_The Dean sinks into a chair and clasps...

The Dean sinks into a chair and clasps his forehead.

Blore: (To the Dean) A dear, high-spirited lady. (Peering at the Dean) Aren’t you well, sir?

The Dean: Serpent!

Blore: Meaning me, sir?

The Dean: Lock up; I’ll speak to you in the morning. Lock up. (Blore goes into the library, turns out the lamp there and exits.) What dreadful wave threatens to engulf the Deanery? What has come to us in a few fatal hours? A horse of sporting tendencies contaminating my stables, his equally vicious owner nestling in the nursery — and my own widowed sister, in all probability, smoking a cigarette at her bedroom window with her feet on the window ledge! (Listening) What’s that? I thought I heard footsteps in the garden. I can see nothing — only the old spire standing out against the threatening sky. (Leaving the window shudderingly) The spire! My principal creditor! My principal creditor and the most conspicuous object in the city!

(Blore re-enters with his lantern, carrying some banknotes in his hand.)

Blore: (Laying the money on the table) I found these, sir, on your dressing table — they’re banknotes, sir.

The Dean: (Taking the notes) Thank you. I placed them there to pay into the bank tomorrow. (Counting the notes) Ten, ten, twenty, five, five — fifty. Fifty pounds! The very sum Georgiana urged me to — oh! (To Blore, waving him away) Leave me — go to bed — go to bed — go to bed! (Blore is going) Blore!

Blore: Sir.

The Dean: What made you tempt me with these at such a moment?

Blore: Tempt you, sir? The window was open and I feared they might blow away.

The Dean: Catching him by the coat collar) Man, what were you doing at St. Marvells Races last summer?

Blore: (With a cry, falling to his knees) Oh sir! Oh sir! I knew that high-spirited lady would bring grief and sorrow to the peaceful, happy Deanery! Oh sir, I have done a little on my own account from time to time on the Hill, also on commission for the kitchen!

The Dean: I knew it! Get up, Blore — get up. Oh, Edward Blore, Edward Blore, what weak creatures we are!

Blore: We are, sir — we are — ‘specially when we’ve got a tip, sir. Think of the temptation of a tip, sir.

The Dean: I do, Blore — I do.

Blore: I confess everything, sir. Bonnie Betsy’s bound to win the Handicap.

The Dean: No, no — she isn’t.

Blore: Yes she is, sir.

The Dean: No she isn’t.

Blore: Yes she is.

The Dean: No, she can never get down the hill with those legs of hers.

Blore: She can, sir — what’s to beat her?

The Dean: The horse in my stable — Dandy Dick!

Blore: Dandy Dick? That old bit of mahogany, sir? They’re laying ten to one against him.

The Dean: (With hysterical eagerness) Are they? I’ll take it! I’ll take it!

Blore: Lord love you, sir — how much?

The Dean: Fifty! There’s the money. (Impulsively he crams the notes into Blore’s hand and then recoils in horror.) Oh! (He sinks into a chair with a groan.)

Blore: (Aside) Lord, who’d have thought the Dean was such an ardent sportsman at heart? He didn’t give me any notice after this. (To the Dean) Of course it’s understood, sir, that we keep our weaknesses dark. Outwardly, sir, we remain respectable and, I hope, respected. (Putting the notes in his pocket) I wish you good night, sir.

He walks to the door; The Dean makes an effort to recall him but fails.

(Aside) And that man has been my pattern and example for twenty years! Oh, Edward Blore, your idol is shattered! (Turning to the Dean) Good night, sir. May your dreams be calm and happy, and may you have a good run for your money!

Blore goes out to the hall. The Dean gradually recovers his self-possession.

The Dean: I — I am upset tonight, Blore. Of course you leave this day...month. I — I (looking round) Blore? He’s gone! If I don’t call him back the spire may be richer tomorrow by five hundred pounds. I won’t dwell on it. I’ll read — I’ll read. (He goes into the library and snatches a book at random. There is the sound of falling rain and distant thunder.) Rain, thunder. How it assimilates with the tempest of my mind! I’ll read. (He returns with the book) Bless me! This is very strange. ’The Horse and Its Ailmaints, by John Cox, M.R.C.V.S.’ It was with the aid of this volume that I used to tend my old mare at Oxford. A leaf turned down. ‘Simple remedies for chills — the Bolus.’ This helpless beast in my stable is suffering from a chill. Good gracious! If I allow Blore to risk my fifty pounds on Dandy Dick, surely it would be advisable to administer this bolus to the poor animal without delay. (Hastily referring to the book) I have these drugs in my chest. There’s not a moment to be lost! I shall want help. (He goes to the bell and rings) I’ll fetch my medicine chest.

He lays the book on the table and goes into the library. Blore enters.

Blore: (Looking round) Where is he? The bell rang. The Dean’s puzzling me with his uncommon behavior, that he is.

The Dean comes from the library, carrying a large medicine chest. On encountering Blore he starts and turns away his head, the picture of guilt.

The Dean: Blore, I feel it would be humane act to administer to the poor, ignorant animal in my stable a simple bolus as a precaution against chill. I rely upon your aid and discretion in ministering to any guest in the Deanery.

Blore: I see, sir — you ain’t going to lose half a chance for tomorrow, sir — you’re a knowing one, as the saying goes!

The Dean: (Shrinking from Blore with a groan) Oh!

He places the medicine chest on the table and takes up the book.

(Handin the book to Blore with his finger on a page) Fetch these humble but necessary articles from the kitchen — quick. I’ll mix the bolus here.

Blore: Very good, sir.

Blore goes out quickly.

The Dean: It is exactly seven-and-twenty years since I last approached a horse medically.

He takes off his coat and lays it on a chair, then rolls his shirt sleeves up above his elbows and puts on his glasses.

I trust that this bolus will not give the animal an unfair advantage over his competitors. I don’t desire that! I don’t desire that! (A flash of lightning)

(Blore re-enters pushing a trolley, on which are a small flour-barrel and rolling pin a white china basin, a carafe of water, a napkin and the book.

Thank you.

(Reading) Three parts flour to one part water.

He mixes the bolus.

Blore: (Aside) His eyes are awful; I don’t seem to know the happy Deanery when I see such proceedings a-going on at the dead of night.

There is a heavy roll of thunder. The Dean kneads the pudding.

The Dean: The old half-forgotten time returns to me. I am once again a promising youth in college.

Blore: (Aside) One would think by his looks that he was going to poison his family instead of — Poison? Poison! Oh, if anything serious happened to the animal in our stable there would be nothing in the way of Bonny Betsy, the deserving horse I’ve trusted with my hard-earned savings!

The Dean: I am walking once again in the old streets of Oxford, avoiding the shops where I owe my youthful bills. Bills! (He kneads vigourously)

Blore: (Aside) Where’s the stuff I got a month ago to dispatch the old black retriever that fell ill?

The Dean: Bills!

Blore: (Aside) The dog died — the poison’s in my pantry — it couldn’t have got used for cooking purposes.

The Dean: I see the broad meadows and the tall spire of the college — the spire! Oh, my whole life seems made up of Bills and Spires!

Blore: (Aside) I’ll do it! I’ll do it!

Unseen by the Dean, he steals out.

The Dean: Where are the drugs?

Opening the medicine chest and bending down over the bottles, he pours some drops from a bottle into the basin.

Chlorate of potash. (Counting) One — two — three — four. (He replaces the bottle and takes another.) How fortunate some animals are! Sweet spirits of nitre. (Counting) One — two — three. It’s done! It’s done!

Taking up the medicine chest he goes with it into the library. As he disappears, Blore re-enters, stealthily fingering a small paper packet.

Blore: (In a whisper) Strychnine! (Forked lightning illuminates the room.)

_There is a heavy roll of thunder — Blore darts to the table, empties the contents of the packet into the basin, and stirs vigorously with the rolling pin.

I’ve cooked Dandy Dick! I’ve cooked Dandy Dick! (He moves away from the table in horror.)Oh, I’m only an amateur sportsman and I can’t afford uncertainty. (As the Dean returns, Blore starts up guiltily.) Can I help you any more, sir?

The Dean: No, remove these dreadful things, and don’t let me see you again tonight!

He sits with the basin on his knees, and proceeds to roll the paste.

Blore: Good night, sir. (He goes out.)

The Dean: (Putting on his coat) I don’t contemplate my humane task with resignation. The stable is small, and if the animal is restive we shall be cramped for room. (The rain is heard.) I shall get a chill too. (Seeing Sir Tristram’s coat and cap lying on the settee) I am sure Mardon will lend me this gladly. (Putting on the coat, which completely envelops him) The animal may recognise the garment, and receive me with kindly feeling. (Putting on the sealskin cap, which almost conceals his face) Ugh! Why do I feel this dreadful sinking at the heart? Put out the light! (Taking the basin and turning out the lamp) Oh! If all followers of the veterinary science are as truly wretched as I am, what a noble band they must be!

The thunder rolls as he goes into the garden, shutting the curtains behind him.

Pinero, Arthur Wing, Dandy Dick, Oberon Books Ltd., 2012, pp. 52-59.