IPS 3505 .0564 1116 1903 Copy 2 ■hH ;■>< ■'■■■■■<■■■ !' ; - ggftflgftraig •it* Bas , jbwBp^B V^ '» ** * '**• ; : *• 3888 ■ ■ ■ ■■ • iilisftSS BBBBBBHBL .-or ^ ^ V °^. *•»'* A. V. gv ^°* v?ljy: » ^ -life «^°* ••■/ .. V^V %Wy v.. ft. V ./ /flto\ ^ .*♦ •^VaV ^ <** •* ^ v**. ^» 7 vS> o / .«p v *„ '- %J ' :»- 'V ^' ••, 1 .»J^L% *> ^ "o.o' V ^' v • : ^ **"i °o Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2011 with funding from The Library of Congress http://www.archive.org/details/modernmonologuesOOcook Vols. Color MODERN MONOLOGUES MODERN MONOLOGUES BY MARJORIE BENTON COOKE < CHICAGO AND NEW YORK THE DRAMATIC PUBLISHING COMPANY CHARLES H. SERGEL, PRESIDENT 1903 THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, Two Copies Received JUL 3 1903 Copyright Entry CUSS & XXc. No 5H0 COPY »..' i Copyright, 1893, by Marjorie Benton Cooke THE DEVINNE PRESS. CONTENTS PAGE Cupid Plays Coach 3 A Modern Becky Sharp . . . 13 Her Day at Home . . . .21 The Road of the Loving Heart . 27 What the Janitor Heard . . • 33 In the Merry Month of May . . 41 Suburbanites 49 Their Last Ride Together . . 63 When Shades Assemble . . .69 Over the Coffee-Cups . . . 77 From Long Ago to Now . . .85 The First Lesson . . . . 10 1 A Summer Idyl . . . . .107 Below Stairs in On Woman's Rights . . . .119 A Highly Colored Sketch v 125 CONTENTS PAGE A Dark-Brown Diplomat . . .137 At Mme. Newberry's .... 143 How it Happened . . . . . 157 When Morning Breaks . . . 175 "Who *s Afraid?'* 187 The Optimist 197 VI PREFACE THE present-day interest in monologues, which has prompted the publication of this little book, seems to warrant a fore- word of comment. The monologue is a character study in lit- tle; the apotheosis of a chosen individuality. It may be simply a rough sketch, or it may be a finished miniature — it depends entirely upon the monologist. Three things seem to be essential to a suc- cessful monologist. First, the power of keen observation. The man who intends to characterize must be a student of character. He must find a new text and a new chapter in every street-car, and on every street corner. In the second place, he must be able to impersonate — to sink his own personality completely in that of the character he wishes to represent. He must, by walk, expression, intonation, and gesture, become that char- acter. In the third place, he must be able to vii PREFACE make an audience understand the unspoken half of the conversation, and he must have the ability to make the one character he de- lineates typical of a whole class. All the character studies in this book are intended to be spoken by one person, al- though the monologue form is not always retained. In some of the sketches the reader is required to do double duty and imperson- ate two speakers, which necessitates, of course, complete change of character. No definite rules can be insisted upon as to the best method of presenting mono- logues. All the little studies in this book have stood the test of trial before varied au- diences. The successful rendition of them must be left to the discretion of the reader. m. b. c. vm MODERN MONOLOGUES CUPID PLAYS COACH Scene — The porch of a golf club. The men and girls are having tea. There are a tea-table and a chair at one side of the porch. Time — Afternoon of the Annual Woman's Tournament. Enter Gwendolin Phillips, winner of the cup. Gwen speaks Hello, everybody! You all beat me in, did n't you ? [Takes off hat and jabs imaginary pins through it.] Well, I had to stop and talk to every one I met — that 's the bother with being a babbler ! [Looks from one to another in sur- prise.'] 3 MODERN MONOLOGUES What's this? What's all this? Oh— nonsense! I mean — oh, thank you — but talk about my luck — not my victory. It 's all luck in golf ! [Nods toward the girl at tea-table.] Yes, I will have some tea, thanks. Just put everything in it! [Motions to man.] No, no, now don't get up, I don't want to sit down — I 'd much rather sit back here and swing my feet, as no perfect lady would ever do! [Perches on porch rail.] Pass over my tea, will you, Dicky Tod ? [Takes tea-cup from him.] Much obliged. That looks nice — and tastes better. Funny thing about luck, is n't it? Some days, my little God-o'-Luck just seems to sit on the tip-top of every club I 've got. I simply can't miss the ball — not if I try. Just make my arms go, and he does the rest! [Sips tea.] Tell you something — secret — everybody! I 'd never think of going into a match, like to-day's for instance, without burning two fat sticks of Japanese incense before my God-o'-Luck! [Laughs and sips her tea.] Pagan, did you say, Dicky Tod? Of course, I 'm a pagan — we all are ! Non- 4 CUPID PLAYS COACH sense — why, we are! We all bow down before idols of some sort. Oh, there are lots of kinds, Dicky — wood, brass, and stone! As for you, my son, I think we all know the size, shape, and complexion of your idol. [Suggestive glance toward girl at the tea-table.'] So you need n't cast any pebbles at mine. Very good tea, Mabel. [Goes and deposits her cup on table.] No, not just now, thanks. You come out and let me spill the tea. Oh, come on — I '11 drink more than all the rest of you — so it will just save time. That 's right. [She sits at tea-table.] Won't you have a cup yourself, dear? How will you have it? Two sugars? And a lemon — 'scuse fingers. [Hands her cup.] Anybody else ready? Well, what did you go round in, Margaret? Did you really? Good for you! What did you do Wee Drap in? You don't say! [Confidentially.] I give you my word of honor, I never worried over anything in my life as I did over that hole ! I We tried for it all night long in my dreams for two mor- 5 MODERN MONOLOGUES tal weeks. Those awful dreams, you know — that could n't come true ! I always seem to be swinging my club, and swinging my club, and yet I never hit the ball. Then I open my eyes and see it speeding off toward the fifth, and I know I must have missed the fourth and have to come back, tripling my strokes. Whew ! Each night I Ve dreaded going to sleep, and facing the tragedy again ! [Quick change of tone to gaiety.] Have some more tea, some one — do! Thank you, Dicky, I thought I could de- pend on you. [Takes his cup and refills it as she talks.] Dicky, my boy, you 're a tank for tea. And when you 're old — oh, very — very old — as old as I am — you '11 turn into a little, crumpled, green old man, like a leaf of Oolong tea! [Recites tragically.] Here lies the grave of Dicky Tod, Who lies in peace, beneath the sod. Alas— he died to drink no more, Quite steeped in tea— instead of lore! [Laughing.] Not so bad — offhand! [Sudden change to serious manner.] 6 CUPID PLAYS COACH Dicky, see what I 've done for you ! Mabel is convulsed with emotion. Never mind, Mabel dear — don't take it so to heart — the worst has not yet come ! [In her ordinary tone.] Won't somebody have some more tea? It 's a drug on the market since I took charge. I '11 have to drink it myself. [Pours herself a cup — then in an over-car efully unconscious man- ner.] Here comes Mr. Lawrence. [Shakes hands with him.] How do you do? Will — will you have some of my wares? You hate tea? Oh, what a Philistine! [Deprecatory tone.] Now, that 's very gallant, I 'm sure — but I 'm loath to dispense unwelcome favors. Thank you, Mr. Lawrence. I 've just been telling them all about my luck. The idea of my doing Wee Drap in four! I had ex- pected to do it in fourteen with much effort ! I surprised myself — I even surprised my caddy — and that 's a triumph worth boast- ing of ! What 's the matter ? [Looks from one to another.] Going? Is it Exeunt omnes? You desert 7 MODERN MONOLOGUES too — Dicky? Going to burn incense before your idol? Hope she proves kind! Good night — see you to-morrow, Mabel. Good- by. [Nods farewell after them, then turns to Lawrence.] Well — Mr. Lawrence, we seem to be the only survivors. Survival of the fittest? [Laughs.] Modest soul! Will you look at that sunset — let 's go over to the other end of the porch, where we can see it better. [She moves to other side of porch and sits on railing.] Yes, it has been a happy day for me. One likes to excel in things, even if it 's only golf! Oh, but I don't, you know. I 'm not good at all in lots of games. I can play tennis — I play at racquets, but I 'm a perfect dub at croquet. Love? Ah — that 's a game I never play. It has n't any rules, you know — and I wont play a game without rules. [Interrupting him, smiling.] Now, that 's just the trouble — these games where you make your own rules — you never know who wins ! That 's very gal- lant, but I 'm not at all sure I would. \Y-e-l-l, you see, I play at so many games, 8 CUPID PLAYS COACH I really don't think I have time for any- more. [Surprised tone.] Oh, you want to teach me ! You 're a pro- fessional ? Only amateur — well — that 's en- couraging. Is it — is it a very hard game to understand? As easy as that? Well — I may be able to grasp it. I warn you, though — I 'm awfully stupid. [The bland expression of a (C seeker for knowledge 3 ' spreads over her face.] Now what? You choose — you play part- ners, do you ? Well — I — I 've chosen. You have to tell whom you ' ve chosen ? Oh, well — I '11 choose again. I choose — well — I choose you. Now what ? [Looks straight ahead, repeating his words.] " Make up my mind that you are the only man in the world! " [Laughs.] It 's rather an egotistical game from the standpoint of the teacher, is n't it ? [Seriously.] Of course, I could n't make up my mind on a subject like that — offhand. I — I might practise that. Go on. [She looks at him inquiringly.] 2 9 MODERN MONOLOGUES What f s the matter ? Can't you remember the next step ? I thought you said you knew this game? What do you do? [Looks straight ahead, quoting him again.] " Forget everything, and everybody — see only her face, with its laughing eyes, it 's wicked mouth, and the dimple in her chin ! " [Laughs mockingly.] Well, I 'm afraid your experience is n't going to help me at all. I can't go round seeing nothing but wicked mouths — how 'd I ever play golf? [Suddenly becomes very serious.] Oh, I beg your pardon — you have to be serious — do you ? That 's one of the rules, I suppose. I hope I '11 be able to grasp the rules by and by. [Looks at him slyly.] We don't seem to get along very fast, do we? What do I do now? [Breathless surprise.] Just love you ! Is — is that all ? I — I think that 's one of the things I 'd have to practise. [Suddenly.] And what are you doing all this time, may I ask? [Surprise, embarrassment, tender- ness flash across the girl's face.]. 10 CUPID PLAYS COACH Really ! as much as that ? [Dodges quickly.'] Oh! is that the way you score? [Stern and serious tone.] May I ask who taught you this game? Oh, Cupid — the great professional — no won- der you play so well! [Rises.] But see — the sun has quite gone, and we must go. I know I don't know very much about it yet — but I might take another lesson to-morrow. Come along, Partner! ii A MODERN BECKY SHARP Scene — My Lady's boudoir. Discovered — My Lady stretched on a couch. She speaks [Yawns and stretches.] I'm tired, and sleepy, and cross! Tired — and sleepy — and cross ! To-night — my night — the night I Ve worked for, and slaved for, and lied for — and now, I 'm tired, and sleepy, and cross ! That 's the way. You want a thing with all your might and main, you work for it — and get it — and then you wonder why you wanted it. Here I am to-night, on a pin- nacle of accomplishment, and the hateful little fiend in my head saying, " Why, in the name of all that 's silly, have you spent two whole years trying to get an invitation to one of Mrs. Jarvin's dinners? " You know why, little fiend — you know why. Mrs. 13 MODERN MONOLOGUES Jarvin is our social St. Peter; she jangles her keys in the ears of the great unworthy, and her nod — her nod admits you to the in- nermost shrine. I 've an insatiable curiosity about shrines, myself — and St. Peter has nodded. Well, I Ve worked for it. Like the Little Corporal, I 've climbed up over the dead bodies of all the friends God ever gave me, and God was n't very generous to me — not very ! [Quick vicious smile.'] I suppose that little Winston cat will be there. I have n't forgotten our last conver- sation about the Jarvin dinners — she had her first card, and came to gloat. " Of course, Mrs. Anstrom, you 're going to the Jarvin's dinner? " "I? Oh, no — I understand this is her annual duty dinner to the bourgeoisie — you We going, of course." "My dear," said the Winston cat, " you 'd sell your dirty little soul to go ! " And I would have — I would have. It 's the only time I ever knew her to blunder upon the truth. I must be careful with the women — not too grateful to the Jarvin herself. I must cultivate that little male annex of hers — and A MODERN BECKY SHARP make myself irresistible to her ugly daugh- ter. I '11 snub the Winston royally. I may allow Mrs. Lambert to ask me to call — we '11 see. I must be seen for at least five minutes with Mrs. George Alexander — and then — and then for the men, and diplomacy out of the window. A pair of eyes and a wit for the men — and hang your ancestors ! [Rises nervously.] I must be calm, cool, and collected. I must remember that I 'm not wedded to luck — Lord, no — I 'm wedded to Jack An- strom, — may something happen to stop his stupid old mouth! [Looks at her watch, and turns quickly to touch a bell.] Marie — why are n't you here to dress me, Marie? Why do you keep me waiting? Don't you know that I dine at the Jarvin's to-night? What? Toothache — what do you mean by having toothache to-night? Why don't you have your teeth pulled? Where 's my gown, Marie ? Toothache, or none, you should have had it here. Has n't come? It's fate — fate against me! Well, it is n't the first time I 've gone up against fate. Get a cab, and go for it, Marie. No 15 MODERN MONOLOGUES — have Annette call up Madam on the phone — tell her I give her fifteen minutes in which to get that gown here. Hurry up! This is absurd, I 'm getting all excited. Well — did you tell her ? Come along, then, and do my hair. Oh, what a face ! — why did n't you go to the dentist this afternoon? No time? You have all the time there is. Money? Why, what do you do with all the money I give you, Marie? Is it — is it really as long as that ? Well, I see I must get you a check from somewhere, Marie. You 're a very good maid, Marie — the best I ever had, and very patient. I appreciate it. I hope you '11 get your reward sometime — Marie — in heaven, perhaps. Now do your best by me, Marie. I want to make a great sensation to-night. I want every woman in the room to envy me my maid. No — pile it up high in puffs and rolls, such as only you can accomplish. Take care — you 're pulling. No, it does n't need curling, it 's curly enough. I don't want it to look like the Winston's. She always looks to me as if she dressed in her sleep, and then her husband bustled in and hastily did her hair. Loosen that — no higher — 16 A MODERN BECKY SHARP there! Dear me, I never was so red in my life ! When you 're young and get excited, you 're very, very pink — when you 're mid- dle-aged and excited, you get very red, and after that you get very purple. I wonder how many more years of the red stage I 'm good for! [Smiles.] Marie, you lie so de- lightfully, that one is tempted to believe you. More hairpins? Through? [Takes hand-glass and inspects her- self.] Oh, Marie, I don't like it at all. What is the matter with it? Have you toothache in your finger-tips? Now don't cry about it. Go away, Marie, go to bed, or to the den- tist, or somewhere out of my sight. No, I don't want any one to help me, I '11 dress myself. [Watches Marie depart.] Teeth ! What are we coming to, when our very servants have teeth! Shall I take that hair down or let it be? [Turns at entrance of woman.] Oh, you 've come at last, have you ? I thought, perhaps, Madam expected me to call for the gown on my way to dinner! Get it out at once, please — I 'm in a great hurry. What's the matter at Mme. Mer- 17 MODERN MONOLOGUES ton's that she sends out a gown ten minutes before it 's to be worn ? Sickness in the work-room ? Nonsense — that 's no excuse ! [Gets into skirt, and straggles to get band to meet.] Well, whom did you make this band for? Certainly not for me ! It 's good three inches too small. Let it out — let it out — I can't breathe in the thing! Now, what are you going to do ? Well, you 've got to do something — let it out — rip it — pin it — but do something! [Takes deep breath.] Well, that 's better. It is n't particularly comfortable yet — but I can breathe occasion- ally. Get me into the rest of the creation. I know I ought n't to wear this color to- night — with this red face and all this sparkle, I look like a bird of paradise. What do you think — oh, of course, you would n't know. Touch that bell, please. Now, where does this go ? [Indicates shoul- der-strap.] I don't like the thing ! Oh, here you are — Marie, what do you think? Do I look like a Christmas tree with all the candles lit? Brilliant, you think? Well — assume a virtue, if you have it not! Hook this business, please. Go away, now, Marie ; 18 A MODERN BECKY SHARP you give me the horrors. Who's that? No — don't come in, Jack. Stay where you are. Now I know it — I have a watch right here, and I know the exact time. Ouch — take care — it 9 s a pin ! Jack, what have you done to yourself? You look exactly like a broiled lobster. No, no, that 's too tight. What strange misfortunes you do have with your dress shirts, dear — they always bulge in, or bulge out. Why don't you sometime strike a medium bulge ? Now — don't tell me how I look — I know! [To woman.] Do you consider me into this thing? Tell Mme. Merton that I think it an abominable failure, and that I '11 come and tell her so myself to- morrow. Throw this around me, dear. Take care — take care, my dear man, you 're not putting a blanket on a horse. Come along. As far as I 'm concerned, I feel more like a cannibal feast than a dinner with St. Peter! [Exit] *9 HER DAY AT HOME Scene — Drawing-room. Discovered — The hostess and her best friend, who assists. The hostess speaks [Sighs.] Is n't it absurd? Five o'clock, and about ten people here ! If you announce your hours from four to six, everybody makes it a point to arrive at five-thirty, and pack your rooms for twenty minutes. The next time I send out cards, I shall say from one o'clock on, and I '11 have a mob here on the stroke of one, to see whether or not I 'm crazy. . . . Oh, yes — Hartleys'? I was there — were you? Why, of course, I talked to you for five minutes, did n't I ? How stupid of me ! To tell you the truth, I have n't an idea whom I saw, or what I did. Did you ever see such a jam? I don't see how that woman has the courage to entertain in that tiny 21 MODERN MONOLOGUES house. I was crushed and pulled — my gown was torn; I give you my word, I never ex- pected to get out of there fully clad ! When I was finally squeezed into the dining-room by the crowd back of me, I succeeded, after ages of patient waiting, in getting a slim sandwich and a small piece of chocolate. Give you my word, my dear, that 's all I got! It certainly was an ideal afternoon. [Inspects her empty rooms.'] I am so tired of standing here, are n't you? You know I can't see why, with all our modern improvements, we don't reno- vate our methods of entertaining. Some sort of big social clearing-house, you know. I could send in a list of people I wanted to entertain, the man in charge would issue the cards and receive the replies, and I 'd be happy, and the guests would be happy — Oh, how do you do, Mrs. Marvel — so glad to see you. So good of you to come early. You know Mrs. Wescott ? Yes, it is a vile day — [To Mrs. W.] Here they come thick and fast! [Gushingly.] How do you do, Mrs. Thompson — so glad to see you. You know Mrs. Wescott ? Yes, is n't it ? I never have any luck in weather. . . . Mrs. Gennett — 22 HER DAY AT HOME I 'm so glad to see you. I understand you 're to be congratulated on the engage- ment of your daughter. You must be so glad to get her settled — at last ! It 's lovely, is n't it ? Why, Miss Knowlton, how do you do ? Have n't seen you for ages. Have you quite forsaken frivolity? [Deep concern.] In mourning — your father ? Oh, I beg your pardon, I did n't know — or at least — I — I think I must have forgotten. . . . The flow- ers I sent ? Oh, I 'm so glad you liked them. [Hastily.] Mrs. Wescott, this is Miss Knowlton. How do you do? Great pleas- ure, I 'm sure. [Passes her along.] A mo- ment's breathing space, Mrs. Wescott. Didn't I tell you they'd all come at once? Here 's that strange and wonderful Mrs. Starr — I always want to say to her : Twinkle, twinkle, little star — How I wonder what you are! [Quick change to delight.] Why, Mrs. Starr — how do you do ? So glad to see you. I was broken-hearted that I missed your talk at Mrs. Martin's on " The Analytic Study of Ragtime." [Surprised tone.] You did n't? Oh, how stupid of me — I 've confused you 23 MODERN MONOLOGUES with Mrs. Bangor. Your subject is " Cook- ing in the Eighteenth Century," isn't it? You know Mrs. Wescott? [To Mrs. W.] My dear, did you hear what I said to her? She and Mrs. Bangor are sworn enemies! Here comes Miss Waight. I 've always thought her parents must have had a pro- phetic sense of humor when they named her Carrie Waight. Is n't she a whale ! How do you do, Miss Waight — so glad to see you. My dear girl, what have you done to your- self? No — but you look so thin! You do like to be told that — I don't see why you should — why — no — you 're not fat ! You know Mrs. Wescott? .... Mrs. Right, this is a pleasure. And how is that dear husband of yours? Oh, I — I beg your par- don — I — Mrs. Wescott— Mrs. Right. [To Mrs. W.] Well, did you hear that? I asked her how her husband was, and she said she really did n't know — she believed he was in Europe ! I tell you it is n't safe to ask the simplest question of your dearest friend these days! Here comes Mrs. Easton — prepare for an avalanche! [Her face assumes the gone look of one deluged with talk. She makes ineffectual efforts to break in.] HER DAY AT HOME Oh, how do you do, Mrs. Easton? So — indeed ? Oh, I 'm so glad — No ? I should never have expected it — Really? How dreadful ! I am so sorry — Oh, well, that 's better. . . . You know Mrs. ... [To Mrs. W.] Whew! have you ever been able to get in a word edgewise? I never have. Wonder if she ever runs down ? My dear — I think they 're all here. Let 's plunge boldly in, and see if we can get a cup of tea for love or money. Come along! *5 THE ROAD OF THE LOVING HEART Scene — Drawing-room at Mrs. Der- went's. Enter Mrs. Derwent and Alexander Walton. Mrs. Derwent Home again — home! I think I must be an abnormal sort of creature — for sometimes I hate home! The same old things crowd- ing you in, shutting out the sunshine, and looking at you with the same old eyes ! That squat bronze idol is always laughing at me. I 'd like to have a bonfire every week and burn up all my things. Hard on the in- surance companies — [Laughs.] I hadn't thought of that. Well — things are always hard on somebody. [She sinks down on conch and plays with her gloves.] 27 MODERN MONOLOGUES Tragic — you say? Oh, no — not tragic — only tired. [She makes an effort and continues brightly.] How. did you time your entrance so op- portunely? A moment later, or a moment earlier — and you would have missed me. Your guardian spirit — she 's still faithful, then? I suppose it is a " she " ? Where? The Kimbals? Oh, yes — I went. What — you were there, and just to see me? You must have come after I had gone. I hurried on to a reception somewhere — I 've forgotten just where, took in two teas — and now — home again, for an hour before the night work begins. Why do I do it? Well — it seems to keep me from thinking. Chat- ter — chatter — chatter — automatic, you see. I 'd hate to hear a phonographic report of the things I say on a day like to-day. Yes, dear, I am tired. I only seem to find rest when your arms are around me — and yet, sometimes I think, Alex, that our meet- ing was the greatest misfortune that could have come to us. Please, dear, let me finish. If I 'd been born of your class . . . no, no, you can't change facts, Alex ; I was not — am 28 ROAD OF THE LOVING HEART not of your class. Then, there 's the past — [Passionately] — if one could kill and crush and forget the past — but one cannot. [She walks to and fro.] Your friends ask me about, and treat me politely — but why — because I am myself?— Not at all — because the great Alexander Walton has told the world that he intends to make me his wife. You 've lifted me up, so far, Alex. [Quickly.] Ah, dear — I did n't mean to hurt you. . . . Come, we won't talk of me any more — what has to- day brought you, my Alex? [Crosses to his chair and leans above him.] What — really? More honors? Ah — Alex, you 're climbing so high, and I 'm away down here, trying to see up to you. Yes, I am jealous — jealous of your fame — jealous of your honors, because they are tak- ing you away from me. You have so much, love, and I have only you ! " With all you have, you can't make one woman happy?" Well, I suppose there are people born whose fate it is to see, to almost touch happiness, and yet never to reach it. You 've given me all the joy I 've ever had — but to have made 29 MODERN MONOLOGUES me happy — you would have had to begin so far back — with my mother, perhaps. No — no — not that to-night — don't let us go over all that again to-night. It can't be yet — I cannot marry you while you 're in this fever of work — I 'd only distract and bother you. Not until you have time for me — well — perhaps that 's not a pretty way to put it — I mean that you can't serve two mistresses. After we 're married ? Well — I suppose your wife and your work will have to compromise. When she rules, I '11 slip away very quietly, and hide — but when I reign, I want her buried! [Clock strikes.'] Dear me ! so late ! I fear, Sir Alex, I must send you away. I 've only a moment left in which to dress, and I dine out. I 'm so sorry — yes, I know I 'm unsatisfactory — but din- ner waits for no man. . . . Good-night, my love. [She watches him out, and comes slowly back to couch.'] I suppose it 's got to come ! There is no use running away from thoughts. You can't shut out the in-betweens, when the thoughts come crowding in. . . . What am I going to do? What am I going to do? Am I going to marry Alex, and be happy — 30 ROAD OF THE LOVING HEART at last? [Harshly.] Well — why not? Life owes me a little happiness — God knows I 've had none. [Softly.] And I can make him happy — I know I can ! I 'm playing with chances again — for there 's always the past. Wherever I look — up or down — it 's there ! These women about me, with their good, untempted lives behind them, they thrust it at me — their suavest bows an insult! I suppose they call me — what is it ? — " a wo- man with a past." Alex's wife — a woman with a — And he, poor boy — the only one who knows the story — he will have none of my warnings. He thinks he can march on up, and carry me with him, my brave Alex. Well — he can't ! I and my past — we '11 get in his way, and he '11 stumble on us. Then after a while he '11 wonder why he — No — no — Alex's happiness — his success — I must not — I will not tamper with them. In the old days, before I learned to think, I might have taken the chances. But I did n't love Alex then — [Smiles] — it must have been before I was born ! I 've grown too big with love to drop back again. [Half rises from the couch.] Alex — you must go on alone, climbing 3i MODERN MONOLOGUES to your heights. I, with my burden, can't keep step, and so I must fall out. Ah, Alex, Alex, if you knew what it means to me — the long, lonely road without you ! But I choose it — I choose it, for your sake, my Alex. . . . The little bronze god and I — we must go on — laughing ! [Turns, half dazed, as if interrupted.'] What is it — Marie — what is it? Ah — yes I had forgotten that I dine out ! [Gets up slowly, as if numb, and drags herself out.] 3* WHAT THE JANITOR HEARD Scene — Public telephone-room, basement of the " Montclaire." Discovered — Mrs. Martin, waiting for her number. Enter Mrs. Northrup, hastily. Mrs. Northrup Good morning, Mrs. Martin ! You waiting to use the phone ? Yes, is n't it a godsend ? I could n't live without it ! I 'm in such a muddle — two unexpected guests to lunch — and Monday, and not a thing in the house to eat. I excused myself to go to the baby, and ran down here. Have you got two nickels for this dime? Thank you so much. [Takes dozvn receiver while talking.] It's such a nuisance not to have nickels 33 MODERN MONOLOGUES — Hello — is this the grocery? Oh, excuse me, Central — I forgot to look it up. [Hangs up receiver and gets down book.] Now was n't that bright ? I never can re- member numbers, can you? [Takes down receiver.] Hello — South 4032, please. Yes — 4032. [To Mrs. M.] They're always so stupid when you 're in a hurry. Hello — is this Brown's? I want to speak to Fred. Hello — is this Fred? This is Mrs. Northrup. I have unexpected guests to lunch, Fred, and I want you to send me some things at once. Well — I don't know, what have you got? How much are fresh mushrooms? How much — goodness! — send me canned. And — can of peas. How much are new potatoes ? No — that 's simply outrageous ! No, I don't want them at that price. [To Mrs. M.] Potatoes always seem ordinary to me, don't they to you? Even if you do pay sixty-five cents for two or three. No — I 'm not talking to you, Fred. I want two boxes of straw- berries. I don't care how much they are. [To Mrs. M.] They always make an im- pression this time of year, don't you think so ? No, I 'm not talking to you, Fred. Six 34 WHAT THE JANITOR HEARD ripe tomatoes — pick me out nice ones, now. And, Fred, have the butcher send me eight lamb chops — extra nice. No — not to-day. I think that 's all. [Hangs up the receiver.] I wonder if I 've forgotten anything. Oh, dear — the salad! [Jerks down receiver.] Hello — Fred — No, Central, I want Brown's again. I did put a nickel in. An- other one ? Why, it 's perfectly outrageous — I shall certainly complain to the manager. No — I want — [To Mrs. M.] — Dear me — what was that number? Oh, yes, South 4032 — thanks ! Hello — Fred — I want — well, call Fred to the phone, please, quickly. I forgot to order a head of lettuce, Fred. No, that 's all, I think. [Hangs up receiver.] I hope you '11 get your number, now, Mrs. Martin. [Starts to go out, then returns quickly.] Oh, would you mind waiting just a mo- ment longer? I forgot the butter, and we have n't a bit. So sorry to interrupt you — in a hurry too, are you ? How kind you are ! [Takes receiver down.] Hello — South 4032, please, quickly. An- other nickel? Well, I'm still talking to 35 MODERN MONOLOGUES Brown's grocery. Well, I never heard of such a thing! Mrs. Martin — have you got another nickel ? Thank you so much. Here it is, Central. Hello — Brown's? I want Fred. Hello — Fred — a jar of butter, please, with my order. No, this is Mrs. Northrup. My things have gone? Well, I '11 give a boy a quarter to bring it over at once. [Hangs up receiver and turns to Mrs. M.] Thank you, so much. What ? I 've taken all your nickels? Oh, what a shame — and I have n't a cent of change. Well, perhaps you could borrow it from the janitor. I 'm so sorry! [Looks after Mrs. M.] The idea of being so mean about five cents ! I never did like the woman, anyway ! ii Enter Mr. Reynolds. [Determination writ large in every feature. Takes down the receiver, scozvling.] Hello — give me Harrison iooo. Nc iooo. Well, well, ten double nought, if you 36 WHAT THE JANITOR HEARD must. I don't care what you call it, if you give me the number. Hello — is this Har- rison iooo? Well, ring off — I don't want you. Hello — Central — what 's the matter with you people ? I want ten double nought Harrison sometime before to-night. Hello — this is Reynolds. Yes, Reynolds, 225 Lafayette Avenue, top flat. Now I 've writ- ten you and telephoned you as often as I intend to, about the steam heat in my flat. I 've got a sick wife and small children, and I don't mean to have them freezing to death all the time. The thermometer has n't regis- tered above sixty for a week, and the janitor says he can't help it. Now, I Ve put up with your damned shilly-shallying long enough — and either you get a man up here to-day to fix the pipes, or I '11 get out next week ! What's that? What? Not Smith? Who are you? Mme. Marion's Millinery — why the deuce did n't you say so ? Ring off. [Rings up Central vigorously.] Hello — Central — you have now given me three wrong numbers. Will you try once more? [Sweetly. ] Harrison ten double nought. Yes — thank you. Is this Smith's? Who is this? Well, I want to 37 MODERN MONOLOGUES speak to Smith. Where? Milwaukee for two weeks? Ring off! [Hangs up receiver, with a woeful smile, which ends in a word we can't repeat.] in Enter Mrs. Baldwin and Bobby, her son. Bobby speaks Oh, no — mamma, I want to ring him up. Yes, I can. Why can't I? Well, when you 've ringed him up, then can I talk to him. Why? Why do I have to be still? Now, can I? Now? [He puts his mouth to the receiver, then, as if in obedience to mother's correction, puts it to his ear.] Hello — papa. Bet you don't know who this am. No, 'faint. [To mother.] He finks it 's you. No— 't'aint Mary— it 's me. Yes, I do hear you — it's awful buzzy, though, in your ear, ain't it? I've been to the lake. Yep, an' made boats. Me an' little 3* WHAT THE JANITOR HEARD Evans. No — little Evans — 1-i-t-t-l-e Evans. No, he has n't got any front name — jus' little Evans. My boat sankted. No-o, sankted in the water. [To mother.] No, I don't mean that; I mean sankted, mamma. Mamma interrupted me. Little Evans was awful bad. No, I was n't — jus' little Evans. He mos' pushed me right in the water. He was ist usgustus! No-o, I said usgustus. No, I don't, mamma. Mamma's talkin' to me again. I have to get down now, 'cause I 'm so heavy, mamma says. [Kisses him through the telephone.] Did you get that ? Good-by, Pops. Come home soon. IV Enter Hulda, of unmistakably Swedish features. She drawls Hul-lo! Ya-as, de dochter leef here. Huh? No — he ees gone owut. Ya-as, I tank he coomin' back to launch. I don' know. Vat ees de name? Mrs. Vat? Hut- 39 MODERN MONOLOGUES tie? No — I don' catch heem. Mrs. Huttle — vat? Oh, ya-as, Huddle — vat? Hamer — no-o, Homer — Oh, ya-as, I got heem — Mrs. Huddleheimer. Vere you been livin' ? No-o — de nomber. Four hunert und t'irteen? No-o, ain't dat heem? Oh, ya-as, I got heem. Four hunert und t'irty-t'ree, Four- teen' Street. No-o? Oh, ya-as — Fourtieth Street. Ya-as, I got heem right now. Vat ees de matter of you? No — vat seeknesses you got? Oh, eet ees your leetle gurl, huh? Dip — no, I don't hear you. Dip — vat? I don' know dat vord. You better call de dochter up ven he coom in. No — -I don' know ven he will be in. Sometimes he vill be home before night, an' sometimes no-ot. I don' know. Ya-as, I tell heem. [Hangs up receiver.'] De stoopey ol' t'ing! — she can' talk de English good! 40 IN THE MERRY MONTH OF MAY Scene — On the street. Mrs. Marshall meets a friend. Mrs. Marshall Good morning, Mrs. Owen. Yes, it is a lovely morning, is n't it ? To tell you the truth, I had n't noticed it before, but you see I'm in a state which precludes all attention to details like weather ! Oh, my dear — it 's worse than that — it 's house-hunting ! No, of course you didn't, because we only de- cided to move yesterday. I went to see our landlord about repairs, and I got so per- fectly furious at him, that I gave up our house on the spot. I do hate these people who are always moving, but I tell you they 're the only ones who get things done for them — it 's the old tenants who get no 41 MODERN MONOLOGUES consideration — nor repairs! As I said to Dick this morning, we 've outgrown the house anyway, and we certainly can't do worse! Just think of the houses that have everything built in — why, we don't know the meaning of modern improvements, and certainly our present landlord will never in- struct us. . . . Of course, Dick 's awfully cross about it — men are such unprogressive creatures. Well — I must hurry along to that Intelligence Office, or whatever you call it. Thanks — I feel quite sure that I won't have any trouble. You see, I 've found out in the old house all the things that I do not want! Good-by, my dear. ii Scene — Real Estate Office. Mrs. Marshall enters briskly. Date — April 28th. Mrs. Marshall [Cheerfully and decisively.] Good morn- ing. I want to get a list of desirable houses 4? IN THE MERRY MONTH OF MAY to rent. I want to tell you exactly what I want, so that I will not have to waste any time looking at impossibilities. I want a twelve-room house, with steam heat, three bath-rooms, bookcases, sideboard, and ice- box built in. I want a house which gets the sun in all its windows, and I 'd like one with some ground about it. I prefer it on a boule- vard, and in a good neighborhood, of course. Oh, yes, I want it in a block where there are few children, and I want a stable. I do not wish to pay more than eighty dollars a month rent. You understand just what I want, do you ? Several that would suit me — you say? Well, give me the list, please. As many as that — one — two — three — four — why — fifteen houses ! There must be a great number vacant this year. Going into apart- ments, you say? Well, I cannot understand how any self-respecting human being could live in one of those apartment buildings, just like cliff-dwellers ! I '11 go and look at these houses this morning. Much obliged to you. Yes, it is hot ! 43 MODERN MONOLOGUES Scene — Real Estate Office. Five o'clock of the same day. Mrs. Mar- shall enters. Mrs. Marshall [With bubbling indignation.'] I wish to see the young man who gave me this list of houses. Not here ? Well, do you expect him back to-night? Yes, it is important. I should like to ask him what he means by giving me such a list of impossibilities. Does he think that I have nothing to do but run around and look at such— such atroci- ties ? Here, I 've been this whole day in the broiling sun, and I have n't seen a house I 'd even consider ! Now, I told him exactly what I wanted. It is n't as if I were one of those women who has no idea of what she wants. I know precisely, and I told him in plain English, and he said he could suit me perfectly. Do you mean to say that you consider these your best houses? Why, one of them actually had a tin-lined bath-tub! A big lawn? Well, what of that — you can't bathe on the lawn! Other houses? — but do 44 IN THE MERRY MONTH OF MAY you realize that this is the 28th of April, and I have to move the first of May? I suppose I '11 have to come back in the morning — and I wish you would wait on me, please. I don't want anything more to do with that other young person. Owns the business, does he ? Well, he ought n't to — he 's utterly incompetent! Good afternoon. Scene — Real Estate Office. Mrs. Marshall enters. Date — "April 29th. Mrs. Marshall [Do-or-die tone.] Good morning. What have you for me this morning? This is a new list ? Now, will you please tell me just what to expect. Sunlight — but no yard. Go on — steam heat, nice neighborhood — but only one bath — grounds, but nothing built in. Never mind about the rest — I '11 go look at them. Better luck ? — well, I hope so! 45 MODERN MONOLOGUES Same day — 5 p.m. Mrs. Marshall enters. Mrs. Marshall [Tragic. ~\ Yes, I 've been to them all ! I 've been through thirty-two houses in two days. Why people continue to build such ugly, in- convenient, unsatisfactory things, I cannot see. You have nothing more to suggest? You think I 've seen the best of them ? Very well — good evening. Scene — Real Estate Office. Date — April 30. Mrs. Marshall enters. Mrs. Marshall [With absolute humility.'] Good morning. What have you in — in a modern up-to-date apartment ? Yes, I did say that, but we ' ve got to go somewhere, and we Ve got to move to-morrow. Size? Anything from twelve rooms down to four. Rent? I don't care. My requirements ? I have n't any. I '11 look at anything you think desirable. I 46 IN THE MERRY MONTH OF MAY must n't expect — what? To have the janitor built in! I consider that impertinent — sir! This is the list of your best flats? Very well — good morning. Same day — Noon. Mrs. Marshall enters. Mrs. Marshall [Despair. 1 I 've seen them all. I liked two, but they would n't rent to me, because I had children and a parrot. We might give up the parrot, you know, but I can hardly be expected to part with my children ! Scene — On the street. Date — May 1st. Mrs. Marshall meets a friend. Mrs. Marshall [Beamingly.'] How do you do, Mrs. Owen ! Was I smiling? Well — I'm the happiest woman on earth — do you know we 're not going to move, after all? I canvassed the 47 MODERN MONOLOGUES ground pretty thoroughly, and decided that Dick was right for once — that it 's better to bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of. So I induced poor old Dick to go to the landlord and say that I was a little hasty in my decision, and that we had decided to stay. It cost Dick fifty dollars to buy off the new tenant, but then, as I told him, it would have cost us more to move ! I find I 'm really quite attached to the old place — its faults endear it to me. And then, you know — I do so hate those people who " fold their tents like the Arabs and silently steal away " each year. Yes, do come and see me in my old — new house. Good-by. 4 8 SUBURBANITES Scene — Suburban train. Enter a very young person, who meets a friend. The Very Young Person Why, Betty Bardon, how do you do? Where on earth did you come from? I have n't seen you in ages. Is that so — boarding-school ? Is n't that fine ? Of course, you liked it? Everybody always likes boarding-school ? Me ? Oh, I 'm still at Miss Smithers' — I suppose I always shall be there. Like it ? I should say not — I sim- ply hate it. Why, that old woman, that Miss Smithers — she just spends her whole time making us girls miserable. I give you my word of honor that if a boy so much as puts his head around the corner of the street, she pulls down all the curtains. That 's a fact. Oh, I 'd just love to — but my father won't 49 MODERN MONOLOGUES hear of it. He says he wants me right at home, where he can see that my studies don't interfere with my social duties. He — he — he! — silly, is n't it? He says he knows that if I went away to school — I 'd work myself into brain fever! I never saw you look so well, and that 's the sweetest hat you 've got on. Would you mind turning around ? Oh, it's lovely. Where do you get your hats? Do you, now? Why, I never was in there. I '11 just make mamma go in with me to- morrow. Hats are an awful bother, don't you think so? Of course, I never can have the kind I want ; I always have to get these young-looking things — mamma makes me — but I tell you one thing — my spring suit is 'way down to the ground. Um-hum, I 've driven mamma to it at last. Why, it 's per- fectly disgraceful. There are plenty of girls in our school who have their clothes clear down to the ground when they 're only thir- teen years old, and here I am, almost sixteen, and mine up to my ankles. [Gasps.] Oh, there he is! [Giggles, and claps hand over her mouth.'] Oh, fudge — I did n't mean to say that out 50 SUBURBANITES loud! That's just the trouble — I don't know who he is. I only know that he gets on my train in the morning, and he takes this train every afternoon. Oh, no — not that thing — I mean the third one, with the pink cheeks and the curly hair. Is n't he a stunner ? [Seizes friend by wrist, excitedly.] You don't mean to say that you know him ? Well, call him over and introduce him — I 'm just dying to meet him ! Oh, well — never mind, you can explain when we get him here — Oh, go on — p-1-e-a-s-e ! Wait till he looks this way — now — he 's looking. [Sighs.] He saw us — he 's coming. Is n't he swell? [Nods and giggles.] How d' you do? [Giggle.] Yes, I've seen you before, too ! Yes, I always take this train. Yes [Giggle], I know you do — I 've seen you on it ! Is n't it funny we never have met before? I know lots of Manual Train- ing boys. Oh, yes, I know him, and Fred, and Dick Vaughan, I should say. I know all those fellows — awfully nice crowd, don't you think so? Sort of young, but awfully nice! What, Dick Vaughan — mercy! no — he 's just a baby — why, I 've known him 5' MODERN MONOLOGUES since he was that high — and he 's only about thirteen — Oh, he goes with lots of older fel- lows and all that, but — {Looks at conductor, who interrupts her.] What? Oh, ticket — now what did I do with my ticket? Did you notice whether I had a pocket-book or not, Betty ? Did n't I ? Well, maybe it 's in my book. [Shakes book.] No — well — you '11 have to punch my ticket twice to-morrow, conductor. [To boy.] Oh, now — please don't — thank you! I do have the awfullest time with my ticket. Of course, if I take my pocket-book, it 's all right, because, then it 's in my pocket-book, but if I don't, I usually put it in one of my school-books, and then if I don't bring the same book home that I took to school, why, there I am ! Why, sometimes I owe the con- ductor as much as five punches ! Dear me ! this is my station! Where did I put my other book? Would you mind moving, Betty? No — it is n't there. Oh, thank you. Didn't I have an umbrella? I thought I did. [Calls.] I'm getting off here, con- ductor. Do come and see me while you 're 52 SUBURBANITES home. [To boy.] I — I [Giggle] I suppose I '11 see you in the morning. Good-by. ii Enter Mother and small boy, Martimas Mother Now hurry along, Martimas, hurry! [Lifts him into seat.] Now, you sit still and be a little gentle- man. [She looks about car, and back to Martimas.] Yes, we are going now. Yes, the engine is pulling us. What makes the engine go? Why — why — the engineer, dearie. Um-hum — the engineer. Turn around, Martimas, and let mamma tie your necktie. Now hold still. [She unties and ties his tie again.] Nonsense ! Now, I did n't pull it tight enough to hurt you. Scratch — what — your collar ? Where — here ? Oh, that does n't scratch much. I can't help it if it does — you have to wear a collar when you go to town. Because you do. Gentlemen always wear collars. I don't know why. Yes, that 's the 53 MODERN MONOLOGUES lake. Um-hum — it 's very deep. No — not a million miles, but deep — quite deep. [In- dignantly.] Martimas — take your feet off my dress. Look at that, now. [Brushes herself vigorously.'] Turn around and let me put your cap on straight. I never saw anything like the way you wear your cap. Now, let it alone. I don't care how the boys wear theirs — I want you to wear yours the way I put it on you. [Sharply.] Martimas — don't do that again — have n't you a handkerchief ? Well — what have you two for? [Laughs.] One for each nose ? Well, you 'd better use them both. That 's right, now put them back in your pocket. No, no — one in each pocket, silly. [Looks out the window.] No — this does n't seem to be a station. I suppose we 're slowing up to — to let off — smoke, or something or other. No, now — this window is just as good as that Well — my dear, if that is the only thing that will give you happiness — go over there. But be careful. [She helps him across.] Martimas — oh, Martimas — come here to mamma — come here a moment. Put up your foot — I want to tuck your shoe strings in. I never saw such floppy things. Now, 54 SUBURBANITES you may go back. Careful — ah — I knew you 'd do that. Sh-sh — come here to me. Stop that noise — I never heard such yell- ing. Come here! [Takes him in her arms, and rocks to and fro.] There — there — where did um hurt um? Mamma kiss it — there — there. Look at that little baby staring at you — ain't you 'shamed? Now, you turn round here at your own window. Yes — yes, I see — it 's a freight-car. I don't know what 's in it — I expect coal — or cows. Oh, is n't it a coal- car ? Well — it must be something else, then. Yes, that 's steam — Martimas, you do ask such silly questions ! I don't know anything about steam or cars or cows or coal! You ask papa when he comes home. He '11 know. . . . Now, what are you going to do. Do sit still like a gentleman. What ? Oh — the baby. Is n't it cute ? [Wiggles hand at baby across the aisle, in the usual asinine manner for attracting a baby's attention.] How do — baby — how do! [To M.] Is n't that cunning? Did you see that smile? What — you want to kiss that baby? Well, I don't know whether its mamma will let 55 MODERN MONOLOGUES you or not. You might go and ask her. But do be careful now. We don't want you falling down again. [Helps him across, then claps her hands and calls him back.] Why, Martimas, what do you mean by grabbing that little baby by the top of the head ? Of course it 's soft there — all babies are like that. Well, because they are — I don't know why. No, your head is n't, be- cause you 're not a baby. No, mine is n't, because I 'm grown up. Papa's ? — well — I sometimes think that papa's is a little soft yet. This is our station. Now, don't stop to ask questions. Come along. [Drags him off, finally picks him up, and runs off.] in Enter an up-to-date girl. She is joined by Mr. Atwood She speaks Good morning, Mr. Atwood. Won't you join me? And how do you fare this perfect 56 SUBURBANITES day? Yes, it certainly is charming. You know, I think weather is the only thing I 'm conservative about — I 'm all for extremes in everything else. You think so? Women are more apt to be extremists than men — you say? Well — perhaps, I never thought of it. Of course, you men are so overbur- dened with logic, reason, and all such draw- backs. Now we women just jump at our conclusions and sense the in-betweens, while you poor plodders are conscientiously ex- ploring! No — no — I disagree with you — I think nine times out of ten we arrive at the same conclusions, and you must admit — our method is shorter. [Leans over and bows to woman who passes.] Why, how do you do, Mrs. Stearns? I did n't see you. Thank you — I am hoping to, soon. [To Mr. A.] Has she been sit- ting there all the time? How stupid of me not to have seen her! Do I like her? Yes, immensely. She 's so frankly detestable. Most women are, you know — but not frankly. She says more nasty things in a minute than you can repeat in an hour, and yet she never seems to have any malice. A 57 MODERN MONOLOGUES keen eye for human failings, and a sharp tongue for summing them up— and it 's all done in the sort of impersonal attitude of the historian, don't you know. Oh, she 's clever. No, no — men don't like her — she 's too smart. Well, that 's what I mean. I don't think men do like clever women. They like them in books, but they 're afraid of them in the flesh. Oh, well, of course women like clever men — but, then, women like men to be their equals — and you men — you like a woman to be — on the next lower mental plane! Did that man call Elmswood ? I 'm off at the next station. Yes, I 'm going to the club to play golf. I go round every day now with a professional. Getting ready for the tournament, you know. We take our games so seriously these days, don't you think we do? I always seem to be getting ready for a match, or getting over a match, and it 's a maximum of hard work and a minimum of pleasure, and of course I would n't do it if I were n't such an odious old peacock, thirst- ing for success at things ! Well, here we are ! I 'm glad to have seen you. Thanks, I '11 work very hard, and pray for luck. What more can mortal do? 58 SUBURBANITES IV Enter Maggie Doogan and Annie O'Brien Maggie Now, hurry roight alang, Annie O'Brien, an' take the furst seat ye come to. Here ye are! [Drops into seat and gets up again quickly. ] I beg your pardon, sor ! I did n't see ye git down furst. I hope oi did n't hu-urt ye, sor? Well, that 's good. [Aside. ,] I 'most squashed 'im. Here ye are now, Annie — sit down. I don't want to sit down — I would n't sit down if I could — I 'd rather sit down standin' oop ! I '11 grab onto one of these hoops ! [She steadies herself by loop.] Ut 's awful crowded this toime a night — ain't ut — Annie? Sure t'ing. Yis — I bin out all day — ut 's my day out. I bought me a oolster, Annie, silk lined and fancy trimmed — ah — ut was a swill t'ing. Eight dollars and t'irty-eight cints — would ye belave ut? Oh — ut 's a swill t'ing ! No — ain't so tired — I would n't be tired at all if ut was n't that I 'm wearin' the mistress's ould boots, an' 59 MODERN MONOLOGUES they nearly kill me fate ! — An' where 're ye livin' now, Annie? Are ye? An' d' ye loike the place? [Utter surprise and horror.] Ye don't tell me ? She won't let you play the coronet? Why, what d' ye shtay for, Annie? I would n't shtay a minute with a woman that would not let me play the coro- net ! Why don't you bring 'er up before the Union ? Ah, yis — I got a noice place — 'mos' suits me! But I sez to her before I wint there — I sez, " Now, I want one hour on the mornin' to practise music, and one hour after lunch to take me nap. The butler 's got to be Irish, so 's we '11 be conjaynial, an'," I sez, " if I want a few frinds in now an' thin for dinner, I don't want no kick coomin', see ? " An' she sez to me — she sez, " Would ye moind if me an' the family just stopped in the house while ye 're with us ? " An' I sez, " I don't moind at all — at all," I sez. " But if ye promise me these things an' don't do um," I sez, " I '11 have ye up before the Union, an' ye '11 sit in the kitchen an' whistle for a cook," I sez. An' she knows I wuz tellin' her the truth. I had her coomin' all roight — all roight. She 's meek as a lamb, Annie — she never peeps ! I tell ye all 6o SUBURBANITES ye got to do is to make up yer moind to yer roights an' larn to handle the upper classes, an' ut 's aisy — ut 's aisy ! By Gar — this is my station. Come round an' see me, Annie — come round an' see me an' the but- ler. So long — Annie — so long! 6i THEIR LAST RIDE TOGETHER Scene — Country road, with village in the distance. Discovered — A man and a woman in an au- tomobile. She speaks Oh, it is ideal — the softest air, and the bluest sky — and the yellowest fields ! Well, but you would see them, if you 'd just look at them! I feel like flying on a day like this, and this dear old machine is almost as good as wings ! God bless the man who invented automo- biles. [She leans out, and laughs softly.] Oh, see — stop a minute — slow up. See him — the yellow lizard on the rock? [To lizard.] How do you do, sir? [Laughs.] See him wriggle — that 9 s the way he bows. I see it now — I see it all — that 's what I was — last incarnation. A beautiful, yellow- 63 MODERN MONOLOGUES green lizard, with nothing on earth to do all day long but sun myself on a warm rock. No brain — no thoughts — no responsibilities — just food and sleep. Idyllic! You don't like my lizard idea, I take it? [Sighs.] You 're such an unappreciative creature. Do I do you an injustice? Well, I '11 amend it and say — your appreciative powers are strictly limited. [Hums softly.] "Alas! that Spring should vanish with the Rose—" [Breaks off with deep sigh, in answer to his remark.] Oh, dear me! now there you go. Art, literature, science, trees, lizards — all roads, with you, lead back to — love! Why — why will you always hark back to that tabooed subject? [Crossly.] I have no patience with a man who has but one idea, and pre- sents it to you every time he opens his mouth! What sort of man do I like? W-e-1-1, I can't tell you exactly — I can't give you a list of required virtues, any more than I can tell you just how to make fudges — but I can make them. I sort of — feel 64 THEIR LAST RIDE TOGETHER what ought to go in. Oh, you are incorri- gible. You harry an idea to the very top- most branches — I — I — Oh, I don't know. It 's such a silly conversation ! [Desper- ately.] I just wish I 'd been one of those Sabine women — snatched up and carried off willy-nilly, with no time to weigh this man with that — and choose. I 'd love being car- ried off and conquered in spite of myself. Then I could fight until the last flag went down, and live peacefully ever after. [Turns to look at him quickly, then laughs.] You? How could you? Would you kid- nap me in the dark, and carry me off in a hansom cab? How would you go about it? Alas — and alack — we have to go to " Richard Carvel " and " To Have and to Hold " for our romance in these lack-luster days! [Hums again lightly.] "The nightingale that in the branches sang — Ah, whence and whither flown again who knows ?" [Looks at man, then at machine, then up the road toward the town they are approaching.] 65 MODERN MONOLOGUES What are you doing? [Seriously. 1 What are you doing? Don't you see we 're coming to a town ? Well, slow up — we 're going at a dreadful rate. [Anxiously.] What is it? Is there anything the matter with the thing? [Excitedly.] Why don't you do something! Oh — oh — is it running away? [Turns to him in utter amazement and annoyance.] Marry you ? Certainly not ! I think you 'd better give your entire attention to the ma- chine and let matrimony alone. [The girl begins to look terrified.] We 're going faster and faster. We '11 be killed if we go through that town at this rate! Well, / don't want to be killed with you or anybody else ! Oh, see — there 's somebody on the road! [She half rises and calls.] Look out — oh, man — look out — we can't stop this thing! [Turns to man beside her.] I command you to stop! If you can't, I 'm going to jump. Don't touch me! Oh, heavens, we 're in the town now. [She looks about her, as if they were going at high speed.] 66 THEIR LAST RIDE TOGETHER [Calls.] Look out, little boy — do you want to get run over — [Hangs out of auto and calls back to him the rest of her sentence.] — you silly little idiot! [To man beside her.] Just look at the crowd after us. Oh — I hate you! And a policeman — [She starts up suddenly, her eyes wide with terror, and points straight ahead.] Look — look — we 're going toward the river. [Horror.] Oh — oh! [Turns to him quickly.] Marry you — oh, yes, yes — if you could only stop this infernal machine. Any time — now — here — wherever you say — only just stop it. Yes, I love you, with all my heart and soul — but if you don't hurry up, I won't love you long ! [As auto begins to slow up she sits with her hands over her eyes, catching her breath painfully. The machine stops with a jerk, and she looks up, turns to man, and breaks out angrily.] 6 7 MODERN MONOLOGUES Do you mean to say that you could have stopped it as easily as that at any time ? [Looks ahead.'] And — and there is a bridge. You knew there was a bridge! [Rises."] Going? I 'm going home by the train. I don't care what you think, I 'm going on the train. [She jumps out.] [Superbly.] I certainly do not consider myself engaged to you — you wrung my con- sent from me under false pretenses. I beg your pardon, I did not say that at all — I said that if I had been one of those Sabine wo- men, no doubt I 'd have liked being carried off. Of course, having no sense of humor, you misunderstood me. I bid you a very good afternoon — a very good afternoon. 68 WHEN SHADES ASSEMBLE Scene — The After-World. Enter Lady Macbeth and Portia. Lady Macbeth Good-morrow, Lady Portia, Cato's daughter, Wife of that Brutus who did slay great Caesar — Why stalk you here among the shades alone ? Portia Such words as slayer sound but ill, me- thinks, Upon the lips of guilty Cawdor's wife. My Brutus was a martyr, who did read Signs of the times, which others dared not see — 69 MODERN MONOLOGUES The blood he shed, was shed in duty's name ! So say not slayer's wife again to me, Thou who didst lure beneath thy roof King Duncan, and with thy two blood- stained hands Didst, with thy husband's aid and foul con- nivance, Kill, stab, and murder there thy king ! Lady Macbeth [hastily] Enough — enough, fair Portia, this sufficeth — Our husbands may have had their little faults, No doubt we had our little vices too. But here among the shades, where friends are few, Let us not waste the hours in angry speech, But join our forces, that we may not be Dependent for all social intercourse Upon Ophelia and that youngster Juliet ! Portia Who even now approach from out the dusk ! Enter Juliet and Ophelia 70 WHEN SHADES ASSEMBLE Juliet Dear me, Ophelia, but this life is slow ! Why, when I lived at fair Verona's court, My every day was filled with gracious sport ! Can I forget that ball my father gave, When first I set my eyes on Romeo ! Lady Macbeth [aside] Methinks that we have heard that tale before ! Ophelia [softly] Beware — there 's Cawdor's dame, who gos- sips so. " Lord, we know what we are — but know not what we may be! " [Sings.] How should I my true love know — From another one? By his cockle hat and staff — And his sandal shoon! Portia Ophelia — my dear — know you no other songs ? 71 MODERN MONOLOGUES Ophelia Alas — sweet lady — and alas — alack! Juliet Why, at Verona's court the troubadours Were wont to dedicate their songs to me! Lady Macbeth Alas, we can't escape Verona's court! Juliet [angrily'] Dost think we 'd rather hear of Cawdor's house, And Duncan's death, and see you wash your hands, And hear your thrilly speeches about blood ? Not I — for one — nor mad Ophelia here. I 'd rather sit and hear Ophelia sing, And that 's not very cheerful, you '11 admit! Lady Macbeth [indignantly'] Thou impudentest child among the shades — The raven himself is hoarse that can out- croak you! 7* WHEN SHADES ASSEMBLE Chastise the valor of thy saucy tongue — Begone about thy business — get thee hence ! Portia [sweetly] Be not impatient with the child, my lady — She 's young yet, and, poor soul, she died for love ! Juliet Yes, and I 'm sorry I was such a fool ! Oh, why did I not wed the Count of Paris, Instead of joining Romeo in the tomb? Portia But Romeo loves thee still ? Juliet Yes, Romeo does ! Why, at the time when all The heroes are let in to spend the day With their lost wives and loves, what think ye then, This Romeo does? 6 73 MODERN MONOLOGUES Lady Macbeth Well — what doth he? Juliet He sits all day and holds Ophelia's hand ! Ophelia [softly] How shall I thy true love know, From another one ? Tra-la-la-la-la-la-la Juliet The Montagues were ever fickle loves. I care not that he pays Ophelia court, But this is hard, that I must have Lord Hamlet " Be-ing — or not to be-ing " at my side, Discoursing on Man's Capability, And talking ghosts until my very spine Is chilled and every hair doth rise " Like quills upon the fretful porcupine! " 74 WHEN SHADES ASSEMBLE Lady Macbeth How dare you use a speech that '$ not your own? Ophelia Oh, I 'm so glad he doth speak thus with thee — For I was ever much afeared of him. He said to get me to a nunnery — " Oh, woe is me — To have seen what I have seen — see what I see!" He is dead and gone, lady — He is dead and gone. Juliet Methinks Ophelia is a simple thing! Lady Macbeth [ruefttlly] I would sometimes I could escape my Thane, The days he is allowed to visit me. I grow aweary of reiteration — That bickering outworn phrase, " I told you so." 75 MODERN MONOLOGUES Portia Children, dear lady, ours the fate has been For centuries to face the lime-light's glare; And in the world of mortals still the young Do play at Juliet's and Ophelia's parts — And murder worse than that of Cawdor's Thane Is yearly done upon our splendid lines ! Yet, spite of this, we ever do remain Heroes and heroines of classic lore! What matter, then, if in this dim beyond Some private woes and family bickerings Do mar the tenor of our even ways? This is the penalty we pay for fame, — A fame which even elocutionists Have failed to ruin and entirely mar, — A fame which, though the idol-shattering world may try, It cannot rob us of — it needs us still. So, ladies, let 's in silence bear The wounds of private life, and let us turn A smiling face unto the shades without ! 7 6 OVER THE COFFEE-CUPS Scene — Breakfast-table. Discovered — Mrs. Meek, waiting breakfast for her better half. Enter Mr. Meek, looking the worse for wear. Mr. Meek 'Mornin' — 'Lizabuth. [Crossly.] James, why was n't I called for breakfast ? Harris thought I wanted to sleep? Well, Harris is n't hired to think — he 's hired to carry out my orders. Hurry up with things — I 've an engagement. [Opening and glancing over paper.] My dear — I make it a point not to know what time I get in. Four o'clock ? — I don't doubt it! It was so thoughtful of you to stay awake and keep track of the time. Soft- boiled eggs — ugh ! — take them away — don't you dare put the things in front of me. 77 MODERN MONOLOGUES Are n't we ever to have anything but eggs for breakfast ? I 'd gladly exterminate the whole kingdom of egg-producing animals. Get me a chop, James, and be quick about it. [Tries paper again, but puts it down at Mrs. Meek's sigh.] Is there anything particular the matter with you this morning, my dear? You cer- tainly would depress a grave-digger. I tell you a man has a right to demand a cheerful face at the breakfast-table. Me? I am cheerful. I came down in the best of hu- mors, ready to make myself agreeable, and your first remark put me on edge for the day. Have n't made any remark ? Well — it must have been your expression, then — it was something. [Looks at paper a minute, then throws it down.] Can't you talk a little — or is it against the rules? Oh, mamma is coming, is she? That '11 be nice. When dees she arrive ? To-day? Sorry I can't be home to dinner. Ring the bell, will you? What is that man doing? James, has the cook gone for the chop ? Well — I«hope so. Bring me a bromo- seltzer. Ah — is this the chop? [Tries it.] 78 OVER THE COFFEE-CUPS Tough — tough — I can't eat it. No, I don't want it — I don't want anything — I '11 get something down town. Mme. Despair, I leave you to enjoy your miseries. Tell mamma about them ; she '11 sympathize, no doubt. Ta-ta! [Exit.] ii Scene — Same. Discovered — Mrs. Tenbrook, looking squally. Enter Mr. Tenbrook, with affable and in- gratiating manner. Mrs. Tenbrook [In tone between tears and indigna- tion.] Good morning. Yes, you may bring in the breakfast now, Jane. I suppose it 's as cold as a brick. [To Mr. T.] A good many people told me that matrimony was n't all smooth sailing, and I thought I was pre- pared for anything — I 'm sure the night be- fore I was married I read a whole book of quotations about marriage not being a path of roses, but I never supposed that, after 79 MODERN MONOLOGUES only three years, you 'd get in at such an hour as you did last night, and then throw epithets and things at me, when I came in to see if you wanted any breakfast. It 's very strange you thought it was your man, when I came clear into the room and spoke to you. There was a time when you would have known my voice. . . . [Silence — then she begins again.] I try so hard to be reasonable. It just takes all my self-control not to ask where you went last night — but I won't ask — not at all. Whatever suspicions I may have, I will be silent. Oh, I can be silent if there is any necessity — I 'm not like you, I have my tongue under perfect control. ... I don't see why you can't be amusing at the breakfast-table, when you Ve been frisking about all night, goodness knows where, hav- ing a good time. What is it Emerson says about a cheerful face at the breakfast-table? No — that is not from my book of quota- tions. . . . Such a night! Every board in the house creaked — and there was a mouse some- where, and such noises outside. Every time I was just dropping off, I thought I heard your latch-key squeak. Bad habit — waiting So OVER THE COFFEE-CUPS up ? I suppose it is, but, like some of yours, it 's hard to break. I 'm sure my father never got in at any such hour as you did last night. Well, my mother never had any oc- casion to " row " at him, as you elegantly express it. Yes, she was a model — but bear in mind she had a model husband. I 'm just like mother, though ; I '11 do anything on earth to avoid trouble. I can't bear women who nag. My motto is patient endurance. Through ? You have n't eaten a thing. I should n't think you would be hungry, after what you probably had last night. [Lifts a martyred cheek for his part- ing kiss.] Good-by. [Watches him out.] What martyrs — what blessed, silent, unappreci- ated martyrs we women are! in Scene — Same. Discovered — Mr. and Mrs. Kendal, and Arthur Kendal. Enter Carol Kendal. Carol Good mornin', motherdie — morning dad- laddie. What 's the joke? What were you 81 MODERN MONOLOGUES laughing at? Oh, the Guardian of the Hearth again ? What 's she done now ? Served pudding for breakfast? What — eggs in tea-cups ? Oh, lovely ! And nothing else? Ah, I see — eggs simply — "a sign of things that are not, and a promise of things hoped for." Well, we have to admit that Time himself is a flier beside this cook. Yes, mother dear, she is thorough and good- natured, but even you must grant that break- fast begun at seven and finished at eleven is a strain ! . . . Mother, you 'd find virtue in — a — a — pumpkin. What 's the news, dad ? Wait — let me guess. First column — shootings and hold- ups — (2) somebody declares war — (3) scandal in social circles — (4) article on Trusts. Three out of four right — huh? Laddie — I 'm coming to town to-day. I '11 do myself the honor of lunching with you — thanks. What — broke — really ? Well, never mind — I '11 take you! Dad — you 're invited — strictly Dutch treat. [Hand to ear.] Cheer up, friends, I hear a movement in the kitchen. Perchance the coffee is ap- proaching. No — false alarm. Now, don't 82 OVER THE COFFEE-CUPS let it ruffle you, father. Pin your mind to the virtues mother 's ferreted out — she 's thorough and clean. Cleanliness has always seemed a bit negative to me — but they do say it 's next to godliness. Ah — here we are at last. Let every man fall to. There 's nothing like this period of preparation — trains the temper — induces patience — whets the appetite. There 's the postman's ring — I '11 go. [Dashes off, and back.] Everybody gets a letter. Oh, must you go so soon, dad? Bother the train — you are n't half through your breakfast. [Calls after.] Dad — mother says, " Wear your ulster." Weather man says, " Colder." Meet you boys at one o'clock. Good-by. [Opens letters, singing.] "There were two jolly gentlemen, Who went away to sea-- ,, Nice boys, are n't they, mother? Well, dear, if I 'm to take a noon train — to work — to work, says the " little red hen." S3 FROM LONG AGO TO NOW THEN Scene — Miss Angelina's Drawing-room. Enter Reginald Reginald Miss Angelina, how good you are to see me! Angelina [Shyly.] Am I? No— but I 'm not— for I wanted to see you. Reginald [Regretfully.] I — I am so unworthy! Angelina I don't quite understand . . . 85 MODERN MONOLOGUES Reginald [Mysteriously.'] No — of course not! Angelina [Nervously.'] Will you — will you let me make you a cup of tea? Reginald [Effusively.] How heavenly kind you are! Angelina Strong or weak? Reginald [Absently.] Both. Angelina [Surprised. ] What ? Reginald Oh, I mean — either. 86 FROM LONG AGO TO NOW Angelina Sugar ? Reginald It needs none — your hands have made it! Angelina [Coyly.] Oh— Reginald [Bursts out.] Miss Warring — Angelina — I have something on my mind. Angelina [Horrified.] Have you? Oh, I'm so sorry! Won't you take a caraway cake? I think they are good when you have a — a — Reginald [Tragically.] Miss Warring — Angelina — what do you think of love? 8? MODERN MONOLOGUES Angelina [Bewildered.] I — oh — Mr. Reginald — I think some one is calling me. Reginald [Seizes her arm.] No — stay, Angelina — don't leave me yet. Let me unburden my mind. What do you think of love? Angelina [With bent head.] Oh, Mr. Reginald — I don't know. I think it must be very pleasant. Reginald Pleasant? Angelina — Love is a fiery fur- nace that consumes, burns, tortures — kills! Angelina [Terrified.] Oh, no — Mr. Reginald! Reginald I know, Angelina, for I burn — and die! 88 FROM LONG AGO TO NOW Angelina What shall I do? Shall I call mother? Reginald Mother? No! None can help me save one, and she is so far above me that I dare not aspire to even gaze upon her ! Angelina [Plucking up courage.] Is she fair? Reginald [Rapturously.] Fair? She is so fair that she dazzles and blinds her slaves! Angelina Does she know you love her ? Reginald Can she be ignorant, when love is writ large in every feature? 89 MODERN MONOLOGUES Angelina And yet she does n't love you ? Reginald Love me? Impossible! Angelina Then she must be a horrid thing ! [ With air of wisdom.'] Men were made to love women, and women were made to love men, and if they pretend they don't— why, they 're — they 're — Reginald I 'm sure of it. If I thought there was hope — Angelina Why don't you ask her? Reginald I dare not. 90 FROM LONG AGO TO NOW Angelina What 's her name ? I '11 ask her for you. Reginald You? Angel — her name is Angelina Warring ! Angelina [Overcome.] Me? I 'm the angel — Oh, Mr. Reginald — Reginald [At her feet.] Ah — I know I am not worthy to sit at your feet, Angelina — but love makes me bold. Could you intrust your life to me — do you love me? Angelina [Half crying.] I — I don't know — I — [Hides her face.] Oh, dear me — I think I do! 9i MODERN MONOLOGUES Reginald Angelina ! — I shall build a shrine for you, my Queen, and worship at your feet all the days of my life ! Angelina I 'm so glad you love me. Did you ever love any one else? Reginald No — Angel! [Takes her in his arms.] Angelina I don't see why you did n't think love was pleasant, Reginald. I think it 's just — sweet ! Reginald ANGEL! ! ! 92 FROM LONG AGO TO NOW NOW Scene — Porch of a club-house. Enter Joan Dascott and Billy Norton. Joan That was a good two-step, Billy, and this is a good night. Let 's sit here a moment. My dear fellow, you 're puffing — you 're get- ting too old to dance ! Billy {Indignantly. ] Puffing — your grand- mother ! Joan We 'd better go back. Music, they say, hath charms to soothe the savage — Do sit down and stop pacing — it makes me tired to watch you ! Billy Truth is, Joan, I 've something on my mind! 93 MODERN MONOLOGUES Joan On your— WHAT? Billy This may be a joke to you — but it 's dead earnest to me ! Joan What are you driving at ? Billy Fact is — I want to talk to you seriously — Joan — Joan [Laughs.'] Seriously? All right, Billy; fire away. Billy [Uncomfortably.'] You know, Joan, I 'm not much on love — 94 FROM LONG AGO TO NOW Joan Well, there 's nothing serious in that. It 's only when you are much on love — or in it — Billy Don't chaff me — I 'm in earnest. Joan 'Pologize! Billy I say, I 'm not very long on love patter and all that, but I 've found the girl for me, all right — and — Joan [Shortly.] Well, you 're in luck. What more do you want? Billy I want you to advise me, old lady. Truth is, I don't think she has much use for me. 95 MODERN MONOLOGUES Joan What makes you think so ? Billy Well— I don't know. I just think so. Joan Why don't you brace up, and ask her like a man? Billy I sort of dread to, for fear she '11 turn me down and not let me see her any more. Joan I see— you prefer a miserable possibility to a miserable certainty. Billy [Earnestly.] Do you think I 'd have any chance with a girl, Joan? 96 FROM LONG AGO TO NOW Joan Depends on the girl. Billy [Desperately.] I don't see how I could stand much show. Joan Modest Flower! who is your iceberg, Billy? Billy Why, it 's — it 's you, you know. Joan Me ? Oh, great Doodle, what are you talk- ing about ? Billy It 's gospel, Joan ; it 's always been you. Joan Is this a moon-spell? Do you have these fits often? 97 MODERN MONOLOGUES Billy 'T ain't a fit — 't is chronic. Joan You ought to see a specialist about it. Billy That 's why I 've come to you. Joan Well, I can't take your case — the chronic ward is full ! Billy Don't joke about it, Joan — I 'm in dead earnest. Do you think you could ever care anything about me, dear? Joan T don't know whether I care or not — I never have thought anything about it. 98 FROM LONG AGO TO NOW Billy Well, could you — could you take a little time to think about it ? Joan Well — I — go on in and dance this. I 'm going to stay here. Don't talk, Billy — just go. Tell Jack Gardner that I 've gone home, if he asks for me. [Half an hour later.] Billy Still here — Joan? A penny for your — Joan I 've been thinking it over, Billy. I sup- pose I 've always cared a good deal, and did n't know it. Then it 's an advantage that we know each other so well. And — I was thinking that if we got married, we might go into the American Golf Champion- ship together down at Lenox this year. 99 MODERN MONOLOGUES Billy Then it 's yes, Joan? Joan Um-hum. Billy God bless you ! — I hope we '11 have good luck, old lady. Joan In the Championship? Billy [Smiling.] In the Championship! ioo THE FIRST LESSON Scene — Country-club grounds. They stroll toward the first tee She speaks Well, of course I Ve got to learn. For two years I Ve held the championship for the only frivolous female under fifty who cannot play golf — and I 'm getting tired of it. You 're under such a disadvantage if you don't speak the language, you know. Why, I Ve been to dinners when the conver- sation might just as well have been in an- cient Patagonian, as far as I was concerned. Well, there are several reasons, — in the first place, everybody went wild on the subject, and the easiest and most original attitude was ignorance. And I 'm ignorant enough IOI MODERN MONOLOGUES — I 've never even followed around a course. Oh, that 's where we get the caddy, is n't it? You see, I do know that the caddy is a boy, and not one of the sticks — oh, clubs, I mean. Why do you have to have such a lot of sticks — clubs, I mean ? Oh, different ones for different plays. Now, they look just alike to me — except some are fatter than the others. This is the starting-place, is n't it ? Where the crowd is — teeing-ground, you call it? There's a man going to— what do you call it — tee? Let's go closer so I can see him do it. What 's the little hump of dirt for ? Oh — I see. I should n't think you'd need that; it looks easy enough. [Follows man's motions carefully, her eye following the ball into the distance.] Oh-h, he's pretty good, isn't he? Oh — is he a dub ? Why, I thought he was good. Now, here goes a girl — let 's see her tee away. What did I say? — Oh, I meant tee — off ! Is n't she a crank about her little old hump of dirt? Well — [Disgust] — that was n't much of a shot, was it ? What are all these people standing around for? Dear me ! I hate to begin before them. I 'm sure 102 THE FIRST LESSON I can do as well as that girl, though, who just teed — out! [Takes club and tries to place her hands on handle according to his directions.'] I see — right hand like this — um-hum. Free swing — is n't that free enough ? Oh, yes, feet on the ground, and only swing from the waist. I see — Oh, I can do it all right. Fix the little ant-hill for me. Now, I 'm to keep my eye on the ball, my feet on the ground, swing from the waist up, follow around, and — and incidentally hit the ball. [She swings and smiles proudly, her eye searching the distant horizon for the twirling white ball.] Where did it go ? Where ? [A look of dismay obliterates the smile, and her eyes search the ground at her feet.] Absurd ! Why, I never touched it, did I ? Well, did you ever? Try it again? How many trials do I get? Well, I know, but I thought I did measure the distance. This time I '11 surprise you. Now, look out ! Ask that woman to stand back — she bothers me. [She swings vigorously.] 103 MODERN MONOLOGUES Oh, goodness me ! — what a " hole " ! {Laughs.'] " Not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door, — but 't will serve." It 's hot, is n't it ? Now — this time I 'm surely off. One — two — three — go! [Swings again.] Ah — how far was that, caddy ? [Proudly.] Twenty feet ! Well, that 's pretty good, isn't it? Now, we just walk along, hitting toward that flag. It '11 take me a week to get to the first one. Now, little boy, you give me the biggest club in the bag — how could I be expected to hit anything with this little shinny-stick? I don't care whether it's the right one or not — I want a big one. Now, here goes! [She szvings.] That must be fully two feet! Well, I hit it, and that's something. [Anxiously.] Don't you want to go on, and wait for me at the flag? I hate to spoil your game. Well — come on, then, if you 're quite sure I won't spoil your game. Suppose you give my ball one good crack this time to show me how it 's done. Oh — beautiful ! It must have gone a mile! [Admiringly.] How splendid and strong you are ! D' you know, I like it all but the little ball — if you did n't have to 104 THE FIRST LESSON worry about the pesky ball all the time, I think it would be a fine game. [Looks around.] Everybody is getting ahead of us, just on my account. Now, aren't you sorry you are n't playing with some other girl ? Well — if you 're satisfied . . . Oh, here 's your ball. [Watches him drive.] I wish I could do that ! How long would it take you to teach me to play like that ? All your life? Well — you must think I 'm a stupid ! Or else you 're a very poor teacher. I see; you think a good teacher ought to be able to keep a pupil forever. No — it would n't work with me. I 've always got- ten tired of teachers^ — like playthings — in a month ! I did n't say my teachers were play- things — you are n't listening to me. You 're looking for that ball and neglecting my conversation in a shameful manner! Dear, oh, dear ! I have to hit it again ! [Swings her club.] [Ruefully.] You 're right — it would take me a lifetime — I never saw such feeble ef- forts. My ! — it 's hot — I never felt the heat worse. Now — what do you do about the river? Pick up your ball and carry it over 8 ™5 MODERN MONOLOGUES the bridge? Drive it over? [Seriously.'] You don't say so ? Oh, I see what you mean. Now, you need n't laugh — how should I know you meant knock it over when you said drive. No — I did n't think you meant on horseback! See that boat down there, moored to the tree — [Sighs'] — doesn't it look inviting? How many more holes are there? Sixteen? Oh, gracious! ! ! Where — in the boat? What would I give if you paddled me to Summerdale for lunch ? I 'd give anything I own in the world — 'pon honor, I would! what can we do with the sticks ? Oh, yes, I 'd forgotten the caddy. And evidently he 's forgotten us. He 's ac- tually lying down over there in the shade. Steady her now till I get in. [Gets into boat.] Oh, this is heaven ! It 's awfully good of you, Victor, to be golf pastor and master — but you don't know with what joy and rap- ture I 'm saying — " Here endeth the first lesson ! " 106 A SUMMER IDYL Scene — Drawing-room. Discovered — Tommy and a Caller. Tommy We Ve been at a — now — hotel ! Um-hum — we wuz there all the whole summertime. Yes, V mamma and papa wuz there too, and Lizzie — she ? s the nurse — but she did n't count much because she wuz always talkin' to a waiter there. . . . You bet I did have a good time. They wuz lots of childern there — oh, just wagon-loads — some wuz awful bad ones, like Lester Jones and Jim- mie Banks and Bud 'n' Charlie, an' — an' — lots more bad ones, and, gee! we had fun. Us childern had to eat in the childern's dining-room, — just us an' the nurses, you know ; an' w T e ust to fro things — peaches an' crackers an' things — an' onct Lester Jones frowed a spoonful of soft-boiled tgg right 107 MODERN MONOLOGUES at his nurse. You ought to seen her face — gee! An' onct the manager earned in an' tor us that if we did n't behave we 'd have to go home, an' Bud Allin he had his squirt- gun, an' he made it go off at the man- ager, an' it all went down his collar in the behind of his neck ! Oh, my — he wuz mad ! He tried to find who did it, but he could n't, so he just tor our parients on us, an' they give it to us awful ! Yes, we ust to play on the beach — morn- in's. We went in swimmin', an' yanked the ladies' feets frum under 'em. Gee! — you ought to heard 'em yell. Onct I wuz just yankin' Miss Molly's feets out — she wuz a lady there — an' old smarty Archie came out — he wuz her beau — an' he just grabbed me an' ducked me under, an' drownded me — pretty near. But I just guess we got even with him. I tol' the fellows 'bout it, an' at night on the porch — oh, it wuz a great, big porch, you know, an' music an' things — an' nights us kids ust to run round an' catch 'em spoonin' — an' we heard Smarty Archie askin' Miss Molly to go horsebackin' next mornin', so us kids fixed it up, an' we got up early an' put sand-burrs under Smarty 108 A SUMMER IDYL Archie's horse's tail. We stuck 'em on so you could n't tell they wuz there — but the horse he could. Gee! you ought to seen that horse go! Every time he switched his tail he went faster, an' Smarty Archie got throwed an' skinned up, an' us kids wuz good an' glad, 'cause it served him right fur duckin' a kid 'bout half his size. Sometimes, when it wuz rainy, we stayed in an' played circus an' things — but that wuz n't as much fun, 'cause the girls wuz al- ways stickin' in. Onct when Bud Allin's sister just would come, an' we did n't want her, I got that squeezy thing out of my mo- ther's room— my mother cleans her teefs with it — you squeeze it, you know, an' a pink snake comes out — well, we tol' Jessie Allin it wuz candy, an' we 'd give it to her if she 'd go 'way, an' she et the whole thing, an*, gee ! — she wuz sick an' had a doctor, an' everything, an' then she went an' told on us, just like a old girl, and we caught it, I tell you! Sometimes we played in the hall — chil- dern must n't, you know, but we ust to when our parients wuz out — an' 'way down at the end they is a hose, you know, like in the iop MODERN MONOLOGUES garden, an' onct Bud Allin took it down when we wuz being a fire-engine, an' you ought to seen the water shootin' out, an' we could n't stop it. So we just ran out an' wuz playin' on the beach when they ast us if we did it. Gee ! — you ought to seen that hall — it wuz a regular river! But oh, the mostest fun wuz Harry — he wuz the bell-boy — an' you have a -clock in your room, an' you turn the hands round to what you want, an' it rings down-stairs an' Harry brings it. An' we kids 'u'd ring for ice-water in my room an' then run up-stairs to Bud's room, so when Harry came they wuz n't nobody there. Gee ! — it ust to make him swear — we ust to hide back of the stairs an' hear him. But — [Calls.] — What? All right — I 'm coming. That 's Lizzie — I wish we had a waiter for her here — she bothers me lots. Well, good-by — there 's lots more I could tell you 'bout that hotel, but I got to go. It 's a awful nice place — you ought to go there. [Calls.] Yes, Lizzie, I'm a-comin'! [Exit.] no BELOW STAIRS Scene — Servants' hall. Enter the Butler, who drops into a chair, with a deep sigh. Enter the Maid, who also drops down, sighing. Butler Are they aff? Maid Well, I hope so. The carriage door shlammed before I came down. Butler [Fans languidly with a paper.] Phwat a day ! It began wrang this marnin', an' its bin gittin' warse shteady all day. Firsht, she come into me panthry, an' sez to me face — to me face, moind ye — that the silver had in MODERN MONOLOGUES not bin claned fur a wake ! I sez, " Madam, it wuz claned foive days ago to-day ! " "Well," she sez, "it's black— an' ye have n't had a dinner party nor a lunch fur two days, an' not a thing on earth to do but clane the silver ! " Thin I shpoke roight up. " If there wuz min enough in the shtable," I sez, " so 's the under butler would n't have to ride on the box wid yez," I sez, " the sil- ver could be claned twicet a wake. But," I sez, " wid havin' to ^-conymize on the under butler — I do the best I can, mum," I sez. Maid Sure ye do — we all do. If she 'd e-cony- mize a little on her clothes, we could have another under butler, an' it wud be more comfortable fur all av us! Butler Just hand me a sip av that sherry, Maggie, to quiet me narves. Thin, at dinner, I was 'mos' frantic. She wuz a bundle av narves, an' he wuz a bundle av grunts! I wuz so flushtered I gave him the wrang ceegar and 112 BELOW STAIRS I gave her Scotch fur rye — an' all those Zuzus at the pahrty rubbered their heads aff. I saw that old Mrs. Smith-Smythe a-grin- nin', an' I wanted to shpill champagne down her back ! Maid Well, ye ain't the only mourner on the binch ! She has n't bin to bed befare three o'clock fur t'ree days, an' she 's crass as two shticks ! It 's "Maggie" here, an' "Maggie" there ! An' " Not those shoes, Maggie," an' " I tor ye to have that opery cloak claned ! " By Gar, I thought I 'd shake her ! " Ye tol' me about that cloak this marnin'," I sez. " Did ye ixpict me to have it claned an' home by to-noight ? " I sez. She give me a look, but she 's too shmart to make me rale mad ! Butler Look at the way we wor-ruk ! From noine in the marnin'' till eight at noight — an' thim not out more than three days a wake to lunch, an' four noights a wake to dinner! An' phwat do ye git fur your sarvice? A palthry hunderd a month an' yer livery — an' 1*3 MODERN MONOLOGUES no thanks ! It 's a harrud loife, Maggie, an' that 's no joke! Maid Well, look at me — phwat with her break- fast to be took up at nine, an' her lunch clothes laid out, an' her afternoon clothes claned, an' her dinner clothes pressed, I 've niver a minute to meself. Now, you git a rest whin they 're aff to dinner, but not me ! Butler [Grins.] Go an — you were shlapin' two hours yisterday ! Maid Well, goodness knows, I naded it. Don 't she git in at all hours, an' don't I have to wait up? . . . Well, phwat 's doin' to- night ? Butler [Languidly.] I 've a few f rinds comin' to late supper in the Servants' Hall. 114 BELOW STAIRS Maid Am I in ut? Butler Sure ye are, Maggie. Ye 're a foine gyurl, machree; d' ye think I 'd lave ye out? Maid Who 's comin' ? Butler Kivers laid fur tin! Maid Silver an' plate? Butler Sure. Maid Wine? Butler Sure! ii5 MODERN MONOLOGUES Maid Dancin , aftherwards? Butler Thim 's urn. Me an' you to lead the cow- tillion. Maid Cowtillion — ye don't say! Butler I do. Ye know they are in the habit av pitchin' their cowtillion favors into the waste-basket the marnin' after — an' I 'm in the habit av collictin' thim out. Oh, say, I Ve got a grand lot av shtuff — 'nuff for tin figgers ! Maid Oh, say — ain't we commy-il-fote? [She rises and sweeps by him, say- ing,] Ring the bell, plaze, Martin, fur me maid. 116 BELOW STAIRS I must driss fur Mr. Martin Matthew Mori- arity's ball. Order me carriage at 'livin. Ah, here ye are, Maggie — lay out me green satin an' me yallow coat — [She laughs and changes to her natu- ral manner. ,] I '11 be wid ye in the twinklin' av an eye, Moriarity! [She runs out.] Butler [Looks after her.] Maggie, ye 're a foine gyurl. [He rises and stretches and yawns.] I don't know — I may marry that gyurl — she 'mos' suits me. Well, we '11 see. [Exit.] 117 ON WOMAN'S RIGHTS Scene — School-house at Bird Center. Discovered — Woman's Club in session. Mrs. Wiggin takes the floor. Mrs. Wiggin [Begins in hasty and deprecatory manner.'] I ain't a-goin' to try to explain to you — what 's thet, Miss Parsons ? Address the cheer? Why, what you talkin' 'bout — I ain't addressin' no cheer ! [She pauses while the parliamentary rule is explained to her. Dawning intelligence seen on her face.] Oh, I see — it's parlymentry, is it? Waal — I 'm glad you tol' me. Is it a he-cheer, or a she-cheer, Miss Parsons? [Angrily.] Call me to order ? Who 's a-callin' me to order? You 'tend to your own order, Mal- viny Springer, an' you '11 have your hands full. I don't notice so much order in your 11 Q MODERN MONOLOGUES housekeepin'. [To chairman.] What's thet? [Pause.] Oh — I see. Waal, now, why did n't ye explain thet to me at first — Malviny — excuse me. Ye see, I ain't ben to no club meetin' before — the first one ye had, I wuz havin' trouble with my hired help. Ye all know Jemima Hawkins — waal, she 's ben with me goin' on ten years — jest like one of the family, an' she had to go home to her folks — she 's got a lot of folks, Je- mima has — her father an' mother an' nine brothers an' sisters, an' they all got some dis- ease or other, Why, oncet I wuz up there to see Miss Hawkins, an' she lined them kids up, an' counted 'em out — No. I, heart dis- ease — No. 2, rickets — No. 3, lunger, etc., down thru the list. I reckon they got all the diseases in the catechism, an' so Jemima had to go home of course, an' so I could n't come to the club meetin', an' next meetin' ye had, the twins wuz croupy, an' — what? Oh, yes — waal, excuse me — I '11 git down to biz- ness now. My paper 's on Women's Rights — an' I wuz a-goin' to hev it all writ out, an' tied up with a blue ribbon an' all, but it took so long, I give thet up, an' so I ain't really goin' to 120 ON WOMAN'S RIGHTS read no paper at all, but will speak jest frum the tablets of mem'ry. I don't know jest what Women's Rights is, but I don't s'pose thet makes any differ- ence in a speech, an' there 's one thing I 'm dead sure I do know, an' thet is what Wo- men's Rights ought to be. A woman ought to hev rights — she 's a weak creeture, 'long- side of feller-man, an' she ought to be al- lowed her rights. Woman ain't never had a fair show — she was handiclapped frum the first, bein' made out of a rib, the way she wuz, an' so much ought not to be expected of woman as otherwise. Man hez always ben the stronger animal, but woman ain't without her weapings — namely and to wit, nails, feet, and tongue, — specially tongue, — an' with these few, she rose to her present peenuckle of glory! Women frum the first hez ben the leader — Eve led Adam, an' we 've ben leadin' men ever sence, so of course some rights hez ben growin' along with us. There 's several I think of — namely an' to wit: i, the right to change her mind — 2, the right to say the last word — 3, the right to ask her man what time he got in — 4, the right to mean yes 9 121 MODERN MONOLOGUES when she says no, and others, etcetry. To take these one by one an' sing'larly we see No. i — the right to change her mind. Of course, all humans change the mind, but specially women — but how you ever goin' to learn anything if ye don't change the mind ? I ust to think thet a husband wuz a great convenience — 'fore I got one. Now how wuz I to learn myself thet a husband 's worse 'n twins, unless I change my mind? Thet 's what I ask you folks, an' you 're all women, an' had the same experience, so I need n't say no further on thet head. No. 2 — the right to git the last word. Now, I hold thet somebody hez got to git the last word, so it may as well be woman (an' usu- ally is), but woman gits little enough here below, an' she may as well git what she can. No. 3 — the right to ask a man what time he got in. Waal, it ain't a-goin' to do her no good to ask about it, fur there ain't a man on earth thet '11 tell the truth, but it 's a sat- isfaction fur her to know what a good liar she 's got ! Now, just to show what a mean- sperited man 'ull descend to — I knowed a man thet said " Twelve o'clock " to the usual question, an' jest then the cuckoo 122 ON WOMAN'S RIGHTS clock hollered three, an' he up an' cuckooed ten times. But law — he found out thirteen wuz a unlucky number! So, you see, wo- man has a right to all the rights she 's got. Now, there is some females as is a-pinin' fur the right to vote in polyticks, 'long with the men, an' we all know one sister who leaves her children to the care of umselves, whilst she 's a-trottin' round, tryin' to git other women to vote. She 's got the worst kids in the county, an' ought to be home managin' them. I went to town oncet to hear what she had to say, an' left the twins with their dad, an' while I wuz gone, one of um fell in the well, an' wuz most drownded, an' the other fed whitewash to the calf, so I made up my mind I 'd had enough of the votin' bizness. Now, I know I don't want no man mon- keyin' round my kitchen, an' I reckon men feels the same. Polyticks is men's work. Men hez run polyticks fur a good many years, an' I reckon they 're welcome to keep on doin' it. I don't want the job. What would we do with a woman president, fur instance ? I bet she never could git a cabinet together, an' 't 'ud be worse 'n a sewin'-bee 123 MODERN MONOLOGUES if she did. So women hed better stay to hum. The rights ye want is these — namely an' to wit — to manage yer hum, yer chil- dern, an' yer husband to suit yerself, an' I got my opinion of any female as can't do thet. In closing I would say — thet rights is rights — an' women is women — an' they ought to hev 'em! [Exit.] 124 A HIGHLY COLORED SKETCH Scene — Melindy Jonsing's kitchen. Discovered — Melindy, singing. Enter Mr. Abraham Ebenezer White. White Good ebenin', Miss Melindy Jonsing. Melindy Oh, it 's you — is it ? White No — it ain't me — it 's some other nigger. Is yo' at home dis ebenin' ? Melindy I don' know if I is or not. I mought be, an' again I mought n't — what you want, anyway, Mr. Abraham White? 1*5 MODERN MONOLOGUES White Want ? I don' want nuffin, I come to make a call on yo\ Ain' yo' never see a gen'le- man makin' a call befo' ? Melindy Sho' I is — but all de gen'leman what call on me is in de habit ob sendin' up deir cyard. White Well, hoi' on — I gwine sen' up ma cyard if you-all gib me time. Whar 's yo' butler? I ain' see no han' stretched out fo' to take ma cyard! Melindy [Grins and bridles.] Well, hyah 's de hand, now let 's see de cyard. Who yo' say yo' want to see dis ebenin' ? White Miss Melindy Jonsing is de lady's name. 126 A HIGHLY COLORED SKETCH Melindy Well, I don' know if she '11 see yo' or not — she ain't so stuck on yo'. Say, how long yo' gwine stay here, Mistah White? White Till I gits kicked out. Melindy Well, yo' mought as well sit down, den. White Sure I mought — jes' as cheap. [Starts to sit, then sees the lack of chairs.] Say, look-a-yere, I don' want to sit on de only cheer — yo' sit down. Melindy No, I don' want to sit down, I ruther stand up. 127 MODERN MONOLOGUES White Aw, go on — sit down. Melindy No, sah — I could n't think ob deprivin* yo' ob yo' seat. White No depravity at all, Miss, no depravity at all. [She sits down.] How 's all yo' folks ? Melindy Ma folks is all right — how 's yo' folks ? White Ma folks is all right — 'ceptin' George Washington an' Grover Cleveland an' Abra- ham Lincoln — dey 's all got somethin' de matter wid dem, but de res' ob us is able to take a pork chop now an* den ! 128 A HIGHLY COLORED SKETCH Melindy Dat sholy is good news, Mr. White — I 'se glad to hear dat. . . . White Say — look-a-yere — did n't I see yo' flaxin' round wid dat barber-shop coon las' night? Melindy Mr. Rastus Harris — if dat 's de gen'le- man yo' 'se 'ludin' at — done took me to a minstrel show. White I ain' got no use fo' dat coon! Melindy He am' got no use fo' yo' — neder. I think he 's the swellest, mos' galubrious coon I ever set ma eyes on. Ma ! — he does blow de money. He don' hoY on to a quarter lak it wuz a ticket into Kingdom Come. I2p MODERN MONOLOGUES White Yes — well, it 's easy 'nuff to blow yo' money when yo' make it shootin' craps, but when yo' work fo' all de money yo' gits — yo' don' go out an' blow it all one night on no flirtatious nigger woman what don' know yo' on de street de next time she meets yo'. Melindy Look-a-yere — Mistah White — who yo' 'ludin' at? White I am' 'ludin' at nobody. Melindy Well, dat 's a good thing. I don' know as yo' got any place crisiticisin' anybody. Any man dat 's sittin' up to yaller trash like dat Anastasia Brown am' got no place crisiti- cisin' nobody! White Who's sittin' up to Anastasia Brown? 130 A HIGHLY COLORED SKETCH Melindy Why, yo' is — Ain' I see yo' dancin' wid her at de Jolly Club's ball? White Well, I only danced wid her once. Melindy Well, dat wuz once mo' dan anybody else did. Ma ! I thought I would die a-laffin' de way she wuz a-sittin' round de wall — I reckon she 's gwine fin' out her eristercrati- cal ways won't go down in our set ! White Lawd — I felt sorry f o' de gyurl ! Melindy Yes, yo' did. I yeard how yo* took her home, an' how yo' kissed her. MODERN MONOLOGUES White Kissed her? Kissed dat Anastasia Brown? Why, I 'd jes' as soon kiss ol' Pete Thompson's mule as dat trash. Who tol' yo' I kissed her? Melindy Well, dat \s all right who tol' me yo' kissed her. I don' see how yo' expect to keep company wid high-toned ladies! White Oh, yo* ain' so much, flaxin' 'round wid dat barber-shop coon. Anastasia Brown am' de only scarecrow in de corn-field! . . . Now, look yere, Melindy Jonsing — I 'se put up wid all de foolin' I 'se gwine to — yo' is got to take yo' choice. Yo' 'se mine or yo' 'se his'n. Now, is yo' or ain't yo' ? Melindy I don' know if I is — or not. 132 A HIGHLY COLORED SKETCH White Is yo' goin' to gib up dat barber-shop coon? Melindy Ma! — he has got de fine mannerses. White Yo' gwine quit foolin' wid dat crap- shooter ? Melindy Ma ! — he does throw de money. White Yo' gwine leave off foolin' wid dat sec- ond-hand fashion plate? Melindy Mebbe he don' wear de fine clothes ! *33 MODERN MONOLOGUES White Well, go on, an' take him, den, an' yo' 're welcome to him. Ob all de snub-nosed, bow-legged cigar-store Indians I eber see, he 's de worst. He simply nashewates me — dat 's what he does. I would n't take him to a dawg-fight. But if he 's de pineapple ob yo' eye, why, go on an' marry him — yo' got ma sympathy. [Starts to go out.] Melindy Well, what yo' rushin' round here fo' — lak a chicken wid his head off? White I ain' gwine stay where I ain' wanted. Melindy Who said yo' wuz n't wanted ? White Why — yo' did. If yo' gwine marry dat coon I can't afford to 'sociate wid yo' — I can't risk ma reputation. J?4 A HIGHLY COLORED SKETCH Melindy Who said I wuz gwine to marry him? White Yo' said so yo'self — dat 's who ! Melindy Oh, I nebber did say so — I ain't got no mo' intention ob marryin' wid him dan I has ob marryin' — yo' ! White [Firmly. ] Well, look-a-yere — Melindy Jonsing, if yo' am' a-goin' to marry him, yo' is a-goin' to marry me! Melindy Is dat so? Who said so? White I said so — dat 's who said so. 135 MODERN MONOLOGUES Melindy Well — I lak yo' nerve. White 'Cose yo' do — ladies always laks a nervous man ! {Puts arm about her.] Say, Melindy, does yo' lub yo' honey? Melindy Oh, so-so. I am' so crazy 'bout yo' ! White [sings] Can't think ob nuffin else but you — you — you — I 'd die fo* you— I sigh fo' you. Nights when I 'se sleepin', I wakes to fin* I 'se weephV— All fo' you, Luly-loo — I *se a-dreamin' all de time ob you, Lu-lu! [Exeunt.] r36 A DARK-BROWN DIPLOMAT Scene — Mammy's kitchen. Discovered — Mammy singing at her iron- ing-board. Mammy Yas'm — Miss Winston — yo' callin' me? I 'se hyah in de kitchen, ma'am. Yo' lookin' kind ob tired like, dis mohnin' — I hope yo' ain' feelin' badly. . . . Ma'am — mad wif me? Why, 'fo' Gawd, Miss Winston — what I done? Things a-missin' from yo' kitchen? Why, dat mighty strange— I bin hyah in de kitchen all de time, an' I ain' missed nuffin. . . . Does I take things home wif me? Why, yas 'm — sometimes — we all does. Night 'fo' las' — lemme see — yas'm,I reckon I did take a few things dat night — dat was de night I tuk some things to ole Miss John- MODERN MONOLOGUES sing — she 's so poly. I ain't tuk nuffin much, tho' — jes' a carcass ob a ole chicken, I know yo' am' gvvine hab no use fo\ Mos' a whole chicken ? No 'm — yo' mistookin' 'bout dat, Miss Winston — war n't nuffin but ole handful ob bones dat I tuk. Why, Miss Johnsing only got four childern, an' dey was n't but one helpin' round — so yo' see yo'self, ain't nuffin but a carcass. What else I tuk? I — I don' jes' recomember — Sugar ? Yas 'm, I reckon dey was a leetle sugar — an' sweet potaters? Yes 'm — jes' a few, knotty ones, I know yo' ain' gwine hab no use fo'. Buttah — yas 'm — mite o' buttah. Can't hab sweet potaters widout buttah, yo' know, Miss Winston. Cake? — no 'm, dey wa'n't no cake. I reckon dat 's 'bout all dey wuz in dat basket. Does I know what, ma'am? Dat stealing 'Fo' Gawd — Miss Winston — dat ain't stealin'. What is stealin' ? Why — I reckon, when yo' bust in de houses ob peoples yo' don't know — dat yo' ain't got no 'quaintance wif — dat 's stealin'! Why ain't I ask yo' fo' de things? Well, Miss Winston, I know, when yo' heah how poly ole Miss Smiff is — I know yo* gwine give 'em to me — so what 's de use ob '3? A DARK-BROWN DIPLOMAT askin' yo' ? Did I say Miss Smiff — well, I meant Miss Johnsing — it wuz Miss Johnsing I tuk 'em to — she 's de one dat 's poly. Et 'em maself ? — Miss Winston — I gib yo' ma word ob honor — I am' had a smell ob dem things maself ! Yas 'm — I heah yo'. Yas 'm, I gwine promise nevah to do dat no mo'. I gwine ask yo' fo' eb'rything I take. Yas 'm, I know de cream go awful fast — like — but it 's dat cat yo' got. Dat 's de mos' expen- singest cat I ebber done know nuffin about. She gits on de breakfust-table 'fo' yo'-all gits down in de mohnin', and gits her haid in de cream-pitcher. I cotched her at it lots ob times. Whip her? Lawd — Miss Win- ston — I do whip her. Why, udder day I fired a flatiron at her haid — but it don't do no good. Can't get cream out 'n de bottle ! Dat cat can't? Why, Miss Winston — yo' don't know dat cat. Why, I seen her get onto de shelf, an' stick her claws in de paste- board top ob de bottle, and yank it off, an' den stick her udder paw in an' lick up de cream. Dat 's de truf I 'm tellin' yo'. . . . De cake ? No 'm, de cat don't eat de cake — it 's de miceses. I nevah did see a house so full ob miceses. Some mohnin's I come 139 MODERN MONOLOGUES down to git de breakfust, an' I fin' dey hab et up half a cake ober night! Dat cat? She won't tech miceses — she got to hab cream — she has ! Ma'am? Mistah Winston says ma cookin' don' make up fo' ma 'stravagance? Why, I don' know what he means. Am' no one ebber found no fault befo' wid ma cookin' — nevah dat I heard tell ob. Why, Judge Harlow — whah I was 'fo' I came hyah — he said I was de mos' original- est cook he ebber done heard tell ob. He said ma cookin' beat all — dat what he said. He said he did n't think it wuz right fo' him to deprive humanity ob ma cookin' — -an' he paid me extra fo' to go an' cook fo' some- body else. He said when yo' got a good thing — 't was yo' duty to push it 'long. Dat 's what he said. Dey ain't nevah any- body foun' no fault wid ma cookin' befo'. Well, I reckon I ain' seem to suit yo'-all — so I bettah be movin' 'long. I 'se awful sorry to go, I is. Yo' bin mighty kind to me, yo' an' Mistah Winston. I don' reckon I 'se ebber gwine fin' no chillen I like as well as yo' chillen. Lots ob folks won't hab chillen playin' roun' deir kitchen, but I likes it. 140 A DARK-BROWN DIPLOMAT Dey 's powerful lot ob company in chillens. [Calls.] What dat? No, now, Miss Alice, honey, yo' can't make patty-cakeses now — I 'se busy talkin' to yo' ma. What? Yo' gib me a kiss if I let yo' ? Well, yo' come right 'long hyah an' gib me de kiss, an' we '11 see 'bout dem cakeses. [Watches child in, and bends to kiss her, then shoos her out.] Mighty smart child, Miss Alice is — I 'se mighty fond ob her — an' she lub ole mammy too. Well, Miss Winston, when yo' want me to go? Don' want me to go? But if yo* don' lak ma cookin' an' ma 'stravagance — I 'low yo' ain't want me to stay. I 'se willin' to go — I 'd ruther go dan fo' yo' to hab any hard thoughts about me. I 'se a po' ole woman, Miss Winston, but I got a honest heart. Yo' say yo' ain't sendin' me off — yo' just a-scoldin' me ? Well, bress de Lord — honey — yo' did gib me a scare — I thought yo' gwine turn me out dis time, sho. Miss Winston, I gib yo' ma solemn word — I gwine reform. I gwine be so savin', yo' won't know me. . . . Now what yo' want fo' dinner to-night? . . . Oh, yes, 'fo' I for- 141 MODERN MONOLOGUES git it — could yo' let me off on Sunday, fo' de day — I want to go to a funeral — ole Miss Johnsing's. Yas 'm — same lady. Well — she am' dead yet. Yo' see, it 's lak dis. She 's mighty poly, and likely to go any minute, an' she say dat de corpse am' got no show at all at a funeral, so she gwine hab hers 'fo' she goes. It 's gwine be Sunday — all de colored folks in town is gwine. Yas, I 'd like to go all day — it 's gwine be mighty long funeral. Yas 'm— thank yo' — Miss Winston, I hope yo' can 'range it fo' me. I sut'nly would 'predate it. [Listens.] What 's dat ? Dat 's dem chillen on ma clean back steps. I gwine snuk out dere an' catch 'em at it. [Tiptoes to door, then breaks oat.] Yo' chillen — what yo' doin' dere? Ain' I tol' yo' not to play on ma clean steps? Yo' want me to break yo' necks. [Exit.] 142 AT Mme. NEWBERRY'S Scene — Mme. Newberry's Fashionable Finishing School. Discovered — Jane Mortimer, secretary to Mme. Newberry, sitting at the office desk and interviewing can- didates. Enter, with immense empressement, Mrs. Payson de Sleyster and her daughter, Eleanora. Mrs. Payson de Sleyster [In a large, mellifluous voice accus- tomed to command.] I wish to see Mme. Newberry — will you send in my card? She is busy, you say, — well — / am Mrs. Payson de Sleyster — no doubt she will see me. She makes it a rule to see no one during teaching hours ? Dear me ! — how tiresome ! I suppose I could come again, but it would inconvenience me H3 MODERN MONOLOGUES greatly. {Hesitates.'] Well — I suppose I could transact my business with you if ne- cessary — but I would prefer to deal with Mme. Newberry direct. I wish to make some inquiries about the school, preparatory to placing my daughter, Eleanora, in Mme. Newberry's charge. How large is the school ? Indeed ? That 's unfortunate — I should have preferred it smaller. Are there really nice girls in the school? Ah — Eleanora has associated with none but the best, of course, and I should not wish her to form any ties with ordinary persons. I do not wish her to study much — she is not strong — oh, yes — what do you teach ? [She takes catalogue from secretary and reads aloud.] " Voice-culture, music, dancing, fenc- ing, pronunciation, deportment, reading, French, German, and elocution. ,, [Lan- guidly.] Um-hum — these do very well. [With more interest,] Will she learn to enter a drawing-room? Good — and to con- verse on topics of — a — interest? Conversa- tion classes, you say? Literature, art, science, politics — is that the sort of thing 144 AT MME. NEWBERRY'S they discuss ? I did n't mean that sort of topics of interest — I meant the sort of talk that one needs at a dinner. I do not wish her to learn to discuss politics — it 's no topic for a lady. Besides, I would n't have Elea- nora become a strong-minded woman for anything in the world. I have always formed her opinions for her, and I have been very careful what she learns. The main difficulty with Eleanora is her shyness. I can't imagine where she gets it — not from my family, nor her father's, either, I 'm sure. It 's a great trial to me — a great affliction. I 've brought her to Mme. Newberry to have this overcome. I feel convinced that it can be trained out of her. Of course, in society, to-day, a shy woman does n't get anywhere. None of Eleanora's friends are shy, I 'm sure — and she has al- ways been sent to the most expensive schools — I really don't see where she gets it. Well, I hope you can do something with her. Now about the hours. Of course I do not wish her to study outside of school hours. She always gets so interested in her work that she is absolutely good for nothing else. H5 MODERN MONOLOGUES Of course, I do not wish her school to inter- fere with other things. I have always thought too much study unhealthy for a young girl. Well, then she can begin on Monday — at nine? Dear me — that seems very early. Is it really necessary that she should be here at nine? Well — it seems a barbarous hour to me ! Her name ? Oh, yes — Eleanora Pay- son de Sleyster, 32 Astor Court. Age nine- teen. Suppose you just put down on that card — " special attention to shyness," so Mme. Newberry will not forget. I will send you a check to-day. What is the — a — a — ? Oh, is that all? Why, I paid five hundred more at her last school ! Are you sure that really nice girls are in this school? Well — she may try it a week or so. I think that is all. Come along, Eleanora. Good morning. 146 AT MME. NEWBERRY'S II Enter a gentlemanly looking young woman with a strong jaw and a long stride. She speaks in a tiny, threadlike voice which is un- speakably funny in connection with her mannish manners. She speaks Is Mme. Newberry here? Well, I want to speak to her. When will she be at leisure? Oh, you 're her secretary, are you? Well, you '11 do just as well. I 'm a lecturer — and I wish to develop my voice a little bit. I have understood that I could have it done here. What sort of lecturer? Why, I'm Elmira Beechum! [Huge surprise.] Have n't you ever heard of me ? I 'm one of the best-known Lyceum lecturers in the West to-day, and before many years have rolled away the whole length and breadth of this land from the gray Atlantic to the blue Pacific shall ring with the name of Beechum ! No, I 'm no relation to the Liver Pill man. H7 MODERN MONOLOGUES My desire is to become the greatest reformer of our times. All can see that the " times are out of joint," that society, conventions, matrimony, the family, the state, and the nation all need revolutionizing — all can see that, I say — but few have the power to un- dertake such reform. This is the task I 've set myself. I intend to move thousands by my eloquence ; to arouse them to some reali- zation of the frightful condition of things in general ! How do I expect to accomplish this ? Ah, that is my secret. It is the most comprehen- sive plan evolved by the human brain since the days of Napoleon. I have had it copy- righted, and when the time comes 1 5 11 as- tonish the world with it ! The only thing I need now is a little more voice, and I 've come to Mme. Newberry to get it. I only have a few weeks to spend in this city before starting on a tour of Da- kota, so I thought I might get my voice im- proved before I start. She could only give me the principles of voice development, you say? Well, if I like her, I may come back after the Dakota trip. Do you think I could take a lesson this morning? I don't want 148 AT MME. NEWBERRY'S to miss any time. It 's ten-thirty now. See that watch ? The people of Osceolo gave that to me as a thank-offering for showing them in what frightful slavery they live. Strange that you never heard of me ! Never heard of my lecture — " Reformation of the Uni- verse " ? Here 's some of my clippings — see this one from Witch's Gulch, Texas — " Miss Beechum's lecture * Reformation of the Universe * is one of the unchallenged lit- erary triumphs of the age ! " You think it would n't pay me to study for a few weeks, you say? She could n't do anything with my voice in that time? Why not ? I 've got a very good voice indeed — all I want is a little more of it. Well — you need n't hem and haw about it — I expect there are other places where I can get a nat- urally fine voice brushed up a bit — where they '11 be only too glad to have the name of Elmira Beechum enrolled upon their roster ! [She makes a dignified but haughty exit,] 149 MODERN MONOLOGUES in Enter sweet-looking girl with retiring man- ner. She blushes, and seems to hesitate before speaking. I w-w-want to sp-sp-speak to M-m-ma- dame Newberry, p-p-pl-please. Oh, y-y- you 're the s-s- [ Whistles'] secretary, are you? Well, I w-w-w- [Whistles'] want to 1-1-learn to con-con-converse. You see, I st-st-stut-stutter a 1-1-little, and I th-th- thought that p-p-probably she c-c-could c-c- [Whistles] cure me. I Ve always recited a g-g-good d-d-deal, and everybody at h-h-home thinks I could g-g-go on the st-stage, if I only did n't st-st-stutter a 1-1-little. I can do the b-b- balcony scene fr-fr-from " R-R-Romeo and J- Juliet " — by Shakspere. The one ab-ab- about "R-R-Romeo — Ru-Ru-Romeo, where- fore art th-thou, R-R-Romeo?" I pl-pl- played both parts when I gr-gr-raduated from h-h-high sc-school, and everybody said that it was as g-g-good as J- J- Julia Ma-Ma- Marlowe! I c-can do the two p-parts for y-y-you, if you w-w-want me to. ISO AT MME. NEWBERRY'S Of c-c-course, if I st-st-stuttered very badly, I c-could n't th-th- [Whistles] think of going on the st-st-stage, but I th-th- thought that M-M-Madame Newberry m-m- might cure me in a m-m-m-month or so. Oh, y-yes — I have b-b-been to a sc-school of st-stuttering. I was there a y-y- [ Whistles] year, but I did n't 1-1-like their m-m-method there. You don't th-th-think she could cure me if a regular doctor could n't ? Well, I 'd rather see M-M-Madame Newberry herself, if you don't m-m-mind. At t-t-ten to-mor- row ? W-well, I '11 be in and d-d-do the b-b-balcony sc- [ Whistles] scene from " R- Romeo and J- J- Juliet " by Shakspere. G-g- good-by. IV Enter a very dressy young person who switches into a chair She speaks This is a school of acting, is n't it ? I want to take a few lessons before going on the 151 MODERN MONOLOGUES stage. No, I have n't studied before — that is, not much. I don't believe in studying much — it takes all the naturalness out of you. Well, I have n't decided yet just what sort of actress I '11 be. I can do tragedy and comedy both. I can do the potion scene from " Juliet " and the sleep-walking scene from " Lady Macbeth." The elocution teacher down home said he never heard anybody do the potion scene any better 'n I do it, and he 'd heard 'most every great actor there is. I do a lot of other things. Do you know a play called " A Woman's Wrongs" ? Well, it 's the saddest thing you ever heard. It always makes everybody cry. I almost always cry myself when I do it — oh, it 's a grand thing. I 'm just crazy about getting on the stage. Of course, my family are n't for it — they think it 's awful ; but if you 're born for it you might as well go ahead. I think you ought to do what you 're cut out to — don't you ? Everybody says it 's easy to get into a good company if you come out of one of these stage schools — so I thought I 'd try this one. How long do you think it would take me to get ready for the stage? Ten 152 AT MME. NEWBERRY'S years? For goodness sake — do you suppose I 'm going to waste ten years getting ready? Why, in ten years I expect to be at the head of my own company. It does n't take long to be a star, now. All you have to do is to get in with some pushing manager. I have thought some of grand opera — I can sing a little. I always sang in the choir at home. We gave " Esther " once and I played the lead, and everybody was crazy about it. Whenever there 's a party at home they always ask me to sing something from grand opera or the " Rosary/' It goes like this, you know. [She sings the " Rosary/' unaccom- panied and wandering aimlessly from key to key.] I think I 'd rather be an actress, though — you have to be so careful when you 're a grand-opera star — can't eat much, nor stay up late. You don't think this school is what I want? If it ? s going to take you ten years to get me ready, I 'm sure of it. I just want a few months' work and then a posi- tion. I think the school ought to guarantee the position in a good company. You can't do that? Well, then, that settles it. I'm 153 MODERN MONOLOGUES sorry. I suppose I would have been a good advertisement for you — but I have to think of myself, you know. Good-by. [She sails out.] Enter a small girl, overdressed, quite unac- companied, and bearing all the marks of a stage child. She speaks I 'm the little girl the lady came to see you about yesterday. Yes, I 'm Pearl — " Pearl — the Child Wonder," they call me on the bills. I 'm a vaudeville actress, you know, but I 'm out of* an engagement now, so somebody told my mother I ought to go to school while we 're layin' off. I can, because we 're flush now, — 'cause I 've made good everywhere. I tell you " Pearl— -the Child Wonder " gets the " hand " everywhere. I told her I would n't come to any readin'- writin'-'rithmetic school — 'cause I hate 'em — but if it was singin' and dancin' an' all that, I 'd just as soon. 154 AT MME. NEWBERRY'S Oh, I do song and dance, and pieces with lightning change. Did n't you ever hear me? For goodness sake — where you been living ? I Ve been touring the U. S. for ten years. Oh, yes, they always bill me eight years old — people like you young, you know ; but, honest-to-goodness, I 'm twelve. Oh, no — I don't get tired of it — I 'm used to it. It 's layin' off, like I am now, that makes me tired. That 's why I 'd just as soon come to your school. What are you goin' to teach me ? I '11 do a turn, so you can see what I can do. [She recites, " Little Mabel — little Mabel, with her face against the pane," etc., in a sobbing voice, with very accurate gestures. Then she does the inevitable Swiss Moun- tain song with yodel chorus, doing a sort of clog-dance.] One of my hits is the " Florodora " sex- tette. [She sings the sextette — leaping from the place where the man stands to the place where the girl stands. She does it very sol- emnly.] *55 MODERN MONOLOGUES Do you know a piece called the " Drunk- ard's Child " ? The first verse goes like this— A sweet child knelt At her mother's knee To say her evening prayer, When all at once A drunkard's step Rang out upon the stair. There 's ten verses — it always makes 'em cry, I '11 tell you. Then I know a lot more stuff — an' dances, of course. All right — go on an' tell me what you '11 make me do if I stay here. Learn to speak correct — do you mean grammar? I won't study that — I don't like that. Study real poetry ? No, sir ! I want funny pieces, or sad ones — I don't want no poetry! Spellin' an' deportment? Well, I guess not — I ain't a-goin' to study none of those things. If you won't teach me some new pieces and some new steps — I won't learn nothin'. What's the use? I don't need none of those things in my busi- ness. I 'm makin' good everywhere, now. I guess I don't want none of your finishin' school! Well, I'll be off an' " break the news to mother " — so long ! [Little Pearl flounces out.] 156 HOW IT HAPPENED Scene — Beach by moonlight. Discovered — Miss Audrey Gay, a romantic young thing. Mr. John Mar- vel, not so young nor romantic* She [Sighs.] It 's lovely, is n't it — the moon on the water and everything? He By Jove, it is lovely — the moon on the water — and everything. She It almost makes you want to be a poet, does n't it ? Only poets are always so poor. 157 MODERN MONOLOGUES I know a man who writes the sweetest things about love and summer, and things for newspapers — and he says he does n't make enough to keep him in shoe-strings. Is n't that dreadful? Don't you think we ought to do something for our poets, Mr. Marvel ? He Yes, I do; I think we ought to kill them at birth. She Oh, how dreadful ! Don't you like poets, Mr. Marvel? He Can't say I do. I know too many of them. We 've got an over-supply on hand. . . . Let 's talk of something interesting. She Well, what do you think is interesting? He Let 's talk about — you. 158 HOW IT HAPPENED She Oh, but I 'm not — He Well, you 're so pretty, you don't have to be. [Aside.] I ought to be kicked for that. By Jove ! — she thinks it 's a compliment. Tell me what sort of thing you like? She What sort of things do you think I 'd like? He Well, you see, I 've only known you three days. She But that 's a long time at a summer resort. He So it is. I suppose I ought to know your innermost thoughts by this time. Unfortu- 159 MODERN MONOLOGUES nately, I 've been looking at you, instead of thinking about you. What are you most in- terested in, in the world ? She Men — you mean ? He [Laughs.] So that 's what you like best! She [Embarrassed.] Oh, I did n't under- stand. I did n't know you meant — I — well, I said I liked poetry. He So you did. What brand do you prefer? She Oh, I like Ella Wheeler Wilcox— don't you? 160 HOW IT HAPPENED He Heaven forbid! She And sometimes there's lovely poetry in the " Smart Set " and those magazines. He Yes ? Well — poetry — I Ve got that down as an absorbing interest. Next. She I like novels, too. He "Janice Meredith" and— "The Duchess" ? She [Nods.] How'd you know? 161 MODERN MONOLOGUES He How about the drama? She Oh, theater, you mean. I love it. Did you see James K. Hackett in — He Alas — no. Theater is three — now let 's have something really frivolous — society — dancing ? She Oh, yes ; I love them. He And men? She Um-hum. He I '11 tell you about your ideal — he 's six feet tall, square-shouldered, smooth-faced — 162 HOW IT HAPPENED is, or has been, an athlete at Yale or Har- vard. Dances well — knows the world — none better! A trifle blase, perhaps — but such a lady-killer. About right — is n't it? She Why, how did you know? Who told you? He You did. She I? Never — I never told a soul except Polly March and Susan Reynolds. He Well — no matter. Tell me some more. She No — now you tell me about your ideal. He Oh, no, I could n't ! It would be so em- barrassing, you know. 163 MODERN MONOLOGUES She Why? He [With killing glance.] Why — she — she 's so near, you know — she 'd hear me ! She [Utter surprise.] You mean — ? He [Nods.] I kiss the hand of — my ideal! [Suits action to word.] She Oh, that 's a very pretty speech — but I know — I — I 'm not — He Don't you think it deserves a reward ? [He kisses her.] 164 HOW IT HAPPENED She Mr. Marvel! What do you mean? Now you 've gone and spoiled it all. And I thought you were so nice. . . • He I am, really. But you did look so adora- ble, you know — She Well — come on. He Where? She Home — of course. I can't ever walk on the beach with you again, because you 're so silly! He [With faint smile."] Out of the mouths of babes — I agree with you entirely, Miss Au- drey, and I '11 apologize all the way home. I '11 go the entire way on my knees, if you like! [They walk away briskly.] 165 MODERN MONOLOGUES ii Scene — Hotel porch. Miss Audrey Gay meets her best friend, Polly March. Miss Gay Hello, Polly ! How are you this morning ? Yes, it 's a great day for our sail, is n't it ? Oh, yes, I 'm going — are n't you ? Who ? Mr. Marvel? — why, I don't know; I sup- pose he is. Thought / would n't go without him? Why, Polly March, what do you mean? You were where? On the beach — last night. Well, what if you were? Saw us? [Excitedly.] Polly, you didn't see him . . . Oh, Polly, you didn't! Who were you with? Not that Hudson man? Oh, dear — he '11 tell everybody ! I may as well tell you the truth about it, Polly March — come over here and sit down. Now, give me your word of honor — cross your heart and hope to die if you ever breathe a word I 'm going to tell you. Of 166 HOW IT HAPPENED course, mamma would be furious if it ever got out. Well, you see, Polly, it was like this. We were walking on the beach, and we sat down to rest. Mr. Marvel did n't say anything for a long time, but he sighed and looked at me so sadly — you know how sort of oldish and interesting he looks — and so I asked him why he sighed. He said it was because I reminded him of some one he had loved and lost — and then he told me about her. He was engaged to her, and she had hair and eyes like mine — that 's why he likes me. Her name was Evangeline — is n't that romantic? They used to sit on the beach together. And, Polly, he talked so beautifully, and he forgot all about me; he just looked off over the water and whispered, " Evangeline ! " and then he leaned over and kissed me. I never was so surprised in my life — and then all at once he came to, and, my dear, I never saw a man feel so terribly about anything. He could n't say enough — he had just for- gotten all about me, and dreamed he was with Evangeline. What could I do? He was so pathetic, and I felt so sorry for him. But, of course, I scolded him dreadfully. 167 MODERN MONOLOGUES You think it was mean of me? Well, I had to. I don't know, though; perhaps you are right. After all, it was n't me he kissed — it was Evangeline. There goes the crowd down to the pier — we 'd better hurry, if we 're going. Now, remember, Polly — not a word to a living soul. [They rush off.] in Scene — Hotel porch. Marvel meets Hudson. Marvel How are you, Hudson ? Great day, is n't it ? The Pinta ought to make good time with this wind. What 's that ? Did I have a pleasant evening? Why, yes, fairly. What are you driving at? Saw me — what? Where were you? You old blackguard, what were you hanging around for? Why didn't you whistle? Anybody with you? Not that March girl! Good Gad— she '11 spread the good news! [Takes him by the arm and walks him.] Well, look here, old man, it was like this. 168 HOW IT HAPPENED You see, Miss Gay and I had a bet up — a bull pup against a kiss, and, you see, I won. Of course, it was all a joke — but I was brute enough to make her pay up — you know how those things are — huh? Now, of course, it would be rather nasty for the girl if it got about, so I can depend on you to keep it dark, can't I? Much obliged. And, say, shut Miss March up, can't you ? I '11 appre- ciate it very much indeed. Little Miss Gay is a nice sort of child, don't you know — not too much brain, nor anything of that sort, but I would n't have her made uncomfor- table about the affair, you know. Look — they 're pulling up the sails on the Pint a — we 'd better be off. There go the girls now. I say — Miss Gay — [Calls] Miss March — wait a minute! [They hurry off.] IV Scene — Hotel porch, at night. Marvel joins Miss Gay. He May I speak to you a minute? [They walk to and fro.] 12 * 169 MODERN MONOLOGUES She I suppose you know it 's all over the hotel. He That 's what I wanted to speak to you about. She I don't think speaking will do you any good! He I can't imagine who told it — She [Hotly.] Well, I can tell you. It was that Hudson man, who 's such a dear friend of yours. He I beg your pardon — it was the March girl, your chum. 170 HOW IT HAPPENED She You 're mistaken. She gave me her word of honor — He Hudson gave me his. But that 's not the point. I acted badly, I know it — I Ve gotten you into a scrape, and I want to get you out. She Well, after that " bet " story you told, I don't see how you expect — He How about " Evangeline " ? She Well, I had to tell something. He So did I. Do you think it would help out if we announced our engagement? We 171 MODERN MONOLOGUES could make it just as temporary as you like. Of course, I have no particular desire to marry just now — so I would wish it to be a temporary thing; but if it would help you out, why — of course, I 'm a little older than you are, and no doubt you would not care to marry me. But if, having clearly under- stood the situation, we entered into an agree- ment — She Great Scott! I never heard such amiable condescension in all my life. Do you think I 'd announce my engagement, temporary or otherwise, to a man of your age? — why, you 're old enough to be my father ! Besides — I have no particular desire to marry just now — and if I had, well — it would n't be to a man who hates poetry and novels, and all the things I like. And as for a man who has to trump a story about " bets " to excuse himself for wilfully kissing a girl on a moonlight night — well, I have my opinion of such a craven churl. Do you remember " my ideal " which you described so per- fectly last night on the beach? Well, it may interest you to know that he 's a real man — 172 HOW IT HAPPENED his name is Bob Crandall, the famous Yale center, and I 've been engaged to him for a year. I don't believe he 'd care about any " temporary engagements " with old gentlemen. Well, good night. I hope you '11 have better luck next time ! [She strolls off, laughing.] m WHEN MORNING BREAKS Scene — Nursery: morning. Discovered — Jimmy and Molly asleep. Enter Mother. Mother Come, chickens, come — it 's time to get up. Breakfast in ten minutes. Let us see who can beat getting dressed this morning ! Molly Is it to-morrow ? Mother Yes, dear — now hurry! [Exit Mother.] 175 MODERN MONOLOGUES Molly Jimmy — Jimmy — get up. It 's to-mor- row! Jimmy Aw — it is not. You 're always wakin' me up to say it 's to-morrow when it ain't ! Molly Well, it is — 'cause mamma said so. Jimmy Mamma ? Molly Yes, when she came to say " get up," Jimmy Did mamma come in here? Molly Why, 'course! 176 WHEN MORNING BREAKS Jimmy I did n't hear her — did she, honust Injun? Molly Cross my heart an' hope to die! An' we have to hurry up. Boo — it 's cold ! Jimmy First one that gets to the register can have it all to himself to get dressed on ! [Wild rush for the register.] I'm first! Molly You were not. I had my foot on first and you shoved me. Jimmy Aw — get out! I was on before you got started. 177 MODERN MONOLOGUES Molly Well, I don't want any, anyhow — it ain't so very cold. 'Sides, there ain't any heat comin' up. Jimmy [Coaxingly.] Say, Moll, hand me my clothes, will you? Molly What '11 you do, if I will? Jimmy Well, I '11 give you half the register. Molly All right. Now move over, Jimmy — that ain't half. Jimmy Bet I '11 beat gettin' on stockings ! 178 WHEN MORNING BREAKS Molly Bet you don't. . . . There ! Jimmy Aw — you got it on hind side afore! That 's the heel, you big goose ! Molly Poor Mary — did I get your clothes on wrong? Jimmy What makes you call that foot Mary? Molly 'Cause that 's her name. An' the other one's name is John. Jimmy Mine's names ain't — mine's names is Maud S. and Heatherbloom. I bet mine can beat yours. Say, Moll — I '11 beat you washin'. 179 MODERN MONOLOGUES Molly Well, you don't wash nice — mamma said so — you just wash a weenty bit in the mid- dle, an' I go all round — an' neck too — some- times. Jimmy No use my washin' my neck, when mam- ma 's always doin' it. I know boys at school 'at don't never have necks done — never. Molly Not nice ones. Nice ones alius has their necks did. Jimmy Yesterday the teacher said, " Solomon Godowski, when did you have your hands washed ? " An' he said, " Las' Wednes- day " ; an' she made him go right out an' wash them. Molly I know a girl 'at never has her hair done — not never. 180 WHEN MORNING BREAKS Jimmy If I had ol' long hair like yours — I 'd cut it off. Molly [Meditatively.] Jimmy — if I did cut it off, would I be a boy, then, like you ? Jimmy Yep — kind of. Molly Would I be your brother then? Jimmy Yep— kind of. Molly An' would you play wif me, — tag an' I-spy an' ev'rything? 181 MODERN MONOLOGUES Jimmy Sometimes — I would. Molly Would I be in your gang? Jimmy Yep — kind of. Molly Well — I will. Here is some scissors — now you cut it off. Jimmy Say, you 'd better not — mamma '11 be mad. Molly No — I 'm goin' to be a boy, an' go in your gang. Jimmy You '11 get a lickin', if you do. 182 WHEN MORNING BREAKS Molly I don't care if I do — 'cause I want to be a boy, an' play, an' not haf to practise, an' not haf to be a lady! [James promptly begins to snip. Enter mother.] Mother James Baker, what are you doing? Molly [Hastily.] He's cuttin' off my hair so I '11 be a boy in his gang, an' he '11 play wif me all the time, an' not tease me — Mother James, I have the greatest notion on earth to give you a good whipping! Jimmy Well, she made me. 183 MODERN MONOLOGUES Mother That 's a nice thing for a great big boy to say about his little sister. " She made me ! " Molly Mudder, can't I have my hair cut off an' be a boy? Mother My precious baby, that would n't make you a boy. And what would mother do without her girlie? I would n't have her changed for all the boys in the universe ! Molly But girls have to be so nice, an' get hurted, an' teased, an' boys don't. I w r ant to be a boy, mudder. [Mother gathers her into her arms.] 184 WHEN MORNING BREAKS Mother My blessed baby, you 're learning the les- son of feminine limitations very young! Come, Jimmie, never mind the necktie until after breakfast. Come along, lady-bird. Id 185 a WHO'S AFRAID?" // is bedtime for Molly and Jimmy Baker, and mamma is tucking them into their two little beds. Mamma Now, lie still, Molly dear, and don't kick the covers off ! Molly Mamma, will you leave a little teenty- reenty light burning to-night? w Mamma Why, I expect so! Daddy and I will be just down-stairs; if you are frightened you can call. Jimmy Ah — she 's the biggest f raidy-cat ! i8 7 MODERN MONOLOGUES Mamma Now, James, none of that! I want no quarreling, nor talking. I want you to go straight to sleep. [Mamma turns the light low, kisses them, and goes out.] Molly I wish Susie Jones's mother was my mo- ther. She leaves the light goin' full tilt, every night — Susie told me so ! Jimmy Aw, I bet she does not ! Susie f s the big- gest story-teller in the world, next to you — Molly Why, I 'm not a story-teller, Jimmy Baker! Jimmy You are, too, and you 're a tattle-tale — 188 " WHO 9 S AFRAID? " Molly I am not — I am not — Jimmy 'Sh! Do you want mamma to come up here and whip you ? [Silence for a while.] Molly Jimmy, will you tell me a story? Jimmy No, I 'm goin' to sleep. What '11 you give me if I do? Molly I '11 give you — a — a — Jimmy Will you give me your new jumping- rope? 189 MODERN MONOLOGUES Molly Oh, Jimmy — not my new one ! I '11 give you my ol' one ! It 's 'mos' as good — it 's better 'n my new one ! Jimmy No — I want the new one, with the handles to make harness with! Molly Oh, Jimmy ! Jimmy [Crossly.] Well, now, you don't have to, if you don't want to ! Molly [Meekly.] Well, I will. But you won't tell one with bears in it, will you? ipo " WHO >S AFRAID? " Jimmy Aw — you big f raidy-cat ! Who 's afraid ? [Jimmy gets up on his elbow, and begins.'] Oncet upon a time, there was a boy 'at lived in — now — Chicago. And one day he was sassy to his father, and he up and runned away — Molly Who — his father did ? Jimmy No, of course not — the boy did ! If you 're goin' to interrelupt, I ain't a-goin' to tell it ! He did n't like Chicago much, anyway, 'cause he had to go to school there, so he ist up an' walked off to — to New York! An' — when he got to New York, they wuz a pirate ship, there at New York, an' he got right on, and went off to sea. All the pi- rates wuz black, an' big as — Oh, they wuz awful big — 191 MODERN MONOLOGUES Molly How big — big as papa ? Jimmy Big as papa! Why, they wuz giantses! An' every pirate had a carving-knife, and a gun, and a revolover — Molly What for? Jimmy Why, to kill people with, you silly! An' when they found the little boy wuz on the ship, they hauled him out an' licked him with the end of a rope ! Molly Is that worse than the back of a brush ? Jimmy Aw, lots worse! B-b-but the little boy did n't yell none, when they licked him — he 192 " WHO 'S AFRAID? " did n't yell none, so they made him the cap- tain of the ship, 'cause he did n't yell none — an' he said 'at they 'd go to " Cubey Libree " and fight the Philippeneansl An' they did. But while they wuz goin' there a big shark — Molly What 's a shark ? a Jimmy Don't you know what a shark is? Why, it 's a big fish — as big as — as — five elepha- lunts ! With a mouth as big as — this whole house ! An' teef as long as from here to the corner; an' if it wanted to — it could swallow all the houses in this block ! ! ! Molly [Faintly.] Jimmy, can I get into your bed? Jimmy Now — don't interrelupt ! When the shark saw the pirate ship, he ist swummed right up, and gobbled the ship down ! 193 MODERN MONOLOGUES Molly An' the little boy? Jimmy An' the little boy ! But he did n't chew it none, 'cause it wuz such a big mouthful — an' — an' when the boy got in the oY shark's insides, he ist tickled him on his insides, an' the ol' shark coughed him up ! Molly [Doubtfully.] Why, Jimmy Baker! Jimmy Don't you believe that? THAT 's in the Bible ! An' soon as the boy got out, he be- gan swimmin', an' swimmin', an' swimmin' — Oh, he wuz ist swimmin' for two months ! Molly Without nothin' to eat? ip4 " WHO 9 S AFRAID? " Jimmy Oh, he ate fishes ! An' purty soon, when he wuz swimmin' along, he came to a beau- tiful island, an' he went right up on it, an' there wuz a b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-1 princess ! Molly [Sighing rapturously.] What 'd she have on? Jimmy She had on a-a-yellow curls, an' a crown, an' pink tights, like the girl at the circus! An' when she saw the boy, she said that if he 'd kill all the bears on the island, she 'd marry him an' he 'd be a king or something ! So he said he w T ould, an' he waited till it wuz 'mos' dark, an' then he built a fire — Molly But where wuz the princess ? 195 MODERN MONOLOGUES Jimmy She wuz in to supper, of course! He made a fire, an' then purty soon he saw great big shinin' eyes, an' a great big mouf 'at went— " WOO! WOO!" Molly Jimmy ! Jimmy ! What 's that over in the corner ? It 's got fiery eyes ! Jimmy W-w-where? I don't see anything! [He takes a cautious peep.] Molly It 's a-movin' ! It 9 s a-comin' after us ! It 's a bear ! Mamma ! Mamma ! Jimmy Mamma! MAMMA! ! ! 196 THE OPTIMIST Scene — Drawing-room. Discovered — Mrs. Howard and a caller, Mrs. Martin. Mrs. Martin Yes, it is nice weather to-day ; but, as I said to Mr. Martin this morning, we might just as well make up our minds to a rainy month. March is the vilest month in this climate — I always dread it so. I just know I '11 have a relapse and get the grip again. Oh, yes, I 've been sick with it for weeks, and I 'm just able to get out again. I always have things so much harder than any one else. I have n't any strength or appetite, and I just know a rainy spell will set in and put me in bed again. No, I never do borrow trouble, but I think it 9 s well to be prepared for anything. No, my dear, now don't think of making tea on my account ; I could n't W MODERN MONOLOGUES swallow a drop. I don't eat a thing — not a thing. Your husband 's been sick too, has n't he? Threatened with pneumonia? Dear me! — so many have died with it this w T inter, have n't they ? I was threatened with it too, but I fought it off. I think there 's so much in will-power, don't you ? He 's out again ? Well, that must be a great relief to you. Yes, sugar and lemon in mine. [Takes her tea.] Have you seen Mrs. Mathews since she lost her husband? Well, from the way she takes on, you 'd think he had been a saint. You know he was a perfect terror. We used to live next door to them, and I know. Why, he used to swear at her! But, dear me, she 's forgotten all about it now. Some women are that way, you know. Just a little more, my dear, — it 's so nice, — and one wafer. [Takes more tea.] Did you hear about that Sangster girl? Oh, did n't you ? She eloped with a patent- medicine man. Of course, I make it a point never to criticize any one, but I always said that girl would come to some bad end,- — she was always laughing and carrying on — 198 THE OPTIMIST never could take anything seriously! No, they say he 's rich as Rockefeller ; but, then, you never can tell — people do say such things. Just a little bit more, my dear, with sugar. Yes, I will have a wafer, they are so small. [Takes more tea.'] I heard that that Frank Staunton was going into business for himself. Of course, it 's none of my business, but I should think he M never dare to make any change, with that flighty wife on his hands. Extrava- gant ? — why, I Ve seen her with three differ- ent hats on this spring! And flirtatious! You 'd better keep your eye on her, my dear ; I heard her say that she simply adored your husband. Goodness, I should n't think you 'd ever have a moment's peace with such a handsome husband on your hands. We were talking about it the other day, and say- ing how strange it was that handsome men always marry plain women. Just one more cup — no — yes, I will have another wafer. [Takes more tea.] Did you hear about the new baby at the Dickson's ? No — a girl. Yes, that 9 s four. Of course I don't want to say anything disa- greeable, but I think the law ought to take 199 MODERN MONOLOGUES children away from that sort of mothers. Devoted mother? Mrs. Dickson? Why, my dear, she bathes a three months' baby in al- most cold water, and lets it sleep on the porch in the winter time! And she puts it to bed at eight o'clock, just like a grown person, — turns down the light and leaves it. Never rocks it, nor walks with it. Well, all I 've got to say is, that was not called " devoted " when I was a young married woman! Well — just one drop more, and one wafer. [Takes more tea.] I must go. I want to be home when Mr. Martin comes. I feel sure that he is coming down with something dreadful — he looked so strange this morning. So many business men are dropping off these days. No, dear ; no more. I 'm sorry I could n't do justice to your tea, but I can't touch a thing. Good- by — do come see me. I '11 run in again and cheer you up. I hope your husband will come around all right. Adieu! 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