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?