SCENE.—Library in the Templeton home, a comfortable old-fashioned room, reflecting its owner's love for the antique. A door at r. leads into the hall; another door l., opens into an adjoining room. For furniture, a large desk strewn with books and papers, several easy chairs, and shelves containing books. The room is decorated with pieces of old china, dignified candlesticks, and various old-fashioned articles. In a prominent position on the mantel is a quaint silver teapot.
(As the curtain rises, Mr. Horace Templeton is seated at his desk writing, surrounded by several ponderous reference books. Mrs. Templeton enters l., carrying a large basket packed with cast-off clothing.)
Mrs. T. (setting basket on floor near door r.). Hilda! (Goes to l.) Hilda! Horace, have you seen——? (In despair.) Oh, it's of no use. Sue! (Enter Sue, l.) Sue, have you seen anything of Hilda?
Sue. She came in here after dinner.
Mrs. T. (looking out r.). She must have gone out, for her wraps are not in the hall. How unfortunate!
Sue. She will be at home presently. (Looks at basket.) I wouldn't leave that basket there, Celia. If—if Professor Gates should happen to call this evening he would surely stumble over it; the dear man is so near-sighted.
Mrs. T. (moving basket from door). It's only a few things that I've collected for poor Mrs. McLaffety. She's to send her boy for them. Did Professor Gates tell you that he was coming this evening?
Sue (moving about nervously). Why, no—doesn't he usually call on Tuesday evenings?
Mrs. T. (sitting down). Yes; and on Wednesday evenings and Thursday evenings and Friday—I declare, I'm so worried about Hilda that I can't keep track of anything.
Sue (in surprise). Hilda?