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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43299 ***
+
+    SQUARE PEGS
+
+    A RHYMED FANTASY FOR
+    TWO GIRLS
+
+    _By Clifford Bax_
+
+
+
+
+_By the Same Author_
+
+
+Poems Dramatic and Lyrical, 1911. A few remaining copies can be had
+from Hendersons
+
+  The Poetasters of Ispahan. A Comedy in Verse 1912. (_Out of print._)
+                                                                 Goschen
+
+  A House of Words (Poems)                                Blackwell 5_s_
+
+        Here is a house of words
+        Built for the maker's mind.
+    Enter: and, if you will, stay with me long.
+        But, if you like it not,
+        Go with good grace. The man
+    Who builds his own house builds to please himself.
+
+  Twenty-five Chinese Poems, _paraphrased by Clifford Bax_. Second
+  Edition Revised and Enlarged                           Hendersons 1_s_
+
+  Friendship (An Essay)                                    Batsford 3_s_
+
+  Antique Pageantry: Four Plays in verse (including The Poetasters).
+                                                        (_In the Press_)
+
+
+
+
+SQUARE PEGS
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+    SQUARE PEGS
+
+    _A Rhymed Fantasy for Two Girls_
+
+
+    BY
+
+    CLIFFORD BAX
+
+
+    LONDON: HENDERSONS
+
+    66 CHARING CROSS ROAD, W.C.
+
+    1920
+
+
+
+
+    _To_
+
+    H. F. RUBINSTEIN
+
+
+
+
+_This play was first performed at Farthingstone on June 19th, 1919, by
+Phyllis Reid (Hilda Gray) and Margot Sieveking (Gioconda), having been
+written at their request._
+
+
+
+
+SQUARE PEGS
+
+
+CHARACTERS.
+
+    HILDA          A MODERN GIRL.
+
+    GIOCONDA       A FIFTEENTH CENTURY VENETIAN.
+
+
+SCENE.
+
+_A Garden. Entrance right and left. Left, a table and two chairs. (The
+general effect should suggest a little lawn which leads outward in
+several directions.)_
+
+_The arrival of a taxicab is heard, off. Enter left_, HILDA _in
+summer hat and dress and with a light cloak on her arm. She carries a
+folding-map and a small book._
+
+HILDA (_speaking off, left_).
+
+    What's that? As certain as your name's Joe Billings
+    The taximeter points at fifteen shillings.
+    Well, and you've had a pound. What? Made a slip?
+    _I_ thought five shillings was a handsome tip.
+    You want my father's home-address? 'The Haven,
+    Chad Crescent, Baystead, North-West 57.'
+    He'll write you out a cheque--I'm sure he will.
+
+                               [_Sound of a motor-horn growing fainter._
+
+    The creature's gone. These taxi-men! But still--
+    At last I've found the Enchanted Garden... Wait:
+    Suppose that isn't really Merlin's Gate,
+    Nor this the garden where a girl who loathes
+    Our Twentieth Century (all except its clothes)
+    May turn the Book of Time to any page
+    And find herself back in a lovelier age?
+    The map will show. Yes, there's the gate, and there's
+    That wall, that table, these two empty chairs...
+    Everything's right. How wonderful, how splendid,
+    To know that here the roar of time has ended!
+    Now, let me see...                            [_Consulting her map._
+
+                       If I should take that road
+    What century should I have for my abode?
+    'To Ancient Rome.' Lovely!
+
+                             [_She starts to go out, right. Then stops._
+
+                               It might be serious,
+    Though, if I chanced on Nero or Tiberius.
+    The Romans had no manners... This way here--
+    So the map says--would lead me to the year
+    Ten-sixty-six. I won't be such a fool
+    As go back where I stuck so long at school.
+    William the First was always dull. I know
+    He'd make me listen to him--standing so,
+    With Bayeux hands, knee crookèd, and neck bowed--
+    While he read all the Domesday Book aloud.
+    I shan't go there... Now, that's a pretty view!
+
+                                                [_Referring to the map._
+
+    'The Eighteenth Century: Boswell Avenue.'
+    I might try that. But no--that won't do either.
+    I'd have to wear a wig or tell them why there,
+    Love coffee-houses more than trees and birds
+    And talk in such tremendously long words.
+    I know, I know! If I can find the way
+    I'll wander back into the sumptuous day
+    When, in his gardens near the warm lagoon,
+    Titian gave feasts under the stars and moon.
+    That would be heavenly! Those were noble times.
+    There was a grandeur even about the crimes
+    Of people like the Borgias ... and their dresses,
+    And the sweet way they wore their hair in tresses,
+    And--oh, and everything! What was Titian's date?
+    I mustn't err into a time too late;
+    But how to make quite sure? I'll take a look
+    In this adorable fire-coloured book--
+    Addington Symonds... Oh, that I knew more!
+    Was it in fifteen-sixty or before?
+
+           [_Settling herself in one of the chairs, she becomes absorbed
+               in her book. Enter, right_, GIOCONDA _carrying two or
+               three modern novels_.
+
+GIOCONDA (_speaking off, right_).
+
+    I thank you, gondolier. You drowned my nurse
+    With true dramatic finish. Take this purse.
+    So--I am in that Garden where time speeds
+    Backward or forward as our fancy needs.
+    How sick I am of cloaks and ambuscades,
+    Of poison, daggers, moonlight serenades,
+    Of those dull dances that are all _I_ get--
+    Pavane, gavotte, forlana, minuet--
+    And the long pageant of our life at Venice!
+    Now, in the Twentieth Century there is tennis,
+    With cream and strawberries round a chestnut-tree,
+    And day-long idling in the June-blue sea,
+    And soda-fountains, too, and motor-cars,
+    And Henley Weeks and Russian Ballet 'stars.'
+    Oh, what a wealth of joy that century has!
+    To think that I myself may learn to jazz!
+    Truly, I judge it has no slightest flaw--
+    The glorious age of Bennett, Wells, and Shaw.
+
+                [_She sets her books on the table and curtsies to them._
+
+    Gramercy now--Shaw, Bennett, Wells, and Co.--
+    Since you have shown me what I longed to know,
+    How to behave, talk, smoke, and bob my hair
+    In nineteen-twenty, when at last I'm there.
+    Could I but find a guide! How shall I tell
+    Which road to follow? If I listen well
+    I ought to hear the roaring of their trains,
+    Their motor-horns, their humming monoplanes...
+
+                                   [_She listens intently for a moment._
+
+    The very bees are silent...                         [_Seeing_ HILDA.
+
+                                Who is that?
+    Surely, unless the books have lied, her hat
+    Came from 'Roulette's,' in Portman Square, West One!
+    A Twentieth-Century girl! The thing is done--
+    I need but ask her which way London lies.
+
+                                             [_Kissing her hand, right._
+
+    Farewell, Rialto! Farewell, Bridge of Sighs!
+
+                   [_She goes up to_ HILDA _and curtsies ceremoniously_.
+
+    Dear Signorina ... Signorina ... Deep
+    In Bennett's fragrant works, or can she sleep?
+    Could _The Five Towns_ have bored her? Let me try
+    Once more. Most noble Signorina...
+
+HILDA (_starting up_).
+
+                                       Why,
+    Who are you, lady? By your dress and ways
+    I think you must have come from Titian's days.
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    Indeed, I do. Old Titian! How he talks!
+    He did my portrait last July in chalks.
+    But grant me the great liberty, I pray,
+    Of asking what your name is...
+
+HILDA.
+
+                                   Hilda Gray.
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    How sweet and to the point!
+
+HILDA.
+
+                                And yours?
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+                                           Gioconda
+    Francesca Violante Giulia della Bionda.
+
+HILDA.
+
+    It is a poem in itself! It shines
+    Like the soft sheen on Tasso's velvet lines.
+    What can have led you to forego an age
+    When life was an illuminated page
+    From some superb romance?
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+                              And what, I wonder,
+    Can have torn you and your rich time asunder?
+
+HILDA.
+
+    I'll tell you, for I'm sure you'll sympathise.
+    I have a lover...
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+                      That is no surprise.
+
+HILDA.
+
+    And by the post this morning came a letter--
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    From him?
+
+HILDA.
+
+              From him.
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+                        What could have happened better?
+
+HILDA.
+
+    Ah! naturally you think that Harry writes
+    Of longing, suicide, and sleepless nights.
+    Did he, I'd read his letters ten times over--
+    But you don't know the Twentieth Century lover.
+    Oh, for a man who'd write through tears, all swimmily,
+    And woo me with grand metaphor and simile!
+    I couldn't bear the slang that Harry used
+    In asking for my hand.
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+                  So you refused!
+
+HILDA.
+
+    Yes, and came here to seek a braver time.
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    How odd! _I_ had a letter, all in rhyme,
+    Brought by a lackey to my father's gate
+    Just when dawn broke. As if I couldn't wait!
+    He dashed up, panting; and his horse's mouth
+    Was flecked with blood and foam...
+
+HILDA (_clasping her hands_).
+
+                                      The passionate South!
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    The fellow gave the letter, gasped, went red,
+    And straightway horse and lackey fell down dead.
+    I scanned the note, observed the flowery phrases
+    In which the writer smothered me with praises;
+    Compared them with the style of Bernard Shaw,
+    And told him briskly that he might withdraw.
+
+HILDA.
+
+    If I could see that letter!
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+                                So you shall,
+    Sweet friend--or, rather, right you are, old pal.
+    I'll read it.
+
+                [_She produces a letter tied with rose-coloured ribbon._
+
+HILDA.
+
+                  Do!... I see his passion's flood
+    Demands red ink.
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+                     Oh dear, no--that's his blood.
+        Now, listen. Did you ever hear a style
+        Quite so absurd? I call it simply vile.              [_Reading._
+          'Adored Gioconda--glittering star
+            Unsullied by the dusty world,
+            Rich rose with leaves but half uncurled,
+          New Venus in thy dove-drawn car--
+          Have pity: drive thy wrath afar.
+            Let Cupid's war-flag be upfurled,
+            Lest by thy gentle hand be hurled
+        The mortal bolt that leaves no scar.
+
+        'So prays upon his aching knee
+          Thy humble vassal, once the fear
+        Of Christendom, but now--woe's me!--
+          One whose wild prayers Love will not hear,
+        Who treads the earth and has no home--
+        Giulio Pandolfo, Duke of Rome.'
+
+HILDA.
+
+    Gioconda, what a lover!
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+                            So _I_ think--
+    His brain a dictionary, his blood mere ink.
+
+HILDA.
+
+    Oh, but _I_ mean how fine a lover! Would
+    That mine could pen a letter half so good!
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    How does he write?
+
+HILDA.
+
+                       Write! Would you deign to call
+    _That_ 'writing'--this illiterate blotted scrawl?
+
+                                                             [_Reading._
+
+        'Dear Hilda, if you buy _The Star_
+          To-night, you mustn't for the world
+          Suppose he got my hair uncurled--
+        That blighter who kyboshed the car.
+        He had the worst of it by far
+          Because the hood on mine was furled.
+          Good Lord! what steep abuse he hurled!
+        Yours, Harry--with a nasty scar.
+
+        'P.S.--The cut's above the knee,
+          And won't be right just yet, I fear
+        Oh, and what price you marrying me?
+          Anything doing? Let me hear.
+        Ring up to-morrow, if you're home.
+        Where shall we do our bunk? To Rome?'
+
+    Now, wasn't that enough to make me mad?
+    It is a shame! It really is too bad!
+    'Dear Hilda'--plain 'dear'! And what girl could marry
+    A man who, when proposing, ends 'yours, Harry'?
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    I love his downright manner. In my mind
+    I see him, a tall figure; and, behind,
+    His old two-seater. Yes, I see him plainly--
+    Close-cropped--
+
+HILDA.
+
+                    Half bald.
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+                               Slow-moving--
+
+HILDA.
+
+                                             And ungainly.
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    A brow like H. G. Wells' my fancy draws,
+    An eye like Bennett's and a beard like Shaw's.
+    I know your Harry--just the English type,
+    A silent strong man married to his pipe,
+    With so few words, except about machines,
+    That he can never tell you what he means:
+    But were _I_ his, and we two went a-walking,
+    What should that matter? _I_ could do the talking.
+
+HILDA.
+
+    Surely you see, Gioconda, I require
+    A lover who can make love with some fire.
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    And I a lover so much overcome
+    By deep emotion that it leaves him dumb.
+
+HILDA.
+
+    No poetry? Then, so far as I can tell,
+    The Twentieth Century ought to suit you well...
+    I've an idea!
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+                  What is it?
+
+HILDA.
+
+                              This: that you
+    Show me how best you'd like a man to woo.
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    I will, I will!
+
+HILDA.
+
+                    Imagine, then, that I
+    Am she for whom you say you'd gladly die.
+    This is my room at Baystead: that's the street:
+    You must come in from there--                  [_Leading her, left._
+                                  and then we meet.
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    By Holy Church, a pretty sport to play!
+    God shield you, Signorina Hilda Grey!                  [_Exit left._
+
+HILDA.
+
+    Now--what's the time? It must be half-past four.
+    It is. I'll give him just one minute more.
+
+          [_Looking at herself in a pocket-mirror, and making a toilet._
+
+    Goodness! I do look horrid... Will he bring
+    An emerald or a pearl engagement-ring?
+    He comes! I'll take pearls as a last resort.
+
+_Enter, left_, GIOCONDA (_carrying a pipe and a walking-stick_).
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    Well, and how _are_ you? In the pink, old sport?
+
+HILDA.
+
+    I'm glad to see you, Harry. Do sit down.
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    'Some' heat to-day, what? Even here. In town
+    Perfectly awful. Got a match?
+
+           [_She tries in vain to light the pipe from a match struck by_
+               HILDA.
+
+                                  I say,
+    Old thing--you really look top-hole to-day.
+
+HILDA.
+
+    Well, naturally: I knew that you were coming.
+
+           [GIOCONDA _pulls at her pipe in silence, pokes the floor with
+               her stick, and shifts it from hand to hand._
+
+    You're very quiet.
+
+GIOCONDA (_with a start_).
+
+                       Oh! what's that you're thumbing?
+
+                    [_Goes over to_ HILDA _and looks over her shoulder._
+
+HILDA.
+
+    Addington Symonds.
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+                       Any good?
+
+HILDA.
+
+                                 Why--gorgeous!
+    You ought to read it--all about the Borgias.
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    What are they? Oh, I see! I had enough
+    Up at the 'Varsity of that sort of stuff.
+    I say--oh, blast the thing, this pipe's a dud!
+
+                                      [_She puts the pipe on the table._
+
+HILDA.
+
+    You smoke too much. They say it slows the blood,
+    And _that_ you simply can't afford.                        [_Pause._
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+                                        I say--
+
+HILDA.
+
+    Well, what?
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+                You really look top-hole to-day.
+
+HILDA.
+
+    How nice! But flattery always was your wont.               [_Pause._
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    I say--
+
+HILDA.
+
+            That's just it, Harry dear--you don't.
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    I came to ask you something...                  [_Producing a ring._
+                                   Ever seen
+    A ring like this? Not a bad sort of green.
+
+HILDA (_taking it_).
+
+    Emeralds! I worship emeralds. They enthrone
+    All the luxuriant summer in a stone.
+    Do let me just see how it looks! The third
+    Finger, I think, is generally preferred?
+    How splendid! Won't she be delighted?
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+                                          Who?
+
+HILDA.
+
+    Your dear Aunt Kate.
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+                         I bought the thing for you.
+
+HILDA.
+
+    Harry!
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+           _You_ know--a what-d'you-call-it ring.
+
+HILDA.
+
+    Engagement?
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+                That's the goods. And in the Spring
+    The parson gets our guinea. What about it?
+
+HILDA.
+
+    See, how it fits! I couldn't do without it.
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    Right-o! Then, that's that: good. But if you carry
+    A diary, jot down, 'Next Spring, marry Harry'--
+    You might forget. You've got a diary?
+
+HILDA (_bringing a small diary from her bag_).
+
+                                          Look--
+    I did blush--buying an engagement-book!
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    Well, how's the enemy? Good Lord! what a shock!
+    D'you know, old bean, it's more than five o'clock?
+
+HILDA.
+
+    You'll have some tea?
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+                          Can't. Sorry. Told two men
+    I'd play a foursome with them at 5.10.
+    You'd better make the fourth.
+
+HILDA.
+
+                                  I really can't.
+    I've got some new delphiniums I _must_ plant.
+
+GIOCONDA (_going out, left_).
+
+    See you to-morrow, then.
+
+HILDA.
+
+                             You'll drive me frantic
+    If you're not just the teeniest bit romantic!
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    It isn't done. You're absolutely wrong
+    In asking me to do that stunt. So long!
+
+                             [_She tosses the pipe and stick off, left._
+
+    There! Did I play it well? You'd be my wife?
+
+HILDA (_sighing_).
+
+    My dear, you played old Harry to the life--
+    His gaucherie...
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+                     His noble self-command...
+
+HILDA.
+
+    The way he shifts his cane from hand to hand...
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    A nervous trick that shows how much he feels...
+
+HILDA.
+
+    All I know is--I'd have a man who kneels
+    And pours out passion in a style as rippling
+    As the best Swinburne--or at least as Kipling.
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    Then I'll now be _your_ lady. To your part--
+    Woo me as you'd be wooed!
+
+HILDA.
+
+                              With all my heart!
+
+              [_Catching up her cloak, she flings it over her shoulder._
+
+    Last Miracle of the World, sainted, adored,
+    Divine Gioconda--hear me, I beg!
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+                                     My lord!
+
+HILDA.
+
+    Dost know of passion? Is that heart so pure
+    As not to guess what torments I endure
+    Who for so long have sighed for thee in vain?
+    And wilt thou have no pity on my pain?
+    Wilt thou still spurn me as a thing abhorred
+    Whose only crime is to love thee?
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+                                      My lord--
+
+HILDA.
+
+    Stay! I will brook no answer. For thy sake
+    Did I not paint the town in crimson-lake?
+    Have I not wrenched thee through thy nunnery-bars?
+    And bear I not some ninety-seven scars
+    Taken as I fought my way to thy fair feet?
+    Think how thy relatives rushed into the street
+    To save thee--how I put them to the sword
+    And left them strewn about in heaps!
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+                                         My lord--
+
+HILDA.
+
+    Had I a boy's light love when I, to win
+    Thy favour, cut off all thy kith and kin?
+    Run through the list! Measure my love by that!
+    Two great-grandfathers (one, I own, was fat);
+    Five brothers; fourteen uncles; half a score
+    Of nephews (and I dare say even more);
+    A brace of maiden-aunts; a second-cousin;
+    And family connections by the dozen.
+    Does it not melt that pitiless heart of ice
+    To see thyself secured at such a price?
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    My lord--
+
+HILDA.
+
+              Or if indeed thy heart requires
+    Flame fiercer than my love's Etnaean fires--
+    Ask what thou wilt, but do not ask that I
+    Live on. Command me, rather, how to die.
+    Say in what style thou'dst have me perish here,
+    So that at least my ardour win one tear!
+    Choose what thou wilt--I'll execute thy charge--
+    Nor fear to speak: my repertoire is large.
+    I can suspend myself upon a rafter;
+    Fall on my blade, and die with horrid laughter;
+    Leap from a height; read Bennett's books; or swallow
+    Poison--and, mark you, with no sweet to follow.
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    My lord--
+
+HILDA.
+
+              Thy choice is made?
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+                                  My lord--
+
+HILDA.
+
+                                            Alack!
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    I have accepted thee ten minutes back.
+
+HILDA.
+
+    Then--I will deign to live. My castle stands
+    Four-towered among its olive-silvered lands.
+    Away! Away! Thou art all heaven to me!
+
+                            [_She drags_ GIOCONDA _right_. _They break._
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    Wonderful! That's Pandolfo to a tee!
+
+HILDA.
+
+    I should adore him!
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+                        And I Harry, too...
+    If only you were I and I were you!
+    But soft! since here we stand beyond the range
+    Of Time, why don't we swop?
+
+HILDA.
+
+                                You mean 'exchange'?
+    Why not? We will!                          [_Moving quickly, right._
+                      May Titian's age enfold me!
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    Stop! Stop! You can't go yet. You haven't told me
+    Where I can find the Twentieth Century.
+
+HILDA (_leading her front, and pointing to the audience_).
+
+                                            Then,
+    Behold its ladies and its gentlemen.
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    What lovely people!... All the same, you know,
+    They're not as I have pictured them.
+
+HILDA.
+
+                                         How so?
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    They're all so still... And then--my fancy boggles
+    To see not one who's wearing motor-goggles!
+    How can I get among them?
+
+HILDA.
+
+                              You must jump
+    Down there.
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+                But that would mean a dreadful bump!
+
+HILDA.
+
+    You want to go from fifteen-sixty sheer
+    To nineteen-twenty. 'Tis a jump, my dear...
+    And so--farewell! I come, I come at last--
+    O fire and sound and perfumes of the Past!
+
+                                         [_She goes out quickly, right._
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    Her eyes were green. However hard he tries,
+    Pandolfo never can resist green eyes.
+    I know he'll die for her and not for me.
+    Why did I let her go? It shall not be!
+
+                                                 [HILDA _enters, right._
+
+HILDA.
+
+    It shall not be! Why did I let her go?
+    Harry will love her more than me, I know.
+    Gioconda!
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+              Hilda!
+
+HILDA.
+
+                     Somehow, after all,
+    I can't let Harry go beyond recall.
+    I think of his good heart: I know how proud
+    I'll be to watch him through a dusty cloud
+    When his new car, balanced upon one tire,
+    Rolls roistering through the lanes of Devonshire.
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    I too, fair friend, perceive with sudden terror
+    The greatness of my momentary error.
+    I mustn't let you risk the enterprise...
+    Pandolfo never could endure green eyes!
+
+HILDA.
+
+    Let us each make the best of her own age!
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    But sometimes you will write me--just a page?
+
+HILDA.
+
+    I will indeed. And you?
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+                            And so will I.
+    Hilda--farewell!
+
+HILDA.
+
+    Gioconda, dear--good-bye!
+
+        [_Standing in the middle of the stage, they take hands and kiss.
+            Then they come to the front, left and right._
+
+    So ends our fantasy--the slight design
+      Arisen and gone like sound in summer trees,
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+      The burden such as every mind may seize--
+    That in all centuries life is goodly wine!
+
+HILDA.
+
+    Which has the more of joy, her age or mine,
+      We leave you to determine as you please.
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+      Mine has the painting-schools--the Sienese,
+    Venetian and unchallenged Florentine.
+
+HILDA.
+
+    Mine has the knowledge that our mortal pains
+      Are fleeing from the skilled physician's arts.
+
+GIOCONDA.
+
+    Mine the delight of unspoiled hills and plains,
+      Fair speech, adventure, and romantic hearts.
+
+HILDA.
+
+    And mine a sense that, by the single sun
+    That all men share, the world for man is one.
+
+
+
+
+LONDON: STRANGEWAYS, PRINTERS.
+
+
+
+
+_AT THE BOMB SHOP_
+
+HENDERSONS
+
+66 Charing Cross Road
+
+
+PLAYS
+
+    By JOSIP KOSOR                                           POST PAID
+                                                               _s_ _d_
+    People of the Universe                                      7   6
+        Four Serbo-Croatian Plays: The Woman, Passion's
+        Furnace, Reconciliation, The Invincible Ship
+
+    By AUGUST STRINDBERG
+        Advent. A Mystery Play                                  1   2
+        Julie. A Play in One Act                                1   2
+        The Creditor. A Play in One Act                         1   2
+        Paria, Simoon. Two One Act Plays                        1   2
+
+    By LEONID ANDREYEV
+        The Dear Departing. A Frivolous Performance in
+            One Act                                             1   2
+
+    By ANTON CHEKHOV
+        The Seagull. A Play in Four Acts                        1   2
+
+    By MILES MALLESON
+        Youth. A Play in Three Acts                             1   8
+        The Little White Thought. A Fantastic Scrap             1   2
+        Paddly Pools. A Little Fairy Play                       1   2
+        Maurice's Own Idea. A Little Dream Play                 1   2
+
+    By E. S. P. HAYNES
+        A Study in Bereavement. A Play in One Act               1   2
+
+    By JOHN BURLEY
+        Tom Trouble. A Play in Four Acts                        1   8
+
+    By GEORG KAISER
+        From Morn to Midnight. A Play in Seven Scenes           2   3
+
+    By HERMAN HEIJERMANS
+        The Good Hope. A Play in Four Acts. (_In the Press._)
+        The Rising Sun. A Play in Four Acts. (_In the Press._)
+
+    By CLIFFORD BAX
+        Square Pegs. A Rhymed Fantasy for Two Girls             1   2
+        Antique Pageantry. Four Plays in verse (including
+          The Poetasters). (_In the Press._)
+
+    By N. EVREINOF
+        The Theatre of the Soul. A Monodrama in One Act         1   2
+          (_2nd Edition in the Press._)
+
+
+  COTERIE _A Quarterly_
+  ART, PROSE AND POETRY
+
+  _Edited by Chaman Lall                                   Contributors_
+
+T. W. Earp, Wilfred Rowland Childe, R. C. Trevelyan, L. A. G. Strong,
+A. E. Coppard, Aldous Huxley, Eric C. Dickinson, Harold J. Massingham,
+Chaman Lall, Russell Green, T. S. Eliot, Conrad Aiken, Richard
+Aldington, Henri Gaudier-Brzeska, John Gould Fletcher, Cora Gordon,
+Helen Rootham, Edith Sitwell, Walter Sickert, W. Rothenstein, Lawrence
+Atkinson, Nina Hamnett, A. Odle, A. Allinson, E. R. Brown, William
+Roberts, Edward Wadsworth, E. H. W. Meyerstein, Herbert Read, Babette
+Deutsch, E. Crawshay Williams, Turnbull, John Flanagan, Modigliani,
+Edward J. O'Brien, Wilfred Owen, Thomas Moult, Wilfrid Wilson Gibson,
+Douglas Goldring, E. R. Dodds, Sacheverell Sitwell, E. C. Blunden,
+Harold Monro, Robert Nicholls, F. S. Flint, Osbert Sitwell, John J.
+Adams, Frederick Manning, Charles Beadle, Royston Dunnachie Campbell,
+John Cournos, Henry J. Felton, H. D., Gerald Gould, C. B. Kitchin,
+Amy Lowell, Paul Selver, Iris Tree, Zadkine, E. M. O'R. Dickie, André
+Derain, David Bomberg, Otakar Brezina, E. Powys Mathers, 'Michal,'
+Raymond Pierpoint, Benjamin Gilbert Brooks, Frank Golding, Archipenko,
+René Durey, Mary Stella Edwards.
+
+
+LONDON: _HENDERSONS_ 66 CHARING CROSS ROAD
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note: The book's use of 3-dot ellipses has been retained.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Square Pegs, by Clifford Bax
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43299 ***