Grandmother Rocker PricOf 35 Cents WIGS AND OTHER HAIR GOODS WHISKERS AND MUSTACHES State Color Wanted on Hair Goods. Full Beard on Wire $1.50 Side Whiskers on Gauze Full Beard on Gauze. 2.25 Chin Beard on Gauze, 6 in. long 1.35 Chin Beard on Gauze, 4 in. long i.oo Chin Beard on Wire 75 Tramp Beard on Cambric (black and brown only) . 1,25 MEN'S WIGS State Color Wanted on Hair Goods. .$1.00 Side Whiskers on Wire. . , .75 Throat Whiskers on Gauze 1. 10 Throat Whiskers on Wire. .75 Santa Claus Beard on Wire 2.50 Mustache on Gauze 30 Goatee on Gauze *. .30 Dress, with parting, all colors $6.00 "Uncle Josh" 6.00 Dutch 6.50 Irish, chamois top. 6.00 Jew Character 5.00 Crop, Red and Blond 4.50 Other colors 4.25 Court or Colonial i.$5.5o Indian 6.00 Modern Japanese 5.00 Chinese with Queue, chamois top 5.00 Clown, plain 1.25 With 3 knobs 2.00 Negro, black, for Min- strels, etc. 1.25 Negro, Old Man, White or Gray 2.25 Negro, Bald, White or Gray 3.25 LADIES' WIGS State Color Wanted on Hair Goods, Soubrette, all colors. .... .$6;S0 Court or Colonial $&50 Old Maid, all colors 9.00 Indian Girl 6.00 Irish Biddy $.00 Negro Mammy .......... 3.00 Sis Hopkins 6.50 Topsy 2.25 Crepe Hair, Different colors, for making mustaches, etc. Per yard, .45 ; half yard . . 25 In ordering Wigs give Size of Hat. State Color Wanted on Hair Goods. Wigs not rented but made to order. Usually goods can be sent by return mail, but it is best to allow a margin of two or three days. C. O. D. orders must be accompanied by twenty-five per cent of price. Do not send orders by telegraph oh a few hours' notice. All hair and make-up goods sent by mail or express prepaid, unless otherwise stated. Prices on hair goods subject to change without notice. Attvays send your ordtrs to WALTER H- BAKER CO-, Boston, Mass. Grandmother Rocker A Costume Play in One Act By TRACY D. MYGATT Author of ''Bird's Nest^ *'The Noose ^ "Children of Israel," "Good Friday," " Crystal s Career," and other plays. NOTICE This play is published for amateurs. Professional com- panies are forbidden the use of it in any form or under any title, without the consent of the author, who may be ad- dressed in care of the publishers. BOSTON WALTER H. BAKER COMPANY 1922 P5 35^5 Ye&r Grandmother Rocker CHARACTERS The Bride and Groom. Grandmother Rocker. Grandfather Armchair, Louisa Quinze. The Little Chair. The Littlest Chair. The Footstool Baby, Mrs. Pomfuss. Polly. Great-Grandfather Clock, and— Ugh ! The Auctioneer. Scene. — An old room in an old house. Time.— The day they have been dreading. Copyright, 1922, by Tracy D. Mygatt. Al/ rights reserved ^^i K'r^ C!.D GOHliO ^f ^ To Eileen Mary these first playmates for her first-of-all Birthday NOTE FOR THE PRODUCER In the production of " Grandmother Rocker " the direction will undoubtedly vary with the available stage-craft. Though the author feels that the best effect will be gained where it is possible to create the illusion of the characters stepping directly from the pieces of furniture they represent, this identifica- tion can be attained through other methods. It is suggested, for instance, that the costumes follow coloring and texture of furniture as closely as pos- sible. Judicious use of inconspicuous screens, espe- cially, perhaps, in the case of Grandfather Arm- chair and Grandmother Rocker, will aid in solving the problem. The chief solution, after all, will lie in quick and clever acting, whether this be done by children, as the author would prefer, or by adults. The stage directions in the text are obviously literary and suggestive rather than technical and dogmatic, and the author believes that any ingenious director will work out an effective set. Grandmother Rocker ACT I SCENE. — A large room, empty except for a good hit of old-fashioned furniture. And let me explain at once that this furniture is so very old-fash- ioned that unless you care for that kind of thing, you have no right — no matter how much you have bought your ticket, to see this play, and still less to act in it yourself. And if you won- der how you can act in it — seeing that the Arm- chair and the Rocker, and even the Footstool, have just as big print on the program as Mrs. PoMFUSS and the Bride herself, — well, that^ is the nice part, because the Play is the realest kind of make-believe, and, when you get down to it, Shakespeare himself is only a Play! The minute after the curtain is up, the House- keeper — her name is Mrs. Pomfuss — comes in through the door, r., and begins to dust. {This is true in all proper plays, except when it is some- times the Butler.) And as she dusts, she mutters to herself, as they all do, and you want to listen {which is just what she wants you to do), so there you are, safe inside! Also, you want to watch, for just noiv when she passed the duster over that inlaid table, rather to the centre of the room, the large dark cloth which hangs down all I 2 GRANDMOTHER ROCKER round it, seemed to jerk a little — not by her fingers! — and there was just the suspicion of a snigger — (the kind of snigger the youngest kin- der ga^'ten child makes, if you remember) I And yet there is no one about but the Housekeeper, comfortable and fat and dressed in black silk, with a bunch of keys at her waist; and of course the furniture I have mentioned, — a battered ma- hogany secretary and hautboy to R. and l., rear; the shiny horsehair Sofa with the stuffing coming out, across the back of the room; the Rocker and Armchair in the usual places; a dainty little Louis Quinze chair perked out self-im- portantly toward the centre. There are a couple of little bits of chairs and a Footstool, all three of the latter jumbled round together near the Sofa, about the Fireplace, which I hope is zirhere it shoidd be, for there is nothing like a Fireplace to make you feel cosy on a chilly December afternoon like this, — the Fireplace, and the Great-Grandfather Clock in the corner beside it. Now whether Mrs. Pomfuss heard the snigger, or whether her sudden desire for company is due to pure excitement, I don't know; but she is certainly flustered, and, dropping her duster on the table, she steps to the door, R., and calls. Mrs. Pomfuss. Polly ! Oh, Polly ! Wherever are you ? [Then, to herself.] Land sakes, that girl gets lazier every day! And them due in half an hour ! Polly! [Giving it up, she returns to the table. But a queer thing has happened, for in the moment of her ab- sence, a chubby arm shot out from under the table, groped about a minute, then grabbed the duster, which GRANDMOTHER ROCKER 3 was hanging down, and pulled it quickly underneath! Perceiving her duster gone, Mrs. Pom fuss tries to repress a jump; again mutters, "Land sakes!" looks all over the table for it; and then starts, more sen- sibly, to raise the cloth and look under the table. But as she thinks of this, there is evidently a shiver down her spine, for she abruptly leaves the table altogether, and runs to the door, calling into the hall. ] Polly ! Come here at once ! I want you ! [There being no answer, she flings one scared glance back at the room and then bolts, slamming the door behind her. And then, quite naturally, a gentle old lady, Grand- mother Rocker, precisely our idea of a grandmother, hobbles toward the table. I don't know whether she was in the Rocker all the time, and we did not see her; or whether she was inside it, or maybe behind it; but she belongs to the Rocker; or rather she is the Rocker, as you would know if you understood such things. And her dress, — old rose upholstery trimmed with fringe, is exactly like the Rocker. And the expression on her plump, faded pink cheeks shows she understands about the duster and intends to deal with it. Grandmother Rocker. [Hobbling toward the table.] You rogue! You naughty little rogue! [But her voice is no angrier than your grandmother's.] Come out of that this minute, or you shan't have a cooky for a week! [There is again the snigger, unmistakable this time, and the old lady, bending forward and raising the table-cover, pulls out the Footstool Baby, a rosy 4 GRANDMOTHER ROCKER little fellow of three. He wears kilts, and he is so round that even without the brown rep ruffles, he curiously resembles the reddish-brown Footstool over by the Fireplace. He holds out the duster tri- umphantly. As she takes it from him, she goes on.] Yes, indeed, Granny sees it, and Granny's got it! Poor Mrs. Pomfuss ! How often must I tell you not to play pranks, — and to-day especially, — when she's naturally upset ! [But he closes her mouth with kisses, and as she drops the duster back on the table, he shoves her toward the Rocker, on which, all the time murmuring ''Dear me! Dear me! This will never do!" she sits down. And straightway he is in her lap, fumbling for cookies in her pocket. And while this has been occurring, the Great-Grand father Clock strikes ''Four" and — on my word! — no sooner has it finished than there steps from behind it — from within it — a delightful old gentleman, Great-Grandfather Clock. He wears doublet, hose, and a bright blue coat; and though his face is the dial of the Clock, round which grows a set of fluffy white whiskers, he speaks very clearly as he moves quickly, almost friskily, to the side of the Rocker. Great-Grandfather Clock. [To the old lady.] I always said you'd be like this, my dear ! No discipline ! No discipline ! You told the baby yesterday not to get under the table when Mrs. Pomfuss was about, and then — [And he is right!] you feed him! Hoity-toity! One cooky — two cookies ! How many more, I wonder ! Now, in my young days GRANDMOTHER ROCKER 5 Grandmother Rocker. [Placidly cuddling the Footstool Baby.] Well, I must say, Father, if I can't give my own grandchild a cooky ! Positively, you talk like one of these heartless modern mothers. I wouldn't have believed it! Great-Grandfather Clock. [Coming close and letting the Baby stroke his face.] Well, I dare say you're right, my dear! He is a sweet child! But — [Restlessly.] we mustn't waste time ! We mustn't waste time ! Presently that tiresome Mrs. Pomfuss will be back again, and no telling but the giggling housemaid with her, and here we haven't formed our plans yet ! Grandmother Rocker. [A little uneasily.] Well, they haven't arrived yet ! Great-Grandfather Clock. No, not yet! But they're due — I heard her say they're due in half an hour. Grandmother Rocker. [Rocking softly, the Footstool Baby curled in her lap; I'm afraid he is sucking his thumb!] Well, don't you go and get excited, Father dear! [Rather ■wistfully.] Like as not they won't come into this room the first day ! Great-Grandfather Clock. [Wistfully, too.] No, I suppose not! Though Mrs. Pomfuss was dusting like anything, and if they should come, our plans are not formed at all ! 6 GRANDMOTHER ROCKER * Grandmother Rocker. Well, the great thing is not to get excited. Now I used to think Cousin Agatha — \She points to the Horsehair Sofa.] was the better for a little excite- ment. But you — you know if you're the least ex- cited, you're liable to get fast, and then they'll simply send for the Clock-Mender and he'll Great-Grandfather Clock. [ With a warning gesture. ] Hush ! I can't bear it ! That time last year — just because I was two hours fast ! He took out all my insides ! Of all the humiliating ! I haven't felt right since ! Grandmother Rocker. [Touching his arm gently.] There, there! Don't think of it ! I'm sure old Mrs. Pomfuss won't do it again ! [Barely has she finished than there is a rustle at the door, l., and in trips a young lady, Louisa Quinze, in little gilt slippers. She is so pretty, and has such silky yellow curls about her fluffy, gilt-trimmed dress, that we see at once she belongs to, — or is — the Louis Quinze chair, toward which she goes at once. She is obviously excited, and speaks in a pretty, high-pitched voice. Louisa Quinze. [As she enters.] Old Mrs. Pomfuss will do worse than that ! Much worse ! Grandmother Rocker. Why, Louisa Quinze, what on earth do you mean? GRANDMOTHER ROCKER J Great-Grandfather Clock. [With gloomy dignity.] Speaking for myself, any- thing worse than the Clock-Mender is incredible ! Grandmother Rocker. [Anxiously, soothing the Footstool Baby, who has begun to whimper.] How do you know, Louisa? And where on earth have you been ? [Louisa Quinze has now seated herself on the Louis Quinze, and has carefully spread out her fluffy gilt ruffles. But she looks as unhappy as anybody with such curls can. Louisa Quinze. Well, I find it quite impossible to stay at home the way some of you do. Of course this room has never been the same to me since — since [She gives a small, heart-broken sniff, and stops. Grandmother Rocker. [Gently.] My dear, we appreciate your feelings, and honor you for them. But pray go on. Louisa Quinze. [Resuming zvith effort, pride coming to her rescue.] And not being so comfortably made as some — [Glancing at Grandmother Rocker, who is rocking placidly, she gives her pretty head a toss.] though of course I couldn't think of changing places Grandmother Rocker. [Under her breath.] I should think not! Such very small feet must be really painful! [To the Footstool Baby.] There, there, my precious! It's all right ! Aunt Louisa's just a little upset! 8 GRANDMOTHER ROCKER Louisa Ouinze. \Desperately.\ Oh, not a little ! I'm terribly, ter- ribly upset ! Great-Grandfather Clock. \ln spite of himself, he frisks as he goes to her.] My dear, I hope not ! You might go over. Louisa Quinze. I see what you mean, sir, but it wouldn't much matter if I did. Except [With an hysterical giggle.] I suppose if I upset and broke, I wouldn't bring so much. Great-Grandfather Clock. [Turning quite pale.] Louisa! What do you mean? Louisa Quinze. [She loves, even in a painful story, to he the centre of attention.] Well, I was out in the corridor, and I heard them — that wicked Mrs. Pom fuss and Polly the housemaid — talking. And Mrs. Pomfuss has sent for — has sent for [But she simply can't finish! Great-Grandfather Clock. [Sternly.] Whom has she sent for? Grandmother Rocker. [ With a glance at the Armchair, as Louisa Quinze continues to sob; she is rocking violently.] Oh, my rocker! I wish Henry were awake! He's the only one can do anything with Louisa when she's in these moods ! GRANDMOTHER ROCKER 9 Great-Grandfather Clock. [Touching his minute-hand.] It's certainly time he woke up ! Grandfather Armchair. [Through a yawn.] I am awake ! [With another yawn. ] Very wide awake ! [ With a tremendous yawn.] I've been awake practically all the time. [But he has not yet become visible to the audi- ence. Great-Grandfather Clock. [Tartly.] Well, it's a mercy you found it out! [Then, as an old gentleman with a high white stock emerges from somewhere about the Armchair — he must have had his nap deep in its cushions.] Now, Son-in-law, you ask her. Grandfather Armchair. [Trying to concentrate ; — though he is so much younger than Great-Grandfather Clock, he feels and acts older. ] Ask who — what? Great-Grandfather Clock. [With jeering briskness.] Humph! I thought you said you'd been awake all the time, Henry ! Grandfather Armchair. [As before, very slowly.] I said — I'd been — awake — practically — all the time. Great-Grandfather Clock. [ With a snort. ] Humph ! Much you know about time ! Young whippersnapper ! " Practically all the time ! " Now what earthly meaning is there in that ? " Practically all the time ! " No, no ! Time lO GRANDMOTHER ROCKER isn't practical. It's the most impractical thing in the world. Lovers — having a cosy time in the moon — over before they know it. And a toothache — lasts forever ! No, no, time isn't at all practical. So how can it be "practically"? Eh? [Then, disgustedly, with his idee fixe.] And here am I — if I'm ahead a single minute Grandmother Rocker. [She is always the peacemaker.] Hush, Father dear ! I'm sure you and Henry are both right ! And certainly we all know that if one drops off a single second, everything important happens right then. I've often noticed it with myself when Henry's been reading me the newspaper — especially politics, you know. Of course it's no concern of women's, and yet even there he doesn't like it if I drop off for Louisa Quinze. [ With dreary sarcasm. ] Go on talking. I wish I could. I wish I didn't know what I know. Grandfather Armchair. [Approaching her with determination.] Out with it, girl. Louisa Quinze. [Flinging herself into his arms.] Oh, sir, — sir — Mrs. Pomfuss has sent for — the Auctioneer ! [There is a moment of terrible silence, in which each takes in the fidl measure of the shock; for to these dear people "Auctioneer" is quite the most terrible word in the lan- guage. What the Work-House is to the poor; what the slave-block was to the slave, that, every inch of it, is the Auctioneer to GRANDMOTHER ROCKER II them. And yet, in a moment, there is a brave attempt to rally. Grandfather Armchair. [Bravely, placing Louisa gently on the Louis Quinze chair.] Something must be done ! Great-Grandfather Clock. [With nervous decision.] How much time have we? That is the important thing, whether the rest of you know it or not ! In this crisis time is the important thing! Now let me see — [He presses his hand pathetically to his dial forehead.] if I could go slow, — very slow — would it perhaps postpone his coming ? Grandmother Rocker. [With tender firmness.] No, Father dear, that is too much for you to attempt. Let me think Louisa Quinze. [Mournfully.] There isn't any time to think! Grandmother Rocker. [For the first time, there is indignation in her gentle voice.] Louisa! Did Mrs. Pomfuss say the Groom told her to send for the — the Auctioneer? Grandfather Armchair. Oh, my castors and Pollux ! A Groom couldn't be so wicked as that ! Grandmother Rocker. Don't swear, Henry! Great-Grandfather Clock. Might it have been the Bride, do you think, Louisa? 12 GRANDMOTHER ROCKER Louisa Ouinze. {Family.^ It wasn't clear to me. I don't think she said ! But I suppose it's the Bride — ^horrid, new- fangled things Brides are! I never could abide them! Grandmother Rocker. [With a sign to her husband.] Since her disap- pointment, Henry. The poor child cared so much she pretends she doesn't care at all. Sh 1 [As he attempts to address Louisa.] Let us not believe ill of the Bride I And say nothing to the children, Louisa ! I'm thankful they were asleep ! [But at a sudden sound from the Little Chairs, Grandmother Rocker starts, with a mut- tered " Oh, mercy me! " And two little girls, the Little Chair and the Littlest Chair, about five and six, wearing short straw-trimmed pinafores and pantalettes, looking extraordinarily like the two little wicker chairs from which they have been craning their necks the last few minutes^ scamper tozvard their Grandmother. Little Chair. No, we weren't. Granny. We were wide awake all the time ! Littlest Chair. [As she speaks, she tweaks the old gentleman's coat-tails, which are a temptation.] Much wider than Grandfather. Hee-hee ! Grandmother Rocker. [As he turns upon them. ] Little eavesdroppers ! GRANDMOTHER ROCKER 1 3 Little Chair. No, we didn't drop anything, Granny. Not a thing ! Littlest Chair. And now we want a cooky. Grandfather Armchair. {Trying to he stern, after he has adjusted Ms up- holstered coat-tail. ] Cookies aren't for naughty chil- dren like you ! Little Chair. A peppermint'll do. Great-Grandfather Clock. Peppermints indeed! Littlest Chair. Or a animal cracker ! Little Chair. Or a jackson-ball ! Grandfather Armchair. Did you ever hear such talk ? Great-Grandfather Clock. [Backing him up.] I should think not, indeed? Grandmother Rocker. They've grown that bold 1 [Then, as they smiggle about her, she helplessly begins to draw dainties out of her pocket, in which she is powerfully assisted, even the Footstool Baby rousing for a nibble. ] Well, well, I suppose you must ! [Cramming as much of the cookies and candy 14 GRANDMOTHER ROCKER as they can into their months, they retire to their little chairs, where they seat them- selves. Great-Grandfather Clock. [Impatiently ] What were we saying? Those children [With a dexterous movement, ^ I be- heve I will have a jackson-ball [Then, to re- cover his dignity. ^ I declare, they grow worse every day. Grandmother Rocker. [Suddenly breaking down. ] Don't, Father ! Don't ! Oh, to think of how soon they may be torn from us ! All of the family scattered! [Kissing the sleeping hahy.] Even the baby! Like their father and mother before them — three years ago ! Oh — oh ! Great-Grandfather Clock. [Brushing away a tear.] Oh, please don't cry I It makes me cry to see you — and I can't keep time if I cry. Louisa Ouinze. [In violent hysterics.] What difference does it make whether you keep time or not, when the Auctioneer Little Chair, Littlest Chair, Footstool Baby. [Their mouths full of cooky and jack son-halls, despairingly.] Boo-hoo ! Boo-hoo-hoo ! Boo-hoo- hooo ■ ! \They are all crying so loud that they do not hear steps in the passage. But as the door opens, and Mrs. Pomfuss, accompanied by Polly, a pretty girl in maid's uniform, enters GRANDMOTHER ROCKER 1 5 the room, they jump up and scurry away, Great-Grandfather Clock stepping hack into his frame; Grandfather Armchair deep into his cushions, and Grandmother Rocker, after she has deposited the Foot- stool Baby on his footstool, retiring from view. But upon the talk that follows an occasional sniff and blubber may be heard, especially from behind the little chairs. Only Louisa Quinze still sits erect in her gilt chair, but she is very stiff and still, and seldom pays any attention to the conversa- tion. The Footstool Baby is again sound asleep. Mrs. Pomfuss. Yes, I've been that flustered all day, you could knock me over with a feather ! Polly. [Respectfully.] It's a fact you was white as a sheet when you come down to the kitchen. Mrs. Pomfuss. Well, it'd fair give you the creeps if one minute you'd had a duster in your hand, and the next Polly. [Going to the table, and picking up the duster.] Why, here it is, Mrs. Pomfuss! [Beginning to laugh. ] I guess you need some bigger specs ! Mrs. Pomfuss. [Regarding it suspiciously, and not touching it.] Well, it wasn't there ! It wasn't there ! Not nohow ! l6 GRANDMOTHER ROCKER Polly. \Passmg it vigorously over the Rocker; she seems not to hear a sudden gasp.] Best to have 'em clean an' straight if the Auctioneer comes to-day ! Mrs. Pom fuss. [Breathlessly.] Well, I hope he don't come, Polly. I thought he'd have got here yesterday, or I'd never've sent. As if I didn't have enough on my mind already with them comin' ! Polly. [Sentimentally.] To think of a bride's comin' here — an' me in the house ! Mrs. Pomfuss. [Gloomily.] Likely you won't be here long — nor me neither ! Brides like a change — nothin' old suits. [There is a wistful sigh from the old Rocker, hut again the Housekeeper does not hear, going quickly on.] Now all this truck in here — it should've been cleared out long ago, but as it wasn't [A bell jangles through the house.] Oh, mercy me, why didn't he come yesterday? [And she rushes out of the room Polly. [Rapturously, to herself.] Maybe it's her! [Then she, too, runs out. Grandmother Rocker. [Softly, heard, but not seen.] I can't believe that — what she said about Brides. GRANDMOTHER ROCKER 17 Great-Grandfather Clock. [Stepping out cautiously.] Hush, my dear! It*s true, I make no doubt. She'll have us carted away at once, so she'll have more money to spend! [Rais- ing his voice: ] Oh, the ignominy ! The ignominy ! Littlest Chair. [In a very small voice.] What's ig-o-min-y? Grandmother Rocker. [Heard, but unseen.] Nothing, my darling! Noth- ing! [Then, as returning steps are heard.] Oh, it can't be true ! It can't be true ! Louisa Quinze. [Contemptuously, but without movement.] Humph ! Great-Grandfather Clock. [Slipping back into his frame, as a heavy tread ap- proaches. ] It sounds like an Auctioneer ! [And as the door is flung open, it is at once clear that the man Mrs. Pom fuss and Polly are ushering in is the Auctioneer. No other kind of a profession — not even a Butcher, — cotdd make a man look quite so horrible as this. In a word, he is so bad I hardly like to describe him, for in case the night-light should go out, and you alone, I really couldn't be responsible! But if you still press me, and must know, he is like — an Ogre! But here — you can see for your- self, — if you dare look. And you can see how Mrs. Pom fuss herself is so aware of it that she is very uncomfortable, and how 1 8 GRANDMOTHER ROCKER ' Polly, as he comes blustering in, creeps close as she can, in Mrs. Pomfuss' large shadow. Auctioneer. [His voice is between an Ogre's and a Pirate's.] Well, I must say — I must say ! [As he speaks, he stamps about amongst the furniture.] One- penny — two-penny — [He pronounces it '' tuppeny."] three-penny Damn ! Mrs. Pomfuss. [Cowering.] Please, sir, not to swear — at least where there's ladies ! Auctioneer. [Very insultingly.] I don't. One-penny. Tup- peny — three-penny Da ! Louisa Quinze. [Very distinctly, without change of expression.] Don't say that word again ! Auctioneer. [Cheerfully, without finishing.] Oh, well, what's the diff ? [He turns to Mrs. Pomfuss less unpleas- antly. ] But you did have a nerve to bring me here ! Mrs. Pomfuss. [Plucking nervously at her dress. ] I know there's not much, sir, but I Auctioneer. Don't say that, woman! There is much — [With a sweep of his hand.] a whole cartload. But it won't bring much. Do you understand ? GRANDMOTHER ROCKER 19 Mrs. Pom fuss. \l