> 635 19 S62 >py 1 International Copyrighted (In England, her Colonies ed States) Edition of the Works of the Best Authors No. 419 UNTRUE TO TYPE A One Act Play BY INA DUVALL SINGLETON Copyright, 1921, by Samuel French Notice: — Amateurs may produce this play without payment of royalty. All other rift'hts reserved PRICE 30 GENTS New York SAMUEL FRENCH publishes 28—30 West 38th Stbeet London SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 26 Southampton Stbeet STRAND MARTHA BY-THE-DAY. An optimistic comedy in three acts, by Julie M. Lippmann, author of the "Martha" stories. 5 males, 5 females. Three interior scenes. Costumes modern. Plays 'ZVz hours. It is altogether a gentle thing-, this play. It is full of quaint humor, old-fashioned, homely sentiment, the kind that people v/ho see the play will recall and chuckle over tomorrow and the next day. Miss Lippmann has herself adapted her very success- ful book for stage service, and in doing this has selected from her novel the most telling incidents, infectious comedy and homely sentiment for the play, and the re- sult is thoroughly delightful. Price, 60 Cents. CLARENCE. A comedy in 4 acts. By Booth Tarkington. 5 males, 5 females. Two interior scenes. Costumes, modern. Plays 2V2 hours. Clarence has no medals, no shoulder bars, no great ac- complishment. One of the "five million," he served Avhere he was sent — though it was no further than Texas. As an entomologist he found — on this side of the ocean — no field for his specialty in the great war. So they set him to driving mules. Now, reduced to civil life and seeking a job, he finds a position in the home of one Wheeler, a wealthy Engle- wood man with a family. And because he'd "been in the army" he becomes guide, philosopher and friend to the members of that same agitated and distracted family group. Clarence's position is an anomalous one. He mends the bathroom plumbing, he tunes the piano, he types — off stage — he plays the saxaphone. And around him revolves such a group of characters as only Booth Tarkington could offer. It is a real American comedy; and the audience ripples with appreciative and delighted laughter. "Clarence" is a real delight. It is as American as "Huckleberry Finn" or pumpkin pie. It is as delightful as any native comedy which has tried to lure the laughter of this country in the last ten seasons. PRICE, 75 CENTS. MRS. BUMSTEAD-LEIGH. A pleasing comedy, in three acts, by Harry James Smith, author of "The Tailor-Made Man." 6 males, t> females. One interior scene. Costumes modern. Plays Plays 2Vi hours. Mr. Smith chose for his initial comedy the complica- tions arising from the endeavors of a social climber to land herself in the altitude peopled by hyphenated names — a theme permitting innumerable complications, according to the spirit of the writer. This most successful comedy was toured for several seasons by Mrs. Fiske with enormous success. Price, 60 Cents. UNTRUE TO TYPE A One Act Play By Ina Duvall Singleton Copyright, 1921, by Samuel French Notice : — Amateurs may produce this play without payment of royalty. All other rights reserved. Price 30 Cents. New ¥obk SAMUEL FRENCH PUBLISHEE LONDOH SA]MUEL FRENCH, Lm 26 Southampton Stbbet 3ft-30 WEST 38th Street I STRAND CAST OF CHARACTERS Ip.ving Beecher a theatrical producer. Mary Beecher his sister Anne Warwick an actress Jess an unknown. Place: Study in Irving Beecher' s apartment. Time: Late evening. m 18 1922 ©OLD 5 9()60 * I UNTRUE I O TYPE The scene takes place in Irving Beecher's study. Two windows are at hack stage — a desk covered with papers at right. When the curtain rises^ Beecher is discovered seated at the desk, intent on the papers.. Mary Beecher is standing hack stage at one of the windows, feeling the top of the sash. Mary. Irving, it won't catch! Irving, {absorbed in his papers) What say? Mary, {excitedly) It doesn't hold at all! (Irving pays no attention to her.) Mary. Irving, please listen to me. Leave those pap-rrs a minute and come here. Irving. Why, what's wrong? Mary. It's this window. The icatch won't work. Irving. Well, v/hat of it? Mary. Haven't you seen about all the robberies that have been going on lately? Near here, too. Irving, {laughing indulgently) Oho, so that's it ! You're afraid of burglars ! I don't think they'll bother us. Mary. No, I don't suppose you do, but just the same, I'd feel safer if this window really locked. 4 UNTRUE TO TYPE Irving, (soothingly) Now, Mary, don't you worry. I'm here to protect you, you know, but if it will make you feel any safer, I'll have the win- dow fixed tomorrow — ^and (teasingly) hovr about having the apartment fitted out with the latest im- provements in burglar alarms? Mary. Don't be silly! But I'd be scared to death if anyone got in and besides, I don't want to have my rings disappear some fine night. (The telephone rings.) Irving, (anszvering) Hello. Yes, this is Mr. Beecher. Who? Miss Warwick? Yes, indeed, ask her to come right up. (He hangs up the receiver and begins to straighten his tie.) Mary. Is that Anne? Irving. Yes — and for once, I wish it wasn't. Mary. Why, Irving! I never expected to hear you say a thing like that ! Irving. She's come to try to persuade me to let her have a part in the new play — and — ^well, she can't, that's all. Mary. I don't see why you won't let her, Irving. Irving. You too, Mary? Have I got to argue this out with you as well as Anne? Mary. No, you cross oM thing. For / have learned that there's no use in arguing with you. If Ann-" Warwick had known you as long as I have, she'd not be coming here tonight, after you've once told her "no". UNTRUE TO TYPE 5 (Anne Warwick enters. She is exquisitely dress- ed — a slender, patrician looking woman, of evi- dent breeding refinement. She shakes hands with Beecher and kisses Mary.) Mary. I'm so glad to see you, Anne. Anne, {looking at Irving) I don't hear Irving echoing that remark! Irving. I. . . . Mary. Don't mind him, my dear. I interrupted kim in the midst of his work and he's cross. Anne. How unfortunate for me ! Why did you do it, Mary? KIary. I just had to make him listen. Anne, have you seen about all these burglars lately? Anne. The papers won't let you forget them. Mary. And aren't you frightened? Anne. Not particularly. Irving. You see, Mary, some women . . . Mary, (interrupting) Oh, no comparisons! I know I'm a coward! :iNNE. Why did you interrupt him? I thinl< he was going to say something nice! Mary. If you think that, my dear, I'll leave you to your little talk while he's in a .softened mood. I Know you came to talk with him. Anne. Yes, and he knows about what, too. Irving, (groaning in mock distress) Only too well! Mary. I think it's a hopeless case, Anne. But do your best— or your worst. I'll see you later. Good luck. (She goes out) 6 UNTRUE TO TYPE Anne. You're delivered into the hands of the enemy, Irving. No escape. {She sits down, fac- ing him determinedly) (Irving seats himself with a resigned air) Anne. I got your note this morning. You were afraid to say things like that to my face, weren't you, Irving? Irving. Now, Anne, do listen to reason .... Anne, (sighing) That means you're going to be disagreeable. Irving, (firmly) It means that I mean what I said in my note. Anne, (leaning forward and speaking tensely) Then you won't let me have it? Irving, (rather wearily) My dear Anne, need we go over it all again? It isn't for a moment that I doubt your splendid ability (Anne gives a shrug at this sop to her vanity) but you're sim- ply not suited for the part — ^you — Anne, (interrupting) If you haa any real faith in my "splendid ability", you'd let me prove it by making myself suit the part. Irving. Now see here, Anne. You know that I have your interests at heart — I don't want your former successes spoilt. Your public loves you — but they love you for just what you are — a charm- ing, well-bred woman. They are used to parts in which you can be just — yourself. They wouldn't stand for you in any other kind of role. They would see your personality — that patrician perso- nality — beneath the mask. And they wouldn't like it. UNTRUE TO TYPE 7 Anne, (thoughtfully) You mean then — my personality overshadows my art? Irving. Well, that's one way to put it. Another is to say that you ought to remain true to type. I'm sorry, Anne, since you've set your heart on it, but — I'm afraid — You see, you're too pretty — you're too dainty — I can't imagine you as playing a ragged thief convincingly. Anne, (rising) Ah, but I could! I could — if only you'd give me the chance! (She motions to- wards the table) There's the contract — waiting. Let me sign it, Irving! Irving, (inexorable but gallant) Impossible! why, what would the public say to me, if I permit- ted you to hide your charm in such a part ? Anne, (petulantly) Oh, charm! I'm sick of being charming! (As if to prove her statement^ she leaves the room abruptly, without even a good- bye nod, slamming the door after her.) Irving, (standing looking after her in surprise) So it would seem! (Mary enters from, the other side) Mary. Why, where's Anne? Irving. She went. Mary. I thought she'd wait to see me. Irving. No, she — well, to tell the truth, Mary, she got angry because I wouldn't let her have the part. Mary. I don't blame her. I'm sure she could do it. Why won't you let her try it, Irving? Irving. I'm really looking out for her interests, Mary, thought she can't seem to imderstand that. S UNTRUE TO TYPE She's made her reputation — ^and made it in parts that just suit her — ^parts in which she can be her charming self. And we know, Mary, just how very charming that is! Now, don't you see, the public isn't going to want her in such a part as a little thief — why, she'd have to wear rags — ^be dirty — unkempt — can you picture the exquisite Anne Warwick like that? No, of course not. And it will strike a false note : it wouldn't be true to tjrpe. Mary, (reflectively) There's something in what you say, Irving, but I still think Irving. I tell you, she can't do it. But that's the trouble with these stars. They make a hit in one part — the public likes 'em in it — want's *em to give them more like it. But that's just what they won't do. No, they must have a wider scope for their talents — something different — to show their ver- satility. And then the public is disappointed. Mary. But who will you get? Irving. I had thought of June Dawson. She did good work in the saloon scene in "After Dusk" She was good. Not just exactly what I want, though. Anne. Talking about burglars makes me ner- vous. (She glances towards the window) It's getting late. I'm going to bed. You'd better go. too, Irving. Perhaps if you sleep on it, you'll de- cide to change your mind and let Anne have the part. Irving, (decisively) Nothing can make me change my mind, Mary. Mary. Good night, you obstinate old thing. (She goes out) UNTRUE TO TYPE 9 Irving arranges some papers on his desk. He stuiu ches off the light and starts towards the door through which Mary has gone. He opens it and stands for a moment in the door-way. The light which shines through the dodr gives enough light on the stage for him to be seen. There is a faint noise back stage and Beecher closes the door, throwing the stage in complete darkness. There is a sound of a scuffle, a muf- fled cry^ the sound of something heavy falling. The light flashes on. Irving Beecher, rather dishevelled, is standing in the middle of the room, holding a forlorn, ragged figure with a firm grip. Beecher. You little devil! You might have killed me! (He looks down at the pistol on the floor. ) The Figure, (sullenly) 'Twarn't loaded. Beecher. Good Lord! It's a woman! The Figure, (impudently) Didn't think it was the Statue o' Liberty, did ya? Beecher. (sternly) None of that. What are you doing here? Who are you? The Figure, (still airily) Who, me? I'm Lady Gwendolyn Vanderveer, just dropped in to pay a call on yer Highness. Beecher. (dryly) (holding her arm with one hand and reaching for the telephone with the other) I'm afraid my humble apartment is hardly large enough for such an exalted personage. But I think I can easily arrange to make you the guest of the city for the night. 10 UNTRUE TO TYPE The Figure, {drawing back suspiciously) Here, wot yer givin' us? Beecher. {urbanely) The police will take great pleasure — The Figure, {dropping all pretence at a bold front) No, no— fer Gawd's sake, Mister, — not the cops ! I ain't bad, Mister — honest to Gawd I ain't! Give me a chanct — that's all I'm asking, just a chanct! Beecher. If I had given you a "chanct," you'd have shot me, I think. That doesn't encourage me tc give you another. The Figure, {snivelling) The gat ain't loaded, Mister. I swear it ain't! Beecher. The gat? {She points to the pistol.) Beecher. Oh, yes, of course. You would call it that. {He stops over and picks the pistol up. Aiming at a corner, he pulls the trigger. It clicks harmlessly) Beecher. That much is the truth, anyway. But why did you bring it? The Figure, {shivering) 'Cos I was afraid of 'em. Beecher. {understanding) Afraid you'd — ^kill someone ? The Figure, {half-crying) Yes — once we was on a job — and Black Jim — he hatter shoot — an' I seen the man — all crumpled like and bloody {she shudders) I couldn't never do nuthin' like that. Beecher. {ironically) Very commendable sen- timents, I'm sure. But you haven't told me to UNTRUE TO TYPE ii what I am indebted for the honor of the company of— Lady Gwendolyn, I think you said? The Figure, (resentfully) G'wan! Jess is me moniker. Beecher. Well, Jess, I think I'll let you go. (She starts towards the window) Oh, no, not so far. Just to here. (He points to a chair opposite him.) I want to talk with you — ^but mind, no tricks, or^ — (He turns threateningly to the telephone) Jess, (sullenly) I ain't done nuthin,' have I ? Beecher. Well, well, go on with the sad story of your life. You came here to steal, and from a rather unguarded reference to your past, I take it this is not your first job? Jess, (her professional pride assailed) Say, do I act like a bloomin amachoor? Beecher. (apologetically) Really, I've had so little experience Vvdth thieves — amachoor or profes- sional — Jess, (aggrieved) Yer needn't go makin' fun of me. I guess you wouldn't think I'd done some good jobs — me gettin' caught this way, but we had the wrong dope. We thought we seen yer go out. Beecher. I'm very glad I didn't. Not of course that I would have minded — er — parting with the few trifles you might have taken a" fancy to, but I should have been distressed to have missed your visit. Jess, (craftily, breaking into sudden laughter) We does get along fine, don't we, Mister? Beecher. (smiling in spite of himself) We does ! (Then suddenly serious) Now what in the devil am I going to do with you? 12 UNTRUE TO TYPE Jess, (sniffing again) Not — not the cops, Mis- ter ! Beecher. Here, child, do take a handkerchief f (He hands her one he takes from his pocket) (Jess takes it, but seems at a loss what to do with it.) Beecher. Here — (He wipes her eyes and cheeks) Beecher. (as if to himself) Poor child — after all, she isn't to blame. I suppose you've always lived this sort of a life, Jess? Jess, (fiercely) Wot other kind could I 'a liv- ed ? Even if I'd wanted to be different, what chance was there? Me old man drunk — me mother drunk — and me gittin' a beatin' if I wouldn't go out a pick pockets. That's all I ever knowed. I never knowed no one but pickpockets and thieves— I never knowed no one like — like you, Mister. If I had- — (She weeps noisely, this time using the hand- kerchief in crude imitation of the way Beecher has done.) Beecher. (profoundly touched) Jess, I be- lieve you have good in you — I believe you could make something of yourself. Listen, are you will- ing to try? If I help you? Jess, (unbelievingly) What yer mean, Mister? Beecher. (eagerly, as the idea takes hold of him) Leave this life, leave your drunken parents — I'll send you to school — make a lady out of you — • Jess, (incredulous, but delighted) G'wan, you couldn't ! Beecher. (quite carried away by his enthus- msm) I could — and I willf UNTRUE TO TYPE i^ Jess. Golly, won't it be grand to be a lady! (Beecher smiles indulgently at her delight. A sud- den thought strikes him and he pulls out his watch. ) Beecher. You must go now, Jess. Jess, (disappointed) Go? Ain't yer— ain't yer goin* to — Beecher. Going to what? Jess. Do like what yer said — make a lady of me? Beecher. Yes, but not tonight. Tell me where yoii live, and tomorrow I'll come for you and take you away to some place where you can grow in body and spirit. Perhaps — who knows? (He looks at her critically) I might even make an actress out of you. Jess, (practically) I live at ^V2 Water Street, down by the wharves — go up two flights and we live in the room wot's got a door with a panel kick- ed out. Me father did that once when I didn't open it quick enough to suit him. Beecher. I will be there tomorrow. And now you must go. (He leads the way to the door.) Jess, (shrinking back) Not that way, Mister. Someone might see me. Beecher. How then? Jess. The way I come. (She waves to the win- dow.) Down the fire-escape. (She hesitates) Beecher. (kindly) What is it, Jess? Jess, (wringing the handkerchief which is still in her hands, and speaking low) I just wanted — 14 UNTRUE TO TYPE you've been so good to me, Mister. Would yer mind — just once? Beeciier. (puzzled, but very gently) Speak out Jess. What is it you want? Jess, (dropping her head) If yer would — kiss me! Beecher. (gazing at her dirty face apprehen- sively) Kiss you! Jess, (sniffling) 'Course I knowed yer wouldn't want to, but — Beecher. (compassionately) My poor little girl! (Jess looks up hopefully. Beecher takes her in his arms and kisses her gently. Jess slips from his arms and runs towards the window. She turns towards him.) Jess, (in tones of entreaty) Yer won't ferget to come fer me? Beecher. Jess, I wouldn't fail you for the world ! Jess, (stepping nearer to him) Yer're so good to me— (Her voice changes to a more cultured tone) so good that (she dangles a watch before him) I think I'll give you back your watch! Beecher. (feeling in his pockets hastily) Well, I'll be damned ! Jess. On second thoughts, I'll trade your watch for— shall we say, — the new part? (She pulls off her ragged cap and with it a wig of matted hair, disclosing Anne Warwick.) UNTRUE TO TYPE 15 Beecher. Good Lord, Anne Warwick! {He looks at her in amazement and then turning to- wards the desk, hands her the contract with a> bow.) -:-QuicK Curtain-:- BILLETED. A comedy in 3 acts, by F. Tennison Jesse and H. Har- wood. 4 males, 5 females. One easy interior scene. A charming comedy, constructed with uncommon skill, and abounds with clever lines. Margaret Anglin's big success. Amateurs will find this comedy easy to produce and popular with all audiences. Price, €0 Cent* NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH. A comedy in 3 acts, By James Montgomery. 5 males, C females. Costumes, modern. Two Interior scenes. Plays 2% hours. Is it possible to tell the absolute truth — even for twenty-four hours? It is — at least Bob Bennett, the hero of "Nothing But the Truth," accomplished the feat The bet he made with his business partners, and the trouble he got into — with his partners, his friends, and his fiancee — this is the subject of William Collier's tre- mendous comedy hit. "Nothing But the Truth" can be whole-heartedly recommended as one of the most sprightly, amusing and popular comedies that this country can boast. Price, 60 Cents. IN WALKED JIMMY. A comedy in 4 acts, by Minnie Z. Jaffe. 10 males, 2 females (although any number of males and females may be used as clerks, etc.) Two interior scenes. Cos- tumes, modern. Plays 2% hours. The thing into which Jimmy walked was a broken-down shoe factory, when the clerks had all been fired, and when the proprietor was in serious contemplation of suicide. Jimmy, nothing else but plain Jimmy, would have been a mysterious figure had it not been for his matter-of- fact manner, his smile and his everlasting humanness. He put the shoe business on its feet, won the heart of the girl clerk, sa.ved her erring brother from jail, escap- ed that place as a permanent boarding house himself, and foiled the villain. Clean, wholesome comedy with just a touch of human nature, just a dash of excitement and more than a little bit of true philosophy make "In Walked Jimmy" one of the most delightful of plays. Jimmy is full of the re- ligion of life, the religion of happiness and the religion of helpfulness, and he so permeates the atmosphere with his "religion" that everyone is happy. The spirit of op- timism, good cheer, and hearty laughter dominates the play. There is not a dull moment in any of the four acts. We strongly recommend it. Price. 60 Cents. (TIse AliwTe Are Subject to Royalty "Wheia Prodaeed) SAMUEI. FRENCH, 28-30 "West 38tli St., New York City Ne-w and exj^McW aescrSptJve catalSBJ.e maaSledl e-H request PENROD. Play in four acts, adapted for the stage by Edward B. Rose from Booth Tarking-ton's stories. 16 males, 7 females. One interior, two exterior scenes. Costumes, modern. Plays 2^ hours. The play is based on the last series of stories in which Penrod fignires — the series in which his exploits as an amateur "detecatif" were chronicled. However, episodes from many of the earlier stories are incorporated in the stage creation, including- the famous Pageant of the Table Round. All of the familiar characters people the play. Sam Williams, the irresponsible; Herman and Verman, the colored brethren; Maurice Levy, the rich boy; George Bassett, that paragon of all the virtues; Marjorie Jones, Penrod's sweetheart; the suave Mr. Her- bert Hamilton Dade; the Rev. Mr. Kinosling; Mr. and Mrs. Schofield; Penrod's big sister, Margaret, and her 19 year old sweet-heart; Bob Williams; Jarge, the hired man. and many others. The piece is written in a vein of pure comedy from beginning to end and won instant favor on its produc- tion at the Globe Theatre, New York. "Penrod" is a play primarily for adults and is not a children's play, although of course children also enjoy it. But it is not intended for juvenile consumption alone. On the contrary, one needs the experience and the maturity of the adult to thoroughly enjoy this amusing narration of the escapades of that young rascal Penrod, wha becomes in the play a hero, much to every one's surprise, including himself. PRICE, 75 CENTS. LITTLE WOMEN. A play in four acts, dramatized from Louisa M. Alcott's world-famous story, by Marion De Forrest. 5 males, 7 females. One interior and one exterior scene. Plays 2% hours. Once in a great many years the stage fulfils its mis- sion because some genius evolved the kind of play that meets all requirements, being clean and wholesome, telling a sentiment awakening tale in a simple and yet effective mannei', imparting entertainment withoiit offending our sense of propriety and good-taste and yet giving us amusement of a heathful kind and delivering its message of hope and cheer in a v/ay that cannot but impart beneficial thoughts and send us from the theatre with a higher opinion of humankind than possibly we had when we entered. If a play does that it is certainly fulfilling its greatest mission. "Little Women" accom- plishes all these things and does it with such ease, sufih delightful naivety, such sweetness and such sane senti- mental grace that one cannot but feel like sending the Huthor and the producer a generous vote of sincere thanks. The play is as charming and sweet as a day in June and it breathes freshness and purity in every line. "Little Women" was produced with tremendous success by William A. Brady at The Playhouse, New York City under stage direction of Jessie Bonstelic, vhere it enjoyed a. long run. and was afterwards touvpri for several seasons. PRICE, 75 CENTS LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 017 401 414 # THE NEW CO-ED. A comedy in four acts, by Marie Doran, author of "Tempest and Sunshine," etc. Characters, 4 males, 7 females, though any number of boys and girls can be introduced in the action of the play. One interior and one exterior scene, but can be easily played in one in- terior scene. Costumes modern. Time, about 2 hours. The theme of this play is the coming of a new student to the college, her reception by the scholars, her "trials" and final triumph. There are three especially good girls' parts: Letty, Madge and Estelle, but the others have plenty to do. "Punch" Doolittle and George Washington Watts, a gentleman of color, are two particularly good comedy characters. We can strongly recommend "The New Co-Ed" to high schools and amateurs. Price, 30 Cents. THE REJUVENATION OF AUNT MARY The famous comedy in three acts, by Anne Warner, 7 males, 6 females. Three interior scenes. Costumes modern. Plays ly^ hours. This is a genuinely funny comedy with splendid parts for "Aunt Mary," "Jack," her lively nephew; "Lucin5a,' a New England ancient maid of all work; "Jack's" three chums; the Girl "Jack" loves; "Joshua," Aunt Mary's hired man, etc. "Aunt Mary" was played by May Robson in New York and on tour over two years, and it is sure i.o be a big success wherever produced. We strongly lecoianiend it. l*rice, GO Cents. MRS. TEMPLE'S TELEGRAM. A most successful farce in three acts, by Frank Wyatt and William Morris. 5 males, 4 females. One interior scene stands throughout the three acts. Costumes modern. Plays 2% hours. "Mrs. Teinple's Telegram" is a sprightly farce in which there is an abundance of fun without any taint of impropriety or any element of offence. As noticed by Sir Walter Scott, "Oh, what a tangled we"b we weave when first we practice to deceive!" There is not a dull moment in the entire farce, and from the time the curtain rises until it makes the final drop the fun is fast furious. A very exceptional farce. Price, 60 Cents. (The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) SAMUEL, FRENCH, 28-30 West 3Sth St., New York City N<'-»v and explicit descriptive eatalosue mailed on request.