 Everybody's Husband by Richard Ryan. This is a LibriVox recording, while LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Everybody's Husband. Cast of Characters. Mr. Alexis Twizzleton, read by Aaron White. Mr. Theophilius Bunbury, read by Thomas Peter. Ms. Spriggins, read by Larry Wilson. Spriggins, read by Todd. Dick, a waiter. Read by Mark Somerville. Mrs. Pimpernel, mistress of a boarding house. Read by Pauline Latournerie. Fanny, her daughter. Read by Sonia. Ms. Thompson, Spriggins Ward. Read by T.J. Burns. Ms. Tomkins, Figgins Ward. Read by Jen Broda. Mrs. Twizzleton, read by Devorah Allen. Mate servant, read by phone. Neurator, read by Kevin S. Seen, a boarding house in Tunbridge Wells. A room handsomely furnished, doors right and left and folding door in the flat. Enter Mrs. Pimpernel and Fanny. Mrs. Pimpernel, centre. Well now, my dear daughter. Everything is prepared. You must lose no time in getting ready for church, for, as the play has it, the bridle found, now plays auspiciously. Oh, my dear Ma, I can't help thinking that my visit to dear the light for London was the luckiest thing in the world, for, if I had never gone there, I should never have known that most charming of his sex, Mr. Theophilus Bunbury. Yes, my dear Fanny, separated as your mother has been for the last seven years from her cruel and good-for-nothing husband, she has been so laced alone by her maternal feelings and solicitude for your settlement, and to render your hymenial fetters as rosy as hers were in your father's time, her first wedded lord. Oh, you are a dear good Ma, and I am sure Bunbury and myself shall often come down to Tunbridge in the season to drink the waters with our dear good Ma. You'll not forget my advice, Fanny, but, dear me, you ought to have got dressed before now. Do go, yet stay a moment. Here, love, here are the conjugal instructions. Pulling a paper out of her reticule. This contains precepts for your rule and guidance for every hour of the day. I recommend to your particular attention article the ninth, respecting the enforcement of obedience. Fanny takes the paper and reads. King Pepin, or the guilty mother. Mrs. Pimpernau, surprised. What do you say? Oh, that's not it. This is the one intended for you. Takes it back and gives another. But what can detain Bunbury? Oh, he said he should only just step round the town to the different shops to see if he could do a little business in the order way, for my dear Theophilus says that even a pin a day is a groat a year. And as he happens to be on the spot, he thinks, I suppose, he may as well pick up a little to pay coach hire back. Well, Fanny, as business is the life of our country, I am quite delighted to think what a patriotic husband you'll have. Bell's ring. Some of the borders. What can Dick be about? Instead of attending to the bells in the parlor, he's attending to the bells in the kitchen. I'll warrant him. Now, daughter, I must look after the guests, go you and get ready for the ceremony and read over the conjugal instructions I have placed in your hands. Oh, I'll get them everyone by heart, Mama. Exhumed Mrs. Pimpernel. Left. Fanny. Right. Enter Mr. Theophilus Bunbury. Here I am again. Gad. We Londoners, our cute fellows, always an eye to business. I've got a few orders in the pin-line, though I have come down to Tunbridge on a pleasuring expedition, to get married. La, I'm afraid it's getting late. Where's Fanny? Where's Mrs. Pimpernel? And where's my wedding favours? I must look after them. Go on. But the rooms in this boarding-house are so much within one another, like a parcel of pill-boxes that I scarcely know which way to go. Exit. Enter Mr. Alexis Twizzleton. I wonder, what can detain the adorable Mrs. Alexis Twizzleton? She should have arrived by last night's stage. Well, now, really I have enjoyed myself pretty considerably for the last three days, doing a bit of bachelor-enjoyed myself. Ah, if the adorable Mrs. Alexis Twizzleton were to hear me make such an exclamation. Enjoyment soulless. After all, there is no state to compare to the state marital. She is a nice little woman. But to be sure, she won't bear a comparison to the splendid boarders who are now staying here. Rather mysterious, though, that two real ladies should be staying at a boarding-house at a watering-place without any male protector. The tallest has decidedly cast diverse, not to be mistaken, amatory blicks at my figure. And the little one last night remarked that she never saw so striking a likeness to a young captain whom she'd been dying for, but who, unluckily, one day died himself. Looking at his watch. Ten minutes after twelve. I'm getting quite uneasy about the non-arrival of the delectable Mrs. T. I'll ring and inquire at what hour the next stage comes in. Rings. If that does not bring her, I'm determined not to delay any longer but to take a post-shares and meet her. Why the devil don't they answer the bell? Rings again. Enter Dick, left. Dick, what time is the next stage expected? Not till tomorrow at twelve, sir. The last stage has just come in, sir. No. Lady, make any inquiry after Mr. Alexious Twizzleton. No, sir. That's strange. Dick, if there should be a return-shares to flim well, let me know. Aside. I'm a single man, then, until tomorrow. I say, Dick, I understand you're going to have a wedding in the family. Yes, sir. A London gentleman in the pin-line. Very well to do, as he says, sir. Though in love with our Miss Fanny while she was on a visit with his mother in Threadneetle Street, he'll come in for all the old lady's property. So what would these six young missus will get when the old lady pops off? She'll be tolerably snug, as per saying is. Keep a che perhaps. Bell rings. Well, I'm coming. I'll be back again presently here. I say, sir, I'll let you in to some queer things. No. Who is you, though? Yes, I will, Honour of Bright. For I've taken a liking to you, but, Mum, you know. Clopping his hand on his mouth and looking, knowing. Bells ring. Coming, I say. Snug, sir, coming, coming. Exit Dick, right. Twizzletoom, looking after him. Communicative genius. Dick can't be called a dumb waiter. Enter Miss Thompson and Miss Tompkins. Well, good morning, ladies. Been promenading, I suppose. How the barmy air of the wells has added a richer bloom to cheeks already radiant with a rosy, tint of high jeers' influence. Miss Thompson, aside. A very pretty spoken gentleman. Miss Tompkins, to Twizzletoom. We regret to learn from our hostess that you are about to deprive us of your agreeable society. Crosses to centre. Yes, ladies, yes. The absence of a particular person, I may say, a very particular person. Aside. I think I've made an impression. Allowed. The only regret I shall experience will be the separating from two ladies who have so preeminently contributed to the delight of the visitors of England's most salubrious watering-place, Tundridge Wells. Beautifully complimentary. Aside to Miss Tompkins. Should our guardians overtake us, I almost feel disposed to solicit his friendship and trust him with our secret. Twizzletoom, aside. Ah, an ex-dempor congress. They whisper. I've hit them both. Oh, unhappy Alexis Twizzleton, why were you made such a heartbreaker? The ladies still whispering. It's a clear case. They're both dying for me, and a quarreling which shall have me. Miss Thompson, aside to Miss Tompkins. Then you agree to my trust in him? Miss Tompkins, aside to Miss Thompson. Most certainly. Then you had better go and watch for the enemy, so as to give me a signal of his approach. Exit Miss Tompkins. Twizzleton, looking at Miss Thompson. Oh, then this is to be the happy woman. Now for it. Miss Thompson, hesitating. Sir, I... Madam. Aside. What a pretty bit of timidity. Sir, your generous, agreeable air induces me to solicit your friendship. My dear madam, you've got it, and a great deal more. You come but for friendship and take away love. Well, sir, I pardon your volatility, and you, in return, must excuse my briefness. You must know, sir, I and my companion, who is my cousin, have eloped from our guardians to avoid two matches contrary to our inclinations. Enter Miss Tompkins hastily. Oh, my dear girl, there's a post-shaze coming at full speed down the hill. That's them, I daresay. Go, look out again. Exit Miss Tompkins. Now, sir, if I am overtaken, I shall be conveyed back again, unless you, sir, are kind enough to... What? To marry you? I can't do that because I was married about a month ago. Sir, I did not mean that. But you know, sir, you could pass yourself off as my husband. Oh, to be sure, I could. But perhaps you're in a hurry? Twisselton pulling off his gloves and putting them in his pocket. Oh, no, no, there's no hurry. Spriggins, without. Well, Brother Guardian, as you're assaulted to death, sit down while I explore. Enter Spriggins and seize Miss Thompson. Aha! There you are, my pretty fugitive. Staring at Twisselton and coming down, left. But who's this? Twisselton nodding familiarly at Spriggins. Ah! How do you do? How do you do? Sit down and make yourself pleasant. Spriggins, angrily. No, sir, I shan't sit down, nor I shan't make myself pleasant. Well, don't sit down, if you don't like it, and don't make yourself pleasant. This is a land of liberty, and you have a right to please yourself. Spriggins enraged. Madam, I have a right to demand an explanation of you as to who this impertinent companion of yours is. Miss Thompson puts up her fan and assumes bashfulness. Twisselton looking at her. I'll speak for you, you pretty trembler. Crosses to Spriggins. Pretty trembler. Be damned. Hush, hush, old gentleman. Don't conduct yourself so obstreperously, or I shall be obliged to exercise my prerogative and turn you out of the room. You're prerogative, puppy. Yes, sir. That of a doting devilish agreeable, high-spirited husband. Husband? Yes, sir, husband, where I was married, and when I was married to that young lady, she can perhaps inform you. Aside. For hang me if I can. Very fine. Very fine indeed. But hark ye, my sagacious bridegroom, not a shilling of that lady's property do you touch. Well, sir, who wants it? I've a million of acres in every county besides three Welsh ambassadorships, all in my gift. If you'd like to go plan a potentiary to pour ye or ambassador to pair up a poo-poo. Slapping him on the shoulder. I'll start you off, my old boy. You're very good, sir, but I'll inquire further into this. Going. That's right. A spirit of inquiry is very characteristic of the present day. To Miss Thompson. Go and satisfy your amiable guardian, my dear. Put her towards Spriggins. Go and answer all his questions, and return to your adored on the wings of Cupid. I say— Call her back as they are going out together. Tell him all the lies you can think upon. Excellent Spriggins and Miss Thompson. So they are got rid of? I wonder what my little wife would say to this. I'd better me off before they discover who I am. So here goes— Draws on his gloves and crosses to left. Miss Tomkins peeps in and whispers— Sir, sir— Who the deuce is that? Looks round. Oh, it's you. Yes, it's me, sir. May I beg the favour of a word with you? A word? Oh, certainly. But let it be a short one, because I am in a hurry. Approaches her. Pray don't say that, sir. Surely you are not going to separate from us so soon? Twizzleton, aside. Separate so soon? Oh, she's in love with me too. Nature, cruel but bountiful goddess, why, why did you make me so captivating? To her. Well, my dear, I'm resigned to my fate. Pulling off his gloves and putting them into his pocket. I'll not be in a hurry, since you seem to wish it otherwise. Miss Tomkins, aside. Kind-hearted Bean. To him. This, then, is the fact. The same post-shays that brought hither the Guardian of Miss Thompson also conveyed here my Guardian. Indeed. Then it brought here a pair of Guardians. True, sir, and strange to say, both on the same errand. Oh, very remarkable indeed. Then you, that is, I mean to say that you ran away from your Guardian also. Miss Tomkins, assuming timidity. Yes, sir. And you expect him to overtake you. He has overtaken me. That's a pity. Oh, sir, I knew you'd say so. Therefore, relying upon the kindness of your disposition and feeling assured how powerfully you must sympathize with my situation, I have persuaded myself that to prevent my falling again into the clutches of my Guardian, you will grant me one request. That is, in plain English, marry you myself. I can't upon my soul. You are a very pretty girl. But the laws are too severe against bigamy to risk such a thing. That is not what I mean. No. No. If you were not in too great a hurry and would oblige me by acting the part of my husband for half an hour or so, I should never forget it. Twisselton. Surprised. I dare say not. Can you refuse me? Viggans speaks without. Hark! I hear my Guardian on the stairs. You will grant me this small favour, will you not? Loveliest of your sex. I will. A thousand thanks, though positively I'm quite ashamed to delay you. For I think you said you were in a hurry. Hurry! Oh, no, no, there's no hurry. Pulls off his gloves and puts them in his pocket. Enter Viggans, seeing Miss Tompkins. Ho, ho, there you are. Coming down, left. Twisselton to Miss Tompkins, holding up his glass and staring at Viggans, then speaks to Miss Tompkins. Is this the dragon who comes to look after his Hesperian fruit? She signifies it is. To Viggans. How are you, my old one? What a guy of a coat that is you've got on. As you are the Guardian, my little lady here, I suppose I must treat you with some civility, so... Viggans is advancing towards him. Keep your distance. Stand there. There. Pointing. Just there, and I'll talk to you. And why not talk to me anywhere else? You are as unfashionable as an older man and as ugly as a griffin. Much obliged. You are absolutely a pimple on the beautiful fates of nature, but I can't spare you any more of my valuable time, so listen to me, old change alley. I've canoe-bealised with this lady. You hold her fortune. If you hand it over to me quickly, I'll allow you a discount for the money, so goodbye. If you presume to follow us, I have a pistol in each pocket, and I'll blow your brains out. Searches his pocket, and while searching, flings out a card unconsciously and struts off with Miss Tompkins to the other side, left. Viggans, a side crossing to right. This fellow's mad. If I can manoeuvre that card, I might find out who my young gentleman is. Forces a laugh. Ah, very well, my sprightly spark. If you are married, I can't help myself. So I shall leave you as soon as I have tied my shoe. Stoops and picks up the card. I've got it. Do young people. Exit, pointy at them and singing. None but the brave deserves the fair. Twizzleton, looking after him. That's a hearty old cock, and I like him. A thousand thanks for your kindness. Now, sir, proceed on your journey while I communicate to Miss Thompson the success of our stratagem. Runs off, left door. Twizzleton, right. Looking after her. There she goes. And I suppose I may go too. Drawing on his gloves. So now I'll be off in right earnest. Going left. Enter Mrs. Pimpernel, left. Dressed for the wedding. Mrs. Pimpernel, curtsying formally. How would you do, sir? Twizzleton, bowing. Quite well, ma'am, I thank you. The side. I must let her into the secret, or she may destroy the plans of my two allies. To her. My dear Mrs. Pimpernel, I've been all anxiety to see you, ma'am. There's something about your physiognomy, madam, which tells me, at a glimpse, that you are a lady of great discretion, to make use of a strong expression you are a person to be trusted. Mrs. Pimpernel, aside. How awfully mysterious. You must know, Mrs. Pimpernel, I have a profound and important secret which I wish to confide to you and to you alone. A secret? That's delicious. I love a secret. And bosom yourself, sir. Learn, then, my dear Mrs. P, that reasons all powerful and incomprehensible to you obliged me for a time to conceal from the world the holy tie which binds me to one of the ladies who now occupy part and parcel of your respectable and fashionable boarding-house. Those reasons still exist. But to you and you alone, my dear madam, I divulge the secret that the c'est devant Miss Thompson is the real and legitimate spouse of Mr. Alexis Twisselton. Miss Thompson? Yes, Miss Thompson. Aside. I think I'm right. It's either Thompson or Tompkins, but hang me if I know which. My dear Mr. Twisselton, allow me to offer you my congratulations. She's a charming woman. Aside. I'm almost tempted. Hesitates. I really, sir, feel quite overpowered at your selecting me as your confidant. I'll return the obligation by requesting your assistance in an affair of great delicacy and interest. Twisselton. Aside. Oh, what the deuce is coming now? Proceed, Mrs. P. Do the ladies intend making a long stay at Turnbridge? Upon my life, I can't say... Hesitation. I believe so. You believe so? Why, surely you can't be ignorant of the intentions of your own wife. But my reason for asking is this. But let's be seated, sir. Twisselton brings forward two chairs. They sit with great formality. You must know, sir, we have a small private theater here, where we are going to play a play. Now, sir, I presume that you know what a play is. Why, I believe I do, madam. Now, sir, your wife is a most charming figure, and the lady that's with her has a very fine face for an opera. Now, sir, if you could but prevail upon them to take characters, it would be as delicious as ice cream in the dark days. Twisselton. Aside. That's a pretty simile. Hesitating. Well, I don't know, I can't say, but however I'll mention it to them. Attempts to rise. She prevents them. That's not all, sir. Would you believe it, sir? I am myself devoted to, and destructedly in love with, the beautiful heistronomike art. I once saw the great Mrs. Sidon's play the handwashing scene of Lady Macbeth. And dreamed of the dumb spot for nine nights afterwards. Looks at her watch. It's earlier than I thought it was. I have got the part I am to act in my reticule. I am quite perfect in my great scene in the fourth act, if you would but have the extreme kindness to hear me go over it. What I, me, and pray, my dear Mrs. P, what may be the name of the play you are going to act? Why, it's made an effort. But full of genius, I assure you, written for the occasion by Miss Arabella Pochers. A blue, a deep blue. You can taste the prosic acid even in her conversation. She is his head teacher at the great finishing seminary in Paradise Crescent. It is entitled King Pepin or the Guilty Mother. It is such a prodigy of a production. I play the principal part, sir. Shakespeare has done nothing like it in the female line. Twizzleton, aside. No, I dare say not. Now, if you would but have the kindness. Drawing out the manuscript. Well, for the gravity of the thing, I think I will. I wouldn't trouble you. Only there really are such a set of Gothic vandals in this house. For instance, there is my future son-in-law, Mr. Theophilus Bunbury, doesn't even know that Melpomene presides over comedy. Twizzleton, aside. Ignorant wretch. But here is my part. I am as perfect as an angel. Place yourself there. I'll stand here. You are King Pepin. I, King Pepin. I am the Guilty Mother. Be careful to give me what are called the cues. Showing them in the manuscript. It begins here. Very well, I see. Give me hold of King Pepin. Snatching the manuscript out of her hand. Now, for it. Are you ready, ma'am? Wait till I get out my white handkerchief and dishevel my hair a little. Now, sir, I am all right. Ha! Here goes. Reading. Great Princess, they declare your royal presence is wanted in the vestibule. I beg your pardon, sir, but Miss Rebella Pochers, the authorise of the tragedy, always calls it vestibule. And be good enough to speak it louder than that. Recollect that I have twice broken my sworn truth and that you are a majesty. Oh, very well, ma'am. I'll pitch it higher. Aside. What a ram old pump she is. Aloud. Now, ma'am. Hurrah for King Pepin! Enter Bunbury, dressed with wedding favours and white gloves. He stops in the doorway, astonished, and listens. Twizzleton holds the manuscript so that it is unseen by Bunbury. Mrs. Pimpernel, right, declaiming. I believe, vast potentate of the Isle of Man, that we are here more freer from intruders than in your own room. Twizzleton, left, reading. I guess we are. Speak. Be seated, I conjure you, and lend me your ears. No, I never, in council or in close divan, ere sit, but always stand, erect, in conscious honour bold. Mrs. Pimpernel, fling herself into a chair centre groaning. It concerns my son. Bunbury, in the doorway. Aside. Hello. What does she say? Your son, madam? Bunbury, aside. Ah-ho! She's got a son. She's a nice one. And what other interest could vanquish my repugnance to seek this meeting, which you have never sought? But I saw him in a state which would curdle all your blood. Bunbury, aside. Oh! she has seen him. I wonder where? His heart, his tender, youthful heart, is broken at your order for him to leave his native land. What could have incurred his father's anger? Bunbury, aside. His father? Well, that gentleman should turn out to be his father. Since that fatal duel ravaged from our arms our other godlike son. Bunbury, aside. What another? Why, I wonder how many the old ladies got. Remember, perfidious woman, what you've done in taking an adulterer to your arms you have introduced a stranger child into our house. Bunbury, aside. A strange child? What a horrible old woman. Mrs. Pimpernel, rising. Let me fly. Bunbury, aside. Oh! she wants to bolt. A nice wedding I should have. Twistleton, pushing her into her seat. No! you shall not fly. You shall not escape the guilt which clogs your footsteps. Bunbury, aside. Oh! I see how it is. This chap's a husband. I've had enough. I'm off. Exit Mrs. Pimpernel, rising. Well, sir, what do you think of it? You don't think I am too superannuated to create an effect upon a London audience? In effect, prodigious, why you are the guilty mother herself. Mrs. Pimpernel, holding up her fan before her face. Oh, sir, you are a flatterer. You quite confuse me. A noise without. Mrs. Pimpernel hides the manuscript hastily. Twistleton, looking out, right. But what's all this bustle about? Oh! they are the wedding guests. Oh, a wedding, eh? Yes, sir, a wedding. A gentleman from London is to be married to my daughter. And if you would condescend to honour us with your presence, you might render young and amiable girl an extraordinary service. What? In the canoe be a line? Oh, I understand. I'm to pass for her husband, I suppose. Aside. I'm getting used to it. Oh, sir, that's not it. It's merely to walk the bride to church. My daughter Fanny is going to be married today. If you would just hand her along, it would give such an eclaire to the thing. Eh! Very amusing, upon my life. I knew you'd think it so. Music without. Here comes the blooming bride. Here is your favour, sir. I have a needle and thread quite handy. Sewing it to his coat. And here is the gloves. Music, and your Fanny and attendance. Ah, my dear child, how handsome you look! But where is Bunsbury? I saw him a few minutes since, and he seemed quite flustered. I can't help saying that if this is London Manors, in Tunbridge we shall call it very ill-breeding. And your Bunbury? Well, Bunbury, you haven't showed much anxiety for the happy moment. Everybody is ready. We've been only waiting for you. Why, you see, Mrs Pimpernell, second stance is alter cases. If the goods don't come up to the sample, the bargain is off. What does he mean? Bunbury, taking Twisselton and Mrs Pimpernell aside. The other son, who had to fly his country. If he should return, Fanny will be choused out of her property. What other son? Are you mad? Bunbury to Twisselton. And you, Mr, what do you call him, may have a right to the old woman's movables, and then a pretty figure I should cut in Threadneedle Street. The old woman's movables? Now, I say, come to the point. Will you give me your consent to the match, and make over to me under your hand all the right and claim to any control over the property of Fanny's mother? Of course I will. But I say, you're stuck staring mad. Enter, Dick. The Parsons waking at the church. Well, let him wait. Drives off, Dick. I'm not to be victimized. One word for all, Mrs P. I've been to my lawyers, and told them all about it, and he says, if you'll sign a paper in Fanny's favor, I can marry without any fear. So will you or not? Certainly I will. Well then, if this gentleman will take my place till I run over to Mr. Cabius, the lawyers, I'll meet you all at the church door. Oh, certainly. Bunbury going. Fanny, how pretty you do look. Goodbye for the present. I'll be there nearly as soon as you are. Exit Twizzleton, looking at himself and the group. Well, I cut a pretty figure here. I wonder what Mrs. Olexius Twizzleton would say to all this? They all form into procession. Enter Figgins and Spriggins, and exchange looks. Mrs. Twizzleton enters at the same time, left, unseen by the wedding party. Mrs. Twizzleton, aside with surprise. My husband leading a bride, and with a wedding favor on his breast. Good heavens, what can this mean? That stupid Bunbury has quite turned me topsy-turvy. To Twizzleton. Now do say something pretty and complimentary to Fanny, for it's a very trying occasion. Oh, I will. To Fanny. Uh, you'll not be surprised when I acknowledge this to be the happiest moment of my life, my dear Fanny. Figgins to Spriggins. His dear Fanny. Mrs. Twizzleton, aside. His dear Fanny. Oh, sir, excuse the blushes of a bride. I do excuse them, and let me, ere you boast that honoring name, imprint upon your rosy lips one chest salute. Kisses her and struts about. Ah, I like it. Now, then, to church. Ah, to church. Come along, loveliest of your sex. Give me that hand, soon to be joined in Hyman's rosy bonds. Now for it. Here we go. Aside to Mrs. Pimpernel. I say, don't I do it handsomely and fashionably. Ah, there is nothing like the fashionable touch, after all. He takes Fanny's hand. Mrs. Pimpernel takes his arm, and the music plays. Haste to the wedding. Exit the wedding procession. Right. Mrs. Twizzleton. Left. Figgins and spriggins advance to the front. Very pretty indeed. Here's Bigamy in perfection. Why, he's everybody's husband. He's married to my ward. And my ward. And by this time he must be happily married to our hostess's daughter. But let us look at the card, and let us learn his name. Read. Mr. Alexis Twizzleton. I'm Electrovine. Horror struck, and wonder struck. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll fetch his wife. Wife? Which wife? Why, his real wife. And that she may credit this horrible story. Do you go with me to confirm it? Willingly. Now, Mr. Alexis Twizzleton. Your wives will make the temperature of this room too hot to hold you. Or I know nothing of the heat of atmosphere produced by the presence of a half a dozen of enraged ladies. Excellent. Enter Mrs. Twizzleton and a maid servant. Can I be mistaken? I could not. My lawful husband is gone to be married to someone else. To the maid. Would you be kind enough to show me Mr. Alexis Twizzleton's room? Maid, pointing to the door, right. That's it. Exit left. Mrs. Twizzleton, aside. I must find out the enigma. Retires up, right. Enter Bunbury. Oh, dear me. Oh, how I am blown. I thought I should have been in time. Old Capius says it's all right. So... Mrs. Twizzleton, coming forward. Do you belong to the house, sir? Why, yes, ma'am. I think I may say I do, ma'am. Could you inform me whose wedding that is that is about to take place? Bunbury, aside. Here's a question. Whose wedding, ma'am? Why, I think I ought to be able... Why, it's mine, ma'am. Mine. How is that gentleman concerned in it? Who just left this apartment with the bride? In my place. Heard my wife's arm. That's my deputy. Oh, he's married already. Yes, I know that, sir. Oh, you know him, then. Know his wife, perhaps. Ha! No one better. Bunbury, aside. This is a lucky meeting. I shall now have the full, true and particular account. Pray, ma'am, was it a love match? I thought so at the time. They say, I suppose, that he's no great shakes. Mrs. Twizzleton, surprised. Sir? Bunbury, aside. There's some mystery about this chap. I suppose you are acquainted with Mrs. Pimpernow, who keeps this house. And I dare say you'll think it's strange, but this strange gentleman is my honoured father-in-law. Your father-in-law? What, Mr. Alexis Twizzleton? Bunbury, knowingly. Oh, what you know him by that name, do you? You must be dreaming, sir. Bunbury, aside. If this man is not mad, I know not what to think. Walks about distractedly. Bunbury, aside. This lady's got the phobia. I'll be off. Runs off right. Mrs. Twizzleton, walking about distractedly. I'm so horrified that I hardly know whether I am asleep or awake. Enter Figgins. Oh, my dear madam, I was just about going to you. I am glad you have arrived. I hope it may not be too late, but your husband... Well, sir, what of my husband? Why, madam, he had not only a wife living before he married you, but I'm afraid by this time he is married to a second. The name of the first is Tompkins, my own ward. Gracious heavens, it cannot be. The person who just left the room informed me that my husband was also the husband of Mrs. Pimpernel, the person who keeps this boarding-house. Here comes Mrs. Pimpernel. Enter Mrs. Pimpernel in alarm, right. Every place has been searched, and Bunbury is nowhere to be found. It will be quite the town talk. What has happened, Mrs. Pimpernel? The most horrible thing that could happen to a fond maternal parent. The bridegroom is not to be found. That's rather awkward. But here is a lady who wishes to be accommodated for a short time in your boarding-house. Introducing Mrs. Twizzleton. I have not the pleasure of knowing the lady, but Mr. Figgings' introduction... But though you are not acquainted with me, madam, you at least know the gentleman who accompanied the young lady to church. Oh, yes, ma'am. Yes, I certainly know him. But only since he has lodged with me, and thus much I can say, that I never met with a more amiable, good-tempered, complacent person. And as for that matter, so is his wife, who passed here under the name of Miss Thompson. You mean Tompkins? Indeed I do not. I mean what I say, sir, Thompson. What another? I declare the old quarrel who is really my husband's wife. This is not to be borne. What do you say, madam? You, the wife? Of Mr. Alexis Twizzleton. Oh, I'll answer for that. Well, this I'll say and stand to, that he told me, with his own mouth, that he was married to Miss Thompson. Mrs. Twizzleton, affected. This is too much. To Mrs. Pimpernell. My dear lady, have me shown to my apartment. Will you walk for the present into this chamber? Conduct to your to the room, left, aside. Unfortunate, Mrs. Twizzleton. Barbarous, Mr. Twizzleton. Exit, left. Figgins, looking after her. Poor heartbroken, Mrs. Twizzleton. But I'll go and hut up Spriggins, and we'll have this universal husband laid by the heels with as little delay as possible. Exit. And I will search every hole and corner for that little wretch Bunbury. Exit right. Enter Twizzleton, almost breathless. Oh, thank heaven all's over. I never thought I could have undergone all this, but I suppose to a young man and a steam engine, nothing is impossible. I understand from Dick that Mrs. T has arrived. I hope she has not heard of any of my little winning ways hereabouts. If she has, I shall be lectured for a week on moral conduct, conjugal duty, and all that sort of thing. Enter Spriggins. Oh, here you are. Aren't you a pretty villain, sir, to have been committing a triple alliance? Aye, sir, but not a holy alliance. Insensible puppy. What must your heart resemble? Oh, my heart, like the Greenwich stage, and carries six inside. Very fine, sir. The noise without, right. But what the devil's the matter now? Bunbury without. Send for a doctor. Send for a doctor. Enter Bunbury hastily. Send for a doctor. My mother-in-law is inconsolable for not seeing me at church, and supposing I was off with the match has been suddenly taken in a fit in the street. Seeing Twizzleton. Oh, I'm glad I found you, sir. If you haven't the heart of a cannibal, or if it isn't a piece of Britannia metal, you fly to the assistance of your lawful wife. His wife? Yes, his wife, Mrs. Pimpernell. What, another? That makes four wives, or I'm a Dutchman. Yes, sir. His wife. A secret marriage. Two grown-up boys. One of them fell in a fight as he fit, and the other had to fly the country, and is now perhaps in Van Diemen's land. Or Nova Scotia, more than abouts. Do you dare to deny it, sir? Oh, deny it. To the contrary, nothing is more true. Do you know King Pepin, sir? No, sir. Then I do, and the guilty mother into the bargain, and a devilish good just it is. You may laugh, sir, but let me tell you, polygamy is... A hanging matter. But in this case, old gentleman, the hempen noose will not succeed the noose of wedlock. If you will be good enough to walk with me to my real wife, I will explain everything. His real wife? Where is she? Spriggans, pointing to the doors right and left. Here, there, everywhere. He has them in all quarters. But here comes poor Mrs. Pimpernel. Bunbury, drawing out his handkerchief. Poor mother-in-law, when she knows all. To Twizzleton. I shan't lose sight of you. Laying hold of him. I can tell you, Mr. Anonymous. Enter Mrs. Pimpernel, supported by two women and Fanny, right. Mrs. Twizzleton from her room, left. And Figgans at the same time, centre. Place a chair for poor mother-in-law. Once more, I behold the traitor. What can be the meaning of all this? Fanny, looking at Mrs. Pimpernel. She's coming to herself. Where am I? In your own house, mother-in-law, in the bosom of your family. Where is Bunbury? Are they married? Here I am, all is over. Fanny is Mrs. Bunbury, and... Showing Twizzleton. Here is your husband. Ah! Mind here, where is he? Bunbury, pointing to Twizzleton. Here is, before your eyes. Mrs. Pimpernel, pushing away Bunbury. Stupid fellow, you really frightened me. I know you want to keep it a secret, but it won't do. I say it won't do. Quiet, Poopy. Ladies and gentlemen, I am no Bunbury. Pointing to Twizzleton. He is the husband of Mrs. Pimpernel. And of my ward. And of mine. And we saw him go to church. To be married to another lady. Mrs. Twizzleton, coming forward, pointing to Fanny. And I heard him declare himself this lady's husband. To Twizzleton. Villain, giant of bigamy. Now, only hear me, my dear, adorable Mrs. Twizzleton. I am still your own faithful, constant little Twizz. It's all a wicked falsehood, sir. You faithful and constant, you wholesale breaker of the fond cannubial vow. Where have you hidden your other wives? Vicans, aside. I haven't. I'm in the secret. I'll have the other wives in court in a twinkly. To Mrs. Twizzleton. Would you like to be introduced to the acquaintance-ship of this gentleman's other wives? Here's a question for a heartbroken wife. If you would, knock at either of those doors at any door in the house, and out will pop a wife. Horrible. Dreadful. Damnable. All ladies, come into court. He knocks at the different doors and outruns Miss Thompson and Miss Tompkins. They rush toward Twizzleton. I'm horror-struck, and wonder-struck. Let your surprise, madam, give way to gentler feelings. Your husband was kind enough to pass himself off as mine to shield me from my guardian's anger. He generously, for a few moments, played the part of my husband for the same laudable purpose. He led me to church, I confess, but this— Pointy to Bunbury. Was the gentleman I was married to. Twizzleton, to Mrs. Pimperno. I believe, madam, I contracted also a mimic marriage with you. Poppously, and throwing himself into an attitude. Do you remember the guilty mother? Mrs. Pimperno, in mock heroics and drawing out her handkerchief. I do, King Pippin. Twizzleton, looking round. Is—is there any other lady wishes to claim me for her husband? There is silence in the court. Who then, among you, is to have me. Aye, sir. You're lawfully wedded wife. And— Pointy to Miss Thompson and Miss Tompkins. I hope the guardians of these ladies will forgive them as heartily as I do. Madam. I see by this smile playing on the two good-looking countenances of these elderly young gentlemen that you have prevailed, and I congratulate you. I hope all are now satisfied. All. All. Twizzleton, pulling out his gloves, slapping his hat on, and crossing to centre. And I may now pursue my journey. May I detain you for a few minutes? Certainly. Why, then, it seems to me that if all present are satisfied, you had better stay where you are. And appear again tomorrow as everybody's husband. End of Everybody's Husband by Richard Ryan. A Teller by David Pinsky. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information on a volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Persons. The characters are given in the order of their appearance. The Comedian. Read by Jim Gallagher. The Villain. Read by Aaron White. The Tragedian. Read by Thomas Peter. The Old Man. Read by Nima. The Heroine. Read by Avayee. The Ongenu. Read by Jen Broda. The Old Woman. Read by Betsy Walker. The Stranger. Read by Campbell Shelp. Stage Directions. Read by T.J. Burns. A Dollar. Across roads at the edge of a forest, one road extends from left to right. Another crosses the first diagonally, disappearing into the forest. The roadside is bordered with grass. On the right, at the crossing, stands a signpost, to which are nailed two boards, giving directions and distances. The Afternoon of a Summer Day. A troop of stranded, strolling players enters from the left. They are ragged and weary. The Comedian walks first, holding a valise in each hand. Followed by the villain, carrying over his arms two huge bundles wrapped in bedsheets. Immediately behind these, the Tragedian and the Old Man carrying together a large, heavy trunk. Comedian stepping toward the signpost, reading the directions on the boards and explaining to the approaching fellow actors. That way. Pointing to right and swinging the valise to indicate the direction. It's 30 miles. This way. Pointing to left. Is 45. And that way, it is 36. Now choose for yourself the town that you'll never reach today. The nearest way for us is back to where we came from, once we were escorted with the most splendid catcalls that have ever crowned our histrionic successes. Villain exhausted. Who will lend me a hand to wipe off my perspiration? It has a nasty way of streaming into my mouth. Stand on your head then and let your perspiration water a more fruitful soil. Oh! He drops his arms, the bundles fall down. He then sinks down onto one of them and wipes off the perspiration, moving his hand wearily over his face. The tragedian and the old man approach the post and read the signs. Tragedian in a deep dramatic voice. It's hopeless. It's hopeless. He lets go his end of the trunk. Old man lets go his end of the trunk. Another stop. Tragedian sits himself down on the trunk in a tragico-heroic pose. Knees wide apart, right elbow on right knee, left hand on left leg, head slightly bent toward the right. Comedian puts down the valises and rolls a cigarette. The old man also sits down upon the trunk, head sunk upon his breast. Thirty miles to the nearest town. Thirty miles! It's an outrage how far people move their towns away from us. We won't strike a town until the day after tomorrow. Hurrah! That's luck for you. There's yet a day after tomorrow for us. And the women are still far behind us, crawling. They want the vote and they can't even walk. We won't give them votes. That's settled. Down with votes for women. It seems the devil himself can't take you. Neither your tongue nor your feet ever get tired. You get on my nerves. Sit down and shut up for a moment. Me? Ha-ha! I'm going back there to the lady of my heart. I'll meet her and fetch her hither in my arms. He spits on his hands, turns up his sleeves, and strides rapidly off toward the left. Clown. How can he laugh and play his pranks even now? We have an ascent to our souls. Our supply of food is running low, and our shoes are dilapidated. Tragedy in with an outburst. Stop it! No reckoning. The number of our sins is great, and the tale of our misfortunes is even greater. Holy Father! The flasks are empty. I'd give what is left of our souls. Displaying his ragged shoes. For just the smell of whiskey. From the left is heard the laughter of a woman. Enter the comedian carrying in his arms the heroine, who has her hands around his neck and holds a satchel in both hands behind his back. Comedian, letting his burden down upon the grass. Sit down, my love, and rest up. We go no further today. Your feet, your tender little feet, must ache you. How unhappy that makes me. At the first opportunity I shall buy you an automobile. And in the meantime you may carry me oftener. The beast of burden hears and obeys. Enter the ingenue and the old woman, each carrying a small satchel. Angenue, weary and pouting. Ah! No one carried me. She sits on the grass to the right of the heroine. Ha! We have only one ass with us. Comedian stretches himself out at the feet of the heroine, and emits a bray of a donkey. Ah! Old woman sits down in the grass to the left of the heroine. Are we to pass the night here? No. We shall stop at hotel never was. Don't you like our night's lodging? Turning over toward the old woman. See? The bed is broad and wide, and certainly without vermin. Just feel the high grass. Such a soft bed you never slept in, and you shall have a cover embroidered with the moon and stars, a cover such as no royal bride ever possessed. You're laughing. I feel like crying. Crying? You should be ashamed of the sun which favors you with its setting splendor. Look and be inspired. Yes. Look and expire. Look and shout with ecstasy. Look and burst. Oh! An genu starts sobbing. Tragedian laughs heavily. Oh! Comedian turning over to the an genu. What? You were crying? Aren't you ashamed of yourself? Oh! I'm sad. Oh! I can't stand it any longer. Stop it, or I'll start bawling, too. Comedian springs to his knees and looks quickly from one woman to the other. Ha ha ha ha! Cheer them up, clown! Comedian jumps up abruptly without the aid of his hands. Ladies and gentlemen, I have it. In a measured and singing voice. Ladies and gentlemen, I have it. What have you? Cheerfulness. Ah! Go bury yourself, clown! Ha ha ha ha! P-O-O-H. Poo! The women weep all the louder. Oh! Ha ha ha ha! I have a bottle of whiskey. General commotion. The women stop crying and look up to the Comedian in amazement. The Tragedian straightens himself out and casts a surprised look at the Comedian. The old man, rubbing his hands, jumps to his feet. The villain looks suspiciously at the Comedian. A bottle of whiskey? Ha ha ha! A bottle of whiskey? Hum... whiskey? You bet! A bottle of whiskey hidden and preserved for such moments as this. A moment of masculine depression and feminine tears. Taking the flask from his hip pocket, the expression on the face of all changes from hope to disappointment. Ha! You call that a bottle! I call it a flask. A thimble! A dropper! For seven of us? Oh! Comedian letting the flask sparkle in the sun. But it's whiskey, my children. Opening the flask and smelling it. Hum... that's whiskey for you. The saloon keeper from whom I hooked it will become a teetotaler from sheer despair. Tragedian rising heavily and slowly, proceeding toward the flask. Villain still skeptical and rising as if unwilling. The old man chuckling and rubbing his hands. The old woman getting up indifferently and moving apathetically toward the flask. The heroine and the ingenue hold each other by the hand and take ballet steps in Walt's time. All approach the Comedian with necks eagerly stretched out and smell the flask, which the Comedian holds firmly in both hands. Ha ha ha! Fine! Small quantity, but excellent quality. Seems to be good whiskey. Heroine dancing and singing. My Comedian, my Comedian. His head is in the right place. But why didn't you nab a larger bottle? My beloved one, I had to take into consideration both the quality of the whiskey and the size of my pocket. If only there's enough of it to go round. I'm feeling sad again. Cheer up, there will be enough for us all. Cheer up, here, smell it again. They smell again and cheerfulness reappears. They join hands and dance and sing, forming a circle, the Comedian applauding. Good! If you're so cheered after a mere smell of it, what won't you feel like after a drink? Wait, I'll join you. He hides the whiskey flask in his pocket. I'll show you a new roundel which we will perform in our next presentation of Hamlet to the great edification of our esteemed audience. Kicking the villain's bundles out of the way. The place is clear. Now for a dance and play. Join hands and form a circle, but you, villain, stay on the outside of it. You are to try to get in, and we dance and are not to let you in without getting out of step. Understand? Now then. The circle is formed in the following order. Comedian, heroine, tragedian, old woman, old man, ingenue. Comedian singing. To be or not to be, that is the question. That is the question. That is the question. He who would enter in, climb he must over us. If over us he cannot, he must get under us. Tra-la-la, tra-la-la, over us, under us. Tra-la-la, tra-la-la, under us, over us. Now we are jolly, jolly or we. Tra-la-la, tra-la-la, over us, under us. Tra-la-la, tra-la-la, under us, over us. Now we are jolly, jolly or we. To be or not to be, that is the question. That is the question. That is the question. In life to win success, elbow your way through. Jostle the next one, else you will be jostled. Tra-la-la, tra-la-la, over us, under us. Tra-la-la, tra-la-la, under us, over us. Now we are jolly, jolly or we. Tra-la-la, tra-la-la, under us, over us. Now we are jolly, jolly or we. Tra-la-la, tra-la-la, under us, over us. Now we are jolly, jolly or we. Now we are jolly, jolly or we. Now we are jolly, jolly or we. On the last word of the refrain, they stop, as if dumbfounded, and stand transfixed, with eyes directed on one spot inside of the ring. The villain leans over the arms of the comedian and the heroine. Gradually, the circle draws closer till their heads almost touch. They attempt to free their hands, but each holds onto the other, and all seven whisper in great astonishment. A dollar! A dollar! A dollar! A dollar! The circle opens up again. They look at each other and shout in wonder. A dollar! A dollar! A dollar! A dollar! A dollar! Once more they close in, and the struggle to free their hands grows wilder. The villain tries to climb over and then under the hands into the circle and stretches out his hand toward the dollar. But instinctively, he is stopped by the couple he tries to pass between, even when he is not seen, but only felt. Again, all lean their heads over the dollar, quite lost in the contemplation of it, and whispering, enraptured. A dollar! A dollar! A dollar! A dollar! Separating once again, they look at each other with exultation, and at the same time try to free their hands, once more exclaiming in ecstasy. A dollar! A dollar! A dollar! A dollar! A dollar! A dollar! A dollar! Then the struggle to get free grows wilder and wilder. The hand that is perchance freed is quickly grasped again by the one who held it. An genu in pain. Oh my hands! My hands! You'll break them! Let go of my hands! If you don't let go of my hands, I'll bite. Attempting to bite the hands of the tragedian and the old man, while they try to prevent it. Old man trying to free his hands from the hold of the heroine and the old woman. Let go of me! Pulling at both his hands. These women's hands that seem so frail, just look at them now. Heroine to comedian. But you let go my hands. I think it's you who are holding fast to mine. Why should I be holding you? If you pick up the dollar, what is yours is mine, you know. Then let go of my hand and I'll pick it up. No, I'd rather pick it up myself. I expected something like that from you. Let go of my hands, that's all. It's a huge joke. In a tone of command. Be quiet. They become still. We must contemplate the dollar with religious reverence. Commotion. Keep quiet, I say. The dollar is spread out before us. Our real dollar in the midst of our circle. And everything within us draws us towards it. Draws us on irresistibly. Be quiet. Remember you are before the ruler, before the almighty. On your knees before him and pray. On your knees. Sinks down on his knees and drags with him the heroine and on Janoux. Old man dropping on his knees and dragging the old woman with him. Clown. Comedian to Tragedian. You are not worthy of the serious mask you wear. You don't appreciate true divine majesty. On your knees or you'll get no whiskey. Tragedian sinks heavily on his knees. Oh holy dollar, oh almighty ruler of the universe. Before thee we kneel in the dust and send toward thee our most tearful and heartfelt prayers. Our hands are bound, but our hearts strive toward thee and our souls yearn for thee. O great king of kings, thou who bring us together those who are separated and separate us those who are nearer. Thou who. The villain who is standing aside takes a full jump, clears the Anjanoux and grasps the dollar. All let go of one another and fall upon him, shouting, screaming, pushing, and fighting. Finally, the villain manages to free himself, holding the dollar in his right fist. The others follow him with clenched fists glaring eyes and foaming mouths wildly shouting. A moment, during which the opposing sides look at each other in hatred, quietly, but with malice. Moreover, whom should I give it to? To you. You. You. You. You. He is right, the dollar is his, he has it, therefore it is his, and I wanted to crawl on my knees toward the dollar and pick it up with my teeth, but he got ahead of me. Heroine, whispering in rage, that's because you would not let go of me. Tragedian, shaking his fist in the face of the villain, heaven and hell I fear like crushing you. He steps aside toward the trunk and sits down in his former pose. An genu, lying down on the grass, starts to cry. Oh. Now we will drink him, the first drink is the villains. His proposition is accepted in gloom, the an genu however stops crying. The old man and the old woman have been standing by the villain looking at the dollar in his hand as if waiting for the proper moment to snatch it from him. Finally, the old woman makes a contemptuous gesture and both turn aside from the villain. The latter, left in peace, smooths out the dollar with a serious expression on his face. The comedian hands him a small glass of whiskey. Drink lucky one. The villain, shutting the dollar in his fist, takes the whiskey glass gravely and quickly drinks the contents, returning the glass. He then starts to smooth and caress the dollar again. The comedian, still laughing, passes the whiskey glass from one to the other of the company who drinks sullenly. The whiskey fails to cheer them. After drinking, the an genu begins to sob again. The heroine, who is served at last, throws the empty whiskey glass toward the comedian. Good shot. Now I'll drink up all that's left in the bottle. He puts the flask to his lips and drinks. The heroine tries to knock it away from him, but he skillfully evades her. The villain continues to smooth and caress the dollar. Singing and dancing. He who would enter in, jump, he must, over us. Holy dollar, oh almighty ruler of the world, oh king of kings. Don't you all think that if I have the dollar and you have it not that I partake of a bit of its majesty? That means that I am now a part of its majesty. That means that I am the almighty dollar's plenipotentiary, and therefore I am the almighty ruler himself on your knees before me. Comedian, after throwing away the empty flask, lies down on the grass. Well roared, lion, but you forgot to hide your jackass's ears. It is one's consciousness of power. I know, and you know, that if I have the money, I have the say. Remember none of you has assent to his name. Ah, the whiskey is gone. Picking up the flask and examining it. I did my job well, drank it to the last drop. Yes, to the very last drop. This evening you shall have bread and sausage, very small portions too, for tomorrow is another day. En genus sabi more frequently. Not till the day after tomorrow shall we reach town, and that doesn't mean that you get anything to eat there either. But I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, Let go of him, you! He sought my love for a long time, and now he shall have it. What, you? Heroine, to comedian. I hate you, traitor. To the villain. I have always loved, genius. You are now the wisest of the wise. I adore you. Villain, holding en genu in one arm. Come into my other arm. Heroine, throwing herself into his arms, kissing and embracing him. Comedian, half rising on his knees. Stop by protest. Throwing himself on the grass. Oh frailty, thy name is woman. Old woman, approaching the villain from behind and embracing him. Find a little spot on your bosom for me. I play the old woman, but you know, I'm not really old. Now I have all of power and all of love. Don't call it love, call it servility. Villain, freeing himself from the women. But, now I have something more important to carry out. My vassals, I mean, you all. I've decided we will not stay here overnight. We will proceed further. How so? How so? We go forward, to-night. You have so decided? I have so decided, and that in itself should be enough for you. But due to an old habit I shall explain to you why I have so decided. Keep your explanation to yourself, and better not disturb my contemplation of the sunset. I'll put you down on the black list. It will go ill with you for your speeches against me. Now then, without an explanation, we will go. And at once. Nobody stirs. Very well then. I go alone. No, no. No. No. No. No. What do you mean? I go with you, and I. And I? Your loyalty gratifies me very much. Old man, who is sitting apathetically upon the trunk. What the deuce is urging you to go? I wanted to explain to you, but now no more. I owe you no explanations. I have decided I wish to go, and that is sufficient. He plays his comedy wonderfully. Would you ever have suspected that there was so much wit in his cabbage head? Women making love to the villain. Oh, you darling. Oh, you darling. Oh, you darling. Tragedian majestically. I wouldn't give him even a single glance. Still another on the black list. I'll tell you this much. I have decided. How long will you keep this up? We start at once. But if I am to pay for your food, I will not carry any baggage. You shall divide my bundles among you, and of course those who are on the black list will get the heaviest share. You heard me. Now move on. I'm going now. We will proceed to the nearest town, which is thirty miles away. Now then, I am off. Bon voyage. And with me fares his majesty the dollar and your meals for tomorrow. We are coming. We are coming. We are coming. We are coming. We are coming. We are coming. We are coming. We are coming. I'll go long. Tragedian to the villain. You're a scoundrel and a mean fellow. I am no fellow of yours. I am master and bread-giver. I'll crush you in a moment. What? You threaten me? Let's go. Turns to right. The women take their satchels and follow him. Old man to the Tragedian. Get up and take the trunk. We will settle the score with him some other time. It is he who has the dollar now. Tragedian rising and shaking his fist. I'll get him yet. He takes his side of the trunk. Villain to Tragedian. First put one of my bundles on your back. Tragedian in rage. One of your bundles on my back. Oh for all I care you can put it on your head or between your teeth. Put the bundle on the trunk. Comedian sitting up. Look here are you joking or are you an earnest? Villain contemptuously. I never joke. Then you are an earnest? I'll make no explanations. Do you really think that because you have the dollar? The holy dollar. The almighty dollar. The king of kings. That therefore you are the master? Bread giver and provider. And that we must do what I bid you to. So you are an earnest? You must get up, take the baggage and follow me. Comedian rising. Then I declare a revolution. What? A revolution? A bloody one if need be. Tragedian dropping his end of the trunk and advancing with a bellicose attitude toward the villain. And I shall be the first to let your blood you scoundrel. If that's the case I have nothing to say to you. Those who wish come along. Comedian getting in his way. No you shall not go until you give up the dollar. Ha ha ha ha ha it is to laugh. The dollar please or ha ha ha ha ha ha. Then let there be blood. Turns up his sleeves. Tragedian taking off his coat. Ah blood, blood. Old man dropping his end of the trunk. I'm not going to keep out of a fight. Women dropping his satchels. Nor we nor we nor we nor we nor we. To whom should I give up the dollar? You, you, you, you. This argument will not work anymore. You are to give the dollar up to all of us. At the first opportunity we'll get change and divided into equal parts. Hooray. Hooray. Hooray. Divide it. Divide it. Divide it. Divide it. Comedian to villain. And I will even be so good as to give you a share. I'd rather give him a sound thratching. It shall be as I say. Give up the dollar. Heroine throwing herself on the comedians breast. My comedian. My comedian. On genu to the villain. I'm sick of you. Give up the dollar. Comedian pushing the heroine aside. You better step aside or else you may get the punch I aim at the master and bread giver. To the villain. Come up with the dollar. Give up the dollar to him. Do you hear? The dollar. The dollar. The dollar. The dollar. The dollar. The dollar. The dollar. The dollar. The dollar. I'll tear it to pieces. Then we shall tear out what little hair you have left on your head. The dollar. Quick. They surround the villain. The women pull his hair. The tragedian grabs him by the collar and shakes him. The old man strikes him on his bald bait. The comedian struggles with him and finally grasps the dollar. Comedian holding up the dollar. I have it. The women dance and sing. Bandits. Thieves. Silence or I'll shut your mouth. Goes back to the trunk and assumes his heroic pose. Comedian putting the dollar into his pocket. That's what I call a successful and bloodless revolution. Except for a little fright and heart palpitation on the part of the late master and bread-giver. Listen, someone is coming. Perhaps you'll be able to change the dollar and then we can divide it at once. I'm puzzled how we can change it into equal parts. Starts to calculate with the ingenue and the old woman. Heroine, tenderly attentive to the comedian. You are angry with me. But I was only playing with him so as to weedle the dollar out of him. And now you want to trick me out of my share of it. It is impossible to divide it into equal parts. It is absolutely impossible. If it were ninety-eight cents or one hundred and five cents or... The stranger enters from the right, perceives the company, greets it and continues his way to left. Comedian stops him. I beg your pardon, sir. Perhaps you have change of a dollar in dimes, nickels and pennies. Showing the dollar. The old man and woman step forward. Stranger, getting slightly nervous, starts somewhat, makes a quick movement for his pistol pocket, looks at the comedian and the others and says slowly... Change of a dollar? Moving from the circle to left. I believe I have. Heroine! Stranger turns so that no one is behind him and pulls his revolver. Hands up. My dear sir, we are all together peaceful folk. Stranger takes the dollar from the comedian's hand and walks backwards to left with the pistol pointed at the group. Good night, everybody. He disappears. The actors remain dumb with fear, with their hands up, mouths wide open and staring into space. Comedian finally breaks out into thunderous laughter. Curtain. End of A Dollar by David Pinsky.