Алан Милн - Happy Days

~Dorothy~ ( turning upon him a look of hate ). Would that you might have the chance, my lord, so it were in fair fighting. Methinks Roger's sword–arm will not have lost its cunning in the wars.

~Carey~. A traitor to fight against his King.

~Dorothy~. He fights for what he thinks is right. ( She takes out his letter and kisses it. )

~Carey~ ( observing the action ). You have a letter from him!

~Dorothy~ ( hastily concealing it and turning pale ). How know you that?

~Carey~. Give it to me! ( She shrieks and rises. ) By heavens, madam, I will have it! ( He struggles with her and seizes it. )

Enter Sir Thomas.

~Sir Thomas~. Odds life, my lord, what means this?

~Carey~ ( straightening himself ). It means, Sir Thomas, that you harbour a rebel within your walls. Master Roger Dale, traitor, corresponds secretly with your daughter.

( Who, I forgot to say, has swooned. )

~Sir Thomas~ ( sternly ). Give me the letter. Ay, 'tis Roger's hand, I know it well. ( He reads the letter, which is full of thoughtful metaphors about love, aloud to the audience. Suddenly his eyebrows go up and down to express surprise. He seizes Lord Carey by the arm .) Ha! Listen! "To–morrow when the sun is upon the western window of the gallery, I will be with thee." The villain!

~Carey~ ( who does not know the house very well ). When is that?

~Sir Thomas~. Why, 'tis now, for I have but recently passed through the gallery and did mark the sun.

~Carey~ ( fiercely ). In the name of the King, Sir Thomas, I call upon you to arrest this traitor.

~Sir Thomas~ ( sighing ). I loved the boy well, yet―

(

He shrugs his shoulders expressively and goes out with

Lord

Carey

to collect sufficient force for the arrest.

)

Enter Roger by secret door R.

~Roger.~ My love!

~Dorothy~ ( opening her eyes ). Roger!

~Roger.~ At last!

( For the moment they talk in short sentences like this. Then Dorothy puts her hand to her brow as if she is remembering something horrible. )

~Dorothy.~ Roger! Now I remember! It is not safe for you to stay!

~Roger~ ( very brave ). Am I a puling child to be afraid?

~Dorothy.~ My Lord Carey is here. He has read your letter.

~Roger.~ The black–livered dog! Would I had him at my sword's point to teach him manners.

( He puts his hand to his heart and staggers into a chair. )

~Dorothy.~ Oh, you are wounded!

~Roger.~ Faugh, 'tis but a scratch. Am I a puling―

( He faints. She binds up his ankle. )

Enter Lord Carey with two soldiers.

~Carey.~ Arrest this traitor! ( Roger is led away by the soldiers. )

~Dorothy~ ( stretching out her hands to him ). Roger! ( She sinks into a chair. )

~Carey~ ( choosing quite the wrong moment for a proposal ). Dorothy, I love you! Think no more of this traitor, for he will surely hang. 'Tis your father's wish that you and I should wed.

~Dorothy~ ( refusing him ). Go, lest I call in the grooms to whip you.

~Carey.~ By heaven― ( Thinking better of it. ) I go to fetch your father.

( Exit. )

Enter Roger by secret door L.

~Dorothy.~ Roger! You have escaped.

~Roger.~ Knowest not the secret passage from the wine cellar, where we so often played as children? 'Twas in that same cellar the thick–skulled knaves immured me.

~Dorothy.~ Roger, you must fly! Wilt wear a cloak of mine to elude our enemies?

~Roger~ ( missing the point rather ). Nay, if I die, let me die like a man, not like a puling girl. Yet, sweetheart―

Enter Lord Carey by ordinary door.

~Carey~ ( forgetting himself in his confusion ). Odds my zounds, dod sink me! What murrain is this?

~Roger~ ( seizing Sir Thomas's sword, which had been accidentally left behind on the table, as I ought to have said before, and advancing threateningly ). It means, my lord, that a villain's time has come. Wilt say a prayer?

( They fight, and Carey is disarmed before they can hurt each other. )

~Carey~ ( dying game ). Strike, Master Dale!

~Roger.~ Nay, I cannot kill in cold blood.

( He throws down his sword. Lord Carey exhibits considerable emotion at this, and decides to turn over an entirely new leaf. )

Enter two soldiers.

~Carey.~ Arrest that man! (Roger is seized again. ) Mistress Dorothy, it is for you to say what shall be done with the prisoner.

~Dorothy~ ( standing up if she was sitting down, and sitting down if she was standing up ). Ah, give him to me, my lord!

~Carey~ ( joining the hands of Roger and Dorothy ). I trust to you, sweet mistress, to see that the prisoner does not escape again.

(Dorothy and Roger embrace each other, if they can do it without causing a scandal in the neighbourhood, and the curtain goes down. )

The scene is a drawing–room (in which the men are allowed to smoke—or a smoking–room in which the women are allowed to draw—it doesn't much matter) in the house of somebody or other in the country. George Turnbull and his old College friend , Henry Peterson, are confiding in each other, as old friends will, over their whiskies and cigars. It is about three o'clock in the afternoon.

~George~ ( dreamily, helping himself to a stiff soda ). Henry, do you remember that evening at Christ Church College, five years ago, when we opened our hearts to each other?…

~Henry~ ( lighting a cigar and hiding it in a fern–pot ). That moonlight evening on the Backs, George, when I had failed in my Matriculation examination?

~George.~ Yes; and we promised that when either of us fell in love the other should be the first to hear of it? ( Rising solemnly. ) Henry, the moment has come. ( With shining eyes. ) I am in love.

~Henry~ ( jumping up and grasping him by both hands ). George! My dear old George! ( In a voice broken with emotion. ) Bless you, George!

( He pats him thoughtfully on the back three times, nods his own head twice, gives him a final grip of the hand, and returns to his chair. )

~George~ ( more moved by this than he cares to show ). Thank you, Henry. ( Hoarsely. ) You're a good fellow.

~Henry~ ( airily, with a typically British desire to conceal his emotion ). Who is the lucky little lady?

~George~ ( taking out a picture postcard of the British Museum and kissing it passionately ). Isobel Barley!

( If Henry is not careful he will probably give a start of surprise here, with the idea of suggesting to the audience that he (1) knows something about the lady's past, or (2) is in love with her himself. He is, however, thinking of a different play. We shall come to that one in a moment. )

~Henry~ ( in a slightly dashing manner ). Little Isobel? Lucky dog!

~George.~ I wish I could think so. ( Sighs. ) But I have yet to approach her, and she may be another's. ( Fiercely. ) Heavens, Henry, if she should be another's!

Enter Isobel.

~Isobel~ ( brightly ). So I've run you to earth at last. Now what have you got to say for yourselves?

~Henry~ ( like a man ). By Jove! ( Looking at his watch. ) I had no idea—is it really—poor old Joe—waiting―