Retained for the Defence: A Farce, in One Act

Title: Retained for the Defence: A Farce, in One Act

Author: John Oxenford

Release date: June 27, 2015 [eBook #49296] Most recently updated: October 24, 2024

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/49296

Credits: Produced by Paul Haxo from page images generously made available by the HathiTrust, the University of Illinois, and Google.

RETAINED FOR THE DEFENCE

A Farce, IN ONE ACT.

BY

JOHN OXENFORD, ESQ.,

AUTHOR OF

Twice Killed, A Day Well Spent, A Family Failing, Dice of Death, Only a Halfpenny, Reigning Favourite, Rape of the Lock, My Fellow Clerk, I and My Double, A Quiet Day, No Followers, What have I done? Porter’s Knot, &c. &c.

THOMAS HAILES LACY, 89, STRAND, (Opposite Southampton Street, Covent Garden Market), LONDON.

[Pg 2]

RETAINED FOR THE DEFENCE.

First performed at the Royal Olympic Theatre, on Monday, May 23rd, 1859.

Characters.

Guests, &c.

Time of Representation—45 MINUTES.

PERIOD—Present Day.

Costumes.

DE WINDSOR—Blue coat with metal buttons, white vest, black trousers.

WHITEWASH—Modern evening suit.

FERGUSON—Ditto.

THWAITES—Blue dress coat, white vest, black trousers, Berlin gloves.

PAWKINS—Long-tailed dress coat, colored vest, black trousers; hat and umbrella.

AGATHA—Rich pink silk ball dress.

GUESTS—Evening dresses.

[Pg 3]

RETAINED FOR THE DEFENCE.

SCENE—A Drawing Room fitted up for an evening party—to the left a card table—doors, C. and L.

THWAITES, who has finished lighting candles in chandelier at back, C., steps back to survey the effect.

THWAITES. Now, that’s what I call the real thing—the clean grit. The position of that bokey (bouquet) is such, that none but the purest taste could conceive,—those camellias, chastity itself. A fine combination! Cutting the turnips and carrots to make ornaments for the cold tongue; chusing the bokies at Covent Garden Market; mildly tempering the brilliant light of wax and gas with the soothing hue of flowers. I have brought all my arts to bear upon this sworry. The party who is a greengrocer in the morning, is the only perfect waiter in the evening.

Enter AGATHA, C.

AGATHA. (L.) So, Thwaites, the room appears quite ready?

THWAITES. (R.) Yes, Miss Agatha; without exaggeration I may venture to say, we are lit up.

AGATHA. My father has not returned?

THWAITES. No, Miss Agatha, he has not—since he left the house at two in the afternoon—I haven’t the slightest notion where he is gone.

AGATHA. Indeed! (laughing—sits, L. C.)

THWAITES. No—though I did my best to ascertain;—“Are you going far, sir?” says I. He stares, and he makes me no answer. “Shall you be long, sir?” says I. He stares again, and again he makes no answer. “Because sir,” says I, “there’s the party this evening!” “I know that, better [Pg 4]than you do,” says he, “for I shall have to pay for it!”—just like him, Miss Agatha—ha, ha, ha!

AGATHA. (aside—vexed) Really, ’pa must have a regular footman; these tradespeople whom he engages as occasional waiters don’t understand subordination a bit.

THWAITES. I hope you admire the bokies, Miss Agatha; them camellias are quite the thing, I flatter myself;—all my taste—ha! ha! You’ll be called to-morrow the Lady of the Camellias!

AGATHA. Most offensive! (rises, and turns aside)

THWAITES. Now, I thought I had said something very pretty—but she don’t look pleased.

AGATHA. No one has arrived, of course?

THWAITES. On the contrary, Miss Agatha—I’m sorry to differ from you, but I rather think one has arrived, and is coffee-ing in the back parlor;—here he is, too!

Enter WHITEWASH, C. from L. C., and down, C.

Mr. Whitewash, as I’m alive!—No occasion to announce you, sir.

WHITE (C.). Ah, my dear Miss De Windsor, excuse me if I stopped a minute to refresh myself with a demitasse of your choice Mocha instead of flying up stairs; but you see, a cause in which I was retained came on late, and I was obliged to exert myself a good deal—abnormally—if I may use the expression;—in short I was regularly knocked up.

AGATHA. Don’t think of apologies—as it is you are the first in the room. So you have had another brief to-day—I hope you have been victorious.

WHITE. One of my most brilliant triumphs! I actually outshone myself! (THWAITES listens) A rascal had stolen a watch from a gentleman’s pocket, and hid it!—ha, ha, ha!—in his umbrella.

THWAITES. Watch in an umbrella—come, that’s not bad!—ho, ho, ho!

WHITE. Eh? (looks half offended—then continues without noticing THWAITES) There is not the slightest doubt that the scoundrel was guilty; indeed he had such a face that innocence would have been a positive fraud upon nature—but, [Pg 5]ha, ha, ha! I got him off—I got him off!—a weeping jury declared that he was not guilty.

AGATHA. Capital!

THWAITES. Which it is capital!—just like you, sir.

WHITE. (draws AGATHA aside) I say—this person—rather familiar.

AGATHA. Yes, I know—I’m quite annoyed. He’s our greengrocer. ’Pa jokes with him in the morning when he buys the vegetables, and now he’s come to wait in the evening, he don’t understand his position at all.

WHITE. I think I’ll take the liberty of dropping a hint. I say, Mr.——

THWAITES. Thwaites, at your service, sir. Cards ain’t common in our business; but my address is——

WHITE. Of your address, Mr. Thwaites, I have not the slightest doubt. But I would speak a word with you.

THWAITES. And I’ll listen if you talk for an hour. If I take up the newspaper, is it to read about politics? No! About plays?—No, I should rather think not! About pictures? bother, no! I look to see if Mr. Whitewash has been saying something for some poor devil in the Central Criminal Court. That’s my intellectual treat!

WHITE. (flattered) Indeed! ha! ha! Really, my dear Miss de Windsor we should do wrong to check this diffusion of intelligence among the masses.

Enter DE WINDSOR, C. from L. C.

DE W. He is here—is he—the dear boy. I must shake him by the hand. (rushes forward, R. C. and grasps THWAITES by the hand) Eh! ha! ha! You’re not Whitewash! Ridiculous! I’m always making myself ridiculous; I’ve too much heart. You feel what I mean, Whitewash. (shakes his hand violently) You feel what I mean.

WHITE. (L. C.) Most acutely! (wringing his hand)

DE W. I’m so glad you are here before the others. Leave the room, Thwaites. (THWAITES lingers, moving at back to C.) I can now disburden my heart. As I said, I’m all heart. (THWAITES advances, C.) Leave the room, Thwaites! (THWAITES goes up, and moves chair from R. to C.) This moment is the most important—Zounds! Thwaites, will you leave the room?

[Pg 6]

THWAITES. (aside, going up, C.) That’s the man of money. Give me the man of mind!

Exit, C., off, L.

DE W. (coming to C.) Now look, I hesitate no longer; I shilly-shally no longer; I follow the dictates of my heart, and my heart tells me to—Come here, Whitewash—come here, Aggy. (joins their hands) Whitewash, consider yourself as my son-in-law.

AGATHA. Really, this is very sudden, ’pa.

DE W. Of course it is; I’m always sudden, I’m a creature of impulse. But do you dislike the arrangement?

AGATHA. I did not say that, ’pa.

DE W. Didn’t say that, ’pa! Then why don’t you speak out? Wear your mind in your face, as I do, or as my young friend here, with whom I want to speak a few words in private. So, go and see how they are getting on with the coffee.

WHITE. (R.) And don’t forget, that you are engaged to me for the first set, and the Polka, and the Lancers.

DE W. Of course, she won’t forget. Run along child.

Exit, AGATHA, C., off, L.

Now, I can give vent to my feelings; Whitewash, you’ve done it. I was long making up my mind, but now, you’ve done it. You are one of the men I like. (shakes his hand violently—they sit)

WHITE. My dear sir, I’m most happy. (wringing his hand)

DE W. Of course you are. Look you, it’s only now that I like you; this very morning I weighed your merits with those of Tom Tango of the Stock Exchange, who you know has a sneaking kindness for my girl, and the balance was considerably in Tom’s favour. He’s a better looking fellow than you, and his conversation is more agreeable. Then, what’s a lawyer? said I, a creature all brains and no heart? no heart, sir! But now, I’m changed, my views are more enlarged—more expansive—I have been——

WHITE. Dining out?

DE W. No, I have been in the Central Criminal Court, during the cause, “The Queen v. Pawkins.”

WHITE. Ah, I see! and you heard my speech for the defence. It was not bad, was it?

DE W. It was noble—it was glorious. While I looked upon that poor man in the dock, and I heard you enunciate [Pg 7]his virtues and expatiate on the largeness of his small family, he assumed in my eyes the sanctity of a martyr.

WHITE. You don’t say so?

DE W. Perhaps you noticed that among the persons in the court one wept aloud—very loud?

WHITE. I did. The policeman turned him out, I believe.

DE W. True—ahem! Some such brutal occurrence did take place; I was the man that wept, sir, you were the man that made me weep; you touched my heart, sir, you touched my heart.

WHITE. (aside) Really, a most sensible old gentleman!

DE W. Lingering at the door, I learned that the prisoner was acquitted. So I walked home, and I said to myself—Whitewash is my destined son-in-law. I as a manufacturer of fancy soap remove physical impurities from the skin; Whitewash effaces the blots that calumny has cast upon innocence.

WHITE. Innocence!

DE W. Of course; no one knows better than you that that poor persecuted being was innocence itself.

WHITE. (coolly) Oh, yes—yes.

DE W. What delight you must have felt in restoring him to his weeping wife, and those five small children!

WHITE. Wife! children! Oh! ah! I believe I did use the expression.

DE W. But there’s a further pleasure in store for you. You know I always follow the dictates of my heart. Well—well, my heart told me that society owed that poor persecuted being a reparation, and was bound to declare that he had not forfeited his social position. In a word, sir, I’ve invited him to my ball this evening.

WHITE. (rises) Here? To your house? A fellow with the taint of the dock fresh upon him!

DE W. A taint that he did not merit—a taint that you have so nobly removed. (rises)

WHITE. (aside) Oh, this is an old fool!

Enter AGATHA, C., and down, L.

AGATHA. (L.) Oh, papa, they are nearly all assembled in the other room.

DE W. (C.) Come along then—come along, that I may [Pg 8]introduce you as my son-in-law. Come, defender of persecuted innocence!

WHITE. (to AGATHA) Mind the first set—the Lancers—the——

DE W. Come along. (taking his arm)

Exeunt DE WINDSOR and WHITEWASH, C. off L.

AGATHA. (looking about) Very foolish of my aunt not to fasten her bracelet better. It can’t be here;—I don’t believe she has been in this room. Tut, tut! (goes up, R.)

Enter THWAITES, L. D. 2 E.

THWAITES. (announcing) Mr. Pawkins!

Enter PAWKINS, L. D. 2 E., he bows on all sides as if the room were full of company. Exit THWAITES, L.

PAWKINS. Why, I’m blessed if there’s a soul here!—it’s werry inconsistent bowing to two strings of nobody. (suddenly sees AGATHA, R.) Oh, I beg pardon, miss;—perhaps you may think it’s like my impedence, but is the gov’ner in?

AGATHA. The—the—governor?

PAWKINS. Yes, the gov’ner here; not my gov’ner—no, bless you, he’s been under hatches long ago. I want Mr.—I’ve got his letter somewhere—Mr.—he’s something in the fancy soap line.

AGATHA. Oh, my papa—Mr. De Windsor.

PAWKINS. Him’s it! So he’s your papa, is he? Well then, I say you do him credit: I say it afore your face, and I wouldn’t mind saying it behind your back.

AGATHA. (aside) A singularly vulgar person! but ’pa does pick up such strange friends in the City.

PAWKINS. Before we go any further I should like to settle one pint: I’ve picked up this here gimcrack thing on the staircase. (producing bracelet from his coat pocket)

AGATHA. (R., catches it from his hand) My aunt’s bracelet! My dear sir, a thousand—thousand thanks!

Exit AGATHA, C.

PAWKINS. A thousand, thousand thanks!—my dear sir, too! Uncommon pretty behaved young person!—a child will take a deal of whipping afore it gets up to that pint of good manners. A shilling slipped in one’s hand [Pg 9]would have given a finishing touch to the compliment; but one can’t have it all one’s own way; then her pretty smile were worth more nor a shilling a precious sight. Ah, bless her heart! she’d ha’ know’d fast enough that the man who picks up bracelets, and gives them to the right owner, ain’t exactly the sort of article as prigs watches.

Re-enter DE WINDSOR, C., and down, L.

DE W. (L.) Really a charming scene! most exhilarating! (sees PAWKINS, R.) Eh! why, he’s here at last! Pawkins, the persecuted! (shakes his hand violently) My dear sir, I’m delighted to see you.

PAWKINS. (wringing his hand) Thank you; but draw it a little mild.

DE W. (L.) Mr. Pawkins, you are one of the men I like.

PAWKINS. Same to you, sir. You are Mr. De—de—fancy soap line, sir?

DE W. De Windsor.

PAWKINS. Well then, sir, two minutes ago I told the young ’oman she was a credit to you, and now I don’t mind telling you you’re a credit to the young ’oman.

DE W. (aside) Somewhat coarse; but frank and genial.

PAWKINS. You’ve sent me a sort o’ note, sir, as the saying is, asking me to come here; but it strikes me there’s some mistake.

DE W. Not in the least, Mr. Pawkins, not in the least. Take a seat.

PAWKINS. (sits, R. after putting down umbrella, R.) That’s all right then. At all events I’ve brought the tongs in my pocket.

DE W. The tongs?—rather a singular proceeding!—and the shovel?

PAWKINS. No; get out with you—I mean the curling irons.

DE W. (coldly) I—I begin to comprehend; Mr. Pawkins, you are a hair-dresser.

PAWKINS. No; that’s where you put your foot in it. I ain’t a regular hair-dresser for a nobby concern like this. I cuts a little in the common way, but I am chiefly in the easy shaving line.

[Pg 10]

DE W. I understand, you keep a hair-cutting saloon frequented by gentlemen only.

PAWKINS. I calls it a shop, sir, but if you calls it a s’loon it’s werry kind on you, and I’m much obliged, and if you calls my customers gen’leman, they ought to be werry much obliged to you too.

DE W. (aside) Ha! I wish he had been a little higher in the social scale—but no matter. His wrongs have been extraordinary, society owes him an extraordinary reparation. Mr. Pawkins, I trust Mrs. Pawkins and the children are quite well?

PAWKINS. Mrs. Pawkins and the children—ha, ha, ha! Them’s as well as can be expected.

DE W. I see—a recent increase to the family.

PAWKINS. Recent gammon! Why there ain’t no Mrs. Pawkins—there ain’t even a young un.

DE W. Bless me! (aside) I’m sure Whitewash talked about small children.

WHITEWASH runs in C. from L.

WHITE. Mr. De Windsor, sir—(aside) Egad! the rascal’s in full confab. Sir——(pushes himself between PAWKINS and DE WINDSOR, C.)

PAWKINS. (R.) Why, I’m blest if here ain’t my professional gen’leman!

DE W. (L.) Ah, sir, Mr. Whitewash is your true friend.

PAWKINS. No mistake about that! No, Mr. Whitewash, I’m a poor man, but if there’s any way of shewing my gratitude——

WHITE. (whispers) There’s an exceedingly cheap way. Make some excuse and take yourself off as fast as your legs can carry you.

PAWKINS. Ah, he is indeed a friend! (crosses to C.) Look here, Mr. De——what’s your name? There I stud reading the bill of the Royal Victoria Theatre—something about Will Watch, the Bold Smuggler, when, as if it was done o’ purpose, some one smuggles a watch into my umbrella!

WHITE. Yes, yes, we know all about that, the story [Pg 11]is exceedingly plausible, and I have told it already, much better than you can, in the presence of this gentleman.

PAWKINS. They lugs me about—they takes me off against my will.

WHITE. Well, then, now indulge in the free exercise of your will, by taking yourself off.

(some of the COMPANY pass across at back of C. doors, from L. to R.)

PAWKINS. Stop a bit! though I mostly sticks to the easy shaving line, I’ve a mind as can soar to the higher branches. That ’ere head of hair is uncommon well got up, the one with the pearls, I mean. Just allow me to have a look, gov’ner, I’ll be back in a twinkling.

Exit, C., and off, R.

DE W. (L.) Exuberant—unsophisticated creature!

WHITE. Oh, perfectly unsophisticated! I only wish he had not fixed on the only head dress in the room that gives a notion of positive value? No, no, I must not hesitate any longer. Look here, my dear, sir, you are a man of heart—I may say, a noble creature—and it’s one of the specific weaknesses of noble creatures, to fancy everybody else as noble as themselves. Now, suppose this favourite of yours, this Pawkins, were really a little light fingered; suppose the dazzling brilliancy of one of your table spoons caused him to forget the distinction between meum and tuum. Under these painful circumstances, what would you say?

DE W. I should say that you were the most lying humbug I ever clapped eyes on.

WHITE. Heyday! Why?

DE W. Why, didn’t you stand up before the judge and jury, and bellow out your belief in that man’s immaculate virtue. Did you not clap your hand on your heart, and declare that our country might be proud of such a citizen; and St. Giles’s in the Fields proud of such a parishioner? Did not you cause me to blubber aloud, till I was turned ignominiously out of court, as a charity boy is kicked out by a beadle? And am I to understand that all that rhodomontade, followed by that expulsion, was for the sake of a pickpocket? Abominable! Disgusting!

[Pg 12]

WHITE. But surely, you understand, my dear sir, that when one speaks professionally——

DE W. Sir, no one has business to tell lies, professionally or not; a man should always speak what he thinks. I follow the dictates of my heart, and I always speak what I think; my heart is in my heart, and my heart is in my mouth.

WHITE. What a complicated piece of anatomy you must be.

DE W. I say, my heart is in my mouth.

WHITE. Then I wish you would swallow it, and say no more about it.

DE W. Yes, I dare say you think that a very good joke, but what I am going to tell you is no joke. If Pawkins is a thief, you shan’t have my daughter, and Tango shall.

WHITE. Monstrous!

DE W. Not at all, I give you my girl because I regard you as a noble defender of persecuted innocence; but if persecuted innocence turns out to be a low pilfering scoundrel, I naturally retract.

WHITE. But, my dear, sir, the doctrine you so strangely maintain is diametrically opposed to the very principles of British jurisprudence. It is one of the high privileges of our blessed country, and of several others, that even the vilest and meanest criminal is allowed a professional defender in the courts of justice.

DE W. Sir, it is one of the high privileges of our blessed country, and of several others, that a man need not give away his daughter where he don’t like.

WHITE. But, sir, by virtue of my profession I am positively bound to——

DE W. Well, I don’t say you’re not. But an honest man, sir, should have nothing to do with clients that don’t come into court with clean hands.

WHITE. My dear Mr. De Windsor, borrow a little wisdom from your own business. If everybody had clean hands, what would become of the soap trade?

DE W. Go, go, and defend every pickpocket, forger, coiner, housebreaker, in London. I don’t want to hinder you, I only say that I won’t give my daughter to a man [Pg 13]who makes respectable people blubber till they are shoved out of court, on purpose to defeat the ends of justice.

WHITE. Then, sir, I suppose, because he furthers the ends of justice, you would give your daughter to the hangman.