822 ■R721 NO PLAYS EXCHANGED. The Marble Arch PRICE 25 CENTS Walter eTbaher &cq OOPYRIOiHT, 1®8© 9 BY WALTER H, mm Uniformly Bound in Stiff Paper Covers, Price, 50 cents each. The publication of the plays of this popular author, made feasible by the new Copyright Act, under which his valuable stage rights can be fully protected, enables us to offer to amateur actors a series of modern pieces of the highest class, all of which have met with distinguished success in the leading English and American theatres, and most of which are singularly well adapted for ama- teur performance. This publication was originally intended for the benefit of readers only, but the increasing demand for the plays for acting purposes has far outrun their merely literary success. With the idea of placing this excel- lent series within the reach of the largest possible number of amateur clubs, we have obtained authority to offer them for acting purposes at an author’s roy- alty of Ten Dollars for Each Performance. This rate does not apply to prof essiondl performances, for which terms will be made known on application. THE AMAZONS, j I A. W. PINERO’S PLAYS. AS k k as k k k k k as k k AS k k w w w w w W w w w w w w f T M/ mt w A Farcical Romance in Three Acts. By Arthur W. Pinero. Seven male and five female char- ■ acters. Costumes, modern; scenery, an exterior and an interior, not at all difficult. This admirable farce is too well known through its recent performance by the Lyceum Theatre Company, New York, to need description. It is especially recommended to young ladies’ schools and colleges. (1895.) THE CABINET MINISTER. I A Farce in Four Acts. By Arthur W. Pinero. Ten male r---— and nine female characters. Costumes, modern society ; scenery, three interiors. A very amusing piece, in- genious in construction, and brilliant in dialogue. (1892.) DANDY DICK. I THE HOBBY HORSE. I LADY BOUNTIFUL. I A Farce in Three Acts. By Arthur W. Pinero. Seven male, four female characters. Costumes, mod- ern ; scenery, two interiors. This very amusing piece was another success in the New York and Boston theatres, and has been ex- tensively played from manuscript by amateurs, for whom it is in every respect suited. It provides an unusual number of capital character parts, is very funny, and an excellent acting piece. Plays two hours and a half. (1893.) A Comedy in Three Acts. By Arthur W. Pinero. Ten male, five female char- acters. Scenery, two interiors and an ex- terior ; costumes, modern. This piece is best known in this country through the admirable performance of Mr. John Hare, who produced it in all the principal cities. Its story presents a clever satire of false philanthropy, and is full of interest and humor. Well adapted for amateurs, by whom it has been success- fully acted. Plays two hours and a half. (1892.) A Play in Four Acts. By Arthur W. Pinero. Eight male and seven female char- acters. Costumes, modern ; scenery, four interiors, not easy. A play of powerful sympathetic interest, a little sombre in key, but not unrelieved by humorous touches. (1892.) (its k AS AS k ! AS (its k (US (Its k as k k w w w f sy \i/ \t/ w V w \i/ w f THE MARBLE ARCH A COMEDIETTA IN ONE ACT BY Edward. Rose & A. J. Garraway ADAPTED FROM THE “VERSUCHERIN” By Von Moser boston ; THE MARBLE ARCH CHARACTERS. ♦ Jack Merewether, newly married. Capt. Trentham, in pursuit of a wife. Marion Merewether, Jack's wife. Constance Cameron, running away from an unknown lover. COSTUMES. Marion, in morning wrapper, later in elegant parlor costume. Merewether, Trentham and Constance, in walking cos- tume. PROPERTIES. Letters; writing materials; a white-rose tree with two white roses, one to pull to pieces; small watering can; a pot of forget- me-nots. THE MARBLE ARCH. Scene. — A prettily furnished boudoir with doors r. and l. and centre opening , with garden backing. Table, r., with pens, ink, and blotting-book, etc.; couch down l. ; stand with pot of forget- me-nots, r., small watering-pot, etc.; a footstool , dower-stand, c., with a white rose tree, chairs r. and l. Mar. ( discovered watering forget-me-nots l. of c. opening). You dear little forget-me-nots! How thirsty you are to be sure; but you look very well, although you are a twelvemonth old. I wonder whether Jack will remember it’s my birthday and .bring me another lovely pot of forget-me-nots to-day? If he does I won’t forget you, because I’ve been so happy since you’ve been with me! There! ( Finishes and crosses to table, r.) Why, Jack hasn’t opened his letters this morning! ( Arranges letters on table.) Oh, how happy I am! It is so delightful to be twenty-two when you’re married. T never cared what I was when I was single. Let me see (sits on couch), I’ve been married two months and three weeks and I’m twenty-two already. How time flies w^an. you’re Mrs. Merewether; and how it crept when I was Miss Jenkins! Oh, I must write again to Constance. (Crosses to table and sits.) I always do when my joy is too much for me: so she generally gets about four letters a week. (Writing) “Darling Constance, I am so happy ” But that’s how I began last time. Never mind. I must underline it all now to show how much more I mean it! There — there — and there! (Writing) “Jack is the best husband in the world — the kindest— -the most constant— the most ” Oh, what a little goose I am! Constance appears in l. doorway. Con. Mar. Con. geese. Mar. Bo! (starting). Oh! what’s that? I thought “Bo” was the proper manner of addressing (jumping up and meeting her, c.). Oh, my darling Con- < nie! I was just writing to you. (Kisses her.) Why, how did you v come to London? ^ Con. My dear, I’m running away! Mar. Good gracious! From what? 4 The Marble Arch* Con. A husband. Mar. What, another? Con. Don t speak as if I were a Mormon, dear. I’ve onlv had one weaker half as yet, and he is no more. Mar. But who is the new husband? Con. I don't know. He’s being prepared for me. I was stay- mg at cousin Sam’s — dear old motherly Sam Bildershaw, in Warwickshire— when only this morning I caught Samuel plot- ting! {Goes to l. h. corner .) Mar. Against you? Con. A man was being brought down to marry me — me, a poor innocent widow! You know I’m a bit of a campaigner. I ve traveled alone all over the Continent since poor George died. In half-an-hour I packed all my traps, said good-bye to the conspiring household, bolted Mar. And came to me. (Marion sits Constance on chair bv table, r.) Con. Yes! En route for Nice. Mar. Oh, but you must stop here a long, long time! I have so much to tell you. Con. ' How much? Mar. All about my happiness! Con. {alarmed). Oh! I thought your letters Mar. Letters? What are letters? Why see! I was just writ- ing to you — (Crosses to table) — but I couldn’t give you any idea of it; you see language is so inadequate on a subject like Jack! Con. (reading). “Jack is the best husband in the world.” Oh dear! dear! (Gravely, still reading) — “the kindest — the most con- stant — the most” — there we stop. Mar. Well — what could I say? Con. When he’s been constant for two months and three weeks. True; such virtues are rare. Mar. Constance, I believe you’re joking. ( Crosses to l. c.) But seriously — my Jack is the most affectionate — the dearest — the charmingest Con. My dear Marion, shun superlatives! Be as happy as you like; there is no tax on happiness, and it improves the complex- ion; but remember the one danger of the superlative — you can't get any further. Mar. Why, what do you mean? (Sits on stool by Constance.) Con. I am a great traveler. I’ve been up a great many moun- tains, and I’ve noticed their ways. You climb to the top — hope- ful, cheerful, hungry and romantic. The world lies stretched out before you. The air is cool, the snow is white, you wish you could stay there forever — but you can’t. Mar. ( dolefully ). Can’t you? Con. Not by a long way. A few minutes — and then Mar. Then? Con. You have to come down again. By yourself you would probably walk down a grassy slope, and suddenly find an abyss yawning in the rudest way at your feet. With a guide— an ex- The Marble Arch, 5 perienced guide, who has been down that hill before — you do it by easy stages; from that delightful, dangerous hilltop to the securer plain of every-day life. Mar. {kneels). But, Constance, you don’t know my Jack. Con. My dear, I know quite enough of him. I don’t want to insist upon his faults; but — he’s a man. One temptation, and he’s nowhere. Mar. ( rising , annoyed). My husband nowhere! Con. Try him, my love. Mar. Constance, you — you know you’re talking nonsense. It is very easy to say “try him.’’ Con. And almost easier to do it. (Rising.) Shall I? Mar. (startled). What do you mean? Con. . Oh, you’d rather I didn’t put this perfect being to the test. Mar. You are quite at liberty to waste your time in any way you like. Con. Then you defy me? (holding up a pen to her). Mar. Oh — I Con. Oh! you don’t defy me? (putting pen on table). Mar. (hastily). Yes, I do. But what are you going to write? ( Crosses to Constance.) Con. You shall see ( sits and writes). Don’t be afraid, I won't disguise the hook too cleverly — but he’ll swallow it. Mar. He won’t. Con. He’s a man. Take the first of his many weak points — his vanity. Mar. But Jack’s not vain ((l. c.). Con. (rises and comes c.). Very well. It’s baited. (Reads letter) “Dear Sir, — A lady is anxious to make your acquaint- ance, and will be at the Marble Arch at twelve this morning.” That’s all. Mar. Very concise. The effect of practice, I suppose. (Crosses to r. corner). Con. (down r.). Now, don’t be ill-natured. Oh! I forgot — how am I to know him? (Sees rose tree) Ah! He shall wear a badge. (Writes). “If you come, wear a large white rose.” Now to address it. I must make quite sure that it shall find him. (Writes). “J. Merewether, Esq.,” and I’ll put “private” in the corner. See, here are some unopened letters — I’ll put it among them — you don’t mind? Mar. Oh, no! it will be a very good joke — at your expense. (Door slams off r. ; crosses l.) Oh! there’s Jack; he always slams the hall door, he’s in such a hurry to see me. (Crosses to door , l.). Con. (rises). How touching! But he mustn’t see me before our meeting at the Marble Arch. How am I to escape him? Mar. Through the garden, if you really — really Con. Yes, I really — really! I can see you don’t half like it, poor dear; but you need the lesson — you’re in a dreadful state of honeymoon. Besides, you defied me! — you’ll see he won’t. [Exit, c. The iviarble Arch* Mar. I hate that girl! I think being a widow has quite spoilt her. Jack ( calling off, l.). Come along, Trentham, this way. {Entering quickly, L.) Here you are, my darling. Mar. My dear old pet! I am glad to see you back, why you’ve been away Jack. An hour and three-quarters exactly. Mar. He’s kept count, the darling! Jack. He has {kisses her). — Trentham {shouting). Mar. Oh— is Captain Trentham here? Jack. Yes — you’ve heard me speak of old Fred, hundreds of times. That telegram I had two hours ago was from him, say- ing he would be at Paddington on his way through town, but I persuaded him to break his journey, so now he’ll see you. Mar. In my wrapper? Never {Runs off , r.). Jack. Marion! {reproachfully). Mar. Oh, did’um then, did’um? {Runs back and kisses him.) There! you must make that do. [Exit, r. Jack. Dear little woman! How poor, solitary Fred will envy me. {Shouting) Trentham! Oh, here you are at last. Enter Trentham, l. Tren. My dear boy, you must remember I’m a bachelor, and can’t afford to disregard appearances. Am I all right? {Looks in glass.) Jack. Yes, I think you'll do! Tren. Well, where’s this wife of yours? {Sits, l.). Jack. Please don’t speak of her in that casual way. One would think you were an old married man. Tren. No, thanks; I’ve just lost a wife. Jack. A widower? Tren. No, no, I only lost her in the sense of not gaining her. Thereby hangs a tale, which I will unfold afterwards. Jack {going to table r., and opening first letter). Quite given her up? Tren. Yes, quite; only — I’m following her. Jack. Really? Tren. .Yes, she left her smelling-bottle behind her at a friend’s house, and I said I’d take it to her — on the Continent — out of politeness, you know. Jack, {opening Constance’s letter). You 'were always ec- centric, my friend, but now you’ve come back from India — Halloa! Tren. Eh, what’s that? Not a tailor? Jack {reading). “A large white rose” — “The Marble Arch”. {Crosses to couch , l., and hands letter to Trentham.) Here, read this. I think that may be called rather strong. Tren. {after reading it, returns it, and rises). And do you mean to say you’ve no idea who it’s from? Jack. I never have ideas — they don’t pay. {Tears letter in two). The Marble Arch. 7 Tren. Here, what are you doing? Jack. Preparing it for the waste paper basket. Marion says her papa makes -ten shillings a year out of his old letters; so you see even this may have its value. Tren. ( taking letter). But — I would’nt do that. Jack. Eh, what are you doing? Tren. 1 — -I collect autographs, that’s all ( putting it in his pocket). There’s a good deal of character in that hand. Jack. I’m afraid there isn’t much in the writer. Tren. I should like to see that woman ( examining letter). I like the way she makes her W’s. (Jack goes to r. of tabie.) Jack. You don’t suppose I’m going to let myself in for any- thing of that sort? Tren. Oh, but you know, Jack, you should always look this kind of thing in the face. Jack. Eh? Tren. At least — of course you’re a married man — you should get another fellow to look it in the face for you. Now I — I’m horribly shy — result of five years in a solitary up country station in India — it’s a perfect affliction to me. Jack. Ah, you should get rid of that. Tren. Just so! No use giving way— must break myself of it — now here’s a capital opportunity. Jack. How do }'ou mean? Tren. Why — why — suppose I went to the Marble Arch in- stead of you? Jack. You? Tren. Yes, just to see there was nothing wrong, you know. It couldn’t do any harm. If she were old or ugly I could furl my rose and escape. At all events, I can report what she’s like. Jack. You really ought to marry, Fred. You’d lose this roving spirit then. However, rove on if you like; only remember I’ll have nothing to do with it — and take care you’re back to lunch. Tren. ( looking at watch). By Jove, I shall only just be in time! It was thoughtful of her to make it so near. Off to the Marble Arch! ( looking in glass) Am I all right? Eh? Thanks. [Exit, l. Jack. Bonne chance. ( Goes to door , l.). Oh, men and women, what fools you are. Now, I shall just have time to get those forget-me-nots for Marion. It’s her birthday. She was so delighted with those I gave her last year, that it will be a pleasant surprise for her. My little wife! I wonder what genius invented marriage. I should like to stand that fellow a drink. ( Down l. c.). Enter Marion r. Mar. ( surprised ). Where’s Captain Trentham? Jack ( putting on his gloves). Gone for half-an-hour. But he*ll The Marble Arch< 8 be back for lunch. Mar. And I 7 ve been making myself nice for him to look at! Jack. You’ll keep, dear. ( Gets hat.) Mar. (aside, looking at table , r.). He’s read it. Here’s the empty envelope. (Turns and secs Jack with gloves on — starting.) Jack! you are going out. Jack. Yes, I’ve an appointment. Mar. Oh, but don’t keep it! (Eagerly) Oh, do stay with me! I want you. Jack. My darling, I shall be back to lunch. Mar. But that’s an hour away, and you’ve been out an hour and three-quarters already, and that makes — oh, I don’t know what it makes, but please stay! Jack. My dear Marion Mar. (dragging him to couch). Now, come and sit down and give me that horrid hat! I have so much to talk about — and this dear old seat reminds me of some of the happiest days of my life. Jack, (uneasily, looking at watch). Yes, it reminds me of them too — but don’t you think we can remember them just as well after lunch? (Gets up and gets hat). Mar. Then you will go in spite of my entreaties. Jack, won’t you tell me what this appointment is? (pleadingly) . Jack. Oh, that’s my secret. (Marion rises.) Mar. There should be no secret between husband and wife, Jack. Jack. This is a secret which I mean most particularly to keep from my wife, Marion. Mar. Then you no longer love me! I knew it — oh, I knew it! Jack. Hang it, Marion, this is absurd. Surely, if I choose to give myself the pleasure of a little mystery Mar. Oh! He calls it a pleasure! (Sits on couch). Jack. He does. (Aside) Why, I don’t believe that fellow took his badge! I’ll run after him with it. The letter said a large white rose. (Goes to rose tree.) Oh, Marion, you won’t mind my taking one of these roses, I suppose (plucks). Mar. (indignantly). Take the tree and go! Jack. Thanks, I’m not a light porter. (Aside) New and un- pleasant discovery; there are two sides to everything. Even to matrimony and Marion! [Exit, L. Mar. (starting up). He’s gone! He’s left me in tears for a stranger! Oh, mamma was right, all men are alike. I wonder if papa left her after two months and three weeks, and rushed off; no, I don’t think he could have done that, his gout was always so bad. Oh, what shall I do? I must write to somebody, and I can never trust that faithless Constance again. A husband and friend, gone at once — and gone together! But they gen- erally do that — I know! I’ll write to mamma. (Goes and sits at table). I will leave this house at once, and for ever, ana go home to her. But how shall I begin? — wit*h the end? (Writes) The Marble Arch. 9 Dearest Mamma, — Jack is false !” There, now I’ll tell my maid to pack up. I’ll ring. ( Getting up sees Constance, who runs in, L,. laughing.) Con. Marion! Mar. Constance! Con. My dear, I can’t tell you what fun it’s been. Mar. I hardly see the joke. Con. He’s delightful. I congratulate you heartily. I had no idea your taste was so good. ( Sits on sofa.) Mar. He’s a monster, (r. corner.) Con. No — no — you do yourself an injustice. Now listen. Mar. ( crossing to c.). I don’t want ever to hear his name again. Con. But I want to talk — and when I want to talk I do. Mar. Yes, I’ve noticed that. Con. I’d hardly got there when I saw my gentleman ap- proaching, with a large white rose in his buttonhole. Mar. Ugh! ( tearing off a rose from tree). Con. He saw I was looking at him, and as he came up he eyed me all over Mar. ( going to her , sharply). And you let him? Con. I liked it. (Marion crosses to r. corner.) Then he bowed — he has such a particularly graceful bow Mar. ( coming down). Why didn’t you marry him yourself? Con. My dear, if you had only given me the chance! Well, he said “I believe I am here in accojdance with your wish” — and then Mar. Then! Con. For the first time I realized that I didn’t in the least know what to do. I got hot, and I got red, and I never felt so uncomfortable in my life. Mar. I dare s-ay he was comfortable enough. Con. Oh, of course you know him. He has such perfect tact. In two minutes we were chatting like old friends. Mar. Really! (Crosses to Constance.) Constance, when are you thinking of leaving us? Con. Well, this is hospitable. ( Rises and goes to Marion.) Marion, you don’t mean to say you’re jealous? Mar. I’m going to leave London at once, and I suppose even you wo mid not care to remain here alone with 1 think I heard the hall door. Con. Was it? He didn’t slam it this time. Mar. ( restraining her sobs). He — he’s ashamed of himself. He isn’t quite so brazen as some people yet. I feel I’d better leave you together. In these cases two are company and three are none! ( Bursts into tears and exit, r.) Con. Marion, my dear! What will he think of my being here? He has no idea that I know her! Ah! I might punish this erring husband for his misdemeanor. ( Listens at door, l.) Here he comes! [ steals off, c. JO The Marble Arch. Enter Trentham, l, Tren. I’ve seen her! the rose did it Rather thoughtful of Jack to catch me up with it; but why didn’t I ask her name? (Constance enters softly , c., and stands as if she had just entered by door , l.) Bah! I mustn’t think of her. A woman who could stoop to write such a letter! But what a lovely creature — what a voice — what action — what ( Turns and sees Constance, and starts.) Damn it, here she is! You — you haven’t followed me? Con. To be quite candid, I have. You are Tren. Charmed, of course. At the same time it — doesn’t it strike you that this is a little awkward? Con. No — no. (Aside) He’s so deliciously uncomfortable. What a sweet little room this is! Tren. Very sweet. I — I think so myself. A nice door that (pointing off, l.). But won’t you Con. Oh, don’t make any apologies, pray! Tren. (aside). She seems quite at home. I wish I was. Con. (sits, l. c. ; dropping her handkerchief ). Won’t you sit down and make yourself agreeable? Trentham sits at table, R., and, seeing handkerchief, picks it up and gives it to Constance; in receiving it she drops her glove ; he gives it to her. Business.) Thanks. Haven’t you anything to say? Tren. (aside). This is too strong! What on earth am I to do? Beat her at her own game? My only plan! Shall I adopt it? Carried nem. con. Con. Did you exhaust your conversation at Tren. (now quite at his ease, places chair close to her). The Marble Arch? Dear old Marble Arch! I shall always love that place. Con. (rather surprised). Oh! Tren. Shan’t you? Con. I — it’s always been a favorite spot of mine. Tren. Architecturally or — (tenderly) — morally ?. Con. Morally — (Gets up, and sits on couch.) — quite morally. Tren. I’m glad of that. (Sits on chair.) What a sympathy there is between us, isn’t there? Con. Really! (Moves to middle of couch.) Tren. But isn’t there? (following her and taking her hand). Con. To a certain extent; but you must remember you are a married man. (Rises.) Tren. (aside). So I am! — You make me forget it. Con. Mr. Merewetber! I mean Tren. You mean Jack — call me Jack. Talking of marriage, are you at all in that line? Con. I am a widow. Tren. So am I! No, I don’t mean that; I mean, oddly enough, I always adored widows, don’t you? — (rises) no, I don’t mean that, I mean— strange, isn’t it? Con. Yes, very curious. . Tren. (aside). She’s getting frightened. Particularly widows The Marble Arch, n with tiny hands, nut-brown hair, dark-blue eyes — by the way, art your eyes blue or green? Con. Sir* Tren. ( aside ). That’s done it! Con. I never heard such assurance! (Aside) Oh, poor dear Marion! (Aloud) Have the goodness to sit over there. Tren. There? (Tries chair, r. c., then l. c.) Con. There! (Business with Trentham and chairs.) Tren. Thanks. (Aside) How she gives the word of com- mand! I daren’t disobey her. (Sits up r.). Con. We shall get on better now. (Trentham rises, sits on cduch ; business.) You mustn’t be so restless. (Turns her back to him.) Tren. What a lovely creature, and how she snubbed me! I could adore her even from this distance; but I haven’t got rid of her. Ahem! She’s a little deaf. Perhaps that will help to cut the Gordian knot; I’ll try. (Rises softly and steals to c. door.) You’ve got me into a difficulty. You may get yourself out of it. Con' You may go on talking now. Tren. Thanks! I’ve done! [Exit, c. Con. I say you may go on talking now. (Aside) Has the man turned sulky? I really don’t know what to do with him. (Aloud) Have we discussed the weather yet? (Aside) Dear me, I am beginning to wish Marion would come and explain every- thing. Enter Jack, l., with pot of forget-me-nots. Jack. There! (puts flowers on table). Now for a line of tender inscription. (Prepares to write ; sees Marion’s letter.) What’s this? Con. (aside). I can hear he is getting restless. Well, I won’t help him. Jack (reading). “Dearest Mamma — Jack is false.” Good- ness gracious! (Rises.) Con (aside). Oh, I can’t hold out. Ahem! Jack (aside). Oh, Marion’s there. Well, I won’t make the first advance! Ahem! (Bends over flowers). Con. (aside). I give it up! (Crosses to Jack.) Are you writing a message to me? (He turns round quick.) Oh! A strange gentleman! How did you get here? Jack. How did you get here? Con. Oh, I beg your pardon. Jack. Don’t mention it. Con. You see, I am an intimate friend of Mrs, Mereweather’s, so I happened to be here. Jack. I see; yes. Con. You know her, too, of course? Jack. Slightly. I am — my name is Mere weather Con. Oh — a brother-in-law, I suppose? a OF ILL LIB, Tne xVi^i*bk Axch, i2 Jack (mystified). Brother-in-law? Con. Yes — I mean — a brother of my friend’s husband. Jack. I think there is some mistake. I have no brother, and this is my house. Con. Your house! Oh, it can't be! Jack. I can show you the lease, if that will be any satisfac- tion. Con. But if you are Mr. Merewether, I ought to know you. Jack. Does that follow? (Puzzled,). Con. No — no — but the gentleman who was here just now Jack. Eh? Oh, I expect you’ve seen Fred, an old friend of mine. Con. What — and — and he pretended — oh, that I should have made such an utter fool of myself! Then he was laughing at me all the time. Oil! oh! (fainting). Jack. The woman’s going to faint. (Catches her). Here, I say, you mustn’t do that, you know. Now be calm. I don’t know what you’ve been doing, but I’m sure it isn’t anything par- ticular. Enter Marion, r., seeing them. Jack pushes Constance, l. Mar. Oh! Now I can believe my eyes! Con. No — no — indeed you can’t! It’s quite a mistake. Jack. Marion! Mar. Don’t touch me! (Crosses to c.). Con. I’ll explain Mar. Don’t touch me! Jack (down l.). My dear girl Mar. I’m not your dear girl, I’m only your wife — your neg- lected, betrayed wife. Con. But listen Jack. Yes, listen — I’ll Mar. I won’t! Oh, you two wicked people. One of you is as bad as the other — and worse! You led him astray, and he followed you astray — out of my sight! Let me never see you again. Go, go both of you — to — to the Marble Arch. (Rushes out. r., followed as far as door by Jack). Jack. Eh? you led me astray? Con. Oh, I confess everything. It’s been all my fault. I wrote that letter Tack ( crosses , l.). What, the “Marble Arch” — “the large wh'te rose”? Then my wife knows all about it? Con. Of course! Do you think I should have dared? Jack. And do you think I should? No; it was Fred who went instead of me. Con. Oh, what must he think of me? (Sits on couch.) Enter Trentham, c. Tren. Has she gone? (Sees her) No! (About to escape.) The Marble Arch, 13 Jack ( detaining hint). It’s all right, old man; we’ve both been mystified. Tren. Both? ( About to run off.) Jack. Yes; my wife was at the bottom of the joke herself. Tren. (amazed). Your wife? Jack. Now, I think I’ll be off to Marion to make an explana- tion, and — (sees flowers) — happy thought! I’ll take these as a peace offering. (Takes dowers and crosses to door, r.) Poor o.d Fred! [Exit, r. Tren. (aside). ITis wife! Con. I feel that I owe you a full explanation. Tren. Pray don’t trouble — I know everything. Con. (surprised). Everything? How? Tren. From your husband! Con. My wnat? Tren. Your husband. Con. (aside). Now he takes me for the wrong man’s wife! Tren. It was a dangerous joke, though. Do you know I very nearly fell in love with you myself, Mrs. Merewether? No, I don’t mean that. Con. How very dreadful Tren. Ch, it’s just my luck. Why, only this morning a friend of mine in Warwickshire had found a charming widow for me to marry. Now, what do you think she did? Con. I’ve no idea. I don’t know what widows generally do in Warwickshire. Tren. She bolted — to Nice. I had a telegram at nine o’clock this morning saying, “No go. Better luck next time.” And you see it’s been worse luck next time, Mrs. Merewether. No — I don’t mean that. Con. I’m very sorry. Might I ask her name? Tren. Constance Cameron. (Constance starts.) Do you know the lady? Con. Particularly well. They say she’s a little like me. Tren. Then she must be lovely — no, I don’t mean that — yes I do. She left her smelling-bottle behind her, and I’m just going to run over to Nice with it, and leave it at her door. Con. Indeed? Would it be troubling you too much to ask you to take her a letter from me? Tren. (eagerly). The trouble would be rapture. (Drawing back). I don’t mean that. (Constance sits r. of table, and commences to zvrite; aside, l.) What an angel! But I’ve noticed other fellows’ wives always are. Enter Jack, r. Jack (crossing in front of table to Trentham). It’s all right: my wife’s satisfied. She’s quite calm now. Tren. Oh, yes, she’s quite herself again. Jack. Eh? How do you know? Have you seen her, then? Tren. Have I seen her? Can I ever forget her? The Marble Arch. H Jack (turns and sees Marion, who enters door , r.). Then I needn t introduce you. Marion, I think you know this gentle- man. Tren. (surprised) . I don’t know this lady. Jack. Why, you jusc said you could never forget her. Fred, this is my wife. Tren. (astounded) . What, another? Mar. No, the first. Tren. I say, Jack, this is getting past a joke. Is this really your wife? Mar. I really am. Tren. (pointing to Constance). But who’s she? Mar. A dear friend of mine, en route for Nice. Tren. (starting). Nice! Mar. (going to Constance). Constance, let me introduce my husband and his friend. Captain Trentham — Mrs. Constance Cameron. (Goes with Jack, c.). Con. (aside). Oh, how hot I feel! Tren. (aside). I should very much like to run away. Con. Here is the letter; would you like to read it? Tren. Thanks (taking it; reading), “Dear Constance, — You need not have fled so precipitately. Captain Trentham is not such a bad fellow, after all. I almost think that in time one might become quite attached to him.” Oh, do you really mean it, and will you accept Con. My smelling-bottle? Yes, please. Tren. No! let me keep it, and you. Thanks (seizing her hand) . Jack (coming down). Hulloa! What does all this mean? Con. That great effects from trifling causes spring! Tren. A joke the cause Mar. The great effect, the ring! Tren. That prize to win, what soldier would not march Even to Nice! Con. • Or to — the Marble Arch! Curtain. % “ The man or woman who doesn't * The Black Cat is without donirt read The Black Cat misses the greatest the story telling hit of the oeatury.**— stories in the world.— Boston Post . San Francisco Chronicle, it Will Pay You to read The Black Cat, not only because it publishes the most unusual and fascinating stories that genius can devise and money can buy, but Because it presents to young and unknown writers an opportunity offered by no other pubMcation, It pays the highest price in the world foi short stories. It pays not according to the name or reputation of a writer, but according to the merit of a story. It pays not according to length but according to strength. It pub lishes no continued stories, no translations, no borrowings, no stealings. The great $5,000 prize stories of Mystery, Adventure, Love, Detectives, Humor and Pathos will give added interest to future issues. The Black Cat is published monthly. It costs 50 cents a year and each number contains 5 complete, origi- nal, copyrighted stories that are stories. By special arrangement with its publishers (The Shortstory Publishing Co.) we are able to make the following offer : Free of Us If yon will send ns 50 eents The Black Cat will be mailed you as issued for one year, postage paid, and yon will also receive at once, free , postage paid , 15 of the stories (including the $1,000 prize tales, “ The Gaikwar’s Sword,” “ The g uaranteed Bridegroom.” “The an cing Goddess,” “The Train Hunt at Loldos.” ete.) that have made The Black Cat famou# as the story-telling bit of the age. tor BaSfear & MamMtm Ptaesc Bc&*ass» Mcafe SKETCHES, STRENUOUS MAME, THE BOWERY GIRL. A Vaudeville Cocktail in One Act. By HARRY L. NEWTON. One male, one female character. Scene, a plain interior ; costumes, modern and eccentric. A brisk and amusing sketch of the humors of a dramatic agency, introducing a “ tough ” girl, who is ambitious to go on the stage. Great chance for specialties, but will play satisfactorily without. Plays eighteen minutes. PRICE 15 CENTS. NEW DIALOGUES, COMIC DIALOGUES FROM DICKENS. A collection of Easy and Amusing Dialogues compiled and arranged by W. E. Fette. Nothing but Dickens’ own words are anywhere employed, and the dialogues from each book may be combined if desired to form a longer en- tertainment. The collection comprises sixteen selections from the immortal “Pickwick,” nine from “Martin Ghuzzlewit,” seven from “Old Curiosity Shop,” and others from “ Nicholas Nickleby,” “ Great Expectations,” etc. PRICE 25 CENTS* HUMOROUS DIALOGUES FROM DICKENS. A Collection of Simple and Laughable Dialogues arranged and compiled by W. E. Fette, but employing nothing but Dickens’ actual words, comprising dialogues from “Nicholas Nickleby,” “Oliver Twist,” “David Copperfield,” “Dombey and Son,” “Pickwick P’apers,” “Our Mutual Friend,” etc. The o diectionis arranged, in some instances, so tAat an extended series of scenes from a single book may be given, or the component scenes given as separate short dialogues. Simple and effective. PRICE * 25 CENTS* HOLIDAY DLALOGUES FROM DICKENS. A Collection of Dialogues and Entertainments compiled and arranged from Oharles Dickens’ famous “ Christmas Stories,” by W. E. Fette. Comprising selections from “ The Christmas Carol,” “ The Cricket on the Hearth,” “ The Battle of Life,” etc., arranged in a series of scenes to he given either singly or together, as an extended entertainment. As material for the stage celebration of Christmas, Dickens’ writings need no commendation. The spirit of “ peace on earth and good will toward men” lives in their lines and conceptions, and no better material can be found for this purpose. PRICE 25 CENTS. I I /{S As As (US As As ns As /is /is /is /s w w si/ I si/ Si/ SI/ SI/ TtlC MA(^KTP ATF f a Farce in Three Acts. By Arthur W. A IV.Ln.VjJO 1 Ivn. 1 JJ* | p INERO# Twelve male, four female char- 11 1 ■ — acters. Costumes, modern ; scenery, all interior. The merits of this excellent and amusing piece, one of the most popu- lar of its author’s plays, are well attested by long and repeated runs in the principal American theatres. It is of the high’est class of dramatic writing, and is uproariously funny, and at the same time unexceptionable in tone. Its entire suitability for amateur performance has been shown by hundreds of such pro- ductions from manuscript during the past three years. Plays two hours and a half. (1892.) THE NOTORIOUS MRS. EBBSMITH. A Drama in Four Acts. By Arthur W. Pinero. Eight male and five female charac- ters; scenery, all interiors. This is a “prob- lem ” play continuing the series to which “ The Profligate” and “The Second JVIrs.Tanquerav” qtiH mtATifiAl xr lr.t.prAfltinnr ic Tint finite! belong, and while strongly dramatic, and intensely interesting is not suited amateur performance. It is recommended for Reading Clubs. (1895.) THE PROFLIGATE.! A Play in Four Acts. By Arthur VY Ptnr- ro. Seven male and five female characters Scenery, three interiors, rather elaborate . dramatic In costumes, modem. This is a piece of serious interest, powerfully dramai movement, and tragic in its event. An admirable play, but not suited for teur performance. (1892.) THE SCHOOLMISTRESS. | A Farce in Three Acts. By Arthur W. Pinero. Nine male, seven fe- male characters. Costumes, mod- ern ; scenery, three interiors, easily arranged. This ingenious and laughable farce was played by Miss Rosina Vokes during her last season in America with great success. Its plot is amusing, its action rapid and full of incident, its dia- logue brilliant, and its scheme of character especially rich in quaint and humor- ous types. The Hon. YereQueckett and Peggy are especially strong. The piece is in all respects suitable for amateurs. (1894.) THE SECOND MRS. TANQUERAY. A Play in Four Acts. By Arthur W. Pinero. Eight male and five female char- acters. Costumes, modern ; scenery, three interiors. This well-known and powerful play is not well suited for amateur per- formance. It is offered to Mr. Pinero’s admirers among the reading public in answer to the demand which its wide discussion. as an acted play has created. (1894.) - Also in Cloth, $1.00. ^WFFT T A VFTVJTVFP ! A Comedy m Three Acts. By Arthur ^ W IZJL 1 I^n. V J-d^LAEJiv* | w p INERO# Seven male and four female " ■ — — "* characters. Scene, a single interior, the same for all three acts ; costumes, modern and fashionable. This well known and popular piece is admirably suited to amateur players, by whom it has been often given during the last few years. Its story is strongly sympathetic, and its comedy interest abundant and strong. (1893.) THE TIMES ! A Comedy in Four Acts. By Arthur W. Pinero. x x i— * x xxvxx^j* j ma i e an( j seven female characters. Scene, a single ele- " L -- gant interior ; costumes, modern and fashionable. An entertaining piece, of strong dramatic interest and admirable satirical humor. (1892.) THF WFATCFP f A Comedy in Three Acts. By Arthur 1 w | iff- p INER0 . Eight male and eight female ““ * 1 characters. Costumes, modern ; scenery, two interiors, not difficult. This very amusing comedy was a popular feature of the repertoire of M*. and Mrs. Kenaal in this country. It presents a plot of strong dramatic interest, and its incidental satire of “Woman’s Rights” em- ploys some admirably humorous characters, and inspires many very clever lines. Its leading characters are unusually even in strength and prominence, which makes it a very satisfactory piece for amateurs. (1894.) tis tlS is tis is tits tits tits is tis tis is tis is is w sit sit # sit The Plays op H enrik Ibsep* Edited, with Critical and BiograpI*caI Introduction, by EDMUND GOSSE. This series is offered to meet a growing demand for the plays of this wel abused and hotly-discussed writer, whose influence over the contemporary dran is enormous even if his vogue in the American theatre be still regrettab small. These plays are intended for the reading public, but are recommend* for the use of literary societies and reading clubs, and somewhat diffident: suggested to dramatic clubs, as providing unconventional but vigorously act; ble material. As a dramatist Ibsen is absolutely “ actor-tight,” and has writte more successful parts and inspired more “ hits ” than any of his more populs contemporaries. This edition is printed in large, clear type, well suited for tl use of reading clubs. The following titles are ready. A DOLL'S HOUSE. I f r Play in Them Acts Translated by Wn 1 liam Archer. Three male, four female chai acters, and three children. Price, 25 cent t THE PILLARS OF SOCIETY. I £ play ^ fov* a™ *♦, 'Translated by Williai female characters. GHOSTS. ROSMERSHOLM. ■ Translated by Williai — — — 1 Archer. Ten male, nin Price, 25 cents A Drama in Three Acts. Translated by William Archer. Three male, two female characters. - Price, 25 cents A Drama in Four Acts. Translated by M Carmichael. Four male, two female charac ^ rs * Price, 25 cents JU THE LADY FROM THE SEA. f a drama m fiye acts V8/ I Translated by Clara Bell ~ " , Five male, three femah \V# characters. 4 t AN enemy of society. ters. | THE WILD DUCK. | THE YOUNG MEN'S LEAGUE. male, six female characters. Sit Sit Sit HEDDA G ABLER. S\t Sit THE MASTER BUILDER. Sit sit female characters. Five male, three f email Price, 25 cents A Play in Five Acts. Trans lated by William Archer K ino male, two female charac Price, 25 cents A Drama in Five Acts. Translated by E M Aveleng. Twelve male, three female characters. Price, 25 cents, A Play in Ftve acts Translated by Henry 1 Carstarphen. ‘Twelve Price, 25 cents. A Drama in Four Acts. Translated by Edmund Gosse. Three male, four female characters. Price, 50 cents. A Play in Three Acts. Trans- lated by Edmund Gosse and Wil- liam Archer. Four male *bree Price, 50 ^ents. t * CO «>*»• • iyj m.t*c