Produced by William Coon
THE NOBLE LORD
A Comedy In One Act
By
PERCIVAL WILDE
The Noble Lord
A secluded spot in the Maine woods in the neighborhood of asummer hotel. It is the middle of July. The trees are coveredwith foliage, a hot sun casts dancing shadows upon the mossyground, and the air is full of the twittering of birds and therustle of leaves. A winding path crosses from one side to theother, and near the center is a little clearing: the stump of afelled tree, with the lichen-covered trunk itself near it, and apatch of grassy turf. The eye cannot penetrate far through theriotously growing underbrush, but as one looks upwards, to theleft, a thinning of foliage, allowing a glimpse of the sky, givesevidence of the near proximity of some small body of water.
As the curtain rises the scene is empty. There is only the songof birds, and the whisper of a gentle breeze. For a few secondsnothing else is heard. Then, suddenly, not far away, there is thesound of a splash, followed by the scream of a drowning woman,"Help! Help! Help!" There is a tremendous crashing through theunderbrush, and another voice, very masculine, very English,shouts, "Where are you? Where are you?" Rather indefinitely thefirst speaker answers, "Here! Help! Help!" Another crashingthrough the underbrush, followed by a second splash, andpresently, after a short pause, there enters upon the stage atall, much bedraggled Englishman, bearing in his arms themotionless body of an extremely good-looking girl. Both of themare very wet, and a trail of water marks their progress acrossthe scene. Reaching the clearing, the Englishman methodicallydeposits the girl on the ground, backs away a foot or so, andnotices that his hands are wet. He reaches into a hip pocket anddraws forth a handkerchief: the handkerchief is wetter than hishands. With a gesture of vexation he throws it away, and giveshis attention to the girl. He looks at her quizzically; then,rather timidly, he kneels at her side, and lays his ear over herheart. He rises promptly with a satisfied nod, carefully removeshis dripping coat, folds it neatly, and places it on the log.Again he kneels, this time with his knees on either side of thegirl's head, and laboriously begins to apply the Sylvestermethod, counting audibly as he does so. At "ten" he stopswearily, pauses, and again applies his ear to her heart. Theresult is evidently pleasing, and after a few more Sylvestermovements, he begins to vary the procedure by removing her shoesand alternately chafing her hands and feet. Presently she sighsdeeply. For the third time he pauses to listen to her heart.Slowly and deliberately her left arm rises, to encircle his neckin a confiding clasp. He sits back on his haunches, politelysurprised.
SHE. (Faintly) Mother! Mother, dear!
HE. Eh?
SHE. Mother, dear, I'm so glad——
HE. (Interrupting energetically) Really, I beg your pardon.
SHE. (Continuing without a break) I'm so glad you've come.
HE. Ah, yes. . . . Quite so.
SHE. Kiss me, mother.
HE. (Trying to rise) Eh?
(She does not release him.)
SHE. Kiss me, mother.
HE. But I'm not your mother.
SHE. (Plaintively) Won't you kiss me, mother?
HE. (Looks around furtively. Then he obliges her.)
SHE. Ah! That's so nice. (She pauses. Shudders.