Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays Part 5

LITERATURE

A COMEDY BY ARTHUR SCHNITZLER

[SCENE: _Moderately well, but quite inexpensively furnished apartments occupied by Margaret. A small fireplace, a table, a small escritoire, a settee, a wardrobe cabinet, two windows in the back, entrances left and right._

_As the curtain rises, Clement, dressed in a modish, tarnished-gray sack suit, is discovered reclining in a fauteuil near the fireplace. He is smoking a cigarette and perusing a newspaper. Margaret is standing at the window. She walks back and forth, finally goes up directly behind Clement, and playfully musses his hair. Evidently she has something troublesome on her mind._]

CLEM. [_reading, seizes her hand and kisses it_]. Horner's certain about his pick and doubly certain about mine; Waterloo five to one; Barometer twenty-one to one; Busserl seven to one; Attila sixteen to one.

MARG. Sixteen to one!

CLEM. Lord Byron one and one-half to one--that's us, my dear.

MARG. I know.

CLEM. Besides, it's sixteen weeks yet to the Handicap.

MARG. Evidently he looks upon it as a clean "runaway."

CLEM. Not quite--but where did you pick up your turf-lingo, Brava?

MARG. Oh, I used this kind of talk before I knew you. Is it settled that you are to ride Lord Byron yourself?

CLEM. How absurd to ask! You forget, it's the Damenpreis Handicap. Whom else could I get to ride him? And if Horner thought for a moment that I wasn't going to ride him, he'd never put up one and a half to one. You may stake all you've got on that.

MARG. I'm well aware of that. You are _so_ handsome when you mount a horse--honest and truly, too sweet for anything! I shall never forget that day in Munich, when I first made your acquaintance--

CLEM. Please do not remind me of it. I had rotten luck that day. But you can believe me, Windy would never have won if it weren't for the ten lengths he gained at the start. But this time--never! You know, of course, it is decided; we leave town the same day.

MARG. Same evening, you mean.

CLEM. If you will--but why?

MARG. Because it's been arranged we're to be married in the morning, hasn't it?

CLEM. Quite so.

MARG. I am so happy. [_Embraces him._] Now, where shall we spend our honeymoon?

CLEM. I take it we're agreed. Aren't we? On the estate.

MARG. Oh, of course, later. Aren't we going to take in the Riviera, as a preliminary tidbit?

CLEM. AS for that, it all depends on the Handicap. If we win--

MARG. Surest thing!

CLEM. And besides, in April the Riviera's not at all good _ton_.

MARG. Is that your reason?

CLEM. Of course it is, my love. In your former way of life, there were so few opportunities for your getting a clear idea of fashion--Pardon me, but whatever there was, you must admit, really had its origin in the comic journals.

MARG. Clem, please!

CLEM. Well, well. We'll see. [_Continues reading._] Badegast fifteen to one--

MARG. Badegast? There isn't a ghost of a show for him!

CLEM. Where did you get that information?

MARG. Szigrati himself gave me a tip.

CLEM. Where--and when?

MARG. Oh, this morning in the Fredenau, while you were talking with Milner.

CLEM. Now, look here; Szigrati isn't fit company for you.

MARG. Jealous?

CLEM. Not at all. Moreover, let it be understood that from now on I shall introduce you everywhere as my fiancee. [_Margaret kisses him._]

CLEM. Now, what did Szigrati say?

MARG. That he's not going to enter Badegast in the Handicap at all.

CLEM. Well, don't you believe everything Szigrati is likely to say. He's circulating the rumor that Badegast will not be entered so that the odds may be bigger.

MARG. Nonsense! That's too much like an investment.

CLEM. So you don't believe there is such a thing as investment in this game? For a great many it's all a commercial enterprise. Do you think that a fellow of Szigrati's ilk cares a fig for sport? He might just as well speculate on the market, and wouldn't realize the difference.

Anyway, as far as Badegast is concerned, one hundred to one wouldn't be too much to put up against him.

MARG. Really? I found him in first-rate fettle this morning.

CLEM. Then you saw Badegast, too?

MARG. Certainly. Didn't b.u.t.ters put him through his paces, right behind Busserl?

CLEM. But b.u.t.ters isn't riding for Szigrati. He was only a stableboy.

Badegast can be in as fine fettle as he chooses--it's all the same to me. He's nothing but a blind. Some day, Margaret, with the aid of your exceptional talent, you will be able to distinguish the veritable somebodies from the shams. Really, it's remarkable with what proficiency you have, so to speak, insinuated yourself into all these things. You go beyond my expectations.

MARG. [_chagrined_]. Pray, why do I go beyond your expectations? All this, as you know, is not so new to me. At our house we entertained very good people--Count Libowski and people of that sort--and at my husband's--