Mrs. Bradley. But that's what Edward was told. I saw the message
myself.
Yardsley (sinking into a chair dejectedly). Why, Ed Bradley! I
never mentioned Featherhead. You were to be Muddleton!
Bradley. Me?
Mrs. Bradley. What?
Yardsley. Certainly. There's nothing the matter with Barlow, and
he's cast for Featherhead. You've learned the wrong part!
Bradley (searching his pockets). Here's the telegram. There (takes
message from pocket), read that. There are my instructions.
Yardsley (grasps telegram and reads it. Drops it to floor). Well,
I'll be jiggered!
[Buries his face in his hands.
Mrs. Perkins (picking up message and reading aloud). "Can you take
Fenderson's part in to-night's show? Answer at once. Yardsley."
Barlow. Well, that's a nice mess. You must have paresis, Bob.
Perkins. I was afraid he'd get it sooner or later. You need
exercise, Yardsley. Go pull that curtain up and down a half-dozen
times and it'll do you good.
Bradley. That telegram lets me out.
Mrs. Bradley. I should say so.
Perkins. Lets us all out, seems to me.
Yardsley. But--I wrote Henderson, not Fenderson. That jackass of a
telegraph operator is responsible for it all. "Will you take
Henderson's part?" is what I wrote, and he's gone and got it
Fenderson. Confound his--
Mrs. Perkins. But what are we going to do? It's quarter-past six
now, and the curtain is to rise at 8.30.
Perkins. I'll give 'em my unequalled imitation of Sandow lifting the
curtain with one hand. Thus. [Raises curtain wish right hand.
Yardsley. For goodness' sake, man, be serious. There are seventy-
five people coming here to see this performance, and they've paid for
their tickets.
Mrs. Perkins. It's perfectly awful. We can't do it at all unless
Mr. Bradley will go right up stairs now and learn--
Mrs. Bradley. Oh, that's impossible. He's learned nearly three
hundred lines to-day already. Mr. Barlow might--
Barlow. I couldn't think of it, Mrs. Bradley. I've got as much as I
can do remembering what lines I have learned.
Perkins. It would take you a week to forget your old part completely
enough to do the other well. You'd be playing both parts, the way
Irving does when he's irritated, before you knew it.
Yardsley. I'm sure I don't know what to do.
Perkins. Give it up, eh? What are you stage-manager for? If I
didn't own the house, I'd suggest setting it on fire; but I do, and
it isn't fully insured.
Mrs. Perkins. Perhaps Miss Andrews and Mr. Yardsley could do their
little scene from Romeo and Juliet.
Mrs. Bradley. Just the thing.
Yardsley. But I haven't a suitable costume.
Perkins. I'll lend you my golf trousers, and Bess has an old shirt-
waist you could wear with 'em. Piece it out a little so that you
could get into it, and hang the baby's toy sword at your side, and
carry his fireman's hat under your arm, and you'd make a dandy-
looking Romeo. Some people might think you were a new woman, but if
somebody were to announce to the audience that you were not that, but
the Hon. R. Montague, Esq., it would be all right and exceedingly
amusing. I'll do the announcing with the greatest of pleasure.
Really think I'd enjoy it.
Miss Andrews. I think it would be much better to get up Mrs.
Jarley's waxworks.
Perkins. Oh dear, Miss Andrews, never. Mrs. Jarley awakens too many
bitter memories in me. I was Mrs. Jarley once, and--
Yardsley. It must have been awful. If there is anything in life
that could be more horrible than you, with your peculiar style of
humor, trying to do Jarley, I--
Perkins. Oh, well, what's the odds what we do? We're only amateurs,
anyhow. Yardsley can put on a pair of tight boots, and give us an
impression of Irving, or perhaps an imitation of the Roman army at
the battle of Philippi, and the audience wouldn't care, as long as
they had a good supper afterwards. It all rests with Martenelli
whether it's a go to-night. If he doesn't spoil the supper, it'll be
all right. I have observed that the principal factors of success at
amateur dramatics are an expert manipulation of the curtain, and a
first-class feed to put the audience in a good-humor afterwards.
Even if Martenelli does go back on us, you'll have me with the
curtain--
Mrs. Perkins. Thaddeus!
Yardsley. By Jove! that's a good idea--we have got you. You can
read Henderson's part!
Perkins. What--I?
Barlow. Certainly.
Bradley. Just the very thing.
Miss Andrews. Splendid idea.
Perkins. Oh--but I say--I can't, you know. Nonsense! I can't read.
Yardsley. I've often suspected that you couldn't, my dear Thaddeus;
but this time you must.
Perkins. But the curtain--the babies--the audience--the ushing--the
fire department--it is too much. I'm not an octopus.
Barlow (taking him by the arm and pushing him into chair). You can't
get out of it, Ted. Here--read up. There--take my book.
[Thrusts play-book into his hand.
Bradley. Here's mine, too, Thaddeus. Read 'em both at once, and
then you'll have gone over it twice.
[Throws his book into Perkins's lap.