The 'Mind the Paint' Girl. Arthur Wing Pinero

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СКАЧАТЬ you might spread yourself a little over young Farncombe.

      Mrs. Upjohn.

      Spread myself! Why should I?

      Roper.

      Lord Farncombe!

      Mrs. Upjohn.

      I treat ’em all alike; so does Lil. ’E’s not the first title we’ve ’ad ’ere, not by a dozen.

      Roper.

      No, but damn it all—! I beg your pardon——

      Mrs. Upjohn.

      Beaming. So you ought—swearin’ like a trooper.

      Roper.

      This chap’s in love with her.

      Mrs. Upjohn.

      Oh, they’re all in love with ’er; or ’ave been, one time or another.

      Roper.

      Yes, but they’re not all Farncombes and they’re not all marrying men. I’m prepared to bet my boots that if Lil and young Farncombe could be thrown together——! Sitting on the settee in front of the writing-table as Mrs. Upjohn rises and comes forward. Here! Do talk it over.

      Mrs. Upjohn.

      Placidly. Where’s the use o’ talkin’ it over? It’s wastin’ one’s breath. Moving to the settee by the piano. My Lil doesn’t want to marry—any’ow not yet awhile; she’s ’appy and contented as she is. Sitting and smoothing out her skirt. When she does, I s’pose it’ll be the Captain.

      Roper.

      Between his teeth. The Captain! Quietly. Ma, the day Lil marries Nicko Jeyes, you and she’ll see the last o’ me.

      Mrs. Upjohn.

      Oh, don’t say that, Uncle.

      Roper.

      I do say it. The disappointment ’ud be more than I could stand. Selfish, designing beggar!

      Mrs. Upjohn.

      Now, no low abuse.

      Roper.

      A fellow who gets on the soft side of Lil before she’s out of her teens—before she’s made any position to speak of; and when she has made a position, and he’s practically on his uppers, sticks to her like a limpet!

      Mrs. Upjohn.

      She sticks to ’im, too. It meant a deal to Lil in ’er ’umble days, reck’lect—receivin’ attentions from a gentleman in the army. She doesn’t forget that.

      Roper.

      Jumping up and walking about. It’s cruel; that’s what it is—it’s cruel. Here’s Gwennie Harker and Maidie Trevail both married to peers’ sons, and Eva Shafto to a baronet—all of ’em Pandora girls; and Lil—she’s left high and dry, engaged to a nobody! It’s cruel!

      Mrs. Upjohn.

      She’s not ackshally engaged.

      Roper.

      Ho, ho!

      Mrs. Upjohn.

      The ideer was, when ’e shirked goin’ to India an’ gave up soldierin’, so as to be near ’er, that ’e should get something to do in London; then they were to be engaged.

      Roper.

      Sarcastically. Oh, to be just, I admit he’s in no hurry. He’s been a whole year looking for something to do in London—looking for it at Catani’s and at the Pandora bars!

      Mrs. Upjohn.

      ’E ’as to be on the spot at night, to bring Lil ’ome after ’er work.

      Roper.

      Exactly! And when a decent, eligible young chap comes along, and means business, he’s choked off by finding Nicko Jeyes in possession. Stopping before Mrs. Upjohn. But, I say!

      Mrs. Upjohn.

      Wot?

      Roper.

      Farncombe hasn’t tumbled to it yet.

      Mrs. Upjohn.

      Indifferently. ’Asn’t ’e?

      Roper.

      Bertie Fulkerson’s held his tongue about it; so have the other boys who’re friends of Farncombe’s. They see he’s hard hit. Enthusiastically. Oh, they’re good boys; they’re good, loyal boys! There’s not one of them who wouldn’t throw up his hat if Nicko got the chuck. Suddenly. Ma!

      Mrs. Upjohn.

      Startled. Hey?

      Roper.

      Dropping his voice. This little spree to-night at the theatre—Lil thinks it’s to be merely among the members of the Company.

      Mrs. Upjohn.

      Ain’t it?

      Roper.

      Sitting beside her. You keep quiet, now. No, it isn’t.

      Mrs. Upjohn.

      ’Oo——?

      Roper.

      The boys—and Farncombe.

      Mrs. Upjohn.

      Disturbed. Gracious! There’ll be an awful fuss with the Captain to-morrer.

      Roper.

      Snapping his fingers. Pishhh!

      Mrs. Upjohn.

      Rising and walking away to the right. ’E’s so ’orribly jealous. When Lil tells ’im ’oo was at the party, there’ll be a frightful kick-up!

      Roper.

      Falling into despondency. Oh, I dare say I’m a fool for my pains, Ma. Nothing’ll come of it. Rising and pacing the room again. Farncombe’s as shy as a school-girl; he’d be on a desert island with a pretty woman for a month without squeezing her hand.

      Mrs. Upjohn.

      In an altered tone. Uncle.

      Roper.

      Hullo!

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