An Unconditional Surrender

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, 17 September 1903, Page 8

An Unconditional Surrender

f By WE-LESLEY PAIN. 3

i _______ SGETNE —A dimly-lit conservatory attached to the house of Mrs. James nley. In the center is a group of palms and ferns, hiding a doorway in the middle of the back of the stage. The time is 11:30 p. m. during a dance. Characters—James Manley; Capt. 'Arthur Norman, of the King's Own Yeo_*_ry. late ly returned from the front; Mariel Wilton. Arthur Norman (walks on L. as the curtain rises. He appears to be looking for some one, but, as a matter of fact, he has come there for a smoke _*tf wishes to make quite sure that he _i alone before sitting down. He takes #ut his cigarette case, and is about to open it when James Manley walks on quickly from the hack. He stops suddtaly on seeing Arthur (Norman. __ca—.Manley—My dear Norman, where _ave you been to? I>e been looking for you everyhere, and—■ Norman —And in the supper-room? Did 3*ou go there? Mc-nley—Well—no. I thought supper wasn't in your line —I mean your ilness was— Norman—Oh —er —bother the illness. I'm all right—and I never lost my appetite, either. It's only you people who live in London that can't eat. But what have you been looking for me for? To bring me a cigar (holding out his hand). Thanks—er it's awfully thoughtful of you, old man. Come*— out with it. Manley—My dear Norman, you didn't come here to smoke cigars, and you know it. (With mock gravity.) This !• a serious matter, sir. Out of the goodness of her heart my wife invites you for a dance, and you spend your time smoking! Don't you know you're the lion of the evening—the returned hero—the envy of the men and the pride of all the girls, the people's idol, the—? Norman (who is obviously pleased by the compliment but pretends not to be) —Shut up, old man, shut up. I'm getting sick of that sort of thing —I am, really. My wrist still aches from that hand-shaking business as we came up from the station—absurd rot. Why on earth should a couple of million people —absolute strangers —want to shake hands with me? Manley—l don't know—perhaps some of 'em wanted to shake hands with another fellow, but, not being able to get near enoupgh to him, thought you'd do instead. But we're wasting valuable time. Come and dance. Norman—Me dance? Thanks, but you know I don't dance; not in my line. Manley—Why not? Soldiers do dance sometimes, you know. Norman—But you'll excuse me, won't you? Manley—Well, if you won't dance, come and see and be seen. Come and show yourself. What's the good of my wife having a lion of the evening if the lion gees and hides himself in (looking around the place) —er —in the jungle? Come out. Mr. Lion, in the open, and we'll soon do for you. Norman—There—that's it that's what you brought me here for —in order that I might be induced to propose to some pretty girl whqse enthusiasm for soldiers —er —is—er— Manley—Don't you make any mistake, my dear Norman. The girls are notull so enthusiastic over you bronzed heroes as you think. Norman—You say that because you're not a bronzed hero—you're only married. Time will prove whether you are a hero or a martyr, Manley—Skittles! ■ .^ Norman—lt's a fact. Manley—Well, you're not a proper sort of hero or you wouldn't talk like that. Your true hero thinks all women perfect. He accepts their adulation with becoming modesty, and in due course marries the best of them. Norman—-Well, I do not think all women are perfect, and their adulation is an annoyance. I haven't met a worn-, an since I've been back who hasn't fallen in love with me. You may say that's conceit— Manley—l do. Norman—But it's true. Maniey—Not a bit of it. All the women aren't in love wfth you soldiers. Some of them are perhaps taken in with the novelty of the thing, and think that a soldier is the perfect type of man—but I shouldn't say they're in love. Norman—l tell you, my dear Manley, that if 1 hadn't checked them in time five women would have proposed to me - at different times— last week. Manley—Well, supposing you have a chai.ge. I'll introduce you to a nice little woman—well, she's only a girl—who will -not only not be in love with you. but will not have the faintest intention of schooling herself to love you. Extraordinary, isn't it. You haven't met Muriel Wilston, hare you?—a friend of my wife's. Ncrmar. Yes, I know her—nice girl —pretty girl; but somehow—there's Bomethii j Mauley (laughing)— Everyone says th.rt about Muriel. She isn't quite the conventional sort of girl, that's ail. Norman—Seemed to me rather rude at times —a trifle too school-girlish—-but still—she's interesting—very interesting, and there— Manley (looking off left) —And there she is (tht-y both look in the same direction). When she's quite finished talking to that nice voting man with the long hair I'll capture her for you. Norn:an- No—er—don't—thanks. Manl.-y—But you said she was was interesting. Norman, this is a bad sign. You should never b*- afraid of uieetiug the enemy in the open, you

know. I'll guarantee '.■■■'. .".hir>. won't fall in love with you. st i'.nn'i alarm yourself; in fact, ys.u'i! il'.'i' her a splendid cure for t-hr.t pride (.. yours, Norman-—the pride that make.-. you think all women are head t--vet ears in— Wail half a —(runs I.). Norman —No—don't go. I'll come and dance. I'll—oh hang, he's bringing her back. (Enter Manley, with Muriel Wilton. She is a pretty little womanj with a charming girlish manner.) Manley (to Muriel) I think you've met Capt. Norman before, Muriel? Norman (awkwardly)-—Miss Wilton has had the pitas —I mean 1 have had the pleasure er the pleasure—(They bow. smiling). Manley (to Muriel) —Do you think yon can amuse a wounded warrior Muriel, until I come back to take him off your hands. He doesn't dance because he's wounded—that's what he says—but it's only an excuse for laziness. Muriel—l am sure Capt. Norman couldn't be lazy. A man who has doni —(Manley and Norman exchange meaning glances)—er—who has doni —-a six-mile walk by himself this afternoon doesn't deserve to be caller" lazy. (Manley goes out, Norman looks rather gloomy.) Manley—l retire—conquered. (Exit L. Muriel and Norman sit down.) —I didn't see you during my walk this afternoon. Miss Wilton. Muriel —No! Well, you see, I was learning to ride a bicycle. Of course I ought to have learnt years ago—- . when it was fashio'nable—but I wouldn't begin then. Norman—Just because you didn't want to do the conventional thing, eh' Murial—l don't know. 1 am afraid 1 never stopped to think about it. 1 haven't thought about anything except the bicycle .since I had it. I can'l —it takes up all my time — Norman—But how was.it you didn't overtake me this afternoon if you were riding? Muriel—Excuse me. I didn't say I was riding. I said I was learning to ride. That's quite different, and makes you very tired. Norman—l'm sorry you didn't catch 'me up, I might have helped you. Muriel—Thanks. I did nearly catch you tip once, and I rang my bell ha.rdso hard, in fact, that I h-d to get oi my machine to do it p.*,ierly; but you didn't look round. You were deej in thought— Norman—Yes, I was. You know in Splogerton. where I live, there war such a crush when our fellows canu home that they couldn't march, am they asked me to devise some schem* for keeping the women—the peopleback when the next contingent arrives I was thinking out a plan this afternoon. Muriel—Are the women such a terrible nuisance, then? Norman—Well— er—yes —er —so iin pulsivt. you know. Break up the rankE. All that sort of thing. Muriel—Poor women! I'm glad I'm not like that. Norman—lt isn't right, you know. Muriel—No. I can understand thai a man who has—er—received a kiss from a woman without asking for it might—er—mistake the impulse of the moment for —er—something else. Thai would be a pity. Norman—Don't you think it usually is—er—something else when soldiers are concerned? Muriel—Most decidedly not. Soldiers mustn't run away with that idea. Women are grateful and enthusiasti-c. and rather hysterical. That's all. They are certainly not in love with the soldiers they rave over. Norman—You don't think so? Muriel—Sure of it. Norman (getting a trifle nearer Muriel, and speaking in a lower tone) — Is it possible, Misß Wilton, that the enthusiasm we have heard so much about is not real? Muriel—Not all of it. I've no doubt some of it is. If you have a brother — or—a —husband, you naturally feel glad to see him back safe and sound: but then I haven't a brother —or a husband—in the army—l mean I haven't a brother—and, of course, you know —(their eyes meet, and she blushes furiously). Norman—Yes, it must be nice to have some one looking out for you—when you come back—some one who really cares—some one— Muriel —But I thought you had a sister. Capt. Norman? Norman—Oh, but sisters don'l count —they look out for some one else's brothers, I suppose. Muriel—That's not fair on the sisters. Norman—Oh, but they do. Muriel—Well, the next time there's a war. and you go out, I'll look out for you when you come back. Non-nan—You will? That's good of you to say that. Muriel—ls it? From what I've heard, I thought that— Nor; .an—Yes? Muriel—l—er—hardly know—l mean that ( 'joking on the ground) I was told there were others who—er—looked out for you this tims, and I thought p'raps— Norman—l'm going- to ask you to do somet! ing. You've told me you're not in love with soldiers. 1 want you—to try and be in love with one of them —who is—ever so much—in love—with (He draws her near him and Where the Paint "Went. "I thought you were working on Jay Krank's new house," said the housepainter's friend. "I was going to," replied the housepainter, "but I had a quarrel with him, and he said he'd put the paint on himself." "And did he do it?" "Yes. that is where he put most of it."— I'liilpripltihia Press.