LIVELY
                                  PLAYS
                                   FOR
                                   LIVE
                                  PEOPLE

                                    BY
                          THOMAS STEWART DENISON
                                AUTHOR OF
        Thirty-six plays; also, “An Iron Crown,” “The Man Behind,”
                   “Outlines of World’s History,” etc.

                                 CHICAGO:
                        T. S. DENISON, PUBLISHER,
                           163 RANDOLPH STREET.




LIVELY PLAYS.




CONTENTS.


                                                       Page

    Topp’s Twins, comedy, four acts                       5

    Patsy O’Wang, farce                                  77

    Rejected, farce                                     107

    The New Woman, comedy, three acts                   133

    Only Cold Tea, temperance sketch                    165

    A First-Class Hotel, farce                          179

    Madame Princeton’s Temple of Beauty, farce          193

    A Dude in a Cyclone, farce                          207

    It’s all in the Pay Streak, comedy, three acts      219

    The Cobbler, a monologue                            261

Copyright, 1895, by T. S. Denison.




ABOUT THE PLAY.


The first requisite in a play is _action_, after that should be found
as much novelty of incident and freshness of dialogue, combined with
originality in character study, as the author can contrive to get
together in these days when apparently nothing is wholly new. These plays
are intended primarily for _representation_.

These explanations are made because the purpose of a previous volume of
my plays, issued without preface, appeared to have been misunderstood in
a few instances.

Public approval, whether it be an infallible guide or not, in matters
pertaining to print, is at least encouraging, and this leads me to say
that of my earlier plays there have been sold in paper covers _three
hundred and twenty thousand copies_, besides an edition in cloth.

                                                               THE AUTHOR.

Chicago, July 11, 1895.




                               TOPP’S TWINS

                       A FARCE-COMEDY IN FOUR ACTS

                             BY T. S. DENISON

                               _Author of_
  Odds with the Enemy, Initiating a Granger, Wanted, a Correspondent, A
    Family Strike, Seth Greenback, Louva, the Pauper, Hans Von Smash,
 Borrowing Trouble, Two Ghosts in White, The Pull-Back, Country Justice,
        The Assessor, The Sparkling Cup, Our Country, Irish Linen
     Peddler, The School Ma’am, Kansas Immigrants, An Only Daughter,
         Too Much of a Good Thing, Under the Laurels, Hard Cider,
         The Danger Signal, Wide Enough for Two, Pets of Society,
         Is the Editor In? The New Woman, Patsy O’Wang, Rejected,
             Only Cold Tea, Madam P’s Beauty Parlors, Topp’s
         Twins, A First-Class Hotel, It’s all in the Pay-Streak,
           The Cobbler, A Dude in a Cyclone, Friday Dialogues.

                            _Also the Novels,
                   The Man Behind, An Iron Crown, etc._

                                 CHICAGO:
                        T. S. DENISON, PUBLISHER,
                           163 RANDOLPH STREET.




TOPP’S TWINS.

COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY T. S. DENISON.


CHARACTERS.

    CADWALADER TOPP, of Topp & Topp, twin brothers, oyster dealers; old
      bachelor, irascible, vain, great stickler for “honah;” wants to
      adopt twins; family tradition; stout man.
    TICK. (_Alias JIM BAGGS._) Traveling man of Topp & Topp; typical
      drummer, rather cheeky, quick, appears braver than he is; ready
      for any adventure or practical joke.
    JOSIAH TWIGGS, old friend of Tick’s father; parent of Angie and Mrs.
      Twiggs-Knott, who calls herself “Twiggs hyphen Knott.”
    MRS. TWIGGS, a mother and grandmother of “Twiggsie and Dixie,” the
      twins.
    MRS. TWIGGS-KNOTT, mother of the twins, and a widow who knows how to
      get what she wants.
    ANGIE TWIGGS, a bright young lady.
    BOB SPRATT, seedy adventurer; he tries to work off his twins on Topp;
      in revenge precipitates the duel; villain of the play.
    MRS. DUBBLEDAM, housekeeper from Holland; good-natured, slow,
      loquacious.
    GINGER POTTS, an African; body servant of Mr. Topp; a good deal of
      the monkey; comic by nature and _good_ in theory, which theory is
      sometimes not fully supported by facts.
    DR. SHORT, the surgeon, an animated wooden man.

    Personages not appearing on the stage, the _real twins_, “Twiggsie
      and Dixie;” also Bob Spratt’s twins, the victims of circumstances,
      and called for the occasion, Benjamin Harrison Spratt and Grover
      Cleveland Spratt.


STAGE DIRECTIONS.

_R._ means right of the stage; _C._, center; _R. C._, right center; _L._,
left; _1 E._, first entrance; _U. E._, upper entrance, etc; _D. F._, door
in flat or back of the stage. The actor is supposed to be facing the
audience.

_Time of playing, two hours._


BILL OF THE PLAY.

ACT I. Topp’s family tradition demands twins.

ACT II. “She’s a little angel, I’ll see her father.”

ACT III. “Yes, Topp old boy, you are in love for the first time in
twenty years.” But the odious rival appears just at the wrong time and
precipitates disaster.

ACT IV. The duel. The finding of the Twins.

☞ Though this play has full stage directions, it may be presented in any
hall, or large parlor even. Two doors for exit and entrance is the main
requirement. Owing to the style of type the play is not so long as it
seems.


PROPERTIES.

Numerous dummy letters, newspaper in wrappers, writing materials, gunny
sack, pair of corncutters, surgeon’s kit, brace of pistols in case for
Spratt, also two other pistols, pocket tape-line, cards for Spratt and
Tick, note books, coins, crash bag of broken glass.

[Illustration: TOPP’S TWINS.]

_Note._ If no scenery is at hand suitable for Act IV, it may be played
simply on bare stage stripped of all furniture and accessories.

☞ For hints on play, see page 72.


TOPP’S TWINS.


ACT I.

    SCENE. _Home of MR. TOPP. Handsome sitting room of a wealthy
    man. Doors R. & L. in 1 E. (N. B.—Street door is always L., way
    to interior of house always R.); also door in flat C. Table and
    chairs R. C. Small secretary, with mirror over it by flat L. C._

GIN. (_Entering L. with mail._) I never see de like of de mail; dah’s a
bushel o’ letters an’ one paper. (_Puts letters on table; part slide off
on floor; he does not see them._) Dat paper is de _Sun_. Massa done read
de Baltimore _Sun_, mos’ ever since de creation I ’low. (_Reads on the
wrapper “Topp & Topp, No. 3 Druid Hill Place.”_) Didn’t I read dat easy.
Pshaw! I kin read heaps, ’ticlarly if dah’s a picter to sort o’ steer by.
My poor ole mommy couldn’t read nothin’ but de wrapper, an’ I ’spect she
guessed at dat. Crackey! edication is mighty powerful sometimes. My ole
mommy couldn’t read an’ she (_pauses_)—humph, she sold for a thousand
dollahs befoh de wah. What ’ud _you_ sell foh, Ginger Potts? You good fur
nothin’ nigger, you wouldn’t fetch a blame cent. But your vote, dat’s
spot cash. (_Bell rings._) Foh de Lord’s sake, w’at ails dat bell. It’s
done ringin’ all de time. (_Exit L._)

_ENTER MRS. DUBBLEDAM R._

MRS. D. I nefer saw tings like dot already. Seven men haf been at de side
door to sell leetle togs to Meester Topp. I get dem all away so gwick as
ever for Meester Topp he hates togs already fery much. He vas a mighty
gweer man, an’ he gets no better, aint it; he say to me sudden like
one day: “Mrs. Tuppletam, we must have some twins.” I tinks to myself,
Meester Topp, was you cracy? I felt myself yoost like a puzzle, and he
yoost keep silence; dot silence was embarrassed, so I said a little
sharp, “Vere you get some twins if you please, Mr. Topp?” Dot man was
awful curious, ven I haf temper he haf none, sometimes, and sometimes he
haf too much; dot time he vas very quiet, an’ his voice like a woman’s—a
woman, ven she is not mat—

_ENTER GINGER, L 1, with more letters._

GIN. What racket is massa into now, Mrs. Dubbledam?

MRS. D. Twins. He says, “My gran’fater was twins, an’ my fater oont uncle
was twins; my poor brudder an’ me was twins, an’ I’m goin’ to have some
twins to run my pisness and pack oysters.” I yoost thought I’d fall in
a heap. I guessed dot man was talkin’ out of his head alretty; I could
say not one wort, but he turned round an’ walked out. Dot was de piggest
puzzle about dem twins. So yesterday, at breakfast, he say sudden like,
“Tuppletam, I’m goin’ to advertise for dose twins.”

GIN. Land o’ honey, Mrs. Dubbledam, look at de letters. (_Puts them on
the table and some fall on the floor._)

MRS. D. Well, I nefer; where does de letters come from, Ginger? Apout tem
twins? What a lot o’ peoples bin havin’ twins! Twins must be plentier
dan persimmons.

GIN. De postman says dese letters belong here; dey wouldn’t take ’em at
Number 5.

MRS. D. I yoost get even on Number 5; I’ll send Number five de togs.

GIN. What dogs?

MRS. D. Dere’s been seven, nine men here mit togs dis mornin’.

GIN. De dickens! ole massa’ll take a fit.

MRS. D. All sorts o’ togs at dot side door. Big Newfounlant togs, rat
togs, sky pups, oont all dot. Dey make me real mat sayin’ so often dot we
want no togs. (_Bell rings._)

GIN. Blame dat bell.

MRS. D. Ginger, why aint you more gwick answerin’ dot bell?

GIN. (_Imitating her accent._) Nefer mint, I’m gwick enough already, aint
it? Say, I wonder—(_bell violently_)—if somebody isn’t playing a trick
on ole massa? (_Voice inside from door in flat._) “Potts, the bell.”
Geeminy; ole massa done heerd. Say, anybody fotch any kids yet?

MRS. D. Dere was no shildrens yet.

GIN. Dey’ll come later, dey don’t git up so airly as de dogs. (_Bell
violently, voice again._) “Where’s that infernal niggro.” (_Exit GIN
rapidly, L._)

MRS. D. Dat niggero gets so slow, efery day more. Dear me, I’ll nefer
get my work done to-day between te togs, te letters oont, Meester Topp’s
whims, oont twins, oont sooch like. (_Exit R._)

_RE-ENTER GINGER with TICK L._

GIN. Massa aint done brekfusted yet.

TICK. (_Seating himself by table, R. C._) I’ll wait.

GIN. Sometimes massa’s powerful slow comin’ down, hadn’t yeh bettah send
in youah cahd?

TICK. No, thanks; my business can be transacted with him only.

GIN. (_Aside._) Dat’s bout de twins suah. ’Scuse me, but did you fotch de
kids along?

TICK. What’s that?

GIN. De chillen. Whah’s de chillen?

TICK. Children? I’m no married man.

GIN. Dat so? Well, I ’low dat _does_ make _some_ difference. (_Bell
again._) Wisht dat bell was in Jericho; dere’s too many people comin’
here I know. It’s de sign on de dooh. Massa Topp’ll jest naterally kill
dat painter who fumbled up dat 3 so ye can’t tell it from de 5, nor de 5
from de 7. It’s turnin’ de whole neighborhood crazy. (_Exit L._)

TICK. (_Taking up paper, reads on wrapper, “Topp & Topp.”_) Hello, here’s
an adventure. I’ve got into the house of my employer, old Topp, of Topp
& Topp, Oyster Packers. Well, it’s too late to back out now, I’ll sell
him the dogs or break a trace trying. Lucky for me I’m on the road most
of the time. I think he doesn’t know me. He’s as queer as all out o’
doors. If he should discover me and get out of humor about it, he’d give
me a passport to the street. (_Meditates._) Ah, I have it; I’m not Jim
Baggs at all. The boys used to call me Tickle. Laughed too easy and got
thrashed for it every day, in school; it became Tick for short. Now, I’m
simply Tick, James Tick, Esq. (_Voice outside. “I tell you I must see
him.”_) Hello! more dogs?

_ENTER GINGER and SPRATT, L._

GIN. (_To SPRATT._) Hadn’t you bettah try No. 5, sah? I think dat’s de
place youall’s lookin’ foh.

SPRATT. I have tried No. 5 and they say No. 3 is the place.

GIN. S’pose you try No. 7.

SPRATT. This is the place, I’m sure. I won’t be put off. (_Takes chair,
eyes TICK suspiciously._)

GIN. Cahd, sir, I’ll take in your cahd. (_SPRATT gives soiled card._)
(_Aside._) Jiminy, dat’s a dirty cahd, if I hand dat cahd to Massa Topp
he’ll give me fits. (_Tears card and throws it under table._) ’Scuse me
(_to SPRATT_), w’at did ye say youah name was?

SPRATT. (_Grumbles._) Confound the nigger. I gave you my card.

GIN. Massa is a little ’tickler; he doesn’t like cahds.

TICK. I’ve been that way myself—after staying too long in the game.

GIN. (_To SPRATT._) Name, sah?

SPRATT. Spratt.

GIN. (_Grins._) Jack Spratt?

SPRATT. Impertinent!

GIN. Yis, sah; long name, sah.

TICK. By the way, what is your name?

GIN. Potts, sah! Gingeh Potts.

TICK. Ginger; that’s a lively name.

GIN. Name, sah!

TICK. Tick.

GIN. What’s dat?

TICK. I said Tick, James Tick!

GIN. Dat aint no Christian name; ye’s done foolin’ me.

TICK. (_Slipping coin into GINGER’S hand._) It isn’t Tick, but Tick goes.

GIN. (_Bowing profusely._) To be suah! James Tick, Esquire (_stress on
Esq._) an’ Jack Spratt.

SPRATT. (_With offended dignity._) Robert Spratt.

GIN. Yis, sah! James Tick, Esq., and Bob Spratt.

SPRATT. (_Aside._) The monkey!

(_Exit GIN., D. F._)

TICK. (_Eying SPRATT. Aside._) If that guy is a dog fancier, then I’ll
quit the business.

SPRATT. (_Aside._) He looks too young for a _father_ in adversity.
Guardian, possibly. (_To TICK._) Our business is mutual, I presume.

TICK. I presume you know nothing about it.

SPRATT. (_Aside._) A good guess. He is uneasy. (_To TICK._) I presume we
can be friendly about it.

TICK. (_Turning away._) Presumption is a good thing—for a book agent.

SPRATT. (_Aside._) A hard case to handle. I’ll draw him out. (_To TICK._)
If I may ask, _father_?

TICK. Look here, stranger, you are impertinent.

SPRATT. Then, I am right. You _are_ a father.

TICK. It’s a lie; I’m not married!

SPRATT. Beg pardon; that makes _some_ difference.

TICK. _Some!_ What do you mean by that?

SPRATT. You need not be so touchy. This is a free and fair rivalry, isn’t
it?

TICK. What are you talking about? Are you an escaped lunatic?

SPRATT. You are insulting. (_Turns away angrily._)

TICK. (_Aside._) What is he up to? There’s something here too deep for me!

SPRATT. (_Aside._) I’d best conciliate him. (_To TICK._) Guardian,
perhaps?

TICK. Guardian! What do I think of them on general principles? I don’t
like them. I had one once. He spent all my money, then married my only
sister and spent hers. I’ve no use for them. I recommend you to take one.

SPRATT. Me! Confound your insinuation. You mistake me entirely. I—

_ENTER TOPP, D. F., comes down C._

TOPP. (_Eyes them with quick keen scrutiny._) Good morning, gentlemen,
which is Mr. Dick Spratt?

SPRATT. (_Rushing up with card._) Robert Spratt, sir.

TICK. (_Rushing up with card, each trying to get ahead of the other._)
Here’s my card sir, I represent—confound it (_hastily pocketing card_);
(_aside_) “card of the firm”; (_confused_) my name is James Tick,
_Esquire_.

TOPP. (_With slight emphasis._) Oh, I see, James Tick, _Esquire_; and
Robert Spratt, _Esquire_, too, I presume? Your business, gentlemen.

SPRATT. (_Trying to get ahead of TICK._) I have just what you want sir,
right here, lovely disposition, good health, good stock, pardon me if I
say it myself.

TICK. (_Insinuating himself before SPRATT._) Pardon _me_ my house—hang
it, I don’t mean house—my goods are A 1, good health, clean skin, and the
most beautiful long ears.

SPRATT. (_Contemptuously._) Long ears! I’d be ashamed to tell it!

TICK. Long winded, trim in the flank—

SPRATT. Flanks! that’s indelicate!

TICK. Delicacy, indeed; I’d like to know what delicacy has to do in this
case!

TOPP. (_Annoyed and puzzled._) Nothing, it seems, gentlemen; what on
earth are you rowing about? If you have any business, we’ll reach it
sooner one at a time.

SPRATT. (_Vociferating._) I was here first.

TICK. That’s false, I was here first. Wasn’t I Ginger?

SPRATT. That infernal nigger sent me away three times before he’d let me
in.

TOPP. (_Stiffly._) We will consider you first. Proceed.

SPRATT. As I said, lively disposition, good health, good stock—

TICK. Can you furnish a written pedigree?

SPRATT. Pedigree! I am making a note of your insulting language. (_To
TOPP._) In short, they are just what you want.

TICK. Health is very important, but allow me—(_TOPP frowns at TICK who
stops_).

SPRATT. Their names sir, are—

TOPP. Bother the names! Gentlemen, I fail to comprehend the object of
this interview. I deem your business absurd. If you have any proposition
to submit do it in writing.

SPRATT. My dear sir, the pen cannot do justice to my lovely—

TICK. By the way, are they mangy?

SPRATT. I’ll stand this no longer, your language is slanderous. (_Shakes
his fist at TICK._) If I had you outside!

TOPP. A vulgar brawl. (_Enraged._) This is too much. (_Pulls bell by D.
F._) A row between two ruffians in my own house.

_ENTER GINGER, R._

TOPP. Potts, show these gentlemen out.

SPRATT. Potts, didn’t I come first?

TICK. (_Winking at GIN._) Look here; you know I came first.

GIN. (_To TOPP._) I think dey come sumiltudinous. I’m ’fraid dey won’t
go. Dey’s de most obstinatest chaps I ever see.

TOPP. Then kick them out—call a policeman. Get rid of them.

GIN. (_To SPRATT._) Now you heah dat? Cleah out!

SPRATT. (_Backing towards door L._) This is outrageous. (_To TOPP._) I’ll
bring an action for damages. (_To TICK._) This is your work, you villain.
I’ll get even—(_GIN. seizes him by the collar and runs him out L._)

TICK. (_Aside._) I’m going to see what this old cock _does_ want anyway.

_RE-ENTER GIN. L._

GIN. Now sah, dah’s de door.

TICK. (_Looking._) So it is. A door’s a door even if there’s nothing in
it. (_Gives him a coin. GIN. bows and slips out, leaving TICK, down C.
TOPP opening letters R. of table._)

TOPP. Annoyances go in troops, it appears. I can’t understand why I
should get all these letters and have so many callers too. (_Reads
letter._)

    “Mr. X., 3 Druid Hill Place:

    “Sir: Having seen your advertisement for lady amanuensis, I
    hereby apply for the place. I am not exactly a brunette, but
    have beautiful, wavy, light-brown hair with blue eyes. Am tall,
    slender and graceful, and my friends say I am good looking.”

Well, really that’s a strange letter.

TICK. (_Aside._) Oho! this is getting interesting.

TOPP. What the deuce does the woman mean? I shall need an amanuensis if
I answer all these. (_Throws letter aside toward TICK and opens two or
three more; TICK picks up letter._)

TOPP. (_Reading._) “Dear Sir:—I think I can fill the bill exactly.” What
bill? That is direct. Signed, Maud Martin. (_Opens another._)

TICK. (_Reading._) “I dress stylish and am fond of”—(_Pause to make out
word_).

TOPP. (_Reading._) “I am a light blonde with clear rosy complexion and
am”—(_Pause to decipher word_).

TICK. (_Reading._) “Fond of amusements, particularly”—

TOPP. (_Reading, puzzled._) What is that?—am—am—edicated—vulgar thing—no,
it is not edicated, (_spells_) eddicted—indeed—to the theatre. Hum; I’m
not surprised.

TICK. (_Reading._) “Opera parties and a quiet”—

TOPP. Dear me, this is all very curious. She evidently thinks complexion
and the cut of her gown has something to do with stenography. (_Stops to
think, puzzled, opens another. Amazed to see TICK reading letter._)

TICK. —“and a quiet little oyster supper.” Oh! the old sinner. I’m onto
him.

TOPP. (_Flushing angry._) Look here, sir, are _you_ here yet? And reading
my letters too! This is most extraordinary! This is too much, sir!

TICK. It _is_ too much for _one_. You need help!

TOPP. Help! What do you mean, sir? I can manage my affairs without
your assistance. I thought I told Potts to show you out. (_Rings bell
viciously._) Where is that niggro?

_ENTER GIN. D. F._

GIN. Did you ring, sah?

TOPP. Did I ring? I’ve been ringing all morning.

GIN. (_Bowing._) Yis, sah!

TOPP. Potts, show this man out.

GIN. I done showed him de door wunst.

TOPP. Show it to him again. Show him the outside of it.

GIN. Yis, sah.

TOPP. What about these letters? They are apparently not mine.

GIN. De postman done tote ’em heah. Dey wouldn’t have ’em at No. 5.

TOPP. What has No. 5 to do with my mail? I have not advertised for any
amanuensis. Take them to No. 5 and say it’s about the amanuensis.

GIN. (_Bewildered._) A—man—you—and—what sort of a man did you say, sah?

TOPP. Go! Say nothing! Pick up those on the floor.

TICK. (_Aside._) The sly old dog. He’s hedging.

TOPP. (_Looking at envelope._) Potts!

GIN. Yis, sah!

TOPP. How did the postman get this address mixed up with No. 5? That’s a
plain enough 5.

GIN. Ye see it’s like dis, massa, he’s a new man an’ de painter done put
so many querliques on de figgers when he painted new numbers las’ week
dat ye can’t tell de 3 from de 5, nur de 5 from de 7. De 3 has a handle
to it, an’ de 5 has whiskers, an’ de 7 looks powerful groggy, an’ sorter
bow-legged.

TOPP. Oh! high art on a transom. I see.

GIN. Yes, sah! High art, so high de postman couldn’t see it.

TOPP. Have our number re-painted plainly at once, and see that it is a 3.
Confound this so-called artistic lettering. People will take the place
for a Chinese laundry. (_Bell, exit GIN._) (_To TICK._) Aren’t you going,
sir? Can’t you take a hint?

TICK. (_Bowing politely._) I am waiting to be shown out. (_Moves down L._)

TOPP. (_Apologetically._) Oh, to be sure! I beg your pardon.

TICK. Don’t mention it.

_RE-ENTER GIN. L. with MRS. TWIGGS-KNOTT, she goes up C._

GIN. (_Announces._) Mrs. Twiggs-Knott.

TOPP. (_Advancing._) Eh? What is the name?

MRS. T-K. Twiggs-hyphen-Knott.

TOPP. Ah, to be sure! To what do I owe the pleasure of this call, Mrs.
Twiggs-hafaknot?

MRS. T-K. I beg your pardon! It isn’t Twiggs-hyphen-Knott! simply
Twiggs-Knott. I spell it with a hyphen.

TOPP. And pronounce it without a hyphen.

MRS. T-K. Yes.

TOPP. I see. I beg your pardon, madam! (_Aside._) Devilish fine woman!

MRS. T-K. Twiggs, maiden name; Twiggs-Knott, married name.

TOPP. I comprehend, perfectly. (_Aside._) A widow!

TICK. (_Aside._) I wonder if the old Mormon will take this trick?

TOPP. Mrs. Twiggs-Knott, may I enquire to what I owe this pleasure?

MRS. T-K. Certainly! I called in answer to your advertisement!

TOPP. (_Starting._) There’s a mistake!

TICK. (_Aside._) Sly old dog!

MRS. T-K. I think there is no mistake. I called at No. 5, and they said
it was No. 3.

TOPP. I am sure it must be one of my neighbors. May the devil take
that painter! I mean, begging pardon madam, try No. 7. (_Aside._) An
adventuress.

MRS. T-K. I did try 7 and they said they couldn’t be pestered with other
people’s callers. They were sure this is the right place.

TOPP. A fig for their assurance! I wish people would mind their own
business. (_Aside._) Good Lord deliver me! (_To MRS. T-K._) Madam, go
home and make an inventory of your attractions.

MRS. T-K. Sir!

TOPP. Schedule your charms!

MRS. T-K. They are indeed very charming.

TOPP. (_Aside._) The brazen baggage! (_To her._) Make out your
specifications.

TICK. Marked “Exhibit A,” etc.

MRS. T-K. Is it so very important as that?

TOPP. (_Aside._) I’ll scare her away! (_To her._) Oh! yes, of the utmost
importance. The strain is especially—

TICK. Yes, the strain is everything, mine is all O. K. in the books.

TOPP. (_Surprised._) Say now! Are you here yet, young man? Explain your
conduct, sir. Confound you, you are listening to a private conversation.

TICK. I’m waiting to be shown out.

TOPP. Oh, to be sure! Where is that infernal niggro. (_Rings bell._)

TICK. The pedigree of mine is without a flaw. They are from Spots, mother
Fly, sire, Robinson Crusoe. (_TOPP and MRS. T-K look puzzled._) Are yours
down in the books?

MRS. T-K. In the books? I don’t understand you.

TICK. Who was their sire?

MRS. T-K. Sir? Their sire? This is grossly insulting. (_Screams._) Oh,
dear me, oh, oh. Sir (_To TOPP_), are you a man to see a woman thus
insulted in your own house?

TOPP. (_Crosses to L., to TICK._) What the devil are you doing?

TICK. I don’t know.

MRS. T-K. (_Screams hysterically_) Oh, my precious darlings! Oh, my dear
little angels! Oh, I shall faint!

TOPP. She’s going to faint. (_Prances around excitedly._) Where’s that
niggro?

MRS. T-K. (_Hysterically._) Help! (_About to faint._)

TOPP. Allow me madam! (_About to support her. TICK adroitly slides
between, catching her._)

TICK. Allow _me_ madam!

MRS. T-K. (_Hastily standing erect._) _You!_ Oh, you wretch! How dare
you! I’ll leave this house at once, since a lady is not free from insult
here.

TOPP. But, madam, allow me to explain—I beg you will not be hasty,
stay—there she goes—(_She exits in dudgeon. L._) (_To TICK._) This is
disgraceful, sir!

TICK. I quite agree with you, and at your age too. Now why do you prefer
a blonde? Brunettes are more to my taste.

TOPP. (_In towering passion._) Your taste? Blonde! Brunette! I have
expressed no choice, you impertinent coxcomb. Why don’t you go? Where
_is_ that niggro? If he doesn’t kick you down stairs, I will. (_Going to
bell._)

_ENTER GIN. L. ANGIE following appears in door._

GIN. Massa Topp, a young lady dat wants to see you.

TOPP. (_Cross._) Send her away, I wont see her. (_Sees Angie, who comes
forward smiling; he changes._) Ah! yes, what can I do for you?

ANGIE. I called in answer to your advertisement.

TOPP. (_Calming down._) Hum! yes. (_Aside._) Confound it, which does she
mean? (_To ANGIE._) Be seated. (_Aside._) How shall I begin?

ANGIE. Thank you! (_Seats herself chair L._)

TICK. (_Aside._) Typewriter or dog fancier?

TOPP. (_Aside._) Can’t be twins. Typewriter of course. (_To ANGIE._) May
I ask, do you take readily?

ANGIE. (_Confused._) Why, sir, I—yes—that is, my friends tell me I am
very taking!

TICK. (_Aside._) Oho!

TOPP. (_Confused. Admires her._) I quite agree with them, but you mistake
my meaning. I meant—ah—are you _rapid_?

ANGIE. (_Rising offended._) Sir!

TICK. (_Stepping between them, L.C._) Allow _me_ to explain! She doesn’t
catch on.

ANGIE. (_Laughs._) No, I don’t!

TOPP. (_Brushing TICK away. Aside._) It must be twins, then. (_To
ANGIE._) Write full particulars, give family history, etc.

TICK. And be sure to name the sire. Strain is everything in—

TOPP. You are in the presence of a lady, sir. Conduct yourself
accordingly, or I shall hold you responsible. (_Pushes him aside._)

TICK. You don’t play _that_ game on _me_! I’m not responsible.

TOPP. A correct observation, on my life.

TICK. (_Getting between them._) Don’t bother me. This is my customer.
(_Pulls TOPP away C._)

TOPP. What is that you say?

ANGIE. (_Puzzled._) Goodness, me, what are they both talking about!

TOPP. (_Aside._) There! wrong again! It _is_ dogs. (_Angry._) Madam—miss,
if there is anything I—(_Stops. Aside._) I must be civil. She’s very
pretty. Miss, I think you had best go home and write about them.
(_Aside._) I’ll buy them and drown them.

TICK. Old Bluebeard! She’s a dear little angel.

TOPP. There is my card. I’ll be delighted to hear from you.

TICK. (_Aside._) Who doubts it?

ANGIE. Thank you very much, Mr. Topp.

TOPP. Don’t mention it, pray. By the way I’ll take _your_ address.
(_Takes out note book. TICK does same._)

ANGIE. Miss Angie Twiggs, Ferndale Park, Cottage No. 12.

TOPP. (_Writing._) Thank you, I have it.

TICK. (_Talking unconsciously._) Yes, I have it.

TOPP. (_Furious._) Why, you cad, are you taking that address? Your
impudence is simply amazing! I’ll brain you, sir!

TICK. No you wont.

TOPP. What are you going to do with that address? I wont allow this. Give
it up, sir, or I’ll knock you down! (_Business of sparring._)

ANGIE. (_Screams._) Oh, gentlemen! Oh, oh, please don’t!

TOPP. (_Desisting._) To be sure, there is a lady present.

TICK. There is, and don’t you forget it.

TOPP. Forget what, sir?

TICK. That there is a lady present, a _young_ lady!

TOPP. (_Glaring at him._) I shan’t forget it. I need no lessons in
manners from you, sir.

TICK. I was only going to say that fighting is rude, and—

TOPP. Have the goodness to cut short your disquisition. Now, _are_ you
ever going?

TICK. I’m waiting to be shown out.

TOPP. I beg pardon, so you are. Where is that Potts? (_Rings bell
violently._) A niggro is the most aggravating of all evils. I’ll flog
that boy.

ANGIE. (_Aside._) What a very eccentric pair. Mr. Topp, I think I shall
go. I will write you soon.

TOPP. I shall receive your missive with pleasure.

TICK. (_Aside._) Poor innocent thing. Not if I can save her.
(_Theatrically._) I will save her!

TOPP. Eh, what’s that you say?

TICK. Oh, nothing much!

TOPP. (_Bows and leads way for ANGIE, going L._) I am delighted, Miss
Twiggs—delighted with this short call. Potts will show you out in a
minute.

_ENTER GIN. L._

Potts, stir yourself! show this young lady out.

GIN. Yis, sah.

TOPP. And show that young man out, too. You black rascal, I told you to
do that before.

GIN. Yis, sah (_Starts L. ANGIE and TICK following_).

TOPP. Hold on there a moment, Potts! Don’t you know better than that?
Show the young lady out _first_! (_Takes TICK by collar and pulls
him back._) Don’t think you shall escape so easily. I shall hold you
accountable, sir.

TICK. It’s my turn to be shown out. Haven’t I been waiting for an hour to
be shown out?

TOPP. You don’t go just yet, young man, I have use for you.

TICK. (_Goes up R._) He recognizes me at last. My place is as good as
vacant. (_Turning back._) I am at your service, Mr. Topp.

TOPP. Very well. Now what do you mean, sir, by coming into my house in
this way, poking into my letters, listening to my private affairs and
taking the addresses of lady callers? This is outrageous, sir!

TICK. (_Aside._) He doesn’t know me. I’ll bluff a little. (_To T._) Do me
the favor to observe that I came here on business.

TOPP. Business! What is your business, pray? Why havn’t you stated it an
hour ago?

TICK. I never crowd a customer.

TOPP. (_Surprised._) Customer!

TICK. I always wait till he is not busy, then I get him into a good humor—

TOPP. (_Snorting._) Oh, you do; then let me say that I am not in a good
humor.

TICK. No, your humor is bad.

TOPP. And I will have none of your attempts at witticism.

_ENTER GIN. L._

GIN. Massa Topp, dem kids is crying fit to kill!

TOPP. Kids! What do you mean by kids?

GIN. Wy dat gemmen left two kids in de yard.

TOPP. Goats on my lawn! They’ll ruin all the shrubbery. Of all things
I detest a goat. First we were beset by a legion of dogs, now we are
threatened with goats. This is no menagerie. Put them out at once, at
once I say, before they ruin the plants.

GIN. But massa—

TOPP. Go immediately or I’ll thrash you. (_Picks up paper-weight to
throw. GIN. exits rapidly L._) I’ll have to part with that niggro.

TICK. Old family retainer, I suppose?

TOPP. Yes, and like most heirlooms of no value whatever. He is one of the
fixtures in the family along with our traditions. His grandfather was
servant of my grandfather; his mother was my nurse.

TICK. It is very commendable of you, sir, to bear with his failings.

TOPP. Well, I doubt it sometimes. But as I said, he is a fixture along
with our tradition of twins; twin brothers have been at the head of the
firm of Topp & Topp for three generations. When my poor brother died
five years ago the line was broken. Now, alas, it is necessary to resort
to _adoption_.

TICK. Very sad, sir, to see an honored old house on the verge of
extinction.

_ENTER GIN. and SPRATT L._ (_They listen._)

TOPP. Your sentiments are very commendable, very! But, hang it, sir, you
make too sure of your premise. I am on the verge, but not the verge of
extinction.

TICK. What verge, then?

TOPP. (_With sudden gayety._) My boy, it makes me so good natured to
think of it, and your inquisitiveness is so very refreshing that, by
Jove, I’ll gratify it. I’m going to marry that young lady.

TICK. (_Aside._) Well, he has assurance. A rival! (_To TOPP._) I admire
your taste.

TOPP. Aint I a lucky chap? Gad, I feel twenty-five. I think fifty-five is
not very old, what do you say?

TICK. Not so old as seventy-five.

TOPP. (_Growls._) Seventy-five is not in question, sir. (_To himself._)
Ah! I’m in luck. That little blonde (or brunette, as the case maybe) is
very pretty!

TICK. (_Aside._) I’ll head him off! (_To TOPP._) May I suggest, sir, that
your acquaintance with the young lady is rather brief.

TOPP. A fig for your suggestion. She’ll come around all right. By the
way, your alleged business seems to consist chiefly in poking your nose
into other people’s affairs. I have suggested several times that you take
your leave.

TICK. (_Bowing._) At your pleasure. I’m waiting to be shown out.

TOPP. O, to be sure! I beg pardon. I’ll ring for my man. (_Starts to D.
F. to pull bell. Sees GIN. and SPRATT in door._) Potts, you there! Havn’t
I told you a thousand times not to stand listening?

GIN. An ’bout ’leven hundred times never to speak while other folks was
talked to.

TOPP. Silence! Who is this person? (_SPRATT steps in._)

GIN. Dat’s de man wot fotched de kids.

TOPP. (_To SPRATT, with temper._) Did you leave any kids on my lawn!
sir? That is actionable. I’ll prosecute you. I’ll see if there’s any law
for making bedlam out of a quiet neighborhood, and turning objectionable
animals loose on one’s lawn. Potts, take away those kids.

SPRATT. (_Angrily._) Kids? How dare you allude to Grover Cleveland Spratt
and Benjamin Harrison Spratt in that way?

TOPP. Your nomenclature is ridiculous.

SPRATT. I beg to differ. Not knowing your politics, I thought I’d please
you one way or the other. You can change whichever name you don’t like.

TOPP. I don’t like either. I am a Prohibitionist!

SPRATT. Then change both!

TOPP. Change both! I’ll have them drowned, Potts, do you hear that? Drown
them!

GIN. (_Starting._) Foh de Lord’s sake, Massa Topp, dat’s more dan my
conscience kin stan’.

SPRATT. I overlook your insult. To return to business, you advertised for
them.

TOPP. What, I! Never! Take them away instanter or I’ll not answer for
their lives.

SPRATT. You gray-headed old monster!

TOPP. (_Enraged._) What! Call me names in my own house.

SPRATT. Yes, and I’ve a mind to chastise you.

TOPP. Chastise _me_! Don’t you try it. (_Feint of sparring. Catches crick
in shoulder. SPRATT laughs._) Laughing at me, you ruffian! I’m not so
decrepit, sir, I’d have you understand!

SPRATT. (_Boastingly._) I could do you in a minute.

TOPP. I am forgetting myself, you are beneath my notice. Potts, show this
man out.

TICK. (_Aside._) This is a good time for me to go and see Angie. (_Looks
in note book._) Cottage No. 3, Ferndale Park.

GIN. Beg pardon, massa, did you say _show_ him out or _throw_ him out?

TOPP. Either! Use your pleasure. Get rid of him.

GIN. (_To SPRATT._) Do you see dat dooh?

SPRATT. I’ll have the law on you. (_Backing out L._)

GIN. Scoot! (_SPRATT exits just ahead of GINGER’S boot._)

TOPP. Here’s a forenoon wasted by a pack of lunatics. (_Pause._) What
does this internal tumult mean? (_Paces floor._) It isn’t the threats
of that man. Bah, the braggart! I feel so light hearted. My pulse is
bounding. (_Feels pulse._) About 85. I feel the buoyancy and lightness of
thirty years ago. (_Sings snatch of old song._)

    “I feel just as happy as a big sun flower,
    That nods and bends in the breezes,
    And my heart is as light as
    The wind that blows the leaves from off the treeses.”

I haven’t been that way since I was forty. At thirty I was in love with
every pretty face and figure. What a pretty name, _Angie_. (_Enter GIN._)
And those eyes! (_GIN. makes extravagant gestures of satisfaction._)
And that exquisite little mouth! And what a lovely chin—ah! the chin is
an important feature. Yes, Cadwalader Topp, this is love. (_GIN. makes
gesture of embracing a lady._) Old boy you have it again, same old
symptoms aggravated. I’ll dress at once and call on her this very day.
At my age no time is to be lost. My age! Pshaw! Age does not consist in
years. (_Turns suddenly, sees GIN. D. F. in act of embracing imaginary
lady. Tableau._)

QUICK CURTAIN.


ACT II.

    SCENE. _House of JOSIAH TWIGGS. Cozy sitting room. Doors in
    1 R. and L, window by door R and in flat. Furniture that of
    family in comfortable circumstances. Table near window up R.,
    pictures, vases, etc. Discovered, Mr. and Mrs. Twiggs seated by
    table._

MRS. T. Josiah, do you think there is anything in that advertisement in
the _Sun_?

MR. T. Which advertisement, Sophronia? There are several hundred of them.

MRS. T. I mean the one about wealthy gentleman who wants to adopt twins.
Is there anything in it?

MR. T. A tale of disappointed aspiration, probably. A gentleman, without
doubt, whose taste runs to twins and who has been reduced to the
necessity of advertising for them.

MRS. T. But what do you think of it?

MR. T. For my part, I don’t approve of twins.

MRS. T. Don’t you think he is a crank?

MR. T. Very likely! A crank is an individual whose ideas differ from
yours and mine and who takes no pains to conceal the fact.

MRS. T. Do you think he’s all right? (_Hands him paper._)

MR. T. (_Looking at advertisement._) He says high connections, honorable
gentleman, etc. I guess he’s what he claims to be. He must be, he says so
himself.

MRS. T. The main thing is, is he _rich_?

MR. T. Yes, that’s the main thing. Honor, culture, family, are minor
considerations.

MRS. T. Josiah, don’t be sarcastic. You always try to twist my meaning
round. I’m going to have Mrs. Twiggs-Knott apply at once. It would be so
nice for Twiggsie and Dixie.

MR. T. Why not try to get this estimable single party of high connections
to marry one of our daughters?

MRS. T. Josiah, how you talk!

MR. T. That is a better scheme. If he takes Amelia he gets the twins
thrown in, and if he takes Angie—

MRS. T. For shame, Josiah, one would think that we were scheming for our
dear children.

MR. T. Oh, no! perish the thought! (_Knock at door, R._)

MRS. T. Hist! Go to the door. (_TWIGGS opens door R._)

_ENTER MR. TOPP._

TOPP. Ah! excuse me! Is this Mr. Twiggs?

TWIGGS. Yes, come in.

TOPP. (_Embarrassed._) I called on a little matter of business. I—that is
to say—

TWIGGS. My wife, Mrs. Twiggs. (_TOPP bows to her._) Be seated. (_TOPP
takes chair by table._) Your daughter gave me this address. (_MRS. T.
seated, L._)

MRS. T. (_Aside._) Amelia has seen him already. (_To TOPP._) Go on, sir.
My daughter’s friends are very welcome here.

TOPP. I told her I would call.

MRS. T. You advertised.

TOPP. (_Embarrassed._) Don’t mention that, pray.

MRS. T. Oh, I beg pardon. We can guess your errand.

TOPP. (_Aside._) She’s a mind reader.

MRS. T. You have exhibited excellent taste. Such loveliness is seldom
found, I assure you.

TOPP. Yes, I quite agree. (_Aside._) A modest family truly!

MR. T. (_Nudging his wife._) Go slow at first.

MRS. T. At your age, sir, to be a father to budding innocence is indeed a
joy.

TOPP. (_Surprised._) A father! Yes, yes, no doubt you are right.
(_Aside._) Am I old Nestor himself, I wonder!

MRS. T. To read love in its eyes each day.

TOPP. (_Aside._) That’s better! (_To MRS. T._) Delightful, madam,
delightful!

MRS. T. To hear innocence lisp in stammering accents is indeed—

TOPP. Ecstatic, madam, I assure you. But I draw the line at
stammering—does she stammer?

MRS. T. You mean _they_.

MR. T. (_Nudging his wife._) He means _her_.

TOPP. I mean _she_.

MR. T. He, she, them! Who, which, what! I see!

MRS. T. He means Amelia, the mother. How sudden!

TOPP. (_Astonished._) She a mother!

_ENTER ANGIE, R. Crosses to MRS. T., who rises._

MRS. T. (_Nudging T._) A charming gentleman, I’m sure. (_To TOPP._) My
daughter, sir.

TOPP. (_Bowing._) Ah, miss, that is to say, madam—I came—

ANGIE. (_Bows bashfully; surprised._) Sir, I do not understand this
sudden call.

TOPP. Of course not. Explanations will follow duly.

MRS. T. (_With meaning look._) A friendly call my dear, and a little
business mingled.

MR. T. Yes, business first and pleasure after.

TOPP. I dislike the word “business” but—perhaps sentiment should cut no
figure in such matters. (_Aside._) Mercenary wretches!

ANGIE. (_To TOPP._) Then my mission has not been in vain?

TOPP. (_Graciously._) No, indeed. I assure you though it may have
originated in a mistake.

ANGIE. A mistake!

TOPP. Great events have sprung from little misunderstandings. To make a
long story short, Mr. Twiggs, I have come directly to you.

MRS. T. (_Puzzled._) To him?

TOPP. And why not to him, madam!

MRS. T. Very proper, sir. You have acted in a business-like manner. (_To
TWIGGS._) A very nice party!

TOPP. (_Aside._) Business again! (_Down R._)

MRS. T. (_To TWIGGS._) Which does he want, wife or twins?

MR. T. Both!

MRS. T. Shocking! how very strange!

TOPP. Hu’m! as I was saying—(_To MRS. TWIGGS._) And you, madam, since
I take it you should be consulted also, where do we find ourselves?
(_Pause, they all look at one another._)

MRS. T. Proceed, sir.

MR. T. Yes, we are all ears.

TOPP. I was about to suggest that the presence of your daughter may be
embarrassing.

MRS. T. Oh, never mind her. She is used to hearing all such matters
discussed.

TOPP. (_Starting._) Ah, indeed! Such matters—(_Aside._) I don’t like
this. A trap—(_A pause._)

MRS. T. Continue, my dear sir.

TOPP. Madam, I do not agree with you. I had the pleasure of seeing your
daughter but once, and I wish to satisfy myself a little concerning
certain matters. In short, a _private_ interview is the proper thing.

MRS. T. Mercy me!—Oh, I begin to understand. He wants to talk to _you_,
Josiah. How stupid you are.

MR. T. Exactly! How stupid we are.

MRS. T. What is the man driving at? (_Suddenly to TOPP._) Who are you?

MR. T. Yes, as a mere formality it might be well to know your name.

TOPP. Since your daughter has already called on me perhaps she will do me
the honor of an introduction. (_Aside._) She’s a little angel.

MRS. T. My daughter has called on you? Is this so, Angie dear?

ANGIE. Yes, mother.

MRS. T. In answer to an advertisement?

ANGIE. Yes.

MRS. T. (_Hysterically._) Oh, rash girl! This is terrible! This is
the wretch who advertised for a young lady for private secretary.
(_Sarcastically._) Tall, blonde preferred, etc., etc. (_Here describes
ANGIE._) Oh, silly child! Oh, horrid wretch! Josiah, _will_ you endure
this insult and never say one word or lift a hand in defense of your
fireside.

MR. T. Never mind the fireside, it’s all right. What does the gentleman
want?

MRS. T. What does he want? he’s a monster!

ANGIE. (_Remonstrating._) Oh, mother!

TOPP. (_Astounded._) Madam, one word—

MRS. T. (_Tragically._) Wretch! Not a word! My poor lamb! (_Takes A. in
her arms._) Left without a protector. And the wolf is at the door.

_ENTER TICK suddenly, R._

TICK. Wolf at the door! (_Aside._) That’s hard on me.

TWIGGS. Who the devil are you, sir, to enter my house in this
unceremonious fashion?

TICK. I heard the sound of females in distress. I answered the call.
Madam, your lamb shall have protection. The policy of this great free
country is—

MR. T. Bosh! I have not the pleasure of your acquaintance. Who are you?

TOPP. Bless my soul, our dog-fancier again! Stick to your trade young
man, and don’t meddle with political economy. You had better go, sir.

MR. T. And who are you to order people out of my house. _You_ had better
go too.

TICK. Yes, go to—(_Waves him away with comical gesture._)

TOPP. (_Aside._) Ordered out of my own house! (_To TICK_) Confound it,
I’ll not go!

MR. T. Then I shall be obliged to eject you.

TICK. That’s right, old man, throw him out. (_Crosses L. to ANGIE and
MRS. T._) Don’t be afraid ladies.

MR. T. Now go will you!

TOPP. I wont!

MR. T. We’ll see about that. (_Business of pushing TOPP toward door, R._)

TOPP. Why bless me if he doesn’t mean it. Well, I didn’t graduate in a
university for nothing. I know a little of the manly art. (_Hits TWIGGS
and knocks him over table, sending books flying._) You have a little my
advantage in years (_or height, or weight, as case may be_) but you’re
welcome to it.

TWIGGS. (_Recovering._) Don’t come on again! My blood is up.

TOPP. Your blood! (_Knocks TWIGGS into window and breaks it._)

MRS. T. (_Rushes between them._) Don’t hurt him, Josiah.

MR. T. Do not alarm yourself, my dear, I’ll not.

TICK. (_Getting ready to hold TOPP._) Steady boys, steady.

TOPP. (_Flinging TICK aside._) Get out of my way.

MR. T. You have broken my window.

TOPP. _My_ window, if you please, sir.

MRS. T. _Your_ window?

TOPP. Yes, madam, _my_ window.

MRS. T. (_Screams._) Mercy me, it’s Mr. Topp, our landlord.

MR. T. What! Mr. Topp, of Topp & Topp?

TOPP. (_With great dignity._) Yes, sir, Cadwalader Topp, sole proprietor
of Topp & Topp, oyster packers. My card, sir. (_Hands card._) You have
treated me with great indignity, sir. I shall not forget it. (_Going._)

MR. T. All right, make a note of it, if you choose.

MRS. T. (_Pulling at TWIGGS’ coat._) Josiah, we are undone. Run and
apologize.

MR. T. Apologize, never! Now, sir, (_Following TOPP._) I challenge you to
a round outside. (_MRS. T. screams._)

ANGIE. Mother, please be quiet.

TOPP. I’ll have you up for assault and battery.

MR. T. Try it if you dare.

TICK. Three cheers for the old man.

TOPP. And what’s more, you shall repair that window!

MR. T. Never!

MRS. T. Josiah, do be quiet. You are so indiscreet.

TOPP. We’ll see about it. Take my word for that. You have the form of
lease which reads “All repairs at expense of tenant.” And now Mr. Twiggs,
since you know who I am I leave you to your own reflections. (_Going R._)

MRS. T. Please, sir, don’t be hasty! This is all a mistake.

TOPP. I quite agree in that sentiment. Madam a great mistake, but not too
late to mend it. (_Going R._) I withdraw my proposal for your daughter’s
hand. (_Exit R._)

MRS. T. Daughter’s hand! Oh! oh! support me Josiah. If you don’t I
_shall_ faint. (_He moves to support her; pushes him off angrily._)
Josiah, follow him at once and apologize, or I shall—

ANGIE. Let the old bear go. The idea!

TICK. (_Aside._) Good for the little one.

MRS. T. Josiah, we are undone.

MR. T. Underdone, you mean.

MRS. T. That’s just like you, Josiah, to perpetrate small-beer witticisms
over the misfortunes of your own family. Now you are actually laughing.

MR. T. Do you want me to cry, Sophronia?

MRS. T. No, it’s a man’s place to be brave and assert his rights.

MR. T. I was too brave, my dear. (_Looks at broken window, all laugh._)

MRS. T. _I_ shall not let him withdraw so easily. I shall write and say
his proposition is considered favorably.

ANGIE. Oh, mama! How indelicate.

MRS. T. Pooh, my child, you know nothing about such matters. Even
delicacy may be overdone.

ANGIE. I detest him, mama.

MRS. T. You will learn to love him. Consider it settled.

TICK. (_Aside._) Then _I_ am undone. (_To MRS. T._) Madam, your precious
child has indeed escaped a wolf. He is an old mormon, or worse, I’ll bet
ten dollars.

MRS. T. He’s worth millions.

MR. T. And yet he wont pay for that window.

MRS. T. Josiah, it is painful to think how you let sordid considerations
influence your actions. You must see him and explain.

MR. T. I’ve nothing to explain.

ANGIE. Let the hateful old thing go.

TICK. (_Enthusiastically._) Right you are. Let the old bear go to—

MRS. T. Husband, you _must_ see him at once. This is the opportunity of a
lifetime.

MR. T. _I_ don’t care to see him.

MRS. T. You are perfectly absurd to-day, Josiah.

TICK. (_Stepping forward._) Madam, I will see him.

MRS. T. But you are a stranger, you do not understand the case.

TICK. I understand it perfectly. I shall call him to account. I will
demand an apology; if he refuses, I will—by jingo, I will challenge him!

MRS. T. _No! No!_ That would spoil all.

TICK. He shall not insult defenseless females while this good right arm
retains its—its—ah—

_ENTER SPRATT, suddenly, R._

SPRATT. Villain, I have found you. You shall not escape!

TICK. (_Shrinking away._) Why, hello, partner!

SPRATT. Don’t “partner” me. I’m on your track.

MR. T. (_Looks at TICK’S feet._) Not a bad sized track either! (_To
TICK._) Perhaps, you won’t mind explaining why he is on your track.
(_Meets TICK R. C._)

SPRATT. That man has ruined me. The opportunity of a lifetime dashed in a
moment.

MRS. T. (_Throws up hands._) Another opportunity gone! Oh, dear! That’s
just what ails us!

MR. T. Another rumpus brewing. I’ll steer them away from the window.
(_Maneuvers to the other side._) Gentlemen, would you mind discussing
this matter on the sofa?

SPRATT. You’re an underhanded sneak.

TICK. You’re an openhanded fraud.

MRS. T. How dreadful!

ANGIE. Rivals, I venture! How romantic! A real adventure!

SPRATT. It is no romance, I assure you. My poor twins, Grover Cleveland
Spratt and Benjamin Harrison Spratt are left fatherless—no I don’t mean
that. They are—in short they are _left_.

TICK. Oh, he’s talking about his pups.

SPRATT. (_Furious._) If you say pups again there’ll be bloodshed. I
_won’t_ stand it.

MRS. T. (_Screams._) Oh, dear me! Josiah, can’t you do something?

MR. T. If it’s a question of blood come outside. A grass plat is better
to shed blood on than a carpet. We’ll paint the lawn red.

SPRATT. (_Going._) Come on!

TICK. Excuse _me_! (_Looks at ANGIE._) I have an engagement here.

MRS. T. Josiah, do get rid of these horrid men.

MR. T. (_Takes TICK by arm._) Come, sir, no vacillation. A brave man
never hesitates.

TICK. Never! Do I vacillate? No, I refute the charge with indignation.
I was only waiting to take leave of the ladies. (_Bowing politely._)
Ladies, au revoir.

(_Exeunt men, R._)

ANGIE. He’s _so_ gallant!

MRS. T. Dear me, child, what a series of adventures. And your father is
so slow to act in a crisis.

ANGIE. Poor Pa! I just don’t like that horrid old Topp one bit. I’ll tell
him so, there now!

MRS. T. Pet, you’ll do nothing of the sort. Mr. Topp is such a dear man.

ANGIE. Bald as a peeled onion!

MRS. T. A mark of dignity. A patent of nobility in America.

ANGIE. A patent! Say trade mark. Why doesn’t he put it on his oysters.

MRS. T. Your levity is in bad taste. Where is the dignity you inherited
from your father and mother? You must learn to love him.

ANGIE. I’m not good at learning by heart. (_Aside._) Isn’t Mr. Tick
handsome!

MRS. T. I’m uneasy about Josiah. He’s so careless of consequences.
(_Exit, R._)

ANGIE. (_Laughs heartily_) Oh, that ridiculous old man! And he never saw
me but once. (_Laughs._)

_ENTER MRS. T-K. L._

MRS. T-K. What are you laughing at, sister?

ANGIE. (_Laughing._) Oh, it’s too funny, I’ve just had a proposal!

MRS. T-K. A proposal! How romantic!

ANGIE. He’s worth a million!

MRS. T-K. No! What delightful luck. Did you say _yes_ instantly.

ANGIE. I did not.

MRS. T-K. Sister, don’t be reckless. Do not tempt Providence, for a
millionaire is a gift of Providence to a marriageable girl. Take him
instanter.

ANGIE. Well, I wouldn’t take him if he was worth ten millions.

MRS. T-K. Angie, are you crazy? or just a fool?

ANGIE. Just, a fool, I suppose, Amelia.

MRS. T-K. Yes, of course, young girls usually are.

ANGIE. Widows embody all wisdom, I suppose.

MRS. T-K. They at least know a good thing when they see it. I hope you
didn’t say no.

ANGIE. (_Laughs._) He didn’t give me any chance to say no. He and Pa had
a misunderstanding and Pa told him to go.

MRS. T-K. (_Astonished._) And he went away, offended of course. How
unfortunate.

ANGIE. No, he just refused to go at all.

MRS. T-K. Refused to go! What then?

ANGIE. (_Laughing._) He knocked Pa through the window! (_Points to broken
glass._)

MRS. T-K. Horrors! Pa is so indiscreet, but then if he is a true lover,
obstacles will only fan the flame.

ANGIE. And windows prove no obstacle!

MRS. T-K. Windows, indeed! Who is he?

ANGIE. Mr. Topp, of Topp & Topp.

MRS. T-K. (_Springing up._) What! Mr. Topp? The bachelor who wants to
adopt twins?

ANGIE. The same.

MRS. T-K. And you called on him to say a good word for my darlings,
Twiggsie and Dixie?

ANGIE. I did.

MRS. T-K. And you said one word for them and a dozen for yourself.

ANGIE. Now, sister, how can you? I said all I could for your boys.

MRS. T-K. Indeed! What did you say?

ANGIE. Oh, it was too funny! There was a young gentleman there by
the name of Tick, and they talked so many things that they got me all
confused so I can’t remember what I did say.

MRS. T-K. Artless creature!

ANGIE. (_With dignity._) Mrs. Twiggs-Knott, may I ask what you mean by
that epithet?

MRS. T-K. I mean you are greatly mistaken. It was _me_ that Mr. Topp came
to see.

ANGIE. _You!_ Impossible! Didn’t I read love in his eyes.

MRS. T-K. (_With sneer._) Oh, if it has come to reading love in his eyes,
we may consider it settled. That sort of reading can be done just as well
with the eyes closed.

ANGIE. Possibly, I’ve had no experience.

MRS. T-K. Well, you are in a fair way to get it.

ANGIE. Spare your comments. The teacher need not be a third party.

MRS. T-K. He said he would be sure to write to me.

ANGIE. And to me, too.

MRS. T-K. He took special interest in me and said he was very, very sorry
he could not do something at once, or words to that effect.

ANGIE. He took my address.

MRS. T-K. Address! That was a matter of form. He expressed great regret
that he could not devote more time to my matter.

ANGIE. Expressed _regret_! (_Archly._) Well he exhibited great pleasure
at my call.

MRS. T-K. Pooh, common politeness only. For me it was a deep interest. I
read it in his—(_Stops suddenly._)

ANGIE. Eyes? Ha, ha, ha, you are taking lessons, too, sister. Well,
I called within two minutes after you left and if his countenance
expressed any sentiment it was plainly bad humor.

MRS. T-K. Which your smile immediately thawed.

ANGIE. Indeed it did.

MRS. T-K. Angie, I think you are real mean.

ANGIE. Well, sister, seriously, I don’t want him, you are welcome to him.

MRS. T-K. (_Brightening._) I _know_ he called for me and, oh, such a
horrid mistake. I shall die. (_Screams._)

_ENTER MRS. T. R., running._

MRS. T. What is it my dear!

MRS. T-K. Mr. Topp called for me instead of Angie.

MRS. T. No! You don’t say. Why do you think so?

MRS. T-K. He told me that he was coming, or at least would write.

MRS. T. What a dreadful misunderstanding! We are all ruined! (_Screams._)
Josiah! Come! Quick! Where is that man?

_ENTER MR. T. hastily._

MRS. T. Mr. Topp called for—

MR. T. Confound Topp.

MRS. T. We are ruined!

MR. T. We have been ruined so often, my dear, that I rather enjoy it.

MRS. T. Now, Josiah, don’t try to be funny. When you try to be funny the
effect is painful. Husband, do you realize the calamity that has befallen
us?

MR. T. Yes, I guess you mean the window.

MRS. T. The window—indeed! Oh, the obtuseness of men! Mr. Topp has
proposed for the hand of the wrong girl.

MR. T. No!

MRS. T. No! Is that all you can say? You never say anything but _no_.

MR. T. My dear, _no_ is a very convenient little particle to calk chinks
in a colloquy.

MRS. T. This can never be repaired.

MR. T. The window?

MRS. T. Don’t talk eternally of that window. The match!

MR. T. Exactly! the match of course! Sophronia, I suggest we try welding.
The soft solder of diplomacy may result in the union called matrimony.

MRS. T. Girls, do you hear that? Never marry a man who thinks he is
funny. It is an incurable vice that breaks out at unexpected moments, to
your utter confusion.

MR. T. But, ladies, I protest I am not funny.

MRS. T. We agree there.

MR. T. Can you not distinguish between a well-turned sentence and—

MRS. T. A small pun. Josiah, if you were a man of action you would do
something instead of asking useless questions.

MR. T. I don’t care to go into action twice in the same day.

MRS. T-K. (_Groans._) I think it’s a shame!

ANGIE. It’s funny.

MRS. T. (_Severely._) So your father appears to think. What is to be
done? That is the question.

MR. T. Let him change his bid and submit sealed proposals.

MRS. T. There you go again. Husband, you must see him at once.

MR. T. I’d rather not.

MRS. T. Duty and the happiness of your child call you.
(_Authoritatively._) Go!

MR. T. I prefer not to tackle him again to-day.

MRS. T. All right, I go myself. Between two evils we must choose the
best. I will go.

MR. T. My dear, I wont allow it. We must choose the worst. I’ll beard
the—that proverb is stale—I’ll just beard him. Or shall I not rather
unbeard him? (_Majestically. With pompous, martial air._) The die is cast
and fortune—um—ah—

MRS. T. Josiah, go. (_Points._)

QUICK CURTAIN.


ACT III.

    SCENE. _House of MR. TOPP as in Act I._

_ENTER GINGER, showing in MRS. T-K., L._

GIN. Massa Topp’ll be in soon. I’ll take your cahd.

MRS. T-K. Just say a lady.

GIN. Yes’m. (_Exit GIN. R._)

MRS. T-K. Oh, I’m in such a state! What if Angie is right after all and
Mr. Topp is in love with _her_? (_Sighs._) Ah, well! I _did_ think he
admired me and then his asking me to write about dear Twiggsie and Dixie.
But I just couldn’t write _all_ about them, they’re so charming. To
tell him in a confidential way will be much nicer. Pa is sure to bungle
matters. Men always do. I must see Mr. Topp and make sure of this golden
opportunity for my precious boys. If he should marry, perhaps he wouldn’t
want to adopt twins. No, of course not. How absurd. Oh, dear, what a
complication! What shall I do?

_ENTER MRS. DUBBLEDAM, R._

MRS. D. Goot mornin’ lady. You waits for sompody?

MRS. T-K. I want to see Mr. Topp.

MRS. D. Yes, peesness?

MRS. T-K. _Very_ urgent business.

MRS. D. Urchent! Dot will be of great importance, aint it? Mr. Topp comes
sometimes home pretty guick, an’ sometimes he comes later. He haf his
lunch at one o’clock. What was your peesness? Some togs?

MRS. T-K. Dogs! No, indeed! I have business of great importance.

MRS. D. Togs was of much importance by some peoples. One woman brought a
leetle tog under each arm. When I told her Mr. Topp would kill tem she
got mat like fury an’ says she, I yoost like to see him try dot.

MRS. T-K. I don’t like dogs.

MRS. D. Den you yoost agree mit Mr. Topp. He can’t pear mit togs an’
goats an’ such animals like dot.

MRS. T-K. I admire his taste! Oh, I think he is such a fine gentleman.

MRS. D. Lady, he is fine like golt. He has one heart so big as dot.
(_Holds hands enclosing space to show great size._) He treats me yoost
like his mother.

MRS. T-K. Oh, go on, I love to hear you talk of him!

MRS. D. So? Well, he was gweer sometimes. He got a notion of twins?

MRS. T-K. (_With interest._) Yes?

MRS. D. One day he say right out sudden like, “Mrs. Tuppletam, we must
haf some twins.” For tree days I tink about dot an’ by myself I make
nodings out. Dot was a Chinese puzzle. Mr. Topp he say one day he was
goin’ to _adopt_ dem twins. Den it was all glear an’ I say what a
kindness in dot heart.

MRS. T-K. I could listen to you all day.

MRS. D. Ach, so? Shall you listen all day? Come in my room an’ we can
talk more quiet.

MRS. T-K. Thank you, I will. (_Exeunt R._)

_ENTER TOPP, L._

TOPP. (_Solus._) I said I’d never be a fool again, but I am. Ah! what a
face! What a figure! And that smile! Yes, Topp, old boy, you’re in love
again for the first time in twenty years. The sensation isn’t bad either.
In fact, it is delightful. I feel young again. Didn’t I knock that old
chap out easily. Stay! that was _her_ father, that was an indiscretion.
I must apologize handsomely. But “the course of true love never did run
smooth.” I think I’m no bad match. (_DUBBLEDAM and MRS. T-K. appear in
door, R._) My figure isn’t so bad! Nor my hair! Nor my complexion, thanks
to abstemious living! (_Adonis, business before glass. MRS. D. knocks two
or three times, R., finally enters. MRS. T-K in door._) Ah, you there,
Dubbledam? (_Confused._) What do you want?

MRS. D. Eeef you please, Mr. Topp, I knock two three times already.

TOPP. Very well. What is it?

MRS. D. A lady who haf peesness important. (_DUB. retreats R._)

TOPP. (_Adjusting articles on secretary, without looking at her._) Some
charity, I suppose. Madam I have already given all I can afford for the
present.

MRS. T-K. (_Smiling._) Pardon me, you told me to call again or write.

TOPP. (_Looks up, recognizes her, comes down C._) Oh, so I did! (_With
decision._) But I said _write_. I have no time for interviews.

MRS. T-K. Writing is impossible. Twiggsie and Dixie are _so_ charming.
I’m sure if you only saw them!

TOPP. (_Aside._) Dogs again! (_Curtly._) Madam I don’t want them.

MRS. T-K. But you haven’t seen them.

TOPP. I tell you I won’t look at them.

MRS. T-K. But you told me to call or write!

TOPP. (_Annoyed._) The same old story. You’ve called and lost valuable
time and car fare. You shan’t lose anything by me! (_Produces wallet._)
There’s twenty dollars! (_She starts. He thrusts money in her hand._)
I’ll take them! (_Calls._) “Dubbledam.” (_DUB. appears R._) Tell Potts to
drown them in the fish pond.

MRS. T-K. (_Screams._) Drown them! Oh, sir! My precious darlings!
Oh, oh!—the brute! (_About to swoon. TOPP catches her. He is greatly
embarrassed._)

TOPP. Help! Dubbledam! Here’s a pretty row. And all about some puppies.

MRS. T-K. (_Suddenly recovering._) Puppies, sir! Do you insult me? Who
said dogs?

TOPP. You did, madam.

MRS. T-K. Never! I was talking about my dear, darling twin boys, Twiggsie
and Dixie.

TOPP. Whew! Another affair truly! (_Aside._) A fine woman, too! (_Begins
to laugh; MRS. T-K. and DUBBLEDAM join._) Madam, this is a most ludicrous
situation. I beg your pardon.

MRS. T-K. Oh, pray don’t mention it.

TOPP. I beg a thousand pardons. How ludicrous, to be sure! Madam, I am
very sorry, but I may add that I do not think now of adopting twins!

MRS. D. Vot! No twins alretty!

TOPP. No, Dubbledam. I’ve changed my mind. In short, I might as well tell
you now to put the house in order. I’m going to marry!

MRS. D. Marry! Mine cracious!

MRS. T-K. (_Starts._) Marry! Then I suppose I may at least—(_Embarrassed,
stops._)

TOPP. Congratulate me? Yes. The prettiest little blonde (_or brunette, as
case may be; here describe ANGIE._) imaginable.

MRS. T-K. (_Aside._) Angie! she was right. (_To T._) I congratulate you.
I—yes, I hope you’ll be happy.

TOPP. Thank you. Dubbledam, show the lady out. I wish you a very
good day, madam. (_Exeunt MRS. D. and MRS. T-K. L._) What a
ridiculous misunderstanding. Pshaw, who cares! Love rises superior to
misunderstandings. (_Hums snatch of song._) I’m too happy to be annoyed
at anything, and, hold on—am I too happy for it to last? In the bright
dictionary of youth—

_ENTER GIN. L. Showing in MR. TWIGGS._

GIN. (_Announces._) Mr. Twiggs.

TWIGGS. I beg pardon for the interruption. You were speaking of the
_lexicon_. Lexicon, permit me, sir, is the better word. Nothing like it
to polish up orthography.

TOPP. (_Coming forward._) Mr. Twiggs, I owe you an apology. That little
affair at your house was highly censurable, I assure you. Do you forgive
me?

TWIGGS. Of course! It _was_ a little brusque, but nobody was hurt. You
took me by surprise, but I’ll put on the gloves with you any time that
suits your convenience.

TOPP. (_Grasping his hand._) Don’t think of such a thing, sir. At your
age—

TWIGGS. At my age—do you think I’m as ancient as the pyramids?

TOPP. I beg pardon! (_Confused, aside._) I must be more guarded.

TWIGGS. All right, Topp! (_Aside._) I’ll have to play _old_ man if he is
to be my son-in-law.

TOPP. It is all forgotten. The hatchet is buried.

TWIGGS. (_Grasping TOPP by hand._) My dear boy, the hatchet is in the
bottom of the bay. (_They shake._)

TOPP. Then, to proceed to the point directly. I’m a man of few words. I
want to pay my addresses to your daughter.

TWIGGS. Exactly!

TOPP. It is understood?

TWIGGS. It is.

TOPP. And there is no obstacle?

TWIGGS. None that I know of.

TOPP. Thank you. Excuse my apparent haste. You were a young man yourself
once.

TWIGGS. Unquestionably.

TOPP. And you can appreciate a young man’s feelings.

TWIGGS. To a dot.

TOPP. Thank you. Thank you. (_Clasps his hand._) We can arrange details
at our leisure.

TWIGGS. Yes, plenty of time for that. The details will take care of
themselves.

TOPP. The preliminaries were soon settled.

TWIGGS. Yes, though I happen to think of one preliminary that might be a
little clearer. Which one of my daughters do you mean?

TOPP. (_Astonished._) What! Which one (_Pause_)—have you several?

TWIGGS. Only two, sir. Will you be kind enough to specify the lady by
name?

TOPP. (_Puzzled._) Let me see! (_Looks for note book in pocket._) Really
I can’t recall her name. (_Cannot find book._)

TWIGGS. Ah, I see—memory not so good as formerly. (_Aside._) Another
break, hang it!

TOPP. You are mistaken, sir, it is the confusion of love. You said you
could appreciate a lover’s feelings. (_Can’t find note book._)

TWIGGS. Of course, beg pardon. (_Aside._) If I succeed I’ll be the first
on record.

TOPP. Stay, I have an idea.

TWIGGS. (_Aside._) Returning reason. (_To T._) Let’s have it.

TOPP. She knows.

TWIGGS. Of course, why didn’t we think of that sooner.

TOPP. (_Laughs._) Certainly! She knew it before I did, the sly puss.

TWIGGS. But hold on! What if she won’t tell? Don’t you think it would be
rather embarrassing for the lady to speak her mind first?

TOPP. Quite right you are. Now I have it, I’ll describe her.

TWIGGS. That is a practical idea.

TOPP. She is tall.

TWIGGS. They are both tall.

TOPP. And good looking!

TWIGGS. (_With slight bow._) Our family is noted, sir, for the comeliness
of it’s female members.

TOPP. Her smile is simply enthralling!

TWIGGS. Exactly! But allow me to remark that you are a single man and do
not know the power of the female smile as a social lever, especially when
a new bonnet or a new gown is its focal point. You must try again, sir.

TOPP. (_Hesitates._) Her eye is like the gazelle’s.

TWIGGS. Gad, sir, yours _is_ a bad case. Allow me to suggest that you
name the color of the aforesaid optic, or better still the color of her
hair? By the way have you a lock of her hair?

TOPP. A lock of her hair on one day’s acquaintance! (_Remonstrates._) Oh,
sir, you wrong your child.

TWIGGS. Excuse me, no offense, but a plain old father like me can’t be
supposed to keep tally on all the innings of an affair like this.

TOPP. No, of course not.

TWIGGS. Do you happen to remember the color of said hair?

TOPP. Yes, golden.

TWIGGS. Oh, yes, some call it _red_! I’ll speak to Angie.

TOPP. (_Eagerly._) Angie, that’s her name.

TWIGGS. And, as lovers are usually impatient, I’ll attend to the matter
immediately.

TOPP. I’ll be very grateful. (_They go, L._) I’ll show you out myself,
sir. Good day. (_They shake hands. Exit TWIGGS, TOPP goes up R._) Well,
that matter is in pretty good shape. A bad beginning makes a good ending.

_ENTER GINGER, showing in TICK, L._

GIN. Mr. Tick! (_Exit GINGER, L._)

TICK. (_Aside._) It’s risky, but I’ll try it. (_To TOPP._) Mr. Topp!
(_TOPP doesn’t hear._) Mr. Topp!

TOPP. (_Turning._) Sir?

TICK. I called in relation to a matter of mutual interest.

TOPP. You are the individual who called before and spent an hour, on
pretense of business, in listening to my private affairs and reading my
letters. Your interest in my affairs is altogether too great.

TICK. (_Brusquely._) Allow me if you please, _this is_ business. I come
with a message from her. (_Crosses to C._)

TOPP. From whom, pray?

TICK. You know well enough who. She declines the honor.

TOPP. Do not speak in riddles. To whom do you refer?

TICK. To Miss Twiggs, of course.

TOPP. (_Furious._) Why you monkey, who are you? Her father has just been
here. (_Getting angrier._) You are insulting. I’ll have Potts kick you
down stairs. (_Rings bell._) Where is that lazy niggro?

_ENTER SPRATT hastily followed by GINGER, L._

TOPP. (_Facing TICK._) Who are you anyway?

SPRATT. I can tell you! An imposter. Your rival who traduces you.

TOPP. (_Sneeringly._) My rival! That man! Fiddlesticks!

SPRATT. He has traduced you, sir. He called you names. I’ll leave it to
Mr. Ginger.

GIN. (_Grinning._) Yis, sah.

TOPP. What did he say, Potts? (_TICK tries to catch GINGER’S eye.
Pantomime of giving coin. TOPP severely._) Now look here, Ginger! What
ails you? What did he say?

GIN. I’m tryin’ to think of the word. It’s powerful long. A deceptive
octagon, sah, that’s it.

TOPP. Eh! What’s that?

GIN. A—de—um—that’s what I said.

SPRATT. A decrepit octogenarian, that was the epithet.

GIN. Dat’s it! A decreptive octogon—narium.

TOPP. (_To TICK._) Why, sir, this is infamous! This is actionable. The
law sir—bother the law’s delays. I’ll call you out, sir.

TICK. To take a drink?

TOPP. (_Thunders._) To take a drink? No, sir. To the field of honor, sir,
at thirty paces.

TICK. (_Starts._) That’s a pretty small field.

TOPP. Say forty paces then, I’m not particular. I demand satisfaction.

TICK. I always try to give my customers satisfaction.

TOPP. Confound your customers. (_TICK laughs heartily._) What are you
laughing at, sir? (_TICK laughs again. Shaking his fist at TICK._) Don’t
provoke me! I cannot answer for the consequences. Commercial affairs have
no place in an affair of honor.

TICK. My customers tell me that frequently. (_Laughs._)

TOPP. May the devil take your customers from first to last. (_TICK laughs
immoderately. TOPP furious._) If you don’t stop your laughing, I’ll knock
every tooth out of your head.

SPRATT. His conduct is very ungentlemanly.

TOPP. In the extreme! In the extreme! I can’t fight _him_. He is no
gentleman.

TICK. (_Aside._) Indeed! I’ll try a bluff. (_To TOPP._) I insist on
fighting.

TOPP. You insist! I’ll accommodate you, sir, if the code will possibly
allow it. To begin, sir, you are in trade. Old honorable house, may I
ask? (_TICK laughs._) You are laughing again, young man. To judge by your
conduct the house is scarcely respectable. (_TICK laughs immoderately.
TOPP jerks off coat._) Now, sir, take your choice. Stop laughing or be
knocked down without ceremony.

TICK. I beg pardon! My laugh goes off very easy. It’s a hair-trigger
laugh.

TOPP. Don’t let it go off again. I warn you. Head of house or member of
firm?

TICK. Neither! Traveling salesman.

TOPP. Traveling salesman! That would never do. (_To SPRATT._) Would it?

SPRATT. Never!

TICK. But I insist!

TOPP. (_To SPRATT._) He insists. Is there no way of accommodating him?

SPRATT. I suggest you make him give up all pretentions to the young lady
and then boot him out of your house.

TICK. Boot me out of the house. Well, that’s cheek enough for an office
seeker, you puppy!

SPRATT. Puppy! Dare you call me puppy? I’ll— (_Makes toward TICK. TOPP
prevents him._)

TOPP. Stay, restrain your impetuosity. Your only remedy is to call him
out after I have done with him. As for booting him out of the house, no
gentleman could so deport himself toward another gentleman. Do you think
I could stain my honor by kicking him?

SPRATT. No, it would not do. Let the nigger kick him.

TICK. Gentlemen, this waiting is a bore. (_Theatrically._) To fight or
not to fight, that’s the question.

TOPP. Permit me one more question. Are you wholesale or retail?

TICK. Wholesale only.

TOPP. Ah, that is better! And your house I have no doubt _is_ of high
standing. Doubtless A1 in the books? (_TICK laughs immoderately. TOPP
advances furiously shaking his fist at TICK._) Mr. Spratt, restrain me,
or I _will_ knock him down, in spite of the code. I see nothing to laugh
at. An affair of honor is a serious affair, I’d have you understand.
Perhaps this is your first.

TICK. It is.

TOPP. Then you shall have a new experience. You may consider it settled.

TICK. (_Frightened._) Do you insist?

TOPP. Certainly, sir! Consider it settled.

TICK. But, my dear sir, all these objections—

TOPP. Are waived, sir. Choose your second. Mr. Spratt, will you favor me
by arranging details on my part?

SPRATT. With pleasure!

TICK. (_Aside._) Good Lord! I’m in for it.

TOPP. (_To TICK._) Call a friend!

TICK. Say the undertaker. I object.

TOPP. It is too late to object, sir. Choose your _second_. The undertaker
will make a good _third_.

TICK. Are you trying to scare me! I can’t be bluffed!

TOPP. Oh, certainly not.

TICK. I’d as soon fight as eat, but—ah—I’ll be magnanimous. I’ll spare
you.

SPRATT. That’s cool.

TOPP. Sir, this is additional provocation. I insist on fighting.

TICK. But think of the loss to your business if you should fall.

TOPP. (_Getting angry._) Mr. Spratt hasten the details, I am anxious to
teach this young man a lesson. I suggest Blackberry Hill. There is no
other such spot near Baltimore. (_To TICK._) It is a beautiful spot.

TICK. I don’t doubt it.

TOPP. There I had the pleasure of acting as second for the Hon. Kidwell
Kroup in his great duel with Major Brocklestein. The major winged my man
first fire, but it was a beautiful affair gentlemen, beautiful. A few
years later, I had the pleasure—excuse me for being personal—of meeting
there myself, Col. Hicksby Snodgrass, C. S. A. And the Colonel wears only
one arm since that hour.

TICK. (_Groans._) Very cheerful, indeed!

TOPP. Delightful, I assure you. So choose your second and we’ll have the
whole affair over before the authorities get wind of it.

TICK. I shall be delighted to hasten matters. (_Whispers aside to
GINGER._)

TOPP. (_To SPRATT._) Now, my dear sir, I leave all to you. Use
expedition. (_To GIN._) Show the gentlemen out. (_Exeunt SPRATT and
TICK, L._) Ah, well this may be serious after all. But it is only an
incident and the true gentleman lives in an atmosphere of incidents.
I’ll write her. Bless her little heart, honor demands that I do and
dare for her like a knight of old. (_Sits at table to write._) “My
dear Miss Twiggs”—No, that is too formal—“My dear Angie”—how does that
sound?—that’s a little familiar possibly for one day’s acquaintance.
(_Tears up sheet of paper with each change._) How about the _my_—well I
guess I’m sure enough of the _my_. But “My dear Angie” is too long. I’ll
try “Dear Angie.” That’s better, but why not make it stronger? Women feed
on compliment and are taken by audacity in love. As old Horace advised
I’ll plunge “in medias res.” So here goes: “Sweet Angie”—that’s better.
But that is not enough. How very inadequate language is to portray all
the delightful sensations of new born love. (_Thinks._) “Sweet Angie—My
Pet”—that’s the thing—“This will inform you that I cannot see you again
to-day. A little affair” (_Pause._) _affair_—I wonder if that will alarm
her? No, women admire courage—“An affair of honor requires immediate
attention. Shall see you soon. May I close with a kiss?”—that’s a
little bold—“a sweet, sweet kiss?” There you are, that’ll please her.
“Au revoir and a final sweety—sweety kiss.” You can’t put too much of
the sweet business into an affair with a young lady. You must love
them distractedly, or you’ll never please them. (_Sighs._) How shall I
sign it? Cadwalader Topp is too formal. I’ll risk it. It sounds more
affectionate. “Caddie,” that used to be my pet name. While I’m about it
I’ll just say “Your Caddie.” There you are! (_Seals and addresses. Rings
bell._)

_ENTER GIN. R._

GIN. Ring, sah?

TOPP. Deliver this at once. Now for the preparations. (_Strikes attitude,
right hand gestures._) Wait not when honor calls but hasten to the field,
lest tardiness should prove an added stain. (_GIN. stands astonished,
then vanishes just as T. turns._)

QUICK CURTAIN.


ACT IV.

    SCENE:—_A grass plat with trees in background._

_ENTER MR. and MRS. TWIGGS, R. 1._

MRS. T. We must find them; blood will be shed and, oh dear! Mr. Topp may
be killed!

MR. T. Sophronia, duels are not for the purpose of shedding blood. They
are for the vindication of wounded honor.

MRS. T. Josiah, human life is trembling in the balance, and I believe you
actually enjoy it.

MR. T. My dear, I can’t say that I enjoy it so far. Our walk in search
of it has been rather hurried. They should have hired a hall and sold
tickets.

MRS. T. Josiah, you’ll drive me to the grave. But if you do not respect
the feelings of the wife of your bosom think of your child.

MR. T. Our child is all right. She is not going to fight.

MRS. T. But think of her future?

MR. T. Which future, my dear? There appears to be two of him.

MRS. T. Josiah, you stand here talking while every moment is a question
of life or death.

MR. T. (_Coolly._) I’m waiting for developments, dear.

MRS. T. Developments, indeed! Do you think they will come to you? They
may be in the dells.

MR. T. No, this is the right spot. All our high-class affairs occur here.
Capt. Throckmugger died at the foot of that tree just over there.

MRS. T. Mercy! Josiah, how can you speak of blood! You want to kill me?

MR. T. Sophronia, dear, I disclaim—

MRS. T. (_Pulling him away._) Come along, we must find them! To the
dells! Quick! (_Exeunt, L._)

_ENTER excitedly ANGIE and MRS. T-K. R. 1._

MRS. T-K. I’m sure I heard voices!

ANGIE. But there is nobody in sight. Sister, do you think our coming here
is exactly proper?

MRS. T-K. True love dares all for duty.

ANGIE. Yes, but isn’t our affection rather recent to be put to such a
test.

MRS. T-K. Recent! Love knows nothing of time or place when its object is
in danger.

ANGIE. It is _so_ romantic. Is there really any danger?

MRS. T-K. Duels are sometimes in earnest, and Mr. Topp is a dead shot
they say.

ANGIE. Horrid old thing! Poor Mr. Tick!

MRS. T-K. Dear Mr. Topp!

ANGIE. Mr. Topp is a blood-thirsty old monster. I don’t like him one bit,
there now!

MRS. T-K. Brave man, he is fighting for you, and thus you repay his
gallantry.

ANGIE. (_Petulantly._) I don’t want him to fight for me. Oh, if Mr. Tick
should be hurt.

MRS. T-K. Mr. Tick is a villain.

ANGIE. Mr. Topp is a fool; a little blood-letting would do him good.

MRS. T-K. Sister, don’t mention blood, I shall expire. I know I shall.
Dear me, what a snarl things are in. We must stop this duel. Dear Mr.
Topp!

ANGIE. Adorable Mr. Tick!

MRS. T-K. They may have gone to the dells. Let’s go there (_Exit, running
L._)

ANGIE. Wait, sister! (_Exit, following, L._)

_ENTER TICK and GINGER, R._

(_Ginger carries large pair of corn knives or, as known to farmers,
“corncutters,” in a gunny sack._)

TICK. Ginger, I don’t like the looks of those corncutters. How do you use
them?

GIN. You jes cut an’ slash, that’s all. (_Business with knife._)

TICK. But suppose old Topp gets his slash in first. Where am I?

GIN. Say, looky hyah, Mistah Tick, do you like dat gal well enough to
fight fur ’er?

TICK. (_Swaggering._) I’d die for her. I’d wade through—

GIN. Never mind de wadin’! Keep youah shoes on an’ listen to Ginger
Potts. Ye want to play a big bluff, don’t ye?

TICK. Yes.

GIN. An’ I get ten dollars if de bluff goes?

TICK. That’s right.

GIN. Then you do jes as Ginger Potts tells you. If massa ever find dis
job out he’ll jes naterally skin me. I wouldn’t have him know it fur de
purtiest twenty-five dollar bill you ever see. Nosiree! Ye see, Mistah
Tick, when Cadwalader Topp sees dem corncutters he’ll be too mad to
fight. He’ll be madder’n a wet hen. He’ll say dem weepons is unnateral
an’ outrageous an’ sich as no gentleman kin use. You got de right to
choose de weepins. He raises a bushel of objections an’ you insists. Den
you see dah’s no jewel because de gemmen can’t agree on weepins. Ye’s
both saved yer honah an’ youah hides.

TICK. That’s a great scheme, Ginger. But suppose he agrees to the
weapons. I don’t like the looks of his eye.

GIN. (_Puzzled._) Dat’s an extreme case, but if it comes to extreemities,
an’ not till den min’ ye, call fur me an’ say you have to insult me.

TICK. Why should I insult you?

GIN. Doesn’t every gentleman insult his second?

TICK. Oh, I see, _consult_.

GIN. Exactly! Dat’s what I said! When ole massa sees me he’ll be
consulted. ’Cause ye see I’m a nigger an’ a nigger aint no gentleman.
He’ll jes have more dignity than a pew full o’ deacons and walk off
consulted.

TICK. Wont that get you into trouble?

GIN. Well, ole massa’ll storm ’round an’ threaten to lam me, but he wont
even tech me ’case massa’s a gentleman an’ I’ve been in de family three
generations!

TICK. Oh you prevaricator!

GIN. A what! Say dat again. I didn’t quite git dat.

TICK. You’re not over twenty-five years old.

GIN. Twenty-five las fall come a year. But ye see my gran’mammy she was
in de family, dat’s one generation; and my mammy she was Mr. Topp’s
nurse, dat’s two generations, ain’t it? An’ I was one generation, aint I?

TICK. There’s no doubt of it.

GIN. All right, I ain’t no great scholar, but I know three times one is
three times.

TICK. All right! I hear voices. Skip into the bushes and I’ll say my
second is looking for a surgeon. (_Exit GIN. hastily, L._)

_ENTER MR. TOPP, SPRATT and very dignified Surgeon, R. Latter carries
case of instruments, which he leisurely unpacks, showing a very
formidable saw, etc._

TOPP. (_To TICK._) Ah, prompt, I see. Where is your second?

TICK. He is delayed a little looking for a surgeon. I expect him
momentarily.

TOPP. That is unfortunate. Quick work here is the order. We are liable to
interruption from the police. We have brought a surgeon, Dr. Short.

TICK. Let your man Spratt and Doctor Short arrange details, I’m
indifferent.

TOPP. (_Haughtily._) This is no place for a display of generosity, sir.
This is very irregular and time is pressing.

SPRATT. I see no objection to stepping the ground, for example if Dr.
Short will stand for Mr. Tick.

TOPP. Very irregular, very. What do you say, Dr. Short?

DR. S. (_Very formal and dignified._) I coincide, sir. It is highly
irregular, I might add, perhaps, unprecedented. Had I the pleasure of the
acquaintance of your opponent—

TOPP. (_Bowing low._) I beg your pardon! I forget you were not
acquainted! Mr. Tick, I have the pleasure of introducing Dr. Short. Dr.
Short, Mr. Tick. Mr. Tick, Dr. Short. (_They bow._)

DR. SHORT. (_Judicially and with great dignity._) I think I may lay it
down as an axiom of the code that one gentleman _may_—I say _may_—stand
at all times for any other gentleman. Now, the fact that the gentleman’s
second is absent looking for a surgeon must be considered a valid reason
for delay and consequently _may_—I say advisedly _may_—allow slight
alterations of previous plans. My decision, then, is that your humble
servant might with absolute propriety—I say _might_ advisedly—stand
temporarily for the absent second of Mr. Tick. (_Bows to TICK._) I am at
your service, sir. I consent, to satisfy honor.

SPRATT. Very well, then let’s step thirty paces! (_Business of
measuring._)

TICK. (_Chuckles aside._) That’s a safe distance.

SPRATT. Now for choice of position. Heads or tails? (_Produces coin._)

DR. SHORT. (_Solemnly._) Heads.

SPRATT. (_Tossing._) Heads it is!

SHORT. (_Tosses._) Tails!

SPRATT. (_Tossing._) Heads it is! Your man gets the advantage of the
light. (_To TICK._) Let us examine your weapons. Are they loaded?

TICK. (_Producing knives from sack._) They are! (_All start at sight of
knives._)

TOPP. (_Surprised._) What in time are those implements?

TICK. The weapons.

TOPP. Why, confound you, sir, I wont fight with a butcher’s cleaver.

SPRATT. Corncutters, I beg your pardon.

TOPP. A vulgar agricultural implement. I won’t fight with them.

TICK. I insist. I have the right to choose the weapons.

TOPP. But only gentlemen’s weapons. I’ll have you understand, sir, that I
do not choose to be hacked to pieces with a sausage machine. Dr. Short, I
appeal to you.

DR. SHORT. (_With great deliberation._) Your objection is reasonable,
and I may add, most weighty. This uncouth weapon is unusual, and—and,
_vulgar_, I use the word vulgar advisedly in the sense of _common_,
without casting any reflection on this humble but useful agricultural
tool.

TICK. Gentlemen, _my_ second pronounces the weapons all right.

TOPP. A most remarkable second, sir! I’d like to see him. Why doesn’t he
appear.

TICK. I think I see him coming now. (_Hellos off R._) Hello! Hey! Hurry
up there.

_ENTER GIN. R._

TOPP. (_Astonished, falls back._) A niggro!

SPRATT. (_Repeats._) A nigger.

DR. SHORT. (_With disgust._) A niggro. This is no place for a gentleman.
(_Begins to pack his kit._)

TICK. Isn’t he a man and brother?

TOPP. (_Furious._) This is insufferable! This is a gross insult to be
atoned at once. (_Seizes one of corn knives._) I accept the weapons! Take
your place. At the word three, advance and defend yourself. I’ll make
shoe strings out of you, sir. (_Vehemently._) I will, on my life I will!

SPRATT. One, two, three!

TOPP. Come on. (_Makes pass at TICK who easily eludes him. Business of
TOPP chasing TICK around the stage, his movements those of a heavy, stiff
man. TICK easily eludes him, and makes no effort at defense. Business, ad
lib._)

_ENTER TWIGGS suddenly, R._

TWIGGS. Hello! What’s this? I expected a duel and here’s a sprinting
match. (_Laughs heartily. Looks at TOPP._) Why, Topp, what is that you
hold in your hand? An oyster opener? (_TOPP and TWIGGS R. SHORT and
SPRATT up C. TICK L., GIN. behind him._)

TOPP. Do you dare poke fun at me, sir. Don’t do it again. You laugh again
at your peril.

TWIGGS. Excuse me. I didn’t mean to talk shop, my cachinatory muscles are
subject to spasmodic movements. But what are you doing?

TOPP. (_Throws it away in disgust._) That man had the impudence to bring
a sausage knife on these hallowed precincts.

TICK. Pardon me! A corncutter!

SPRATT. No gentleman would propose a corncutter as a decent weapon.

TWIGGS. Quite right! We’ll have none of them. They are perfectly absurd!
Fit only for niggros. Nothing like hair triggers. (_Steps toward C._)
Has any gentleman a brace of pistols? I think I can arrange all to the
satisfaction of the company.

SPRATT. (_Comes down C._) I brought a pair for alternatives. (_Produces
them from case._)

TWIGGS. Ah, beauties!

TICK. I object to hair triggers!

TWIGGS. On what grounds, sir?

TICK. They might go off.

TWIGGS. A frivolous objection, sir! You owe Mr. Topp satisfaction. Your
position is absurd, and let me say, sir, subjects you to suspicion; yes
sir, to suspicion of cowardice!

TICK. (_Comes toward them, C., blusters._) I’m no coward, mind that!
(_Aside._) This is serious. (_Aside to TWIGGS._) I don’t want to fight.

TWIGGS. (_In a friendly manner._) Don’t want to fight? What are your
reasons?

TICK. I might get hurt!

TWIGGS. That’s no reason!

TICK. Come aside and I’ll tell you all.

TWIGGS. Publicity is the only recourse at this stage of the proceedings.

TICK. If you must then, I—I don’t wish to deprive an honored house of its
head.

TOPP. None of your sentiment, sir!

TWIGGS. A very commendable sentiment, but invalid.

DR. SHORT. Yes, insufficient.

TWIGGS. At this stage of the quarrel, without having satisfied wounded
honor, no gentleman would ever speak to either of you again. I advise
one shot anyway.

TOPP. I insist on one shot.

TICK. I object to Mr. Topp’s second. He is here through motives of
revenge. I’ll leave it to Dr. Short if motives of revenge are allowable
in an affair of honor.

DR. SHORT. (_Emphatically._) Never! (_To SPRATT, sternly._) Is this true,
sir? (_SPRATT silent._)

GIN. It is. He’s mad at Mistah Tick ’cause he made fun of his twins,
Grover Cleveland Spratt and Benjamin Harrison Spratt.

TOPP. I recall some words now, when I come to think of it.

TWIGGS. Resign, sir, at once! Do you resign?

SPRATT. I do! (_Aside._) They are onto my scheme.

GIN. (_To SPRATT, aside._) Bettah git now.

SPRATT. I’ll get even with you, you black rascal. (_Exit, while GIN. goes
through pantomime of kicking him out._)

TWIGGS. (_Muses._) Hang it all, I’ll act as second for both parties.
How’s that?

DR. SHORT. (_Gravely._) Unusual, without precedent but _honorable_.

TWIGGS. (_Brusquely._) Gentlemen, consider it settled! Take your places!
(_They move to places. TOPP R., TICK L. TICK mechanically, as if half
dazed._) The word is one, two, three, fire. (_Thrusts pistol in hand of
each and goes up C. to give signal. TICK holds his weapon very awkwardly,
pointing down._) Young man, are you going to shoot a hole in the earth?
(_Adjusts pistol on level for him._)

TOPP. (_Dodging._) I don’t like that. That’s partiality.

TWIGGS. Ah, possibly. (_Reflects a moment._) Stay, I have an idea.
(_Produces pistol from pocket._) Dr. Short, favor me with your weapon.
(_Takes SHORT’S pistol and goes up C._) Ready, gentlemen. Dr. Short, I’ll
trouble you to give the signal. The principals will kindly aim at each
other and, to show strict impartiality, I’ll shoot at both. (_Levels a
pistol at each of the principals._)

TOPP. (_Dodging._) Hold on there!

TICK. (_Dodging, immediately recovering himself._) No sir—ee! that wont
do!

DR. SHORT. Extraordinary!

_ENTER MRS. TWIGGS, R., runs to TWIGGS._

MRS. T. Oh, Josiah, have you found them? (_TWIGGS hastily thrusts one
pistol in his pocket and tries to hide the other under his coat._) Oh,
Josiah, why don’t you speak. Is anybody killed? Has blood been shed?

TWIGGS. (_Disgusted._) Not a blamed drop! (_Aside._) Fun all spoiled.

_ENTER ANGIE and MRS. T-K., running R._

MRS. T-K. (_Running to TOPP, R._) Oh, Mr. Topp, I implore you spare him!

ANGIE. (_Running to TICK, L._) Spare him, Mr. Tick! Spare him!

TICK. Certainly! I can spare him! (_Puts arm round her waist._)

TOPP. (_Furious._) Bless my eyes! Look at his audacity! I will commit
murder. (_Tries to get at TICK, flourishing corncutter. MRS. T-K. clings
to him._)

MRS. T-K. You shall not! (_Tableau._) Be merciful!

TOPP. Rash woman, let me go! My honor is at stake.

MR. T. Mr. Topp, there’s a slight mistake somewhere. (_Everybody pauses
for explanations, T. crosses to TOPP._) I’ll try to clear it up. You
advertised for twins?

TICK. Twins! (_Makes face of surprise._) Dogs!

MRS. T. Generous man!

TOPP. (_Annoyed._) Madam, this is no place for a disquisition on
generosity.

MRS. T. So modest! Don’t deny it.

MR. T. Your advertisement brought my daughters to your house. You admired
one of them, but I fear you made advances to the wrong one by mistake.

TOPP. (_Pointing to ANGIE._) That is the young lady I meant.

MRS. T-K. But unfortunately she objects. (_Confidentially._) I fear her
affections are elsewhere. (_ANGIE cuddles up to TICK._)

TOPP. (_Regarding ANGIE and TICK._) Humph! Well, I shouldn’t be surprised
if they were. Here’s a pretty state of affairs. I’ve made a fool of
myself. Well, “There’s no fool like an old fool.”

MR. T. My dear Mr. Topp, a young man should not be so pessimistic. Let me
match your maxim with another. “There’s just as good fish in the sea as
ever were caught.” (_Nudges MRS. T. aside._) How’s that for a pointer?

MRS. T. Mr. Topp, let me introduce my daughter, Mrs. Twiggs-Knott. (_TOPP
bows. MRS. T., confidentially._) She is the mother of lovely twins.

TOPP. Ah! indeed, madam? (_To MRS. T-K._) Boys?

MRS. T-K. Fine fellows.

TOPP. Age?

MRS. T-K. Seven.

TOPP. Both the same age?

MRS. T-K. (_Confused._) Why, to be sure.

TOPP. (_Confused._) Yes, of course, I beg pardon!

MRS. T-K. (_Nudging Josiah._) Confused! That’s a good sign.

MR. T. Rattled!

TOPP. Healthy?

MRS. T-K. Tough as pine knots.

MR. T. (_Laughing._) Pine knots, Twiggs-Knotts too. (_Laughs at his
witticism._)

MRS. T. (_Aside._) Josiah, your puns are atrocious. (_Twiggs goes L. C.
to TICK and speaks inaudibly to him._)

TOPP. Madam, I’ll take the goods, if they’re up to grade.

MRS. T-K. The goods?

TICK. Now, the old man is talking shop himself.

TOPP. I mean, I’ll take the boys.

MRS. T-K. Oh, thank you! Oh, how good of him!

TOPP. Mr. Twiggs, you seem to know that young man of monumental
assurance. Who is this Tick?

TWIGGS. Tick? Why, his name is not Tick. That is a nick-name the boys
gave him. He is the son of my oldest friend, John Baggs. He is in the
employ of Topp & Topp.

TOPP. (_To TICK._) Are you my man, Jim Baggs?

TICK. (Bowing.) I have that honor.

TOPP. Playing tricks on the “old man,” eh? I’ve a mind to discharge you
on the spot. Well, I wont, come to think of it. The manager says you
could sell oysters to a tobacco sign.

TICK. (_Bowing._) Thank you!

TOPP. But I can’t forgive such freaks, sir.

TICK. I’m very sorry—

TWIGGS. Yes, he’s sorry. Young blood you know and none spilled
either—(_All laugh._)

MRS. T. (_Severely._) Josiah!

MR. T. Yes, my dear!

MRS. T-K. We had better go home!

TOPP. Certainly, madam. Potts! Where’s that niggro?

GIN. (_Coming forward._) Yis, sah.

TOPP. Go to the cab stand at the Park and send carriages to meet us at
the fountain.

GIN. Yis, sah. (_Exit L._)

MRS. T-K. (_To TOPP._) I do so dislike to part with my dear little boys.
Only poverty—

TOPP. They shall have all the advantages of wealth.

MRS. T-K. There _may_ be conditions attached to their going?

TOPP. Indeed? I thought that was all settled?

MRS. T-K. (_Sentimentally, with languishing glance._) I should be very
lonely.

TOPP. Ah, I think I understand the conditions. (_Looks at her
significantly._) The mother goes with the twins?

MRS. T-K. She _might_ be induced—that is—oh, dear, how sudden! how
embarrassing!

TOPP. To relieve that embarrassment, I accept the conditions.

TWIGGS. Take her, my boy! Take her, and God bless you, my children.
(_Slaps TOPP on back._)

MRS. T. Josiah, you shock me. You anticipate. This is no place for such
demonstrations. _Will_ you go home?

MR. T. I will. Come along. (_Seizes her arm._)

TOPP. (_Taking arm of MRS. T-K._) Come, dear. The house of Topp & Topp
shall still keep in the line of its traditions. Twin brothers, same age.
(_TICK takes ANGIE’S arm. Dress stage._)

TABLEAU:

          _R._                                  _L._

    SHORT, MR. TOPP, MRS. T-K., TWIGGS, MRS. T., ANGIE, TICK.

CURTAIN.


ABOUT THE PLAY.

_Costumes_ of the day. No special make-up is needed and the only
direction to be given is that each person should dress in character.

The _dialect_ of GINGER is largely that of the conventional stage darky,
which is absurdly unlike the real thing. It is used here for two reasons.
First because it is the conventional type that people in the north
expect; and second, because the real negro speech is very hard to express
in print, and would be very difficult for an amateur to render with
such slight study as is usual. In fact the negro dialect of the south
consists largely in the peculiar _sonorous quality_ of the negro voice
and in the use of _quaint expressions_. To pronounce “Massa” “Massy” is
to fail utterly in imitating the African. It is broad and rich, _Mas’r_
(_nearly_). Their grammar is frequently very good, but the penchant of
the African to use high-sounding words often leads to very ludicrous
results. TOPP’S TWINS will require careful _rehearsal_. Owing to the
peculiar nature of the humor and the droll situations, anything like
lagging will ruin the effect. The man who plays CADWALADER TOPP must not
forget that he is always a gentleman, even in his anger, but he is a
_genial_ gentleman and not an icicle. TICK’S assurance always has good
nature in it, while SPRATT’S is malicious. MRS. DUBBLEDAM is slow, heavy
and serious in all she does.

The author has endeavored to follow the old style and let the humor of
the play flow continuously rather than to depend on startling climaxes
for effect.

The _duel_ scene may be made very effective, but it must not descend to
“horse play.”




                               PATSY O’WANG

                   AN IRISH FARCE WITH A CHINESE MIX-UP

                             BY T. S. DENISON

                               _Author of_
  Odds with the Enemy, Initiating a Granger, Wanted, a Correspondent, A
    Family Strike, Seth Greenback, Louva, the Pauper, Hans Von Smash,
 Borrowing Trouble, Two Ghosts in White, The Pull-Back, Country Justice,
        The Assessor, The Sparkling Cup, Our Country, Irish Linen
     Peddler, The School Ma’am, Kansas Immigrants, An Only Daughter,
         Too Much of a Good Thing, Under the Laurels, Hard Cider,
         The Danger Signal, Wide Enough for Two, Pets of Society,
         Is the Editor In? The New Woman, Patsy O’Wang, Rejected,
             Only Cold Tea, Madam P’s Beauty Parlors, Topp’s
         Twins, A First-Class Hotel, It’s all in the Pay-Streak,
           The Cobbler, A Dude in a Cyclone, Friday Dialogues.

                            _Also the Novels,
                   The Man Behind, An Iron Crown, etc._

                                 CHICAGO:
                        T. S. DENISON, PUBLISHER,
                           163 RANDOLPH STREET.




PATSY O’WANG.

COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY T. S. DENISON.


CAST OF CHARACTERS.

    PATSY O’WANG, alias Chin Sum, from Hong Kong.
    DR. HENRY FLUKE, who runs a sanitarium.
    MIKE, from the ould sod, an assistant.
    MR. BOYLER, a patient with rheumatism.
    MRS. HARRIET FLUKE.
    MISS SIMPER, who has a mission, a Chinese Sunday-school.
    NORAH, maid of all work.

_Time of Representation, thirty-five minutes._


SYNOPSIS AND HINTS TO PLAYERS.

The key to this capital farce is the remarkable transformation of which
Chin Sum is capable. Born of Irish father and Chinese mother and brought
up in barracks at Hong Kong he has a remarkable dual nature. Whiskey,
the drink of his father, transforms him into a true Irishman, while
strong tea, the beverage of his mother, has the power of restoring fully
his Chinese character. Dr. Fluke employs Chin as cook, on the hearty
recommendation of his old friend, Major Barker. Unfortunately for the
doctor, Chin gets at the whiskey bottle through the carelessness of Mike,
who, in his way is no less a character than Chin Sum himself. For the
subsequent ludicrous incidents read the text of the play.

The author believes that this farce will prove one of the most popular.
The extraordinary success of his previous plays, notably the farces
“Hans Von Smash.” “Irish Linen Peddler,” and “Wide Enough for Two,”
renders this prediction a safe one. What the public wants is _humor_ and
_action_. In the latter feature “Patsy O’Wang” is unequaled. _Caution_,
in fact, is necessary here lest the play be overdone. Excessive
boisterousness and “horse play” should be carefully avoided.

This is a play that must be _well rehearsed_. It must be kept in mind
that while Mike and Norah are conventional Irish with a thick brogue,
Patsy (after his transformation) speaks good English with little if any
brogue. In Hong Kong his associations were with officers of the British
army (as servant) and naturally he acquired the language of gentlemen.

No instructions can be given here concerning the Chinese part except that
the _timbre_ and _tones_ of the Chinese voice are very peculiar, and can
be learned only by listening to Chinamen. The Chinese dialect as written
here (and elsewhere in America) is at best but a poor imitation, but good
enough to be funny, which is the only object in view.

COSTUMES of the day. Patsy, very thick-soled shoes (can be fixed at
home), and tunic to wear outside pantaloons.


PROPERTIES.

Machine of some kind to make noise in wings; bottles in box, bottles on
shelves, extra coat and shoes for office, ulster, hot-water bag and tube,
funnel, cane, letter, large syringe, or other article to serve as stomach
pump, tray, tea-pot, cups, plate of crackers, pig-tail for Patsy, wig for
Boyler.


STAGE DIRECTIONS.

_R._ means right of the stage _C._, center; _R. C._, right center; _L._,
left; _1 E._, first entrance; _U. E._, upper entrance, etc.; _D. F._,
door in flat or back of the stage. The actor is supposed to be facing the
audience.

[Illustration: PATSY O’WANG.]


PATSY O’WANG.

    SCENE—_DOCTOR FLUKE’S office. Main entrance L., private
    consultation room R., massage and electric room entrance D. F.
    R. C. Table C., with old papers and magazines. Small bookcase
    with books, or shelves with bottles at option, by flat L. C.
    Diploma on wall. Sign on door “DR. FLUKE, hours 12 to 4.”
    Settee, R._

MRS. F. (_Discovered as curtain arises._) Well, Dr. Fluke, _I_ shant take
the responsibility of having a Chinaman in the house.

DR. F. My dear, don’t be absurd! There’s no responsibility in the case.
Out in California, you know, people are charmed with Chinese cooks. Why,
your sister couldn’t be induced to part with Weak Lung.

MRS. F. Maria always was eccentric.

DR. F. But you know, darling, we have tried everything but the
Chinese—Irish, Swede, German, French, African, Yankee—that’s so as we
haven’t had any Hindoos yet nor Cannibal Islanders.

MRS. F. Dear me! It makes me weary to think of it. Why can’t we get along
with Norah?

DR. F. (_Sarcastically._) Or transform Mike into a cook.

MRS. F. Now you are absurd, Henry. I’ll wash my hands of the whole affair.

DR. F. My dear, that is just what I wanted you to say.

MRS. F. Indeed, then you needn’t have asked my opinion at all.

DR. F. I am sure this Patsy O’Wang is a treasure.

MRS. F. (_In astonishment._) Patsy O’Wang! Patsy doesn’t sound very
Chinese.

DR. F. But he has a history.

MRS. F. Oh indeed! That’s rather a doubtful accomplishment for a cook.

DR. F. Quite the contrary! Harriet, I tell you that I’ve found a
treasure. Let me read you what Major Barker says in his letter
recommending Chin Sum.

MRS. F. Chin Sum! I thought you said his name was—what barbarous name did
you say?

DR. F. (_Laughing._) Patsy O’Wang! but that’s only a nick-name. The
Chinese of it is Chin Sum. Now Chin is the son of a wild Irish officer
in the tenth Artillery stationed formerly at Hong Kong. His mother was a
pretty Chinese girl.

MRS. F. (_Surprised._) Well, did you ever!

DR. F. My dear, I admit that there is a slight flaw in his pedigree.
(_Looking at letter._) But let me skip all that. Major Barker speaks of
him in the most extravagant terms—(_reading_): “The best cook I ever
saw,” “the most obedient servant,” “the most affectionate creature”;
(_triumphantly_) isn’t that enough?

MRS. F. I suppose so since apparently it is all settled.

DR. F. There’s more.

MRS. F. Never mind, skip it.

DR. F. Eh, what’s this? “Never under any circumstances let him taste a
drop of whiskey.”

MRS. F. Humph, then you’ll have to keep him and Mike apart.

DR. F. (_Reads to himself._) Really that is surprising.

MRS. F. What’s surprising?

_ENTER NORAH, L._

DR. F. Nothing, my dear (_reads_). “The remedy is”—

NORAH. If you plaze, sor, the Chinee cook has come.

DR. F. All right, Norah, show him his room and then take him to the
kitchen. My dear will you install him?

MRS. F. No indeed! You may do that, Henry, till he gets a start.
Decidedly I feel nervous with a Chinaman in the kitchen. Who knows but he
may poison us all.

NORAH. (_Re-enter with card._) If you plaze, Mrs. Fluke, Miss Simper’s at
the dure.

MRS. F. Show her in, Norah, at once. (_Exit NORAH, L._) Now she will be
trying to convert him.

_ENTER MISS SIMPER, L._

MRS. F. I’m delighted to see you, Miss Simper.

MISS S. Thank you! I just run in for a minute. Good morning, Dr. Fluke.

DR. F. Good morning, Miss Simper. How charming you look. That tonic
benefited you greatly. Shall I change the prescription?

MISS S. (_Hastily._) No, thank you, I have come to-day in the interest of
the missionary cause.

MRS. F. Wont you step back into the parlor where we can talk at leisure?

MISS S. Oh no, I’m in a dreadful hurry. The African Argonauts meet at
eleven and I preside. We start our first worker to Ashantee to-morrow.
At 4 p. m. the Mongolian Mediators have a meeting and at 8 p. m. is the
debate in which we shall answer the Cannibal Calumniators.

DR. F. You are a very busy bee, Miss Simper.

MISS S. No, I’ve resigned from the Busy Bees; concentrating you see. They
say you have a new Chinese cook, Mrs. Fluke.

MRS. F. Not I. He’s the doctor’s importation. Talk to him.

MISS S. (_Enthusiastically._) Oh doctor, tell me all about him. My heart
bleeds for the millions of Asia who sit in outer darkness.

DR. F. My dear Miss Simper, he is a gold nugget; he will be a capital
acquisition in your mission school, so intelligent, so docile, so
affectionate, so—so—

MISS S. Just so. Oh, I’m perfectly delighted. Doctor, does he—ah—has he
doffed the Chinese garb yet and donned the raiment of civilization?

DR. F. Blessed if I know. I’ll call him in and introduce him at once.
(_Rings._)

MISS S. Do so. I was just going to ask that very favor. I’m sure he will
agreeably surprise us all.

DR. F. He will. (_NORAH enters L._) Bring Chin Sum here.

MRS. F. I hope the wretch doesn’t smoke opium.

DR. F. Harriet, don’t expose your ignorance. That is done in _joints_.

MRS. F. What kind of joints?

DR. F. Blessed if I know, bamboo joints possibly. I hear the Chinese do
most everything with bamboo except to fight Japan. They did that in their
minds.

_ENTER NORAH followed by CHIN._

DR. F. Chin Sum, I want to introduce you to my wife; by the way, I think
I will call you Patsy. Wife, our new servant Patsy O’Wang. (_MRS. F.
surveys him in silence._)

PATSY. (_Puts left hand to heart and bows._) Velly much glad see Missee
Fluke.

DR. F. And this is Miss Simper, a mission young lady.

PATSY. Vellee nice mission gull (_girl_).

MISS S. (_Blushing._) Mr. O’Wang, you’re _so_ gallant. Promise me to come
to Bible class next Sunday.

PATSY. Sooh thing!

MISS S. How intelligent!

PATSY. Leadee all same Biblee in Flisco?

MISS S. I don’t understand him. (_Turns enquiringly to Dr._)

DR. F. Yes, Patsy, they read the same Bible as they do in Frisco.

PATSY. Sing velly nice hymn-song all same day?

DR. F. Yes!

PATSY. Chin Sum make be school boy next Sunday all same day.

DR. F. (_Looks at watch._) Patients will be coming soon. Patsy, I’ll show
you the kitchen and tell you what to prepare for dinner to-day, after
that Mrs. Fluke—

MRS. F. Oh dear!

MISS S. How charming! So childlike!

PATSY. (_Grins._) All samee lika big man-shile? No catchee what say.

DR. F. Patsy, go to the kitchen, I’ll be there in a minute. (_Dr. goes
into office changes coat, putting on light jacket, hanging coat in
office. Follows Patsy out L._)

_NORAH and MIKE heard D. F._

MRS. F. Here are the attendants getting the baths ready. Come into the
house. It may be all right but I’m afraid.

MISS S. What, afraid of Chin! I shall call him Chin, poor boy. I think
those Chinese names perfectly lovely. So brief, so simple, so childlike.
Chin! just think! _so_ expressive.

MRS. F. (_As they go, L._) And those horrid stories of rats and opium.

MISS S. I don’t believe a word of it. (_Exeunt, L._)

_ENTER MIKE and NORAH from D. F._

NORAH. What do you think, Mike, of havin’ a Chinee cook in the house?

MIKE. Ah Norah, it’s an outrage, that’s the whole blissid truth. To think
of a blackgyard haythen cookin’ for dacint people.

NORAH. It’s a disgrace, I’ll give notice, I will—

MIKE. I’ll not ate a bit o’ his dirthy cookin’, faith I’ll not.

NORAH. But what’ll ye do. Them that works must eat.

MIKE. (_Winking._) O’im all right as long as free lunches hold out.

NORAH. Free lunches ye’d better let alone, Mike.

MIKE. Norah, it’s not the lunches that afficts me. It’s what goes with
thim.

NORAH. Last time you know, Dr. Fluke said you’d have to leave if you got
drunk again.

MIKE. It’s a bit o’ charity the doctor needs. Ivery mon has some wakeness.

NORAH. And woman is weak too, so just carry out that box of bottles for
me, I’ll have to wash them here. The doctor has some of his truck in the
laboratory.

MIKE. He’ll be blowin’ the whole place up yit with his dinnymite an’
farmacopy. (_Brings out bottles and sets box L. up._)

NORAH. Mike, ye’d better get ready for Mr. Boyler. He’ll be here pretty
soon for his electricity and that Englishman will want his bawth. (_NORAH
washing bottles._)

MIKE. Faith it’s enough to try the patience of ould Job himself. Begob,
Job never was docthor’s assistant. I regret I iver intered the midical
profession. Ivery toime I look at ould Boyler he sez, Mike, ye’ve hurt me
rheumatiz again.

NORAH. Mike, you are too strong, you must be careful.

MIKE. Faith I handle him just like a new born baby, or like the egg with
the chick unborn. But the ould badger’s that tender I’m mortally afraid
he’ll go all to pieces in the bath tub.

NORAH. Mr. Boyler complains to Doctor Fluke that you are too rough.

MIKE. Too rough, is it! Faith he’ll have to be packed in cotton nixt.
The Docthor was after tellin’ me to stretch Boyler’s limbs gintly loike
an’ I tuk hold av his arm with one hand and his shoulther with the other
like this and pulled like this, sort o’ bracin’ mysilf loike with one fut
forinst the tub. I’m a thafe if some jint or other didn’t snap like a
pistol. I was so scared that I dropped the ould bundle in the wather hid
over ears. I thought he was goin’ to exshplode right there in me hands.

NORAH. (_Laughing._) What did he say?

MIKE. I don’t know what he intinded to say. He sthrangled.

NORAH. Why, was he under the water so long as that?

MIKE. No, indade it wasn’t the wather. It was the strong language. He is
that way sometimes when his emotions overcome him. When the ould sinner
gets to swearin’, he can’t stop till he sthrangles. After that he’s very
paceable for a shpell.

NORAH. But he’s awful good in spite of his rough ways. He gives you many
a quarter.

MIKE. That he does and I couldn’t think more of an only child if I had
wan nor an only father ayther for that matter. I’m prayin’ for him night
an’ day. If he survives these baths and the alectricity an’ the drugs and
the plasthers, it’ll be a great triumph of the midical profession. There
he comes now, I hear his cane on the walk.

_ENTER BOYLER, L., limping and twisted with rheumatism._

BOYLER. Good morning, Mike, good morning, Norah.

MIKE. Mornin’, sir. Begob, ye’re spry as a kitten this marnin’. I thought
it was the milkman whin I heerd yez.

BOYLER. Mike, try to be careful to-day. You rubbed my right side
yesterday till I think you started all my ribs.

NORAH. Do be gentle, Mike.

MIKE. I’ll be as tender—as tender as a shpring chicken. It’s alictricity,
sor, to-day?

BOYLER. So it is, I forgot.

MIKE. The docthor said yez couldn’t stand another bath to-day. (_Catching
himself._) I mane ye’re improvin’ till yez don’t nade it. (_Leads B. into
D. F. to operating room._)

NORAH. (_Washing bottles._) Such dirty bottles. The labels ain’t half
soaked off and the half of them look greasy. (_Sound of machine
humming._) Boyler groans: “Oh! Mike, that’s too strong.”

NORAH. Poor man, I wonder if it does him any good?

_ENTER PATSY O’WANG, L._

PATSY. Ilish gal! Monnin’, Nolee.

NORAH. (_Looks up._) What’s that?

PATSY. All samee nice day.

NORAH. Go back with yez to the kitchen.

PATSY. Chin Sum want see.

_ENTER MIKE from D. F._

MIKE. Yez want to see? All right ye shall see. That (_Points R. door._)
is the Docthor’s private consultification room. Nobody but himself and
patients and mimbers of the profession like mesilf go in there. (_B.
calls_ “MIKE.”) Back there is the operating room. Whin yez git hurted
that’s where they saw yer leg off.

PATSY. (_Starting._) What time saw leg?

MIKE. Ony toime.

PATSY. Who leg?

MIKE. Begob, onbody’s if they can pay for the job. (_B. impatiently calls
“MIKE, MIKE!”_)

MIKE. Comin’, sor.

PATSY. (_Sees machine through door._) What machine? All samee lope loun
wheel.

MIKE. (_Scratching his head._) I’m thinkin’ it would take a Frinchman or
a Dago to talk to the haythen.

PATSY. Lope loun wheel. (_Makes sign of turning._)

MIKE. He wants to turn a bit. Begob, yez may turn awhile.

NORAH. Be careful, Mike. The doctor wouldn’t like it. (_They enter D. F._)

MIKE. (_Voice heard._) Turn aisy loike. It’s great shport. (_Patsy turns
machine._)

_RE-ENTER MIKE._

NORAH. Doctor wouldn’t like your letting that Chinee boy meddle here.

MIKE. I’ve a bit of an arrant. He may turn till I get back. (_Exit L._)

NORAH. Worry now! These be a bad lot of bottles. (_Drops one and breaks
it._) There, I’ve broken one. (_B. groans_ “Hold, that’s too fast.”
_PATSY turns faster. B. yells_ “stop.” _Chinaman does not understand. B.
screams in pain_, “stop, you scoundrel!”)

NORAH. Oh dear, there they go. I knew there would be trouble. (_Calls D.
L._) “Mike, Mike, come quick. Where is the doctor? He ought to be here.”
(_Runs out L._)

BOYLER. (_Gets up, and crash of chair upsetting._) You Mongolian idiot.
(_Comes out D. F._) Where is that rascally Irishman? (_PATSY follows out,
looks puzzled._) John, you are a fool.

PATSY. (_Grins._) My name not John. Name in Chinee Chin Sum. Melican name
Patsy O’Wang.

B. Stop your chatter, you mummy, you saffron colored rat catcher! Where
is that rascal of a Mike? When I get well it’ll be a bad day for him.
I’ll murder that man yet. (_Dances around._) How my nerves thrill,
oh! oh! (_Seizes left leg and dances around on right._) The liniment!
No attendance here. I’ll sue Fluke for damages. Here, you moon-faced
Mongolian monkey! What are you grinning at? Do you see that bottle of
liniment? (_Points with cane to bottle on shelf._)

PATSY. Heap bottle, one time, whichee?

B. That one! bring it in and rub me. I’m on fire.

PATSY. Melican man hot like old boy; all bun up.

BOYLER. I’ll die in this infernal torture chamber. (_Roars._) Bring the
bottle! (_Enters D. F. growling and holding leg._)

PATSY. (_Takes brandy bottle, uncorks, smells._) Um! Hong Kong blandy!
make toddy likee time in Hong Kong. Dlink heap toddy. (_Takes drink, rubs
stomach._) Um! velly good.

B. (_Calls._) Hurry up, you! What on earth are you doing?

PATSY. (_Takes bottle of liniment, enters D. F. Rubs B., who gives grunts
of satisfaction. PATSY runs out, takes another drink, rubs stomach, runs
back again, rubs B. Business ad lib._)

_ENTER MIKE suddenly, followed by NORAH, L. They surprise PATSY with
bottle._

MIKE. Put that down, ye haythen!

PATSY. Ilishman dlunk! (_Runs back and turns handle furiously._)

NORAH. Do ye hear that, Mike? That Chinaman’s goin’ to ruin the place!
Oh, do stop him.

MIKE. Let the haythen airn his wages. (_Piercing shrieks from B._)

NORAH. Oh Mike, do stop him. He’ll kill Mr. Boyler.

MIKE. (_Unconcernedly._) Faith, that’s nothin’. That’s the way the ould
badger goes on ivery day if I only touch a bit av a sore spot. A good
shakin’ up’ll benefit him greatly. I think he’ll be ready nixt for the
bat’s liver oil.

NORAH. Merciful powers! Did ye say bat’s liver oil?

MIKE. Bat’s liver oil, I said. (_PATSY comes out to make sneak for
bottle, MIKE turns and sees him._) Hould on there, Patsy! The docthor and
meself have institooted a regular coorse (_B. yells_) “Mike, where are
you?” Here, sor. (_To NORAH._) First comes the hot bath at noinety noine
degrays Farenhot, followed by pullin’ the limbs, on the injy rubber plan.
(_Business of stretching patient’s arm._) Nixt is the alictricity an’
liniment; thin comes the bat’s liver oil.

NORAH. An’ what will be next?

MIKE. That’s a saycret like the Kaly cure.

NORAH. Tell _me_ wont you Mike?

MIKE. Yis, if yez wont tell onybody. (_Approaches her and puts up hand to
her ear, then in very loud distinct stage whisper._) Sand paper!

NORAH. Go ’long with yez. (_Slaps him._)

B. (_Inside._) Murder! Oh! oh! You infernal scoundrel. (_Great racket of
B. getting out of chair. PATSY comes out flying with B. after him. They
come down C. B. strikes PATSY with cane. PATSY grabs at cane and pulls
B.’S wig off. Runs with it into office, R., and closes door as B. throws
cane after him._)

MIKE. Thank God he’s cured! He’s throwed away the cane. (_B. clutches at
MIKE’S throat, MIKE dodges._) Aisy sor, aisy, ye’re all right now.

B. (_Speaks with difficulty._) You villain! My leg is on fire. (_Makes
after MIKE, chases him round the table._)

MIKE. I belave it, sor. It’s a very lively leg, Mr. Boyler. (_They stop,
MIKE next L. B. R. of table._)

B. (_Trying to speak but can not for rage and excitement._) Oh, you—you—

MIKE. Aisy sor, careful sor. Wont ye step into the office and write a
bit of a tistimonial for the inshtitootion? (_B. shakes his fist at him,
speechless._)

NORAH. Oh dear, we’re all ruined. He’ll tell the Doctor.

MIKE. Whist, he’s stranglin’ now. It is the profanity. He’s often took
that way. (_PATSY in office utters a loud whoop._)

NORAH. Where _is_ the Doctor. Everything’s going to ruin. (_Runs out L.
Another whoop in office. B. frantically rubbing lame leg._)

MIKE. That haythen is gettin’ gay. I’ll tache him a lesson he won’t
forget soon. I’ll tache him to stay in the kitchen. (_Goes toward office
door._)

B. (_Recovers speech._) I’ll have you arrested, you villain, for
malpractice.

MIKE. Malpractice! What sort o’ practice is that?

B. You are a pair of knaves. (_In excitement puts down lame leg._)

MIKE. What a wonderful cure. Beautiful! I’ll just kape this stick as a
tistimonial.

B. None of your insolence. I’ll sue Doctor Fluke for damages, and as for
you and that Chinaman, I’ll have you put in jail. (_Going L._)

MIKE. A beautiful cure, sor. Ye walk as straight as—as straight—as the
moral law. Ye’d make an illegant drum-major.

B. (_Snorts._) Drum-major! (_Going._)

MIKE. Wont yez take yer hat, sor? (_Exit B. L. limping very little._) Now
I’ll just settle with John Chinaman, bad cess to him.

_ENTER PATSY suddenly from office._

PATSY. Whoopee! Feel good! Allee same day feel bully! (_Jumps from floor
and kicks his wooden-soled shoes like an athlete._)

MIKE. (_Starting back._) Faith I think he’s possissed! (_PATSY still
clutches wig in left hand, seizes cane from table and jumps up again.
Comes down with a whoop and makes a lightning shillelah pass at MIKE’S
head._)

MIKE. The divil’s in him. I’d betther call the docthor. (_Starts L.
slowly at first with PATSY advancing. They keep eyes on each other and
MIKE gradually gets in a panic. He suddenly darts for door just as PATSY
throws an empty bottle from table at his head. Bottle breaks outside with
a crash._)

PATSY. (_Comes down C._) It’s a bad head I have! Where am I? What am I?
(_Thinks a moment._) Now I have it. I’m an Irishman again. Is this Hong
Kong? No, this is America. (_Looks round._) A doctor’s shop! I was this
way once before in Hong Kong when I got drunk in the barracks. Whiskey
brings out the Irish in me. But they put me back. What did they give me?
I can’t remember. My head’s all confused. (_Hands to head._) Well, I
wont be a Chinaman. I wont take a blessed drop of anything but poteen.
I’ll get rid of this Chinese dress. I hate it. (_Notices wig._) Just the
thing! (_Coils pig-tail up carefully on top of his head and puts on B.’S
wig. Looks in hand glass that is on shelf._) Not so bad! Old coat, I’m
done with you, too. (_Throws of Chinese tunic. Gets doctor’s coat from
nail inside office and puts it on. Looks in glass._) Not so bad a fit,
though a bit too long in the tails. (_Walks across stage._) Well now,
aint I good enough Irish for New York or Chicago or Cork ayther? (_Sees
shoes._) Look at the bloody shoes. (_Kicks them high in the air._) Off
with ye. Cow leather’s good enough for me. (_Goes in office and comes out
with doctor’s shoes. Puts them on._) Now me toilet is more to me likin’.
(_Struts admiringly._) Let that ould bear come back an’ the doctor and
his man. I’ll thrash the whole crowd if they lay hands on me.

_ENTER MRS. FLUKE, L._

MRS. F. A patient? The doctor will soon be here. Have a seat, sir.
(_Notices oddity of PATSY’S appearance. Starts._) Oh! Who are you?

PATSY. Don’t be alarmed, madam. I’m Patsy O’Wang. I’m the new—No, indeed,
I’m _not_ that.

MRS. F. The new cook, and crazy! Oh dear, I knew there’d be trouble. Oh,
_why_ doesn’t Dr. Fluke come!

PATSY. I beg, madam, that you do not give yourself any uneasiness about
the doctor. He’ll soon be here, I assure you.

MRS. F. He seems harmless. I declare if he hasn’t a wig! And as I live
the doctor’s coat on. (_Aside._) A robber in disguise.

PATSY. Madam, you are not well. (_Politely._) I beg you to be seated.
(_Points to chair by table._)

MRS. F. He’s very polite, at any rate. (_During this dialogue MRS. F. has
been getting closer to door L. and at last darts out suddenly to surprise
of PATSY._)

PATSY. There’s goes another! It’s not much confidence the new mistress
has in me. They’re puttin’ a job up on me. What is it they gave me
before? (_Thinks._) I’d give a thousand dollars if I could only think of
it.

_ENTER DR. F. L. followed by MRS. F., NORAH, MIKE, MISS SIMPER. PATSY
runs into office R. and locks himself in._

MRS. F. Doctor Fluke, I told you something would happen.

DR. F. Pshaw, nothing has happened. Mike let him have whiskey.

MRS. F. I told you so. The very thing he shouldn’t have had.

DR. F. I’ll cure him quick enough, and Mike you are very careless.

MIKE. I’m very sorry, sor, but I didn’t let him have the whiskey. Do yez
think I’d be wastin’ good liquor on a Chinaman?

MRS. F. But he’s got it now and what will you do, I’d like to know?

DR. F. I’ll just give him the remedy spoken of by Major Barker.

MRS. F. What is the remedy?

DR. F. (_Claps hand in pocket._) Where is that letter? Here’s a go!
(_Turns over papers on table looking for letter._)

MRS F. Have you lost the letter?

DR. F. It seems so. (_Business of diving his hands into his pockets._)
Oh, I have it!

MRS. F. Read it then!

DR. F. I mean, I know where it is. I changed coats.

MRS. F. And Patsy has the coat on!

DR. F. Well that is a situation!

MRS. F. (_Hysterically._) Now he’ll murder us all.

DR. F. Nonsense! Major Barker says he’s the most affectionate creature.

MRS. F. Major Barker, fiddlesticks!

MISS S. I am sure the major must be right. I do think the Chinese have
such lovely dispositions.

MRS. F. Miss Simper, you and the doctor fatigue me with such twaddle.

DR. F. Mike, suppose you go into the office and ask him for my coat.

MIKE. If you plaze, sor, I think my appearance excoites him a bit.

MISS S. Oh, let me go. (_Starts._)

MRS. F. Miss Simper, are you out of your senses? (_Pulls her back._)

DR. F. I will go in.

MRS. F. (_Pulling him back._) Henry, do you want to be murdered?

DR. F. (_Petulantly releasing himself._) Let me alone. (_Goes toward
door, knocks._) “Patsy! Patsy!”

MRS. F. Oh rash man! Henry, I know we’ll all be killed in our tracks.

MISS S. Let me reason with him!

MRS. F. Oh you silly goose. Do be quiet, wont you. What _can_ he be
doing? (_All listen._) It’s as quiet as the grave. I’ll bet he’s taking
poison in his desperation. Or hanging himself, may be.

MIKE. There’s a noice bit o’ rope on the pulley machine.

MRS. F. We’ll all be killed yet, I know. Miss Simper, save yourself.
(_Shoves MISS S. and NORAH out, L._)

DR. F. Harriet, there isn’t the slightest danger.

MRS. F. Dr. Fluke, why do you stand there like a post? Why _don’t_ you
send for the police before that Chinaman does anything desperate? He is
crazy and so are you.

DR. F. Humph! He’s drunk!

MRS. F. He’s crazy. Mike, run for the police.

DR. F. Mike, stay where you are, to assist me.

MRS. F. What _are_ you going to do, Henry?

DR. F. Going into that room. (_MRS. F. throws up her hands and then
suddenly lays hold of DR.’S coat tails._) Let me alone. (_Breaking loose,
raps on door; MRS F. runs to door L. DR. calls_) “Patsy!” “Say! Chin
Sum!” (_Voice inside_) “Sir.” Will you let me in? (_Voice answers._)
“No.” I don’t want to arrest you. (_Voice indistinctly._) I give you my
word of honor. What? Yes, I’ll send them all out.

MRS. F. Indeed, I wont go out and see you killed.

DR. F. Harriet, how could you see me killed if you went out. (_Through
door._) Yes, I’ll send them _all_. Mike go at once. Harriet, please go.
He wont open the door till you all go. He is afraid we’ll take him to
jail.

MIKE. Sarve him good and roight, I say.

MRS. F. Yes he ought to be jailed for acting that way. (_Exit MIKE to
operating room, D. F._)

DR. F. (_Leads MRS. F. out L., she, protesting, returns to office door,
R._) Just hand my coat through the door, please. (_Door opens and coat is
pushed through._)

DR. F. Now for the remedy! (_Eagerly opens letter, reads._) “Affectionate
creature.”

MRS. F. (_In door L._) Stuff!

DR. F. Hum, “most confiding”—yes, it seems so. Oh, here it is.

MRS. F. (_Entering, eagerly._) What is it?

DR. F. Harriet, why do you interrupt? Oh, here it is! “If he ever gets
under the influence of liquor he labors under the strange delusion that
he is an Irishman.”

MRS. F. How absurd! He’s crazy, I’d call the police.

DR. F. (_Petulantly._) My dear, will you allow me? This is a very curious
case. “The remedy is _tea_, plenty of strong _tea_.” How very simple.
(_Rings bell._) I’ll give him enough tea to settle him in short order.

_ENTER NORAH, L._

NORAH. What is it, sor? Is he still voilent?

DR. F. Peaceful as a lamb! He wants tea.

NORAH. Tay is it! Did yez iver—

MRS. F. As well try a pinch of salt.

DR. F. Don’t stand there talking, Norah. Bring the tea at once. Plenty of
it! Strong! Just throw about half a pound into the tin pot and fill it
with hot water.

NORAH. The tin pot houlds a gallon, sor.

DR. F. (_Impatiently._) Will you obey orders? Go! Run! (_Exit NORAH
grumbling, L._)

MRS. F. Tea! The idea! (_Follows NORAH out L._)

DR. F. (_Pacing floor, excitedly._) This is a great case. I’ll write it
up for the medical journals. A wonderful case—

_ENTER BOYLER, L. angry._

B. All humbug, sir!

DR. F. What’s that? Oh, it’s you, Mr. Boyler.

B. At last I’ve found you out, Dr. Fluke!

DR. F. So it seems. Why bless me, if you aint cured. Walking without a
cane!

B. Humbug! I said.

DR. F. But it’s a fact!

B. You can’t hoodwink me, sir. You’re a charlatan!

DR. F. Don’t be unreasonable!

B. Unreasonable! Oh, I _can’t_ stand that. (_DR. laughs._) Gad, sir, you
are actually laughing at my misfortunes. Do you call yourself a gentleman?

DR. F. Cut all that! What do you complain of? You are cured.

B. Confound your cure. You first maltreat me, outrage my feelings and
then laugh at me.

DR. F. When has all this happened?

B. Every day for a month, Dr. Fluke. First you put a Hercules in the
shape of a wild Irishman to rub me in the bath. He breaks every bone in
my body by installments. Then he pummels me by degrees into a jelly.

DR. F. Well, what did you expect, Mr. Boyler? This isn’t a kindergarten,
and your rheumatism was a very obstinate case.

B. Obstinate case! Let me say, sir, you are a butcher and that Irishman
is an executioner. To crown the indignity you set a crazy Chinaman to
give me the electrical treatment. He runs a stream of liquid fire through
my leg.

DR. F. Which cured you completely!

B. Will you let me speak, sir? When I protest, the heathen doubles
the quantity. Why gad, sir, it was something terrific. I saw the
constellation of Orion in broad daylight.

DR. F. Ah, it _is_ a fine machine! A beauty!

B. (_Laughs._) There you are wrong, for I smashed it to bits.

DR. F. (_Starting._) What’s that you say? My fine machine ruined? I’ll
have damages, Mr. Boyler.

B. Damages! I shall sue you for $10,000 damages.

DR. F. Do it, sir, do it! It’ll make my fortune. It will advertise
the greatest cure of the age. Nothing like a law suit for advertising
purposes. Wont you oblige me by breaking something else? Just upset those
shelves, wont you? Throw my instrument case out of the window.

B. I’ll not do it. I wont gratify you. A gentleman can find other ways of
avenging an insult. And then there’s my wig, too.

DR. F. Where?

B. Where? Do you doubt my word? (_Takes off hat and exposes shiny bald
head._) Do you see that?

DR. F. I see the head-piece but I don’t see any wig.

B. (_Emphatically._) No, sir, you don’t see any wig. Your crazy Chinaman
snatched it off my head and exposed me to the indignity of going home
barehead in the public street.

DR. F. You shouldn’t go out barehead, you may catch cold; I’ll not be
responsible if you disobey orders.

B. And whose fault would it be?

DR. F. Yours, of course.

B. Why, hang your assurance, Dr. Fluke.

DR. F. I disapprove of your indiscretion.

B. (_Excitedly._) Fluke, I don’t think I ever saw quite such monumental
effrontery as yours. That wig cost me one hundred and fifty dollars, one
of the very best make by the celebrated Toupee.

DR. F. Oh, we’ll not haggle about trifles. I’ll credit it on the bill for
the electric machine. That cost five hundred dollars.

B. (_Gesticulating._) Credit it on the bill! That’s cool, why confound
your insolence! I’ve a mind to cane you on the spot.

DR. F. But you can’t, you see. You have no cane. You are cured.

B. (_With a roar._) Oh, this man will put me crazy if I stay here much
longer. You’ll hear from me again, Dr. Fluke. You are a quack. (_Bolts
toward door as_—)

_ENTER NORAH, L., with tray, milk jug, sugar bowl, spoons and plate of
crackers. B. runs against her and sends things flying as he exits._

NORAH. Well, did yez iver see such a cyclone! (_Commences picking up
things around the stage._)

_ENTER MIKE, L., carrying big tin tea-pot full of hot tea._

MIKE. Begorrah, it was lucky I was carryin’ the tay pot or there’d been a
Noah’s flood o’ tay.

NORAH. Must I get more crame, Docthor?

MIKE. It’s aisy to pick that up with a spoon.

_MRS. F. and MISS S. appear timidly at door, L._

DR. F. Bother the cream. It’s the tea I want. Put the things on the
table. Now I’ll get him to come out.

MRS. F. Henry, do you think he’ll hurt you?

MISS S. The idea! Poor abused thing!

DR. F. Clear out, you women. Do you want to frighten him? (_Exeunt
MRS. F. and MISS S._) Mike, go in the operating room to be ready for
emergencies. (_MIKE enters D. F. and peeps out from time to time, as do
the two ladies, L._) Norah, you be ready to serve the tea. I’ll drink
some to make believe. Be cool, don’t lose your head.

NORAH. (_Arranging tea things._) Yis, sor, but I can’t guarantee to kape
me head if that ould cyclone blows in again.

DR. F. (_Knocks at office door._) Patsy, come out please. It’s nearly
dinner time. (_Voice indistinctly inside._) What’s that? Yes, I’m all
alone, that is, Norah is here, too. (_Door opens cautiously. PATSY looks
out, then comes out enveloped in doctor’s ulster and muffled to the ears
with doctor’s neckcloth. Wig frowzed till he looks like a fright. As he
appears, heads at the other door disappear suddenly._)

DR. F. (_Starting back._) Why Patsy, are you cold? I feel decidedly too
warm.

PATSY. I think I took a bit o’ cold in the cars, I’m subject to sore
throat.

NORAH. (_Aside._) Crazy as a June bug.

DR. F. Chin Sum, do you like tea?

PATSY. My name isn’t Chin Sum; just Patrick O’Wang, if you please.

DR. F. What is the _O_ for, Patrick?

PATSY. The _O_ shows that I’m a son of me father.

DR. F. We have tea served. Sometimes we take a light refreshment an hour
or so before dinner. Patsy, do you like tea?

PATSY. (_Aside._) Tea! (_With wink._) I’m onto their scheme. I’ll take a
drop, weak if you please, one lump of sugar.

DR. F. (_Is at L. of table, seats himself facing front._) Norah, place a
chair. Be seated, Patsy. You must be tired.

PATSY. Your honor I couldn’t sit in your presence. (P. _is at R. of
table._)

DR. F. Very well, as you please. Norah, pour the tea. Give me a small
cup. For a cold it should be drunk copiously. You had better take several
cups, Patsy.

PATSY. Very well, sir, I like tea myself. (_DR. F. chuckles to himself.
NORAH, rear of table, hands doctor a small cup then a large one to PATSY.
Latter has a large hot-water bag under his ulster with rubber tube and
small funnel, all found in office. The collar of the ulster must be
very high and stand well forward. The funnel is held by the left hand
partially enveloped in a large silk handkerchief. Under pretense of
coddling his throat PATSY keeps his left hand up under his chin to keep
the funnel concealed. As he drinks he turns away to R. from the doctor,
back to audience, pours tea down funnel. As he hands cup back to NORAH
he thrusts his left hand beneath the ulster, the top button of which is
unbuttoned. Repeat with each cup._)

DR. F. (_Sipping tea and nibbling a cracker._) How do you like the tea,
Patsy?

PATSY. (_Smacking his lips._) It’s capital tea, doctor.

DR. F. Norah, fill his cup. He wants several cups to break his cold. Then
I’ll put you to bed, Patsy, and give you a good sweat.

PATSY. All right, sir. (_Drinks as before._)

DR. F. (_Aside._) It’s working! Obedient already.

NORAH. Will yez have some more tay, docthor?

DR. F. (_Impatiently._) No, fill Patsy’s cup. Don’t you see it’s empty.
(_PATSY drinks._) How do you feel now?

PATSY. Better already, doctor.

DR. F. Have another! There’s nothing like tea. Why, it will cure every
ill that flesh is heir to. Norah, fill his cup.

NORAH. I’m pourin’ as fast as I can, sir. What a dale o’ tea he do hold.

PATSY. (_Handing back cup._) Very nice tea, Norah.

NORAH. I could do a dale betther with plenty o’ tay and more time.

DR. F. Norah, why don’t you fill his cup instead of talking. (_During
this drinking the people at the door enter and look on with increasing
astonishment._) How do you feel now, Patsy?

PATSY. Much better, sir.

DR. F. Head clearer?

PATSY. Well, it’s not as thick as putty an’ it’s not as clear as a June
mornin’.

DR. F. Try a few more cups, keep it up. Norah, don’t you see his cup is
empty. Pour him another.

NORAH. The mon’ll explode purty soon a drinkin’. He’s swellin’ already.
(_Patsy takes cup._)

DR. F. Hold your tongue. The charm’s working finely.

NORAH. Faith it’s time, the tay pot’s impty.

DR. F. (_Jumping up surprised._) Empty! Why girl it holds a gallon!

NORAH. An’ he’s drunk it all. The poor bye must have the stomach of an
osterich or a dodo.

DR. F. Patsy, do you mean to say that you have drank a gallon of tea?

PATSY. Faith, I think it’s nearer a barrel.

DR. F. And how do you feel?

PATSY. Like an irrigation canal! (_During these last speeches MRS. F.,
MISS S. and MIKE gather round back of table, L._)

MRS. F. Doctor Fluke, you’ll kill that man with your experiments.

MISS S. Poor dear man!

DR. F. Silence, ladies. This is a most extraordinary case! (_PATSY stands
perfectly still, facing them, left hand to throat as before. Doctor takes
him by the shoulder and turns him round. P. does not resist but makes a
very wry face._) A remarkable case. Why, I’ve hypnotized him.

MIKE. Begob, I think he’s paralyzed!

MRS. F. What makes the horrid creature act so? He’s got a wild look.
(_PATSY rolls his eyes. Women retreat toward door._)

NORAH. I think he’s drownin’, I do.

DR. F. (_Severely._) Patsy, why don’t you speak, what ails you?

PATSY. A bit o’ queerness here. (_Rubs stomach with right hand._)

DR. F. How’s your head?

PATSY. Me head’s all right. It’s me stomach.

DR. F. Do you still imagine you are an Irishman?

PATSY. I am, sir, Irish to the bone. (_Leans forward as if pain in
stomach. Rubs stomach with right hand and squirms. All this time he has
been holding his throat with left hand and concealing the funnel._)

MRS. F. Says he’s Irish. He’s crazy, Henry. I told you so. He’ll murder
us all. (_Movement of all but doctor toward doors as before._)

NORAH. I give notice, Mrs. Fluke. I’ll not live in the house with a crazy
mon.

MIKE. Nayther will I. I give up me job. It will be hurtin’ the profession
to mix with loonytics an’ Chinese.

DR. F. (_Irritated._) Hold your tongue, Mike. This is a most
extraordinary case!

MIKE. Indade it is! First he’s a haythen Chinee. Then he takes a drop too
much an’ goes wild an’ pulls the clothes aff other people and says he’s
an Irishman, bad luck to him. Another dram’ll turn him into a Dago, I
belave. I quits to-day, doctor. (_During this time PATSY’S uneasiness is
increasing; finally he begins to prance round. Movement toward doors as
before._)

DR. F. Where is your pain, Patsy?

PATSY. (_Groans._) Me stomach feels all queer like.

DR. F. (_Puts hand on P.’S stomach, starts._) And no wonder. Why, it’s
hot as fire! And distended like a balloon!

MIKE. (_Nods to ladies, with wise look._) He’s dishtended!

DR. F. Mike, get the stomach pump in the office. Norah, a basin, quick!
(_MIKE runs for pump. PATSY makes for door, L. Ladies scream and
disappear._)

PATSY. Faith, I’m on fire!

DR. F. (_Seizes him._) We’ll fix you in a minute.

PATSY. Aye, doctor, you’ve fixed me already.

DR. F. (_Holding to PATSY who struggles toward door L._) Quick, Mike!
(_MIKE reappears with pump._)

PATSY. You’ll never put that thing down my throat. (_Renews attempt to
escape. FLUKE grabs at his throat and catches rubber tube. Ulster comes
open. Pulls out bag of hot water and all gaze in astonishment._)

MIKE. By the powers, you’ve pulled the sthomick clane out av’ ’im.
(_Pause._) Is that what it looks like? I niver seed one before.

MRS. F. (_In door._) Oh horrors!

MIKE. Hadn’t yez better put it back, docthor? He may nade it.

DR. F. (_Is so astonished that he holds the bag by the tube for a few
seconds. Drops it in disgust._) What does this mean, you rascal?

PATSY. (_Determinedly._) It means you can’t fill me up with tea and turn
me back into a Chinaman. They did that trick in Hong Kong!

DR. F. (_Crossly._) What are you now? Irish or Chinese?

PATSY. Irish forever.

MISS S. (_Sentimentally._) Dear me! I’m so disappointed. I did hope we
had got a real Chinaman.

DR. F. But confound you man, I hired you for a Chinaman. A bargain’s a
bargain.

PATSY. That bargain is off.

MIKE. (_Throws down pump._) Then I’m aff, too. Two Irishman in wan house
is wan too many.

PATSY. Keep your place, Mike, I can do better. (_All dress stage, women
L., men R._) I’m in America now, the land of opportunities. I’m goin’
into politics. Me ambition is to be an alderman and die beloved and
respected by all.

MIKE. Begorrah, the ambition of it!

DR. F. Very well, Patsy. Since you are going to have influence let us
part friends. (_They shake hands._)

MIKE. Inflooence! Faith, I’ll niver vote a shplit ticket, half Irish half
Chinay.

DR. F. Patsy, you have had a strange history.

PATSY. I’ll recount it if you please, doctor.

“Patsy O’Wang,” _Song_. _Air “Pat Malloy.”_

    Me father was a Hooligan, me mother was Chinay
    And I was born in Hong Kong town ten thousand miles away.
    Me father was a sojer in the tenth artilleree,
    He took me to the barracks there in Hong Kong by the sea.
    Me christian name was Patsy and O’Wang me name Chinay;
    An’ while they all took toddy I drank nothin’ but green tay.
    One day I brewed the punch meself an’ then I tried the same:
    Hooray! it touched a vital spot, it lit the Irish flame.

    True son of ould Hibernia, I struck for higher pay,
    I swung it like a gentleman, I drank no more green tay.
    But all good luck must have an end, there comes adversitee,
    They sent us to Ameriky ten thousand miles by sea.
    We sailed and sailed the ragin’ main forever and a day,
    The boundin’ ocean made us sick, they dosed us with green tay.
    For twenty hours or more I lay, that poison did me rack:
    I rose a haythen Chinaman, a queue hung down me back.

    Me almond eyes were set askew, me queue twirled round me pate,
    They called me Chin, I made the duff and boiled the Captain’s mate.
    A fool for luck the proverb says, a fool O’Wang must be,
    For now I’m turned true Irishman, bad cess to all Chinee.
    And in this free Ameriky I’ll have a word to say
    I’m goin’ into politics, I’ll drink no more green tay.
    And for the moral of this tale I’m sure it’s very plain:
    When tipple stirs your blood too much, you’d better just abstain.

       _R._                               _L._

    MIKE, DR. F., PATSY., MRS. F., MISS S., NORAH.

CURTAIN.




                                 REJECTED

                                    OR
                      THE TRIBULATIONS OF AUTHORSHIP

                                 A FARCE

                             BY T. S. DENISON

                               _Author of_
  Odds with the Enemy, Initiating a Granger, Wanted, a Correspondent, A
    Family Strike, Seth Greenback, Louva, the Pauper, Hans Von Smash,
 Borrowing Trouble, Two Ghosts in White, The Pull-Back, Country Justice,
        The Assessor, The Sparkling Cup, Our Country, Irish Linen
     Peddler, The School Ma’am, Kansas Immigrants, An Only Daughter,
         Too Much of a Good Thing, Under the Laurels, Hard Cider,
         The Danger Signal, Wide Enough for Two, Pets of Society,
         Is the Editor In? The New Woman, Patsy O’Wang, Rejected,
             Only Cold Tea, Madam P’s Beauty Parlors, Topp’s
         Twins, A First-Class Hotel, It’s all in the Pay-Streak,
           The Cobbler, A Dude in a Cyclone, Friday Dialogues.

                            _Also the Novels,
                   The Man Behind, An Iron Crown, etc._

                                 CHICAGO:
                        T. S. DENISON, PUBLISHER,
                           163 RANDOLPH STREET.




REJECTED.

COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY T. S. DENISON.


CAST OF CHARACTERS.

    MR. GREATHEAD, of Greathead & Wright, Publishers.
    MR. POWERS, a tired “reader” for G. & W.
    MR. ARTHUR WELBY, a turned-down author.
    MR. RALPH HYDE-ARLINGTON, a poet. Author of “The Dead Canary,” and
      other poems.
    MRS. UPPERDYKE FADD, a society novelist.
    SUSAN ANN BROWN, author of “Winds that Sough in the Night.”
    MISS BODMAN, stenographer for G. & W.
    WILLIAM, office boy.

_Time of playing, forty minutes._


HINTS ON COSTUMES AND PLAYING.

Mr. Greathead, dignified business man, very natty business suit, silk
tile, etc. Powers, plainly dressed, tired, soured man, but not boorish
or coarse in any respect. Welby, rustic manners and dress but rather
presentable. Hyde-Arlington, should be unusual, either very tall and
ungainly or very stout and prosy looking, hair badly mussed, linen
soiled, some buttons missing from coat, shoes with very best shine to
contrast with seedy appearance. Droll and good natured. Mrs. Fadd, in
latest style of street dress, jewels; puts on airs. Susan Ann Brown,
plainly but well dressed, brusque, business like, decisive character.
Miss Bodman, neat dress, suitable for office.


STAGE DIRECTIONS.

_R._ means right of the stage _C._, center; _R. C._, right center; _L._,
left; _1 E._, first entrance; _U. E._, upper entrance, etc.; _D. F._,
door in flat or back of the stage. The actor is supposed to be facing the
audience.

[Illustration: REJECTED.]


REJECTED.

    SCENE—_Office of GREATHEAD & WRIGHT, Publishers. Discovered
    as curtain rises, MR. POWERS a “reader” at desk L., and MISS
    BODMAN, stenographer, working writing machine R. P. has large
    pile of MSS. before him. He moves nervously and knocks off
    leaves that scatter round floor. Rises impatiently._

POWERS. (_Talking to himself aloud._) This is simply killing. It would
wear out a cast-iron man. (_Commences picking up sheets._)

MISS B. (_Glancing round._) He’s in a bad humor this morning. Some poor
author will suffer for it. (_To P._) Found anything good, Mr. Powers?

POWERS. Such books! Such inanity. Are all the fools in the country
turning authors?

MISS B. (_Laughing._) Why, Mr. Powers, you forget you are an author
yourself.

P. No, Miss Bodman, I do not forget it. Here I am, a man of genius,
capable of winning the admiration of two hemispheres, who has in fact
surprised the civilized world already, compelled to earn my bread by
delving among the rubbish of a literary muck-heap.

MISS B. Why don’t you quit that and let your own genius loose?

P. Humph! A book like my “Countess Margo, or A Romance of two Castles,”
has no chance of winning in this money-grubbing day. People don’t know
poetry, romance, pathos, and sympathy when they see it. Genius is
extinguished amid the meretricious glitterings of fad literature.

MISS B. Fie, Mr. Powers, I really believe you are jealous of Mrs.
Upperdyke Fadd, whose last novel “Sweet Jingles Jangled” set everybody
wild.

P. Miss Bodman, I hope I shall never be guilty of jealousy of Mrs.
Fadd. Why, my book, “A Romance of Two Castles,” is a prose idyl. It is
as different from Mrs. Fadd’s “Sweet Jingles Jangled” as Confucius is
different from Brigham Young.

MISS B. Oh, what a comparison! I do admire your command of language!

P. Ah, thank you. You are a woman of appreciation, but the world—bah the
world—(_Puts MSS. back on table._)

MISS B. What have you found there to cross you?

P. What have I found? The same old thing—rubbish from the four quarters
of the earth; drivel, nine tenths of it absolute, unqualified idiocy.

MISS B. Why, Mr. Powers, you are unusually sarcastic to-day.

P. Haven’t I cause? Here I, the author of “A Romance of Two Castles,” am
expected to read for Greathead & Wright, publishers, from two to five
books per day—and oh such stuff. I’m expected to decide the fate of a
book, subject to the final decision of Mr. Greathead. And I get a scoring
if I reject a book that afterward succeeds with some other publisher.

MISS B. For instance, Gen. Radwell’s great book.

P. Miss Bodman, that isn’t a pleasant subject. How should I know that
Gen. Radwell’s book would be the greatest hit for a half century? Mr.
Greathead stormed, and I believe if it hadn’t been for Mr. Wright I
should not to-day be delving in this mountain of verbiage as confidential
reader and literary adviser for the great publishing house of Greathead
& Wright. (_Slams down MSS. on table beside MISS B.’S desk, R. Rings
bell._) I’ll tell Figgs to return that, it is all rot!

MISS B. Why, Mr. Powers, _you_ are positively using slang!

P. I beg pardon, Miss Bodman, but I just couldn’t help it this time. _It
is rot._

MISS B. Why, whose book is it?

P. It’s another interminable manuscript from Arthur Welby. That man is a
menace to society. He ought to be incarcerated. He keeps several novels
on the go all the time. They have been rejected by every publisher on the
continent, I believe. _He_ calls himself an author.

MISS B. But pardon me. He has published _one_ book.

P. Oh yes, a book’s a book although there’s nothing in it.

MISS B. But there is something in that one. It made me weep.

P. Yes, and it made his publisher weep too. Had to sell it for old paper
at one cent a pound. (_Rings bell again._) Where on earth is that boy!

MISS B. Well, I don’t care, I liked Welby’s book.

P. Oh, some people will like anything. (_MISS B. stares._) I mean, some
sloppy critic called Welby the American Dumas and that ruined him.
Instead of making his books smooth and—

MISS. B. And stupid!

P. No, in good form, flowing and soothing, he crams them full of stirring
scenes in imitation of the old school. If I had to bring out Dumas with
his sensationalism, and Dickens with his exaggerations—well they wouldn’t
be brought out, that’s certain. (_Jabs bell viciously._) Where is that
boy? Asleep again I suppose.

_ENTER office boy, R._

P. Here William, tell Figgs to return this manuscript by express,
author’s expense.

W. Yes, sir!

P. Welby’s postage bills will ruin him. William, muss it a little, so
he’ll think it has been read. Be careful now. You got chewing gum between
the sheets of one book and the author wrote to Mr. Greathead about it.

W. Will a few thumb prints do?

P. Goodness, no! _I_ don’t thumb print my books.

W. Mr. Snap does.

P. Snap! The magazine and the book departments are managed differently.
Turn up a corner here and there and displace a sheet occasionally so
that when wrapped they will crease. Tell Figgs about that. (_Boy fumbling
with MSS. knocks it off table and the sheets fly in every direction. In
attempting to catch MSS. he overturns the dish of water used with letter
press and it rolls on floor wetting some of sheets._)

MISS. B. (_Springing aside._) Good gracious, William!

P. Just like a boy! A boy’s an animal! You’ve made a pretty mess of
things.

W. I’m only mussin’ it, sir. (_They gather up MSS., MISS. B. wiping water
from skirts._)

P. Some of it is wet, it must be carefully dried.

MISS. B. I’m afraid it’ll blur badly.

P. Well, he at least cannot complain that it has never been opened. One
author actually had the audacity to write that his book had never been
opened.

MISS B. Had it?

P. I believe not. That joke was on Snap. They botch things in the
magazine department. I am careful to open everything. No need to read it.

MISS B. How _do_ you decide on the merits without reading?

P. Easy enough. There is a sort of recognized literary clique. If a
book has the countersign it is read; if it comes from an outsider it
is returned at once with thanks, etc. Greathead & Wright, in fact all
publishers, seek people with a reputation.

MISS B. Dear me, how does an outsider get in then?

P. He doesn’t get in.

MISS B. But how can an author get a reputation till he has published a
book?

P. That’s his affair. He can’t surely expect to publish till he has the
reputation.

_ENTER SUSAN ANN BROWN, R. Her manner is brusque in this scene and she
talks down all opposition._

SUSAN. Is this the office of Greathead & Wright, Publishers?

P. (_Bowing, comes down C._) It is. What can I do for you, madam?

SUSAN. Mr. Greathead in?

P. Your name?

SUSAN. Susan Ann Brown. Is Mr. Greathead in?

P. Not at present, it’s a little early.

SUSAN. Wright in?

P. (_Astonished at her manner._) He is out of the city, madam. Can’t I do
something for you? Your business?

SUSAN. (_With air of contempt for his position._) I don’t think you can.
I called on very important business!

P. I am here to attend to business!

SUSAN. I can’t talk to clerks! I want to see one of the firm.

P. If it is an order for books, the counting room is just across the hall.

SUSAN. (_With toss of head._) It isn’t an order. I am an author. Have a
novel, “Winds that Sough in the Night,” 1,100 pages.

P. Madam, it is my business to take charge of manuscripts. I—

SUSAN. (_Emphatically._) No, you don’t. I’ve heard of your ways. Nobody
but the firm will read my book.

P. But that is impossible. Our plan—

SUSAN. Is to give manuscripts to some clerk to be fumbled over. As if a
ten dollar clerk was the arbiter of literature; or may be you send it out
to some society woman whose husband has failed in business, as if that
had fitted her to decide anything.

P. But madam, if you will allow me, we consider our readers competent.

SUSAN. And _I_ think (_talks fast and emphatically but distinctly_) an
author knows something about a book too, after toiling at it for months.
Humph, do you suppose I’ve been living so long for nothing and writing
all my life, too? Your plan, indeed! My book “Winds that Sough in the
Night” deals with _Theosophy_. You would give that to some man who thinks
Theosophy all a humbug. He’d laugh at it and I’d be out my postage.
If my book was an exposé of Theosophy, you would give it to some man
who believed in the thing and he’d turn it down for spite. Author out
again—say, when’ll Greathead be in?

P. I should say inside half an hour.

SUSAN. Which had I better see, Mr. Greathead or Mr. Wright?

P. (_Resignedly._) Either will do.

SUSAN. Then I’ll see Greathead first.

P. Have you a letter of introduction, madam?

SUSAN. Don’t need any. I introduce myself. If Greathead doesn’t come
around to my views I’ll see Wright. If he is not convinced, I’ll get the
two together and tell ’em what they are missing if they reject my novel.
Why, it is equal to Uncle Tom’s Cabin and it is longer than “Robert El
Smere.”

P. (_Getting impatient._) Miss Brown, excuse me, I am very busy, will you
leave a card?

SUSAN. No, I’ll be back in half an hour.

P. But what shall I say?

SUSAN. Nothing. I’ll do the talking. I was a book agent for five years.

P. Oh!

SUSAN. And I’ve been in New York before! Don’t forget that. And I’ve sold
Greathead’s books. I guess I’m not afraid of him. (_Exit, R._)

MISS B. (_Drawing long breath._) Did you ever!

P. Regular cyclone! Electric motor, quick action.

MISS B. What will Mr. Greathead say to her?

P. Trust him. He was a life insurance agent before he was a publisher.

_ENTER MR. GREATHEAD, R._

MR. G. Good morning, Powers. Good morning, Miss Bodman.

  P.      }
          } Good morning, Mr. Greathead.
  MISS B. }

MR. G. Mr. Powers, has the printer sent over press proofs of Mrs.
Upperdyke Fadd’s novel “Miss Ducie’s Mistake?”

P. They are on your desk, sir.

MR. G. (_Going toward private office, D. F._) Mr. Powers, if that man
Welby calls, positively, I can not see him. I suspect he is after me. It
is in very bad taste the way he is hounding publishers.

P. Very, sir. I understand that Mr. Scooper of Scooper & Puff came pretty
near ejecting him from their office yesterday.

MR. G. That would do for Scooper & Puff but not for Greathead & Wright.
We aim to treat all authors with the utmost courtesy. It is business, you
see.

P. Exactly, I’ll attend to him. I have already examined his book.

MR. G. What, already? It was only left late last evening you know.

P. I did not read it _all_. Same old thing. Harrowing scenes, sensational
and low types of people.

MR. G. There’s something in Welby. I confess his books interest me.

P. Yes, he persists in following the old style and strives to make his
books interesting instead of easy, polished, soothing. In short, he
wholly ignores good form.

MR. G. I had hopes for him once.

P. I had none. He insists in crowding his books with incidents. Admires
Dumas.

P. Just so, a hopeless case! (_Exit G., D. F._)

P. Now, Miss Bodman, let me dictate the letters to Welby and Ralph
Hyde-Arlington. I’d send the printed form: “We have carefully read
your valuable MS. and beg to say that our reader does not advise us to
undertake its publication, etc. Thanks for esteemed favor,” etc.

MISS B. And all that, taffy rejection of a MS. does not imply literary
deficiency, etc.

P. I’d give that to all of them straight, but apparently Mr. Greathead
has promised these two pretenders that their MSS. shall have special
attention. I think Welby’s got it, too. (_Laughs._)

MISS B. Mr. Welby would like a line as to the _reason_ his MS. is found
unavailable, in case it is returned. Poor man! he seemed to have a
presentiment of refusal.

P. Yes, apparently that is the only sane point left in Welby. He has
presentiments. He knows he is going to get it in the neck.

MISS B. Really, Mr. Powers, your language is shocking to-day.

P. I can’t help it. Just think! In the last three days some score of
rejected authors have been insisting on reasons, and I can’t give
reasons. Mr. Greathead has forbidden it.

MISS B. But don’t you think an author is entitled to some consideration
where his own hard labor is concerned?

P. Great Scott! If I tried to satisfy them all I’d be in an insane asylum
before a month. They manage that better in the magazine department. Mr.
Wright is a man of business. He has given orders to stop all authors in
the vestibule, take their books away from them and show them out.

_ENTER WILLIAM, R., carrying enormous armful of MSS. in packages and
envelopes. Some fall to floor. Puts them on P.’s desk. A roll remains on
floor._

P. (_Groans._) Look at that pile, one mail!

WILLIAM. (_Aside._) That’ll make the old man sweat. (_Starts out and
stumbles over roll, falls sprawling._)

P. Look at your carelessness! Pick that up. The dunce has rolled it. The
magazine department refuses to look at anything that is rolled. But I am
a drudge. I _have_ to do it. Greathead is too easy.

MISS B. But our letters, Mr. Powers,—

P. (_Groans._) I’ll make them short. (_Dictates._) “Mr. Arthur Welby,
Mount Hope, Ill.—You had better move to mount Despair—”

MISS B. Do I take all that?

P. No, of course not. I’m talking now.

MISS B. I see.

P. There are precious few authors anywhere in America, and as for the
West and especially Chicago—pah!

MISS B. I suppose the best can come only from Europe.

P. Decidedly.

MISS B. America was not big enough to produce “A Romance of Two Castles.”

P. Miss Bodman, sarcasm is wasted in this office. If you do not like my
book—once is sufficient to tell me. (_Spitefully._) Of course, if you
like Arthur Welby’s novel, “The Man from Mattoon,” you couldn’t like
mine. Go on please, you have the address.

MISS B. (_Tartly._) I’m waiting to go on. (_Reads._) “Mr. Arthur Welby,
Mt. Hope, Ill.”

P. Dear Sir—We have read carefully the MSS. of your very interesting
story—

MISS B. What a fib!

P. Miss Bodman, you will please not interrupt—“The Governor’s Daughter.”
We regret that it is not exactly suited to our present needs. Thanking
you for the opportunity of reading your very original book we are, Very
respectfully, Greathead & Wright. Now for that irrepressible poet, Mr.
Ralph Hyde-Arlington.

MISS B. I hope you are not going to reject him.

P. I should say rather. Why not?

MISS B. Some of his poems are just lovely.

P. Stuff! Nothing but jingle!

MISS B. Quite the contrary. His “Lines to a Dead Canary” are full of
pathos and sentiment.

P. Well, I admit that Hyde-Arlington’s lines have a certain go about them
suited to these times when ideas are superfluous in literature.

MISS B. (_With sentiment._) What is your ideal of him, Mr. Powers.

P. Hum, I have no time to form ideals.

MISS B. His name is quite romantic, Ralph Hyde-Arlington.

P. Yes, it looks well on a title page.

MISS B. I think he must be tall and handsome, with dreamy eyes and dark
curling locks. His sentiment is _so_ tender. He must be an Apollo.

P. Possibly. I hope we shan’t have to verify that. He’s in the city now.

MISS B. I hope he’ll call.

P. (_Emphatically._) I hope he will not. You know I dread the sight of an
author as I dread small pox. Now for his letter.

_ENTER WILLIAM, suddenly, R._

WILLIAM. Mr. Welby’s here again. He’s kind o’ excited. (_P. jumps up.
Thrusts W.’S letter into boy’s hand._)

P. Mail that immediately, William. (_To MISS B._) Tell Welby we’ve
written. Say anything. Get rid of him. (_Exit hastily, L._)

_ENTER WELBY, R._

W. I beg pardon, Miss, I just called to say that I’ll be in town three or
four days yet. My address is Fifth Avenue Hotel.

MISS B. Yes, sir, I’ll note that.

W. (_Hesitating._) My book was to have immediate attention. I suppose it
is in hand to-day. (_Boy at door grins, holds letter, MISS B. nods to
him._)

MISS B. I think that it is—that is—oh, I remember. The house has written
you.

W. (_Excitedly._) Oh, so soon. Then they must want an interview. In that
case I am at their service. I’ll wait now.

MISS B. (_Perplexed._) Oh, no—I meant (_winks at W. again_) that is you
had better see the letter.

_ENTER RALPH, R._

RALPH. Is this the office of Greathead & Wright, Publishers?

MISS B. Yes, sir, the counting room is just across the hall.

RALPH. The counting room is not what I want. I seek an interview with the
firm.

MISS B. That is impossible. Mr. Wright has gone to Boston and Mr.
Greathead has been very busy of late with authors.

RALPH. Then Greathead is my man, I am an author.

MISS B. (_Surprised._) In that case I’ll leave your card on his desk.

RALPH. I have no card. Poets can’t afford cards. Just say Ralph
Hyde-Arlington.

MISS B. (_Starts, drops note book._) Oh! You are Mr. Ralph Hyde-Arlington!

RALPH. (_Bowing._) I am, Miss, at your service, Ralph Hyde-Arlington,
author of “The Dead Canary and Other Poems.”

WELBY. (_Picking up note book._) Allow me, miss!

MISS B. Goodness me!

WELBY. Are you ill, Miss Bodman?

MISS B. No, thank you! Just a momentary dizziness.

RALPH. How my appearance affects her! (_Looks proud._)

MISS B. It’s gone now. Allow me Mr. Arthur Welby, novelist, to introduce
Mr. Ralph Hyde-Arlington, poet. (_They shake hands down C._)

WELBY. Ah! this is a pleasure, Mr. Hyde-Arlington. My wife likes the
“Dead Canary” very much.

RALPH. (_Bowing._) Thank you! Thank you!

WELBY. In fact it is her favorite poem. By the way, of course you’ve read
my novel, “The Man from Mattoon.”

RALPH. (_Confused._) No, I haven’t. I am reserving that pleasure. It is
inexcusable of me to have put off so long, for it is a work of genius.
(_W. bows._) But you see I’m a poor man and poetry doesn’t pay. We’ve
quite a family too—nine children now.

MISS B. (_Exclaiming suddenly._) Oh, goodness—I beg pardon, gentlemen.
(_Goes up to her type-writing machine._)

W. Really, I fear she is ill.

RALPH. (_Aside to W._) It is our presence that affects her.

W. (_Starting._) No.

RALPH. Sure!

W. (_To MISS B._) Do you feel better?

MISS B. I am all right now, thank you. (_Rings bell._) Gentlemen, I’ll
have you shown to the reception room where you can converse undisturbed.

W. (_To RALPH._) I’ll send you a copy of, “The Man from Mattoon.”

RALPH. Thanks, I’ll send you a “Dead Canary.”

_ENTER WILLIAM, R._

MISS. B. William, show these gentlemen into reception room. And ask Mr.
Robinson the bookkeeper, to step here a moment. (_Exeunt, R._) Well, I
never! That man the poet, Ralph Hyde-Arlington. He looks like a junk
dealer, and married and nine children! Horrors! I thought Lollie June
Tibbie must be a willowy school girl, but she proves to be forty and
weighs 180. Oh, the surprises of literature! Arlington’s face would stop
a clock.

_RE-ENTER WILLIAM, R._

WILLIAM. Robinson says he just wont take any more poets out to lunch.

MISS B. Why?

WILLIAM. He went out with four yesterday, an’ to-day he’s nearly dead
with dyspepsy, or whatever ye call it.

MISS B. Let the firm pay his doctor bill. I’m not here to get rid of
people.

WILLIAM. He’s been takin’ pepsicum all day an’ says he just wont do it
fur nobody. (_Exit W., R._)

_ENTER MR. G. and P. from D. F._

P. (_Anxiously._) Have they gone?

MISS B. No, they are in the reception room.

MR. G. Powers, I’ll leave it to you. I simply can’t see Mr. Welby again.
This is the fifth time we have turned him down.

P. Miss Bodman has mailed him a letter, and—by the way, where did you
send that letter?

MISS B. Why to the Fifth Avenue hotel of course.

P. Oh, reckless young woman! now you have done it. He’ll get that letter
and be back here in fifteen minutes, wanting _reasons_. The letter should
have gone to Mount Despair, Illinois.

MISS B. You mean _Mount Hope_.

P. Yes, of course. Why didn’t you send it to Mount Hope?

MISS B. Because you gave me his card with Fifth Avenue Hotel address.

MR. G. We’ll have the bookkeeper take him to lunch.

MISS B. Robinson refuses. Says he is already dying of indigestion.

MR. G. Then it devolves on you, Powers.

P. Mr. Greathead, I have heart trouble. Send for Snap.

MR. G. (_Laughs._) I’ll put both of them in on Snap. That’ll be a good
joke, eh Powers?

P. Oh very funny, sir. Snap played me that trick once.

MR. G. By the way, Miss Bodman, you had better take your lunch.

MISS B. Yes, sir. (_Exit B. R._)

MR. G. Powers, what do you think of Mr. Wilbur B. Chapter-Chapter’s new
novel?

P. What can you expect from Chicago?

MR. G. But Chicago has her 400 now.

P. They _think_ they have.

MR. G. That amounts to the same thing. They will buy Mr.
Chapter-Chapter’s book solely because he is in the 400.

P. Then you will sell it chiefly on the binding?

MR. G. Certainly! The most successful books nowadays owe part of their
success to the binder, just as the stage carpenter builds a play.

P. I think you are right, they have plenty of money in Chicago—and pork.

MR. G. Powers, you are prejudiced against the West. We must cater to them.

P. Very well, sir. Chapter-Chapter’s book is good enough for a caterer.
There’s nothing in it.

MR. G. That makes no difference. Ideas make literature but paper will
make books.

P. And it lacks the smooth, gum drop style of Mrs. Fadd’s “Sweet Jingles
Jangled.”

MR. G. (_Laughs._) Gum-drops! Powers, you are rather severe on Mrs. Fadd.
We can’t expect to equal her great book more than once in a decade. The
only point to be considered is this: Is Chapter-Chapter’s book in good
form?

P. Oh, the best. Why, he led the ball given in honor of Princess Eulalia.

MR. G. That fact alone is a capital start. We’ll state it in the preface.

P. And he dedicated the Joss House erected by the Century Club to the
adoration of the “Heavenly Twins.”

MR. G. Enough! We will publish Chapter-Chapter’s book.

P. We should have it endorsed by the Supreme Council of the New York Pow
Wow.

MR. G. That is very _easy_. The secretary will write us a “Letter.”

_ENTER WILLIAM, R._

WILLIAM. Mr. Greathead, Mrs. Upperdyke Fadd has called.

MR. G. (_Pleased._) Show her in, William. Powers, do your best. She likes
compliment and she’s the greatest writer of the time.

P. You mean _seller_, Mr. Greathead.

MR. G. Yes, yes, but do try to worship her a little, business you know.

_ENTER MRS. FADD, R._

MR. G. (_Effusively._) My dear Mrs. Fadd, this is indeed a pleasure.
(_Places chair, C._)

P. (_Bowing._) Yes, unfortunately we see so little of authors, those
wonderful people who make the world laugh or weep at their will.

MR. G. (_Tapping P.’S shoulder._) Very neat! I couldn’t have said it so
well.

MRS. F. (_Dropping in chair._) You are very kind gentlemen. But I’m here
on business. How are the books selling?

MR. G. The success of your book is simply phenomenal. The sales of “Sweet
Jingles Jangled” marks an era in the book business. Presses running day
and night. The name of Mrs. Upperdyke Fadd is on every tongue, club talk,
society talk, street car talk—why I overheard one newsboy ask another:
“Tim wot the dickens did that Mrs. Upperdyke Fadd do?” (_All laugh._)

MRS. F. Yes, they do talk about me. (_Laughs._) Penalty of fame! And I am
bored to death with letters from everywhere on earth about goodness knows
what all, but mostly wanting subscriptions to something or other.

MR. G. The penalty of greatness, madam!

MRS. F. The only thing that I shall really push, however, is the new
Infirmary for Superannuated Lap-dogs. One must concentrate nowadays.
They’ve made me a director in that. Mrs. Wilton Schuyler Vanderzumboom
is president. It is an enterprise undertaken exclusively by the most
fashionable society. They are breaking their necks in the scramble to get
in.

P. Who, the lap-dogs?

MRS. F. Oh dear, no, the ladies. How absurd!

MR. G. That’s only a little joke of Powers’. (_Gives P. a warning look._)
It is a most commendable thing—

MRS. F. Apparently the day is past when a jest has any relation to a
witticism.

MR. G. No, no, you will have your joke too, Mrs. Fadd. I mean the
hospital.

MRS. F. _Infirmary_, Mr. Greathead! One is expected to do something and
there are so many causes worthy of help. I hesitated between the Humane
Society and the Infirmary for Superannuated Lap-dogs. Then I thought I’d
better limit myself.

MR. G. By the way, Mrs. Fadd, I hope you won’t let anything interfere
with your contract with Greathead & Wright. Two novels per month, you
know, is the agreement.

MRS. F. Pshaw! I could make it four, I really believe, I write so very
easily.

MR. G. By the way, Mr. Powers, that reminds me that we ought to have Mrs.
Fadd interviewed again. She hasn’t been interviewed for nearly a month.
Suppose we do it now and send slips to the papers at once.

P. Miss Bodman is not here.

MR. G. Couldn’t you manage to take it?

P. Possibly, yes. (_Gets writing pad and seats himself at desk._)

MR. G. The public is very much interested in celebrities just now.
Napoleon you know, and Pillby. The politician held sway a long time but
now the other people are falling into line. When the public hears of
success, they want to know all about its possessor. The public idolize
success. Now the papers are publishing portraits of dashing Board of
Trade men, brilliant, brainy pork-packers, solid real estate men, smooth
oil refiners, expansive gas operators.

P. I have seen a write-up of a philanthropic operator in fire sales,
ten-cent counter goods, etc.; made his million of course. This is a
progressive age.

MR. G. Now, Mrs. Fadd, be kind enough to answer:

Q. What kind of paper do you write on?

A. Cream laid, note size.

P. Jersey cream?

MR. G. Powers, you are getting so absent-minded. This is an interview of
a literary celebrity.

Q. What sort of chair do you sit in?

A. Cane bottomed.

Q. Straight back or curved?

A. Slightly curved.

Q. You write easily?

A. Oh very! Why, it’s just dead easy. Goodness me! What did the
old-fashioned author do with his time, I’d like to know. We read
that they wrote and scratched out and groaned and sweat; why I can’t
understand it. I drop the sheets on floor with my left hand, (_MR. G.
“Got that Powers? With her left hand.”_) like clock work, a sheet every
five minutes, twelve sheets an hour. Six thousand words per day.

MR. G. Just think of it. A most prolific pen.

P. Yes, the female pen is often very prolific.

Q. Do you have moods, Mrs. Fadd?

MRS. F. Why, as to grammar—

MR. G. I mean the other kind of moods.

A. _Moods!_ no indeed, if I had moods the public would discern them. I
set myself a standard of uniformity and compel myself to attain it. When
I wrote “Sweet Jingles Jangled” I set myself to please. Labored efforts
never please. I said there shouldn’t be an idea in the book, and there
isn’t. The mistake of the old authors was in thinking the public wanted
ideas. It does not want to be bored with ideas. It wants smooth, flowing,
soothing—what shall I say?

P. Stuff.

MRS. F. No, there is a better word. (_Thinks._) Dear me—for the present
we’ll say stuff, that may be read any where at any time without the
possibility of exciting thought or provoking tiresome discussion. That’s
why the public likes Mrs. Fadd. It knows Mrs. Fadd is both safe and
entertaining.

Q. Mrs. Fadd do you revise much?

A. Oh, never! I consider revision the rock on which many authors have
foundered. The moment you begin to revise you break in upon that flowing
smoothness which the public likes, and then your stuff doesn’t appear
fresh. If you revise, your work is sure to show it, and that the public
resents, says you are straining after effect. Why, we read of one of the
old authors who rode round town for an entire day in a half demented
condition, in a cab, to the great alarm of the driver. At last throwing
open the door, he jumped wildly into the street, at the risk of his neck,
exclaiming: “I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” The cabman greatly relieved
thought he alluded to the fare and replied! “All right, sir! Seven hours,
one dollar an hour.” (_All laugh._) The author angrily replied: “You
fool, I’m talking about a word I wanted. At last I’ve got it.” Now is it
any wonder that authors who drove round in cabs looking for words were
always in indigent circumstances?

P. A dictionary would be cheaper.

MR. G. Decidedly! Now as to your personal life, Mrs. Fadd, the public
insists on knowing those things.

MRS. F. I’m sure I don’t object to telling.

Q. Do you take cream in your coffee?

A. At breakfast, not at dinner.

Q. Sugar?

A. Yes.

Q. How many lumps?

A. Two at breakfast, one at dinner.

MR. G. Note that Powers; curious eccentricity in the matter of sugar.
Expand that a little.

Q. Whose soap do you use?

A. Quince’s.

Q. If you only took a cigarette occasionally it would add piquancy you
know; royalty does it, duchesses and all the _bizarre_ people.

MRS. F. Oh, I _do_ smoke a little but you really must not put that in, I—

_ENTER brusquely SUSAN ANN BROWN, R._

SUSAN. Is this Mr. Greathead?

MRS. F. (_Jumping up._) Oh dear! What if she heard! She may think I smoke
a pipe. Goodness me! (_Runs out L._)

SUSAN. Is this Mr. Greathead?

MR. G. It is madam, at your service.

SUSAN. I am Susan Ann Brown, author of “Winds that Sough in the Night,”
the greatest novel of the day, 1,100 pages, 300,000 words.

MR. G. To be sure. I’ll introduce you to Mr. Powers our “Reader.” He will
examine your book.

SUSAN. I want Mr. Greathead to read it.

MR. G. That is simply impossible. Have an engagement. Mr. Powers is next
to me.

SUSAN. I guess the best way is for me to call again. I’ll read it to you
myself.

MR. G. Eleven hundred pages! Excuse me, madam, I have an urgent
engagement (_looks at watch_). Past time now! Here, Powers, attend to the
lady. (_Rushes out L._)

SUSAN. (_To P._) So you are next to him. If _you_ decide you must first
hear every line, no skipping. I’ll see to that myself.

P. (_Sits at his desk and commences to fumble MSS., out of humor._) My
dear madam, our plan—

SUSAN. And my plan is to do nothing half way.

P. But, Miss Brown, I really never could listen well. My ear I think—

SUSAN. I’ve a strong voice. I guess my way’s best. I’m a good reader.
(_Pulls up chair beside him to his surprise, sits, opens MS._)

P. (_Groans._) But madam, this isn’t regular.

SUSAN. I’ve heard all about your putting off authors. Now I’m here and
I’m going to be heard.

P. Good Lord, madam—

SUSAN. Just keep cool now. If you once hear “Winds that Sough in the
Night” you’ll want it. (_Reads._) “One evening, some thirty years ago, a
solitary horseman was seen winding his way over the bare, snow-clad hills
as the red December sun was slowly sinking in the western horizon. As he
rode along he was immersed in—”

P. (_Frantically._) The river, I hope.

SUSAN. We should get on better if you did not anticipate, Powers.

P. Anticipate! (_Jumps and rings bell. Instantly gong sounds outside.
SUSAN jumps up in alarm, drops leaf of MS._)

SUSAN. What was that? (_Gong again very loud._)

P. Fire, madam, the place is on fire! Escape for your life

SUSAN. Merciful heaven, and if my precious book should be burned. Why, my
book is a legacy for the ages. (_Rushes wildly out R. hugging MS._)

P. (_Laughs._) That’s our last resort in self-defense. Now may be I can
do some work. (_Goes to desk and takes up MS._)

_RE-ENTER WELBY, R._

W. I got that letter, Mr. Powers. I hardly expected that.

P. They never do expect it.

W. What are your reasons for rejecting my great book, “The Governor’s
Daughter?”

P. Because we did not want it.

W. Sir, you are insulting.

P. Very well, abuse me if you choose. I’m only an employé. I have to be
polite.

W. But has an author no rights? Must he go on forever like the Wandering
Jew and never be told anything? If I were your tailor you would tell me
what was the matter.

P. It costs more to put a book to press than it does a coat.

W. I could possibly fix up the book or write one that would please you.

P. I’m very sorry, Mr. Welby, but I’m only part of a vast machine and we
can’t give reasons for everything we do.

W. But Mr. Greathead practically promised me an interview.

P. Then see him.

W. How can I see him when he’s never visible?

P. I’ll call him. (_Raps, D. F._)

_ENTER G._

MR. G. (_Starts back, surprised._) Ah, is it you, Mr. Welby?

W. Yes. May I ask something about my book?

MR. G. Why, really it’s against our rules but, Powers, suppose you take
Mr. Welby out to lunch and talk with him.

W. I much prefer to see you, sir. I agree not to bore you.

MR. G. (_Gets hat._) Then suppose you do me the honor of lunching with me
at the Club.

W. With pleasure. (_Exeunt, R._)

P. (_Dropping in chair._) I shall have softening of the brain, I know it,
I feel it coming on.

_ENTER RALPH, R._

RALPH. Mr. Greathead in yet?

P. No.

RALPH. I’ve been waiting in the reception room two hours.

P. I’m very sorry.

RALPH. Where is he? I’ll follow him all over New York.

P. (_Wearily._) Gone to lunch with Mr. Welby.

RALPH. Welby, ha! Welby is taking advantage of me. Why didn’t I invite
Mr. Greathead to lunch with me. (_Runs fingers through hair, assumes
dignified air which is very comical._) May be I’m not so well dressed as
Welby, but clothes have nothing to do with literature.

P. But they do with books.

RALPH. A fine distinction. Mrs. Fadd wears good clothes. Mr. Powers,
while we are all alone, suppose I just read you a few poems from my new
volume, “The Pith Soldier, and Other Poems?” They far surpass the “Dead
Canary.” You’ll want them.

P. Mr. Hyde-Arlington, we never do that. It’s against the rules.

RALPH. I mean just in an informal way between ourselves. You know the
success attained by my “Dead Canary.”

P. Impossible, my dear sir. The building may take fire.

RALPH. (_Starting._) Fire! What’s that you said?

P. I mean—go on sir. (R. _begins unwrapping package._)

P. (_Aside._) I’ll try the fire alarm. (_Before he can ring bell_)—

_ENTER, R. hastily, SUSAN._

SUSAN. Young man, that was a false alarm. There wasn’t any fire.

RALPH. Fire! No, my poetry is not as hot as Mrs. Wheelwright’s.

SUSAN. (_Ignores R._) I lost a page of my book. I couldn’t lose the least
bit of it for the world. It is my heart’s blood, drop by drop—oh, there
it is! (_Picks page under chair._) Oh, how I’ve worked on that book, I’ve
burned for hours the midnight oil with aching head and ceaseless toil.
There! I didn’t mean to make poetry.

RALPH. (_Sarcastically._) You haven’t made any.

SUSAN. (_With withering glance._) Who are you, I’d like to know?

RALPH. I am Ralph Hyde-Arlington, poet, author of “The Dead Canary, and
Other Poems.”

SUSAN. And I am Susan Ann Brown, novelist, author of “Winds that Sough in
the Night.”

RALPH. Excuse me, madam, but you have interrupted us. I was about to read
my poems to Mr. Powers.

SUSAN. Excuse _me_. I was here first. (_POWERS in glee watches dispute,
rubs hands, then quietly gets hat and steals out L._)

RALPH. But you went out madam. A publishing house is like a barber shop.

SUSAN. (_Snorts._) Barber shop!

RALPH. Yes, when you leave you lose your turn.

SUSAN. Humph! I don’t know anything about barber shops, and I guess from
your appearance you haven’t been in one lately either.

RALPH. Madam, the natural gallantry which appertains to my sex and
calling forbids me to argue this question further with a lady. (_Sees
that P. is gone, gives knowing look._) Satisfied of my own rights in the
matter I yield to you, I go. (_Bows, exit R._)

SUSAN. He’s not so bad after all. But what a difference between poetry
and its producers. All contrast in this world! Now Mr. Powers—(_reads
same paragraph as before, looks up, discovers P. is gone, screams_)—all
gone! That fire must be real, for there isn’t a soul in sight. (_Gong
again._) Oh dear, if my novel should be burned it would be an irreparable
loss to the world. The very thought makes me shudder. (_Runs out R.
crying_ “fire! fire!”)

QUICK CURTAIN.




                              THE NEW WOMAN

                          A COMEDY OF A. D. 1950

                              IN THREE ACTS

                             BY T. S. DENISON

                               _Author of_
  Odds with the Enemy, Initiating a Granger, Wanted, a Correspondent, A
    Family Strike, Seth Greenback, Louva, the Pauper, Hans Von Smash,
 Borrowing Trouble, Two Ghosts in White, The Pull-Back, Country Justice,
        The Assessor, The Sparkling Cup, Our Country, Irish Linen
     Peddler, The School Ma’am, Kansas Immigrants, An Only Daughter,
         Too Much of a Good Thing, Under the Laurels, Hard Cider,
         The Danger Signal, Wide Enough for Two, Pets of Society,
         Is the Editor In? The New Woman, Patsy O’Wang, Rejected,
             Only Cold Tea, Madam P’s Beauty Parlors, Topp’s
         Twins, A First-Class Hotel, It’s all in the Pay-Streak,
           The Cobbler, A Dude in a Cyclone, Friday Dialogues.

                            _Also the Novels,
                   The Man Behind, An Iron Crown, etc._

                                 CHICAGO:
                        T. S. DENISON, PUBLISHER,
                           163 RANDOLPH STREET.




THE NEW WOMAN.

COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY T. S. DENISON.


CHARACTERS.

_Women._

    MISS PINK T. HYKIGHT, Pres. of Club, who has never found a man good
      enough for her. Motto of the Hykight’s “Soaring.”
    MISS ROSA LIGHTFOOT, Secretary. Young and pretty.
    MISS DOLLIE GIGLETTE, who is up to date.
    MISS BIRDIE ROBBINS, no longer a “chicken,” and intensely anti-man.
    MISS DAISY DOUGHFLYER, (Duffy, from the French Du Fay).
    MARY, the stewardess who is known as “Smilax.”
    OTHER WOMEN, only talked about—Ernestine Arlington, who is engaged,
      and Willie Jones (not a boy), who is so very timid that the only
      thing she can do is to elope.

_Horrid men._

    JACK BLAKE, a collector for the gas company who is misunderstood by
      Miss Hykight but much better understood by Rosa.
    BERTIE HOWELL, “at leisure, don’t you know” and has time to fawnsy
      Daisy.
    MACK, the ice man who fancies Mary.

_Time of playing, one hour._


STAGE DIRECTIONS.

_R._ means right of the stage _C._, center; _R. C._, right center; _L._,
left; _1 E._, first entrance; _U. E._, upper entrance, etc.; _D. F._,
door in flat or back of the stage. The actor is supposed to be facing the
audience.


COSTUMES.

BIRDIE ROBBINS, make-up of prim old maid.

MISS PINK T. HYKIGHT, stylish, modern according to taste.

DOLLIE GIGLETTE, mannish and easy swagger of a polite swell.

MARY, neat working dress.

OTHER LADIES, modern, according to taste.

BERTIE, _First Act_. Swell dude, bloomers, veil, long, pointed shoes
with gilt chains from knee-buckles to toes of shoes, eye-glass, cane,
and any other suitable extravagance. He must not however look vulgar.
_Second Act._ Blue or brown drilling pants and working coat, slouch hat,
whiskers, plumber’s kit, tongs, lead pipe, hammer, etc.

BLAKE, first appearance, plain business suit; second appearance more
natty with buttonhole bouquet.

MACK, blue or brown wool shirt, overalls, slouch hat.


PROPERTIES.

Vase of flowers, letters for case, writing materials, book for club
roll, hammer, pincers, solder, etc., for plumber all wrapped in piece of
carpet; cane, eye-glass, coins.

NOTE—This play may be made very amusing if the actors enter heartily
into the spirit of its absurdities. This is specially true of Bertie
Howells and Dollie Giglette, but care must be exercised to avoid anything
approaching coarseness.

[Illustration: THE NEW WOMAN.]


THE NEW WOMAN.


ACT I.

    SCENE—_Club rooms handsomely furnished. Entrance R. in 1; door
    to dressing room R. in 3; screen to guard last door; chair of
    President and small desk, up C; table of Secretary left hand of
    President near flat; sofa R. of President’s chair, another L.
    of Secretary’s table; door to committee room L. in 2; screen to
    guard this door also. Chairs in rows at right angles to desk
    and President’s position, not too many nor set too formally; as
    members rise or seat themselves they may move chairs a little
    so as to give air of informality. Pictures, flowers, etc.,
    to taste. Screens far enough from wall that persons behind
    them may be seen by audience. (If played in private house any
    other arrangement suitable to the room may be made by slight
    changes.) A few young ladies besides those in cast may appear
    on rising of curtain to give idea of a considerable club. They
    may chatter and giggle to interrupt proceedings._

MISS H. (_As pres., rapping on desk as curtain rises._) Order, ladies!
The club will come to order. (_All continue talking except sec’y who
takes place._)

DOLLIE. (_To member._) Oh, say, have you read the “Woman who Dared”?
She’s the ideal new woman. It’s just too lovely!

MEMBER. What loads of money she had. Just think, two hundred suits! And
her pants were a dream.

DAISY. (_To member._) I took _so_ much pains with it, and then to have
them say such things.

DOLLIE. (_Hearing._) Oh, what did they say?

PRES. (_Raps vigorously._) Order please, ladies! It is already past the
hour for meeting.

BIRDIE. (_Sentimentally._) Oh, I do take such an interest in this club.
If this club fails, the new woman—(_Pres. sharply._) “Order.” (_BIRDIE
drops in seat._) Oh!

PRES. (_Raps very hard._) The club will come to order! Secretary, read—

MEMBER. (_Who has not yet heard the calls to order._) Ashes of roses
trimmed with—

PRES. The object of this club is to cultivate self-reliant _new_ women.
Let us live up to our opportunities. Secretary, call the roll.

SEC. (_Calls, nobody answers._) Miss Hykight, Miss Lightfoot, Miss
Robbins, Miss Giglette, Miss Smythe, Miss Tompkins, Miss White, Miss
Spooner, Miss Suitor, (_hesitates_) Miss Doughflyer, Miss—

MISS DOUGHFLYER. (_Jumps up hastily._) Miss President, I wish to correct
the secretary. (_With dignity._) My name is _not_ Doughflyer though it
is spelled that way. We are English, you know, of Norman extraction, and
pronounce our name Duffy. It comes from the French Du Fay.

SEC. I beg your pardon, pleased to make the correction.

PRES. (_To sec._) By the way, Miss Lightfoot, you appear to be a stranger
to Miss Duffy. Allow me to introduce you. Miss Duffy, Miss Lightfoot;
Miss Lightfoot, Miss Duffy. (_They bow._)

SEC. (_Continues._) Miss Hapgood, Miss Littlejohn, Miss
Brownmuffin—(_hesitates_) Willie Jones.

CHORUS. Good gracious, is she a boy?

BIRDIE. (_Rises, severely._) There seems to be some mistake about that
name. One of the rules of this club is that no man shall ever enter its
sacred precincts or even be mentioned except pro forma. I think it is an
insult to the club even to mention a man’s name here in that familiar
way—Willie Jones—much less to put his name on the roll.

PRES. I agree to that, Miss Robbins. It is in atrociously bad taste if
intended for a joke.

SEC. I found the name on a slip of members proposed.

PRES. (_With dignity._) Ladies, who proposed Willie Jones? (_No answer.
DOLLIE, who has been busily talking to a member suddenly realizes that
some business is before the club and asks_:)

DOLLIE. What is the question?

PRES. (_Sternly._) The question is, who dared desecrate our roll with the
name of a man. Willie Jones, who is he?

DOLLIE. (_Jumps up._) Goodness me, he’s not a he. He’s a girl! (_All
laugh._) Such a ridiculous mistake! It would so mortify poor Willie if
she were here. She’s such a dear, timid little thing; why, she hardly
dares breathe.

DAISY. What a funny name for a girl, anyway.

DOLLIE. Poor thing, she can’t help it. Parents old fashioned you know,
and like men well enough to want their names.

PRES. The name is very good since it is borne by a woman. The new woman
will not only do as she pleases, but call herself what she pleases. She
will not await the pleasure of some man to bestow his precious name on
her. _I_ never saw the man whose name _I_ wanted.

BIRDIE. (_Rises._) Nor have _I_, the presumptuous creatures. When they
fit themselves to be the companions of the nobler sex it will be time
enough for them to ask our friendship only, and for us to refuse if we
choose.

PRES. And we also assume the right to ask instead of waiting patiently
like slaves in a market. The new woman will be no slave.

CHORUS. Never!

PRES. I believe the next business is to consider the applications for
new members to the “New Woman’s Anti-homo Club.” (_To sec._) What
applications are there to come up to-day? (_Members begin an epidemic of
whispering._) Order please, ladies! (_Brief lull which ends in a general
buzz._)

SEC. (_Reads._) The first name is Miss Ernestine Arlington.

PRES. Who proposed Miss Arlington?

SEC. Miss Brownmuffin, who is not present.

PRES. Has anyone anything to say before the ballot is taken?

DOLLIE. I don’t know that I ought to say anything. (_General curiosity._)

DAISY. Oh yes, do.

DOLLIE. But people might blame me for trying to injure the girl.

PRES. Let people talk, the new woman does not care a fig for what people
say.

DOLLIE. Miss Arlington is a very sweet girl, but—

BIRDIE. (_Rises._) Miss President!

PRES. Miss Birdie Robbins.

BIRDIE. I rise to correct the language of Miss Giglette. I object to the
word sweet. It sounds silly. The new woman will, I hope, not be a piece
of confectionery, inciting men to cannibalism.

DOLLIE. (_With slight emphasis._) Well, I don’t care! Ernestine _is_
sweet but that’s not the worst, she’s engaged to be married. (_Chorus of_
“Oh’s.”)

DAISY. Who is he? Oh, I didn’t mean that? Has he money? Is he a foreigner?

PRES. A foreigner with money! Bah! A foreigner is only better than the
native tyrant in this, that he makes no pretension to be suffering from
that antiquated, imaginary malady _love_. He boldly proclaims that he
gives his name and reserves his freedom. He is at least honest. Engaged!
Silly, weak creature, that’s enough to know of her.

BIRDIE. I should say!

PRES. The constitution of this club, as we all know, forbids the marriage
of its members. We believe that we have a nobler work to accomplish in
the world. And I repeat, for the benefit of new members, that no member
of this club may receive any kind of attention from any man nor pay
attentions to any man, except by consent and advice of this club.

BIRDIE. (_Rises._) I think we ought to censure Miss Brownmuffin for
recommending such a creature who is weak enough to throw herself at a
man in that way, for I warrant she led him on.

PRES. Are there any other names to be presented to-day?

SEC. Yes, Mrs. Judge Stone!

MEMBER. (_Jumping up._) But no _Missus_ is eligible. We will have no
woman who is weak enough to marry a man.

SEC. But Mrs. Judge Stone’s case is quite exceptional. She is a brave
woman. Filed a bill of divorce, heard the case herself, and granted a
decree with a ripping alimony.

CHORUS. Good, good! (_Applause._)

BIRDIE. What was the cause?

SEC. Her husband, the tyrant, objected to her smoking during their
reception to the Count Spaghetti, who married Miss Bullion-Brown.

CHORUS. Oh! oh! the brute! served him right.

PRES. I think we should admit this brilliant woman, the champion of her
sex, without the formality of a ballot.

BIRDIE. Yes, by all means, and extend her a vote of thanks, besides, for
her achievements in the cause of progress.

CHORUS. Yes, yes!

PRES. Mrs. Judge Stone is admitted by unanimous consent, and the thanks
is also a vote. (_To sec._) What is next?

SEC. Some questions were to be presented for future discussion.

PRES. Read them!

SEC. WHEREAS: The New Woman’s Club and Anti-homo Association points with
pride to its record in the matter of political and social reform, it
further views with alarm the gradual encroachments of the male sex upon
the dress of women. Witness the almost universal adoption of bloomers
by men of fashion, which is rapidly being imitated by male maids of all
work, and even scullions and dish-washers.

BIRDIE. Miss President, such a condition of affairs is ominous. It
threatens the very foundations of society. In my opinion men are secretly
encouraged in such practices by that class of women whom we designate
as marrying women. Our battle is not yet completely won. A large number
of our own sex oppose us, and cling to the old system which made woman
a slave. I therefore move that a committee be named to call upon Her
Excellency, Governor Angelina Perkins, and Chief Justice Daisy Flyer
inviting them to a joint discussion of this important question, in the
rooms of this club.

DOLLIE. I second that motion.

PRES. I see no harm in it and will name as the committee ex-Judge Birdie
Robbins, ex-Mayor Dollie Giglette, of whom, by the way, we are all proud
as the youngest mayor ever elected in this city, and Miss Brownmuffin.
I think the question will be ably debated, since it is well known that
Governor Angelina Perkins is inclined to a strict interpretation of the
statutes, while Chief Justice Daisy Flyer has liberal tendencies and her
rulings give men all the privileges which they may fairly ask so long as
society is constituted as at present.

DOLLIE. For my part I think the question not important. Since women have
almost universally adopted pantaloons and derby hats I am willing that
the men wear bloomers and put feathers in their hats if they choose. Men
are naturally vain and the slaves of fashion.

BIRDIE. We set a bad example in our dress here!

PRES. Our dress here is only a survival, regalia in fact, like that of
the women’s Ancient Order of Matrimony.

DOLLIE. It is very absurd and should have been abolished long ago.

SEC. I have the following question to propose: (_Reads._) Shall men be
compelled to remove their hats in theatres?

DAISY. The law says plainly, they shall!

BIRDIE. The law, indeed! What’s the use to talk about the law when the
people have been fools enough to elect a gang mayor and a man at that.
He winks at most outrageous infractions of the law! What are we coming to?

DOLLIE. The remedy lies in the ballot.

SEC. (_Reads._) Shall a woman give her seat in a street car to a tired
man?

PRES. That question is absurd. If the man is young and stylishly dressed
he gets the seat and if he isn’t he stands, that’s all. Is there any
further business?

SEC. None!

PRES. The club stands adjourned till the next regular meeting. (_All rise
and with a buzz disperse going R. except pres. and sec._)

ROSA. Hykight, I am worried about the finances of the club.

PINK T. Lightfoot, that is Doughflyer’s business!

ROSA. Doughflyer is _so_ reckless!

PINK T. How much do we owe?

ROSA. Nearly five thousand dollars.

PINK T. That is nothing for a wealthy club like ours. Why, in the old
times when men carried the pocket-book and managed clubs they were always
head over heels in debt.

ROSA. (_Surprised._) Why, Miss Pink T. Hykight! Do you adduce the men’s
clubs as examples for our guidance?

PINK T. Certainly not. Their clubs are cheap nowadays because we allow
them so little pocket money. And they are so weak in the matter of drinks.

ROSA. But we can’t pay bills even in 1950 without money.

PRES. I tire of hearing about money. Money has never been the chief
object in any condition of society.

ROSA. We’ll not agree there. Our grandfathers and fathers made a god of
money, a swinish, brutal fetich. But we must do something; our wine bill
is enormous.

PINK T. That comes of giving a banquet at the Paragon Hotel and inviting
a thirsty horde of men.

ROSA. But the bill must be paid, and the cigar man is clamoring for his
money.

PINK T. Pay him!

ROSA. Pay him! Why, the bill is over three hundred dollars. We do smoke
so much and the members are hanging the club up.

PINK T. That is contrary to rules. Doughflyer is responsible for that.
She is too easy. By the way, have you a cigar about you?

ROSA. No, I came down in the car with Judge Flyer and she took the last
one I had. I’ll ring for Mary to bring in cigars.

_ENTER MARY, R._

PINK T. Oh, here she is now.

MARY. Miss Hykight, there is a man at the door who wishes to see the
president.

PINK T. A man! No man can come in here except in extreme necessity or in
a menial capacity. Tell him to go.

MARY. I have told him that. He insists, says he must see the president
and will not be put off longer. (_Going L._)

PINK T. Will not be put off! Such insolence! Call a policeman. Goodness!
I hear him coming in here! He’s bound to speak to me. There’s no escape.
I’m subject to impeachment if this gets out.

ROSA. I shan’t take any chances. (_Runs out L._, P. T. _following._)

_ENTER JACK BLAKE, R._

BLAKE. (_Bowing politely._) Can I see the president of the club?

PINK T. (_At L., with dignity._) I am the president. You are intruding,
sir.

BLAKE. (_Bowing very low._) I beg your pardon but I must see somebody.

PINK T. (_Aside._) _So_ polite! Your business, sir?

BLAKE. I am collector for the Universal Grab-all Gas Co. The bill, you
know.

PINK T. I do not know. See Miss Daisy Doughflyer, our financial secretary.

BLAKE. Duffy! The name given me was _Doughflyer_!

PINK T. (_Laughs._) How absurd! You got the name wrong. She spells it
Doughflyer and pronounces it Duffy. She’s English, you know.

BLAKE. Beg pardon! I didn’t know that. I’ve looked all over town for that
woman.

PINK T. She’s a lawyer. Doughflyer and Muldoon, Cinderella building,
corner of Matilda street and Marie Louise avenue.

BLAKE. Miss Hykight, I thank you for your courtesy. Sorry I intruded.
(_Bows politely._)

PINK T. Don’t mention it.

_ENTER MARY, L._

MARY. (_Sees B., coughs._) Miss President, the ice hasn’t come.

PINK T. I’ll see you later Mary! (_Slips coin in her hand. Exit MARY, L._)

BLAKE. By the way, where is the meter? Our man had trouble finding it.

PINK T. Step into the office, through that door. The stewardess will show
you. (_Exit BLAKE, bowing very politely, L._)

PINK T. What a charming man! The gas officials are so polite. I hear they
train all their men in a regular school of etiquette, taught by a real
French professor. But this little interview must be strictly on the Q. T.
(_Exit, R._)

_ENTER ROSA and BLAKE, talking earnestly._

ROSA. (_Glancing round._) Thank heaven, she is gone and no one is likely
to come so soon after the business meeting.

BLAKE. You have a charming place here. But why is it so very hard to see
your officials, Miss Lightfoot?

ROSA. Why, don’t you know? Our rules are very strict. No man without
a license is ever allowed to enter here except on certain days of
public receptions. If you were seen here with me I should be subject to
impeachment and expulsion and you would be hopelessly compromised.

BLAKE. (_Starting._) No!

ROSA. A fact! Can I rely on your discretion?

BLAKE. (_Bowing his best._) You can. I would gladly be the slave of such
a charming creature.

ROSA. (_Pretending offense._) No nonsense, please! The new woman dislikes
the word slave. On your honor, do you promise silence?

BLAKE. (_Bowing._) I do!

ROSA. For your own sake, too!

BLAKE. I must preserve my reputation. I shall be silent as the grave.

ROSA. (_Aside._) Such lovely manners! Now go, please.

_ENTER MARY L., she starts and coughs._

ROSA. (_To BLAKE._) Oh, please go at once! (_Exit BLAKE, hastily, R._)
Mary, you know our rules! This is an accident. He came to see about the
gas. (_She gives Mary a coin._) Can I rely on you?

MARY. Forever, Miss Lightfoot.

ROSA. Thank you! (_Exit R._)

MARY. Well, if there aint trouble brewin’ here, my name isn’t Mary
Smilax. First the president making eyes at him, and bribin’ me, and then
the secretary. And he’s just lovely, too. (_Hears noise._) Oh, there’s
the iceman!

_ENTER MACK, the iceman, L._

MACK. Is there nobody around this blessed shop? I’ve been hammering at
the side door for an hour.

MARY. Nonsense, Mack! I haven’t been out of my office for five minutes.

MACK. Don’t care, Smilax. I can’t be detained this way. I’ll just leave
your ice on the sidewalk hereafter.

MARY. Do it if you dare, and we’ll just try the Susie Miller Ice Company.

MACK. The Susie Miller Co. be blowed! (_Coaxingly._) Now Smilax, you
wouldn’t be that hard on a feller an’ lose him a good customer like this
club? The company looks to its drivers to hold customers.

MARY. And it’s a poor dependence.

MACK. Mary, don’t be hard on a feller.

MARY. Mr. Mack, your language is shockingly coarse at times. _Feller_ is
slang.

MACK. Well, Mary—

MARY. There you go again! Don’t call me Mary. Call me Smilax, or Miss
Smilax.

MACK. You used to be just Mary Smith.

MARY. Used to be isn’t now. Smith is too plain and common for me. When I
entered the employment of this club I became a new woman, and I just took
a new name. I was tired of Smith. When I applied to Justice Daisy Flyer
to get a permit to change my name, she said flowers were having a great
run for names, and I chose Smilax.

MACK. Mary, you are prettier to me than any flower.

MARY. (_Smiles._) That is a very pretty compliment, but you forget that
it is only proper for _our_ sex to pay such compliments as that. The new
woman—

MACK. Bother the new woman. Since you have become a new woman, Mary, you
drive me to distraction.

MARY. Mr. Mack, you are really provoking. So weak and sentimental. Do
have a little regard for propriety, and the modesty natural to your sex.

MACK. I never can please you now. The old woman was hard enough to
please, but the new one—heaven help us.

MARY. Mr. Mack, can’t I teach you that it is not your place to compliment
me, but my place to compliment you? You are rather forward.

MACK. Oh, it has come to _that_, has it? (_Going, angry, L._)

MARY. (_Aside._) He’s so fascinating when he is vexed a little.
(_Follows._) He’s irresistible. John!

MACK. (_Turning._) She called me John. (_To MARY, stiffly._) _John!_ I
think _you_ are presuming, Miss.

MARY. I beg your pardon. May I not call you John?

MACK. (_Drops eyes coquettishly._) You are so persistent.

MARY. Then I may call you John?

MACK. It’s so sudden! Give me time. I think I shall never marry.

MARY. Very well, if that is your decision, I—I—

MACK. (_Alarmed._) Oh, I didn’t mean that.

MARY. May I seal that sweet confession with a kiss? (_Advances toward
MACK._)

_ENTER BERTIE R. 1, JOHN darts out L._

BERTIE. (_Coughs._) Aw! I saiey there, now!

MARY. (_Turns angrily._) Who are you, sir? Do you know where you are?

BERTIE. (_Adjusting eye-glass and staring._) Yaas! (_Regarding her._)
Wathah pwetty, don’t you know; but lacks style.

MARY. (_Angrily._) Do you know where you are?

BERTIE. Yaas.

MARY. Oh, you do! Well let me say that the “New Woman’s Club” is
forbidden to men. Special charter, you see. Penalties attached! Why, you
could be committed for felony.

BERTIE. (_Starting._) You don’t saiey!

MARY. Yes, I do say. Now will you go at once, before I call a policeman?

BERTIE. I cawn’t, weally, till I’ve found out something I’m dying to know.

MARY. Well, did you ever! Wont go, eh! I shall have to throw you out.
(_Business of pushing up sleeves._)

BERTIE. (_Starting._) I declare, she’s going to wesoht to violence. I
saiey now! (_MARY takes BERTIE by shoulders and is rushing him toward
door. He drops cane, eye-glass, etc. Makes a feeble effort to resist._)

MARY. I’ll show you how to go, you insolent cub!

BERTIE. (_Manages to turn round._) Oh, I saiey now. Don’t be hasty, you
know I—I—(_gets coin from pocket and slips it in her hand._) I only
wanted to ask a question, then I’ll go.

MARY. (_Looks at coin and changes tone instantly._) Why didn’t you say so
at first. We may be detected. Who are you?

BERTIE. Bertie Howell, there’s my cahd!

MARY. Very well, Mr. Howell. Your business?

BERTIE. You were so thweatening, don’t you know. You quite alahmed me.
You look so musculah, don’t you know.

MARY. Cut that. Time is precious.

BERTIE. You must sweah eternal secwecy.

MARY. If it is so very important as that, I think I’d rather not.

BERTIE. Me weputation is in your hands. A word would blawst it. You know
I have long admiahed in secwet one of the membeahs of this club.

MARY. Indeed! That’s no news. They are rather a swell set.

BERTIE. Awful swaggah, don’t you know. I’ve noticed her in the cahs,
don’t you know, and she knows Governoh Angelina Perkins, too, and they
talk politics—an’ how I do wish I could undehstand those things, but I
cawn’t, you see.

MARY. Yes, I see.

BERTIE. Yestehday she gave me her seat in the stweet cah. It put me all
in a flutteh, don’t you know. I blushed scawlet and put me veil down at
once.

MARY. Poor silly thing! You are very imprudent coming here.

BERTIE. Vewy, but I confide in you.

MARY. You may trust me implicitly, but what can I do for you?

BERTIE. Mention casuawlly that I am an heir, mamma fwightfully wich,
don’t you know, only child, an’ all that. Start a talk, don’t you see.

MARY. But whom am I to talk to! I don’t know your flame.

BERTIE. (_Sucks cane._) Aw, an obstacle wight away, I neveh could
suhmount obstacles. I saiey now, help me out, woman. A cwuel custom
compels me to sit and wait to be wooed.

MARY. Describe her!

BERTIE. (_Brightening._) To be suah, good idea, don’t you know. Well, she
is awfully swell.

MARY. Nonsense! Blonde or brunette?

BERTIE. Aw, thanks for the suggestion. How deuced clevah you aw. She’s a
blonde.

MARY. Clothes?

BERTIE. Velvet suit, cutaway coat, silk tile, silveh knee chains that
hook into the wing of the shoe toes by a deuce of a clevah little hand,
don’t you know.

MARY. Why, that must be the Hon. Dollie Giglette.

BERTIE. _Dollie_, did you say? Oh, how fohgetful I am, I did hear them
call her—

_ENTER DOLLIE, R._

MARY. (_With warning gesture._) Hush! There she comes. (_Runs out, L._)

BERTIE. She comes! Wuined! (_Drops his veil instantly._)

TABLEAU.

_DOLLIE, laughing, down R. C. BERTIE, with averted face, L. C._

QUICK CURTAIN.


ACT II.

    SCENE—_Club house as before. Time: Morning, a few days later
    than Act I. Pres. Hykight discovered looking at letter case._

PINK T. Why, here _is_ a letter. That’s strange; my mail comes to my
business office. (_Opens letter, reads._) Why, from that Mr. Blake of
the Gas Company. Dear me! I wrote him that he really must not come here
any more and he has the audacity to answer, saying that he is obliged to
come. The rules of the company are inexorable, etc. Nonsense! It isn’t
the rules of the company that compel him. It is something else. I guess
I’m the attraction, in short. (_Sighs._) I’m getting tired of all this
strife fighting the battles of reform. The new woman is a pretty lonesome
creature. But I might have been brought up a marrying woman. And if I
had! Poor helpless creatures! (_Sighs._) Well, sometimes I think that
I’d rather preside in a nice home than in this club. Mr. Blake _is_
handsome—such eyes and such a mustache! and such manners! How kind of
the Gas Company to educate their men in etiquette. That is because a
woman is president of the company. Why, I’ve read that in the old time
the insolence of gas employés almost equaled that of employés in the
city hall nowadays. But he is poor and I can not stoop! The motto of the
Hykights is “Upward,” and I, Pink T. Hykight, a descendant of President
Hykight, shall not be the first to step out of the family rank. The
Blakes are of very good family, but Mr. Blake has only his salary.

_ENTER MARY, L._

MARY. Oh, are you here, Miss Hykight?

PINK T. Yes, I am early, called for my mail.

MARY. How absurd it was for that carrier to get stuck in the chute.

PINK T. Yes, it might have been serious. Smilax, I want the silver
counted to-day.

MARY. I’ll attend to it, Miss Hykight. (_Exit, MARY, L._)

PINK T. (_Looking at letter._) No, I think Chief of Police, Brennan
de Cork is more to my notion. The de Cork’s have been illustrious for
centuries. They were kings of Ireland, and they say he has made his pile
in politics, too. I’ll propose to de Cork yet. I believe he expects
it, too. I’m sick of public life. Poor Blake! I’ll just write him to
call about the meter again and find some way to let him know that his
hopes are vain. Poor thing! He is so infatuated with me. It’s dangerous
but I’ll risk it. (_Rings._) I’ll write de Cork asking him to theatre
this very night. (_Writes hastily._) No stamp! I’ll mail it outside.
(_Attempts to put note in pocket; drops it on floor. Rings._) Where are
all the servants?

_ENTER MARY, L._

PINK T. Smilax, where is Belinda and Alfaretta Pansy?

MARY. I sent Belinda for cigars. Alfaretta is sick to-day.

PINK T. What hour do you open the club house?

MARY. At eight o’clock, Miss Hykight, according to regulation.

PINK T. Is your help all here at that hour?

MARY. Promptly, Miss.

PINK T. When do members appear?

MARY. Seldom before noon, and most of them after four. You see the
trouble of dressing in this old regalia keeps them away. We ought to
abolish such an ancient rule and admit the modern dress.

PINK T. That is a club matter.

MARY. (_Vexed._) Oh, it’s not for me to say. I just suggested. Miss
President, the Swiss cheese for the bar is hardly up to the last lot, I
think. Will you come and taste it? (_Exeunt L._)

_ENTER ROSA LIGHTFOOT, R. 1._

ROSA. (_Has not seen them, goes to letter case._) A letter for me! A
strange hand! (_Reads._) Why, it’s from that Mr. Blake. Thanks me for my
kindness! Dear fellow. Hopes I may not think him bold. (_Laughs._) Such
audacity! He is bold, but I like him for it. And wants to meet me here.
Oh goodness! That will never do. (_Looks at note._) Tuesday at nine.
Hopes I’ll be alone. Why, he may come any minute. How indiscreet of him.
He must love me desperately. (_Rings._) Whatever shall I do.

_ENTER MARY, L._

ROSA. Mary, I expect a person here on business—important business. Is the
committee room unoccupied at this hour?

MARY. Yes, Miss, that is, unless Birdie Robbins should come in. She goes
round at all hours.

ROSA. (_Soliloquy._) Why didn’t she go into literature? She has no tact
for politics.

MARY. No, Miss Lightfoot, she hasn’t a spoonful of tact.

ROSA. Ah, Mary, you needn’t notice everything. If she or anyone else
drops in just say the committee room is in use, will you?

MARY. Yes, Miss. (_Exit L._)

ROSA. How my heart flutters. I’ve read that in the old times women’s
hearts were always fluttering. That is a weakness that comes from
centuries of degenerate training, but the new woman _will_ master it
yet. The men manage better. Their great solid chests are as impassive as
statues. We can be nonchalant, too. I’ll coolly light a cigar. (_Feels
pocket._) Goodness, I gave the last one to Inspector Lillie Evergreen.
(_Sound of footsteps, R._) Goodness, there he comes now. (_Listens._)
He’s saying good day to some one at the door. Oh, horrors! that’s Birdie
Robbins’s voice. What shall I do? (_Darts behind screen L._)

_ENTER BIRDIE ROBBINS, R._

BIRDIE. (_Cross._) I’ll just look around and see that everything is
in decent order, and I dare say it isn’t at all. The other directors
leave all that to me. Governor Perkins and Judge Flyer haven’t attended
a directors’ meeting for three months. They ought to be ashamed of
themselves. (_Looks in letter box, takes letter out, reads._) Another
appeal from the Pacific Coast Home Mission Society. Urgent appeal for
help. The Chinese are sending missionaries to America by the score.
Confucian daily paper published in San Francisco. Dear me, things are
going to the bad headlong, and this club doesn’t even protest. I wonder
if those people have repaired the faucets in the dressing room! (_Exit R.
U. E._)

ROSA. (_Comes from behind screen._) This is a pretty mess. I do hope
he won’t come. If I try to stop him at the door, it may lead to
complications. (_BIRDIE heard re-entering. ROSA behind screen as before._)

BIRDIE. Soap nearly all gone already. The servants are robbing us,
feeding their relatives at our expense, and smoking our cigars by the
score. We read that all these things happened in the old times. Alfaretta
sick to-day! She’ll have to be sent to the tobacco cure and the club
will be obliged by law to pay the bills. Such demoralization on every
hand. When the men managed things they stole everything in sight. I’ve
just been reading a curious old book of the last century called “An Iron
Crown.” There were big thieves then, according to that author, who stole
millions. Now women will stoop to purloin a few cigars. (_Petulantly._)
I’m ashamed of them. (_Sees note on floor._) What is this? (_Picks it
up._) Why this is directed to “Hon. Chief of Police, Brennan de Cork.”
It is unsealed too. Official business, doubtless, I’ll see. (_Opens and
reads._) Mercy! Can this be true? Impossible! I’ll put it back. No, it is
a matter too important to be concealed. (_Reads._) “Hon. Brennan de Cork:
Miss Pink T. Hykight presents her compliments to Mr. de Cork and desires
the pleasure of his company to the Elsie theatre to hear Paddiwinski next
Saturday evening. Find the usual gratuity for flowers enclosed.” Such
iniquity! I always suspected the sincerity of that woman. Her crime shall
be punished. As vice-president, I shall call a directors’ meeting at
once. (_Exit R. 1._)

ROSA. (_Coming down._) Here’s a pretty go! There’ll be a scandal sure,
for if there is a sincere member in the club, it is Miss Robbins. Who
would have thought that Miss Hykight was so sly? Well, de Cork is a
great catch. Dear me, if I am discovered. Mr. Blake is so indiscreet. I
shall talk to him seriously. (_Steps heard._) Goodness, some one coming.
(_Darts back behind screen._)

_ENTER BLAKE, R. 1._

BLAKE. I do hope she’ll meet me. Not here! How cruel! She thinks me
too forward, but I can not conceal my love. (_ROSA behind screen leans
forward eagerly to listen._)

_ENTER PINK T., quietly, R. 1._

BLAKE. Yes, I’ve been too forward. She despises me. (_P. T. advances on
tip toe, also ROSA comes further down, pleased._) Oh, for one word, one
glance of those beautiful eyes.

PINK T. (_Aside._) Poor thing!

ROSA. (_Aside._) How delightful.

BLAKE. I have hoped in vain. (_Turns R._)

PINK T. No, not so. Hope is—

ROSA. (_Coming out, screams._) Undone! Miss Hykight! (_All stare in
surprise for a few moments._)

PINK T. Miss Lightfoot, explain your conduct, if you please.

ROSA. Not to you, Miss Hykight.

PINK T. Then to the club.

ROSA. The club can have my resignation if that is what you mean.

PINK T. Your conduct has been scandalous. You have lured this confiding
young man here utterly regardless of his reputation or the club’s.

ROSA. Plague take the club! I love this man. Mr. Blake, be mine.

PINK T. (_Loftily._) Oh, indeed! If it comes to that I think I am one too
many. (_Sails out R. 1._)

BLAKE. (_Modestly._) I have been very indiscreet. Forgive me, dear.

ROSA. Darling, say no more, but you really must go at once. (_Noise
outside._) Too late. Get behind the screen there. (_He runs behind screen
R., ROSA L._)

_ENTER DOLLIE R._

DOLLIE. (_With easy swagger._) Here’s a go! That silly little Bertie
Howells thinks because I called on him three or four times and took him
to a concert once that I’m going to marry him. Humph! he’s decidedly
fresh. But this is the poor boy’s first season in society, and then
(_with jaunty air_) I suppose I am to blame. So far forgot himself as
to write me a note. Well, I must say, being an only child, his mamma’s
millions are very tempting. But then his papa is insupportable, no
pop-in-law for me just yet. (_Looks at letter box, fingering letters._)
“Grantly,” “Gorman,” “Ginseng,” “Gunther;” no Giglette. Well, the ninny
hasn’t sent any more notes, thank fortune. I’m pestered to death with
billet doux and designing papas. (_Going L. sees ROSA behind screen._)
Why, Lightfoot, old chap, what on earth are you standing in there for?

ROSA. (_Stammers._) Why, you see Giglette—you know I was just listening
if that induction was still in the heating coil. We could hear the engine
throb plainly.

DOLLIE. The plumber fixed that last week. Come and have something.

ROSA. Excuse me please, you know I never drink.

DOLLIE. Teetotaler! I forgot; well take a cigar.

ROSA. (_Coughs significantly._) Don’t care if I do.

DOLLIE. Lightfoot, you have a bad cough. (_Exeunt L._)

BLAKE. (_Comes out._) Now’s my chance to skip. (_Runs against BERTIE
ENTERING R., disguised as plumber._)

BERTIE. I saiey there, now! (_Tools fall with racket._)

BLAKE. Where are you going, you lubber?

BERTIE. Confwound you, it’s your fault.

BLAKE. No lip, young fellow. You’re too fresh!

BERTIE. Lip! Fellah! You aw vewy fwesh! You aw insulting, don’t you know.

BLAKE. Hello! Who are you, anyway? Lookin’ for a scrap are you? You look
like a plumber and talk like an avenue dude.

BERTIE. I cawn’t talk to you, you know. Because you’re no gentleman, see?

BLAKE. Why, you little shrimp, who the deuce are you to talk about
gentlemen? You’re not a plumber, nor a gentleman, either. You’re up to
some game. I’ll just unmask you. (_Pulls off BERTIE’S slouch hat, BERTIE
screams, BLAKE pulls off his false whiskers. BERTIE hits him but BLAKE
doesn’t mind it._)

BERTIE. (_Gasping._) You—you fellah—

BLAKE. Don’t try that game or I’ll pulverize you.

BERTIE. (_Squaring._) Don’t you twy that. I—weally, I may hurt somebody.

BLAKE. Young man, what are you doing in this club, sneaking in here in
disguise? (_Sternly._) Give an account of yourself.

BERTIE. (_Shrinking back._) Weally, don’t be wash, you know. I came heah
to meet the pearl of her sex.

_ENTER DOLLIE, L., overhears, stops._

DOLLIE. (_Hand to mouth._) Me!

BLAKE. No you didn’t, young fellow. That’s what I came for, and I’ll
break every bone in your body if you meddle in my affairs. (_Dollie
smiles pleased and gives expressive look._) Hear?

DOLLIE. (_As before._) Fun to come!

BERTIE. (_Contemptuously._) Why, she wouldn’t look at you. The peehless
flowah of her sex—

DOLLIE. That’s me. (_Laughs merrily. They start surprised._) Really, this
is too good! (_Laughs._) Really, gentlemen! Fie on you! These persistent
attentions are embarrassing. (_Comes toward C._)

BLAKE. (_Bowing politely._) Madam, I assure you—

BERTIE. (_Pushing him aside._) Go, fellah! This is my affaih! Miss
Giglette, I feah I look vewy ludicuous in this dwess and I cawn’t get on
without me eye-glaws, don’t you know. (_Feeling in pocket for glass. To
BLAKE._) You’ve bwoke me chain, I saiey.

DOLLIE. (_Laughs heartily._) Now go, please, both of you. I could have
you both arrested. Don’t cause a scene.

_ENTER BIRDIE ROBBINS, L._

BIRDIE. (_Sternly._) Men! In the Anti-homo Club. Is it possible?
(_Severely._) Miss Giglette, what does this mean?

DOLLIE. (_Laughs._) Really, I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.

BIRDIE. Miss Giglette, have you invited these creatures?

BLAKE. (_Aside._) Creatures! Old Major Prim!

DOLLIE. I have not invited them.

BIRDIE. Then why are they here? This looks suspicious.

DOLLY. (_Haughtily._) Miss Robbins, you forget that I am not on the
witness stand.

BIRDIE. There’s pretty goings on here in violation of our constitution
and by-laws. This club is on the brink of dissolution.

DOLLIE. Pshaw! It’s always on the brink of something.

BIRDIE. And they will not go, eh? I’ll ring up the police. (_Starts
toward police call in office, L._)

DOLLIE. (_Seizing her arm._) No, not that!

BERTIE. Police! Oh me weputation! Wheh’s me eye-glaws?

DOLLIE. (_Waving hand toward door_!) Now clear out, both of you, quick,
or you’ll get the G. B.

BERTIE. Dweadful. (_To BLAKE._) Aw, you mad weckless fellah, waising this
wow! We’ll be wuined. (_Pulling BLAKE hastily out R., BIRDIE glaring at
them. DOLLIE C., laughing._)

DOLLIE. Well, that’s too rich. (_BIRDIE glares at her._)

QUICK CURTAIN.


ACT III.

    SCENE: _Club rooms as before. Time, next day after Act II._

MARY. (_Discovered as curtain rises._) Alfaretta is very negligent of her
work lately. There’s the flowers for the president put away in the corner
instead of on the desk, as they should be. (_Puts flowers on the desk._)
The postman is late to-day. Poor fellow! I wonder if he is stuck in the
tube again. I wouldn’t be shot through that tube for anything. Just think
of being chucked into that pipe and fired a mile between breaths. The
man always looks as if he were out of breath. They say all the carriers
have to be hypnotized before they go into the tube. I think it’s cruel.
(_During this speech she is looking at old letters in boxes._) There
are letters here for a member that’s been dead five years. Why didn’t
that party give notice of her demise. (_Noise outside, L._) There’s Mack
bringing the ice. Dear fellow! My heart is all in a flutter. I’ll just
wait to see if he comes in here to speak to me. I know he will. He’s blue
all day if he doesn’t see me. Oh, if that terrible Birdie Robbins should
discover us. I aint a bit afraid of the president. If she ever says boo,
I’ll just ask her how the Hon. Brennan de Cork is. Oh, there he comes.

_ENTER MACK, L._

MARY. Good morning, Maxie! You are irresistible this morning.

MACK. Hist, Smiley, we may be overheard.

MARY. There’s no one here.

MACK. Are you sure? If the club found out, you would lose your place and
I should be compromised. They are so against love-making.

MARY. Yes, sometimes.

MACK. What do you mean, Smiley?

MARY. Better call me plain Smilax. You are here on business, you know.

MACK. All right, dearie, but what did you mean by that _sometimes_?

MARY. Oh, nothing. I know a thing or two.

MACK. I think my driver suspects me.

MARY. Yes, she’s a jealousy old thing.

MACK. Do you think that’s it?

MARY. Sure! Get the company to put on a man.

MACK. Oh, I couldn’t think of trying that. They might suspect, and if
they found out I’d be discharged instantly. It’s posted in the rules
and in display at that: “All male employés are absolutely forbidden to
receive attentions from women, on pain of instant dismissal.” The man has
to take all the blame you know.

MARY. I’ll protect you, have no fear.

MACK. (_Pleadingly._) Mayn’t I name the day?

MARY. No, not yet. You see, I’ve a good soft job here and I shan’t give
it up till the last minute. I’m savin’ money. Now, you’d better go,
Maxie. Some one _might_ come, you know. (_Noise outside, R._) There, be
quick. (_Snatches kiss. Kiss may be blown if advisable._) Ta, ta!

MACK. (_Going L._) Au revoir!

MARY. Just in time. Some one is coming.

_ENTER HYKIGHT, R., followed by members to attend Directors’ meeting.
Buzz of conversation. MISS HYKIGHT takes chair, calls meeting to order.
Members seated. Buzz of conversation._

PRES. The meeting will come to order! (_Nobody pays any attention._)
Order, ladies! (_Sharply._) Order, if you please. (_Sudden silence._)
A special meeting has been called to transact very important business.
The call specifies an emergency and was made at the instance of
Vice-president Robbins. Secretary, are the directors all present?

SEC. (_Reads roll._) Hykight, Robbins, Lightfoot, Doughflyer, Willie
Jones—not present. Is Miss Jones in the city, does any one know?

DAISY. (_Rises with solemn demeanor._) Miss President, I have an
unpleasant duty to perform. (_All in attitude of expectancy._) I regret
to say that Miss Willie Jones is no longer worthy to be a member of this
club.

CHORUS. Oh! What has she done? Do tell us.

DAISY. The story of her treachery is soon told. She has eloped!

CHORUS. Good gracious!

DOLLIE. And _so_ timid!

BIRDIE. (_Severely._) Timid, indeed! All put on! I knew all the time
that she’d do something. She’s as sly as a weasel. I think no motion is
necessary to strike her name from the roll.

PRES. (_Gravely._) No, that is not necessary. Secretary, strike Miss
Jones’ name from the roll. If there is no objection I will appoint Miss
Dollie Giglette director in her place. Now, Miss Robbins, you may state
the object of the meeting.

BIRDIE. Oh, I’m so overcome, I must have a moment’s time. (_Uses smelling
bottle._) That horrid, sly, deceitful Jones girl has completely upset my
nerves.

DOLLIE. Miss President, I think I can state the object of this meeting,
if Director Robbins will allow me. It’s all about two men who get in here
accidentally. I think there’s a good deal of pother about nothing. I
advised Robbins to let the whole thing drop.

BIRDIE. When such things are overlooked or winked at, the days of the
Anti-homo Club are numbered, its purpose wholly defeated. Dissolution is
at hand.

DOLLIE. Well, if a little thing like that is going to kill it, I say—

BIRDIE. (_Severely._) What does the constitution say?

DOLLIE. If you insist, then let us take the matter up. One was the ice
man who has a yearly permit to call once a day between the hours of 9 and
10 a. m. The other was a plumber.

BIRDIE. I saw the wretch! He was no plumber.

DOLLIE. A plumber is what is known as an emergency man and needs no
permit, just as a male doctor was once called in to treat a member, in an
emergency.

BIRDIE. I demand an investigating committee.

DOLLIE. Oh, I make no objection if you think it so important as that. But
emergencies will arise. The ice man and the postman can not always be on
time. As we know, under the new system, the postman is shot through the
Instantaneous Pneumatic Delivery Company’s tubes. Only a few days ago the
poor fellow stuck in the tube owing to his carelessness in dropping a
peach pit as he entered the chute. Reversing the engine only wedged him
tighter and he would have smothered if one of the professors in charge
had not thought to fire fresh oxygen balls at him by means of the new
aluminum, vacuum, weather-report gun. Now they can’t shoot a plumber
through the tubes because—

BIRDIE. I insist this was no plumber. Plumbers don’t wear eye-glasses. I
found his on the floor. (_Produces glass._ “Ohs” _by members._)

PRES. Suppose we call Mary. (_Pulls bell._)

DAISY. We might as well go to the bottom of the matter. It’s sure to get
into the papers now.

BIRDIE. Yes, thanks to the indifference of the Public Censor, Adelaide
Witherspoon.

_ENTER MARY, L._

PRES. Mary, have you seen any men in the club rooms?

MARY. Only the licensed ones.

BIRDIE. (_Severely._) Smilax, do you ever examine their licenses?

MARY. Why no! I know them all.

BIRDIE. How careless! Now tell me plainly, have you seen anything here
that didn’t look right?

MARY. (_Confused._) Why, I—that is—

DOLLIE. Robbins, had you not better leave all this to the investigating
committee?

BIRDIE. Let the president name it then.

PRES. I name the president, the secretary and Miss Dollie Giglette.

BIRDIE. I’ll have no whitewashing.

PRES. (_Sternly._) Is this a reflection on the chair and the committee?

BIRDIE. I make no charges. I only demand my rights. As the one making the
motion, custom demands that I be named on the committee. Add Doughflyer.
Doughflyer has the best interests of the club at heart.

DAISY. I shall try to act in this grave matter as would become my
illustrious ancestors the Du Fays who came over with the Normans.

DOLLIE. Oh, I’m a Norman, too.

PRES. We are making much of a trivial matter.

BIRDIE. You will find it not so trivial before we get to the bottom.
Smilax, tell me plainly, did you see a plumber in the club rooms
yesterday?

MARY. I? Goodness, no!

BIRDIE. Did you see a dude?

MARY. (_Throws up hands._) Laws a me, no!

BIRDIE. Well, I did, and so did Giglette. With him was another person, a
fine-looking person I regret to say, who evidently had no business here.

DAISY. A dude! Shocking! A plumber is bad enough but a dude—Let the
investigation proceed.

SEC. (_Starting uneasily._) Miss President, I decline to serve on that
committee. In fact, I have an important communication to make and deem
this an opportune time. I hereby resign my office and my membership in
the club. (“Oh’s” _as before._)

PRES. (_Solemnly._) This investigation apparently is about to assume a
personal tone, which I deprecate and can not countenance. I also resign
rather than be a party to such an inquisition. (_Rises, vacates chair,
comes down C. Sensation_ “oh’s,” “Did you ever,” _etc._) And I don’t
mind saying further, since certain persons are so inquisitive, that Chief
of Police, Brennan de Cork has consented to change his name soon to
Hykight. (_Sensation as before._)

DOLLIE. Congratulations, old chap!

SEC. (_Rises and comes out from desk._) And Mr. Blake of the gas company
has at last consented to become Mr. Blake-Lightfoot. I’ve saved enough
for two.

DOLLIE. Shake, old chap! (_Groans, others buzz._)

MARY. And, if you please, ladies, I give notice. Next month I lead Mr.
Mack to the altar. (_Excitement._)

BIRDIE. And you too, Smilax! Since you were a tiny waif, this club has
been your mother and has watched over you. We taught you to be a new
woman, and this is our reward.

MARY. Oh, please, Miss Robbins, I respect you greatly, and I do love the
club dearly (_sighs_), but I love dear Mack more. I just couldn’t help
it. (_Cries with face in apron._)

BIRDIE. There’s nothing to do but close the doors. The club is dead.
(_Wipes eyes._)

DOLLIE. (_Crosses R. C., takes BIRDIE’S hand._) Cheer up, Robbins, cheer
up. You are not a marrying woman. I value freedom too much to surrender
it. And there’s Doughflyer, she’ll stick by us. She has principles—and a
_name_. We’ll go on as before.

BIRDIE. The mischief is done.

DOLLIE. We’ll reorganize if necessary. (_She leads BIRDIE down C., dress
stage._)

BIRDIE. (_Sadly._) No, we never can survive this disaster. The old woman
will laugh at the new, and ridicule kills. The club is dead. The finger
of progress goes back on the dial of time at least a century. Good-bye
dear, old club, the scene of my busiest, happiest, hours. Good-bye
forever.

       _R._                             _L._

    PINK T., ROSA, BIRDIE, DOLLIE, DAISY, MARY.

CURTAIN.




                              ONLY COLD TEA

                            A TEMPERANCE FARCE

                             BY T. S. DENISON

                               _Author of_
  Odds with the Enemy, Initiating a Granger, Wanted, a Correspondent, A
    Family Strike, Seth Greenback, Louva, the Pauper, Hans Von Smash,
 Borrowing Trouble, Two Ghosts in White, The Pull-Back, Country Justice,
        The Assessor, The Sparkling Cup, Our Country, Irish Linen
     Peddler, The School Ma’am, Kansas Immigrants, An Only Daughter,
         Too Much of a Good Thing, Under the Laurels, Hard Cider,
         The Danger Signal, Wide Enough for Two, Pets of Society,
         Is the Editor In? The New Woman, Patsy O’Wang, Rejected,
             Only Cold Tea, Madam P’s Beauty Parlors, Topp’s
         Twins, A First-Class Hotel, It’s all in the Pay-Streak,
           The Cobbler, A Dude in a Cyclone, Friday Dialogues.

                            _Also the Novels,
                   The Man Behind, An Iron Crown, etc._

                                 CHICAGO:
                        T. S. DENISON, PUBLISHER,
                           163 RANDOLPH STREET.




ONLY COLD TEA.

COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY T. S. DENISON.


CHARACTERS.

    MR. BOB SLIGHTLY, fond of a drop.
    DICK PLYER, friend of Bob’s, “takes the same.”
    DR. GAGG, who knows what ails a person.
    MRS. SLIGHTLY, who drinks tea.
    ALICE, her sister, admired by Bob.
    MRS. NEVERDUN, who does not know when to go.

_Time of playing, twenty minutes._


PROPERTIES.

Bottles with labels and cold tea, hand-satchel for doctor, books, bottle
of smelling salts, cane for Dick.


STAGE DIRECTIONS.

_R._ means right of the stage; _C._, center; _R. C._, right center; _L._,
left; _1 E._, first entrance; _U. E._, upper entrance, etc.; _D. F._,
door in flat or back of the stage. The actor is supposed to be facing the
audience.


ONLY COLD TEA.

    SCENE—_Slightly’s Parlor. Doors Right and Left. May have door
    at only one side, and one back, or only one door, if no better
    can be done. Sofa, table, chairs, etc., to taste. Discovered,
    Mrs. S., and Alice, as curtain rises, seated by table C._

MRS. S. Alice, I’m afraid Dick Plyer takes a little too much wine.

ALICE. I begin to think so myself. At that dinner at the Brown’s he came
pretty near making a show of himself.

MRS. S. Go slow, Alice, don’t get too fond of him.

ALICE. Leave that to me. I am decided on one thing and that is I shall
never marry a tippler. There may be enough trouble in the family already.

MRS. S. Sister, what do you mean by that, neither of our brothers drinks.

ALICE. No, thank heaven, but you don’t have to go so far as that.

MRS. S. (_Jumps up, drops her work._) Alice, what do you mean?

ALICE. I mean your husband, Mr. Bob Slightly.

MRS. S. Alice, this is unkind of you. Robert never was intoxicated in his
life. He says so himself.

ALICE. Before long he may not be able to say that. Sister, you don’t hear
what people say, as I do.

MRS. S. (_Distressed_) Alice, what do they say?

ALICE. Well, they say that since Mr. Bob Slightly’s old chum, Dick Plyer,
has returned from the west, that both are taking a great deal more liquor
than is good for them.

MRS. S. But Robert is so kind and so good natured he can’t refuse, and
his business requires it, you know.

ALICE. I know it doesn’t. How does brother John get along in the same
business, without constant treating?

MRS. S. But Robert never was drunk in his life. He has often told me so.
He never told me a lie yet.

ALICE. But he forgets that he has a liking for it, and that his appetite
will grow.

MRS. S. Alice, you alarm me, this is dreadful. Oh, anything but a
drunkard! But why do you encourage Dick Plyer, if he is so dangerous?

ALICE. Encourage him! I never encouraged him. I wanted to be sure of his
character, and now that I know his weakness I shall decline his company.

MRS. S. But what can I do for poor Bob?

ALICE. Take the wine off your own table.

MRS. S. I never thought of that. But then Robert wishes it. It is
necessary for his digestion he says.

ALICE. If put to the test which would he prefer? You or the wine?

MRS. S. Oh me, of course. He is so fond of me.

ALICE. That is what all wives say. Listen to me. Dick Plyer has written
me a note that he will call this very evening. He’ll come up with Bob
and you will set out refreshments. The men will make a pretense of
eating, but they will drink a great deal more. For some men the word
_refreshments_ means drink. They don’t care a snap about the eating.

MRS. S. Oh goodness! I’ve noticed some men eat enough for a family.

ALICE. Take my advice and observe them closely.

MRS. S. But what can I do?

ALICE. I have a plan. To show your husband the effects of intoxication in
its true light just get drunk yourself.

MRS. S. (_Surprised._) I get drunk! Horrors! Alice, are you crazy?

ALICE. Not a bit of it. That’ll teach him a lesson he won’t forget soon.

MRS. S. (_Decidedly._) I shan’t do it, that would be disgraceful.

ALICE. (_Laughs._) Just pretend, you goose. Did you think I wanted you to
march down the middle of Broad street swinging your hat and singing “We
wont go home till morning?”

MRS. S. You are ridiculous.

ALICE. Seriously, try it.

MRS. S. When?

ALICE. Now, this very evening.

MRS. S. It would be a great joke. But I can’t act a part as you can.

ALICE. Oh, it’s easy. Just stagger a little and look silly and say
idiotic things. You’ve seen men drunk.

MRS. S. Do you think Robert would get angry?

ALICE. He might, but it’ll set him to thinking. Of course he mustn’t find
out the trick.

MRS. S. I’ll do it just for a lark, all to ourselves.

ALICE. It’ll be a capital joke. I’ll pretend not to know what ails you.

MRS. S. How shall we proceed? Robert will be home pretty soon to take his
bicycle ride before dinner.

ALICE. I’ll fill a wine bottle with cold tea and put glasses on the
table. (_Exit L. for things._)

MRS. S. Alice is so full of mischief. I’m afraid I can’t do it right.
I’ll have to stagger and hiccup I suppose and be quarrelsome. That is the
way drunken men always act in plays.

_RE-ENTER ALICE with two bottles and glasses, L._

ALICE. (_Looking at label._) “Veuve Clicquot.” How’s that?

MRS. S. Goodness, he’ll think I’ve been drinking champagne.

ALICE. So much the better. Muss up your hair. Look silly. (_Musses MRS.
S.’S hair._)

MRS. S. Oh, Alice, I can’t do it.

ALICE. Yes you can. (_Noise outside, R._) There he comes. Sing a song!
(_Spills liquid on table. ALICE seated L. takes book and pretends to
read._)

MRS. S. Poor Bob! it’ll be such a shock!

_ENTER BOB gaily, R._

BOB. Hello Pussie, I’m home early, you see. (_Notices her._) Why Puss,
what ails you? (_Alarmed._) Another spell, dear?

MRS. S. Oh, Bob! you dear old—goodness me. (_Staggers to sofa and buries
her face in the cushions._)

BOB. (_Alarmed._) Why, she is sick! Alice, what ails her?—why didn’t you
telephone for me?

MRS. S. (_In changed voice._) Bob, you’re a trump!

BOB. Oh, she’s out of her head!

ALICE. (_Reading._) I guess not.

BOB. I say she is very sick. (_Feels his wife’s pulse._) She’s in a
fever! How long has she been taken? (_Petulantly._) Why do you sit there
so unconcernedly. Puss—Puss. When was she taken?

ALICE. (_Reading._) Oh, I found her that way when I came in. She said she
wasn’t sick.

BOB. But don’t you see she is sick? Can’t you do something?

ALICE. (_Reading._) Do something yourself. She’s your wife.

BOB. Heartless creature! put that book away. (_Snatches book away from
A., and flings it out L._)

ALICE. (_Jumping up._) That’s manners, Mr. Slightly!

BOB. (_Dancing around excitedly._) Do something, for heaven’s sake. She’s
in a high fever, she’ll faint. (_MRS. S. groans._) Get the salts, quick!
You stand like a post. Rub her hands. (_Darts out L. saying_) I’ll call
Dr. Gagg. (_Women do not hear this._)

ALICE. (_Going to MRS. S._) Get up you ninny, you are not half playing it.

MRS. S. (_Laughing._) Poor Bob, it is too bad, it distresses him. I can’t
do it right.

ALICE. Well, I could. Sing, dance!

MRS. S. Why Alice, you shock me!

ALICE. Then upset the table, break something, stagger. (_MRS. S. staggers
round room. Flings a book across the room._) That’s it, throw something
at his head.

MRS. S. I’ll upset the table!

ALICE. Do it!

_ENTER MRS. NEVERDUN, R._

MRS. N. I’ve been ringing half an hour! (_ALICE and MRS. S. scream in
chorus, MRS. S. falls on sofa as before._)

ALICE. (_Aside._) That horrid Mrs. Neverdun!

MRS. N. Dear me! Is she sick?

ALICE. Yes, one of her fainting spells! Call some one please, quick!
(_Rubs MRS. S.’S hands._)

MRS. N. (_Down front, looks at bottles, sniffs suspiciously._) Well I
never! Them bottles looks awful suspicious. This is pretty goins-on for
respectable people.

ALICE. (_Busy working with MRS. S._) Oh, Mrs. Neverdun, please do
something. The salts are on the side-board. Call Mr. Slightly.

MRS. N. (_Down front._) She’s drunk! Champagne, too! That’s a matter for
the church. I s’pose I’ll have to testify.

ALICE. (_Coming down._) Mrs. Neverdun, don’t let her fall. Go to her.
(_MRS. N. goes to MRS. S._)

MRS. N. I guess she aint very bad!

ALICE. I’ll call Robert. (_As she goes L., sweeps bottles off table, one
in each hand, leaves glasses, runs out L. MRS. S. gets up angrily._)

MRS. N. Don’t excite yourself, dearie!

MRS. S. Hold your tongue, woman!

MRS. N. Laws a me! She’s gittin’ sassy, jist like a man!

MRS. S. I wont be insulted in my own house!

MRS. N. Dear me suz! Who’s insultin’ you, I’d like to know?

MRS. S. You are, you know it, too!

MRS. N. Highty tighty, that’s the best proof in the world of your
condition. You are a real nice lady when ye’re sober.

MRS. S. (_With scorn_) Do you mean to say, Mrs. Neverdun, that I am not
sober? You are a gossip!

MRS. N. Oh, don’t go a callin’ names. I aint a callin’ any.

MRS. S. Oh dear, it’ll be all over town before night.

MRS. N. An’ s’posin’ it is? What kin women expect that goes an’ gits full
o’ that nasty champagne. An’ it goes right to the head, too, an’ stays
there.

MRS. S. How do you know?

MRS. N. Bob Slightly has had enough experience to tell his wife better.

MRS. S. Oh, Mrs. Neverdun, don’t speak that way. You are mistaken, I can
explain it all.

MRS. N. I aint askin’ no explanations.

MRS. S. Please say nothing about this. I’ve been foolish. Be my friend,
will you?

MRS. N. Good land, haint I always been yer friend? I haint an enemy in
the world as I knows of. An haint I been active in the sewin’ society an’
didn’t I give them as nice refreshments as anybuddy? If I am nobuddy but
Ole Missus Neverdun, aint I as good as the best of ’em. (_Gets voluble,
talking faster and faster._) I aint no fool, I kin tell ye.

MRS. S. Yes, but—

MRS. N. I don’t care a tuppence fur their talk. My tea an’ my coffee an’
my doughnuts aint beat nowhere.

MRS. S. Yes, but I—

MRS. N. I don’t care a rap. Mrs. Hartley wears dimons and lace and she
sets a mighty poor table, an’ I aint afraid to tell her so. They all eat
at my house till I thought they’d bust. (_MRS. S. laughs._) You kin laugh
Mrs. Slightly, but I won’t be put on. (_More and more excited._) An’ I’ll
have my say when it comes to that. Sallie Neverdun aint the kind to be
put on an say nothin’.

MRS. S. But Mrs. Neverdun—

MRS. N. I aint castin’ no reflections on _your_ table, fur it was bang
up, an’ I sez right there, to Marier Wilkins, sez I, “this layout beats
Mrs. Hartley’s with her dimons an’ her kerridges an’ she—”

MRS. S. (_In despair._) But, Mrs. Neverdun, haven’t I always been your
friend?

MRS. N. I’ve nothin’ agin you, Mrs. Slightly. Haven’t I just said that
many’s a time? I said to Marier Wilkins that your table beat Mrs.
Hartley’s all holler, with her dimons an’ two niggers to dish salat an’
turn coffee. Why, her salat—

MRS. S. (_Excitedly._) But _Mrs._ Neverdun—

MRS. N. There! it’s goin’ to her head agin. Lay down a spell.

MRS. S. Goodness! _do_ let me say a word.

MRS. N. An’ haint ye been talkin’ all the time, I’d like to know!

MRS. S. Please don’t say a word of what happened here this afternoon. I
can explain it all.

MRS. N. I aint askin’ no explanations, I tell ye. Everybody must think
Sallie Neverdun is an inimy o’ mankind goin’ round devowerin’. The whole
town knows I wouldn’t harm a worm o’ the arth. But s’posin’ it gits out
an’ the church hauls me up as a witness, I reckon they’d _make_ me tell.

MRS. S. I’ve made a pretty mess of things. (_Calls._) Robert! Alice!
Where can they be? (_Going L., meets ALICE entering._)

ALICE. (_Aside._) Get rid of her.

MRS. S. Hist, we must explain all. (_They turn C. towards MRS. N._) Where
is Robert?

ALICE. I don’t know. The cook says he went tearing down the street
bare-headed.

MRS. N. No wonder he’s tearin’ round. It’s enough to make any man tear
round!

ALICE. (_To MRS. N._) Go and look for Bob.

MRS. S. Oh goodness, what shall I do?

MRS. N. Don’t excite her, young woman! Lie down, dearie.

MRS. S. (_Indignantly._) I am perfectly well.

MRS. N. Indeed you are not, you are dreadfully flushed! Are ye sick at
the stummick? You must lie down. (_Leads MRS. S., resisting, to sofa._)
Alice, arrange the cushions. (_Just as they get her comfortably located._)

_ENTER hastily R., SLIGHTLY followed by DR. GAGG. Latter puts pill bag on
table and goes to patient._

ALICE. (_Aside._) Now the fat’s in the fire.

BOB. Are you better, darling?

MRS. S. (_Faintly._) I think so. I didn’t need Dr. Gagg, dear.

DR. Nothing like precaution, madam. (_Feels her pulse._) Some fever. Any
vertigo?

MRS. S. (_Faintly._) Yes.

DR. Mr. Slightly, your wife’s nerves are unstrung!

MRS. N. Well, I should think so.

DR. She must have quiet. She’ll be all right to-morrow.

MRS. N. (_Aside._) Knowed that much myself.

BOB. (_Anxiously._) What is the matter, doctor?

DR. Old complaint with complications. (_MRS. S. throws up her hands
unnoticed by DR._) Her nerves are unstrung. Observe the abnormal action
of the levator labiæ superioris, the orbicularis oris and the levator
palpebrarum.

MRS. N. Land o’ rest! jist hear that!

DR. I think there is a slight difficulty, too, in the decussation of the
medulla oblongata which has established a sympathetic action with the
solar plexus and the pneumogastricus.

MRS. N. Say, Dr. Gagg, what does all that rigmarole mean? hysterics?

DR. (_Glaring at her._) The science of medicine, madam, has made many
advances since you were a child.

MRS. N. Ye don’t say! An’ I s’pose it’ll keep on a-dancin’ till a doctor
knows when a person’s—(_warning gesture from MRS. S._)

DR. (_Aside to BOB._) That woman is exciting your wife. Get rid of her.

BOB. How the——what can I do with her?

_ENTER DICK PLYER, gaily, R._

DICK. I say, old boy, I was just going past—(_Sees MRS. S._) I beg
pardon. Is Mrs. Slightly indisposed?

BOB. Only a slight nerve attack.

DICK. I’m very sorry if I disturb her.

MRS. S. It is nothing at all. I am glad to see you, Mr. Plyer. Alice,
please show Dick a chair. (_Gives ALICE knowing look._)

ALICE. Take this seat, Mr. Plyer. (_Then goes and whispers to MRS. S._)

BOB. I say, Dick, wont you go into the smoking room? I’ll join you as
soon as I can leave my wife.

DICK. Oh, certainly, I’m awful sorry! Can’t I be of any use?

DR. Just one moment, Mr. Slightly. Take this prescription to be filled at
once! Make haste! Dose every half hour, till patient finds relief. Miss
Alice, wet a cloth with vinegar and place it on her forehead. The solar
plexus is dangerously disturbed.

MRS. N. That’s an anatomy I never heerd tell of.

ALICE. Robert, I wish to speak with you, if Mr. Plyer will step into the
smoking room meanwhile.

DICK. Certainly! At your service. (_Bows politely, exit D. F._)

BOB. (_Going with A., L._) Excuse me a moment, Dr.

DR. (_To MRS. N._) A word with you, madam. (_They come down C. so MRS. S.
can not hear._) You appear for some reason to excite the patient. You had
better go at once.

MRS. N. Oh, I kin take a hint.

DR. I mean for her sake, you know.

MRS. N. You needn’t palaver. What ails her?

DR. (_Mysteriously._) A very strange case, madam. Very strange. It would
baffle the skill of a young practitioner. The eye of science madam—

MRS. N. I ’low it takes the eye o’ science to see through a grindstone
when there aint no hole in it.

DR. (_Pleased._) Exactly! I’ve had in my lifetime just three such cases,
all since la grippe came. I may say, in fact, that I have discovered a
new disease.

MRS. N. Doctor Gagg, you are a wise man. (_He bows and looks puzzled._)

DR. A compliment madam?

MRS. N. Nonsense! Did you smell her breath?

DR. (_Surprised._) I, no indeed! Why should I?

MRS. N. You’ve made a fool of yourself. She’s drunk, that’s all!

DR. (_Excitedly._) A fool! Drunk! Why madam, this is scandalous.

MRS. N. Oh, keep cool. You’ll get well paid to say nothin’. But didn’t I
see the bottles on the table?

DR. But it is impossible.

MRS. N. Didn’t I see her stagger? If you don’t b’lieve, look at the
puddles of wine on the table. Smell it.

DR. (_Puts finger in liquid spilled, smells._) True! Why, this is an
insult to my profession.

_ENTER BOB, followed by DICK and ALICE._

BOB. Dr. Gagg, I wish a word in the smoking room.

DR. (_Indignantly._) I have a word, too, sir. You have insulted my
profession, sir.

BOB. But hold, I’ll explain.

DR. I’ll not hold. I am the victim of a hoax. Your wife is not sick at
all.

BOB. (_Nettled._) Why didn’t you find that out at first, then?

_ENTER DICK._

DICK. Yes, the eye of science, solar plexus, vinegar and water, etc.
(_laughs_). That’s great stuff. There’s nothing like science.

DR. You are offensive, sir. I’ll have nothing to say to _you_. (_To
BOB._) Now, Mr. Slightly, your conduct is most inexcusable.

BOB. But I’m trying to explain that it was all a little joke between my
wife and her sister. She was only pretending.

DR. (_Pompously._) And I am to be the victim of other people’s jokes. You
shall pay for this, sir.

BOB. Send in your bill.

DR. Bill! Who cares for the paltry fee! My professional feelings have
been outraged. The profession is not to be trifled with. Mr. Slightly,
I’ve a mind to sue you for damages.

BOB. A fig for your dignity!

MRS. S. Oh, Robert!

DICK. Let him sue. Get me on the jury.

DR. (_Taking up pill bag angrily._) I shall consult my attorney at once.

BOB. Save the trouble and the fee! Let lawyers alone! Make your bill as
large as you please. I prefer to be plucked by one man rather than by
two. Your professional dignity will at least insure _silence_.

DR. (_Growling._) Humph! _My_ feelings are nothing! (_To MRS. N._) Madam,
let me say to you that you are a meddling old fool!

MRS. N. Dr. Gagg, while ye’re at it say there’s a pair of us. Bob
Slightly may pull the wool over your eyes, but he can’t fool me. Didn’t I
see champagne bottles, and didn’t I see her stagger, an’ didn’t—

MRS. S. Mrs. Neverdun, this is too much—

BOB. Easy my dear! (_Restrains her._)

ALICE. (_To DICK._) Oh, Mr. Plyer, can’t you do something?

DICK. (_Bowing politely._) I’ll try. (_Steps forward to MRS. N., good
humoredly._) Mrs. Neverdun, let me say a word. I’ve always maintained
that you can set a better table any day than Mrs. Hartley.

MRS. N. Well, I should say!

DICK. Now, when I stand up for people I want them to stand up for me.

MRS. N. Them’s my principles!

DICK. Now, I can clear this matter up in just a minute. Miss Alice, bring
in those bottles and glasses. (_Alice goes L._) We’ll clear up this
mystery in short order. I guess I’ve seen enough of champagne to know it
when I see it.

MRS. N. Dear me suz, I reckon nobody’ll deny that.

_RE-ENTER ALICE with bottles._

DICK. (_Takes bottle pours out liquid._) Now this is _only cold tea_.
Smell it, Dr. Gagg, smell it, Mrs. Neverdun. (_They smell._) Look!
there’s a tea leaf in it. If any body wants to smell the table do so.

MRS. N. Well I vum!

BOB. (_To MRS. S._) Dick’s a trump!

DICK. Now mum’s the word all round. Just a little joke of the ladies.

MRS. N. Good land, I aint a tellin’ anything!

DICK. It must be quits, is mum the word?

BOB. My dear, what a lesson, I’ll never touch another drop.

MRS. S. Oh, you dear Bob. (_Puts arm in his._)

DICK. Mrs. Neverdun, I still stick up for your table. (_Dress stage, DR.
angry, R., MRS. N., DICK down C., ALICE L., MR. and MRS. S. arm in arm by
table._)

MRS. N. I reckon you will. It’s the best in town.

DICK. I am going to Mrs. Hartley’s to dinner next Wednesday, and—

MRS. N. Land o’ Goshen! Then jist come to my house Thursday an’ I’ll show
ye a dinner ’at’ll be a dinner. What do I care for Mrs. Hartley an’ her
kerridge an’ dimons an’ fiddle faddle—

QUICK CURTAIN, _while MRS. N. is talking._




                           A FIRST-CLASS HOTEL

                                 A FARCE

                             BY T. S. DENISON

                               _Author of_
  Odds with the Enemy, Initiating a Granger, Wanted, a Correspondent, A
    Family Strike, Seth Greenback, Louva, the Pauper, Hans Von Smash,
 Borrowing Trouble, Two Ghosts in White, The Pull-Back, Country Justice,
        The Assessor, The Sparkling Cup, Our Country, Irish Linen
     Peddler, The School Ma’am, Kansas Immigrants, An Only Daughter,
         Too Much of a Good Thing, Under the Laurels, Hard Cider,
         The Danger Signal, Wide Enough for Two, Pets of Society,
         Is the Editor In? The New Woman, Patsy O’Wang, Rejected,
             Only Cold Tea, Madam P’s Beauty Parlors, Topp’s
         Twins, A First-Class Hotel, It’s all in the Pay-Streak,
           The Cobbler, A Dude in a Cyclone, Friday Dialogues.

                            _Also the Novels,
                   The Man Behind, An Iron Crown, etc._

                                 CHICAGO:
                        T. S. DENISON, PUBLISHER,
                           163 RANDOLPH STREET.




A FIRST-CLASS HOTEL.

COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY T. S. DENISON.


CHARACTERS.

    LANDLORD.
    BULGER, a drummer.
    LEGGATT, a literary man.
    SCHNELL, of the firm of Schnell & Augenblick.

_Time of playing, twenty minutes._


PROPERTIES.

Pistol, valise, cane, pipe, book, empty bottles, box of pills, candles in
candlesticks, crash bag.


STAGE DIRECTIONS.

_R._ means right of the stage; _C._, center; _R. C._, right center; _L._,
left; _1 E._, first entrance; _U. E._, upper entrance, etc.; _D. F._,
door in flat or back of the stage. The actor is supposed to be facing the
audience.

NOTE—The rapid action in this play requires careful rehearsal and strict
attention to cues. In many cases the least drag will spoil the effect.
The boy who does the caterwauling must be always ready the instant he
gets his cue from the prompter. He must be able to produce the effect of
_two_ cats and should make the audience hear distinctly.

[Illustration: A FIRST-CLASS HOTEL.]


A FIRST CLASS HOTEL.

    SCENE—_Bed room, two cots, one up R. C. by flat, other by wall,
    down L.; table near head of last, with books, pistol, pipe,
    etc.; wash-stand against flat, L. C.; window in flat, L.; (or
    a door anywhere at L. can be made to serve for make-believe
    window by hanging a curtain.) As curtain rises, LEGGATT in
    bed, apparently asleep, vest hanging on chair at head of bed,
    pantaloons and coat on wall._

_ENTER LANDLORD and BULGER, R., LANDLORD carrying candle and BULGER’S
valise. Lights low._

LANDLORD. This is the very best I can do, Mr. Bulger.

BULGER. Hang it all, I believe I’ll go over to the Eagle.

LAND. Hist! (_Looks toward LEGGATT._) You’ll wake him. No use to go to
the Eagle. All full there. It’s County Fair, you know.

BULGER. Hang the fair! Landlord, this is no way to treat an old customer.
This is a one-horse town anyway.

LAND. (_In low voice._) Very sorry, Mr. Bulger, but I didn’t make the
town. It’s the best I can do. (_Looks toward LEGGATT._) Mr. Leggatt’s a
very nice quiet gentleman. (_Confidentially._) Why, he’s a littery man!

BULGER. Confound literature! It aint in it with trade.

LAND. Quite right, but it’s got to be humored same as other things. He’s
as quiet as a lamb if you don’t wake him.

BULGER. (_Suspiciously._) Hum! And if he wakes?

LAND. He’s kind o’ restless. He may walk the floor.

BULGER. (_Growling._) Indeed! Let him try it.

LAND. (_Hand on B.’S arm._) Quiet now. You may wake him. Good night, sir.
(_Leaves candle on stand. Exit R. softly._)

BULGER. (_Hangs coat on rack, goes to closet door, looks in._) What’s
this? A two by three closet. (_Sits and takes off boots._) I’ll put
my things in the closet, though I don’t suppose this one-horse town
can afford even a burglar. I’ll strike this town from my list. Such a
snide hotel isn’t to be found this side the Mississippi river. (_Goes
in closet. LEG. turns in bed and mutters in his sleep. Caterwauling in
alley. Boy outside up L. does this._)

_RE-ENTER BULGER, in pajama or colored night robe. Examines sheets._

BULGER. Damp, as usual! I’ll catch my death of cold. I always get a
cold in this town. The place is so slow, that’s the only thing people
can catch. (_Rings bell by door R._) I’ll have the sheets changed, if I
have to rouse every chambermaid in the house. (_Sits and opens valise._)
I’ll take a liver pill while I think of it. Always have to take a liver
pill in this town. It’s so slow that a man’s liver stops business. I
am catching cold already. If I sneeze I’ll wake him. (_Business of
suppressing sneeze._) There’s a draft somewhere. (_Tip-toes to window.
LEGGATT turns and mutters in his sleep. B. stops._) I’ll wake his
literary nibbs, sure. (_Tries window._) Wide open and stuck fast; windows
always stick in this town. When they are up they stay up, when they
are down they stay down. And that old hay-seed actually calls this a
first-class hotel. He amuses me. (_Sets candle on chair._) Confound that
bell. (_Pushes it again several times._) I guess I’ll smoke while I am
waiting. (_Goes to get pipe out of coat pocket._) Where’s that pipe?
(_Pulls coat with impatience, rack comes down with a clatter and coat
swings round and knocks candle to floor, putting it out. B. darts to his
bed and gets in._)

LEGGATT. (_Rising to sitting posture._) What’s that? Who’s there? Heh?
A burglar! I’ll shoot, you rascal! (_Attempts to pull out drawer of his
table to find pistol. Drawer sticks and his books and everything go
clatter to floor._)

BULGER. (_Alarmed._) Don’t shoot! Don’t! It’s only me!

LEGGATT. (_Excited_) Who’s me? (_Feeling for the matches._) Blow it,
where’s that infernal candle? I’ll have to get up.

BULGER. Don’t get up! It’s all an accident.

LEGGATT. Who the deuce are you, anyway?

BULGER. (_Strikes match._) I’m a guest of this beastly hotel, if its
victims may be called by so genteel a term as guest.

LEGGATT. (_Sitting up._) A guest! I don’t like that.

BULGER. (_Nettled._) Neither do I.

LEGGATT. You’ve disturbed me and now I’ll have a night of it.

BULGER. I’m very sorry indeed!

LEGGATT. So am I.

BULGER. (_With surprise._) Sir, I apologized.

LEGGATT. Confound your apology! I was sound asleep.

BULGER. You _are_ a nice roommate. The landlord was right when he said
you were.

LEGGATT. I beg your pardon, stranger. I wasn’t quite polite.

BULGER. Don’t mention it. My name is Bulger.

LEGGATT. And mine is Leggatt. (_B. crosses and they shake._)

BULGER. I’m very sorry I disturbed you. I had just rung the bell and was
waiting.

LEGGATT. That bell hasn’t been connected with the office for a year.

BULGER. Oh, what a hotel!

LEGGATT. When I want anything I just throw a pop bottle down to the
right. (_Motions._) It’ll break at the office door and rouse the landlord.

BULGER. By George! It takes a literary man, after all, for ideas.

LEGGATT. You’ll find some empty pop bottles in the closet. I keep them
for that purpose—and the cats.

BULGER. (_Gets bottle._) I’ll try it. Did you say to the right?

LEGGATT. Yes, you can see the glass door if you look out. Hit the
pavement so the bottle will crash. (_BULGER throws out of window,
tremendous crash._)

BULGER. What a crash for one bottle. I guess that will fetch him.

LEGGATT. Now you _have_ done it.

BULGER. Done what?

LEGGATT. You’ve broken the glass of the hot bed and the tomato plants
will all freeze. You threw the wrong way.

BULGER. You said to the right.

LEGGATT. I meant to _my_ right.

BULGER. (_Provoked._) Well, I’ll be everlastingly—

LEGGATT. Hold on, Mr. Bulger, it isn’t worth swearing about. It’s of no
consequence. We shall have to wait a month longer for tomatoes, that’s
all.

BULGER. I’m very sorry, Mr. Leggatt. I’ll turn in now and risk the damp
sheets. I hope you will sleep. (_Gets in bed._)

LEGGATT. But I won’t. I’m in for a night of it.

BULGER. What is the cause of your insomnia?

LEGGATT. My book!

BULGER. Keep away from the races, why don’t you?

LEGGATT. I don’t mean that kind of a book. It is the great novel I am
writing. It is killing me.

BULGER. (_Blows out his candle._) Ah! When are you going to die?

LEGGATT. (_Testily._) Die! I’m not going to die.

BULGER. (_Sleepily._) You’ll make a long job of it in this town, it’s so
slow.

LEGGATT. But I’m not here for that purpose, I say. What is your line, by
the way?

BULGER. (_Murmurs._) Line—cheapest way—I’ll ship your goods by Blue Line,
same as before.

LEGGATT. Blue Line! Are you drunk? (_Pause._) Hang it he’s asleep. I wish
I could go to sleep like that. I envy a drummer. (_Blows out candle, lies
down and covers up; caterwauling outside._) That infernal cat again!
(_Turns over with nervous motion of sleepless man and settles down. All
still for say 15 seconds. B. begins to snore loudly. LEGGATT sits up
again, angrily._) That settles it! I shant sleep a wink to-night. I’ll
read, I guess. (_Lights candle._) Where is that book? (_Dextrously fishes
book toward him by means of a cane which stands at bedside, lays cane
across table. Begins to read—any book—gets interested, makes comments._)
This book is simply drivel, such character drawing. There are no great
novelists anymore except myself and Tolstoi. (_Reads paragraph._) That
fellow has a wretched style. His cacophony is terrible. The true test
of good writing is to read it aloud. (_Reads aloud. B. rolls over as if
about to wake._) All stuff, the poorest kind of slush. I can’t stand any
more of that. (_Throws book on table and accidentally knocks cane on
floor with a rattle._)

BULGER. (_Starts up and sits in bed._) What was that? Heh? (_No reply._)
Leggatt?

LEGGATT. Only my cane, sir. I’m very sorry.

BULGER. So am I.

LEGGATT. Ah, then we agree. Will you join me in a pipe since you are
awake?

BULGER. A pipe at midnight! Well, you are cool!

LEGGATT. No, I’m not. I am on the contrary slightly feverish.

BULGER. Your proposition is cool enough. Smoke at this hour!

LEGGATT. I find it soothing. I cultivate repose of mind. It isn’t what we
are, you know, in this world but how we like the situation. To like what
we can’t mend is the true philosophy.

BULGER. Philosophy be blowed! This is a situation that I don’t like.

LEGGATT. I can’t say that I actually enjoy it but since—(_Caterwauling
outside._)

BULGER. (_Gets up angrily._) Oh those infernal cats. I’d like to murder
every cat in creation.

LEGGATT. Kindly throw a pop bottle. Straight ahead this time over the
shed.

BULGER. (_Snorting._) Throw it yourself.

LEGGATT. (_Coolly._) It was only a suggestion to be acted on or not at
your discretion.

BULGER. I’d as soon have a room over a boiler shop as in this infernal
little hotel. First-class—oh, what a liar this landlord is.

LEGGATT. My dear sir, your attitude toward Boniface is hardly
justifiable. Landlords indulge in hyperbole.

BULGER. Hyperbole! What is that?

LEGGATT. It is the faculty of not letting a statement lack strength.

BULGER. Well, I must say this landlord’s statements are very robust.

LEGGATT. Neatly put, Bulger. I believe you cultivate literature yourself.
You should at any rate. Literature—

BULGER. (_Walking floor._) Literature be d—d.

LEGGATT. My dear sir, you wont sleep at all if you go on at that rate.
Since you decline to join me in a pipe let me read a chapter of Squibbs’
last novel to you; that’ll do the business.

BULGER. (_Pausing in front of L.’S cot._) Read Squibbs to me! At
midnight, in a strange hotel! Preposterous!

LEGGATT. He is very soothing.

BULGER. (_Emphatically._) I wont have it (_gets in bed_).

LEGGATT. I’m very sorry. I’ll have to read all to myself.

BULGER. (_Sitting up._) Are you going to read?

LEGGATT. I am.

BULGER. And keep that candle burning?

LEGGATT. Certainly! I don’t read in the dark. I haven’t cat’s eyes.

BULGER. Really, I say—do you know that I have a call for the three
o’clock train?

LEGGATT. Don’t worry about it, Bulger. I shall be awake and I’ll call you
promptly. Will 2:45 be about right?

BULGER. (_Jumps up._) That man is crazy. I’ll never get a wink of sleep
here. (_Seizes blanket._) There’s a sofa in the hall, I’ll try that. Next
time I come to this town I’ll stop at the roundhouse for a quiet place.
(_Runs out R. with candle and blanket._)

LEGGATT. I am disappointed in him. I thought his nerves were sound.
He’ll break down if he travels long. He’ll catch cold in the hallway, I’m
afraid. (_Lays down book. Pause._) My sleepy spell has come on. I didn’t
expect it till four o’clock. I believe I shall not pass a white night,
as the French say, after all. (_Lies down and goes to sleep. Pause 15
seconds._)

_ENTER LANDLORD, tiptoe, R._

LAND. (_Looks at B.’S bed, then at L.’S._) Bulger is a strange man. Now,
why did he leave his bed and take that sofa in the hall? He’s the hardest
customer to please that comes this way. Doesn’t like cats, finicky about
drafts, always sends his steak back, objects to two in a room. I s’pose
two in a bed ’ud set ’im crazy. There aint a steadier, nicer man in the
house than Mr. Leggatt. Where shall I put that Dutchman? The sofa was the
last thing. (_Scratches head._) Why, here, of course. I’ll just make up
the bed! (_Hastily makes up bed._) There, he’ll not notice it has been
slept in. (_Caterwauling outside._)

_Exit R. and RE-ENTER with SCHNELL._

LAND. Quietly! There’s a man asleep there.

SCHNELL. Oh, dis vas a touble room alretty?

LAND. Yes.

SCHNELL. (_Looking round._) Mit single petts. Lantlort, vas dot man safe?

LAND. Perfectly safe.

SCHNELL. Vel, I mean vas I safe? I know he was safe, alretty.

LAND. Why, he’s the peacefulest man in the town. (_Impressively._) He’s a
littery chap.

SCHNELL. (_Puzzled._) Littery man! Vat was dot?

LAND. He writes books.

SCHNELL. Oh, ya, a pookkeeper.

LAND. No, he writes for the magazines.

SCHNELL. (_Still puzzled, scratches head._) Mackaseens! Ya, powter
mackaseens. Ya, ya, dot bin all right. I kess, he wont plow up.

LAND. (_Ready to go._) Your name is Schnell, I believe.

SCHNELL. Ya! Gus Schnell, of Schnell oont Augenblick.

LAND. Line sauerkraut?

SCHNELL. Sauerkraut oont weinerwurst.

LAND. Any call?

SCHNELL. Ya, by de Cherman saloons.

LAND. I mean shall I call you in the morning?

SCHNELL. Yoost leaf me alone till I shleeps out. (_Exit LANDLORD R._)

SCHNELL. (_Taking off shoes._) Dot man was a goot shleeper, alretty. I
hope he ton’t shnore sometimes. Dot man shleep like one little papy.
(_Takes off coat, feels bed._) Dunder! dot pett vas warm alretty. Dere
moost pe a furnace oonter dot pett. (_Looks, feels._) I feels vint. Dot
was strange, der room colt, mit vint plowin, oont der pett varm. Dere
vas no planket py dot pett. Gott in himmel! vy vas dot pet varm! meppe
dot wasn’t a mystery. I yoost shleep in my clodings, I take no shances
mit dot preeze plowin. (_Gets in bed._) Ach, I forcot to put dot candle
out. I plieve I can reach him. (_Reaches out toward candle in chair and
losing balance falls out of bed with a crash, extinguishing candle and
overturning chair._)

LEGGATT. (_Starting._) What’s that? Where’s my pistol?

SCHNELL. Gott in himmel, ton’t shoot.

LEGGATT. (_Crossly._) Well, what ails you now?

SCHNELL. Nodings. I yoost fell out py de pett.

LEGGATT. (_Half awake._) You have disturbed me again! Why in thunder
can’t you go to sleep?

SCHNELL. (_Angry._) Vel, vy tont you gif me some dime alretty? I yoost
cot in mine pett, two tree minutes foreby. (_Gets in bed._)

LEGGATT. (_Starting up, wide awake._) That’s a strange voice.
Bulger—(_Pause._) Bulger—Great heavens! has Bulger been murdered? (_Tries
to strike matches, several go out._) This comes of putting strangers in
the same room. What ails the infernal matches! (_Lights candle; SCHNELL
is all covered up except his face, LEG. peers at him for a moment._) That
isn’t Bulger. Where can Bulger be! That’s a burglar, I’ll bet. (_Gets
pistol quietly from drawer, sitting up in bed._) I’ll have a crack at him
if he resists. (_Sharply to SCHNELL._) Hello there, you!

SCHNELL. Vas?

LEGGATT. A Dutchman! Heh, you fellow! Sit up or I’ll shoot.

SCHNELL. (_Bounding out of bed and badly scared._) Mine Gott, meester
ton’t shoot! Vat in himmel you want alretty yet?

LEGGATT. Who are you? Where is Bulger?

SCHNELL. Pulcher! I ton’t know Pulcher. Gott in himmel, put away dot
pistol down.

LEGGATT. Who are you?

SCHNELL. Put dot bistol town. It goes off meppe.

LEGGATT. What are you doing here?

SCHNELL. Shleeping.

LEGGATT. Well, why in the dickens don’t you sleep then? Another man in
my room! The landlord is drunk again. He’ll have the whole town in here
before morning. (_SCHNELL standing middle of room._) Why don’t you go to
bed?

SCHNELL. Ya, I coes right away. (_Pause._) Mine frent.

LEGGATT. Well?

SCHNELL. Dot lantlort sait you vas a beaceful chentleman. I vas beaceful
too oont I vants no more misdakes apout purglars oont bistols. My name
vas _Schnell_, of Schnell oont Augenblick, wholesalers mit sauerkraut.
Dat’s my cart. (_Gives LEGGATT card._)

LEGGATT. (_Throws card away._) Confound it man, will you go to bed?

SCHNELL. Ya! Ya! (_Gets into bed._) He vas not a pit sociable.

LEGGATT. And look here, Mr. Wagonblock—

SCHNELL. Nine, Schnell! of te firm—

LEGGATT. Well, Snell then; you’d better keep pretty quiet. If this racket
continues much longer I’ll miss my four o’clock sleeping spell. Now I
_wont_ be disturbed. (_Lies down._)

SCHNELL. Ya! Ya! (_Pause fifteen seconds, then loud caterwauling
outside, ad lib._) Oh, dem cats! (_Softly._) I was afraid of dot beaceful
littery chap. He might shoot if he hears dem cats. (_Rolls over._) Vell,
I ton’t schleep, dot’s sure, alretty. (_Glances at L.’S cot._) Dot man
was tangerous. I yoost dries to ket a nap by der office. (_Rises, softly
stealing toward door, R., LEG. rolls over. SCHNELL, alarmed, darts out._)

LEGGATT. (_Sleepily yawns._) More noise, somewhere, and I was just
going—(_settles down and drops to sleep, short loud caterwauling, then
all quiet._)

_BULGER steals in R. with candle._

BULGER. This night will be worse on me than a week’s sickness. I’ll have
to take another liver pill. (_Takes pill._) If I had a keg of powder
under this old hotel I’d blow it to Kingdom-come, landlord, cats and all.
But I mustn’t wake that author or he’ll want to read Squibbs’ novel to
me. He’s had a good sleep. I’ve caught cold in that hall. It was like the
Cave of the Winds. (_Feels bed. Surprised._) Why, that bed is warm yet.
That’s very strange! The room is as cold as a barn. There’s no blanket
here either. I left that in the hall. If I close that window may be I
can get along. I’ll wake everybody in the house probably. (_Goes softly
to window, tugs at it, steals glance at LEGGATT, gives a quick tug, down
comes window on the run and breaks a pane of glass._)

LEGGATT. (_Starting up, sitting posture._) What’s that? Who’s there?
(_BULGER crawls behind the curtains._) Hey there! Say! (_Pause._)
It’s that Dutchman again! He’s worse than Bulger was. Fallen out of
that rickety old bed again, I suppose. If he’d only break his neck!
(_Scratching matches, lights candle._) Why, he isn’t there. Now, that’s
odd! Both gone! A good riddance. I may catch my four o’clock turn yet.
(_Starts._) My watch! I’ll bet that Dutchman was a thief in disguise.
(_Feels in vest pocket._) No, it is there all right. I have nothing else
to steal. I’m an author. He wouldn’t take Squibbs’ novel. No, nobody
would run away with Squibbs. (_Looks at watch again._) 2:45! It’s just
time for Bulger’s train. (_B. behind curtain_, “Confound it.”) What’s
that? I surely heard a voice. Some one _is_ concealed somewhere. I’ll
call the landlord. No bell. I’ll catch cold if I get up to throw a pop
bottle. I guess I’ll just fire the pistol. (_B. in alarm dodges closer
to wall. Pistol shot._) There! I guess that’ll fetch him. I’ll give
him a piece of my mind. When I took this room I gave him the privilege
of putting in a quiet party occasionally. Quiet! This has been a
delightfully quiet night.

_ENTER LANDLORD, R., excitedly followed by SCHNELL._

LAND. Great heavens! Where was that shot?

SCHNELL. Himmel! He sound like a cannon. I joomp out o’ my schleep ten
feet alretty.

LAND. (_Excitedly._) Where was it? The house will be in an uproar.
Leggatt, why don’t you speak?

LEGGATT. (_Coolly._) I _will_ speak. Landlord, it is my deliberate
opinion that you keep the worst hotel that I ever saw.

LAND. That’s a slander, strictly first-class! But the shot?

LEGGATT. In the absence of a bell the shot was simply to call you.

LAND. (_Angrily._) Why, you don’t mean to say—

LEGGATT. That’s just what I mean to say. You were to put only quiet
people in here.

LAND. Bulger is all right. Best man on the road.

LEGGATT. He has softening of the brain.

LAND. Impossible! Bulger is one of the best salesmen on the road.

LEGGATT. I’ve had enough of him. I think he’s crazy. (_B. angry gesture
from behind curtain._)

LAND. Nonsense! His head is as level as—as mine.

LEGGATT. I wont dispute _that_!

LAND. And you mean you fired a pistol and alarmed the whole house just to
tell me this.

LEGGATT. I’m not done yet. Next thing you bring in an idiotic Dutchman—

SCHNELL. Vy, you rascal! dot is me.

LEGGATT. (_With wave of hand._) Allow me, Wagonblock. I’m talking to the
landlord.

LAND. Let up and go to sleep. You’ll be all right in the morning. Where
is Bulger? It’s train time.

LEGGATT. Bulger! What do I know about Bulger? Get out now and leave me
alone.

LAND. But Bulger—(_LEG. lies down._) Say, Leggatt!

SCHNELL. I tink dot littery chap haf kilt Pulcher.

LAND. (_Starting._) What? (_Seizes LEGGATT by arm and jerks him to
sitting posture._) Produce Bulger. The shot—Bulger. Have you murdered him?

LEGGATT. (_Throwing him off._) I’m ready to murder somebody. (_Seizes
cane._)

LAND. (_Retreating._) Where is Bulger?

BULGER. Here he is! (_Strides down angrily. LAND. and SCHNELL start
back._) And let me add to what that literary man says. I thought he could
use words better in such a case than a plain drummer, but he isn’t in
it. Of all the noisy, windy, ill-kept, bad-smelling, disreputable (_gets
emphatic as he speaks_), disorderly, rag-tag-and-bob-tail hotels in
creation—

SCHNELL. Mine Gott!

LAND. Hold on, sir. You’re going too far.

BULGER. I’ll go farther next trip. I’ll go to the next town. (_Getting
valise and things._)

LAND. Your bill is ready.

BULGER. (_Snorting._) Bill! bill!

LAND. (_Decidedly._) I said _bill_.

LEGGATT. Bulger, you’ll miss your train if you stand there quarreling.
Now clear out, all of you, or I’ll miss my 4 o’clock sleep. I almost feel
as if I should miss it after this. (_LANDLORD takes B.’S valise and is
going R. followed by B. SCHNELL stands undecided._) Hi there, landlord,
don’t leave that Dutchman here. (_LANDLORD pays no attention, exeunt._)

SCHNELL. (_Angrily._) Tutchman! dat was me—Mine frent, I was no Tutchman,
I was Cherman oont—

LEGGATT. Get out before I commit murder. A first-class quiet hotel! Oh!
(_Reaches for pistol. SCHNELL goes flying out R._)

QUICK CURTAIN.




                            MADAM PRINCETON’S
                             TEMPLE OF BEAUTY

                                 A FARCE

                             BY T. S. DENISON

                               _Author of_
  Odds with the Enemy, Initiating a Granger, Wanted, a Correspondent, A
    Family Strike, Seth Greenback, Louva, the Pauper, Hans Von Smash,
 Borrowing Trouble, Two Ghosts in White, The Pull-Back, Country Justice,
        The Assessor, The Sparkling Cup, Our Country, Irish Linen
     Peddler, The School Ma’am, Kansas Immigrants, An Only Daughter,
         Too Much of a Good Thing, Under the Laurels, Hard Cider,
         The Danger Signal, Wide Enough for Two, Pets of Society,
         Is the Editor In? The New Woman, Patsy O’Wang, Rejected,
             Only Cold Tea, Madam P’s Beauty Parlors, Topp’s
         Twins, A First-Class Hotel, It’s all in the Pay-Streak,
           The Cobbler, A Dude in a Cyclone, Friday Dialogues.

                            _Also the Novels,
                   The Man Behind, An Iron Crown, etc._

                                 CHICAGO:
                        T. S. DENISON, PUBLISHER,
                           163 RANDOLPH STREET.




MADAME PRINCETON’S TEMPLE OF BEAUTY.

COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY T. S. DENISON.


CHARACTERS.

    MADAME PRINCETON, Proprietor of Temple of Beauty.
    MRS. COMPTON, very stout, wants to be reduced.
    MISS DICKIE BIRD, who wants to be bleached.
    MISS TERWILLIGER, who is in search of a complexion.
    MISS McFADDEN, a suspicious enquirer.
    SUSAN, an assistant of Madame P.’s.

_Time of playing, twenty minutes._


STAGE DIRECTIONS.

_R._ means right of the stage; _C._, center; _R. C._, right center; _L._
left; _1 E._, first entrance; _U. E._, upper entrance, etc.; _D. F._ door
in flat or back of the stage. The actor is supposed to be facing the
audience.

NOTE—To present this piece properly, the ladies must make up as directed.
But young ladies as a rule greatly dislike putting anything disfiguring
on their faces. Miss Terwilliger should use make-up paints, one side of
face fiery red, the other very brown, freckled. But she may get along
very well by bandaging one side and splotching the other freely with
court plaster, reddened with carmine ink. It is best to select a lady
naturally stout, with a keen sense of humor, for Mrs. Compton. Full
instructions maybe found in a good “make-up” book.


MADAME PRINCETON’S TEMPLE OF BEAUTY.

    SCENE—_Entrance R. and L. in 1. D. F., L. C.; shelves for
    “goods” against flat R. C., sofa near wall up L., chair between
    that and door R., table with books and flowers down L. C.,
    operating chair (barber’s) R. C.; other chairs and little
    accessories to taste, but do not crowd stage. May be played in
    any room having two doors._

SUSAN. (_Discovered as curtain rises examining toilet articles on
shelves._) The skin food is nearly out. Skin food! Mutton fat and
bergamot, cost, ten cents a jar. China jar and gilt label twenty cents
more, total thirty cents, sells for five dollars. Well I guess there’s
more money in skin food than there is in stomach food or brain food, for
that matter. (_Takes up another bottle._) Anti-fat! Vinegar and water,
three dollars a bottle. Anti grandmother! (_Laughs._) Why, I’m talking
about my relatives. What fools these women are. I’ll start a Beauty
Parlor I guess. (_Coquettishly._) I am a sample of Madame Princeton’s
work myself. Humph! I never did a blessed thing for my beauty. I wouldn’t
put her skin food on a mangy dog. That fat old Compton thing goes
waddling round taking anti-fat and jerking the pulleys in the gymnasium.
My, she makes me laugh. She gets fatter every day.

_ENTER briskly MADAME P., R._

MAD. P. Susan, have you opened up the gymnasium to air it?

SUSAN. Yes’m!

MAD. P. Where is Mary?

SUSAN. In the stock room.

MAD. P. Have we plenty of everything? There’s going to be a run on Madame
Princeton’s Toilet Articles. The World’s Fair medal is a great card.

SUSAN. I suppose we’ll get that medal before the next Fair opens?

MAD. P. The delay is so annoying. But we’ll do as the others do—say we
have it already.

SUSAN. The skin food is low.

MAD. P. Did you telephone the commission man to hurry up that mutton
tallow?

SUSAN. Yes, he sent it by mistake to Madame La Duke’s Parlors.

MAD. P. Madame La Duke’s, indeed! I’ll sue her for damages if she steals
any more of my secrets.

SUSAN. I guess Madame La Duke knows mutton fat from goose grease.

MAD. P. She is an ignorant imposter. Every idea she has she stole from
me. Tell Mary to set the girls making a gross of skin food immediately.
(_Exit SUSAN, L._)

_ENTER MRS. COMPTON, R., puffing._

MAD. P. (_Running to meet her._) Why, how charming you look, Mrs. Compton.

MRS. C. (_Dropping in chair._) I’m nearly starved to death. I haven’t
eaten a bite of meat for three days.

MAD. P. Abstinence and Madame Princeton’s Anti-fat will do the business.
Take a dose now, (_pours out wine glass full_). That will revive you.
It operates on the fat glands and allays their abnormal activity. It is
excitement of the fat glands which causes excessive flesh. Do you feel
better? You’ve lost, I should say, fifteen pounds the last week.

MRS. C. Madame Princeton, I just feel completely gone. Why, when the
girl brought in Mr. Compton’s breakfast this morning, I felt like a wild
animal. I just wanted to grab his steak and tear it with my fingers and
teeth.

MAD. P. But you must not indulge your appetite.

MRS. C. I dare not or Mr. Compton would suspect. Heaven forgive me the
lies I’ve told that man. And I a church member, too. Told him one day I
had no appetite, and the next a headache, and the next that I had lunched
hastily down town. Dear me, what can I tell him next!

MAD. P. Does he suspect you?

MRS. C. I’m afraid so. He said this morning if I didn’t eat pretty soon
he’d send for the doctor.

MAD. P. Keep it up three days more and then we’ll surprise him. You will
have lost at least thirty pounds by that time. Your husband will be
delighted at your improved appearance.

MRS. C. I don’t know about that. He’s a queer man. When I first met him
I weighed only ninety pounds. It didn’t seem to matter to him when I
weighed twice that.

MAD. P. But it does matter. He is deceiving you. Men prefer willowly
women.

MRS. C. Maybe, but I’ve heard him say that Mrs. Smith was as thin as
the last run o’ June shad. Couldn’t you fatten that woman? It would be
a relief to her neighbors if you could, and it would prove that you can
perform miracles.

MAD. P. Yes, get her to come in. I’ll give you a commission. It’s very
simple. If she’d only take my Anti-lean. All she needs is to have the fat
glands stimulated. Anti-lean is the greatest discovery of the age.

MRS. C. Would you mind telling me what it is; in confidence, you know.

MAD. P. Oh, goodness, that is a professional secret.

MRS. C. I’ll tell her about it, but, good land, what ye’re doin’ to me
would kill her. I couldn’t stand it if I wasn’t as strong as an ox.

MAD. P. You are doing bravely. What did you eat for breakfast?

MRS. C. Three oatmeal crackers and a cup of coffee.

MAD. P. You have broken the rules. I limited you to two crackers.

MRS. C. It was Mr. Compton’s fault. He insisted I should eat.

MAD. P. Any cream in the coffee?

MRS. C. Only a spoonful.

MAD. P. You must obey me if you expect good results. I’ll give you a
double dose of Anti-fat. And you shall lunch here to-day. One small white
cracker, one large pickle and a double portion of Anti-fat.

MRS. C. Mayn’t I have a chalk crayon to nibble at. I’ll eat the wax
candles next thing.

MAD. P. Oh, you may have all the chalk you want. Now go to the gymnasium.
First the rowing apparatus, then the dumb bells and lastly, the swinging
rings. That’ll fetch you round.

MRS. C. If it doesn’t kill me. (_Exit D. F._)

_ENTER SUSAN, L._

SUSAN. The mutton fat—

MAD. P. Hist! (_Whispers in SUSAN’S ear and gives meaning look toward D.
F._)

_ENTER MISS TERWILLIGER, R._

MAD. P. How do you do, Miss Terwilliger? You are very punctual. Some
women have no notion what an engagement means.

MISS T. (_Heavily veiled._) Madame Princeton, my face pains terribly. I
am really alarmed.

MAD. P. (_Coldly._) I told you there would be some pain. Let me see your
face. Removing freckles is rather a painful operation, if done by the
quick method. (_MISS T. removes veil, discloses bandage covering the
whole of one side of the face. MAD. P. removes bandage, shows one side of
face very red the other brown._) It is working beautifully.

MISS T. (_Goes to glass, shrieks._) Oh, horrors! What a fright! Oh, oh!

MAD. P. Be cool, my dear.

_ENTER MRS. C. from D. F._

MRS. C. Goodness, what a start you gave me! (_Sees MISS T._) Why what on
earth are you doing to that girl? Poor child! One side of her face is red
as a beet and the other brown as a berry.

MAD. P. Really, Mrs. Compton, there is nothing the matter. That is the
way it always works, Miss Terwilliger.

MISS T. But my face is on fire, oh! oh! And I read in the paper that a
young lady died here undergoing treatment.

MAD. P. That was all a lie! I’ll never let another newspaper reporter
interview me as long as I live. Come this way for treatment. (_Going L._)
Madame Compton, go back to your exercises. (_Exeunt MAD. P. and MISS T.,
L._)

MRS. C. Well, I’m glad I haven’t freckles or warts or whiskers. I never
could stand it to be skinned alive, I know. I’m so hungry I could eat a
jar of that skin food.

_ENTER SUSAN L. Exit MRS. C., D. F._

SUSAN. Silly little goose. She’s going to be a bridesmaid and is willing
to be skinned in order to look pretty.

_ENTER DICKIE BIRD._

DICKIE B. Are you the young lady I spoke to yesterday?

SUSAN. You are Miss Dickie Bird?

DICKIE. I am. I have an appointment at this hour.

SUSAN. I operate on the hair. Take this seat. (_DICKIE seated facing L.
so audience can have side view of hair and face; lets down DICKIE’S hair,
which must be dark and beautiful._) Oh, what beautiful hair! If I had
that hair I wouldn’t dye it for the world.

DICKIE. But blondes are so fashionable! They are all the rage, you know.
(_SUSAN tucking the barber’s apron closely round DICKIE._) Does it cause
any inconvenience?

SUSAN. Not the least! You can not appear anywhere for several days.
(_Scream from MISS T. heard off L._)

DICKIE. (_Bounding from chair._) Goodness! What is that?

SUSAN. Oh, nothing. They are skinning a girl in there.

DICKIE. Mercy sakes! Skinning a girl! That is horrible.

SUSAN. (_Laughs._) You misunderstand. It is the complexion treatment. It
takes off the old skin, and I think they took it off that girl pretty
deep. It burns like fire at first. (_Another scream._)

_MRS. C. runs out D. F._

MRS. C. My nerves just wont stand that!

DICKIE. I’m very glad I don’t have to be skinned. Ugh! it makes me
shudder. (_Gets in chair._)

MRS. C. And what are you going to have done?

DICKIE. I’m going to be bleached!

MRS. C. What color?

DICKIE. Why, blonde, of course.

MRS. C. Well, if I had that head of hair I wouldn’t bleach it for the
world. What lovely hair, and Mr. Compton does so admire hair.

DICKIE. (_Coquettishly._) They all do. (_Susan getting bottles and
brushes._)

SUSAN. Are you ready, Miss Bird?

DICKIE. Quite ready.

MRS. C. (_Going D. F._) Bird! That must be Dickie Bird. Giddy thing!
She’s the worst flirt in town. Oh dear, I could eat a raw frog! (_Exit D.
F. Noise of pulleys going furiously._)

DICKIE. What is that fat old thing doing here?

SUSAN. Improving her shape. She’s on Anti-fat.

DICKIE. (_Sarcastically._) You couldn’t reduce her waist with one of
those what do you call ’em machines. She’s had her day. Why doesn’t she
stay at home with her old man.

SUSAN. Neither age nor condition is beyond the aid of Madame Princeton.
That woman can work miracles. (_DICKIE is now swathed in apron and towels
till she looks like a mummy._)

DICKIE. Why are you so very particular about wrapping me up, Susan?

SUSAN. The stuff is very powerful. I musn’t let a single drop get on your
skin.

DICKIE. Oh dear, I am nervous. (_Tries to move._) Mercy, I can’t move
hand or foot. (_Screams._)

_ENTER, hastily, MAD. P., L._

MAD. P. What is the matter, Miss Bird?

DICKIE. I am afraid!

MAD. P. My dear, there isn’t the slightest pain or danger. Go on, Susan.
(_Aside to SUSAN._) You’ve been talking again. Why can’t you keep your
customers quiet like mine. (_Scream from MISS T. who runs in, one side of
face in great red blotches._)

MISS T. Madame Princeton, you will kill me! Oh, how my face smarts!

MAD. P. It can’t hurt much.

MISS T. It’s on fire! Oh, oh!

MAD. P. Only a temporary twinge, Miss Terwilliger. (_Gets between
DICKIE’S chair and MISS T., turns latter away, nods to SUSAN who busies
herself with DICKIE._) To-day I will apply my great discovery, Pastilla
di Pasta and to-morrow you will have the complexion of a baby. (_Rushes
MISS T. out L., shuts door._) Some people make a great fuss about nothing.

_ENTER MRS. C., with played-out look, D. F._

MRS. C. Madame Princeton, haven’t I exercised enough to-day?

MAD. P. (_Severely._) Not half enough!

MRS. C. (_Puffing._) Well, I shall die, that’s what I’ll do!

MAD. P. (_Impatiently._) I wouldn’t if I were you, Mrs. Compton.

MRS. C. Madame Princeton, you are positively cruel! I believe you
actually enjoy our sufferings.

MAD. P. That’s right, excite yourself! Your heart is strong and
excitement reduces flesh. It stimulates the lean glands, just as repose
invigorates the fat glands.

MRS. C. But s’pose I die right here in your place. Think of the
consequences. One woman did die.

MAD. P. No, she didn’t.

DICKIE. Goodness, that woman makes me nervous. Talks of dying in the
place. I can’t stand this any longer. (_Tries to rise._)

SUSAN. (_Restraining her._) Be careful, you’ll make me spill it and then—

MAD. P. Susan, hold your tongue.

DICKIE. I am afraid. (_Manages to stand up, swathed like a mummy, MAD.
and SUSAN support her._)

MAD. P. Sit down, Miss Bird. The remedy is as harmless as water.

DICKIE. I am _so_ nervous, let me go home. I read of the girl that nearly
died here.

MAD. P. (_Indignantly._) No such thing ever happened, I tell you. She
only fainted.

DICKIE. But papa doesn’t know what I’m doing. He wouldn’t approve at all.
And if anything more should happen and _my_ name get in the papers—

MAD. P. Nothing can happen. How absurd. (_They get DICKIE back in chair._)

MRS. C. _I_ am nervous, too. If Mr. Compton ever caught me here, oh dear.

MAD. P. Mrs. Compton, I beg you will act rationally. Go back to your
pulleys! It is against the rules for one patient to enter the room where
another is being operated on.

MRS. C. Humph! I can hear the racket of all of ’em. I’ll break that old
machine. (_Exit D. F., noise of pulleys violently._)

_ENTER MISS McFADDEN, R._

MISS McF. Do I have the pleasure of addressing Madame Princeton?

MAD. P. (_Bows._) You do. Won’t you come into the reception room? It’s a
mistake of the girl to show you in here. Your name?

MISS McF. Miss McFadden. Since we are here I think we can manage. I have
but a moment.

MAD. P. Did you wish to enquire about treatment, Miss McFadden?

MISS McF. Yes, if you please.

MAD. P. Complexion, perhaps?

MISS McF. Exactly! My skin feels rather harsh at times.

MAD. P. You need my crowning discovery, the wonderful skin food, followed
by Pastilla di Pasta.

MISS McF. I had thought of trying something of the kind. (_MAD. P.
showing vase of “food.”_) How much?

MAD. P. Five dollars a jar.

MISS McF. Isn’t that rather expensive?

MAD. P. Excuse me, it is worth twice the money. I ought to charge ten
dollars. The materials are very costly, and the secret is invaluable.

MISS McF. I’ll take a jar! (_Gives money._)

MAD. P. (_Smiling._) Anything else?

MISS McF. No, that is, yes, my sister has a wart on her nose, which
disfigures her slightly!

MAD. P. That can easily be removed.

MISS McF. Will it leave a scar?

MAD. P. Oh dear, no! I never leave a blemish! In fact I improve on nature
in her happiest moods, to such a state of perfection has my art attained.

MISS McF. (_Has been writing in note book._) Will it be a painful
operation?

MAD. P. Not at all! My customers actually enjoy the various processes,
just as they say men enjoy being shaved and having their heads rubbed.

MISS McF. My sister may come in—(_Loud screams L._) What is that?
(_Terrific crash back of flat. SUSAN drops bottle._)

MAD. P. Mercy! What has happened?

DICKIE. (_Jumping up from chair._) There! you’ve spilled some on my hand!
(_Struggles free from wraps, throwing them right and left._)

MAD. P. (_Throwing up hands._) Miss Bird! Miss Bird! Do be careful!

DICKIE. It is black as ink. This is disgraceful, Madame Princeton.

MAD. P. Oh dear, Susan! Wash it off quick with the stain remover!

_ENTER MISS TERWILLIGER, L._

MISS T. (_Indignantly._) Madame Princeton, I wont stand this any longer!
(_One side of her face covered by a thick plaster the other shockingly
red._) My face is on fire.

MAD. P. But, Miss Terwilliger, patience. You will look like a baby when I
am done with you.

_ENTER MRS. C. puffing, D. F._

MISS T. I’m burning up. (_Hands to face._)

MRS. C. Throw water on her, she’s afire!

MAD. P. Water, indeed!

MRS. C. She looks like a boiled lobster now! Did you ever see such a face?

MISS McF. But the process is painless?

MAD. P. Quite so, her nerves are unstrung, poor thing. (_MISS McF.
writing in note book._) What are you writing there?

MISS McF. Only your address.

MISS T. (_Rubbing face._) Oh, my face! Will it ever look right again?

MAD. P. Don’t rub it!

MISS T. But I can’t help it!

MAD. P. My dear, you will look like a June rose.

DICKIE. And my hand, look at the great horrid black spot. (_Exposes
hand._)

MAD. P. It’ll all come off in a month.

DICKIE. A month, did you say! Oh, I can’t endure it that long.

MRS. C. Humph, I’ve been starving that long. Some people make a great
fuss about nothing!

DICKIE. But I must go to the charity ball next week!

MAD. P. Mrs. Compton, you have thirty minutes yet. The rings are next.

MRS. C. Oh sugar! Maybe you think I’m a fool! I’m done with your old
machine. I smashed it with the Indian clubs.

MAD. P. Smashed the machine! You shall pay for it. Indeed, you shall.

MRS. C. Oh, I’ll pay. And what’s more, I’ll eat if I have to weigh 300
pounds.

MAD. P. That’s what you will weigh.

MRS. C. (_Spiritedly._) Well, I wont get fat to please you. I am not
going to eat if I die for it.

DICKIE. Oh, that stain! It’ll never come off I know.

MISS T. Oh, my face!

MRS. C. Oh, my stomach!

MAD. P. (_Emphatically._) Oh, my patience!

MISS McF. Yes, your patients. (_Writes._) Quite an interesting lot.

MAD. P. (_Sternly._) Young woman, what _are_ you writing?

MISS McF. Just a little item. I am a reporter for the “Daily Fudge.”

ALL. A reporter! (_Excitement_, “oh’s” and “dear me’s.”)

DICKIE. My name in the papers! Papa will never forgive me! (_Darts out
R., MISS T. darts out L._)

MRS. C. Mr. Compton will be furious. To think! Our names in the paper.

MAD. P. (_Glaring._) Do it if you dare, young woman. She doesn’t dare.
I’ll sue the “Fudge” for damages.

MRS. C. (_To MISS McF._) I’m as weak as a cat, or I’d choke you, you
horrid thing! Yes I would. (_Glares at MISS McF. who stands coolly
writing._) My name in the “Daily Fudge!” And that horrid Anti-fat!

MAD. P. After all ladies like their names in the papers. It wont hurt
anything. It advertises business.

TABLEAU.

    _R._              _C._             _L._

    MISS McF.,      SUSAN,      MRS. C., MAD. P.

QUICK CURTAIN.

[Illustration: MADAME PRINCETON’S TEMPLE OF BEAUTY.]




                           A DUDE IN A CYCLONE

                                 A FARCE

                             BY T. S. DENISON

                               _Author of_
  Odds with the Enemy, Initiating a Granger, Wanted, a Correspondent, A
    Family Strike, Seth Greenback, Louva, the Pauper, Hans Von Smash,
 Borrowing Trouble, Two Ghosts in White, The Pull-Back, Country Justice,
        The Assessor, The Sparkling Cup, Our Country, Irish Linen
     Peddler, The School Ma’am, Kansas Immigrants, An Only Daughter,
         Too Much of a Good Thing, Under the Laurels, Hard Cider,
         The Danger Signal, Wide Enough for Two, Pets of Society,
         Is the Editor In? The New Woman, Patsy O’Wang, Rejected,
             Only Cold Tea, Madam P’s Beauty Parlors, Topp’s
         Twins, A First-Class Hotel, It’s all in the Pay-Streak,
           The Cobbler, A Dude in a Cyclone, Friday Dialogues.

                            _Also the Novels,
                   The Man Behind, An Iron Crown, etc._

                                 CHICAGO:
                        T. S. DENISON, PUBLISHER,
                           163 RANDOLPH STREET.




A DUDE IN A CYCLONE.

COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY T. S. DENISON.


CHARACTERS.

    MAJOR TOWNSLEY, Proprietor of hotel.
    JIM FUNK, a “wild and wooly” Texan.
    SOLOMON ISAACSTEIN, insurance agent and “bromoter.”
    ADOLPHUS PUTERBAUGH, from the Manhattan Club, New Yawk.
    MRS. TOWNSLEY.
    PATTIE BAGGS.
    JACK AND TOOTSIE.

_Time of playing, twenty minutes._

NOTE—The only difficult part in this play is that of Sol. Isaacstein. He
is a Jew of the extreme type. The best study is that of the typical Jew
traveling man who is not native born. Isaacstein’s dialect is of course
exaggerated, as all dialect must necessarily be in farce. One useful hint
may be given, i. e., try to get an easy swing to it. To pronounce _der_
gombany with nicety of precision spoils the effect entirely. _Der_ is not
plain _dare_ in English. It is more indistinct so that the _d_ may be
nearly a _t_. The same remarks apply to the dialect of Adolphus.


A DUDE IN A CYCLONE.

    SCENE—_Cyclone cellar in Texas. One door R., blank walls, bench
    back, all characters discovered, as curtain rises, in state of
    confusion, some holding lighted candles; footlights out, stage
    dark._

TOWNSLEY. Is everybody in? (_Closing door and barring it._)

MRS. T. Oh John, I’m afraid they’re not all in. Jack are you there, an’
Tootsie?

JACK. I’m O.K. maw, Tootsie, too.

SOL. I. Boot me down O.K. (_O gay_) too. I set my ziglone alarm, greatest
invention of the age. Wendt off an hour ago. Macher, I’ll sell you some
stock; 50 per zent down, balance—

MRS. T. Where’s Pattie Baggs?

MRS. B. I’m here, Mrs. Townsley. And I’m dyin’ o’ fright. Oh, I wish John
was here!

MRS. T. Do you want him here to be blown to fiddle-strings in the cyclone?

MRS. B. But he’s on the cyars and it may blow the train off the track.

SOL. I. Tear laty, regomment him to my ziglone ogsident bolicy!

MRS. B. Oh, I shall faint if you go on that way.

ADOLPH. Deah me, is the stom so vewy violent as that?

JIM F. Well, I should say, Puterbaugh! Last cyclone there was an old
goose on a nest under the barn. It blew those goose eggs, would you
believe it, right through the brick chimney. Holes in the brickwork
looked as if there had been a cannonade.

ADOLPH. Dweadful! I’m sowwy (_sorry_) I evah left New Yawk!

SOL. I. Mine frent, Nye Yorick vas a great blace, but it ish not in it
gombared to Dexas.

JIM F. That’s what, Isaacstein. A cyclone’s not bad. It’s a little
exciting, but rather enjoyable when you get used to it.

ADOLPH. Weally, you don’t say! It must be vewy twyin’ on the nerves.

MRS. T. Townsley, is the door barred securely?

TOWN. Yes, my dear.

MRS. T. John, put something more against it. (_A pause._) You men lean
against it.

TOWN. Let the door alone, can’t you!

MRS. B. Oh my nerves, they’re twitchin’ forty ways for Sunday.

MRS. T. Pattie Baggs, can’t you keep still? This is a serious time.

SOL. I. Mine frent, vat becomes of dot goose?

JIM F. Oh the goose, that was the strangest thing ever heard of. The
cyclone blew that barn all to fliggets and scattered it over half the
county and it actooally left that old goose settin’ on the same spot with
not a feather on her, an’ nary an egg under her.

ADOLPH. Did you evah heah the like?

MRS. T. (_To PATTIE._) Jim Funk couldn’t stop tellin’ stories if old Nick
was at the back door; he had ought to be ashamed of himself.

SOL. I. (_Taking out note book to write._) Dot was a stranche (_strange_)
phenomenon. I will write dem insurance gombanies to stop wridin’ bolicies
on parns oont wride dem on gooses. Der gombany safes monies oont I get a
gommission.

JIM F. A capital idea! Why, it blew so hard last time—

MRS. T. (_Petulantly._) Major Townsley, can’t you men stop talkin’. It’s
a solemn occasion.

TOWN. Madam, I haven’t said a word.

MRS. T. But Dizzie Jim an’ that Jew—

TOWN. My dear, they are guests of the hotel. I can’t tell ’em what to
say. Jim Funk, this is a serious matter.

JIM F. You bet it is, major.

MRS. B. Oh my nerves—is it comin’? (_Bright flash of lightning._)

TOWN. (_Peeps at crack in door._) Dark as Egypt and roarin’ like Tophet.

MRS. B. Oh! oh! I shall smother.

MRS. T. Pattie Baggs, keep quiet. Hollerin’ aint goin’ to stop it. My
land, where’s Bridget an’ Susan. (_Looks round._) They aint in; Townsley,
do go an’ fetch them.

TOWN. It’s too late now. I guess they have run out the back way and got
in Smith’s cellar.

MRS. T. But maybe they haven’t an’ they’ll be killed sure.

MRS. B. Oh goodness! If you talk of killing, you’ll kill me dead, and
John—

TOWN. (_Severely._) Mrs. Townsley, who is talking now?

MRS. T. But you don’t do anything. You just stand there as unconcerned.

TOWN. What can I do?

MRS. T. I wish I was a man.

ADOLPH. This is puffickly dwedful!

SOL. I. If you blease, macher, a little petter light. (_Getting closer to
candle._) I wrides dem ogsident gombanies to put a goupon on der bolicy,
“Not good unless der barty vas in der zellar.” Dem gombanies safes monies
oont I get a gommission.

MRS. T. (_Suddenly._) Where’s Tootsie?

TOOTSIE. I’m here all right, maw.

JACK T. Yes, I fetched her, you bet. (_JACK goes to door to peep out.
Lightning and fierce crash of thunder. MRS. T. and MRS. B. scream in
concert. ADOLPH starts and stumbles, falling, drops candle._)

JIM F. Hello there, Puterbaugh. (_Helps him up._) Lightning strike you?

ADOLPH. Weally I cawn’t say. I feel so shook up. (_Feels his arms._)

JIM F. You’re all right. That ain’t a marker to what we’ll get. Why, last
cyclone the lightning fell in great balls, as big as your head, that
danced round the ground among the hailstones and melted away slowly—them
that didn’t explode. (_Lightning and another crash of thunder._) I saw a
chunk of it in the chimley corner next day.

ADOLPH. (_Jumping._) Weally, I cawn’t stand that, don’t you know. I wish
I’d nevah left New Yawk.

SOL. I. Mine frent, you was nerfous. Haf you an ogsident bolicy? I’ll
write you up. You vas a goot risk, seein’ you was in der zellar.

ADOLPH. Weally, my fwend, you aw impawtunate. I have me insurance, don’t
you know, always cawy it same as me cane.

SOL. I. Dot Nye Yorick insurance vas no goot in Dexas. It hasn’t got der
ziglone goupon.

JACK. (_Going to door._) Oh Tootsie, come an’ look. It’s just splendid.
Black as ink, an’ way off yellow as can be. (_TOOTSIE runs to door._)

TOOTSIE. Aint that just tip top?

MRS. T. (_Severely._) Major Townsley, do you see those children?

TOWN. My dear, I see them.

MRS. T. Do you want them killed?

TOWN. Fiddlesticks! Keep still, can’t you.

MRS. T. Send them away from that door—if anything happens!

TOWN. (_Goes to door._) Go, my dears, back to the far corner! (_Looks
out._) Something will happen! It’s a grand sight! It’s coming like a
race-horse!

MRS. B. Oh, Major Townsley, do you want to frighten us all to death!

MRS. T. (_Sarcastically._) It’s no use trying to keep men still.

JIM F. I hope it wont blow this cyclone cellar out of root. (_Fearful
hissing of wind with lightning._)

ADOLPH. Gwacious! do you think it’ll do that?

JIM F. No tellin’! Last cyclone—

MRS. T. (_Severely._) Jim Funk, can’t you keep still?

JIM F. Why yes, if it is the wish of the company. (_Sits on bench back._)

ADOLPH. _I cawn’t_ keep still, I say now!

SOL. I. Dot gomes from hafin no insurance! Bedder dake a ziglone bolicy.
Dot helps der nerfs bedder.

ADOLPH. (_Scornfully._) Go away, fellah, weally you annoy me. I’m used to
pwivacy.

SOL. I. (_Puts up note book._) Zome beoples always stands in der vay
of der own lidght. (_Taking out book suddenly._) Say, lantlort! (_No
reply._) Macher Downsley, dis zellar vas boorly lidghted, vy ton’t you
but in elegdrick lidghts? (_Increased roaring of wind._) He toesn’t hear.
(_Goes to T. who is near door, speaks very loud in his ear._) Macher
Downsley!

TOWN. What are you yelling about?

SOL. I. I’ll dake a gondract to lidght dis zellar from basement to addig
mit elegdrick lidghts. (_Aside._) I can get a small gommission from der
gompany. (_Clap of thunder._) He gan’t hear. It vas a drifle noisy for
peesness.

TOWN. Isaacstein, you had better sit down. (I. _sits on bench back._)

MRS. T. Townsley, how does it look outside?

TOWN. Roaring like all the fiends. The roof of the hotel will go in a
minute. There goes the chimneys now!

JACK. (_Runs to door._) Oh paw, let me see!

TOOTSIE. An’ me, too! (_Going._)

JACK. Go back, Tootsie! (_Pushes her away._) It aint fur girls.

TOOTSIE. (_Pushing._) Paw, Jack’s pushin’ me.

MRS. T. (_Severely._) Come here, both of you. Major Townsley, do you see
those children? And at such a time! Humph, you aint fit to be the father
of a family! No more government than a cat—(_clap of thunder._) Oh! oh!

MRS. B. Save me! save me!

MRS. T. I guess ye aint gone yet.

TOWN. (_To children._) Run back dears, to the far corner. (_They go L.,
holding hands._)

TOOTSIE. Jack, I’m afraid.

JACK. Don’t be skart, Tootsie. Paw an’ me’s here.

ADOLPH. (_Who will not sit down, suddenly._) Oh, I say, majah, say, don’t
you know! (_Goes to TOWN._) He cawn’t heah. Majah!

TOWN. Speak louder!

ADOLPH. (_Shouting in T.’S ear_) Me twunk!

TOWN. (_Gruffly._) What’s the matter now?

ADOLPH. I fohgot me twunk, don’t you know.

TOWN. Trunk! What on earth do you want with your trunk?

ADOLPH. It contains all me linen and things. Let me out! I must have it!
(_Looks at watch._) It’s the houah to change me tie.

TOWN. (_Restraining him._) Mr. Puterbaugh, you can’t go out in that
storm. Hear the roaring. (_Groaning of the wind loudly._)

ADOLPH. But I change me linen twice a day, don’t you know.

JIM F. (_Jumping up._) I’ll loan you a shirt!

ADOLPH. Thanks awfully, but I nevah weah flannel, besides what would you
do, I say now?

JIM F. Do you think I have only _one_ shirt!

SOL. I. (_Jumping up._) Mine frent, my vardrobe vas limited, but it is at
your disbosal.

ADOLPH. Thanks, awfully, but I cawn’t weah percale, it’s two dweadful!
(_To TOWN._) Don’t you think I could dwag me twunk into this cave? (_At
door._)

TOWN. (_Pushing him away._) Why, you lunatic! you wouldn’t risk your life
for a trunk would you?

ADOLPH. (_Hopping round._) I’m dwedfully nervous! I haven’t been so
excited since the day I thweatened to cane Gawge Bowkah in the Manhattan
Club. Insulted me, the cad! They had to westwain me, and all that.
Adolphus Putehbaugh was the hero of the houah. Got hauled up befoah the
diwectahs and all that. Made me a weputation as a dangewous man, don’t
you know—(_Clap of thunder._) Gwacious! that’s comin’ it stwong!

SOL. I. (_Rushes forward._) Mine frent, vil you dake dot bolicy now?
No dime like der bresent. Telay is tangerous. I tell you vot I’ll
do. (_Whispers in his ear._) Half der gommission! (_Begins writing._)
Gristian name Adolphus—Age?

TOWN. (_At door._) There goes the roof! (_All jump up._)

MRS. B. Land sakes, I’m goin’, too!

MRS. T. (_Jerking her back on seat._) No you aint! Patty Baggs, don’t be
a fool.

MRS. B. Oh, if John were only here!

SOL. I. My tear laty, in dis case distance vas der pest bolicy—exzepting
always der ziglone bolicy.

MRS. T. If the roof is gone how will we manage for dinner, I’d like to
know?

TOWN. (_Snorting._) Dinner! That’s like a woman.

MRS. T. Yes, and it’s like a man to say nothing till he’s hungry as a
wolf, and then he expects it in two minutes.

JIM F. Never mind, Mrs. Townsley, we’ll get along somehow.

MRS. T. Humph! There aint a man in the county that has a better appetite
than you have.

JACK. Maw al’ays said ’at Dizzy Jim was a dandy to eat!

TOWN. Boy, keep still there.

SOL. I. (_Peering out._) Macher Downsley, dot roof was gone sure enough.
Say, I’ll dake a gondragt to repuild dot hotel on a scale of magnifizence
suitable to dis greadt state of Dexas.

TOWN. You a contractor, too? I thought your line was insurance.

SOL. I. Haf you not my gardt alretty? (_Gets card._) Read dot gardt.
“Solomon Isaacstein, Bromoter.” I bromotes eferyding from ziglone
bolicies to hodels oont shtock gombanies. Wherefer dere was gommissions
dere was Isaacstein retty for peesness.

TOWN. Wait till we find out the damages.

SOL. I. Mine frent, der bresent is der only dime. Der bast was brotested
oont der future disgounted. I’ll figger on dot gondragt now oont have
an esdimate ven der ziglone subsites. (_ADOLPH drops his candle._) Dem
gandles vasn’t equal to such an occasion as der bresent. Macher, haf you
consiteret dot broposition for elegdrick lights in dis ziglone zellar?
(_Tremendous flash and splitting thunder._)

ADOLPH. (_Who was nervously trying to light his candle drops it panic
stricken._) I say now this is gettin’ to be a beastly boah.

SOL. I. Frent Puterbaugh, allow me. (_Lights match._) You vas standin’ in
your own lighdt, my tear sir.

ADOLPH. I should say that I’m standing in me own dark. (_Laughs._) Aw,
wathaw good joke that, best I’ve made since I left New Yawk. You cawn’t
make a good joke in this blawsted country. Climate so vewy depwessing.
We’re an awfully witty lot of chaps in the Manhattan Club.

JIM F. (_At door._) How is it outside, major? (_JIM and T. look out
intently._)

SOL. I. (_Lighting A.’S candle after some trouble._) Der glimate vas hart
on matches in Dexas. Mine frent, a goot shoke is ter best donic for te
nerfs excebt a ziglone bolicy—

ADOLPH. I say now Mistah—ah, I cawn’t quite wecall youah name.

SOL. I. Solomon Isaacstein, Bromoter, Nye Yorick oont San Franzisco.
(_Confidentially._) Let me make a broposition, der macher vas a little
slow.

ADOLPH. He keeps a beastly place heah, don’t you know.

SOL. I. (_Enthusiastically with the Jew gestures of the comic papers._)
Ogzactly, ogzactly, but petter oxpressed dan I could oxpress it. Dis
blace vas not up mit der dimes even for Dexas. It needs elegdrick lights
(_suddenly struck by idea_) oont, py chorge, (_slaps A.’S shoulder till
latter staggers_) vat you say to pilliarts in dis zellar?

ADOLPH. By Jove! Good idea, don’t you know.

SOL. I. Sugchest it to Macher Downsley. My prudder Abe Isaacstein makes
pilliart dables. He gives a tiscount of dwenty per zent to der drade, put
I makes Abe gif me sefenty-fife per zent. I’ll tifide dot gommission.
(_Crash of thunder, lightning._) Himmel, vat a noise.

MRS. B. I know we’ll all be killed.

MRS. T. Pattie Baggs, are you hankering to be killed?

MRS. B. Oh Mrs. Townsley, how can you talk so?

MRS. T. Keep still, then. (_Aside._) That poor dude’s nearly scared to
death already.

JIM F. (_At door._) There she goes.

MRS. T. The hotel?

JIM F. No, the stable. (_Enthusiastically._) Look at that!

CHORUS. What is it?

JACK. (_Runs._) Lemme see.

TOWN. Sit down, will you, boy.

JIM F. Aint that great! Aint it?

MRS. B. Do tell us, Jim. (_Pause._)

JIM F. Why, that old brindle mule. When the stable went it riled him so
he’s got his grit up an’, dumme, if he aint just kickin’ the cyclone to
strings right an’ left; he’s splittin’ it wide open.

ADOLPH. Gwacious me!

JIM F. But it’ll git the better of ’im, I ’low. He’s gittin old an’
short-winded an’ that cyclone holds a full hand. There goes a cabin. Look
at it, major. Why, I’ll be shot if there aint three coon skins nailed on
the door an’ a nigger smokin’ a pipe, as cool as patent ice.

ADOLPH. Gwacious, my twunk!

SOL. I. Oont no inzurance? No? I’ll write an emerchency bolicy for fifty
per zent extra.

TOWN. Jim, you’ve a good eye to see coon skins in that light.

JIM F. (_Looks again._) Hanged, if I wasn’t mistaken. It’s fox skins.
Might a knowed that by the rings on the tails. Old Brindle’s knocked out!
No, he isn’t. He’s taken a hitch round an apple tree with his tail. There
goes the tree, roots an’ all, an’ the mule holdin’ on by his tail. The
cabin’s out o’ sight now.

MRS. B. Mercy me, Jim, d’ye see any cyars? John’s in the cyars.

JIM F. No, Mrs. Baggs, I don’t see no cyars, but if there doesn’t go half
a mile o’ track sailin’ along over the tree tops.

MRS. B. Mercy on us! I’ll bet the cyars is wrecked an’ John’s hurt. Oh
Jim—

JIM. Don’t be skeared, mom! The cyars didn’t get into the cyclone, only
the locomotive. It’s still runnin’ nateral as life. The fireman’s heavin’
in coal.

ADOLPH. I weally cawn’t get back to New Yawk without me twunk.

SOL. I. Ton’t co pack py Nye Yorick yet, mine frent. You haf not seen
half ter peauties of dis great gountry alretty.

JIM. T. There it’s about over now. Major Townsley, I’ll bet three to one
that old mule doesn’t get back inside three days. It took him two days
last time an’ he’s gittin’ old an’ stiff. (_Gets lighter._)

SOL. I. (_To ADOLPH._) Mine frent, dot was a coot pet. We’ll make up a
little zindigate oont dry it. Jim, I dakes ten tollars vort of dot pet,
hants town. (_Gets daylight again._)

MRS. T. Townsley, is the hotel gone?

TOWN. (_Unbarring door._) No, only the roof and the chimneys. Jim has
been exaggerating slightly.

SOL. I. I suspected oxacheration. I’ve pin dere pefore. (_Struck with
idea._) Py cracious, I’ll ket up an oxacheration bolicy for dis gountry.
It would be a vortune broperly hantled. (_T. opens door._)

MRS. T. (_Going toward door._) Roof gone and dinner ruined.

ADOLPH. And my twunk gone to the bow wows, an’ it’s half an howah pawst
the time to change me linen. (_All going R., SOL. last, making notes._)

SOL. I. (_Calls._) Mr. Bewterpaugh! Mr. Bewterpaugh! (_OVERTAKES A._)
I’ll find dot drunk for a slighdt atvance, cash town.

QUICK CURTAIN.




                        It’s All in the Pay-Streak

                          A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS

                             BY T. S. DENISON

                               _Author of_
  Odds with the Enemy, Initiating a Granger, Wanted, a Correspondent, A
    Family Strike, Seth Greenback, Louva, the Pauper, Hans Von Smash,
 Borrowing Trouble, Two Ghosts in White, The Pull-Back, Country Justice,
        The Assessor, The Sparkling Cup, Our Country, Irish Linen
     Peddler, The School Ma’am, Kansas Immigrants, An Only Daughter,
         Too Much of a Good Thing, Under the Laurels, Hard Cider,
         The Danger Signal, Wide Enough for Two, Pets of Society,
         Is the Editor In? The New Woman, Patsy O’Wang, Rejected,
             Only Cold Tea, Madam P’s Beauty Parlors, Topp’s
         Twins, A First-Class Hotel, It’s all in the Pay-Streak,
           The Cobbler, A Dude in a Cyclone, Friday Dialogues.

                            _Also the Novels,
                   The Man Behind, An Iron Crown, etc._

                                 CHICAGO:
                        T. S. DENISON, PUBLISHER,
                           163 RANDOLPH STREET.




IT’S ALL IN THE PAY STREAK.

COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY T. S. DENISON.


CHARACTERS.

    JOHN LAWTON.
    FLOSSIE, his young daughter.
    HERBERT, his son, an outcast.
    HARVEY VANCE, Flossie’s accepted lover.
    JIM ROGERS, alias “Pay Streak,” a rustler.
    MOLLIE BAKER, alias “The Rocky Mountain Grouse.”
    RACHEL, old family servant of Lawton’s.

_Time of playing, one hour, forty minutes._


PROPERTIES.

Ring for Florence, money, architect’s plan, two pistols, dishes, towels,
skillet, stove for cabin, gun, card tray, card, oranges in basket, two
cots, blankets, newspaper, cartridge belt.


COSTUMES.

The costumes of this play are all “of the day” except the make-up of
ROGERS and VANCE in the mountains, Act II. These are: Brown coarse
overalls and blouse or roundabout. (Blue will answer, but is not right.)
Cartridge belt when worn is heavy and full of cartridges; slouch hats,
black or white, to taste; very heavy boots (not shoes), very dusty;
overalls may be in boot tops or not; for variety, one each way will do.
VANCE may have very long whiskers or stubble. PAY STREAK is more juvenile
and may be shaven. Face very brown. Clothing greasy and smeared with clay.


HINTS ON PRESENTATION.

This play has been written from mining life and hotel life as the author
has actually found it, except that miners employ a very energetic and
picturesque profanity which can not be reproduced in a play. One caution
is necessary in the characters of “Pay Streak” and the “Rocky Mountain
Grouse.” The man is not a _clown_ and the girl is not _coarse_. Miners
are serious people, and however ludicrous their conversation and actions
may appear to outsiders, to themselves it is earnestness. A man who will
stand up and die in defense of his claim must be an earnest man. The
other characters need no special elucidation. Great care must be taken,
in the duel scene, to use blank cartridges. Any mistake here may prove
real tragedy.


BILL OF THE PLAY.

ACT I. The outcast brother. His return. The engagement ring. The terrible
mistake.

ACT II. Cabin of ROGERS & VANCE, Gunnison county, Colorado. “There’s a
man lookin’ for pard.” The meeting. The duel. Too late.

ACT III. Hotel, Indian River, Florida. Two wanderers and a bride and
groom. The unexpected meeting. Reconciliation. “Look for the Pay Streak.”


STAGE DIRECTIONS.

_R._ means right of the stage; _C._, center; _R. C._, right center; _L._,
left; _1 E._, first entrance; _U. E._, upper entrance, etc.; _D. F._,
door in flat or back of the stage. The actor is supposed to be facing the
audience.

[Illustration: IT’S ALL IN THE PAY STREAK.]


IT’S ALL IN THE PAY STREAK.

    SCENE—_Home of the Lawton’s, entrance R. and L. in 1. Window
    in flat C., piano up L. by flat, sofa up R., table down L. C.
    with chairs. Portrait of lady on flat R. of window, flowers on
    mantel piece R. In this play L. always means L 1, and R., R 1.
    Discovered as curtain rises, Flossie reading note. Lamp lighted
    on table._

FLOSSIE. What am I to do? (_Reads._) “Meet me at eight at the old oak by
the spring.” The poor boy doesn’t know that the grove is cut down and
the whole place built up with cottages. Five years since he left, and we
thought he was dead. He must be desperate to come back like this and take
the chance of meeting father. Poor boy! Papa is so unrelenting. Snapped
Rachel up for even mentioning Herbert’s name once. And he was always
Rachel’s pet. Oh, if she doesn’t find him! I ought to have gone myself,
but I was afraid. He’ll think that I, too, never forgave him. (_Moves
nervously._) I can hardly wait till Rachel returns. If she doesn’t find
him—

_ENTER MR. LAWTON, R._

LAW. Daughter, is my paper here?

FLO. It is on the table, papa. (_LAW. seats by table._)

LAW. Rachel is very careless lately. I always want my paper in the
library. I’ve spent half the time I had to read looking for it.

FLO. I’m very sorry, papa.

LAW. Florence, you don’t hold a very firm rein. The servants run the
house. (_Reading._)

FLO. But papa, Rachel has been here ever since I can remember. Why
shouldn’t she manage? She knows everything about housekeeping much
better than I.

LAW. You are too easy, child. Your mother always allowed herself to be
imposed on through sheer good nature.

FLO. Why, papa, nobody imposes on me. Rachel is almost a mother to me.

LAW. You must be firm. It may do with Rachel, but the others—(_looks
up._) Why Flossie, bless me, what ails you? (_FLO. wipes eyes._) I didn’t
mean to scold, but really—there now, never mind. Perhaps I spoke too
sharply.

FLO. Dear father, you have always been so good, but—(_pause._)

LAW. (_Gazing at her._) But what, Flossie? Don’t mind me. I forgot that
you are scarcely more than a child.

FLO. (_With slight opposition._) I’m _not_ a child. I am eighteen. I want
to be treated as a woman.

LAW. (_Laughs._) Very well, Miss Florence Lawton, what does my young lady
want?

FLO. I want—(_nervously_) I want a great deal.

LAW. All young ladies do nowadays. A new gown, or diamonds possibly?

FLO. Can’t a woman think of anything besides dress?

LAW. Some women can’t.

FLO. If mother were living and asked you something seriously, you
wouldn’t treat her that way.

LAW. (_Rises takes her hands tenderly._) Child, there is something on
your mind, speak freely. As I see you before me, I see the image of your
dear mother. Flossie, when you ask, you ask for _two_.

FLO. Then, dearest papa, may I ask a very—very great favor? So great
that—I’m afraid to ask it.

LAW. (_Seriously._) Why, my child, what is the matter?

FLO. (_Looks at him intently._) Nothing much. (_With feeling._) Dear papa—

LAW. Speak out. Am I such an ogre as to frighten my own child. Why make
so much ado about it? (_Pause._) Florence, why don’t you speak? Has Mr.
Vance been disagreeable?

FLO. (_With down-cast eyes._) It isn’t Harvey—how absurd—(_nervously_) Oh
papa, do you think that—brother Herbert—

LAW. (_Hardening, short pause, then with effort._) Daughter, why do you
wring my heart like this? That name is forbidden in this house.

FLO. But Herbert is your son and my brother.

LAW. No, I have no son and you have no brother. He disgraced us and then
robbed us. He sent your mother to her grave. (_With feeling._) He is dead.

FLO. But if he were not dead?

LAW. I know what you mean. But he is dead to us. I had some months ago
a letter from him which I burned unopened. I’ve heard enough of his
pretended repentance.

FLO. Oh papa—

LAW. Has he written to you?

FLO. He only begs forgiveness. He does not ask for money.

LAW. Florence, I forbid you to communicate with him or speak his name. If
he comes back here the prison is ready for him. Flossie, no disobedience,
remember.

FLO. Where are you going, papa?

LAW. To the lodge. Good-bye. (_Exit LAW, R._)

FLO. What can I do? My duty is to a poor, needy, erring brother as well
as to my father. And papa is _so_ hard on that point.

_ENTER RACHEL, L._

FLO. (_Breathlessly._) Did you find him, Rachel?

RACH. Yes, the poor boy was that glad to see me, he fairly hugged me.

FLO. Where is he?

RACH. He came with me.

FLO. That is dangerous, he may be seen here.

RACH. He would come. He must see you.

FLO. I wonder if I’d know him?

RACH. I’m afraid not, Miss Flossie.

FLO. Is he so changed?

RACH. He looks thin an’ tired like.

FLO. Poor Herbert! Did he ask about me or papa?

RACH. You first! The poor child was wanderin’ round like a stray sheep.
He didn’t know that the old place was sold for lots. It seemed to make
him sad.

FLO. Rachel, what shall we do?

RACH. Did you speak to Mr. Lawton?

FLO. Yes, and papa frightened me. He seemed so bitter—and so hurt.

RACH. I’ll tell him I think he is too harsh.

FLO. No, Rachel, leave that to me.

RACH. Then Herbie will have to wait. If you don’t mind my sayin’ it, he
did act pretty bad.

FLO. But we must forgive, always, Rachel.

RACH. Land, haven’t I cried for him many’s the time. Your mother and I
often spoke of him between ourselves.

FLO. Where is he now?

RACH. In the kitchen.

FLO. I’ll see him here. He shall never say that his only sister received
him in the kitchen.

RACH. But the risk, Miss Florence.

FLO. Papa is at the lodge, and I expect no one this evening. How does he
look, Rachel? Do you think I’ll know him?

RACH. I guess not. In fact, he’s desprit shabby.

FLO. Then we must give him some clothes. Papa has plenty, and I think
they are about of a size.

RACH. Yes, I think they be. Shall I fix him up a little?

FLO. Yes, get papa’s last year’s gray suit. I’ll be there in a minute.
I’ll see what money I have. (_Takes out purse. Exit RACH. L._) Dear
me! I’ve only a pitiful two dollars and some silver. I’ve been too
extravagant.

_ENTER HARVEY VANCE, R._

VANCE. Good evening, Flossie.

FLO. (_Drops purse._) Oh, Mr. Vance, you startled me.

VANCE. (_Gallantly picks up pocket-book._) _Mister Vance!_ You are very
formal. I used to be Harvey.

FLO. (_Embarrassed._) But I didn’t expect you.

VANCE. Of course not. I thought I’d surprise you. (_Notices her._) Why,
Flossie, are you ill? You are trembling like a leaf. (_Be seated, offers
to help her to a seat; she gently repulses him._)

FLO. (_Hesitates._) I didn’t expect you.

VANCE. I don’t see why my sudden appearance should affect you that way,
since we are to be married in a month.

FLO. Pardon me, Harvey. I—I think I—

VANCE. (_Anxiously._) My dear, you are ill! Do sit down. (_She refuses as
before._)

FLO. I am not ill—only—(_with effort_) I am cross to-night.

VANCE. (_Laughs lightly._) If that is all I’ll talk you into a good
humor. I have the plan of our new house here. It will be the finest on
the hill. I’ve had that staircase changed. I wish to see if it meets your
approval. It must go to the contractors by to-night’s mail; that’s why I
came.

_ENTER RACHEL, door L., then about to withdraw suddenly._

FLO. Rachel!

RACH. Miss Florence? (_Putting in head again._)

FLO. I’ll give the orders later.

RACH. Yes, Miss! (_Exit._)

VANCE. (_Sits at table._) Sit down, Flossie. This plan has been altered
since—

FLO. Harvey, please—I cannot look at the plan to-night!

VANCE. Why not?

FLO. I am not in the mood. Excuse me please.

VANCE. But it must go immediately!

FLO. Send it! I don’t care about the changes!

VANCE. But you did care.

FLO. I don’t care now.

VANCE (_Anxiously._) Don’t care now? Our own house? Why, Florence!

FLO. I mean I can’t look at it now.

VANCE. (_Rises._) Florence, don’t you think you are just a little bit
capricious sometimes?

FLO. (_Nervously._) Perhaps! Why not? Must a woman smile always?

VANCE. Flossie, you don’t want to see me to-night, that is plain.

FLO. Harvey, you men are so exacting. There are times when one wants
to—to be let alone.

VANCE. There now! We’ll not quarrel. We have never quarreled yet. I
thought you’d like to see me—I mean the plan. But you don’t.

FLO. Why don’t you show it to papa? He’s at the lodge. Go and meet him.

VANCE. I don’t think he is interested in it very much. But I guess I’ll
try it.

FLO. (_Pleased._) Oh, do Harvey.

VANCE. Florence, excuse my thoughtlessness. I have intruded. I beg
pardon. I see there are times when even a man’s sweetheart isn’t
interested in his plans.

FLO. (_Coaxingly._) Harvey, don’t be absurd.

VANCE. I am not absurd. I’ve only been thoughtless, that’s all. (_Going
R._) Good night.

FLO. Good night. (_Goes to door with him._) I’m so sorry. (_Exit VANCE,
R._) There’s a narrow escape and what _will_ Harvey think of me. I have
actually been rude. Why, he left his plan after all! (_Goes L., calls
RACHEL._)

_ENTER RACHEL, L._

FLO. The coast is clear, Rachel, I actually feel guilty. If papa should
return—

RACH. Shall I bring him in?

FLO. Yes, be quick. (_Exit RACHEL, L._) I must get him away. To think
that he must be driven like a tramp from his own home.

_ENTER HERBERT, L. He advances and then stands with down-cast look._

FLO. Oh Herbert, dear brother! (_Advances toward him._) Why, Herbie,
can’t you speak to me?

HERB. (_Advances._) Little Flossie!

FLO. Not so little now! (_Grasping both his hands, hesitates._) I thought
you might kiss your sister.

HERB. Flossie, can you forgive me? (_Kisses her._)

FLO. Am I not your sister?

HERB. (_Admiring her._) How you have grown! and how pretty you are!
Just the image of mother. (_Starts, wipes away tear._) Dare I ask her
forgiveness, too? I cannot look her in the face.

FLO. Oh Herbert!

HERB. What is it, Flossie? How strange you look! Where is mother?

FLO. (_Takes him gently by the hand and leads him to portrait._) There!

HERB. (_Looks at picture then at FLO., staggers to chair._) Dead! God
forgive me, I killed her. (_Buries his face in his hands._)

FLO. (_With handkerchief to eyes, in broken voice._) Herbert, we must all
die. She is happy now.

HERB. And I, miserable wretch, repaid her love with disobedience. I broke
her heart.

FLO. (_Gently takes his hand._) Brother, have you asked God to forgive
you?

HERB. Yes, but my prayers are in vain.

FLO. No, God forgives, and she has forgiven. She died with your name on
her lips.

HERB. (_Moved._) I must go now. For months I have dwelt upon the time
when I could fall on my knees at her side and ask her forgiveness. Now
there is only the hard world for me. And father—

FLO. You must not see him yet.

HERB. He is still relentless? I do not blame him, but he might have
written me that she was dead—

FLO. We thought—

HERB. (_Looks at her._) You thought I was dead, too? I wish I had died.

FLO. Herbert, you are still young, there is time yet.

HERB. Too late. I know father too well. He never will forgive me. When I
took mother’s jewels—that turned his heart to stone.

FLO. Dear brother, I will win him over if you give me time. But he must
know that you have truly repented. What are you doing now?

HERB. God knows, I am trying. I have had hard luck. I came to the door
like a tramp. And here I am in _his_ clothes. I’d sooner beg than take
them, but Rachel made me put them on.

FLO. But you have been earning something.

HERB. (_Bitterly._) Something! Yes, fifteen dollars per month in a livery
stable and sleep in the stable.

FLO. Oh Herbert!

HERB. And I lost that job three months ago. Times were so hard they
couldn’t keep me.

FLO. Have you no money?

HERB. (_Bitterly._) Money! and out of work so long! Florence, you don’t
know the world.

FLO. I’ll give you some. But I have so little, only two dollars. Take
that. (_Gives money._)

HERB. (_Smiling._) I suppose you’ll think I want to work the family for
money. That is about all I ever did.

FLO. Nonsense, Herbie. I only wish I had more. Isn’t there some friend?

HERB. Friend! (_Laughs bitterly._) _Friends!_ Mine all quit me when my
money was done.

FLO. (_Suddenly._) Oh, I know of one, he’ll help you.

HERB. I haven’t a friend in the world. Who is he, Flossie?

FLO. (_Hesitating._) A friend of—of the family. A _good_ friend.

HERB. (_Pause, he regards her._) A very good friend?

FLO. Yes, the noblest friend in the world.

HERB. (_Smiling._) I begin to see, little sister. Going to marry him?

FLO. Yes, next month.

HERB. Lucky fellow!

FLO. And then papa will be lonely and he may—I’ll try my best.

HERB. He never will, not for years any way, if ever. Who is your friend?

FLO. Harvey Vance. You don’t know him. He is a new man who started a
carriage factory here. He doesn’t even know that I have a brother.

HERB. You had better tell him, Flossie. Don’t keep anything back. He
mightn’t like it if he heard afterwards from some one else.

FLO. I don’t like to speak against you.

HERB. Then just say there is a black sheep in the family. If he wants to
know more, he’ll ask.

FLO. Oh, he is so honorable, he’d never ask; and he’ll help you.

HERB. I’d rather work my own way. I look pretty well in these clothes,
though they are not exactly a fit. The governor is stouter than he used
to be.

FLO. Papa is very well and strong.

HERB. (_Laughs._) Yes, and I imagine it wouldn’t be healthy for me if he
caught me here.

FLO. Oh no, and—I can’t tell you—but you must go. And you must leave
town, too.

HERB. I can’t leave town on two dollars unless I tramp it. And that puts
me back beyond hope. If I could only get to Chicago. Times are improving
and I might get work.

FLO. How much do you need?

HERB. I couldn’t do with less than twenty dollars.

FLO. And I’ve been such an extravagant little goose. I’ve spent all my
money. My jewels—

HERB. (_Starting._) Jewels! My God, don’t mention jewels!

FLO. Pardon me Herbie, I forgot.

HERB. Rachel always has money.

FLO. But it is all in the savings bank. She deposited to day.

HERB. I’ll wait till to-morrow.

FLO. No, no, you must not wait till to-morrow. You must go to-night.

HERB. (_Bitter feeling returning._) But why are you all so anxious to get
rid of me. I’ll go soon enough.

FLO. I can’t tell you! Papa—

HERB. (_Starting._) I remember now. (_Bitterly._) Prison! He threatened
me. No, there is no place here for me.

FLO. There is no way but the jewels. Papa gave me a necklace.

HERB. Never! I’ll never touch his money after that threat. I’ll tramp
first. Perhaps he’d like to have his son a tramp. Perhaps the people of
this town would like to see me further disgraced, curse them.

FLO. Herbert! Herbert, how can you speak so? But you must go.

HERB. Yes, I must go. Ha! ha! I’ll go. The governor will soon be back
from the lodge and he—no I can’t say anything against him for I have
wronged him too deeply. (_Pause, looks at her ring._) Florence, that ring
is worth one hundred dollars. I could easy get twenty on it.

FLO. But that is _his_ ring, my engagement ring. I couldn’t part with
that.

HERB. No, of course not, Flossie. Forgive me for suggesting such a thing.
I’ll try to get along somehow.

FLO. Go to the next town, keep quiet, and I’ll send the money.

HERB. Everybody knows me there.

_ENTER VANCE, R., unobserved, stops surprised._

FLO. Of course! I could meet you somewhere. (_Vance surprised stops._)

HERB. That might be arranged, but where?

FLO. I’m afraid I couldn’t get away to-morrow. (_Vance puzzled, moves as
if to go out._)

HERB. Dear Flossie, I’ll leave it all to you. You are my only hope.
(_Vance struck with suspicion stops, then stands like a statue._)

FLO. Herbert, I shall never give you up, no matter what happens. I think
of you night and day. (_Vance hand to head with gesture of anguish._)
Pshaw! this is no time for hesitation. (_Takes off ring._) Take this! If
_he_ misses it I’ll make some excuse. It’s easy enough to put him off.
(_They go L._)

VANCE. (_With anguish, low tone._) Oh God! _my_ ring!

FLO. (_Turns, sees V., screams._) Oh! Mr. Vance, how you startle me! Why
did you come in that way?

VANCE. (_In husky voice._) I startle you! Heaven help me! What have _you_
done to me? Stabbed me to the heart.

FLO. Oh, Mr. Vance, please—

VANCE. Save your words, false woman, traitress, shameless creature, you
drove me away to meet _him_ here. (_FLO. totters back grasping chair.
VANCE advances in a furious passion._) Oh the shame! Woman! woman! (_She
shrinks back speechless._) I could strangle such a viper. (_Drops his
hands, head falls on breast._) No, I can’t strike her for I loved her.
Traitress, farewell! (_FLO. drops senseless._)

HERB. Help! Rachel! (_Dropping on knees beside FLO., raises her head._)
Coward! Wretch! You shall answer for this.

VANCE. (_With passionate scorn and deliberation._) Yes, I’ll answer, and
I’ll kill you at sight like a dog.

QUICK CURTAIN.


ACT. II.

    SCENE—_Mining camp in Rocky Mountains. Cabin set to show
    interior. Door R. in 1. Rude cot near R. corner, and another in
    L.; stove with skillet against rear wall, L. C.; plank cupboard
    against side wall R.; window flat between stove and cot; rough
    pine table down C., with seats at either side, of sawed log;
    rough chair, rocks on table, gun on hooks, L.; overalls, etc.,
    on floor and on nails; coffee pot, very dirty towel, etc.,
    etc. PAY STREAK discovered as curtain rises, sewing buttons on
    overalls, business of threading needle and tangling thread._

PAY S. That pesky thread is enough to rile ole Job, I reckon. It takes
my pard to sew on buttons. He goes at it ’sif he’d been a tailor in his
time. He’s the coolest cuss in camp anyway. Wy, when we struck it rich
in the “Little Lucy” lode what did he do? Jump round an’ holler an’ say,
“Boys, we’ve got it bigger’n an elephant?” Nary time; jest said, “I ’low
if it holds out we’re pretty well heeled.” Didn’t seem to care whether it
held out or not. Bet yer boots _I_ care. I’ve been poor as a church mouse
too long not to care. What did I do when I seen the assay went $500 to
the ton? Wy, I jist slipped over to ole man Baker’s place an’ asked the
Grouse if she’d like to hitch. I was afraid o’ that cuss from Tenderfoot
Gulch, that Lonesome Mose. He’s struck it, too. What d’ye s’pose she
said? “Pay Streak, what does she go to the ton?” “Five hundred, Mollie,”
sez I, awful anxious, fur I didn’t know what Mose’s assay showed. An
says the Grouse, “I’ll think about it, Jim.” Called me Jim instead o’
Pay Streak. I couldn’t stand that, an’ cust if I didn’t give her a smack
’at sounded like a giant cap bustin’. She didn’t git very mad, an’ then
I knowed it was good as settled. (_Pulls at thread and breaks it._) Cuss
that thread! I reckon that’ll hold till Mollie takes charge o’ my traps.
(_LAWTON raps at door, with cane, R._)

PAY S. Come in, stranger!

LAW. Is this Vance & Rogers’ place?

PAY S. It is; step right in; there ain’t no call to rap at any miner’s
door in the Rocky Mountains, but of course you don’t know that, bein’ a
tenderfoot.

LAW. Oh, yes, I know that a miner’s door is always open. Are you Rogers?

PAY S. Correct y’are! Squat. (_Wipes off chair with towel._)

LAW. This is just as good. (_Seats himself on one of logs, PAY S. on the
other._) Are you the man they call Pay Streak?

PAY S. That’s my sobriquet (_sobrikwet_), as the editor calls it. The
boys called me Pay Streak because I’ve a way o’ askin’ how wide the pay
streak is when they git to talkin’ about their claims. I al’ays look at
the pay streak first. A man’s the same as a mine; when ye’ve seen the
width of his pay streak, ye’ve got his measure.

LAW. It’s not a bad name, either.

PAY S. Becherlife it aint. Some sense in it. Now if they’d called me
Lonesome Mose as they do that inexorable cuss over in Tenderfoot Gulch
I’d a killed a few of them jist to change my luck.

LAW. I hear you boys have struck it rich.

PAY S. Bigger’n a four-hoss team an’ band wagon, stranger.

LAW. Let me see, what is your partner’s full name?

PAY S. Vance! Harvey Vance! The boys call him “Old Silence” ’cause he
says mighty little an’ don’t talk no minin’ guff about his claims.

LAW. Where does he hail from?

PAY S. Illinois.

LAW. Where is he to-day? I believe I know him.

PAY S. (_Jumping up._) What! you know my pard, stranger! Now why did ye
go beatin’ round the bush? That aint a square deal! Why didn’t ye jist
walk in an’ hang up yer hat? Take that there chair! No, but ye must.
(_Law takes chair._) We haint much hyur, but all we got belongs to any
friends o’ Old Silence. Scuse me, I mean your friend Vance.

LAW. Oh, that’s all right, no apologies.

PAY S. Stranger, I’m _cussed_ glad to see you. Shake! Wy, we’ve been hyur
two year and never a soul come along that was an _old_ friend. I’ve a
whole raft o’ kin in Missouri, but none of ’em drifts to this camp. You
kin bet yer liver, pard’ll be glad to see ye.

LAW. I hope so, it’s a good while since I saw him.

PAY S. I’ll bet my share in the Little Lucy—an’ we was offered $100,000
last week fur it—that my pardner haint any friends he’s ashamed of.

LAW. No, he isn’t that kind.

PAY S. That’s straight! ye can’t tell me nothin’ about him an’ his
outfit. Anything he says goes, on this hill. That’s ’cause he doesn’t say
much.

LAW. Where is Mr. Vance to-day?

PAY S. I was jist wonderin’ myself, when you dropped in. The gun aint
gone so I ’low he isn’t far away.

LAW. Could I have a short talk with him privately?

PAY S. Could you talk with him privately? Stranger, hain’t I jist said
this place was your’n. When he comes I’ll vamoose quick, savvy? I ’low
he’s out at the Lucy lookin’ at the truck. Pard, it’s good fur sore eyes
to look at that truck, $500 to the ton.

LAW. I might walk out and meet him, if you don’t object.

PAY S. _Ob_ject! Stranger, really ye’re not talkin’ on the square. How
could I _ob_ject. Wy, the mountain’s your’n! Everything in sight is
your’n!

LAW. Thank you, Pay Streak! By the way, what is your full name?

PAY S. Rogers, Jim Rogers. I’ll take ye to the Lucy. No, I recken you
want to see him private. (_Goes to door._) Well, foller the path straight
ahead about two hundred yards.

LAW. Thank you, Mr. Rogers. I’ll see you again.

PAY S. Krect. (_Exit LAW R._) I’ll bet he’s a financer an’ wants to buy
the Little Lucy. Well, he can’t. She has a pay streak wuth talkin’ about,
two feet wide an’ five hundred to the ton. (_Looks out._) Great guns, if
they aint ladies a comin’! Wonder if they’ll stop here fur a drink o’
water or anything? I haint been in society sence I left Missouri. I’ll be
shot if it aint the Grouse an’—an’ a strange lady. The Grouse is comin’
to take us by s’prise. This place is in a nice ruction fur company. Haint
made my bed yet. (_Runs to bed R., turns up the blankets and tries to
smooth out the pillow._) That pillar’s harder’n one o’ Lonesome Mose’s
flapjacks. (_Hammers at pillow._) Ought ter been filled at the sawmill
long ago. An’ that towel aint been washed fur a month. (_Flips towel
under the bed._) I’ll git one o’ Vance’s towels. (_Takes clean towel
out of cupboard and hangs it across chair back._) Pard’s a purty good
cook but he aint in it washin’ dishes. Them plates looks tough. (_Picks
up plates from table, drops knife, picks that up and drops plate, which
breaks._) Damn it! (_Picks up pieces, throws the whole into cupboard with
a bang, closes door._) Look at that skillet, an’ fried onions, too,
scentin’ the whole mountain. Wher’n thunder kin I put them? I guess
that’s about the place fur them. (_Tosses skillet out of window._) There,
I s’pose that’s the best I kin do on short notice. (_Sits on log and
pretends to be reading old soiled paper, rap at door._) Come in!

_ENTER GROUSE and FLO._

GROUSE. Hello, Mr. Rogers!

PAY S. Well, I’ll be—(_catches himself_) this is a s’prise, Grouse.

GROUSE. Miss Baker if you please, Mr. Rogers.

PAY S. (_Surprised._) Oh—of course! Excuse _me_. No offense I hope,
_Miss_ Baker.

GROUSE. Mr. Rogers, let me _interduce_ Miss Lawton. She’s travelin’ to
see the mountains.

PAY S. (_Bows awkwardly._) I’m awful glad to see you, Miss Lawton. _You_
take the chair. Grouse, I reckon you’ll have to squat on a log.

GROUSE. (_Sitting on table._) Jim Rogers, where’s yer manners? Nicknames
don’t go afore company.

PAY S. No, of course not. (_To FLO._) I beg pardon, Miss Lawton, but ye
see all the miners called her the Rocky Mountain Grouse, long ago when
she was a little tot.

GROUSE. (_Making face._) Long ago! I like that. I s’pose I’m old
Methusalem now.

PAY S. (_Embarrassed._) Now looky hyur, Grouse—I mean Miss Mollie Baker,
what ails ye? I didn’t mean nothin’. Ye’re techy as powder to-day. (_To
FLO._) Excuse _me_, Miss, but I’m a little off on talkin’ to ladies.
Haint been in society sence I left Joplin, Missouri, five years ago.

FLO. Oh, don’t be formal, Mr. Rogers, I like the mountain ways.

PAY S. Wy, to be sure, the mountains is best, lots of room, lots of
rocks, lots of—of everything. I say, Miss Lawton, kin I show you Little
Lucy? She’s a daisy.

FLO. (_Surprised._) Little Lucy! I don’t understand.

GROUSE. Pay Streak, you _are_ a greeny. What d’ye s’pose the lady knows
about your lingo. (_To FLO._) The Little Lucy’s a mine.

FLO. (_Laughing._) I should be delighted to see Lucy but I can not
to-day, thank you.

PAY S. Oh well, any day’ll do. Besides my pardner, I reckon he could talk
to ye. He’s a lady’s man.

FLO. (_Nervously._) Oh no! I saw the mines at Leadville. I just wanted to
say that there’s a man looking for Mr.—for your partner and—

PAY S. Yes, Miss, I told him where to find him.

FLO. (_Trying to appear calm._) You told him! Miss Baker, they musn’t
meet.

GROUSE. Now you _have_ done it, Jim. They were lookin’ fur each other.

PAY S. Holy Moses! How did I know they was lookin’ fur each other?

GROUSE. Pay Streak, have you been in the mountains five years an’ don’t
know what a man means when he says he’s _lookin’_ fur somebody? You don’t
know enough to pound sand in a rat hole.

PAY S. (_Scratching his head._) Well, I don’t, ladies, an’ that’s a fact.
Why cuss it! (_To FLO._) Excuse _me_, Miss, I may haf to actooally swear
afore this job’s over. But how could I know that that slick chap was
_lookin’_ fur pard? He only said he wanted to see him.

GROUSE. Well, he mustn’t.

FLO. Oh no, Mr. Rogers—I—I can’t tell you why, but they must not meet.

PAY S. (_Bowing awkwardly._) Bet yer life you don’t need to tell why.
When a lady says she wants a thing that’s enough fur me. I aint askin’
why. (_Admiring glance at GROUSE._)

GROUSE. Then don’t stand like a dummy. Git a gait on an’ stop ’em afore—

PAY S. Wont I, great guns! (_Gets revolver and belt from under pillow._)
I’ll stop ’em if I have to take a hand in the game myself.

FLO. (_Alarmed._) Oh no, Mr. Rogers! Please don’t do that!

PAY S. (_Surprised._) No? Then I wont. I’ll jist argy pardner out of it;
I aint much on talk, but I’m used to him.

FLO. An’ I’ll be so grateful!

PAY S. Don’t mention it, Miss. (_Struck with idea._) I’ll convince
pardner an’ then we’ll both convince tother chap if we have to pump him
full o’ lead to do it.

FLO. Oh, not that, either. You must not do anything.

PAY S. (_Puzzled._) Well, I’ll be—this _is_ a puzzler. I give it up.

GROUSE. Why don’t you go, Jim? Don’t stand there like a mud hen on a log.

PAY S. I’ll vamoose instanter, savvy? (_Exits hastily R._)

FLO. Miss Baker, you’ll think this very strange.

GROUSE. Not a bit, Miss. I’ve been there.

FLO. (_Surprised._) But I mean—

GROUSE. Never mind. Jim’ll straighten it all out. And if you don’t want
to meet Mr. Vance, you’d better skip right off, fur he’s liable to turn
up any minnit. There haint been no shootin’ yet or we’d heard it.

FLO. Oh, I’m so glad. I’ll go now and you wait to bring me word.

GROUSE. But you may meet tother one on the mountain.

FLO. I want to meet him. One word would fix it all right. (_Exit._)

GROUSE. Well, I never! These fine ladies play a big game. Keeps both on
the hooks till they git fightin’ mad an’ then goes tearin’ round tryin’
to make peace. Humph! Wants to meet tother one. Well, I s’pose _he’s_
the one an’ Vance gits left. I’m awful sorry for Vance fur he’s _white_
an’ Jim likes him awful well. (_Sits on table and swings feet._) That
comes o’ havin’ too many fellers at onct. I’ve been there, but I reckon
I shipped Lonesome Mose jist in time. Good Lord, only think o’ Pay
Streak an’ Lonesome Mose cavortin’ round the mountains lookin’ for each
other. Why, it makes Jim hot fur me even to mention Mose. There’s a good
deal worse than Mose, but I wouldn’t look at him beside Jim. I’ve been
dreamin’ o’ Jim ever since we led the ball at Cottonwood Pass two years
ago last winter. If anything ’ud happen Jim—well, the Rocky Mountain
Grouse wouldn’t fly so high, that’s all. But it wouldn’t do for me to
tell him all that. A little at a time kind o’ keeps a man lookin’ for
more an’ then Jim’s sort o’ gone on himself an’ it would make him sassy.
(_Looks out._) Why, there he comes runnin’.

_ENTER PAY S., R._

PAY S. (_Breathlessly._) Run all the way an’ back. Can’t find ’em
nowhere. Where’s she?

GROUSE. Gone. She’s a sly one.

PAY S. There yer off yer lead. She’ll run away up on assay.

GROUSE. I didn’t mean that. She’s playin’ two suckers at onct, I guess.

PAY S. I don’t b’lieve it. That woman’s no coquette (_cokwet_).

GROUSE. Why, she said so herself.

PAY S. No!

GROUSE. Fact! But she’s had a lesson. She’s run to the end of the tether
an’ she knows which ’un she’ll take.

PAY S. Then it’s my pard, sure.

GROUSE. Taint nether.

PAY S. Why, tother one is old enough to be her pap.

GROUSE. Don’t care if he is. Them city gals don’t care fur age. They jist
look at the rocks.

PAY S. Well, pardner’ll have plenty of stuff when we git the Lucy goin’
two shifts a day. Say, Grouse, why didn’t ye mention that to her an’ say
a good word fur pardner?

GROUSE. Mention that! To her! Land o’ twilight! It’s a heap you know
about women.

PAY S. (_Puts arm round her waist._) I know they are sweeter than all
creation.

GROUSE. (_Withdrawing._) Oh, you do, do you?

PAY S. (_Shoving closer to her on table._) I mean there’s one that is ole
peaches an’ honey. (_Tries to kiss her._)

GROUSE. (_Slaps him, but not very defiantly._) Pay Streak, I al’ays
thought you’d some sense.

PAY S. Bet yer boots _I_ know a good thing. Say, I’m awful sorry for
pard. I cotton to that gal.

GROUSE. Indeed! Then I’d better clear the way.

PAY S. (_Hastily._) I mean fur him. I believe she’s actooally good enough
fur him.

GROUSE. It’s no use. He is off the lead. Tother chap’s campin’ on the
claim. All ye kin do now is keep him away from tother one.

PAY S. How’ll I do it? Where the deuce is pardner, anyway? He went out
after breakfast an’ never said anything about goin’ away.

GROUSE. We’ll fix up a scheme. I’m sort o’ sorry for her. She’s awful
anxious.

PAY S. (_Enthusiastically._) Yes, I’d do anything fur her.

GROUSE. (_Looks meaningly._) Oh, indeed!

PAY S. I mean fur your sake, Mollie. Say, it’s awful nice to call you
Mollie, savvy?

GROUSE. Jim, ye’re silly. Why don’t you try to think.

PAY S. I jist can’t when you are hyur. You think.

GROUSE. Well, where do you guess Vance is?

PAY S. You didn’t meet him goin’ to town, so he must ’a gone over the
mountain to look at the Jumbo.

GROUSE. Then I’ll tell ye what to do. You take the gun an’ meet him an’
say that the jumpers are after pap’s claim again over in the basin.

PAY S. He’ll want me to go ’long then.

GROUSE. Tell him you are goin’ back to camp fur more men.

PAY S. I’ll be cust! The very thing. (_Gets gun._)

GROUSE. An’ do hurry. I’ll wait till you come back. I’m gittin’ skeered.

PAY S. Don’t you worry. Jist let any body sass you an’ I’ll—

GROUSE. Do go on, quick! (_Pushes him out._) It’s downright silly the
way men act about women, wantin’ to shoot and sayin’ they’ll die. Humph!
An’ a woman, she can’t do nothin’ but git scart an’ cry an’ carry on.
I do hope he’ll git Vance away. It serves her right, though, to git a
good scare; she’ll know how it is herself. (_Knocking at door, GROUSE
starts._) Come in!

_HERBERT at door._

HERB. Whose cabin is this?

GROUSE. It’s Rogers & Vance’s, owners of the Little Lucy.

HERB. Is Mr. Vance around?

GROUSE. He ain’t fur away, I guess. Will Rogers do? He’s jist gone. I kin
call him back, but he’s in a powerful hurry.

HERB. Don’t call him, I’ll drop in again. Could you give me a drink of
water?

GROUSE. Certingly, come in! (_HERB. steps inside, she gets dipperful of
water from pail, he drinks._)

HERB. Thank you, very much.

GROUSE. Don’t mention it. (_Looks at him._) You’re a tenderfoot, I guess!

HERB. (_Smiles._) Yes, that is, I have been in Colorado only six months.
They told me of this Vance over at Dead Man’s Gulch. (_Rests foot on
log._)

GROUSE. Did you want to see him pertickler?

HERB. Rather particular, yes.

GROUSE. If it’s business, Rogers knows.

HERB. It’s a private matter. Perhaps he is at the Lucy?

GROUSE. He’s most likely at the Jumbo. Take the trail straight up an’
it’s jist over the ridge.

HERB. Thank you, I’ll meet him perhaps. Good day. (_Exit H., R._)

GROUSE. Pr’aps ye wont. I wonder who’ll be wantin’ Vance next? He’s
peaceable, I guess. Wants to buy the mine mebbe. If he had been an old
man—(_Pause._) Great Jerusalem! I’ll bet we’re clean off the lead,
digging away in country rock. S’pose that is the feller ’at’s _lookin_
fur Vance. _That_ gal wouldn’t leave no young feller like Vance fur an
old man. An’ I’ve _told_! Well, I’m a bigger fool than I said Jim was.
(_Runs around._) _I’m_ excited now! This is a case, sure! Minds me of
the time Slim Jim shot Club Foot Pete fur cheatin’ at kyards, when pap
kep’ the tavern at Cottonwood Pass. Pap was jist reachin’ fur his gun
when Pete kind o’ staggered an’ threw up his hands like that, and says
he: “Baker, I’m done fur—I pass.” Them was his last words.

_ENTER PAY S., excitedly, R._

PAY S. I can’t find nobody nowhere!

GROUSE. Pay Streak, you’re a fool!

PAY S. (_Nettled._) S’pose I am, what’s the use o’ tellin’ me every five
minutes.

GROUSE. Cause you are, you can’t see an inch from yer nose. Wat did ye
say he was an _old_ man, fur?

PAY S. Cause he was!

GROUSE. He aint ether, an’ we might a knowed it. He’s been hyur, an’ he’s
a young feller.

PAY S. A young feller lookin’ fur my pardner?

GROUSE. Yes, lookin’ fur him pertikler.

PAY S. When it comes to that, if there’s any fly young feller ’round this
hill lookin’ fur somebody, he’ll find a man sure. Mebbe he’ll find _me_
afore he quits. If he wants a scrap, he needn’t wear out shoe leather
lookin’ fur it in Ruby Camp.

GROUSE. (_Seriously._) Pay Streak, don’t you take up nobody else’s rows
till ye haf to. You’ll find enough o’ yer own in this world. I’ve seen
more o’ these mountains than you have. Pap kep’ tavern fur years at
the Pass, an’ I’ve seen shootin’ scrapes enough. I seen Club Foot Pete
killed, an’ it’s an awful sight when it’s right afore yer eyes.

PAY S. I ain’t a lookin’ fur anybody.

GROUSE. But what’ll we do?

PAY S. I don’t know.

GROUSE. We’ve got to do somethin’.

PAY S. Well, Mollie, wat’s your idee?

GROUSE. Go down to camp right away, an’ tell pap an’ git some o’ the
miners out. Pretend it’s jumpers over in the Basin.

PAY S. Will you go ’long to camp?

GROUSE. No, I’ll wait hyur for Vance. If he comes I’ll send him to the
Basin.

PAY S. (_Going._) I’ll round ’em up.

GROUSE. An’ give that strange feller a tip that it ’ud be healthier fur
him to take the next stage back to Dead Man’s Gulch.

PAY S. Stage! Humph! walkin’s good that direction. (_Exit hurriedly R._)

GROUSE. Men’s all fools, I guess. Fightin’ about claims an’ women as if
there wasn’t plenty o’ both to go round. Women’s bigger fools to egg ’em
on. I needn’t brag, ether. S’pose I’d drawed on Lonesome Mose a little
furder, there’d been music in camp.

_ENTER VANCE, R._

VANCE. Hello, Grouse, you here!

GROUSE. I guess so, ye see me, don’t ye?

VANCE. I have that pleasure. (_She courtsies._) You are waiting to see
Jim of course. Where is that boy, anyway?

GROUSE. (_With toss of head._) Waitin’ fur Jim. I guess not. When I wait
fur a man I wait at home.

VANCE. Of course, Miss Baker, no offense.

GROUSE. Where in creation have _you_ been all mornin’?

VANCE. I felt out of sorts and I went over to the mineral spring to take
a good drink of that water.

GROUSE. I’ll bet you are the first man in Ruby Camp that ever walked two
miles fur a drink o’ water.

VANCE. I like to watch the silver bubbles boiling up from the clear
depths.

GROUSE. Well, _I_ don’t go much on them silver bubbles. The silver in
em’s too thin. Did ye meet anybody?

VANCE. (_Laughs._) Yes, Lonesome Mose going to his claim. He looks
lonesomer than ever, lately. (_Meaning look at her._)

GROUSE. Humph! Lonesome Mose! I mean, didn’t ye meet nobody at all?

VANCE. Nobody else. (_At stove._) Any one lookin’ for me? Where’s our
skillet? I want to get dinner.

GROUSE. (_Impatiently._) I don’t know nothin’ about yer ole skillet. Say,
Mr. Vance, did you know any young ladies in Illinois?

VANCE. (_Surprised._) Why, to be sure, plenty of them. (_Looking._) What
on earth has become of that skillet? I’m as hungry as a wolf.

GROUSE. That’s like a man, he’d haf to eat if he died next minnit.

VANCE. He’d die if he didn’t.

GROUSE. Dyin’ with yer boots on aint so funny.

VANCE. (_Surprised._) Why, what do you mean, Miss Baker. You seem excited.

GROUSE. (_Laughs._) I aint the kind to git excited bad. (_He looks
inquiringly._) An’ ye don’t know any _pertickler_ young lady?

VANCE. (_With serious tone._) Mollie, every man in his time has known
some _particular_ young lady. Sometimes she is too particular and
sometimes not particular enough.

GROUSE. I guess this un’s jist about right.

VANCE. (_Starting._) What do you mean, Mollie? Any lady in camp that
knows me?

GROUSE. (_Laughing._) It ’pears so. She’s been hyur.

VANCE. Here! Did she want to see me?

GROUSE. No, she _didn’t_ want to see you.

VANCE. Then why the deuce did she come here! There’s some mistake.
(_Turns to look for skillet._) I wish Jim would let the cooking outfit
alone.

GROUSE. Never mind yer ole skillet. I thought mebbe you’d meet her on the
road.

VANCE. (_At cupboard._) Jim is very careless. He has been chucking things
round again.

GROUSE. You’re a nice man to prefer a skillet to a young lady.

VANCE. (_Surprised._) Excuse me, Grouse, I thought we were good enough
friends to be informal. I’ll not look for the skillet any more.

GROUSE. I’m talkin’ about her. She was a bute.

VANCE. Since she did _not_ want to see me I hardly think I am interested
in her beauty.

GROUSE. It’s too funny that you didn’t meet anybody. They’re lookin’ fur
you all over the mountain to go to the Basin. Jim said ye must go right
off. The Leadville outfit is tryin’ to jump pap’s claim agin.

VANCE. I don’t believe that. It must be a false report.

GROUSE. But it aint! Git yer gun and take the trail. Ye kin git dinner at
Jack’s cabin.

VANCE. Why Mollie, Lonesome Mose was in the Basin yesterday and he says
the Leadville gang have all gone.

GROUSE. (_With petulance._) Lonesome Mose, indeed! As if pap didn’t know
better about his own claim. Would you put Mose Randall’s word up agin’
pap’s er a lady’s?

VANCE. Well, Mollie, I didn’t mean to contradict you. I’ll enquire as
soon as I get a bite to eat.

GROUSE. An’ yer goin’ to wait to eat?

VANCE. Yes, I’ll take a snack.

GROUSE. Some men ’ud eat if an earthquake was comin’.

VANCE. I can easily catch them before they get to Jack’s cabin.

GROUSE. An’ ye wont go now? Oh do, please, Mr. Vance.

VANCE. I don’t see the necessity of starving.

GROUSE. I do.

VANCE. Ever try it?

GROUSE. Please don’t wait, Mr. Vance.

VANCE. It won’t take fifteen minutes.

GROUSE. Well, they’s no use tryin’ to do anything with a man—or a mule.
I’ve got to do something. (_Starts hastily._)

VANCE. What’s the rush? Hold on, Miss Baker.

GROUSE. I wont! (_Exit R._)

VANCE. What on earth ails the Grouse. She always was a kitten and I’m
afraid she has a temper. Jim’ll have to hold a pretty steady rein.
(_Looking round for skillet._) I guess that skillet has taken wings.
There’s Jim’s dirty towel under the bed and my clean one on the chair
back. There has been some one here I guess. I wonder if any sneak thief
has paid us a visit? (_Looks at JIM’S pillow._) His revolver is gone.
(_Looks at his own cot._) Mine is all right. (_Puts his pistol on table._)

_HERBERT knocks at door._

VANCE. Hello stranger! Come in!

HERB. Is this Mr. Vance’s place?

VANCE. My name is Vance.

HERB. (_Advances. With meaning._) I’ve been looking for you.

VANCE. (_Surprised._) Indeed! You have found me, it seems. Your business,
if I may enquire?

HERB. I guess you know my business. A lady’s honor.

VANCE. (_Starting._) A lady’s honor! (_Recognizes him._) And _you_ seek
me? So much the better.

HERB. I come from her to demand an explanation for your language and
conduct.

VANCE. (_Slowly as if with effort._) _You_ come to me, and from her? Why,
you infamous scoundrel—

HERB. Hold! Don’t waste words, Mr. Vance. What you say of me can be
settled some other time. On her behalf—

VANCE. And you insult me with the mention of that heartless, base woman.

HERB. (_With deep, quiet indignation._) Stop or I’ll kill you on the
spot. (_Draws pistol._) Only blood can wipe out that insult.

VANCE. You are right. I have waited long for this meeting.

HERB. Are you armed?

VANCE. (_Taking up pistol._) As good a 38 as ever came to the camp. We’ll
go up into the pine woods.

HERB. Why not here in front of your cabin.

VANCE. We may be interrupted.

HERB. Exactly! I am already suspected and warned to leave camp instantly.

VANCE. Then we must use dispatch. (_Looks out._) There are people coming
now, down yonder. Here will do as well.

HERB. As you please, I am ready.

VANCE. (_Closes door, fastens it with latch._) Take your place at the
door. (_V. goes to opposite wall._) I’ll stand here. I’ll count _one_,
_two_, _three_.

HERB. Is that fair?

VANCE. Then you count.

HERB. I want no advantage. Toss for count.

VANCE. All right! (_Produces coin._) Head or tail?

HERB. Head!

VANCE. (_Tossing coin on table._) Head! (_tosses_) tail! (_tosses_) head!
You win. (_They take position._) I’ll pull exactly at three. (_At word
three, a scream is heard outside. VANCE fires but HERBERT is disconcerted
and, staggering, fires wild shot. PAY S. bursts door open. FLO. and
GROUSE in door._)

PAY S. Stop that, instantly!

VANCE. It is done! (_HERB. grasping side staggers._)

PAY S. My God, he is dying. (_Seizes HERB.’S arm and leads him to bed,
R._)

FLO. (_Clings to him at other side._) Herbert! my poor brother! Speak!
Herbert! (_Throws herself on cot, seizing his hands._)

VANCE. (_Who has stood like a statue, drops pistol mechanically, like a
man stricken._) Her brother! Oh God, too late!

TABLEAU.

_HERB. on cot; FLO. bending over him; VANCE L. with right hand on table,
head drooping; ROGERS back of table regarding him; GROUSE R. C. regarding
VANCE._

CURTAIN.


ACT III.

    SCENE—_Reception room of tourist hotel, Florida; folding doors
    in flat C.; piano by wall, R.; settee by wall, L., table C.
    littered with old periodicals, and some oranges in basket;
    R. R., and steamship advts. on the walls; chairs ad lib; big
    ox horns, stuffed bird, alligator, or other familiar hotel
    trapping. If not convenient to have door in flat, entrance may
    be at either side, by re-arrangement of furniture. Doors always
    open. FLORENCE and RACHEL discovered as curtain rises._

FLO. Rachel, how do you like your first experience down South?

RACHEL. It is all so odd.

FLO. Are you enjoying it?

RACH. Oh, so much. I always wanted to travel. I never hoped to get such a
trip as this. The trees and everything are so different.

FLO. It is much stranger still in Mexico; if you could only have seen
that.

RACH. I’ll never forget your kindness in giving me this trip.

FLO. Thank papa, Rachel, I was selfish and didn’t want any maid. It looks
foolish for a girl like me to have a maid.

RACH. It’s no harm. Mr. Lawton wants you to get strong again.

FLO. (_Rather sadly._) Rachel, don’t you think I am strong?

RACH. Oh, yes! You look much better lately.

_ENTER MR. LAW., D. F._

LAW. I’ve been looking for you, daughter. What is your programme for
to-day? A drive or a sail?

FLO. I don’t care which, papa, I enjoy everything that pleases you.

LAW. But I want you to choose for yourself. I am such an old traveler I
have seen about everything.

FLO. What do you say, Rachel?

RACH. Laws! Miss Flossie, it ain’t for me to choose.

FLO. But what do you like? Are you afraid of the water?

RACH. I don’t know. Do they get sea sick?

LAW. Not on the river. Florence, they are catching chameleons now in the
garden.

FLO. Oh, I want to see them! (_Exit D. F._)

RACH. So do I! (_Going D. F._)

LAW. Rachel!

RACH. Sir!

LAW. Come here, I want to speak to you. I have made an important
discovery.

RACH. Land sakes! none of the trunks missing?

LAW. (_Laughs._) The trunks are all right. I’ve found somebody here that
Florence knows!

RACH. Who?

LAW. That Colorado partner of—of you know whom.

RACH. Dear me! how’d he get so far?

LAW. He is here on his wedding trip. In this hotel. Do you think Flossie
would like to meet them?

RACH. I don’t know. It might worry her and—

LAW. Recall the old times! Just what I thought. But then, she might be
glad to see them. They were very kind to her. Rough people, but good as
gold. He is putting on style. Best rooms in the house!

RACH. Hadn’t we better keep clear of them for a day or two and sort of
prepare her for it?

LAW. But how can you in a hotel like this? Everybody sees everybody else.
If we weren’t fatigued already, I’d go on to Lake Worth to-day.

RACH. Then the best way is to ask her right out, whether she cares to see
them.

LAW. I know her answer. She’ll think it a duty.

RACH. The sooner the better then, I think.

LAW. Very well, I’ll go and talk to her. (_Exit D. F._)

RACH. Well aint that odder’n Dick’s hatband! The idee of meeting people
from the four quarters of the globe. These tourists seem to keep on
forever running to and fro on the earth. How can they afford it? Money
goes like water! I never dreamed o’ such expense! (_Sees oranges on
table._) And an orange here aint nothin’ more than a potato was where I
was raised. I’m going to take one! (_Takes orange._)

_ENTER HERB., suddenly, D. F.; RACHEL, surprised, looks guilty and starts
out quickly, D. F._

HERB. (_Excitedly._) Rachel!

RACH. Mr. Herbert—what is it?

HERB. Where’s Flossie? (_Lowering voice._)

RACH. In the garden.

HERB. I must find her at once! It is very important.

RACH. Yes, I know.

HERB. You know! Have you seen _him_?

RACH. Him? Who?

HERB. Why Vance, of course!

RACH. (_Startled._) Mercy me! Mr. Herbert, is he here?

HERB. Yes, and may meet her any minute!

RACH. (_Excitedly._) That might give her a relapse. She’s awfully nervous
yet.

HERB. I know it. What can we do?

RACH. We must get her away at once!

HERB. I have a different idea.

RACH. What is that?

HERB. I’ll make him explain his conduct or—

RACH. Oh Herbie, please don’t think of that! Remember what happened
before! Those miners are dreadful men! He’ll kill you, sure!

HERB. He’ll not get a chance! I’ll get the drop and he can apologize or
do worse. I’ll find him at once.

RACH. Oh Herbert, don’t. (_Grasps his arm._)

HERB. Let me go. I’ll not endure such an insult to my sister. As long as
he took me for some one else he had an excuse, but now that he knows I am
her brother, his conduct is infamous. (_Going D. F._)

RACH. (_Trying to restrain him._) But your father—speak to him first.

HERB. Father would call him to account if they met.

RACH. But he would not hurt your father. They never quarreled.

HERB. He shall answer for his conduct.

RACH. Oh, think of her—she loves him yet.

HERB. I am thinking of her. The traitor! (_Goes hurriedly D. F. pushing
RACHEL aside._)

RACH. (_Excitedly._) What shall I do? Oh, where is Mr. Lawton? Another
such shock will kill her. I must find Mr. Lawton immediately. (_Exit
RACH. rapidly as_

_ENTER ROGERS and WIFE, L., runs against R., and drops orange._)

ROG. Beg pardon, madam! (_She never stops._) Cuss it, that gal’s crazy.

MRS. R. Jim, you must quit swearin’.

ROG. I’m tryin’ my level best. Cuss it isn’t swearin’ at all. Say,
Mollie, aint this great?

MRS. R. What’s great?

ROG. Why, this country an’ everything. Oranges right on the trees till
they’re yaller as gold, an’ strawberries in February. (_Picks orange from
floor._)

MRS. R. I haint seen any strawberries, Jim. They’re not on the table.

ROG. Well no, of course not. They go north to sell. Ye couldn’t expect to
see ’em on the table.

MRS. R. Why not? What’s the use of havin’ money if it won’t buy things as
soon as other people gets ’em an’ as good?

ROG. I reckon that’s right, but ye see these Floridy people figger both
ways. The hotel makes ye pay fur the berries jist the same as if ye got
’em an’ then sells ’em fur market. Savvy?

MRS. R. I’m sick an’ tired o’ bacon an’ canned stuff. Had ’em all my life
in the Rocky Mountains.

ROG. But Mollie, jist think o’ the other curus things, the palmettos an’
the alligators—

MRS. R. We can’t eat the alligators.

ROG. But we kin take one home in a cigyar box.

MRS. R. Indeed we wont. It makes me tired to see people trottin’ round
with a lot o’ hand bags and Florida canes.

ROG. Made in New York—

MRS. R. An’ alligators in boxes, smellin’ like fury. Women doin’ it, too!
An’ fussin over chameleons an’ carryin’ green cocoanuts home. As if sich
things were of any account out o’ their right place.

ROG. There’s another thing, Mollie, ’at makes me still tireder.

MRS. R. What’s that?

ROG. Eatin’ fish. We’ve had ’em three times a day ever sence we’ve been
in Floridy. I reckon we’ll haf to eat all the fish in Injun river, an’
there’s a slew of ’em. Wy, a man told me this mornin’ ’at sometimes they
was so thick in the river that ye couldn’t row a boat. Oars jist slipped
over solid fish as if the river was greased.

MRS. R. Jim, that man took you fur a tenderfoot.

ROG. Mebbe so. As I don’t know much about Floridy I couldn’t dispute him,
but I up an’ told him about that time the mountain lions were so plenty
in the Gunnison country ’at we had to kick ’em away from round the fire
afore we could git breakfast, an’ we couldn’t tell when it thundered fur
their infernal roarin’. I put that at him as a sort of a feeler.

MRS. R. Jim, I’m sick o’ the whole business.

ROG. (_With feeling._) Say now, Mollie, ye don’t mean it. On yer weddin’
trip an’ tired of it? (_Caressing her._) Mollie, ye don’t mean _me_ too,
do you?

MRS. R. (_Smiling._) No, Jim, I don’t mean you, but I’m tired bein’
stared at an’ pointed out.

ROG. Wy Mollie, d’ye s’pose they’re onto our racket?

MRS. R. Jim, your slang is dreadful. Can’t you drop a little of it. Of
course everybody can see that we are bride and groom.

ROG. How on earth can they tell?

MRS. R. Humph! An’ you that spoony—

ROG. Then it’s me that makes ye tired, an’ my ways. (_Sadly._) Mollie,
you don’t know what you have said. Ye’re ashamed o’ me.

MRS. R. No, I am not, Jim. I am not ashamed of anything, but I am
disgusted. People talk nice to our faces and laugh at us behind our backs.

ROG. Why, cuss ’em. I could buy the whole caboodle of ’em.

MRS. R. No, ye couldn’t, Jim. These people have money, and what’s more,
they are used to it, and get the worth of their money travelin’. We don’t.

ROG. Worth o’ their money! How does that old skate git the worth o’ his
money who goes trottin’ round with what he calls a _vally de shamber_ to
put his clothes on? Mollie, I never want nobody puttin’ my clothes on me.
Why, it aint decent. When I git as wuthless as that cuss, I want ’em to
take me out an’ lynch me.

MRS. R. But when that man orders anything, the waiters get it at once.

ROG. So they do fur us. I plunk down a dollar an’ they git a gait on.

MRS. R. An’ they laugh at ye afterwards.

ROG. (_Angry._) Laugh at me! How d’ye know?

MRS. R. I’ve overheard them.

ROG. Well, there’ll be a dead nigger if they do it agin.

MRS. R. Jim, you mustn’t talk that way. We can’t blame ’em. We don’t know
how to act, I guess.

ROG. No, Mollie, I reckon we aint in it.

MRS. R. Let’s go back home!

ROG. All right. Vance is tired of it, too.

MRS. R. Vance tired? Why, he knows how to act. He’s been with the best.

ROG. He’s sick of it. Goin’ to Europe or some’ers.

MRS. R. Poor Vance! I’m awful sorry. D’ye s’pose he’ll ever git over that
shootin’ of _her_ brother.

ROG. No! Say, Mollie (_confidentially_), I s’pose I oughtn’t to tell. He
asked me not to, but that’s why he’s goin’ so sudden. He’s so restless,
he can’t stay in one place.

MRS. R. I’m awful sorry fur Vance.

ROG. You bet. If I was him I’d get onto that lead agin or burn some
powder. I never seen whiter people than them Lawtons.

MRS. R. But how could they make up after that?

ROG. Old man is A1.

MRS. R. He doesn’t want to marry the old man!

ROG. No, but I’d have an assay anyway an’ see if there wasn’t a trace.
If the button wasn’t bigger’n a pin-head I’d foller the lead. As fur the
young lady, she’s all pay streak clean through, an’ a thousand dollars to
the ton, an’ purty as a peach. If I wasn’t taken a’ready, Mollie—

MRS. R. Now Jim, don’t be silly. You do say such things an’ people hear.

ROG. Let ’em hear! who cares?

MRS. R. I s’pose he’s never seen her sence.

ROG. Seein’ her would be awful hard to do after shootin’ her brother
before her eyes!

MRS. R. But it was all a terrible mistake, nobody was to blame.

ROG. D’ye think they could ever forgit that?

MRS. R. Mebbe not, but I b’lieve both of ’em would be better fur havin’ a
talk. Vance is too good an’ true to go dodgin’ anybody.

ROG. That’s what!

MRS. R. I wish they could meet. She loves him to death.

ROG. D’ye think so, Mollie?

MRS. R. I know it. Why she nearly went out of her head after the shootin’.

ROG. Why couldn’t I tell him that?

MRS. R. (_Emphatically._) Don’t think of such a thing.

ROG. Hist, Mollie! (_He hears VANCE coming._)

_ENTER VANCE, D. F._

VANCE. Good morning, Mrs. Rogers!

MRS. R. Good morning, Mr. Vance! I am so glad to see you. I am so weary
of seein’ nobody but strangers an’ niggers day after day.

VANCE. I’m very sorry then that I have come to announce my immediate
departure.

MRS. R. So ye’re goin’ to leave us?

VANCE. (_Sadly._) Yes, I’m sorry, but I—I have changed my plans.

MRS. R. Purty sudden, aint it?

VANCE. Rather! Well, you see, Mrs. Rogers, I’m a nervous, restless sort
of chap. Always was, you know.

ROG. Pard, come back to the mountains with us.

VANCE. (_Surprised._) What! Are you going, too?

ROG. Yes, Mollie’s gittin’ tired of society.

VANCE. I don’t blame her. Such a hurly-burly, come-and-go sort of life as
this is intolerable.

MRS. R. I can’t bear it.

ROG. The Grouse is all tore up about it. Says people make fun of us. I
said let me ketch ’em at it.

MRS. R. (_Warningly._) Jim!

ROG. What do I care fur ’em? I pay as I go.

VANCE. Yes, of course.

MRS. R. Pay as you go! Just as if money did everything. They have money
an’ edication, we have nothin’ but money.

ROG. (_Vexed._) Don’t say that, Mrs. Rogers. Taint so. We have somethin’
else. We’ve horse sense. That’s more’n that old galoot with the _vally de
shamber_ kin say. An’ look at that arm. Aint that something? I’ve driv a
drill three foot into solid granite in the Lucy, an’ I kin do it agin.
An’ that old gilly an’ his _vally de shamber_ couldn’t both do that in a
week, to save their necks.

MRS. R. They don’t have to drill holes in rocks.

ROG. Well, I’ll drill a hole in the next feller ’at laughs at you,
Mollie. An’ I’ll make it big enough fur him to put in a skylight. Cuss
’em, what do I care for Floridy, an’ dudes from down East, an’ gals
dressed to kill. None of ’em as purty as you!

MRS. R. Jim Rogers!

ROG. An’ if some o’ them dudes aint a holy show, I’ll eat a live
alligater.

VANCE. I think you are oversensitive, Mrs. Rogers. You’ll get used to
this after a while and like it better.

MRS. R. Harvey Vance, why don’t you like it then? It’s your own kind.

VANCE. (_Uneasy._) Well—in fact I never was much for show and style,
and—in fact it occurred to me to see Europe while I have a chance.
(_Going._)

ROG. Goin’ to pack up?

VANCE. Yes. I want to catch the next Savannah boat. (_Exit._)

ROG. Say Mollie, le’s us pack our traps an’ the whole outfit’ll go to
Europe.

MRS. R. Good land! Jim Rogers, are you crazy? (_Servant raps at door._)

ROG. Come in.

_ENTER servant with card on tray._

ROG. (_Takes card._) Somebody callin’ on us, Mollie. Waltz ’em in.
(_Servant grins._) Say, looky hyur, are you grinnin’ at me, you cussed
Ethiopian monkey?[1] I’ll break yer neck! (_Grabs at waiter who drops
tray and flies out as ROG. throws tray after him. MRS. R. fit of
laughter._) Cyards everywhere! Instead o’ comin’ right in. I can’t stand
this foolery nether.

    [1] If waiter is white, substitute: “You cussed dried-herrin’,
    Floridy cracker.”

_ENTER MR. LAW and FLO._

LAW. Mr. Rogers, I believe.

ROG. That’s me! Why, how are you, Mr. Lawton. Awful glad to see you.
(_Introducing._) My wife! Used to be the Grouse, you know.

LAW. Mrs. Rogers, I’m delighted. You remember my daughter.

MRS. R. Yes, indeed!

FLO. Oh, very well. (_They kiss._) My dear friends, married! Many
congratulations.

ROG. Yes, Mollie an’ me thought we’d hitch.

MRS. R. James!

ROG. Get married I mean, an’ now we’re on our weddin’ tower.

LAW. Let me also extend my heartiest congratulations. (_To MRS. R._)
Of course you are enjoying your trip. We should never ask a bride that
question.

MRS. R. Why yes—that is—

ROG. She’s kickin’ a little. Haint got used to tippin’ everybody every
time she turns round. I ain’t carin’ fur expense.

MRS. R. James, that’s not interestin’ to other folks. (_JIM looks at her
then at MR. L._)

FLO. I’m _so_ glad to see you, Mrs. Rogers, you look so well—

ROG. Lookin’ well! I should say. Mollie, I call that neat. (_Women
aside._)

LAW. (_Laughing._) Rogers, (_in half aside_) you’re in great luck.

ROG. You bet! I’m right on the pay streak. Han’some bird and stuff to buy
the feathers.

LAW. We owe you and your wife a great deal.

ROG. Not a red! Wy, cuss it, I owe you somethin’ I can’t never pay. To
think I let them fight—it makes me sick to think of it. Am I doin’ right
to mention it?

LAW. What’s done is done.

_ENTER RACHEL, D. F., running, out of breath._

RACH. (_Excitedly._) Oh Mr. Lawton!

LAW. What is the matter, Rachel?

FLO. Rachel, speak!

RACH. I’m so out of breath (_gasps_), he’s lookin’ for him.

ROG. (_Excitedly._) Who’s lookin’ for who?

FLO. Rachel, you make me nervous.

LAW. Speak Rachel! What ails you?

RACH. I’ve run everywhere lookin’ for you. Mr. Herbert is lookin’ for
Vance.

ROG. Herbert! Wy, he’s dead!

  LAW. }
       } Dead!
  FLO. }

ROG. Yes, the jewel (_duel_) they fit in the mountains. Is that gal crazy?

LAW. My son is not dead, he got well.

ROG. Not dead! Got well! The cussed paper said he was dead.

LAW. A reporter’s mistake.

ROG. We’ll, I’ll be—that beats _me_.

FLO. (_Soliloquy._) That is why _he_ never came. (_With anguish._) Oh!
oh! (_MRS. R. helps her to settee._)

LAW. Rachel, where are they?

RACH. I don’t know, sir. But Mr. Herbert has a pistol. Oh, they’ll shoot.

FLO. That is terrible! Do stop them please! Quick!

ROG. Lookin’ fur ’im with a gun. Cuss _me_ if that don’t mind me of
old times. I’ll take a hand I ’low. (_Changes._) Say, I haint no gun.
(_Excitedly._) Mollie, I told you we’d need a gun.

LAW. Run, you are young. Explain. Command peace.

ROG. Now, how _kin_ a man command peace with no gun. Why, he wouldn’t
have no more say than a baby.

MRS. R. Jim, do go. Speak to them.

ROG. Bet yer life I’ll try! (_Runs out D. F._)

LAW. (_Anxiously._) Daughter, have courage. It’ll be all right. What a
mistake.

FLO. But I can’t see him. Take me to my room, papa.

LAW. Yes dear. (_They start, she leaning on his arm._)

_ENTER ROG., hurriedly, D. F._

ROG. It’s _all_ right. No shootin’. Here they are.

_ENTER VANCE and HERB., D. F._

HERB. Yes, it is all right. Father, welcome Mr. Vance, _my friend_. (_L.
and V. shake hands cordially._)

ROG. Mollie, I’m so awful glad, I want to raise ole Nick!

MRS. R. Jim, be still.

ROG. Well, it’s all right, pard. (_Seizes V.’S hand._)

VANCE. No, it is _not_ all right yet. It is for the one most wronged to
say that. (_To FLO._) Miss Lawton—

FLO. Harvey!

VANCE. Can you forgive me? (_Looks at her. Pause._) Yes?

FLO. Yes. (_She extends her hand greatly overcome. They meet aside L.,
others gather R._)

ROG. (_To MOLLIE._) I told you. Say, Mr. Lawton, this is a great country
after all. It’s good enough for me.

HERB. There’s luck in it, too.

LAW. It is not bad I think.

ROG. (_Turns toward V. and F._) Pard, goin’ to Europe now?

MRS. R. (_Pulls at his arm._) Let ’em alone!

VANCE. Why yes; with Mr. Lawton’s permission.

LAW. Vance, I leave all those things to the parties interested.

VANCE. What do you say, Flossie?

FLO. Harvey—we—we’ll think it over.

ROG. That’s jist the way the Grouse talked when I asked her. It’s a go!
Mollie, git to packin’ the trunks. We’ll be in the party. (_Dress stage.
Looks at watch, suddenly changes, looks at watch._) Holy Moses! Mollie,
we’re to go a fishin’ to-day an’ the boat’s been waiting two hours at two
dollars an hour.

TABLEAU.

       _R._                                 _L._

    HERB., LAWTON, MRS. R., ROG., VANCE, FLO., RACH.

SLOW CURTAIN.




                               THE COBBLER

                     A MONOLOGUE OF HUMOR AND PATHOS

                             BY T. S. DENISON

                               _Author of_
  Odds with the Enemy, Initiating a Granger, Wanted, a Correspondent, A
    Family Strike, Seth Greenback, Louva, the Pauper, Hans Von Smash,
 Borrowing Trouble, Two Ghosts in White, The Pull-Back, Country Justice,
        The Assessor, The Sparkling Cup, Our Country, Irish Linen
     Peddler, The School Ma’am, Kansas Immigrants, An Only Daughter,
         Too Much of a Good Thing, Under the Laurels, Hard Cider,
         The Danger Signal, Wide Enough for Two, Pets of Society,
         Is the Editor In? The New Woman, Patsy O’Wang, Rejected,
             Only Cold Tea, Madam P’s Beauty Parlors, Topp’s
         Twins, A First-Class Hotel, It’s all in the Pay-Streak,
           The Cobbler, A Dude in a Cyclone, Friday Dialogues.

                            _Also the Novels,
                   The Man Behind, An Iron Crown, etc._

                                 CHICAGO:
                        T. S. DENISON, PUBLISHER,
                           163 RANDOLPH STREET.




THE COBBLER.

COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY T. S. DENISON.


CHARACTER.

    THE COBBLER, who while examining old shoes in his shop,
      discourses about their various owners.


COSTUME.

The Cobbler should make up as old man, poorly dressed, gray wig,
spectacles.


THE COBBLER.

    SCENE—_A cobbler’s shop. Shoemaker’s bench and kit, shelves,
    empty dry goods box, two paper shoe boxes, roll of leather
    leaning in corner, lasts hanging on wall, old shoes scattered
    about and scraps of leather on floor, old chair with one leg
    broken. Bench well down C. so cobbler can move round freely in
    shop. Cobbler with apron and make-up to suit._

COBBLER. (_As curtain rises is hammering a piece of sole leather on his
lap stone._) That sole’s got to be jist right, jist so thick an’ no
thicker. It’s fur Lawyer Boyd and I ’low no more particklerer man lives
this side o’ Jordan. Always kickin’ about something. Said the last pair
o’ shoes I made him didn’t fit anywhere except on his corns. Was ashamed
of ’em every time he plead a case. Felt humiliated every time he saw ’em.
(_Plies hammer vigorously._) Plague take it! I wouldn’t hurt a lawyer’s
feelin’s fur the world, specially _his_ feelin’s. That man is downright
insultin’ in his ways. Jist because I promised him a pair o’ new shoes
last Thanksgivin’ an’ didn’t git ’em ready till Christmas he stormed
round like a house afire. Said I was worse ’n the tailor an’ _he_ don’t
never get anything ready on time. Some people thinks theirs is the only
job in town. As if a shoemaker wasn’t human an’ consekently _had_ to
fail in his promises _sometimes_. That old pettifogger actooally said if
I was responsible he’d cane me. I’d like to see ’im try it. It’s thirty
year sence anybody tried _that_ game on me. But he’s good pay an’ bin my
customer fur thirty odd year. An’ customers aint none too plenty these
days o’ factry shoes. It’s mostly patchin’ an’ people puttin’ on airs
as if they was conferrin’ favors lettin’ you patch their old shoes.
Old Boyd has a tongue, though, if he _is_ a gentleman. Said I want no
better’n a tramp printer, an’ a dozen o’ them want worth the price of a
glass o’ beer. Durn him! Cobblin’ is a better business ’n the law any
day. In my day I had the best trade in Illinois. I’ve made shoes fur
judges, an’ generals, yes, an’ fur a president, _too_. Made one pair
fur Abe Lincoln when he was up here in ’59 pleadin’ a case. He come in
an’, sez he, “I want a pair o’ kip shoes, make ’em easy!” That was all
the directions. When he come fur ’em they went on like grease, an’, sez
he, “That’s the way _I_ like ’em.” He didn’t pinch ’em an’ stomp round
the shop an’ smell the leather an’ ask if it was split. He wasn’t that
sort. He went away an’ left his old ones an’ like a fool I throwed ’em
away. I’d give a thousand dollars fur ’em this minnit. No, I wouldn’t. I
couldn’t afford to give one dollar fur ’em, but I ’low there are folks
’at would.

_Knocking at door. Goes to door and carries on conversation with one
outside. COBBLER only is heard._

Heh? Minister wants his shoes? They aint done yet. Promised yisterday.
So they was, but my old woman wasn’t well yisterday afternoon and I
had to stay at home with her. When’ll he git ’em? To-morrow. Sure?
(_Testily._) I said to-morrow. (_Comes back down grumbling._) Some people
thinks ye kin do everything at onct. The minister kin write sermons in
his slippers, cordin’ to my tell. Where are his shoes? (_Rummages._)
Plague take it. I’m gittin’ forgitfuller every day. People thinks a
shoemaker ought to carry everything in his mind. Next thing they’ll be
wantin’ me to sleep with their old shoes. (_Finds shoes._) Humph! Easy
to tell they was preacher’s shoes. He’s mighty keerful of ’em. Has to be
on his salary, an’ people not a payin’ up prompt. They’ve been blacked
an’ blacked till they aint much left but blackin’ an’ cracks. Not wuth
mendin’ nohow, but I s’pose I’ll have to doctor ’em up somehow. They
ought to be _foxed_ but that’ud cost mor ’n they’re worth.

_Throws shoes in pail of water with splash. Takes up another pair._

These are old Mrs. Green’s. Now jist see the patches! An’ she wants ’em
gone over agin. Jacob’s coat aint a circumstance to _her_ shoes. That
woman is tighter ’n a swelled bung. Last time I patched them shoes it
took half a day an’ I charged her fifty cents coz I knowed I couldn’t
git seventy-five. She said it was an outrage and cut up like a drunken
fiddler till I was ashamed of her. Said thirty-five cents was a big price
an’ she wouldn’t pay a red cent more. The old skinflint! (_Angrily._)
I jist wont fool with them shoes any more. (_Throws them aside._) I
don’t care if she does own half the town. I wouldn’t be in her shoes
for half the earth. I uster want to be rich, but sence I see how riches
has affected old Mrs. Green I’m better satisfied to be poor. (_Noise
outside._) What’s all that racket?

_COBBLER goes to door and looks out._

That’s the movin’ wagons. The landlord’s been sayin’ these fifteen year
he’d pull down this old place and build. I got sorter used to his talk
and paid no attention to the notice. (_Feels in his pockets._) Where is
that notice? I’m gittin’ more ’n more forgitful every day. (_Sits on
bench._) Thirty odd year in one place an’ then move! I hoped it wouldn’t
come in my time. (_Chin on hands._) I made old Judge Henry’s shoes here
an’ I made Gen. Bridge’s boots here, the very pair he was killed in at
Chickamaugy an’ I made Lincoln’s shoes here. They’re all dead long ago
an’ I’m here yet. Thirty year in one place. It’s jist like movin’ an’ old
tree. It’ll most likely dwindle an’ it takes more coddlin’ than a dozen
young ones an’ then if it lives it’ll never do no great things. But there
aint no use cryin’ over spilt milk. I’ll have to pack up.

_Rises, gets big dry goods box from corner and commences to sort the old
shoes._

I ’low half this old truck might as well be burned, but what a fuss
there’d be if some of these trumpery old things were lost. Old Mrs. Green
would—well, I’ll jist wrap _hers_ up safe and sound. If they got injured
I’d have to make her a new pair, nothin’ short of it, an’ then likely
she’d want damages for the trouble I caused her. (_Finishes wrapping
MRS. GREEN’S shoes and lays them up carefully on shelf. Picks up another
pair._) Great Christopher! Here’s a pair of old Mrs. Jink’s shoes and
I promised ’em to-day never thinkin’ of the movin’. There’ll be music
if she don’t git ’em. She’s the only person in town I don’t dare to
disappoint. Tried it once an’ it lasted me twenty year. Tongue! That
woman could talk down a parrot house any day. She’s a buzz saw worked by
’lectricity. The old hyena! Why, that time she wanted to go away visitin’
her sister’s an’ her shoes wasn’t quite done—such a tongue lashin’ as I
got. I don’t care much for people’s chinnin’ genally. Some I laugh at,
an’ some I humor, but I stood like a stacher before her and dasn’t open
my mouth. There must be sich things as special providences, fur old man
Jinks is deaf as a post.

_Throws some shoes into box. Takes up large pair and pauses. Looks
intently at them._

Why, if them aint Col. Sawyer’s shoes. Might a known ’em by the size,
biggest foot in the state I reckon. He never got any repairin’ done
’cause I had no other shoes in the shop big enough for his feet to change
into. Canal boats we uster call ’em. Why, the colonel’s been gone west
these ten year. An’ I’m mighty sorry the town lost him. Soul as big as
his feet—his immortal soul I mean. (_Laughs._) He did the town some good.
Always startin’ some enterprise an’ keepin’ it a goin’, too. He didn’t
set round till he took root like some people in this town. He _was_ a
customer. Two pairs of new shoes an’ one pair of boots a year at ten
dollars a pair. An’ no patchin’, ’cause he always said life was too short
to wait fur patches. An’ he never kicked either if I was a month or so
late on promise. He was a gentleman an’ never tried to browbeat poor
folks.

_Throws shoes in box. Takes up another pair._

Farmer Snooks! (_Laughs heartily._) By ginger! that was funny. (_Laughs
till he holds his sides._) Made that pair for Snooks an’ agreed to take
it in trade. Fust thing I knowed, one night when I went home, I found a
wagon load o’ turnips in the cellar. Mariar was hot but she’s one o’ them
kind ’at never says much. Says she, “Cy, what on airth did you buy so
many turnips fur?” Sez I, “I vum if I know. I told Snooks I’d take trade,
but I guess I clean forgot to say what kind o’ trade.” Mariar she never
said no more but jist cooked turnips every day fur about two months. Of
course I dasn’t say nothin’, till one day she got dreadful pained an’
sick, an’ the doctor had to come on the run. He said she was threatened
with dropisy, an’ I jist fed the rest o’ them turnips to the pigs. They
kin work their spoiled truck off on the minister an’ the editor, for they
can’t help theirselves, but they don’t work it off on me no more.

_Takes up another pair._

By jingo, there’s an old shoe of Jake Hart’s. Know it by the way he
always run ’em down. I ’low they’re not any worse run down than Jake
was. Poor feller, didn’t he go to the dogs after his mother left him
a fortune? Want a nicer woman in town than Mrs. Hart. But she died at
the right time. Poor Jake! Best hearted feller ye ever see. I made the
first pair of boots he ever had when he wasn’t higher than that. (_Holds
hand to show height._) His mother fetched him in. He spied a piece of
red morocco; he would have that fur tops in spite of her. Jake painted
everything red. Races, whiskey, bad company, an’ then shootin’ that man.
Guess the man needed shootin’, but Jake had to vamoose. I wonder where he
is now? Nobody’ll ever know I reckon. It’s always that way in this world,
we aint missed long.

_Opens an old shoe box._

What’s this? (_Brushes off dust, reads, “Nellie Blake.”_) Well I vum! I
didn’t know that any of Nellie Blake’s shoes was here yit. (_Muses._)
What’ll I do with _them_? I can’t throw _them_ away. She was the best
girl that ever lived in this town. There aint many angels anywhere on
earth, I ’low, but Nellie was one if there be any. I wonder if she would
have changed if she’d have lived? No I guess she’d be the same to-day.
Her an’ Jake Hart was good friends. Jined yards an’ played together.
Jake went among the best then. People said he liked Nellie, fur after
she died he seemed all broke up like, an’ went away with his mother to
travel. I wonder if I ought to send them shoes to her mother? I don’t
know, mebbe it would please her, seein’ Nellie was an only child. No,
I guess it might do more harm than good. (_With feeling._) I know what
that is. I have a little pair of shoes out at the toes that I dasn’t
show Mariar, though I know she has things of our little Jack hid away.
(_Gets out little shoes. Looks at them fondly, wipes his glasses with
handkerchief._) These durn specs is gittin’ so I can’t see nothin’. Our
little Jack! I kin see him now, runnin’ down the street to call me to
dinner. He was the youngest and we took to him more than to tothers.
I’ll lay away Nellie’s shoes and keep them along with Jack’s. They was
friends, too. (_Wipes glasses._) My specs seems awful dusty. (_Looks
fondly at shoes as he puts them away._) Jack is waitin’ fur Mariar an’
me. It wont be very long now till we’ll see him.

CURTAIN.




DENISON’S ACTING PLAYS.

Price 15 Cents Each, Postpaid, Unless Different Price is Given.


                                                                 M.  F.

    COMEDIES, MELODRAMAS, Etc.

    All that Glitters is not Gold, 2 acts, 2 hrs.                6   3
    Aunt Dinah’s Pledge, temperance, 2 acts, 1 hr.               6   3
    Beggar Venus, 3 acts, 2 hrs. 30 min.                 (25c)   6   4
    Blow for Blow, 4 acts, 2 hrs.                                5   4
    Bonnybell, operetta, 1 h.                            (25c)   2   5
    Caste, 3 acts, 2 hrs. 30 min.                                5   3
    Chimney Corner, 2 acts, 1 hr. 30 min.                        5   2
    Danger Signal, 2 acts, 2 hrs.                                7   4
    Diplomates, 4 acts, 3 hrs.                           (25c)   5   5
    Down in Dixie, 4 acts, 2 hrs. 30 min.                (25c)   8   4
    Early Vows, 2 acts, 1 hr.                            (25c)   4   2
    East Lynne, 5 acts, 2 hrs.                                   8   7
    Elma, The Fairy Child, 1 hr. 45 min., operetta.      (25c)   9  15
    Enchanted Wood (The), 1 hr. 45 min., operetta.       (35c)   5   6
    Eulalia, 1 h. 30 min.                                (25c)   3   6
    From Sumter to Appomattox, 4 acts, 2 hrs. 30 min.    (25c)   6   2
    Fruits of the Wine Cup, temperance, 3 acts, 1 hr.            6   4
    Handy Andy, Irish, 2 acts, 1 hr. 30 min.                     8   3
    Home, 3 acts, 2 hrs.                                         4   3
    Jedediah Judkins, J.P., 4 acts, 2 hr. 30 min.        (25c)   7   5
    Lady of Lyons, 5 acts, 2 hrs. 30 min.                        8   4
    London Assurance, 5 acts, 2 hrs. 30 min.                     9   3
    Lost in London, 3 acts, 1 hr. 45 min.                        6   3
    Louva the Pauper, 5 acts, 1 hr. 45 min.                      9   4
    Michael Erle, 2 acts, 1 hr. 30 m.                            8   3
    Mitsu-Yu-Nissi, Japanese Wedding, 1 hr. 15 min.              6   6
    Money, 5 acts, 3 hrs.                                        9   3
    My Wife’s Relations, 1 hr.                                   4   6
    Not such a Fool as he Looks, 3 acts, 2 hrs.                  5   3
    Odds with the Enemy, 5 acts, 2 hrs.                          7   4
    Only Daughter (An), 3 acts, 1 hr. 15 min.                    5   2
    On the Brink, temperance, 2 acts, 2 hrs.                    12   3
    Our Country, 3 acts. 1 hr.                                  10   3
    Ours, 3 acts, 2 hrs. 30 min.                                 6   3
    Out in the Streets, temperance, 1 hr. 15 min.                6   4
    Pet of Parsons’ Ranch, 5 acts, 2 hrs.                        9   3
    Pocahontas, musical burlesque, 2 acts, 1 hr.                10   2
    Rivals, 5 acts, 2 hrs. 45 min.                               8   4
    School Ma’am (The), 4 acts, 1 hr. 45 min.                    6   5
    Sea Drift, 4 acts, 2 hrs.                                    6   2
    Seth Greenback, 4 acts, 1 hr. 15 min.                        7   3
    Shadow Castle, 4 acts, 2 hrs. 30 min.                (25c)   5   4
    Soldier of Fortune, 5 acts, 2 hrs. 20 min.                   8   3
    Solon Shingle 1 hr. 30 min.                                  7   2
    Sparkling Cup, temperance, 5 acts, 2 hrs.                   12   4
    Ten Nights in a Barroom, temperance, 5 acts, 2 hrs.          7   4
    Ticket of Leave Man, 4 acts, 2 hrs. 45 min.                  8   3
    Tony, the Convict, 5 acts, 2 hrs. 30 min.            (25c)   7   4
    Toodles, 2 acts, 1 hr. 15 min.                               6   2
    Uncle Josh, 4 acts, 2¼ h.                            (25c)   8   3
    Under the Laurels, 5 acts, 1 hr. 45 min.                     5   4
    Under the Spell, 4 acts, 2 hrs. 30 min.              (25c)   7   3
    Wedding Trip (The), 2 acts, 1 hr.                            3   2
    Won at Last, 3 acts, 1 hr. 45 min.                           7   3
    Yankee Detective, 3 acts, 2 hrs.                             8   3

    FARCES AND SKETCHES.

    Assessor, sketch, 10 min.                                    3   2
    Babes in Wood, burlesque, 25 min.                            4   3
    Bad Job, 30 min.                                             3   2
    Bardell vs. Pickwick, 25 min.                                6   2
    Beautiful Forever, 30 min.                                   2   2
    Blind Margaret, musical, 30 m.                               3   3
    Borrowing Trouble, 25 min.                                   3   5
    Breezy Call, 25 min.                                         2   1
    Bumble’s Courtship, sketch, 18 min.                          1   1
    Cabman No. 93, 40 min.                                       2   2
    Christmas Ship, musical, 20 m.                               4   3
    Circumlocution Office, 20 min.                               6   0
    Country Justice, 15 min.                                     8   0
    Cow that Kicked Chicago, 20 min.                             3   2
    Cut off with a Shilling, 25 min.                             2   1
    Deception, 30 min.                                           3   2
    Desperate Situation, 25 min.                                 2   3
    Dutchman in Ireland, 20 min.                                 3   0
    Fair Encounter, sketch, 20 m.                                0   2
    Family Strike, 20 min.                                       3   3
    Free-Knowledge-ist, 2 acts, 25 min.                          3   3
    Friendly Move, sketch, 20 m.                                 4   0
    Hans Von Smash, 30 min.                                      4   3
    Hard Cider, temperance, 15 m.                                4   2
    Homœopathy, Irish, 30 min.                                   5   3
    Ici on Parle Français, 40 m.                                 4   3
    I’ll Stay Awhile, 20 min.                                    4   0
    I’m not Mesilf at All, Irish, 25 min.                        3   2
    Initiating a Granger, 25 min.                                8   0
    In the Dark, 25 min.                                         4   2
    In the Wrong House, 20 min.                                  4   2
    Irish Linen Peddler, 40 min.                                 3   3
    Is the Editor in? 20 min.                                    4   2
    John Smith, 30 min.                                          5   3
    Just My Luck, 20 min.                                        4   3
    Kansas Immigrants, 20 min.                                   5   1
    Kiss in the Dark, 30 min.                                    2   3
    Larkins’ Love Letters, 50 min.                               3   2
    Limerick Boy, 30 min.                                        5   2
    Love and Rain, sketch, 20 m.                                 1   1
    Lucky Sixpence, 30 min.                                      4   2
    Lucy’s Old Man, sketch, 15 m.                                2   3
    Mike Donovan, 15 min.                                        1   3
    Misses Beers, 25 min.                                        3   3
    Mistake in Identity, sketch, 15 min.                         0   2
    Model of a Wife, 25 min.                                     3   2
    Movement Cure, 15 min.                                       5   0
    Mrs. Gamp’s Tea, sketch, 15 m.                               0   2
    My Jeremiah, 20 min.                                         3   2
    My Lord in Livery, 45 min.                                   4   3
    My Neighbor’s Wife, 45 min.                                  3   3
    My Turn Next, 50 min.                                        4   3
    Narrow Escape, sketch, 15 m.                                 0   2
    Not at Home, 15 min.                                         2   0
    On Guard, 25 min.                                            4   2
    Persecuted Dutchman, 35 min.                                 6   3
    Pets of Society, 30 min.                                     0   7
    Played and Lost, sketch, 15 m.                               3   2
    Pull Back, 20 min.                                           0   6
    Quiet Family, 45 min.                                        4   4
    Realm of Time, musical allegory, 30 min.                     8  15
    Regular Fix, 50 min.                                         6   4
    Rough Diamond, 40 min.                                       4   3
    Row in Kitchen and Politician’s Breakfast, 2 monologues      1   1
    Silent Woman, 25 min.                                        2   1
    Slasher and Crasher, 1 h. 15 m.                              5   2
    Squeers’ School, sketch, 18 m.                               4   2
    Taming a Tiger, 20 min.                                      3   0
    That Rascal Pat, 35 min.                                     3   2
    Too Much of a Good Thing, 50 min.                            3   6
    Turn Him Out, 50 min.                                        3   3
    Twenty Minutes Under Umbrella, sketch, 20 min.               1   1
    Two Bonnycastles, 45 min.                                    3   3
    Two Gay Deceivers, 25 min.                                   3   0
    Two Gents in a Fix, 20 min.                                  2   0
    Two Ghosts in White, 25 min.                                 0   8
    Two Puddifoots, 40 min.                                      3   3
    Uncle Dick’s Mistake, 20 min.                                3   2
    Very Pleasant Evening, 30 m.                                 3   0
    Wanted a Correspondent, 1 hr.                                4   4
    Which Will He Marry? 30 m.                                   2   8
    White Caps (The), musical, 30 min.                           0   8
    Who Told The Lie? 30 min.                                    5   3
    Wide Enough for Two, 50 min.                                 5   2
    Women of Lowenburg, historical sketch, 5 scenes, 50 m.      10  10
    Woman Hater (The), 30 min.                                   2   1
    Wonderful Letter, 25 min.                                    4   1
    Wooing Under Difficulties, 35 min.                           4   3
    Yankee Peddler, 1 hr.                                        7   3

    ETHIOPIAN FARCES.

    Academy of Stars, 15 min.                                    5   1
    All Expenses: Or, Nobody’s Son, 10 min.                      2   0
    Baby Coach Parade, 20 min.                                   4   2
    Back from Californy; Or, Old Clothes, 12 min.                3   0
    Deaf, In a Horn, 12 min.                                     2   0
    Hamlet the Dainty, 15 min.                                   6   1
    Handy Andy, 12 min.                                          2   0
    Haunted House, 8 min.                                        2   0
    Joke on Squinim (The), 25 m.                                 4   2
    Jumbo Jum, 30 min.                                           4   3
    Mischievous Nigger (The), 20 min.                            4   2
    No Cure, No Pay, 10 min.                                     3   1
    Othello and Desdemona, 12 m.                                 2   0
    Prof. Black’s Funnygraph, 15 min.                            6   0
    Quarrelsome Servants, 8 min.                                 3   0
    Rooms to Let, 15 min.                                        2   1
    Sham Doctor (The), 15 min.                                   4   2
    Sports on a Lark, 8 min.                                     3   0
    Stage Struck Darky, 10 min.                                  2   1
    Stocks Up, Stocks Down, 8 m.                                 2   0
    Tricks, 10 min.                                              5   2
    Two Pompeys (The), 8 min.                                    4   0
    Uncle Jeff, 25 min.                                          5   2
    Unhappy Pair (An), 10 min.                                   3   0
    Villikens and His Dinah 20 m.                                4   1
    Wax Works at Play, 30 min.                                   3   1
    William Tell, 15 min.                                        4   0

[Illustration]

The publisher believes that he can say truthfully that Denison’s list
of plays is on the whole the best selected and most successful in the
market. _New Plays_ will be added from time to time.

_Manuscripts_, not only of plays but of any books similar to those in
Denison’s catalogue, will receive careful attention and if accepted will
be paid for at current prices.

[Illustration]

T. S. DENISON, Publisher, 163 Randolph St., Chicago.




CHOICE PLAYS AND AMUSEMENT BOOKS.


Plays by T. S. DENISON.

That the plays written by T. S. Denison are, all things considered, the
best for amateurs, is attested by their very large and increasing sale.

New plays in =this type=.

                                                ACTS.    TIME.      M. F.

    COMEDIES.

    Odds With the Enemy,                          5,    2 hrs.       7—4
    Seth Greenback,                               4,    1 h. 15 m.   7—3
    The School Ma’am,                             4,    1 h. 45 m.   6—5
    Only Daughter,                                3,    1 h. 15 m.   5—2
    Louva, the Pauper,                            5,    2 hrs.       9—4
    Under the Laurels,                            5,    2 hrs.       5—4
    Danger Signal,                                2,    1 h. 45 m.   7—4
    Our Country, Historical Play,                 3,    1 h.        10—5
    =Topp’s Twins=,                               4,    2 hrs.       6—4
    =It’s all in Pay Streak=,                     3,    1 h. 40 m.   4—3
    =The New Woman=,                              3,    1 h.         3—6

    FARCES.

    Initiating a Granger,                               25 m.        8—
    Wanted, a Correspondent,                      2,    45 m.        4—4
    A Family Strike,                                    20 m.        3—3
    Two Ghosts in White,                                20 m.         —8
    The Assessor,                                       10 m.        3—2
    Borrowing Trouble,                                  20 m.        3—5
    Country Justice,                                    20 m.        8—
    The Pull-Back,                                      20 m.         —6
    Hans von Smash,                               2,    30 m.        4—3
    Irish Linen Peddler,                          2,    40 m.        3—3
    Kansas Immigrants,                                  20 m.        5—1
    Too Much of Good Thing,                             45 m.        3—6
    Is the Editor In?                                   20 m.        4—2
    Pets of Society,                                    20 m.         —7
    Wide Enough for Two,                                45 m.        5—2
    =Patsy O’Wang=,                                     35 m.        4—3
    =Rejected=,                                         40 m.        5—3
    =A First-Class Hotel=,                              20 m.        4—
    =Mad. Princeton’s Temple of Beauty=,                20 m.         —6
    =Dude in Cyclone=,                                  20 m.        5—3
    =The Cobbler=,                                      10 m.        1—

    TEMPERANCE.

    The Sparkling Cup,                            5,    2 hrs.      12—4
    Hard Cider,                                         10 m.        4—2
    =Only Cold Tea=,                                    20 m.        3—3

☞ =Topp’s Twins= and =It’s all in the Pay Streak=, =25c.= each. All
others, =15c.= each. Postpaid.

_Large Catalogue Free._

    DIALOGUES.

    =Friday Afternoon Dialogues.=
      Twenty-five original pieces,                                   25c.
    =When the Lessons are Over.=
      New Dialogues, New Drills. New Plays,                          25c.
    =Dialogues from Dickens.=
      Thirteen Selections,                                           25c.
    =All Sorts of Dialogues.=
      Just out. Dialogues for youths, children, and little tots,
        also pieces for special occasions,                           25c.

    SPEAKERS.

    =Friday Afternoon Speaker.=
      For pupils of all ages,                                        25c.
    =Choice Pieces for Little People=,                               25c.
    =Patriotic Speaker.=
      Carefully selected from best authors,                          25c.
    =Dialect Readings.=
      Irish, Dutch, Negro, Scotch, etc.,                             25c.
    =Sunday School Pieces=,                                          25c.
    =Scrap-Book Recitations.=
      A choice collection of pieces, pathetic, humorous,
        descriptive, prose and poetry.          Eleven Nos., per No. 25c.

    TABLEAUX AND SHADOWS.

    =Shadow Pictures, Pantomimes=,
      Charades, and how to prepare them,                             25c.
    =School and Parlor Tableaux.=
      For school, church and parlor,                                 25c.
    =Wax Figgers of Mrs. Jarley.=
      With full directions for preparing,                            25c.

    OPERETTAS.

    Bonnybell,                                                       25c.
    Elma, the Fairy Child,                                           25c.
    Eulalia,                                                         25c.
    Enchanted Wood,                                                  35c
    Pocahontas,                                                      15c.

    SPECIALTIES.

    =Private Theatricals.=
      How to select plays, form, cast, rehearsals, rain,
        lightning, etc.,                                             25c.
    =Negro Minstrels.=
      Just the book needed. Tells the whole thing,                   25c.
    =Work and Play.=
      A gem of a book for children in school or church
        entertainments,                                              25c.
    =Pranks and Pastimes.=
      All sorts of games, puzzles, shadow scenes, etc., for
        evening parties,                                             25c.
    =Social Card Games.=
      An excellent manual of all common games, also _tricks_
        and _diversions_,                                            35c.
    =Debater’s Handbook= (cloth),                                    50c.
    =Good Manners=,                                                  25c.
    =Everybody’s Letter-Writer=,                                     25c.

T. S. DENISON, Publisher, 163 Randolph St., Chicago.




SCRAP-BOOK RECITATIONS,

By HENRY M. SOPER,

_President of Soper School of Oratory, Chicago_.

Twelve Numbers, 144 pp. Each, Post Paid, 25 Cents Per Number.


=No. 1.= Contains a great range of pieces for all ages, from 10 years
upward. Also the “FATHER OF HIS COUNTRY,” an admirable exercise, arranged
for schools: Music, Recitations, Dialogues, Tableaux, etc.

“Excells anything we have ever seen for the purpose.”—_Eclectic Teacher._

=No. 2.= Contains prize oration, “Battle of Gettysburg” (in no other
publication). Also “TEMPERANCE SUPPLEMENT,” comprising some of the finest
recitations extant.

“The selections are fresh, pure and elevating.”—_Missouri Teacher._

=No. 3.= Has “The Problem of Life,” from Theodore Tilton’s master oration
(published nowhere else), “The Battle of Cannæ,” a copyrighted Historical
Poem; “CHRISTMAS SUPPLEMENT,” of Recitations and Dialogues.

“There is such a variety of prose and poetry, pathos, fun and narrative
as is not often found in the compass of one small book.”—_Practical
Teacher._

=No. 4.= Has the finest Decoration Day Poem extant.—“The Heroes and the
Flowers;” A Heroic Medley; “Battle of Mission Ridge;” A Temperance Song
Recital; Choice Humor, etc.

“Good in variety and will suit all moods and conditions.”—_Inter Ocean,
Chicago._

=No. 5.= Contains the famous “Chariot Race” from “Ben Hur;” copyrighted
selection by Bill Nye; Grady’s “New South;” Wit, Humor, Pathos, etc., in
great variety.

“Some of the best specimens of the patriotic and humorous styles.”—_N. Y.
School Journal._

=No. 6.= Has the “Ballad of Mary Jane,” a Popular School Pantomime and
Recitation, 6 characters; A Humorous Medley; Riley’s “Elf Child;” Fine
Eulogies on Grant and Logan.

=No. 7.= Has “Cupid among the Strawberries,” One Act Comedy (2 males and
3 females), “Mission of the Press,” a prize oration; Ingalls’ Eulogy on
Burns; How Blinks Named the Baby, and much of latest humor, etc.

=No. 8.= SOPER’S PATRIOTIC SPEAKER.—Washington Centennial Speeches of
Depew, Albertson, Mason, McIntyre, Gunsaulus, Hirsch, Burrows, Thurston,
Blake; also Choicest Patriotic Orations and Poems, from Cicero down to
the present day; for all occasions.

=No. 9.= Has the famous Interstate College Contest Oration,
“Individualism in Society” by M. H. Lyon; “How It Really Was,” a humorous
dialogue (4 characters); “Irish Molly,” new heroic historical poem;
“Queen of the May,” introducing several characters; appropriate songs,
recitations, etc. Several other fine selections.

=No. 10.= Contains selections for Washington’s Birthday, Thanksgiving
and other holidays. This number is largely _humorous_, pieces by Robt.
Burdette, Mark Twain, T. S. Denison, _Detroit Free Press_; Also “Auntie’s
Courtship;” “The Bicycle Girl;” “The Facial Family;” “Presentation of the
Trumpet;” etc.

“The selections are admirable.”—_Eli Perkins_ (_Melville E. Landon_).

=No. 11.= Full of new and good things; will be fully up to its
predecessors. Contains Prize Contest Orations. SUPPLEMENT OF ORIGINAL
SELECTIONS by W. H. Head, including: “He Laughed at Fire,” monologue for
a man (very funny); “The Trials of a Columbian Guard;” humorous dialect
recitation, “Dot New Song,” etc. Ready April 1, 1895.

=SOPER’S DIALECT READINGS.= Full of Fun—French, German, Negro, Scotch,
Yankee, Chinese, Hoosier, Italian, Cockney and Yorkshire Dialects, 144
pages, 25 cts.

“Just the thing for those in search of recitations in dialects.”—_Popular
Educator._

                        T. S. DENISON, Publisher,
                      163 Randolph Street, CHICAGO.