CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY GIFT OF Cornell University Dept, of Theatre Arts ench'A International Copyrighted (in England, her ^B Colonies, and tbe United States) Edition of the Works of the Best Authors. No. 313 t BETWEEN THE SOUP AND THE SAVOURY BY GERTRUDE JENNINGS GoPYRIQHT, 1911, BY SaMUEL FRBNCH, LIMITED : t t ALL RIGHTS RESERVED CAUTION. — Professionals and amateurs are hereby, warned that "Between the Soup and the Savoury," being iully protected under the copyright laws of the United Stales of America, the British Empire, including the Dominion of Canada, and the other countries of the Copyright Union, is subject to a royalty, and anyone presenting the play without the consent of the owners or their authorized agents will be liable to the penalties by law pronidcd. Applications for the professional and amateur acting rigmsi^ must be njade to Samuel French, 25 West 45th Street, Ne* York, " be made to - -';;;> f HE L CLU0 PRICE 30 CENTS New York ' SAMUEL FRENCH PUBLISHER 25 WEST 4STH STREET London SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 26 Southampton Street STRAND I >TV*9W«V4r«9«««»¥99;)r»¥¥4rw«V*4r»^»9*9^»y«9Va MRS. WIGGS OF THE CABBAGE PATCH Dramatization in 3 acts, by Anne Crawford Flexner from the novel by Alice Hegan Kiee^ 15 males, 11 females, r interior, 1 exterior. Costumes modern and rustic. Plays a full evening. -' A capital dramatization of tie ever-ieloved Mrs.. Wiggs and her friends, people who have entered the hearts and minds of a nation. Mrs. Schultz and Lovey Mary, the pessimistia Miss Hazy and the others need no new introduction. Here is' characteriza- tion, humor^ pathos, and what is best and most appealing in modern^ American life. The amateur acting rights are reserved for the present in all cities and towns where- there are stock . companies. .Iloyalty will be quoted on application for those cities and towns where it may be presented by amateurs. . Price, 75 Oents. THE FOUR-FLUSHER Comedy in 3 acts. By Caesar Dunn. 8 males, 5 females. 2 interiors. Modern costumes. Plays 2% hours, A comedy of hustling American youth, "The Pour-Flusher" is ono of those clean and bright plays which, reveal the_mo8t appeal' ing isharacteristics of our native, types.- Here is an amusing story . of a young shoe, clerk who through -cleverness, personality, and plenty of wholesome faith in himself, .becomes a millionaire. The play is best described as "breezy." It is full of human -touches, and develo,ps a most interesting story. It may be whole-heartedly recommended to high schools. (Roy'alty, twenty:.five dollftrs.) Price, 75 Gents. PALS FIRST Comedy in a prologue and 3 acts. By Lee Wilson T)odd. .8 males, 3 females. 1 interior, 1 exterior. Modern cos- tumes. Plays 2% hours. Based on the successful novel of the eame name by F. P. Elliott, "Pals First" is a decidedly _ picturesque mystery play. r Danny and the I>ominie, a pair of tramps, enter a -mansion and persuade the servants _and friends that ihey. belong there. They are not altogether wrong, though it requires -the intervention of a judge, two detectives, a villain and an attractive girl to un- . Vtngle the complications. A most ingenious play, well adapted io performance by high schools and colleges. (Royalty, twenty- five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. SAXOEIi FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street;, New York City Tuv vai Explicit DescriptiTe Catalogue Mailed Free on Bequest BETWEEN THE SOUP AND THE SAVOURY B7 GERTRUDE JENNINGS Copyright, 191 i, by Samuel French, Ltd. ALIi RIGHTS RESERVED CAUTION. — Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that "Between the Soup and the Savoury," being fully protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America, the British Emi)ire, including the Dominion of Canada, and the other countries of the Copyright Union, is subject to a royalty, and anyone presenting the play without the consent of the owners or their authorized agents will be liable to the penalties by law provided. Applications for the professional and amateur acting rights must be made to Samuel French, 25 West 45th StEget. New York, N. Y. New York SAMUEL FRENCH PUBLISHER 25 WEST 4STH STREET London SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. publishers 26 Southampton Street STRAND £57 65- BETWEEN THE SOUP AND THE SAVOURY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Especial notice should be taken that the possession of this book without a valid contract for production first having been obtained from the publisher, confers no right or license to professionals or amateurs to produce the play publicly or in private for gain or charity. In its present form this play is dedicated to the reading public only, and no performance, representation, production, recitation, or public reading, or radio broad- casting may be given except by special arrangement with Samuel French, 25 West 4Sth Street, New York. This play may be presented by amateurs upon payment of a royalty of Five Dollars for each performance, pay- able to Samuel French, 25 West 45th Street, New York, one week before the date when the play is given. Professional royalty quoted on application to Samuel French, 25 West 4Sth Street, New York, N. Y. Whenever the play is produced the' following notice must appear on all programs, printing^ and, advertising for the play: "Produced by special arrangement with Samuel French of New York." Attention is called to the penalty pfcjVidecr/Mflaw for any infringement of the author's rights as f6Hows: "Section 4966: — Any person publiclyiperforwiing or representing any dramatic or musica^v'jjpmposition for which copyright has been obtained, wip^tit the consent of the proprietor of said dramatic or ^^s^ical composi- tion, or his heirs and assigns, shall be lii^gj^ for damages thereof, such damages, in all cases to , such sum, not less than one hundred doll; and fifty dollars for every subsequent to the court shall appear to be just, performance and representation be wilf such person or persons sfeall be guilty o and upon conviction shall be'imprisoned exceeding one year."— U. S. Revised Stat! Chap. 3. C.UM-' ■i/^ PROPERTIES On centre table. Dishcloth. Bowl of water. Parsley. Bowl to beat eggs. Fork to beat eggs. Jug of milk. Castor sugar. Two eggs. Property oysters. Three platet. Sauce-boat. On side table. Six slices of bacon. Six small skewers. Soufflet dish. Three plates. Spoons, knives and forkx. Bottle of vanilla. At stove. Twenty plates. Entr6e dish, with squares of bread representing fish. Large dish with cover, con- taining carcases of fowls. Saucepan of potatoes. Two vegetable dishes. Small saucepan for bread sauce. Plate with two pieces of bread toasted one side Frying-pan for savoury. On dresser. Cookery book. Hand-glass. Jug of cream. Knives and forks. Wooden spoon (on floor in front of c. table). Towel ipn rack). Tray. Four soup plates. Four soup spoons. Toasting fork (near fireplace). Dish cloth (fiear fireplace). Off stage, L. Letter in newspaper bag far Emily, Bell. Cornell University Library The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013630961 / n| g= 3 (D japnaj MopDIAV BETWEEN THE SOUP AND THE SAVOURY Originally produced at the Playhouse, London, undei the management of Mr. Cyril Maude and the direction oi the Author, on October 19, 1910. The Cook (Maria) ... . Miss Margaret Murray, The Parlourmaid (Ada) . Miss Maude Buchanan. The Kitchenmaid (Emily) . Miss Ethel Ross. Scene. — The Kitchen. Tim. — Evening, during th* ttrving of dinnm. BETWEEN THE SOUP AND THE SAVOURY Scene.- -A Kitchen. If necessary the range can be concealed by a clothes-horse covered witit kitchen cloths, thus doing away with actual cooking utensils. A plan of the scene will be found at the end. The sink is not necessary, and if any difficulty is ex- peri'nced, it may be dispensed with. (Emily, a meek, pathetic little kitchen-maid, is dis- covered at the range; Cook, a handsome, buxom woman, bending over table c, is washing parsley and putting it on a plate.) Cook. Did I put any salt in the soup, Hemily ? Emily. Yus, Cook. Cook. Saw me do it, did you ? Emily. Yus, Cook. Cook. She turns back this morning when I thought I'd got rid of her and sez, " Cook," she sez, " your Master tells me you don't know the use of •alt." Those were her very words. Emily. And what did you say? Cook. Oh, I never loses my temper, however much I'm 'ectored, so I just answered quiet hke but firm : " Well, mum," I sez, " it's a good thing he knows something which I don't." You should 'ave seen 'er look. Emily. Lor' I Cook. Oh, I don't believe in flying out at people. Not that I'd let myself be put upon neither. My 8 BETWEEN THE SOUP A^^^ THE SAVOURY mother that Uves in Putney brought me up most careful in that respect. " Marie," she sez, " you remember who you are and others will do the same. That's the way." Emily. I should like to see any one down you. Cook, Neither wouldn't I. I'm just the same with Mr. Pollard. " Arthur," I sez, " if you wants to spend an afternoon with me on Sunday we go to Kew or nowhere." Just like that — quite pleasant. Emily. And 'e 'as ter go ? Cook. Should think so I Not that we've bin yet, but it's all the same principle, (Ada enters from l., carrying a tray with soup plates, which she puts OH table. She is a smart, pretty girl with a brisk manner and rather a strident voice) so just you 'old to that, Emily, and don't make yourself cheap with no young man. Ada. Don't you waste time advising her what to do, Marie. Can you see Emily with a young man ? Not much I (Emily goes in front of table, takes soup plates off tray, puts them on table, then brings fish.) Cook. Soup all right ? Ada. Not enough salt. Cook. 'Oo says so ? Ada. " She " did. Open like. Master tastes it, puts down his spoon, and raises his eyebrows, so — (Raises hers.) " She " flushes up and says quiet like, " I have mentioned it." Master says, " Not with much efiect." Cook. Ho, indeed I Was that all ? (Emily returns to oven, gets plates.) Ada. Yes. I suppose he didn't like to use language in front of Miss Angela's fiangr6e. Emily {timidly — with plates in her hand). 'Ow ii Mr. Forbes loolung, miss ? BETWEEN THE SOUP AND THE SAVOURY. 9 Ada {looking her up and down scornfully) , Now then, 'urry up with those plates I (Emily puts plates on tray.) Rose is always out when there's company. (E:iU.) Emily. Ada's a bit short with me sometimes. Cook {moving bowl and water to dresser). Well, it's none of your business asking after the gentry. What's it to you how Mr. Forbes is ? Are the pertatoes ready ? {Pause. Emily tries them with a fork.) Emily. Just on. I only asked after Mr. Forbes bekos he's going ter marry Miss Angela. Cook {picking up cookery book). You put enough salt in the soup next time, and don't be fiUing your head with romances. Emily. I only Cook. There, that's enough. Where's Rose gone to-night ? {She is looking out a recipe in book, l.) Emily. Mr. Fuller is a-taking of her ter the Exhibition. Cook. Has she asked " Her " for late ? Emily. Naow. Cook. Lor' ! Took the key, 'as she ? Emily {looking at nail, r.). Naow. Cook. There now, that beats me. You'll have ter sit up, and mind you're quiet opening the door. That lower 'inge still squeaks. She said ter me only Saturday, "'No one out after ten' is my rule, as you know, Cook, and please remind the others " — which I never did. However, it's a poor heart that never rejoices. Pick up that spoon. You'll be wanting it in a minute, and then it will be minus. (Emily crosses c, picks up spoon.) Emily. I wish I had somebodv ter walk out with. 10 BETWEEN THE SOUP AND THE SAvOURY. Cook. You walk out with them pertatoes if they're done. (Emily goes to oven. Cook crosses r., still looking at recipe.) {Enter Ada, with tray : she looks in a hand-glass and puts her cap straight. Emily is dishing up the potatoes.) Ada. Lively lot in there, I must say. Master looks like old Nick. Cook. Per'aps he's made a fool of himself on the Stock Exchange, as per usual. Ada. Oh, I dessay. He generally works it off on the family. Emily. Aan't Miss Angela in her usual. Miss Makepeace ? Ada (ignoring her). Mr. Forbes, he's hardly spoke, and it's my belief there's something up between him and Miss Angela, (Emily puts vegetables on tab , then gets hot plates) for he hasn't pressed her foot unc ^r the table once, nor eaten her bread, which is liis custom, and more than that, when Master was arguing with " Her " over the electric light bill, I heard Miss Angela say quite plain, " If you don't believe me there's no more to be said I " Just like that. Emily {with hot plates in her hand). How beauti- ful 1 Ada (L.C., sharply). What are you a-hanging round listening for ? Be off ! (Emily puts plates on tray, turns away, gets fowls and exits to lift.) Cook (r.c.). And what did Mr. Forbes say ? Ada {putting sauce-boat on the tray). Couldn't quite catch the beginning, as Master he bellows so, but it was something hke — " If you'd cared for them it couldn't have happened." BETWEEN THE SOUP AND THE SAVOURY. 11 Cook. Them ! That's queer ! If it had been "me," I'd have understood. {Bell.) Ada. Well, they 'ave gobbled and no mistake. You did say no entree ? (Emily re-eniers, crosses r.) Cook. Yes. Only roast fowls. Emily Emily. Yes, mum, they're on the lift. {Crossing guicMy to oven, she gets bread sauce, which is in a saucepan.) Ada. Pity you're such an image to look at. I'd like a little extra help upstairs. Come along with that bread sauce I {She brings it.) Hurry up 1 [Between them they upset the sauce.) There, you've dropped it 1 (Cook crosses to table.) Emily. I didn't ! Ada. Don't argue. Lucky it's fallen on the table. Spoon it up. What the eye don't see the heart don't ' grieve over. {Bell.) Oh, keep it up! {Exits.) Emily. You know I didn't drop it. Cook. She did it 'erself. Cook. Emily, you ferget yourself 1 Put them dishes under the tap and don't let me hear no non- sense. What next, I wonder 1 Emily. I'm sorry. Cook. {Takes soup plates away to sink.) Cook {crossing to table, back, gets eg^s, breaks them and begins beating them in bowl). Well, so long as you sees you're wrong. A-critikizing of Miss Makepeace, indeed ! Emily. I know it were taking a Uberty, Cook. I forget myself. Cook. I should think so. {Pause.) Emily. It comes over me sometimes just like a sort of spasm, ter think I'm the same as others. Cook. Don't you encourage them fancies, Emily They're morbid, that's what they are. j Emily. What's morbid. Cook ? 19 BETWEEN THE SOUP AND THE SAVOURY. Cook {putting in milk and sugar). Morbid ? Why, you ought to know that. It's like you ought ter be ashamed of yourself fer asking. Where's the vanilla ? Emily. 'Ere it is I (Takes it from table, draws out cork, gives it to Cook, who pours a few drops in howl and continues heating; Emily returns to sink). I can't 'elp thinking sometimes when I'm a-washing up what it 'ud be Uke ter be a young lady wot had a jwung man ter walk out with. Cook. Well, you won't never have one, Emily. You haven't the looks — ^not unless it was a blind man or a widower with children wot needed managing. You needn't look at me so hot. I'm only telling you for your good. [Pours soufflet from bowl into souffle dish, and puts dish into oven.) Emily. Perhaps as I can't 'ave no young man you might learn me ter be a real cook some day. Cook. Not I. You're too 'eavy-'anded. No, there's some people meant ter be kitchenmaids, and you're one of 'em. There's Ada. (Ada enters, with fish plates on tray, which she puts on table.) Ada. Master's in a stew, I can tell you. Says the bread sauce tastes of paraffin. Give us that chair. (Emily gets chair from back, puts it l. of table. Ada sits. Emily returns to sink.) Cook. Lor' 1 There was a drop of paraffin on the table, now you mention it. (Rubs the table with her finger, smells her finger and nods her head.) Ada. " She " asked me why there was paraffin in the bread sauce, under her breath when I was pass- ing the greens. Just ter shame her, I spoke out loud — like this — " T couldn't say, mum." That finished hpr. Cook. She never gets the better of you. BETWEEN THE SOUP AND THE SAVOURY. 13 Ada. Should 'ope not. Miss Angela and Mr. Forbes are going on like an5rthing. Cook. Making up to each other ? Ada. Not them. \I should say it's about broken off by now. Emily {the knives in her hand, creeps down to Ada, L. of her, agitated). Oh, naouw, Miss Makepeace. My heart bleeds ter 'ear it. It can't be true. Ada. Hulloa, what's all this ? Well, you 'ave got some sauce 1 Upon my word ! Cook. Don't mind 'er, Ada. Her head's turned reading novelettes. She's all on love and marriage, and wishes she 'ad a young man. Ada. a young man ? Her ? Oh, don't. Cook, you'll be the death of me. [Laughs shrilly). Emily with a young man ! [Laughs.) Oh, I shall split myself 1 [Laughs.) Cook. I told her she was morbid. [Laughs.) Ada. I should say so I [Laughs.) Look at her ! What sort of young man will you have, Emily ? Oh, dear ! There's the grocer's boy — he isn't more than half wanting. Would he do ? Or Buggins that was in the motor accident — he's still got some face, left — ^you'd suit him nicely ! [She and Cook laugh hysterically. Bell. Then a sudden silence.) Now, they can't have got through that, not if they ate with both hands. Cook. It's only for vegetables, I expect. (Ada snorts, takes tray and exit.) (Emily crosses to dresser with clean plates. Cook comes to table c, brings ingredients on two plates and begins making the savoury with strips of bacon, oysters, and puts skewers through.) Cook. Not but what they 'ands the vegetables themselves when Rose is out, don't they. ? [A pause.) U BETWEEN THE SOUP AND THE SAVOtJBT. Cook {noticing Emily, who is at dresser, and who makes a sulky movemetii). Now then, Emily, what'« the matter with you ? You're never sulking over what's bin said, are you ? Well, you cure a caution, and no mistake ! Taking offence just bekos we were having a bit of fun I Me and Ada can't 'elp your looks. Emily. It ain't that. Cook. Cook. Well, what is it, then ? Emily. You won't beheve me if I tell yer. Cook. You think I'm a regular Roman I Out with it I I'll beUeve yer if I can. Emily. Well, Cook, I 'ave got a young man, so there I Cook. Oh, go on. You're romancing. Emily. I'm not, neither. I've got a real young man. He's not Buggins, nor 'e ain't the grocer's boy. He's a regular idol. Cook. 'Ere, Emily, if you think I'm going ter swallow your capers you're extremely mistook. You do your work and don't tell me none of your embroi- deries. (Has finished the savoury, crosses to oven, and puts it on a frying-pan.) Emily. But, Cook Cook. That's enough I {Ada returns, shuts door, leans tray against the wall back, goes to sink, dips hands in water, stands at scullery door, wiping her hands.) Ada. Marie I Cook. Well? Ada. I'll ask you ter give a guess as to Master's latest. Cook (Sorei). Oh, lor' 1 Found a bit of grit in tha gravy? Ada. No I Cook. Chickens taste of paper i Ada. Nft BETWEEN THE SOtTP AND THE SAVOURS IS Cook. I give it up. Wot is it ? Ada. Too much noise in the kitchen. {Exit Emily quiaiy.) Cook [springing up). What? Ada. It's a fact ! Cook. WeU. I'm 1 Ada. So am I. Cook. Too much noise ! Ada. Of course, if we're negro slaves, let 'im say so and DC done with it. Cook. Eggsactly ! Ada. Per'aps he'd like us ter live dumb mutes with cashmeres round our heads. That 'ud suit his taste, no doubt. Cook. It's news ter me that because you 'ave a light 'and with pastry you're not permitted ter smile. Ada. Or that it's a sin to pass a few pleasant remarks in the retreat of your own apartments. Cook. What did " She " say ? Ada. She was frightened. I could see that. I closed the door very quiet, and just caught her speech — " You'll have to replace them, that's all." Cook. That's sense, that is. Ada. Oh, "She" 's no fool. Cook. If it wasn't for Mr. Pollard I should cer- tainly leave at the month. (Emily re-enters, goes to dresser.) Ada. Of course I showed them just what I thought of it. Cook. Natchally. Ada. I said, " Very sorry, mum, it shan't occur again," and left the room. Cook. Very proper. Ada. And now, Emily, you see what comes ol your putting yourself forward. If you 'adn't said that about wanting some one to walk out with Cook. Oh, but you ain't 'card the latest, Ada. 16 BETWEEN THE SOUP AND THE SAVOURY. Ada. Why, wot is it ? Cook. Emily says— — {Laughs under her breath.} Ada. Well, get on I Cook. Emily says {Same business.) Ada. 'Urry up I Cook. Go on, Emily, I can't I Emily. It ain't nothing, Miss Makepeace. Only — I 'ave got a young man, that's all. Ada. Oh, 'ave you ? Where do you keep 'im, Emily ? In the larder, or up the chimney ? (Cook is laughing.) Ada. Sh 1 Cook I {Points upwards.) Wot's his name, Emily ? Wot's he like ? Emily. I can't sorter describe 'im, but 'is name is •Arold. Ada. 'Arold ! Oh, lor' I I suppose he's rich, eh? Emily. He has a confidency. Ada. Hold my hand. Cook. And does he love you, Emily ? (Cook and Ada cross in front of table.) Emily. Yuss, he does. Ada. Has he spoken of his devotion ? Emily. Yuss, he 'as. (Cook giggles.) Ada. Be quiet, Maiie ! And written you letters ? Emily. 'Undreds. Ada. You've kept 'im pretty close, Emily. Emily. It didn't seem some'ow delicate ter speali of 'im. Cook {crosses behind table — in an outburst of im- patience). Oh, Emily, how you can stand there I I should think the floor would open beneath you. Emily. It's true what I'm telling you. Ada. She'U face you out with it, see if she don't Cook. Now get on with your work, Enuly You do beat everytlung to-night. I don't Know wbitt'" come over you. BETWEEN THE SOUP AND THE SAVOURY. 17 Emily. What 'ud make you believe I'm speaking the truth ? Ada {winking at Cook). Well, seeing's believing, so I'm told. Cook. Yes, let's 'ave a look at 'Arold, that's all. Emily. So you shall, but he's away just now. Ada. Oh, I dare say. He'll stop there, too. Cook. Per'aps you've got a letter of 'is, Emily ? Ada. Yes. Per'aps you can show us something iweet in writing. Emily. Well, per'aps I can. Ada. Let's see you do it, then. Emily. If I fetch you one, will you promise iiot ter snatch it ? Cook. Certainly. Emily. I'll read you one, then. Ada. That's right. (Emily goes off. Pause.) Ada {to Cook). She's going to make it afi up. Cook. That's it ! (Ada crosses l., where she leans against the dresser. Cook r.) (Emily returns.) Cook. Where 'ave yer 'ad it ? Emily. In the boot box, wrapped up. {Goes c.) Ada. Well, I never did I Now then, read it out. Emily. You won't believe me without ? Ada. Not likely I (Cook gets r. chair, pulls it forward and sits R.C.) (Emily still hesitates. Ada l., Emily c, Cook r. Emily unfolds a newspaper, extracts a letter, and reads. The servants giggle at first, but gradually become impressed^ Emily {reads). " Dearest Uttle woman, It seems years since I saw you last, and the stupid days neves will go by and bring us to Saturday " 18 BETWEEN THE SOUP AND THE SAVOUBY, Cook. Saturday! Why, you 'aven't 'ad Satur- day out since I've bin 'ere I Emily {hesitating). Noaw, but I — ^I used ter meet 'im at the comer when you sent me out ter post the letters. Cook. Mean ter say he hung about on the chance of that ? Why Ada. Hush, Marie I Go on, Emily. Emily {reading). " I think abart you all day long, when I ought ter be doing my work " Cook. He'll get the sack, see if he don't. Emily. " And all the while old Grub thinks I'm answering letters, I'm drawing your dear Uttle face on the blotting-paper " Ada. Dear — ^httle — face I Yours I Emily. " I wasn't much of a feller before I knew you, dearest of all, but you've made me ashamed of myself, and I mean to do aJl I can to be more worthy of you and jour love." Ada. Wdl, I never. Emily. " I think per'aps a good woman never really understands 'ow much her ex — exis — ^tence means ter the man 'oo loves her. It reminds 'im of all the things 'e 'eard and saw when 'e was a Uttle feller, and the world was so wonderful — ^flowers and sunsets, and the sound of 'is mother's voice teaching 'im 'is prayers. 'E didn't think abart it all at the time, but when years 'ave gom by 'e begins to remember and ter know that 'e was 'appy then. And this 'appiness you bring back to me, my darling, because I love you and be- cause you are so far better than I shall ever be. Always, always yours, 'Arold." {There is a long pause. They are all rather subdued, Emily almost crying. She replaces the letter in packet.) Ada. She hasn't made that up. Cook. I must say it really is a beautiful letter. BETWEEN THE SOUP AND THE SAVOURY. 19 Ada. I've 'card worse. Cook (reflectively). I can't qtiite make out 'ow he sees all that in you, Emily. Ada. No, still there's no doubt he has a very gentlemanly way of expressing his feelings, be they what they may. Cook. Quite 'andsome I call it. I congratulate you, Emily. Not that I believe it'll ever come to anything. Emily. Oh, don't you think so, Cook ? Cook. No, I don't. What do you say, Ada ? Ada. Don't sound like it. AU that poetry is suspicious. They come straight ter the point if they mean anjrthing. Still, even ter walk out with, he's very superior. Tell you what (Bell.) Oh, lor' ! there's that old bell 1 I'll 'ear more when I come down. Give us the sweet, Emily. Cook. Good 'Evins 1 if I ain't forgot about the soufflet ! (Cook and Emily go to oven.) Cook. This is a day of misfortune ! Drat me, gossipping here while my dinner's getting spoiled I (They bustle about, the bell rings again, Emily handi out soufflet, then gets hot plates and puts them on tray.) Cook. Give it 'ere, Emily. 'Urry up 1 Why, it's all flat, and black as coal. Can't be helped. Wasn't your fault. There, pour the cream over it. (Emily gets cream from dresser. Ada pours it over soufflet.) Ada. Pretty looking sight, that is 1 If it hadn't been for Emily Cook. No, no, it ain't the girl's fault. There! Let's 'ope they won't aouce. (Beii.) Get on, Ada ! Ada. That's right, ring away I (Exit. Leave* door open.) Emily. I'm very sorry. Cook ! Cook. Don't you fret. Be ready ter take the 30 BETWEEN THE SOUP AND THE SAVOURY. fowls off the lift. {Goes over to oven, makes toast.) I do call it mean of " Her " not to let us finish 'em up. We've had that salt beef for three days. 'Owever, we've got that choice little bit of savoury to-night. And I've made an extra lot, so's there'll be enough for •^very one. Now tell us more about your young man, Emily. What made you used to pretend you 'adn't got one ? Emily {awkwardly). I dunno, Cook. {Is t. at back.) Cook. Oh, come, you must 'ave some reason. Emily. Well, you see, it's all been 'ushed up bekos 'is father objects ter the match. Cook. Does he, now ? Well, I call that a shame. I don't say you're a beauty, Emily, but looks ain't everjrthing. What does he do fer a living — 'Arold, I mean ? Emily {hesitating). Oh, he's in the carpentering. Cook. Oh ! Then why is he writing all day long, as he said in the letter? Emily {embarrassed). He — ^he 'as ter take mea- sures and keep them in a book. Cook. Funny. I never 'eard tell of any such thing. There's the Uft. (Emily exits — fetches the dish of fowls and brings it in without the cover. Cook inspects the carcases disparagingly, C.) Cook. They've made those fowls look pretty miserable. I wonder if " She " 'd miss that wing if Put 'em in the larder. (Pause, while Emily does so. Cook crosses down L.) Cook. You might tell us a bit more while we're waiting. Emily. More ? Cook. Yes. {Sits l.) Seems ter me it 'ud be soothing after seeing those chickens. Now, as 'e ever given you anythink ? BET«'EEN THE SOUP AND THE SAVOURY. 21 Emily (r. of table c). Yuss, Cook. He giv me a locket and a anagram. Cook. Anagram ? What's a anagram ? Emily. It's poetry. Cook. Do you know it ? Emily. Yuss, I think so- Cook. Go on I Let's 'ear it. Emily. All right, Cook. {Monotonously). " My first is coloured like the rose, That scents the garden far and wide ; My second tells of sparkling snows ; My third " Cook. 1 can't make head or tail of that, Emily. If that's an anagrammar, I can do without it. You might show us the locket. Emily. The locket ? Cook. Yes, the one he sent you. Emily {embarrassed). Oh, that one. I — sent it back. Cook. Never 1 Emily. Yes, I did. I thought it wasn't right for me to take it. Cook. Well, you were a looney ! Catch me a- sending back of any jewellery or such like. Now, if it was the anagrammar you sent back, I could 'ave understood it. Is that Ada back so soon ? (Enter Ada, bringing soufflet dish on tray, leaves door open, she goes behind table.) Ada. They 'aven't touched the pudding, Cook, no more than just ter play with it. Master, he laughed contemptuous, and pushed 'is plate away. Mr. Forbes, he made an effort, but did most under his spoon, and as to Missus, she bit her lip. {Hands dish to Emily, who takes it to sink.) Cook {rises and crosses to oven). Well, the savoury's just on ready. It's angels on horseback 22 BETWEEK THE SOUP AND THE SAVOURY. (Emily goes to oven, gets hot plates and toast, puts former on tray, crosses to dresser, and begins cutting the toast info four pieces.) Ada. Enough for us? I always was partial to that. Cook. I've made six good 'elpinp, and Miss Angela don't touch it, so we ought ter 'ave three over. Don't offer it a second time. Ada. No fear. What do you take me for ? Oh, I've found out what was the matter between Miss Angela and Mr. F. Cook. Oh, indeed ? (Emily shows interest.) Ada (fo oven). Yes. Seems she's lost something he sent her and it's caused such a to-do. Cook. What is it that's lost ? There's the toast. {Points to Emily.) Ada. (crossing to table). Something by the name of an anagram. (Emily drops a knift on plate.) He said a bit of it — something about my fiiit and my second : Bounded like his wives. Cook {startled). My first and my second \ Ada. Yes. I don't wonder you're surprised. From aU I could hear it was some sort of a riddle, and they was to have found it out together. My first is coloured Uke a nose — or some such contrivance. Come on with the savoury. We shall never be finished. (Emily brings plates fron dresser and puts toast on tray.) ' Cook. Did he say ansrthing about some locket he'd sent her ? Ada. Yes — ^how did you know ? Cook. Something told me. {Bell. Puts savoury on tray.) Ada. Oh, they're a hungry lot, they are f They won't be a minute polishing this off. I shall stop up for the fruit. By-bye, I am looking forward to this BETWEEN THE SOUP AND THE SAVOURY. 23 Bavomy. {Bell — she makes a face at ceiling and exits, closing the door behind her with her foot.) Cook (r.c.) Well, Emily, per'aps you'll be so good as to explain yourself I Emily (l.c.). Explain myself? Cook. That's what I said. You're not going to tell me there's two yoimg men a-sending of two lockets and two anagrammars to both of you ? Emily. No, Cook. Cook. No, Cook. I should tlunk not! You— you 'aven't bin carryin' on with Mr. Forbes, 'ave you ? Emily. No, Cook. Cook. Stop caUing me no Cook! There can't be a sort of epidemic of anagrammars, I serpose ? Emily. No, Cook. Cook. Well then, Emily Ashe, what in 'Evin's name has happened ? Emily. I don't feel as I can ever explain. Cook. Well, you have a try, that's all, or it might be my dooty to go to Missus. Emily. Oh no. Cook. I will tell you, only I'm put to it to begin, some'ow. Cook. Well, I'll look the other way. Go on. Emily. Well, first there ain't no 'Arold at all. Cook {looking round). No 'Arold ? Emily. No, nor never was. Cook. Well, there J But who wrote the letters ? Emily. Mr. Forbes. Cook. Then you have been carrjdng on with Miss Angela's fiangcfe ? Emily. No — ^the letters wasn't written to me. Cook. Emily, to whom was they written ? Emily. To Miss Angela. CodK. Did you intercept them ? Stop them from getting to her? Emily. No. CooK. W^at, then? Emily. I only borrered them I Coox. Borrered them! 24 BETWEEN THE SOUP AND THE SAVOUBT. Emily [with a wail). Yuss. «I did so want to have a bit of romance, and Mr. Forbes he's always bin my idol. And they looked so nice all tied up with ribbon, and I only kept one or two of 'em a day at a time. Cook. Oh, then you've bin making a 'abit of this, 'ave you ? 'Ow did you find out where they was kept? Emily. One morning when Rose was pushed 1 was 'elping 'er do the rooms. I put away Miss Angela's stocking, and there the packet was, and I saw just a little bit, and I pulled one out, and after that I used ter borrer them regular. Cook. It's no better than stealing. Of course there's times you can't 'elp seeing a bit of a letter, and no 'arm either if it's left about. But taking them away — no. And then showing them to us as your own I Well, Emily ! {Turns away.) Emily. It was a bit of pride. Cook. Pride ? {Above table.) Emily. Yuss. I know you ain't meant it. Cook, but it's cut me cruel to 'ave you and Ada always a- making fun of me. You don't know how us ugly ones feels over a little thing like that. Mother was the same — she'd give me a push and say, " Go away, you little moral, you won't never get a husband 1 " It used ter 'urt me awful.- (Sobs, sits L. of table, her head buried in her hands.) Cook. You're a queer customer, Eniily, but I don't believe there's much 'arm in you. You're touched, that's all it is, a bit touched. Emily [gratefully). Oh, Cook! Cook. Of course, if I was to do my duty, I should report this to " Her." But there, I don't hold with telling tales. Servants must 'ang together, or what's ter become of England ? Besides that, I see that per'aps things 'ave bin a bit 'ard for you, Emily, what with your face an' alL BETWEEN THE SOTTP AND THE SAVOURY. 25 Emily. Oh, Cook ! {Cries, overwhelmed by Cook's kindness.) Cook. There, don't 'owl. You'd better put those letters back in the drawer. Not under the stockings — she'll 'ave looked there. Come ter think of it, she'll have turned out the 'ole place if there's bin a rumpus. Better put them be'ind the drawer, see ? Emily. Yes, Cook. , Cook. And don't you ever touch 'em again, Emily. Emily. No, Cook. Cook {crosses back). I shan't say nothing to Ada about this affair. Ada's so 'igh-minded, she might not see it the same way I do. Emily. Thank you very kindly. {Crosses R.) r Cook. Wait a bit, though. {Comes down u) 'Ow are we going to explain about 'Arold ? Why he don't write no more nor come ter see yer nor any- thing? (Emily shakes her head.) Strike her at once, that would. Ada's so sharp. Emily. So she is. I suppose I couldn't say as 'ow I'd broken it off ? Cook. Well, 'ardly. You've got to think of something likely. Emily. Can I say 'e's broken it off ? Cook. Of course you can. That'll sound quite natril. He's thought it over and broken it off, and mind you act according. Emily. I don't like ter think of 'im doing such a thing! Cook. Now, Emily, when there's no such person as 'Arold I I've no patience with you ! Now don't you go filling your 'ead up any more with romances and idols and all them fancy dishes. Roses and snowses and noses are all very well for such as can afford them, you can't. You do your duty and keep your saucepans clean, {with great co'/idescension] and per'aps, 'oo knows, I might take yon over to se« my mother at Putney I Emily {gratefully). Oh, Cook' 26 BETWEEN THE SOUP AND THE SAVOUHY. Cook. So it ain't turned out so badly after all Sh ! Here's Ada I (Crosses L., humming a tune.) {Enter Ada, boiling with indignation, she crosses to table, and bangs dish down.) Cook. Why, Ada, what's the matter ? Ada {behind table, holding up the empty dish). Here's the savoury f 'Aven't left so much of it as a crumb of toast ! Greedy, guzzling pip, I call 'em I (Bangs dish down again.) CvajMa. DADDY LONG-LEGS A charming comedy in 4 acts. By Jean Webster. The full cast calls for 6 males, 7 females and 6 oiphans, but the play, by the easy doubling of some of the charaeteis, may be played by 4 males, 4 females and 3 orphans. The orphans appear only in the first act and may be played by small girls of any age. Four easy interior scenes. Costumes modern. Plays 2% hours. Many readers of current fiction will recall Jean Webster's "Daddy liOng-Legs." Miss Webster dramatized her story and it was preseited at the Gaiety Theatre in New York, Tinder Henry Miller's direction, with Euth Ghatterton in the principal r61e. "Daddy Long-Legs" tells the story of Judy, a pretty little drudge in a bleak New England orphanage. One day, a visiting trustee becomes interested in Judy and decides to give her a chance. She does not know the name of her benefactor, but simply calls him Daddy Long-Legs, and writes him letters brim- ming over with fun and affection. From the Foundling's Home she goes to a fashionable college for girls and there develops the romance that constitutes much of the play's charm. The Kew York Times reviewer, on the morning after the Broadway pro- duction, wrote the following: "If you will take your pencil and write down, one below the other, the words delightful, charming, sweet, beautiful and entertaining, and then draw a line and add them up, the answer will be 'Daddy Long-Legs.' To that result you might even add brilliant, pathetic a&d humorous, but the answer even then would be just what it was before — the play which Miss Jean Webster has made from her book, 'Daddy Long- Legs,' and which was presented at the Gaiety last night. To attempt to describe the simplicity and beauty of 'Daddy Long- Legs' would be like attempting to describe the first breath of Spring after an exceedingly tiresome and hard Winter." "Daddy Long-Legs" enjoyed a two-years' run in New York, and was then toured for over three years. It is now published in play form for tne first time. (Boyalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents, THE FAMOUS MRS. FAIR A comedy in 4 acts. By James Forbes. 3 males, 10 females. 2 interiors. Modern costumes. Plays a full eTening. An absorbing play of modern American family life. "The Famous Mrs. Fair" is concerned with a strenuous lady who returns from overseas to lecture, and consequently neglects heir daughter, who la just saved in time from disaster. Acted with great success by Blanche Bates and Henry Miller. (Koyalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Oents. SAMITEL FSEJSrCB, 2S West 15tb Street, New York Oltr V«v and Explicit OeseiipUTe CittalogQB Hailed Free on Ke(iBe«l' POLLYANNA '^The glad play," in 3 acts. By Catherine Chisholm Cushing. Based on the novel by Eleanor H. Porter. 5 males, 6 females, 2 interiors. Costumes, modern. Plays 2% hours. The story has to do with the experiences of an orphan girl who is thrust, unwelcome, into tlie home of a maiden aunt. In spite of the tribulations that beset her life she manages to find something to he glad about, and- brings light into sunless lives. Pinally, Pollyanna straightens out the love affairs of her elders, and last, hut not least, finds happiness for herself in the heart of Jimmy. "PoUj-anna" is a glad play and one which is bound to give one a better appreciation of people and the world. It reflects the humor, tenderness and humanity that gave the story such wonderful popularity among young and old. Produced at the Hudson Theatre, New York, and for two sea- sons on tour, by George 0. Tyler, with Helen Hayes in the part of "Pollyanna." (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents, THE CHARM SCHOOL A comedy in 3 acts. By Alice Duer Miller and Eobert " Milton. 6 males, 10 females (may be played by 5 males and 8 females). Any number of school girls may be used in the ensembles. Scenes, 2 interiors. Modern costumes. Plays 2^ hours. The story of "The Charm School" is familiar to Mrs. Miller's readers. It relates the adventures of a handsome young auto- mobile salesman, scarcely out of his 'teens, who, upon inheriting a girls' boarding-school from a maiden aunt, insists on running it himself, according to his own ideas, chief of which is, by the way, that the dominant feature in the education of the young girls of to-day should be CHARM. The situations that arise are teeming with humor — clean, wholesome humor. In the end the young man gives up the school, and promises to wait until the most precocious of his pupils reaches a marriageable age. The play has the freshness of youth, the inspiration of an extravagant but novel idea, the charm of originality, and the promise of whole- some, sanely amusing, pleasant entertainment. We strongly rec- ommend it for high school production. It was first produced at the Bijou Theatre, New York, then toured the country. Two companies are now playing it in England. (Royalty, twenty-fiva dollars.) Price, 75 OentB, SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York City Kew and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free on Request NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH Comedy in 3 acts. By James Montgomery. 5 males, 6 females. Modern costumes, 2 interiors. Plays 2*4 hours. Is it possible to tell the absolute trutli — even for . twenty-four hours? It is — at least Bob Bennett, the hero of- "Nothing but the Truth," accomplished the feat. The. bet he made with his partners, his friends, and his fiancee — these are the incidents in , ;, William Collier's, tremendous comedy hit. "Nothing but the Truth' ' can be whole-heartedly recommended as one of the most sprightly, amusing and popular comedies of which this country can boast. (Boyalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents, SEVENTEEN , A comedy -of youthj in 4 acts. By Booth Tarkington. 8 males, G females, 1 exterior, 2 interior scenes. Costumes, modern. Plays 2^ hours, ' ■ It is the tragedy of William Sylvauus Baxter that he has ceased to. be sixteen and is not yet eighteen. Baby, child, boy, youth ia.nd grown-up-are definite phenomena. The wbrld knows them and Iia&_learned to ^ut up with them. Seventeen is not an age,-it is a disease. Inits turbulent bosom'the leavings of a boy are at war with the beginnings of a man. . In his heart, ..William Sylvanus Baxter knows all the tortures anddelights^ of love; he is capable of any of the heroisnis of his "heroic . sex. But he is still sent on the most humiliating errands -by his mother, and depends upon his father for the last nickel of spending money. . . &illy Biir Sell in love ,with liolo, the Baby-Talk Lady, a va.i)id _ if amiable little flirt.- To woo her in a manner worthy of himself (and incidentally of'^er) he stole his father's evening clothes. When' his -wooings became a nuisance to the neighborhood, his mother stole the clothes back, and had them altered to fit tha middle-aged form of her husband, thereby keeping William at home in the, evening;- But when itcame to the Baby-Talk Lady's good-bye dance, not to be present was Unendurable. How WUliam Sylvanus again got the. dress suit, an:d how as he was wearing it at the party the. negro ' servant, Genesis, , disclosed the -if act, that the proud garment - w.as in rejality his father's, are some of the elements in thia_ - charming comedy of youth, - ,* 'Seventeen" is a story, of youth, love, and summer time. It is a york of. exquisite human sympathy and delicious humor. Pro- duciqd hy Stuart Walker at the Booth Theatre, New York, it en- 3Pyed_a run of four years in New York and on the road. Strongly recommended for High School production. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) - ------ Price, 75 Cents. SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 46th Street, New York City- New and Explicit Descxiptive Catalogue Mailed Free on Beg.aest COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN A charming comedy in 3 acts. Adapted by A. E. Thomae from the story of the same name by Alice Duer Miller, 6 males, 5 females. 3 interior scenes. Costumes, modera Plays 2% hours. The story o£ "Come Out o£ the Kitchen" is written aronnd a Yirginia family of the old aristocracy, by the name of Dainger- field, who, finding themselves temporarily embarrassed, decide to rent their magnificent home to a rich Yankee. One of the con- ditions of the lease by the well-to-do New Englander stipulate* that a competent staff of white servants should he engaged for his sojourn at the stately home. This servant question presents practically insurmountable difficulties, and one of the daughters of the family conceives the mad-cap idea that she, her sister and their two brothers shall act as the domestic staff for the wealthy Yankee. Olivia Daingerfield, who is the ringleader in the merry scheme,: adopts the cognomen of Jane Allen, and elects to preside over the destinies of the kitchen. Her ' sister, Elizabeth, is ap' pointed houseniaid. Her elder brother, Paul,_ is the bQtIer, and Charley, the youngest of the group, is appointed to the position of bootbpy. When Burton Crane arrives from the North, accom- panied by Mrs. Faulkner, her daughter, and Crane's attorney, Tucker, they find the staff of servants to possess so many methods of behavior out of the ordinary that amusing complications begi^ to arise immediately. Olivia's ch^rm "and beauty impress Crane above everything else, and the merry slory^ continues through a maze of delightful incident; until the real identity of the. heroine is finally disclosed. But not until Crane' has professed his love for his charming cook, and the play ends with the." brightest, prospects of happiness for these two young people, "Oome Out of the Kitchen," with Bath Chatterton in the leading rdle, made~ a notable success on its production by Henry Miller at the Cohan Theatre, New York. It was also a great success at the Strand Theatre, London. A most ingenious, and entertaining comedy, ftnd we strongly recommend it for amateur production. (Royalty twenty-five dollars.) Frice, 75 Cents GOING SOME Play in 4 aete.-' By Paul Armstrong and Eex Beach, 12 males, 4 f^^leK - 2 exterioiis, 1 interioT. Costumes, modern and eoWboy. Plays a full evening. Described, by the authors as the "chronicle of a certain lot of college men and firls, with a tragic strain of phonograph and cowboys.-' ' - A rollicking good story, full of action, atmospher^, comedy and drafna, redolent- of the advSnturoua spirit of -youth. " fRoyalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Oents. SAMITEI. FRENCH, 25 West 46Ui Street, Iftw York- City New and Explicit DescilptiTe Catalogue SbUel' Ttm ea B«c:ieil Cornell University Library PR 6019.ES9B5 Between the soup and the savoury 3 1924 013 630 961