The Electric Man Being the One Act Version of the Three Act Farcical Comedy of the Same Name

The cupboard door has a spring so that it closes of itself when left open, a string being also tacked across the inside of the door so that WALTER can pull the door to after him at end of play. A large bamboo rocking-chair is used for the figure, and is easily moved and turned as directed.

(Enter JACK and MRS. ANDERSON D. in F.)

MRS. ANDERSON. It’s as I thought, sir, the pore young gent isn’t up.

JACK (looks at his watch). Was he late last night?

MRS. ANDERSON. Oh, yes, sir, as I happens to know being woked up sudden, thinkering to hear a burgular, which was only Master Walter Everest, the gent I does for, a-creepering and a-crawlering upstairs.

JACK. Is he often like that? (Takes up and looks at letters on table and puts them down again.)

MRS. ANDERSON. Lawk a floury! no, sir, only breaks out occasional when his work’s bad. Mr. Everest is a chemist and electerician.

JACK. Been working hard lately?

MRS. ANDERSON. I believes as he have something very musterious and secret inventering at this here identical period of time, some mustery as he keeps in that there cupboard which the door is always locked constant. Oh, very musterious--and queer smells a-penetratering and perfuncteroring the house. Oh, here he are, sir.

(WALTER’S door L. opens. She exits D. in F.)

(WALTER stumbles in L. He is not to look dissipated, but to act it.)

WALTER. Hullo, hullo! whose head is this? It isn’t mine, it can’t be mine. Stop! (Sits top of R. table.) Stop! (Picks up newspaper.) Morning paper, who wants morning paper? (Throws it on floor behind him, and JACK, who is watching him, picks it up. WALTER opens letter.) Letters, who wants letters?--oh, one from my tailor, “We greatly regret delay in delivery of your new black coat. We will despatch it to reach your residence without fail to-day. May we remind you that your account----?” No, you may not remind me.

(JACK gives him a rousing smack on the back.)

Hullo, Jack, where did you spring from?

JACK. Came to town this morning. (Clasp hands.)

WALTER. Jack, I’m very ill. I haven’t been out of doors till last night for weeks. Nothing but work at what my father left me. He gave his lifetime to it and then left it to me. It ought to have been the invention of the age. I went on the spree last night, when the whole thing failed.

JACK. I have some news for you about your stepmother, Mrs. Everest. By the idiotic conditions of your late father’s will--if the old lady marries again before your birthday on Monday next the whole fortune he left becomes not yours but hers.

WALTER. He meant it the other way about.

JACK. Yes, but that is how the will reads--instead of writing “_He_ shall inherit,” your father wrote “_she_ shall inherit.” She is the “she.” About forty-five thou., isn’t it?

WALTER. Nearer fifty.

JACK. An adventurer named Potterfield has lately come to the village, found out about the will, made love to the old lady, got a special license, and is bringing her to town to marry her to-morrow.

WALTER. What?

JACK. Stella is coming here directly. This wedding must be stopped or postponed.

WALTER. Jack, something’s got to be done--suppose I were taken ill--very ill.

JACK. No good at all.

WALTER. Well, suppose that--no, that’s no use--suppose again that--no, that’s no good either. I have a dim kind of idea that in some way my invention is going to help us.

JACK. You said it had failed.

WALTER. It failed living; it might be of use dead. (Swiss Jodel.) Hullo, tra la la! (Momentary dissipated business.)

(STELLA enters D. in F.)

WALTER. Hullo, Stella how are you? Jack has told me all about this adventurer, Potterfield. I’ve an idea to checkmate my stepmother. (Gives her seat.) I’m going to postpone their marriage not by being ill--I’m going to die. What do you think of that?

JACK. I think it’s the weakest thing I ever heard of.

WALTER. In that cupboard there is a figure exactly like myself which was timed to spring into existence yesterday at 5 p.m.--only it didn’t. It’s the work my father never completed. Something went wrong. There the figure is and will remain, dead as a nut. I even dressed it in my best clothes, gave it a name, too, christened it Cyril Davidson.

STELLA. Cyril Davidson? (Laughs.)