Mrs. Bradley. Now, Edward--no temper. Take the pictures out.
Bradley. And where shall I take the pictures out to?
Yardsley. Put 'em on the dining-room table.
Perkins (aside). Throw 'em out the window, for all I care.
Bradley. Eh?
Perkins. Nothing. I--er--I only said to put 'em--er--to put 'em
wherever you pleased.
Bradley. But _I_ can't say where they're to go, Thaddeus. This
isn't my house.
Perkins (aside). No--worse luck--it's mine.
Mrs. Perkins. Oh--put them in the dining-room; they'll be safe
there.
Bradley. I will.
[He begins carrying the pictures out. Perkins, Barlow, and Yardsley
roll up the rug.
Yardsley. There! You fellows might as well carry that out too; and
then we'll be ready for the scene.
Barlow. Come along, Thaddeus. You're earning your pay to-night.
Perkins (desperately). May I take my coat off? I'm boiling.
Mrs. Bradley. Certainly. I wonder you didn't think of it before.
Perkins. Think? I never think.
Yardsley. Well, go ahead in your thoughtless way and get the rug
out. You are delaying us.
Perkins. All right. Come on. Barlow, are you ready?
Barlow. I am. [They drag the rug out.
Yardsley. At last. (Replaces the tub.) There's the fountain. Now
where shall we put the cook's delight?
Mrs. Perkins. Over here, I should say.
Mrs. Bradley. I think it would be better here.
Bradley (who has returned). Put it half-way between 'em, Yardsley.
I say give in always to the ladies; and when they don't agree,
compromise. It's a mighty poor woman that isn't half right
occasionally.
Mrs. Bradley. Edward!
Yardsley (adopting the suggestion). There! How's that?
Perkins (returning). Perfect. I never saw such an original
conservatory in my life.
Mrs. Perkins. I suppose it's all right. What do you think, Emma?
Mrs. Bradley. Why, it's simply fine. Of course it requires a little
imagination to see it as it will be on the night of the performance;
but in general I don't see how it could be better.
Barlow. No--nor I. It's great as it is, but when we get the hot-bed
covers hung, and the fountain playing, and plants arranged gracefully
all around, it will be ideal. I say we ought to give Yardsley a vote
of thanks.
Perkins. That's so. We're very much indebted to Yardsley.
Yardsley. Never mind that. I enjoy the work very much.
Perkins. So glad. (Aside.) I wonder when _we_ get a vote of
thanks?
Bradley (looking at his watch). By Jove, Emma, it's after eleven!
Mrs. Bradley. After eleven? Dear me! I had no idea it was as late
as that. How time flies when you are enjoying yourself! Really,
Edward, you ought not to have overlooked the time. You know--
Bradley. I supposed you knew we couldn't pull a house down in five
minutes.
Perkins. What's become of the clock?
Mrs. Perkins. I don't know. Who took the clock out?
Barlow. I did. It's under the dining-room table.
Mrs. Bradley. Well, we mustn't keep Bessie up another moment. Good-
night, my dear. We have had a delightful time.
Mrs. Perkins. Good-night. I am sure we have enjoyed it.
Perkins (aside). Oh yes, indeed; _we_ haven't had so much fun since
the children had the mumps.
Yardsley. Well, so-long, Perkins. Thanks for your help.
Perkins. By-by.
Barlow. Good-night.
Yardsley. Don't bother about fixing up to-night, Perkins. I'll be
around to-morrow evening and help put things in order again.
[They all go out. The good-nights are repeated, and finally the
front door is closed.
Re-enter Perkins, who falls dejectedly on the settee, followed by
Mrs. Perkins, who gives a rueful glance at the room.
Perkins. I'm glad Yardsley's coming to fix us up again. I _never_
could do it.
Mrs. Perkins. Then I must. I can't ask Jennie to do it, she'd
discharge us at once, and I can't have my drawing-room left this way
over Sunday.
Perkins (wearily). Oh, well, shall we do it now?
Mrs. Perkins. No, you poor dear man; we'll stay home from church to-
morrow morning and do it. It won't be any harder work than reading
the Sunday newspapers. What have you there?
Perkins (looking at two tickets he has abstracted from his vest-
pocket). Tickets for Irving--this evening--Lyons Mail--third row
from the stage. I was just thinking--
Mrs. Perkins. Don't tell me what you were thinking, my dear. It
can't be expressible in polite language.
Perkins. You are wrong there, my dear. I wasn't thinking cuss-words
at all. I was only reflecting that we didn't miss much anyhow, under
the circumstances.
Mrs. Perkins. Miss much? Why, Thaddeus, what _do_ you mean?
Perkins. Nothing--only that for action continuous and situations
overpowering The Lyons Mail isn't a marker to an evening of
preparation for Amateur Dramatics.
Enter Jennie.
Jennie. Excuse me, mim, but the coachman says shall he wait any
longer? He's been there three hours now.
[CURTAIN]