Happy Days

~Millicent~ (raising herself on the sofa). Dick, you were innocent—I know it. (She flops back again.)

~Dick.~ I was. But how could I prove it? I went to prison. For a year black despair gnawed at my heart. And then something happened. The prisoner in the cell next to mine tried to communicate with me by means of taps. We soon arranged a system and held conversations together. One day he told me of a robbery in which he and another man had been engaged—the robbery of a diamond necklace.

~Jasper~ (jauntily). Well?

~Dick~ (sternly). A diamond necklace, Jasper Beeste, which the other man hid in the hatbox of another man in order that he might woo the other man's fiancée! (Millicent shrieks.)

~Jasper~ (blusteringly). Bah!

~Dick~ (quietly). The man in the cell next to mine wants to meet this gentleman again. It seems that he has some old scores to pay off.

~Jasper~ (sneeringly). And where is he?

~Dick.~ Ah, where is he? (He goes to the window and gives a low whistle. A stranger in knickerbockers jumps in and advances with a crab–like movement.) Good! here you are. Allow me to present you to Mr. Jasper Beeste.

~Jasper~ (in horror). Two–toed Thomas! I am undone!

~Two–toed Thomas~ (after a series of unintelligible snarls). Say the word, guv'nor, and I'll kill him. (He prowls round Jasper thoughtfully.)

~Dick~ (sternly). Stand back! Now, Jasper Beeste, what have you to say?

~Jasper~ (hysterically). I confess. I will sign anything. I will go to prison. Only keep that man off me.

~Dick~ (going up to a bureau and writing aloud at incredible speed). "I, Jasper Beeste, of Beeste Hall, do hereby declare that I stole Lady Wilsdon's diamond necklace and hid it in the hatbox of Richard Trayle; and I further declare that the said Richard Trayle is innocent of any complicity in the affair. (Advancing with the paper and a fountain pen.) Sign, please."

(Jasper signs. At this moment two warders burst into the room.)

~First Warder.~ There they are!

(He seizes Dick. Two–toed Thomas leaps from the window, pursued by the second Warder. Millicent picks up the confession and advances dramatically.)

~Millicent.~ Do not touch that man! Read this!

(She hands him the confession with an air of superb pride.)

~First Warder~ (reading). Jasper Beeste! (Slipping a pair of handcuffs on Jasper.) You come along with me, my man. We've had our suspicions of you for some time. (To Millicent, with a nod at Dick). You'll look after that gentleman, miss?

~Millicent.~ Of course! Why, he's engaged to me. Aren't you, Dick?

~Dick.~ This time, Millicent, for ever!

CURTAIN.

XLIV "The Lost Heiress"

The Scene is laid outside a village inn in that county of curious dialects, Loamshire. The inn is easily indicated by a round table bearing two mugs of liquid, while a fallen log emphasises the rural nature of the scene. Gaffer Jarge and Gaffer Willyum are seated at the table, surrounded by a fringe of whisker, Jarge being slightly more of a gaffer than Willyum.

~Jarge~ (who missed his dinner through nervousness and has been ordered to sustain himself with soup—as he puts down the steaming mug). Eh, bor but this be rare beer. So it be.

~Willyum~ (who had too much dinner and is now draining his liquid paraffin). You be right, Gaffer Jarge. Her be main rare beer. (He feels up his sleeve, but thinking better of it, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.) Main rare beer, zo her be. (Gagging.) Zure–lie.

~Jarge.~ Did I ever tell 'ee, bor, about t' new squoire o' these parts—him wot cum hum yesterday from furren lands? Gaffer Henry wor a–telling me.

~Willyum~ (privately bored). Thee didst tell 'un, lad, sartain sure thee didst. And Gaffer Henry, he didst tell 'un too. But tell 'un again. It du me good to hear 'un, zo it du. Zure–lie.

~Jarge~. A rackun it be a main queer tale, queerer nor any them writing chaps tell about. It wor like this. (Dropping into English, in his hurry to get his long speech over before he forgets it.) The old Squire had a daughter who disappeared when she was three weeks old, eighteen years ago. It was always thought she was stolen by somebody, and the Squire would have it that she was still alive. When he died a year ago he left the estate and all his money to a distant cousin in Australia, with the condition that if he did not discover the missing baby within twelve months everything was to go to the hospitals. (Remembering his smock and whiskers with a start.) And here du be the last day, zo it be, and t' Squoire's daughter, her ain't found.

~Willyum~ (puffing at a new and empty clay pipe). Zure–lie. (Jarge, a trifle jealous of Willyum's gag, pulls out a similar pipe, but smokes it with the bowl upside down to show his independence.) T' Squire's darter (Jarge frowns)—her bain't (Jarge wishes he had thought of "bain't")—her bain't found. (There is a dramatic pause, only broken by the prompter.) Her ud be little Rachel's age now, bor?

~Jarge~ (reflectively). Ay, ay. A main queer lass little Rachel du be. Her bain't like one of us.

~Willyum~. Her do be that fond of zoap and water. (Laughter.)

~Jarge~ (leaving nothing to chance). Happen she might be a real grand lady by birth, bor.

Enter Rachel, beautifully dressed in the sort of costume in which one would go to a fancy–dress ball as a village maiden.

~Rachel~ (in the most expensive accent). Now, Uncle George (shaking a finger at him), didn't you promise me you'd go straight home? It would serve you right if I never tied your tie for you again. (She smiles brightly at him.)

~Jarge~ (slapping his thigh in ecstasy). Eh, lass! yer du keep us old uns in order. (He bursts into a falsetto chuckle, loses the note, blushes and buries his head in his mug.)

~Willyum~ (rising). Us best be gettin' down along, Jarge, a rackun.

~Jarge.~ Ay, bor, time us chaps was moving. Don't 'e be long, lass. (Exeunt, limping heavily.)

~Rachel~ (sitting down on the log). Dear old men! How I love them all in this village! I have known it all my life. How strange it is that I have never had a father or mother. Sometimes I seem to remember a life different to this—a life in fine houses and spacious parks, among beautifully dressed people (which is surprising seeing that she was only three weeks old at the time; but the audience must be given a hint of the plot), and then it all fades away again. (She looks fixedly into space.)

Enter Hugh Fitzhugh, Squire.

~Fitzhugh~ (standing behind Rachel, but missing her somehow). Did ever man come into stranger inheritance? A wanderer in Central Australia, I hear unexpectedly of my cousin's death through an advertisement in an old copy of a Sunday newspaper. I hasten home—too late to soothe his dying hours; too late indeed to enjoy my good fortune for more than one short day. To–morrow I must give up all to the hospitals, unless by some stroke of Fate this missing girl turns up. (Impatiently.) Pshaw! She is dead. (Suddenly he notices Rachel.) By heaven, a pretty girl in this out–of–the–way village! (He walks round her.) Gad, she is lovely! Hugh, my boy, you are in luck. (He takes off his hat.) Good evening, my dear!