ACT III.—FATHER CHRISTMAS AND THE HUBBARD FAMILY
SCENE I.—The drawing-room of the HUBBARDS before Fame and Prosperity came to them. It is simply furnished with a deal table and two cane chairs.
MR. and MRS. HUBBARD, in faultless evening dress, are at home, MR. HUBBARD reading a magazine, MRS. HUBBARD with her hands in her lap. She sighs.
MR. HUBBARD (impetuously throwing down his magazine). Dearest, you sighed?
MRS. HUBBARD (quickly). No, no, Henry. In a luxurious and well-appointed home such as this, why should I sigh?
MR. HUBBARD. True, dear. Not only is it artistically furnished, as you say, but it is also blessed with that most precious of all things—(he lifts up the magazine)—a library.
MRS. HUBBARD. Yes, yes, Henry, we have much to be thankful for.
MR. HUBBARD. We have indeed. But I am selfish. Would you care to read? (He tears out a page of the magazine and hands it to her.)
MRS. HUBBARD. Thank you, thank you, Henry.
(They both sit in silence for a little. She sighs again.)
MR. HUBBARD. Darling, you did sigh. Tell me what grieves you.
MRS. HUBBARD. Little Isabel. Her cough troubles me.
MR. HUBBARD (thoughtfully). Isabel?
MRS. HUBBARD. Yes, dear, our youngest. Don't you remember, she comes after Harold?
MR. HUBBARD (counting on his fingers). A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I—dear me, have we got nine already?
MRS. HUBBARD (imploringly). Darling, say you don't think it's too many.
MR. HUBBARD. Oh no, no, not at all, my love . . . After all, it isn't as if they were real children.
MRS. HUBBARD (indignantly). Henry! How can you say they are not real?
MR. HUBBARD. Well, I mean they're only the children we thought we'd like to have if Father Christmas gave us any.
MRS. HUBBARD. They are just as real to me as if they were here in the house. Ada, Bertram, Caroline, the high-spirited Dennis, pretty Elsie with the golden ringlets, dear little fair-haired Frank—
MR. HUBBARD (firmly). Darling one, Frank has curly brown hair. It was an understood thing that you should choose the girls, and I should choose the boys. When we decided to take—A, B, C, D, E, F—a sixth child, it was my turn for a boy, and I selected Frank. He has curly brown hair and a fondness for animals.
MRS. HUBBARD. I daresay you're right, dear. Of course it is a little confusing when you never see your children.
MR. HUBBARD. Well, well, perhaps some day Father Christmas will give us some.
MRS. HUBBARD. Why does he neglect us so, Henry? We hang up our stockings every year, but he never seems to notice them. Even a diamond necklace or a few oranges or a five-shilling postal order would be something.
MR. HUBBARD. It is very strange. Possibly the fact that the chimney has not been swept for some years may have something to do with it. Or he may have forgotten our change of address. I cannot help feeling that if he knew how we had been left to starve in this way he would be very much annoyed.
MRS. HUBBARD. And clothes. I have literally nothing but what I am standing up in—I mean sitting down in.
MR. HUBBARD. Nor I, my love. But at least it will be written of us in the papers that the Hubbards perished in faultless evening dress. We are a proud race, and if Father Christmas deliberately cuts us off in this way, let us go down proudly. . . . Shall we go on reading or would you like to walk up and down the room? Fortunately these simple pleasures are left to us.
MRS. HUBBARD. I've finished this page.
MR. HUBBARD (tearing out one). Have another, my love. (They read for a little while, until interrupted by a knock at the door.)
MRS. HUBBARD. Some one at the door! Who could it be?
MR. HUBBARD (getting up). Just make the room look a little more homey, dear, in case it's any one important.
(He goes out, leaving her to alter the position of the chairs slightly.)
MRS. HUBBARD. Well?
MR. HUBBARD (coming in). A letter. (He opens it.)
MRS. HUBBARD. Quick!
MR. HUBBARD (whistling with surprise). Father Christmas! An invitation to Court! (Reading) "Fat…
