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BELINDA
An April Folly in Three Acts
BY
A. A. MILNE
CHARACTERS
Produced by Mr. Dion Boucioault at the New Theatre, London, on April 8,
1918, with the following cast:--
BELINDA TREMAYNE .......... _Irene Vanbrugh_.
DELIA (her Daughter) ...... _Isabel Elsom_.
HAROLD BAXTER ............. _Dion Boucicault_.
CLAUDE DEVENISH ........... _Dennis Neilson-Terry_.
JOHN TREMAYNE ............. _Ben Webster_.
BETTY ..................... _Anne Walden_.
The action takes place in Belinda's country-house in Devonshire at the
end of April, the first act in the garden and the second and last acts
in the hall
[Illustration]
BELINDA
ACT I
_It is a lovely April afternoon--a foretaste of summer--in_
BELINDA'S garden_.
BETTY, _a middle-aged servant, is fastening a hammock--its first
appearance this year--to a tree down_ L. _In front there is a
garden-table, with a deck-chair on the right of it and a straight-backed
one to the left. There are books, papers, and magazines on the
table_. BELINDA, _of whom we shall know more presently, is on the
other side of the open windows which look on to the garden, talking
to_ BETTY, _who crosses to_ R. _of hammock, securing it to
tree_ C.
BELINDA (_from inside the house_). Are you sure you're tying it up
tightly enough, Betty?
BETTY (_coming to front of hammock_). Yes, ma'am; I think it's
firm.
BELINDA. Because I'm not the fairy I used to be.
BETTY (_testing hammock_). Yes, ma'am; it's quite firm this end
too.
BELINDA (_entering from portico with sunshade open_). It's not the
ends I'm frightened of; it's the middle where the weight's coming.
(_Comes down_ R. _and admiring_.) It looks very nice. (_She crosses
at back of wicker table, hanging her hand-bag on hammock. Closes and
places her sunshade at back of tree_ C.)
BETTY. Yes, ma'am.
BELINDA (_trying the middle of it with her hand_). I asked them at
the Stores if they were quite _sure_ it would bear me, and they
said it would take anything up to--I forget how many tons. I know I
thought it was rather rude of them. (_Looking at it anxiously, and
trying to get in, first with her right leg and then her left_.) How
does one get in! So trying to be a sailor!
BETTY. I think you sit in it, ma'am, and then (_explaining with her
hands_) throw your legs over.
BELINDA. I see. (_She sits gingerly in the hammock, and then, with a
sudden flutter of white, does what_ BETTY _suggests_.) Yes.
(_Regretfully_.) I'm afraid that was rather wasted on you, Betty.
We must have some spectators next time.
BETTY. Yea, ma'am
BELINDA. Cushions.
(BETTY _moves to and takes a cushion from deck-chair_. BELINDA
_assists her to place it at back of her head_. BETTY _then goes
to back of hammock and arranges_ BELINDA'S _dress_.)
There! Now then, Betty, about callers.
BETTY. Yes, ma'am.
BELINDA. If Mr. Baxter calls--he is the rather prim gentleman--
BETTY. Yea, ma'am; the one who's been here several times before.
(_Moves to below and_ L. _of hammock_.)
BELINDA (_giving_ BETTY _a quick look_). Yes. Well, if he
calls, you'll say, "Not at home."
BETTY. Yes, ma'am.
BELINDA. He will say (_imitating_ MR. BAXTER), "Oh--er--oh--er--
really." Then you'll smile very sweetly and say, "I beg your pardon, was
it Mr_. BAXTER_?" And he'll say, "Yes!" and you'll say, "Oh, I beg
your pardon, sir; _this_ way, please."
BETTY. Yes, ma'am.
BELINDA. That's right, Betty. Well now, if Mr. Devenish calls--he is the
rather poetical gentleman--
BETTY. Yes, ma'am; the one who's _always_ coming here.
BELINDA (_with a pleased smile_). Yes. Well, if he calls you'll
say, "Not at home."
BETTY. Yes, ma'am.
BELINDA. He'll immediately (_extending her arms descriptively_)
throw down his bunch of flowers and dive despairingly into the moat.
You'll stop him, just as he is going in, and say, "I beg your pardon,
sir, was it Mr_. DEVENISH_?" And he will say, "Yes!" and you will
say, "Oh, I beg your pardon, sir; _this_ way, please."
BETTY. Yes, ma'am. And suppose they both call together?
BELINDA (_non-plussed for a moment_). We won't suppose anything so
exciting, Betty.
BETTY. No, ma'am. And suppose any other gentleman calls?
BELINDA (_with a sigh_). There aren't any other gentlemen.
BETTY. It might be a clergyman, come to ask for a subscription like.
BELINDA. If it's a clergyman, Betty, I shall--I shall want your
assistance out of the hammock first.
BETTY. Yes, ma'am.
BELINDA. That's all.
(BETTY _crosses below table and chairs to porch_.)
To anybody else I'm not at home, (_Trying to secure book on table and
nearly falling out of the hammock_.) Oh, just give me that little
green book. (_Pointing to books on the table_.) The one at the
bottom there--that's the one. (BETTY _gives it to her_.) Thank you.
(_Reading the title_.) "The Lute of Love," by Claude Devenish.
(_To herself as she turns the pages_.) It doesn't seem much for
half-a-crown when you think of the _Daily Telegraph_ .... Lute ...
Lute .... I should have quite a pretty mouth if I kept on saying that.
(_With a great deal of expression_.) Lute! (_She pats her mouth
back_.)
BETTY. Is that all, ma'am?
BELINDA. That's all. (BETTY _prepares to go_.) Oh, what am I
thinking of! (_Waving to the table_.) I want that review; I think
it's the blue one. (_As_ BETTY _begins to look_.) It has an
article by Mr. Baxter on the "Rise of Lunacy in the Eastern Counties"--
(BETTY _gives her "The Nineteenth Century" Magazine_.)
--yes, that's the one. I'd better have that too; I'm just at the most
exciting place. You shall have it after _me, _Betty.
BETTY. Is that all, ma'am?
BELINDA. Yes, that really is all.
(BETTY _goes into the house_.)
BELINDA (_reading to herself very pronouncedly_). "It is a matter of
grave concern to all serious students of social problems--" (_Putting
the review down in hammock and shaking her head gently_.) But not in
April. (_Lazily opening the book and reading_.) "Tell me where is
love"--well, that's the question, isn't it? (_She lies back in the
hammock lazily and the book of poems falls from her to the ground_.
DELIA _comes into the garden, from Paris. She is decidedly a modern
girl, pretty and self-possessed. Her hair is half-way up; waiting for
her birthday, perhaps. She sees her mother suddenly, stops, and then
goes on tiptoe to the head of the hammock. She smiles and kisses her
mother on the forehead_. BELINDA, _looking supremely unconscious,
goes on sleeping_. DELIA _kisses her lightly again_. BELINDA
_wakes up with an extraordinarily natural start, and is just about to
say, _"Oh, Mr. Devenish--you mustn't!"--_when she sees_ DELIA.)
Delia! (_They kiss each other frantically_.)
DELIA. Well, mummy, aren't you glad to see me?
BELINDA. My darling child!
DELIA. Say you're glad.
BELINDA (_sitting up_). My darling, I'm absolutely--(DELIA
_crosses round to_ L. _of hammock_.) Hold the hammock while I
get out, dear; we don't want an accident. (DELIA _holds the_ L.
_end of it and_ BELINDA _struggles out, leaving the magazine and
her handkerchief in the hammock_.) They're all right when you're
there, and they'll bear two tons, but they're horrid getting in and out
of. (_Kissing her again_.) Darling, it really _is_ you?
DELIA. Oh, it is jolly seeing you again. I believe you were asleep.
BELINDA (_with dignity_). Certainly not, child. I was reading
_The Nineteenth Century_--(_with an air_)--and after. (_Earnestly_)
Darling, wasn't it next Thursday you were coming back?
DELIA. No, this Thursday, silly.
BELINDA (_penitently_). Oh, my darling, and I was going over to
Paris to bring you home.
DELIA. I half expected you.
BELINDA. So confusing their both being called Thursday. And you were
leaving school for the very last time. If you don't forgive me, Delia, I
shall cry.
DELIA (_kissing her and stroking her hand fondly_). Silly mother!
(BELINDA _sits down in the deck-chair and_ DELIA _sits on the
table_.)
BELINDA. Isn't it a lovely day for April, darling! I've wanted to say
that to somebody all day, and you're the first person who's given me the
chance. Oh, I said it to Betty, but she only said, "Yes, ma'am."
DELIA. Poor mother!
BELINDA (_jumping up suddenly, crossing to_ L. _of and
kissing_ DELIA _again_). I simply must have another one. And to
think that you're never going back to school any more. (_Looking at
her fondly, and backing to_ L.) Darling, you _are_ looking
pretty.
DELIA. Am I?
BELINDA. Lovely. (_She kisses her once more, then she takes the
cushion from the hammock, moves at back of table and places it on the
head of the deck-chair_.) And now you're going to stay with me for
just as long as you want a mother. (_Anxiously moving to_ R. _of
deckchair_.) Darling, you didn't mind being sent away to school, did
you? It _is_ the usual thing, you know.
DELIA. Silly mother! of course it is.
BELINDA (_relieved, and sitting on deck-chair_). I'm so glad you
think so too.
DELIA. Have you been very lonely without me?
BELINDA (_with a sly look at_ DELIA). Very.
DELIA (_turning to_ BELINDA _and holding up a finger_). The
truth, mummy!
BELINDA. I've missed you horribly, Delia. (_Primly_.) The absence
of female companionship of the requisite--
DELIA. Are you really all alone?
BELINDA (_smiling mysteriously and coyly_). Well, not always, of
course.
DELIA (_excitedly, at she slips off the table, and backing to_ L.
_a little_). Mummy, I believe you're being bad again.
BELINDA. Really, darling, you forget that I'm old enough to be--in fact,
am--your mother.
DELIA (_nodding her head_). You are being bad.
BELINDA (_rising with dignity and drawing herself up to her full
height, moving_ L.). My child, that is not the way to--Oh, I say,
what a lot taller I am than you! (_Turning her back to_ DELIA
_and comparing sizes_.)
DELIA. And prettier.
BELINDA (_playfully rubbing noses with_ DELIA). Oh, do you think
so? (_Firmly, but pleased_.) Don't be silly, child.
DELIA (_holding up a finger_). Now tell me all that's been
happening here at once.
BELINDA (_with a sigh_). And I was just going to ask you how you
were getting on with your French. (_Sits in deck-chair_.)
DELIA. Bother French! You've been having a much more interesting time
than I have, so you've got to tell.
BELINDA (_with a happy sigh_). O-oh! (_She sinks back into her
chair_.)
DELIA (_taking off her coat_). Is it like the Count at Scarborough?
BELINDA (_surprised and pained_). My darling, what do you mean?
DELIA. Don't you remember the Count who kept proposing to you at
Scarborough? I do. (_Places coat on hammock_.)
BELINDA (_reproachfully_). Dear one, you were the merest child,
paddling about on the beach and digging castles.
DELIA (_smiling to herself_). I was old enough to notice the Count.
BELINDA (_sadly_). And I'd bought her a perfectly new spade! How
one deceives oneself!
DELIA (_at table and leaning across, with hands on table_). And
then there was the M.P. who proposed at Windermere.
BELINDA. Yes, dear, but it wasn't seconded--I mean he never got very far
with it.
DELIA. And the artist in Wales.
BELINDA. Darling child, what a memory you have. No wonder your teachers
are pleased with you.
DELIA (_settling herself comfortably in deck-chair_ L. _of_
BELINDA _and lying in her arms_). Now tell me all about this one.
BELINDA (_meekly_). Which one?
DELIA (_excitedly_). Oh, are there lots?
BELINDA (_severely_). Only two.
DELIA. Two! You abandoned woman!
BELINDA. It's something in the air, darling. I've never been in
Devonshire in April before.
DELIA. Is it really serious this time?
BELINDA (_pained_). I wish you wouldn't say this time, Delia. It
sounds so unromantic. If you'd only put it into French--_cette
fois_--it sounds so much better. _Cette fois_. (_Parentally_.)
When one's daughter has just returned from an expensive schooling in
Paris, one likes to feel-----
DELIA. What I meant, dear, was, am I to have a stepfather at last?
BELINDA. Now you're being too French, darling.
DELIA. Why, do you still think father may be alive?
BELINDA. Why not? It's only eighteen years since he left us, and he was
quite a young man then.
DELIA. Yes, but surely, surely you'd have heard from him in all those
years, if he'd been alive?
BELINDA. Well, he hasn't heard from _me, _and I'm still alive.
DELIA (_looking earnestly at her mother, rises and moves_ L.C.). I
shall never understand it.
BELINDA. Understand what?
DELIA. Were you as heavenly when you were young as you are now?
BELINDA (_rapturously_). Oh, I was sweet!
DELIA. And yet he left you after only six months.
BELINDA (_rather crossly, sitting up_). I wish you wouldn't keep on
saying he left me. I left him too.
DELIA (_running to and kneeling in front of_ BELINDA _and looking
anxiously into her face_). Why?
BELINDA (_smiling to herself_). Well, you see, he was quite certain
he knew how to manage women, and I was quite certain I knew how to
manage men. (_Thoughtfully_.) If only one of us had been certain,
it would have been all right.
DELIA (_seriously_). What really happened, mummy? I'm grown up now,
so I think you ought to tell me.
BELINDA (_thoughtfully_). That was about all, you know ... except
for his beard.
DELIA. Had he a beard? (_Laughing_.) How funny!
BELINDA (_roaring with laughter, in which_ DELIA _joins_).
Yes, dear, it was; but he never would see it. He took it quite
seriously.
DELIA. And did you say dramatically, "If you really loved me, you'd take
it off"?
BELINDA (_apologetically_). I'm afraid I did, darling.
DELIA. And what did he say?
BELINDA. He said--_very_ rudely--that, if I loved _him, _I'd
do my hair in a different way.
DELIA (_sinks down on her haunches, facing the audience_). How
ridiculous!
BELINDA (_touching her hair_). Of course, I didn't do it like this
then. I suppose we never ought to have married, really.
DELIA. Why did you?
BELINDA. Mother rather wanted it. (_Solemnly_.) Delia, never get
married because your mother---- Oh, I forgot; _I'm_ your mother.
DELIA. And I don't want a better one ... (_They embrace_.) And so
you left each other?
BELINDA. Yes.
DELIA. But, darling, didn't you tell him there was going to be a Me?
BELINDA. Oh no!
DELIA. I wonder why not?
BELINDA. Well, you see, if I had, he might have wanted to stay.
DELIA. But----
BELINDA (_hurt_). If he didn't want to stay for _me, _I didn't
want him to stay for _you_. (_Penitently_.) Forgive me, darling,
but I didn't know you very well then. We've been very happy together,
haven't we?
DELIA (_going to the hammock, sitting in it and dangling her
legs_). I should think we have.
BELINDA (_leaning back in chair_). I don't want to deny you
anything, and, of course, if you'd like a stepfather (_looking down
modestly_) or two--
DELIA. Oh, you _have_ been enjoying yourself.
BELINDA. Only you see how awkward it would be if Jack turned up in the
middle of the wedding, like--like Eugene Aram.
DELIA. Enoch Arden, darling.
BELINDA. It's very confusing their having the same initials. Perhaps I'd
better call them both E. A. in future and then I shall be safe. Well,
anyhow it would be awkward, darling, wouldn't it? Not that I should know
him from Adam after all these years--except for a mole on his left arm.
DELIA. Perhaps Adam had a mole.
BELINDA. No, darling; you're thinking of Noah. He had two.
DELIA (_thoughtfully_). I wonder what would happen if you met
somebody whom you really _did_ fall in love with?
BELINDA (_reproachfully_). Now you're being serious, and it's
April.
DELIA. Aren't these two--the present two--serious?
BELINDA. Oh no! They think they are, but they aren't a bit, really.
Besides, I'm doing them such a lot of good. I'm sure they'd hate to
marry me, but they love to think they're in love with me, and--_I_
love it, and--and _they_ love it, and--and we _all_ love it.
DELIA (_rising and crossing to_ BELINDA). You really are the
biggest, darlingest baby who ever lived. (_Kisses her_.) Do say I
shan't spoil your lovely times.
BELINDA (_surprised_). Spoil them? Why, you'll make them more
lovely than ever.
DELIA (_turning away and sitting on table_). Well, but do they know
you have a grown-up daughter?
BELINDA (_suddenly realizing and sitting up_). Oh!
DELIA. It doesn't really matter, because you don't look a day more than
thirty.
BELINDA (_absently_). No. (_Hurriedly_.) I mean, how sweet of
you--only----
DELIA. What!
BELINDA (_playing with her rings_). Well, one of them, Mr. Baxter--
Harold--(_she looks quickly up at_ DELIA _and down again in
pretty affectation, but she is really laughing at herself all the
time_) he writes statistical articles for the Reviews--percentages
and all those things. He's just the sort of man, if he knew that I was
your mother, to work it out that I was more than thirty. The other one,
Mr. Devenish--Claude--(_she looks up and down as before_) he's
rather, rather poetical. He thinks I came straight from heaven--last
week.
DELIA (_laughing and jumping up and crossing below deck-chair to_
R. _towards house_). I think _I'd_ better go straight back to
Paris.
BELINDA (_jumping up and catching her firmly by the left arm_). You
will do nothing of the sort. (_Pulling_ DELIA _back to centre_.)
You will take off that hat--(_she lets go of the arm and begins to
take out the pin_) which is a perfect duck, and I don't know why I
didn't say so before--(_she puts the hat down on the table_) and
let me take a good look at you (_she does so_), and kiss you (_she
does so, then crosses_ DELIA _below her and takes her towards the
house_), and then we'll go to your room and unpack and have a lovely
talk about clothes. And then we'll have tea.
(BETTY _comes in and stands up at back_.)
And now here's Betty coming in to upset all our delightful plans, just
when we'vt made them. (BELINDA _and_ DELIA _are now on_ BETTY'S R.)
DELIA (_leaving_ BELINDA _and shaking hands with_ BETTY). How
are you, Betty? I've left school.
BETTY. Very nicely, thank you, miss. (_Backing to_ L. _and
admiring_.) You've grown.
BELINDA (_moving to and patting the top of_ DELIA'S _head_).
I'm much taller than she is... (_Crossing to_ BETTY _in front
of_ DELIA.) Well, Betty, what is it?
BETTY. The two gentlemen, Mr. Baxter and Mr. Devenish, have both called
together, ma'am.
BELINDA (_excited_). Oh! How--how very simultaneous of them!
DELIA (_eagerly, going towards house_). Oh, do let me see them!
BELINDA (_stopping her_). Darling, you'll see plenty of them before
you've finished. (_To_ BETTY _in an exaggerated whisper_.) What have
you done with them?
BETTY. They're waiting in the hall, ma'am, while I said I would see if
you were at home.
BELINDA. All right, Betty. Give me two minutes and then show them out
here.
BETTY. Yes, ma'am.
(BETTY _crosses below_ BELINDA _and_ DELIA _and exits into
the house_.)
BELINDA (_taking_ DELIA _down_ R. _a step_). They can't
do much harm to each other in two minutes.
DELIA (_taking her hat from table_). Well, I'll go and unpack.
(_She goes back to_ BELINDA.) You really won't mind my coming down
afterwards?
BELINDA. Of course not. (_A little awkwardly, taking_ DELIA'S
_arm and moving down_ R.) Darling one, I wonder if you'd mind--just
at first--being introduced as my niece. (_By now at foot of deck-
chair_.) You see, I expect they're in a bad temper already
(_now_ C.), having come here together, and we don't want to spoil
their day entirely.
DELIA (_smiling, on_ BELINDA'S L.). I'll be your mother if you
like.
BELINDA. Oh no, that wouldn't do, because then Mr. Baxter would feel
that he ought to ask your permission before paying his attentions to me.
He's just that sort of man. A niece is so safe--however good you are at
statistics, you can't really prove anything.
DELIA. All right, mummy.
BELINDA (_enjoying herself_). You'd like to be called by a
different name, wouldn't you? There's something so thrilling about
taking a false name. Such a lot of adventures begin like that. How would
you like to be Miss Robinson, darling? It's a nice easy one to remember.
(_Persuasively_.) And you shall put your hair up so as to feel more
disguised. What fun we're going to have!
DELIA. You baby! All right, then, I'm Miss Robinson, your favourite
niece. (_She takes her jacket from the hammock and moves towards the
house_.)
BELINDA. How sweet of you! No, no, not that way--you'll meet them.
(_Following quickly up between tree and table to_ DELIA, _who has
now reached the house_.) Oh, I'm coming with you to do your hair.
(_Moving up_ C., _arm in arm with_ DELIA.) You don't think you're
going to be allowed to do it yourself, when so much depends on it, and
husbands leave you because of it, and----
(BELINDA, _seeing_ BETTY _entering from house, hurries_ DELIA
_up_ R., _and they bob down behind the yew hedge_ R. BETTY _comes
from the house into the garden, crossing to centre and up stage
looking for_ BELINDA, _followed by_ MR. BAXTER _and_ MR. DEVENISH.
BAXTER _gives an angry look round at_ DEVENISH _as he enters._ MR.
BAXTER _is forty-five, prim and erect, with close-trimmed moustache and
side-whiskers. His clothes are dark and he wears a bowler-hat_. MR.
DEVENISH _is a long-haired, good-looking boy in a n glig costume;
perhaps twenty-two years old, and very scornful of the world._ BAXTER
_crosses to_ L. _below_ BETTY, _and turns to her with a sharp inquiring
glance_. DEVENISH _moves down_ R., _languidly admiring the garden_.)
BETTY (_looking about her surprised_). The mistress was here a
moment ago. (_The two heads pop up from behind the hedge and then down
again immediately_. BELINDA _and_ DELIA _exeunt_ R.). I expect she'll
be back directly, if you'll just wait.
(_She goes back into the house_.)
(BAXTER, _crossing to_ R., _meets_ DEVENISH _who has moved
up_ R. BAXTER _is annoyed and with an impatient gesture comes down
between the tree and the table to chair_ L. _and sits_. DEVENISH
_throws his felt hat on to the table and walks to the back of the
hammock. He sees the review in the hammock and picks it up_.)
DEVENISH. Good heavens, Baxter, she's been reading your article!
BAXTER. I dare say she's not the only one.
DEVENISH. That's only guesswork (_going to back of table_); you
don't know of anyone else.
BAXTER (_with contempt_). How many people, may I ask, have bought
your poems?
DEVENISH (_loftily_). I don't write for the mob.
BAXTER. I think I may say that of my own work.
DEVENISH. Baxter, I don't want to disappoint you, but I have reluctantly
come to the conclusion that you are one of the mob. (_Throws magazine
down on table, annoyed_.) Dash it! what are you doing in the country
at all in a bowler-hat?
BAXTER. If I wanted to be personal, I could say, "Why don't you get your
hair cut?" Only that form of schoolboy humour doesn't appeal to me.
DEVENISH. This is not a personal matter; I am protesting on behalf of
nature. (_Leaning against tree_.) What do the birds and the flowers
and the beautiful trees think of your hat?
BAXTER. If one began to ask oneself what the _birds_ thought of
things--(_He pauses_.)
DEVENISH. Well, and why shouldn't one ask oneself? It is better than
asking oneself what the Stock Exchange thinks of things.
BAXTER. Well (_looking up at_ DEVENISH'S _extravagant hair_),
it's the nesting season. Your hair! (_Suddenly_.) Ha! ha! ha! ha!
ha! ha!
DEVENISH (_hastily smoothing it down_). Really, Baxter, you're
vulgar. (_He turns away and resumes his promenading, going down R. and
then round deck-chair to front of hammock. Suddenly he sees his book on
the grass beneath the hammock and makes a dash for it_.) Ha, my book!
(_Gloating over it_.) Baxter, she reads my book.
BAXTER. I suppose you gave her a copy.
DEVENISH (exultingly). Yes, I gave her a copy. My next book will be hers
and hers alone.
BAXTER. Then let me say that, in my opinion, you took a very great
liberty.
DEVENISH. Liberty! And this from a man who is continually forcing his
unwelcome statistics upon her.
BAXTER. At any rate, I flatter myself that there is no suggestion of
impropriety in anything that _I_ write.
DEVENISH. I'm not so sure about that, Baxter.
BAXTER. What do you mean, sir?
DEVENISH. Did you read The Times this month on the new reviews!
BAXTER. Well!
DEVENISH. Oh, nothing. It just said, "Mr. Baxter's statistics are
extremely suggestive."
(BAXTER _makes a gesture of annoyance_.)
I haven't read them, so of course I don't know what you've been up to.
BAXTER (_rising, turning away in disgust and crossing up_ L). Pah!
DEVENISH. Poor old Baxter! (_Puts book of poems down on table and
crosses below chair and gathers a daffodil from a large vase down_ R.
_and saying_ "Poor old Baxter!" _ad lib_. BAXTER _moves round back
of hammock and to_ R., _collides with_ DEVENISH _and much annoyed
goes down between table and tree towards chair down_ L.) Baxter--
(_moving to and leaning against tree_ R.)
BAXTER (_turning to_ DEVENISH _crossly_). I wish you wouldn't
keep calling me "Baxter."