A MESSAGE FROM
MARS

A FANTASTIC COMEDY IN THREE ACTS

BY
RICHARD GANTHONY

Copyright, 1900, by Richard Ganthony
Copyright, 1927 (In Renewal) by Bonita L. Ganthony
Rewritten and Revised, 1923, by Richard Ganthony
Copyright, 1923, by Richard Ganthony

All Rights Reserved

CAUTION:—Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that “A MESSAGE FROM MARS,” being fully protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America, the British Empire, including the Dominion of Canada, and all the other countries of the Copyright Union is subject to a royalty, and anyone presenting the play without the consent of the owners or their authorized agents will be liable to the penalties by law provided. Applications for the Professional and Amateur acting rights must be made to Samuel French, 25 West 45th Street, New York, N. Y.

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SAMUEL FRENCH
publisher
25 West 45th Street

London
SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd.
26 Southampton Street
STRAND, W.C.2

A MESSAGE FROM MARS
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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A MESSAGE FROM MARS

CHARACTERS

Scene: London.

Time: The Present.

A MESSAGE FROM MARS

ACT I

Horace Parker’s house, London, W. A living room with doors R. and L. Large window C. with curtains to draw. A sofa in front of window. A coat rack, or closet with curtain, containing three overcoats of Horace’s and golf caps and sticks, L. Table L. on which are whiskey bottle, syphons, glasses, and jar of biscuits. On R. is a fireplace with fire burning. Up of fire is small stand. Below is a chair. A table in front of fire with armchair between it and fire. Another chair L. of table. A large standing oil lamp near table R. with red shade. This should have a greenish figure on a classical style, represented as holding or steadying the lamp standard. This figure is supposed to become the Messenger from Mars in the dream, only enlarged. The figure can, however, be omitted.

At Rise: Enter Bella R. Lights lamp or turns it up. Draws curtains. Attends to fire, and exits L. Enter Minnie Templar, dressed for a ball, followed by Aunt Martha R.

Minnie. (Looking about her) He’s not here!

Aunt. Not here?

Minnie. No. Where can he be?

Aunt. (At fire) Extraordinary!

Minnie. Auntie, we shall be late. Do you hear? We shall be late.

Aunt. Yes, dear, I think you will.

Minnie. He promised to go, didn’t he?

Aunt. Yes, dear, he certainly did.

Minnie. I do call it a shame. Horace is the meanest, most selfish——

Aunt. Quite right, dear, he is.

Minnie. He thinks of nothing but his books, and his papers, and his horrid little stars.

Aunt. Quite true, dear, he does.

Minnie. Then why do you let him do it?

Aunt. I?

Minnie. Yes, you. You know he is engaged to me, and yet you allow him to treat me as if we had been married for years. (Up to window.)

Aunt. My dear Minnie—(Sits L. of table)—if Horace is a little thoughtless, surely it isn’t my fault. I suppose he has forgotten all about the dance——

Minnie. Forgotten! (Comes C.) I’ll tell you what it is. Aunt Martha, you will have to go instead. (Goes to fire.)

Aunt. Minnie, I can’t. You know, dear, it is quite impossible.

Minnie. Impossible? Why?

Aunt. Well, dear, you know that horrid Louise hasn’t sent home my dress.

Minnie. Nonsense, Aunt Martha. You’ve lots of dresses.

Aunt. Not one fit to be seen. You know that perfectly well.

Minnie. There’s your plum-colored silk——

Aunt. My dear child. I wore that all last winter.

Minnie. Only about three times. Then there’s your yellow satin.

Aunt. You know I look a perfect fright in that. Yellow doesn’t suit me.

Minnie. Nothing suits you to-night. I declare you are as bad as Horace! I suppose I shall have to give up the dance. It is a shame!

Aunt. My dear, I would have gone with pleasure if that odious Louise hadn’t disappointed me. But you wouldn’t have me make an exhibition of myself. One must have some pride.

Minnie. Pride? You’re all pride. I do believe if the house were on fire, and you cut off in a top room, you’d decline the fire-escape unless you were dressed in the latest Paris fashion. (Goes up to window.)

Aunt. Well, upon my word, dear, you are not very polite. I must say that I am very sorry that you should be disappointed about your dance, but I don’t believe you’d have cared so very much if you hadn’t known you were wearing a particularly pretty frock.

Minnie. It isn’t that at all.

Aunt. But it is—a very pretty frock. And it suits you quite wonderfully.

Minnie. Does it, Auntie? (Coming to Aunt.) What I meant was I go for the dancing—principally. I do love dancing. Auntie, don’t you think you could manage? (Kisses her. Front door heard to slam.) Ah, that must be Horace.

(Enter Horace R. in fur coat. Minnie runs to him and kisses him. Horace puts copy of “The Astronomer” on table.)

Minnie. Oh, Horace!

Horace. Beastly cold. (Goes to fire.)

Minnie. Horace, I’m so glad you’re here. We’ve been waiting such a time.

Horace. Waiting? What for?

Minnie. Why, for you.

Aunt. Have you got a cab?

Horace. Cab? What for?

Aunt. Well, you know the horses are coughing.

Horace. Coughing. No wonder—everybody’s coughing, this beastly weather. I’m coughing—— (Coughs.)

Minnie. (At top of table) Poor dear. How good of you to go out. When will it be here?

Horace. What?

Minnie. The cab.

Horace. I don’t know what you are talking about.

Aunt. That odious Louise hasn’t sent home my dress. But there, you two will be all right without me.

Horace. Without you? Oh, yes, we’ll manage. (Taking off coat—puts it down on chair R. below fireplace.)

Minnie. Oh, Auntie, he isn’t dressed yet.

Aunt. Horace, you’ll be late. You’ll miss ever so many dances.

Horace. What on earth are you talking about?

Aunt. Aren’t you going to the Clarences’ dance?

Horace. Certainly not.

Minnie. Oh, Horace!

Aunt. But you are not going to disappoint Minnie!

Minnie. Horace, please.

Aunt. Mrs. Clarence will be offended if none of us go.

Horace. Well, then, go, by all means. There’s nothing to prevent you.

Aunt. But Minnie can’t go without you.

Horace. Why not?

Minnie. Auntie’s dress hasn’t come from Louise’s, so she can’t go.

Aunt. You promised to take her.

Horace. I’m not going out again to-night.

Minnie. Oh, Horace, how unkind!

Aunt. I call it perfectly mean.

Horace. It is much too cold. Besides, I want to read.

Aunt. I never knew anyone as selfish as you, Horace.

Horace. Well, what keeps you? Why don’t you go?

Aunt. You know I can’t. I haven’t got a dress.

Horace. Well, go without it.

Aunt. Horace!

Horace. I mean, you can easily find one that will do.

Aunt. I think men are perfect fools. One that will do, indeed. Now don’t speak to me any more.

Horace. Kindly listen to me. In spite of my frightful cough—(Slight cough)—I’ve been out in the bitter snow to get this copy of the “Astronomer.” It contains an article on life on the planet Mars, in which you know I am much interested. And you ask me to put on thin dress clothes and go out again, and run tremendous risks with my delicate throat and supersensitive lungs, and all for what? To see a lot of fools capering about and making idiots of themselves until four or five in the morning. I think you are most inconsiderate—

Aunt. Horace——

Horace.—and unreasonable, and selfish.

Aunt. The impertinence of the man.

Minnie. Oh, never mind. I didn’t understand that you had anything in particular to do.

Horace. Now, there’s a sensible little girl.

Minnie. Sit down here—(Armchair)—and make yourself thoroughly comfortable.

Horace. (Sitting down, but feeling in all his pockets) One who realizes that one cannot always be running about from place to place, neglecting the serious interests of life.

Minnie. What is it? What are you looking for?

Horace. My cigar case. I fancy I must have left it in my room. (Minnie runs L. to get it.) Wait a minute. Did I put it down as I came through the hall? (Minnie runs R.) Wait, wait, I’m not certain I took it out with me at all this morning, in which case it surely will be in my study. (Minnie runs L.) Now, don’t run about. You make me giddy. Do not run about. Have a thorough search. (Exit Minnie L.)

Aunt. Horace, you are going too far.

Horace. Not I. I am stopping at home.

Aunt. You know what I mean. With Minnie.

Horace. Ah, she’s a dear little girl.

Aunt. She’s one in a thousand.

Horace. She is.

Aunt. She’s much too good for you.

Horace. I don’t know about that. She’s quite good enough.

Aunt. You are perfectly detestable.

Horace. Think so?

Aunt. Yes, and you’re growing worse every day. (Goes L.) You are simply wrapped up in selfishness, and egotism, and conceit.

Horace. Merely because I prefer a quiet evening to myself and my books? Because I prefer scientific discovery to heartless frivolity? Absurd.

Aunt. You are forgetting your duty to the girl you are going to make your wife. You seem to think because she was adopted by your mother you have the right to order her about as if she were a servant.

Horace. You know you are talking absolute rot.

Aunt. You make her feel her dependent position, and I think that very unfair.

Horace. But, hang it all, she is not dependent. My mother provided for her sufficiently.

Aunt. Yes, I know, but everything comes from our family, and you never allow her to forget the fact. She considers she owes you a debt of gratitude.

Horace. If it comes to that—well, she does.

Aunt. You ought never to let her feel that. You should try to win her heart.

Horace. Oh, bother. I have won her heart. We are engaged.

Aunt. Then try to deserve it.

Horace. But I do deserve it.

Aunt. Indeed! And pray, when are you going to marry her?

Horace. Oh, that’s all right. There’s no hurry about that.

Aunt. No hurry? Horace, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.

Horace. (Aunt goes L.) Now, my dear Aunt, don’t you think you are very unwise to try and precipitate matters? You have heard that people who marry in haste very often——

Aunt. (Returning to table) You’ll have plenty of leisure for repentance shortly, but it will be for quite a different reason. Minnie will wake up presently and see you as you really are. She is a most attractive girl. You’ll feel pretty miserable when you have lost her.

Horace. Ridiculous. Minnie knows when she is well off. Hullo. I could have sworn I felt in that pocket! (Finds cigar case.)

Aunt. What is it? (Sees case. Aside) Hopeless, hopeless.

Horace. That’s a bit of bad luck, isn’t it?

Aunt. Bad luck?

Horace. I might have been smoking all this time. (Lights up.) There’s nothing like a good cigar, after all.

Aunt. There’s nothing like a good wife.

Horace. Well, of course I don’t know anything about that.

Aunt. I believe you prefer the cigar.

Horace. To women? In some respects I think I do.

Aunt. Oh, do you?

Horace. For one thing, a cigar doesn’t talk. And when you have finished with one, you can begin another.

(Enter Minnie L.)

Minnie. I can’t find your cigar case anywhere. You’ve found it!

Horace. In my pocket all the time.

Minnie. (Goes to him and places cushions in chair) There, now. Are you nice and comfortable?

Horace. No. Not at all.

Aunt. Don’t speak to him, dear. He isn’t worth it.

Minnie. Now, Auntie dear, I must make my boy cosy, and then I think I shall go to bed.

Aunt. What? Give up the dance?

Minnie. Oh, never mind about that.

Aunt. Horace, I ask you, have you the heart to let Minnie sacrifice her pleasure for you in this way?

Minnie. But, Auntie, it doesn’t matter, really it doesn’t.

Aunt. I’m very angry with him.

Horace. I am not sacrificing her pleasure, it’s you. Why don’t you go?

Aunt. You know I can’t.

Horace. There’s nothing to prevent you, except your absurd vanity.

Minnie. For shame, Horace!

Aunt. Vanity indeed! How dare you?

Horace. It’s perfectly true. It’s just your nonsense about a dress.

Aunt. Very well, then, you shall see. I will go. I don’t care how I look.

Horace. And I am sure I don’t, either.

Aunt. Minnie shan’t be deprived of her evening. I’ll put on my yellow satin and look a perfect fright.

Horace. I’ll believe you when I see you.

Minnie. I have quite given up the idea, Auntie.

Aunt. But I haven’t. You shall see, Horace, I keep my word.

Horace. Oh, devil doubt you!

Aunt. Whatever it costs me, I’ll do my duty.

Minnie. I don’t want to inflict this on you, Auntie dear. I’m quite content to go to bed.

Aunt. Content. Oh, yes, I understand your content. But you shall go, my dear, to as many balls and parties as possible. You shall go to Ascot and Henley and Goodwood and Cowes. We’ll find escorts easily enough. You shall see plenty of new faces. I’ll take care of that. Vanity, indeed! I’ll teach him to call me vain! (Starts to exit L. when Bella enters R. with box.)

Bella. From Madame Louise, ma’m.

Aunt. The dress?

Bella. Yes, ma’m.

Aunt. What a relief!

Horace. What a relief!

Minnie. Auntie, isn’t that splendid luck?

Bella. Madame Louise hopes it will be in time.

Aunt. Just in time. Take it up to my room at once. (Exit Bella L.) I won’t keep you waiting any longer than I can help. You’ll find Horace such a delightful companion, so witty and entertaining. Oh, don’t speak to him, then you won’t get any uncivil answers. (Exit L.)

Horace. (After a pause, looks up from his paper) Got the jumps.

Minnie. You must have said something to upset her. She isn’t often like that.

Horace. I should hope not.

Minnie. She’ll be all right to-morrow.

Horace. That’s the worst of women, they’re so illogical, aren’t they?

Minnie. I suppose they are.

Horace. You know, she thinks I ought to have gone with you to-night. That’s because she only looks at it from her own standpoint. Can’t take a broad view of the case.

Minnie. Is yours the broad view?

Horace. Naturally.

Minnie. How did you acquire this breadth of mind?

Horace. Can hardly say that. Just seems to belong to the masculine intellect. Men see all round a subject. Women don’t. They’re circumscribed. Can’t see over the hedge.

Minnie. Could you teach me to see over the hedge?

Horace. I might be able to a certain extent.

Minnie. Will you begin by explaining your broad view to-night?

Horace. That was quite simple. Aunt Martha wanted me to go because she didn’t want to go herself. The only view she could take.

Minnie. And you?

Horace. Of course my viewpoint was very different. I had already been out in the snow once to get this month’s “Astronomer,” and there wasn’t any reason why I should go out again. There is a discussion about life on Mars this month, which I am following closely. It wouldn’t have done Aunt Martha any good to stop at home and read the article, because, being practically devoid of brains, she wouldn’t have understood a word about it. Then again, women ought to go to dances, which are got up entirely for their benefit. Whereas men hate that kind of frivolity. So it was obviously her duty to go.

Minnie. I see.

Horace. You see, Aunt Martha couldn’t take in all these points because her mind isn’t broad enough to grasp them. The consequence was her view was very narrow and rather selfish.

Minnie. You certainly put it very clearly.

Horace. I am glad you can appreciate my reasoning.

Minnie. Oh, I can. But one thing I see very plainly, and that is that you both are putting yourselves to inconvenience on my account.

Horace. No, dear, I assure you I am not.

Minnie. That’s true. Thank you for reminding me. But I hate to think I should be so much trouble to you both. Of course I know I have no real claim upon you. It isn’t as if I were your very own sister.

Horace. I should think not, indeed. You’re going to be my wife. Just think of that.

(Minnie goes to him above table L.)

Minnie. Horace, tell me. Do you love me? Really, really love me? Or are you going to marry me because it was your mother’s wish? (Horace kisses her hand.) You mustn’t be angry with me. Perhaps I expect too much, but I think I should be happier if you were just a little bit more—ah, more loving in your manner. Oh, Horace, Horace, I don’t want you to marry me out of pity!

Horace. My dear child, don’t be silly! (Takes her hand.) I do love you! I love you most awfully, but I am not what is called a demonstrative man. Few scientific men are, I fancy.

Minnie. Do you know, I’m almost sorry you are such a scientific man.

Horace. (Minnie takes his left hand) Minnie!

Minnie. Love and science don’t seem to agree.

Horace. Oh, yes, they do. But you don’t understand. I love you in a scientific way.

Minnie. I think I like the old way best. But I suppose I am silly and narrow minded like Aunt Martha. (Kisses him.) There, we won’t say any more about it. Are you comfortable?

Horace. No, not at all. You might get another pillow.

Minnie. (Does so.) Shall I put you out the whiskey?

Horace. Um—yes—you may as well. (Minnie gets whiskey from table L. and two syphons and jar of biscuits. Aside) Dear little girl. How she does love me! I must get her a ring, or a pin, or a thimble to-morrow. That will make her perfectly happy.

Minnie. I’ll pour you out a glass. Say when.

Horace. Upon my word, you are a perfect treasure!

Minnie. Oh, Horace, do you really mean it? (Pauses in pouring.)

Horace. Of course I mean it—but go on pouring, don’t stop. Now.

Minnie. Don’t sit up too late, dear. You mustn’t work too hard. You’ll strain your eyes.

Horace. No danger, but I shall want some more oil in the lamp. Will you please tell Bella.

Minnie. Certainly. Now promise me you won’t tire yourself. (Kisses him.) Promise.

Horace. All right, dear, I promise.

Minnie. For my sake.

(Horace kisses her with a touch of finality.)

Minnie. Now I’ll see how Auntie is getting on. (Goes to door L.)

Horace. Minnie.

Minnie. (Returning, expecting a caress) Yes?

Horace. I was going to say——

Minnie. Yes, darling?

Horace. (Changing his mind) You won’t forget about the oil?

(Enter Aunt in new dress, followed by Bella with wraps, which are put on sofa up stage. Exit Bella R.)

Aunt. Here I am, dear. Quite ready. Haven’t I been quick?

Minnie. Oh, Auntie, you are a picture! You ought to be framed.

Horace. (Aside) And hung.

Aunt. You little flatterer. I think it is rather nice myself. Put on your cloak, dear. Is the cab ready?

Minnie. I don’t know—I don’t think that——

Aunt. What? Do you mean to say he hasn’t ordered a cab? Horace! Horace!

Minnie. Don’t disturb him. He is reading the “Astronomer.”

Aunt. The “Astronomer,” indeed! I’ll make him see stars! Horace! Horace! (At table. Minnie L.)

Horace. Oh, what is it? What is it?

Aunt. Have you ordered a cab?

Horace. I’ve ordered nothing but a little peace and quiet which doesn’t come at my call.

Aunt. Well, why not? Horace, why have you not ordered a cab?

Horace. Oh, bother! Don’t interrupt, for goodness’ sake!

Aunt. (Snatches his paper away and throws it over her shoulder) Why haven’t you ordered a cab?

Horace. Why should I order a cab?

Aunt. It is the very least you could do. Go and order one at once, please.

Horace. Where are the servants?

Aunt. Bella is not engaged to run errands outside the house. I daren’t ask cook, and Jane has company.

Horace. Well, give her company a bob and let him go.

Aunt. Her company, as it happens, is not a he. You must go.

Horace. Please, and clearly understand, I am not going out in the cold again to-night. You seem to forget that I am in a very delicate state of health, and if I were to venture out on a night like this the consequences might be most serious.

Minnie. Perhaps I could go.

Aunt. It’s abominable of him!

(Enter Bella with note.)

Bella. A note, ma’m.

Aunt. For me?

Bella. Yes, ma’m.

Aunt. (Reading note) “Dear Miss Parker. May I have the pleasure of taking you and Miss Templar to Mrs. Clarence’s dance this evening”—

Horace. Capital! There is your escort.

Aunt. “My car is quite at your disposal.”

Horace. And there’s your cab. Sublime Providence!

Aunt. Did the gentleman come himself?

Bella. Yes, ma’m. He is waiting in the hall.

(Minnie looks over letter.)

Aunt. Show him in at once here.

Horace. Don’t bring him in here. He can stay in the hall.

Aunt. Certainly not. Show him in here, Bella.

(Exit Bella R.)

Horace. Well, who is my blessed preserver?

Aunt. Mr. Dicey.

Horace. What, Arthur Dicey? That Stock Exchange fellow?

Aunt. A charming young man.

Horace. A brainless idiot!

Aunt. A perfect gentleman, and besides, I hear he is enormously rich.

Minnie. How kind and thoughtful of him! He always seems to be doing the right thing just at the right moment.

Horace. Minnie, I don’t at all care that you should go with this fellow to-night. He is not at all the kind of man I wish you to be seen going about with.

Minnie. He is always so attentive.

Horace. I dare say he is. I don’t choose that you go with him.

Aunt. What dog-in-the-manger attitude is this? You won’t take her yourself nor let anyone else.