BETSY BAKER!

OR,

TOO ATTENTIVE BY HALF.

A FARCE.

IN ONE ACT.

BY

JOHN MADDISON MORTON,

Member of the Dramatic Authors’ Society,

AUTHOR OF

Box and Cox, Two Bonnycastles, Who stole the Pocket Book, The Midnight Watch, Poor Pillicoddy, Going to the Derby, Old Honesty, Grimshaw, Done on both Sides, Young England, The King and I, My Wife’s Second Floor, The Double-Bedded Room, Wedding Breakfast, Milliners’ Holiday, The Irish Tiger, Who’s the Composer, Who do they take me for, The Attic Story, Brother Ben, Who’s my Husband, Thumping Legacy, &c., &c.

THOMAS HAILES LACY,

WELLINGTON STREET, STRAND,

LONDON.

First performed at the Royal Princess’s Theatre, On Wednesday, November 13th, 1850.

Characters.

Costumes.

MOUSER—Shawl pattern dressing gown, light brown vest, and fashionable dark grey check trousers. Second Dress—Exchanges gown for dark blue coat.

CRUMMY—Fashionable black Oxonian coat, light drab vest, and light grey trousers.

MRS. MOUSER—White muslin dress with amber satin ribbons over an amber satin dress, fashionable lace cap, &c.—Second Dress—Light blue silk mantilla over the above, white silk drawn bonnet.

BETSY BAKER—Pink print dress with very short sleeves, laundress’s blue check apron, neat laced boots.

Time in Representation—45 minutes.

[3]

BETSY BAKER!

SCENE.—A handsomely furnished Apartment. Doors in flat, R. and L. C. Another door, L. 2 E. Piano-forte, table, chairs, &c.

MRS. MOUSER seated at table, working. MOUSER, in a dressing gown, seated at piano-forte, R.

MOUS. (accompanying himself, and singing)

“On the margin of fair Zurich’s waters,

Ya—oo—oo!”

That isn’t quite the thing. (repeating) Ya—oo—oo! That’s more like it!

MRS. M. (throws down her work) This is really intolerable! I wish you wouldn’t attempt to sing that song, Mr. Mouser. You’ll never accomplish it.

MOUS. I will accomplish it, Mrs. Mouser. Indeed, I may say, I have accomplished it—all, except the “Ya—oo—oo,” and I’m not going to be beat by a “Ya—oo—oo,” I can tell you. No, Mrs. Mouser, I’ll accomplish that “Ya—oo—oo,” if I die for it! (very loud, and out of tune) “Ya—oo—oo!” No—that’s worse than ever.

MRS. M. It’s quite clear that you are determined to annoy me.

(pouting)

MOUS. (comes down quickly; very tenderly) Annoy you? You, my Anastasia? You? Pooh!

MRS. M. I’ve told you a hundred times, Marmaduke, that you haven’t a single note in your voice.

MOUS. Then the more creditable in your Marmaduke to try and get a few. (in a solemn tone) Anastasia, we live in a wonderful age. Every thing we see above us, below us, and all round about us, proclaims the triumph of mind over matter.

MRS. M. (yawns slightly) Well, I don’t deny it, do I?

MOUS. You can’t deny it. Look at the Railroads—oblige me by looking at the Railroads, with their gigantic viaducts, their stupendous aqueducts—look at the Electric Telegraph over the Straits of Menai—look at the Tubular Bridge under the Straits of Dover! And how—how is this done? By perseverance—by determination! And shall I flinch from a paltry obstacle? Never! So here goes again! (very loud) “Ya—oo—oo!”

MRS. M. (listening) Hark!

MOUS. What?

MRS. M. I thought I heard my dear Cousin Crummy outside. But of course that would give you no gratification.

[4] MOUS. You wrong me, Anastasia. As long as your Cousin Crummy is outside, and keeps outside, I don’t care how often I hear him.

MRS. M. (severely) Mr. Mouser!

MOUS. Understand me, Anastasia, I mean no disrespect to your Cousin Crummy—on the contrary, Crummy’s a man I like—but Crummy’s like many other good things in this world, a little of him goes a long way. In short, he gives us too much of his society.

MRS. M. Because he sees we are so much alone.

MOUS. But we never are alone. Crummy won’t let us be alone.

MRS. M. Well, isn’t it natural that he should drop in upon us? Isn’t he your partner in the business? Isn’t he one of the firm, Mouser and Crummy, Attorneys-at-law?

MOUS. Yes, and why? Because you chose to fancy that my practice was more than I could get through, and that I required a partner.

MRS. M. I confess I did, and you took him in.

MOUS. I beg your pardon—he took me in; and pretty considerably too, for he pockets half the profits, and leaves me all the work.

MRS. M. How can you say so? Isn’t he gone out on business now—and all the way to Pentonville, too?

MOUS. All the way from Islington to Pentonville!

MRS. M. Then why didn’t you go yourself? (rises)

MOUS. And leave you, my ’Stasia? (tenderly) You that I adore with a degree of intensity closely bordering on insanity! Besides, it isn’t because a Mrs. Jones from Northamptonshire—a Jones I don’t know—a Jones I never saw—a Jones I never even heard of, chooses to send for me, that therefore I must go to that Jones, Jones can’t expect it!

MRS. M. (R.) But no doubt she wishes to consult you on business, and she might prove an excellent client.

MOUS. (L.) I hate business! I hate clients! I hate everything in the world but you, my ’Stasia. What’s the world to me? Nothing! What are its “gay and festive scenes, its halls of dazzling light” to me? Nothing! Oh, ’Stasia! ’Stasia!

MRS. M. What nonsense you talk. One would suppose we had only been married a week instead of a year. Has any one been here for me?

MOUS. (eagerly) Any one! Not that I know of. Who do you expect?

MRS. M. Why only the laundress with my veil. She promised faithfully to let me have it to-day. When you go out, perhaps you will just call, and say I’m waiting for it. It’s only just over the way.

MOUS. Of course, if you insist upon it, I will. But perhaps you’re not aware that there are usually from thirty to forty females of various ages and dimensions engaged in that establishment over the way, and I don’t think it would be exactly the safest place in the world for an unprotected male. Besides, I might be seen entering the premises, and then what would people say? Am I not known in the neighbourhood as the best of husbands? When[5] we go out don’t the people rush to their doors and windows to look at us? Oh, ’Stasy! ’Stasy!

MRS. M. Ha, ha, ha! My dear Marmaduke, you are certainly getting a little cracked on the subject.

MOUS. I know it. I’m so much cracked that I wonder I don’t fall to pieces. But I can’t help it. (placing his arm round her waist)

CRUM. (without, L. D. F.) Oh, Mouser’s at home, is he? Particularly engaged, d’ye say? Pooh, pooh! I know better.

MOUS. (aside) I shall do Crummy a terrific injury some of these days. I’m sure I shall.

Enter CRUMMY, L. D. F.

CRUM. (advancing to MOUSER, C., and giving him a slap on the back) Ah, Mouser, my boy—sure to find you at home, eh? Ha, ha! Always together, eh? Billing and cooing, and all that sort of thing, eh? (giving MOUSER a poke in the side) By-the-bye, I’ve just come from Mrs. Major-General Jones. She would have nothing to say to me. She insists on seeing the head of the firm, so I told you’d be with her in a quarter of an hour.

MOUS. (R.) Did you? Then you had better go back to Mrs. Jones, and tell her that I shan’t do anything of the sort.

CRUM. (C.) But you must. Her’s is a very important case. Neither more nor less than a separation from her husband, Major-General Jones.

MOUS. I’ll have nothing to do with it. Major-General Jones has never offended me—what right, then, have I to stand between Major-General Jones and Mrs. Major-General Jones, and say to Major-General Jones, “Major-General Jones, take a last look at Mrs. Major-General Jones, for you’ll never set your eyes on Mrs. Major-General Jones again?” It’s absurd!

CRUM. But he ill-treats her—games, drinks, squanders her fortune—and, they do say, is not particular as to the number of his attachments.

MOUS. (with a look of horror) ’Stasy, can such things be? (drags off his dressing gown, which he throws into CRUMMY’S face, who places it on back of chair, R. of table.) My coat—my hat—my blue bag—quick! (CRUMMY exits into office, R. D. F.) Oh, the monster! But I’ll hold him up to the execration of mankind. “Not particular as to the number of his attachments!” Gracious goodness! And to think that such a man is able to walk the streets without a policeman on each side of him. (CRUMMY returns with hat, coat, and blue bag) But, as I said before, I’ll expose him! (in his excitement he puts on the dressing gown again—puts on CRUMMY’S hat, and takes CRUMMY’S umbrella from table) I shan’t be long, my ’Stasia. I shall soon return on the wings of love—— (going)

MRS. M. (L., detaining him) You’re surely not going out in your dressing gown?

MOUS. Eh? yes—it is my dressing gown, I declare. On second thoughts, I really don’t see why I should interfere between these Joneses. (places hat and umbrella on the table) I’d rather by half stop with you, my ’Stasy.

[6] CRUM. Nonsense. You must go. Mrs. Major-General Jones expects you. (taking hold of one of the sleeves of the dressing gown)

MRS. M. (taking hold of the other) Of course—Mrs. Jones expects you.

CRUM. You wouldn’t keep a young and pretty woman waiting? (handing him his coat)

MOUS. Oh, she’s young and pretty, is she? You hear, ’Stasia—she’s young and pretty. (puts on coat) You expose me to her fascinations, ’Stasia——

MRS. M. (smiling) I’m not at all afraid.

MOUS. And why—why are you not afraid? Because, as you must have observed, you no sooner set your foot on the ground than I instantly commence adoring the bit of ground you set your foot on.

MRS. M. (with impatience) Yes, yes—but make haste. And you can join me at my sister Charlotte’s. You know we drink tea there this evening——

MOUS. Yes, at eight o’clock. But it isn’t five yet.

MRS. M. What of that? I promised her to come early—she’s teaching me a new pattern in knitting.

MOUS. Yes, I heard her the other day. She was telling you to drop one, and then take up two. She didn’t say what, but I must say I was rather surprised at her requesting you to “turn over twice”—especially so soon after dinner.

MRS. M. Ha, ha, ha! Good-bye—for I’m in a hurry to dress.

MOUS. (detaining her) One fond embrace before we part! (kisses her) Keep up your spirits in my absence. (going—stops) Another fond embrace before we part!

MRS. M. (with evident impatience) Psha! (MOUSER going again) You’ll not forget the message about the veil——

MOUS. Certainly not. (going—stops) Another fond embrace before——

CRUM. Go along! (pushes him out, L. D. F.) Well, coz, you certainly may say you’ve got the most attentive husband in the world.

MRS. M. Too attentive by half!

CRUM. Eh?

MRS. M. (seriously) Yes, cousin. Few women are proof against ridicule—and some husbands would do well to remember that there is a point when attention to a wife becomes a burden, and even affection a persecution. Yes, yes, cousin—he’s too attentive by half!

Exit, L. D.

CRUM. “Too attentive by half!” Then it is as I feared, and that simpleton, Mouser, doesn’t see that he is persecuting his wife with his affection. She evidently dreads a conjugal tête-à-tête, and no wonder. He never leaves her for a moment; but there he is, eternally and everlastingly at her side, “sighing like furnace,” and making himself ridiculous in her eyes. Mischief will certainly come of it. Some remedy must be devised. But what? If I could only contrive to excite Anastasia’s suspicions that her[7] husband, like Major-General Jones, is not exactly satisfied with one attachment at a time——By this means her jealousy might be roused. But she wouldn’t believe me. No, Mouser himself must supply the materials. But how? (BETSY BAKER knocks at L. D. F.) Come in!

BETSY appears at L. D. F., with a small parcel.

BET. Mrs. Mouser’s veil——

CRUM. Come in, my dear.

BET. Pattens and all, sir?

CRUM. No. You may leave them outside.

BET. If it’s the same to you, sir, I’d rather not.

CRUM. Then take them off, at all events.

BET. Of course, sir. (takes off her pattens, and comes forward, carrying them in her hand) It isn’t likely I should go for to walk on a carpet, especially when the roads are so dreadful muddy.

(putting her pattens down on table with a slam)

CRUM. Zounds! Don’t put ’em on the table! (takes pattens from her)

BET. I’m sure I don’t know what to do with ’em, so put ’em where you like.

CRUM. Ha, ha! Heyday! I think I ought to know that face again.

BET. If you ever saw it before, you certainly ought.

CRUM. Have I not met you rather frequently of late, walking of an evening with our young clerk, Joseph Harris?

BET. Yes, sir. We’ve rather delicate constitutions both of us, so we generally go out for a little fresh air and exercise every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, after work hours. We can’t get out any other evenings, sir. I suppose, you’re Mr. Crummy! You’re not Mr. Mouser. We all know him!

CRUM. We! Who?

BET. Why, all us girls at the laundry over the way. Ah, there’s a pattern for a husband! ’Tisn’t every woman, sir, as gets a Mouser. No, sir—Mousers are scarce.

CRUM. And yet you’d take your chance and marry Joseph Harris?

BET. Just try me! And now I think of it, sir, he has told me more than once that you said if ever he found a nice, genteel, respectable young woman that he’d like to marry, you’d do something for him, sir.

CRUM. Oh, then, you, I suppose, are the——

BET. The young woman? Yes, sir, Elizabeth Baker, the youngest of sixteen sisters, and all of ’em girls, sir—and hard-working girls, too, sir. It’s worth going over to our laundry to see us, sir. Fancy sixteen Bakers a washing, all of a row!

CRUM. Well, I’ll bear my promise in mind.

BET. Don’t you think you’d better get it off your mind at once, sir? There’s a nice little shop in the greengrocery line, to be let[8] at the corner of the street—and, as Harris doesn’t seem very fond of the law, it would be just the very thing for us.

CRUM. (aside) Egad, here’s an opportunity for driving a bargain. She’s a smart little body enough, and if she can only be induced to act as I direct—I’ll feel the ground at all events. (aloud) I suppose you’ve brought Mrs. Mouser’s veil? (pointing to parcel)

BET. Yes, sir.

CRUM. Mr. Mouser called and told you to do so, eh?

BET. He didn’t address himself to any of us in particular, sir. He just popped his head in at the door, and said, “Mrs. Mouser wants her veil directly,” and then took to his heels as if he was frightened to look at any woman but his wife. Lor! what a happy couple they must be!

CRUM. (with a deep sigh) Happy! (solemnly) They are not a happy couple!

BET. Lawks!

CRUM. Yet they might be—but, unfortunately, there is only one person in the world who could make them so.

BET. And who is that?

CRUM. You.

BET. (with a jump) Me! I’m sure I’ll set about it directly, if you’ll only tell me how.

CRUM. I will. (looks mysteriously about him—BETSY watches him with astonishment—then in a loud whisper) You must fall in love with Mr. Mouser.

BET. Sir!

CRUM. And Mr. Mouser must instantly fall in love with you.

BET. (staring at him—then with dignity) Give me my pattens, sir, and let me go. Give me my pattens, I say.

CRUM. ’Pshaw, child! You misunderstand me. Listen! Your sudden passion for Mouser——

BET. (seizing hold of them, and trying to pull them out of CRUMMY’S hand)

CRUM. Oh! Very well! It’s a pity, too—for a married couple might do very well.

BET. My pattens!

CRUM. At that little greengrocer’s shop at the corner of the street.

BET. My pat—(letting go the pattens) Well, they’re not worth making a piece of work about.

CRUM. (smiling) Oh! Then as I was going to say—your passion for Mouser, will, of course, be merely assumed, but you must contrive to make him fall in love with you, in downright earnest.

BET. I can’t do it, sir. I wouldn’t mind trying, if I wasn’t such a dragon of virtue—but I’m sorry to say I am.

CRUM. Then somebody else will.

BET. But if he should happen to captivate me?

CRUM. That’s your affair.

BET. But why—why am I to do all this?

CRUM. That’s my affair.

BET. (L.) But what will Mrs. Mouser say?

[9] CRUM. That’s her affair.

BET. But she’ll go and imagine all sorts of things.

CRUM. I hope she will. Come, is it a bargain? Will you have Joseph Harris, and the little greengrocer’s shop, or will you take your pattens and go? (offering them)

BET. You can keep the pattens.

CRUM. Spoken like a sensible girl. (places patterns in passage, L.C.) I expect Mouser every minute.

BET. Oh lud! (about to run off)

CRUM. Don’t run away. (stopping her)

BET. But, consider, sir, you can’t expect me to act a part at a moment’s notice.

CRUM. Then take that veil to Mrs. Mouser, and in a few minutes you can come back, but be sure you do come back!

Enter MOUSER, L. D. F.

BET. (looking at him) Well, I don’t think there’s much danger of my falling in love with him.

(MOUSER, who has put his hat, &c., on table, C., turns and sees BETSY, who runs off, L. D.)

MOUS. (L., severely to CRUMMY) Mr. Crummy, what is that young person?

CRUM. Ha, ha! Come, I like that! Go along!

MOUS. But I don’t like it, sir—neither shall I go along. I repeat, who is that young person?

CRUM. Ha, ha! You do it very well, Mouser—but it won’t do—ugh! you Don Juan! (poking him in the side)

MOUS. (after a look of astonishment at CRUMMY, then aside) Can he have been drinking thus early.

CRUM. But I really think you might have waited till I was out of the room, before you——

MOUS. Before I what, sir?

CRUM. You know—this sort of thing, eh? (winking at MOUSER) I suppose you thought I shouldn’t see you do it, eh?

MOUS. Do it. Do what?

CRUM. Wink at her.

MOUS. (with grandeur) Mr. Crummy!

CRUM. That’s right—brazen it out—but let me tell you, sir, I have had my eye upon you and that young woman for some time past.

MOUS. Oh, damn it, I can’t stand this! you forget that you’re a junior partner, sir.

CRUM. And you forget that I’m your wife’s cousin, sir—yes, sir! And I’ll not allow you to impose upon her with your pretended affection, you good-for-nothing little hypocrite you, while you carry on an intrigue under her very nose, sir.

MOUS. Nose, sir.

CRUM. No, sir! Neither will I suffer you to trifle with the feelings of one that I’m determined shall not fall into the trap you have[10] laid, sir. You know who I mean—Baker, sir! (going round him in front to L.)

MOUS. I trifle with the feelings of a Baker! I lay a trap for a Baker! You’re talking nonsense, Crummy!

CRUM. Come, come. Now that you see I’ve found you out—tell me how you contrived to wheedle poor Betsy out of her affections?

MOUS. Crummy, I’m not apt to make use of strong language—but—by the living jingo, I never wheedled a Betsy out of anything in all my life!

CRUM. Well, I suppose I must believe you. But, intentionally or not, you certainly have made a most powerful impression on her youthful heart! She confessed as much to me just now.

MOUS. (gradually dropping his look of indignation, and with self-satisfaction) Poor Betsy! I’m very sorry for her, I’m sure! I say, Crummy, she’s a niceish little sort of a girl enough.

CRUM. Umph! so, so! (in a contemptuous tone)

MOUS. So, so! No, let’s be just, Crummy—let’s be just. She has good eyes, Crummy, umph?

CRUM. (L.) Squints a little.

MOUS. Does she? I’ve never noticed her in the slightest degree whatever—but I’m damned if she squints!

CRUM. At any rate her eyes seem good enough to have noticed you. But, knowing you to be free from blame in the matter, I reasoned with her, told her the folly of fixing her affections upon a married man, but all in vain—so you’d better take her in hand.

MOUS. Do you think so?

CRUM. Certainly—you can talk to her seriously, but kindly.

MOUS. Of course, I shouldn’t go and behave like a brute to her! I shouldn’t go to blow Betsy up.

CRUM. Certainly not—for, after all, the poor girl is more to be pitied than blamed.