PRICE IS CENTS THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY Successful Rural Plays A Strong List From Which to Select Your Next Play FARM FOLKS. A Rural Play in Four Acts, by Arthur Lewis Tubbs. For five male and six female characters. Time cf 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 alternately to tears and to laughter. Price, 25 cents. HOME TIES. A Rural Play in Four Acts, by Arthur Lewis Tubbs. 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. Price 25 cents. THE OLD NEW HAMPSHIRE 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. Price, 25 cents. THE OLD 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. Price, 15 cents. A WHITE MOUNTAIN BOY. 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. Price 15 cents. THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY PHILADELPHIA Proposal Number Seven A Comedy in Two Acts By MARGARET C. GETCHELL PHILADELPHIA THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 1918 Copyright 191 8 by The Penn Publishing Company Proposal Number Seven APR 2 1918 C)ran 4^4 £X/T TO HOTEL Scene. — A hotel piazza. Wicker table and three chairs down l. Small table at exit up R., to road. Exit up l. to hotel. An easy chair down r. A small stool at l. of easy chair. Exterior backing at door up r. Interior backing at door up l. If exits in the rear drop are impracticable, they may be placed r. and l. 5 Proposal Number Seven ACT I SCENE. — A hotel piazza. {Discovered: Eleanor sits at r. of table; Jane at R. Quinham stands behind it.) Quinham {who talks with an English accent). Theah ! Six bottles and six glasses ! Three for our- selves and three for our absent friends. When I asked at the post-office for soft drinks, they named over such a long list that I really was quite at a loss to know which to order. So I just said one of each until I had six. Jane. Very clever idea ! Quinham. Yes, do you know, I thought so, too. Now, what will you have? {Reading names on bot- tles.) Sarsaparilla, birch beer, orange phosphate, ginger ale, moxie, and strawberry soda. Jane. Something with a kick in it, if you are ask- ing me. Quinham {puzzled). I beg your pawdon? With a kick? Jane. Yes, — such as ginger ale, for example. ' Quinham. Oh, I see. Very well, ginger ale. {Looking at bottles.) Strawberry soda, moxie, ginger ale — here it is. {Opens bottle, starts to pour it in glass, but stops suddenly, holding bottle and glass in mid-air, his eyes fixed on his sleeve.) Oh, horrors ! Girls {jumping up in alarm). What's the matter? Quinham. Look at that, will you ? O PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN Eleanor (l. of Quinham). Isn't the ginger ale all right? Jane (r. of Quinham). It isn't spoiled, is it? Quinham {at back of table). No, on my sleeve. It's that beastly paint again ! (Eleanor leans over to look at outstretched arm, Jane stands on tiptoe and peeps over to see the other side.) Jane {sitting down r. of table, in disgust). Oh, is that all? I thought there was something wrong with the ginger ale. Quinham {coming down c, indignantly). Is that all ? Indeed you wouldn't speak so lightly of it if you had had three suits daubed with the bally stuff in three days. Now what can I do about it? At this rate I'll be reduced to a bathing suit by the time I have been here two weeks. Eleanor {at l. of table, calmly). I should suggest that the first thing would be to set down the ginger ale and the glass. Then we'll see if we can help you. I don't dare touch it until you do for fear of causing another accident. Quinham. By Jove, that's a jolly good idea! {Comes to table l. between Jane and Eleanor, sets down bottle and glass.) Now, ladies, proceed. {Holds out arm between them.) Eleanor. Maybe it will rub off. {Starts to rub sleeve with her handkerchief.) Jane {jumping up r. of table, giggling). Let's try ginger ale. My aunt says that's a fine cure for sea- sickness so {Takes out colored handkerchief, pours ginger ale on it and goes to rubbing. Business of pulling arm from one to the other.) PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN 9 ' Quinham {excitedly, trying to gesticulate; girls pull his arm down each time). It's bad enough to find a summer resort so overrun with art students that you can't even sit down to look at the surf or the ocean without having some miserable painter squat in front of you and open his enormous sea-green umbrella be- tween you and the ocean ; but when, on top of that, you are haunted by the consciousness that you are sitting in a rainbow of paint, you know, I say, it's more than a man can be expected to endure ! Jane (excitedly). Oh, Mr. Ouinham, I think it's getting lighter. Eleanor. No, it isn't, Jane. It's just getting a little dispersed. Ouinham. Red! Sunday it was blue, Monday green, to-day red. Now what do you suppose it will be to-morrow? (Enter Hopkins and Isabelle, up r., with paint boxes, stools, umbrellas, etc. Hopkins carries a large bottle of turpentine. He dumps all the parapher- nalia up r. and deposits the bottle of turpentine on the small table at the l. of the door. Isabelle strolls down l. c. to Jane.) Hopkins (coming down l. a). Hello! Well, what the dickens (Girls stop.) Ouinham (at table). Yes, it's all very well for you to say " what the dickens " now. Jane (down r. at table). Yes, now, when the deed is done and repentance helps not. Eleanor (l. of table). If your ears burn, lay it to us. Hopkins (l. a). Why, what's the matter? Ouinham. ) Jane. V Matter! Paint! Eleanor. ) Isabelle (l. a). Oh, Hal, where is that bottle of turpentine I just bought? (Hopkins goes up r. to table, gets the turpentine, comes dozun l. c. He then goes back of table l. and gives it to her.) You know, ID PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN young ladies, turpentine is generally considered superior to ginger ale as a paint remover. (She crowds in between Jane and Quinham. Jane pouts and goes to Hopkins behind table l., takes paint rag and turpentine and pulls Quinham with her to c. and rubs his sleeve.) Hopkins (at back of table, has been reading labels on bottles). We seem to have a pretty good collec- tion ; what will you have, girls ? (Eleanor and Jane sit at table; Eleanor l., Jane r., and choose what they want; he pours it out. They talk together.) Quinham (to Isabelle, l. c). I know jolly little about painting, but do you know, Miss Burbank, there is one question that is perplexing me a good deal. Isabelle (c). What is that? Quinham. Well, you know, Sunday, when I got blue paint on my white flannels, I said to myself: " Why, there's the ocean, blue as can be — not to men- tion the sky — so that is really not surprising." Isabelle (continuing to rub Quinham's sleeve). No, not at all. Quinham. Then, Monday, it was green. Well, there are the trees and the grass, so that was perfectly natural. Isabelle. Perfectly. Quinham. But to-day it's red. Now I should jolly well like to know, Miss Isabelle, what you do with this beastly red paint in a place that is full of nothing at all but ocean, trees and sand dunes. Isabelle (laughing). Why, Mr. Quinham, that is Hopkins (at back of table, interrupting). Seems to me we are one man short, Quinham, where is the doc? Quinham. I don't know, I'm sure. Jane (significantly). Ask Eleanor. PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN II Eleanor (l. of table). I'm sure I don't know why you expect me to know where he is. Isabelle (going up r., deposits bottle of turpentine on small table at l. of door. Comes dozun r. and sits in chair down r. ) . Oh, don't you ? How strange ! (Quinham goes r. and stands at Isabelle's chair.) Jane (r. of table). You don't know, I presume, whether or not he is still in Ogunquit. Isabelle (dozvn r. ). Or he hasn't spoken to you for a week Jane. And of course he hasn't proposed. Eleanor (indignantly) . Why, of course not. Isabelle. And why " of course not " ? Quinham (looking admiringly at Eleanor). Yes, by Jove, I don't see any " why of course not " to that ! Eleanor. Why, I've only known him for ten days. Jane. But that doesn't make any difference to our young doctor. Isabelle. Remember, my dear, Dr. Randolph Miner is a Southerner. Jane. And Southerners propose when a North- erner would give you a box of candy or tell you your new hat was becoming. Hopkins. Miner is an awfully good sort of fellow. You girls are getting the wrong impression of him if you think he is nothing but a fusser. Isabelle. Oh, we don't think so at all. We all like him tremendously. We know he doesn't mean anything, but some day some little simp of a Northern girl may not understand and may take him seriously. Jane. It would give him a good lesson if she did take him seriously and accept him. Quinham (struck with a sudden idea, comes down a). Oh, I say, ha! ha! I say, I've got a perfectly ripping scheme ! Jane (rising and coming down c. to Quinham). Have you? What is it? Quinham (c). Why, for the next girl he proposes to to accept him, — not seriously, but just as a lesson, don't you know ? l2 PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN Jane (l. c). I'm game, if I'm the one. Isabelle (rising and coming down r. c. to Quin- ham). I'd just as soon do it; just for a week, say. Hopkins. Fine! How about you, Miss Merrill? Eleanor (l. of table). Well, I don't know Quinham (c). Come, I thought all American girls were good sports. Jane (l. c). It just shows that you expect him to propose in the very immediate future. Eleanor (indignant). It shows nothing of the kind. To prove it I agree. (Rises and comes down l. c. to Jane.) All. Good for you ! Hoorah ! Bully ! etc. Jane (l. c). Shake on it. (The three grasp hands center stage. Quinham raises his hands and appears to bless them. The position afterward is from r. to l., Isabelle, Quin- ham, Jane, Eleanor, Hopkins.) Isabelle (r. a). For a week. (Quinham goes to Hopkins, back of table l.) Eleanor (crossing down r.). That wouldn't be bad. Jane (l. c). And he proposes so charmingly. Isabelle. Yes, doesn't he ? Quinham. ) tt i 1 •> Hopkins. } How do yow know? Eleanor (down r.). Yes, how do you know? Jane, has he? (Jane nods yes.) Isabelle, has he? (Isabelle nods yes.) And to how many others has he proposed, may I ask? Isabelle (r. c). I think to Helen Jenks in June. Jane (l. a). And I know to Dorothea Gage in July. Hopkins (at back of table l.). Is that all? Jane. So far as I know. Isabelle. I think so. He hasn't been attentive to any one else in particular. PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN 13 Eleanor (sitting in chair down r.). Is that all? Well, I should hope so. Four this summer, and it's only August. It looks as though I were in for it. Hopkins. Do you want to withdraw ? Eleanor (down r.). Indeed I don't. You are right; he needs a lesson in Northern customs. I'll go one further than I bargained to. I'll not only accept him if he proposes ; I'll see to it he does propose. Ouinham (to Hopkins). There, didn't I say American girls were jolly good sports? Eleanor. Where is he now? Hopkins. Up with the old lady, probably. Ouinham. I say, she does keep him deucedly tied down, doesn't she? Jane (l. c). Well, she is his job. Hopkins (going up stage). Silence! The hour is at hand ! The victim draws near ! (Isabelle and Jane go l. to Ouinham. All try to appear natural.) Ouinham (sniffing his coat sleeve). Jolly good stuff, that turpentine ! Isabelle. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll give you a little bottle of it Quinham. Do you mean so small that I can carry it around in my pocket ? Oh, I say, Miss Burbank (Enter Miner, up l.) Miner (at door up l., speaking with a Southern drazvl and accent). The whole sextet here but me. I'm mighty sorry I couldn't come sooner. (Goes R. and picks up canvas.) How are the masterpieces coming ? Hopkins (up l.). Ask Ouinham. He has the most to say about painting to-day. But in the mean- time what will you have? Jane (sitting l. of table). There's nothing left but strawberry soda. Eleanor (r. ). And that isn't very good. Ouinham. It's too suggestive of that beastly red paint to be pleasant. 14 PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN (All laugh. Isabelle goes up c.) Miner (coming down a). As I don't know the joke about the red paint, I reckon it won't hurt me. (Quinham gives it to him.) Hopkins (going up c. to Isabelle). We're sorry to leave so soon after you come, Miner, but Isabelle and I are going to take our revenge on Mr. Quinham and Miss Orr for our tennis of yesterday. (Jane rises and crosses up r. to small table.) Miner (at r. of table). Don't wait for me. I'd like to watch, but I have to stay within call of Mrs. Stanton-Maynard. (Looks across at Eleanor.) You are not going, are you, Miss Merrill ? Eleanor (r.). No, I think not. I have just taken a pretty long walk and I'm tired. (The others exchange glances, winks, etc.) Miner. I'm sorry you are tired, but it's an ill wind, you know. Jane (picking up bottle from small table up R.). Here, Mr. Quinham, you carry the turpentine bottle. Quinham (going up r. to her). That's awfully good of you, Miss Orr. Do you know, for the first time in my life I feel I am acquiring a strong affection for the bottle. Ha ! Ha ! Miner. Here's luck to. you all ! All. Thank you, good-bye, etc. (Exit all but Eleanor and Miner. A slight pause. Eleanor sits down l. Miner drinks some straw- berry soda. ) Eleanor (languidly). How is Mrs. Stanton- Maynard to-day? Miner (at table, holding glass to light and scruti- nizing it). Fairly comfortable, but not so well as I hoped she would be by this time. PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN 15 Eleanor. Tell me, Dr. Miner, how did you happen to come up here with her ? Miner (placing glass on table and crossing r. to Eleanor). Why, you see, I had finished my term at the hospital in June and was ready to start in practic- ing for myself, but it seemed a bad time, particularly in the South, where almost every one goes away. So when Mrs. Stanton- Maynard decided to try the Northern sea air, bringing with her her own physician so as not to rely on summer resort doctors, her doctor very kindly suggested me. Eleanor (looking up at him). Then you have been here ever since June? It's been quite a long summer. Miner. It certainly has been. Not of course that I haven't enjoyed it. It has been my first trip North and I've found the people and the place charming; but it's been a good deal of responsibility, too. (Enter Marie, up l.) Marie (at door). Pardon, but madame weeshes to zee monsieur le docteur for a meenute. Miner. Oh, I'm sorry; but I'll be back in a few minutes. You'll wait, won't you, Miss Merrill? Eleanor. Certainly. (Exit Miner, up l.) Marie (coming down l., breathing deep). Eet ees glorious out here, ees eet not, mademoiselle? Eleanor. You are fond of the outdoors, aren't you, Marie? I notice you always wear a wild flower. Marie. Yees, yees, mademoiselle. I love the open air. I love the sea, and the saltness, and the smell of the feesh. You think it strange — is it not so? — that I love the smell of the fish and of the mud flats. But you see I live in the country myself when I was one leetle girl. Eleanor (down r.). And now you . live in the city ? Marie (l. c). Yees, until I come with madame, — l6 PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN in New York. Perhaps I ought not to wear me a flower, because I am a lady's maid; but madame has not told me and until she tell me, I wear it. Eleanor. I should think she would be glad to see the bright flowers. Marie. Madame does not care for anything that should be cheerful. Eleanor. Do you stay with her all the time ? Marie. Oh, no, I go often to walk. And I meet some of the people who live in the little fishing houses over there. I like them, those fisher people. They are so good, so kind, — but too so bashful. (Enter Darius, up r., wheeling in trunk. He sees Marie, sets down trunk, and looks at her awkwardly a minute before he has courage enough to speak to her.) Darius (at door up r.). Marie! Marie (running delightedly toward him). Oh, Darius, did you call me ? Darius. I sho' did. (Pause.) Marie (up r.). Did — did you want something? Darius (at door). Wal, I jest thought I'd pass the time o' day with yer. Marie. Oh, yes. (After another pause during which Darius tries in vain to think of something to say, he picks up his truck and goes on. On reaching the door up l. he stops and calls.) Darius. Marie ! Marie (going to him). Yes? Darius. Would you jes' as soon open the door for me so's I c'n (Marie has opened the door and they go out together up l. Eleanor thoughtfully inspects her left hand, which is unusually pretty. She takes off a large seal ring and puts it on the other hand. She seems satis- PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN J 7 fied with her inspection, leans back languidly zvith her eyes half shut. Enter Miner, up l.) Miner {coming down r. to Eleanor). You look mighty happy. Eleanor. I am, perfectly. Who wouldn't be with such a day, and such a sky, and such luscious air ? Miner. Shall I spoil it if I stay? Eleanor. Oh, no, indeed; do sit down. (Miner draws stool to left of her and sits.) Miner. I believe I have found a cure for Mrs. Stanton-Maynard, if she would only try it. But she won't. Eleanor. What is it ? Miner. I would bring her down on this piazza and give her for tonic the sea and sky and a long look at the ocean and a deep breath of this air and above all let her have a chance to sit here by you. Eleanor (languidly). What good could that do? Miner (r. a). What good could that do? To sit beside a young, beautiful, happy girl like you? How could any one sit beside you without getting a whiff of your joyous enthusiasm ? Eleanor. Even you ? (Lets her left hand fall over arm of chair.) Miner. Why, I am quite carried off my feet by it. (Takes her hand and looks at it, languidly.) Your hand has your charm. Eleanor (softly). Yes? Miner (still looking at it). It is very beautiful. Am I the first who ever told you that ? Eleanor. I have had other compliments about my hand. Miner. How I wish I could call it mine. Eleanor (eagerly). You mean? Miner (fervently). There is only one thing I could mean, — that you were mine, — your hand and — you. l8 PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN Eleanor (suddenly no longer languid, but ecstatic). Oh, Randolph, I am so happy ! Miner (dropping her hand in amazement). Wh- what? Eleanor (leaning forward and talking excitedly as if unaware of his embarrassment) . Yes, you see, I didn't know ; all the time I have kept wondering if it could really be true, that you could care for me after such a short time. It seemed so wonderful, it was more like a romance than life. Miner (dazed). Yes — yes — much more like a romance. Eleanor (rushing on). But now I know that it isn't a romance, that it is the blessed truth and we are really engaged, aren't we — dear? Miner (swallowing hard). We're really — yes, we're really engaged. Eleanor (with a deep sigh). Isn't it wonderful? Miner. Yes, it is — it is — (mopping his forehead) wonderful ! Eleanor. And then, too, I had heard that Southern men were much more attentive without meaning any- thing than Northerners, and so I couldn't feel sure, — of course I was almost, but not quite sure — that you weren't like the rest. It is such a relief to know that you really do care. Miner. Yes, isn't it — a relief! (Pause.) I am so relieved. (Pause.) Miss Mer — Eleanor — dear, wouldn't you like something cool to drink? It is so very warm. (Rises and mops forehead. Walks l. Pause.) Er — don't you think it is warm? Eleanor (with pretended astonishment). Why, Randolph, how can you think of the weather at such a time? Miner. That's so. That wasn't proper, was it? (Tries to laugh.) You see — why, you see, I'm so happy I don't know what I am saying, I don't know what is proper. (Goes r. and stands beside her.) You see I have never been accepted, — that is I have never been engaged before. Eleanor. Why, Randolph, I should hope not ! PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN 19 {Pause. Miner stands awkwardly looking at her. Then his face lights as with an idea.) Miner. I know — the next thing is — to kiss each other — as a seal to the bond — you know. {Leans over to do it.) Eleanor (pushing him back). Oh, no. Miner. But why not? We're engaged, aren't we? Eleanor. Yes. Miner. Well, then we've got to come to it sooner or later. Eleanor {embarrassed in her turn). Yes, but I'd rather not, — not yet; you see, I'd rather wait because — well, because I don't want everything to come at once. It's so glorious, just being engaged, isn't it? Miner (mournfully). Yes, — glorious. Eleanor. So let's leave the rest until, — well until a week, say. (Miner paces nervously up and down the piazza. Pause. ) Miner (stopping c). You Eleanor. Yes? Miner. You don't mind my not talking, do you, Miss Mer — er — dear? I — I'm — to tell you the truth, I'm too happy to talk. (Goes on pacing. Looks off up r. ; sees Quinham. Looks at Eleanor, who is apparently unconcerned, then in despair calls to Quinham.) Oh, Quinham, Quinham, how did you come out? Quinham (off up r.). We won. Miner (going down l.). Come tell us about it. (To Eleanor.) I'm awfully anxious to hear about those doubles, aren't you, Eleanor? Eleanor (shrugging her shoiddcrs). Not es- pecially. Miner (contritely). Oh, I'm sorry. Really I am. I'll tell them not to come, or — or we can go off that way before they get here. (Starts toward door R.) Eleanor. No, never mind. 20 PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN (Enter, up R., Quinham, Jane, Isabelle and Hop- kins. Eleanor sits down r., gazing off into space. Miner stands down l. Isabelle and Hopkins come down l. c.) Quinham (to Jane). There isn't the slightest doubt, Miss Orr, as to what won that last set. (They come down r. c.) It was your net game. It's per- fectly ripping, don't you know? (To Eleanor.) Don't you think so, Miss Merrill ? Eleanor (coming back with a start). Yes — no. Oh, I beg your pardon, Mr. Quinham. Were you speaking to me ? Jane (r. c. ) . What's the matter with you two, any- way? You both look as if you were miles away. Is anything wrong? Eleanor (rising). Wrong? Oh, no indeed. I'm just too happy to talk. Randolph, shall we tell them? Miner (starting violently). Heavens, no! (Eleanor starts as if shocked. Others try to conceal laughter. Miner crosses r. to Eleanor.) Of course I didn't mean — only — only — well, I'm so mighty happy, you know, I don't know what I'm saying. Eleanor (down r.). Then why shouldn't we tell them ? Miner. Don't you think we'd better wait — just a little, you know, till we get a little accustomed to it ourselves? Eleanor (protesting). But I'm so happy, it seems almost selfish to keep all the joy to ourselves; it seems as though we ought to share it. And they wouldn't tell any one. Miner (flustered). But just wait a little while. Eleanor (resignedly). Very well, dear, just as you wish. But I am afraid they have guessed it already. (Miner looks back at four who are talking ex- citedly in couples.) Miner (resignedly). I'm afraid they have. All right, tell them. (Crosses l.) PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN 21 Eleanor. Well, we have decided to tell you. All. Good ! Eleanor. But you mustn't tell a single soul. All {speaking seriously and shaking heads). No, we won't. Eleanor (r.). Now I've gone that far, you go on. Miner (l.). I? — Oh, no, you finish. You — you do it — so well. Jane (r. c). Oh, please, Dr. Miner, what is it? Isabelle (l. c). We're pining to hear it. 'Hopkins (l. a). Out with it. Miner. Well, it is this. We — that is, Eleanor and I All {eagerly). Yes? Miner {after looking in vain to them for help). The fact is — we are — we are — engaged. {All seem overwhelmed with astonishment.) Jane. You mean Ouinham. That you and Miss Merrill are going to be married. Miner {startled). Married? All. Yes, married. Hopkins. Come to, man; doesn't being engaged generally mean you are going to be married? Miner {dumbfounded). I hadn't thought of that. All. What? Miner. Why — er — you see, thinking of being en- gaged is — enough happiness for one day — without — a— thinking of being married. Jane {to Eleanor). Then is it really true, Eleanor ? (Eleanor, too happy to speak, nods yes. All begin to talk at once. The two men grasp Miner's hands and slap him on the back. The girls kiss Eleanor and talk to her, keeping an eye always on Miner, who is miserable in the realization that his case is getting more and more hopeless. ) Hopkins. Well, doc, here's my hand. She is one 22 PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN of the finest girls I ever knew, and you certainly are a lucky dog, etc., etc. Ouinham. I say, old chap, congratulations. She's a ripping fine girl and you're a jolly lucky man to have her, etc., etc. Jane. Oh, Eleanor, it's just dandy. He is per- fectly splendid and won't it be great to live in the South, etc., etc. Isabelle. It's lovely, Eleanor. I don't know when I have heard anything that has pleased me so much, etc., etc. Jane (crossing l. to Miner). But I haveift con- gratulated you, Dr. Miner, and you certainly are to be congratulated. She is one big peach. (Men cross to Eleanor.) Isabelle (crossing l. to Miner). Yes, she is, Dr. Miner, and the best of it all is that you are so won- derfully suited to each other. To think that you should have discovered it so soon ! Miner (mopping his forehead). Yes — yes — won- derful, wasn't it, wonderful ! (Looks furtively at bottles and glasses.) Hopkins (r. c). You look hot, doc. Miner (l.). I am. You see, it's quite a nerve strain to propose. There is the uncertainty and — and the risk. (Fervently.) I just tell you, boys, it's a risky thing to propose. Jane (l. c). Risky? Hopkins. Yes, explain yourself there. Miner (l.). Why, yes. Suppose — suppose — why suppose she should reject you! What a terrible thing that would be ! Ouinham (down r. by Eleanor). By Jove, it would be deuced awkward! Do you know, I never thought of that. I almost proposed myself once, but I'll consider it more carefully before I ever get so near it again. Miner. Once? PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN 23 Quinham. Now you don't mean to imply you think I may have come near it more than once, do you? Why, man, I'm only twenty-live. Hopkins. I should hope not. No man ought to consider matrimony seriously until he is well estab- lished in his career. Miner. But to propose — well, you Northerners do do a vast deal of considering. Eleanor. Why, Randolph, you don't mean that you have really proposed to any other girl. Isabelle (l. c, looking at Miner). Oh, no. Jane (r. c, doing the same). Oh, dear, no. Miner. Oh, of course I didn't mean that — but — er Isabelle (reproachfully). Why, Eleanor, one would think you were actually accusing him of it. Jane. And so soon too. Eleanor (running over to Miner, l., and speaking in a propitiatory voice). Oh, dear, no, I didn't mean to do that at all. I'm so sorry, Randolph. You'll for- give me, won't you? (Miner hesitates awkwardly.) Say you'll forgive me. Miner. Why of course, my dear, I'll forgive you. Hopkins (in a relieved tone). Then everybody's happy again. Miner (with an effort). Yes, everybody's happy. Quinham (looking at Miner). Yes, everybody's happy, deucedly happy ! CURTAIN ACT II SCENE. — Same as Act I. Time: One week later. (Discovered: Eleanor and Miner coming on tip r., evidently returning from a walk. They are both bareheaded. ) Eleanor (coming dozvn r.). That was a glorious walk. I wish the wind always blew this way, don't you? Miner (following her). Eleanor, what's the matter? I never saw you so impersonal as you are this afternoon. You seem to try to keep me talking about nothing but the weather and the scenery. (Eleanor turns suddenly and walks d. c. Miner stands d. r.) Do you know, we've been engaged a week to-day? Eleanor (down c, quietly). Yes, I know it. Miner (going to her). And you've never let me (Starts to take her in his arms and to lean over as if to kiss her.) Eleanor (drawing away). You never asked me before. Miner. You asked me not to; but I am not going to wait any longer. Eleanor. You never wanted to before. Miner. I do now. Eleanor (turning to him eagerly). Do you really? (She lets him take her in his arms. He leans over and is just going to kiss her, when she pushes him back. Goes l., excitedly.) No, no, you mustn't. Miner (c). Eleanor, what do you mean — I mustn't ? 24 PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN 25 Eleanor (speaking with an effort). I mean — we have been engaged a week to-day and I — break the engagement. Miner (a, amazed). You — break — the — engage- ment ! Eleanor. Yes. (Sits l. of table.) Sit down and I'll tell you all about it. (Miner crosses l. and sits R. of table.) When you proposed did you mean it? Miner (embarrassed). Why, I Eleanor (relentlessly). Did you? Miner (yielding). Well, no„ I did not. Eleanor. Neither did I when I accepted you. Miner. But why did you accept me then ? Eleanor. Why did you propose? Miner. Why, I — well, I have been wondering about that a good deal this week. Evidently you-all in the North have a different attitude about proposing from ours. Every one at home does it to — why, to be polite, you know. Eleanor. That is why I accepted you — (mimick- ing him) to be polite, you know. Miner (after a pause). May I ask if there was any further — motive ? Eleanor. Why, yes. They were talking about you that day and your habit of proposing on a few days' acquaintance. Some one said it would be too bad if some little simp of a Northern girl should take you seriously. Quinham suggested that the first one you proposed to should act the little simp and accept you. Miner (slowly). I see. Sort of a little moral lesson. And you happened to be the first? Eleanor. I happened to be the next. It came out afterward that Jane and Isabelle had already had that honor. Miner. That's so, they had. (Pause.) Well, I have had my lesson ; the next thing is to take the joke in. the sporting spirit in which it was meant. Eleanor. Tell me one thing. Would you have gore ahead and married me if you had continued to think I really cared? 26 PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN Miner. It certainly was the only honorable thing to do. Think how humiliating it would have been for you if I had told you the truth. Eleanor. A Northern man would not have done it. Miner. Oh, yes, he would. Eleanor. Oh, no, he wouldn't. He would never have married a girl he didn't care for because she had fallen desperately in love with him and had taken his flippant proposal seriously. What's more, you would have carried out your resolution to make me happy if it had ruined your life. I see, we misunderstood your Southern gallantry. I'm sorry I played with you as I did. Miner. It's a lesson I needed, no doubt. Eleanor. But it wasn't my business to give it to you. Miner (laughing). I certainly must have cut a silly figure when they congratulated me. Eleanor (laughing) . You certainly did. (Voices outside.) Miner (rising). Now to show that I can take a joke. Eleanor (rising). Allow me to be the first to con- gratulate you, Dr. Miner, on your release. Miner. Thank you, Miss Merrill. (He takes the hand she jokingly offers him across the table and an- szuers in the same way. She starts to draw away, but he grasps it, holding her toward him, looking down into her eyes and speaking entreatingly.) Eleanor! (Enter Ouinham, Hopkins, Jane and Isabelle, Up R. ) Ouinham (coming down r.). Deah me, are we interrupting the fiancees? Eleanor (r. of table, drawing away). Fiancees no longer. Randolph, shall we tell them? Miner (l. of table, imitating his former tone). Heavens no! (All laugh.) Don't you think we'd PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN ^'] better wait a little while? Something might happen, you know, dear. Eleanor (stiffly). Dr. Miner! Miner. Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Merrill. You know really, — you must excuse me — but I'm so happy, — and it takes some little time to become ac- customed to calling you Miss Merrill. But we'll tell them if you wish to. Eleanor. Well, then, I've broken the engagement. Isabelle (coming dozvn r.). Eleanor, how could you? It will break his heart. Hopkins (following her). Are congratulations in order ? Eleanor (l. a). Of course, congratulate him. Miner (crossing to c). I think I .ought to con- gratulate you-all on the success of your joke. It's a right good joke. There is only one trouble with it. Hopkins (d. r.). What is that? Miner (c). The joke isn't on me. Quinham (r.)- Do you know, I thought of that myself. Jane (l. a). Why, how is that? Miner. You put your heads and your New Eng- land consciences together (excuse me, Quinham) to teach me a little moral lesson. And how do you teach that lesson? By inflicting upon me a week's engage- ment with Miss Merrill, — a week of walking, boating, bathing, riding, playing tennis, and dancing with the most — with one of the three most charming girls in Ogunquit. Now I ask you, would even a sure-enough New England conscience call that a hardship? All. No. Miner. Well, then, on whom is the joke? Cer- tainly not on me. Quinham (rushing up to Miner, c, and speaking with pretended alarm). Oh, doctor, doctor, what have you done ? Miner (alarmed). Why, what's the matter? Quinham. Where have you been this afternoon? Miner. To walk with Miss Merrill. Quinham. And do you mean to say you have 28 PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN been in Ogunquit all summer and have not learned yet that when you walk you must keep walking, and not lean up against trees or sit on rocks ? Miner. And what harm? Quinham. What harm? Why, you have that beastly paint all over the side of your coat ! (All laugh, crowd together and examine coat.) Miner (c). Oh, it will come off in the wash. Quinham (r. a). Oh, but it won't. It takes turpentine. (Takes from vest pocket a small bottle, almost empty, and a neatly folded, dirty paint rag.) Here, I'll have it off for you in a jiffy. Miss Burbank, will you kindly hold the bottle (hands bottle to Isa- belle), and Miss Orr, the cork (hands cork to Jane), and I will apply the solvent. (Amused, they do as bid; Quinham cleans coat; Hop- kins picks up pad and pencil and sketches them, down r. Eleanor crosses to him and looks over his shoulder.) Isabelle (r. c. ) . This bottle is almost empty again. How do you ever use up so much turpentine? And you need a new cloth. That one is dirty. Quinham (rubbing Miner's coat energetically). Well, you see, I was wearing out all my clothes rubbing off paint, so now I take my bottle along and just rub the moist spots off the rocks before I sit down. Jane (l. a). Good heavens, you don't mean to say you are trying to clean up the rocks of Ogunquit ! Quinham. It's really quite the simplest way. I tried carrying a pillow with me but it was a beastly nuisance, and then I'd forget to always put the painty side down, so it was really worse than the rocks them- selves. (Sees Hopkins.) I say, Hopkins, what is the budding artist doing now? Hopkins (down r.). The budding artist is making a homely little sketch for the Ogunquit Sentinel en- titled " Sears Quinham, D. T., doctor of turpentine." (All laugh.) PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN 20, Quinham. There, it is done. (Folds cloth, takes bottle from Isabelle, cork from Jane, with much ceremony, and puts the bottle back in his pocket.) By Jove, I have another scheme. Hopkins (downR.). Is it ripping this time ? Quinham. Yes, perfectly. Miner (a). Am I the goat? Quinham (r. c). No, I am. Jane (l. a). Impossible! Eleanor, (r.). What is it? Quinham. Do you all agree to it? Jane (l. c). Not until we've heard it. Quinham. Oh, I say, agree first. Isabelle. A trifle risky. r Quinham. Well, then, it's this: You all say to yourselves : " There's that English Johnnie, Sears Quinham, he's a conceited ass " Isabelle. Oh, no. Quinham. Oh, yes, you do. You think all Eng- lishmen are conceited asses because we pronounce our final consonants. Now, then, you say : " He is so conceited that he thinks all the girls are in love with him. To take it out of him, let's agree that the first one he offers himself to accepts him." Jane (l. c, decidedly). No. Miner (c). Aren't you taking it rather person- ally, Miss Orr? Isabelle. I'm sure I don't see why I'm out of the question, — I have a whole gallon of turpentine in the studio. Eleanor. And I'm fresh from a week's practice. Miner (dryly). Yes, I'll give Miss Merrill a recommendation. Jane. Oh, very well ; you agree to it and I'll stand by and cheer. Quinham (hastily). Well, now, it would be hardly worth while if you didn't all agree to it. (All laugh.) Hopkins. Who is the goat now, Quinham? (Goes 30 PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN up R.) Isabelle, if we are going to get to Haskell's studio before sunset to see his exhibition, we'd better start. Isabelle. You are right there. (Exeunt Isabelle and Hopkins, up r. Eleanor sits down r.) Quinham. Would you girls like to go canoeing? Jane. I'd love to. Quinham (turning to Eleanor). And you, Miss Merrill ? Eleanor. Why, yes, I'd like to very Miner (c. ). Miss Merrill is sorry, but she is go- ing to walk with me. Eleanor (dozvn r., indignantly). Indeed? Miner. Just to show there is no ill feeling. (Eleanor still hesitates.) Unless, of course, there is ill feeling. Eleanor (resignedly). If you put it that way I suppose Ell have to stay. (To Quinham.) I'm sorry, Mr. Quinham; some other time. Quinham. To-morrow, perhaps? (Eleanor as- sents.) I'll go see about a canoe, and meet you at the boat house in a few minutes, Miss Orr. (Exit, up r. Jane starts toward door r.) Miner (stopping Jane). Oh, Miss Orr. Jane (r. a). Yes. Miner (going to her). I don't want to be pre- sumptuous, but have you ever been canoeing with Quinham? Jane. Why, yes. Miner. Then you know how expert he is with the paddle. There is a high wind to-day. Jane (laughing). Yes, indeed, I do know. But I'm perfectly at home in a canoe and can help him out if he gets into difficulty. Thank you for the warning. (Exit, up r.) PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN 31 Eleanor {down r.). Is that why you wouldn't let— didn't want me to go ? Miner (silting on stool beside her). Partly. Partly, too, because I wanted to be with you. Eleanor (wearily). I should think you would have had enough of that in the past week. Miner. I haven't; not nearly. Eleanor. So you look on it all now as a lark. Miner. Miss Merrill, I either had to let them see how I felt about being made to appear such a — such " a conceited ass " — or else pass it off as a joke. If I had done the first, what you call my Southern temper would have got away with me, so I preferred the second. Eleanor. I must say you threw it back in our faces very cleverly. Miner. Besides, I meant what I said. This week has been (Enter Marie, up l.) Marie (at door l.). Pardon, but madame would like to see monsieur le docteur when it shall be con- venient. Miner (rising). As usual, we are interrupted. I'll come back as soon as I can. (Exit Miner, up l. Marie goes to back stage and looks off up r. She sees some one and primps in delight. Sees Eleanor watching her and is embarrassed. ) Marie. The wind blows so my hair. (Comes down l.) Eleanor. Yes; perhaps it blows Darius over the hill, too. Marie (shyly). Oh, mademoiselle! Eleanor. How are you and Darius getting along? Marie. Oh, marvelously. But he is so bashful. (Enter Darius, up r.) Oh, mademoiselle, the wind is nice on the cheeks, is it not so? 32 PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN Eleanor (down r.). Yes, indeed. Why, hello, Darius. Darius (r. c). How-de-do? Blowin' up purty fresh in the nor'east. Eleanor. We were just saying how nice it felt on our cheeks. Don't you like it ? Darius. Na-o, I can't say as I do. You rusti- cators may call it " nice " but it's because you doan't know it. Wait till the nor'easter has drove in and made gaps in yer family and the families of yer friends and then see if you call it "nice." (To Marie.) He-o, Marie. Marie (down l.). Hello, Darius, where do you go? Darius (r. a). Oh, I'm just noggin' up along. You want t' come? Marie (l.). Why, I can go for a little while. (They start toward door up r.) Darius (pointing to her daisy). Do you like that there white weed ? Marie. That is not a white weed; it is a daisy. Darius. White weed's what we call 'em. I calc'- late they're purtier, though, when you call 'em daisies. There's a lot of 'em up behind the cottage, stickin' their little yaller noses up jes' as perk and purty as (Exeunt Marie and Darius, up r. Enter Miner, up l. Comes down r. and sits beside Eleanor.) Miner (seriously) . Eleanor, it's no use. Perhaps I did go too far in making the girls think I might be serious when I was only playing with them. But you have been playing with me for a week and now you ask me to take it all as a joke. Eleanor. I did go too far. I entered into the adventure on the spur of the moment, and once launched I didn't know how to turn back. It was rather a mean trick. But can't you forgive me? Forget the week,- — and we can be good friends again. PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN 33 Miner. Forget the week, when it has been the happiest week in my life ! Eleanor. There, now, you have spoiled it all again. Miner. Spoiled it? How? Eleanor. By your abominable flattery. Miner. But it wasn't flattery. I meant it. Eleanor. You always say that, don't you? Miner. But this time I really did mean it. Can't you see, dear, that being with you as I have morning, afternoon, and evening for a week I have grown to know you as I never could have otherwise. Thinking you were one day to be my wife, I have tried to know you. When I made love to you, I thought I was act- ing, but I found to-day when you told me you had been acting that I had grown to be in earnest (Eleanor looks at him as if amused and smiles.) What can I do to make you see that I am serious ? Eleanor {lightly). Do you really expect to be taken seriously by a girl who knows this is at least your sixth proposal this summer ? Miner {earnestly). But don't you see that this time I really mean it? Eleanor. You probably told Jane that Miner. But I never imagined I could love any one as I do you. Eleanor. Did you try that on Isabelle? Miner {wildly). Dearest, you must understand. I can't lose you now. You shall love me. Eleanor {smiling languidly). Perhaps that was your first attempt in the North, to the girl who was here in June. (Miner rises and paces the stage in despair. Stops before her.) Miner {desperately). What can T say, Eleanor, to make you believe that I am sincere ? Look at me. Do I look like a man who is joking? Eleanor {rising and going up a). No, I can't say you do. {He starts eagerly toward her, but stops 34 PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN as she resumes her joking tone.) But then you ought to be able to act the part pretty well by this time ; you have had plenty of practice. Miner. Can't you see that the others were only summer flirtations, while this Eleanor (at door up R.). It is still summer. Look, here comes poor Darius, who wants to make love but doesn't know how. You'd better give him lessons. I'll write you a recommendation as an ex- pert if you wish. Miner (in a last desperate effort). Can't you see that the others were mere Eleanor. Rehearsals, as it were, and this — well, this is rehearsal number six. Seven is a lucky num- ber, so perhaps this may be the dress rehearsal. If so, I give you my good wishes ; may the real per- formance, proposal number seven, be successful ! (Exit, door up r. Miner storms up and down stage. Enter Darius and Marie, up r. They come down c. Miner looks at them and then rushes up be- tween him excitedly.) Miner (c). Do you-all know the fable about the hare and the tortoise? Marie (l. c). Le lievre et la tortue? Darius (r. a). Wal, I heard tell of it w'en I was a young 'un. Miner. You know how the hare and the tortoise had a race. The hare covered the ground in great bounds, while the tortoise plodded slowly along in his tracks. Darius. " Slow but steady wins the race." Wal, what of it? Miner • (c, excited). What of it? Why, man, when the tortoise was within a few steps of his goal he looked back and there was the hare asleep on a rock, dreaming about the ease and rapidity with which he covered the ground at first. (Miner storms off up l.) Darius (r. a). Wal, I want to know! Marie (l. c). What could he have meant? PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN 35 Darius {going l. c. to Marie). Marie, I want t' ask you somethin'. Marie {eagerly). Yes? Darius. I've ben thinkin' of it for quite a spell, but I'm kinder back'ard abaout it because Marie. Well? Darius. Because, you see, I livin' up here in the country and you livin' in New York I doan't know as we'd take to the same things. Marie {earnestly). Oh, but I love everything about the country, you know, Darius. Darius {determined). Wal, that settles it then; I'll ask you. Marie. Yes, do. Darius. There's goin' to be a time up t' the village to-morrow an* I wanted ter know would you go with me? Marie {taken aback). A time? Darius. Yes, a church sociable, you know, where they play Trim the Willow and Tucker and Hay- makers and Hunt the Squirrel. 'Tisn't much shucks, I guess, compared to your city ricktums, but we man- age to have purty good times. Marie {trying to control her surprise). Why, yes, I will go — with pleasure. Darius. You don't seem very set on it. Marie. Oh, yes, really, I will love to go. I was surprised, that is all. But I shall be glad to play Trim the Willow. {Enter Miner, up l.) Miner {coming down c, anxiously). Excuse me for. interrupting, but has Miss Merrill been through here ? Marie (l. a). No, monsieur. Miner (r. a). I was afraid she had gone canoe- ing with Quinham. It's a right high wind to-day. Marie. No, I saw Mr. Quinham start some time ago with Miss Orr. Darius. Wal, I hope that young shrimp knows how to handle a bo-at. It's blowin' like ole Sam Hill. 36 PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN Miner. He doesn't. Miss Orr is worth two of him in a canoe. How far were they going? Marie. To the Devil's Hole, I heard them say. Darius. What — the Devil's Hole — in a canoe, with a man who can't manage a boat? Why, I wouldn't go there myself to-day with the wind blowin' at this rate. It is just the turn of the tide, too. (Starts off up r.) Miner. Where are you going? Darius (stopping). To git a man and go after them, if it isn't too late. Miner (a). Where are you going to get a man? Darius. Dunno. There's none in sight. Miner. Take me. I'm a good oarsman. Darius (hesitating). It's dangerous. — It may mean death. Miner. My life has already been consecrated to saving the lives of others. (Goes tip r. to Darius.) Don't waste time talking. What shall I do? Darius. Git off the Mary Ann while I go for the oars. (Exit Darius, up l. Miner starts after him, then turns back and comes down c. to Marie.) Miner (c). If I don't come back, Marie, give Miss Merrill this. (Takes box from pocket and hands it to her.) I was going to give it to her to-day. Tell her when she wears it to remember she has given me the happiest week of my life. Good-bye, Marie. Marie (sobbing, l. c). Good-bye, oh, good-bye, docteur. (Exit Miner, up r. Marie puts box in pocket; wipes eyes. Enter Darius, up r., with oars and a clump of daisies .) Darius' (leaning oars against small table at door up r. and coming down c. to Marie). These daisies were growin' right alongside the shed where my oars were standing, so I picked 'em for you. PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN 37 {Hands them to her.) Marie {taking them). Oh, thank you, Darius. {Sobs.) Darius {taking her in his anus). I can't tell you what I want to, Marie ; I'm not much on words. But you know that to me you are the best girl in the whole world, don't you, Marie ? Marie {holding him tightly). Yes, yes. Oh, Darius, do not go. Darius. I must. Marie. Yes, you must. Good-bye, good-bye. Darius {kissing her). Good-bye, Marie, good-bye. (Darius goes to door up r., takes up oars and exit. Marie stands l. c. Then she runs a few steps to- ward door up r.) Marie. Darius ! Darius ! Come back, come back ! {There is no answer. Marie comes down r. and sits in chair, her face buried in her handkerchief. Enter Eleanor, up l.) Eleanor {coming dozvn r. to Marie). Why, Marie, what's the matter? Marie {zveeping). He has gone, oh, Miss Merrill, he has gone ! Eleanor. Who ? Marie. Darius. Eleanor. Gone! What do you mean? Tell me. Marie. He has gone to rescue Mr. Quinham and Miss Orr. The wind is frightful, and Mr. Quinham does not know how to manage the boat. Eleanor. Dr. Miner warned Jane and he pre- vented me from going. Where are they? Marie. Oh, that is the most frightful of all. They went to the Devil's Hole. Eleanor. That is at the narrows in the salt-water river where the current is so treacherous, isn't it? Marie. Yes, and it is just the turn of the tide too. Darius says that is the most dangerous time of all. 38 PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN Eleanor (leaning over Marie). Poor little Marie! And you truly love him? Marie. Oh, so much ! Eleanor. And he you? Marie. Yes, he told me so when he left. (Kisses daisies.) Eleanor. But you are so different. Marie. How ? Eleanor. Why, he is of the country; you of the city, of Paris. Marie. It is because you do not know that you say that. I am a Canadienne. My people are like his people. (Rises and goes to door up r. and looks off.) My heart is always in the country. The city (with a shrug), it is only my support. Eleanor. But your accent, your gestures, your manners ? Marie (coming down a). But they are for my support too. See, I do not shrug the shoulders now. My accent is not French ; it is Canadienne. Eleanor (down r.). Then how does it hap- pen ? Marie (a). When I am fourteen year old I go to Paris as maid to a French lady. After two year, we come back to New York and then soon I leave her. I go to an employment office. I wear my big hat and plain suit from Canada. I say to the woman : " I am Canadienne. I call myself Sophie. I wish a place to do house work." "Can you cook?" she asks. " Only a little." " Have you had training to wait on the table ? " " No." " I can give you a place then to make beds and wait on the table in a boarding house at four dollars a week," she says to me kindly. Eleanor. Did you take it? Marie. No, I go home. I take off my old suit Canadienne and I put on the suit of madame's she has given me. I alter it some to make it look like the suits I see in Paris. I take off my big hat Canadienne and PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN 39 put on my little hat de Paris, with the one feather in it, — so. I call myself not Sophie, but Marie. Then I go to another employment office. I do not wait for the woman to ask me question. I' stand so. I talk with my shoulders, my hands, my head, — so. I say: " Madame, I do not talk well 1' Anglais. I am chust here from Paris. I weesh a posisi-on as femme de chambre, — how do you say — ladies' maid. I care for madame's laces, I launder madame's collars, I dress madame and arrange her coiffure, I see that all is comme il faut in her boudoir, I serve her breakfast. Rien difficile, bien entendu, — no, — how do you say? — no heavy work, of course." Eleanor (smiling). Did she find you a place? Marie. She tell me she has five ladies who want just such a maid. So I say " au revoir to the boarding house and the four dollars a week ! " Eleanor. And they don't know the difference. Marie. Oh, no. I tell madame one day later, but she says to keep the accent, the gesture, the shrug; it gives ton to the establishment. So, you see, it is my support. But it is the country I love. You hear what Darius say about city people, — how they come to the country and play with the sea. He say that it is only when the sea drives in and makes gaps among our friends that we know it. (Sobs.) Eleanor (going to Marie, c). There, Marie, don't think about it. Marie. But it is like a prophecy. Eleanor. Tell me, Marie, did he go alone? Marie. No. Eleanor. Who went with him ? Marie. A man. Eleanor. What man? Marie (nervously). I — I don't know. Eleanor (r. c, alarmed). Marie! Marie (scared). Yes. Eleanor (fearfully). Was it — was it — Dr. Miner? (Marie does not answer. Eleanor grasps her arm.) Tell me, Marie, was it? Was it? (Marie nods yes.) Why didn't you tell me sooner? 4-0 PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN Marie. Because I thought it was no use that you, too, should worry. Eleanor. And you have been chattering all this time about yourself so I would not ask! Marie, thank you. Did he — say anything — to you — before — he went? Marie. Yes. He told me to give you this box if he did not come back. He meant to give it to you to-day. He said when you wear it to remember that you gave to him the happiest week of his life. (Gives her box.) Eleanor (taking box). He said that as he was leaving when he knew he might never come back! Oh, then he meant it! (Opens box and takes out necklace.) A necklace! (Almost angrily to Marie.) Marie, do you realize how happy you should be? (Marie looks at her dumbfounded.) Didn't you tell Darius you loved him just before he left? (Marie nods yes.) But I didn't. I made fun of Randolph, I laughed at him, I pretended not to believe him, I mocked him, I scorned him. Marie (a). But why? Eleanor (r. c). Why, because my pride was hurt. I knew to-day that I loved him and it humili- ated me to think that at first he was insincere. If he would only come back now ! If he would only come back ! Marie. I hear some one. (Both rush to door up r., then fall back up c, dis- appointed. Enter Isabelle and Hopkins, up r.) Eleanor (eagerly). Have you seen Randolph? Marie (up a). Or Darius? Isabelle (going up r. c). No; what's the matter? Eleanor (walking down l. distractedly). Oh, they have gone in a rowboat to the Devil's Hole. Hopkins (following her). To the Devil's Hole, in this gale! What for? PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN 41 Eleanor {down l.). After Jane and Quinham, who had paddled up there. Isabelle (r. c). Jane in danger! Hopkins (l. c). Shall I get a party to go after them ? Eleanor. It would be of no use now. (Marie, who is up c, utters a scream of joy: " Oh! " ) All {turning). What is it? Marie {up c, looking off r.). The Englishman! The Englishman! {Enter Quinham, up r., with a bath-robe on over his shirt and trousers. His soaked hair stands up all over his head. He has no collar nor shoes, but paddles along in water-soaked rubbers. Marie runs to meet him as he enters. All are silent. Marie, up r. ) Where is Darius ? Quinham {at door). Coming. Eleanor {down l., .fearfully). And Randolph? Quinham. Safe. {Comes down c.) (Marie runs off up r. Quinham comes down c. Eleanor sinks into a chair r. of table.) Isabelle (r. a). And Jane? Quinham (c). Has gone right to her room. I found this bath-robe at the bath-house and came this way to let you know we were all safe. Hopkins {crossing to c. and shaking Quinham's hand). We're mighty glad, old man, mighty glad. Isabelle {coming down r.). We surely are. Tell us what happened. ' Quinham. Well, you see, I'd heard of the Devil's Hole and liked the sound of it. But I hadn't any idea it was so devilishly dangerous. Neither had Miss Orr. The wind was fresh but we got along fairly well until all of a sudden we felt the canoe being pulled rapidly down toward the hole. We tried to guide it, but couldn't. We just went on — on into we didn't know what. Then a cross current struck us and in a flash we were over. I grabbed her with one hand 42 PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN and the canoe, which was floating upside down, with the other. There we floated, now this way, now that. Isabelle (down r. ) . For how long? Quinham. I don't know. It seemed hours. I suppose it was only minutes, — perhaps seconds. I looked at Jane. She was giving out. She whispered to me she couldn't last any longer. I got hold of her over the top of the boat with one arm, while I held on with the other. But I knew my endurance was almost gone. I think I was beginning to lose consciousness when I was brought to by a shout. Isabelle. The doctor and Darius! Ouinham (c). Yes. That gave us new strength. As they guided the boat down through the eddies, each had an oar broken. One more and they would have been lost. But they reached us. Hopkins (l. c). How did they get you into the boat? Quinham. They couldn't. But they got us on the outside of it. Miner tied ropes around us and held us on, while Darius rowed us back with one pair of oars. I have laughed at the funny short strokes the natives here take, but, by Jove, I never will again ! One of those little strokes can be worth all the long pulls the Thames ever saw. (Enter Miner, Darius and Marie, up R. Isabelle, Hopkins and Ouinham run to meet them. Eleanor is sitting, listening in- tently, up l. She rises at sight of Miner, and stands with her arms outstretched to him. Quinham grasps Miner's hand.) Miner, I haven't thanked you, I never can. Miner (up r. a). Don't trouble to, my dear Quinham. Isabelle. It was splendid. (Miner pushes through the group to Eleanor, leav- ing them thanking Darilts.) Eleanor (l.). Randolph! Miner (taking her in his arms). Eleanor! Eleanor. Darling, at last ! PROPOSAL NUMBER SEVEN 43 Hopkins {up c, to Darius). It was splendidly done. Darius {up r. c. ). Oh, it was no more'n any one would V done for a friend. Isabelle {down r. c. ) . You ought to be proud of him, Marie. Marie {up r. c). I was proud of him before. (Darius slyly puts his arm around her. Order r. to l., Isabelle, Marie, Darius, Hopkins, Ouin- ham, Miner, Eleanor.) Hopkins {seeing Miner and Eleanor). Great Scott ! I thought that was all off. Quinham {up a). By Jove, it's my scheme work- ing still ! It is even more ripping than I thought. Isabelle. Don't tell me, Eleanor, that he has pro- posed again. Miner {down l.). Eleanor told me seven was my lucky number and that proposal number seven would be successful. Eleanor {drazving away in dismay). Proposal number seven ! But Randolph ! Miner {anxiously) . Yes, dear. Eleanor. But you didn't propose. Miner {also dismayed). That's so, I didn't. curtain Unusually Good Entertainments Read One or More of These Before Deciding on Your Next Program GRADUATION DAY AT WOOD HILL SCHOOL. An Entertainment in Two Acts, by Ward Macauley. For six males and four females, with several minor parts. _ Time of playing, two hours. Modern costumes. Simple interior scenes; may be presented in a hall without scenery. The unusual com- bination of a real "entertainment," including music, recitations, etc., with an interesting love story. The graduation exercises < include short speeches, recitations, songs, funny interruptions," and a comical speech by a country school trustee. Price, 15 cents. EXAMINATION DAY AT WOOD HILL SCHOOL. An Entertainment in One Act, by Ward Macauley. Eight male and six female characters, with minor parts. Plays one hour. Scene, an easy interior, or may be given without scenery. Cos- tumes, modern. Miss Marks, the teacher, refuses to marry a trustee, who threatens to discharge her. The examination in- cludes recitations and songs, and brings out many funny answers to questions. At the close Robert Coleman, an old lover, claims the teacher. Very easy and very effective. Price, 15 cents. BACK TO THE COUNTRY STORE. A Rural Enter- tainment in Three Acts, by Ward Macauley. For four male and five female characters, with some supers. Time, two hours.. Two scenes, both easy interiors. Can be played effectively with- out scenery. Costumes, modern. All the principal parts are sure hits. Quigley Higginbotham, known as "Quig," a clerk in a country store, aspires to be a great author or singer and decides to try his fortunes in New York. The last scene is in Quig's home. He returns a failure but is offered a partnership in the country store. He pops the question in the midst of a surprise party given in his honor. Easy to do and very funny. Price, 15 cents. THE DISTRICT CONVENTION. A Farcical Sketch in One Act, by Frank Dukiont. For eleven males and one female, or twelve males. Any number of other parts or super- numeraries may be added. Plays forty-five minutes. No special ^scenery is required, and the costumes and properties are all , easy. The play shows an uproarious political nominating con- vention. The climax comes when a woman's rights chain-* pion, captures the convention. There is a great chance to bur- lesque modern politics and to work in local gags. Every part will make a hit. Price, 15 cents. SI SLOCUM'S COUNTRY STORE. An Entertainment in One Act, by Frank Dumont. Eleven male and five female characters with supernumeraries. Several parts may be doubled. Plays one hour. Interior scene, or may be played without set scenery. Costumes, modern. The rehearsal for an entertain- ment in the village church gives plenty of opportunity for specialty work. A very jolly entertainment of the sort adapted to almost any place or occasion. Price, 15 cents. THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY PHILADELPHIA Unusually Good Entertainments Read One or More of These Before Deciding on Your Next Program A SURPRISE PARTY AT BRINKLEY'S. An En- tertainment in One Scene, by Ward Macauley. Seven male and seven female characters. Interior scene, or may be given with- out scenery. Costumes, modern. Time, one hour. By the author of the popular successes, "Graduation Day at Wood Hill School," "Back to the Country Store," etc. The villagers have planned a birthday surprise party for Mary Brinkley, recently graduated from college. They all join in jolly games, songs, conundrums, etc., and Mary becomes engaged, which surprises the surprisers. The entertainment is a sure success. Price, 15 cents, JONES VS. JINKS. A Mock Trial in One Act, by Edward Mumford. Fifteen male and six female characters, with supernumeraries if desired. May be played all male. Many of the parts (members of the jury, etc.) are small. Scene, a simple interior ; may be played without scenery. Costumes, modern. Time of playing, one hour. This mock trial has many novel features, unusual characters and quick action. Nearly every character has a funny entrance and laughable lines. There are many rich parts, and fast fun throughout. Price, 15 cents. THE SIGHT-SEEING CAR. A Comedy Sketch in One Act, by Ernest M. Gould. For seven males, two females, or may be all male. Parts may be doubled, with quick changes, so that four persons may play the sketch. Time, forty-five minutes. Simple street scene. Costumes, modern. The superintendent of a sight-seeing automobile engages two men to run the machine. A Jew, a farmer, a fat lady and other humorous characters give them all kinds of trouble. This is a regular gat- ling-gun stream of rollicking repartee. Price, 15 cents. THE CASE OF SMYTHE VS. SMITH. An Original Mock Trial in One Act, by Frank Dumont. Eighteen males and two females, or may be all male. Plays about one hour. Scene, a county courtroom ; requires no scenery ; may be played in an ordinary hall. Costumes, modern. This entertainment is neafly perfect of its kind, and a sure success. It can be easily produced in any place or on any occasion, and provides almost .any number of good parts. Price, 15 cents. THE OLD MAIDS' ASSOCIATION. A Farcical Enter- tainment in One Act, by Louise Latham Wilson. For thirteen females and one male. The male part may be played by a female, and the number of characters increased to twenty or more. Time, forty minutes. The play requires neither scenery nor properties, and very little in the way of costumes. Can easily be prepared in one or two rehearsals. Price, 25 cents. BARGAIN DAY AT BLOOMSTEIN'S. A Farcical Entertainment in One Act, by Edward Mumford. For five males and ten females, with supers. Interior scene. Costumes, mod- ern. Time, thirty minutes. The characters and the situations which arise from their endeavors to buy and sell make rapid-fire fun from start to finish. Price, 15 cents. THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY PHILADELPHIA Successful Plays for All Girls In Selecting Your Next Play Do Not Overlook This List 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. Price, 15 cents. 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 sleep, and they institute a similar organization. Price, 15 cents. A COMMANDING POSITION. A Farcical Enter- tainment, by Amelia Sanford. 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. Price, 15 cents. 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. Price, 15 cents. 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 summer 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, furnish an evening of rare enjoyment. Price 15 cents. THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY PHILADELPHIA The Power of Expression and efficiency go hand I ? 0*6 103 373 R The power of clear and forceful expression brings confi- 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 often be turned into money, but it is always a real joy. In learning to express thought, we learn to command thought itself, and thought is power. You can have this power if you will. Whoever has the power of clear expression is always sure of himself. The power of expression leads to: The ability to think "on your feet/* Successful public speaking Effective recitals The mastery over other mindg Social prominence Business success Efficiency in any undertaking Are these things worth while? They are all successfully taught at The National School of Elocution and Oratory, which during many years has de- veloped this power in hundreds of men and women. A catalogue giving full information as to how any of these accomplishments may be attained will be sent free on request THE NATIONAL SCHOOL OF ELOCUTION AND ORATORY Parkway Building Philadelphia ■flilii u O'o 103 373 A #