The Torch-Bearers: A Satirical Comedy in Three Acts

by George Kelly

THE TORCH-BEARERS—ACT II.

NOTE:

The setting for this act consists simply of three wings set in the middle of the stage about four feet from the footlights, and parallel to the footlights, the wing in the middle, a plain one, and the one on either side of it, a door-wing. These doors open toward the footlights, and the one on the right is hinged to the right, and the one on the left, to the left. From these door-wings, regular plain wings oblique off to the back wall; and the whole thing is lashed and stage-screwed after the fashion of regulation stage-setting. As the doors in the back flat open, there can be had a glimpse of footlights, and just beyond them, a neutral drop, in grayish black, to represent an auditorium. Between the back flat and the stage footlights, (as distinguished from the regular footlights) the miniature stage is set to represent the interior of a doctor’s waiting-room. Through the door at the right can be seen a desk and revolving chair, and a couple of plain chairs against the wall; and through the left door, a table, littered with magazines, a cabinet, a revolving bookcase and two more chairs. There is a bright rug on the floor. Between the back flat and the regular footlights, over toward the left, there is a stage-screw sticking right up out of the floor; and between the two doors there is a plain chair with its back against the flat. Over the door on the right, there is a row of six electric bulbs with a cord and button depending from it; and further right, half-way back, there is a wood-wing, set as though it were the exterior backing for a window in the miniature set. Over at the left, away back, fastened about head-high against the back wall, there is a small switchboard-arrangement. Just below this there is an old chair, without a back, with a newspaper lying upon it.

THE TORCH-BEARERS—ACT II.

A waltz is being played somewhere off at the right. Florence and Mrs. Ritter are standing in the middle of the stage, facing the flats, talking. Florence is wearing a fawn-colored, one-piece coat-dress, buttoned high at the throat, military fashion, and a toque made of wine-colored velvet leaves. She wears fawn-colored slippers and stockings, and carries a fitch muff. Mrs. Ritter is wearing a very rich-looking coat-suit in blue serge, trimmed at the collar and cuffs with white monkey-fur. Her hat is dark-blue felt, quite large, with a bird of paradise set at a decidedly rakish tilt. Her slippers and stockings are black, and she carries an umbrella. Over at the extreme left, and forward, Mrs. Fell is hearing Mr. Twiller read his lines from the manuscript. Mrs. Fell is gowned in a brilliant creation of silver-cloth trimmed with sea-green satin. There are numerous strings of crystal beads hanging in the front from the waist to the bottom of the skirt, and she has a spreading poinsetta in scarlet velvet fastened at her waist. There is a long, fish-tail train to the gown, lined with the green satin, and she has a heavy rope of pearls and sea-green beads around her neck, from which her lorgnon depends. There are diamonds in her hair, diamonds galore upon her arms and hands, and she’s wearing her diamond dog-collar. Her slippers and stockings are of pale green. Mr. Twiller has on a double-breasted blue-serge suit, a black derby, black shoes and fawn-colored spats, and a perfectly villainous-looking black mustache, absurdly large, and obviously artificial. He stands leaning upon a cane, reciting his lines to Mrs. Fell. Mr. Spindler, in a dinner-suit, is trying desperately to unfasten the stage-screw from the floor at the left, while Mr. Hossefrosse, wearing a light business-suit, a light, soft hat, tan shoes and spats, and carrying a cane and gloves, is pacing back and forth between the left door and the extreme left, reciting his lines to himself. He is atrociously made up, with the carmine smeared heavily on his cheek-bones. The stage manager, in a tan jumper and army shirt, dirty white running-pumps, a battered old cap adorned with many tobacco-tags, and carrying a hammer, wanders on from the right and crosses the stage, passing below Florence and Mrs. Ritter, who turn and look at him curiously, and continues on up at the left to the switch-board, where he picks up the newspaper from the broken chair, and, after lighting his pipe, sits down to read. He is apparently disgusted with the world and utterly oblivious of his surroundings. The waltz-music stops, and Mr. Hossefrosse comes to a halt in his pacing, right outside the left door. It is instantly flung open, knocking him toward the left, and disarranging his hat, and Mrs. Pampinelli sweeps out—in a princess-gown of ruby-colored velvet, with a long train, and heavily trimmed about the upper part of the bodice with ornaments of ruby-colored beads. Her shoulders and arms are bare, and she has a small string of rubies about her throat;—a bracelet and several rings of rubies; as well as a high Spanish comb studded with rubies. Her slippers are of black velvet. Mrs. Ritter gives a little cry as Mr. Hossefrosse is struck by the door.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Holding the door ajar] Oh, did I hit you, Mr. Hossefrosse! I’m so sorry.

Hossefrosse. [Settling his hat] That’s all right.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [To the ladies] The setting looks splendid, girls! [Crossing quickly below Hossefrosse towards the left] Will you come here for a moment, Mr. Spindler?

Mrs. Ritter. [Turning away to the right] I don’t want to see it till I go on.

Florence. [As Hossefrosse comes towards her] You’d better keep away from that door, Mr. Hossefrosse. [She and Mrs. Ritter laugh.]

Hossefrosse and Mrs. Pampinelli, together.

Hossefrosse. Yes, I think I had.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Up at the left, addressing the stage manager] Are you ready, Mr. Stage Manager? [He continues to read.]

Hossefrosse and Mrs. Pampinelli, together.

Hossefrosse. [Brushing his clothes] I don’t think a whisk-broom’d be out of place on this stage, either.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Turning to Spindler, who is still occupied with the stage-screw] Mr. Spindler, will you come here, please? [Turning back to the stage manager] Mr. Stage Manager! [Spindler goes towards her, and Hossefrosse goes through the left door.]

Stage Manager. [Looking up from his paper, very peevishly] Yes?

Mrs. Pampinelli. Are you all ready?

Stage Manager and Twiller, together.

Stage Manager. Yes, sure, I’m all ready. [He resumes his newspaper.]

Twiller. [Turning sharply to Spindler, who has stopped on his way to Mrs. Pampinelli to call Mrs. Fell’s attention to the stage-screw, and to warn her to be careful of it] Oh, go away! Can’t you see we’re busy.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Mr. Spindler!

Spindler. [Stepping briskly to her side] Yes, mam?

Mrs. Pampinelli. Come here, please. [Turning to the stage manager] Mr. Stage Manager—[He looks up.] This young man will give you the cue for the curtain, in case I am not here.

Stage Manager. All right. [He resumes his newspaper.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Turning and coming forward again, holding her skirt up off the floor] You stand right here, Mr. Spindler, and I’ll give you the signal when I’m ready.

Spindler. All right.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Hurrying towards the left door] Now, is everybody all right?

Florence. Yes.

Mrs. Ritter. I think so.

Mrs. Pampinelli. How are you, Paula?

Mrs. Ritter. [Giggling] All right.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Where’s Mr. Hossefrosse? [She glances frantically about.]

Florence and Mrs. Ritter, together.

Florence. He’s just stepped on the stage.

Mrs. Ritter. He was here a minute ago.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Mr. Hossefrosse, where are you! [She opens the left door.]

Mrs. Ritter. [Calling] Mr. Hossefrosse! [He opens the right door and comes out.]

Hossefrosse. Yes?

Teddy and Mrs. Pampinelli, together.

Teddy. [Sitting at the desk over at the right, in the miniature set beyond the flats, to Mrs. Pampinelli, as she comes through the left door] There he is.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [To Teddy, as she steps into the miniature set, through the left door] Where’s Mr. Hossefrosse?

Florence and Mrs. Ritter, together.

Florence. [To Hossefrosse] Mrs. Pampinelli’s looking for you.

Mrs. Ritter. [Calling] Here he is, Mrs. Pampinelli! [Hossefrosse steps quickly to the left door and starts in, just as Mrs. Pampinelli comes out through the right door. Florence steps over to the left door and catches Hossefrosse by the arm, and pulls him back.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Coming through the right door] Where is he?

Mrs. Ritter. [Pointing to Hossefrosse] There he is! [She laughs.]

Florence. [Drawing Hossefrosse back] Mrs. Pampinelli wants you!

Hossefrosse. [To Mrs. Pampinelli] I beg your pardon.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Oh, Mr. Hossefrosse!

Hossefrosse. [Crossing to the right towards her] Yes?

Mrs. Pampinelli. Are you all right?

Hossefrosse. I think so, yes.

Mrs. Pampinelli. How is your make-up?

Hossefrosse. All right, I think.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Indicating the right door] Would you stand here for a moment under this light until I see it?

Hossefrosse. Certainly. [He goes to the right door and stands with his back against it. The light from the row of electric bulbs over the door shines down on his face. Mrs. Pampinelli stands off to his right, surveying his make-up critically.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Very good.

Hossefrosse. Not too much red?

Mrs. Pampinelli. No, I shouldn’t say so.

Hossefrosse. [Indicating his right cheek] Up here, I mean.

Mrs. Pampinelli. No, I think the contour of your face requires it. It heightens the expression. [She starts across towards the left.] It’s very good. [Hossefrosse comes over and chats with the ladies about his make-up.] Mr. Twiller! [Twiller turns from Mrs. Fell.]

Twiller. Yes? [Turning back to Mrs. Fell] Excuse me, Nelly.

Mrs. Fell. Certainly.

Mrs. Pampinelli. How is your mustache?

Twiller. [Touching it gingerly] All right, I think.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Is it quite secure?

Twiller. I think so. [Mrs. Ritter, Florence and Hossefrosse turn and look.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Stepping back a step from him and looking at the mustache, with her head tilted a bit to the left side] You’ve made it a little smaller, haven’t you?

Twiller. [Touching the left side of his mustache] I cut it down a bit on this side.

Mrs. Pampinelli. I thought you had.

Twiller. I was a little conscious of it.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Well,—I don’t know but that it’s better for the characterization.

Twiller. And how are my eyes? [He turns and looks out and away off, widening his eyes as though he were having his picture taken.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [After looking keenly at his eyes for a second] Very effective. [She turns quickly away towards the right, and Twiller turns back to his left to Mrs. Fell.] Now, is everybody ready? [They all smile and nod.] Your gloves and cane, Mr. Hossefrosse?

Hossefrosse. [Crossing above Florence and Mrs. Ritter towards Mrs. Pampinelli, extending his cane and gloves] Yes.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Turning towards Mrs. Fell] Places, Nelly! Get ready, Mr. Spindler!

Spindler. I’m all ready. [Mrs. Fell closes the manuscript, excuses herself to Twiller, and crosses, above him, towards the right. He goes back at the left and says something to Spindler, then comes forward again.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Calling through the left door] Are you all right, Teddy?

Teddy. [Beyond the flats, over at the right] All right. [As Mrs. Fell passes above Florence and Mrs. Ritter, on her way over to the right, she whispers something to them which causes a general laugh:—then she continues on over to the door at the right and takes up her official position, as promptress.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Turning and addressing them generally] Now, is everybody all right? [They all nod.] You both all right, girls? [Mrs. Ritter nods.]

Florence. All right.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Turning around to the left to Mr. Spindler, and with an authoritative gesture] All right, then—take up the curtain!

Spindler. [Waving his hand to the stage manager] All right, Stage Manager!

Stage Manager. [Getting up, very reluctantly] Are you ready?

Mrs. Pampinelli and Spindler, together.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Yes, all ready.

Spindler. Let her go!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [With a kind of ceremonious flourish of the hand] Take up the curtain! [The stage manager tosses his newspaper onto the chair and steps out of sight, to the left. There is an anxious pause. Then Mrs. Pampinelli starts violently and grabs the knob of the left door.] Oh, wait one moment! [Spindler rushes back at the left, whistling.]

Florence, Mrs. Ritter, Twiller and Hossefrosse, together, [as Mrs. Pampinelli pulls open the left door.]

Florence. Wait a minute!

Mrs. Ritter. Oh, wait!

Twiller. Hold it!

Hossefrosse. [Grabbing the door and holding it open] Not yet!

Mrs. Ritter. [Calling to the stage manager] Just a minute!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Going in through the left door] One moment, please! [She vanishes to the right, and there is a slight pause, during which the curtain, which had been raised four feet, can be seen through the door to descend again. They all exchange looks of distress and amused annoyance. Then Mrs. Pampinelli hurries out through the door again.] All right!

Spindler. [Who has come forward at the left] Is it all right? [Hossefrosse releases the door and it closes.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Yes, it’s all right. [Spindler goes towards the back at the left and she follows him half-way.]

Spindler. All right, Mr. Stage Manager!

Stage Manager. [Off at the left] Are you ready?

Mrs. Pampinelli and Spindler, together.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Yes, all ready, Mr. Stage Manager!

Spindler. Let her go!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Turning and coming forward at the left] Take it up! [She stands just to the left of the left door, peering through the flats. Spindler is farther back at the left, peering, also; and Mrs. Fell is over at the right door, peering. There is a pause. Mr. Hossefrosse takes up his position outside the left door, preparatory to making his entrance. He settles his clothes generally, and clears his throat.] The curtain is going up, Mr. Hossefrosse, go on.

Hossefrosse. Is it up?

Mrs. Pampinelli. Yes, yes, go on! [He opens the door, rather magnificently, and swings in. There is a ripple of applause, and the door closes after him; and they all try to find a crevice between the flats that will afford a glimpse of the stage beyond. The stage manager appears from the left carrying a regulation door-slam, which he brings forward and drops, with a bang, just to the left of the left door. They all turn and look at him, in resentful astonishment, but he simply gives them a look of infinite disdain and returns to his chair at the back to read.]

Hossefrosse. [Beyond the flats] Anybody here, David?

Teddy. [Beyond the flats, over toward the right] No, sir.

Hossefrosse. [Beyond the flats, moving towards the right] No telephones?

Teddy. No, sir.

Hossefrosse. [Coming through the right door, without his hat] Nothing at all, eh? [Mrs. Ritter is standing right in front of the door.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Get away from the door, Paula! [Paula jumps to the left. Mrs. Fell takes advantage of the crevice caused by the door being open, to try to see the audience.]

Teddy. [Who can be seen through the open door standing at the desk] No, sir.

Hossefrosse. [Leaning over and laying his cane and gloves on the chair between the doors] All right, sir. [The door begins to swing to behind him.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Keep that door open, Mr. Hossefrosse! [Spindler comes forward at the left to see what’s the matter. Hossefrosse thrusts his foot back and kicks the door open.]

Hossefrosse. And I think that will do very nicely for this day. [The door begins slowly to swing to again.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. There it goes again, Mr. Hossefrosse!

Hossefrosse. It won’t stay open! [Mrs. Fell looks around the door.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Take hold of that door, Nelly! [Nelly puts one foot around it, and stands looking at her manuscript. Spindler goes back at the left and looks through the wings again, at the stage.]

Hossefrosse. [In a frantic whisper] Telephone!

Mrs. Fell. Telephone, somebody!

Hossefrosse. Good Lord!

Florence. Mr. Spindler, telephone! [Spindler rushes forward at the left.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Where is he?

Spindler. What?

Florence. The telephone-bell!

Mrs. Pampinelli. Where’s your bell?

Spindler. [Pulling the battery-arrangement out of his pocket] Has the cue been given?

Teddy. [Picking up the telephone on the desk beyond the flats] Hello?

Mrs. Pampinelli. Ring it! Of course it’s been given! [He rings the bell, and Hossefrosse steps through the right door and watches Teddy anxiously.]

Spindler. I didn’t hear it!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Annihilating him with a look, and starting over towards the right door] Well, why aren’t you over here when your cue’s given and then you would hear it! [Spindler trails over after her.]

Hossefrosse. [Over his shoulder, to Mrs. Pampinelli] Shush!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Turning sharply back towards the left, and directly to Spindler, who is right behind her] Shush! [She passes below him and continues towards the left.] Keep away from that door, they’ll see you! [In attempting to keep out of the way of the door, Spindler turns sharply and trips over the screw of a stage-brace, falling his length across the open door. Mrs. Ritter gives a little scream, and Mrs. Pampinelli whirls round and glares at him. He scrambles to his feet, and Mrs. Ritter giggles and pulls him to the left, away from the door.]

Hossefrosse. [Standing in the open door, addressing Teddy] Mrs. A.? [Teddy nods, and Hossefrosse pretends to pick up an imaginary telephone from a desk just to the left of the right door.] Yes? All right. [He pretends to hang up and set the telephone down on the desk again.] You can clear out of here now, David, any time you like,—Mrs. Arlington is on her way up.

Teddy. [Rising, and settling the various papers on the desk] All right.

Mrs. Ritter. [Helping Mr. Spindler to brush off his clothes] Did you hurt yourself, Mr. Spindler? [Mrs. Pampinelli tries to attract Spindler’s attention to the door-slam.]

Spindler. No. [He hurries over to the door-slam at the left and picks it up.]

Hossefrosse. I’ll let you off early Monday. [Florence stands anxiously outside the left door.]

Teddy. Oh, that’s all right.

Hossefrosse. And don’t forget to leave that list with the Robinson people on your way down Monday.

Teddy. No, sir, I won’t; I have it right here in me pocket. [Florence puts her lips against the left door and coughs hard. Then she shuffles her feet; so does Spindler. Hossefrosse steps through the right door and looks over toward the left door.]

Hossefrosse. [Addressing Teddy, in a subdued tone] Is that someone coming?

Teddy. [Looking toward the left door] I think so. [There is a slight pause, then Mrs. Pampinelli makes a decisive movement to Spindler and he brings the door-slam down with a thunderous bang. Mrs. Pampinelli starts violently.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. That’s too loud, Mr. Spindler!

Spindler. There’s too much wood in it! [He starts across to the right.]

Hossefrosse. [Stepping down to Teddy’s desk and picking up his hat] That can’t be Mrs. Arlington already. I won’t see anyone else. [He starts back towards the door.] Tell them I’ve gone; and don’t let anybody wait. [He takes hold of the door as he steps through.] Say you’re just locking up the office. [He comes through the door and tries to close it, but Nelly’s foot is still around it, and she is lost in the manuscript. He pulls at the door, but she is oblivious.]

Mrs. Ritter. Nelly! [Spindler gives a little whistle to attract her attention.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Let go of the door, Nelly!

Mrs. Fell. [Jumping out of the way, to the right] Oh, I beg your pardon! [Hossefrosse scowls at her and closes the door. Spindler jumps to the door and turns a key, which he has in his hand, in the lock, then touches the button at the end of the cord, extinguishing the row of lights over the door, then rushes back towards the left door. Mrs. Ritter is right in his way as he rushes back, and they dodge each other twice before Mr. Spindler can get past. When he reaches the left door, he raps violently, Mrs. Pampinelli directing his activities with little nervous gestures. There is a pause: then the left door is opened by Teddy. Mrs. Ritter is right in front of it.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Standing to the left of the door] Get out of the way, Paula! [Mrs. Ritter jumps out of the way, to the right, then looks back at Mrs. Pampinelli and giggles, but Mrs. Pampinelli puts her finger on her lips.]

Florence. [Passing through the left door] Good evening, son.

Teddy. [Reaching out and closing the door] Good evening. [There is prolonged applause from beyond the flats, and everybody, having seen Florence safely through the door, rushes to his favorite crevice between the wings, or rip in the scenery, to see how she is being received by the audience.]

Florence. [Beyond the flats] Isn’t the Doctor in?

Teddy. No, mam, he ain’t; he went about six o’clock.

Florence. That’s unfortunate, I wanted to see him. [Hossefrosse turns away from the right door, where he’s been peeking, and mops his brow: then he turns and puts his hat down on the chair.]

Spindler. [Stepping towards him from the left door] How do you feel?

Hossefrosse. All right; but that door and that telephone got me kind of rattled.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Looking over from the extreme left of the back flat, where she has been peeking] Shush, boys! [Hossefrosse turns away and tiptoes towards the right, and the others resume their peeking.]

Mrs. Fell. [Turning to Hossefrosse, as he passes below her] What’s the matter, Huxley, did something go wrong? [Mrs. Pampinelli looks over again to see who’s talking.]

Hossefrosse. [Indicating the right door] That door kind of got me rattled for a minute.

Mrs. Fell. I don’t think the audience noticed it.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Shush! [Nelly consults her manuscript, listening at the same time to the dialogue beyond the flats, and Mr. Hossefrosse continues to the extreme right and forward, trying to make the squeak of his new shoes as inaudible as possible. Mrs. Pampinelli puts her ear to the flat and listens keenly.]

Teddy. [Faintly, beyond the flats] Why, he always asts me to wait whenever he’s expectin’ his wife downtown. [Spindler suddenly turns from the wing where he has been peeking, and, breaking into quite a jaunty little whistle, starts across towards the left; but Mrs. Pampinelli turns abruptly and glares him into silence. He clasps his hand over his mouth and apologizes with an obsequious little gesture.]

Florence. [Beyond the flats] I see. And he was expecting her this evening?

Teddy. Yes, mam.

Florence. Do you know her? [Spindler trips and almost falls over the stage-screw in the floor at the left. Twiller, who has been standing down at the extreme left, makes an impatient move and goes up towards the back.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Oh, Mr. Spindler, for Pity’s sake do keep still for one moment!

Spindler. [Squatting down and attempting to remove the screw] We’d better get this thing out of here, before somebody gets hurt.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Now, don’t take that out of there, Mr. Spindler! You might loosen the scenery.

Spindler. This isn’t connected with the scenery.

Mrs. Pampinelli. You don’t know whether it is or not! Leave it where it is.

Spindler. [Getting up and moving over towards the right] Somebody’s going to get their neck broken, the first thing you know.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Very well, then, that will be their misfortune! We’ve simply got to be careful, that’s all. Get ready, Paula. [Mrs. Ritter giggles and takes up her position outside the left door.]

Mrs. Fell. [As Spindler comes towards her] What’s the matter, Mr. Spindler?

Spindler. [In quite a temper, and indicating the stage-screw over at the left] Why, that thing there is sticking right up in the middle of the floor, and the first thing you—

Mrs. Pampinelli. Shush!—[He turns and scowls at her, and she glares at him. He passes below Mrs. Fell and over to Hossefrosse, at the extreme right and forward, where he whispers his grievance.]

Mrs. Fell. You all right, Paula? [Paula nods yes.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Don’t be nervous, now, Paula. [Twiller comes forward at the left.]

Mrs. Ritter. I’m not the least bit, dear, really.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Well, that’s splendid, dear. I’ll open the door for you. [She takes hold of the knob of the left door.]

Mrs. Ritter. All right, thank you. [They stand listening, keenly.]

Florence. [Beyond the flats] Do you mind if I wait a few minutes, in case he comes?

Teddy. [Beyond the flats] Why, I was just going home.

Florence. Oh, were you? [Twiller lifts his hat and gives it a little wave at Mrs. Ritter, and she waves her hand back at him.]

Teddy. Yes, mam; and I have to lock up the office before I go.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Suddenly] There it is now, dear. [She opens the door, and Mrs. Ritter steps back a bit, in order to make a more effective entrance.] Good luck, darling.

Mrs. Ritter. [Turning to her] Thank you, dear. [She steps through the door, tripping awkwardly over the door-strip. Mrs. Pampinelli makes a gesture of extreme annoyance. There is an outburst of applause; then Mrs. Pampinelli closes the door, and they all step to the flats and peek through, Mrs. Pampinelli at the left door, Mrs. Fell at the right, Mr. Spindler between them, and Hossefrosse and Twiller about half-way back at the right and left, respectively. There is a pause; and then Mrs. Ritter can be heard beyond the flats.] Hello, kid!

Teddy. Hello, Mrs. Arlington.

Mrs. Ritter. Is my sweetie in?

Teddy. No, mam, he ain’t.

Mrs. Ritter. [With an unnatural inflection] What!

Mrs. Fell. [Calling over in a whisper to Mrs. Pampinelli] Betty! [Mrs. Pampinelli doesn’t hear her, so she tiptoes over towards her.] Betty!

Mrs. Pampinelli. What?

Mrs. Fell. Did Paula trip?

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Coming away from the flat, and moving down to Mrs. Fell] Yes. [Mrs. Fell gives an annoyed shake of her head.] But I don’t see how anyone can get onto that stage without tripping.

Mrs. Fell. I don’t either.

Mrs. Pampinelli. It seems an utter impossibility to me for anyone, especially a woman, to get through those doors without catching her heel or her skirt or something. [Spindler crosses to the left, back of the ladies, and speaks to Twiller.]

Mrs. Fell. [Returning to the right door] It’s dreadful!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Turning to her left and going back again to the left door] I don’t see the necessity of it.

Mrs. Fell. [Opening her manuscript] I don’t either.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Listening keenly] I’m afraid they’re not hearing Paula at all.

Mrs. Fell. What?

Mrs. Pampinelli. I say, I’m afraid Paula isn’t loud enough.

Mrs. Fell. Well, why don’t you speak to her, Betty, she’s sitting right here. [She indicates the point right inside the right door, and Mrs. Pampinelli, picking up her skirt, hurries over. Mrs. Fell steps out of the way, to the right.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Putting her lips to the joining of the door-wing and the side wing] Speak a little louder, Paula! I’m afraid they’re not hearing you!

Mrs. Fell. Can she hear you?

Mrs. Pampinelli. A little louder, dear! [The right door is thrust open by Teddy.]

Teddy. [In a frantic whisper] There’s no pen and ink on the desk! [Spindler rushes over from the left.]

Spindler. What? [Mrs. Pampinelli, Mrs. Fell and Mr. Hossefrosse rush round to him from the right.]

Teddy. No pen and ink!

Mrs. Pampinelli. What is it, Teddy?

Teddy and Spindler, together.

Teddy. No pen and ink on the desk!

Spindler. No pen and ink!

Mrs. Pampinelli. My God!

Mrs. Fell. Tell her to use a lead-pencil!

Teddy and Mrs. Pampinelli, together.

Teddy.—[To Mrs. Fell] There’s none on there!

Mrs. Pampinelli. Give him a lead-pencil, Mr. Spindler!

Spindler. [Whirling and springing towards the left] Haven’t got one! [Teddy, Mrs. Pampinelli and Mrs. Fell rush after him.]

Spindler and Mrs. Pampinelli, together.

Spindler. Twiller!

Mrs. Pampinelli. Oh, dear, dear!

Twiller. [Rushing towards them from the left] What’s the matter?

Spindler and Teddy, together.

Spindler. Got a lead-pencil?

Teddy. Give him a lead-pencil, Ralph!

Twiller. [Dropping his cane] No! [They fling him out of the way, to the left, and rush on back to the stage manager.] What are you trying to do, knock me off my feet!

Mrs. Pampinelli. Haven’t you got one, Mr. Twiller?

Spindler and Mrs. Fell, together.

Spindler. [To the stage manager] Got a lead-pencil, old man?

Mrs. Fell. [At Mrs. Pampinelli’s heels] There’s one in my bag somewhere!

Mrs. Pampinelli, Spindler and Teddy, together.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Turning to Mrs. Fell] See what they’re doing out there, Nelly!

Spindler. [To the stage manager] Or a fountain-pen!

Teddy. [To the stage manager] They need it on the stage!

Mrs. Fell and Stage Manager, together.

Mrs. Fell. [Turning and rushing back towards the right door] Certainly, darling!

Stage Manager. [Feeling in his shirt-pockets] Well, now, wait a minute, wait a minute!

Mrs. Fell. [Turning with a despairing gesture, after having opened the right door and looked in] My dear, they’re not doing a thing, they’re just sitting there!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Turning to the left] Hurry, boys! [Turning to the right] Tell them to say something, Nelly! Anything at all! Something about the weather! [Nelly runs to the extreme right end of the flat. Teddy and Spindler come rushing forward at the left.] Did you get it, Teddy?

Teddy and Spindler, together.

Teddy. Yes!

Spindler. Yes, he’s got it!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Indicating the left door] Go on here, Teddy! [He grabs the knob of the door, but it won’t open.]

Mrs. Fell. [Calling through the flats] Say something, Paula!

Mrs. Pampinelli. You should never leave the stage during a scene, Teddy!

Teddy and Mrs. Fell, together.

Teddy. [Wrestling with the door] Damn these doors!

Mrs. Fell. [Calling through the flats] Something about the weather!

Mrs. Pampinelli. Take hold of this, Mr. Spindler! [He grabs the knob of the door and Teddy runs across to the right door.]

Teddy. I’ll go on here!

Mrs. Fell. [As Teddy goes through the right door] If you can’t use one door, use the other! [The door closes after him; and Mrs. Pampinelli turns and looks upon Spindler, who is still trying to get the left door open.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. You know, this is all your fault, Mr. Spindler. [He doesn’t look up.] You said you’d attend to all those properties!

Mrs. Fell. What’s the matter with the door, Betty?

Mrs. Pampinelli. [To Spindler] Never mind it now. [She moves towards the center of the stage.]

Spindler. We’d better get it open before somebody has to use it again.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Go away from it, I tell you! [He walks away towards the left, sulking.] It will probably open all right from the other side. [She comes forward slowly, touching her hair and relaxing generally, then, suddenly, stands stock-still, and listens, wide-eyed. She looks quickly at Mrs. Fell, who is carefully settling her necklace, at the right door.] What’s wrong out there, Nelly? [Nelly turns and looks through the flats, then turns quickly to Mrs. Pampinelli.]

Mrs. Fell. I think he’s up!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Frozen to the spot] Who? [Nelly looks again, and then back to Mrs. Pampinelli.]

Mrs. Fell. All of them!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Picking up her skirt and rushing towards the right door] Let me see! [Nelly jumps out of the way, to the right, and Twiller and Spindler rush to the left door and peek through. Mrs. Pampinelli peeks through, and then speaks through the flats.] What’s the matter, Teddy? Go over and get your hat and coat! [Turning frantically to Mrs. Fell] He’s up in his lines! What is it?

Mrs. Fell. [In a panic] Up in his lines!

Mrs. Pampinelli and Mrs. Fell, together.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Speaking through the flats] Go over and get your hat and coat, Teddy! Don’t stand there like a jack!

Mrs. Fell. [Handing the manuscript to Hossefrosse, who is at her right] Oh, find that for me, will you, Huxley! [He takes the manuscript from her and turns it over furiously, while Nelly opens her lorgnon.] About page eleven, I think it is! [She assists him in finding the place.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. What was the last line, Nelly? This is dreadful!

Mrs. Fell. Now, wait a moment, darling! Don’t get me nervous, or I’ll never be able to find it! [Twiller and Spindler are in a panic of suspense over at the left door.]

Hossefrosse. Here’s page eleven.

Mrs. Fell. Is that eleven? Well, now, here it is, right here— Why, a— I’ll get you an envelope!

Mrs. Pampinelli. What’s the next?

Mrs. Fell. The next is—a—why a—I’ve got to go now—

Mrs. Fell and Mrs. Pampinelli, together.

Mrs. Fell. It takes me nearly an hour to get home!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Calling through the flats] I’ve got to go now!

Teddy and Mrs. Pampinelli, together.

Teddy. [Beyond the flats] I’ve got to go now!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Calling through the flats] It takes me nearly an hour to get home.

Teddy. It takes me an hour to get home!

Mrs. Fell. Are they all right?

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Coming away from the flats] Yes, they’re all right now. But you’d better stand right here, I’m afraid of Paula. [She moves towards the left.]

Spindler. [Coming towards her] You know, I could have sworn I put a pen and ink on that desk!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Imperiously] Please, Mr. Spindler, don’t explain anything! I am interested in results. [She turns and moves back again towards the right, and Spindler goes over to the left. Just as he passes beyond the left door, the entire lock and knob fall to the floor. He turns nervously, only to find Mrs. Pampinelli, who has turned quite as nervously, looking at him dangerously.]

Spindler. I didn’t touch it!

Mrs. Pampinelli. Will you go away, before you ruin the entire performance! [He snaps around and goes over to the left and up towards the back.]

Teddy. [Opening the left door and swaying through] Good night. [He is dressed in a brown sack-suit and wears tan shoes.]

Florence. [Beyond the flats] Good night, son.

Mrs. Ritter. [Beyond the flats] Good night, kid.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Going towards him] You should never walk off the stage, Teddy, in the middle of a scene! [He closes the door behind him, and, pressing his hand to his brow, starts towards the left.] Do something, no matter what it is! [He falls backward in a full-length faint. She catches him.] Oh, dear child! Mr. Spindler! Come here, Mr. Twiller, Teddy’s fainted! [Twiller, who has been standing over at the left, and forward, rushes towards her; and Mrs. Fell, followed by Hossefrosse, comes rushing from the right.]

Mrs. Fell. [In a panic] What’s the matter, Betty!

Mrs. Pampinelli. Take Teddy over to the door, Mr. Twiller, he’s fainted!

Twiller. [Dropping his cane, in his excitement] I can’t take him now, I’ve got a cue coming right here in a minute! [Spindler comes rushing down from the left.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Here, Mr. Spindler, take Teddy over to the door, where he’ll get some air! He’s sick. Look at the color of him. [She hands him to Spindler, who half carries him up at the left; and she and Twiller follow on behind them.] Hold on to him, now, Mr. Spindler.

Mrs. Fell. [Turning back towards the right door, and addressing Hossefrosse, who has returned to his former position down at the right] I always said he wasn’t strong enough for that part! [She just gets past the right door when it is frantically opened and Mrs. Ritter thrusts her head out.]

Mrs. Ritter. [Breathlessly] Mr. Twiller! [The door closes again.]

Mrs. Fell. [Running towards the left] Mr. Twiller! They’re waiting for you!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Rushing forward at the left] What is it?

Mrs. Fell. [In a perfect frenzy] They’re waiting for Mr. Twiller!

Mrs. Pampinelli. Mr. Twiller! [He snatches up his cane from the floor, but the hook of it catches in the stage-brace, and he has considerable yanking to do to get it loose. Mrs. Fell raps on the left door.] Go on, Mr. Twiller, for Heaven’s sake! the stage is waiting! [She pulls the door open for him. He straightens his hat and then raps on the wing beside the door.] Oh, go on! never mind rapping! that’s been done! [He steps through the door and she slams it after him, catching his left arm and hand. The cane is in his left hand, and it falls at Mrs. Pampinelli’s feet. She pulls the door open again to release his arm; then gives the door a definite slam. A burst of applause greets Twiller’s entrance. Mrs. Pampinelli is in a perfect wrath. She sweeps across towards the right, and back again all the way across to the left; then turns and starts back towards the right. As she passes the left door she sees Twiller’s cane, and, realizing in a flash that he will have need of it in his scene, she picks it up, opens the left door slightly, and flings it in onto the stage. Then she continues on towards the right, turns and crosses back again to the left, holding up her skirt and bristling with temper.]

Mrs. Fell. [Back at the right door, speaking to Hossefrosse, down at the right] How are my eyes? Instead of paying attention to his part!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Coming across to the right] People rehearsing their cues a thousand times, and then don’t know them when they hear them! It’s positively disgusting! [She turns and goes back again to the left, turns, and starts back to the right. Hossefrosse tiptoes towards her.]

Hossefrosse. What happened to Teddy, did he get sick out there?

Mrs. Pampinelli. No, just a little reaction. [Hossefrosse nods comprehendingly.] He gives too much to the scene. He doesn’t understand emotional conservation yet. [Hossefrosse shakes his head knowingly and returns to the right, and Mrs. Pampinelli steps to the left door and listens.]

Florence. [Just audibly, beyond the flats] She’s waiting for my very unpunctual husband. In fact, we are both waiting for him, to be precise. But I’ve just been telling her I’m afraid we may as well give it up, for he’s never kept an appointment in his life. I’m sorry he isn’t here, if you wanted to see him.

Twiller. [Beyond the flats] I don’t know whether I wanted to see him or not; it depends.

Florence. I don’t understand you.

Twiller. I don’t fully understand myself! [There is a very general laugh from beyond the flats. Mrs. Pampinelli looks anxiously at Nelly, and Nelly looks up at her from the manuscript.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. What was that?

Mrs. Fell. [Not having caught what she said] What?

Mrs. Pampinelli. What was that the audience was laughing at? [Mrs. Fell peeks through at the door where she is standing, then turns desperately to Mrs. Pampinelli.]

Mrs. Fell. Half of Mr. Twiller’s mustache fell off! [She looks through the peek again. Mrs. Pampinelli puts her hand against her brow and leans upon the stage-brace, the picture of tragedy. Mrs. Fell turns to her again.] I don’t think the audience noticed it, he stuck it right on again!

Mrs. Pampinelli. That doesn’t matter, there is absolutely no excuse for it! He’s been here since four o’clock this afternoon! [She crosses towards the left and back again.]

Florence. [Beyond the flats] What sort of a rumor was it, Mr. Rush, if I may ask?

Twiller. [Beyond the flats] The usual kind. [There’s another laugh from beyond the flats, and Mrs. Pampinelli stands petrified, just below the left door. Mrs. Fell turns quickly and peeks, then turns to Mrs. Pampinelli.]

Mrs. Fell. [Despairingly] It fell off again! [Mrs. Pampinelli raises her fists and shakes them.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Well, why on earth hasn’t he brains enough to leave it off!

Mrs. Fell. He has his hat on, too! [Mrs. Pampinelli steps to the left door and speaks through it.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Leave your mustache off, Mr. Twiller! Leave it off!—And take off your hat, you’re inside. [Hossefrosse tiptoes over from the right.]

Hossefrosse. What’s the matter, did his mustache fall off?

Mrs. Pampinelli. Yes, twice; and he keeps sticking it on again. [He shakes his head regretfully and tiptoes back to the right.]

Mrs. Ritter. [Beyond the flats] It’s perfectly ridiculous!

Florence. [Beyond the flats] Too bad my husband isn’t here.

Twiller. [Beyond the flats] Yes, it is; I had counted upon seeing him.

Florence. I’m sure he’d be able to explain.

Twiller. Well, I hope he would!—the thing is damned annoying! [Mrs. Ritter gives an unearthly laugh, which is supposed to express derision. Mrs. Fell looks up from her manuscript, and Mrs. Pampinelli smiles and nods approvingly at her.] Even if you don’t appreciate it!

Mrs. Fell. Wonderful. [She turns and smiles and nods at Hossefrosse; then they all listen again. The stage manager, who has arisen from his chair at the sound of Mrs. Ritter’s disdainful laughter, comes forward at the left, with his pipe in one hand and his newspaper in the other. He has a puzzled, inquiring expression, and looks from one to the other quizzically; but Mrs. Pampinelli has her back to him, Mrs. Fell is looking at her manuscript, and Mr. Hossefrosse’s face is, as usual, utterly expressionless, so he steps to the juncture of the back flats with the side wings and peeks through, curiously. Then he returns to his chair up at the left, shaking his head from side to side.]

Mrs. Ritter. [Beyond the flats] I don’t know what it is, yet!

Twiller. [Beyond the flats] You know very well what it is!

Mrs. Ritter. You haven’t told us.

Twiller. You’re here, aren’t you!

Mrs. Ritter. Yes.

Twiller. Well, that’s it, exactly! [Mrs. Pampinelli smiles approvingly, and moves towards the right.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Calling Hossefrosse, who is engaged in studying his lines from a paper, over at the right] Mr. Hossefrosse.

Mrs. Fell. [Turning to him] Huxley! [He looks up, and tiptoes towards Mrs. Pampinelli.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. How is this hall to speak in?

Hossefrosse. Why, I shouldn’t say it was good.

Mrs. Pampinelli. I thought not.

Hossefrosse. It’s too big for the speaking voice.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [With a gesture] You have to project the tone, do you not?

Hossefrosse. Oh, yes, absolutely.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Taking a step towards the back flat, and listening] I’m afraid they’re not hearing Paula at all.

Hossefrosse. [Putting his fingers to his throat] I’m using my upper register almost entirely.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Glancing at him] You’re very fortunate to know how to do it.

Hossefrosse. Did it sound all right from back here?

Mrs. Pampinelli. Oh, splendid, yes, Mr. Hossefrosse!—your voice is beautiful. [He raises his hand deprecatingly.] Really,—I was just saying to Mrs. Fell, I’m so sorry there isn’t another act, that you might sing a solo between them. [He beams and deprecates again, profusely, and turns to the right. Spindler comes down at the left and towards Mrs. Pampinelli.] Really! Splendid. [She sees Spindler.] Where’s Teddy?

Spindler. He’s gone over to the drug store.

Mrs. Pampinelli. With his make-up on?

Spindler. He said he wanted to get some aromatic spirits of ammonia.

Mrs. Pampinelli. You have a cue right here soon, haven’t you?

Spindler. [Taking the telephone-arrangement from his pocket, and crossing towards the right door] Where are they?

Mrs. Fell. [Suddenly looking up from her manuscript] Telephone, Mr. Spindler!

Mrs. Pampinelli. There it is now, ring it!

Spindler. [Shaking it desperately] It won’t ring! [Mrs. Fell turns to Hossefrosse in desperation.]

Mrs. Pampinelli, Mrs. Fell and Hossefrosse, together.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Shake it harder, it rang before!

Mrs. Fell. What’s the matter with the fool thing!

Hossefrosse. Hit it against something, Mr. Spindler!

Spindler. There’s something the matter with the battery!

Florence. [Audibly, from beyond the flats] Hello!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Relaxing] Let it go,—it’s too late now. [Spindler continues to tinker with it.] You’ve missed every other cue, [She moves towards the left.] you may as well be consistent for the rest of the evening.

Spindler. [Following her] Well, good night! I can’t help it if the electricity won’t work, can I?

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Turning upon him furiously] You should have attended to it beforehand and then it would work! [Mrs. Fell waves her hand at them, to be quiet.]

Spindler. Well, My God! I can’t be in a half-a-dozen places at the same time!

Mrs. Fell. Shush! [Hossefrosse tiptoes up to her and deplores the noise that Mrs. Pampinelli and Spindler are making.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. No one is asking you to be in half-a-dozen places at the same time! You’ve simply been asked to attend to your cues; and you’ve missed every one you’ve had!

Mrs. Fell and Hossefrosse, together. Shush!

Spindler. You told me to take care of Teddy, didn’t you?

Mrs. Pampinelli. I told you to take him to the door! I didn’t say to take him all the way to the drug store!

Spindler. Did you want me to let the man wander off somewhere by himself, and maybe die!

Mrs. Fell. [Waving her manuscript at them] Shus—sh!

Mrs. Pampinelli and Spindler, together.

Spindler. Just for the sake of not missing a cue!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [With bitter amusement] There is very little danger of his dying! And even if he did die, your duty is here! [She points to the floor with an imperative gesture. The right door is quietly pushed open, and Twiller, with one-half of his mustache gone, pokes his head out.]

Twiller. Shush! [He glances from one side to the other, withdraws his head, and quietly closes the door. Spindler crosses below Mrs. Pampinelli, to the left, then turns and looks at her angrily.]

Mrs. Fell. [Turning to Hossefrosse] What did I tell you! Making more noise out here than they are out there!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Still holding her gesture, but following Spindler with her eyes] Performances are never interrupted simply because one of the artists happens to die! If you were a professional you’d know that; but you’re not! [She turns away from him, towards the right, and, simultaneously, the left door is opened, almost striking her. She raises her arm to protect herself. Mrs. Ritter is standing in the doorway.]

Mrs. Ritter. [Speaking to Twiller, who is still beyond the flats] Look and see. [The telephone-arrangement in Spindler’s hands suddenly rings wildly.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Turning to him frantically] Oh, stop that thing! [Mrs. Ritter glances furtively over her left shoulder at Mrs. Pampinelli. Mrs. Fell comes rushing over, motioning to Spindler to stop the bell.]

Spindler. [Struggling with the bell] I can’t stop it! [Mrs. Ritter hastily steps back through the door and pulls it to after her.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Well, then, take it outside, where they can’t hear it! [Spindler scrambles towards the back and out of sight at the left. Mrs. Pampinelli starts back towards the right.]

Mrs. Fell. What’s the matter with that Spindler man, anyway!

Mrs. Pampinelli. I don’t know what’s the matter with him! I’ve given up thinking about him.

Mrs. Fell. He acts to me like a person that wouldn’t be in his right mind! [She goes back towards the right door.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Standing in the middle of the stage] He’s simply not a professional, that’s all. [The left door opens again and Mrs. Ritter is standing in it. Mrs. Pampinelli turns suddenly and looks at her. Mrs. Ritter repeats her unearthly laugh, which again arouses the curiosity of the stage manager, to the extent that he rises and comes forward again at the left to get a look at her. Then he returns to his chair, taking the door-slam with him, and standing it against the wing.]

Mrs. Ritter. [Addressing Twiller, beyond the flats] What about the gentlemen?

Florence. [Beyond the flats] Jealous husbands, chiefly, aren’t they? [Twiller comes out through the left door, past Mrs. Ritter.] Didn’t you want to leave a message for the Doctor, Mr. Rush? [Twiller turns right round and goes back to the door.]

Twiller. Who, me?

Florence. If you wish.

Mrs. Ritter. [Having some difficulty seeing Florence over Twiller’s right shoulder] He might leave an apology.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Very much annoyed, and stepping close to the flat, just to the right of the door] Get out of the doorway, Mr. Twiller!

Florence. [Beyond the flats] Perhaps we haven’t convinced him of his mistake.

Mrs. Pampinelli and Mrs. Ritter, together.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Trying desperately to attract Twiller’s attention, and becoming more emphatic] Get out of the doorway, Mr. Twiller, you’re covering Paula up!

Mrs. Ritter. [Trying to talk to Florence over Twiller’s shoulder] Well, he’ll apologize to me, whether we’ve convinced him or not. [Mrs. Fell and Hossefrosse come over to see if they can be of any assistance.]

Mrs. Pampinelli and Twiller, together.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Becoming desperate] Paula! [Paula gives her a nervous glance.] Will one of you go farther in! Mr. Twiller!

Twiller. [Addressing Florence] Have you convinced yourselves? [He gives Mrs. Pampinelli an irritated look over his left shoulder.]

Florence. That there has been a mistake?

Mrs. Pampinelli. Go farther in, one of you! [Twiller gives her another look, then speaks to Florence.]

Twiller. Yes! [Mrs. Pampinelli can contain herself no longer, so, picking up her skirt, and holding her hand against the left side of her head, she darts across the open door, to the left, and speaks to them around the edge of the door. Mrs. Fell, taking advantage of the circumstance of Mrs. Pampinelli’s crossing, tiptoes up to Twiller and strikes him on the left arm, quite viciously, with the rolled manuscript. As a polite remonstrance, he shakes his left hand and foot at her. But, she is not dismayed, and repeats the attack, even more viciously. Then he turns and glares at her, and she turns away towards the right, desperately.]

Florence. A great mistake.

Mrs. Ritter. Disappointed? Because, you know, we can invent a scandal, if you insist.

Mrs. Fell. Oh, what a man! What a man!

Florence and Mrs. Pampinelli, together.

Florence. I’m afraid my presence here would be a bit incongruous, even for that.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Go farther in, Mr. Twiller, don’t both of you stand wedged in the doorway that way, it looks dreadful!

Twiller. [Raising his right arm and resting his hand against the jamb of the door, completely cutting off Mrs. Ritter’s view of Florence] That’s the rub. [Mrs. Ritter stands on her tiptoes to try and see over his arm, but being unsuccessful in this effort, stoops a bit, and tries to look under his arm.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Take your arm down, Mr. Twiller! [Mrs. Ritter reaches up and quietly but firmly draws Twiller’s arm down. Mrs. Pampinelli turns away to the left, disgusted.] My God! I never gave any such direction as that!

Florence. Be at ease, Mr. Rush; if you were not mistaken I should have known it,—and so should you; I’m not a tragic woman. Did you want to leave any message for the Doctor, Mrs. Rush?

Mrs. Ritter. [At Twiller’s right] Yes,—[Twiller turns his head sharply and looks right into her eyes. She steps around back of him and speaks to Florence over his left shoulder.] I wish you’d say that my husband called—[Twiller turns and looks into her eyes again, and she steps around back of him again, to his right.] for my bill. [She reaches out and starts to draw the door to. Twiller, very ill at ease, and awkwardly looking from side to side, not knowing just how to get out gracefully, makes a full turn round to his right.]

Twiller. [Raising his hat to Florence] Good evening, Mrs. Arlington. [Mrs. Ritter closes the door, causing him to drop his cane; but he’s too excited to notice it.]

Hossefrosse. [Standing at the right door, extending his hand] Great, old man!

Twiller. [Dropping his gloves, as he shakes hands] Thanks. [He continues to the right.]

Mrs. Fell. [As he passes below her] Splendid, Ralph! What happened to your mustache? [She laughs.]

Twiller. Can you beat that, Nelly! I couldn’t coax that thing off before I went on!

Hossefrosse. [Holding the knob of the right door] Shush!

Mrs. Fell. I don’t think the audience noticed it.

Hossefrosse. [Turning to them] Shush! [Twiller goes down to the right, and Mrs. Fell returns to her manuscript. The left door is flung open. They all watch eagerly.]

Mrs. Ritter. [Inside the left door] If you will, please?

Florence. Certainly.

Mrs. Ritter. Thanks.

Florence. Don’t mention it.

Mrs. Ritter. [Trying to appear very bold] Good bye.

Florence. Good bye. [Mrs. Ritter gives another famous laugh, sways through the door, tripping over the door-strip, closes the door, looks at Mrs. Pampinelli, who is standing at the left, and bursts out laughing. There is prolonged applause from beyond the flats.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Splendid, Paula!

Hossefrosse. [Listening intently for his cue, from beyond the flats] Shush-shush! [Mrs. Ritter looks at him, still laughing foolishly.]

Mrs. Fell. [Waving at Paula] Lovely, dear!

Mrs. Ritter. [Turning to Mrs. Pampinelli] I forgot my umbrella.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Where is it?

Mrs. Ritter. I left it on the stage.

Mrs. Pampinelli. That doesn’t matter. [Hossefrosse tries to silence them by dint of impatient gesturing with his right hand.]

Mrs. Ritter. Oh, Betty, I think I saw Clara Sheppard out there!

Mrs. Pampinelli. Not really?

Hossefrosse. Shush!

Florence. [From beyond the flats] You can come out now, Clyde, they’ve gone. [Hossefrosse yanks the right door open, causing the wood-wing at the right to topple and fall forward.]

Twiller. [Leaping to catch it, before it hits Mrs. Fell] Hold it! [Mrs. Fell hunches her arms and shoulders and screams.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Rushing over from the left] What is it?

Twiller. [Struggling to set the wing up in place again] This thing nearly fell! Just got it in time! [Mrs. Fell moves out of the way, over to the left, and Mrs. Pampinelli tries to assist Twiller.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Is it all right now?

Twiller. [Brushing his hands and clothes, and coming forward at the right] Yes, it’s all right now. Just got it in time.

Mrs. Fell. [Rushing up to Mrs. Ritter, who is coming towards her from the left, and shaking her by the arms] Oh, you were marvelous, darling! [Mrs. Ritter giggles foolishly.] I could just hug you!

Mrs. Ritter. I forgot my umbrella.

Mrs. Fell. Wonderful performance! [She steps to the right door and opens her manuscript. Mrs. Ritter moves a little to the right and stands looking at the wood-wing.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Turning from a more precise adjustment of the wood-wing] Oh, Mr. Twiller!

Twiller. Yes?

Mrs. Pampinelli. How did you and Paula get wedged in that door that way, over there a moment ago?

Twiller. [On Mrs. Pampinelli’s right] Oh, I’m awfully sorry about that! I got a little twisted on— [Mrs. Ritter comes to Mrs. Pampinelli’s left.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Turning to Mrs. Ritter] I was just asking Mr. Twiller about that business in the door.

Mrs. Pampinelli, Mrs. Ritter and Twiller, together.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Of course, it really didn’t matter very much.

Mrs. Ritter. Oh, my dear, wasn’t that just too dreadful! But I didn’t know what to do! I knew there was something wrong, but I didn’t know what it was!

Twiller. It was my fault. I got a little twisted there in my business-cues. I got up to the door a couple of speeches too soon.

Mrs. Pampinelli. I don’t think the audience noticed it.

Mrs. Fell. [Frantically searching in the manuscript] Shush!

Mrs. Ritter. Don’t you think they did, Betty?

Mrs. Fell. Shush! [They all turn and look at her. Mrs. Pampinelli steps towards her.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Is somebody up? [Nelly simply silences her with a gesture, and opens the door slightly.]

Mrs. Fell. [Prompting through the door] You’ve all been listening to a lot of damned, cheap gossip!

Hossefrosse. [From beyond the flats] You’ve all been listening to a lot of damned, cheap gossip!

Florence. [Beyond the flats] Which should show you that people are talking.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Somebody up? [Nelly just shakes her head and relaxes.] Mr. Hossefrosse?

Mrs. Fell. The “damned, cheap gossip” line.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Listening keenly] Is he all right again?

Mrs. Fell. Yes, he’s all right now;—but it’s funny how that line has sent him up at every performance.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Turning to rejoin Mrs. Ritter and Twiller] It’s purely mental.

Hossefrosse. [From beyond the flats, violently] No! [The stage manager, over at the left, jumps to his feet, causing the hammer to fall from his pocket. The door-slam also falls, with a bang. The stage manager has been dozing, and the thunder of Mr. Hossefrosse’s outburst has considerably startled him. He comes forward at the left and looks over at Mrs. Fell, to inquire the cause of the disturbance.]

Mrs. Fell. [Motioning to him with her manuscript] Shush! [He looks about and then goes back and picks up the hammer and door-slam. As he resumes his seat he takes another glance around.]

Mrs. Ritter. [As Mrs. Pampinelli comes forward again at the right, between her and Twiller] You know, I felt like a perfect fool standing there in that door, but I couldn’t catch what you were saying. [Twiller laughs.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Well, dear, I really don’t think the audience noticed it.

Twiller. I hope they didn’t.

Mrs. Ritter. It must have looked awful.

Mrs. Pampinelli. No, dear, it didn’t, really; you both covered it up very nicely.

Twiller. I tried to cover it up when my mustache fell off, too;—but I had so many lines right in there. I held it on as long as I could, but I was afraid the audience was beginning to notice it.

Mrs. Pampinelli. I was so glad you had the presence of mind not to attempt to stick it on again when it fell off the second time.

Twiller. I was afraid to take the time. I had a cue right there; so when it fell off the second time, I just—let it lie there. [He makes a casual gesture with his right hand.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. That was quite right.

Twiller. [Laughing a little] It’s out there yet.

Mrs. Ritter. [Giggling] So is my umbrella. [They all laugh.] Oh, listen, Betty dear! I think I’ll just run upstairs for a minute and use that telephone—see how Fred is. [She starts towards the left.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Following her] Yes, do, Paula.

Mrs. Ritter. I’m kind of worried about him.

Mrs. Pampinelli. See if he’s regained consciousness yet.

Mrs. Ritter. [Regardless of the fact that a play is in progress] Excuse me!

Mrs. Fell. [Looking up from her manuscript] Shush!

Mrs. Pampinelli. Certainly, dear. [Twiller raises his hat towards her, and she waves back at him. Then he goes up at the right and peeks through the side wings.] Oh, Paula!

Mrs. Ritter. [Turning] Yes, dear?

Mrs. Pampinelli. Be sure and get down in time for the curtains.

Mrs. Ritter. Oh, yes.

Mrs. Pampinelli. I imagine there’ll be a lot of flowers come over.

Mrs. Ritter. [Starting up at the left] I’ll be right down as soon as I telephone.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Yes, do, dear. [Mrs. Ritter goes out at the left, and Mrs. Pampinelli turns, touching her hair, and starts back towards the right. Something falls beyond the flats. She stops dead, and listens. Mrs. Fell turns quickly and peeks through the right door. Twiller comes forward at the right and looks inquiringly.]

Florence. [Just audible beyond the flats] Then, you’ve allowed him to think so.

Mrs. Pampinelli. What’s that?

Florence. [Beyond the flats] Perhaps it is.

Mrs. Fell. [Turning to Mrs. Pampinelli, and quite casually] He knocked the ash-tray over. [Mrs. Pampinelli relaxes, and proceeds to arrange the beaded ornaments on her dress, while Mrs. Fell moves a bit farther over to the right and stands listening, manuscript and lorgnon in hand. Twiller crosses to the left, below Mrs. Fell, and gathers up his gloves and cane.]

Hossefrosse. [Beyond the flats] You are deliberately misinterpreting this situation! Yes you are! It’s perfectly ridiculous that a physician cannot take a woman patient without being subjected to the whisperings of a lot of vulgar scandal-mongers.

Florence. This is not a romantic age, Clyde.

Twiller. [Coming to Mrs. Pampinelli’s right] Was that inflection of mine any better tonight on that line, “I’m puzzled.”?

Mrs. Pampinelli. Oh, very much better, I was listening for it.

Twiller. [Thoughtfully] I never seemed to get the sense of that line until tonight. It just seemed to—come to me, out there on the stage.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Oh, that is a very significant line, Mr. Twiller, coming where it does. [Spindler comes wandering on from the left, comes forward, looks about, and goes up to the side wing and looks through.]

Twiller. I felt a great deal easier in that new business of turning—down at the bookcase that you gave me last night.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [With a touch of smugness] Much better.

Twiller. Did you notice it?

Mrs. Pampinelli. Well, of course, I couldn’t see it, I was here; but I could sense it; and I could tell from the tone of the scene that it was better. [Spindler moves over to the extreme left, about half-way back, and, taking the refractory telephone-bell-arrangement from his pocket, starts to tinker with it.]

Twiller. I just turned my head this way, [He turns his head sharply to the right, keeping his body and shoulders perfectly rigid.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Excellent.

Twiller. [Turning back to her] Without moving my body.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Very good.

Twiller. Instead of making the full swing around, [He makes a complete swing around on his right foot.] the way I had been doing. [Mrs. Fell raises her lorgnon and looks over, curiously.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. A very good change.

Twiller. [Very seriously] I felt that it got them.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Well, you see, it gave them the full benefit of your expression. [They nod agreement.]

Twiller. There’s a great deal of light and shade in that part, right in there.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Deprecatingly] Ho! my dear,—it is all light and shade;—even to the gestures. [She makes a Delsartian movement with her arms and hands. Mrs. Fell comes forward a little further and observes the gesture keenly, through her lorgnon.] ....

Twiller. [Rather troubled, and shaking his head a bit] I’ve got to put in a lot of work on my gestures,—they’re bad, I know.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Well, I shouldn’t exactly say that your gestures were bad; but I think, perhaps——

Twiller. [Leaning heavily on his cane] I—ah—I think I try too hard to be natural.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Smiling, biting her lip, and rolling her eyes] That’s exactly what I was going to say. Your gestures are, in a way, too natural. [She gives a little mirthless laugh, and, out of courtesy, he joins her.] Of course, that is a very virtuous fault; but it isn’t pretty, is it? [She laughs again.]

Twiller. No, it isn’t. [The stage manager gets up, stretches himself, and comes forward at the left.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. And, after all, the function of art is to be pretty, is it not? [She repeats the floating gesture.]

Twiller. [Trying to imitate her] I don’t seem to be able—to do that, the way you do. [Mrs. Fell feels the call, and, putting the manuscript under her arm, tries rather unsuccessfully to copy the movement.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Oh, it is purely a matter of experience, Mr. Twiller. But when you’ve been in the work as long as I have,—you’ll realize that the bird’s-wing gesture is the only gesture. [She illustrates again, for the edification of her disciples; and they attempt rather faithfully to imitate her. The stage manager stands looking at them.]

Florence. [Beyond the flats] But it has its compensations—You’ll have your memories, [There is a confusion of voices from beyond the flats, and cries of “Sit down!”]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Startled] What’s that? [Mrs. Fell rushes to the right door and peeks through, Twiller goes over to the right and up, and the stage manager rushes back to his post and disappears at the left.] What is it, Nelly?

Mrs. Fell. [Turning suddenly to Mrs. Pampinelli] They’re carrying a man out of the audience! [She looks back again through the peek, and Mrs. Pampinelli steps to the left door and peeks. Mrs. Sheppard sweeps on up at the left, and comes forward. She is a slim brunette, in her thirties, very attractive, and wearing the very last whisper in widow’s weeds. She looks around, rather dramatically, then sees the ladies. Mrs. Fell looks away from the peek-hole and sees her.] Betty, there’s Clara!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Looking at Nelly] What?

Mrs. Fell. [Not wishing to be heard] Clara Sheppard. [Mrs. Pampinelli turns quickly.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Oh, Clara! [She goes towards her, and Clara advances a little.] I’m so glad to see you! [Clara breaks down and weeps.] Now, don’t do that, dear. You know Jimmy wouldn’t for anything in the world want you to feel that way. So be brave, honey. It was splendid of you to come here at all. And you look wonderful.

Mrs. Sheppard. I must look perfectly dreadful.

Mrs. Pampinelli. You don’t look anything of the kind, darling, you look perfectly beautiful.

Mrs. Sheppard. All I’ve done is cry.

Mrs. Pampinelli. I know just how you feel.

Mrs. Sheppard. But I didn’t want you to think I’d entirely forsaken the cause.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Oh, my dear, we understood perfectly.

Mrs. Sheppard. But I just felt I had to come here tonight.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Have you been out in front, Clara?

Mrs. Sheppard. Yes, I just had to see it. I don’t think anybody saw me; I came in late, and stood way at the back.

Mrs. Pampinelli. They’d hardly see you.

Mrs. Sheppard. I don’t think so; I kept my veil lowered. Of course, I should love to have been right down in front, where I could get all those wonderful little subtleties. But, you know how it is,—I was afraid people might not understand my being here at all. It’s only three weeks, you know.

Mrs. Pampinelli. They wouldn’t, either.

Mrs. Sheppard. That’s what I thought.

Mrs. Pampinelli. I don’t suppose there’s one person in ten thousand that has dramatic instinct enough to appreciate the way you feel. [She turns to the left door and listens.]

Mrs. Sheppard. [Beginning to cry again] The flowers in the lobby are perfectly beautiful.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Still listening] Yes, but I’m not having them passed over the footlights tonight.

Mrs. Sheppard. [Drying her eyes] No?

Mrs. Pampinelli. Except one bouquet for each of the ladies. It took up too much time the last time.

Mrs. Sheppard. [Glancing about] Where’s Paula?

Mrs. Pampinelli. She’s upstairs, telephoning. She’s rather annoyed about Fred, you know.

Mrs. Sheppard. What about him? [Mrs. Pampinelli turns from the door suddenly and looks at her.]

Florence. [Beyond the flats] There is, my dear boy,—for lots of people——

Mrs. Pampinelli. Why, my dear, didn’t you hear?—about him falling downstairs last night?

Mrs. Sheppard. Oh, not really!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Coming towards her] He fell almost the entire flight.

Mrs. Sheppard. Oh, dear me!

Mrs. Pampinelli. Poor Paula’s terribly upset.

Mrs. Sheppard. What was he doing, coming down the stairs?

Mrs. Pampinelli. No, he was watching our rehearsal. You know, we held the final rehearsal at Paula’s house last night—we couldn’t get this place.

Mrs. Sheppard. [Solicitously] Well, did he break any bones, Betty?

Mrs. Pampinelli. No,—Doctor Wentworth said—he was unconscious before he hit the floor. He said the fall was the result of a collapse; and that he would have fallen no matter where he had been. Unfortunately, he just happened to be on the stairs. [She turns back again to the left door.]

Mrs. Sheppard. [Retrospectively] I thought he looked pale when I saw him out there tonight. [Mrs. Pampinelli turns suddenly and looks at her.]

Florence. [Beyond the flats] And you have a very modern wife.

Mrs. Pampinelli. When you saw him out here, you mean? [She indicates the audience beyond the flats.]

Mrs. Sheppard. Yes; he was standing out there at the back, right near me.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Coming towards her again] You must be mistaken, Clara.

Mrs. Sheppard. No, Betty, I’m quite sure I saw him.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Well, the only thing I know is that Paula said he hadn’t regained consciousness when she left the house this evening at seven-thirty. [Mrs. Ritter comes on up at the back, from the left, and comes forward.] Here’s Paula now!

Mrs. Sheppard. [Turning round to her left] Poor dear, she must be terribly upset.

Mrs. Ritter. [Extending her arms] Clara, dear! [Mrs. Sheppard bursts into tears again.] This is so nice of you! [They embrace each other, and Mrs. Ritter starts to cry.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Isn’t she the sweet thing! [The door at the right opens.]

Mrs. Fell. [To the ladies] Shush! [They all turn and look toward the right door.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [With a gesture to Mrs. Ritter and Mrs. Sheppard] Shush! [Hossefrosse comes out the right door.]

Florence. [Beyond the flats] It’s gotten very chilly.

Hossefrosse. [Picking up his hat, cane and gloves from the chair] Yes, I know it has; I just came in a few minutes ago.

Florence. You had tickets for the theatre, didn’t you?

Hossefrosse. [Stepping back through the right door again] Yes.

Florence. Why not take me?—for a change. [The door closes.] You used to—years ago.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Turning to Mrs. Ritter and Mrs. Sheppard] Paula, Clara says she thinks she saw Mr. Ritter out there tonight.

Mrs. Ritter. [Standing at the left] My dear, Jenny just told me over the telephone that he regained consciousness a half-hour after I left the house, and went out. Said she thought from the way he talked he was coming here.

Mrs. Sheppard. [In the center] Yes, I was sure I saw him standing out there— [Turning to Mrs. Ritter] I was just telling Betty.

Mrs. Ritter. I wonder if he’s out there yet.

Mrs. Sheppard. I don’t know, dear.

Mrs. Pampinelli. How much of the play did you see, Clara?

Mrs. Sheppard. Why, I stayed just as long as I could, Betty. But when Paula came on, and I heard those lines of mine again, I just couldn’t stand it. [She breaks down, and buries her face in her handkerchief.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Laying her hand on her arm] I know, Clara—you’re such an artist.

Mrs. Sheppard. [Pressing her hands against her bosom] Everything just seemed to come back on me.

Mrs. Pampinelli. I know how it is, dear.

Mrs. Sheppard. [Speaking directly to Mrs. Pampinelli] I got thinking how Jimmy would feel, if he could know, that he was the cause of standing in the way of my first real opportunity. [She cries again.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Raising her eyes to Heaven] Perhaps he does know, dear.

Mrs. Sheppard. [Turning to her again] I mean, you know, he was always so anxious about my getting into the work. And, somehow or other, I always felt—that I could have done so much with that part. [Mrs. Ritter gives a vague little laugh, and Mrs. Sheppard turns to her quickly.] Oh, of course, you were perfectly adorable in it, darling, I don’t mean that— [The left door opens, and Florence is standing in it, about to come out.]

Mrs. Fell. [To Mrs. Pampinelli, Mrs. Ritter and Mrs. Sheppard] Shush!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Turning and going closer to the left door] Excuse me, Clara.

Mrs. Sheppard. Certainly, dear. [Twiller comes forward at the right.]

Florence. [Stepping through the door] By the way, there was a Mr. Robinson telephoned this morning, after you’d left the house— [Mrs. Sheppard waves her handkerchief at Florence, and Florence replies by quietly flicking her fingers at her. Then, still keeping in her character, she moves slowly towards the right, leaving the door open behind her.] He said something about a list being correct.

Hossefrosse. [Appearing in the doorway, carrying his hat, cane and gloves] Yes, I know. [He reaches towards the left, beyond the flats, as though he were pushing an electric-light button, then thrusts his head through the door and says in a fierce whisper.] Lights.

Florence. Lights out!

Mrs. Fell and Mrs. Pampinelli, together.

Mrs. Fell. Put out the lights, somebody!

Mrs. Pampinelli. Lights, Mr. Stage Manager! [The stage manager appears from the left, at the back.]

Spindler. [Springing from the left, where he has been engaged in trying to repair the telephone-battery] Lights out!

Mrs. Pampinelli. Where are you! [The stage manager reaches up and pulls one of the switches on the switch-board at the back, and the lights beyond the flats go out; then he disappears again at the left.]

Spindler and Hossefrosse, together.

Spindler. I was right here!

Hossefrosse. [Coming through the door] Yes, I know,— [Closing the door behind him] I talked to him. [Puts his hat on]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Well, why aren’t you right here, where you should be! Stand by for the curtain, now,—see if you can do that much right. Surely, it’s the old story of the lark,—if you want a thing done, do it yourself! Curtain!

Spindler. [Shouting] Curtain! [The curtain, beyond the flats, begins to roll down, and there is thunderous applause.]

Mrs. Fell. [To Florence] Marvelous, darling! [Florence waves at her, turns, and rushes back towards the left.] Just lovely, Huxley!

Hossefrosse. Thanks. [He turns to the left.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Lights up! Splendid, children!

Florence. I’m awfully glad to see you, Clara!

Mrs. Sheppard, Mrs. Pampinelli, Hossefrosse and Spindler, together.

Mrs. Sheppard. [Shaking hands with Florence] You were wonderful, Flossie!

Mrs. Pampinelli. Take up the curtain, Mr. Stage Manager!

Hossefrosse. Thank you very much.

Spindler. Lights up! [The stage manager appears from the left and pulls the switch again, and the lights beyond the flats go on.]

Spindler. Take it up! [The stage manager darts off again to the left. The waltz-music on the piano, beyond the flats, begins again.]

Hossefrosse. [Lifting his hat and beaming] Hello, Clara!

Mrs. Sheppard. Wonderful! [He deprecates profusely. The curtain rises again.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Go on, Mr. Hossefrosse! [He opens the right door, removing his hat.] Wait a moment, Mr. Hossefrosse! Come on, Florence! [Hossefrosse stops uncertainly in the doorway and looks at Mrs. Pampinelli.] It’s all right! Go on! [She opens the left door.] Here, go on here, Florence! [They go on, bowing, and there is prolonged applause.] Come on, Paula! go on here! [The curtain descends again. Paula scurries to the left door, giggling.] Where’s Mr. Twiller!

Twiller. [Springing over from the right, where he has been talking and laughing with Mrs. Fell] Here I am!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Turning to the left] Take it up again, Mr. Stage Manager! [Turning back to Twiller, and opening the door] Here, Mr. Twiller, take Paula on! [The curtain can be seen through the left door rising again.] Come on, Paula! [Twiller drops his cane, in shifting it from his right hand to his left.] Hurry up! [He snatches the cane up, and, taking Paula by the arm, escorts her through the door. But she trips over the door-strip, nevertheless. And there is sustained applause. Mrs. Fell, over at the right, begins to preen herself feverishly. Mrs. Pampinelli closes the door slowly, and stands listening, smiling. Teddy appears up at the left and comes forward, pressing his violet handkerchief to his brow, and looking very wan. Mrs. Pampinelli turns to him.] Come on, Teddy, hurry up! They’re just going on! How do you feel? [The curtain descends.]

Teddy. Only fair.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Taking him by the right arm and urging him towards the right] Here, Nelly, go on for a bow with Teddy! [Rushing back towards the left] Take it up again, Mr. Stage Manager!

Mrs. Pampinelli, Teddy and Spindler, together.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Mr. Spindler!

Teddy. [Opening the right door] Come on, Nelly!

Spindler. [Half-way back, at the left] Take it up! [Rushing forward at the left] Yes?

Mrs. Pampinelli and Mrs. Fell, together.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [To Spindler] Keep it going up and down till I tell you to stop! And keep it up the next time till the gentlemen get the flowers!

Mrs. Fell. [Shrinking away a little more to the right of the door, but still preening herself, almost hysterically, and breaking into a little nervous laugh] Oh, no, really, dear! I wouldn’t think of it! [Teddy goes through the right door. The curtain can be seen rising again; then the door closes after him; and Mrs. Fell continues talking, to herself.] Why, what have I done that I should go on. I wouldn’t mind if I’d taken some part in the play,—but I certainly don’t see—

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Rushing back to the right] Go on, Nelly! what are you waiting for? [The curtain descends again. Mrs. Fell rushes towards Mrs. Pampinelli.]

Mrs. Fell. [Handing Mrs. Pampinelli the rolled manuscript] Hold this!

Mrs. Pampinelli. Hurry, dear! [Mrs. Fell rushes to the right door, settles herself finally, and flings the door open. The curtain is just rising. And, placing one hand upon her bosom, dropping her eyes and smiling, Nelly sways through the door, acknowledging the plaudits. Mrs. Pampinelli, standing in the middle of the stage, applauds, also, hitting the manuscript against her hand. The door closes after Mrs. Fell. Mrs. Sheppard, over at the left, suddenly bursts into tears and buries her face in her handkerchief. Mrs. Pampinelli turns quickly and looks at her, then crosses towards her.] Do you want to take a bow, Clara?

Mrs. Sheppard. Oh, no, thank you! [Mrs. Pampinelli turns back to the left door.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Get those flowers, boys! Keep it up, Mr. Stage Manager! Come on, Clara! go on for a bow! [Reaches for Mrs. Sheppard’s hand]

Mrs. Sheppard. [Giving Mrs. Pampinelli her hand, and allowing herself to be drawn towards the right] Do you think they’d understand, Betty?

Mrs. Pampinelli. Of course, they would, my dear! They know it isn’t your fault that you’re not appearing! [Mrs. Fell thrusts open the right door. She has a basket of roses in her hand.]

Mrs. Fell. They’re calling for you, Betty! [Someone in the audience can be heard calling Mrs. Pampinelli’s name.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Here, Nelly, take Clara on for a bow!

Mrs. Fell. [Impatiently] They’re calling for you, dear! [Mrs. Sheppard hastily throws her veil back, dramatically.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. I’ll take one alone, afterwards! [The applause swells again.] Go on, Clara!

Mrs. Fell. [Extending her right hand] Come on, dear!

Mrs. Sheppard. [Giving Mrs. Fell her left hand] Oh, I don’t feel that I should! [Mrs. Fell keeps the door open, and Clara droops through, bowing. Then Mrs. Fell closes the door and Mrs. Pampinelli turns to the left.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Keep it up, Mr. Spindler!

Spindler. Keep it up!

Hossefrosse. [Thrusting open the left door] Mrs. Pampinelli! [There is a vision through the door of the various artists bowing towards the back wall, all the ladies laden with flowers.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. All right, dear! I’m coming! [Hossefrosse closes the door, and Mrs. Pampinelli deftly touches her hair and flings her train out to its full length behind her. Then she speaks in a loud voice, so that she may be heard by those on the other side of the flats.] Everybody stand to one side! Stand to one side, everybody! [She pulls open the left door and stands, smiling: then she steps through the door; and, instantly, the curtain falls with a deafening crash. The door closes after her. Nelly Fell gives a piercing scream. Spindler comes rushing down from the left to the left door.]

Teddy. [Shouting, beyond the flats] Curtain!

Hossefrosse. Take up the curtain!

Twiller. Take it up! [There is a babel of voices beyond the flats. Then the left door is thrust violently open, and Mrs. Pampinelli looks out.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Harshly, to Spindler] What’s the matter with the curtain?

Spindler. [In a panic of excitement] Something’s broke! [The stage manager rushes on from the left and comes forward.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Coming out through the door and calling to the stage manager, whom she hasn’t seen yet] Take up the curtain, Mr. Stage Manager!

Stage Manager. I can’t take it up, the guy-rope’s broken! [He goes up at the left.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. What? [Mrs. Fell comes running through the right door, carrying her basket of flowers, and crosses towards the left.]

Mrs. Fell and Spindler, together.

Mrs. Fell. What is it, Betty?

Spindler. [To Mrs. Pampinelli] He says the guy-rope’s broken!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Brushing him aside, to the left, and rushing up at the left] My God! did anyone ever hear of such stupidity!

Mrs. Pampinelli, Mrs. Fell and Spindler, together.

Mrs. Pampinelli. I’ll go on at the side here!

Mrs. Fell. What’s the matter, Mr. Spindler?

Spindler. [Shouting after Mrs. Pampinelli] He says he can’t get it up! [Mrs. Sheppard comes through the right doorway with an armload of American Beauty roses, and stands looking anxiously from side to side. Teddy follows her out and stands at her right, discussing the incident. Florence opens the left door and comes out. Her arms are full of tiger-lilies. She moves to the right and speaks to Mrs. Sheppard, nervously.]

Stage Manager. You can’t get through there, lady! [Twiller comes out the left door.]

Mrs. Pampinelli and Stage Manager, together;

Mrs. Pampinelli. I must get through somewhere!

Stage Manager. That tormentor’s too narrow there!

Mrs. Pampinelli, Stage Manager and Mrs. Fell, together.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Turning frantically and rushing forward again at the left] I’ll try the other side! He says it’s too narrow there!

Stage Manager. I don’t know how you’re going to do it!

Mrs. Fell. [As Mrs. Pampinelli sweeps between her and Spindler] What is it he says is broken, Betty? [Mrs. Pampinelli rushes over towards the right. She literally sweeps Twiller, who is in her path, out of the way, and he falls backward over a stage-brace, onto the floor. Mrs. Fell picks up her dress and runs after Mrs. Pampinelli.]

Spindler. [Outrunning Mrs. Fell] The guy-rope!

Mrs. Fell. Well, why doesn’t he fix it! Betty! Betty dear! [Mrs. Pampinelli rushes up at the extreme right and tries desperately to find a way of getting through; but everything is solidly masked. Hossefrosse comes out the left door, and the stage manager comes forward at the left and stands looking after Mrs. Pampinelli.]

Hossefrosse. What’s the matter, can’t Mrs. Pampinelli get her bow?

Stage Manager. She can’t get on any more from that side than she can from this! [Hossefrosse steps out through the door and looks toward the right. The door closes after him.] There’s the same opening over there as there is here! [The applause beyond the flats, which has kept up throughout the debacle, begins to die. Mrs. Pampinelli comes sweeping back from the right with fire in her eye,—Nelly Fell and Spindler still at her heels. She plants herself in the middle of the stage and glares at the stage manager.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [In a voice shrill with anger] My God! what’s the matter with your curtain!

Stage Manager. [Losing his temper] The guy-rope’s broken! I’ve told you that about a dozen times! [He turns doggedly away to the left, as though he were going up to his chair; but he stops short and finishes his remarks to her over his left shoulder.] What do you want me to do, write you a letter! [The left door is pushed quietly open; and Mrs. Ritter, with her face just visible above a perfect screen of roses, looks blankly at the stage manager.]

Mrs. Ritter. [Vaguely] There’s something the matter with the curtain. [The real stage curtain commences to descend.]

Stage Manager. [Leaning towards her, assuming her general manner and tone, and flipping his hand at her] Y-E-E-S! [He goes up towards his chair, and Mrs. Ritter stands in wide-eyed astonishment.]

END OF THE ACT.

---

THE TORCH-BEARERS.
Act III.

NOTE:

The setting for Act III is the same as for Act I except that the small chair which Jenny brings on at the opening of the play is eliminated.

Jenny is seated at the table below the piano, reading the Pictorial Review. The door closes out at the right. She stops reading and listens. Then resumes. Ritter wanders in from the right hallway, wearing a black overcoat and a derby. The derby is a bit over one eye and his cigar is at a comic angle. Jenny sees him and rises immediately, circling around to the left to the middle of the room.

Jenny. Oh, Mr. Ritter! [He comes into the center-door and stands there, looking at nothing.] I didn’t hear you come in, sir. Is the show over?

Ritter. [Removing his gloves] It’s all over town by this time.

Jenny. [Standing slightly left of the center of the room, facing him] Mrs. Ritter just telephoned a minute ago.

Ritter. Is she alive?

Jenny. Alive, Mr. Ritter?

Ritter. [Moving down to the table below the piano, and thrusting his gloves into his overcoat pocket] Because if she is, she’s got a charmed life. [Commencing to unfasten his coat] The Seamen’s Institute! God help them on a night like this.

Jenny. She was anxious to know if you were still unconscious.

Ritter. [Taking off his overcoat] If she telephones again, tell her yes. [He is in a tuxedo-suit.]

Jenny. [Crossing to him and helping him with the coat] Ain’t you feelin’ well again, Mr. Ritter?

Ritter. No, Jenny, I’m not. [He hands her his derby.]

Jenny. [Taking the hat and coat to the partition-seat above the piano] Well, I’m sure I’m sorry, sir.

Ritter. [Removing his scarf] And after that exhibition tonight,—I don’t think I ever shall feel exactly well again.

Jenny. [Coming down at his left and passing back of him] Was it a sad play?

Ritter. [Handing her his scarf, and speaking with measured conviction] The saddest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

Jenny. I allus cry when a show is sad.

Ritter. Is that so?

Jenny. Yes, sir; and a funny thing about me is—the sadder it is the more I cry.

Ritter. You’d have had a big night if you’d been with me. [She passes back of him with the scarf, to put it with the other things.] You’d better leave those things here, Jenny, I may leave town again tonight.

Jenny. I’ll leave them right here. [She turns from an arrangement of the things and comes forward to the middle of the room.] Did they clap much when Mrs. Ritter finished?

Ritter. [Still standing above the table near the piano, clipping the tip of a cigar which he has taken from his pocket] I didn’t wait for the finish; they carried me out.

Jenny. I’m dyin’ till she gets home, for I know exactly how she felt. [He looks at her keenly—she is looking straight ahead.]

Ritter. Have you been on the stage, too, Jenny?

Jenny. [Turning to him] No, sir, I haven’t, Mr. Ritter, not lately. But when I was at home in England I used to go on every once in a while. For a bit of a change, you know.

Ritter. Yes, I know.

Jenny. We had a little club in the town I lived in, and we used to give a show twice a year. [Ritter nods slowly and comprehendingly.] I always took off the comical parts.

Ritter. How is it they didn’t get you into this show tonight?

Jenny. Oh, I haven’t been on for a long time now, Mr. Ritter. My husband put a stop to it. [She looks away off.]

Ritter. [Turning to her] What was the matter?

Jenny. [Turning to him, suddenly] He died.

Ritter. [Replacing his penknife] I see.

Jenny. And I never felt much like cuttin’ up after that. [The telephone-bell rings. She turns quickly and starts for the center-door.]

Ritter. [Moving over towards the mantelpiece] See who that is, Jenny.

Jenny. [Hurrying out into the left hallway] Yes, sir.

Ritter. [Getting a match from the table below the mantelpiece] Anybody for me, I’ve gone into permanent retirement.

Jenny. [At the telephone] Yes? [He listens narrowly.] Mr. Ritta? [He makes a rapid movement towards her.] Oh, Mrs. Ritta?

Ritter. [In a subdued tone] Who do they want?

Jenny. [Into the telephone] No, mam, she hasn’t got home yet. [Lowering the telephone and speaking to Ritter] Mrs. Ritter.

Ritter. [Casually] Who is it, the police? [He lights his cigar.]

Jenny. [Into the telephone] All right, Mrs. Livingston, I’ll give her your message as soon as she comes in. You’re more than welcome I’m sure. [She hangs up and comes to the center-door.]

Ritter. [Looking at her] Mrs. Livingston?

Jenny. Yes, sir.

Ritter. What did she want?

Jenny. She sez she wanted to congratulate Mrs. Ritter on her perfect performance tonight.

Ritter. Did she see the show?

Jenny. She didn’t say, sir.

Ritter. [Conclusively, and crossing in front of her down to the window at the right] She didn’t see it. If any of those women come back here with Mrs. Ritter, Jenny,—say that I’m not home yet, do you understand.

Jenny. [Settling the overcoat on the partition-seat] Yes, sir.

Ritter. [Looking through the window] And that you haven’t seen anything of me.

Jenny. Yes, sir, Mr. Ritter, all right.

Ritter. If my wife’s alone, let me know as soon as she comes in.

Jenny. Yes, sir, I will. [The telephone-bell rings, and she hurries out to answer it.]

Ritter. [Half turning from the window] You haven’t seen anything of me, remember.

Jenny. No, sir. [Into the telephone] Yes, sir? [He listens, without turning.] No, sir, she hasn’t got home yet. [She lowers the telephone and looks at him, wide-eyed. He feels that she’s looking at him and turns suddenly.]

Ritter. [Taking a step towards her, below the piano] What is it?

Jenny. [Into the telephone] No, sir, he hasn’t got home yet neither.

Ritter. [Apprehensively] Do they want me? [She nods yes.] Who is it? [She nods that she doesn’t know.] Police Headquarters I’ll bet a ten dollar note! [He crosses down below the table at the left and around up to the mantelpiece.] Tell them that I had absolutely nothing to do with her going on! That I didn’t hear about it until last night! [He crosses back again down towards the table below the piano.] And that I’ve been unconscious ever since.

Jenny. [Into the telephone] The Times?

Ritter. [Stopping above the table] My God, the newspapers have got hold of it!

Jenny. [Into the telephone] Well, just a minute, please.

Ritter. [Turning suddenly to her] Tell them she did it on a bet!

Jenny. The Times newspaper wants to know if Mrs. Ritter has a full-length photograph of herself for the morning paper.

Ritter. [Emphatically, and going out through the center-door into the right hallway and up the stairs] Tell them NO!

Jenny. [Into the telephone] Hello.

Ritter. But that she’ll have some taken as soon as she gets out of jail. [He goes through the arched doorway at the head of the stairs.]

Jenny. [Into the telephone] Why, I couldn’t say, sir, whether Mrs. Ritter has a photograph of herself or not, sir; but I’ll give her your message as soon as she comes in.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [In the right hallway] Hurry, Theodore.

Jenny. [Still at the telephone] You’re more than welcome I’m sure. [She hangs up and hurries in through the center-door, glancing out the right hallway as she comes and, gathering up Mr. Ritter’s overcoat, derby and scarf, hurries over above the table at the left and out.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [In the right hallway] Be careful of those jonquils. Now, be careful, Theodore! Now go back and fetch the others. [Coming into view, and seeing Jenny coming in again at the left door] Oh, you’re up, Jenny, aren’t you! [She comes through the center-door, carrying her fan and an armload of orchids and red chrysanthemums, and wearing an enormous flowing cape of ruffled black lace, touched all over with tiny circular sequins in gold. Her dress, of course, is the ruby-velvet one of the preceding act.]

Jenny. Yes, mam, I’m up.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Hastening to the table below the piano] I’m so glad; I hope I haven’t roused you. [She puts her fan on the piano and sets all the flowers down on the table.] Will you go out and get those flowers from my chauffeur, Jenny?

Jenny. [Going out through the center-door into the right hallway] Yes, mam.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Arranging the flowers on the table] He’s set them right down there in the hallway. I came right on in when I found the door unlocked; I was afraid you’d be asleep.

Jenny. No, mam, I was waitin’ up.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Sweeping around to her left and up to the center-door] Well, that’s perfectly angelic of you I’m sure. [She stands on the left side of the center-door and looks out into the right hallway.] Can you manage, dear?

Jenny. [Appearing from the right] I think so. [She struggles through the center-door carrying an enormous horseshoe, made of red and white carnations and ferns. It is at least four feet high, set upon an easel, and across the front of it is a strip of white-satin ribbon ten inches wide with the word “SUCCESS” inscribed upon it in blue-velvet letters. She is also carrying a huge basket of jonquils, and a star made of white pansies. This last touch is fastened upon a violet easel.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Let me help you, child. [She takes the basket of jonquils and the star of pansies from Jenny.] Now, set that right down there. [She indicates a point in front of the mantelpiece for the horseshoe, and Jenny crosses in front of her with it.] I want Mrs. Ritter to see it first, when she comes in,—it’s so appropriate. [She sets the basket of jonquils on the piano.] I suppose we can put these down anywhere here until she comes, can’t we? [She sets the easel of pansies down on the floor at the right of the table below the piano.]

Jenny. [Having set the horseshoe down in front of the mantelpiece] This way, Mrs. Pampinelli?

Mrs. Pampinelli. No, dear, facing the door.

Jenny. Oh, I see. [She turns it round facing the center-door.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. That’s it. I want it to catch her eye as she comes in. And now will you go back and fetch the others, Jenny?

Jenny. [Hurrying out through the center-door] Yes, mam.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Gathering up the chrysanthemums from the table] And these chrysanthemums, [She sweeps across towards the mantelpiece and turns to her left, strewing the chrysanthemums through the center-door and down toward the table at the left.] I’ll just strew in her pathway. [Jenny comes in from the right hallway carrying a huge anchor of vivid red roses, with a broad band of navy-blue ribbon running diagonally across it, and the words “SEAMEN’S INSTITUTE” in white-velvet letters. She stands right in the center-door, holding it, waiting for instructions as to its disposition from Mrs. Pampinelli. But Mrs. Pampinelli is lost in admiration of it, standing just to the left of the center-door.] Now, set that right down here, Jenny. [She indicates a point at the extreme left, below the door, and Jenny hastens to place it there, setting it down half-facing the center-door; and Mrs. Pampinelli stands up at the center-door admiring it.] Hope! [Jenny turns to her and gives a faint little laugh.] Hope, for the success [She indicates the horseshoe with a gesture.] of our enterprise. [They both laugh, and Mrs. Pampinelli steps quickly down to the table below the piano and picks up the orchids.] And these orchids, I think I shall just put right here on this table. [She crosses to the table below the casement-window and puts them down; then straightens up and sighs.] Ho, dear me, I’m warm! [She crosses back between the piano and the table below it, picking up her fan as she goes.]

Jenny. [Moving up and across back of the table at the left, towards the center of the room] ’Tis a bit warm.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Fanning herself, as she moves towards the middle of the room] And then I hurried so,—foolishly.

Jenny. Did everything go along all right?

Mrs. Pampinelli. Magnificently, my dear child! And Mrs. Ritter was a positive sensation.

Jenny. Did she get all these flowers?

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Deprecatingly] Ho! This isn’t the half of them! We sent three automobiles full to the various hospitals. And Mrs. Fell’s car was still taking them when I left. [Jenny shakes her head from side to side in wonderment.] These are just a few that we rescued for Mrs. Ritter. [She moves towards the center-door.] Sort of a little surprise for her, you know, when she gets home. [She stands looking out into the right hallway, expectantly.]

Jenny. They’re certainly ’andsome.

Mrs. Pampinelli. She doesn’t even know that I’ve brought them.

Jenny. Is she comin’ right home, do you know, Mrs. Pampinelli?

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Turning to Jenny] Why, I expect her, yes. I was afraid she’d get here ahead of me. She was waiting for Mr. Ritter. [Coming forward a little] We heard at the hall that he was there, and she thought probably he’d come back and pick her up. He hasn’t come home, has he?

Jenny. No, mam, I haven’t seen anything of him.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Laughing a little, indulgently, securing a hair-pin, and moving over towards the right] Poor man! His wife’s success has very likely gone to his head. [She glances out the window.]

Jenny. He went out of here about eight o’clock.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Turning and coming back towards Jenny] Yes, we were so surprised to hear that he was there at all. Because Mrs. Ritter had said that he hadn’t regained consciousness up to the time she left the house.

Jenny. He hadn’t, neither. I thought I ’ad two ’eads on me when I came in and saw him puttin’ on ’is ’at and coat.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Well, did he seem all right?

Jenny. Yes, he seemed right enough; but he was awful pale-lookin’. And a couple a times I spoke to ’im, he gave me kind of a funny answer. So I got a bit frightened, you know; and I asked ’im if he knew where he was goin’. And he said, “Yes,” that he was goin’ to see “The Torch-Bearers.” Kind a flightly, you know.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Well, he would be, naturally.

Jenny. So then,—when he got to the door, he turned around—and he sez to me—“Jenny!—if you never see me again,—I want you to know I died in the cause of Art.”—And he went out.

Mrs. Pampinelli. He was probably rambling a bit.

Jenny. But, he walked straight enough.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Turning suddenly to the center-door] I think I hear a machine, Jenny.

Jenny. [Stepping across quickly below the table to the casement-window] I’ll see.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Do quickly, dear.

Jenny. Is Mrs. Fell comin’ back tonight?

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Looking out eagerly into the right hallway] Yes, she’s bringing the rest of the flowers. I’ve sent my car back for her.

Jenny. [Turning abruptly from the window and hurrying across below the piano towards the center-door] Here’s Mrs. Ritta now!

Mrs. Pampinelli. Is Mr. Ritter with her? [Intercepting Jenny] No, don’t go out, Jenny! I want to hear what they say when they see the flowers. [Turning her round by the shoulder and indicating the door down at the left] You go into the other room there, and I’ll hide here— [She moves forward at the right and across below the piano.] in this window.

Jenny. [Hurrying towards the door at the left] All right, mam.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Stopping near the window and turning to Jenny] And, Jenny dear!

Jenny. [Turning at the left door] Yes, mam?

Mrs. Pampinelli. Don’t come out—until you hear me say “SURPRISE!”

Jenny. All right, Mrs. Pampinelli, I won’t. [Mrs. Pampinelli steps into the alcove of the window, then turns again to Jenny.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Now, remember, Jenny,—“SURPRISE!”

Jenny. Yes, I know. [She closes the door, and Mrs. Pampinelli conceals herself behind the window-drapery. There is a slight pause; then Mrs. Ritter hurries in from the right hallway, carrying a marvelous bouquet of American Beauty roses. She comes in through the center-door and stands, looking, with a touch of astonishment, at the horseshoe. Then her eyes wander down to the anchor; and then over to the easel at the right. She is gowned in a very pale shade of gray lace, with gray-silk slippers and stockings; and around her head she is wearing a wreath of laurel in gold, touched with brilliants. Her cloak is of black chiffon-velvet, with a cape collar of black fox. She slides this cloak from her shoulders onto the partition-seat at the right, and starts across towards the door at the left.]

Mrs. Ritter. [Opening the door] Are you up, Jenny?—Jenny! [She closes the door again and crosses above the table at the left and over to the one below the piano. Here she sets down a few of the roses, then decides there is not sufficient room for all of them, and starts across to the table at the left. Ritter appears at the head of the stairs and starts down slowly. She sees him, and stops dead.] Fred! [She moves up towards the left of the center-door.] You don’t mean to tell me you’ve been home here,—and there I’ve been waiting at the hall since before ten o’clock. [He wanders in through the center-door and leans against the piano, holding a lighted cigar in his hand.] Why didn’t you come back for me? Irene Colter had to bring me home. [She starts to cry.] Clara Sheppard told me she saw you there, so, naturally, I waited for you. And when you didn’t come back, why, of course, right away—I thought something had happened to you. [She cries into her handkerchief.]

Ritter. [Without moving, and in a toneless voice] Something has happened to me. [She looks at him apprehensively.]

Mrs. Ritter. What happened to you, Fred?

Ritter. [Stonily, and moving down and across below the piano] I’ve seen you act.

Mrs. Ritter. What? [He raises his left hand solemnly and continues to the corner of the piano nearest the window, where he leans. She moves down a bit after him.] What’s the matter, Fred,—did you have another of those spells that you had last night?

Ritter. Yes; only a great deal worse.

Mrs. Ritter. Oh, isn’t that dreadful! What do you think it is, dear?

Ritter. [Turning slightly, and glancing at the violet easel and over at the anchor] I don’t know what it is. It looks like a wake to me. Who’s dead?

Mrs. Ritter. Dead?

Ritter. What are all these flowers doing here?

Mrs. Ritter. Why, I imagine some of the ladies have been here from the show—to fix up a little surprise for me.

Ritter. They should have lighted a few candles, and completed the effect.

Mrs. Ritter. But, these are just presents, Fred, from friends of ours.

Ritter. [Straightening up, and moving across below the table] They are tokens of sympathy, that’s what they are. [He crosses up and over above the table at the left.]

Mrs. Ritter. [Following him over] But, there’s nobody dead, dear!

Ritter. [Raising his left hand solemnly again] Oh, yes there is! Oh yes!

Mrs. Ritter. Really, dear! [He turns, just back of the arm-chair, and pins her with a look.]

Ritter. You’re dead. [She stands perfectly still, looking at him, wide-eyed.] You died tonight,—down there on that stage at Horticultural Hall. And so did everybody that was up there with you.

Mrs. Ritter. [With a troubled, uncomprehending expression] Why, how could I be dead, dear,—when I’m here,—talking to you? [He stands looking straight ahead, smoking. She bursts out crying, and turns to the partition-seat at the right of the center-door.] Oh, Fred! it’s terrible to see you this way!

Ritter. [Sweeping his hand across his brow and starting across below the table towards the right] The human brain can only stand so much.

Mrs. Ritter. [Setting her roses down on the partition-seat] You’ve just been working yourself to death! But nobody could tell you anything! [She starts out into the left hallway for the telephone.]

Ritter. [Stopping over near the window and turning] What are you going to do?

Mrs. Ritter. [Turning to him] Why, I’m going to call Doctor Wentworth of course.

Ritter. What for?

Mrs. Ritter. Why, because you need him!

Ritter. [Taking a step or two towards her, between the piano and the table below it] I won’t see any doctor, now!

Mrs. Ritter. [Coming back through the center-door] Now,—listen, Fred—

Ritter. [Raising his hand, and crossing to the left] I won’t see any doctor, I tell you—there’s nothing he can do for me: [He stops above the arm-chair at the left and rests his hand upon the back of it.] it’s all been done. There’s nothing left for me but to get out of town.

Mrs. Ritter. [Following him over] Well, just let him come over and see you, dear.

Ritter. What would I let him come over and see me for? There’s nothing the matter with me.

Mrs. Ritter. Why, you’re as pale as a ghost!

Ritter. That’s nothing—I’ve had a scare.

Mrs. Ritter. [Solicitously] What scared you, dear? [He turns and looks at her.]

Ritter. I was afraid every minute somebody was going to shoot you.

Mrs. Ritter. [After a bewildered pause] But, why should anybody shoot me, darling?

Ritter. For trying to act. [He moves forward and across in front of the table, to the right,—she watching him blankly.] Making a laughing-stock of yourselves in front of the community.

Mrs. Ritter. Didn’t you like me, Fred?

Ritter. [Casually, as he nears the window] I did till I saw you act. [He turns around to his right and leans on the piano. She moves over towards the table below the piano.]

Mrs. Ritter. [Rather helplessly, as the situation dawns upon her] Why, Mrs. Pampinelli said I was a great artist.

Ritter. [With vast amusement] Ha! [Then he looks at his wife and speaks very exactly.] Mrs. Pampinelli is perhaps the world’s greatest NUT. [Mrs. Pampinelli, standing back in the widow-alcove at the right, in a state of puzzled irresolution, reacts, physically, to this last observation, causing an abrupt movement of the drapery. But, neither Ritter nor his wife are looking in that direction at the moment.]

Mrs. Ritter. [Laying the remaining roses on the table] She says I ought to go on with the work.

Ritter. [Dryly] She meant the housework. [He replaces his cigar in his mouth.]

Mrs. Ritter. [Looking at him with a touch of resentment] No, she didn’t mean anything of the kind. She says I ought to go to New York. [He takes the cigar from his mouth and looks at her keenly.]

Ritter. And what would you do when you’d get there?

Mrs. Ritter. Why, I’d go on the stage, of course.

Ritter. [Very level] How?

Mrs. Ritter. Why, I’d go to the people that have charge of it.

Ritter. And, do you think they’d put you on the stage simply because you wanted to go on it?

Mrs. Ritter. Well, Mrs. Pampinelli could give me a letter—

Ritter. Hum!

Mrs. Ritter. So that I’d have it when I’d get there.

Ritter. That’d do you a lot of good. You’d find a thousand there ahead of you, with letters from Mrs. Pampinellis. Nobody in New York knows Mrs. Pampinelli; and if they did, it’d probably kill any chance that a person might have otherwise. [Mrs. Pampinelli can contain herself no longer. She flips the window-drapery aside with a deft movement and stands looking at Ritter, from a great height. Mrs. Ritter, who is facing the window, utters an abrupt shriek of astonishment. Then Ritter turns, rather casually, to see the cause of his wife’s agitation, and finds himself looking into the frozen eyes of Mrs. Pampinelli. He regards her rather impersonally, and then quietly reaches up and secures his collar and tie. She steps majestically from the window-alcove and moves a bit nearer to him, still holding him with an icy stare.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [After a devastating pause] You creature.

Ritter. [Turning smoothly away, to his left, as though he had been suddenly struck by something, in the right eye] Another actress. [He moves along a few steps to the left, in front of the table, then turns and speaks to Mrs. Pampinelli over his left shoulder.] What did you do, come through the window?

Mrs. Pampinelli. I’ve been hiding here.

Ritter. [Resuming his walk over to the left] I don’t blame you,—after that show; I’ve been doing the same thing myself. [He sits in the arm-chair over at the left.]

Mrs. Ritter. [Who has been standing in a panic in the middle of the room, staring wide-eyed at Mrs. Pampinelli] Oh, Mrs. Pampinelli,—you didn’t hear what he’s been saying?

Mrs. Pampinelli. Every word. [She very regally deposits her fan upon the piano, and Mrs. Ritter, turning to Ritter, makes a long, moaning sound.]

Mrs. Ritter. Now, Fred Ritter, you see what you’ve done! [She bursts into tears, and comes down to the chair at the left of the table below the piano and sits down.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Moving to a point above the table] And I wouldn’t have missed it. I’ll know how to regard this gentleman in the future. I came home hurriedly with these few flowers as a little acknowledgment of the appreciation your work deserved; and all I hear is abuse; and a very crude, but very venomous attempt at satire. [Mrs. Ritter weeps aloud.] Control yourself, darling, I wouldn’t please him.

Ritter. [Quietly] She’s acting again.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Withering him with a glance] You barbarian! [To Mrs. Ritter] Pull yourself together, dear.

Mrs. Ritter. Oh, I just can’t, Mrs. Pampinelli.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Addressing Ritter directly, and indicating Mrs. Ritter] Look at the state of emotion you’ve got this poor girl into!

Ritter. She’s an emotional actress. [Mrs. Ritter bursts forth again.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Savage! [To Mrs. Ritter] Let me get you something, darling.

Mrs. Ritter. Call Jenny.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Yes, dear. [She crosses to a point just to the left of the middle of the room, then stops and calls toward the door at the left.] Jenny dear, SURPRISE! [Ritter listens, with a puzzled expression.] Come here, Jenny,—SURPRISE! [Ritter turns around in the chair, to his right, and looks at her curiously. She meets his eyes with steady bitterness. Then he shifts his gaze to his wife.]

Ritter. Why didn’t you take your make-up off?

Mrs. Ritter. I forgot it,—I was so worried about you.

Ritter. You look like a Dutch squaw. [She bursts into tears again.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Hastening over to her] Let her alone! Don’t mind him, Paula.

Ritter. She’s all made up! and it’s coming off.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Well, what if it is?

Ritter. [Settling back into the arm-chair] I don’t want to be reminded of that show. [Jenny enters hurriedly from the door at the left.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Mrs. Ritter is ill, Jenny. [Jenny comes quickly across, above the table at the left.]

Mrs. Ritter. [Half turning to her] My smelling-salts, Jenny.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Standing back of Mrs. Ritter] Her smelling-salts, dear.

Jenny. [Hurrying out through the center-door] Yes, mam.

Mrs. Ritter. They’re in my bureau-basket.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Turning and calling after Jenny] In her bureau-basket, Jenny.

Jenny. [Running up the stairs] Yes, mam, I know where they are.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Gathering up the roses from the table] Let me take these flowers out of your way, dear. You’ve been treated abominably. Although your husband’s attitude is entirely consistent with that of the average husband’s, after his wife has distinguished herself. [Ritter makes a little sound of amusement, and she glares at him.] And any observations of Mr. Ritter’s to the contrary, you did distinguish yourself tonight, Paula. [She turns to her right and puts the roses on the piano.]

Ritter. [Sitting away down in the arm-chair, smoking] So did the Cherry Sisters. [Mrs. Ritter weeps again.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Turning back again from the piano to Mrs. Ritter] We are not talking to you at all, sir. [Mrs. Ritter has a slight coughing spell.]

Mrs. Ritter. Will you get me a drink of water, please?

Mrs. Pampinelli. Certainly, darling, where is it?

Mrs. Ritter. You’ll find it just inside the breakfast-room. [Mrs. Pampinelli sails across the room towards the left door. Just as she is passing back of Ritter’s chair, he turns and looks at her, and the excessive grandeur of her manner causes him to burst out laughing. But she simply freezes him with a look and goes out through the left door. He continues to laugh; and Mrs. Ritter, not having seen the cause of his laughter, stops crying and turns and looks at him, very troubled.] Fred Ritter, you’re acting to me tonight—just like a man that’d be losing his mind! [He looks over at her.] I really thought that was what was the matter with you when I first came in!

Ritter. [Very confidentially] Listen—When I didn’t lose my mind watching that show tonight, I couldn’t go nutty if I tried.

Mrs. Ritter. Well, if anybody else comes here tonight, you just keep that kind of talk to yourself. There were lots of people there that thought it was wonderful. Look at all these flowers.

Ritter. These flowers were all paid for long before anybody saw that show. [There is a staccato tap at the front door-bell. Jenny is hurrying down the stairs with the smelling-salts.]

Mrs. Ritter. [Rising, and trying to fix herself up a bit] Well, that’s only your opinion. [She starts for the center-door.] This is very likely Nelly Fell. [Turning back to him as she nears the center-door] Now, don’t you say anything to her, remember! She likes you.

Mrs. Fell. [In the right hallway] No, I think I can manage, Theodore. [Jenny hands Mrs. Ritter the smelling-salts, at the center-door.]

Mrs. Ritter. Thanks, Jenny.

Jenny. You’re welcome. [She hurries out into the right hallway, and Mrs. Ritter comes forward to the chair below the piano, sniffing the salts. Ritter rises and saunters around and up to the left of the arm-chair.]

Mrs. Fell. You can close that door, if you will! Couldn’t wait for you, Jenny! [She rushes in from the right hallway.] I’m too much excited! [She plants herself in the center-door, holding aloft in her right hand a beautiful basket of tulips, and in her left, a huge bouquet of violets.] Well, here I am, with my frankincense and myrrh! [She gives an hysterical giggle and teeters forward towards Mrs. Ritter.] Oh, there you are, Frederick Ritter! We thought something had happened to you! Pauline, dear child, I’ve come to worship at your shrine. [She places the basket of tulips down on the floor to the left of Mrs. Ritter, then straightens up, regards Mrs. Ritter, giggles frantically, and looks over at Ritter.]

Mrs. Ritter. [Laughing wanly, and trying generally not to appear as though she’d been crying] You’ve been very sweet.

Mrs. Fell. Not half so sweet as you were on that stage tonight! [Speaking confidentially, and with great conviction] Dear child, you’re made! Absolutely made! [Turning to Ritter] Isn’t she, Frederick? [But he’s busy getting rid of some ashes in the fireplace, so she returns to Mrs. Ritter.] It’s one of those overnight things that one reads about! [She picks up the basket of tulips from the floor and teeters around above the table.] Dear me, look at this wilderness of flowers! [She sets the basket on the table.]

Mrs. Ritter. [Trying not to cry] Yes, yes, aren’t they beautiful! [She darts a look at Ritter.]

Mrs. Fell. [Rapturously] Not another word until I’ve kissed you! [She kisses her on the left side of the head.] Oh, you sweet child! [She shakes Mrs. Ritter by the shoulders.] what can I say to you! [Then she teeters to the middle of the room, addressing Ritter directly.] See here, young man! Why aren’t you just pelting your wife with these flowers? [He tries to hide his appreciation of the situation by turning away his head.] Answer me! [He bursts out laughing, and Nelly teeters back towards Mrs. Ritter.] My dear, the man is so pleased he can’t talk! [Ritter laughs a little more.] And if you were any other woman but his wife, Paula, he’d be sending you mash-notes! [Ritter begins to laugh again, and Nelly teeters towards him.] Oh, you can laugh all you like, Frederick Ritter, but you can’t fool Nelly Fell! [She comes back towards Mrs. Ritter, addressing her.] I’ve had three husbands,—I know their tricks. [She places her finger on Mrs. Ritter’s shoulder.] Pauline, dear child, you may be sure that that young man is proud of you tonight if he never was before. [Mrs. Ritter tries to laugh.] And when he gets you alone—[Mrs. Ritter’s attempt at laughter is instantly abandoned, and she gives a startled glance toward Ritter, who turns away to his left and goes up towards the mantelpiece.] Oh, when he gets you alone! [Mrs. Fell turns slowly and looks toward Ritter, with a roguish expression and a measured shaking of her finger at him.] He’s going to tell you you were the loveliest thing that ever stepped on a stage. If he hasn’t done so already. Have you, Frederick? [She looks at him with a mischievous eye.] Have you? [He laughs, at the irony of the situation. She crosses towards him.] Come on, ’fess up!—I know the position is difficult! [He laughs hard, and she laughs with him; then turns back to Mrs. Ritter. Jenny comes in from the right hallway.] You see, my dear, the man is so pleased he can’t talk! [She sees Jenny passing along the hallway and steps quickly up to the center-door.] Oh, Jenny dear! Will you take these violets out and put them in some water.

Jenny. [Taking the violets] Yes, mam. [Mrs. Pampinelli enters at the left door, with a glass of water.]

Mrs. Fell. I’m afraid they’ll be all withered. [Jenny continues on into the left hallway. Mrs. Fell turns around into the room again.] Where’s Mrs. P.? [Sees Mrs. Pampinelli] Oh, there you are! I was just wondering where you were.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Crossing above the table at the left, towards Mrs. Ritter] Did you get the smelling-salts, Jenny?

Jenny. Yes, mam, I gave them to Mrs. Ritter. [She goes out at the left hallway.]

Mrs. Ritter. Yes, Betty, I have them.

Mrs. Fell. [Coming a step or two forward] Well, Betty, you see we managed to get them all here.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Back of the table below the piano, and at Mrs. Ritter’s left] Here, try and drink this, Paula. [Mrs. Ritter takes the water and tries to drink it; and Mrs. Pampinelli leans solicitously over her. There is a pause.]

Mrs. Fell. [Coming anxiously down at Mrs. Ritter’s left] What’s the matter?—[She looks at Mrs. Pampinelli.] Is Paula sick?

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Straightening up, and very imperiously] The critic—has been giving his impressions of our play.

Mrs. Fell. Who? [She turns towards Ritter.] This critic here, you mean? [She indicates Ritter and then looks at Mrs. Pampinelli. Mrs. Pampinelli inclines her head, with the suggestion of a derisive smile, and passes up to the center-door. Mrs. Fell crosses quickly towards Ritter.] What have you been saying, Frederick Ritter?—Huh?

Mrs. Ritter. [Laying the glass of water down on the table] Oh, what does it matter, Nelly, what he’s been saying!

Mrs. Fell. [Turning sharply to Mrs. Ritter] What?

Mrs. Ritter. [Trying not to cry] I say—I say [She bursts into tears.] I say what does it matter what he’s been saying!

Mrs. Fell. It doesn’t matter in the least, as far as I’m concerned—[Mrs. Pampinelli turns at the center-door and comes forward slowly in the middle of the room.] there’s only one thing he could say, if he told the truth.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Laying her hand on Mrs. Fell’s left arm] Eleanor, dear child,—husbands are not always particular about telling the truth—where the abilities of their wives are concerned. If I had listened to the promptings of my own soul, instead of to my husband, when I was a younger woman, I should in all probability be one of the leading figures in the American Theatre today. But I was fool enough, like a lot of other women, to believe that my husband had my welfare at heart,—when the fact of the matter was, as I see it now, when it’s too late,—he was simply jealous of my artistic promise. [The cuckoo-clock strikes the midnight hour. Ritter turns and looks up at it, then glances at Mrs. Pampinelli. She is looking up at the clock distrustfully. Mrs. Fell raises her eyes discreetly to it, then drops them to the floor.] Why, the night I played Hazel Kirke, I had my best friends in tears: yet, when I returned from the hall, and the entire town of Cohoes ringing with my name,—my husband had the effrontery to tell me that I was so terrific he was obliged to leave the hall before the end of the first act. So,—[She turns to Mrs. Ritter.] if this gentleman here has set himself up as your critic, Paula,—remember my story,—the actress without honor in her own house. [She sweeps across below the piano to the window.] Is my car out here, Nelly?

Mrs. Fell. [Moving over a bit towards Mrs. Ritter] Yes, it’s there. I told Matthew he needn’t bother coming back for me, that you’d take me home. [Mrs. Ritter begins to cry softly, and Mrs. Fell steps to her left and puts her hand on her shoulder.] Don’t do that, Paula. [She turns sharply and goes towards Ritter.] What was the matter with that performance, Frederick Ritter?

Ritter. [Over at the left, below the mantelpiece] Why, they didn’t even know their lines!

Mrs. Ritter. [Straightening up abruptly and looking at him, reproachfully] Oh!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Turning sharply from the window] That is a falsehood! They ran over every line last night, right here in this room,—and they knew—practically all of them.

Ritter. What good was that, if they couldn’t remember them on the stage.

Mrs. Ritter and Mrs. Pampinelli, together.

Mrs. Ritter. [To Ritter] I could remember them on the stage! [Turning to Mrs. Pampinelli] I never missed one line!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [To Ritter] They could remember them on the stage!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [To Mrs. Ritter] Not a line.

Ritter. She and that other woman sat there blinking at the audience like a couple of sparrow-hawks.

Mrs. Pampinelli. They did nothing of the kind.

Mrs. Fell. Of course they didn’t!

Ritter. [Speaking directly to Mrs. Fell] How do you know? You weren’t out there.

Mrs. Fell. I could see them through the scenery, couldn’t I? And they didn’t look anything like a couple of sparrow-hawks,—as you say.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Contemptuously] Well, as I have never seen a couple of sparrow-hawks, I cannot appreciate the comparison.

Ritter. Well, you’d have seen a couple tonight, if you’d been with me.

Mrs. Ritter. Oh, don’t argue with him, Betty! He’s only trying to be smart.

Ritter. Why didn’t one of them say something?

Mrs. Pampinelli. What could they have said?

Ritter. Why, any commonplace! It’d have been better than just sitting there blinking. [Mrs. Ritter weeps.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. One can’t be commonplace in high comedy.

Ritter. Was that what it was?

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Bitterly] What did you think it was?

Ritter. [Turning and going up to the center-door] You tell her, Nelly; I haven’t got the heart.

Mrs. Fell. [Moving a little towards the right] You bold thing. [Nelly is wearing the gown she wore in the preceding act, and a heavy cloak of old-rose-colored velvet. She lays her hand on Mrs. Ritter’s left shoulder.] Don’t let him upset you this way, Paula. [There is a little pause. Ritter turns at the center-door and comes forward again at the left.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Picking up her fan from the piano] I suppose you would have eclipsed Edwin Booth, if you had been up there.

Ritter. Well, I’d have known better than to sit there blinking at the audience.

Mrs. Ritter. [Turning sharply to him] I didn’t blink at the audience.

Mrs. Fell. Don’t answer him, honey.

Mrs. Pampinelli. What could they have done under the circumstances?

Ritter. Why, they could have covered it up!—if they’d had any brains.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Covered it up with what?

Ritter. Why, with anything! Impromptu conversation! [Mrs. Fell looks at Mrs. Pampinelli and smiles pityingly.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. And have the audience laugh at them?

Ritter. They laughed anyhow, didn’t they?

Mrs. Fell. [Taking a step or two towards him] That was not their fault!

Ritter. [To Nelly] Whose fault was it?

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Imperiously, and moving over to a point above the table at which Mrs. Ritter is sitting] It was Mr. Spindler’s fault.

Ritter. Mr. Spindler.

Mrs. Pampinelli. He promised to attend to the various properties and he did not attend to them.—There was supposed to be a pen and ink on the desk for Mrs. Rush to leave a note for Doctor Arlington;—and when Paula sat down to write the note, there was no pen—and no ink. So she simply had to go on sitting there until Mr. Spearing went off and got them.

Ritter. I thought he’d left town.

Mrs. Fell. Oh, he wasn’t gone so very long, Frederick Ritter!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Bitterly, to Mrs. Fell] Not five minutes.

Ritter. I thought the show’ud be over before he’d get back.

Mrs. Pampinelli. The door wouldn’t open when he attempted to go back, so he was obliged to go around to the other side. [She illustrates the circumstance by waving her fan in a circular gesture about the table. Ritter bursts out laughing. Nelly glares at him, then looks to Mrs. Pampinelli, who, with a deadly, level look, turns and moves haughtily up towards the center-door.]

Ritter. What happened to the skinny guy’s mustache, that it kept falling off every other line?

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Turning to him, up near the center-door] It only fell off twice, don’t exaggerate. [Ritter laughs again.]

Mrs. Fell. You bold thing!

Ritter. How many times was it supposed to fall off?

Mrs. Pampinelli. Well, what if it fell off a dozen times,—everybody knew it wasn’t real! [He roars.]

Mrs. Fell. It’s a lucky thing for you, Frederick Ritter, that you’re not my husband!

Ritter. [Quietly] That goes both ways, Nelly.

Mrs. Fell. [Moving across towards him] Well,—when you do something that you’ll get so many flowers that my limousine will have to make three trips to get them to the various hospitals,—we may pay more attention to what you have to say. [She turns away and moves back towards the center of the room, where Mrs. Pampinelli is just moving forward from the center-door.]

Ritter. I suppose most of the audience have gone with the flowers, haven’t they? [Nelly whirls round to retort, but Mrs. Pampinelli lays a restraining hand upon her right arm.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [With immortal authority] Don’t answer him, Eleanor—“Envy loves a lofty mark.” The next time we have a part that calls for a very limited intelligence, we’ll engage Mr. Ritter for it. [She moves a little down to the right towards Mrs. Ritter.]

Mrs. Fell. [Looking at Ritter] Now!

Ritter. [Casually] Well, if you do, he’ll know how to walk across the stage without tripping every other step.

Mrs. Fell. Who tripped every other step?

Ritter. [Indicating his wife] The weeping-willow there. [Mrs. Ritter begins to weep afresh.]

Mrs. Fell. It’s a wonder to me you’re not afraid to lie so!

Ritter. She tripped when she first came through the door! I was looking right at her.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Turning to him] She didn’t fall, did she?

Ritter. No, but it looked for a while there as though she were going to. [Mrs. Ritter’s weeping becomes audible again.] I very nearly had heart failure.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Laying her hand on Paula’s shoulder] Don’t mind him, Paula.

Ritter. She tripped when she came on the stage, she tripped when she went off, and she tripped over the rug when she went over to the desk!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [With measured finality] She didn’t trip any oftener than anybody else. [He laughs.]

Mrs. Fell. [Directly to Ritter] No, nor half so often as some of the others,—[Turning towards Mrs. Pampinelli] now that you speak of it! [She turns and goes up to the hallway.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. I will admit that Mr. Hossefrosse is a bit unsteady,—but that is due to his weak ankles.

Ritter. What was the star’s unsteadiness due to?

Mrs. Ritter. The rugs!

Ritter. [Looking at her keenly] What?

Mrs. Ritter and Mrs. Pampinelli, together.

Mrs. Ritter. The rugs.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Moving to the center of the room] The rugs!

Mrs. Pampinelli. Those funny rugs—that they have down there. We didn’t use them at the rehearsals,—and, naturally, when it came to the performance,—Paula wasn’t accustomed to them.

Ritter. She was accustomed to rugs at home, wasn’t she?

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Tersely] Well, she wasn’t at home on the stage.

Ritter. [With a gesture of complete acquiesence, and moving up towards the center-door] That’s my argument in a nutshell. [Mrs. Pampinelli stands frozen in the middle of the room, with an expression very much as though she were trying mentally to assassinate him. He comes back down again at the left, to his former position.] Why, I couldn’t hear two-thirds of what she said.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Well, evidently there were many people there who could hear what she said, for they laughed at all her points. [She turns and goes to the piano, where she picks up several roses. Mrs. Fell comes forward through the center-door and down towards the piano.]

Ritter. I wanted to laugh, too, but I was afraid somebody’d turn around and see me.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Turning to Mrs. Ritter] Are you ready, Nelly?

Mrs. Fell. Yes, I’m ready.

Mrs. Ritter. Are you going, Betty?

Mrs. Pampinelli. Yes, I must, darling, it’s getting late. [She places her hand on Mrs. Ritter s shoulder.] Good night, dear. [She passes up towards the center-door.]

Mrs. Ritter. Good night, Betty.

Mrs. Fell. [Laying her hand on Mrs. Ritter’s shoulder] Good night, Paula child.

Mrs. Ritter. Good night, Nelly. [Nelly follows Mrs. Pampinelli.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Stopping in the center-door and turning to Ritter] Perhaps, at our next performance,—Mr. Ritter will favor us with the benefit of some of his suggestions. [She regards him with a touch of lofty amusement. He turns his head towards her and looks at her with a kind of mischievous squint.]

Ritter. [Quite pleasantly] There aren’t going to be any more performances, Mrs. Pampinelli, as far as anybody in this house is concerned.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [After a steady pause] No? [He inclines his head in quiet emphasis.]

Ritter. Not until there’s a change in the management. [There is another taut pause.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Coldly] Really? [He inclines his head again.] Then, I’m afraid we sha’n’t have you with us, Mr. Ritter.

Ritter. [Smiling] I know very well you won’t have me with you. And as far as Mrs. Ritter’s concerned,—she’s got a very good home here—and I love her; and any time she feels any dramatic instinct coming on, there’s a very nice roomy attic upstairs, and she can go up there and lock the door, and nobody’ll ever see or hear her. But if she ever gets mixed up again in anything like that atrocity I saw tonight,—I’m through. [He speaks the last words with quiet definiteness, and turns towards the door at the left.] And she’ll get killed in the bargain. [He hits the door open with the palm of his hand and goes out. There is a slight pause: then Nelly Fell crosses quickly towards the mantelpiece, addressing Ritter as she goes.]

Mrs. Fell. Why, Fred Ritter!—I’ve heard you say yourself that you were in favor of a Little Theatre in this city!

Ritter. [Coming in again through the door at the left, carrying his overcoat, derby and scarf] So I am! I say so again. [He stops inside the door.] But in the light of that cataclysm tonight, you’ll pardon me if I add, that I do not see the connection.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Stepping forward to the middle of the room and challenging him with a lift of her head and brows] What did you expect to see, Mr. Ritter,—a finished performance from a group of comparative amateurs?

Ritter. I expected to see something almost as bad as what I saw;—that’s the reason I fainted last night and was unconscious for twenty-four hours at the prospect of it. [He turns to Mrs. Fell and speaks quite colloquially.] And that’s the first time in my life I’ve ever fainted. [Nelly just gives him a look and turns her head away.]

Mrs. Ritter. Don’t mind him, Betty,—he’s only trying to show off.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [With bitter amusement] No, but I’m a bit curious—to know just how Mr. Ritter would expect to accomplish the establishment of a Little Theatre here, unless through the medium of such performances as this one this evening. How else is our local talent to be discovered—or developed?

Ritter. Well, I’m equally curious, Mrs. Pampinelli, as to your exact qualifications—as a discoverer or developer of talent for the theatre.

Mrs. Pampinelli. That is a very familiar attitude. People who do things—are constantly having their ability to do them called into question. [She moves a step further forward and towards Mrs. Ritter.]

Ritter. I’m afraid that’s something you’ve read somewhere. [She glares at him.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. The theatre is a matter of instinct.

Ritter. The theatre is a matter of qualifications,—the same as any other profession; and it will only be through those particular qualifications that your Little Theatre will ever be brought about. [He crosses over in front of Mrs. Fell and up towards the center-door.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Well, perhaps you will come to the rescue;—you seem so familiar with the various necessities of the Little Theatre. [He stops, just to the left of the center-door, and looks at Mrs. Pampinelli straight.]

Ritter. [Quietly] I am also familiar, Mrs. Pampinelli, with a little remark that Mr. Napoleon made on one occasion, a long time ago;—about the immorality of assuming a position for which one is unqualified. [There is a pause,—he settles his coat on his arm, then moves slowly out through the center-door into the hallway: while Mrs. Pampinelli, with an expression of eternal exclusion, moves over between the piano and the table towards the window.]

Mrs. Ritter. [Turning] Fred Ritter, where are you going?

Ritter. [Lighting his cigar in the hallway, just outside the center-door] I haven’t the faintest idea. But I shouldn’t be surprised if I’d go on the stage.

Mrs. Fell. [Standing back of the arm-chair at the left] One star is enough in the family.

Ritter. [Bowing very graciously to her] Applause—[She turns away and looks straight ahead. Then Ritter bows towards Mrs. Pampinelli.] and great laughter—[Mrs. Pampinelli isn’t looking at him, but she knows that that is meant for her, so she simply moves another step or two towards the window. Mrs. Ritter turns to see what Ritter is doing. He takes a step and leans forward towards her, speaking rather confidentially.] followed by booing. [She turns back again and starts to cry, while he continues out into the right hallway and up the stairs. As he mounts the stairs, he holds aloft his lighted cigar, after the fashion of a zealous bearer of the torch.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Picking up the orchids from the table below the window] Paula, you should have Jenny put these orchids in water; they keep ever so long in a cool place. [She comes across towards the left, below the piano.]

Mrs. Ritter. Will you call her, Nelly?

Mrs. Fell. [Crossing to meet Mrs. Pampinelli] Give them to me, Betty, I’ll take them out to her. [Mrs. Pampinelli gives her the orchids.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Tell her to put them in a cool place. [Nelly starts up for the center-door. The telephone-bell rings.]

Mrs. Ritter. Will you answer that, Nelly?

Mrs. Fell. [Setting the orchids down on the chair in the left hallway] Certainly, darling.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Standing back of Mrs. Ritter’s chair] If it’s anything concerning the play, I shall be at home on Tuesday at two.

Mrs. Fell. [At the telephone] Yes?—Yes?—Who?—Oh,—well, wait just one moment, please.

Mrs. Pampinelli. What is it?

Mrs. Fell. [Holding the transmitter against her bosom and leaning over the partition towards Mrs. Pampinelli] It’s the Star Moving Picture Company.

Mrs. Pampinelli. What do they want?

Mrs. Fell. They want the address of Mrs. Ritter’s manager. [Mrs. Pampinelli gives a quick look at Mrs. Ritter.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [To Mrs. Ritter] I anticipated this. [She goes quickly towards the center-door, laying her fan and roses on the left partition-seat, as she passes out into the hallway.] Give it to me, Nelly. [Nelly hands her the telephone, and, picking up the orchids from the chair, tiptoes back of Mrs. Pampinelli and in through the center-door.]

Mrs. Fell. [In an excited whisper to Mrs. Ritter] What did I tell you! [She giggles nervously, shakes her finger at Mrs. Ritter, and then watches Mrs. Pampinelli eagerly.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Into the telephone] Hello-hello—This is Mrs. Ritter’s manager speaking. Mrs. Pampinelli. Pampinelli. Mrs. J. Duro Pampinelli. Capital P—a—m, p—i—n, e—double l—i.—Correct. Yes—I see—I see.—Well, how do you mean, a thousand dollars, a thousand dollars a day, or a thous—I see. Well, just one moment, please. [She lowers the telephone and leans towards Mrs. Ritter, speaking in a subdued tone.] The Star Moving Picture Company wants to know if Mrs. Ritter will appear in a special production of tonight’s play before the camera.

Mrs. Fell. [Narrowing her left eye] What’s the figure?

Mrs. Pampinelli. One thousand dollars per week.

Mrs. Fell. [Definitely] Fifteen hundred.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Into the telephone] Hello-hello!

Mrs. Ritter. [Rising] Maybe I’d better talk to them.

Mrs. Fell. [Suggesting with a gesture that she be quiet and resume her chair] Please, dear. [Mrs. Ritter meekly sits down again.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Into the telephone] Why, I’m sorry,—but Mrs. Ritter does not appear under fifteen hundred dollars per week.

Mrs. Fell. [Watching her shrewdly] Net! [Mrs. Pampinelli turns and looks at her sharply, and Nelly emphasizes what she said by inclining her head: then Mrs. Pampinelli speaks into the telephone again.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Net.

Mrs. Fell. [To Mrs. Pampinelli] It’s a bargain at that. [She nods towards Mrs. Ritter.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Into telephone] Twelve-fifty?

Mrs. Fell. No compromise.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Into telephone] Well, just one moment. [Covering the transmitter and speaking to Mrs. Fell] Twelve-fifty is offered.

Mrs. Fell. [Definitely] Fifteen hundred dollars. They’ll lift it.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Turning back to the telephone] Why, I’m very sorry,—but Mrs. Ritter positively does not appear under fifteen hundred dollars. [Nelly inclines her head towards her.] Net. Well, how do you mean satisfactory? Satisfactory at our figure? [Mrs. Pampinelli glances at Mrs. Fell and Mrs. Fell glances at Mrs. Ritter.]

Mrs. Fell. [To Mrs. Pampinelli] Sign!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Into the telephone] Very well, then,—signed at fifteen hundred dollars per week,—

Mrs. Fell. Net!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Into the telephone] Net! And Mrs. Ritter appears. [She stands holding the telephone and listening.]

Mrs. Fell. [Whirling round and teetering down to Paula] Our STAR! I always said it! [She shakes Mrs. Ritter by the shoulders.] I always said it! [She whirls round and teeters up towards the center-door.] Haven’t I always said it, Betty? [Mrs. Pampinelli is listening on the telephone, and tries, by dint of thrusting the telephone towards Nelly, to silence her. But Nelly is irrepressible.] That it was only a question of time? [She turns and flies down towards Mrs. Ritter again.] We must telephone Mrs. Livingston at once, Paula!

Mrs. Pampinelli. Be quiet, Nelly, be quiet!

Mrs. Fell. [Rushing up towards the center-door again] She’ll be so interested! We must call up Mrs. Livingston right away, Betty!

Mrs. Pampinelli. Please, Nelly! [Nelly is silenced. Mrs. Pampinelli listens sharply, Nelly and Mrs. Ritter watching her; and there is a dead pause.] Beg pardon? [There is another slight pause; and then Mrs. Pampinelli utters an abrupt shriek and sets down the telephone.]

Mrs. Fell. What is it, Betty? [Mrs. Pampinelli looks at her, then straight ahead.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [With venomous enunciation] It’s Ritter! [Mrs. Ritter rises slowly.]

Mrs. Fell. Ritter? [Mrs. Pampinelli doesn’t stir.]

Mrs. Ritter. [Addressing Mrs. Pampinelli] Fred?

Mrs. Pampinelli. I recognized his voice. [She moves along the left hallway and comes in through the center-door and forward, a little to the left of the center of the room.]

Mrs. Fell. [Up just to the right of the center-door] Why, where is he?

Mrs. Ritter. [Beginning to cry] He must be on the extension upstairs. [Nelly listens keenly.]

Mrs. Fell. It is he; I hear him laughing. [She crosses down to the door at the left.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Taking a step towards Mrs. Ritter] Sit down, Paula. [Mrs. Ritter sits down, rests her elbows on the table and weeps bitterly. Nelly stops over at the door and turns.]

Mrs. Fell. [Positively] Paula,—if he were my husband, I should lose no time in having him arrested. [She goes out, at the left door.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Standing back of Mrs. Ritter’s chair] Paula dear, I do hope that you are not going to allow Mr. Ritter’s flippancies to discourage you. [Paula clasps her hands in her lap and looks tearfully at the backs of them.] The way of the essential artist is always hard; and so very frequently the most serious obstacles are those to be encountered at home.

Mrs. Ritter. But, I feel so unsuccessful.

Mrs. Pampinelli. I know, dear—I know exactly how you feel. But you must go on. Just remember that art is the highest expression of truth,—and you cannot fail. For you have everything in your favor, Paula.

Mrs. Ritter. [Weakly] Thank you.

Mrs. Pampinelli. And the masses need you, dear; you are an altogether new note in the theatre.

Mrs. Ritter. But—I don’t know whether Fred’ll want me to go on any more—[Mrs. Pampinelli suddenly becomes very still and stoney, and looks down at Mrs. Ritter with merciless inquiry. Mrs. Ritter senses the change and turns hastily to explain.] the way he spoke.

Mrs. Pampinelli. And, do you mean that you will allow him to stop you, Paula?

Mrs. Ritter. [Breaking down under Mrs. Pampinelli’s frozen amusement] Well, of course, he’s my husband, Betty. [She cries. Mrs. Pampinelli regards her with a kind of pained toleration; and settles her cloak, preparatory to going.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Very well, then, Paula—if you feel that way about it, I should advise you to keep him; and I shan’t waste any more of my time encouraging you. [She sweeps around to her left and up towards the center-door.] There are far too many who are only too willing to make the necessary sacrifices without being urged. [She picks up her fan and roses from the partition-seat, lays them across her left arm, and turns regnantly to Mrs. Ritter.] Only remember this, Paula,—there will be actresses when husbands are a thing of the past. [She sweeps out through the center-door and out into the right hallway. There is a slight pause; then Nelly Fell comes in at the left door. She misses Mrs. Pampinelli.]

Mrs. Fell. Where is Mrs. P., Paula?

Mrs. Ritter. She’s just gone out to the car, Nelly.

Mrs. Fell. [Stooping to pick up one of the chrysanthemums from the floor] Do you mind if I take one of these flowers, Paula? [She stands in the middle of the room, holding it, and looking at Mrs. Ritter.] I want it for my dramatic shrine.

Mrs. Ritter. You can take them all if you like.

Mrs. Fell. Why, what would you do, dear?

Mrs. Ritter. I don’t want them.

Mrs. Fell. [Crossing towards her] Now, you mustn’t feel like that, Paula Ritter.

Mrs. Ritter. [Having all she can do to keep from crying] I just can’t help it.

Mrs. Fell. I see in your husband’s attitude—nothing but a desperate attempt to save his home;—for he must know what your performance tonight will inevitably lead to. [Mrs. Ritter turns with a puzzled expression and looks at her.]

Mrs. Ritter. I don’t understand what you mean, Nelly.

Mrs. Fell. Why, you must go to New York, dear; you can do nothing dramatically here.

Mrs. Ritter. But, I have a husband.

Mrs. Fell. [Very casually] Every married woman has that cross, darling. But you mustn’t let it stand in the way of your career; he would very soon eliminate you, if you stood in the way of his.

Mrs. Ritter. But, I don’t like the thought of breaking up his home, Nelly. [Nelly gives a hard, knowing little laugh.]

Mrs. Fell. Don’t be unnecessarily sacrificial, darling. I made that mistake with my first two husbands; but I was wiser with the third. And I said to him, immediately we returned from the church, I said, “Now, Leonard, you and I have just been made one; and I am that one.” [She touches herself on the breastbone with her forefinger, then touches Paula on the left shoulder.] And it worked out beautifully. So be sensible, darling. [She skips up towards the hallway.] I must run along, Mrs. Pampinelli’s waiting! [She teeters out through the center-door into the right hallway.] Cheerio, Paula darling!

Mrs. Ritter. Good night.

Mrs. Fell. Cheerio! [She giggles and vanishes into the right hallway. Mrs. Ritter sits still for a second, looking from side to side, at nothing, particularly, and presently gets up. The horseshoe of “SUCCESS” over in front of the mantelpiece catches her eye, and she wanders slowly towards it. But the irony of it all overcomes her and she commences to cry again. Ritter appears at the head of the stairs and starts down. She turns and looks at him, as he comes through the center-door.]

Mrs. Ritter. Fred Ritter, those women will never come inside that door again, the way you talked to them. [He moves to the piano and leans against it.]

Ritter. Well, I don’t suppose that’ll make very much difference.

Mrs. Ritter. [Looking straight ahead] Well, it should make a difference.

Ritter. They’d hardly come here to see me, anyway.

Mrs. Ritter. Well, they’d come to see me.

Ritter. But you won’t be here. [She turns and looks at him blankly.]

Mrs. Ritter. Why,—what—what do you mean, I won’t be here?

Ritter. [With a touch of delicacy] Why, aren’t you going on with The Work?

Mrs. Ritter. Well, I don’t want to go unless you want me to.

Ritter. But, I do want you to. I don’t think a talent like yours should be hidden; [He looks straight out, thoughtfully.] it’s too unique.

Mrs. Ritter. I thought you said a while ago you didn’t like me?

Ritter. [Raising his left hand and crossing over and down in front of her towards the arm-chair at the left] You mustn’t hold me responsible for what I said a while ago—[He stops back of the arm-chair and rests his hand upon the back of it.] I was panic-stricken at the thought of having my home broken up. [She moves down to the center of the room.] But I’ve been thinking it over upstairs, and I’ve concluded that it’s more important that the world should see you act, than that I should have a home to come to.

Mrs. Ritter. But, I don’t like the thought of breaking up your home, Fred.

Ritter. [Raising his right hand to her with a touch of solemnity] You mustn’t consider me in the matter at all, dear. Every great gift has its victim—and I am, in a way, rather happy—to find myself chosen the victim of yours.

Mrs. Ritter. What would you do, if I were to go?

Ritter. [With the faintest shade of classic pose] I’d go with you; you’d need someone to look after the flowers—see that they got to the various hospitals all right.

Mrs. Ritter. [Looking away out] I might not like it, after I’d get there.

Ritter. Maybe not. I suppose fame becomes monotonous like everything else. But, I wouldn’t want you in the future, to look back and feel that I had stood in your way.

Mrs. Ritter. [Carefully] No, Fred,—I really don’t know whether I want to be a great actress or not.

Ritter. But, you are a great actress, dear.

Mrs. Ritter. Thank you.

Ritter. [Indicating the anchor of roses down at the left] Look at this anchor,—of hope. [He steps back and picks up the horseshoe.] And this horseshoe of “SUCCESS.” [He brings it forward and sets it down just to Mrs. Ritter’s left. Then he steps across in front of it, takes her hand and slips his right arm around her waist.] And I think, Paula, it might be a very sensible move, to just let the public remember you as a great actress—as they saw you tonight—at your best.

Mrs. Ritter. [Looking wistfully straight ahead] Do you think they will remember, Fred?

Ritter. [Inclining his head, with a suggestion of the obsequious] Yes, I think they will. [Curtain.]

Mrs. Ritter. [Turning and sinking into his arms] You’re awfully sweet, Fred.

THE END OF THE PLAY

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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

Inconsistencies in typesetting have been standardized.

The cover image for this eBook was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.