" FIRST AID " 
 
u 
 
 FIRST AID" 
 
 AN UNCONVENTIONAL COMEDY 
 IN ONE ACT 
 
 JOAN AND RICHARD EDRIDGE 
 
 Copyright, 1913, by Samuel French, Ltd. 
 
 New York 
 
 SAMUEL FRENCH 
 
 Publisher 
 
 28-30 WEST 38TH STREET 
 
 London 
 
 SAMUEL FRENCH Ltd 
 
 26 Southampton Street 
 
 STRAND 
 
>v <K 
 
 The Fee for each and every representation of this 
 play by Amateurs is Ten Shillings and Sixpence, 
 payable in advance to — 
 
 Messrs. Samuel French, Ltd., 
 
 26, Southampton Street, 
 
 Strand, London, 
 
 or their authorized representatives. 
 
 No performance may be given unless a written 
 permission has first been obtained. 
 
 All the costumes, wigs, and properties used in the 
 performance of plays contained in French's list may 
 be hired or purchased reasonably from Messrs. 
 Charles H. Fox, Ltd., 27, Wellington Street, Strand, 
 London. 
 
 £ oLD 33929 
 
 t*-t)/ 
 
"FIRST AID" 
 
 Produced on May 5, 1913, at the Croydon Reper- 
 tory Theatre. 
 
 Blanche Elliott 
 Mary Gleame. 
 A Man. 
 
3 
 
 ■g be 
 
 o 
 
 -t 
 
 o 
 
 eS 
 
 in 
 
 b'l 
 
"FIRST AID" 
 
 Scene. — A green space in a wood, with a narrow, 
 rough path at back. The curtain rises on an empty 
 stage. Presently a young man, about thirty, dressed 
 in tweed coat and flannel trousers, enters r. He 
 pushes his bicycle along the path until he is half-way 
 across the stage. Attracted by the surroundings, he 
 takes his bicycle down R. and puts it carelessly on the 
 ground. He sits on the slight hillock made by the 
 roughness of the ground (l.c.) and produces pipe 
 which he fills leisurely. He feels in his pocket for 
 matches, first confidently and then with [increasing dis- 
 may, as he finds he has none. The word " Damn'' 
 is slightly indicated here. He then stretches himself 
 at full length, propped up a little by the mound — one 
 leg rather awkwardly tucked up. He yawns, but 
 hearing girls' voices coming along the path, sits up. 
 As the girls appear he lies down again. 
 
 Enter along the path Blanche i Elliott and Mary 
 Gleame. Blanche is very charmingly dressed in 
 a light cotton frock and large summer hat. Mary 
 in dark blue linen, not particularly well made : she 
 carries a tea-basket. The girls can be heard chatter- 
 ing off. As they enter, Blanche is saying 
 
 Blanche. ... If she'd had a brown yoke, it 
 wouldn't have been so bad, but that hideous yellow 
 arrangement — my dear, it was awful. And then her 
 hair looked as if it hadn't been brushed for 
 
8 FIRST AID. 
 
 (They arc looking at each other and are stopped by the 
 bicycle, and points to the prostrate form of the man.) 
 
 Blanche. Mary — i'you think he's hurt ? Look, 
 there's his bicycle. 
 
 Mary. I don't know. He may be only asleep. 
 Blanche. He wouldn't go to sleep in that posi- 
 tion, and he wouldn't have thrown his bicycle down 
 on the ground like that. 
 
 Mary. Yes, but suppose he is asleep. It would 
 
 look so awkward if 
 
 Blanche. But, my dear — if he's hurt, we can't 
 leave him here. 
 
 Mary. What are we to do ? 
 Blanche. Find out if he is hurt, of course. What's 
 the use of First Aid lessons if we can't find out a simple 
 thing like that ? Mary, you must go up and prod him 
 gently — after all, the hrst thing to do is to see whether 
 he's unconscious or only asleep. Go on, Mary — 
 you're the eldest. 
 
 Mary. Blanche — I can't. Besides, supposing he 
 was drunk ? It's awful dealing with drunken 
 people. 
 
 Blanche. How d'you know ? Unv (Blanche 
 
 crosses to man.) It certainly complicates things, (She 
 goes gingerly up to the man and stands behind him.) 
 No — I'm sure he's not drunk ! (She sloops down a 
 little.) I wonder who he is. Come on, Mary, don't 
 lose your head — come and prod him. 
 
 MaRy. No, Blanche — you know I never could 
 prod. 
 
 Blanche. You are a rotter — very well, I will 
 then. (She kneels down and touches the man very 
 lightly, then retreats. Finding he does)not move, she 
 shakes him harder once or twice. Then she stands up 
 nervously. The girls look at each other helpless.) He 
 is unconscious (Mary comes forward) , that's sure. Oh 
 dear, and we haven't any brandy or anything. How 
 on earth are we to bring him round ? 
 
FIRST All). 9 
 
 Mary. Oh — but — you know, when we had the 
 First Aid Course, Dr. Hamish said it was best not to 
 Lrive stimulant — because 
 
 Blanche. Oh— in a rase of ordinary fainting it's 
 a safe thing. 
 
 Mary. Yes, but we don't know it is an ordinary 
 faint. There are three kinds of fainting, you know. 
 
 Blanche. Yes, I know. Let's see, one of the 
 symptoms of one of the kinds is blindness. So it 
 can't be that one- 
 
 Mary. How do we know he isn't blind ? His eyes 
 are shut. 
 
 Blanche. Don't be silly, Mary. Anyhow, we 
 haven't got any stimulant to give him. The next 
 probable thing is a fracture. Perhaps it's just as well 
 he is unconscious, because we can what-you-me-call-it 
 him. 
 
 Mary. Diagnose. {Crossing Blanche and getting 
 r. of man.) 
 
 Blanche. Yes — yes — we'd better begin with the 
 clavicle — the collar-bone that is, you know. 
 
 Mary. Thanks. I know just as much about it as 
 you do. Anybody can see that's all right. 
 
 Blanche {facing Mary). You're very clever- 
 how ? 
 
 Mary. Why — don't you remember Dr. Hamish 
 said that when people broke their collar-bone, they 
 always came to you like this. {She hunches up her 
 left shoulder, and supports her left arm with her right 
 hand.) 
 
 Blanche. But he's not coming to us at all. The 
 poor thing is lying down. Mary, you do waste time. 
 Here — you take one side and I'll take the other. 
 But we'd better get this bicycle out of the way. 
 Mary, pick it up. 
 
 Mary. Pick it up yourself. It's your side. 
 
 (Blanche protests slightly and wheels the bicycle off 
 
10 FIRST AID. 
 
 L. Mary kneels l., and begins to take up an arm, 
 whilst Blanche watches her.) 
 
 Blanche. You know, Mary, I feel perfectly sick. 
 What — how does one feel for a broken fracture ? 
 
 Mary. You're dreadful, Blanche. You must feel 
 for the grating. 
 
 Blanche. Feel for the grating ? What's that ? 
 
 Mary. Oh ! you know — feel the two ends of the 
 bones scrape against each other ; I forget what the 
 right name is. Now let's begin. 
 
 (Blanche kneels and both girls lift an arm from the 
 ground, and move it up and down.) 
 
 Blanche. Mine seems all right — I don't know 
 though — that felt rather funny. Oh ! how can I feel 
 through this coat ? Here, Mary — in the basket — 
 with my work — scissors — quick. 
 
 Mary (hurriedly drops the arm she is holding up. 
 It drops with a sickening thud on the stage. Both 
 girls look at each other panic-stricken. Mary 
 jumps over the man's legs and gets basket which has 
 been left l.) What are you going to do with the 
 scissors ? You're not going to hurt him ? (Hands 
 scissors.) 
 
 Blanche. No, cut up his coat sleeve. (Cuts 
 sleeve half-way up, back to audience.) It's the only 
 thing to do. If we take his coat off, it may mean 
 making a compound fracture into a simple one — or is 
 it the other way about ? There — that's better. (She 
 feels his arm again.) Now, do you think that's a 
 broken bone, or not ? 
 
 Mary (feels it, then says bluntly). No, I don't. 
 
 Blanche. Well, that's a blessing. Is your arm 
 all right ? 
 
 , Mary (giggling). How funny it sounds — " my 
 arm." 
 
FIRST AID. 11 
 
 Blanche. Oh ! do try and pull yourself together ; 
 all this time the man's life may be in danger. 
 
 Mary. I'm sorry, but it did sound funny. (Holds 
 up the man's hand to her ear, like a telephone receiver.) 
 Yes, this arm sounds all right. 
 
 Blanche (with calm determination). Now for his 
 legs. 
 
 (They each lift a leg up and down. The man raises 
 his head and looks through his legs at the audience in 
 dismay.) 
 
 Mary. They seem all right, too. 
 
 Blanche. Well, that's a good thing, because 
 we haven't got an umbrella with us to make a splint 
 with, and anyhow, I've quite forgotten how to band- 
 age a fracture. 
 
 Mary. The only bandage I know is the Tour- 
 quinette. 
 
 Blanche. Tourniquette, you mean. Besides, 
 that's for arteries. We'd better just see if his ribs 
 
 Mary. Look here, Blanche — don't you think we'd 
 better try and bring him round first ? Because then 
 he can tell us where the pain is, without us fiddling 
 about like this. Besides, Dr. Hamish said collapse 
 is always the first thing to be treated. 
 
 Blanche. That's only in a burn, isn't it ? 
 
 Mary. No, everything — I think. 
 
 Blanche. Perhaps that would be the best thing. 
 What do you suggest we should do ? 
 
 Mary (after a pause). Well, what do you suggest ? 
 
 Blanche. I asked you first. 
 
 Mary. Well, one of us had better get some water 
 from the stream, it's only five minutes away from here . 
 I'll get a cup from the basket. (Goes to the tea-basket.) 
 Or what about this ? (Holds up Thermos flask.) 
 
 Blanche. We can't very well throw boiling tea 
 over his face, can we ? I'll go and get the water. 
 You'd better get the tea-things out in case he'd like 
 
12 FIRST AID. 
 
 something when he recovers consciousness. You'll 
 be all right alone, won't you ? 
 
 (Exit Blanche, l.) 
 
 (Mary takes a final look at the man, then goes down 
 and takes cups, etc., out of the tea-basket. While she 
 is busy with these, the man sits up — smiles.) 
 
 Man (slowly). I say, you know, don't give it up. 
 You haven't tweaked my ears or pulled my nose yet. 
 
 Mary (drops cup in agitation). Concussion. (Backs 
 up stage, looks at him anxiously, then shouts.) Blanche! 
 (Circles round man and gets over l.) 
 
 Man. It's all right, I'm perfectly sound — don't 
 worry. 
 
 Mary. But you talked so strangely, (Paces r.) 
 I thought. (Paces r., solicitously.) How do you 
 feel now ? Can you remember how it happened ? 
 Are you much hurt ? Would you like some tea ? 
 
 Man (begins to get up briskly). By Jove ! Yes. 
 
 Mary. Oh ! do be careful. Let me help you. 
 
 Man (laughs quietly and allows Mary to help him up). 
 Thank you very much. 
 
 (Mary helps him on to tree-stump, where he settles 
 down comfortably .) 
 
 Mary. If you feel all right, I'll get the tea ready. 
 
 Man. Aren't you going to wait for Blanche ? 
 
 Mary (surprised). Blanche ! 
 
 Man. Yes ; now do tell me, who was the girl with 
 the yellow yoke that you were talking about ? I'm 
 so interested. 
 
 Mary. Have you been conscious the whole time 
 then? 
 
 Man (calmly). Yes. 
 
 Mary. Haven't you had a bicycle accident then ? 
 
 Man. No, I'm afraid not. 
 
FIRST AID. 13 
 
 Mary. What did you put your machine on the 
 ground for ? 
 
 Man. So that it shouldn't fall down. 
 
 Mary. But why didn't you — how did you— -? 
 
 Man (laughing). I really couldn't help it. It was 
 too good. I was lying down comfortably when you 
 two came along ; and since you seemed so anxious 
 to test your medical powers, I didn't like to disappoint 
 you. Besides, I enjoyed it so. You see, I've never 
 been diagnosed much' before. 
 
 (During flu's time Mary has been growing mare and 
 more indignant. At the end of the speech she stiffly 
 walks l.) 
 
 Man (getting tip). No, please stop. I'm sorry. 
 I say, where are you going ? 
 
 Mary. That doesn't concern you. 
 
 Man. I say, where shall I tell Blanche you have 
 gone to ? 
 
 Mary (stops, and follows the direction Blanche has 
 taken). I will find her myself. 
 
 (Exit.) 
 
 (The man follows her as if to stop her, then shrugs his 
 shoulders and comes down c. He observes the tea- 
 things which Mary has forgotten in her rage. He 
 smiles ruefully at his cut coat sleeve. Laughs 
 quietly to himself, then sits down and proceeds to 
 pour out a cup of tea, re-corks the flask, and begins to 
 eat a bun, Enter Blanche l., carefully carrying 
 ' water in cup.) 
 
 Blanche (with cup of water). I had to go all over 
 the place to get it. (Sees the man.) Oh ! you're 
 better. I'm so glad. Have you any pain in your ribs ? 
 Are you sure you are all right ? Where is Mary ? 
 
 Man (dramatically). Mary has left me. 
 
U j FIRST AID. 
 
 Blanche. Left you ! Oh, to get a doctor, I 
 suppose. Couldn't you tell her what was wrong ? 
 
 Man. There is nothing wrong. 
 
 Blanche. It's very brave of you to say so. I 
 suppose you tumbled off that bicycle. I hope you 
 haven't hurt yourself very much. (Squeezes hand- 
 kerchief out over man's head. Man turns with an 
 exclamation and takes cup.) 
 
 Man. I'm not hurt at all. I haven't even been 
 stung by a rabbit. Now, if I tell you something, will 
 you promise not to leave me at once ? 
 
 Blanche. Ye-es, but why should I leave you — I 
 mean 
 
 Man. Well, your friend has left me, and I don't 
 want 'to frighten you away, too. 
 
 Blanche. Well, what is it ? 
 
 Man. You see, it was like this. I was lying on 
 the grass, half asleep, when I heard you two coming 
 along, and when you started pulling me about, I 
 couldn't help going on with it, and — Oh ! dash it all, 
 how am I to explain ? 
 
 Blanche (begins by smiling — then bursts into laugh- 
 ter). Oh ! how funny. What fools we were. And 
 yet we meant so well. You see, we've been to " First 
 Aid " Class, and we are always on the look-out for a 
 subject. 
 
 Man. I'm glad you're taking it like that. (Crosses 
 l.) I was so afraid you'd stalk off as Mary has. 
 
 (A pause.) 
 
 _ Man (looking humorously at his coat sleeve). I sup- 
 pose this is what you would call the Directoire mode 
 of wearing the sleeve, with a slash up the side ? 
 
 Blanche (laughing). I'm most awfully sorry. I 
 got so excited, I didn't think what I was doing, 
 and 
 
 Man. Please don't mention it, it's all in the joke, 
 you know. 
 
FIRST AID. 15 
 
 Blanche. You take it like an angel. Here, I'll 
 pin it up. Hold your arm up. (She takes a safety 
 pin from her dress and proceeds to make a temporary 
 repair of the cut.) There you arc-M:hat looks all 
 right now. After all, it's only an old coat. 
 
 Man. Yes, thank you. I hope it didn't blunt 
 your scissors. 
 
 (A pause.) 
 
 Man (crosses to r. behind Blanche, sits r.). Well, 
 this is rather an extraordinary situation. 
 
 Blanche. Yes, it's an idea for a short story — 
 or one of those dreadful one-act plays. 
 
 Man. Written to keep the pit amused from 8.30 
 to 9. (They laugh.) The only thing is, something 
 would have to happen now, wouldn't it ? 
 
 Blanche. Yes, by an extraordinary coincidence^ 
 you would have to turn out to be an old friend, or a 
 burglar. It wouldn't be a proper curtain-raiser 
 without one or the other. 
 
 Man. I'm sorry. I wish I were. 
 
 Blanche. What, a burglar ? 
 
 Man. No, an old friend — I'm rather good at it. 
 
 Blanche (slightly embarrassed, and talking fast to 
 cover it). You would have mentioned something 
 about South America, and I should at once say — 
 " Oh ! I know some one in South America, I wonder 
 if you have ever met him ; his name is Simth." 
 
 Man. Yes, that's the sort of thing. I say, won't 
 you have some tea ? 
 
 Blanche. Are you sure you can spare a little ? 
 
 Man. Oh ! that's all right. (He pours out some 
 tea into a cup.) I'm afraid I can't offer you a chair. . 
 Will you have this ? (Pointing to tree-stump.) 
 
 Blanche. I'd just as soon sit here. 
 
 Man. Here's a bun that looks as if it's used to 
 being sat on. 
 
 Blanche (takes a bun and tea; sits on bank). 
 
16 FIRST AID. 
 
 What impudence ! {Month full.) You should never 
 look a gift bun in the mouth. 
 
 Man. Well, you know, you shouldn't give me the 
 opportunity. {They laugh again.) You never told 
 me — what made you take up this " First Aid " busi- 
 ness ? I suppose you've made a life-long study of it ?- 
 
 Blanche. Now you're trying to pull my leg. 
 
 Man. Well, you've pulled both mine, you know, 
 before we'd even been introduced, too. But after all, 
 {mysteriously) I know a good deal about you. 
 
 Blanche. Oh, do you ? What do you know ? 
 
 Man. I know, for instance, that you have a friend 
 with a yellow yoke. 
 
 Blanche. You heard me say that — Besides, that 
 might refer to an egg. 
 
 Man {deliberately). Do not be ashamed of your 
 egg friends. I have two that come to breakfast with 
 me every morning ; sometimes they sit on little 
 pieces of toast, and sometimes they appear to have 
 had a scramble, and sometimes 
 
 Blanche. And sometimes they're cracked, I 
 s'pose — appropriately enough. (They laugh.) But 
 you're only being absurd. I thought you didn't 
 really know anything about me. 
 
 Man. Yes, I do. Your name is Blanche Elliott, 
 you live at " The Red House," Prior Road, you are 
 twenty years of age, and — you play the violin. 
 
 Blanche {amazed, fingering her tie). Anything else 
 I do? 
 
 Man {without looking round). Yes. You fidget 
 with your tie while you talk. 
 
 Blanche {quickly putting her hands behind her back). 
 No, I don't. But I can't make out how you know all 
 this, considering we've only just come to live here, 
 and I'm sure I've never seen you before. 
 
 Man. As a matter of fact, I didn't know your age, 
 till now {smiling), I guessed it. What do you think 
 my age is ? 
 
 Blanche. Judging from your conversation I 
 
FIRST AID. 17 
 
 should say anything between twelve and fifty-two. 
 Max. Quite right. Who's been telling you ? 
 
 Blanche (suddenly catching sight[of the tea-baskei). 
 Oh, I know how you knew about my name and address 
 — it's on the label tied to that thing. (Points in 
 triumph.) 
 
 Man (in the manner of Sherlock Holmes). Excellent, 
 my dear Watson — that disposes of everything save 
 the final problem of the violin playing. 
 
 Blanche. There I confess myself completely 
 baffled. (Rises.) 
 
 Man. Well, I could see that by the finger-tips of 
 your left hand, and that very slight red mark on the 
 left side of your neck. Look, my fingers are just the 
 same. (Holds out left hand for inspection. She walks 
 over and looks at it, without touching it.) 
 
 Blanche. Oh, you play the violin ? Are you a 
 musician ? 
 
 Man. No, it's not as bad as that — as a matter of 
 fact, I'm a — printer. 
 
 Blanche {incredulously). Printer? What-d'you- 
 mean printer ? 
 
 Man. A very natural question. A printer, madam, 
 is one who prints. The next question of course is, 
 " What-d'you-mean prints ? " Well, you must know 
 that the art of printing was introduced into England 
 in the reign of 
 
 Blanche. Why co you go on in this absurd way ? 
 What I mean is — what do you print ? 
 
 Man. Amongst other things, a daily newspaper. 
 
 Blanche. Why aren't you doing it now ? 
 
 Man. Firstly — morning papers are not printed at 
 1 4 o'clock in the afternoon. Secondly — I'm taking a 
 holiday ; I'm only here for a few days. I think you 
 ought to add " reply paid " to all these questions. 
 
 Blanche. I suppose you know you've made me 
 feel thoroughly ashamed of myself for being to in- 
 quisitive ? (Turns away to L.) 
 
 Max (rising and turning R.). I suppose you know 
 
18 FIRST AID. 
 
 you've made me feel thoroughly ashamed of myself 
 for making you ashamed of yourself. 
 
 Blanche (sincerely). Thank you, that was nice of 
 you. (Turns to man.) 
 
 Man. Yes, I know. I said it on purpose to sound 
 nice. (Turns and moves a little to Blanche, who 
 retreats l.) 
 
 Blanche (laughing). I don't know what my parents 
 would say if they saw me talking away like this to a 
 strange man. My father is one of those people it's 
 no use trying to explain anything to. 
 
 Man. There's nothing unusual in that. Parents 
 are so often right that they drop into the habit of 
 thinking themselves infallible. 
 
 Blanche. Very good. Where did you read that? 
 
 Man. The July number of Bradshaw, I think. I 
 wonder why it is that whenever I say something good, 
 people ask me where it comes from ? 
 
 Blanche. It doesn't make me wonder. (Cross- 
 ing L.) 
 
 Man. Thank you. Now I am injured — and I 
 think you ought to apply a little flattery by way of 
 First Aid. 
 
 Blanche. What do you want me to say then ? 
 That I think you the most original, the most amusing, 
 the most interesting man I've ever met ? 
 
 Man. That's better. (Sits.) Only the true art of 
 flattery is to put a touch of sincerity into it. You 
 mustn't lay it on too thick. (Packs basket.) 
 
 (Blanche gets up, brushes the crumbs off her lap, goes 
 over to the tea-basket, and starts to pack it up The 
 man watches her curiously.) 
 
 Blanche. I was conscious of trying to pretend 
 that I didn't mean it — as a matter of fact, I really did. 
 
 Man. That's better. You should (He stops, 
 
 realizing that he had better not pursue the subject.) 
 
 Blanche (crosses r.). I don't know what you 
 
FIRST AID. 19 
 
 mean. Anyhow, you can't be flattered by a remark 
 that you know to be flattery. 
 
 Man. Surely you're wrong there— it's flattering 
 to think that you're worth being flattered, however 
 blatant it is. 
 
 Blanche. But then the flatterer has some object 
 in view, some end to gain. Surely, if you see through 
 him, you're not going to let his words weigh with you ? 
 
 Man. You can't help yourself. The very fact 
 that you have seen through the flattery puts you on 
 such good terms with yourself, that you become as 
 generous and open-hearted as a man who is slightly — 
 what shall I say — inebriated ? 
 
 Blanche. Well, how would you define flattery, 
 anyway ? 
 
 Man. I can't define it. No one can ever give 
 definitions off hand, except in books and plays, and 
 occasionally in examination papers. You couldn't 
 yourself. 
 
 Blanche. Oh, yes, I can. Flattery is — flattery 
 is — is something — something said to some one— 
 
 Man. Wrong already. It need not be said — of 
 course it can be looked — and I suppose if the object 
 was a composer, you could whistle him a little flattery. 
 
 Blanche. You make it impossible for me to get 
 on with my off-hand definition if you will interrupt. 
 (Drops down.) Now — flattery is — is— I mean- 
 flattery — flattery — is something — is something 
 
 (Stops helplessly.) 
 
 Man. I quite agree with you, but I think that's just 
 a bit too oft-hand. 
 
 Blanche ^laughing). Oh, of course you're right- 
 but as you are strong, be merciful, (Pulls basket.) and 
 don't tease me. 
 
 (A pause. She straps up the basket.) 
 
 I wonder where Mary has gone. 
 
 Man. She gave me the impression of going off 
 for a policeman when 1 saw her last. 
 
JUL 29-1913 
 
 20 FIRST AID. 
 
 Blanche. I expect she's gone home — it isn't very 
 far. Well, good-bye, I've enjoyed it. {They shake 
 hands. Both are awkward over this hand-shake, 
 neither quite knowing whether the other is going to shake 
 hands — by the time the man has his hand oat, the girl 
 has withdrawn hers, etc.) 
 
 Man. Good-bye. Thanks for the tea — and all 
 your loving kindness to an injured man. You won't 
 be coming here again at all, I suppose ? 
 
 Blanche. Very likely. (Starts to go l.) We 
 come here most afternoons this fine weather — we 
 shall be here to-morrow. (Looks over shoulder.) 
 Will you ? • 
 
 Man. No, to-morrow I can't, as I'm motoring 
 over to Arundel with my 
 
 Blanche (anxiously) . Your — your wife ? . . . 
 
 Man (looking hard at Blanche and trying to conceal 
 his joy at the fact that she has given herself away — but 
 not altogether succeeding). No, my sister. 
 
 Blanche (confused, she walks up stage to original 
 entrance). I think you're horrible. 
 
 Man. All the same, it's very important that I 
 should see you to-morrow, because I want you to 
 sew up my sleeve. What about the morning — 
 half-past ten ? 
 
 (She nods her head and turns to go.) 
 
 Man. And, I say, don't bring Mary. 
 
 (Blanche hurries off along path at back of stage laugh- 
 ing happily. Man stands, back to audience, watching 
 her off.) 
 
 Curtain. 
 
 Printed by Butler & Tanner, Frome and London. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 m 
 
 014 432 655 6