Lively plays for live people

by Thomas S. Denison

MADAME PRINCETON’S TEMPLE OF BEAUTY.

Scene—Entrance R. and L. in 1. D. F., L. C.; shelves for “goods” against flat R. C., sofa near wall up L., chair between that and door R., table with books and flowers down L. C., operating chair (barber’s) R. C.; other chairs and little accessories to taste, but do not crowd stage. May be played in any room having two doors.

Susan. (Discovered as curtain rises examining toilet articles on shelves.) The skin food is nearly out. Skin food! Mutton fat and bergamot, cost, ten cents a jar. China jar and gilt label twenty cents more, total thirty cents, sells for five dollars. Well I guess there’s more money in skin food than there is in stomach food or brain food, for that matter. (Takes up another bottle.) Anti-fat! Vinegar and water, three dollars a bottle. Anti grandmother! (Laughs.) Why, I’m talking about my relatives. What fools these women are. I’ll start a Beauty Parlor I guess. (Coquettishly.) I am a sample of Madame Princeton’s work myself. Humph! I never did a blessed thing for my beauty. I wouldn’t put her skin food on a mangy dog. That fat old Compton thing goes waddling round taking anti-fat and jerking the pulleys in the gymnasium. My, she makes me laugh. She gets fatter every day.

Enter briskly Madame P., R.

Mad. P. Susan, have you opened up the gymnasium to air it?

Susan. Yes’m!

Mad. P. Where is Mary?

Susan. In the stock room.

Mad. P. Have we plenty of everything? There’s going to be a run on Madame Princeton’s Toilet Articles. The World’s Fair medal is a great card.

Susan. I suppose we’ll get that medal before the next Fair opens?

Mad. P. The delay is so annoying. But we’ll do as the others do—say we have it already.

Susan. The skin food is low.

Mad. P. Did you telephone the commission man to hurry up that mutton tallow?

Susan. Yes, he sent it by mistake to Madame La Duke’s Parlors.

Mad. P. Madame La Duke’s, indeed! I’ll sue her for damages if she steals any more of my secrets.

Susan. I guess Madame La Duke knows mutton fat from goose grease.

Mad. P. She is an ignorant imposter. Every idea she has she stole from me. Tell Mary to set the girls making a gross of skin food immediately. (Exit Susan, L.)

Enter Mrs. Compton, R., puffing.

Mad. P. (Running to meet her.) Why, how charming you look, Mrs. Compton.

Mrs. C. (Dropping in chair.) I’m nearly starved to death. I haven’t eaten a bite of meat for three days.

Mad. P. Abstinence and Madame Princeton’s Anti-fat will do the business. Take a dose now, (pours out wine glass full). That will revive you. It operates on the fat glands and allays their abnormal activity. It is excitement of the fat glands which causes excessive flesh. Do you feel better? You’ve lost, I should say, fifteen pounds the last week.

Mrs. C. Madame Princeton, I just feel completely gone. Why, when the girl brought in Mr. Compton’s breakfast this morning, I felt like a wild animal. I just wanted to grab his steak and tear it with my fingers and teeth.

Mad. P. But you must not indulge your appetite.

Mrs. C. I dare not or Mr. Compton would suspect. Heaven forgive me the lies I’ve told that man. And I a church member, too. Told him one day I had no appetite, and the next a headache, and the next that I had lunched hastily down town. Dear me, what can I tell him next!

Mad. P. Does he suspect you?

Mrs. C. I’m afraid so. He said this morning if I didn’t eat pretty soon he’d send for the doctor.

Mad. P. Keep it up three days more and then we’ll surprise him. You will have lost at least thirty pounds by that time. Your husband will be delighted at your improved appearance.

Mrs. C. I don’t know about that. He’s a queer man. When I first met him I weighed only ninety pounds. It didn’t seem to matter to him when I weighed twice that.

Mad. P. But it does matter. He is deceiving you. Men prefer willowly women.

Mrs. C. Maybe, but I’ve heard him say that Mrs. Smith was as thin as the last run o’ June shad. Couldn’t you fatten that woman? It would be a relief to her neighbors if you could, and it would prove that you can perform miracles.

Mad. P. Yes, get her to come in. I’ll give you a commission. It’s very simple. If she’d only take my Anti-lean. All she needs is to have the fat glands stimulated. Anti-lean is the greatest discovery of the age.

Mrs. C. Would you mind telling me what it is; in confidence, you know.

Mad. P. Oh, goodness, that is a professional secret.

Mrs. C. I’ll tell her about it, but, good land, what ye’re doin’ to me would kill her. I couldn’t stand it if I wasn’t as strong as an ox.

Mad. P. You are doing bravely. What did you eat for breakfast?

Mrs. C. Three oatmeal crackers and a cup of coffee.

Mad. P. You have broken the rules. I limited you to two crackers.

Mrs. C. It was Mr. Compton’s fault. He insisted I should eat.

Mad. P. Any cream in the coffee?

Mrs. C. Only a spoonful.

Mad. P. You must obey me if you expect good results. I’ll give you a double dose of Anti-fat. And you shall lunch here to-day. One small white cracker, one large pickle and a double portion of Anti-fat.

Mrs. C. Mayn’t I have a chalk crayon to nibble at. I’ll eat the wax candles next thing.

Mad. P. Oh, you may have all the chalk you want. Now go to the gymnasium. First the rowing apparatus, then the dumb bells and lastly, the swinging rings. That’ll fetch you round.

Mrs. C. If it doesn’t kill me. (Exit D. F.)

Enter Susan, L.

Susan. The mutton fat—

Mad. P. Hist! (Whispers in Susan’s ear and gives meaning look toward D. F.)

Enter Miss Terwilliger, R.

Mad. P. How do you do, Miss Terwilliger? You are very punctual. Some women have no notion what an engagement means.

Miss T. (Heavily veiled.) Madame Princeton, my face pains terribly. I am really alarmed.

Mad. P. (Coldly.) I told you there would be some pain. Let me see your face. Removing freckles is rather a painful operation, if done by the quick method. (Miss T. removes veil, discloses bandage covering the whole of one side of the face. Mad. P. removes bandage, shows one side of face very red the other brown.) It is working beautifully.

Miss T. (Goes to glass, shrieks.) Oh, horrors! What a fright! Oh, oh!

Mad. P. Be cool, my dear.

Enter Mrs. C. from D. F.

Mrs. C. Goodness, what a start you gave me! (Sees Miss T.) Why what on earth are you doing to that girl? Poor child! One side of her face is red as a beet and the other brown as a berry.

Mad. P. Really, Mrs. Compton, there is nothing the matter. That is the way it always works, Miss Terwilliger.

Miss T. But my face is on fire, oh! oh! And I read in the paper that a young lady died here undergoing treatment.

Mad. P. That was all a lie! I’ll never let another newspaper reporter interview me as long as I live. Come this way for treatment. (Going L.) Madame Compton, go back to your exercises. (Exeunt Mad. P. and Miss T., L.)

Mrs. C. Well, I’m glad I haven’t freckles or warts or whiskers. I never could stand it to be skinned alive, I know. I’m so hungry I could eat a jar of that skin food.

Enter Susan L. Exit Mrs. C., D. F.

Susan. Silly little goose. She’s going to be a bridesmaid and is willing to be skinned in order to look pretty.

Enter Dickie Bird.

Dickie B. Are you the young lady I spoke to yesterday?

Susan. You are Miss Dickie Bird?

Dickie. I am. I have an appointment at this hour.

Susan. I operate on the hair. Take this seat. (Dickie seated facing L. so audience can have side view of hair and face; lets down Dickie’s hair, which must be dark and beautiful.) Oh, what beautiful hair! If I had that hair I wouldn’t dye it for the world.

Dickie. But blondes are so fashionable! They are all the rage, you know. (Susan tucking the barber’s apron closely round Dickie.) Does it cause any inconvenience?

Susan. Not the least! You can not appear anywhere for several days. (Scream from Miss T. heard off L.)

Dickie. (Bounding from chair.) Goodness! What is that?

Susan. Oh, nothing. They are skinning a girl in there.

Dickie. Mercy sakes! Skinning a girl! That is horrible.

Susan. (Laughs.) You misunderstand. It is the complexion treatment. It takes off the old skin, and I think they took it off that girl pretty deep. It burns like fire at first. (Another scream.)

Mrs. C. runs out D. F.

Mrs. C. My nerves just wont stand that!

Dickie. I’m very glad I don’t have to be skinned. Ugh! it makes me shudder. (Gets in chair.)

Mrs. C. And what are you going to have done?

Dickie. I’m going to be bleached!

Mrs. C. What color?

Dickie. Why, blonde, of course.

Mrs. C. Well, if I had that head of hair I wouldn’t bleach it for the world. What lovely hair, and Mr. Compton does so admire hair.

Dickie. (Coquettishly.) They all do. (Susan getting bottles and brushes.)

Susan. Are you ready, Miss Bird?

Dickie. Quite ready.

Mrs. C. (Going D. F.) Bird! That must be Dickie Bird. Giddy thing! She’s the worst flirt in town. Oh dear, I could eat a raw frog! (Exit D. F. Noise of pulleys going furiously.)

Dickie. What is that fat old thing doing here?

Susan. Improving her shape. She’s on Anti-fat.

Dickie. (Sarcastically.) You couldn’t reduce her waist with one of those what do you call ’em machines. She’s had her day. Why doesn’t she stay at home with her old man.

Susan. Neither age nor condition is beyond the aid of Madame Princeton. That woman can work miracles. (Dickie is now swathed in apron and towels till she looks like a mummy.)

Dickie. Why are you so very particular about wrapping me up, Susan?

Susan. The stuff is very powerful. I musn’t let a single drop get on your skin.

Dickie. Oh dear, I am nervous. (Tries to move.) Mercy, I can’t move hand or foot. (Screams.)

Enter, hastily, Mad. P., L.

Mad. P. What is the matter, Miss Bird?

Dickie. I am afraid!

Mad. P. My dear, there isn’t the slightest pain or danger. Go on, Susan. (Aside to Susan.) You’ve been talking again. Why can’t you keep your customers quiet like mine. (Scream from Miss T. who runs in, one side of face in great red blotches.)

Miss T. Madame Princeton, you will kill me! Oh, how my face smarts!

Mad. P. It can’t hurt much.

Miss T. It’s on fire! Oh, oh!

Mad. P. Only a temporary twinge, Miss Terwilliger. (Gets between Dickie’s chair and Miss T., turns latter away, nods to Susan who busies herself with Dickie.) To-day I will apply my great discovery, Pastilla di Pasta and to-morrow you will have the complexion of a baby. (Rushes Miss T. out L., shuts door.) Some people make a great fuss about nothing.

Enter Mrs. C., with played-out look, D. F.

Mrs. C. Madame Princeton, haven’t I exercised enough to-day?

Mad. P. (Severely.) Not half enough!

Mrs. C. (Puffing.) Well, I shall die, that’s what I’ll do!

Mad. P. (Impatiently.) I wouldn’t if I were you, Mrs. Compton.

Mrs. C. Madame Princeton, you are positively cruel! I believe you actually enjoy our sufferings.

Mad. P. That’s right, excite yourself! Your heart is strong and excitement reduces flesh. It stimulates the lean glands, just as repose invigorates the fat glands.

Mrs. C. But s’pose I die right here in your place. Think of the consequences. One woman did die.

Mad. P. No, she didn’t.

Dickie. Goodness, that woman makes me nervous. Talks of dying in the place. I can’t stand this any longer. (Tries to rise.)

Susan. (Restraining her.) Be careful, you’ll make me spill it and then—

Mad. P. Susan, hold your tongue.

Dickie. I am afraid. (Manages to stand up, swathed like a mummy, Mad. and Susan support her.)

Mad. P. Sit down, Miss Bird. The remedy is as harmless as water.

Dickie. I am so nervous, let me go home. I read of the girl that nearly died here.

Mad. P. (Indignantly.) No such thing ever happened, I tell you. She only fainted.

Dickie. But papa doesn’t know what I’m doing. He wouldn’t approve at all. And if anything more should happen and my name get in the papers—

Mad. P. Nothing can happen. How absurd. (They get Dickie back in chair.)

Mrs. C. I am nervous, too. If Mr. Compton ever caught me here, oh dear.

Mad. P. Mrs. Compton, I beg you will act rationally. Go back to your pulleys! It is against the rules for one patient to enter the room where another is being operated on.

Mrs. C. Humph! I can hear the racket of all of ’em. I’ll break that old machine. (Exit D. F., noise of pulleys violently.)

Enter Miss McFadden, R.

Miss McF. Do I have the pleasure of addressing Madame Princeton?

Mad. P. (Bows.) You do. Won’t you come into the reception room? It’s a mistake of the girl to show you in here. Your name?

Miss McF. Miss McFadden. Since we are here I think we can manage. I have but a moment.

Mad. P. Did you wish to enquire about treatment, Miss McFadden?

Miss McF. Yes, if you please.

Mad. P. Complexion, perhaps?

Miss McF. Exactly! My skin feels rather harsh at times.

Mad. P. You need my crowning discovery, the wonderful skin food, followed by Pastilla di Pasta.

Miss McF. I had thought of trying something of the kind. (Mad. P. showing vase of “food.”) How much?

Mad. P. Five dollars a jar.

Miss McF. Isn’t that rather expensive?

Mad. P. Excuse me, it is worth twice the money. I ought to charge ten dollars. The materials are very costly, and the secret is invaluable.

Miss McF. I’ll take a jar! (Gives money.)

Mad. P. (Smiling.) Anything else?

Miss McF. No, that is, yes, my sister has a wart on her nose, which disfigures her slightly!

Mad. P. That can easily be removed.

Miss McF. Will it leave a scar?

Mad. P. Oh dear, no! I never leave a blemish! In fact I improve on nature in her happiest moods, to such a state of perfection has my art attained.

Miss McF. (Has been writing in note book.) Will it be a painful operation?

Mad. P. Not at all! My customers actually enjoy the various processes, just as they say men enjoy being shaved and having their heads rubbed.

Miss McF. My sister may come in—(Loud screams L.) What is that? (Terrific crash back of flat. Susan drops bottle.)

Mad. P. Mercy! What has happened?

Dickie. (Jumping up from chair.) There! you’ve spilled some on my hand! (Struggles free from wraps, throwing them right and left.)

Mad. P. (Throwing up hands.) Miss Bird! Miss Bird! Do be careful!

Dickie. It is black as ink. This is disgraceful, Madame Princeton.

Mad. P. Oh dear, Susan! Wash it off quick with the stain remover!

Enter Miss Terwilliger, L.

Miss T. (Indignantly.) Madame Princeton, I wont stand this any longer! (One side of her face covered by a thick plaster the other shockingly red.) My face is on fire.

Mad. P. But, Miss Terwilliger, patience. You will look like a baby when I am done with you.

Enter Mrs. C. puffing, D. F.

Miss T. I’m burning up. (Hands to face.)

Mrs. C. Throw water on her, she’s afire!

Mad. P. Water, indeed!

Mrs. C. She looks like a boiled lobster now! Did you ever see such a face?

Miss McF. But the process is painless?

Mad. P. Quite so, her nerves are unstrung, poor thing. (Miss McF. writing in note book.) What are you writing there?

Miss McF. Only your address.

Miss T. (Rubbing face.) Oh, my face! Will it ever look right again?

Mad. P. Don’t rub it!

Miss T. But I can’t help it!

Mad. P. My dear, you will look like a June rose.

Dickie. And my hand, look at the great horrid black spot. (Exposes hand.)

Mad. P. It’ll all come off in a month.

Dickie. A month, did you say! Oh, I can’t endure it that long.

Mrs. C. Humph, I’ve been starving that long. Some people make a great fuss about nothing!

Dickie. But I must go to the charity ball next week!

Mad. P. Mrs. Compton, you have thirty minutes yet. The rings are next.

Mrs. C. Oh sugar! Maybe you think I’m a fool! I’m done with your old machine. I smashed it with the Indian clubs.

Mad. P. Smashed the machine! You shall pay for it. Indeed, you shall.

Mrs. C. Oh, I’ll pay. And what’s more, I’ll eat if I have to weigh 300 pounds.

Mad. P. That’s what you will weigh.

Mrs. C. (Spiritedly.) Well, I wont get fat to please you. I am not going to eat if I die for it.

Dickie. Oh, that stain! It’ll never come off I know.

Miss T. Oh, my face!

Mrs. C. Oh, my stomach!

Mad. P. (Emphatically.) Oh, my patience!

Miss McF. Yes, your patients. (Writes.) Quite an interesting lot.

Mad. P. (Sternly.) Young woman, what are you writing?

Miss McF. Just a little item. I am a reporter for the “Daily Fudge.”

All. A reporter! (Excitement, “oh’s” and “dear me’s.”)

Dickie. My name in the papers! Papa will never forgive me! (Darts out R., Miss T. darts out L.)

Mrs. C. Mr. Compton will be furious. To think! Our names in the paper.

Mad. P. (Glaring.) Do it if you dare, young woman. She doesn’t dare. I’ll sue the “Fudge” for damages.

Mrs. C. (To Miss McF.) I’m as weak as a cat, or I’d choke you, you horrid thing! Yes I would. (Glares at Miss McF. who stands coolly writing.) My name in the “Daily Fudge!” And that horrid Anti-fat!

Mad. P. After all ladies like their names in the papers. It wont hurt anything. It advertises business.

Tableau.

R.	C.	L.
Miss McF., Susan, Mrs. C., Mad. P.

Quick Curtain.

MADAME PRINCETON’S TEMPLE OF BEAUTY.

A DUDE IN A CYCLONE

A FARCE

By T. S. DENISON

Author of
Odds with the Enemy, Initiating a Granger, Wanted, a Correspondent, A Family Strike, Seth Greenback, Louva, the Pauper, Hans Von Smash, Borrowing Trouble, Two Ghosts in White, The Pull-Back, Country Justice, The Assessor, The Sparkling Cup, Our Country, Irish Linen Peddler, The School Ma’am, Kansas Immigrants, An Only Daughter, Too Much of a Good Thing, Under the Laurels, Hard Cider, The Danger Signal, Wide Enough for Two, Pets of Society, Is the Editor In? The New Woman, Patsy O’Wang, Rejected, Only Cold Tea, Madam P’s Beauty Parlors, Topp’s Twins, A First-Class Hotel, It’s all in the Pay-Streak, The Cobbler, A Dude in a Cyclone, Friday Dialogues.

Also the Novels,
The Man Behind, An Iron Crown, etc.

CHICAGO:
T. S. DENISON, Publisher,
163 Randolph Street.