_Time_: EVENING AT BOSTON
The scene is laid in the drawing-room of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Edwards.
Mrs. Edwards is discovered reading _Pendennis_, and seems in imminent
danger of going to sleep over it. Mr. Edwards is stretched out upon the
sofa, quite asleep, with _Ivanhoe_ lying open upon his chest.
Twenty-five minutes elapse, when the door-bell rings.
_Mr. Edwards_ (_drowsily_). "Let me off at the next corner, conductor."
_Mrs. Edwards._ "Why, Robert--what nonsense you are talking!"
_Mr. Edwards_ (_rubbing his eyes and sitting up_). "Eh? What? Nonsense?
I talk nonsense? Really, my dear, that is a serious charge to bring
against one of the leading characters in a magazine farce. Wit, perhaps,
I may indulge in, but nonsense, never!"
[Illustration: EDWARDS REBELS]
_Mrs. Edwards._ "That is precisely what I complain about. The idea of
a well-established personage like yourself lying off on a sofa in his
own apartment and asking a conductor to let him off at the next corner!
It's--"
_Mr. Edwards._ "I didn't do anything of the sort."
_Mrs. Edwards._ "You did, too, Robert Edwards. And I can prove it. If
you will read back to the opening lines of this scene you will find that
I have spoken the truth--unless you forgot your lines. If you admit
that, I have nothing to say, but I will add that if you are going to
forget lines that give the key-note of the whole situation, you've got
no business in a farce. You'll make the whole thing fall flat some day,
and then you will be discharged."
_Mr. Edwards._ "Well, I wish I might be discharged; I'm tired of the
whole business. Anybody'd take me for an idiot, the way I have to go on.
Every bit of fun there is to be had in these farces is based upon some
predicament into which my idiocy or yours gets me. Are we idiots? I ask
you that. Are we? You may be, but, Mrs. Edwards, I am not. The idea of
my falling asleep over _Ivanhoe_! Would I do that if I had my way? Well,
I guess not! Would I even dare to say 'I guess not' in a magazine farce?
Again, I guess not. I'm going to write to the editor this very night,
and resign my situation. I want to be me. I don't want to be what some
author thinks I ought to be. Do you know what I think?"
_Mrs. Edwards_ (_warningly_). "Take care, Robert. Take care. You aren't
employed to think."
_Mr. Edwards._ "Precisely. That's what makes me so immortally mad. The
author doesn't give me time to think. I could think real thoughts if
he'd let me, but then! The curtain wouldn't stay up half a second if I
did that; and where would the farce be? The audience would go home
tired, because they wouldn't get their nap if the curtain was down. It's
hard luck; and as for me, I wouldn't keep the position a minute if I
could get anything else to do. Nobody'd give me work, now that I've been
made out to be such a confounded jackass. But let's talk of other
things."
_Mrs. Edwards._ "I'd love to, Robert--but we can't. There are no other
things in the farce. The Billises are coming."
_Mr. Edwards._ "Hang the Billises! Can't we ever have an evening to
ourselves?"
_Mrs. Edwards._ "How you do talk! How can we? There's got to be some
action in the farce, and it's the Billis family that draws out our
peculiarities."
_Mr. Edwards._ "Well, I'm going out, and you can receive the Billises,
and if it's necessary for me to say anything to give go to the play, you
can say it. I make you my proxy."
_Mrs. Edwards._ "It can't be done, Robert. They are here. The bell rang
ten minutes ago, and they ought to have got in here five minutes since.
You can't go out without meeting them in the wings--I mean the
hallway."
_Mr. Edwards._ "Lost!"
_Enter_ MR. _and_ MRS. BILLIS.
_Billis._ "Ah, Edwards! Howdy do? Knew you were home. Saw light in--"
_Mrs. Billis._ "Don't rattle on so, my dear. Speak more slowly, or the
farce will be over before nine."
_Billis._ "I've got to say my lines, and I'm going to say them my way.
Ah, Edwards! Howdy do? Knew you were home. Saw light in window. Knew
your economical spirit. Said to myself must be home, else why gas? He
doesn't burn gas when he's out. Wake up--"
_Mr. Edwards._ "I'm not asleep. Fact is, I am going out."
_Mrs. Billis._ "Out?"
_Mrs. Edwards._ "Robert!"
_Mr. Edwards._ "That's what I said--out. _O-u-t._"
_Billis._ "Not bad idea. Go with you. Where to?"
_Mr. Edwards._ "Anywhere--to find a tragedy and take part in it. I'm
done farcing, my boy."
_Billis_ (_slapping_ Edwards _on back_). "Rah! my position exactly. I'm
sick of it too. Come ahead. I know that fellow Whoyt--he'll take us in
and give us a chance."
_Mrs. Billis._ "I've been afraid of this."
_Mrs. Edwards._ "Robert, consider your family."
_Mr. Edwards._ "I have; and if I'm to die respected and honored, if my
family is to have any regard for my memory, I've got to get out of
farcing. That's all. Did you sew the button on my overcoat?"
_Mrs. Edwards._ "I did. I'll go get it."
She goes out. Mrs. Billis throws herself sobbing on sofa. Billis dances
a jig. Forty minutes elapse, during which Billis's dance may be encored.
Enter Mrs. Edwards, triumphantly, with overcoat.
_Mrs. Edwards._ "There's your overcoat."
_Mr. Edwards._ "But--but the button isn't sewed on. I can't go out in
this."
_Mrs. Edwards._ "I knew it, Robert. I sewed the button on the wrong
coat."
Billis and Robert fall in a faint. Mrs. Billis rises and smiles,
grasping Mrs. Edwards's hand fervently.
_Mrs. Billis._ "Noble woman!"
_Mrs. Edwards._ "Yes; I've saved the farce."
_Mrs. Billis._ "You have. For, in spite of these--these strikers--these
theatric Debses, you--you got in the point! _The button was sewed on the
wrong overcoat!_"