Tattle-tales of Cupid

by Paul Leicester Ford

ACT I

Scene.—Parlour in country house with doors r. and l. At back, a fireplace with open fire. Down centre l., a small table, with white blotting-pad, large paper-knife, and writing paraphernalia; and two chairs r. and l. Down centre r., a small table with tea-service, and chair r. At extreme r. two easy-chairs.

Mrs. Wycherly sits at writing-desk r. with teacup on table, reading a letter in her hand. Amy sits at desk l. Helen at tea-table, making tea. Steven at mantel. George and Dennis seated at r. with teacups.

Helen. Another cup, mama?

Steven. She doesn’t hear you, Helen.

George. Thanks to his precious letter.

Helen (louder). More tea, mama!

Rose (outside l., calling). Are you having tea, Helen?

Helen. Yes, Rose.

Amy. And something very exciting as well.

George. More exciting even than your novel, I’ll be bound.

Dennis (calling). Bring the chocolates with you, if you haven’t eaten them all.

Enter Rose, l., with box of chocolates and book.

Rose. What is it?

Dennis. Ask Mrs. Wycherly.

Rose. What is the excitement, Mrs. Wycherly?

George. Louder.

Amy (loudly). Mrs. Wycherly!

Mrs. W. (starting). Oh! What?

George. That is just the problem. Is he a what, or isn’t he?

Dennis (bitterly). I don’t believe it will make the least difference even if he proves a “What is it.”

Steven (more bitterly). No, we fellows see how it will be! The moment “me lud” arrives, we shall be nowhere with you girls.

George. George Augustus Guelph Dunstan, Earl of Ferrol and Staunton! His very letter of acceptance has made Helen forget that it is cream—not sugar—that I “omit for want of space.”

Helen. Not at all! If you had been polite you would have given that cup to Rose. As for his lordling, do you for an instant suppose that I intend to compete as long as Rose and Amy are here? No, sir—I leave him to my betters, D. V.

Mrs. W. Well, really, I don’t think that either his titles or his being in the hands of an oculist is any excuse for making his time so indefinite (looks at letter). He will be charmed to pay me a visit, “by next Friday, or perhaps even sooner.” Now isn’t that a nice position to leave a hostess who wishes to make his stay quite as pleasant as his papa made mine when I was at the “Towers.” Imagine this betitled being getting into the Junction by the evening train and then having to walk over to Beechcroft.

Rose. Oh, wouldn’t it be lovely to see him coming in at the gate, so wet and muddy that Tiger would make the same mistake that he did with that poor minister?

Dennis. I hope, if he does have to foot it, he will not bring the usual number of parcels that the swells on the other side consider as necessary as those books which Charlie Lamb said “no gentleman should be without.”

Amy. Mrs. Wycherly, how can this man be two earls at once?

Steven. The English aristocracy finds it convenient to have an alias now and again.

Mrs. W. I’m not sure, Amy, but I believe it has something to do with his mother. I never could understand the peerage.

George. Ye gods! to think of a mother with a marriageable daughter not understanding the peerage!

Helen. I won’t be slandered by you. Marriageable daughter, indeed!

Rose (scornfully). Yes, isn’t that a regular man’s view of it?

Dennis. Well, I think it’s very creditable to be without a peer.

Amy. That depends on how you appear.

Rose. And that depends on your appear age.

George (pityingly). Don’t notice them; they’re quite harmless. Speaking of the peerage, though, did any of you see Labouchere’s screed in “Truth”?

Mrs. W. I haven’t, for one—what was it?

George. Bass, the proprietor of the pale ale, has just been made a baron, and this was an editorial on the “Last Addition to the Beerage.”

Amy. Mrs. Wycherly, do let me have the letter: I want to see what kind of a hand he writes.

[Mrs. W. passes letter to Amy.

Dennis. There! That’s the way in this life. I’ll be bound you never wanted to see what my writing was like.

Rose. Well, did you ever want to see Amy’s hand?

Steven. Hers is too small to make it worth while.

Amy (sweetly). Is your tea sweet enough, Steven?

Dennis. Why waste your sweetness on the desert air?

Steven. Thank you, Dennis, but I am not a deserted heir, and don’t suppose I shall be, till The Right Honourable George Augustus Guelph Dunstan, Earl of Ferrol and Staunton, puts in his appearance. Till then, Mrs. Amy Sherman Micawber will never desert her Steven.

Helen. Really, I think it is very unkind to say all these things before Lord Ferrol arrives. If you begin like this over the “cheerful and uninebriating teacup,” with a good dinner not far distant, what will you say when you have just dragged yourself out of bed to breakfast?

Dennis (fiercely). The talking point will be passed. We shall act! Bul-lud!!!

George (rising and setting teacup on tea-table). So let it be understood, if you girls give us the cold shoulder when his lordship arrives, we will not be responsible for the consequences.

Steven. But don’t say we didn’t warn you.

Helen. Well, you deserve to have the cold shoulder for talking to us so.

Rose. Yes, just as if we had all turned tuft-hunters.

Mrs. W. At least it shows modesty. The boys all take for granted they cannot stand up against the new-comer.

Rose. Oh, Mrs. Wycherly, what nice, honest, guileless men you must have known when you were a girl! To think that these should gain the reputation of modesty by their grumbling!

Helen. Yes, dear, they are delusions and snares, having fully mastered Talleyrand’s aphorism “that words were meant to conceal ideas.”

Amy. “Put not your trust in kings and princes.”

George. That’s just what we want, only please extend it to the aristocracy.

Rose. You all deserve to have us leave you to your own devices, as soon as we can get a decent substitute.

Mrs. W. Well, if Lord Ferrol is anything like his father, I can promise you no unworthy one, even compared to my boys here.

Steven (crossing down stage to Mrs. W. and bowing). Mrs. Wycherly, the race does not improve. Why are the daughters no longer as their mothers were?

Helen.	}
Amy.	} Oh!!!
Rose.	}

Helen (springing to her feet). Mr. Chairman, or Mrs. Chairwoman, is not the honourable gentleman’s language unparliamentary?

Rose. It’s uncomplimentary, and I believe that is what unparliamentary generally means.

Amy (rising). I move the expulsion of the honourable gentleman.

Helen (rising). Second the motion.

Omnes. Question! Question! Question!

Mrs. W. (rising with mock solemnity and leaning on desk). Gentlemen, after the most mature deliberation the speaker must announce three decisions. First, the language was not uncomplimentary, and—

Rose	}	} Bribery!
Helen	} together.	} Treachery, treachery!
Amy	}	} Oh! Oh! Oh!!

Mrs. W. (pounding on table with paper-knife). Order! Order!—And ergo, not unparliamentary. Secondly, that in consequence the motion of expulsion is not in order. Thirdly, even if it were in order, the question could not be taken without debate.

Rose. I appeal to the House.

Dennis (rising). All right! Three to three. Speaker throws casting vote with us. How do you do—minority?

[Bows.

Helen (rising). Excuse me. We three decline to vote, so there is no quorum. The question is before the House still, and can be spoken to.

Dennis. How badly the question must feel.

Amy. Not half so badly as you ought to.

Mrs. W. (pounding). Order! The dignity of the chair must be upheld!

Rose. Then why don’t you hold it up? We’ve no objection.

Amy (rising). Mr. Speaker—

Mrs. W. The honourable member from—from—

George. Philadelphia?

[Passes Amy the chocolates from tea-table.

Amy (sinking faintly into chair). Oh, not so bad as that!

Mrs. W. Very well—from the slough of despair—

Amy. Mr. Speaker, I rise from my slough of despair to demand, with a tear in my eye—

Dennis. And a chocolate in your mouth—

Mrs. W. (pounds). Order!—

Amy. To vindicate myself—

George. Well, if you’re going to rise, why don’t you do it?

Mrs. W. (crossing to tea-table, and seizing hot water pot.) I shall pour the hot water on the next person who interrupts the honourable gentleman.

Amy. To vindicate myself and my compeers in the—alas!—opposition. We have remained silent under the slur of malice—we have watched the arbitrary and—(I fear corrupt is an unparliamentary word)—ah—questionable rulings of the presiding officer. But, so saith the adage, “Even the worm will turn;” and why not woman? So when we hear the distinguished and courteous stranger, about to enter our sacred portals, maligned and sneered at—then—then do we turn upon the “allegators” and declare, that as soon as the shadow of his “gracious”—no—I mean “early” presence darkens these halls of misrule, then, with one accord, for better, for worse, we will cleave to him.

Feminine Omnes. We will.

Rose. Now, boys, you see what you have done! and, as you remarked a moment ago, “Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

[Bell rings.

Mrs. W. There, young people,—that is the dressing bell. Now don’t loiter, for I shall frown on any one who is not in the drawing-room five minutes before seven. I declare this sitting adjourned.

[All rise. Mrs. W. crosses back and exits r. d. Rose comes down c. and whispers to Amy; they laugh, put their hands behind each other’s waists, and skip up r.

Rose and Amy (singing). “Johnny, get your gun, get your sword, get your pistol. Johnny, get your gun, get your gun, get your gun.”

[Exit r. d. Men all laugh heartily.

Helen (rapping on table in imitation of Mrs. W.). Order! Order!

George. Cash!

[Men all laugh. Helen looks at them scornfully and then exits r. d. Dennis starts to follow.

George. What’s your hurry, Dennis? Lots of time.

[Sits.

Steven (reseating himself). I bless my governing star every night that it was given to my sex to dress in the time spent by t’otherest in doing up its back hair.

Dennis (crossing back to fireplace). Oh, yes! But as one girl said to me, “That time isn’t worth having, for you can’t be with us!”

George. You must both have been pretty far gone, old fellow.

Dennis. Not half so badly as the girls are prospectively on “me lud.”

Steven. No, we are in for “a bad quarter of an hour” when he shows up.

Dennis. If he will only prove a show!

Steven (sadly). The only English swells I’ve met were very jolly, gentlemanly fellows.

Dennis (cheerfully). All the more chance that this one turns out the delicate little wood violet, such as we occasionally read of in the papers as ornamenting the “Ouse of Lords.”

George (gloomily). I am afraid we shall be the flower part of this show.

Dennis. In what respect?

George. Why, wall flowers, of course.

Steven. Really, it’s no joking matter. I don’t know how long the girls will carry on their intended neglect, but it will be strong while it lasts.

Dennis (coming down stage indignantly). If I have to put in two days of life without—without—

Steven (interrupting). Faith, hope, or charity, which?

George. Why don’t you say Amy, and have done with it?

Dennis (half turning). Very well. If I have to put in a week here, ten miles from anything, with Amy overflowing with sweetness for that—that—

[Hesitates.

George. Oh, speak it out, old man! The word will do you good.

Dennis. No, it wouldn’t do justice to the subject.

Steven. Well, Dennis, you needn’t think you’re the only one in this box.

Dennis. Hope he’ll get here on a rainy night, and no carriage at the station, as Rose suggested. Do you suppose a fiver would make our dearly beloved Burgess misunderstand the carriage order?

George. Burgess is a living proof of the saying, that “every man has his price.”

Steven. How do you know?

George. I found it out when he drove Mrs. Wycherly home, quite forgetting to say that Rose and I were to be picked up at Oakridge, as she had specially directed.

Steven (reprovingly).

“You sockin’ old fox!

You pretty white cat—

I sink dear mama

Should be told about dat.”

Dennis (sadly). It might be possible to corrupt the worthy Burgess, but, unless we could arrange for a rainy day, I don’t see that it would do us much good. The Anglo-Saxon doesn’t think much of ten miles.

Steven. No; and the Wycherlys would be so hurt at a guest of theirs having such an accident that they would be doubly sweet to him.

Dennis. What day did he say he would come?

Steven. “Friday, or perhaps sooner.”

George. I suppose the “D. & T.” can’t arrange one of their numerous accidents for that train?

Dennis (crossly). Of course not! Whoever heard of a timely railroad disaster?

George. Oh, for a mishap of some kind!

Steven (springing to his feet and slapping his leg). Fellows, I have an inspiration!

George. Did you get it by inheritance, or out of a bottle?

Steven. Look here; his ludship does not arrive, probably, till Friday. My friend, Frank Parker, is to come up here Tuesday. Let’s make him personate the “Lord high everything else.”

George} together {Well?

Dennis} {What for?

[Both rise and come down stage to Steven.

Steven. Why, in the first place, we shall fool the girls. That’s one for us! In the second place, they’ll carry out their tender programme on him, and so be tired of it when the “only genuine has our name blown in the bottle” puts in his appearance. That’s two for us! Thirdly and lastly, we will tell him to be a snob, so that the girls will find it impossible to carry out their plans on him. That’s three for us!

Dennis. But will Parker dare to play such a trick in his first visit? Wouldn’t he be like those would-be tragedians whose first and last appearances are identical?

Steven. Oh, Mrs. Wycherly would forgive him anything, for he is the son of an old sweetheart of hers. As for Frank, he’s up to anything, and has lived so long in the West that his highest form of amusement is a practical joke.

Dennis. But how are you going to fool our hostess?

George. Why, she has never seen Frank, and only heard of his existence when Steven and I brought word of the jolly fellow we had met in Colorado.

Steven. And, besides, he’s a winner in disguising his person and voice. George and I coached all one day, lamenting that he had been left behind, and there he was, sitting beside the driver all the time. Now to the act!

[Goes to writing-table, and writes. After writing a page, he blots it on blotter and turns over and writes on second sheet.

Dennis. If it works I don’t go back to the city by a long sight. The governor may go it alone till I have seen the fun.

George (rising and imitating English accent and using his watch as an eye-glass). I say, Steve, cawnt he make the heavy English noticeable?

Dennis. Yes; tell him to come out strong on that.

George. And remember he’s in the hands of an oculist, doncher know. That will be a good excuse for goggles.

Dennis. Tell him we’ll share the expense if he will only come.

Steven. What was his third name?

George. George Augustus Guelph Dunstan—otherwise Dust-pan.

Dennis. When is an earl a small thing?

George (with disgust). He never is, when he’s in this country.

Dennis. You never could guess a conundrum!

George. Give it up, old man.

Dennis. When he’s a little early.

George. Hurry up, Steve. Dennis is in sad need of dinner.

Steven (reading letter). How’s this?

“Dear Frank,—We hear you are to come up here on Tuesday. Now, if you want a soft thing pay heed to what I write. We expect a howling English Lord up here the last of the week, and the girls are going to lay themselves out for his benefit, just to spite us poor republicans. Put on goggles, a beard and wig; get a big pattern suit and a leather hat-box, and telegraph Mrs. Wycherly (in the name of Ferrol), that you will arrive on the 5.15 train Tuesday. You will be met, coddled, caressed, etc. etc., till we shall all call you tenderfoot. But a word in your ear! Make yourself rather disagreeable. Dress in the wrong clothes at meals. Use the words ‘nasty’ and ‘beastly’ frequently, and of all things meet the girls more than half-way in their attentions. Your name is George Augustus Guelph Dunstan, Earl of Ferrol and Staunton. Your papa is the Marquess of D-a-c-h-a-n-t (pronounced Jaunt). Your dear mama is no more. You have been in Florida, where you hurt your eyes, and are just from Washington—‘a beastly bore, you know.’ I would give untold gold if I could do it instead of you.

“Always yours, Steve.”

Dennis. I say, boys, we must have a kodak ready for the unveiling, and catch the girls’ faces on the fly.

George	} (together, shaking hands and
Steven	} laughing heartily). Oh! won’t
Dennis	} it be rich!

Enter Rose, r. d.

Rose (crossing up stage to r.). Why, you wretched boys, haven’t you gone up yet?

[Men jump and turn with consternation.

Steven (concealing letter behind him). Why—ah—is it late?

Enter Helen, r. d., and crosses to tea-table, which she draws back to l.

Rose. Late! You’ve just ten minutes to dress. Be quick! Mrs. Wycherly has been stopped in the hall by a telegram, and if she catches you here you’ll never hear the last of it.

[Men exit hurriedly and awkwardly l. d.

Helen. Talk of the tardiness of women!

Rose. I know they’ve been talking about us. Did you see how guilty they looked?

[Crosses to desk.

Enter Amy, r. d.

Amy. After what Mrs. Wycherly said of tardiness, they ought to look guilty.

Rose (seating herself at desk and arranging pens, etc.). If they are not late, it’s Seymour’s fault, not theirs.

Helen. I hope mama won’t wait for them. I have a good mind to tell Seymour to put a lump of ice in the soup.

Amy. I should rather see those good for nothing, gossiping, over-spoiled men there.

[Rose begins to study blotter with great interest.

Helen. They deserve some kind of penance for their behaviour this afternoon.

Amy. Yes, even in addition to our intended neglect when Lord Ferrol arrives.

Helen. Oh, we can make it a capital joke, and if Lord Ferrol is only nice we can have both the joke and a good time.

Amy. Well, I don’t care what Lord Ferrol is; I am going to use him to punish—them.

Helen. Oh! Amy, why that significant pause? We all know how them spells his name.

Rose (springing to her feet with a scream). Girls! Girls!!

Amy (startled). What’s the matter?

Rose (melodramatically). My Lords! My Lords! There are traitors in the camp and treachery stalks rampant.

[Comes to centre with blotter.

Helen. Oh, come off that roof!

Rose. No, really, I’m in dead earnest.

Amy. What is it, Rose?

Rose (evidently reading with difficulty from blotter). Listen. “Dear Frank,—We hear you are to come up here on Tuesday. Now, if you want a soft thing, pay heed to what I write—” Oh, I can’t read it backwards. Where is a mirror?

Helen (rushing to mantel). Here, Here.

[Holds mirror in front of blotter.

Rose (reading). “We are expecting a howling English Lord up here the last of the week, and the girls are going to lay themselves out for his benefit.”

Helen	} (with intense anger). What!!!
Amy	}

Rose (reading). “Just to spite us poor republicans. Put on goggles, a beard and wig; get a big pattern suit and a leather hat-box. Telegraph Mrs. Wycherly (in the name of Ferrol) that you will arrive on the 5.15 train Tuesday. You will be met, coddled, CARESSED!!

[Drops blotter in rage.

Amy (shrieking). Oh!

Helen (intensely). What!! (Grabs at blotter eagerly.) Here, you read too slowly, let me. (Amy holds mirror.) “Coddled, caressed, till we shall call you tenderfoot. But a word in your ear! Make yourself rather disagreeable. Dress in the wrong clothes at meals. Use the words ‘nasty’ and ‘beastly’ frequently, and of all things meet the girls half-way in their attentions. Your name is George Augustus—” It ends there.

[Girls look at each other indignantly.

Amy (dangerously). It was about time!

[Going to the mantel and replacing mirror.

Helen. What shall we do?

Amy.

“And he said can this be?

We are ruined by Chinese cheap labour (pause)

We will go for them heathen Chinee.”

Helen (turning). Yes!—but how?

Amy. Girls, put on your thinking-caps, and hunt for some terrible punishment.

Rose. Something “lingering, with boiling oil or melted lead.”

Enter Mrs. W. r. d., with telegraph blank in hand.

Mrs. W. Why, girls, what were those shrieks about?

Rose (with embarrassment). Oh, nothing, Mrs. Wycherly. That is—

Amy. I hope we didn’t frighten you, Mrs. Wycherly.

Mrs. W. Oh, no! I was only coming in to speak to Helen. (Helen comes to centre.) I have just received a despatch from Frank Parker. He has been called back to San Diego by the illness of his mother, so we shall not have his visit after all. (Hands telegram to Helen and sits at desk r. Rose sits at desk l. Helen and Amy cross to r. and evidently consult over telegram.) I really am very sorry, for I wanted to renew with the son a very old family friendship, but there is no chance, for he has gone West already.

Helen (crossing to Mrs. W. and pleading). Oh, mama! Will you not keep it a secret from the boys? Only George and Steven would care, and we have a really good reason for not wanting them to know. Oh, please, mama!

[Puts arms round Mrs. W.’s neck.

Amy (beseechingly). Oh, Mrs. Wycherly, please do!

Rose (kneeling imploringly). Do, Mrs. Wycherly!

Mrs. W. (suspiciously). What mischief are you concocting now? (rising and going to l. d., followed by all the girls). Well, I won’t promise not to, but I will hold my tongue till I see that I had better speak.

Helen. Oh, you dear mama!

Mrs. W. (laughing). Temper your justice with mercy.

[Exits l. d.

Helen (melodramatically coming down c.). Who talks to me of justice and mercy!

Rose. Helen, can’t you arrange to have Burgess drive over to that 5.15 train? It would be so lovely to see the men’s faces when the carriage came back empty.

Amy. Gracious! If we only could get the real Ferrol here, in place of the fictitious, and yet make the men think it was Mr. Parker.

Rose. But Lord Ferrol won’t be here till Friday, and by that time the boys will have either found it out, or suspect from the time that it really is the genuine article.

Amy. I’ll tell you what to do. Let me wire my cousin Jack Williams to get himself up as an Englishman, and come up here on Tuesday. I can coach him so that he can pass himself off for Mr. Parker, and the two are enough alike, judging from the description, if disguised, to fool the boys.

Helen. But the moment they were alone with him they would find—

Rose (interrupting). We’ll arrange it so that until we are ready for developments, they shall have no chance to find out.

Rose. But how about Mrs. Wycherly? She knows Mr. Williams, doesn’t she?

Amy. We’ll let her into the secret—she’ll enjoy it as much as any of us.

Helen. And she’s always wanted to have your cousin here.

Rose. Quick, Amy. Write the telegram.

[All rush to desk. Amy sits in chair l.

Helen. Mercy! but you’ll ruin yourself with such a one.

Rose. We’ll have to share the expense.

Amy (getting paper and pencil). No, I shall only send a short despatch, and write full particulars by letter. Let me see—(Aloud.) “Come up here disguised as an Englishman—goggles, beard, wig, loud clothes—”

Rose. And hat-box.

Amy. “And hat-box, by the train that gets here?—”

[Looks at Helen inquiringly.

Helen. Five fifteen.

Amy. “That gets here at 5.15 Tuesday. Wire Mrs. Wycherly in name of Ferrol that you will be here at that time. Further particulars by post, but don’t fail.—Amy.”

[Rises and folds telegram.

Rose. If he will only come! Think of those boys watching our attention to him, and laughing in their sleeves.

Rose. And we all the time laughing at them.

Helen. And think of their faces when the discovery is made!

Rose. Oh, Helen! You must have your camera ready, and take them at that moment.

[All laugh.

Curtain