PS 635 .29 riii43 Copy 1 The Country Editor ^^ BUSHING COMPANY Successful Rural Plays A Strong List From Which to Select Your Next Play FARM FOLKS. A Rural Play in Four Acts, by Arthur i-EWis Tubes. For five male and six female characters. Time of playing, two hours and a half. One simple exterior, two easy interior scenes. Costumes, modern. Flora Goodwin, a farmer's daughter, is engaged to Philip Burleigh, a young New Yorker. Philip's mother wants him to marry a society woman, and by falsehoods makes Flora believe Philip does not love her. Dave Weston, who wants Flora himself, helps the deception by intercepting a letter from Philip to Flora. She agrees to marry Dave, but on the eve of their marriage Dave confesses, Philip learns the truth, and he and Flora are reunited. It is a simple plot, but full of speeches and situations that sway an audience alternately to tears and to laughter. Price, 25 cents. HOME TIES. A Rural Play in Four Acts, by Arthur Lewis Tubes. Characters, four male, five female. Plays two hours and a half. Scene, a simple interior — same for all four acts. Costumes, modern. One of the strongest plays Mr. Tubbs has written. Martin Winn's wife left him when his daughter Ruth was a baby. Harold Vincent, the nephew and adopted son of the man who has wronged Martin, makes love to Ruth Winn. She is also loved by Len Everett, a prosperous young farmer. When Martin discovers who Harold is, he orders him to leave Ruth. Harold, who does not love sincerely, yields. Ruth dis- covers she loves Len, but thinks she has lost him also. Then he comes back, and Ruth finds her happiness. Price 25 cents. THE OLD NEW^ HAMPSHIRE HOME. A New England Drama in Three Acts, by Frank Dumont. For seven males and four females. Time, two hours and a half. Costumes, modern. A play with a strong heart interest and pathos, yet rich in humor. Easy to act and very effective. A rural drama of the "Old Homstead" and "Way Down East" type. Two ex- terior scenes, one interior, all easy to set. Full of strong sit- uations and delightfully humorous passages. The kind of a play everybody understands and likes. Price, 25 cents. THE OLD DAIRY HOMESTEAD. A Rural Comedy in Three Acts, by Fpank Dumont. For five males and four females. Time, two hours. Rural costumes. Scenes rural ex- terior and interior. An adventurer obtains a large sum of money from a farm house through the intimidation of the farmer's niece, whose husband he claims to be. Her escapes from the wiles of the villain and his female accomplice are both starting and novel. Price, 15 cents. A -WHITE MOUNTAIN BOY. A Strong Melodrama in Five Acts, by Charles Townsend. For seven males and four females, and three supers. Time, two hours and twenty minutes. One exterior, three interiors. Costumes easy. The hero, a country lad, twice saves the life of a banker's daughter, which results in their betrothal. A scoundrelly clerk has the banker in his power, but the White Mountain boy finds a way to check- mate his schemes, saves the banker, and wins the girl. Price 15 cents. THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY PHILADELPHIA The Country Editor A Comedy in Three Acts By WARD MACAULEY Author of ^^Examination Day at IVoodhill School" **Lazy Bob Par kins y'' ''Mr. Editor,'' **Pollin Picks a WifeT etc. PHILADELPHIA THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 1915 Copyright 191 5 by The Penn Publishing Company CI.D 41796 SEP 22 1915 The Country Editor CHARACTERS Frank Hartley JOSKPH SaWTELLE Jim Holman Josh Larrapee John Dawson Oliver Buck Mr. Bolivar SCHULTZ . Mr. Jenkins | Mrs. Jenkins ) Bessie Sawtelle Emily Faxon . Mrs. Pettigrew Time of Playing the editor of the ^'Free Lajice " Pi nevi lie's leadins^ merchant a star reporter a delinquent subscriber a labor inspector a lawyer . with a proposition a pressman . recetitly wed , the merchanf s daus^hter a clerk in Mr. Sawtelle' s store a source of news —An hour and a half. THE STORY OF THE PLAY The theme of this play is a strong appeal for better journalism. Scene, a country editor's office. Mr. Bart- ley, the editor, believes in printing all the news truth- fully, even if it hurts his own interests. The state labor department is going to prosecute Mr. Sawtelle, owner of the leading department store in town, for allowing illegal conditions on his place. Bartley refuses to suppress the news though Sawtelle and his daughter Bessie, whom Bartley loves, beg him to do so. '* 1 wouldn't kill a story to j)lease my best friend. I can't do it and be honest." Bessie hears some testimony from a salesgirl and aj^peals to her father, who begins to weaken. Bartley's telegram to his friend at the capital gets Sawtelle an extension. Prosecution will be stopped if changes are made at once. Mr. Sawtelle agrees, and all ends happily. A play presenting a stirring theme, with a funny Dutch character and two newlyweds to add to the humor. COSTUMES, ETC. Bartley. a prepossessing young man of twenty-five, with an earnest, somewhat determined bearing. Wears a business suit. Mr. Sawtelle. Forty-five. A vigorous, sharp-eyed man, accustomed to being obeyed. Stout, with gray checked trousers and dark coat. Bessie. An attractive girl of twenty-two. Acts I and II, suit and hat ; Act 111, pretty street dress and hat. HOLMAN. A happy-go-lucky youth of twenty-five. Larrapee. Forty. A farmer, in old trousers, collarless shirt and heavy shoes. Dawson. A large, blustering man of thirty-five, with a gruff voice. Business suit. Buck. Forty. Tall and thin, with a professional man- ner. Immaculately dressed in a black suit. Emily. Twenty-two. Neatly but shabbily dressed in black skirt, white shirt-waist and apron. Bolivar. Thirty-five. Flashily dressed, but this part should not be burlesqued. ScHULTZ. Forty. A stout German, in grimy trousers, black apron, old shirt ; sleeves rolled up and no collar. Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins. A very young couple, the latter in a bride-like costume of flower hat and dressy suit. NOTE None of the costumes in the play should be ridiculous. Anything of an unduly pronounced type should be avoided. Those who take the parts of Bartley, Bessie, and Mr. Sawtelle should study to speak their lines with great earnest- ness and as though vitally interested in the issue. It is es- sential that Bartley win the audience to his view of clean journalism. PROPERTIES Small photograph for Bartley, newspaper and telegraph blank for Holman, document for Dawson, basket of potatoes for Larrapee, small magazine, documents and pen for Bolivar. SCENE PLOT FOR ACTS I AND II SCENE.— Editor's office of the Pineville ''Free Lance." Editor's desk, up l., with telephone, books and papers on it. Holman's desk down r. Bookshelves about the room. Framed motto and picture of an old lady on rear wall, k. Doors R. and c. SCENE PLOT FOR ACT III SCENE. — Mr. Sawtelle's private office. His desk, with telephone, l. c. Table, with ledgers, papers, etc., down r. Row of shelves with files, journals, etc., in rear. Door c. The Country Editor ACT I SCENE. — Editorial room of the Fineville ^^ Free Lance. '^ {The curtain discovers Frank Bartley, in his shirtsleeves^ working at his desk. He has proof sheets in his hand and his desk is piled with papers of various kinds. Bart- ley finishes his proof-reading and looks the papers over as though in search for something that is missing.) Bartley (calling off, r.). Oh, Jim, come here a minute. [After a mometit, Jim Holman etiters, r.) HoLMAN. What is it, Frank ? Bartley {throwing the proof sheets tozvard him). Find that article about Bud Kemper's mortgaging his house so that he could buy an auto. Holman. I don't believe the ''Free Lance" is carrying a story about Kemper's mortgage, Frank. Bartley. The correspondent turned one in, didn't she, Jim ? Holman. Why, yes, I think I did see something about it, but Bud told me he'd a little rather the ''Free Lance" didn't mention the matter. Thought it might hurt his credit in town, I guess. Bartley. Look here, Jim, you and I know each other pretty well. I call you Jim and you call me Frank. That's all right. But please remember that I am the editor of the "Free Lance." Don't ever kill any story without my consent. Holman. Hang it all, Frank, I didn't know the thing was so blamed important as all that. It wasn't much of an item anyway, only about four lines. Bartley. Important enough for Bud to ask you to keep it out. Let me give you a pointer, Jim. Our paper's going 7 8 THE COUNTRY EDITOR to be run on the square. We'll give the people the news straight. HoLMAN. It's all right to talk, Frank. It sounds mighty- heroic and all that, but wait until you've got a story that it's to your interest to kill. I'll bet it'll die a mighty sudden death. If you want to get along in this world, you want to do people favors when they ask 'em. Bartley. Anyway, it's up to me, Jim. So let me see any items you aro going to alter or suppress. Have you got the story of that meeting over at Benson last night? HoLMAN. It was a frost, all right. There weren't fifty people out, and they sat in their seats like mummies. When the chairman called for three cheers for Boales, he had to make a solo of it. Bartley. Let me see the story. (Holman passes hi?n four or five large sheets of scrap paper, carelessly scribbled over. Bartley examines tJuni hastily.) Look here, Jim, this doesn't chime in with what you just told me. You said there was a cold crowd of fifty. Your story says that a mob of two hundred completely filled the hall and gave him the greatest ovation ever given a candidate in Benson. Now, I want you to write that story again. You needn't tell all you know, but all you tell must be the truth. (Holman sits down by Bartley and argues earnestly with hi?n.) Holman. See here, Frank, Boales is our party candi- date, isn't he? We've got to do the best we can for him. How would it sound to say that he got a frost up at Benson ? It isn't business. Bartley. It's the truth, isn't it, Jim ? What's a news- paper for, even a one-horse weekly like the **Free Lance " ? if a grocer sold you short weight or spoiled goods, you'd say he was dishonest, wouldn't you ? How about a paper that sells news that didn't happen? Holman. Oh, go on, Frank. I thought you were an editor, not a preacher. Bartley. Look at it another way. Every man up at Benson will read your article. A good many of them will know what really happened. What confidence would they have in the *' Free Lance " if they read such a story as this ? {He holds up the sheets, ) THE COUNTRY EDITOR 9 HOLMAN. Well, that's so. Baktley. Of course it's so. Then, again, when they read the ** Free Lance," they'll say, *'l"liere's a square paper. It says what's so, even against its own candidates.'.' Tiie greatest asset a newspaper can have is the confidence of its readers. Holm AN {scoffingiy). There's a bunch of them bank- rupt, then. Bartley. Take it back and work it over. Tell the truth without apology. It will do Boales more good than trying to lie to people who know what happened. (Holm AN takes up his sheets and turns to his desk down r.) HoLMAN. This telling the truth is all right, old boy, but wait till some friend of yours wants you to kill a story. (^Enter Josh Larrapee, c, bearing a bushel basket of potatoes.') Larrapee. Here you be, Mr. Ed'tor. Here's a bushel o' potatoes. They're sellin' for seventy-five cents. That brings me up to a year ago last February. Mebbe later on I'll bring you some maple syrup 'n' pay for another six months. Bartley. But, Mr. Larrapee, I'm boarding. What can I do with all those potatoes ? Larrapee. Make your landlady take 'em in trade. She uses 'em on the table every day, don't she? Well, next time you pay her, just pass 'em over the same as cash. Bartley. Take 'em right out of my purse, eh ? Larrapee. I never did b'lieve in payin* out money much. Money's the root of all evil. I say give goods for goods as much as you can. Bartley. If money is the root of all evil, Mr. Larrapee, a country newspaper office comes close to being about the most righteous place on earth. Look here. If I've got to take those potatoes, you'll have to take them over to Miss Lindley's and explain to her about this no money proposi- tion. Larrapee. I'm the man to do that. I was thinkin', Mr. Ed'tor, that you might be needin' a bit o' household goods, includin' provender, at your own place pretty soon. Bartley. My own place? What are you talking about ? 10 THE COUNTRY EDITOR Larrapee (jvifiking ludicrously^. In my left eye ! Don't be so innocent. You can't purtend worth a red. You a-buzzin' around Bessie Sawtelle like a circular saw ! If your paper printed the truth, Mr. Ed'tor, it'd say you two was engaged. HoLMAN {looking up from his desk). How about that, Frank? Shall 1 write it up? Baktley. Yes, if you can get a confirmation from Miss Sawtelle. Larrapee. Sure you don't want these taken up to her place for a little weddin' present ? Bartley. You take them up to Miss Lindley's. Get along with you. Larrapee {taking up his basket). I'll see you about maple syrup time, Mr. Ed'tor. An' don't forget to send the paper pretty reg'lar. {Exit, C.) Bartley. Jim, if this keeps up, I'm going to open a general store to sell off the stuff we get for subscriptions. HoLMAN. Let's have an auction. By the way, shall I ask Miss Sawtelle for a confirmation of that rumor ? Bartley. Better let the editor do it. {Enter John Dawson, c.) Dawson. Is the editor in ? Bartley. I am the editor. Dawson. Who's the owner or manager? Bartley. I am the owner and manager. Dawson. I am from the State Labor Bureau. {He exhibits his credentials.) Bartley {looking at the certificate 7vith interest). Why, here's James P. Krauss' name signed. Do you suppose that's Jim Krauss from up Belleville way ? Dawson. That's the man, I guess. Do you know him? Bartley. I should say so. His father and mine were cronies when they were boys. Well, what can I do for you ? Dawson. You can show me through your place. That's what you can do for me. Bartley. All right. Where do you want to go first — the press-room ? THE COUNTRY EDITOR H Dawson. We go everywhere, see ? From cellar to gar- ret. The chief says to make a clean sweep. If you're obey- ing the law, well and good. If not, we're after you. I'm not particular which. 1 get the same pay-check either way. Bartley. This way, Mr. Dawson. Dawson's the name. {Exeunt^ R. Holm an industriously but rather disgustedly works over the story at his desk. After a ?noment, enter ScHULTZ, R. Moves L. ^Holman's desk?) ScHULTZ. Hey, dere, Chim, vere is dot story vot you tol(i me to vait for ? Holman {disgusted ). The chief made me work it over. (^Continues writing.') ScHULTZ. The chief made you work him over, eh ? Veil, how does he expect me to ged oudt dot newspaper on dime ven 1 sit aroundt after my make-ready's all ready vaiting for you to vork over somedings ? Vich is importanter ven a paper is being getted out — a foreman or an editor? Holman {wearily). Ask the chief. Take it from me, Schulizy, I didn't want to work the thing over. ScHULTZ {angry). Veil, I aind't behindt time of my own fault if I sit aroundt and vait undt look wise, while you fel- lers dond't like vot you write already and have to work him over. Dot's no goodt, das ist nix ; nuddings, as you say, von dime's less than von. Holman. Better tell that to the chief. ScHULTZ {shouting). I dond't care vot I tell it to — I know vot's vot and vot ain't. Vy shouldt I sit oudt dere vaiting loafing, ven we ought to have our paper oudt, und 1 vait for one leetle bit of a piece of gopy. 1 dell anybody, der pres'dent or editor or anybody vot 1 dink aboudt vasting my dime. Holman. Say, Dutchy, do you want this copy? ScHULTZ. Aind't I told you vonce already Holman. You'd get it a lot quicker if you'll let me alone. ScHULTZ. And vot vill I do vile I leave you alone, sit aroundt und look wise? Holman. Keep still. I had this story nearly ready when you butted in. 12 THE COUNTRY EDITOR SCHULTZ {lookmg at his watcK). Veil, I vill butt out again, but dake my wor(j[ 1 allows you just fife minutes. (^Exit, R. HOLMAN in great haste dashes off lifie after line. He finishes with a sigh of relief.') HoLMAN {calling off r.). Hey, there, Scbultzy, she's ready for you. (^Enter Schultz, r., pantingly.') ScHULTZ. Am 1 an errandt-boy already so soon ? Which is more importanter, a pressman or a reporter? (He grabs the pages.) Don't holdt them all day; 1 got a paper to get oudt, yet. (Zr«? starts toward door.) HoLMAN. Don't talk so much, then. Schultz (coming back). Talk so much? Who was talking so much? Nod me. I dond't say nuddings; 1 yust keep vorking and keep my mouth shut. (He turns to exit.) HoLMAN. What are you doing now ? Schultz (at the door). Vot is dot your business? It is not. Dummkopf ! (^Exit, R.) (Efiter Dawson ^m/ Bartley, r.) Dawson. Cellar to garret's a quick job in this place. I guess I can give you a clean bill o' health. You have no women employees, and the law in this state lets you work men twenty-four hours a day, if you want to. Remember what I told you about leaving rags or papers in the corners. 'N' remember, I'm likely to come any time, like a thief in the night. Bautley. Come whenever you like, Mr. Inspector. Dawson. Sawtelle's store's right on this street, I suppose ? Bautley. Sure. Everything in this town is right on this street. It's about a block north of here. Dawson {at the door). S'long, but remember, keep things up to the mark, because 1 come like a thief in the night, {^Exity c.) THE COUNTRY EDITOR I3 Holm AN. That chap's going to make trouble, Frank. {Takes paper and pe7icil from desk, and puts them iji his pocket?) Guess I'd better trot along to Sawtelle's store and hear the row. Bartley. Keep your shirt on, Jim. There may not be any row. HoLMAN. All right. I see. When there's a good story on Miss Bessie Sawtelle's father you (Bessie SAWTELLE^Z/ff^ri- c.) . Bartley {sharply). Shut up, Jim. (HoLMAN turns and sees Bessie.) HoLMAN. Oh, excuse me. {Goes to his desk, sits, and be^iiis to write?) Bessie. Is the editor in ? {Smiles.) Bartley. Right this way. {He leads her r., to the editor's desk.) Mr. Editor, a lady to see you. (Holman is writing industriously at his desk. Bartlev beJiind Bes- sie /r^«//Va//v motions for Holman to leave. Holman pre- tends not to ufiderstand.) Oh, Jim, you might interview Jerry Stockley on how it feels to live in the poorhouse. Holman. I've got the story in my pocket now. Bessie {pleadingly). But, Mr. Editor, my business is very important. I have an item which must be in the paper. Bartley. But, Bessie, the paper is on the press now. Won't next week do? Bessie. Not for this Bartley. Jim, go out and get space somehow for Miss Sawtelle's item. {Holman jumps up and dashes to the press-room. Exit, r.) Bessie. I knew you would do it, Frank. The ladies at the church are to have a social next Tuesday, and we knew it wouldn't be a success unless the '' Free Lance" gave us a notice. Here it is. (Holman dashes in r., closely followed by Schultz.) ScHU[TZ. I haf got a question to ask you, Mr. Bartley. Ven my make-ready is all ready und 1 say '* let 'er sliver," 14 THE COUNTRY EDITOR if I haf to stop my press to put in vot der ladies is doing, my paper is late, am 1 to blame aind't it ? You tell me. Bartley. We'll take care of that. ScHULTZ. Dot's all right, you'll take care of dot. But how does that help me gedt my paper oudt? As I vas say- ing, I haf godt my make-ready all ready, and then 1 say <'go" and you say "stop," dot is absolutely nuddings. Such a doings ! Bartley. How does discussing the matter help, Mr. Schultz? ScHiJLTZ. I know vere you are and you know vere I am, dot's how, and ven der paper is late, who is to blame, nodt der pressman, aind't it? Bartley. Oh, run along, Schultzy, be a good fellow ; put that item in somewhere even if you have to leave out some of that "■ Replies to the Love-Sick " stuff. Schultz {taking the paper and turning to door grum- blingly). Be a goodt fellow's all righdt, but how does dot help me ven I got my make-ready all ready ? {^Exit R., 77iumbling, followed by Holman.) Bessie. I have often wondered who wrote the replies for that ''Replies to the Love-Sick " column. {Sits at desk up l.) Bartley. Why, Jim and I write most of 'em. Bessie. But who is that motherly old lady whose picture is here at the top of the page? {Picks np paper from desk.') Bartley. Aunt Matilda? Strictly speaking, she is a figment. Bessie. A figment ? Bartley (c). Yes, of the imagination. Isn't she a nice old lady, though ? Do you know, Bessie, when I write those answers I always try to imagine that 1 am a nice old lady, just like that. Bessie. I'm afraid I shall never ask the old lady for any advice, now that 1 know her identity. Bartley. You never can tell. (Holman enters, R., unconcernedly afid seats himself at his desk down R.) Have you covered your beat, Jim ? THE COUNTRY EDITOR I5 HOLMAN. Nothing doing now, Chief. Bartley. Better looic up some news. Holm AN (holly). Well, 1 told you where the big story is, and you won't Bartley. Beat it, Jim. Bessie. Thank you so much, Mr. Editor, for putting in my article. Now I must be going. (J^ises.) Bartley. No, not yet. Bessie [surprised). Oh, yes, I must. Bartley {turning aside to Holman). Get out of here, Jim. {To Bessie.) 1 have a business matter to speak to you about. Bessie. Business ? Bartley. Sure. Newspaper business. — Better see if you can't scrape up some news, Jim. Press day'U come 'round soon enough. Holman. Where shall I go ? Bartley. Go? Go anywhere, but come back with a good story. What am 1 paying you for, anyway ? Holman. And you won't let me follow Dawson and Bartley {patiently). No, Jim. Not now. Beat it. (Holman goes out slowly and as though reluctantly, c.) Bessie. Now, Mr. Editor, what can I do for you? Bartley. Er — everything, that is to say, a good deal. Bessie, I thought I never should get a chance to see you alone. I want to ask you something. Please sit down. Bessie. Is this a business matter ? {She sits again at desk, l.) Bartley. Strictly. A story came into the office this morning concerning you. Bessie. Concerning me? Dear me, I hope it wasn't anything bad. Bartley (l. c). Some people might say it was. I think it's the best story that ever came into this office. Bessie. Of course, you will print it? Bartley. Before we print anything, we try to get con- firmation. Some papers print first and find out afterward. Then, if they are wrong, they apologize in about three lines on an inside page. l6 THE COUNTRY EDITOR Bessie. Dear me, don't you see that I'm just bursting with curiosity — and here you wander on and on ! Bartley. Well, Bessie, the story was to the effect that you are engaged to be marrieci. Bessie. Indeed ! And did your informant mention the name of the gentleman ? Bartley. One who loves you very much. Bessie. Did he give you his name ? Bartley. He said that it was the editor of the *'Free Lance." Bessie (;7i/;/^). Then I cannot confirm your story, Mr. Editor. It is without foundation. Bartley {^pleading). Bessie, dear, I know that very well, but 1 want you to make it true. That is the way in which 1 want you to confirm it. You know that I love you. Why, Bessie, I believe I've loved you ever since that night I struck Pineville and saw you down by the depot. There has never been any one else. There never will be. Bessie. Why, Frank, I thought all this talk about that story was joking. {She is standing by desk, L.) Bartley. No, you didn't, Bessie. You know well enough that I wouldn't fool about such a thing. Bessie. Well, maybe 1 do. Baktley. You are not indifferent to me, are you, Bessie? Bessie. Why, of course not, Frank. We have been tod good friends for me to be indifferent to you. Bartley. Only friends? Bessie, when I love you so much, is it to be only friends? Bessie. What do you wish it to be ? Bartley. 1 want you to be my wife. Listen, Bessie, I may not have much to offer you Bessie. You have offered me the best thing any man can offer a girl, Frank — your love. Bartley. I want you, Bessie. I need you. I've got an up-hill fight, I realize that, and 1 don't want to prom- ise you' that everything will be smooth sailing. It may not be. Bessie. What do you mean by an up-hill fight, Frank? Bartley. Listen, Bessie. 1 want to tell you that the fight for clean journalism is the biggest problem m this country to-day. Bessie. Clean journalism ? THE COUNTRY EDITOR IJ Bartley. Yes. Whether a man is the owner of the biggest city daily or a one-horse country weekly, he has a chance to fight on the right side, l.want you to understand all this before you say whether you will marry me. Bessie. But, Frank, what do you mean by the right side? Bartley. You know what I mean. Printing the news without fear or favor. Think of how much harm I could do by printing an untrue scandal on my front page next week, even though I deny it later on. Half the people don't read the apology and most of the rest think it was true, anyway. Then an honest editor won't suppress news to please an advertiser; he won't lie for his party. Why, there's our motto right there. {Points to motto on wall.') Bessie {reading). " The truth — no matter whom it helps or hurts." Bartley. Then an honest editor won't pubhsh advertise- ments of whisky or fraudulent investments or habit-forming drugs. This paper loses a lot of money because we won't advertise fake medicines. I can't promise you, Bessie, that we shall ever be rich. Bessie. It doesn't seem as though one ought to want to get rich by injuring other people. Bartlev. That's the stuff ! Spoken like the half-owner of the "Free Lance" ! Now, these other fellows say that you can sell your space to anybody that can pay for it, and then he's responsible for what he puts into it. Bessie. But that seems reasonable. Bartley {ear?testly). No, Bessie, it isn't. When my subscribers see an ad in my paper, they feel that the **Free Lance" is backing it up. At least, 1 want them to feel that way. I wouldn't be in old Schemp's boots for any- thing. He's the editor of the ** Herald" over at Shell- haven. He published a mining investment ad and one of his subscribers, a poor old woman with only a little bit of insurance money left to her name, lost over five hundred dollars. Bessie. Oh, I heard about that. Bartley. Well, I couldn't sleep nights if I had done it, but old Schemp only said, "It wasn't my ad. 1 didn't have anything to do with it." Bessie. He ought to be ashamed of himself. Bartley. So you see, Bessie, I'm frank in telling you l8 THE COUNTRY EDITOR that I don't know what sort of future is ahead of me. The " Free Lance " is going to be clean. Whether it succeeds or not, we shall have to wait to see. Bessie. Oh, Frank, it's noble to try to do what you are doing. Bartley {eagerly). Then you will say yes ? Bessie. Oh, that is another matter altogether, Frank. Bartley. But I love you, Bessie Bessie. This is a very serious matter. Bartley. Serious for me, 1 can tell you. Bessie. I think 1 ought to have some advice about it. Bartley. Nonsense, Bessie dear. You know your own heart. Bessie {inischievously). Suppose I write to Aunt Ma- tilda and see what she says. {Picks up paper from desk and points to picture.') Bartley {gleefully). Fine. I know what Aunt Matilda will say. (He picks up a scratch block from desk.) Come on, let's write it together. Bessie {firmly). No, let me write it. {She sits at desk^ L., and takes the tablet from his hand.) *'Dear Aunt Matilda. A young man is very much in love with me." Is that correct ? (Bartley stands l. c, in front of desk.) Bartley. Underscore the very much. Bessie. '*He is young but not handsome." (Bartley makes a wry face.) ** He is a newspaper man, more inter- ested in ideals than in making money. Shall I accept him or look further?" Bartley. But she will want to know how you feel toward him. Bessie {writing). " I am not indifferent to him " Bartley. Let me see that [)aper. {She rises and comes doion L. He takes paper from her, though she makes a pretended effort to retain it. What he sees seems to please him immensely, for his face becomes wreathed in smiles.) That's glorious. {He tries to put his arm around Bessie, but she eludes him.) THE COUNTRY EDITOR I9 Bessie. Now, Frank, not until Aunt Matilda's answer appears in the paper. Bartley {dashing off a few lines). Pshaw — that would mean a week. Here's her answer, ** Yes, marry him and help him." Now, may I confirm that story? Bessie (^demurely'). No, indeed. Not until I read what Aunt Matilda says in the <*Free Lance." (Bartley hastily grabs both papers and rushes toivard the press-room door, R.) Bartley {at the door). Hey, Schullzy, stop the press and work this in, if you have to leave out the biggest story you've got. (Bessie co77ies doivn c.) ScHULTZ {entering r.). Good-night ! Haf I got to stop my press again alreadty? Taugennichts ! Dis iss chil- dren's play. 1 am a man grown up already and my make- ready Bartley {joyously). Oh, keep still, Schultzy, and get this in, no matter what you leave out, or I'll throw a book at you. (ScHULTZ takes the papers and exits R., grumbling. Bartley comes down l.) The paper will be out in an hour, Bessie. Hurray for Aunt Matilda! May I come up to the house to-night ? Bessie. Thursday night, young man. I think you have made progress enough for one day. 'I'o-morrow night's the social. (Bartley comes closer to Bessie. She moves down l.) Bartley. Aren't you going to give me the seal of your approval ? Bessie. You talk as if I were a notary public. Bartley [comitig toward her, arms outstretched). Yes, you know what I mean, just a little one. Bessie. Well, perhaps a very small one (Bartley moves to kiss her, just as the press-room door jlies open and Schultz enters R.) Schui.tz. Once again, I ask off you haf I got to stop my press Bartley {picking up a book from his desk and hurling 20 THE COUNTRY EDITOR // at ScHULTz). Yes, you print that Aunt Matilda stuff, if it's the only thing you print this week. (ScHULTZ closes the door just in time to avoid being hit by the book. Bessie has taken advantage of the opportunity to go up c.) Bessie {inockingly). Good-bye, Mr. Editor. See you Thursday night. (Baktley rushes to7vard her^ hut she exits and closes the door just as he readies it. Bartley turns and shakes his jist at the press-room, comes do7vn l., takes a picture out of his desk and kisses it ferve fitly?) (^Enter Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins, c. They are very timid and coif used. ) Mr. J. Is this here the editor ? Baktley. Yes, sir. What can I do for you? Mr. J. Why — er — that is to say, nothing. Mrs. J. Why, yes he can, too, honeychum. What did you come here for, dear? {Comes down c.) Mr. J. 1 came because you brought nie, darling. {Cof?ies down c.) Mrs. J. But why did I bring you, Jenkieboy? Mr. J. {gathering courage). Why, you see — er — course you wouldn't think it, but this here lady and me was re- cently united in holy matrimony.. Mrs. J. Married, in other words. Bartley. 1 congratulate you, I am sure — but what can I do for you ? Mrs. J. Let me tell him, Jenkieboy. We thought mebbe you'd put in a nice notice about us. You see we got married over at Hazel Falls and — and — well, we kind o' ran away from home, as you might say. Oil, it was terribly romantic, and now we're on our honeymoon, staying over at Cousin Maria Stebbins, and we haven't heard from the folks whether they will forgive us or not. Bartley. Maybe they will forgive you if you promise never to do it again. Mrs. J. Oh, I hope so, T hope so. You see Jenkieboy works ill his father's store, and how can we get along if he doesn't forgive us? THE COUNTRY EDITOR 21 Bartley. Thai's so. Mrs. J. It was at the store I first met Jenkieboy. He was weighing out sugar, and he did it sort of different. Bartley (smi/i/i^). Love at first sight, eh? Mrs. J. it was dreadfully romantic, wasn't it, Jenkie- boy ? Mr. J. Just as you say, love. Bartley. And you want all that in the paper? Mr. J. Yes — yes, sir. Mrs. J. We thought it would be sort of romantic. Bartley. Well, you walk right through that door and you'll see the man who will put the story in the paper for you. Mrs. J. Story ? It isn't any story. It's true, every word of it. Bartley. Tell Mr. Schultz. He loves stories like that. (Si^s at desk, L. Mrs. J. leads her husband and they exeimt R. A moment later they come out r., hurriedly /followed by Schultz.) Schultz. No, nix, nein ! I vill not stop my paper to tell dot you vas chust married. Eferybody vould know dot anyways. Am 1 to gedt my paper out last week or next year ? (^He shoves them to the door, c. They are much disturbed.) Positifely, I vill nodt put nuddings in. T'ree times already have I got ready my make-ready. You shouldt haf got married sooner. Last veek, last year, den I got it in my paper. Mrs. J. Protect me, my love. Protect me. Mr. J. {shoving her up c, toward door). I am protect- ing you, ain't 1? Let's get out of here. (Schultz rushes at them. Mrs. J. screams. They scramble through the door, c. Bartley laughs.) Schultz. Next veek my last veek's paper is nodt oudt. Such doings ! {Exit R., grumbling.) Bartley. The course of true love never did run smooth. (Enter Holman, c, excitedly. Well, Jim, what's the ex- citement ? Holman {triiwiphantly). Excitement ! Say, Frank, I 22 THE COUNTRY EDITOR told you SO. I've got a story now that you will want to kill, all rigiit. (^Comes doivn C.) l^AKTLEY {composedly^. What is it? HoLMAN. Why, the labor inspector found all kinds of things wrong down at Sawtelle's. The girls work longer tiian the law allows, the sanitary and safety conditions aren't what they should be, and he's been violating the minimum wage law right along. Baktley. Will the inspector write a complaint? (Bautley is much disturbed.') HoLMAN. Sure he will. The department is out to make a record. They'll have the old boy in court, all right. Hang it all. It's a big story. {Ruefully.) But I suppose we'll have to kill it. Bartley. What makes you think we are going to kill it ? HoLMAN. Think? 1 know. We've got to kill it. Man alive, you're stuck on the old man's daughter, aren't you? You know Joe Sawtelle, don't you, and his daughter, too, for that matter? If we print a line about this, there'll be no wedding bells for you. Bartley. Jim, the editor's personal interest must not interfere with the ''Free Lance" when it comes to a matter of news. HoLMAN. You're crazy. You'll lose Sawtelle's adver- tising, and Bautley {firtnly). Write your story. We'll print it. CURTAIN ACT II SCENE. — Same as Act /, the following morning. Bart- ley is at his desk writing. (HOLMAN enters J c, and comes down rapidly to Bartley's desk.') HoLMAN. That the Sawtelle story you have there ? Bartley. Yes. Holm AN. Oh, I say, Frank, forget what I said yester- day. Don't run that story. 1 know what this will mean to you, old boy. Bartley. What will it mean, Jim? (HoLMAN is R. c, i7i front of desk. ^ Holman. Why, if you print a line about the inspector's report, the ''Free Lance" will lose every dollar of adver- tising from Sawtelle. Bartley. I guess that's so. Holman. Of course. And he gives us about half of what we get. Just look at that. {Spreads out a 7iewspaper on the desk. ) A half page this week. Why, Frank, unless we can keep Sawtelle's account, there won't be any "Free Lance." Bartley. He needs us as much as we need him, Jim. Holman. Maybe he does, and maybe he doesn't. If you get the old man mad, he will get along without us, whether he needs us or not. He's as obstinate as Bill Higgins' mule. Bartley. The ''Free Lance" is the only paper in town. How's he going to advertise his bargains unless he uses the " Free Lance " ? Holman. You'll see. Anyway, business isn't every- thing. I know how things stand between you and Bessie. Do you suppose she'll marry the man that lambasts her father in his paper ? Why, she will freeze you cold. Bartley. I have no intention of lambasting Mr. Saw- telle, Jim. Holman. What do you call it, saying his store's not kept up decently and that he underpays his girls ? 23 24 THE COUNTRY EDITOR Hartley. Remember, Jim, it isn't I that is saying any- thing about his store. A public official is making a com- plaint. That's news. We've got to print it. HoLMAN. You take my advice, Frank. Kill that story and everything will be lovely. If anybody asks you, you didn't know anything about it. Blame it on me. Why, you can have your girl, and you bet Sawtelle will appreciate it. You'll get more advertising than ever. Baktley. To reward us for not printing the story, eh ? HoLMAN. Sure. I won't hold you to what you said yesterday. We'll just kill the whole thing and everything will be nuts and raisins. Bartley. The finish, eh ? HoLMAN. Not on your life, boy, just the beginning. Look, Frank, what a chance you've got. When you are the old man's son-in-law, it will be your own fault if you don't manage the store. 1 only wish I had the chance you've got. {Pauses a moment. Baktley does ?iot answer, as HoLMAN eoniijiues.) It's settled then, Frank? 1 kill the story ? Bartley (Jn a determi?ied tone). Yes, it's settled, Jim, but the story sticks. HoLMAN. Oh, come, Frank, be sensible. Bartley. I will. Look here, Jim, suppose it was some one else who might marry Bessie if this story was killed and this some one else came to me and urged me not to print it, what would I do ? Holman. That's not Bartley (firm/y). What would I do, Jim ? Holman. Why, I suppose you'd jmnt the story. Bartley. Suppose? You know mighty well I'd print the story. Very well. What I wouldn't do for somebody else, I can't do for myself. We'll print the facts, and we'll abide by the consequences. Holman. Even if you lose Bessie ? Bartley {qi/iei/y). Even if I lose Bessie. Holman. Oh, come on, Frank, don't be foolish. Put your conscience in cold storage. Soften the story, anyway. Bartley. Not a line. It's a tough situation, Jim, but I've got to do the square thing. Holman. You don't love Bessie much. Bartley. Don't say that, Jim. I love Bessie too much to sell myself for advertising, or even to win her love. THE COUNTRY EDITOR 2$ HOLMAN. Go on. Be a martyr, but don't say I didn't warn you. Here are the rest of the facts. (He lays some sheets before Bahtley.) There are no fire-escapes on the building, though four floors are occupied. The building- has no extinguisher system. In case of fire, anybody on the top floor would be caught like a rat in a trap. There are only half enough chairs, according to the law's require- ments. Moreover, on Saturdays, many of the girls work fourteen hours, when nine is the law's limit. The legal minimum wage is seven dollars a week. Mr. Sawtelle's minimum is four and a half. Bartley. Why didn't the inspector warn him and give him a chance to remedy conditions ? HoLMAN. Too much of that done already, he says. They ** remedy conditions" for a few weeks and then slip back into the same old ways. The department is out to stir things up, I tell you. The old man will be lucky if they don't fine him a thousand dollars. Bartley. I wonder if it would do any good if I asked Krauss for an extension. HoLMAN. Krauss ? Bartley. Yes, the head of the State Labor Bureau, you remember. He might put ofl" the prosecution if Sawtelle would agree to fix things up. HoLMAN. Sawtelle's obstinate as a mule. He won't accept any favors from them. Bartley. No — not the way he feels now. But he might be brought to reason. I'll see him myself. HoLMAN. Worth trying, I guess. Bartley {with decisiofi). I'll do it. Hand me a tele- graph blank. (Holman takes telegraph blank from his own desk and hands it to Bartley. He ivrites rapidly y then hands telegrafn to Holman.) There, Jim, get that off, will you? Holman. Sure. I hope it'll work. {Exit, c.) (Bartley goes o?t ivritin^ at his desk. After a momenty enter Mr. Bolivar, c.) Bolivar. Is this the editor ? Bartley. Yes, sir. 26 THE COUNTRY EDITOR Bolivar. I've got a nice liltle proposition to offer you, Mr. Editor. Bartley. Bartley is the name. BoLiVAU {suavely). Oh, yes, Mr. Bartley, to be sure. A good old name ! 1 was instructed by a school-teacher of that name, a fine man and a learned scholar. Yes, sir. You recall him, sir, you recall him. Bartley {drily). Thank you. Bolivar {rubbing his hands). You are of the intellectual type, my dear sir. I am something of a phrenologist. In fact, 1 may well confess that 1 am an expert. 1 read human character at a glance. It is a great aid to me in my busi- ness. As I am speaking, I am reading you, the intellectual type, strong, robust. Bartley. Thank you. Bolivar. Clever, ambitious, large-minded, progressive. You will go far, young man, mark my words. You will be interested in what I offer. A small man wouldn't appre- ciate my proposition. No, sir, not for a moment. Bartley. If you are referring to mining stock, sir, I am afraid 1 can offer you no encouragement. Bolivar. Mining stock? Bless your heart, no. I am not of that ilk, I assure you. I represent the Metropolitan Rural Supplement, sir, the greatest invention of the age. {He takes a paper resembling a small magazine froin his pocket.) Here it is. Gaze upon its beauties. My dear fellow, the big city dailies all have their big magazme sup- plements. Our mission is to supi)ly something similar — only better — for the readers of country papers. Aren't the people of Pineville as good as New Yorkers? Of course they are. "J'hen let them have their magazine supplements with their papers. Here we have it. {He moistens his thumb on his tongue and turns the pages.) All the fashions, household recipes, how to feed a family of nine on six dol- lars a week, stories by Bartley. Hold on. Who wrote that stuff about feeding a family of nine on six dollars a week ? {Takes paper from Bolivar.) Bolivar {proudly). Junkly, one of our best staff men. We pay him five thousand a year. Stories by Smithkins, Lambert, Turnbull, and all the .other big ones, jokes, pic- tures, puzzles, rhymes for the little ones, a literary treasure- THE COUNTRY EDITOR 27 house, my dear sir. Readers of the '' Free Lance " will revel in it. (During the latter part of Bolivar's discourse, Bartlev has beeii exa?nining the suppletneiit carefully.') Bartley {drily). And how much are we to expend for the privilege of giving "Free Lance" readers this wonder- ful production ? Bolivar. Ah, that's the point, sir, the very crux of our proposition, if 1 may put it so. The supplement is supplied you witliout money and without price. You pay the ex- press, nothing more. The advertisers take care of the rest. AVe live in an age of advertising, sir. Advertising is the greatest civilizing force known to mankind. As an ambas- sador for advertising, sir, 1 consider myself nothing less than a missionary, sir. Bartley. It pays better, though. Bolivar. You have a keen mind, young man. {He takes some important looking contracts and a fountain pen from his pocket.) How many shall we put you down for? Bartley. Not a copy. Bolivar. Why, why — my dear sir, I pray you, con- sider Bartley. Consider? I've considered enough. Look at your supplement that you want me to distribute to the good people of Pineville. {Points to paper.) Look at that advertisement of Elixir of Everlasting Youth, one of the worst fakes ever perpetrated and the solace of all the topers in the dry counties. Look at that advertisement of stock in peach orchards on the Hawaiian Islands. Look at that ad about writing a song and getting famous Bolivar. What's wrong with it ? Bartlev. Every fool who ever drummed a key will want to send them fifty dollars to publish his fool song. Will he get famous? Not on your life. Look at that moving pic- ture college ad. '* We guarantee to make you a successful photo play dramatist, earning $50 to $200 a week." You, mind you, anybody at all. All the poor counter jumpers at eight a week will send their dollars to learn how to have a snap ! And here we have a whisky ad ! No, sir, the "■ Free Lance " doesn't publish advertising of that kind, thank you. {Throivs paper on desk infrotit of Bolivar.) 28 THE COUNTRY EDITOR Bolivar {sardonically). All right, young fellow, but let me tell you one thing before I go. You made a great big mistake in choosing your profession. {Picks up paper.) Bartley {curtly'). How so ? Bolivar. You'd ought to have been a preacher. Well, so long. I'll come and see the fellow who buys you out, when you go bankrupt. Bartley. You'll have a long wait. {Ecsii Bolivar, c, contemptuously. Bartley resumes his writing at his desk.) {Enter Joseph Sawtelle, c. He is very genial.) Sawtelle. Hard at work, my boy? That's right. Work hard when you're young and you'll have plenty when you're old. That's my way. (Bartley rises and goes c, to meet Sawtelle.) Bartley. Won't you have a chair, sir ? {Places chair, c.) Sawtelle. Thanks, I will rest a minute. {Sits.) Have you been by the store to-day ? Crowded, crowded to the doors. That ad did it. 1 always believe in the **big spread." When you want to say anything say it out loud. I'm coming back next week with twice the space. That's what 1 came over for. 1 want you to reserve the whole back page for me until forbid. That means prosperity for both of us. These bargain days do the trick. When you're out at noon, just take a look in. Bartley. I will. And thanks for the ad, too. It isn't often that a man brings a full page ad into a newspaper office. Usually we have to go after it, and then it's like pulling teeth. Sawtelle. Bessie says you are coming up Thursday night. We'll be glad to see you, glad to see you any time. I like a strong, upstanding, clean-cut fellow. Bartley. Thank you, sir. Sawtelle (rising ). 1 will send up the copy for that ad within a day or so. We'll want to see proof. Bartley (l. c). We'll get it to you, sir. I'll come over for the copy any time you say. THE COUNTRY EDITOR 29 Sawtelle. To-morrow. By the way, Frank — I hope you don't mind my calling you Frank? Bartley. Not at all, sir. Sawtelle. Well, Frank, a deputy labor commissioner was in town yesterday and he made some very uncalled-for remarks. In fact, he was extremely disagreeable. I'd a lit- tle rather nothing appeared in the '' Free Lance " about the matter. The best way is to ignore such fellows, not con- descend to recognize them. Bartley. But, Mr. Sawtelle, they tell me he's making an official report. If so it's news. Isn't it true? Sawtelle. I don't think any one in Pineville cares two flaps of a pancake what any inspector says about Sawteile's store. Bartley. But, Mr. Sawtelle, he says that you have vio- lated the minimum wage law, that you pay some of the girls only four dollars and a half a week. Sawtelle {Jiotly). It's a lie. Not one of them gets less than four seventy-five. Bartley. But the law sets a minimum of seven dollars. Sawtelle {conciliatin^ly^. Look here, Frank, that law was intended for big cities where the girls have to pay board and buy their own clothes. Here at Pineville the girls just live at home. Bartley. It is a general state law, I think. Sawtelle. Anyway, what business is it of a lot of these cheap lawyers who go up to Belleville to make laws for the rest of us? Let some of them try to keep a store running and pay seven dollars a week to green girls that don't know putty. Why, how would I be able to have all these bargain sales and give the people stuff at cost, almost, if i had to pay seven dollars a week for clerks ? Bartley. Do you mean to say, Mr. Sawtelle, that you are able to make bargains because you underpay your clerks ? Sawtelle. Underpay? Who said underpay? Most of 'em aren't worth what they get. No, 1 can't say we make bargains out of salaries, anyway. The game is this, my boy. Cut tlie prices on a half a dozen things people know about and charge a good big profit on your other stuff. Anyway,' I'm not going to let them dictate to me. As for the *' Free Lance," it will please me a great deal not to see the matter mentioned. 30 THE COUNTRY EDITOR Bartley. I am afraid I can't do that. Sawtelle (surprised). Why not? Hartley. It's news. I must print the report. I will be very glad to print your side, too. Sawtelle. But, my boy, don't you see? A lot of peo- ple won't understand. It will put me in a bad light, 'i'he girls will be dissatisfied. And, in a way, it will seem a sort of disgrace. Bartley. But, Mr. Sawtelle, it is news. I must print it. Sawtelle. Why, you wouldn't want to hurt Bessie, would you ? Have people pointing at her in the street ? It's a little thing for you to make such a fuss about. Bartley. Let me have your story to print, too. That's fair. I'll print the inspector's charges, and right alongside I'll print your answer. Sawtelle {scveiely'). I think it will be a great deal bet- ter not to mention the matter in any way. Bartley. 1 can't do that. Sawtelle. Yes, you can, Frank, and I didn't size you up as a man who would injure his friends. Bartley. Look here, Mr. Sawtelle, 1 wouldn't kill a story to please my best friend. 1 can't do it and be honest. Ought I to do it to please myself? Sawtelle. These ideals are very fine, my dear boy, very fine, but you are young, very young. You will come to recognize that you are up against a hard, cold world, and that you've got all you can do to keep going. Pay the girls seven dollars a week? Why, I'd be tickled to pay them twenty — if I could. I've got to meet business conditions as they are. Bartley. Are you going to give the girls seven dollars now ? Sawtelle. Not much, I'm not. The law is unconsti- tutional, anyway, it limits the right of contract. Why, the free right to contract is the most sacred of human liber- ties, Frank. Bartley. Do you want me to say that in the "Free Lance"? Sawtelle {his Jaws snapping). No, I don't. I've told you what 1 want, and I've trieii to be reasonable, too. I don't want a line of it in the '* Free Lance," not a line. Bartley. 1 can't do that. Sawtelle (angri/y). Then you can do the other thing. THE COUNTRY EDITOR 3 1 If the "Free Lance" doesn't want Sawtelle and Company's frienclship, and our business, all right. But we don't stand any knocks from any one. Bartley. Can't you see how it is, Mr. Sawtelle? I've got to print the news. Let me print your story, too. Sawtelle. If you know what's best for you, young man, you won't print a line about it. 1 don't want my family disgraced in your paper. Bartley. Why didn't you think about that when you were violating the law? Sawtelle. It's a fool law, I tell you. (^Goes up c.) Barti,ey. Then why be ashamed of violating it? Sawtelle. Look here, I'm not going to listen to any boy telling me what to do. I've made a very small, simple request. If you don't want to favor me, well and good. That is your affair. Bartley. 1 can't do it. {Goes up l. c.) Sawtelle. That's final, is it? Bartley. I'm afraid it is, sir. Sawtelle. Very well. Good-morning, sir. (^He pauses at the door.') By the way, we won't need that page in the "Free Lance" next week. There will be no bargain sale at Sawtelle's. Bartley {quietly). Very well, sir. (Sawtelle j^/Vi- out, angrily. Bartley, down l., buries his head in his hands, in a momentary reaction. He takes Bessie's picture from his pocket a fid kisses it fervently.) {Enter Mrs. Pettigrew, c.) Mrs. p. I've got some news for you, Mr. Editor. Bartley {taking pad and pencil froin desk up l. ). You have, madame ? Mrs. p. Yes, and T ain't going to charge you a cent for it, either. I heard from a good, relial)le source that young Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins are having considerable difficulty already — I mean domestic difficulty. Bartley. Indeed ? Mrs. p. Yes, sir, 'n' it wouldn't be surprisin' if she sued him for divorce on the grounds o' cruelty — extreme cruelty. Last night he threw a plate at her, struck her right on the head, too. 32 THE COUNTRY EDITOR Hartley. You know this to be a fact ? Mrs. p. Of course I do. Bartley. She told you? Or were you an eye-wit- ness? Mrs. p. Well, no, but Vm morally sure. I heard the sound of the dish smashing and I seen Mrs. Jenkins cryin'. So I put two and two together and I guess that always makes four. She ought to get a divorce from that man. Any man who'd throw a dish at a woman Bartley, But, Mrs. Pettigrew, you haven't proven that yet. Jenkins always seemed to me a peaceable chap. Mrs. P. That's only a mask, hypocrisy. How I hate hypocrisy! He calls her "dear" and ** honey" in com- pany and then throws dishes at her when they're alone. Bartley. You think, then, that the ''Free Lance" would be justified in hinting at divorce proceedings? Mrs. p. Well, I whispered a word to Lawyer Buck, and he's going to ask Mrs. Jenkins if she's got any business with him. You can take my word for it. Bartley. Very well. We will print the story and quote you as our authority. Mrs. p. Goodness gracious, you mustn't do that ! Bartley. Why not? We must give the source of our information. Mrs. p. Don't you dare drag my name into it, whatever you do. Bartley. I am afraid I shall have to print the story with you as authority. Mrs. p. Don't you do any such thing, young man. Bartley. You came to us of your own accord. Mrs. p. Don't get me mixed up in it. Bartley. You mixed yourself up in it. Mrs. p. Anyway, perhaps, well — er — maybe it would be belter to wait for further developments. Bartley (^sternly). Better to wait until there's some truth in it, you mean. In future, I advise you not to carry tales you can't back up. Anyway, don't bring them here. Mrs, p. {atigrily). No one asked you for any advice, upstart ! (^She floimces out, c.) Bartley. Phew, what a pleasant morning ! (^Co?nes down c.) THE COUNTRY EDITOR 33 (^E?iter ScHULTZ, r.) ScHULTZ. Excuse me, Mister Bartley, I got somedings I vish to say." (^He pauses and seems embarrassed.^ Bartley. Out with it, SchuUzy. You aren't going to press now, are you ? ScHULTz. No, but (^Comes down L. c.) Bartley. I've got a big story ScHULTZ. Dot's him. Bartley. What are you talking about? ScHULTZ. Dot big story. Don't you write him. My age is yours a couple of times. Take my advice, say nud- dings. Bartley {amused). Why not? ScHULTZ. A wise tongue in a still head, ain't it? You never got into troubles ven you say nuddings. Take my vife Bartley {lau^hins^). I positively refuse. ScHULTZ. You can haf her fur vot she's cost me. But anyways, d' odder night she called me a fool with a few words ahead of der fool and let me tell you, dot started somedings. And ferwhy? She didn't keep still. If she hadn't said nuddings, 1 vould haf smoked my pipe and efery thing vould be lofely, and I vould not now haf a sore head (//jm- bination of a real "entertainment," including music, recitations, etc., with an interesting love story. The graduation exercises include short speeches, recitations, songs, funny interruptions, and a comical speech by a country school trustee. Price, 15 cents. EXAMINATION DAY AT 'WOOD HILL SCHOOL. An Entertainment in One Act, by Ward Macauley. Eight male and six female characters, with minor parts. Plays one hour. Scene, an easy interior, or may be given without scenery. Cos- tumes, modern. Miss Marks, the teacher, refuses to marry a trustee, who threatens to discharge her. The examination in- cludes recitations and songs, and brings out many funny answers to questions. At the close Robert Coleman, an old lover, claims the teacher. Very easy and very etTective. Price, 15 cents. BACK TO THE COUNTRY STORE. A Rural Enter- tainment in Three Acts, by Ward Macauley. For four male and five female characters, with some supers. Time, two hours. Two scenes, both easy interiors. Can be played etlectively with- out scenery. Costumes, modern. All the principal parts are sure hits. Quigley Higginbotham, known as "Quig," a cierk in a country store, aspires to be a great author or singer and decides to try his fortunes in New York. The last scene is in Quig's home. He returns a failure but is offered a partnership in the country store. He pops the question in the midst of a surprise party given in his honor. Easy to do and very funny. Price, 15 cents. THE DISTRICT CONVENTION. A Farcical Sketch in One Act, by Frank Dumont. For eleven males and one female, or twelve males. Any number of other parts or super- numeraries may be added. Plays forty-five minutes. No special scenery is required, and the costumes and properties are all easy. The play shows an uproarious political nominating con- vention. The climax comes when a woman's rights cham- pion, captures the convention. There is a great chance to bur- lesque modern politics and to v^'ork in local gags. Every part will make a hit. Price, 15 cents. SI SLOCUM'S COUNTRY STORE. An Entertainment in One Act, by Frank Dumont. Eleven male and five female characters with supernumeraries. Several parts may be doubled. Plays one hour. Interior scene, or may be played without set scenery. Costumes, modern. The rehearsal for an entertain- ment in the village church gives plenty of opportunity fur specialty work. A very jolly entertainment of the sort adapted to almost any place or occasion. Price, 15 cents. THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY PHILADELPHIA Unusually Good Entertainments Read One or More of These Before Deciding on Your Next Program A SURPRISE PARTY AT BRINKLEY'S. An En- tertainment in One Scene, by Ward Macauley. Seven male and seven female characters. Interior scene, or may be given with- out scenery. Costumes, modern. Time, one hour. By the author of the popular successes, "Graduation Day at Wood Hill School," "Back to the Country Store," etc. The villagers have planned a birthday surprise party for Mary Brinkley, recently graduated from college. They all join in jolly games, songs, conundrums, etc., and Mary becomes engaged, which surprises the surprisers. The entertainment is a sure success. Price, 15 cents,, JONES VS. JINKS. A Mock Trial in One Act, by Edward Mumford. Fifteen male and six female characters, with supernumeraries if desired. May be played all male. Many of the parts (members of the jury, etc.) are small. Scene, a simple interior ; may be played without scenery. Costumes, modern. Time of playing, one hour. This mock trial has many novel features, unusual characters and quick action. Nearly every character has a funny entrance and laughable lines. There are •many rich parts, and fast fun throughout. Price, 15 cents. THE SIGHT-SEEING CAR. A Comedy Sketch in One Act, by Ernest M. Gould. For seven males, two females, or may be all male. Parts may be doubled, with quick changes, so that four persons may play the sketch. Time, forty-five minutes. Simple street scene. Costumes, modern. The superintendent of a sight-seeing automobile engages two men to run the machine. A Jew, a farmer, a fat lady and other humorous characters give them all kinds of trouble. This is a regular gat- ling-gun stream of rollicking repartee. Price, 15 cents. THE CASE OF SMYTHE VS. SMITH. An Original Mock Trial in One Act, by Frank Dumont. Eighteen males and two females, or may be all male. Plays about one hour. Scene, a county courtroom ; requires no scenery ; may be played in an ordinary hall. Costumes, modern. This entertainment is nearly perfect of its kind, and a sure success. It can be easily produced in any place or on any occasion, and provides almost any number of good parts. Price, 15 cents. THE OLD MAIDS' ASSOCIATION. A Farcical Enter- tainment in One Act, by Louise Latham Wilson. For thirteen females and one male. The male part may be played by a female, and the number of characters increased to twenty or more. Time, forty mintites. The play requires neither scenery nor properties, and very little in the way of costumes. Can easily be prepared in one or two rehearsals. Price, 25 cents. BARGAIN DAY AT BLOOMSTEIN'S. A Farcical Entertainment in One Act, by Edward Mumford. For five males and ten females, with supers. Interior scene. Costumes, mod- ern. Time, thirty minutes. The characters and the situations which arise from their endeavors to buy and sell make rapid-fire fun from start to finish. Price, 15 cents. THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY PHILADELPHIA Successful Plays for All Girls In Selecting Your Next Play Do Not Overlook This List YOUNG DOCTOR DEVINE. A Farce in Two Acts, by Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow, One of the most popular plays for girls. For nine female characters. Time in playing, thirty minutes. Scenery, ordinary interior. Mod- ern costumes. Girls in a boarding-school, learning that a young doctor is coming to vaccinate all the pupils, eagerly con- sult each other as to the manner of fascinating the physician. When the doctor appears upon the scene the pupils discover that the physician is a female practitioner. Price, 15 cents. SISTER MASONS. A Burlesque in One Act, by Frank DuMONT. For eleven females. Time, thirty minutes. Costumes, fantastic gowns, or dominoes. Scene, interior. A grand expose of Masonry. Some women profess to learn the secrets of a Masonic lodge by hearing their husbands talk in their sleep, and they institute a similar organization. Price, 15 cents. A COMMANDING POSITION. A Farcical Enter- tainment, by Amelia Sanford. For seven female char- acters and ten or more other ladies and children. Time, one hour. Costumes, modern. Scenes, easy interiors and one street scene. Marian Young gets tired living with her aunt. Miss Skinflint. She decides to "attain a commanding position." Marian tries hospital nursing, college settlement work and school teaching, but decides to go back to housework. Price, 15 cents. HOW A WOMAN KEEPS A SECRET. A Comedy in One Act, by Frank Dumont. For ten female characters. Time, half an hour. Scene, an easy interior. Costumes, modern. Mabel Sweetly has just become engaged to Harold, but it's "the deepest kind of a secret." Before announcing it they must win the approval of Harold's uncle, now in Europe, or lose a possible ten thousand a year. At a tea Mabel meets her dearest friend. Maude sees Mabel has a secret, she coaxes and Mabel tells her. But Maude lets out the secret in a fev/ minutes to another friend and so the secret travels. Price, 15 cents. THE OXFORD AFFAIR. A Comedy in Three Acts, by Josephine H. Cobb and Jennie E. Paine. For eight female characters. Plays one hour and three-quarters. Scenes, inter- iors at a seaside hotel. Costumes, modern. The action of the play is located at a summer resort. Alice Graham, in order to chaperon herself, poses as a widow, and Miss Oxford first claims her as a sister-in-law, then denounces her. The onerous duties of Miss Oxford, who attempts to serve as chaperon to Miss Howe and Miss Ashton in the face of many obstacles, furnish an evening of rare enjoyment. Price 15 cents. THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY PHILADELPHIA LIBRARY OF CONGRESS The P o ■ ill iiliiil I s s i o n Expression and € 014 212 0367 • The power of clear ana torcelul expression brings confi- dence and poise at all times — in private gatherings, in public discussion, in society, in business. It is an invaluable asset to any man or woman. It can often be turned into money, but it is always a real joy. In learning to express thought, we learn to command thought itself, and thought is power. You can have this power if you will. Whoever has the power of clear expression is always sure of himself. The power of expression leads to: The ability to think "on your feet" Successful public speaking Effective recitals The mastery over other minds Social prominence Business success Efficiency in any undertaking Are these things worth while? They are all successfully taught at The National School of Elocution and Oratory, which during many years has de- veloped this power in hundreds of men and women. A catalogue giving full information as to how any of these accomplishments may be attained will be sent free on request. THE NATIONAL SCHOOL OF ELOCUTION AND ORATORY Parkway Building Philadelphia