Author Title Class Book 1X45:1:5 boa Imprint SHOEMAKER'S BEST SELECTIONS For Re&.ding>s and Recitations Numbers I to 26 Now Issued Paper Binding, each number* . , . 30 cents Cloth " " .« . . , . 50 cents Teachers, Readers, Students, and all persons who have had occasion to use books of this kind, concede this to be the best series of speakers published. The different numbers are compiled by leading elocutionists of the country, who have exceptional facilities for secur- ing selections, and whose judgment as to their merits is invaluable. No trouble or expense is spared to obtain the very best readings and recitations, and much material is used by special arrangement with other pub- lishers, thus securing the best selections from such American authors as Longfellow, Holmes, Whittier, Lowell, Emerson, Alice and Phoebe Gary, Mrs. Stowe, and many others. The forem.ost English authors are also represented, as well as the leading French and German writers. This series was formerly called **The Elocutionist's Annual." the first seventeen numbers being published 4|nder that title. While the primary purpose of these books is to supply the wants of the public reader and elocutionist, nowhere else can be found such an attractive collection of interesting short stories for home reading. Sold by all booksellers and newsdealers, or mailed Qpon receipt of price. THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 9Z% Arch Street. Philadelphia That Blessed Baby A FARCE IN ONE ACT By Edward Mumford ',^ '.' ' '? 'j' ' > D>5 'l' '>' PHILADELPHIA THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 1 @ O 2 \ao l^ THE LIBRARY -^F CONGRESS, Two Corita Received .MAY. 8 1902 COPYRISMT ENTRY CLASS iO^XXc. No. / r^T- COPY 8. Copyright 1902 by The Penn Publishing Company ^l-3QfS V •• • ••' • •• •' • • . • I • • * I * CAST OF CHAR.\CTERS Mr. John Wilton . . . Helen' s willhig slave Miss Helen Palmer . . The Baby' s willi?ig slave The Baby Who does not appear but is master of the situation Costumes Light and Summery Time in Representation : — Thirty minutes That Blessed Baby SCENE. — The seashore house of Miss Palmer's brother. In front, the lawn, shaded by trees. In the centre, front, a small table and two rocking-chairs of the sum- mer piazza variety. Back, the house, with an open windotv near centre, and a door right. The door is approached by porch, with a bench on each side. (^Curtain rising shows Wilton seated on one of the benches of the porch.) Wilton. How shall I say it? How shall I say it? I thought I had it down pat, but waiting here for her has driven it all out of my head. What little brain I have always seems to wabble when I'm with her. And if she meets my little effort with one of those liquid-air glances of hers I'm done for. But it's now or never. Let me see, I was going to begin {Looks at his watch.) Great Scott ! Eleven o'clock ! Half an hour of precious time lost already, and the boat leaves at twelve. Of course she's keeping me waiting on purpose. It's part of my penance. Oh, yes, she's going to make me eat humble pie, all right. But I think, I hope, that is, that afterward she'll be nice and {He whistles softly for a feiv moments.) Well, if she isn't, I must take my medicine like a little man, that's all, without squeaking. I don't doubt she has made \\\) her mind already what she will do with me. (Helen, with roll of knitting in her hand, appears at dooj-way in flat behind him.) Why, she knows she can curl me around her little finger — like that. {Holding; up his finger.) Helen. Good -morning, Mr. Wilton. Wilton. Oh — ah — how d'ye do? 6 THAT BLESSED BABY Helen {smiling). I'm afraid I interrupted you. You were playing **this little pig went to market," weren't you? Wilton (recovering). Of course. I had just got to *' this little pig cried wee, wee, all the way home." Shall we play it again ? Helen. Isn't it too exciting for such a hot day? Wilton. Perhaps it is. Especially for the little pig. Helen. Then we won't harrow up his emotions. Shall we sit over here on the lawn in the shade? {They viove over, left, to the rocking-chairs on the lawn.) I'm sorry to have kept you waiting so long, Mr. Wilton ; but everybody has gone over to the golf tournament, and I'm taking care of the baby. He hasn't been well, and there's a new nurse, and I had to tell her what to do with him when he wakens. Do you mind my knitting while we talk? This is a blanket for the baby, and I want to finish it for his birthday. And how is the Pier — gay? Wilton. No. Since last Wednesday it has been like dust and ashes. Helen. Last Wednesday? The day I left. Thank you. But isn't Miss Ritchie still there? Wilton. I believe so. Helen. Oh, you believe so? I wonder what Miss Ritchie would say to that ? Wilton. What Miss Ritchie would say is a matter of indifference to me. Helen. Dear me. Since when ? Wilton. I forget. How long is it since I met you ? Helen. Thank you again. Very pretty. But which am I to believe — my ears to-day, or my eyes last — when was it? — Tuesday? Yes, the night of the dance. Now I thought I saw Wilton. Saw what? Helen. Well — I was looking for my shawl in the corner of the piazza, and it was quite dark, so of course I couldn't be sure Wilton. So that was you. I thought so. Now just let me tell you, Miss Palmer Helen. Yes, it was I. I'm very sorry. But indeed I went away as fast as I could, you know. I wouldn't for the world interrupt a promising bit of love-making. Wilton {impatiently). Love-making ! I protest THAT BLESSED BABY 7 Helen. "Well, you were kneeling, you know, and you were holding her hand. Wilton. Now see here; I wanted to tell you about that. Helen. Indeed ? Are you sure it would interest me, Mr. Wilton? Wilton. Oh — please, listen a moment. I had to be civil to her, you know that. And I danced with her just once, that was all ; and she wanted to walk on the piazza to cool off. Well, she got a splinter in her shoe. I stooped to get it out for her, and I worked at it — down like this ; but I couldn't move it. Then she took a turn at it, and she got a bit of it in her finger (Helen, 7vhose face has as- s lotted a more and more abstracted expressio?i, rises and goes softly to the ivindoza of the house, a?id listens. W^ilton stooping forward and intent on his story, does not notice that she has left her chair.) And so, of course, I had to get it out for her. Now, what could be more commonplace than that ? (Looks up and sees the empty chair, and ^azes around blankly at Helen.') Why — what's the matter? Helen. I thought I heard the baby crying. Did you ? Wilton. The baby? Er — ah — no, I can't say I no- ticed it. Helen. I'm sorry I interrupted your story, and at the most exciting point, too. So you were holding her hand ? And then I appeared. How unfortunate. Wilton {with elaborate irony). Very. You see you made it impossible for me to strain her to my bosom, and caress her luxuriant golden tresses, and all that. Helen. Ah, then you were about to do that? Dear me, I really must be more careful about blundering in on these lovers' tete-a-tetes. Wilton. Oh, pshaw. You know that's all nonsense. {Leaning towards her.) You know well enough I don't care for Miss Ritchie. But you wouldn't let me explain. You never give me a chance to explain anything. Helen. Was there anything to explain ? Wilton. Yes, there was. About Miss Ritchie, and more. Do you remember the last night we were together up at Moosehead Lake, in July — how we paddled in the canoe, on and on, straight up a silver path to the moon ? By Jove, but you were beautiful that night ! And I said — do you remember what I said, Helen ? 8 THAT BLES3ED BABY (Wilton takes a step towards he?', arid drops his cane noisily on the table. Helen looks up with an alarmed face, glaftcing at the window.^ Helen. Oh, Mr. Wilton, would you mind moving our chairs over here, further away from the window ? The baby is right in that room, you know, and I'm so afraid we will waken him. Wilton {biting his lip with vexation^. With pleasure. {He moves the chairs, and they sit down. Wilton re??iains silent.^ Helen. You were speaking of — of Moosehead. Wilton. Yes ; but you seemed to prefer not to hear about it. Helen {softly'). On the contrary, I have thought about it very often. Wilton. And the echo? Helen. Yes, now you mention it, I believe there was an echo. AViLTON {again hopeful). I was going away, and I called — you recollect — ''Shall I come back?" You re- member the answer we heard? But you said nothing, and I was afraid it was because your heart could not reecho the words. For, Helen, the echo said The Baby {inside). Yah-ah-ah ! A-hah, a- aha, a-hah ! Yah-a-a-ah ! Helen {starting). Oh, there's the baby. I'm so sorry, but I must go. Wilton. Oh, confound that baby ! Helen {indigfiantly). What did you say ? Wilton. Well, I declare it just seems determined to spoil everything for me — the little imp ! Helen {icily). Mr. Wilton, you seem to forget that this little imp, as you are pleased to call him, is the child of your friend, and my brother. Wilton. Now, Miss Palmer, Helen, you .mustn't think I meant that. It just slipped out. And I have to leave this afternoon. You can't begin to see how much depends on Helen. I begin to see how much I was mistaken in you, Mr. Wilton. No man can be truly strong who is not also truly tender; and any man who would speak so of a little helpless child — a baby THAT BLESSED BABY 9 Wilton (desperately). Now, see here, Helen, you don't mean you would judge a man's character by a little thing like that ? Helen. Small acts show character more certainly than those that are well considered. Wilton. But {The Baby cries again.') Helen. Please do not detain me, I beg of you. And I may be kept some time, Mr. Wilton. If you should miss the boat I am sure Miss Ritchie would be desolated. Wilton. Oh, confound Miss Ritchie ! ^ That's no slip. I mean it. But the other — won't you accept my apology for it? And I'm awfully fond of children, I am, really. Won't you believe me ? I can prove it. Helen {pausing on the door-step, and looking down at him). How ? Wilton {earnestly). Why, by my sister Mary's chil- dren. You can ask her, ask them. Helen {smiling). Will sister Mary and children please step forward and testify? They don't seem to be present, Mr. Wilton. But I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll leave it to the baby. When I come out I'll bring him, and if you can treat him nicely, and if he likes you, I'll think about for- giving you. Wilton. Oh, all right. Only you won't expect me to hold him, and talk to him, and all that ? Helen. Certainly. Wilton. Why, I couldn't. Helen. Oh, yes you can. There's nothing like trying. You'd better practice, in the meantime. I'll expect you to be perfectly — tender. {She goes into the house. ) Wilton. The most provoking girl in America, and the dearest. I'm afraid she's in earnest; I know that look in her eye. I knew that splinter business would get me into a peck of trouble. Well, I came here to have it out with her, and I will — the baby willing — I'll do it. There he goes again. {The Baby cries a<^a/n, inside.) Helen {within, but heard through the open window). 10 THAT BLESSED BABY They-er, they-er ! They-er, they-er ! Mussent kie. No, mussent. (Wilton, who stajids listening, is highly dive)' ted. ^ AViLTON. Funny thing, how women seem to think it necessary to talk to a baby like that. Now I can't imagine myself Helen {within). Oh, dis baby says '* I want my din- ner." He says "I want my bottle wite away." He says ** I dess won't wait anudder minute, no I won't." Wilton. Now that's why infants don't talk. They don't have to. Any female relative will tell you right off what a baby means to say as soon as he opens his mouth. Helen (withi?i). We-e-el, he sail have his dinner, ess he sail. Was this blessed baby a-waitin', an' a-waitin', an' a-waitin', for his auntie, an' his nursie? Ess ee was, ess ee was, ess ee was ! Wilton (whose amusement visibly decreases). She said she would expect me to talk to him. Now if I thought she meant like that Helen (within'). An' auntie's baby was des de cutest baby ever was. An' de booest eyes, an' de weddest cheeks, an' de boofulest 'ittle feet, an' des de tweetest 'ittle pink toeses ever was, ever was, ever was ! Wilton (di^opping limply into a chair). 'Ittle pink toeses ! I see my finish. Of course she'll make me do it. The bigger ass I appear the better she'll like it. What's this? Some contraption to wrap the baby in, the little wretch. He's spoiled the game for to-day. I'll never be able to get through with it now. (^Lays roll of knitting ofi his arm like a baby, and looks down at it.) If I had you here now, you young scamp, I'd let you know how un- popular you are. If I'm ever your uncle I'll have it out with you some day. But it won't be your fault if I marry your Aunt Helen. {-Lifts the knitting.) Dear girl — her hands have touched this — every stitch of it. (Wilton lifts the knitting to his lips Just as Helen appears at the, window.) Helen. Oh, capital, Mr. Wilton, capital. You are practicing, I see. Wilton (hastily laying down the knitting). Practicing? I'm afraid I don't understand. Helen. Oh, you needn't be ashamed of it. You did it THAT BLESSED BABY II vfry well, really. In fact, I think I'll change my mind. I won't bring out the baby, but you can show me with the knitting just what you were going to do with him. I can't leave here just yet, but I'll sit in the window and watch you. Now begin. Wilton. Oh, come, Miss Palmer. Why, I'd look positively foolish. Helen. Hmm. You didn't seem to mind that — last Tuesday. Wilton. Now, please drop that business. Helen. Very well, if you are as successfully foolish now I will. Wilton. Then you are in earnest ? Helen. Certainly. Wilton (resigned). Oh, all right. You've made so many kinds of fool of me already a few more or less don't signify. What shall I do? Helen, There, that's a good boy. 1 begin to have hopes of you. Take up the knitting. (Wilton picks it up by one efid.) Oh, dear me, not that way. You'll strangle the child. Wilton. Well — hang it all— how's that? Helen. Mercy, do you want to break its little back? Across your arm. Wilton. Well — there. Helen. That's better. Now walk with it, and soothe it, you know — gently. (Wilton makes a violent effort to soothe the mock infatit, while Helen rocks back and forth with laughter.) There, that will do. Oh, you will be the death of me. Sit down ! (Wilton sits down.) Wilton. I'm delighted to be able to please you. What is the next inanity on the program ? Helen. Well, you might croon to it. Wilton. Certainly — anything to oblige a lady ; but, ah — ^just what is crooning? Helen. Why, singing, to put the baby to sleep, you know. Lullabies, and all that. Wilton {sin^s tn a loud, harsh voice). " Oh, I want yer, ma honey, an' I want yer mighty badly" Helen. There, I guess that's enough. I'm afraid you haven't crooned much lately, have you? Wilton. No, it's not one of my specialties. Anything else? Isn't the show about over ? 12 THAT BLESSED BABY Helen. Oh, dear no. Why, you haven't said a word to him yet. Talk to him, please. Wilton. Ah, there, youngster ! Say, you're a peach, you are. Say, what's your name, hey? {To Helen.) Is that it? Helen. No, indeed. You must talk real baby talk, you know. Wilton. What — ah, like you ? Helen. Well, yes, like me. Wilton {who has an idea'). Oh. Yes. {To the viock infant.) They-er, they-er. Mussent kie — mussent kie. (7' MAY 8 - 190'? !V1AY 8 1902 1 COPY DEL lOtAl,..,, MAY 8 1902 MAY 12 1902 Practical Elocution By J. W. Shoemaker, A. M. 300 pages Cloth, Leather Back, ^1.25 This work is the outgrowth of actual class room experience, and is a practical, conmmon-sense treatment of the whole subject. It is clear and concise, yet comprehensive, and is absolutely free from the entangling technicalities that are so frequently found in books of this class. Conversation, which is the basis of all true Elocution, is regarded as embracing all the germs of speech and action. Prominent attention is therefore given to the cultivation of this the most common form of human ex- pression. General principles and practical processes are pre- sented for the cultivation of strength, purity, and flexi- bility of Voice, for the improvement of distinctness and correctness in articulation, and for the development of Soul power in delivery. The work includes a systematic treatment of Gesture in its several departments of position, facial expression, and bodily movement, a brief system of Gymnastics bearing upon vocal development and grace of move- ment, and also a chapter on Methods of Instruction, for teachers. Sold by all booksellers, or sent, prepaid, upon receipt of price.. The Penn Publishing Company 933 Arch Street. Philadelphia SHOEMAKER'S THE NATIONAL SCHOOL OF ELOCUTION AND ORATORY The Oldest Chartered School of Elocution in America ODD FELLOWS' TEMPLE. BROAD AND CHERRY STREETS PHILADELPHIA BEST TEACHERS BEST METHODS BEST RESULTS Regular Day Course Saturday and Evening Classes Private Instruction The aim of this School is to teach students how to express correctly and effectively what they know and feel. The lack of good readers, speakers, and teachers of reading is due mainly to faulty training which leads to affectation and unnaturalness. The numerous graduates of this School who occupy prominent positions throughout the United States and Canada bear ample testimony to the excellence of the course of study pursued in this institution. Grants diplomas and confers degrees. Illustrated thirty-four page catalogue, giving full information, sent on request. MRS. J. W. SHOEMAKER. PRINCIPAL LIBRARY OF CONGRESS m.^', 015 873 743 7