ii Oh! Helpless Man jy Price, 25 Cents WALTER H. BAKER COMPANY BOSTON r i IV I G S J AND OTHER HAIR GOODS ^ WHISKERS AND MUSTACHES State Color Wanted on Hair Goods. Full Beard on Wire $1.50 Side Whiskers on Gauze. .$1.00 f Full Beard on Gauze 2.25 Side Whiskers on Wire. . . .75 t Chin Beard on Gauze, 6 in. Throat Whiskers on Gauze I.io T long 1.35 Throat Whiskers on Wire. .75 r Chin Beard on Gauze, 4 in. Santa Clans Beard on ^ long i.oo Wire 2.50 f Chin Beard on Wire 75 Mustache on Gauze .30 r Tramp Beard on Cambric Goatee on Gauze 30 j^ (black and brown only) . 1.25 MEN'S WIGS State Color Wanted on Hair Goods, Dress, with parting, all Modern Japanese SOO ^ colors $6.00 Chinese with Queue, f " Uncle Tosh " 6.00 chamois top 5.00 Dutch 6.50 Clown, plain 1.25 ^ Irish, chamois top 6.00 W^th 3 knobs. 2.00 f Jew Character 5.00 Negro, black, for Min- L Crop, Red and Blond 4.50 strels, etc I.25 f Other colors 4.25 Negro, Old Man, White W Court or Colonial $5.50 or Gray 2.25 i Indian 6.00 Negro, Bald, White or ^ Gray 3-25 LADIES' WIGS f State Color Wanted on Hair Goods. f Soubrette, all colors $6.50 Court or Colonial $8.50 [k Old Maid, all colors 9.00 Indian Girl 6.00 f Irish Biddy 9.00 Negro Mammy 3.C0 r Sis Hopkins 6. 50 Topsy 2.25 ^ Crepe Hair, Different colors, for making mustaches, etc. Per yard, .45 ; half yard .25 i^ In ordering Wigs give Size of Hat. State Color Wanted on |^ Hair Goods. Wigs not rented but made to order. Usually goods can be sent by return mail, but it is best to allow a margin of two or three days. ' p C. O. D. orders must be accompanied by twenty-five per cetit c of price. Do not send orders by telegraph on a few hours' notice. All hair and make-up goods sent by mail or express prepaid, L unless otherwise stated. Prices on hair goods subject to change T without notice. r Always send youv orders to f WALTER H. BAKER CO., Boston, Mass» \ "Oh! Helpless Man A Comedy in One Act »f By EDGAR MORETTE NOTE The professional rights in this play are strictly reserved and ap- plication for the right to produce it should be made to the author in care of the publishers. Amateurs may produce it without payment of royalty on condition that the name of the author appears on all programs and advertising issued in con- nection with such performances. BOSTON WALTER H. BAKER COMPANY 1922 P5 33:^S "Oh! Helpless Man" CHARACTERS Helen Dawson, the new tenant. Raymond Osgood, the departing tenant ; in love with Helen. Mrs, Pinchbeck, the landlady. Expressman, "It's none of his business." Scene. — ^The living-room of Osgood's apartment. Time. — The present. Copyright, 1922, by Walter H. Baker Company. All rights reserved. m 26 1922 ©CLD 60832 CHARACTERISTICS Helen Dawson is an attractive girl of about twenty- three. She is dressed in a walking suit. Beyond the necessary heightening of color, she may be her own natural pretty self. Raymond Osgood should be slightly taller than Helen; good-looking, and with a manly alert manner. He also may be naturally himself unless it is deemed best to add mustachios or other slight changes. Mrs. Pinchbeck should be slightly amusing in appear- ance and manner, but by no means a caricature. Hers is an important part if done well, and as that kind of a landlady would do it. The Expressman must not be caricatured; he can be funny enough in his working clothes if thoughtfully made up. PROPERTIES A telephone on the table. Several handy chairs. The chair shown on the plan of stage-setting should be a com- fortable, stuifed armchair into which pins and needles can be stuck easily. A pair of portieres packed ready to be taken out of one of the trunks. Several trunks, hand-bags, suitcases. A hand-bag must contain an assortment of samples, theatre tickets, hairpins, gloves, scissors, sewing materials, comb, nail-file, handkerchief, letters, fountain pen, purse, loose change, etc., all ready to be turned out on the table. A button of the correct color, scissors, spool of thread, needle, for Raymond, also shaving materials, and lather. Raymond must also have a bunch of Iceys ready in his pocket. Other accessories for a bachelor apartment may be added as desired. "Oh! Helpless Man 99 SCENE. — The living room of a New York apartment. (Front door bell rings at rise of curtain. Enter Osgood back r., in his shirt sleeves. He is half shaved and holds a safety razor in his hand. Hur- ries toward door back l. Telephone bell rings. Osgood turns and advances toward telephone. Dumb waiter bell rings. Osgood turns again toward door back l. Telephone bell rings. Osgood hesi- tates, then hurries to telephone and takes down receiver.) Osgood {at telephone). Raymond Osgood speaking. Who? Mrs? Miss? I'm sorry, but I can't hear you. . . . {Dumb waiter bell rings.) It's the da — the dumb waiter bell. . . .the dumb waiter bell !. . . .Oh ! never mind; it was nothing that would interest you, {Front door bell rings.) and anyway it's the front door, {Dumb waiter bell rings.) or at any vdle. . . .{Both bells ring insistently. Shouting. ) Hello ! can you hear me ?....! rather thought you couldn't ; then would you mind hold- ing the line while I. . . . {Both bells ring violently.) Oh ! damn the bells !. . . . {Shouting.) I said " wait a minute, please." {Puts down receiver and exit hurriedly throxigh door back l., presently returning with Mrs. Pinchbeck. Dumb waiter bell continues to ring.) I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, Mrs. Pinchbeck; but every bell in the apartment has suddenly been seized with Saint Vitus's dance. 6 " OH ! HELPLESS MAN " Mrs. Pinchbeck. I came to ask at what time you mean to move, Mr. Osgood. Osgood. To move? Who? Me? To move what? Mrs. Pinchbeck. To move out of the apartment. It's the first, you know. Osgood. But I've no intention of moving; I (Dumb waiter bell rings.) Mrs. Pinchbeck. That's the dumb waiter. Osgood. Yes, Mrs. Pinchbeck, you've said it; and (Pointing to telephone.) that's the telephone. Mrs. Pinchbeck. Is some one holding the line? Osgood. She is. At least I believe so. I am waiting for a leisure moment to answer some of the calls which {Dumb waiter bell rings.)^ Mrs. Pinchbeck. Go ahead; don't mind me; I'll attend to the dumb waiter. Osgood. Will you? I'll be everlastingly grateful if you will. Mrs. Pinchbeck. Sure I will. [Exit back l. Osgood (goes to telephone). Hello! Are you there, Miss or is it Mrs.?. . . .Miss Stella Fairfax. I fear you have the advantage of me .... Oh ! you want her. I'm sorry, but they have given you the wrong number. . . . yes, this is Plaza nine, five, oh, six; but Miss Fairfax doesn't live here. . . . Oh ! yes absolutely sure ; this is my apartment, you see. . . .no. . . .no woman lives here. . . .1 am a bachelor. .. .no, a plain unattached, respectable bachelor. . . .no. . . .no, neither sisters, nor cousins, nor aunts, nor grandmothers, nor. . . .1 am sorry, I should like to accommodate you, but .... Oh ! your numbers are all right; it is only your facts that are wrong. What? tell Miss Fairfax? But I tell you I don't know Miss Fairfax .... Oh ! yes ; I am perfectly willing to take your message if that will ease your mind. . . .Tell her to call up Rhinelander eight, oh, thrrree, nine ? . . . . why cer- tainly, if ever it is my privilege to meet Miss Fairfax, I shall take pleasure in.... Pray don't mention it.... Good-bye. " OH ! HELPLESS MAN '* 7 (Hangs up receiver. Front door hell rings. Osgood starts toward door hack l. As he opens door, Expressman enters with trunk.) Expressman. Excuse me, sorr, the front dure was open. {Slams down trunk.) Osgood. What's this? Expressman. 'Tis a troonk, sorr, I'm a-thinkin'. Osgood. Whose trunk? Expressman. Indade thin I dunno; but 'tis fer her- silf all right. Osgood. For whom ? What do you mean ? Expressman. Fer the lady of the house sure. Osgood. You mean for Mrs. Pinchbeck? Expressman. Indade an' I do not mane Mrs. Pinch- beck. Sure I know Mrs. Pinchbeck, the wife of the janitor. The lady I mane is the wan wot lives here, in this apartmint — the madam — yer wife, I suppose, sorr. Osgood. Well, you've another gness coming. Expressman. Yer don't say. Well, yer never can tell, can yer now? Osgood. I mean she doesn't live here. Expressman. Yer wife doesn't? Sure thin she thinks she does. Osgood. I tell you Expressman {takes paper out of his hat). Ain't this apartmint number twinty-sivin ? Osgood. Yes, but Expressman (showing Osgood paper). Will thin Osgood. There's some mistake, I tell you. Take it away; I'll not sign for it. Expressman. Oh! that's all right, sorr; the lady hersilf done that. Osgood. When ? Where ? Expressman. Down-stairs, just now. Sure she's comin' up in a minute ; soon as I get the other troonks in. She just stopped ter spake ter the janitor. Osgood. Coming up here? What? (Slight pause.) What's her name? Expressman. Sure thin 'tis here. (Reading tag on trunk.) Ste — Stella. 8 " OH ! HELPLESS MAN " Osgood. Not Stella Fairfax? Expressman. Sure 'tis the same, sorr. So 'tis all right, after all. Ye'll be lavin' the dure open, plaze, so's I can bring in the rist of the troonks. [Exit Expressman. Osgood. But I tell you Here, what the devil (Enter Mrs. Pinchbeck with an armful of bundles.) Mrs. Pinchbeck ! What's the meaning of all this ? What are those? Mrs. Pinchbeck (putting bundles on the table). Pack- ages for Miss Fairfax. Osgood. Miss Fairfax again! Mrs. Pinchbeck, will you be good enough to explain. Mrs. Pinchbeck. Why yes, Mr. Osgood ; that's what I came up for. You see, Mr. Osgood, as you didn't want to renew the lease Osgood. But I do want to renew the lease. Mrs. Pinchbeck. All I know is that when the agent called, he said Osgood. Well then, excuse me if I speak plainly. He lied, Mrs. Pinchbeck. Mrs. Pinchbeck. Well, but, Mr. Osgood, I haven't even told you what he said. Osgood. I don't care what he said, Mrs. Pinchbeck, he lied anyway. Besides, I know what I told him, don't I? Mrs. Pinchbeck. Perhaps you do. Osgood. Perhaps ! Of course I do. I told him that it was an outrage to raise the rent again this year ; I told him I'd be — er — hanged if I'd submit to any further ex- tortion and that I'd see him — er — hanged before I'd Mrs. Pinchbeck. Well, you see Osgood. But, mark you, Mrs. Pinchbeck, I never told him that I would not sign the lease. Mrs. Pinchbeck. Well, I'm awful sorry, Mr. Os- good ; but of course it can't be helped now. Miss Fair- fax has rented the apartment, she's signed the lease, she's paid the rent In advance and Osgood. Oh ! Very well ; I'll look around for an- other place, that's all; but I must say I don't think I've " OH ! HELPLESS MAN " 9 been fairly treated, Mrs. Pinchbeck. When does — er — Stella expect to move in? Mrs. Pinchbeck. Why, she's down-stairs now. Osgood. Yes, so Fve been told; but I mean when is she planning to move in here for keeps, to take posses- sion? Mrs. Pinchbeck. Her lease begins at noon to-day. Osgood. What! Surely you don't mean, {Looks at his watch.) but it's eleven-fifty-five now. You can't ex- pect me Mrs. Pinchbeck. Why not? You can leave your things down in the cellar if you like until you find another place. Osgood. Oh, thank you so much ; and what about me ? Am I to be left in the cellar too until ? Mrs. Pinchbeck. Well, there's the hotels, ain't there? Osgood. Oh! there's the ? Yes, of course, so there is. There's the — there are the hotels. Mrs. Pinchbeck. Well, then that's settled and I'll let you go on with your shaving. Osgood. My shaving? (Puts his hand to his face.) Oh, yes; I had forgotten. Excuse my deshabille, Mrs. Pinchbeck. Mrs. Pinchbeck. Oh, that's all right; but please hurry; Miss Fairfax may be here any minute. Osgood. Well, Miss Fairfax will jolly well have to wait, that's all. I'm not going to be thrown out into the street half dressed to suit her convenience. Mrs. Pinchbeck. Oh, come, Mr. Osgood; all I ask of you is to hurry. Surely you Osgood. All right, all right; I'll hurry, for I cer- tainly don't want to be here when Miss What's-her-name comes. I don't want to see her ; for I should consider it my duty to tell her that she is a thoughtless, selfish, grasp- ing, ugly old woman, Mrs. Pinchbeck. But, Mr. Osgood Osgood. What's the matter? Isn't she old? Mrs. Pinchbeck. No, indeed ! Osgood. Perhaps you'll go so far as to claim she isn't ugly? lO " OH ! HELPLESS MAN " Mrs. Pinchbeck. I should call her rather good-look- ing myself. Osgood. Well, she's everything else I said, and more, too. I'll think up the appropriate adjectives before I see her. Mrs. Pinchbeck. You would never say them to her face, Mr. Osgood. Osgood. Oh, yes, I would; you wait and see. Of course I should not use those very words, you know. In addressing a woman, even a woman like Stella, a man must observe the forms of civilized intercourse. But I should be frank, frank and firm — " suaviter in modo," " fortiter in re " — that sort of thing, you understand- — or, don't you ? Perhaps you don't know Latin ? Mrs. Pinchbeck. Latin! Me? Gracious no, of course not ! Osgood. Neither do I; but I remember those six words; they were in the Latin reader. They mean: " When you've got your opponent where you want him, don't waste your breath calling him names; but use all your pep to land him a good one straight from the shoul- der where it'll do the most good." Mrs. Pinchbeck. My ! that's a lot to say in six words, ain't it ? Osgood. Oh, that's the beauty of Latin. " Suaviter in modo ; fortiter in re." That's me, Mrs. Pinchbeck. I don't want to meet Stella; but if ever I should meet her, you just watch me; I'll show you what I mean. Straight from the shoulder (Illustrates by gesture.), figuratively speaking, you understand, but straight from the shoulder. (Enter Helen, back.) Helen (not seeing Osgood) . Your husband told me I should find you here, Mrs. Pinchbeck. Mrs. Pinchbeck. Yes, Miss Fairfax ; I was just Osgood. Helen ! Helen. Why, Raymond, this is a surprise. How good of you to call so soon; but how did you find my address ? Osgood. Your address ? I don't understand. "oh! helpless man" II Mrs. Pinchbeck. Why, Mr. Osgood, I thought you didn't know Miss Fairfax? Osgood. I don't; but I know Miss Dawson very well. Helen. Mr. Osgood and I are old friends, Mrs. Pinchbeck. And, by the way, my name is Helen Dawson. Mrs. Pinchbeck. Well, but I thought Helen. Miss Fairfax is the friend who is sharing this apartment with me. We have agreed that all our business arrangements should be made in her name, as I have no head for business. Mrs. Pinchbeck. Oh, I see. I always took you for Miss Fairfax. Well, Pm glad you're not Miss Fairfax. Helen. You are glad that I am not ? Why, what dif- ference could it make to you which of us was Miss Fair- fax? Mrs. Pinchbeck. Oh, not any to me; but to you a whole lot. If you'd a-been Miss Fairfax, Mr. Osgood would have had to speak them^ — now — Latin words to you : " Sway with her in motor ; forty-two an' three." Helen. What on earth do you mean, Mrs. Pinch- beck ? Mrs. Pinchbeck (mimicking Osgood). Straight from the shoulder, you understand ; straight from the shoulder ! Osgood. It's a httle joke of Mrs. Pinchbeck's. I fear Mrs. Pinchbeck is afHicted with a sense of humor. Helen. A joke? Oh, all right; but I don't under- stand. What's the matter, Raymond? Have you met with an accident? Your coat Osgood. Oh, I beg your pardon ; you see, I was shav- ing when Mrs. Pinchbeck Helen. Shaving ? Here ? Osgood. Of course ; where else should I shave ? Helen. I am afraid I don't quite follow you. Osgood. I live here, you know. Helen. You — live — here ? In — my — apartment ? Osgood. Well, I thought I did, until ten minutes ago. Mrs. Pinchbeck. Mr. Osgood is the former tenant. He is moving out as fast as he can. Ain't you, Mr. Os- good? Osgood. Yes, oh, yes, as fast as I can. 12 " OH ! HELPLESS MAN " Helen. Oh, I see ; what a strange coincidence ! But I hope I am not putting you to any inconvenience by mov- ing in to-day. Osgood. Don't mention it, Helen. As Mrs. Pinch- beck was kind enough to point out, I can store the fur- niture in the^cellar until (Pause.), and then there's the hotel, you know. I shall have finished packing in a jiffy. Perhaps you will be kind enough to allow me the use of my room — er — of my former bedroom long enough to attend to that and — er — to finish shaving. Helen. Why, of course. Take your tim.e; make your- self quite at home. Osgood. Thank you, Helen. (False start.) Mrs. Pinchbeck. Well, if there's anything I can do for you. Miss Fairf — Miss Dawson, I hope you will let me know. Helen. Thank you. [Exit Mrs. Pinchbeck. Osgood. How good it is to see you again, Helen ! Helen. Then the pleasure is mutual, Raymond. Osgood. Do you really mean that? Helen. Of course. Osgood. It's so long since we met. Helen. Let me see ; it's only just three weeks, isn't it ? Osgood. Only three weeks ! Three eternities ! Helen (laughing). And, anyway, whose fault is it? Osgood. Surely not mine. Helen. Whose else, pray? Osgood. Well, I like that. Do you remember what happened the last time we met? Helen. Of course ; you asked me to marry you. Osgood. And you refused. Helen. Quite so, Raymond dear ; but I didn't ask you to drop out of my life completely, did I ? Osgood. You mean to say that you expected me to continue to call on you after that? Helen. Why not? If a woman is to be cut off com- pletely from the society of all the men she doesn't marry, she is likely to lead a lonely life in a community which frowns upon polyandry, — don't you think? — especially if she means never to marry at all. " OH ! HELPLESS MAN '* I3 Osgood. But, Helen (Enter Expressman with a trunk.) Expressman. Ah ! there ye are, mum ; where'll ye be after havin' it ? Helen. In here, please. (Points to folding door with portiere.) Expressman. Sure thin yer husband is after tellin' me ' Helen. Who ? Expressman. Himself there. [Exit Osgood, back r. Helen. Oh, but he isn't I haven't Expressman. Yis, I know; that's what he said, an' sure he wud have it that yer don't live here too. Helen. Oh, it's all a misunderstanding. Expressman. He sot up a alibi, so ter spake. Helen. You are quite mistaken, I assure you; that gentleman is not Expressman. Oh, all right, mum. Of coorse 'tain't none o' my bizness, but Helen. Please put the trunk in there. Expressman (picks up trunk). Yis, mum. Of coorse 'tain't none o' my bizness, but Helen. Near the window, please. Expressman. Yis, mum. (Exit through folding door. Crash of trunk outside. Reenters.) Of coorse 'tain't none o' my bizness Helen. I'll unpack this one where it is. Please turn it over so that I can get at it. Expressman (turns over the trunk). All right, mum. Of coorse 'tain't none o' my bizness Helen (goes to door hack l., followed by Express- man). You can leave the others in the hall until they are all up-stairs, and then bring them all in at once. Expressman. Yis, mum. Of coorse 'tain't none o' my Helen (shuts door in his face. Business unstrapping the trunk and throwing open the catches. The trunk is 14 " OH ! HELPLESS MAN ! " locked. What has she done with the keyf Oh, yes, of course it is in her hand-bag. She looks there hut does not find it. Nevertheless it was certainly there she put it. Well, then, of course it must be there. She empties the contents of the bag on the table, a miscellaneous lot of samples, theatre tickets, hairpins, gloves, scissors, sewing materials, comb, nail file, handkerchief, letters, fountain pen and various odds and ends, including a purse and some loose change. The keys are not there. Perhaps Raymond has a key that will fit. Goes to door back r., .knocks and calls). Raymond! Raymond! Osgood (opening door back r. He is still in his shirt sleeves and he is vigorously rubbing his face with a tozuel). Oh, your friend has departed, has he? Of coorse 'tain't none o' my bizness, but (Throws towel outside and enters.) Helen. Oh, you heard him, did you? Then why didn't you shut him up? Osgood. Aren't you attributing to me magical powers ? Besides, he was quite right, you know. Helen. Right ? How do you mean, " quite right " ? Osgood. It was natural under the circumstances that he should take me for your husband. Helen. Oh, it was, was it? Osgood. Absolutely; but it would be much more to the point if you did. Helen. If I did? Did what? Osgood. Take me for your husband. Helen (laughing). Oh, you silly boy! Come, make yourself useful. Open this trunk for me, there's a dear; I have lost my keys. Osgood. All right. (Takes out his bunch of keys.) By the way, I forgot to tell you that just before you came there was a telephone call for Miss Fairfax. (Tries keys one after the other in trunk lock.) Helen. From ? "oh! helpless man!'* 15 Osgood. For. Helen. It's for Stella. Osgood. How remarkable ! I came to the same con- clusion when I heard the name. She said Helen. Who? Stella? Osgood. I don't know. The voice asked that Stella — Miss Fairfax — should call up Rhinelander eight, oh, thrrree, nine. Have you a hairpin ? Helen. Eight, oh, three, nine? That's his number. What for? ^ Osgood. Is it ? How very interesting ! To open the trunk. Helen. Yes, John Castleton's ; the man who is pester- ing Stella to marry him. I do hope she won't ; sometimes I'm afraid. I hate a man who can't take " no "' for an answer. (Hands him a hairpin.) Here's one. What did he say? Osgood. She said (Taking hairpin.) Thank you, that is just the thing. She said — Oh! that's just about all she did say. Helen. It must have been his sister. (Goes to tele- phone.) Rhinelander, eight, oh, thrrree, nine — ^yes, please. (Osgood, with the end of his closed penknife, bends the hairpin and after a few trials succeeds in open- ing the trunk. Helen, holding her hand over transmitter. To Osgood.) That was awfully clever of you, Raymond. Thank you. Osgood. Oh, there's nothing a hairpin can't do; that is nothing except Helen. Hold up a woman's hair. Osgood. And open the door of her heart. What is it Shakespeare says — or was it Milton ? " It is harder for a poor man to enter the heart of the woman than for a cable to pass through the eye of a needle." Helen (speaking into telephone). No; Rhinelander, eight, oh, thrrree, nine. . . .no not five; en, eye, en, ee, neye-en .... right. ( To Osgood. ) I suppose you think it is funny to saddle your misquotations on Shake- speare ? Osgood. Funny? I assure you the subject is a most l6 " OH ! HELPLESS MAN " painful one to me ; and, anyway, I admitted that the guilt might be Milton's. Helen. What has the heart of a woman to do with ? Osgood. I said " the woman." Helen. Well, I say there's no question of rich or poor in my — in the mind of the woman. Osgood. Oh ! I did not use the word " poor " in its economic sense ; but as a term of pity. Helen {laughing). Well, at any rate, why "cable" when the text is " than for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle " ? Osgood. Would " camel " make the feat any easier — for me, I mean- — than " cable " ? Helen. Not a bit. Osgood. Then I stick to " cable." Old MacLaurin, my Scotch Professor of Greek, held that " camel " was a mistranslation due to the mistaking of an ee for an eye, not in the needle, you understand, but in the original Greek. That's all I remember of Mac's course. You wouldn't have me lightly sacrifice my hard-earned educa- tion, would you ? Helen {at telephone). This is Helen Dawson yes. . . .Why, Stella!. . . .Yes, I've moved in. Some one called you up a while ago, and I thought it might have been Mr. Castleton's sister with the message you were expecting It was you ? But why should you call yourself ?... .Oh! I see. . . .no, that's true; they don't seem to have known my name until just now .... didn't know yours either?. . . .oh, that was Mr. Osgood. . . .yes .... yes .... yes, by a strange coincidence he turns out to be the former tenant .... he didn't know .... no ... . but how did you get there, and why aren't you here ? . . . . {Long pause.) Who?. . . .Mr. Castleton?. . . .he didn't! ... .oh, he did? {Pause.) You did?. . . .well, I'm flab- bergasted!. . . .yes; oh, yes, if it is for your happiness; but. . . .yes, of course I wish you joy, dear. . . .well, natu- rally I am disappointed; I shall miss you aAvfully. . . .no; it can't be quite the same; you know very well it can't; but if it is for your happiness .... oh ! no ; not for me. "oh! helpless man 17 thank you.... no, never .... neither him nor any one else oh, yes. . . .yes. . . .yes. . . .good-bye. {Hangs up receiver. ) She's done it ! Osgood. Stella has? Helen. Yes; she has married him; married John Castleton. I just knew she would ! Osgood. Good for Stella ! Helen. Suddenly, without warning, just like that ! Osgood. What about the license ? Helen. Oh, it seems that Mr. Castleton had been carrying it in his pocket for over a week. Osgood. Good for Castleton ! Helen. What about me? Osgood. You ? Did you want to marry him ? Helen. Of course not, stupid. Osgood. Then I don't see Helen Oh, don't you? Here am I left in the lurch, alone, with this apartment on my hands. Osgood. Why alone? Are you asking my advice, Helen? Helen. No ; I am not. Osgood. I was afraid you weren't. No, I don't think that " cable " makes it any easier than " camel." Helen. What on earth are you talking about ? Osgood. I was just thinking. Helen. Don't do it, Raymond. It isn't becoming to your style. (Laughs.) Don't mind me, old thing; I I don't know why I should take out my grouch on you. Osgood, Oh, I don't mind. Of course if you had a husband now Helen. I could take it out on him, you mean ? Osgood. Yes ; that would be an advantage, wouldn't it ? Helen (laughing) . I am not so sure. Osgood. He might have other advantages too. Helen. He? Who? Osgood. I say that a husband might be of use to a woman in a number of ways. Helen. Oh, perhaps; but as I recall the experiences of the married women of my acquaintance I am not deeply impressed by this view of the case. 1 8 " OH ! HELPLESS MAN " Osgood (inclined to debate the point). Well, now Helen. Oh, I don't deny that when there is a lock to be picked it is convenient to have a skillful locksmith or an expert burglar at one's beck and call; but picking locks is not a daily necessity in a woman's household ; and if it were, a woman could soon master the art of lock- picking as well as a man. Osgood. No doubt; nevertheless there are other things which a husband Helen. Well, he could hardly be an expert at all of them ; and if he were, the price a woman has to pay for a husband is — ■■ — Osgood. Prohibitive ? Helen. I think so. Osgood. Don't you think — er — that — er — well, that some husbands might be a bargain at that? Helen (laughing). Perhaps. But I wouldn't think of sacrificing a perfectly good friend on the remote chance. Osgood. Ah, well. Is there anything else I can do for you ? Helen. Nothing, thank you. I can manage perfectly well. There's no reason why I should keep you from your packing any longer. (Noise outside back and crash of trunk.) Osgood. There goes another trunk. [Exit, back r. Helen (after thoughtfully watching him go, sighs). Heigho ! (She begins to unpack trunk and carries the articles into the room, l., or lays them out on the chairs near by. At last she produces from the trunk a pair of portieres, puts them over a chair near the fold- ing doors and draws back to note the effect. Yes, unquestionably these are in better taste than the ones already up. She decides to make the change; but how is she to reach so high? She brings over a chair and stands upon it. The chair is not high enough. Ah! an idea! the trunk. She closes this and drags it across the room. This is no better; hut " OH ! HELPLESS MAN ** I9 perhaps the combination of trunk and chair will an- swer. Carefully she places the chair upon the trunk. Is it steady'/ Not very; but she decides to risk it all the same. She climbs upon the trunk and from there upon the chair. Victory at last! She re- moves the old portieres and throws them down. Now she will have to climb down to get the new por- tieres. She attempts the feat; but finds it harder than climbing up. The chair is none too secure. Enter Osgood, still in his shirt sleeves.) Osgood. What's all the racket about ? Anything I can do for you? What's the great idea? Are you learning to fly? Helen. I have taken down those horrid portieres and I want to substitute my own pretty ones for them. Osgood. Let me do it for you. Helen. But now I can't get down ; this pyramid is so wobbly. Stand aside so I can jump. Osgood. No, don't jump ; you'll hurt yourself. Helen. Oh, pshaw ! I was one of the best jumpers at college. Osgood. But not in skirts. Here, please let me (He lifts her down. While he holds her a little longer than is absolutely necessary, he is strongly tempted to kiss her; but with difficulty restrains himself.) Helen {somewhat tremulous, gently disengages her- self). Thank you. Osgood. Helen ! Helen ! If I did not love you so much Helen, Yes, I know ; you would have kissed me ; and that would have been taking an unfair advantage, wouldn't it ? Osgood. Of course. I want nothing from you, Helen, which you do not freely give me. Helen. You are a dear silly boy, Raymond. I won- der if you really care as much as you seem to. Osgood. Care, Helen ! Oh, my dear, my dear; if you only knew how much I love you ! 20 " OH ! HELPLESS MAN " Helen. I wonder — not that it makes any difference, of course, since I shall never marry Osgood. You don't love me even one little bit ? Helen. Well — er — not enough to be willing to sacri- fice my independence, my career — everything. I sup- pose I am too selfish — at any rate, that's how it is. Osgood. Is there any one else, Helen? Helen. No. Osgood. Well, that's something at any rate. Helen. Now suppose we change the subject. Will you add to your many favors by putting up those por- tieres ? Osgood. Will I? Just watch me add to my many favors. {Climbs up on chair on trunk. Helen hands him the new portieres, which he puts up. Then he jumps down.) Now what? Helen. That's all, thank you. Osgood (wistfully). Helen ? Helen (emphatically). That's all. Thank you. Now I must see Mrs. Pinchbeck to tell her about Stella. Are you nearly ready to go out ? Osgood (hurt). Excuse me for being so long about it. I shall be ready in five minutes. I promise to be gone before you return. Helen. Don't be silly, Raymond dear. You know very well I meant nothing of the kind. I have some errands to do and I simply want to know whether you would care to accompany me. Osgood. Would I care ! Helen. Well, then I shall come back after I have seen Mrs. Pinchbeck. But you must promise to be good. Osgood. Meaning? Helen. That you will avoid subjects which are taboo. Osgood. Oh, you don't want me to make love to you. Helen. Promise. Osgood. I promise never again to ask you to be my wife unless Helen. Oh, reservations ! Osgood. Unless I am certain that your answer will be "yes." " OH ! HELPLESS MAN 21 Helen. Oh, well, that is entirely satisfactory. Au revoir, then. Osgood. By-bye. {Exit Helen, back l. Exit Osgood, back r., leaving door open. Whistling outside. After an interval reenters, putting on his coat and still whistling in snatches. Throughout the following pantomime his actions are punctuated here and there with snatches of whistling, which convey the varying emotions with which he meets the vicissitudes of the situation. In the absorbing moments the whistling is entirely sus- pended and at times it comes mechanically in de- tached staccato phrases. As he attempts to button his coat the button pidls off. He chases it, picks it up and finds the place on the coat where it belongs. It is the upper button. He wonders whether its ab- sence woidd be noticed. Sees on the table Helen's work-basket, which she put there when she was un- packing the trunk. He wonders if she would mind if he were to use it. Lays the button on the table while he hunts through the basket for sewing mate- rials. Finds thread and needles. Carefully selects a needle, passing by the small ones and anxiously comparing the size of the eyes with that of the thread. The thread looks enormous and the eyes microscopic. Well, here is the biggest one at all events. He carefully places it on the table, picks up the spool of thread, drops it and chases it as it rolls away, picks it up and places it on the table. Oh, the scissors. Yes, they are there. He takes them out and places them on the table. He draws up a chair. Shall he take off his coat? No; he can sew the but- ton on without doing that. He breaks off a very long thread. At this point Helen enters back l. without being seen by Osgood. Her first impulse is to come forward to offer her assistance; but she be- comes interested in his struggles as a sporting propo- sition and remains unobserved throughout the scene following his every action with absorbing interest — at first amused, then with growing solicitude and at 22 " OH ! HELPLESS MAN ** last with tender sympathy. Osgood tahes up the needle in his right hand and the thread in his left. No, that isn't convenient. In trying to change hands he drops the needle and has to get down on his hands and knees to find it. Ah, here it is! This time he holds the needle in his left hand; but now where is the thread? There it is on the chair where he put it zvhen he was looking for the needle. How big the thread is and how small the eye. He sets the needle down on the table while he carefvdly rolls the end of the thread between his thumb and forefinger. That's better. He picks up the needle and tries again. Now surely it ought to go in. But it doesn't; the thread passes to the right or to the left of the eye, but stubbornly dodges the opening. That's be- cause his hands shake. He crosses his knees and bracing his left elbow on his knee and his right hand against his left, closes one eye and unconsciously sticks out his tongue and moves it sympathetically with every effort he makes. It is no use. An idea strikes him. He digs the needle upright into the upholstered seat of the chair, and steadying his right hand with his left, he kneels before the chair and concentrates on his job. Success at last! The thread is through the eye! Carefully he holds the needle and pulls the thread completely through. He isn't going to take any chances; he will use the thread double. He ties the free ends together, and to make assurance doubly sure he makes a triple knot. Now then, where is that button? He looks around, searches through his pockets and finds it at last on ■ the table where he had put it. Yes, that is the one; it matches the others; and here is the place where it belongs. He sticks the needle through from the outside without noticing his mistake and then slips the button over the needle, thus bringing the button on the inside of the coat. The thread is so long that he cannot pull it through in one stretch of the arm, but is obliged to pidl it through with his left hand while he holds the needle as high as possible in "oh ! HELPLESS MAN " 23 his right. Now then all seems plain sailing. He puts the needle through back and forth several times, each time repeating the business of pulling through the very long thread. The whistling progresses smoothly for a while until he pricks his finger. He does not utter the language which the incident sug- gests, but it is obvious that he visualises it. He drops the needle and after looking compassionately at the hurt finger, puts it to his mouth. At this point Helen finds it hard to refrain from going to his assistance. But he is not going to be discouraged by a little thing like a pricked finger. Where is that needle nowf He looks on the table and hunts around on the floor, forgetting that the needle is dangling at the end of the thread, ivhose other end is fast to his coat. At last he discovers it and, hand over hand, he hauls in the long thread until he has recovered the needle. He now philosophically resumes his task. It is becoming harder to push the needle through without a thimble. How about using the heel of one's shoe as a pusher? No go; he cannot reach his heel unless he takes off his coat. Oh! the table. He forces the needle through by pushing it against the table top, repeating this operation several times. Now he winds the thread, with many turns, under the button and makes the final thrusts of the needle to secure the end of the thread. At last the job is done. He has not used up all the thread; but enough is enough; and he will leave the needle threaded for next time. That will save some one future agonies. With evident satisfaction he cuts off the thread, carefidly puts back the sewing ma- terials zvhere he found them, rises and attempts in vain to button his coat. What has become of that elusive button?) Helen {comes forward. She is laughing; hut her laughter has in it a note of wistful tenderness). You poor thing! Osgood. Eh! what? You here? Helen. You poor helpless boy ! 24 OH ! HELPLESS MAN Osgood. What's the matter ? Helen (laughing). Why, the button Osgood. Yes, that's what I want to know. Where the ? (He discovers the button on the under side of the lapel.) Say, it's on the inside, isn't it? But how the deuce did it get there ? Helen. I wonder. Here, let me have your coat. Osgood. Oh! would you? That's awfully good of you. (Takes off and hands her his coat. She seats herself, removes the offending button and begins deftly to sew it on in its proper place.) I don't think I could have tackled the job again without a chance to recuperate first. I generally use the patent buttons, but in this case they wouldn't match, you see. Helen. Hardly. (After a pause.) I think I under- stand now what Stella meant. Osgood. I am afraid I don't quite follow you. Helen. Why, Stella says that every man needs a mother. Osgood. Well I, for one, shouldn't think of disputing the point. But every man, I take it, has had, has, or is likely to have a mother. Helen. She meant that every man needs a mother all his life. That's why she's marrying Mr. Castleton. Osgood. What ! Because he needs a mother? Helen. Yes ; she says a man never quite grows up. Osgood. And so she's going to be a mother to him? Does he know that he is marrying his mother ? Helen. I don't know. Osgood. I rather think not. Most decent men I know are pretty well satisfied with the mothers that Nature has given them ; but I think I am safe in asserting that no man wants to marry a mother. Helen. No; he wants to marry a weak, clinging, dependent creature whom he can protect and support and on occasion bully. Osgood. Oh ! bully ? Helen. Yes, bully; not necessarily in a brutal way; but bully just the same. Osgood. As a matter of fact even when such a man OH ! HELPLESS MAN 25 gets such a wife, no matter how tyrannical he may seem to be, she almost always rules him with a rod of iron. Helen. And mothers him into the bargain. Osgood. What a lot you seem to know about marriage for a woman as little interested in the subject as you are. interested in the subject- am -m a Yes, once I was a great deal. Helen. Oh ! I way. Aren't you ? Osgood. I was once. Helen. But now? Osgood. Not a bit. Helen. No ? Osgood {decidedly). No. Helen {after a pause). What did you say? Osgood. I ? I didn't say anything. Helen. Oh! I thought {Another long pause.) What was the question you asked me ? Osgood. A question? I? Helen. Osgood. Helen. Osgood. Helen. Osgood. Helen. Osgood. Helen. Osgood. Helen. Osgood. fused. Helen. Osgood. Helen. Osgood. remarkable ! Helen. Yes — well — Osgood. Well what ? Helen. Oh ! nothing ask me something. Yes ; some time ago. I don't recall asking you any question. Why yes ; don't you remember ? No ; at any rate Yes? Not any question that remained unanswered. No? Nor that I can ever ask again. Oh ! I thought perhaps No ; I asked you to marry me. Yes ; I think that was it. You think ! Well, that was it ; and you re- So I did. Finally ; peremptorily. I remember now. Oh ! do you ? After all that time ? How I thought you were going to 26 "oh! helpless man" Osgood. No; I have nothing else to ask. Nothing else matters. Helen (after along pause). Suppose you were to (Hesitates. ) Osgood. Suppose I were to what ? Helen. To ask me again. Osgood. What ! To marry me you mean ? Helen. Ask me again, Raymond. Osgood. You mean it, Helen? You mean it? (Takes her hands in his and looks into her eyes.) Helen. Yes, dear; of course. Osgood (kisses her hands rapturously). Helen! My darling ! But I don't understand. Half an hour ago Helen. Why rake up my past? Osgood. And now — Helen, what does it mean ? Helen. It seems to mean that after rejecting all the offers of marriage with which you have honored me, I am now' accepting the one which you persistently refuse to make. Osgood. Yes ; but Helen. " But " ? Isn't that enough? Osgood. Oh, yes, dear; if you really mean it; but are you sure that you love me — that you are not marrying me out of pity — just to mother me — just to Helen. Sew on your buttons? And what if that were the reason? Osgood (indignantly). Why then — then of course — why then Oh, hang it! I'd marry you just the same. Helen. Then that's settled, isn't it? Osgood. Yes, darling ; that is settled. (Takes her in his arms. Knock at door hack l., which neither hears. Enter Mrs. Pinchbeck followed by Expressman with trunk on his shoulder.) Mrs. Pinchbeck. Oh ! I beg your pardon ; I thought you were out. (Expressman drops trunk with a crash. Helen and Osgood break away.) " OH ! HELPLESS MAN " 27 Expressman. I've got all the troonks on the landin' and the sicond load of things at the dure. If yer hus- band is riddy ter move out, I'm the bye ter do the job fer him, seein' as I'm Johnny on the spot. Osgood. Oh, thanks; but I don't believe What do you think, Helen? When is it going to be? Is it worth while to remove all my things? Helen. Just as you say, dear. Osgood. Oh, if it's as I say, a small suitcase will be all I shall need until the wedding. Mrs. Pinchbeck. The wedding ! Oh, isn't that fine ! Then you'll not have to go for long after all, Mr. Osgood. Osgood. Just long enough to obtain the license and make the necessary preparations. Mrs. Pinchbeck. Well, well; and it came about all so sudden, didn't it? Osgood. By no means, Mrs. Pinchbeck; I can assure you it came about very slowly and very hard. As hard as — as hard as Helen. Putting a cable through the eye of a needle. Osgood. Just so. Expressman. Well, I congratulate yez all, Av coorse 'tain't none o' my bizness ; but all the same, 'tis better so I do be thinkin'. CURTAIN t SEASON 1922 A BUNCH OF FUN A Farce in Three Acts. By Brastus Osgood Five males, nine females. A simple interior scene throughout. Modern costumes. The plot of this farce crackles with fun as though charged with laughter and smiles. Vera, the baseball girl, makes a " hit " in more ways than one. Sylvia, the dancing girl, steps right into the hilarity with a whirl. Nina, the stage aspirant, gives a new twist to Shakespeare, and Cecily, the Mandolin girl, would lure a smile from a Sphinx. These four girls are the " Bunch." Tacks, the football star, tackles love from a new angle. Ray was a born Romeo, but misfires. Lynn plays the clown to every one's delight, and if Murray hadn't written the sketch, lots of things would not have happened. Mrs. Selma Blair tries to break up the fun, but " nothing doing." Miss Martha is a delightful character, Alice entertains the " bunch " and is well repaid. Dr. and Mrs. Grandon form a charming background for an evening of wholesome amusement. And last, the arch fun-maker, Christina, the Swedish maid. If she knew how funny she was, she wouldn't believe it. She is " stuck on the movies " but Ray declared, " that for pulling funny stunts, Christina has got Charlie Chaplin beaten forty different ways." Free for amateur performance. Price, 25 cents CHARACTERS Rev. Stephen Grandon, D. D., rector of St. Paul's. Mary, his zvife, "flustered on occasions." Martha, his sister, " a trifle warped." Christina, a Swedish maid, " stuck on the movies.'* Raymond Hunting, o live wire. Vera Matherson, a baseball fan. Nina Lee, a stage aspirant. Ceciey Moori^and, the mandolin girl. Syevia Stewart, the dancing girl. Lynn Lockwood, the man " who takes off his face." Aeice Hunting, the entertaining girl. Murray Kent, a college playwright Tacks Mueford, a football star. Mrs. Seema Beair, a pest in the parish. Scene Heatherdale near New York. (The entire action takes place in the living-room at the rectory.) Time : Present. Act I. — "The Bunch" arrives. Act n. — ■" The Bunch " in action. Act in.—" The Bunch " choose partners. GOOD-EVENING, CLARICE A Farce Comedy in Three Acts,^ By J. C. McMullen Five males, six females. Playing time, approximately two hours. Costumes of the present day. Scene — a single interior. Annette Franklin, a jealous wife, has been raising a little domestic war over her husband's supposed infatuation for a noted dancer, Clarice de Mauree. How Annette was proven wrong in her supposition, cured of her jealousy, and found her long lost parents, makes a comedy, which, while easy of production, proves very effective in the pre- sentation. The part of Clarice, the dancer, gives the opportunity for an excellent female character lead. All of the other parts are of equal importance and the situations fairly radiate comedy and swift moving action. This new play has already made its public debut in manuscript form, having been used with great success on the Pacific coast. Royalty, $10.00 for the first and $5.00 for each subse- quent performance by the same cast. Professional rates will be quoted on request. Scenes Act I. — Iviving-room of the Franklin residence, Buffalo, N. Y., 7:15 P. M. Act II. — The same, 8:15 p. m. Act III. — The same, 9 :oo p. m. Price, 50 cents. HIS UNCLE'S NIECE A Rollicking Farce in Three Acts. By Raymond W. Sargent Six males, three females. Scenery not difficult. The plot of this hilarious farce centres around a letter received by Francis Felton from his Uncle Simon of Happy Valley Junction, who has always supposed that Francis was of the opposite sex. Thq^ letter an- nounces that the uncle has selected a husband for his niece and that they are both on the way to New York to make final arrangements for the wedding. In desperation, to keep up a deception started years before by his parents, Francis assumes a female character role in order to carry out a provision whereby he is to receive a million dollar bequest from his uncle. The explanations made necessary through this change are amusing and realistic. The denouement is a surprise and one that will lift the audience to its feet with applause. You have seen Charley's Aunt on the pro- fessional stage, and here is a chance for amateurs to act in a play that is even better suited to their requirements. CHARACTERS Scenes Act I. — Interior of Francis Felton's and Richard Tate's bachelor establishment at Boston. Act II. — Same as Act I. Afternoon of the same day. Act III. — Exterior of Uncle Simon's summer home at Happy Valley Junction. Evening; three days later. Time : Midsummer. Time of playing: Approximately two hours. Price, 25 cents. SUNSHINE A Comedy in Three Acts. By Walter Ben Hare Four males, seven females. Scene, one simple exterior, easily ar- ranged with a small lot of potted plants and rustic furniture. This charming play was really written to order, to satisfy an ever growing demand for a comedy that could be used either as a straight play or as a musical comedy. The author has arranged a happy and real- istic blend of the two types of entertainment, and the catchy tunes which he has suggested should find favor in the amateur field. The story leads the audience a merry chase from snappy farce to real drama (with just a flavoring of the melodramatic) which modern audiences find so pleasing. Here we find a great character part in a popular baseball hero, who succeeds in making a home run in more ways than one, a wonderful leading lady role in the part of Mary ; a hypochondriac, who finds his medicine most pleasant to the taste; an old maid who mourns the loss of her parrot, and a Sis Hopkins type of girl with the exuberance of spirit that keeps the audience on its mettle. The Major is a character of great possibilities and in the hands of a capable actor much can be made of it. Sunshine is the sort of play that will live for years, as its very atmosphere is permeated with good will toward the world at large. We cannot too highly recommend this play, written by an author with scores of successes behind him and not a single failure. Royalty $10.00 for the first performance and $5.00 for each subsequent performance given by the same cast. Price, 50 cents. CHARACTERS Maudeua McCann, aged ten. Mrs. Bunch McCann, of Detroit, the mother. Mrs. Soi, WHippr,E, of Whipple's Corners, Conn., the country lady. Miss Tessie Mitford, the mental case. Mr. Juba K. Butternip, of Peoria, III, the old man. Miss Gregory, the nurse. Buddy Brady, of New York, the hall player. Major Keeucott, the speculator. Jim Anthony, he's engaged. Syevia Deane, she's engaged. Mary, " Sunshine." Boys and Gires. Scene: The lawn at Sunshine Sanitarium, near New York City. Act I. — Morning. Act II. — Afternoon. Act III.— Night. Time of playing: Two hours. STEP OUT— JACK! An Optimistic Comedy in Three Acts. By Harry Osborne A successful vehicle for talented amateurs. Twelve males (can be played with less), five females. Costumes modern. Scenery, three simple interiors. Jack Rysdale is " down and out." All he has in the world are the clothes on his back and the love in his heart for the wealthy and beautiful Zoe Galloway, He dare not ask her to marry him until he has made his way in the world. Zoe loves him, and while the girls in New York do nearly everything else, they do not propose — ^yet. Jack's fighting spirit is about gone when he meets a man named Wilder, who is a natural fighter and knows hov\r to bring out the fighting qualities in others. From him Jack learns that he has a dangerous inval in Percy Lyons. He learns that if he is going to get anj^where in this world, he can't stand in line and await his turn but must step out and " go get it." He learns more from Wilder in ten minutes than he absorbed in a "whole year in college. So, figuratively speaking, he steps out, takes the middle of the road and " gives 'er gas." Once started, nothing can stop him until he has attained his object. Every girl will fall in love with Jack and every man and boy will admire his pluck and courage. Zoe is a matrimonial prize on fourteen different counts, and her chum, Cynthia, a close second. Wilder is a regular man's man who can convince any one who doesn't wear ear muffs that black is white and vice-versa. Then there is Percy Lyons, who never stayed out very late, Clarence Galloway, a rich man's son looking for a job, Buddie the office boy, who is broken-hearted if he misses a ball game, and Bernice Williams, who thinks she is a regular little Home Wrecker but isn't. An artistic and box office success for clever amateurs. Act I.— Private Office of R. W. Wilder. Act II. — Library — John Galloway's Home. Act III. — Rysdale's office. Time: The present. Pi,ACE: New York Citfy. Time of playing: Approximately two hours. Price, 50 cents Royalty, $10.00 THE SHOW ACTRESS A Comedy in One Act. By J. C. McMuUen Two males, four females. Costumes, country of the present day. Playing time about forty minutes. Scene, dining-roorn of the Martin Homestead, Hillville, Vt. A burlesque troupe is stranded in the little village of Hillville. Goldie, the star, is taken in by the Martins. Her adventures with the cow at milking time, and with the domestic cook-stove are a scream. She eventually restores the Mar- tins' lost daughter, captures the thief robbing the village bank and marries Zek'l, the bashful village constable. Full of action. All parts good, Goldie the lead, and Zek'l, the bashful lover, being particularly effective. Price, 25 cents. AMATEURS* SUPPLIES PREPARED BURNT CORK— Will not dry out. Always in condition for immediate use. Easily removed. Enough for four people. Per box (about 2 oz.) $ .30 One-half lb., $1.00; per lb I.8S SPIRIT GUM— For sticking on whiskers, etc. Easily removed with Cocoa Butter or Cold Cream. Per bottle. .35 COLD CREAM — For removing grease paints, spirit gum, etc. In tubes 30 COCOA BUTTER— For same purpose as Cold Cream 30 CLOWN WHITE— For Pantomimes, Clowns, Statuary, etc. Per box •^o CARMINE LINER— Per stick 30 BLUE — For the eyes. Per stick 30 EYE BROW PENCILS— Black, Brown. In nickel-plated metal tubes. Each .25 GRENADINE OR LIP ROUGE 35 THEATRICAL BLENDING POWDER— Thoroughly hides oily appearance of grease paints. Not to be confused with street powder. No. i, White; No. 2, Flesh; No. 3, Brunette; No. 4, Rose Tint for juvenile heroes; No. 7, Healthy Sunburn; No. 10, Sallow for both young and' old age; No. 11, all ruddy exposed characters; No. 17, American Indian, East Indian, Othello 40 ROUGE DE THEATRE— No. 18, Medium shade for juve- nile and fair complexion; No. 36, Brunette for decided brunette types ; No. 24, Deep Rose for darker hues. Per box 35 HAIR POWDER— White only. To gray or whiten the hair or beard 35 POWDER PUFFS — For applying blending powder 30 HARE'S FEET— For blending make-up 30 STOMPS — Leather, for lining face for wrinkles, etc 30 NOSE PUTTY— For building up nose or chin 35 EMAIL NOIR OR BLACK WAX— Black, for stopping out teeth .35 WATER COSMETIQUE or MASCARO— White, Black, Dark Brown, Light Brown, Blonde, Red, for coloring the beard, eyebrows or hair at temples to match wig. Removed with soap and water. Each 35 MAKE-UP PENCILS— Light Flesh, Dark Flesh, Brown, Black, White, Gray, Carmine, Pink and Crimson. Set in a box 1.35 LINING PENCILS— Black, Brown, Crimson, Gray and White. Each 20 LADIES' BEAUTY BOX— For stage or toilet use. Con- tains Flesh Color Face Powder, Theatrical Cold Cream, Theatre Rouge, Eyebrow Pencil, Powder Puff, Hare's Foot, Flesh Color Exora Cream and Lip Rouge 1.35 Always send your orders to WAJ.TER H. BAKER CO«t Boston, Mass. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS r JW A.„l>,,*>^_-l-91 '^ Q°9 514 9 IF AMATEURS' SUPPLIES MAKE-UP BOX — For either Gentleman or Lad3', a hands