The Complete Plays of J. M. Barrie - 30 Titles in One Edition. Джеймс Барри
examining him again. Then I’ll run through the letters.
(LUCY sits and opens letters.)
EFFIE. I hope the Professor’s no very ill.
LUCY (smiling demurely). I hope not, Effie.
EFFIE. I dinna understand you, lassie; I would say you was good-hearted and yet you have just a queer smile on your face when I speak about the Professor’s illness.
LUCY. I smile, Effie? Oh no, I’m crying gently. (Wipes away a pretended tear with a handkerchief.) And now that I have wiped away this insistent tear, tell me what sort of a man is this Dr. Cosens?
EFFIE. Well, he’s no what I call good-looking.
LUCY. Poor lost soul! Oh, I must do that again. (Wipes away another tear.) The Professor and he are old friends, are they not?
EFFIE. I’ve heard Miss Goodwillie say they were at the college at Edinburgh together, but they see little of one another now. You see, the Doctor married and the Professor didna.
LUCY. And after that, naturally they despised one another EFFIE. Why?
LUCY (laughing). Well, of course, neither was quite certain whether the other hadn’t done best. Is the Doctor Scotch?
EFFIE. No, he’s just English. But you dinna ask if the Professor’s any better to-day.
LUCY (smiling). No, I don’t.
EFFIE (aside). Laughing again! (Aloud) Why not?
LUCY. Because you couldn’t know, Effie, unless you had been listening at the keyhole, and I am sure you would never do that. Just as I am sure you haven’t read those postcards.
COSENS (coming half out of door). Nothing to alarm yourself about, Professor — I assure you I understand your case perfectly, perfectly! (Shuts door, sees EFFIE but not LUCY.) Effie, what is the matter with the Professor?
EFFIE. Have you no found out, Doctor?
LUCY. Effie!
COSENS (startled). I didn’t see you, madam. The Professor’s secretary, I presume?
LUCY. Yes, that’s all. I’m Miss White.
COSENS. I hope you are very well, Miss White.
LUCY. Thank you, yes. I only wish we could say the same of the Professor.
COSENS (professionally). Ah!
LUCY. May I say I am so glad he is in your hands? A sad case, Doctor. Effie, have you seen my handkerchief? (She dabs her eyes with it.)
COSENS (suspiciously). Ho!
LUCY (demurely). Is the Professor’s a very uncommon complaint, Dr. Cosens?
COSENS. At first sight, Miss White, quite the reverse. He is suffering from a severe disinclination to work. One of the commonest complaints in the world.
EFFIE. But he never had it before. All his life he has been the hardest worker in London.
LUCY (sitting down to letters). And he has every incentive to work just now, for he is at the last chapter of his great book.
EFFIE. Ay, it must be a serious illness that keeps him frae finishing his great book.
LUCY. And so, Doctor, we are all so glad that you understand his case perfectly. I hope he said 99 nicely to-day.
COSENS (frowning). H’m! Don’t let me interfere with your work, Miss White.
EFFIE. What’s the name of his illness, sir?
COSENS. The name?
LUCY. We mustn’t ask such questions, Effie. We may be sure the Doctor has an excellent reason for not telling us its name. Have you not, Doctor?
(COSENS winces.)
And I think I know the reason, don’t you think I do, Doctor? Such a sad reason! (Gets out handkerchief.)
COSENS (exasperated). Miss White — I — really — will you please to put away that handkerchief!
LUCY (as if frightened). Effie, have I been doing anything wrong?
COSENS (with a happy idea). You talk too much, Miss White. You are not looking well. I want to know your temperature.
(Puts thermometer into her mouth and chuckles.)
Now, Effie, I want to ask you some questions. I suppose the Professor has been living his usual jog-trot life, eh?
EFFIE. Oh! Ay! For the five years I have been with him, one year has just been like another. He has been six months here, lecturing and writing and making explosions in the laboratory. And then six months at Tullochmains in Scotland, writing and making explosions, but not lecturing.
COSENS. He still goes to Tullochmains for his vacation, I suppose?
EFFIE. Yes, and though he’s such a great man now, he just lives on quietly in the cottage that used to be his father’s. Miss Goodwillie, his sister, went there a month since to get it ready.
COSENS. Does she know of his illness?
EFFIE. No, for if she did, she would come back to London by the first train.
COSENS. H’m! I wonder if I should telegraph for Miss Goodwillie?
(LUCY taps on drinking-glass with paper-knife and makes inarticulate sounds with her mouth.)
What is it?
(LUCY makes signs that she wants the thermometer removed, COSENS goes right to LUCY and takes it out.)
COSENS. Ha! Normal! Thank you, Effie.
(EFFIE exits.)
You want to say something, Miss White?
LUCY. Only this, Doctor, that if you telegraph for Miss Goodwillie to come to London, you will, of course, tell her what is the matter with the Professor, though you won’t tell us.
COSENS. H’m! Ah — ahem! I won’t send for Miss Goodwillie, Miss White.
LUCY (who is writing out a telegram). Is there any prescription to be made up?
COSENS. No, I —
LUCY. I thought there was always a prescription. And as I am going to the telegraph office I could leave it at the chemist’s.
COSENS. Thank you. Just a moment till I write it out.
(He sits, and there is a little comedy got out of his not knowing what to write. He looks at her sideways. She is very demure. He writes.)
Please see that it is made up at once.
LUCY (earnestly). Yes, indeed. I’ll run all the way!
(She goes.)
(COSENS looks after her suspiciously. He rings bell. Enter EFFIE.)
COSENS. Effie, what was the expression on Miss White’s face when you passed her in the hall just now?
EFFIE. She was laughing, sir.
COSENS. H’m! I thought so, Effie. Call her back.
(Exit EFFIE. COSENS alone, pulls himself together. Enter LUCY.)
LUCY. You want me?
COSENS. Miss White, you are a clever girl, and I have been making a fool of myself. Give me back that prescription.
(She does so; he tears it in two and throws it into wastepaper basket.)
LUCY. Why do you do that?
COSENS. In acknowledgment of my defeat. You have guessed rightly, Miss White; the Professor’s case baffles me.
LUCY (frankly). That’s honest. I like you now.
COSENS. H’m! I’m not sure whether I like you.
LUCY. Oh, dear! (Produces handkerchief.)
COSENS.