^^^^■i! AT MISS PENHALLOW'S BOARDING HOUSE SCENES -A,^ BY HANNAH LINCOLN TALBOT, PORTLAND : MARKS PRINTING HOUSE. 1904. HE tl««^RV OF CX?NQ«eSS. One Coi»v K^SEivw OCT. 10 '^(H A««/y XXa. N». 11 At Miss penhallows. SCENE I. — DiTsriNG Room. SCENE IL— A Gamk or Cards. SCENE TIL— At the Tea Table. Miss Penhallow, . . . . . Landlady. Miss Condor, . . Who has not always boarded. Miss Poor, .... Addicted to wrappers. Miss Stearns, Averse to men, especially as fello^ boarders. Miss Minns, .... A gentle Quaker. Mrs. Gaylor, .... A grass widow. Miss Grew, . . , A young business woman. ^^«^^^^' • • • ■ Of independent spirit. ^•^*^^' • • Who sometimes pleases the boarders. Mr. Sampson, ... a recent boarder. Claude Eugene Gaylor, . . An only child. Copyrighted and aU rights reserved By H. L. Talbot. A DINING ROOM. Fireplace back. Clock on mantel-piece. Cook in kitchen adjoimng. Lorilla setting table. Miss Penhallow {enters L. with bonnet and dolman on.) Leave this door open to get all the warmth from the kitchen {she puts fruit from her bag on table), but don't fail to shut it before they come down or they'll complain of the smell of cook- ing. {To herself) I'll remove the thermometer or they'll see that it is barely 62. But I can't start up the furnace yet a while ; only two barrels of coal in my bin, and prices going up by jumps every minute. {Aloud.) I hope you put that room in perfect order, the lady and her dear little boy are coming this afternoon 2 Lorilla, after passing the celery once, owce, you understand, take it into the kitchen. I want it for salad. There's plenty of cold veal for a nice chicken salad. Draw up the chairs and put a match to the fire just as they come in. I don't want a roaring fire, but just a pretty little blaze. They'll all want to sit on this side, with their backs to the open lire. Don't forget to strike the little gong, a bell is so vulgar, so like a cheap boarding-house. Leave the kitchen door open till the very last minute. {She withdraws li.) Lorilla (busy about table.) Yes'm, yes'm, yes'm {bowing loiv) of course they'll all have to set back to the fire. My! Don't I know 'em. {Glancing at fire.) Mighty little heat they'll git from the green wood she's put together there. Mary Ellen O'Shay, hustle up dinner spry, I want to git out in some season this afternoon. I've set the clock twenty minutes ahead, but a lot of good that'll do me. Miss Condor, the genteel, who keeps dinging it into us how elegant she was bi'ought up under her father's roof, won't never step foot into this I'oom till her old reliable watch and chain says half past. There ! I guess the table's set enough to begin with. Oh napkins — everlasting botheration, no use but to make work. I never meddle with none, and I mistrust I'll live just as long. ( Wijyes her mouth with the bach of her hand and smiles?) Every boarder so awfid particular to git their own. You'd think other folks was pizen sure. This one pins down her corner so — ^that's Condor's dodge. {Pricks herself and claps finger in mouth.) Sho ! Don't I just wish she'd forgit that pin once and scratch herself good. This one folded criss-cross is Miss Grew, and my ! don't she fuss if she don't git it. Bein' Saturday she eats down town ; it'll do just as good for Miss Minns. She's awful neat. A hundred years and who'll know the dif ? Now start up that fire, that ain't goin' to do no more than a good smart match. Now chairs. I say out there, dish up everything, I'm all O. K. in my shop. There, I've just got time to call up Nell over the 'phone. ( Goes to telephone at side of stage.) Hello ! gimme double one, two one, ring two. Say, Nell, 's that you? {Giggle.) Well, I guess nit. No, they ain't begun yet. Three courses, but I'll hustle 'em good. ( Giggle.) Say, Nell, meet me where you said. I guess it'll be quarter to. Yes, I've got to change ; you don't s'pose I'm switchin' it round the kitchen — not if I know it ! But ray hair's bang up and my pompadour — oh, my ! {Pats her hair.) Oh, shut up ! Say, you don't s'pose I care if he is. I sha'n't do noth- ing of the kind, so there ! Say, Nell, just state to him for me that — Cook {poking in head.) I thought you was after bein' in a rush. Things is all dished up and gettin' stone cold whilst you're cackling away no sinse at all, as I can make out. LoR. Well, goo' by. {Seizes dinner hell and rings violently.) Cook {again ajypearing, with tureen of soup.) Didn't she be saying as you was to hit that ere little brass drum-looking thing 'i LoR. ( Cook takes piece of celery.) This'll make 'em all so mad they'll come down spryer. Enter 3Iiss Penhallow. Miss Pen. Oh, that vulgar bell ! ( Takes bell.) How often must I request you to use that little gong the ladies gave me Christmas. {She gives the fire a poke.) Don't forget what I said about the celery, once only, and then take it into the kitchen. {Enter Miss Poor, icho goes to the thermometer and then to the fire.) Shut that door, Lorilla. It is a rule of my house that that door is never to stand open ; it lets in all the odors of cooking. LoR. {aside while banging the door.) She didn't mind smells none when she wanted the heat of the cook stove. Enter Miss Stearns, who goes to the fire and then to the thermometer. Miss Stearns. Oh, the thermometer's gone! Miss Pen. {sits dovm.) Ladies, I do hope you will find the room warm enough. I had Lorilla make an extra big open fire. Miss Poor. Perhaps it will improve ; it's very cold now. Miss Stearns. It seems just like a cellar. They stand by the fire and shiver. Miss Pen. The furnace people assure me they will make my repairs at once. They have been too provoking. LoR. {aside.) There aint nothing ails the furnace, but no coal to go into it ! Miss Stearns sits at end of table, Miss Poor in middle seat at side. Miss Poor {pouring out her medicine.) It does seem very- chilly. But I kept on my tea gown purposely. I had wadding laid across the shoulders when I had it made over the last time but one, and with my shawl I hope I sha'n't get cold. ( She turns totoardfire.) Lorilla, is that fire doing as much as it ought to? Lor. Well, it ain't beyond all control. We needn't git in the chemical yet awhile. {She passes bread.) Miss Poor. Well, it's a comfort that, as we are all ladies here, we can do exactly as we please and keep on our tea gowns all day if we happen to own pretty and becoming ones. Miss Penhallow gives soup to Miss Stearns. Miss Stearns. I should say so. Men in a boarding-house are never anything but a nuisance. There are never more than three or four of 'em at the most, and they add nothing to any- body's pleasure. They never open their mouths but to take in their food, they never are ready to stay in and join in the social games in the evening — I'Ve often asked them — and they keep you awake half the night stumbling up the front stairs. Then some of the women always act so silly, when even the most insignificant specimen of a man comes in sight. For my part, I'm thankful you won't let any of 'em into this house. Miss Penhallow. LoR. {aside.) I guess they wouldn't stop long if they was paid high by the hour. Miss Pen. Well, I can't exactly say that I never will allow gentlemen to come to my house, — if they were gentlemen and brought proper references and were willing to conform in every- thing, — but I own that I much prefer lady boarders. They are so much more sociable around the house and they don't set fires with cigar ashes. Miss Poor. Lorilla, you've given me the wrong napkin. I made a crease in mine. No, thank you, no clam soup for me. I can't digest it. Jliss Stearns examines oion napkin critically. Miss Pen. Oh, that's too bad! I was under the impression that clam soup was the one thing that all my ladies relished Lorilla, the left side. Step more softly. There is no hurry. Lor (aside.) Oh, ain't there? Miss Poor. I often wonder where the men keep themselves nowadays. Of course you see plenty of them on teams and in ditches and such places, but I mean of our class. I rarely meet one when I am invited out, and where I worship I see but very few. Of course they can't get into any of the ladies' clubs where nowadays there is so much literary activity. Really it seems to me there are very few amusements left open to the Stroudport gentlemen. Miss Stearns. Pooh ! I guess so long as they are allowed their pipes and cards, they won't cry their eyes out. They don't want to improve their minds so far as I've observed them. Where I boarded last summer they were four deep around a silly little chit — they said she was pretty tho' I couldn't detect it — who didn't know any more than a hen, and they never availed them- selves of a chance to talk to my friend, Amanda Grubb, who knew her Sanskrit as she did her multiplication table. Miss Poor. Yes, I've observed that same thing myself. ' Miss Stearns I can't be thankful enough I haven't got one of 'em belonging to me to worry over. I wonder what has hap- pened to my watch. I'm twenty minutes behind this clock. Miss Pen. This one is always right. I never question it. It belonged to a revered maiden aunt, a lovely old lady, and it never varies. Ziorilla snickers. Miss Stearnts. I must send it down town tomorrow by Mary Grew. When pa bought it in Geneva, 39 years ago, they told him he had the best works the Swiss could produce. Dear pa always would have the best. Miss Minns {timidly appearing?) I must apologize for being so very late. Almost through with soap ! The bell rang before I expected it. Such a short morning ! Yes, Lorilla, if thee please Takes place between Miss Poor and Miss Stearns. Lorilla in her rush overturns glass of water and screams. All get up. 6 Miss Pen. How careless, Lorilla. What has got into you, you seem in such a hurry. I hope it doesn't spot with water, that dress has always been one of my favorites, such a pretty shade. Lorilla scrubs loitli her apron. Miss Minns. Accidents will happen. I'm sure Lorilla almost never lets anything drop. LoK. She's a lady ! {In her zeal she knocks off a fork and spoon. Screams again.) Miss Pen. Lorilla, how often must I tell you it is very low bred to scream in a dining room. Miss Stearns. Where I stayed last summer I had to put on my gossamer when I went to my meals. There was a creature there waiting on table who spilt evei-ything she touched. You remember that silk waist I had made six years ago, just as good style as the day I had it. That's the thing about my dressmaker — everything up to date and good style, so long as there's a thread left. That girl poured soup over me the first time I took it out of my trunk. Miss Minns. Poor girl, she probably was trying to be so very careful. Miss Stearns. T don't know what she was trying to do, I know what she did. If I could have eaten under an umbrella I might have had some peace of mind. Miss Pen. Does any one know whether Miss Condor is in or out ? Lor. Shall I ring the bell again ? . Miss Pen. Certainly not. When Miss Condor is ready she will come down I presume. Ziadies exchange glances. Miss Minns. She always enjoys her dinner when it is nice and hot. Miss Pen. She knows my dinner hour. Lorilla, let me give Miss Poor some more soup. Miss Poor. I haven't had any. I refused it. I can't eat clams as they produce a violent rash, as I've told you many times. It is hard to go without any kind of soup as it makes the dinner so short. Lorilla hegitis to remove plates and tureen just as 3fiss Condor^ tall and severe, enters. Miss Pen. Shall I detain the soup for you, Miss Condor ? I'm afraid it is cold, we have been so long at table. Miss Condor. I was not informed that dinner was to be any earlier to-day. (^She walks to thermometer.) Oh, the thermome- ter has been removed. It is just as well, for it wouldn't register a bit above 59. {Stops to poh' fire.) Yes, thank you {seating herself next Miss Pen.) I always take two helps of soup, as with my troubles a heavier diet is to be avoided. Miss Pen. Dinner was at the usual hour. Miss Condor {puts doicn spoon and draws loatch.) By my time, which is correct, it is barely twenty-five minutes past now. Lorilla, the celery please — the other side. Miss Minns. Perhaps thee forgot to wind thy watch. Miss Condor. That would not account for the difference. Besides I never forget my watch. Miss Minns. Of course not. But I am so apt to try and wind mine twice one night and forget it entirely the next. Miss Condor. Mine is too valuable a timepiece to treat in that way. My father early instructed me in the proper care of a watch and I never let it get too hot or too cold, never lay it down, never wind it but at the hour of retiring, never run with it on the person, never — {Miss Stearns smiles derisively. 3/iss (Jondor (/laiices at the fire reprovingly.) Really, Miss Penhallow, I must beg to be excused and go in search of a shawl. T find this room too chilly to eat in, in safety. {She departs.) LoR. Shall I shift the plates ? Miss Pen. By no means. We must wait for Miss Condor to return. I hope you ladies are in no hurry to get done. Lor. {aside.) Well, I be, for one. Miss Minns. Oh, certainly not. Miss Poor. Not being able to eat soup I feel rather far gone, but I guess I can hold out. May Lorilla get me some older bread, I am having a hard day with dyspepsia to-day. Miss Pen. Certainly; Lorilla, some older bread. Miss Stearns. I do hope when Anna Condor has her next dress made, some friend will be kind enough to tell her that she looks like a fright, when she has them trimmed up so much. Miss Minns. Well, I should hesitate to be the one. Miss Poor. She's always picking my clothes to pieces, espe- cially my tea gown, which I think is the most becoming thing 1 can get into. Miss Condor (hwidled in shawl returns.) My father always said it was dangerous to eat in a cold room, and I have never for- gotten it. I do hope, Miss Penhallow, that you'll make an effort to secure some coal somewhere, to-day. I saw you hadn't more than a cupful in your bin. Lor. You can't fool her by talk of repairs to the furnace. Miss Pen. I think I can attend to that detail of housekeep- ing ; thank you. Miss Condor, all the same for your interest. Miss Condor. Lorilla, the celery please — the other side. Miss Penhallow makes sign to remove celery. Miss Condor. I will trouble you for a second plate of soup. (^Lorilla looks furious.) Do not, however, let nie delay the others. I was brought up under my father's roof to eat slowly, and I can- not hurry as some. If I had been told" that dinner was to be earlier I could have been properly dressed and here on time. Of course I could not present myself until I had made such a care- ful toilet as my father always inculcated. Miss Poor (Jiaving eaten nothing, sighs.) Can you get me another bit of old bread, I feel very faint. Lorilla jjasses bread and proceeds to remove tureen . Miss Condor. The soup is so much better than usual I will take another help before it departs. I doubt if I shall care for what follows. Miss Lor. I don't! She always talks like that and eats everything. Miss Stearns (aside.) Her old father showed he had some sense when he named her Anna Condor. Lorilla overturns medicine bottle. Miss Poor. Take care, j^ou've knocked over my bottle of tonic ! (All Jump up.) 9 Miss Pen. How careless. There is no huny, I keep telling you. You are in such a rush that you don't half look. Lor. Well, I guess ! I told Nell quarter to, but at this rate Condor won't quit before night. (^/i..e begins to dear table.) Miss Condor (rising.) In my • judgment, medicine bottles have no place on a lady's table. Under my father's roof it was the rule that no drugs ever appeared at meals. We none of us had digestions and we all had our remedies, but always in private — usually in the china closet, which was ample and well suited to the purpose. Miss Poor (af/(/rieved, also rising.) It says at meals. I suppose if it offends anyone I could go againsf my doctor's order and suffer the consequences. No, Lorilla, not here; place it on the side table as it disturbs Miss Condor to see it. I will take it to my room if I can ever secure a crumb of dinner. (A'Ae wipes her eyes.) Miss Minns. Oh, my dear Mary Poor, don't go against thy doctor's commands. It is so dangerous to take the least liberty with drugs. Of course if we had a formal dinner party, with gentlemen, thee would not bring thy tonic to the table, but only ladies, and such a pretty bottle and such a clear amber- colored fluid. Miss Stearns. Pooh ! Gentlemen or no gentlemen, if I wished to take a remedy at any particular moment I should not consult them. I don't beheve in truckling to them in everything. If you've been lucky enough to escape being tyrannized over, why you should go out of your way to ask one of 'em to lord it over you, I can't understand ! Miss Minns 1 can't think thee is quite fair always. I have boarded with some gentlemen who surely were quite unobjection- able and even agreeable. Lorilla brings in rnutto)i. Miss Poor. When I was younger I was the recipient of much attention from gentlemen. Miss Stearns. Yes, and now that you've got ten times the sense you had then they let you alone. Miss Poor. Well, I don't know that they do. They are very apt to give me a seat in the cars. 10 Miss Stearns. Because they think you're going to faint. Miss Poor. Not at all, that's not the reason. I am told every day that I am just as good looking now as I ever was. Miss Condor {risiny.) 1 maintain that ladies living by them- selves ought to be just as particular as though the opposite sex were present. A wrapper and curl papers should never appear beyond one's own door sill. ( Taps table with lorgnette.) Once a lady everywhere and at all times a lady, my father insisted. Miss Poor. I suppose when you say wrapper, you mean my tea gown. It is quite different my dressmaker tells me. Miss Condor. I refer to no garment in particular, and to no person in particular. Miss Minns. Mary Poor has just the right figure for drapery. She always reminds me of something classic. Something off a Grecian frieze. Miss Stearns {irrelevantly.) I happened to see some such nice grapes in the market to-day. The grape season is so short. Miss Pen. {sharply.) They seemed far gone to me. Fruit unless perfection never tempts me. May I give you a piece of mutton. Miss Poor? Miss Poor {sadly.) Mutton ? A small scrap. I never have liked mutton. There is a disagreeable — Miss Condor. Continue the subject no further, if you please Miss Poor, as I am especially partial to boiled mutton and caper sauce. A good deal of the sauce, please, when yoii help me. Lor. There ain't none. Miss Pen. {rises and draws J^orilla doicn to front.) Has the cook given us no caper sauce ? Lor. She said as you said it wa'n't any matter, as we was out of 'em. Miss Pen. I didn't so understand. Ladies, I am very sorry for this misunderstanding. {Besurnes seat.) Miss Condor. No, thank you, no mutton for me. But I will have a piece more celery. I can be a good vegetarian, if neces- sity compels me. Miss Poor. I'm afraid to touch it now ; they say it occasions typhoid. Miss Condor. My father thought it very wholesome. 11 Miss Pen. Pass the celery. Lor. You told me not to. Miss Pen. Lorilla, do as I order you. Miss Minns. As I never take capers I arii not in the least incommoded. Just as it comes, please ; rare or well done, makes no difference. LoR. She's the peaceable one. I'd like a whole boardin'- house just like her. Goodness, how slow they eat! I'll never get down there at quarter to ! Miss Condor. May I ask for a bit of that cold veal we had yesterday. When the whole house is so chilly I think one requires a certain amount of animal food. Miss Pen. Ask cook to send in- some cold veal to Miss Condor. Lor. It's all hashed up for chicken salad. {Bef/ins to dear table.) Miss Pen. (rising.) Oh, there is surely some mistake ! I never meant — Ladies, you all know what ray salads are in this house. I must tell the cook — (Lorilla. disappears into kitchen.) The truth is, she came from rather a low-toned boarding-house and her ideas and mine naturally clash. Lor. (at the kitchen, door.) Well, I never ! She done the chopping-up her own self. Miss Condor. I maintain you can't be too careful what goes into a salad. Since leaving my father's roof T make a practice never to touch one ! LoR. Oh, that old roof ! I'm sick of the mention of it. Miss Pen. Now, Lorilla, the dessert. Lorilla brings in t'(oo pies. Miss Pen. The crumbs, Lorilla. You've neglected to re- move the crumbs. LoR. I don't see none. Miss Pen. Never mind, it's the idea of the thing. Go through the polite little ceremony. LoR. Whenever'll I git out ? Miss Condor. There are some. There, you've overlooked that crust by Miss Poor's plate. 12 Miss Poor {rising.) If you have no objections, Miss Condor, I wished to carry that crust to my own room., to take after my tonic. Miss Condor. There are some on your left. LoR. How long since she's been my boss V Miss Pen. Squash or apple. Miss Condor? Miss Condor. A good-sized piece of both., if you please. I must make up on my dessert to-day. Miss Pen. Miss Stearns ? Miss Stearns. Well, as there isn't any pudding to-day, I'm obliged to eat pie, I suppose. Miss Pen. Apple or squash ? Miss Stearns {sadly.) . Apple. Miss Pen. Miss Poor '? Miss Poor. The crust looks tough. None for me ; my doctor forbids all pastry unless the lightest possible. Miss Pen. Miss Minns '? Miss Minns. Thank you, the apple looks so very good, I will have a small piece. Miss Stearns. It isn't half cooked. {Pushes hers away.) Miss Pen. Now the coffee, Lorilla. Lor. Will the cormorants ever git done ! The more I hurry 'em the slower they eat ! Miss Stearns takes nuts from table and puts in chate- laine bag. Miss Condor. Yery strong for me. No sugar. When black coffee is as it should be, it requires no sugar. {Tastes hers.) Pass me the sugar, Lorilla. It is seldom I taste such coffee as T drank under my father's roof. Miss Pen. Cream, Miss Poor ? Miss Poor. Is it cream ? LoR. It's in the cream pitcher, but it's skim-milk, all right. Miss Pen. puts on glasses and looks into pitcher. Miss Pen. I buy the richest cream I can' procure, but it does not always look as I should like to have it. Miss Stearns. How nice a few grapes would be to end off with ! 13 Miss Condor. Hardly safe, after the milk in the clam soup. Fruit in the morning was my father's rule, and I have always adhered to it. Is there no cheese this noon ? Miss Pen. Lorilla, can you get — Lorilla — where is Lorilla ? {She rings table bell.) Cook (appears). Phat's you wantin', ma'am ? Miss Pen. Lorilla. Send her to me. We have not yet finished dining. Cook. Well, ma'am, she had a toothache strike hei- sudden like awful bad {she winks at audience), and she left word as she had to git to her dentist to have it drawed, and says as Pd do the waitin' and tendin'. Miss Minns. Poor Lorilla, she does have so much trouble with her teeth ! Miss Stearns. Didn't she have a whole set, uppers and unders, last spring? (iShe goes to fire.) Cook. Can I's serve you, ma'am? What's this you're want- ing? Have some more pie? Now do, ma'am. Miss Pen. No, Mary Ellen, you are not suitably dressed f6r the dining-room. We will dispense with further service? Cook. I'm sure I was willing and doing my best. {She leases, muttering.) Miss Condor. Since there seems to be no cheese, I think I will ask to be excused, it is so very chilly here. The fire is out, though it didn't give any heat before it went out. Supper is at the usual hour, I presume. Remember that your clock is twenty minutes too fast, Miss Penhallow. {She retires^ Miss Pen. Thank you. Miss Condor, I shall not alter my clock to suit your time. Miss Stearns. My watch, a very fine one, is like Miss Con- dor's. Don't you think that possibly — Miss Pen. No, I am sure mine is right. I do hate to see a woman allow herself to be so set as Miss Condor always is. Miss Minns. How we do miss Mary Grew the days that she doesn't come home ! She is so much younger, and she brings in so much to talk about, that it keeps us from any little disagree- ments that might arise. I suppose living by ourselves, as we do, there is danger that we may grow a little intolerant — 14 Miss Poor. Speak for yourself, I'm sure I sha'n't. I'm always tighting against it. I mean to keep up my interest in everything and to go everywhere I'm asked. I'm having a nice pretty dress made, cut away at the throat — Miss Stearns. ' Heavens, how you'll look in it ! Miss Poor. Oh, ever so little ! Miss Minns. I really do think there is danger of our speaking too frankly. I am afraid that someone's feelings may be hurt if we permit ourselves quite such frank expression. Miss Stearns. Mine won't. Miss Pen. Excuse me, ladies, but listen one moment. I think the telephone rang. (She goes to the telephone. Ladies follow-, and listen intently). Yes, yes, yes, I have one good-sized — sun- ny. Yes, handsome cabinet bed — looks like a superb mirror. No, no one has ever been shut up in it. You don't like that kind ? Yes, mostly ladies. Miss Poor. A gentleman boarder ! Miss Pen. Hold the line, please. Ladies (they dart back)i I don't like to ask you to vacate the dining-room, but I have a very important bit of business to transact. ( The ladies retire hi some dudgeon. Miss Penhallow resumes her talk.) What did you say your name was ? With a P ? Oh, yes, a good furnace 5 rarely below seventy. ( To herself.) Now I must ask him about liis habits, though I daresay he will resent it and not come at all. As I said, ray family, being mostly ladies, are very refined and quiet, and tobacco would be — - Oh, you don't smoke ! Well, I was about to say there was a nice yard — Oh, so much the better ! Now about a latch-key, if you made a habit of coming in as late as ten, perhaps you would be willing, out of consideration to the ladies, to draw off your boots when ascending the two flights to your bed- room. Yes, certainly, at once, Mr. Sampson, (She sinks into chair.) Well, with coal up and beef and turkeys — {At that in- stant a wild commotion is heard outside. Cries of fire. Ladies laden with garments., etc., flock into room. Miss Poor, with bird- cage.) Miss Minns. The chimney is roaring awfully ! Miss Stearns. She's done it now. Anna Condor's set the house afire. 15 Miss Poor. We must i\y to the next house. Oh, who'll drag my trunk from the attic '? All my best — Miss Minns. Someone make her come down ! She'll be burned alive ! Miss Pen. Hush! Be calm, ladies. (She looks out back vnn- dow. All follow her.) Don't move anything more till we know. I'll summon the firemen. {She steps to telephone.) Give me 10-2. Come at once, 3 Libby Road, ray chimney's afire. (Starts round table. All follou\) I knew she'd do it the way she overloads that stove, and I've warned her repeatedly. (She runs upstairs.) Cook (rushing m from kitchen., overturning chair. Jumps up on a chair.) Oh, see the smoke'rising to the top of the trees, and folks all watching our chimbley ! Oh, I never, never ! And all my things and all Lorilla's going to get burned up in the attic ! Oh, hurry yous, hurry yous ! Curtain falls. SCENE II. Evening of the same day. A parlor. Enter Miss Pen,., dressed to go out. Miss Pen. Those firemen were a fine set of men. Saved my house and didn't use a drop of water. Put salt down the chim- ney. I hope it scared Miss Condor, and she'll be more prudent with my fuel. There's no need of such a blaze of gas. ( Turns out two burners.) Well, I feel quite relieved — the third-story back room engaged, the gentleman coming Monday, and the other vacant room filled to-day. I don't like to go out to-night, they are so stirred up over that boy, but, being Saturday night, I can get such bargains in fruit ! They mark it way down, as it won't keep till Monday. I wish his mother hadn't left him the first evening. I dare say the boy means well, but when he upset his cocoa, and slid his butter into Miss Stearns' lap, and made faces when Miss Condor corrected his grammar, I thought I should fly out of my skin. I dare say I sha'n't be able to keep them if he keeps on, but I hate to have that room on my hands. She didn't mind the 16 spot on the ceiling Or tlie worn place on the carpet. Well, I'll hurry alo)ig and get back as soon as possible, {She dejKirtti.) Enter Claude., who goes to /j/a?io and begins to drum. Enter Misses Condor., Poor, Stearns and Minns. Miss Minns. No one would ever think we had barely esca2)ed being burned alive. Miss Stearns. I hope it has been a warning. Miss Condor. Her chiranej^ needs attention. Little boy, stop that drumming ! {She examines card table to see if it is dusty.) N.o, it hasn't been touched. Miss Minns. I think thee is mistaken. But much dust has come in from outside today. {SJie reads from newspaper.) I see that someone has picked strawberry blossoms in his garden. Think of that in October ! , Miss Condor. You are straining your eyes. My father always said a half light was very trying. Will someone give us more illumination '? We need the warmth, too. It is not 68, as it should be, in this apartment. Little boy, isn't it your bedtime? Claude. No. Miss Condor. No what? Claude. No, it ain't. Miss Condor. When I was a little b — girl I was taught to say no, marm. Miss Minns. Come here, Claude, and I will show thee some pretty pictures. Claude. I hate pictures. Miss Stearns. Didn't your mother say you were to go to bed as soon as you'd got through supper ? Miss Condor. Where is his mother. Claude. She's gone to a box supper. Miss Condor, A what? Miss Poor. Mrs. Gaylor explained that all the club ladies car- ried food in boxes and they sat about and ate it. Miss Condor. Who is in charge of this boy ? I am like my father, and must have perfect quiet for my game of whist. Claude. Nobody's in charge of me. .Miss Minns. His mother has told me what a self-reliant child 17 he is. She leaves hiiii purposely much alone to strengthen his in- dependence. Miss Condor {marcJihig up and dov.m.) I should judge he needed no encouragement in that direction. Miss Minns. Will thee, take a book and read till thy mother returns. Claude. I hate reading. Miss Stearns. Take a chair, then, and sit on all four legs. I hate to see you tilted up in that fashion. {Claude departs noisily. All give a sigh of relief .) Miss Minns {reading from her nevispapjer^ "Mrs. Ahbie Turner had a night-blooming cereus 'blossom Tuesday evening." How T should like to have seen it! Miss Condor. No newspaper of standing would give pub-, licity to such a trivial fact. My "Clarion" never records such things. Can we have our game? {She produces cards.) Miss Stearns. Boys ought to be banished to an outside island. Miss Poor. I'm afraid you would keep them there after they had gray heads. Miss Stearns. They wouldn't have to leave for my sake ! Miss Minns. A nice, quiet little boy would be quite an addi- tion to this elderly circle. , Miss Stearns. That kind die in infancy. Miss Condor. This one has no more manners than a Hot- tentot. But what can you expect with such a mother ? Miss Penhallow never should have taken her in ; she belongs to quite another social stratum. If she's a widow, why isn't she in mourning ? Miss Stearns. If there's to be game, let's get about it. I want to be through by the time my "Transcript" comes. I'll call Mary Grew — she wanted to finish a letter. {Sh,e yyithdrauis.) Miss Condor. I wish I felt some assurance that that boy had departed for the evening. Miss Poor. Miss Penhallow must tell her that the ladies object to her leaving him alone, as it annoys — Miss Minns. She surely will not make a practice of doing it, but this evening was a j^articularly important meeting. There was to be a five-minute discussion on Art, which she was to lead. 18 Miss Condok. Art! She'd better be putting that boy to bed. The table is ready; let us begin. Enter Miss Stearns and Miss Greio. Miss Poor. No, after what Miss Condor said last evening, I cannot be her partner again. Miss Minns. Oh, I'm sure Anna Condor intended no unkind criticism. My paper says that we are to have a hard winter. The woodchucks' hair is — Miss Condor. You asked me if the play of that spade was the right one, and I told you you couldn't have played a worse card. I never equivocate, and, at my age, I do not think I will depart from truth telling. Miss Grew will play with me, if she isn't afraid of endangering her life ! Miss Grew. Miss Poor and Miss Stearns. All take places at card table. Miss Poor. Has anyone seen my cushion ? There is a place in this chair that sticks right into my spine. Miss Minns. Here it is. Let me beat it up a little. Miss Stearns. Well, I'm glad my backbone isn't like yours ; should hate to be tied to a cushion as you are. Miss Grew. You understand, Miss Condor, that I do not know all the rules as you do. Miss Condor. You're a bright young woman, why don't you learn them '? Now cut for deal. Yours, Miss Grew. Miss Poor {suddenly remembering.) Did anyone see me take my tonic. Miss Minns. Thee took something from a bottle. Miss Poor. Dark colored ? That was before eating. Did I take — Miss Condor. Are you playing whist or not ? Miss Poor. Well, I only w^anted to carry out my doctor's orders. I daresay some at this table don't think it's any import- ance whether I live or die. They act so, anyway. Miss Stearns. You'd live longer if you threw all your bottles out of the window. Miss Condor. The whole table is waiting for you, Miss Poor. 19 Miss Poor. I'm considering. Miss Condor. Your original lead ought not to be a matter of the least uncertainty. Miss Poor. Jf you find so much fault I can't remember any- thing. Miss Stearns. Try to take tricks ; that's my way of playing whist. Miss Condor. Yes, and a most confusing person at the whist table. Your card never conveys any intimation of what you hold in your hand. Miss Grew, I can't fathom why you played that suit. You have ruined my whole scheme. Miss Grew. I did not play it with that intention, Miss Condon When the game is over I will explain. Miss Condor. You cannot justify that play. Miss Poor, we are waiting for you. Miss Poor. Did I take it '? Miss Condor. You trumped with the ace. That generally takes a trick. Miss Poor. Did I trump it ? But I had a club ! Miss Condor. I thought so. That is a revoke. We claim the penalty. Three tricks for that. Miss Stearns. If you wouldn't pick so much on my partner, she'd play better. Miss Poor. Thank you. Miss Stearns. Yes, Miss Condor scares me so I don't know what I'm doing. Miss Condor. That five was perfectly good, Miss Grew ; you should not have trumped it. Now we've lost the odd. Miss Grew. I couldn't remember. Miss Condor. You should concentrate your mind on the game. It's my plain duty to point out to you that you quite spoiled my spade suit by not returning the two, instead of the five. You confused me as to the number you originally held. Miss Stearns. Oh, what hair splitting ! Is it my deal ? Miss Condor. Assuredly, if the pack is on your left. There ought never to be the least uncertainty. Pardon me, but that is a misdeal. It is my partner's deal. All Ladies. Oh, let her deal again. We are only playing for amusement. 20 Miss Coxdor. Amusement I I don't know what you mean. I regard this game as educational. T am Hke my revered father, who had no patience with frivi^lity at the whist table. Tt i< your lead, Miss Poor. Miss Poor. I dont know what to do. Miss Coxdor. Miss Steams, yon have no right to replace that exposed card in your hand. Miss Stzaexs. Oh, botheration I I should hate to l>e so disagreeable. Miss Co>"T)Oe. Abuse is out of place. I merely observe the mles of the game. If yon prefer slap-jack or — Miss Mine's. Really, friends, thee sound almost alarming. In thy interest, thee does not perhaps realize how nearly angry thee sound. I read that flocks of wild ducks have been seen fly- ing— ]Miss CoxDOE. I have no interest in such bucolic details. Miss Grew. I just love that newspaper, and the extracts she reaor. Well enough ! An idiot couldn't have man- aged tliem worse. 21 Miss Poob. (Jumping t/p.) I can't stay and be talked to as thoagh I had no feelings. I've been unusually miserable this evening:. I suppose it was the house getting afire and the one salted almond I allowed myself to eat this noon. IVe been mak- ing a martyr of myself just to please her, and now — Miss Steaexs. Oh, never mind her I Just finish the rubber. Miss Gkzw. Miss Condor ought to remember that her game depends on Miss Poor. We are only three wiAout her. Miss Poor. I'm sorry to be disobliging, but IVe got to with- draw and take some remedies. I can't hold up my head another minute. If I stay I'm afraid I shall answer her back. Miss Grew. I wish Miss Condor took whist in a light tr mood. Jfiss Poor >riihdrairs, after saying good night sadly . Jliss Minns foJloxcs vrith cushion. Claude (enters.) Say, have a game of slap jack. Miss Co>t)OB. Xine o'clock and yotfr mother has not re- turned I Claude. Course not, nine o'clock's early. Miss Stear.vs. Where have you spent your evening ! Claude. Witli Lorilla and cook. Their beaux are out there and we've been having sport. Miss CoxDOR. A kitchen is no place for a hox. What culti- vation can you acquire if you frequent such society. It is very vulgar for children to be out of their beds after eight- You'll grow up into a good-for-nothing member of the community, if you continue to keep such hours. Claude. Well, my mother lets me. Miss Steabxs. Yes, we see she does. Claude. I'm glad you don't have the say of me. Miss SxEARXs. I wish I had, just long enough to pack you off to bed. Shall we put up the cards ? Mrs. Gatlor {goung and stglish, enters.) Oh, here I am Claudie 1 Are you glad to see mummer back ? Such an elegant big meeting as we've had I It's aU going to be in the newspapers what the gowns were. The speaker from Maiden was just too cute in what she said. She came .iown to get our club to feder- ate—to join the federation. She said we'd gain everything if we 22 did. Well, her dress was the sweetest thing yet — a stunning cre- ation, chiffon, all over lace medallions. I'm going to try to get mj^ hair to go as she did hers, but I guess I'll have to buy some more. But it was awfully fetching. {She sinks into rocking- diair.) There, I hope nobody'll be shocked if I di*aw off my shoe. It's been just about murdering me all the evening. Miss Condor {gazes through lorgnette disapprovingly.) As our game has been interrupted, perhaps we had — Cla-ude. They had a scrap ! The sick lady with the bottle went off crying. Mrs. Gaylor. Claude Eugene Gaylor, you mustn't talk so! Stop right where you are ! Can I take a hand and help out ? Miss Condor {sternly.) Do you play whist? Mrs. Gaylor. I don't play the signaUing game and all that, but a gentleman where I boarded last winter, who played mag- nificent whist — knew every card you had, and more, too — remarked that I'd make an elegant player if I'd only take time to learn. Well, I suppose it's true, for I've been told the same repeatedly. Oh, I'm scared blue if I'm going to play with you, Miss Stearns ! Claudie, step off'n my chair; you make me awfully nervous. Miss Penhallow's been telling me she was expecting a gentleman boarder Monday. Well, I think that's what this house needs. The table's always better where there's gentlemen. Miss Stearns. That may be, but they always help them- selves to the best and the women take what's left. I've sat at table with 'em ! Miss Grew. Miss Stearns always speaks of men as though they were an extinct species, whose habits were unknown to pres- ent survivors. Miss Stearns. I wish some of 'em I knew were extinct! Mrs. Gaylor. Miss Penhallow says the one coming Mon- day is named Sampson. Now I'm well acquainted with two of that name, and if it's Charlie, he's a case and no mistake. Such a trainer ! Why he— Miss Condor. It is your deal, Mrs. Gaylor. Mrs. Gaylor. Oh, my, is it my deal ! Miss Condor. An unnecessary question. The cards are on your left. 23 Mrs. Gaylor. Oh, how swell to have two packs ! (She starts to deal several cards at a time.) Miss Condor. Deal one at a time, if you please. Mrs. Gaylor. Oh, only one ! I thought I'd save time. Miss Grew. Miss Condor insists on the rigor of the game. Mrs. Gaylor. Well, I don't agree. I play for diversion. My brainy work all goes into club life. Why, I had to get up on Art- Miss Stearns (aside.) Get up on art! She talks as though it were a ridge-pole ! Mrs. Gaylor. I had just one week to get iip on Art. At my club they're awful strict about keeping right to the subject. If they'd let you, as they do in some ladies' clubs, just ramble on and say anything, so long as you keep talking, why it wouldn't be such a brain tax. But this club's awful. I've got to get up on History next month. I belong to seven clubs and they "just keep me lively. I'm real conscientious and thorough, when I start to do a thing. Let me see, is there a joker in this game? It's been some time since I took a hand at whist. Miss Condor. Joker? What does she mean. Miss Grew. You must be thinking of euchre. Miss Condor. I share my father's aversion to that game. Mrs. Gaylor. Well, last summer we used to have such fun at the beach. The mosquitos were awful, and we couldn't sit out a minute. But we used to go to the casino, and such laughing and hollering over euchre ! There were seven or eight ladies and as many gentlemen made up the party. I think it's so agreeable to have gentlemen round, don't you ? Miss Stearns. No, I don't. It is your turn to play, Mrs. Gaylor. Miss Condor You say you do not know the modern game. The first rule of the old game is silence, Mrs. Gaylor. Mrs. Gaylor. Mercy, is that meant for me ! Well, I can be as mum as the next one. I only spoke while that lady was de- ciding what to play. But I do hate a stiff game of cards. There, this collar's so tight, I must get a breath somehow ! Miss Stearns. Oh, good, that's mine ! Miss Condor. If my partner had played right it would not have been. 24 Miss Grew. What did I do ? Miss CoNDOK. You should have linessed your ten. Mrs. Gatloe. What's she driving at anyway ? Miss Stearns. Does your little boy sit up so late as this ev- ery night? Mrs. Gaylor. Claude, stop that drumming ! Yes, he's a real mummer boy. He hates to go to bed until I do. That's my trick, I played the right bower. Miss Condor. The right bower ! What does she mean V Miss Grew. She's thinking of euchre again. Miss Condor. I never played the game. Mrs. Gaylor. Oh, excuse me ! Well, you see last summer every single evening we played it, and then some lady provided a late supper. I never had such a gay time at the beach before. Miss Grew. There seems to be something sticky on the cards. Miss Stearns. It feels like molasses. It's on the table, too. Miss Condor. It's that boy ! Miss Stearns. It's on his hands. He's been eating ever since tea. Mrs. Gaylor. Claude Gaylor, you didn't find those corn- balls that I hid behind the sofa pillow';:' Claltde. I just did. Mrs. Gaylor. Well, you're a naught}^ boy. You run right along and wash your hands. No, don't you wipe them on your pants, but go upstairs this instant. Miss Condor {sternly.) Pantaloons. You ought to think of your boy's vocabulary. Mrs. Gaylor. I suppose I ought to be flattered at your in- terest in ray son, but I don't agree with you. A teacher on a big salary told me "pants" was more elegant every time. Is it my turn V Miss Stearns {aside.) Miss Condor teaches us all for noth- ing. She never slights her job, either. Mrs. Gavlor. As I was telling Miss Penhallow, if it turns out to be Charlie Sampson he'll stir things up and no mistake. He's the greatest ti-ainer ! At a house party, where he was of the number, he blacked up and hid behind Mrs. Handy's door and jumped out at her and scared her almost to pieces. 25 Miss Condok. Is that person coming to this house? Miss Stearks. Well, I guess he won't get behind my door. Mes. Gaylor. If it's Charlie, there's no keeping him under. He'd walk right in here and take possession as though he owned everything. Oh, he's such fun ! Miss Condor. He must be. Miss Grew. Rather too much animal spirits. Mrs. Gaylor. Are you waiting for me ? And yet he has his blue times, too. Why, I've seen him not speak for — LoR. Your laundry, Mrs. Gaylor. Mrs. Gaylor. The idea, this time of night ! Give him sev- enty-five. I hid it behind the clothes brush 'on the hall table. ' Miss Stearns. Your turn, Mrs. Gaylor. Mrs. Gaylor. Oh, I'm scared blue, you all play such a solemn game ! I haven't a thing to play. When in doubt, play trumps. Miss Condor. A pernicious platitude. My father always said that — LoR. He says you owe him one fifty ; you didn't pay the last time. Mrs. Gaylor. It's no such a thing ! I told him I shouldn't pay for that bundle. They mixed up Claude's stockings, and got a big smooch on my best shirtwaist. I don't propose to put up with such carelessness. Miss Grew. Certainly laundry is a nuisance, however you manage. Lor. He says his orders was not to leave this unless you paid up everything. Mrs, Gaylor. The impudence ! Well, I sba'n't do anything of the kind ! Claude {whimpering^ I haven't any stockings for Sunday School. Mrs. Gaylor. Claude Eugene Gaylor ! Claude. I haven't. They're all holey where they show. I had to wear one black and one brown to-day. LoR. You'd best see him, Mrs. Gaylor ; he won't do nothing for me. Mrs. Gaylor. Can any lady lend me seventy-five ? I have only a twenty dollar bill, and he never has any change. 26 Miss Geew. I can help you, I think, Mrs. Gaylor. Oh, thanks! Give him this and tell him he needn't trouble to call again. I shall send to the Jockey from now on. Oh, is it my deal ! I've been dissatisfied with them for some time. I haven't trusted my lace trimmed handkerchiefs to them. They tore them all to pieces, so I just rinse them out myself — it's perfectly easy — and dry them on the window pane. They look ju^st as though they'd been ironed. Claude. Last week you washed my shirt, and your — Mrs. Gaylor. Claude Eugene, stop right there ! Claude. Well, you did. You said it saved paying for them- Mrs. Gaylor. Yoii hateful young one ! Go right off to bed, this minute. If you go, good, you can chew that pepsin gum, I hid behind the left hand mantel vase, till I come up. Claude does not stir. Miss Condor. Soiled linen does not seem a suitable topic for a drawing room. Mrs. Gaylor. I guess I can't lay hands to any talk fine enough! to suit some in this room. Miss Condor. With so much irrelevant conversation, whist cannot be played as it should. I will beg to be excused. (^She leaves table.) Miss Stearns. We were only playing to please you. Mrs. Gaylor. I only took a hand to oblige. I came in with a splitting headache. I always get one when I go to my club. When I play cards, I like to have people laughing and jolly. Miss Condor. Then let me advise you not to play whist. Miss Grew. Oh, Miss Condor, she only played to help out. Miss Condor. The presence of that boy has — Mrs. Gaylor. Well, what are you going to say now ? Isn't this the public parlor, and hasn't my little fatherless boy just as good a right in it as you ? Miss Pen. {enters., feigning cheerfidness.) Well, ladies, I do hope you have all beaten, and played finely. {She tries to kiss little bog.) I trust this dear little boy has had a pleasant evening* and he enjoys my — Claude. No, I haven't ! Miss Condor. Our game was spoilt. This boy — 27 Mrs. Gaylor. Yon told me you had mostly ladies, yon didn't tell me you had an old dragon ! I've seen freaks, but I never struck one like her before. I'm used to meeting rich, stylish ladies, and I sha'n't stay a minute longer than I can help, in this Old Women's Home ! I can't I'oam the streets with my little boy in my arms at this hour of night, but in the morning I shall shake the dust off'n my feet. Come, Claudie, come with mummer. {She departs majestically^ Miss Petst. I don't deserve such treatment. I didn't like her appearance, and I didn't believe that she was a widow, but she said she meant to live and die ^ith me. Miss Condor. The daughter of my father never could aj^so- ciate with vulgarity in any form. Good night. Miss Penhallow, and let this be a warning. {She departs.) Miss Stearns. She wasn't bad, but that boy ! {She departs.) Miss Pen. Yes, a most objectionable child. I knew I ought not to have left them the first night. But those bananas were just as good as I pay twenty-five for. I felt Miss Condor would make trouble as soon as she spied that boy. Lor. Cook says as I was to say there ain't no fruit for break- fast. Miss Pen. (indvpiantly ^ Those bananas that I this in- stant — Lor. They was so far gone they wouldn't keep, so we eat' em in the kitchen to save 'em ! Miss Pen. Oh, the worries of a boarding-house ! Curtain falls. SCENE III. V Two days later. The tea table. Cook {appearing.) Well, that ever it came to this and we be takin' in a gent boarder ! I hope he ain't a wild one or nothin', though by the looks of his big trunk I mistrust he's an actor or something. They're most always unsteady in a family, drinkin' hard and all that, and setting tire to their beds with cigar ash. 28 Well, if he doesn't just behave hisself good and respectable, the whole lot of ladies will up and quit, and I'll be amongst 'em ! Enter Miss Pen. Miss Pen. Lorilla — where is Lorilla ? I meant to isntruct her about waiting. Everything will be so different, now we have a gentleman ; more like a dinner party. She isn't to scramble ev- erything oft" and on. We shall have a great deal of intellectual conversation and sit a long time at table. She's to sound the gong gently at 6.30. Mr. Sampson will be quite famished as he had almost nothing at noon. He's going to be easj^ to please, Mary Ellen. He's delighted with his room. (^She departs.) Lor. {unusually smart in array.) They every soul of 'em mean to live and beat old Methusalem if they can ! And now they've took the notion that Sebago ain't good enough for 'em, unless it's been boiled ! I guess this fresh from the faucet won't hurt 'em none to-night. {She drinks from pitcher.) They're all so flustered up over the new boarder. I just hope he won't have no ailments and can digest everything in sight, fries and under- ^ crusts. I guess he can, for T seen him — I mistrust it was him all right — when he stopped Miss Penhallow at the front door. He's named Sampson, and my, he looked it ! For all the world like one of the actors to Peaks, so big and frownin' looking. Mary Ellen caught sight of some boxing gloves along of his trunk, and I guess he's tough and all that. But anything for a change. I'm fatigueed with these old maids and their worreting ways. {She strikes gong.) The ladies arrive all together. All unusually arrayed, excepting Miss Grew., in plain tailor gown. Miss Stearns with newspaper. LoR. {behind her hand.) Well, now, ain't they on time to their grub ! As prompt as ducks to a dough pan . And my, ain't they rigged out ! Miss Pen. {entering last.) I know we are all going to find him a delightful addition. {To herself.) I hope he understood what I really meant -when I said we were mostly ladies. Miss Grew. I wonder if he will prove to be the Charlie Mrs- Gaylor found so amusing. 29 Miss Pen. Don't mention that unprincipled woman. Miss Condor. Well, where is he '? Doesn't he know that it is good manners to come promptly to meals. Miss Poor. Especially when we are mostly ladies. Miss Stearns. All ladies! I'm disposed to appreciate my comfort while it lasts. I happened to be fixing my blind when they brought his trunk. I never saw such an ark ! No man has any right to own such a back-breaking trunk. Miss Minns. I dare say he's a reader and has all his library in it. Miss Stearns. Pooh, they don't read nowadays ! Miss Pen. I have conversed with Mr. Sampson and I feel sure we shall all enjoy him. He seems pleased with everything so far, and I'm sure he means to stay just as long as my boarders always do. That adventuress and her little boy are the only peo- ple who ever failed to appreciate this refined home. Miss Poor. If he is a fluent talker he will add to our pleasure very much. He perhaps knows something about Panama. Miss Minns. He will gain a great deal from being here. Six refined ladies at one table you do not often meet. Miss Poor. I hope he'll like to stay in and join our games in the CA'^ening. Miss Condor. Do not include him at whist until you see whether he knows the game from euchre. Lor. It'll be Old Maid and no mistake ! Miss Stearns {buried in her neio^paper.) You'd better not make up to him too much at first. Miss Condor. By all means. We ought to be very circum- spect. Under my father's roof we were warned against too hasty entanglements. Miss Pen. (itijured.) You may rest assured Mr. Sampson is in every way worthy to enter my refined household. Miss Grew, He makes very little noise overhead. You know his room is just over mine. , Miss Condor. Yot(. are in the gravest danger. They always make up to the silly young girls. Miss Grew. Oh, I don't feel alarmed on that account. I think he is the one who will be frightened coming in late, and six 30 women to watch bim. Don't you think we ought to wait for him? Miss Stearns. There, I knew it would be so ! Every one crazy to stand on her bead as soon as a man came to the house. Miss Condor. I don't imderstand your figurative language, Miss Stearns, I see no such undignified exhibition as you allude to. Miss Pen. Did you sound the gong in the hall, Lorilla? Lor. For all she was worth, but she don't reach the third floor. Shall I bang on his door ? Miss Condor. I presume the man owns a watch. Miss Pen. I'll run up myself, as he does not know the lo- cation of the dining room. I will announce tea myself. {She 'withdraws.) Miss Stearns. There, she's lost her head completely! I suppose she likes climbing up two flights of stairs to tell a man, who presumably has common sense and a pair of ears, that we are eating supper, as every one else is doing at this time of day. Miss Poor. Has any one seen what he looks like? Miss Condor. It was after dark when he came in, but Lo- rilla says that he is tall and dark — LoR. {interpolating.) Awful wicked lookin' eyes ? Miss Poor. I don't trust that coloring. Miss Condor. My favorite type. My father was dark and stood six foot three in his stocking feet. {She rises to her full height.) Miss Stearns. I don't believe Miss Penhallow knows one thing about him. They say he's brought all sorts of sporting goods, boxing gloves, and — Miss Poor. Will he be having prize fights up in his room ? Miss Condor. Not while I reside here ! Miss Stearns. Probably tobacco and beer will have to con- tent him. ^ Miss Minns. Oh, ladies, you are too severe ! At that instant a trombone., badly plai/ed., reaches the dining room — " IVien YouHl Itemember J/e," with many false notes. All rise to tJceir feet. 31 Lor. That's him all right ! Most likely he's in some band. Miss Condor bangs door. All leave table. The Ladies. Who is that? What is that? The new boarder ? Miss Poor. How shall I ever secure my night's rest. Miss Condor. No gentleman would blow that thing in a re- fined household without asking permission. The sound ceases. Miss Stearns. Either he goes or I. I knew there'd be no more peace if she got one of 'erfl in. Miss Grew. I daresay he felt strange in a new place, and was comforting himself with a little music. Miss Stearns. You call that music ? ' Miss Condor. Why doesn't he come to his supper? Lorilla, that clock is still fast. Miss Poor. A poor way to begin by keeping six ladies wait- ing. Miss Grew. Well, we aren't waiting exactly when we have almost finished tea. {All sit doion.) Miss Poor. I don't believe she's coming back. Lorilla, pour me a cup of tea, please. No, the cream first — two lumps, one in the saucer and a smaller one dropped in. Now a dash of water — is it boiling ? Now fill up — Yes, that will do. Miss Stearns. I hope she'll throw that braying instrument out of the window. Miss Grew. Don't you think you ought to lay aside your paper ? I think he's coming. Miss Stearns. No, I'm sure I don't. Steps are heard descending. The ladies all looh con- scious., set caps and botes straight. Miss Condor. Is my cap on straight ? Quick ! Miss Poor. Say, shall I leave it in or take it off? {She points to bow in hair.) Miss Condor adjusts lorgnette. Miss Minns. Very straight. Very becoming. 32 Miss Steaens. I'm thankful I know how homely I am. Some don't. It saves me a lot of trouble. Miss Grew alone looks tranquil. All ladies stand at front lohile Miss Pen. introduces the young m(ff)%. Miss Pen. This way, this way, Mr. Sampson, As I told you, we are mostly ladies — ( The ladies., seeing timid youth enter., gasp audibly and stare.) In truth all ladies at present, all ladies, though later, gentlemen — Lor. {snickers.) We shall have a furnace, gentleman, when we torch up our furnace. Miss Pen. Oh, I must present you to my family. Mr. Samp- son, Miss Condor. Miss Condor {glares through lorgnette.) How do you do? {Aside to her neighbor.) You told me he was six feet three ! Mr. Sampson. Pretty well, thank you, ma'am. Miss Pen. Mr. Sampson, Miss Stearns. Miss Stearns {stonily.) How do you do, young man ? Mr. Sampson. Pleased to meet you. Miss Pen. Miss Poor, the lady in — Miss Minns across the table, Miss Grew beside you. Miss Poor curtseys and shows a desire to monopolize Mr. /Sampson. A general '•'■How do you do .^" follows. Miss Grew shakes hands cordially, and makes room for the young man. Miss Stearns, {aside) He can't be the Charlie who blacked up and scared anybody. This one couldn't say boo to a mosquito ! He sits down much embarrassed, knocks off fork., and., trying to recover it., overturns chair. Lor. {snickers.) Oh, ain't he scat tho ! Miss Grew {picks up both.) I'm afraid you are rather cramped for room. I can move a little this way. All ladies stare. Mr. Sampson. Oh, no'm, don't bother ! I don't need much room. I'm not very fleshy. Miss Condor. Don't use that word ! {In stage lohisper to 33 Lorilla.) What made you say he looked like my father. He stood six feet three in his stocking feet. Lor. This little feller ain't the big man I seen yesterday. Miss Stearns {to neighbor.) You needn't be afraid of his running off with any one of you. If you were in cages at a circus he couldn't look more scared of you. Miss Pen. Lorilla, pass the mutton to Mr. Sampson. He must be quite ready for it. Mr. Sampson, No'm, I don't wish for any. I'm not much of a hand to eat. Miss Grew. Oh, you must take some ! You were a little late, and the rest of us have had our supper. You ought to be very hungry. Mr. Sampson. No'm, I don't feel so. I had a big piece of pie this noon. Miss Condor {fiercely.) Pie ! The worst thing you could have eaten ! Miss Poor. With your complexion, you ought not to look at a pie. I hope you did not eat the lower crust. Mr. Sampson {timidly.) Yes'm, I did. LoR. {aside.) If they can manage it amongst 'em they'll give him dyspepsia before he's left the table. Miss Pen. Will you have a cup of tea ? Mr. Sampson. Yes'm. Miss Pen. With lemon ? Mr. Sampson. Yes'm. {He takes it, and in his embarrass- ment pours in cream also.) Ladies {watching., exclaim.) You've put in cream when you had lemon ! Lor. {snickers.) Poor little scat feller ! Miss Pen. Bring it to me, Lorilla, and I'll give him a fresh one. Miss Condor. Shall you play on that instrument many times during the day? Mr. Sampson. No'm, I don't have any time daytimes. I have to play late at night. Miss Stearns. Late at night! You'll make yourself very unpopular, if you persist in that practice. LofC. 34 Miss Minns. Thee is fond of music, I suppose. Mr. Sampson. Kind of. Miss CoNDOK. Do you play any games ? Mr. Sampson. When I was home, we played tiddlewinks some. Miss Condor. Tiddlewinks! What does he mean ? Miss Poor. Was your home in the country? Did your father have a fine large farm, with hens and ducks and cows, and a big barn, and — Mr. Sampson. No'm, I was born in Jersey City. Miss Poor. What is your profession ? Mr. Sampson. I'm traveling. Miss Condor. For pleasure ? An aimless life ! Mr. Sampson. ISTo'm, with a line of goods. Miss Poor. What kind of goods ? Mr. Sampson {pulls out circular^ and gives to his neighbors.) The William Willow whole whalebone wasp- waist — Miss Poor (interrupting.) Oh, yes, I've heard of them. Ladies drop circulars, and look embarrassed. Lor. (aside.) Now they're the scat ones. Miss Condor. An effeminate occupation. I should like to talk to your father, young man. Miss Minns. Has thee been long in Stroudport, friend Strong? (Moves cream, pitcher from his reach.) Miss Condor. Sampson, not Strong. People do not like to be miscalled, and such a good old Scriptural name, too. My fa- ther always told me to get the correct name or none. Mr. Sampson. Oh, that's no matter ! No'm, not very long. (He seizes tea and takes a large swallow. Begins to choke.) Miss Poor. What church have you identified yourself with ? Miss Stearns. I hope you intend to take some solid reading fi'om our Public Library. Miss Condor. Slap him on the back, someone. He can't an- swer questions when he's choking. Lorilla slaps him violently on back. He coughs louder. Miss Condor. Give him a piece of bread. My father always — Miss Minns. A raw oyster is very good. 35 Miss Grew. Mr. Sampson, perhaps you would get over it quicker, if you went into the hall. {She makes room for him to retire^ and coughing and strangling he retreats. Miss Grew fol- ows hhn and returns later. All leave table.) Miss Condor. He was eating too fast. My father always said — Miss Pen, He hasn't eaten one morsel, Miss Condor. Miss Condor. I don't wonder at his looks — pie at noon, and strong tea for his supper. Miss Stearns. It's almost laughable, his being only a boy. Who ever told me that he was a great big, dangerous-looking character ? Miss Pen. I'm sure I gave no such impression. From my first interview, I felt confident that Mr. Sampson was a gentleman whom I could introduce into my home with the utmost safety. Faint coughing still heard. Miss Minns. Perhaps we ought some of us to have withdrawn and allowed him to eat with fewer watching him. The first meal was quite an ordeal, for any one who is so bashful — but I never thought of our frightening him. I supposed we ladies were to be the timid ones. Miss Condor. Of course we should not incommode ourselves by leaving the dining room for such a lad as that. It is sad to see a youth so ill at ease in the presence of a few refined gentle- women. After he's been here a month or two, we will make an- other being of him. We must demand all sorts of services from him, send him on our errands, return library books — anything we can trump up. Miss Grew. The kindest thing will be to pay no attention to him for a few days. Miss Minns. Yes, until he gets used to us. Miss Condor. Used to us ! What do you mean ? My father always said that feminine society of the highest order was the best education that could come to a youth. I shall not neglect my duty to him. Miss Pen. Lorilla, step into the hall and see if Mr. Sampson has not recovered sufiiciently to return. 36 Miss Minns. Perhaps we had best withdraw. Miss Stearns. I sha'n't, for one. LoK, There ain't a living soul in sight, nowheres. Miss Pen. Follow him upstairs, knock softly — don't bang — and tell him that his tea is waiting for him. Lor. Yes'm. If he keeps on like this, we shall git all the ex- ercise we require, gitting him down to his meals. {She departs.) Miss Condor. I don't see why he should act as though he'd never seen six ladies before. Miss Pen. I told him at the start we were mostly ladies. Miss Stearns. At any rate, this one's an improvement over Charlie and his Ethiopian specialties. Miss Grew. It is hard to imagine that Charlie in this house ! LoR. {breathless.) He's going to bed ! All. Going to retire at this hour ! Only seven o'clock ! Lor. He said he felt strange and he'd nothing else to do, so he guessed he'd go to bed ! Miss Pen. I meant to have shown him how to manage that patent bed. Miss Minns. Perhaps young Strong slept in one at home. Miss Condor. Sampson, I keep telling you. It's a most dan- gerous contrivance. Miss Stearns. Ought to be split up into kindling. I had 07ie experience with one of 'em, and I'd rather sleep in a lion's den. Miss Grew. It's surely very handsome during the day. Miss Poor. They never get properly aired. A muffled cry., Help ! Help ! Help ! Ladies exhibit much alarm. Cook joins the company. All. What's that. Who is it ? Miss Pen. He's shut up in the bed. {She runs from the room,.) Miss Condor. Humanity compels me to go to him. My father would urge it. {She departs with dignity.) Cook. Oh, he must be kilt by his cries ! Miss Poor. I can't! I have to avoid such painful scenes. Miss Stearns. Don't be a goose ! Lorilla, you and cook come along and we'll get him out, dead or alive. ( They depart.) 3t Miss Minns. Thee is rather young. Thee remain here with Mary Poor, {She speaks to. Mary Grew. Hiss Minns follows.) Cries begin again. Miss Grew. Oh, I hope they can get him out ! Miss Poor {rushes to telephone.) Give me the city marshal. Send to 3 Libby Road. An accident — a young man. Come at once, as we are mostly ladies. Oh, he looked so much like an early love of mine ! I hope — I hope he isn't going to be sacri- ficed — so young ! She falls into Miss Grew's arms as the curtain falls. OCT 10 m