Delphi Complete Works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Illustrated) (1035 page)

BAB. And, oh girls! I have promised to elope with Jack to-

night.

ALL. Oh! (BAB sighs.)

ROSE.
 
But why do you sigh?

BAB. Ah, there is Tom, dear Tom! What is poor Tom to do?

ROSE.
 
Then it is Tom you love?

BAB. Oh, I do not know which I love. Tom is so poor, and

Jack is ready to take me now. Besides, I have promised.

MAUD.
 
Then Jack has money?

BAB. He says he has a little.

MILLY. Only a little? Then what are you to live on?

BAB. Oh, we have worked that out very carefully. First of

all he is to sell out. Then he has a friend who wrote a

novel in six weeks and got £1,000 for it. Well, Jack

has much more ability than his friend, so he is to

adopt novel writing as a profession, and, as £1,000 in

six weeks comes to £8,666 13s. 14d. a year, we shall be

quite comfortable.

MILLY. I see you have left nothing to chance.

BAB. No.

ROSE.
 
Where are you and Jack to meet?

BAB. All day I have been expecting a note to say if I am to

meet him in the garden or on the tow path.

MISS SIMS
 
and JANE ANNIE come up the stairs listening.

MEG. H’st!

BAB
 
(softly). Girls, we are watched! I must deceive the

eavesdroppers. (Aloud.) Girls, this is my secret about

which you have asked me.

ALL. Ahem! Ahem!

SONG. — BAB.

Bright-eyed Bab I used to be,

Now these eyes are lead;

Languor has come over me,

Hangs my little head.

Now my figure — once like this —

Droops like autumn berry;

Pity me, my secret is,

Me is sleepy very!

ENSEMBLE.

MISS SIMS and GIRLS.
 
JANE ANNIE.

See her little drowsy head, Does her naughty little head

Droops like autumn berry; Droop like autumn berry?

Says she wants to go to bed, Says she wants to go to bed,

She is sleepy, very!
  
But I add a query?

BAB.
  
Simple Bab is charged with art,

Watched by cruel parties;

Palpitates her ‘ittle heart,

‘Is where ‘ittle heart is!

Something Bab has planned to do,

Something will not keep;

Bab’s a drowsy girlie who

Has planned to — go to sleep.

ENSEMBLE.

MISS SIMS and GIRLS.
 
JANE ANNIE.

Such a guileless little head Though she be a drowsy head,

Secret could not keep; That is rather steep;

Tuck her in her cosy bed, Tho’ we tucked her up in bed,

And she’ll go to sleep.
 
Would she go to sleep?

Exeunt GIRLS slowly to refrain of “Good-night, Good-night!”

MISS S. (to JANE ANNIE). This explanation of Bab’s seems quite

satisfactory.

JANE A. Hum!

MISS S. Bab, to bed.

BAB. Can’t I stay up for a little, Miss Sims, to entertain

your guests?

MISS S. Insolence! I shall see you to your room.

BAB. I can hear them coming upstairs.

JANE A. Do tell me who they are. I am not curious. I only want

to know.

MISS S. They are the Proctor and his Bulldogs.

Exeunt MISS SIMS, BAB, and JANE ANNIE.

Enter PROCTOR and BULLDOGS.

RECITATIVE. — PROCTOR.

There was a time when we were not,

The name that this dark period got

Was Chaos.

It lay as ‘neath a ban,

Merely containing animals, vegetables, minerals,

Woman and the like, and man.

Said Nature, “I’ve no Proctor,”

This strange omission shocked her.

Too long she felt she’d waited;

She now enlarged her plan.

We Proctors were created,

And then the world began.

SONG. — PROCTOR.

I’ll tell to you what ‘tis we do,

We stalk the undergrad.

When he perceives our velvet sleeves,

He runs away like mad.

Then follow we by deputy,

These men I now describe;

My bulldogs sound pull him to ground,

They never take a bribe.

In vain he tries to dodge their eyes,

Of all his haunts they’ve knowledge;

And soon I make our quarry quake

By crying, “Name and college!”

ALL.
  
Name and college! Name and college!

PROCTOR.
 
Caged lions may forget they’re tame,

The wife forget her baby’s name,

The trampled worm forget to turn,

The Scot to think of Bannockburn,

One poet in a score forget

The laureateship is open yet,

But none who of its gist have knowledge

Can e’er forget my “Name and college.”

In after years I fill with fears

All who’ve been undergrads;

The Cabinet, the Laureate,

Still run from me like lads.

To Parliament I one time went

The front bench to enlighten,

I thought I’d try to prove that I

Could still the members frighten.

So up I rose, and struck the pose,

And shouted, “Name and college!”

Oh, run did they from me that day,

When I cried “Name and college!”

ALL.
  
Name and college! Name and college!

PROCTOR.
 
Comedians may forget their part,

Librettists that it rhymes with heart;

Composers may themselves forget

When ragged rhymes they’re asked to set;

The Savoy opera singer e’en

Forget that on his head he’s been;

But none who of its gist have knowledge,

Can e’er forget my “Name and college.”

[Re-enter MISS SIMS.] JANE ANNIE listens from balcony.

MISS S. Dear friend, you have not yet told me the reason for

this visit, and I cannot hope that you have called

merely because of our old friendship.

PROCTOR.
 
Our more than friendship.

They sigh. BULLDOGS sigh, and PROCTOR glares at them.

GREG (rebelliously). We have our feelings.

PROCTOR.
 
But I object to your having feelings.

SIM
 
(signing to GREG to control himself). Then we haven’t.

PROCTOR.
 
Are they still following me?

GREG and SIM (going to window). They are gone!

PROCTOR.
 
Ha!

MISS S. What is it, dear friend?

PROCTOR.
 
It is the penalty of greatness. You have heard that a

Chair of New Journalism has been established at the

University. There has been no peace for me since. The

Press Students follow me, interview me, describe me.

You see, honours can now be got in this department, and

they are all anxious to take the first “first class” in

journalism.

GREG.
 
Besides, they feel that if they don’t hurry up, some

lady student will take it before them.

MISS S. It is a way that lady students have.

PROCTOR.
 
But it was duty brought me here. I have private

information that an undergraduate named Findlater —

popularly known as Tom, is carrying on a — a — a —

GREG.
 
A flirtation.

PROCTOR.
 
A — a flirtation — (He is reluctant to take the word

from GREG, but can think of no other. GREG is

triumphant.) — with a certain — certain — one of

these — ah! what do you call those little things that

grow into women?

GREG.
 
A girl.

PROCTOR (annoyed). A — a — girl — in this seminary.

MISS S. Impossible! Could it be Bab?

GREG.
 
Bab was the name.