WASHINGTON SQUARE.
A Comedietta in One Act.
BY EDITH V. BRANDER MATTHEWS.
Characters:
| Miss Silvia Brown, hostess. |
| Miss Harriett Spaulding. |
| Miss Grace Dunlap. |
| Miss Rose Hallam. |
| Miss Pauline Davenport. |
| Miss Catherine Cruger. |
Time.—Present.
Place.—Miss Silvia Brown's home, overlooking Washington Square.
Scene.—Parlor. Fireplace in flat centre. Door in right upper corner. Low table to left of fireplace. Six chairs arranged in a semicircle in centre of stage. At rise of curtain Silvia is discovered seated in a big arm-chair to left centre, busy reading.
Silvia (dropping book in her lap as the curtain rolls up). Oh, dear! I do wish those girls would come! I begin to feel nervous. (Fretfully.) I don't see what good we girls can do, anyhow. We can't prevent those hideous old Turks from scratching the eyes out of the poor Armenians. Oh, why did Miss Peabody suggest that we girls of the graduating class of the Peabody School (mimicking) should form ourselves into some sort of a society in order to keep up the pleasant friendships begun at school? She might have known Catharine Cruger would want us to undertake some outlandish thing or other. (Sarcastically.) Of course dear Catharine no sooner returned to town this fall than she reminded us of Miss Peabody's parting injunction, and proposed we should try to relieve the unfortunate Armenians. It will be so easy, so simple. (Angrily.) To think that I was idiot enough to offer to have the meeting here! But I won't have anything to do with the matter, no noth—
Rose (entering door right upper corner). Good-afternoon, dear. I hope I am not late?
Silvia (shaking hands, but still somewhat ruffled). Oh no, dear! it's only three-quarters of an hour past the time.
Rose (serenely). Oh, I am so glad I am the first, for I haven't had time to look up where Armenia is, so do tell me, dear, before the girls come (taking off her veil). I really meant to have been here earlier, but as I passed Madame Jacquin's I saw such a love of a theatre hat I simply couldn't resist going in to try it on.
Silvia (with interest). What was it like?
Rose. A soft crown of gold-brown velvet, with the cutest little net-work of gold beads, held on with little loops of blue—
Harriet (appearing in the doorway). Oh, girls, I have hurried so, and I can't stay but a few minutes, for I promised to meet mamma at Mrs. Draper's in half an hour! It's a musical, you know, and I've simply got to tell Kitty Draper all about the Leap-Year Ball.
Grace (entering hastily, and out of breath, addressing Harriet). I saw you ahead of me and tried to catch up, but you walked like a steam-engine. (To Silvia.) Why, where are the rest?
Silvia. I don't know. Pauline promised to be here early, and she is an hour late now.
Pauline (coming in as Silvia utters the last words, laughingly). Now do have the grace to say "better late than never."
Silvia (smiling). "Eavesdroppers never hear any good of themselves" would be a more suitable proverb. But are we really all here? (Looks around.) No, Catharine is missing.
Grace (mischievously). Absent would be a better word.
Rose. Well, do let's begin. I can't stay more than fifteen minutes. I ought to be trying on my new mousseline de soie this minute. (Becoming enthusiastic.) Really, Madam Mosset has outdone herself. Why, she has put the dearest, little folds of—
Harriet (interrupting, wearily). What are we to do, anyway?
All. I don't know.
Grace (pulling out a letter from her pocket, and reading). Catharine says we are an Armenian Relief Committee. (Helplessly.) What do we have to do?
All (wailingly). I don't know.
Grace. Let Silvia tell us; she's hostess.
Silvia (despairingly). I haven't the faintest idea what we can do. Catharine suggested this meeting, and she ought to be here to help us.
Harriet (gloomily). If Catharine were here she would make us do just as she pleases. (With awe.) She has been studying parliamentary law.
All (much impressed). No! Really?
Grace. Well, suppose we think hard for a few minutes, and then tell our ideas. [Silence.]
Pauline (suddenly). Couldn't we— No, that wouldn't do.
Harriet. Perhaps we might— No, I'm afraid that wouldn't do, either.
Rose. Do they need clothes? We might send them a trunkful or two.
Silvia (doubtfully). No, I don't believe they need clothes particularly. (Then quickly.) I've heard that they suffer horribly from hunger.
Harriet. Splendid! Then we can send them some canned soups and potted meats and—
Pauline (sarcastically). And lobster salad and fried oysters. No, girls; really, I think if we got our brothers to give us their old guns and bought a few new ones it would be the best thing. My brother said last evening they were unarmed, and couldn't defend themselves.
Grace (humming to the air of "If you want to know the time, ask a policeman"). Won't you come and have a Gatling-gun with me?
Pauline (ruffled). Well, then, suggest something better yourself; only my brother said—
Harriet (energetically). I know one sure thing. I will have nothing to do with any fair. I'll do almost anything else you girls want, but after standing five hours steadily, and only selling four dollars' worth of rubbish last year at the Golden Rule Fair, I made a solemn vow I would scrub before doing such a thing again.
Silvia. I quite agree with you, my dear. Fairs are immoral. I've told more lies at my last fair trying to get people to buy things they didn't want than I ever expect to be guilty of again till—(hesitating)—till the next one.
Rose (thoughtfully). Fairs are tiresome, but a costume fair would be lovely.
Grace (shaking her head). No fairs for me. I spent six months for the last one doing drawn-work on twelve doilies, and then Mrs. Miller bought them at twenty-five cents apiece for handkerchiefs for her little girl's doll!
Pauline (importantly). Well, my brother says he thinks lotteries and fairs are all on a par, for at the former you lose your dollars, and at the latter you lose your sense.
All (groaning). Oh, Pauline!
Grace. Well, at least we have settled what we won't do, so let's think up something we can do. Come, Silvia, you suggest something.
Silvia. Why can't we give tableaux-vivants, and send the money we get to our ambassador at Constantinople for distribution?
Rose. Lovely!
Pauline. Splendid!
Harriet. Oh, I can't!
Grace. Oh yes, let's!
Harriet (despairingly). Oh, I'm so sorry! I wish I could join you girls in this, but mamma has forbidden my taking part in tableaux.
All. Why?
Harriet. Because this summer at Newport Mrs. Miller got up some tableaux in her barn for the benefit of ship-wrecked sailors, and the next day the papers had a full account of it, and fancy pictures of every one, and they represented me, in what looked like a night-gown, posing airily for Maid Marian under a tree.
Rose. How shameful!
Silvia. Naturally we can't have that; but what can we—
Catharine (entering). How do you do, girls? I must apologize for my tardiness, Silvia, but I had to go shopping, and was delayed. (Seating herself.) Now what have you girls decided on doing?
All (wofully). Nothing.
Catharine (springing up). Do you mean to say you are going to do nothing? Nothing, when thousands of unfortunate Armenians are being massacred daily, and thousands still are homeless, hungry, and destitute; when—
Silvia (exasperated). We didn't say we weren't going to do anything: we simply said we hadn't decided what to do.
[All try to explain at once.]
Pauline. My brother says they need arms—
Harriet. Silvia said tableaux; but I can't—
Grace. Perhaps if we simply got—
Rose. We might give a fancy dress b—
Catharine (putting her fingers in her ears). Look here, girls; if we all talk at once, we won't decide on anything. Now I've studied Parliamentary law, and I know we ought to have a chairman and a secretary. Suppose we nominate?
All. Oh yes; you be chairman!
Catharine. But you must vote. (Rising.) All those in favor of Miss Cruger serving us as chairman will please say aye.
All (half paralysed). Aye!
Catharine. It is a unanimous vote, and Miss Cruger is elected. (Goes over to centre of stage and takes middle chair.) Will you please nominate a secretary?
Rose. You be secretary, Harriet.
Harriet. No; you be it.
Rose. Well, let's have Pauline.
Pauline. I can't. I never should know what to do. My brother says—
Catharine (rapping on back of chair). The meeting will please come to order.
Pauline (with a gasp). I—I only wanted to say—[Collapses and remains silent.]
Catharine (impatiently). Well, are you going to nominate?
All (except Harriet). You be secretary, Harriet.
Harriet. I really don't want to be. I—
Catharine. Miss Spaulding has been nominated. All those in favor of Miss Spaulding acting as secretary will please say aye.
All. Aye!
Harriet. But I don't know what to do.
Catharine. You're chosen to act. I'll tell you what to do. (Turning to the others.) The first business to come before this meeting is how and in what way can we help the unfortunate Armenians?
Rose. I think it would be better—
Pauline. My brother says they can't—
Catharine. One at a time, please. Miss Hallam has the floor.
Rose (nettled). I was only going to suggest—that is, I thought perhaps it would be as well—(weakly)—but I am not at all sure— [Subsides.]
Catharine (severely). Miss Davenport now has the floor.
Pauline (bravely). Well, I simply wanted to say, if the girls agreed, that as my brother says they need arms, it might be a good thing for us to send some guns over; but (beginning to falter) I don't know how we could reach the poor things 'way off in Armenia.
Catharine. Has any one any further remarks to make? (Girls sit in crushed silence.) Then I would like to suggest that we give a fair for the benefit of the Armenians.
Silvia. I don't like fairs, and I don't believe the other girls do.
Catharine. Then why don't you rise to a question of consideration. [Silvia, nonplussed, remains silent.]
Pauline. Fairs mean hard work, and don't pay; besides, we should have to have it so soon.
Catharine. Kindly make your suggestions in the form of an amendment.
Pauline (not knowing how, and not liking to admit it, hastily). Oh, it's of no consequence.
Rose (animatedly). The only fair I ever enjoyed was during the Columbia celebrations, when we all dressed up as Spanish court ladies, and—
Catharine. Please confine yourself to the question at issue.
Harriet } (timidly). But we don't want a—
Grace }
Catharine. Miss Spaulding has the floor.
Harriet (in a fright). Oh no; you speak, Grace.
Grace. No, you speak; you began.
Harriet. Yes; but you can say it so much better.
Catharine. You are both out of order. Private differences of opinion should be settled after the meeting. (Silence.) Are there any further remarks? (Slight pause.) If not, I will add to the suggestion that we have a fair, that we six originators act as patronesses, and each secure the help of five of our friends. That we then engage Sherry's ballroom for an afternoon, and give a tea. Useful things only to be sold, such as lamp shades, sofa cushions, and all household necessities—dusters, glass-towels, wash-rags, etc. The admission to be by invitation, and the proceeds to be given to the Clara Barton Fund—
Girls (interrupting). Hurrah!
Catharine (continuing, calmly). All those in favor of accepting this suggestion will please say aye.
All (meekly). Aye!
curtain.
BY GASTON V. DRAKE.
XVII.—FROM BOB TO JACK.
(Continued from last week.)
After you leave the Bois de Bologne you don't see much until you get to where the Palace of St. Cloud used to be, and even then you don't see much either, because there isn't much left to see. It's had hard luck St. Cloud has. It probably got more licking during the war with Prussia than any other town in France. Everybody took a whack at it. When the Germans weren't having fun with it the French would bombard it, until finally almost every house in it that hadn't already been shaken down, or bowled over with cannon-balls, was burned together with the Palace. It's a nice-looking old ruin though, and Jules says that on Sundays it fairly swarms with babies and lemonade stands. I'd sort of like to see it some Sunday, but Pop thinks Sunday is the best day to look at the churches.
There's another interesting place you pass on the way out to Versailles and that is Sevres where they make bric-a-brac. They make great big vases there that weigh so little you feel as if you ought to put a brick inside 'em to make 'em stay down. Jules was stationed here during the war, and he says it was fine. He could see all the big fires, and all the skirmishes that took place, and everybody had a sort of a notion that sooner or later there'd be a big crash in the bric-a-brac shop and Jules is just a human being like the rest of us. He hated to have the bric-a-brac smashed but if it had to be smashed he wanted to be on hand to see it go. That's me all over again. If I had my choice between seeing a King or a President of the United States, and a bull in a china shop, I think I'd choose the bull. When you think of how he'd toss tea-cups around and lash his tail around pile after pile of dinner plates and soup tureens—well, there's no use trying to describe a sight like that, but it's what Jules was waiting for at Sevres and it never happened. War is full of disappointments anyhow. Pop's uncle went to war once and he says it isn't a bit like the pictures. He says these parlor tableau generals with spick and span clothes on and horses rearing on their hind legs with their ears cocked aren't so, which I don't like to hear and I didn't believe it but Jules says it's true. He says making mud pies is clean alongside of war. I have had more ideas busted since I came over here than I ever thought one person could have. Dukes are plain, Kings are human, and war is not all bands and flags and glory but just grimy scrapping. I'm sure I don't know what to believe in any more.
After a while, after we'd driven through lots of pretty country we entered the town of Versailles, where the great palace is, and I tell you it was magnificent. Most of the Avenues have great trees arching over them, and when I say arching I mean arching because they are all trimmed and not allowed to grow foliaginous—that's one of Aunt Sarah's words—the way we let our trees grow at home. If a giant came walking by he'd think the trees formed a hedge, they grow so thickly together and are kept square cut on the top and arched underneath. They look as if an army of barbers had tended 'em all their lives. I don't think I'd like it always but once in a while it's interesting to see trees growing that way, and if I were a monkey there's nothing I'd like better than it because I could walk mile after mile from tree to tree without having to come down once.
As for the Palace of Versailles the best way to describe it is what Aunt Sarah said. "It baffles description" was what she said and that's what it does. It's so big in the first place that you can't take it in without looking eight or ten times, and when you try to go through it and see all there is to be seen you wish you had a year to spare to do it in. Such pictures, such sculptuary, such bric-a-brac you never saw before unless you'd been there before.
They had 36,000 men working on the Palace grounds at one time. When Pop heard that he nearly fainted. He gave me a sum in mental arithmetic to do. If our hired man can loaf three hours a day, how many hours a minute, can 36,000 hired men loaf. That's a dandy. Eh? Some time when I haven't anything else to do I'm going to work it out.
Once a lady wanted to go sleigh-riding in July out here, and she told the King, and he said all right go ahead, "Where'll I get the snow?" she said. "That's easy," said the King. "You get ready and it'll be all right." Pop says the King thought it would take her until winter to get her hat on straight, but it didn't. She was ready next morning, and he took her sleigh-riding over a road he'd had covered with salt. That's the way Kings did things, and that's why they discharged 'em.
We saw the royal carriages too, and they were royal. Gold all over even the wheels—just like the band-wagons at the circus. Some of 'em looked like show-cases, and Aunt Sarah says that's what they were and she's glad that day is gone when people liked that sort of thing and that's where she's wrong because that day hasn't gone. "People like it yet but they hate to pay for it," Pop says, and I guess that's it. That's what's the matter in France. They've got lots of beautiful things, but they've had to pay too much for 'em. This one palace cost a thousand million francs to build it which is two hundred million dollars, and after that they had to furnish it and keep it up, which made taxes so high that nobody had anything left, and when people haven't got anything left they're apt to get a little cross, which is what they did here, only they got cross with the wrong man, cut off the head of a King that didn't have anything to do with it, which strikes me as a poor way to get revenged on his great-grandfather.
It is long past bed-time and I must quit. I've made this letter pretty long because I've sort of hated to go to bed. Jules told me about the guillotine to-day, which is a sort of spile-driver with a knife in it to cut people's heads off, and I'm afraid I'm going to dream about it. Still I can't sit up forever and so good-night.
Bob.