Five Little Plays — The Man in the Stalls
A PLAY IN ONE ACT
THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY
HECTOR ALLEN
ELIZABETH ALLEN (BETTY)
WALTER COZENS
_This play was produced at the Palace Theatre on October 6, 1911_ THE MAN IN THE STALLS
_The sitting-room of a little flat in Shaftesbury Avenue.
At back is a door leading to the dining-room--it is open, and the dinner-table is in full view of the audience.
To the extreme right is another door, leading to the hall.
_ _The place is pleasantly and prettily, though quite inexpensively, furnished.
To the left, at angles with the distempered wall, is a baby-grand piano; the fireplace, in which a fire is burning merrily, is on the same side, full centre.
To the right of the door leading to the dining-room is a small side-table, on which there is a tray with decanter and glasses;
in front of this, a card-table, open, with two packs of cards on it, and chairs on each side.
Another table, a round one, is in the centre of the room--to right and to left of it are comfortable armchairs.
Against the right wall is a long sofa;
above it hang a few good, water-colours and engravings; on the piano and the table there are flowers.
A general appearance of refinement and comfort pervades the room; no luxury, but evidence everywhere of good taste, and the countless feminine touches that make a room homelike and pleasant.
_ _When the curtain rises,_ HECTOR ALLEN, _a youngish man of forty, with an attractive intellectual face, is seen standing by the dining-table in the inner room, draining his liqueur-glass, with_ WALTER COZENS _to the right of him, lighting a cigarette.
_ WALTER _is a few years younger than his friend, moderately good-looking, with fine, curly brown hair and a splendid silky moustache.
His morning-clothes are conspicuously well-cut--he is evidently something of a dandy;_ HECTOR _wears a rather shabby dress-suit, his boots are awkward, and his tie ready-made.
_ BETTY, _a handsome woman of thirty, wearing a very pretty tea-gown, is talking to the maid at the back of the dining-room.
_ HECTOR _puts down his glass and comes into the sitting-room, followed by_ WALTER.
HECTOR _is puffing at a short, stumpy little black cigar.
_ HECTOR [_Talking as he comes through, continuing the conversation--he walks to the fireplace and stands with his back to it.
_] I tell you, if I'd known what it meant, I'd never have taken the job!
Sounded so fine, to be reader of plays for the Duke's Theatre--adviser to the great Mr. Honeyswill!
And then--when the old man said I was to go to all the first nights--why, I just chortled!
"It's the first nights that show you the grip of the thing--that teach you most"--he said.
Teach you!
As though there were anything to learn!
Oh my stars!
I tell you, it's a dog's life!
WALTER.
[_Sitting to left of the round table.
_] I'd change places with you, sonny.
HECTOR.
You would, eh?
That's what they all say!
Four new plays this week, my lad--one yesterday, one to-day--another to-morrow, and the night after!
All day long I'm _reading_ plays--and I spend my nights seeing 'em!
D'you know I read about two thousand a year?
Divide two thousand by three hundred and sixty five.
A dog's life--that's what it is!
WALTER.
Better than being a stockbroker's clerk--you believe _me!
_ HECTOR.
Is it?
I wish _you_ could have a turn at it, my bonny boy!
_Your_ hair'd go grey, like mine!
And look here--what are the plays to-day?
They're either so chock-full of intellect that they send you to sleep--or they reek of sentiment till you yearn for the smell of a cabbage!
WALTER.
Well, you've the change, at any rate.
HECTOR.
[_Snorting.
_] Change?
By Jove, give me a Punch and Judy show on the sands--or performing dogs!
Plays--I'm sick of 'em!
And look here--the one I'm off to to-night.
It's adapted from the French--well, we know what _that_ means.
Husband, wife and mistress.
Or wife, husband, lover.
That's what a French play means.
And you make it English, and pass the Censor, by putting the lady in a mackintosh, and dumping in a curate!
BETTY.
[_Coming in, and closing the door leading to the dining-room.
_] You ought to be going, Hector.
[_She, stands listening for a moment, then goes through the other door into the hall.
_ HECTOR.
[_Disregarding her, too intent on his theme.
_] And I tell you, of the two, I prefer the home-made stodge.
I'm sick of the eternal triangle.
They always do the same thing.
Husband strikes attitudes--sometimes he strikes the lover.
The lover never stands up to him--why shouldn't he?
He would--in real life.
[BETTY _comes back, with his overcoat and muffler--she proceeds affectionately to wrap this round his neck, and helps him on with his coat, he talking all the time.
_] He'd say, look here, you go to Hell.
_That's_ what he'd say--well, there you'd have a situation.
But not one of the playwriting chaps dares do it.
Why not, I ask you?
There you'd have truth, something big.
But no--they're afraid--think the public won't like it.
The husband's got to down the lover--like a big tom-cat with a mouse--or the author'd have to sell one of his motor-cars!
That's just the fact of it!
BETTY.
[_Looking at the clock on the mantelpiece.
_] Twenty-five past, Hector.
HECTOR.
[_Cheerily.
_] All right, my lass, I'm off.
By-bye, Walter--keep the old woman company for a bit.
Good-bye, sweetheart.
[_He kisses her.
_] Don't wait up.
Now for the drama.
Oh, the dog's life!
[_He goes.
_ BETTY _waits till the hall door has banged, then she sits on the elbow of_ WALTER'S _chair, and rests her head on his shoulder.
_ BETTY.
[_Softly.
_] Poor Hector!
WALTER.
[_Uncomfortably.
_] ...
Yes ...
BETTY.
Doesn't it make you feel dreadful when he talks like that?
[_She kisses him; then puts her arms round his neck, draws his face to her, and kisses him again, on the cheek.
_] Doesn't it?
[_She nestles contentedly closer to him.
_ WALTER.
[_Trying to edge away.
_] Well, it does.
Yes.
BETTY.
[_Dreamily.
_] I--like it.
WALTER.
Betty!
BETTY.
Yes, I like it.
I don't know why.
I suppose I'm frightfully wicked.
Or the danger perhaps--I don't know.
WALTER.
[_Making a futile effort to get up.
_] Betty-- BETTY.
[_Tightening her arms around him.
_] Stop there, and don't move.
How smooth your chin is--_his_ scrapes.
Why don't husbands shave better?
Or is it that the forbidden chin is always smoother?
Poor old Hector!
If he could see us!
He hasn't a suspicion.
I think it's lovely--really, I do.
He leaves us here together, night after night, and imagines you're teaching me bridge.
WALTER.
[_Restlessly.
_] So I am.
Where are the cards?
BETTY.
[_Caressing him.
_] Silly, have you forgotten that this is Tuesday--Maggie's night out?
She's gone--I told her she needn't wait to clear away.
We've arranged master's supper.
Master!
_You're_ my master, aren't you?
WALTER.
...
I don't know what I am ...
BETTY.
Oh yes you do--you're my boy.
Whom I love.
There.
[_She kisses him again, full on the lips.
_] That was a nice one, wasn't it?
Poor old Hector, sitting in his stall--thinks he's so wonderful, knows such a lot!
Yes, Maggie's out--with _her_ young man, I suppose.
The world's full of women, with their young men--and husbands sitting in the stalls....
And I suppose that's how it always has been, and always will be.
WALTER.
[_Shifting uneasily.
_] Don't, Betty--I don't like it.
I mean, he has such confidence in us.
BETTY.
Of course he has.
And quite rightly.
Aren't you his oldest friend?
WALTER.
[_With something of a groan.
_] I've known him since I was seven.
BETTY.
The first man he introduced me to--his best man at the wedding--do you remember coming to see us during the honeymoon?
I liked you _then.
_ WALTER.
[_Really shocked.
_] Betty!
BETTY.
I did.
You had a way of squeezing my hand....
And then when we came back here.
You know it didn't take me long to discover-- WALTER.
[_Protesting.
_] I scarcely saw you the first two or three years!
BETTY.
No--you were afraid.
Oh I thought you so silly!
[_He suddenly contrives to release himself--gets up, and moves to the card-table.
_] Why, what's the matter?
WALTER.
[_At the table, with his back to her.
_] I hate hearing you talk like this.
BETTY.
Silly boy!
[_She rises, and goes to him; he has taken a cigarette out of the box on the table, and stands there, with his head bent, tapping the cigarette against his hand.
_] Women only talk "like this," as you call it, to their lovers.
They talk "like that" to their husbands--and that's why the husbands never know.
That's why the husbands are always sitting in the stalls, looking on.
[_She puts her arms round him again.
_] Looking and not seeing.
[_She approaches her lips to his--he almost fretfully unclasps her arms.
_ WALTER.
Betty--I want to say a--serious word ...
BETTY.
[_Looking fondly at him.
_] Well, isn't what _I'm_ saying serious?
WALTER.
I'm thirty-eight.
BETTY.
Yes.
I'm only thirty.
But I'm not complaining.
WALTER.
Has it ever occurred to you-- [_He stops.
_ BETTY.
What?
[WALTER _looks at her--tries to speak, but cannot--then he breaks away, goes across the room to the fireplace and stands for a moment looking into the fire.
She has remained where she was, her eyes following him wonderingly.
Suddenly he stamps his foot violently.
_ WALTER.
Damn it!
DAMN it!
BETTY.
[_Moving towards him in alarm.
_] What's the matter?
WALTER.
[_With a swift turn towards her.
_] I'm going to get married.
BETTY.
[_Stonily, stopping by the round table.
_] You ...
WALTER.
[_Savagely.
_] Going to get married, yes.
Married, married!
[_She stands there and doesn't stir--doesn't speak or try to speak; merely stands there, and looks at him, giving no sign.
Her silence irritates him; he becomes more and more violent, as though to give himself courage.
_ WALTER.
You're wonderful, you women--you really are.
Always contrive to make us seem brutes, or cowards!
I've wanted to tell you this a dozen times--I've not had the pluck.
Well, to-day I must.
Must, do you hear that?...
Oh, for Heaven's sake, say something.
BETTY.
[_Still staring helplessly at him.
_] You ...
WALTER.
[_Feverishly.
_] Yes, I, I!
Now it's out, at least--it's spoken!
I
mean to get married, like other men--fooled, too, I dare say, like the others--at least I deserve it!
But I'm tired, I tell you--tired-- BETTY.
Of me?
WALTER.
Tired of the life I lead--the beastly, empty rooms--the meals at the Club.
And I'm thirty-eight--it's now or never.
BETTY.
[_Slowly.
_] And how about--me?
WALTER.
You?
BETTY.
[_Passionately.
_] Yes.
Me.
Me!
WALTER.
You didn't think this would last for ever?
BETTY.
[_Nodding her head.
_] I did--yes--I did.
Why shouldn't it?
WALTER.
[_Working himself into a fury again.
_] Why?
You ask that?
Why?
Oh yes, it's all right for _you_--you've your home and your husband--I'm there as an--annexe.
To be telephoned to, when I'm wanted, at your beck and call, throw over everything, come when you whistle.
And it's not only that--I tell you it makes me feel--horrid.
After all, he's my--friend.
BETTY.
He has been that always.
You didn't feel--horrid--before....
Who is she?
WALTER.
[_Shortly, as he turns back to the fire.
_] That doesn't matter.
BETTY.
Yes, it does.
Who?
WALTER.
[_Fretfully.
_] Oh, why should we-- BETTY.
I want to know--I'm _entitled_ to know.
WALTER.
