For years now, I have fancied myself a bit of an amateur dramatist, and you may recall that about a year ago, I wrote a play entitled The Happy Bed-Chamber. I have now written another play, a three-act drama called The News-Paper Man And The Elves. Enjoy!
C. ERMINE ZWEEBOL, wealthy news-paper publisher of The Radish.
QUICK-SILVER, King of the Elves.
SPRY, an elf.
D. TOLLIVER RUMMIDGE, editor of The Frickton Globe-Clarion and Zweebol's hated rival.
(ACT 1. A news-paper office at night. C. ERMINE ZWEEBOL is at his desk.)
ZWEEBOL: This is awful! I just received word that City Hall is on fire, but it's an hour till dead-line, and all my reporters are at home with the typhus! I would cover the fire myself, but I fear it is too late, and The Frickton Globe-Clarion will scoop us!
RUMMIDGE: Ah, Zweebol, old boy! As you can see, I bear a ledger-tablet filled with details of the great fire, which I will shortly have type-set in my very own news-paper. Sorry for your bad spot of luck, old boy, but that's the way the cake, or should I say The Radish, crumbles!
ZWEEBOL: I am ruined! Ah, me! (Falls asleep.)
(ACT II. Same news-paper office. Enter QUICK-SILVER and SPRY.)
QUICK-SILVER: Poor C. Ermine Zweebol! We must help him in his time of need. Spry, gather up the other little elves and get to work.
SPRY: Yes, your majesty!
(ACT III. Same news-paper office, morning. The two ELVES sit atop stacks of newspapers. ZWEEBOL awakes.)
ZWEEBOL: Ah, what's this? (Reads Radish newspaper on desk.) "Exclusive! City Hall burns to the ground." (Looks at ELVES.) But who are you? And how–
QUICK-SILVER: It was simple. We little elves found and killed D. Tolliver Rummidge, stole his notes, and used them for your own front page!
ZWEEBOL: Dear little friends, you have saved me from ruin! For your troubles, I shall give you each a cup of rain-water and little hats fashioned from flower-petals!
ELVES (In unison): Huzzah for C. Ermine Zweebol, friend of the elves!