Ldc^Kirg br Mam J<^^^ PRICE TWENTY-FIVE CENTS LOOKING FOR MARY JANE BY HELEN BAGG t: THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY PHILADELPHIA Successful Rural Plays A Strong List From Which to Select Your Next Play FARM FOLKS. A Rural Play in Four Acts, by Arthur 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 alternately to tears and to laughter. Price, 25 cents. 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. Rvith 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 fernales. 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 Looking for Mary Jane A Farce in Three Acts By HELEN BAGG Author of "Whiskers;' **Why Not Jim;' "Let's All Get Married," etc. PHILADELPHIA THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 1915 Copyright 1915 by The Penn Publishing Company ^■c, / ©CiD 41458 AUG 10 1915 Looking for Mary Jane A TMP92-008602 Looking for Mary Jane CHARACTERS John Merrifield Augustus Merrifield Charles Barnes Berkeley Crane Ambrose Paddington Gustave Schultz Wing Tu . An Expressman. Pauline Wentworth Marie Varney a Chicago millionaire . his only son Augustus^ chuniy who is stout but energetic a friend of both a composer of opera manager of an opera company a laundryman whose aunt keeps a boarding-hotise a young widow Carlita Romagna Schultz . . a prima donna Gladys . . . who has worked in a restaurant Time : — Two hours and a half. SYNOPSIS Act I. — Living-room of the Wentworth house. One after- noon in August. Act II. — Same scene ; evening of the same day. Act III.— Same scene ; an hour later. Time. — The present. Place. — Any city in the United States not in the extreme east or extreme west. ** Now You've Done It ! Get Out of Here ! STORY OF THE PLAY Gus Merrifield's father, a millionaire, wants his son to pay an old debt of gratitude by marrying Mary Jane Crabbe, daughter of a former partner. Gus is travel- ing with two friends, Berkeley (Berk) and Charles. A handsome young opera star, ** Carlita " has induced Berk to help her smuggle a Chinaman into the United States in a trunk. Gus receives his father's peremptory order to find Mary Jane at Mrs. Wentworth's boarding- house and marry her. The three friends find there is a Mary Jane in the house, known however as Marie Varney, a young widow. The boys are hard up. They fix up a plan to have Berk get engaged to Marie under Gus's name, hoping she will break the engagement when she finds the deception. But through Pauline, Mrs. Wentworth's niece, Marie discovers the scheme, and to punish the boys becomes engaged to all three of them. Then the trunk supposed to contain the Chinaman arrives. The boys are afraid of the police. A real Chinaman, ** Carlita's" jealous husband, and a smallpox scare add other complications. Berk and Gus have really fallen in love, but the girls won't look at them. Gus's father arrives to find things badly mixed. But it turns out that ''Carlita" is the real Mary Jane, that there was no smuggled Chinaman and no smallpox, and the boys are forgiven and happy. COSTUMES, ETC. Mr. Merrifield. About sixty. White whiskers and hair. Summer costume. Augustus (Gus) Merrifield. Twenty-three. Handsome. Rather shy. Well dressed in summer suit, straw hat, etc. Charles Barnes. Twenty-five. Stout. He has a genius for getting into and out of scrapes. Well dressed in summer suit. Berkeley (Berk) Crane. Twenty two. Good-looking, happy-go-lucky. Rather absent-minded. Well-dressed in summer suit. Paddington. Thirty. Slender, with long dark hair. Excitable. Wears dark clothes, with slouch hat and a big black loose bow tie, witli flowing ends. ScHULTZ. Thirty. A stout and rather excitable German. Summer clothing. Carries a very large silk handker- chief of some bright color. Wing Tu. Chinaman, any age. Typical Chinese costume of blue blouse and loose trousers, slippers, silk cap, queue. Expressman. Any age. Blue checked blouse or shirt, uniform cap, dark trousers. Rough in manner and speech. Pauline. Twenty. Very pretty. Indoor summer dress, plain but attractive. Marie, Twenty-one. A charming young woman, stun- ningly gowned. Summer dress, hat, gloves, etc. Carlita. Twenty-five. Emotional. Red hair if possible (if not, text must be slightly altered to omit references to her hair). Handsome sunmier gown, hat, gloves, etc. Gladys. Nineteen. She wears the cap and apron of a servant, but the latest thing in hair and summer skirts. She is slangy, but not coarse. PROPERTIES Merrifield. Paper money. Gus. Chisel ; a bunch of roses (or a pasteboard box tied up and supposed to contain roses) ; a large box tied with cord and containing a lady's coat. This coat should be as startling in style as possible. It may have bright colored cuffs, collar, belt, etc. On the back should be sewed a piece of black cloth of irregular shape, supposed to be an ink-spot. Charles. Metal paper knife, cigarette. Large hat box, tied up, and containing a lady's hat. This should be in loud colors, large feather, etc., and should be as startling as possible in combination with the coat de- scribed above. Berk. Money (coins). Revolver. Bunch of roses, or a box tied up and supposed to contain roses. Handker- chief, scarf-pin, key. Paddington. Large patent-medicine bottle. China, and light pieces of wood to smash off stage. Roll of music. ScHULTZ. Telegram. Wing Tu. Folded paper. Expressman. Large trunk, containing slippers, braid of false hair, gloves, fan, and an armful of feminine clothing. Pauline. Papers on desk. Envelope. Vase for flowers, newspaper. Hot-water bag. Marie. Roses, dog, note, suit-case, handkerchief. Carlita. Vanity-box. Handkerchief. Gladys. Telegram. Visiting card. Other Properties. Waste-paper basket, lamp on table, a framed picture on wall. SCENE PLOT Inferior BachinjS SCENE {same for all acts). — The living-room of Mrs. Wentworth's boarding-house. Pleasantly, but not luxuriously, furnished. Wide door with portieres up c, leading to entrance hall and street. Door l. leads to stairs and rooms on all floors. Door r. leads to other down-stairs rooms. Closet up L., with key in door, is supposed to be place where the family keeps its um- brellas, etc. Table r. c, with lamp and paper-knife on it, as well as books, papers, etc. Armchair to r. of table. Small chairs down r. and near door c. Desk up L., with small chair in front of it, and on or over desk a rack for letters. Sofa down L. Framed picture on wall up r. with a telegram in envelope sticking in frame at rise of curtain, Act I. Other fur- nishings as desired. Looking for Mary Jane ACT I The curtain rises upon the living-room of Mrs. Went- worth's house. It is a large^ pleasantly furnished room; door with portieres at c. leading to reception hall ; doors at R. and l. Another door up l. leads to a closet where the family keeps its umbrellas ^ etc. Library table ^ r. c, with easy chair to right of it. Couch or sofa down l. Small desk up l. with a rack for letters on it. In front of it is a desk chair. Small chairs down R. and at c. near door. Framed picture on wall up R. Some one is improvising at a pia7io off stage at r. Gladys is adjusting lamp on table ^ R. c. The 'phone on the desk up l. rings and she goes to answer it as deliberately as she dares. Gladys (at 'phone). Hullo ! Huh ? No, this ain't Rosiel You got your wires crossed ! Fresh ! {Bangs down receiver.') A girl needs the legs of a centipede to work in a boarding-house ! If it wasn't for George bein' the cop on this beat, I never would have quit the restau- rant ! Believe me ! (She takes a few *^ grapevine " steps back to the table, whis- tling vigorously. The piano stops instantly, and Am- brose Paddington appears at r., his hat under his arm. He rushes at the amazed whistler atid seizes her angrily by the arm.) Paddington. Here, stop that, will you ? Gladys. Suffering cats, Mr. Paddington ! Paddington. That noise — you've got to stop it, do you understand ? GhkT>\s {much offended). Me? Paddington. Here 1 am, at the psychological moment of my opera — the moment that is to draw the listening 9 LOOKING FOR MARY JANE multitudes out of their chairs, and hold them sus- pended in emotional ecstasy — and how am I to do it, when all that 1 can hear is your infernal (^He imitates her whistling angrily.^ Gladys. My gracious, Mr. Paddington, I ain't no mummy. Paddington. Well, keep quiet — there's a good girl. And if any one calls for me, say that I will be back in an hour ; unless it's a man with a bill — you can tell him I'm dead. Gladys. I got you. Paddington (^pausing and surveying her meditatively'). You're a very lucky young woman. Gladys. Lucky ? Me ? Paddington. Yes. In future years, when the world is ringing with the praises of my opera, you will be able to tell your children Gladys (indignantly). Why, the idea, Mr. Paddington. Well, 1 like Paddington. You will be able to tell your children that you listened to that ravishing music long before it ever reached the dull ears of the public. Oh, happy little one ! (Puts his hat on and swaggers off at c. Gladys stares after him wrathfully.) Gladys. Little one ! If I don't tell my cop to lean on your face and hand you one for a fresh guy, my name ain't Gladys ! {She shakes her fist at him.) {Efiter Pauline Wentworth, l.) Pauline. Has Mr. Paddington gone out, Gladys? Gladys. He's in the hall now, Miss Pauline. Pauline {crossing to c. attd calling). Mr. Paddington ! {Exit Gladys at r., angrily. Pauline goes to desk up L. and sits.) {Enter Paddington at c.) Paddington. Did somebody call me ? lO LOOKING FOB 31 A BY JANE Pauline. I did. May I have a word or two with you on business ? Paddington. With pleasure, Miss Wentworth. (He sits ; pause y while she looks through her papers.) May I suggest that 1 have a pressing engagement at five ? Pauline. 1 won't keep you a moment. You know, since my aunt has been laid up with hay fever, 1 have been running the house, and Paddington. One moment. That reminds me. Your aunt sneezes entirely too much and too loudly. Yes- terday when 1 was down town, 1 bought a new remedy which is guaranteed to break up the most obstinate case of hay fever in twenty-four hours. Allow me to pre- sent it to your aunt. (Hands her a large bottle.) Pauline. Why, Mr. Paddington, how kind of you 1 Paddington. It's nothing. I have a sympathetic nature. Without it I could not compose ; and I cannot com- pose while your aunt sneezes, and that fiend in the kitchen whistles ! Pauline. 1 see. {Takes a small envelope from the desk.) 1 have a bill here, Mr. Paddington, that 1 would like to have you settle if it's convenient. Paddington (^gloomily). Miss Wentworth, it's never con- venient to settle bills — never ! Pauline. But it's been running two months Paddington. What's the use of trying to catch up with a thing that's been running for two months? Pauline. But Paddington. However, I don't mind telling you that I expect very soon to be able to pay them all. Did you ever hear of Mme. Carlita Romagna ? Pauline. No. Paddington. She is an opera singer — beautiful as a dream. She sings Marguerite, Aida, Mimi, Carmen, like an angel from heaven ! She is married to a man named Schultz. Pauline. Oh, how could she? Paddington. He is the manager of the company. They have been touring Mexico, and open here to-morrow. I intend that she shall produce my opera. Pauline. But Paddington. Listen. I heard her sing a year ago, and I swore that no other woman should create the title role LOOKING FOR BIARY JANE of my opera. I went to see her — she was out. I went again — she was out. I followed iier from town to town, but she was always out. Pauline. It must have been very trying. Paddington. It was maddening ! 1 followed them from New York here ; they went on into Mexico. 1 had no money to follow them any further. Now that they are coming back, they shall produce my opera. Pauline. But perhaps she'll siill be out. Paddington. Oh, no. I have discovered the key to her friendship. I have rendered her a great service. When she hears this she will be so grateful that she will hear my opera, and once she has heard it, 1 have her in the hollow of my hand. It will make us both famous, and when I am famous, your bill shall be paid. Pauline. Of course if Paddington. I haven't time for another word. Mme. Schultz arrived this morning. I wrote her asking for an interview at five ; it is now half-past four. Adios. (^He darts off, C.) Pauline. Oh, dear, I'm afraid I'll never be a success in the boarding-house business. The artistic temperament is a weird thing. (She begins to sort letters, putting them into a rack on the desk.) (Enter Gladys at r.) Gladys. Say, the Chink's in the kitchen with Mr. Pad- dington's laundry. Pauline {absorbed in a letter). Well ? Gladys. He says he'll not go till his bill's paid. Pauline. Then I'm afraid Mr. Paddington will have to take his meals in his room for a while. Gladys. He says he'll not budge till he gets his money, and the cook says either him or her'U have to beat it before dinner. Pauline. That'll never do. Send him in here. (Gladys starts R.) Oh, and Gladys, I have a letter here from three young gentlemen from Chicago. They've been traveling in Mexico and will arrive some time to-day. (^Consults letter.) Mr. Merrifield, Mr. Barnes and Mr. LOOKING FOR MARY JANE Crane. Mr. Merrifield is the son of the Chicago mil- lionaire pork packer. Gladys. Them packers is a bad lot. Why, I seen a fillum Pauline (patiently). Yes, Gladys. Auntie had a letter from old Mr. Merrifield some time ago engaging rooms for them. We must get them ready at once. The other two are traveling as young Mr. Merrifield's guests. There was a telegram for Mr. Merrifield yesterday, you know. Where did you put it ? Gladys. Here you are. {Takes telegram from picture frame^ up R.) Pauline. Oh, thank you. Now hurry, Gladys. Gladys. All right. (^Exit c, very slowly. Pauline puts telegram in rack on desk.) {Enter Wing Tu at r. He is a placid- looking Chinaman in native costume.) Pauline. Oh, good-evening, Wing. Wing Tu (xw/////?-). How do, missee? Me gottee washee for Mr. Paddlington. Pauline. Yes, you may leave it in the kitchen, you know. Wing Tu {smiling wider). Me gottee littee bill for Mr. Paddlington. {Takes paper from blouse.) Pauline. I'm sorry, but he's just gone out. Wing Tu {still smiling). Me gottee two, three littee bills. Me gettee brother from China this week. Takee iottee money gettee brother from China by Mexico. Me likee gettee bills paid. Pauline. A brother from China? What do you mean? Wing Tu. Costee Iottee money snuggle Chinaman over border. Pauline. Smuggle? Wing Tu. Some time bling him over in boat — some time put him in flour barrel in Pullman car. Me got brother some over in lady's trunk — allee samee silk stockings. Pauline. Do you mean to say that your brother is being smuggled over from Mexico in a lady's trunk? (Wing Tu nods.) But it's very wicked ! 13 LOOKING FOR 3IABY JANE Wing Tu. Sure — velly wicked — velly expensive. Me likee getlee littee bill paid. Pauline. Very well, I'll speak to Mr. Paddington ; but you mustn't cuiue and sit in the kitchen ; my cook doesn't like it. You come in here next time, do you understand ? Wing Tu. Me savvy, missee. Good-bye. (£xit at R. Pauline rises.) Pauline. Now I must go up and look after those rooms. (^Exii, L.) {Enter Gladys, preceding Augustus Merrifield and Charles Barnes, at c.) Gus. Tell Mrs. Wentworth that Mr. Merrifield and Mr. Barnes are here, please. Gladys. Are you the young men from Chicago? I thought they was three of you? Charles. We are, oh, Mrs. Sherlock Holmes, and there are three of us; but one of us, being a fastidious crea- ture, stopped down-town to get a shave. Gladys {eyeing him distastefully). I'll call Miss Pauline. (Exitf L.) Charles. Miss Pauline sounds good to me. Go as far as you like. Gus {coming down, l.). I say, Charlie, I don't Hke this. Dad wrote me that the house was managed by a Mrs. AVentworth. Charles {coming down r.). Oh, Gus, Gus, what makes you such a girl hater? Gus. Oh, I'll tell you some time; this isn't the time. I feel exactly as though something disagreeable was going to happen to me in this place. {Sits on sofa down l.) Charles. It's your liver. Everybody feels that way after he's lived a month on Mexican cooking. Cheer up, we're going to hear from that rich dad of yours and get a good fat remittance, so that we can go on to Cali- fornia. Wonder where they keep their mail? {He goes up L., looks aroufidj sees telegram in rack, takes it out.) What did 1 tell you ? Telegram. : {Comes doiun and hands it to Gus.) 14 LOOKING FOR MARY JANE Gus. It's from Dad, all right. He always telegraphs. Charles. Well, if I had his money, I'd use nothing but wireless. Gus (reading). Great Guns I Charles. What's the matter? Gus {handing it to him). Read that. Charles. "Mary Jane found, living at 231 Monterey Street. Wire favorable results or no remittance. Father." Gus, your father hasn't gone out of his head, has he? Nervous strain, you know? Swinging big deals — all that sort of thing ? Gus {irritably). No, I know what he means, all right. Charles. Well, you'll have to show me. 1 don't read code messages. {Sits on sofa^ l. ) Gus {pointing tragically to telegram). That's ray reason for being a woman hater. It's hung over me since my cradle. Charles. You mean it's — it's hereditary ? Gus. No, I mean Mary Jane. I may as well tell you. The trip's busted, and 1 suppose you've got to know why. Charles. There seemed to be a dark sort of a hint about the remittance. Gus. That's not a hint, it's a cold blooded threat. Listen ; when my Dad started out in business, he had a partner named Crabbe, who got him to invest in a gold mine. Crabbe got discouraged and Dad bought him out. Soon after that Crabbe disappeared. Charles. You don't say I Well, where does Mary Jane Gus. I'll get to her quick enough, don't worry. About ten years later, an English syndicate took hold of the mine, found it was worth a lot of money, and what with that and the pigs, he's been on Easy Street ever since. Charles. Gosh ! The luck — the infernal luck of some chaps ! Gus. Then Dad set to work to locate Crabbe. They found the old chap was dead and had left a daughter, Mary Jane. Dad's been looking for her for five years. Ac- cording to that wire, he's located her right here in this house. He must have known it when he told me to come here. Charles. I see. He wants to settle some money on her? 15 LOOKING FOR MARY JANE Gus. No, he doesn't. He wants to settle me on her. Charles. What ? Gus. He wants me to marry her. What do you think of that? Charles. I think it only needs soft music, a spotlight and a staircase waltz to make a first rate musical comedy. Gus {rising y atid pacing back and forth). Yes, I thought you'd see the funny side of it. Charles {waving telegram at Gus). Do you mean to say that this is why you've always avoided girls? Gus. Well, wouldn't you avoid 'em if you expected to be swooped down on and married any minute by a woman named Mary Jane Crabbe ? Charles. Don't be conceited, my son; she might turn you down. {Laughs.) Gus. She wouldn't have a chance if Dad got hold of her. He'd have us married and off on our honeymoon before we knew the color of each other's eyes. Charles. What are you going to do? Gus. Do? I'm going to wire him that he's crazy, and then I'm going to walk the ties home ! Charles. It's confoundedly hot weather for walking, Gus. Why not wait and meet her? She might be very attractive. Gus. No woman is attractive if you're compelled to marry her. Charles. Being engaged to her isn't marrying her. Gus (r.). What do you mean ? Charles. A thousand things that can happen to upset an engagement. Gus. Tiiat doesn't help me. I can't get engaged to a girl in a week just to give you and Berk a trip to California. Charles {rising and going c). You could if you weren't such a blamed coward. You could get the thing settled, wire your father, get the money, and break the engagement at your leisure, when within walking dis- tance of Chicago. Gus. That would be a nice way to treat a poor girl, wouldn't it? Charles. Why not ? Don't they break engagements for any fool thing they want to? Haven't three of them i6 LOOKING FOB MABY JANE broken engagements with me in three years ? Of course, if you'd rather give up the trip Gus. You know I woukhi't. I'm having the time of my life. But, hang it all, 1 shouldn't know how to go about it. Charles. 1 only wish it had happened to Berk or me. ( Goes L. ) Gus. So do I. Charles {suddenly). Gus ! Gus. Well ? Charles. Come here and listen carefully to papa. Why shouldn't Berk change places with yon, carry out the scheme, then write the lady and confess the truth ? She'll be furious, break the engagement, and there you are. Your father can't expect you to marry a woman who won't have you, and we'll have had our trip. Gus. Sounds like a con game. Charles. It is a con game. Of course, if you've set your mind on walking home, I'm willing. I had a sun- stroke once when I was a kid, but to oblige a friend Gus. 1 say, Charlie, do yon suppose Berk could do it? Charles. Berk? Like a dream. Isn't he always falling in love with somebody or other? Gus. But we don't want him to fall in love with her. Charles. What do we care? That's his lookout. We're not chaperoning Berkeley Crane, are we? Gus. Do you think he will? Charles. You bet he will, if T get hold of him once. He's always getting into flirtations to please himself; let him get into one to jjle^ise us once. Gus. That's right. You know what that red-headed girl who was on the train with us yesterday did to him? Got him to check one of her trunks through on his ticket — she had excess baggage. 1 told him he'd get into trouble one of these days, being so fresh. Charles. Well, he's got a good chance to get into it on this deal. (^Whist/in,^ heard off stage.) There he comes — let me handle him. Gus. He sounds happy. Charles. He won't sound happy long. {Efiter Berkeley Crane at c.) Berk. Hullo, fellows ! How's everything? That barber was slow as time. I say, what's the matter? 17 LOOKING FOB MARY JANE Gus {sittings down r). Everything. Charles {down r.). Sit down, Berk, and brace yourself for a blow. Berk. What — didn't the check come? Gus. That's the least of the trouble. Bekk (J)ringi7ig chair from R. and sittings c). Great Scott, anybody dead ? Gus. Not yet. Tell him, Charlie. Charles {with precision). Gus has just had a telegram from his fatiier, saying that lie won't send any more money unleSvS Gus wires him within a week that he's engaged to a girl who's living in this house. Berk {grinning). Well, what's the joke ? Gus. There isn't any. It's the truth. I've got to wire Dad that I'm engaged to a girl named Mary Jane, or we walk back to Chicago. Berk. Well, go ahead, wire him. I don't mind. Charles. Sit down, you wooden-head. We can't do it unless Gus is engaged to her. The old gentleman might wire back congratulations. Bekk. Let him get engaged to her, then. I always thought some girl would make Gus a good husband. Charles. But he doesn't want to be engaged to her. Berk. Well, he doesn't want to walk home, does he? Gus. Besides, 1 can't. She wouldn't have me. Bekk. Oh, she might. There's no accounting for tastes. Charles. Look here, Berkeley Crane, one of us has got to be engaged to that girl in a week. Gus is scared to death if a girl looks at him, so you've got to do it. Berk {rising). Me ? Not on your life. Charles. You've got to. Berk. Never. Why, I don't know her ! Gus. Neither do we. Berk. I'd walk to Cape Cod first. Nothing doin-g. Charles {rising). Look here. Berk, be a good chap Bkkk. Be a darn fool, you mean. Gus. All you've got to do is to be yourself — I mean, be me, but act like yourself. Bekk. Why can't Charlie do it? Gus. Why, he Charles. I'd do it — I'd be glad to do it for Gus, but, well, the fact is, I'm engaged to a girl in Chicago. Berk. First time I've heard of it. 18 LOOKING FOB MARY JANE Charles. It's the first time anybody's lieard of it. There's no law, is there, compelling a man to announce his engagement from the housetops ? Gus (jisiNg). Think of the trip to California. Charles [savage/y). Think of all the ties between here and Chicago ! Berk. But suppose she accepts me? Gus {patiently). We want her to accept you. Berk. 1 don't. 1 haven't any money to support a wife. 1 can't even keep a dog. Gus. She's going to break the engagement in a few weeks. Berk. How do you know she is ? Charles {going r. to Berk). Because you're going to write her the truth, and it's going to make her very angry, and Mr. Merrifield will have to soothe her in- jured feelings with a handsome check. Berk. Who's going to soothe my injured feelings? Charles {looking l.). Here comes the landlady; be de- cent, Berk. Gus. Oh, he will. Berk's all right. Berk. Look here, you chaps, there's one thing 1 want to know — I insist upon knowing. Both. Yes ? Berk {putting chair back, down R.). Is she white? {Enter Pauline, l.) Paui>ine. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting all this time. Charles {aside). Let me manage it. {He advances to meet Pauline.) Pauline. I've been so busy with the rooms. We've been awfully rushed during this holiday week. Charles. Don't mention it. Miss Pauline {coming down i..). VVentworth. Charles (c). Miss Wenlworth, let me present Mr. Augus- tus Merrifield. (Gus starts nervously; Berk remains motionless, until Charles kicks him energetically, then he steps forward.) Berk (r., gruffly'). Glad to meet you. Charles. And Mr. Berkeley Crane. Gus (r., nervously). Delighted. 19 LOOKING FOR MARY JANE Pauline. You'll want to see your rooms right away, I suppose ? Charles. Just a moment. May we have a word with you on business before we go up-stairs ? Pauline. Why, surely. (Pauline siiSy l. Charles does likewise. Berk^^^j up r. Gus stands 7iervously at R. ) Charles. Miss Wentworth, 1 want to ask you in strict confidence, is there a person in this house named Mary Jane ? Pauline. Why, no one that I Why, yes, there's Mrs. Varney. Charles. | ^ p Gus. I ^^'^- ^ (Berk comes down c.) Pauline. Yes, she's a widow. Berk {(iisgustedly). Gosh 1 Pauline. But Charles. Don't mind him. He's got the earache, and it's given him a grouch. Are you sure about Mary Jane? Pauline. Why, yes. We all call her Marie, but she signs all her checks ''Mary Jane C. Varney." Why, have you met her? Charles (^pointing to Berk). No, but he wants to. Bekk. I ? Charles. Yes, you. Didn't you come to me with this and beg me to get Miss Wentworth to introduce you to her? {Hands telegram to Pauline. Berk goes up stage atigrily.') Pauline (reading). But what a queer telegram ! What does it mean ? Charles. Well, you see, Gus's father is a rich old duffer full of whims. Mary Jane's father did him a service years