French's International Copyrighted (in England/ her Col- onies, and -the United States) Edition of the Works of the Best Authors PQ eoe lllltlllll(IIIIMMIIIIIIIIIIiririlllMIIinilllllllllillllllllllllllllllllllllllllMillllllllllllllllllllMMItMIIIIIIIMIIMIIIItlll<_ H73814 Copy 1 No. 452 Putting It Across A COMEDY IN ONE ACT 2 O r > in W X n X > z o n a BY GEORGE C. HOLLANDER Copyright, 1922, by Samuel French Amateurs may produce this play without payment of royalty. All other rights reserved. Price 30 Cents NEW YORK Samuel French Publishei- 28-30 West 38th Street LONDON Samuel French, Ltd. 26 Southampton Street Strand 'iiiuiiiiiniiMiiiuiiMiiiiiiiuiiniuiiniuiiiiiiuiiiMiHiiiiiiiiinMiinMiimiiiiiiHitiiitiiitiiniiiiiiMiiitiimiiiiiiimiiKuiiiuiiiiiiiiim The Charm School A fascinating- comedy in three acts by Alice Duer Mill^ er and Robert Milton. 6 males, 10 females. (May be played by 5 males and 8 females). Any number of school girls may be used in the ensembles. Scenes, -two inter- iors. Costumes, modern. Plays 2V2 hours. The story of "The Charm School" is familiar to Mrs. Miller's readers. It relates the adventures of a hand- some young automobile salesman scarcely ont of his 'teens who, upon inheriting a girl's boarding school from a maiden aunt, insists on running it himself, according-^to his own ideas, chief of wliich is, by the -^way, that the dominant feature in the education of the young: girl of today should be CHARM. The situations that arise are teeming with humor — ■ clean, wholesome humor. In the end the young man gives up the school and promises to wait until the most precocious of his pupils reaches a marriageable age. "The Charm School" has the freshness of youth, the inspiration of an extravagant but novel idea, the charm of originality, and the promise of wholesome, sanely amusing, pleasant entertainment. We strongly recom- mend it for high school production. "The Charm School" was first produced at the Bijou Theatre, New York, and then toured the country. Two companies are now playing it in England. Price, 75 cents. Daddy Long- Legs A charming comedy in four acts, by Jean Webster. The full cast calls for 6 males, 7 females and 6 orphans, but the play, by the easy doubling of some of the char- acters may be played by 4 males, 4 females and three orphans. The orphans appear only in the first act and may be played by small girls of any age. Four easy interior scenes. Costumes modern. Plays 2i/^ hours. The New York Times reviewer, on the morning fol- lowing the Broadway production, wrote the following comment: "If you will take yotir pencil and write down, one be- low the other, the words delightful^ charming, sweet, beautiful and entertaining, and then draw a line and add them up, the answer will be 'Daddy Long-Legs.' To that result you might even add brilliant, pathetic and humorous, but the answer even then would be just What it was before — ^the play which Miss Jean Webster has made from her book, 'Daddy Long-Legs,' and which was presented at the Gaiety last night. To attempt to describe the simplicity and beauty of 'Daddy Long-Legs' would be like attempting to describe the first breath of Spring after an exceedingly'- tiresome and hard Winter." "Daddy Long-Legs" enjoyed a tw^o-years' run in New York and was then toured for over three years, and is now published in play form for the first time. Price, 75 cents. (The A1jov<» Are Suliject to Royalty W^hen Produced) SAMUEL, FRENCH, 28-30 West 38th Street, New York City New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Fi*ee on Request Putting It Across A COMEDY IN ONE ACT By GEORGE C. HOLLANDER Copyright, 1923, by Samuel French Amateurs may produce this play without payment of royalty. . All other rights reserved. New York SAMUEL FRENCH Publisher 28-30 West 38th Street London SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 26 Southampton Street STRAND, W. C. 2 CHARACTERS Jack Ainsley, a writer Ed Craig, an actor Yaki, their valet Gus Wesley F. PoMEROY Walker Place The living-room in the bachelor quarters of Ainsley and Craig. Time Afternoon : The present. CID 6335:^ JAN I I 1923 M.r> 1 Putting- It Across Scene: A sitting-room. At the right of the room is a door leading into the bedroom; at the left a window. At the rear, towards the right, is a large doorzvay zvith white-curtained French doors. When these are open one can see the hall into which the doorway leads and which contains a hat-rack. The room contains a writ- ing-desk, a table and three or more chairs, one of which is an easy chair. As the curtain rises, Ainsley is found writing at his desk. The hall door is open; that to the bedroom is closed. The front door slams and a moment later Craig appears in the hall, where he throws his hat upon the rack. He enters the room and crosses to the easy chair. Both Ains- ley and Craig are young men between the ages of twenty-five and thirty. The former is dressed in a dark suit, the latter in a light one. Ainsley. (Without looking up from his work) Hello, Ed. Craig. Hello. (He sits down in the chair; there is a short pause) I saw a friend of yours a while ago. Ainsley. (Without turning around) Who was that? Craig. Gus Wesley. Ainsley. Friend nothing ! I owe him money ! 5 6 PUTTING IT ACROSS (He pauses, then lays dozsun his pen and turns around in his chair to face Cratg.J I say, did he mention the fact? Craig. No, but he will in about fifteen minutes. AiNSLEY. To whom? Craig. To you. AiNSLEY. The devil he will ! Craig. He said he was com'ing here. Inasmuch as he's already been here four times in ten days to ask for his twenty-five dollars, I am making the natural supposition that this is his fifth visit for that purpose. AiNSLEY. Well, he won't ask me. Craig. By which you infer that I'm to get rid of him while you hide in the bedroom. AiNSLEY. Exactly. Craig. For the fifth time ! AiNSLEY. With all your experience it won't be difficult. Craig. Well, I won't do it. AiNSLEY. Then what alternative have you to offer? Craig. Pay him his money. AiNSLEY. You couldn't have suggested anything more practical ! Craig. Why not, you've got it. AiNSLEY. Yes, but at the present moment I can put it to much better use. Craig. And how long do you intend keeping him waiting ? AiNSLEY. Until I sell my book. Craig. You evidently expect Wesley to have a long, long life! AiNSLEY. Look here, Ed, would you be in a hurry to pay a man who's in such a deuce of a hurry to collect ? Five times in twelve days ! It's prepos- terous, that's what it is! And all for a mere PUTTING IT ACROSS 7 twenty-five dollars ! He doesn't deserve to get paid at all ! Craig. I doubt whether he'd agree with you. AiNSLEY. But you do, so the least you can do is help me get rid of him. Craig. No, I tell you — I don't know what to say to him ! AiNSLEY. You've done it four times. Craig. That makes it ail the more impossible to do it again — there's nothing left to say and he wouldn't believe me if there were. AiNSLEY. It doesn't matter much what you say as long as you know how to say it — and that's your profession. Let me remind you of the fact that you call yourself an actor. Craig. And let me recall to you that you're sup- posed to be a writer. Why not furnish the lines you want me to act. AiNSLEY. Very well, (There is a pause.) Craig. I'm waiting. AiNSLEY. Let me see. (He pauses.) Tell him — tell him Oh, tell him I'm dead ! Craig. He's apt to believe me ! AiNSLEY. You can make a man believe anything if you only say it with enough conviction. Craig. You actually believe that? AiNSLEY. I don't know about you, but / can. Craig. Then let's see you tell Wesley what you told me to tell him. AiNSLEY. What, that I'm dead? Craig. Yes. AiNSLEY. You want me to tell AVesley I'm dead? Craig. Yes. AiNSLEY. All right, I will ! Craig. Oh, yes, you can fell him, all right! AiNSLEY. And he'll believe me. Craig. Believe you crazy ! 8 PUTTING IT ACROSS AiNSLEY. Do you want to bet that he'll believe me? Craig. Say, have you lost your mind? AiNSLEY. Not that I know of — will you bet? Craig. Do you actually mean it? AiNSLEY. Yes, and you can set the stakes. Craig. By George ! if you're enough of an ass to do it, I'll take you up ! A hundred dollars ! AiNSLEY. (He gets up, crosses the room to Craig and holds out his hand) A hundred dollars it is ! Craig. Come on, Jack, do you mean to say you'll stand there ^and bet me a hundred dollars that you yourself can tell a man you're dead and make him believe it? AiNSLEY. That's what I said and you agreed to take me up. Craig. (Thinking a moment) Wait a minute, I know what you're up to ! You'll use whiskers ! (Laughingly.) That's the time you almost got me! AiNSLEY. Not a whisker ! Will you shake ? Craig. (Getting up to give Ainsley his hand.) Yes, you big dumbell ! Ainsley. Now here's the dope. From what you said, Wesley is due here at any moment. When he comes you hop into the bedroom, close the door and open your ears. I'll tell him I'm dead, and if he walks out of this room believing it you owe me a hundred dollars. If he walks out not believing it, I owe it to you. That's the agreement. Remember it. Craig. (Staring at Ainsleyj I've a good mind to call the doctor. You'd better lie down. Jack. Ainsley. We just shook hands on this, didn't we? All you've got to do is listen and keep one hand on a, hundred dollar bill ! I'll attend to the rest. (Calling.) Yaki! (A pause.) Yaki! Yaki. (He enters from the hall; he is a young PUTTING IT ACROSS • 9 Japanese of small stature, wearing dark trousers and a white jacket) You call, sir? AiNSLEY. Yes, get me a black necktie. Yaki. Yes, sir. AiNSLEY. And, Yaki Yaki. Yes, sir? AiNSLEY. Have I still that black band — the one I wore to the funeral the other day? Yaki. I go see. (^Yaki goes to the bedroom door and in trying to open it finds it locked.) Yaki. Door locked, sir. AiNSLEY. Yes, that's my fault — go 'round by the hall. (Yaki leaves the room via the hall and turns to the left; Craig sits down again in the same chair and Ainsley undoes his tie.) Craig. What are you going to do? Ainsley. Put on mourning — isn't that the proper thing? (He goes to the desk, sits down and hastily writes a note.) Craig. If you're trying to act like a nut, you're certainly getting away with it. (There is a pause ; the lock of the bedroom door is heard to turn, the door opens and Yaki appears with a black necktie, a mourning band and some safety pins.) Yaki. Here tie, sir. fAiNSLEY finishes his note, and gets up, leaving it on the desk. Yaki gives him the tie, which he puts on zvhile Yaki pins the band on the sleeve of his coat. Craig keeps looking at them.) Ainsley. Yaki, a gentleman is coming to see me. Yaki. Yes, sir. Ainsley. I want you to do just as I tell you, do you understand? io • PUTTING IT ACROSS Yaki. Always do — make no mistake. AiNSLEY. You're to tell him I'm dead, see? Yaki. (Having fastened the hand) Say you dead — he go home. AiNSLEY. No, no ! I don't want him to go home. You're to say this : Mr. Jack Ainsley is dead ; Mr. Horace Ainsley, his brother, is inside. Yaki. Mr. Jack Ainsley dead. Brother Hollace Ainsley, he inside, I say. Craig. So that's the game, is it? Well, you may have me yet, Jack, you may have me ! (The front- door hell rings.) Ainsley. There he is now ! Hop into the room, Ed, and remember the agreement. Open the door, Yaki, and do just as I told you ! Mr. Jack Ainsley is dead ! Yaki. Yes, sir. Mr. Hollace Ainsley, he inside. (He goes to open the door as Craig runs into the hedrooni and shuts the door hehind him. ) Wesley. (In the hall) Mr. Ainsley in? Yaki. (In the hall) Mr. Jack Ainsley dead. Mr. Hollace Ainsley, he inside. Wesley. (In the hall) Dead! What the devil are you talking about? Yaki. (In the hall) Mr. Jack Ainsley dead, Mr. Hollace (He does not finish, for Wesley rushes by him and into the room, his, hat on his head. He is about forty, somewhat coarse, tastelessly dressed.) Wesley. Hello, Jack ! That crazy Jap of yours said you were dead! What's the matter with him, anyway ? Ainsley. (Assuming a solemn tone, which he continues to use) The man spoke the truth, my friend, my poor brother is — dead. PUTTING IT ACROSS ii Wesley. (Removing his hat and laying it on the table) Say, don't try to kid me! D'you think I'm blind? AiNSLEY. I can readily understand your mistak- ing me for poor Jack. He was the image of me ; we were twins. Wesley. (Laughing) I'm no foOl, Jack — ^you're wasting your time ! AiNSLEY. (Indignantly) See here, sir, do you suppose I'm in the spirit to joke with you — on this day ? My name is Horace Ainsley. Would you have the kindness to tell me yours, and what it is you desire. Wesley. (Protesting) Say AiNSLEY. (Interrupting) You heard what I said. You can believe me or not ! I asked for your name. Wesley. (Puzded) My name? But you don't mean that you — I mean, Jack — is really dead? AiNSLEY. You can hardly thing, sir, that I repeat the fact for my amusement. Perhaps this will con- vince you. (He steps to the desk, picks up the note and reads.) "Dear Horace: Something has occurred which I cannot explain. All I can say is that I can no longer face life. By the time you have read this, I shall have ended my miserable existence. I only ask that you forgive me all that I have done. Good- bye ! Jack." Wesley. Good God ! And Jack wrote that ? AiNSLEY. (Handing him the note) You recognize his handwriting, don't you? Wesley. (Scrutinizing the paper) It is his hand- writing, all right, but — say, I saw Ed Craig on the street only half an hour ago and he didn't say a word about it ! AiNSLEY. Of course not. He didn't know about it then. He was out of town over night and was just on his way here when you met him. 12 PUTTING IT ACROSS Wesley. Where's he now? AiNSLEY. Wandering aimlessly, I suppose. He was so shocked at the news that he ran right out of the house. His grief is exceeded only by mine. Wesley. Jack never told me he had a brother. AiNSLEY. (With great sadness as he sits down) No — I don't suppose he did. You see, there was a quarrel, years ago. We each went our own way. I have never seen him since. This morning he sent for me and when I came, I found — that. (He points to the letter zvhich Wesley still holds in his hand.) Wesley. Where is the — body? (He lays the let- ter on the table and sits down.) AiNSLEY. (Softly) God only knows ! He prob- ably went off somewhere to end his life. I notified the police and hope to hear from them at any mo- ment. That is why I am waiting here. Wesley. Well, I'm sorry, Mr. Ainsley — I'm mighty sorry. AiNSLEY. Thank you, sir, I appreciate it. (After a pause.) It all came so suddenly, I — I can hardly realize it myself. Wesley. (After staring at Ainsley a moment) Mr. Ainsley, I never saw such a resem.blance — never in my life ! You know, it's hard to believe ! Ainsley. There are hundreds of similar cases — I know of several myself where I can never tell one brother from the other. But to think that Jack and I should have lived apart like this — that's what hurts ! And that he should have come to such an end! (After a pause.) Is there anything more I can do for you? Wesley. (With hesitation) Well — the truth of the matter is that — that Jack owed me a — a lit- tle r (He interrupts himself.) But of course — under the circumstances' — I don't care to mention it. Ainsley. I'll assume all his debts, of course. PUTTING IT ACROSS 13 Wesley. Oh, no ! I couldn't think of it ! By no means ! (^Yaki appears in the hall and softly closes the French doors.) AiNSLEY. It's not more than right that I should. How much was the — the debt? Wesley. Why — er — twenty-five dollars. AiNSLEY. Oh, a mere trifle ! But let me see (He thinks a moment.) I don't happen to have that amount with me (He looks towards the bed- room door.) Though I do expect a hundred dollars very shortly — and I think (He puts his hand in the inside of pocket of his coat.) Yes, to be sure, I forgot my check-book again. Very foolish of me — I'll send you a check when I get home. Will that be all right? Wesley. (Very well pleased) O. K. Here's my name and address. (He gives Ainsley a visiting card which he takes from his pocket.) Atnsley. (Getting up as he looks at the card) Well, I'm glad to have met you, Mr. Wesley, and — (more solemn than ever) — I'm sorry it had to be under such unfortunate circumstances. I hope that some day we shall (The front-door hell rings.) Wesley. Maybe that's the police ! I sure would like to hear what they say ! AiNSLEY. (Nervously) I hardly think it's the police, already. (He picks up Wesley's hat.) I hope to see you again, Mr. Yaki, (Opening the French doors) Strange gen- tleman. He say want speak with Mr. Jack Ainsley. I say Mr. Jack Ainsley dead ; Mr. Hollace Ainsley, he inside. He say want speak with Mr. Hollace Ainsley. Ainsley. (Still more ill at ease) Show him in. Wesley. Perhaps the body's been found ! Ainsley. In that case the gentleman outside would hardly have asked to see my brother. 14 PUTTING IT ACROSS (^Yaki ushers in the gentleman and retires. The newcomer is about fifty-five. He has gray hair, moustache and heard. His clothes are dark and dignified; his manner is stately.) The Gentleman. (To Ainsleyj Mr. Horace Ainsley ? Ainsley. (Reluctantly) Why, yes — I am — Horace Ainsley. The Gentleman. I am Mr. Walker — Mr. F. Pomeroy Walker, attorney at law, Jefferson City, Missouri. Ainsley. (Bowing) Pleased to meet you, Mr. Walker. (He points to Wesley. J This is Mr. Wesley. Wesley. (Bozving) Glad to know you. Walker. (To WesleyJ How do you do. (To Jack.j Mr. Ainsley, I am very much shocked to learn of your brother's death. I have never had the pleasure of knowing him. but it was to see him that I came all the way from Jefferson City. Ainsley. Indeed ! Won't you sit down ? (He sits Wesley's hat hack on the table. Walker sits down.) Wesley. Well, I guess I'll be going. Walker. No, no, please ! Don't let me drive you away ! What I have to say will take but a moment ! Ainsley. (Irritated) Yes, yes, do stav, Mr. Wes- ley ! Wesley. (Flattered and pleased) Well — if you insist. (He sits down at the desk, while Ainsley takes the easy-chair.) Walker. I come with rather startling news, Mr. Ainsley, but I feel that this is a somewhat inoppor- tune moment to deliver it. Ainsley. (Glancing at Wesleyj Yes, indeed, Mr. Walker, most inopportune. PUTTING IT ACROSS 15 Walker. But then I've come so far, you know. AiNSLEY. Yes, of course, I realize that. Walker. Well — as I've said— I've come so far that— much as it grieves me— I shall be obliged to add to your already great sorrow. AiNSLEY. By all means ! That is— don't hesitate. Walker. (Solemnly) Mr. Ainsley, your uncle is — dead. W^ESLEY. Another one! AiNSLEY. You can't mean it ! Walker. Unfortunately, it is— true. Your Uncle Joseph Ainsley of Jefferson City, Missouri. AiNSLEY. Joseph Ainsley dead! Walker. (Softly as he bows his head) Yes. AiNSLEY. But I didn't know he was alive! I never heard of him ! Walker. No, I suppose not. You see, he and your father quarrelled many years ago and each went his own way. That is why you never heard of him. As a matter of fact, your dear uncle never spoke of you. Only your poor brother was mentioned in the will. AiNSLEY. (More interested) The will ! Walker. Yes. On his death-bed your uncle re- pented the quarrel and in order to atone for sorne- thing he had done to your father he left his entire estate to your brother. ^^^ESLEY. Say, Mr. Walker, if you'd have corne a little earlier, he never would have committed suicide. Walker. Suicide! What a pity! What a tragedy! You see, my train was somewhat late. Perhaps, if I hadn't missed connections at Peoria — AiNSLEY. Pardon me for interrupting, but just how much did my uncle leave me — that is to say, my brother ? Walker. The estate amounts to one hundred thousand dollars. i6 PUTTING IT ACROSS Wesley. And to think that he AiNSLEY. (Interrupting with joyful surprise) A hundred thousand dollars ! Walker. Which — since your brother is dead — goes to the institutions of charity in Jefferson City. AiNSLEY. That's too bad. Walker. I'm sorry, but those are the provisions of the will. AiNSLEY. I mean that it's too bad for the insti- tutions. Walker. (Surprised) Why do you say that? AiNSLEY. Because those institutions are going to be a hundred thousand dollars poorer than they might have been Walker. (Interrupting with surprise) Than they might have been ! AiNSLEY. If Jack Ainsley were really dead! Walker. Really dead! AiNSLEY. Yes, I am Jack Ainsley ! Wesley. What the hell ! Walker. (Dumbfounded) You! /ac^ Ainsley ! AiNSLEY. Yes. Walker. No ! AiNSLEY. Don't you suppose I know who I am. Wesley. Be damned if 7 do ! Walker. You said you were Horace Ainsley ! Your man said your brother is dead ! AiNSLEY. We were only fooling. I have no brother. Walker. Evidently not, if he's dead! AiNSLEY. I mean, I never had one. Walker. You mean that there never was any Jack Ainsley? Wesley. Sure there was ! I lent him twenty-five dollars ! AiNSLEY. There never was any Horace Ainsley-— that's what I mean! PUTTING IT ACROSS 17 Walker. (Indignantly) Wait a moment, Mr. Ainsley, I think I begin to see your game, but it won't do ! Ainsley, My game? Walker. Yes, trying to assume the personality of your dead brother in order to obtain your uncle's estate! A clever trick, indeed, but not too clever for me! I am a lawyer, Mr. Ainsley, and I am capable of recognizing fraud when I see it. (He gets up.) I think there is- nothing more to be said! Ainsley. (Frantically, as he gets up) But it's all a joke — a bet! I bet my roommate that I could make Wesley believe I was dead and so I assumed the fictitious name of Horace Ainsley! Don't you see? Walker. A pretty story, indeed. Why didn't you say that before you heard of the hundred thousand dollars ? Wesley. Yes, how about that? Ainsley. Because the agreement was that Wes- ley had to leave the room believing I was dead and I didn't want to tell you who I was until he had gone! (Pleading.) You believe me, Gus, don't you? Wesley. Hell ! I don't know what to believe ! Ainsley. I can prove I'm Jack Ainsley! . Walker. (Ironically) I should be delighted to have you do so. Ainsley. (To WesleyJ Two weeks ago last night we saw "Love in a Cottage," and sat in seats 103 and io5j^ Does that prove it? Wesley. (Getting up and reaching for his hat) You're damn right it does ! You've put it over on me once, but you'll never do it again ! Except for that twenty-five dollars you owe me, you and I are through ! (He makes a hasty exit.) Ainsley. (After the door has slammed behind i8 PUTTING IT ACROSS him) Well, Mr. Walker, I suppose that entitles me to a hundred thousand dollars. Walker. Quite the contrary, my dear Mr. Ains- ley. (He tears off zvig, heard and moustache , re- vealing himself as Craig, j That entitles me to one hundred dollars. The only thing that's coming to you is a vote of thanks for teaching me how to put it across ! CURTAIN Golden Days A comedy of youth, in four acts, by Sidney Toler and Marion Short, 7 males, 10 females. Three interior scenes. Costumes modern. Plays 2y2 hours. "Golden Days" is a play with all the charm of youth. It enjoyed a run of sixteen weeks in Chicag-o with Patricia Collinge in the leading role, and was then brought to the" Gaietj^ Theatre, New York, with Helen Hayes in the part of "Mary Anne." Price, 75 cents. Come Out of the Kitchen A charming, comedy in 3 acts, adapted by A. E. Thomas frorh the story of the same name by Alice Duer Miller. 6 males, 5 females. Three interior scenes. Costumes, modern. Plays 2y2 hours. . "Come Out of the Kitchen," witli Ruth Chatterton in the leading role, made a notable success on its produc- tion b3^ Henry Miller at the Cohan Theatre, New York. It was also a great success at the. Strand Theatre, Lon- dOB. A. most ingenious and entertaining comedy, and we strongly recommend it for amateur production. Price. 75 cents His Majesty Bunker Bean A farcical comedy in four acts. By Lee Wilson Dodd. from the novel by Harry Leon Wilson. 12 nnales, 6 females. Four interior scenes. Costumes, modern, Plays 2% hours. Those who have laug-hed Immoderately at Harry Leon Wilson's story will be greatly amused by the play, which tells the story of a cowed and cred- ulous youth who became kingly ^vhen he was tricked Into believing himself a reincarnation of Napoleon. "His Majesty Bunker Bean," with Taylor Holmes in the title role, was brought to the Astor Theatre, New York, after a i-un of 25 weeks in Chicago. A delightful and wholesome farce comedy with no dull moments. - Price, 75 cents A Full House A farcical comedy in three acts. By Fred Jackson, 7 males, 7 females. One interior scene. Modern cos- tumes. Plays 2% hours. This newest and funniest of all farces was written by Fred Jackson, the well-known short story writer, and is backed up by the prestige of an impressive New York success and the promise of unlimited fun presented in the most attractive form. A cleverer farce has not been seen for many a long day. "A Full House" is a house full of laughs, ^ Price, 75 cents (The AboA'p Are Subjeet t« Royalty WHien Prodiicecl) S AMI EL, FRENCH, 2.S-30 ^Vest 3Sth Street, New York City Xcw iijul Explicit De»erl|>tlve Catalosme Mailed Q Free o:i Reque.st LIBRARY OF CONGRESS Clarenc A comedy in four acts by Booth Tarkington, author of "The Man From Home," "Penrod," "The Country Cousin," etc. 5 males, 5 females. Two interior scenes. Costumes, modern. Plays 21/2 hours. Clarence has no medals, no shoulders bars, no great accomplishment. One 01 the "five million," he served where he was sent — though it was no further than Texas. As an entomologist he found — on this side of the oc^an— no field for his specialty in the great vv^ar. 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, AVheeler, a wtalthy Eng- elwood man with a family. And because he'd "been m the army" he becomes guide, philosopher and friend to the members of that same agitated and distracted family sroup. Clarence's position is an anomolous one. He Piends the bathroom plumbing, he tunes the piano, he types — oft" stage— he plays the saxophone. 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. Those marvelous young people, Cora and Bobby Wheel- er are portrait sketches warranted to appeal to every one but the originals. Their truth will be lost On- the "Flapper" and the "prep" school youth, but to their par- ents and guardians, to all. indeed, who have emerged from the serious, self-conscious, period of adolescence, they will be an enduring joy. "Clarence" is a real delight. It is as American as "Plucklebftrrv Finn" or pumpkin pie. It is a^ delight- ful as anv native comedy which has tried to lure the laughter of this country in the last ten seasons Price, 75 cents. Three Live Ghosts A comedy in three acts by Frederick Isham and Max Marcin. 6 males, 4 females (2 policemen). One interior scene stands throughout the three acts. Costum.es, mo- dern. Plays 21/2" hours. "Three Live Ghosts" is brim full of fun and humor and- i^ ^ure to keep audiences in gales of laughter. The New York critics described it as the most ingenious and amusing comedy of the season and genuinely ?nd heartilv funny. It played a full season in Nevi- i ork and then toured the big cities. A lively comedy of merit we can strongly reeomrhend for amateur production. Price, 75 cents, (The Abov«» Are Siibieot fo Royalty When Produced) S AMI EL FREXCH, 2S-30 AVest 3Stli Street, Xew York City XeAV and Explicit Deser!i>tive Catalogue Mailed ^ Free «:i Request