Previous sections:
1.—Introduction. Writing and production
2.—Reception
3.—Ruth Gordon's memoirs. Afterlife
I will now make as complete a reconstruction of the plot of Piccadilly Jim as I am able, by editing into one continuous narrative all the information that can be retrieved from reviews and notices, and intercalating the bits of actual dialogue quoted in the sources. Fortunately for us, audiences in 1919 don't seem to have shared our modern horror of "spoilers," and reviewers didn't hesitate to reveal plot twists or endings, and even reproduce the last lines of the play.
The language of the reconstruction will be that of the reviews, because even when a phrase is not marked as a quotation there is always the possibility that the critic is using expressions taken from the play. However, I won't cite the direct source of every piece of information. The reviews are naturally repetitive and overlap each other. Some are substantial but none quite so as to render the rest useless; whereas some very short news items are our only source for certain valuable details. They are mostly free from mutual contradictions, and when there is a mismatch it is possible to deduce with certainty which one is in error. An exception should be made for the longest and most interesting piece, "Typical Wodehouse Wit," published unsigned in The Washington Post for December 21, p. 5. It is not a regular review, but an overview of some key scenes with extensive quotations, without any criticism of the play, the cast or the performance. It is accompanied by this illustration, with the caption "Mr. Stuart Walker directing a rehearsal of 'Piccadilly Jim' over the shoulders of 'Comrade' P. G. Wodehouse, author of the comedy":
I believe this is some kind of promotional sample sent to newspapers by the producers, showcasing the "typical Wodehouse wit" that prospective theatergoers could count on getting if they decided to invest in a ticket. A similar article can be found, for example, in The Cincinnati Enquirer for March 6, 1927, p. 86, promoting Wodehouse's and Bolton's new play The Nightingale—which was also produced by the Shuberts. Other contemporary examples of this practice could probably be found with a little research. In any case, the Post article is one of our main sources on the plot and dialogue, especially the original parts (not derived from the novels The Little Nugget or Piccadilly Jim).
Some words of caution are in order. Above all, this reconstruction is probably not complete, and it is even possible that some fundamental points are missing. All the synopses at some point or other omit details that could be seen as pivotal, so it's perfectly reasonable to suspect that somehow they all coincided in leaving out the same part of the picture. To take an example: a moment of tension occurs in chapter 23 of the novel, when Gentleman Jack drops the tube of Partridgite, supposedly capable of blowing half of New York to bits. This is an unlikely scene to be left out of the play, both because of its dramatic possibilities and because it leads directly to the dénouement, but in fact only one of the early reviews hints at its presence in some form: "There is a dash of melodrama, consisting of a flash of revolvers, the theft of a safe combination, and the careless handling of a vial of terrible explosive to add zip."
On the other hand, although the play is explicitly based on the 1916 novel, it cannot be assumed that any gaps in this account can be just filled in with information from it. It will become obvious that Wodehouse and Bolton did not feel compelled to follow the original plot, drew freely from The Little Nugget, and added plot that is incompatible with the existing material. Therefore, in this reconstruction we will only include information that can be directly deduced from the notices of the play, trying not to be influenced by our prior knowledge of the novel. To continue the previous example: it seems clear that the scene with the explosive is present in some form, but since in the play the invention is not a failure or a fraud it is also obvious that it was not dropped in such a way as to make it go off.
Finally, we will treat the play as a unique, finished script, ignoring possible changes made to it during the tour. Ruth Gordon's account shows the authors following at least part of the production and touching up the text during rehearsals, but we have no way of knowing how deep the revisions went. As the play's deficiencies became more evident it is probable that whole scenes were dropped or added in an attempt to save it: Wodehouse has left ample testimony of his experience with "fixing" plays in this way, particularly in his and Bolton's reminiscences Bring On the Girls (1953), but also in some of the novels he wrote about this time concerning the theatrical life, like Jill the Reckless (1920) and The Adventures of Sally (1922) (=The Little Warrior and Mostly Sally in the US). Without any clear traces of major revisions, speculating about them would not be a productive exercise.
Tentative reconstruction
The prologue of the play introduces a spoiled young American, Jimmy Crocker, living in London, where he has been dubbed "Piccadilly Jim" on account of his fastidiousness about his dress and his immaculate appearance. He is also characterized by his slangy, irreverent approach to the English language. His wealthy father and stepmother, Mr. and Mrs. Bingley-Crocker, only appear here and at the end of the play: they aspire to take a place in English society but are hampered by Jimmy's escapades. It is revealed that the previous play Jimmy while in his cups had a fisticuff argument with Lord Percy Whipple, the son of a British peer on whose influence Jimmy's stepmother was counting to land a title for his father; and that morning, having been challenged to do so by a friend, he has brought back home a stolen perambulator, not having noticed that it contained a living baby. His friend, called upon the telephone, can offer no further help than to inform Jimmy that it was a house where a black cat washed its paws on the door-step. This is the last straw that decides him to return to America and stop being an impediment for his parents' social aspirations. He will make his own fortune, massing (this being his expressed intention) 10,000 of our well-known dollars within two months.
In Act I Jimmy is in New York, where he discovers to his dismay that dollars do not grow more easily than elsewhere. He explains that he's haunted Wall Street so long in his efforts to become a captain of industry that he's as well known as the statue of George Washington in front of the Subtreasury. But Jimmy's railroad presidential aspirations still remain unfulfilled and, dead broke but still garbed in raiment stylish and swinging his cane, he seeks any old sort of a job that has three meals a day attached. To this end he takes his steps to Mrs. Clarkson's employment emporium, and on the way there saves a red-headed girl (Ann Chester) from being run over by a taxi, and at once falls in love with her.
At the agency we have the humors of a peripatetic Irish cook and encounter again Ann, with no experience or resources save a Vassar college education, in search of a position as governess. His interview with Mrs. Clarkson goes like this:
Mrs. Clarkson—Just what are you looking for?
Jimmy—I'm looking for a job. You seem surprised? Isn't this a job emporium?
Mrs. Clarkson—What kind of job do you want?
Jimmy—I don't care a bit—anything lying round loose.
Mrs. Clarkson (smiling)—What is it—an election bet? Don't you think it rather a pity for you to take work from men who need it so badly and——
Jimmy—Oh, don't let that worry you. I only want a little bit of work—such a small bit it won't be noticed—a door opener or an envelope opener or a window opener—I have quite a reputation as a wine opener.
Mrs. Clarkson—You must excuse me if I remark that this application of yours strikes me as extraordinary in the least degree.
Jimmy—Why? I'm young and active and dead broke.
Mrs. Clarkson (looking at his clothes)—You're dead broke.
Jimmy—You think I don't look it. Ah but Mrs. Clarkson, if one expects to get employment one must be neatly and decently dressed. This faultless crease was obtained with the aid of the mattress upon which I tossed feverishly in my attic room.
Mrs. Clarkson—You really want me to find you work? But isn't there something you'd like to be?
Jimmy—Yes, I'd like to be one of the idle rich.
Mrs. Clarkson—You don't expect me to find you anything like that?
Jimmy—I've always felt that the ideal profession is touching the old dad for another thousand, but I'm resigned to something a trifle more arduous.
While Mrs. Clarkson absents herself to settle a quarrel in the next room, Jimmy meets Mr. J. Worsely Ford, who is looking for a man who must be "enterprising and resourceful."
Jimmy—If you will cast your eyes in this direction, you will see our handsome hero registering enterprise and resource.
Ford—You surely don't mean you are looking for a job?
Jimmy—The search for employment seems to be met on all hands with surprise.
Ford—I don't think the job I have to offer would appeal to you.
Jimmy—Any job which is attached to a reasonable prospect of three meals a day appeals to me.
Mr. Ford is ostensibly looking for a tutor for his 15-year-old son Ogden; in reality he wants somebody to kidnap him. Ogden is a precocious enfant terrible: his principal failing seems to be smoking his uncle's cigars. His parents are estranged and the boy, by direction of the court, is in the custody of an aunt [Mrs. Peter Pett] in Morristown who spoils him by overindulgence. By kidnapping him Mr. Ford hopes to circumvent the court's decree that the boy has to spend an equal amount of time with each parent.
At the same time, Ann is approached by Ogden's mother, Mrs. J. Worsely Ford, who engages her to pose as a governess, but actually to perform exactly the same service for her.
When Mr. Ford suggests that he gain entrance to the aunt's household by impersonating Lord Something-or-Other, an English nobleman who writes vers libre, Jimmy balks:
Ford—But you're a celebrity—a great free-verse celebrity.
Jimmy—Look here. I've still got a little self respect left. Don't shove me too deep in the calendar of crime.
But he finally accepts, having found out that Ann will also be there working as a governess, and lured by Mr. Ford's promise of $10,000 if he succeeds.
The second act takes place in the Petts' home. Mr. Peter Pett has invented a marvelous high-explosive, a tube of which he keeps in the safe; he is a patient, delightfully eccentric middle-aged man anxious to be relieved of the society of the loutish boy. Mrs. Pett, a nervous lady intensely bewildered by the whole outfit, has surrounded herself with a salon of high-brow literary types [Mrs. Barnes, Miss Pegrim]. The slangy Jimmy has much difficulty in posing as an English nobleman, and as for poetry he is on the point of unmasking himself when he inadvertently explains his classification of "major league poets" and "minor league poets."
Mrs. Barnes—Come and talk to us. We're so interested in poetry——
Jimmy—Yes. But I—mustn't talk shop all the time.
Miss Pegrim—Why, you haven't so much as mentioned your work since we've been here.
Jimmy—No? Well, you see, I'm trying to keep my mind off it. Doctor warned me I've been concentrating too much. I don't want to join all those over-brainy lads in the booby-hatch.
Miss Pegrim—The—I beg your pardon.
Jimmy—I said I don't want to be committed to a lunatic asylum.
Mrs. Pett—It certainly must be taxing to write as much as you have in the last two years.
Jimmy—Oh, I dare say regular poets don't feel it. From what I've heard Scott and Byron and Mrs Hemens could swing their pens day after day without straining the old bean the least bit but——
Mrs. Barnes—Scott! You don't call Scott a poet?
Jimmy (feeling he has made a mistake)—Wasn't Scott a poet? Who am I thinking of? Who was the bird who wrote "The Lady of the Lake?"
Mrs. Pett—Bird?
Jimmy—Did I say "bird?" (nervous "ha, ha") Bard—I mean bard!
Mrs. Barnes—There are several of your more mystic passages I do want explained to me. Particularly that wonderful verse beginning "Across the pale parabola of joy——"
Jimmy—The—I beg your pardon.
Miss Pegrim—"Across the pale parabola of joy"—You know.
Jimmy (as though he could hardly believe it)—You find that line difficult to understand?
Miss Pegrim (humbly)—A—a little.
Jimmy—Well, well, perhaps I did put a bit—of a reverse English on that one.
Jimmy meets an old friend, Dave Mitchell, also employed in the household and confides in him. Dave imparts some unsettling information on the penalty the law imposes on kidnappers:
Jimmy—I'm kidnaping this boy Ogden for someone that wants him. I have to keep pinching myself whenever he's around or I'd never believe it.
Dave—Who is the poor nut?
Jimmy—The author of his being.
Dave—Author?
Jimmy—Well, one of the collaborators.
Dave—But say—do you know what the penalty is for kidnaping?
Jimmy—Will you please stop making the echoes reverberate with that word? I don't like the sound of it even when it's whispered. Call it something else—say "kissing" and I'll know what you mean. Now, what was it you just asked me?
Dave—I said do you know what you'd get if you were caught trying to kid—trying to kiss this young, fat Ogden?
Jimmy (puzzled for a moment)—Trying to kiss? Oh yes—yes of course. Tell me, what would they do to me if I were to try to kiss the dear little fellow?
Dave—They could give you 20 years.
Jimmy—No court would give me 20 years for depriving someone of the society of Oggie.
Dave—Well here's a law book—look what it says.
Jimmy (scanning book)—Judge, bribery of, juries, ex-criminals forbidden to sit on—K—Keeping unlicensed saloons, Here we are, Kid—that is to say—"kissing." (reads) From earliest times k-kissing has been regarded as one of the most serious crimes. And the kisser has always received the severest punishment. In ancient Rome, the common practice was to cut off the ears of any individual convicted of kissing——" I am glad we are not living in ancient Rome. "The earlier European lawmakers thought death none too excessive a penalty for kissing——" Say, I don't like this book . . .
[One review informs us that "from now on the plot grows steadily more complicated until simple narrative can do no further justice to it," while another says that "the plot has many unexpected twists, with a real thriller in the last act." It is not clear at which point of this reconstruction the third and last act begins.]
Jimmy finds the object of his expedition falling right into his hands. Ogden makes him a proposition:
Ogden (looking at him appraisingly)—So you're a real live kidnaper! Well, all I can say is the fillum flatters 'em.
Jimmy—Ogden, I fancy you have been having one of your vivid dyspeptic nightmares.
Ogden—Less of it—less of it. I could repeat the spiel you an' Dave had, word for word.
Jimmy—Do you know where little boys go who listen to private conversations?
Ogden—Sure—to the witness stand.
Jimmy—Surely no gentleman——
Ogden—Aw, forgit it! Who says I'm a gentleman? This gentleman gag is something people always pull whenever they're trying to play you for a boob. Now you listen here. They've stopped my allowance, shut down on candy and the movies and engaged a governess to teach me arithmetic. That ain't exactly my idea of a large existence—so if you want to kidnap me, I'm ready to shake hands on it. I know there's money in this kidnapping business, and I reckon I'm one of the best propositions in that line that's lying around loose. How about it—Will we go fifty-fifty on the deal?
Jimmy—You mean you want half of what I get for kidnap—I mean kissing you? You certainly are a fascinating child.
Ogden—Less of it. Do we divvy, or don't we? Talk figures. I'll give you one hour to think it over. I must try and map out some way you can guarantee me the money.
Jimmy—You know, Ogden, I hate to think what's going to happen to Rockefeller and Morgan when you go down to work in Wall street.
A lady detective (Susan Trimble) is stationed in the house, disguised as a housemaid; her job is to watch over Mr. Pett's explosive. She suspects everybody except the real crook (Alan Cootes) who enters the house after Jimmy, also pretending to be the noble English poet, but seeking to steal the invention. Jimmy spots him for an impostor by asking him to explain the same line about the "pale parabola of joy." Cootes, for his part, believes him to be after the secret formula too and hence regards him as a rival. Jimmy manages to thwart the other by snatching a spotlight revolver from him and making use of it at the crucial moment. Somehow Cootes steals at some point the combination of the safe that keeps the explosive, and the tube is dangerously handled on the scene. Jimmy's courage and resourcefulness win the day, the crook is exposed and the explosive is safe.
The play ends with Mr. and Mrs. Ford reunited in mutual terror over the possible loss of Ogden; Jimmy gets his $10,000 check. Mr. Pett, in addition to the relief concerning his explosive, is delighted that the reconciliation will remove from under his roof the petted lad whose "will is strong, but whose stomach is weak." His gratefulness is strong enough to make him take Jimmy into his partnership, and give him a half share in the invention.
The last scene, naturally, is devoted to the union of Jimmy and Ann:
Jimmy—Dozens of men have asked you to marry them, of course. But the great thing, Ann, is to be sure—quite sure that it's the right man. Perfect companionship—all that sort of thing. It's best if your husband's business is one that you thoroughly understand and take an interest in—like—well—kidnapping for instance. Why, think, if you were to marry me, we might even get our pictures in that magazine series of "Husbands and Wives Who Work Together." I am—conservatively speaking—a corker. Don't you think you better grab me before all the village lassies begin to flock around?
Ann—I'll think about it. By the way, what did you say your name was?
Jimmy—James Crocker, "Piccadilly Jim." I'm he.
Ann—Mrs. Piccadilly Jim—I'm she.
[According to another source: "reciting his aliases, he pauses lovingly at 'Piccadilly Jim,' giving just the right touch of atmosphere to her 'And I—I am Mrs. Piccadilly Jim.']
