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 CALIFORNIA 
 
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 [(AROLINElJ.ty.fbSTER 
 
LITTLE <:OAED!E5 
 
 OF 
 
 TO-DAY 
 
 BY 
 
 CAROLINE H. W. FOSTER 
 (Amy Elizabeth Leigh) 
 
 LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 
 
 THE ARROYO PRESS 
 
 MDCCCCVI 
 
F7S-4- 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Not Worth Mentioning / 
 
 A House Party 14 
 
 A Halt on the Trail 25 
 
 A Complete Success ^ 
 
 How They Practiced Their Trio 53 
 
 A Coup-de-Main 61 
 
 A Little Company y^ 
 
 This Sordid World 84 
 
 M675732 
 
NOT WORTH MENTIONING. 
 
 SCENE The parlor of the Hotel San Andres, 
 in Southern California. Enter Porter carrying 
 wraps, followed by Miss FLORENCE BRIGHTON, 
 BOBO, her dog, and MR. and MRS. BRIGHTON, her 
 devoted parents. 
 
 FLORENCE (sinking into nearest chair). Oh, I 
 am so tired ! 
 
 MRS. BRIGHTON (hovering anxiously about her 
 daughter). Take off your hat, dearie. Lean 
 back ! So ! Now you can rest while Papa makes 
 arrangements. 
 
 MR. BRIGHTON (briskly). Yes! Here, Mamma 
 dear, here s a chair for you by Florrie. Now 
 I ll go confabulate with the clerk. I ll have the 
 best rooms in the house ready for you in no 
 time! (Exit with porter.) 
 
 FLORENCE (leaning back with closed eyes). I 
 shall hate this place. I know it. 
 
 MRS. BRIGHTON. Why, Florence, how absurd! 
 You haven t seen anything of it yet. 
 
 FLORENCE. I hate it, just the same! The smell 
 
of orange blossoms makes me ill. I hate travel 
 ing when I m ill. I d rather be at home in bed 
 this minute f 
 
 MRS. BRIGHTON. But Doctor Price said 
 
 FLORENCE. Oh, Doctor Price! As if he knew 
 anything about trouble like mine. I hate doctors, 
 anyway. 
 
 MRS. BRIGHTON. said that you required change 
 of of scene and and all that. Are you faint, 
 dearie? You you look so pale? I shall I ring 
 for a doc for some water? 
 
 FLORENCE (rising). No! I m all right. (Goes 
 to window followed by her mother). You must 
 stop coddling me, Mamma. You ll have me fancy 
 ing myself a regular invalid pretty soon. I m 
 getting crosser and nervouser every day; and I 
 always abominated nervous people! Why don t 
 you scold me? Why doesn t Papa scold me? 
 
 MRS. BRIGHTON (tenderly). We re so sorry for 
 you, dear, we we can t. 
 
 FLORENCE (looking out of window). Don t, 
 Mamma; please don t! I hate being petted! It! 
 makes me want to cry (takes out handkerchief) 
 and) I I don t want to cry! (Sobs passion 
 ately.) 
 
 MRS. BRIGHTON. Therej there, dear, don t cry! 
 I won t, I promise you I won t ! I don t pity you 
 a bit not a bit! The experience will do you 
 good. It will make a woman of you (Stops sud 
 denly on catching sight of a familiar face across 
 the street.) 
 
 FLORENCE. What s the matter? Mamma! 
 What are you looking at? 
 
MRS. BRIGHTON (watching retreating figure). 
 Nothing! Nothing at all (leaning out window) 
 nothing. 
 
 FLORENCE (leaning out also). Oh Oh, Mam 
 ma! Jack Wetherell! (Radiantly.) He has 
 followed us! 
 
 MRS. BRIGHTON. Not at all ! You you absurd 
 child! Not at all. Merely an odd resemblance. 
 
 FLORENCE. I saw him! It s Jack! Oh, why 
 didn t you tell me? Why didn t you bow to him, 
 or wave at him? Why Oh ! Oh! Oh! (Sinks 
 into a chair, hiding her face in her handkerchief.) 
 What am I saying? Mamma, it was he! It 
 was! Wasn t it. Mamma? Say that it was! 
 
 MRS. BRIGHTON. I m really afraid that it was, 
 Florrie, dear. Be a brave girl, now. Don t give 
 way. I ll go tell papa not to engage rooms here. 
 (Going.) He can say that we ve decided to go 
 on further south. 
 
 FLORENCE. Mamma, come back! Don t leave 
 me! Go south? (Incoherently.) Go further 
 south? Never! No, indeed! After Jack I 
 won t go! How can you be so so just when 
 I m beginning to like this place! Was it Jack? 
 Are you sure it was Jack? (Hurries to the win 
 dow.) Oh, why didn t you tell me, so I could 
 have had a good look? What if we are mis 
 taken? What if it isn t Jack? It would kill 
 me! 
 
 MRS. BRIGHTON. Florrie, what are you saying? 
 
 FLORENCE (moaning). Oh, I don t know, I 
 don t know ! You make me so nervous, talking 
 about going further south. I won t go ! There ! 
 
I m not a baby, to be dragged off to the ends of 
 the earth at a minute s notice. I I m eighteen! 
 (With a sudden assumption of dignity.} Do you 
 suppose I ll let the mere sight of that man spoil 
 everything for us? No! I m not so selfish as 
 that, I hope! Don t say a word to Papa. Don t 
 let him him know Jack s here. - Of course he will 
 leave at once. Probably he hadn t the faintest 
 idea that we were coming to California ! It has 
 been a mistake a coincidence. Why, of course, 
 Mr. Wetherell will leave the minute he discovers 
 we re here. Don t you think so, Mamma? 
 
 MRS. BRIGHTON. Er well, Florrie, I m sure I 
 hope It s really the only thing he could do. 
 
 FLORENCE (beginning to sob). You think so? 
 You really think so? Oh, Mamma! Mamma! 
 I shall die! You are so trying! 
 
 MRS. BRIGHTON. Daughter! 
 
 FLORENCE. Forgive me, Mamma. I am ner 
 vous. Don t listen to me. I will be sensible and 
 calm. Yes, I will be calm. Now, Mamma, you 1 
 see I am calm. What was I going to say? Oh, 
 yes! Well! (Firmly.) Whether Ja whether 
 he whether Mr. Wetherell goes or stays, I shall 
 remain tranquilly here. He shall not drive us 
 from this lovely place. The air here is perfect. 
 It will do me lots of good. Why, I begin to 
 feel better already! Don t I look better? 
 
 MRS. BRIGHTON (nervously). I wish Papa 
 would come. 
 
 FLORENCE. How impatient you are, Mamma! 
 You know it always takes Papa longer than this 
 to arrange with the clerk. Surely we oughn t 
 
to grudge him the time when he enjoys it so! 
 Papa would rather make a dicker, as he calls 
 it, than eat! Let him enjoy it! Let him get 
 what pleasure he can out of this trip. If you 
 say a word to him about Jack s being here, I 
 shall never get over it. I ll not even try to get 
 well. Promise me you won t, Mamma. Promise ! 
 
 MRS. BRIGHTON. But Florence, the audacity 
 of it ! After all we ve gone through ! After we ve 
 crossed the continent to escape disagreeable as 
 sociations. 
 
 FLORENCE. "Disagreeable associations !" Mamma, 
 I won t have Jack called a disagreeable associa 
 tion. He isn t! At least he wasn t! "Escape 
 disagreeable associations !" I hope you will show 
 more spirit, Mamma. / came here for my health. 
 Mr. John Wetherell had nothing to do with it 
 absolutely nothing ! My health is better already. 
 
 MRS. BRIGHTON. We ve only been here an hour. 
 
 FLORENCE. And I don t intend to let anything 
 force me to leave here till I m well perfectly 
 well! If you speak to Papa about Jack there 
 will be a scene. I know there will be. I am 
 too nervous to bear a scene. I hate scenes! 
 Promise me. 
 
 MRS. BRIGHTON. But dearie 
 
 FLORENCE (clasping her arms about her mother s 
 neck}. Promise! 
 
 MRS. BRIGHTON. But 
 
 FLORENCE (kissing her). Promise! 
 
 MRS. BRIGHTON. Well, Florrie, if I must. 
 
 MR. BRIGHTON (entering , beaming). I ve ar 
 ranged everything beautifully! I flatter myself 
 
California landlords won t do me up very seri 
 ously! Not if I know myself! Well, girlies, 
 come on! Or, maybe, Mamma had better come 
 with me, Florrie, while you wait here till we get 
 unpacked and straightened up? What think? 
 
 MRS. BRIGHTON (in consternation). Oh, no; 
 that would never do. By herself? 
 
 MR. BRIGHTON. We ll leave Bobo with her. 
 He ll take care of her, won t you, my boy? By 
 George, the child s looking better already ! I 
 knew California would fix her! Wish I could 
 negotiate for a chunk of the climate to take horns 
 with us! Flo, I haven t seen your eyes so bright 
 for a month, pon my word! 
 
 FLORENCE. I do feel better, but I m rather 
 tired. I d better wait here, I think. I ll sit with 
 Bobo and drink in this glorious air. Come, Bo- 
 bo. (Leans out eagerly.) 
 
 MRS. BRIGHTON. Daughter, I think you d be 
 better away from the window. It will make you 
 nervous to 
 
 MR. BRIGHTON. Nervous ? Nonsense ! Come 
 on ! Let s get at the trunks ! 
 
 MRS. BRIGHTON. In a minute. (While MR. 
 BRIGHTON collects their wraps) Now, Florrie, 
 don t excite yourself, dear. 
 
 FLORENCE. You ve promised! Not a word to 
 Papa! I ll sit here with Bobo (takes dog on her 
 lap) quietly. I am much better already. This 
 glorious air! How I love the smell of orange 
 blossoms! (Exeunt MR. and MRS. BRIGHTON. 
 FLORENCE drops BOBO and kneels upon chair by 
 
the window with elbows on the ledge, while she 
 looks down the street. BOBO whines.) 
 
 FLORENCE. Be still, Bobo ! Such a street ! Why 
 can t people build their streets straight? I can t 
 see around curves ! (She walks the room s length 
 and returns to window.) Come here, Bobo! 
 Come here ! (Sits sidewise on chair with dog on 
 her lap.) Now, Bobo, I want you to go to sleep. 
 . . . It was certainly Jack. Dear, darling, 
 darlingest Jack! To follow me here! I hope 
 Papa won t find it out till we ve made up! 
 O-o-oh, how lovely to make up! Papa will be 
 furious! Oh, Bobo, I am so happy and so 
 miserable! He ll call Jack everything! Well, 
 I ll stand by him. Dear Jack! I m not afraid 
 of Papa, nor of the whole world when I have 
 Jack. (Pause.) What if it wasn t Jack? What 
 
 if (Drops the dog, kneels on chair as before, 
 
 looking down the street.) 
 
 (Enter MR. JACK WETIIERELL.) 
 
 MR. WETHERELL (standing on threshold). Flor 
 ence! 
 
 FLORENCE (starting ecstatically to meet him). 
 Jee ack! (stopping midway) Mr. Wetherell! 
 
 JACK (to the ceiling). Calls me Mr. Wetherell! 
 After I ve crossed the continent, and given up 
 my position, and pawned my dress suit and spent 
 all my savings to come to her; she calls me Mr. 
 Wetherell! (Turns as if to depart.) 
 
 FLORENCE. Er er you re not going f 
 
 JACK (looking over his shoulder). Why should 
 I stay ? You have frozen me with a glance ! That 
 
"Mr. Wetherell" clangs like a death knell ! Yes, 
 I will go ! Let me go ! 
 
 FLORENCE. Oh, well, certainly! Good, bye! 
 Come here, Bobo, don t disturb Mr. Wetherell; 
 He s in a hurry to get away. Come here! 
 
 JACK. Hullo, Bobo, old fellow! You here? 
 You re glad to see me, anyway! You can wag 
 your tail at me and treat me with decent cor 
 diality, but she won t. She (brokenly) calls me 
 Mr. Wetherell ! (stoops to pat the dog) Mister 
 Wetherell ! 
 
 FLORENCE (stooping to pat BOBO too). Forgive 
 me, Jack; it was unkind. 
 
 JACK. Unkind? It was simply inquisitorial. 
 It cut me to to the heart. After I ve been fol 
 lowing you and famishing for you for a whole 
 week the longest week on record ! 
 
 FLORENCE. Has it seemed long? 
 
 JACK. Long? Eternity s a mild word for it! 
 FLORENCE (softly). Are you glad it s ended? 
 
 JACK. Don t speak to me like that! Don t 
 look at me like that! I can t stand it! 
 
 FLORENCE (looking like that again). Jack! 
 
 JACK. Flo! (Tableau.) 
 
 (Enter MR. BRIGHTON.) 
 
 MR. BRIGHTON. Eh? How? Who? You!! 
 
 JACK (meekly). Yes, it s me. 
 
 MR. BRIGHTON (thundering). What does this 
 mean? Can I believe my eyes? Wh-h-hat are 
 you doing, sir? 
 
 JACK (not quite so meekly.) Your eyes do not 
 deceive you, sir. I am I that is, I was 
 
 8 
 
MR. BRIGHTON. Kissing my daughter! 
 
 JACK. Kissing my fiancee. 
 
 MR. BRIGHTON. Florence! Come here! Look 
 at me. 
 
 FLORENCE (catching her breath and clutching 
 JACK S hand, while she looks at the carpet.) 
 Er Sir? 
 
 MR. BRIGHTON. Look at me! 
 
 FLORENCE (feebly). I I don t want to! 
 
 MR. BRIGHTON. Thank heaven, your poor moth 
 er is spared this sight! My poor, foolish little 
 girl ! This man has only to put in his appearance 
 and you drop into his arms! 
 
 FLORENCE. I didn t! Why, Papa! Did I, 
 Jack? 
 
 JACK (eagerly). No, indeed she didn t! I 
 give you my word, Mr. Brighton, she received me 
 with icy coldness at first. She called me (quite 
 overcome) I will not tell you what she called 
 me. 
 
 MR. BRIGHTON. A villain, no doubt! And so 
 you are, sir ! A villain ! A 
 
 FLORENCE. Papa, I implore you not to be vio 
 lent. I Jack 
 
 MR. BRIGHTON. Florrie, you told me yourself 
 that he had deceived you. 
 
 JACK. Flo, did you say that? 
 
 FLORENCE. Well, Jack, you know you did fib 
 to me about Maude Henderson. 
 
 MR. BRIGHTON. And that he had trampled on 
 your heart. 
 
 JACK, oh, Florence! 
 
 
MR. BRIGHTON. And she declared that she 
 never wanted to see your face again. 
 
 JACK. Oh, well, if you feel like that, Miss 
 Brighton 
 
 FLORENCE (clinging to both men ). But, Jack 
 but Papa, dearest, I he you see, I I have 
 changed my mind! Oh, please please 
 
 MR. BRIGHTON. And you were sick in bed for 
 five days and we were all half crazy, while this 
 man went off on a fishing excursion ! 
 
 JACK. She drove me from her. I was desper 
 ate ! She returned the ring. She told me to give 
 it to 
 
 FLORENCE. But, Jack, dear, I ll take the ring 
 back. I want it back! 
 
 MR. BRIGHTON. She begged me to take her 
 away anywhere from the home you had blighted, 
 sir; blighted! And I brought her here; and 
 you 
 
 JACK. Yes, I came after her. I couldn t stand 
 it! 
 
 FLORENCE. Neither could I ! (Embracing 
 JACK precipitately.) 
 
 MRS. BRIGHTON (coming along the hall). Papa! 
 Florence ! 
 
 MR. BRIGHTON. Great Scott ! Here comes your 
 mother ! 
 
 (Enter MRS. BRIGHTON.) 
 
 MRS. BRIGHTON. What s the matter. What 
 kept you so long? Is Florrie ill? I waited un 
 til (sees JACK) O-o-o-o-o-o! You! 
 
 MR. BRIGHTON. There; there, Mamma dear, 
 
 10 
 
don t get excited. It s all right! Why, you look 
 as if he were a ghost! It s all right, I give you 
 my word. I ve had a talk with them and they ve 
 made it all up haven t you, children? 
 
 THE CHILDREN (eagerly). Yes, yes; we ve 
 made it all up ! 
 
 MR. BRIGHTON. And they re good friends again ; 
 better than ever; and I ve given em my paternal 
 benediction. It was only a little sort of a mild 
 little er misunderstanding, not worth mention 
 ing. Pon my word ! Was it, children ? 
 
 THE CHILDREN. No; no, indeed; not worth 
 mentioning ! 
 
 MR. BRIGHTON. And just as you came in, Jack 
 was going to give Florrie back the ring. Go 
 ahead, Jack! Where s the ring? 
 
 JACK (after a painful pause). Well, you see, 
 I I 
 
 FLORENCE (fiercely). You haven t given it to 
 
 JACK. No, no! Of course not! Certainly 
 not! I well (smiling miserably), to tell you 
 the truth, I you see^ I came away rather unex 
 pectedly, and er 
 
 MR. BRIGHTON. Just so! Oh, well! Never 
 mind! 
 
 FLORENCE. But / mind! Jack Wetherell, I 
 want to know what you did with my with that 
 ring? 
 
 JACK. Well, Flo, I was going to explain. You 
 see, I came away so unexpectedly, and I well, I 
 needed that is, I was a little short, so to speak 
 
 11 
 
FLORENCE. Short? Short? What do you mean 
 by short? 
 
 JACK. Well, Flo, I mean it was like this. 
 Your father, being a business man, will under 
 stand it. It s a common business transaction, 
 but 
 
 FLORENCE. You sold it! Oh, Mamma! Mam 
 ma! 
 
 MRS. BRIGHTON. My poor, poor child ! 
 
 JACK. No, Florence, I didn t; indeed, indeed, 
 I didn t! I (reluctantly) I only pawned it! 
 (apologetically.) I had to do it or lose you! 
 
 MR. BRIGHTON. Just so! Quite right! Great 
 scheme! Florence, stop crying! Mamma, do be 
 reasonable! Think how poor we were when we 
 were young, and what furious rows we had. 
 What s the use? Mamma, you always liked Jack, 
 you know you did! 
 
 MRS. BRIGHTON. No-o; not since Florrie told 
 me how 
 
 JACK. Oh, Mrs. Brighton, Florrie has forgiven 
 everything, haven t you, Flo? 
 
 FLORENCE. It was all my fault, Mamma. Real 
 ly and truly! I was an unreasonable, jealous, 
 hateful, suspicious 
 
 JACK. Come, now, I won t have you calling 
 my sweetheart such names ! 
 
 MR. BRIGHTON. That s right, Jack! Don t let 
 your sweetheart malign my daughter that way! 
 
 FLORENCE. Well, I ll stop if Mamma will be 
 sensible and forgive everything and never mention 
 it again. 
 
 12 
 
MRS. BRIGHTON. But Florrie, you said 
 
 FLORENCE (clasping her mother s neck). Prom 
 ise! 
 
 Mas. BRIGHTON. But 
 
 FLORENCE (showering kisses). Promise 1 
 MRS. BRIGHTON. Oh, well, I suppose I must! 
 
 13 
 
A HOUSE PARTY. 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 MRS. PERRY WILDMERE, hostess. 
 KATHERINE ROGERS, \ 
 TOM SEVERANCE, j 
 
 FRED MATTHEWS, ( 
 
 CAPTAIN TRUE, } Guests. 
 
 MR. VANCE, 
 MR. MERRIVALE, 
 And six young ladies, 
 
 SCENE : The wide south veranda of Mrs. Perry 
 Wildmere s cottage at Santa- Juanita-by-the-Sea. 
 Upon a wicker couch, in a fragrant recess, shaded 
 by a bloom-laden honeysuckle, KATHERINE ROGERS 
 is lying, half asleep. Two books are upon her 
 lap, a bit of drawn-work and a glass of iced lem 
 onade on the bamboo table beside her. Some one 
 trips briskly along the gravel path outside, as 
 cends nimbly the steps at the south entrance and 
 approaches her retreat; but she does not stir nor 
 open an eye until a vigorous "hallo" startles her 
 from her delicious lethargy. 
 
 TIME 10 o clock in the morning. 
 
 KATHERINE (looking up). Oh, you! Go 
 
 14 
 
away! Men aren t allowed on this porch before 
 luncheon. 
 
 TOM SEVERANCE. "Go away!" I won t go 
 away! I ve been hunting for you everywhere 
 down on the beach, and up the canyon, and along 
 the walk 
 
 KATHERINE. Well, look for me in some of 
 those places tomorrow and I ll be there. I m not 
 there today, because I m tired of people, and 
 Oh, please go away, cousin Tom! 
 
 TOM. You re cross! But I like you when 
 you re cross. I ll not be scared off by a little 
 scolding. (Moves lemonade and drawn-work to 
 porch rail and perches upon table.) Now fire 
 away! I m fixed. 
 
 KATHERINE. You won t go? Very well, then! 
 Don t expect me to talk to you! (Screens her 
 face behind a book.) I ll not say another word. 
 
 TOM. That suits me perfectly, too. I want a 
 chance to talk to you without interruption. Every 
 time I try to talk seriously to you, you suppress 
 me. I m tired being suppressed. I ll not be sup 
 pressed! You seem to think, just because I m 
 your cousin, that I have no 
 
 KATHERINE (hastily). Oh, well, if you re bound 
 to stay, I suppose I can t prevent you ! You shall 
 make yourself useful. Go bring me another cush 
 ion. 
 
 TOM. Another cushion! Why, you have at 
 least five already. One, two, three, four 
 
 KATHERINE. Yes; but but this elbow isn t 
 quite comfortable. I must have one more. 
 
 TOM. O. K., Kathie; we ll not quarrel about 
 
 15 
 
it. She shall have her cushion. I fly! (Van 
 ishes around corner.) 
 
 FRED MATTHEWS (approaching R.). Tiddy-um, 
 tiddy-up, tiddy-um-tum-tum ! (Simulating sur 
 prise.) Why you don t mean to say it s you! 
 Thought you were down bathing with the rest 
 of the girls. By Jove! What luck! I ve just 
 been wanting to see you. 
 
 KATHERINE (crossly). Oh, you have! 
 
 FRED. Yes ! I ve been you see, I ve been try 
 ing for a week to 
 
 KATHERINE. Oh, Mr. Matthews, I m so thirsty, 
 and that lemonade is so flat. Suppose you bring 
 a pitcher of ice water? 
 
 FRED. Let me say a few 
 
 KATHERINE, I can t wait! I m famishing! I 
 was just hoping that some one would come to 
 my relief. Please hurry! You can talk as long 
 as you like, afterward. 
 
 FRED. You mean it? No fooling? You prom 
 ise to listen? (KATHERINE nods affirmatively.) 
 Good! I ll be back in no time! (Exit R. 
 KATHERINE smiles mischievously, re-arranges her 
 cushions and her skirts and begins energetically 
 upon her drawn-work, humming, meanwhile, a 
 sentimental Spanish song. Enter breathlessly R., 
 Fred with ice water, L., Tom with cushion. They 
 exchange glares.) 
 
 KATHERINE (sweetly). Oh, here you are! Two 
 er ministering angels! (Laughing.) So 
 good of you ! How amiable you look ! 
 
 TOM (sulkily). Here s your cushion. 
 
 FRED (gloomily). Here s your ice water. 
 
 16 
 
KATHERINE. Oh, thank you! So kind 
 
 BOTH (eagerly). Let me assist you! 
 
 KATHERINE (tucking the cushion under her 
 shoulder). Never mind! I m blissfully comfort 
 able now; at least I shall be after I ve had some 
 ice water. I ll take it through a straw, I think; 
 just get that one from the lemonade, Tom. I m 
 really afraid to move. I shall never achieve such 
 a comfortable pose again never! 
 
 TOM. Here s your straw. 
 
 FRED. Here s your ice water. (They stand 
 anxiously while she sips.) 
 
 KATHERINE. Sit down, do! (They look around 
 dubiously.) Sorry there s no room on this 
 couch ; but sit down somewhere ! You you 
 make me nervous, eyeing me like a couple of of 
 what shall I say? 
 
 FRED (dolefully). I m sure I don t know. 
 
 TOM. You do look kind of down in the mouth, 
 Matthews; brace up! 
 
 (ToM perches upon table as before. FRED takes 
 the floor and embraces his knees. Dead silence 
 ensues. ) 
 
 KATHERINE. Now talk! Didn t you both tell 
 me you wanted to talk? Why don t you talk? 
 
 FRED. I I don t seem to feel as much like it 
 as as I did, some way or other. I 
 
 TOM. I you er what have you been read 
 ing, Miss Rogers? 
 
 KATHERINE. Well, I brought out Rossetti and 
 "Three Men in a Boat" and my needle- work, just 
 to make me feel as if I had a wee bit of mind and 
 a tiny scrap of energy left; but oh, here comes 
 
 17 
 
Captain True! How nice! He is so entertain 
 ing! He always feels like talking. 
 
 TOM. Yes, he always does; whether people 
 feel like listening or not! 
 
 FRED. Queer, isn t it, now, the way that man 
 dogs our steps? I never get within a block of 
 Miss Rogers before True turns up. (Plaintive 
 ly.) It would seem so kind of nice, you know, 
 if I could, just for once 
 
 KATHERINE. Sh-h-h, he ll hear you! 
 
 (CAPTAIN TRUE approaches R., twirling his 
 cane, while the two men scoivl and KATHERINE 
 smiles a greeting.) 
 
 CAPTAIN TRUE. Hello ! How s this ? Thought 
 everybody was down at the beach ! How cool 
 and contented you people look! 
 
 KATHERINE. Yes. We re having such a charm 
 ing time; aren t we? 
 
 TOM (dubiously). Ye-es. Oh, yes ! 
 
 FRED (wearily). Oh, yes! Charming! Yes, 
 indeed ! 
 
 CAPTAIN TRUE. By Jove ! Matthews there re 
 minds me of the way we used to sit around the 
 camp-fires when I was in active service out on 
 the frontier. Beats sitting on a chair all to pieces 
 don t it, Freddie, my boy? (Sits on floor be 
 side FRED.) I remember one night " 
 
 TOM (murmuring). Spare us, good Lord! 
 
 CAPTAIN TRUE. What say? 
 
 KATHERINE. Don t interrupt the Captain, Tom ! 
 Go on, Captain. Your stories are always so so 
 thrilling! It s delicious to lounge on a shady 
 porch and sip ice water and smell honeysuckles 
 
 18 
 
and have one s blood curdled! Go on! Tell us 
 a real exciting one a nice long one, all about 
 Indians and scouts and things! 
 
 CAPTAIN TRUE (complacently}. Well, Miss 
 Rogers, I have had some thrilling experiences. 
 Mine has been a varied career. As I was going 
 to say, I remember one night the deuce! I 
 I ve forgotten what I remember. 
 
 TOM ) 
 
 ( Too bad! 
 FRED [ 
 
 CAPTAIN TRUE (irritably). I I m not used to 
 being interrupted when I begin to to talk. It 
 it rattles me, by Jove! 
 
 TOM. Do try and think, Captain. Was it the 
 one about the messenger that dropped dead? 
 
 FRED. Or the one about the swarm of red 
 devils that you obliterated single-handed? 
 
 CAPTAIN TRUE. Ton my word! You fel 
 lows 
 
 A VOICE (from within). I say, Miss Rogers? 
 
 KATHERINE (eagerly). Well? Is that you, 
 Mr. Vance? 
 
 MR. VANCE. Si, Senorita! I m just waked up. 
 I wanted to ask if you ll teach me the rest of 
 that song this morning? Shall I bring down my 
 guitar? 
 
 KATHERINE. Yes, do ! 
 
 TOM. It seems to me Mrs. Wildmere s house 
 party is in rather a disjointed state this morn 
 ing. Last night we agreed to meet at ten on the 
 beach. There are just five men in the house, 
 and here are four of us! What a lively time 
 
 19 
 
the girls must be having! 
 
 FRED (who has lapsed into a state of profound 
 melancholy). Mrs. Wildmere will be wrathy; 
 see if she isn t! 
 
 CAPTAIN TRUE. Hadn t you fellows better go 
 down to the beach and make your peace? 
 
 TOM. It s too hot. 
 
 FRED. The water s too cold. 
 
 CAPTAIN TRUE. Let s see. What man have 
 they got? Old Merrivale, by Jove! Fancy old 
 Merrivale with six girls to float! 
 
 OMNES (hilariously). Six girls! Oh! 
 
 (Enter MR. VANCE in picturesque summer of 
 tire, with guitar, which he thrums while he sing* 
 the opening lines of a Spanish song.) 
 
 MR. VANCE. "Adonde ira, veloz y fatigada. La 
 
 golondrina, que de " Let s see, what conies 
 
 next? 
 
 KATHERINE. Bravo! You re doing beautiful 
 ly! 
 
 MR. VANCE. Am I? How do I get the ac 
 cent? "Veloz y fatigada?" Move over! Expect 
 me to sit on the ragged edge of this couch and 
 play with the grace of a Spanish guitarristaf 
 (KATHERINE smilingly makes room for him.) 
 Now I ll begin again. (Thrums.) "Adonde ira" 
 What are you fellows looking like that for? 
 Don t you enjoy music? 
 
 KATHERINE. Why, they love it! Of course 
 they do! Don t you? 
 
 THE FELLOWS. Oh, yes; yes, certainly. Of 
 course we do! We love it! 
 
 20 
 
KATHERINE. You don t get that chord exactly 
 right Let me show you. (Leans over the gui 
 tar.) Your second finger goes here so! Now 
 try again. 
 
 MR. VANCE (trying again, while the fellows 
 
 mutter indignant aside). "Adonde ira, velos 
 tt 
 
 KATHERINE. I ll tell you what, Mr. Vance. 
 Our music disturbs the gentlemen. I don t be 
 lieve they are so very fond of music, after all ! 
 Suppose we go round to the west porch, where 
 we where they won t be disturbed? 
 
 MR. VANCE. Good idea ! I hate trying to sing 
 where people are talking. Let s go. 
 
 THE FELLOWS. Oh, no ! Don t go ! You needn t 
 go! 
 
 KATHERINE (sweetly). We couldn t think of 
 disturbing you so! No, indeed! Good-bye! 
 
 (Exit with MR. VANCE and the guitar.) 
 
 TOM (savagely). Well, I like that! 
 
 FRED (mournfully). Gives us the cold shake, 
 by George! 
 
 CAPTAIN TRUE. What a consummate bore that 
 fellow Vance is! By Jove! a consummate bore! 
 
 TOM. That s why I hate a house party ! You re 
 forced to associate intimately with people you 
 
 FRED. Great Scott! Here come the girls! 
 
 (Up the steps at the south entrance comes the 
 remainder of MRS. WILDMERE S party \ the six 
 gtrls walking by twos, MRS. WILDMERE and OLD 
 MERRIVALE very red in the face from his recent 
 exertions bringing up the rear. The fellows fid 
 get guiltily and keep silent, anticipating MRS. 
 
 21 
 
WILDMERE S reproaches.) 
 
 MRS. WILDMERE (shaking her parasol at them). 
 There they are ! Traitors ! Reprobates ! You ve 
 missed a glorious dip! The water was perfect! 
 Perfect ! The girls are furious with you ! Mr. 
 Merrivale is the only one who approves of you. 
 He has had a glorious time ! We all adore Mr. 
 Merrivale. Don t we, girls? 
 
 TOM. Well, you see, Mrs. Wildmere, I had 
 such a headache 
 
 FRED. And I woke with a touch of rheuma 
 tism this morning, so I really didn t dare 
 
 MRS. WILDMERE. And I suppose poor Captain 
 True was seriously indisposed, too? You do look 
 rather forlorn, all three of you. You poor things ! 
 And where s Katherine? 
 
 TOM (significantly). Round on the west porch 
 with Vance. 
 
 FRED (solemnly). Playing the guitar. 
 
 CAPTAIN TRUE. And singing a sentimental 
 Spanish song. 
 
 MRS. WILDMERE. How very nice! I think I ll 
 go around and listen. Suppose we all go and 
 surprise them. 
 
 TOM. What a lark! Mrs. Wildmere, you re 
 a 
 
 FRED (smiling once more). A great scheme. 
 Come on! 
 
 CAPTAIN TRUE. By Jove ! 
 
 CHORUS (jubilate). Suppose we do! 
 
 (They go off laughing, each of the young men 
 escorting two girls, MR. MERRIVALE and MRS. 
 WILDMERE leading the way.) 
 
 22 
 

 II. 
 
 SCENE : The west porch, an al fresco drawing- 
 room hung with scented East Indian tatties, car 
 peted with Turkish rugs and furnished with a 
 capacious hammock, low lounging chairs and the 
 indispensable cushions. VANCE occupies the ham 
 mock, which swings gently, keeping time to the 
 music of his guitar. KATHERINE sits in a high- 
 backed rocker, with half -closed eyes and her 
 hands clasped behind her head, while she sings 
 the final words of that Spanish song. 
 
 KATHERINE (softly). "Tambien yo estoy, en 
 la region perdido O cielo santo! y sin poder vo- 
 lar!" 
 
 VANCE (after a pause). Lovely! Lovely! You 
 put your soul into it, Katherine. I I feel it! 
 
 It I could listen to your singing forever ! I 
 
 (He stops abruptly, lays aside his guitar, and, ris 
 ing, studies her face.) 
 
 KATHERINE (looking up at him). Yes? 
 
 VANCE. I wish I knew I wish I could if 
 I dared 
 
 KATHERINE. If you dared? 
 
 VANCE. Dearest! (At this inopportune mo 
 ment enter precipitately MRS. WILDMERE and her 
 party. VANCE makes a gesture of rage, strides 
 across the ve randa, and turns his back to them 
 all.) 
 
 MRS. WILDMERE (gaily). Here we are! We ve 
 come to hear the music! Why, Mr. Vance, 
 where s your guitar? 
 
 CAPTAIN TRUE. What s the matter with Vance ? 
 Eh? 
 
 23 
 
TOM SEVERANCE. I hope we re not intruding. 
 Eh, Vance? 
 
 VANCE (addressing the tatties ). Oh, no; not 
 at all! Certainly not! Delighted, I m sure! 
 
 KATHERINE (-with undiminished sweetness). 
 Sorry, you ve come too late. Our lesson s ended. 
 We ve learned it perfectly, haven t we, Mr. 
 Vance? 
 
 VANCE (recovering himself). Yes; perfectly. 
 Mrs. Wildmere, Kath Miss Rogers is an excel 
 lent teacher. 
 
 FRED (despairingly, aside to TOM). Calls her 
 Katherine! Hear? No use! 
 
 VANCE (artfully). Come to think of it, though, 
 Miss Rogers, there is one little point I m not 
 quite clear about. I perhaps, if you don t 
 mind, it might be a good idea to to ask Mrs. 
 Wildmere and the others to excuse us for a 
 little bit. We could go down into the rose-gar 
 den or somewhere. Be back directly, of course. 
 Mrs. Wildmere! till you could make it plain to 
 me? (Approaching KATHERINE). Will you 
 come? You ll excuse us, Mrs. Wildmere? 
 
 MRS. WILDMERE (taken unawares). Oh, why 
 er Oh, certainly ! We ll excuse you ! 
 
 DISCOMFITED CHORUS (discordantly). Oh, why 
 certainly! We ll excuse you! 
 
 CAPTAIN TRUE (as the two disappear). But 
 wait! see here! You re forgetting the guitar! 
 
 VANCE (blithely, front afar). Never mind the 
 guitar. We don t need the guitar! 
 
 TOM (emphatically). Well, I like that. 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 24 
 
A HALT ON THE TRAIL. 
 
 SCENE Five weary and dust-begrimed travel 
 ers are descending a narrow trail in the Sierra 
 Madre Motintains. The gentlemen are afoot; the 
 ladies ride sure-footed shaggy little burros. In 
 the lead is PROFESSOR PLANKMIRE, an elderly geol 
 ogist. He is followed by the MISSES THORNDYKE, 
 who look fagged and flurried, and anything but 
 amiable. 
 
 THE PROFESSOR (continuing loudly for he is 
 determined to be heard above the clatter of the 
 burros hoofs). And now, ladies, if you will 
 carefully observe the cliffs we are about to pass, 
 I can give you a clear illustration of what I have 
 remarked in regard to the rock formation of the 
 post-tertiary period. You will see that azoic 
 rocks etc., etc. (Meanwhile, Miss HENRIETTA 
 THORNDYKE, the elder sister, is craning her neck 
 in a vain effo rt to se e around a turn in the trail.) 
 
 Miss FRANCES (apprehensively). What are 
 you looking at, sister? Is it snakes? or a bear? 
 or anything? You make me extremely nervous 
 really? Is my skirt awry? 
 
 25 
 
Miss HENRIETTA (fretfully). What has be 
 come of the young people? Isn t it odd they keep 
 so far behind us, Frances? I declare I believe 
 they want to get out of sight! I ll never under 
 take such responsibilities again I am quite 
 wrought up over it! They may be making love 
 to each other this minute, for all we know! 
 
 Miss FRANCES (decisively). Of course they 
 are; depend upon Helen King to manage that! 
 Such a designing girl! Not at all like we were, 
 when we were girls. 7 would have died rather 
 than ask such attentions from a young unmar 
 ried man. "Tighten her saddle!" a mere subter 
 fuge ! My saddle has been wabbling for an hour ; 
 but if the Professor won t offer to tighten it, it 
 may come off and take me with it to the bottom 
 of the gorge. I ll fix it myself when we reach 
 a level place there don t seem to be any level 
 place on this trail where I can get off. What 
 n he talking about now, Henrietta? 
 
 Miss HENRIETTA (indifferently). Oh, about 
 the erosion of auriferous rocks or something like 
 that. (Simulating an interest and speaking loud 
 ly.) Very interesting, I m sure, Professor! (To 
 her sister.) Sister Frances, can you hear them 
 coming? 
 
 THE PROFESSOR. You will be struck by the 
 signs of glacial action, which become less marked, 
 however, as we descend ; but a close examination 
 still reveals unmistakable striae. Whoa! excuse 
 me, ladies. Let us wait until our young friends 
 overtake us. They must not miss these interest 
 ing rocks! 
 
 26 
 
 
Yes; let us wait- Indeed it would be too bad 
 to let them miss these interesting rocks! Per 
 haps one of us had better go back and hurry 
 them up. Isn t it getting late? Frances, you are 
 behind, suppose you turn round and hurry them 
 up? 
 
 Miss FRANCES (helplessly). But I can t turn. 
 He won t turn (referring to her opinionated 
 burro), and besides, my saddle is loose! 
 
 THE PROFESSOR (tranquilly). Well, well! Let 
 us be patient! They will soon overtake us. 
 Where is my hammer? Shall I bring you a speci 
 men 1 ? Let us be patient! 
 
 11 
 
 "Our young friends" have halted in the shadow 
 of a magnificent pine, whose gigantic shaft, 
 springing from unseen depths, rises like a ca 
 thedral spire above them. HELEN KING, with her 
 foot freed from the stirrup and her hat pushed 
 back, leans upon her burro s neck. DICK LEVER 
 ING can be heard scrambling about below, whence 
 comes the tinkle of falling water. 
 
 HELEN (giving the burro a hug}. Are you 
 thirsty, too, you poor little beast? Are you tired 
 and hot and dusty and cross like the rest of us? 
 I think I never knew a more disagreeable person 
 than that Miss Henrietta Thorndyke unless it is 
 her sister; and the Professor wears one out with 
 
 his never-ending I suppose they ll think I m 
 
 behaving frightfully, to let them lose sight of me 
 for a minute. How Miss Henrietta s neck will 
 
 27 
 
ache tonight! (with a look of extreme satisfac 
 tion.) If I thought being an being unmarried 
 would make me like that, I d take a husband to 
 morrow. Well! (as Dick returns) I thought 
 you d never come! I hope you didn t drink up 
 the entire stream? I m famished! What kept 
 you so long? I fancied I could hear you tum 
 bling down down down 
 
 DICK. And were you thinking of my mangled 
 body lying a thousand feet below you with that 
 complacent smile on your face? Here s your 
 drink! Take it in homeopathic doses, please, I 
 spilled most of it climbing up. By Jove, it s 
 wild down there ! This gorge is cut out of the 
 solid rock. 
 
 HELEN (sipping). So kind of you, Dick! How 
 flushed you look. You re not tired? How odd! 
 I m feeling quite cooled and rested, and so is 
 Maximiliano. 
 
 DICK (scowling). "Maximiliano?" Where is 
 he? Isn t that the name of that theatrical Span 
 iard you thought so romantic yesterday on the 
 peak? 
 
 HELEN (still sipping). Yes, that s his name. 
 Wasn t he romantic? Such a lovely sombrero! 
 And what a picturesque suit, all made out of 
 leather and beads and bangles and fringe and 
 things. Ugh! Drinking out of a tin cup is so 
 so plebeian ! His name is Don Maximiliano Ser- 
 reno. He told me so a lovely name. 
 
 DICK (still scowling). Where is he? 
 
 HELEN. Who? Maximiliano? Oh, he isn t 
 here! That s what I ve named my burro. (Pat- 
 
ting the beast.) Poo-oor Maximiliano ! Arc you 
 tired? Poo-oor thing! 
 
 DICK. May I hazard a suggestion? Don t 
 you think that name is rather too big for the 
 burro? Sort of out of proportion? 
 
 HELEN. Not at all! He may be diminutive 
 externally, but if he s not handsome and pic 
 turesque like Maximiliano Serreno, he is brave, 
 like the Senor, and gallant. I never could have 
 gotten up this fearful trail without him. No. 
 Maximiliano isn t a bit too fine for him. 
 
 DICK (argumentatively) . Well, now, Helen, 
 honestly, I m bound to say it, I think you are 
 idealizing that "senor." He isn t a Spaniard. 
 He s nothing but a common Mexican a dago. 
 Any man can get himself up in deerskins and a 
 sombrero and look what you call picturesque I 
 shouldn t call it just that but I m willing to 
 wager that that fellow is neither brave nor gal 
 lant. 7 thought he looked like a scamp! 
 
 HELEN (tilting her cup). There it s all gone 
 every drop. And I meant to give Maximiliano 
 half. How mean of you, Dick, to spill Maximil- 
 iano s half! And he s so thirsty, too! 
 
 DICK. Do you suppose I went clear down 
 
 there at the risk of my life, leaving you here 
 
 unprotected, to get that burro a drink? Not 
 
 much! You d hardly ask that! 
 
 HELEN. Oh, no, I wouldn t ask it. If you 
 
 haven t enough sympathy 
 
 DICK (desperately). Do you know, Helen 
 King, that you have treated me outrageously 
 on this whole trip? Treated me with less con- 
 
 29 
 
sideration than that beast? I believe you enjoy 
 tormenting me! 
 
 HELEN (with reproachful eyes). Why Dick! 
 
 DICK (savagely). Yes, you do! This is the 
 first time you ve gotten two yards away from 
 Miss Thorndyke, and you knew I was trying to 
 get a chance to speak to you; and on the peak 
 you gave your whole time to that villainous- 
 looking Spaniard, who may be a foot-pad, or a 
 horse-thief, or 
 
 HELEN (indignantly). Don Maximiliano Ser- 
 reno a foot-pad! He has an immense rancho in 
 the San Gabriel valley he told me so ! 
 
 DICK (persisting). You gave your whole time 
 to him, when you knew that I came on this trip 
 just to be with you; and now, the first chance 
 I ve had to be alone with you, you ask me to 
 bring that burro a drink! 
 
 HELEN (murmuring). I don t ask 
 
 DICK. Here, give me that cup ! (He snatches the 
 tin cup, directs a vicious scowl toward MAXIMIL 
 IANO and his fair rider, and vanishes down the 
 mountain side- MAXIMILIANO placidly wags 
 his furry ears. There is a great clatter of dis 
 lodged bowlders, as DICK plunges recklessly 
 downward.) 
 
 HELEN (pensively). What will Miss Thorn- 
 dyke say now? (sighs plaintively.) It will be 
 just like Dick to stay as long as he can! The 
 idea of getting cross just because I said Maximil 
 iano was thirsty! Men are so unreasonable? I 
 didn t ask him to get him a drink. I m afraid 
 Dick Levering has inherited his father s temper. 
 
 30 
 
Well! I pity the girl he marries. (A long 
 pause.) American men are so brusque! Now 
 Don Maximiliano Gracious ! What was that 
 noise? I hope Dick hasn t fallen? I I can t 
 hear him anywhere else. O oh, I do hope he 
 isn t badly hurt! If he is, I ll never forgive my 
 self for sending him down there again. It s all 
 my fault! (She begins to cry.) Hope he hasn t 
 
 surely he wouldn t purposely. No ; of course 
 
 he wouldn t do anything so desperate as that! 
 How miserable he looked, though, just as if I 
 Oh, I wish I knew what made that awful 
 noise! (She listens intently. The mysterious 
 sound is repeated by hollow echoes, which die 
 away into silence profound. Mechanically HELEN 
 straightens her hat. Then she sits with dilated 
 eyes and lips apart while MAXIMILIANO serenely 
 wags his ears.) 
 
 HELEN (in a whisper). Yes! he must have 
 fallen. Perhaps he is dead. If he isn t, why 
 doesn t he come back? What keeps him so long? 
 
 I ll never forgive myself never! I ll Oh 
 
 thank Heaven, he s coming. I hear him ! (She 
 waits eagerly until a figure in buckskin and a 
 sombrero appears.) 
 
 HELEN. The senor! 
 
 DON MAXIMILIANO SERRENO (gallantly). Buenos 
 dias, senorita! 
 
 HELEN (in lame Spanish). Buenos dias, senor. 
 
 DON MAXIMILIANO. Sure-lee, you are not a 
 
 lone? The senor, your caballero, where ees he? 
 
 HELEN (enunciating very distinctly). He is 
 
 31 
 
gone to bring water from the stream below. 
 
 DON MAXIMILIANO. Vaya! And you are not 
 affrighted senorita, to be left a lone, so? 
 asi? 
 
 HELEN. Oh, certainly not, sefior. We Ameri 
 can women are not so timid. 
 
 DON MAXIMILIANO (stopping beside her}. And 
 the others the Pro-iessor and the ladees, whei 
 ees it they have gone? 
 
 HELEN. Oh, they are on ahead somewhere. 
 We have been resting here for half an hour. 
 (The senor s amiable smile suddenly disappears. 
 He clutches MAXIMILIANO s bridle and frowns fe 
 rociously.} 
 
 DON MAXIMILIANO. Money! I must have 
 money ! Queeck ! 
 
 HELEN (startled}. What why, what is the 
 matter, sefior?. .What 
 
 DON MAXIMILIANO. Geeve me money queeck! 
 
 HELEN (beginning to tremble}. I I I do not 
 understand you, senor. I I have no money. 
 What 
 
 DON MAXIMILIANO. Caramba! Geeve me 
 ycur purse queeck! and your ring queeck or 
 I choke you! Understand now, senorita? 
 (HELEN tries to scream, but the senor s hand ts 
 over her mouth. He pulls the ring from her 
 finger and tears the pin from her throat.} Now 
 you must be quiet. Chito! Be quiet, senorita, 
 or sangre de los santos I will shoot ! (More 
 rapidly than he approached the picturesque Span 
 iard retraces his steps. HELEN shivers and sobs, 
 but is discreet enough to make no outcry. For a 
 
 32 
 
time, timid and tearful, she clings to the burro s 
 neck. Soon the sound of retreating steps is heard 
 no more. HELEN grows calmer. She sits erect 
 with a ivhite face and dishevelled hair.) 
 
 HELEN (gasping). My ring gone! My pin 
 gone! That man that dreadful man a robber! 
 I have been robbed! If he could have found 
 my pocket he would have taken my purse ! Oh, 
 how scared I am ! If I could only have screamed 
 
 so Dick How Dick will laugh at me! The 
 
 senor a robber! Why doesn t Dick come? That 
 noise the Mexican! He has murdered Dick! 
 Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do? (She 
 hides her face in her trembling hands. DICK re 
 appears, smiling like a cherub, and carrying the 
 tin-cup, full this time to the brim, with the utmost 
 caution. So softly does he step that HELEN is 
 not conscious of his coming.) 
 
 DICK (sweetly). Helen! 
 
 HELEN (with a shriek and a shudder) . E-ee-eh ! 
 Is that you, Dick you? Oh, how you startled 
 me! 
 
 DICK. Why, Helen, how pale you look! (Ten 
 derly.) Were you frightened, Helen? 
 
 HELEN (suddenly composed). Frightened? 
 How ridiculous ! Do you think I m such a cow 
 ard that I m afraid to stay a few seconds alone? 
 
 DICK (meekly). Oh, I didn t mean that ex 
 actly. I thought may-be, perhaps you know, I 
 thought possibly you were worried about my 
 staying so long. 
 
 HELEN (recovering her spirits). Long? Were 
 you gone long? I hadn t noticed. I ve been 
 
 33 
 
enjoying the wind in these pine trees. Listen! 
 Doesn t it sing? 
 
 DICK. Didn t you hear that big bowlder I sent 
 down? 
 
 HELEN (deceitfully). Bowlder? No-o, I wasn t 
 noticing. Yes, I believe I did hear something 
 falling. Give Maximiliano his drink, poor fel 
 low ! I think I ll call him Max, as you suggested, 
 Dick. It s shorter and more appropriate. Poor 
 Max! So good of you, Dick! But first I wish 
 you d just pour the least bit on my handkerchief. 
 I want to remove a few layers of dust. (With 
 the dampened handkerchief she administers a vig 
 orous rubbing to that part of her countenance 
 defiled by the touch of the picturesque senor.) 
 There, Max, take your drink. Are those flowers 
 for me, Dick? 
 
 DICK. You surely don t think I d bring them 
 for Maximiliano? 
 
 HELEN (earnestly). Please call him Max 
 won t you, Dick? It is more appropriate. And 
 besides I I ve been thinking that probably I did 
 idealize that Mexican. Thanks for the flowers. 
 They re delicious. Now where shall I put them? 
 I m a regular hanging garden already. Perhaps 
 you could take one of the pins out of my hat and 
 fasten the flowers at my belt, if it isn t too much 
 trouble. Then we must start. Miss Thorndyke 
 will be frantic! 
 
 DICK (obediently s eeking the hat-pin). Bother 
 Miss Thorndyke and Miss Frances Thorndyke 
 and that azoic old professor! I ll never go any 
 where with such a lot of sticks again ! 
 
 34 
 
HELEN. Nor I. I ve had a perfectly horrible 
 time. Everybody has been so so disappointing 
 and detestable! 
 
 DICK (in poignant anxiety). Do you mean to 
 include me in that, Helen? Have I been detest 
 able, too? 
 
 HELEN. You re running that hat-pin clear 
 through me! 
 
 DICK (penitently). Did it hurt? 
 
 HELEN (petulantly). Hurt? Of course it hurts 
 to be perforated like that! Do you think I m 
 made of stone? 
 
 DICK (significantly). Sometimes I think you 
 are! There they are fastened. Why, Helen, 
 did I really hurt you? I give you my word^ I m 
 sorry ! I d rather cut off my head than give you 
 the least prick of a pin! What makes you cry, 
 Helen ? Why do you tremble so ? Tell me ! I 
 I love you Helen! 
 
 HELEN (incoherently). Oh, I Oh, you Oh, 
 Max We must go, Dick. See, Max knows we 
 ought to be going. 
 
 DICK. Whoa, Max! Helen, listen to me. I 
 love you. It made me happy just to imagine that 
 you were worried about me. I thought you 
 thought I had fallen 
 
 HELEN (with crushing severity). Dick Lever 
 ing, you rolled that bowlder off on purpose to 
 startle me! 
 
 DICK (abjectly). Yes, Helen; I did. I 
 thought 
 
 HELEN (scornfully). Get up, Max! And you 
 profess to love me! 
 
 35 
 
DICK (fervently). Whoa, Max! I adore you! 
 
 HELEN. If if you loved me, you couldn t bear 
 to give me such a shock. 
 
 DICK (radiantly). Then it was a shock! Oh, 
 I m so glad! And you do love me? And you 
 will marry me? And dearest! 
 TABLEAU. 
 
 Ten minutes later. THE MISSES THORNDYKE 
 and PROFESSOR PLANKMIRE (as one voice). Where 
 have you been? 
 
 HELEN (demurely). So sorry to keep you wait 
 ing, but really poor Max was so tired that he 
 absolutely couldn t move another step ! And poor 
 Di Mr. Levering had to climb down and bring 
 him a drink, and I hope you haven t been incon 
 venienced? 
 
 THE PROFESSOR (blandly). Well well! We 
 must be moving if we are to reach those Drift 
 Deposits before dark. As I was about to say, 
 you must not fail to observe etc., etc., etc., ad 
 lib. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 36 
 
A COMPLETE SUCCESS. 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 MRS. Jo NORTH, a tremendously busy woman. 
 
 MONDAY, her pet skye. 
 
 BESSIE STEPHENSON, her pretty sister. 
 
 JOSEPH M. NORTH, her husband, a successful 
 man of business. 
 
 MRS. CHEVALIER, her friend and co-worker. 
 
 DICK ARLINGTON, Bessie s fiance. 
 
 MR. WILL GRIFFITH, a young gentleman of leis 
 ure. 
 
 SCENE Mrs. Jo North s quaint and cosy morn 
 ing-room, 10 A. M. It is a legal holiday, and Mr. 
 Jo North is at home, sprawling over a couple of 
 chairs and looking rather bored, as he listlessly 
 fondles the unresponsive skye. A half-smoked 
 cigar lies, with the morning paper, on a table at 
 his elbow. Mrs. Jo is at her escritoire, writing 
 furiously. Her set lips and the two perpendicular 
 wrinkles which stretch from her small nose to her 
 
 37 
 
Huffy blonde pompadour denote determined con 
 centration. Knocks are heard upon door L, but 
 Mrs. Jo ignores them. 
 
 MR. N. (in the midst of a yawn.) Umm-mm- 
 yah! Come in! 
 
 (Enter MR. GRIFFITH.) 
 
 GRIFFITH (holding his hat and stick and smil 
 ing expansively.) Good morn (discovering MR. 
 NORTH) Hello! What s going to happen? You 
 here? 
 
 MR. N. (explaining apologetically). Legal hol 
 iday, you know. 
 
 GRIFFITH (whose days are all holidays). Oh, I 
 see ! What is it this time that the Nation delights 
 to honor? Washington, or St. Patrick, or the 
 Declaration of Independence? And how is Mrs. 
 North, after her after her strenuous exertions 
 in behalf of sweet charity? 
 
 MRS. N. (writing harder than ever). Don t 
 speak to me! Don t interrupt me! I m writing. 
 
 GRIFFITH (blandly). Ah! North, your wife 
 is the busiest person I know ; a perfect slave ! 
 Why don t you ask me to sit down? 
 
 MR. N. I m too sleepy; why don t you sit 
 down without being asked? Sit down! 
 
 GRIFFITH (carefully laying hat and stick on 
 chair) . Thanks ! ( Sinks into Turkish seat in 
 corner of room.) You re not smoking? 
 
 MR. N. (drowsily). No? Guess I am. Have 
 one? 
 
 GRIFFITH. What luck! Mrs. Jo will never let 
 me smoke. Why this discrimination? (to MRS. 
 
 38 
 

 NORTH, who does not hear.) Oh, I beg your par 
 don, Mrs. North, don t let me disturb you (Lights 
 a cigarette.) It s a pity there aren t more legal 
 holidays. (To MR. NORTH.) I m so glad you re 
 at home. I may smoke! (Puffs ecstatically.) 
 
 MRS. Jo (dropping her pen). There! Heaven 
 be praised, that s done! (Uses blotter energet 
 ically.) If ever I am wheedled into anything like 
 that again, I hope my friends will have expert 
 examination as to my sanity! 
 
 GRIFFITH. What s the matter, Mrs. Jo? You 
 look flustered. 
 
 MRS. Jo. Who wouldn t look flustered, I d like 
 to know? We ve worked four solid weeks to 
 make a success of that Mrs. Emerson-Osgood- 
 Adams recital, and now I ve got to report the to 
 tal profit as four dollars and eighty-five cents. 
 I m half dead! 
 
 GRIFFITH (laughing). By Jove! Four dollars 
 and eighty-five cents! 
 
 MR. N. (dreamily). One dollar and twenty- 
 one and one-quarter cents a week. My dear, I m 
 proud of you. 
 
 MRS. Jo. If you make fun of me, I shall just 
 break right down and cry! It s too bad! But 
 our expenses were they were awful paralyz 
 ing! I never thought of adding them up till 
 after it was over last night. You see, we had to 
 pay her seventy-five dollars to begin with ; she 
 wouldn t open her lips for a cent less 
 
 MR. N. A good business head has Mrs. Em- 
 erson-Osgood-Adams ! 
 
 GRIFFITH. Well, I m glad to hear it s good for 
 
 39 
 
something! A homelier being I never beheld. 
 
 MRS. Jo. She isn t a beauty, that s true. If she 
 were, she d have been well married before this, 
 instead of earning her bread by the sweat of other 
 people s brows, as she s doing now! Mercenary 
 thing! Extorting seventy-five dollars from us, 
 
 and leaving us with a profit of 
 
 GRIFFITH. Ha! Ha! Four-eighty-five! Car 
 olyn will faint! She sent me around on purpose 
 to find how much you d made. She said it was 
 a complete success . She s in bed with one of her 
 face-aches, of course. Went without her lunch 
 eon yesterday. 
 
 MRS. Jo. So did I ; so did all of us ! We were 
 too busy decorating to take time to eat. Didn t 
 the stage look lovely? That roses-tangled-up-in- 
 a-tennis-net idea of Carolyn s was a perfect in 
 spiration ! 
 
 GRIFFITH. Guess it was too much for her. 
 Poor girl! She looks shocking! (A knock w 
 heard on door L.) 
 
 MR. N. (yawning). Umn-yah ! Come in! 
 (Enter MRS. CHEVALIER.) 
 
 MRS. C. Who s here? Good morning! Goo- 
 oo-ood morning, Monday darling (takes dog from 
 MR. N.). Is he rumpling your ears all wrong? 
 Eva, I ve just rushed around the first thing to 
 
 find out how much we 
 
 MRS. Jo. Oh, of course ! How much we made ! 
 Well, my dear, prepare yourself! I m almost 
 ashamed to tell you ; it s so paltry. 
 
 MRS. C. Then we didn t lose anything? (MRS. 
 Jo shakes her head.) Well, I m thankful ! I got 
 
 40 
 
to thinking about it last night, and I just laid 
 awake and quaked ! I was sure we d never pat 
 expenses ! 
 
 MRS. Jo (solemnly ). We cleared four dollars 
 and eighty-five cents. 
 
 MRS. C. (dropping Monday). Oh! That s al 
 most worse than not making anything! Four 
 dollars (mournfully) and eighty-five cents. Well, 
 I hope my husband won t find it out. I shall 
 never hear the last of it! (Throwing herself 
 into a chair.) I m done working for charities! 
 
 MRS. Jo. So am I. 
 
 MR. N. (skeptically). Seems to me I ve heard 
 something like that before. 
 
 MRS. C. Well, I mean it this time! I hate 
 philanthropy. 
 
 MRS. Jo. So do I. I believe it s demoralizing! 
 
 (Enter L without knocking, BESSIE STEPHEN- 
 SON, who leaves the door ajar.) 
 
 BESSIE (breathlessly). Oh! Eva! Dick and I 
 have a wager (pants) and I want you to tell me 
 Quick, he s coming! did we lose money? If 
 we did, don t 
 
 (Enter L f DICK ARLINGTON.) 
 
 DICK. Oh, Mrs. Jo, don t let her coax you 
 into I mean you see, we have a bet. Has she 
 told you? 
 
 BESS. How could I tell her when I haven t 
 had time to catch my breath? 
 
 DICK (to MRS. Jo). Well, I say you didn t 
 clear enough to buy peanuts for the Protestant 
 Orphan Asylum 
 
 BESS. And I say that we did! 
 
 41 
 
DICK (to MRS. Jo). Honestly, now! Did you? 
 
 BESS (importunately, to MRS. Jo). Didn t we? 
 Say we did! If we didn t 
 
 MR. N. Stop browbeating my wife, or I ll send 
 Monday to protect her! 
 
 BESS and DICK (imploringly). Tell me! 
 
 MRS. Jo (solemnly). We made four dollars 
 and eighty-five cents. 
 
 BESS and DICK. Four dollars and eighty-five 
 cents ? 
 
 MRS. C, MR. N. and GRIP, (cofroboratively) . 
 Four eighty-five! 
 
 (DiCK (laughing triumphantly). Bess, I ve 
 won! 
 
 BESS. Dick Arlington, I think you are the 
 most thoroughly er unsympathetic man ! The 
 idea of roaring like that ! Think of the good the 
 money we didn t make might have done! I I m 
 ashamed of you ! 
 
 DICK. Oh, come now, Bessie ! Don t be cross ! 
 
 BESS (walking to window, L. B., and looking 
 out). I won t "come now." I think you are 
 cold-blooded. 
 
 GRIFFITH (laughing). Dick, my boy, you re in 
 for it. 
 
 BESS. I think you re all cold-blooded! Laugh 
 ing and I could cry! 
 
 DICK (crossing to window). Don t do that, 
 Bessie! 
 
 BESS. You have no sympathy for the the poor 
 and the oppressed. The idea of laughing because 
 we only made four dollars, and (with something 
 between a sigh and a sob) and eighty-five cents. 
 
 42 
 
You don t care if our recital was a failure as long 
 as you ve won your wager! I ll never pay it 
 (turns to face DICK); never! I don t believe 
 in wagers anyhow! You just coerced me into 
 
 DICK. Why, Bessie, You 
 
 BESS. Yes, you did! Besides, I don t believe 
 you ve won! Four dollars and eighty-five cents 
 would buy (with sudden enthusiasm, running 
 to MR. N.) Brother Jo how many bags of pea 
 nuts would four dollars and eighty-five cents buy? 
 (DiCK follows, and they bend over MR. N.) 
 
 MR. N. Let s see? How mttch a bag? 
 
 DICK. Ten cents. 
 
 BESS. No ! Five cents. Who ever heard of 
 paying ten cents a bag for peanuts ? Ridiculous ! 
 
 MR. N. Well five into four eightyfive goes 
 five into forty-eight, nine. Five into thirty- 
 five, seven Ninety-seven bags of peanuts. 
 
 BESS (turning to MRS. Jo, closely followed by 
 DICK). And how many orphans are there in the 
 Protestant Orphans Asylum? Oh, Eva, you 
 know ! Quick ! 
 
 MRS. Jo (cautiously). Whole orphans or half 
 orphans ? 
 
 BESS. Whole orphans! 
 
 DICK. Whole orphans and half orphans. How 
 many? 
 
 MRS. Jo. Well, when the last annual report 
 was er issued, there were altogether thirty- 
 seven whole orphans and fifty-five half orphans. 
 
 MR. N. What s all this about half or 
 
 BESS (dancing). That makes ninety-two! 
 
 43 
 
Good ! Good ! I ve won after all. There s money 
 enough for ninety-seven! Eva, if you had said 
 ninety-eight I should have expired. Pay me, 
 instantly, Mr. Dick Arlington! I don t approve 
 of wagers, and I shall never make another as 
 long as I live; but you shall pay me this one, just 
 to punish you for being so unfeeling about those 
 poor orphans ! 
 
 GRIFFITH (leaning back among his Turkish 
 cushions). Ha! ha! Fork over, Dick! You ve 
 lost! 
 
 DICK. Never! I don t believe you can buy 
 peanuts good, wholesome, fresh-roasted peanuts 
 that any self-respecting orphan would eat for 
 five cents a bag. 
 
 BESS. Pay your wager! 
 
 DICK. Not till I ve satisfied myself about the 
 price of peanuts. I m going to ask a peanut man. 
 There s one on the next corner. (Starts off.) 
 
 BESS. Then I m going with you! You re not 
 to be trusted. You might 
 
 DICK. You re not going with me, Bessie 
 Stephenson ! You ll insist upon jewing him down. 
 And my wager was made on the prevailing price 
 of peanuts fresh-roasted, double- jointed, self-re 
 specting peanuts. 
 
 MR. N. Stop this unseemly quarreling! I ll 
 go myself and learn the price of peanuts. (Ris 
 ing.) I ll be back directly. 
 
 DICK (calling to MR. N.). Double-jointed! 
 
 MRS. Jo. Yes, do go! Jo, you re a dear! 
 (After MR. NORTH S exit.) He s delighted to 
 have an excuse to get out. Some day, a legal 
 
 44 
 
holiday will be the death of him! (Goes to In 
 dian basket filled with oranges on table R.) Have 
 an orange while we wait? 
 
 BESS. Oh, yes! Let s eat oranges. 
 
 DICK and GRIFFITH (to Bess). Shall I fix one 
 for you? 
 
 MRS. Jo. Don t all speak at once! I suppose 
 (to MRS. C.) that you and I and Monday will 
 have to fix our own oranges for ourselves ! Nice 
 to be a rosebud, isn t it? 
 
 (DICK and GRIFFITH each set about fixing an 
 orange for BESSIE in mad haste, while she looks 
 over the report her sister has left on the escri 
 toire. MRS. Jo and MRS. C. halve an orange and 
 begin to eat.) 
 
 BESS. My ! What a splendid business woman 
 you are, Eva! Your report looks lovely! How 
 did you keep your column of figures so straight? 
 Mine are always bias, like the leaning tower of 
 Pisa. 
 
 GRIFFITH (finishes peeling his orange first}. 
 Have an orange, Miss Bessie? 
 
 BESS (sweetly). Oh, thank you, Mr. Griffith! 
 Were you fixing it for me ? So kind of you ! 
 
 DICK (beginning to eat his orange as if it had 
 never been intended for anyone else). Choice 
 fruit, this, Mrs. Jo. From your own ranch? 
 
 MRS. Jo. No ; Tom sent them from Redlands. 
 Who do you think he met there the other day? 
 Edith Gardner! 
 
 MRS. C. No! Well really a chance to re 
 new their old affair! I heard somebody say 
 
 45 
 
yesterday that Tom was (They continue to 
 
 chat aside.) 
 
 BESS (enjoying her orange). They say that 
 the er native Californians eat their oranges 
 from a sort of suck them, don t you know, from 
 a little hole in the top. 
 
 DICK (determined to take part in the conversa 
 tion). How interesting. (Takes a fresh orange.) 
 Believe I ll try it! But I say, Bess, where s the 
 hole? 
 
 BESS (continuing to address GRIFFITH). But 
 it seems to me that the very nicest way is to use 
 a spoon. That s the way they do in 
 
 GRIFFITH. Suppose I get a spoon for you? 
 Shall I? 
 
 BESS (more sweetly than ever). Oh, if you 
 will. It s such a nice way ! You re awfully kind ! 
 
 GRIFFITH (to MRS. Jo). I m going to invade 
 your silver closet. I know the way. 
 
 MRS. Jo (busily gossiping with her friend). 
 Certainly. Go on. 
 
 (Exit GRIFFITH.) 
 
 DICK (plaintively, to Bessie, who is devoting 
 herself to Monday). Bess, are you you re not 
 cross ? 
 
 BESS (to MONDAY). Never mind! Monday 
 shall have some orange, so he shall ! 
 
 DICK. Bessie Stephenson, what do you mean 
 by ignoring me like this? Answer me! (Indis 
 tinct murmurs from Bess, who continues to 
 fondle the skye.) Why do you accept that cad s 
 attentions and 
 
 46 
 
BESS (to MONDAY). Never mind! In a min 
 ute he shall have some orange so he shall ! 
 
 DICK (waxing wrathful). Why did you pre 
 fer Griffith s orange? Why did you address all 
 your conversation to him? Why couldn t you 
 have sent me for your spoon? I will have an 
 answer. 
 
 BESS (looking up in simulated astonishment). 
 What? I I don t W hy-ee, Dick, what is the 
 matter? Are you angry? (Dick looks abused 
 and indignant.) Oh, well, of course, if you re 
 going to act this way, you can t expect 
 
 DICK. What have I done to deserve such 
 treatment? Tell me? Why should you prefer 
 Griffith s oranges? Why couldn t I bring you 
 your spoon? 
 
 BESS. Oh, well, if every little thing must be 
 explained 
 
 DICK (brokenly). Have you no consideration 
 for my feelings? I can stand a good deal un- 
 kindness, coldness to be utterly ignored to to 
 to but to have someone else doing everything for 
 you! It is too much! You might have let me 
 bring you the spoon! 
 
 BESS. But, Dick! What a stupid you are! 
 I didn t want it. You might have known it was 
 only to to get him out of the way ! I think he s 
 awfully tiresome. 
 
 DICK (somewhat mollified). Oh, was that it? 
 
 BESS. I thought, since he suggested getting 
 it, that while brother Jo was gone, just to have 
 something to do, I d give Monday a little orange- 
 juice; you know Monday adores orange-juice! 
 
 47 
 
DICK. Oh I didn t know. 
 
 BESS. And of course Monday can t take it 
 without a spoon, and I didn t want to send you 
 away. I (demurely) I d much rather talk to 
 you. 
 
 DICK (smiling). Oh! 
 
 BESS. Yes; you see I didn t want the spoon 
 for myself. Why should I be sending anyone 
 for a spoon, Dick, dear (looking up roguishly) 
 when I have you? 
 
 DICK (insulted). Oh! Am I to infer, Miss 
 Stephenson (peremptory knocks on door R. 
 Enter L., MR. NORTH with GRIFFITH, bringing 
 spoons.) 
 
 MR. N. Well, Bessie, peanuts are five cents; 
 five cents a single bag. Wholesale at 
 
 DICK. Five cents a bag? Double- jointed, 
 fresh-roasted peanuts? Ruinous! (Renewed 
 knocks on door R.) 
 
 MRS. Jo (crossing to door R). Then Bess 
 has won! (Opens door.) Jo, here s a message! 
 (Takes it from boy.) Why, it s for me! (Opens 
 envelope.) It s from Sara Henderson. (Reads.) : 
 
 "DEAREST EVA : / forgot to tell you last night, 
 when we were counting up expenses, what I had 
 paid out for -flowers and messenger boys and 
 crepe paper for that yellow shade, and different 
 things. I kept a strict account in my notebook, 
 and the total amount, including ten cents for this 
 message, comes to (MRS. Jo stops, glares at her 
 listeners, and continues in thrilling tones) four 
 dollars and eighty-five cents" 
 
 CHORUS. Four dollars and eighty-five cents! 
 
 48 
 
MIL N. and GRIP, (hilariously ). Entire profit 
 wiped out! 
 
 DICK. So I ve won my wager after all! 
 
 MRS. Jo (reading") : 
 
 "Please stop on your way to the meeting this 
 P. M. and tell me how we came out. I m dying 
 to know; but I m ill quite worn out, in fact, and 
 I shan t be able to be there. 
 
 11 Yours devotedly, SARA." 
 
 If I had "yours devotedly," Sara Henderson, 
 here, this minute, I d make her cringe ! The 
 idea of spending all our profit for flowers and 
 messenger-boys and crepe paper shades. 
 
 MRS. C. I always did dislike Sara Henderson, 
 and now I loathe her! 
 
 BESS. So do I; making me lose my wager! 
 
 MR. N. Not to mention the sorrowful disap 
 pointment of the poor orphans who have been 
 confidently expecting 
 
 MRS. Jo. Think of all the time and work we ve 
 wasted ! 
 
 MRS. C. Think of the teasing I ll get, if my 
 husband hears of this . I shall commit suicide! 
 
 MRS. Jo. If that miserable, sarcastic, cynical 
 old editor of the Society Argus finds us out, he ll 
 put us into his funny paragraphs for the next 
 year. Jo, I think I ll go off to a health resort 
 or somewhere for a while. I can never live it 
 down here! 
 
 MR. N. Oh, it s not so bad as that, Eva. 
 
 DICK. Well, my wager s won, anyway. Pay 
 up, Miss Stephenson ! I don t approve of wagers, 
 |)ut since you insisted upon it, I demand my 
 
 49 
 
money; and, to help the Emerson-Osgood-Adams 
 Recital Fund out, 1 11 donate it to Mrs. Jo. 
 
 BESS (meekly). Oh, will you, Dick? It s 
 awfully good of you! Jo, I I left my purse at 
 home. Could you ? 
 
 MR. N. (offering his wallet). Here, my child, 
 it s at your disposal. 
 
 BESS (looking into wallet.) My! I wish it 
 were! What lots of money! If it were 
 
 MR. N. What would you do with it, Bessie? 
 Buy peanuts for the orphans? 
 
 BESS. No! After paying my wager, I d give 
 the rest to the Emerson-Osgood-Adams Recital 
 Fund ! Then Eva wouldn t need to go into exile, 
 and Mrs. Chevalier s suicide 
 
 MRS. Jo. (clapping her hands). Quick, Bess! 
 Give it to me! He said it was at your disposal! 
 Quick ! Jo, you re a dear ! 
 
 MR. N. But, Eva, look here! I didn t say 
 
 MRS. Jo (counting bills). Ten twenty thirty 
 thirty-five Be still, Jo! You put it at Bessie s 
 disposal, and she has given it to our Fund! It s 
 too late now! 
 
 MR. N. But see here ! 
 
 BESS. Jo, dear ! Dear J o ! Think of the little 
 orphans. 
 
 MR. N. Oh, bother the orphans. 
 
 MRS. C. And of the awful teasing you ll save 
 
 me 
 
 BESS. And of your poor tired little over 
 worked, disappointed wife ! 
 
 MR. N. But 
 
 MRS. Jo. Where s my report! (Crosses to 
 
 50 
 
escritoire.) I must charge up Sara Henderson s 
 hateful four-eighty-five, and credit (Counting.) 
 Seventy-five eighty-five ninety Oh, to think 
 that after all our recital is a success! Jo, you 
 are a dear! (Tosses him the looted wallet.) 
 Now (writes furiously) nobody need ever know, 
 and I ll have it announced in the Argus that the 
 
 Emerson-Osgood-Adams Recital cleared . 
 
 Let s see, how much did we clear? (Begins to 
 add up columns.) Jo, come help me, do! How 
 much? 
 
 MR. N. (as he rises, aside to GRIFFITH). I 
 shall have to cinch somebody to-morrow to make 
 up for this! (Crosses to escritoire.) Well, my 
 dear, (to MRS. Jo) I hope your conscience 
 won t 
 
 MRS. Jo (rising). Here! Sit down here! 
 (Her husband obeys.) Now balance it up for 
 me! (Leans over him.) I m so excited I can t. 
 
 MRS. C. and GRIF. How much? (They cross 
 to escritoire and bend over MR. N. with their 
 backs to BESS and DICK.) 
 
 BESS (extending both hands, with a radiant 
 smile.) Oh, Dick, to think that if it hadn t been 
 for you for your our wager, brother Jo would 
 never have thought of this ! 
 
 Jo (emphatically, over his shoulder). I didn t 
 think of it. I simply submitted to it. 
 
 DICK (holding Bessie s hands). Bess Stephen- 
 son, if you ever treat me so so coldly again, 
 I ll do something desperate! 
 
 BESS. Desperate? Oh, Dick! 
 
 DICK. Yes, I will! Nobody s looking, Bess. 
 
 51 
 
BESS (earnestly). I I give you my word, 
 Dick, I never will. Oh! You mustn t, Dick, 
 don t! 
 
 MR. N. (rising). There you are! A hundred 
 and fifteen, clear! 
 
 MRS. Jo. Eureka ! Jo, you saved me from dis 
 grace. How delighted with my management 
 everyone will be. I know they ll insist upon 
 getting up another recital imediately, since this 
 one has been such a complete success ! 
 
 GRIFFITH. Ha! Ha! Carolyn was right. A 
 complete success! 
 
 MR. N. (grimly). A complete success? 
 
 CHORUS (amid general hand-shaking). A com 
 plete success! 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 52 
 
HOW THEY PRACTICED THEIR 
 TRIO. 
 
 SCENE. The practice-room of a Young Ladies 
 College Music Club. It is the day before the 
 Club s annual concert, and three of its members 
 have, by an elaborate stratagem, secured the 
 room for just one half-hour for a last rehearsal 
 of the trio they are to render. They have locked 
 the door and established themselves in a comfort 
 able corner, with a box of bon-bons within reach, 
 and their notes upon racks before them. MAUDE, 
 who is youthfully piquant and pretty, rests the 
 tip of one patent leather boot upon a low hassock; 
 the lavender ribbon which decks her guitar makes 
 a harness for her neck. HELEN, who is a young 
 woman of extremely ample proportions, is trying 
 to cuddle upon a rather too narrow window-seat, 
 while she devours goodies and thrums the classic 
 banjo; and the ink-stained fingers of LOUISE clasp 
 the bit of tortoise-shell which is to evoke strains 
 of linked sweetness from her inlaid mandolin. 
 
 LOUISE. Hurry up now, girls! After we ve 
 53 
 

 worked so hard to get the room, we musn t waste 
 a minute ! (Strikes the first notes of the prelude 
 with an air which plainly signifies that she means 
 there shall be no trifling. ) 
 
 HELEN (impatiently, as a string snaps). There 
 goes my string. Bother! That s always the way 
 when I m in a hurry. There s nothing more pro 
 voking than a banjo string. 
 
 LOUISE. Unless it s a Greek verb. I ve worked 
 for hours- 
 
 HELEN. Where is my string-bag? Of course 
 
 it must go and get itself lost Well, if I 
 
 haven t been sitting on it the whole time! I 
 thought I wasn t just exactly comfortable. Here, 
 Lou, unpucker it for me, while I take out this 
 string. I ll only be two minutes. 
 
 MAUDE (cheerfully helping herself to a crystal 
 lised cherry). I think I have my part perfectly 
 now, all but that horrid divertissement on the 
 last page. Oh, if I fail in that I ll feel like ex 
 piring! I ll never take part in another concert. 
 It s too trying. I ve had enough trouble over my 
 gown to drive one mad. Oh, girls, I had such 
 a lovely letter from Alice this morning ! 
 
 LOUISE (intensely interested.) Did you? What 
 does she say? I suppose they re awfully happy? 
 
 MAUDE (con expressione). "Happy!" 
 
 HELEN (whose countenance has been contorted 
 by expressions of acutest anguish during the 
 tightening of her banjo-string). And is he as de 
 voted as ever? 
 
 MAUDE. "Devoted!" Well, they re simply 
 ecstatic! I wish I had brought the letter. If I 
 
 54 
 
had had any idea that Helen was going to keep 
 us waiting like this let s see perhaps I can re 
 member what she says. (Clasps her hands about 
 the neck of her guitar, and recites with closed 
 eyes) "Yes, we ve been married a whole month 
 now, dearest Maude, and I can truthfully say that 
 I haven t a single regret. Indeed, I never knew 
 what happiness was before. Harold " 
 
 LOUISE (murmuring). How lovely! 
 
 MAUDE (continuing to quote). "Harold is the 
 personification of the personification of" pshaw ! 
 I can t remember what it s of, but it s something 
 sweet. 
 
 HELEN (whose interest in the letter has caused 
 her to allow the peg to slip, and who now resumes 
 h&r struggle with the refractory string). Well, 
 she ought to be happy, I m sure! I never saw 
 such devotion it was perfectly abject. He never 
 even looked at the rest of us if Alice 
 
 LOUISE (dubiously}. But she had only known 
 him a year. 
 
 MAUDE (meaning to be very sarcastic). I sup 
 pose Louise thinks people ought to grow up to 
 gether, or else demand a certificate of 
 
 LOUISE. Not at all! But a year ! And 
 
 you know, girls, Hal used to be 
 
 MAUDE (vehemently). Well, what if he did? 
 He isn t any more. He s all right now, and he 
 simply adores Alice. He d die for her! How can 
 you talk so, Louise? Just think how he gave up 
 cigarettes for her. 
 
 LOUISE. Yes exchanged them for a nasty pipe. 
 
 MAUDE. Don t be narrow, Louise. Why, Alice 
 
 55 
 
says she likes a fine meerschaum or briar-wood 
 pipe. "Only a year!" Why, Louise, everyone 
 knows that love isn t dependent upon time. For 
 my part, I believe in love at first sight! 
 
 LOUISE (groaning). Oh oh! Maude! 
 
 HELEN (laughing). Maude, you re simply kill 
 ing f 
 
 MAUDE (defiantly). Well, I do! Of course I 
 don t mean that I think people should be married 
 right off, or even (weakening under their re 
 proachful glances) that they should become en 
 gaged ; but I do think I believe I know (gather 
 ing courage) yes, I know that people can love 
 each other the very first time they meet. Why, I 
 knew a girl 
 
 THE OTHERS (forgetting their disapproval). Oh, 
 tell us about her, Maude, do! 
 
 MAUDE (determinedly). No! Don t beg me. 
 I can t I ve promised. But I met her last sum 
 mer, and she is married now, and she loved her 
 husband before she even knew his name. So, 
 there ! 
 
 HELEN. Oh, I know. It s that girl you told 
 me about last fall. So romantic! 
 
 LOUISE. Yes, romantic and silly. How could 
 she love a man before she knew his thoughts or 
 feelings or tastes? 
 
 HELEN (at hazard). Perhaps she did know, 
 Lou er instinctively. 
 
 LOUISE. Nonsense! I believe in long engage 
 ments. 
 
 HELEN. Well, / don t! I think, when people 
 love each other, they should be married and be- 
 
 56 
 
gin helping each other at once. I don t like the 
 idea of engagements it s like joining the church 
 on probation. 
 
 LOUISE (seriously). But surely, Helen, a 
 broken engagement is better than a wretched 
 marriage. Don t be unreasonable! 
 
 HELEN. A girl has no business to get engaged 
 to the wrong man. I despise a flirtation it s so 
 common! 
 
 MAUDE. That s why I detest Margaret Gray- 
 son so. The way she tri 
 
 LOUISE. But, Helen, sometimes people make 
 mistakes. 
 
 HELEN. It s usually their own fault. 
 
 MAUDE (dramatically). Is it? 
 "Unless you can muse in a crowd all day 
 
 On the absent face that fixed you, 
 
 Unless you can love as the angels may 
 
 With the breadth of Heaven betwixt you, 
 
 Unless you can dream that his faith is fast 
 
 Through behooving and unbehooving, 
 
 Unless you can die when the dream is past 
 
 Oh, never call it loving !" 
 
 (HELEN sighs expansively. LOUISE looks pen 
 sively through the window. MAUDE fingers her 
 lavender harness. There is a dead silence.) 
 
 HELEN (abruptly). Girls, what does "behoov 
 ing" mean, any way? 
 
 MAUDE. "Behooving?" It means "behooving" 
 means Oh, what does "behooving" mean? 
 
 LOUISE (earnestly). Now, it seems to me that 
 I d have to know a man was worthy no matter 
 how fascinating. He d have to attract me by his 
 
 57 
 
goodness. 
 
 MAUDE. Ugh! "Goodness!" There are lots 
 of good men I simply abominate! The man I 
 love must be brave and cultured, and he must 
 love me better than his life or his honor or or 
 anything! I believe I could overlook a man s 
 faults if he loved me to distraction. 
 
 HELEN (conclusively). Then he d be good for 
 your sake. 
 
 MAUDE (with the fervor of youth and inexper 
 ience). Of course he would. That s where a 
 woman s power comes in. 
 
 LOUISE. You girls talk as if a man were a pli 
 able clay image. 
 
 HELEN. Well, not exactly that, but pretty 
 near it. 
 
 MAUDE. I believe that when a woman inspires 
 the right kind of love 
 
 HELEN. What is the right kind? 
 
 LOUISE (solemnly). Paul says: "Men love " 
 
 MAUDE. Horrors! Lou won t let the least 
 shred of romance into her views. Now, I want 
 my husband to adore me. No matter how friv 
 olous I am, he must consider me perfection. I 
 don t want to be ruled or reverenced. I just 
 want to be loved. I want my husband to be al 
 ways thinking about me, and doing things for me 
 hand me a cherry, Helen. Fred Willard sent 
 me these. Well, as I was saying, I want my 
 husband to be intellectual and handsome ; and (as 
 an afterthought) of course he must be good ; but, 
 no matter what else he is, he must be devoted to 
 me. My ideal man isn t a cold-blooded being, like 
 
 58 
 
 
that lank creature we met yesterday who goes 
 about doing good works. No! He s young and 
 chivalrous and patriotic, and cultured and unsel 
 fish 
 
 HELEN. Do you think he exists on this poky 
 old planet? 
 
 LOUISE. The highest type of man 
 
 MAUDE (impatiently). Do listen to Lou! It 
 sounds like one of Bacon s essays. Go on ! 
 
 LOUISE. I don t ask for a perfect man ; but I do 
 insist that he should have fine instincts. He 
 should love Nature and Beauty. He should live 
 for other than sordid aims 
 
 MAUDE (nibbling a cherry). Yes, indeed! I 
 do so hate a stingy man ! 
 
 LOUISE. And, when he marries, he should seek 
 a woman to be his companion and helpmeet and 
 inspiration. And his children well, I don t see 
 how a man can be bad if he has children ! 
 
 MAUDE. I think Louise is cut out to be a 
 spinster and deliver lectures before all sorts of 
 women s societies and associations and that kind 
 of thing don t you, Helen? Imagine the agonies 
 a man would have to go through before he could 
 understand her! What were you going to say, 
 Helen? 
 
 HELEN. I was going to ask Lou if her ideal 
 man must be educated. 
 
 LOUISE. Well, not necessarily. I could love a 
 man who had never entered a college, if he felt 
 within his soul the desire to know and the pur 
 pose to improve, and if 
 
 MAUDE. There she goes again ! That poor man ! 
 
 59 
 
LOUISE. And if I felt that I was necessary to 
 the highest development of his nature, and that 
 he was necessary to mine. 
 
 HELEN. Seems to me, you want to reduce mar 
 riage to a science. You ll take a husband to 
 further your development, just as you d take 
 a tonic or 
 
 MAUDE. Oh, Helen! How perfectly ridicu 
 lous! 
 
 HELEN. Did you ever meet a man that came up 
 to your ideas, Louise? 
 
 LOUISE (promptly). Certainly not! When I do, 
 I ll marry him that is, if he asks me. 
 
 MAUDE. Now, when I marry, it will be 
 
 (At this instant the clock strikes the hour. 
 Maude is shocked into silence. Consternation 
 lengthens each face. There is an impatient knock 
 ing at the door. Cries of "Time s up!" "Let us 
 in!") 
 
 OMNES (remorsefully, as they grasp their neg 
 lected instruments) . Oh, girls ! Our trio ! 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 60 
 
A COUP-DE-MAIN. 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 MRS. MORRIS, a motherly sort of a person. 
 
 ALICE BURROUGHS, a New England girl with 
 a despotic conscience. 
 
 Miss FANNIE MEREDITH, one of the innumer 
 able ephemera, whose existence is unnaturally 
 prolonged in California air. 
 
 MR. FREDERIC BENEDICT, a young San Francisco 
 business man. 
 
 MARION BENEDICT, his cousin. 
 The usual heterogeneous assortment of invalid 
 habitues of a California boarding-house. 
 
 SCENE: The parlor, after luncheon. MRS. 
 MORRIS and ALICE BURROUGHS stand together 
 at a window, looking out. MARION BENEDICT 
 bends over her embroidery frame near the fire, 
 while FRED roams restlessly about with his hands 
 in his pockets. Everybody looks bored. 
 
 MRS. MORRIS. How it pours! So unlucky for 
 you, Alice, to leave California in the rain. It s 
 a bad sign, you know! Hadn t you better wait? 
 But it may clear by to-morrow of course it 
 
 61 
 
will! You look tired, my dear; been packing? 
 
 ALICE. I am tired. No, I haven t packed a 
 thing yet. I hate to pack; I always put it off 
 till the last minute. {Looks nervously around.) 
 Oh, Mrs. Morris, I do so want to speak to you 
 confidentially, you know just for a minute. 
 How can we get out of hearing of these people? 
 
 MRS. MORRIS. I ll manage it. (Loudly.) 
 Have you seen what a puddle the tennis-court is? 
 No? Come, look out. (They cross the room 
 to an alcove.) Now, dear, what is it? 
 
 ALICE. Oh, Mrs. Morris, I you I am so per 
 plexed ! I want you to help me get through the 
 rest of this dreadful day. Oh, can t you under 
 stand without my telling you? 
 
 MRS. MORRIS.. Well, perhaps if you ll give me 
 the least little bit of a hint. Is it about Fred? 
 
 ALICE. Oh, yes ! that s it ! It s about Fr , 
 
 about Mr. Benedict. You understand? Oh, how 
 good you are ! It seems as if it would kill me to 
 have to say it! You ll help, me, won t you, dear 
 Mrs. Morris? 
 
 MRS. MORRIS (with enthusiasm). Why, of 
 course I will! Go on! Have you quarreled? 
 
 ALICE. Quarreled? Oh, dear, no! Surely, 
 Mrs. Morris Oh, I m afraid you don t under 
 stand, after all. You see, I m going back East 
 to-morow, and I and he Oh, Mrs. Morris, I 
 know he means to 
 
 MRS. MORRIS (blandly). Propose? 
 
 ALICE. Yes to yes! and I and now it s 
 raining, and we re shut in here, and I 
 
 MRS. MORRIS. I see! You re afraid there will 
 
 62 
 
be no op 
 
 ALICE. Horrors! Mrs. Morris, do you think 
 for one minute that I am capable 
 
 MRS. MORRIS. Well, Alice, there s only one 
 way to make this thing clear to me; you ll just 
 have to speak! 
 
 ALICE (desperately}. Well, I will then! But 
 first you must promise me 
 
 MRS. MORRIS. Oh, I promise. Go on! 
 
 ALICE. I hope you don t think Oh, Mrs. 
 Morris, I should reproach myself forever, if I 
 have given anyone reason to think 
 
 MRS. MORRIS. There! Alice you re always re 
 proaching yourself when you ve done nothing 
 wrong! Do go on, dear! 
 
 ALICE. I m so glad you think I m not to 
 blame. Sometimes I feel as if Well, as I was 
 saying, we ve had a beautiful time, and now I m 
 going, and he feels he feels 
 
 MRS. MORRIS. He feels bad. 
 
 ALICE. Yes ! and oh, Mrs. Morris, he keeps 
 I m just sure he means to 
 
 MRS. MORRIS. Propose? 
 
 ALICE. Yes, and he mustn t, dear Mrs. Morris. 
 No, indeed (firmly) he must not! I couldn t 
 bear the pain of refusing him 
 
 MRS. MORRIS. "Refusing him!" Alice Bur 
 roughs, what are you talking about? 
 
 ALICE. And so I want you to help me to to 
 escape you see? to keep him at a a distance, 
 Mrs. Morris, just this one day more! 
 
 MRS. MORRIS. But see here, Alice, I thought 
 you liked Fred? 
 
 63 
 
ALICE (breathlessly). And I do like him; 
 indeed I do but but you know what my plans 
 are you know that I shall never that to teach 
 is my life-work. What else did I go through 
 college for? 
 
 MRS. MORRIS. Why, of course! You dear 
 little conscientious thing! I see now. You don t 
 want him to pro 
 
 ALICE (hurriedly). That s it! I don t want 
 him to. I want to spare him to spare myself 
 the pain of Oh, you understand, now, don t you, 
 Mrs. Morris? 
 
 FRED BENEDICT (approaching the alcove). Tell 
 me, too? What are you two scheming about, 
 Miss Alice? 
 
 ALICE (incoherently). Now I really I 
 haven t I think I must go. (Hurries away.) 
 
 FRED (savagely to Mrs. Morris). If you weren t 
 here, I d swear! 
 
 MRS. MORRIS. You dreadful boy! What are 
 you cross about? 
 
 FRED. You know that I came over here hoping 
 to that I didn t come over here to 
 
 MRS. MORRIS. Yes; I know you didn t come 
 over here to talk to me! 
 
 FRED (contritely). I beg your pardon, I didn t 
 mean to say anything so rude as that, but hon 
 estly, Mrs. Morris, I may as well own up, for 
 you ve seen through me long ago. I m desperate! 
 Miss Burroughs leaves to-morrow 
 
 MRS. MORRIS. Yes? 
 
 FRED. Yes, and I can t she won t Mrs. Mor 
 ns, I want your help ! 
 
 64 
 
MRS. MORRIS. My dear boy, how can I help 
 you? 
 
 FRED. Just manage things so I can get four 
 minutes with Alice; keep those people I d like 
 to exterminate the entire lot! keep them inter 
 ested in something or other. See? Great Scott! 
 Why did it rain to-day of all days? I had it 
 all planned. I was going to ask her to let me 
 paddle her down the canal, and then I meant 
 
 MRS. MORRIS. Propose? 
 
 FRED. Exactly! And I really believe that, if 
 I once got her cornered I know (exultantly), 
 yes, Mrs. Morris, I know she (dubiously) I 
 think (dejectedly), I hope (weakly) she likes 
 me! 
 
 MRS. MORRIS. I m sure she does! (FRED 
 grasps her hand) and so does Marion; and so 
 does Fanny Meredith. 
 
 FRED (explosively). "Marion!" "Fanny Mere 
 dith!" If it hadn t been for their insufferable 
 They re always nebbing in when they re not 
 wanted! Marion asked me to untangle her silk 
 for her just now; and I told her I had the 
 (sheepishly) rheumatism. Now, Mrs. Morris, 
 help me out! Think how hideous it would be if 
 Alice should get away before I 
 
 MARION BENEDICT (leaving her embroidery). 
 Is Cousin Fred telling you about his rheumatism, 
 Mrs. Morris? How miserable he looks! What 
 have you prescribed, Pond s extract? or massage? 
 or quinine ?_ We all bring our troubles to you! 
 
 65 
 
FRED. She s going to help me, aren t you, 
 Mrs. Morris? I feel better already! 
 
 MRS. MORRIS. Run away, Fred, do! I want 
 to talk to Marion about our garden party. 
 
 (ALICE, who has been covertly watching them, 
 becomes suddenly so interested in the conversa 
 tion of the old gentleman on the sofa beside her 
 that she seems not to observe her lover s 
 approach.) 
 
 OLD GENTLEMAN (while FRED is waiting a 
 chance to get in a word). And I have never 
 regretted it from that day to this! Such things 
 may seem Quixotic, Miss Alice etc., etc., etc. 
 
 MARION (to MRS. MORRIS). Never mind about 
 the garden party, now. I want to speak to you 
 about something else. Mrs. Morris, have you 
 noticed how glum Cousin Fred is looking? 
 
 MRS. MORRIS. Why, Marion, I thought he was 
 already looking the better for his vacation. 
 
 MARION. Well, yes. But that isn t exactly 
 what I mean, Mrs. Morris; I mean, haven t you 
 noticed how blue he s been lately, and cross? He 
 nearly took my head off a while ago! Haven t 
 you noticed how he goes mooning around after 
 Alice Burroughs Queer what a fascination that 
 stiff New England girl has for men isn t it 
 now? and looking Dored to death if she s not 
 in the room? 
 
 MRS. MORRIS. Of course everybody 
 
 MARION. That s just it! Everybody knows it! 
 and everybody will know it when she refuses 
 him ! She s going to ! I m sure of it ! The cold- 
 hearted thing; and I don t intend to let him give 
 
 66 
 
 
her a chance! Oh, Mrs. Morris, I m furious! 
 The idea of any girl refusing Fred ! Now I want 
 you to help me you understand help me to 
 keep them apart just this one day more. I can 
 do it with your help; we ll have to be regular 
 diplomats, though, or Fred will suspect us. 
 Where is he now? Of course! He s hanging 
 over her, waiting for a chance to speak. Don t 
 let him catch us looking, or he ll suspect. Well, 
 now, I was going to suggest etc., etc., etc. 
 
 OLD GENTLEMAN (still talking to ALICE). It 
 was a touching scene, I assure you, Miss Alice; 
 it brought tears to every eye! Accustomed as I 
 am to 
 
 FRED (with a jocularity he doesn t feel). Cheer 
 ful weather for your trip, Miss Alice! If this 
 rain keeps up, I ll have to take you to the station 
 in my canoe! Wouldn t that be jolly? (Emits 
 a theatrical laugh.) 
 
 OLD GENTLEMAN (suppressing a sniff of resent 
 ment, and determined not to be outdone}. The 
 skies are weeping over your departure, eh t Miss 
 Alice? 
 
 ALICE (quite overcome}. Oh, really 
 
 FRED. By the way (to old gentleman} er 
 how did you happen to get beaten in that game 
 last night? I heard the Professor boasting at 
 breakfast this morning 
 
 OLD GENTLEMAN (in a rage}. Boasting? Boast 
 ing? I ll go challenge him this minute! We ll 
 see who ll do the boasting to-day! (FRED 
 promptly occupies the vacated seat. ALICE looks 
 
 67 
 
toward MRS. MORRIS and seems disposed to fly.) 
 
 FRED {with determination). Miss Alice 
 
 ALICE (shivering). Oh, how cold it is! (Ris 
 ing.) I think I really must get my shawl. 
 
 FRED. Let me get it for you, Alice. 
 
 ALICE (sitting down again). Ah, thank you, 
 Mr. Benedict; you ll find it in the hall. I m so 
 cold! 
 
 FRED (solus). Cold, I should say she is cold! 
 A regular iceberg! (He returns to find ALICE 
 deep in conversation with his cousin.) 
 
 ALICE (frigidly). Thank you, Mr. Benedict. 
 Aren t you cold, Marion? Shall I invite you 
 under my shawl ? 
 
 FRED (with desperate eagerness). Let me carry 
 a chair over to the fire for you, Marion. 
 
 MARION (sweetly). You re so kind! but I m 
 quite comfortable here beside Alice. (FRED re 
 sumes his peregrinations, while the two girls 
 make conversation, and the chess contest gets well 
 under way. Enter Miss FANNIE MEREDITH, who 
 wears a trailing tea-gown literally streaming with 
 ribbons, and a pair of gilt-embroidered harem 
 slippers. She is followed by MR. MORTIMER PEM- 
 BERTON, an elderly and dec.repit, but otherwise 
 eligible, widower, who carries her shawl and fan 
 and smelling salts and balsam pillow.) 
 
 Miss MEREDITH. How doleful everyone looks! 
 Is it the weather, or those chicken croquettes f 
 Or is it because Alice is going? (She sinks into 
 a deep, easy chair, and relieves her burdened 
 escort.) 
 
 MR. MORTIMER PEMBERTON. They needed the 
 
 68 
 
sunshine of your presence, Miss Meredith. 
 
 FRED (having drifted to ALICE S side). What 
 a sentimental youth old Pern is! 
 
 ALICE. I hate sentimental people. 
 
 FRED (mentally). That s a pointer for me! 
 (Audibly.) Miss Meredith doesn t! She and 
 Pern have been reading Swinburne. If there s 
 anything I loathe it s Swinburne! 
 
 ALICE. I love Swinburne! What were you 
 saying, Marion? 
 
 FRED (approaching MRS. MORRIS.). You re not 
 helping me! Why didn t you keep her here with 
 you? 
 
 MRS. MORRIS. Keep who? Alice? 
 
 FRED. Why, Marion, of course ! Just as I was 
 getting ready to 
 
 MRS. MORRIS. Propose? 
 
 FRED. Come, now ; help me out. You said 
 you d help me out! What shall I do? Suggest 
 something ! 
 
 MRS. MORRIS. Suppose you ask Marion to play 
 one of those interminable things she s so fond 
 of concertos, fugues, sonatas What does she 
 call them? That will get her out of the way. 
 
 FRED. Capital! You ask her. 
 
 MRS. MORRIS. No; that won t do. You must 
 ask her. She might suspect me. Just go over, 
 and say in your natural easy manner, "Won t 
 you play something for me, Marion?" or some 
 thing like that. 
 
 FRED. She s suspicious already! I saw her 
 eyeing us a while ago. What s the longest thing 
 she plays? 
 
 69 
 
MRS. MORRIS. I m sure I don t know. Leave 
 that to Providence. They re all long enough. 
 
 FIRST OLD GENTLEMAN (over the chess-board). 
 Ha! There! Now will you be good? (FRED 
 crosses to MARION. They talk. He leads her to 
 piano.) That settles you! Eh! Ha, ha! 
 
 SECOND OLD GENTLEMAN. Not a bit of it! Not 
 a bit of it! 
 
 FRED (regaining the coveted seat, while MARION 
 plays the Moonlight Sonata). Do you know, 
 Alice, I m 
 
 ALICE (with crushing indifference). Ah I 
 beg pardon ! What were you saying, Mr. Bene 
 dict? 
 
 FRED (miserably). I m sure I don t know! 
 When you call me "Mr. Benedict" in that formal 
 way, it completely upsets me. (Tenderly.) 
 Alice ! 
 
 ALICE. How can I listen to the music if you 
 persist in talking to me? (laughing nervously). 
 Aren t you rather rude not to listen, after you 
 implored her to play? 
 
 FRED. But I want to talk to you. 
 
 ALICE. And I want to listen to her. (She 
 assumes an air of rapt attention. FRED seems 
 utterly crushed. The sonata drags its slow length 
 along.) 
 
 FRED (meekly). So I am not to speak till that 
 sonata is ended? 
 
 ALICE. Certainly not! 
 
 FRED. Have I offended you er Miss Bur 
 roughs. (Apparently Miss Burroughs does not 
 hear. ) 
 
 70 
 
 
FRED. I merely wanted to ask about your plans 
 for the for teaching. Where do you expect to 
 teach? 
 
 ALICE (mollified). Well, I really haven t 
 fully decided yet whether to take a position in 
 a young ladies school or to go into College Set 
 tlement work; but I shall certainly do one or the 
 other. 
 
 FRED. Your your mind is made up? (Tremu 
 lously. ) Alice ? 
 
 ALICE (uncompromisingly ). My mind is 
 made up. 
 
 FRED. And what (plaintively), Alice, what is 
 to become of me? (ALICE becomes suddenly 
 deaf, save to MARION S music.) 
 
 FRED. Alice ? 
 
 ALICE. What magnificent technique! (Loudly.) 
 Miss Meredith, isn t that crescendo exquisite? 
 
 FRED. Indeed, Miss Meredith I hope you 
 noticed that exquisite crescendo! See here, 
 Alice, I wish you would (the Moonlight Sonata 
 comes to an untimely end, with a discordant 
 crash, as MARION rises suddenly and hurls her 
 self across the room to ALICE.) 
 
 MRS. MORRIS. Why, what is the matter, child? 
 
 MARION. It s no use ! I can t play to-day ! I ve 
 been simply butchering poor Beethoven! Get up, 
 Fred ! I want to sit beside Alice ! (As she cud 
 dles under the shawl.) I hope I m not inter 
 rupting anything important? 
 
 FRED (dispossessed yet dauntless). Oh, no; 
 nothing important. I was just asking Miss Bur 
 roughs to marry me. 
 
 71 
 
OMNES. What!! 
 
 FRED. I said, I was just asking Miss Burroughs 
 to marry me. 
 
 Miss MEREDITH (the first to recover). And 
 are we to congratulate you, Mr. Benedict? 
 
 FRED. Ask Alice! 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 72 
 
A LITTLE COMPANY. 
 
 CHARACTERS . 
 
 DOROTHEA CHURCHILL, a young widow. 
 
 PHILIP DICKSON, her friend. 
 
 AMY BOYNTON, Dorothea s cousin, for whom 
 the little company is given. 
 
 BRUCE ANDERSON, a newly-Hedged M. D. 
 
 MR. LAURANCE HENDRICKS, MAJOR ALVERTON, 
 MRS. GRAHAM, and others. 
 
 SCENE DOROTHEA S home. Hall with stair. Dou 
 ble parlors with sliding doors. Modern furnish 
 ings Oriental rugs, odd chairs, etc. Window seats 
 piled with cushions and skins. Shelves burdened 
 with curios over windows and doors. Pictures 
 innumerable on the rough plaster walls. Guests 
 are assembling. A Babel of voices rises from 
 groups in conversation. Before the fireplace stand 
 AMY and DR. BRUCE ANDERSON. 
 
 DR. BRUCE ANDERSON. I should think it would 
 be great fun. How did your cousin happen to 
 think of it? 
 
 AMY. Well, she wanted to have some sort of 
 a little company for me, and she s not really en- 
 
 73 
 
tertaining yet, you knowand musicales are so 
 stupid, and receptions are too formal. I hate 
 cards, and a dancing party would have been too 
 gay. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. Too gay? Why? 
 
 AMY. How stupid you are! You know that 
 her that she that Dorothea hasn t been a widow 
 long enough why, it would be simply dreadful 
 for her to give a dancing party now. She has 
 just taken off crepe! 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. Oh, I see. And when one has 
 just taken off crepe one must not think of any 
 thing so violently gay as dancing; while dumb 
 crambo, real mild 
 
 AMY. How can you joke about such serious 
 things? Perhaps if you were a widow 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. If I were as charming a widow 
 as Dorothea 
 
 AMY. Hush, they re ready ! 
 
 (The sliding doors are opened to reveal five 
 characters engaged in a wild pantomime, trying 
 to act ef something to rhyme with my.") 
 
 CHORUS OF SPECTATORS. No; it isn t "fly"! 
 (Doors close.) 
 
 AMY. That was clever, wasn t it? How ridicu 
 lous Major Alverton looked! 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. He always does. He prides 
 himself upon it! And Mrs. Graham! I never 
 dreamed she could be so funny! Let s see, what 
 were we talking about? 
 
 AMY. About Dorothea. Isn t she lovely? 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. Phil Dickson seems to think so ! 
 
 74 
 
AMY. Oh! (After an agitated silence.) You 
 think he is in love with her? Poor fellow! 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. Why "poor fellow"? I thought 
 you thought Dorothea was a perfect 
 
 AMY. I do! She is! She is perfectly lovely! 
 But it is too bad for for Mr. Dickson. Doro 
 thea will never marry again ! Her heart is buried 
 with her husband (solemnly) ; she told me so. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. She did? Did she tell you 
 that? (After another agitated silence.) When? 
 
 AMY. Why, the day after the day 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. The day after the funeral? Of 
 course! But she s had time to to sort of 
 recover it exhume it, so to speak, don t you 
 think? 
 
 AMY (indignantly.) No, indeed! You, needn t 
 think just because Dorothea tries to be cheerful 
 and and all that, that she is reconciled. No, 
 indeed! I hate second marriages. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. Yes, but 
 
 AMY. No ; you can never convince me ! 
 Dorothea wouldn t think of marrying; not even 
 Mr. Dickson. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON (expressively). Oh! Dickson! 
 But perhaps 
 
 AMY. Oh, here comes Larry Hendricks! I 
 haven t seen him since he went on to school last 
 fall. (Smiles radiantly.) 
 
 DR. ANDERSON (in his heart). Confound 
 Larry Hendricks! 
 
 LARRY. Room on that hearth for me ? Thanks, 
 Bruce, I think I ll squeeze in next to Amy. And 
 how s Amy? What a grown-up person she s got 
 
 75 
 
to be! Trailing skirts, and a coiffiure, by Jove! 
 (Scans her from top to toe.) I say, Miss Boyn- 
 ton, where are the long curls I used to pull? 
 Where s the girl I romped with last summer? 
 
 AMY. And where s the boy I quarreled with a 
 year ago? How a mustache changes a a man! 
 (Gasing at him through her lorgnette.) I don t 
 like it at all! 
 
 LARRY. You don t like it? And have I spent 
 a year, a whole year (Dismal waitings are heard 
 and the doors part to show the distracted fivi 
 striving to suggest something else to rhyme with 
 "my".) 
 
 CHORUS OF CONVULSED SPECTATORS. No! It 
 Isn t "cry"! (Doors close.) 
 
 AMY. Oh, how killing ! Did you ever hear 
 anything so dreadful? It sounded like Dante s 
 Inferno ! 
 
 LARRY. Did you see Judge Graham? His face 
 was postitively purple! He d have gone into 
 apoplexy in another minute. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. Pity they didn t keep it up! 
 The Judge would make such an interesting post 
 mortem. 
 
 AMY (with elaborate politeness). Doctor 
 Anderson, if you could, without too great an 
 effort, spare us these allusions to (shuddering) 
 exhumations and post-mortems and other purely 
 professional subjects. I I think 
 
 DR. ANDERSON (meekly). I beg your pardon, 
 I m sure. Let s see, what were we talking about? 
 
 AMY. About Dorothea and Mr. Dickson, 
 
 76 
 
and second marriages. 
 
 LARRY (eagerly). You don t mean it? Is it 
 announced? Shall I go congratulate them? 
 AMY and DR. ANDERSON (as one voice). No! 
 DR. ANDERSON (clutching LARRY S arm). Be 
 still, man! (Fiercely) Be still! Have you no 
 Most absurd thing I ever heard of! What put 
 such a notion into your head? Dorothea and 
 cr Dickson ! (Laughing miserably.) Ha! ha! 
 eh, Amy? 
 
 AMY. Of course! Ha! ha! perfectly absurd! 
 Dorothea hates second marriages ! 
 LARRY. Oh, well now, you know, old Churchill 
 as rather a a chump. Can t expect Doro- 
 
 hea 
 
 AMY. This is gossip! I detest gossip! Let s 
 alk about something else. Do look at that 
 iuperb bit of Indian pottery. Dorothea got it 
 
 ast 
 
 (Doors open to disclose the back parlor con 
 verted into an impromptu banquet hall.) 
 
 CHORUS OF SPECTATORS. Oh, they ve guessed 
 t! That s) it! It s pie. (Doors close amid 
 frantic applause. Enter DOROTHEA, flushed and 
 jueary after her exertions in the pantomime, with 
 PHILIP DICKSON, fanning indefatigably.) 
 DOROTHEA. Yes, it was fun; but such work! 
 hope the other side will have to work as hard! 
 3ut, then, nothing can tire Amy and Larry Hen- 
 iricks; they re still in the youthfully effervescent 
 itage. Aren t you tired, too? 
 PHILIP DICKSON. Yes ; tired waiting. 
 DOROTHEA. Waiting ? 
 
 77 
 
PHILIP DICKSON. Yes; waiting for a chance 
 
 to talk to you. Dorothea, I (LARRY HEN- 
 
 DRICKS squeezes through a crack between the 
 doors, and approaches DOROTHEA. They whisper 
 together.) 
 
 PHILIP DICKKSON (in his heart). Confound 
 Larry Hendricks! 
 
 DOROTHEA. All right, Larry; just run up stairs 
 to the front chamber. The maid will show you 
 the way and give you all you need. Wait! I ll 
 go with you. (To MR. DICKSON.). You ll excuse 
 me? 
 
 PHILIP DICKSON. No, I insist that you re too 
 tired to climb those stairs, now. Let Larry go 
 alone. He can manage without you. 
 
 DOROTHEA. I am tired. Well, Larry dear, 
 you ll not mind going without me? Good boy! 
 (Exit LARRY.) 
 
 PHILIP DICKSON presuming the thread of his 
 discourse). I m not going to wait any longer. 
 You made me play the jackanapes in your panto 
 mime, and you promised to listen when we were 
 through. Now, you ve got things going nicely, 
 and all these people are comfortable and happy; 
 and it s my turn. I shall not tolerate another 
 interruption till I ve said my say. Dorothea 
 
 DR. BRUCE ANDERSON (who has approached 
 unobserved). Excuse me, but we are planning 
 such a stunning scene, and I just must consult 
 Mrs. Churchill. I say, Phil, what s wrong? Got 
 a pain somewhere? Let me prescribe for you. 
 Go take 
 
 PHILIP DICKSON. Thanks! I m all right 
 
 78 
 
When I need your professional services, Doctor 
 Anderson, I ll let you know. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON (to Dorothea ). Have you such 
 a thing as a (whispers ) 
 
 DOROTHEA. Certainly! I ll get it for you. 
 (Rising.) 
 
 PHILIP DICKSON. I protest! Doctor, your 
 own judgment will tell you that Mrs. Churchill 
 must rest. She s tired out ! Can t someone else 
 attend to this? Besides, I want to talk to her. 
 
 DOROTHEA. Well, I am tired. Possibly Amy 
 might find it for you, Doctor. Just ask her to 
 show you the way to the attic. 
 
 PHILIP DICKSON (impressively, while AMY and 
 DR. ANDERSON climb the stairs). Dorothea, 
 do you think it s quite the proper thing to to 
 send those two er effervescing young people 
 off to the attic together? 
 
 DOROTHEA (with dignity). If you were not 
 an old friend, Mr. Dickson, I should I should 
 
 really But perhaps you re right. Amy is 
 
 here in my charge. I suppose I had better go 
 up to the attic with them, after all! 
 
 PHILIP DICKSON. Then I ll go with you, and 
 present my petition on the way! 
 
 II. 
 
 SCENE: The Attic. AMY, carrying her drap 
 eries in one hand, a candle in the other, and 
 closely followed by DR. BRUCE ANDERSON, is con 
 scientiously exploring the shadowy corners, 
 though with a rather preoccupied air. DR. ANDER 
 SON looks impatient and nervous. 
 
 79 
 
AMY. Queer what s become of the horrid old 
 thing! I ve seen it lumbering around here doz 
 ens of times when I had no use for it! (Petu 
 lantly.) Why couldn t Dorothea come for it 
 herself? 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. That s what I want to know* 
 She d have come but for Dickson s officiousness. 
 Odd what an interest he takes in her eh? 
 Assumes quite an air of authority, by Jove! 
 As if 
 
 AMY. Does he? (Anxiously.) Do you think 
 Oo-oo-ooh, how I hate to visit an attic at night, 
 especially with a grewsome medical student fo 
 company. I m really nervous. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. "Grewsome" ! I like that 
 "Medical student"! I m a practicing physician, 
 Miss Boynton! So you think (hesitating) sh< 
 you think Dorothea will never marry again? 
 
 AMY. Never! (Hesitating.) I I Doctor 
 do do you really think he do you really thin 
 Mr. Dickson is in love with her? 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. Of course he is ! (Forlornly. 
 Who isn t? 
 
 AMY. Oh! So you are in love with her too 
 Why, she s older than you. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON (intensely). What do two paltrj 
 years and seven months amount to, when a man 
 in love? Hold that candle a little higher, please 
 Amy; I want to look behind this box. 
 
 AMY (holding the candle aloft at an obliqu< 
 angle, while DR. ANDERSON grovels below). Wei 
 of course, if you re in love with her, you natu 
 rally suppose every other man is: men alway 
 
 80 
 
do that way. So that goes to prove that Ph that 
 Mr. Dickson 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. Ouch! You re spattering me 
 with candle wax! 
 
 AMY. Oh! Am I? Excuse me. (Cheer 
 fully.) Why, do you know, Bruce, marriage is 
 so far from Dorothea s thoughts that she she 
 actually thinks that he that Mr. Dickson is in 
 love with me! (Laughs with suspicious hearti 
 ness.) Isn t that funny? 
 
 DR. ANDERSON (laughing). Why, he s fifteen 
 years older than you! Old enough to be shows 
 hdw little she cares for him, though (hopefully), 
 doesn t it? 
 
 AMY (lowering her candle, with a gesture of 
 disgust). Let s give it up! We ll never find it. 
 They can manage the scene someway without it. 
 They ll be tired waiting for us. (Peremptorily.) 
 I want to go down stairs ! 
 
 DR. ANDERSON (artfully). I ll tell you! I ll 
 wait up here and you go down and send Dorothea 
 up to help me out. Do ! I want to get her away 
 from Dickson. That s what I proposed coming 
 up here for: I thought of course she d have to 
 come with me. Confound him! He may be 
 making love to her this minute. Get her away 
 some how or other. 
 
 AMY (with something like a groan). Do you 
 think so? O-ooh ! Well! (Suddenly.) I ll stop 
 it! Dorothea shall ne-ver marry again with my 
 consent! I hate second marriages! Don t be 
 uneasy, Doctor Anderson (fiercely), I ll sep 
 arate them! You come light me down the 
 
 81 
 
stairs. I I wouldn t go down those stairs in 
 the dark for anything! O-ooh! What s that? 
 (Sounds of footsteps climbing the stairs.) 
 
 DOROTHEA (from below). Amy! Are you 
 there? We re coming. (Emerging with candle, 
 followed by PHILIP DICKSON.) Can t you find 
 it? Why, how queer you two look! For all the 
 world like a couple of conspirators. Don t they, 
 Phil. 
 
 AMY (confusedly). I was just coming down 
 to to ask you to come up to help Dr. Anderson 
 out. 
 
 DOROTHEA. Out of what? I hope 
 
 AMY. I mean I can t he can t we can t 
 it anywhere. 
 
 DOROTHEA. How cold it is up here! N 
 wonder poor Amy is shivering! I am surpris 
 that Dr. Anderson would permit her to risk 
 taking cold. Phil, you take Amy down stairs, 
 please? There s a register on the first landing 
 where she can get warm. We ll follow you in 
 five minutes. (Significantly.) Just five min 
 utes! Look right over there by the dormer win 
 dow, Bruce. There it is! Odd you couldn t 
 find it. What have you been thinking of? 
 
 DR. ANDERSON (emphatically, but in an under 
 tone). Of you! 
 
 III. 
 
 SCENE: On the stairs. AMY and PHIL, are 
 descending. 
 
 PHIL (halting mid-way). Are you cold, Amy? 
 You look positively ill! I hope nothing noth 
 ing 
 
 82 
 
AMY (nerving herself for an act of heroic self- 
 abnegation). Mr. Dickson, I you if you (with 
 a gasp), if you love my cousin Dorothea, as of 
 course we all know you do, I think you had 
 better give me that candle and go right back 
 upstairs. Dr. Bruce Anderson is proposing to 
 her this minute! 
 
 PHIL. Let Dr. Bruce Anderson propose! He 
 is giving me the opportunity I want. Amy, I 
 have Dorothea s permission to ask you to marry 
 me. Will you, dear? 
 
 AMY (beginning to cry). Oo-ooh, Phil! 
 (DOROTHEA and DR. ANDERSON appear above, as 
 PHIL, takes AMY in his arms-) 
 
 DOROTHEA \ 
 
 AND I (pointing). Oh, Phil! 
 
 DR. ANDERSON ) 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 S3 
 
THIS SORDID WORLD. 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 MRS JERROLD WOUVERMAN Who writes. 
 
 FLOYD-FABIAN Who does sheep pictures. 
 
 WINIFRED HOLLOWAY Who does vers de so- 
 ciete. 
 
 BENNY BENEDICT Dramatic critic for the Ar 
 gus. 
 
 MR. JAMES SESSIONS, JR. Who does nothing- 
 
 MR. JERROLD WOUVERMAN Mrs. Wouverman s 
 husband. 
 
 JEANNE Mr. J err old Wouverman s sister. 
 
 SCENE There is a glowing fire on MRS. JER 
 ROLD WOUVERMAN S hospitable hearth-stone. Be 
 fore it sit two girls, WINIFRED and JEANNE, with 
 a chocolate pot on a bandy-legged table between 
 them sipping, while they chat, from fragile cups 
 which require frequent re-filling. WINIFRED 
 wears a smart tailor-made street suit, and a pic 
 turesque hat weighted with plumes. JEANNE, in a 
 loose gown of some silky crepey stuff, is playing 
 hostess, in the absence of her brother s wife. The 
 
 84 
 
lace frilling, which falls to her finger-tips and 
 is visible beneath the slashed hem of her trailing 
 skirt, drops in a creamy cascade from her slender 
 throat to her slender suede-slippered feet. She 
 looks deliciously fresh and rosy in contrast with 
 her friend, who is possibly three years (tense, try 
 ing, youth-destroying years) her senior. The 
 time is early spring, near the close of an after 
 noon; and the long rays of sunlight stretch across 
 the room. There are flowers cut flowers, 
 JEANNE S perishable trophies of conquest in jars 
 and vases everywhere; and she wears a big bunch 
 of violets on her breast. 
 
 WINIFRED. How cosy this is! It s good to be 
 quiet. ... I hope no one will come in. 
 
 JEANNE (impulsively). Oh, don t say that, 
 Winifred! 
 
 WINIFRED. No? . . . I see! You re ex 
 pecting someone. 
 
 JEANNE (bending to catch the odor of her vio 
 lets). No! That is not exactly expecting 
 (flushing under WINIFRED S quizzical glance), 
 Not at all! What are you smiling at, Winifred? 
 . . . I I did think perhaps someone, perhaps 
 Floyd-Fabian, might come in. ... He said, 
 perhaps 
 
 WINIFRED. I understand! Well then, I hope 
 he ll take his time about coming. Fill my cup, 
 please, Jeanne. 
 
 JEANNE (pouring). Have you seen his new 
 picture? (WINIFRED nods). Lovely isn t it? I 
 just love 
 
 85 
 
WINIFRED (mischievously). Floyd-Fabian? Fie! 
 
 JEANNE (with dignity). Floyd-Fabian s pic 
 tures. ... I think his sheep are wonderful ! 
 
 WINIFRED. They re just sheep. (After a pause). 
 Jeanne, I envy you ! You re a lucky girl. How 
 sweet you look in that gown; it makes me think 
 of sea foam. Well (putting down her cup), if 
 someone is coming to disturb me, I suppose I d 
 better go. I ought to show myself at two more 
 places this afternoon. 
 
 JEANNE. Oh, wait a little till someone comes. 
 Why do you think I m lucky? Seems to me I 
 deserve a little good time after the way I slaved 
 last year. A girl s last year in school is some 
 thing frightful a perfect drive ! 
 
 WINIFRED. It s nothing to her first year out 
 as you ll discover shortly. I was nearly dead at 
 the end of my first season. Nearly dead and 
 completely disillusioned. 
 
 JEANNE. I thank Heaven I ve no illusions to 
 lose! 
 
 WINIFRED. Oh, of course! That s the way we 
 all felt. Just wait till the winter s over. 
 
 JEANNE. Well, anyway, if I do find things a 
 trifle disappointing, I ll not write cynical verses 
 about it! (Severely) I think that last thing of 
 yours is simply dreadful! 
 
 WINIFRED (serenely). I m crushed! 
 
 JEANNE. I d rather die than be such a pessi 
 mist. (Intensely). I d rather do gushing namby- 
 pamby love stories, like Jerry s wife, than the 
 sort of thing you write! 
 
 WINIFRED (sipping complacently). Yes? 
 
 86 
 
JEANNE. Don t be so frivolous, Winifred! I 
 mean it! I don t see how you can write them! 
 I don t believe that the world is a bore, and that 
 
 people are all insincere, and 
 
 WINIFRED. My dear, neither do I ! 
 
 JEANNE. Then why do you say so in that 
 what is it? 
 
 WINIFRED. It s a rondeau, my child; a very 
 bad one, I ll admit to you in confidence, but the 
 editor liked it, if you didn t. I m getting so I 
 know pretty well what the editors like! Still, I 
 only got seven dollars for that "dreadful" thing. 
 
 JEANNE. I hope you don t care for the money, 
 Winifred ! 
 
 WINIFRED. What? . . . Oh, yes I do! 
 Why, that rondeau bought me tickets for the 
 Sagitari Chopin recitals; and the verses you 
 scolded me about last week paid for a pair of 
 long suede gloves; and if I could only think of 
 something "dreadful" enough and cynical enough, 
 I might earn the price of 
 
 JEANNE (imploringly). Oh, Winifred, don t! 
 You you hurt me ! If I had your gift if I 
 were a poet 
 
 WINIFRED (laughing). Spare me! I m not a 
 poet! I m a dealer in verse. 
 
 JEANNE. Oh, Winifred that s simply 
 
 WINIFTED (tolerantly). My dear, I know your 
 point of view. Perfectly! I thought everything 
 practical was dreadful, too, when I was your 
 age. I m wiser now! (Thoughtfully). When 
 I was your age ! . . . A century ago ! (Sigh 
 ing). I ve learned a deal in the last three years! 
 
 87 
 
And if what I hear is true, about Mr. James Ses 
 sions, Jr., and his attentions to a certain rose-bud 
 friend of mine, it s time you were getting worldly- 
 wise too, Jeannie, dear! 
 
 JEANNE (reddening to her ears). Who told 
 you ? Jerry ? 
 
 WINIFRED. Take my advice, my child: accept 
 him at once! (As JEANNE shakes her head). I 
 know it s hard to relinquish the delights of a 
 couple of free seasons (though, as far as that 
 goes, a girl s really freer after she s married 
 nowadays!); but just consider that in three years 
 you d be where I am now. I refused a certain 
 rich young man when I was a rose-bud. Woe is 
 me! 
 
 JEANNE. Winifred, you don t mean it! 
 
 WINIFRED. You think I didn t? 
 
 JEANNE. Now you know I don t mean that! 
 I m sure you refused several rich young men. 
 But I don t believe you re sorry you did it ! 
 
 WINIFRED. Yes I am; dreadfully sorry! If I 
 had it to do over again, I d say "yes" in a min 
 ute, in half a minute ! But I ll never have it 
 to do over again. (Vents a melo-dramatic sigh) 
 My golden opportunity is gone by! I shall end 
 by marrying Benny Benedict, and setting up an 
 establishment in Bohemia. I know it ! 
 
 JEANNE (scanning her face). I wish I could 
 tell when you are in earnest! . . . I m quite 
 sure you re making believe. 
 
 (Enter FLOYD-FABIAN.) 
 
 FLOYD-FABIAN (as both girls rise). Don t 
 move! (He catches sight of the -violets on 
 JEANNE S breast, and they smile as their eyes 
 
meet). What a good time you re having a syb 
 aritic tete-a-tete! (They all sit). What were 
 you talking about? 
 
 WINIFRED. Oh, Jeanne Saint Jeanne was 
 scorning me for writing verses for money ; and 
 I was advising her to get a rich husband 
 
 JEANNE (eagerly). I m so glad you happened 
 in! 
 
 WINIFRED (aside). Happened!" 
 
 JEANNE (continuing). You ll agree with me, 
 I m sure, about Winifred s verses 
 
 WINIFRED. And with me about Jeanne s rich 
 husband 
 
 FLOYD-FABIAN. I ll agree with both of you, if 
 you ll give me a cup of what is it? Chocolate? 
 
 WINIFRED. Yes delicious, too! (JEANNE fills 
 a cup for the painter). I think I ll have another, 
 Jeanne. . . . I m a regular debauchee, when 
 Jeanne serves chocolate ! 
 
 JEANNE. Then there is one thing (pouring) 
 that you are still able to enjoy? 
 
 WINIFRED. One thing? Scores of things! I ve 
 had a better time than any girl I know but that s 
 not saying much poor things ! What a pity we 
 all couldn t have been men ! Somebody might in 
 vent a paragon of a machine to do the wife and 
 mother 
 
 JEANNE. Winifred, you re terrible! 
 
 WINIFRED (to FLOYD-FABIAN). Am I? 
 
 JEANNE (to FLOYD- FABIAN). Isn t she? 
 
 FLOYD-FABIAN. I ve promised to agree with 
 
 89 
 
both of you. (Enter BENNY BENEDICT). Oh, 
 here s Benny! Leave it to him! 
 
 BOTH GIRLS (eagerly). Oh, Mr. Benedict! 
 
 BENNY (approaching fire). I m petrified with 
 cold, and paralyzed with hunger! Do give me a 
 cup of what is it? (sniffing). Eh? (disappoint 
 edly) not chocolate? 
 
 JEANNE. See how sorrowful he looks! Utterly 
 crushed ! 
 
 WINIFRED (sipping). Cheer up! It s delic 
 ious! (While JEANNE pours). Jeanne, I think 
 may I ? Just one more quarter of a cup ? How 
 many have I had? Four? 
 
 BENNY (after sipping dubiously). Tis good! 
 What a sweet surprise! Some body to this choc 
 olate; most of the so-called chocolate they ask a 
 fellow to drink is like the insubstantial shadow of 
 a dream, as it were. (Emptying cup). I feel bet 
 ter! Now what was this momentous question? 
 See here, Miss Wouverman, you didn t give me 
 my wafer! Where s my wafer? I want my 
 wafer! Don t a fellow get a wa 
 
 JEANNE (laughing). Oh, you are so funny! 
 Yes ; do have a wafer. 
 
 BENNY (helping himself). Now, I ll have to 
 have another cup of chocolate to take with my 
 wafer. Wafers eaten alone and singly are so 
 sort of tame don t you think so? Well! what 
 were you people quarrelling about when I made 
 my entree? Shaw s latest? 
 
 WINIFRED. Have you seen it? What do you 
 think of it? 
 
 90 
 
BENNY. You ought to know, Miss Holloway, 
 since you belong to the profession, that the opin 
 ions of Benny Benedict on subjects musical aad 
 dramatic are expressed only through the col 
 umns of the Argus at ten a column. 
 
 JEANNE. Dear ! there it is again ! Such a mer 
 cenary world. I hate money! (To FLOYD- FAB 
 IAN). Don t you? 
 
 WINIFRED (saving the painter from perjury}. 
 Hate money ! Of course he doesn t. Jeanne, how 
 perfectly idiotic! Still, I can remember when I 
 hated money, too, or thought I did. 
 
 JEANNE (passionately}. I don t care! I do 
 hate it ! I d rather live on 
 
 BENNY (re-filling his cup}. Chocolate and 
 salted wafers 
 
 JEANNE. On bread and water 
 
 WINIFRED. Nonsense, my dear! Even bread 
 costs money; and water how much is it they 
 charge a month for water? We just can t live 
 without money! 
 
 (Enter MR. and MRS. JERROLD WOUVERMAN.) 
 
 JEANNE. Oh, here s Jerry and Marion ! Good ! 
 Do come here and help me scold these sordid 
 creatures. 
 
 MR. JERROLD WOUVERMAN. Sordid creatures? 
 
 JEANNE. I mean Winifred and Mr. Benedict, 
 for I still insist (turning to FLOYD- FABIAN, and 
 speaking more earnestly} that you do not paint 
 your pictures for mere money. 
 
 BENNY. He don t? . . . Just make him tell 
 how much he got for that "Shepherd and Sheep" 
 he did to order for old Mrs. What s-her-name. 
 
 91 
 
JEANNE (warmly)- That has nothing to do 
 with it! Of course I know he doesn t give his 
 canvasses away! 
 
 BENNY. Just ask him why he paints sheep and 
 sheep and more sheep instead of the portraits 
 he d rather do! Ask him! 
 
 JEANNE (to the painter). Would you rather do 
 portraits? (Very earnestly}. Would you? 
 
 MRS. JERROLD WOUVERMAN (laughing, as she 
 pulls off her gloves ). Look at Jeanne s high- 
 tragedy expression! Answer her quickly, do! 
 and relieve this strain; I m beginning to feel 
 wrought up, myself! 
 
 FLOYD-FABIAN (reluctantly}. Well, yes; I d 
 rather do portraits. Yes candidly I would ; but, 
 you see, Miss Wouverman, people don t like my 
 portraits. They re not sweetly pretty enough! 
 And they do like my sheep ; I have orders ahead 
 for sheep, and of course 
 
 JEANNE (drearily}. And does everyone just 
 grind things out for money hideous silver dol 
 lars and half-dollars and quarters? (To her 
 brother}. Are they all alike, Jerry? Don t laugh! 
 Answer me! 
 
 JERRY. Jeanne, I beg of you not to be so in 
 tense ; it s it s positively uncomfortable for the 
 rest of us! All alike? Of course people are all 
 alike ! We re all after the dollars, whether they re 
 paper or silver or gold ! 
 
 BENNY (lifting his chocolate cup}. Here s to 
 the omnipotent dollar! 
 
 WINIFRED (touching her cup to his). The mod- 
 
 92 
 
ern open sesame! The one reality in a world of 
 shams ! 
 
 JEANNE (turning from one laughing face to 
 another). Will none of you be serious? I m in 
 earnest really I 
 
 WINIFRED (mockingly). "Thank Heaven, I ve 
 no illusions to lose!" Who said that, Jeanne, 
 dear? 
 
 MRS. WOUVERMAN (as JEANNE turns away and 
 walks to the window to conceal her distress). 
 Never mind the child! She ll be all right di 
 rectly. . . . What is this picture of yours (to 
 FLOYD- FABIAN, who is looking after JEANNE) that 
 Mr. Benedict was speaking of? Why haven t I 
 seen it? 
 
 BENNY (answering for the painter, who is still 
 looking toward JEANNE and seems scarcely to 
 hear what is being said) . I ll tell you why ! Old 
 Mrs. What s-her-name Sessions is it? has it 
 hung in her own private gallery; and she don t 
 mean to give the vulgar public a sight of it. Not 
 after she s paid her money for it! Not she! 
 
 WINIFRED. Is that Jimmie s mother? 
 
 BENNY. The same ! Mrs. James Sessions, 
 Senior, wife to the millionaire, erstwhile manu 
 facturer of the celebrated brand of Sessions 
 Stomach Bitters mother to James, Junior. Now, 
 there s a lucky youth, if ever one lived. Nothing 
 to do but play the howling swell. Don t know 
 what care means. Don t know what anything 
 means, for that matter! Never was burdened 
 with an idea since the day he was born; needs 
 a fly wheel, though, Jimmie does! (MRS. WOUVER- 
 
 93 
 
MAN looks anxiously to see if JEANNE is listen 
 ing, and makes gestures to silence BENNY, who 
 
 goes no regardless}. Makes me think of a 
 
 (Enter MR. JAMES SESSIONS, JR.) 
 
 WINIFRED. Here s Mr. Sessions now! Just as 
 I must be going. And he looks as if he d some 
 thing very interesting to tell. What is it (rising) 
 before I tear myself away? 
 
 J. S. JR. Oh, now, really I haven t anything. 
 I just thought I d drop in. I was afraid it was 
 too late. 
 
 MRS. WOUVERMAN (suavely) . Never too late 
 for you, Mr. Sessions. 
 
 JERRY (cordially}. Come up to the fire, my 
 boy, do ! 
 
 WINIFRED. Late? Is it late? What time is it? 
 (Looks over BENNY S shoulder while he opens 
 his watch). Horrors! Now, Jeanne (crossing 
 to window, where JEANNE stands ignoring MR. 
 SESSIONS presence) you see what your chocolate 
 has done ! I m too late to go anywhere else. 
 (Throwing off hat). Come give me another cup. 
 I shall drown remorse in a regular orgie. This 
 makes my seventh ! (Leads JEANNE to table and 
 sinks into chair beside it). Bring me a cushion, 
 Benny ! 
 
 J. S. JR. I know a girl a little soubrette who 
 drinks eight cups every afternoon. 
 
 WINIFRED (adjusting her cushion). Is she cor 
 pulent? (Anxiously). I m so afraid of getting 
 corpulent. I hate a fat woman! (To JEANNE, 
 who hands her chocolate). Thanks! Do sit 
 
 94 
 
down, Jeanne, and be comfortable. (JEANNE sits 
 down). 
 
 BENNY. Funniest thing how all the actresses 
 expand after a couple of seasons eh? 
 
 J. S. JR. Tis, for a fact ! Take that little girl 
 at the Bijou. She was as light as a fairy two 
 years ago; and she told me herself, the other day, 
 that she weighs a hundred and sixty, now, in her 
 without her er her wraps; says her neck s 
 as big now as her waist used to be. . . . Pity, 
 too! Such a beauty! 
 
 MRS. WOUVERMAN. I saw her at yesterday s 
 matinee. She s lovely! And you know her? How 
 charming ! 
 
 WINIFRED. No wonder she s getting stout; 
 they say she s making two hundred a week. Too 
 much prosperity! 
 
 BENNY. It s the same way with the society 
 beauties. Look at the girl that rich Dodderbeck 
 married. I saw her in her box at the Metropol 
 itan the other night; she made me think of Tenny 
 son s poem what s he call it? The Talking Oak, 
 "Alas, I was so broad of girth, 
 I could not be embraced!" 
 and she used to be as slim as the ""fair young 
 beech" in the next verse. 
 
 JERRY. Hear Benny quote ! 
 
 J. S. JR. Hard luck for Dodderbeck, wasn t 
 it? I should think he d have her take some 
 thing, or do something, or something. 
 
 WINIFRED. He might get a divorce ; but I sup 
 pose he doesn t care now. They say he s devoted 
 
 95 
 
-(MRS. WOUVERMAN gives her a warning tap on 
 the shoulder and looks toward JEANNE) Oh, of 
 course! Let s talk about something else! 
 
 JEANNE. Who is he devoted to? 
 
 MRS. WOUVERMAN {after an awkward silence). 
 To business, dearie of course devoted to bus 
 iness, 
 
 JEANNE. Oh ! 
 
 JERRY (after another awkward silence). Er 
 (to FLOYD-FABIAN). Have you seen our latest 
 acquisition ? 
 
 MRS. WOUVERMAN (rising). Oh, yes, Jerry, we 
 must show them! It s a zarape a genuine old 
 Indian zarape! Let s take them up to see 
 it, Jerry. It s so lovely just where it hangs! 
 Come on all of you! (Leads the way). We re 
 awfully proud of it! (They all rise but JEANNE, 
 who sits staring into the fire). Aren t you com 
 ing, Jeanne? 
 
 JEANNE. Oh, I ve seen it. I think it s horrid; 
 so coarse and glaring. No; I ll stay here. (FLOYD- 
 FABIAN turns back, as if inclined to remain with 
 her) I m tired. 
 
 J.S. JR. Shall I stay with you? (FLOYD-FAB 
 IAN joins the others, who follow MRS. WOUVER 
 MAN). 
 
 JEANNE (impulsively). No! No! (Coldly). I 
 don t care, I m sure. (Politely). If you like, Mr. 
 Sessions. 
 
 (Exeunt MR. and MRS. WOUVERMAN, FLOYD- 
 FABIAN, WINIFRED and BENNY BENEDICT. JEANNE 
 still gazes into the fire.) 
 
 J. S. JR. (standing with his hands pocketed, 
 
 96 
 
while he looks down upon JEANNE). Seems to 
 me you look kind of down-in-the-mouth. What 
 are you mooning about? 
 
 JEANNE. Mooning? I m tired! . . . (trem 
 ulously) ... I m thinking how hideous and 
 sordid everything is. Nobody seems to do anything 
 except for money. Winifred s verses are for money, 
 and Mr. Benedict s articles, and Marion s love- 
 stories, and Jerry s cases, and and Floyd-Fab 
 ian s pictures. (With sudden passion). I shall 
 always hate Floyd- Fabian s pictures ! sheep and 
 sheep and more sheep and all for money! 
 
 J. S. JR. Why er I don t see exactly really 
 now, what else would they do em for? Eh? 
 What else, now, really? 
 
 JEANNE. No one sees ! No one feels about it 
 as I do ! . . . If I could find a man who didn t 
 work for mere money money money I d 
 marry him tomorrow! 
 
 J. S. JR. (breathlessly). You you would? 
 
 JEANNE. Yes, I would! I m sick of money! 
 money ! money ! 
 
 J. S. JR. (earnestly). See here, Jeanne. I I m 
 your man, if you mean what you say! 
 
 JEANNE (laughing scornfully). You! Why 
 you re a half-millionaire! 
 
 J. S. JR. Oh, well, now, that s not my fault, 
 J eanne! I I didn t work for it that s what we 
 were talking about. I never earned a cent in my 
 life. Never. . . . Look here, now! 
 
 JEANNE. Oh, you don t understand. (Desper 
 ately). Nobody understands! ... Of course 
 
 97 
 
you don t work for money; you have everything 
 you want already. 
 
 J. S. JR. (trying to take her hand). No I 
 haven t; I want you! I ve spoken to your 
 brother. He says 
 
 JEANNE (wearily). Oh, Jerry would be glad 
 to get me off his hands, I suppose. It takes all 
 he can earn to keep them going and pay for 
 Marion s return postage stamps ! Jerry would be 
 glad 
 
 J. S. JR. (modestly). Well he did seem he 
 said he thought I might be able to do more for 
 you than he ever could, and that sort of thing; 
 and of course I could. ... I would, too, 
 Jeanne ! 
 
 JEANNE (softly). What would you do for me? 
 
 J. S. JR. Everything! I can afford it! I sup 
 pose you know you see my mother s brother has 
 never married, and I m the only nephew; so I ve 
 got two 
 
 JEANNE. Oh, I didn t mean that! I don t care 
 for that. I hate money ! 
 
 J. S. JR. (persuasively). Still, really, now, it s 
 not a bad thing, you know. It comes in handy, 
 once in a while. And if you have enough of it, 
 you never have to think of it and I didn t work 
 for it. . . Come, now! Don t keep me in 
 suspense ! 
 
 JEANNE (glancing at him curiously). Are you 
 in suspense? (After a pause). Why do you 
 want to marry me? . . . (Suddenly). Did 
 you ever ask anyone else? 
 
 98 
 
J. S. JR. (decidedly). Never! (Growing con 
 fused, as she looks at him). . . . Well that 
 is to say perhaps, one! 
 
 JEANNE. Who was it? 
 
 J. S. JR. She s told you already. . . . Wini 
 fred Holloway. ... Is that why you ve held 
 me off so? 
 
 JEANNE. Winifred Holloway ! And she refused 
 you? 
 
 J . S. JR. See here, Jeanne, that s all over now. 
 I m glad she shook me! No one would believe 
 she d go to pieces so in three years. 
 
 JEANNE (shuddering). Three years. 
 
 J. S. JR. Besides, she never compared to you, 
 even at her best. (Getting possession of her 
 hand). I never loved any girl as I do you. 
 
 JEANNE (bitterly). Oh, you love me? You 
 forgot to mention that before! 
 
 J. S. JR. Why I thought I had. I beg your 
 pardon, I m sure. See here! Don t keep me on 
 the rack this way, Jeanne! A girl never does 
 find just exactly what she wants. 
 
 JEANNE. No. I suppose not. 
 
 J. S. JR. And at least you can t accuse me of 
 being sordid, like Benedict and that picture- 
 dealer, Fabian. 
 
 JEANNE (to herself). A picture-dealer. . . . 
 that s what he is just that! (To J. S. JR.). . . 
 What would you do if I should get stout, like 
 Dodderbeck s wife? 
 
 J. S. JR. (disconcerted). Stout? (Rallying) 
 Oh, don t suggest such a thing; you ll never get 
 stout! Hurry up, now, Jeanne. Let s get down 
 
 99 
 
to business. I want your answer. Will you 
 marry me? 
 
 JEANNE. "Get down to business?" How 
 strangely you talk! (Laughs nervously). Bus 
 iness business! (Breaks a violet from its stem 
 and tosses it away). I ll tell you what I ll do. 
 (Rapidly). You go bring Jerry here; give me five 
 minutes alone, and then come back with him, 
 and (rising) we ll discuss your proposition; (as 
 MR. SESSIONS starts to go) we ll "get down to 
 business." 
 
 J. S. JR. All right! (Complacently). I can 
 count on Jerry. I ll be back in five minutes 
 sharp ! 
 
 (Exit J. S. JR. JEANNE paces slowly the length 
 of the room; stops irresolutely, then, with a look 
 of passionate renunciation, unfastens the violets 
 from her breast, just as FLOYD-FABIAN enters; 
 and, hurrying back, she casts them despairingly 
 into the fire. 
 
 FLOYD-FABIAN. My violets ! 
 
 (JEANNE watches the flowers blacken and 
 shrivel, and her countenance betrays her conflict 
 ing emotions. Suddenly her purpose fails. With 
 a little cry she kneels upon the hearth trying to 
 save at least a single blossom from the flames.) 
 
 FLOYD-FABIAN. Jeanne! Jeanne! (Pulling her 
 away from the fire). You will be burned! (Catch 
 ing her hands). You are burned. (Kissing 
 them). Oh, Jeanne! 
 
 JEANNE (turning upon him furiously). Let me 
 go! 
 
 FLOYD-FABIAN. Jeanne ! 
 
 100 
 
JEANNE (coldly). I m not hurt; my hands 
 are scorched and blackened like everything else 
 in this sordid world that is all! Let me go! 
 What does it matter? What does anything mat 
 ter? Why should you care? 
 
 FLOYD- FABIAN. Your hands (kissing them 
 passionately) are burned blistered! I love them; 
 I love you! Jeanne! 
 
 JEANNE (quivering with pain and excitement 
 and indignation). Love? . . . You?. (Con 
 temptuously) You love? No! (He releases 
 her hands, and they stand silent for an instant 
 *vhile their eyes meet. JEANNE falters and turns 
 uway). I (brokenly) I could have loved 
 (wildly), Oh, how I hate all this! This talk of 
 love from men from creatures who sell their 
 lives, their souls, their art for money money 
 money! (Facing him again, with the breadth of 
 the room between them). I could have loved the 
 man I thought you were! 
 
 FLOYD- FABIAN. The man you thought ? 
 Jeanne, tell me what you mean? (Comprehend 
 ing). Jeanne (exultantly), with you, with your 
 love, I could become the man you believed me to 
 be with your love ! 
 
 JEANNE (almost inaudibly). You you could? 
 (Wistfully). You you think you could, with 
 my love? 
 
 FLOYD- FABIAN. I know I could! (Opening 
 his arms). Jeanne! (JEANNE Hies to his em 
 brace . . . Inarticulate raptures . . . En 
 ter, exchanging chuckles of satisfaction, J. S. JR., 
 and MR. JERROLD WOUVERMAN). 
 
 101 
 
J. S. JR. Time s up ! Here we are ! (Perceiv 
 ing the lovers} Eh? (Smile vanishes, face 
 lengthens). Eh? (Clutches JERRY with one 
 hand, pointing with first finger of the other). Eh? 
 
 JERRY (pointing also). Eh? . . . I I thought 
 you (approaching them furiously), Jeanne f 
 (JEANNE screams; the painter starts ^ they separ 
 ate.) What does this mean? 
 
 JEANNE (laughing and crying in a breath). Oh, 
 Jerry, how you startled me! (Seeing J. S. JR.). 
 Oh, Mr. Sessions, I I forgot I beg your par 
 don (in great confusion). I burnt my finger! 
 
 JERRY (wrathfully) . You burnt your finger? And 
 is this the way you 
 
 J. S. JR. (disconsolately). I thought they used 
 soda and water for a burnt finger! 
 
 JEANNE (recovering her self-command). Go 
 get me some, Jerry dear do! It s stinging 
 dreadfully ! 
 
 J. S. JR. I thought I was to bring Jerry here 
 to to er consider 
 
 JEANNE (quickly). Your business proposition? 
 . . . I have decided, after after reflection, 
 Mr. Sessions, to without further discussion, if 
 you will oblige me, Mr. Sessions to decline 
 your proposition, with thanks. Please bring me 
 the soda, Jerry. 
 
 (Exit downcast, MR. JERROLD WOUVERMAN. 
 Enter MRS. W., WINIFRED and BENNY.) 
 
 BENNY (looking from one to another). Why, 
 what s up? What makes everybody look so so 
 sort of flurried? 
 
 MRS. WOUVERMAN. Why, where s Jerry? 
 
 102 
 
JEANNE. He s gone for some soda and water. 
 I 
 
 FLOYD-FABIAN. She burned her hand, and Mr. 
 Sessions suggested an application of soda and 
 water 
 
 MRS. WOUVERMAN (sweetly, to J. S. JR.). So 
 good of you ; you are always so thoughtful ! 
 
 J. S. JR. (frigidly). Well, I guess I may as 
 well be going. Good afternoon! . . . Good 
 afternoon, Miss Wouverman. 
 
 MRS. WOUVERMAN. Must you go? So soon! 
 
 JEANNE. Good afternoon, Mr. Sessions. (.Of 
 fering her hand, which he ignores). Good-bye. 
 
 CHORUS. Good afternoon, Mr. Sessions. Good 
 bye. 
 
 (Exit, sulkily, MR. JAMES SESSIONS, JR.) 
 
 BENNY (cheerfully). Something seems to have 
 gone wrong with gentle James, the heir to the 
 Sessions million No? 
 
 MRS. WOUVERMAN (anxiously) . I do hope you 
 weren t rude to him, Jeanne? 
 
 JEANNE. I came near promising to marry him. 
 
 FLOYD-FABIAN. But she promised to marry me, 
 instead. 
 
 MRS. WOUVERMAN (incredulously). What! 
 
 WINIFRED. So! ... Even if he does 
 paint pretty sheep to order for mere money, in 
 stead of doing plain portraits for glory and a 
 crust of bread. Jeanne, I m ashamed of you ! 
 
 JEANNE (radiantly). Floyd-Fabian has immor 
 talized his last sheep. (Giving him, her hand). 
 I m going to sit for my plain portrait as soon as 
 we set up our establishment in Bohemia. 
 
 103 
 
BENNY (administering a paternal pat). Good 
 for you! I approve of you. (With sudden hi 
 larity). Hey, O-hey, for Bohemia! (To Wini 
 fred). Let s follow their example. What do 
 you say? 
 
 WINIFRED (merrily). What did I tell you, 
 Jeanne ? " The curse is come upon me ! cried the 
 Lady of Shalott!" Just when I might have caught 
 the heart of gentle James on the rebound, too! 
 Benny, you re irresistible! I am thine! Con 
 gratulate us, Mrs. Wouverman! 
 
 FLOYD-FABIAN (leading JEANNE to her sister-in- 
 law). Congratulate us! 
 
 MRS. WOUVERMAN (with emphatic disapproval). 
 No! Perfect nonsense! Utter folly! Child s- 
 play! 
 
 WINIFRED (gaily). This from the author of 
 "Blended Hearts," "All For Love," et cetera, et 
 cetera? Can I believe my ears? 
 
 MRS. WOUVERMAN. Blended hearts are all very 
 well in a love story for a magazine; but this is 
 real life. Too bad! 
 
 BENNY (trips with Winifred to position beside 
 the painter and JEANNE; they all assume attitudes 
 of supplication). Don t be cross! (coaxingly}. 
 What if it is absurd? We like it! 
 
 MRS. WOUVERMAN. I don t like it! It s dread 
 ful! ... I shall leave the room! I wish 
 Jerry would come ! 
 
 (MRS. WOUVERMAN starts to go; they join 
 hands and surround her. She continues to frown 
 and shake her head, while they circle about her. 
 Enter, with melancholy stamped upon his counte- 
 
 104 
 
nance, MR. JERROLD WOUVERMAN, carrying an open 
 package of soda and a glass of water.) 
 
 JERRY (stopping at C). What s this? (Glar 
 ing.) 
 
 MRS. WOUVERMAN (plaintively). I can t help 
 it, Jerry dear! They won t let me out! 
 
 BENNY (pulling them about more madly than 
 ever). Ring around a rosy. Hey! O-hey, for 
 Bohemia! Relent, Mrs. Wouverman! 
 
 THE OTHERS. Hey! O-hey! Relent! Ring 
 around a rosy! 
 
 MRS. WOUVERMAN (beginning to smile). This 
 is too ridiculous! 
 
 JERRY (still standing stiffly holding the soda in 
 one hand and the water in the other). Marion 
 Wouverman, why do you tolerate such nonsense? 
 
 (MRS WOUVERMAN laughs wildly, breaks 
 through the rotating circle, almost upsetting 
 BENNY; and, disregarding danger from soda and 
 water, throws herself upon her astonished hus 
 band s breast.) 
 
 MRS. WOUVERMAN (hysterically). O-ooo-h, 
 J^rry ! 
 
 JERRY. Marion ! 
 
 MRS. WOUVERMAN (between laughter and 
 tears). Oh, Jerry dear, I know it s all wrong 
 forgive me! and silly, and and unpractical, and 
 everything, but they are so happy! Let us be 
 happy, too! 
 
 TABLEAU VIVANT . CURTAIN. 
 
 105 
 

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