V wmm mm WHBsm Wm mm Wmm LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. dljitp. _ . ©optfngffi If tu Shelfr'M.£3 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. SOCIALS SOCIALS y EFFIE W. MERRIMAN Author of "Pards," "A Queer Family" and "The Little Millers.' Editor of The Housekeeper. CHICAGO: CHARLES H. SERGEL & COMPANY V v ( opyiight, 1891, by Charle6 H. Sergel & Cer for himself and lady. He could know her only by the leaf which she wore pinned to her dress, which must resemble exactly that pur- chased by him, even to the color of the thread used in veining. Much amusement was found in the attempt to match the leaves, and the stiff- 58 SOCIALS ness so noticeable at many sociables was entirely overcome. The table was decorated with leaves and at each plate was a leaf cut from white paper, on which the one who sat at that place must write a rhyme containing the name of the leaf, and sign his name to it. All who failed to write the rhyme, were required to pay a fine of ten cents. A lady gathered up the paper leaves, before the guests left the table, and read the rhymes aloud without mentioning the name signed. Then a vote was taken to decide upon the two best rhymes, and the authors of them each received a beautiful hot house plant. There was a table, also, presided over by two young girls dressed in white with garlands of green leaves. On this table there were exposed for sale, pen-wipers, watch-pockets and other articles which could be made in the form of a leaf. After tea a blackboard was fastened to the wall, and a lady and gentleman, both blindfolded, were led up to it, and two pieces of chalk, one white and one colored, given to each. Their duty was to draw the outlines of a leaf with the white chalk, and vein it with the colored chalk, then write their names and the name of the leaf below their work. SOCIALS 59 The veining often came far from the leaf drawn, and the names were very often written across the work, but it was very amusing to the spectators. When the couple at the board had finished, another couple was blindfolded, and put to work. All the work was left on the board, and when the company tired of the play, the board looked more like a Chinese puzzle than anything else. PALETTE SOCIAL. If you want to give an amusing social at little expense, try the palette social, or "Evening with the Animals" as it is sometimes called. I will describe it as given recently by a party of young people interested in securing a school library. As the guests arrived, each gentleman paid twenty-five^cents and received a palette cut from white cardboard, to which a small lead pencil was tied with narrow ribbon. On the palette were the words, "Supper for Two" in fancy let- ters, and along one side of it were figures from i to 20. The gentlemen were then taken to another room, where attendents wrapped them in sheets, and tied masks over their faces, com- 60 SOCIALS pletely disguising them; then a tiny card, just large enough to hold one or two figures, was fastened to the drapery of each. The ladies were required to pay ten cents each, which entitled them to a card similar to those fastened to the gentlemen. They were then told that they would find a package in the next room, marked by a card bearing a number correspond- ing to that which we held. None but the few ladies who planned the so- cial knew anything about the sort of "packages" that awaited them, and the surprise created a great deal of merriment, and rendered impossi- ble the restraint so often noticeable at such gath- erings. The lady was obliged to remove the mask from the face of her 'package' as soon as sne found it, and he then acted as her escort for the rest of the evening. When the different couples had returned to the main room, they were required to take seats at once. A blackboard, and chalk, was provided, and the manager took her place beside it, hold- ing twenty small cards in her hand, on each of which was written the name of some well-known animal or insect. A good list would consist of "camel, pig, butterfly, cow, dog, cat, elephant, hen, rat, horse, toad, owl, mule, sheep, bee, bat, turkey, swan, ostrich, and rabbit." SOCIALS 61 The manager called some one from the aud- ience, and showed him the word written on the upper card in her hand. No one else was al- lowed to see it. He went to the board and drew as good a picture of the animal named as he could, being allowed no more than five minutes in which to do the work. Then the rest of the audience guessed what his picture was meant to represent, and wrote the name opposite Fig. i on their palettes. There was one palette to each couple, and both lady and gentleman on whose palette was found the greatest number of correct guesses, were given a prise. Prizes were also given to the couple having the fewest correct guesses. Here are the rules governing this contest: Couples can consult together in whispers regard- ing the picture on the board, but not with their neighbors. Incase of a tie, a few more pictures must be drawn for the "tied" contestants. When the first artist has finished his picture, it is erased, and some one else is called to the board. The first card is placed at the bottom of the pack, the second card is shown to the artist, who goes to w T ork at once. No artist counts the name of his own picture. It is a good idea to have either the lady or gentleman in each couple called to the board once, so that all may have an equal number of 62 SOCIALS guesses. No one must know beforehand what he will be required to draw. The poorer artist he proves to be, the more fun there will be, and the more wild guessing. When the last card has been used, each couple writes their names on their palette, than the palettes are exchanged, and marks are drawn through all wrong guesses, while the manager reads aloud the names on her list, in the same order as shown to the artists. After the prizes are awarded, refreshments are served. It this case they were provided by the ladies, who also donated the prizes, so what they made was clear Rain. PUZZLE SOCIAL. If you have never given a puzzle social, try it. Provide as many envelopes as you expect guests, and number them plainly, so that there will be two envelopes bearing the same number ; put one in a box provided for the ladies, the other in a box from which the gentlemen will draw. In each envelope put a slip of paper on , which you have written the words of a well-known verse from the works ol some poet, which you have copied without regard to "rhyme or rea- son." The more you can mix the words of these SOCIALS 63 verses the better, but be sure that no word and not even a pause is omitted. As each person, lady or gentleman enters the room, he is obliged to pay ten cents, and is then allowed to draw an envelope from the proper box. He must write the verse correctly, on the back of the paper on which it is written. At luncheon time, the manager produces a box containing a dainty lunch for two, and reads the number on the cover. The lady and the gentle- man holding envelopes bearing the same number as that on the box go forward to claim it, but if either has failed to get his verse written correct- ly, the other must help straighten it out before the box is given them. Neither party should have an idea as to who will be his companion at lunch, until the number of their box is called. The boxes of lunch are usually provided by the ladies, but marked by the manager. MAUD MULLER SOCIAL. This is a most delightful entertainment for a home party, for school exhibitions, college clubs, and for literary societies wanting to entertain 64 SOCIALS friends for an evening, or in need of money for running expenses. It is so easily arranged that amateurs need not be afraid to undertake it, especialy as the directions are very complete. It is something in the nature of a musical drama. The chorus should consist of a number of singers, but if the society is small, a quartette with piano or organ accompaniment will do nicely. The piano should stand just in front of the stage. If the stage is small the chorus may be grouped in front of it in such a way as not to hide the actors from any part of the audience. In the communities for which this entertainment is especially designed, this will be the most con- venient arrangement. In larger communities, there will be persons who can direct the move- ments of the chorus more after the manner of the chorus in an opera, if that is thought desirable. Considerable practice will be necessary to make the singing parts go off easily, especially where the tune is carried out in conversational style, as in the first lines. For instance, when Mrs. Muller sings, "Be careful," etc., the chorus stops, she continuing where they left off. When they sing, "John answers/' they continue where she left off, etc. It will be readily seen that un- less each sings his part unhesitatingly, so that the tune goes on without interruption, the effect will not be good. Different tunes from those SOCIALS 65 suggested may be used by the chorus if thought best, If there are not enough lines or words to finish the tune, repeat as many as necessary. Care should be taken to sing with expression and to pronounce the words distinctly. This entertain- ment requires only a short time in the rendering of it, and at its conclusion the time may be spent in social conversation or games. It might be a good idea to have some one read Whittier's "Maud Muller," before giving the burlesque. This burlesque may be varied without trouble. In places where the actors have had musical training the words can be set to quite difficult music, but when carefully rehearsed as given here, it cannot fail to be amusing. ACT FIRST. SCENE FIRST. [Curtain rises disclosing Mrs. Muller, a fat old lady, patching a pair of overalls. John, a half-grown boy walks around impatiently, and soon Mrs. Muller hands the over- alls to him, well covered with conspicuous patches. As John puts them on the chorus begins to sing.] Chorus. [Tune, Bonnie Doom] John Muller puts on his pants of tweed, Which his tired mother has just re-kneed, And sprinkled with patches in other places, Where her well worn slipper has left its traces, And she savs to her boy as he puts them on, 66 SOCIALS Mrs. M. Be careful of them there breeches John! Cho. John answers— John. You bet. [Turns a handspring and hurries from the stage.] Cho. — then hurries away To the meadow where Maud is raking hay, Taking the path which leads through the wood. For this little boy is not very good. And he takes more pleasure than tongue can tell, In thinking of ways to make Maud yell. He stops ere the last oak tree is passed, Saying — John. [Grinning with delight.] — by jing, but Pve ketched 'em at last! If I'm not mistaken there comes the Judge, And I have not forgotten that I owe Maud a grudge For telling on me one day when I Sprinkled red pepper into her pie. [John disappears. While the chorus and he are singing the above, Mrs. Muller is putting the room to rights, very energetically, and somewhat impatiently. When they finish, she begins to sing while continuing her work.] SOCIALS 67 Mrs. M. [Tune, chorus to " Annie Rooney."] I'm so weary! life is to me One long round of drudgery, From four in the morning till late in the night, I with disorder must fight, fight, fight. There's Maud and Johnnie, I never did see Two such children as those children be ! Always tearing garments ; always wanting food ; Always into mischief; they won't be good. Then, there's Muller ! Oh, dear me ! I do wish sometimes that I was free ! Marriage is a failure ; deny it who can, With two unruly children, and one lazy man. [Muller enters in time to hear the last verse. He listens in angry astonishment, and when it is finished comes toward his wife, with fist doubled up,] Muller. [In a rage.] See here, old woman; what is this you're saying ? Tell me if you dare, and keep silent if you dare ! I defy you to do either ! Do you hear me ? I defy you ! I will not be maligned in my own house. I will not, I say ! If you can't show me proper respect, you can leave at once. You can go out alone into the cold, heartless world, and wrestle for your own bread and butter. You can. [Finish- ishes with an inarticulate, sputtering noise, ac- 68 SOCIALS companied with furious stamping of feet and* shaking fists.] Mrs. L. [Coolly pushes a chair to the middle of the stage, and stands with one hand on the back of it, while with the fore-finger of the other hand she motions Muller to be seated.] Come here, Muller, and sit down until you can get cooled off a little. Come here, I say ! I shall not repeat it. [Muller obeys very unwillingly, and as he starts to sit, Mrs. M. puts both hands on his shoulders and gives him vigorous assist- ance, and then stands before him, shaking one finger unpleasantly close to his nose while she talks to him in a cool, sarcastic voice, which he seems afraid to resent.] It would be a sad day for you, Muller, if I should go away to earn my own bread and butter ; land knows where you'd get yours. Have you mended that gate as I told you to ? Mul. N-n-o ! I — I was just going to. Mrs. M. Just going to! You said the same thing two weeks ago, and you'll repeat it two weeks from to-day, and the gate will hang by one hinge for two monthsunless I fix it myself. Why aren't you in the meadow ? Mul. [Whiningly.] Maud said she didn't want me. She said she'd rather rake the hay alone than to have me around. Maud gets sau- cier every day. SOCIALS 69 Mrs. M. And you came to the house when she said that ? Didn't you know any better than that, you old idiot ! Couldn't you see that she wanted you to come to the house so that she could be alone with young Jones ? Mul. Young Jones said he was going to the village to-day. Mrs. M. Going to the village ! I presume he told you so. He knows you'll swallow any- thing ! Why didn't you stop to think that he had a sick horse and couldn't go ? He was prob- ably hiding behind some tree until Maud could get you out of the way. Mul. I don't believe Maud cares for Jones since the Judge has been coming this way so often. Mrs. M. Oh, the Judge ! You don't know a girl. It would be exactly like her to marry Jones just because she knows myheait is set on her marrying the Judge. Now you go back to the meadow just as fast as you know how, and don't you leave Maud until she comes to dinner. Mul. Oh, dear ! It's too hot to work. Mrs. M. Go, as I tell you ! [Pushes him toward the door, and the curtain falls.] 7o SOCIALS ACT SECOND. SCENE FIRST. [The curtain rises disclosing Maud Muller in the meadow, and John watching her from behind a tree. Maud shades her eyes with one hand while pretending to look off at a dis- tance, and then, as if she caught sight of some one, she immediately begins to make herself presentable, as suggested m the song of the chorus, always doing just as they say she does. The chorus sings this to the tune of the first lines of "Old Dan Tucker," dividing the last word of each couplet to make it fit the measure. As for instance, pronouncing brown — "brow-own." Such little touches do much toward making the entertainment more ridiculous.] Chorus. He watched his sister stooping down To pull a thorn from her foot so brown; Witnessed her hasty search for a pin, With which to fasten her dress sleeve in; Saw her tie her apron in eager haste To hide where her dress is torn from the waist; Noticed how brown were her arms so bare, As she raised them to smooth her tangled hair. John knows, by the way she acts, just when She thinks herself fit to be seen of men. [Here, Maud must show b> her actions that she is very well pleased with her appearance, SOCIALS 7 1 then she begins to sing in a very affected man- ner.] Maud. [Tune, "Suanee River."] I'm really quite a pretty girlie, That's what they say. Eyes bright as stars and teeth so pearly, Lovely as a bright June day. If ever from the old plantation, I chance to roam. Pm pestered with the invitation, "Please may I see you home?" Chorus. All the laddies, when they see me, Think they'd happy be, If all along life's thorny pathway, They might walk with me. SECOND VERSE. It surely seems to be my duty Lonely to roam, Until my matchless grace and beauty Bring me a wealthy home. : Then I can say good bye to sorrow, I'll be care-tree, No trouble shall I need to borrow; Happy, happy I shall be. Chorus. But the laddies, when they see me, Will unhappy be, That, adown life's thorny pathway, They can't walk with me. 72 SOCIALS [When Maud finishes her song, she steps back, and shading her eyes with one hand, looks to see if the Judge is near, while the chorus sings. The following lines would better be sung to the tune of "Bonnie Doon," as it is well adapted to sing- ing conversational lines. Chorus. The small boy whispered — John and Chorus. [In a whisper.] — oh, my eye ! Chorus. As he sees the Judge riding slowly by, On his proud stepping horse, which John well knew Had been cured of spring-halt but a month or two; Dressed fit to kill, in his Sunday best — John couldn't be fooled when he saw that vest — And his good eye looking far away. As if he'd not seen Maud raking hay. [While chorus sings, the Judge rides in. His horse is represented by two men covered w T ith a fur robe. The first stands bent forward with his hands resting on his knees. The second puts his arms around the first, and rests his head upon him. The legs of the first man form the fore legs of the horse, and those of the second, the hind legs. A horse-head of pasteboard, and a long tail are fastened in place, and the "horsq 91 SOCIALS 73 is ready. The Judge should be a light weight man, dressed to appear very corpulent.] John. [From behind a tree sings excitedly.] It may be — oh, dear me ! the Judge may pass, For the eye towards Maud h'aint nothing but glass. Oh, no, he won't either ! My, what fun ! His glass eye is better than t'other one, And now, lady Maud, you may sigh and grin, While I sit by this tree and take it all in. Who knows but this child will have some- thing to tell, Which will make you waltz 'round pa for a spell. [Just as John finishes, the chorus begins, and the Judge stops his horse near Maud, and the two act as indicated in the lines.] Chorus. [Tune, "Dan Tucker."] The small boy throws his arm 'round the tree, And hugs it close in his fiendish glee, For he sees the Judge raise his hat and nod, As he stops his horse right in front of Maud. Sees Maud give a start — as any girl can, Who likes to pretend that a certain man She has not seen till she hears him speak, When she grows so frightened it makes her weak. Maud does it well ; and the Judge so wise In matters which do not require two eyes, Is well taken in. 74 SOCIALS Judge. [Sings in an aside.] — By jimminy ! There was never a maiden so fair as she, So artless and innocent, good and so mild. Old mother Nature's most promising child. It's time I was thirsty. Guess I'll see If I can get her to talk to me. Fair maid, John. [Mimicking him.] "Fair maid," He said in a voice so sweet, It would turn into jell a pickled beet. Judge. I'm parched with thirst, now don't you think You could manage to get me something to drink? Chorus. [Tune: That which fits the song "Vacation, "beginning, "Vacationhas come with its pleasures again."] Something to drink! Ere the last words fell, Maud started hastily towards the well, Which is fed by a spring, not forgetting the cup, With which to dip the cool water up, See! As she goes she tries in vain To walk so her feet will not show so plain, And she thinks with a pang of the keenest sorrow, Of her mother's shoes ? which she could not borrow. She returns with the water. Now list to the Judge. SOCIALS 75 Judge. [Plaintively.] This hand from the saddle I cannot budge, I've hurt it severely, don't you see? Now won't you please hold the cup for me? [Maud holds the cup while the Judge drinks.] Chorus. [Chants in a monotone, speaking very distinctly. Maud and the Judge act as indi- cated in the lines.] There at Maud's feet in the new mown hay, A hornet is slowly finding its way From under the grasses, which hold him fast, And prevent him from flying. He's free at last! He spies Maud's brown foot minus a shoe, And he acts as hornets usually do. Maud yells, and the Judge can easily see That there's only one foot where two should be. The other she's drawn quite up to her waist In eager, most frantic, undignified haste. It upsets her equilibrium, Which means the steadiness of her thumb, The cup is o'er turned, and the Judge's nose Receives one of those unexpected blows, Which, early or late, must come to us all To convince us that stars do quite frequently fall. Maud had yelled. But the Judge — Oh how shall we tell it; The word that he said? We won't even spell it. 76 SOCIALS [Excitedly.] But the horse knows it well; he has heard it before, And it usually means he must idle no more. Half of the Chorus. [Quickly.] So he starts off at once without making a sound. Other half of the Chorus. [Solemnly.] And the Judge stays behind to examine the ground. [When the chorus begins the last couplet, the horse jumps forward, throwing the Judge to the ground, where he remains for a moment as if stunned; the horse disappears; Maud pours water upon her foot.] Chorus. [Tune, "I couldn't help it; how could I mamma."] The slow minutes pass full of pain and grief, And neither one goes to the other's relief ; And there in the shade of the old, oak tree, The boy squirms and rolls in his spasmodic glee, For he's noticed that right where the Judge sat down, The grass is uncut and tall and brown. The mowers passed by when they cut the rest, For they knew that right there is a hornet's nest. SOCIALS 77 John. [Raising his head from the grass, and singing as if nearly choked with laughter.] The mowers passed by when they cut the rest, For they knew that right there is a hornet's nest. The Judge '11 know it, too, in less than a minute. And he'll also know there are hornets in it. [The Judge suddenly springs up, takes off his hat and begins to fight the hornets. Maud, also, becomes excited, and fights with bonnet and apron, while John dances with delight, in the background. Curtain falls.] ACT SECOND. SCENE SECOND. [Curtain rises disclosing the Judge, minus coat, vest, and shoes, sitting by a fence, trying to get the hornets from his shirt sleeves and trousers legs. He should have some blotches on his face, which may be made with putty. Maud sits ut- terly exhausted on a pile of hay. John watches them atten- tively.] Chorus. [Tune, "Bonnie Doon," Sing with great earnestness.] The Judge knew it, too, in less than a min- ute, And he also knew there were hornets in it, 78 SOCIALS And the thought expressed by his soulful yell Was a shade more woeful than tongue can tell. He quickly arose and ambled away From the meadow and Maud and the new mown ha} 7 . Ambled away, he knew not where, To get out of sight was his only care. [Chant.] And when he had left the hornets behind, He stopped by that old rail fence to bind A handkerchief over his swollen nose And remove a few hornets out of his clothes. Judge. [Tune, "Old Aunt Rhoda," sung with great expression.] Plague take these hornets ! Plague take these hornets ! Plague take these hornets ! Why should they cling to me? Unless they soon leave me, Unless they soon leave me, Unless they soon leave me, I know I'll .crazy be, Good-by, Maud Muller, Good-by, Maud Muller, Good-by, Maud Muller, I'll never think of you Without feeling these hornets. These mad, clinging hornets, These blood-thirsty hornets, And that will never do. SOCIALS 79 Chorus. [Chant.] On his hands six lumps are painfully sore, And under his clothing are several more, Still he feels, as he counts the lumps on his chin. Judge. (Reflectively. Tune, "Bonnie Doon.") It isn't so bad as it might have been. I cannot think much with this aching head, But I know that my love for Maud Muller is dead. My love on a girl can never be spent, Who has seen me in such a predicament. Chorus. There is nothing so hard on love, as a rule, As the fear of a little ridicule. He tenderly binds up his swollen thumbs, And plainly before him a vision comes Of a ragged girl with uncombed hair, And feet that are dreadfully big and bare, And a form that is many degrees too thin, And he groans when he thinks what might have been, Judge. [Groans and then sings solemnly.] I groan when I think what might have been. (When the chorus sing, "And plainly before him a vision came." Maud arises with an effort, and comes toward him, on her way out of the field. She walks with great difficulty. The Judge goes off the stage.) 80 SOCIALS Cho. Poor Maud, left alone on the field of hay, Finds it very hard work to get away, For her bare, brown foot is so rapidly grow- ing, It impedeth her progress when she would be going. Maud. (Sarcastically. Sings slowly to the tune of "Old Dan Tucker.") Do I mourn for the Judge? Well, really, you know, Girls who live now-a-days are not apt to do so. I envied him his position, of course, And admired him much as he sat on his horse, And being so tired of my work-a-day life, I have thought of myself as the Judge's wife, With nothing to do from day to day, But amuse myself while the Judge was away. But I changed my mind when I saw him fall, And I hope there is no one who saw it all, For I've always hated effeminate men, And I groan when I think what might have been. Cho. She groaned when she thought what might have been. (Maud limps off the stage.) Cho. (Tune, "Bonnie Doom") John Muller gets up from his leafy bed, And jerks off his hat from his curly head, SOCIALS 81 For something within him, he knows not what, Tells him to visit the fateful spot, And see if he cannot come off best In a fight with the hornets, and steal their nest. [When the chorus begins, John steals stowly towards the center of the stage, hat in hand, and with a pleased expression on his face. He begins a fight with imaginary hornets, and as it progresses his face becomes more serious, and finally he fights frantically, and seems to be trying to get away.) Cho. (Laughingly. ) To see if he cannot come off best In a fight with the hornets and steal their nest. He can't, you know, though he'll have some fun, But he'll want to stop ere they have begun. (John rushes off the stage, still fighting hor- nets. Curtain falls.) 82 SOCIALS ACT THIRD. SCENE FIRST. [Curtain rises on the Muller home. Mrs. Muller is busy clearing up the room. John rushes in during the progress of the song by the chorus, with his clothes badly torn. She stares at him a moment in blank amazement, then removes her slipper, takes him across her knee, and punishes him well.] Chorus. (Chant in a motonous tone.) John made quicker time than he e'er made before, As home through the woods he frantically tore, Forgetting to care for his pants of tweed, Which were only good where they'd been re- kneed. A minute slips by. They are played upon By his mother's slipper so large and strong, Till his teeth feel loose and he isn't sure, How long the bark in his clothes will en- dure. He is free at last ! He flees through the door, Saying, John. (Pretending to cry.) I'll never do so any more. SOCIALS 83 (John stands at one side of the stage, which is divided to look like two rooms, and removes some ragged bark from the seat of his overalls.) Chorus. He grins when he sees the state it is in, But groans when he thinks what might have been. John. I groan when I think what might have been. (John re-enters the other room, and sits in a chair in farthest corner. Maud comes in limp- ing, with her apron bound about her foot.) Mrs. Muller. Now, what's the matter? Why do you come in at this hour of the day ? Dinner isn't ready. Maud. (Begins crying.) A hornet stung me. I'll never make hay again. Mrs. M. You know where the hornets' nest is. Why did you go near it ? Maud. I — I — didn't. The hornet came to me. John. He came to me, too ! f MAUD. (Starts and looks toward him.) Are you there ? John. Yes'm, I'm here. I was there, too, but — (Maud goes to him and talks in an aside, offering him her penknife. John will not be bribed. Mrs. M. pares potatoes.) 84 SOCIALS John. (In a loud tone.) It'll take more'n that to make me keep still. Maud. Hush. I'll give you more. John. Remember the pie ; hey ? You got me licked that day. Maud. I'm awfully sorry, Johnnie. John. So am I. I was sorry about it at the time. Maud. What can I give you, John ? John. Give me a dollar. Maud. But that's all the money I have. John. Very well. Do as you like about it. By the way, Mother — Maud. (Catches him by the arm.) John ! Mrs. M. What is it, John ? John. Jim Blake's dog has five little puppies. Mrs. M. What do you suppose I care. John. Didn't suppose you cared at all. (In a lower tone to Maud.) Well, my lady? Maud. And you'll never say a word if I give you the dollar ? John. Never, so help me George Washing- ton. (Lays his hand upon his heart. Maud gives him the dollar, which was in a little purse tied around her neck.) Maud. What can I do for my foot, ma ? Mrs. M. Put a bread poultice on it. John. What ! On all of it ? You'll have to bake another batch of bread. (He amuses him- SOCIALS 85 self by tossing up and catching the dollar. Maud makes the poultice, singing as she does it.) Maud, (Tune, "Tramp, Tramp, the Boys are Marching.") I have been a silly fool; Now, Pll make myself this rule: I will never wed unless it be for lov I care nothing, now, for wealth; Love and joy and perfect health Are the richest blessings sent us from above. Chorus. Oh ! dear ! me ! Pm quite disgusted. This has been a lesson dear. After all I have been through, then to lose my dollar, too, Makes me wish that horrid Judge had ne'er come here. (Enter Muller, yawning and rubbing his eyes.) Mul. Dinner ready yet ? Pm nearly starved. Mrs. M. Muller, have you been in the mead- ow? Mul. Y-e-s. Oh, yes. Maud and John. Oh-h-h! Mrs. M. (Takes Muller by the ear and leads him to a chair.) Now, Muller, confess! Where have you been? If you don't tell me, Pll pull every hair out of your head. Muller. I — I — guess — Pve been asleep in the barn for a few minutes — only a few minutes, 86 SOCIALS though! I know, because I talked with } r oung Jones for several hours. Maud. (Blushing and simpering.) Oh, pa! what did he want? John. Did he say anything about that dog he's going to give me? Mrs. M. (To John.) Neither he nor any other man will give you a dog. (To M.) What were you talking about? Mul. (Becoming angry.) I don't have to tell. A man hasn't got to tell his wife every- thing, I guess. It's none of your business, and I shall not tell one word that young Jones said to me. Mrs. M. [Coolly.) Muller, be calm. Now tell me exactly what Jones said. Did he want to borrow anything? Mul. No-o-o, not exactly. Mrs. M. Not exactly. He wanted to get it to keep, I suppose? Answer me. Mul. Y-e-s, that's about it. Mrs. M. He asked for Maud. Mul. Uh-huh, Maud. What did you say, you darling old papa? Mrs. M. Keep still, Maud. This doesn't concern you. Mul. No, it does not concern you. He said SOCIALS 87 he'd give me that roan horse of his, if Pd use my influence with you. Maud. (Rapturoush ? .) Oh, how he loves me! Mrs. M. How much is the horse worth? Mul. Two hundred and. fifty dollars, if he's worth a cent. John. Pd rather have him than fourteen Mauds. Mul. Jones says his father will do the hand- some thing by him. Mrs: M. Well sell old Bill when we get the roan horse. Come here, my daughter! Come here, John. Let's all shake hands over the good news. (They shake hands and join the chorus in singing the following lines to the tune of "Bonnie Doom") Oh, Whittier, Whittier, what would I not give. If those words of thine which forever must live, To be sung through the ages, had been writ by me! For words which are truer there never can N be, "Of all the sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these, it might have been." And I think we have proved it in our verse, Things were bad enough, but they might have been worse. 88 SOCIALS (Chant in a sing-song.) There was never an "is" so terribly bad, But has a "might have been, far more sad. (The curtain falls as the Muller family renew their handshaking with increased animation.) ENTERTAINMENTS Recognizing the demand for novelties in entertainments suitable for social gath- erings and benevolent purposes, we keep -in stock a full assortment of Amateur Plays, Recitations, and Dialogue Books, Tableaux, Charades, Socials, etc. We can furnish any play or book published. Full descriptive catalogues, giving titles, number of characters, time required for production, etc., will be sent free on ap- plication. THE DRAMATIC PUBLISHING COMPANY CHICAGO ai 11111111111 Wmm ■■ WMmm WmmmaBm Mi m