When we were twenty-one ; comedy in four acts

Front matter

CopightN"

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT.

BY

Act I

Scene. — Dick Carew's room in his fiat in Clement's Inn. A man's room. Old-fashioned, comfortable chairs, with the leather well-worn. On the r. side of the room a Mg fire-place with fender seat all round it. The wall is nearly entirely hook-cases. The hangings are darJc red. The over-mantel is old black oak, also the old-fashioned bureau, which is down l. against the wall. There is a deep, comfortable Chesterfield sofa above the fire-place, and a comfortable arm-chair below it, facing up stage. There is a door down R. of the fire-place, and a door l. c. at back, I'^hich opens into the hall — showing the hall — hatrdcks, coats, etc., and the hall door, which opens on to the staircase of the building. There is a large loindow opposite the fire-place with a very crooked blind. A card-table is set out between the window and the fire-place, a little l. of the centre, below it is a smaller table, with a half-empty, old-fashioned whiskey decanter, five glasses, and numerous syphons of soda-water — both on and under the table. Various ash-trays, pipes, and cigar-ends about — also packs of cards. The room has evidently just been the scene of a card party. The door is open that leads to the hall, and through it comes the sotind of men's voices and laughter. A moment after the curtain rises, Mrs. Ericson comes in from the door, doivn r. She is a sweetlooking, fragile old lady. She gives a little ejaculation of dismay.

Mrs. E. Oh, my dear — the smoke. Phyllis, dearie, come and help me to open the window.

(Phyllis enters after her mother, and is lilcewise a little dismayed at the disorder of the room.)

Phyll. They are having a party, aren't they? Foo! the heat!

Mrs. E. Dick would have a fire — and it's June!

Phyll. (has helped to open the window and is now trying to straighten the blind) Dick says a " card-party " wouldn't be anything without a fire. What is the matter with this beastly old blind — it will keep crooked?

Mrs. E. (nervously) My dear — there's something burning.

Phyll. (turning excitedly) Oh, look about — look about, it's Dick's cigar end for a certainty.

(The two women commence to hunt)

Here it is — on the oak, of course. He is a careless old thing, isn't he? He'd be burnt down regularly if I wasn't here to look after him He dropped one into the drawing-room piano yesterday, and we didn't find it out for a quarter of an hour, and then we couldn't get at it, so we had to spill milk down to put it out, and that isn't the best thing for a piano.

(The hall-door bell rings, and as Mrs. Ericson is close to it, she opens it and — )

Mrs, E. Oh, Mr. Corrie, it's you.

Herbert, (a frank, cheerful youth) Hallo, Mrs. Ericson, Dick sent down to me about an hour ago, to know if I had any cards. I was out, but I got his message when I came in just now, and thought I'd bring 'em up myself. How are you? (smiling at Phyllis) One pack's nearly new, the two others aren't quite, and, in fact, I don't think any of 'em are perfect. What does this sudden burst of dissipation mean?

Phyll. (gravely) One of the Trinity has got a birthday.

Herbert, (with due solemnity) Ohoh! Which one?

Phyll. Sir Horace. The little fat one.

Herbert. Is that the one they call "Waddles"?

Phyll. Yes.

Mrs. E. I do hope that little bed in the box-room will hold him.

Phyll. Of course it will hold him, mother — he's not so very fat. He's "just comfortable."

Herbert. He's staying here?

Phyll. Dick's putting him up for the night, otherwise he'd have had to go early to catch the last train, and as it's his birthday, of course that wouldn't have done at all.

Herbert, (fanning himself) I say — you're awfully hot in here.

Phyll. Dick would have a fire.

Herbert. Where's the Imp?

Phyll. Oh, the Imp's gone out to have a quiet evening of his own. He's too young to stand the shock of such a revel as this party.

Herbert, (chuckles) H'm! It strikes me that the Imp isn't quite as young as he looks. Oh, I beg your pardon. Miss Ericson.

Phyll. Not at all.

Herbert. Somehow it's difficult to think of the Imp as an engaged man.

Phyll. It is very difficult, isn't it?

Herbert. He's a jolly lucky chap — oh, I beg pardon, I didn't mean that.

Phyll. Oh, I hope you did, because I quite agree with you.

Herbert. That's a spiffing dog-cart Dick's given him.

Mrs. E. (turning round aghast) What?

Phyll. Dog-cart!

Herbert. Oh! Didn't you know — er — well, p'raps it was a hired one — only — well — he did rather lead me to suppose that he was its sole proprietor.

(Sound of pushing "bacTc chairs comes mingled with the chatter from the adjoining room.)

Hallo! I must get.

Mrs. E. Stop and see Dick.

Herbert. Not I — when four old veterans like that get together and have a birthday, they don't want any extraneous juveniles knocking about — give him the cards. I hope the packs are perfect, but I doubt it.

Mrs. E. Oh, I don't think it'll matter one or two being gone, nothing ever seems to matter much to Dick.

(Herbert laughs, and icith a cheery " Good-night " goes out, not closing the hall-door after him.)

Phyll. (gravely) That's funny about Imp and the dog-cart. I wonder, does Dick know?

Mrs. E. I don't expect he knows half that young man is up to behind his back.

Phyll. (gravely) Mother, you mustn't say disrespectful things about the Imp, he's my future husband!

Mrs. E. Yes, dear, I know he is — bother the boy! He's left the door open, (she goes to the outer door, her eye falls on something hy the mat) Goodness! {she stops and picks up a key) The latch-key — now who put that under the mat? (a pause) Are any of the servants out at this hour? No, they're not. I saw them go to bed ages ago.

Phyll. I put it there, mother. It's all right — oh, don't look amazed. The Imp asked me to — he's likely to be a little late and he's mislaid his own.

Mrs. E. (puzzled) But he's gone to his aunt's at

Phyll. (imth a little laugh) Oh, no, he hasn't.

Mrs. E. But

Phyll. Mother dear, don't be old-fashioned. The Imp isn't a child — he can go to a Music-hall if he likes. Another dirty old damp cigar, (looking at cigar) It's Dick's — he chews his ends.

Mrs. E. But — Oh, Dick thicks he's gone to his aunt's, and it seems almost like de<!eiving him.

Phyll. If the Imp deceives Dick — Dick's only got himself to blame. I think Dick makes himself very ridiculous about the Imp. I don't deceive Dick. I merely push a silly little latch-key under a very dirty mat, that's all. Mother dear, if anybody saw you glaring at me like that, they'd be bound to think I was a monstrosity out of a show. Smooth your face out, and come to bed, there's a dear.

Mrs. E. Phyllis, I really don't believe I shall ever be able to understand you.

Phyll. That's because of the difference in our ages — you're so very young, and I'm so very old.

Mrs. E. (feebly) Why are you?

Phyll. (with a laugh) Because, if I'm going to be married to the Imp, I shall need to know a great deal.

Mrs. E. It's very upsetting.

Phyll. What is?

Mrs. E. Oh, everything. I'm sometimes tempted to think — you won't marry him at all.

Phyll. I will. I said I would, and everybody was pleased, and so I suppose I was — fearfully — pleased. After all, nothing matters as long as other people are pleased, does it?

Mrs. E. It's very nice to please others, if it doesn't worry one.

WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. Y

Phyll. Well, now could it worry one to bs married to such an ideal husband as the Imp?

Mrs. E. I suppose not.

Phyll. (suddenly) Come along, mother dear, they're coming. We don't want to be convicted of keeping them tidy.

(She puts her arm round her mother and hurries her off. The door is flung open, and amid a general babble, Waddles and the Soldiee-Man stalk in arm-in-arm. The Soldier-Man is smoking a large cigar and Waddles is carrying a drink. Waddles, otherwise knoion as Sir Horace Plumely, is a little, round, cherubic man of about 45. The Soldier-Man, otheriuise known as Colonel Miles Grahame, is very tall — very military, bronzed and handsome, a suspicion of grey in his hair.)

Waddles, (with a sigh of content) Oh, good gracious me — we're having a splendid evening.

S. Man. It's a very impressive sight to watch you over a dish of plover's eggs. Waddles.

Waddles. Can't resist 'em — never could — there's something in their shape that appeals to me.

(The Doctor, a well set up, genial Irishman of about five and forty, enters ivith a small spirit-lamp in his hand — lighting his cigar and speaking through the puffs.)

Doctor. Will ye believe it, boys — wid all my flow of eloquence, I can't persuade Master Dick that it's his duty to marry the old lady. What's to be done about it at all— at all?

(Dick enters laden with cigars and cigarette boxes.)

Dick. Lazy demons. Leave me to carry everything, as usual.

Waddles. You're the host — I'm the guest of honour — it's your duty, all of you, to wait on me. Soldier-Man, fetch me more plover's egggs.

S. Man. Daren't; you'd burst, and I'd be called to the inquest.

Dick. Oh, dear, oh, dear, I haven't laughed as much for years as I have this evening.

Doctor. If you'd only propose to the old lady

Dick. Shut up, or I'll — (throtos cushion at him)

S. Man. (gravely) Really, ye know, this fire's a damn nuisance.

Doctor. It is that. Couldn't ye put it out somehow, Dick?

Dick, (ruefully staring at it) It was such a devil of a job to put it in.

Waddles, (fanning himself) I must own, I really have felt it a little oppressive once or twice.

Dick, (hopefully) I vote we don't notice it; it'll be all right then.

S. Man. Theoretically it may be all right — but practically — phew!

Dick. Let's take our coats off. (then with a chuckle to the Soldiee-Man) Do you remember the night we took our coats off in Princes' Street, Edinburgh?

S. Man. Rather. By Gad, what a pasting you gave the brute, Dickie!

Doctor, (with a note of solemn admiration in his voice) Ah — it's a beautiful fighter ye were in those days, Masther Dick.

(Dick chuckles.)

Waddles, (sparring at the Doctor) I was a bit useful if I was pushed, wasn't I^ Miles?

Doctor. Ye were so — but, thank the Lord — ye weren't often pushed.

Waddles. D'ye remember the day that by my superior agility and address I compelled you to apologise on one knee for winking at my best girl behind my back?

Doctor. I have never yet managed to remember what never happened.

'Dick. Come, boys. The cards are getting cold.

Waddles, (rising quickly and going to table) That's right! What I say is — is this a card-party, or is it isn't?

Doctor. Come along, then.

Waddles. My luck must turn. I've lost pounds and pounds.

S. Man. You don't look it, Waddles.

Dick. Leave my little friend's figure alone — who insults him, insults me — Hello! (then turning with a chuckle to Waddles) D'ye remember that night in the Rue Mont Pamane, we upset the claret over one pack of cards — and then sent down to the room underneath

Waddles, (chuckling) I know, the room with the red blinds.

S. Man. Ha! Always drawn.

Dick. Yes — and — d'ye remember the message that came back — and then we went down ourselves — we three.

Waddles. Me first.

Dick. Yes, and I was next, and slipped over those infernal tins.

S. Man. Gads, yes, I remember.

Dick. And how all the giggling stopped dead when we opened the door.

S. Man. By George, yes!

(And all the men sit hack, their faces teaming with the memories of that night so long ago. There is a pause.)

Waddles, (breaks it hy murmuring with his eyes half closed and a beaming smile on his plump little Jace) One of 'em — the fair one — had her hair all down. I remember.

(Another pause.)

S. Man. (gravely) Ah! Soft hair it was too, very soft and long — very — very long.

Waddles, (sitting up quickly) Yes, I remember now — you did me out of a nice thing that night with your lanky legs and your bony shoulders. I'm not sure it's diplomacy for a man of my build to be seen about by ladies with a man of yours.

S. Man. You wern't your present magnificent proportions then, Waddles — you were a slim little freckled, impudent — scaramouch.

Waddles. I was — I was — oh, I know I was. (and he beams again with renewed delight)

Dick. Oh, those days — those nights. What times we used to have.

Waddles. And will again.

Doctor.

Dick.

S. Man. (together) Rather — one of these fine days.

Waddles, (after a pause) I don't think I was ever very, was I?

Dick. Well, I don't know about very freckled, was he, Miles?

Doctor. Well, lie was freckled, anyhow.

Waddles. I don't care if I was. {he looks cheerfully at the circle round the table — the Soldier-Man has begun to deal) Oh dear, oh dear. We're all just as young as we were then.

(There is a pause, the three men look up with a wry face. )

Dick. Just as young.

S. Man.

Doctor. (together) Ahem — just.

Waddles, (patting his own bald spot apprehensively) Well!! almost — anyhow. I fear I'm beginning to lose a little control over my figure, but in some respects I'm sure we're younger, aren't we, Dickie?

Dick. Much younger. Misdeal again. Miles.

Doctor. That's the third time. It's the lobster's flown to your head, my poor boy.

S. Man. (smiling) Ah, the young 'uns of to-day don't know how to enjoy life as we knew how to enjoy it. They're all so damned calculatory.

Dick. No such word.

5S. Man. You know what I mean. We, Dickie, you and I, never stopped in the old days to turn things over in our minds and grow grey over counting the chances of what would or wouldn't happen. Vv'^e went slap at everything, like the healthy young devils we were.

Waddles. Are.

All. Are, of course.

S. Man. And if we got our ears boxed — damme — it did us good — and — er — if we didn't get our ears boxed — well

Dick, (cheerfully, speaking for him) Damme, that did us good, too.

General Chorus, (cheerfully) So it did, of course it did.

Doctor. Ah, we are a merry Trinity.

Waddles, (quickly) Quadrity! Don't forget me, if you please.

S. Man. Ah, Waddy, you're not an original member — you grew on to it later.

Dick. You did — you plump little parasite.

Doctor. It was three years later you threw in yourself on us, Waddy dear.

Waddles, (gloomy) I know it was. But oh, after all these years don't you think it would be more gen-

WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. H

tlemanly of you three to forget your blessed Trinity, and start friends level?

S. Man. Damme! I've mis-dealt again.

Doctor. It must be the lobster — it couldn't be the wine.

Dick. Here, I'll have a go this time.

S. Man. {leaning hack in his chair and stretching his long legs) Remember that night in Boulogne when we

Dick, (gravel) Ought we to discuss that before Waddles — he's very young.

Doctor. And very immature.

Waddles. It is my birthday. I won't keep on being got at, and my glass has been empty for ages.

Dick, (rising quickly) My dear Waddy, I'm awfully sorry. I left the drinks in the dining room. You deal on where I left off — oh — where did I leave off — never mind, go on where I did. I don't know, a card or two more or less won't make much difference at this time of night.

Doctor, (counting the cards) Count your cards, boys.

(They do so. Then the Doctor folds his hands across his middle and lets his roving eyes rest on a photograph of Phyllis that hangs on the wall.)

(placidly) It's a wonderful invention, this photography — sure that's a speaking likeness of the child.

(The other two, adsorbed in counting, merely grunt.)

She's a beautiful gyurl!

S. Man. She is.

Waddles. Beautiful indeed.

Doctor. Why did none of us have the chance of meeting such an angel when we were the Imp's age?

S. Man. Because we'd all have got married, and then none of us would have been here to-night.

Waddles, (having counted) Seven.

S. Man. And seven here. The Imp's a lucky little chap.

Waddles. He is so — no, it's eight I have.

Doctor. Be — devil the cyards. I can't count for thinking.

Waddles. It's my belief the Imp will have to let off a lot of steam before he's fit to run in double harness.

{The two others give grunts of mutual acquiescence. Then there is a pause, broken "by — )

All. I wish — {they stop and each looTcs at the other) Doctor. What?

(Waddles and the Soldier-Man pick up their cards a little sheepishly.)

S. Man. Nothing.

Doctor, {looking at them both, quizzically) It's the same case wid all of us, I'm thinking.

Waddles. What's that?

S. Man. I fail to follow.

Doctor, {gravely) Why, all of us u'd gladly lay down in the mud, and let Miss Phylley dance herself thro' life on our bedabbled corpses.

Waddles, {loftily) Not at all — not at all.

S. Man. Not I.

Doctor, {shaking his head) Ye're fooling yourselves, the facts is as I say. Howld yer whist. Here he comes and the whiskey wine.

(Dick enters with a bottle from Tantalus.)

Dick. It's nearly empty.

Doctor. Nearly empty, it is that an' more. Never mind — when it's finished, we can all go and forage in the barrel. Here are your cards, my son.

Dick, {sitting down and picking up his cards) Miles, how the dickens do you keep so tidy? You don't even get tobacco ash on your trousers {and he brushes himself vigorously with his hands)

S. Man. It's constitutional.

Doctor, {looking at his cards) 1 propose.

Waddles, {looking at his hand) I pass.

Dick. Half a minute. I haven't looked at my hand. I wish to goodness the Imp were here. I find his advice at cards most invaluable.

Doctor. His father was a good card player.

Dick. Card playing's a gift, {then looking round at the other players) What's happened?

S. Man. Proposal over there.

Dick, {as he laboriously arranges and examines his cards) Jolly tactful of him to go out to-night, so that we four should be all to ourselves, wasn't it?

Waddles. Very — we're waiting for you — what do you do?

Dick. Oh, is it me to shout? Oh, I pass — no, I don't — I'll accept you, Doctor.

Waddles. Come on, we'll down 'em. My lead.

Dick. Hallo, I've only got twelve cards, {he counts them out)

S. Man. It's an imperfect pack — it must be.

Dick. Try another, and deal again.

S. Man. I'm a bit sick of dealing, somebody else have a go.

Doctor, (cheerfully) I'll do it. (and he deals while the others watch him)

S. Man. I say, old man — I hear you didn't take that fishing after all.

Dick. No.

S. Man. Why the dickens didn't you — it's quite the best.

Dick. I daresay, but I came to the conclusion that I couldn't afford it.

S. Man. Rubbish!

Dick. It's fact.

S. Man. Then I expect you let the Imp run away with all the spare cash, eh. Master Dick?

(Dick smiles.)

Dick. He runs away with a good deal, bless him.

DocTOE. It's a mistake.

Dick. What is?

Waddles. You spoil him.

Dick. I don't.

Doctor, (interposing quickly) Ah, now do let's drop the Imp, and get on with our game. We're the Imps to-night, not 21, any man Jack of us.

(The others pay no attention to him, and the Soldier- Man goes on gravely.)

S. Man. I think, Dick, if you'll allow me to say so, you're wrong in letting him run away with the idea that his income is unlimited.

Dick. He's welcome to all I've got — and he knows it.

Waddles. And doesn't scruple to make use of his knowledge, I'm thinking.

S. Man. That's all very well, old man — but I don't think you've got more than enough for yourself.

Dick. Oh, I want very little.

Waddles. Why have you given up your cob, Dickie?

Dick. (Shoving his fingers through his hair) Oh, I I dunno.

S. Man. You didn't shoot last year. How was that?

Dick. Er — I dunno.

Waddles. I do; you think the money is more profitable squandered on the boy.

Dick. Well, p'raps I do.

S. Man. Rot.

Doctor. Not at all.

Waddles. You spoil him.

S. Man. Does he know that you're giving up all the fun you used to get out of life, that he may enjoy himself more than's good for him?

Dick. He doesn't, because I'm not.

Doctor. You let him have every mortal thing he wants.

Dick. I don't.

Waddles. If he cried for the moon you'd make an effort to get it for him.

Dick. So would all of you.

Waddles. It can't be a good training.

Doctor. No, indeed it can't.

Dick. Look here, it's all very well to round on me, but — but, under the circumstances, I don't think I've turned the boy out badly.

(Waddles shakes his head and groans.)

I think he's a splendid fellow, if you ask me.

S. Man. So do I — that's not quite the point.

Dick. Of course, I may have gone wrong in one or two little things

Doctor. Ye've gone wrong on more than one or two little things to my certain knowledge.

Dick. Still I've done my best to turn him out all right. Suppose you three chaps have a go at him now. Every little helps, and I'm jolly sure that out of our united experiences we ought to be able to teach him a thing or two.

Waddles, (beamingly) I'm sure any one of us could instruct him how to have a high old time.

Dick, (shortly) That's not what I mean.

Doctor. Shut up, Waddles, you're a rake.

(Waddles chortles with conscious pride.)

S. Man. Now we are on this subject, I should like to know how he does really stand — financially, I mean.

Dick, (a little embarrassed) Oh, he's all right that way.

Doctor. Let's see, how auld was he when he became our property?

Dick. Two.

S. Man. And from then till now

Waddles. Nineteen years.

S. Man. He has been your old man of the sea — that is to say — he has lived with you?

(Dick nods.)

Doctor. And we've each contributed a paltry £25 per annum for the little beggar's maintenance.

Waddles. And what with tutors for this and tutors for that and sending him to Harrow and buying him books and cricket bats, I don't think that there can be much margin on that hundred a year.

S. Man. Dickie, as co-guardians with you of that boy — we demand to know — vv-Iiat is his financial position?

Dick. Well, as a matter fact, he's all right. That — er — £100 a year that we've arranged to let him have — I — er — well, as a matter of fact, I've made that a sort of a sinking fund for him — I — I've never touched that. It's been left to accumulate and — er — well, it's about £3000 now.

Waddles, (hangs the table) I thought as much.

Doctor. So did I.

S. Man. Then you have paid for his entire bringing up — ever since he's belonged to us?

Dick. It's been all right. I didn't want the money for myself, and I thought our allowances would be very handy for him in a lump sum when he came of age.

S. Man. You've done more than was necessary.

Waddles. Much more than he had any right to expect.

Dick, {rising quietly) I don't think so, any one of you in my place would have done just the same.

(He rises and goes to his desk.)

He is Charlie's boy — (a silence falls on the men) you remember when old Charlie came and told the four of us he meant to be married.

Waddles. And what a silly ass sort of thing we thought it was then.

Doctor, (shaking his head sadly) Oh, dear old Charlie — one of the best.

Dick, (sadly) One of the best.

(Another pause — the men's minds drift dack into the past.)

That wedding day.

Waddles. One of my boots was too tight.

S. Man. I was best man.

Waddles. Only because ye looked most showy walking up the aisle.

Dick. Then two years afterwards the coming of the Imp, and the passing away of Mrs. Charlie. Poor old chap, how lonely and desolate it seemed to leave him. Do you remember how we used to watch him from our windows walking up and down that field behind the stables day in, day out, with the Imp huddled up in his arms?

Doctor. He was hard hit — poor old son.

Waddles. He was that.

S. Man. Broke him up.

Dick. He'd have got out of it, had it not been for his dread of leaving the Imp alone. Do you remember this — (he goes to the desk and takes out a worn letter and reads) " Im going, old man — and somehow I don't much care. I've never given much thought to the other side — but anyhow she's there. Dick, I want to speak of my boy. I'm leaving him. I'm helpless. I'm leaving him alone, there is only you, you and the Trinity, boys look after my boy when I'm gone. Make a man of him, make him what you know he ought to be. Make the Trinity proud of him, for their old Charlie's sake, let him step into my place with you all, let him be one of us. I'm leaving him so terribly alone. Oh, for God's sake, Dick, be Father— Mother— be all to him." (Dick stops and refolds the letter) And— and— I've done it, boys. I've been father and mother and — and, oh, I've been a damn fool, I daresay— but I've done my best. (then with a sudden outburst) Hang it all, so have you, you've all made fools of yourselves about him at one time or another. You— (7ie points a scornful finger at the Soldter-Man) You've swaggered down Piccadilly with him sittting on your shoulders rubbing your top hat the wrong way. I was with you and saw even the cabmen laughing, (then he turns fiercely on Waddles) You— you were caught in a four-wheeler in Pall Mall with a rocking horse on top, a most invidious position for an unmarried man. (they all laugh) You laugh at me. Very well— laugh away. I'm a hen with one chicken, I daresay, and a hen with one chicken I'll be to the end of the chapter, but I mean that chicken to be a bally swan before I go and tell Charlie how we've reared his boy.

(And very excited he goes across to the bureau and replaces the letter, shutting the drawer with a snap.)

Doctor. Well, well, well — he's a fine ould youngster — but all this has given me the doldrums, Dickie, me son — excursh into the larder, and trot out another jug of whiskey wine.

Dick. I — I — I'm awfully sorry. I didn't mean to get so serious.

Waddles. Let's get on with our game; there won't be time for me to get that £7 back if we don't.

Dick. Come along, Waddy, — you shall have it, if I have to revoke to give it you — wait till I get the whiskey, where the devil are the matches.

Waddles. Hurry up.

S. Man. You chaps drink too much. Waddles, how is it you (^n not keep your waistcoat buttoned?

WADDLEt. Oh, do leave my wardrobe alone.

(Dick retires to the pantry, laughing.)

S. Man. There never was a man so completely devoted to any one as Dick is to that boy.

Waddles. Talk of love of women.

DocTOB. If anything happened to him he's — what's that?

(A pause, they all listen.)

S. Man. Some one at the front door.

{Another pause. The door is heard to open and close softly, then another pause, then the room door opens softly and the Imp peers in — he is surprised at the sight of the Trinity, hut smiles at them a little vasantly. ) ^

Imp. Hullo!

(The Trinity glare at him in dismay.)