A Day Well Spent: A Farce, in One Act

It is with the greatest pleasure, I dedicate to you a Farce, the success of which is so much to be attributed to your exertions. Accept my most hearty thanks for your inimitable performance of the principal character in this piece, as well as for the kind attention you have paid to my previous productions, and the pains you have taken to render them acceptable to the public.

I remain, dear Sir,

Yours very truly,

JOHN OXENFORD.

16, John Street, Bedford Row.

[DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.]

Mr. Cotton (an eminent hosier, and old gentleman)	MR. BENNETT.
Bolt (his foreman, quite a gentleman)	MR. WRENCH.
Mizzle (his apprentice, wishing to be a gentleman)	MR. OXBERRY.
Mr. Cutaway (an adventurous gentleman)	MR. HEMMING.
Sam Newgate (no gentleman)	MR. ROMER.
Peter Prig (an ex-foreman, likewise no gentleman)	MR. SANDERS.
Coachman	MR. IRELAND.
Waiter	MR. LEWIS.
Miss Harriet Cotton (an adventurous lady)	MISS SHAW.
Mrs. Stitchley (an old lady)	MRS. EMDEN.
Miss Brown (her bosom friend—a middle-aged lady)	MRS. F. MATTHEWS.
Mrs. Chargely (a beneficent lady)	MISS ROBINSON.
Bridget (a lady’s lady)	MISS JACKSON.

A DAY WELL SPENT.

[SCENE I.]

A Room in COTTON’S house;—an open door in C. flat.

Enter COTTON, with a letter.

COT. Provoking! to leave my shop all day for the sake of calling on this old Wealthington!—that I should be required to call on him!—not but he is a rich relation, and I have great expectations from him; and my foreman, Bolt, and apprentice Mizzle, are quite fit persons with whom to entrust my shop. Egad, to make all the naughty apprentices look on those two young men would be as good a lesson as going to see George Barnwell on a boxing night!

Enter CUTAWAY, C. D.

CUT. Hollo! no one in the shop! ha, ha!—(Aside.) Hum, she’s not here.—Have you anything to sell, old gentleman?

COT. Of course I have; what do you think I keep a shop for?

CUT. Ha, ha! right! to be sure—what the devil else should you keep a shop for?

COT. (Aside.) Puppy!

CUT. But, old gentleman! a young lady used to serve in that shop—she is not ill, I hope?

COT. No, sir; on the contrary, my daughter is quite well.—Can I do anything for you in the way of business?

CUT. (Aside.) Oh! this must be the old father she talks about.—Ha! you are the commander-in-chief of this concern, hey?

COT. Probably I am, Mr. Cutaway.

CUT. Cutaway! you know me, then? What a thing it is to be famous! Know me, and yet you were never introduced to me, to my knowledge.

COT. Oh dear no; I used to see you through the glass door of my parlour, and I intercepted certain letters to my daughter. I saw your name, and I inquired into your connexion,—and saw no reason why I should not—cut the connexion.

CUT. Very cutting, indeed. He’s a sharp blade. Ha, ha! droll! funny! ha, ha!

COT. Happy to find I can please you, sir; I thus return good for evil, since you by no means please me.

CUT. Is there any way to please you?

COT. Oh, certainly; the way to please me lies through yonder door: you can’t think how prettily that door is painted on the outside. As for my daughter, sir,—I keep her present abode a secret.

Enter BOY, L.

BOY. Please, sir, your sister sent me to say that she, with your daughter, has been obliged to move to No. 19, Moonlight Street, owing to circumstances of the most peculiar nature.

CUT. Ha, ha, ha! a most profound secret! Good by, commander-in-chief! next time you have a secret, mind you don’t tell it by proxy.

(Exit, C. D.)

COT. Stupid jackanapes! you must open your damned mouth so wide as to let the cat jump out! (Exit BOY, L.)—A connexion of which I do not in the least approve;—but—oh, those fellows are at breakfast—Bolt! Mizzle!

Enter BOLT and MIZZLE, R.

BOLT. Yes, sir.

COT. Listen!—pressing business obliges me to be absent till late to-night; I leave the shop to your care.

BOLT. Thank’e, sir.

MIZ. For your confidence, sir.

COT. Which I know is not misplaced. (BOLT and MIZZLE bow.)—On no account leave the premises.

BOLT. Now, my dear sir, was not that request superfluous?

MIZ. Of course, sir, without leave, we should never leave the shop.

COT. You will excuse my mentioning it, however. All foremen and apprentices are—alas! not like you. There are several very wicked foremen and apprentices in the world.

BOLT. Ah, I have heard so—I have read so—but never met any.

MIZ. No; Bolt and I are very particular with whom we associate: evil communications, you know, sir——

COT. Right! Very correct, indeed. Robert Mizzle, if you always associate with such as Charles Bolt, you will doubtless at length reach an elevated post.

MIZ. (Aside.) Elevated post! I wonder if he means the gallows?

BOLT. You flatter me, sir—you flatter me. I discharge my duty, sir, nothing else;—to be sure, taking care of the morals of this young man——

COT. Is a heavy charge;—I am aware of it. But I must go. Farewell, Bolt! Good by, Mizzle! Excellent steady creatures! Oh, were all like them, the tragedy of George Barnwell would never have been written.

(Exit, L. H.)

BOLT. Ha, ha, ha! why don’t you laugh, Mizzle?

MIZ. Because I don’t see any joke.

BOLT. Then look at me—I’m a perpetual joke!—I’m all point, like a porcupine—all fire, like a poet’s heart, and light as his breeches pocket. Old Cotton has gone out all day—ha, ha! don’t you take? don’t you twig? A’n’t you fly? A’n’t you awake?

MIZ. Yes, I’m awake, but I don’t see.

BOLT. We are to mind the shop, are we? I say never mind it—let’s go out.

MIZ. Nonsense! you know master and we are like a man and woman in a weather-house—when one goes out the other stays at home.

BOLT. And so, when the old man’s back is turned, we are to shew our heads are turned, by stopping in the shop all day—selling check’d neck-handkerchiefs and baby’s red stockings? Not we!—we’ll go out and have some fun, Bobby.

MIZ. No, no! it wont do; we must take care of the shop.

BOLT. Now look ye,—how does master take care of his money?

MIZ. By locking it up.

BOLT. Then that’s the way we’ll take care of the shop—I’ll lock the door, and you shall shut the shutters.

MIZ. Oh, come, come! I sha’n’t go, nor you sha’n’t, either. It wont do, Charley; better be boxed here, than get in the wrong box.

BOLT. Well, I’ve made up my mind; the next job is to make up my body: I must dress.

MIZ. Well, you may enjoy your own holiday. Pleasant day, and fine weather to you, and a prosperous return;—I sha’n’t go.

BOLT. You have no grandeur of soul—you don’t love fun.

MIZ. Come, don’t say that; damn it, I live upon fun—he, he!—you know I do. Give us your hand, Charley. I’ll go! Oh dear, a day’s pleasure!

BOLT. You’ll go, will you?

MIZ. Give us your hand.

BOLT. (Takes his hand.) Here’s off for fun, then!

(Exeunt, R.)

[SCENE II.]

Street—A porch projecting from flat; on the door is a plate inscribed, “Mrs. Stitchley, dress-maker.”

Enter CUTAWAY, followed by HARRIET, L.H. 1 E.

CUT. This way, this way, charming Harriet; your aunt has not missed you yet; but she soon will; she is now so taken up with her ribbons and beautiful purchases, that she is thinking but little of her beautiful niece.

HAR. But this step—

CUT. Stands before your prison door—your only step is flight.

HAR. A flight of steps, each one more imprudent than the last. And what awaits me on my descent?

CUT. Love, who will be your guide?

HAR. A pretty guide—he is blind himself.

CUT. True, but there is no resisting him. Love is a torrent—and his blindness is a cataract. Come, come! the banns have been put up for the last month, at Croydon Church—the ring is in my waistcoat pocket—I’ve appointed a father to give you away.

HAR. Father? I haven’t seen him.

CUT. Probably not, for though a father, he is not yet apparent. All is right;—away! fly! when they say love is blind, they only mean he closes his eyes to transgressions like ours.

(Exeunt, R.H.)

Enter BOLT and MIZZLE, smartly dressed, L.H.

BOLT. Well, here we are—out!

MIZ. Yes, out in our reckoning, may be.

BOLT. And don’t I look well? A’n’t I the thing? Nothing like the shop, eh? Nothing against me?—nothing counter?

MIZ. No, we have sunk the shop, with a vengeance! Hatchment, the undertaker, will be calling to know if master’s dead.

BOLT. Well, but where shall we go?

MIZ. I’m afraid we’ve gone too far already.

BOLT. Zounds! man, don’t keep watering my spirits in that way; and don’t pull down the corners of your mouth, and make it look like a horseshoe on its legs. Laugh at our setting out, at least.

MIZ. Ha! ha! ha! I will, for I’m thinking there will be devilish little chance of laughing when we return. Eh—what’s that? (Looking off, R.H.)

BOLT. What are you staring at now?

MIZ. Don’t you see something like an old man?

BOLT. Lord bless you, Bobby! it’s the young women I always look at, not the old men.

MIZ. That old man may look at you, notwithstanding. Oh! he draws nearer.—Oh, the devil! it’s the old gentleman—master, I mean.

BOLT. Eh, that’s the hat;—his castor’s an unlucky star;—those are his unmentionables. We’ll turn down the next street.

MIZ. But this damned street has no turning for the next quarter of a mile! Confound it! you must be so fond of enjoying yourself.

BOLT. We’ll run.

MIZ. And attract his attention: a tallish man and a short one.

BOLT. (Knocking at door, F.L.) Then we’ll call on Mrs. Stitchley. Yes, that’s the name on the plate.

MIZ. We don’t know her; who the deuce knows Mrs. Stitchley?

BOLT. No matter; he mustn’t pass us. Egad, he’s just here! (Knocks again; door opens; they run in;—just as door is closing, COTTON runs across from R. to L.)

[SCENE III.]

Room at MRS. STITCHLEY’S.

Enter SERVANT, L. H., followed by BOLT and MIZZLE.

SERV. This way, gentlemen; my mistress will see you in a minute.

(Exit, R.H.)

BOLT. Well, here is a new feature.

MIZ. Yes, like a broken nose—a very irregular feature. What are we to say?

BOLT. Our wits will inspire us.

MIZ. Wits! I’ve no wits, nor you either, or you wouldn’t have advised this blessed expedition.

Enter MRS. STITCHLEY and SERVANT, R.H. SERVANT exits, L.

MRS. S. Good morning, gentlemen.

BOLT and MIZZLE. Good morning!—Good morning!

MRS. S. May I ask the cause of this visit?

MIZ. (Aside.) Ah! that’s the devil of it.

BOLT. Cause—ah—madam, the cause is the reason, ma’am—Ahem! and the reason is the cause.—(Aside.) She must have a customer named Smith. You doubtless know—Miss Smith?

MRS. S. No, sir! I have not that honour.

MIZ. (Aside.) Of course not; everything goes wrong to-day.

BOLT. (Aside.) Smith wont do—I’ll try Brown. Miss Brown, madam, you know?

MRS. S. Oh dear, yes! Miss Brown is one of my best customers.

BOLT. Ha! ha! Bobby, the lady and I understand each other now, don’t we? (Nudges him.)

MRS. S. (Aside.) What odd persons!—Yes, sir; but Miss Brown?

BOLT. True, true! about Miss Brown. There is a little account—

MRS. S. Oh! between me and Miss Brown?—(Aside.) He is a gentlemanly young fellow, after all.

BOLT. I, madam, will settle that account.

MIZ. (Aside.) He’ll settle himself if he does; he must be flush to-day.

MRS. S. I’ll send my servant for a stamp directly, sir.

BOLT. Don’t hurry yourself, ma’am; I’ll settle it to-morrow. That’s what I called for,—to tell you I’d settle it to-morrow.

MRS. S. Oh—h—h!—(Aside.) There’s a great vulgarity about him.

BOLT. I’ve nothing more to say. Good morning, ma’am—nothing.—(Aside.) Besides, the old man must be a mile off by this time.

MIZ. Good by, ma’am.—(Aside.) I say, Bolt, I vote we go back to the shop; this may be a prelude to something further.

MRS. S. But one thing more. Miss Brown is an intimate friend of mine, as well as a customer—now I don’t think I ever saw you before!

BOLT. Very likely not, ma’am.

MIZ. It is exceedingly probable.

BOLT. The fact is—ahem!—the facts are these: there is no such person as Miss Brown; Miss Brown has ceased to be Miss Brown—and I’m a happy man.

MRS. S. What! do you mean that Miss Brown is married, and that you are—

BOLT. Precisely; I see she has not disclosed the tender secret.

MIZ. (Aside.) Ha, ha! it is funny, after all.

BOLT. Miss Brown, you see, is now Mrs. Steele. Yes—my name is Steele, and this gentleman’s name is Addison.

MIZ. Yes, ma’am, my name is Maddison—Ha, ha, ha!

Enter SERVANT, L. H.

SERV. Miss Brown, ma’am.

(Exit, L.)

BOLT. The devil! oh! he, he! the tender creature! Confusion! Petrifaction!

MIZ. (Whispering.) I say, Charley—how d’ye like that? Bother your long-winded stories!—Oh!

Enter MISS BROWN, L. H.

BOLT. (Aside.) Not remarkably handsome, either.

MRS. S. How d’ye do, Miss Brown?—I beg pardon, Mrs. Steele, I mean.

MISS B. Mrs. Steele! what d’ye mean?

MIZ. (Aside.) Ah, she wont swallow it—she’s not soft steel.

BOLT. Well, anything to get off. Good by, ladies,—good by.

MRS. S. What an ungallant husband!

MISS B. Husband?

MRS. S. Yes, yes, Mrs. Steele; that gentleman, Mr. Steele, has confessed all. You sly creature.

BOLT. Yes, yes!—good by! You may settle this discussion among yourselves.

MRS. S. Yes, yes! this gentleman told me he was your husband.

MIZ. True, madam; stick to that. He told you so; mind, I had nothing to do with it.

MISS B. (Aside.) It may be an eccentric method of making an offer. He is not bad looking, and opportunities are—alas!—not too frequent. I’ll humour it.—And so my dear Steele’s confess’d?

BOLT. Ha, ha, ha! Yes.—(Aside.) Dear Steele! She jumps at it.—I’m magnetic steel. (Whisper.) I say, what’s the meaning of this?

MIZ. Don’t ask me; you’re the man of talent—I know the meaning of nothing.

MISS B. Oh, you naughty man; when you so faithfully promised to keep it a secret.

BOLT. Well, as I said before, we must go. Farewell, my lo—o—ve!

MIZ. Farewell, Mrs. Steele.—(Aside.) Be divorced as soon as possible, Charley.

MISS B. But, my dearest, where are you going?

MIZ. (Aside.) To the devil, and taking me for company.

BOLT. Oh, for a holiday; just to get rid, ha, ha! of a few loose sovereigns.

MISS B. Are you, indeed? Then I’ll accompany you.—Now don’t look sulky, Steele; you know I will—positively I will.

BOLT. Well, my dear, if you will, I—heigho!—suppose you must.

MIZ. (Aside to BOLT.) I say, Bolt, that lady belongs to you, you know; if we’ve any refreshment, you pay the heads—we don’t go halves.

(MISS B. and MRS. S. have been conversing apart.)

MRS. S. Oh, I should be charmed—delighted!

MISS B. Here is my bosom friend, Mrs. Stitchley, says she would like to be of the party. This little gentleman will be a nice beau for her.

BOLT. (Whispers.) I say, Bob—we shall go halves.

MISS B. Lend me your arm, sir. We married folks lead the way. Two hearts lead.

MRS. S. Yes, my little gentleman, we can’t do better than follow suit.

MIZ. Oh, we’re a couple of trumps. I wish I could cut out of this game.

(Exeunt, two and two.)

[SCENE IV.]

(A Room at an Inn—A window open, with balcony, a little to the R. in flat—A large screen, folded up and leaning against the flat—The only entrance is by a door in set wing L. 2 E.—tables and chairs—WAITER discovered busied about.)

Enter HARRIET and CUTAWAY, L.

CUT. Most unlucky! Hymen has extinguished his link for the day, and here we are yet unlinked—too late for the parson.

HAR. Shocking, indeed; to say nothing of the impropriety of my thus running about with you.

CUT. True; we are like odd gloves—a couple unpaired. No matter; to-morrow will unite us for ever. This house has a hopeful name—“The Anchor.”

HAR. The anchor! the very house my aunt was to have brought me to, to send to Mrs. Chargely’s. My place is booked here for that purpose.

CUT. No matter; some one else can represent you. The coach is unlike my heart—it can just admit another. Waiter!—shew us into a private room.

WAITER. Yes, sir; this way.—James, conduct the lady to the blue parlour.

CUT. Blue! another omen—emblem of constancy.

HAR. Single, another day! what a misfortune!

(Exeunt, R.)

WAITER. Hollo, James! James! bustle about; four more on the stairs!—shew them in here; all the other rooms are full. What a house we have to-day.

Enter BOLT, MIZZLE, MISS B., and MRS. S., L. H. D.

BOLT. Sit down, ladies,—sit down.

MISS B. What a charming place!

MRS. S. Yes, but any place would be charming in such company.

(The ladies sit at table, R.)

MISS B. (Aside.) If he is only playing tricks I’ll be even with him.—My dear Steele, you have forgotten your gallantry; don’t you ask us to take any refreshments?

MIZ. (Aside.) There they begin already! I thought they looked like appetites.—Here, Waiter!

WAITER. Yes, sir.

MIZ. Four bread and cheeses, and a pint of stout.—(Aside.) Egad, they sha’n’t ruin us.

BOLT. The very thing! I dote upon stout, and so does Mrs. Steele.

MISS B. La, my dear, I like nothing so plebeian; it’s taking away one’s character to say so.

MRS. S. And I faint at the smell of cheese.

MIZ. Waiter!

WAITER. Yes, sir.

MIZ. A decanter of water for the ladies, and butter instead of cheese.

BOLT. Exactly!—only a pint of stout.

MISS B. Stay! Have you nothing but bread and butter and cheese in the house?

BOLT. Have you got any onions?

MISS B. Have you no poultry?

BOLT. (Aside.) Poultry! what pretty chickens!

WAITER. A couple of fowls are roasting for my master’s dinner; however, he will be most happy to let you have them.

MISS B. Well, send them up instantly, with a bottle of your best sherry. (Exit WAITER.)—You know, Steele, your loose sovereigns will cover all expenses.

BOLT. (Whispers.) Here, Bobby, how much have you got?

MIZ. Half-a-crown; and you?

BOLT. Eighteen-pence! Oh—h—h! that looks very unlike fowls and sherry.

MIZ. But you must be so d——d bounceable with your loose sovereigns!

MISS B. My dear, wont you sit down?—you must be tired.

BOLT. Not in the least (aside) except of you. (Whispers.) I’ll tell you what we must do, Bobby,—we’ll tell the ladies all; they can’t detain us in a public room,—and then we’ll——

MIZ. Decamp. The best plan; only you be orator. The ladies look rather fierce.

BOLT. A—hem!—you see, ladies—that is, you perceive—ahem!—you must be aware—you cannot be ignorant—ahem!

MISS B. My dear Steele, what is the matter?

BOLT. (Aside.) There she goes again, with her “dear Steele.”—The fact is——

Enter WAITER, L. 2 E.

WAITER. I am sorry to intrude, ladies and gentlemen, but have you any objection to a gentleman dining in this room?

BOLT. Not in the least!—You may give him our dinner, if your larder is scanty.

MISS B. My dear!

MIZ. Yes, and the bottle of wine into the bargain.

BOLT and MIZZLE go up.

MRS. S. Hoity toity! Certainly not!—and, Waiter, I hate dining in public; I insist on that screen being put up.

WAITER. To be sure. (Putting up screen so as to divide room in two, then arranging a small table and chair on the side next the door.)—Your fowls are done brown, ladies.

MIZ. (Aside.) Done brown? Yes, and so are we done brown—by Miss Brown, too!

Enter 2nd WAITER and COTTON, L. 2 E.

2nd WAITER. Here, sir; there is a party the other side of the screen; our inn is so full, sir.

COT. No matter; this will do. (Sits at small table.) Bring up some cold meat directly, and the paper.

(Exeunt both WAITERS, L. 2 E.)

MIZ. Stay, I’ve a thought!—there may be an Irish cousin, or naval officer, there. I’ll peep through. (Looks through crevice of screen.)—Oh—

BOLT. Ladies, what I have to say is——

MIZ. (Whispers.) Hold your tongue! you don’t know who is on the other side.

BOLT. No, nor don’t care, if it is the devil.

MIZ. But it is worse, it’s—oh—h—h!—old master, between us and the door!

BOLT. Zounds! we are blockaded. Bolt, Bolt, thy courage is out.

MRS. S. What is the matter, gentlemen?

MISS B. You seem uneasy. (WAITER brings in, L. 2 E., fowls and a newspaper: he leaves newspaper with COTTON, and then passes on to the other table, where he places fowls, and exit, L. 2 E.)—Well, I shall take off my cloak and bonnet. (Does so, and hangs them on a chair.)

BOLT. Egad, as there is no exit, I must e’en make the best of it. (Sits down between ladies.) This wing?—a slice of the breast? &c.

MIZ. (Aside.) If I could but pass that old curmudgeon! Egad, I have it—they are all looking at the fowls, far more interesting objects than myself.

(Makes signs to BOLT—slips MISS BROWN’S cloak and bonnet off chair—retires to back and puts them on.)