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The Brass Bottle: A Farcical Fantastic Play in Four Acts
F. Anstey
F. Anstey
The Brass Bottle: A Farcical Fantastic Play in Four Acts
THE FIRST ACT
The scene represents Horace Ventimore's rooms in Vincent Square, Westminster.
The sitting-room is simply but artistically furnished and decorated. Walls with a lining-paper of a pleasant green, hung with coloured prints and etchings. Fireplace at back. Down left is a large open French window, opening on a balcony, with a view beyond of the open square and some large dull-red gasometers in the distance. Above the window is a small Sheraton bookcase. On the right of fireplace is a door leading to the landing and staircase. Down on the right, another door to Ventimore's bedroom. Above this door, a small Sheraton sideboard. Near the window on left is an armchair, and by it a table, with two smaller chairs. [N.B. —Right and Left mean the spectator's Right and Left throughout.]
The time is late afternoon in summer.
When the curtain rises there is no one in the room. A knock is heard at the door on right of fireplace. Then, after a pause, Mrs. Rapkin enters. She is a pleasant, neatly dressed, elderly woman, of the respectable landlady class. She wears a cooking-apron and her sleeves are turned up. She looks round the room, and turns to the door as Professor Futvoye appears.
Mrs. Rapkin
Mr. Ventimore don't seem to be in, after all, sir. Unless he's in his bedroom. [She comes down to the door on right, as Professor, Mrs., and Miss Futvoye enter from the other door. Professor Futvoye is elderly and crabbed; his wife, grey-haired and placid, bearing with him as with an elderly and rather troublesome child; Sylvia Futvoye, their daughter, is a pretty and attractive girl of about twenty. Mrs. Rapkin knocks at the bedroom door.] Mr. Ventimore! A gentleman and two ladies to see you. [She opens the door – then, to the Professor.] No, sir, he hasn't come in yet – but he won't be long now.
Professor Futvoye
[By the table.] Are you sure of that, ma'am?
Mrs. Rapkin
Well, sir, he said as how he'd be in early, to make sure as everythink was as it should be. [In a burst of confidence.] If you must know, he's expecting company to dinner this evening.
[Sylvia has moved to the window; Mrs. Futvoye stands by the table.
Professor Futvoye
[Placing his hat and stick on a small shelf on the left of fireplace, and standing by table.] I'm aware of that, ma'am. We happen to be the company Mr. Ventimore is expecting. Don't let us keep you from your cooking.
Mrs. Rapkin
[With another burst of confidence.] Well, sir, to tell you the truth, I 'ave a good deal on my 'ands just now.
[She goes out by door at back.
Sylvia
[After moving about and inspecting the pictures.] I rather like Horace's rooms.
Professor Futvoye
[Irritably.] I wish he'd manage to be in 'em! I fully expected he'd be back by this time. Most annoying!
Mrs. Futvoye
[Resignedly.] I thought you were bringing us all this way for nothing! And when you must be quite exhausted enough as it is, after lecturing all the afternoon!
Professor Futvoye
I'm not in the least exhausted, Sophia; not in the least!
Mrs. Futvoye
Well, Anthony, if you're not, Sylvia and I are! [She sits in armchair by the window.] But why you couldn't wait till eight o'clock to know how Horace got on at that sale I can't think!
Professor Futvoye
He ought to have been back long ago! I can see no excuse for his dawdling like this. None whatever!
[He sits on right of table.
Sylvia
[Standing behind table.] Perhaps he went back to his office?
Professor Futvoye
[Tartly.] He's much more likely to have dropped into his club for a rubber of Bridge!
Sylvia
Don't you think you're rather ungrateful to grumble at poor Horace like this, after he's given up a whole day's work to oblige you?
Professor Futvoye
I was not aware, my dear, that he has, or ever had, a day's work to give up! Correct me if I am wrong – but I am under the impression that nobody has employed him as an architect yet.
Sylvia
That isn't Horace's fault!
Professor Futvoye
Possibly – but it doesn't make him more desirable as a future son-in-law.
Sylvia
Horace is sure to succeed as soon as he gets a chance. [Sitting on table and leaning over the Professor.] If you would only say a word for him to Godfather, he might be able to help him.
Professor Futvoye
Wackerbath? No, my dear, I couldn't bring myself to take such an advantage of our old friendship as that! I've no belief in Ventimore's succeeding in life. He may have ability – though I'm bound to say I see little evidence of it – but, depend upon it, he'll never make any money!
Sylvia
How can you tell?
Professor Futvoye
Because he can't even take care of the little he has! Look at the money he's throwing away on this totally unnecessary dinner to-night!
Sylvia
Oh! When it's just a quiet little dinner in his own rooms! If it had been the Carlton, now!
Professor Futvoye
He proposed to entertain us at the Carlton at first – but I stopped that. It all bears out what I say – that he has absolutely no sense of the value of —
Mrs. Futvoye
[Interposing calmly.] There, Anthony, that's enough! Horace is engaged to Sylvia – and the most sensible thing we can do is to make the best of it.
Professor Futvoye
[Rising and moving to the right.] I am making the best of it, Sophia! If Ventimore was like Spencer Pringle, now! —
Sylvia
He would never have been engaged to me!
Professor Futvoye
[To Sylvia.] Pringle, my dear, is a steady, hard-working young fellow. I've a real respect and liking for Pringle. And if I must have an architect for a son-in-law, he is the man I should have preferred!
Sylvia
Why, he hasn't been near us for weeks and weeks – and I hope he means to stay away altogether! I always thought him a conceited prig.
[Moving towards door at back.
Professor Futvoye
You may come to think differently, my dear. [Pulling out his watch.] Nearly half-past six! Tut-tut! All this time wasted! It's useless to wait any longer for Ventimore. We may just as well go!
[He goes to get his hat and stick.
Mrs. Futvoye
[Rising.] I knew how it would be!
Sylvia
[At door.] Wait! [Opens door and listens.] There's Horace coming upstairs! I'm sure it's his step!
Professor Futvoye
[Stops by table with relief.] At last! Now I shall know!
[Spencer Pringle enters.He is a smug, self-satisfied looking man of about thirty-five, smooth-shaven, except for small side-whiskers. He is in a light tweed suit, having just come up from the country.
Sylvia
[Repressing her disappointment.] Mr. Pringle!
Pringle
[In doorway.] Miss Sylvia! Mrs. Futvoye! [Shaking hands with the Professor.] Professor! Well! this is unexpected.
[Sylvia comes down to right.
Professor Futvoye
[Graciously.] Glad to see you, Pringle! You are quite a stranger. Indeed, my daughter was remarking, only a little while ago, that you hadn't been near us for weeks!
Sylvia
[In an indignant undertone.] Father!
[Mrs. Futvoye sits down again.
Pringle
[To Sylvia, flattered.] Delighted to think I've been missed! But my apparent – er – neglect has been quite unavoidable.
Sylvia
[Laughing.] So kind of you to relieve our minds, Mr. Pringle!
Pringle
[Solemnly.] I assure you it's the fact. I've been away constantly for the last two months, superintending work I'm doing in various parts of the country. [With importance.] Hardly a moment to call my own!
[Sylvia turns with the intention of sitting down; he places a chair for her.
Professor Futvoye
[Taking chair behind table.] A busy man like you, my dear Pringle, has no need to make excuses.
Pringle
[Fetching a chair for himself.] I really have been fearfully overworked. Not that I complain of that! [As he sits down between the Professor and Sylvia.] I'd no idea we should meet here, though. Is Ventimore a friend of yours?
Professor Futvoye
