THE NEW WOMAN.
ACT I.
Scene—Club rooms handsomely furnished. Entrance R. in 1; door to dressing room R. in 3; screen to guard last door; chair of President and small desk, up C; table of Secretary left hand of President near flat; sofa R. of President’s chair, another L. of Secretary’s table; door to committee room L. in 2; screen to guard this door also. Chairs in rows at right angles to desk and President’s position, not too many nor set too formally; as members rise or seat themselves they may move chairs a little so as to give air of informality. Pictures, flowers, etc., to taste. Screens far enough from wall that persons behind them may be seen by audience. (If played in private house any other arrangement suitable to the room may be made by slight changes.) A few young ladies besides those in cast may appear on rising of curtain to give idea of a considerable club. They may chatter and giggle to interrupt proceedings.
Miss H. (As pres., rapping on desk as curtain rises.) Order, ladies! The club will come to order. (All continue talking except sec’y who takes place.)
Dollie. (To member.) Oh, say, have you read the “Woman who Dared”? She’s the ideal new woman. It’s just too lovely!
Member. What loads of money she had. Just think, two hundred suits! And her pants were a dream.
Daisy. (To member.) I took so much pains with it, and then to have them say such things.
Dollie. (Hearing.) Oh, what did they say?
Pres. (Raps vigorously.) Order please, ladies! It is already past the hour for meeting.
Birdie. (Sentimentally.) Oh, I do take such an interest in this club. If this club fails, the new woman—(Pres. sharply.) “Order.” (Birdie drops in seat.) Oh!
Pres. (Raps very hard.) The club will come to order! Secretary, read—
Member. (Who has not yet heard the calls to order.) Ashes of roses trimmed with—
Pres. The object of this club is to cultivate self-reliant new women. Let us live up to our opportunities. Secretary, call the roll.
Sec. (Calls, nobody answers.) Miss Hykight, Miss Lightfoot, Miss Robbins, Miss Giglette, Miss Smythe, Miss Tompkins, Miss White, Miss Spooner, Miss Suitor, (hesitates) Miss Doughflyer, Miss—
Miss Doughflyer. (Jumps up hastily.) Miss President, I wish to correct the secretary. (With dignity.) My name is not Doughflyer though it is spelled that way. We are English, you know, of Norman extraction, and pronounce our name Duffy. It comes from the French Du Fay.
Sec. I beg your pardon, pleased to make the correction.
Pres. (To sec.) By the way, Miss Lightfoot, you appear to be a stranger to Miss Duffy. Allow me to introduce you. Miss Duffy, Miss Lightfoot; Miss Lightfoot, Miss Duffy. (They bow.)
Sec. (Continues.) Miss Hapgood, Miss Littlejohn, Miss Brownmuffin—(hesitates) Willie Jones.
Chorus. Good gracious, is she a boy?
Birdie. (Rises, severely.) There seems to be some mistake about that name. One of the rules of this club is that no man shall ever enter its sacred precincts or even be mentioned except pro forma. I think it is an insult to the club even to mention a man’s name here in that familiar way—Willie Jones—much less to put his name on the roll.
Pres. I agree to that, Miss Robbins. It is in atrociously bad taste if intended for a joke.
Sec. I found the name on a slip of members proposed.
Pres. (With dignity.) Ladies, who proposed Willie Jones? (No answer. Dollie, who has been busily talking to a member suddenly realizes that some business is before the club and asks:)
Dollie. What is the question?
Pres. (Sternly.) The question is, who dared desecrate our roll with the name of a man. Willie Jones, who is he?
Dollie. (Jumps up.) Goodness me, he’s not a he. He’s a girl! (All laugh.) Such a ridiculous mistake! It would so mortify poor Willie if she were here. She’s such a dear, timid little thing; why, she hardly dares breathe.
Daisy. What a funny name for a girl, anyway.
Dollie. Poor thing, she can’t help it. Parents old fashioned you know, and like men well enough to want their names.
Pres. The name is very good since it is borne by a woman. The new woman will not only do as she pleases, but call herself what she pleases. She will not await the pleasure of some man to bestow his precious name on her. I never saw the man whose name I wanted.
Birdie. (Rises.) Nor have I, the presumptuous creatures. When they fit themselves to be the companions of the nobler sex it will be time enough for them to ask our friendship only, and for us to refuse if we choose.
Pres. And we also assume the right to ask instead of waiting patiently like slaves in a market. The new woman will be no slave.
Chorus. Never!
Pres. I believe the next business is to consider the applications for new members to the “New Woman’s Anti-homo Club.” (To sec.) What applications are there to come up to-day? (Members begin an epidemic of whispering.) Order please, ladies! (Brief lull which ends in a general buzz.)
Sec. (Reads.) The first name is Miss Ernestine Arlington.
Pres. Who proposed Miss Arlington?
Sec. Miss Brownmuffin, who is not present.
Pres. Has anyone anything to say before the ballot is taken?
Dollie. I don’t know that I ought to say anything. (General curiosity.)
Daisy. Oh yes, do.
Dollie. But people might blame me for trying to injure the girl.
Pres. Let people talk, the new woman does not care a fig for what people say.
Dollie. Miss Arlington is a very sweet girl, but—
Birdie. (Rises.) Miss President!
Pres. Miss Birdie Robbins.
Birdie. I rise to correct the language of Miss Giglette. I object to the word sweet. It sounds silly. The new woman will, I hope, not be a piece of confectionery, inciting men to cannibalism.
Dollie. (With slight emphasis.) Well, I don’t care! Ernestine is sweet but that’s not the worst, she’s engaged to be married. (Chorus of “Oh’s.”)
Daisy. Who is he? Oh, I didn’t mean that? Has he money? Is he a foreigner?
Pres. A foreigner with money! Bah! A foreigner is only better than the native tyrant in this, that he makes no pretension to be suffering from that antiquated, imaginary malady love. He boldly proclaims that he gives his name and reserves his freedom. He is at least honest. Engaged! Silly, weak creature, that’s enough to know of her.
Birdie. I should say!
Pres. The constitution of this club, as we all know, forbids the marriage of its members. We believe that we have a nobler work to accomplish in the world. And I repeat, for the benefit of new members, that no member of this club may receive any kind of attention from any man nor pay attentions to any man, except by consent and advice of this club.
Birdie. (Rises.) I think we ought to censure Miss Brownmuffin for recommending such a creature who is weak enough to throw herself at a man in that way, for I warrant she led him on.
Pres. Are there any other names to be presented to-day?
Sec. Yes, Mrs. Judge Stone!
Member. (Jumping up.) But no Missus is eligible. We will have no woman who is weak enough to marry a man.
Sec. But Mrs. Judge Stone’s case is quite exceptional. She is a brave woman. Filed a bill of divorce, heard the case herself, and granted a decree with a ripping alimony.
Chorus. Good, good! (Applause.)
Birdie. What was the cause?
Sec. Her husband, the tyrant, objected to her smoking during their reception to the Count Spaghetti, who married Miss Bullion-Brown.
Chorus. Oh! oh! the brute! served him right.
Pres. I think we should admit this brilliant woman, the champion of her sex, without the formality of a ballot.
Birdie. Yes, by all means, and extend her a vote of thanks, besides, for her achievements in the cause of progress.
Chorus. Yes, yes!
Pres. Mrs. Judge Stone is admitted by unanimous consent, and the thanks is also a vote. (To sec.) What is next?
Sec. Some questions were to be presented for future discussion.
Pres. Read them!
Sec. Whereas: The New Woman’s Club and Anti-homo Association points with pride to its record in the matter of political and social reform, it further views with alarm the gradual encroachments of the male sex upon the dress of women. Witness the almost universal adoption of bloomers by men of fashion, which is rapidly being imitated by male maids of all work, and even scullions and dish-washers.
Birdie. Miss President, such a condition of affairs is ominous. It threatens the very foundations of society. In my opinion men are secretly encouraged in such practices by that class of women whom we designate as marrying women. Our battle is not yet completely won. A large number of our own sex oppose us, and cling to the old system which made woman a slave. I therefore move that a committee be named to call upon Her Excellency, Governor Angelina Perkins, and Chief Justice Daisy Flyer inviting them to a joint discussion of this important question, in the rooms of this club.
Dollie. I second that motion.
Pres. I see no harm in it and will name as the committee ex-Judge Birdie Robbins, ex-Mayor Dollie Giglette, of whom, by the way, we are all proud as the youngest mayor ever elected in this city, and Miss Brownmuffin. I think the question will be ably debated, since it is well known that Governor Angelina Perkins is inclined to a strict interpretation of the statutes, while Chief Justice Daisy Flyer has liberal tendencies and her rulings give men all the privileges which they may fairly ask so long as society is constituted as at present.
Dollie. For my part I think the question not important. Since women have almost universally adopted pantaloons and derby hats I am willing that the men wear bloomers and put feathers in their hats if they choose. Men are naturally vain and the slaves of fashion.
Birdie. We set a bad example in our dress here!
Pres. Our dress here is only a survival, regalia in fact, like that of the women’s Ancient Order of Matrimony.
Dollie. It is very absurd and should have been abolished long ago.
Sec. I have the following question to propose: (Reads.) Shall men be compelled to remove their hats in theatres?
Daisy. The law says plainly, they shall!
Birdie. The law, indeed! What’s the use to talk about the law when the people have been fools enough to elect a gang mayor and a man at that. He winks at most outrageous infractions of the law! What are we coming to?
Dollie. The remedy lies in the ballot.
Sec. (Reads.) Shall a woman give her seat in a street car to a tired man?
Pres. That question is absurd. If the man is young and stylishly dressed he gets the seat and if he isn’t he stands, that’s all. Is there any further business?
Sec. None!
Pres. The club stands adjourned till the next regular meeting. (All rise and with a buzz disperse going R. except pres. and sec.)
Rosa. Hykight, I am worried about the finances of the club.
Pink T. Lightfoot, that is Doughflyer’s business!
Rosa. Doughflyer is so reckless!
Pink T. How much do we owe?
Rosa. Nearly five thousand dollars.
Pink T. That is nothing for a wealthy club like ours. Why, in the old times when men carried the pocket-book and managed clubs they were always head over heels in debt.
Rosa. (Surprised.) Why, Miss Pink T. Hykight! Do you adduce the men’s clubs as examples for our guidance?
Pink T. Certainly not. Their clubs are cheap nowadays because we allow them so little pocket money. And they are so weak in the matter of drinks.
Rosa. But we can’t pay bills even in 1950 without money.
Pres. I tire of hearing about money. Money has never been the chief object in any condition of society.
Rosa. We’ll not agree there. Our grandfathers and fathers made a god of money, a swinish, brutal fetich. But we must do something; our wine bill is enormous.
Pink T. That comes of giving a banquet at the Paragon Hotel and inviting a thirsty horde of men.
Rosa. But the bill must be paid, and the cigar man is clamoring for his money.
Pink T. Pay him!
Rosa. Pay him! Why, the bill is over three hundred dollars. We do smoke so much and the members are hanging the club up.
Pink T. That is contrary to rules. Doughflyer is responsible for that. She is too easy. By the way, have you a cigar about you?
Rosa. No, I came down in the car with Judge Flyer and she took the last one I had. I’ll ring for Mary to bring in cigars.
Enter Mary, R.
Pink T. Oh, here she is now.
Mary. Miss Hykight, there is a man at the door who wishes to see the president.
Pink T. A man! No man can come in here except in extreme necessity or in a menial capacity. Tell him to go.
Mary. I have told him that. He insists, says he must see the president and will not be put off longer. (Going L.)
Pink T. Will not be put off! Such insolence! Call a policeman. Goodness! I hear him coming in here! He’s bound to speak to me. There’s no escape. I’m subject to impeachment if this gets out.
Rosa. I shan’t take any chances. (Runs out L., P. T. following.)
Enter Jack Blake, R.
Blake. (Bowing politely.) Can I see the president of the club?
Pink T. (At L., with dignity.) I am the president. You are intruding, sir.
Blake. (Bowing very low.) I beg your pardon but I must see somebody.
Pink T. (Aside.) So polite! Your business, sir?
Blake. I am collector for the Universal Grab-all Gas Co. The bill, you know.
Pink T. I do not know. See Miss Daisy Doughflyer, our financial secretary.
Blake. Duffy! The name given me was Doughflyer!
Pink T. (Laughs.) How absurd! You got the name wrong. She spells it Doughflyer and pronounces it Duffy. She’s English, you know.
Blake. Beg pardon! I didn’t know that. I’ve looked all over town for that woman.
Pink T. She’s a lawyer. Doughflyer and Muldoon, Cinderella building, corner of Matilda street and Marie Louise avenue.
Blake. Miss Hykight, I thank you for your courtesy. Sorry I intruded. (Bows politely.)
Pink T. Don’t mention it.
Enter Mary, L.
Mary. (Sees B., coughs.) Miss President, the ice hasn’t come.
Pink T. I’ll see you later Mary! (Slips coin in her hand. Exit Mary, L.)
Blake. By the way, where is the meter? Our man had trouble finding it.
Pink T. Step into the office, through that door. The stewardess will show you. (Exit Blake, bowing very politely, L.)
Pink T. What a charming man! The gas officials are so polite. I hear they train all their men in a regular school of etiquette, taught by a real French professor. But this little interview must be strictly on the Q. T. (Exit, R.)
Enter Rosa and Blake, talking earnestly.
Rosa. (Glancing round.) Thank heaven, she is gone and no one is likely to come so soon after the business meeting.
Blake. You have a charming place here. But why is it so very hard to see your officials, Miss Lightfoot?
Rosa. Why, don’t you know? Our rules are very strict. No man without a license is ever allowed to enter here except on certain days of public receptions. If you were seen here with me I should be subject to impeachment and expulsion and you would be hopelessly compromised.
Blake. (Starting.) No!
Rosa. A fact! Can I rely on your discretion?
Blake. (Bowing his best.) You can. I would gladly be the slave of such a charming creature.
Rosa. (Pretending offense.) No nonsense, please! The new woman dislikes the word slave. On your honor, do you promise silence?
Blake. (Bowing.) I do!
Rosa. For your own sake, too!
Blake. I must preserve my reputation. I shall be silent as the grave.
Rosa. (Aside.) Such lovely manners! Now go, please.
Enter Mary L., she starts and coughs.
Rosa. (To Blake.) Oh, please go at once! (Exit Blake, hastily, R.) Mary, you know our rules! This is an accident. He came to see about the gas. (She gives Mary a coin.) Can I rely on you?
Mary. Forever, Miss Lightfoot.
Rosa. Thank you! (Exit R.)
Mary. Well, if there aint trouble brewin’ here, my name isn’t Mary Smilax. First the president making eyes at him, and bribin’ me, and then the secretary. And he’s just lovely, too. (Hears noise.) Oh, there’s the iceman!
Enter Mack, the iceman, L.
Mack. Is there nobody around this blessed shop? I’ve been hammering at the side door for an hour.
Mary. Nonsense, Mack! I haven’t been out of my office for five minutes.
Mack. Don’t care, Smilax. I can’t be detained this way. I’ll just leave your ice on the sidewalk hereafter.
Mary. Do it if you dare, and we’ll just try the Susie Miller Ice Company.
Mack. The Susie Miller Co. be blowed! (Coaxingly.) Now Smilax, you wouldn’t be that hard on a feller an’ lose him a good customer like this club? The company looks to its drivers to hold customers.
Mary. And it’s a poor dependence.
Mack. Mary, don’t be hard on a feller.
Mary. Mr. Mack, your language is shockingly coarse at times. Feller is slang.
Mack. Well, Mary—
Mary. There you go again! Don’t call me Mary. Call me Smilax, or Miss Smilax.
Mack. You used to be just Mary Smith.
Mary. Used to be isn’t now. Smith is too plain and common for me. When I entered the employment of this club I became a new woman, and I just took a new name. I was tired of Smith. When I applied to Justice Daisy Flyer to get a permit to change my name, she said flowers were having a great run for names, and I chose Smilax.
Mack. Mary, you are prettier to me than any flower.
Mary. (Smiles.) That is a very pretty compliment, but you forget that it is only proper for our sex to pay such compliments as that. The new woman—
Mack. Bother the new woman. Since you have become a new woman, Mary, you drive me to distraction.
Mary. Mr. Mack, you are really provoking. So weak and sentimental. Do have a little regard for propriety, and the modesty natural to your sex.
Mack. I never can please you now. The old woman was hard enough to please, but the new one—heaven help us.
Mary. Mr. Mack, can’t I teach you that it is not your place to compliment me, but my place to compliment you? You are rather forward.
Mack. Oh, it has come to that, has it? (Going, angry, L.)
Mary. (Aside.) He’s so fascinating when he is vexed a little. (Follows.) He’s irresistible. John!
Mack. (Turning.) She called me John. (To Mary, stiffly.) John! I think you are presuming, Miss.
Mary. I beg your pardon. May I not call you John?
Mack. (Drops eyes coquettishly.) You are so persistent.
Mary. Then I may call you John?
Mack. It’s so sudden! Give me time. I think I shall never marry.
Mary. Very well, if that is your decision, I—I—
Mack. (Alarmed.) Oh, I didn’t mean that.
Mary. May I seal that sweet confession with a kiss? (Advances toward Mack.)
Enter Bertie R. 1, John darts out L.
Bertie. (Coughs.) Aw! I saiey there, now!
Mary. (Turns angrily.) Who are you, sir? Do you know where you are?
Bertie. (Adjusting eye-glass and staring.) Yaas! (Regarding her.) Wathah pwetty, don’t you know; but lacks style.
Mary. (Angrily.) Do you know where you are?
Bertie. Yaas.
Mary. Oh, you do! Well let me say that the “New Woman’s Club” is forbidden to men. Special charter, you see. Penalties attached! Why, you could be committed for felony.
Bertie. (Starting.) You don’t saiey!
Mary. Yes, I do say. Now will you go at once, before I call a policeman?
Bertie. I cawn’t, weally, till I’ve found out something I’m dying to know.
Mary. Well, did you ever! Wont go, eh! I shall have to throw you out. (Business of pushing up sleeves.)
Bertie. (Starting.) I declare, she’s going to wesoht to violence. I saiey now! (Mary takes Bertie by shoulders and is rushing him toward door. He drops cane, eye-glass, etc. Makes a feeble effort to resist.)
Mary. I’ll show you how to go, you insolent cub!
Bertie. (Manages to turn round.) Oh, I saiey now. Don’t be hasty, you know I—I—(gets coin from pocket and slips it in her hand.) I only wanted to ask a question, then I’ll go.
Mary. (Looks at coin and changes tone instantly.) Why didn’t you say so at first. We may be detected. Who are you?
Bertie. Bertie Howell, there’s my cahd!
Mary. Very well, Mr. Howell. Your business?
Bertie. You were so thweatening, don’t you know. You quite alahmed me. You look so musculah, don’t you know.
Mary. Cut that. Time is precious.
Bertie. You must sweah eternal secwecy.
Mary. If it is so very important as that, I think I’d rather not.
Bertie. Me weputation is in your hands. A word would blawst it. You know I have long admiahed in secwet one of the membeahs of this club.
Mary. Indeed! That’s no news. They are rather a swell set.
Bertie. Awful swaggah, don’t you know. I’ve noticed her in the cahs, don’t you know, and she knows Governoh Angelina Perkins, too, and they talk politics—an’ how I do wish I could undehstand those things, but I cawn’t, you see.
Mary. Yes, I see.
Bertie. Yestehday she gave me her seat in the stweet cah. It put me all in a flutteh, don’t you know. I blushed scawlet and put me veil down at once.
Mary. Poor silly thing! You are very imprudent coming here.
Bertie. Vewy, but I confide in you.
Mary. You may trust me implicitly, but what can I do for you?
Bertie. Mention casuawlly that I am an heir, mamma fwightfully wich, don’t you know, only child, an’ all that. Start a talk, don’t you see.
Mary. But whom am I to talk to! I don’t know your flame.
Bertie. (Sucks cane.) Aw, an obstacle wight away, I neveh could suhmount obstacles. I saiey now, help me out, woman. A cwuel custom compels me to sit and wait to be wooed.
Mary. Describe her!
Bertie. (Brightening.) To be suah, good idea, don’t you know. Well, she is awfully swell.
Mary. Nonsense! Blonde or brunette?
Bertie. Aw, thanks for the suggestion. How deuced clevah you aw. She’s a blonde.
Mary. Clothes?
Bertie. Velvet suit, cutaway coat, silk tile, silveh knee chains that hook into the wing of the shoe toes by a deuce of a clevah little hand, don’t you know.
Mary. Why, that must be the Hon. Dollie Giglette.
Bertie. Dollie, did you say? Oh, how fohgetful I am, I did hear them call her—
Enter Dollie, R.
Mary. (With warning gesture.) Hush! There she comes. (Runs out, L.)
Bertie. She comes! Wuined! (Drops his veil instantly.)
Tableau.
| Dollie, laughing, down R. C. Bertie, with averted face, L. C. |
Quick Curtain.
ACT II.
Scene—Club house as before. Time: Morning, a few days later than Act I. Pres. Hykight discovered looking at letter case.
Pink T. Why, here is a letter. That’s strange; my mail comes to my business office. (Opens letter, reads.) Why, from that Mr. Blake of the Gas Company. Dear me! I wrote him that he really must not come here any more and he has the audacity to answer, saying that he is obliged to come. The rules of the company are inexorable, etc. Nonsense! It isn’t the rules of the company that compel him. It is something else. I guess I’m the attraction, in short. (Sighs.) I’m getting tired of all this strife fighting the battles of reform. The new woman is a pretty lonesome creature. But I might have been brought up a marrying woman. And if I had! Poor helpless creatures! (Sighs.) Well, sometimes I think that I’d rather preside in a nice home than in this club. Mr. Blake is handsome—such eyes and such a mustache! and such manners! How kind of the Gas Company to educate their men in etiquette. That is because a woman is president of the company. Why, I’ve read that in the old time the insolence of gas employés almost equaled that of employés in the city hall nowadays. But he is poor and I can not stoop! The motto of the Hykights is “Upward,” and I, Pink T. Hykight, a descendant of President Hykight, shall not be the first to step out of the family rank. The Blakes are of very good family, but Mr. Blake has only his salary.
Enter Mary, L.
Mary. Oh, are you here, Miss Hykight?
Pink T. Yes, I am early, called for my mail.
Mary. How absurd it was for that carrier to get stuck in the chute.
Pink T. Yes, it might have been serious. Smilax, I want the silver counted to-day.
Mary. I’ll attend to it, Miss Hykight. (Exit, Mary, L.)
Pink T. (Looking at letter.) No, I think Chief of Police, Brennan de Cork is more to my notion. The de Cork’s have been illustrious for centuries. They were kings of Ireland, and they say he has made his pile in politics, too. I’ll propose to de Cork yet. I believe he expects it, too. I’m sick of public life. Poor Blake! I’ll just write him to call about the meter again and find some way to let him know that his hopes are vain. Poor thing! He is so infatuated with me. It’s dangerous but I’ll risk it. (Rings.) I’ll write de Cork asking him to theatre this very night. (Writes hastily.) No stamp! I’ll mail it outside. (Attempts to put note in pocket; drops it on floor. Rings.) Where are all the servants?
Enter Mary, L.
Pink T. Smilax, where is Belinda and Alfaretta Pansy?
Mary. I sent Belinda for cigars. Alfaretta is sick to-day.
Pink T. What hour do you open the club house?
Mary. At eight o’clock, Miss Hykight, according to regulation.
Pink T. Is your help all here at that hour?
Mary. Promptly, Miss.
Pink T. When do members appear?
Mary. Seldom before noon, and most of them after four. You see the trouble of dressing in this old regalia keeps them away. We ought to abolish such an ancient rule and admit the modern dress.
Pink T. That is a club matter.
Mary. (Vexed.) Oh, it’s not for me to say. I just suggested. Miss President, the Swiss cheese for the bar is hardly up to the last lot, I think. Will you come and taste it? (Exeunt L.)
Enter Rosa Lightfoot, R. 1.
Rosa. (Has not seen them, goes to letter case.) A letter for me! A strange hand! (Reads.) Why, it’s from that Mr. Blake. Thanks me for my kindness! Dear fellow. Hopes I may not think him bold. (Laughs.) Such audacity! He is bold, but I like him for it. And wants to meet me here. Oh goodness! That will never do. (Looks at note.) Tuesday at nine. Hopes I’ll be alone. Why, he may come any minute. How indiscreet of him. He must love me desperately. (Rings.) Whatever shall I do.
Enter Mary, L.
Rosa. Mary, I expect a person here on business—important business. Is the committee room unoccupied at this hour?
Mary. Yes, Miss, that is, unless Birdie Robbins should come in. She goes round at all hours.
Rosa. (Soliloquy.) Why didn’t she go into literature? She has no tact for politics.
Mary. No, Miss Lightfoot, she hasn’t a spoonful of tact.
Rosa. Ah, Mary, you needn’t notice everything. If she or anyone else drops in just say the committee room is in use, will you?
Mary. Yes, Miss. (Exit L.)
Rosa. How my heart flutters. I’ve read that in the old times women’s hearts were always fluttering. That is a weakness that comes from centuries of degenerate training, but the new woman will master it yet. The men manage better. Their great solid chests are as impassive as statues. We can be nonchalant, too. I’ll coolly light a cigar. (Feels pocket.) Goodness, I gave the last one to Inspector Lillie Evergreen. (Sound of footsteps, R.) Goodness, there he comes now. (Listens.) He’s saying good day to some one at the door. Oh, horrors! that’s Birdie Robbins’s voice. What shall I do? (Darts behind screen L.)
Enter Birdie Robbins, R.
Birdie. (Cross.) I’ll just look around and see that everything is in decent order, and I dare say it isn’t at all. The other directors leave all that to me. Governor Perkins and Judge Flyer haven’t attended a directors’ meeting for three months. They ought to be ashamed of themselves. (Looks in letter box, takes letter out, reads.) Another appeal from the Pacific Coast Home Mission Society. Urgent appeal for help. The Chinese are sending missionaries to America by the score. Confucian daily paper published in San Francisco. Dear me, things are going to the bad headlong, and this club doesn’t even protest. I wonder if those people have repaired the faucets in the dressing room! (Exit R. U. E.)
Rosa. (Comes from behind screen.) This is a pretty mess. I do hope he won’t come. If I try to stop him at the door, it may lead to complications. (Birdie heard re-entering. Rosa behind screen as before.)
Birdie. Soap nearly all gone already. The servants are robbing us, feeding their relatives at our expense, and smoking our cigars by the score. We read that all these things happened in the old times. Alfaretta sick to-day! She’ll have to be sent to the tobacco cure and the club will be obliged by law to pay the bills. Such demoralization on every hand. When the men managed things they stole everything in sight. I’ve just been reading a curious old book of the last century called “An Iron Crown.” There were big thieves then, according to that author, who stole millions. Now women will stoop to purloin a few cigars. (Petulantly.) I’m ashamed of them. (Sees note on floor.) What is this? (Picks it up.) Why this is directed to “Hon. Chief of Police, Brennan de Cork.” It is unsealed too. Official business, doubtless, I’ll see. (Opens and reads.) Mercy! Can this be true? Impossible! I’ll put it back. No, it is a matter too important to be concealed. (Reads.) “Hon. Brennan de Cork: Miss Pink T. Hykight presents her compliments to Mr. de Cork and desires the pleasure of his company to the Elsie theatre to hear Paddiwinski next Saturday evening. Find the usual gratuity for flowers enclosed.” Such iniquity! I always suspected the sincerity of that woman. Her crime shall be punished. As vice-president, I shall call a directors’ meeting at once. (Exit R. 1.)
Rosa. (Coming down.) Here’s a pretty go! There’ll be a scandal sure, for if there is a sincere member in the club, it is Miss Robbins. Who would have thought that Miss Hykight was so sly? Well, de Cork is a great catch. Dear me, if I am discovered. Mr. Blake is so indiscreet. I shall talk to him seriously. (Steps heard.) Goodness, some one coming. (Darts back behind screen.)
Enter Blake, R. 1.
Blake. I do hope she’ll meet me. Not here! How cruel! She thinks me too forward, but I can not conceal my love. (Rosa behind screen leans forward eagerly to listen.)
Enter Pink T., quietly, R. 1.
Blake. Yes, I’ve been too forward. She despises me. (P. T. advances on tip toe, also Rosa comes further down, pleased.) Oh, for one word, one glance of those beautiful eyes.
Pink T. (Aside.) Poor thing!
Rosa. (Aside.) How delightful.
Blake. I have hoped in vain. (Turns R.)
Pink T. No, not so. Hope is—
Rosa. (Coming out, screams.) Undone! Miss Hykight! (All stare in surprise for a few moments.)
Pink T. Miss Lightfoot, explain your conduct, if you please.
Rosa. Not to you, Miss Hykight.
Pink T. Then to the club.
Rosa. The club can have my resignation if that is what you mean.
Pink T. Your conduct has been scandalous. You have lured this confiding young man here utterly regardless of his reputation or the club’s.
Rosa. Plague take the club! I love this man. Mr. Blake, be mine.
Pink T. (Loftily.) Oh, indeed! If it comes to that I think I am one too many. (Sails out R. 1.)
Blake. (Modestly.) I have been very indiscreet. Forgive me, dear.
Rosa. Darling, say no more, but you really must go at once. (Noise outside.) Too late. Get behind the screen there. (He runs behind screen R., Rosa L.)
Enter Dollie R.
Dollie. (With easy swagger.) Here’s a go! That silly little Bertie Howells thinks because I called on him three or four times and took him to a concert once that I’m going to marry him. Humph! he’s decidedly fresh. But this is the poor boy’s first season in society, and then (with jaunty air) I suppose I am to blame. So far forgot himself as to write me a note. Well, I must say, being an only child, his mamma’s millions are very tempting. But then his papa is insupportable, no pop-in-law for me just yet. (Looks at letter box, fingering letters.) “Grantly,” “Gorman,” “Ginseng,” “Gunther;” no Giglette. Well, the ninny hasn’t sent any more notes, thank fortune. I’m pestered to death with billet doux and designing papas. (Going L. sees Rosa behind screen.) Why, Lightfoot, old chap, what on earth are you standing in there for?
Rosa. (Stammers.) Why, you see Giglette—you know I was just listening if that induction was still in the heating coil. We could hear the engine throb plainly.
Dollie. The plumber fixed that last week. Come and have something.
Rosa. Excuse me please, you know I never drink.
Dollie. Teetotaler! I forgot; well take a cigar.
Rosa. (Coughs significantly.) Don’t care if I do.
Dollie. Lightfoot, you have a bad cough. (Exeunt L.)
Blake. (Comes out.) Now’s my chance to skip. (Runs against Bertie Entering R., disguised as plumber.)
Bertie. I saiey there, now! (Tools fall with racket.)
Blake. Where are you going, you lubber?
Bertie. Confwound you, it’s your fault.
Blake. No lip, young fellow. You’re too fresh!
Bertie. Lip! Fellah! You aw vewy fwesh! You aw insulting, don’t you know.
Blake. Hello! Who are you, anyway? Lookin’ for a scrap are you? You look like a plumber and talk like an avenue dude.
Bertie. I cawn’t talk to you, you know. Because you’re no gentleman, see?
Blake. Why, you little shrimp, who the deuce are you to talk about gentlemen? You’re not a plumber, nor a gentleman, either. You’re up to some game. I’ll just unmask you. (Pulls off Bertie’s slouch hat, Bertie screams, Blake pulls off his false whiskers. Bertie hits him but Blake doesn’t mind it.)
Bertie. (Gasping.) You—you fellah—
Blake. Don’t try that game or I’ll pulverize you.
Bertie. (Squaring.) Don’t you twy that. I—weally, I may hurt somebody.
Blake. Young man, what are you doing in this club, sneaking in here in disguise? (Sternly.) Give an account of yourself.
Bertie. (Shrinking back.) Weally, don’t be wash, you know. I came heah to meet the pearl of her sex.
Enter Dollie, L., overhears, stops.
Dollie. (Hand to mouth.) Me!
Blake. No you didn’t, young fellow. That’s what I came for, and I’ll break every bone in your body if you meddle in my affairs. (Dollie smiles pleased and gives expressive look.) Hear?
Dollie. (As before.) Fun to come!
Bertie. (Contemptuously.) Why, she wouldn’t look at you. The peehless flowah of her sex—
Dollie. That’s me. (Laughs merrily. They start surprised.) Really, this is too good! (Laughs.) Really, gentlemen! Fie on you! These persistent attentions are embarrassing. (Comes toward C.)
Blake. (Bowing politely.) Madam, I assure you—
Bertie. (Pushing him aside.) Go, fellah! This is my affaih! Miss Giglette, I feah I look vewy ludicuous in this dwess and I cawn’t get on without me eye-glaws, don’t you know. (Feeling in pocket for glass. To Blake.) You’ve bwoke me chain, I saiey.
Dollie. (Laughs heartily.) Now go, please, both of you. I could have you both arrested. Don’t cause a scene.
Enter Birdie Robbins, L.
Birdie. (Sternly.) Men! In the Anti-homo Club. Is it possible? (Severely.) Miss Giglette, what does this mean?
Dollie. (Laughs.) Really, I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.
Birdie. Miss Giglette, have you invited these creatures?
Blake. (Aside.) Creatures! Old Major Prim!
Dollie. I have not invited them.
Birdie. Then why are they here? This looks suspicious.
Dolly. (Haughtily.) Miss Robbins, you forget that I am not on the witness stand.
Birdie. There’s pretty goings on here in violation of our constitution and by-laws. This club is on the brink of dissolution.
Dollie. Pshaw! It’s always on the brink of something.
Birdie. And they will not go, eh? I’ll ring up the police. (Starts toward police call in office, L.)
Dollie. (Seizing her arm.) No, not that!
Bertie. Police! Oh me weputation! Wheh’s me eye-glaws?
Dollie. (Waving hand toward door!) Now clear out, both of you, quick, or you’ll get the G. B.
Bertie. Dweadful. (To Blake.) Aw, you mad weckless fellah, waising this wow! We’ll be wuined. (Pulling Blake hastily out R., Birdie glaring at them. Dollie C., laughing.)
Dollie. Well, that’s too rich. (Birdie glares at her.)
Quick Curtain.
ACT III.
Scene: Club rooms as before. Time, next day after Act II.
Mary. (Discovered as curtain rises.) Alfaretta is very negligent of her work lately. There’s the flowers for the president put away in the corner instead of on the desk, as they should be. (Puts flowers on the desk.) The postman is late to-day. Poor fellow! I wonder if he is stuck in the tube again. I wouldn’t be shot through that tube for anything. Just think of being chucked into that pipe and fired a mile between breaths. The man always looks as if he were out of breath. They say all the carriers have to be hypnotized before they go into the tube. I think it’s cruel. (During this speech she is looking at old letters in boxes.) There are letters here for a member that’s been dead five years. Why didn’t that party give notice of her demise. (Noise outside, L.) There’s Mack bringing the ice. Dear fellow! My heart is all in a flutter. I’ll just wait to see if he comes in here to speak to me. I know he will. He’s blue all day if he doesn’t see me. Oh, if that terrible Birdie Robbins should discover us. I aint a bit afraid of the president. If she ever says boo, I’ll just ask her how the Hon. Brennan de Cork is. Oh, there he comes.
Enter Mack, L.
Mary. Good morning, Maxie! You are irresistible this morning.
Mack. Hist, Smiley, we may be overheard.
Mary. There’s no one here.
Mack. Are you sure? If the club found out, you would lose your place and I should be compromised. They are so against love-making.
Mary. Yes, sometimes.
Mack. What do you mean, Smiley?
Mary. Better call me plain Smilax. You are here on business, you know.
Mack. All right, dearie, but what did you mean by that sometimes?
Mary. Oh, nothing. I know a thing or two.
Mack. I think my driver suspects me.
Mary. Yes, she’s a jealousy old thing.
Mack. Do you think that’s it?
Mary. Sure! Get the company to put on a man.
Mack. Oh, I couldn’t think of trying that. They might suspect, and if they found out I’d be discharged instantly. It’s posted in the rules and in display at that: “All male employés are absolutely forbidden to receive attentions from women, on pain of instant dismissal.” The man has to take all the blame you know.
Mary. I’ll protect you, have no fear.
Mack. (Pleadingly.) Mayn’t I name the day?
Mary. No, not yet. You see, I’ve a good soft job here and I shan’t give it up till the last minute. I’m savin’ money. Now, you’d better go, Maxie. Some one might come, you know. (Noise outside, R.) There, be quick. (Snatches kiss. Kiss may be blown if advisable.) Ta, ta!
Mack. (Going L.) Au revoir!
Mary. Just in time. Some one is coming.
Enter Hykight, R., followed by members to attend Directors’ meeting. Buzz of conversation. Miss Hykight takes chair, calls meeting to order. Members seated. Buzz of conversation.
Pres. The meeting will come to order! (Nobody pays any attention.) Order, ladies! (Sharply.) Order, if you please. (Sudden silence.) A special meeting has been called to transact very important business. The call specifies an emergency and was made at the instance of Vice-president Robbins. Secretary, are the directors all present?
Sec. (Reads roll.) Hykight, Robbins, Lightfoot, Doughflyer, Willie Jones—not present. Is Miss Jones in the city, does any one know?
Daisy. (Rises with solemn demeanor.) Miss President, I have an unpleasant duty to perform. (All in attitude of expectancy.) I regret to say that Miss Willie Jones is no longer worthy to be a member of this club.
Chorus. Oh! What has she done? Do tell us.
Daisy. The story of her treachery is soon told. She has eloped!
Chorus. Good gracious!
Dollie. And so timid!
Birdie. (Severely.) Timid, indeed! All put on! I knew all the time that she’d do something. She’s as sly as a weasel. I think no motion is necessary to strike her name from the roll.
Pres. (Gravely.) No, that is not necessary. Secretary, strike Miss Jones’ name from the roll. If there is no objection I will appoint Miss Dollie Giglette director in her place. Now, Miss Robbins, you may state the object of the meeting.
Birdie. Oh, I’m so overcome, I must have a moment’s time. (Uses smelling bottle.) That horrid, sly, deceitful Jones girl has completely upset my nerves.
Dollie. Miss President, I think I can state the object of this meeting, if Director Robbins will allow me. It’s all about two men who get in here accidentally. I think there’s a good deal of pother about nothing. I advised Robbins to let the whole thing drop.
Birdie. When such things are overlooked or winked at, the days of the Anti-homo Club are numbered, its purpose wholly defeated. Dissolution is at hand.
Dollie. Well, if a little thing like that is going to kill it, I say—
Birdie. (Severely.) What does the constitution say?
Dollie. If you insist, then let us take the matter up. One was the ice man who has a yearly permit to call once a day between the hours of 9 and 10 a. m. The other was a plumber.
Birdie. I saw the wretch! He was no plumber.
Dollie. A plumber is what is known as an emergency man and needs no permit, just as a male doctor was once called in to treat a member, in an emergency.
Birdie. I demand an investigating committee.
Dollie. Oh, I make no objection if you think it so important as that. But emergencies will arise. The ice man and the postman can not always be on time. As we know, under the new system, the postman is shot through the Instantaneous Pneumatic Delivery Company’s tubes. Only a few days ago the poor fellow stuck in the tube owing to his carelessness in dropping a peach pit as he entered the chute. Reversing the engine only wedged him tighter and he would have smothered if one of the professors in charge had not thought to fire fresh oxygen balls at him by means of the new aluminum, vacuum, weather-report gun. Now they can’t shoot a plumber through the tubes because—
Birdie. I insist this was no plumber. Plumbers don’t wear eye-glasses. I found his on the floor. (Produces glass. “Ohs” by members.)
Pres. Suppose we call Mary. (Pulls bell.)
Daisy. We might as well go to the bottom of the matter. It’s sure to get into the papers now.
Birdie. Yes, thanks to the indifference of the Public Censor, Adelaide Witherspoon.
Enter Mary, L.
Pres. Mary, have you seen any men in the club rooms?
Mary. Only the licensed ones.
Birdie. (Severely.) Smilax, do you ever examine their licenses?
Mary. Why no! I know them all.
Birdie. How careless! Now tell me plainly, have you seen anything here that didn’t look right?
Mary. (Confused.) Why, I—that is—
Dollie. Robbins, had you not better leave all this to the investigating committee?
Birdie. Let the president name it then.
Pres. I name the president, the secretary and Miss Dollie Giglette.
Birdie. I’ll have no whitewashing.
Pres. (Sternly.) Is this a reflection on the chair and the committee?
Birdie. I make no charges. I only demand my rights. As the one making the motion, custom demands that I be named on the committee. Add Doughflyer. Doughflyer has the best interests of the club at heart.
Daisy. I shall try to act in this grave matter as would become my illustrious ancestors the Du Fays who came over with the Normans.
Dollie. Oh, I’m a Norman, too.
Pres. We are making much of a trivial matter.
Birdie. You will find it not so trivial before we get to the bottom. Smilax, tell me plainly, did you see a plumber in the club rooms yesterday?
Mary. I? Goodness, no!
Birdie. Did you see a dude?
Mary. (Throws up hands.) Laws a me, no!
Birdie. Well, I did, and so did Giglette. With him was another person, a fine-looking person I regret to say, who evidently had no business here.
Daisy. A dude! Shocking! A plumber is bad enough but a dude—Let the investigation proceed.
Sec. (Starting uneasily.) Miss President, I decline to serve on that committee. In fact, I have an important communication to make and deem this an opportune time. I hereby resign my office and my membership in the club. (“Oh’s” as before.)
Pres. (Solemnly.) This investigation apparently is about to assume a personal tone, which I deprecate and can not countenance. I also resign rather than be a party to such an inquisition. (Rises, vacates chair, comes down C. Sensation “oh’s,” “Did you ever,” etc.) And I don’t mind saying further, since certain persons are so inquisitive, that Chief of Police, Brennan de Cork has consented to change his name soon to Hykight. (Sensation as before.)
Dollie. Congratulations, old chap!
Sec. (Rises and comes out from desk.) And Mr. Blake of the gas company has at last consented to become Mr. Blake-Lightfoot. I’ve saved enough for two.
Dollie. Shake, old chap! (Groans, others buzz.)
Mary. And, if you please, ladies, I give notice. Next month I lead Mr. Mack to the altar. (Excitement.)
Birdie. And you too, Smilax! Since you were a tiny waif, this club has been your mother and has watched over you. We taught you to be a new woman, and this is our reward.
Mary. Oh, please, Miss Robbins, I respect you greatly, and I do love the club dearly (sighs), but I love dear Mack more. I just couldn’t help it. (Cries with face in apron.)
Birdie. There’s nothing to do but close the doors. The club is dead. (Wipes eyes.)
Dollie. (Crosses R. C., takes Birdie’s hand.) Cheer up, Robbins, cheer up. You are not a marrying woman. I value freedom too much to surrender it. And there’s Doughflyer, she’ll stick by us. She has principles—and a name. We’ll go on as before.
Birdie. The mischief is done.
Dollie. We’ll reorganize if necessary. (She leads Birdie down C., dress stage.)
Birdie. (Sadly.) No, we never can survive this disaster. The old woman will laugh at the new, and ridicule kills. The club is dead. The finger of progress goes back on the dial of time at least a century. Good-bye dear, old club, the scene of my busiest, happiest, hours. Good-bye forever.
| R. | L. |
| Pink T., Rosa, Birdie, Dollie, Daisy, Mary. | |
Curtain.
ONLY COLD TEA
A TEMPERANCE 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.