f=RIOe 25 OEIMTS ^^^Kiiim^ — \ L m::-^\,- :■■■'-: "^ ■ THB PENN pub: mm^ Successful Rural Plays A Strong List From Which to Select lour Next Play FARM FOLsKS. A Rural Play in Four Acts, by Arthuf. Lewis Tubes. For five male and six female characters. Time of playing, two hours and a half. One simple exterior, two easy interior scenes. Costumes, modern. Flora Goodwin, a farmer's daughter, is engaged to Philip Burleigh, a young New Yorker. Philip's mother wants him to marry a society woman, and by falsehoods makes Flora believe Philip does not love her. Dave Weston, who wants Flora himself, helps the deception by intercepting a letter from Philip to Flora. She agrees to marry Dave, but on the eve of their marriage Dave confesses, Philip learns the truth, and he and Flora are reunited. It is a simple plot, but full of speeches and situations that sway an audience afternately to tears and to laughter. HOME TIES. A Rural Play in Four Acts, by Arthur Lewis Tubes. Characters, four male, five female. Plays two hours and a half. Scene, a simple interior — same for all four acts. Costumes, modern. One of the strongest plays Mr. Tubbs has written. Martin Winn's wife left him when his daughter Ruth was a baby. Harold Vincent, the nephew and adopted son of the man who has wronged Martin, makes love to Ruth Winn. She is also loved by Len Everett, a prosperous young farmer. When Martin discovers who Harold is, he orders him to leave Ruth. Harold, who does not love sincerely, yields. Ruth dis- covers she loves Len, but thinks she has lost him also. Then he comes back, and Ruth finds her happiness. THE OLD NEW KAMFSHIRE HOME. A New England Drama in Three Acts, by Frank Dumont. For seven males and four females. Time, two hours and a half. Costumes, modern. A play with a strong heart interest and pathos, yet rich in humor. Easy to act and very effective. A rural drama of the "Old Homstead" and "Way Down East" type. Two ex- terior scenes, one interior, all easy to set. Full of strong sit- uations and delightfully humorous passages. The kind of a play everybody understands and likes. THE OI.D DAIRY HOMESTEAD. A Rural Comedy in Three Acts, by Frank Dumont, For five males and four females. Time, two hours. Rural costumes. Scenes rural ex- terior and interior. An adventurer obtains a large sum of money from a farm house through the intimidation of the farmer's niece, whose husband he claims to be. Her escapes from the wiles of the villain and his female accomplice are both starting and novel. A WHITE MOUHTAIH EOT. A Strong Melodrama in Five Acts, by Charles Townsend. For seven males and four females, and three supers. Time, two hours and twenty minutes. One exterior, three interiors. Costumes easy. The hero, a country lad, twice saves the life of a banker's daughter, which results in their betrothal. A scoundrelly clerk has the banker in his power, but the White Mountain boy finds a way to check- mate his schemes, saves the banker, and wins the girL THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY PHILADELPHIA The Seashell A Comedy in One Act By FULLERTON L. WALDO PHILADELPHIA THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 19 2 1 tt^ ^ Copyright 1921 by The Penn Publishing Company «TheSeasheU»_ ©Gi.D 57140 W^ 17 1921. "The Seasheir CAST OF CHARACTERS Tom Archer, - - Harvard Senior, Head Clerk of *^ The Seas hell f*' Eelgrass Harbor Luke Litchfield, - Haverford Sophomore^ Bell-boy No. i Marvin Safford - Princeton Sophomore^ Bell-boy No, 2 Lesley Warriner, Bryn Mawr Senior, pretty, ^ fashionably dressed Mrs. Plympton, middle-aged and self-important Mrs. Amidol, very stout Doctor Thorax, black-bearded Professor Chalkley, bald and white-bearded Time of Playing : — A half hour^ Costumes : — Modern. Guests. PROPERTIES Desk, and accessories (register, etc.). Four rocking- chairs. Towel. Mirror. Settee. Clock. Calendar, nighly colored. Two books. Razor. SCENE PLOT £A/TPAA/C£ A/VO £XtT Scene.— The rotunda of "The Seashell." Clerk's desk down r. Two windows at l. Facing the win- dows, and fairly close to them, are four basket-bot- tomed rocking-chairs. Exit and entrance back c. Settee left c. Door down l. in front, opening to the verandah. "The Seashell" SCENE,— The rotunda of " The Seashell," Eelgrass Harbor. Time. — Any summer morning, early. (The curtain rises on the hotel "rotunda," a rather large name for the cheerfully cheerless space, flooded with the morning sun, in front of the desk, rectangu- larly occupied with four basket-bottomed rocking- chairs that are more blessed to give than to receive. The chairs face the two windows at the left, and, fairly close to the windows, leaving the center free, have their backs to the desk at the right. It is early morning, and only the bell-boys and the Head Clerk are in sight, but probably sausages and buckwheat cakes are aromatic in the offing. The Head Clerk, his coat off, a towel round his throat, is shaving him- self before a mirror at the desk; the bell-boys, on a settee under the garish clock and the lurid life-in- surance calendar at the back of the stage, in the center, are studying Cicero and Plane Geometry, re- spectively, with might and main. The usual door of entrance and exit is betzveen their settee and the desk: there is another door this side of the windows at the left, in front, opening to the verandah.) Archer {as he wipes off the razor, pulls the towel from his neck, puts on his coat, and disposes of the shaving implements') . It's lucky for you fellows you don't dance. If you had to man the pumps every night the way I do, I guess you wouldn't be on deck any earlier than I am. Now and then I got a dance with Miss Warriner, but dancing with the other women was like rolling milk-cans. (Both bell-boys are absorbed in 6 THE SEASHELL" their studies, occasionally scratching their heads and turning pages. Archer sends one hell-hoy out.) And now for the morning mail. {Reaches for a hundle of letters in the desk and hegins distributing them to their several pigeonholes, whistling gaily. As letters accumulate in one of the pigeonholes at the expense of the rest, the whistling hecomes more and more duhious and dolorous, until finally it stops alto- gether.) Say, that's the fifth letter this week from the same fellow for Miss Warriner! What chance have I got against a fellow that hasn't anything to do but stay away from here and write to her ? (He has not noticed that while he stands with the letters in his hands, facing the pigeonholes, Miss Warriner has entered. For a moment she contem- plates him with suppressed amusement. ) Miss Warriner. Now, Mr. Archer, you don't really think I am getting more than my share, do you ? (Archer, startled, drops the letters so that some of them fall on the floor at her feet.) Don't you bother ! I'll pick them up. (Archer comes rushing round from hehind the desk. Their heads come close together as they simultane- ously stoop for the letters.) Archer. Miss Warriner Miss Warriner. Well? Archer. I only wanted to say — that I do wish we could get a chance for a few words together without some of these pesky guests butting in. Miss Warriner. It would be nice, wouldn't it? Archer. It was awfully kind of you to give me all those dances last night. Miss Warriner. Well, you know, you were really the only man there was to dance with. Archer. I suppose you want your letters. Miss Warriner. Oh, no, I'm not in such a hurry as all that. Archer, You — you must be hungry. THE SEASHELL JT Miss Warriner. No, not very. My breakfast took away my appetite. Archer. Don't you like this hotel ? Miss Warriner, {making a wry face). The an- swer is, I'm leaving on the noon train. Archer {blankly). You're going away to-day? Miss Warriner. Yes. Archer {reproachfully). And you never told me last night. Miss Warriner. But I didn't know till the tele- gram came this morning. Archer {desperately). Miss Warriner! Miss Warriner. Yes ? Archer {leading her to the chairs). Do sit down here. No — this chair, it's more comfortable — with this fat pillow behind you. So. I've got to talk to you. Do you know, I never met a girl that I Confound it, there goes that telephone again! {Rushes to the desk and answers the telephone.) Mrs. Plympton? Yes, there are some letters. But don't bother to come down for them. I'll send them up to you. I'm expecting one of the bell-boys back at any time within the next half hour. The only trouble is they're such obliging little fellows about running errands for the guests that I never can tell when I'm going to see them again. — No, please don't take the trouble to come down yourself. — No, no, I beg of you I {He places the receiver on the hook, and turns with tragic appeal to Miss Warriner.) Confound it all, Miss Warriner! She's coming down! Our tete- a-tete is spoiled, and I was just going to say to you Miss Warriner. Well? Archer. I was just going to ask you if you think less of me because I'm putting in my vacation as clerk in a hotel? Miss Warriner. No, I like you for it. I think it's fine. Lots of men do what you're doing, if they've got the stuff in them. It makes me sick to hear Mrs. Amidol run on about her cigarette- reeking son and Mrs. Plympton talk about her log-rolling husband 8 "the seashell'' (Mrs. Plympton comes in^ She is middle-aged, and self-important.) Mrs. Plympton. Now I'll take my letters, if you please, Mr. Archer. Good-morning, Miss Warriner. Miss Warriner. Good-morning, Mrs. Plympton. Mrs. Plympton. Rather early, aren't you? But the early bird catches the worm, don't it? I always have to get down early, or I find Mrs. Amidol sitting in my chair. If she gets right up out of it I don't so much mind, because that dusts it off. But sometimes she don't get up, and it's the only spot where I can be sure of getting the morning sun for two hours. And the doctor says it's imperative for my health to sit in the sun for two hours every morning. (Waddles off to her chair with her letters, and sits there like a fixed appointment. Simmering over her letters.) The dry cleaner — I paid that, I know I paid that—** Please send remittance " — The impudence ! Talk about add- ing insult to injury! Oh, here's what I wanted! I thought Ferdy'd clean forgotten his loving little wifie. " Dear Emma. How are you ? Do you need any money ? " {Mumbles away into oblivion as she reads the letter.) Archer {to Miss Warriner). Now you see! The last chance is gone. She's good for all morning. I can hear the others coming out from breakfast. And I'm tied right here to the desk. And you're leaving at noon. Not a chance ! Not a chance ! Miss Warriner. Don't be downhearted, Mr. Archer. We'll hope for better luck presently. I've got to desert the firing-line for a little while now, be- cause there are dozens of — millions of things I've got to do to help Mother get off; but I'll come back. Never fear! And in the meantime please make out our bill, won't you ? {Starts to go out. ) Archer. Wait a minute, please! I — that is, we How can we make out a bill to you for what you owe us, when we owe you everything ? "THE SEASHELL" 9 Miss Warriner. Fm sure you don't owe me any- thing. Archer. YouVe been the life of the place. You'll take all the sunshine with you when you go. Miss Warriner. You've kissed the Blarney- stone, Mr. Archer. You say that to every girl who comes here. Archer. Not on your life I don't. Miss Warriner {pensively), I'm sure Fve had an awfully good time here. You've been so kind to me. I think I'd have passed away from boredom if you hadn't been here to walk and talk to me. Archer {eagerly). Do you really mean it? I'm so glad if you feel that way. I suppose the guests have been scandalized because you condescended to be nice to the poor but honest hotel clerk from Harvard who hasn't yet put the auto in his autobiography. Miss Warriner. I'm afraid I don't care much what these old hens think. {They both laugh.) Not that I have anything against Mrs. Plympton and Mrs. Amidol. But they just can't see things my way. Mrs. Plympton sits in the sun only because it's medicine and the doctor says she must. And Mrs. Amidol lives from one meal to the next, and the motor-bus is all the music she knows, and Professor Chalkley has spent most of his life at the blackboard, and his relaxation in summer is to water the flowers and wind up the clock and read the thermometer and the Boston Transcript. And Doctor Thorax is like the man the poet wrote about, who would botanize upon his mother's grave. He's so grubby and dusty and dry Well, I've got to go up to Mother now, or we'll never get off — — Archer. Please Miss Warriner. Honestly, I haven't a minute. I must fly. As soon as everything's in the trunks, 1*11 come back to get the bill and say good-bye. And I hope we shall have a few minutes to ourselves. (Archer, sighing heavily, goes behind the desk, opens the hotel register, and distractedly makes memoranda on a Mt of paper., Mrs. Amidol enters. She is lo "the seashell'* about Mrs. Plympton's age, garrulously fussy and consequential. ) Mrs. Amidol. Good-morning, Mr. Archer. Any mail for me? (Archer hands her several letters.) Oh, I*m so glad to get this ! It's from my dear friend Mrs. Hickup. Do you know, Mr. Archer, there's an i-deal friendship between that woman and I, just like there was between David and Goliath, or Scylla and Charybdis? There is. It's a regular Plutonic friend- ship, that's what I call it. There's Mrs. Plympton, sitting in my chair. Sometimes I get so mad at that woman I could slap her. She knows perfectly well it's my chair. (Goes up to Mrs. Plympton.) Good- morning, dear. (Kisses her.) Mrs. Plympton. Good-morning, dear. I was just reading a letter from my husband. He says he may be down here for the week end, and then again he may not. I wish I knew what he was going to do. Be- cause of course I have to make my own plans. You know how men are. I can't do anything with Ferdy. I can't even get him to wear his rubbers. Mrs. Amidol (taking the chair beside Mrs. Plymp- ton). I have a letter from my son Cyril. He's such a dear boy ! I just wish you could hear him sing ! He knows such cute songs. One of them is ** If you're Thirsty, Kiss the Baby," and another one is " Peeping Thro' the Knotholes of Papa's Wooden Leg." He writes me that he can roll cigarettes with one hand now; he took lessons from the man who had the part of the Sheriff in that Western play, you know, " The Warmed-Up." Cyril and I have been such pals ever since he was a baby. He's never kept a single secret from his mother. I don't say it because I'm his mother, Emma, but he really was a most unusual and original child. I remember when he was a little tike I was telling him the story about Achilles — you remember about Achilles, how his mother dipped him in the Stinks and he became intolerable ? Well, what do you think Cyril said ? THE SEASHELL H Mrs. Plympton (helplessly). I don't know, I*m sure. Mrs. Amidol. He said (Just at this juncture. Archer, at the desk, slams the hotel register together with the utmost vehemence. Bell-hoy returns and whispers to Archer.) Great Caesar's ghost, what was that ? Archer. I beg your pardon if I startled you, Mrs. Amidol. I wanted to kill a wasp that was crawling around on the book. Mrs. Amidol. That reminds me, Mr. Archer. Speaking of wasps, the only place where I can stand up in my room is in the dormouse window, and there's a mudwasp's nest in it. You won't think I'm com- plaining, will you? Archer. Oh, no. Madam ! I hear so many room- ers, one more or less doesn't matter. Mrs. Amidol (to Mrs. Plympton). I want Cyril to be familiar with those old Bible stories. That's why when we were in Rome I took him to see the wolf that fed Romeo and Juliet. Do you know, my dear, the rector came around the other day and said that Cyril was lazy, and was just a cucumber of the earth? I got real mad. I told him I wasn't going to stand there and let him cast asparagus on my only son that way. I told him that I guessed Cyril knew the Nicotene Creed as well as he did. Why, Cyril can tell you all about how Samson slew the Philippines with the Axe of the Apostles. Mrs. Plympton (mildly). Speaking of complaints, my dear, I'm not the sort of woman who makes a fuss, or there are certain things I might find fault with. Now, I think scenery does add so much. But what do you get here at this hotel? Just the sea, — and it's so flat and monotonous ! I don't call sitting and looking out at the sea getting a change. It may be some peo- ple's idea of a change, but it isn't mine. I was read- ing in a book the other day where this man said he " hated an anonymous landscape." That's me, all over. I get a good deal of my pleasure in life from seeing 12 "THE SEASHELL" things. I like to see signs up, telling where you are, or where you're going, or some nice place for you to want to go to. Even advertising signs are better than nothing. I love to see something being poured out of a bottle by electricity, or letters flashing up and down like a caterpillar in a hurry. I like to see these big painted signs of cows and things from the railway trains. I think when the landscape's nothing but green, just one plain green of trees and grass, or all that salt water out there, it kind of gets on your nerves to keep on looking at it day after day. Mrs. Amidol. We always used to go to a place called Greenleaf Park for the summer. But I quit going there on account of our dog, Tiny. They said they couldn't have Tiny running at large. I said to them, I said, I never heard of such foolishness. " Look at Tiny," I said, " and tell me how you think a dog the size of she could possibly run at large !" Good-morning, Doctor Thorax. Good-morning, Professor Chalkley. (Doctor Thorax, black-bearded, and Professor Chalkley, bald and white-bearded, the latter with a big book under his arm, enter at a fraternally scien- tific amble. Each gets a rolled-up nezvspaper at the desk.) Mrs. Plympton. O Doctor Thorax! You're just the man I have been wanting to see ! Here's a letter from the President of our Club, and she wants me to read a paper at the Annual Resuscitation Meeting in the fall, on the subject, " Is Temperance to be secured by Denatured Alcohol or by Local Option ? " Now you're going to tell me just what to say. You know you are. That's a dear, kind man. Won't you? Dr. Thorax (nervously). Oh, I'm afraid that's out of my line. Madam, really, I Mrs. Plympton. What is your line. Doctor? Doctor Thorax (with enthusiasm). Bugs. Espe- cially musca domestica. — There's one now ! (Doctor Thorax, using his rolled-up newspaper as a club, rushes violently about in pursuit of the insect.) "the seashell'^ 13 mS Sror^ } (- «'«-)• What is it, Doctor? (Professor Chalkley has seated himself in one of the chairs y and is immersed in his hook, with his hack to the others.) Doctor Thorax. I'll get him yet! — There he is! {Rushes toward the ohlivious Chalkley, reaches over the back of the chair, and deals him a resounding thwack on the crown of the head. Triumphantly.) Killed him! Professor Chalkley {springing to his feet, splut- tering with indignation). Confound you, sir ! Doctor Thorax, I'm astonished at you, sir! What do you think you're doing? Maybe it's some infantile sort of war game? I'm — I'm — I confess, sir, I don't know what to say ! This is an outrage ! Doctor Thorax {solemnly). It was a fly. One now means millions later in the summer. Professor Chalkley. I accept your apology, sir,- in the spirit in which it is offered. Mrs. Amidol {with a nervous laugh). I was afraid it was a mouse. Mrs. Plympton. I was afraid it was a bat. {They all seat themselves again, Mrs. Amidol and Mrs. Plympton produce knitting materials. Pro- fessor Chalkley reads his hook, and Doctor Thorax holds several hottles of preserved insects to the light to admire their contents. The hell-hoys have stopped studying and now talk in undertones. Miss Warriner, wearing her hat, the veil looped round the brim of it, reappears.) Miss Warriner {to Archer). Is the bill ready, please, Mr. Archer? (Archer hands her the hill — it is a long one. She leans over the desk from the front, he from the rear; their heads come close; he points out the sev- eral items with a pencil. Later, with occasional ^^ ''the seashell" signs of impatience toward the garrulity of tJi^, others, they examine the register together, and she recognizes names.) Mrs. Amidol. I try to get a room on the ground floor every place I go. Cyril has promised me that if I'll buy him a farm I can sleep in the cellary bed. I always want to be as low down as I can. I'm so afraid of fire. I don't like it at all up where I am now in this hotel. Mrs. Plympton. Oh, don't talk to me about fire ! It makes me nervous. I'm always imagining I smell smoke. And I'm on the fifth floor. Mrs. Amidol. When Cyril was forty-seven Mrs. Plympton {astonished). Forty-seven? Mrs. Amidol. Forty-seven months old, I was gO" ing to say, he got burnt when his father kissed him good-night. My husband is dreadfully absent-minded, you know, and he was smoking, and forgot to take the cigar out of his mouth. Since then I've made him smoke a pipe. Another time when we stood Cyril up in his little high-chair to say grace, he fell into the soup and got scalded. I remember we had clam-broth that day. Clam-broth splashes like anything. You know what they say, '* It's a burnt child that dreads its own father," and I supposed after that Cyril would be cured of ever wanting to play with matches. But he wasn't. I suppose it's been my own fault though, because when he was a baby, so I could see him in the dark, I used to put on his face some of this yellow stuff that shines Mrs. Plympton. You mean russet leather polish? Mrs. Amidol. No, I mean Phosphate — phos — Bos- phorus. Yes, that's it, Bosphorus. My husband says the ships have been trying to get through it in the war. You know, it sticks to the ship's sides. I've seen it looking down from the deck. I guess you have too. Well, as I was going to say when you interrupted me, I used to smear Cyril's lips with it, so I could see where to put his bottle. And I suppose that gave him a taste for matches. When I see all the harm that's ''the seashell ' 15 come to happy homes from playing with fire, I'm sure I never would have the heart to be one of these match- making mothers. It's mothers like that who have daughters that get themselves arrested for scorching. I tell you, Emma, if this hotel once started to burn down, the only thing to do would be to get right out. That's what I've always said. It would burn right down to the ground in a few minutes, and there's no knowing what it would do after that. Mrs. Plympton. Don't talk that way, Hannah. It gives me the cold shivers. I can imagine I see flames and smell smoke already. Mrs. Amidol. What would be the first thing you'd save if the house did take fire ? Mrs. Plympton. I wouldn't stop to save anything, I'd rush right out of the house. (Archer, as though suddenly smitten with a happy idea, makes a signal to both bell-boys to approach. Miss Warriner, goes to the other end of the desk, picks up a railway guide, and becomes absorbed in its contents. - Archer goes through a lively panto- mime with the bell-boys, in which with a deal of whispering he seems to be indicating the dimensions of a large pail, and the possibility of putting a num- ber of things in it. He then hands them some matches, and points to the doorway into the adjoin- ing room. The two boys go out with signs of amusement. Miss Warriner has gained no inkling of the meaning of the transaction. She now brings the book of time-tables to Archer for explanation. Presently, with the book, she seats herself on the vacated settee of the bell-boys. Archer fusses about behind the desk.) Doctor Thorax (to Professor Chalkley). Did you hear the ridiculous statement that young man at the desk made yesterday about the proper way to catch a whale? Professor Chalkley. I don't suppose he ever caught one in his life. l6 '*THE SEASHELlT-*/ Doctor Thorax. I have my own grave'doubts oil the subject. In any case, I think the method he pro-' posed was utterly impracticable. Professor Chalkley. What was it ? Doctor Thorax. He came up to me yesterday while I was in pursuit of a somewhat rare specie5'of whiteling butterfly, and he said to me, " Doctor, do you know the recipe for catching a whale ? " and when I said " No," he answered, " First you get him interested ; and then you kick him in the face ! " Professor Chalkley. Perfectly preposterous! Mathematically speaking, that would be an indetermin- able locus. Mrs. Amidol. You do collect locusts too, don't you, Doctor? Doctor Thorax. Suppose the whale should open his mouth at the wrong time ? Professor Chalkley. Yesterday when I was in swimming — or it might be more accurate to say soak- ing — ^he asked me a similar preposterous question. He asked me whether clam-digging was to be classified as fishing or as agriculture. Mrs. Amidol. I do love to listen to two scientific men talk. I think science is such a wonderful thing, don't you? How do you suppose we ever got along without it? Mrs. Plympton. Hannah, as sure as I'm sitting here, I smell smoke. Doctor Thorax, don't you smell smoke? Professor Chalkley, don't you smell smoke? Professor Chalkley. No, no, Madam, — be calm, be calm ! You have a very vivid imagination. Doctor Thorax. It's probably something cooking. You can nearly always smell something cooking here at " The Seashell." That's one of the reasons why I keep on coming to the place year after year. Mrs. Amidol. What was I talking about a little while ago? Oh, yes, I was telling you about Cyril! I was going to say, I had Cyril learn all about the stars, so he could pick out one consternation after another through the periscope. I think he knows most of the *'the seashell'' 17 stars in the Great White Way now. At least his father says he does. I was going to get him a boat, but I heard his father say that he was getting tired of baiHng him out. So I got him an automobile, because Cyril said he could easily prove an alibino if he got arrested. Or maybe it was an alkali. Anyway, I know it's something you have to prove if they arrest you. Cyril can drive a car awfully fast. He's always been fond of driving all sorts of things. I got him a tool chest when he was only fifty-three months old, and he used to spend a lot of his time driving nails into the nursery floor. He can drive his car so fast that even when the wind is with you it seems to be blowing the other way. Sometimes he gets going so fast that he has to run into a telegraph pole to stop. I really don't think that's safe. I'm so afraid of his getting tangled up with one of those live wires when the pole falls down. Mrs. Plympton. Live wires, did you say? I made up a riddle about a live wire the other day. I told it to the ladies at the Club, and they said they thought it was very good. They said I ought to send it to " Life." Mrs. Amidol. What was it ? Mrs. Plympton. You know Ananias, the liar, the man in the Bible that gave the name to the Club that Roosevelt wanted everybody to belong to ? Well, you know, he had a wife, Sapphira, and she was a liar too, so the riddle I made up is this, and see if you don't think it's good. What is the difference between an electrical engineer and Ananias? Give it up? The electrical engineer has a life wire and Ananias had a wife liar. (Mrs. Amidol looks very glum.) Why don't you laugh? You see, you sort of slur over the V, — ^you say life wire, instead of live wire, and that makes it come all right. Life wire — wife liar. Mrs. Amidol. I don't think that's funny at all. Mrs. Plympton. Professor Chalkley, you think it's funny, don't you ? Professor Chalkley. Think what's funny? i8 ''the seashell" Mrs. Plympton. My riddle. Professor Chalkley. I didn't hear it. Mrs. Amidol. Why, Emma said, — I mean, Mrs. Plympton said, if an epileptical engineer named Aconitis had a live wire for a wife Mrs. Plympton. That wasn't what I said at all. You never do get things straight, Hannah. (Sniffing violently.) I smell smoke! (The bell-boys return and excitedly donfer in whispers with Archer. Archer comes out in front of the desk. ) Archer. Ladies and gentlemen, Mrs. Plympton un- doubtedly does smell smoke. There is a fire. But there is no occasion for the slightest alarm — even for a still alarm. The house is fireproof, but not water- proof, so we do not wish to call the firemen in. We have plenty of grenades, and these young men here with me are licensed grenadiers — the original Two Grenadiers. If you'll all just file quietly out on the verandah, without making any disturbance that might excite the other guests, we'll have the fire extinguished in a jiffy, and when all is over I'll come out there and let you know. Mrs. Amidol. Can't we even go to our rooms to get our things ? Mrs. Ply^mpton. No, no, my dear; things can al- ways wait; it's people that count. Safety first. The boys will get our valuables, if it seems to be necessary, won't you, boys ? Professor Chalkley. Let us in any case keep our heads. Let us make a decorous, dignified and un- flurried exit — I have no reason to doubt the statement of the young man that he will summon us promptly when the danger is over. This is merely a pre- cautionary measure. Doctor Thorax. Please look out for a jar of cyanide of potassium on the shelf in my closet. It's not always easy these days to procure chemicals. The market price has soared amazingly. — After you, my dear Madam. "the seashell" 19 (Exeunt omnes, except Archer, Miss Warriner and the hell-hoys, hy the door at the left leading to the verandah.) Miss Warriner. I'm not going. Fm captain of a basket-ball team, and I guess I can throw things at the fire, too. Archer. Bully for you ! Mrs. Amidol (turning in the doorway, as she goes out last of all). Heroic girl ! You're the bravest girl I've ever heard of since Cassie B. Yankee ! (Exit.) Archer. Boys, go and get the fire and take it out into the back yard. It's served its purpose. (The hoys go out.) Miss Warriner. What under the sun do you mean ? Archer. They made it in a tin pail, and then they put the tin pail in the fireplace in the writing-room. A few newspapers, and Professor Chalkley's rubbers, and some damp seaweed, and some kerosene. Miss Warriner. Now what did you do that for? Archer. Simply and solely so that we could have the place absolutely to ourselves for a few minutes be- fore your train goes. (As he utters these words, to the hlissful unc'onscious^ ness of both, the windows have heen filling with an interested audience. The two continue to gase at each other. Then she looks down.) Miss Warriner. Don't tell those people out there that there isn't any fire for — for a little while, will you, — Tom ? Archer. Lesley! (Takes her in his arms.) I swear, you're the first girl I ever Confound it, there they all are looking in at the windows! curtain Successful Plays for All Girls In Selecting Your Next Play Do Not Overlook This Li«t YOUNG DOCTOR DEVINE. A Farce in Two Acts. by Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow. One of the most popular plays for girls. For nine female characters. Time in playing, thirty minutes. Scenery, ordinary interior. Mod- ern costumes. Girls in a boarding-school, learning that a young doctor is coming to vaccinate all the pupils, eagerly con- sult each other as to the manner of fascinating the physician. When the doctor appears upon the scene the pupils discover that the physician is a female practitioner. SISTER MASONS. A Burlesque In One Act, by Frank DuMONT. For eleven females. Time, thirty minutes. Costumes, fantastic gowns, or dominoes. Scene, interior. A grand expose of Masonry. Some women profess to learn the secrets of a Masonic lodge by hearing their husbands talk in their sleeps and they institute a similar organization. A COMMANDING POSITION. A Farcical Enter^ tainment, by Amelia San ford. For seven female char- acters and ten or more other ladies and children. Time, one hour. Costumes, modern. Scenes, easy interiors and one street scene. Marian Young gets tired living with her aunt^ Miss Skinflint. She decides to "attain a commanding position.*' Marian tries hospital nursing, college settlement work and school teaching, but decides to go back to housework. HOW A WOMAN KEEPS A SECRET, A Comedy in One Act, by Frank Dumont. For ten female characters. Time, half an hour. Scene, an easy interior. Costumes, modern. Mabel Sweetly has just become engaged to Harold, but It's "the deepest kind of a secret." Before announcing it they must win the approval of Harold's uncle, now in Europe, or lose a possible ten thousand a year. At a tea Mabel meets her dearest friend, Maude sees Mabel has a secret, she coaxes and Mabel tells her. But Maude lets out the secret in a few minutes to another friend and so the secret travels. THE OXFORD AFFAIR. A Comedy in Three Acts, by Josephine H. Cobb and Jennie E. Paine. For eight female characters. Plays one hour and three-quarters. Scenes, inter- iors at a seaside hotel. Costumes, modern. The action of the play is located at a summ.er resort. Alice Graham, in order to chaperon herself, poses as a widow, and Miss Oxford first claims her as a sister-in-law, then denounces her. The onerous duties of Miss Oxford, who attempts to serve as chaperon to Miss Howe and Miss Ashton in the face of many obstacles, furnisb an evening of rare enjoyment. THE PENN PUBUSHING COMPANY PHILADELPHIA The Power of Expression Expression and efficiency go hand in hando The power of clear and forceful expression brings confe- dence and poise at all times— in private gatherings, in public discussion, in society, in business^ It is an invaluable asset to any man or woman. It can ofte!> be turned into money, but it is always a real joy. In learning to express thought, we learn to commandi thought itself, and thought is power. You can have this power if you wilL Whoever has the power of clear expression is always snt% ®f himself. Th© power of expression leads tOo The ability to think '*on your feef ® Successful public speaking Effective recitals The mastery over other mindi) Social promincBice Business success Efficiency in any undertaking Are these things worth while? They are all swcctssftjlly tansfht at The National School ©t Elocution and Oratory, which during many years has d^ veloped ihh power in hundreds of men and women „ A catalogue gsvisig full information as to how any of these? aceomplishments may b® attained will be sent free on request. THE NATIONAL SCHOOL OF ELOCUTION AND ORATORY 17 14 De Lancey Street PMkdalphit