
 Dick. That would have been a pity, wouldn't it? 
 
 (A long pause, then he takes the letter.) 
 
 This is your father's letter to me, written when he lay 
 dying, and you were a little child; in it he asks me to 
 try and take his place. I have tried — you are of age 
 now — you need me no longer, (and he tears the letter 
 into two pieces) 
 
 (The Imp is sitting upon the sofa, his head buried in 
 his hands. A knock is heard at the outside door.) 
 
 Who's that? 
 
 (Dick goes and opens the door. A Cabman is seen out' 
 side.) 
 
 Cabman, (enquiringly) Richard Carewe? 
 Dick. Yes. 
 
 Cabman. Lady told me to deliver this note, most 
 spechul. 
 
 (Dick takes it and fumbles in his pockets for a coin, 
 hasn't got one. He turns to the Imp.) 
 
 Dick. Got a couple of shillings? 
 Imp. Yes. 
 
 (He hands Dick the coins, who, in his turn, hands them 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 75 
 
 to the Cabman, ivho disappears, saying " Thank ye, 
 sir." Dick closes the door and comes down to fire- 
 place, opening the letter as he comes. He reads a lit- 
 tle, then looks up at the Imp, who rises quickly, guess- 
 ing intuitively.) 
 
 Imp. It's from her. 
 
 Dick. Yes. 
 
 Imp. You can read it out. I'm not afraid — she can't 
 write harder things than she said. 
 
 Dick. " I have learnt from Mr. Hirsch that you are 
 the young man's guardian, so I see now the reason of 
 our compact. I am sorry you were too late, for his, for 
 my own, and for your sake. However, don't worry, 
 your young friend will have no difficulty in obtaining 
 his freedom. I return your cheque for two reasons; 
 one is, I'm sure Hirsch wouldn't approve of my receiving 
 such a present even from my husband's guardian, the 
 other is I don't want you to think you are the only fool 
 in the world. I'll send you some roses from Monte 
 Carlo." 
 
 (A pause, he looks at the Imp, who laughs and goes up 
 into the window, where he stands staring into the 
 darkness. Then he speaks without turning.) 
 
 Imp. When I told her that I should kill him, she 
 laughed and said, " Very well; but when you are hanged, 
 there'll be nobody left to deal with his successors "; that 
 seemed logical, so I came away and left him to eat his 
 supper. 
 
 Dick, (amazed) You saw them? 
 
 Imp. (nods) Just left 'em — they're together now. 
 
 Dick, (going quickly to him) Oh, my poor old boy. 
 
 Imp. I — I can't help laughing. My position is so 
 very ridiculous, (he rises wearily) I — I'll go now. 
 
 Dick. Where are you staying? 
 
 Imp. Metropole. Good-night. 
 
 Dick. Good-night. 
 
 (The Imp goes slowly to the door, then turns to Dick 
 and says huskily.) 
 
 Imp. You — you might ask me to stay here. 
 Dick, (gladly) Would you? 
 
 Imp. Oh, Dick! (and he breaks down utterly as 
 Dick, deeply moved, catches him in his arms) 
 
 Dick, (half laughing, half soiling) Come, come, 
 
76 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 It'll all dry straight, we will work it through together, 
 old man, shoulder to shoulder, as we used to be. 
 
 Imp. All that I've said, just now, I didn't mean it, I 
 didn't, indeed. I've been a brute to you, Dick, but I 
 didn't mean to be. 
 
 Dick. I know, old man — bless you, I know. You 
 had to work it off on somebody, and I was nearest. 
 
 Imp. (passionately) Dick — Dick! I'd like to get 
 out of this country, just a bit. I must, I must — can't 
 I go? There's always a war somewhere — I'd like to 
 fight. 
 
 Dick. Why not? Get along out and show 'em you're 
 your father's boy, our boy. Then come back all over 
 Victoria crosses and things, and — and the Trinity shall 
 entertain you at a banquet. That's right, boy, buck up. 
 The world's a damned hard fight, you've had the first 
 knock, a stiff 'un, right under the jaw, but you're up 
 again, old son, and the fight is yours to win, if you only 
 choose. 
 
 Imp. I choose. 
 
 (And Dick wrings Ms outstretched hand.) 
 
 Dick, (cheerily) Good man! Get along to bed, old 
 son, you're dog tired, we'll think of the future in the 
 morning 
 
 (And the Imp goes out.) 
 
 Dick. He's true grit, every inch of him. (then sud- 
 denly) Here, here, I tore up his father's letter. I was 
 a fool, (he picks up one piece) It's all right, Charlie, 
 old man, I'll be able to face you yet. (he picks up the 
 other piece) Come here. Come here! Get back into 
 your place — I've been a fool! 
 
 (And he puts the torn pieces back into his drawer as 
 Phyllis comes in.) 
 
 Phyll. (comes in quickly) He's back. I heard him 
 go into his room. 
 
 Dick. Yes, he's back. 
 
 Phyll. Poor old Imp. 
 
 Dick. Thank goodness he's got the pluck to take it 
 like this. God knows it may be for the best after all. 
 (then he turns and looks at Phyllis) Hullo! why — 
 why — why — I can't have my little girl looking like this 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 77 
 
 —black shadows under her eyes, this won't do — you're 
 the tired one now. 
 
 Phyll. (smiling sadly) No, I'm not. I'm only 
 tired for you. I know how you must feel about all this, 
 and somehow I don't seem to be able to help you a bit. 
 
 Dick, (stroking her hair softly) Yes, you do, dear, 
 you help me all the time. 
 
 Phyll. (moving a little from him) Oh, I wish I 
 could think I did. But (cheerfully) it's all right. The 
 Imp's come back. And the Trinity is in the dining 
 room having whiskies and sodas, so as you've got all 
 you want, you'd like to go to bed. 
 
 Dick. No, I shouldn't, but it's getting very late. 
 
 (Phyllis turns on her heel and goes to the door.) 
 
 (he calls her) Phyllis, it— it was very sweet of you 
 to wait up for me, dear. Good-night. 
 Phyll. Good-night. 
 
 (She again goes to the door — again he calls her softly.) 
 
 Phyll. (turning) What? (a pause) 
 Dick. Nothing, I— I think you'd better go to bed, 
 dear. 
 Phyll. You were going to say something. 
 Dick. No, no 
 
 (She turns away — he stands watching her, then says 
 quickly.) 
 
 You're quite sure you never — (he stops, there is a 
 pause — she looks at him and then away) 
 
 Phyll. I was never in love with him, if that's what 
 you mean. 
 
 Dick. You never were — really? (gladly) 
 
 Phyll. Never was, really — really. 
 
 Dick, (after a pause) Ah, well, it's only postpon- 
 ing the evil day. He's gone— you'll be the next to go, 
 but you've been fairly happy while you've been here, 
 haven't you, dear? 
 
 Phyll. I've been very happy, Dick. 
 
 Dick, (ivith a gasp) I wonder— (he stops again) 
 
 Phyll. (coming a little nearer to him) What do 
 you wonder? 
 
 Dick, (hacking a little) Nothing. You really ought 
 to go to bed, dear. 
 
 LtfC. 
 
78 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 Phyll. I'm going. 
 
 Dick. I suppose what you said the other day about 
 your mother — well, I suppose you'll be going altogether 
 soon. 
 
 Phyll. (gravely) I don't think I was quite just 
 about mother the other day — she didn't say those things, 
 really. 
 
 Dick. Didn't she? Then, why 
 
 Phyll. (slowly) Oh, because I was in a silly mood 
 -^you would keep on saying things to me about the Imp 
 and how happy I ought to be, and all that, and of course 
 I wasn't a bit happy. I'm much hapier now. 
 
 Dick. Now? 
 
 Phyll. Well, because now he's not going to marry 
 me, so I needn't marry him. I'm free now, Dick. 
 
 Dick. Oh, I wish I was ten years younger. 
 
 Phyll. I don't. 
 
 Dick, (eagerly) Don't you? (he moves to her) 
 Oh, Phyllis! 
 
 (She meets his eye and he 'backs off again.) 
 
 You really ought to go to bed, dear, it's quite late. 
 
 Pkyll. Does it matter for once? 
 
 Dick, (gathering courage) Phyllis, I — I — oh, I'm a 
 fool, don't laugh at me. 
 
 Phyll. I haven't. 
 
 Dick. I — I — oh, Phyllis, I've never dared to tell any- 
 one. I've never dared to tell myself — much less you. 
 
 (A pause.) 
 
 Phyll. What, Dick? 
 
 Dick. That — that — oh, my dear, it's striking two — 
 what would your mother say? 
 
 Phyll. (very matter of factly) You're quite right, 
 Dick, dear, it is very late. Good-night. The Trinity 
 
 are in the dining room, I'm keeping you from them. 
 Good-night. 
 
 (She goes to door.) 
 
 Dick. Don't go just yet. 
 
 (She comes back.) 
 
 Dick. I'm not usually such a fool — but somehow this 
 seems so fearfully serious. I — I — you're a young girl. 
 
WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 79 
 
 I'm forty. It isn't fair, is it? I mean, I daresay, you 
 would out of the kindness of your heart, but — but — No, 
 I'm a fool, everything's better as it is. Good-night, dear. 
 
 (He turns from her and goes to the table — she stands 
 looking at him for a moment, then says softly.) 
 
 Phyll. You don't mean to say good-night, Dick, like 
 that. Good-night. (she comes to him with her hands 
 outstretched — their eyes meet, the touch of her hands 
 conquers him) 
 
 Dick, I must tell you — (a long pause, and he says 
 in a whisper almost) I love you! 
 
 Phyll. (simply) I love you, too, Dick. 
 
 Dick. You love me! 
 
 Phyll. I've always loved you, but you didn't seem 
 to care. 
 
 Dick, (dazed) You love me! 
 
 Phyll. I love you. 
 
 (There is a silence, and then he kisses her — there is 
 another silence — then he says with a long sigh.) 
 
 Dick. I thought everything had ended. Everything 
 is just beginning — You love me — say it again. 
 Phyll. Need I? 
 Dick. Yes, say it again. 
 Phyll. I love you. 
 Dick. You love me. 
 
 (A long pause — he kisses her — and tvhispers.) 
 
 Again! 
 
 Phyll. Again and always, I love you. 
 
 Dick. Then what's the matter with anything? 
 
 Phyll. Nothing. 
 
 Dick, (in a hushed whisper) Nobody must ever 
 know. 
 
 Phyll. Why not? 
 
 Dick. I don't know — but — but — oh, they mustn't — 
 say it again, 
 
 Phyll. Tell everybody — are you ashamed of me? 
 
 Dick. Ashamed! Here — hi! No, no, before they 
 come, say it again — just in a whisper. I love you, of 
 it's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. Phyllis, 
 Phyllis, where have I been hiding myself all these years? 
 you've opened out life to me. 
 
 Phyll. (whispers) I love you. 
 
80 WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 Dick. But — but oh, I'm forty, dear. 
 
 Phyll. I love you. 
 
 Dick. I'm — I'm an old bachelor. 
 
 Phyll. I love you. 
 
 Dick, {with a cry of delight) Don't whisper it, 
 shout It. We love eacvh other, and we're going to be 
 married. Let's tell 'em, let's tell 'em. Waddles, Miles, 
 Doctor— what are they doing? How shall I tell 'em? 
 
 Phyll. It's very easy. 
 
 Dick, (ruefully) Is it? Here, I've called 'em, you 
 tell 'em — that's fair. 
 
 (Waddles, the Doctor, and the Soldier-Man enter hur- 
 riedly.) 
 
 The Three. Old man 
 
 Dick. The Imp's come home — and — and we're none 
 of us to worry, because he's going to be a man. 
 
 The Three. Oh! (vaguely) 
 
 Dick. And— and— Phyllis has got something to say 
 to you. 
 
 (The three men, with instant comprehension, wheel 
 round to Phyllis.) 
 
 Colonel, (eagerly) Is it all right? 
 Phyll. (smiling) Yes. 
 
 Colonel. Oh, my dear! (and he takes her hands 
 and kisses her fervently) It's our right. 
 
 (He hands her to the Doctor, who does the same and 
 hands her to Waddles, who folloivs suit.) 
 
 The Three. Good luck to you — it — it — it's splendid. 
 Dick, (taking her) Yes, isn't it? Splendid. 
 Omnes. Kiss her, kiss her! 
 
 Dick. I'm not afraid. I— I did it all by myself just 
 now. 
 
 (He kisses her.) 
 
 Waddles. Thank goodness, it isn't a quadrity any 
 longer — it's a quantity. 
 Omnes. It is — it is! 
 Waddles. With a power to increase our number. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
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