John Maddison Morton

“ I am the last man in the world to intrude upon any one, but if upon emerging into yonder crowded thoroughfare, our paths happen to lay in the same direction, we will walk together, and by the time we part, as I shall probably be dry, I can embrace you.
O’WALKER. (impatiently) Oh! confound it—there— (flinging his arms round BROWN) and now I’m off to Pimlico—what say you?
BROWN. I say wherever you go—Brown goes too. (taking O’WALKER’S arm)
O’WALKER. Brown!
BROWN. Brown! Barbican Brown! but perhaps you’ll have no objection to my taking Little Windmill Street in my way? ”

“ BROWN. That’s settled already—the friend of your friend’s intimate friend—dies—and now I’m off. (starting towards L.) Stop— (feeling his clothes) dry as a bone—so come to my arms. (embraces O’WALKER and runs off L.)
O’WALKER. There he goes, what an advantage a man of his protuberant proportions has in a crowd to be sure! I shall count every minute till he comes back with the letters. What a state of nervous agitation I’m in to be sure. Goodness gracious! Dibbs! I quite forgot Dibbs. Ah, there’s an omnibus! here! conductor! stop! ”

“ O’WALKER. (L. without looking at her and endeavouring to make his way out) I’ll speak to you presently, ma’am—here! conductor! stop! (flourishing his umbrella) Gone, of course—and this is your doing, ma’am? (turning upon PATTY) Eh—no—yes—it is—Patty Peckover, and more bewitching than ever.
PATTY. O’Walker! but no familiarity if you please, I’m a married woman.
O’WALKER. Married!
PATTY. Yes! at least I’m as bad—I mean as good as married.
O’WALKER. Oh—to one of your numerous cousins in the Life Guards I suppose? ”

“ O’WALKER, with a green cotton umbrella over his head, forces his way through CROWD, L.
O’WALKER. Isn’t it a remarkable fact, that people no sooner get under cover out of the rain than they immediately congregate in a dense mass to prevent other people getting under cover out of the rain—I don’t know why they should, but they do! Here’s a day! never mind, I’ve no doubt the country wants rain, the turnips especially: somehow or other, turnips always seem to want rain—I don’t know why they should, but they do! ”

“ O’WALKER puts umbrella down) Please, sir, one of the ladies dropt this article—perhaps you’ll take care of it, sir?
O’WALKER. (taking the reticule) Of course—here! (feels in his pocket—then puts his hand into the reticule, takes out purse, and gives the BEADLE money) I always make a point of rewarding honesty—there’s half-a crown for you! (puts purse in his pocket—BEADLE touches his hat, and retires) As I said before, I can’t help laughing; that poor innocent little Fanny, too, flattering herself she’s the only woman I ever loved. ”

“ O’Walker.
Here the BEADLE again comes in, L., goes up to O’WALKER, points to his open umbrella, smiles, touches his hat, and retires.
O’WALKER. (suddenly recollecting and shutting up his umbrella) Thank you!
MRS. J. Now, my dear Mr. O’Walker, let’s talk of business. Have you seen a house that you think you would like?
O’WALKER. Fifty! there isn’t a house in Grosvenor Square that I shouldn’t like amazingly!
MRS. J. Now let’s talk seriously, if you please. Of course, when a man marries, he must expect to lay out a little money at starting. ”

“ Insane! sad case!—in early life fell in love with the Baron’s fair daughter, you’ve heard of her—she deceived him and married Walker, the twopenny postman, you’ve heard of him—it turned [16] his brain—quiet as a lamb till he hears “Walker”—then raving mad in a moment!—the chances are, he’d murder me on the spot, and you too—I don’t know why he should, but he would!
MRS. J. Lud a mercy! (looking again at BROWN) Eh? can it be? no—yes it is— (to O’WALKER) that gentleman’s no more mad than you are—you’re mistaken in your man, and I’ll prove it. (goes to BROWN and in a loud voice) Walker! ”

“ O’WALKER. (aside) Brown—Little Windmill Street!
BROWN. Just to buy a few cubas. (taking out cigar case)
O’WALKER. (aside) Brown—Little Windmill Street—cubas. (snatches cigar case out of BROWN’S hand—takes out a cuba and examines it, aside) This is one of Amelia Jones’s cubas—I’ll swear to it—he’s a Brown—he says he’s a Brown, and if a Brown, why not the “fondest of Brown’s,” if I could only make him the means of getting those infernal letters of mine back—I have it. (aloud and suddenly seizing BROWN’S hand) Brown, it is my painful duty instantly to plunge a dagger into your manly bosom. ”

“ It’s a singular fact, but this morning I said to myself as I was dressing myself, “Barbican Brown,” said I, “thirty years’ experience tells you that as sure as you put on nankeens, so sure is it to rain;” nevertheless, nankeens I did put on—I sally out—before I get to the end of the street down comes a shower—nankeens soaked! I go into a pastrycook’s, call for a basin of soup, dry my nankeens at the fire, sally out again, down comes another shower—nankeens soaked again; go into another pastrycook’s, another basin of soup, another shower—nankeens soaked again! ”

“ I really think, Fanny, we had better put off our shopping and our intended visit to cousin Barbican till to-morrow, and get into a Brentford omnibus and go home at once.
FANNY. Very well, mamma, but do let us take one stroll up and down the Arcade first. I suppose there’s no harm in it?
MRS. J. Harm! Do you suppose I should be here if everything wasn’t perfectly respectable? For goodness’ sake put that silly notion out of your head—and take care of your pockets.
MRS. JELLICOE and FANNY lounge out at R., looking at shops as they exeunt ”

“ I appeal to you, Mrs. Jellicoe—you’re a woman of experience in household matters, you’ve been washed by other people, and you’ve washed yourself—now which do you recommend?
MRS. J. You’ll find washing at home a great nuisance.
O’WALKER. Perhaps; but I’d put up with a great deal for two pair of ducks a-week.
MRS. J. Suppose we get the home first? By-the-bye, we’ve just [7] seen such a love of a loo table— (taking O’WALKER’S arm) haven’t we, Fanny?
O’WALKER. Have you though?
FANNY. Yes, John Horatio, and such a darling sideboard. (taking O’WALKER’S arm)
O’WALKER. You don’t say so ”

“ PEDESTRIANS, male and female children walking to and fro at L., a number of people standing, others make their way in with umbrellas up, which they put down and join the PROMENADERS; the BEADLE of the arcade occasionally seen ”