Author 
 
 Title 
 
 Class [^SrdJj^^S^. 
 
 Book Jiiil^-LlJL 
 
 Imprint .. 
 
 icr— av3a»-» -i^o 
 
NO PLAYS EXCHANGED. 
 
 Bahek'5 Edition 
 orPLnY3 
 
 Mrs. Compton's Manager 
 
 COPYRIGHT 1*89. BV WALTER H BAKER 4 CO. 
 
A, W. PINERO'S PLAYS. I 
 
 jK Uniformly Bound in Stiff Paper Covers, if|v 
 
 ^w Price, 50 cents eacli. Jki 
 
 /In 
 
 teur performance. This publication was originally intended for tlie benefit of iiK 
 readers only, but the increasing demand for the plays for acting purposes has 'I!* 
 
 The publication of the plays of this popular author, made feasible by the new 
 Copyright Act, under which his valuable stage rights can be fully protected, 
 enables us to offer to amateur actors a series of modern pieces of the highest 
 class, all of which have met with distinguished success in the leading English 
 and American theatres, and most of which are singularly well adapted for aina- 
 
 far outrun their merely literary success. With the idea of placing this excel- >4V 
 
 lent series within the reach of the largest possible number of amateur clubs, we f I* 
 have obtained authority to offer them for acting purposes at an author's roy- 
 alty of 
 
 Ten Dollars for Eacli Performance. ^4^ 
 
 This rate does not apply to prof essional performances, for which terms will be 
 made known on application. 
 
 
 'T'Zjrp ATWAyOlM^ i A Farcical Romance in Three Acts. By Arthur 
 1 nii ruyi.t\Z^\Jl^,J* \ ^/^ Pinero. Seven male and five female char- 
 ■ acters. Costumes, modern; scenery, an exterior 
 and an interior, not at all difficult. This admirable farce is too well known 
 through its recent performance by the Lyceum Theatre Company, New York, to 
 need description. It is especially recommended to young ladies' schools and 
 coUegeB. - (1895.) 
 
 si/ THE CABINET MI NISTER. | U^^,>^o^^.rr^ 
 
 Sk'A ' — ' and nine female characters. 
 
 Tr Costumes, modern society ; scenery, three interiors. A very amusing piece, iu- 
 ii%'£ genious in construction, and brilliant iu dialogue. (1892.) 
 
 DATVIDV "nine I A Farce "in Three Acts. By Arthur W. Pinero. 
 *^'*"^-*^ * ij'lVJ^* Seven male, four female characters. Costumes, mod- 
 * ern ; scenery, two interiors. This very amusing piece 
 wag another success in the New York and Boston theatres, and hag been ex- 
 tensively played from manuscript by amateurs, for whom it is in every respect 
 suited. It provides an unusual number of capital character parts, is very funny, 
 and an excellent acting piece. Plays two hours and a half. (1893.) 
 
 T'TJC' T-ir^'D'DV T-TrM?^T7 I A Comedy in Three Acts. Bv Arthur 
 i nC rL\J£>D I n\jr^OC -W, Pineko. Ten male, five female char- 
 
 ' acters. Scenery, two interiors and an ex- 
 terior ; costumes, modern. This piece is best known iii this country throngli the 
 admirable performance of Mr. John Hare, who produced it in all the principal 
 cities. Its story presents a clever satire of false philanthropy, and is full of 
 interest and humor. Well adapted for amateurs, by whom it has been success- 
 fully acted. Plays two hours and a half. (1892.) 
 
 HTNTrFTTT I -^ ^^^y ^" Four Acts. By Arthur W. 
 '-'■'•^ ■'■■'-'• '^•^* I PiNERO. Eight male and seven female char- 
 ' acters. Costumes, modern ; scenery, four 
 
 ley. A play of powerful sympathetic interest, a little sombre in 
 relieved by humoroui touches. (1892.) 
 
Mrs. Compton's Manager 
 
 A Comedy in Three Acts 
 
 By HARRY O. OSGOOD 
 
 Juthor of ''The Baby," etc. 
 
 BOSTON 
 WALTER H. BAKER & CO 
 
rs. Compton's Manager 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 ^^ 
 
 Mrs. Helen Compton, a widow. 
 
 Leonard Barring, her jiepheiv. 
 
 Ethel Durand, a cousin to Mrs. Compton. 
 
 Elphron Vartray, a landscape gardener. 
 
 JaiMES Heaton, ati architect. 
 
 Frederick Lowell, Bishop of Hohoken. 
 
 Margaret Roswell, 
 
 Jackson, butler at "Fairthorn.'^ 
 
 Marie Demarque, actress. 
 
 Mrs. McGillion, Jiousekeeper at " Fairthorn.''^ 
 
 Tompkins, butler. 
 
 Williams, maid. 
 
 Watkins, farmhand. 
 
 Note. — If necessary the parts of Mrs. McGillion and 
 Williams, and Tompkins and Watkins can be doubled. 
 
 SYNOPSIS 
 
 Act L Scene L— At Fairthorn, Mrs. Compton's summer 
 residence. An evening in April. Scene II. — The same. 
 Midnight the same night. 
 
 Act II. — The same. A morning one week later. 
 
 Act III. — At Mrs. Compton's town house, New York. An 
 afternoon the following October. 
 
 Costumes — Modern. 
 
 THE Library of 
 
 CONGRESS, 
 Two Copies Received 
 
 JAN IT 1903 
 
 k Copynght Entiy 
 CLASS #^' XXi No 
 
 COPY e. 
 
 Copyright, 1902, by Walter H. Baker & Co. 
 
Mrs. Compton's Manager. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE \.—The slffing-room at '^ Fairthoni, " Mrs Comp- 
 ton's summer /louse. In r. wall, for^vard, open fireplace 
 I^urther back, open door^vay. Back zoall, practical window 
 R.c door L. c. Doorzvay with portieres, wall l. c Table 
 2vith books, magazines, etc., a little r. of q. Writin<r desk 
 L back corner, against back wall. So/a l. 7vall forward. 
 Lighted lamp on table. Small house safe, L. wall forward. 
 (^Curtain rises, disclosing VARTRA^' sittini^ in lar^e ea^y 
 chair L. of table, smoking a pip, and reading a imvspaper 
 Heaton standing in front of tiie fire, filling his pipe from 
 Iwx of tobacco on mantel over the fireplace. After a moment 
 Barring comes in door r.. PJe is in a dress suit; carries 
 long rain-coat and crush hat. He comes forward and lays 
 these on the sofa. The other men in shirt- sleeves.) 
 
 H EATON. Town ? 
 
 Barring. Yaas ! (^Puts in his monocle and proceeds to put 
 on his gloves.) Town ? I should rather say so ! Say t you 
 don t know how beastly dull I am here. Of course I'm sup- 
 posed to be looking after you fellers put the place into shape 
 Jiw Aunt Nellie to come down,-but, oh my ! Of course, you 
 do all the work, and all I do is to hang around ?ndhate myself 
 
 Vartray I'm afraid we haven't looked after you as naich 
 as we should. 
 
 Bar. Looked after me ! Te, he,— that's good ! Whx 
 1 m here to look after you, of course. It's all right,— I dop'[ 
 blame you. You work so hard all day on tJK- gardens and the 
 new staWe that you want to rest, of course,\vhen it comes 
 night, and as I don t care anything for her silly old flowers and 
 horses I haven t seen much of you in the daytime. So if it 
 nadnt been for running into town every otlieV night or so, it 
 would have been jolly well dull for me all around. 
 
4 MRS. COMPTON S MANAGER. 
 
 £/ifer jACKSoy, r., with suit case. 
 
 Jackson (Jo Barring). Your case, sir. 
 
 Bar. Oh, all right, — and Jackson, by the way, bring down 
 my bag of clubs, please. 1 think I shall run out to the Brae 
 Club to-morrow. 
 
 Jack. Very well, sir. \_Exit L. 
 
 Var. You won't come down again in the morning, then? 
 
 Bar. Bless you, no. I guess you fellers can work all 
 right even if I don't, eh? I may be gone for a week,- — I've 
 got to see my aunt. Say, did you notice that letter I got this 
 afternoon ? 
 
 Heat. The regular one? 
 
 Bar. No, not Marie's. I mean that one with the Pine- 
 hurst postmark. That's from my aunt. You know what a 
 match-maker she is. 
 
 Var. I've heard she's addicted to that sort of thing. 
 
 Bar. Yaas ! Why, she made Tcnimy Dixon's second 
 wife, and Billy Green's grass-widow, and lots and lots of 
 others. What do you suppose she wants to do now ? 
 
 Var. Say it quick, and relieve our suspense. 
 
 Bar. {^poking himself in the chest). Me! me! Wants lo 
 match me ! {The other men laugh.') Oh, you needn't laugh, 
 — she's in earnest enough when she gets on this sort of war- 
 path. Why, she's the reason that Johnny Thomas turned 
 Catholic, and studied to be a priest. It was either that or 
 marry Fannie Waters, aunlie was so close after him. 
 
 Heat, (hiughing). Why didn't he take Fannie? 
 
 Bar. Oh, 1 don't know,^ — preferred the other I suppose. 
 You didn't know Fannie, I guess. 
 
 Var. Well, I hope she hasn't picked out another Fannie 
 for you. 
 
 Bar. ^^'hy, .say, I don't know. I don't know the girl, — 
 say, I don't even know her name, — auntie forgot to put that 
 in. Here, let me read to you. {Froducing letter from 
 pocket.') "Who do you suppose I found down here? A very 
 distant cousin of yours, — a dear, dear girl, one of the sweetest 
 I ever saw. I shall bring her north to Fairthorn with me, and, 
 my dearest nephew, as I have the deepest interest in your 
 future, I do hope you will like her very, very much.'' "Do" 
 is in italics, "like" in capitals, and "very, very mucli " has 
 got fourteen lines under it. 
 
 Var. What do you propose? 
 
 Bar. I don't propose at all, if I can help it. Of course I 
 
MRS. COMPTON S MANAGER. 5 
 
 can't go and tell auntie about Marie because that would knock 
 everything flat in a second. But anyway, I'm going to see 
 her and trust to luck to get some fool sort of inspiration or 
 other to help me out. Of course, I know I'm no smarty boy, 
 but I hope I can pull around auntie some way. 
 
 (^A distant locomotive iviiistle sounds outside.) 
 
 Heat. There's the seven o'clock express out. 
 
 Bar. The carriage ought to be here in a moment then, if 
 I'm to catch the seven-twenty in. 
 
 Heat, {co/nius^ around and helping Barring with Iiis coat). 
 Won't you be rather late getting in ? 
 
 Bar. Oh, I'll get in town for the third act, and I've seen 
 the whole show about four thousand times. Say, I can 
 whistle every tune in it backwards. Besides, all I care about 
 is getting there in tim6 to take Marie to supper. I telegraphed 
 for a table at Sherry's, so I'll be all right. 
 
 (Sou ml of carriage wheels outside. ) 
 
 Var. There's the carriage. 
 
 Enter Jackson l., with bag of golf clubs. 
 
 Jack. Your clubs, sir. 
 
 Bar. All right, thanks. Well, good-bye, old fellows. I 
 must trot. 
 
 Var. (shaking hands'). Good-bye, Barring. You'll be 
 down again before long, I hope? 
 
 Bar. Oh, yes, you expect auntie by the end of next week, 
 — don't you? And I suppose I'll have to tag along then, any- 
 way. Good-bye, Heaton, old chap. 
 
 Heat. Good-bye, Barring. Kind of a nasty night to go 
 out. These spring rains are extra wet. 
 
 Bar. (moving towards the door, 2vhich Y awtray opens for 
 him). But, say, just think how much nicer it will be in town. 
 Good-bye, good-bye ! 
 
 Heat, and Var. Good-bye ! 
 
 \^Exit Barring door c, ] ACKSOti folloiaing zvith his case and 
 golf ba^. 
 
 Heat. Lord ! how the chap does rattle on. 
 
 (Crossing to chair in front of fireplace.) 
 Var. (reseating himself, and picking up neiaspaper). \Ye\\, 
 
6 MRS, COMPTON S MANAGER. 
 
 he's all right though. I'heie's a good, honest heart pumping 
 in his little chest, even if he isn't top-heavy with brains. 
 Heat. You're right, — nobody can help liking the fellow. 
 
 (Jackson reenters c, brushes off his shoulders, as if they 
 were wet, and then goes out L. A pause. Vartray 
 reads aud Heaton smokes, gazing into the fire. Then 
 Heaton sighs.) 
 
 Heat. Barring's right. This is beastly dull here. 
 
 Var. (putting down his paper and crossing to take a chair 
 on the opposite side of the fire from Heaton). Well, a little 
 rest will do us both good. There's very little to complain of. 
 The work isn't too heavy, the pay is good, and there's almost 
 no worry. 
 
 Heat. Fact. 
 
 Var. If it wasn't for those confounded jewels of Mrs. 
 Compton's in the tin safe there, I shouldn't worry at all. 
 
 Heat. What the deuce she wants to keep them here for is 
 more than I understand. 
 
 Var. I suppose it's on the principle that any would-be 
 burglar would expect her to keep them at her town house, and 
 not in this out-of-the-way spot. 
 
 Heat. Why doesn't she patronize a safe deposit company? 
 
 Var. The way she was brought up, Jimmy. Her people, 
 I understand, were peculiar to the verge of eccentricity. The 
 kind, you know, that kept their money in an old stocking on 
 the top shelf of the kitchen closet. Thought it was safer there 
 where they could put hands on it than in a bank. 
 
 Heat. Well, you've got the only keys, and they live with 
 you night and day. 
 
 Var. Keys ! It wouldn't take anything more than a can- 
 non-cracker to blow that old safe inside out, and besides, — I 
 think I could pick that lock myself with nothing more formida- 
 ble than a hairpin. That safe came over in the Mayflower 
 and lias been handed down in the family ever since. With all 
 her money, it would break her heart to buy a new one as long 
 as that can stand on its legs. 
 
 Heat. Well, I guess we don't need to borrow trouble. 
 
 (^Door-hell rings. ) 
 
 Var. (surprised). Hello! 
 Heat. What is it? 
 
MRS. COMPTON S MANAGER. 7 
 
 Var. The front door-bell. No wonder you don't know- 
 it; it's the first time I've heard it this season. 
 Heat. Visitors ? 
 Var. Hardly, this kind of a night. 
 
 Enter Jackson, l. 
 
 Jack. Two ladies, sir, inquiring for the manager of the 
 estate. 
 
 Heat. Ladies ? 
 
 Var. You'll have to show them right in here, the parlor 
 hasn't been opened yet. Present our excuses. We will see 
 them as soon as we have had time to run up and put on our 
 jackets. 
 
 Jack. Where shall I tell the driver to put their trunks? 
 
 Var. Their what ? 
 
 Heat. Have them register, Jackson, and show them to third 
 floor, left, room forty-two. 
 
 Var. No joking, Jimmy. Trunks with them ? 
 
 Jack. Yes, sir. 
 
 Var. I guess they must have come to the wrong place. 
 Tell the driver just to drive under shelter in the shed until 
 further orders. Come on, Jimmy. Exit Jackson l. 
 
 Heat. All right. " For this relief, much thanks." If this 
 isn't a hotel, we shall have to make it into one. 
 
 \_Exeunt Vartray and Heaton r. 
 
 Jackson returns , ushering in Ethel Durand and Mar- 
 garet ROSWELL. 
 
 Jack. Mr. Vartray will be here in a few minutes, madam. 
 
 \_Exit L. 
 
 Miss Durand. Very well. There is no hurry. 
 
 Miss Roswell. Thank goodness we are here. Theie's 
 nothing very pleasant about a journey over the Long Island 
 railroads or the Long Island mud-roads in this weather. I 
 can't conceive, anyway, why Mrs. Compton should have 
 asked you to come down ahead of her to open the house, when 
 the servants could have done it just as well. 
 
 Miss Dur. {zuandering about the room and inspecting the 
 pictures, etc.'). She didn't ask me to. 
 
 l\l!SS R. (sitting in front of the fire and warming her 
 hands'). Then may I venture to ask what induced you to 
 come down to this forsaken place at this time of year, to say 
 nothing of dragging long suffering me with you ? 
 
S MRS. COMPTON's manager. 
 
 Miss Dur. {sitting in Vartray's big chair, and talking 
 across the table to Miss Roswell). Why yes, I'll tell you. 
 You know I am a distant relation of Mrs. Compton's, — some- 
 thing like thirty-ninth cousin, I believe. I never took time to 
 reckon it out. Of course you know that papa left us next to 
 nothing when he died a year ago, and so I had to go South 
 with the DeBards, as governess for their children. Who 
 should come to our hotel at Pinehurst but Mrs. Compton. 
 When she found out who I was, she claimed the relationship at 
 once, and nothing would do but I must give up my place and 
 be her companion. She offered me considerably more than 
 the DeBards could, and so, of course, I went to her, — the 
 DeBard children weren't particularly pleasant as a steady diet, 
 anyway. Mrs. Compton has been very kind to me all winter. 
 The pay was liberal, but aside from that, she has loaded me 
 with gifts and attentions of every sort, so of course I feel under 
 considerable obligations to her. As soon, however, as it began 
 to be time to think of coming North again, she commenced to 
 talk about a favorite nephew of hers. It seems he must be de- 
 pendent on her, the same as I am. She hasn't said anything 
 direct, — in fact she hasn't even mentioned his name to me, 
 merely contenting herself with telling about the virtues of her 
 "dear nephew," her "dearest nephew," and her "darling 
 nephew." She has hinted very strongly that said "dearest 
 nephew" ought to get married and settle down, from which 
 you can draw your own conclusions. 
 
 Miss R. You gather, then, that she wouldn't be at all 
 averse to his settling down with you ? 
 
 Miss Dur. Modesty forbids me to say so, but such is the 
 case. 
 
 Miss R. And your idea is to have a little time in order to 
 size up the lad without Mrs, Compton's assistance? 
 
 Miss. Dur. Exactly. So I came here, — he manages 
 " Fairthorn " for Mrs. Compton. 
 
 Miss R. Supposing he knows your name, — of course he'll 
 understand what you came for. I imagine she has hinted to 
 him too. 
 
 Miss Dur. Oh, I'm confident from the fact that she never 
 told me his name, that she has never told him my name. 
 
 Miss R. Then how can you be sure of your man, if you 
 don't know his name? 
 
 Miss Dur. Didn't you hear me ask for the manager of the 
 estate ? 
 
MRS. compton's manager, 9 
 
 Miss R. But supposing there was more than one manager ? 
 
 Vartray enters R. , unobserved by the ladies. His appear- 
 ance is considerably more fortnal than before. 
 
 Miss Dur. Stop your questions, goosey, — of course there's 
 only one. Let me see, what did the servant say his name 
 was, — Vartray ? 
 
 Miss R. Yes, Vartray, — uncommon name, isn't it ? 
 
 Var. Elphron Vartray, at your service. Uncommon first 
 name, too, isn't it ? 
 
 Miss R. (rising). Oh,— I beg your pardon ! 
 
 Miss Dur. {also risi/i'-;). I am sure we didn't see you. 
 Mr. Vartray, I presume? (Vartray bows.) I am Miss 
 Durand, and this is my friend Miss Roswell. I am Mrs. 
 Compton's companion, and have come down to put the house 
 in order for her arrival next week. Vou got my telegram 
 saying I would come to-night? 
 
 Var. No, it probably reached the village, but country de- 
 livery is very unceitain, especially on such a stormy day as 
 this has been. I am very glad to see you, though. I can of 
 course have the grounds prepared, and order the servants to fix 
 the house, but it needs some better feminine taste than Mrs. 
 McGillion's to have things in shape the way I like them. 
 
 Miss Dur. I am afraid we shall put you to considerable 
 trouble then, if you didn't expect us. 
 
 Var. Oh no. I shall have to trust you to Mrs. McGillion's 
 tender mercies, but I guess she can prepare the guest's 
 chamber for you all right. (^J^in'^s bell.) Have you had any 
 supper? 
 
 Miss Dur. Not a bite. 
 
 Miss R. Simply starved ! 
 
 Var. I fear that the dining-table is all cleaned off. It 
 will only take a few minutes to have it re-set though. 
 
 Miss Dur. I think .if you will excuse us, we will say good- 
 night now. We are pretty tired after traveling all day, and if 
 the housekeeper can send up something for us to eat, we won't 
 come down again at all. 
 
 Mrs. McGillion enters L. 
 
 Var. Very well, if you wish it. Mrs. McGillion, this is 
 Mrs. Compton's companion Miss Durand, and Miss Roswell. 
 Show them to the guest's chamber, please, and send them up 
 some hot supper as soon as cook can prepare it. 
 
10 MRS. COMPTON S MANAGER. 
 
 Mrs. McGillion. Very well, sir. If you'll follow me, 
 please, Miss Durand. {Picks up Miss Durand's bag zuhich is 
 near ivall L., but does ?iot see Miss Roswell's bag which is 
 behind the table from her.) 
 
 Miss Dur. {offering her hand). Well, good-night, Mr. 
 Vartray. You are very kind to us. 
 
 Var. Not at all. Good-night, Miss Roswell. {Shakes 
 hands with her.) Pleasant dreams both, and I hope we shall 
 have a pleasant morning to show you to-morrow. 
 
 Miss Dur. Thank you, — good-night. 
 
 [The hdies folloiu Mrs. McGillion out l.) 
 
 Var. Funny Mrs. Compton didn't write me that she was 
 going to send on Miss Durand to open the house. Perhaps 
 she wrote Leonard though, as long as he's officially manager, 
 and he forgot to tell me. 
 
 Heaton enters r. ivith a labor ediy careless ^^ going-to- 
 meet-company ' ' air. Looks about and sees that the ladies 
 are gone. 
 
 Heat, {surprised and disappointed). Where are they? 
 
 Var. The ladies? {Points upward.) You might as well 
 wipe off that winning smile of yours ; it won't take any tricks 
 to-4iight. The ladies are tired and have gone off to bye-low 
 already. You took too long for prinking. 
 
 Heat. Tough luck, isn't it? Cheer up, I guess they will 
 last until morning. Who are th'ey, anyway ? 
 
 Var. a Miss Durand who seems to be a sort of companion 
 to Mrs. Compton and has come down to open the house, and 
 a friend, — let's see — Rockwell, or Rowell, or something like 
 that. 
 
 Heat. Did you know they were coming? 
 
 Var. No, — if I had I should have told you, of course. 
 
 Heat. Well, I suppose they stay ? 
 
 Var. Of course. 
 
 Heat. Gott sei dank ! Sort of a metropolitan oasis in our 
 suburban desert, eh ? 
 
 Var. Speaking of their staying, I must see after their 
 trunks. I suppose the team is still out under the shed. 
 
 \_Exit Vartray l. 
 
 Heat. My, my, but this is luck. I hope the dear children 
 will turn out as handsome as they were unexpected. 
 
MRS. COMPTON S MANAGER. II 
 
 Vartray reenters l. with Ii>:^hted lantern : he lias a cap on 
 and his coat collar turned up. 
 
 Heat. Why don't you send Jackson? 
 
 Var. No, I'd rather look out for them myself. 
 
 \_Exit Vartray c. 
 
 Heat, {eras sin-:; to front of fireplace and surveying himself 
 in mirror over the mantel'). Well, here's to bed. I don't 
 believe there's anything more brilliant to do, and I'll hope 
 from some pleasant dreams of the morrow. (^Adjusting his tie 
 critically.') To think that your uncle Jamesy should have 
 spent just two minutes too long in fixing his little bow, so that 
 he has to postpone meeting the dears for at least twelve hours. 
 Especially, too, as he hasn't seen anything feminine for at least 
 a month ! [Vaw/iim^ and stretching.) Ho, hum ! 
 
 Miss Roswell enters l. 
 
 Miss R. Oh, pardon me, — I didn't know there was any- 
 body here. I forgot to take my bag up-stairs, so I came 
 after it. 
 
 Heat, {zvhirling around at the voice). Margaret! 
 
 Miss R. {startled). Jimmy ! Mr. Heaton ! 
 
 Heat. For goodness sake, Margaret, what brings you 
 here? 
 
 Miss R. (coldly). I'm after my bag, Mr. Heaton. 
 
 Heat, (recovering his self-possession and imitating her). 
 Oh, certainly, Miss Roswell. (Picks up bag and hands it to 
 her.) Allow me. 
 
 Miss R. Thank you, Mr. Heaton. (Going.) Good-night ! 
 
 Heat. See here, Margaret, don't go, like this. Let me 
 explain, — I don't know just what, but anything you want ex- 
 plained. Don't you see that chance has thrown us together in 
 this out-of-the-way place? \A'hat else could it be for ? 
 
 Miss R. ^There is nothing to explain, Mr. Heaton, noth- 
 ing that admits of explanation. 
 
 Heat. Oh Lord, do you think it's fair ? On my honor, I 
 haven't the remotest idea of what the trouble between us is. 
 Only tell me, and give me a chance to set myself right in your 
 eyes, if I need to. 
 
 Miss R. What's the use? I know that I am perfectly jus- 
 tified and right in treating you as I have. 
 
 Heat. Right ? Justified? Seems to me your ideas on the 
 
12 MRS. COMPTON's manager. 
 
 subject must be rallier pt;culiar. Only give me a chance. 
 Here I've been tearmg my heart out for the last six months, 
 ever since 
 
 (Vartray's step outside. ) 
 
 Miss R. Somebody is coming. Pray don't advertise our 
 personal affairs so publicly. 
 
 (Vartray enters back. HEATON/(r//y back to table.) 
 
 Var. Beastly wet rain, Heaton. I'm soaked just in this 
 short trip. {Noticing Miss Ruswell.) Oh, I didn't see you. 
 Can I help you in any way ? 
 
 Miss R. No thank you, I just came after my bag. 
 
 Var. [looking from one to the other). Any trouble? 
 
 Heat, {surly). No. 
 
 Miss R. Trouble? — why of course not. Good-night, Mr. 
 Vartray. 
 
 Var. Good-night again, Miss Roswell. 
 
 l^Exit Miss Roswell, l. 
 
 Heat, (shortly). Well, I'm for bed. 
 
 Var. Hum, — if you two had known each other, I should 
 say that you were right in the midst of a first-class row. Did 
 you introduce yourself? 
 
 Heat. Introduce myself? Bah, — 1 didn't need to. Good- 
 night. \^Exit Heaton r. 
 
 Var. (whistling). Whew ! Considering the length of 
 their acquaintance, they seemed to have pickeii up a very 
 healthy quarrel. (^He goes about covering the fire, pulling 
 shades, etc.) Deserted and alone ! I'm too tired to read, so I 
 don't see but bed is my only refuge. {Standing in front of 
 safe.) Well, good-night, old dime savings bank, and may 
 you rest in peace. I've a good mind to kick your ugly old 
 lock off, and then Mrs. Compton would feel obliged to get a 
 new one. (Crosses to behind table; looks about.) All right 
 and tight, I guess. (Blows out the lig^'f The room is en- 
 tirely dark, except for the flickers from tJiC fire. N. B. All 
 house lis^hts out, as well as the stage lights. He gropes Jiis 
 way out R., whistling softly. After a minute he is heard to 
 stumble and there is a sharp hiss and a cat-call.) 
 
 Vartray's Voice. Confound th.it cat ! (Yawning.) Ho, 
 hum. (His footsteps gradually recede up the stairs, as the cur- 
 tain slowly descends, and rises again after a short pause.) 
 
MRS. COMPTON S MANAGER. I3 
 
 SCENE II. — llie same. AfidnigJit, the same night. The fire 
 has died out, and the darkness is complete. The curtain 
 rises s'oivly ^ A house clock strikes t^velve. Stealthy foot- 
 steps and the breathing of some person can be heard at the 
 door, L. After a moment a dark-lantern is opened, the light 
 bei/a; directed at the writing-desk. The person opens the 
 desk, the lid bein'^ of the kind 7vhich szvings down on hinges 
 to form the writing-table, and places the lantern on the 
 desk, so as to light tlie pigeon holes. The lantern is on the 
 opposite edge of the table to the person, facing half towards 
 the back, and the light shows it to be Jackson, clad in a 
 tight fitting, close buttoned old jacket, the collar turned up ; 
 on his head is a dirk skull cap. 
 
 Jack, (^muttering to himself^. H'm, — this must be Mrs. 
 Compton's private pigeon-hole, the only one with a lock. 
 {Producing bunch of keys.') I shouldn't wonder if this one 
 would do it, — it's really a shame to let 'em sell desks with toy 
 locks like this, — anythin' will open 'em, from a harmonica to 
 a fork. {Tries the key ; it does not work.) Didn't guess 
 right, eh? {Tries another ; same result.) Third time ^'ill 
 fetch it, sure, — fool's luck ! {The third key opens the d^aiirer.) 
 Ah! {He feels in the drawer.) Damn! {Goes through the 
 drawer carefully.) Not a key here. Mrs. Crompton must 'a' 
 taken 'em with her when she went .South, — I know they were 
 here last sunimer. Well, I suppose I must pick the old lock, 
 then, though I did hope to open it like a gentleman. {Loivers 
 his lantern to examine the safe lock, leaving the desk and 
 draiver open.) H'm — -I guess that won't be much of a job. 
 {Sets lantern on floor, and gets down himself, throwing his cap 
 on floor so that he may get his head close to the safe.) I guess 
 it won't take long, either, though Lord knows there's time 
 enough and to spare in this neighborhood. The loneliness 
 here is enough to drive any man to steal or somethin' else, if 
 just for the excitement. {Produces skeleton wire keys and 
 works at lock.) H'm, — let's see ! {Pushes hard at the key ; 
 his hand slips and he falls against the safe. ) Ouch ! banged 
 my eye, and cut my hand ! Hanged if 1 won't fetch her next 
 try just out of spite. ( Works at the lock again ; it turns ; he 
 throxvs the door open.) Hooray ! Now let's see what comes 
 first. ( Takes out a small dra7ver, and lifts diamond brooch 
 from it ; holds brooch so that it sparkles in the lantern light. ) 
 That's not a bad looking bit of jewels, eh ? What next ? 
 
14 MRS. COMPTON S MANAGER. 
 
 {Lays brooch on floor.) Well {^The front door -bell 
 
 rings. ]\CKS>OT^ snrp'ised iDid startled.) Whatsthat? {Slams 
 drawer into safe; throws door shut.) What can it mean ? 
 {Sees brooch on floor.) Confound it ! I didn't get this in. 
 {Springs vp, with brooch and lantern in hand.) What shall 
 1 do with it? Pocket? No, not safe. {^Glances round; 
 notices open desk.) Just the place, — they'll never look there 
 ior it, and I can get it to-morrow wilh luck. (^Throws brooch 
 into the drawer ; locks drawer, closes desk, gives final glance 
 about the room, shuts the lantern, and rushes off, L. The door- 
 bell rings again. After a moment Vartray enters in trousers, 
 slippers, and dressing jacket, and carrying a candle, followed 
 by Heaton /// a bath-robe and also carrying a candle.) 
 
 Var. {crossing to door L.). Now what crazy idiot is ringing 
 that bell at this time of night ? 
 
 {The blinds outside the large window rattle.) 
 
 Heat, {whispering). Sh ! somebody is trying the blinds ! 
 
 Var. {blows out his candle instantly). Quick, hold your 
 light. {^He opens the desk and takes a revolver from a 
 dr/.-^^rf) Now then, hide behind the table there and screen 
 your canT\le, and we'll be ready for him. 
 
 (Heaton crouches down in front of the table, setting the 
 candle on the floor and screening the flame with his hands. 
 Vartray, zvith tJie revolver, flattens himself against the 
 back wall Just to the L. of the window. The person out- 
 side succeeds in opening the blinds, slips the window catch 
 with a knife, and opens the windotu. He then passes in 
 a suit-case, and steps in, moving forward and a little to 
 the left gropingly. He is clad in clerical garments, which 
 are a little bedraggled for being out in the wet.) 
 
 The Person. Rather an unceremonious way of dropping 
 in on one's friends. However, Fm sure the circumstances 
 will offer my excuses. I wonder if I have a dry match. 
 (^Feels in his pockets. ) 
 
 Var. {zuho has moved in front of tlie window as soon as the 
 stranger passed into the room). Now, Heaton. (Heaton 
 stands up, jtncovering the light ; the strafiger starts in sur- 
 prise ; Vartray covers Jiim with the revolver.) Hands up, 
 if you please ! 
 
 The Person. Allow me, my dear sir, — to explain. I 
 am 
 
MRS. COMPTON S MANAGER. I5 
 
 Var. Up with them tirst, and explain afterwards. 
 'I'tiS. PERbON. But, my dear sir, — I am tlie Bishop- 
 
 Var. Heaton, talce that rope off your bath-robe and tie iiis 
 ha. ids. 
 
 Heat. But, Elly boy, supposing the girls come down, — 
 think of my figure ! 
 
 Var. No matter then, — I'll call Jackson I (^CaL'ing.) 
 Jackson ! Jackson I 
 
 The Person. Rather tlian inconvenience the gentleman, I 
 will comply with your request. (^Holds up his hands.) Now, 
 if I may speak, 1 am quite sure that 1 am right in saying that 
 this is Mrs. Helen Compton's house. Mrs. Compton is a very 
 dear friend of mine. I do not know either of you, but per- 
 haps you may have heard her speak of me. I am the Bisbop 
 of Hoboken. 
 
 Heat. I'm sorry we haven't a job lot of weddings or 
 funerals we can set you to work on to-night, but if you'll stay 
 to breakfast we'll let you try your hand at grace. 
 
 Var. Jimmy ! May I ask, sir, if it is fair to ask me to 
 believe that ? 
 
 The Bishop. Fair or not, sir, I must ask you to. Look at 
 my dress, — look at the suit-case. I 
 
 (Miss Roswell rushes i/i, l., in a kimono folloiued by 
 Miss Durand.) 
 
 Miss R. {running across and throzving herself into Hea- 
 ton's arms). Oh, Jimmy dear, what's the matter? 
 
 Miss Dur. Mr. Vartray, what is going on ? 
 
 The Bishop. Miss Durand ! You here ? 
 
 Miss Dur. Bishop Lowell ! 
 
 The Bishop. You see, sir. 
 
 Var. {pitching the revolver on to the table). I beg your 
 pardon, — but you will admit the appearances were against you. 
 
 (Jackson conies in, l. He has removed the coat.) 
 
 Jack. You called me, sir ? 
 
 Var. Yes, but no matter now. Wait though, — you may 
 light the lamp. 
 
 Miss Dur. Mr. Vartray, this is Bishop Lowell, a great 
 friend of Mrs. Compton. 
 
 The Bishop {shaking hands tuith Vartray). I am glad 
 to meet you, Mr. Vartray, though in this rather unceremonious 
 fashion. 
 
l6 MRS. COMPTON's manager. 
 
 Var. Pray don't mention it, — of course you have some 
 perfectly rational explanation. 
 
 Miss Dur. And now you know each other, perhaps, con- 
 sidering the hour, circumstances, and the costume, it would 
 be well for us to leave you to your explanations. Coming, 
 Margaret ? 
 
 Miss R. {jvJw Jias ronaiiied tJiroiigJioitt the scene safely 
 protected ifi Heaton's arms^. Certainly. {SternlyJ) Mr. 
 Heaton, will you release me at once? 
 
 Heat. Oh, I say, I like that ! (//<? steps back.) Any- 
 body would think that I had whistled for you to come ! 
 
 Miss R. Mr. Heaton ! {She takes a step, and then stands, 
 drawing one foot up under her.') Oh ; — come here a minute, 
 Ethel. (She imhispers to her.) 
 
 Miss Dur. {lookin^^ at bottom of Miss Roswell's kimono, 
 behind which her feet are hidden). You poor girl ! They 
 must be nearly frozen. Gentlemen, will you oblige us? At- 
 tention ! {The three men come to attention.) About face ! 
 {^The fnenface about simultaneously.) Now, Margaret, scoot ! 
 ( The girls scamper off, l. ) 
 
 Jack, {who has finished ligiiting the lamp). Shall I sliow 
 his Grace to a room, sir ? 
 
 1'he Bishop. Ah, Jackson, you still here ? {Shakes hands 
 with him.) I am glad to see you are still steady. Everylhing 
 going all right ? 
 
 Jack. Yes, thank you, sir. 
 
 Var. I'm afraid you must be pretty wet, sir, if you have 
 been out in the storm. Take him right into our chamber, 
 Jackson, and give him seme good coarse towels for a rub- 
 down. 
 
 The Bishop. Oh, I couldn't think of turning you out. 
 
 Var. Oh, Heaton and I can camp down here without the least 
 inconvenience, and our chamber is the only room warmed. 
 You see the house isn't opened as yet, as Mrs. Compton 
 doesn't come down until next week. 
 
 The Bishop. Ah, indeed ! There's where I made a mis- 
 take. I was at a confirmation at Flushing, and being so near, 
 I thought I would come over and spend the night at Mrs. 
 Compton's here, as I have done many times before. My car- 
 riage broke down, and in consequence I was delayed until this 
 hour in getting here, as I had to wnlk the last thiee or four 
 miles. When I found the h.ouse locked I thought of course 
 that you had all gone to bed, and failing to rouse anybody 
 
MRS. COMPTON S MANAGER. I7 
 
 with the door-bell, I thought I could get in without disturbing 
 anybody, but evidently I miscalculated. No wonder you took 
 me for a burglar. How fortunate that Miss Durand chanced 
 to be here, for if neither she nor Mrs. Corapton had been here 
 to identify me, I could hardly have blamed you for turning me 
 over to the authorities. 
 
 Jack. You forget me, sir. 
 
 'Ihe Bishop. You're right, Jackson, — you would have 
 saved me in any event. Now if you'll take my traps, please. 
 Good-night, Mr. Vartray and Mr. ? 
 
 Var. Pardon me, — I forgot that I hadn't introduced you. 
 Mr. Heaton, Bishop Lowell. 
 
 The Bishop {shaking hands). And Mr. Heaton. Really, 
 I am very sorry to have disturbed you so, and then to add 
 insult to injury by turning you out of your room. 
 
 Heat. Don't apologize, sir, for introducing a little excite- 
 ment into the unbroken monotony of these back woods. 
 
 Var. And as for the room, camping down here is rather a 
 lark for us, — eh, Jimmy ? 
 
 Bishop. You are very kind, indeed. Good-night. 
 
 Heat, and Var. Good-night. 
 
 (Bisnov foIio7vs Jackson oui r.) 
 
 Heat. Call this place dull ! It's been one round of gayety 
 ever since supper ! 
 
 Var. Well I guess we've had about all that's coming to us 
 to-night. Shall I douse the light ? 
 
 Heat. ( picking up cushion from big chair to use for a 
 pillow'). Wait a minute, till I pick out my particular soft 
 spot on the floor. (Throzvs down the pillow in front of safe ; 
 prepares to lie doivn afid trips on Jackson's cap.) Hello, 
 what's this? {Holds up the cap.) It must have dropped 
 out of the bishop's luggage. 
 
 Var. Hum, I didn't notice any leaks in his case, and be- 
 sides, it wasn't in that part of the room at all. Where was it, 
 right there ? 
 
 Heat. Yes, right in front of the safe here. 
 
 ( Crosses to the table to examine the cap in the lamplight with 
 Vartray.) 
 
 Var. Right in front of the safe here. {^The importance 
 of the word strikes him.) The safe? [Crosses to it.) The 
 safe ! 
 
10 MRS. COMPTON S MANAGER. 
 
 Heat. What, — you don't suspect ? 
 
 Var. {turning the handle). Unlocked. 
 
 Heat. What ? — no ! 
 
 Var. {iiods). Yes. My hand's wet. {^Holds it ?//.) 
 Blood ! 
 
 Heat. Quick,' — open it! (Vartray throws the door 
 open.') The drawer ! 
 
 Var. {taking it out). That's heie. 
 
 PI EAT. Thanks be. 
 
 Var. {running his hand through the drawer). It's gone ! 
 
 Heat. The brooch ? 
 
 Var. Exactly ! {Rushes across to light with the drawer^) 
 
 Heat. No,- — it can't be. {Looks overVAWYKh\'^ shoulder. 
 They hurriedly rummage through the drawer again.) 
 
 Var. Can't be, eh? Well, it has. 
 
 Heat, {emitting a long-drawn whistle of surprise and as- 
 tonishment as the curtain descends). Wh-e-w ! 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
ACT II. 
 
 SCENE. — The same room. The lamp is ^one from the table., 
 the top of which is not so littered zvith papers, etc., as be- 
 fore. There is no fire in the fireplace, but in its place some 
 new logs neatly piled. There are more ornaments and 
 pictures about, and the room has a general appearance of 
 having been ''■put to rights." The time is morning, about a 
 week later than the day of the first act. 
 
 {As the curtain rises, laughter and a confusion of voices is 
 heard off r. Then Vartray's voice. "Ah, those buck- 
 wheats, — those old-fashioned, homespun, double-decked 
 buckivheats .■' " ) 
 
 Enter Vartray, Miss Durand, Heaton and Miss Ros- 
 WELL, R., talking together as they come on. 
 
 Miss Dur. Alas, for the formality that Mrs. Compton 
 will bring with her to-day ! No more picnic breakfasts. 
 
 Miss R. Anyway, it's been the jolliest week possible while 
 it has lasted. 
 
 Heat, {surreptitiously squeezing her hand). Yts, dearie, 
 worth all the other weeks in the year, even if for nothing more 
 than that it gave us the chance to understand each other once 
 more. 
 
 Var. {spying hint). Hold on there, — no love-making at 
 this time in the morning, or you'll drive Miss Durand and I 
 to it also, in pure self-defense. 
 
 Miss R. {to N h-KYv^k-^, suggestively). Well ? 
 
 Miss Dur. {reprovingly). Margaret ! 
 
 Var. {extremely uncomfortable). H'm, — er {Break- 
 ing out suddenly.) Come along, you silly chump, Heaton, — 
 haven't we got enough to do this morning before Mrs. Comp- 
 ton arrives ? 
 
 Heat. Certainly, honorable boss. ( With mock politeness 
 and a deep bow.) Pray excuse us, ladies, while we retire to 
 transform the gentleman-of-leisure into the hod carrier. 
 
 \_Exeunt Heaton and Vartray. 
 
 19 
 
20 MRS. COMPTON S MANAGER. 
 
 Miss R. {seating herself on the sofa). So Mrs. Compton 
 comes to-day. Come here, Ethel, and tell me what you think 
 of your idea of coming down lo observe your man for a week 
 in advance. 
 
 Miss Dur. {sitting beside her.) I think it was a real in- 
 spiration. 
 
 Miss R. And what do you think of the man, — is he an 
 inspiration, too ? 
 
 Miss Dur. Why, I like Mr. Vartray very much. 
 
 Miss R. Such a nice, gentle way of putting it, too. And 
 isn't it nice that he should like you very much, too? 
 
 Miss Dur. {protesting). Margaret ! 
 
 Miss R. Really, Mrs. (-ompton is as good as a fairy god- 
 mother. Think of being regularly thrown into each other's 
 arms ! 
 
 Miss Dur. Thrown into nothing ! 
 
 Miss R. It's much the same. I never heard of such an 
 idyllic arrangement. Just look at the quarrels Jimmy and I 
 have had, but in your case the course of true love is a regular 
 railway. 
 
 Miss Dur. True love ! — true nonsense ! I have hardly 
 known him a week yet. 
 
 Miss R. True, — but there's no telling what a fair maid 
 of your charm and fascination can accomplish in even seven 
 little days. Tell me, dear, how soon do you expect him to 
 pro 
 
 Miss Dur. Sh ! For goodness sake, Margaret, stop your 
 poor jokes. Here they come back. 
 
 Enter Vartray and Heaton, l. Vartrav /;/ overalls 
 and a tattered straiv hat, with his shirt-sleeves rolled up. 
 Heaton, in an old flannel shirt ivith no jacket or vest, 
 and his trousers rolled, is busy filling his pipe. He has 
 on an old slouch hat. 
 
 Heat. Beliold Apollo and his brother ! 
 
 Miss R. You certainly are handsome in that rig, Jimmy. 
 
 Heat, {near the door back). Never you mind, Meggy 
 dear, handsome is as handsome does. Come on, — we'll go 
 down and see those chaps put the finishing touches on the 
 doors for the box-stalls. I have to watch them every minute, 
 or they don't seem to be able to put on a hinge right. 
 
 Var. I'm all through except for the Jacquemuiot bushes 
 that I'm going to have the men put in the south corner of the 
 
MRS. COMPTON S MANAGER. 21 
 
 rose garden. I think I'll write to the firm and tell them that I 
 shall be through here to-morrow. 
 
 Heat. What's your next assignment? 
 
 Var. I'm not sure, but I think they will probably send me 
 up into the Berkshires to straighten out the Bliss' garden at 
 Lenox. It got to looking rather seedy at the end of last sea- 
 son. 
 
 Heat. Well, I'll be round in time to greet the landlady. 
 Ten-thirty, isn't it ? 
 
 Var. Ten-thirty into town, and about fifty here, allowing 
 for the drive up. By the way, Jimmy, look in here for a min- 
 ute if you can in about half-an-hour. I'd like to see you a 
 minute. 
 
 Heat. All right, EUy. 
 
 \_Exeuiit Heaton and Miss Roswell, c. 
 
 (Vartray, ivho has seated himself at the writing desk he- 
 gins to write.) 
 
 Miss Dur. {after a moment). So you're going to-morrow, 
 Mr. Vartray ? 
 
 Var. (ivritiiif). Yes, I've got to. 
 
 Miss Dur. Isn't it rather a sudden decision? 
 
 Var. Well, — no. Of course I've known all along that I 
 should have to go as soon as my work here was finished. I 
 expected to get through almost a week ago, but Mrs. Conip- 
 ton delayed coming down, and — {crossing to sit beside her) 
 well — after you came, you know, somehow I didn't mind the 
 work, — it wasn't so dreary as it has been here, and I hated so 
 to realize that I must go away from — from it all, that I didn't 
 want to speak of leaving. 
 
 Miss Dur. It has been a very pleasant week, Mr. Vartray. 
 
 Var. I only hope it's been as nice for you as it has been 
 for me. Of course I've known my sisters all my life, and one 
 or two of their chums, but I've never exactly had one girl left 
 on my hands the way you've been the. last week. 
 
 Miss Dur. Left on your hands ! I like that ! 
 
 Var. Oh, Miss Durand, — you know I didn't mean any- 
 thing by that. I mean, we've been thrown in each other's 
 way, — no, I mean, — I mean, — well you know, I mean 
 
 Miss Dur. You mean, Mr. Vartray, that Jimmy and Mar- 
 garet have been very much wrapped up in each other 
 
 Var. Bless them ! 
 
22 MRS. COMFTON S MANAGKR. 
 
 Miss Dur. As is naturally to be expected under the cir- 
 cumstances, and you and I 
 
 Var. You and I 
 
 Miss Dur. {coiifinuing). Have been rather left to our- 
 selves. 
 
 Var. To each other, you mean, Ethel. 
 
 Miss Dur. (repeating). To each other, you mean, — 
 who ? 
 
 Var. Oh, didn't you hear ? I said Ethel quite distinctly. 
 
 Miss Dur. {appare)itly dubious). Urn, ? 
 
 Var. {cheerfully audacious). May I not? Such old friends, 
 you know. 
 
 Miss Dur. Of course, — almost a week old ! I really don't 
 know how I can prevent you if you insist. 
 
 Var. Oh, I insist ! Nothing shall prevent me from in- 
 sisting ! Shake hands on it. {T/iey shake.) And will you 
 call me Elphron ? 
 
 Miss Dur. Certainly not. 
 
 Var. {surprised, but still retaining her luind). Why, — 
 why 
 
 Miss Dur. Because I think it's an abominably homely 
 name. How do you like Bobby ? 
 
 Var. That's the only name I ever loved, except Eth 
 
 Miss Dur. No exceptions ! Then Bobby it shall be. 
 
 Var. Bobby it is. Shake hands on that, too. 
 
 Miss Dur. But we haven't stopped shaking hands the first 
 time yet, Bobby. 
 
 Var. But we each have a hand left, Ethel. {Extends Jiis 
 left hand to her across their clasped hands; she accepts it. ) 
 
 Miss Dur. Foolish ! 
 
 Var. Ridiculous ! {Leaning forward and laughing into 
 her eyes.) And now is there any further 
 
 (Barring, in light summer suit and straw hat, carrying his 
 bag of clubs, enters abruptly, c. Vartray and Miss 
 Dur and start up eiubarrassed.) 
 
 Bar. {as confused as the others, removes his hat, bows aivk- 
 wardly, starts back). Oh, beg pardon. {Backing.) Didn't 
 know any one — thought you would be, — excuse me ! 
 
 Var. {recovering). Why, how do you do. Barring? Glad 
 to see you back again ; but I didn't expect you before Mrs. 
 Compton. 
 
MRS. compton's managi-r. 23 
 
 Bar. No, I guess I 2vas kind of unex])ected. 
 
 Var. Miss Durand, allow ine to present Mr. Barring, Mrs. 
 Compton's nephew and manager of the estate here. 
 
 Miss Dur. (Joo surprised to acknowledge the introduction'). 
 What, — manager of " Fairthorn " ! You' re not the manager ? 
 
 Var. Why no, — I'm only the landscape gardener. 
 
 Bar. Yon see it's this way. I'm a good deal of a duffer, 
 you know, and so Vartray has been good enough to kind of look 
 out for things in general, although you'll find "manager" 
 after my name on the pay-roll. 
 
 Miss Dur. Then you're the one Mrs. Compton told me 
 so much about ? 
 
 Bar. Awfully nice of her, wasn't it? 
 
 Miss Dur. (Jo Vartray). And you're not the manager 
 after all ? 
 
 Var. Why, no, — of course not. But what of it anyway? 
 
 Miss Dur. Good heavens ! (^Rushes off l.) 
 
 Bar. Seemed real pleased to see me, didn't she ? 
 
 Var. I can't imagine what is the matter with her. 
 
 Bar. Who is she, anyway ? 
 
 Var. She's a distant cousin of Mrs. Compton's who has 
 been with her in the South this winter. She came on a week 
 in advance to help put the house in order for Mrs. Compton's 
 arrival. 
 
 Bar. Oil, — (grabbino^ liiin by the arm) I say, Vartray, 
 — I know who she is. It's that " dear, dear girl," — don't you 
 know, the one auntie picked up down at Pinehurst, — the one 
 she wrote to me about so much, — you know, the girl she 
 wanted to throw me at. What's her name? 
 
 Var. Durand. 
 
 Bar. Auntie had never told me that. But what do you 
 suppose she was so anxious about your being the manager here 
 for? 
 
 Var. (thinking). Manager, — by Jove, I'll bet I know 
 why. You say Mrs. Compton never told you Miss Durand's 
 name? 
 
 Bar. Auntie is kind of forgetful sometimes, you know. 
 
 Var. Then I'll bet she never told Miss Durand your name. 
 All she knew was that you were the manager of the estate, and 
 coming here to find me in charge she naturally mistook me for 
 you. 
 
 Bar. What a lark ! 
 
 Var. And so she's been nice to me ail this week, and let 
 
24 MRS. COMPTON S MANAGER. 
 
 me, — well, let me get interested but just because she thought it 
 was you all the time ! 
 
 Bar. Oh, I say, sort of pulling the chestnuts out of the 
 fire for me, — you're the cat and I'm the monkey, eh? 
 
 Var. Not much, — I'm monkey enough for both. 
 
 Bar. But I say, — ha ! he ! isn't it a bully joke? 
 
 Var. (/z/j indignation rising). Joke ! — ^joke ! The devil ! 
 {Rushes off c.) 
 
 Bar. Say, — I don't seem to be exactly popular this morn- 
 ing. Guess I'll run up and put on my business suit, — I 
 thought it might make a good impression on Aunt Nellie if I 
 got here first and looked a little busy when she showed up. 
 (The front door-bell rings.) Bah Jove, I hope that isn't her 
 already ! Trot up, Lenny boy. 
 
 {Picks up his clubs and hurries off c.) 
 
 Jackson enters l., ushering iti Marie Demarque; she is 
 dressed in a plain black gown, a la saleslady ; over her 
 face a 7'ery thick black veil. 
 
 Jack. You're sure, ma'am, the ladies would wish to see 
 you ? 
 
 Miss Demarque. Of course, — I am Madame LeClerq's 
 head assistant, and had an appointment to measure them. 
 
 Jack. Oh, very well, — I hadn't heard them mention it. 
 
 Miss Deini. There are a good many things you're not sup- 
 posed to hear. 
 
 Jack, {ruffled). Humph, — indeed ! Sit down. Perhaps 
 I can find them. \_E.xit c. 
 
 {As sooj! as she is sure that Jackson is safely out Miss De- 
 marque goes about making a careful inspection of the 
 various articles about the room, raising her veil to do so. 
 The excellent pictures and other evidences of good taste 
 and ample means shown by the various articles in the 
 room evidently meet with her approval. She finally ex- 
 amines the appointments of the writing-desk, standing 
 back to the door c.) 
 
 Vartray enters quietly, unobserved, by door c. 
 
 Miss Dem. {examining the small clock ivhich stands on top 
 of the desk). My, — but somebody had to put out good money 
 
MRS. COMP TON S MANAGIiR. 2^ 
 
 for all of these things, — I viondcr what chance Lenny has of 
 comhig in for 
 
 Var. Do I inirude? 
 
 Miss Dem. {cirops the clock, and wheels about with a half- 
 scream). Oh ! {^Hastily pulls down her veil.) 
 
 Var. You are ? 
 
 Miss Dem. {recovering her composure). Madame Le- 
 Clerq's assistant. I had an appointment to measure Mrs. 
 Compton for a new summer suit, but your butler tells me that 
 she has not come as yet. I was just going. 
 
 Var. The, — er, — the clock was going, too? 
 
 Miss Dem. Sir ! — Really, 1 must go. 
 
 {She starts for the door c.) 
 
 Var. {backin'^ against the door). Must ? 
 
 Miss Dem. Yes, — I will come again to-morrow. 
 
 (67/1? starts out L.) 
 
 Var. My dear Miss Demarque, — i^she stops abruptly at her 
 name) now that you are here why not sit down and tell me 
 where it is? 
 
 Miss Dem. You know me ? 
 
 Var. You weren't quite quick enough with the veil. Any- 
 body so well known in the theatrical world as yourself must 
 expect to be recognized, especially when there are at least four- 
 teen pictures of you up-stairs in Mr. Barring's room. 
 
 {^He places a cJiair for her at the right of the desk.) 
 
 Miss Dem. (sitting). Very well. What did you ask me? 
 
 Var. (seating himself at the desk). I asked you how it has 
 been disposed of? 
 
 Miss Dem. Perhaps I could tell you better if I knew what 
 " it " was. 
 
 V^i*f; Oh come, — why not own up at once and save me the 
 bother of dragging it out of you. 
 
 Miss Dem. I imagine you are insulting me, but you talk so 
 in riddles that 1 am not sure. 
 
 Var. (after a moment' s thought). By Jove, — -perhaps I am 
 wronging you. I really can't understand why you should be 
 connected with the case, but finding you as I did I was natur- 
 ally suspicious. See here — of course you lied to me about 
 being Madame LeClerq's assistant. Tell me honestly, now, 
 
26 MRS, COMPTON's manager. 
 
 what you are here for, and very likely you will clear yourself 
 of all suspicion at once. 
 
 Miss Dem. (^hesiiating). I 
 
 Var. (^impatiently). Come, the truth at once. 
 
 Miss Dem. Well, here, — as man to man. You know that 
 Lenny has been considerably thick with me all last winter 
 
 Var. Barring ? 
 
 Miss Dem. Yes. Well, he has been kind enough to ask 
 me to marry him. I really think he's in earnest, too. I merely 
 came down here on a private hunt to see what sort of a place he 
 lived in, and what his prospects are. Lord, he hasn't head 
 enough to earn ten cents a week by himself. I have had 
 enough of these offers from chappies with everything they own 
 on their backs, and I wanted to make sure that Lenny wasn't 
 that kind. 
 
 Var. Really I believe you. The explanation is too frank 
 and novel not to be true. I see that I did wrong in suspecting 
 you, but let me explain. A week ago some jewelry of Mrs. 
 Compton's was stolen from the safe there. I have every reason 
 to believe that it has not been taken away from the house yet, 
 and seeing you prying about I of course immediately suspected 
 you of knowledge of it. 
 
 Miss Dem. (^interested at once). Whom do you suspect? 
 
 Var. You seem interested. 
 
 Miss Dem. (repeating eagerly). Whom do you suspect ? 
 
 Var. Why should 1 tell you ? 
 
 Miss Dem. Thurston? 
 
 Var. Who ? 
 
 Miss Dem. Your buder ? 
 
 Var. You mean Jackson ? 
 
 Miss Dem. Oh, — is that what he calls himself? His name 
 is Thurston, — William Thurston. 
 
 Var. How do you know? 
 
 Miss Dem. (^shrugs her shoulders). My father. 
 
 Var. (Jumps in astonishment). What? — your name's 
 Demarque. 
 
 Miss Dem. On the stage. My real name is Annie Thurs- 
 ton. He was my father for ten years, then he left us. Cow- 
 ardly, of course, to leave poor mother to support both of us, 
 but rather a relief for he was always a surly beast, when he 
 wasn't drunk. Next we heard was robbery; jugged for ten 
 years, — No. 782 Sing-Sing. He got out about four years ago, 
 but Lord knows how he got this place ! 
 
MRS. COMPTON S MANAGER. 2"] 
 
 Heaton enters quietly door c. 
 
 Var. ' I can't tell you how much obliged I am to you for 
 telling me this. It is just what I needed to help the other evi- 
 dence I have. 
 
 Heat. I beg your pardon, — I thought you were alone, Elly. 
 
 [Starts out again.) 
 
 Vak. Oh, don't go, Jimmy, — I want to see you particu- 
 larly. Miss, — er — Miss Smith has just told me something 
 particularly interesting and valuable to us concerning Jackson. 
 
 Miss Dem. I must go now. I'm afraid that he will come 
 back and recognize me. 
 
 Var. Didn't he see you when you came? 
 
 Miss Dem. Yes, — but only for a moment and with my veil 
 down. He hasn't seen me for so long that he might not know 
 me, but I am afraid to take any chances. {Rises to go out \..) 
 
 Var. I'm sorry to be obliged to ask you to stay, but I in- 
 tend to bring matters to a head very shortly, — before Mrs. 
 Compton gets here, — and I may need your evidence. 
 
 Miss Dem. No, no, — you can't ask me to stay to condemn 
 my own, — to ■ No, no, — I'm going. 
 
 (Starts again l.) 
 
 Var. I hate to appear mean after you have told me all that 
 you have, but you must stay. Will you ? 
 
 Miss Dem. No, I can't, — I won't. It's not fair to ask. 
 
 Var. Heaton, will you please call for Barring to come 
 down. There's a friend of his here. 
 
 Miss Dem. {astonished and alarmed). Leonard here? 
 
 Heat. Why, is Barring here ? 
 
 Miss Dem. (^running across and catching Heaton's arm to 
 detain him). No, don't call. {Turning to Vartray.) I'll 
 slay, — only don't let him know that I'm here. 
 
 Var. I will protect you all that 1 can. (^Rings hell on 
 desk.) Well, Heaton, did you find out anything useful last 
 night? 
 
 Heat. I think I found out where the cap came from. 
 Watkins is outside, and will tell you about it. 
 
 Var. Good ! Call him in. 
 
 (Heaton steps to door to call in Watkins. Mrs. McGil- 
 LiON enters R.) 
 
28 MRS. COMPTON's MANAGER. 
 
 Var. Mrs. McGillion, I'm afraid Miss Smith is rather tired 
 with her trip down here from the city. Make her a cup of tea, 
 and let her rest in the little reception-room. See that nobody 
 disturbs her. 
 
 Mrs. McG. Very well, sir. Right this way, if you please, 
 Miss Sniith. 
 
 \_Exit Mrs. McGillion 'L.,folloii>cd by Miss Demarque. 
 
 Enter Watkins, a large , red, aivkward f arm-hand , door c. 
 
 Heat. Now, Watkins, tell Mr. Vartray what you told me 
 about the old red cap last night. 
 
 Watkins {embarrassed at bei?ig the centre of attentioii). 
 Why, sir, it's this way, sir. You see when Mr. Leonard used to 
 play polo with the Faraway team, sir, he had some of them red 
 caps, sir, with a white button on the top. At the end of last 
 season, sir, he must have left it in the barn by mistake, for 
 when I was looking round there one da)' I run across it. Jack- 
 son happened to be out there when I found it, sir. I was go- 
 ing to take it home to ray little brother, but he says, " anything 
 that's found here is mine," says he, and he bein' the boss of 
 the servants, I give it to him. 
 
 Heat. Could you identify it? 
 
 Wat. Could I what, sir? 
 
 Heat. Could you tell the cap if you saw it ? 
 
 Wat. Oh, yes, sir, — I think so, sir. 
 
 Heat, (taking the cap lohich Jackson dropped from a 
 draiver in the desk). Here. 
 
 Wat. {examining it). Oh, yes, sir, that's it, — that's it I'm 
 sure. See here, sir. There's " L. B.," sir, in ink on the white 
 button. It's pretty well faded now, but he'll tell you, sir, that 
 he put it on himself. 
 
 Var. Very good, ^^^atkins. You may go back to work 
 now. \_Exit Watkins door c. 
 
 Heat. I searched Jackson's room thoroughly yesterday, as 
 you suggested, when you drove him down to the village for the 
 supplies. 
 
 Var. Yes, I meant to ask you last night aliout it, but the 
 girls didn't give me a chance. Find anything? 
 
 Heat, {reaching in behind the sofa and producing tJie old 
 jacket which Jackson wore'). Here, — this was hung in the 
 farther corner of his closet, behind all the other clothes. 
 
 Var. {examining it). What about it ? 
 
MRS. COMPTON S MANAGER. 29 
 
 Heat, (^pointi)ig to the loiver edge, helo7v the right hand 
 pocket'). Blood stains ? 
 
 Var. Anybody would think this a murder case. By 
 George, though, it looks like blood, doesn't it, and that's ex- 
 actly where the cut on his hand would rub. Fh'st rate, 
 Jimmy. It exasperates me, now, with all this circumstantial 
 evidence, not to be able to locate the brooch. 
 
 Heat. I'll bet it's somewhere about the house, or the 
 grounds. The New York pawn shops haven't got it. We 
 know that, and what with the dog sleeping outside his door 
 every night and either you, I or Mrs. McGillion watching all 
 day he certainly hasn't had much chance to get it away. 
 
 {Tlie front door bell rings.) 
 
 Var. If I can possibly clear this thing up before Mrs. 
 Compton gets here I'm going to. 
 
 Heat. What are you going to do? 
 
 Var. I'm going to play the biggest kind of a bluff I ever 
 tried," — there's not more than half-an-hour left. I'll call in 
 Jackson and accuse him of the theft, and when I confront him 
 with the cap, the jacket, the cut on his hand, and, if neces- 
 sary, the lady whom you saw here, I think he'll weaken and 
 confess. I shall promise him immunity if he will turn over 
 the jewelry to us, so that Mrs. Compton will not know of the 
 robbery. It would very likely get Barring into a scrape if she 
 found out about their being stolen while he Avas supposed to 
 look out for them. 
 
 Heat. You're taking a good risk, — supposing he denies 
 everything ? 
 
 Mrs. McGillion enters l. 
 
 Mrs. McG. Bishop Lowell, sir. 
 
 Var. Ask him to step here, please. (^To Heaton.) Did 
 you notice how he recognized Jackson the other night, and re- 
 ferred to something in the past ? I telegraphed him to come 
 down in hopes that I can get something compromising Jack- 
 son from him. \_Exit Mrs. McGillion. 
 
 Heat. By the way, who was the lady you were talking 
 with when I came in ? 
 
 "\'ar. You'll find out perhaps, and if you don't, no matter. 
 Don't be surprised at anything I may say to Jackson. 
 
 Enter The Blshop. 
 
3© MRS. COMPTON S MANAGER. 
 
 The Bishop. Ah, good- morning Mr. Vartray, — Mr. 
 Heaton. 
 
 Var. Good-morning, Bishop Lowell. I hope you will 
 pardon the liberty I took in telegraphing for you. I remem- 
 bered you said your pastoral duties would bring you this way 
 to-morrow, and I thought you might not mind coming a day 
 early. 
 
 The Bishop. Very glad to come, Mr. Vartray. How can 
 I be of service to you ? 
 
 Var. I wishetl to ask you about Jackson. What can you 
 tell me of his past life? 
 
 The Bishop. His is a most interesting case. I know 
 nothing of him until he turned up at a mission in which I am 
 interested about four years ago. The night he drifted in I 
 happened to be there myself. He was most intoxicated, and 
 looked in to revile our meeting, but we labored and prayed 
 with him, and at last succeeded. It was a most noble and 
 Christian conversion. I gave my personal attention to it, and 
 am exceedingly proud of the man. After strong efforts, and 
 with — er, — with some medical assistance we broke off his 
 drinking habit entirely, and, upon my representations, Mrs. 
 Compton, who is interested also in this mission work, gave him 
 his present position. 
 
 Heat. You are, — er, — absolutely confident of the thor- 
 oughness and stability of this reformation ? 
 
 The Bishop. I would stake my clerical reputation upon it. 
 {Anxiously.') He hasn't been drinking again, has he? 
 
 Heat. Not that I know of. 
 
 Var. Frankly, bishop, some of Mrs. Compton's jewelry 
 was stolen from the safe here last week, and we have every 
 reason to suspect Jackson. All the evidence, which though 
 circumstantial is strong, points to him. 
 
 The Bishop. No, no, — I won't believe it, — you must be 
 mistaken. Remember, he was a personal convert of my own. 
 You must be wrong. 
 
 Heat, {who has been looking out the window c). Here 
 comes Jackson now. 
 
 Var. Good, — we shall find out in a moment now who is 
 right. 
 
 The Bishop. I shall remain here. My presence will at 
 least ensure his telling the truth. 
 
 E)itcr Jackson door c. 
 
MRS. COMPTON S MANAGER. 3 1 
 
 Jack. Beg pardon, sir. Didn't know you was busy. I 
 was looking for the ladies, sir, for the young woman who was 
 here, but I can't find them anywhere about the grounds. 
 
 Heat. They've gone to town to meet Mrs. Compton. 
 
 Var. Never mind about the ladies, Jackson. There's a 
 little matter that you can, perhaps, help me to straighten out. 
 
 Jack. I hope so, sir. 
 
 {Positions are as follows : Vartrav /// front of desk ; 
 Jackson midway between desk and table ; Heaton be- 
 hind table ; The Bishop r., near fireplace.') 
 
 Var. Perhaps you may not know that there was a burglary 
 committed here last week. 
 
 Jack. What sir, — a burglary here ! 
 
 The Bishop. You see, — he knows nothing of it. 
 
 Var. There was only one article stolen, — Mrs. Compton 's 
 old-fashioned diamond brooch, an heirloom which she valued 
 very highly. 
 
 Jack. I'm sure I'm very sorry, sir. 
 
 Heat. You'll be sorrier later on. 
 
 Var. The job was done by an expert. The old safe lock 
 was picked clean, and not injured at all. 
 
 Jack. I've heard, sir, that there's been a gang about 
 here. Night before last they broke in over at the Williams'. 
 
 Heat. Item two. That will mean an extra year. 
 
 The Bishop. You're not fair, Mr. Heaton. You haven't 
 heard the man yet. 
 
 Var. (ringing bell which is on desk). The burglar dropped 
 a cap in his haste to escape, — he was evidently interrupted by 
 the arrival of the bishop. 
 
 Jack. A cap, sir ? 
 
 Var. [thrusting it at him suddenly). Yes, this cap. You 
 never saw it before? 
 
 Jack. Why no, — why should I have seen it, sir? 
 
 Heat. Funny Watkins should be mistaken. 
 
 Enter Mrs. McGillion, l. 
 
 Var. (aside to Mrs. McGillion). Ask Miss Smith to step 
 here, please. (7<? Jackson.) In opening the safe the burglar 
 was so unfortunate as to cut his hand. 
 
 \_Exit Mrs. McGillion. 
 
 Heat. How \syour hand, Jackson ? 
 
 The Bishop. I protest 
 
32 MRS. COMPTON's manager. 
 
 Var. {interrupting). Ver)' carelessly he rubbed the blood 
 off upon the edge of his jacket. {Shoiuing the jacket. ) See 
 here. Of course you don't recognize the jacket ? 
 
 Jack. Of course not, sir. 
 
 Heat. Strange that it should drift into his closet. 
 
 The Bishop. I don't see, Mr. Vartray, but that Jackson 
 has failed you at all points. I think 
 
 Heat. One moment please, bishop. Not your funeral, 
 you know. 
 
 Var. See here, — for certain reasons I am very anxious that 
 Mrs. Compton shall not learn of this theft. If you will stop 
 lying, own up, and return the jewelry at once you may go free, 
 Thurston. 
 
 Jack, {taken off his guard). What ! 
 
 Heat. Who ? 
 
 The Bishop. Thurston? 
 
 Var. WiUiam Thurston, late No. 782 Sing-Sing. 
 
 The Bishop. A criminal ! 
 
 Jack. Who told you that, sir ? It's a lie, — an infernal 
 lie! 
 
 Enter Miss Demarque, l. 
 
 Var. Then you deny your daughter ? 
 The Bishop. Daughter ! 
 
 (Miss Demarque raises her veil and gazes squarely at 
 Jackson.) 
 
 Jack. Annie ! You ! 
 Heat. Caught, by George ! 
 
 {The front door-hell rings.) 
 
 Var. Come, now, tell me where it is quick ! You'll go 
 free if I get it before Mrs. Compton arrives. 
 
 Jack, {recovering his sajig-froid). Why, sir, I didn't 
 admit that I took it. I know nothing about it ! 
 
 Miss Dem. Liar ! 
 
 Var. No fooling, now, Jackson. Is it somewhere in the 
 house? {Noans7ver.) Is it on you ? {No answer.) Search 
 him, Heaton. 
 
 (Heaton proceeds to search through Jackson's pockets hur- 
 riedly. ) 
 
MRS. COMPTCN S MANAGER. 33 
 
 The Bishop. I protest, Mr. Vartray. You are no officer 
 of the law. What right have you 
 
 Heat. Right be — blamed, bishop. Do you expect us to 
 run into the city and swear out a search warrant ? 
 
 {As Heaton 7'eaches for Jackson's inside jacket pocket, 
 Jackson attempts to ifiterfere.') 
 
 Var. Tut, tut, Jackson, none of that. {Takes his revolver 
 from the desk, hut dogs not cover Jackson.) Get your hands 
 up out of the way. (Heaton takes a paper from the pocket.") 
 What is it ? 
 
 Heat. {^lanciii<^ it over hastily). His good-conduct dis- 
 charge from Sing-Sing. 
 
 Var. But don't you find the brooch ? 
 
 Heat, {searchiw^ again). Nothing at all. 
 
 Mrs. Compton's Voice {off l.). Yes, I'm very glad to get 
 back. 
 
 Var. Mrs. Compton ! 
 
 Heat. The devil ! 
 
 The Bishop. Sir ! 
 
 Mrs. Compton enters, l., followed by Miss Durand and 
 Miss RoswELL. Miss Demarque fees o/tt of door, c.) 
 
 Mrs. C. My dear bishop, so glad {Noticing the 
 
 situation.) Why, why, what's the meaning of this, Mr. 
 Vartray ? 
 
 The Bishop. Most unfair, Mrs. Compton. Mr. Vartray 
 accuses Jackson of 
 
 Var. Pardon me, Bishop Lowell. {To Mrs. Compton.) 
 A week ago last night the lock of the old safe here was picked, 
 and your diamond brooch stolen. 
 
 Mrs. C. My brooch stolen ? 
 
 Var. Various bits of evidence pointed to Jackson as the 
 thief, and my suspicions were confirmed when I learned, quite 
 accidentally of his former criminal record. In the face of 
 everything, he denies the theft. I suspect that the brooch is 
 hidden somewhere about the house, or else on his person, and 
 we were searching him as you came in. 
 
 Mrs. C. You didn't find it? 
 
 Var. No. 
 
 Mrs. C. And the old earrings that belonged to the same 
 set ? 
 
34 MRS. compton's manager. 
 
 Heat. There were no earrings in the safe. 
 
 Mrs. C. Oh, no, I remember I carelessly left those in 
 my private drawer in the desk when I went away last fall. 
 {Producing key from her bag.') Heavens ! I hope they're 
 not gone, too. {Unlocks the drawer, and holds up the brooch.') 
 Why, here's the brooch ! 
 
 Var. What, — in the drawer ! 
 
 Miss Dur. Oh, how fortunate, Aunt Nellie. 
 
 Heat. Now how in the deuce 
 
 Jack. Excuse me, ma'am, but there was only one key to 
 the drawer besides yours ? 
 
 Mrs. C. Only one, — Mr. Vartray's. 
 
 The Bishop. And certainly, supposing that Jackson had 
 some means of access to the drawer, he would never have hid- 
 den stolen property in a place to which Mr. Vartray had the 
 key. 
 
 Mrs. C. You are right, Bishop Lowell. So it seems that 
 Mr. Vartray had the only keys except my own to both the 
 safe and the drawer. Perhaps you will explain, Mr. Vartray, 
 why the diamond brooch was moved from one to the other ? 
 
 Var. Explain ? I've already told you all I know of the 
 affair, Mrs. Compton. 
 
 Mrs. C. It seems to me highly unnecessary, Mr. Vartray, 
 to invent a theft involving the honesty of an old and trusted 
 servant of mine, who is vouched for by no less a person than 
 the bishop, in order to explain so simple a matter as the move- 
 ment of the brooch. 
 
 Miss Dur. {protesting). Why, Aunt Nellie, you don't ac- 
 cuse Mr. Vartray 
 
 Heat. Hang it all, Mrs. Compton, look at the evidence 
 here. The blood on the safe handle, the stains on Jackson's 
 old jackets, the cap that belonged to your nephew, and Jack- 
 son's jail record. 
 
 The Bishop. The fact that he may have erred once long 
 ago does not prove anything now, Mr. Heaton. 
 
 Mrs. C. And you do not take into account the wonderful 
 effect of the bishop's conversion of him. 
 
 Heat. Conversion be 
 
 Var. Sh ! Jimmy boy. You have been so good, Mrs. 
 Compton, as to accuse me of the lie direct. I hope before 
 long to be able to prove the truth of what I have said. It is 
 hardly necessary for me to say that I shall leave at once. 
 
 \_Exit Vartray, r. 
 
MRS. compton's manager. 35 
 
 Heat. And it's absolutely unnecessary for me to state that 
 I shall go even sooner than that. Are you coming, Madge ? 
 
 Miss Dur. No, no, — you mustn't go, Margaret. 
 
 Miss R. Really, Ethel, I'm sorry to desert you, for I have 
 had an awfully pleasant week here, but this affair is so personal 
 that I think I had better go home at once. 
 
 Miss Dur. No, no, — don't go. Stay, and I'm sure this 
 will all straighten out right. Aunt Nellie is too much influ- 
 enced by her belief in the bisho))'s infallibility, and conse- 
 quently in Jackson's. You will like her ever so much after 
 you have met her. 
 
 Miss R. Really, Ethel, if you don't miad, I hardly think 
 I care to meet her. 
 
 \_Exeiiut Heaton and Miss Roswell, r. 
 
 i^Diiri?!^ this scene betiveen the two ladies, Mrs. Compton 
 and The Bishop have been conversing together at the r. 
 forward. ) 
 
 Mrs. C. And now if you will excuse me a itw moments 
 while I speak to Ethel, I will join you on the piazza and we 
 will go over the grounds and see my new gardens and the 
 stable. 
 
 The Bishop. Certainly, my dear Mrs. Compton. I shall 
 expect you in ten minutes, say ? 
 
 Mrs. C. Yes, in about that time. You need not wait, 
 Jackson. [i^'.v <?//;// The Bishop, c, <r;/^ Jackson, l. 
 
 Miss Dur. Aunt Nellie, why did you accuse Mr. Vartray 
 so unjustly? You wouldn't even listen to the evidence he had. 
 
 Mrs. C. Really it seemed a most unlikely story. It is 
 enough for me that the bishop supports Jackson and believes 
 in his integrity. 
 
 Miss Dur. Oh, the bishop is all very well, but it seems to 
 me that he would make fewer mistakes if he wasn't so cock- 
 sure of his own infallibility. 
 
 Mrs. C. Not a word against the bishop, my dear, — he 
 is a great and good man. Let us drop the subject. Tell me, 
 how have you liked my nephew ? 
 
 Miss Dur. Your nephew ? Why, he 
 
 (Barring runs in, r., tvith a glad smile, and hastens to em- 
 brace Mrs. Compton.) 
 
 Bar. Dear Aunt Nellie, so glad to see you back again. 
 
36 MRS. COMPTOn's manager. 
 
 Mrs. C. Why, Leonard, my boy, 1 wondered where you 
 were. 
 
 Bar. So sorry. Aunt Nellie. I came in to change my 
 clothes so as to look a little presentable when you came, and, 
 by Jove, do you know, first thing I knew I was fast asleep. 
 Took a little nap, you know. So sorry ' 
 
 Mrs. C. Poor boy, you must have been working so hard ! 
 I'm afraid you can't have had any time to be- polite to Etliel 
 the last week. 
 
 (Barring wijiks violently at Miss Durand over Mrs. Comp- 
 ton's shoulder.^ 
 
 Miss Dur. Why, he's been very kind to me, Mrs. 
 Compton. 
 
 Mrs. C. I'm so glad. But now I must go out to the 
 bishop. [Suggestively. ) Of course you don't mind being 
 left alone together? 
 
 Bar. Oh, delighted, I'm sure, dear auntie. 
 
 Mrs. C. Well, good-bye for a little while. I know you 
 won't be lonesome if I do leave. (^Laughs cogiiettishly.) 
 
 \_Exit Mrs. Compton, l. 
 
 Bar. Say, it was awfully good of you, you know, saying 
 what you did, — about my being nice to you last week, you 
 know. 
 
 Miss Dur. Well, you were as nice as }'0u had the oppor- 
 tunity of being. 
 
 Bar. Say, after all, considering what I saw this morn- 
 ing 
 
 Miss Dur. Mr. Barring ! 
 
 Bar. Oh, I don't mean anything, you know ; it's just my 
 little joke. Considering what I^ — well, what I didn't see this 
 morning, perhaps I was nice as I could be to you by staying 
 away. 
 
 Miss Dur. Perhaps you were. 
 
 Bar. And say, — has, — has auntie been hinting anything 
 to you ? 
 
 Miss Dur. Hinting? 
 
 Bar. About me, you know. She's been hinting barrels 
 about you to me. 
 
 Miss Dur. Nothing bad, I hope? 
 
 Bar. Why of course not. AVants me to marry you, you 
 know. 
 
MRS. COMPTON S MANAGER. 37 
 
 Miss Dur. How good of her. 
 
 Bar. Say, you're an awfully nice girl, you know, and all 
 that, — but I can't, you know. 'Nother girl, you know. 
 
 IVIiss Dur. So nice of you to be frank, Mr. Barring. To 
 tell the truth I can't, either. 
 
 Bar. {delighted'). What? Couldn't you? Say, you're 
 a brick ! Shake hands ! {They do so.) Is it another girl in 
 your case, — I mean another man ? 
 
 Miss Dur. That's my secret, Mr. Barring. 
 
 Bar. Well say, it's awfully jolly of you, anyway. You're 
 a dead nice girl, — you are really, by Jove ! I'm going right 
 up and write to Marie this minute. [Starts r.) 
 
 Miss Dur. I don't know her, but you'll give her my love, 
 won't you ? 
 
 Bar. Of course I will. Say, [rushing back and shaJzing 
 her hand again) thanks again, thanks awfully. Good-bye. 
 {Runs off r.) 
 
 Heat, {outside r). All ready, Madgie ? The sooner we 
 get away from that old fool of a woman the happier I shall be. 
 
 Enter Heaton, v^., folloived by Miss Roswell, wJw is talk- 
 ing as they come on. They are dressed to go away, and 
 Heaton carries both their suit-cases. 
 
 Miss R. That isn't nice to say of Mrs. Compton, Jimmy. 
 She hasn't done you any harm. 
 
 Heat. Fact. But judging by the way she treated Vartray 
 it's only because she hasn't had time. 
 
 Miss Dur. Are you really going, Margaret ? 
 
 Miss R. Yes, dear, I must. You know I only agreed to 
 stay until Mrs. Compton came, and judging by what little 1 
 have seen of her I hardly care to stop and meet her. 
 
 Miss Dur. I can hardly blame you. She certainly was 
 very mean and unfair tov/ards Mr. Vartray, and I didn't expect 
 it of her either. She has seemed just and pleasant enough in 
 the South all winter, and I can't see why she should have acted 
 so, except that she is influenced completely by her belief in the 
 bishop's infallibility. 
 
 Heat. Say, that's right. I think that his Smugness would 
 queer anybody, if you gave him time. 
 
 Miss R. Good-bye, dear. We shall have to go along to 
 get the twelve o'clock in. 
 
 Miss Dur. Well, I shall be in town to see you before long. 
 
38 MRS. COMPTON's manager. 
 
 Thank you ever so much for coming down the past week with 
 me. Good-bye. (^The ladies kiss each other.') 
 
 Heat, (sticking his mouth up between them). Now, now, — 
 don't forget your Uncle Jimmy. 
 
 Miss DuR. /shan't kiss you ! 
 
 Enter Vartray r., with his suit-case. 
 
 Heat. Funny, Madgie has the same complaint. Good- 
 bye, Miss Durand. I know we shall see you again in the city. 
 (Shakes her hand.) We'll see you at the train, EUy, — I'm 
 going in as far as the city with Margaret. Come on, dear, we 
 don't get the carriage, it's a good mile into the station, and 
 you're no express train at hitting the pike. {General " Good- 
 byes.'") [^Exeunt Heaton a jid Miss Roswell c. 
 
 Var. Well, good-bye, Ethel. [Offers his hand.) 
 
 Miss Dur. [putting hers in it). Oh, Bobby, surely you 
 don't think that I believed anything that Mrs. Compton said ? 
 
 Var. I hope not, Ethel. I'm going to do my best to 
 prove to her how entirely mistaken she and the bishop are. 
 
 Miss Dur. I know you can, Bobby, I know you can. 
 
 Var. And when I've cleared myself absolutely may I come 
 back and find you again ? 
 
 Miss Dur. You needn't wait for that, — I've told you that 
 I believe in you entirely. 
 
 Var. Thank you ; but as long as you are to stay with Mrs. 
 Compton I prefer first to stand clear in her eyes too. 
 
 Miss Dur. You're right, Bobby, you're right. Oh, but 
 you must hurry now or you will lose the train. Good-bye ! 
 
 Var. (with both her hands in his). Good-bye, girl, — and 
 remember, when I do come back I won't promise to go away 
 again ever. (^Drops her hands, picks up case and starts for 
 door c. As he is about to pass out, Miss Durand calls.) 
 
 Miss Dur. Bobby ! 
 
 Var. Well, Ethel ? 
 
 Miss Dur. You, — you won't be too long clearing yourself, 
 will you ? 
 
 Var. (drops his case and rushes for her). Ethel ! 
 
 Miss Dur. (throiving a chair between thetn). No, no, — 
 you mustn't, — really you mustn't. (Extends her hand to him 
 over the chair back.) Good-bye ! 
 
 Var. (kissing her hand). Good-bye, — dear! (Hurries 
 out c.) 
 
MRS. COMPTON S MANAGER, 39 
 
 Mrs. C. (outside i..). Now that you've seen everything, my 
 dear bishop, what do you think of the improvements 1 have 
 had made ? 
 
 {At the sound of Mk^. Compton's voice, Miss Dukand ;-//;;^ 
 off R. ; Mrs. Compton and The Bishop enter l.) 
 
 The Bishop. Very good, very good indeed. It seems to 
 me though that the rose garden would have been better on the 
 northeast side of the house instead of at the south. 
 
 Mrs. C. {rings bell, and then seats herself on the sofa). I 
 think you are entirely right, Bishop Lowell, — it would be very 
 much better on the other side. {Draws a chair near sofa, 
 and sits.') 
 
 The Bishop. I suppose, however, that Mr. Vartray as a 
 professional landscape gardener, had some technical reason for 
 placing the roses as he did. 
 
 Mrs. C. {ringing again). Mr. Vartray, — well you know 
 Mr. Vartray is only a — a hired person, and of course has 
 merely the stereotyped ideas. I am so sorry that I didn't have 
 the benefit of your original suggestion in time to have the gar- 
 den altered. 
 
 The Bishop. Really you flatter me, Mrs. Compton. I 
 pretend to no eminence in such questions. 
 
 Enter Mrs. McGillion, l. 
 
 Mrs. C. Where is Jackson ? I have rung twice for him to 
 bring the coffee ! 
 
 Barring enters abruptly, r. 
 
 Bar. I say, where's Jackson ? I've been ringing for him 
 about five minutes. 
 
 Mrs. McG. Why, sir, wasn't he sent to the village? I 
 saw him about ten minutes ago, hurrying across the fields on 
 the short cut to the station. He had a big extension bag in 
 his hand, and I supposed he was sent for something. 
 
 Mrs. C. Jackson going? 
 
 Bar. Well, say, do you know anything about my old golf 
 suit that I gave to him to have pressed the other day ? 
 
 Mrs. McG. Why, sir, he had that suit on, — I supposed 
 you had given it to him ! 
 
 Bar. Given it to him ! Hardly ! I just recollected that I 
 
40 MRS. COMPTON S MANAGER. 
 
 had been such an ass as to leave all my last month's salary in 
 one of the pockets. 
 
 The Bishop. Well, but there's no cause for alarm. Of 
 course he'll be back immediately. 
 
 Bar. Oh, yes, of course. I suppose he \vas merely trying 
 on the suit to see if it fitted him! {Looking at his tvatdi?) 
 He's safely away on the train by this time, and I've presented 
 him with enough to take him quite a ways. Supposing you 
 lend me a quarter, auntie, — thank you, — and now (^pickin^ up 
 The Bishop's hat), if I may take your hat, — being in a little 
 hurry you know, — I guess I'll trot into the village and see if I 
 can head him off by wire. {Starts for door c.) 
 
 The Bishop. Tut, tut, Mr. Barring. It's foohsh of you 
 to take the trip into the village. I'm sure Jackson will return 
 shortly, and of course he hasn't stolen the money ! 
 
 Bar. (^pausing at the door). Tell you what, bishop, I 
 won't stir a step for the village, provided you will agree to 
 stand the amount gone if we find that he has stolen it. 
 
 Mrs. C. Leonard ! 
 
 The Bishop. Hum,— er,— why, reallv, I hardly see why 
 I 
 
 Bar. {shrugs his shoulders). A^ery well, — you're stumped 1 
 Good-day ! {Swings out briskly, shinniiing the door behind 
 him.) 
 
 VERY QUICK CURTAIN. 
 
ACT III. 
 
 SCENE. — The reception-room at Mrs. Coi\ipton's tow7t 
 house. An afternoon in fall, about six months later than 
 the time of the precedim^ acts. Wide open doorway L., wall 
 forward. Smaller o/ie back wall, l. Windows back wall 
 R. and R. wall centre. Table with lamp and a few books L. 
 wall centre. A rocking-chair in front of it, and another 
 chair against the wall, betzvcen the table and the door. 
 Stand with large music-box against wall c. fust to right of 
 the rear door. Two chairs facing each other in front of 
 window c. Tea- fable with kettle, cups, etc., r. c, near 
 window. Small sofa behind tea-table, sheltered from the 
 room by a small screen. Chair at L. of tea-table. 
 
 Mrs. Compton enters l. followed by Miss Durand and 
 Barring. All three have on their oriter garme?its, 7ohich 
 they begin to remove as soon as they are on the scene. 
 
 Miss DuR. What a delightful drive we have had ! These 
 Indian summer days are just the best in the year. I'm sorry 
 that the days are getting so cool and the afternoons so short 
 that we can't keep them up much longer. 
 
 Mrs. C. Ring for Williams, please, Leonard. 
 
 Bar. Certainly, auntie. (^Rings bell which is on table.) 
 Unlace your gloves ? 
 
 Mrs. C. No, thank you, dear. Perhaps you can help 
 Ethel. 
 
 Enter Williams, a maid, door c. 
 
 Miss Dur. (ivho has seated herself on sofa). All off, thank 
 you, — you might light my alcohol lamp, if you will, please. 
 
 Bar. Of course, — very glad, I'm sure. (^He does so. ) 
 
 Mrs. C. Here are my Avraps, Williams, and take Miss 
 Durand's too. Where do we dine to-night, Leonard ? 
 
 Bar. Let's see, — Smithleys' isn't it? By Jove, we've been 
 feeding round so much since we got back to town I can't re- 
 member where we do go. I hope it's Smithleys', — their chef 
 
 41 
 
42 MRS. COMPTON S MANAGER. 
 
 can make a sweet-bread cassolette that always makes me think 
 of the gates of Paradise. 
 
 Miss Dur. No, I think it's Fergusons' to-night. 
 
 Bar. Oh, pshaw ! Their cook isn't equal to anything 
 more delicate than fillet of beef. 
 
 Mrs. C. Williams, tell Nerton to have the brougham for 
 us precisely at seven. I think I will lie down for an hour 
 or so before I dress for dinner. You will receive any callers 
 for me, Ethel, unless, — unless, you know, it should be the 
 bishop. \^Exit Mrs. Compton l. Exit Williams c. 
 
 Bar. Goodness, — I wish she'd take her old bishop and run 
 off with him, and leave you and me alone. 
 
 Miss Dur. The motion is seconded. Some tea? 
 
 Bar. No, thanks. I shall get liquid enough to-night with 
 two dinners. I say, if you don't mind, do you suppose you 
 could fix it up for us to get away early from the Fergusons' ? 
 
 Miss Dur. Marie again ? 
 
 Bar. Of course, — promised to take her for a little dinner 
 after the show. 
 
 Miss Dur. Let me see, — it was a toothache last time, 
 wasn't it? Then it will have to be a headache to-night. I 
 guess I can manage one for you by half-past ten. . Will that 
 do? 
 
 Bar. First-rate. I'll bring you people right home, and 
 then run over to the "club," {Jie winks), you know, for a little 
 while. Say, it's awfully good of you to do this for me, — I tell 
 you I appreciate it, and so does Marie. She thinks you're 
 grand. 
 
 Enter Tompkins, bearing salver with card. 
 
 Miss Dur. I'm glad that she won't meet me and be un- 
 deceived. [Taking the card.) Show the bishop in, Tomp- 
 kins, and tell Mrs. Compton that he is here. 
 
 Bar. What ? His Graciousness here ? This is where 
 Uncle Leonard trots. Good-bye. [Going.) See you at din- 
 ner. Wish you pleasant call, you know. \_Exit Barring, c. 
 
 Enter The Bishop, l. 
 
 Miss Dur. (rising to shake hands). Good-afternoon, 
 Bishop Lowell. 
 
 The Bishop. How do you do, Miss Durand ? Splendid 
 weather to be out of doors, is it not ? I've been doing some 
 
MRS. COMPTON S MANAGER. 43 
 
 clerical visiting this afternoon, and it was so fine that 1 tlis- 
 missed my carriage and walked all the way over here. 
 
 Miss DuR. Some tea, bishop? Auntie will be down in a 
 few minutes, I know. 
 
 The Bishop. I ivill have a cup, if you please. I hope 1 
 didn't interrupt any engagement? 
 
 Miss DuR. Oh, no, — 1 think she rather expected that you 
 might come in. 
 
 The Bishop. Now I wonder why ? I didn't have the 
 slightest idea of coming, but with some spare time at the end 
 of my calls I recollected a little matter 1 wished to see her 
 about, and so happened over. 
 
 (Miss Durand is about to pass him the cup of tea when 
 Mrs. Compton hastens in l.) 
 
 Mrs. C. My dear bishop, — (^shaking hands), such an un- 
 expected pleasure. 
 
 I'he Bishop. Quite so, quite so. Very glad to see you, 
 dear Mrs. Compton. 
 
 Miss DuR. Some tea, auntie? 
 
 Enter Tompkins l., bearing salver with card a7id letter. 
 
 Mrs. C. No, thank you, dear. For me, Tompkins? 
 
 Tompkins. For Miss Durand, ma'am. 
 
 Miss Dur. {taking the card and letter). Oh, it's Margaret. 
 Show her right in, Tompkins. 
 
 Mrs. C. {crossing L ). Won't you come over and sit 
 down, bishop? We'll let the young people have that corner to 
 themselves. {She sits in the rocking-chair.) 
 
 The Bishop. Thank you. {Sits in the chair beside table.) 
 Really, it seems quite a trivial matter I wanted to consult you 
 about, but it is quite important socially. 
 
 Mrs. C. I shall be very glad 
 
 Miss Roswell enters l. 
 
 Miss R. How do you do, Mrs. Compton ? How do you 
 do, Bishop Lowell? (The Bishop bows.) 
 
 Mrs. C. {shaking hands). I atn glad to see you. Miss 
 Roswell. 
 
 Miss Dur. (as Miss Roswell crosses to her). Why, Mar- 
 garet, dear, where have you been for so long ? You haven't 
 been in for three weeks, and when I called you were out, 
 
44 MRS. COMPTON S MANAGER. 
 
 Miss R. (ax they shake hands ; kissing barred^. My dear 
 girl, when you start in to get married, you will learn to appreci- 
 ate my difficulties. What with picking out the right things for 
 the flat myself, and preventing Jack from picking out the 
 wrong ones, I haven't a minute to spare. Honestly though, 
 I'm ashamed of my neglect. 
 
 The Bishop {continuing his conversxition with Mrs. Cump- 
 ton). The last time Bishop French came to visit me, we got 
 on very well, for he was alone ; but since then he has been 
 married, so now in my bachelor quarters I must undertake the 
 entertainment of a resident female. You will appreciate the 
 novelty of the situation to me. Perhaps you can suggest 
 
 {They coiitinue to co7iverse.') 
 
 Miss R. And haven't you heard from him ? 
 
 Miss Dur. Mr. Vartray ? 
 
 Miss R. Of course. 
 
 Miss Dur. Not a word. 
 
 Miss R. Seeking his vindication with a vengeance, isn't 
 he ? Did you know he was back in New York ? 
 
 Miss Dur. What, here in the city ? 
 
 Miss R. Jimmy says so. It's funny you haven't heard 
 from him in any way. 
 
 Miss Dur. Why, here's a letter now that 1 haven't had a 
 chance to open. Wouldn't it be funny if 
 
 Miss R. Say, I'll bet you anything it is from 
 
 (Miss Durand opens the letter and reads it to herself.') 
 
 The Bishop. And so, my dear friend, I thought I would 
 venture to trespass on your goodness to ask for some hints in 
 regard to their entertainment. My housekeeper is a good soul, 
 but hardly up to the requirements of the situation. 
 
 Mrs. C. Indeed, my dear bishop, I am very, very glad if 
 I can be of service to you. 
 
 The Bishop. I often think tliat I ought to have somebody, 
 — perhaps a sort of social secretary, — to whom I could appeal 
 at all times in regard to questions of this sort. I am so deeply 
 engrossed in the religious work that I pay, I am afraid, too 
 little attention to the purely temporal 
 
 Miss Dur. {finishing the letter). It is, it is ! 
 
 Miss R. From him. 
 
 Miss Dur. He's coming here. 
 
 Miss R. Don't look so liappy. When? 
 
MRS. compton's manager. 45 
 
 Miss Dur. This afternoon ! 
 
 Miss R. Time? 
 
 Miss Dur. Half-past four. 
 
 Miss R. {consulting her zuatcJi). Then he's late. 
 
 Enter Tompkins, bearing salver tvith card. 
 
 Mrs. C. Let us come up to my sitting-room, bisliop. We 
 sliall be free from any interruption there. {Rises. ) 
 
 The Bishop. Certainly, Mrs. Compton. 
 
 \^Exit Mrs. Compton, 'L.,follo%ved by The Bishop. 
 
 Miss Dur. {taking the card). You may send the gentle- 
 man in here, Tompkins. 
 
 ToMP. Very well, ma'am. {Going i..) 
 
 Miss R. Tell him to hurry up, too, Tom])kins. 
 
 Miss Dur. Margaret ! \_Exit Tompkins, l. 
 
 Miss R. Now, dear, I'm going to cio a lonesome in the 
 library for a little while. I wouldn't spoil the success of this 
 little reunion for anything. Remember, though, I shall allow 
 you only fifteen minutes. If you don't cough for me in that 
 time, I shall break in unasked. ( Goin^ door c.) 
 
 Miss Dur. {a little flustered). Oh, please, please don't go, 
 dear. 
 
 Miss R. {laughing;ly). Poor, dear girl ! All frightened to 
 death, isn't she? Bye, bye. 
 
 ( Waves her hand, and runs out door c. Miss Durand sits 
 on the sofa and gazes expectantly at the door. Vartray 
 comes in briskly and stops Just inside the door.) 
 
 Var. Ethel ! 
 
 Miss Dur. {extendin'^ botli her hands). Bobby ! 
 
 (Vartray tosses his hat on table and crosses r., meeting 
 Miss Durand tuho has sprung -up and crossed towards 
 him.) 
 
 Var. {taking both her hands). There — thicre isn't any 
 chair between us now, is there, Ethel ? 
 
 Miss Dur. I — I don't see any, Bobby, {/fe kisses her. 
 After a moment she pushes atvay from him. With mock 
 seriousness.) Sir! What do you mean by toying with the 
 affections of an unsophisticated schoolgirl? Are your inten- 
 tions strictly honorable ? 
 
 Var. {dropping on his knees before her and gesticulatifig 
 romantically). I swear, — I swear 
 
46 MRS. COMPTON's manager. 
 
 Miss Dur. No, don't, Bobby. That isn't nice. 
 
 Var. Well, then, as a matter of business we will put it this 
 way. "Dear Miss Durand, — I love you. Will you kindly 
 love me, and oblige, yours truly, E. Bobby Vartray? " 
 
 Miss Dur. And I should have to answer "Dear sir, 
 
 Delighted to comply with your modest request." 
 
 Var. {n'si/ig and starting for her^. In token of which we 
 this day set 
 
 Miss Dur. {dodging beJiind tea-table). No, — no more seal- 
 ing now, Bobby. There are a million people in the house, 
 both doors open, and all the curtains way up. {She sits on the 
 sofa.) Oh, Bobby, how long you've been away ! 
 
 Var. {sitting beside her and taking her hand). Years, 
 dear, — and if 1 could only stay, now that I've come again. 
 
 Miss Dur. You're not going away again, right off? 
 
 Var. I must. I told you that I shouldn't come to see you 
 until Jackson was caught, and I was vindicated before every- 
 body. 
 
 Miss Dur. Then he has been 
 
 Var. No, they haven't found him. The matter stands 
 this way, Ethel. In settling for my services at " Fairthorn," 
 last spring, Mrs. Compton wrote something to my firm. I 
 don't know just what it was, — I don't suppose she accused 
 me of the theft outright, but anyway, while they never said a 
 word, they assigned me to nothing but ordinary and cheap bits 
 of work, and have given me practically no responsibility ever 
 since. Of course it's unfair and very galling. Last week, 
 through some unexpected luck, I had a chance offered me to go 
 out to South America as superintendent of a large plantation 
 that is being opened there, and I decided to take it. 
 
 Miss Dur. You're going to South America? 
 
 Var. Yes, — I think it's best. 
 
 Miss Dur. When ? 
 
 Var. Well, if you must — to-night. 
 
 Miss Dur. Not to-night, Bobby. 
 
 Var. Oh, Ethel, I ought not to have come. I swore I 
 wouldn't, you know, until I stood clear even in Mrs. Compton's 
 eyes, but I couldn't bear to go without at least coming to say 
 good-bye. 
 
 (Barring hurries in door L. 7vavitig a telegram. Miss 
 Durand ^«^/ Vartray rise in surprise.) 
 
 Bar. Oh, I say, Ethel, hurrah, don't you know? They've 
 
MRS. COMPTON S MANAGER. 47 
 
 caught Why, Vartray, where the deuce did you come 
 
 from? Say, I'm jolly glad to see you. 
 
 Var. (^shakiftg hands). Thank you, Leonard, I'm very 
 glad to see you again. 
 
 Bar. Funny you should happen in here, for I know you'll 
 be interested. You were mixed up with the old rascal, too. 
 
 Var. What old rascal ? 
 
 Bar. Jackson, of course. 
 
 Miss Dur. What about him ? 
 
 Bar. Oh, I've just got a wire saying that they've nabbed 
 him in Kansas City, trying to pawn some stolen property. 
 
 Var. Thank goodness, that lifts a load. 
 
 Miss Dur. How did you happen to know ? 
 
 Bar. Why, it's this way ; after EUy accused him of lifting 
 the brooch, yon know, he skipped out with a suit of mine and 
 a lump of money that was in it. Why, say, it was a bare 
 faced steal, — I almost saw him take it — but that clerical friend 
 of auntie's stood up for him even then, — talked a lot of rot 
 about "personal convert," "must be a mistake," "sure he'd 
 return," and all that. So it made me mad, and I set the 
 Pinkerton people after him. The telegram is from them. 
 
 Var. I've had them on his track, too. There's probably a 
 telegram for me at my hotel now. Thank you very much for 
 telling me. 
 
 Miss Dur. It's very kind of you, Leonard. 
 
 Bar. I thought you'd like to know. But say, I've got to 
 trot now, and break the good news to — well, to somebody else. 
 Bye-bye, — so long. 
 
 Var. and Miss Dur. Good-bye. 
 
 (Barring hurries out l.) 
 
 Var. I'm afraid, dear, there's nothing for me to do except 
 like Barring to say " Good-bye," and trot out. 
 
 Miss Dur. Surely you're going to tell auntie about Jackson 
 before you go ? 
 
 Var. No; she'll find it out through Leonard in a few days 
 in a way she cannot doubt, and, prejudiced as she is, I really 
 don't think she would believe it on the strength of my own as- 
 sertion backed up only by the telegram. She would probably 
 declare the telegram forged, and look to the bishop for con- 
 firmation. 
 
 Miss Dur. And you must really go now, — oh, Bobby, it's 
 
48 MRS. COMPTON's manager. 
 
 SO long since I've seen you, and now I've only had you for a 
 minute. 
 
 Var. Don't, Ethel, don't. You can't know how I hate to 
 go. You believe though, don't you dear, that the very first 
 minute that I feel that I can fairly ask you to come to me, I 
 shall hurry back after you? 
 
 Miss DuR. Don't let it be long, will you, Bobby? 
 
 Var. I hope not, sweetheart. It will be lonesome, won't 
 it, but we'll both be brave and true, and then — well, then we 
 won't ever be lonesome any more. 
 
 Miss Dur. I'll remember, Bobby, — brave and true. Good- 
 bye, ray big boy ! 
 
 A^AR. Good-bye, brave little woman. ( They kiss. Miss 
 Durand turns away fachig r., trying to control herself. 
 Vartray crosses abruptly to table l., and picks up his hat. 
 He pauses a moment undetermined, and then pitches it back 
 on the table, turning and hurrying across to Miss Durand.) 
 It's no use, dear, I can't face the lonesoraeness. I'm not as 
 brave as you are. Will you take all the risks and come with me ? 
 
 Miss Dur. Come with you ! 
 
 Var. Yes, marry me, — now — and we'll go South together. 
 
 Miss Dur. (^grasping the idea sloioly). Marry you? 
 When? Where? 
 
 Var. Now and here. 
 
 Miss Dur. But, — but, — I haven't any clothes. 
 
 Var. {laughing). How feminine ! I guess you could start 
 in what you have on, and send the rest after us. 
 
 Miss Dur. I'm, — I'm sure auntie will object. 
 
 Var. Considering that she's responsible for the whole 
 mix-up I don't think her wishes deserve any particular consid- 
 eration. 
 
 Miss Dur. But who can marry us ? 
 
 Var. Isn't the bishop about ? It looked like his hat in the 
 hall. 
 
 Miss Dur. I know he won't unless auntie says "all 
 right." 
 
 Var. I rather think I can squelch his objections. 
 
 Miss Dur. But, — but I don't think I ought to. It's so, — 
 so unconventional. 
 
 (Miss RoswELL bursts in door c.) 
 
 Miss R. Oh, Ethel, you must, you must. I'll never for- 
 give you if you don't. It's simply great, — so romantic ! 
 
MRS. compton's manager. 49 
 
 Miss Dur. Margaret ! You've been listening ! 
 
 Miss R. I have. I confess it, dear, but only a minute. 
 You know I told you I should come in if you didn't send for 
 me. [Running to Yartray.) Elphron Vartray, you're the 
 nicest man that ever lived. Ethel, if you don't take him right 
 off now after the nasty way your aunt has acted, and the nice 
 way he's behaved, why I'll — I'll never speak to you again as 
 Jong as I live. 
 
 Miss Dur. I don't see, Bobby, but what I'm driven to it. 
 (Fings bell on tea-table. ) Now for the bishop. 
 
 Miss R. My gracious, what an al fresco wedding ! If we 
 can't have a real altar and candles, at least we'll have a real 
 bishop, and the next best thing. Give me a match, Elphron. 
 (She lights lamp on table L.) 
 
 Enter Tompkins, c. 
 
 Miss Dur. You tell him, Bobby. 
 
 Var. Will you please tell Bishop Lowell that a gentleman 
 wishes to see him down here privately for a i^w moments on 
 very important business. 
 
 ToMP. Yes, sir. \_Exit l. 
 
 Miss R. Now, dear, you hold up the lamp so I can put 
 these big books under it. There. Now we'll drape my long 
 scarf about it, so as to cover up the books. Doesn't that give 
 an altary effect? I feel quite as if I were in a church. 
 
 Miss Dur. You're a dear. Now is there anything else? 
 Goodness, we haven't any license ! 
 
 Var. By George, I forgot all about a license ! 
 
 Miss R. Oh, dear, the license ! 
 
 Enter Heaton l. 
 
 Heat. What's all this about a dog? Excuse me for 
 breaking in unannounced, but I couldn't rouse Tompkins, so I 
 told the maid I'd come right up as I knew Madge was here. 
 
 Var. Why, Jimmy old man, how are you? 
 
 Heat. You here, Elly? (Shaking hands.) By Jove, I'm 
 glad to see you. 
 
 Miss R. Oh, Jimmy, what shall we do? 
 
 Heat. Anything you say, Madgie. What's the row? 
 
 Miss R. They haven't got any license. 
 
 Heat. So the cop shot their pet dog I suppose? 
 
 Miss R. No, stupid, it's a marriage license. 
 
50 MRS. COMPTON S MANAGER. 
 
 Heat. Who's going to be married ? 
 
 Miss R. Elpliron and Etliei, of course. 
 
 Heat. Say, I'm glad to hear that. Congratulations, both. 
 
 Miss R. Will you listen, aud stop rattling on. Elphron's 
 got to start for South America to-night, so they've got to be 
 married this minute. 
 
 Heat, Sort of a ten-minutes-for-refreshments-affair, eh? 
 Well, I guess I can stand it if they can. They are shy of a 
 license ? 
 
 Var. That's where the hitch comes in. 
 
 Heat. Oh, well, don't bother about that. {Producing a 
 paper from his inside pocket.) I always carry a dozen or two 
 with me in case of emergency. 
 
 Miss R. Jimmy, stop fooling. I tell you we're serious. 
 What have you got ? 
 
 Heat. A marriage license, of course. 
 
 Miss Dur. A marriage license ! 
 
 Heat. Certainly. 1 was down to the City Hall to-day, 
 and it occurred to me that I'd be forehanded and drop in and 
 get a hcense for Madge and I, — we're only about a month shy 
 of the affair you know. I went to Billy Gaylor, — he's in the 
 city clerk's office there. Well, Billy began to fire the ques- 
 tions at me, you know. Say, Madgie, he asked me everything 
 from the size of your shoes to how many false teeth you have, 
 and he wanted to know a lot of things about myself that I'll 
 have to look up in the family Bible. So 1 gave Billy a cigar, 
 and he signed one in blank. I promised to telephone him the 
 answers after I found out, so he can enter them in something 
 or other down there. Now, Ethel, wait till I get out my pen- 
 cil, and I'll fix you up in a second. 
 
 (i% sits on the sofa. Miss Durand and Miss Roswell 
 gather about him, and he is apparently asking questions 
 and noting answers from Miss Durand. The Bishop 
 enters L.) 
 
 The Bishop. Ah, Mr. Vartray, you here? {Bows.') Are 
 you the gentleman that wanted to see me ? 
 
 Var. Very particularly. Bishop Lowell. Miss Durand and 
 I wish you to marry us at once. 
 
 The Bishop (astounded). Wish me to tuhat ? 
 
 Var. You understood. You will do it ? 
 
 The Bishop. Hum, — er, — why, this is a most extraordi- 
 nary request. Does Mrs, Compton know of the matter ? 
 
MRS. compton's manager. 51 
 
 Var. She does not, and I don't intend that she shall until 
 it is over. 
 
 The Bishop. Then, sir, I must refuse peremptorily. Stand- 
 ing, as she does, almost in loco parentis to Miss Durand, I can- 
 not unite you without her full consent. 
 
 Var. i would point out to you, bishop, that we are both 
 over age, and free to consent. 
 
 The Bishop. That has no weight, sir, without Mrs. Comp- 
 ton's permission. 
 
 Var. Oh, very well. Perhaps, bishop, you would like to 
 appear in the Christian Intelligencer, as the converter and 
 abettor of the notorious criminal Jackson ? 
 
 The Bishop. Jackson ? 
 
 Var. Very likely you do not know that Mr. Barring has 
 had a telegram from the Pinkertons reporting the cap- 
 ture of Jackson in the West, and his identification as a famous 
 ex-convict of Sing Sing. 
 
 The Bishop. What, can this be true ? 
 
 Var. My word for it, sir. From what little I know of 
 church politics in this diocese, I gatlier that your rather lofty 
 notions have made you quite unpopular with the low church 
 element, which is, I understand, in the majority. Such an 
 article as I have mentioned in the leading church paper would 
 be quite a tool in their hands in case your removal was actively 
 sought by them. 
 
 The Bishop. My dear Mr. Vartray, — you, — you, — er, — 
 put quite another face on the matter. 
 
 Var. I thought perhaps I could. 
 
 The Bishop. You have a license? 
 
 Var. It will be ready in a moment. 
 
 Heat. Go ahead, Elly. I've got Ethel's schedule all 
 down here, and I guess I know enough about you to make a 
 respectable showing. 
 
 The Bishop. It would be well to have more wit- 
 nesses. 
 
 Miss R. (ringing the hell twice). Certainly, we'll summon 
 the household. Now for the procession, — if you'll stand in 
 front of the er — altar, if you'll excuse me, bishop. Elphron, 
 you come in that door. {^Pointing to door, c.) You can't 
 have any best man, because Jimmy's got to take her in and 
 give her away. Here, Jimmy and Elhel. (Forming them R., 
 facing front.) Give her your arm, Jimmy. 
 
 Heat, (^offering it). Wait till 1 get up a serious expression 
 
52 MRS, COMPTON S MANAGER. 
 
 and assume a little age. 1 don't think anybody would take me 
 for her father, or even her uncle. 
 
 Miss R. No music ? ( Glances around and spies the 
 music-box.^ Oh, Ethel, you must have that " Lohengrin " 
 thing somewhere. 
 
 Miss Dur. Yes, it's in the pile of disks there. 
 
 Miss R. Here it is. {She adjusts the music disk to the 
 box and starts it.) Now then, everything complete. I'll 
 march behind you, and be the bridesmaid. 
 
 (Vartray comes forward frojn door c, and ihe others parade 
 slowly across front, meeting at the table, in front of The 
 Bishop. Tompkins and Williams come in quietly at door 
 C, and stand in the background.') 
 
 The Bishop. Well, well, this is very irregular, but I trust 
 all will be well. 
 
 Heat. I'll take the risk, bishop, if you'll just buck up and 
 get things started before Mrs. Compton comes down. 
 
 The Bishop. Very irregular, very irregular ! {Takes a 
 hard look at the servants, then heaves a sigh and starts in.) 
 Hum, — Dearly Beloved, we are gathered together here 
 
 Mrs. Compton enters hurriedly, l., stopping just inside 
 the door. Williams shuts off the music-box. 
 
 Mrs. C. What is going on here ? Bishop, what are you 
 doing ? 
 
 The Bishop. They insisted, my dear Mrs. Compton. 
 
 Mrs. C, Insisted on what ? 
 
 The Bishop. On being married at once. 
 
 Mrs. C. {shrieking it). Married? Heavens, Ethel, have 
 you gone crazy ? I forbid it. Bishop, stop at once. 
 
 Heat. Hold on, Mrs. Compton, you're out of order. We 
 haven't got to the " if any one can show just cause " part yet. 
 
 Mrs. C. {crossing to centre). Sir, you are impertinent ! 
 
 Miss Dur. {following). Oh, Aunt Nellie, let me ex- 
 plain 
 
 Miss R. Really, Mrs. Compton, you must 
 
 The Bishop {also following). My dear Mrs. Compton 
 
 (Barring rushes excitedly iii l.) 
 
 Bar. Come here, fellows. {Beckonitjg Vartray and 
 Heaton, I.., forward.) By jingo, Tve done it ! 
 Heat, Done what ? 
 
MRS. COMPTON S MANAGER. 53 
 
 (Barring says something to them in a low tone.) 
 
 Var. {astounded^. You ! Married ! 
 
 Heat. Marie ? 
 
 Mrs. C. What's that ? Somebody else crazy? 
 
 Bar. {trying to carry the matter lightly). I say, auntie, 
 don't you know, how would you fancy me as a benedict ? 
 Ha, ha ! 
 
 Mrs. C. Quick, — who is she ? 
 
 Bar. Marie Demarque. 
 
 Mrs. C. The ballet woman ! {Shrieks.) Ah! {Faints 
 dead away. The Bishop catches her, and moves her to 
 the sofa. Miss Durand and Miss Roswell help her, while 
 the servants run out for restoratives.) 
 
 Bar. Oh, it's all right, — don't be frightened. I've lived 
 with Aunt Nellie seven years, and she has never failed to have 
 one of those every time anything goes the way she don't want 
 it to. 
 
 Var. Of course, Leonard, we both congratulate you on 
 getting Marie, but for heaven's sake tell us how you came to 
 marry her so suddenly. 
 
 Bar. I suppose you fellows thought I didn't know that she 
 was Annie Jackson, or Annie Thurston, rather ? 
 
 Heat. What ? You know she is Jackson's daughter ? 
 
 Bar. I saw her when she was out at Fairthorn last spring, 
 though you thought I didn't. Naturally I asked her what slie 
 had been there for, and I finally got hold of the whole story. 
 Of course, I don't say that I would have taken up with her so 
 much if I'd known it in the first place who she was, but it 
 would have been mean to drop her just on that account, 
 wouldn't it ? 
 
 Heat. Mean, yes, — but a lot of men would have done it. 
 
 Bar. Say, she was a brick. When I had found out who 
 her father was, you know, she swore she wouldn't marry me 
 for all the world, but I kind of hung on, thinking she'd see it 
 the way I did and change. 
 
 Var. x\nd she did ? 
 
 Bar. Well, it was this way. When I got that telegram I 
 went straight off to her from here and told her that they had 
 got him. Of course I wouldn't prosecute and I could fix it so 
 auntie wouldn't, but the Pinkertons tell me that he's wanted in 
 connection with an unsuccessful bank break that happened out 
 there in Kansas City about a month ago. That's good for a 
 twenty years' sentence anyway, and he's due to die before that 
 
54 MRS. COMPTON S MANAGER. 
 
 time, so I said to Annie, " You're all alone now, and by 
 George, I won't have it. You've got to marry me right off." 
 She said, " Never: do you think I'm going to let you mix up 
 with a family like mine? What would your aunt say ? " I 
 said, " I don't give a bing for family or aunt." So I picked 
 her up, willy nilly, and we hustled off in a cab to the nearest 
 justice and then came here to break the news. 
 
 Heat, (^shaking his Jiajid). By Jove, old man, you're true 
 blue. There isn't one man in a hundred would have the 
 moral courage for that. 
 
 Bar. Oh, that's nothing. You see I like Marie pretty 
 well, and there's nothing like that for making moral courage. 
 But I say, what v/ould you do ? Auntie don't seem to take 
 very kindly to it. She's been paying me a pretty good salary 
 for not doing much, and now if she turns me adrift I'm willing 
 enough to work, but I've never been brought up for anything 
 in particular, and I'm a good deal of a duffer anyway. 
 
 (Williams runs in c, wi/h bottle for Mrs. Compton.) 
 
 Williams. The ammonia. Miss Durand. 
 
 Var. {to Barring). Where is Marie ? 
 
 Bar. Down in the hall. 
 
 Var. Well, the best thing I can think of is to bring her in 
 and present her to Mrs. Compton. I was quite impressed at 
 Fairthorn with her good manners and general appearance, and 
 Mrs. Compton may be. 
 
 Bar. By George, old fellow, I'll try it. ^Exit, l. 
 
 The Bishop. Is she improving, do you think ? 
 
 Miss Dur. {holding the bottle to her nose). This ammonia 
 will bring her to in a moment. It never fails. 
 
 Enter Barring, l., leading Marie. She is dressed very 
 
 quietly and neatly, with none of the flashy actress about 
 
 her. 
 
 Var. {shaking hands with her). I'm very glad to see you 
 
 again and to be the first to wish you happiness, Mrs. Barring. 
 
 Perhaps you had better stand here, so that she may see you at 
 
 once. 
 
 (Mrs. Compton opens her eyes, draws a deep breath, and 
 sits up, confronting Mrs. Barring.) 
 
 \_Exit Williams, c. 
 
 Mrs. C. {very tersely). Who's this ? 
 
MRS. compton's manager. 55 
 
 Bar. My wife, dear Aunt Nellie. 
 
 Mrs. C. Humph ! You're an actress ? 
 
 Mrs. Bar. Yes, Mrs. Compton. 
 
 Mrs. C. Where are your flashy clothes ? 
 
 Mrs. Bar. In my dressing-room, Mrs. Compton, 
 
 Mrs. C. Where is your bleached hair? 
 
 Mrs. Bar. In my wig-box, Mrs. Compton. 
 
 Mrs.C. Where is all your paint and powder? _ 
 
 Mrs. Bar. In the wash-bowl, Mrs. Compton. 
 
 Mrs. C. Where are all your tawdry jewels ? 
 
 Mrs. Bar. In the savings bank, Mrs. Compton. 
 
 Mrs. C. Humph,— I don't think you're at all true to the 
 traditions of the stage. Do you, Bishop Lowell ? 
 
 The Bishop. Why, in my younger days, the actresses 
 whom I used to know, — er hum, — I mean whom I used to 
 read about were indeed quite different, — one might say, I sup- 
 pose, quite more, — er — noisy. 
 
 Mrs. C. Well, Leonard, I don't know that there is any 
 particular use of my opposing your marriage, particularly con- 
 sidering that it has already taken place. But listen — I dis- 
 charge you at once as manager of my estates. 
 
 Bar. I expected it, auntie. 
 
 Mrs. C. Tut, tut, — let me finish. The bishop wants some- 
 body who shall be a sort of social secretary for him. Now 
 you've been a very good boy to me, Leonard, and have done 
 the best you can, but I think you'd shine better as a social 
 manager rather than a business manager, so I have recom- 
 mended you to the bishop. 
 
 The Bishop. And I have the pleasure of offering you the 
 position. 
 
 Bar. I say, by Jove, auntie, that's immensely kind of you. 
 {Kisses her.') And say, bishop, I may be considerable of a 
 duffer at business, but when it comes to the social song I'm 
 high tenor from the start. {Shaking hands.) Say, it's good 
 of you. My wife, bishop. (Mrs. Barring and The Bishop 
 shake hands.) Come up here and talk it over. 
 
 ( They withdraw to the chairs in front of the window C. 
 Heaton and Miss Roswell also xvithdraiv to the chairs 
 near the table l., leaving Vartray and Miss Durand 
 near Mrs. Compton, who is still ofi the sofa. ) 
 
 Miss DuR. Now, dear Aunt Nellie, that you're playing the 
 
56 MRS. COMPTOn's manager. 
 
 fairy godmother to all the others, why won't you be good to 
 us, too, and let the bishop go on with the ceremony ? Con- 
 sidering that Jackson has been caught 
 
 Mrs. C. Caught ? 
 
 Miss Dur. And especially as Leonard is now safely mar- 
 ried to somebody else, so that there's no chance of his wanting 
 me, why won't you 
 
 Mrs. C. Well, I don't know why I shouldn't, under all the 
 circumstances. I don't mind teUing you, now that it's all 
 over, that I had my heart set on your marrying Leonard, but 
 I've carried through so many of these successful affairs that I 
 suppose I ought to be defeated sometimes. 
 
 Var. Leonard, can you excuse the bishop a moment ? 
 Mrs. Compton 
 
 Mrs. C. Tut, tut, — why all this indecent haste? Now 
 that I've consented is there any reason why you shouldn't wait 
 and have a civilized marriage with all the usual quantity of 
 duplicate silver? 
 
 Miss Dur. Why, you see, auntie, Bobby has accepted a 
 position in South America, and he has to start to-night. 
 
 Mrs. C. South America ? To-night ? And you were going 
 with him? Never ! See here, Mr. Vartray, how much were 
 these, — er, — Southern heathens going to give you ? 
 
 A^AR. Why, — er 
 
 Mrs. C. Rather a personal question, wasn't it ? No mat- 
 ter, you're not going South. I need a new manager for my 
 estates, — especially to look after my brooches — and Lm sure 
 you have proved yourself the very man. I will pay you more 
 than they were to. 
 
 Var. But I am under promise to start to-night. 
 
 Mrs. C. Bosh, — they can get another man easier than I 
 can, and I will look out for any loss of time while they are 
 after somebody else. 
 
 Var. But I don't feel that I ought to accept these favors at 
 your hands, Mrs. Compton, after 
 
 Miss Dur. Sh ! Bobby ! Dear Aunt Nellie ! {Kisses Jiet\) 
 We both thank you a thousand times, — don't we, Bobby? 
 
 Var. Of course, of course, — several thousand times. 
 
 Heat. This makes me feel like the last act of a comic 
 opera. Loving couples scattered all over the stage, and the 
 curtain ready to go down to blissful strains. 
 
 Mrs. C. With the bishop and I the only discords in the 
 harmony. 
 
MRS. compton's manager. 57 
 
 The Bishop. I'm sure, dear Mrs. Compton, I don't know 
 why we shouldn't fill out the picture. 
 
 (The Bishop advances to Mrs. Compton 7v]w has risen. 
 Vartray a}id Miss Durand withdraw to the extreme 
 right. Barring and Mrs. Barring advance to the left 
 centre forzoard, so that the four couples are across the 
 stage, beginning with Heaton and Miss Roswell on the 
 left.) ' 
 
 Mrs. C. I don't know after all, my dear bishop, but that 
 the situation demands that we should. {Gives him her hand.) 
 
 All. Hurrah! {^They applaud law^hingly.') 
 
 Var. All this happiness surely demands some sort of a 
 celebration. I know you're not ready for a dinner party here, 
 Mrs. Compton, so I invite you all down to the Waldorf 
 
 The Bishop. No, no, — Mr. Vartray, as the senior here, I 
 insist 
 
 Heat. Pardon me, bishop, but as the oldest standing 
 fiance in the party I must claim 
 
 Bar. Whoa, all of you. Back up, and recognize the sole 
 right of your Uncie Leonard, as the only benedict in the 
 crowd, to act as host. I will telephone to the hotel at once. 
 Come, Marie ! 
 
 (^They go out l. arm in arm.) 
 
 Heat. And I'll run out on the front step and whistle for 
 cabs. Come, Madgie ! 
 
 ( They go out arm in arm l.) 
 
 Var. And I'll 
 
 Mrs. C. Just a moment please, Mr. Vartray. {^Ringing 
 the hell.~) I must introduce the servants to the new manager. 
 Var. Perhaps it woi/ld be a good idea. 
 
 Enter Tompkins and Williams back. 
 
 Miss Dur. {aside to Vartray). My, my ! Why this 
 promptness? They must have expected something interesting. 
 
 Mrs. C. Tompkins and Williams, my new manager. 
 (Vartray a7id the servants bore.) Also, your new master. 
 {Indicating The Bishop.) 
 
 ToMP. {astonished). What, ma'am? Oh yes, ma'am. 
 Of course, ina'am. {^Botvs very low.) 
 
58 MRS. COMPTOn's manager. 
 
 Miss Dur. Come, Bobby. We'll go and send word to the 
 Fergusons that we shan't be able to come to dinner to-night, 
 auntie. [Vartray and Miss Durand exeunt arm in arm L. 
 
 Mrs. C. That's right, dear. We shall all be away this 
 evening, Tompkins. Your arm, Frederick. 
 
 The Bishop. Certainly, dear Helen. Both of them, now 
 and forever. \_They exeunt L. 
 
 ToMP. Well, well,— so the mistress is to maVry again. 
 You could have knocked me down with a feather when she 
 told us so abrupt like. 
 
 Will, {drawing the shades at ivindtnv c). A feather? I 
 should have sunk under a look ! And a new manager, too ! 
 
 ToMP. {crossing to table L., and turning doivn the la?np). 
 New master and new boss notwithstanding, I tell you Mrs. 
 Compton never had nor never will ha\ e but one manager. 
 
 Will, {drazving the shades at windotv R.). And who 
 might that be? 
 
 ToMP. {pauses to hlozv out the light and then replies very 
 solemnly and impressively'). Herself. 
 
 QUICK CURTAIN. 
 
 NOTE. — If it "is impossible to obtain a music-box for the wedding 
 music the speeches concerning it may be cut out, but with the prevalence 
 of boxes using the interchangeable records, it should be possible to bor- 
 row or hire one in almost all localities. 
 
" The man or woman who doesn't 
 read Tlie Black Cat misses the greatest 
 stories in the world.— ifoseon Post, 
 
 *• The Black Oat is without doubf 
 the story telling hit of the century."— 
 San Frwiuisco Cfironicle. 
 
 It Will Pay You 
 
 to read The Black Cat, not only because it 
 publishes the most unusual and fascinating 
 stories that genius can devise and money can 
 buy, but 
 
 Because 
 
 it presents to young and unknown writers an 
 opportunity offered by no other publication. 
 It pays the highest price in the world foi 
 short stories. It pays not according to the 
 name or reputation of a writer, but according 
 to the merit of a story. It pays not according 
 to length but according to strength. It pub- 
 lishes no continued stories, no translations, na 
 borrowings, no steaHngs. The great ^5,000 
 prize stories of Mystery, Adventure, Love, 
 Detectives, Humor and Pathos will give added 
 interest to future issues. The Black Cat is 
 published monthly. It costs 50 cents a yeaf 
 and each number contains 5 complete, origi- 
 nal, copyrighted stories i/m^ are stories. 
 By special arraiigeiiient with its publisheri 
 (The Shortstory Publishing Co.) we are able 
 to ?nake the following ojfer : 
 
 Free of Us 
 
 If you will send tis 50 cents The Black 
 Cat will be mailed you as issued for 
 one year, postase paid, and you will aUn 
 receive at once, nee, jinstage pair/, I'l (if 
 the stories (including the $1,000 prize 
 tales, " The Claikwar's Sword," " The 
 Quarantined Bridegroom. " "Tlie 
 Jjanoing Goddess," "The Train Hunt 
 at Loldos," etc.) that have made The 
 Black Cat famous as the story-tellmg 
 bit of the age. 
 
 Walter H. Baker & Co., HamUton Piace. Boston. Mass. 
 
A NEW PATRIOTIC PLAY. 
 
 BROTHER AGAINST BROTHER. 
 
 A Military Drama in Five Acts. 
 By BERNARD FRANCIS MOORE. 
 
 Author of "The Rough Rider," "Captain Jack," Etc. 
 
 Nine male, two female characters. A stirring play of strong sym- 
 pathetic interest turning upon incidents of the Civil War. The thousands 
 who played " The Rough Rider," by the same author, will find a similar 
 success in this piece, which is distinguished by the same qualities of 
 humor and action. T-.vo strong leading parts, Irish comedy, and a strong 
 heavy part ; all other parts effective. Easy to stage, and perfectly suited 
 for amateurs, for whom it was specially written. Costumes modern and 
 military ; scenery simple but varied. Plays a full evening. 
 
 Price 15 Cents. 
 
 SYNOPSES: 
 
 ACT I. — The Bennett home. "That blamed Irishman." The coming 
 struggle. "Yes or no." The first rebel captured. A soldier's wife. The 
 traitor. A blow and its recoil. The declaration of war. Brother against 
 
 BROTHER. 
 
 ACT II. — The Union camp. The spy. The fortune of war. A secret 
 move. In a tight place. Ladies in camp. Cornered. The dispatches. 
 The capture. Face to face. 
 
 ACT III. — The court-martial. The weight of evidence. Self-betrayed. 
 Alabama Joe, the scout. A life at stake. The whole truth. The tie of 
 blood. A brother's testimony. The prisoner's defence. "I am guilty." 
 The fate of a spy. Death. 
 
 ACT IV. — The prison cell. Alone with death. A surprise. True love. 
 A chance of escape. A strange promise. Brothers and rivals. The trap. 
 "The underground route." An impossible condition. "Then die like a dog." 
 An interruption. Changing guard. "Now is your time." "I love my coun- 
 try, but you arc still my brother." The escape. 
 
 ACT V. — Home again. The neglected farm. An Irish-American 
 affair. Sentenced. "The first girl you meet." Living or dead. In dis- 
 guise. "One slip of the tongue, and I am lost." A disagreable visitor. A 
 message from the tomb. "Thank God ! he died like a man with his face to 
 the foe." The cup and the lip. "Michael, you have saved my life." A trai- 
 tor's death and a patriot's love. The end of all. 
 
 An Old Maid's Wooing. 
 
 A Drama in Two Acts. 
 
 By HARTHA RUSSELL ORNE. 
 
 Author of. " The Country School," " A Linib o' the Law," Etc. 
 
 Five male, four female characters. Scene, a single easy interior ; cos- 
 tumes modern. An amusing little play of American rural life, full of 
 genuine humor with touches of pathos. The dramatic interest is strong, 
 but that of character is even stronger. Easy to play and all the parts 
 effective. Acts one hour. 
 
 Frice 15 Cents. 
 
 Sent, postpaid, on receipt of price, by 
 
 BAKER, 5 HAMILTON PLACE, BOSTON, MASS. 
 

 THE MAGISTRATE. 
 
 A Farco in Three Aets. By Arthur W. 
 
 PiNEKo. Twelve male, four female char- 
 " acters. Costumes, modern ; scenery, all 
 interior. The merits of this excellent and amusing piece, one of the most popu- 
 lar of its author's plays, are well attested by long and repeated runs in the 
 principal American theatres. It is of the higl/est class of dramatic writing, and 
 is uproariously funny, and at tlie same time unexceptionable in tone. Its entire 
 suitability for amateur performance has been shown by hundreds of such pro- 
 ductions from manuscript during the past three years. Plays two hotirB and 
 a half. (1892.) 
 
 THE NOTORIOUS 
 MRS. EBBSMITH. 
 
 A Drama in Four Acts. By Arthtjb "W. 
 PiNEBO. Eight male and five female charac- 
 ters ; scenery, all interiors. This is a"i)rob- 
 lem" play continuing the series to which " The 
 Profligate '* and "The Second Mrs. Tanqueray " 
 belong, and while strongly dramatic, and intensely interesting is not suited for 
 amateur performance. It is recommended for Beading Clubs. (1S95.) 
 
 TT-TT7 PPOPT Ti^ATT? J A Play in Four Acts. By Arthur "W. Ptne- 
 •'•■"•'-• •'^■'^'^■'^■^■'■'^■^»- ■••■'-♦ RO. Seven male and five female characters. 
 ' Scenery, three interiors, rather elaborate ; 
 costumes, modern. This is a piece of serious interest, powerfully dramatic in 
 movement, and tragic in its event. An admirable play, but not suited for ama- 
 teur performance. (1892.) 
 
 THE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 
 
 A Farce in Three Acta. By Arthur 
 W. PiNERO. Nine male, seven fe- 
 ' male characters. Costumes, mod- 
 ern ; scenery, three interiors, easily arranged. This ingenious and laughable 
 farce was played by Miss Rosina Vokes during her last season in America with 
 great success. Its plot is amusing, its action rapid and full of incident, its dia- 
 logue brilliant, and its scheme of character especially rich in quaint and humor- 
 ous types. The Hon. YereQueckett and Peggy are especially strong. The piece 
 is in all respects suitable for amateurs. (1894.) 
 
 THE SECOND 
 MRS. TANQUERAY. 
 
 A Play in Four Acts. By Arthur W. 
 PiNERO. Eight male and five female char- 
 acters. Costumes, modern ; scenery, three 
 interiors. This well-known and powerful 
 play is not well suited for amateur per- 
 formance. It 19 offered to Mr. Pinero'a admirers among the reading public in 
 answer to the demand which its wide discussion as an acted play has created. 
 (1S94.) Also in Cloth, $1.00. 
 
 SWEET LAVENDER. I 
 
 A Comedy in Three Acts. By Arthur 
 W. PiKERO. Seven male and four female 
 characters. Scene, a single interior, the 
 same for all three acts ; costumes, modern and fashionable. This well known 
 and popular piece is admirably suited to amateur pl.ayers, by whom it has been 
 often given during the last few years. Its story is strongly sympathetic, and its 
 comedy interest abundant and strong. (1893.) 
 
 THE TIMFS I A Comedy in Four Acts. By Arthur "W. Ptnero. Six 
 xj-LTii» j. I uja^ig a,nd seven female characters. Scene, a single ele- 
 ——^————^-' gant interior ; costumes, modern and fashionable. An 
 entertaining piece, of strong dramatic interest and admirable satirical humor. 
 (1892.) 
 
 THE WEAKER SEX. [ 
 
 A Comedy in Three Acts. By Arthur 
 W. PiNERO. Eight male and eight female 
 characters. Costumes, modern ; scenery, 
 two interiors, not difficult. This vei-y amusing comedy was a popular feature of 
 the repertoire of Mr. and Mrs. Kendal in this country. It presents a plot of 
 strong dramatic interest, and its incidental satire of " Woman's Bights" em- 
 ploys some admirably humorous characters, and inspires many very clever lines. 
 Its leading characters are unusually even in strength and prominence, which 
 makes it a very satisfactory piece for amateurs. (1894.) 
 
The Plays of Henrik Ibsen. 
 
 Editcdf with Gritfcal and Biographical Jnttoduction, 
 by EDMUND GOSSE. 
 
 This series is offered to meet a growing demand for the plays of this well- 
 at)used and hotly-discussed writer, whose influence over the contemporary drama 
 is enormous even if his vogue in the American theatre be still regrettably 
 small. These plays are intended for the reading public, but are recommended 
 for the use of literary societies and reading clubs, and somewhat diffidently 
 suggested to dramatic clubs, as providing unconventional but vigorously acta- 
 ble material. As a dramatis* Ibsen is absolutely " actor-tight," and has written 
 more s uccessf ul parts and inspired more " hits " than any of his more popular 
 contemporaries. This edition is printed in large, clear type, well suited for the 
 use of reading clubs. The following titles are ready. 
 
 A DOLUS HOUSE. 
 
 THE PILLARS OF SOOETY. 
 
 female characters. 
 
 A Play in Three Acts. Translated by ■Wil- 
 liam Archer. Three male, four female char- 
 acters, and three children. Price, 35 cents. 
 
 A Play in Four Acts. 
 
 Translated by William 
 
 Archeb. Ten male, nine 
 
 Price, 25 cents. 
 
 GHOSTS. 
 
 ROSMERSHOLM. 
 
 characters. 
 
 A Drama in Three Acts. Translated by William 
 Archer. Three male, two female characters. . 
 
 Price, S6 .cents. 
 
 A Drama in Fotte Acts. Translated by M. 
 Carmichael. Four male, two female charac- 
 ters. Price, 95 cents. 
 
 A Drama in Five Acts. 
 
 Translated by Olara Bell. 
 
 Five male, three female 
 
 Price, 25 cents. 
 
 A Play in Five Acts. Trans- 
 lated by William Archer. 
 Nine male, two female cbarac- 
 Price, 25 cents. 
 
 THE LADY FROM THE SEA. 
 
 AN ENEMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 THE WILD DUCK. 
 
 THE YOUNG MEN^S LEAGUE. 
 
 male, six female characters, 
 
 HEDDA GABLER. 
 
 THE MASTER BUILDER. 
 
 female characters. 
 
 A Drama in Fivk Acts. Translated by E. 
 M AvKLiNG. Twelve male, three female 
 characters. Price, 25 cents. 
 
 A Play in Five Acts. 
 Translated by Henry 
 * Cakstarphen. Twelve 
 Price, 25 cents. 
 
 A Drama in Foitr Acts. Translated by 
 Edmund Gosse. Three male, four female 
 characters. Price, 50 cents. 
 
 A Play in Three Acts. Trans- 
 lated by Edmund Gossb and Wil- 
 liam Archer. Four male *hree 
 Price, 50 cents. 
 
 /ft 
 
 /ft 
 /ft 
 
 T 
 W 
 
 T 
 
 T 
 
 W 
 
 W 
 
 M/ 
 W 
 
 W 
 T 
 
 f 
 
oSlS^WMIll^