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Title: Hearts and clubs

A comedy in three acts

Author: Amy Ella Blanchard

Release date: April 13, 2025 [eBook #75848]

Language: English

Original publication: United States: The Penn Publishing Company, 1896

Credits: Carol Brown, Aaron Adrignola and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HEARTS AND CLUBS ***

Hearts and Clubs



A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS



By Amy E. Blanchard



colophon


PHILADELPHIA
THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
1913


[Pg 2]


Copyright 1896 by The Penn Publishing Company



[Pg 3]

HEARTS AND CLUBS




CAST OF CHARACTERS

Mr. Fossil An elderly gentleman, with a hobby
Tom Bestman A nephew of Mr. Fossil
Mr. Alljoy A gentleman fond of his club
Miss Doting A spinster who adores Beauty and Emerson
Mintra Triptoe Miss Doting’s niece
Mrs. Alljoy A would-be invalid
Mrs. Frisk A stout lady, an advocate of physical culture
Mrs. Bodkin A thin lady, an advocate of physical culture
Miss Stein A teacher of physical culture

Mrs. Pallide and Other Ladies of the X. Y. Z. Club


COSTUMES—MODERN.

In Act I, Scene II, ladies should wear free, easily fitting dresses or gymnasium suits. Miss Doting’s dress is always gay and coquettish.

Time in Representation—One Hour and
Fifteen Minutes.


[Pg 4]

[Pg 5]

HEARTS AND CLUBS


ACT I

SCENE IA seaside hotel. Mrs. Alljoy’s sitting-room, prettily furnished. Table and chairs R. Sofa L. Doors R. and L. At rise of curtain Mr. Alljoy is discovered seated R. of table reading a newspaper. Mrs. Alljoy is lying upon sofa.

Mrs. Alljoy. (sighing) O dear!

Mr. Alljoy. (looking over top of paper) What is the matter now, Lolly?

Mrs. Alljoy. The same old thing, this pain in my side, and there is a strange feeling in the back of my head. I wonder what it is!

Mr. Alljoy. Oh, you want something to distract you. Come, jump up, and let us go down-stairs and hear the music. You might as well be at home as moping up in this room. Come, it will do you good.

Mrs. Alljoy. O Joey! I couldn’t possibly dress and go down to-night. Just suppose I should faint!

Mr. Alljoy. Well, suppose you do; you are not likely to, you know. You would soon get over it, and you wouldn’t be a mile from your own room.

Mrs. Alljoy. You are so heartless. I think it is cruel of you to talk that way. Even if I didn’t faint, those parlors are so draughty, and the music always makes my head ache.

Mr. Alljoy. Very well, we needn’t go. (Silence, excepting the rustling of the paper.)

Mrs. Alljoy. Joe, can’t you read without making such a noise with the paper? It does distract me so. My poor nerves cannot stand much.

Mr. Alljoy. I cannot very well spend my evening spelling out the advertisements on one side of the paper. (Sarcastically) Perhaps I may be able to find a newspaper of a single sheet only—one of those patent-inside arrangements—if so, I certainly shall take it. (Getting up) Since I am so unpleasantly distracting, I had better leave you in [Pg 6] peace. They don’t mind speaking above a whisper at the club. (Throws down paper and takes up his hat) Good-night; don’t sit up for me. (Goes out, R.)

Mrs. Alljoy. (burying her head in the pillow and sobbing) There he goes again to that hateful old club, leaving poor forlorn me all alone. Oh, these heartless men! (A knock at the door, R.)

(Enter Mrs. Frisk.)

Mrs. Frisk. Why, Lolly, what is the matter?

Mrs. Alljoy. (sitting up and wiping her eyes) O Anna! I am so glad you came in! It is the same old story, of course. Joe has gone over to the club, leaving me alone with nothing to do; I cannot do fancy work, it makes my back ache; I cannot read, for it makes my head ache, and so here I am deprived of everything, even my husband’s society. I am a perfect martyr.

Mrs. Frisk. (laughing) Laura, you do make me laugh, you are so bent upon being miserable. Now, don’t put on that injured look. I have something to tell you.

Mrs. Alljoy. (brightening up) Have you? What is it? I am dying to hear.

Mrs. Frisk. First, look at me. Do you see this new gown?

Mrs. Alljoy. Yes. How well you look in it.

Mrs. Frisk. (triumphantly) That is just it. I am one inch longer in the waist than I was two months ago, and it is all due to physical culture.

Mrs. Alljoy. Physical culture?

Mrs. Frisk. Yes. You have no idea what it does for one, and it would be just the thing for you.

Mrs. Alljoy. Oh, no! I never could swing those dreadful Indian clubs and jump over a rope four or five feet high or squirm in and out of little square places like a snake. As for a trapeze, I have a perfect horror of one.

Mrs. Frisk. Nonsense! That isn’t what you have to do. Why, it is as simple as can be, to begin with, and has cured more headaches and backaches than I could begin to tell you of. See, I will show you a few of the first exercises. (Rises, and goes through a few movements rather awkwardly) There, now, that isn’t so dreadfully hard, is it? Come, Laura, say you will join our club.

Mrs. Alljoy. Club! Did you say you had a club?

Mrs. Frisk. Yes; one must do something in Lent, and it is awfully stupid down here, so we have organized a club, [Pg 7] the X. Y. Z. The culmination of knowledge, you see, as opposed to A. B. C. The X. Y. Z. Club, composed of about a dozen ladies who are seeking different ends through the same means; I, for instance, am bent upon decreasing my size; even “add a cubit to my stature,” and it would not come amiss if I were able to stretch up to it and out of my avoirdupois. Mrs. Bodkin, on the contrary, pines for flesh, for breadth of chest, and mightiness of muscle. Miss Doting, the dear soul, thinks the movements “such lines of beauty,” and her prophetic eye sees herself, though spare of flesh, an undulating, willowy figure, gliding before some hero’s vision and into his heart; while dear Mintra, her niece, who has come down here with her, does it all “just for the fun of the thing.”

Mrs. Alljoy. Well, I really believe I will join you, since Mr. Joe is so absorbed in his club, and I will show him that I can have a club, too. Yes, I really will join you.

Mrs. Frisk. (delightedly) That is right. We meet to-morrow in Mrs. Bodkin’s rooms at three o’clock. Now I must go. Good-night. Don’t get up.

Mrs. Alljoy. Oh! I feel better already. I will go to the door with you. (They go toward door, L.)

CURTAIN

SCENE IIMrs. Bodkin’s drawing-room, handsomely furnished. Large table with lamp down R. Doors R. and L. and C. in flat. Ladies are all present and are preparing for a meeting of the Club. Mrs. Frisk and Mrs. Alljoy down C.

Mrs. Frisk. Now, Lolly dear, you see us as we are, absolutely afraid of our teacher, each other, and our own selves. Mrs. Bodkin, (addressing Mrs. B., who stands near) do you know I have lost a whole pound, and I am at least an inch longer in the waist.

Mrs. Bodkin. Really? Well, I have found your pound, and am triumphantly wearing it; and, as for your inch, I have added that to my chest measure.

Mrs. Alljoy. You have? What is that Mrs. Pallide is saying, “Ma za?” Is she seeking a rhyme?

Mrs. Frisk. (laughing) No, that is for exercising the muscles of the mouth, and so is the sentence she is practicing now, “Most men want poise and more royal margin.”

Mrs. Alljoy. Do you suppose we really need to exercise [Pg 8] the muscles of our mouths? I fancy our husbands will hardly think so.

Mrs. Frisk. Rank treason, my dear! Do they not need to exercise their biceps?

Mrs. Alljoy. Do look at Miss Doting. Is she invoking Juno?

Mrs. Frisk. No, she would never invoke any one but Venus, my dear.

Miss Doting. (who has been going through some of the arm movements most extravagantly, shakes her finger at the three ladies as she approaches) Ah, my dears, I see you laughing at me, but as that dear Emerson says in his ode to “Beauty,” “Unmake me quite, or give thyself to me.” And, oh! (clasping her hands in a soulful way) I do so long for “Beauty;” not the tender tints of spring, not the rose flush of June, but the beauty of autumn. Oh, surely, surely I may consider that I am not too late in seeking that aftermath.

Mrs. Alljoy. Oh, surely, surely not too late, Miss Doting.

Mrs. Frisk. You look so well to-day.

Mrs. Bodkin. That is a most becoming costume.

Miss Doting. Oh! do you think so? Pet laughed at me, and though she is too dear a child to say so, I know she thinks me too old to wear pink; but, as I said to her, “Beauty is its own excuse for being,” and the rosy streaks of sunset are as beautifully tender as the auroral glow of morn. And why may I not be clad like the sunset?

Mrs. Frisk. Why, of course you may. (Aside) There is no one to say you may not; but can you, and not look like a guy, that is the question. (Aloud) Speaking of Pet, is Mintra not here? Ah, there she is.

(Mintra enters and Mrs. Alljoy meets her, goes front; other ladies go through different gestures very awkwardly, laughing and talking with one another.)

Mrs. Alljoy. Mintra, dear, I want so much to see you for a moment. I must enlighten you in a matter upon which I happen to be informed, and you do not. Old Mr. Fossil is here.

Mintra. (starting) Is he?

Mrs. Alljoy. Yes, and Tom Bestman told my husband—you know what old friends they are, and you will forgive it, I know—he told my husband that his uncle was furious with him. Your aunt does not know of your engagement, does she? [Pg 9]

Mintra. No, indeed; I have told her nothing about it. She has only seen Tom twice, and doesn’t know he has an uncle. You know mamma could not have told her, for she did not stop in Philadelphia at all.

Mrs. Alljoy. Well, Tom’s uncle vows he shall never marry any one but a strong-minded daughter of the soil; at least—not exactly that—but he advocates only sensible women, as he calls them, and objects in the most strenuous manner to high heels, small waists, and society foibles and follies.

Mintra. Well!

Mrs. Alljoy. Not at all well. You dear, silly little goose (putting her arm affectionately around her), do you know what that means? Why, it means that your dear Tom is thrown off to shift for himself, and instead of having a very comfortable berth he will have nothing at all; and though he is by no means a fool, yet it will be years before he is in a position to marry, if he doesn’t marry to please his uncle, and his uncle has conceived a frantic dislike to you.

Mintra. Me?

Mrs. Alljoy. Yes, “me” (mimicking her), and “me” must go to work and disabuse the old gentleman of his ridiculous ideas.

Mintra. But how?

Mrs. Alljoy. My dear goosie, you see the means before you. Physical culture, of course. Send to the city for low-heeled shoes; increase your waist measure at least four inches; be an enthusiastic walker; stand up straight; give him the idea that your one aim in life is to be sensible, that your ideal of perfection is a healthy peasant, and—well, that is all.

Mintra. (enthusiastically) I’ll do it.

Miss Doting. (approaching) Ah, Pet, dear! you see I was right to wear my pink gown. I have received many compliments, I assure you. “I builded better than I knew,” as dear Emerson says. I want to tell you something, I met such a charming man just before I came upstairs.

Mintra. (indifferently) Who was it, auntie? You meet so many “charming men.”

Miss Doting. (coquettishly) Now, Pet, how can I help it if they make themselves charming to me? Surely I do nothing to attract them, and you know how terribly soon my ideals vanish. But this time!—O Pet! (theatrically), “When half gods go, the gods arrive!” and Mr. Fossil is Jove-like in his dignity. [Pg 10]

Mintra. (excitedly) Mr. Fossil?

Miss Doting. Yes, Mr. Fossil; and O Pet! he is so interested in our club, and he asked me—well (coyly), perhaps he should not have done so upon so short an acquaintance; but when I told him that we proposed giving an exhibition of our talent to the guests of the house, at a later date, he asked me (giggles), he asked me if he might come, and I said yes.

Mintra. (laughing) Well, auntie, I don’t think that was so terribly forward. I shall not object, for one.

Mrs. Bodkin. O Mrs. Frisk! do you know your lesson? (Proceeds with a stanza of “Young Lochinvar,” hesitates and breaks down.) There! I knew I could not do it.

Mrs. Frisk. Oh! never mind. You will be all right. At any rate, there are plenty to keep you company. I wonder where Miss Stein is.

Mrs. Pallide. She will be a little late, I think, for I saw her talking to Mr. Fossil, and you know his hobby. Do you know I cannot remember that neck movement to save my life.

Several. Oh! can’t you? Why, this is it. (All proceed to show her, differently.)

Mrs. Pallide. I don’t see that I am any wiser than I was before. However, I will ask Miss Stein to show me. Do, somebody see if I say this correctly. (Begins another stanza of “Lochinvar,” but stops to giggle) Now, Mrs. Frisk, if you look at me in that way I cannot say it. I’ll tell Miss Stein of you. There she is now. (All rush up to Miss Stein, who enters the room, C.)

CURTAIN


[Pg 11]

ACT II

SCENE—Porch of hotel. Gravel walk across stage in front of porch. Exits R. and L. Main entrance to hotel C. in flat. Full-length windows, R. and L. Wicker chairs scattered about porch. Mr. Fossil and Mr. Bestman discovered seated down L.

Mr. Fossil. (rising) Yes, sir, I say that the young men of the present day are idiots. Yes, sir, brainless idiots. Do you suppose for one instant, sir, that I intend my money to go toward supporting a race of wasp-waisted, deformed, hollow-chested women? (Walking about porch excitedly) Not for my right hand. I would rather see you married to a German peasant with thick ankles and a thick head than to a simpering silly society girl tottering along on her high-heeled, pointed-toed shoes. (Stopping before Tom) Look at that. (Takes a slipper from his pocket) That is the kind of shoe I mean. Now, can you deny that this is the same style of footgear that your charming, lovely Mintra wears? (Takes out a photograph) I found this stuck in your mirror. Look at that waist. No wonder she stands with her back to you. I should think she would be ashamed to show her face. How does she breathe? Where are her lungs? Where is her heart? No, sir, it is time this folly—no, it is worse than folly—this crime, I call it—should be stopped, and I, for one, give no consent toward the encouragement of monstrosities. Now, you have my answer. You can marry your high-heeled, wasp-waisted, narrow-chested deformed ninny if you want to; but if you do, you leave my office at once, and every cent of my money shall go toward the founding of gymnasiums for women.

Tom. But, uncle, you do not expect me to give up the girl I love simply because she does not measure a yard around her waist. What in the world has that to do with her moral character or her lovely, amiable qualities?

Mr. Fossil. It has everything to do with them. A girl that distorts the body the Lord gave her hasn’t proper moral perception, and as for her charming qualities, I suppose you can live on them.

Tom. But, uncle, it is ridiculous to take a dislike to a girl you have never seen. Let me present you, and—

Mr. Fossil. No, and I do not wish to see her. I hope [Pg 12] I never shall. I know enough of the species already. I shall go back to the city to-night, and I expect you to go with me.

Tom. Now, sir, that is a little too much. She is just like all girls. I mean she isn’t like all girls, but she has had no opportunity for doing differently because she has had no example before her, and you surely do not expect me to—

Mr. Fossil. I expect nothing, and if her nonsensical style suits you my ideas do not, so there is an end of it. (Exit C.)

(Enter Mintra, R.) Tom, is that you?

Tom. (rising) Yes; what is left of me.

Mintra. Why, what is the matter?

Tom. Oh, nothing but what I shall have to stand. Uncle expects me to go back to the city with him to-night.

Mintra. Well, never mind. You can come back again. Now, Tom, don’t look so glum. You know I want you to stay, but old people are apt to be a bit cranky, and it is best to humor them sometimes, then they get over their little tempers sooner. You should see how I have to manage Auntie. Was he so very angry when you—when you told him about me? (shyly.)

Tom. (savagely) Yes. Confound his impudence!

Mintra. Now, Tom, don’t be so savage. You know “the course of true love,” and if it is only this I don’t mind. As long as you are my own dear boy, the whole world may turn against me. We’ll have him on our side yet, you see if we do not.

Tom. You dear little girl (puts his arm around her), if he could but see you once, he couldn’t help being on your side.

Mintra. Tom, have I such a very small waist?

Tom. Yes, you are quite like a wasp.

Mintra. Oh, you mean thing. I am not like one of those horrid, shiny, blue wasps.

Tom. No, I didn’t mean a wasp. I meant a dear little busy bee.

Mintra. The reason I asked is—but, please promise not to tell any one.

Tom. All right, I promise.

Mintra. You know there is a club organized here, just to fill up this stupid season, and you know how dull it is for me when you are not here, for I cannot write to you every hour in the day. Well, at first I wasn’t a bit interested, but I really am now. You see I had never thought of narrow chests, or little bits of waists being so very injurious. I [Pg 13] thought it was just a fad of old people, like Auntie; but when I heard Miss Stein talk—you know she has come down to give us lessons—I was converted at once, it all seemed so sensible. And so I have joined the club for Physical Culture, and—

Tom. (rapturously) You have!

Mintra. Yes. Are you glad? Do you approve?

Tom. Approve! I should think so.

Mintra. I am so glad. Well, now you see, I practice often, oh! real often, and Tom, although you don’t seem to think so, I am ever and ever so many inches larger in the waist. And now the funny thing I was going to tell you is this: I sent to the city for some low-heeled shoes, for I have discarded all my high heels; but last night as I was going to close my shutters, one of them stuck. I couldn’t quite reach the catch, so I took up one of my high-heeled slippers—for the heel makes an excellent hammer—and as the catch sprang suddenly, it knocked the slipper out of my hand and it went flying out of the window. Of course, it was dark, but I told one of the hall boys to try and find it, and this morning he said he had hunted everywhere, but it was not to be seen. Now, who in the world do you suppose could have picked it up?

Tom. Ha! ha! ha! That is funny! Forgive me, my darling, but it is so funny, I can’t help laughing. I think I could tell where it is.

Mintra. O Tom! did you find it?

Tom. Never mind who found it. I have seen it, and that is all I shall tell you. It is perfectly safe.

Mintra. Well! I think you are very mean. Do, please, throw it away where no one can find it. Do, like a good boy. Now I must go. You must not worry, dear.

(Exit, both, L.)

(Enter Mrs. Alljoy, C.)

Mrs. Alljoy. I am so glad no one is here. Now I can practice a little without being heard. (Begins) Ma-za-sca-ah. (Goes through some gestures.)

(Enter Mr. Alljoy, R.)

Mr. Alljoy. Why, Laura, what are you doing?

Mrs. Alljoy. (looking at him steadfastly and seriously) Most men want poise, and more royal margin.

Mr. Alljoy. So they do; so they do. (Aside) Good [Pg 14] gracious, now did she hear of that little speculation? I might as well own up. (Aloud) I know, my dear, I should have had more poise; but you know I don’t often lose my head, and a man certainly does need a royal margin when he is dabbling in stocks.

Mrs. Alljoy. Joseph Alljoy, are you crazy?

Mr. Alljoy. No. Are you?

Mrs. Alljoy. Not at all. My mind is perfectly clear.

Mr. Alljoy. I, Joseph Alljoy, being of sound mind—

Mrs. Alljoy. Joseph, you certainly are insane. I presume you have left at the club the small amount of brains you once possessed. Now at my club—

Mr. Alljoy. Ye powers above! She has a club! Clubs are trumps, and we seem to hold a full hand. How fortunate that you are my partner! I thought you always called for diamonds though?

Mrs. Alljoy. Well, I don’t get them if I do—not when you deal.

Mr. Alljoy. Now, Lolly, don’t let’s quarrel. We have done so much of it lately, and you have seemed so like your old self, for the past few days, that I hoped—indeed, I did hope that our old happy days might come back.

Mrs. Alljoy. But you didn’t go to the club, then.

Mr. Alljoy. Neither did you. No, hearts were trumps, and they are best after all. Clubs! They are a man’s refuge

“From ev’ry stormy wind that blows,
From ev’ry swelling tide of woes;”

but a woman and a club are about as incongruous as a woman and a base-ball bat. You didn’t need clubs before we were married.

Mrs. Alljoy. Neither did you.

Mr. Alljoy. No; for you were very entertaining then, and did not need to be coaxed to go walking or driving. You cannot go anywhere with me now; but you are well enough to go to clubs.

Mrs. Alljoy. You will be sorry you spoke to me in this way. I meant to tell you all about it, but I shall not now.

Mr. Alljoy. Now, Laura, do.

Mrs. Alljoy. Aha! Curiosity is it?

Mr. Alljoy. Oh! no! But it is your duty to tell me.

Mrs. Alljoy. (scornfully) Duty!

(They walk off, L., talking and gesticulating in an animated manner, as enter Miss Doting and Mr. Fossil, C.) [Pg 15]

Miss Doting. O Mr. Fossil! it is cruel of you to leave us so soon, but you naughty men are so uncertain; however, we must try and be contented, for Emerson says “Discontent is the want of self-reliance; it is the infirmity of will.” Now you must promise me again before you go that you will surely return to witness our little attempt to illustrate Physical Culture.

Mr. Fossil. Well, really, Miss Doting, I—ahem!—I do not know whether my business will permit me—but—

Miss Doting. (with a little scream of dismay) O Mr. Fossil! you surely will not disappoint us, I may say, disappoint me. Your presence wanting will cast the gloom of discouragement over us all, for we had hoped our champion would surely support us. You know (coyly) we are only debutantes, and need a great deal of coaxing and petting. (with another little scream) Oh, no! I don’t mean petting. I mean—encouragement. As dear Pet, my niece, says: “Auntie, you will never be anything but a child,” and indeed, as Emerson so beautifully expresses it:

“Spring is still spring in the mind
When sixty years are told,
Love wakes anew this throbbing heart,
And we are never old.”

Mr. Fossil. Very true, very true, Miss Doting.

Miss Doting. Now, Mr. Fossil, we can depend upon you, I know. I should so like you to see Pet, my dear niece. We are like sisters, and in this little club of ours she is so in sympathy with me. Fancy the dear child discarding all her pretty slippers, and wearing low heels; fancy her clothing her dear young form in the garb of a true dress reformer. You should see her pretty, graceful movements, free as the bird that wings its way over yon ocean; free as the curling wave that laps the bleaching sand. Oh, those exquisite movements of grace! O Beauty! Beauty! how I adore thee! Yes, Mr. Fossil, you should see my dear, heroic little niece.

Mr. Fossil. I should like to see her, madam. A girl nowadays who is willing to elevate this degenerate race by discarding its follies and vanities, is a girl after my own heart. Miss Pet must be a niece to be proud of, and it speaks well for the teachings of her aunt, that she is so tractable and amiable as to follow her suggestions. I wish my nephew were as obedient.

Miss Doting. You have a nephew, Mr. Fossil? [Pg 16]

Mr. Fossil. Yes, madam, my dead sister’s son, to whom I have been a father, and who now despises my counsels and derides my opinions.

Miss Doting. O Mr. Fossil! how can he? One so good, so noble, so truly wise in his judgments should be listened to as we listen to truth.

Mr. Fossil. Thank you, thank you, Miss Doting. I think I must try and manage to get down to your little exhibition, and I anticipate much pleasure in meeting your niece. And now, my dear madam, I must make my adieux, for I fear it is train time.

Miss Doting. Good-bye, Mr. Fossil, or rather, au revoir. (Stands gazing after him as he goes off R. Tom and Mintra appear L. Mintra goes up porch. Tom goes off R., lingeringly, turning back several times, while Mintra waves her hand.)

CURTAIN

[Pg 17]


ACT III

SCENE IParlor of hotel, furniture removed. The X. Y. Z. Club, in costume, gives its exhibition.

If so desired, this scene may be omitted.

For suggestions, see Shoemaker’s “Advanced Elocution,” “Delsartean Pantomimes,” or “Drills and Marches,” published by the Penn Publishing Company, Philadelphia.

SCENE IISame as above, with furniture. Arch with curtains C. in flat. Entrances R. and L. The company distributed in groups about the stage. Miss Doting and Mintra, still in costume, and Mr. Fossil, down L.

Miss Doting. And how were you pleased, Mr. Fossil?

Mr. Fossil. Charmed, madam, charmed.

Miss Doting. (turning to Mintra) Pet, dear, allow me to present Mr. Fossil. You have heard me extol his wisdom and good taste. And he has heard of you, haven’t you, Mr. Fossil?

Mr. Fossil. Indeed, yes, Miss Pet, I cannot express to you the great pleasure it gives me to meet a young lady so admirably sensible. Your aunt tells me you are an enthusiast in the matter of Physical Culture. “Strength before beauty” is my motto.

Miss Doting. O Mr. Fossil! but beauty!

Mr. Fossil. Pardon me. I should say, “Strength is beauty.” The beauty of the vine depending upon the strength of its support, though it be nothing but the solid ground; the beauty of the rose taking its strength from the parent stalk. Fill nature with weakness and disease, and there you have ugliness, repulsive distortion. Ah, my dear young lady, I wish all women could realize that it is strength of body which makes beauty. You are fond of walking?

Mintra. Oh, yes! I can walk miles.

Miss Doting. And return rosy and unwearied.

Mintra. But you know, auntie, how the English women walk; and look at our own country girls. Why, even our little children walk miles to school. Of course, if I wore little nippy heels, and went tripping along like a Chinese lady, I should soon get tired. [Pg 18]

Mr. Fossil. Most sensibly spoken.

Mintra. Thank you, Mr. Fossil. I knew you must be an advocate of fresh air. Isn’t it delightful to take in great draughts of pure oxygen and expand your lungs till you feel so invigorated that you long to dwell on a mountain top for the rest of your life? (Aside) I’ve been rehearsing those speeches for a week.

Mr. Fossil. Admirable! Excellent! (Aside) A remarkably fine girl, Miss Doting. (Aloud) What charming costumes you are wearing, ladies. How much better those old Greeks knew how to dress than we do. But the day is dawning! Ah, Miss Pet! I wish that you were my niece! (Miss Doting looks very coyly conscious.)

Mintra. Are you sure, Mr. Fossil?

Mr. Fossil. Quite sure. If my scapegrace of a nephew would only ask me to sanction his choice of such a girl, I tell you I should not be long in giving my consent.

Mintra. Take care, Mr. Fossil; one never knows what may happen. Suppose I hold you to your word some day?

Mr. Fossil. May the day soon come, my dear young lady, is my hearty wish. (Bows, ladies walk away, music is heard and all go out C. but Mintra, who stands listening.)

(Enter Tom Bestman, R.)

Tom. O my darling! I wondered where you were. I saw you were not in the music room, so I came in here, hoping to find you. (Takes her hand) Dear, I saw you talking to my uncle, and naturally I am anxious to know what he—I mean what you thought of him.

Mintra. (innocently) Why, Tom, he is a dear, lovely old fellow, and he paid me no end of compliments. He actually said he wished I were his niece.

Tom. He did?

Mintra. Yes, he did.

Tom. Well, I vow!

Mintra. (mocking him) “Well, I vow,” you’re polite. Is it such a very astonishing thing that an old gentleman should make such a wish?

Tom. (pulling his mustache) No—but—at least, not all old gentlemen, but this old gentleman isn’t like all old gentlemen; in fact, he is a very cranky old gentleman, and I didn’t expect—

Mintra. Didn’t expect! Never mind what you expected (irritatedly), I do not know that I especially indorse his wish; [Pg 19] indeed, as I come to think of it, I am quite sure I do not. (Turns away, pouting.)

Tom. (bewildered) Why, my dear girl, what do you mean? Do you want me to understand that you do not care for me any more? (Mintra remains silent.) My darling, don’t trifle with me. I have been terribly upset lately, and if I am stupid or dense you must overlook it.

Mintra. (turning to him, and putting out both hands) O Tom, you are dense! I thought you would be so happy; I am. Don’t make me say so. Cannot you see how easy it all is?

Tom. Why—yes—I suppose so, only when you are dealing with a cranky uncle—

Mr. Fossil. (entering suddenly, C.) What’s this I hear? Cranky uncle! Cranky uncle, is it? (Turning to Mintra) Don’t let this young man make you believe his tales, Miss Pet.

Mintra. (laughingly) Ah, Mr. Fossil, remember what you said awhile ago. You do not know to what tales I may be listening.

Mr. Fossil. I certainly indorse anything I may have said to you, Miss Pet.

Mintra. Do you? Very well (aside to Tom), present me as your fiancée. Do hurry, Tom.

Tom. (looking rather dazed) Uncle, let me present you to my promised wife, Miss Mintra Triptoe.

Mr. Fossil. (looking very much surprised) Your promised wife? Miss Mintra Triptoe? Why, I imagined this young lady to be Miss Doting—Miss Pet Doting.

Mintra. No, Mr. Fossil, auntie is Miss Doting. I am her sister’s child, and all the family call me Pet.

Mr. Fossil. Well, I am amazed. Nevertheless, my dear, I am delighted as well. You little cajoler. Ha! ha! ha! Pretty well done. Ha! ha! ha!

(Enter Miss Doting, C. Tom and Mintra go out, R.)

Mr. Fossil. Ah, Miss Doting, it seems that there is a possibility of our being more nearly related, and that your niece may be my niece, and my nephew your nephew.

Miss Doting. O Mr. Fossil! this is so unexpected. How have I won such a prize?

Mr. Fossil. Prize? I am not sure about there being any great prize won, excepting on my side. If all is, as I hope it is, the prize will be won by my side of the house.

Miss Doting. O Mr. Fossil! what an adept you are in the language of love! [Pg 20]

Mr. Fossil. I? Not a bit of it. Well, perhaps I may have been rather effusive to the lady; but I hope she did not think too much so.

Miss Doting. Too much so! How can you imagine it? What so delightful to a woman’s ears as the graceful appreciation of the man she admires—respects—adores—(puts out both hands.)

Mr. Fossil. (taking her hands) Well, Miss Doting, I had no idea that your niece was so impressed by my unworthy self, but she shall find me a warm friend. Yes, madam, we are to be congratulated. I will do my best for the young couple, and Tom will understand that his old uncle hasn’t such poor judgment after all.

Miss Doting. (withdrawing her hands) Your nephew! My niece! I—I—do not understand.

Mr. Fossil. Neither did I, at first; but the sly things told me they were engaged. My nephew, Tom Bestman, to your niece, Miss Pet—no, I mean Miss Mintra Do—no, I mean Triptoe.

Miss Doting. O, cruel! cruel! not to have told me at once.

Mr. Fossil. Not at all! not at all! Now, Miss Doting, pray do not take it in that way. Young folks like a little secret. I don’t blame them. Come, come, we old folks must give them our blessing and be happy with them.

Miss Doting. (aside) Old folks! O, crueller still! Ah well, “What does not come to us is not ours.” (Aloud) I suppose I must not be too harsh, Mr. Fossil; let us find them; but we should remember that Emerson says “the passion of which we speak, though it begins with the young, does not forsake the old,” and you are scarcely old yet, Mr. Fossil. (Takes his arm and they walk off, R.)

(Enter Mr. and Mrs. Alljoy, Mrs. Frisk and others, L.
Mr. and Mrs. Alljoy go down L.)

Mrs. Alljoy. Now, Joe, you see my club is perfectly harmless.

Mr. Alljoy. I congratulate you, Laura, I do, indeed. You are a trump. By George! but it was a revelation to me. I hadn’t an idea you women could be so limber. You looked stunning, too.

Mrs. Alljoy. And you’ll find it doesn’t stop here. I’ll take a five-mile walk with you to-morrow, if you say so.

Mr. Alljoy. Good! we’ll do it.

Mrs. Alljoy. And, Joe, you may rustle the paper all [Pg 21] you choose, and if you go to the club, remember, I’m going too. Somehow I’ve given up being an invalid, so you’d better not let me be alone too much, with all this newly acquired energy.

Mr. Alljoy. I shall not want to go to the club if you will only be good company for me. To tell you the truth, the club is getting to be an awful bore, and I am about sick of clubs. That is a fact.

Mrs. Alljoy. Then we’ll begin all over again.

Mrs. Frisk. (coming down) Isn’t she a lively invalid, Mr. Alljoy? You may thank me for it.

Mr. Alljoy. I do, most heartily. She’s her old self, indeed. Ah, here comes Tom and Mintra.

(Enter Tom and Mintra, L., Mr. Fossil and Miss Doting, R. Mr. and Mrs. Alljoy go toward them. All meet centre.)

Miss Doting. O Pet! why didn’t you tell me?

Mintra. What? About Tom? I was afraid to. (looking roguishly at Mr. Fossil) I was afraid you’d tell Mr. Fossil.

Mr. Fossil. You little intriguer! Remember, I haven’t given my consent.

Tom. But, you do, give it, sir.

Mr. Alljoy. Oh, yes! Mr. Fossil!

Mrs. Alljoy. You do give it, Mr. Fossil?

Mr. Fossil. I do, indeed.

Tom. Then we must thank—

Mintra. The Heart suit, for although Clubs were trumps, Hearts have, as usual, won at last.