Yardsley. Where would you prefer to have it, Mrs. Perkins?
Mrs. Perkins. Oh, I have no preference in the matter. Put it where you please.
Yardsley. Suppose you carry it up into the attic, Barlow.
Barlow. Certainly. I’ll be glad to if you’ll carry the soft pedal. I’m always afraid when I’m carrying pianos up-stairs of breaking the soft pedal or dropping a few octaves.
Yardsley. I guess we’d better put it over in this corner, where the audience won’t see it. If you are so careless that you can’t move a piano without losing its tone, we’d better not have it moved too far. Now, then.
[Barlow, Yardsley, and Bradley endeavor to push the piano over the floor, but it doesn’t move.
Enter Perkins with two portières wrapped about him, and hugging a small stepladder in his arms.
Bradley. Hurry up, Perkins. Don’t shirk so. Can’t you see that we’re trying to get this piano across the floor? Where are you at?
Perkins (meekly). I’m trying to make myself at home. Do you expect me to hang on to these things and move pianos at the same time?
Barlow. Let him alone, Bradley. He’s doing the best he knows. I always say give a man credit for doing what he can, whether he is intelligent or not. Of course we don’t expect you to hang on to the portières and the stepladder while you are pushing the piano, Thad. That’s too much to expect of any man of your size; some men might do it, but not all. Drop the portières.