Yardsley. Never mind what you want, Jack. We haven’t time for any more talking. It’ll take us an hour and a half, and we’ve got to hustle. All off stage now except Mrs. Perkins. (All go out; Yardsley rings bell.) Hi, Perkins, that’s your cue!

Perkins. What for?

Yardsley. Oh, hang it!—raise the curtain, will you?

Perkins. With pleasure. As I understand this thing, one bell signifies raise curtain when curtain’s down; drop curtain when curtain is up.

Yardsley. Exactly. You know your part, anyhow. If you remember not to monkey with the curtain except when the bell rings, and then change its condition, no matter what it may be, you can’t go wrong. Now begin. (Bell. Perkins raises curtain.) Now, of course, I’m not supposed to be on the stage, but I’ll stay here and prompt you. Enter Lady Ellen. Come along, Mrs. Perkins. Please begin.

Mrs. Perkins. I thought we’d decided that I was to be sitting here when the curtain went up?

Yardsley. So we did. I’d forgotten that.—We’ll begin all over again. Perkins, drop that curtain. Perkins!

Perkins. What?

Yardsley. Drop the curtain.

Perkins. Where’s the bell? I didn’t hear any bell ring.

Yardsley. Oh, never mind the bell! Let her down.

Perkins. I beg your pardon, but I positively refuse. I believe in doing things right. I’m not going to monkey. Ring that bell, and down she comes; otherwise—

Yardsley. Tut! You are very tiresome this afternoon, Thaddeus. Mrs. Perkins, we’ll go ahead without dropping the curtain. Now take your place.

[Mrs. Perkins seats herself by table, picks up a book, and begins to read.

Mrs. Perkins (after an interval, throwing book down with a sigh). Heigho! I cannot seem to concentrate my mind upon anything to-night. I wonder why it is that once a woman gives her heart into another’s keeping—[Bell rings. Perkins lets curtain drop.

Yardsley. What the deuce did you drop that curtain for, Thaddeus?

Perkins. The bell rang, didn’t it?

Yardsley. Yes, you idiot, but that’s supposed to be the front-door bell. Lady Amaranth is about to arrive—

Perkins. Well, how was I to know? Your instructions to me were positive. Don’t monkey with curtain till bell rings. When bell rings, if down, pull her up; if up, pull her down. I’m not a connoisseur on bells—

Yardsley. You might pay some attention to the play.

Perkins. Now look here, Bob. I don’t want to quarrel with you, but it seems to me that I’ve got enough to do without paying attention to your part of the show. What am I? First place, host; second place, head usher; third place, curtain-manager; fourth place, fire department; fifth place, Bess says if children holler, go up and see what’s the matter other words, nurse—and on top of this you say keep an eye on the play. You must think I’ve as many eyes as a President’s message.

Mrs. Perkins. Oh dear, Teddy! do behave. It’s simple enough—

Perkins. Simple enough? Well, I like that. How am I to tell one bell from another if—

Yardsley (dryly). I suppose if the clock strikes ten you’ll seesaw the curtain up and down ten times, once for each stroke—eh?

Bradley (poking his head in at the door). What’s the matter in here? Emma’s been waiting for her cue like a hundred-yards runner before the pistol.

Perkins. Oh, it’s the usual trouble with Yardsley. He wants me to chaperon the universe.

Yardsley. It’s the usual row with you. You never want to do anything straight. You seem to think that curtain’s an elevator, and you’re the boy—yanking it up and down at your pleasure, and—

Mrs. Perkins. Oh, please don’t quarrel! Can’t you see, Ted, it’s growing late? We’ll never have the play rehearsed, and it’s barely three hours now before the audience will arrive.

Perkins. Very well—I’ll give in—only I think you ought to have different bells—

Yardsley. I’ll have a trolley-car gong for you, if it’ll only make you do the work properly. Have you got a bicycle bell?

Mrs. Perkins. Yes; that will do nicely for the curtain, and the desk push-button bell will do for the front-door bell. Have you got that in your mind, Teddy dear?

Perkins. I feel as if I had the whole bicycle in my mind. I can feel the wheels. Bike for curtain, push for front door. That’s all right. I wouldn’t mind pushing for the front door myself. All ready? All right. In the absence of the bicycle bell, I’ll be its under-study for once. B-r-r-r-r-r-r-r! [Raises curtain.

Yardsley. Now, Mrs. Perkins, begin with “I wonder why—”

Mrs. Perkins (rehearsing). I wonder why it is that once a woman gives her heart into another’s keeping—(Bell.) Ah, the bell. It must be he at last. He is late this evening.

Enter Miss Andrews as maid, with card on tray.

Miss Andrews. Lady Amaranth, me luddy.

Yardsley. Lydy, Miss Andrews, lydy—not luddy.

Miss Andrews. Lydy Amaranth, me lady.

Yardsley. And please be consistent with your dialect. If it’s Lydy Amaranth, it’s Lydy Ellen.

Miss Andrews. Lydy Amaranth, me lydy.

Mrs. Perkins. What? Lydy Amaranth? She?

Yardsley. Oh dear! Excuse me, Mrs. Perkins, but you are not the maid, and cockney isn’t required of you. You must not say lydy. Lady is—

Mrs. Perkins (resignedly). What? Lady Amaranth? She? What can she want? Show her up. [Exit Miss Andrews.

Perkins. That’s a first-class expression for an adventuress. Show her up! Gad! She ought to be shown up.

Mrs. Perkins. What can she want?

Enter Mrs. Bradley.

Mrs. Bradley. Ah, my dear Lady Ellen! What delight to find you at home! (Aside.) He is not here, and yet I could have sworn—

Mrs. Perkins. To what am I to attribute this pleasure, Lady Amaranth? I do not presume to think that you have come here without some other motive than that of a mere desire to see me. I do not suppose that even you pretend that since the contretemps of Tuesday night at the Duchess of Barncastle’s our former feeling—

Mrs. Bradley. Ellen, I have come to tell you something. To save you from a vile conspiracy.

Mrs. Perkins. I am quite well able, Lady Amaranth, to manage my own affairs—

Mrs. Bradley. But you do not know. You love Lord Muddleton—

Mrs. Perkins (toying with her fan). Oh! Indeed! And who, pray, has taken you into my confidence? I was not aware—

Mrs. Bradley. Hear me, Ellen—

Mrs. Perkins. Excuse me, Lady Amaranth! but you have forgotten that it is only to my friends that I am known as—

Mrs. Bradley. Then Lady Ellen, if it must be so. I know what you do not—that Henry Cobb is an escaped convent—

Yardsley. Convict, not convent.

Mrs. Bradley. Is an escaped convict, and—

Mrs. Perkins. I am not interested in Henry Cobb.

Mrs. Bradley. But he is in you, Ellen Abercrombie. He is in you, and with the aid of Fenderson Featherhead—

[Bell. Perkins lets curtain drop half-way, but remembers in time, and pulls it up again.

Perkins. Beg pardon. String slipped.

Mrs. Bradley. Too late. Oh, if he had only waited!

Enter Miss Andrews.

Miss Andrews. Mr. Featherhead, Leddy Eilen.

Yardsley. Ellen, Ellen; and lydy, not leddy.

Mrs. Bradley. Hear me first, I beg.

Mrs. Perkins. Show him in, Mary. Lady Amaranth, as you see, I am engaged. I really must be excused. Good-night.

Mrs. Bradley (aside). Foiled! Muddleton will be exposed. Ah, if I could only have broken the force of the blow! (Aloud.) Lady Ellen, I will speak. Fenderson Featherhead—

Enter Bradley and Barlow together. Both. Is here, Lady Amaranth.

[Each tries to motion the other off the stage.

Yardsley. What the deuce does this mean? What do you think this play is—an Uncle Tom combination with two Topsys?

Barlow. I told him to keep out, but he said that Fenderson Featherhead was his cue.

Bradley (indignantly). Well, so it is; there’s the book.

Yardsley. Oh, nonsense, Brad! Don’t be idiotic. The book doesn’t say anything of the sort.

Bradley. But I say it does. If you—

Barlow. It’s all rot for you to behave like this, Bradley.

Perkins. Isn’t it time something happened to the curtain? The audience will get panicky if they witness any such lack of harmony as this. I will draw a veil over the painful scene. B-r-r-r-r. (Drops curtain.) B-r-r-r-r.

[Raises it again.

Yardsley. We won’t dispute the matter, Bradley. You are wrong, and that’s all there is about it. Now do get off the stage and let us go ahead. Perkins, for Heaven’s sake, give that curtain a rest, will you?

Perkins. I was only having a dress-rehearsal on my own account, Bob. Bike bell, curtain. Push bell, front door. Trolley gong, nothing—

Bradley. Well, if you fellows won’t—

Yardsley (taking him by the arm and walking him to side of stage). Never mind, Brad; you’ve made a mistake, that’s all. We all make mistakes at times. Get off, like a good fellow. You don’t come on for ten minutes yet. (Exit Bradley, scratching his head in puzzled meditation.) Go ahead now, Barlow.

Mrs. Bradley. But, Mr. Yardsley, Edward has—

Yardsley. We’ll begin with your cue.

Mrs. Bradley. Fenderson Featherhead—

Barlow. Is here, Lady Amaranth.

Mrs. Bradley. But—

Yardsley. No, no! Your word isn’t “but,” Mrs. Bradley. It’s (consulting book)—it’s: “Insolent! You will cross my path once too often, and then—

Enter Bradley.

Mrs. Bradley. I know that, but I don’t say that to him!

Bradley. Of course not. She says it to me.

Barlow. Well, of all the stupidity—

Perkins. Another unseemly fracas. Another veil. B-r-r-r-r. (Drops curtain.) There may be a hitch in the play, but there won’t be in this curtain. I tell you that right now. B-r-r-r-r.

[Raises curtain.

Mrs. Perkins. Well, I don’t pretend to understand the difficulty. She certainly does say that to Featherhead.

Barlow. Of course!—it’s right there in the book.

Bradley. That’s exactly what I say. It’s in the book; but you would come on.

Barlow. Well, why shouldn’t I?

Enter Miss Andrews.

Miss Andrews. What seems to be the trouble?

Perkins. I give it up. Collision somewhere up the road.

Yardsley (turning over the leaves of the play-book). Oh, I see the trouble—it’s all right. Bradley is mixed up a little, that’s all. “Fenderson Featherhead” is his cue—but it comes later, Brad.

Bradley. Later? Well (glances in book)—no—it comes now,

Barlow. Are you blind? Can you read? See there! [Points into book.

Yardsley. No—you keep still, Jack. I’ll fix it. See here, Bradley. This is the place you are thinking of. When Cobb says to Lady Ellen “Fenderson Featherhead,” you enter the room, and in a nervous aside you mutter: “What, he! Does he again dare to cross my path?” That’s the way of it.

Barlow. Certainly—that’s it, Brad. Now get off, and let me go on, will you?

Mrs. Perkins. I’m sure it’s a perfectly natural error, Mr. Bradley.

Mrs. Bradley. But he’s right, my dear Bess. The others are wrong. Edward doesn’t—

Bradley. I don’t care anything about it, but I’m sure I don’t know what else to do. If I am to play Fenderson—

Barlow (in amazement). You?

Yardsley (aghast). Fenderson? By all that is lovely, what part have you learned?

Bradley. The one you told me to learn in your message—Featherhead, of course.

Barlow. But that’s my part!

Mrs. Perkins. Of course it is, Mr. Bradley. Mr. Barlow is to be—

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.

Perkins. I tell you—

Mrs. Perkins. Just this once, Teddy—please—for me.

Yardsley. You owe it to your position, Perkins. You are the only man here that knows anything about anything. You’ve frequently said so. You were doing it all, anyhow, you know—and you’re host—the audience are your guests—and you’re so clever and—

Perkins. But—

Enter Jennie.

Jennie. Dinner is served, ma’am. [Exit.

Yardsley. Good! Perk, I’ll be your under-study at dinner, while you are studying up. Ladies and gentlemen, kindly imagine that I am host, that Perkins does not exist. Come along, Mrs. Bradley. Miss Andrews, will you take my other arm? I’ll escort Lady Amaranth and the maid out. We’ll leave the two Featherheads to fight it out for the Lady Ellen. By-by, Thaddeus; don’t shirk. I’ll come in after the salade course and hear you, and if you don’t know your lesson I’ll send you to bed without your supper.

[All go out, leaving Perkins alone.

Perkins (forcing a laugh). Ha! ha! ha! Good joke, confound your eyes! Humph! very well. I’ll do it. Whole thing, eh? Curtain, babies, audience, host. All right, my noble Thespians, wait! (Shakes fist at the door.) I will do the whole thing. Wait till they ring you up, O curtain! Up you will go, but then—then will I come forth and read that book from start to finish, and if any one of ’em ventures to interfere I’ll drop thee on their most treasured lines. They little dream how much they are in the power of you and me!

Enter Jennie.

Jennie. Mrs. Perkins says aren’t you coming to dinner, sir; and Mr. Yardsley says the soup is getting cold, sir.

Perkins. In a minute, Jennie. Tell Mrs. Perkins that I am just learning the last ten lines of the third act; and as for Mr. Yardsley, kindly insinuate to him that he’ll find the soup quite hot enough at 8.30.

[Exit Jennie. Perkins sits down, and, taking up two books of the play, one in each hand, begins to read.

[CURTAIN]