FOUR ACTING MOiLOGUES J " ^\v\\^*^xv^^\NV^\\N^^N«t^^»^»^«^«^4^4«i«^N»^5^>5^»»^»«i>»N^^»^ BY MARGARET CAMERON l«M«^MMte»A Copyright, 191 o, by Samufx French All Rights Reserved NOTICE.— The profeasioual actlugr rlfhts of thla play are reserved by the publisher, and permlsaion for such per- formances must be obtained before performances are given. This notice does not apply to amateurs who may perform the play without permission. All professional unauthoris;ed productioaa will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. PRICE 25 CENTS New York SAMUEL FRENCH PUBLISHER 28-30 WEST 38TH STREET London SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 26 Southampton Street, STRAND FRENCH'S STANDARD DRAMA. Prlc« 18 Cents each.— Bound VolumM ft. 25. VOL.1. 1 Ira t Futo S Th* l*iy •! hjvnt 4 Rl«h«ll*a » Tb* Wlf* • Tb* HoD«7nioon I Tb* Sebo«l /or SMudid • Hon*/ VOL. IL t Th* 8(raDg«r 10 Qr»Dd/»tb«r Whtt«h«ad 11 RIebkrd III It LoTc'i S»oriflo» It Th« OuQ«it«r 14 ▲ Cur* for tb« H«»rtMb II Tb« Hu&cbback U Don Caur d* Buan VOL. IIL IT Th* Poor Oantloman II HunUt 19 Ch»rl«i II 50 V«nlc« PrMtfTod II Plurro 15 Til* Lot* CbaM 13 OtbtUo 14 Und m* FIt* ShilUnc* VOL. IV. It Vlrginlut It King of th* Common* 17 London Atiuranc* II Tb* R*nt Dkjr II Two G*ntl*ni*n of V*rona lOTh* J*aloa»Wlf* 51 Th* RlTftlt •I P*rf*«tlon VOL. V. tD*bU St A Now W»y to Pay Old S4 Look B*for* Tou L*ap S» KloK John 14 N*rToui M*n ST D»moD and PvtblM 18 Claud*itlD* Marriaf* tl William T*ll 40 Day afl*r lb* Wadding VOL. VL 41 3p«»d tb* Plough 4t Romeo and Juflat 4t Feudal Tlm*i 44 CharUt tb* Twolfth 41 Th* Drid* 4ITh*rolll*)OfaNIght 47 Iron Cb**t TFalr Lady 41 Faint H*art N*T*r Won VOL. VIL 41 Road to Rain iO Macb«th II Temptr It Eradn* 15 Bertram 14 Tb* Da*nn» II Mueh Ado AbMt Nothing II Th* Critic VOL. VIIL IT Tb* ApotUt* II Tw*1fth Night 19 Briitu* •0 Simpion k Co II Merobaiit of V«nle* <* <)ldH*adiArouDgH«arti 48 MounUln**ri [riag« UThf** W**ki after Mar- VOL. DC. •I Lot* •I A» Tou Llk* It IT Tb* Eld*r Brothnr M W*rn*r •I Oliippui TO Town and Covntff Tl King Lear Tl Bla* D*TlU VOL. X. Tt Honry VIII T4 MarrUd and Bingl* Tl H.nrr IV Tl Paul Pry TT 0«y Mann*r(Bf Tl lw*«th*arU and WItoi Tl B«rloai Family •0 Sh* fto^p* t* Ooa^nar VOL. XI. •1 Jullui C«9tar 69 Vicar of Wak*fi*ld 83 L*ap Year 14 Tb* Catipaw 15 Tb* Paitlng Clond 88 Drunkard 87 Rob Roy 88 tioorge Barnwoll VOL. Xll. 81 Ingomar 90 Sketch** In India 91 Two Friend* K Jane Sbor* 93 Cortlcan Brothor* 94 Miud your own Builn*ia 93 Writing on th* Wall II U*lr at Law VOL. xin. IT SoldUr'* Daugbt«r 9^ Douglai 99 Mftrco Spada lUO ^atur•'• Noblemaa 101 Sardanapalu* lO'J Clvlllimtion 103 Tb* Robb*r* 104 Katbarin* and Potniohlo VOL. XIV. I0SGam*ef Lov* 106 Midiumm*r Night'* 107 Ern*itln* [Dream 1U8 Rag Plck*r of Pari* 109 Flying Dutchman 110 Hypocrlt* III Tb*r*i* II La Tour d* N*il* VOL. XV. 113 Ir*laDd At It It 114S*aof Ic* HI S*T*n Cl*rk* 116 Gam* of Ltf* 117 Forty Thieve* 18 Bryan Borolbm* 119 Romanc* and R*aUty 190 UgoUno V^L. XVL 191 The T*mp*»l 199 The Pilot 1)3 CArp*nter of Rooan \H KlDK't Rival 195 Llttl* Trantur* 111 Dombay and Sen 19' Paranti and Guardian* 118 J*w*ii VOL. XVII. 119 Camlll* 130 Marrl*d LIf* 111 W*nlock of W*nlock 139Ro<*of Etlrlckval* 183 David Copp*rfleld 184 Aline, or the Ro»* of IS&Paulin* [KlUarney 181 Jan* £yr* VOL. xvin. 187 Nleht and Morning 188 iKthlop 1S9 Tbre* Guardsman 140 Tom Crlngl* 141 H*nrl*tt*, th* Foraakon 149 EuiUob* Baudin US Em*«t Maltr»v*r* 144 Bold Dragoon* VOL. XIX. 141 Dr*d, or tb* DUmal [Swamp 141 Lait Day* of PompoU 147 Ek 111 Lif* of an Aatr*** 110 Wedding Day [Moicow VOL. XXI. Ill AU'i Fair In Lots 169 Hof*r 188 S*lf 114 Clnd*r*Ua 165 Phantom 111 Franklin 167 Tb* Gunmakar'of 118 Th* Lov* of a Prino* VOL. XXH. 169 Son of tb* Night 170 Rory O'More 171 Ooldon Eagl* 179 Ri*nil 178 Brok*n Sword 174 Rip Van Wlnkl* 175 Iiaballa 171 Heart of Mid Lothian VOL. XXIIL ITT Actrau of Padua 178 Floating Beacon 179 Bride of Lammermoor 18tO Latt Mnn VOL. XXXVL 981 B*ll*'! Stratagem 989 Old and Young 983 Raff«*lla 984 Ruth Oakl*y 965 British Sir v* 2!>6 A Lifa'i Kaniom Giralda 283 Tim* Triei All VOL. XXXVIL 981 Ella Rotenburg 990 Warlock of the Q1*B 991 Zelina 999 Beatrice 293 Neighbor Ja«kwood 294 Wonder 295 Robert Emmet 996 Green Buibe* VOL. xxxvm. 297 Flow*ri of tb* For**t 998 A Bacb*lor of Arts 299 Th* Mldnleht Banquet 800 Hatband of m Hour 301 Love's Labor Lost 302 Naiad Queen 303 Caprice 304 Cradle of Liberty VOL. XXXIX. 805 The Lost Ship 806 Country Scuira 807 Fraud and Itt Victim* 808 Putnam 809 King and Dei«rt«r 810 La f Jtmmina 311 A Hard Struggle 811 Gwinnette Vaughan VOL. XL. SIS The Love Knot [Judge 814 LavaUr, or Not a Bad 315 The Noble Heart 314 Coriolanut 317 The Wint*r'* Tal* (FrtHcb's Standard Drama Continued on 3 d page of Cover.) SAMUEL FRENCH, 28=30 West 38th Street, New York City. New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogfue Mailed Free on Request. FOUR ACTING MONOLOGUES BY MARGARET CAMERON Copyright, 1910, by Samuel French NOTICE. — Professional acting rights of this plaj are reserved by the publisher, and permission for such performances must be obtained before performances are given. This notice does not apply to amateurs, who may perform the play without permission. All professional unautliorized productions will be prosecuted to the full extent of tke law. New York SAMUEL FRENCH PUBLISHER ?8-3o WEST 38TH STREET London SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 26 Southampton Street STRAND OLD 22964 FOUK ACTING MONOLOGUES. UNEXPECTED GUESTS. Now, Eleanor, if you can't keep out of the way you run right upstairs and play. I can't have you hanging to my skirts while I'm getting luncheon. Well, Kate's washing, you know. ... No, of course* you cant go where Katie is. She's cross enough now, goodness knows ! Here she comes ! Now you run right out of the kitchen. ' ^ Tve just come out (apologetically) to make a cup of tea, Katie. I'll have some bread and butter and tea for luncheon, and Eleanore can have bread and milk. ... No bread! Why, Katie' Oh yes, of course! 1 forgot that we had a chafing-dish upper last night. . Yes, you're quite right; it takes a great deal of bread to make toast. Of course you couldn't be expected to foresee emergencies like A.d'T'l f^'"''^^^'^.-^ ^^' ^^"^ ^^'^1 e^t crackers. And 1 II get some jam. i'levereb-) Eleanore, what are you doing? Come rfnl Z\"^ *' P/"*'y- "^^y-' Eleanore'Pelhamt AUoverK-r^,'^"""', P^ti^^at? Molasses? All over Ivatie s clean shelves! You naughty girP Apologehcany^) Never mind, Katie, I'll clean • ^' ;«■■ ■ .' ^ '^""'^ '• yo"'!"*" ''"sy with the wash- ing Mercy! There's the door-bel ! (Ohl^eTat dock) Jus twelve o'clock. Must be a pedkr I can t go, and you— oh, no, of course I never expect ,V0U to answer the bell on wash-day, Katie. Eleanore you go to the door, and say that I'm busy and that 4 UNEXPECTED GUESTS. I don't want anything. And don't stand talking to the man, but shut the door at once. Then go upstairs and wait until I come. Do you understand ? I'm very sorry about the molasses, Katie, but I'll clean it all up. . . . Oh, well, little people don't always realize what trouble they are making, you know. Oh, yes, I shall punish her, certainly. You may go back to the laundry. I'll attend to this and get luncheon. {Business of getting pan of water, wringing out doth, and wiping up shelves and floor.) Ugh! Of all the sticky messes! (On knees cleaning floor. Business of talking card with ivet fingers.) ^Vhat? Ladies? At this hour? Let me see, Eleanore. Mrs. James Norton Enderby ! My land ! I asked her to c-^me to luncheon any day that she happened to be in town^-and she's come! What? You told her— Eleanore Gladys Pelham ! Did you tell that lady that I was busy and didn't want anything? . .. . Well, you'll go straight to bed! (Business of taling child firmly hy arm and leading her out.) Now stop your whimpering this instant! I've no time for anv nonsense of that sort ! And it's wash-day! And Katie's perfectly savage! And there's not a slice of bread in the house! And all this horrid mess in the pantrv ! Two ladies, did you say? . . . Oh, well, she can't intend to stay, then. I'll just leave this until she's gone. (Business of wiping hands arranging hair and dress— leaving Tcitclien and entering another room, hnghtly smiling.) Oh, how do you do, Mrs. Enderby? (Business of shaJcing hands.) . So delighted to see you ! . . . lour sister^' Not vour sister Florence, whom you have told me so much about? ... Oh, so charmed to meet you. Miss Johnson! . . . Why, certainly Mrs Enderby ! So nice of you to understand that i should want to meet her at once! ... No, I won t make a bit of fuss. . . . Just what we should have ourselves, you know. Let me take your wraps It s so delightful to have you drop in m this mtormal way! Eleanore and 1 are often quite lonely. . . . UNEXPECTED GUESTS. 5 Yes, my little girl. . . . Oh, did she? {In mock consternation.) How dreadful of her! I told her once to say something like that to a miserable book- agent whom I saw coming, and she's never forgotten it. Children have such unfathomable memories ! Now, will you amuse yourselves for a moment, while I put away your wraps and tell my maid to lay some extra plates ? . . . Oh, no, not the least in the world ! That's one thing that my maids always understand from the first — that there shall be no complaints about unexpected guests. . . . Oh, yes, it requires a little firmness and tact in the beginning, but they can always be trained, and I simply will not be a f lave to my cook ! {Business of leaving drawing-room and entering kitchen. Artificial smile vanishes suddenly and look of great anxiety replaces it.) Oh, dear, what shall I do? Fve got to tell Katie ! If— Well, there's no help for it ! {Sighs deeply. Then calls very sweetly.) Katie! Oh, Katie! Come here a mo- ment, please. Some ladies have just come ands — Oh, I'm very sorry, Katie, but really, I can't help it ! — and we've got to give them something to eat. . . . Well, you see, it's very important because — oh, well, I haven't time to explain now, but there are reasons why I must be nice to Mrs. Enderby. Now what can you give us for luncheon? . . . {Pleadingly.) But, Katie, I can't get it now! You may leave the rest of the washing. . . . Well, then, I'll send it out. . . . Katie {firmly), you must get us some lunch ! I don't know what, but I've got to go back in the other room, and you are to get luncheon. You understand, Katie ! . . . Why, give us the cold chicken that was left from yesterday's dinner. . . . Gone! {Aston- ished.) Impossible! There was almost a whole one left when it came off the table. I noticed it particu- larly, and thought it would do for dinner to-night, with a little stretching. . . . Oh, certainly, Katie, I haven't the least objection to your having every- thing that you need to eat, but a whole chick — ^ UNEXPECTED GUESTS. Oh, v/ell, never mind ! But get us something ! . . . I know there's no bread, but isn't it almost time for the baker? . . . Oh, well, we can't wait until half- past two, you know. That is nonsense. You must make some hot biscuits, only be quick ! {Returns to drawing-roora.) Why, Eleanore, are you here entertaining the la- dies? I'm afraid you are bothering Miss Johnson. Not everybody likes to have little girls leaning on them. . . . Oh, she's been showing you her kinder- garten things, has she? . . . Yes, we think she has rather an unusual adaptability for that sort of thing. We hope she's going to be an artist. {Sits.) Her teacher thinks she shows great talent. Eleanore, can you tell Miss Johnson about Mrs. Pussy? . . . Oh, I think you can ! . . . Come, come, now, don't be naughty ! Tell Miss Johnson about Mrs. Pussy, and then mamma'U give you some candy. Stand right here by mamma. Take your finger out of your mouth ! — so. Now begin. " Mrs. Pussy, sleek and fat — " . . . " kittens four." That's right ! " Went to sleep — " Go on, dear. ..." By the kitchen — door.'^ That's right ! . . . Yes, she's only five, you know ! Now the next verse, dearie. . . Oh, yes ! Come, now, go right on ! " Mrs Pussy heard—" . . . " — in glee." Yes ; go on. " Kittens, maybe — " . . . " — go and see. . . . Yes, we think she has a very remark- able memory. Her teacher says she remembers these things better than any other child in the class. Now, Eleanore ! " Creeping, creeping — " . . . Oh, have you forgotten it ? You knew it so well yesterday ! " But the little mouse had gone — " Why, Eleanore Pelham ! What's this on vour dress ? . . . Molasses ! Oh — er — yes, I forgot ! Will you excuse me a mo- ment while I go and — er — scrub this small girl? Come, Eleanore. ( Leads child out. Again forced smile dies. Speaks impatiently.) Now you go straight ui:> the back stairs to your play-room, and stay there until I come. Don't come down again, Eleanore. Do you understand? I'll UNEXPECTED GUESTS. 7 come when I have cleaned up the molasses you spilled all over the pantry ! {Business of entering Tcitchen.) Why, Katie! Why aren't you getting luncheon ? . . . Well, I told you to make biscuits. Yes, I know there's molasses all over the pantry— I'm very sorry about that, Katie ! —but can't you make biscuits on the kitchen-table this once? . . . Well, but we must have something to eat! It's one o'clock now ! .. . Katie! {Almost a wail.) Leave me — noivf Oh, you can't! You — you mustn't! ... I know! It was very thoughtless of Mrs. Enderby to come on Monday — stupid thing she is, anyway !— and I ought not to have given her that sort of an invitation ! But if you'll stay and serve luncheon, I'll— I'll give you that new silk petti- coat of mine! It's just about long enough for you. . . . No, you needn't cook anything! We'll have let me see !— is there any boned chicken in the house ? I mean canned chicken, you know! . . . Well, if you'll open a can of that, I'll cream it in the chafing- dish, and— No, you needn't make biscuits! I'll serve it on toasted crackers. If you'll set the table, Katie, and toast the crackers, and open the chicken, and serve the luncheon, I'll wash the dishes — and gire you that silk petticoat — and — yes, and a whole day off! . . . To-morrow? Yes, the ironing can wait. . . . Well, then, I'll have some one come in and do it. Now, that's a good girl, Katie! {Business of leaving kitchen. Sighs -with relief.) A-a-ah ! {Enters drawing-room and assurnes smiling society manner.) Y^es, we went to hear her last night. Do you think she's as attractive in this role as she was in " The Prisoner of Zenda "? . . . Oh, well, perhaps I wasn't in a very responsive mood. . . . Oh, no, not in the least, Mrs. Enderby ! Indeed, I'm going to take you at your word, and give you a picked-up luncheon — just what we should have had ourselves, you know. But on Mondays we always have luncheon rather late — in fact, we have it quite late. I hope you don't mind ? . . . Yes, I have a very satisfactory maid — as 8 UNEXPECTED GUESTS. maids go. Of course, she needs a little managing, but I really think I have a way with servants. I really have. I seldom have much trouble with them, until they get perfectly unendurable, and then— I simply dismiss them, you know. Have you heard about poor Mrs. Drayton ? She tried to dismiss her cook last week, and the woman drove her out of the kitchen by throwing things at her— anything within h3r reach, you know! Poor Mrs. Drayton was so upset, she had to send for the doctor and a policeman. Now, if I had a maid who was given to throwing things about, I should— {Listens, startled.) Good gracious! what's that? Excuse me a moment! (Business of hurrying from drawing-room to dimng room. Speaks to maid with nervous and forced amiahility.) -r^ x- ^ Oh, you dropped the chafing-dish, Katie.'' . . . They are slippery things. I dropped one once my- self Anvthing broken? . . . {Business of examin- ing pieces.) No, I think it's all right. Have you the crackers ready to toast? Here's the chicken-butter —cream— flour— olives— yes, I think that s all. Oh, did you fill the lamp— the alcohol-lamp under the chafin-dish? . . . Never mind ;ril do It. And tea lam, and little cakes for dessert. A 1 ready Katie? . . . Yes, you shall have the petticoat this afternoon, iust as I promised you. , (Business of returning to draiving-room. Very smiling and easy,) Won't you come out to luncheon, ladies ? THE P. A. 1. L. W. R. (Conversational tone.) Is this Mrs. Brastow? . . . Yes, good morning, Mrs. Brastow. I thought I couldn't be mistaken. What a charming location you have here ! I was in this city when Mr. Brastow bought this lot. I said then that it was an ideal site for a home, and I see it is. And an ideal home on the site. . . . No, I've never had the pleasure of meeting you before, but I've had many a long talk with your husband during the past fifteen years. . . . Oh, yes, I know Mr. Brastow well. You may have heard him speak of me. Jones is my name. Charlie Jones. Yes, I know him well .... Thank you, I will come in for a moment. (Business of entering house.) What a lovely room^ to be sure ! Such a sense of restfulness pervades it ! How one does feel the in- dividuality of a room, Mrs. Brastow! And I sup- pose everything in your house is as perfect, in its way, as this room is. There can be only one thing necessary to complete it, and that one thing I shall now have the pleasure of introducing to you. (Business of producing article from pocket — or hag. Speech becomes rapid, median- ical and very distinct — as if memorized and often repeated.) It is the Patent Adjustable Indestructible Loop Wire Receptacle — sometimes called the P. A. I. L. W. R., for short — capable of being transformed, at a moment's notice, and without the aid of any other tool or instrument except the human hand, into any one of twenty-three separate and distinct house- 9 10 THE P. A. I. L. W. R. hold articles, each one absolutely indispensable to the well-regulated and adequately equipped home. For example, as you see it now, it is a fruit-dish. Piled high with oranges and bananas, it is a most artistic and beautiful centerpiece for any table. You will notice that the wires are all plated with a patented composition, invented especially for this article, which makes them look like the finest spun silver. This plate is permanent and will never wear off. Like everything else used in the composition of the Patent Adjustable Indestructible Loop Wire Eeceptacle, it is absolutely indestructible. Just picture to yourself a dining-table with this magnificent article as a center- piece {Sudden change to conversational tone again.) You never eat fruit ? Is it possible ! I had a brother who had a similar taste. I've known him to leave the table because he was unable to bear the sight of a plate of ripe fruit. On one occasion he broke up a dinner-party by so doing, because he was the four- teenth guest, and, of course, when he left — well, you've heard of that little superstition of thirteen at table. ... Ah? Well, neither am I. I believe I have no superstitions^ — unless, indeed, it's the one about pins. " See a pin and pick it up," you know. I never fail to pick up a pin, and it always brings me good luck. I picked up one on your step, while I was waiting for the door to be opened. By the way, talking about pins, {returns to mechanical tone) by compressing this wonderful article, thus, it becomes a pin-tray, an article, indis- pensable to every well-appointed dressing-table. . . . Ah? You use silver pin-trays. Well, of course, many ladies are fortunate enough to be supplied with them now, but one never knows when thieves may break in and steal, you know. And then, one is liable to run up against an emergency, such as unexpected guests from the country, who have to be accomodated in improvised bed-rooms — bed-lounges, and that sort of thing — and, of course, a conscientious hostess al- ways likes to be equal to the occasion. -Now, with a number of these marvelous articles in the house, a teE P. A. I. L. W. R. 11 eomplete toilet-set, lacking only the brush and mirror, may be had at a moment's notice. This, as I have said, is the pin-tray. Now, you slip this loop, turn it thus, pull it out, and, presto ! you have a beautiful silver comb ! By snapping these loops down, thus, a handle is formed, and the loop at the opposite end may be used as a button-hook. At, yes, many ladies wear laced boots now, but I am confidentially informed that buttons are coming in, and in a year all women's shoes will be buttoned. " A stitch in time," you know. One should always be prepared. That's the secret of success. Always be prepared. Now, by slipping this spring, the whole string of loops becomes a chain, useful in a variety of ways. It's often found valuable as a supporter for pillow-shams; or, united at the ends, thus, it is worn about a lady's neck as a watch-chain — or a lorgnette may be attached to the end. You've noticed how very fashionable these long chains have become since the introduction of the Patent Adjustable Indestructible Loop Wire Receptacle. Or, by again forming the basket foundation, thus, and attaching the braces, so, one has an egg-basket, always a neces- sary article in every house (Conversational tone.) Never eat eggs ? Indeed! Now, that's very interesting! You know, I'm mak- ing up a set of statistics about the people who don't eat things, and the things people don't eat. Take your own case, for example. I've discovered in this short time that you eat neither fruit nor eggs. One season I solicited orders for a set of patent cake-tins, and you'd be surprised at the number of ladies who assured me that they never ate cake. It's most inter- esting. Yes, to be sure; I know it's Saturday morning, and that's always a busy morning for a housekeeper. I'll not detain you a moment. As I was about to say, (mechanically) by compressing this part and sliding the handle down, you have a most complete and artistic pudding-dish, of unique and pleasing shape. Oh, pardon me, perhaps you never eat pud- dings, either ? Ah, mostjnteresting ! Or, by flatten- 12 THE P. A. I. L. W. R. ing it, thus, and pulling this end out, you have a complete toaster and broiler, suitable for use with any kind of heat, coal, gas, oil, or electricity. Again, by scooping out the bottom, thus, pushing these wires back, and shaping it a little with the fingers, you have a handsome picture-frame, of the shape known as the shadow-box, v.ithout the heavy, sombre appear- ance of the usual shadow-boxes made in black. Now, I see by the toys on the front stoop that you have little ones — ah, yes, what is home without the little darlings ! — and what could be a more suit- able frame for the baby's picture than that? Just fancy the little dear — his father's joy^ — a little girl? (Conversational.) Indeed! I might have known it! I think I saw her outside. She has her mother's smile. As I was about to say, just picture the little dear, his fa — oh, to be sure ! — her father's joy, look- ing out of that shining frame ! Have you the baby's picture at hand, Mrs. Brastow? Ah, I'm sorry, I should have liked to see it in this frame. It would have been a pleasant memory to carry away with me. Yes; just a moment, please. (Mechanical.) Then, by completing the basket form again, and by stretching these loops to the uttermost, you have a waste-basket, light, durable, clean, and exceedingly handsome. Or by slightly pressing it together and decreasing its size, one has a jardiniere, suitable for — just a moment, please — a jardiniere, suitable for potted plants. By studying the various combinations possible to the Patent Adjustable Indestructible Loop Wire Eeceptacle — and we give with each one (without extra charge) a copy of this valuable little booklet containing full instructionsi — one may have, as 1 have said, a fruit-dish, a pin-tray, a beautiful hair- comb, a watch-chain, a sham-supporter, a pudding- dish, an egg-basket, a toaster and broiler, a picture- frame, a waste-basket, or a jardiniere. Not only this — I'll not detain you five minutes more, madam ! — but a candlesticki^you know how fashionable THE P. A. I. L. W. R. 1$ candles have become since this wonderful little in- vention has been on the market? — a small easel, a receptacle for a glass holding hot liquid, as whis — ahem ! — lemonade; a stove-hook, a flatiron stand, a tea-tray — perhaps you don't drink tea? Beg par- don ; no offence meant, I assure you ! I was merely thinking of my book — the statistics, you know. Yes, yes, I quite appreciate your position, Mrs. Brastow. I'm a busy man myself, and, of course, the quicker I can make a sale, the better I'm pleased. Now, sometimes I make a sale right away, and sometimes it takes me all the morning. It's against my principles to ask anybody to buy. There's no greater mistake in this business than urging people to buy. The point is to convince the lady that she wants the article — just stay right with her until she's convinced — and then your work's done. The really successful salesman never has to ask anybody to buy. I'm very successful that way myself. But some ladies are slow to accept the fact, you know, that there's anything new in the world that's better than the old thing they happen to have. Now, I found a little woman in Davisville last week, who was very hard to convince; but I never give up, you know, never giNe. up ! That's the secret of suc- cess. Never say die ! And I stayed with that wo- man from ten o'clock in the morning until three in the afternoon. But I made the sale ! Now she couldn't keep house without the Patent Adjustable Indestructible Loop Wire Eeceptacle. However, I was about to call your attention to Well, they're being sold now at the remarkably low price of sixty-five cents, just to introduce them, you know. Many ladies are buying them by the dozen and half-dozen, realizing that this opportu- nity will not offer again. When I come around next year, the price will have advanced fifty per cent., and I expect to make twice as many sales, for then every lady will know me and the Patent Adjustable Indestructible Loop Wire Eeceptacle, and will real- a THE p. A. I. L. W. R ize that she'll save her time and mine by buying it at once. Not that it isn't a pleasure to show it. I'm as proud of it as if it were my own invention. But as I was about to say One? Oh, I think you'll need more than that! With a house of this size, you could hardly get along without more than that. I consider six a very small order for a place as large as this. No, really, Mrs. Brastow, my conscience would ache if I let you do yourself that wrong. Yes, I know, but you'll thank me when I'm gone. No, I couldn't feel right about it. Well, of course, you inight get along with three, but for your own sake, I hate to leave less than half a dozen with you. Three ? Very well. Yes, one ninety-five, please. That's right, thank you. I was about to call your attention to the fact that, in addition to the things I have men- tioned — ' — (In a tone of injured innocence.) My dear madam, I'm telling you this solely for your own con- venience ! My sale's made. Very well ; but you'll find in the little booklet the directions for making the bread-tray, handkerchief-case, cigar-holder, ink- stand, footstool, and hand-satchel, in addition to the other things I mentioned. (Genially.) Good morn- ing, Mrs. Brastow. I'm very glad to have met you. I'll call again next year. IN A STREET-CAR A MONOLOGUE. (She runs on and pauses, panting, on the car-step.) Oh, conductor, wait a minute, won't you ? There's another lady coming. Well, she's running just as hard as she can. She ain't so light as I am. (Calls to her friend.) Hurry up! He won't wait! (To the conductor.) Land knows we wait long enough for you, sometimes ! You needn't be so mighty up- pish about waiting a second for us once in a while ! . . . What? . . . Time-table? Huh! Your time- table's a moveable feast, I guess ! I notice the only time you're on time's when there's nobody waiting for you ! (To her friefid.) Oh, here you are! Yes, isn't it an awful pull up that hill? (Lurches toward a seat.) Oh, my! (To a passenger.) Excuse me! I didn't mean to ! That is — I couldn't help it, you know! (Sits. To her friend in a low, emharrassed, amused tone.) Did you see what I did? I sat right square down on that man ! I think I smashed some- thing he's got in that parcel ! Something crushed, anyhow. What do you s'pose it is ? . . . Looks some as if it might be a hat, don't it? . . . My, don't he look cross! (Louder for benefit of passengers.) Well, I couldn't help it ! These men ought to learn to start a car without jerking a lady off her feet ! Oh, see here, I'm going to pay this fare ! . . . Yes, I am, too ! You always try to get in ahead. . . . No, I've got it right here ! Where is my purse ? Why — I believe I've lost it ! Yes, si^, I must have lost it running up that hill ! Stop the car ! Oh, look here, conductor! (She springs up and pulls a strap, shakes her skirts vigorously, and pulls the same 15 16 IN A STREET-CAR. strap several times in rapid succession. To the con- ductor.) What? . . . Well, I wanted the ear to stop and you wouldn't look ! I lost my purse because you made me run up that hill to catch your old car, and I want to get off! Stop the car, I tell you! Wliat? . . . Eang the wrong? . . . The cash regis- ter? .. . Well, I don't care if I did ! I want to get off ! ... It serves you right if I did ring up a lot of fares ! Perhaps the next time a lady wants to get off your car, you'll look at her, and stop the car yourself ! Why don't you stop it? I tell you I've lost — (To a passenger.) What? Wliy, yes, that's it ! Where'd you find it? On the floor? Well, I declare! (Some- tvhat abashed.) That's all right, conductor. (Sits. To her friend.) Well, how do you suppose I ever — (To the conductor.) What? . . . Pay for the fare I rung up? Well, I guess not! I'll pay two fares and that's all I will pay ! I'm not going to pay for rides I never got ! . . . Well, if you'd been looking where you'd ought to 'a been I wouldn't have touched your old strap ! It'll teach you to pay some attention to your passengers. There's a man in front wants a transfer, I guess. You'd better go and see him, or you'll gQi into some more trouble. (To her friend, in a loud, cheerful tone.) Some of these men are so unaccommodating! You'd think this one was a machine, for any interest he ever takes in anything. The other day I didn't know just where I wanted to get off, and if you'll believe it, he got real uppish because I stopped the car so I could look up the street to see if that was the place ! He wanted to know why I didn't look in the directory and find out where I wanted to go. As if anybody could carry a directory around with them all the time ! Besides, what's a conductor for, I'd like to know, if he isn't for the accommodation of passengers? (To the con- ductor, paying fare.) Here, conductor, two. Trans- fers? N-no, I guess not? (To her friend.) We don't want to transfer, do we ? ... Or do you want to go to see about that bonnet to-day ? . . . She said IN A STREET-CAR. 17 it would be ready this afternoon. Oh, conductor, wait a minute ! Well, perhaps we'd better go. What do you think? . . . All right. {To conductor.) Transfers to — why, he's gone ! See ? He hasn't the least interest in accommodating passengers. I think he ought to be reported. Oh, I kind o' hate to do it. He might find out and then it would be unpleasant, and us traveling on this line so much. Who's that woman in the end of the car, do you know? . . . She looks a little like the pictures of Marian Doubleday, the actress, don't she? . . . Not 60 pretty, though. But they do say Marian Double- day wasn't such a tearing beauty until she went on the stage and learned to make up. Oh, conductor, transfers to Powell Street. I know you asked us if we wanted transfers, but yoa didn't wait to find out whether we did or not. If you treat me to much more of your inattention and impertinence I shall see that you are reported Oh, yes, Marian's made a great success now, but she had a pretty hard time getting to the top, I guess. Of course, she had all sorts of things to con- tend against. I sometimes wonder, when I hear of her driving with Mrs. This and lunching with Mrs. That, what her swell friends would say if they knew that her grandmother kept a boarding-house in Sacramento, and that Marian earned her first money as a clerk in a store. I wonder why that girl's face is getting so red ? Maybe she saw us looking at her. They say young Belshaw is perfectly infatuated with her. My nephew works in a florist's shop near the theater, and he says they send her a big pile of flowers from Belshaw every day. . . . Yes, my sister Maud's boy, Johnnie. . . . Yes, he's pretty wild. Just like his father, you know. His people are all that way. Poor Maud never has a minute's comfort with him, for if he's behaving, she's always sure that it's just the calm before the storm — sort of a weather- breeder, you know — and she just worries and frets all the time.. She never loses a chance to tell Johnnie 18 IN A STREET-CAR. how he ought to behave. She's never had a card in the house, nor any wines, nor liquors, nor anything like that. She wouldn't even let him learn to dance. And yet, that boy drinks and smokes and gambles and heaven knows what else ! Now, there's my Willie ! There couldn't be a nicer boy than Willie ! He hasn't a single bad habit* — and he's such a com- fort with his clothes ! His room's as tidy as a girl's. Poor Maud's always asking Johnnie why he doesn't pattern more after his cousin Willie, and — well, I won't tell you what he says. It's awful ! And his mother such a religious woman, too ! But in that florist's shop, he sees a lot of gay so- ciety fellows like this young Belshaw, and he thinks it's smart to try to be like them. . . . Yes, he's Dr. Belshaw's son — at least, he's adopted. . . . Wliy, yes, didn't you know that? . . . No, I never heard any- thing in particular about Fred Belshaw, but he's run- ning around after this Marian Doubleday, and when a man gets to going with actresses, it's safe to sup- pose he ain't any too strict. My Willie wouldn't think of doing such a thing. But Johnnie does. . . . Oh, my, yes ! . . . Well, there's that Dolly Dixon you know ; she's in Marian Doubleday's company. . . . Oh, I don't know where he met her. In the shop, I suppose ; and Willie says he saw a great big bunch of violets that Johnnie sent her, and him just a clerk ! Willie says she's kind o' pretty, though. He saw her going past the shop one day when he was there visiting Johnnie. Willie goes to see Johnnie real often and tries to influence him, you know. Willie's such a conscientious boy ! Oh, see this woman just getting in ! . . . Yes, she got that silk at Allitson's. They had ten pieces of it last year, and it was a dollar-forty a yard, but they didn't get rid of it all, and this year they sold oif what they had left for ninety-eight cents. . . . Yes, it's good value. I think it'll fade, though. . . . M-h'm, that trimming looks real nice, don't it? She must have bought it at M*eyerfeld's sale. Sixteen IN A STREETCAR. 19 cents a yard; but it looks nice, don't it? I don't believe it'll wear, though. Meyerfeld's having a sale of laces this week. . . . Oh, hadn't you heard about it? Oh, my dear, real bargains! I saw some in- serting for four cents a yard that's just what you want for the baby's things. Let's go right down there and get it; and then we can walk back and use our transfers, just the same. And there was some wide lace — oh, as wide as that ! — for twenty- four cents. . , . Oh, I don't know what you'd use it for, but it would come in handy some day. Yes, I bought some, just on a venture. It seems wasteful to let a chance like that go by, you know. Oh, here goes the girl ! If she was only a little better-looking, she'd be the "image of Marian Doubleday. It must be annoying to look so much like an actress. Makes a girl so conspicuous! . . . Mercy ! Did you see the look she gave me ? Oh, there's Mrs. Beaver ! She's speaking to that girl. Now, we'll find out who she is. . . . {Business of touching a woman to attract her attention, and shaking hands.) Oh, how do you do, Mrs. Beaver? Such a long time since I've seen you! And is this little Horace? How do you do, dear? How he grows ! Just the living image of his father, too, isn't he? . . . Your other boys are getting to be young men, aren't they? Your Tommie's just three months younger than my Willie. I hope he's as much com- fort to you as Willie is to me. . . . Smokes, doesn't he? . . . Oh, don't you mind it? . . . Yes, I know his father always did, and I s'pose you do get used to those things if you have to live with 'em, but my Willie has never wanted to do anything like that. I never have any more trouble with him than's if he was a girl. Oh, Mrs. Beaver, who was the girl you spoke to as you got into the car? . . . Marian Doubleday! That girl in the blue dress Marian Double' — well, I said it looked like her, didn't I ? But her pictures flatter her. . . . Yes, she's getting to be quite fa- 20 IN A STREET-CAR. mous, isn't she? But it must be embarrassing to go along the street and know that everybody knows who you are! But then, not everybody knows about her. . . . Oh, I used to know them in Sacra- mento, you know. At least, my cousin lived next door to her grandmother's boarding-house, and— why, yes! Didn't you know that? . . . And Marian clerked in a store. Sold buttons and thread and that sort of thing, you know. And her grandfather, old Dick Doubleday, was an awful old wretch. He used to— What? . . . {Business of looUng over her slioulder.) Where? ... Is that Dolly Dixon? . . . My ! Look at that hat ! And that coat ! Wlio's that fellow talking to her? . . . Why— it's my Willie! {Rises hastily and' waves hands.) Conductor, stop the car ! I want to get right off ! This is some of Johnnie's work ! Willie never met that girl of his own accord! Conductor, why don't you stop this car^ ... But I don't want to go to the end of the block ! I want to get off here ! ... Oh, dear ! Well, good-bye! {Business of lurching part way toward car door. Pauses.) Oh, where'll I meet you? . . . At Meyerf eld's? ... At the lace counter? • • • Oh, I won't be long. Yes, conductor, just a second! Well, at the notion counter, then? ... Oh, when you're at the lace counter, get me two yards more of that twenty— (^0 conductor) yes, of course I'm going to get off !— twenty-four-cent lace. Oh, it's about so wide, and cream color. You can't mass it. . . . Yes, iust as soon as I've sent that girl about her business ! {To conductor.) Oh, wait! I'm going to get off! Well, I told you I was ! I never saw anybody so im- patient ! I'll report you before night ! {Loudly, to her friend.) Good-bye! A PATRON OF ART. IZvl ^ Yes we've just come. This is my mece, Ms Chester We've been to the Gorham reception Si^ h a t elome crush! But of course everybody IZ there, and one had to *°- -^vtHn. worth TTnw are the gowns this year? Anything woiui How are t"^ So j ^j ^^^^ ^^ excellent XcT o's'ee new'^gowns as a rule, but last year I SughrtW were ^^^^^J^^^^^Z^l that was -«"y^q"^*;JX^'way, 'how are the Sure"' . Xich'U'is att .feting the most c^ommf P - Bosqui? '^^f rf Llist'ltk never heard of him. . • • Oh i^^^^^', , PH at it. Which wall is it on? . . • ihanR you, dance at it. Good night. There's ^ (To her companion, using lorgnette.) Ttoe^ as one's income permits. Last year sne pet housand dollars W one ?-*--'. »^X"who si 's private view in a shocking gown. I ~r ^^^^^.^-ye talking to? Frowsy-lookmg man. Some irapossiDie +i-.ia Inrp-e shassv niaii at tne leii. ^^^^ ^ 6^. ;;arr He' talking about Bosqui, too. Did you Tar that? (B_u.iless «/ , f *--^^ -^^ S repeating what is overheard.) The success 22 A PATRON OF ART. year '^ . . . " keen sense of color values " . . . ^^ re- markable distance'' . . . "feeling for line'' "atmosphere" . . . what was that about atmos- phere? I didn't quite catch it. Evidently, Muriel, this Bosqui is promising. We must have him in to tea some day. Perhaps I'll have him do a little thing for me. Oh, how do you do, Mrs. Dwindle? Mr. Dwinelle, you've met my niece? Yes, we've just come from the Gorham reception. Such a tiresome crush ! We got^away as quickly as we could; but you know, when ones friends entertain, one must really show one's self, at least. ... Oh, everylody was there. Have you seen Bosqui's picture? . . . Such feeling for line and distance ! My dear, I predict that he'll have a Career ! Wonderful atmosphere ! Really wonder- ful ! . . . Ah ? I've been here so short a time, I'm by no means sure I've discovered all his work; but one glance is sufficient! Er— how many pictures has he? . . . Only one? . . . Ah, really! Such a pity there aren t more ! It's quite the only thing on the walls worth talking about, I assure you. I'm think- ing of having him do a little thing for me. . . Yes^ Good night, then. Muriel, did you hear Kauffman say anything about Bosqui s chiaroscuro f . . . Are you positive? . Well, he must have chiaroscuro, if he has all those other things, don't you think? Oh, how do you do, Mr. Atherton? Muriel my dear, here's Mr. Atherton. . . . Yes, we've just come from the Gorham reception. Such a tiresome crush ! But of course, one must go! Everybody does f You're going there from here? . . . Yes, of course, one does see the pictures better before the crowd comes. Tell me, have you seen Bosqui's thing? . Oh,^ my dear Mr. Atherton, you musn't go until you've seen it ! I have seldom been so struck by a line— I mean, by— by— the distance ! Such remark- able feeling for color, you know ! And chiaroscuro ' Such chiaroscuro! Really, he'll have a Career' A PATRON OF ART. 23 You mark my word, he'll be the success of the season. {coldly lowing.) How do you do, Mrs. Belknap? Mr. Atherton, who is that frowsy-looking person with Mrs. Belknap? Is he — er — anybody, you know? . . . She has been talking to him ever since we arrived, and — one never knows about Mrs. Belknap's friends. Sometimes, they're quite — er — well, the sort of per- son one would like to assist, you know, by asking them to tea, or something. And then sometimes — really, she knows such extraordinary persons, some- times ! . . . {Indifferently.) Ah, then I dare say he's nobody. . . . Yes, it is getting late. Good night. We shall see you Friday? Good night. Muriel, there's not a gown here that I'd be seen in except that gr^y frock of Mrs. Forsyth's Where ? Oh, yes, very nice, I dare say. I don't care much for marine things, you know. Oh, here comes Mrs. Chapin. — Art patron, and all that sort of thing. How do you do, Mrs. Chapin? Isn't everything charming ! Such a relief to see some pictures again ! One gets so tired of merely social affairs ! We've just come from the Gorham reception. Such a fright- ful crush ! But of course, we know them so well, and — everybody was there. Eeally, everybody, you know! . . . Yes, the pictures are very good — really very good this year. But of course, there's nothing to compare with Bosqui's thing. Isn't it wonder- ful? Such remarkable feeling for line, you know — and the distance! My dear, did you ever see such distance ! He has such a rare sense of color values, too ! Oh, I predict a brilliant future for him ! I'm going to have him do a little thing for mo — just a little thing, you know. You know him, of course? ... Do bring him in to tea with us some day while my niece is here. . . . Fridays, you know. . . Yes ; good-bye. Dear me, what an ordinary looking lot of gowns! . . . Eh? . . . Oh, yes, I dare say. I don't care for fisrures, you know. . . . What's the title? . . . "The Tempest?" ''The Tempest!" How excessively 24 A PATRON OF ART. stupid ! They've made a mistake in the catalogues ! Eeally, such carelessness is inconceivable ! I shall have this reported to the Secretary. " The Tempest," indeed ! Just a stupid-looking girl, and an old man, and a — er — a — er — what is that creature? . . . Eh? . . . {Haughtily and very coldly.) Thank you, madam; I quite understood that is was after Shake- speare. ... (To Muriel.) How excessively imper- tinent ! That young woman- — who has never been presented to me, I'm quite sure — presumed to inform me that this picture is — er — of course, any one could see at a glance ! . . . Well, my dear, the title is mis- leading. It is very stupidly named. The picture should have been called " Caliban." To entitle it " The Tempest " is- — er — is plagiarism ! I'm sur- prised that the Committee permitted it to be hung. It's by that man Sorbier. They tell shocking things about him. His own father, who was a very respect- able sort of person, I believe, cut him off without a sou, my dear, without a sou ! But Mrs. Belknap re- ceives him. She says he has temperament. I dare say he has. I've noticed that the friends of men who have temperament are always apologising for it. There's Mrs. Belknap now, still with that frowsy man. He looks as if he might have temperament, too. . . . Eh? . . . Oh, yes, yes, child, I suppose so, if you care for that sort of thing. Landscape doesn't interest me, you know. I wonder where the Bosqui thing is ? Do you see it anywhere? . . . How very thick the crowd's getting ! Do let's go and find some punch ! . . . What? . . . Where? Oh, that? . . . M-m-m, no, I can't say that I care for it. Still life never ^appeals to me, you know. Oh; Miss Wendell, isn't this a crush? It's not quite as stifling as the Gorham reception, though. We've just come from there. Such a frightful crush ! Eeally, I wonder why we do it ; but every- body was there, you know — and one really must be pivil when one's friends Eh ? What is it, Muriel ? . . , Oh, my dear childj A PATRON OF ART. 25 a mere smudge! Do try to cultivate some feeling for Art, Muriel! . . . No, no, it's perfectly impos- sible ! What was the man thinking of ? . . . Ah, well, never mind. It's nothing of consequence. Real Art idealises, my dear. This is hopelessly real- istic. That sky is simply the color that any ordinary person might see. Indeed, the color is quite ordinary throughout. You see? A complete lack of artistic feeling and perception. Do let us find the Bosqi Oh, Dr. Houghton ! You came away early from the Gorhams', too. Have you see the Bosqui? Eh? What is it, Muriel? . . . That the Bosqui! That? Oh — er — yes, (enthusiastically,) my niece and I were quite lost in admiration of it as you came up. Such a wonderful sense of color values ! And — er — er- — such a relief to see a bit of real Art, after the flood of impressionistic stuff ! I'm going to have him do a little thing for me. . . . Eh ? . . . Bosqui him- self ? Really ? Do let me see him ! Where — where is my lorgnette ! . . . That ? You mean the — the distinguished-looking man with Mrs. Belknap? . . . Is that Bosqui ? . • . Ah, one can see at a glance that he has temperament ! Do, please, present him ! Mrs, Belknap has monopolised him quite long enough. Muriel, that — that very interesting looking man who has been with Mrs. Belknap all the evening is Bosqui, and Dr. Houghton is going to — > — Ah, Mr. Bosqui, so charmed to meet you! My niece and I have been quite lost here before your picture ! Such a wonderful sense of color values ! I'm sure you must hear color, as I do! Doesn't beautiful color always seem to you like a chord of exquisite music ? . . . And the distance ! Really, I never saw such distance on canvas, never! And the tempera — er — I mean, the atmosphere! One can fairly breathe it! Now, that little touch there at the left — Ah, no, unfortunately, I have never studied painting — that is, really studied it, you know; but I think if one has sincere feeling for ART — er (vaguely) don't you? . . . Ah, yes, of 26 A PATRON OF ART. course, my niece ; this is my niece, Miss Chester. Dr. Houghton, will you bring Mr. Bosqui in to tea on Friday ? There are so many things I want to ask him about his work, you know. Mr. Bosqui. Er — 'Mr. Bosqui! Dr. Houghton has promised to bring you to us for tea on Friday. . . . Oh, certainly, my niece will be there. . . . Ah, that will be delightful! I want to talk to you about doing a little thing for me. You know, I predict a great future for you. Come, Muriel. So charmed to have met you, Mr. Bosqui ! On Friday, then. Good night. Curtain. Students with properly developed college spirit. JUST PUBLISHED IN FRENCH'S STANDARD LIBRARY EDITION THE GREAT COLLEGE PLAY ENTITLED BROWN OF HARVARD A Play in Four Acts By RIDA JOHNSON YOUNG THE CAST OF CHARACTERS Tom Brown. Gerald Thorne, stroke oar of the "Varsity Eight," who is not his own master Wilfred Kenyon. Claxton Madden, John Cartwright, "Tubby" Anderson, "Happy" Thurston, Walter Barnard, Warren Pierce, Thompson Coyne. "Bub" Hall, "Varsity Coach." Victor Colton, who wants the English crew to defeat his Alma Mater, CoDRiNGTON, Manager of the English crev.-. Ellis, Manager of the Varsity crew. Captain Hodges, ] George Selwyn, James Van Renssalaer, > Members of the Varsity crew. Arthur Blake, I Austin Latchow. J Old Clothes Man. Mrs. Kenton. Marian Thorne, Doorkeeper, Emelyn Kenyon. Edith Sinclair. Butler. SYNOPSIS OF SCENES act I Place. — Cambridge, Mass. Scene. — Tom Brown's and Claxton Madden's apartments in *'The Wetherby." a students' apartment house. act II Scene. — ^Yard at Harvard. The exterior of a dormitory, act III Scene. — "The Varsity Boat Club" on the day of the race with the English Amateurs. The scene is laid in the large hall of the boathouse. act IV Scene. — Sam« as Act One. I "Brown of Harvard" has the genuine college atmosphere, with moments of excitement and even of sentimental interest. To begin with, there is, of course. Brown himself, a paragon of all the ordinary virtues, with the additional and rare one of modesty. Then, there is Wilton Ames, who is not his own master, and Victor Coiton, who wants the English crew to defeat his Alma Mater, and who is not above using the weaker student to accomplish his own villainous purpose. For the rest, they are college boys of various types, girls of the sort who like to come to afternoon tea in the fellows' room and who whoop it up for them when any sort of a contest is on. The play's chief appeal comes from the fact that it reflects in its entirety the buoyant, wholesome spirit of youth. Some lively and entertaining glimpses of college life are shown. Glimpses into typical student sanctums, the fun and frolic of goodfellowship. the chat of the crew, snatches of college songs, the harmless flirtations of the town and campus — these are all pleasant features of the piece. All this and a stirring boat-race scene added makes a play of college life that fairly teems with the varsity atmosphere. The characters are well drawn and there is action and movement throughout tiie four acts. Plays a full evening. PBICE, 5p CENTS JUST PUBLISSED What Happened to Jones An Original Farce in Three Acts By GEORGE H. BROADHURST CAST OF CHARACTERS JONES, who travels for a Tiymn-hook house EBENEZER GOODLY, a professor of anatomy ' ANTONY GOODLY, D.D., Bishop of Ballarat RICHARD HEATHERLY, engaged to Marjorie THOMAS HOLDER, a policeman WILLIAM BIGBEE, an inmate of the Sanitarium HENRY FULLER, superintendent of the Sanitarium MRS. GOODLY, Ehenezer's wife CISSY, Ebenezefs ward ALVINA STARLIGHT, Mr. Ooodly's sister HELMA, a servant ^ SYNOPSIS OF SCENES ACT 1.— Handsomely furnished room in home of Ebenezer Goodly. ACT 2.— The same. ACT 3.— The same. This is the iolliest sort of a farce, clean and sparkling all the way throuffh A professor of anatomy is lured to a pnze fight and the police make a raid on the "mill." The professor escapes t<) Ins home, followed by Jones, a traveling salesman, who sells hymn books when he can and playing cards when he cannot. 1 he ponce are on the trail, so Jones disguises himself by P^ttmg on a Bishop s garb, and a lot of funny complications ensue. The other funmakeis Ire aided not a little by an escaped lunatic Thi| celeb^^^^^ has been a tremendous success for years on the professional stage ana is now published for the first time. PRICE, 50 CENTS \ f ,ar-SEND FOR A NEW DESCRiPTIVB CATALOOUP. {Pr*neb'$ Standard Drama Contitmedfrom id pag* 9fO»t*r.) VOL. XLI. 881 Tht Pir»t»'s Lastaejr SI3 Tb« Ch>rco«l bomw 553 Addgitbs Z'iA Scnor Vali«nta 186 For«it Roi« SSI Duk«'t DaaghU* 1)7 Camillft't Huabdud SS8 Fur* Gold VOL. XLII. 88» Ticket of Leave Man ISO Fool't R«T«ng;e 881 0'A«il tb« Urekt 883 Handy Andy SS8 Firaio of the Itlet 554 Kiijcbon 335 Li lite Barsfoot 831 Wild Iriib Girl VOL. XLI II. 837 Ptarl of Savoy 838 Dead Heart 839 Tt«r't B«B 898 Iron Mutar 896 Engaged 897 Pygmalion * OklatM 898 L^ 399 Scrap of Pap«r 400 Lost In Londoa VOL. II. 401 Ootorooa 408 Confederate Spy 408 BSariner's Roton 404 Ruined b/ Drink 406 Dreami M. P. 407 War 408 Birth ▼OL. UL 40t NightlngaU 410 Progress 411 Play 418 Midnight Chart* 418 Confidential CUik 414 Snowball 416 0urR«ffliiiain 416 Married for Mouajr Hamlet In Tbr*« Atta QntU* k OalpU FRENCH'S INTERNATIONAL COPYRIGHTED EDITION OF THE WORKS OF THE BEST AUTHORS, The following very succMsful pUys h«v« Just betn Istutd at 25 ctntJ p«r copy. A PAIR OF 8PBCTA0LBB. Comedj In 8 Act* by Sydnky Grunoy, author of " Sowing the Wind,' &c. 8 male, 3 female characters. A FOOL'S PARADI8H. An original play tn 8 Aots bv SYDN.Y Grumy, author of "Sowing th* Wind,'' Ac. 6 male, 4 female characters. THE 8II.VFR SHIELD. An original comedy In 3 Acts by Sypnby Grundy, author of "Sowing th* Wind," Ac. 6 male, 3 female chu-aotars. THE GLASS OP FAPHIOf*". An original com- edy in 4 Acts bySYi >M\ liKixDY, author of "Sowing th* Wind," Ac. 6 male, 6 female characters. THE BAIiLOON. Farcical comedy In • A«U by J. H. DAmNLST and Mamvillb Fxmm. 6 mal*, 4 f*mal« characters. MISS 0L2OFATBA. Fare* In t A«U by AamuB Shiblbt. 7 male, 8 female charaetera. BIZ PERSONS. Comedy Act by I. Saucwiu. 1 male, 1 female character. FASHIONABLE INTBLLIOBKOB. Comedl- ctt* In I Act by PaaoY Fucdall. 1 mala, 1 fsouJ* cha .-octer. HIGHLAND LEOAOT. Comedy In 1 Aet \j Bbandon Thomas, author of «'?7 One Tonoh of 288 Two B'hoys VOL. XXXVH. [tar 289 All the World's • Btaos 890 Quash, or Nigger Prlo- 291 Turn Him Oul [ti« (French' i Minor Drama Continued on ^dpage of Cover.) 299 Pretty Girls of StiUberg 993 Angel of the Attic 294 C'roumstanoesalterOMes 295 R..itty O'Sheal 286 A Supper In Dizia VOL. XXXVIU. 997 Id on Parle Francals 298 Who Killed Cock Robta 699 Declaration of lodepend- Heads or Tails [ence 801 Obstinate Family 809 My Aunt 303 That Rascal Pat 304 Don Paddy de Baaan VOL. XXXIX. [tore 805 Too Much for Good Na- 30$ Cure for the Fidgets 807 Jack's the Lad 808 Much Ado About Nothing 309 Artful Dodppr 310 Winning Hazard i 1 Dav's Fishing [*C. I 319 Di(J you ev. r send your, VOL. XL. 318 An Irishman's Maneuver 514 Coni-;n F.iini-? 815 'Ti6 ibfl Paikeff Hourbe- 816 Masonerade [fore Dawn m Crov'diiifr the Season 515 Good Nijht'sRcSt 319 Man with the Carpet B»3 890 Terrible Tinker SAMUEL PREN'TH, 28-30 West 38th Street. New York City. New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogfue Mailed Free on Request. LIBRftRV OF CONGRESS ■B 018 602 483 7 * HoUinger Corp. pH 8.5