R., and EUNICE, L., present._
B. Do tell me, Eunice, what this means. I am _so_ curious to have it
explained.
E. So I supposed. But confess the truth, Blanche. Didn’t you think me a
genuine rustic, very ignorant, and quite countrified?
B. I certainly did, but you surely gave me reason. I give you credit for
acting your part well. But what induced you to take upon yourself such a
character?
E. I was afraid of disappointing you.
B. (_surprised_). Disappointing me?
E. (_smiling_). Yes. The day of my arrival I was shown by the servant
into the room provided for me. I had scarcely laid aside my bonnet
and shawl when you and Aunt Matilda came into the chamber adjoining
mine. Unintentionally I overheard you conversing of me. You both had
the impression that, as I lived in the country, I must be ignorant and
uncultivated. I therefore decided to continue the illusion for a short
time. When the party came off, it seemed a fitting time for me to appear
in my true character.
B. I am glad that you are not what you seemed. I was almost overcome by
your vigorous salute, and your talk about pasturing cows in the parks,
and so on; and I feared that you might introduce these topics as the
subjects of your conversation at the party.
E. Fortunately no such mishap occurred, and since you prefer me in my
present character, I will still retain it, trusting that you may never
again have cause to be disturbed at the rusticity of your Country Cousin.
(_Curtain falls._)
TAKING POISON.
CHARACTERS.
MR. LEWIS FISHER, A very Nervous Man.
MRS. SUSAN FISHER, His Wife.
MISS HELEN FISHER, His Sister.
DR. GIBBS, Physician.
MARY, Servant.
SCENE.—_Parlor at MRS. FISHER’S. MR. F. comes in, and sinks
into a chair, R._
MR. FISHER. How weak I am! I wonder what can be the matter? (_Presses
his hand first on one cheek, and then the other._) I think I’m a little
feverish. (_Coughs as if it pained him._) And then this cough; I’m sure
my lungs must be affected. But then that’s no wonder, for most of our
family died of consumption, and I dare say I shall go in the same way.
(_Petulantly._) I wonder where Susan is; she’s always gone when I want
her. (_Rings the bell; servant enters, L._) Mary, where is Mrs. Fisher?
MARY. She went an hour ago, sir. Your sister, Miss Helen, came for her to
go shopping, and the two of them went out then.
MR. F. (_sighing, and leaning back in his chair_). Did she say what time
she would be back?
M. She did not, then. May be they won’t be home till dark.
MR. F. I shall be sick in bed before that time.
M. Couldn’t I do something for you, sir?
MR. F. (_shaking his head mournfully_). No. (_A pause._) Do you know
where Mrs. Fisher keeps the cough drops?
M. I do not, sir.
MR. F. Well, then, it’s no matter. I’ll wait till she comes.
M. Very well, sir.
(_Exit MARY, L._)
(_MR. F. leans back in his chair, and rocks for a few moments with closed
eyes. He then opens his eyes, and rises slowly._)
MR. F. It must be that Susan keeps the cough mixture in the closet.
I’ll see. (_Goes to closet, L., and returns, bringing a bottle, having
no label on it, with him._) Yes, here it is. I will take a teaspoonful.
(_He takes a spoon from the table, and filling it carefully, swallows the
contents._) I hope that will make me feel better. (_Sits down again in
the rocking-chair._) I don’t see what keeps Susan away so long. It always
was a mystery to me how women could enjoy shopping as they do. (_Begins
to cough._) I believe I’ll go into the dining-room and get some water.
(_Goes out, R.; enter MARY, L._)
M. (_looking around_). So master’s gone out. It’ll do him good, I’m
thinking. Sure I don’t see how missis gets along wid him, when he’s so
fussy. (_Goes to closet, L., and after a short stop, returns and exit, L.
MR. F. reappears, R., bearing a glass of water, which he places on the
table. He continues to cough._)
MR. F. The water does not remove the irritation in my throat. I must take
some more of the drops. (_Goes to closet, L., and returns with a bottle;
a label on it this time. He gazes at the label, and starts back in
terror._) What’s this? Poison? And I’ve already taken a spoonful of it!
That was what made me feel so strangely. Oh, I’m a doomed man! (_He rings
the bell violently, and sinks into a chair. MARY enters, L._)
M. Oh, lor sakes, what makes you look so pale, sir?
MR. F. (_excitedly_). I’ve taken poison, Mary. I feel a pain in my side,
already. Why doesn’t Mrs. Fisher come home? Oh, dear, what shall I do?
M. Can’t I get you something to take, sir?
MR. F. (_impatiently_). Oh, no, no. I’ve taken too much already. Nothing
would help me now. I feel the poison coursing through my veins already,
and cold chills are passing over me. Bring a blanket to cover me, Mary. I
hope I shan’t die before Susan comes.
(_MARY brings a pillow, which she places behind him, and puts a blanket
over his knees._)
M. Don’t you feel a little better now, sir?
MR. F. (_with an injured look._) Better! People don’t usually feel better
when they are dying. (_Sound of a bell is heard outside._)
M. Mrs. Fisher is come.
(_Exit MARY, L., and, in a moment, enter MRS. FISHER and HELEN, R._)
MRS. FISHER (_with solicitude; going toward her husband_). Why, Lewis,
what’s the matter? Are you sick?
MR. F. Yes, Susan; not merely sick, but dying.
MRS. F. (_perplexed_). What can you mean, Lewis? You left home this
morning apparently well, and, after an hour’s absence, I return to find
you nervous and excited. You look sick, too. Do tell me what is the cause.
MR. F. (_excited_). That I can very easily do. I was sick—quite
feverish—and had a bad cough, so I thought I’d take some drops to relieve
it.
MRS. F. That was right.
MR. F. I went to the closet, and took a spoonful, and thought they helped
me. So, in half an hour, I went and got some more to take, when I noticed
the label on the bottle, and found that, instead of cough-drops, I had
been taking poison.
MRS. F. O Lewis, how could you make such a mistake? (_Clasping her
hands._) What shall we do?
HELEN (_coolly_). Send for the doctor, I should say, if you haven’t both
taken leave of your senses.
MRS. F. Yes, send Mary for the doctor at once. Why didn’t we think of it
sooner?
MR. F. (_dismally_). It will do no good. Nothing can be done now. I
feel cold chills passing over me. I shall not probably be alive when he
reaches here. It will only take up the little time there is left.
H. I shall send Mary for the doctor, at all events.
(_Exit, L._)
(_MR. F. moans frequently. MRS. F. is occupied in chafing his wrists.
Suddenly MR. F. speaks._)
MR. F. Susan.
MRS. S. (_through her tears_). Well, Lewis.
MR. F. You’ve been a good wife to me, Susan.
MRS. F. I’ve tried to be, Lewis.
MR. F. I’m glad you will be left in comfortable circumstances at my
death. I’ve left my whole property to you. In my little black trunk you
will find all my valuable papers. Here is the key. (_Passes it to her._)
MRS. F. (_sobbing, but takes the key_). Don’t think of such things,
Lewis. You must live—for me. I’m sure that the doctor can help you.
MR. F. (_mournfully_). No, it’s too late—too late. I would like to have
lived longer, but I must submit to my fate.
(_Enter DR. GIBBS, L._)
DR. GIBBS (_cheerily_). Well, my friend, what’s the matter with you?
MR. F. (_tragically_). Poison!
DR. G. (_surprised_). What! Got tired of living, hey?
MR. F. (_wearily_). Tell him about it, Susan.
MRS. F. It was a terrible mistake, doctor. He intended to take some cough
drops, but, instead, took some laudanum.
DR. G. (_feeling his pulse_). How do you feel?
MR. F. I feel cold chills passing over me, and it seems us if a thousand
needles were pricking my flesh; and I have got a terrible headache.
DR. G. But those are not the symptoms of poison. How long is it since you
took it?
MR. F. More than an hour and a half ago.
DR. G. I don’t believe it was poison at all. I see no signs of it.
MR. F. But I saw the label.
DR. G. Let me see the bottle. (_MRS. F. brings the bottle from closet, L.
DR. G. smells of the mixture, and then prepares to taste it._)
MRS. F. Oh, don’t taste it, doctor. It may be the death of you too.
(_The doctor lifts the bottle to his lips._)
DR. G. This is not poison. It is cough-drops, as I expected. Moreover, it
is some that I mixed myself, and I know there’s no poison in it. But how
came that label on it?
MRS. F. I prepared the label just before I went away, and told Mary to
paste it on the bottle of laudanum. But it seems she must have pasted it
on the wrong bottle.
MR. F. (_eagerly_). And haven’t I swallowed poison, after all?
DR. G. (_dryly_). Not unless you’ve taken it from some other bottle.
MRS. F. How thankful I am that it was a mistake; aren’t you, Lewis?
MR. F. Indeed I am. (_A pause._) By the way, Susan, you might as well
hand me back the key of the little black trunk.
(_Curtain falls._)
DEACON ROBINSON’S PRESENT.
CHARACTERS.
DEACON JONATHAN ROBINSON, Delegate to Political Convention.
MRS. IRENE ROBINSON, His Wife.
DOCTOR LEWIS CUMMINGS, Physician of Rossville.
MR. CHAS. HERBERT FITZ HOWARD, A Young Exquisite.
LANDLORD.
JOHN.
TWO POLICEMEN.
(_DEACON ROBINSON is attired in a blue suit. The coat is short-waisted,
old-fashioned, and ornamented with brass buttons. He wears a
broad-brimmed beaver, far from new. CHARLES HERBERT FITZ HOWARD is
dressed in the height of fashion, wearing a jaunty little hat on the side
of his head, and a suit of clothes cut in the most fashionable style._)
SCENE I.—_Office of a hotel. Table, C. LANDLORD present, R. C.
Enter DEACON ROBINSON, L._
LANDLORD. Good-evening, deacon.
DEA. ROBINSON. Good-evening. I’ve come down from Morristown to ’tend the
convention. I may be here two or three days. Can you give me a room?
L. (_suavely_). Oh, yes, certainly; a nice room, too. Will you order
supper before going up stairs?
DEA. R. Supper! No, indeed! It’s nine o’clock, and I’m going to bed.
Besides, I took supper afore I left home.
L. But you’ll register your name, first? (_Passes pen to him._)
DEA. R. (_takes from his pocket a tin case, which he opens, takes
therefrom a pair of spectacles, which he adjusts upon his nose_). Wal,
yes, I hain’t no objection. (_Writes._)
L. Here, John, take this lamp and show the gentleman up to Number 33.
JOHN. Yes, sir. (_Takes lamp and goes out, followed by the DEACON._)
(_Enter CHARLES HERBERT FITZ HOWARD, L._)
FITZ HOWARD. Aw—I say—aw—can you give me a good room?
L. Yes sir, directly. But, beg pardon, sir; perhaps you’d like some
supper first?
F. H. Aw—yes, but I’ll go to my room first—aw, and make my toilet—remove
the dust and travel—aw.
L. Your name, sir! (_Offers pen._)
F. H. Aw—yes—I had forgotten. (_Looking at pen—tries it._) What a deuced
poor pen! (_Enter JOHN, R._)
L. Here is another. (_Offers it._)
F. H. (_takes it; gazes at book before him_). Deacon Jonathan
Robinson—aw. What a name! Not much like the next one. (_Writes._)
Charles Herbert Fitz Howard—aw.
J. Ain’t he a swell, though?
L. (_in a warning tone_). John.
J. Yes, sir.
L. Show this gentleman up to number 35.
J. Yes, sir. (_To FITZ HOWARD._) This way, sir.
(_Exeunt, R. Curtain falls._)
SCENE II.—_A bed-chamber. DEACON ROBINSON is seen, C., dressed
in ruffled shirt and tightly fitting pants. He surveys them
meditatively._
DEA. R. I don’t see but I’ve got to wear these clothes, as long as the
others are gone, for the convention meets at nine, and I shan’t have
much more’n time to eat my breakfast. But it beats all where them other
clothes went to, and where these come from. I declare, I never heard o’
such a thing in my born days. (_He thinks a moment—his face brightens._)
Yes, it must be—there’s no other way. Some of my friends here in
Rossville must ha’ clubbed together, and bought me this new suit, knowing
I was to be here to the convention. But when could they ha’ brought them
in, and taken my others away, for I’ve had my door locked ever since I
came into the room? Oh, I remember now, last night, when there was an
alarm of fire, I slipped on my overcoat, and went into the entry to see
where ’twas; but findin’ ’twas a false alarm, I came back in less than
ten minutes. They must ha’ been dreadful spry to ha’ made the change so
quick. (_Apprehensively—taking up the coat._) I’m afraid they’re too gay
for me, but I seem to be ’bleeged to wear ’em. (_Puts on the vest._) I
wonder if the coat fits as well as the rest. (_Puts it on and stands up
before the glass, R. Complacently._) Well, it’s a complete fit, and it
does really improve me amazin’ly—makes me look a good deal younger. The
cloth seems good too. They must ha’ cost a good deal. Really, my friends
have been very kind, but I do wish they’d brought a different hat. (_Puts
on the hat, which looks very jaunty for one of his years._) Perhaps I
can exchange it to-morrow, but I’ve got to wear it to-day, at any rate.
There’s one thing I haven’t thought of afore (_feeling in pockets_). I
wonder whether they thought to change things in the pockets from the old
to the new. There aint a single thing in any of ’em. (_Irresolutely._)
And what shall I do without money? (_Goes quickly to overcoat, and
puts his hand in pocket._) Ah, here is the old wallet. (_With a sigh
of relief._) Lucky for me I bought a newspaper last evening, or that
pocket-book would ha’ been gone too. I must go down and see if I can hear
anything about the rest of the things.
(_Exit, L. Curtain falls._)
SCENE III.—_The same. FITZ HOWARD is seen, L. C., sitting
disconsolately with Deacon’s home-made shirt and pants on._
F. H. Well—aw—I’m sure, I don’t see what I’m going to do. I never can go
out on the street—aw—wearing such wretched-looking clothes. (_Standing
up suddenly and gazing upon them._) Why, they’re absolutely horwid.
It’s strange—aw—how anybody could have been quick enough—aw—to change
those clothes in the five minutes I was out—aw—last night at the alarm
of fire. I should just like to get hold of the thief—aw—that’s all. I
guess—aw—he’d never steal anything else. (_A pause. Emphatically._) I
won’t wear this horwid-looking coat (_lifting it up._) What would Dick
Hayes or Harwy Nichols say—aw—to see me dressed in this style! I won’t
wear the shabby ole thing. (_Throws it to the other end of the room, R._)
I should feel—aw—as if I was my own grandfather. And this horwid old
hat. (_Takes it in his hand, and with a kick sends it after the coat._)
Aw—I’ll ring for the landlord. (_Rings furiously. JOHN enters, R._)
F. H. Aw—where’s the landlord—aw?
J. He’s gone away.
F. H. When he comes back—aw—I want to see him.
J. Yes, sir; but he may not be back till noon, but I’ll tell him when he
comes.
(_Exit JOHN, R._)
F. H. (_solus_). Well—aw—there’s no help from that quarter. I don’t see
but I’ve got to come to it, for if I don’t wear these clothes—aw—what
shall I wear? There isn’t any shop that sells ready-made clothing that
I’d be willing to wear—aw—and if there was I haven’t money enough to
spare to buy another suit. (_Groaning._) I don’t see but I _must_ wear
it. (_Puts on vest and coat—looks in mirror._) Oh, dear! Aw—what a
fright! And I was going to call on Arabella Meade this morning. (_Puts on
hat, which, being a little too large for him, settles down on the back
side of his head. He paces back and forth, looking down._) But there’s
no use in my going there to-day. The servants would take me—aw—for a
ragamuffin, and thrust me out of the house—aw—if I attempted to enter it.
I suppose I shall have to go down in this costume—aw—and see if I cannot
find some clue to my own clothes—aw.
(_Exit, L. Curtain falls._)
SCENE IV.—_Parlor of the hotel. DEACON ROBINSON, C., looking
over morning paper. Enter DR. CUMMINGS, L., who does not
recognize the occupant of the room. Deacon Robinson advances to
meet him warmly._
DEA. R. (_cordially_). How do you do, Dr. Cummings?
DR. C. (_distantly_). Really, sir, you have the advantage of me!
DEA. R. What, don’t you recognize me? You’ve known me for the last
twenty-five years. I’m Deacon Jonathan Robinson, of Morristown.
DR. C. Why, bless my soul, so you are! But, good gracious, deacon, what
possessed you to dress in this strange way?
DEA. R. Strange?
DR. C. (_sternly_). Yes. I consider it discreditable to one of your
years, sobriety, and position in the community, to make such a popinjay
of yourself.
DEA. R. (_uncomfortably_). But it isn’t my doings.
DR. C. Isn’t your doings? Then whose is it? I don’t understand it. Surely
Mrs. Robinson doesn’t countenance such folly!
DEA. R. She doesn’t know anything about it.
DR. C. No; I thought not.
DEA. R. (_a little vexed_). If you won’t be in such a hurry, Dr.
Cummings, I’ll explain it all. You see I came over to Rossville last
evening and put up here. I went to bed early, but about midnight there
was a cry of fire. I slipped on my overcoat, and went into the entry to
learn whether it was near by. In a few minutes I heard that it was a
false alarm. I hurried back to my room, which I couldn’t have been out of
more’n ten minutes, and locked my door. Then I went to bed and to sleep.
When I waked in the morning my old clothes, which have done me such
faithful service, were gone, and these were left in their place.
DR. C. How do you suppose they came there?
DEA. R. It is my opinion that my friends in Rossville, knowing that I
was to attend a convention, took this way of presenting me with a new and
fashionable suit of clothes.
DR. C. (_shaking his head_). It’s a strange story.
(_Enter MRS. R. R. She starts back, surprised at the appearance of her
husband._)
MRS. ROBINSON (_sharply_). I should like to know, Deacon Robinson, what
has put it into your head to dress in this ridiculous style; you, a man
most sixty years old!
DEA. R. I’m only fifty-eight.
MRS. R. And you dress as if you were eighteen. You refuse me a silk
dress, and then go and squander your money on this foolish rig. I should
think you had gone stark, staring mad.
DEA. R. (_anxiously_). Stop, Reeny, I’ll explain it all. My friends in
Rossville came and brought me this suit in the night.
MRS. R. (_contemptuously_). Fiddlestick! Do you expect me to believe that
ridiculous story? I’m really afraid you’ve been drinking. Nothing else
could ha’ brought you to make such a fool of yourself.
DEA. R. (_excitedly_). Mrs. Robinson, I command you to be silent. It’s
you that are makin’ a fool o’ yourself, I’d have you to know. It’s enough
for you to think of your own dress, and not interfere with mine.
MRS. R. (_wringing her hands_). O Jonathan, is this the way you speak to
me, who’ve been a faithful wife to you for more than thirty years?
(_FITZ HOWARD, clad in the DEACON’S old-fashioned garments, bursts into
the room, L., and rushes up to DEA. R., assuming a belligerent attitude._)
F. H. So you’re the thief—aw—you rascal—
DR. C. (_rising and coming forward_). What does this mean?
F. H. (_gesticulating violently_). It means—aw—that this fellah has run
off with my clothes—a hundred-dollar suit, and left—aw—this worthless
rubbish (_extending his arms as if to show the clothes_) in its place.
(_In a loud tone._) Help! Police—aw—where’s the police?
MRS. R. (_indignantly_). O Jonathan, have you brought disgrace upon your
innocent wife and family by this strange conduct?
DR. C. (_in tones of horror_). O Deacon!
DEA. R. Hear me; hear me. There’s some strange mistake.
F. H. There’s no mistake about it. Bring the police.
(_Police enter, L., and endeavor to handcuff him. DEA. R. struggles
furiously._)
DEA. R. I won’t go to jail. Call the landlord.
MRS. R. (_earnestly_). Yes; call the landlord. Perhaps he can explain
about it.
(_One of the policemen goes out, R., and immediately returns with the
Landlord._)
F. H. This man—aw—has stolen my clothes, and I demand his arrest.
DEA. R. Well, landlord, you’ve known me a good many years. Do you think I
should be likely to steal now—at my age?
L. Impossible; there must be some mistake.
F. H. But there can’t be any mistake; don’t you see—aw—he’s got on my
clothes, and I his?
L. (_smiling_). Yes; but if he intended to steal them he wouldn’t come
in, and sit quietly in the parlor with the garments on. But I haven’t
heard how it came about. Did either of you leave your room last night?
F. H. I only left it for five minutes—aw—when the alarm of fire was
raised—aw—and this morning when I waked—aw—my new suit was changed into
these horwid things. (_Glances with contempt upon them._)
L. (_to DEACON_). And did you leave your room, too?
DEA. R. Yes; but only long enough to go into the entry and back again.
L. I see how it is; your rooms were side by side. You both left them, and
when you returned, you each went into the other’s room. That accounts for
the change of clothing. (_One policeman beckons to the other, and they go
out, L._)
DEA. R. By George, that must ha’ been the way ’twas done. But I declare
to goodness, I never should ha’ thought about it. (_To LANDLORD._) Thank
you, landlord, for gettin’ me out o’ this scrape. (_To FITZ HOWARD._)
And look here, young man, suppose we just go up stairs and swap clothes
again. I guess these aint any more becomin’ to me than them are to you.
F. H. You’re right there—aw—old man. (_Exeunt DEA. R. and F. H., L._)
MRS. R. Well, I thank goodness things have turned out as they have. I
wouldn’t ha’ had Jonathan gone to the convention in that rig for nothin’
in the world.
DR. C. (_sarcastically_). Not even if they had been a present to him from
his friends in Rossville!
(_Curtain falls._)
MRS. MARDEN’S LESSON.
CHARACTERS.
MR. JOHN MARDEN, A clerk,
MRS. MARY MARDEN, His Wife.
MR. EDWIN HASTINGS, His Friend.
AUNT REBECCA, Mrs. Marden’s Aunt.
SERVANT.
SCENE I.—_Sitting-room at MR. MARDEN’S. MRS. MARDEN, present,
L._
JOHN (_entering room, R., with boots in his hand_). It’s most time for me
to go to the store, Mary. (_Sits down, C., and puts on boots._) I declare
it’s astonishing how soon eight o’clock comes these short mornings.
MARY (_who is dusting the room_). It brings to mind the mornings, in the
days gone by, when you were obliged to go to school, I suppose.
J. Yes; and I can’t say I enjoy one any more than the other. It’s about
as disagreeable as leaving a nice, cosey fire on a winter’s night and
getting into a cold bed.
M. But then I think one appreciates his home more, and enjoys the time he
is able to pass in it more fully, than if he remained at home.
J. Perhaps you are right, Mary; but I shouldn’t object to try the other
way for awhile. (_Tosses slippers under the sofa._)
M. John, dear, hadn’t you better put your slippers in their place?
J. Oh, we’ll consider this their place. Then I shan’t have to go
searching after them to-night.
M. There won’t be any need of _searching_ for them. If you put them where
they belong, they will be sure to remain there.
J. But it’s a great bother to go out of one’s way for such trifles.
They’re much handier lying there, and will be all ready for me to put on
to-night.
M. But life is made up of trifles, and leaving things round clutters up
the room so.
J. Why, no; a thing looks as well in one place as another. Besides,
what’s the use of having a house if you can’t keep things where you
want to? But there (_pushing them still farther under the sofa with his
foot_), they’re out of sight now. They will be handy, and no one will be
the wiser for their being there.
M. But I have to go around every day and pick things up after you.
J. Oh, well, don’t pick them up; just let them stay where they are, and
then I can find them when I want them. (_Takes up overcoat from chair,
where he had left it on previous evening, puts it on, takes hat from
table, and exit, L._)
M. (_alone_). Something must be done to cure John of this careless habit
of leaving things around; but how it can be arranged, I cannot tell yet.
I must think it over.
(_Curtain falls._)
SCENE II.—_The same. Room in disorder. Two hats on the piano,
a vest on the table, and two coats on as many chairs. A
dressing-gown thrown carelessly on the sofa, and slippers on
the floor near them. AUNT REBECCA and MARY enter, L._
AUNT REBECCA. And you have married since I saw you last; married happily,
I hope. (_They sit down, C._)
M. Yes; I couldn’t wish for a kinder or pleasanter husband. But between
you and me, Aunt Rebecca, he has one fault that distresses me exceedingly.
A. R. And what is that?
M. He is so careless about his things. You have only to look about you,
and you will see at once what I mean. I haven’t been in this room until
now since he went to the store this morning. There are (_looking at each
as she speaks_) two hats, two coats, dressing-gown, vest and slippers
lying around. He is in such a hurry when he goes away, that he doesn’t
notice anything about it, and when he comes home, I have put them all in
their places, so I don’t think he realizes what an untidy appearance the
room presents.
A. R. That _is_ rather a disagreeable habit. Have you spoken to him about
it?
M. (_laughing_). Spoken? Yes; I’ve delivered whole lectures on the
subject.
A. R. And what does he say?
M. Oh, he makes light of it, and manages to change the subject whenever
it is brought up. I don’t like to spoil the peace of our cosey home by
scolding, but I feel as if something must be done.
A. R. I see how it is, Mary. You must declare war.
M. (_looking up surprised_). In what way?
A. R. I haven’t fully matured a plan yet, but we will open the campaign
to-night, and, my word for it, if you follow my directions, you will come
off victorious.
M. I am filled with curiosity to know how it is all to come about.
SERVANT (_entering, R._) A littir for you, ma’am. (_Passes letter to M.
and exit, R. MARY reads the letter._)
M. It is a line from John, saying that he will bring his friend, Mr.
Hastings, home to dine with us. I suppose he thought it possible I might
be out.
A. R. What kind of a man is Mr. Hastings?
M. Very pleasant indeed, and as fond of a good joke as any one I know of.
He and John are great friends.
A. R. Then it will be just the time for us to open the campaign.
M. You have it all arranged, then?
A. R. Yes; draw your chair this way, and I will explain it to you. (_MARY
moves near A. R._)
(_Curtain falls._)
SCENE III.—_Room in confusion. Slippers under the sofa, coats
on chairs, two of MARY’S dresses on sofa, and her shawl and
bonnet on JOHN’S arm-chair. Two of JOHN’S hats on table. MARY
crocheting, R. JOHN and EDWIN HASTINGS enter, L._
JOHN (_glancing in surprise, first around the room, then at his wife_).
What! house-cleaning, Mary?
M. Oh, no. (_Turns to greet his companion._) I’m glad to see you, Mr.
Hastings. Sit down, do. (_Takes coat from chair, and tosses it carelessly
on sofa._) You haven’t been here for a long time.
EDWIN (_looking round with an amused smile_). It _is_ a long time for me
to be away.
J. (_taking M.’S shawl and bonnet from easy-chair_.) Say, Mary, what
shall I do with these dry-goods?
M. Oh, lay them on the table.
J. But there isn’t room.
M. Isn’t there? Well, put them on the piano.
J. But I was just going to open it, so that we might have some music.
M. Well, put them on the sofa, then. There’s certainly room enough there.
J. But some one may sit on them there.
M. I guess not.
J. (_glancing uneasily around_). Hadn’t you better pick up things a
little, Mary?
M. (_carelessly_). Oh, no, just let them lie as they are.
J. But they look so bad. And you know we frequently have callers in the
evening.
M. Oh, they don’t look bad. I don’t see but a thing looks as well in one
place as another.
J. I never saw your room look like this before, Mary.
M. (_apparently surprised_). Didn’t you? But I thought we might as well
keep things handy. What’s the use of having a house, if you can’t keep
things where you want to?
J. Oh, that’s it. So you’re giving an imitation of me, are you?
M. (_smiling_). I’ve tried to. But don’t you like it?
J. No, I don’t; that’s a fact.
M. Well, then, if you’ll agree not to do so again, I’ll straighten up the
room; but if you have a relapse, mind, I shall have one, too.
J. Oh, I shan’t; don’t fear. If I’m in danger of it, the recollection of
this scene will bring me back to the paths of rectitude.
E. (_coming forward, and bowing with mock deference_). I congratulate
you, on the success of your scheme, Mrs. Marden, and have no doubt it
will prove efficacious. It is worth a dozen scoldings, and is a far more
agreeable remedy.
J. (_exultantly_). I rather think it touches you a little, old fellow,
too, judging from the appearance of your bachelor apartments when I have
called there.
E. I am sure of that, and have taken a part of it to myself already. When
next you come to my rooms, you will, without doubt, be struck with the
transformation, and will perceive at once, that I, as well as yourself
have profited by Mrs. Marden’s lesson.
(_Curtain falls._)
THE MAGIC MIRROR.
CHARACTERS.
MADAME DEVINERESSE, ⎫ Fortune-tellers.
MADAME MARIE, ⎭
TOM, DICK, HARRY, ⎫ School-boys.
WALTER, JOE, NAT, ⎭
FAUSTINA, A Little Servant.
SCENE I.—_Room at a country boarding-school. HARRY, C., TOM, R.
C., and WALTER, R., present. Enter DICK, L. He advances to L.
C._
HARRY. Hallo, Dick, what’s up?
DICK (_with a significant smile_). Who says anything’s up?
H. There is, I know there is; I can tell it by your looks. Come, tell us,
like a good fellow.
D. You must have a very vivid imagination to suppose one of my dignity
(_straightening himself up_) would descend to such trifles.
TOM. One of _your_ dignity! That’s a good one. But come now, Dick, do
tell us if anything is going on. It’s been the perfection of dulness here
for the last three weeks. Any change would be welcome.
D. (_dryly_). Does your last remark refer to your pockets, or some other
part of your habiliments?
T. (_smiling_). Apply it where you choose. But come, you’ve got some
plan, I know. What is it?
D. You are right, boys, I _have_ got a plan. But remember
(_impressively_), it must be a profound secret with us.
WALTER. We are willing to make the most solemn protestations of secrecy.
Who’s to be the victim?
D. Joe Sherman.
H. Good! What’s the programme?
D. He is to have his fortune told. (_The boys crowd around DICK._)
T. (_eagerly_). How is it to be done?
D. Perhaps you have learned that Madame Devineresse, the fortune-teller,
is stopping at the Everett House. It wouldn’t be very difficult for
her to flatter Joe into the belief that he was born for some great and
glorious end.
W. He’s satisfied on that point, already.
D. But you don’t understand. We will give her some hints of what he will
expect, and then can have the fun of listening to the whole performance,
and be better prepared to enjoy his remarks about it afterward. I have
had a little conversation with Madame Devineresse, and I feel sure she
will consent to co-operate with us.
T. (_excitedly_). I’ll wager an inkstand that Dick’s already had his
fortune told by madame.
H. That’s nothing strange. He has had it told by every fortune-teller
that’s visited the town for the last two years.
D. (_coolly_). What difference does that make, when every one tells a
different story? A fellow must have some excitement in a little country
village like this. Of course I don’t believe a word said by any one of
them. But Sherman would. He’s just one of that kind. If she told him
anything he wished to believe, he would put implicit faith in it.
W. (_shaking his head_). I don’t know about that. Joe is pretty cunning.
I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he should discover the plot.
D. Trust me for that. I’ve got things arranged so it is impossible he
could suspect anything.
T. When is it to come off?
D. This evening, at the rooms of Madame Devineresse. We are to be
concealed in the ante-room, and hear all that is said. It will be rich,
I assure you. Come to my room at seven o’clock, and we will be ready to
follow him. He will be there by half-past seven.
H. How do you know he is going at all?
D. I don’t expect he is thinking of it at present; but I must plan some
way to induce him to go, and to be there at that hour. So I must leave
you now. Don’t fail to be on hand at the appointed time.
(_Exit DICK, L. Curtain falls._)
SCENE II.—_The room of MADAME DEVINERESSE. She is seated in
an arm-chair, R. C. On the table before her are placed an
hour-glass and a pack of cards, a small mirror, and an open
book. Charts covered with mystical characters are hung on the
walls. A sickle, a stuffed eagle, and any other emblematic
figures which can be obtained, are disposed around the room.
A small picture (of any design) is hung up where it will be
reflected into the mirror when held by JOE. Each time he lays
down the mirror, the picture is changed without attracting his
attention. JOE is ushered in by FAUSTINA, L._
JOE. You are the fortune-teller, I presume, madame.
MADAME DEVINERESSE. Yes; I am called so by those whom I serve. I unveil
the secrets of the future to those who desire to know them. Do you wish
to look into the magic mirror?
J. I should like to know something of the future.
MME. D. You shall do so. Bring me the magic mirror, Faustina. (_F. passes
mirror to her._) Young man, approach. (_J. draws near._) You wish to
learn something of the future. (_J. bows._) You are permitted to look
three times into this mirror, where you will see three scenes in your
future life. Take it into your own hands. (_J. does so._) What do you see?
(_Exit FAUSTINA, R._)
J. I see a school-room. There are many people present. It must be
examination day.
MME. D. Do you see yourself there?
J. Yes; the other scholars are all crowding about me, and seem to be
congratulating me for some reason. The teacher has come forward, and
presents me with a richly bound book.
MME. D. That picture represents a scene in your life _three_ years hence,
when you will leave this school. You will graduate as first scholar in
your class. You see yourself as having just delivered the valedictory.
The other pupils are congratulating you, but many of them are envious at
the distinction accorded you, and which you have so richly merited.
(_JOE’S face beams with pleasure. MME. D. holds out her hand for the
mirror. Taking it, she wipes it carefully, lays it on the table, waves
her wand over it three times, and then returns it to JOE._)
MME. D. What see you now, young man?
J. A crowded court-room. A case has just been tried. I am the centre of a
crowd of people, who are pressing up to shake hands with me. The opposing
lawyer sits at a little distance, casting glances of bitterness toward me.
MME. D. That picture represents a scene _fifteen_ years hence. You
have gained a famous law-suit, which has placed you, though young, in
the front ranks of your profession. Envious persons have maligned you,
and opponents assailed you; but, without deigning to notice them, you
have steadily gone on, till you have attained a high position in the
profession which you adorn.
(_MME. D. again takes the mirror. Taking a box from the table, she shakes
on the surface of the mirror a white powder. Wiping it carefully, she
makes passes over it with her wand, and hands it to the young man. He
gazes upon it for a moment in silence, and with pleased wonder. MME. D.
looks on benignantly._)
MME. D. The picture pleases you, then. What does the mirror disclose?
J. I see a beautiful house. On the balcony a gentleman is standing. He is
addressing a throng of people who are assembled before the house. They
wave their hats, and are full of enthusiasm. What does it mean?
MME. D. Do you not recognize the gentleman?
J. It looks like myself, but cannot be, for it is too old.
(_MME. D. takes the mirror, and gazes on it for a moment._)
MME. D. It does look somewhat older, and more mature. But why should it
not? It represents you as you will appear _thirty_ years hence. You have
steadily pressed onward, distancing all with whom you started at school.
You have just been elected as member of Congress, and the people, wild
with enthusiasm, are shouting your name, and calling for a speech. (_JOE
gazes, as if spellbound, on the mirror._) Are you satisfied with the
glimpses of the future which I have given you?
J. (_with dignity befitting his future position, and, returning the
mirror to her_). Yes, my good woman, you have done very well.
MME. D. There are few persons to whom such a brilliant future opens.
Whenever the glass has mirrored such scenes as I have shown you, it loses
power ever after to delineate scenes in _common_ lives. I therefore
present it to you, that, when depressed by the trials of life, you may
gain courage by gazing at its magic surface. I will place it in a box, in
which it must always be kept. Otherwise, it will lose all its power.
(_Exit MME. D., R._)
J. (_pacing back and forth_). And this is to be the end of my career! No,
not the end, for I may yet become President. I wonder what Harry, Dick,
and Walter would say, if they knew what I do. They have always thought
I put on airs; but they will, some time, realize that it was only my
natural dignity, which could not fail to assert its superiority to the
common herd around me. (_Enter MME. D., with box, which she hands to
JOE._)
MME. D. Here is the precious mirror. (_J. takes it._) Handle it
carefully. When not in use, on no account leave it out of the box. It is
capable of producing other scenes in your life than those which I have
shown you. Whenever you wish to test it, you have but to wipe its surface
carefully, wave your hand over it three times, and it will produce your
image and surroundings more faithfully than they have yet been shown you.
J. Thank you, madame, for your great, your inestimable gift. I will guard
it sacredly, and, when I become famous and powerful, I will reward you as
you deserve.
(_Curtain falls._)
SCENE III.—_DICK’S room. JOE enters, R. He goes to table, C.,
and takes up book._
J. (_solus_). I thought I should find a dictionary _here_. Dick told me
this morning I was the most “stultiloquent orator” he ever listened to. I
never heard the word before, but it has quite a grand sound, and I mean
to use it the first chance I get, but I want to know its meaning. (_Turns
over the leaves, and finds between them a letter not yet folded._) Hallo,
what’s this? (_Takes up letter._) A letter to Tim Bellamy. How I’d _like_
to read it! But then it wouldn’t be just the thing. (_Glances towards
bottom of sheet._) What’s this? (_Reads._) “Now I tell you how we duped
Joe Sherman.” Why, that’s me. I must find out about that. (_Sits down
and reads._) “You know Joe is one of the most conceited boys in school.
Well, some of us fellows thought we’d have a little fun at his expense
through this failing. I heard, one evening, that a fortune-teller had
arrived at the hotel. You know I always had a weakness for having my
fortune told. So I went to see her, and finding her very pleasant and
obliging, I arranged with her to tell Joe’s fortune in a way that would
tickle his vanity. As I agreed to pay her for it, she was nothing loth
to do her part, and she did it well. Several of us fellows were in the
next room, and heard all that was said. She flattered him with glimpses
of the future which raised his opinion of himself so much that, since
then, he carries his head like a peer of the realm. By the way, these
glimpses of the future were had by looking into a seven-by-nine mirror,
which reflected pictures hung up behind Joe, and which we changed each
time he looked into it. We enjoyed, hugely, listening to the interview,
as I think we ought, for it took three of us several hours to draw the
three pictures. It was also quite a tax on the imagination, which had
to be stretched to the utmost to make Joe satisfied with his fortune.
But we were successful. I can’t help laughing when I think how carefully
he carried that little mirror home, promising to guard it sacredly. The
fortune-teller told him that when next he looked in it it would reflect
his image even more faithfully than it had yet done. I wonder what he
thought when he _did_ look in it and saw nothing but his own homely
countenance just as it was?” (_Puts back letter and closes the book._)
J. (_solus_). Well, that’s the meanest thing I ever knew Dick to do. I
wonder who were with him; Harry and Tom most likely. But Dick was the
ringleader. He always is. The idea of my being made such a laughing
stock! (_Paces back and forth._) It was the climax of meanness. But
I’ll turn the table on them. I guess Nat and I are capable of planning
something which will pay up old scores. We’ll have a consultation
to-night, for I want it done before Dick sends his letter, so he can not
only tell the story of his exploit, but also give the sequel. (_A noise
is heard, L._) Ah, somebody’s coming; I mustn’t be seen here.
(_Exit, R. Curtain falls._)
SCENE IV.—_Same as Scene II. The room is darkened. In the
background is placed a large screen, from behind which—whenever
they can escape observation—several boys peer out. Enter DICK,
R., with an open letter. He advances to R. C._
D. I don’t see who could have sent me this notice. The handwriting is
evidently that of a lady. Possibly it is that of Mme. Marie herself. But
the puzzle is, how she happened to send it to me. I suppose, though,
some one informed her that I liked to have my fortune told occasionally.
(_Reads._) “Madame Marie, the veiled prophetess of the East, respectfully
gives notice that she has taken up her residence at Number 27 Osborne
Street, where she will remain for seven days only, during which time
she is willing to unfold the future of those who may wish to become
acquainted with its secrets. Madame Marie will disclose the mysteries of
the past, as well as the hidden events of the future. As her stay is
of limited duration, those wishing to consult her will do well to call
at once.” (_Places note in his pocket and paces back and forth with his
hands clasped behind him._) I received this note only an hour ago, and
hastened to call upon her. But although I have been here full fifteen
minutes, I have as yet seen no one. Where _is_ Madame Marie? (_Enter MME.
MARIE, L., shrouded with a black veil._)
MME. MARIE (_in measured tones._) She is here. What would you have? Shall
I tell you the past, or only the future?
D. I would hear something of the past as well as of the future, if you
please, madam.
MME. M. That is well. I will consult the oracles, and give you their
testimony. (_A pause. DICK looks expectant._) Ah, yes, the events of
our past life come crowding up before me. I see that you are credulous,
impulsive, and somewhat superstitious.
D. Credulous and superstitious! Oh, no.
MME. M. (_waving her hand_). Silence. It is not meet that you interrupt
the disclosures of the oracles. Superstition signifies a fondness for the
unknown and mysterious; therefore you are superstitious. You are also
credulous; for did you not believe the revelations of Madame Devineresse,
who came here a short time ago, and who is an arrant impostor? You were
the means of bringing to her a young man who wished to look into the
magic mirror.
D. (_smiling at the recollection_). Yes, and he went away with higher
aspirations, and a feeling of inward pleasure which cannot be described.
I think praise rather than blame is due me for this deed.
MME. M. I need not tell you of the deception which you practised on
him. Even now circumstances are at work which will bring to you direful
consequences on account of that deed.
D. (_somewhat troubled_). What do you mean? Has he discovered the trick?
MME. M. (_without heeding him_). I see the young man standing before a
tall, stern-looking person. The young man is talking earnestly, but I
cannot hear his words. The tall man listens attentively, and soon the
young man goes out. The tall man seems angry. Hark! he speaks: “So this
is the way the boys spend the hours they should be employed in study. No
wonder recitations are poor. But it is fortunate that I have discovered
the cause in such good time. I will make an example of this case, and
will inflict on the chief offender such a severe punishment that it will
strike terror into the hearts of the remainder of the school. What shall
it be? Ha! I have it. John, bring me a strong rope, and a couple of good
willow switches. Then call together the scholars.”
D. (_in a fever of excitement_). Is there no way of avoiding this
punishment?
MME. M. (_unheeding him_). I see the scholars crowding into the room, but
there is one of them who cannot be found. No one knows where he is gone.
Now a note is handed to the tall man. He nods approvingly, and tells all
the scholars to follow him. Ha, they come this way! They are at the door!
They enter! (_She starts back, and the boys from behind the screen come
noisily forward. They surround MADAME M. DICK is in a state of great
excitement._)
NAT. Hooray for the great fortune-teller, Madame Marie! (_Pulls off her
veil and cloak, disclosing the features and figure of JOE SHERMAN._)
J. (_comes forward smiling_). Is your fortune satisfactory, Dick?
D. (_confused_). I don’t know. Let me see. (_Recovering himself._) Yes,
very much so. It’s turned out far different from what I expected, a
moment ago. I anticipated a more tragic and _striking_ close. (_Comes
forward, and takes JOE’S hand._) We’re quits now, Joe. I give you credit
for turning the tables on me completely. But henceforth I shall keep
clear of fortune-tellers. They are great humbugs, as I have had ample
opportunity to know. Besides, it would be far more sensible for us boys
to plan our future ourselves, and then try to live up to it, than to
listen to the idle talk of those who care for nothing but the money of
their victims. Now, Joe, I challenge you to enter the list with me, to
gain the prize offered for the greatest number of perfect recitations
during this term. What do you say?
J. I’ll do it, Dick. I’ll _try_ for the prize, anyway.
D. That’s it, old fellow. And whichever is successful, the progress we
have made will stimulate us to strive for still higher honors. And who
knows but we may yet gain as great distinction as was pictured to you by
Madame Devineresse, in the Magic Mirror?
(_Curtain falls._)