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diff --git a/11759-h/11759-h.htm b/11759-h/11759-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..745f9d5 --- /dev/null +++ b/11759-h/11759-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3551 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Bicyclers and Three Other Farces</title> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">The Bicyclers and Three Other Farces, by John Kendrick Bangs</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Bicyclers and Three Other Farces, by John +Kendrick Bangs + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Bicyclers and Three Other Farces + +Author: John Kendrick Bangs + +Release Date: March 30, 2004 [eBook #11759] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BICYCLERS AND THREE OTHER FARCES*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h1>THE BICYCLERS AND THREE OTHER FARCES</h1> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>Contents:<br /> The Bicyclers<br /> A +Dramatic Evening<br /> The Fatal Message<br /> A +Proposal Under Difficulties</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE BICYCLERS</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>CHARACTERS:</p> +<p>MR. ROBERT YARDSLEY, <i>an expert.<br /></i>MR. JACK BARLOW, <i>another</i>.<br />MR. +THADDEUS PERKINS, <i>a beginner.<br /></i>MR. EDWARD BRADLEY, <i>a scoffer.<br /></i>MRS. +THADDEUS PERKINS, <i>a resistant.<br /></i>MRS. EDWARD BRADLEY, <i>an +enthusiast.<br /></i>JENNIE, <i>a maid.</i></p> +<p><i>The scene is laid in the drawing-room of</i> Mr. <i>and</i> Mrs. +Thaddeus Perkins<i>, at No. --- Gramercy Square</i>. <i>It is +late October; the action begins at 8.30 o’clock on a moonlight +evening</i>. <i>The curtain rising discloses</i> Mr<i>. and</i> +Mrs. Perkins<i> sitting together</i>. <i>At right is large window +facing on square</i>. <i>At rear is entrance to drawing-room</i>. +<i>Leaning against doorway is a safety bicycle</i>. Perkins<i> +is clad in bicycle garb.</i></p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Well, Bess, I’m in for it now, and no +mistake. Bob and Jack are coming to-night to give me my first +lesson in biking.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. I’m very glad of it, Thaddeus. +I think it will do you a world of good. You’ve been working +too hard of late, and you need relaxation.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>doubtfully</i>). I know that—but—from +what I can gather, learning to ride a wheel isn’t the most restful +thing in the world. There’s a good deal of lying down about +it; but it comes with too great suddenness; that is, so Charlie Cheeseborough +says. He learned up at the Academy, and he told me that he spent +most of his time making dents in the floor with his head.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Well, I heard differently. Emma +Bradley learned there at the same time he did, and she said he spent +most of his time making dents in the floor with other people’s +heads. Why, really, he drove all the ladies to wearing those odious +Psyche knots. The time he ran into Emma, if she hadn’t worn +her back hair that way she’d have fractured her skull.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Ha, ha! They all tell the same story. +Barlow said he always wore a beaver hat while Cheeseborough was on the +floor, so that if Charlie ran into him and he took a header his brain +wouldn’t suffer.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Nevertheless, Mr. Cheeseborough learned +more quickly than any one else in the class.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. So Barlow said—because he wasn’t +eternally in his own way, as he was in every one else’s. +(<i>A ring is heard at the front door</i>.) Ah! I guess that’s +Bob and Jack.</p> +<p><i>Enter</i> Jennie.</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i>. Mr. Bradley, ma’am.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Bradley? Wonder what the deuce he’s +come for? He’ll guy the life out of me. (<i>Enter</i> +Bradley. <i>He wears a dinner coat</i>.) Ah, Brad, old chap, +how are you? Glad to see you.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Good-evening, Mrs. Perkins. This your +eldest? [<i>With a nod at</i> Perkins.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. My eldest?</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Yes—judged from his togs it was your +boy. What! Can it be? You! Thaddeus?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. That’s who I am.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. When did you go into short trousers?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>with a feeble laugh, glancing at his clothes</i>). +Oh, these—ha, ha! I’m taking up the bicycle. +Even if it weren’t for the exhilaration of riding, it’s +a luxury to wear these clothes. Old flannel shirt, old coat, old +pair of trousers shortened to the knee, and golf stockings. I’ve +had these golf stockings two years, and never had a chance to wear ’em +till now.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. You’ve got it bad, haven’t you? +How many lessons have you had?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. None yet. Fact is, just got my wheel—that’s +it over there by the door—pneumatic tires, tool-chest, cyclometer, +lamp—all for a hun.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i> (<i>with a laugh</i>). How about life-insurance? +Do they throw in a policy for that? They ought to.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. No—but they would if I’d insisted. +Competition between makers is so great, they’ll give you most +anything to induce a bargain. The only thing they really gave +me extra is the ki-yi gun.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. The what?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Ki-yi gun—it shoots dogs. Dog comes +out, catches sight of your leg—</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Mistakes it for a bone and grabs—eh?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Well—I fancy that’s about the size +of it. You can’t very well get off, so you get out your +ki-yi gun and shoot ammonia into the beast’s face. It doesn’t +hurt the dog, but it gives him something to think of. I’ll +show you how the thing works. (<i>Gets the gun from tool-box</i>.) +This is the deadly weapon, and I’m the rider—see? +(<i>Sits on a chair, with face to back, and works imaginary pedals</i>.) +You’re the dog. I’m passing the farm-yard. Bow-wow! +out you spring—grab me by the bone—I—ah—I mean +the leg. Pouf! I shoot you with ammonia. [<i>Suits action +to the word.</i></p> +<p><i>Bradley</i> (<i>starting back</i>). Hi, hold on! Don’t +squirt that infernal stuff at me! My dear boy, get a grip on yourself. +I’m not really a ki-yi, and while I don’t like bicyclists, +their bones are safe from me. I won’t bite you.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Really—I think that’s a very +ingenious arrangement; don’t you, Mr. Bradley?</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. I do, indeed. But, as long as we’re +talking about it, I must say I think what Thaddeus really needs is a +motormangun, to squirt ammonia, or even beer, into the faces of these +cable-car fellows. They’re more likely to interfere with +him than dogs—don’t you think?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. It’s a first-rate idea, Brad. I’ll +suggest it to my agent.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Your what?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>apologetically</i>). Well, I call him my +agent, although really I’ve only bought this one wheel from him. +He represents the Czar Manufacturing Company.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. They make Czars, do they?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>with dignity</i>). They make wheels. +The man who owns the company is named Czar. I refer to him as +my agent, because from the moment he learned I thought of buying a wheel +he came and lived with me. I couldn’t get rid of him, and +finally in self-defence I bought this wheel. It was the only way +I could get rid of him.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Aha! That’s the milk in the cocoanut. +eh? Hadn’t force of mind to get rid of the agent. +Couldn’t say no. Humph! I wondered why you, a man +of sense, a man of dignity, a gentleman, should take up with this—</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>angrily</i>). See here, Brad, I like you +very much, but I must say—</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>foreseeing a quarrel</i>). Thaddeus! +’Sh! Ah, by-the-way, Mr. Bradley, where is Emma this evening? +I never knew you to be separated before.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i> (<i>sorrowfully</i>). This is the first time, +Mrs. Perkins. Fact is, we’d intended calling on you to-night, +and I dressed as you see me. Emma was in proper garb too, but +when she saw what a beautiful night it was, she told me to go ahead, +and she—By Jove! it almost makes me weep!</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. She wasn’t taken ill?</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. No—worse. She said: “You +go down on the ‘ L.’ I’ll bike. It’s +such a splendid night.” Fine piece of business this! +To have a bicycle come between man and wife is a pretty hard fate, I +think—for the one who doesn’t ride.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Then Emma is coming here?</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. That’s the idea, on her wheel—coming +down the Boulevard, across Seventy-second Street, through the Park, +down Madison, across Twenty-third, down Fourth to Twenty-first, then +here.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Bully ride that.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Alone?</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i> (<i>sadly</i>). I hope so—but these bicyclists +have a way of flocking together. For all I know, my beloved Emma +may now be coasting down Murray Hill escorted by some bicycle club from +Jersey City.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Oh dear—Mr. Bradley!</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Oh, it’s all right, I assure you, Mrs. +Perkins. Perfectly right and proper. It’s merely part +of the exercise, don’t you know. There’s a hail-fellow-well-metness +about enthusiastic bicyclists, and Emma is intensely enthusiastic. +It gives her a chance, you know, and Emma has always wanted a chance. +Independence is a thing she’s been after ever since she got her +freedom, and now, thanks to the wheel, she’s got it again, and +even I must admit it’s harmless. Funny she doesn’t +get here though (<i>looking at his watch</i>); she’s had time +to come down twice.</p> +<p>[<i>Bicycle bells are heard ringing without.</i></p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Maybe that is she now. Go and see, +will you, Thaddeus? [<i>Exit</i> Perkins.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>without</i>), That you, Mrs. Bradley?</p> +<p>[Mrs. Perkins <i>and</i> Bradley <i>listen intently.</i></p> +<p><i>Two Male Voices</i>. No; it’s us, Perk. Got +your wheel?</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i> and <i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Where can she be?</p> +<p><i>Enter</i> Perkins <i>with</i> Barlow <i>and</i> Yardsley.</p> +<p><i>They both greet</i> Mrs. Perkins.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Hullo, Brad! You going to have a lesson +too?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Dressed for it, aren’t you, by Jove! +Nothing like a dinner coat for a bicycle ride. Your coat-tails +don’t catch in the gear.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i> (<i>severely</i>). I haven’t taken it +up—fact is, I don’t care for fads. Have you seen my +wife?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Yes—saw her the other night at the academy. +Rides mighty well, too, Brad. Don’t wonder you don’t +take it up. Contrast, you know—eh, Perk? Fearful thing +for a man to have the world see how much smarter his wife is than he +is.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>turning to his wheel</i>). Bradley’s +a little worried about the non-arrival of Mrs. Bradley. She was +coming here on her wheel, and started about the same time he did.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Oh, that’s all right, Ned. She knows +her wheel as well as you know your business. Can’t come +down quite as fast as the “L,” particularly these nights +just before election. She may have fallen in with some political +parade, and is waiting to get across the street.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i> (<i>aside</i>). Well, I like that!</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>aside</i>). Why—it’s awful!</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Or she may possibly have punctured her tire—that +would delay her fifteen or twenty minutes. Don’t worry, +my dear boy. I showed her how to fix a punctured tire all right. +It’s simple enough—you take the rubber thing they give you +and fasten it in that metal thingumbob, glue it up, poke it in, pull +it out, pump her up, and there you are.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i> (<i>scornfully</i>). You told her that, did +you?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. I did.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i> (<i>with a mock sigh of relief</i>). You don’t +know what a load you’ve taken off my mind.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>looking at his watch</i>). H’m! +Thaddeus, it’s nine o’clock. I move we go out and +have the lesson. Eh? The moon is just right.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Yes—we can’t begin too soon. +Wheel all right?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Guess so—I’m ready.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. I’ll go out to the corner and see if +there’s any sign of Mrs. Bradley. [<i>Exit.</i></p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>who has been gazing out of window for some +moments</i>). I do wish Emma would come. I can’t understand +how women can do these things. Riding down here all alone at night! +It is perfectly ridiculous!</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>rolling</i> Perkins’s <i>wheel into middle +of room</i>). Czar wheel, eh?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>meekly</i>). Yes—best going—they +tell me.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Can’t compare with the Alberta. +Has a way of going to pieces like the “one-hoss shay”—eh, +Bob?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Exactly—when you least expect it, too—though +the Alberta isn’t much better. You get coasting on either +of ’em, and half-way down, bang! the front wheel collapses, hind +wheel flies up and hits you in the neck, handle-bar turns just in time +to stab you in the chest; and there you are, miles from home, a physical, +moral, bicycle wreck. But the Arena wheel is different. +In fact, I may say that the only safe wheel is the Arena. That’s +the one I ride. However, at fifty dollars this one isn’t +extravagant.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. I paid a hundred.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. A wha—a—at?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Hundred.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Well you are a—a—good fellow. +It’s a pretty wheel, anyhow. Eh, Bob?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Simple beauty. Is she pumped up?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Beg your pardon?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Pumped up, tires full and tight—ready +for action—support an elephant?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Guess so—my—I mean, the agent said +it was perfect.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Extra nuts?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. What?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Extra nuts—nuts extra. Suppose +you lose a nut, and your pedal comes off; what you going to do—get +a tow?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Guess Perkins thinks this is like going to sleep.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. I don’t know anything about it. +What I’m after is information; only, I give you warning, I will +not ride so as to get round shoulders.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Then where’s your wrench? Screw +up your bar, hoist your handles, elevate your saddle, and you’re +O.K. What saddle have you?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>tapping it</i>). This.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Humph! Not very good—but we’ll +try it. Come on. It’s getting late.</p> +<p>[<i>They go out. Perkins reluctantly. In a moment he +returns alone, and, rushing to</i> Mrs. Perkins, <i>kisses her affectionately.</i></p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Good-bye, dearest.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Good-bye. Don’t hurt yourself, +Thaddeus. [<i>Exit</i> Perkins.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>leaving window and looking at clock on mantel</i>). +Ten minutes past nine and Emma not here yet. It does seem too +bad that she should worry Ed so much just for independence’ sake. +I am quite sure I should never want to ride a wheel anyhow, and even +if I did—</p> +<p><i>Enter</i> Yardsley <i>hurriedly, with a piece of flannel in his +hand.</i></p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. I beg pardon, Mrs. Perkins, but have you a +shawl-strap in the house?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>tragically</i>). What is that you have +in your hand, Mr. Yardsley?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>with a glance at the piece of flannel</i>). +That? Oh—ha-ha—that—that’s a—ah—a +piece of flannel.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>snatching the flannel from</i> Yardsley’s +<i>hand</i>). But Teddy—isn’t that a piece of Teddy’s—Teddy’s +shirt?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. More than that, Mrs. Perkins. It’s +the greater part of Teddy’s shirt. That’s why we want +the shawl-strap. When we started him off, you know, he took his +coat off. Jack held on to the wheel, and I took Teddy in the fulness +of his shirt. One—two—three! Teddy put on steam—Barlow +let go—Teddy went off—I held on—this is what remained. +It ruined the shirt, but Teddy is safe. (<i>Aside</i>.) +Barring about sixty or seventy bruises.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>with a faint smile</i>). And the shawl-strap?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. I want to fasten it around Teddy’s waist, +grab hold of the handle, and so hold him up. He’s all right, +so don’t you worry. (<i>Exit</i> Mrs. Perkins <i>in search +of shawl-strap</i>.) Guess I’d better not say anything about +the Pond’s Extract he told me to bring—doesn’t need +it, anyhow. Man’s got to get used to leaving pieces of his +ankle-bone on the curb-stone if he wants to learn to ride a wheel. +Only worry her if I asked her for it—won’t hurt him to suffer +a week.</p> +<p><i>Enter</i> Bradley.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Has she come yet?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. No—just gone up-stairs for a shawl-strap.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Shawl-strap? Who?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>outside</i>). Hurry up with that Pond’s +Extract, will you?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. All right—coming. Who? Who +what?</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Who has gone up-stairs after shawl-strap—my +wife?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. No, no, no. Hasn’t she got here +yet? It’s Mrs. Perkins. Perk fell off just now and +broke in two. We want to fasten him together.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>outside</i>). Bring out that pump. +His wheel’s flabby.</p> +<p><i>Enter</i> Mrs. Perkins <i>with shawl-strap</i>.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Here it is. What did I hear about +Pond’s Extract? Didn’t somebody call for it?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. No—oh no—not a bit of it! +What you heard was shawl-strap—sounds like extract—very +much like it. In fact—</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. But you did say you wanted—</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>aside to</i> Bradley). Shut up! Thaddeus +banged his ankle, but he’ll get over it in a minute. She’d +only worry. The best bicyclers in the world are all the time falling +off, taking headers, and banging their ankles.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Poor Emma!</p> +<p><i>Enter</i> Barlow.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Where the deuce is that Ex—</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>grasping him by the arm and pushing him out</i>). +Here it is; this is the ex-strap, just what we wanted. (<i>Aside +to</i> Bradley.) Go down to the drug-store and get a bottle of +Pond’s, will you? [<i>Exit.</i></p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>walking to window</i>). She can’t +be long in coming now.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. I guess I’ll go out to the corner again. +(<i>Aside</i>.) Best bicyclers always smashing ankles, falling +off, taking headers! If I ever get hold of Emma again, I’ll +see whether she’ll ride that—[<i>Rushes out.</i></p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. It seems to have made these men crazy. +I never saw such strange behavior in all my life. (<i>The telephone-bell +rings</i>.) What can that be? (<i>Goes to ’phone, +which stands just outside parlor door</i>.) Hello! What? +Yes, this is 1181—yes. Who are you? What? Emma? +Oh dear, I’m so glad! Are you alive? Where are you? +What? <i>Where</i>? <i>The police-station</i>! (<i>Turning +from telephone</i>.) Thaddeus, Mr. Barlow, Mr. Yardsley. +(<i>Into telephone</i>.) Hello! What for? What? +Riding without a lamp! Arrested at Forty-second Street! +Want to be bailed out? (<i>Drops receiver</i>. <i>Rushes +into parlor and throws herself on sofa</i>.) To think of it—Emma +Bradley! (<i>Telephone-bell rings violently again</i>; Mrs. Perkins +<i>goes to it</i>.) Hello! Yes. Tell Ed what? +To ask for Mrs. Willoughby Hawkins. Who’s she? What, +<i>you</i>! (<i>Drops the receiver; runs to window</i>.) +Thaddeus! Mr. Yardsley! Mr. Barlow!—all of you come +here, quick.</p> +<p>[<i>They rush in</i>. Perkins <i>with shawl-strap about his +waist—limping</i>. Barlow <i>has large air-pump in his hand</i>. +Mrs. Perkins <i>grows faint.</i></p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Great heavens! What’s the matter?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Get some water—quick!</p> +<p>[Yardsley <i>runs for water.</i></p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Air! Give me air!</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>grabbing pump from</i> Barlow’s <i>hand</i>). +Don’t stand there like an idiot! Act! She wants air!</p> +<p>[<i>Places pump on floor and begins to pump air at her.</i></p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Who’s the idiot now? Wheel her over +to the window. She’s not a bicycle.</p> +<p><i>They do so</i>. Mrs. Perkins <i>revives</i>.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. What is the matter?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Mrs. Willoughby Hawkins—arrested—Forty-second +Street—no lamp—bailed out. Oh, dear me, dear me! +It’ll all be in the papers!</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. What’s that got to do with us? +Who’s Mrs. Willoughby Hawkins?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Emma! Assumed name.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Good Lord! Mrs. Bradley in jail?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. This is a nice piece of—ow—my ankle, +my ankle!</p> +<p>[<i>Enter</i> Bradley <i>and</i> Yardsley <i>at same time</i>, Bradley +<i>with bottle of Pond’s Extract</i>, Yardsley <i>with glass of +water.</i></p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Where the deuce did you fellows go to? +I’ve been wandering all over the square looking for you.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Your wife—</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i> (<i>dropping bottle</i>). What? What about +her—hurt?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Worse! [<i>Sobs.</i></p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Killed?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Worse—l-lol-locked up—in jail—no +bail—wants to be lamped out.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Great heavens! Where?—when? +What next? Where’s my hat?—what’ll the baby +say? I must go to her at once.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Hold on, old man. Let me go up. +You’re too excited. I know the police captain. You +stay here, and I’ll run up and fix it with him. If you go, +he’ll find out who Mrs. Hawkins is; you’ll get mad, and +things will be worse than ever.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. But—</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. No buts, my dear boy. You just stay where +you are. Yardsley’s right. It would be an awful grind +on you if this ever became known. Bob can fix it up in two minutes +with the captain, and Mrs. Bradley can come right back with him. +Besides, he can get there in five minutes on his wheel. It will +take you twenty on the cars.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Precisely. Meanwhile, Brad, you’d +better learn to ride the wheel, so that Mrs. B. won’t have to +ride alone. This ought to be a lesson to you.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Bully idea (<i>rubbing his ankle</i>). +You can use my wheel to-night—I—I think I’ve had enough +for the present. (<i>Aside</i>.) The pavements aren’t +soft enough for me; and, O Lord! what a stony curb that was!</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. I never thought I’d get so low.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Well, it seems to me that a man with a wife +in jail needn’t be too stuck up to ride a bicycle. But—by-by—I’m +off. [<i>Exit.</i></p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Poor Emma—out for freedom, and lands +in jail. What horrid things policemen are, to arrest a woman!</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i> (<i>indignantly</i>). Served her right! +If women won’t obey the law they ought to be arrested, the same +as men. If she wasn’t my wife, I’d like to see her +sent up for ten years or even twenty years. Women have got no +business—</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Don’t get mad, Brad. If you knew +the fascination of the wheel you wouldn’t blame her a bit.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i> (<i>calming down</i>). Well—I suppose +it has some fascination.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>anxious to escape further lessons</i>). +Oh, indeed, it’s a most exhilarating sensation: you seem to be +flying like a bird over the high-ways. Try it, Ned. Go on, +right away. You don’t know how that little ride I had braced +me up.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>wish a laugh</i>). There! Hear that! +There’s a man who’s ridden only eight inches in all his +life—and he says he felt like a bird!</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>aside</i>). Yes—like a spring chicken +split open for broiling. Next time I ride a wheel it’ll +be four wheels, with a horse fastened in front. Oh my! oh my! +I believe I’ve broken my back too. [<i>Lies down</i>.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. You seem to be exhilarated, Thaddeus.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>bracing up</i>). Oh, I am, I am. Never +felt worse—that is, better.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Come on, Brad. I’ll show you the +trick in two jiffies—it’ll relieve your worry about madam, +too.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Very well—I suppose there’s no +way out of it. Only let me know as soon as Emma arrives, will +you?</p> +<p><i>Mrs</i>. <i>Perkins</i>. Yes—we will.</p> +<p>[<i>They go out</i>. <i>As they disappear through the door</i> +Thaddeus <i>groans aloud.</i></p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Why—what is the matter, dear? +Are you hurt?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Oh no—not at all, my love. I was +only thinking of Mr. Jarley’s indignation to-morrow when he sees +the hole I made in his curb-stone with my ankle—oh!—ow!—and +as for my back, while I don’t think the whole spine is gone, I +shouldn’t be surprised if it had come through in sections.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Why, you poor thing—why didn’t +you say—</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>savagely</i>). Why didn’t I say? +My heavens, Bess, what did you think I wanted the Pond’s Extract +for—to drink, or to water the street with? O Lord! (<i>holding +up his arm</i>). There aren’t any ribs sticking out, are +there?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>outside</i>). The other way—there—that’s +it—you’ve got it.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i> (<i>outside</i>). Why, it <i>is</i> easy, isn’t +it?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>scornfully</i>). Easy! That fellow’d +find comfort in—</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>outside</i>). Now you’re off—not +too fast.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>walking to window</i>). Why, Thaddeus, +he’s going like the wind down the street!</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Heaven help him when he comes to the river!</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>rushing in</i>). Here we are in trouble again. +Brad’s gone off on my wheel. Bob’s taken his, and +your tire’s punctured. He doesn’t know the first thing +about turning or stopping, and I can’t run fast enough to catch +him. One member of the family is in jail—the other on a +runaway wheel!</p> +<p>[Yardsley <i>appears at door</i>. <i>Assumes attitude of butler +announcing guest.</i></p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Missus Willerby ’Awkins!</p> +<p><i>Enter</i> Mrs. Bradley, <i>hysterical.</i></p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. Oh, Edward!</p> +<p>[<i>Throws herself into</i> Barlow’s <i>arms.</i></p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>quietly</i>). Excuse me—ah—Mrs. +Hawkins—ah—Bradley—but I’m not—I’m +not your husband.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i> (<i>looking up, tragically</i>). Where’s +Edward?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Sit down, dear—you must be completely +worn out.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i> (<i>in alarm</i>). Where is he?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>rising and standing on one leg</i>). Fact +is, Mrs. Bradley—we don’t know. He disappeared ten +minutes ago.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. What do you mean?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. Disappeared?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Yes. He went east—at the rate of +about a mile a minute.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. My husband—went east? Mile +a minute?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Yes, on a bike. Yardsley, take me by +the shawl-strap, will you, and help me over to that chair; my back hurts +so I can’t lie down.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. Ned—on a wheel? Why, he can’t +ride!</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Oh yes, he can. What I’m afraid +of is that he can’t stop riding.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i> (<i>outside</i>). Hi—Barlow—help!</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. That’s his voice—he called +for help.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>rushing to window</i>). Hi—Brad—stop! +Your wife’s here.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i> (<i>in distance</i>). Can’t stop—don’t +know how—</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>leaning out of window</i>). By Jove! he’s +turned the corner all right. If he keeps on around, we can catch +him next time he passes.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. Oh, do, do stop him. I’m so +afraid he’ll be hurt.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>looking out</i>). I can just see him +on the other side of the square—and, oh dear me!<i>—his</i> +lamp is out.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. Oh, Mr. Yardsley—Mr. Barlow—Mr. +Perkins—do stop him!</p> +<p>[<i>By this time all are gazing out of window, except</i> Perkins, +<i>who is nursing his ankle.</i></p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. I guess not. I’m not going to lie +down in the road, or sit in the road, or stand in the road to stop him +or anybody else. I don’t believe I’ve got a sound +bone left; but if I have, I’m going to save it, if Bradley kills +himself. If his lamp’s out the police will stop him. +Why not be satisfied with that?</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i> (<i>passing the window</i>). For Heaven’s +sake! one of you fellows stop me.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Put on the brake.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Fall off. It hasn’t got a brake.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i> (<i>despairingly, in distance</i>). Can’t.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. This is frightful.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>with a grimace at his ankle</i>). Yes; but +there are other fearful things in this world.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. I shall go crazy if he isn’t stopped. +He’ll kill himself.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>leaving window hurriedly</i>). I have it. +Got a length of clothes-line, Mrs. Perkins?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. What the dickens—</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Yes.</p> +<p>[<i>She rushes from the room.</i></p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. What for?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. I’ll lasso him, next time he comes around.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>with a grin</i>). There’ll be two +of us! We can start a hospital on the top floor.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>returning</i>). Here—here’s +the line.</p> +<p>[Yardsley <i>takes it hurriedly, and, tying it into a noose</i>, +<i>hastens out</i>.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>rising</i>). If I never walk again, I must +see this. [<i>Limps to window.</i></p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. He’s coming, Mr. Yardsley; don’t +miss him.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Steady, Bob; get in the light.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Suppose it catches his neck?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. This beats the Wild West Show.</p> +<p>[<i>A crash.</i></p> +<p><i>All</i>. He’s got him.</p> +<p>[<i>All rush out, except</i> Perkins.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Oh yes; he learned in a minute, he did. +Easy! Ha, ha! Gad! it almost makes me forget my pain.</p> +<p><i>Enter all, asking</i>. “Is he hurt? How do you +feel?” <i>etc</i>. Yardsley <i>has rope-end in right hand; +noose is tied about</i> Bradley’s <i>body, his coat and clothing +are much the worse for wear.</i></p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. Poor, dear Edward!</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i> (<i>weakly kissing her</i>). Don’t m-mind +me. I—I’m all right—only a little exhilarated—and +somewhat—er—somewhat breathless. Feel like a bird—on +toast. Yardsley, you’re a brick. But that pavement—that +was a pile of ’em, and the hardest I ever encountered. I +always thought asphalt was soft—who said asphalt was soft?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Easy to learn, though, eh?</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Too easy. I’d have gone on—er—forever—er—if +it hadn’t been for Bob.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. I’ll give it up, Ned dear, if you +say so.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>affectionately</i>). That’s sweet +of you, Emma.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. No, indeed, you won’t, for—er—I—I +rather like it while it’s going on, and when I learn to get off—</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Which you will very shortly.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. You bet! he’s a dandy. I taught +him.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. I think I’ll adore it.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Buy a Czar wheel, Brad. Best in the market; +weighs only twenty pounds. I’ve got one with a ki-yi pump +and a pneumatic gun you can have for ten dollars.</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i> (<i>at the door</i>). Supper is served ma’am. +[<i>Exit.</i></p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Let us go out and restore our nerves. +Come, Emma.</p> +<p>[<i>She and</i> Mrs. Bradley <i>walk out.</i></p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>aside</i>). I say, Brad, you owe me five.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. What for?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Bail.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Cheap too.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Very. I think he ought to open a bottle +besides.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. I’ll attend to the bottles. We’ll +have three.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Two will be enough.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Three—two of fizz for you and Bob and +the ladies, and if Bradley will agree, I’ll split a quart of Pond’s +Extract with him.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. I’ll go you. I think I could take +care of the whole quart myself.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Then we’ll make it four bottles.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>appearing at door with her arm about</i> +Mrs. Bradley). Aren’t you coming?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>rising with difficulty</i>). As fast as +we can, my dear. We’ve been taking lessons, you know, and +can’t move as rapidly as the rest of you. We’re a +trifle—ah—a trifle tired. Yardsley, you tow Bradley +into the dining room; and, Barlow, kindly pretend I’m a shawl, +will you, and carry me in.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. I’ll buy a wheel to-morrow.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Don’t, Brad. I—I’ll +give you mine. Fact is, old man, I don’t exactly like feeling +like a bird.</p> +<p>[<i>They go out, and as the last</i>, Perkins <i>and</i> Bradley, +<i>disappear stiffly through the portières, the curtain falls.</i></p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>A DRAMATIC EVENING</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>CHARACTERS:</p> +<p>MR. THADDEUS PERKINS, a <i>victim.<br /></i>MR. EDWARD BRADLEY, <i>a +friend in disguise.<br /></i>MR. ROBERT YARDSLEY, <i>an amiable villain.<br /></i>MR. +JOHN BARLOW, <i>the amiable villain’s assistant.<br /></i>MRS. +THADDEUS PERKINS, <i>a martyr.<br /></i>MRS. EDWARD BRADLEY, a <i>woman +of executive ability</i>.<br />JENNIE, <i>a housemaid.</i></p> +<p><i>The scene is placed in the drawing-room of</i> Mr. <i>and</i> +Mrs. Thaddeus Perkins, <i>of New York</i>. <i>The time is a Saturday +evening in the early spring, and the hour is approaching eight</i>. +<i>The curtain, rising, discovers</i> Perkins, <i>in evening dress, +reading a newspaper by the light of a lamp on the table</i>. Mrs. +Perkins <i>is seated on the other side of the table, buttoning her gloves</i>. +<i>Her wrap is on a chair near at hand</i>. <i>The room is gracefully +over-furnished.</i></p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Where are the seats, Thaddeus?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Third row; and, by Jove! Bess (<i>looking +at his watch</i>), we must hurry. It is getting on towards eight +now. The curtain rises at 8.15.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. The carriage hasn’t come yet. +It isn’t more than a ten minutes’ drive to the theatre.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. That’s true, but there are so many carriage-folk +going to see Irving that if we don’t start early we’ll find +ourselves on the end of the line, and the first act will be half over +before we can reach our seats.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. I’m so glad we’ve got good +seats—down near the front. I despise opera-glasses, and +seats under the galleries are so oppressive.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Well, I don’t know. For <i>The +Lyons Mail</i> I think a seat in the front row of the top gallery, where +you can cheer virtue and hiss villany without making yourself conspicuous, +is the best.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. You don’t mean to say that you’d +like to sit up with those odious gallery gods?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. For a melodrama, I do. What’s the +use of clapping your gloved hands together at a melodrama? That +doesn’t express your feelings. I always want to put two +fingers in my mouth and pierce the atmosphere with a regular gallery-god +whistle when I see the villain laid low by the tow-headed idiot in the +last act—but it wouldn’t do in the orchestra. You +might as well expect the people in the boxes to eat peanuts as expect +an orchestra-chair patron to whistle on his fingers.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. I should die of mortification if you ever +should do such a vulgar thing, Thaddeus.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Then you needn’t be afraid, my dear. +I’m too fond of you to sacrifice you to my love for whistling. +(<i>The front-door bell rings</i>.) Ah, there is the carriage +at last. I’ll go and get my coat.</p> +<p>[Mrs. Perkins <i>rises, and is about to don her wrap as</i> Mr. Perkins +<i>goes towards the door.</i></p> +<p><i>Enter</i> Mr. <i>and</i> Mrs. Bradley. Perkins <i>staggers +backward in surprise</i>. Mrs. Perkins <i>lets her wrap fall to +the floor, an expression of dismay on her face.</i></p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>aside</i>). Dear me! I’d +forgotten all about it. <i>This</i> is the night the club is to +meet here!</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Ah, Perkins, how d’ y’ do? +Glad to see me? Gad! you don’t look it.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Glad is a word which scarcely expresses my +feelings, Bradley. I—I’m simply de-lighted. +(<i>Aside to</i> Mrs. Perkins, <i>who has been greeting</i> Mrs. Bradley.) +Here’s a kettle of fish. We must get rid of them, or we’ll +miss <i>The Lyons Mail.</i></p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. You two are always so formal. The +idea of your putting on your dress suit, Thaddeus! It’ll +be ruined before we are half through this evening.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Certainly, Perkins. Why, man, when you’ve +been moving furniture and taking up carpets and ripping out fireplaces +for an hour or two that coat of yours will be a rag—a veritable +rag that the ragman himself would be dubious about buying.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>aside</i>). Are these folk crazy? +Or am I? (<i>Aloud</i>.) Pulling up fireplaces? Moving +out furniture? Am I to be dispossessed?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. Not by your landlord, but <i>you</i> know +what amateur dramatics are.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. I doubt it. He wouldn’t have let +us have ’em here if he had known.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Amateur—amateur dramatics?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Certainly, Thaddeus. You know we +offered our parlor for the performance. The audience are to sit +out in the hall.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Oh—ah! Why, of course! Certainly! +It had slipped my mind; and—ah—what else?</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Why, we’re here to-night to arrange the +scene. Don’t tell us you didn’t know it. Bob +Yardsley’s coming, and Barlow. Yardsley’s a great +man for amateur dramatics; he bosses things so pleasantly that you don’t +know you’re being ordered about like a slave. I believe +he could persuade a man to hammer nails into his piano-case if he wanted +it done, he’s so insinuatingly lovely about it all.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>absently</i>). I’ll get a hammer. +[<i>Exit</i>.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>aside</i>). I must explain to Thaddeus. +He’ll never forgive me. (<i>Aloud</i>.) Thaddeus is +so forgetful that I don’t believe he can find that hammer, so +if you’ll excuse me I’ll go help him. [<i>Exit.</i></p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Wonder what’s up? They don’t +quarrel, do they?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. I don’t believe any one could quarrel +with Bessie Perkins—not even a man.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Well, they’re queer. Acted as if +they weren’t glad to see us.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. Oh, that’s all your imagination. +(<i>Looks about the room</i>.) That table will have to be taken +out, and all these chairs and cabinets; and the rug will never do.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Why not? I think the rug will look first-rate.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. A rug like that in a conservatory? +[<i>A ring at the front-door bell is heard.</i></p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Ah! maybe that’s Yardsley. I hope +so. If Perkins and his wife are out of sorts we want to hurry +up and get through.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. Oh, we’ll be through by twelve o’clock.</p> +<p><i>Enter</i> Yardsley <i>and</i> Barlow.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Ah! here we are at last. The wreckers +have arrove. Where’s Perkins?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Taken to the woods, I fancy. I say, Bob, +don’t you think before we begin we’d better give Perkins +ether? He’ll suffer dreadful agony.</p> +<p><i>Enter</i> Mrs. Perkins, <i>wiping her eyes.</i></p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. How do you do, Mr. Barlow? and you, Mr. +Yardsley? So glad to see you. Thaddeus will be down in a +minute. He—ah—he forgot about the—the meeting +here to-night, and he—he put on his dress-coat.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Bad thing to lift a piano in. Better +be without any coat. But I say we begin—eh? If you +don’t mind, Mrs. Perkins. We’ve got a great deal to +do, and unfortunately hours are limited in length as well as in number. +Ah! that fireplace must be covered up. Wouldn’t do to have +a fireplace in a conservatory. Wilt all the flowers in ten minutes.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>meekly</i>). You needn’t have +the fire lit, need you?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. No—but—a fireplace without fire +in it seems sort of—of bald, don’t you think?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Bald? Splendid word applied to a fireplace. +So few fireplaces have hair.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. Oh, it could be covered up without any +trouble, Bessie. Can’t we have those dining-room portières +to hang in front of it?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Just the thing. Dining-room portières +always look well, whether they’re in a conservatory or a street +scene. (<i>Enter</i> Perkins.) Hello, Thaddeus! How +d’ y’? Got your overalls on?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>trying to appear serene</i>). Yes. +I’m ready for anything. Anything I can do?</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Yes—look pleasant. You look as +if you were going to have your picture taken, or a tooth pulled. +Haven’t you a smile you don’t need that you can give us? +This isn’t a funeral.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>assuming a grin</i>). How’ll that +do?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. First-rate. We’ll have to make you +act next. That’s the most villanous grin I ever saw.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. I’ll write a tragedy to go with it. +But I say, Thad, we want those dining-room portières of yours. +Get ’em down for us, will you?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Dining-room portières! What for?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. They all think the fireplace would better +be hid, Thaddeus, dear. It wouldn’t look well in a conservatory.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. I suppose not. And the dining-room portières +are wanted to cover up the fireplace?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Precisely. You have a managerial brain, +Thaddeus. <i>You</i> can see at once what a dining-room portière +is good for. If ever I am cast away on a desert island, with nothing +but a dining-room portière for solace, I hope you’ll be +along to take charge of it. In your hands its possibilities are +absolutely unlimited. Get them for us, old man; and while you +are about it, bring a stepladder. (<i>Exit</i> Perkins, <i>dejectedly</i>.) +Now, Barlow, you and Bradley help me with this piano. Pianos may +do well enough in gardens or pirates’ caves, but for conservatories +they’re not worth a rap.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. Wait a moment. We must take the +bric-à-brac from the top of it before you touch it. If +there are two incompatible things in this world, they are men and bric-à-brac.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. You are <i>so</i> thoughtful, though I +am sure that Mr. Yardsley would not break anything willingly.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Nothing but the ten commandments.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. They aren’t bric-à-brac; and +I thank you, Mrs. Perkins, for your expression of confidence. +I wouldn’t intentionally go into the house of another man and +toss his Sevres up in the air, or throw his Royal Worcester down-stairs, +except under very great provocation. (Mrs. Perkins <i>and</i> +Mrs. Bradley <i>have by this time removed the bric-à-brac from +the piano—an upright</i>.) Now, boys, are you ready?</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Where is it to be moved to?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Where would you prefer to have it, Mrs. Perkins?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Oh, I have no preference in the matter. +Put it where you please.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Suppose you carry it up into the attic, Barlow.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Certainly. I’ll be glad to if you’ll +carry the soft pedal. I’m always afraid when I’m carrying +pianos up-stairs of breaking the soft pedal or dropping a few octaves.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. I guess we’d better put it over in this +corner, where the audience won’t see it. If you are so careless +that you can’t move a piano without losing its tone, we’d +better not have it moved too far. Now, then.</p> +<p>[Barlow, Yardsley, <i>and</i> Bradley <i>endeavor to push the piano +over the floor, but it doesn’t move.</i></p> +<p><i>Enter</i> Perkins <i>with two portières wrapped about him, +and hugging a small stepladder in his arms.</i></p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Hurry up, Perkins. Don’t shirk +so. Can’t you see that we’re trying to get this piano +across the floor? Where are you at?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>meekly</i>). I’m trying to make myself +at home. Do you expect me to hang on to these things and move +pianos at the same time?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Let him alone, Bradley. He’s doing +the best he knows. I always say give a man credit for doing what +he can, whether he is intelligent or not. Of course we don’t +expect you to hang on to the portières and the stepladder while +you are pushing the piano, Thad. That’s too much to expect +of any man of your size; some men might do it, but not all. Drop +the portières.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Where’ll I put ’em?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Put them on the stepladder.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>impatiently</i>). And where shall I put +the stepladder—on the piano?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>coming to the rescue</i>). I’ll +take care of these things, Thaddeus, dear.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. That’s right; put everything off on your +wife. What shirks some men are!</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Now, then, Perkins, lend us your shoulder, +and—one, two, three—push! Ah! She starts; she +moves; she seems to feel the thrill of life along her keel. We +must have gained an inch. Once more, now. My, but this is +a heavy piano!</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Must be full of Wagnerian music. Why +don’t you get a piano of lighter quality, Perkins? This +isn’t any kind of an instrument for amateur stage-hands to manage.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. I’ll know better next time. But +is it where you want it now?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Not a bit of it. We need one more push. +Get her rolling, and keep her rolling until she stands over there in +that corner; and be careful to stop her in time, I should hate to push +a piano through one of my host’s parlor walls just for the want +of a little care. (<i>They push until the piano stands against +the wall on the other side of the room, keyboard in</i>.) There! +That’s first-rate. You can put a camp-chair on top of it +for the prompter to sit on; there’s nothing like having the prompter +up high, because amateur actors when they forget their lines, always +look up in the air. Perkins, go sit out in the hall and imagine +yourself an enthusiastic audience—will you?—and tell us +if you can see the piano. If you can see it, we’ll have +to put it somewhere else.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Do you mean it?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. Of course he doesn’t, Mr. Perkins. +It’s impossible to see it from the hall. Now, I think the +rug ought to come up.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Dear me! what for?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Oh, it wouldn’t do at all to have that +rug in the conservatory, Mrs. Perkins. Besides, I should be afraid +it would be spoiled.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Spoiled? What would spoil it? Are +you going to wear spiked shoes?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Spiked shoes? Thaddeus, really you ought +to have your mind examined. This scene is supposed to be just +off the ballroom, and it is here that Gwendoline comes during the lanciers +and encounters Hartley, the villain. Do you suppose that even +a villain in an amateur show would go to a ball with spiked shoes on?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>wearily</i>). But I still fail to see what +is to spoil the rug. Does the villain set fire to the conservatory +in this play, or does he assassinate the virtuous hero here and spill +his gore on the floor?</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. What a blood-and-thunder idea of the drama +you have! Of course he doesn’t. There isn’t +a death in the whole play, and it’s two hours long. One +or two people in the audience may die while the play is going on, but +people who haven’t strong constitutions shouldn’t attend +amateur shows.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. That’s true, I fancy.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. Very. It would be very rude for +one of your invited guests to cast a gloom over your evening by dying.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. It is seldom done among people who know what +is what. But to explain the point you want explained, Thaddeus: +the rug might be spoiled by a leak in the fountain.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. The fountain?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. You don’t mean to say you’re going +to have a fountain playing here?</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Certainly. A conservatory without a fountain +would be like “Hamlet” with Yorick’s skull left out. +There’s to be a fountain playing here, and a band playing in the +next room—all in a green light, too. It’ll be highly +effective.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. But how—how are you going to make the +fountain go? Is it to spurt real water?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Of course. Did you ever see a fountain +spurt sawdust or lemonade? It’s not a soda-water fountain +either, but a straight temperance affair, such as you’ll find +in the homes of all truly good people. Now don’t get excited +and raise obstacles. The thing is simple enough if you know how +to do it. Got one of those English bath-tubs in the house?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. No. But, of course, if you want a bath-tub, +I’ll have a regular porcelain one with running water, hot and +cold, put in—two of ’em, if you wish. Anything to +oblige.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. No; stationary bath-tubs are useful, but not +exactly adapted to a conservatory.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. I brought my tub with me. I knew Perkins +hadn’t one, and so I thought I’d better come provided. +It’s out in the hall. I’ll get it. [<i>Exit.</i></p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i> (<i>to</i> Mrs. Perkins). He’s just +splendid! never forgets anything.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. I should say not. But, Mr. Yardsley, +a bath-tub, even an English one, will not look very well, will it?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Oh, very. You see, we’ll put it +in the centre of the room. Just move that table out into the hall, +Thaddeus. (<i>Enter</i> Barlow <i>with tub</i>.) Ah! now +I’ll show you. (Perkins <i>removes table</i>.) You +see, we put the tub here in the middle of the floor, then we surround +it with potted plants. That conceals the tub, and there’s +your fountain.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. But the water—how do you get that?</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. We buy it in bottles, of course, and hire a +boy to come in and pour it out every two minutes. How dull you +are, Perkins! I’m surprised at you.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. I’m not over-bright, I must confess, +when it comes to building fountains in parlors, with no basis but an +English bath-tub to work on.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Did you ever hear of such a thing as a length +of hose with a nozzle on one end and a Croton-water pipe at the other, +Thaddeus Perkins?</p> +<p><i>Mrs</i>. <i>Perkins</i>. But where is the Croton-water pipe?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. In the butler’s pantry. The +hose can be carried through the dining-room, across the hall into this +room, and it will be dreadfully effective; and so safe, too, in case +the curtain catches fire.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Oh, Emma! You don’t think—</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Cheerful prospect. But I say, Yardsley, +you have arranged for the water supply; how about its exit? How +does the water get out of the tub?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. It doesn’t, unless you want to bore +a hole in the floor, and let it flow into the billiard-room below. +We’ve just got to hustle that scene along, so that the climax +will be reached before the tub overflows.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Perhaps we’d better test the thing now. +Maybe my tub isn’t large enough for the scene. It would +be awkward if the heroine had to seize a dipper and bail the fountain +out right in the middle of an impassioned rebuke to Hartley.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. All right—go ahead. Test it. +Test anything. I’ll supply the Croton pipes.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. None of you fellows happen to have a length +of hose with you, do you?</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. I left mine in my other clothes.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. That’s just like you men. +You grow flippant over very serious matters. For my part, if I +am to play Gwendoline, I shall not bail out the fountain even to save +poor dear Bessie’s floor.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Oh, it’ll be all right. Only, +if you see the fountain getting too full, speak faster.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. We might announce a race between the heroine +and the fountain. It would add to the interest of the play. +This is an athletic age.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. I suppose it wouldn’t do to turn the +water off in case of danger.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. It could be done, but it wouldn’t look +well. The audience might think the fountain had had an attack +of stage fright. Where is the entrance from the ballroom to be?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. It ought to be where the fireplace is. +That’s one reason why I think the portières will look well +there.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. But I don’t see how that can be. +Nobody could come in there. There wouldn’t be room behind +for any one to stand, would there?</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. I don’t know. That fireplace is +large, and only two people have to come in that way. The rising +curtain discloses Gwendoline just having come in. If Hartley, +the villain, and Jack Pendleton, the manly young navy officer, who represents +virtue, and dashes in at the right moment to save Gwendoline, could +sit close and stand the discomfort of it, they might squeeze in there +and await their cues.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Sit in the fireplace?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Yes. Why not?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Don’t you interfere, Bess, Yardsley is +managing this show, and if he wants to keep the soubrette waiting on +the mantel-piece it’s his lookout, and not ours.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. By-the-way, Thaddeus, Wilkins has backed out, +and you are to play the villain.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. I? Never!</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Oh, but you must. All you have to do is +frown and rant and look real bad.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. But I can’t act.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. That doesn’t make any difference. +We don’t want a villain that the audience will fall in love with. +That would be immoral. The more you make them despise you, the +better.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Well—I positively decline to sit in the +fireplace. I tell you that right now.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. Don’t waste time talking about petty +details. Let the entrance be there. We can hang the curtain +on a frame two feet out from the wall, so that there will be plenty +of room behind for Hartley and Pendleton to stand. The frame can +be fastened to the wood-work of the mantel-piece. It may take +a screw or two to hold it, but they’ll be high up, so nobody will +notice the holes in the wood after it comes down. The point that +bothers me is this wall-paper. People don’t put wall-papers +on their conservatories.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>sarcastically</i>). I’ll have the +room repapered in sheet-glass. Or we might borrow a few hot-bed +covers and hang them from the picture moulding, so that the place would +look like a real greenhouse.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Napoleonic idea. Barlow, jot down among +the properties ten hot-bed covers, twenty picture-hooks, and a coil +of wire. You’re developing, Perkins.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>ruefully, aside</i>). I wish Thaddeus’s +jokes weren’t always taken seriously. The idea of my drawing-room +walls being hung with hot-bed covers! Why, it’s awful.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Well, now that that’s settled, we’ll +have to dispose of the pictures. Thaddeus, I wish you’d +take down the pictures on the east wall, so that we can put our mind’s +eye on just how we shall treat the background. The mere hanging +of hot-bed covers there will not do. The audience could see directly +through the glass, and the wall-paper would still destroy the illusion.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Anything. Perhaps if you got a jack-plane +and planed the walls off it would suffice.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Don’t be sarcastic, my boy. Remember +we didn’t let you into this. You volunteered.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. I know it, Bradley. The house is yours.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. I said you had paresis when you made the offer, +Perkins. If you want to go to law about it, I think you could +get an injunction against us—or, rather, Mrs. Perkins could—on +the ground that you were <i>non compos</i> at the time.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Why, we’re most happy to have you, +I’m sure.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. So ’m I. (<i>Aside</i>.) +Heaven forgive me that!</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. By-the-way, Thad, there’s one thing +I meant to have spoken about as soon as I got here. Er—is +this <i>your</i> house, or do you rent it?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. I rent it. What has that to do with it?</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. A great deal. You don’t think we’d +treat <i>your</i> house as we would a common landlord’s, do you? +You wouldn’t yourself.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. That’s the point. If you own the +house we want to be careful and consider your feelings. If you +<i>don’t</i>, we don’t care what happens.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. I don’t own the house. (<i>Aside</i>.) +And under the circumstances I’m rather glad I don’t.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Well, I’m glad you don’t. +My weak point is my conscience, and when it comes to destroying a friend’s +property, I don’t exactly like to do it. But if this house +belongs to a sordid person, who built it just to put money in his own +pocket, I don’t care. Barlow, you can nail those portières +up. It won’t be necessary to build a frame for them. +Bradley, carry the chairs and cabinets out.</p> +<p>[Bradley, <i>assisted by</i> Perkins, <i>removes the remaining furniture, +placing the bric-à-brac on the floor.</i></p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. All right. Where’s that stepladder? +Thaddeus, got any nails?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. I—I think we’d rather have +a frame, Mr. Yardsley. <i>We</i> can have one made, can’t +we, Thaddeus?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Certainly. We can have anything made. +(<i>Aside</i>.) I suppose I’d build a theatre for ’em +if they asked me to, I’m such a confounded—</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Oh no. Of course, if you’d prefer +it, we’ll send a frame. I don’t think nails would +look well in this ceiling, after all. Temporarily, though, Barlow, +you might hang those portières from the picture-moulding.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. There isn’t any.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Well, then, we’ll have to imagine how +it will look.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. All the bric-à-brac will have to +be taken from the room.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. True. Perkins, you know the house better +than we do. Suppose you take the bric-à-brac out and put +it where it will be safe.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Certainly.</p> +<p>[<i>Begins to remove bric-à-brac.</i></p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Now let’s count up. Here’s +the fountain.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Yes; only we haven’t the hose.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Well, make a note of it.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Emma, can’t we help Thaddeus?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. Of course. I’ll carry out +the fender, and you take the andirons.</p> +<p>[<i>They do so.</i></p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. The entrance will be here, and here will be +the curtain. How about footlights?</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. This bracket will do for a connection. +Any plumber can take this bracket off and fasten a rubber pipe to it.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. First-rate. Barlow, make a note of one +plumber, one length of rubber pipe, and foot-lights.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. And don’t forget to have potted plants +and palms, and so forth, galore.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. No. I’ll make a note of that. +Will this sofa do for a conservatory?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Jove! Glad you mentioned that. +Won’t do at all. Thaddeus! (<i>No answer</i>.) I hope +we haven’t driven him to drink.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. So do I. I’d rather he’d +lead us to it.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Thaddeus!</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>from without</i>). Well?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Do you happen to have any conservatory benches +in the house?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>appearing in doorway</i>). We have +a patent laundry table.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Just the thing.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>calling</i>). Bring up the patent laundry +table, Thaddeus. (<i>To</i> Bradley.) What is a patent laundry +table?</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. It’s what my wife calls the cook’s +delight. It’s an ironing-board on wash-days, a supper table +at supper-time, and on the cook’s reception days it can be turned +into a settee.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. It describes well.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>from a distance</i>). Hi! come down and +help me with this thing. I can’t carry it up alone.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. All right, Perk. Bradley, you and Barlow +help Thaddeus. I’ll move these other chairs and tables out. +It’s getting late, and we’ll have to hustle.</p> +<p>[<i>Exit</i> Barlow. Bradley <i>meanwhile has been removing +pictures from the walls, and, as</i> Yardsley <i>speaks, is standing +on the stepladder reaching up for a painting.</i></p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. What do you take me for—twins?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Don’t get mad, now, Bradley. If +there’s anything that can add to the terror of amateur theatricals +it’s temper.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i> (<i>from without</i>). Edward, come here +right away. I want you to move the hat-stand, and see how many +people can be seated in this hall.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Oh yes, certainly, my dear—of course. +Right away. My name is Legion—or Dennis.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. That’s the spirit. (<i>A crash +is heard without</i>.) Great Scott! What’s that?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>without</i>). Oh, Thaddeus!</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. They’ve dropped the cook’s delight.</p> +<p>[<i>He comes down from the stepladder</i>. <i>He and</i> Yardsley +<i>go out</i>. <i>The pictures are piled up on the floor, the +furniture is topsy-turvy, and the portières lie in a heap on +the hearth.</i></p> +<p><i>Enter</i> Mrs. Perkins.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Dear, dear, dear! What a mess! +And poor Thaddeus! I’m glad he wasn’t hurt; but I—I’m +afraid I heard him say words I never heard him say before when Mr. Barlow +let the table slip. Wish I hadn’t said anything about the +table.</p> +<p><i>Enter</i> Mrs. Bradley.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. These men will drive me crazy. They +are making more fuss carrying that laundry table up-stairs than if it +were a house; and the worst of it is our husbands are losing their tempers.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Well, I don’t wonder. It must +be awfully trying to have a laundry table fall on you.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. Oh, Thaddeus is angelic, but Edward is +absolutely inexcusable. He swore a minute ago, and it sounded +particularly profane because he had a screw and a picture-hook in his +mouth.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>outside</i>). It’s almost as heavy +as the piano. I don’t see why, either.</p> +<p>[<i>The four men appear at the door, staggering under the weight +of the laundry table.</i></p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>as they set it down</i>). Whew! That’s +what I call work. What makes this thing so heavy?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i> (<i>as she opens a drawer and takes out a half-dozen +patent flat-irons and a handle</i>). This has something to do +with it. Why didn’t you take out the drawer first?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. It wasn’t my fault. They’d +started with it before I took hold. I didn’t know it had +a drawer, though I did wonder what it was that rattled around inside +of it.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. It wasn’t for me to suggest taking the +drawer out. Thaddeus ought to have thought of that.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>angrily</i>). Well, of all—</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Never mind. It’s here, and +it’s all right.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. That’s so. We musn’t quarrel. +If we get started, we’ll never stop. Now, Perkins, roll +up that rug, and we’ll get things placed, and then we’ll +be through.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Come on; I’ll help. Bradley, get +those pictures off the rug. Don’t be so careless of Mrs. +Perkins’s property.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Careless? See here now, Barlow—</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. Now, Edward—no temper. Take +the pictures out.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. And where shall I take the pictures out to?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Put ’em on the dining-room table.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>aside</i>). Throw ’em out the window, +for all I care.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Eh?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Nothing. I—er—I only said +to put ’em—er—to put ’em wherever you pleased.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. But <i>I</i> can’t say where they’re +to go, Thaddeus. This isn’t my house.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>aside</i>). No—worse luck—it’s +mine.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Oh—put them in the dining-room; +they’ll be safe there.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. I will.</p> +<p>[<i>He begins carrying the pictures out</i>. Perkins, Barlow, +<i>and</i> Yardsley <i>roll up the rug.</i></p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. There! You fellows might as well carry +that out too; and then we’ll be ready for the scene.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Come along, Thaddeus. You’re earning +your pay to-night.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>desperately</i>). May I take my coat off? +I’m boiling.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. Certainly. I wonder you didn’t +think of it before.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Think? I never think.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Well, go ahead in your thoughtless way and +get the rug out. You are delaying us.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. All right. Come on. Barlow, are +you ready?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. I am. [<i>They drag the rug out.</i></p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. At last. (<i>Replaces the tub</i>.) +There’s the fountain. Now where shall we put the cook’s +delight?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Over here, I should say.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. I think it would be better here.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i> (<i>who has returned</i>). Put it half-way between +’em, Yardsley. I say give in always to the ladies; and when +they don’t agree, compromise. It’s a mighty poor woman +that isn’t half right occasionally.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. Edward!</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>adopting the suggestion</i>). There! +How’s that?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>returning</i>). Perfect. I never saw +such an original conservatory in my life.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. I suppose it’s all right. +What do you think, Emma?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. Why, it’s simply fine. Of +course it requires a little imagination to see it as it will be on the +night of the performance; but in general I don’t see how it could +be better.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. No—nor I. It’s great as it +is, but when we get the hot-bed covers hung, and the fountain playing, +and plants arranged gracefully all around, it will be ideal. I +say we ought to give Yardsley a vote of thanks.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. That’s so. We’re very much +indebted to Yardsley.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Never mind that. I enjoy the work very +much.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. So glad. (<i>Aside</i>.) I wonder +when <i>we</i> get a vote of thanks?</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i> (<i>looking at his watch</i>). By Jove, Emma, +it’s after eleven!</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. After eleven? Dear me! I had +no idea it was as late as that. How time flies when you are enjoying +yourself! Really, Edward, you ought not to have overlooked the +time. You know—</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. I supposed you knew we couldn’t pull +a house down in five minutes.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. What’s become of the clock?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. I don’t know. Who took the +clock out?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. I did. It’s under the dining-room +table.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. Well, we mustn’t keep Bessie up +another moment. Good-night, my dear. We have had a delightful +time.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Good-night. I am sure we have enjoyed +it.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>aside</i>). Oh yes, indeed; <i>we</i> haven’t +had so much fun since the children had the mumps.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Well, so-long, Perkins. Thanks for your +help.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. By-by.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Good-night.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Don’t bother about fixing up to-night, +Perkins. I’ll be around to-morrow evening and help put things +in order again.</p> +<p>[<i>They all go out</i>. <i>The good-nights are repeated, and +finally the front door is closed.</i></p> +<p><i>Re-enter</i> Perkins, <i>who falls dejectedly on the settee, followed +by</i> Mrs. Perkins, <i>who gives a rueful glance at the room.</i></p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. I’m glad Yardsley’s coming to fix +us up again. I <i>never</i> could do it.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Then I must. I can’t ask Jennie +to do it, she’d discharge us at once, and I can’t have my +drawing-room left this way over Sunday.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>wearily</i>). Oh, well, shall we do it now?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. No, you poor dear man; we’ll stay +home from church to-morrow morning and do it. It won’t be +any harder work than reading the Sunday newspapers. What have +you there?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>looking at two tickets he has abstracted from +his vest-pocket</i>). Tickets for Irving—this evening—<i>Lyons +Mail</i>—third row from the stage. I was just thinking—</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Don’t tell me what you were thinking, +my dear. It can’t be expressible in polite language.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. You are wrong there, my dear. I wasn’t +thinking cuss-words at all. I was only reflecting that we didn’t +miss much anyhow, under the circumstances.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Miss much? Why, Thaddeus, what <i>do</i> +you mean?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Nothing—only that for action continuous +and situations overpowering <i>The Lyons Mail</i> isn’t a marker +to an evening of preparation for Amateur Dramatics.</p> +<p><i>Enter</i> Jennie.</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i>. Excuse me, mim, but the coachman says shall +he wait any longer? He’s been there three hours now.</p> +<p>[CURTAIN]</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE FATAL MESSAGE</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>CHARACTERS:</p> +<p>MR. THADDEUS PERKINS, <i>in charge of the curtain.<br /></i>MRS. +THADDEUS PERKINS, <i>cast for Lady Ellen.<br /></i>MISS ANDREWS, <i>cast +for the maid.<br /></i>MR. EDWARD BRADLEY, <i>an under-study.<br /></i>MRS. +EDWARD BRADLEY, <i>cast for Lady Amaranth.<br /></i>MR. ROBERT YARDSLEY, +<i>stage-manager.<br /></i>MR. JACK BARLOW, <i>cast for Fenderson Featherhead.<br /></i>MR. +CHESTER HENDERSON, <i>an absentee.<br /></i>JENNIE, <i>a professional +waitress.</i></p> +<p><i>The scene is laid in the library of the</i> Perkins <i>mansion, +on the afternoon of the day upon which an amateur dramatic performance +is to be held therein</i>. <i>The</i> Perkins <i>house has been +given over to the dramatic association having the matter in charge</i>. +<i>At right of library a scenic doorway is hung</i>. <i>At left +a drop-curtain is arranged, behind which is the middle hall of the</i> +Perkins <i>dwelling, where the expected audience are to sit</i>. +<i>The unoccupied wall spaces are hung with paper-muslin. The +apartment is fitted up generally to resemble an English drawing-room; +table and chair at centre</i>. <i>At rear stands a painted-canvas +conservatory entrance, on left of which is a long oaken chest</i>. +<i>The curtain rising discovers</i> Mrs. Perkins <i>giving a few finishing +touches to the scene, with</i> Mr. Perkins <i>gazing curiously about +the room.</i></p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Well, they’ve transformed this library +into a scene of bewitching beauty—haven’t they? These +paper-muslin walls are a dream of loveliness. I suppose, as the +possessor of all this, I ought to be supremely happy—only I wish +that canvas conservatory door hadn’t been tacked over my reference-books. +I want to look up some points about—</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Oh, never mind your books, Thaddeus; it’s +only for one night. Can’t you take a minute’s rest?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. One night? I like that. It’s +been there two already, and it’s in for to-night, and all day +to-morrow, I suppose. It’ll take all day to-morrow to clean +up, I’ll wager a hat. I’m beginning to rue the hour +I ever allowed the house of Perkins to be lured into the drama.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. You’re better off than I am. +I’ve got to take part, and I don’t half know my lines.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. I? I better off? I’d like +to know if I haven’t got to sit out in front and watch you people +fulfil your diabolical mission in your doubly diabolical way, and grin +at the fearful jokes in the dialogue I’ve been listening to for +weeks, and make the audience feel that they are welcome when they’re +not. What’s been done with my desk?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. It’s down in the laundry. +You’re about as—</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Oh, is it? Laundry is a nice place for +a desk. Plenty of starch handy to stiffen up a writer’s +nerve, and scrubbing-boards galore to polish up his wits. And +I suppose my papers are up in the attic?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. No; they’re stowed away safely in +the nursery. Now please don’t complain!</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Me? Complain? I never complain. +I didn’t say a word when Yardsley had my Cruikshanks torn from +their shelves and chucked into a clothes-basket and carried into the +butler’s pantry, did I? Did I say as much as one little +word? I wanted to say one little word, I admit, but I didn’t. +Did I? If I did, I withdraw it. I’m fond of this sort +of thing. The greatest joy in life is to be found in arranging +and rearranging a library, and I seem to be in for joy enough to kill. +What time are the—these amateur Thespians coming?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>looking at her watch</i>). They’re +due now; it’s half-past four. (<i>Sits down and opens play-book</i>. +<i>Rehearses</i>.) No, not for all the world would I do this thing, +Lord Muddleton. There is no need to ask it of me. I am firm. +I shall—</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>, Oh, let up, my dear! I’ve been getting +that for breakfast, dinner, and tea for two weeks now, and I’m +awfully tired of it. When I asked for a second cup of coffee at +breakfast Sunday, you retorted, “No, not for all the world would +I do this thing, Lord Muddleton!” When I asked you where +my dress ties were, you informed me that it was “what baseness,” +or words to that effect; and so on, until I hardly know where I am at. +(<i>Catches sight of the chest</i>.) Hello! How did that +happen to escape the general devastation? What are you going to +do with that oak chest?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. It is for the real earl to hide in just +before he confronts Muddleton with the evidence of his crime.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. But—that holds all my loose prints, Bess. +By Jove! I can’t have that, you know. You amateur +counterfeiters have got to understand just one thing. I’ll +submit to the laundering of my manuscripts, the butler’s-pantrying +of my Cruikshanks, but I’ll be hanged if I’ll allow even +a real earl, much less a base imitation of one, to wallow in my engravings.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. You needn’t worry about your old +engravings. They’re perfectly safe, I’ve put them +in the Saratoga trunk in the attic. (<i>Rehearsing</i>.) +And if you ask it of me once again, I shall have to summon my servants +to have you shown the door. Henry Cobb is the friend of my girlhood, +and—</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Henry Cobb be—</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Thaddeus!</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. I don’t care, Bess, if Henry Cobb was +the only friend you ever had. I object to having my prints dumped +into a Saratoga trunk in order that he may confront Muddleton and regain +the lost estates of Puddingford by hiding in my chest. A gay earl +Yardsley makes, anyhow; and as for Barlow, he looks like an ass in that +yellow-chrysanthemum wig. No man with yellow hair like that could +track such a villain as Henderson makes Muddleton out to be. Fact +is, Henderson is the only decent part of the show.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>rehearsing</i>). What if he is weak? +Then shall I still more strongly show myself his friend. Poor? +Does not—</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Oh, I suppose it does—(<i>Bell rings</i>.) +There comes this apology for a real earl, I fancy. I’ll +let him in myself. I suppose Jennie has got as much as she can +do sweeping my manuscripts out of the laundry, and keeping my verses +from scorching the wash. [<i>Exit.</i></p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. It’s too bad of Thaddeus to go on +like this. As if I hadn’t enough to worry me without a cross +husband to manage. Heigho!</p> +<p><i>Enter</i> Perkins <i>with</i> Yardsley. Yardsley <i>holds +bicycle cap in hand.</i></p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. By Jove! I’m tired. Everything’s +been going wrong to-day. Overslept myself, to begin with, and +somebody stole my hat at the club, and left me this bicycle cap in its +place. How are you getting along, Mrs. Perkins? You weren’t +letter perfect yesterday, you know.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. I’m getting it all right, I think. +I’ve been rehearsing all day.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. You bet your life on that, Henry Cobb, real +Earl of Puddingford. If you aren’t restored to your estates +and title this night, it won’t be for any lack of suffering on +my part. Give me your biking cap, unless you want to use it in +the play. I’ll hang it up. [<i>Exit.</i></p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Thanks. (<i>Looks about the room</i>.) +Everything here seems to be right.</p> +<p>Perkins <i>returns.</i></p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins (rehearsing</i>). And henceforth, my lord, +let us understand one another.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Certainly, my dear. I’ll go and +have myself translated. Would you prefer me in French, German, +or English?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. I hope it goes all right to-night. But, +I must say, I don’t like the prospect. This beastly behavior +of Henderson’s has knocked me out.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. What’s the matter with Henderson?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. He hasn’t withdrawn, has he?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. That’s just what he has done. +He sent me word this morning.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. But what excuse does he offer? At +the last moment, too!</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. None at all—absolutely. There +was some airy persiflage in his note about having to go to Boston at +six o’clock. Grandmother’s sick or something. +He writes so badly I couldn’t make out whether she was rich or +sick. I fancy it’s a little of both. Possibly if she +wasn’t rich he wouldn’t care so much when she fell ill. +That’s the trouble with these New-Englanders, anyhow—they’ve +always got grandmothers to fall down at crucial moments. Next +time I go into this sort of thing it’ll be with a crowd without +known ancestors.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. ’Tisn’t Chet’s fault, though. +You don’t suspect him of having poisoned his grandmother just +to get out of playing, do you?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Oh, Thaddeus, do be serious!</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. I was never more so, my dear. Poisoning +one’s grandmother is no light crime.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Well, I’ve a notion that the whole thing +is faked up. Henderson has an idea that he’s a little tin +Booth, and just because I called him down the other night at our first +rehearsal he’s mad. That’s the milk in the cocoanut, +I think. He’s one of those fellows you can’t tell +anything to, and when I kicked because he wore a white tie with a dinner +coat, he got mad and said he was going to dress the part his own way +or not at all.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. I think he was right.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Oh yes, of course I’m never right. +What am I stage-manager for?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Oh, as for that, of course, you are the one +in authority, but you were wrong about the white tie and the dinner +coat. He was a bogus earl, an adventurer, wasn’t he?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Yes, he was, but—</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Well, no real earl would wear a white tie with +a dinner coat unless he were visiting in America. I grant you +that if he were going to a reception in New York he might wear a pair +of golf trousers with a dinner coat, but in this instance his dress +simply showed his bogusity, as it were. He merely dressed the +part.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. He doesn’t want to make it too plain, +however, so I was right after all. His villany is to come as a +painful surprise.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. But what are we to do? Have you +got anybody else to take his part?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Yes. I telegraphed right off to Bradley, +explained as far as I could in a telegram without using all the balance +in the treasury, and he answered all right. Said he’d bone +at the part all day, and would be here at five letter perfect.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>with a sigh of relief</i>). Good. +He’s very quick at learning a thing. I imagine it will be +all right. I’ve known him to learn a harder part than that +in five hours. It’ll be pleasanter for Emma, too. +She didn’t like those scenes she had as Lady Amaranth the adventuress +with Henderson. He kept her off the middle of the stage all the +time; but with her husband it will be different.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. I’ll bet on that! No good-natured +husband of a new women ever gets within a mile of the centre of the +stage while she’s on it. She’ll have stage room to +burn in her scenes with Brad.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. I think it was awfully mean of Mr. Henderson, +though.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Disgusting.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. It was inconsiderate. So hard on his +grandmother, too, to be compelled to knock under just to get him out +of a disagreeble situation. She ought to disinherit him.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Oh, it’s easy enough to be sarcastic.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. That’s so, Bob; that’s why I never +am. It’s commonplace. (<i>Bell rings</i>.) Ah, +there’s the rest of the troupe, I guess. [<i>Exit.</i></p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>looking at his watch</i>). It’s about +time. They’re twenty minutes late.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins (rehearsing</i>). So once for all, Lord Muddleton<i>—</i>(<i>derisively</i>)—ha, +ha! Lord Muddleton! that <i>is</i> amusing. You—Lord +Muddleton! Ha, ha! Once for all, Lord Muddleton. I +acquaint you with my determination. I shall not tell Henry Cobb +what I have discovered, since I have promised, but none the less he +shall know. Walls have ears—even that oaken chest by yinder +wonder—</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>irritated</i>). Excuse me, Mrs. Perkins; +but really you must get that phrase right. You’ve called +it yinder wonder at every rehearsal we’ve had so far. I +know it’s difficult to get right. Yonder window is one of +those beastly combinations that playwrights employ to make the Thespian’s +pathway to fame a rocky one; but you must get over it, and say it right. +Practise it for an hour, if need be—yonder window, yonder winder—I +mean, yonder window—until it comes easy.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>meekly</i>). I have, and it doesn’t +seem to do any good. I’ve tried and tried to get it right, +but yonder window is all I can say.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. But yinder window is—I should say, yonder +window is correct.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Well, I’m just going to change it, +that’s all. It shall be yonder casement.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Good idea. Only don’t say yonder +basement by mistake.</p> +<p><i>Enter</i> Perkins, <i>followed by</i> Barlow.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Here’s Mr. Featherhead. He’s +rehearsing too. As I opened the door he said, “Give me good-morrow.”</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>smiling</i>). Yes; and Thaddeus replied, +“Good-yesterday, me friend,” in tones which reminded me +of Irving with bronchitis. What’s this I hear about Henderson’s +grandmother?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Thrown up the part.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. His grandmother?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. No—idiot—Henderson. He’s +thrown up his grandmother—oh, hang it!—you know what I mean.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. I hope you’re not going to net gervous, +Mr. Yardsley. If you break down, what on earth will become of +the rest of us?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. I hope not—but I am. I’m +as nervous as a cat living its ninth life. Here we are three or +four hours before the performance, and no one knows whether we’ll +be able to go through it or not. My reputation as a manager is +at stake. Barlow, how are you getting along on those lines in +the revelation scene?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Had ’em down fine on the cable-car as +I came up. Ha-ha! People thought I was crazy, I guess. +I was so full of it I kept repeating it softly to myself all the way +up; but when we got to that Fourteenth Street curve the car gave a fearful +lurch and fairly shook the words “villanous viper” out of +me; and as I was standing when we began the turn, and was left confronting +a testy old gentleman upon whose feet I had trodden twice, at the finish, +I nearly got into trouble.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>wish a laugh</i>). Made a scene, eh?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>joining in the laugh</i>). Who wouldn’t? +Each time I stepped on his foot he glared—regular Macbeth stare—like +this: “Is this a jagger which I see before me?” (<i>Suits +action to word</i>.) But I never let on I saw, but continued to +rehearse. When the lurch came, however, and I toppled over on +top of him, grabbed his shoulders in my hands to keep from sprawling +in his lap, and hissed “villanous viper” in his face, he +was inclined to resent it forcibly.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. I don’t blame him. Seems to me +a man of your intelligence ought to know better than to rehearse on +a cable-car, anyhow, to say nothing of stepping on a man’s corns.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Of course I apologized; but he was a persistent +old codger, and demanded an explanation of my epithet.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. It’s a wonder he didn’t have you +put off. A man doesn’t like to be insulted even if he does +ride on the cable.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Oh, I appeased him. I told him I was rehearsing. +That I was an amateur actor.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. And of course he was satisfied.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Yes; at least I judge so. He said that +my confession was humiliation enough, without his announcing to the +public what he thought I was; and he added, to the man next him, that +he thought the public was exposed to enough danger on the cable cars +without having lunatics thrust upon them at every turning.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. He must have been a bright old man.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Or a very crabbed old person.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Oh, well, it was an experience, but it rather +upset me, and for the life of me I haven’t been able to remember +the opening lines of the scene since.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Well, if the audience drive you off the stage, +you can sue the cable company. They ought to be careful how they +lurch a man’s brains out.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. That’s right—joke ahead. +It’s fun for you. All you’ve got to do is to sit out +in front and pull the curtain up and down when we ring a bell. +You’re a great one to talk about brains, you are. It’s +a wonder to me you don’t swoon under your responsibility.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>rehearsing</i>). So once for all, as +he says, so say I—</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Ah! Indeed! You take his part, +do you?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>rehearsing</i>). You must leave this +house at once and forever. I once thought I loved you, but now +all is changed, and I take this opportunity to thank my deliverer, Fenderson +Featherhead—</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Oh—ah—rehearsing. I see. +I thought you’d gone over to the enemy, my dear. Featherhead, +step up and accept the lady’s thanks. Cobb, join me in the +dining room, and we’ll drown our differences in tasting the punch, +which, between you and me, is likely to be the best part of to-night’s +function, for I made it myself though, if Tom Harkaway is in the audience, +and Bess follows out her plan of having the flowing bowl within reach +all the evening, I’m afraid it’ll need an under-study along +about nine o’clock. He’s a dry fellow, that Harkaway.</p> +<p>[<i>Exit</i> Perkins, <i>dragging</i> Yardsley <i>by the arm.</i></p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>calling after them</i>). Don’t you +touch it, Bob. It’s potent stuff. One glass may postpone +the performance.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>from behind the scenes</i>). Never fear +for me, my boy. I’ve got a head, I have.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Well, don’t get another. (<i>Turning +to</i> Mrs. Perkins.) Suppose we rehearse that scene where I acquaint +you with Cobb’s real position in life?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Very well. I’m ready. +I’m to sit here, am I not? [<i>Seats herself by table.</i></p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. And I come in here. (<i>Begins</i>.) +Ah, Lady Ellen, I am glad to find you alone, for I have that to say—</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Won’t you be seated, Mr. Featherhead? +It was such a delightful surprise to see you at the Duchess of Barncastle’s +last evening. I had supposed you still in Ireland.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>aside</i>). Good. She little thinks +that I have just returned from Australia, where I have at last discovered +the identity of the real Earl of Puddingford, as well as that of this +bogus Muddleton, who, by his nefarious crime, has deprived Henry Cobb +of his patrimony, of his title, aye, even of his name. She little +wots that this—this adventurer who has so strongly interested +her by his nepotic—</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>interrupting</i>). Hypnotic, Mr. Barlow.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. What did I say?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Nepotic.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. How stupid of me! I’ll begin again.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>desperately</i>). Oh, pray don’t. +Go on from where you left off. That’s a fearfully long aside, +anyhow, and I go nearly crazy every time you say it. I don’t +know what to do with myself. It’s easy enough for Mr. Yardsley +to say occupy yourself somehow, but what I want to know is, how? +I can’t look inquiringly at you all that time, waiting for you +to say “Ireland! Oh, yes—yes—just over from +Dublin.” I can’t lean against the mantel-piece and +gaze into the fire, because the mantel-piece is only canvas, and would +fall down if I did.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. It’s a long aside, Mrs. Perkins, but it’s +awfully important, and I don’t see how we can cut it down. +It’s really the turning-point of the play, in which I reveal the +true state of affairs to the audience.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>with a sigh</i>). I suppose that’s +true. I’ll have to stand it. But can’t I be +doing some sewing?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Certainly not. You are the daughter of +a peer. They never sew. You might be playing a piano, but +there’s hardly room on the stage for that, and, besides, it would +interfere with my aside, which needs a hush to be made impressive. +Where did I leave off?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Hypnotic power.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Oh yes. (<i>Resumes rehearsing</i>.) +She little wots that this—this adventurer who has so strangely +interested her with his hypnotic power is the man who twenty years ago +forged her father’s name to the title-deeds of Burnington, drove +him to his ruin, and subsequently, through a likeness so like as to +bewilder and confuse even a mother’s eyes, has forced the rightful +Earl of Puddingford out into a cruel world, to live and starve as Henry +Cobb.</p> +<p>[<i>Bell.</i></p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Ah, I fancy the Bradleys are here at last. +I do hope Edward knows his part.</p> +<p><i>Enter</i> Yardsley.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. They’ve come, and we can begin at last.</p> +<p><i>Enter</i> Perkins, Miss Andrews, <i>and</i> Mr. <i>and</i> Mrs. +Bradley.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Take off your things, Emma. Let +me take your cloak, Dorothy. Does Edward feel equal—</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. He says so. Knows it word for word, +he says, though I’ve been so busy with my own—[<i>They go +out talking.</i></p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Well, Brad, how goes it? Know your part?</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Like a book. Bully part, too.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Glad you like it.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Can’t help liking it; it’s immense! +Particularly where I acquaint the heroine with the villany that—</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. You? Why—</p> +<p><i>Enter</i> Mrs. Bradley, Miss Andrews, <i>and</i> Mrs. Perkins.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>to</i> Bradley). So glad you’re +going to play with us.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. So am I. It’s a great pleasure. +Felt rather out in the cold until—</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. But, I say, Brad, you don’t—</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Howdy do, Mrs. Bradley? Good-afternoon, +Miss Andrews. We all seem to be here now, so let’s begin. +We’re a half-hour late already.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. I’m ready, but I want to—</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Never mind what you want, Jack. We haven’t +time for any more talking. It’ll take us an hour and a half, +and we’ve got to hustle. All off stage now except Mrs. Perkins. +(<i>All go out</i>; Yardsley <i>rings bell</i>.) Hi, Perkins, +that’s your cue!</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. What for?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Oh, hang it!—raise the curtain, will +you?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. With pleasure. As I understand this thing, +one bell signifies raise curtain when curtain’s down; drop curtain +when curtain is up.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Exactly. You know your part, anyhow. +If you remember not to monkey with the curtain except when the bell +rings, and then change its condition, no matter what it may be, you +can’t go wrong. Now begin. (<i>Bell</i>. Perkins +<i>raises curtain</i>.) Now, of course, I’m not supposed +to be on the stage, but I’ll stay here and prompt you. Enter +Lady Ellen. Come along, Mrs. Perkins. Please begin.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. I thought we’d decided that I was +to be sitting here when the curtain went up?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. So we did. I’d forgotten that.—We’ll +begin all over again. Perkins, drop that curtain. Perkins!</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. What?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Drop the curtain.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Where’s the bell? I didn’t +hear any bell ring.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Oh, never mind the bell! Let her down.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. I beg your pardon, but I positively refuse. +I believe in doing things right. I’m not going to monkey. +Ring that bell, and down she comes; otherwise—</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Tut! You are very tiresome this afternoon, +Thaddeus. Mrs. Perkins, we’ll go ahead without dropping +the curtain. Now take your place.</p> +<p>[Mrs. Perkins <i>seats herself by table, picks up a book, and begins +to read</i>.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>after an interval, throwing book down with +a sigh</i>). Heigho! I cannot seem to concentrate my mind +upon anything to-night. I wonder why it is that once a woman gives +her heart into another’s keeping—[Bell rings. Perkins +lets curtain drop.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. What the deuce did you drop that curtain for, +Thaddeus?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. The bell rang, didn’t it?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Yes, you idiot, but that’s supposed +to be the front-door bell. Lady Amaranth is about to arrive—</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Well, how was I to know? Your instructions +to me were positive. Don’t monkey with curtain till bell +rings. When bell rings, if down, pull her up; if up, pull her +down. I’m not a connoisseur on bells—</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. You might pay some attention to the play.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Now look here, Bob. I don’t want +to quarrel with you, but it seems to me that I’ve got enough to +do without paying attention to your part of the show. What am +I? First place, host; second place, head usher; third place, curtain-manager; +fourth place, fire department; fifth place, Bess says if children holler, +go up and see what’s the matter other words, nurse—and on +top of this you say keep an eye on the play. You must think I’ve +as many eyes as a President’s message.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Oh dear, Teddy! do behave. It’s +simple enough—</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Simple enough? Well, I like that. +How am I to tell one bell from another if—</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>dryly</i>). I suppose if the clock strikes +ten you’ll seesaw the curtain up and down ten times, once for +each stroke—eh?</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i> (<i>poking his head in at the door</i>). What’s +the matter in here? Emma’s been waiting for her cue like +a hundred-yards runner before the pistol.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Oh, it’s the usual trouble with Yardsley. +He wants me to chaperon the universe.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. It’s the usual row with you. You +never want to do anything straight. You seem to think that curtain’s +an elevator, and you’re the boy—yanking it up and down at +your pleasure, and—</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Oh, please don’t quarrel! +Can’t you see, Ted, it’s growing late? We’ll +never have the play rehearsed, and it’s barely three hours now +before the audience will arrive.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Very well—I’ll give in—only +I think you ought to have different bells—</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. I’ll have a trolley-car gong for you, +if it’ll only make you do the work properly. Have you got +a bicycle bell?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Yes; that will do nicely for the curtain, +and the desk push-button bell will do for the front-door bell. +Have you got that in your mind, Teddy dear?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. I feel as if I had the whole bicycle in my +mind. I can feel the wheels. Bike for curtain, push for +front door. That’s all right. I wouldn’t mind +pushing for the front door myself. All ready? All right. +In the absence of the bicycle bell, I’ll be its under-study for +once. B-r-r-r-r-r-r-r! [<i>Raises curtain.</i></p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Now, Mrs. Perkins, begin with “I wonder +why—”</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>rehearsing</i>). I wonder why it is +that once a woman gives her heart into another’s keeping—(<i>Bell</i>.) +Ah, the bell. It must be he at last. He is late this evening.</p> +<p><i>Enter</i> Miss Andrews <i>as maid, with card on tray.</i></p> +<p><i>Miss Andrews</i>. Lady Amaranth, me luddy.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Lydy, Miss Andrews, lydy—not luddy.</p> +<p><i>Miss Andrews</i>. Lydy Amaranth, me lady.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. And please be consistent with your dialect. +If it’s Lydy Amaranth, it’s Lydy Ellen.</p> +<p><i>Miss Andrews</i>. Lydy Amaranth, me lydy.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. What? Lydy Amaranth? She?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Oh dear! Excuse me, Mrs. Perkins, but +you are not the maid, and cockney isn’t required of you. +You must not say lydy. Lady is—</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>resignedly</i>). What? Lady Amaranth? +She? What can she want? Show her up. [<i>Exit</i> +Miss Andrews.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. That’s a first-class expression for an +adventuress. <i>Show her up</i>! Gad! She ought to +be shown up.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. What can she want?</p> +<p><i>Enter</i> Mrs. Bradley.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. Ah, my dear Lady Ellen! What delight +to find you at home! (<i>Aside</i>.) He is not here, and +yet I could have sworn—</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. To what am I to attribute this pleasure, +Lady Amaranth? I do not presume to think that you have come here +without some other motive than that of a mere desire to see me. +I do not suppose that even you pretend that since the contretemps of +Tuesday night at the Duchess of Barncastle’s our former feeling—</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. Ellen, I have come to tell you something. +To save you from a vile conspiracy.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. I am quite well able, Lady Amaranth, to +manage my own affairs—</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. But you do not know. You love Lord +Muddleton—</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>toying with her fan</i>). Oh! +Indeed! And who, pray, has taken you into my confidence? +I was not aware—</p> +<p><i>Mrs</i>. <i>Bradley</i>. Hear me, Ellen—</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Excuse me, Lady Amaranth! but you have +forgotten that it is only to my friends that I am known as—</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. Then Lady Ellen, if it must be so. +I know what you do not—that Henry Cobb is an escaped convent—</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Convict, not convent.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. Is an escaped convict, and—</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. I am not interested in Henry Cobb.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. But he is in you, Ellen Abercrombie. +He is in you, and with the aid of Fenderson Featherhead—</p> +<p>[<i>Bell</i>. Perkins <i>lets curtain drop half-way, but remembers +in time, and pulls it up again.</i></p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Beg pardon. String slipped.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. Too late. Oh, if he had only waited!</p> +<p><i>Enter</i> Miss Andrews.</p> +<p><i>Miss Andrews</i>. Mr. Featherhead, Leddy Eilen.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Ellen, Ellen; and lydy, not leddy.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. Hear me first, I beg.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Show him in, Mary. Lady Amaranth, +as you see, I am engaged. I really must be excused. Good-night.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i> (<i>aside</i>). Foiled! Muddleton +will be exposed. Ah, if I could only have broken the force of +the blow! (<i>Aloud</i>.) Lady Ellen, I will speak. +Fenderson Featherhead—</p> +<p><i>Enter</i> Bradley <i>and</i> Barlow <i>together</i>. <i>Both</i>. +Is here, Lady Amaranth.</p> +<p>[<i>Each tries to motion the other off the stage.</i></p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. What the deuce does this mean? What +do you think this play is—an <i>Uncle Tom</i> combination with +two Topsys?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. I told him to keep out, but he said that Fenderson +Featherhead was his cue.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i> (<i>indignantly</i>). Well, so it is; there’s +the book.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Oh, nonsense, Brad! Don’t be idiotic. +The book doesn’t say anything of the sort.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. But I say it does. If you—</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. It’s all rot for you to behave like this, +Bradley.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Isn’t it time something happened to the +curtain? The audience will get panicky if they witness any such +lack of harmony as this. I will draw a veil over the painful scene. +B-r-r-r-r. (<i>Drops curtain</i>.) B-r-r-r-r.</p> +<p>[<i>Raises it again.</i></p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. We won’t dispute the matter, Bradley. +You are wrong, and that’s all there is about it. Now do +get off the stage and let us go ahead. Perkins, for Heaven’s +sake, give that curtain a rest, will you?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. I was only having a dress-rehearsal on my own +account, Bob. Bike bell, curtain. Push bell, front door. +Trolley gong, nothing—</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Well, if you fellows won’t—</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>taking him by the arm and walking him to side +of stage</i>). Never mind, Brad; you’ve made a mistake, +that’s all. We all make mistakes at times. Get off, +like a good fellow. You don’t come on for ten minutes yet. +(<i>Exit</i> Bradley, <i>scratching his head in puzzled meditation</i>.) +Go ahead now, Barlow.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. But, Mr. Yardsley, Edward has—</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. We’ll begin with your cue.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. Fenderson Featherhead—</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Is here, Lady Amaranth.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. But—</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. No, no! Your word isn’t “but,” +Mrs. Bradley. It’s (<i>consulting book</i>)—it’s: +“Insolent! You will cross my path once too often, and then—</p> +<p><i>Enter</i> Bradley.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. I know that, but I don’t say that +to him!</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Of course not. She says it to me.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Well, of all the stupidity—</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Another unseemly fracas. Another veil. +B-r-r-r-r. (<i>Drops curtain</i>.) There may be a hitch +in the play, but there won’t be in this curtain. I tell +you that right now. B-r-r-r-r.</p> +<p>[<i>Raises curtain.</i></p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Well, I don’t pretend to understand +the difficulty. She certainly does say that to Featherhead.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Of course!—it’s right there in the +book.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. That’s exactly what I say. It’s +in the book; but you would come on.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Well, why shouldn’t I?</p> +<p><i>Enter</i> Miss Andrews.</p> +<p><i>Miss Andrews</i>. What seems to be the trouble?</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. I give it up. Collision somewhere up +the road.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>turning over the leaves of the play-book</i>). +Oh, I see the trouble—it’s all right. Bradley is mixed +up a little, that’s all. “Fenderson Featherhead” +is his cue—but it comes later, Brad.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Later? Well (<i>glances in book</i>)—no—it +comes now,</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Are you blind? Can you read? See +there! [<i>Points into book.</i></p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. No—you keep still, Jack. I’ll +fix it. See here, Bradley. This is the place you are thinking +of. When Cobb says to Lady Ellen “Fenderson Featherhead,” +you enter the room, and in a nervous aside you mutter: “What, +he! Does he again dare to cross my path?” That’s +the way of it.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Certainly—that’s it, Brad. +Now get off, and let me go on, will you?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. I’m sure it’s a perfectly +natural error, Mr. Bradley.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. But he’s right, my dear Bess. +The others are wrong. Edward doesn’t—</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. I don’t care anything about it, but I’m +sure I don’t know what else to do. If I am to play Fenderson—</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>in amazement</i>). You?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>aghast</i>). Fenderson? By all that +is lovely, what part have you learned?</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. The one you told me to learn in your message—Featherhead, +of course.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. But that’s my part!</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Of course it is, Mr. Bradley. Mr. +Barlow is to be—</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. But that’s what Edward was told. +I saw the message myself.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>sinking into a chair dejectedly</i>). Why, +Ed Bradley! I never mentioned Featherhead. You were to be +Muddleton!</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Me?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. What?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Certainly. There’s nothing the +matter with Barlow, and he’s cast for Featherhead. You’ve +learned the wrong part!</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i> (<i>searching his pockets</i>). Here’s +the telegram. There (<i>takes message from pocket</i>), read that. +There are my instructions.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>grasps telegram and reads it</i>. <i>Drops +it to floor</i>). Well, I’ll be jiggered!</p> +<p>[<i>Buries his face in his hands.</i></p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i> (<i>picking up message and reading aloud</i>). +“Can you take Fenderson’s part in to-night’s show? +Answer at once. Yardsley.”</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Well, that’s a nice mess. You must +have paresis, Bob.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. I was afraid he’d get it sooner or later. +You need exercise, Yardsley. Go pull that curtain up and down +a half-dozen times and it’ll do you good.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. That telegram lets me out.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. I should say so.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Lets us all out, seems to me.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. But—I wrote Henderson, not Fenderson. +That jackass of a telegraph operator is responsible for it all. +“Will you take Henderson’s part?” is what I wrote, +and he’s gone and got it Fenderson. Confound his—</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. But what are we going to do? It’s +quarter-past six now, and the curtain is to rise at 8.30.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. I’ll give ’em my unequalled imitation +of Sandow lifting the curtain with one hand. Thus. [<i>Raises +curtain wish right hand.</i></p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. For goodness’ sake, man, be serious. +There are seventy-five people coming here to see this performance, and +they’ve paid for their tickets.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. It’s perfectly awful. We can’t +do it at all unless Mr. Bradley will go right up stairs now and learn—</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. Oh, that’s impossible. He’s +learned nearly three hundred lines to-day already. Mr. Barlow +might—</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. I couldn’t think of it, Mrs. Bradley. +I’ve got as much as I can do remembering what lines I have learned.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. It would take you a week to forget your old +part completely enough to do the other well. You’d be playing +both parts, the way Irving does when he’s irritated, before you +knew it.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. I’m sure I don’t know what to +do.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Give it up, eh? What are you stage-manager +for? If I didn’t own the house, I’d suggest setting +it on fire; but I do, and it isn’t fully insured.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Perhaps Miss Andrews and Mr. Yardsley +could do their little scene from <i>Romeo and Juliet.</i></p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bradley</i>. Just the thing.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. But I haven’t a suitable costume.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. I’ll lend you my golf trousers, and Bess +has an old shirt-waist you could wear with ’em. Piece it +out a little so that you could get into it, and hang the baby’s +toy sword at your side, and carry his fireman’s hat under your +arm, and you’d make a dandy-looking Romeo. Some people might +think you were a new woman, but if somebody were to announce to the +audience that you were not that, but the Hon. R. Montague, Esq., it +would be all right and exceedingly amusing. I’ll do the +announcing with the greatest of pleasure. Really think I’d +enjoy it.</p> +<p><i>Miss Andrews</i>. I think it would be much better to get +up Mrs. Jarley’s waxworks.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Oh dear, Miss Andrews, never. Mrs. Jarley +awakens too many bitter memories in me. I was Mrs. Jarley once, +and—</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. It must have been awful. If there is +anything in life that could be more horrible than you, with your peculiar +style of humor, trying to do Jarley, I—</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Oh, well, what’s the odds what we do? +We’re only amateurs, anyhow. Yardsley can put on a pair +of tight boots, and give us an impression of Irving, or perhaps an imitation +of the Roman army at the battle of Philippi, and the audience wouldn’t +care, as long as they had a good supper afterwards. It all rests +with Martenelli whether it’s a go to-night. If he doesn’t +spoil the supper, it’ll be all right. I have observed that +the principal factors of success at amateur dramatics are an expert +manipulation of the curtain, and a first-class feed to put the audience +in a good-humor afterwards. Even if Martenelli does go back on +us, you’ll have me with the curtain—</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Thaddeus!</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. By Jove! that’s a good idea—we +have got you. You can read Henderson’s part!</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. What—I?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Certainly.</p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Just the very thing.</p> +<p><i>Miss Andrews</i>. Splendid idea.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. Oh—but I say—I can’t, you +know. Nonsense! I can’t read.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. I’ve often suspected that you couldn’t, +my dear Thaddeus; but this time you must.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. But the curtain—the babies—the +audience—the ushing—the fire department—it is too +much. I’m not an octopus.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>taking him by the arm and pushing him into chair</i>). +You can’t get out of it, Ted. Here—read up. +There—take my book.</p> +<p>[<i>Thrusts play-book into his hand.</i></p> +<p><i>Bradley</i>. Here’s mine, too, Thaddeus. Read +’em both at once, and then you’ll have gone over it twice.</p> +<p>[<i>Throws his book into</i> Perkins’s <i>lap</i>.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. I tell you—</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Perkins</i>. Just this once, Teddy—please—for +me.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. You owe it to your position, Perkins. +You are the only man here that knows anything about anything. +You’ve frequently said so. You were doing it all, anyhow, +you know—and you’re host—the audience are your guests—and +you’re so clever and—</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. But—</p> +<p><i>Enter</i> Jennie.</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i>. Dinner is served, ma’am. [<i>Exit.</i></p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Good! Perk, I’ll be your under-study +at dinner, while you are studying up. Ladies and gentlemen, kindly +imagine that I am host, that Perkins does not exist. Come along, +Mrs. Bradley. Miss Andrews, will you take my other arm? +I’ll escort Lady Amaranth and the maid out. We’ll +leave the two Featherheads to fight it out for the Lady Ellen. +By-by, Thaddeus; don’t shirk. I’ll come in after the +salade course and hear you, and if you don’t know your lesson +I’ll send you to bed without your supper.</p> +<p>[<i>All go out, leaving</i> Perkins <i>alone</i>.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i> (<i>forcing a laugh</i>). Ha! ha! ha! +Good joke, confound your eyes! Humph! very well. I’ll +do it. Whole thing, eh? Curtain, babies, audience, host. +All right, my noble Thespians, wait! (<i>Shakes fist at the door</i>.) +I <i>will</i> do the whole thing. Wait till they ring you up, +O curtain! Up you will go, but then—then will I come forth +and read that book from start to finish, and if any one of ’em +ventures to interfere I’ll drop thee on their most treasured lines. +They little dream how much they are in the power of you and me!</p> +<p><i>Enter</i> Jennie.</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i>. Mrs. Perkins says aren’t you coming to +dinner, sir; and Mr. Yardsley says the soup is getting cold, sir.</p> +<p><i>Perkins</i>. In a minute, Jennie. Tell Mrs. Perkins +that I am just learning the last ten lines of the third act; and as +for Mr. Yardsley, kindly insinuate to him that he’ll find the +soup quite hot enough at 8.30.</p> +<p>[<i>Exit</i> Jennie. Perkins <i>sits down, and, taking up two +books of the play, one in each hand, begins to read.</i></p> +<p>[CURTAIN]</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>A PROPOSAL UNDER DIFFICULTIES</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>CHARACTERS:</p> +<p>ROBERT YARDSLEY, } <i>suitors for the hand of Miss Andrews.<br /></i>JACK +BARLOW, }<br />DOROTHY ANDREWS, <i>a much-loved young woman.<br /></i>JENNIE, +<i>a housemaid.<br /></i>HICKS, <i>a coachman, who does not appear.</i></p> +<p><i>The scene is laid in a fashionable New York drawing-room. +The time is late in October, and Wednesday afternoon. The curtain +rising shows an empty room. A bell rings. After a pause +the front door is heard opening and closing. Enter</i> Yardsley<i> +through portière at rear of room</i>.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Ah! So far so good; but I wish it were +over. I’ve had the nerve to get as far as the house and +into it, but how much further my courage will carry me I can’t +say. Confound it! Why is it, I wonder, that men get so rattled +when they’re head over heels in love, and want to ask the fair +object of their affections to wed? I can’t see. Now +I’m brave enough among men. I’m not afraid of anything +that walks, except Dorothy Andrews, and generally I’m not afraid +of her. Stopping runaway teams and talking back to impudent policemen +have been my delight. I’ve even been courageous enough to +submit a poem in person to the editor of a comic weekly, and yet here +this afternoon I’m all of a tremble. And for what reason? +Just because I’ve co-come to ask Dorothy Andrews to change her +name to Mrs. Bob Yardsley; as if that were such an unlikely thing for +her to do. Gad! I’m almost inclined to despise myself. +(<i>Surveys himself in the mirror at one end of the room</i>. +<i>Then walking up to it and peering intently at his reflection, he +continues</i>.) Bah! you coward! Afraid of a woman—a +sweet little woman like Dorothy. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, +Bob Yardsley. <i>She</i> won’t hurt you. Brace up +and propose like a man—like a real lover who’d go through +fire for her sake, and all that. Ha! That’s easy enough +to talk about, but how shall I put it? That’s the question. +Let me see. How <i>do</i> men do it? I ought to buy a few +good novels and select the sort of proposal I like; but not having a +novel at hand, I must invent my own. How will it be? Something +like this, I fancy. (<i>The portières are parted, and</i> +Jennie, <i>the maid, enters</i>. Yardsley <i>does not observe +her entrance</i>.) I’ll get down on my knees. A man +on his knees is a pitiable object, and pity, they say, is akin to love. +Maybe she’ll pity me, and after that—well, perhaps pity’s +cousin will arrive. (<i>The maid advances, but</i> Yardsley <i>is +so intent upon his proposal that he still fails to observe her</i>. +<i>She stands back of the sofa, while he, gazing downward, kneels before +it</i>.) I’ll say: “Divine creature! At last +we are alone, and I—ah—I can speak freely the words that +have been in my heart to say to you for so long—oh, so long a +time.” (Jennie <i>appears surprised</i>.) “I +have never even hinted at how I feel towards you. I have concealed +my love, fearing lest by too sudden a betrayal of my feelings I should +lose all.” (<i>Aside</i>.) Now for a little allusion +to the poets. Poetry, they say, is a great thing for proposals. +“You know, dearest, you must know, how the poet has phrased it—‘Fain +would I fall but that I fear to climb.’ But now—now +I must speak. An opportunity like this may not occur again. +Will you—will you be my wife?”</p> +<p>[Jennie <i>gives a little scream of delight</i>.</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i>. Oh, Mr. Yardsley, this is so suddent like and +unexpected, and me so far beneath you!</p> +<p>[Yardsley <i>looks up and is covered with confusion</i>.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Great Scott! What have I done?</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i>. But of course it ain’t for the likes of +me to say no to—</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>rising</i>). For Heaven’s sake, Jennie—do +be sensi—Don’t—say—Jennie, why—ah—(<i>Aside</i>.) +Oh, confound it! What the deuce shall I say? What’s +the matter with my tongue? Where’s my vocabulary? +A word! a word! my kingdom for a word! (<i>Aloud</i>.) Now, +Jen—</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i> (<i>coyly</i>). I has been engaged to Mr. Hicks, +the coach gentleman, sir, but—</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Good! good! I congratulate you, Jennie. +Hicks is a very fine fellow. Drives like a—like a driver, +Jennie, a born driver. I’ve seen him many a time sitting +like a king on his box—yes, indeed. Noticed him often. +Admired him. Gad, Jennie, I’ll see him myself and tell him; +and what is more, Jennie, I’ll—I’ll give Hicks a fine +present.</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i>. Yes, sir; I has no doubt as how you’ll +be doin’ the square thing by Hicks, for, as I was a-sayin’, +I has been engaged like to him, an’ he has some rights; but I +think as how, if I puts it to him right like, and tells him what a nice +gentleman you are (<i>a ring is heard at the front door</i>), it’ll +be all right, sir. But there goes the bell, and I must run, Mr. +Yardsley. (<i>Ecstatically kissing her hand</i>.) Bob!</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>with a convulsive gasp</i>). Bob? +Jennie! You—er—you misun—(Jennie, <i>with a +smile of joy and an ecstatic glance at</i> Yardsley, <i>dances from +the room to attend the door</i>. Yardsley <i>throws himself into +a chair</i>.) Well, I’ll be teetotally—Awh! +It’s too dead easy proposing to somebody you don’t know +you are proposing to. What a kettle of fish this is, to be sure! +Oh, pshaw! that woman can’t be serious. She must know I +didn’t mean it for her. But if she doesn’t, good Lord! +what becomes of me? (<i>Rises, and paces up and down the room +nervously</i>. <i>After a moment he pauses before the glass</i>.) +I ought to be considerably dishevelled by this. I feel as if I’d +been drawn through a knot-hole—or—or dropped into a stone-crusher—that’s +it, a stone-crusher—a ten million horse power stone-crusher. +Let’s see how you look, you poor idiot.</p> +<p>[<i>As he is stroking his hair and rearranging his tie he talks in +pantomime at himself in the glass. In a moment</i> Jennie<i> ushers</i> +Mr. Jack Barlow<i> into the room.</i></p> +<p><i>Jennie</i>. Miss Andrews will be down in a minute, sir.</p> +<p>[Barlow <i>takes arm-chair and sits gazing ahead of him</i>. +<i>Neither he nor</i> Yardsley <i>perceives the other</i>. Jennie +<i>tiptoes to one side, and, tossing a kiss at</i> Yardsley, <i>retires.</i></p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Now for it. I shall leave this house to-day +the happiest or the most miserable man in creation, and I rather think +the odds are in my favor. Why shouldn’t they be? Egad! +I can very well understand how a woman could admire me. I admire +myself, rather. I confess candidly that I do not consider myself +half bad, and Dorothy has always seemed to feel that way herself. +In fact, the other night in the Perkinses conservatory she seemed to +be quite ready for a proposal. I’d have done it then and +there if it hadn’t been for that confounded Bob Yardsley—</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>turning sharply about</i>). Eh? Somebody +spoke my name. A man, too. Great heavens! I hope Jennie’s +friend Hicks isn’t here. I don’t want to have a scene +with Hicks. (<i>Discovering</i> Barlow.) Oh—ah—why—hullo, +Barlow! You here?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>impatiently, aside</i>). Hang it! Yardsley’s +here too! The man’s always turning up when he’s not +wanted. (<i>Aloud</i>.) Ah! why, Bob, how are you? +What’re you doing here?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. What do you suppose—tuning the piano? +I’m here because I want to be. And you?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. For the same reason that you are.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>aside</i>). Gad! I hope not. +(<i>Aloud</i>.) Indeed? The great mind act again? +Run in the same channel, and all that? Glad to see you. +(<i>Aside</i>.) May the saints forgive me that fib! But +this fellow must be got rid of.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>embarrassed</i>). So’m I. Always +glad to see myself—I mean you—anywhere. Won’t +you sit down?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Thanks. Very kind of you, I’m +sure. (<i>Aside</i>.) He seems very much at home. +Won’t I sit down?—as if he’d inherited the chairs! +Humph! I’ll show him.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. What say?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. I—ah—oh, I was merely remarking +that I thought it was rather pleasant out to-day.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Yes, almost too fine to be shut up in-doors. +Why aren’t you driving, or—or playing golf, or—ah—or +being out-doors somewhere? You need exercise, old man; you look +a little pale. (<i>Aside</i>.) I must get him away from +here somehow. Deuced awkward having another fellow about when +you mean to propose to a woman.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Oh, I’m well enough!</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>solicitously</i>). You don’t look it—by +Jove you don’t. (<i>Suddenly inspired</i>.) No, you +don’t, Bob. You overestimate your strength. It’s +very wrong to overestimate one’s strength. People—ah—people +have died of it. Why, I’ll bet you a hat you can’t +start now and walk up to Central Park and back in an hour. Come. +I’ll time you. (<i>Rises and takes out watch</i>.) +It is now four ten. I’ll wager you can’t get back +here before five thirty. Eh? Let me get your hat.</p> +<p>[<i>Starts for door.</i></p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>with a laugh</i>). Oh no; I don’t +bet—after four. But I say, did you see Billie Wilkins?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>returning in despair</i>). Nope.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>aside</i>). Now for a bit of strategy. +(<i>Aloud</i>.) He was looking for you at the club. (<i>Aside</i>.) +Splendid lie! (<i>Aloud</i>.) Had seats for the—ah—the +Metropolitan to-night. Said he was looking for you. Wants +you to go with him. (<i>Aside</i>.) That ought to start +him along.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. I’ll go with him.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>eagerly</i>). Well, you’d better +let him know at once, then. Better run around there and catch +him while there’s time. He said if he didn’t see you +before half-past four he’d get Tom Parker to go. Fine show +to-night. Wouldn’t lose the opportunity if I were you. +(<i>Looking at his watch</i>.) You’ll just about have time +to do it now if you start at once.</p> +<p>[<i>Grasps</i> Barlow <i>by arm, and tries to force him out</i>. +Barlow <i>holds back, and is about to remonstrate, when</i> Dorothy +<i>enters. Both men rush to greet her</i>; Yardsley <i>catches +her left hand</i>, Barlow <i>her right.</i></p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i> (<i>slightly embarrassed</i>). Why, how do you +do—this is an unexpected pleasure—both of you? Excuse +my left hand, Mr. Yardsley; I should have given you the other if—if +you’d given me time.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Don’t mention it, I pray. The +unexpectedness is wholly mine, Miss Andrews—I mean—ah—the +pleasure is—</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Wholly mine.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i> (<i>withdrawing her hands from both and sitting down</i>). +I haven’t seen either of you since the Perkinses dance. +Wasn’t it a charming affair?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Delightful. I—ah—I didn’t +know that the Perkinses—</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>interrupting</i>). It was a good deal of +a crush, though. As Mrs. Van Darling said to me, “You always +meet—”</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. It’s a pity Perkins isn’t more +of a society man, though, don’t you think?</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. O, I don’t know. I’ve always +found him very pleasant. He is so sincere.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Isn’t he, though? He looked bored +to death all through the dance.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. I thought so too. I was watching him +while you were talking to him, Barlow, and such a look of ennui I never +saw on a man’s face.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Humph!</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Are you going to Mrs. Van Darling’s dinner?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Yes; I received my bid last night. You?</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Oh yes!</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>gloomily</i>). I can’t go very well. +I’m—ah—engaged for Tuesday.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Well, I hope you’ve let Mrs. Van Darling +know. She’s a stickler for promptness in accepting or declining +her invitations. If you haven’t, I’ll tell her for +you. I’m to see her to-night.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Oh no! Never mind. I’ll—I’ll +attend to it.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Oh, of course. But it’s just as +well she should know in advance. You might forget it, you know. +I’ll tell her; it’s no trouble to me.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Of course not, and she can get some one to +take your place.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>desperately</i>). Oh, don’t say anything +about it. Fact is, she—ah—she hasn’t invited +me.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Ah! (<i>Aside</i>.) I knew that +all along. Oh, but I’m clever!</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i> (<i>hastily, to relieve</i> Yardsley’s<i> embarrassment</i>). +Have you seen Irving, Mr. Yardsley?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Yes.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (suspiciously). What in? I haven’t +seen you at any of the first nights.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>with a grin</i>). In the grill-room at +the Players.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>aside</i>). Bah!</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i> (<i>laughing</i>). You are so bright, Mr. Yardsley.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>forcing a laugh</i>). Ha, ha, ha! Why, +yes—very clever that. It ought to have a Gibson picture +over it, that joke. It would help it. Those Gibson pictures +are fine, I think. Carry any kind of joke, eh?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Yes, they frequently do.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. I’m so glad you both like Gibson, for +I just dote on him. I have one of his originals in my portfolio. +I’ll get it if you’d like to see it.</p> +<p>[<i>She rises and goes to the corner of the room, where there stands +a portfolio-case.</i></p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>aside</i>). What a bore Barlow is! +Hang him! I must get rid of him somehow.</p> +<p>[Barlow <i>meanwhile is assisting</i> Dorothy.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>looking around at the others</i>). Jove! +he’s off in the corner with her. Can’t allow that, +for the fact is Barlow’s just a bit dangerous—to me.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i> (<i>rummaging through portfolio</i>). Why, it +<i>was</i> here—</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Maybe it’s in this other portfolio.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>joining them</i>). Yes, maybe it is. +That’s a good idea. If it isn’t in one portfolio maybe +it’s in another. Clever thought! I may be bright, +Miss Andrews, but you must have observed that Barlow is thoughtful.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i> (<i>with a glance at</i> Barlow). Yes, Mr. Yardsley, +I have noticed the latter.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Tee-hee! that’s one on you, Bob.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>obtuse</i>). Ha, ha! Yes. Why, +of course! Ha, ha, ha! For repartee I have always said-polite +repartee, of course—Miss Andrews is—(<i>Aside</i>.) +Now what the dickens did she mean by that?</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. I can’t find it here. Let—me +think. Where—can—it—be?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>striking thoughtful attitude</i>). Yes, where +can it be? Let me do your thinking for you, Miss Dorothy. +(<i>Then softly to her</i>.) Always!</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>mocking</i> Barlow). Yes! Let <i>me</i> +think! (<i>Points his finger at his forehead and assumes tragic +attitude</i>. <i>Then stalks to the front of stage in manner of +burlesque</i> Hamlet.) Come, thought, come. Shed the glory +of thy greatness full on me, and thus confound mine enemies. Where +the deuce is that Gibson?</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Oh, I remember. It’s up-stairs. +I took it up with me last night. I’ll ring for Jennie, and +have her get it.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>aside, and in consternation</i>). Jennie! +Oh, thunder! I’d forgotten her. I do hope she remembers +not to forget herself.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. What say?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Nothing; only—ah—only that I thought +it was very—very pleasant out.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. That’s what you said before.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>indignantly</i>). Well, what of it? +It’s the truth. If you don’t believe it, go outside +and see for yourself.</p> +<p>[Jennie <i>appears at the door in response to</i> Dorothy’s +<i>ring</i>. <i>She glances demurely at</i> Yardsley, <i>who tries +to ignore her presence.</i></p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Jennie, go up to my room and look on the table +in the corner, and bring me down the portfolio you will find there. +The large brown one that belongs in the stand over there.</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i> (<i>dazed</i>). Yessum. And shall I be +bringin’ lemons with it?</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Lemons, Jennie?</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i>. You always does have lemons with your tea, mum.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. I didn’t mention tea. I want you +to get my portfolio from up-stairs. It is on the table in the +corner of my room.</p> +<p>[<i>Looks at</i> Jennie <i>in surprise.</i></p> +<p><i>Jennie</i>. Oh, excuse me, mum. I didn’t hear +straight.</p> +<p>[<i>She casts a languishing glance at</i> Yardsley <i>and disappears.</i></p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>noting the glance, presumably aside</i>). +Confound that Jennie!</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>overhearing</i> Yardsley). What’s that? +Confound that Jennie? Why say confound that Jennie? Why +do you wish Jennie to be confounded?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>nervously</i>). I didn’t say that. +I—ah—I merely said that—that Jennie appeared to be—ah—confounded.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. She certainly is confused. I cannot understand +it at all. Ordinarily I have rather envied Jennie her composure.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Oh, I suppose—it’s—it’s—it’s +natural for a young girl—a servant—sometimes to lose her—equipoise, +as it were, on occasions. If we lose ours at times, why not Jennie? +Eh? Huh?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Certainly.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Of course—ha—trained servants +are hard to get these days, anyhow. Educated people—ah—go +into other professions, such as law, and—ah—the ministry—and—</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Well, never mind. Let’s talk of +something more interesting than Jennie. Going to the Chrysanthemum +Show, Mr. Barlow?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. I am; wouldn’t miss it for the world. +Do you know, really now, the chrysanthemum, in my opinion, is the most +human-looking flower we have. The rose is too beautiful, too perfect, +for me. The chrysanthemum, on the other hand—</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>interrupting</i>). Looks so like a football-player’s +head it appeals to your sympathies? Well, perhaps you are right. +I never thought of it in that light before, but—</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i> (<i>smiling</i>). Nor I; but now that you mention +it, it does look that way, doesn’t it?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>not wishing to disagree with</i> Dorothy). +Very much. Droll idea, though. Just like Bob, eh? +Very, very droll. Bob’s always dro—</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>interrupting</i>). When I see a man walking +down the Avenue with a chrysanthemum in his button-hole, I always think +of a wild Indian wearing a scalp for decorative purposes.</p> +<p>[Barlow <i>and</i> Dorothy <i>laugh at this, and during their mirth</i> +Jennie <i>enters with the portfolio</i>. <i>She hands it to</i> +Dorothy. Dorothy <i>rests it on the arm of her chair, and</i> +Barlow <i>looking over one shoulder, she goes through it</i>. +Jennie <i>in passing out throws another kiss to</i> Yardsley.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>under his breath, stamping his foot</i>). +Awgh!</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. What say?</p> +<p>[Dorothy <i>looks up, surprised.</i></p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. I—I didn’t say anything. +My—ah—my shoe had a piece of—ah—</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Oh, say lint, and be done with it.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>relieved, and thankful for the suggestion</i>). +Why, how did you know? It did, you know. Had a piece of +lint on it, and I tried to get it off by stamping, that’s all.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Ah, here it is.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. What? The lint?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Ho! Is the world nothing but lint to you? +Of course not—the Gibson. Charming, isn’t it, Miss +Dorothy?</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i> (<i>holding the picture up</i>). Fine. +Just look at that girl. Isn’t she pretty?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Very.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. And such style, too.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>looking over</i> Dorothy’s <i>other shoulder</i>). +Yes, very pretty, and lots of style. (<i>Softly</i>.) Very—like +some one—some one I know.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>overhearing</i>). I think so myself, Yardsley. +It’s exactly like Josie Wilkins. By-the-way—ah—how +is that little affair coming along, Bob?</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i> (<i>interested</i>). What! You don’t +mean to say—Why, <i>Mister</i> Yardsley!</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>with a venomous glance at</i> Barlow). +Nonsense. Nothing in it. Mere invention of Barlow’s. +He’s a regular Edison in his own way.</p> +<p>[Dorothy <i>looks inquiringly at</i> Barlow.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>to</i> Yardsley). Oh, don’t be so sly +about it, old fellow! <i>Every</i>body knows.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. But I tell you there’s nothing in it. +I—I have different ideas entirely, and you—you know it—or, +if you don’t, you will shortly.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Oh! Then it’s some one else, Mr. +Yardsley? Well, now I <i>am</i> interested’. Let’s +have a little confidential talk together. Tell <i>us</i>, Mr. +Yardsley, tell Mr. Barlow and me, and maybe—I can’t say +for certain, of course—but maybe we can help you.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>gleefully rubbing his hands</i>). Yes, old +man; certainly. Maybe we—we can help you.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>desperately</i>). You can help me, both +of you—but—but I can’t very well tell you how.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. I’m willing to do all I can for you, my +dear Bob. If you will only tell us her name I’ll even go +so far as to call, in your behalf, and propose for you.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Oh, thanks. You are very kind.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. I think so too, Mr. Barlow. You are almost +too kind, it seems to me.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Oh no; not too kind, Miss Andrews. Barlow +simply realizes that one who has proposed marriage to young girls as +frequently as he has knows how the thing is done, and he wishes to give +me the benefit of his experience. (<i>Aside</i>.) That’s +a facer for Barlow.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Ha, ha, ha! Another joke, I suppose. +You see, my dear Bob, that I am duly appreciative. I laugh. +Ha, ha, ha! But I must say I laugh with some uncertainty. +I don’t know whether you intended that for a joke or for a staggerer. +You should provide your conversation with a series of printed instructions +for the listener. Get a lot of cards, and have printed on one, +“Please laugh”; on another, “Please stagger”; +on another, “Kindly appear confused.” Then when you +mean to be jocose hand over the laughter card, and so on. Shall +I stagger?</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. I think that Mr. Yardsley meant that for a +joke. Didn’t you, Mr. Yardsley?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Why, certainly. Of course. I don’t +really believe Barlow ever had sand enough to propose to any one. +Did you, Jack?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>indignant</i>). Well, I rather think I have.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Ho, ho! Then you <i>are</i> an experienced +proposer, Mr. Barlow?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>confused</i>). Why—er—well—um—I +didn’t exactly mean that, you know. I meant that—ah—if +it ever came to the—er—the test, I think I could—I’d +have sand enough, as Yardsley puts it, to do the thing properly, and +without making a—ah—a Yardsley of myself.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>bristling up</i>). Now what do you mean +by that?</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. I think you are both of you horrid this afternoon. +You are so quarrelsome. Do you two always quarrel, or is this +merely a little afternoon’s diversion got up for my especial benefit?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>with dignity</i>). I never quarrel.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Nor I. I simply differ sometimes, that’s +all. I never had an unpleasant word with Jack in my life. +Did I, Jack?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Never. I always avoid a fracas, however +great the provocation.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i> (<i>desperately</i>). Then let us have a cup +of tea together and be more sociable. I have always noticed that +tea promotes sociability—haven’t you, Mr. Yardsley?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Always. (<i>Aside</i>.) Among +women.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. What say?</p> +<p>[Dorothy <i>rises and rings the bell for</i> Jennie.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. I say that I am very fond of tea.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. So am I—here. [<i>Rises and looks +at pictures</i>. Yardsley <i>meanwhile sits in moody silence.</i></p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i> (<i>returning</i>). You seem to have something +on your mind, Mr. Yardsley. I never knew you to be so solemn before.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. I have something on my mind, Miss Dorothy. +It’s—</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>coming forward</i>). Wise man, cold weather +like this. It would be terrible if you let your mind go out in +cold weather without anything on it. Might catch cold in your +idea.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. I wonder why Jennie doesn’t come? +I shall have to ring again.</p> +<p>[<i>Pushes electric button again.</i></p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>with an effort at brilliance</i>). The +kitchen belle doesn’t seem to work.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Ordinarily she does, but she seems to be upset +by something this afternoon. I’m afraid she’s in love. +If you will excuse me a moment I will go and prepare the tea myself.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Do; good! Then we shall not need the sugar.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. You might omit the spoons too, after a remark +like that, Miss Dorothy.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. We’ll omit Mr. Barlow’s spoon. +I’ll bring some for you and me. [<i>She goes out.</i></p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>with a laugh</i>). That’s one on +you, Barlow. But I say, old man (<i>taking out his watch and snapping +the cover to three or four times</i>), it’s getting very late—after +five now. If you want to go with Billy Wilkins you’d better +take up your hat and walk. I’ll say good-bye to Miss Andrews +for you.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Thanks. Too late now. You said Billie +wouldn’t wait after four thirty.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Did I say four thirty? I meant five +thirty. Anyhow, Billie isn’t over-prompt. Better go.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. You seem mighty anxious to get rid of me.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. I? Not at all, my dear boy—not +at all. I’m very, very fond of you, but I thought you’d +prefer opera to me. Don’t you see? That’s where +my modesty comes in. You’re so fond of a good chat I thought +you’d want to go to-night. Wilkins has a box.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. You said seats a little while ago.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Of course I did. And why not? +There are seats in boxes. Didn’t you know that?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Look here, Yardsley, what’s up, anyhow? +You’ve been deuced queer to-day. What are you after?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>tragically</i>). Shall I confide in you? +Can I, with a sense of confidence that you will not betray me?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>eagerly</i>). Yes, Bob. Go on. +What is it? I’ll never give you away, and I <i>may</i> be +able to give you some good advice.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. I am here to—to—to rob the house! +Business has been bad, and one must live. [Barlow <i>looks at +him in disgust.</i></p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>mockingly</i>). You have my secret, John +Barlow. Remember that it was wrung from me in confidence. +You must not betray me. Turn your back while I surreptitiously +remove the piano and the gas-fixtures, won’t you?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>looking at him thoughtfully</i>). Yardsley, +I have done you an injustice.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Indeed?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Yes. Some one claimed, at the club, the +other day, that you were the biggest donkey in existence, and I denied +it. I was wrong, old man, I was wrong, and I apologize. +You are.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. You are too modest, Jack. You forget—yourself.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Well, perhaps I do; but I’ve nothing to +conceal, and you have. You’ve been behaving in a most incomprehensible +fashion this afternoon, as if you owned the house.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Well, what of it? Do you own it?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. No, I don’t, but—</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. But you hope to. Well, I have no such +mercenary motive. I’m not after the house.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>bristling up</i>). After the house? +Mercenary motive? I demand an explanation of those words. +What do you mean?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. I mean this, Jack Barlow: I mean that I am +here for—for my own reasons; but you—you have come here +for the purpose of—</p> +<p>Dorothy <i>enters wish a tray, upon which are the tea things.</i></p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>about to retort to</i> Yardsley, <i>perceiving</i> +Dorothy). Ah! Let me assist you.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Thank you so much. I really believe I +never needed help more. (<i>She delivers the tray to</i> Barlow, +<i>who sets it on the table</i>. Dorothy, <i>exhausted, drops +into a chair</i>.) Fan me—quick—or I shall faint. +I’ve—I’ve had an awful time, and I really don’t +know what to do!</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> and <i>Yardsley</i> (<i>together</i>). Why, what’s +the matter?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. I hope the house isn’t on fire?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Or that you haven’t been robbed?</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. No, no; nothing like that. It’s—it’s +about Jennie.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>nervously</i>). Jennie? Wha—wha—what’s +the matter with Jennie?</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. I only wish I knew. I—</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>aside</i>). I’m glad you don’t.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. What say?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. I didn’t say anything. Why should +I say anything? I haven’t anything to say. If people +who had nothing to say would not insist upon talking, you’d be—</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. I heard the poor girl weeping down-stairs, +and when I went to the dumbwaiter to ask her what was the matter, I +heard—I heard a man’s voice.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Man’s voice?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Man’s voice is what Miss Andrews said.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Yes; it was Hicks, our coachman, and he was +dreadfully angry about something.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>sinking into chair</i>). Good Lord! +Hicks! Angry! At—something!</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. He was threatening to kill somebody.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. This grows worse and worse! Threatening +to kill somebody! D-did-did you o-over-overhear huh-huh-whom he +was going to kuk-kill?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. What’s the matter with you, Yardsley? +Are you going to die of fright, or have you suddenly caught a chill?</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Oh, I hope not! Don’t die here, +anyhow, Mr. Yardsley. If you must die, please go home and die. +I couldn’t stand another shock to-day. Why, really, I was +nearly frightened to death. I don’t know now but what I +ought to send for the police, Hicks was so violent.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Perhaps she and Hicks have had a lovers’ +quarrel.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Very likely; very likely indeed. I think +that is no doubt the explanation of the whole trouble. Lovers +will quarrel. They were engaged, you know.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i> (<i>surprised</i>). No, I didn’t know +it. Were they? Who told you?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>discovering his mistake</i>). Why—er—wasn’t +it you said so, Miss Dorothy? Or you, Barlow?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. I have not the honor of the young woman’s +confidence, and so could not have given you the information.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. I didn’t know it, so how could I have +told you?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>desperately</i>). Then I must have dreamed +it. I do have the queerest dreams sometimes, but there’s +nothing strange about this one, anyhow. Parlor-maids frequently +do—er—become engaged to coachmen and butlers and that sort +of thing. It isn’t a rare occurrence at all. If I’d +said she was engaged to Billie Wilkins, or to—to Barlow here—</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Or to yourself.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Sir? What do you mean to insinuate? +That I am engaged to Jennie?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. I never said so.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Oh dear, let us have the tea. You quarrelsome +men are just wearing me out. Mr. Barlow, do you want cream in +yours?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. If you please; and one lump of sugar. +(Dorothy <i>pours is out</i>.) Thanks.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Mr. Yardsley?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Just a little, Miss Andrews. No cream, +and no sugar.</p> +<p>[Dorothy <i>prepares a cup for</i> Yardsley. <i>He is about +to take it when—</i></p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Well, I declare! It’s nothing but +hot water! I forgot the tea entirely!</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>with a laugh</i>). Oh, never mind. +Hot water is good for dyspepsia.</p> +<p>[<i>With a significant look at</i> Yardsley.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. It depends on how you get it, Mr. Barlow. +I’ve known men who’ve got dyspepsia from living in hot water +too much.</p> +<p>[<i>As</i> Yardsley <i>speaks the portière is violently clutched +from without, and</i> Jennie’s <i>head is thrust into the room</i>. +<i>No one observes her.</i></p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Well, my cup is very satisfactory to me, Miss +Dorothy. Fact is, I’ve always been fond of cambric tea, +and this is just right.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>patronizingly</i>). It <i>is</i> good for +children.</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i> (<i>trying to attract</i> Yardsley’s <i>attention</i>). +Pst!</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. My mamma lets me have it Sunday nights.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Ha, ha, ha!</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Another joke? Good. Let me enjoy +it too. Hee, Hee!</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i>. Pst!</p> +<p>[Barlow <i>looks around</i>; Jennie <i>hastily withdraws her head.</i></p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. I didn’t know you had steam heat in this +house.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. We haven’t. What put such an idea +as that into your head?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Why, I thought I heard the hissing of steam, +the click of a radiator, or something of that sort back by the door.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Maybe the house is haunted.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. I fancy it was your imagination: or perhaps +it was the wind blowing through the hall. The pantry window is +open.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. I guess maybe that’s it. How fine +it must be in the country now!</p> +<p>[Jennie <i>pokes her head in through the portières again, +and follows it with her arm and hand, in which is a feather duster, +which she waves wildly in an endeavor to attract</i> Yardsley’s +<i>attention.</i></p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Divine. I should so love to be out of +town still. It seems to me people always make a great mistake +returning to the city so early in the fall. The country is really +at its best at this time of year.</p> +<p>[Yardsley <i>turns half around, and is about to speak, when he catches +sight of the now almost hysterical</i> Jennie <i>and her feather duster.</i></p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Yes; I think so too. I was at Lenox last +week, and the foliage was gorgeous.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>feeling that he must say something</i>). +Yes. I suppose all the feathers on the maple-trees are turning +red by this time.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Feathers, Mr. Yardsley?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Feathers?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>with a furtive glance at</i> Jennie). Ha, +ha! What an absurd slip! Did I say feathers? I meant—I +meant leaves, of course. All the leaves on the dusters are turning.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. I don’t believe you know what you do mean. +Who ever heard of leaves on dusters? What are dusters? Do +you know, Miss Dorothy?</p> +<p>[<i>As he turns to</i> Miss Andrews, Yardsley <i>tries to wave</i> +Jennie <i>away</i>. <i>She beckons with her arms more wildly than +ever, and</i> Yardsley <i>silently speaks the words</i>, “Go away.”</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. I’m sure I don’t know of any tree +by that name, but then I’m not a—not a what?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>with a forced laugh</i>). Treeologist</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. What are dusters, Mr. Yardsley?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Yes, old man, tell us. I’m anxious +to find out myself.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>aside</i>). So am I. What the deuce +are dusters, for this occasion only? (<i>Aloud</i>) What? +Never heard of dusters? Ho! Why, dear me, where have you +been all your lives? (<i>Aside</i>.) Must gain time to think +up what dusters are. (<i>Aloud</i>.) Why, they’re +as old as the hills.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. That may be, but I can’t say I think your +description is at all definite.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Do they look like maples?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>with an angry wave of his arms towards</i> Jennie). +Something—in fact, very much. They’re exactly like +them. You can hardly tell them from oaks.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Oaks?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. I said oaks. Oaks! O-A-K-S!</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. But oaks aren’t like maples.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Well, who said they were? We were talking +about oaks—and—er—and dusters. We—er—we +used to have a row of them in front of our old house at— (<i>Aside</i>.) +Now where the deuce did we have the old house? Never had one, +but we must for the sake of the present situation. (<i>Aloud</i>.) +Up at—at—Bryn-Mawr—or at—Troy, or some such +place, and—at—they kept the—the dust of the highway +from getting into the house. (<i>With a sigh of relief</i>.) +And so, you see, they were called dusters. Thought every one knew +that.</p> +<p>[<i>As</i> Yardsley <i>finishes</i>, Jennie <i>loses her balance +and falls headlong into the room.</i></p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i> (<i>starting up hastily</i>). Why, Jennie!</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>staggering</i> <i>into chair</i>). That +settles it. It’s all up with me. [Jennie <i>sobs, +and, rising, rushes to</i> Yardsley’s <i>side</i>.</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i>. Save yourself; he’s going to kill you!</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Jennie! What is the meaning of this? +Mr. Yardsley—can—can you shed any light on this mystery?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>pulling himself together with a great effort</i>). +I? I assure you I can’t, Miss Andrews. How could I? +All I know is that somebody is—is going to kill me, though for +what I haven’t the slightest idea.</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i> (<i>indignantly</i>). Eh? What! Why, +Mr. Yardsley—Bob!</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Bob?</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Jennie! Bob?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Don’t you call me Bob.</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i>. It’s Hicks. [<i>Bursts out crying.</i></p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Hicks?</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Jennie, Hicks isn’t Bob. His name—is +George.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>in a despairing rage</i>). Hicks be—</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Mr. Yardsley!</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>pulling himself together again</i>). Bobbed. +Hicks be Bobbed. That’s what I was going to say.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. What on earth does this all mean? I must +have an explanation, Jennie. What have you to say for yourself?</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i>. Why, I—</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. I tell you it isn’t true. She’s +made it up out of whole cloth.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. What isn’t true? She hasn’t +said anything yet.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>desperately</i>). I refer to what she’s +going to say. I’m a—a—I’m a mind-reader, +and I see it all as plain as day.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. I can best judge of the truth of Jennie’s +words when she has spoken them, Mr. Yardsley. Jennie, you may +explain, if you can. What do you mean by Hicks killing Mr. Yardsley, +and why do you presume to call Mr. Yardsley by his first name?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>aside</i>). Heigho! My goose is cooked.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. I fancy you wish you had taken that walk I suggested +now.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. You always were a good deal of a fancier.</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i>. I hardly knows how to begin, Miss Dorothy. +I—I’m so flabbergasted by all that’s happened this +afternoon, mum, that I can’t get my thoughts straight, mum.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Never mind getting your thoughts straight, +Jennie. I do not want fiction. I want the truth.</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i>. Well, mum, when a fine gentleman like Mr. Yardsley +asks—</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. I tell you it isn’t so.</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i>. Indeed he did, mum.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i> (<i>impatiently</i>). Did what?</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i>. Axed me to marry him, mum.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Mr. Yardsley—asked—you—to—to +marry him? [Barlow <i>whistles.</i></p> +<p><i>Jennie</i> (<i>bursting into tears again</i>). Yes, mum, +he did, mum, right here in this room. He got down on his knees +to me on that Proossian rug before the sofa, mum. I was standin’ +behind the sofa, havin’ just come in to tell him as how you’d +be down shortly. He was standin’ before the lookin’-glass +lookin’ at himself, an’ when I come in he turns around and +goes down on his knees and says such an importunity may not occur again, +mum; I’ve loved you very long; and then he recited some pottery, +mum, and said would I be his wife.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>desperately</i>). Let me explain.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Wait, Mr. Yardsley; your turn will come in +a moment.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Yes, it’ll be here, my boy; don’t +fret about that. Take all the time you need to make it a good +one. Gad, if this doesn’t strain your imagination, nothing +will.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Go on, Jennie. Then what happened?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>with an injured expression</i>). Do you +expect me to stand here, Miss Andrews, and hear this girl’s horrible +story?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Then you know the story, do you, Yardsley? +It’s horrible, and you are innocent. My! you are a mind-reader +with a vengeance.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Don’t mind what these gentlemen say, +Jennie, but go on.</p> +<p>[Yardsley <i>sinks into the arm-chair</i>. Barlow <i>chuckles</i>; +Miss Andrews <i>glances indignantly at him.</i></p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Pardon me, Mr. Barlow. If there is any +humor in the situation, I fail to see it.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>seeing his error</i>). Nor, indeed, do I. +I was not—ah—laughing from mirth. That chuckle was +hysterics, Miss Dorothy, I assure you. There are some laughs that +can hardly be differentiated from sobs.</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i>. I was all took in a heap, mum, to think of a +fine gentleman like Mr. Yardsley proposing to me, mum, and I says the +same. Says I, “Oh, Mr. Yardsley, this is so suddent like,” +whereat he looks up with a countenance so full o’ pain that I +hadn’t the heart to refuse him; so, fergettin’ Hicks for +the moment, I says, kind of soft like, certingly, sir. It ain’t +for the likes o’ me to say no to the likes o’ him.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Then you said you were engaged to Hicks. +You know you did, Jennie.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Ah! Then you admit the proposal?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Oh Lord! Worse and worse! I—</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Jennie has not finished her story.</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i>. I did say as how I was engaged to Hicks, but +I thought he would let me off; and Mr. Yardsley looked glad when I said +that, and said he’d make it all right with Hicks.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. What? I? Jennie O’Brien, +or whatever your horrible name is, do you mean to say that I said I’d +make it all right with Hicks?</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i>. Not in them words, Mr. Yardsley; but you did +say as how you’d see him yourself and give him a present. +You did indeed, Mr. Yardsley, as you was a-standin’ on that there +Proossian rug.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Did you, Mr. Yardsley?</p> +<p>[Yardsley <i>buries his face in his hands and groans.</i></p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Not so ready with your explanations now, eh?</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Mr. Barlow, really I must ask you not to interfere. +Did you say that, Mr. Yardsley?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. I did, but—</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i> (<i>frigidly</i>). Go on, Jennie.</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i>. Just then the front-door bell rings and Mr. +Barlow comes, and there wasn’t no more importunity for me to speak; +but when I got down-stairs into the kitchen, mum, Mr. Hicks he comes +in, an’ (<i>sobs</i>)—an’ I breaks with him.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. You’ve broken with Hicks for me?</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i>. Yes, I have—but I wouldn’t never +have done it if I’d known—boo-hoo—as how you’d +behave this way an’ deny ever havin’ said a word. +I—I—I 1-lo-love Mr. Hicks, an’—I—I hate +you—and I wish I’d let him come up and kill you, as he said +he would.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Jennie! Jennie! be calm! Where +is Hicks now?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. That’s so. Where is Hicks? +I want to see him.</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i>. Never fear for that. You’ll see +him. He’s layin’ for you outside. An’ +that, Miss Dorothy, is why—I was a-wavin’ at him an’ +sayin’ “pst” to him. I wanted to warn him, mum, +of his danger, mum, because Hicks is very vi’lent, and he told +me in so many words as how he was a-goin’ to <i>do—him—up</i>.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. You’d better inform Mr. Hicks, Jennie, +that Mr. Yardsley is already done up.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Do me up, eh? Well, I like that. +I’m not afraid of any coachman in creation as long as he’s +off the box. I’ll go see him at once.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. No—no—no. Don’t, Mr. +Yardsley; don’t, I beg of you. I don’t want to have +any scene between you.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>heroically</i>). What if he succeeds? +I don’t care. As Barlow says, I’m done up as it is. +I don’t want to live after this. What’s the use. +Everything’s lost.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>dryly</i>). Jennie hasn’t thrown you +over yet.</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i> (<i>sniffing airily</i>). Yes, she has, too. +I wouldn’t marry him now for all the world—an’—and +I’ve lost—lost Hicks. (<i>Weeps</i>.) Him as +was so brave, an’ looks so fine in livery!</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. If you’d only give me a chance to say +something—</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Appears to me you’ve said too much already.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i> (<i>coldly</i>). I—I don’t agree +with Mr. Barlow. You—you haven’t said enough, Mr. +Yardsley. If you have any explanation to make, I’ll listen.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>looks up gratefully</i>. <i>Suddenly his +face brightens</i>. <i>Aside</i>). Gad! The very thing! +I’ll tell the exact truth, and if Dorothy has half the sense I +think she has, I’ll get in my proposal right under Barlow’s +very nose. (<i>Aloud</i>.) My—my explanation, Miss +Andrews, is very simple. I—ah—I cannot deny having +spoken every word that Jennie has charged to my account. I did +get down on my knees on the rug. I did say “divine creature.” +I did not put it strong enough. I should have said “divinest +of <i>all</i> creatures.”</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i> (<i>in remonstrance</i>). Mr. Yardsley!</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>aside</i>). Magnificent bluff! But +why? (<i>Rubs his forehead in a puzzled way</i>.) What the +deuce is he driving at?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Kindly let me finish. I did say “I +love you.” I should have said “I adore you; I worship +you.” I did say “Will you be my wife?” and I +was going to add, “for if you will not, then is light turned into +darkness for me, and life, which your ‘yes’ will render +radiantly beautiful, will become dull, colorless, and not worth the +living.” That is what I was going to say, Miss Andrews—Miss +Dorothy—when—when Jennie interrupted me and spoke the word +I most wish to hear—spoke the word “yes”; but it was +not her yes that I wished. My words of love were not for her.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>perceiving his drift</i>). Ho! Absurd! +Nonsense! Most unreasonable! You were calling the sofa the +divinest of all creatures, I suppose, or perhaps asking the—the +piano to put on its shoes and—elope with you. Preposterous!</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i> (<i>softly</i>). Go on, Mr. Yardsley.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. I—I spoke a little while ago about sand—courage—when +it comes to one’s asking the woman he loves the greatest of all +questions. I was boastful. I pretended that I had that courage; +but—well, I am not as brave as I seem. I had come, Miss +Dorothy, to say to you the words that fell on Jennie’s ears, and—and +I began to get nervous—stage-fright, I suppose it was—and +I was foolish enough to rehearse what I had to say—to you, and +to you alone.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Let me speak, Miss Andrews. I—</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. You haven’t anything to do with the +subject in hand, my dear Barlow, not a thing.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Jennie—what—what have you to say?</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i>. Me? Oh, mum, I hardly knows what to say! +This is suddenter than the other; but, Miss Dorothy, I’d believe +him, I would, because—I—I think he’s tellin’ +the truth, after all, for the reason that—oh dear—for—</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Don’t be frightened, Jennie. For +what reason?</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i>. Well, mum, for the reason that when I said “yes,” +mum, he didn’t act like all the other gentlemen I’ve said +yes to, and—and k—kuk—kiss me.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. That’s it! that’s it! Do +you suppose that if I’d been after Jennie’s yes, and got +it, I’d have let a door-bell and a sofa stand between me and—the +sealing of the proposal?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>aside</i>). Oh, what nonsense this all is! +I’ve got to get ahead of this fellow in some way. (<i>Aloud</i>.) +Well, where do I come in? I came here, Miss Andrews, to—tell +you—</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>interposing</i>). You come in where you +came in before—just a little late—after the proposal, as +it were.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i> (<i>her face clearing and wreathing with smiles</i>). +What a comedy of errors it has all been! I—I believe you, +Mr. Yardsley.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Thank Heaven! And—ah—you +aren’t going to say anything more, D—Dorothy?</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. I’m afraid—</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Are you going to make me go through that proposal +all over again, now that I’ve got myself into so much trouble +saying it the first time—Dorothy?</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. No, no. You needn’t—you needn’t +speak of it again.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i> (<i>aside</i>). Good! That’s <i>his +congé.</i></p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. And—then if I—if I needn’t +say it again? What then? Can’t I have—my answer +now? Oh, Miss Andrews—</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i> (<i>with downcast eyes, softly</i>). What did +Jennie say?</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i> (<i>in ecstasy</i>). Do you mean it?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. I fancy—I fancy I’d better go now, +Miss—er—Miss Andrews. I—I—have an appointment +with Mr. Wilkins, and—er—I observe that it is getting rather +late.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Don’t go yet, Jack. I’m +not so anxious to be rid of you now.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. I must go—really.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. But I want you to make me one promise before +you go.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. He’ll make it, I’m sure, if I ask +him. Mr. Yardsley and I want you—want you to be our best +man.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. That’s it, precisely. Eh, Jack?</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Well, yes. I’ll be—second-best +man, The events of the afternoon have shown my capacity for that.</p> +<p><i>Yardsley</i>. Ah!</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. And I’ll show my sincerity by wearing +Bob’s hat and coat into the street now and letting the fury of +Hicks fall upon me.</p> +<p><i>Jennie</i>. If you please, Miss Dorothy—I—I +think I can attend to Mr. Hicks.</p> +<p><i>Dorothy</i>. Very well. I think that would be better. +You may go, Jennie.</p> +<p>[Jennie <i>departs.</i></p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. Well, good-day. I—I’ve had +a very pleasant afternoon, Miss—Andrews. Thanks for the—the +cambric tea.</p> +<p>Dorothy. Good-bye, and don’t forget.</p> +<p><i>Barlow</i>. I’m afraid—I won’t. +Good-bye, Bob. I congratulate you from my heart. I was in +hopes that I should have the pleasure of having you for a best man at +my wedding, but—er—there’s many a slip, you know, +and I wish you joy.</p> +<p>[Yardsley<i> shakes him by the hand, and</i> Barlow<i> goes out. +As he disappears through the portières</i> Yardsley<i> follows, +and, holding the curtain aside, looks after him until the front door +is heard closing. Then he turns about</i>. Dorothy<i> looks +demurely around at him, and as he starts to go to her side the curtain +falls.</i></p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BICYCLERS AND THREE OTHER FARCES</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 11759-h.htm or 11759-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/1/7/5/11759 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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