Lost— A Chaperon A Comedy in Three Acts By COURTNEY BRUERTON and W. S. MAULSBY BOSTON WALTER H. BAKER & CO. 1912 Lost — A Chaperon CHARACTERS (First produced in Jackson Gymnasium, Tuft's College, May i8 and 19, 191 1, under the direcdon of Wm. O. Partridge, Jr., of Arlington, with the following cast:) George Higgins, a Tuft's J. B. . . . Ernest S. Svvenson Jack Abbott, ") Tuft's sub-freshme7iy camp- Stanley M. Brown Fred Lawton, j ing with Higgins . . Arthur J. Anderson Raymond Fitzhenry, a Harvard student . Arthur T. Hale Dick Norton,") jr-h-n ■ ^ • • Ernest A. Larrabee Tom Crosby, J ■^' ^"^'' ^^ . . Ferdinand Bryham Marjorie Tyndall, George's cousin ; a Smith girl Helen J. Martin Alice Bennett, ^ Dorothy F. Entvvistle Agnes Arabella Bates, I cy z • / Edith H. Bradford Ruth French, f J''^'''°'^ S"'^' Marjorie L. Henry Blanche Westcott, J Beatrice L. Davis Mrs. Higgins, the chaperon. George's mother Effie M. Ritchie Mrs. Sparrow, a farmer's wife. (Not in the original cast.^ \j\7.7.\^, ) , , 7 TV /I y her daughters. Mandy, j ^ SYNOPSIS Act I. — The Girls' Camp at Sherwood, 7 a. m. Act II. — The Fellows' Camp at Sherwood, 8 a, m. Act III. — Same as Act I, 10 a. m. Place. — Sherwood, Maine. Time. — Summer vacation. Copyright, 191 i, by Courtney Bruerton. Copyright, 191 2, by Walter H.^aker & Co. PROPERTY PLOT Act I. — Settle or seat under the stairs, Morris-chair, table, two ordinary chairs, hat-rack, coat on banisters, alarm-clock and magazines for table, full shade for window, sofa pillows for settle, bric-a-brac for mantel, banners, and pictures. Kimono and scuffs for Alice, small covered basket with puffs and comb for Blanche, envelope with four two cent stamps on it for Aggie, hairpins for Blanche, sewing-bag for Ruth. Act II. — Clothes-line, tent, khaki shirt, pants, socks, etc., for clothes-line, cans, fishing tackle, loaf of bread, knife, can of deviled ham, three mugs, dress-suit case for George, blanket with five-inch safety pins, a map and a flap-jack turner for Jack, large straw hat for Alice, pail for Fked, axes for Ray- mond, Tom, and Dick. Air- rifle. The barrel should have a false bottom about a foot from the top with excelsior covering it. A wide cleat should be nailed on the inside next to the rim. When Ruth and Alice sit on the barrel, the board should be placed on the barrel itself; but when Aggie comes one end should be placed on cleat, so that when she hitches away from Jack, she can dislodge the board. Act III. — Three chairs and a Morris-chair, furniture other- wise the same as in Act I. Table-cover for table, plates, mugs, and knives for three, bag of sugar, coffee-pot, Blanche's basket of puffs, bandana handkerchief for George, reticule for Mrs. Higgins. NOTE The several parts of this play contain the following number of MS. lines each : Act I. Act II. Act III, Total. George 117 52 169 Jack 268 20 288 Fred 95 II 106 Raymond 30 31 61 Tom 26 35 61 Dick 34 ^5 49 Marjorie 58 31 89 Alice 129 67 41 237 Agnes 109 43 20 172 Ruth 104 42 20 166 Blanche 70 17 87 Mrs. Higgins 78 78 Mrs. Sparrow 24 24 Mandy 4 4 Lizzie 3 3 Time in Playing Act I. — Thirty minutes. Act II. — Forty-five minutes. Act III. — Thirty-five minutes. 3 Lost— A Chaperon ACT I SCENE. — The interior of the girls' camp at Sherwood. Fire- place down L. ; stair^vay up L., leading to chambers, off -l. Window L. c. , over staircase ; practical door c. to kitchen ; practical window R., with full curtai?i ; practical door R.2 E. Exterior backing for door and tvindows 'R. Carpet down ; folding table and ttvo chairs R. c. ; hat-rack tip r. ; settle or seat front of staircase ; Aforris chair before fire- place. (^At rise of curtain the stage is dimly lighted and the ivindow shades are down. Books, papers and coais are tossed about in confusion. The titne is 6 : 45 A. M.) Ruth French (without, after ten seconds, as from up-stairs, calling). Oh, Alice ! Aren't you up yet ? [Pause.) Alice Bennett {without, as from upstairs'). Oh-h-h ! What ? Ruth. I said aren't you up yet? Alice (sleepily). No-0-0 ! Mercy, no ! {Yawns audibly.) Blanche Westcott (without, after ten seconds, as from up-stairs). Seen anytliing of my belt, Ruth? Ruth {same bus.). Me? No. You must have it there somewhere. You better hurry up, Alice, or you'll get left. Alice {yawning). 1 don't care. (Ruth enters down-stairs, l. She is a mild-mannered girl, distinctly lady-like, hit not at all averse to fun, and enjoy- ing a good time. She crosses to v.., and raises curtain. Lights up full. Crosses front of table to stairs, takes coat from banisters and places on hat-rack. Shouts up the stairs.) 5 b LOST — A CHAPERON Ruth. You're the laziest thing I ever saw. Alice (jviihout). Don't you worry about me. Blanche {from above). Isn't Alice up yet? Alice {appearing at door L., /;/ curl papers, kimono, afid scuffs, still yatV7iing ; Alice is a '■'■good sp^ort," sviart and clever, with a fine sense of humor. At present she is rather sleepy. Yawns, looks sleepy / half-way down turns and calls back Zip-stairs.) Yes, 1 am. What's more, I'm down. {To Ruth.) What time is it, Ruth ? It seems awful early. {Yazvns.) Ruth {arranging table, back to Alice). It's time you were up. Aggie's all dressed by this time. She was up hours ago. Alice. Well, Aggie can be. She doesn't love her bed as much as I do. I feel as though I ought to be on a vacation. Ruth. I should think you did, Alice. Alice. Oh, dear ! dear ! {Walks to Morris chair, L.) Ruth {turning). For mercy's sake, Alice, are you down here in that rig? Alice. Yes, I am. {Stretches herself out in Morris chair and yawns again.) I know I'll have a headache for a week, getting up so quick. Oh, dear ! Oh, dear ! Such luck ! Ruth. Goodness, you're not going to sleep again in here, are you ? Alice. Perhaps. Ruth. You lazy thing ! Alice. Oh, my dear, what's the use of a vacation {yatvning) if one can't sleep in the morning? I should certainly have never been induced to come down here this summer {yawnifig) if I'd known you were one of the early birds. I hate to get up in the middle of the night. {Yawns.) It's not civilized. Ruth {picking up sewing and sitting R. of table). Oh, nonsense ! You ought to be up by this time. Aren't you going to get dressed for breakfast? Alice. Breakfast, Ruth ? Oh-h-h-h ! It's altogether too early for breakfast. Breakfast? You mean midnight lunch. Breakfast won't be ready for hours, I bet. ( Yawns.) It's too early ! Ruth. Well, if you put it up to me, I'm not in much of a hurry to get mine this morning, as things are. Aggie's the cook, you know. Alice. Aggie? How's that? Ruth. Oh, they know she's the first one up. And then, LOST A CHAPERON 7 you know, she hasu'l cooked for the girls for so long that no- body remembers what a perfect sci"eaai as a cook she is ! Alice. Oh, why did you get me up ? Ruth. Don't be fooHsh. She may be able to do all right on an oil stove, but the crimes she has committed in a chafing- dish are simply wicked ! Didn't you go to her chafing-dish party ? Alice (^yawning). What chafing-dish party ? Ruth. Oh, of course you didn't; that's so. You wouldn't know. None of you girls were in college then. [Lazighs.') That's why Marjorie got her to cook, I guess. If she'd gone to that party she'd have remembered it, all right, all right. Alice. Well, share your mirth. What was the matter with it ? Ruth. Why, the rarebit. The rest wasn't so awfully bad ! 'Twasn't awfully good either for that matter, but oh, the idea of that rarebit ! My dear, it was weird, it certainly was. She made a perfectly good, well-behaved Welsh rarebit taste like a — well, I don't know what it did taste like, but it acted like Le Page's glue. Alice. For mercy's sake Ruth. She made the best rubber rarebit I ever tasted. Alice. I see our finish. Ruth (^laughing). Of course she doesn't think so. To hear her talk, you'd think she was a bee-autiful cook. Alice. Oh, she's a nifty bunch of hot air. Ruth (rising and putting away sewing). Well, I'd hustle into my duds if I were you, instead of lying there yawning and shivering. Why in the world don't you go and get dressed if you're so cold ? [Takes magazine and sits again R. of table. ^ Alice. Well, if you aren't the queer thing. First you pull me out of bed before daylight, and then you rub it into me for not wanting to get dressed. Let me tell you again, my little pet, I'm sleepy. (Yazvns, rises, and makes her way sleepily to table. Picks up alartJi dock, looks at it, rubs her eyes and looks at it again.) Oh, it's only seven o'clock ! (Returns slowly and sinks back into chair.) Gee, but it's early ! Ten was the time I was going to get up. You've positively no idea how tired I am ! Ruth. Why, what's the matter with you ? You never used 8 LOST A CHAPERON to be SO foolish. You always get up early enough al the Hall. You used to be studying at six o'clock. You know you did. Alice. Six o'clock? Gemini! (Yawns.) I don't re- member. I'm oil a vacation. I don't remember anything. I'm too sleepy to remember anything. If you were as tired as I am, you wouldn't remember anything. I'm in a semi-coma- tose state. Ruth. For goodness' sake, come to ! You act as if you hadn't slept for a week. Alice. Well, I didn't much last night. Ruth. Oh, ho ! That's it, is it ? You were scared be- cause we're here all alone without a chajjeron. Alice. No, I wasn't, either. That's not it at all. I'm never scared. I have never been scared. I've always been very brave ever since 1 was a mere child. I'm not the wishy- washy kind that's always trembling; perhaps you've noticed it. Ruth. Yes, I think I /uwe. Alice. And as for that chaperon, I'm glad she missed the train, or the boat, or whatever it was. She must have missed something, since she isn't here. I'm just glad she did. We're having an ever and ever so much better time without her, and I hope she'll not come all day, — not till night. Ruth. So do I. I'm not particular about her coming at all. But then, what would Dean (Jocal) say? Alice (laughing). I know it. All a chaperon is good for anyway is just for form. That is, that's all the use a good one ought to be. And what's the use of form here? No one will see it if we have it. " Did Niagara Falls make any noise before anybody was round to hear it? " Did you take '• syke " ? Ruth. Oh, cut the "syke," Alice; no. Alice. Oh, but you ought to. Scotty's (local) a dear — a perfect dear — nothing but. You just ought to see him smile. Ruth. H'm — Is'poseso. We were speaking of chaperons, not "syke." I'm quite familiar with them as a class. Mar- jorie Tyndall's a perfectly corking girl, but I haven't a doubt but that her aunt is just like the rest — a regular Mrs. Buttinski. Alice. I don't know anything about her, and I'm not a bit curious as long as she keeps missing her train, or her boat, or whatever 'twas — not a bit. Ruth. Why, Alice, she may have had an accident. Alice. I can't help that, 1 know we'll have a regular rip- roaring old time without her; that is, if anybody gets up to-day in this house besides me. Why didn't you give the others a LOST A CHAPERON 9 helping hand while you were about it? (Sig/is.) You seemed to confine all your attentions to me. Ruth. You were the only one in the house that was still abed. Alice (/wf heeding). It's terrible to think of being up at seven o'clock, against your will, while all the rest are in bed enjoying themselves. I ought to have stayed there myself. Ruth. Aggie's been up hours. Alice. Oh, I suppose Aggie has. Probably she's making one of those elastic rarebits of hers. But where are Blanche and Marjorie ? You know there are others in this ranch besides Aggie. Ruth. You don't like her, do you? Alice. M-m, well, there are some 1 like better. I don't see why Mary invited her. Ruth. Why, she's a nice girl, Alice. She's a lot of fun when she gets thawed out. Alice. Oh, I suppose she is ; but she's usually so prim and precise, and so everlastingly daffy over that sentimental popinjay of hers. Ruth. Raymond ? Alice. That's the gent to whom I refer. Ruth. Oh, you're prejudiced. He's a poet, you know, and a poet " hath charms " Alice. "To soothe the savage breast." Yes, I know, but I'm afraid mine isn't that kind. Enter Blanche, breezily, l. She is lively, foriuard, and in- clined to be fresh. She has a small, covered basket. Blanche. Can I do my hair in here ? Alice. So you're up, are you, Blanche? V/hy, sure you may. Ruth. Come on. Blanche (^sitting l. of table, taking out puff s one at a time, and begins rolling them, combing them with one end in her mouth). I didn't know but this was confidential, but /didn't care. / want to be sociable, I do. I'm simply dying for so- ciability. Alice. Blanche, you shouldn't talk with your mouth full. i Blanche. So your mother was telling me. 1; Alice. What a lot of hair you've got. P Blanche (^flattered, but trying not to appear so~). Yes, I've 10 LOST — A CHAPERON brushed it hard one hunched strokes every night since I was nine years old. Alice. Oh, I didn't mean on your head, I meant in the basket. Blanche. Oh ! (A momcnfs pause ; everybody yawm, then suddenly looks up in confusion.) Well, it's certainly the limit how these puffs do muss. Ruth. Why, Blanche Weslcott, you're not going to wear puffs up here in this forsaken spot, are you ? (^Arranges her own hair.) Blanche. Why, I don't call it forsaken, do you ? Alice. Well, I'd never mistake it for the Great White Way. Blanche. Naturally not. {Still cov/ibs puffs and talks with the ends in her mouth.) Alice. I think you're too stylish for us. Pourquoi faire des fakongs ! {Laboriously.) Blanche. AVill you listen to that? Fakongs! Alice, my dear, your French is on the blink. Forget it. For goodness' sake let me have a vacation without thinking of French C ! Ruth. I shouldn't think you'd want to think of puffs either, for tiiat matter. I'm sine I don't. 1 didn't bring any and I wouldn't wear them if I did. 1 should think yours would make you feel top-heavy. They're as big as babies. Alice. I should say so. Blanche {coolly; still combing). Well, what I want to know is, who swallowed our chaperon last night? Alice. I'm sure 7ve don't know. Blanche. Hasn't anybody seen anything of her? Ruth. Well, I haven't. Alice. Neither have /, and I don't v/ant to. Blanche {taking puff out of her mo7ith in astonishment). Don't want to? What do you know about that? Well, what are we going to do without her? We can't stay alone way off here, can we? What v.'ill people think? Alice. Well, if you can find any people to do any think- ing, you'll do more than I can. Blanche. All the more reason why v/e should have some one here. Alice. You old fraid-cat ! Who'll touch us? I think it's ripping she didn't come, and I hope she won't be here for a week. H'm ! Great protection she'd be, wouldn't she? It's LOST A CHAPERON II a good while since I've been able to do as I wanted to, and I'd like it to last. Do you think she'd stand for this negligee ? Ruth (^laugJiing). I'm sure I don't know her at all. Blanche. Oh, she probably would. What's the harm ? Ruth. Of course we don't know anything about Mrs. Huggins, except Blanche. Higgins, my dear, Higgins. Alice. Why do you always get it Huggins, Ruth ? {Ap- parency shocked.) I hope you wouldn't say that if we had company. Ruth. Oh, bother ! Higgins, then. Of course we don't know what kind of a person Mrs. Higgins is, but Blanche. So you remarked. Alice. She may be a perfect pippin. Blanche. Well, where is she ? That's more to the point. Alice. The Lord only knows. Ruth. And he won't tell. We only know she didn't meet us at the village yesterday afternoon. If Marjorie had only stayed inside the station as she said she was going to, instead of walking up and down outside looking to see what she could see, she might have found her. Blanche. Oh, she'd have got here some way, if she'd come that far. Ruth. Well, if she got left at Bangor, there isn't another train until this morning. So Marjorie says, anyway. Alice. Well, that settles it then. Blanche. It's a great old way to keep an engagement, I must say. She's probably pretty slack. {Puts last puff in ihe basket and sets basket on table.') I'm going upstairs to get my hairpins — be back in a minute. {Goes toivard stairs, k. just as Agnes Arabella Bates enters. ) Merciful heavens ! Where did you come from, baby dear ? You gave me such a start ! Agnes {coldly, crossing r., back of table). From my chamber. Alice {aside). Piffle ! Blanche. I don't call these affairs chambers. I call them cribs; there's so much room in them. If we want to sing we have to go outdoors — (f- mining up the stairs) there isn't room enough inside to let your voice out. \_Exit. Agnes. What's the matter with her ? Ruth. She seems upset over this chaperon business. Agnes. O-oo-h. {^Thoughtfully. She is dressed demurely 12 LOST — A CHAPERON in linen collar and tie, shirt-waist, stiff cuffs, hair dressed very severely. She wears spectacles, is prim by nature and very much of a bluestocking. She holds a letter in hand. Sits L. of table. Ruth crosses l. to settle and sits.) I've just been reading. You know Raymond wrote me a train letter. He's a wonder, he is. And we had such fun on the train — I was cutting up so that I even forgot to open it. Wasn't that droll? So I've just been reading it. He enclosed his last poem for a treat. (Alice and Ruth groan.) Beg pardon ? Alice. We thought you must have passed a poor night to be regaling yourself with poetry thus early in the game. Agnes. Oh, not at all. 1 always get up early, always. You know I was so dead tired last night that I went to bed almost as soon as I got here and didn't unpack anything. So I got up early this morning and I have all my things unpacked and in order. Ruth (anxiously). But what about the breakfast ? AGiSTES (cheerfully). Oh, it's early yet. (Girls look tin- easy.) And — er — when I was taking the things out of my hand-bag (smiling), I came across this poem that Raymond had sent me. I put it in there so's to have it handy, and then forgot all about it. Wouldn't he be grieved if he knew it ? Ruth. Yes, I should think he would be deeply touched. Alice (aside; to Ruth). Wouldn't that make your neck ache ? Ruth. Did he send it to you ? I thought you said it was a train letter. Agnes. It was. He enclosed it in his letter of day before yesterday and asked me to read it on the train. (Smiles.) It cost him eight cents, the letter was so heavy. Alice (aside; to Ruth). Of course — it had some of his poetry in it. Agnes. Oh, but the verse is so delightful I think it's quite the best he's ever done. Ruth. Isn't that nice? Agnes. Yes, I think so. Raymond's professors think he fias a great future before him. Alice. Who told you that ? Agnes. Why, Raymond, of course. {Girls giggle.) I don't see anything to laugh at — / think it's a great compli- ment. (Girls whisper together. Then exit RvTH, c.) Just listen to this poetry. This is no joke. I only wish he were here to explain it — he does it so beautifully. You know you LOST A CHAPERON I3 read it by yourself and it sounds well, and you think it's pretty, but after he explains it to you, and tells you all about it, it seems just exquisite and grand. You realize that you couldn't half appreciate it before. Alice {weakly'). H'm ! Sort of merely knocking on the shell, as it were. Agnes. Yes — exactly. Enter Blanche, l. LANCHE. Hello ! What you doing ? {Puts pins in basket.') Agnes. Oh, you're just in time. I'm going to read this new poem of Raymond's. Enter Ruth, c. Blanche. Gee ! {Sits settle l. of Ruth. She and the others get together and talk during Agnes' rambles, looking vp only zvhen she addresses them or stops.) Agnes. Ruth and Alice are both just dying to hear it. {Business Ruth and Alice.) They like Raymond's poetry almost as well as I do, and that's saying a good deal. He told me that he read some to them once when he came out to call at the Hall and I wasn't home. I guess it was the night I went to see Gillette with popper. Oh, don't you love Gillette? {Girls look up and smile approval.) Isn't he just a wonder? I do just love to see him. Did you see "Clarice"? {Girls shake their heads.) Oh, you missed it — you did. He makes love so splendidly. Oh, he does. Er — er — oh, yes. Ray- mond told me he read some to Ruth and Alice and they praised it highly. Blanche. What do you say to that, girls? Alice. Oh, we didn't have to praise it — we simply acqui- esced. Agnes. Oh ! Aren't you horrid ! Of course they praised it, Blanche, only they're ashamed to say so. So many girls hate to confess their finer feelings. Blanche. Yes. Well, what's the subject of this flight? Agnes. The subject of this poem is, "A Distant Lover to His Beloved." Alice. How sweet ! (Ruth laughs aside and exits c. ) 14 LOST — A CHAPERON Agnes. It's in a sort of blank verse that E.aymond's been experimenting in lately. I hope you'll like it. It's not like Shakespeare's blank verse, you know — it's something Raymond has invented. He's getting so he doesn't believe in rhyme at all. He says blank verse is so much more free — you can ex- press so much more in it. 1 don't know, though, I used to love his lyrics. Alice. What kind is this? Agnes. Well, — this is — er — er — well, I don't know, to tell the truth, just what kind of poem he does call this one. 1 think it's an elegy. {The others smother their laughter.^ Enter Ruth, c. Blanche. Well, let's have it. Ruth. Yes, we're crazy to hear it. Alice. We just are. Blanche. Come on. Agnes. Well, then, hearken. {Reads ; girls talk to one another.') I sit by the restless flicker of a dozen candles. Dreaming of thee, love, of thee ; My soul leaps forth from within my stalwart breast Whilst thinking of tliee, love, of thee. Within me, storms and tempests rage unceasing. Tossed by conflicting thoughts, sleepless I wake; Yet, in my dreams is but one shining figure Standing clad in garments of resplendent white, {She brushes shirt-waist tvith hattdkerchief before reading the next line.) Ah, love, 'tis thee ! " Thai's the first stanza. {Girls look vp and smile.') Blanche. The thonglu was perfectly sweet. Alice {seriously). I think it's almost good enough for the {insert some local paper). Agnes. Well, here's the second — the climax comes in this. {Girls resume talking. They listen more, however, than be- fore, while she reads. Exit Ruth, c.) LOST — A CHAPERON I5 " While through the pathless, wooded wilds I stray, Dreaming of thee, love, of thee — My step is firm, elastic, full of grace (^smiling fondly), Thinking of thee, love, of thee. And, when I wander on the ocean's sandy shore, And watch the angry billows lash themselves in spray Though yet so far away, still do I feel afraid Their rage may reach me, though I be on shore ; Ah, love, I think of thee ! " {Girls almost choke in their handkerchiefs.') What in the world are you laughing at ? Alice. I don't think that's very complimentary to send a girl. Blanche. Like a fellow who sent me a book once for Christmas, — "Wild Animals I Have Known." Agnes. Why, my dear, it isn't meant to be personal. It isn't an epistle, it's an elegy. I'm afraid you don't appreciate it. Alice (aside ; to Blanche). I'm not afraid, I'm sure. Agnes. Well, now, here is the third verse. Enter Ruth, c. Ruth (groaning). Another ? I thought that was the end. Alice. Why, Ruth, how ignorant you are — it's a tragedy in five acts. Agnes. An elegy in three stanzas, Alice. This is the third. (Reads.) "I wandered in the forest glades at eventide," Alice {aside; to Ruth). I thought we left him on the beach ! Agnes. "Thinking of thee, love, of thee." Blanche (aside ; to Alice). I've got so I know when that's coming. Agnes. " I listened to the birds singing their glad good-night. Ah, love, I dreamed of thee. But of a sudden in my path a loathsome thing rose up. I cried aloud — (Marjorie Tyndall enters L. She is not a girl of mvch assertion. She is rather colorless and is easily led by the others. Agnes looks up but continues reading dramat- ically. ) 1 6 LOST — A CHAPERON ' Back ! Back ! Detested toad, away ! ' " Mar. (c). Detested toad ! Why, Agnes Arabella Bates ! What do you mean by that? {The rest are convulsed?) Well, what's the joke ? Agnes. There isn't any. Mak. What do you mean, then ? What did you yell that at me for when I came in ? " Detested toad ! " That's nice, 1 must say, and you down here on my invitation. Agnes. 1 was just reading to the girls this poem of Ray- mond's that he sent me, that's all there is to it — and )'OU hap- pened to come in just as I got to the apostrophe. Mar. Apostrophe ! That's no place for an apostrophe — it ought to be an exclamation point. It's sensational truck, I must say. Did he ever read " Tracy the Bandit " ? Agnes {shocked). No ! Mar. I thought perhaps he found it in there. Agnes. Raymond doesn't read such books. Mar. Oh, very well. Ruth. I guess that will hold you for a while. Agnes. I'll read the rest of the verse and then you can see how well the apostrophe fits in. {Takes tip paper ; everybody looks alarmed?) Mar. No, you don't, if you please. None for mine. {^To banister L. c. and leans.) Say, to change the subject, how did you all sleep last night ? I know how Blanche slept. She didn't. Auntie's not showing up got her scared. Blanche. It did not — I wasn't scared a bit. Mar. Why didn't you sleep better then? You were tossing about like a boat in a storm. You fairly made me seasick. Blanche. Because I never can sleep in a strange bed until after a night or two. Mar. Heaven preserve us ! How many nights are you going to keep that up? I'll let you stay with Aggie to-night whether auntie comes or not. You kept me awake most all night. Mercy, 'twas awful. Blanche. Well, I'm sorry, but I wanted company. You would if you'd been in my boots. I didn't want to stay awake all alone. Ruth. I'm glad my roommate isn't like you. Alice sleeps so sound you can hardly get her up. LOST A CHAPERON I7 Mar. That's because she was awake all night. Alice. I guess that's it. 1 sympathize with Blanche. The bed felt so strange. Ruth. I guess you were just plain scared, that's what I guess. Alice. I was not — not a bit! Why should I be ? We locked the doors and shuttered the windows so nobody could get in. Besides, who's around, anyway ? {Noise outside of crashing through twigs and branches. All alarmed, rise ; Agnes seizes her letter from the table. ^ Blanche. What was that ? Ruth. Perhaps 'twas a dog. Alice. Go and look. Mar. No, you go. Alice. I'm not dressed. All of you go. Ruth. Come on. (Blanche to window r. , pulling Mar., and looks out. Agnes /// r. ; Ruth and Alice c.) Blanche. Nobody here. (^All return sloivly to original positions.^ Alice. Hum ! Somebody luas there, though. Mar. Well, there's a lumberman's camp not far from here. {Sits l. of fable.) Alice. There is ? Mar. Yes. That was probably one of them. I've heard they're not a very nice lot— :-they drink and everything. {Girls look shocked.) Alice. Oh ! I didn't know that. x\gnes {sitting v.. of table). I guess none of us did. Why didn't you tell us ? Mar. I didn't have the heart. You'd have been fright- ened worse than ever. All. But we weren't. (Mar. laughs.) Ruth (/!^ Mar.). I bet j£'« were. Mar. {indiofiantly). I 7vas not. I'm never frightened. I can go away alone anywhere, and be perfectly calm. Be- 1 8 LOST A CHAPERON sides, I guess if anything happened here, one of us could con- trive to find George. All. George ? George ? George who ? Mar. George Higgins, my cousin. Blanche. Where is he ? Mar. Over on the opposite lake shore somewhere. I guess it wouldn't be hard to find. Alice. Why, I didn't know he was anywhere around. You don't tell us anything. (Coy/y.) Is he nice? Mar. Well, I suppose it sounds queer, but I really couldn't tell you. Blanche. Couldn't tell? Why? Mar. Because I haven't seen him for two or three years. Ruth. Why ! Mar. And auntie says he's changed a lot. (^Incredu- lously.') She says he's grown belter looking. You see since I've been at Norlharapton I'm not home much of the year, and he goes to Tuft's. He lives there and he doesn't go home any oftener than possible — only when he gets out of money and -a letter won't pull it. Don't you girls know him ? You must have seen him. Ruth. Not that I knov/ of. We've heard his name. We may know him by sight, but that's all. Agnes. Isn't that droll ? Blanche. I guess he isn't one of that soft crowd that hangs round tiie library all the time. Agnes. Raymond's in this region somewhere. He wrote me he was. Wait a minute. I'll get the letter. Mar. (Jiaslily'). Oh, never mind. We'll believe you. He's probably one of those lumbermen. Alice. That drink and shoot {All grin.') RuTi-i. He'd probably been doing both before he wrote that poetry. {All laugh ^ Agnes. Wliy, Ruth ! Blanche. When's your aunt coming, Marjorie ? Mar. I can't tell — I haven't any idea. vShe m;iy not come till to-morrow. I wrote her to meet us here Tuesday — she may have mistaken it for Thursday. Tuesday does look something like Thursday when it's written. Alice. Not if you spell it right. {All laugh.) Mar. There's no use telling me — you girls are scared blue. Just look at Alice there. Alice. Oh, why do you keep harping on that? If I'm LOST A CHAPERON 1 9 blue, it's because I'm cold. I doa't see what you keep saying i'm scared for, Marjorie Tyndall. You know very well I'm the bravest thing that ever happened. Why, one night at home I'd gone to bed, everybody in the house was asleep, and 'twas awful dark and creepy like, and I woke up and heard it raining. And what did I do but jump up and go up-stairs in the attic, all alone, and shut the windows so it couldn't rain in. {Recited very emphatically J) All {incredulously). You didn't ! I bet you didn't ! Honest? (.\lice nods emphatically.) {Knock on the door. All jump and look terrified. Blanche runs half-way up-stairs.) Ruth, What do you suppose that is? Alice. At such a diabolical hour ! Agnes {peeking cautiously out of window u. i, and drawing back quickly). It's a woman and two girls. {Signs of relief among the girls.) Blanche {running down-stairs and crossing to R.). Did they see you ? Agnes. I don't think so. Mar. We better open the door. Alice. And here 1 am in my kimono ! {Girls laugh.) Blanche {after peeking out). Go to the door, Ruth. Alice. I guess I'll vamoose for a while. Don't keep them too long. {As she runs up-stairs l.) See you later. \_Exit, L. Ruth. You go, Marjorie. Mar. No, you. (Ruth goes to door r. 2 a., just as another knock is heard. Everybody starts, then they laugh. Ruth draws bolt and opens door a crack, peeking out. ) Mrs. Sparrow {without). Howdy do? My name's Spar- row. I'm Abe Sparrow's wife that lives up yander nigh tlie lake. Me 'n' Liz 'n' Mandy was 'round this way, so we thought we'd jes' drop in to see if you wanted any veg't'bles. {Pushes door open and enters R. 2 v.., follo7ved by Lizzie and Mandy. Mrs. S. is about forty-five, rather rustic-looking ; Lizzie and Mandy are sixteen and eighteen respectively. All three are dressed like rustics, ivearing sunbonnets.) Well, say, you be pretty well fixed up here already, ain't yer? 20 LOST A CHAPERON Lizzie {enthusiasiically). Lordy, ain't it pretty, ma? (Mandy nudges her and she subsides.') Mrs. S. I should say. Mandy. Look at them college flags. (^To Ruth.) Ee they yourn ? Ruth. No, they belong to Marjorie. {Puts her arm around Mak., and draivs her fortaard.) Mrs. S. I wan' t' know ! You've sure got things looking pretty nice. Where's that door go to? Mar. To the kitchen. Mrs. S. I wan' t' know. Lizzie. When'd yer come? (Mandy nudges her.) Ruth. Last night. (Agnes is surveying them in silent dismay. Pause.) Mrs. S. Well, what we come fer — I wan' t' know if you gals wouldn't like some 'taters, corn, or coocumbers? Where's yer ma ? Ain't she come ? Mar. My mother? She Blanche. She isn't up yet. (Mrs. S. and daughters look shocked.) She's awful lazy. {Girls smother their hiughter.) Mandy. I wan' t' know. Blanche. So we can't find out what she's done about things till she gets up. We can let you know later. Ruth {aside to Mar. rt//^ Blanche). You might get a few things. Mar. Ye-es. Blanche {aside to Mar.). You've got enough stuff to last till your aunt comes. Don't bother so far ahead. Mar. {7veakly). All right. Mandy. Couldn't yer ask yer ma if she wouldn't like to buy somethin' ? Mar. Wliy, I — I might. Ruth. No, you couldn't, Marj. She's asleep. It's only half-pnst seven, and you know she never wakes up till eight. (Mrs. S. and daughters look at each other.) Yon told us so yourself. LOST A CHAPERON 21 Mar. {bewildered). I did ? Blanche {imaging Mar.). Yes, of course you did. Mrs. S. So yer don't think yer want an'tiiin' ? Not a sin- gle cooc' ? Mar. I don't believe so. Blanche. We'll come over and see you when we do. Mrs. S. Waa], do. I'd jes' love to have yer. The gals would, too. Lizzie's kind o' furrard, but she's a good gal ; and everybody alius takes ter Mandy. 1 know yer'd enj'y yers elves. {Looks ai Agnes who is by herself, l. c, at foot of stairs.) Agnes. Yes. Lizzie. We'd better be startin', ma. (Mandy fiudges her.) Mrs. S. I s'pose we had. Well, I hope yer will want somethin'. Let yer have 'em real cheap, and '11 be mighty glad ter see yer. Come 'long, gals. {Fushes Lizzie and Mai^dy out ahead.) 'Bye, 'bye. [Exeunt, R. 2 e. Ruth, ^ Mar. I ^ , , Blanche. [Good-bye. Agnes. J (Ruth closes door.) Alice {appearing at top of staircase, still in negligee, zvhispering). Have they gone ? Ruth. Yes. Come on down. Alice {coming down-stairs and going to Morris chair). What did they want? Blanche (c). To sell us some "cooes." Alice. Ccocs ? Ruth (r.). Yes. Cucumbers. {All laugh.) Agnes. Weren't they strange? Blanche. I should say so. Mar. Did you see how scared Ruth was to open the door ? Ruth. I wasn't. You all think you're so brave here. I've got a story that can beat Alice's. Blanche. You have ? Alice. Let's hear it. Ruth. Well, listen — one time I was silting by the window in my room and a mouse ran right across the floor side of me. 22 LOST — A CHAPERON All. No ! I bet you were frightened. I gucbs you jumped ! Oh! Ruth. Well, I did not. I sat perfectly still. All. Oh-h-h ! Ruth. And it was an awfully low chair, loo. {Repeated exclamations of wonder.) Alice. If a mouse did that when I was round I'd shoot it. All. Shoot it ? Alice. Yes. I'm awfully fond of shooting, and I'm a great shot, too. I simply dole on a gun. {All horrified.') Agnes (l.). They're trying to make out they're the only ones here that are brave. Hum ! I'd like to sleep outdoors to-night, right on the ground, with nothing over me. Ruth (l. c). Why, Agnes ! Blanche (aside). Gee ! Agnes getting sporty ! Agnes. 1 mean no roof or house or anything like that. All {disappointed). Oh ! Agnes. So I could look straight up at the stars and the moon. Oh, I should just love to sleep in the open ! It must be perfectly delicious ! Ruth {aside). Slush ! Mak. (r. c). I tell you, let's sleep out on the piazza, if auntie isn't here. Alice (l.). Oh, let's. That's great. Agnes. But that's tame — there's a roof on that. Ruth. Well, Aggie dear, we'll let you sleep in the woods, if you want to. We prefer beds. Blanche. Hammocks, you mean. That's what we'll get on the piazza. Alice. Gemini ! But hammocks are terribly uncomfortable. Mar. Squealer ! Alice. I'm not, but I want to be comfortable. Blanche. So do I, but I'll sleep anywhere the rest do, just out of spite. I'm sociable, lam. If I stay awake — well! I guess ihey will. Mar. I hope to goodness you won't. All right ; if it's pleasant then, we sleep on the piazza ! All {joyously). Yes ! Yes ! Mak. You bet we'll have plenty of fun. Agnes. How many hammocKS have you got, Marjorie ? Mau. Four, I think. LOST A CHAPERON 23 Alice. You can sleep in the woods, Aggie. Agnes. I want to be where you people are, though I still thiak 'twould be great fun to lie on the ground like boys. Blanche. You can sleep under the piazza then, if you want to. Alice. Mine for a hammock ! The ground's too hobblety. Blanche. I'm hungry. Agnes {startled). Why ! Ruth. Got the breakfast, Aggie? Agnes. Why, you know — I Mar. What ! Agnes. I forgot all about it. (^A /I groan.') Alice. Forgot all about it ? For the love of Mike ! I'm going back to bed. [IVinks at Ruth.) Mar. (Jo Agnes). Well, you little dear ! Living in camp with you will be one grand, sweet song. Agnes. Oh, but you know, I got to reading that poem of Raymond's Blanche. Raymond, Raymond, Raymond, Raymond ! Nothing but Raymond. You really ought to wear a placard round your neck — "Sold out to Raymond." (Ail laugh.) Ruth. Well, you forgot it, but we didn't. While you were spouting, I was getting the breakfast. Agnls. Why ! Alice {aside to Ruth). I'm so glad. (Ruth laughs.) Well, come on in and eat, girls. {Aii start out c.) Blanche. Do we ideally sleep outdoors to-night ? Alice. Do we? Ruth. Well, rather ! (Agnes returns, gets letter from table and exits hurriedly.) CURTAIN ACT II SCENE. — Higgins' camp at Sherivood ; the exterior shoiving R. the side of a canvas tent. The entrance is Just off stage, R., hidden. Clothes-line stretched across between tent and set tree ; on it are khaki shirt, pants, pair of old colored socks, necktie, hat, etc. , himg up in all kinds of ways to dry. Barrel L. C, excelsior shoiving inside, the top lying beside it. Around the tent everything is in disorder. Cans, fish- ing tackle, etc., thrown down indiscrifnitiately. Leaves around on the stage. At the rise of the curtain Jack Abbott is engaged in cutting bread, c, hugging the loaf. Jack is a liappy-go- lucky felloiv, fond of the girls and always ready for a lark. Enter George Higgins from tent after a moment, wearing a blanket around hivi, pinned zviih large safety-pins. lie is a good-natured fellow with an uifortunate faculty of getting in wrong. He passes over to the line in a melan- choly way and squeezes water out of the shirt. Speaks sadly. Geo. Say, Jack, do you s'pose those things will ever dry? Jack. Sure. Why don't you fan them ? {Sets barrel up, stuffs in excelsior and puis board over top. Lays loaf, slices and knife on it.) Geo. Oh, if you love me, Jack, whistle for a breeze. (Jack laughs.) Jack. That's the worst of having an under supply of clothes, George. Why don't you put your hat on? You're only half dressed. {Calls.) Fred! Fred Lawton {without). Wliatcher want? Jack. Toss me out a devil, will you ? FuED {without). Oh, sure. {Appears R. and tosses can of deviled ham to Jack. Exit.) 24 LOST A CHAPERON 25 Jack {looking it over). He didn't give me anything to open it with. Hey ! Fred (without). What? Jack. Throw me out the shears. (Goes R. E flier Fred, with scissors. Hands them to him.) Fred. Now I hope you're fixed for a while. Geo. For criminy's sake, Fred, rush the drinks. Fred. Wait till they're ready, can't you ? Geo. Heaven's sake ! I should think it ought to be done by this time. Seems though I'd been up hours. Fred. You'd been in hours if we hadn't come to your rescue. Geo. Oh, cut it. (^Exit Fred ; Jack is working with bread and ham, using bread-knife to spread ham.) Jack. He's a deuce of a cook. He said he could make bread. (Hits it with knife.) Why, this knife was sharp when I started. (Pulls his finger over blade.) Look at the darned thing now ! Geo. Say, I didn't notice what you were up to. Give us one. Jack. One of what ? Geo. One of those. (Jack licks ham off end of knife.) Jack. 'Tisn't time for breakfast yet. Geo. Well, I'm hungry, I want to have you know. ( Takes sandwich and begins to eat. ) Jack. Nothing like an early morning plunge for an appe- tite, George. Enter Fred, r., with coffee. He is a stolid fellow, something of a plodder, and the butt of the others, with, however, a dry humor of his own. Geo. {laughing). Why, here's our little tortoise with the drinks. Welcome, Ganymede, welcome to our midst. (Fred gives them coffee and exits R. Geo. and Jack take some of the bread and ham and sit doivn on ground ; Geo. r., and Jack c.) Say, he isn't such an awful bad cook, what do you think? 26 LOST A CHAPERON Jack. Oh, so-so. Geo. Well, this coffee isn't bad— could be worse. Jack. You're right there. It's blamed good. Geo. I s'pose the bread could be harder. Jack. No, Georgie, no. I agreed to the coffee, but I can't to that. No, no. It couldn't be any harder and be bread. Enter Fred, r., witli. his coffee ; goes to barrel, helps himself, and sits L. Fred. The bread is a little heavy. It's the first time I ever wound any out of a patent maker. Jack. Well, cheer up, old top. We have our revenge — you have to eat here, too. Fred. Oh, I'll take my turn at your joshing — somebody's got to. I've got to protect Georgie here — he hasn't much pro- tection as it is, in the clothes line. Geo. Oh, forget it. Fred {laughing). I bet a cigar you can't. Why don't you learn how to paddle your own canoe? Geo. Why don't you learn how to cook? I don't believe you ever did any before. You're trying it on us. Jack. On the dog. Fred. No, I'm not, on the level. I have cooked in the far away past, and I'll be all right this time when I get used to a kerosene stove. Jack. What do you generally use, for heaven's sake? Fred. Denatured alcohol, smarty. Geo. Oh, don't get sore. To tell the truth, Fred, you're really remarkable, I think. You not only cook well, but you make a great variety. Jack. In other words, his repertoire is large. Geo. Exactly. You are without doubt a magnificent cook. Witness? Evidence? This bread, noble work of culinary genius. Few people know how to make bread like this. Jack. Few want to. Geo. It takes a massive head like yours, Fred, to make massive bread like this. Fred. Georgie here doesn't go in for cooking. He doesn't like it. Geo. I'm bright enough to know I can't. Fred. The only thing he does really well is fishing. (Geo. 's face falls.) He's a shark at that. Jack. But he has to be careful not to hook too big a fish. LOST A CHAPERON 27 Fred. Ha, ha ! That's right. Teacher, why is tlie canoe so wobbly ? Geo. Oh, cut the chatter. You don't suppose I did it with malice or forethought, do you? Jack. We can't help it when we see how handsome you look in that blanket. (Fred and Jack laugh ; Geo. is eating.') Geo. What have you got up your sleeve to soak us with for dinner, hein ? {Shift positioris.) Jack. Well, will you listen to that ! Fred. There's no filling his pod. I've said that before. Jack. He does beat the Dutch for wanting to be fed. Fred. He isn't through breakfast before he v/ants to know what he is going to get next. Jack. It's a compliment to your cooking, Fred. Geo. ' Tis not. (J'hey laugh.) Jack. Now I guess you're stung. Geo. Well, what is it to be, Fred? Fred. Quail on toast. Jack. That's great. Geo. Quail is a noble animal. But on the level, old shirt, what are v/e going to draw ? Fred. On the level, old blanket, rice. Geo. Rice? Fred. Yes. I put it on half an hour ago. Jack. Half an hour ago? Gee! And we don't have dinner for four hours. Why didn't you start it yesterday? Geo. I should say yes ! Fred. Well, you see I don't know just how long 'twill take. I never cooked any before. Geo. Say, the number of things you own up you've cooked before grows smaller and smaller as the time goes on. Fred. Where I used to go, I cooked fish. (Jack laughs.) Jack. I hope you've boiled enough of the Chinaman's food. Fred. Three quarts. Geo. Is that enough ? Fred. Yes, it swells, you know. 25 LOST A CHAPERON Jack. Oh ! Geo. Well, let's hope so. (Fred has finished eatmg.^ Fred (c, risi?ig). Come on, Georgie, and help me cart this stuff in, (^Gathers up bread, cati, cups, etc.^ Perhaps, though, you'd rather squat out here. I'll bring you out your pipe, and if anybody goes by and sees you in that rig, he'll take you for a wooden Indian in front of a cigar store. (Jack rises.) Geo. (rising). Oh, get out. Quit. {He takes some of the things and goes toward tent with Jack and Fred.) FuED {on ahead). You'd better sort out that fishing tackle, Jack, that we pulled out of the lake wiih Georgie ; 'twill im- prove your mind in dull hours. {Enters tent.) Jack. May improve my mind, but not my disposition. I'll tell you that much. Fked {without). For Pete's sake ! Geo. {rushing out, speaking fromwithout). And the same here ! (Fred conies out followed by Geo.) Jack (l.). What's up? Fred (c). The tent's full of rice. Jack. Full of rice ? What do you mean ? Geo. (r.). The rice has swelled as he said it would, and if it keeps on at the rate it's been going for the last ten minutes, we'll have to move out in just about half an hour. Jack {entering tent). What in thunder's eating you ? {Reenters.) What are you going to do with it ? We ought to have brought a wash-tub. Fred. We'll have to scoop it up. I'll tend to it. You fellows stay out — there isn't room inside. \^Exit. Geo. Say, what do you know {They laugh.) Jack. Did it swell, did it swell ? {At tent.) It did. The kettle's full of it, the stove's covered with it, the ground's piled with it. Did it swell, did it swell ? {Down c.) It did. If I ever come to have a small family of large chil- dren, I'll feed them on rice. It's cheap. A spoonful will last LOST A CHAPERON 2() them a week. It's healthful. I've forgotten how many pounds of beefsteak it's equal to, but it beats any breakfast food I ever struck, £/i^er Fred, r. Fred. Say, what'U we put the rest into ? Geo. What have you done with the first of it? Fred. I filled your suit case. G^O. Great Scott ! Six plunks 1 {Rushes frantically inside.) Jack. Well, Fred, are we going to have enough for dinner ? (Fred aims as if to hit him and Jack ducks. Exit Fred, r. Jack yells after him.) I'm glad you didn't put it on yester- day — we'd have all been smothered in the night. {Goes over toward fishing tackle on tree.) Rice swells. It certainly do. Enter Fred. Fred. Is there an empty pail out here ? Jack. Ya. Here's one George used for worms. Fred. Gosh ! I don't want that. Jack. How are you getting along ? Has the swelling gone down any ? Fred. Some, but about all our tinware is in use now. I don't know what we are going to do. Jack. Have you taken it off the stove yet ? Fred. Most of it. Jack. Most of it ! Suffering Moses ! 'Twill swell forever if you don't take it off. Fred. Come on in and help. Jack. No, thanks. (Sings.) "I'd rather be on the out- side looking in." 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