Delphi Complete Works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Illustrated) (1036 page)

PROCTOR glares at GREG, with whom SIM expostulates in dumb show.

JANE A. (aside). Tom! Tom! But I am sure the naughty word I

heard her say was Jack! (Exit JANE ANNIE.)

PROCTOR.
 
Tom is coming to serenade her from this hall window.

Now I have come here to watch, and if he is guilty, to

have him sent down. Ha! ha! conceive his discomfiture

when he climbs up to this window and is met — not by

his sweetheart — but my cry of —

GREG.
 
Name and college.

SIM
 
(quaking). I don’t know what is to become of him! (To

GREG.) Don’t be so dashed independent!

PROCTOR (fiercely). Watch at the windows!

BULLDOGS go to windows.

MISS S. Dear friend, you must be mistaken.

PROCTOR.
 
Mistaken? I am a Proctor. Besides, if you are so

confident, you cannot complain of my putting the matter

to the proof, and I propose watching here. Where can I

hide?

MISS S. (pointing to clock).
 
Do you think you could get

into this?

PROCTOR.
 
The clock! Why not? I can just do it.

MISS S. Good. And I shall watch downstairs, for I know that my

school can triumphantly stand the test.

DUET. — MISS SIMS and PROCTOR.

MISS SIMS.
  
Strictly tended plants are mine,

Breakfast early, bed at nine —

PROCTOR.
 
Plants that need some watching.

MISS SIMS.
  
Their regard for beauty slight is,

Mental charm their chief delight is —

PROCTOR.
 
Mischief ever hatching.

MISS SIMS.
  
Flirt’s a word at which they frown,

Man they know is but a noun —

PROCTOR.
 
A noun they can’t decline.

MISS SIMS.
  
Eyes they never use amiss,

When they take the air like this,

In a maiden line. (Business.)

PROCTOR.
 
Yet I take this information

With some mental reservation,

And I think it most imprudent,

Thus to fire the callow student,

Or the young divine.

MISS SIMS.
  
Helpful books they read — not Gyp,

But the courting scenes they skip —

PROCTOR.
 
Or at least they say so.

MISS SIMS.
  
If the heroine who charms

Sinks into her lover’s arms —

PROCTOR.
 
They hope to be some day so.

MISS SIMS.
  
No, their comment prim and terse is,

Namely “What a hard plight hers is!”

PROCTOR.
 
Oh, this is quite too fine!

MISS SIMS.
  
And mankind with scorn they view,

As they walk out two and two,

In a maiden line. (Business.)

ENSEMBLE.

{ MISS SIMS. Yet he takes my wise instructions

{
  
With considerable deductions;

{
  
For such sights are bad, I know

{
  
For the budding medico,

{
  
Or the young divine.

{ PROCTOR.
 
Yet I take Miss Sims’ instructions

{
  
With considerable deductions;

{
  
For such sights are bad, I know

{
  
For the budding medico,

{
  
Or the young divine.

GREG.
 
Thank you so much. What is that called?

MISS S. It is a little thing of my own.

GREG.
 
How delightful!

MISS S. I am so glad you like it.

GREG.
 
You sing with so much expression.

MISS S. Do you really think so?

GREG.
 
Won’t you favour us with another?

MISS S. That is the only one I know.

GREG.
 
How very charming! (PROCTOR orders him back to window.)

PROCTOR.
 
Ah me! Neither of us has forgotten the days when we

were lovers. What a pity we quarrelled!

MISS S. (questioningly). I suppose we have quite outgrown that

affection?

PROCTOR.
 
Oh, quite. (BULLDOGS at the window make signs as if

they saw someone. Soft flute is heard outside.) Ah! he

comes! It is Tom! (PROCTOR gets into the clock, MISS

SIMS assisting him. PROCTOR looking out.) How’s that?

MISS S. Wonderful! If the face had hands you could pass for the

clock any day. And here they are. (Puts her spectacles

on PROCTOR.) There! and now I shall watch downstairs.

PROCTOR.
 
Hi! a moment. What have you set me at?

MISS S. Ten past nine. (Exit.)

PROCTOR.
 
Now the minute hand is in my left eye and I can see

nothing. I wish she had put me on half an hour.

GREG (coming down). I beg to inform you, sir — he’s gone!

Sim, where can the Proctor have vanished to?

SIM
 
(coming down). I am glad he isn’t here. What is to be

done? We didn’t see what the Proctor expected us to

see.

GREG.
 
Is that our fault?

SIM. Hush! Of course it is, Greg. You will say we saw the

undergraduate, eh, Greg?

PROCTOR (aside). What?

GREG.
 
But we didn’t. It was a soldier we saw.

PROCTOR (aside). Eh?

SIM. Oh, what is to be done?

GREG.
 
Tell him the truth.

SIM. Oh, Greg, don’t be so independent! Think of the time

when you were a little child on your mother’s knee.

(GREG is much affected.)

DUET. — SIM and GREG.

SIM.
  
When a bulldog I became,

Independence was my game,

But since my course I’m steering

By a rule that is more wise,

For I hear with other’s hearing,

And I see with other’s eyes.

GREG (derisively).
 
Tooral, looral-ly!

SIM.
  
That’s a risky think to say.

GREG.
 
It’s my platform, I reply.

SIM.
  
Platforms, Greg, are cheap to-day.

GREG.
 
Which nobody can deny.

Man’s a man for a’ that, Sim.

SIM.
  
For a what? say I,

GREG.
 
For a that.

SIM.
  
A that? what’s that?

GREG (after reflecting).
 
Tooral, looral-ly!

BOTH.
 
Up with caps and freedom hail!

Here’s the new election cry;

Man’s a man if born a male,

Tooral, looral, looral-ly!

GREG.
 
Proc’s are spry, but I see through them!

I’m the man that will undo them!

With a wit like razors’ edges,

Twit them in the ‘Varsitee;

This the thin edge of the wedge is,

Spell them with a little p.

SIM (derisively).
  
Tooral, looral-ly!

GREG.
 
Culture’s fudge — see how I flout it,

SIM.
 
 
Culture doesn’t pay, that’s why;

GREG.
 
We reformers do without it,

SIM.
  
Which nobody can deny.

GREG.
 
Mad you are, my friend, go to!

SIM.
  
Go to where? say I,

GREG.
 
The missing word I leave to you.

SIM (after reflecting). Tooral, looral-ly!