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The Changed Valentines
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The Changed Valentines
And Other Plays for St. Valentine’s Day
By
ELIZABETH F. GUPTILL
_Author of “A Troublesome Flock,” “Little Acts
for Little Actors,” etc._
BOSTON
WALTER H. BAKER & CO.
1918
The Changed Valentines
And Other Plays
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE CHANGED VALENTINES, 3 males, 4 females 3
A ROMANCE OF ST. VALENTINE’S DAY, 1 male, 2 females 25
THE QUEEN OF HEARTS, 11 males, 13 females 45
[Illustration]
COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY WALTER H. BAKER & CO.
The Changed Valentines
In Two Acts
The Changed Valentines
CHARACTERS
BOBBY, _the small boy of the family_.
EVELYN }
HELEN } _his older sisters_.
LOUISE, _his younger sister_.
MRS. WINSTON, _his mother_.
BERT, _his older brother_.
MR. BERTRAM ELLIOTT, _his bachelor uncle_.
ACT I
SCENE.--_The setting is the same for both Acts--a living-room
or library._
(_As the curtain rises BERT is sitting at a desk, evidently
just finishing a letter or note._)
BERT. There! I’ll just tuck it in here with the valentine, and let her
get both together. (_Does so, and directs envelope._) Miss Eloise V.
Worthington! A pretty name, and a stately one, but somehow I like Winston
better. I wonder if she will?
(_Finishes addressing it, and sits looking at it._)
_Enter BOBBY, in a hurry._
BOBBY. Bert! Frank’s out here in his brother’s buzzcart, and wants to see
you. He says you can ride up-town if you’ll get a move on.
BERT. I will that.
(_Steps out, comes back through, putting on his coat._)
BOBBY (_with a grin_). Going bare-headed?
BERT (_putting hand to head_). Why, I thought I put it on! Run and get
it, kid.
(_Exit BOBBY. BERT paws around on table, upsetting everything._)
BOBBY. Here’s your lid.
BERT. Thanks. Where in the name of common sense are my gloves? I put them
here for Mother to mend, last night.
BOBBY. They’re sticking out of your pocket.
BERT. So they are. So long, kid.
(_Hurries out, forgetting valentine. BOBBY spies it and picks
it up._)
BOBBY. Gee! It’s a valentine for Eloise. Bet it ain’t as pretty as the
one I bought. There won’t no silly girl get it, either. I wonder----
(_He starts to take it out of envelope, hears some one
coming, and runs out, dropping it. There should be a curtain,
apparently separating two rooms, and behind this BOBBY hides._)
_Enter UNCLE BERTRAM; goes to desk._
UNCLE B. (_addressing his envelope_). Well, well! That’s the fortieth
valentine I’ve sent Ellen. I sent the first, I remember, when I was a
three-year-old, in kilts, and she a baby in little white dresses and
blue shoes. Ha, hum! Such is life! Here we are, both middle-aged people,
though blest if I feel so! If she’d only answered that twentieth one, I
might not have been sending the fortieth. I wonder---- (_He toys with
letter._)
MRS. WINSTON (_looking in_). Oh, here you are, Bertram. You’re wanted on
the ’phone.
UNCLE B. (_rising_). I’ll be right there.
(_He hurries out, and BOBBY hurries in, and picks up the
dropped letter._)
BOBBY (_going to desk_). Gee! I’ve thought of the best joke! This ain’t
sealed, either. I’m a-going to change ’em. Thirty-nine valentines are
enough for one lady to get from the same man, anybody’d know! (_Makes
the change, and seals both letters._) There! I guess a “change’ll be a
difference,” as Aunt Emily says, and Eloise oughtn’t to care. This one’s
from Bert, too. Didn’t know Uncle Bertram ever signed his name Bert.
Jumping frogs! He’s coming!
(_Hides again, BERT’S letter in his hand. His uncle takes the
letter, and sees it is sealed._)
UNCLE B. Funny! I thought I hadn’t sealed that. Getting absent-minded, I
guess.
(_Puts it in pocket, and goes out, whistling._)
_Enter EVELYN and HELEN. Both start toward desk. HELEN reaches
it first._
EVELYN. Oh, dear, Helen, won’t you let me have the desk a minute? I just
want to address a letter.
HELEN. So do I, and I’m in an awful rush.
EVELYN. What is it? A valentine?
HELEN. Is yours?
EVELYN. Well, why don’t you address it, or else let me have the desk?
HELEN (_rising_). You may have it, Evvie. I’ll wait. (_EVELYN seats
herself, toys with pen._) Well, why don’t you do it, if you’re in such a
rush? (_EVELYN laughs._)
EVELYN. For the same reason you don’t, I guess. Here! (_Hands her a
fountain pen._) You can do yours on the table. Then we won’t bother each
other.
HELEN. I’ll let you see who mine is addressed to, if you will, too.
EVELYN. No, thanks. (_Both hesitate, laugh, and HELEN takes hers to
table. Both write hastily. A crash is heard, followed by a loud scream,
and both girls rush out. BOBBY comes out of his hiding-place, and
changes valentines swiftly, sealing both, then darts back as he hears
girls coming. They enter._) Katy will scare us to death some day. Did you
ever see any one who could get so many tumbles?
HELEN. Or smash so many dishes? No, I never did. (_Takes up valentine._)
Why, I don’t remember sealing this.
EVELYN. Nor I mine. I suppose the--the Irish earthquake in an American
kitchen put it out of our heads. Want me to mail your letter? I’m going
out.
HELEN. No, thanks. I’m going out, too, and this envelope is private
property.
EVELYN. H’m! I could make a pretty good guess as to the name on the
outside. It’s “Pet,” of course.
HELEN. Really, it’s mean to call Phil that. He hates it so!
EVELYN. Then his mamma shouldn’t have named him Philip Etheridge, when
she knew his last name must always be Tuttle. Then he is such a pet. I
always want to see a big lawn bonnet on those golden curls of his, and
see his dear little self in ruffled white dresses, with short socks and
blue slippers. Of course the little darling wants a valentine! But I
should think he’d make you tired!
HELEN. He’s lots nicer than that homely Jack Hamilton. All he thinks of
is baseball.
EVELYN. Well, he isn’t soft and sentimental, and--mushy like Pet. I don’t
care to lead a nice little poodle-dog around by a blue ribbon.
HELEN. You’d prefer a bulldog?
EVELYN. I certainly should. Coming out to mail your precious epistle?
HELEN. I am.
EVELYN. Come on, then. (_Both pass out._)
BOBBY (_coming forth again_). Now maybe I’ll have a chance. No, here
comes Lou!
(_Dives out of sight again._)
LOUISE (_entering_). I saw you, Bobby Winston! What you hiding for?
BOBBY (_stepping out_). I ain’t hiding.
LOUISE. Well, you were. Thought you could jump out and scare some one, I
s’pose.
BOBBY (_as she seats herself at desk_). Who you writing to?
LOUISE. Nobody. I’m sending valentines.
BOBBY. Valentines? More than one? Helen and Evvie only sent one apiece,
and I’m going to send one.
LOUISE. Oh, Bobby, who to?
BOBBY. That ain’t good grammar.
LOUISE. And that is, I s’pose. H’m!
(_She takes two envelopes and tucks in valentines, and seals
them._)
BOBBY. Who you sending ’em to, Lou?
LOUISE. I shan’t tell. Go ’way, Bobby, so’s I can get ’em done.
BOBBY. Tell me who they’re going to?
LOUISE. No siree!
BOBBY. I’ll give you my glass agate if you will, Louie.
LOUISE. What you want to know for? To tell somebody, and get me laughed
at?
BOBBY. No, I won’t tell, honest Injun!
LOUISE. Well, the pretty one goes to Reginald, and the homely one goes to
Freddie, ’cause I’m mad on him!
BOBBY. What you mad at Freddie for?
LOUISE. ’Cause he said Valentine’s Day was silly, and he shouldn’t send
one.
BOBBY. Ho, ho! And you wanted him to send you one!
LOUISE. No such thing! He can keep his old valentines, if he wants to.
I’m going to send a lovely one to Reginald. He’s got sense enough to
’preciate it, maybe. And I got a horrid comic one of a miser, all ragged
and thin, gnawing a bare bone, like a dog, with his money all piled up
around him.
BOBBY. Mamma doesn’t like us to send comic ones.
LOUISE. Don’t you tell, Bobby Winston!
BOBBY. What’ll you give me not to? My aggie back again?
LOUISE. I haven’t got it yet to give back again. Yes, keep it if you want
to, but don’t tell. If you do, I’ll never tell you anything again, so
there, now!
BOBBY. Well, I won’t, but Mamma wouldn’t like it. You know she wouldn’t.
LOUISE. Maybe she wouldn’t like all you’ve been up to, either, Sir Robert.
BOBBY. What you know about what I’ve been up to?
LOUISE. Oh, you have! You have been up to some mischief! Now if you tell,
I will.
BOBBY. You can’t, for you don’t know it to tell, smarty. Say, Lou, let’s
see the funny one.
LOUISE. It isn’t funny. It’s just horrid, and I meant it to be. Besides,
they’re sealed now. Keep still while I direct them. (_She writes. BOBBY
gets behind her, and shows wild enjoyment. LOUISE rises._) There! Now
I’ll go mail ’em. Have you sent any, Bobby?
BOBBY. Not me. I’ve got too many sisters to want to send valentines to
girls. (_LOUISE goes out. BOBBY seats himself at desk._) See if I can
get mine sent some time to-day. (_Writes._) I suppose I’d better mail the
one Bert forgot. Gee! But wasn’t it good! Louise mixed up her own, and
she’s sent the pretty one to Fred, and the other to Reginald. Good one on
her! It seems to be catching. I’ll go out and mail mine before anything
happens to it. It’s a poor day for valentines. Sort of mixy, somehow.
Six of ’em, all going wrong! Gee! Mine’s the lucky seventh. Wish I was a
bumblebee, and could follow some of ’em. Wouldn’t it be fun! Well, Papa
says a boy ought to be a good mixer. Guess I’m all right. (_Goes to door,
and calls._) Mamma!
MRS. W. (_outside_). What is it, Bobby?
BOBBY (_as she enters_). Here’s a letter Bert left on the desk, all
addressed and sealed. Shall I mail it?
MRS. W. Certainly. Let me see it, Bobby. (_Takes it, and reads._) It’s
for Eloise. A valentine, probably. Mail it by all means, dear.
(_BOBBY runs out. MRS. W. tidies up the room a bit, and then
also passes out._)
ACT II
SCENE.--_Same room as before. Evening of same day._
(_MRS. WINSTON is seated, with sewing. BOBBY runs in._)
MRS. W. What do you think I got in the mail to-day, Bobby?
BOBBY. The paper, probably.
MRS. W. Yes, but something more.
BOBBY. A letter.
MRS. W. Something better and more precious still.
BOBBY. What was it?
MRS. W. A valentine--such a pretty one! Why, I haven’t had a valentine
for years!
BOBBY. Did you like it?
MRS. W. I certainly did, very much. If I only knew who sent it, I
should--kiss him, I think.
BOBBY. You mightn’t want to.
MRS. W. I’m sure I should want to, for, you see, I knew the writing on
the outside.
BOBBY. You did?
MRS. W. Yes indeed. Thank you so much, dear. It was very nice to receive
a valentine once more.
BOBBY. Don’t ladies get valentines?
MRS. W. Not usually after they are my age, dear.
BOBBY. But Miss Colwell does, and I heard you say once that you had the
same birthday.
MRS. W. So we have, dear, but what makes you think she gets valentines?
BOBBY. I know she does. Uncle Bertram sent her one this morning, and he
said it was the fortieth.
MRS. W. Uncle Bertram? Did he tell you that, Bobby?
BOBBY. N-no, not exactly; but he said it, Mamma. He did, really.
MRS. W. To whom, then, if not to you? How did you come to hear it?
BOBBY. He said it to himself, when he was directing it this morning.
MRS. W. Did he know you were there?
BOBBY. N-no. I wasn’t there, exactly.
MRS. W. Then where were you?
BOBBY. I was--in there. (_Points._)
MRS. W. Bobby! You weren’t listening?
BOBBY. Well, I couldn’t help hearing, could I?
MRS. W. Here comes Louise. Don’t mention what you have told me, Bobby.
Not to any one. Remember.
BOBBY (_as LOUISE enters_). Yes’m, I won’t. Hi, Louie! How many
valentines did you get?
LOUISE. Eight. Want to see ’em?
BOBBY. Sure I do. Come on over and show ’em to Mamma.
(_LOUISE passes to side of her mother’s chair; BOBBY stands at
other side, and they look at the valentines._)
LOUISE (_showing them_). Bert sent this one, and Uncle Bertram sent this
one, and Grandpa sent this one, and Harold sent this one, and Leon sent
this one, and Edwin sent this one, and Reginald sent this one.
(_She says this slowly, showing them, and MRS. W. and BOBBY
make comments on how pretty they are, etc._)
BOBBY. Gee! That’s a beaut of Reginald’s. Bet you’re glad you sent him
one.
LOUISE. No, I’m not. He bought one for every girl in our class--every
single girl! He likes to show off how much pocket money he has.
MRS. W. It’s a very pretty valentine, Louise.
LOUISE (_showing last one_). I like this better. Freddie made it all
himself, and it’s the only one he sent.
BOBBY. ’Tis pretty, but it isn’t nearly so swell as Reggie’s. Besides, I
thought Freddie wasn’t going to send any.
LOUISE. He said he wasn’t going to buy any, and he didn’t.
BOBBY. Gee! And you sent him----
LOUISE. I didn’t either, Bobby Winston. I got those envelopes mixed, and
sent him the nice one.
BOBBY. And you sent the other to Reg? Kinder tough, when he’d treated the
whole grade to valentines.
MRS. W. I hope my little daughter didn’t send a comic valentine to any
one.
LOUISE. I did, Mamma, but I shan’t again. I should have been so ashamed
if Freddie had got it, when he made me such a pretty one.
MRS. W. But how about Reginald?
LOUISE. Oh, Reggie didn’t care a bit. He never got a comic one before,
and he thought it was funny. He never guessed one of us girls sent it,
and you see, it was a miser, and Reggie isn’t a bit, you know, so it
didn’t touch him at all, but----
_Enter EVELYN and HELEN, evidently rather “huffy.”_
HELEN. Well, you got some, didn’t you, kiddo?
BOBBY. I should say she did! Eight of ’em! How many’d you get, Helen?
HELEN. Oh, five or six. What a foolish day it is! Worse than April first!
LOUISE. I think it’s lovely. Don’t you, Evvie?
EVELYN (_shortly_). No.
BOBBY. Looks as if you two had a grouch. What’s up?
EVELYN. Nothing.
HELEN (_scornfully_). Nothing!
EVELYN. Oh, dry up, do! Let your face rest a while.
MRS. W. Evelyn! What sort of talk is that?
EVELYN. Well, I’m sick of her nagging! And everything’s gone wrong to-day.
HELEN. I don’t see as anything went wrong with you.
EVELYN. I suppose you wouldn’t call it so, but why any one should want
that simp of a Pet hanging round her, I don’t know.
HELEN. Then why did you have him?
EVELYN. How could I help it? He doesn’t know enough to see when he’s
turned down. I did everything but slap his pretty face for him, but
nothing would penetrate that rhinoceros hide of self-esteem. Bah! He
makes me sick!
HELEN. You looked like it. I saw how earnestly you were talking to him.
EVELYN. I certainly was.
BOBBY. Gee! Evvie’s stole Helen’s beau, and Helen’s mad!
HELEN. No such thing.
MRS. W. That will do, Bobby. I have never seen any signs of Evelyn’s
fancying Philip. He isn’t her style.
EVELYN. No, he isn’t. I detest sissy boys, and always did. Helen can have
him and welcome.
HELEN. Then why did you send him a valentine? No wonder you wouldn’t show
me the address!
EVELYN. It wasn’t to him.
HELEN (_hotly_). You’re----
MRS. W. (_interrupting sharply_). Helen! I hope neither of my girls is
going to forget that she is a lady.
HELEN. Well, she did send him one.
EVELYN. I did not!
HELEN. I heard him thank you for it in two lines of poetry.
EVELYN. And if you’d played eavesdropper a little longer, you’d have
heard me absolutely deny it. I told him I only sent one, and that not to
him, and advised him to talk to the one to whom he sent the volume of
poetry and the white roses.
HELEN. And he said you were the prettiest. I hate you both, so there!
(_Throws herself into a chair, and begins to cry._)
EVELYN. Truly, Helen----
HELEN. Don’t talk to me. I saw the address on the envelope, and so did
Freda and Myrtle, and we all recognized your writing. No other girl in
school makes a P like yours.
EVELYN. It was a very good imitation, I’ll admit. The work, no doubt,
of some one who thought it a very good joke to play on me. Just wait
till I see Mr. Jack Hamilton, that’s all. It was a neat little stroke of
business to be out of town to-day. I could shake him with a will.
MRS. W. But why should a valentine make such a disturbance? It’s just boy
and girl fun at your age.
BOBBY. Helen don’t think so. She’s awful spoony on Mr. Philip Etheridge
Tuttle.
MRS. W. That will do, Bobby. Don’t be vulgar.
LOUISE. Well, he always walks to the corner with her, and to-night he
didn’t. He came with Evvie.
BOBBY. Came after her, you mean, trotting behind like a little poodle-dog
whose missis goes too fast for him, and she and Helen have been fighting
ever since.
HELEN. Well, she knew he liked me, and she’s always pretended not to like
him, and he’s always thought she was pretty, and so, when she sent him
the valentine----
EVELYN. When she sent him nothing! If he tags me to-morrow I’ll tie a
blue ribbon on his neck, and hitch it to a little chain, and lead him
round like a nice little toy dog. You see if I don’t!
HELEN. Just to show every girl in the school that you’ve captured him!
Well, I’ll see that they know how you did it.
EVELYN. I’m about tired of being told I--twist the truth.
HELEN. I’d say it stronger, if Mother’d let me. You may think it,
instead. I saw you address that envelope this morning, and you refused to
let me see the name--you know you did!
EVELYN. Well, so did you. What was the matter with the one you sent him,
I wonder?
HELEN. I wish I’d never sent it. All I’ve got from him to-day at school
is a nod and a stare. He’s mad about something, and you’re to blame.
MRS. W. How about the roses and the book?
HELEN. Well--he sent them before he got Evvie’s valentine.
EVELYN. I never sent him any!
MRS. W. That will do, girls, both of you. Helen, if things have gone to
this point I am glad I have found it out in time. I knew he was a rather
sentimental boy, but I thought him harmless as an associate, and he was
poor Fanny’s boy, so I have encouraged his coming here--having no mother.
But this----
EVELYN. Oh, Helen isn’t quite as foolish as she seems, Mamma. She’s just
jealous because he thinks me pretty. As if I cared what he thought!
HELEN (_sneeringly_). Yes, as if you did!
MRS. W. Here’s Bert coming. If you don’t want to hear of this foolish
quarrel for the next six weeks, you’d better stop it. Bobby and Louise,
not a word about it. Remember now.
_Enter BERT._
BERT. Good-evening, every one. What’s the matter, Helen? (_Throws himself
into seat._)
HELEN. Nothing. What’s the matter with you? You look glum as an oyster.
MRS. W. Didn’t things go well at the office to-day, Bert?
BERT. Oh, yes, about the same as usual.
LOUISE (_going up to him, and smoothing his hair_). Was somebody mean to
you, Bertie?
BERT (_taking her on his knee_). Just a bit, maybe, little sister. See
here! (_He takes a dime from his pocket._) If I gave you this what would
you do with it?
LOUISE. I’d buy a little dolly at the ten-cent store.
BOBBY. A dolly! Gee whiz! I’ll bet you’ve got twenty now.
LOUISE. But we girls, seven of us, are going to have a sewing society,
and we’re going to buy some little dolls, and make a whole outfit for
them, and----
BOBBY. Pretty outfit it’ll be, I guess. You can’t sew.
LOUISE. I can, too, a little, and besides, Eloise is going to show us how.
BOBBY. Oh, it’s her get up, is it? Then Bert’ll give you the ten-cent
piece, sure.
(_BERT does so, and she hugs and kisses him._)
LOUISE. You’re just the dearest big brother! But what makes you look so
sober? Does your head ache?
BERT. A little, I guess. Perhaps, if you smooth it, it will make it
better. (_She proceeds to do so._)
BOBBY. Got any more of those little shiny fellers that you want to give
away, Bert?
BERT (_teasingly_). Why, let me see---- Why, what’s come over Uncle
Bertram? Never heard him come in like a college boy before. (_Enter UNCLE
BERTRAM. He goes straight to BERT, and shakes his hand heartily._) Glad
to see you, Uncle, truly; but why pick me out for this particular grip?
UNCLE B. Because you’ve done me the greatest possible favor. I shall owe
my happiness the rest of my life to you, Bert.
BERT. To me? Say, Uncle, is it a joke, or have you gone nutty, or what? I
haven’t seen you since morning.
UNCLE B. No, I know it, but you’ve done a great thing for me, just the
same. I’m--I’m going to be married.
ALL (_together_). Why, Bertram! Oh, Uncle Bertram! Who to? Why, Uncle!
BERT. Glad to hear it, I’m sure, but I don’t see what I had to do with
it. I didn’t propose to the lady for you, I’m sure.
UNCLE B. That’s just what you did, boy, though you didn’t know it. And
she wore the white rose, all right.
BERT. Oh, she did? Well, I don’t know how you came to know of it, but if
Eloise wants to marry a man twice her age because he has a little money,
she’s welcome, for all me. I--I congratulate you, Uncle Bertram.
UNCLE B. Good grit, boy, though it isn’t true, one bit of it.
BOBBY. What isn’t? Aren’t you going to be married?
UNCLE B. I certainly am, and so is Eloise, I fancy; but not together. I’m
to marry Miss Ellen Colwell, my boy.
MRS. W. Ellen? After all these years?
BERT. Not Eloise? But the rose?
EVELYN. And how did Bert propose for you, when he didn’t know anything
about it?
HELEN. Do keep still, everybody, and let Uncle Bertram tell it. It sounds
awfully mixed up to me.
BERT. Yes, explain, do, Uncle. You’ve got me guessing for fair.
UNCLE B. Well, you see, to really explain, I’d have to go back twenty
years.
HELEN. Oh, do, Uncle. It sounds so romantic.
UNCLE B. Romantic! Idiotic! That’s what it was! Well, you see, when I was
a youngster only three years old, Dr. Colwell came to town to practice,
and bought the home where Miss Ellen lives now. We lived on the same
street then, and Mother took me with her when she went to call, and I
fell in love with her on the spot.
BOBBY. With your mother, or the doctor?
UNCLE B. With the doctor’s baby, little Ellen. She was a bit of a thing,
with a white dress and a blue sash, and blue shoes, and she had big blue
eyes that just matched, and little soft, yellow curls, and she called me
“Boy.” It was the first word she had ever tried to say, her mother told
me.
LOUISE. Miss Ellen’s hair is brown.
UNCLE B. So it is, Louie, but it used to be yellow. Well, from that day
on we were playmates, and I sent her a valentine that year. In fact, I
have every year. I sent my fortieth this morning.
BERT. But I don’t see----
UNCLE B. Hold on, Namesake. Wait a bit, and you will. Twenty years ago I
sent one in which, in the best verses I knew how to make, I asked her a
question--_the_ question; and I asked her, if the answer was yes, to wear
a white rose in her hair, and to sit in the bay window as I went home
that night.
BERT. Why----
UNCLE B. Yes, I know, my boy. We’re much alike, and history repeats
itself. If it hadn’t--well, to go on, she didn’t do it, although I had
had some white roses delivered there that afternoon. It seems now that
she didn’t get the valentine at all. It went astray somehow. She thought
I had forgotten, and didn’t care, and I thought the answer was “no,” and
it made a difference in our friendship. Though we have been friends, the
old intimacy was gone--and--well, we’ve lost twenty years.
MRS. W. Oh, brother!
UNCLE B. We’re going to make them up, Eva, don’t you forget it. Well,
to-day I sent my fortieth valentine, and the same thing happened. It
went astray. At least she hasn’t got it yet. (_BOBBY gives a start, and
claps his hand to his pocket, but no one seems to notice. UNCLE B. goes
on._) She did get one, though, in rhyme, which, strange to say, asked her
the selfsame thing. Don’t blush, my boy! And as she always gets a box
of white roses on this particular day, when I came home to-night there
she sat, in the bay window, with a white rose in her hair! I couldn’t
believe my eyes, but I went in, and it’s all right. We’re to be married
in six weeks, and I’ve you to thank, my boy, and when you and Eloise
are married, you’ll get a check for one thousand dollars for a wedding
present.
BERT. But I don’t see how she came to get my letter, and I should have
thought she would have known it wasn’t hers.
UNCLE B. Why, you called her Ellie--my old pet name for her, as well
as yours for Eloise, it seems, and you signed it Bert, which every one
always called me till I had a namesake nephew.
BERT. But I directed mine all right, and--no, I didn’t mail it, I do
believe. I went off in a rush with Frank, and left it on the desk.
MRS. W. And Bobby found it there, and I told him to mail it.
BERT. And did you mail it, Bobby?
BOBBY. Why----
EVELYN. He didn’t! He forgot it. I saw him start just now, and clap his
hand to his pocket. I bet it’s there now.
BOBBY. No, sir.
UNCLE B. Can’t be, because Ellen got it.
BERT (_rising, and grasping BOBBY, who is trying to sneak away_). Come
here, my beloved little brother. Let’s see what you have in your pocket.
(_He seats himself, BOBBY between his knees, and proceeds to go
through his pockets, in spite of his endeavors to get away._)
BOBBY. You let me go.
BERT. Directly, my dear brother, directly. Ah, here we are! (_He takes
letter from BOBBY’S pocket._) That’s my letter, sure. Now, young man, why
didn’t you mail it?
BOBBY. I meant to, truly. But I forgot.
EVELYN. Let Uncle Bertram open it, Bert. I’ll bet a box of candy _his_
valentine is inside. There have been queer doings with valentines to-day,
and I believe Bobby’s at the bottom of the whole thing. Hold him tight
while I investigate, or rather while we all do. Open that, Uncle Bert.
BERT (_passing it_). Yes, do, Uncle Bert. My letter isn’t inside, that’s
sure, since Miss Ellen got it. No, no, Sir Robert, stay right here. Your
elder brother is very fond of your company just now.
BOBBY. Let go! You’re twisting my arm!
BERT. I won’t hurt as long as you don’t try to get away, but here you’ve
got to stay just now. How about it, Uncle?
UNCLE B. (_who has opened letter and looked inside_). It’s mine, all
right, boy. (_To BOBBY._) Now, young man, how about it? Who changed them
around, and when?
BOBBY. How should I know? I found this on the desk and asked Mamma if I
should mail it, and she said yes, and then I forgot to, that’s all.
BERT. But how came Uncle Bertram’s letter in this envelope?
BOBBY. How should I know? Stop that! Mamma, he’s hurting me.
MRS. W. Yes? Well, I should advise him to keep on doing so till he gets
to the bottom of the mystery.
HELEN. Yes, make him tell. I’ll bet he did it.
EVELYN. Might as well own up, Bobby. You’ll have to in the end.
LOUISE. There wasn’t any letter on the desk when I wrote mine. Oh, Bobby,
did you change mine? If you did, I’m glad, Bobby, truly I am.
BOBBY. I didn’t though, truly, Lou. You did it yourself. I knew it,
though, but I thought I’d keep still. I wanted to find out if Reggie
Westcott could get mad. He’s such a girlie boy!
LOUISE. Well, he didn’t. But I’m glad Freddie didn’t get it. I’m glad
they got mixed.
UNCLE B. So am I, girlie. ’Twas a good mix up for me, but I’m sure other
hands tampered with mine.
BERT. And mine. Now, young man, how about it?
BOBBY. About what?
BERT (_taking him across knee_). About this.
(_Gives him a spank._)
BOBBY. Ow! You hurt.
BERT. Good. I’m going to make each one a little harder than the last.
Will you tell me how and when you changed those letters? No answer? Very
well.
(_Spanks again._)
BOBBY. Mamma, make him stop.
MRS. W. Not until you tell the truth about it, Bobby. A joke is a joke,
but a lie is a lie, and I’m certain you do know. Answer truly, now. Don’t
you?
BERT (_spanking again_). Answer your mother, young man.
BOBBY. Gee! How can I answer when you’re hurting me?
BERT (_standing him between knees again_). Now I’m not hurting you.
Answer Mother.
BOBBY. Answer what? Oh, don’t take me that way again. I’ll answer. Yes,
Mamma, I do know. I only did it for fun. Bert left his when he went off
in a hurry, and I was going to look at it----
BERT. Well, that’s cool.
BOBBY. I just wanted to see if it was as pretty as the one I had for
Mamma, and Uncle Bert came in quick, and I didn’t want him to catch me
looking at it, so I dodged behind the portière. And he talked out loud
to himself, and said it was the fortieth one he’d sent her, and I just
thought thirty-nine was enough to get from one man, and I wished I could
get a chance to change ’em, just for fun, so when Uncle Bert was called
to the ’phone----
UNCLE B. So that’s when you did it! I thought I hadn’t sealed that
envelope!
BOBBY. So I slipped yours out, and Bert’s in, and sealed it, and dodged
back. Then I fixed the other back there. They weren’t valentines, though,
either of ’em--just poetry, with a fancy border, but both of ’em begun
“Dearest Ellie,” and ended “Yours forever, Bert,” so I don’t see why one
wasn’t as good as the other. Bert’s was the best, though, really, ’cause
any one could understand it, but yours was just rhymes and long words,
without any sense that I could see.
BERT. You little scamp! Don’t you know it’s dishonorable to read other
folks’ letters?
BOBBY. They weren’t letters. They were valentines. How was I to know
that men were so silly as to write letters that way? When I want to get
married I shall just walk up to the one I want and tell her so.
UNCLE B. Right you are, Bobby. If I’d done so, I’d have been a married
man all these years, instead of a lonely old bach.
BERT. I believe he’s right myself. I’m off to try my luck. If she says
“No,” the whole family will know I’m jilted, thanks to my small brother.
Wish me good luck, mother mine.
MRS. W. Indeed I do, my boy. Never fear. If I have read Eloise’s eyes
aright lately, we’ll congratulate you in the morning.
(_BERT goes out, all the rest calling “Good luck” after him._)
EVELYN (_cornering BOBBY_). And now we’ll probe a little deeper. If you
don’t answer _my_ questions, I shall tickle you without mercy. You were
behind there when Helen and I came in?
(_BOBBY hesitates. EVELYN tickles him._)
BOBBY. Stop, Evvie, do stop. Yes, I was there.
EVELYN. And you changed them when Katy fell, and we ran to the kitchen?
BOBBY. Yes. I knew how you hated Pet, and I thought it would be funny to
make you send him a valentine. So, of course, I had to send Helen’s to
Jack.
HELEN. Of all the mean kids!
EVELYN. You see, Helen, I wasn’t as mean or as silly as you thought, or
as Phil thought, either. You may explain to him if you choose.
HELEN. Well, I shan’t. Any one as fickle as that isn’t worth it.
MRS. W. I’m glad you see it, little daughter. I really think that, as
so much good has resulted from Bobby’s playing Cupid, we will have to
forgive him this time, but he must never do so again.
BOBBY. I won’t, Mamma, truly I won’t.
UNCLE B. I don’t suppose you ought to be paid for a naughty trick, but
that pony you’ve wanted so long is yours, my boy, next Saturday.
MRS. W. No, not for a month, Bertram. Bobby must be taught a lesson.
BOBBY. All right, Mamma. I deserve it. But thank you, Uncle Bert. You’re
a brick!
UNCLE B. And now, little girlie, what do you want? A pony, too, or a big
dolly?
LOUISE. I want to be the little flower girl.
UNCLE B. So you shall, bless your heart! And Helen and Evelyn shall be
bridesmaids.
LOUISE. And maybe Eloise’ll let me be hers. I’ll be two flower girls.
EVELYN. Two weddings! And one twenty years delayed! Well, I guess there’s
something doing in this family, and all because of Bobby and the changed
valentines!
CURTAIN
A Romance of St. Valentine’s Day
In Three Acts
A Romance of St. Valentine’s Day
CHARACTERS
PAULINE, _a schoolgirl_.
POLLY, _her great-aunt_.
MR. AMOS HILL, _her aunt’s former lover_.
ACT I
SCENE.--_A plain, old-fashioned room. The essential piece of
furniture is an old-fashioned sewing table, what is known as
a Martha Washington table, and is quite generally imitated
to-day. They were small and square, with leaves that turned
down, and two drawers._
(_GREAT-AUNT POLLY is seated by the table, looking at a
collection of valentines, post-cards, etc., such as the young
girl of to-day receives. PAULINE is seated a little way from
her._)
AUNT P. Very pretty, Pauline, I’m sure, and a great many of them for one
little schoolgirl. I don’t really like the post-cards, though, dearie. It
doesn’t seem just right to send a valentine unenclosed.
PAULINE. Oh, it’s quite the thing, now, Aunt Polly. Everybody does it.
AUNT P. It’s a style I do not care for, my dear.
PAULINE. But it saves money.
AUNT P. The difference between one cent and two is not very wide, is it?
PAULINE. No, but when one wants to send a lot it means a good deal,
unless you are flush--and I never am.
AUNT P. Send a lot? What do you mean, my dear?
PAULINE. Why, every fellow wants to send one to every pretty girl he
knows, of course.
AUNT P. A Christmas card, perhaps, but a valentine! That should be for
one only, my dear.
PAULINE. How odd! Why, I sent twenty-five, myself, to the nice boys I
knew.
AUNT P. Twenty-five! Oh, my dear! You didn’t!
PAULINE. Sure I did! Why not? Is that the way they sent them in your day,
Auntie? Seems to me they were rather narrow.
AUNT P. No, indeed, my dear, but a valentine meant something then. A
young man sent but one, and that went to the lady of his choice. The
girls did not send any. We would have thought it immodest. But girls do
many things to-day that would not have been tolerated in my day. A girl,
then, was supposed to be a lady.
PAULINE. Instead of a madcap tomboy? Well, I plead guilty, and throw
myself on the mercy of the court. I just love to be a tomboy, and I’m
going to be one a long time yet. No “one valentine” sentiment for me, or
one boy, either, for years to come.
AUNT P. Well, perhaps you are right, yet many of my girlhood friends
married at sixteen, and nearly all of them were married by the time they
were twenty, that is, of course, those who married at all.
PAULINE. And why didn’t you, Auntie dear? Didn’t you ever like any one
well enough?
AUNT P. Yes, dearie, I did. I don’t suppose any woman lives to be thirty
without liking some one well enough to marry him, if circumstances came
about right. But there! They don’t always do it. Would you like to see my
old valentines, Pauline?
PAULINE. Oh, I would, so much, Auntie dear!
AUNT P. (_opening top drawer of stand_). Well, dearie, here they are. No
post-cards among them. Most of them came from the same one, as you see.
This is the last one he ever sent me.
PAULINE (_opening it._) Did he die, Auntie?
AUNT P. No, he didn’t die, dear. He’s alive still. He got angry at me,
that’s all. Talk of girls getting in a huff over nothing! Boys aren’t far
behind, let me tell you.
PAULINE. And did he marry?
AUNT P. No, he is single still.
PAULINE. Then he cared, you see. How romantic! Why didn’t you try to make
up with him?
AUNT P. It isn’t the lady’s place, my dear, to run after a man.
PAULINE. Well, I like that! Well, if ever I’m fond of a man, I’ll run
after him and hold him, if necessary, till I know what he was mad at. Or
did you know, Auntie? And was it something that couldn’t be made up?
AUNT P. Why, I suppose I did know, dearie--but it seemed such a slight
thing to anger him. My cousin came that Valentine’s Day. We had been
brought up almost like brother and sister before I came to this town.
It was fine sleighing, and he took me over to Wrentham for the night.
His mother was there, just for the day and night, and the young girl
whom he was to marry. When I came home, next day, I asked my mother for
my mail. She replied that there wasn’t any. “But there must have been a
valentine,” I said. “Amos always sends me one.” “I know,” she answered,
“but this year he didn’t. He called, though, last evening, and seemed
much put out that you were not here. He went off as stiff as a poker.” Of
course, I thought he must be angry because I went sleighing with Timothy,
though I thought it a bit far-fetched, as we were only old friends, and
so were Timothy and myself. “But,” I thought, “I’ll explain when he gets
over his huff, and it will be all right.”
PAULINE. And didn’t you?
AUNT P. No, dear, I hadn’t the opportunity. Next day his mother came over
to tell us that he had gone away. She seemed to think I was to blame,
somehow, and she never was nice to me again, and it was more than a year
before Amos came back, and then he was just coldly polite when we met.
That was the end of my little romance, dear, for though there were others
who found me fair, somehow I couldn’t seem to care for any of them. You
see, dearie, Amos had won my love, though he didn’t know it, and so----
(_Pauses._)
PAULINE. And he has it yet! Oh, Auntie, how romantic! And does he live in
town still?
AUNT P. Yes, but I meet him seldom, and we merely say a “How-de-do” in
passing. Excuse me, dearie. I think I will go up-stairs a few minutes,
while you look at my old keepsakes. I cannot imagine how I came to let
you wheedle this old story from me. Please do not refer to it again.
PAULINE. No indeed, Auntie. Thank you for telling me. (_AUNT P. passes
out, and PAULINE proceeds to investigate drawer, soliloquizing as she
does so._) Such quaint little valentines! I like them, though! And nearly
all in the same handwriting--that of the faithless Amos, evidently. Yes,
this one is signed A. H. A. H. A is Amos, of course. A. H. Could it be
Mr. Hill, I wonder? “A. Hill,” he has it on his sign. He’s old, or rather
old--sixty, I shouldn’t wonder, and he’s a bachelor. I’ll bet he’s the
one! Mean old thing, to bring tears to the eyes of my little great-auntie
after all these years! (_Puts valentines hack in drawer, and shuts it
rather vigorously, letting one drop, unnoticed, to the floor._) Men and
boys are queer creatures, anyhow. I’m glad I’m a girl! And I’m glad I
live now, instead of forty years ago. Why, I got more valentines, I do
believe, to-day, than Aunt Polly has in all her life. Why, I dropped one!
(_Picks it up._) Amos was a little fellow when he sent this, I guess.
(_Opens it._) No, this is from the Timothy who seems to have been the
villain in the little pastoral comedy. What a cute little verse!
(_Reads._)
“Dear Polly, though you’re far away,
Think of me on Valentine’s Day.
I wish I could see you, so sweet and prim.
That’s all. Good-bye, from Cousin Tim.”
(_Tries to open drawer._) Why, what makes this drawer stick so? (_Pulls
till drawer opens with a jerk._) Why, of all things! How came that box
in there? It wasn’t there a minute ago! It looks like a little drawer.
I do believe it’s a secret drawer, that has somehow fallen down! And
here--why, I do believe here’s another valentine from Amos that was never
opened. It is sealed and addressed, but I don’t believe she ever got
it. And that, I’ll bet, made the trouble! I wonder--yes, I will, I’ll
mail it and see what comes of it. I’ll call Auntie, first, and show her
the drawer. No, on second thoughts, I won’t hurry about that. Here’s to
mail Amos’ last valentine, and then I’ll run down to the office later,
when the afternoon mail comes in, and get it. Wouldn’t it be romantic if
things came out story-book style, and I was the Cupid who had a finger in
the pie? (_Goes out._)
CURTAIN