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/cu31924027223621 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PN 4305.M6P24 
 
 3 1924 027 223 621 
 
Lively Monologues 
 and Poems 
 
 By 
 MARY MONCURE |ARKER 
 
 Author of "Funny Monologues and Poems," "Merry 
 
 Monologues," "Jolly Monologues," and the 
 
 plays "Art Clubs Are Trumps" 
 
 "Little Miss America," etc. 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 WALTER H. BAKER COMPANY 
 1922 
 
COPVRIGHT, 1922, BY MaRY MONCURE PaRKER 
 
 As author and proprietor 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 K '^^t^oy 
 
 Lively Monologues and Poems 
 
Contents 
 
 The Flapper Flops 7 
 
 -Miss Debutante Learns to Swim . , . .12 
 
 At THE Dentist's 15 
 
 Moving 19 
 
 Tell Your Troubles to the Policeman . . 22 
 
 Maggie McCarthy Grows Poetical ... 24 
 
 The Girl He Forgot 27 
 
 The Drug Clerk 29 
 
 The Balloon Man 33 
 
 Mandy and the Vampire 34 
 
 George is Some Little Fixer .... 37 
 
 The Sea-Shell's Message 40 
 
 Buying Rugs 41 
 
 LuciNDY Jones and the City Folks. . . . 44 
 
 The Love Bug in Our Office 48 
 
 My Little Sweetheart Ana 51 
 
 Mammy Liza Tells of Mistah Adam and Miss Eve 55 
 
 A Yank's Proposal in France .... 59 
 
 To a Friend 60 
 
 Maggie McCarthy's Cousin Theresa ... 61 
 
 The Tin Pan Brigade 64 
 
 A Chinese Dinner 67 
 
 What a Ghost Thinks About 71 
 
 Just Smile 74 
 
 Mother 75 
 
 Her First Ride in an Automobile ... 76 
 
 Little Mary Plays the Piano .... 80 
 
 5 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 How She Sells Waists 
 Love and the Jungle 
 The Unwritten Story 
 Si Wanted Peace 
 A Christmas Sketch 
 
 84 
 
 87 
 92 
 96 
 98 
 
The Flapper Flops 
 
 Scene. — The home of the Flapper's friend. 
 Characters : The Flapper. 
 
 Suzanne, her friend. 
 
 (The Flapper gushes.) 
 
 It all happened this way, Suzanne. What a dar- 
 ling name you have, honey. It's so Frenchy. 
 Imagine my family calling me Ellen. Isn't that 
 atrocious? Simply despicably horrid. I just call 
 myself Elaine, like Longfellow's hero; or I mean 
 heroine; or was it Tennyson's? I never can re- 
 member all that literary stuff. My little old foun- 
 tain pen simply balks at writing Ellen, — sounds like 
 hoopskirts and the Civil War, or something hide- 
 ously ancient like that. Parents are so passe, aren't 
 they — calling one such names when one is a help- 
 less infant " muling in mother's arms," as Pope says, 
 or was it Shakespeare? Never mind, — some old 
 antique geezer wrote it. Isn't geezer a cute word? 
 Rupert always uses it, no, I mean Ernest, — no, I 
 guess it's Bob. Anyhow, I've adopted it, much to 
 Eo^Tiorror. Eepl despises slang. Isn't it too 
 bad, parents are so old? Moms is at least forty, 
 and Pops forty-two. So how can they possibly un- 
 derstand the pulsations of the heart of youth? I 
 got that out of a book. Isn't it delicious ? Give me 
 another chocolate, Suzanne — aren't these wonderful 
 candies ? 
 
8 LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 Well, parents are really useful in some ways. 
 Pcsps is rather nice about giving me spondulix for 
 glad rags and things. Spondulix is a love of a 
 word. Rupert, no, — I guess that was Ernest, who 
 always said that. I adopted it immediately. The 
 worst thing about Pops is that he wants me to talk 
 so sort of grammarish like. Imagine conversing" 
 with an up-to-date Frat man, like a college Prof, 
 or Prof eress ! He would think I was absolutely 
 batty. Heavenly cats ! If Pops heard that! You 
 know, Suzanne, boys will never look at a girl who 
 talks Greek roots and things, anyhow. It's an ago- 
 nizing fact but if a girl is going to be a " go-getter," 
 she has to dance divinely and talk like a boob, or a 
 clinging kitten. Only clinging kittens don't talk. 
 They only mew, isn't that true, honey? I mean 
 about the men? 
 
 Oh, about the story? You are simply perishing 
 to hear it? Well, give me another chocolate as a 
 bracer and I'll sail in. 
 
 It was the most tragical thing, honey. You know 
 Rupert Haynes and I had quite a case. He took me 
 to all the dances and the Prom and everything. We 
 talked it all over in the most solemnly serious way 
 and thought we ought to think about getting mar- 
 ried. Here's where parents are absolutely color- 
 less and unsympathetic, and simply impossible. 
 Moms and Pops were shocked when I very gently 
 broached the subject. They said sixteen was en- 
 tirely too infantile, and Moms thought I ought to 
 be spanked and put to bed. Can you imagine such 
 humiliation, Suzanne? I know your heart aches 
 for me, — just to think of it. They said I must never 
 see Rupert again, if I talked such nonsense. 
 
 Nonsense! Parents can never remember they 
 
THE FLAPPER FLOPS 9 
 
 were ever youthful. I wonder if they ever were 
 young in those far off days? All in vain did I tell 
 mother that Rupert was a Soph and had only two 
 years to go to college, and then he could get a posi- 
 tion in a bank or some place, and relieve her of 
 the burden of my care whicli she seemed to feel so 
 much. I said this with a coldness that should have 
 chilled Moms to the bone. But " Love laughs at 
 locksmiths," Dryden says, or was it Mark Twain? 
 That's a silly expression and I don't quite get it, but 
 it has something to do with that wonderful experi- 
 ence, love, anyhow. 
 
 Rupert and I were not locked in, physically, just 
 mentally, and we determined to outwit our hard- 
 hearted progenitors. I heard Pops use that word 
 one day, and I always adopt words that sound 
 classy. Just for a blind, Suzanne, Rupert and I 
 pretended we did not want to see each other, but 
 we swore a solemn pact. Now don't shudder, Su- 
 zanne, take a chocolate to brace you. We swore a 
 death pact. Don't scream. There, have another 
 chocolate. I wanted to die first and have Rupert 
 put me on a barge like Elaine, and float me down 
 the river, only there isn't any river, only the pond, 
 and that was frozen over. So we said we would 
 both go at once and let our hard-hearted parents 
 suffer when they viewed our cold bodies locked in 
 death. Don't shake so, Suzanne. It is a shiver- 
 ing thing to think about, though. It was hard to 
 decide on a day because it was just before the holi- 
 days, and there were so many -feat dances we 
 thought we would wait until after Christmas and 
 then, too. Pops promised me a new squirrel coat 
 and I wanted to see how I looked in it. If one is to 
 lie stark and stiff before one's cruel parents, one 
 
lO LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 wants to look well gowned and everything. Theii, 
 too, I became slightly angry at Rupert because he 
 said I thought more of clothes than of him. That 
 was the first weakening. It was at the Phi Psi dance 
 I met Ernest. Suzanne, he was the best looking 
 thing, tall and blond. I thought I adored short dark 
 men with shiny black hair, like Rupert's ; but Ernest 
 had the most marvellous eyes, blue, and they looked 
 at you in the most thrilling way. I danced six 
 dances with him. H€4ia4-aS-the-hrtest-vmHkl#s-in 
 st€pSr-««id he was simply entrancingly clever when 
 he talked, and he had a superior sort of air, com- 
 manding kind of, like a king; only people are more 
 than kings nowadays, but like a king used to have. 
 
 Rupert wouldn't^ speak to me on the way home 
 but drove his machine with his eyes straight ahead. 
 Finally we quarrelled and I told him I did not want 
 to die with him anyhow. He said he supposed I 
 had arranged to die with Ernest, because he was a 
 Junior. I said with biting sarcasm that Ernest 
 would not want me to die. He wanted me to live, 
 and he would be out of college sooner, and we could 
 get married quicker. This made Rupert wince, 
 shudderingly, which was just what I wanted. 
 Suzanne, he became so awfully bitter and cruel in 
 his remarks. I turned and said, " Oh, you are a 
 man and a brute, and I am a weak woman. Why 
 don't you strike me ? " I said it in the most tragic 
 way, just like they do in the movies. We parted, 
 Suzanne. Give me another chocolate, please. I 
 can't help the tears in my voice. I went up-stairs 
 and cried all night. Life is a fearful thing, isn't it? 
 
 I just determined on something desperate. Don't 
 be shocked, Suzanne. I said I would flirt with a 
 married man, and disgrace myself and my family 
 
THE FLAPPER FLOPS II 
 
 forever, to repay them all for their sordidness. So 
 I smiled at old Mr. Wilkins next door when I passed 
 him on the way to school, and what do you think, 
 Suzanne ? He stopped, and my heart fluttered with 
 fear. Then he patted me on the head and said : 
 
 " Well, if little Ellen hasn't grown to be quite a 
 girl," and I was furious. 
 
 Oh, about Ernest ? Why, he went back to college. 
 He was engaged anyhow, and then I really don't 
 care for blond men. Rupert? He isn't my 
 sweetie any more. Oh, that's off, too. Why, you 
 see, I really have a crush on Bobby Masters now. 
 He dances adorably, and he is raising the darlingest 
 mustache, and he's a senior. Really those young 
 kids bore one to tears, don't they ? I look back over 
 that last year of my life and think how boobyish it 
 would have been to die with a mere child, when one 
 is at the very portals of life. 
 
 Bob has such large ideas, and he's an athlete, and 
 he has the most wonderful gray eyes. Life is such 
 a sort of marvellous thing, isn't it, Suzanne ? 
 
 Do pass the chocolates, honey, I am dying for 
 another one. Those pumps of yours are perfectly 
 lamby things, Suzanne. I think I'll strike Pops for 
 some just like them, to-morrow. I'm really quite 
 fond of Pops when he isn't preachy. 
 
 After all parents are quite an institution if one 
 looks at it in the right way, honey. 
 
 Oh Suzanne, this chocolate has a cherry in it. 
 Mm ! Mm ! 
 
Miss Debutante Learns to Swim 
 
 Scene. — The Bathing Beach at a fashionable 
 summer resort on a morning early in the week. 
 Characters : Miss Debutante. 
 Her Mother. 
 A Young Man. 
 
 Oh mother, I don't know why we came to this 
 place. Not a man in sight until the week end, and 
 the girls act in a perfectly disgraceful manner, 
 grabbing the one or two young men that do come. 
 What was the use of all my stunning clothes, and 
 that lovely bathing suit of mine that I wouldn't get 
 wet for the world, and that I only wear on Sunday, 
 when there are only women and a lot of old men to 
 see one? The only thing I have accomplished this 
 summer is to have my swim every week-day morn- 
 ing, and I'm getting to be quite an expert. This 
 old bathing suit looks disgraceful, but I should 
 worry. Who sees it? Let us go home to-morrow. 
 I am sick of this place. Well, I have been in the 
 water an hour and I must dress. 
 
 Mother! Quick! Do you see what I see? A 
 man! Young! Good looking! And on Tuesday 
 morning ! He is going in for a swim. Look ! He 
 has stopped to help old Mrs. Lawson up into her 
 chair. I will run over and see how she feels — 
 What, mother? I hardly speak to her generally? 
 Well, I know — but — Mercy, look at the two Wilson 
 girls. They are almost killing themselves to be 
 12 
 
MISS DEBUTANTE LEARNS TO SWIM 13 
 
 attentive to Mrs. Lawson, and they have on those 
 fancy bathing suits just for show. This one of 
 mine looks shabby, but I will rush over or he might 
 go into the water before I get there and I will miss 
 my chance. Maybe he is only going to stay to-day. 
 
 Good-morning, Mrs. Lawson. How are you to- 
 day ? Isn't this a lovely morning ? No, I have not 
 met Mr. Thompson. Are you here for a prolonged 
 stay, Mr. Thompson? Two weeks? Oh, Glo — I 
 mean how pleasant. We will be here about two 
 weeks longer, I think. Am I going for a dip? 
 Why — I thought I would — Do pardon me, girls. 
 Good-morning. I did not notice you at first. Please 
 excuse me, Mrs. Lawson. Here is your attendant, 
 and I am going for a dip. 
 
 By by, girls ! Of course you cannot go into the 
 water with those beautiful suits. Aren't they 
 simply swell ? By by ! 
 
 Oo-ooh! The water is cold, isn't it? Swim? 
 Oh, a very little. You will teach me ? How ador- 
 able ! Oh, I'm afraid I will drown ! You don't 
 mind my clinging to you, do you? You are so 
 wonderfully strong. It must be splendid to have 
 such muscle. Now the last man that taught me — I 
 mean — we so seldom have such athletes here. Put 
 my arms out so? One— two — three, oh dear! I 
 never will be able to learn. What ? You'll give me 
 a lesson every day while you are here? How per- 
 fectly wonderful ! It must be positively thrilling to 
 know how to swim. A stroke Hke that? Dear! 
 Dear ! don't be peeved, please, at my stupidity. I am 
 improving? Thanks awfully. I am afraid you are 
 a flatterer. What? At least I am not afraid of 
 getting wet? No indeed. Those Wilson girls had 
 on pretty suits, though, didn't they? You think 
 
14 LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 suits like that are silly — just made for show? 
 Well — maybe they are. I think so too. 
 
 I must really go in and dress for luncheon. If 
 you haven't a place we have a cosy table right by a 
 window, Mother and I. Then I'll see you at 
 luncheon. Good-bye. 
 
 Mother, darling, he's the most scrumptious thing ! 
 We are not going home for two weeks. Don't you 
 dare to tell him I know how to swim. He's the best 
 one I have had to teach me yet, and don't say a word 
 about that fancy bathing suit I wear sometimes, 
 just for the beach. He thinks such things are 
 absurd. 
 
 I am going to put on my pink organdie. He is 
 coming to our table. Remember, not a word about 
 my being an expert swimmer. 
 
 After all, this is a lovely place to spend the 
 summer, isn't it, mother darling? 
 
At the Dentist's 
 
 Scene, — Outside of the door and inside the denial 
 
 office. 
 Characters: Mr. Man. 
 
 Clara, his wife. 
 
 The Dentist. 
 
 (Mr. Man pleads.) 
 
 Now listen, Clara, I tell you my tooth don't ache 
 at present, not a bit. What's that ? You were up 
 all night with me? I am sorry, but the tooth's all 
 right now. Yes, I know you came down to the 
 office with me so I would have the courage to come 
 to the dentist's. You've told me that about ten 
 times. It isn't that I am a coward, but what's the 
 use of bothering a poor little helpless tooth that has 
 let up on you. What? I have been right to the 
 dentist's door three times before, over this tooth, 
 and then gone away ? Yes, I know that too, but the 
 same thing happened. The tooth stopped aching. 
 
 There is something about a dentist's door that 
 
 knocks the pain right out of the Da , I mean 
 
 blame thing. You're a little woman, Clara, but your 
 heart is as hard as steel. Do you want me to be 
 murdered, or electrocuted or something ? Anybody ■ 
 would think you were anxious to be a widow. May 
 be if I go in, I'll murder the dentist and bring dis- 
 grace upon the family. I have had it in mind a 
 long time. Yes, I know he is a pleasant man outside 
 
 15 
 
1 6 LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 of the office, and belongs to our club, but a man who 
 would deliberately choose to be a dentist ought to 
 be tarred and feathered; or better still, he ought to 
 be chained to one of his own drills, in action, for the 
 rest of his life. 
 
 What? Time is flying? What's your hurry? 
 Say, I've waited around for you for hours. I've 
 lost six months out of my life waiting for you on 
 corners and in stores. Don't open that door yet. 
 By the way, Clara, you know that beaded purse you 
 want and that string of indestructible pearls ! Well, 
 they're yours. Now let's go home. What's that 
 you say? You can't stand here all day? Neither 
 can I. I must get back to the office. I have an 
 important deal on. You won't stir a step? Now, 
 Clara, Usten to reason. Say, how about dinner, and 
 the show with me to-night ? And, dearest, you know 
 that swell little sedan you want. It belongs to you 
 if you'll say the word, and that word's home! 
 Wait, don't open that door. She's started in and is 
 beckoning to me. Oh, how do you do. Doc! I 
 just ran over to say "Hello." Tooth? Why, it 
 don't bother me now. I have an important business 
 engagement and must run right along. 
 
 Let go of my sleeve, Clara. This looks like a 
 frame-up to me. You are the most persistent 
 woman. You see, Doc, my tooth ached a little last 
 night but it doesn't hurt at all now. What ? You'll 
 just look at it ? Well, don't go hunting around with 
 one of those derricks and stir it up. You know 
 Shakespeare or somebody said " Let the sleeping 
 tooth lie," or words to that effect. 
 
 I don't like these dental chairs. {Sits dozmi.) 
 
 Say, if they had any worse looking instruments in 
 
 .Old Nero's time than are in that case over there. 
 
AT THE DENTIST'S 1 7 
 
 the early Christian Martyrs have my sympathy. 
 What, Clara? I am mixing my dates and my 
 similes? Nero didn't have dental instruments? 
 No, I think the old bird was too tender hearted. 
 Anyhow I am not worrying a-tall about any time 
 but the present. I have other things to think about. 
 Doc, I don't like this bib. Looks like the beginning 
 of a major operation. You'll just look at the tooth? 
 It's that nice little one over in the corner. You 
 wouldn't harm a quiet, innocent little tooth that 
 never hurt you, would you. Doc? I believe you 
 have the evil eye. That blame thing is beginning to 
 stir. It knows a dentist ; works in cahoots with you. 
 You can make it crawl or jump through a hoop, or 
 any old thing, just by touching it. 
 
 What, Clara? I am a brave man? Don't be 
 sarcastic. I would face a bunch of burglars, or an 
 army of the enemy — but one dentist and that in- 
 fernal jabber and driller — Ye Gods ! Put cotton in 
 my mouth. Doc ? Wait. Couldn't you just give me 
 a little medicine and let me put it in myself at home ? 
 I might lose the tooth ? Well, that wouldn't hurt my 
 feelings. It isn't such a pet that I'd want to keep 
 it forever. 
 
 Yes, yes, all right. Go ahead. Have it your 
 way and Clara's. Do your worst, Doc. Do any- 
 thing when you have a man down. On with the 
 drill! Let dental joy be unconfined! (Mr. Man 
 tries to talk -with the cotton in his mouth.} Glub! 
 Glub ! Gurgle ! 
 
 (Fifteen minutes later Mr. Man rises and feels 
 his jaw as he gets out of the chair.) 
 
 What, Doc? Feel better? Ye-es. I suppose I 
 
1 8 LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 will when I get the hinges to working again. Say, 
 Doc, if you'll put on the gloves with me at the club 
 to-morrow night — well — Heaven help your teeth if 
 I get a whack at them ! 
 
Moving 
 
 Scene. — The new apartment just after the family 
 
 arrive bag and baggage. 
 Characters : The Family. 
 
 (Mother holds forth.) 
 
 Thank heaven ! That's the last load, and the men 
 have gone. Oh gracious, John. They didn't put 
 that heavy dresser in the bedroom and now we'll 
 have to move it. There's the kitchen table in the 
 parlor. Who attended to this moving? I did? 
 Well, John, if you say another word, I'll shriek. 
 Didn't I have the children to look after? Billy, let 
 that victrola alone. No, I won't play " Home 
 Sweet Home." Come away and don't finger those 
 records. This looks like a junk shop. You are 
 hungry, John? Well, so am I. Now, don't slip 
 out to the corner. If you want any dinner or sup- 
 per, or such as it is, you'll have to take care of the 
 children. Dorothy, put down that vase. You'll 
 break it. What did you say ? You wanted to help? 
 You can help by sitting right still. Go out? No, 
 you look too dirty and I don't want the neighbors 
 to see you until you are cleaned up. 
 
 Where are the matches? Such packing! Here 
 they are at the bottom of the kitchen things, and the 
 eggs are all broken and running everywhere. Eggs 
 cost so much too. I asked you to carry them, John. 
 What's that ? You ought to be an octopus to carry 
 
 19 
 
ao LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 all the things I wanted you to hold? Don't try to 
 be funny. Well, never mind. We'll scramble the 
 eggs ; they are most of them in a kitchen kettle. 
 
 We'll eat crackers to-night. Oh, mercy, John ! I 
 just thought of that water color picture. Do see if 
 the glass is broken. Where is it? Heavens! I 
 suppose it's lost. Those other people moved in right 
 on top of us. It's a wonder that we got away with 
 anything that belongs to us. Billy, put that dog 
 out. What's that, John? The neighbors might see 
 him before he is washed? I asked you not to try 
 to be funny. I wish the dog would get lost. Billy, 
 stop your crying. He isn't lost, is he? He's noth- 
 ing but a cur. We couldn't lose him. That Boston 
 Terrier we had was stolen, not this creature. We 
 ought to give him away but we can't. Billy! stop 
 that screaming at once. No, I did not say we were 
 going to give him away. No such luck. 
 
 Mary, cut this bread for mother, that's a good 
 girl. I found a loaf. Where's the bread knife? 
 It should be in the kitchen table drawer, but I sup- 
 pose we'll find it in the piano bench. Here it is. 
 John, do put those beds up so we'll have a place to 
 sleep to-night. There! Be careful of your lan- 
 guage. Where's the hammer ? I don't know. You 
 might look in the tool box for a change. It might 
 be there. Be careful, John, of what you say. Re- 
 member the children are here. Peggy, let those 
 books alone. You'll have them all finger marks. 
 
 Come on, John, and get a bite to eat. Sit on the 
 trunk, Billy and Mary. It won't hurt you for once. 
 John ! Of course I asked you to put up the beds, 
 but let's eat now and you can do that afterward. 
 Maybe you'll be better-natured then. Sit in that 
 big armchair. It's all right for once. Oh, I'm dead 
 
MOVING a I 
 
 tired — simply dead! But say, John, when we get 
 this place all fixed up, it will be really quite homey, 
 won't it, dear? Well, we are all here together, any- 
 how. I guess it isn't so much the place nor the 
 things around you, it's you and the children that 
 make home, after all, isn't it, John ? 
 
Tell Your Troubles to the 
 Policeman 
 
 " Tell your troubles to the P'liceman," 
 My pa will always say 
 When we tell him 'bout the fusses, 
 That we have every day 
 
 With the chil'ren on our street ; 
 So I made up my mind, 
 To tell about the boy next door 
 To the nex' p'liceman I could find. 
 
 A nice big fat one came along, 
 " Please, Mister P'liceman, dear," 
 I said, but I was kinder 'fraid 
 When he came up so near. 
 
 " Well, sissy, what's the matter now ? 
 Want me to 'rest a boy ? 
 He pulls your hair an' teases you 
 An' breaks up every toy ? 
 
 " Well, take my hand," he said so kind, 
 "We'll settle things all right." 
 " There he goes," I hollered out. 
 But the boy ran out of sight. 
 
 22 
 
TELL YOUR TROUBLES TO THE POLICEMAN 23 
 
 " He's peekin' there," the p'liceman said, 
 
 Then called in a awful tone, 
 " Just tell that boy that I'm your friend 
 
 An' he must let you 'lone." 
 
 He kinda smiled, but scared the boy 
 'Cause he isn't half so rude, 
 P'licemens never bother folks, 
 I guess, if they'll be good. 
 
Maggie McCarthy Grows Poetical 
 
 Scene. — Maggie's kitchen on a Christmas Eve. 
 Characters : Maggie, who tells of the Mistletoe 
 
 Fairy. 
 Joe, the policeman, who is a willing 
 
 listener. 
 
 (Maggie talks.) 
 
 Come in, come in, Joe, an' warm up a bit before 
 ye go along on your bate. It's snowin' an' blowin' 
 just like the regular Christmas weather, ain't it now ? 
 What, Joe ? You've brought me a lovely brush an' 
 comb set ! Ain't that the grand thing ? An' a box 
 of candy too ! We'll open that to onct. Sit down. 
 The folks is gone to a Christmas party at the Cloob. 
 No wan will disturb us. Sure, light yous pipe an' 
 we'll be that cozy. Me gas stove ain't much like an 
 open fireplace in me cabin home over in the ould 
 country, though. 
 
 'Tis sivin years since I wint back to see the ould 
 place an' me grandmither was livin' thin, what's 
 dead now, God rist her sowl. Well, Joe, they had 
 the great ould fireplace and a kittle hanging from a 
 crane and it was sure the fireplace made me grand- 
 mither think of the story she told me. She was a 
 great wan fer stories, was she. 
 
 " Maggie," says she, " this fire we're gazin' into 
 makes me think of me girlhood days. 'Twas just 
 24 
 
MAGGIE MCCARTHY GROWS POETICAL 25 
 
 such a Christmas that Terence O'Grady came to see 
 your great-aunt Mona, a pretty girl was she, the 
 pride of the country round, an' swatehearts she had 
 by the score. Wan Christmas Eve she sat in front 
 of the fire whin the rist of us wint to the midnight 
 sarvice, at the church. She hurted her foot she 
 claimed, but I'm thinkin' it was that she was hopin' 
 Terence O'Grady would come whin the rist of us 
 was gone." 
 
 The Christmas greens was all over the place an' 
 some mistletoe was hangin' on the chimney piece. 
 " Have ye heard of the mistletoe fairy, me child," 
 says me grandmither. " Well, the fairy comes out an' 
 dances at Christmas toime,if there is no wan to see." 
 So Mona was there on the settle and she leans back 
 pritindin' to be aslape an' peekin' out from her half 
 closed eyes. Sure enuf, out comes the fairy from 
 the Christmas greens an' she danced all about the 
 place. 
 
 " Slape ! Slape ! lovely maid," says the fairy 
 wavin' her wand, " an' your true love will come an' 
 waken you with a kiss." 
 
 Some wan knocked at the dure an' the fairy dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 Knock! Knock! came again but Mona never 
 moved and kept her eyes shut. Prisintly Terence 
 O'Grady comes crapin' in an' set down on the edge 
 of a chair. For quite a while he waited an' Mona 
 didn't wake up. She was only pritindin'. Tho' her 
 lashes was long an' lovely, Terry wanted to look at 
 her eyes, which was as blue as the sky, so he 
 coughed an' shuffled his fate. Finally Mona opened 
 her eyes, kind of poutin' like. 
 
 " I'm sorry I woke you, but 'twas sort of lone- 
 some," says Terry. 
 
26 LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 " Indade an' I haven't been lonesome," says she. 
 " I've had coompany." 
 
 " Who was the blayguard ? " says he, gittin' jillous 
 in a minute. 
 
 " I don't associate wid blayguards," says Mona 
 stamping her foot. 
 
 " Forgive me, Mona," says he, " but who was the 
 spalpeen ? " 
 
 " 'Twas the mistletoe fairy," says she. " She 
 waved her wand whin I was slapin' and said me true 
 love would wake we wid a kiss an' you come 
 stompin' in wid your clumsy fate. No wonder you 
 scared the fairy away." 
 
 " Oh, the blunderin' craytur I am," wails Terry. 
 " Don't you feel slapy agin, Mona ? " says he. 
 
 "A little," says she. Thin she closed her eyes, an' 
 Terry cript over to the binch an' kissed her awake. 
 And thot's the story me grandmither told me of 
 me great-aunt Mona and the mistletoe fairy. 
 
 What, Joe? Do I believe thot? It would be 
 grond to be kissed awake maybe by your true love 
 on the blissed Christmas Eve. What, Joe? Am I 
 slapy? Well, no — but — there's a bit of mistletoe 
 hangin' under the light above me. 
 
 Go along wid you, Joe. What? Well just 
 onct — well twict, — three times? Yes, three times 
 you may kiss me — it bein' the blissed Christmas 
 Eve. 
 
The Girl He Forgot 
 
 Scene. — Tony's new fruit store. 
 Characters: Tony. 
 
 A Regular Customer. 
 
 Rosa. 
 
 Beppo. 
 
 (Tony tells the story to his regular customer \ 
 
 You like-a my leetle new-a fruit store? It ees 
 nice. That is my Rosa an' my leetle Beppo. We 
 are verree hap'. Yes, hap' now, but once — well, it 
 ees like-a dees. I leave-a Italee an' come Amereek, 
 on big ship. I tell my sweetheart Rosa I sen' for 
 her when I make-a da mon — much mon — they say 
 in Italee every-a-bod' have much-a-da-mon in 
 Amereek. Well I find not so much-a everything 
 free here as we tink in Italee, so I have hard time — 
 then I get verree poor an' I sing in da street. 
 
 One nights a man come say to me — ^you have one 
 big grand-a fine voice. You come-a with me. You 
 make-a da great big mon like-a Carus'. Then I sing 
 an' sing an' I make-a much-a da mon, but I not send 
 for Rosa. I live in big hotel an' da ladees senda me 
 notes an' da lovely bokay flower. I forget leetle 
 Rosa in Italee. Then one nights I walk out of the- 
 ata to take-a my automobeel an' there stood my 
 Rosa, my leetle Rosa with shawl on her head. 
 
 " My Tony," she say, an' hold out da arms, but I 
 pass her by with-a my grand ladee with me an' we 
 
 27 
 
28 LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 drive away. The grand ladee think Rosa some- 
 bodee crazee 'bout my voice — somebodee what jus' 
 has what you call mash on me. 
 
 I no feel good in my heart when I was 'shamed 
 of my leetle Rosa. She not come again an' then 
 one day I taken seek, verree seek; when I was in 
 hospit' the doctor say I sing no more. My gran' 
 voice like-a Carus', it was gone. When I get better 
 I sit in park an' I weep for my Rosa. What you 
 tink, one day she come along and see me — she was 
 ladee's maid. " You seek, Tony," she say. " You 
 look verree, verree white." Rosa, my little Rosa, 
 that I forgot sat down beside me. 
 
 " You have-a da grand-a voice," she say. " In da 
 galleree night after night, I hear you sing." 
 
 " I sing no more," I say, " my voice eez gone." 
 
 " I am sorree," she say, " but maybe now you 
 will-a love me once more," an' she squeeze my hand 
 much-a hard. 
 
 Where were the grand-a ladees ? Gone — only my 
 Rosa left-a now. 
 
 Yes, then we get marry, me an' my Rosa. We 
 keep-a dees store, an' we have leetle Beppo, an' we 
 are verree hap'. I am glad I can no more sing-a 
 like-a Carus'. 
 
The Drug Clerk 
 
 Scene. — The Corner Drug Store in a small town. 
 Characters: The Drug Clerk. 
 His Friend. 
 
 (The Clerk elucidates, between customers, to 
 his friend.) 
 
 Hello, Norm! Believe me this is my busy day. 
 The boss has gone on a vacation and the soda clerk 
 was taken sick about an hour ago. I'm chief cook 
 and bottle washer. How's every little thing ? Here 
 comes a swell dame. Bet she buys a postage stamp. 
 What did I tell you? She blew herself, and took 
 two. Wait a minute. Veils, Miss? No, we don't 
 keep them. There's a dry-goods store in the next 
 block. Yes, I know we keep hair nets — funny? 
 Well, maybe it is, but we don't keep veils. Perhaps 
 we keep hair nets because we have hair tonics and 
 shampoos and things Uke that. What? Then we 
 ought to have face veils because we keep cold 
 creams? Maybe — ^but we don't. Sorry, Miss. 
 Good-day. 
 
 Whew ! Norm, it's the limit the way they'll stand 
 and argue. There's a kid for an ice-cream cone. 
 Six cents. You haven't six cents, only five ? Noth- 
 ing doing, kid, blow! Fade away — What, Norm? 
 You'll treat the kid? That's his regular stunt. 
 Remember, kid, just this time. The next time, — 
 
 29 
 
30 LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 v/ell, there won't be any next time — ^you bring the 
 penny. 
 
 Cigar, sir? Yes, they have gone up. So has 
 everything. 
 
 There's the lighter. Out of order? No, you 
 press this way, see? Say, Norm, there's old Wise- 
 acre. He's a good customer, and you have to treat 
 him all right, but suffering cats ! — the old chestnuts 
 he springs. Howdy, Mr. Wiseacre ! When did you 
 get back? Lots of fish, eh? Oh, you have a new 
 fish story? My friend Norm here is a fisherman. 
 Tell him — What? Lost one three feet long? Hard 
 luck, I'll say. You went out at daybreak? Yes, 
 yes, I see. Excuse me a minute, there's a cus- 
 tomer. Anything, ma'am? Oh, you don't want 
 any one to hear? Something to make you thin? 
 That would be quite a job — I mean we have several 
 preparations but we can't recommend any one in 
 particular. Fakem's Sylph pills? Yes, we have 
 them, $2.00 a box. Sorry, but that's the price. No, 
 we can't let them go for $1.98. One box? All 
 right, good-day, ma'am. I hope you'll be success- 
 ful. Oh, er — no offence — I mean if you want to 
 reduce, I hope you will. You look all right to me. 
 Call again. Reduce! Say, she could take off a 
 hundred and never miss it. 
 
 Yes, Mr. Wiseacre, I'm coming. About that fish 
 now, you nearly upset the boat? Great Scott! 
 Pardon me (Aside to Norman, his friend.) here's 
 a peach coming in for soda. What? You can 
 draw a glass, Norm? Not on your life. I want 
 some joy out of the day. 
 
 Pretty warm. Miss, isn't it? Yes, we have all 
 kinds of flavors. What would I suggest ? Peach — 
 fresh peach. Why? well — er, just because. You 
 
THE DRUG CLERK 31 
 
 want cherry — all right, cherry it is. Isn't this a 
 larger dish than usual? Larger than you usually 
 get here? Is that so? That's strange. Maybe I 
 am more athletic than the other fellow and can dig 
 up more ice-cream. Hope you'll like it. It's fine ? 
 Thanks. Pardon me a minute. Yes, Mr. Jones, 
 your tonic is all ready. Is it all right? Sure! 
 Sure ! The boss put it up before he went away. I 
 could do it all right, but he knows you insist on his 
 doing it. You don't want to take the wrong medi- 
 cine? I should say not. Is it really all right? 
 Here, I'll show you and take a teaspoonful myself. 
 There, I didn't die, did I? What? Will I allow 
 you for that teaspoonful? Yes — two cents? All 
 right. Good-day. 
 
 Whew! Ye Gods! Norm, I wish you had my 
 job. Say, I let the peach go without charging for 
 the soda. I should worry. Yes, Mr. Wiseacre, 
 too bad. I'm so busy. Oh, you told my friend, 
 Norm ? Sorry I missed it. 
 
 What's that, madam? Why don't the street-cars 
 run ? I thought they were running. There ! You 
 just missed one. Other side of the street, they 
 stop. Why not this one ? I don't know, you'll have 
 to ask the company. You want a glass of water 
 while you wait? Certainly. Have I the morning 
 paper? Yes, ma'am, here it is. 
 
 How do you do, ma'am? What's that? Do I 
 carry Fixem's face renewer? No. Best in the 
 market? You use it? I thought so — I mean — no, 
 no — no offence. Want me to carry it? The boss 
 isn't here. Leave sample? Well, I don't think it 
 will do any good. Oh, I'm not knocking your 
 cream. I mean the boss probably won't try a new 
 line. 
 
32 LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 Good-day, sir. Something to make your hair 
 grow? Here's a whole row of sure things. This is 
 popular — " Death to the bald head." Well, it is 
 rather a ferocious name, but somehow it sells. One 
 bottle — yes, — good-day. 
 
 Oh, Norm, must you go? Wiseacre has gone 
 now, you're afraid some other old bore might drop 
 in? Well, so long, old man. Any time you want 
 my job, give me the tip. This is the life. Talk 
 about exercise. This would keep a baseball champ 
 in training. 
 
The Balloon Man 
 
 The balloon man came with gay balloons, 
 Of green and red and blue, 
 And blew his horn, then we chil'ren teased, 
 " Oh Mother, just one or two ! " 
 
 We shrieked with joy as we saw them float. 
 Away up in the air. 
 All of a sudden one bursted loud ! 
 Then — it wasn't anywhere. 
 
 " Oh Mother — where did the red one go ? " 
 
 She smiled an' shocked her head ; 
 
 But Grandmamma said with a queer little sigh, 
 " It went like the dreams of youth gone by ; 
 
 Here with its hope and its glowing red 
 
 For a moment — then gone forever," she said, 
 
 I didn't understand her at all 
 
 But I guess it's just 'cause I am so small. 
 
 33 
 
Mandy and the Vampire 
 
 Scene. — Mandy's kitchen. 
 Characters: Mandy. 
 
 Her Friend, Liza Johnsing. 
 
 (Mandy talks of Vampires.) 
 
 Tell you what, Liza Johnsing, dey is all sorts of 
 ways of skinning a cat. What am I cogitatin' 'bout? 
 Well, 'bout ole Mose an' the vampire. When you 
 goes to the movies you gits 'quainted wid de pus- 
 sonal appearance and ways of vampireses. You 
 know Mose was alius a harmless critter. Cose he 
 wa'n't nevah over- fond of wuk, but he was a kind 
 of a house fixture lak a stove or a cheer, an' I got 
 so use to havin' him roun' that it wouldn't seem 
 natural 'thout his ugly black mug in the comah. 
 
 You know Mose set roun' so much, he was lak a 
 ole settin' hen, but all to onct he commence to go 
 out nights an' look lak he was tryin' to spruce up. 
 
 " What you wearin' yo' Sunday suit to-night 
 fur ? " I say, one evenin'. " Whar you gwine ? " 
 
 " Oh, jes' to a meetin'," he say. 
 
 " What kin' of a meetin' ? " I axes. 
 
 " Church meetin' — de preachah axes me." 
 
 I thought 'twas kin' of queer, Liza, but I'd been 
 washing all day and I was tired an' so I didn't say 
 no mo'! I didn't git really 'spicious, tho' he kep' 
 axin' me for quarterses an' half dollarses fer this 
 an' fer that. I say, I didn't git really 'spicious 
 
 34 
 
MANDY AND THE VAMPIRE 35 
 
 twell I seen his haid one night, an' Lawd save us, 
 ef he hadn't had all de kinks taken out his wool. 
 
 " You ole fool," I says, " what's the mattah wid 
 you?" 
 
 " Nothin', Mandy, nothin', I alius hated dem 
 kinks." 
 
 Well, I kept mah brain a wukin' an' one night 
 when he went out mekin' some " flim-flam " excuse, 
 I follered him. You b'lieve me, Liza Johnsing, ef 
 that black rascal didn't meet that fool critter Lilly 
 Bell Mason at de cornah — she wo' a red georgette 
 waist and a black an' white stripe skirt an' white 
 shoes an' stockings. She was switchin' her dress 
 an' lookin' up into dat ole Monkey Mose's eyes an' 
 he war lookin' at her like a dyin' calf. 
 
 Fust, I was gwine to grab her by de wool an' 
 tear off her clothes an' then I thought I'd jes' wait. 
 
 They went into a ice-cream pariah an' he was 
 feedin' her face wid ice-cream, wid my money, an' 
 actin' like she was doin' him a favor to eat. I let 
 things go on fur a while, Liza, twell I make up my 
 mind. 
 
 One night, I went ovah to Lilly Bell Mason's 
 house. She looked kind of skeered when she see 
 me but she 'vited me in. 
 
 " I come see you 'bout Mose, Lilly Bell Mason," 
 I say. 
 
 " What 'bout Mose?" she say, kind of peart. 
 
 " You is been runnin' round to movies an' ice- 
 cream pahlahs wid him an' vampin' him, ain't you ? " 
 
 " No, I ain't no vamp," she say, tossin' her haid. 
 " I can't he'p it if I'se 'tractive to de men." 
 
 " He'p it, I don't want you to he'p it. I come 
 roun' heah to mek a bargain with you — ^you's a 
 widder, ain't you ? " " Yes, I is," she say. 
 
36 LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 " Well, I'm gwine to give you Mose," " What," 
 she cry. 
 
 " Sho ! " I answer. " I'm glad to get red of him — 
 he de most shiftless, onery, good fer nothin' piece of 
 trash in the shape of a man I ever see. I'm 
 mighty glad to have you take him offen mah hands." 
 
 " I ain't gwine tek him offen yo' hands," she say, 
 stampin' her foot. 
 
 " Oh yes, you is," I answers. " Think I'm gwine 
 to furnish money for yo' movies an' sodas. Fur- 
 nish it yo'se'f. You has a good job as a wa'tress 
 in a res'trant an' Mose kin set at yo' fireside. I'm 
 tired lookin' at de ole fool anyway." 
 
 " Yo' ain't gwine to push yo' leavin's off on me," 
 she say. 
 
 " Yes, I is. I'se bigger'n yo' is an' youse gwine to 
 sign dis heah papah to marry Mose when I deevoses 
 him." 
 
 Well, Liza, she went down on her knees an' beg 
 an' cry an' say she nevah look at Mose agin an' 
 finally I went away after skeerin' dat vampire most 
 to deaf. 
 
 I did Mose de same way, an' when he see he was 
 gwine to lose his home he wo' his ole knees out 
 beggin' to stay. 
 
 Has I a fireside companion now, Liza? 
 
 Say, dat ole Mose wouldn't move a inch away 
 from de cornah 'thout axin' me. He know whar his 
 meal tickets comes from an' he ain't flyin' round wid 
 no more vamps. Lawd save us, Liza, I has to bust 
 laffin' when I think of it. 
 
George Is Some Little Fixer 
 
 Scene. — George's back yard. 
 Characters: George. 
 
 His Friend. 
 
 (George tells how he arranged matters.) 
 
 My sister gradu-witted the other night. Pa says 
 he hopes she'll know more'n Bill Burns' big brother 
 who just got out of coUidge, 'cause if she didn't, Pa 
 said, she wouldn't have no brains at all. Pa says if 
 that Burns boy knew as much as he thinks he does, 
 he'd be top heavy an' have to walk on his head. I 
 guess Pa ain't got no use for Bill's brother, but my 
 sister has. She says Pa's old fashioned an' don't 
 know style when he sees it, an' that tight-waisted 
 coats with belts an' green hats is very " kertische " 
 she calls it. Pa laffed hisself sick at the green hat, 
 an' said it was jest the right culler. Sis was mad 
 but she didn't show it much, 'cause she wanted a 
 wrist watch fur a gradu-wittin' present, an' so 
 choked down her madness like they do in the movies, 
 but I bet she near choked to death doin' it. All the 
 same she got the watch an' a new white dress what 
 Pa said he couldn't afford, with everything costin' 
 what it does, but Ma said she wouldn't have her 
 daughter lookin' like a rag bag an' Sis was the 
 swellest one that finished. Pa said it was his finish 
 too. 
 
 Well, me an' Bob Miller was to carry in the 
 
 37 
 
38 LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 flowers to the girls what was gettin' finished an' we 
 saw that some of 'em was going to get lots of 
 flowers, an' some none a-tall, so Bob Miller says to 
 me, " That ain't fair, is it? " An' I says, " Naw — 
 not on your life it ain't." 
 
 "What'll we do?" says Bob. "I gotta plan," 
 says I. " Let's count all the girls an' divide up the 
 bookays, an' give each girl one." 
 
 So while they was all listenin' to the essays, we 
 fixed up the flowers, an' before folks got on to it, 
 the bookays was all gave out. We didn't want to 
 hear them essays anyhow. I heard Sis readin' hers 
 at home, about the great wide, wide world, and the 
 real meanin' of life; an' it made me sick. 
 
 I noticed one old man was asleep in the front row 
 and I bet he was the happiest man there. . 
 
 Well, about the flowers. There was a poor girl 
 what hadn't none, an' she had on a wash dress that 
 wasn't very new an' I wisht you could a saw her 
 face when she got the flowers an' thought some- 
 body had remembered her. 
 
 Sis was huffy when she got Bill Burns' brother's 
 bookay. You see we divided it with one Herb 
 Robbins sent her, a little one 'cause Herb's workin' 
 his way through the medical collidge an' ain't got 
 much money. He's got a crush on Sis too, an' he's 
 good lookin' an' he gives me a ice-cream cone 
 sometimes when I go into the drug store where 
 he works nights. 
 
 Pa likes him too, 'cause he says he don't lean on 
 his Pa like Bill Burns' brother does, an' that Bill 
 Burns' brother won't amount to much. But Ma 
 thinks Bill Burns' brother is more classy than Herb, 
 'cause his Pa's a banker. 
 
 Anyhow Sis give Bill's brother the stony stare 
 
GEORGE IS SOME LITTLE FIXER 39 
 
 after gradu-wittin', but course he didn't know 'twas 
 about the little bookay an' Sis was too proud to 
 explain, an' let Herb Robbins walk home with her ; 
 an' later I saw them settin' in the hammock together. 
 Bob Miller seen 'em too. He don't like Bill Burns 
 nor his brother neither ; so he says to me, " George, 
 me an' you is some little fixers, ain't we?" an' I 
 says, " Sure Mike, we is some little valentine cupids, 
 that's what we are. Hurray for us. Bob," and Bob 
 agreed with me. 
 
The Sea-Shell's Message 
 
 I listened to the murmuring 
 Of the pink sea-shell. 
 
 A message it brought from my laddie to me, 
 My laddie brave far over the sea. 
 In a sighing sound like the ocean's swell 
 The words came as music to my ear 
 So softly that no one else might hear 
 ' I love you," the song of the little pink shell. 
 
 40 
 
Buying Rugs 
 
 Scene. — Rug Department of a large furniture 
 
 house. 
 Characters : Patient Salesman on a warm day. 
 
 A Young Up-to-Date Customer. 
 
 Her Friend, Edith. 
 
 (Miss Up-to-Date chatters.) 
 
 Yes, please, I would like to look at some rugs. 
 What sort ? Well, different kinds. Would you get 
 Oriental rugs, Edith ? Like them ? You do ? Yes, 
 please — some Oriental rugs. What size? Why — 
 er — nine by twelve ? Do you mean feet or inches ? 
 Oh, feet? Let's see some a little smaller. My, 
 those are lovely ! That dark one especially. Would 
 you have the drawing-room dark, Edith? Let's see 
 some lighter ones. Blue and yellow? Do you like 
 blue and yellow, Edith? Um — show me some 
 others. How much is that one? $500. W-e-1-1 — 
 let's see some less expensive ones. Domestic? 
 That sounds rather nice and homelike. That blue 
 and gray one is charming. Oh, Edith, here is one al- 
 most a lavender. That is darling, but I wanted my 
 bedroom in lavender — it might be in pink though. 
 Do you think pink would be most attractive, Edith ? 
 
 Show me some pink bedroom rugs, please. That's 
 
 41 
 
42 LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 a dream. The dining-room too, I almost forgot 
 that. I think I'd like that in yellow. Oh, too light ? 
 Well, let me see a brown one — a sort of tan color, 
 Edith, would yoix like the dining table in dark En- 
 glish oak, or mahogany? And Edith, wouldn't a 
 white enamelled bedroom set be just too adorable — 
 or do you like mahogany better — a four poster? 
 
 The gray with painted flowers are cute, don't you 
 think? My, isn't it hard to decide? What, sales- 
 man? Rugs? Oh yes, indeed, we want to see 
 them, but then one has to have everything blend. 
 The furniture must be just right, you know. 
 
 Edith, would you have water colors or engrav- 
 ings ? Bess Winters has the cutest home. Lots of 
 black and white; and that is striking, don't you 
 think? What, salesman, do I want to see rugs? 
 Why, of course, that's what we came for, to see 
 rugs — ^you might take down some smaller lots for 
 scattered pieces here and there. 
 
 But you know, Edith, I can have a better home 
 than Bess, because Tom has plenty of money. 
 Don't you adore my ring? It's twice as big as 
 Bess's. Every one was so surprised last night. 
 What, salesman? Rugs? Oh yes, that's a pretty 
 one, Edith, and this one too. Oh dear, I've seen so 
 many and such a lot of colors, I'm all bewildered ! 
 
 Well, salesman, I tell you what I'll do — just give 
 me your card. Thank you. I really can't decide 
 now. It is so warm. I only announced my engage- 
 ment last night and I don't expect to be married 
 right away, but one likes to be prepared and to 
 know what to select when one goes to housekeeping. 
 
 Quite warm to-day, isn't it? I'll keep your card, 
 so that I will know for whom to call when I buy my 
 rugs. Good-afternoon. 
 
BUYING RUGS 43 
 
 Oh, Edith, do let's get a sundae! I'm melted. 
 Such lots and lots of rugs ! They made me warm 
 just to look at them. It's hard work picking out 
 rugs, isn't it? I don't believe I will go to that 
 salesman after all because he looked rather an- 
 noyed, I thought, didn't you, Edith ? But it is fun 
 to shop for a house, isn't it ? I'm going everywhere 
 and take plenty of time, wouldn't you ? 
 
Lucindy Jones and the City Folks 
 
 Scene. — Maria Mosely's sitting-room. 
 Characters : Lucindy Jones. 
 Maria Mosely. 
 
 (Lucindy sputters.) 
 
 Land sakes, Maria Mosely, if I ain't glad to git 
 ■^ome ! Talk about vacations ! One is more wore 
 out goin' to the city than stayin' home. Fust place, 
 I'm kinda nervous, an' I lost my ticket. When the 
 conductor come 'round, I hunted fust in my hand- 
 bag, tuck everything out, then in my suitcase, an' 
 the conductor looked kinder mad an' said he'd come 
 back. Well, I even looked through my lunch box, 
 an' a little dog what a woman had Jumped up an' 
 et some of my sandwiches. 
 
 " Oh dear," she shrieked, " Tootsy will be sick. 
 She never eats anything but dog biscuits." 
 
 " I wisht she would git sick eatin' my sand- 
 wiches," I said, kinder cross. 
 
 " You heartless critter," she cried. " Come to 
 mother, my ownie baby Tootsy," she said to the 
 dog, kissin' it. 
 
 Ain't some women sicknin', Maria? Then the 
 conductor come again, but I hadn't found the ticket. 
 
 " Have to put you off, if you hain't got one," he 
 says. 
 
 44 
 
LUCINDY JONES AND THE CITY FOLKS 45 
 
 " I have," I says ; " it's here sumwhers." 
 
 " I think she's a dead beat," the woman with the 
 dog says with a sniff. 
 
 " Look here," I says, " I'm a ree-spektable woman 
 livin' at Poky Corners, bee-longin' to the Fust Bap- 
 tis' Chu'ch, an' the Wimmen's Ixil'ry of the Modern 
 Woodmans, an' I kin reefer to any number of pus- 
 sons as to my charoc&ter." 
 
 I guess that squelched her, Maria, bekuz she shet 
 up then an' I found my ticket jest that minute. I'd 
 stuck it in my glove to be sure to have it handy. 
 
 I suttinly felt ree-lieved. At last I got to the 
 city. Me an' Myrtle went shoppin', an', land, the 
 way the wimmen dress, short dresses an' furs in 
 summer. It do beat everything. There was some 
 pretty clothes too. A weddin' dress on a wax bride 
 in the winder made me think of the time I helped 
 make the weddin' dress fer Cory Davis' girl Nell. 
 
 Don't you never breathe this, Maria, but this is 
 what I done. They say if you sew one of your 
 curls in the hem of a weddin' dress, you'll soon be 
 a bride yourself. I ain't got much hair, an' it ain't 
 curly, so I cut a good bit off my switch, my best 
 one, hair costin' a lot too, an' sewed it all round in 
 the hem, but it didn't do no good. That was ten 
 year ago an' I ain't married yit, so I don't believe 
 in them fables an' signs no more. 
 
 I had another accident on the train. I put my 
 false teeth on a clean paper beside me on the seat, 
 because they're kinder new an' I got clear off the 
 car when I missed 'em. 
 
 Dear me, suz, but I was skeered. I jumped back 
 on the train then pulled the bell cord, stoppin' the 
 whole works. The conductor was mad as a hatter, 
 but the porter grinned an' helped me off, an' I give 
 
46 LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 him a nickel. You have to. Tippin' costs a lot 
 when you're travellin'. 
 
 Speakin' of the city, it sure is a queer place these 
 days. Old men with bald heads and red faces and 
 stummicks as big as Hank Perkinses', go totterin' 
 round with the young girls, an' there ain't no old 
 women, they all dress like sixteen; some of 'em as 
 old as Granny Pettibone, honest to goodness, 
 Maria. 
 
 Looks queer to me. I guess I'm kinder old-fash- 
 ioned. Some of your country folks tries to be 
 awful stylish, but I ain't that kind. Well, I had a 
 good time though, an' let me tell you another thing 
 that happened to me. 
 
 Me an' Myrtle Busby was in a store, an' she was 
 lookin' at some ribbons, an' I was near the hand- 
 kerchiefs when I see a woman helpin' herself to 
 'em. Thinking it might be some kind of advertise- 
 ment an' they was free I commenced to pick up 
 some myself. 
 
 " Could you spare me a piece of paper to wrap 
 these in ? " I says to the clerk. 
 
 " Yes, where's your money ? " says she. 
 
 " Money ! " I says. " I thought you was givin' 
 'em away, because this woman next to me has her 
 pockets an' waist full of handkerchiefs." 
 
 " How dare you ? " the woman says, glaring at 
 me, an' then we recognized each other. Would you 
 believe me, Maria, 'twas the woman in the train 
 with the dog, an' sure enough they searched her; 
 her kickin' all the time. She was one of them 
 shoplifters, they said, an' she had the dog with her, 
 an' the dog's blanket was filled with gloves and 
 handkerchiefs. I didn't know her, at fust, seein' 
 other wimmen with dogs, too. 
 
LUCINDY JONES AND THE CITY FOLKS 47 
 
 When the perliceman was takin' her away, I 
 couldn't resist sayin', " Would you like to have our 
 Fust Baptist Ch'ch preacher come to the jail an' 
 talk with you? An' be sure to tell 'em not to give 
 your Tootsy sandwiches." 
 
 My, but she was mad! — bustin' mad! With all 
 the things I've told you, I ain't told you what hap- 
 pened when I was waitin' in the depot fer Myrtle, 
 when I fust got to the city. A woman come to me 
 an' says, " Would you hold my baby while I git a 
 drink ? " An' I says " suttinly," but she musta gone 
 a long ways fer a drink fer she didn't come back, 
 an' Myrtle had to call a perliceman, an' turn the 
 baby over to him. They sure kin think of queer 
 things in town. 
 
 I might have kept that baby, 'twas real cute — but 
 it would look kinder queer comin' home with a 
 baby an' me not married. 
 
 Well, I guess, Maria, I'll stay home now fer quite 
 a spell. The ways of the city is sure peculiar. 
 
The Love Bug in Our Office 
 
 Scene. — The office of Mr. Morrison, the boss. 
 Characters : The Boss. 
 
 The Office Force. 
 
 (The young office girl tells of the love bug.) 
 
 Say, Ethel, did you ever get stung by the love 
 bug? Well, it's been buzzing around our office all 
 right. There we were as nice and cozy a little 
 office as you ever saw. The boss was a bachelor, a 
 confirmed one, and so were the two bookkeepers, 
 and the cashier was a regular spinster. I was the 
 only young one there but the office boy. Well, the 
 stenographer isn't old, but then she isn't nineteen by 
 a long shot, either. 
 
 First the head bookkeeper asked for a day off 
 next week and the boss said he couldn't spare him 
 because it was our busiest time ; but the head book- 
 keeper said he had to go, because he was going to 
 get married. 
 
 " Good Heavens ! " said the boss. "At your 
 age ? " "I am only thirty-five," said the head book- 
 keeper. 
 
 " Old enough to have sense," growled the boss. 
 "Well, go ahead, take a week's vacation. When a 
 man gets loony, he has to have time to reflect." 
 
 The boss seemed sort of fussed, but he went on 
 48 
 
THE LOVE BUG IN OUR OFFICE 49 
 
 dictating to the stenog. Then he noticed a ring on 
 her finger. 
 
 " You don't mean," he began ; and then I guess 
 he thought he was getting personal, so he stopped, 
 but she laughed and said, " Yes, I am going to be 
 married next month." 
 
 Say, Ethel, you could have knocked him over 
 with a feather. 
 
 " I never get a good stenographer but she gets 
 foolish and spoils a career by getting married," he 
 said. 
 
 The assistant bookkeeper came in from his vaca- 
 tion just then. 
 
 " May I see you when you're at leisure, Mr. 
 Morrison ? " he asked. 
 
 " Don't tell me you're going to get married," 
 snapped the boss. 
 
 " No," says the assistant bookkeeper, " because 
 I'm married already, married while I was on my 
 vacation, and I want to give you two weeks' notice. 
 My wife's folks have a bank in Crest City and I am 
 going to work there." 
 
 " This office has gone crazy," said the boss, 
 " plumb nutty. How about you ? " he growled at 
 the cashier. Well, she got sort of red, Ethel. 
 
 " I'm going to marry a preacher," she began. 
 " What ? " interrupted the boss. " Worse and more 
 of it! They even marry the preachers instead of 
 having the preachers marry them. I'm disgusted 
 with the bunch. I thought you were all old enough 
 to know better. The next set I hire will be 
 Methusalehs. Are you married, too ? " he snapped 
 at me. 
 
 " No," said I, " but I would like a vacation be- 
 cause I am going to marry the head bookkeeper." 
 
50 LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 "Oh, say!" he cried. "This is too much— 
 Where's the office boy? Come in here, Red — are 
 you married ? " 
 
 " Married, huUy gee no — but I gotta goil," he 
 answered with a grin, sUding out into the outer 
 office. 
 
 " By Jiminy ! " the boss said, " I guess I can have 
 a hand at this myself," and he grabbed the tele- 
 phone. 
 
 " Hello, Central ! Give me Winton 4250. Is this 
 you, Kate ? Say, Kate, will you marry me ? Wanted 
 to ask you for some time. All right, when? To- 
 night? You will? I'll be right over and make 
 arrangements. Good-bye. 
 
 " There, now, everybody, this office is closed for 
 two weeks. Good-day," and he grabbed his hat 
 and was gone. That's just like the boss. So, 
 Ethel, look out for the love bug. What? You 
 want a job in our office when we open up again? 
 All right — I'll speak to the boss — Good luck. 
 
My Little Sweetheart Ana 
 
 (A tale of the Pacific and the Zoneland.) 
 
 Yes, this is a wonderful view with the bay far below. 
 
 The palms are like sentinels. 
 
 The bougainvilla vines climb over the porch 
 
 With the Glory of their gorgeous red blossoms. 
 
 Do I live here all the time ? Yes. 
 
 Lonely ? no — there are my pigeons. 
 
 Want to see them? 
 
 We will climb up to the top of the hill. 
 
 Here — Sweetheart—Baby— King — Alphonso — 
 
 They know me. Are they not lovely things ? 
 
 Messages they carried during the war. 
 
 Sometimes I send them now to the mainland. 
 
 This little tin holds the message. 
 
 See, I let them out for a recreation, 
 
 No — they will not fly away. 
 
 They will come back at the ringing of the bell. 
 
 You wonder I am contented here 
 
 On this Island in the Pacific. 
 
 I am a college man, yes, but well — 
 
 I was a disappointment to my father. 
 
 Sit down, friend, and have a cigarette. 
 
 The old tale of a harsh, stern father, 
 
 Who did not understand. 
 
 I wanted to be an artist. 
 
 He laughed me to scorn 
 
 And sent me to a Government job 
 
 Down here in the Zone. 
 
 51 
 
52 LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 The long stretches of eternal heat 
 
 Got me, and I came to the island here to rest. 
 
 The lure of the place is in my blood. 
 
 I do not care to go away. 
 
 An old man taught me to train the pigeons. 
 
 And when he died, left them to me. 
 
 They were useful in the war time. 
 
 I enlisted, but they kept me here. 
 
 Not much of a story, is it? 
 
 There was a girl in the States, 
 
 A rich girl — my father tried to force a marriage. 
 
 That was one reason I was glad to get away. 
 
 Ah ! — ^now that I am talking, friend, 
 
 I will make a clean breast of it all. 
 
 There was another girl — a girl of the Island, 
 
 A little Panamanian beauty. 
 
 I used to sketch her. 
 
 Her skin was fair, almost white. 
 
 Her eyes — black — soft, velvety. 
 
 Mysterious as the shadows of the night. 
 
 One day as she leaned against a palm tree 
 
 I kissed her, then I knew 
 
 That for me there could never be another. 
 
 She was like a sprite — a bit of thistle-down. 
 
 On fete days, she wore a lace mantilla. 
 
 Dancing with fascinating grace 
 
 To the click of the castanet. 
 
 Sometimes we went across the Bay 
 
 To the City of Panama 
 
 Wandering through the narrow streets 
 
 Down to the sea wall, 
 
 Or listened to the band 
 
 In the Cathedral Plaza ; 
 
 Mingling with the care-free crowds 
 
 That sauntered there. 
 
MY LITTLE SWEETHEART ANA 53 
 
 I was happiest when we were alone, we two. 
 
 She seemed a dainty child, my sweetheart Ana. 
 
 A picture of her, I painted 
 
 With the pigeons all about her. 
 
 Then there came a change. 
 
 She faded Uke a flower. 
 
 Suddenly she grew pale, distrait, 
 
 There was a man of her own race, Enrique Sosa, 
 
 With a great ranch on the mainland. 
 
 She must marry him, her people said. 
 
 For they were poor. 
 
 I went to the pigeon house 
 
 On the mainland, one day. 
 
 One of my pigeons came with a message 
 
 " Come, I am in danger, Your sweetheart Ana," 
 
 Were the words in Spanish. 
 
 I hastened by the late boat. 
 
 But she had gone. 
 
 Her people knew nothing, they said. 
 
 I told them that they lied. 
 
 Later I found her, dead. 
 
 To his ranch Enrique Sosa had carried her. 
 
 She was to be a prisoner 
 
 Until she promised to be his bride. 
 
 And so she killed herself 
 
 Poor little sweetheart Ana. 
 
 We fought, Enrique and I, 
 
 Almost unto the death. 
 
 This little scar across my cheek 
 
 Is his loving gift to me. 
 
 Then he went away. 
 
 The wound healed in my cheek, but in my heart 
 
 The scars are there. 
 
 Down in the graveyard is a cross. 
 
 She lies in a quiet place, my love. 
 
54 LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 Night and morning, I go to stand beside her. 
 
 Well, such is life! 
 
 My pigeons, I must call them in. 
 
 This one is Sweetheart. 
 
 She brought me the message from my love. 
 
 What do you say, friend? 
 
 Was it my picture that made the stir 
 
 At the Salon last year — 
 
 " The girl and the pigeons? " 
 
 Yes — Proud ? Why ? Nothing matters any more. 
 
 Now you know why I stay on this island. 
 
 My little sweetheart Ana is here. 
 
 I shall never go away. 
 
Mammy Liza Tells of Mr. Adam 
 and Miss Eve 
 
 Scene. — Mammy's cabin at the close of the day. 
 Characters: Mammy Liza, who wants to rest 
 
 and smoke her pipe. 
 The Chillen, who want to hear a 
 
 story. 
 
 (Mammy talks.) 
 
 Clar out of heah, you imps of Satan! Go on! 
 Heah me? A story? I'll story you! Jes' let me 
 set down to res' my weary bones an' you all comes 
 a hangin' roun' like a lot of pertifimous miskeeters. 
 Never seed sech a mess of chillens in all mah bawn 
 days. What? You want to heah 'bout Mistah 
 Adam an' Mis' Eve? How many times you want 
 me tell you 'bout dat story? Set down. You am 
 like de plegs of Egyp'. 
 
 One story, 'member. If you axes fer mo' dah's 
 mah ole lether strop hangin' mighty handy. 
 
 Well, Mistah Adam was de f us' man — Too bad de 
 notion come to de Lawd to mek a man at all — the 
 good-fer-nothin' critters, but it did. Parumdise was 
 a lubly garden with flowers an' watermillions an' no 
 weeds ner nothin' obstreperous an' jes' cool enuf 
 an' jes' hot enuf. I spec' de Lawd he say to hissef : 
 
 " I mek all dem animals, somebody got to keer 
 fer 'em an' name 'em," an' he mek Mistah Adam 
 
 55 
 
56 LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 outen some clay. Most men acks like dey was 
 made of dirt, dey sho do. 
 
 Mistah Adam look aroun' an' he say " Um — um ! 
 Dis sho am a pretty place I got into," an' he had a 
 lot of fun namin' the animulses, de rhinosicif erusses, 
 and de zebrims, an' de lionses an' elefunts, and de 
 cheribeems, an' de seryf eems. How come he think 
 of all dem names do beat me, but that wasn't their 
 names in de fust place, case dem names what he 
 give was changed, I recken. He hadn't met up 
 wid Miss Eve then and she suttinly changed 
 ev'ything. 
 
 One day he went to sleep. Eatin' an' sleepin' is 
 what men does best in the worl', an' Mistah Adam 
 begun de laziness. 
 
 De Lawd saw dat man sleepin', an' he say: 
 
 " Dat man I made am a putty good sort of pus- 
 son, but I beUeve I kin do better'n than him. I kin 
 improve on him." 
 
 So he made Miss Eve outen one of Mistah 
 Adam's ribs. When Mistah Adam woke up his side 
 pained like de toothache you had de othah day. 
 Andrew Jackson— stop yo' snivelling. It don't hurt 
 you now. Ef you snivels, I'll give you sumpin 
 to cry fur. 
 
 Well, Mistah Adam look up an' dah stood his 
 rib in the shape of Miss Eve. An' he soon forgot 
 de pain. 
 
 " Fo' pity's sake," he say to hisse'f, " ain't she 
 good-lookin' ! " An' Miss Eve smile an' Mistah 
 Adam lose his heart too, as well as his rib. 
 
 " Will you take a walk ? " he axes her and when 
 she consent dey stroll all roun' pickin' free bokays 
 an' eatin' free fruit. Everything was free kase no- 
 body didn't need no money them days. 
 
MR. ADAM AND MISS EVE 57 
 
 He showed her all de animules, an' course she 
 changed all de names, kase women is kinder change- 
 able, an' two heads is better'n one, anyway. 
 
 One day Miss Eve and Mistah Adam was a 
 stroUin' roun' an' Miss Eve see a new kind of tree. 
 
 " Oh, ain't that a pretty tree ? Climb up an' git me 
 some fruit," she say. 
 
 " No, no," say Mistah Adam. " We ain't 'lowed 
 to tech that tree." 
 
 " For why ? " say Miss Eve. 
 
 " Jes' kase we ain't. Dat am a apple tree. We 
 kin have all sorts of fruit, but appleses." 
 
 " I ax again, for why ? " she say. 
 
 "I don' know," say Mistah Adam, "that's 
 orders." 
 
 The mo' Miss Eve look, the mo' she was bustin' 
 wid curiositum an' the hungrier she got. Well, they 
 walk away, but she come back alone and gaze up 
 in the apple tree. 
 
 " They's somethin' 'bout them appleses," she say 
 to herself, " looks better an' mo' appetitious than 
 nothin' else in dis heah garden. Wondah why we 
 can't tech 'em ? " 
 
 Pretty soon she heah somethin' go " Hiss ! Hiss ! " 
 an' up in the tree was a big snake, but she wa'n't 
 skeered kase she was pussonally acquainted with 
 him, havin' named him to suit herse'f. 
 
 " Ain't them pretty appleses ? " say Mr. Snake, 
 kind of soft-like. " Does you want one or two ? " 
 
 " They sho' looks appetizin'," say Miss Eve, 
 sighin' an' shakin' her haid. 
 
 " They is de very fines' fruit in dis heah whole 
 garden," say Mr. Snake. " Take one." 
 
 Miss Eve put her han's behin' her. " No, I can't 
 kase I ain't 'lowed," she say slowly. 
 
58 LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 " They is simply delicius," say Mr. Snake, chawin' 
 on one. 
 
 " Hum ! Hum ! " Miss Eve sighed. " I might take 
 a teenty weenty httle one," an' Mr. Snake give her 
 one quick. 
 
 " My ! That look good," she say, holdin' it. 
 
 " Take a bite," say Mr. Snake, an' she bit, an' 
 she bit — twell the apple was most et up, when along 
 come Mistah Adam. 
 
 " Take some," she say, holdin' de apple to Mistah 
 Adam. Fust he say no, but she look so pretty, 
 holdin' out the apple, an' then I spec he say to 
 hisse'f, " Well, I came heah in the garden fus'. I 
 reckon I kin eat a apple if she kin," and so he et 
 some too. 
 
 Bimeby there was a gret noise, an' ole Mistah 
 Snake was laffin' to hisse'f, but he got out de way 
 when he heard de noise, an' Mistah Adam, when he 
 got caught, blame it all on Miss Eve, jest like a 
 onery man, an' they got put out of the garden quick, 
 out in the desert, an' had to go to wuk buildin' a 
 house; an' Miss Eve had to take in washin', I 
 reckon. 
 
 "Now jes' see what you did?" says Mistah 
 Adam. 
 
 " I don't keer," say Miss Eve, " appleses is mighty 
 good an' what would the apple pies and apple sass 
 be if nobody never et appleses de fust time? " 
 
 Go on now, clar out, you imps, kase I got to 
 make a apple pie mahse'f fer suppah when I gits 
 a res'. 
 
A Yank's Proposal in France 
 
 Say, Kiddo, you are pretty and sweet. 
 
 Oh, I forgot, you can't understand. 
 
 Let's see what the book says, "Joli and sucre " 
 
 You are " sucre " to beat the band. 
 
 I'm stuck on you, kid, I aimez vous lots. 
 You're tout suite, great, belle and then some, 
 (She looks sort of blank — she don't get me at all) 
 My parlez Fransy is sure on the bum. 
 
 Will you marry me, kid, I mean get spliced, mar- 
 
 ree? 
 (She's sore, she thinks I mean Marie.) 
 When a girl's pretty as that, she should know 
 
 how to talk. 
 All you need say, dear, is only " Oui Oui." 
 
 My heart, kid — mon cceur — cur — that sounds like 
 
 a pup. 
 This proposal will take me a week. 
 (She is smiling, she's on.) Let's throw down the 
 
 book, 
 It's my arm round your waist, kid, will speak. 
 
 59 
 
To a Friend 
 
 What a wonderful thing in this world of ours 
 To have a friend like you 
 Who knows, and cares, and understands. 
 And who is always tender and true. 
 The careless ones may pass us by. 
 Heeding not the tear nor the sigh. 
 Our lives are bound with a blessed tie 
 To the friend who is just like you. 
 
 60 
 
Maggie McCarthy's Cousin Teresa 
 
 Scene. — Maggie's kitchen. 
 Characters: Maggie McCarthy. 
 Her Friends. 
 
 (Maggie tells the romantic story of her Cousin 
 Teresa. ) 
 
 Well, girls, come on in! I am sure glad to see 
 ye. The folks is away an' we'll hav a spread. I 
 hav some news for ye. Ye know me Cousin 
 Teresa — well, Teresa is goin' to be married an' it's 
 a interestin' story. You see Teresa worked at wan 
 of thim grand houses on the Drive, where they have 
 iligant rugs an' marble statoos, paintin's, an' a barrel 
 of books, an' a wonderful sun parlor, all cretonne 
 an' cane sates an' palms an' iverything. 
 
 The young missus where she worked was alius 
 doin' things to entertain the sailor byes, or some 
 societies, or poor childer an' things like that; up- 
 liftin' she called it, tho' Teresa said it was tiresome 
 sort of stuff. Well, this partickeler avenin' there 
 was sailor byes, an' some soldiers, an' a man gave 
 'em a long talk on patriotism an* some of 'em was 
 most aslape. 
 
 Thin a long-haired spagetti singer sang some dago 
 songs in a queer language. Thin a tall, scrawny 
 lady gave a child piece, an' a little gurl gave some 
 drammer that some one said was Shakespeare, tho' 
 who that was I don't know mesilf. A mon in 
 
 6i 
 
62 LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 tights an' a few draperies that Teresa said made her 
 blush fer him, danced in his bare fate, a wild crazy 
 dance, an' Teresa heard wan of the sailor byes say 
 in a whisper, " Kill it ! " " Shut up. Shorty, you 
 hick," says another wan, pokin' the first wan in the 
 ribs, " ain't you got no manners ? " 
 
 " I'd ruther go out an' talk with the chofer," says 
 the first wan they called Shorty. " We'll get tea an' 
 sissy cakes an' thot's all." 
 
 Sure as ye live, gurls, thot's what they fed thim 
 huslcy byes on, tea an' wafers. Yer see the butler 
 was sick an' thot's how Teresa come to be standin' 
 round assistin'. Whin all to onct she seen an Irish 
 Gob she knew. Well, to go back to the rale be- 
 ginnin' of the story, gurls, it sames that on Peace 
 night, some months before, whin the whole town 
 an', I gness, the whole world wint wild, Teresa was 
 waitin' for her mistress in the limousine, she havin' 
 gone into an office buildin' fer the master. Ivery- 
 body was actin' crazy like, singin', and dancin', an' 
 throwin' confetti, whin along comes a gob. 
 
 Teresa had put her mistress' fur cape around her, 
 feelin' chilly, an' to see how it filt so fine an' soft 
 like — whin all of a suddin, bein' filled with the joy 
 an' fun of the moment, she jumps out an' grabbed 
 the sailor bye an' comminces to dance. Thin seein' 
 the chofer comin' from the corner where he'd gone 
 to git some cigarettes, she pushed the gob away, 
 jumped in the machine, an' wint across the strate to 
 git her mistress. 
 
 Niver had she laid eyes on the gob agin from that 
 night, an' here now sure he was that same one she 
 had danced with in the strate. 
 
 Even with her cap an' apron on the gob knew 
 her, an' was gazin' intranced like. Whin she wint 
 
MAGGIE MCCARTHY'S COUSIN TERESA 63 
 
 into the hall, she beckoned him to slip out whin the 
 spagetti was singin' agin. 
 
 " I've looked iverywhere for ye," he said. " I 
 thought " 
 
 " Thot I was a swell dame an' a grond lady in my 
 Umousine and fur cape," says Teresa laughin'. 
 
 " You've got them dames in there skinned a mile 
 fer looks," says he. 
 
 Thin she explained it all to him. 
 
 " Glory be ! " says he. " I thought you were way 
 above me, but I'm some little sub-chaser and I've 
 hunted the town fer you. That's why I've come to 
 all these swell shindigs at these grand houses, hopin' 
 to see you. May I hope to see you many times — er 
 — I don't know your name " 
 
 " Teresa," says she. 
 
 " Teresa," says he, " may I continue hopin' to see 
 you agin ? " 
 
 Sure he continued, an' thot's the story of me 
 Cousin Teresa an' the sailor bye. They are to be 
 married nixt wake an' he's the foine Irish lad by the 
 name of Michael. 
 
 Ain't thot the romance for ye ? Here comes Joe, 
 the Polacemon. I must hurry up wid the eats. 
 
The Tin Pan Brigade 
 
 Scene. — A cafeteria at the busy hour. 
 Characters : A Girl. 
 
 Her Friend. 
 
 {The Girl chatters.) 
 
 Come on, let's join the tin pan brigade, Pearl. 
 Get your waiter. Don't forget the fork, knife and 
 spoon. Here are the napkins. Do you want bread ? 
 Let's have some rolls. Sweet rolls? Or plain? 
 Plain, I guess, don't you think ? Soup ? Yes — er — 
 no, I think not. Here's meat. What kind do you 
 want ? Say, Pearl, this looks good — what is it ? Oh, 
 chop suey — I'll take some — I guess — no, wait a min- 
 ute — don't serve me please till I make up my mind. 
 I don't know yet what I want. Isn't she the snippy 
 thing. Pearl? She said it was about time. Please 
 don't crowd so back of me. What did that serving 
 girl say. Pearl ? That I'd have to decide ? Well, I 
 guess I won't eat what I don't want just to please 
 her. 
 
 Would you like ham, Pearl ? This chicken looks 
 good. Mercy, sixty cents ! Well, roast beef — ^no, 
 no — I think I won't take meat at all. Did you hear 
 that girl behind us, Pearl? She said she wished 
 that cheap skate would move on. One can't afford 
 to notice vulgar common people, Pearl. There ! I 
 said that loud enough for her to hear. 
 64 
 
THE TIN PAN BRIGADE 65 
 
 I'll have macaroni, I think, yes, please; what do 
 you want, Pearl? Fish and egg sauce. That does 
 look nice. I'll have that too, please. Take this 
 macaroni off my plate. I want fish instead. Isn't 
 that server the cranky creature. Pearl? Do you 
 want vegetables with your fish ? Let's have corn — 
 Oh no, that's too expensive. We'll have string 
 beans. I don't Uke them very well, but they are 
 fairly cheap. Don't take potatoes, Pearl, they'll 
 make you fat. 
 
 What's this? Strawberry kisses, the girl calls 
 them. They look good. Twenty-five cents each. 
 Heavens! Too much. Here's pie, only fifteen 
 cents. 
 
 Don't crowd so behind me, please. Wish we'd 
 hurry? — well, we have to wait until the food is put 
 upon our trays. These are dreadfully rude people 
 to-day, Pearl. Do you want tea or coffee? I like 
 coffee but — I guess I'll take tea. I forgot about 
 milk. Please take the tea off of my tray, I prefer 
 milk — Oh, it does make you fat, that's so. Pearl. 
 Please give me back the tea. I'll take that after all. 
 
 I never saw such cross girls as they have to wait 
 on you here. Everybody was cross to-day. Our 
 boss nearly tore the office down and bawled out the 
 boy, or commenced to and then thought better of it. 
 Boys are so independent nowadays. It was lucky 
 the boss's wife dropped in so he could let out on 
 her all right. She must be used to it, poor thing. 
 What's that? Am I going to stand here all day? 
 I guess I can take time to decide whether I want a 
 piece of lemon pie or not. Isn't that the freshest 
 girl behind us, Pearl ? 
 
 Let's find a table — Oh, the checker, yes — say, that 
 check is too much — ^What? Count it? Um — ^I 
 
66 LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 guess that's all right. Here's a table in the comer. 
 Pshaw! Those girls took that just because we 
 wanted it. 
 
 I don't want to sit down with that old man. He 
 has long whiskers and I hate them. Here, Pearl. 
 What ? You got here first ? You certainly did not, 
 ma'am. 
 
 Sit down, Pearl, look how furious that woman is. 
 My goodness! You have to keep fighting every 
 minute for your rights in this world. I'll say you 
 do, Pearl. 
 
A Chinese Dinner 
 
 Characters : The Speaker. 
 
 EsTELLE, her friend. 
 
 {A monologue to Estelle.) 
 
 Oh, my dear Estelle, I just ran over to tell you of 
 the delectable Chinese dinner we had last evening — a 
 ceremonial dinner with a lot of queer things to eat. 
 One could not tell what half of it was. I simply 
 adore unique affairs, and I finally prevailed upon 
 John to go with me. 
 
 You know he said, " Never Again," after the Free 
 Verse Poetry evening at the Poet's Club. 
 
 Well, I cried a little and said I never could go 
 anywhere and that other women's husbands went 
 with them, and that I might as well be a widow or a 
 spinster for all the escort I had and so he grumbled 
 but finally gave in. 
 
 When he was dressing he swore dreadfully, but 
 it was under his breath, and I pretended that I 
 couldn't hear from where I sat in the parlor. 
 
 We went to an odd Chinese-looking cafe right in 
 the Chinese quarter. It was their New Year, and 
 all sorts of good luck signs in Chinese character 
 were hanging about. John said they were laundry 
 signs. 
 
 The Writers' Club was giving the dinner to a 
 celebrated author who had just returned from the 
 
 67 
 
68 LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 Orient, and to a native General or somebody. All 
 sorts of interesting, long-haired and short-haired 
 people were there, artists and authors, people who 
 looked wise and were stupid, and people who looked 
 stupid and were wise. John said every one was 
 " batty," including himself, for being there at all. 
 John uses such coarse, cheap slang sometimes. He 
 does not care for high-brow things, as he calls 
 them — never reads much but the daily papers or the 
 Friday Evening Post, or some horrid detective 
 stories, so you see, Estelle, it is hard for him to get 
 into a rarefied literary atmosphere. 
 
 We sat at round tables and had all kinds of little 
 saucers, some chop-sticks and one china spoon. 
 John balked at the chop-sticks and used the china 
 spoon for everything. There were all sorts of 
 dishes, one vegetable, or was it a vegetable ? Well, 
 anyhow, John insisted it was chopped sponges. 
 " They catch these young and cook them. The old 
 ones they wash with," John grunted disgustedly. 
 My efforts to keep him quiet were useless. He was 
 like an unruly small boy. 
 
 "We can cook beans all around these Chinks," 
 he blurted out again. 
 
 " John, for pity's sake, hush ! Those are not 
 beans, they are lotus buds," I whispered, giving his 
 foot a kick tinder the table. It was all to no pur- 
 pose. 
 
 " Lotus buds ! " he exclaimed. " Ye Gods ! To- 
 morrow I suppose I'll wake up feeling like a pond 
 lily." 
 
 The noted speaker of the evening assured us that 
 one liked these dishes when one got used to them, 
 and that his eyes filled with tears when he left China 
 and thought of leaving some favorite dish. 
 
A CHINESE DINNER 69 
 
 " The whole bunch of waiters must have wept 
 into those beans, by the looks of that gravy," John 
 put in, sampling another dish. 
 
 A young man at the table who seemed to have a 
 fellow feeling for John called the next dish 
 " Chicken a la Ching " and he and my irrepressible 
 husband laughed with ghoulish glee. 
 
 We had chopped meat that John said he hoped 
 had never known how to bark, or worn a muzzle, 
 and another dish that John swore was part of our 
 fern in the dining-room. 
 
 " I'm glad you found a use for the fern, dear," he 
 said. " It never would grow as a fern in good 
 and regular standing should grow, and then you 
 always had a faculty of placing it where the leaves 
 tickled my ear at meals." 
 
 " You know, Estelle, our dining-room in the 
 apartment is tiny, I'll admit that, and John has 
 threatened to throw away that fern a dozen times. 
 
 We wound up with tea, and then the speaker read 
 some Chinese poems — translations. I could not 
 quite grasp the entire meaning, of course. One 
 shouldn't — such things must be intangible to be ap- 
 preciated. That is, to understand them one must 
 not quite understand them. You know what I mean, 
 Estelle, I am quite sure. John went to sleep so he 
 was quiet at last. 
 
 After it was all over — John says there comes a 
 time when everything is over — even going to the 
 dentist's — we took a taxi and John told the driver 
 to go to a down-town cafe. He ordered a steak, 
 fried potatoes, coffee, ice-cream and pie for two. I 
 protested because our Chinese dinner had cost us 
 about four dollars, but then I ate a little, well, I 
 really ate all my share, just to keep John company. 
 
70 LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 Of course I wasn't really hungry after the Chinese 
 dinner and the feast of reason we had had. 
 
 This morning John said to me at the breakfast 
 table, " And now my little Lotus Blossom, when we 
 dine again, we eat a la Yankee, that is to say, a la 
 good little old U. S. A. Do you get me ? No more 
 high-brow evenings, nor Foreign Pow-wows or 
 Bow-wows for yours truly. 
 
 "Ah," he added, " here's our family fern tickling 
 my ear as per usual. I maligned you. Glad I was 
 wrong and we have our belongings intact instead of 
 in the soup, a la Ching. What that was I ate in 
 your place, little fern, I cannot guess, sea weed, or 
 rag weed, or dog fennel — but why speak of dog? 
 Let the dead past bury its dogs, or dead, I mean. 
 No wonder the Chinese don't smile. If I ate that 
 food every day you could never dig me out of the 
 surrounding gloom. Old Hamlet would be a laugh- 
 ing hyena beside your low-brow hubby. 
 
 " By by, my little Chop Suey Queen, we eat at 
 home to-night, en famille. Let's have roast beef 
 and baked potatoes and pie." 
 
 Those were John's parting words. He is hope- 
 less, my dear, but maybe he will forget by the next 
 time I want to drag him out again. 
 
 Well, I must run home, Estelle, dear, but I just 
 adore queer evenings and culture, don't you ? 
 
what a Ghost Thinks About 
 
 Scene. — The Ethereal Blue. 
 Characters : Eliza Jane Murdock, a bona- 
 fide ghost. 
 The Family. 
 
 (Eliza Jane's spirit protests.) 
 
 It is the craziest, most pestiferous nonsense I ever 
 heard, this calling folks back from another world to 
 this mundane speer. Why in the name of common 
 sense when folks gets through with this troublesome 
 earth can't they be let alone? I'm speakin' with 
 heartfelt words because I know. 
 
 I'm a ghost, the spirit of her who used to be Eliza 
 Jane Murdock, who departed this life just three 
 months and ten days ago. 
 
 For the fust time in my life, I'm gettin' a real 
 rest. All the years of my existence I've cooked, and 
 scrubbed, and saved, always for somebody else. 
 When I was a girl, my mother died and left four 
 children, three younger'n me, and we lived on a 
 farm. If that don't mean work, then I ain't a God- 
 fearin' spirit, but a lyin' sinner. 
 
 When the last one growed up, I married though 
 I was over thirty. Don't think I got out of workin'. 
 My husband was a good man, but a hustler, and I 
 did a lot more grubbin' and scrubbin' for myself and 
 him, and the babies that kept a-comin'. 
 
 I will say fer John that he moved to town, but he 
 
 71 
 
73 LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 didn't believe much in hired girls, thought our hands 
 was made for use ; and the house was big and — Oh, 
 lawsy! — I just kept at it, that's all — and there was 
 more burdens than ever. 
 
 When the girls growed up they wanted college 
 and dances and so I scrimped, and saved, and 
 dressed in shirt waists, and plain skirts, so as they 
 could have nice clothes and an education. 
 
 John was a good man, as I say, but he was some 
 high-tempered, and given to growlin' like a bear 
 when things didn't go to please him. 
 
 Our oldest boy was wild and got throwed out of 
 school, and several jobs, and it cost me all my 
 savin's to help him out of his scrapes. I used to 
 worry myself sick about it. 
 
 When the girls got married, one by one, they 
 brought their babies home for me to take care of, 
 when they wanted to go out for the evenin's, or on a 
 trip somewheres, and it seemed like I never got done 
 raisin' families. I used to go to the church sociables 
 for recreation, but land sakes ! I was a good cook 
 and so they set me to makin' cake, and cookin' the 
 meals for the crowd, and fixin' up the refreshments. 
 The word recreation makes me kinder smile. 
 
 I guess I was always like that Martha in the 
 Bible, " troubled about many things." Somebody's 
 got to trouble to get the work done, and it looked 
 like I was bom to serve. I never had no chance to 
 " Stand and wait." 
 
 Then one day I got sick ; and I must say sick as I 
 was, I couldn't help laughin' to myself to see how 
 helpless they all was. But my time had come, and 
 I went out of the world, sort of smilin' to myself 
 when I see their faces so sorrowful. I couldn't help 
 but think they was wonderin' who was goin' to do 
 
WHAT A GHOST THINKS ABOUT 73 
 
 the work. They said I was smilin' because I could 
 see into another world, but I wasn't. I was just 
 thinkin' of the joke nature was playin' on them all, 
 to take the drudge away. 
 
 I will say they dressed me up in my new black 
 silk that I hadn't wore very much, only twict, once 
 when Jennie was married, — Mabel eloped, and Car- 
 rie married before the dress was made — and once 
 at a sociable with a big apron over it. 
 
 I looked nice and peaceful, I heard them sayin', 
 and it seemed strange to be lyin' there with the rest 
 up and putterin' around. It certainly was a new 
 experience. John looked sad and kind of lost and 
 I heard him say " Poor Eliza ! She was a good 
 wife and I guess I used to worry her walkin' round 
 in my stockin' feet." It did use to worry me, but 
 it seemed funny now to hear him say it. 
 
 Nothin' matters any more and it seems ridiculous 
 that it ever did. 
 
 The children, the house, the cookin' and scrubbin' 
 why, it all seems like a dream that it ever bothered 
 me, any of it. 
 
 I certainly have been restin' ever since I died, 
 until the other night when they was tryin' to com- 
 municate with me. What's all this craze for, about 
 talkin' with the dead and callin' spirits back to earth 
 anyhow? I know my folks would be wantin' me 
 to take care of the baby, or bake a cake; so I've 
 made up my mind not to materialize. I'm restin' 
 for the fust time in my life and I'm goin' to make 
 a good job of it 
 
Just Smile 
 
 A smile for every day in the year 
 Will keep the home fires burning. 
 Whether the days be merry or sad 
 The old world goes on turning. 
 Happiness radiates from within; 
 Kind words cost naught in the giving. 
 Smiles mean more than mountains of gold, 
 For they make life worth the living. 
 
 74 
 
Mother 
 
 We crown her queen, not only of the May, 
 
 But dearest, reigning queen of every day. 
 
 Her throne is not of gold ; 
 
 No ermine robes her form enfold ; 
 
 Upon her hand no royal ring; 
 
 Her sceptre's not a jeweled thing; 
 
 Yet undisputed is her place, 
 
 She rules each heart with tender grace. 
 
 Greater her sway than any other 
 
 Greater than queen her name — 'tis Mother, 
 
 75 
 
Her First Ride in an Automobile 
 
 Scene. — The home of the Flapper — Afternoon. 
 Characters: The Flapper. 
 
 Ethel, her dearest friend. 
 
 The Young Man. 
 
 {The Flapper explains the exciting adventure.) 
 
 Ethel, dearest, I am so glad you came over. I 
 should simply expire if I did not tell some one of my 
 latest experience. Everything is at sixes and sevens 
 between Dad and myself. Dad is certainly sore, 
 just like a dear old grumbly bear. I suppose if I 
 had been killed, or hurt or something, my parental 
 parent would have had qualms of conscience, but 
 just now he is treating me with cold disdain. 
 
 I know you are dying to hear all about it from 
 the first to the last. I certainly have had a hectic 
 week. You know Dad gave me a darling little car, 
 purple, lined with gray, the most adorable thing ; and 
 he warned me I must not run it until I knew 
 thoroughly how, about the whole thing. That was 
 perfectly all right and I did not resent his command, 
 as I do sometimes. I went out for my first lesson 
 and — my last for a time at least. Honey, they cer- 
 tainly use the queerest terms in connection with a 
 car ! Talk about exams ! — they are an A. B. C. 
 primer compared to the language of the luring 
 motor. 
 
 Dad says my great trouble is that I think I know 
 
 76 
 
HER FIRST RIDE IN AN AUTOMOBILE 77 
 
 everything all at once, and don't like to be told. 
 But you know, Ethel, parents have a penchant for 
 talking with the wisdom of the ancients, and making 
 a noise like progenitors, and so I do not always 
 listen although I appear to do so, to give the proper 
 home atmosphere. I have the cunningest new motor 
 coat, simply spiffy, and a sport hat, and there was 
 a really sort of passable looking instructor, — rather 
 cute. Dad abhors the word " cute " but he cer- 
 tainly was rather nice, the instructor, I mean. Of 
 course Dad is nice generally. After the instructor 
 had told me to put in the switch key, and throw the 
 switch, and step on the starter, and give her the 
 juice, and spark, I was a little confused but acted 
 as though I knew all about it. 
 
 When he said to shove the clutch, and put her in 
 first, and release the clutch, and get up a little 
 momentum in first, and step on the clutch, and put 
 her in second, and release, and get up a little 
 momentum, and then step on the clutch again, and 
 shove her into high, and release the clutch, and off 
 we go, — my head was spinning around faster than 
 the auto wheels. 
 
 Have another chocolate, Ethel. Isn't this an 
 adorable cover ? A valentine box ! I'll tell you all 
 about that later, after I pour forth the " Sad tale, 
 mates." When we had been driving a while I 
 thought I had mastered the language and ways of 
 the prancing auto. The instructor pulled up to the 
 curb and went into the store to do an errand for me. 
 As I was sitting in the machine at the curb another 
 machine came tearing down the street, curved and 
 swerved and nearly hit me. I screamed, and the 
 young man, of course there was a young man, 
 finally stopped his car and got out. 
 
78 LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 " Oh, I beg your pardon, I hope I did not frighten 
 you," he said, Ufting his cap with the most mar- 
 vellously penitent look on his face. 
 
 He was the best looking thing, Ethel, in the 
 classiest belted coat and fuzzy cap. 
 
 " Couldn't you see me sitting here ? " I said, try- 
 ing to look severe. " Your eyesight must be de- 
 fective. You should consult an ocuUst." 
 
 " I certainly did see you, a block away, but how 
 could I keep away from you? It was the moth 
 and the candle," he answered humbly. 
 
 Wasn't that the cleverest remark, Ethel ? So ro- 
 mantic ! 
 
 " Do not be absurd," I tried to say severely. 
 
 " I am a beginner," he began. 
 
 " Indeed," I interrupted, coldly. " No one would 
 ever suspect it." 
 
 " Fair lady, I beg of you to excuse me," he an- 
 swered, " and I am sure you will be gracious. I 
 wonder what was wrong. This thing was going all 
 right." He added with the most rueful sort of look, 
 " Maybe you can tell me. Would you be so kind ? " 
 
 Of course I had to act as though I knew all about 
 it after he had appealed to my judgment, Ethel, and 
 so I said in a superior way : 
 
 " Possibly your magneto's low, or you stepped on 
 the wrong carburetor." 
 
 He looked at me in an odd sort of a way, and 
 said he hadn't thought of that. Then he apologized 
 for not having introduced himself before, and gave 
 me his card. Who do you think it was, Ethel? 
 Wells Webster, the football star at Harton College, 
 and I suppose that you guess now that it was he 
 who sent me the chocolates. Right-o — ^but of that 
 more, anon. Of course, after he had made that 
 
HER FIRST RIDE IN AN AUTOMOBILE 79 
 
 perfectly nice appeal to my knowledge of motors, 
 Ethel, I could not act as though I had never run a 
 machine before, and so I tried to look very wise, 
 then I was seized with an impulse to show him' how 
 to run a machine; in fact he asked me to explain. 
 Dad says I get spasms when I think I know every- 
 thing, but Dad is a parent and parents are hyper- 
 critical. I think that's a lovely word. We had that 
 in English the other day. 
 
 Anyhow, I elucidated about a few things, and 
 then I was afraid the instructor would come out and 
 spoil it all, and so I told Mr. Webster I must be on 
 my way, and I started. For a block or two all went 
 well, and then I stepped on the accelerator, or the 
 spark plug, or Heaven knows what, and I couldn't 
 stop. Down the street I tore like a mad thing. 
 People ran out of my way screaming, and every one 
 motioned and yelled, and I was hollering " Stop it, 
 somebody, it's running away." 
 
 Wildly I tore on without a speed limit, and landed 
 on the sidewalk crashing into a store window. 
 
 " Begorra, the Angels or the Fairies or somethin' 
 saved ye from bein' kilt intirely," the policeman 
 said when he took my name, " and it's lucky, too, 
 you warn't murderin' everybody in sight." 
 
 I landed in the Speeders' Court the next morning, 
 Ethel, and what do you think? Wells Webster did 
 too. He had followed me at a breakneck speed. 
 Wasn't that simply thrilling? Dad said there were 
 two of us, and so did his Dad. It seems the two 
 Dads knew one another in business. Our autos are 
 in the repair shop; but Ethel, he is coming to call 
 to-night, and just think, if it hadn't been for the 
 machine, I never would have known him. Isn't 
 speed perfectly wonderful ? 
 
Little Mary Plays the Piano 
 
 Scene. — The home of Little Mary on a pleasant 
 afternoon. The piano stands near the window 
 from which there is a view of the street where 
 Mary's friends are playing. Mary is seated at 
 the piano. 
 Characters : Little Mary ") 
 
 Marge-REE > her Friends. 
 
 Ruby ) 
 
 Aunt Belle, the mentor. 
 
 (Note: — This monologue may he given when 
 seated at the piano or it may be presented by the 
 reader at a table, the tune being hummed.) 
 
 (Mary plays the piano and expostulates.) 
 
 {Counts). One and Two and Three and Four 
 and — oh dear! oh dear! I'm so tired of these old 
 scales. I don't see whoever 'vented a piano anyway. 
 A Victerola is much nicer. You just turn the crank 
 and the music comes out and you don't have to 
 learn it or anything. I wish I could be just like my 
 kitty and play about or sleep all day. (Pauses.) 
 I hear Aunt Belle up-stairs. I think she's lis'ning. 
 (Counts and plays.) One and Two and Three 
 
 and Four and (Looks out of the window.) 
 
 There's Marge-ree on her roller skates, and Ruby 
 Wilson jumping rope. 
 80 
 
LITTLE MARY PLAYS THE PIANO 8 1 
 
 My fam'bly is the mostest cruel people in this 
 block. My mother said to practice half a' nour 
 when she went to the club. I jest s'pose she's hav- 
 ing a good time and has forgot her very own child. 
 (Listens. Calls.) Yes'm, Aunt Belle, I am practic- 
 ing. How long have I practiced now ? Only fifteen 
 minutes! I'm most pos'tive it's longer than that. 
 Haven't I a clock ? Yes'm, Aunt Belle, but I think 
 it's awful out of order. It has the longest minutes of 
 any clock that ever was. I think it oughter be 
 fixed. What, Aunt Belle? You want to read? I 
 musn't 'sturb you ? No'm I won't. She is gone in 
 the back room. I kind of wish Aunt Belle was more 
 deafer than she is, but I guess she isn't quite old 
 'nufif yet. 
 
 (Counts.) One and Two and Three and Four 
 
 and — One and Two and Three and Four and 
 
 Here comes Marge-ree upon the porch. (Jumps up 
 and beckons.) Marge-ree, come to the window. I'll 
 raise it. I can't come out now — yet. I have to 
 practice for lots and lots of minutes more. Wait, 
 don't go down. I want to show you that valentine 
 I got last month. Yes, I know you saw it, but it's 
 jest bu'ful and I keep it in the box on the mantel. 
 I thought you'd like to see it again. I just bet 
 Bobbie Miller sent it. 'Cause here's a " B " and a 
 " M " in the corner. Ain't — I mean aren't it jest 
 lovely? 
 
 (Listens.) Yes'm, Aunt Belle, I'm practicing. 
 Wait, Marge-ree. Watch how quick my fingers go. 
 You don't want to? Well, come back in a minute. 
 I'll be out pretty soon. Good-bye. (Counts.) 
 One and Two and Three and Four and, One and 
 Two and — Let's see what time it is. Oh, dear, 
 there's 'bout ten minutes more. Here's Ruby. 
 
82 
 
 LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 {Beckons and calls.) Come to the window, Ruby. 
 Look, Ruby, see my kitty. She's jumped up on the 
 piano. I'll make her play. Come, kitty, practice. 
 That's a good child. Now — One and Two and 
 
 Three and Four and Ain't, I mean aren't 
 
 she the darlingest thing? What did you say. Ruby? 
 You can play a piece. That's nothing. So can I. 
 Listen, Ruby. (Mary plays " The Cuckoo " out of 
 tune.) 
 
 There — Aunt Belle's calling. Yes'm, Aunt Belle, 
 I am practicing. You don't want me to play that 
 piece? Well, I was jest resting my fingers from 
 those old scales. Are you going, Ruby? Wait for 
 me, you and Marge-ree. Wait now — ^be sure. 
 
 {Counts.) One and Two and Three and 
 
 {Calls.) Oh, Aunt Be— ull ! AuntBe— ull! Why, 
 Aunt Belle, you know the lady next door, the one 
 that's been sick, well, she's on the porch. I'm 'fraid 
 I might 'sturb her, practicing. Don't you think I'd 
 better stop ? You don't think so ? The time ? It's 
 just about two more of those slow minutes on this 
 old clock. It's awful all wrong. Aunt Belle. Can't 
 I go out now? I mean may I go out now? Did 
 you say I'd drive you 'stracted ? What, Aunt Belle ! 
 I worry you to death? Well— yes'm — May I go 
 now? Oh, goodie! {Calls.) O-oo-hoo, Marge, 
 I'm comin ! O-oo-hoo, Ruby, wait till I get my 
 skates ! Yes'm, Aunt Belle, I have my coat and my 
 hat. Goodie, goodie ! I'm going out ! O-oo-hoo, 
 Marge-ree, here I come! 
 
LITTLE MARY PLAYS THE PIANO 
 
 83 
 
 [Note. — This is the correct tune, " The Cuckoo." 
 It is merely given here to enable the reader to hum 
 or play it incorrectly as given in the monologue. The 
 counting " One and Two and " must be in a loud 
 precise tone.] 
 
How She Sells Waists 
 
 Scene. — Waist department of a large dry-goods 
 
 store. 
 Characters : The Young Saleslady. 
 
 Beatrice, another young saleslady. 
 
 Various Customers. 
 
 {The Young Saleslady chatters.) 
 
 Oh, Beatrice, I am simply paralyzed this morning. 
 I danced until 3 a. m. Say, I'll tell the Universe, 
 Harry is some toddler. I was so sleepy it took Ma 
 half an hour to wake me. I have a new marcel on 
 my hair, tied it up last night so it wouldn't get 
 mussed. Howju like it? Here comes an old 
 chromo. This is the morning I'd like to kill a few 
 customers before lunch. Waists? Yes, this is the 
 counter. What color? Light, or dark? Here's a 
 lovely beaded brown, the very latest. Will this 
 Georgette wear? Sure, I can recommend it for I 
 bought one myself last week. It's only twenty-five 
 dollars. Well, — of course, we have cheaper ones. 
 Light blue? Why — er — ^yes — but they don't bring 
 them in the larger sizes. Of course I don't mean 
 you're large or anything like that. This one is 
 fifteen dollars. Too much ? Just about what price 
 did you wish to pay? Advertised some at five 
 fifty? Oh, those are in the basement, I presume. 
 The floor-walker will direct you to the elevator. 
 
 Imagine, Beatrice, that shape in a light blue ! The 
 84 
 
HOW SHE SELLS WAISTS 85 
 
 more bubbly they are, the more conspicuous waists 
 they want. Ain't it a fright? Say, Bee, I bought 
 me some galoshes. They click just too cute for 
 anything when I walk. Harry says he can hear me 
 coming a block. What, Madam ? Will I stop talk- 
 ing long enough to wait on you? That's what I'm 
 here for. You didn't think so ? I'll tell you some- 
 thing Harry said. Bee, in a minute. It was a scream, 
 he's some witty kid. Yes, Madam. Of course, I'll 
 wait on you. Georgette, or a silk waist? Cotton? 
 Those are in the third aisle to the left. She looked 
 like a cotton customer, Bee, I just knew it. Ain't 
 they the killing things the way they ask if this is 
 the waist counter, and here are dozens of waists in 
 plain sight? 
 
 Well, Bee, about that funny thing Harry said. I 
 must hurry and tell you before some other old cat 
 comes up. Harry slipped on a banana peel last 
 night, and he said, " That doesn't appeal to me." 
 Don't you see it. Bee? Peel — ^banana peel — wasn't 
 that the cleverish sort of thing to say? I just 
 howled, but Bob Burns said that it was a bum joke. 
 Isn't Bob the green-eyed thing? What, Miss? You 
 want a mauve waist? Mauve — mauve, let me see. 
 Here are some pretty new styles,, braided and em- 
 broidered. What size? Here's a fancy beaded 
 style. Simply grand! I sold one to Mrs. Get 
 Richly on the Drive yesterday. What's that? 
 Haven't I any idea what color mauve is? Why 
 certainly, it's a — a — You don't care what Mrs. Get 
 Richly bought? 
 
 She's gone, Bee. Wasn't she the snippy thing? 
 I don't believe she wanted waists anyhow. Honest 
 to goodness. Bee, I believe Harry was almost ready 
 to propose last night. I vow I do. He was awfully 
 
86 LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 sort of mushy and spoony, and said my eyes would 
 drive a man mad, they were so sort of vampish Hke. 
 What's that? Marie says he says that to every 
 girl? Marie's jealous, and she's just crazy about 
 Harry, absolutely gone on him. I don't believe it — 
 that he has a case on every girl. Anyhow, I should 
 worry, there's plenty of good fish. You heard he 
 was engaged to a ^rl from his home town — Coke- 
 town, Pennsylvania? Marie says she knows the 
 girl? Well, that's what he looks like. I always 
 thought so. A small-town guy. Coketown, Penn- 
 sylvania, huh ! 
 
 I was only spoofing him anyhow. I'm really 
 dippy about a feller in our block. I mean he's wild 
 about me. Here comes two shoppers, I know the 
 cut of their jibs. I have to pull down every waist 
 in stock, can't get out of it. 
 
 (Half an hour later.) 
 
 Believe me, Bee, I'm all wore out. Showed 'em 
 every waist in the place, and they never bought a 
 stitch ! Here comes that woman with the busy kid. 
 You take her. If I do, I'll slap the kid's face and 
 lose my job. I came near doing it last week. Any- 
 how, it's my lunch time. I'm going out to get some 
 cream puffs and a sundae. Howju like my new 
 muskrat coat? Paw says that women ought to be 
 ashamed to look a muskrat in the face. What kind 
 of looking animals are they anyway? Say, about 
 Harry, you needn't think I care. I'll admit, too, 
 he's awful silly, and tells the rummiest jokes. 
 There's that feller from our block, across the aisle. 
 I guess I can stick him for the lunch and get a 
 regular feed. I'll be back at 12 : 30. Bye bye. 
 
Love and the Jungle 
 
 Scene. — The Hospital barracks at Port Au 
 Prince, Hayti, several days after a raid by the 
 Mountain bandits. 
 Characters : The Sergeant. 
 His Buddy. 
 Marion, the wife. 
 
 (The Sergeant rambles on to his Buddy.) 
 
 I am going fast, Buddy. No matter what they 
 say, I know it is a question of days. The black 
 devils got me, but we drove 'em back. I guess they 
 know Uncle Sam means business and they'll stay 
 up there in the mountains, eh. Bud? But I'm go- 
 ing — I've got mine. It's retribution, Bud, and I 
 want to tell you something before I go. It will ease 
 my mind to confess. 
 
 No, I don't want a preacher, just you, boy. 
 We've weathered it together in this hot hell, here 
 in Hayti. We've listened to the jabbering blacks 
 and clinched our fists and steeled our hearts at the 
 maddening sameness of the days and the long 
 monotony of the nights. We've fought the devil 
 bandits and chased them back, but one of them got 
 me, kid. I croaked plenty of 'em before they did, 
 though. I've had three years more of it than you, 
 Buddy. 
 
 The folks in the States don't know much about 
 the heat and the deadly lonesomeness of it all. 
 
 87 
 
88 LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 We're just marines to them, protecting 'em in 
 Hayti. 
 
 I left a little wife behind in the States and she 
 was crazy to come down to me. Wrote she wouldn't 
 be afraid of anything. She was proud because they 
 made me a sergeant and — well, she wanted to come 
 and there was no saying " No." It was like heaven 
 when she first came, Buddy, but by and by I saw 
 she was restless and blue and she'd cry a good deal 
 and so I sent her for a change to the zone. It was 
 just the same, only worse when she came back, and 
 one day when the boat came from Cristobal and 
 went on again, she went with it. I didn't know 
 until I found the letter. 
 
 " I despise it all," she said, " and I can stand no 
 more. I hate the beggars, the heat and the everlast- 
 ing procession of black women in the market place, 
 with their turbans and trays of tropical fruits on 
 their heads, and their queer French talk. We are 
 not suited to each other. I have found it out too 
 late. I do not love you any longer." 
 
 I don't know how I finished the letter. Bud, 
 maybe I didn't finish it, but I must have because she 
 told me where to reach her. 
 
 The steward on the boat told me there was some 
 one else, a young fellow by the name of West, the 
 assistant purser of his boat. She had seen him 
 coming down. There were moonlight nights and 
 four or five days on a ship seem a long time. What 
 was the climax? Well, Bud, she saw him again in 
 Cristobal when she went to the Zone. The boat 
 was there a week and — oh, what's the use, kid, of 
 explaining? She was tired of me, that's all. 
 
 I wrote her she could get a divorce. I wouldn't 
 try to hold her against her will. Sounds tame, don't 
 
LOVE AND THE JUNGLE 89 
 
 it, but I didn't forget. She did get a divorce, Bud, 
 but he didn't marry her. I heard him boast of it 
 one night at a cabaret on Front Street in Colon, 
 where I went on a furlough. Men in uniform are 
 not allowed there, but we fellows sat behind a 
 screen. 
 
 He was with a group of ofificers from his boat and 
 I heard one of them say: 
 
 " How's the little girl that had a crush on you, 
 West?" 
 
 " Oh, the Milton girl? Why, I threw her over. 
 Only a passing fancy. One can't marry them all, 
 you know." 
 
 I sprang up, but the other fellows held me back. 
 It meant the guard house for us all if we were 
 caught. Then I heard him say: 
 
 " I'm going into the jungle to-morrow, if I can 
 get a guide." 
 
 I followed him out on to Front Street and when 
 the others went into the commissary, I tapped him 
 on the shoulder. 
 
 " I am going into the jungle to-morrow," I said. 
 " I heard you say you wanted a guide. You may 
 go with me." 
 
 He had never seen me and I did not tell him my 
 name. We went the next day, Buddy, into the 
 tangled shades, through the winding trails, where 
 the wild things live. Snakes wriggled into the un- 
 derbrush ; iguanas darted across the paths ; brilliant 
 birds flew about us ; orchids clung to the trees in a 
 glory of bloom; monkeys peered at us from the 
 branches chattering in anger and surprise. Wild 
 roars and strange cries made my man start as I led 
 him further into the dark places, where white man 
 never trod. 
 
90 LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 " Let US go back," he said. " I'll go back, not 
 you," I answered. And I threw him down upon the 
 ground. " Lie there, you dog, my name is Milton. 
 Find your way out if you can." 
 
 I came out of the jungle alone. For days he 
 wandered and when they found him he was babbling 
 of strange shapes that he had seen and the horror 
 of it all was in his eyes, for his reason was gone 
 forever. 
 
 " Vengeance is mine," saith the Lord. I heard 
 that once somewhere. Buddy, and I took the matter 
 in my own hands, and I guess this is retribution. 
 I'll have to answer for it to a higher court. 
 
 * ^ ^ ^ !): l{f ^ 
 
 Buddy ! Buddy ! Where am I ? Hold my hand. 
 Who is that at the door? What, Buddy? I've 
 been ill? Delirious? Open the door. Marion — 
 Marion, little girl, you've come back to me. Now 
 I shall die happy. Not die? The doctor says I'll 
 get well. But West — I left him in the jungle, God 
 forgive me. What, little girl? I've been in a de- 
 lirium since the bandits fought us? Thank God, 
 you were not here. Yes, yes, I remember you went 
 to Cristobal for a rest. I thought you had gone 
 back to the States — to West — you know you were 
 so discontented, I sent you away for a change. 
 What, dear, you are sorry you were blue and com- 
 plained of it all? Never mind, I have you now. I 
 know I was lonely when you went away and jealous 
 because you told me about meeting West and danc- 
 ing with him and once I was lost in the jungle, so 
 I mixed it all up in my delirium, I guess. Those 
 devils gave me a nasty wound. — Oh, dearie, thank 
 God you were not here. I don't think they'll come 
 again. 
 
LOVE AND THE JUNGLE QI 
 
 Yes, Buddy, old man, you may go if you like. 
 God bless you. 
 
 Marion, I won't worry now, and I'll learn to 
 dance when I get well, if you want me to. What, 
 little girl? You don't mind. You are sorry you 
 complained? You want only me? Hold me tight, 
 sweetheart, nothing else matters. 
 
The Unwritten Story 
 
 Scene. — A Newspaper Office. 
 Characters : The Cub I^portee. 
 
 The Girl. 
 
 The City Editor. 
 
 (The Cub Reporter buzzes.) 
 
 Swell thing to work on a big newspaper — I don't 
 think. And a great little idea, to have a day off! 
 Like fun it is ! If this is your job and you want a 
 day of repose, plug up your 'phone. 
 
 There was I — Jack Harvey, reporter on the Great 
 Daily Wheeze, snoozing away for f are-you-well, on 
 my one day off a week — me, with ungodly hours all 
 of the other six — when the 'phone bell buzzed next 
 to my ear. 
 
 And then, the dream I was having! Ye gods! 
 Never will I be able to have such a dream again. I 
 thought I was the city editor, and, oh joy! I was 
 balling out everybody in sight, calling them " Dubs " 
 and " Boneheads," in the sweet mellifluous tones of 
 the old man. 
 
 I don't know what mellifluous means, but it's a 
 good word. 
 
 The buzzing 'phone called me to earth — or rather 
 to the cold floor. No Alladin's lamp in mine ! Real 
 facts ! And the City Ed. crabbing on the oAer end 
 of the line, about one of the boys who was ill and 
 I was to take his assignment. It seems that a kid 
 had gotten away with $i,ooo from Old Million- 
 92 
 
THE UNWRITTEN STORY 93 
 
 bucks, and the old sinner was making a howl like 
 a coyote on a dark night. 
 
 I felt like taking my hat off to anybody who 
 could squeeze a dollar from the old miser — much 
 less $1,000, so in my heart I wanted to see the kid 
 make a getaway. Did I take plenty of time to get 
 into my readymades? You know it. Finally I 
 sallied forth merrily. That merrily is sarcasm. 
 Get me ? 
 
 Old Millionbucks hadn't g^ven the story to the 
 police. He wanted to get the money first and then 
 he wanted revenge with a big R. Hanging, or hfe, 
 or any little thing like that. The kid hved in a 
 flat with his sister. I suppose you think I fall for 
 every pretty girl I see. Nothing doing. But that 
 sister! Peaches and cream and brown eyes — say, 
 think of all the classy Janes you ever saw, and then 
 some. She had been crying when she came to the 
 door and I tried to steel my heart, but it was no 
 use. The weeps sort of got me. I followed her 
 into the flat feeUng like a dog sheep-steahng. 
 
 She was scared when she found I was a reporter, 
 but I took ten minutes convincing her that re- 
 porters were naturally the most kind-hearted, sym- 
 pathetic ginks in the world. 
 
 At last she opened up her heart and seemed to 
 want to tell some one her troubles, and if it hadn't 
 been too early in the game, I would have pillowed 
 her head on my manly bosom for aeons and seons. 
 That's a good word too. 
 
 The kid and she were alone, orphans, and she said 
 he had been a good brother. " I love him dearly," 
 she sobbed. Lucky kid! I felt just like a sob 
 sister. 
 
 " I don't want to excuse him, but maybe it was 
 
94 LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 my fault," she added. " I was discontented some- 
 times. We were trying to pay for the furniture, 
 and I wanted pretty clothes and often I complained, 
 because I don't earn very much myself, and it takes 
 so much just for living expenses. When he told 
 me what he had done, I could have died. Anything 
 was better than that. I was so afraid and I sent 
 him away. Maybe it was wrong, but I couldn't 
 face it. I have nearly all the money, all but $200. 
 I'll work to pay it back. You won't let them hunt 
 for him, will you ? I couldn't stand it — to have him 
 in jail. I'm a little older than he is, and I've taken 
 care of him for five years, that is, until he began 
 to work himself. I'll pay the money back. Oh, 
 I'll go down on my knees to his employer " 
 
 " No you don't," I interrupted. " You don't 
 kneel to that old bird. That old tartar ought to be 
 hung anyway. Wait, girlie," — I had to call her 
 girlie, she seemed so dependent, sort of — " I'll see 
 what I can do. Say, you go with me to our office 
 and we'll see the boss." 
 
 " Not to the newspaper office ! " she gasped. 
 
 " Sure," I answered. " Our Ed. isn't a bad sort," 
 although I gulped when I said it. 
 
 Worse and more of it! While we were talking, 
 in walked the kid, with his conscience all messy, and 
 wanted to give himself up. It was all I could do to 
 persuade him to get out and stay out until the thing 
 had blown over. 
 
 We, the girl and I, went away from the little 
 flat — say, it was a cute flat and looked homey — and 
 went down to the office to see the City Ed. No 
 wonder I gulped. I had been sent on a story and 
 here I was coming back, all mushy, with a girl. It 
 was all day for me, I knew. 
 
THE UNWRITTEN STORY 95 
 
 The Ed. was in his shirt sleeves, as per usual, 
 and looked like a caged lion, but I guess it was the 
 girl's eyes did it. 
 
 I stumbled right into my story. 
 
 " I'm a bum reporter, I know, but just this once 
 maybe we can fix this thing up," and I let him know 
 quietly without giving it away to the girl, that I had 
 $200 of my own. 
 
 "After this you can fire me," I added, " for fall- 
 ing down on an assignment." 
 
 You think newspaper eds. are all hard-boiled. 
 Believe me, many things are hushed up in a news 
 office that would make good snappy reading. 
 
 I say it was the girl's eyes, maybe it was her way 
 of talking, that did it; anyhow the Ed. had some- 
 thing on Old Millionbucks, about a crooked deal or 
 two. Whatever it was, the old skeezicks let the 
 matter drop when he got his money, and I wasn't 
 fired either. Oh, well! You want to know the 
 end of the story? 
 
 The girl and I are going to be married next week 
 and I'm to have a whole week off for a honeymoon 
 with a mysterious $200 from the boys in the office 
 for a gift, and we're going to keep the flat too. 
 
 Say, I take back what I said when I began. I'm 
 some happy that 'phone bell rang on my day off — 
 for one time at least — I'll tell the world. 
 
Si Wanted Peace 
 
 What's that you're saying, Doctor ? 
 I ain't going to git well ? 
 Jest thought this gol-dern sickness 
 Was lastin' quite a spell. 
 
 Got to up an' die sometime, I guess, 
 An' I ain't so mighty young. 
 Fer five an' seventy year I've dumb 
 Life's ladder rung by rung. 
 
 My ole woman died last Christmas, 
 An' fer six months I've had a rest. 
 The days was nice an' peaceful. 
 Let me git this off my chest. 
 
 May seem kinder mean to say. 
 But she chewed the rag all day, 
 From daylight until chores was done, 
 An' till I hit the hay. 
 
 My muddy feet on the kitchen floor ! 
 My terbaccer spilled around ! 
 My socks wore out a heap too fast ! 
 A million faults, she found. 
 
 Nothin' was right I ever done, 
 I sold the crops too cheap. 
 Why, Doctor, fer to hear her talk, 
 I wa'n't wuth my board an' keep. 
 96 
 
SI WANTED PEACE 97 
 
 This farm is mine, so I jest stayed 
 An' listened to the clack. 
 When a woman gits wound up like that, 
 You ain't got no come back. 
 
 It's been so quiet sense she died, 
 I hoped that it would last. 
 Shall you git a preacher f er me. Doc ? 
 You think I'm goin' fast ? 
 
 No, Doctor, I don't want no prayers ; 
 I know how the preacher'U pray ; 
 That I may meet my wife in heaven, 
 Is jest what he will say. 
 
 I hope she's there, but this I know, 
 Ef I want peace — oh, well. 
 She's sure busy chewin' a golden rag, 
 An' I'd ruther go to — (Coughs.). 
 Ain't this a bad cough. Doc ? 
 
A Christmas Sketch 
 
 Scene. — One corner of the kiddies' nursery, on 
 
 Christmas Eve. 
 Characters: Santa Claus. 
 
 Bobbie. 
 
 Bell. 
 
 BUNNIE. 
 
 Bess. 
 
 {Enter The Children in their night gowns.) 
 
 Bobbie. Come on, let's hang up our stockings — 
 and hurry up. 
 
 Bell. Yes, hurry, Santa might come. 
 
 Bess. But he won't come while we are here, 
 will he? 
 
 Bell. No, we have to sleep first. 
 
 BuNNiE. I would just love to see Santa Claus. 
 
 Bob. Some night I'm going to sit up and nab 
 him. 
 
 Bell. Oh ! you wouldn't dare, Bobbie. 
 
 Bun. No, don't ! He might run away ! 
 
 Bess. And then we wouldn't get any presents. 
 
 Bob. {pins stocking to the mantel). This is my 
 place. 
 
 Bell. This is mine. {Pins up stocking.) 
 
 Bess. This is mine. {Pins up stocking.) 
 
 Bun. And this is mine. {Pins up stocking.) 
 98 
 
A CHRISTMAS SKETCH 99 
 
 Bob. Let's read our letters. {All are seated in 
 a semi-circle on the floor.) 
 
 Bell. All right. {Reads.) 
 
 " Dear Santa : I want a set of furs, bran' new, and 
 a gold ring and a silk sweater, and a book. I want 
 new furs, remember, Santa, and not my sister's old 
 ones •" 
 
 Bob. {interrupting). Do you want the earth? 
 
 (Bell jumps up, puts the note in her stocking, 
 then sits down again.) 
 
 Bess {reads). " Dear Santa Claus ; 
 I like you because 
 You are jolly and fat. 
 I want a new hat, 
 A box of paints, too, 
 A silk dress all blue, 
 A doll an' " 
 
 Bob. Hold on! You want the earth and the 
 moon. 
 
 (Bess puts letter in her stocking, sits down again. ) 
 
 Bun. {reads letter). " Dear Mr. Santie Claus: 
 I want a tin horn to play auto'bile." 
 
 Bell {scornfully). What's an auto'bile? 
 
 Bun. Why you know, it's one of those things 
 that blows horns and runs over people. {Reads.) 
 "And I want a doll buggy, and a new doll piano, and 
 everything. Your loving Bunnie. P. S. Mamma 
 wants a new gas stove, and a new hired girl. And 
 Papa wants some more money." 
 
 Bob. {laughing). Oh, a doll piano, you couldn't 
 
lOO LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 get that in your stocking. I'll read my letter. 
 (Reads.) "Dear Santa: You are a good pal. I 
 wish I could see you. Please give me a sled, a pair 
 of skates, a new top, a baseball bat, a pair of 
 guinea pigs, a white rat and a pony. Lovingly, 
 Bobbie. P. S. I'd like a set of soldiers, too." 
 
 Bell. Well, you want the earth, and the moon 
 and sun, all three. 
 
 Bess. Let's hurry and get to bed. 
 
 (All jump up. BuNNiE and Bobbie put letters in 
 stockings.) [All exit. 
 
 (Bobbie returns, cautiously pulling off his night- 
 gown. He is fully dressed. Sits down quietly left 
 of fireplace. Noise is heard, a whirring sound. 
 Enter Santa Claus, puts down his bundle, rubs his 
 hands in front of the> fire, taking several long 
 breaths. Does not see Bobbie.) 
 
 Bob. (rushing forward). Hello, Santa, I've 
 caught you. 
 
 Santa. Well, bless my soul, so you have. This 
 is surely an age of progress. 
 
 Bob. (jumping up). Where are your reindeer? 
 
 Santa. Reindeer, my boy, reindeer, in these 
 scientific times ? Why, I came in the air, of course. 
 And believe me, it was some trip. I almost scraped 
 one of my wings off against the North Pole when I 
 started. And I nearly bumped my head on the 
 sharp corners of those bright stars up there. Then 
 I had to fly out of the way of the Great Bear, and 
 stop to get some milk from the Milky Way. You 
 know milk is very high these days. Then I took a 
 drink out of the Big Dipper, and stopped long 
 
A CHRISTMAS SKETCH lOI 
 
 enough to bottle up a little weather for the weather 
 man. But here I am at last with my pack. Have 
 you been a good boy ? 
 
 Bob. {eagerly). Oh, yes! 
 
 Santa. Sure? 
 
 Bob. (hesitatingly). Yes; that is, for a week I 
 have. {Runs to entrance l., calling.) Wake up, 
 wake up, everybody. Santa has come. 
 
 (The rest rush in and crowd around Santa.) 
 
 Santa. Bless my soul, what a lot of little dears. 
 But how does it happen you are all dressed? (Sits 
 down. ) 
 
 Bell. Oh, we had our clothes on under our 
 nightgowns. We were so afraid we wouldn't wake 
 up. 
 
 Bun. Where are the presents ? 
 
 All (clamoring). Yes, the presents, the pres- 
 ents. 
 
 Santa. One at a time, one at a time, please. 
 Here are the toys in my bag. (Hands them out.) 
 Here is a book for you, (To Bell.) and a horn for 
 you, (To BuNNiE.) a drum for Bobbie, and a doll 
 for Bess. I expect you wanted a lot more things. 
 The world is so full of children that we are going to 
 remember everybody, and not be selfish. This is 
 the true spirit of Christmas — loving and giving. 
 The more we love and give the happier we are, eh, 
 children ? Now if you're not afraid to fly I'll take 
 you with me and help give presents to the poor chil- 
 dren. The very spirit of love and of Christmas 
 breathes on one and all. 
 
 (Then he catches their hands and all circle in a 
 ring to the tune of the " Battle Cry of Freedom.") 
 
I02 LIVELY MONOLOGUES AND POEMS 
 
 All. Christmas, oh, Christmas, 
 
 Our hearts ring with cheer, 
 
 Christmas, oh, Christmas, 
 
 Glad time of the year. 
 
 We'll fly with dear Santa, 
 
 We kiddies know no fear, 
 
 Shouting for Christmas and Old Santa. 
 
 (Santa picks up bag, calling.) 
 
 Santa. Away, away, fly with me ! 
 
 \Exit all.