THE PIE AND THE TART
Adapted from the French by HUGH CHESTERMAN Illustrated by GRAHAM PERCY
CHARACTERS
PIERRE JEAN } vagabonds GAULTIER, a pastrycook MARION, his wife
SCENE: Outside GAULTIER's cake shop in Paris. The time is the middle of the fifteenth 
century. The act could be played on 
a curtained stage with one door, back centre. The only furniture is
a bench, right. JEAN and PIERRE are discovered, the former seated on the bench, in an 
attitude of extreme dejection, the latter pacing up and down, blowing on his fingers. 
Both must indicate that they are cold and hungry.
JEAN [regarding PIERRE's restless pacing]. Must you keep doing that? PIERRE. It's this 
cold. If I stop walking I shall 
freeze. I'm dying of hunger and cold.
JEAN. So am I. But I prefer to die sitting down.
PIERRE. We make a pretty pair, you and I. Paris should be proud of us. [Displaying his 
rags] There are twenty-three holes in 
this tunic. I know because I counted them this morning. That's only
reckoning the ones that let the wind through. No doubt there are others. But let that 
pass.
JEAN. The holes in your tunic don't interest me. What I am concerned about is the 
hollow in my stomach. We must live; and without a meal. . .
PIERRE. That's what I said to judge Gaston when I was pinched last month for begging.
JEAN. Said what?
PIERRE. He asked me why I did it, and I said, "Well,Your Honour, I must live." And he 
looked me up and down and said, "I really don't see the necessity."
JEAN. A wag, that judge.
PIERRE. He didn't know what it was to be hungry. See here, my friend, this can't go 
on. I'm going to knock on every door in 
this street. And since charity begins at home, I shall begin right here.
[Indicating the cake shop] You'd better not be seen. Go into the next street and try 
your luck there. [JEAN begins to go, but 
PIERRE calls him back] Wait a minute, brother. Let's hear what you
can do.
JEAN knocks on the bench and puts on the voice and attitude of a beggar.
JEAN. "For the love of St. Agatha and all the blessed Saints, have pity on a poor man 
who has had no food for three days." 
How's that ?
PIERRE. Not bad. But make it seven days and squint slightly. It's a sure sign of 
starvation.
JEAN goes out.
PIERRE [knocking on the cake shop door]. Alms, good sir - for the
love of God and all His blessed angels, take pity on a poor traveller who has had no 
food for a week.
GAULTIER comes to the door. He is a man of about fifty, well preserved and obviously 
content with his lot.
GAULTIER. Go away. I've got nothing for you. My wife is away and I am busy. You'd 
better go to the next street.
GAULTIER slams the door. PIERRE goes out, right. JEAN enters, left. He looks at the 
door, hesitates and then knocks.
JEAN. For the love of St Agatha, St Nicholas, St Crispin and all the blessed company 
of Heaven, have pity upon a poor man who has had no food for seven days.
The door is opened by MARION. She is younger than her husband, stoutish, but good-
looking.
MARION. Go away, beggar. My husband is out and I have nothing for you. You'd better 
call again when he comes back. 
MARION shuts the door. JEAN sits disconsolately on the bench. Presently GAULTIER comes 
out of the shop. He makes as if to go out, right, but remembers something and goes 
back towards the shop. MARION appears at the door.
GAULTIER. Ah, Marion. I am just off to dine with the Mayor. He keeps none too good a 
table. I am thinking that I'd better take that eel pie with me-the big one that I made 
last Monday. Just get it for me. Hurry! I musn't be late.
MARION. Very good, husband.
She goes back into the shop, but GAULTIER calls her back.
GAULTIER. Wait. I can't very well be seen carrying an eel pie through the streets of 
Paris, can I? Not quite the thing for a man of my position. Do you think you could 
bring it along after me? 
MARION. Quite impossible. I've too much to do to run errands.  Why not send someone 
back for it?
GAULTIER. A good idea. But who? 
MARION. Well, you'll be bound to meet someone on the way. 
GAULTIER. Yes, but how will you know if he's the right one? 
Anyone might just come and say they had been sent. 
MARION. I hadn't thought of that. 
GAULTIER. I have it. I'll tell the messenger, when I have found 
 him, to kiss your hand. That will be the sign, and then you'll 
 know that everything is all right. 
MARION [laughing]. Well, choose a good-looking one. [Coyly] 
 Madame Gaultier's hand is not for everyone to kiss. 
MARION returns to the shop. GAULTIER goes out, right. JEAN who has overheard their 
conversation, sits pondering. Presently PIERRE enters left.
PIERRE. Any luck?
JEAN. Yes – and no.
PIERRE. What does that mean?
JEAN [after a pause]. Look here. Are you ready to do exactly as I tell you? And no 
questions asked?
PIERRE. I'll do anything to keep my stomach quiet.
JEAN. Very well. Now listen. I am going into the next street.
Directly I am gone, go up to that door, knock on it and say – 
PIERRE. Thanks. I've been there once today already. I got what I expected. [Mimicking 
GAULTIER'S POMPOUS manner] "Go away,
beggar! Go away; I'm busy. Go into the next street." Bah!
JEAN. Never mind about that. Listen. I say: directly I am gone,
go up to the door and knock on it. 
The lady will come to the door-
 PIERRE. But how do you – 
JEAN. Don't interrupt. The lady will come to the door. When she
 does so, you will take her hand and kiss 
it.
 PIERRE. Kiss the lady's hand? I think you're making a slight mistake, brother. I'm 
not love-sick; 
I'm starving.
JEAN. Wait. That's not all. When you have kissed her hand you will say, "Madame, I am 
sent by your husband to fetch the pie." She will then give you a large eel pie and -
PIERRE. And the heavens will open; roast fowl and nectarines will be seen to rain upon 
us from the clouds, and champagne will be heard gurgling in the gutters. Where did you 
learn this conjuring trick?\
JEAN. Very well. Believe it or not as you 
like. The point is, are you hungry, or are you not?
PIERRE [rubbing his waistline]. Hungry? I've a hollow in here all the birds of the air 
could 
nest in.
JEAN. Then do as I tell you. If it 
doesn't come off, never trust me again. But it will.
PIERRE. Criminy, Jean, I believe you're serious!
JEAN. Of course I'm serious.
PIERRE. All right. I'll do it.
JEAN. Good.
PIERRE. Tell me again. What do I have to do?
JEAN. It's all quite simple. Go up and knock at the door and say, "Please Madame, your 
husband has sent me for the eel pie." She won't give it to you till you have kissed 
her hand. That's important.
PIERRE. But suppose the husband comes 
to the door?
JEAN. He, won't. He's out. I happen to know it. Never mind how, but I do. Now, I'm 
going round the corner. I shall be back in five minutes. and don't you start dinner 
till I come!
JEAN goes out, right. PIERRE knocks on the door. MARION answers it.
PIERRE. Good morning, lady. I have come from your husband, who sends me to fetch the 
pie - the eel 
pie.
MARION. And how am I to know you are his messenger?
PIERRE. Ah! [Coyly] Allow me, lady, to kiss your hand.
He attempts to seize her hand, but MARION snatches it away.
MARION. All right. That will do. Wait there and I will get it. [Goes out and reappears 
with pie.] 
Here it is. Take care
how you carry it. It's a very good pie.
PIERRE. Rest assured, lady, I shall take the greatest care of it. As a carrier of eel 
pies I claim to 
be second to none
in all Paris.
MARION. Be off, then. And don't waste time in getting there.
She closes the door. After she has gone PIERRE stands holding the
pie as if stupefied  He then places it carefully on the bench and
sits beside it. He gazes at it lovingly, prodding it now and then with his 
fingers.
PIERRE. This must be a dream; and presently I shall wake. One of those dreams that are 
too good to 
last. I know,
because I've had them once or twice before. [Picking up the pie tenderly and sniffing 
it.] Good 
dream, last a little
longer. Just now I haven't the very least desire to wake up.
JEAN enters.
JEAN. Well, what did I tell you?
PIERRE [putting his fingers to his lips]. Shh! Don't speak too loud. You might wake me 
up.
JEAN [laughing and clapping him on the back]. Wake up, then. It's dinner-time. 
[Picking up the pie] 
We won't wait for
the nectarines and the champagne. This will do to start with.
He goes out, carrying the pie in front of him. JEAN follows as if in a trance, nose in 
the air, 
sniffing. After a pause,
GAULTIER enters. He is obviously angry and rather out of breath. He knocks on the 
door. MARION opens 
it.
MARION. What, back already?
GAULTIER. The Mayor was out. Nice way to treat a guest, eh? Asks him to dinner and 
then goes out and 
forgets all
about it. I'll get even with him for it one day, mark my words. Gaspard Gaultier is 
not the man to be 
treated like that.
Oh, no!
MARION. But what will you do for dinner?
GAULTIER. Dine at home, of course. Where else?
MARION. But there's nothing in the house to eat.
GAULTIER. Nothing to eat? What are you talking about? There's the eel pie, isn't 
there?
MARION. But . . . you sent for it. I gave it to your messenger not a quarter of an 
hour ago.
GAULTIER [pricking up his ears]. Eh? What's that?
MARION. I gave the pie to the man who came for it, just as you told me to. He kissed 
my hand, as you 
said he
would, and I told him to hurry. Didn't you meet him on the road?
GAULTIER. I sent no messenger.
MARION. But ...
GAULTIER. I say I sent no messenger. [Suddenly threatening] What have you done with 
that pie? I believe you've eaten it!
MARION. Now don't be absurd, Gaspard. Of course I haven't eaten it. I tell you the 
messenger came, as you arranged, and I gave him the pie. You must be crazy. If you 
didn't send him, who else did?
GAULTIER. If this is a joke, woman, let me tell you that it's in very bad taste. I'll 
soon see for 
myself if the pie is there
or not. And if it isn't, you'll have to find a good explanation.
He strides into the shop, followed by MARION. After a considerable pause JEAN and 
PIERRE re-enter. 
They have all
the appearance of having enjoyed a good repast. They sit, arms around each other's 
shoulders at one 
end of the
bench.
PIERRE. Jean, my stomach being, as it were, now composed, my brain is beginning to 
function. I have an idea.
JEAN. Slowly, my friend, slowly. My doctor warned me that after a meal the brain must 
not be 
overworked. It is in the
interests of digestion.
PIERRE. Agreed. We will approach the problem cautiously. In the matter of the pie 
which we have just 
eaten, you will
agree that it was a masterpiece.
JEAN. It was the work of an artist.
PIERRE. The composition was faultless - the flavour, just so. And then the crust. Was 
there ever such a crust?
[Picking his teeth with his fingers] The memory of it still abides with me.
JEAN. And what eels! The tenderness, the plasticity! I wonder where he catches them.
PIERRE. He does not catch them. They give themselves up. No eel could resist the 
blandishments of 
such an artist
as Mr Gaultier. To my mind the pie had but one fault.
JEAN. And that?
PIERRE. Its singularity. There should have been two. Listen, Jean. When I was waiting 
at the lady's door, I saw a
tart. It was on a shelf just outside the kitchen. I think it was a cranberry tart. I 
was allowed one glimpse of it and the vision faded. But it was a tart to dream about, 
succulent, spiced, sugared, white as milk, the very tart to sit happily 
on a foundation of
eel pie. I see no reason why the tart should not be ours. Wouldn't you
like to go and fetch it?
JEAN. But how?
PIERRE. You know the formula, "your husband sends me", etc., and the hand of Madame 
Gaultier is both 
small and
white. Believe me, you will enjoy the experience.
JEAN [getting up from bench]. I'll do it. But she musn't see you.
PIERRE . All right. I'll be round the corner. To it, then, and good luck. [PIERRE goes 
out, left.]
JEAN [knocking at the door]. Hullo, there!
MARION comes to the door.
MARION. And what do you want?
JEAN. Your husband has sent me, lady. He finds that the eel pie is not large enough to 
go round. He 
wants the
cranberry tart which he says is on the kitchen shelf. And, oh yes, I am to kiss your 
hand. Then you'll know it's me.
MARION [giving away nothing by voice or expression]. He wants the cranberry tart does 
he? Very well, if you'll wait there I will get it. [Goes back into the shop.] 
JEAN. If life was always as easy as this! And to think that only an hour ago I was in 
danger of 
starving to death.
Well, for what we are about to receive -
Before he can finish the sentence GAULTIER runs out from the shop and begins to cudgel 
him.
GAULTIER. Thief, dog, cut-purse, reptile, rapscallion, slubberdegullion! What have you 
done with my pie?
JEAN. Stop beating me! Stop beating me, and I'll tell you.
GAULTIER [still beating him]. No lies, now! Where is it? What have you done with it?
JEAN. I can't tell you till you stop beating me.
GAULTIER [dropping cudgel]. Well?
JEAN. It was no fault of mine sir. It was my friend. About ten minutes ago, when you 
were talking to your wife, he
overheard you say that you were sending someone back for the pie. And so he came and 
took the pie. He did it with
the best intention in the world. If he'd known there was going to be all this fuss 
about it, he would never have done it.
GAULTIER. And where is he now?
JEAN. Not very far away. I'll go and get him.
GAULTIER. You'd better. And see here. If you're not back with the pie, I'll have you 
both hanged for thieving. I'll give
you five minutes. Not a minute more.
GAULTIER goes back into the shop. JEAN stands down-stage, rubbing his bruises. 
Presently PIERRE enters, left.
PIERRE. Any luck?
JEAN. None at all. She says she can't give the tart to just anyone. It must be the 
same messenger who came for the
pie, or none at all. I kissed her hand till it was all sticky, but she wouldn't budge 
an inch.
PIERRE. Well, that's easy. I must go myself. You get out of sight. I'll soon show you 
how these things are managed.
JEAN goes out, right. PIERRE knocks at the door. GAULTIER opens it.
GAULTIER [seizing him by the collar]. Are you the dog who took
away my pie? [Shaking him] Answer me. What have you done with it? No lies, or I'll 
have the law on you!
PIERRE. Leave go of me and I'll explain. [GAULTIER releases him.] You see, sir, it was 
this way. I overheard you
telling your wife that you wanted a messenger. So I presented myself to madame. She 
gave me the pie and I carried
it straight to the Mayor's house.
GAULTIER. I see. And I suppose he was delighted to see you?
PIERRE. He couldn't find words enough to thank me.
GAULTIER. You're a liar! The Mayor is out.
PIERRE. Ah, sir. That's where you're wrong. He was out; but he's home again. He 
returned just after you left. He was
most grateful for the pie, and he's expecting Your Honour to dinner. He said he hoped 
you wouldn't keep him waiting.
GAULTIER. Well, well! So that was it. And I thought he'd forgotten all about it. See 
here, now. Run back to His Worship and say I shall be with him in five minutes. I'll 
give you something for your trouble. Hurry, or he'll think I'm not coming.
PIERRE. Very good, sir . . . and the tart?
GAULTIER. Eh? Oh, yes. The tart. I'll get it. [He goes in and returns with the tart.] 
There you are. Carry it carefully.
Tell the Mayor I shan't be many minutes. You can wait for me at his gate.
GAULTIER goes back into the shop calling "Marion! Marion!" Presently JEAN enters, 
left. He sees PIERRE holding
aloft the tart.
JEAN. Criminy! But you've got it!
PIERRE [presenting his disengaged hand to be kissed]. Sir, His Honour,
the pastrycook, presents, you with this cranberry tart and bids you kiss my hand.
JEAN advances slowly and makes a show of taking PIERRE's hand, as if to kiss it. But 
instead, he snatches away the tart and runs out, closely pursued by PIERRE.
CURTAIN

THE GOLD-DIGGERS  
by RUTH DALLAS
CHARACTERS
ARTY  BILL
EDMUND HERB
SCENE: A gold-claim. ARTY and BILL have dug a pit to look for
 gold. (The pit on the stage is made from a packing-case, with clay
 or gravel heaped against it.) On the stage, right, stands a rough
 tent. Outside the tent is a wooden box which serves as a seat, two
 black billies and a bag of potatoes. On the left stands a small
 picnic fireplace made from blackened stones. At the back of the
 stage, on the left, is a rough sign-post pointing off-stage to
 NUGGET CREEK. Near the sign-post lie a rope and a pick. Some twigs and branches 
suitable for firewood lie scattered about. ARTY enters from the left, carrying two 
empty buckets and a gold-pan. He calls out to BILL, who is down 
the hole. 
ARTY. Ready, Bill?
BILL [out of sight]. Righto, Arty, send them down. 
 ARTY puts the gold-pan aside and passes down first one bucket and 
 then the other, to BILL, who remains unseen. 
BILL. How much gold did you wash out, Arty?
ARTY. Don't be funny! 
BILL [after a moment]. Bucket coming up. 
ARTY reaches down, takes from BILL a bucket-filled with gravel and sets it beside him. 
He does the same with a second bucket. 
BILL [climbing from the hole]. It's like I told you before. 
 Another few inches down and we reach bottom. Nothing but rock.
ARTY. Down at the creek I heard a couple of new chums were wanting to buy a claim.
BILL. They can have this one for free. I'm taking to the road.
ARTY. Hang on. Not so fast. We got gold, didn't we?
BILL. We, dug all the dirt out of that hole, carried it to the creek,
washed it in the pan, and what did we get? We each got 
enough gold to fill half an aspirin bottle! [ARTY takes an aspirin bottle half- filled 
with gold-dust from his pocket 
and kisses it.]
ARTY. Beautiful stuff! [He uncorks it and begins to pour it into one of the buckets of 
gravel.]
 BILL [trying to stop him]. Are you mad?
They wrestle. ARTY breaks away and manages to shake the 
gold into the bucket of gravel.
ARTY. Now bring out your gold and mix it in the other bucket.
ARTY. Don't be funny! 
BILL. Like smoke I will. You might be mad, but I'm not. Think of the work you're going 
to have washing that bucket of gravel to get your gold back again.
ARTY. Someone else is going to wash it.
BILL [looking aggressive]. Who, for instance?
ARTY. Those two jokers who are coming along in a minute to
look at our claim.
BILL. You spoke to them?
 ARTY. I had a yarn to one of them. Name of Edmund Boyes.
BILL [pointing to bucket]. You mean you are going . . . to salt the claim?
ARTY. Sshh! [He looks about him furtively.] You don't say things
 like that out loud! Well . . . if they're mug enough to buy
 it . . .
BILL. You're a sly one!
 BILL scratches his head in thought. He looks at ARTY, and then
 at the bucket. Then he goes into the tent and brings out a small
 bottle of gold, which he nurses in his hands greedily.
 ARTY takes a stick and stirs his gold deeper into the bucket. BILL
 watches him, then slowly uncorks his bottle, pours the gold into
 the remaining bucket and stirs it in.
ARTY. I'll peel the potatoes if you make the fire.
 ARTY takes off his boots, sits on the wooden box beside the tent, and
 peels potatoes, dropping them into one of the black billies.
 BILL wanders about, gathering small twigs and bringing them to
 the fireplace.
 EDMUND and HERB enter left.
EDMUND. Hullo, there!
ARTY [remaining seated]. Good-day!
EDMUND. This is my mate Herb.
ARTY. Pleased to meet you, Herb. My name's Arty. My mate here is Bill. Bill, this is 
Edmund I told you about.
BILL [still picking up the wood]. Oh yes. Looking for a claim?
BILL gradually moves towards ARTY till he stands beside him.
EDMUND. They'  re all taken up. We thought of buying one.
HERB. But it would need to have the shine of gold in it.
ARTY. The trouble is my mate here doesn't want to sell.
BILL. Why, Arty, you know there's no- ARTY kicks BILL'S leg to silence him. 
BILL. No . . . no . . . hard work on this claim. 
ARTY [hastily]. That's right. The hard work's been done. Look 
 at that hole there. All nicely timbered so it won't cave in. EDMUND and HERB look 
down the hole. HERB nudges EDMUND. They exchange greedy glances. 
HERB [to EDMUND]. Not so deep as you might think?
EDMUND [to ARTY].Well . . . if your mate doesn't want to sell . . . we'll be passing 
on.
ARTY begins to rise from his box, then puts his hand on his back as
though in pain, groans, and sinks down again.
ARTY. My rheumatics . . . it's standing down 
in the creek
washing out all that gold! If it wasn't for 
my aches and pains I wouldn't think of parting with this little gold-mine.
BILL. I hope I won't be blamed for making your rheumatics worse.
ARTY. You mean you'd change your mind, Bill? For my sake? [He turns to EDMUND and 
HERB.] Mates, he's real 
unselfish, is Bill. But I wouldn't want to see him lose by 
it. We'd have to get twenty pounds clear out of it each.
EDMUND. Hey there! We're not buying a claim we know nothing about!
 HERB. No fear!
ARTY. Quite right. But if you had been interested 
in our claim I wouldn't have minded you taking a bucket of dirt and washing 
 it at the creek. 
EDMUND. One of these buckets you have brought up? 
BILL. Wait a minute. That's rich wash-dirt. Whose gold would it be?  
EDMUND. If we find gold in your dirt it's yours. If we buy it, it's ours.
ARTY. Well . . . all right then . . . see how she goes.
EDMUND and HERB set down their swags. EDMUND takes up one of the buckets of gravel. 
HERB takes up the gold-pan. They go off
eagerly, left.
ARTY and BILL strut about boastfully. ARTY has forgotten his "rheumatics".
ARTY. That's pretty clever, that is, I must say! 
BILL. Twenty quid each! [He doubles up with mirth.] 
ARTY [dancing about joyfully]. They'll buy it! They'll buy it! 
BILL. When they see the gold gleaming in the pan! 
ARTY. They'll think there's more where that came from! 
BILL.They don't know we've struck bottom! ARTY. They don't know we've shifted all that 
dirt . . . BILL. And got no more than would fill an
aspirin bottle! ARTY. And we've used it to salt the buckets! BILL. Sshh!
They stop suddenly and listen.
ARTY. What is it? BILL. Did you hear something? ARTY. No. Did you? BILL. I thought I 
heard a twig snap. ARTY. Take care! BILL.
They'll be coming back. ARTY. Let's get on with the fire and the potatoes.
ARTY again sits down on the wooden box and peels potatoes. BILL busies 
himself collecting twigs and arranging them in position for a
fire.
EDMUND and HERB enter, left, carrying
 the empty bucket and gold-pan.
EDMUND. We did wash out a bit of gold.
HERB. Just a speck.
EDMUND opens his palm and displays an amount of gold too small
for the others to see at first.
BILL goes up and peers into EDMUND's palm. ARTY hobbles over,
holding his back.
ARTY. Is that all ?
HERB. You expected more than that?
ARTY [to BILL]. He asks if we expected more!
BILL. I should say that was a very poor bucket.
EDMUND and HERB exchange knowing glances.
EDMUND. Here's our offer. Twenty pounds each. But we want
you to throw in the tent and your gear.
ARTY. Our gear?
HERB. It's no use to you - with that rheumatism.
ARTY puts his hand to his back, groans, and hobbles back to his seat.
EDMUND. You can take your bedding and your billies. Leave the
rest to us.
ARTY. I'll have to have a word with my mate.
BILL stoops over ARTY and they talk in whispers. EDMUND and
HERB look down the hole - but glance anxiously at them.
ARTY [to EDMUND and HERB]. If it wasn't for my rheumatics . . .
and how could Bill keep going without me? We will take your
offer.
EDMUND. Done!
EDMUND comes forward briskly, takes off his hat, turns out the lining
and takes from it a bundle of notes. He counts out and gives to
ARTY and BILL twenty pounds each.
ARTY and BILL stuff the notes hastily into their pockets. BILL brings
out of the tent two rolls of bedding, gives one to ARTY, and, each
taking a billy, they go off, right, ARTY hobbling, and not waiting
to put on his boots, which he carries.
ARTY and BILL. Good luck!
EDMUND. Good luck!
HERB. Good health!
EDMUND and HERB look down the hole again.
HERB. I'll go down. [He climbs down the hole.]
EDMUND. I'll pass down the bucket. [He takes up the empty bucket and stands at the 
edge, looking 
down.]
Enter ARTY and BILL, right creeping on hands and knees to hide behind the tent. They 
have left their swags elsewhere. From time to time they pop up and down from behind 
the tent, to see what is happening. 
They are dangerously near to being discovered. When ARTY peeps, BILL pulls him down. 
When BILL peeps, ARTY pulls BILL down.
HERB [calling from the hole]. Edmund! EDMUND. Hullo! HERB. The bucket!
EDMUND passes down the empty bucket.
HERB. Edmund! EDMUND. Right! HERB. I've struck rock! EDMUND. Not the bottom? HERB. 
Pass down the pick.
EDMUND passes down the pick. Muffled sound of pick striking stone. EDMUND shuffles 
about anxiously.
HERB. Edmund! EDMUND. Hullo! HERB. Pass down the rope.
EDMUND finds the rope and drops it completely into the hole.
HERB [breathless]. There's a great . . . big . . . stone . . . down here. [After a few 
moments] I've 
got the rope round it.
Take this end. [Passes the free end of the rope to EDMUND.] When I shout, "Pull", haul 
on the rope. 
I'll lift it from
below. [After a few moments] PULL!
EDMUND pulls the rope, and slowly a large flat stone is lifted out of the hole. EDMUND 
heaves the 
stone to one side
and begins to to untie the rope.
HERB. Edmund! Pass down your knife!
EDMUND takes his knife from a sheath at his waist and passes it down.
EDMUND [excitedly]. What is it? What is it?
HERB climbs out of the hole.
HERB [dramatically]. Gold!
HERB opens his palm. His hand is full of large nuggets of gold. Behind the tent BILL 
jumps up and 
tries to rush
forward to see, but ARTY pulls him back.
EDMUND [shrilly]. Gold?
HERB. There for the picking up! Shining like the sun! Under that stone! I thought I'd 
struck bottom!
EDMUND. It was a false bottom?
HERB [delightedly]. We're nowhere near the true bottom. Here, take it!
HERB empties the gold into EDMUND'S cupped hands. They both stare at the nuggets, 
struck dumb with wonder.
Behind the tent ARTY and BILL rain blows on each other.
illustrated by BILL  JENKS

THE HUT
by RICHARD PARKER
illustrated by OLGA VOLGER

CHARACTERS
CHARLES, chairman of the children's club
HELEN  	BENJIE	JOAN members of the club
MR LONGLEY, chairman of the bowling club MR SAWYER, his friend
SCENE: The inside of a club hut, with a six-foot trestle table, chairs, 
and a dartboard against the back wall.
CHARLES and HELEN play draughts without any real interest or attention, 
BENJIE throws darts idly at the board and JOAN sprawls on a chair, doing nothing 
whatever. Pause, after the curtain goes up.
CHARLES. Your move.
HELEN [rousing herself from a reverie]. Uh?
CHARLES. I said, your move.
HELEN. Sorry, I was miles away. [Moves piece.]
BENJIE. What's going to happen about the darts tournament next week, then?
CHARLES. It'll have to be cancelled, of course.
BENJIE. I stood a good chance of winning, too.
HELEN. What does it matter whether the darts tournament is cancelled or 
not? That's just one thing. Everything will
have to be cancelled now. The club's finished.
JOAN. I wish I could think of something.
HELEN. That's the fifteenth time you've said that. What's the good of 
thinking.
CHARLES. The hut has been sold over our heads to the bowling club and the 
committee is coming over tonight to
have a look at it.
BENJIE. And we're out in the cold, cold snow.
JOAN. All I can say is, it's not fair. If they'd warned us about it
 we might have raised the money ourselves. But just to sell it like
 that . . .  I
CHARLES. It isn't exactly sold yet. The committee from the bowling club 
have got to approve of it first.
JOAN [looking round]. Well, there's nothing wrong with the hut, is there? 
They're bound to approve it.
CHARLES. What I mean is, if we could raise five hundred dollars tonight we 
could buy it first.
HELEN. Is that what they're going to pay? Five hundred dollars just for an old wooden 
hut?
CHARLES. You have to buy the land it's standing on.
HELEN. It still seems a lot of money.
BENJIE. How much have we got in the funds, anyway? You're the treasurer, 
Helen.
HELEN. In actual money we've got one dollar 49 cents.
JOAN. Is that all! If I could only think of something.
BENJIE. If you could think, it might help.
JOAN. Oh, shut up! You're not helping much yourself, everlastingly throwing 
darts about!
BENJIE [angry]. Well, of all the mean . . .
CHARLES. All right, all right! No point in bickering.
HELEN. Well, we're in a spot, aren't we? If the bowling club buy this hut 
we shall have nowhere to meet. The club will
break up. Everything will stop.
JOAN. We could still go camping.
CHARLES. We could, but we shan't.. You know what it is. Once you haven't 
got a proper place to meet it's so difficult
getting in touch with people, and then they gradually drift away.
HELEN. That's looking on the gloomy side, all right.
BENJIE. Still, Charlie's right. We're finished.
CHARLES. If the bowling club buy the hut, we are.
JOAN [leaping to her feet]. If! If! But suppose they don't?
BENJIE. Oh, sit down. We've been through all that. There's no reason why 
they shouldn't. The  hut's in good
condition; there's nothing much wrong with it. You go back to thinking. JOAN. But 
that's it! I have thought.
CHARLES. What's the great idea?
JOAN. Well, look, we know the hut's all right, but these men from the 
bowls committee don't, do they?
HELEN. That's what they're coming about.
JOAN. Exactly. But suppose when they come they find the hut in such a 
mess that it doesn't look worth 500 dollars,
what then?
CHARLES. They won't buy it.
BENJIE. That's all very well, but what are we supposed to do - knock holes 
in the roof and burn down the front door?
JOAN. No need to do that. We can make things seem dreadful . . .
CHARLES. Of course we can! [Enthusiastically] Joan, you've solved it!
HELEN. They won't be taken in.
CHARLES. They might be. It's worth a try. Now, what sort of things do 
people look at specially when they're buying a
home?
HELEN. The drains.
BENJIE. That's easy. Just stop up the pipe with a handkerchief and fill 
the sink with dirty water and tea leaves. I'll do
that. [Goes off.]
CHARLES [calling after him]. Hey, Benjie!
BENJIE [off]. Hullo?
CHARLES [going to door]. There's an old sheep-skin on the fence outside, 
it smells awful. If you hide it under the sink
somewhere they'd think it was the drains.
HELEN is struck with an idea and goes out.
BENJIE. [off]. Good-oh. I'll get it.
CHARLES. Then there are the lights
JOAN. Fuses out and light candles. I'll do it. [Goes off. There is a 
crash and HELEN tumbles in, spilling pots and
pans and buckets. JOAN calls out cheerfully:] Sorry!
HELEN. You sound it. [Gets up.]
CHARLES. What's all the ironmongery for? HELEN. The holes in the roof. 
CHARLES. But there aren't any! HELEN.
They won't climb up to see, will they? We'll pretend these pots are to 
catch the drips. See?
CHARLES.Good for you. Spread them out then. I'll give you a hand. [They place the pots 
about on the stage.]
HELEN. One here by the door for them to fall over, eh?
JOAN enters with candles.
JOAN. Light these first, then I'll heave the fuses out. [He places 
candles and lights them.]
BENJIE [off}. Here, you ought to sniff out here. It's marvellous.
CHARLES [going to look]. I said that sheep-skin was rich, didn't I? 
[Reels back from the door.] Whew! I didn't realise
it was as rich as that. [Puts handkerchief to his nose and goes out 
dramatically.]
JOAN. That'll do. Now for the fuse. [Goes out.]
HELEN [calling]. Charlie!
CHARLES [off, muffled]. What is it?
JOAN. Bring that broken chair with you.
CHARLES and BENJIE return, bearing two bits of chair between them.
CHARLES. Good idea. We can let one of the committee sit on it. I say, you ought to see 
what Benjie's done to the kitchen. It's a wonder. Water everywhere. And that sheep-
skin . . . Words fail me!
HELEN. It's coming in here a bit, isn't it?
BENJIE. All the better.
The lights go out.
HELEN. Wait a minute, Joan! We've got to fix this chair up.
JOAN [coming in]. The candles give enough light for that. You can see quite 
well. [Falls over the bucket.] Who put
that thing there?
HELEN. You ought to look where you're going. It's quite light in here, with 
the candles.
CHARLES. How's that for the chair? No, don't touch it.
HELEN. That'll do fine.
JOAN. What else can we do? What about the fire? Suppose we make that smoke?
CHARLES. It's not even alight. Not a bad idea, though. We could push a sack 
up the chimney and . . .
Knocking at the door.
JOAN. Too late, here they are.
CHARLES goes to the door and opens it.
CHARLES. Good evening.
VOICE [outside]. Good evening, young fellow. We're from the bowling club . . .
CHARLES. Oh, yes, of course. We were told you'd be around. Come in, won't you.
CHARLES steps back and two men enter. They stand looking curiously about them while 
CHARLES shuts the door.
SAWYER. Why, you're Charlie Hicks, aren't you? Davy Hick's boy from up at the garage?
CHARLES. That's right, Mr Sawyer.
SAWYER. Thought I recognised you. And you know me, of course. Well, this is Mr 
Longley, the chairman of the bowling club committee. They didn't all want to come down 
so they left the job to us.
LONGLEY. Bit on the dark side, isn't it? Something wrong with the lights?
CHARLES. Yes, well you see . . .
MR LONGLEY Steps forward into a basin and skates across the stage, waving   
his arms wildly, then sits down on
the floor. JOAN and HELEN help him up.
HELEN. Oh dear, are you hurt?
JOAN. You haven't broken anything, have you?
LONGLEY. I'm all right. Bit shaken. I  … that was a right stupid
 place to put a basin, wasn't it?
JOAN. Well, you see, it's to catch the drips . . .
LONGLEY. Drips? What drips?
HELEN. The roof. You see, Mr Longley, the roof leaks very badly and if it 
should rain when there's no one here to see
to it, the place would be flooded. So we leave the basins and buckets and 
things out all the time. Just in case.
CHARLES. Sit down, Mr Sawyer, won't you?
SAWYER. Thanks, Charlie. [He goes to the broken chair which is prominent in 
the centre of the stage and is about to
sit down. Half-way he stops and rises again, looking up at the ceiling.] 
Holes in the roof, eh? That's bad. Bits of new
felting will put that right no doubt.
CHARLES. Well, actually the wood's pretty rotten.
SAWYER. Oh yes. [Goes to sit again and stops.] Where does that horrible 
smell come from? [Sniffs.]
BENJIE. I expect you're smelling our drains.
LONGLEY. Drains?
BENJIE. Yes, they've been like that so long we hardly smell it ourselves. 
But it does seem a little strong when you
first come in.
SAWYER. Strong? I'll say it's strong. Good job you've got a few holes in 
the roof - let some of the smell out.
CHARLES. Oh, it's not very strong in here. It's not bad if you keep the 
kitchen door shut.
LONGLEY. Still, bad drains! That's serious. What's wrong?
JOAN. They say all the pipes will have to come out and be re-laid. They 
were put in wrong, they say.
LONGLEY. But that'll be an expensive job.
SAWYER goes over to the kitchen door and opens it. LONGLEY comes to rest by 
the broken chair and makes to sit
down.
SAWYER [reeling backwards and closing the door]. Whew! [LONGLEY stands 
again.] You need a gas mask on to
go out there.
LONGLEY. But this is dreadful. Holes in the roof, drains not working, and 
something wrong with the lights. What did
you say was wrong?
CHARLES. There's nothing very much wrong with them.  
SAWYER. That's a blessing anyway.  
CHARLES. All the electric wires in the hut will have to be replaced.  SAWYER. Well, 
that's a fine thing, I must say.
LONGLEY. The committee certainly didn't realise the place was in such bad 
shape when they suggested buying it. I
don't know what to say. This'll need thinking over very carefully.
SAWYER. Yes, what I've seen tonight has certainly made me change
my mind. [Prepares to sit again.] It hardly seems the place for a 
children's club to meet. Downright unhealthy if you
ask me. [Sits. The chair collapses and SAWYER rolls on the floor.] 
CHARLES [helping him up]. I'm dreadfully sorry, Mr Sawyer, I quite forgot 
that was one of our weak chairs. Look, sit
on this one, it's a better one.
SAWYER. No, thank you, young man. I've stayed here quite long enough. Long 
enough to see that this place isn't
worth anywhere near the price that's being asked for it. Are you ready, Mr 
Longley? Do you want to see anything
else?
LONGLEY. I shall recommend that the committee does not purchase the 
property.
SAWYER. And I . . . [Both fall over the buckets as they make their way to 
the door.] And I shall support you.
CHARLES [opening the door]. I'm sorry if you've been misled.
SAWYER. It's not your fault, Charlie. Good night!
CHARLES. Good night, Mr Sawyer!
LONGLEY. Good night!
ALL. Good night!
They go out and CHARLES shuts the door. The children, give an exaggerated exhibition 
of joy. In the middle of it the
door opens and SAWYER puts his head round.
SAWYER. It'll do no harm to tell you now why the committee wanted to buy 
the hut. We were going to give it to your
club as a present. Pity! [Shuts the door, and the curtain descends on 
silent consternation.]


