Bradley. I doubt it. He wouldn’t have let us have ’em here if he had known.
Perkins. Amateur—amateur dramatics?
Mrs. Perkins. Certainly, Thaddeus. You know we offered our parlor for the performance. The audience are to sit out in the hall.
Perkins. Oh—ah! Why, of course! Certainly! It had slipped my mind; and—ah—what else?
Bradley. Why, we’re here to-night to arrange the scene. Don’t tell us you didn’t know it. Bob Yardsley’s coming, and Barlow. Yardsley’s a great man for amateur dramatics; he bosses things so pleasantly that you don’t know you’re being ordered about like a slave. I believe he could persuade a man to hammer nails into his piano-case if he wanted it done, he’s so insinuatingly lovely about it all.
Perkins (absently). I’ll get a hammer. [Exit.
Mrs. Perkins (aside). I must explain to Thaddeus. He’ll never forgive me. (Aloud.) Thaddeus is so forgetful that I don’t believe he can find that hammer, so if you’ll excuse me I’ll go help him. [Exit.
Bradley. Wonder what’s up? They don’t quarrel, do they?
Mrs. Bradley. I don’t believe any one could quarrel with Bessie Perkins—not even a man.
Bradley. Well, they’re queer. Acted as if they weren’t glad to see us.