Laughter in Paradise

Here, in this mansion, in a quiet London square,

a man lies dying.

And as he dies, the world remembers the feats which made him famous.

The outrageous pranks,

which time and again shook officialdom to its very foundations.

Yes, Henry Augustus Russell will soon be joining the great majority.

It's hard to believe that this frail, ghostlike figure

was once the greatest practical joker of modern times.

The dusky eastern potentate who so nearly purchased the Albert hall.

The bronzed red Indian chief,

feted for swimming the channel complete with feathered headdress and tomahawk.

Goodbye, Henry Russell.

Your last practical joke is done.

Oris it?

Oh!

Telegram

for miss Agnes Russell.

Thank you.

Oh. Will you please wait here?

Come in.

Excuse me, ma'am, there's a telegram.

That's no excuse to come in here looking like a chimney sweep.

Go and put your apron on at once!

Yes, ma'am.

But the boy's waiting for a reply.

Well, let him wait. That's what he's paid for.

Yes, ma'am.

Disgusting.

Ethel, do you see this photograph?

Well, don't stand there. Come here!

- Yes, ma'am. - It's my brother. He died this morning.

Oh, I am sorry, ma'am.

The photograph is smothered with dust.

If I'd known the poor gentleman had passed away, oh, I'd...

It should not be necessary for people to die

in order to have their photographs dusted.

No, ma'am.

I'm ever so sorry about your bad news, ma'am.

You have reason to be.

Because I shall now be able to afford some servants who know their duty.

You can take a fortnight's notice from today.

Now go!

Mr Russell, it's useless arguing.

If every bank clerk in every bank in england was half a crown short

in his calculations every week, do you know how much that would cost?

Uh...

If you'd like to let me have pencil and paper, sir,

I'll work it for you if you really want to know.

I don't want to know. I want you to think about it.

Oh, yes, sir.

It's a very disturbing thought, sir.

But sometimes, sir, it isn't easy.

If it was easy, mr Russell, there would be no need for bank clerks.

Yes... no, sir.

Come in.

Sorry to disturb you, sir.

There's a person in the bank asking for mr Russell.

Let one of the other clerks deal with him.

It's a personal visit, sir, a lady. A mrs goodwin.

Oh? Who might this lady be?

Oh, no, sir, she's not a lady. She's my landlady.

The bank, mr Russell, is no place for a music hall repartee.

Get rid of her at once.

Yes, sir.

Yes, sir.

So sorry to worry you like this, sir, but she was most...

Wipe that sycophantic smile off your face.

Hello, mrs goodwin.

Oh, mr Russell, I thought I'd better pop in.

Just after you left, a telegraphic communication arrived for you,

and I thought it might be urgent.

I didn't open it, of course, so I don't know what there may be in it,

but I think you should be prepared for some rather sad news.

Oh, mr Russell. Was he very dear to you?

Pray accept my heartiest condolences.

Oh, thank you, mrs goodwin. Thank you.

Not at all, I'm sure.

Well, see you at supper.

Yes.

Not bad news I hope.

Yes, in a way, miss Heath.

A distant cousin of mine has just died.

Henry Russell, you probably read about him.

He was always telling me that I...

I lack push. Yes, push, I think it was.

Nonsense.

Why don't you go and ask mr wagstaffe for the afternoon off?

Everyone does on these occasions.

Oh, no, I couldn't.

Go on. Show you've got some push.

Go on.

Yes. Why not?

Yes.

I jolly well will.

Come in!

Yes?

Well?

A distant cousin of mine has just died, sir.

How distant?

- A long way off, sir. - What about it, then?

Well, it seems I'm a beneficiary under his will, sir.

Just because you've come into a few pounds

doesn't mean that you can behave like a millionaire.

You'll be asking for the afternoon off next.

Oh, no, sir.

Oh, no.

No...

I'll raise you a fiver.

Your five...

And ten more, Russell.

Ha, a tenner, huh?

I'll see you.

Fours.

Fours?

How high?

Four kings.

If you beat that, I'll eat my cigar.

Better start eating, old son.

Four aces.

- Telegram, sir. - Open it, Benson.

Bad luck, old boy, but I did have the decency not to raise you.

Very kind of you, Simon, I'm sure.

Well, I hate fleecing a pal in my own flat.

What?

Why, this is fantastic.

Well, you'll have to carry on without me, so make yourselves at home.

There's plenty of whisky.

Oh, I like that.

You must pardon mr Russell, sir. He's had some very sad news.

My heart bleeds for him.

Hello? Mr endicott? Yes, Simon Russell here.

Oh, splendid!

Yes, I thought it might've been another of those infernal practical jokes of his.

See you on Wednesday at the celebration.

Huh? Oh, of course, I mean the funeral. I'm sorry. Goodbye.

J I'm happy as a lark j

Benson, my dinner jacket. I'm celebrating tonight.

Now look here. Get on to Christine and tell her...

No, no. She drinks too much.

Call zena and tell her to meet me at the garter.

She's always a certainty.

Are you ready, miss wilcott?

- Yes. - Good.

Blood lust, a novel by Jeremy sinclair.

Chapter one entitled "sweet meeting." Paragraph:

I walked into the room and there stood petal,

her silken hair languorously caressing one fair cheek,

her lips red and inviting.

I walked over to her and slugged her on the mouth.

No, no, no, change that.

Change that, miss wilcott, to "slugged her on the kisser."

Kisser.

Before going down,

she threw me a single glance of searing hate suffused with scorn.

She was certainly a swell tomato.

Oh, that's a beautiful beginning, captain Russell, it really is.

I'm afraid it's all rather disgusting, really, but...

Well, they seem to like the American touch.

Well, um...

To proceed.

L, uh, I leaned over her as she lay on the floor,

her green eyes half-closed,

her bruised lips curled in a slightly contemptuous smile.

"Petal," I whispered, "I love you. I love you."

Uh...

"I love you."

- Three "I love yous"? - That's right.

Then four dots and four asterisks.

Ah, bother.

Captain deniston Russell's secretary.

Who wants him, please?

Oh, just a moment.

It's your fiancée.

Thank you.

Uh, hello, dear.

Yes. Yes, dear. I said I'd phone you at 6:00.

Well, it's... It's only two minutes past, you know.

Sorry, dear.

Oh, just dictating letters, paying bills, you know?

Yes, dear.

Oh, dear. Really, dear?

Goodbye, dear.

Well, now, where were we, hmm?

Dot, dot, dot, dot, asterisk, asterisk...

- Four asterisks. - Oh, yes.

A convulsive tremor shook her slender frame and petal moaned.

Miss wilcott?

Petal moaned.

I know it's none of my business, but I think you ought to tell her.

Tell who what?

Your fiancée about you being a writer.

If you're getting married in a fortnight.

I couldn't do that. Oh, dear. Good gracious, no.

I mean, it's not as if I were a Bernard Shaw.

Oh, but she'd be proud of you.

Not many people can get a book published at all,

and look at you, scores of them.

And under 15 different names too.

Yes, well, I'm afraid Elizabeth doesn't consider this sort of thing art.

- Well, if you ask me, I think she's a... - But I didn't ask you, miss wilcott.