Perkins. Cheerful prospect. But I say, Yardsley, you have arranged
for the water supply; how about its exit? How does the water get out
of the tub?
Yardsley. It doesn't, unless you want to bore a hole in the floor,
and let it flow into the billiard-room below. We've just got to
hustle that scene along, so that the climax will be reached before
the tub overflows.
Barlow. Perhaps we'd better test the thing now. Maybe my tub isn't
large enough for the scene. It would be awkward if the heroine had
to seize a dipper and bail the fountain out right in the middle of an
impassioned rebuke to Hartley.
Perkins. All right--go ahead. Test it. Test anything. I'll supply
the Croton pipes.
Yardsley. None of you fellows happen to have a length of hose with
you, do you?
Bradley. I left mine in my other clothes.
Mrs. Bradley. That's just like you men. You grow flippant over very
serious matters. For my part, if I am to play Gwendoline, I shall
not bail out the fountain even to save poor dear Bessie's floor.
Yardsley. Oh, it'll be all right. Only, if you see the fountain
getting too full, speak faster.
Barlow. We might announce a race between the heroine and the
fountain. It would add to the interest of the play. This is an
athletic age.
Perkins. I suppose it wouldn't do to turn the water off in case of
danger.
Barlow. It could be done, but it wouldn't look well. The audience
might think the fountain had had an attack of stage fright. Where is
the entrance from the ballroom to be?
Yardsley. It ought to be where the fireplace is. That's one reason
why I think the portieres will look well there.
Mrs. Perkins. But I don't see how that can be. Nobody could come in
there. There wouldn't be room behind for any one to stand, would
there?
Bradley. I don't know. That fireplace is large, and only two people
have to come in that way. The rising curtain discloses Gwendoline
just having come in. If Hartley, the villain, and Jack Pendleton,
the manly young navy officer, who represents virtue, and dashes in at
the right moment to save Gwendoline, could sit close and stand the
discomfort of it, they might squeeze in there and await their cues.
Mrs. Perkins. Sit in the fireplace?
Yardsley. Yes. Why not?
Perkins. Don't you interfere, Bess, Yardsley is managing this show,
and if he wants to keep the soubrette waiting on the mantel-piece
it's his lookout, and not ours.
Yardsley. By-the-way, Thaddeus, Wilkins has backed out, and you are
to play the villain.
Perkins. I? Never!
Barlow. Oh, but you must. All you have to do is frown and rant and
look real bad.
Perkins. But I can't act.
Bradley. That doesn't make any difference. We don't want a villain
that the audience will fall in love with. That would be immoral.
The more you make them despise you, the better.
Perkins. Well--I positively decline to sit in the fireplace. I tell
you that right now.
Mrs. Bradley. Don't waste time talking about petty details. Let the
entrance be there. We can hang the curtain on a frame two feet out
from the wall, so that there will be plenty of room behind for
Hartley and Pendleton to stand. The frame can be fastened to the
wood-work of the mantel-piece. It may take a screw or two to hold
it, but they'll be high up, so nobody will notice the holes in the
wood after it comes down. The point that bothers me is this wall-
paper. People don't put wall-papers on their conservatories.
Perkins (sarcastically). I'll have the room repapered in sheet-
glass. Or we might borrow a few hot-bed covers and hang them from
the picture moulding, so that the place would look like a real
greenhouse.
Yardsley. Napoleonic idea. Barlow, jot down among the properties
ten hot-bed covers, twenty picture-hooks, and a coil of wire. You're
developing, Perkins.
Mrs. Perkins (ruefully, aside). I wish Thaddeus's jokes weren't
always taken seriously. The idea of my drawing-room walls being hung
with hot-bed covers! Why, it's awful.
Yardsley. Well, now that that's settled, we'll have to dispose of
the pictures. Thaddeus, I wish you'd take down the pictures on the
east wall, so that we can put our mind's eye on just how we shall
treat the background. The mere hanging of hot-bed covers there will
not do. The audience could see directly through the glass, and the
wall-paper would still destroy the illusion.
Perkins. Anything. Perhaps if you got a jack-plane and planed the
walls off it would suffice.
Bradley. Don't be sarcastic, my boy. Remember we didn't let you
into this. You volunteered.
Perkins. I know it, Bradley. The house is yours.
Barlow. I said you had paresis when you made the offer, Perkins. If
you want to go to law about it, I think you could get an injunction
against us--or, rather, Mrs. Perkins could--on the ground that you
were non compos at the time.
Mrs. Perkins. Why, we're most happy to have you, I'm sure.
Perkins. So 'm I. (Aside.) Heaven forgive me that!
Yardsley. By-the-way, Thad, there's one thing I meant to have spoken
about as soon as I got here. Er--is this _your_ house, or do you
rent it?
Perkins. I rent it. What has that to do with it?
Bradley. A great deal. You don't think we'd treat _your_ house as
we would a common landlord's, do you? You wouldn't yourself.
Yardsley. That's the point. If you own the house we want to be
careful and consider your feelings. If you _don't_, we don't care
what happens.
Perkins. I don't own the house. (Aside.) And under the
circumstances I'm rather glad I don't.
Yardsley. Well, I'm glad you don't. My weak point is my conscience,
and when it comes to destroying a friend's property, I don't exactly
like to do it. But if this house belongs to a sordid person, who
built it just to put money in his own pocket, I don't care. Barlow,
you can nail those portieres up. It won't be necessary to build a
frame for them. Bradley, carry the chairs and cabinets out.
[Bradley, assisted by Perkins, removes the remaining furniture,
placing the bric-a-brac on the floor.
Barlow. All right. Where's that stepladder? Thaddeus, got any
nails?
Mrs. Perkins. I--I think we'd rather have a frame, Mr. Yardsley.
_We_ can have one made, can't we, Thaddeus?
Perkins. Certainly. We can have anything made. (Aside.) I suppose
I'd build a theatre for 'em if they asked me to, I'm such a
confounded--
Yardsley. Oh no. Of course, if you'd prefer it, we'll send a frame.
I don't think nails would look well in this ceiling, after all.
Temporarily, though, Barlow, you might hang those portieres from the
picture-moulding.
Barlow. There isn't any.
Yardsley. Well, then, we'll have to imagine how it will look.
Mrs. Bradley. All the bric-a-brac will have to be taken from the
room.
Yardsley. True. Perkins, you know the house better than we do.
Suppose you take the bric-a-brac out and put it where it will be
safe.
Perkins. Certainly.
[Begins to remove bric-a-brac.
Yardsley. Now let's count up. Here's the fountain.
Barlow. Yes; only we haven't the hose.
Bradley. Well, make a note of it.
Mrs. Perkins. Emma, can't we help Thaddeus?
Mrs. Bradley. Of course. I'll carry out the fender, and you take
the andirons.
[They do so.
Yardsley. The entrance will be here, and here will be the curtain.
How about footlights?
Bradley. This bracket will do for a connection. Any plumber can
take this bracket off and fasten a rubber pipe to it.
Yardsley. First-rate. Barlow, make a note of one plumber, one
length of rubber pipe, and foot-lights.
Bradley. And don't forget to have potted plants and palms, and so
forth, galore.
Barlow. No. I'll make a note of that. Will this sofa do for a
conservatory?
Yardsley. Jove! Glad you mentioned that. Won't do at all.
Thaddeus! (No answer.) I hope we haven't driven him to drink.
Bradley. So do I. I'd rather he'd lead us to it.
Yardsley. Thaddeus!
Perkins (from without). Well?
Yardsley. Do you happen to have any conservatory benches in the
house?
Mrs. Perkins (appearing in doorway). We have a patent laundry table.
Barlow. Just the thing.
Yardsley (calling). Bring up the patent laundry table, Thaddeus.
(To Bradley.) What is a patent laundry table?
Bradley. It's what my wife calls the cook's delight. It's an
ironing-board on wash-days, a supper table at supper-time, and on the
cook's reception days it can be turned into a settee.
Yardsley. It describes well.
Perkins (from a distance). Hi! come down and help me with this
thing. I can't carry it up alone.
Yardsley. All right, Perk. Bradley, you and Barlow help Thaddeus.
I'll move these other chairs and tables out. It's getting late, and
we'll have to hustle.
[Exit Barlow. Bradley meanwhile has been removing pictures from the
walls, and, as Yardsley speaks, is standing on the stepladder
reaching up for a painting.
Bradley. What do you take me for--twins?
Yardsley. Don't get mad, now, Bradley. If there's anything that can
add to the terror of amateur theatricals it's temper.
Mrs. Bradley (from without). Edward, come here right away. I want
you to move the hat-stand, and see how many people can be seated in
this hall.
Bradley. Oh yes, certainly, my dear--of course. Right away. My
name is Legion--or Dennis.
Yardsley. That's the spirit. (A crash is heard without.) Great
Scott! What's that?
Mrs. Perkins (without). Oh, Thaddeus!
Bradley. They've dropped the cook's delight.
[He comes down from the stepladder. He and Yardsley go out. The
pictures are piled up on the floor, the furniture is topsy-turvy, and
the portieres lie in a heap on the hearth.
Enter Mrs. Perkins.
Mrs. Perkins. Dear, dear, dear! What a mess! And poor Thaddeus!
I'm glad he wasn't hurt; but I--I'm afraid I heard him say words I
never heard him say before when Mr. Barlow let the table slip. Wish
I hadn't said anything about the table.
Enter Mrs. Bradley.
Mrs. Bradley. These men will drive me crazy. They are making more
fuss carrying that laundry table up-stairs than if it were a house;
and the worst of it is our husbands are losing their tempers.
Mrs. Perkins. Well, I don't wonder. It must be awfully trying to
have a laundry table fall on you.
Mrs. Bradley. Oh, Thaddeus is angelic, but Edward is absolutely
inexcusable. He swore a minute ago, and it sounded particularly
profane because he had a screw and a picture-hook in his mouth.
Yardsley (outside). It's almost as heavy as the piano. I don't see
why, either.
[The four men appear at the door, staggering under the weight of the
laundry table.
Perkins (as they set it down). Whew! That's what I call work. What
makes this thing so heavy?
Mrs. Bradley (as she opens a drawer and takes out a half-dozen patent
flat-irons and a handle). This has something to do with it. Why
didn't you take out the drawer first?
Yardsley. It wasn't my fault. They'd started with it before I took
hold. I didn't know it had a drawer, though I did wonder what it was
that rattled around inside of it.
Bradley. It wasn't for me to suggest taking the drawer out.
Thaddeus ought to have thought of that.