It's very upsetting.
JAMES. Yes, Miss. … How would it be to write a play instead? Very easy work, they tell me.
ROSEMARY (nodding). Yes, that's much better. I'll write a play. Thank you, James.
JAMES. Not at all, Miss. [He goes out.
(ROSEMARY bites her pen, and thinks deeply. At last the inspiration comes.)
ROSEMARY (as she writes). Make-Believe. M-a-k-e hyphen B-e-l—— (she stops and frowns) Now which way is it? (She tries it on the blotting-paper) That looks wrong. (She tries it again) So does that. Oh, dear! (She rings the bell … JAMES returns.)
JAMES. Yes, Miss?
ROSEMARY. James, I have decided to call my play Make-Believe.
JAMES. Yes, Miss.
ROSEMARY (carelessly). When you spell "believe," it is "i-e," isn't it?
JAMES. Yes, Miss.
ROSEMARY. I thought at first it was "e-i."
JAMES. Now you mention it, I think it is, Miss.
ROSEMARY (reproachfully). Oh, James! Aren't you certain?
JAMES. M-a-k-e, make, B-e-l—— (He stops and scratches his whiskers.)
ROSEMARY. Yes. I got as far as that.
JAMES. B-e-l——
ROSEMARY. You see, James, it spoils the play if you have an accident to the very first word of it.
JAMES. Yes, Miss. B-e-l——I've noticed sometimes that if one writes a word careless-like on the blotting-paper, and then looks at it with the head on one side, there's a sort of instinct comes over one, as makes one say (with a shake of the head) "Rotten." One can then write it the other way more hopeful.
ROSEMARY. I've tried that.
JAMES. Then might I suggest, Miss, that you give it another name altogether? As it might be, "Susan's Saturday Night," all easy words to spell, or "Red Revenge," or——
ROSEMARY. I must call it Make-Believe, because it's all of the play I've thought of so far.
JAMES. Quite so, Miss. Then how would it be to spell it wrong on purpose? It comes funnier that way sometimes.
ROSEMARY. Does it?
JAMES. Yes, Miss. Makes 'em laugh.
ROSEMARY. Oh! … Well, which is the wrong way?
JAMES. Ah, there you've got me again, Miss.
ROSEMARY (inspired). I know what I'll do. I'll spell it "i-e"; and if it's right, then I'm right, and if it's wrong, then I'm funny.
JAMES. Yes, Miss. That's the safest.
ROSEMARY. Thank you, James.
JAMES. Not at all, Miss. [He goes out.
ROSEMARY (writing). Make-Believe. A Christmas Entertainment—— (She stops and thinks, and then shakes her head.) No, play—a Christmas Play in three acts. Er—— (She is stuck.)
Enter JAMES.
JAMES. Beg pardon, Miss, but the Misses and Masters Hubbard are without, and crave admittance.
ROSEMARY. All nine of them?
JAMES. Without having counted them, Miss, I should say that the majority of them were present.
ROSEMARY. Did you say that I was not at home?
JAMES. Yes, Miss. They said that, this being their house, and you being a visitor, if you had been at home, then you wouldn't have been here. Yumour on the part of Master Bertram, Miss.
ROSEMARY. It's very upsetting when you're writing a play.
JAMES. Yes, Miss. Perhaps they could help you with it. The more the merrier, as you might say.
ROSEMARY. What a good idea, James. Admit them.
JAMES. Yes, Miss. (He opens the door and says very rapidly) The Misses Ada, Caroline, Elsie, Gwendoline, and Isabel Hubbard, The Masters Bertram, Dennis, Frank, and Harold Hubbard. (They come in.)
ROSEMARY. How do you do?
ADA. Rosemary, darling, what are you doing?
BERTRAM. It's like your cheek, bagging our room.
CAROLINE (primly). Hush, Bertram. We ought always to be polite to our visitors when they stay with us. I am sure, if Rosemary wants our room——
DENNIS. Oh, chuck it!
ADA (at ROSEMARY'S shoulder). Oh, I say, she's writing a play!
(Uproar and turmoil, as they all rush at ROSEMARY.)
{ THE BOYS. Coo! I say, shove me into it. What's it about? Bet it's awful rot. }
{ THE GIRLS. Oh, Rosemary! Am I in it? Do tell us about it. Is it for Christmas? }
ROSEMARY (in alarm). James, could you——?
JAMES (firmly). Quiet, there, quiet! Down, Master Dennis, down! Miss Gwendoline, if you wouldn't mind—— (He picks her up and places her on the floor.) Thank you. (Order is restored.)
ROSEMARY. Thank you, James. … Yes, it's a play for Christmas, and it is called "Make-Believe," and that's all I'm certain about yet, except that we're all going to be in it.
BERTRAM. Then I vote we have a desert island——
DENNIS. And pirates——
FRANK. And cannibals——
HAROLD (gloatingly). Cannibals eating people—Oo!
CAROLINE (shocked). Harold! How would you like to be eaten by a cannibal?
DENNIS. Oh, chuck it! How would you like to be a cannibal and have nobody to eat? (CAROLINE is silent, never having thought of this before.)
ADA. Let it be a fairy-story, Rosemary, darling. It's so much prettier.
ELSIE. With a lovely princess——
GWENDOLINE. And a humble woodcutter who marries her——
ISABEL (her only contribution). P'itty P'incess.
BERTRAM. Princesses are rot.
ELSIE (with spirit). So are pirates! (Deadlock.)
CAROLINE. I should like something about Father Christmas, and snow, and waits, and a lovely ball, and everybody getting nice presents and things.
DENNIS (selfishly, I'm afraid). Bags I all the presents.
(Of course, the others aren't going to have that. They all say so together.)
ROSEMARY (above the turmoil). James, I must have silence.
JAMES. Silence, all!
ROSEMARY. Thank you. … You will be interested to hear that I have decided to have a Fairy Story and a Desert Island and a Father Christmas.
ALL. Good! (Or words to that effect)
ROSEMARY (biting her pen). I shall begin with the Fairy Story. (There is an anxious silence. None of them has ever seen anybody writing a play before. How does one do it? Alas, ROSEMARY herself doesn't know. She appeals to JAMES.) James, how do you begin a play? I mean when you've got the title.
JAMES (a man of genius). Well, Miss Rosemary, seeing that it's to be called "Make-Believe," why not make-believe as it's