ATTENTION AT THE PLAY.
Reading edition
(As performed at many London Theatres)
Scene—Interior of a Private Box.
Time—Towards the end of the First Act of an established success.
Present—A party of Four.
No. 1 (gazing through opera glasses). A good house. Do you know anyone?
No. 2. Not a soul. Stay—aren't those the Fitzsnooks?
No. 3 (also using a magnifier). You mean the woman in the red feather at the end of the third row of the stalls?
No. 4. You have spotted them. They have got Bobby Tenterfore with them. You know, the Johnnie in the F. O.
No. 1. I thought Mr. Tenterfore was at Vienna.
No. 4. No; he was going, but they sent another chap. Brought him back from somewhere in the tropics.
No. 3. Then what is Mr. Tenterfore doing in town?
No. 4. Oh! come home on leave. Lots of that sort of thing at the F. O.
No. 1 (having grown weary of looking at the audience). By the way, à propos de bottes, I have some money to invest. Can you suggest anything?
No. 3. They say that Diddlers Deferred will turn up trumps.
No. 1. What do you mean by that? I only want to pop in and out between the accounts.
No. 3. Then the Diddlers ought to suit you. They rose six last week, and ought to touch ten before settling day.
No. 1. Then I am on. Thanks very much for the information. Ah! the curtain has fallen. So much for the first act! (Enter visitor.) Ah! how are you? Where are you?
Visitor. Well, I have got a stall, but I have only just come into the house. What are they playing?
No. 2. I am sure I don't know; but if you are curious about it, here's the programme.
Visitor. And what's it all about?
No. 1 (on behalf of self and companions). We haven't the faintest notion.
[Conversation becomes general, and remains so until the end of the evening, regardless of the dialogue on the stage side of the curtain.
Melodrama in the Suburbs.
Elder Sister. "Do give up, Nellie! They're only acting." Nellie (tearfully). "You leave me alone. I'm enjoying it!"
The Ruling Passion.
Doctor. "No, my dear sir, we must keep ourselves quiet for the present. No stimulants—nothing more exciting than gruel. Gruel for breakfast, gruel for luncheon, gruel for dinner, gruel for——" Peter Pundoleful (a noted burlesque writer—though you wouldn't have thought it to look at him—rousing himself suddenly). "Ah! my dear doctor, why is there not a society for the prevention of gruelty to animals?"