'rAAtS 
 
flfntnell Iniueraitg SIthrarg 
 
 JItlfata, Hew ^arh 
 
 !ChoinaaJ!r.e(ierlclE.. Crane 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PN 6120.A5H45 
 
 Love by induction and otiier piays for p 
 
 3 1924 027 215 825 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924027215825 
 
Jove byJnduction 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER PLAYS 
 
 BY 
 
 FORBES HEERMAN^ 
 
 NEW YORK 
 THE DE WITT PUBLISHING HOUSE 
 
Ar S'XL£,%r)^ 
 
 Note. These scenes and comedies have been prepared ex- 
 pressly for amateurs, who may aft them without charge. Pro- 
 fessional aftors or managers must first obtain the written con- 
 sent of the author, addressing him in the care of the publishers. 
 
 ^py^ight, 1889, 
 X Russell & Son. 
 
 [GHTS RESERVED. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 I. Love by Induction i 
 
 II. Between Two Thorns 33 
 
 III. Two Negatives Make an Affirmative . 49 
 
 IV. In The Firs-light '.. 77 
 
 V. Love's Warrant . . . j^^I .... 91 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 The growing interest in amateur adting, and the con- 
 sequent demand for suitable plays, has encouraged the 
 author to publish this volume. 
 
 It is unquestionably true that the plays best adapted for 
 non-professional performers are light, one-a£t comedies, 
 which treat of the incidents and people of every-day life. 
 Very strong charadter delineations or dramatic situations 
 should not be attempted ; nor should the emotional or 
 pathetic enter into the pFays to any great extent. In short, 
 the amateur can best adt on the peea^ional stage that 
 which he does daily in real life. "x( 
 
 The author believes that the comedies, and scenes con- 
 tained in this book wilt answer these gei^eral require- 
 ments. His sole objedt has been to pi-epl(.re a few short 
 plays that may easily be a6ted in a di-awing, •^om or pri- 
 vate theatre ; and while this has greatly liarrowed the 
 scope of his work, at the same timefit has simplified it. 
 "Between Two Thorns" and "In The Fire-ligjit" require 
 no stage setting whatever ; the others only such as may 
 readily be extemporized in any parlor. 
 
LOVE BY INDUCTION 
 
 AN ORIGINAL COMEDY 
 IN ONE ACT. 
 
 CHARACTERS : 
 
 John Douglas, .... A youn^ married man. 
 
 Dr. Edwin Prescott, . . In love nuiiih Marjorie. 
 
 Helen Douglas, .... John's tvife. 
 
 Marjorie Douglas, . . . John's sister. 
 
LOVE BY INDUCTION. 
 
 ( The stage is divided into two compartments by 
 a vertical partition. On the right is seen the 
 library in John Douglas's house ; on the left., 
 Dr. Prescotf s ojffice. The rooms are supposed 
 to be two city blocks apart. ^ 
 
 {^Doors at R. U. E. and R. i E. in the library. 
 A. telephone is fastened to the xvall near R. I 
 E. Desk and chair at R. 2 E. ; a cabinet 
 •with bric-a-brac at C. U. ; a screen at L. U. 
 C; a table at C. E.,, and a chair at L. E.) 
 
 {^Doors at L. U. E. and L. 2 E. in Dr. Pres- 
 cott's office. Telephone on wall near L. 2 E. 
 Table and chair at R. F. ; cabinet ■with books 
 and medical specimens at C. U. ) j^. 
 
 (^If possible the telephones should be arranged 
 so that the bells may be rung by the a6iors on 
 the stage., and also by the prompter in the 
 wings ; but if this is not convenient the 
 prompter may manage all the bells. 
 
4 LOVE Br IXD UC TION. 
 
 ( The costumes are such as would be worn by the 
 different characters on an October morning in 
 New York city. Tim.e of representation, 4^ 
 minutes. ) 
 
 ( Curtain discovers Helen and Marjorie in the 
 right hand division. Helen is busy dusting 
 the china and books at the upper end of the 
 stage., while Marjorie is sealed in a listless 
 attitude near the front. Left hand division 
 is empty. ^ 
 
 Helen ( advancing a little ) . — One of the greatest 
 draw-backs to having your room full of pretty things is 
 the enormous responsibility it entails in the dusting. I 
 don't dare trust Susan ; she is so — scattering. She either 
 only half does it, or she breaks something. Resolves if 
 into its constituent particles, as Jack would say. 
 
 Marjorie. — Then why dust at all .'' It seems to me 
 that a heavy deposit of dust would lend an additional 
 charm to your colledlion ; give it an appearance of hoary 
 age not precisely warranted by the fadts. Like Jack's 
 claret, which he pretends is '56 Lafitte, just because the 
 bottles have been in a dusty cellar, but which we know 
 is only California '84. 
 
 Helen. — Yes, that's all very well for wine ; it's the 
 proper thing to have that all dust and cobwebs, but it 
 would never do for china. Everyone who called would 
 be sure to get soiled fingers. ( She dusts. ) 
 
 Marjorie. — Well, that would be a very civil way of 
 saying "Hands oft'." No one with clean gloves would 
 dare to touch anything. And then, see the scope it gives 
 your collection. Just now, when bric-a-brac is the cult, 
 you have an assortment of cups and saucers ; very useless, 
 but still very necessary in the best society. In ;i few years, 
 when we shall have become intensely scientific, you can 
 
LOVE Bl' IND UC TION. 5 
 
 call it a geological cabinet — if you will only let it get dirty 
 enough. (^Takes up a cup.) Thus: here is a speci- 
 men of a fossil shell, discovered on the top of Pike's Peak 
 — or was it at Tiffany's? Well, no matter. It is of the 
 early Devonian period, and there ar-e only three others 
 like it known. How much more learned and mysterious 
 that sounds than to call it a piece of old Dutch china. 
 ( Takes up another piece.) And here is a trilobite, we 
 can sa}', found in Dead Man's gulch, Colorado. It was in 
 the paleozoic formation, and is chiefly remarkable for its 
 close resemblance to an egg-cup, thus showing how 
 closely nature follows art. 
 
 Helen. — Mai-jorie, I'm sure you've got that wrong. 
 
 Marjorie. — And I can't imagine anything more in- 
 congruous than a lot of old cups and saucers in the same 
 room with a telephone. Don't you think, Helen, that 
 you had better send it away .J* We don't go in for the 
 modern improvements in this house, you know. 
 
 Helen. — Well, you can't deny that the name is old 
 enough. Why, it's — it's Greek, or something. 
 
 Marjorie. — Name! What's in a name.'' No, every 
 time I see the telephone I blush. I can't help it. It re- 
 minds me so unpleasantly of the extraordinary value of 
 time to everyone — but myself. It is a perpetual finger of 
 scorn, forever calling my attention to ray own worldly 
 uselessness. I wish you could persuade Jack to give it 
 awa}^. 
 
 Helen. — Give it away, child.' 
 
 Marjorie. — Yes. Can't you think of some poor fam- 
 ily that is adtually suffering for the bare necessities of life } 
 A family that hasn't had a morsel to eat in a month, or a 
 fire since last July, when of course they didn't need one 1 
 Well, send them this telephone ; we can spare it, and it 
 may bripg joy to their desolate hearth. They might use it to 
 order their groceries by — if they can ever get it to work. 
 
6 LOVEBT IND VC TION. 
 
 Helen. — Never in the world. Jack says its the great- 
 est invention of the age ; and he would as soon think of 
 losing an eye as the telephone. 
 
 Marjorie. — That's because he has only had it in the 
 1-iouse three days. Wait until it has become an old story 
 to him. For my part, nothing shall ever induce me to 
 touch it. I feel as if I were laying bare my secret soul 
 while I am adtually talking the most absurd nonsense. No, 
 I really must insist that you give it to some deserving 
 family. 
 
 Helen (^pausing suddenly before Marjorie ) . — Mar- 
 jorie, why hasn't Dodtor Prescott been here for nearly a 
 week .? 
 
 Marjorie ( with assumed indifference ) . — I'm sure I 
 don't know. Perhaps he thinks that now you have a tel- 
 ephone it is quite unnecessaiy for him to call in person ; 
 he can save time by taking your symptoms over a wire. 
 
 Helen. — You know it isn't that. He used to call here 
 every night. 
 
 Marjorie. — Did he, indeed ! It doesn't seem so often 
 as that. Won't you allow him one evening a week out .'' 
 Even the cook has two. 
 
 Helen. — You understand perfedtly well what I mean. 
 Have you refused him, Marjorie.'' 
 
 Marjorie ( indignantly ) . — You have no right to ask 
 that question, Helen, and I shan't answer you. What if 
 I have .? Haven't I a right to .? 
 
 Helen. — ^Marjorie ! Marjorie ! You are certainly the 
 most unaccountable girl I ever saw. I can't understand 
 you one bit. 
 
 Marjorie. — Well, I haven't asked you to understand 
 me, have I 'i And it's no sign of anything ii you can't. 
 Helen. — But Marjorie 
 
LOVE Br IND UC TION. 7 
 
 Marjorie {^interrupting'). — I decline to talk about 
 this any more. It is nobody's business but my own. 
 
 Helen ( aside) . — It is just as I thought. They have 
 had a lover's quarrel just when we believed it was all set- 
 tled. ( Aloud. ) Marjorie, dear, why riot tell me what 
 the trouble is.'' Perhaps I can help you. 
 
 Marjorie {^angrily). — No I won't, Helen Douglas. 
 I won't tell you a word. Besides, I am perfectly happy, 
 and — and there's nothing to tell. 
 
 ( She runs off, R. U. E. , in tears. ) 
 
 Helen. — Oh dear, I'm so sorry ! Everything seemed 
 to be going along so smoothly ! Of course she is in the 
 sackcloth and ashes of repentance now, and so is he, too, 
 most likely. I wonder if I can't arrange this in some 
 way? (^She dusts; enter Douglas, R. U. E., 
 
 ivitk some papers in his hand. He 
 goes to telephone. ) 
 
 Douglas. — What a wonderful contrivance the tele- 
 phone is ! ( He rings. ) It's the greatest labor-saving 
 invention of the nineteenth century. Upon my word, 
 Helen, I don't see how we have contrived to live so long 
 without it. ( He rings again. ) You just sit in your 
 library, and without moving a muscle you can talk with 
 the butcher or the baker or the banker, by Jove ! ( He 
 rings again. ) You just turn a little crank, so (^Rings) , 
 , say Hullo ! and there you are, you see ; there you are. 
 (Rings again.) You have space under your thumb; 
 there is no such thing as distance any more. ( Rings 
 again. ) Now there are only two places in the world ; 
 one is right here in your own house, and the other is the 
 Central office. The idea is tremendous, tremendous. 
 Dear me, why don't they answer? (^ Pause.) Ah! 
 
 Hullo ! . . . Hullo I Well ? . . Yes, I want the 
 
 National Reviewer office, please, number 577 
 
 Hullo! is this the Reviewer? .... Eh ! What? . . . Did 
 
8 LOVE Bl' INDUCTION. 
 
 I ring? Why, certainly I did ! I want the . . . oh, con- 
 found it, they liave cut me oft'! (^Rings again ; pause.) 
 
 Hullo ! . . . . Yes, number 577, please no, no, I 
 
 didn't say five-^we»^-seven ! Eh ! What? .... 
 
 You can't hear me ! There, they have cut me oil', 
 
 now ! ( He rings. ) This will soon cease to be amus- 
 ing. Well, hullo ! Yes, five-seventy-seven, please. 
 
 Yes, that's it, thank you. ( A long patise. ) 
 
 For Heaven's sake ! This is maddening ! ( Rings im- 
 patiently.) Hullo! .... What? Did I ring! Well, 
 I should say I did ! Haven't done anything else. I want 
 . . . Confound it ! I'm cut off" again ! ( He drops tele- 
 phone., and paces angrily across the stage.) Upon 
 my word, this is the most exasperating thing I ever 
 knew. It's — it's — outrageous ! ( The bell rings; he 
 goes to telephone and .-speaks savagely.) Well, what 
 is it? (^Pause.1 then mildly.) Oh, is this the Reviewer 
 office ? . . . . Oh, well, won't you send the proofs of my 
 
 What? What is it? Eh! You can't hear 
 
 me ? ( Very slowly. ) Won't — you — send the proofs — 
 of — my — article — ( Pause. ) What ? . . . This is John 
 Douglas. Who are you? .... Eh! What? .... Biggs, 
 the butcher ! ( He drops telephone., and paces the 
 stage in a rage.) Call that thing a convenience ! It's 
 a confounded nuisance ! I'll have it taken out to-morrow. 
 No, to-day, by Jove ! 
 
 ( He sits at desk and writes. During 
 this scene Helen has been seated at 
 L. F. watching Douglas with much 
 amusement. She now rises quietly.) 
 Helen (^ aside). — John seems to be losing his tem- 
 per. Modern science is evidently too much for him. 
 He's in a dangerous mood now. I think I will go and 
 look after the baby until he gets over this little attack. 
 
 ( JSxit Helen, R. U. E. After a sulky 
 pause Douglas rises, goes to the tele- 
 phone, and rings. ) 
 
LOVE Bl' IND UC TION. cj 
 
 Douglas. — Hullo Central ! Number five-seventy- 
 seven, please ; five-seventy-seven. ( Pause. ) Eh ! Did 
 I ring.? (^Sarcastically.') Yes, I thinii so. If you will 
 
 wait I'll inquire ( Very distindly. ) I want 
 
 five-seventy-seven, please ; five-seventy-seven. (^ Pause.) 
 Ah, is this the Reviewer office.? .... All right! Won't 
 
 you send the proofs of my article to me at — eh ! 
 
 John Douglas ! You can't hear me } ( Very 
 
 sloTxily and distinMy.) Won't you send the proofs of 
 my . . . 1 ( The telephone bell ring's ; he is furious. ) 
 Confound it ! I can't do anything with that. I must 
 write a note and send it. ( He hangs up telephone., sits 
 at a table and writes. ) 
 
 {Enter Dr. Prescott, L. U. E. He 
 places his medicine case upon table., 
 removes his hat and coat ; then picks 
 up slate and reads. ) 
 
 Prescott. — "Call at Mr. Brown's. Hurry!" Yes, 
 I understand that message. The old fossil has probably 
 eaten himself into an indigestion, and thinks he is dying. 
 Unfoitunately he is not. {Reads. ) "Mrs. Smith, im- 
 mediate." I think I had better go there. She's a widow ; 
 rich, seventy, dvspeptic, and therefore very irritable ; but 
 she may remember her physician in a testamentary man- 
 ner when she dies. Trouble is, such people never die, 
 and it isn't legal to help them. ( Sits at table in a 
 thoughtful attitude. ) Why I ever went into medicine 
 I don't know. It's a dog's life at best ; and now, every- 
 thing has gone wrong. A week ago I was in love with 
 Marjorie and the whole world ; to-day I hate the very sun- 
 light. Then I was foolish enough to think that Marjorie 
 loved me. I realize my folly now. The perspedlive of 
 my existence is a very, very long one. I suppose I have 
 got to go through life listening to tales of imaginary ills 
 from putty-faced young mothers, who are {mimicking) 
 "worried about Susie, do<Sor," or be bored forever by a 
 
I O LOVE Sr IND UC riOiX. 
 
 lot of old women, who are afflicSed by all the diseases 
 down in the books. ( The telephone bell rings vio- 
 lently ; he looks at it -without moving. ) Ring away ! 
 I hope it will do you some good. (^Ringing stops. ) 
 There, I shouldn't wonder if Providence had at last inter- 
 fered and killed the fellow who was making that noise. 
 I hope so. He probably leaves a wife and six children — 
 they generally do — totally unprovided for, besides an aged 
 mother and a mortgage on his house. ( The bell rings 
 violently. At last he rises and goes slowly to tele- 
 phone. ) 
 
 Prescott. — Hullo! Hullo! Hullo! 
 
 Well.? (^Savagely. ^ No, this is not the Dew 
 
 Drop Inn ; this is Dodlor Prescott ! . . . . Eh .? . . . Doc- 
 tor Prescott Do6tor Pres-cott ! . . . . P-r-e-s .... 
 
 oh, what a fool I am! ( He hangs up telephone, and 
 goes back to his chair. ) Well, after what has hap- 
 pened between Marjorie and me I cannot go to the 
 Douglas's again, not even as a physician. I positively 
 cannot do it. ( The bell rings long and violently ; he 
 looks at it, but does not rise. ) Ah, that sounds as if 
 some one were really dying. I hope it's so. ( He goes 
 
 to telephone. ) Well.? Well? ..'... Yes, it is. 
 
 What do you want.? What.? C sav- 
 agely^ I can't hear a word you say ; you must speak 
 louder .... Speak louder ! {Aside.) It's a woman's 
 voice, of course ; you can only he.ir her when you don't 
 want to. ( Pause. ) No, you must speali louder . . . 
 . . . Well, I give it up ; you will have to send a note 
 
 {then pleasantly) Ah, it's you, is it, Mrs. 
 
 Moore.? Good morning ! What's the matter.? 
 
 What shall you do for Willie.? You say he 
 
 seems languid, and doesn't want to go to school ? 
 
 I should spank him, hard. Is that all.? Oh, 
 
 well, spank hiin again, then. Good-bye ! ( Hangs up 
 telephone, and returns to chair. ) Ah, well, I suppose 
 
L OVB BT IND UC TION. i r 
 
 I must go to work. I'll occupy my mind by preparing a 
 little physic for some of my old women ; and if there is 
 any virtue left in drugs I'll make it effediive — this time. 
 I'll see if I can't overcome this spirit of agnosticism that 
 seems to be spreading so rapidly ; I'll prove to them that 
 there are some things they can still bet on. 
 
 ( Exit L. 2 E. Helen enters the library 
 by R. U. E., -where Douglas has been 
 ■writing during the last scene. 
 
 Helen ( aside ) . — He looks good-natured now ; I 
 think it is safe to tell him. 
 
 Douglas (^looking up) . — Well, old lady, what's up 
 now.'' 
 
 Helen (^sitting at L. E. ) . — A great deal, John, and 
 I don't know what to do about it. I ideally don't under- 
 stand why she should adt so, when she knows he is per- 
 fedtly devoted, and so is she, too. It is perfedily unac- 
 countable to me. 
 
 Douglas. — What is.-" 
 
 Helen. — Why, the way she has treated him. 
 
 Douglas (^impatiently). — Treated whom.? 
 
 Helen. — Why, the dodlor, of course. I really don't 
 believe she knows her own mind. Haven't you noticed 
 anything peculiar about them.? 
 
 Douglas. — Well, Helen, if you will kindly tell me 
 who they are I shall know better what you mean .? For- 
 get your sex for a moment, my dear, and be explicit. • 
 
 Helen. — Why, Marjorie and Dr. Prescott, of course. 
 Whom did you think I meant .? 
 
 Douglas. — Hadn't the remotest idea. Well, what has 
 he done, or she done, or both together done, that is so 
 strange — to you? 
 
13 LOVE BT IND UC TION. 
 
 Helen. — Why, I can't tell exadlly, only there's some- 
 thing wrong, somewhere ; and it's all very mysterious. 
 
 Douglas. — ^And you've appointed yourself adjuster fcr 
 all these differences, real or fancied, between these per- 
 sons, imaginary or otherwise, eh .^ 
 
 Helen. — No-o, not exadtly : but I do so want to help 
 t'.iem. You know that, sometimes, just a little will do so 
 much. I think I will — I wonder if 1 couldn't telephone 
 him } 
 
 Douglas {with an air of deep conviHion) . — No. No 
 use, my dear, trying to telephone him. You may think 
 you're talking to him — that is, if you ever get started — 
 and after you have disclosed the innermost secrets of your 
 heart, you'll find, by Jove, you've been confiding in the 
 — grocer. 
 
 Helen. — Oh, well, I'll be very guarded, because Mar- 
 jorie would never forgive me if she knew. What's his 
 number. Jack.? 
 
 Douglas. — It's — it's either two-forty-one, or one-forty- 
 two ; I'm not sure which. ( //e resumes writing. ) 
 
 Helen. — Oh, well, that's near enough. ( She rings 
 telephone bell.) Hullo, Central! I want two- 
 forty-one, please — or no, one-forty-two Well 
 
 it's one or the other Yes ! . . . . Yes 
 
 Oh, is this you, dodtor.? Why, Mary Palmer! 
 
 Why, how did you get there.? . . . Why, where are you.? 
 
 At home ! Weil, I'm ever so glad to see you ! 
 
 flow's George.? Did he.? I'm so sorry! . . . 
 
 • ■ • Yes ! No ! we've regretted ; there's sure 
 
 to be such an awful jam there Oh, John is pretty 
 
 well ; only last night he ate some Eh.? . . . 
 
 . . . Yes, and it didn't What.? Yes, 
 
 he's right near me, now, and sends his love to you. ( To 
 Douglas. ) Don't you, John .? ( He gestures impatient- 
 
LOVE Br IND UC TIOiY- 1 3 
 
 ly. ) Eh? What? Oh, I had it cut that way 
 
 because my other was so short, and I Eh? 
 
 Oh, you mean salad dressing! (^Laughs.) 
 
 Dear me ! Well, we always use the Queen Isabella 
 dressing now. There's oil and vinegar and salt and pep- 
 per in it, besides a little onion juice Yes, I'll 
 
 send you the receipt this afternoon No, Jack 
 
 loathes mayonnaise, and so do I since I was married. 
 
 Yes, I liked it pretty well, only I was awfully 
 
 sleepy. It was too long for a concert Yes .... 
 
 Yes . . . Remember that song of Constanti's? 
 
 Yes, that's the way it went. It just suited her voice, 
 
 didn't it? Well, good-bye, dear ! 
 
 Yes, go-od bye 1 ( She hangs uf telephone and rings 
 again. ) Hullo Central ! I want to talk with — oh dear, 
 what is his number? Well, I want to talk with Dodlor 
 Prescott, please. 
 
 ( A very short pause., and then the bell 
 in Prescott^ s office rings violently and 
 long. At length he enters, L,. 2 E.) 
 
 Prescott ( surveying telephone ) . — There it goes 
 again ! Some one is desperately ill, no doubt. Perhaps 
 one of my old women has got an idea, at last. She can't 
 live, if that is so; that disease is fatal. ( Goes to tele- 
 phone.') Well, what is it? ... . Yes, this is Dodlor 
 Prescott. What do you want ? ( j4 short pause, then 
 Helen says :) 
 
 Helen. — Is this Dodlor Prescott? 
 
 Prescott ( impatiently') . — Yes, yes, what do you 
 want ? 
 
 Helen. — Oh, I only wanted to know if it was you, 
 dodlor. 
 
 Prescott. — Ah, well, if you're entirely satisfied on 
 that point now, I'll say good-bye. 
 
] _,. LOVE B 1' IND UC TION. 
 
 Helsn. — Oh, no, wait a moment. (To Douglas.) 
 John, it's just as I thought ; he's as crass as a bear. 
 
 Douglas {^-without looking up). — It's his liver, my 
 dear. 
 
 Helen. — Nonsense, it's his lieart. 
 
 Prescott. — Well, are you through now.'' 
 
 Helen. — Oh no ! One moment, dodtor. This is • 
 Mrs. Douglas talking. 
 
 Prescott. — Ah, Mrs. Dudley ! Very happy to know 
 you. But can't )ou send me your photograph, so I shall 
 recognize you when we meet.'' 
 
 Helen {laughing) . — No, no, not Mrs. Dudley ; Mrs. 
 Douglas. D-o-u-g-l-a-s. 
 
 Prescott {aside). — Good Heavens, it's her sister! 
 {Aloud.) Ah, Mrs. Douglas ! Well.? 
 
 Helen. — Yes, and — and I just want to — to ask you, 
 dodlor — baby has — has swallowed a button, I think. 
 What shall I do .? 
 
 Prescott. — Oh, give him a button-hole. Is that all.? 
 
 Helen ( laughing) . — How funny ! ( To Douglas.) 
 Jack, he says I'm to give him a button-hole. 
 
 Douglas. — Well, get the best, my dear. There's no 
 economy in cheap button-holes. 
 
 Prescott {^iinpatiently) . — Well, is that all, Mrs. 
 Douglas.? 
 
 Helen. — Oh, no, dodtor; not yet. (^ Aside.) Oh, 
 dear! What shall I say.? {Aloud.) Er — dodlor — 
 what do you prescribe for a — a cold in the head .? 
 
 Prescott. — Clean pocket-handkerchiefs. Is Ihal all .? 
 
 Helen. — Oh, no indeed ! Keep right on talking, 
 dodlor, or they will cut us oft". 
 
LOVE B 2' INDUCTION. 15 
 
 Prescott (aside). — I wish they would. (Aloud.) 
 Well? 
 
 Helen ( aside ) . — Oh, how shall I begin ? ( Aloud. ) 
 Dodtor, if you should have a patient, and if you — or some 
 one— it doesn't matter, you know, about that — should see 
 that patient, not dying, perhaps, but growing worse, or 
 at any rate, no better — and though it nearly killed you, 
 and so, of course, you'd rather not — still you do — and you 
 frankly state the case, and say to her — or him, just as it 
 happens — the whole truth — and then, perhaps everything 
 would come out right in the end, wouldn't you advise it? 
 
 Prescott ( impatiently ) . — I really don't understand 
 you, Mrs. Douglas. Is that all ? 
 
 Helen. — Oh no, indeed ! ( Aside.) I don't think I 
 did myself, very well. (^ Aloud.) But dodtor, do you 
 believe everything you're told ? 
 
 Prescott. — Certainly not. If I did I'd have physicked 
 half my old women to death by this time. Is t/tat all? 
 
 Helen (^laughi7ig) . — Oh, no, indeed! Not yet. I 
 was merely going to— oh, dodlor ! I wish you'd call to- 
 day. I'm a little worried about the baby, and so — 
 
 Prescott ( interrupting ) . — I am very sorry, Mrs. 
 Douglas, but I cannot call very well. I have to perform 
 an operation for the removal of the — the — medulla ob- 
 longata in — in — a — a man's leg, and it's going to bother 
 me extremely. Very difficult thing to do, you know, 
 very. (^Aside.) I should think it was; it's equal to 
 some of our very best miracles, but I must let her under- 
 stand that I cannot call while Marjorie is there. 
 
 Helen. — But dodtor — noj no, don't cut us off! We 
 haven't finished yet — But dodlor, you're our family physi- 
 cian ! 
 
 Douglas (aside) . — Family bore, by Jove ! (^Rises 
 and Tvalks about, impatiently.) 
 
1 6 LOVE Bi' IND UC TION. 
 
 Prescott. — Yes, I know it, but with your permission 
 I will ask Dodtor Grey to call upon you, professionally, 
 for the next few weeks. My engagements are such that 
 — No, no ! We haven't finished yet ! What do you 
 mean by breaking in like that ? 
 
 Helen (^sympathetically). — Yes, I know. Isn't it 
 provoking the way they adt.' Well? 
 
 Prescott. — Well, good- bye! 
 
 Helen. — Oh ! Well, good-bye 1 
 
 ( They hang' up their telephones. Exit 
 Prescott., L. 2 E. Helen turns to 
 Douglas.) 
 
 Helen. — There John, I think I've done some good in 
 that direction. I wonder what the dodlor thinks I was 
 talking about .' He says he isn't coming here any more. 
 
 Douglas. — Yes, you seem to have straightened things 
 out splendidly. You've frightened him away, and that's 
 a great point gained in love affairs. Out of sight, out of 
 mind, you know ; and I dare say Meg will forget all about 
 him in a week, now. 
 
 Helen. — Well, perhaps so ; only that isn't what I 
 meant ; and I'm afraid I can't exadtly explain to you my 
 idea. I'm sure it will all come out right in the end. But 
 I must go and look after the baby now. Good-bye ! 
 
 {Exit Helen, R. U. E.) 
 
 Douglas (^at writing table). — Well, now Helen has 
 gone, perhaps I shall have a little quiet. Women are all 
 very well — in their way — but they do not understand the 
 telephone. The feminine mind is not scientific. I have 
 been all this time writing ten lines. (^Jieads.) "The 
 mind can properly pei'form its fundlions only when re- 
 moved from extraneous, disturbing influences. (^Tele- 
 phone bell rings violently ; he continues to read.) "A 
 
LOVE BY IND UC TIOJV. 
 
 17 
 
 condition of absolute quiet is — ^absolute — " (//e rises 
 impatiently, and tries to muffle the bell.) There, per- 
 haps you'll ring again ! (^Resumes his seat and read- 
 ing.) "A condition of absolute quiet is necessary for 
 consecutiveness of thought. The remedy for most ner- 
 vous ills — (^Bell rings.) nervous ills is — i^Ring.) is 
 therefore the subjedlion of the invalid to soothing in- 
 fluences." {^He Tvrites.) "It is true, in a certain sense, 
 that the soul and the nerve centre are identical ; and so, 
 the — (JR.ing. ) and so, the — ( Violent ringing. ) Con- 
 found that telephone ! {^He rises angrily., and goes to 
 
 the instrument.) Well.'' .... Well.? Yes, it is ! 
 
 John Douglas ! What do you want } What .? 
 
 I can't hear a word ! You must speak louder ! 
 
 Speak louder! Well, I give it up ; you 
 
 must send a note I said, send a — (^Pleasant- 
 ly.) Oh, it's you, is it. Judge.? Yes, I can hear 
 
 you distinctly How's that.? To din- 
 ner .? Wednesday, at six .? Yes, thanks 
 
 No ladies, eh ! Ha ! ha 1 ha ! That's right ! 
 
 Oh, yes ! you may count on me No, when was 
 
 that.? . . -Eh.? Is that so.? Well, he 
 
 came to me the other day, and said — (Savagely.) 
 Don't cut us off, yet ; we haven't finished — and said 
 
 that if P would agree to it, he would — Eh.? 
 
 Yes, and I said that — (^Savagely.) . . . No, I'm not 
 through yet! Well, I won't hurry! (^Pleas- 
 antly.) You were saying. Judge.? Ha! ha! 
 
 Capital ! capital ! No, that's a new one to me. 
 
 Ha! ha! ha! That's about the best I ever — . . . . {Sell 
 rings.) There, they've cut us off! Well, I suppose I 
 had better get to work. 
 
 (^He returns to table and -writes. Enter 
 Marjorie, R. U. E- She -wanders 
 anmlessly about the room; then goes to 
 
1 8 LOVE BT I. YD UC TION. 
 
 the telephone ; takes it down and ex- 
 amines it curiously ; then turns away, 
 leaving it hanging.) 
 
 Marjorie {aside) .^-\ wonder if it would do any good 
 to tell Jack? I'm afraid he wouldn't understand it. 
 {Aloud.) Jack, are you busy? 
 
 Douglas. — Ah, Meg! You here! Am I busy? 
 No, not busy enough to want to work. Why, what's the 
 matter? Been crying! That won't do. What is it? 
 
 Marjorie. — Jack, I'm — I'm — miserable. 
 
 Douglas. — Sick, are you? Why don't you see some 
 one, then? Look here, I'll call Prescott. He'll fix you 
 up in no time. (^He starts for telephone.) 
 
 Marjorie (stopping hint). — Stop, John Douglas! 
 Don't you dare ! I'll never speak to you again, never. 
 
 Douglas. — Ah, in that case, Meg, I'll have him here 
 at once. {He takes another step. She seizes his arm,) 
 
 Marjorie. — Stop ! 
 
 Douglas. — Oh, then you're not sick, after all. 
 
 Marjorie {tearfully). — ^Yes, I am. I'm wretched. 
 
 Douglas. — Then I'll have no more nonsense. You 
 must see Prescott. 
 
 Marjorie {wildly) . — No, I will not. I woul(fn't see 
 him if I were dying. 
 
 Douglas. — Well, I must say this is very odd. Would 
 you see him if 3'ou — sr — were not dying, Meg? 
 
 Marjorie. — Oh, I don't know. {Slowly.) Jack, 
 dear, I want to tell you something. If — if some one 
 were — to — to — or rather — I was — was merely going to — 
 to say that — {Desperately.) Jack, he has asked me to 
 marry him, and — and I've refused him. 
 
 Douglas. — What ! Refused him ! Why, I thought 
 it was as good as settled. Is that all? • 
 
LOVE BY INDUCTION. 
 
 19 
 
 Marjorie.— All ! It's enough ! You needn't look so 
 surprised. I can refuse a man if I want to, can't I ? 
 
 Douglas. — ^Ye-es, of course ; the point is, did you 
 
 want to ? 
 
 Marjorie. — ^Why Jack, he's only asked me once ! 
 Douglas.— True ! Well.? 
 
 Marjorie. — ^And no one ever says yes the first time. 
 Douglas (thoughtfully). — 'Pon my word, I believe 
 that's so ! I remember Helen didn't. 
 
 {^A short pause. Douglas and Marjorie 
 re?nain seated in meditative attitudes. 
 The telephone bell rings in JPrescott' s 
 office. He enters and goes to the in- 
 strument.) 
 
 Prescott. — Well? Well.'' .... Oh, I sup- 
 pose these wires are crossed again, and some one is ring- 
 ing me up when he really wants a cab, or — or a police- 
 man. 
 
 (As he stands there he hears through the 
 telephone the following conversation 
 between Douglas and Marjorie. ) 
 
 Douglas. — ^Well, Meg, of course you know best about 
 this, but it was a mistake to tell Prescott you didn't love 
 him if you really did. 
 
 Prescott (aside). — Why, it's Marjorie and Jack, and 
 they're talking a^out me ! I believe I have a moral right 
 to listen. All's fair in love. Besides, I'm sure to hear 
 something very unpleasant. 
 
 Marjorie. — ^Yes, I know it was wrong, and I'm very 
 unhappy. 
 
 Douglas. — ^Why, it was downright dishonest. 
 
 Marjorie. — But Jack, he — he only asked me — once. 
 
30 LOVE Bl' IND UC TIOX. 
 
 Prescott {aside.) — That's true, but I'll ask liei 
 twenty times, now. 
 
 Marjorie. — ^And it wasn't dishonest at all ; it was just 
 — just — natural. 
 
 Douglas. — Natural fiddlesticks ! Is it natural for a 
 woman to send away such a fine fellow as Prescott, and 
 break his heart, just for a whim.' 
 
 Marjorie. — But you don't understand ! 
 
 Dou.GLAS. — No, I confess I do not understand. He 
 has told you that he loves you ; and you love him, do you 
 not.? 
 
 Marjorie (weeping) . — I — I don't kn-o-w. 
 
 Prescott {aside). — Confound him! He has made 
 her cry ! Here, here ! What are you doing ? Oh, dear ! 
 He cannot hear me ! 
 
 Douglas. — I can't say I approve of your condudl in 
 this affair, Meg. You have allowed him to pay you all 
 soits of attentions ; and you must have seen, if you have 
 any sort of perception, that he was in love with you ; and 
 
 yet 
 
 Marjorie {interrupting) . — Did you see it.' 
 Douglas {confused). — I! Well, no — but then — he 
 — wasn't in love with me, you know. 
 
 Prescott {aside). — True, thank Heaven ! 
 
 Douglas. — And you end by throwing him over. If 
 there is anything more incomprehensible than a woman, 
 I'd like to know it. 
 
 Prescott {aside) . — He's adling like a brute. I wish 
 I could make him hear. 
 
 Douglas. — I can't imagine why you did this, Mar- 
 jorie. You know you love him. 
 
LOVE BY INDUCTION. 21 
 
 Marjorie {sobbing). — It's no such thing, and you've 
 no right to say so. I hate him. 
 
 Prescott {aside). — Ah, this serves me right for lis- 
 tening ! 
 
 Douglas. — But just now you said you didn't know. 
 
 Marjorie. — Well, I didn't — then. 
 
 Douglas. — And you've come to a decision within a 
 minute ? 
 
 Marjorie. — Yes, within a second ! I wouldn't marry 
 him if he were the — the — Czar of Russia. There ! 
 
 Prescott {aside). — Ah, why did I listen.? 
 
 Douglas {aside). — It is perfedtly plain to me how 
 this matter stands. Helen couldn't see it,- but I can. 
 Women lack g^asp. These young people are desperately 
 in love with one another, and are kept apart by a whim 
 of Marjorie's ; and unless I take things in hand they'll 
 never get straightened out. There isn't a fellow in the 
 world I'd rather see her marry than Prescott. I must 
 bring them together again. (To Marjorie.) Well, 
 Marjorie, I've come to the conclusion that you did right • 
 after all ; and I'm very glad you sent Prescott about his 
 business. I must say I've thought all along his attentions 
 were annoying to you ; and I've considered him very pre- 
 suming to- 
 
 Marjorie {interrupting). — It's no such thing! He 
 had a perfefl; right to, and he was not the least bit pre* 
 suming. 
 
 Douglas. — Pardon me, my dear, but I think he was ; 
 and I shall take very good care he doesn't come here again. 
 
 Prescott {aside). — Will he, indeed! I should like 
 to see him prevent me ! 
 
 Marjorie {in alarm). — ^John Douglas! What do 
 you mean? 
 
22 T^OVB BT induction: 
 
 Douglas. — Exadly what I say. He shall never enter 
 my house agahi, or see you if I can prevent it. 
 
 Marjorie. — I think you are as hateful as you can be ! 
 Why do you talk so } 
 
 Douglas. — It is my duty, Meg, to protedt you against 
 this fellow, Prescott. He has presumed too much on our 
 former friendship. Besides making }'ou very unhappy, 
 he has upset all my plans. I intended you should marry 
 little Peter 
 
 Marjorie (^interrupting-). — Stop, John! You are 
 going too far. I will never maiTy any one— but Edwin:: 
 Prescott ; and I will marry him in spite of you. 
 
 Prescott {aside). Thank Heaven, she has said it 
 at last ! 
 
 Douglas. — Gently, Meg, gently. You may think you 
 love him, but a minute ago you said you hated him. Be- 
 sides, you can't marry him if you never see him again. 
 There's no proxy in matrimony, you know ; and I'll take 
 very good care you shan't meet him here. He's not my 
 idea of a brother-in-law. 
 
 Marjorie. — Oh, how cruel you are to taunt me so ! 
 You know I didn't mean it. 
 
 Prescott {aside). — He's a brute ! I wish I had him 
 here. 
 
 Douglas. — Good gracious, Marjorie ! Have you said 
 .anything yet that you did mean.^ I should like very 
 much to find out what it is.'' We seem to be playing a 
 game of "Yes, No, and I don't know." Just mention a 
 few sentences that are founded on fadl — mention one, and 
 I'll apologize, by Jove ! 
 
 {Marjorie is in tears.) 
 Prescott {aside) . — What does the man expedt of her, 
 I wonder.'' 
 
LOVE BT IND UC TION. 23 
 
 DouGTAs {Tvatching. her). — That's right,, Meg ; cry 
 away. It will.do j-ou good. ( She gestvres it^fcitiently . ) 
 I'm going out for ^ walk now, and I shall leave ordei"s at 
 the office to have that telephone taken out at oiice. Then 
 
 ■ I mean to stop at- Prescott's and give him a piece of 
 my- mind. ■ He' 'Shall- never eriter rny housf again. 
 \Aside.) I'll bring 'him back to dinner. (^Aloiid'.) 
 
 - Good-bye, Marjorie. Come, give me a kiss. (^She ges- 
 4ur£S Jmpatienily.) Yes, it is outrageous thfe way^ he 
 has adled, but I'll put a stop to it now, forever+i-(^«a?eO 
 by marrying them. (^Aloud.') Be sure yoji,are .all right 
 by dinner time ; I don't want to see your eyes red when 
 I come back. We — we part friends, I hope ? ' ' ' ' 
 
 \_Exit R. U. E.^ IcLughing.^ ' 
 
 PreScott {Jianging up telephone: and i sittings by 
 table). — ^Well, I'm sure I can't unde;rstand; it, at. all. I 
 used to think John Douglas was my best friend. And 
 Maijorie, too ! First she said she hated me, and thehshe 
 said she loved me. It almost seems as if I had been dream- 
 ing. What had I better do .^ 
 
 Marjorie (^slowly). — So Jack has gone, and it is, all 
 over ! I wish I knew what to do. If there only was some 
 one I could confide in ; some one who understands me ! 
 Jack doesn't ; and besides, he hates him, and so does 
 Helen, too. Alice Bishop would, if she were here. I 
 might telephone her to come over, only I don't know how 
 it works. Oh, dear ! Why did I say No when I meant 
 Yes.? 
 
 Prescott. — I never felt so used up in my life. I'in 
 completely at sea. Does she really love me, or does she 
 hate me.-" 
 
 Marjorie. — I believe I will try and call Alice. I 
 shall die if I don't do something. \She .rings telephone 
 bell.) 
 
24 LOVE Br IND UCTJON. 
 
 Prescott. — I'll speak to Ned Hamilton. Perhaps 
 he'll understand it. i^He rings telephone bell.) 
 
 Marjorie {at telephone) . — Hullo ! Hullo ! 
 
 Prescott {speaking at same time). — Hullo! Hullo! 
 
 Marjorie. — Why, there's some one there ! How 
 funny it sounds ! Is that you, Alice.? 
 
 Prescott {aside). — Why, it's Marjorie's voice !, The 
 wires must be crossed ! This is my chance ; now or 
 never. {In a disguised voice.) Who is this talking.'' 
 
 Marjorie. — This is Marjorie Douglas, Alice. But 
 you don't know how funny your voice sounds in the tele- 
 phone. It's not a bit natural. 
 
 Prescott. — It — it must be the — the indudlion. 
 
 Marjorie. — Do you think so .■' That sounds awfully 
 scientific. But Alice, dear, I'm so miserable and un- 
 happy ! I wish — oh, I don't know what I wish ! 
 
 Prescott. — Why not tell me your trouble, Marjorie.'' 
 Perhaps I can help you. 
 
 Marjorie. — Oh, I can't — not now ! Only I've made 
 a dreadful mistake, and I've adted very foolishly and — and 
 — dishonestly — and I shall never — be happy again — and 
 all the whole time — I'd — I'd have married him this min- 
 ute if — if I were to do it over again. 
 
 Prescott {earnestly). — Would you.'' Are you sure? 
 
 Marjorie. — Yes, I am perfedtly sure. 
 
 Prescott. — But suppose, instead of being Alice 
 Bishop, I were really Edwin Prescott, would you say to 
 him what you say to me.? 
 
 Marjorie. — ^Yes, I would. But how did you know 
 I meant Edwin.? 
 
 Prescott. — Oh, I — I — guessed it. But say that 
 again, Marjorie. Are you sure? 
 
LOVE Br INDUCTION. 25 
 
 Marjorie (earnestly). — Yes, I am sure. 
 
 Prescott. — But if you should suddenly discover, now, 
 that — that you were — were talking to Edwin Prescott and 
 not to Alice Bishop, would you not feel a little angry with 
 him for the trick he had played you — that is, if it were so ? 
 
 Marjorie. — No, I should not. He can do nothing I 
 should not like, for I love him. 
 
 Prescott {in his natural voice'). — Then, Marjorie, 
 dear, I am Edwin Prescott ; and I am coming to claim 
 you now, for you are mine at last, aren't you, dear.? 
 
 Marjorie (alarmed). — Oh, it is he! What have I 
 said 1 
 
 Prescott. — ^What has made me very happy, Mar- 
 jorie, dear. Wait for me there a moment. 
 
 Marjorie. — Oh, no, don't come yet. (Aside.) Jack 
 might find him here, and then there would be a dreadful 
 scene. 
 
 Prescott. — But why not, dear.' 
 
 Marjorie. — Oh, because ! And then, besides that, 
 
 some one might come, and — and — it's — it's 
 
 Prescott. — And what, sweetheart.-' 
 Marjorie. — Oh, you don't know how funny those 
 words sound through a telephone, and how — how nice ! 
 But we might go on talking this way, a little. It isn't 
 quite the same, but it's — it's very unusual — dear. 
 
 (Enter Helen., R. U. JB., unobserved by 
 Marjorie. She goes to L. F. and 
 listens. ) 
 Prescott. — Very well, sweetheart, but when may I 
 come.'' 
 
 Marjorie. — Oh, most any time. 
 Prescott (quickly.) — Then I'll come now. 
 
26 LOVE BT IND UC TION. 
 
 Marjorie. — Oh, I mean any time — but now. And I 
 know I ought not to speak of such a thing at such a time 
 as this — when of course we ought to be tliinking of one 
 another, and so we are — but isn't it awfully funny our 
 talking in this way, right through a brick wall, and — and 
 making — love — over a wire, and everything but seeing 
 each otlier? 
 
 Helen (aside). — This is the most extraordinary thing 
 I ever heard of! Whom can she be talking with now? 
 Making love over a wire, indeed ! 
 
 (Enter Douglas into Prescotf s office., by 
 L. U. E. He goes to R. E., where 
 he listens.) 
 
 Prescott {laughing) . — Yes, we're a sort of Pyramus 
 and Thisbe, you know, with all the modern improve- 
 ments. Eh, sweetheart.' 
 
 Douglas (aside). — Well, this is most extraordinary! 
 I must say he's easily consoled. Meg has only just thrown 
 
 him over, and now he's making love to another girl by 
 
 by telephone, and — and calling himself Pyramus, by Jove ! 
 
 Marjorie. — Oh, how perfedlly delightful ! It is a 
 genuine case of Pyramus and Thisbe, isn't it.' But — 
 (Dolefully.) — Pyramus, dear. 
 
 Helen (a«Ve). — Pyramus, dear! This is positively 
 weird ! 
 
 Prescott. — Yes, Thisbe, sweet.' 
 
 Douglas. — Thisbe sweet ! This is sickening ! 
 
 Marjorie. — You mustn't let any lion frighten you in- 
 to committing suicide. I'll promise to keep out of his 
 way ; and before you get ready to — to die for — for my 
 sake just be sure it's the proper thing to do, won't you? 
 
LOVE BY IND UC TION. 
 
 27 
 
 Helen {aside). — Die for her sake ! She was crying 
 her eyes out this morning because she had refused Dodlor 
 Prescott, and now, she adlually wants a man named 
 Pyramus to die for her sake ! 
 
 Prescott. — Oh, yes, all that modern science can do to 
 make sure shall be done. When I find you gone and 
 nothing but a torn and bloody mantle left to show where 
 you had been, I won't fall upon my sword, but I'll — 
 I'll 
 
 Marjorie. — You'll what? 
 
 Prescott. — Why, I'll advertise for you. Thus : 
 "Pyramus to Thisbe : Dearest, have you been eaten by a 
 lion? If so, telephone answer, number four-twenty-one, 
 and I will join you." (^Prescott and Marjorie laugh.) 
 
 Douglas {angrily., aside). — Advertise for her! I 
 wonder if he thinks he is funny ? 
 
 Marjorie.— ^Oh, you don't know how funny you are. 
 But then, I can laugh at anything now, I'm so happy. 
 (^Laughs.) 
 
 Helen (aside). — I think she can laugh at nothing. 
 I've heard enough. {Exit., R. U. E.) 
 
 Prescott. — ^Yes, so am I happy. {Laughs.) 
 
 Douglas {aside). — ^Yes, no one would ever suspedt 
 you were broken-hearted from your manner. 
 
 Marjorie. — And, Pyramus dear, I think you may 
 come now — if you — ^you really want to — really. {Has- 
 tily.) That is, in a minute. 
 
 Prescott. — Oh, but may I not come now, at once, 
 Thisbe? 
 
 Marjorie {hesitatingly). — Well, ye-es, I think so, 
 perhaps. 
 
28 LOVBBT IND UC TION. 
 
 Prescott. — A bienidt, then ! 
 
 {^He hang's up telephone^ and hurries off, 
 L. U. E., 'Without seeing Douglas. 
 Marjorie hangs up her telephone, and 
 sits at C. E.) 
 
 Douglas. — Well, if any one had told me this I'd have 
 knocked him down. I used to think Prescott was a 
 straightforward, manly fellow ; and I believed that he 
 really loved Marjorie, and — well, I'm going home to cool 
 off. I hope I shan't meet him ; and it's lucky I didn't 
 have a chance to speak to him here, for I am sure I should 
 have done something foolish. I dread to tell this to Meg, 
 but she must understand at once what sort of a man he is. 
 
 {Exit, L. U. E.) 
 
 Marjorie (half humorously, half seriously) . — Ah ! 
 now that it's all over, and he is really coming back to me 
 I love him more than ever. I hope he'll hurry ! Yet I 
 wonder if I have done right in all this 'i Probably not, 
 for I never do. It was an awfully bold thing for me to 
 stand there, so, and — and tell him I loved him ; and — and 
 it is lucky he couldn't see how — how I — I blushed, or he 
 — he might have — have kissed me. {^Suddenly, as if 
 alarmed.) Oh, but suppose he was not Edwin after all ! 
 How terrible ! He said he was, but anyone could say 
 that. And you never can tell by the voice, for I thought 
 it was Alice Bishop, at first. Oh, I'm sure he was not 
 Edwin ! What shall I do.? I cannot see him ! I must 
 not stay here ! (^Goes to R. U. E. Listens.) Hark! 
 Some one is coming up the stairs now ! Oh, what shall 
 I do.? i^She partly conceals herself behind the screen. 
 Enter Prescott, R. U. E.) 
 
 Prescott. — No one here! (^Calls.) Marjorie, where 
 are you.? 
 
LOVE BY IND UC TION. 
 
 29 
 
 Marjorie (aside, behind screen). — No, it isn't Ed- 
 win. (Aloud.) Excuse me, but it's all a mistake, and — 
 and — ^won't you go away please ? It's the fault of the tele- 
 phone. 
 
 Prescott (aside). — The telephone ! I don't under- 
 stand. (Aloud.) But where are you,' Marjorie? 
 
 Marjorie (aside) . — Oh, why won't he go .'' (Aloud. ) 
 Won't you please go away, now ? 
 
 Prescott (slowly). — ^Yes, I must go, if you wish it, 
 but I don't understand it. But may I not first see .'' 
 
 Marjorie (quickly) . — See Mrs. Douglas ! I'm sorry, 
 but she has just gone out. 
 
 Prescott. — Well, is Mr. Douglas at home.'' 
 
 Marjorie. — No-o, I'm very sorry, but you'll have to 
 call again. (Aside.) Oh, the situation is very embar- 
 rassing. 
 
 Prescott (discovering her). — Marjorie, do you really 
 mean it.-* 
 
 Marjorie. — Edwin 1 No, not to you. 
 
 (He seizes her hand and kisses it. She 
 hurriedly drains away.) 
 
 Marjorie. — Edwin, you forget yourself. 
 Prescott (surprised), — ^Why, aren't we engaged yet, 
 Meg.? 
 
 Marjorie. — No-o, — that is — only by telephone, and 
 you — ^we — such contra6ts are. not good — unless — antil 
 properly sealed, and — and you'd better hurry, for some 
 one is coming. 
 
 (He hurries', and they step behind 
 screen, where they remain concealed. 
 Enter Douglas and Helen, R. 3 E.) 
 
30 LOVE BY IND UC TION. 
 
 Hei.en. — ^Yes, John, I was entirely wrong this morn- 
 ing. She doesn't love him a bit. In fadl she is actually 
 engaged to some one else this veiy minute, for I over- 
 heard her talking to him, and she went on at a rate that 
 made me shudder. Poor fellow ! I'm sorry for him ! 
 Douglas. — ^Well, you needn't be.' He's engaged him- 
 self— or ought to be — as I happen to know. It's a most 
 outrageous piece of business, the whole affair. I declare 
 I'm furious, furious. 
 
 Helen. — But is he really engaged to some one else.? 
 Douglas. — Oh, yes ; there's not a doubt of it, not a 
 doubt. It's simply scandalovis. 
 
 (^A laugh is heard behind the screen. 
 Douglas fulls it away., and discovers 
 Prescott and M^arjorie, seated in very 
 lover-like attitudes.^ 
 
 Douglas («»2(2^'e^).— Well, upon my word ! 
 
 Helen. — That's precisely what I think ! And I sup- 
 pose you'll be committing bigamy the next thing ! 
 
 (^All come forward.^ 
 
 Marjorie (^appealingly) . — ^Jack, dear, won't you for- 
 give us, just a little.'' 
 
 Douglas {affedling to be severe'). — ^Never, never! 
 Out of my house at once. {^Aside.^ Egad, the young 
 witch ! How she has played it on her natural guardian ! 
 
 Prescott. — Come, Jack, it's all right. We're not to 
 blame entirely. It would never have happened but for 
 y6u= — and — and the telephone — and Marjorie. Would it, 
 dear .'' 
 
 Marjorie. — Oh ! And you too, Edwin. 
 
 Douglas. — Well, well, well ! I declare I have half a 
 mind to forgive you. What shall we do with them, 
 Helen? 
 
LOVE BT INDUCTION. 31 
 
 Helen {kissing Marjorie). — It's just lunch time, 
 John ; ask him to stop. 
 
 Douglas. — ^Well, then, we give our consent upon one 
 condition, and 
 
 Prescott. — That is ? 
 
 Helen. — That when the time comes, Meg shall be 
 married, as she was won— r-by indudtion. 
 
 Douglas, Helen, Marjorie, Prescott. 
 
 Epilogue, by Marjorie. 
 
 What debt to science do we moderns owe ! 
 
 She's taught us how to live — to love, and so 
 
 No lovers' quarrels now last over night — 
 
 Here is the telephone to set us right. 
 
 When Pyramus and Thisbe loved and died, 
 
 The maids had hearts, and all the men had pride ; 
 
 But now a batt'ry takes the place of soul. 
 
 And we're but magnets — plus or minus pole. 
 
 Now chemistry love's magic current starts ; 
 
 Induction, too, replaces Cupid's darts ; 
 
 And no one ventures on the sweet alliance, 
 
 Until his choice is ratified by science. 
 
 'Tis scarcely meet in me to moralize, 
 
 But in a word 'tis here the moral lies : 
 
 Maids should be frank, but lovers must be bold ; 
 
 The doubting heart ne'er won a bride, we're told. 
 
 Remember, men, her no means I don't know ; 
 
 Remember, maids, he'd rather stay than go. 
 
 As sure as that is Pyramus you see. 
 
 So, I protest, his true-love will This-be ; 
 
 Won by a spark our future must be bright ; 
 
 Good-night — our thanks to all — again, good-night. 
 
 Curtain. 
 
BETWEEN TWO THORNS 
 
 AN ORIGINAL SCENE 
 ON A STAIR-CASE. 
 
 characters : 
 
 ■Herbert Brierly, Rose Blossom, 
 
 Frederick Thorne. 
 
Herbert.— Like the Rose and her Thorn. 
 
BETWEEN TWO THORNS. 
 
 ( This scene requires no stage setting, as it is to 
 be ailed upon the stair-case of some house. 
 The lights in the hall are turned very low; 
 but a lamp bums on the landing above, and a 
 lantern, with ct refle£lbr, illumines the group 
 on the stairs. A rug or carpet' of some bright 
 color should be thrown On the steps to form a 
 background for the adiors. An Orchestra is 
 heard at intervals, playing very softly. Cos- 
 tumes, evening dress. Tim.e of representa- 
 tion, twenty minutes.) ■ 
 (Kose and Fred are seen coming slowly down 
 the stairs, Rose aMttle in advance. At the 
 fifth step she pauses.) ' 
 Rose. — ^Let us sit here a mornent, Fred; it's so 
 crowded below. (^Sits on fifth step. ^ 
 
 Fkkd. — Good idea ! ( Sits on fourth step.) Deucedly 
 warm to-night, isn't it .? 
 
36 BETWEEN TWO THORNS. 
 
 Rose (aside., looking for some one in the hall belo-w). 
 — I wonder if Herbert will be here to-night ? (Aloud. ) 
 Eh ! Oh ! warm you said ! No, it doesn't seem so to me. 
 
 Fred. — Oh, well, perhaps it isn't so very warm, you 
 know, but — but there's an awful jam here, isn't there.? 
 
 Rose. — Is there .? The bouse seems quite empty to me 
 — (aside') — for I don't see Herbert yet. 
 
 Fred. — Well, no, there isn't a crowd, exactly — only 
 there's — there's merely an awful jam, you know. That's 
 what I meant. 
 
 Rose (absently.') — Oh, yes, very likely you're right. 
 Who are here, Fred.' 
 
 Fred. — 'Pon my word I don't know. Lots of people. 
 Can't begin to remember them all. The Browns and — 
 and the Walkers and the Smiths and the — the Aliens, 
 and the — the Whatryou-call-'ems that live over there, you 
 know — (points off indefinitely) — the whole family, by 
 Jove ! And thei-e's Sally Warner ! She's looking in 
 great form to-night — and — er — little What's-his-name, 
 and oh ! well, I can't remember them all. 
 
 Rose (laughing). — There are more people here than 
 I thought. Shall we go down now .? (Rises.) 
 
 Fred (rising) . — Delighted, I'm sure. Oh, there's one 
 more. I saw Herbert Brierly up-stairs just now. He 
 doesn't often go to a dancing party, you know. 
 
 Rose. — Herbert Brierly here ! (Aside, resuming 
 seat.) I'm so glad he has come ! 
 
 Fred (leaning against the rail) . — But I say, Rose, 
 aren't you going down.' I want this waltz. 
 
 Rose. — No-o, don't let's go yet, Fred. It looks so 
 awfully crowded down there. (Aside.) And Herbert 
 might miss me, too. 
 
 Fred (sitting on fourth step). — ^Yes, that's just what 
 
BETWEEN TWO THORNS- Z7 
 
 I was going to say. It's much nicer here, you know, and 
 — (^mysteriously) — there's something I want awfully to 
 tell you, Rose. 
 
 Rose {absent-mindedly). — Is there, indeed.? That's 
 very nice, I'm sore. 
 
 Fred. — ^Yes, I knew )'ou'd think so. {A short pause ; 
 Rose is thoughtful, Fred is embarrassed.) 
 
 Rose. — Come, Fred, if we are to sit here together you 
 must amuse me. 
 
 Fred. — Oh, well, you know, I'm sure I'm quite agree- 
 able. 
 
 Rose. — Oh, no, you're not, but you must try to be. 
 [Aside.) Why doesn't Herbert come.? 
 
 Fred. — Ha ! ha ! I say, you're awfully sharp and all 
 that sort of thing, you know ; but it's — it's lucky for you, 
 you know, that I — I don't talk back at you, you know. 
 
 Rose. — No, you mustn't talk at me, but to me. 
 Come, begin. {Aside.) I'll wait here for H.erbert. 
 
 Fred. — Oh, just as you say. Beastly weather, isn't it ? 
 
 Rose. — Is it.' I thought it was rather fine. 
 
 Fred. — Oh, no, always beastly weather about here, 
 you know. Regular thing in the best society — abuse the 
 weather ; because, )'ou know, if it isn't beastly just now, 
 it's — it's going to be. 
 
 Rose. — Oh, indeed ! Did he — I mean, are you sure 
 you saw Mr. Brierly up-stairs, or — or down-stairs ? 
 
 Fred. — Oh, up-stairs ! He asked me if you were here 
 
 to-night, and I said 
 
 Rose {eagerly). — That I was.? 
 
 Fred. — No, by Jove ! I said I thought you weren't 
 coming. Ha ! ha ! 
 
 Rose {angrily). — Fred! How dared you .? 
 
38 
 
 BETWEEN TWO THORNS. 
 
 Fred. — ^Well, I wanted a chance to talk to you myself, 
 without his hanging around, trying to be funny. Because 
 Rose, I — I have something — to say to you — to-night. 
 Rose. — That's nice. Why aren't you dancing.'' 
 Fred. — I'm giving up dancing. I don't think it's what 
 3'ou'd call a — -a very intelledlual occupation, you know ; 
 and everybody's going in for intellectual things^ nowadays. 
 
 Rose {Idiighing) . — It ought to be intelledlual enough 
 — for you, Fred. 
 
 Fred.— Oh, I say now. Rose ! That's too — too — oh, 
 look there ! (^He botvs to some one below, and mur- 
 murs .) How-de-do ! How-de-do ! ( To Rose, confi- 
 dentially.) That's little What's-his-name, you know; 
 the one over there without any hair on his head. See .'' 
 Great brain ! He's what I call a genius. Yes sir, by 
 Jove ! He'd beat the dayvil ! See him .? (^He points 
 dowmvard. ) 
 
 Rose [looking up). — No, I don't see'him. [Aside.) 
 Where can he he? 
 
 Fred. — Oh, well, I guess you never will if you look for 
 him among the angels. He's down below. Ha ! ha ! 
 Awfully original fellow. 
 
 Rose [interested) .—Is he? Tell me about him. 
 
 Fred. — Yes, awfully original. He told a story at the 
 club the other night that stjaick me as being about the 
 best, by Jove ! It only shows, though. He was speaking 
 about old — old Mr. Thingumbob^the one who is some- 
 thing or other in the city, and awfully rich, you know. 
 Well, little What's-his-name went to see him about some- 
 thing, I've forgotten what, but it doesn't ipatter anyway, 
 and — and he said to him — but p'rhaps you've heard this 
 before ? 
 
 Rose (absently). — Eh! Oh, no, no, never. 
 
BETWEEN TWO THORNS. 
 
 i9 
 
 Fred. — Sure ? 
 
 Rose. — ^Yes, quite. 
 
 Fred. — -Well, you must stop me if you have. Let's 
 see, where was f*? Oh, yes ! Well, little What's-his- 
 name went to see him about — about — well, it doesn't mat- 
 ter about what — and found him in — no, found him out., I 
 think. Let me see, which was it .'' Oh, well, that doesn't 
 affeft the story, anyhow. So what does little What's-his- 
 name do, sir, but just say to him — ha ! ha ! — in so many 
 words — but are you sure you haven't heard this before } 
 
 Rose.— Eh! What! Before.? Oh, no, never ! It's 
 quite new to me, and— and very interesting-. . 
 
 Fred. — Yes, isn't it.'' Well, he said to him — that is, 
 little What's-his-name said to old Thingumbob, you know, 
 that — that — dear me ! it's very odd I can't remember just 
 what he said. Still, I don't know that it matters very 
 much if — if — ^you see the point. Eh, do you.? Ha ! ha ! 
 Good, isn't it.? Eh.? 
 
 Rose (laughing). — Oh, yes ; capital! 
 
 Fred. — ^Yes, yes, that's just what I think. Of course 
 I can't begin to tell it the way little What's-his-name did ; 
 but if you get the point of the story, that's the main thing. 
 
 Rose. — Oh, yes, of course ; that's the main thing, and 
 it's very amusing. (Aside.) It's very strange Herbert 
 does not appear. (^Alpud.) Are you sure you saw him 
 up-stairs .? 
 
 Fred.— -No, down-stairs ! 
 
 Rose (rising). — Then why did you say up-stairs just 
 now .? 
 
 Fred. — But I never did. 
 
 Rose (impatiently). — Fred, you did say you saw Mr. 
 Brierly up-stairs ! 
 
 Fred (disgusted). — Oh, Brierly! Yes, he's up-stairs 
 
Ao BETWEEN TWO THORNS. 
 
 fast enough, but I wasn't talking about him. Little 
 What's-his-name, I meant. 
 
 Rose (^resuming- seat) . — Oh, yes, of course, of course. 
 How stupid ! 
 
 Fred {indignantly) . — Why, no, he isn't stupid ! He's 
 dayvilish bright, by Jove ! 
 
 Rose {sharply) . — Fred, sit still and talk to me. 
 
 Fred. — That's just what I want to do. ( While he is 
 saying what follows Hose pays no attention, but looks 
 uf-stairs as If expeiling some one.) Rose, there is some- 
 thing I want to tell you to-night awfully. I've been trying 
 all — all the evening to — to tell you, but somehow I — I 
 haven't got around to it. It is the old, old story of 
 
 'R.OSE. {rousing herself ) . — Eh! I beg pardon! What 
 is it.? 
 
 Fred {sentimentally). — I say Rose, that it is the old, 
 old story 
 
 Rose {laughing) .—Oh, that's very likely, Fred. All 
 your stories are old. 
 
 Fred {sadly). — Ah, Rose, how can you make sport 
 of a broken heart .? {He endeavors to take her hand; 
 she objeds.) 
 
 Rose. — Broken fiddlesticks ! 
 
 Fred. — No, no. Rose, not that. Do you not, Rose — 
 that is, can you not. Rose, — I mean, will you not. Rose 
 — I would say, are we — we not fitted for one another like 
 
 —like 
 
 {Herbert comes down stairs ; pauses on 
 seventh step.) 
 
 Herbert {interrupting). — Like the Rose and her 
 Thorn.? 
 
 Fred {aside). — Confound him! Why can't he keep 
 away .? 
 
BETWEEN TWO THORNS. 41 
 
 Rose {joyfully'). — ^Ah, Mr. Brierly ! I'm so glad to 
 see you. (^Aside to Herbert) . Yes, but it's not a very 
 sharp thorn. 
 
 Herbert (aside to Rose). Too gjeen to be danger- 
 ous, perhaps? (JFIerbert and Rose laugh.) 
 
 Fred (aside). — I hate him ! 
 
 Rose (addressing Herbert) . — But why do you stand 
 there? 
 
 Herbert. — I was wondering how I should pass the 
 Styx — the river Styx, I mean. 
 
 Rose. — ^And get into the Hades below? Why not 
 stop where you are — on high Olympus ? 
 
 Herbert. — With infinite pleasure — if I may sit by 
 Minerva ? 
 
 Fred (aside). — I wonder if he thinks he is clever? 
 
 Rose. — I can't promise you that ; but you may sit here 
 till Minei-va comes. 
 
 Herbert (sitting on sixth step). — ^Minei-va is here. 
 "This is the place I long have sought." Do you know I 
 feel particularly self-satisfied, now? 
 
 Rose. — Do you ? Why ? 
 
 Herbert. -^Because for the first time in my life I am 
 able to look down upon you. 
 
 Rose. — Do you mean physically or intelledlually ? 
 
 Herbert. Only physically. Intelledlually I'm on 
 the lowest step. 
 
 Fred. — Ah, I should say in the cellar, by Jove ! 
 (Aside.) That was one for me. 
 
 Herbert (aside to Rose). — The wildest imagination 
 cannot locate the seat of his intelligence. (Aloud.) Ah, 
 Fred ! You there ? 
 
 Fred. — ^Yes, are you? 
 
 (Herbert talks to Rose in pantomime.) 
 
42 BETWEEN TWO THORNS. 
 
 Fred {aside) . — Deuce take it ! She won't talk to me 
 now he's here ! {Aloud.) Rose ! I say, Rose ! 
 
 Rose. — Well, what is it? 
 
 Fred {aside). — ^What was I going to say? Oh, I 
 know! {Aloud.) Are you going to take part in this 
 play they're getting up ? 
 
 Rose. — No, I'm not. Are you, Mr. Brierly? 
 
 Herbert. — No. Unfortunately I have no talent as an 
 a6lor. 
 
 Fred. — Oh, well, I daresay you might do. They're 
 taking in some awful scrubs. 
 
 Herbert. — Then you're in it, of course? 
 
 Fred. — I ! I should rather think not ! They wanted 
 me to take a part — er — it was — well, I've forgotten now, 
 but he was a regular fool, you know, but I said no, slap 
 oft". I can't adl a part like that, you know. 
 
 Herbert.— No, very likely you can't ad it, but you 
 might do it, very well. 
 
 Fred. — I don't understand you. 
 
 Herbert {dryly). — I'm not surprised et that. 
 
 Fred {angrily). — 'Pon my word, you — you're becom- 
 ing very funny ! 
 
 Herbert {aside to Pose) . — I must be if he can see it. 
 
 Rose {aside). — They'll be quarreling in a moment at 
 this rate. I mustn't let them. {Aloud.) Isn't this a 
 delightful party ? 
 
 Herbert and Fred {together). — Very! 
 
 Herbert. — Still, I must say' it seems to me that the 
 noise and heat and confusion, and the people — some of 
 them — are drawbacks. Don't you think so? 
 
 Rose. — Oh, yes, decidedly ! 
 
BETWEEN TWO THORNS. 
 
 43 
 
 Fred. — Oh, I say ! Do you mean that you don't like 
 the music and the flowers, and — and the pretty girls, and 
 the dresses, and — and the supper ? They're going to have 
 a terribly nice supper, to-night. By Jove ! you ought to 
 be awfully fond of it all, you know. 
 
 Rose. — Oh, yes, and so I am ! 
 
 Fred {aside) . — I think I scored off him that time. 
 I'll show him what conversation is! (^Aloud.) Still, 
 you know, it's awfully hard v/ork, too, sometimes. A 
 fellow's got to dance with a lot of girls he don't care 
 about, you knowj just because he happens to be a good 
 dancer. It is awfully trying. 
 
 Herbert. Ah, that's one of the penalties of greatness. 
 JVoblesse oblige. 
 
 Fred {^angrily). — See here, by Jove ! I dare say you 
 consider yourself 
 
 Herbert (interrupting) . — Oh, yes, but I try to con- 
 sider others first. Some others, I mean. 
 
 Rose {aside). — Oh, dear! they're quarreling again! 
 {Aloud, dropping ker yan.) My fan, Fred. 
 
 Fred {sulkily). -^-Yes, I see it. 
 
 Rose {impatiently). — I wish it. 
 
 Fred {looking at it) . — Hum ! You'll have to wish 
 harder than that, then. It hasn't moved yet. Whistle 
 for it and see if that will bring it. 
 
 Rose {haughtily) . — Hand me my fan ! 
 
 Fred. — Why didn't you say so at first? {He hands 
 if to her and then stavis leaning against the rail. ) 
 
 Herbert. — She paid you the compliment of mistaking 
 you for a gentleman. 
 
 Fred {bitterly). — Oh, indeed! Well, no one will 
 ever make that mistake about you ! 
 
44 BETWEEN TWO THORNS. 
 
 Herbert. — Thanks ! You mean because I am a gen- 
 tleman? That compHment, even from you, has some 
 value. 
 
 Rose {aside). — Oh, dear! Quarreling again! 
 {Aloud.) Pray don't talk like this ! You don't know 
 how you distress me. 
 
 Fred. — Oh, well, you needn't worry. Rose. I don't 
 mind when a fellow thinks he's funny. I just say to my- 
 self that there's a mighty good answer to everything he 
 says, somewhere, if I only had time to think of it. 
 
 Herbert. — Exadlly ! The difficulty in your case must 
 be — to thirik of it. 
 
 Rose. — Hush ! That will do ! Fred, I wish you'd 
 run up-stairs and get my bonbonierrel 
 
 Fred {sulkily) . — Don't know where it is. 
 
 Rose. — It ought to be in the inside pocket of my cloak. 
 
 Fred. — Don't know where your cloak is. 
 
 Rose. — Oh, the maid will find it for you. 
 
 Fred. — Why don't you send Herbert.? He's nearest. 
 
 Herbert. — Yes, let me go. 
 
 Rose {hastily). — No, no, you never can find it in the 
 world. Please, Fred .'' 
 
 Fred. — Well, I'll go — for you. Rose. 
 
 Herbert {aside). — And for me, too. 
 
 Rose. — Oh, thank you ! 
 
 {Fred goes up four steps^ then turns.) 
 
 Fred {aside) . — Confound him ! I'll pay him for this ! 
 {Disappears up.) 
 
 Rose {offering Herbert her bonbonierre. ) — Will you 
 try one .? 
 
 Herbert. — Thanks! {Laughs.) Do you know, I 
 am afraid Fred won't find this in the inside pocket of your 
 cloak. 
 
BETWEEN TWO THORNS. 
 
 45 
 
 Rose (laughing). — No, not unless he looks — very 
 carefully. In fadt, he can't find it without an interposition 
 of providence. 
 
 Herbert. — And I don't intend to let — providence — 
 out of my sight. (Sits on fourth step.) I can't tell 
 you how delighted I am to see you to-night, Miss Rose. 
 
 Rose. — The pleasure is mutual, I'm sure. But have 
 you any particular reason 1 
 
 Herbert. — Yes, a very particular reason. I wish to 
 — ^to confess my sins. 
 
 Rose (laughing). — Oh, no, don't do that. There 
 isn't time, now. But you might confess your — virtues. 
 
 Herbert. — If you are going to restridl me to my vir- 
 tues, I'm afraid I shall have to be silent. 
 
 Rose. — What ! Have you not even one little virtue.? 
 
 Herbert. — Yes, I have one — just one. May I tell it 
 you, Rose.? Perhaps it is not 
 
 Rose (offering bonbonierre) . — Have another 1 
 
 Herbert. — Thank you ! But may I tell you my one 
 virtue } 
 
 Fred (suddenly appearing above). — See here. Rose, 
 I can't find that thing ! 
 
 Herbert (aside). — Confound him ! 
 
 Rose (aside, hiding bonbonierre). — Oh, dear ! Why 
 can't he stay away.? (Aloud.) Did you look in the in- 
 side pocket, Fred.? 
 
 Fred. — There isn't any inside pocket. 
 
 Rose (aside). — So there isn't! What a blow! 
 (Aloud.) Well, look in the outside pocket, then. 
 
 Fred. — Suppose 'tisn't there.? 
 
 Rose. — Then look somewhere else. Hurry, for I 
 want it. 
 
46 BETWEEN TWO THORNS. 
 
 Fred {aside.^ — Takes me for her confounded maid, 
 by Jove ! ( Disappears up. ) 
 
 Rose (offering her bonbonibrre) . — ^What were you 
 saying ? 
 
 Herbert. — Can you not guess my meaning? 
 
 Rose (hesitatingly). — No-o, I never could guess any- 
 thing. 
 
 Herbert (earnestly) . — Not when I say that I came 
 here to-night only to be near you } (^Rose shakes her 
 head.) Not when I say, Rose dear, that you are the 
 only 
 
 Fred (appearing above and interrupting) . — It isn't 
 there. Rose ! 
 
 Rose (startled). — Oh, dear! (^Hastily.) But it 
 must be there ! Look again, and — and don't come back 
 without it. 
 
 Fred (aside., mournfully). — Then I'd better make an 
 end to a dissipated career at once. (Disappears up.) 
 
 Rose. — You were saying 1 
 
 Herbert. — I was saying, Rose dear, that — I love you ! 
 
 Rose. — Oh, Herbert ! It isn't right ! 
 
 Herbert. — Yes, I'm afraid it is wicked to be in love 
 — because it is so very pleasant. But, Rose dearest, will 
 you not tell me you love me — just a little .? 
 
 Rose (agitated) . — I— I don't knowr^what to say ! 
 
 Herbert. — Say nothing dear, but look me in the face. 
 
 ( She looks at him a moment ; then turns 
 
 away and hides her head in confusion.) 
 
 Herbert (slowly). — Have I been mistaken, then.? I 
 
 am sorry. Good-bye ! 
 
 (He rises as if to descend ; Hose seizes 
 his arm, and pulls him back. He sits 
 on the fifth step with her). 
 
BETWEEN TWO THORNS. 47 
 
 Herbert {embracing her). — Rose, I was mistaken! 
 
 Rose (^demurely). — Yes, partly. 
 
 Herbert. — And you do love me, after all.' 
 
 Rose. — ^Ye-es, if you insist on knowing } 
 
 Herbert. — If I insist ! {Kisses her hand). 
 
 Rose {demurely) . — There, that will do. Now tell me 
 about your sins ? 
 
 Herbert. — Oh, I haven't any sins now. Since j'ou 
 love me I am absolved. 
 
 Rose. — Tell me about your one virtue, then.? 
 
 Herbert. — ^Faith, I will ! 'Tis this : r love you. 
 
 Rose {archly) . — Is that a virtue .' But come, Herbert, 
 dear, let us go down. We shall be missed if we stay here 
 any longer. ( They rise and descend two steps, and 
 stand there in lover-like attitudes. Fred suddenly ap- 
 pears, coming' down the stairs.) 
 
 Fred. — I can't find that beastly box ! {Sees Herbert 
 and Rose.) W- what does that mean .'' {Pauses.) 
 
 Herbert. — Shall we tell them we are engaged. Rose ? 
 
 Fred. — Engaged! I'm going home! {Disappears 
 hurriedly upstairs.) 
 
 Rose. — No, we'll let them find it out for themselves. 
 ( TTiey descend to the hall and mingle with 
 the others on the floor.) 
 
 Curtain. 
 
TWO NEGATIVES MAKE 
 AN AFFIRMATIVE. 
 
 AN ORIGINAL COMEDY 
 IN ONE ACT. 
 
 characters 
 Edward Bartlett, 
 Dorothy Bartlett, . 
 Arthur Russell, . . 
 Constance Whitney, 
 
 A young- married man. 
 His wife. 
 A young bachelor. 
 Doroth'^s cousin. 
 
 Lucy, A maid. 
 
TWO NEGATIVES MAKE AN 
 AFFIRMATIVE. 
 
 ( The scene is a comfortably furnished parlor in 
 Ed-ward Bartlctfs house. Entrances at C. 
 D. and L. 2 E. If a centre entrance cannot 
 be easily arranged a screen may be placed 
 -where the door should be., and the a&or may 
 slip behind this.) 
 
 ( The properties needed are a camera and tripod., 
 com.plete. Two hats; a locket and ring; a 
 photograph album., and a cabinet photograph; 
 three letters and the usual furniture. ) Time 
 of representation., forty-five minutes. ) 
 
 ( Curtain discovers Dorothy and Con-stance 
 seated near C. E., and engaged in some 
 trifling occupation. Constance is listless and 
 preoccupied., -while Dorothy is alert and 
 active. ) 
 Dorothy. — I'm becoming worried about you, Con- 
 stance ; I'm afraid you're not well. 
 
52 
 
 TWO NEGA TIVBS MAKE AN AFFIRMA TIVB. 
 
 Constance. — What has put that idea into your head, 
 Dorothy ? I am perfedlly well. 
 
 Dorothy. — Well, I'm sure you ought to be, for you've 
 nothing in the world to wori-y about. 
 
 CoHSTANCE. — Then .perhaps it's my present state of 
 mental vacuity that's causing you alarm. 
 
 Dorothy. — ^No, it isn't that, for I can't help thinking 
 there is something on your mind. 
 
 Constance. — That's assuming that I have a mind. 
 Thanks, you're very re-assuring, my dear. 
 
 Dorothy. — It's all very well to laugh now, but wait 
 until you're married if you want to know what trouble is. 
 
 Constance. — I don't want to know, and so I shall 
 never marry. 
 
 Dorothy. — Nonsense ! Of course you will, some 
 time. Every one marries, sooner or later. 
 
 Constance. — You evidently reason that because every 
 one dies, sooner or later, so every one must marry. 
 There's very little choice between the two evils ; though, 
 on the whole, I think death has fewer terrors — for me. 
 
 Dorothy. — Talk that way now if you like, but mar- 
 riage will come to you if you wait. 
 
 Constance. — Well, I'll wait, because I can't help my- 
 self very well, but I won't watch. 
 
 Dorothy. — And when you do, be sure you pick out a 
 man without a hobby, or you'll be worn to skin and bone, 
 Kke me. 
 
 Constance (laughing) . — ^Yes, you're a perfect shad- 
 ow. Still, I like a man who goes in for something. This 
 being married to an every-day man implies that you're an 
 every-day woman. You know a husband is always judged 
 by his wife, and the wife by her husband, only not quite 
 b'o much^ ■• ■• -■ — - 
 
TWO NEGA TIVBS MAKE AN APFIRMA TIVE. 53 
 
 Dorothy. — Well, the every-day kind are much the 
 best, my dear. Just wait till you're married to an ama- 
 teur something-or-other, it doesn't matter a bit what, and 
 you'll see what I mean. 
 
 Constance. — I see what you mean now, but I think 
 you're wi'ong. 
 
 Dorothy. — Oh, no I'm not. My experience proves 
 that. When we were first engaged Ned was furious 
 about botany ; and he used to send me all sorts of flowers, 
 with little notes, in which his undying atfedlion and their 
 scientific names, wrongly spelled, were inextricably 
 mixed. 
 
 Constance. — But you liked that.'' 
 
 Dorothy. — Ye-es, at first, though I never could tell 
 what he meant. Then, after we were married he became 
 a carpenter ; and he used to go about breaking things so 
 he could mend them with his little glue-pot and hammer. 
 Only he never did mend them — so they would stay — and 
 after a time our furniture got in such a state I didn't dare 
 ask any one to sit down, for fear it wouldn't hold them. 
 
 Constance. — What did you do } 
 
 Dorothy. — Let them stand up, or sent word I was not 
 at home. And then he became an electrician ; and he 
 used to say that if he could only touch upon just the right 
 thing it would make him famous. 
 
 Constance. — Did he } 
 
 Dorothy. — No, he touched the wrong thing, once, 
 and it exploded so we had to put him to bed for a fort- 
 night. 
 
 Constance. — How very unfortunate ! 
 
 Dorothy.^— Not at all, my dear. Very fortunate, I 
 say. It taught him a lesson. And now he is an amateur 
 photographer.; , . 
 
54 T wo NEGA TIVES MAKE AN AFFIRMA TIVE. 
 
 Constance. — But you can't objedt to that ! 
 
 Dorothy. — Oh, I don't know. He goes to such ex- 
 tremes. He photographs everything he sees, now ; says 
 it's a wonderful assistance to the memory. And then, he 
 gets so smeared with his chemicals that I expect to be 
 poisoned every time I kiss him. If it were possible I 
 should insist on his being analyzed whenever he comes 
 home, to be sure he was safe. 
 
 Constance (laughing). — That would be a trifle in- 
 convenient. 
 
 Dorothy. — Yes, wouldn't it.? Still, I think it would 
 be a wise precaution. And then, besides, his pidlures al- 
 ways have something the matter with them. They've 
 either been exposed too long, or not long enough ; or the 
 developer was too strong, or not strong enough, or — or 
 something. They're never just right. 
 
 Constance. — Let us hope he will do better by-and-bye. 
 {Rises.) 
 
 Dorothy. — I'm sure I hope so, but I fear he never 
 will. Where are you going, my dear.? 
 
 Constance. ^I have a little headache this morning, 
 and I think a walk will do me good. Besides, I have 
 some letters to post. Can I do anything for you } 
 
 Dorothy. — There, I knew you weren't well, from the 
 way you acfled. No, I think not ; only be sure you're 
 back in time for lunch. One o'clock, you know. 
 
 Constance. — Oh, yes, I'll be back long before then. 
 Good-bye. 
 
 Dorothy. — Good-bye ! 
 
 {Exit Constance^ left.) 
 
 Bartlett {singing without). 
 
 "But there's nothing half so sweet in life 
 As love's young dream : 
 , No, there's nothing half so sweet " . 
 
TWO NEGA TIVES MAKE AN AFFIRMA TIVE. 
 
 55 
 
 (Enter centre, carrying camera and tri- 
 fod: His hat is on the back of his 
 head, and the camera cloth is wrapped 
 about his neck. He goes towards L,. 
 U. JS., and stands tripod up, -while he 
 says:") 
 Ha, Dorothy my dear, glad to see you, very. It's 
 twenty-three minutes since I saw you last. How are you 
 now? Better, I hope? You look better. Oh, say you 
 are better, and relieve my anxious heart. (^Sings.^ 
 "No, there's nothing half so sweet in life 
 
 As love's young " 
 
 Dorothy (interrupting^ . — I wisli you wouldn't sing 
 like that, Ned. 
 
 Bartlett.— =-Pooh ! Hope you don't call that singing. 
 You ought to hear ine when I try. ( Sings, with exag- 
 geration.) 
 
 "No, there's nothing half so sweet-^ " 
 
 Dorothy (interrupting). — Stop, Ned; you'll wake 
 up the baby ! 
 
 Baktlett. — Well, didn't he wake me up with his 
 singing at three o'clock this mbrning ? ( Sings. ) 
 
 Dorothy. — ^Ned, I insist. He must not be disturbed. 
 
 Bartlett. — Queer child ! Last night, when he was 
 awake I had to sing him asleep. Now he's asleep you're 
 afraid I'll- sing him awake ! He is an inconsistent brat. 
 I'm going to give him away. 
 
 Dorothy. — Ned ! 
 
 Bartlett. — ^Well, my half of him, then. You can do 
 what you like with yours. 
 
 Dorothy. — ^But you must remember you were a baby 
 yourself, once. 
 
 Bartlett.— ^No, I deny it. 
 
56 TWO NEGATIVES MAKE AN AFFIRMATIVE. 
 
 Dorothy. — Yes, you were. And you know he couldn't 
 help it. The poor little fellow ate something that didn't 
 agree with him. 
 
 Bartlett. — Always seems to be eating something that 
 doesn't agree with him. Can't he digest anything.? 
 
 Dorothy. — I don't know. But I had such a fright just 
 now. I thought he had swallowed his rubber ring. 
 
 Barti.ett. — Well, watch him, my dear, and see if that 
 agrees with him. If it does, feed him exclusively on rub- 
 ber rings hereafter. It will make a very interesting ex- 
 periment. 
 
 Dorothy. — Oh, but he didn't, after all. I found it on 
 the floor. 
 
 Bartlett. — That's a pity. We have lost such a val- 
 uable opportunity of determining the nutritive properties 
 of rubber rings. 
 
 Dorothy (^aside). — He is a little cross this morning, 
 but he has got to understand the responsibilities of his 
 position. (^Aloud.) Do you know what day this is, 
 Ned? 
 
 Bartlett. — Well, as yesterday was Tuesday, I think 
 to-day is Wednesday, but I may be wrong. To err is 
 human, to forgive divine. I always forgive, — though I 
 hate to. 
 
 Dorothy. — No, it's his birthday. Ten months old to- 
 day. I wish we could give him a birthday party. 
 
 Bartlett. — So you can, my dear, easily. Invite your 
 guests to come at midnight — order carriages at sunrise. 
 That's the young man's time. Say on the cards : "Full 
 dress promenade. Vocal music by Master Bartlett, and 
 other amateurs. Soothing syrup at 3 a. m. Mothers 
 will please bring their own paregoric and peppermint. 
 Only colicky children expedted. R. S. V. P." 
 
 Dorothy {laughing). — Ned, I'll do it. It's a new 
 idea. , - ._ 
 
TWO NEGATIVES MAKE AN AFFIRMA TIVE- 57 
 
 Bartlett. — Go ahead ; I thought it would strike you. 
 Where's Constance? 
 
 Dorothy. — Gone for a walk, and to mail some letters. 
 
 Bartlett {taking some letters out of his pocket, 
 and then endeavoring to conceal them) . — Whew ! I 
 almost forgot them ! 
 
 Dorothy. — -What are these? {Takes them.) My 
 letters ! To Alice Bishop and Helen Fleming ! Upon 
 my word ! Why, I gave them to you to mail a month 
 ago. 
 
 Bartlett. — Oh, no, my dear, not a month. It's — 
 it's just four weeks to-day. I still have the usual three 
 days' grace, you know. Never fear, I'll post them so they 
 won't go to protest. 
 
 Dorothy {laughing). — Well, I'll forgive you, this 
 time. The letters are not very important. 
 
 Bartlett {aside). — Yes, I have always that consola- 
 tion ; they are never*important. 
 
 .Dorothy. — But I thought you never forgot anything 
 now, Ned, with your wonderful aid to the memory ? 
 
 Bartlett. — Well, when I get it fairly going I never 
 shall forget anything. It's a wonderfully clever invention 
 — my own, of course. The idea is merely to associate 
 something with something else, and then you can remem- 
 ber it at once. See ? 
 
 Dorothy. — No-o, I do not, exadlly. 
 
 Bartlett. — Oh, but you must. It's very easy. This 
 — this little device enables me to remember a most ex- 
 traordinary lot of things, merely by remembering an — 
 an extraordinary lot of other things. Ha ! ha ! See 
 how simple it is. Now,- for instance, I associate ^1 fam- 
 ily matters with the fire-place. See ? Heart and hearth ! 
 lan't-thatpwgtic? -jEh? ,,....;..; --.— _,_-... 
 
58 TWO NEGA TIVES MAKE AN AFFIRMA TIVE. 
 
 Dorothy. — Poetic I No, they don't rhyme. 
 
 Bartlett. — Oh, yes they do — near enough. You see, 
 in my system, there must always be some — some analogy 
 — some — er — similarity — ^between the two objecSs. So 
 you, my love, are the — the poker. 
 
 Dorothy. — Ned ! 
 
 Bartlett. — Yes, the poker. The baby is the — the 
 — I've forgotten what he is now ; and Constance, being 
 so young and attractive, is the fire-screen. Takes care of 
 the sparks, you see. Eh ! Ha ! ha ! What do you 
 think of it 1 
 
 Dorothy. — ^It's capital ! You, of course, are the 
 blower. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Good-bye ! I'm going to give 
 him his bath, now. 
 
 (^She runs out, centre, laughing.') 
 Bartlett {laughing'). — Ha! ha! ha! I'm the 
 blower ! That's pretty good, too. Ha ! ha ! ha ! The 
 blower ! • 
 
 » [^Busies himself with camera, L. U. E. 
 Enter Arthur Russell, left.) 
 Russell {aside). — The maid said I should find him 
 here. {Sees Bartlett.) Hullo! Who's that? 
 
 Bartlett {looking out from behind camera). — Do 
 you wish — .' Why, I declare ! ( Coming forward. ) 
 Why, how are you, my boy? How are you? Didn't 
 know you in the camera. Upside down, you see. 
 {Aside.) Don't know him right side up, either. Ought 
 to know his name as well as I know my own. Hang it ! 
 Can't think of my own, now. {Aloud.) Well, well, 
 Well, I'm awfully glad to see you, old fellow. Sit down. 
 {Forcei him into a chair, L. E.) Sit down, I say. 
 How'd you get here ? 
 
 Russell. — Oh, I came in by the door, there. Why-, 
 
TWO NEGATIVES MAKE AN AFFIRMATIVE. 
 
 59 
 
 were you looking for me by the window, or — or — the 
 chimney ? 
 
 Bartlett. — ^Wasn't looking for you at all. (^Aside. ) 
 I wish I could think of his name. (A^oud.) Well, I 
 — I — don't see that you have changed anj-, old fellow. 
 You've grown older and stouter and grayer and all that, 
 you know, but you haven't changed a particle. (Aside. ) 
 I know him peifecSly well. Uged to be intimate with 
 him, and now I can't think of his name ! 
 
 Russell. — Well, I can't see that j'ou've altered either, 
 Ned, in the last three years. 
 
 Bartlett (aside). — A clue ! Three years ago ! 
 (Aloud.) Ah! think so.' But is it only three years.? 
 It seems to me it is longer — much longer. 
 
 Russell. — No, it's three years, almost to a day. 
 
 Bartlett. — Ah, so it is ; so it is. (Aside.) I won- 
 der if he is Fred Jervis .'' 
 
 Russell. — What has become of all the men in our set, 
 Ned.' Is Fred Jei-vis alive yet.' 
 
 Bartlett (aside). — No, it can't be Fred. (Aloud.) 
 Ye-es, I believe he's around, somewhere. (Aside.) It's 
 Tom Daly ! 
 
 Russell. — And Tom Daly — where is he.' 
 
 Bartlett. — Th-that's just what I was going to ask 
 you. (Aside.) It must be Dick Prescott. 
 
 Russell. — Oh, I don't know. But tell me about Pres- 
 cott.' 
 
 Bartlett. — W-which one — Henry.' 
 
 Russell. — No, Dick. Is he alive yet.' 
 
 Bartlett. — ^Er — well, I don't know, exadtly. He's 
 either alive or dead, I think. 
 
 Russell (laughing) . — Well, it's a relief to know thati 
 And what's Frank Marvin doing? 
 
6o TWO NEGA TIVES MAKE AN AFFIRMA TIVE. 
 
 Bartlett. — Frank ! Oh, Frank is married. 
 Russell. — That's hardly a business ; more like an 
 amusement. 
 
 Bartlett. — No, it's business — in his case. 
 
 RussEi-L. — Ha ! ha ! ha ! But what have you been 
 doing since we parted, Ned.'' 
 
 Bartlett. — Oh, nothing much ! But of course you 
 know I'm a man of family now.? 
 
 Russell. — ^What, married ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! Well, you 
 do look a little subdued. When did the affair take place .'' 
 
 Bartlett. — Oh, it never did take place. I have ! 
 
 Russell {^interrupting) . — What.? 
 
 Bartlett. — Oh, I mean that married life suits me so 
 well that it seems as if I had always been a Benedick ; 
 born so, you might say, though the adlual time is about 
 two years. It's the most successful thing lever did. You 
 ought to marry, old fellow. {Aside.) I hope he isn't 
 married. 
 
 Russell. — Ah, you say that now, but what do you 
 think ? 
 
 Bartlett {aside). — No, he isn't man-ied. {Aloud.) 
 Think! Just what I say. Until you marry your life is 
 a failure. I wish you could see my boy. 
 
 Russell. — Your boy ! How old is he } 
 
 Bartlett. — Oh, he's young yet, but he'll get over 
 that. {Aside.) If I can only take his picture I think I 
 can recoUedl his name. {Goes to camera; aloud.) 
 Now, sit perfedtly still, old fellow. Don't you dare to 
 move. 
 
 Russell. — Well, when I was told that down in Mexico 
 I used to put up my hands and meekly submit to be 
 cleaned out. 
 
T WO NE GA TI VES MAKE AN AFFIRM A TI VE. 6 1 
 
 Bartlett (aside). — Mexico! Whom do I know in 
 Mexico? 
 
 Russell. — Are your intentions honorable, Ned? 
 Bartlett. — Oh, perfeAly ! I want to take your pic- 
 ture — not your purse. 
 
 Russell. — Oh, that ! Well, I'd rather you took my 
 purse. It gives me a nervous chill to look in the glass, 
 nowadays. 
 
 Bartlett. — But that's only once or twice a day. Just 
 think what other people must suffer who have to see you 
 constantly. 
 
 Russell. — ^Yes, I know ; it's too bad. 
 
 Bartlett (Adjusts camera) . — Don't move now ; it 
 will all be over in a moment. 
 
 Russell. — Well, if it is going to take very long you 
 must give me chloroform. 
 
 Bartlett. — Oh, no, my photographs are aesthetic, 
 not anaesthetic. See ? Besides, I'll give you some prints 
 from the negative. 
 
 Russell. — ^My dear fellow, that's torture ! 
 
 Bartlett. — Don't worry ; the piSures won't look like 
 you. That'll be their chief attraftion. (Hands album 
 to Russell.) Here, hold this album — so. (Returns to 
 camera.) Now, ready! 
 
 (He takes fiHure, removes negative 
 holder., and goes to C. D. There he 
 turns. ) 
 
 Bartlett (aside). — It's Jack Rogers! (Aloud.) 
 I'll be back in a moment, Jack. (Exit, C. D.) 
 
 Russell (rising). — And that is Ned Bartlett, mar- 
 ried and settled ! Well, if marriage is a lottery, as they say 
 it is, his wife has drawn a prize. And I, too, might have 
 had such a home as this if I had not drawn a blank. 
 
62 T1VO NEGA TIVES MAKE AN AFFIRMA TIVE. 
 
 Three years ago I loved Constance Whitney as I believe 
 never woman was loved before. Perhaps it was my fault 
 that we parted, perhaps it was hers ; but I think she never 
 loved me. She said she did not, and I thought she was 
 truthful — then, though I never believe a woman — now. 
 Well, I left her and went out into the world to make my 
 way, and — to — to forget. Of course I succeeded — no 
 one ever dies of love — but it was a hard struggle. And 
 now I have come back to look once more upon old scenes 
 and faces, and I can do it without a tremor. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 What fools men make of themselves, sometimes ! I won- 
 der what has become of Constance.? Married probably, 
 by this time. I hope so, I am sure. 
 
 {Enter Bartlett, C. D. , holds up nega- 
 tive to the light. ^ 
 , Bartlett {aside). — Just my confounded luck! I 
 forgot to take off the cap. ( Suddenly recognizing Rus- 
 sell.) It's Arthur Russell. {Aloud.) By Jove ! Ar- 
 thur, my boy, I'm delighted to see you, delighted ! 
 ( Shakes his hand violently. ) 
 
 Russell. — What ! Still delighted ! I supposed you 
 had recovered from that by this time ! 
 
 Bartlett. — Never, never ! Always delighted ! 
 {Aside.) My memory is becoming wonderful. I can 
 even recolledt names, now — occasionally. • {He leans on 
 back of RusselVs chair.) 
 
 Russell {turning over leaves of album) . — Of whom 
 is this a pidlure, Ned ! 
 
 Bartlett.— That ! Why, that's the baby. Isn't he 
 a baby for you, eh ? He's much better looking now than 
 he was, though. Isn't quite so pudgy ; and isn't always 
 giving you the impression that he is choking to death. But 
 he's the limberest thing you ever saw. You can bend him 
 anywhere. 
 
TIVO NEGATIVES MAKE AN AFFIRMATIVE. 63 
 
 Russell. — That must be very gratifying. What's his 
 name.'' 
 
 Bartlett {aside) . — Name ! Let me see, what is his 
 name? Oh, I have it! {Aloud.') His name, you say .? 
 Why, Edward, Junior, same as my own. It was a mis- 
 take, but his mother would have it so. 
 
 Russell. — Oh, no, that's a very good name — ^for a 
 baby. {Slowly turning the f ages of the album.) And 
 wlio are these 'i 
 
 Bartlett {looking over his shoulder). — That's the 
 baby's nurse. And that's the baby's carriage ; and that's 
 — that's something else about the baby. Oh, yes, I know ; 
 it'sthebabyhimself, upside down. Ha! ha! And that's 
 the baby's father — me, you know ; and that's the baby's 
 mother. 
 
 'Russell. — The baby's mother ! Your wife! {Aside.) 
 Constance Whitney ! 
 
 Bartlett. — Yes, oh yes : You've never seen her, 
 but you're sure to like her. She's gone to give him his 
 bath, now. When she doesn't know what else to do she 
 washes him. On dull days I've known her to wash him 
 four or five times. It's lucky he's got a devil of a consti- 
 tution. 
 
 Russell {absent-mindedly). — Ah, is it.'' I'm sur- 
 prised. 
 
 Bartlett. — ^Yes, oh yes, it is. Now sit still. It 
 won't take very long. {Aside. ) What have I done with 
 that plate .'' Ah, here it is, in my hand. 
 
 {Russell gazes at the album., while Bart- 
 lett takes the photograph, c^nd hurries 
 off, C. D.) 
 
 Russell. — And so Constance is married to Ned Bart- 
 lett ! Yes, it must be so, for that is her pidure. She 
 has changed a little since — since then, yet that is very like 
 
64 TWO NEGATIVES MAKE AN AFFIRMATIVE. 
 
 her. How well I remember that night when — when she 
 looked straight into my eyes, and — and said she — she could 
 not marry me — that she was not sure of herself — that she 
 should never marry any one — and so, sent me away with 
 an ache in my heart. And then, a few months after, she 
 was Bartlett's wife ! Ah, well, what is it all to me .? I 
 have forgotten that old weakness. Such an emotion as 
 love does not exist for me — now. 
 
 {^Enter JBartleti, C. D., examining 
 plate in the light. ^ 
 
 Bartlett (aside). — That would be an excellent neg- 
 ative, but only his shoes are visible. It's too bad ! You 
 never can recognize a man, just by his shoes. I must try 
 again. (Adjusts camera.) 
 
 Russell. — How did it go that time, Ned .' 
 
 Bartlett. — Oh, pretty well, pretty well. I want to 
 try another view, though. (Aside.) I mean a view of 
 another part. 
 
 Russell. — No, no more ; you've done enough. I must 
 be going. (Rises.) 
 
 Bartlett. — You must not be going. (Rings bell.) 
 I want you to see my wife and baby, first. 
 
 Russell (aside). — His wife and baby! (^Aloud.) 
 No, no, I cannot. 
 
 (Enter Lucy, L. D.) 
 
 Lucy. — Did you ring, sir .? 
 
 Bartlett. — Oh, Lucy, ask Mrs. Bartlett to step here 
 a moment, and bring the baby with her. 
 
 Lucy. — Yes sir. (Exit L. D.) 
 
 Bartlett. — Now you see you can't help yourself. 
 She'll be here diredlly. ( Suddenly seized.ivith an idea.) 
 Good heavens ! I've left the water running in my dark 
 room ! The place will be flooded ! Wait for me, Arthur. 
 I'll be back in a moment. (Hurries out, C. D.) 
 
TWO A'EGA TIVES MAKE AN AFFIRMA TfVE. G^ 
 
 Russell (calling after him). — Good-bye, Ned; I 
 can't stop, now. 
 
 ( Enter Constance, C. D. , and speaking 
 as she advances., without perceiving 
 that it is Russell.) 
 Constance. — Dorothy says she is very busy just now, 
 Ned, and the baby hasn't waked up yet. 
 
 {^Mutual recognition ; they exclaim nearly 
 together. ) 
 Russell. — Constance ! 
 
 Constance. — Arthur ! You here ! ( Embarrassed 
 fatise.) 
 
 Russell {slo-wly) . — I am sure this is for me a most 
 unexpected — pleasure. 
 
 Constance {^hesitatingly) . — But I came to see — Ed- 
 ward — Mr. Bartlett. 
 
 Russell. — So did I ! 
 
 Constance. — And I didn't know you were — here. 
 
 Russell. — ^The surprise is mutual, believe me. You 
 see, I — I just— stopped over a train to — to see Bartlett. 
 We're old friends, Bartlett and I. 
 
 Constance. — ^Yes, I've heard him speak of you. 
 
 Russell. — Have you, indeed ! That is gratifying ! 
 But I hardly expedled to find him so completely married 
 and settled as all this. 
 
 Constance. — Had you not heard of it before .'' 
 
 Russell. — No. You see, I've been away for so long 
 a time. 
 
 Constance. — ^Yes, I knew you had been away. 
 
 Russell. — Ha ! iia ! ha ! Do you remember what a 
 ridiculous figure I made of myself, once 'i Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 {^Laughs -with effort.) 
 
66 TWO NEGA TIVES MAKE AN AFFIRMA TfVE. 
 
 Constance. — No-o, I do not. {Aside.) Why won't 
 he go.' 
 
 Russell. — Well, I do, most distindlly. I forget now 
 exadliy what I said, but I'm quite sure I made a fool of 
 myself. Let me see, didn't I get down on my knees? 
 Ye-es, I know I did ; and swore that I — I adored you ; 
 that you — ^you were as essential to me as — as the air I 
 breathed ; and a lot of other nonsense. By Jove ! It 
 gives me a cold chill, now, when I think of it. 
 
 Constance (^aside). — This is painful ! I wish he'd go. 
 
 Russell. — But after all, our little — experience was 
 really valuable — to me, at least. It taught me so good a 
 lesson, albeit a very bitter one, — pardon my alluding to it 
 again — that I determined never to take another chance in 
 the matrimonial lottery. You may recoUedt that was what 
 you advised at the time. 
 
 Constance. — You're very hard, Mr. Russell. 
 
 Russell. — No, I'm only just. Your own words, again, 
 by the way. 
 
 Constance (/« distress) . — Is it — fair or — or manly 
 of you to — to talk thus to me — now.? 
 
 Russell. — Why not.? It can do you no harm, cer- 
 tainly ; and as for me — well, I was foolish once, but that 
 was three years ago — a life-time in this electrical age. 
 And so, all but the humor of the episode is forgotten, now. 
 
 Constance. — Yes, yes, it is all forgotten. Let us talk 
 of something else. 
 
 Russell. — With pleasure ! Let's try the weather. Ah, 
 but there is one thing more ! Will you allow me to return 
 a small bit of personal property, which I must apologize for 
 having kept so long ? ( Unfastens locket from watch 
 chain.) This little locket, I believe, is — yours. 
 
 Constance {extending her hand for it). — Yes, it is 
 
TWO NEGATIVES MAKE AN AFFIRMATIVE. 6'J 
 
 Russell {retaining it) . — And it contains — if I am not 
 mistaken — your portrait. I apologize for Iiaving kept it 
 so long, but this is — really my first opportunity for re- 
 turning it. I hope you will find it all right.- 
 
 Constance. — Please let me have it. 
 
 Russell. — Yes, in one moment. I propose a fair ex- 
 change. You have — or had — a simple article that — that 
 once belonged to — to me. A ring, in faft. But perhaps 
 you have lost it, or — or given it away? {Aside.) She 
 is wearing it ! 
 
 Constance. — No, here it is ! (Drazvs it from her 
 jinger.) Now, give me the locket. 
 
 Russell. — Surely you w^ere not wearing the ring ! You 
 were ! That is almost equal to my carrying your pidlure 
 — all these years. But possibly you only put it on to-day. 
 A much more reasonable explanation. There! {Ex- 
 change is made.) Thank you ! Now we have finished 
 the comedy, even to the epilogue. 
 
 Constance (with emotion). — I — I am soiTy we — we 
 have met to-day, Mr. Russell. It — it is only recalling — 
 memories that — are better — dead. {Rises.) Will you 
 — will you not go, please, and — and leave me.'' 
 
 Russell.— Yes, if you wish it ; and with all my heart 
 — this time. I am sorry if I have annoyed you, Con- 
 stance. I did not mewn to ; and I am glad to see that you 
 have so entirely forgotten those — those old davs. Good- 
 bye ! 
 
 Constance. — Please go ; please go. 
 Russell.— As you command. Good-bye ! 
 
 {He goes slowly towards L. D. Con- 
 stance hurries out C. Z)., in tears. 
 Russell looks after her, then slowly re- 
 turns to centre.) 
 
68 TM^O NEGATIVES MAKE AN AFFIRMATIVE. 
 
 Russell. — And so the little play is ended, and like 
 everything else in life, sadly. I must have been pretty 
 hard hit to have that scene affedl me as it does, after so 
 many years. I hope I said nothing unkind or unmanly to 
 her. But why should she be wearing my ring, now } I 
 cannot quite understand that. 
 
 {^He goes slowly towards L. D. Enter 
 Bartlett, C. £>.) 
 
 Bartlett. — By Jove ! old fellow, I forgot all about 
 you. Hold on, where are you going? 
 
 Russell. — I must be off Ned. Good-bye ! 
 
 Bartlett. — Walt a moment. You haven't seen my 
 wife yet. 
 
 Russell. — Oh, yes I have, just now ; and I congratu- 
 late you on being married to so charming a woman. 
 
 Bartlett. — Well, aren't you convinced of the bene- 
 fits of matrimony, now .'' 
 
 Russell. — Hardly, though I dare say your wife might 
 have convinced me, once. We discovered we were — 
 were — old — acquaintances. 
 
 Bartlett. — The deuce you did ! Why, she told me 
 she had never seen you. {Aside.) How very odd his 
 manner is ! 
 
 Russell (aside) . — Poor old chap ! What a queer sort 
 of life he'll be leading some day ! Well, I'll not be the 
 one to warn him of it. (Aloud.) Perhaps Mrs. Bart- 
 lett had forgotten my name, also. Good-bye ! 
 
 Bartlett. — Wait ! Hold on ! I want to 
 
 Russell. — No, no, I can't stop. I — I have an important 
 
 engagement in— in— Chicago— ^this— this afternoon at 
 
 three o'clock, and I've got to hurry. ( Going, left.) 
 
 Bartlett. — Oh, well, if you must, of course. But 
 hadn't you better take your hat ? I suppose they still wear 
 hats — in Chicago. 
 
T WO NE GA TIVBS MAKE AN AFFIRMA TIVE. 69 
 
 Russell. — Oh, thanks ! I nearly forgot it. 
 
 {^He gets hat; starts for L. D.\ is met 
 by Dorothy, entering L. D.) 
 
 Russell (^bowing) . — Pardon me, madam. 
 
 Dorothy. — Certainly. Oh, Ned, I want you to 
 
 Bartlett. — Dorothy, come here a moment. Hold 
 on, Arthur. (^Russell turns back.) My dear, you shall 
 settle a little dispute between us. Do you know that gen- 
 tleman ? 
 
 Dorothy (^puzzled). — No, I do not. 
 Bartlett. — What ! tiave you never seen him ? 
 Dorothy. — No, never. 
 
 Bartlett [aside) . — There's something very strange 
 about all this ! (^Aloud.) What have you to say to that, 
 Arthur.? 
 
 Russell. — Only that the lady is right. We never have 
 met before. 
 
 Bartlett {aside) . — I'm being made a fool of; in some 
 way, and I won't stand it. {Aloud.) But just now you 
 said you were old acquaintances ! 
 
 Russell. — I ! Never ! 
 
 Bartlett. — Well, I say you did. 
 
 Dorothy. — Hush, Ned ! Introduce us, and then we 
 shall be old friends at once. 
 
 Bartlett {aside). — I'll show them they can't hood- 
 wink me ! {Aloud.) Introduce you ! Ha! ha! Hike 
 that ! Never ! 
 
 Russell. — Why, what's the matter with you, Ned.? 
 
 Bartlett. — ^Matter ! I'll tell you what's the matter ! 
 I'm not a fool. 
 
 Russell. — Then you must be ill. 
 
J-O TWO NEGA TIVBS MAKE AN AFFIRMA TIVE. 
 
 Dorothy {aside) . — This is very awkward ! {Aloud. ) 
 Ned, if you won't introduce me I shall do it myself. 
 
 Bartlett. — Oh, go on, by all means! Don't con- 
 sider me at all. Go on ! 
 
 Russell {to Dorothy). — If you will permit me, 
 madam — my name is Arthur Russell, at your service. 
 
 Bartlett {aside) . — At her service ! Confqund him ! 
 
 Dorothy. — Thank you ! And I am Dorothy, or Mrs. 
 Edward Bartlett, if you prefer it that way. 
 
 Russell {to Bartlett). — Mrs. Bartlett! Your wife.? 
 
 Bartlett. — Yes sir, my wife. Whose wife did you 
 think she was.'' Come sir, suppose you answer me that. 
 Whose wife, sir.' 
 
 Russell ( confused) . — I — I — don't — know. 
 
 Bartlett {indignantly). — You don't know! Per- 
 haps 3-0U don't know I'm not a fool, sir.? 
 
 Dorothy. — Of course he doesn't know it ! {To Rus- 
 sell.) I have heard Ned speak of you so often, Mr. Rus- 
 sell, that an introdudtion seems scarcely necessary 
 
 Bartlett {aside). — Never mentioned him in my life. 
 
 Russell. — Thank you. I hope he has not taken my 
 name in vain.? 
 
 Dorothy. — No, indeed ! He has always said you 
 were a man to swear by, if you know what that means. 
 
 Bartlett {aside) .—A man to swear at., I meant. 
 
 Dorothy. — Will you excuse me now, for a few mo- 
 ments, Mr. Russell.? Household duties and a baby can- 
 not be negletfted, as you know. Of course you will stop 
 to lunch .? We have a charming young cousin staying 
 with us, whom I want you to meet. 
 
 Russell. — Thank you, if it 
 
 Bartlett {interrupting). — He's very sorry, Dor- 
 othy, but he has an important engagement in Chicago this 
 
TWO NEGATIVES MAKE AN AFFIRMATIVE. 71 
 
 afternoon ; and I'm going to drive him down to the train, 
 at once. 
 
 Russell {aside) . — Confound him ! Why can't he 
 mind his own business ! 
 
 Dorothy. — Well, you must change your plans, then, 
 for I want you to see the baby, and — and Constance. 
 They're both just lovely. {Aside.) His manner is very 
 odd, but I understand it perfedlly. I'll send Constance to 
 him. {Exii, L. D.) 
 
 Russell {aside). — Why did Ned tell me that was a 
 pi(Sure of his wife, and let me make that terrible mistake.' 
 If I could only see her again ! 
 
 Bartlett {aside) . — I hate mysteries — that I don't un- 
 derstand ! {Aloud.) I'm awfully sorry, Arthur, that 
 you can't stay any longer, but of course, there's that con- 
 founded engagement of yours in Chicago ; and no one 
 knows better than I that business is business. 
 
 Russell. — Well, I have been thinking, Ned, that I 
 will 
 
 Bartlett {interrupting-). — That you'll take the 
 11.20 train.' I would. It's the fastest, and we can just 
 make it. 
 
 Russell. — No, not that. It occurs to me that 
 
 Bartlett. — Oh, yes, we can make it. No time to 
 lose, though. I hate to have you hurry away like this, 
 but I suppose it can't be helped. I'll go and order the car- 
 riage. Be back in a moment. {Aside.) I'll see him 
 on board that train myself. {Exit, L. £>.) 
 
 Russell {sitting- at C. F.). — Yes, Ned is right. It 
 is useless for me to linger here. My little romance is 
 over forever, though I long to see her just once more, 
 that I may ask her pardon for my bitter words. Poor 
 girl ! What a brute she must think me ! {Removes her 
 fiSlure from the album.) I must have that pifture. 
 
72 T1VO NEGA TIVES MAKE AN AFFIRMATIVE. 
 
 I have given her back the other one. (^Studies it.) I 
 w^onder if she would listen to me now? 
 
 (Enter Constance, C. D.; she goes to 
 R. F.) 
 
 Constance {^discovering hint). — ^Mr. Russell ! You 
 here yet ! 
 
 Russell. — Yes, Constance, here yet. ( Gets bet-ween 
 her and the door, preventing her from leaving. ) One 
 moment, please ; I have something to say to you. 
 
 Constance. — It can do no good. Will you kindly let 
 me pass.'' 
 
 Russell. — No, listen to me. Constance, when I spoke 
 to you as I did, just now, I believed you were Edward 
 Bartlett's wife. 
 
 Constance. — His wife ! That's very strange ! Now 
 may I go .'' 
 
 Russell. — No, I have more to tell you, for I want your 
 forgiveness. Have I not waited and worked long enough 
 to claim my reward at last } ( Pause. ) Once I thought 
 my — my love was dead, but now — I — I have not words 
 to tell — Constance, dear Constance — will you — not — be 
 my wife .'' 
 
 Constance (distressed). — Oh, why do you ask me 
 this again .? 
 
 Russell. — Because I love you. An hour ago I Ic- 
 lieved I cared for no one in this world but myself. I — I 
 have discovered my mistake at last. Will — ^you not say 
 — Yes} 
 
 Constance (with emotion'). — No, no, I cannot, I 
 cannot. 
 
 Russell. — Nay, let us be sure this time, Constance. 
 Twice you have said No, yet still I doubt. Think what it 
 means to me — perhaps to you, too. Have we not re- 
 
TIVO NEGA TIVES MAKE AN AFFIRMA TIVE. 
 
 73 
 
 mained true to each other all these years ? Do you not 
 know I love you ? Constance, dear Constance, is it not 
 to be Yes at last? 
 
 Constance {in tears). — No, no, no, I cannot say it; 
 I cannot say it. 
 
 Russell {slowly). — ^Very well; that is all. I see I 
 have made one more mistake. The blame is mine. Will 
 you forgive me for paining you i It is for the last time — 
 the last time. It is not your fault that you do not love me. 
 Good-bye, dear ! May I leave my ring here 'i Perhaps 
 you will wear it again some day. {He ffoes sloivly 
 towards L. D.) 
 
 Constance {-with much emotion). — =Oh, what have I 
 said? What have I said ? {Rises.) Arthur! Arthur! 
 don't go, don't go ! 
 
 ( She sinks back into the chair. He turns 
 and kneels by her side. ) 
 
 Russell {kissing her hand) . — Ah, Constance, you do 
 love me, after all ! 
 
 Constance {stroking his hair). — Yes, Arthur, I do. 
 But can you ever forgive me for the past three years — 
 dear ? 
 
 Russell. — Why, there never was any past three years. 
 The world begins for us to-day. 
 
 Constance. — Oh, I wish I had not — ^but there, we'll 
 play it was only yesterday we met, shall we, and start 
 from there? 
 
 Russell. — Yes, dear, from there. And do you re- 
 member, Constance dear, that yesterday I — I — was going 
 — to — kiss you ? May I kiss you now ? 
 
 Constance {confused). — No-o, let us keep that for — 
 to-morrow. 
 
 {Russell takes out his watch and appears 
 to set it. ) 
 
74 
 
 TWO NEGA TIVES MAKE AN AFFIRMA TIVE. 
 
 Constance. — ^What are you doing, Arthur ? 
 
 Russell. — ^Making it to-morrow. 
 
 Constance (^laughing). — How.'' 
 
 Russell. — By setting my watch a day ahead. Now 
 Constance, it's to-morrow. 
 
 (^He kisses her . They go up to L. U. E,, 
 and stand there, partially concealed. 
 Enter Bartlett and Dorothy^ C. D. 
 They advance to C. E.) 
 
 Bartlett (a«a?e). — Ah, he's gone! (^Aloud.) And 
 have you still the face, madam, to tell me you never met 
 him before ^ 
 
 Dorothy. — Yes, I have, and 
 
 Bartlett {interrupting). — Oh, you have met him 
 before ! Why did you tell me you had not, then.'' 
 
 Dorothy. — Don't be silly, Ned ! 
 
 Bartlett. — Silly ! How can I help it.? 
 
 Dorothy. — Oh, I suppose you can't ! You're so, nat- 
 urally. 
 
 Bartlett {sarcastically). — Perhaps that explains 
 why I married you, my love. 
 
 Dorothy. — You were not half so silly as I was when 
 I married you. 
 
 Bartlett. — Or any other time. But will you kindly 
 tell me why you have made all this mystery about this 
 fellow Russell? 
 
 Dorothy. — There's no mystery. Look and see for 
 yourself. 
 
 Bartlett {discovering Russell and Constance). — 
 Look here ! What does this mean } 
 
 {All advance to front.) 
 
 Russell. — This means, Ned, that Constance and I have 
 
TWO NEGA TIVES MAKE AN AFFIRMA TIVE. 
 
 75, 
 
 just discovered a mistake we made three years ago, and 
 so, we're going to be married — some day. 
 
 Bartlett. — ^What! Constance? 
 
 Constance. — ^Yes, Ned. 
 
 Bartlett. — Dorothy, my love, all is forgiven. Come 
 to my arms. (^Embraces her. ) 
 
 Dorothy. — Careful, don't muss my hair. And I'll 
 forgive you too, Ned, though I don't know what either of 
 us have done. 
 
 Russell. — I should just like to ask you one question, 
 Ned? 
 
 Bartlett. — Ask a hundred if you like. 
 
 Russell. — No, one's enough. Why did you tell me 
 this was a photograph of your wife.'' 
 
 Bartlett. — Because it is. It's a composite photo- 
 graph ; of Dorothy and Constance, or whichever one you 
 like. As I want it to be Dorothy, I call it so. 
 
 Russell. — Then I shall call it Constance. But it is a 
 very dangerous thing to leave around. 
 
 Bartlett. — ^Why? 
 
 Russell. — Because it is apt to make a perfedlly honest 
 person appear double-faced. 
 
 Bartlett. — ^Well, its quite proper in this case, though, 
 since the — the — person seems to have been of two minds. 
 Eh, Constance? 
 
 Russell. — Yes. In other words we have found 
 that 
 
 Dorothy. — Two negatives 
 
 Constance. — Make an affirmative. 
 
 (^Dorothy ivktspers to Bartlett.) 
 
 Bartlett {aloud). — No, no, they don't. 
 
 DoROTHY.'^But ask them. 
 
76 TWONBGA TIVES MAKE AN AEFIRMA TIVE. 
 
 Bartlett {to audience^. — She says, wouldn't some 
 of you like to see tiie baby ? 
 Dorothy. — I didn't. 
 Bartlett. — ^Why, you did. 
 
 Dorothy.— Well, if any of you would 
 
 Bartlett. — Please call any time after midnight. 
 
 Bartlett, Dorothy, Constance, Russell. 
 Curtain. 
 
IN THE FIRE-LIGHT 
 
 AN ORIGINAL EPISODE 
 
 TO BE ACTED BEFORE AN OPEN WOOD FIRE, 
 
 AFTER DINNER. 
 
 characters : 
 Alice Tracy, Leslie Morris. 
 
Alice. — How friendly a fire is, isn't it? 
 
IN THE FIRE-LIGHT. 
 
 Scene : This dialogue requires no curtain or 
 stage setting, but may be a&ed in a drawing- 
 room, before an open -wood fire, the audience 
 being seated at a convenient distance away. 
 It is especially designed to be done by two 
 guests of a dinner-party, in order to opcupy 
 that half hour after dinner when no one knows 
 just what to do, but is quite sure it isn't time 
 to go, because the carriage hasn't arrived. 
 
 ( The gas in the room is turned down low, and 
 the only light comes frvm the fire and a tall 
 lamp at the left of the hearth. At the right 
 are the tongs, the poker and some fire-wood ; 
 while on the rug before the fire are two chairs, 
 the one for Alice, on the left, being a very low 
 one. Costumes, evening dress. Time of rep- 
 resentation, twenty minutes.^ 
 
 (^After the audience is seated, Alice strolls into 
 the room, and takes her- seat upon the low- 
 chair, so that the light from the latnp falls' 
 
So IN THE FIRE-LIGHT. 
 
 softly upon her hair and shoulders^ and her 
 
 profile is outlined against the fire. She 
 
 -watches the blaze thoughtfiully for a moment.^ 
 
 Alice.: — What a splendid fire ! And I shall have it 
 
 all to myself! 
 
 (^JSnter Leslie advancing to the fire^ 
 place. ) 
 Leslie. — Ah, here you are at last, Miss Tracy. Where 
 have you been since dinner.'' 
 
 Alice {assuming indifference). — Oh, nowhere! 
 Leslie. — That explains why I missed you, then, for I've 
 looked everywhere else for you. What are you doing.'' 
 Alice. — I'm enjoying this fire — alone. 
 Leslie. — Pei'haps I interrupt your reverie ? 
 Alice. — You did at first, but not now. 
 Leslie. — Then I may stay } 
 Alice. — Yes, if you like. 
 
 , Leslie. — Thank you ! {Sits. ) I wish you could see 
 what a charming pidlure you make there in the fire-light. 
 I cannot keep my eyes away from you. 
 
 Alice. — Thanks, but I objedt to being watched. 
 
 Leslie. — It's your own fault if you are. 
 
 Alice. — Indeed! Why.' 
 
 Leslie. — You should not be so beautiful. 
 
 Alice (coldly). — You're mistaken. The fire-light 
 deceives you — that is, if you are deceived. 
 
 Leslie {taking up poker) . — Then I will be avenged 
 —on the fire — if I am deceived, which I don't admit ! 
 (JPakes.) There! Wbataaatisfa<Sionitistopoke! It 
 enables <ms to be both idle aad industrious at the ^ame 
 time. There is n<A:hing like it. 
 
IN THE FTRB-I^IGHT. %i 
 
 Alice. — It all depends on who pokes. It is very try- 
 ing to see some one else do it. {^Pause.) Aren't you 
 going to say something, Mr. Morris? 
 
 Leslie. — Oh, yes, I'll say anything; if you wish it. 
 
 Alice. — :Oh, no, not anything. I draw the line at the 
 truth, to-night. 
 
 Leslie. — On which side — this or the other? 
 
 Alice. — This side, of course. After dinner an agree- 
 able fidtion is much better than an average fa(S. Besides, 
 we're becoming so learned nowadays that we know almost 
 everything — except the truth. 
 
 Leslie. — Yes, that's so. It is no longer safe, in a 
 mixed company, to state an absolutely incontrovertible 
 fadt. Some one is sure to prove you're wrong. 
 
 Alice. — How uncomfortable such people are ! I think 
 I prefer those who know a little less than I do. 
 
 Leslie. — Then I ought to be very popular with you, 
 for there are few who know so little. 
 
 Alice. — That remark is full of the conceit of mock 
 humility. You evidently wish me to contradift you. 
 
 Leslie. — No, I do not ; but if you did I should meekly 
 admit your right to do so, and prove my case in that way. 
 
 Alice. — ^You are not very logical. 
 
 Leslie. — No, one can never be both logical and com- 
 plimentary at the same time. 
 
 (v4 short pause, during which Leslie 
 pokes the Jire. ) 
 
 Alice. — ^Mr. Morris, I want you to tell me truly 
 
 Leslie {interrupting') . — But you have forbidden me 
 to tell you anything truly! (Seriously.) Yet there is 
 something, Alice, that j wish to tell you to-night ; some- 
 thing that I have long—— 
 
g2 IN THE FIRE-LIGHT. 
 
 Alice {interrupting). — Hush! I thought I heard 
 something. 
 
 Leslie. — Perhaps you heard me ! I've been talking — 
 at inten-als. 
 
 Alice. — No, it wasn't that. 
 
 Leslie. — Then you haven't heard me ! It might have 
 been the still, small voice within you. Have you a con- 
 science ? 
 
 Alice. — I really don't know. 
 
 Leslie {aside). — She really doesn't know ! {Aioud.) 
 If there is any doubt in your mind about it, you haven't one. 
 
 Alice. — Have you ? 
 
 Leslie. — Oh, yes, though I am happy to say it is 
 quiescent at present. (Seriously.) Alice, I am very 
 glad to find you alone for a few moments this evening ; 
 {pokes Jire) for there is something I have — ^have long 
 wished to— to tell you. Will you, — 
 
 Alice {interrupting). — Oh, pray don't! 
 
 Leslie {surprised) . — Don't what } 
 
 Alice. — Poke it in that way. It's very unscientific. 
 See ! ( She pokes. ) There, isn't that better .' 
 
 Leslie. — ^Yes, a great deal better, of course, since you 
 do it ; but thoroughly charadleristic of your sex. 
 
 Alice. — Please explain why. 
 
 Leslie. — Why, for the sake of getting a little momen- 
 tdry blaze you are willing to sacrifice the entire future 
 prospedts of the fire. In an hour it will have gone out. 
 
 Alice. — Well, in an hour we shall have gone home, so 
 it won't matter. 
 
 Leslie. — "After me the deluge," eh.? I don't know 
 but it is the pleasantest philosophy, all things considered. 
 
 . Alice {contemplatively) . — How friendly a fire is, isn't 
 it ? I know of nothing pleasanter.. 
 
IN THE FIRE-LIGHT. 83 
 
 Leslie. — Yes, sitting before such a blaze as this it 
 almost seems as if human companionship were unnecces- 
 sary — at times., _ 
 
 Alice. — I see that I am de trap. (^Half rising.^ 
 Good night ! I leave you to the companionship of your 
 fire — though it is mine by right of discovery. 
 
 Leslie (hastily) . — No, don't go. This is not one of 
 those times. Pray sit still ; I have a great deal to tell 
 you yet. 
 
 Alice (resuming seai). — That is scarcely an induce- 
 ment to stay ; for a woman never likes to listen, you know. 
 ( Pokes fire. ) If I stay I must poke. ( Thoughtfully. ) 
 Do you never see faces and pictures in the flames, Leslie ? 
 
 Leslie (aside) . — The first time she has ever called mc 
 Leslie! (Aloud, dryly.) No, Alice, not when some 
 one else is doing the poking. 
 
 Alice (laughing). — You're altogether too skeptical. 
 I wonder if you believe in anything ; ghosts, for instance ? 
 
 Leslie. — Oh, yes, I believe in ghosts. In fad;, I know 
 several. 
 
 Alice. — Do you ? I wish I did ! What are their 
 names .'' 
 
 Leslie. — Oh, I don't know their names. Our ac- 
 quaintance is merely a bowing one. I've never cared to 
 become intimate with a ghost ; it is too unsubstantial a 
 friendship, and offers you really no advantages. Yofl 
 can't ask a ghost to indorse a note for you, for instance ; 
 nor can you wear home his overcoat — by mistake. Or if 
 you did you'd be sure to catch cold. 
 
 Alice. — Yes, but a fi-iendly ghost might help you look 
 into the future. 
 
 Leslie. — No, they know nothing about the future. 
 The better class of ghosts have only to do with the past. 
 
84 TN THE FIRE-LIGHT. 
 
 You see, they're usually the spirits of persons who were 
 murdered — not less than fifty years ago — under circum- 
 stances that would make your blood run cold, if you could 
 only find out what they were. Any ghost who tells you 
 he is less than fifl;y years old is an imposter, and should 
 be handed over to the proper authorities at once. Might 
 I give the fire just one modest little poke now? It's 
 really a great temptation. 
 
 Alice {handing him the poker) . — There ! You shall 
 have the poker unconditionally. 
 
 Leslie. — Thank you, I will endeavor to prove myself 
 worthy of the trust. {Pokes.) Do you know, I confess 
 that I have a weakness for 
 
 Alice {interrupting) . — Ah, you confess to one weak- 
 ness at last ! Is the fire developing your conscience .? 
 
 Leslie {not noticing the interruption). A foolish 
 weakness for a wood-fire. It is so like a woman ; bright 
 and cheerful and pleasant to look at when it is well taken 
 care of; but how quickly it grows cold and dies out if you 
 negledt it ! Both need such tender watchfulness, and both 
 — deserve it. {Pause.) Alice, there is something I want 
 to say to you to-night, that I seem to — to lack the 
 
 Alice {interrupting). — Hand me that fan, please. 
 Your fire is so warm it will drive me away. 
 
 Leslie {handing her a fan). — You j[)ay an unwilling 
 tribute to my skill as a fire-tender. {Aside.) Will she 
 never let me tell her? {Aloud.) Isn't it time for some 
 more wood ? ( Puts a stick on the f re. ) There ! How 
 few persons understand a fire ! Just as few men under- 
 stand women. 
 
 Alice. — Very true ; but you never knew a man to ad- 
 mit that he did not understand them both. 
 
 .Leslie. — Now you speak of it, I never did. 
 
IN THE FIRE-LIGHT. 85 
 
 Alice. — Exadtly. For instance, I've no doubt you 
 believe you are adlually helping that fire. 
 
 Leslie. — Yes ; don't you ? 
 
 Alice. — Oh dear, no ! What it needs is another stick 
 there. {^He -puts on another stick.) No, Leslie, not 
 there, but there. 
 
 Leslie (moving- stick) . — Is that right.? 
 
 Alice. — Farther back, I should say, so as to form a 
 back log. (^He tries to move the stick.) Pray don't 
 hurry ! 
 
 Leslie. — Patience, please ! It's very warm here. 
 (^Resumes seat.) There, is that right.? 
 
 Alice. — Considering that you do not understand a fire, 
 it will do. 
 
 Leslie {leaning back in chair) . — This is my idea of 
 perfedt happiness. To sit before an open fire, by the side 
 of a sweet-faced little woman, that I can poke whenever 
 I want to, is 
 
 Alice. — ^Mr. Morris ! 
 
 Leslie. — Oh, I beg your pardon ! I was speaking of 
 the fire, not you, of course. I hope Heaven will be just 
 like this. 
 
 Alice {severely). — Mr. Morris, if you talk in that 
 way I cannot remain. 
 
 Leslie. — Oh, don't go. I wasn't talking — merely 
 thinking aloud. 
 
 Alice. — Still, I think I'd better go back now. The 
 others will miss me if I stay. 
 
 Leslie. — Not half so much as I shall miss you if you 
 go. Stop a little longer, for the sake of — of the fire. It 
 isn't safe in my charge. And besides, there is — something 
 -^I must tell you to-night, Alice, that — that — may I tell 
 you? 
 
S6 I^ THE I'IRE-LIGHT. 
 
 Alice. — But why do you ask my permission? 
 
 Leslie. — I — I don't know. I feared you — ^you might 
 not like it. 
 
 Alice. — That's no reason. A man should never begin 
 by apologizing. Let him say what he will, first, and be 
 sorry afterwards — if he must. 
 
 Leslie {slowly) . Well, I — I — merely wished to — to 
 ask you 
 
 Alice {expe&antly) . — Yes.'' 
 
 Leslie. — I — I — well, I wanted to ask your advice. 
 
 Alice (aside, disapfointed) . — My advice ! I thought 
 it was my heart he wished. {Aloud.) Oh, I'm always 
 ready to give my advice ; it's the only thing I've got too 
 much of. And then, as I'm sure no one will ever follow 
 it, I feel perfedtly safe in offering it. State your case, sir. 
 
 Leslie {slowly). — I am thinking of soon leaving home, 
 for a very long absence. 
 
 Alice. — Going away! {Aside.) What can he mean .'' 
 
 Leslie. — ^Yes, I may go — I don't know — I may even 
 never return. 
 
 Alice {distressed) . — Indeed ! Well, I'm sure I — I — 
 hope you will have a pleasant time, Mr. Morris. Do — 
 do you go to — to Europe.? 
 
 Leslie. — I don't know. I haven't — that is — Alice, 
 will you tell me — if — if I — {stops.) 
 
 Alice. — If what, Leslie } 
 
 Leslie. — If I shall go, or stay? 
 
 Alice {aside). — Oh, I see ! But why doesn't he say 
 he loves me? {Aloud.) Why do you ask me that, 
 Leslie? 
 
 Leslie. — Because you alone can answer me ; because 
 my happiness depends on you ; because — dearest — I love 
 you! 
 
IN THE FIRE-LIGHT. 87 
 
 Alice. — Oh, what have you said? 
 
 Leslie {earnestly). — What I could not help saying. 
 What I have tried so hard to say before ; what I would 
 say a thousand times again — I love you. 
 
 Alice {shyly). — ^A — a thousand is a — a good many. 
 
 Leslie. — Not half enough. {Pause.) You do not 
 answer me. Am I to go, after all 'i 
 
 Alice {with emotion). — Oh, I don't know; I don't 
 know. 
 
 Leslie. — Nay, dear, do not be distressed. There is 
 no haste. 
 
 Alice. — Why have you told me this, Leslie ? It is not 
 right that I should hear vou. 
 
 Leslie. — Every man has the right to tell one woman 
 he loves her. 
 
 Alice '{aside). — And I love him, but I will not say it, 
 yet ; it is too soon. {A -pause.) 
 
 Leslie. — Have you nothing to say, Alice } Must I go 
 away.? {Rises.) 
 
 Alice. — Oh, no, no ! 
 
 Leslie {quickly). — Do you mean it.'' 
 
 Alice {confused). — Oh, no, I don't know what I 
 mean ! 
 
 Leslie. — Let me tell you. Say you love me. 
 
 Alice {distressed) . — No, no, I cannot now. {Aside. ) 
 It is too late. 
 
 Leslie {aside). — She does not love me. {Aloud.) 
 Do you love any one, Alice .? {She bows silently.) Yes, 
 I see you do. Will you forgive me for the pain I have 
 caused you .'' I meant no harm, God knows. How could 
 I.? I love you. {She weeps.) No, don't cry; I will 
 not distress }ou again. My question has been answered ; 
 
88 IN THE FIRE-LIGHT. 
 
 I will go away. (^Rises.) Will you give me your hand 
 once more, for the last time? 
 
 Alice (^extending" both her hands) . — There ! (ZTe 
 holds both her hands in his. ) But — but must you really 
 go, Leslie? You might stay a — a — little longer. 
 
 Leslie. — No, I must go — now. Do you think I could 
 remain here, meeting you day after day — ^perhaps sitting 
 by your side as I have to-night, yet not daring to speak to 
 you of the only thought in my heart ? I could not bear it, 
 Alice, and so, I shall go away somewhere out into the 
 world, and — and — forget you — if I can. There is a man's 
 work for me to do ; but some day I may come back, and 
 then we shall be friends once more. May I hope for that, 
 Alice? 
 
 Alice. — ^Yes, yes, but are we not friends now? 
 
 Leslie. — No, we must be lovers or — or nothing, now. 
 Good-bye! {^She is in tears.) Please doft't be dis- 
 tressed by this, Alice. The fault is mine alone — if it be 
 a fault to love you. You will forget it all in a day or two 
 — women always do — and by-and-bye you will marry 
 
 Alice {earnestly) . — No, no, I shall never marry any 
 one — {aside) — but you, Leslie. 
 
 Leslie. — I hope you will ; and that, as the years roll 
 by you, they will leave little children clustering about your 
 knees, who will call you mother. I hope they will 
 have your own sweet eyes and tender smile. How happy 
 they ought to be ! {Sighs.) You will not quite forget 
 me when I am gone, Alice ? 
 
 Alice {tearfully). — No, I will never forget you, 
 Leslie. 
 
 Leslie. — Thank you, dear. Good-bye! {Kisses her 
 hand ; then moves slowly towards the door.) 
 
 Alice {aside). — Oh, I cannot let him go! He may 
 never come back! {Aloud.) Leslie! {He turns.) 
 Won't — you — say — good-bye — again? 
 
7A' THE FIRE-LIGHT. 
 
 89 
 
 Leslie. — No, I must go. I fear I shall do something 
 foolish if I stay here longer. 
 
 Alice {aside). — He will do something foolish if he 
 doesn't stay here longer. 
 
 Leslie {going; half aside). — Ah, Alice! If yoii 
 only knew how I love you ! 
 
 Alice {aside). — Ah, Leslie, if you only knew how I 
 lowe you! {Aloud.) Leslie! 
 
 Leslie ( turning) . — Yes "i 
 
 Alice. — Are you — quite sure you must go — now .'' 
 
 Leslie. — ^Yes. 
 
 Alice. — ^Without even saying — good-bye.'' 
 
 Leslie {at door) . — God bless you, Alice ! Good-bye ! 
 
 Alice {aside). — Oh, I didn't mean that way at all! 
 (Aloud.) Leslie! {He disappears through door-ivay.) 
 Come back, Leslie ! {He returns and advances a little 
 towards thejire.) (Aside.) Why can't he see what I 
 mean? {Aloud.) Why are you so impatient, Leslie.'' 
 I haven't told you his name yet. Don't you want to know 
 his name — ^before you go .'' 
 
 Leslie. — ^No, it is enough that you love him. 
 
 Alice. — It is not enough ; you must hear ! {She rises 
 and takes his hand in both of hers ; they stand diredlly 
 before the fire.) Look at me ! 
 
 Leslie {turning aivay his head) . — ^You are making 
 this very hard for me, Alice. 
 
 Alice {aside). — Not half so hard as it is for me. 
 {Aloud, earnestly.) Leslie, the name of — the man 
 — I — love is — {he turns aivay) — listen, you must hear ! 
 is — Leslie Morris ! {She pauses in attitude.) 
 
 Leslie {embracing her) . — You mean me, Alice! 
 
 Alice {archly).— ^0\v, is your name Leslie Morris? 
 
c,o IN THE FIRE-LIGHT. 
 
 Leslie. — Faith, I don't know. What do you think.' 
 
 Alice {slowly') . — I think — it — is. ( They stand be- 
 fore the Jire, his arm about her waist.) But how am 
 I to know you really love me, Leslie.'' 
 
 Leslie. — Have I not said so.? 
 
 Alice. — Yes, but you told me once you were willing 
 to say anything. 
 
 Leslie {Jianding her the poker) . — Here, dearest, put 
 me to the test. You may poke the fire as much as you 
 like, and I'll not say a word. 
 
 Alice. — No, we will poke it together, now. {Laugh- 
 ing.) But I really don't know how to take you yet, 
 Leslie. 
 
 Leslie. — Take me for better, for worse, dearest. {He 
 kisses her.) But come, we must join the others or we 
 shall be missed. 
 
 {They go out in lover-like attitudes.) 
 
 Curtain. 
 
LOVE'S WARRANT 
 
 A FARCE 
 IN ONE ACT. 
 
 James Seward, 
 Philip Graham, 
 Edith Seward, 
 ILachel Grant, 
 Susan, 
 
 characters : 
 An old tnan, very deaf. 
 A young man., in love -with Edith. 
 Daughter of James Seward. 
 A friend of Edith. 
 A maid. 
 

 Graham. — At lavt I can lirar! It 15 a miracle. 
 
LOVE'S WARRANT. 
 
 Note. The central incident of this farce is 
 taken from a French composition^ entitled 
 '■'•Les Deux Sourds" by M. Jules Moinaux ; 
 but the rest of the p.lay and the dialogue are 
 original. 
 
 Scene : A handsomely furnished room in 
 Setvard's house. Doors at L. 2 E., at H. 2 
 E. , and at Centre in fat. If necessary., a 
 centre or side exit may be easily exte?nporized 
 ■with a screen., behind, which the flayer dis- 
 appears. 
 
 Time., about eleven a. m., of a day in June. 
 Costumes., such as would naturally be worn by 
 the different charaiters at that hour and 
 season. 
 
 Tim-e of representation., fifty minutes. 
 
 (■ Curtain discovers stage empty. Enter Edith , 
 C. D. , dressed as if com-ing from the gar- 
 den. She comes down to C. E.) 
 
^4 LOVKS WARRANT. 
 
 Edith. — The house seems deserted. I can't'find any- 
 one. (^Rings.) Susan! 
 
 (^Enter Susan, R. D.) 
 
 Susan. — Yes, Miss Seward. Did you ring.'' 
 
 Edith. — Yes. Susan, if anyone should happen to call 
 this morning, you will show him in here. 
 
 Susan. — Very well, miss. Not in the drawing-room } 
 
 Edith. — No, here. 
 
 Susan. — Yes, miss. Is that all.' 
 
 Edith. — Yes, you may go. 
 
 Susan {aside, going up R.). — If anyone should hap- 
 pen to call, says she, you may show kim in here. As if 
 she didn't know he was sure to ! And it's her young 
 man, I'll be bound. Well, I'll take care of him. {SigAs.) 
 I know what it is to have a young man myself. (Exit, 
 R. D.) 
 
 Edith {solus) . — Eleven o'clock ! It's time Philip was 
 here. I wish it, were over. I'm so nervous this morn- 
 ing ! This being in love is a very serious thing, 
 after all. Still, it's very nice,- too. Last night Philip 
 spoke to me about — about something, and I — think I 
 said — ^yes. And then — he — he kissed me, I — think. 
 And this morning he is coming to — to see papa about 
 it. I wish it were over, for papa is so dreadfully deaf! 
 Oh, dear, why doesn't he come.? {A ring ■without.') 
 Ah, there he is ! Why has he come so soon .f" I mustn't 
 let him see I'm expedling him. 
 
 {Sits at R. F., and pretends to read. 
 Enter Susan and Rachel Grant, 
 L. D.) 
 
 Susan. — Please take a seat, Miss Grant. I'll tell Miss 
 Seward you want to see her. 
 
 Rachel. — Very well. 
 
 {Exit Susan, R. Z>.) 
 
LOVE'S WAHRANT. 95 
 
 Edith (aside ; not looking around') . — Why doesn't 
 he kiss me? I'm sure I would. 
 
 Rachel (aside). — Ah, there she is! (Aloud, kiss- 
 ing Edith.) Tableau! The Sleeping Beauty ! Wake 
 up, the prince has come ! Ha ! ha ! 
 
 YiDiTW. (rising) . — ^Ah ! so — (discovers Rachel) Oh! 
 It's you, is it, Rachel? 
 
 RLachel.— Ye-es, my dear, I am sorry to say it is. 
 Whom were you expefling ? The handsome young prince, 
 who is to deliver you from your terrible bondage, and 
 marry you — into a worse one ? 
 
 Edith (offended). — No, I was not exped;ing anyone. 
 (Sits and appears to read.) 
 
 Rachel, (taking her book., and turning it upside 
 down) . — There, my dear, that's better. You'll ruin your 
 eyes trying to read a book upside down. ( Sits.) And 
 so you were not expedling a handsome young prince to 
 carry you off and marry you, in spite of everything, eh? 
 
 Edith (hesitatingly) . — No-o, I was not. 
 
 Rachel (looking her in the eye) . — Edith, you were. 
 Who is he ? Do I know him ? 
 
 Edith. — No, you do not, for there isn't one. 
 
 Rachel, — It's quite useless trying to conceal it ; your 
 manner betrays you. I know there is a Prince Charming 
 somewhere ; and if you don't tell me his name I will find 
 out for myself. 
 
 Edith (aside). — I am afraid she will. (Aloud.) 
 Can you keep a secret, Rachel ? 
 
 Rachel. — I never lost one in my life, my dear. 
 Whenever I think I am in danger of it I ask some one to 
 help me keep it. 
 
 Edith. — ^And will you promise never to tell this one? 
 
 Rachel. — Of course I will. I'll promise anything 
 you like. What is it? 
 
96 
 
 LOVE'S WARRANT. 
 
 Edith. — Do you know Philip Graham? 
 
 Rachel. — No. 
 
 Edith. — Did you never see him } 
 
 Rachel. — No. 
 
 Edith. — Nor hear of him } 
 
 Rachel. — No. 
 
 Edith. — How very strange ! Well, he's the one, 
 anyhow. 
 
 Rachel.— Well, my dear, I am delighted, of course ;- 
 but isn't it very sudden } 
 
 Edith. — Oh, no, not very. We've been friends for a 
 very long time. 
 
 Rachel. — And now you're going to put an end to the 
 friendship by marrying him, eh.'' Is it all settled.'' 
 
 Edith. — Ye-es, between us ; but that's much the easier 
 part. 
 
 Rachel. — I don't understand. 
 
 Edith. — Why, there's papa. You know how deaf 
 he is.? 
 
 Rachel (^earnestly). — I should think I did! 
 
 Edith. — Well, papa has always said that if I should 
 ever marry, it must be a man who is as deaf as he is. 
 Rachel. — Oh, dreadful ! 
 Edith. — Isn't it.? 
 Rachel. — It certainly is ! And — er — Philip isn't deaf.? 
 
 Edith. — What, Philip.? No, indeed ! Why, he hears 
 me say things I have never even thought, sometimes. 
 
 Rachel. — Oh, that's not surprising. You often say 
 things you don't either mean or think. 
 
 Edith. — Rachel ! 
 
 Rachel. — When you're in love, I mean. 
 
L O VE' S WARRA XT. 
 
 97. 
 
 Seward {withoui, near C. JD., very loud). — It's no 
 such thing, I tell you ; no such thing. Don't talk to me 
 like that ! (^Another voice roars out something' unin- 
 telligible.) What do you mean, sir, what do you mean? 
 I'm not deaf, I tell you ; I'm not deaf. 
 
 Edith. — Oh, dear I there's papa! Come, Rachel, 
 come. Don't let him find us here. He's dreadfully cross 
 this morning. Come ! 
 
 (^Exeunt Edith and Rachel., R. D. 
 Enter Seivard., C. D. 
 
 Seward. — That confounded gardener ! He seems to 
 think I'm deaf. I will discharge him to-mon^ow. No, 
 he shall go to-day. I won't have such a fellow around. 
 (^As if tryitig his voice.) Ho ! Ha ! Ho ! Hum ! I 
 declare I believe I'm getting better. I could almost hear 
 myself, then. Ho ! Ha ! Ho ! Ha ! There, I heard 
 that distindtly. I am sure I said Ha ! (^Repeats slowly . ) 
 Ho ! Ha ! Ho ! Yes, yes, I am better, decidedly bet- 
 ter. (^Sits at C. E.) Ah, well, I'm afraid it won't last. 
 I shall be worse to-morrow. What a terrible afflidlion 
 deafness is ! It cuts one off so completely from the world ! 
 And it is so hopeless, too ! I have been to every physician 
 in the country ; but the only result has been the bills. 
 Still, I don't despair. Yesterday I heard of a most ex- 
 traordinary person — a faith dodlor, he calls himself. 
 They say he can cure anything. All he does is to look at 
 you, very sharp ; do so, and so, and so, three times 
 (^gestures) , ask you if you have perfedl faith in something 
 or other, I don't know what ; you say yes, pay him -fifty 
 dollars, and presto ! you're well. Fifty dollars ! I'd give 
 five thousand if I could only hear once moi-e. I've sent 
 for him, and he'll be here this morning. Dear me ! how 
 excited I am. I must compose my nerves before he 
 comes. {Eeels pulse.) Tut! tut! This will never do I 
 
98 
 
 LOVE'S WAIiRANT. 
 
 Pulse is very rapid, very rapid ! I'll read the newspaper. 
 There's nothing in that to excite me. 
 
 (^Sits at C. F., reading paper. Enter 
 Susan, L. D., 'with a letter.) 
 
 Susan. — A letter for you, sir. (^Pause, louder.) A 
 letter for you, sir. {^Pause, still louder.) A letter for 
 you, sir. (^Ske thrusts it before his eyes.) There's 
 your letter ! Take it ! 
 
 ^•EWASCD (looking around). — Eh! Dear me! What.'' 
 What is it ? Oh, a letter for me ! Why didn't you say 
 "Here's a letter for you," Susan, and not throw it at me 
 in that way.' I'm not deaf ! {Opens letter and puts on 
 spedtacles. ) 
 
 Susan {going, L . ) . — Not deaf ! He couldn't hear the 
 report of a cannon at his elbow. 
 
 {Exit Susan, L. D. Enter .Edith, 
 R. D.) 
 
 Edith {aside) . — Papa here yet ! A letter ! Can it be 
 from Philip.? 
 
 Seward {reading). — "Dear Sir: I write you with 
 much hesitation upon a subjedt of the deepest importance 
 to me." 
 
 Edith {aside). — It is from Philip ! 
 
 Seward {reading). — "I almost fear to speak about 
 this matter lest I fail to make you understand what—" 
 {speaking angrily) Eh ! What ! Fail to make me 
 understand ! Confound the fellow ! How — how dare he 
 — he say I'm — I'm deaf.'' How dare he .'' It's outrageous, 
 outrageous! {Calm, -with effort.) There, there, I must 
 not get excited ! I will be calm. 
 
 Edith {aside) . — What an unfortunate style Philip has ! 
 
 Seward. — ^Well, well, let me see what this fellow has 
 to say. Hah! I hate fools! {Reads.) "I love your 
 
LUVBS WARRANT. 
 
 99 
 
 daughter Edith, and I ask your permission to make her 
 my wife." (^Speaks.') Eh! What! My daughter his 
 wife ! His wi — ! Marry my daugh — ! Damn his im- 
 pudence ! How — how dare lie presume to — to — ! 
 {Tears letter .) Tliere ! there! there! {Throivs pieces 
 away. ) That's the way I'd treat him ! Marry my Edith ! 
 The young puppy is crazy, crazy ! 
 
 Edith {aside.) — Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do? 
 
 Seward. — I'll write him a note, and tell the young 
 jackanapes what I think of him. {Sits at table.) Deuce 
 take it ! I didn't notice his name ! No matter ! The best 
 way is to treat him with silent contempt. Confound him ! 
 
 Edith {behind him,, in tears). — You're a mean, disa- 
 greeable old man ; as selfish as you can be ; and I hate 
 you ! I hate you ! ! I hate you ! ! ! You want to break 
 my heart ! 
 
 Seward {discovering' her). — Ah, Edith, my dear! 
 Come here a moment. I have something to tell you. 
 
 Edith {not looking at him., and going., R.). — No, 
 I will not. I will never speak to you again. {Exit., 
 R. D.) 
 
 Seward. — She could not have heard me. Dear child ! 
 How fond she is of me ! It is rare one sees such sympathy 
 between a father and a daughter. I think my hearing is 
 decidedly better, this morning. I heard every word she 
 uttered, dear child ! {Looks at -watch.) Dear me! It's 
 after eleven ! The faith dodtor ought to be here by this 
 time. I'll go and see. 
 
 {Exit C. D. Enter Philip Graham, 
 
 L. D.) 
 
 Graham {speaking off, Z.).— Very well, I'll wait 
 
 for her. ( To front. ) I began to get imeasy about that 
 
 letter, and concluded to follow it up in person. Besides, 
 
 I hop«d to get a chance to see Edi^ alone, for ^ moment. 
 
1 oo I^a VE'S WARRANT. 
 
 I have resolved to go to her father, and say to him, frankly : 
 "Sir, 1 love your daughter Edith, and she loves me. We 
 intend to get married — with your consent, if you please; 
 but without it if necessary." I fancy that will bring mat- 
 ters to a climax. It's much the manliest way, at any rate. 
 Ah, there's her pidture ! 
 
 ( Goes to R. U. E. Enter Seward, 
 C. D.) 
 Seward. — No, the faith man hasn't come, yet. He's 
 very late. {Sits at H. E.) I can't get over that — 
 that — fellow's writing me ! Confound him ! Writing 
 mo, as if I couldn't hear ! I wish I -knew his ridiculous 
 name ! 
 
 Graham {aside, up). — Ah, this must be Edith's 
 father ! Can he be talking of me .'' 
 
 Seward. — Confound his impudence ! Wants to marry 
 mv daughter ! The ) oung puppy ! 
 
 Graham {aside). — Yes, he is talking of me. 
 
 Seward. — The man my daughter marries must be as 
 deaf as I am — no, deafer than I am, and worthy of her in 
 every way besides. I won't have a son-in-law who can 
 hear better than I. 
 
 Graham {aside) . — So the old fellow wants a deaf son- 
 in-law, does he.? Well, I don't see why I won't suit. 
 There are none so deaf as those who won't hear. Ho 
 doesn't know me. I'll do it. {I?t a loud voice.) This 
 is Mr. Sewai'd, I believe .? 
 
 . Seward (^a/-«/;3_^) .—Eh ! Eh! What.? What do 
 you want.? Come, come, why don't you speak out.? 
 What do you want? What do you want.? 
 
 Graham {in an ordinary tone) . — ^What a confounded 
 old nuisance 3'ou must be ! 
 
 Seward.— ^Eh ! Eh ! Yes, yes, certainly, certainly ; 
 of course. What's the name, whaf s the name .? ( Gra^ 
 
LOVE'S WARRANT. -loi 
 
 ham signs that he is deaf. ) Eh ! What ! What is it ? 
 Deaf? 
 
 Graham (very loud). — Yes, I have been as deaf as 
 this since my — my childhood. {Aside.) That ought to 
 obtain me sympathy. 
 
 Seward.— Eh! Since childhood ! Totally deaf! To- 
 tally de — ! Why, I'm delighted to see you ! May I — 
 may I, shake hands ? ( Tkey shake. ) I'm — I'm vejoiced 
 to hear j'ou are deaf! Allow me again? {Tkey shake 
 hands continuously.) I'm delighted to see you; de- 
 lighted! {Aside.) Just think! Totally deaf! Poor 
 fellow ! 
 
 Graham {aside) . — Egad ! If I were only dumb now 
 he'd adopt me. 
 
 Seward {still shaking hands) . — Upon my word, this 
 is one of the pleasantest episodes of my life ! {Aside.) 
 What a son-in-law he'd make ! 
 
 Graham {aside). — We agree on one point, at any rate. 
 
 Seward {aside). — But I wonder if he is quite deaf? 
 He may be trying to deceive me. I'll test him. 
 
 Graham {aside). — I think I can pro'^c to him that I 
 am deaf. 
 
 Seward (/oz/(/) ..—Won't you sit down? {Louder.^ 
 Hey! Won't you sit down? {Very loud.) Sit down ! 
 ( Graham does not move.) Yes, he is unmistakably 
 deaf. 
 
 Graham {aside). — No, but I shall be if he keeps this 
 up much longer. FracSlured tympanum ! 
 
 {Seward invites Graham, by gestures, 
 to take a seat. Both sit at C F. 
 Pantom-im-e of thanks, very elaborate, 
 by Graham.) 
 
1(52 LOVE'S WARRANT. 
 
 Seward {aside). — He's a very polite young man, cer- 
 tainly. I wonder who he is? {Loud.) May I ask your 
 name ? 
 
 Graham {aside). — What name shall I tell him? 
 {Alojid. ) Yes, yes, I think it will rain very soon. Yes, 
 yes, rain, yes. 
 
 Seward {loud). — No, no, I want your name. 
 {Aside.) Poor fellow, he can't hear a sound! How 
 unfortunate to be so deaf! ( Writes.) 
 
 Graham {aside, while Seward is writing') . — He 
 doesn't know me ; I can give him my real name. {Reads 
 paper. Loud.) Ah, yes, I see! You want my name. 
 
 {Graham bows politely; then writes.) 
 
 Seward \as Graham is writing-) . — He is certainly a 
 very polite young man, and jo deaf! {He reads paper.) 
 Eh! Philip Graham ! That's a good name ; a very good 
 name ! {Aside.) I wonder if he can be related to my 
 old friend Bob Graham ? I'll ask him. {Writes.) 
 
 Graham {aside, as Seward is writing) . — I'd better 
 not recover my hearing until I have seen Edith. {Heads 
 paper. ) Am I related to Robert Graham , of New York ? 
 {Loud.) Why, yes, he's my father. {Louder.) I say 
 he is my father. {Aside.) Never heard of him before. 
 
 Seward. — Eh ! Your father ! Dear me, dear me ! 
 Is it possible ! I'm delighted ! Allow me, my dear boy, 
 allow me? {They shake hands. Loud.) Well, well, 
 well, I declare I didn't know you. Haven't seen you in 
 over twenty years. You were only about so high {ges- 
 ticulates), then. 
 
 Graham {loud). — Yes, I daresay I've grown since 
 then. 
 
 Seward {loud). — Yes, yes, very likely, very likely. 
 What is it? 
 
LOVE'S WARRANT. 
 
 1.03 
 
 Graham (^louder). — I — think — I have — grown — since 
 — then. 
 
 Seward. — Eh ! Yes. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Very good ! 
 Ve-ry good, indeed ! Ha! ha! ha! Allow me, my boy, 
 allow me } ( They shake hands.) That's capital, capi- 
 tal ! How is your father.' 
 
 Graham. — Oh, he's very well, thanks. 
 
 Seward. — Eh ! What ! What is it ? 
 
 Graham {very loud) . — He — is — very — well — thanks. 
 
 Seward. — Ah, is he, is he ? That'sgood, that's good. 
 Glad to hear it, very. Give him my regards, will you ? 
 {^Enter Rachel., R. D. She stands at 
 back, unperceived.) 
 
 Rachel {aside). — Poor Edith! What a hard time 
 she has here ! I wish I could help her. Ah, a stranger ! 
 Perhaps he is Mr. Graham ! 
 
 Seward {meditatively). — I like this young man, ex- 
 tremely. I wish he were my son-in-law. 
 
 Graham {aside) . — So do I ! 
 
 Seward {aside). — He is so deaf he is absolutely per- 
 fecEl. I wish I could persuade Edith to marry him. 
 
 Graham {aside). — So do I ! 
 
 Rachel {aside). — Why, this can't be Mr. Graham. 
 He is deaf. 
 
 Seward. — If I could only arrange it quietly between 
 Edith and him ! 
 
 Graham {aside). — Oh, I dare say we can manage it 
 — together. 
 
 Seward. — By Jove ! Edith shall marry him ! 
 
 Rachel {aside). — What! Edith marry that man! 
 Never! He is deaf! And she loves another ! This must 
 b3 stopped ! I'll tell her. Poor girl ! 
 
 {Exit hurriedly, R. D. ) 
 
I04 LOVE'S WARRANT. 
 
 Seward (^aside). — Yes, I like his looks. I wonder 
 what he came for? 
 
 Graham (^aside). — That's so! I haven't told him yet, 
 I must keep up the illusion for a time. Let me see.' Ah, 
 I have it ! ( Writes. ) 
 
 Seward {aside, while Graham is writing^. — So he 
 is Bob Graham's son ! I had forgotten that Bob's son was 
 deaf. {He reads.) "I have called this morning to ask you 
 who cured you of deafness." {Speaks.) Eh! What! 
 Cured me ! Of ray deafness ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! Excellent, 
 excellent ! He thinks I can hear ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! Capi- 
 tal, capital ! Allow me, my dear boy, allow me. 
 {Shakes his hand.) Very amusing, very. Ha! ha! ha! 
 
 Graham {aside). — The old gentleman is easily enter- 
 tained ; that's a comfort, anyhow. {He laughs.) 
 
 Sev^^ard. — Ah, he thinks he sees the joke, too. Eh ! 
 eh! Very good, isn't it, eh.'' Very good! {Both 
 laugh.) Ah, well, it isn't right to laugh at his misfor- 
 tune. Poor fellow, he is so deaf! I'll ask him to lunch. 
 {Loud.) Will vou do me the honor to lunch with me 
 to-day, Mr. Graham .? 
 
 Graham {eagerly) . — Lunch ! And see Edith .' Yes, 
 with the greatest— ( Checks himself. Aside. ) Whew ! 
 I almost gave myself away, then. 
 
 Seward. — Ah, poor fellow ! Of course he didn't hear 
 me. ( Writes.) 
 
 Graham {aside). — -If I only play this right I am bound 
 to win. {Reads note., then speaks.) Lunch with you.' 
 Yes, thanks, with the greatest pleasure. 
 
 Seward. — Eh ! What is it .'' What is it } { Graham 
 bows his acceptance.) Ah, very good; very good, in- 
 deed. He'll make a perfedt son-in-lav/. 
 
 Graham {aside) .—'W ow't 1} 
 
LOVE'S WA RRA .XT. 1-0.5 
 
 Seward. — Ah, but suppose he is already married ! 
 Hadn't thought of that ! I must find out about that before 
 I go any farther. 
 
 Graham (^aside). — Oh, you may rest easy on that 
 score. I'm not married yet — but I am engaged to be. 
 
 Seward {loud) . — And so you're old Bob Graham's 
 
 son, eh.? Well, well, well ! And how is your father now .^ 
 
 Graham (ordinary tone). — Oh, he's about the same. 
 
 There has been no very important change in the last three 
 
 minutes. 
 
 Seward. — He didn't hear me ! Well, no matter. 
 (Loud.) Let us, my dear Philip — you don't mind if I 
 call you Philip, do you.'' 
 
 Graham. — Oh, no, no, no, I rather like it. 
 Seward.— Eh! What.? What is it.? 
 Gv.Ka.KM. {loud) . — I — like — it! (Aside.) I shall soon 
 be dumb as well as deaf, at this rate. 
 
 Seward. — He didn't hear me ! How deaf he ie ! 
 
 (Pantomime by Seward inviting Gra- 
 ham into the garden. He accepts. 
 They go to C. D., arm-in-arm. Pause 
 at door-way.) 
 Seward (aside). — He thinks I can hear! Ha! ha! 
 ha! 
 
 Graham (ai'zVe). — He thinks I ca«'if hear ! Ha! ha! 
 ha! 
 
 (Exeunt both., C. Z?. , laughing. Enter 
 ■ Rachel., R. D. She hears them laugh- 
 ing; then advances to C. F.) 
 
 Rachel. — What fiendish laughter ! Deaf people al- 
 ways laugh so. (Sits R. F.) This plot is worse than 
 the Inquisition. I don't know what to do ; yet something 
 must be done, and I can't find Edith ahy\yhere. The 
 
io6 LOVE'S WARRANT. 
 
 only thing for her to do, now, is to elope. (^Enter 
 Edith, L. D.) 
 
 Edith. — Why, Rachel, where have you been.? 
 
 Rachel {embracing her). — Edith, my poor child! 
 Are you prepared for some dreadful news ? 
 Edith {alarmed) . — What do you mean.? 
 Rachel. — Promise to be brave and resolute i 
 Edith. — O, Rachel ! What is it.? Tell me quickly. 
 
 Rachel {impressively).^^ Are you prepared to say 
 farewell forever — to Philip.? 
 
 Edith {distressed) . — Oh ! What — what is it ? Don't 
 deceive me ! Is — is he dead .? 
 
 Rachel. — ^No, my poor child. Worse than that. 
 
 Edith {sinking into a chair). — Worse than — that! 
 Oh, tell me what it is.? 
 
 Rachel. — Listen ! Just now I heard your father 
 promise you in marriage to — a — man 
 
 Edith. — A man ! Oh, horrible ! Goon, goon. I'll 
 be brave. 
 
 Rachel. — Yes, to a man who is totally deaf. 
 
 Edith {in tears) . — Poor Philip ! Poor Philip ! 
 
 RacheL. — Yes, poor Philip, indeed ! And that isn't 
 all. He is dumb besides ; I heard him say so. 
 
 Edith.— Oh, Rachel, Rachel ! What shall I do? 
 
 Rachel. — You must be firm, Edith, and refuse to obey 
 your father. Your future lies in your own hands. If you 
 yield one atom now you're lost. Will you be firm? 
 
 Edith. — Oh, I don't know what to do ! 
 
 Rachel {aside). — She will not be firm. {Aloud.) 
 Edith, I will see this person for you. 
 
 Edith Yes, yes, please do. 
 
LOVE'S WARRANT. 107 
 
 Rachel. — I will. Now sit down here, and write him 
 a letter- I will give it to him myself. 
 
 Edith (^sitting at table) . — I will ; but tell me what to 
 say? 
 
 Rackkl. — Begin "Dear Sir." 
 
 Edith. — But what's his name, Rachel.'' 
 
 Rachel. — I'm happy to say I don't knpw. Just say 
 "Dear Sir." No, say "Sir." 
 
 Edith (writing). — "Sir." Yes, go on. 
 
 Rachel {dilating). — "I understand why you are 
 here, but your visit is quite useless " 
 
 Edith. — "Quite useless." Yes, go on. ( Wipes her 
 eyes.) 
 
 Rachel. — Edith, you must stop crying until this letter 
 is finished. You will blot it if you don't. 
 
 Edith.— I will ; go on. (She sniffs now and then.) 
 
 Rachel (dictating). — "For my mind is finally made 
 up, and I can never marry you." 
 
 Edith. — "Never marry you." Yes, go on. 
 
 Rachel (didating) . — "If you are a gentleman you 
 will leave this house at once and forever, as your presence, 
 under the circumstances, distresses me extremely." 
 
 Edith. — "Extremely." Yes. 
 
 Rachel. — Now sign it. (.Edith signs it; Rachel 
 folds it. ) There, that's done ; now you had better go to 
 your room, and stay there till I send for you. You may 
 trust everything to me. 
 
 Edith. — But — but I want to see papa, first. 
 
 Rachel. — No, I will see to it all myself. Go ! (She 
 pushes Edith, resisting., off., R. D. Enter Graham, 
 C. D.) 
 
 Graham (aside). — The old gentleman has a visitor, 
 so I slipped quietly away to find Edith, and tell her what 
 
lo8 LOVE'S WARRANT. 
 
 I have done. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Everything is coming out 
 capitally. I've even got hei' father's consent in writing to 
 our marriage. Here it is. If I do say it myself I think 
 I have managed this affair in great shape. ( Sees Rachel.y 
 Ah ! who is she, I wonder.? {^He advances to L. F. 
 Rachel at R. F.) 
 
 Rachel {aloud, as if Graham cannot-kear) . — What 
 an unpleasant face he has ! I am glad Edith will be firm 
 and refuse to marry him. 
 
 Graham {aside). — Good heavens! What is that.? 
 Edith refuse me ! 
 
 Rachel. — I think the best way is to hand him the note' 
 at once. That tells the whole story. {Hands him note.) 
 This is for you, I believe. 
 
 Graham. — For me! Ah, thank you! {Aside.) 
 Perhaps it's from Edith. Dear girl ! ( Glances at it.) 
 Yes, it is from her. {Reads, and as he proceeds ex- 
 hibits surprise and distress.) "Your visit is useless !" 
 — What can she mean.? "My mind is made up — !" 
 This is very strange ! "I can never marry you." Good 
 Heavens! {Reads very quickly.) "If you are a 
 gentleman you will leave this house at once and for- 
 ever, as your presence, under the circumstances, distresses 
 me extremely. Edith Seward !" {Speaks.) Yes — yes 
 — it is from her, but — but I — I — don't undei'stand it. 
 
 Rachel {aside). — Why, he seems to be i-eally af- 
 fedted ! 
 
 Graham {aside). -^^o, no, it cannot be right. This 
 woman has made some mistake. {To Rachel.) Are' 
 you sure this — this note is for me ? 
 
 Rachel'. — Yes, for you. {Nods her head.) Ought 
 I to tell him that Edith loves some one else .? 
 
 Graham {aside. ) — What ! Edith loves another ! And 
 last night she — oh, no, this cannot be true ! I will not 
 believe it ! 
 
I.OVB-S MAItnAiVT. 109 
 
 Rachel (^aside) . — How seriously he takes it ! Can 
 he really love her, after all ? 
 
 Graham (/o Rachel) .—Qut tell 1112, are you sure this 
 — this letter is — is for me? 
 
 Rachel (^nodding'). — Yes, yes, I am sure. 
 
 Graham (a^z't^e) .: — It's very strange ! (^Aloud.) But 
 are you sure you are not mistaken ? 
 
 Rachel. — Yes, I am sure. (^JVods.) There is no 
 mistake. 
 
 Graham. — And this is Edith's final answer.? 
 
 Rachel (^nodding') . — Yes, yes, her final answer. 
 
 Graham {slowly). — Very well; I understand you. 
 Now take back to her my answer. Say to Edith Seward 
 that as I am a gentleman I will leave this house at once ; 
 and that I will never return. Never. This letter has 
 destroyed my faitli in woman. (^Tears it.) There! 
 That is all. I can trust myself to say no more. You 
 may go. Go ! 
 
 Rachel i^aside). — He looks dangerous. I'm afraid 
 of him. (^Exit, R. D.) 
 
 Graham. — And so this is woman's constancy ! Only 
 last night we paited as plighted lovers ; I kissed her 
 and she — she told me that she loved me. This morning 
 she has forgotten her tears and vows, and — and orders 
 me out of the house ! Oh, I will go — with pleasure ! I 
 have learned a lesson to-day I shall never forget. Bitter, 
 but salutary. 
 
 ( Goes towards L. D. Enter Edith., 
 L. D.) 
 
 Graham (^coldly bowing). — Your pardon. Miss 
 Seward. I should have gone at once, and avoided the 
 chance of this. Good morning ! 
 
 Edith. — Why Philip, are you here already? 
 
no LOVE'S WARRANT. 
 
 Graham. — ^Yes, I regret to say I am. Grant me but 
 one moment more, and I shall have gone forever. Good 
 morning ! 
 
 Edith {advancing). — But — Philip — don't you know 
 — that — that .? 
 
 Graham. — Stand back ! No nearer ! I do know, and 
 it's my turn now. 
 
 Editth. — Why, what do you mean.? 
 
 Graham. — What } You dare to ask me what I mean .? 
 You dare to — upon my word, yofi're very amusing, very 
 amusing! {Laughs bitterly.^ 
 
 Edith {bewildered) . — But — ^but I don't — don't under- 
 stand. Are we — we — not friends — still.' 
 
 Graham. -^Friends ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! No, not even 
 acquaintances — now. Do you think I can ever forget 
 what you've done .'' 
 
 Edith. — Forget what I've done, Philip.'' 
 
 Graham. — Yes, forget. Oh, I know all, now. 
 
 Edith. — Really, this is very strange. {Angriiy.) 
 What do you know } 
 
 Graham. — I know that you love another. Have you 
 forgotten that, too, already } 
 
 Edith. — That I love another ! 
 
 Graham. — Yes, another. Do you hear, another.' 
 
 Edith. — Oh, but I don't — love — him — at all. 
 
 Graham. — No, I cannot believe you ; I wish I could. 
 I will try to forgive you, but^-but I can never forget. 
 Farewell ! I hope you will — will be very happy — with 
 the — the other — one. You'll send me a card to the wed- 
 ding, won't you ? Ha ! ha ! 
 
 {Exit C. £>., laughing with effort.) 
 
 Edith {calling after him). — Stop, stop, Philip ! It's 
 all a mistake ! Ah, it's too late ! He has gone! What 
 
LOVE'S WARRANT. m 
 
 shall I do? What shall I do? Where is Rachel? 
 ( Calls. ) Rachel ! Rachel ! 
 
 i^Enter Rachel, L. /?.) 
 Rachel. — Here I am, Edith dear. What is the mat- 
 ter? Tell me. 
 
 Edith {tearfully). — Oh, Rachel — he— he — has — 
 1-left me, f-forever. 
 
 Rachel. — Left you ! I'm glad of it ! 
 
 Edith. — You're g-glad of it ! How can you be so — so 
 cruel ? 
 
 Rachel. — You don't mean to say you would give up 
 Philip for that deaf man ? 
 
 Edith. — But h-he isn't deaf; and it — it was Philip; 
 and now — he has — ^g-gone for-forever ; and I don't know 
 — ^what — to — do . 
 
 Rachel {aside). — I see how it is. They have had a 
 quarrel ; the young man is a little jealous, probably. A 
 mere lovers' tiff. {Aloud.) There, there, Edith, don't 
 be silly. It will all come out right, by and bye. I will 
 go and find Philip and explain it to him, myself. 
 
 Edith {with energy) . — No, I forbid you. After what 
 has passed I will never speak to him again. He has 
 treated me shamefully ; and I can never forgive him. 
 Leave me ! I wish to be alone. 
 
 Rachel {aside). — I will find him, just the same. 
 Two words from me will straighten this all out. 
 
 {Exit Rachel, C. D. Enter Se-juard, 
 L. D.) 
 
 Seward. — Saved ! Ha ! ha ! Thank heaven, I'm 
 saved ! Once more I can hear ! That faith doctor is 
 inspired — for fifty dollars ! Why, I can hear everything, 
 now. I was never so happy in my life. {Dances.) 
 Turn, turn, diddle-um-tum-tum. 
 
 Edith {aside). — Oh dear ! Is papa crazy? 
 
112 LOVE'S }]'ARRANT. 
 
 Seward. — How bi'ight and cheerful everything looks ! 
 And what a noise the birds make ! It's quite bewildering ! 
 (^Dances.) 
 
 Edith {aside). — How very strange ! Papa can hear ! 
 
 Seward. — But the best of it all is that now I can hear 
 my dear Edith's sweet voice, once more. Where can 
 she be.' 
 
 Edith {aside). — Oh, I cannot bear to see him now. 
 I'm going to cry — I — I am — am c-crying. {Rushes off., 
 ■R. D.) 
 
 {Enter Grahatn, C. D.) 
 
 Graham {aside) . — Hang this j)lace ! Everything has 
 gone wrong here. I've lost the old man ; I've lost Edith ; 
 I've lost ray temper, and now I've lost my hat ! Confound 
 my luck ! No, damn my luck ! I wish I could find my 
 hat. {Searches for it, R. U. E.) 
 
 Seward {aside). — Ah, here is that unfortunate young 
 man, who is so deplorably deaf! I was in hopes he had 
 gone. How could I have thought of him for a son-in-law .'' 
 It's quite impossible ! He is so deaf Edith could never 
 be happy with him. 
 
 Graham (aside). — Ah, there is the old man ! What 
 a terrible bore he is ! Fancy having him for a father-in- 
 law ! Thank heaven, I'm well out of that scrape ! 
 Where the deuce is my hat.' 
 
 Seward {aside). — I must get rid of him in some way. 
 He makes me nervous he is so deaf! 
 
 Graham {aside). — Ah, here's my hat. Well, thei'e's 
 no use my staying here any longer. But I'll just give the 
 old fellow a little good advice before I go. Pity he can't 
 hear me ! 
 
 Seward {aside). — I must send him away, but I don't 
 quite know how to begin ; and I've asked him to lunch. 
 
It's certainly very awkwaid talking to a deaf man. 
 (Alozrd, very politely.) Well, I have enjoyed this little 
 call very much, INIr. Graham. Sorry you caii't stay any 
 longer. Good bye ! My regards to your father. This 
 is> the way to the street. Good bye ! 
 
 Graham {aside) . — ^What the deuce is the matter with 
 him now, I wonder ? 
 
 Seward (aside). — Oh, dear, he didn't hear me! 
 (Aloud.) Well, well, good bye, good bye! Come 
 again in — in — two or three — ^years, won't you .'' Good 
 bye ! 
 
 (I/e urges Graham towards L. D. He 
 resists. ) 
 
 Graham (very -politely) . — You're very good, my dear 
 sir ; very good. But — er — will you kindly allow me to 
 assure you that I think you are an old fool.'' Ah, thank 
 you ! 
 
 Seward (aside, angrily). — ^What ! An old fool! 
 Oh ! Oh ! This is outrageous ! 
 
 Graham (.r^iJe). — It's too bad he can't hear me. I 
 could tell him such a lot ! 
 
 (Enter Rachel., C. D. She remains at 
 R. U. E.) 
 
 Rachel (aside) . — I can't find a trace of Mr. Graham. 
 I'm afraid he has gone. (Sees Seward and Mr. Gra- 
 ham.) Oh, here is that tiresome deaf man still ! 
 
 Seward (politely). — Well, well, Mr. Graham, I 
 think you had better go now. 
 
 Rachel (aside). — But he isn't Mr. Graham ! 
 
 Graham (ordinary tone). — Ah, thank you I It will 
 give me great pleasure, you old ruffian ! 
 
 Seward (fl^zVe).— Eh! Eh! What! What's that ! 
 Ruffian! Ruff—! Oh, oh! This is too much! 
 
11^ LOVE'S WARRANT. 
 
 (^ Aloud.) Leave my house, sir ; leave my house ! Go! 
 There's the door ! 
 
 Graham (^coolly). — So I perceive. Very nice sort of 
 door it seems to be, too. (^Bows.) After you, you in- 
 fernal old scoundrel. 
 
 Rachei, {aside) . — Why, this is very singular. 
 
 Seward (/arjoz^j). — Eh! What! What! Oh, oh, 
 this — is — is too — Sir ! Mr. — confound you, sir, what 
 the devil is your ridiculous name .'' 
 
 Graham {politely) . — Philip Graham, at your service. 
 {Aside.) By Jove ! I believe he can hear me ! 
 
 Rachel {aside). — Philip Graham! Good gracious ! 
 I don't understand it ! 
 
 Seward {very angry) . — Well — well — Philip Gra- 
 ham — will you — will you leave my house, or — or shall 
 I — kick you out, sir.-" 
 
 Graham. — Um—j-whichever way you prefer. It makes 
 no difference to me, I assure you. 
 
 Seward. — Oli ! Oh ! How — how exasperating — how 
 — how maddening ! You — you — impudent — will — will 
 you leave my house ! We cannot both stay here. 
 
 Graham. — Oh, very good. Then suppose I kick you 
 out. 
 
 (^Seivard storms up and down stage at 
 L., in speechless anger. Rachel runs 
 down to Graham.) 
 
 Rachel. — Quick ! Tell me, are you Philip Gi-aham.' 
 Graham. — ^Yes. 
 Rachel. — Are you deaf.? 
 Graham. — No. Are you.' 
 
 Rachel (distressed). — Oh, I don't know, I don't 
 know. 
 
LOVE'S . WARRANT. 1 1 5 
 
 Graham. — Well, you ought to be, if you're not. 
 Everyone in this house is deaf, or — crazy. Look at him ! 
 
 Rachel {aside). — Oh, what a dreadful mistake I have 
 made! I must find Edith ! (7b Graham.') Promise 
 not to leave till I come back.'' 
 
 Graham. — ^Why not.? 
 
 Rachel {tragically) . — Because it is a matter of life 
 or death. Promise 1 
 
 Graham {aside) . — It will be a matter of death — to me. 
 She's evidently insane. I must humor her. {Aloud.) 
 Oh, yes, yes, I will stay, with pleasure. Certainly, 
 certainly. 
 
 Rachel. — Oh, thank you ! {Aside. ) What a dread- 
 ful situation this is ! {Exit., R. D.) 
 
 Graham. — This must be a private insane asylum. 
 
 Seward. — Sir ! You have insulted me ! Leave my 
 house ! 
 
 Graham {aside). — His house! Poor old man! 
 {Aloud.) Certainly, with pleasure! Leave it any- 
 where you say. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Seward {furious) . — Oh ! Oh ! This is too much ! 
 Too much ! Confound you, sir ! Confound you. 
 {Dances in furious anger.) 
 
 Graham {aside) . — He's getting violent. I must pac- 
 ify him in some way. {Aloud.) Oh, certainly, cer- 
 tainly. Ha ! ha ! Confound you ! Confound everything ! 
 Ha! ha! ha! {He dances.) Confound everything! 
 Ha! ha! ha! 
 
 Seward {half inarticulate -with rage). — Oh ! Oh ! 
 I can't stand this ! I ean't stand this ! I shall go mad ! 
 
 {Rushes out, C. D.) 
 Gkaham {looking after 'him) . — Well, you won't have 
 very far to go, that's certain. Ha ! ha ! There, he goes 
 
Il6 LOVE'S WARRANT. 
 
 over a flbwer-pot ! Ha! ha! Now hfe'^s in the tennis net ! 
 There, he's caught in the hedge ! Ha ! ha ! He can't get 
 out of that very soon ! (7b H. -F.) Well, now that I 
 have scared them all off I'd better go, before they return. 
 Where did I leave my hat? 
 
 (Searches at L. U. E. Enter Edith 
 and Rachel., R. D. ) 
 
 Rachel {to Edith). — I'm so sorry, Edith dear, that I 
 don't know what to do. It's my fault, of course. Still, 
 I hope it will all end right. 
 
 Edith. — No, it never can. We have parted forever. 
 
 Rachel (aside., discovering him) . — Thank heaven ! 
 he has not gone ! Now I can bring these two together. 
 ( To him.) Mr. Graham ! 
 
 Graham {turning) i — Eh! Oh! Oh, I beg your 
 pardon ! {Aside.) Here's that eccentric female again ! 
 I have stayed too long. 
 
 Rachel. — Can you ever forgive me for what I have 
 done .? 
 
 Graham. — Forgive you! {Aside.) There's no doubt 
 of it ; this is an insane asylum! {Aloud.) What for.!" 
 
 Rachel. — For that unfortunate mistake I made just 
 now. 
 
 Graham. — Oh, oh, that! Oh, certainly, certainly; 
 with the greatest pleasure ! {Aside. ) Poor girl ! her Ci:se 
 is a very sad one. {Aloud.) Er — by the way, what was 
 the — the mistake you speak of.'' 
 
 Rachel. — Why, that note that I gave you just now, 
 from Edith 
 
 Graham {eagerly). — Yes. Well? 
 
 Rachel. -^Was not for you at all. 
 
 Graham.— What ! Not for me ! 
 
 RACHfit.— No. I thought you were deaf. 
 
LOVE'S WARRANT. 
 
 117 
 
 Graham. — ^Ah ! I see it all, now. Where is Edith? 
 Where is she.'' Quick ! 
 
 Rachel (/o2'«/z«^).— There ! (^Asi'de.) Lthiniil'd 
 better turn my back, now. 
 
 (^Ske £i-oes up and stands a moment at C. 
 
 JD., back to front. Looks over her 
 
 shoulder once or twice, and finally goes 
 
 off, C. D.) 
 
 Graham {to Edith). — Edith ! Edith ! Forgive me ! 
 
 Edith {coldly). — Ah, so you're here yet, are you, Mr. 
 
 Graham .'' 
 
 Graham. — ^Yes, Edith dear, here yet. Never to leave 
 you now. 
 
 Edith. — Really, Mr. Graham, but I am afraid that will 
 be almost too much of a good thing. {Going; R.) 
 Won't you excuse me, now, please.? I have so many 
 
 duties that 
 
 Graham {getting' between her and R. D.). — One 
 moment, Edith. 
 
 Edith. — Well? What is it.? 
 Graham. — Will you not forgive me.? 
 Edith. — No, no, I cannot. 
 
 Graham. — I know that I have been hasty, Edith, and 
 unkind, perhaps ; but I thought you had forgotten what 
 you told me — last night. I am very sorry, dearest — and 
 — and will you not forgive me .? 
 
 {He pauses in an attitude of supplica- 
 tion ; Edith hesitates, and then throws 
 herself into his arms. ) 
 Edith. — ^Yes, Philip, I will forgive you. 
 Graham. — And will you prove that to me, Edith dear .? 
 Edith {kissing him). — There Philip! Do you be- 
 lieve me now? 
 
Il8 LOVE'S WARRANT. 
 
 Graham. — Um — partly. Another would finish me. 
 {He kisses her.) Now I am sure — for the present. 
 {He motions as if to kiss her again.) 
 
 Edith. — There, that will do — for the present. ( They 
 come down R. F. ) But have you seen papa yet, Philip .? 
 
 Graham. — Have I ! I've seen so much of him I — I — 
 can taste him. 
 
 Edith (laughing). — Poor papa ! And so you w^ere 
 the deaf man, all the time.? 
 
 Graham. — ^Yes. I heard your father say he wanted a 
 deaf son-in-law, and I tried to accommodate him. 
 
 Edith. — But he has changed his mind about that, now. 
 
 Graham. — Has he .'' That's good ! Any change he 
 can make in his mind ought to be an improvement. 
 
 Edith. — He has been cured of his deafness. 
 
 Graham. — He has ! Whew ! That accounts for it ! 
 {Enter Seward., C. D. He rushes be- 
 tween Graham and Edith.) 
 
 Seward. — Stand back, sir! What does this mean.'' 
 
 Graham {as ifdeaf).—lS.\\l What! What is it.? 
 What is it.? 
 
 Seward. — Confound you ! Edith, what does this 
 mean ? Answer me ? 
 
 Edith. — Oh, nothing, papa, only I was — was — just 
 trying to talk to him, and you know — how — how deaf 
 he is, yourself. 
 
 Seward. — There, that will do. Go to your room. 
 And you, sir, leave the house. 
 
 Graham {as if deaf ).— Eh I What.? To lunch! 
 Thank you, with pleasure. 
 
 ( Seward is speechless with anger. ) 
 
 Edith. — Butpapa, don't be so harsh with him. Think 
 how deaf he is, poor felloA' ! ( Crosses to Graham.) 
 Can you hear me, Philip.? 
 
LOVE'S WARRANT. 
 
 119 
 
 Graham (/o Edith). — Yes, but you had better get a 
 little closer. 
 
 Seward. — No, no, I detest deaf persons. 
 
 Edith. — But you were deaf yourself, once, papa. 
 
 Seward. — No, no, not as deaf as he is. 
 
 Edith. — But perhaps he can be cured, papa. Poor 
 fellow ! See how sad he looks ! 
 
 Graham {to Edith'). — ^Yes, Edith, I am broken- 
 hearted. {Puts his arm around her.) 
 
 Seward. — No, no, he can never be cured, never. 
 Why, he has been so since his birth. 
 
 Edith. — But why not try, papa ? Since the faith cure 
 has restored your hearing perhaps it may his, also. 
 
 Seward. — Oh, no, no, no. It's quite impossible, 
 quite. Besides, he called me an old fool. 
 
 Graham {to Edith). — Tell him I was thinking of — 
 of the dodtors. 
 
 Edith. — But he didn't mean you, papa. He says he 
 was thinking of — of the physician who — who tried to cure 
 him of deafness, papa. 
 
 Seward. — Dear me, is that so.? Why, that's quite 
 another matter, isn't it .'' Doflors are fools ! 
 
 ( Graham -whispers to Edith.) 
 
 Edith. — But don't you think, papa, that the faith cure 
 would help him .' I feel so sorry for the poor fellow. 
 
 Seward. — No, no, it's very doubtful ; he is so ex- 
 tremely deaf. {Aside.) Yet, why shouldn't I try it on 
 him? It may help him. I will. {Aloud.) Well — 
 Edith, we might — er — see how it goes, if you like ; though 
 there is very little use, I think ; very little use. ( To 
 Graham. ) You must begin by letting your mind become 
 an — an absolute blank. 
 
I30 LOVE'S WARRANT. 
 
 Graham {sitting at C. P.). — Very well, I have done 
 that. 
 
 Edith. — He says he has, papa. 
 
 Seward. — Ah, has he.? That's good ; very good, in- 
 deed. We may cure him yet. 
 
 Graham {to Edith) . — Yes, I think my case is hopeful. 
 Edith. — Hush 1 
 
 (Seward makes absurd passes., and ges- 
 tures about Graham; and utters un- 
 couth sounds. Enter Rachel, C. JD. 
 Then Seward, Edith and Rachel join 
 hands and move in a circle about 
 Graham, he meantime tnahing strange 
 and convulsive movements and noises. 
 As Edith passes his right, after they 
 have circled him several times, she slyly 
 kisses him. He jumps up and em- 
 braces her.) 
 
 Graham. — Ha ! Saved ! Saved ! At last I can hear ! 
 It is a miracle ! Heaven will reward you, my benefadtor ! 
 {Kisses Edith.) 
 
 Seward. — Here, here, you have made a mistake. 
 I'm your benefadtor. 
 
 Graham. — Oh, never mind. This is near enough. 
 However, if you insist. 
 
 {He embraces Seward at C. F. While 
 in this position they converse over each 
 other's shoulders.) 
 
 Seward {aside). — What a marvelously quick cure! 
 {Aloud. ) And can you hear me perfedtly now, my boy 1 
 
 Graham. — Yes, every syllable, every whisper. ( They 
 separate.) 
 
LOVE'S WARRANT. 131 
 
 Seward. — Ah, glorious, glorious ! You're a noble 
 fellow ! Shall we ? 
 
 (^They etnbrace again. In this position 
 Graham talks over Seward's shoulder 
 to Edith.) 
 
 Graham. — I think we have managed this affair pretty 
 well, after all, Edith.? 
 
 Edith. — Haven't we.' 
 
 Rachel. — Yes, w^e've done it well. 
 
 (^Seward and Graham separate.) 
 
 Graham. — Sir, words fail me utterly in expressing the 
 gratitude I feel for what you have done for me. If you but 
 knew • 
 
 Seward. — Oh, yes, yes, I know, I know. I was a 
 lit-tle hard of hearing myself, once. 
 
 Graham. — Indeed ! You surprise me. But I have 
 one more favor to ask of you. 
 
 Seward. — Eh ! What ! Something more ! Anything 
 you want, my boy, anything you want. 
 
 Graham. — Thank you. Then I ask for the hand of 
 your daughter Edith, in marriage. 
 
 Seward.— Eh! What! What! Edith! Marriage! 
 No, no, impossible, impossible ! Never heard of such a 
 thing, never ! 
 
 Graham (^handing him a paper). — Will you kindly 
 read that.? 
 
 Seward. — Eh! Read this! What is it.? What is it.? 
 
 Graham. — That, sir, is your written promise that your 
 daughter Edith shall become my wife. 
 
 Seward. — Eh! What! (^Reads.) Ah, yes, yes, 
 exadtly. I remember. But it says here, "in case she is 
 willing." Mark that, "is willing." 
 
 Graham. — But are you willing if Edith is.? 
 
122 LOVES WARRANT. 
 
 Seward. — ^Um — yes, oh yes, if she is ! (Aside ) 
 That's perfeftly safe — she doesn't know him. 
 
 Graham. — Edith, what do you say.? 
 
 Edith (throwing herself into his arms). — I say j«, 
 Philip. 
 
 Tableau. 
 
 ( Graham and Edith at C. F. Rachel 
 at L. F., and Seward at R. F. As 
 curtain descends Seward makes a ges- 
 ture as if to bless them.) 
 
 Seward, Edith, Graham, Rachel. 
 
 Slow Curtain. 
 
M WITT'S ACTING PLAIS. 
 
 JG3" »*eflSG noticfl that nearly all the Comedies, Farces and Comedit/ttas lil tb i foliowi^^ 
 list of " Db Witt's Acting Plays " are very suitable for representation in fimall Amateu? 
 Theatres and on I^rlor Stages, as tUey need but little extrinsic aid li-oin complex sceuer; 
 or expensive costumes. They have attained their deserved i^opularity by their droll situa- 
 tions, excellent plots, great humor aud brilliant dialogues, no less than by the ia^t that 
 they are the most perfect in every respect of any edition of plays ever published either in 
 the United States or Europe, whether as regards purity of text, accuracy and fullness of 
 stage directions and scenery, or elegance of typography aud clearness of printing. 
 
 *#* In ordering I>leasa copy the figures at the commenceraent of each piece, which 
 indicate the number of th& piece in " Db "Wm's List of Actik^ "^lats." 
 
 J3^ Any of the followL g Plays sent, postage free, on receipt jf price — Fifteen Cent^ 
 each. 
 
 i!wtf" T!ae figure follow-uag tho name of the Play denotes i^o number of Acts. Tht 
 figures in tUe columns indi^iate the number of characters — H. irale; F. female. 
 
 75. 
 231. 
 
 BOS, 
 
 lU. 
 167. 
 
 93. 
 
 *0. 
 '89. 
 25». 
 
 287. 
 
 166. 
 310. 
 
 41, 
 Ul. 
 223. 
 
 67. 
 
 36. 
 279 
 S9C. 
 160. 
 179. 
 
 25. 
 
 70. 
 261. 
 226. 
 
 24. 
 199. 
 
 1T5, 
 C5. 
 
 59. 
 80. 
 65. 
 68. 
 219. 
 
 149. 
 
 l;i. 
 
 Adrienne, dramafSacts 7 
 
 All that Gutters is not Gold, comic 
 
 drama, 2 acts 6 
 
 , All ou Account of a Braculot, come- 
 dietta, 1 act 2 
 
 , Anything for a change, comedy,! act 3 
 , Apple Blossoms, comedy, 3 acta. . . 7 
 
 Area Belle, farce, 1 act 3 
 
 Atchi, comedietta, 1 act ? 
 
 Aimt Charlotte's Maid, farce, 1 act. 3 
 Aunt Dinah's Pledge, tempei'auce 
 
 drama, 2 acts G 
 
 , Bachelor's Box (La Petite Hotel), 
 
 comedietta, 1 act 4 
 
 Bardell vs. Pickwick, sketch. 1 act 6 
 Barrack Boom (The), comedietta,2a. 6 
 
 Beautiful Forever, farce, 1 act 2 
 
 Bells (The), drama, 3 acts 9 
 
 Betsey Baker, farce, 1 act 2 
 
 Birthplace of Podgers, farce, lact.. 7 
 
 Black Sheep, drama, 3 acts 7 
 
 'Black-Eyed Susan, drama, 2 acts. . . 14 
 Black aud White, drama, 3 acts. . . . G 
 
 Blow for Blow, drama, 4 acts 11 
 
 Breach of Promise, drama, 2 acts . . 5 
 Bi-oken-Hearted Club, comedietta. . 4 
 
 Bonnie Fish Wife, &rce, 1 fvct 3 
 
 Bottle (The), drama, 2 acts 11 
 
 Box and Cox, Bomance, 1 act..- ... 2 
 
 Cabman No. 93, farce, 1 act 2 
 
 "nrptaiu of the Watcn, comedietta, ' 
 
 1 act 6 
 
 Caste, comedy, 3 acts 6 
 
 xCast upon the World, drama, G acts.ll 
 Catharine Howard, historical play, 
 
 3 acts 12 
 
 Caught by the Cuff, farce, 1 act. ... 4 
 
 Chai-ming Pair, farce, 1 act 4 
 
 Checkmate, comedy, 2 acts 6 
 
 Chevalier de St. George, drama, 3a. 9 
 Chimcey' Corner (The), domestic 
 
 di-ama, 3 acts 5 
 
 Chops of the Channel, farce, 1 act. . 3 
 CircumBtancps alter Cases, comio 
 
 operetta, 1 act 1 
 
 Clouds, comedy, 4 acts 8 
 
 Couical CAnutesB, farce, 1 act. . . . . , 3 
 
 222. Cool as a Cu'^nnber, farce, 1 act.. . . 3 
 248. Cricket ou tl-^s Hearth, drama, 3 acts 8 
 
 107. Cupboard Luve, faice, 1 act 2 
 
 152. Cupid's Ey^-Glass, comedy, 1 act.. 1 
 
 62. Cup of Tea, comedietta, 1 act 3 
 
 148. CutOiTwitl a Shilling, comedietta, 
 
 1 act 2 
 
 113. Cyril's Sneers, comedy, 6 acts 10 
 
 20. Daddy Graj di-ama, 3 acts 8 
 
 2iiQ. Daisy Farm drama, 4 acts 10 
 
 4. Dandelion's Dodges, farce, 1 act... 4 
 22, David Garrick, comedy, 8 acts 8 
 
 275. Day After thf Wedding, farce, 1 act i 
 9G. Dearest Slamma, comedietta, 1 act.. 4 
 
 16. Dearer than X^ife, drama, 3 acts 6 
 
 58. Deborah (Leal \ drama, 3 acts 7 
 
 125. Deerfoot, farcfa, 1 act 6 
 
 71, Doing for th6 Pest, di'ama, 2 acts. . 6 
 
 142. Dollars and Cents, comedy, 3 acts. . 9 
 
 204. Drawing Boom (?ar(A),comedy,l act 2 
 
 21. Dreams, drama, t acts 6 S 
 
 260. Dmnlrard's Wammg, drama, 3 acts C 3 
 210. Drunkr-rd's Doom ^The), drama, 2a.i5 6 
 
 2G3. Drunkard (The), di»ma, 6 acts 13 
 
 186. Duchess de la Vallia''e.play, 6 acts.. 6 
 242. Dumb Belle (The), fa^-'ie, 1 a«t 4 
 
 47. Easy Shaving, farce, 1 act 5 
 
 283. M. C. B. Susan Jane, iruBical bur* 
 
 lesquc, 1 act < 8 
 
 202. Eileen Oge, Irish di'ama, < acts 11 
 
 315. Electric Love, farce, lacl ,... 1 
 
 297. English Gentleman (An), comeily- 
 
 dilama, 4 acts ' 7 
 
 200. Esti-augcd, operetta, 1 act 2 
 
 135. Everybody's Friend, comedj. 3 acts 6 
 
 230, Family Jars, musical farce, ?acts.. fi 
 
 103. Faust and Marguerite, drama, 3 Pets 9 
 
 9. Fearful Tragedy in the Seven Dial>», 
 
 interlude, 1 act 4 
 
 Female Detective, drama, 3 acts... 11 
 
 128, 
 
 101. Fernande, drama, 3 acts IJ XO 
 
 99. Fifth Wlieel, comedy, 3 acts...,. -.10 3 
 262, 
 
 Fifth Wlieel, comedy, 3 acts...,. -.10 
 Fifteen Years of a Drunkard's Life, 
 
 melodrama, 3 acta 13 
 
 145. Firpt Love, comedy, 1 act 4 
 
 102. Foiled, drama. 4 acts f 
 
 83. Founded ou Facts, faro>, 1 ac*- t 
 
DE WITT'S AOTIN& PLAYS —Continued. 
 
 I'M. Frnita of the Wine Cup, drama, 3 eta 6 3 
 
 192. Game of Oarda (A), comedietta, la. . 3 I 
 
 Ti. GaiTiok Fever, fai'oe, 1 act 7 i 
 
 53. Gertrude's Mouey Box, farce, 1 act. i i 
 
 73. Qoldeu Fetters (Fettered), drama, 3.H i 
 30. Goose with tlie Goldeu Eggs, farce, 
 
 lact 5 5 
 
 131. Go to Putney, farce, 1 act 4 8 
 
 876. Good for Nothing, comic dl'ama, la. 5 1 
 
 J06. Great Success (A), comedy, 3 acts.. 8 i 
 
 277. Grimshaw, Bagshaw and jiradshaw, 
 
 faroe,lact * 2 
 
 206. Heir Apparent (The), farce, 1 act. . . 5 1 
 
 241. Handy Andy, drama, 2 acts 10 3 
 
 28. Happy Pair, comedietta, 1 act ?i 1 
 
 151. Hard Case (A), farce, 1 act 4 
 
 8. Heury Dunbar, drama, 4= acta 10 3 
 
 180. Heury the Fifth, hist, play, 5 aoif'. 38 5 
 
 803. Her Only Fault, comedietta, 1 art.. 2 2 
 
 19. He's a Lunatic, farce, 1 act. ...» 3 2 
 
 60, Hidden Hand, drama, 4 acts, 5 6 
 
 191. High 0, comedietta, 1 act 3 3 
 
 246. High Life Below S£airs,far::e.2 acts. 9 6 
 
 301. Hinko, romantic drama, Q acts 12 7 
 
 224, His Last Legs, farce, 2 acts 5 3 , 
 
 187. His Own Enemy, farce, 1 act 5 1; 
 
 174. Home, comedy. 3 acts 4 3 
 
 i\l. Honesty is the Best Policy, play, 1. 2 
 
 f,4. Household Fairy, sltetch, 1 act 1 1 
 
 100. Hunting the Slippers, farce, 1 act. . 4 1 
 
 197. Hnnchbaoic (The), play, 5 acts 13 2 
 
 225. Ici on Parle Francais, farce, 1 act... 3 4 
 
 252. Idiot Witness, melodrama, 3 acts. ..6 1 
 IS. If I had a Thcusaud a Year, farce, 14 3 
 
 116. I'm not Mesill at all, Irish stew, la. 3 2 
 
 129. In for a Holiday, farce, 1 act 2 S 
 
 159. In the Wrong House, farce, 1 acr. . . 4 2 
 
 278. Irish Attorney (The), farce, 2 acts ..82 
 282. Irish Broom Malter, farce, lact.... 9 3 
 
 273. Irishman in London, farce, 1 acts. . 6 3 
 
 243. Irish Lion (The), farce, 1 act 8 8 
 
 'S71. Irish Post (The), drama, 1 act 9 3 
 
 244. Irish Tutor (The), farce, 1 act 5 2 
 
 270. Irish Tiger (The), farce, 1 act 5 1 
 
 274. Irish Widow (The), farce, 2 acts .... 7 1 
 Y22, Isabella Orsiui, drama, 4 acts 11 4 
 
 77. 1 Shall Invite the Major, comedy, 14 1 
 
 100. Jack Long, drama, 2 acts 9 2 
 
 299. Joau of Arc, hist, play, 5 acta 26 6 
 
 139. Joy is Dangerous, comedy. 2 acts.. 3 3 
 
 17. Kind to a Fault, comedy, 2acts.... 6 4 
 
 233. Kiss in the Dark (A), farce, 1 act . . 2 3 
 
 309. Ladies' Battle (The), comedy, 3 acts 7 2 
 
 86. Lady of Lyona, play, 5 acts 12 5 
 
 137. L' Article 47, drama, 3 a«ts 11 5 
 
 72 Lame Excuse, farce, 1 act 4 2 
 
 144. Lancashire Lass, melodrama.4 acts. 12 3 
 
 34. Larkins' Love Letters, firce. 1 act. .3 2 
 
 180. Leap Year, musical duality, 1 act.. . . 1 1 
 
 253. Lend Me Five Shillings, farce, 1 act 5 3 
 
 111. Liar (The), comedy, 2 acta I ... 7 2 
 
 il9. Life Ghatie, drama, 5 acts 14 5 
 
 239. Limerick Boy (The), farce, 1 act 5 2 
 
 48. Little Annie's Birthdav, farce, 1 act.. 2 4 
 
 32. Little Rpbel, firoe, 1 .ict 4 3 
 
 164. Little Ruby, drama, 3 acta 6 6 
 
 205. Little Em'lv, dl'ama, 4 a^ts 8 8 
 
 165. Living Statue (The), ftiroo, 1 act. ... 3 2 
 ■"; ■ ^ '^au of a Lover(The), vande^'ille,l. 4 1 
 
 109. Locked in t.o>aedieci-i, 1 act i i 
 
 85. Locked in with a Lady, sketch 1 ] 
 
 87. Locked Out, comic scene 1 1 
 
 143. Lodgers and Dodgers, farce, 1 act. . 4 3 
 212. London Assurance, comeuy, 5 acts. 10 3 
 
 291. M. P., comedy, 4 acts 7 2 
 
 210. Mabel's Manoeuvre, interlude, 1 act 1 S 
 
 IBS. Marcoretti, drama, 3 acts 10 3 
 
 lu4. Maria and JIagdaleua, play, 4 acts. . 8 G 
 63. Marriage at any Price, farce, ] act.. 5 C 
 
 249. Mai-riage a Lottery, comedy, 2 acts. 3 4 
 208. Married Bachelors, comedietta, la.. 3 i. 
 
 39. Master Jones' Birthday, farce, 1 act 4 .■■. 
 
 7. Maud's Peril, drama, 4 acts 5 ! 
 
 49.MiduightWatch, drama, lact 8 2 
 
 15. Milky White, drama, 2 ac'^ 4 1 
 
 46. Miriam's Crime, drama, 3 acts 6 2 / 
 
 11. Model of a Wife, farce, 1 act 3 2 
 
 303. Model Pair (A), comedy, 1 act 2 2 
 
 184. Money, comedy, 5 acts 17 3 
 
 250. More Blunders than One, farce, la. 4 P 
 312. More Sinned against than Sinning, 
 
 original Irish di-ama, 4 acts 11 
 
 234. Morning Call (A), comedietta, 1 act. 1 3 
 
 103. Mr. Scroggins, farce, 1 ftct 3 £ 
 
 383. Mr. X., farce, lact 3 3 
 
 109. My Uncle's Suit, farce, 1 act 4 1 
 
 216. My Neighbor's Wife, farce, ] act 3 ,' 
 
 236. My Turn Next, farce, 1 act 4 ' 
 
 193. My Walking Photograph, musical 
 
 duality, 1 act .^ 1 J 
 
 267. My Wife's Bonnet, iarce, 1 act 3 4 
 
 130. My Wife's Diary, farce, 1 act 3 1 
 
 93. My Wife's Out, farce, 1 act 2 2 
 
 218. Naval Engagements, farce. 2 acts. .. 4 2 
 140. Never Reckon your Chickens, etc., 
 
 farce. 1 act. 3 4 
 
 115. New Men and Old Acres, comedy, 3 8 6 
 
 2. Nobody's Child, drama, 3 acts 18 3 
 
 57. Noemie, dl'ama, 2 acts 4 4 
 
 104. No Name, drama, 5 acts 7 5 
 
 112. Not a bit Jealous, farce, 1 art 3 3 
 
 298. Not if I Know it, farce, lact 4 1 
 
 185. Not so bad as we Seem, ijlay, 5 acts.lS 2 ' 
 
 84. Not Guilty, drama, 4 ar.ts 10 6 
 
 117. Not such a Fool as lie Looks, drama, 
 
 3acts... 5 4 
 
 171. Nothing like Paste f?*rce. 1 act. 3 \ 
 14. No Thoroughfare, di^ma, 5 acts. ... 13 6 
 
 300. Notre Dame, drs-mfl, 3 acts U 8 
 
 269. Object of Interest (An), farce, 1 act. 4 3 
 
 268. Obstinate Family (The), farce, 1 act. 3 3 
 
 173. Off the Stage, comedietta, 1 act 3 1 
 
 227, Omnibus (The), farce, 1 act .... 5 4 
 
 176. On Ereadand Water, farce, lact... 1 3 
 254. One Too Many, farce, 1 act 4 3 
 
 33. One Too Many for Him, ferce, 1 act 2 3 
 ?. £100,000, comedy, 3 acts 8 4 
 
 M. Only a Hallpenny, farce, 1 act 2 2 
 
 170. Only Somebody, farce, 1 act 4 3 
 
 289. On the Jury, drama, 4 acts 5 6 
 
 97. Orange Blossoms, comedietta, 1 act 3 3 
 
 66. Orange Girl, drama. 4 acts 18 4 
 
 209. Othello, tragedy, 5 acta 16 3 
 
 172. Ours, comedy, 3 acta 6 8 
 
 94. Our Clerks, farce, 1 act 7 (; 
 
 4.',. Our Domestics, comedy-fiirce, 2 acts 6 6 
 
 155. Our Heroes, military play, 6acts...Sl 6 
 178 Out at Sea, drama, 6 acts if 5 
 
DE WITT'S ACTING PLAYS.-Oontmued. 
 
 M. J-. 
 
 UT. Overlanu iioute, comedy, S acta — 11 5 
 
 805. Pair of Shoes (A), faice, 1 act i 3 
 
 285. Pai-tners lor Lit'et comedy, 3 acts — 7 4 
 
 156. Peace at auy Price, larce, 1 act 1 1 
 
 82. Peep o' Day, ditima, i acts 12 i 
 
 127. Peggy Green, f ai'ce, 1 act 3 10 
 
 23. Petticoat Parliameut, extravagauza, 
 
 laot 15 21 
 
 293. Philomel, romantic drama, 3 act^,. . € i 
 
 62. Photographic I'ix, farce, 1 act 3 2 
 
 61. Plot and Passion, drama, 3 acts/ ... 7 2 
 
 138. Poll and Partner Joe. burlesqe, la.. 10 3 
 
 217. Poor Pilliooddy, farce, 1 act 2 3 
 
 110. Poppletoa*B-Predicaments. farce, la. 3 6 
 
 60. Porter's Knot, di-ama, 2acts 8 2 
 
 69. Post Boy, drama. 2 acts 5 3 
 
 95. Pretty Horse-Breaker. farce 3 10 
 
 280. Pretty Piece ot Business (A), come- 
 
 ay,laot :.. 2 3 
 
 181. 182. Queen Mary, drama. 4 acts 37 9 
 
 196. Queerest Comtship (Xhe{, comic 
 
 operetta, 1 act 1 1 
 
 255. Quiet Family, farce, 1 act .^ . . . 4 4 
 
 157. Quite at Home, comedietta, 1 act. ..5 2- 
 
 132. Race for a Bluner, farce, 1 act 10 
 
 237. Regular Fix (A), farce. 1 act 6 4 
 
 183. Richelieu, play, 5 acts. 13 2 
 
 38. Rightful Heir, drama, 5 acts 10 2 
 
 77. Roll of the Drum, di-ama, 3 acts 8 4 
 
 31G. Homeo on the Gridiron (A), mono- 
 
 logue, for a lady 1 
 
 19xi. Rusemi Shell, burlesque, 4 scenes.. 6. 3 
 
 247. Rough Diamond (The), farce, 1 act. G 3 
 
 194. Rum, drama, 3 aets 7 4 
 
 13. liuy Bias, drama, 4 acts 12 4 
 
 229. Sarah's Toung Man, &rce, 1 act. ... 3 3 
 
 158. School, comedy, 4 acts. 6 G 
 
 201. School for Scandal, comedy, 5 acts..l3 4 
 
 264. Scrap of Paper (A), comic drama, 3a. 6 G 
 
 79. Sheep in Wolfs Clothing, drama, la. 7 6 
 
 203. She Stoops to Conquer, comedy, 5a.l5 4 
 
 ■ 37. Silent Protector, farce. 1 act 3 2 
 
 35. Silent Woman, farce, 1 act 2 1 
 
 313. Single Married Man (A), eomic ope- 
 retta, 1 act 6 2 
 
 43. Sisterly Service, comedietta, 1 act. , 7 2 
 
 6. Six Mouths Ago, comedietta, 1 act.. 2 1 
 
 221. Slasher and Crasher, fkrce. 1 act. . . 5 2 
 
 10. Snapping Turtles, duologue, 1 act. . .1 1 
 
 26. Society, comedy, 3 acts 16 6 
 
 207. Sold Again, comic operetta, 1 act.. . S 1 
 
 804. Sparking, comedietta, 1 act 1 2 
 
 78. Special Performances, farce. 1 act. . 7 3 
 215. SOU Waters Run Deep, comedy. 3a. 9 2 
 2.56. Sweethearts, dramatic contrast, 2a.. 2 2 
 232. Tail (Tale) of a Shark, musical mon- 
 ologue, 1 scene 1 
 
 31. Tamii^g a Tiger, farce, 1 act 3 
 
 150. Tell-TalB n^-H, comedietta, 1 act. , 1 2 
 
 120, Tempest in a xe<igo% comedy, 1 act 2 1 
 
 u. r, 
 
 257. Ten Nights in a Bar Eoom, drama, 
 
 Sacts 8 9 
 
 146. There's no Smoke without Fire, 
 
 comedietta, 1 act 1 3 
 
 83. Thrice Married, personation piece, 
 
 lact 6 1 
 
 2*3. Thumping Legacy (A), 1 act 1 1 
 
 251. Ticket of Leave Man, drama, 4 acts. 9 3 
 
 42. Time and the Hour, drama, 3 acts. 7 3 
 
 27. Time and Tide, drama, 4 acts 7 6 
 
 133. Timothy to the Rescue, farce, 1 act 4 2 
 153. 'Tis Better to Live than to Die, 
 
 farce,lact 2 1 
 
 134. Tompkins tho Troubadour, faice. 1. 3 2 
 
 272. Toodles (The), drama,2acts 10 2 
 
 235. To Oblige Benson, comedietta, 1 act 3 2 
 
 238. Trying It On, farce, 1 act 3 3 
 
 29. Turning the Tables, taice, 1 act. ... 6 3 
 
 214. Tarn Him Out, farce, 1 act 3 2 
 
 1G8. Tweedie's Rights, comedy, 2 acts.. 4 2 
 
 126. 1'wice Killed, farce, 1 act 6 3 
 
 234. 'Twixt Axe aud Crown, play, 6 act8.24 13 
 
 198. Twin Sisters, comie operetta. 1 act. 2 2 
 
 265. Two Bonnycastles, farce, 1 act. 3 3 
 
 22,0. Two Buzzards, (The), farce, lact.... 3 2 
 
 56. Two Gay DeeeL^ers, fiice, 1 act 3 
 
 123. Two Polts, larce, 1 act 4 4 
 
 258. Two Roses (The), comedy, 3 acta... 7 4 
 202. Two Thorns (The), comedy, 4 acts.. 9 4 
 294. Uncle Dick's Darling, drama, 3 acts 6 5 
 
 162. Uncle's Will, comedietta. 1 act 2 1 
 
 ICG. Up for the Cattle Show, farce, 1 act 6 2 
 
 81. Vandyke Bi-own, farce, 1 act 3 9 
 
 317. Veteran of 1812 (The), romantic mil- 
 itary drama, 5 acts 12 5 
 
 124. Volunteer Review, fkrce, 1 act 6 £ 
 
 91. Walpole, comedy in rhyme 7 5 
 
 118. Wanted, a Young Lady, farce, 1 act. 2 1 
 231. Wanted, One Thousand Spirited 
 Young Milliners lor the Gold Re- 
 gions, farce, 1 act '. 3 7 
 
 44. War to to the Knife, comedy, 3 acts 5 4 
 
 311. What Tears can do, comedietta, la.. 3 2 
 105. Which of the Two? comedietta, la.. 2 10 
 
 266. Who Killed Cock Robiu? farce, 2a.. 2 2 
 
 98. Who is Who ? farce 3 2 
 
 12. Widow Hunt, comedy, 3 acts i 4 
 
 213. Widow (The), comedy, 3 acts 7 6 
 
 6. William Tell with aVengeance, bur- 
 lesque S 2 
 
 114 (Window Curtain, monologue.... 1 
 
 I Circumstantial Evidence " 1 
 
 136. Woman in Red, drama, 4 acts 6 8 
 
 161. Woman's Vows and Masons' Oaths, 
 
 drama, 4 acts 10 4 
 
 11. Woodcock's Little Game, farce. 2a.. 4 _i 
 290. Wrong Man in the Bight Place (A), 
 
 farce, 1 act 2 3 
 
 61. Young Collegian, farce,.l act 3 2 
 
^ew fybli(iatii.©BS. 
 
 LOVE BY INDUCTION, and other Comediettas. By Forbes 
 
 Heebmans. Illustrated by H. Toaspekn, Jr. This volume contains five charm- 
 iug little plays, viz.: "Love by Induction, " "Between Two Thorns," "Two 
 Negatives Make an Affirmative," "In the Firelight," and "Love's Warrant "; 
 written expressly ibr use by amateurs, and with a view to their performance in 
 drawing-rooms and private theatres; none of theiu containing more than five 
 characters, or requiring any sceuei-y or stage setting other than may be readily 
 extempoi'ized iu any parlor; or costumes other than those of ordinary use. 
 While difficult character delineations, or di'amatic situations, are ai-e avoided, 
 for the reason that amateui's unquestionably best portray on the occasional stage 
 the feelings and incidents common to every-day experience, yet the plays will 
 be fouud to possess decided merit, the dialogue being crisp and sparliling and 
 the situations full of interest. Repeated representations have demonstrated :, 
 they have sufficient strength to hold the attention of an audience from tlie rise 
 of the curtain to the finish. 
 
 128 pp., paper covers ■ Price 50 cents. 
 
 Same, half-bound Price 75 cents. 
 
 SHORT COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR PLAYERS. Adapted 
 
 and arranged by Mrs. Burton Harrison. Illustrated by Kelly. The comedies 
 selected for this volume— " The Mouse Trap," "Weeping AVives," "Behind the 
 Cnrtain," "Tea at Five O'clock," and " Two Strings to Her Bow"— are easily 
 within the scope of intelligent amateui-s. They have been tested and approved 
 as suitable for this purpose by various audiences assembled at private bonses, 
 and by the larger heariiig accorded them on the occawouB of their production at 
 the Madison Square and Lyceum theatres in Kew Yorli city. Unusual care has 
 been exercised in preparing the volume to make it the most attractive as well as 
 the most valuable contribution to the literature of amatenr theatricals ever of- 
 fered. The five charming little sketches by Kelly -will be found invaluable as 
 BuggestionK for costuming and stage grouping. 
 
 120 pp., paper covers Piice 50 cents. 
 
 Same, half-bound Price 76 cents. 
 
 CHRISTMAS PLAYS FOR HOMES AND PARISHFS. Se- 
 lected and adapted by Clarence Satterlee. Five plays and entertainments 
 specially arranged for church and home amusement at Christmas-tide, any of 
 which can be successfully used at anv other season than Christmas, they being 
 so arranged that the part relative to Christmas can be omitted. The plays are 
 very bi-ight and attractive, and permit of the employment of quite a number of 
 juvenile characters, who do not have long and difficult "parts" to commit to 
 memory. The arrangements for scenery are simple and inexpensive, and the 
 stage directions are so full and explicit that the merest tyro in amateur theati'i- 
 cals will find no difficulty iu comprehending them. 
 
 84 pp., paper covers Price 25 cents. 
 
 Same, half-bound Price 60 cents. 
 
 MRS. JARLEY'S WAX PIGTTRES. Not tlie worn out "origi- 
 nal," but a fresh versinu. introducing new characters and descriptive matter, 
 and adapted for Christmas gatharings, by introducing '^ St, Nick/' with his 
 miniature sledge, at the close. 
 
 12 pp., paper covers Price 15 cents.