FREEZING A MOTHER-IN-LAW OR SUSPENDED ANIMATION

A Farce in One Act

BY

T. E. PEMBERTON

CHARACTERS.

Costumes.—Modern and appropriate.

FREEZING A MOTHER-IN-LAW.

Scene.—Mr. Watmuff's library. Entrances, R. and L. At L.C. a door opening to a cupboard. At R. table, with books and a bottle of water on it. A screen stands close to door, R. Walter Litherland and Emily Watmuff discovered.

Emily. And so we must part forever!

Walter. For the thirteenth time, my darling, I must, in reply to that remark of yours, say—I don't see why.

Emily. Ah! Walter, you do not know who rules this house.

Walter. I may be wrong, but I was always under the impression that your mother did.

Emily. Ah! then you do know. I was afraid you would think that my poor father was the master of it.

Walter. I know that the house is let to your father; but I confess, my dearest, that I have observed that he has sub-let himself to your respected mother.

Emily. And she has declared that she will never give her consent to our engagement.

Walter. But your father has given his, and that is a great point gained.

Emily. It may be a great point, but it is a very useless one. Mamma always has her own way. She pronounced her decision this morning, and when you quit the house to-day orders will be given that you are never allowed to enter it again.

Walter. Then clearly I must not quit it. I am a great believer in diplomacy, Emily. To go at the present time directly against your revered mother's will would be utterly to lose you; to lose you, my darling, would be far more than to lose my life; therefore, I have determined to humor your respected parent, until the fortunes of war give me an opportunity of ingratiating myself with her. Hush! She approaches. Now rely upon me, and in every way back me up.

(Enter Mrs. Watmuff, door L.)

Mrs. W. (glaring indignantly at Walter). Still here, sir! I thought that you had been instructed by my husband to quit these premises.

Walter. Madam, I am much to blame. That the wishes expressed, I am sure, after mature deliberation, of Mr. Watmuff and yourself, have been communicated to me, I cannot deny—and yet—I linger here.

Mrs. W. Linger no longer, sir; but obey our behest.

Walter. I am, madam, about to do so; but since this interview with my dear Emily must be my last—

Mrs. W. Your dear Emily! By what right, sir, do you speak of my daughter as your dear Emily?

Emily. Because, mamma, I have consented—

Mrs. W. How, girl! This to my face? To your chamber, miss.

Walter. Again, madam, I have to own myself in the wrong. It is your dear Emily to whom I have come to bid a long farewell.

Mrs. W. A short farewell, sir, is all that is necessary—and more than I shall allow. My domestics will have instructions to remove you, within five minutes, from this domain. What ho! there—cook and serving-maid!

(Exit Mrs. Watmuff, door L.)

Emily. Walter, surely you do not mean to give me up!

Walter. My darling, do you—can you—doubt me? I shall never give you up; but I am convinced that our only course is to temporize. Your mother is, to say the least of it, arbitrary; but does she not give me a glorious chance of proving the strength of my affection for you?

Emily. How, dearest?

Walter. I am prepared to marry you, my darling, even during her lifetime.

(Enter Mr. Watmuff, door R.)

Emily. Oh, papa, I am in sad trouble. Mamma still withholds her consent.

Mr. W. My dear child, your mother, with the exception of her tongue, has a habit of withholding everything.

Emily. And she has ordered Walter to quit the house.

Mr. W. Well, my dear, beyond a not unnatural feeling of envy for Walter, I don't feel that I can express any sentiment on the subject. I have given my consent.

Emily. But of what use is it?

Mr. W. Not much, my dear, I must own. But I thought you might derive some comfort from it.

Emily. Do you know that mamma is now giving orders to the cook and housemaid to remove poor Walter by force?

Mr. W. My dear child, it is, I must admit, an extreme measure. But what can I do?

Emily. You ought not to brook such treatment.

Mr. W. Dearest love, I don't know that I do brook it; because I never mastered the full meaning of that word. But even if I did, how can I unbrook it?

Walter. My dear sir, I think I comprehend your position better than poor Emily does; and, indeed, I have been trying to persuade her that our better plan is to yield to the storm until it has passed. We must remember the old fable of the oak and the willow.

Mr. W. It has been Mrs. Watmuff's good fortune to dwell in a perfect grove of willows since the day of her birth. I confess that I have yielded so long that I am limp with yielding.

Walter. And I mean to yield only so far as to retain strength for a final spring, and a final growth in a right and firm direction. Come, Emily, be guided by me, and I promise you all shall be well. If I remain here a moment longer I fear the storm may burst, and at present we are both too oak-like to stand it.

(Exeunt Emily and Walter, door R.)

Mr. W. That's a remarkably sanguine young man; but, then, he's at the sanguine time of life. I was sanguine myself once—remarkably sanguine; and then I married Mrs. Watmuff—or, rather, I should say, she married me. I believe that there is a ceremony which, in polite language, is termed asking the dearly-beloved object of your affections "the momentous question," and in vulgar parlance is called "popping the question." I may honestly say that I neither popped nor momented. Looking back on a long vista of years, I cannot for the life of me remember any period when I was engaged; I only remember being free, and being—well—married. Marriages, they say, are made in Heaven. I don't want to be irreverent, but sometimes I can't help wishing that Heaven had left me, as the charity cards say, "totally unprovided for." But my provision approaches.

(Enter Mrs. Watmuff, door L.)

Mrs. W. (sits L.). So, Mr. Watmuff, I find you alone. I am fortunate. Sit down, sit down, sir. I repeat, I am fortunate.

Mr. W. (sits, R.). My dear, I am very glad to hear it. Fortune, they say, favors the—

Mrs. W. A truce, sir, to ribaldry. The time has come when a definite understanding should exist between us.

Mr. W. My dear, so far as I am concerned, a very definite understanding has existed for a very long time.

Mrs. W. Peace, vain scoffer! and hear me. Our daughter, Mr. Watmuff, is of an age to wed.

Mr. W. My love, I am given to understand that she also is of that opinion.

Mrs. W. And of this crisis in the life of our only child you make an opportunity to fly in my face.

Mr. W. Do I, my dear? I was not aware of it.

Mrs. W. Do you not directly encourage the advances of a suitor who is to me in every way distasteful?

Mr. W. But, my love, on what grounds? On what grounds?

Mrs. W. Grounds, Mr. Watmuff—grounds! You speak of your daughter as though she were so much coffee. Is it not enough that I object to the addresses of this young upstart?

Mr. W. My dear, it is quite enough. I may say that it is more than enough. But what was I to do? I always liked Walter. You know that I dote on Emily. They come to me, tell me that they love each other, and ask for my blessing. I happen to have a blessing by me, and I give it them.

Mrs. W. And without a thought of me—me, the partner of your joys and sorrows—me, the ruling spirit of your existence. You have no right to dispose of a blessing of your own, Mr. Watmuff—you have not got one. Such a blessing is a curse.

Mr. W. Well, my love, whatever it is, they've got it, and they seem to like it, so far, well enough. But—

Mrs. W. A truce—a truce, I say.

Mr. W. A truce, by all means; but as for Walter Litherland—

Mrs. W. Walter Litherland never marries daughter of mine, Mr. Watmuff. It is enough. I have said it. I married to gratify my parents. Emily will marry to gratify me.

Mr. W. My love, may I, with all deference, venture to remind you that your respected and beloved parents were, when I first had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, what may be called "no more."

Mrs. W. Silence, mocker of the dead. They had gone to their reward. But I lived to obey their wishes.

Mr. W. Oh, and was I one of them?

Mrs. W. In the abstract, yes. What did I find you?

Mr. W. My dear, don't allude to that. You did not find me much; but I am not an avaricious man, and as I said at the time, what I looked for in a wife was not so much money as—

Mrs. W. Sordid one! Ever thinking of your worldly goods. When I ask, what did I find you? I allude to your moral condition. You were a smoker of tobacco. Do you deny it?

Mr. W. (regretfully). I used to enjoy a cigar.

Mrs. W. You were a bibber of wine. Was it not so?

Mr. W. (regretfully). A glass of port now and then was very pleasant to me.

Mrs. W. It was such as you that my parents hated. It was such as you they loved to reform. It is the custom of some to erect to the memory of their parents costly monuments of marble, and gaudy windows of perishable glass. I erected you. Say, have I altered you? Do you smoke now?

Mr. W. (very mournfully). I do not.

Mrs. W. Where is your cellar of port?

Mr. W. In my cellar. It has remained there, my love, since, twenty years ago, you appropriated the key; and (with a groan) it must be in very fine condition.

Mrs. W. Ay! you can still think of the condition of your port; lucky for you that I have thought of your condition. You are a mausoleum, Mr. Watmuff, of which my parents may feel justly proud. Their tomb will not be neglected during the lifetime of their daughter. My decision with regard to Walter Litherland is one more immortelle woven, by loving hands to their memory. You are a mausoleum, Mr. Watmuff. (Exit Mrs. Watmuff, door L.)

Mr. W. A mausoleum, am I? I wish they'd put a railing round me then, and keep me isolated. I'm always being railed at. Why, if I'm regarded from that point of view, can't I be railed in? I haven't the privileges of a family vault. I'm only a common grave, walked over and trampled on by everybody. It's too bad. It would be rough enough on a grave, but on flesh and blood it's outrageous. And when I think of that cellar of port, d—d if I don't wish I was buried—with it. How crusty it must be now! As crusty, I expect, as I ought to be if I only dared to show my teeth.

(Enter Ferdinand Swift, door R.)

Mr. W. Ferdinand, can I believe my eyes? My dear nephew, I thought you were in America.

Fer. America twelve days ago—England to-day—this my first call; glad to see you, uncle.

Mr. W. And I'm glad to see you, my boy. (They shake hands heartily.) But why have you returned so soon, Ferdinand? I thought you would remain in America until you had made your mark.

Fer. My dear uncle, I have made it. If marks were now, as they were once, the current coin of the realm, you'd find I'd made a considerable number.

Mr. W. My dear boy, I'm very glad to hear it. I always said you would do well. Tell me all about it.

(Enter Walter Litherland, door R.)

Walter. Mr. Watmuff, might I crave one moment?—(seeing Swift)—Oh! I beg your pardon, sir; I see you are engaged.

Mr. W. Not at all, not at all. Ferdinand, you must let me introduce to you my friend, Walter Litherland. Walter, this is my nephew, Ferdinand Swift, just returned from America, having made his fortune.

Walter. I am very glad to hear it. I must congratulate you, sir.

Fer. Not at all. Very glad, indeed, to know you. Friend of the family, must, of course, be a friend of mine.

Mr. W. Quite right, quite right. I must tell you, Ferdinand, that Walter is attached to Emily.

Fer. Very sensible man. Very pleasant and appropriate thing, I should say.

Walter. You are very good. I wish that all the members of your family were of the same opinion.

Fer. What! you don't mean to say that my venerable uncle (all seated)—

Walter. Mr. Watmuff is kindness itself; but I regret to say that your aunt—

Fer. Not a word, Walter, not a word. I very much regret that she is my aunt; I've regretted it for years; but I've lived her down, and you must live her down. She's one of those women that want living down.

Mr. W. But you were going to tell me about your fortune, Ferdinand.

Walter. Perhaps Mr. Swift would like me to withdraw—

Fer. Not at all; not in the least. You're one of the family, and as I shall leave all my money to the family, you may as well hear about it. Have a cigar? (Offers cigar-case to Litherland.)

Walter (taking one). Thank you.

Fer. Uncle?

Mr. W. (taking one). Thanks, Ferdinand; yes, I—(Mrs. Watmuff's voice heard without: "What ho! there, Emily! Come hither, girl." Mr. Watmuff drops his cigar.) My dear Ferdinand, I forgot your aunt, She does not like the smell of smoke. In fact, if you don't mind, I think we had better not smoke at present.

Fer. Certainly not. My aunt, is, after all, one of the family, and by another member of it family prejudices ought to be observed.

Mr. W. (relieved). What a good fellow you are, Ferdinand! You deserve a fortune. Now tell us how you have made it.

Walter. You have made me very curious, sir; for a fortune is just the thing which I want to make.

Fer. My dear sir, it is merely a question of time and tact, and the greater the tact the less need for time. Mine is a pure case of tact.

Walter. I trust the fortune is intact.

Fer. Well, no, it isn't; because it is what you may call in futuro. It's got to be made yet; but in more ways than one it's a dead certainty.

Mr. W. (who during this conversation keeps on pinching his cigar, smelling it, and otherwise indicating how he would like to smoke it). It isn't anything to do with mausoleums, is it?

Fer. Mausoleums? No. What put that into your head?

Mr. W. I thought, perhaps, your aunt, finding me too much for herself, might have determined to float me into a company, and had put you on to promote me. All right. Go on, Ferdinand.

(Business with cigar. Mr. Watmuff is about to light it, when Mrs. Watmuff speaks outside. He burns his mouth, etc., ad lib.)

Fer. Well, I've made an important discovery.

Mr. W. Bravo, Ferdinand!

Walter. An inventor? Sir, I congratulate you.

Fer. Well, perhaps I ought to say that I've made an important discovery that another fellow has made an important discovery. All the States are wild about it; and, as he was an intimate friend of mine, and always said he would like to do me a good turn, I, without bothering him about it, noted down the particulars and came over to England to introduce it as my discovery.

Walter. How will he like that?

Fer. Probably not at all. But inventors and discoverers are proverbially discontented and disappointed men, and he mustn't fight with destiny.

Mr. W. But what is it?

Fer. Frost.

Mr. W. and Walter. Frost?

Fer. Exactly. Frost. Frost applied to freezing. Of course you know that a lot of American meat is now shipped to England. Much cheaper meat than English meat, and, consequently, big fortunes to be made out of the process. But it isn't altogether satisfactory, because it's difficult to preserve the meat during the voyage. Goes bad, you know; gets high, and that sort of thing.

Walter. High in price, do you mean?

Fer. Well, a little bit in that way, perhaps; but decidedly high in another. Very good. To the speculative American mind it becomes, therefore, a matter for conjecture, how is such evil to be overcome? An American with more than usually speculative and powerful mind gets over the difficulty. Frost.

Mr. W. Frost?

Fer. Frost. Liquid discovered which, injected into the ear of animal, freezes him pro tem., and suspends the beggars animation for as long as you please. Freeze and suspend your animal in America,—unfreeze him in England by simple process of another liquid, and a warm bath,—he lives again,—you kill him,—and get fresh meat. Important to every man who keeps horse, cow, sheep, or pig,—vide advertisement of company, whose motto is, "Not lost, but gone before."(All rise.)

Walter. That hardly strikes me as appropriate, because under the old system the meat usually was "gone" before—

Fer. Before reaching destination. Good. Motto must be altered.

Mr. W. But, Ferdinand, surely you are not going into the meat trade?

Fer. Certainly not. Mark the small mind. Can't see further than the bare facts stated in preliminary prospectus. My view is to adapt the discovery to the human being.

Mr. W. Impossible! And what would be the good of it?

Fer. (taking their arms and walking up and down). Quite possible, and the good of it simply incalculable. Father of family finds things bad,—freezes, or suspends animation of family, and puts them on shelves until times mend. Man thinks he ought to give up horses, but doesn't like to sell old favorites,—freezes, or suspends their animation till price of hay and corn comes down, and things generally go up. Man has wife who makes things unpleasant at home,—freezes or suspends his animation till she comes round.

Walter. There is hardly novelty in that notion. Men before now have, under such circumstances, suspended themselves.

Fer. With a rope. Yes. But how much better is my plan! A few drops of this colorless liquid (producing bottle) injected into lobe of ear of patient will freeze, or suspend animation of patient, during will of practitioner. Remedy, few drops of another liquid injected into lobe of other ear, and warm bath.

Mr. W. Upon my soul, it's a grand idea.

Walter. The great difficulty which you will have to deal with will be to get some one to submit himself to the experiment.

Fer. Walter, you're a sharp fellow. You've hit the right nail on the head. That is the difficulty. It is really astounding how blind and how selfish people are in advancing the interests of science. In the States they can't get a soul to try it, and they've got to wait for the first felon.

Mr. W. The first felon?

Fer. Yes. First man condemned to death, you know. Then they'll give him his choice—suspend his animation either by rope or patent freezing mixture. If he recovers from the latter, give him his life and liberty.

Walter. Then you admit that there is a certain amount of risk attached to the experiment?

Fer. I admit nothing of the sort. There isn't the least risk.

Walter. Then why do not you submit yourself to the ordeal?

Fer. Damme, sir, don't you understand that as the proprietor of the patent I couldn't safely show any one how to bring me to life again? There's only one man could do it, and that's the American inventor; and he's such a devilish grasping fellow that when he hears I've brought the thing over here without consulting him, he'd be capable of keeping me suspended indefinitely.

Mr. W. Then how do you mean to proceed?

Fer. Oh! look out for a felon. England is the best field for that sort of thing, and that's why I came over here. I'm not going to ask any more private individuals. I'm sick of it, and won't give myself the pain of receiving any more refusals. I confess I've buoyed myself up with the hope that I should find a felon in my own family, which would make things easy and pleasant for me. Is there one, uncle? I said good-by to a lot of cousins who promised well in that direction.

Mr. W. No, Ferdinand, there isn't one.

Fer. Hard lines, because there must be one soon.

Walter. But, failing a felon, what shall you do?

Fer. I see only one course open—I must marry, and freeze my wife.

Walter. You would have sufficient confidence in the project, sir, to try the experiment on your wife?

Fer. Damme, sir, that's my difficulty. I should have to bring her round again to prove the success of the discovery; and I've a perfect horror of matrimony.

Mr. W. Upon my soul, you know, this strikes me as being exceedingly interesting, and I really think that some one ought, in the cause of humanity, to come forward and submit himself to the experiment.

Fer. My dear uncle, you charm me. You evidently mean to place yourself in the light of the felon of the family whom I hoped to find; and, considering that you are not a felon, I really take it very kindly. When shall I inject—