Perkins. Well, no real earl would wear a white tie with a dinner
coat unless he were visiting in America. I grant you that if he were
going to a reception in New York he might wear a pair of golf
trousers with a dinner coat, but in this instance his dress simply
showed his bogusity, as it were. He merely dressed the part.
Yardsley. He doesn't want to make it too plain, however, so I was
right after all. His villany is to come as a painful surprise.
Mrs. Perkins. But what are we to do? Have you got anybody else to
take his part?
Yardsley. Yes. I telegraphed right off to Bradley, explained as far
as I could in a telegram without using all the balance in the
treasury, and he answered all right. Said he'd bone at the part all
day, and would be here at five letter perfect.
Mrs. Perkins (with a sigh of relief). Good. He's very quick at
learning a thing. I imagine it will be all right. I've known him to
learn a harder part than that in five hours. It'll be pleasanter for
Emma, too. She didn't like those scenes she had as Lady Amaranth the
adventuress with Henderson. He kept her off the middle of the stage
all the time; but with her husband it will be different.
Perkins. I'll bet on that! No good-natured husband of a new women
ever gets within a mile of the centre of the stage while she's on it.
She'll have stage room to burn in her scenes with Brad.
Mrs. Perkins. I think it was awfully mean of Mr. Henderson, though.
Yardsley. Disgusting.
Perkins. It was inconsiderate. So hard on his grandmother, too, to
be compelled to knock under just to get him out of a disagreeble
situation. She ought to disinherit him.
Yardsley. Oh, it's easy enough to be sarcastic.
Perkins. That's so, Bob; that's why I never am. It's commonplace.
(Bell rings.) Ah, there's the rest of the troupe, I guess. [Exit.
Yardsley (looking at his watch). It's about time. They're twenty
minutes late.
Mrs. Perkins (rehearsing). So once for all, Lord Muddleton--
(derisively)--ha, ha! Lord Muddleton! that _is_ amusing. You--Lord
Muddleton! Ha, ha! Once for all, Lord Muddleton. I acquaint you
with my determination. I shall not tell Henry Cobb what I have
discovered, since I have promised, but none the less he shall know.
Walls have ears--even that oaken chest by yinder wonder--
Yardsley (irritated). Excuse me, Mrs. Perkins; but really you must
get that phrase right. You've called it yinder wonder at every
rehearsal we've had so far. I know it's difficult to get right.
Yonder window is one of those beastly combinations that playwrights
employ to make the Thespian's pathway to fame a rocky one; but you
must get over it, and say it right. Practise it for an hour, if need
be--yonder window, yonder winder--I mean, yonder window--until it
comes easy.
Mrs. Perkins (meekly). I have, and it doesn't seem to do any good.
I've tried and tried to get it right, but yonder window is all I can
say.
Yardsley. But yinder window is--I should say, yonder window is
correct.
Mrs. Perkins. Well, I'm just going to change it, that's all. It
shall be yonder casement.
Yardsley. Good idea. Only don't say yonder basement by mistake.
Enter Perkins, followed by Barlow.
Perkins. Here's Mr. Featherhead. He's rehearsing too. As I opened
the door he said, "Give me good-morrow."
Barlow (smiling). Yes; and Thaddeus replied, "Good-yesterday, me
friend," in tones which reminded me of Irving with bronchitis.
What's this I hear about Henderson's grandmother?
Yardsley. Thrown up the part.
Barlow. His grandmother?
Yardsley. No--idiot--Henderson. He's thrown up his grandmother--oh,
hang it!--you know what I mean.
Mrs. Perkins. I hope you're not going to net gervous, Mr. Yardsley.
If you break down, what on earth will become of the rest of us?
Yardsley. I hope not--but I am. I'm as nervous as a cat living its
ninth life. Here we are three or four hours before the performance,
and no one knows whether we'll be able to go through it or not. My
reputation as a manager is at stake. Barlow, how are you getting
along on those lines in the revelation scene?
Barlow. Had 'em down fine on the cable-car as I came up. Ha-ha!
People thought I was crazy, I guess. I was so full of it I kept
repeating it softly to myself all the way up; but when we got to that
Fourteenth Street curve the car gave a fearful lurch and fairly shook
the words "villanous viper" out of me; and as I was standing when we
began the turn, and was left confronting a testy old gentleman upon
whose feet I had trodden twice, at the finish, I nearly got into
trouble.
Perkins (wish a laugh). Made a scene, eh?
Barlow (joining in the laugh). Who wouldn't? Each time I stepped on
his foot he glared--regular Macbeth stare--like this: "Is this a
jagger which I see before me?" (Suits action to word.) But I never
let on I saw, but continued to rehearse. When the lurch came,
however, and I toppled over on top of him, grabbed his shoulders in
my hands to keep from sprawling in his lap, and hissed "villanous
viper" in his face, he was inclined to resent it forcibly.
Yardsley. I don't blame him. Seems to me a man of your intelligence
ought to know better than to rehearse on a cable-car, anyhow, to say
nothing of stepping on a man's corns.
Barlow. Of course I apologized; but he was a persistent old codger,
and demanded an explanation of my epithet.
Perkins. It's a wonder he didn't have you put off. A man doesn't
like to be insulted even if he does ride on the cable.
Barlow. Oh, I appeased him. I told him I was rehearsing. That I
was an amateur actor.
Mrs. Perkins. And of course he was satisfied.
Barlow. Yes; at least I judge so. He said that my confession was
humiliation enough, without his announcing to the public what he
thought I was; and he added, to the man next him, that he thought the
public was exposed to enough danger on the cable cars without having
lunatics thrust upon them at every turning.
Perkins. He must have been a bright old man.
Mrs. Perkins. Or a very crabbed old person.
Barlow. Oh, well, it was an experience, but it rather upset me, and
for the life of me I haven't been able to remember the opening lines
of the scene since.
Perkins. Well, if the audience drive you off the stage, you can sue
the cable company. They ought to be careful how they lurch a man's
brains out.
Yardsley. That's right--joke ahead. It's fun for you. All you've
got to do is to sit out in front and pull the curtain up and down
when we ring a bell. You're a great one to talk about brains, you
are. It's a wonder to me you don't swoon under your responsibility.