The Servant in the House | Page 2

at the back is a long, low, mullioned window,
through which one may see a blue sky, a thatched top or two of
cottages, and the gray old tower of the church. Through the French
windows are seen a gravel-walk, a lawn, trees, and a sun-dial.
Of the essential furniture of the scene, there may be mentioned;
sideboard to right of main door; table, right-centre of stage, with chairs;
arm-chair by fireplace; settee, left, towards front; and a long oak stool
in the window.
The various properties are described or implied in the text of the play.

THE SERVANT IN THE HOUSE
THE FIRST ACT
As the curtain ascends, Rogers and Manson are discovered laying the
table for breakfast, the lad being at the upper end of the table, facing
the audience, Manson, with his back to the audience, being at the lower
end. Rogers is an ordinary little cockney boy in buttons; Manson is
dressed in his native Eastern costume. His face is not seen until the
point indicated lower down.

ROGERS [glancing across curiously]. Arskin' your pardon, Mr.
Manson. . . .
MANSON. Yes: what is it, Rogers?
ROGERS. Funny thing--cawn't get it out of my 'ead as I've knowed you
somewhere before. Don't scarcely seem possible, do it, Mr. Manson?
MANSON. Many things are possible in this world, Rogers.
ROGERS. That's all right; but 'ow long 'av' you been in England, Mr.
Manson?
MANSON. I landed late last night, if that's what you mean.
ROGERS. Well, I never been in the continong of Asia, where you
come from; and there you are!
MANSON [quietly]. Yes: here I am.
[He goes to the sideboard and busies himself with serviettes, mats, etc.]
ROGERS. Perhaps it's this reincarnytion the Daily Mail been writing
about. Ever see the Daily Mail out there, Mr. Manson?
MANSON. No: we had few advantages.
ROGERS. Rum idea, reincarnytion! Think, Mr. Manson, perhaps we
wos lords once in ancient Babylon, you an' me!
MANSON. And now butler and page-boy, eh?
ROGERS [scratching his head]. Does seem a bit of a come-down, don't
it?
MANSON. That's one way of looking at it.
[ROGERS, enticed of Satan, has conveyed a furtive spoonful of jam
towards his mouth.]
[Without turning.] Isn't there jam in the kitchen, Rogers?
ROGERS [scared]. Evings! E've got eyes in 'is boots! S'y, do you call it
stealing, Mr. Manson?
MANSON. Do you? [Persisting.] Do you?
[ROGERS drops the spoon and moves mournfully away from
temptation.]
ROGERS. 'Pon my word, Mr. Manson, you give me the fair creeps and
no mistike!
MANSON. You will get over that when you knew me better.
ROGERS. Mr. Manson! Do you mind if I arst you a question?
MANSON. No; what is it?
ROGERS. What d'you wear them togs for? This ain't India.
MANSON. People don't always recognise me in anything else.

[He turns for the first time. His face is one of awful sweetness, dignity,
and strength. There is the calm of a great mastery about him, suited to
his habit as a servant.]
ROGERS. Garn, Mr. Manson, that's a bit orf! Clothes don't make all
that difference, come now! . . .
MANSON. They are the only things the people of this world see.
ROGERS [after a pause]. Excuse me, Mr. Manson, you mek me larf.
MANSON. That's all right, Rogers. I have a sense of humour myself, or
I shouldn't be here.
ROGERS [suddenly sentimental]. Talking about clothes, Mr. Manson, I
often thinks in my 'ead as I'd like to be a church clergyman, like master.
Them strite-up collars are very becoming. Wouldn't you, Mr. Manson?
MANSON. Wouldn't that be rather presuming, Rogers?
ROGERS. Don't you mek no mistike about it! 'Ere! [He grows
confidential.] You are a butler, ain't you? Ain't you, now? . . .
MANSON. Something like that.
ROGERS. Well, perhaps master 'asn't allus been as 'igh-- See! O'
course, I don't know, but they do s'y as 'e was once only a . . . Wot oh!
'Ere 'e is!
[The VICAR'S voice is heard off.]
VICAR. I shall be in to breakfast at a quarter to nine. Don't wait for me,
dearest.
[He enters hurriedly from door, right, watch in hand. He has on his
cassock and biretta.]
So awkward-- Both my curates down with the whooping-cough!
To-day, too! Just when I was expecting . . .
[As he goes up stage, left of table, MANSON comes down, right, with
serviettes. The VICAR wheels round slowly, facing him. Observing his
astonishment, ROGERS steps forward with explanation.]
ROGERS. It's the new butler, sir. Mr. Manson, sir.
VICAR. Surely, I--I've seen you somewhere before.
MANSON [looking at him]. Have you, sir?
VICAR. Hm! No, I can't quite . . .
ROGERS. Beg pardon, sir: getting on for eight.
[He hands him a small silver