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قراءة كتاب Dandy Dick: A Play in Three Acts
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Darbey strolls in from the Library with Sheba.
Darbey.
[To Sheba.] Your remarks about the army are extremely complimentary. On behalf of the army I thank you. We fellows are not a bad sort, take us all round.
Sheba.
There’s a grand future before you, isn’t there?
Darbey.
Well, I suppose there is if I go on as I’m going now.
Tarver.
[To Salome.] Thanks, the attack has passed. Now about to-night; at what time is the house entirely quiet?
Salome.
Poor dear Papa goes round with Blore at half-past nine—after that all is rest and peacefulness.
Tarver.
Then if we’re here with the closed carriage at ten—!
[They go together into the library.
Darbey.
[To Sheba.] Some of us army men can slave too. Tarver’s queer livah has thrown all the arrangements for the Fancy Ball on my shoulders. [Salome and Tarver re-enter.] Look at him—that’s when he’s enjoying life!
Tarver.
[Laughing convulsively.] Ha! ha! ha! ho! he! he! Good, eh, Miss Jedd?
Salome.
But suppose dear Papa should hear us crunching down the gravel path!
Tarver.
Oh!
[He sinks on to the settee with a vacant stare, his arms hanging helplessly.
Darbey.
[To Sheba.] There—now his career is a burden to him!
Sheba.
Oh!
Salome.
Would you like a glass of water, Major Tarver?
Tarver.
[Taking Salome’s hand.] Thank you, dear Miss Jedd, with the least suggestion of cayenne pepper in it.
Sheba.
[Looking out at window.] Oh, Salome! Papa! Papa!
Tarver.
The Dean?
Darbey.
The Dean!
[They all collect themselves in a fluster. The two girls go to meet their father, who enters at the window with his head bowed and his hands behind his back, in deep thought. The Dean is a portly man of about fifty, with a dignified demeanor, a suave voice and persuasive manner, and a noble brow surmounted by silver-gray hair. Blore follows The Dean, carrying some books, a small bunch of flowers, and an umbrella.
Salome.
Sheba.
Papsey!
[The Dean rouses himself, discovers his children and removes his hat.
The Dean.
[To Salome.] Salome! [To Sheba.] My toy-child! [He draws the girls to him and embraces them, then sees Tarver and Darbey.] Dear me! Strangers!
Tarver and Darbey.
[Coughing uncomfortably.] H’m!
Salome.
[Reproachfully, taking his hat from him.] Papa! Major Tarver and Mr. Darbey have ridden over from Durnstone to ask how your cold is.
[Sheba takes the gold-rimmed pince-nez which hangs upon The Dean’s waistcoat and places it before his eyes.
The Dean.
Dear me! Major! Mr. Garvey.
Sheba.
Mr. Darbey!
The Dean.
Darbey! How good of you! [With his girls still embracing him he extends a hand to each of the men.] My cold is better. [Blore goes out through the Library.] Major—Mr. Garvey—these inquiries strike me as being so kind that I insist—no, no, I beg that you will share our simple dinner with us to-night at six o’clock!
Tarver.
[Disconcerted.] Oh!
Darbey.
H’m!
The Dean.
Let me see—Tuesday night is——
Salome.
Leg of mutton, Papa!
The Dean.
Thank you. Mutton, hot.
Sheba.
And custards, Papsey.
The Dean.
Thank you, toy-child—custards, cold. And a welcome—warm.
Tarver.
[Looking to Salome.] Well, I—ah—[Salome nods her head to him violently.] That is, certainly, Dean, certainly.
Darbey.
Delighted, my dear Dean—delighted!
[The Dean gives Darbey a severe look, and with an important cough walks into the Library. The men and the girls speak in undertones.
Tarver.
[Depressed.] Now, what will happen to-night?
Salome.
Why, don’t you see, as you will have to drive over to dine, you will both be here, on the spot, ready to take us back to Durnstone?
[The Dean sits at his desk in the Library.
Darbey.
Of course; when we’re turned out we can hang about in the lane till you’re ready.
Tarver.
Yes, but when are we to make our preparations? It’ll take me a long time to look like Charles the First!
Sheba.
We can drive about Durnstone while you dress.
Salome.
[To Tarver, admiringly.] Charles the First! Oh, Major!
Darbey.
That was my idea—Charles the Martyr, you know. Tarver’s a martyr to his liver—see?
Sheba.
Oh! sha’n’t we all look magnificent?
Salome.
Oh!
Tarver.
Grand idea—the whole thing!
Darbey.
[They are all in a state of great excitement when The Dean re-enters, with an anxious look, carrying a bundle of papers.
Salome.
Here is Papa!
[They rush to various seats, all in constrained attitudes.
Tarver.
[To The Dean.] We waited to say—good-morning.
The Dean.
[Taking his hand, abstractedly.] How kind!