Waiting for an Omnibus in the Lowther Arcade on a Rainy Day: A Farce, in One Act

JOHN HORATIO O’WALKER ... MR. LEIGH MURRAY. MR. BARBICAN BROWN ... MR. PAUL BEDFORD. SCHNIPPS (a Tailor) ... MR. GARDEN. BEADLE ... MR. J. SAUNDERS MRS. JELLICOE ... MISS CUTHBERT. FANNY ... MISS EMMA HARDING. MISS PATTY PECKOVER ... MISS FANNY MASKELL.

Pedestrians, &c.

Time in Representation—50 minutes.

Costumes.

O’WALKER. Black frock coat, white trousers, white hat.

BROWN. Brown coat, nankeen trousers.

SCHNIPPS. Eccentric dress.

BEADLE. Brown suit with gold binding.

MRS. JELLICOE. Silk dress, velvet mantle and bonnet.

FANNY. Walking dress.

PATTY. Blue muslin dress, red scarf, and white bonnet.

WAITING FOR AN OMNIBUS.

SCENE.—_Interior of the Lowther Arcade. The Strand Entrance supposed to be at L. side; shops and stalls with goods exposed running across at back of stage; PEDESTRIANS, male and female children walking to and fro at L., a number of people standing, others make their way in with umbrellas up, which they put down and join the PROMENADERS; the BEADLE of the arcade occasionally seen; heavy rain heard._

MRS. J. (without, L.) Now, gentlemen, stand aside—don’t quite block up the way if you please! (forces her way through crowd, L., followed by FANNY; they have their parasols up, which they immediately put down) Mercy on us! here’s a day! this is something like rain.

FANNY. (L.) Yes, mamma, very like it indeed.

MRS. JELLICOE. (R.) However, now we are safe under cover, my dear, suppose we see what we’ve got to do to-day. First, there’s the upholsterer’s; then the milliner’s; then the jeweller’s; then the printer’s——

FANNY. The printer’s—what for?

MRS. J. What for! why, to order the wedding cards to be sure!

FANNY. Lor, mamma!

MRS. J. (imitating) Lor, mamma! just as if you’re not ready to jump out of your wits for joy all the time! I’m sure when I was engaged to your papa, I was so happy, I did nothing but cry all day long for weeks together: but, perhaps I was more in love with the late lamented Jellicoe, than you are with Mr. O’Walker?

FANNY. I like Mr. O’Walker very well, mamma; he’s agreeable enough—very amusing—very attentive—sufficiently good-looking——

MRS. J. And very genteel! And then, he’s very well to do in the world; in short, Fanny, it’s a very desirable match for you in every respect; and if we can only persuade cousin Brown to be of the same opinion——

FANNY. Surely, mamma, I can get married without the consent of this cousin Brown that you are always talking about?

MRS. J. Of course you can, my dear; but Barbican Brown is a rich old bachelor, and your godfather into the bargain—I shall never forget him on the memorable occasion of your christening—the tender yet half-reproachful tone in which he said “don’t kick up such a row, you little brat,” as you lay squalling in his arms; and I must say, my dear, you did misbehave yourself in a variety of ways.

FANNY. Well, this godpapa of mine certainly must have taken a very violent interest in me indeed, considering that he has never seen me since.

MRS. J. Simply because your poor papa went out of business shortly after and settled at Brentford, and cousin Barbican went into business and settled in London; we really must go over to his little place at Holloway this evening, we shall be sure to catch him at home, and then we’ll see if between us we can’t coax him to come down with something handsome on your wedding day. (violent rain heard) Dear, dear, I declare it rains harder than ever; I really think, Fanny, we had better put off our shopping and our intended visit to cousin Barbican till to-morrow, and get into a Brentford omnibus and go home at once.

FANNY. Very well, mamma, but do let us take one stroll up and down the Arcade first. I suppose there’s no harm in it?

MRS. J. Harm! Do you suppose I should be here if everything wasn’t perfectly respectable? For goodness’ sake put that silly notion out of your head—and take care of your pockets.

MRS. JELLICOE and FANNY lounge out at R., looking at shops as they exeunt; violent rain again heard and noise of voices L., in dispute.

VOICE. (outside) Now then—where are you pushing?

O’WALKER. (without) I’m pushing my way into the Arcade—at least, I am trying to do it!

O’WALKER, with a green cotton umbrella over his head, forces his way through CROWD, L.

O’WALKER. Isn’t it a remarkable fact, that people no sooner get under cover out of the rain than they immediately congregate in a dense mass to prevent other people getting under cover out of the rain—I don’t know why they should, but they do! Here’s a day! never mind, I’ve no doubt the country wants rain, the turnips especially: somehow or other, turnips always seem to want rain—I don’t know why they should, but they do! and if they do, all I can say is, they’ve got it—consequently, it’s all for the best; and although my new twelve-and-ninepenny boots do feel for all the world like a couple of wet sponges, I think of the agricultural interest and am silent.

The BEADLE here approaches, and touching his hat to O’WALKER, points to his open umbrella, and then walks on.

O’WALKER. (astonished) Now, that man evidently means something; he wouldn’t touch his hat to me for nothing—I don’t know why he shouldn’t, but he wouldn’t!

BEADLE again approaches O’WALKER, R., points to his open umbrella, smiles, touches his hat, and about to retire.

O’WALKER. (beckons to him) My good friend, perhaps I ought to know you? you may have been the cherished companion of my childhood, or the friend of my bosom in after years? if so, I’m ashamed to say I’ve forgotten you—now, what is it?

BEADLE. Umbrella, sir!

O’WALKER. Well?

BEADLE. Don’t rain here, sir—under cover, sir—needn’t keep it up, sir!