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Title: Bird in Hand
Author: Laurence Housman
Release Date: March 5, 2023 [eBook #70209]
Language: English
Produced by: Charlene Taylor, Krista Zaleski and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BIRD IN HAND ***
Bird in Hand: A Play
in One Act: by Laurence
Housman
Samuel French: Publisher
28-30 West Thirty-eighth St.: New York
Samuel French, Ltd.
26 SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND
LONDON
PRICE 35 CENTS
Copyright, 1916
By LAURENCE HOUSMAN
CAUTION----Amateurs and Professionals are hereby
warned that “BIRD IN HAND,” being fully protected
under the copyright laws of the United States, is subject
to royalty, and any one presenting the play without
the consent of the author or his authorized agent,
will be liable to the penalties by law provided. Application
for the right to produce “BIRD IN HAND”
must be made to Samuel French, 28-30 West 38th St.,
New York City.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
BIRD IN HAND.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
PROFESSOR BRAINTREE _A famous scientist_
MISS TUCKEY _His secretary_
DR. LOCUM _His medical attendant_
ELFRIDA _His granddaughter_
BIRD-IN-HAND _A thing to be explained_
BIRD IN HAND
SCENE:--_You are looking into the study of a Scientist--a large
room lined with books and specimen cases. At the back are two
upright windows, through which one sees a green bowery garden,
suggestive of quiet and seclusion. In one window stands a case
of stuffed birds, in the other a microscope. Near the center
of the room is a ponderous writing-table, above which hangs
an adjustable light, presided over by a large green shade.
Adjoining the writing-table is a smaller one, on which stands
a typewriter. All about the room, on tables and systematically
arranged, and suggestive of the strict order imposed by a
meticulous mind. There is one door to right, another to left,
the latter leading to an inner chamber. On the writing-table
lie papers and a portable speaking-tube. A telephone, a
waste-paper basket, and a revolving book-stand are within
easy reach of the_ PROFESSOR’S _chair, while behind it is a
screen partly covering the door leading to the inner chamber.
On the opposite side, between the other door and the window,
stands a large chest. It is morning, and through half-lowered
green blinds sunlight streams over the replete and comfortable
interior, touching to brightness the polished metal of the
microscope, and the plumage of the stuffed birds._
_At the small table, on a chair less comfortable than the one
at the writing-desk sits an old gentleman in an affluent
dressing-gown of deep rich tones, dividing his attention
between a bowl of “Benger’s Food” and the typewriter, at
which he clicks with portentous gravity and occasional pauses
in the fingering. He is evidently inexpert, perhaps through
short-sightedness; but the typewriter helps him to feel, even
in his study, that his words are destined for print and the
laying-down of the scientific law for the generations to come
after._
_The clock on the chimney-piece, a skeleton of severe
design, with the workings of its metal bowels immodestly
exposed, strikes eleven. This seems to be a signal to a mind
methodically trained. The_ PROFESSOR _consults his watch,
starts, looks reproachfully at the clock, then quits the
typewriter, picks up his bowl of Benger, and spooning from it
on the way goes to the speaking-tube, which having unstopped,
he breathes into. The exertion sets him coughing; but he does
this, like most other things, patiently and methodically.
After listening at the tube he speaks down it, and you hear a
bisected conversation._
PROFESSOR BRAINTREE. Is that you, Miss Tuckey?--Yes, I’m ready for
you--I’m ready, I say--if you will, please. Yes. (_He starts to put on
the stopper again; then, as an after-thought_)--Oh! Miss Tuckey--Are
you there?--Tut! Tut! Why does the woman hurry so? (HE _gets up
a little testily to remove his Benger bowl to a side-table, and
progressing with very short steps places it unsecurely on a projecting
book whence it falls and breaks_. HE _accepts the fact philosophically
so far as infirmity will allow; but there is a gentle querulousness
in his tone as he says--_) There, there! Oh dear!--(_And leaving the
fragments to lie, returns to his place. There he stands for a moment,
and looking back reproachfully, removes from his eyes the highly
magnifying reading-glasses which were the cause of the mishaps. He
replaces them by another pair which permit a wider range of vision.
Through these he is able to contemplate the entrance of_ MISS TUCKEY,
_a subdued machine of a woman who accepts, without kick of any kind,
the mould she has been poured into.)_
MISS TUCKEY. Good-morning, Sir.
(_Like a well-fed fish catching at a fly from mere habit, the_
PROFESSOR _engulfs and returns the salutation by an inaudible
movement of the lips_.)
PROFESSOR. Miss Tuckey, there is something broken over there, will
you please see it removed? And will you kindly make a note to write
to Messrs. Spink and Wedge, and say that these new glasses don’t
suit me--I find them very trying to the--(_About to say “temper,” he
substitutes_)--to the eyes. And I must ask you to fetch those proofs
which came yesterday. I tried to catch you just now, but you had gone.
(_In this statement there is a note of rebuke for a too
precipitate obedience to summons. But by the foresight of_ MISS
TUCKEY, _the proofs are there; she deposits them in front of
him._)
PROFESSOR. Oh, very well. Thank you. Any letters? (_Those also she
deposits, in two heaps, the business ones opened, the private and
personal untouched_) When did these come?
MISS TUCKEY. Most of them last night, sir, after you had gone to bed.
(_The_ PROFESSOR, _tentatively inspecting them, remembers that
he must change his glasses again. The magnifying lens proves
informative._)
PROFESSOR. Ah! here is one from Miss Elfrida, I see.
MISS TUCKEY. (_As she collects and removes the fragments of the
Benger’s Food bowl_) That only came this morning.
PROFESSOR. Wasn’t she to be back to-day?
MISS TUCKEY. Yes. They are expecting her quite soon. About twelve, I
believe. (_The_ PROFESSOR _looks at his watch, and then remembers that
he has fault to find with the clock, and incidentally with her_)
PROFESSOR. That clock is three quarters of a minute slow, Miss
Tuckey. (MISS TUCKEY _at once goes to correct it_) It should now be
at four and a quarter minutes past. A clock that loses time is so
disturbing--especially when it strikes. It puts me out of my stride
for the rest of the day. (HE _begins looking at his correspondence_)
And now, if you will attend to _me_! (MISS TUCKEY _is already standing
meekly to attention_) You have your notebook?
MISS TUCKEY. Yes, sir.
PROFESSOR. Take this, then! (HE _consults once more the letter which he
has picked up from his opened correspondence_)--“Mr. James Pomeroy.” (I
_think_ it is Pomeroy)--He writes on good note-paper with a crest; I
suppose I must answer him. “Dear Sir”--Oh! while I think of it, make a
note that the extra plates for the new edition of “Objective Science”
have not come through as advised; and they must not go to press till I
have passed them. What have you got?
MISS TUCKEY. “Mr. James Pomeroy, Dear Sir.”
PROFESSOR. No, better make it “Sir.” These parasitic correspondents
ought not to be encouraged. “I beg to acknowledge receipt”--no, “I
_have_ to acknowledge”--_have_--“the receipt of your letter”--date so
and so. “With the proposition therein set forth, I cannot find myself
in agreement. The limits of sensory receptivity are patent to every
scientist.”
MISS TUCKEY. The limits of what?--I beg pardon.
PROFESSOR. “Sen-sory re-ceptivity”--in other words, the receptivity of
the senses. “That fact, however, does not provide any legitimate ground
for a belief in those magical or supernatural occurrences through
which, as I apprehend, you seek to counter-balance the deductions of
science. I find no reason to doubt that however much still lies beyond
the apprehension of our senses, it must all nevertheless be within the
range of a scientific explanation. I am, Sir, yours faithfully”--(_He
takes up another letter_) Oh, that is from Messrs. Moody & Prose.
Just say “received,” and have made a note. This is to take the chair
at the International Science Conference for the discussion on the
“Homology of the Invertebrates.” Say I accept the honor and am their
obedient servant--That is, no. That is “no”--(_He hands letter_)
That impertinence you need not answer--And now, take this--“Mrs.
Daphnephoria Brown--the Seminary, Brunswickville, Connecticut”--“My
Dear Madam, Your very flattering proposal to arrange a compendium from
my various studies in Objective Science, entitled ‘Sufficient unto
the Day,’ and intended to provide a basis for the accurate biological
training of the very young, gives gratifying evidence of the interest
you take in and the value which you attach to my literary labors. I
am inclined, however, to think that the terminological exactitude so
necessary to scientific statement could not be accommodated to the
range of the child-mind without a certain damage to the content”--Of
course, that means to the scientific content, not to the child’s mind.
No, no, don’t take that! That was only commentary--“Should I, on
later consideration, see any possible adjustment of my works to your
proposed scheme I shall not fail to communicate with you further in
the matter. I am, dear Madam, yours very truly”--That you can destroy,
and the address you need not keep. (HE _hands over the letter to_
MISS TUCKEY) And I think that is all--Oh, will you fetch me the file
of Professor Lake Jones’ articles on the “Rudiments of Corpuscular
Gravity” which appeared in last year’s “Science Journal.” You will
find it in the Press Bureau, I think, under “R.” (MISS TUCKEY _goes to
look for the file in the small inner chamber, from which, as she opens
the door, comes a brighter light of day than enters the study through
the tempering green blinds_) And now for Elfrida. (_He opens letter_)
Well, well, well! What is she sending me this botanical specimen for,
I wonder? It looks like a leaf of the Hornbean--Carpinus Betulus, if I
am not mistaken. (_He examines the leaf, then lays it down and returns
to the letter_) Dear me! The child has such a hand-writing that I can’t
read a word of it. Miss Tuckey, your eyes are better than mine, will
you kindly read me this letter?
(MISS TUCKEY _has returned with the required file. She puts it
down and takes up the letter._)
MISS TUCKEY. “Dearest Grandpapa”----
PROFESSOR. Yes, yes, I read that.
MISS TUCKEY. “I am coming back to-morrow--I have had a lovely time. So
did Benjy: we went everywhere together, but he always would go into the
water, and I had to stay out----”
PROFESSOR. Benjy is the dog, I believe.
MISS TUCKEY. “That was wrong of him, wasn’t it?-- To-day in the wood I
saw a tree full of fairies, it was wonderful. But when I came they all
climbed up and hid behind the leaves, so I wasn’t able to catch one.
But I send you a leaf off the tree, so as to show it was a real one,
and not what you call my ‘magination’----”
PROFESSOR. Oh, so that’s what the botanical specimen is for, is
it?--Yes?----
MISS TUCKEY. “Please keep it till I come, then I will tell you all
about it----”
PROFESSOR. Miss Tuckey, I wish you would not leave that door open!
There’s a dreadful draught at my back.
MISS TUCKEY. It isn’t open sir.
PROFESSOR. Well, there’s a draught somewhere--Quite a wind! It seemed
to come all of a sudden; and there! it has blown away Miss Elfrida’s
leaf that was here a moment ago. (HE _friggles and moves his head
uneasily, as though the draught still afflicted him_) You had better
rearrange that screen. Well, is that all the letter?
MISS TUCKEY. Yes, sir, except she sends her love. (SHE _goes and
re-arranges the screen_)
PROFESSOR. Very well. That is all, thank you, for the present. Just
draw down those blinds before you go. The light is too strong, it tries
my eyes. (MISS TUCKEY _lowers the blinds_) I should be glad to have
that article for Hibbered’s copied before post-time.
MISS TUCKEY. Certainly, sir.
PROFESSOR. And when Miss Elfrida comes will you send her up to me?
MISS TUCKEY. Yes, sir.
(_She collects her papers and goes out, and the_ PROFESSOR
_settles to his writing. Putting aside_ ELFRIDA’S _letter,
conspicuous by reason of its being written on pink paper,
reminds him of the vanished leaf. He gives a momentary look
for it to right and left: but the thing is unimportant, and
dismissing it, he gets to work. This so entirely absorbs him
that he is unaware of being looked at. Above the top of the
writing-table a pair of strange eyes gradually emerge. Dark
and insect-like, they stare at him out of a small green face,
sharp, queer, and suggestive of a brain with a vivacious
but detached standpoint. Out of the head sprout long horns
or antennae; the creature is a curious mixture of beetle,
bird, and grasshopper. Its color from head to foot is bright
green. Fixing on the_ PROFESSOR _a stare of uninformed and
quite unintelligent interrogation, it moves slowly round the
writing-table till it stands opposite to him. Presently it
smacks its lips, and begins a soft jabber to itself, not much
louder than the whip of leaves on a window-pane._)
BIRD-IN-HAND. Quit-a-quit! Quit-a-quit! Quit-a-quit!
(_The_ PROFESSOR, _thinking he hears something, looks up
through his reading-glasses, and cannot believe his eyes. At
once his grievance is against the optician._)
PROFESSOR. Really!--these glasses!--How they do strain one’s eyes! (HE
_takes them off, and puts on his distance-glasses; but the apparition
remains, vibrating up and down on its toes as though rather pleased
with itself. The_ PROFESSOR _considers it from a variety of attitudes,
and with a growing apprehension that he really is seeing something_)
Dear me, now! This is most extraordinary!--It almost makes me believe
my eyes. (_He endeavors to reconstruct his thoughts on scientific
lines_)--Now, let me think, let me think! How many cups of green tea
did I have this morning?
BIRD-IN-HAND. Sik-silk-silk-silk-silk-silk-silk!
PROFESSOR. Six, I believe it was!--Did that thing speak? (_A pause_)
BIRD-IN-HAND. (_With a slow, meditative, rather plaintive
introduction_) Chwee-e-weet!
PROFESSOR. But, but this is an hallucination!
BIRD-IN-HAND. Chich-a-wee!
PROFESSOR. An hallucination, I say!
BIRD-IN-HAND. Chich-a-wee!
PROFESSOR. (_Trying to reject the evidence of his senses_) No, no,
no!--I must be ill!--Over-work!
BIRD-IN-HAND. Chip-chip-chip-chip-chewee-e-e!
PROFESSOR. What--Am I going out of my senses? (HE _makes a dive for the
telephone_) Station 1228, please--yes! 1 double 2, 8!
BIRD-IN-HAND. Two-eight! Two-eight!--Eight! eight! eight! eight! eight!
eight!
(_The note is still slow and plaintive, but the_ PROFESSOR
_gets more and more frightened._)
PROFESSOR. I can’t bear this; I can’t bear it!--My nerves won’t stand
it!----
BIRD-IN-HAND. Chip it!--Chip it!
(_The ’phone calls him._)
PROFESSOR. Is Doctor Locum--? Oh, Doctor, is that you?--Will you,
please, come and see me at once?--Braintree--Professor Braintree.
Yes--most urgent--I’m afraid I’ve, I’ve--broken down.
BIRD-IN-HAND. What? What? What? What? What?
PROFESSOR. No, no, a blood-vessel!--But do come immediately!--_Yes._
Don’t lose a moment, I beg--Good-bye----
BIRD-IN-HAND. Sh-sh-sh-wee! Sh-sh--sh-wee!--Oh, why?--Oh, why?--Oh,
why?--Spit-it-out! Spit-it-out!
(_The_ PROFESSOR _with a gorgonized stare has been trying to
rule the thing out; now by a firm effort of will he seeks to
dismiss it from his mind._)
PROFESSOR. No, no, it’s not there! I don’t see it, I don’t see it, I
don’t see it. I----
(_But he does see it; that’s the trouble. It advances its head
slowly towards him, then draws it back again, and with a more
cheerful note than before, as if to encourage him, remarks_:)
BIRD-IN-HAND. Che-wit!
(_At this the_ PROFESSOR _shuts his eyes, and continues to
exercise his will-power, under conditions which make the
assertion more tenable._)
PROFESSOR. I don’t see it and I won’t see it! I won’t see it!--I--I
dismiss it entirely from my mind. It isn’t there! (_While he is thus
tackling the problem the creature shifts its position, and now standing
at his back, views him from a fresh standpoint with the same blank
stare of a curiosity that comprehends nothing. The_ PROFESSOR _opens
his eyes again. Will-power has apparently prevailed. He no longer sees
the object of his aversion_) That’s better! (_He begins cautiously to
turn his head first to right then to left. It gives him a great start
to find the green horned creature close behind him. This is too much
like having a caterpillar down his back for equanimity. Irrepressibly
he jumps up_)
PROFESSOR. Get out!
BIRD-IN-HAND. Che-wee--che-wee--chewee--chewee--chewee! (_The creature
flies off crying like a startled black-bird. The_ PROFESSOR, _seeing
that it responds to voice and gesture, tries driving it_)
PROFESSOR. Shoo! Shoo, get out with you! Scat! But no, no, I mustn’t do
that! If I do that, I shall end by making myself think it exists. No, I
must endeavor to dismiss it from my mind. There! There! Now it’s gone.
(_Leaning his head on his hand, he sits with munching mouth,
wriggling nervously in his seat. Meantime the creature, sliding
alongside the table, and touching things tentatively with its
claw-like fingers, lights on the typewriter. As the click of
the instrument catches its fancy, it makes a scrambling attack
upon the keys with accompanying noise curiously resembling the
well-known saw_: “PETER PIPER _picked a peck of pickled pepper
corns_.” _That, however, is merely coincidence--the sounds it
emits being merely a running commentary on the letter P._)
BIRD-IN-HAND.
Peet-a-pipe!--Pick-a-peck--Pick-a-peppa-kum!--E-peet-a-pipe--a
pick-a-pick--a-pick-a-pepp a-kum. Wees-a-peck, a pick-a-peppa-kum.
Peet-a-pipe-a-pick!
(_At this outburst of oratory the_ PROFESSOR, _after sitting
spellbound for a moment, makes a vicious flick with his
handkerchief, and the green imp ducks and disappears._)
PROFESSOR. Well--I--hope I’m better! (_This hope is almost at once put
to rout. The_ PROFESSOR _apprehensively snatches back his feet from the
knee-hole of the writing-table, and his brain is once more seized by
panic_) Oh! I felt it! I felt it--I’m out of _all_ my senses now!--If
this keeps on much longer, I shall go stark staring mad!
(_But now the creature’s interest is diverted elsewhere. Rising
and pirouetting across the room, it comes suddenly upon the
case of stuffed birds, and stands transfixed with astonishment.
These frozen bits of bird-life seem to baffle its wits. It taps
the glass-case, and after a close scrutiny tries with sounds
and a flapping motion of the hands to coax the occupants back
to life._)
BIRD-IN-HAND. Chich-a-wee! Chich-a-wee!--Tweet, tweet! Wee-wee-wee!
Chick-a-wake!--Oh, why?--Tickle ’em up! Too-to-weet! Too-to-weet!--Eat,
eat, eat, eat, eat, eat! Quick, quick! Josophat! Josophat!
Whit-a-woo?--Drink-and-eat! Tr-r-r-r-r-r-r-r!
PROFESSOR. Oh! But this is horrible!--It’s true! It _really exists_!
(_He sits petrified_)
BIRD-IN-HAND. Tr-r-r-r-r-r-r-r!
PROFESSOR. And _I_ don’t!--I _don’t_!--I _don’t_!
BIRD-IN-HAND. Cheer-up! Cheer-up! Cheer-up!--Oh, why? (_Petrifaction
gives way to fury_)
PROFESSOR. Stop it! Stop it, I say! (_He picks up a pamphlet and throws
it with random aim, this hit-or-miss has little effect. A deep sadness
at its failure to rouse the birds has taken the tree imp. Crying in a
low plaintive note it turns towards him_)
BIRD-IN-HAND. Wee-wee! wee-wee-wee!
(_It advances slowly towards him. The_ PROFESSOR _makes a grab
at the speaking-tube, and blows, then speaks down it_.)
PROFESSOR. Miss Tuckey, are you there! Miss Tuckey!
BIRD-IN-HAND. (_Halting for a moment_) Tuckey, tuckey,
tuckey--Tuck!--tuck!--tuck!
PROFESSOR. Would you come up, please, for one moment!
BIRD-IN-HAND. (_Secretively_) Sh--sh--wee! (_As if on a tour of
exploration, it disappears behind the screen at his back_)
PROFESSOR. Now I shall know whether I am mad or not. Yes, I shall
know!--(_Enter_ MISS TUCKEY. _The_ PROFESSOR _faces her in some
confusion. The relief of her presence lets him down and it is hard for
him to collect his wits_) I--I--I want you to see that those proofs go,
Miss Tuckey--by the first post.
MISS TUCKEY. Yes, sir--(_She looks a little surprised and nonplussed_)
Did you want anything else, sir?
PROFESSOR. Oh, well, and if you would kindly rearrange that screen? I
still feel rather a draught.
(MISS TUCKEY _goes and readjusts the screen. It is evident
that, as she goes behind it, no apparition confronts her; she
emerges as machine-like as ever, calm and collected._)
MISS TUCKEY. Will that be as you wish?
PROFESSOR. Thank you.
MISS TUCKEY. Is that all, sir?
PROFESSOR. Yes, that is all. (_He looks cautiously round, and as she
goes out gets up and looks behind the screen himself. Nothing is
there_) But this is horrible! I saw it! Oh! if I didn’t see it, I’m
going mad!
(_Almost immediately in another part of the room the apparition
re-appears._)
BIRD-IN-HAND. Peweet, peweet! Chus-luk-a-mee! Chus-luk-a-mee!
(_With this, the spring cry of the peewit, sounding so much
like “Just look at me!” it displays a hitherto unsuspected
power of levitation in a series of surprising bounds into air,
as though its feet went up from spring-boards._)
PROFESSOR. Ah! Now then! Now!
(_From a corner rack behind him the_ PROFESSOR _snatches a
large green butterfly net, and for a few moments you have the
degrading spectacle of an eminent scientist, pursuing on the
material plane something which he does not really believe to
exist. But the pursuit soon ends. The imp is too agile, the
pace is too killing, and the_ PROFESSOR _in his stumbling
course has knocked over a number of things that he did not
intend to. Exhausted, he sits down again to breathe. Once
more the creature has disappeared. Thus momentarily relieved,
he perceives the disarray into which the chamber has been
thrown, and proceeds to pick things up. Apparently from its
place of concealment the creature is watching him, for almost
immediately he hears its voice._)
BIRD-IN-HAND. Pick-it-up! Pick-it-up!
(_To be thus ordered about by an apparition is trying to the_
PROFESSOR’S _temper. He slaps down his gleanings on the table,
and makes a second grab for the butterfly net._)
PROFESSOR. No--no, I mustn’t do that: it’s no good. I must think!
BIRD-IN-HAND. Think--think--think--think--think!
PROFESSOR. I will just go on with my writing----
BIRD-IN-HAND. Do it!--do it!--do it!
PROFESSOR.--as if nothing had happened at all--Perhaps it hasn’t! (_But
again the creature has reappeared_) Oh, _do_ get away!
BIRD-IN-HAND. Chich-a-wee! Che-wee! (_Realizing it is not wanted, it
roams off and begins once more to inspect the room. Before long it
runs its finger down a pile of papers high up on a shelf, and the
papers tip over and fly out across the floor. Fleeing before them_)
Che-wee--Che-wee--Che-wee, Che-wee--Che-wee!
(_The_ PROFESSOR _is now so angry that he has left off being
frightened. He jumps up to rescue his papers._)
PROFESSOR. Hallucination, you are a perfect nuisance!
BIRD-IN-HAND. (_Coaxingly_) Che-wee-wee?
(_The_ PROFESSOR _collects the strewn papers from the floor;
and as he goes about gathering them up, the creature follows
him, with round inquisitive eyes at all he does. He opens chest
and begins to deposit the papers inside. Curious to spy into
this new interior, the creature stretches out a hand._)
PROFESSOR. (_Very irritably_) Why can’t you let things alone?
BIRD-IN-HAND. (_Derisively_) _Chich-e-wee!_ (_With a sportive dive
it plunges into the chest, tossing up the loosely arranged papers
into fresh confusion. On this last bit of exasperating frivolity the_
PROFESSOR _slams down the lid, and locks it; and the tree imp is boxed
up within. It takes him a moment or two to realize his triumph. It is
a little difficult, indeed, to know on what lines to take it. Has the
locking of the chest, with the hallucination inside, disposed of the
hallucination? His doubt is solved almost at once, for from the inside
of the chest the hallucination once more becomes audible_) What? What?
What?--I say! Let it out! Let it out! Quick! Quick!---Oh, why?--(_A
pause. The_ PROFESSOR _stands considering; he has the key. He retreats
toward the table, and lays it down. The chest continues to give forth
sound. A tapping begins upon the lid, and in a gradual diminuendo the
chattering goes on. The_ PROFESSOR _dips a pen, and tries to resume
his writing, but his interest is still held_) I say! I say! I say!
Pick it out! Pick it out! What? What?--What? What?--What? What? What?
What? What? What?--Tweet-weet! wee, wee, wee, wee! Oh, why?--What?--Oh,
why?--What?--Oh, why?
(_The sound is now so faint that the_ PROFESSOR _can scarcely
hear. He again dips his pen and resolutely starts writing.
There comes another “Oh, why” which he does not hear. His
nerves are recovering somewhat, encouraged by the ensuing
silence; but he gives a sharp start when the whistle of the
speaking-tube blows. He unstops it and listens._)
PROFESSOR. Oh, yes. Will you ask him to wait one moment? (_He gets up
and goes cautiously toward the chest, stops and listens at it for a
moment, with apprehension that turns to a sort of doubtful relief_)
Nothing, nothing there, at all! (_Nevertheless, he gives a last look of
suspicion, and pauses one last second before again applying his mouth
to the speaking-tube_) Ask Dr. Locum to come up. (_Catching sight of
the butterfly net, he goes to put it away, and has just done so when
the_ DOCTOR _enters._)
DOCTOR. How are you, Professor? Nothing very serious, I hope--
(THE PROFESSOR _holds himself in. He is now feeling a little
aggrieved at the shock he has experienced._)
PROFESSOR. Doctor, I--I want you to examine me, before I--before I say
anything.
DOCTOR. Examine you?--in what way?
PROFESSOR. Just find out my symptoms--my state of health, generally.
DOCTOR. Well, Professor, let’s see the tongue! Then I’ll take your
temperature--Sleep well?
PROFESSOR. Much as usual.
DOCTOR. Appetite good?
PROFESSOR. Yes--fairly. (_At this moment in goes the thermometer, and
the_ PROFESSOR _becomes temporarily speechless. The_ DOCTOR _feels his
pulse, looking at his watch meanwhile_)
DOCTOR. Hours? Have you been keeping late hours?
PROFESSOR. M--m! (_Assisted by gestures this sound stands for “no”_)
DOCTOR. Everything quite regular--as usual?
PROFESSOR. M--m (_This time it means “yes”_)
DOCTOR. Yes: the pulse _is_ a little bit agitated. Have you been
putting yourself to any unusual exertion lately?
PROFESSOR. M--m! (_This melancholy moan of affirmation is emphasised by
a motion of the head. And the_ PROFESSOR’S _eyes turn toward the chest_)
DOCTOR. Ah! but you shouldn’t do that! you must take more care of
yourself. Your heart isn’t what it was. Mustn’t expect it at your age.
Now then, let’s see! (_Withdraws and examines thermometer_)
PROFESSOR. Circumstances, over which I have no control, _caused_ me to
exert myself.
DOCTOR. Well you know, there’s not much wrong. Temperature about normal.
PROFESSOR. Doctor, a most extraordinary thing has just happened. I must
tell you about it.
DOCTOR. H’m--h’m? (_He sits down_)
PROFESSOR. I was sitting here at my work--I was writing--there! as you
see. Does that in any way look agitated? (_Shows him a paper_)
DOCTOR. I should not say so.
PROFESSOR. Does it make any sense?
DOCTOR. “When all the objective data presented to sense-receptivity
are compared, and the differentiations of their varying incentives and
reactions properly allowed for--” Well, I should say so--not that I
altogether understand it.
PROFESSOR. No, but it is constructive?--Would you say the man who wrote
that was out of his senses?
DOCTOR. Most certainly not!
PROFESSOR. I only wish to show that I was in the full possession of my
faculties, my ordinary work-a-day mind.
DOCTOR. Very well, Professor, I accept that.
PROFESSOR. Well--Suddenly I glanced up, and there I saw a horrid little
green thing looking at me--with eyes!
DOCTOR. Yes: it would have eyes, if it was looking at you.
PROFESSOR. Very curious eyes, Doctor,--like a young bird’s; and it
had horns also--And--well, there it was, you know!--At first I didn’t
believe it, I thought it was green tea--I tried to dismiss it from my
mind altogether. But--it wouldn’t let me. Before I knew where I was,
it--it spoke to me.
DOCTOR. Did you speak to _it_?
PROFESSOR. Yes, I did.
DOCTOR. Fatal thing to do, Professor. Of course in that way you
encouraged the--the phantasy.
PROFESSOR. Ah, but it was not _I_ who spoke first--At least I was
only talking to myself. And suddenly it said--“Six, six, six, six,
six,”--just like that!
DOCTOR. Was that in answer to anything?
PROFESSOR. Well, in a sort of way, yes--I had just said to myself:
“Now, how many cups of green tea did I have this morning?”--And then it
made the remark.
DOCTOR. And six _was_ the number?
PROFESSOR. There, or thereabouts.
DOCTOR. Very well, Professor. Now, better not think any more about it.
I’ll make you up a prescription. And you had better quite knock off
that green tea for a little while.
PROFESSOR. But that’s not all, Doctor.
DOCTOR. Do you think you need tell me any more?
PROFESSOR. Yes. You don’t how _real_ it seemed.
DOCTOR. It would give you that impression.
PROFESSOR. But even now.
DOCTOR. Yes, yes. But there will be a reaction. That will pass.
PROFESSOR. But--Doctor--I’m not satisfied.
DOCTOR. You will be. Don’t dwell on it! You’ll get all right again.
Don’t work too much at night, and don’t sit up late.
PROFESSOR. I go to bed regularly every night at a quarter to ten.
DOCTOR. Good! Then just for the present make it half-past nine.
PROFESSOR. Doctor, I want to explain-- At first, of course, I took the
view that _you_ take. I did not for a moment believe that such a thing
could exist. I regarded it as an hallucination. But later on, it--well
I came to think otherwise--It did such a lot of things--that I could
not myself have conceived--and once it actually touched me. That was a
great shock.
DOCTOR. Yes, it would be, naturally. But you were indulging the----
PROFESSOR. No, no, Doctor, I was _not_. I-- Well, now what I want to
tell you is this. When I began to think that there was something real
about it after all, I--then, I’m sorry to say, I let myself go, and I
pursued it--all over the room.
DOCTOR. Any good?
PROFESSOR. None whatever. I knocked over a few things, that’s all. I
was picking them up just before you came in.
DOCTOR. Well, and then?
(_The_ PROFESSOR’S _eye travels toward the chest; but he is
unable to confess himself quite honestly._)
PROFESSOR. Then--it disappeared.
DOCTOR. And you haven’t seen it since?
PROFESSOR. No.
DOCTOR. Nor heard it?
PROFESSOR. I have not--. That is, _no_.
DOCTOR. Well, then, that’s all right.
PROFESSOR. I hope so. Doctor, I haven’t quite explained to you the
shock it was to me. It was that terrible moment when I thought that,
after all, there might be something in it! At that moment I saw all
my life’s work disappear. All my science, all my philosophy--gone!
Everything I had written--worth nothing!
DOCTOR. Well, well, but don’t dwell on it!
PROFESSOR. It was terrible!
DOCTOR. But it wasn’t true.
PROFESSOR. No-- But for a moment it seemed true. That is really
what--what gave me such a shock.
DOCTOR. Well, it’s over. Now, don’t think any more of it. That is the
best cure. You say you haven’t been sleepless?
PROFESSOR. No--but I shall be.
DOCTOR. Oh, no. We’ll see to that! I’ll send you the right thing.
To-night you’ll sleep like a top. (_He gets up to go._)
PROFESSOR. Thank you. Good-bye. (_The_ DOCTOR _starts to go_) You don’t
think that I’m really off my head, do you?
DOCTOR. No, no, Nerves a little bit upset, that’s all!--a little
too much work, a little too much sitting still, a little too much
indoors--and a little too much green tea. Many a little makes a mickle.
PROFESSOR. I don’t want it to occur again, Doctor.
DOCTOR. It shan’t, sir, it shan’t! Now, good-bye; I must be off!
PROFESSOR. Thank you. Good-bye. (_The_ DOCTOR _goes out. The_ PROFESSOR
_stands looking at the chest_) And to think how I saw it go in there!
(_He goes and stands by the chest; listens for a long time, then taps_)
Is anyone--?--Is anything there?--Ah! That’s all right, then!--I hope.
(_He goes back to his seat. Then his eye falls on the key; he takes
hold of it, and is about to get up again. With an effort he sits back,
letting the key go_) No, I will not!-- But suppose--suppose it were
there after all! No, no, no--. It wouldn’t do at all. Everybody would
think that I was mad-- Well, I must--I must try to get on with my work.
(_He composes himself to write. Presently there enters an attractive
little figure in a knitted cap, jersey, and skirt of bright green. This
is_ ELFRIDA. _She advances very quietly, with a roguish smile, stops
at the table and stands looking at him. Suddenly, with the tail of his
eye, the_ PROFESSOR _catches sight of her. It gives him a dreadful
start; but a look at her over the top of his glasses reassures him_)
Effie! Why, Effie, my dear, what a start you gave me!
ELFRIDA. (_Getting nearer the truth than she knows_) You thought I was
a fairy.
PROFESSOR. No, I didn’t think you were a fairy. I thought you were an
hallucination!
ELFRIDA. What’s that?
PROFESSOR. Something that’s not real, my dear.
(ELFRIDA _has sidled round to the back of his chair; and now,
from behind, she gives him an affectionate hug._)
ELFRIDA. _I’m_ real.
PROFESSOR. Thank God for that!-- Well?
ELFRIDA. Oh, Grandpapa, I’ve had such a lovely time! You got my letter?
PROFESSOR. Yes, my dear-- Oh, by the way, you’ve come just too late.
ELFRIDA. What for?
PROFESSOR. The Doctor, my dear. I wanted him to see you.
ELFRIDA. Why?
PROFESSOR. To tell me how you are.
ELFRIDA. But I’m quite well--ever so well!
PROFESSOR. I hope so, my dear, but one never knows.
ELFRIDA. _I_ do! And Grandpapa, you got my present, didn’t you?
PROFESSOR. Your present?
ELFRIDA. In my letter--What came off the tree that had fairies in it.
PROFESSOR. Oh, yes, yes. It’s somewhere about here. (_He starts to
search, then remembers_) Oh, no! It blew away:--it’s on the floor
somewhere.
ELFRIDA. And you _do_ believe what I told you--don’t you, Grandpapa?
PROFESSOR. Well--I’ve thought about it.
ELFRIDA. It was _true_-- I _saw_ them! You must believe that!
PROFESSOR. Well, I don’t know-- One isn’t sure. So you’ve had a good
time, eh?
ELFRIDA. Grandpapa-- If you could only make people _know_ there were
fairies, wouldn’t it be wonderful?
PROFESSOR. I suppose it would be, my dear.
ELFRIDA. But no one believes in them now, do they?
PROFESSOR. No, not usually.
ELFRIDA. Grandpapa, if you were ever able to find one--wouldn’t it be
grand?
PROFESSOR. Would it, my dear?
ELFRIDA. Did you ever try?
PROFESSOR. Once I did, for a short time. But if I were to, no one would
believe me.
ELFRIDA. Oh, but if you found it and showed it to them, they’d have to.
PROFESSOR. Yes, I suppose they would, my dear.
ELFRIDA. And then you’d be ever such a great person--much greater than
you are now!
PROFESSOR. But my dear, you--you don’t understand. If people were told
that Professor Braintree believed in fairies--why, they would _laugh_!
ELFRIDA. You’d laugh, too--but you could laugh longer than they would.
PROFESSOR. Eh?
ELFRIDA. Why, it would be like a miracle! People would begin to _love_
fairies again, then.
PROFESSOR. Well--perhaps. Green isn’t my favorite color.
ELFRIDA. It’s funny your saying that! The fairy _I_ saw was green.
PROFESSOR. Was it?
ELFRIDA. And it had long horns, and its mouth and eyes were just like
a young bird’s (_This almost startles the_ PROFESSOR _out of his skin.
Blinking and munching, he sits staring, while_ ELFRIDA _continues to
deal her devastating blows_) And it ran round behind the tree, and when
I got there, it was gone. If you’d been there, Grandpapa, to run round
the other way----
PROFESSOR. Run round?
ELFRIDA. And if you’d had your butterfly net--(_This gives the_
PROFESSOR _a fresh jerk_) Why, we could have caught it!
PROFESSOR. Well, I’m not so sure--? Perhaps.
ELFRIDA. But, Grandpapa, you _are_ believing what I tell you, aren’t
you?-- I saw it--_really_ I did!
PROFESSOR. I would like to believe it, my dear--It would make a great
difference to my state of health. When you saw it, didn’t it upset you?
ELFRIDA. No!
PROFESSOR. It didn’t frighten you?
ELFRIDA. No! Why?
PROFESSOR. Not even when you ran after it?
ELFRIDA. Why, no! Of course it ran, too. But it was quite nice about it.
PROFESSOR. Was it, indeed?
ELFRIDA. It made a noise at me--just like a bird--a nice bird.
PROFESSOR. Did it say “Sick, sick, sick, sick?”
ELFRIDA. No; it only went “Chewee! Chewee!”--just like that!
PROFESSOR. Then I’m _not_ mad after all!
ELFRIDA. Grandpapa, what’s the matter?
PROFESSOR. My dear--you would really _like_ to see that--that thing
again?
ELFRIDA. Why, yes!
PROFESSOR. Green, and with horns, and eyes?--Hear it again?
ELFRIDA. Yes.
PROFESSOR. Run after it again?--with a butterfly net?
ELFRIDA. And catch it? Oh, yes!
PROFESSOR. Well, my dear, there’s--there’s no accounting for tastes.
But I begin to think that I’m not so mad as I thought I was.
ELFRIDA. I never thought you were mad, Grandpapa.
PROFESSOR. Thank you, my dear. I’m glad of that-- Now, look here, you
see that chest? This is the key to it-- Now, will you go and open it?
And don’t be afraid of anything you find in it--It’s all right.
(ELFRIDA _goes and opens the chest. And while she stands for a
moment looking in, nonplussed, there is much more excitement in
the_ PROFESSOR’S _demeanor than in hers._)
ELFRIDA. But, Grandpapa, there’s nothing! Oh! (_At this cry of
discovery the strain on the_ PROFESSOR’S _feelings grows intense._
ELFRIDA _stoops and picks up something_) Why, it’s the _leaf_!--The
leaf of that tree what I sent you!-- Oh!
PROFESSOR. The leaf, you say?-- Bring it here.
ELFRIDA. And it’s all quite withered and dead! (_She brings it across
to him, and the_ PROFESSOR _looks at it with curious eyes._)
PROFESSOR. So it is, to be sure!-- Quite withered and dead. Well,
there! Put it down, my dear, leave it alone!-- And now you had better
run away. I must get on with my work.
ELFRIDA. What shall I do with it, Grandpapa?
PROFESSOR. Put it in the waste-paper basket, my dear!-- That’s right.
Now, run away!
(_And so the dead leaf drops to its repose on a bed of scrapped
science shiftings. From that fairy-funeral_ ELFRIDA _turns,
down-cast and sad, and with head bent and hands straight as
though under some deep disgrace, goes softly out of the room.
As the door closes behind her the_ PROFESSOR _gives a look into
the waste-paper basket, then heaves a sigh of relief, and goes
on with his work._)
_Curtain._
Transcriber’s Notes
Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations
in hyphenation and accents have been standardised but all other
spelling and punctuation remains unchanged.
Italics are represented thus _italic_.
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