Chapter X: Act III: SCENE: Club rooms as before. Time, next day after Act II (2)

LEGGATT. That’s just what I mean to say. You were to put only quiet people in here.

LAND. Bulger is all right. Best man on the road.

LEGGATT. He has softening of the brain.

LAND. Impossible! Bulger is one of the best salesmen on the road.

LEGGATT. I’ve had enough of him. I think he’s crazy. (_B. angry gesture from behind curtain._)

LAND. Nonsense! His head is as level as—as mine.

LEGGATT. I wont dispute _that_!

LAND. And you mean you fired a pistol and alarmed the whole house just to tell me this.

LEGGATT. I’m not done yet. Next thing you bring in an idiotic Dutchman—

SCHNELL. Vy, you rascal! dot is me.

LEGGATT. (_With wave of hand._) Allow me, Wagonblock. I’m talking to the landlord.

LAND. Let up and go to sleep. You’ll be all right in the morning. Where is Bulger? It’s train time.

LEGGATT. Bulger! What do I know about Bulger? Get out now and leave me alone.

LAND. But Bulger—(_LEG. lies down._) Say, Leggatt!

SCHNELL. I tink dot littery chap haf kilt Pulcher.

LAND. (_Starting._) What? (_Seizes LEGGATT by arm and jerks him to sitting posture._) Produce Bulger. The shot—Bulger. Have you murdered him?

LEGGATT. (_Throwing him off._) I’m ready to murder somebody. (_Seizes cane._)

LAND. (_Retreating._) Where is Bulger?

BULGER. Here he is! (_Strides down angrily. LAND. and SCHNELL start back._) And let me add to what that literary man says. I thought he could use words better in such a case than a plain drummer, but he isn’t in it. Of all the noisy, windy, ill-kept, bad-smelling, disreputable (_gets emphatic as he speaks_), disorderly, rag-tag-and-bob-tail hotels in creation—

SCHNELL. Mine Gott!

LAND. Hold on, sir. You’re going too far.

BULGER. I’ll go farther next trip. I’ll go to the next town. (_Getting valise and things._)

LAND. Your bill is ready.

BULGER. (_Snorting._) Bill! bill!

LAND. (_Decidedly._) I said _bill_.

LEGGATT. Bulger, you’ll miss your train if you stand there quarreling. Now clear out, all of you, or I’ll miss my 4 o’clock sleep. I almost feel as if I should miss it after this. (_LANDLORD takes B.’S valise and is going R. followed by B. SCHNELL stands undecided._) Hi there, landlord, don’t leave that Dutchman here. (_LANDLORD pays no attention, exeunt._)

SCHNELL. (_Angrily._) Tutchman! dat was me—Mine frent, I was no Tutchman, I was Cherman oont—

LEGGATT. Get out before I commit murder. A first-class quiet hotel! Oh! (_Reaches for pistol. SCHNELL goes flying out R._)

QUICK CURTAIN.

MADAM PRINCETON’S
TEMPLE OF BEAUTY

A FARCE

BY T. S. DENISON

_Author of_
Odds with the Enemy, Initiating a Granger, Wanted, a Correspondent, A
Family Strike, Seth Greenback, Louva, the Pauper, Hans Von Smash,
Borrowing Trouble, Two Ghosts in White, The Pull-Back, Country Justice,
The Assessor, The Sparkling Cup, Our Country, Irish Linen
Peddler, The School Ma’am, Kansas Immigrants, An Only Daughter,
Too Much of a Good Thing, Under the Laurels, Hard Cider,
The Danger Signal, Wide Enough for Two, Pets of Society,
Is the Editor In? The New Woman, Patsy O’Wang, Rejected,
Only Cold Tea, Madam P’s Beauty Parlors, Topp’s
Twins, A First-Class Hotel, It’s all in the Pay-Streak,
The Cobbler, A Dude in a Cyclone, Friday Dialogues.

_Also the Novels,
The Man Behind, An Iron Crown, etc._

CHICAGO:
T. S. DENISON, PUBLISHER,
163 RANDOLPH STREET.

MADAME PRINCETON’S TEMPLE OF BEAUTY.

COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY T. S. DENISON.

CHARACTERS.

MADAME PRINCETON, Proprietor of Temple of Beauty.
MRS. COMPTON, very stout, wants to be reduced.
MISS DICKIE BIRD, who wants to be bleached.
MISS TERWILLIGER, who is in search of a complexion.
MISS McFADDEN, a suspicious enquirer.
SUSAN, an assistant of Madame P.’s.

_Time of playing, twenty minutes._

STAGE DIRECTIONS.

_R._ means right of the stage; _C._, center; _R. C._, right center; _L._ left; _1 E._, first entrance; _U. E._, upper entrance, etc.; _D. F._ door in flat or back of the stage. The actor is supposed to be facing the audience.

NOTE—To present this piece properly, the ladies must make up as directed. But young ladies as a rule greatly dislike putting anything disfiguring on their faces. Miss Terwilliger should use make-up paints, one side of face fiery red, the other very brown, freckled. But she may get along very well by bandaging one side and splotching the other freely with court plaster, reddened with carmine ink. It is best to select a lady naturally stout, with a keen sense of humor, for Mrs. Compton. Full instructions maybe found in a good “make-up” book.

MADAME PRINCETON’S TEMPLE OF BEAUTY.

SCENE—_Entrance R. and L. in 1. D. F., L. C.; shelves for
“goods” against flat R. C., sofa near wall up L., chair between
that and door R., table with books and flowers down L. C.,
operating chair (barber’s) R. C.; other chairs and little
accessories to taste, but do not crowd stage. May be played in
any room having two doors._

SUSAN. (_Discovered as curtain rises examining toilet articles on shelves._) The skin food is nearly out. Skin food! Mutton fat and bergamot, cost, ten cents a jar. China jar and gilt label twenty cents more, total thirty cents, sells for five dollars. Well I guess there’s more money in skin food than there is in stomach food or brain food, for that matter. (_Takes up another bottle._) Anti-fat! Vinegar and water, three dollars a bottle. Anti grandmother! (_Laughs._) Why, I’m talking about my relatives. What fools these women are. I’ll start a Beauty Parlor I guess. (_Coquettishly._) I am a sample of Madame Princeton’s work myself. Humph! I never did a blessed thing for my beauty. I wouldn’t put her skin food on a mangy dog. That fat old Compton thing goes waddling round taking anti-fat and jerking the pulleys in the gymnasium. My, she makes me laugh. She gets fatter every day.

_ENTER briskly MADAME P., R._

MAD. P. Susan, have you opened up the gymnasium to air it?

SUSAN. Yes’m!

MAD. P. Where is Mary?

SUSAN. In the stock room.

MAD. P. Have we plenty of everything? There’s going to be a run on Madame Princeton’s Toilet Articles. The World’s Fair medal is a great card.

SUSAN. I suppose we’ll get that medal before the next Fair opens?

MAD. P. The delay is so annoying. But we’ll do as the others do—say we have it already.

SUSAN. The skin food is low.

MAD. P. Did you telephone the commission man to hurry up that mutton tallow?

SUSAN. Yes, he sent it by mistake to Madame La Duke’s Parlors.

MAD. P. Madame La Duke’s, indeed! I’ll sue her for damages if she steals any more of my secrets.

SUSAN. I guess Madame La Duke knows mutton fat from goose grease.

MAD. P. She is an ignorant imposter. Every idea she has she stole from me. Tell Mary to set the girls making a gross of skin food immediately. (_Exit SUSAN, L._)

_ENTER MRS. COMPTON, R., puffing._

MAD. P. (_Running to meet her._) Why, how charming you look, Mrs. Compton.

MRS. C. (_Dropping in chair._) I’m nearly starved to death. I haven’t eaten a bite of meat for three days.

MAD. P. Abstinence and Madame Princeton’s Anti-fat will do the business. Take a dose now, (_pours out wine glass full_). That will revive you. It operates on the fat glands and allays their abnormal activity. It is excitement of the fat glands which causes excessive flesh. Do you feel better? You’ve lost, I should say, fifteen pounds the last week.

MRS. C. Madame Princeton, I just feel completely gone. Why, when the girl brought in Mr. Compton’s breakfast this morning, I felt like a wild animal. I just wanted to grab his steak and tear it with my fingers and teeth.

MAD. P. But you must not indulge your appetite.

MRS. C. I dare not or Mr. Compton would suspect. Heaven forgive me the lies I’ve told that man. And I a church member, too. Told him one day I had no appetite, and the next a headache, and the next that I had lunched hastily down town. Dear me, what can I tell him next!

MAD. P. Does he suspect you?

MRS. C. I’m afraid so. He said this morning if I didn’t eat pretty soon he’d send for the doctor.

MAD. P. Keep it up three days more and then we’ll surprise him. You will have lost at least thirty pounds by that time. Your husband will be delighted at your improved appearance.

MRS. C. I don’t know about that. He’s a queer man. When I first met him I weighed only ninety pounds. It didn’t seem to matter to him when I weighed twice that.

MAD. P. But it does matter. He is deceiving you. Men prefer willowly women.

MRS. C. Maybe, but I’ve heard him say that Mrs. Smith was as thin as the last run o’ June shad. Couldn’t you fatten that woman? It would be a relief to her neighbors if you could, and it would prove that you can perform miracles.

MAD. P. Yes, get her to come in. I’ll give you a commission. It’s very simple. If she’d only take my Anti-lean. All she needs is to have the fat glands stimulated. Anti-lean is the greatest discovery of the age.

MRS. C. Would you mind telling me what it is; in confidence, you know.

MAD. P. Oh, goodness, that is a professional secret.

MRS. C. I’ll tell her about it, but, good land, what ye’re doin’ to me would kill her. I couldn’t stand it if I wasn’t as strong as an ox.

MAD. P. You are doing bravely. What did you eat for breakfast?

MRS. C. Three oatmeal crackers and a cup of coffee.

MAD. P. You have broken the rules. I limited you to two crackers.

MRS. C. It was Mr. Compton’s fault. He insisted I should eat.

MAD. P. Any cream in the coffee?

MRS. C. Only a spoonful.

MAD. P. You must obey me if you expect good results. I’ll give you a double dose of Anti-fat. And you shall lunch here to-day. One small white cracker, one large pickle and a double portion of Anti-fat.

MRS. C. Mayn’t I have a chalk crayon to nibble at. I’ll eat the wax candles next thing.

MAD. P. Oh, you may have all the chalk you want. Now go to the gymnasium. First the rowing apparatus, then the dumb bells and lastly, the swinging rings. That’ll fetch you round.

MRS. C. If it doesn’t kill me. (_Exit D. F._)

_ENTER SUSAN, L._

SUSAN. The mutton fat—

MAD. P. Hist! (_Whispers in SUSAN’S ear and gives meaning look toward D. F._)

_ENTER MISS TERWILLIGER, R._

MAD. P. How do you do, Miss Terwilliger? You are very punctual. Some women have no notion what an engagement means.

MISS T. (_Heavily veiled._) Madame Princeton, my face pains terribly. I am really alarmed.

MAD. P. (_Coldly._) I told you there would be some pain. Let me see your face. Removing freckles is rather a painful operation, if done by the quick method. (_MISS T. removes veil, discloses bandage covering the whole of one side of the face. MAD. P. removes bandage, shows one side of face very red the other brown._) It is working beautifully.

MISS T. (_Goes to glass, shrieks._) Oh, horrors! What a fright! Oh, oh!

MAD. P. Be cool, my dear.

_ENTER MRS. C. from D. F._

MRS. C. Goodness, what a start you gave me! (_Sees MISS T._) Why what on earth are you doing to that girl? Poor child! One side of her face is red as a beet and the other brown as a berry.

MAD. P. Really, Mrs. Compton, there is nothing the matter. That is the way it always works, Miss Terwilliger.

MISS T. But my face is on fire, oh! oh! And I read in the paper that a young lady died here undergoing treatment.

MAD. P. That was all a lie! I’ll never let another newspaper reporter interview me as long as I live. Come this way for treatment. (_Going L._) Madame Compton, go back to your exercises. (_Exeunt MAD. P. and MISS T., L._)

MRS. C. Well, I’m glad I haven’t freckles or warts or whiskers. I never could stand it to be skinned alive, I know. I’m so hungry I could eat a jar of that skin food.

_ENTER SUSAN L. Exit MRS. C., D. F._

SUSAN. Silly little goose. She’s going to be a bridesmaid and is willing to be skinned in order to look pretty.

_ENTER DICKIE BIRD._

DICKIE B. Are you the young lady I spoke to yesterday?

SUSAN. You are Miss Dickie Bird?

DICKIE. I am. I have an appointment at this hour.

SUSAN. I operate on the hair. Take this seat. (_DICKIE seated facing L. so audience can have side view of hair and face; lets down DICKIE’S hair, which must be dark and beautiful._) Oh, what beautiful hair! If I had that hair I wouldn’t dye it for the world.

DICKIE. But blondes are so fashionable! They are all the rage, you know. (_SUSAN tucking the barber’s apron closely round DICKIE._) Does it cause any inconvenience?

SUSAN. Not the least! You can not appear anywhere for several days. (_Scream from MISS T. heard off L._)

DICKIE. (_Bounding from chair._) Goodness! What is that?

SUSAN. Oh, nothing. They are skinning a girl in there.

DICKIE. Mercy sakes! Skinning a girl! That is horrible.

SUSAN. (_Laughs._) You misunderstand. It is the complexion treatment. It takes off the old skin, and I think they took it off that girl pretty deep. It burns like fire at first. (_Another scream._)

_MRS. C. runs out D. F._

MRS. C. My nerves just wont stand that!

DICKIE. I’m very glad I don’t have to be skinned. Ugh! it makes me shudder. (_Gets in chair._)

MRS. C. And what are you going to have done?

DICKIE. I’m going to be bleached!

MRS. C. What color?

DICKIE. Why, blonde, of course.

MRS. C. Well, if I had that head of hair I wouldn’t bleach it for the world. What lovely hair, and Mr. Compton does so admire hair.

DICKIE. (_Coquettishly._) They all do. (_Susan getting bottles and brushes._)

SUSAN. Are you ready, Miss Bird?

DICKIE. Quite ready.

MRS. C. (_Going D. F._) Bird! That must be Dickie Bird. Giddy thing! She’s the worst flirt in town. Oh dear, I could eat a raw frog! (_Exit D. F. Noise of pulleys going furiously._)

DICKIE. What is that fat old thing doing here?

SUSAN. Improving her shape. She’s on Anti-fat.

DICKIE. (_Sarcastically._) You couldn’t reduce her waist with one of those what do you call ’em machines. She’s had her day. Why doesn’t she stay at home with her old man.

SUSAN. Neither age nor condition is beyond the aid of Madame Princeton. That woman can work miracles. (_DICKIE is now swathed in apron and towels till she looks like a mummy._)

DICKIE. Why are you so very particular about wrapping me up, Susan?

SUSAN. The stuff is very powerful. I musn’t let a single drop get on your skin.

DICKIE. Oh dear, I am nervous. (_Tries to move._) Mercy, I can’t move hand or foot. (_Screams._)

_ENTER, hastily, MAD. P., L._

MAD. P. What is the matter, Miss Bird?

DICKIE. I am afraid!

MAD. P. My dear, there isn’t the slightest pain or danger. Go on, Susan. (_Aside to SUSAN._) You’ve been talking again. Why can’t you keep your customers quiet like mine. (_Scream from MISS T. who runs in, one side of face in great red blotches._)

MISS T. Madame Princeton, you will kill me! Oh, how my face smarts!

MAD. P. It can’t hurt much.

MISS T. It’s on fire! Oh, oh!

MAD. P. Only a temporary twinge, Miss Terwilliger. (_Gets between DICKIE’S chair and MISS T., turns latter away, nods to SUSAN who busies herself with DICKIE._) To-day I will apply my great discovery, Pastilla di Pasta and to-morrow you will have the complexion of a baby. (_Rushes MISS T. out L., shuts door._) Some people make a great fuss about nothing.

_ENTER MRS. C., with played-out look, D. F._

MRS. C. Madame Princeton, haven’t I exercised enough to-day?

MAD. P. (_Severely._) Not half enough!

MRS. C. (_Puffing._) Well, I shall die, that’s what I’ll do!

MAD. P. (_Impatiently._) I wouldn’t if I were you, Mrs. Compton.

MRS. C. Madame Princeton, you are positively cruel! I believe you actually enjoy our sufferings.

MAD. P. That’s right, excite yourself! Your heart is strong and excitement reduces flesh. It stimulates the lean glands, just as repose invigorates the fat glands.

MRS. C. But s’pose I die right here in your place. Think of the consequences. One woman did die.

MAD. P. No, she didn’t.

DICKIE. Goodness, that woman makes me nervous. Talks of dying in the place. I can’t stand this any longer. (_Tries to rise._)

SUSAN. (_Restraining her._) Be careful, you’ll make me spill it and then—

MAD. P. Susan, hold your tongue.

DICKIE. I am afraid. (_Manages to stand up, swathed like a mummy, MAD. and SUSAN support her._)

MAD. P. Sit down, Miss Bird. The remedy is as harmless as water.

DICKIE. I am _so_ nervous, let me go home. I read of the girl that nearly died here.

MAD. P. (_Indignantly._) No such thing ever happened, I tell you. She only fainted.

DICKIE. But papa doesn’t know what I’m doing. He wouldn’t approve at all. And if anything more should happen and _my_ name get in the papers—

MAD. P. Nothing can happen. How absurd. (_They get DICKIE back in chair._)

MRS. C. _I_ am nervous, too. If Mr. Compton ever caught me here, oh dear.

MAD. P. Mrs. Compton, I beg you will act rationally. Go back to your pulleys! It is against the rules for one patient to enter the room where another is being operated on.

MRS. C. Humph! I can hear the racket of all of ’em. I’ll break that old machine. (_Exit D. F., noise of pulleys violently._)

_ENTER MISS McFADDEN, R._

MISS McF. Do I have the pleasure of addressing Madame Princeton?

MAD. P. (_Bows._) You do. Won’t you come into the reception room? It’s a mistake of the girl to show you in here. Your name?

MISS McF. Miss McFadden. Since we are here I think we can manage. I have but a moment.

MAD. P. Did you wish to enquire about treatment, Miss McFadden?

MISS McF. Yes, if you please.

MAD. P. Complexion, perhaps?

MISS McF. Exactly! My skin feels rather harsh at times.

MAD. P. You need my crowning discovery, the wonderful skin food, followed by Pastilla di Pasta.

MISS McF. I had thought of trying something of the kind. (_MAD. P. showing vase of “food.”_) How much?

MAD. P. Five dollars a jar.

MISS McF. Isn’t that rather expensive?

MAD. P. Excuse me, it is worth twice the money. I ought to charge ten dollars. The materials are very costly, and the secret is invaluable.

MISS McF. I’ll take a jar! (_Gives money._)

MAD. P. (_Smiling._) Anything else?

MISS McF. No, that is, yes, my sister has a wart on her nose, which disfigures her slightly!

MAD. P. That can easily be removed.

MISS McF. Will it leave a scar?

MAD. P. Oh dear, no! I never leave a blemish! In fact I improve on nature in her happiest moods, to such a state of perfection has my art attained.

MISS McF. (_Has been writing in note book._) Will it be a painful operation?

MAD. P. Not at all! My customers actually enjoy the various processes, just as they say men enjoy being shaved and having their heads rubbed.

MISS McF. My sister may come in—(_Loud screams L._) What is that? (_Terrific crash back of flat. SUSAN drops bottle._)

MAD. P. Mercy! What has happened?

DICKIE. (_Jumping up from chair._) There! you’ve spilled some on my hand! (_Struggles free from wraps, throwing them right and left._)

MAD. P. (_Throwing up hands._) Miss Bird! Miss Bird! Do be careful!

DICKIE. It is black as ink. This is disgraceful, Madame Princeton.

MAD. P. Oh dear, Susan! Wash it off quick with the stain remover!

_ENTER MISS TERWILLIGER, L._

MISS T. (_Indignantly._) Madame Princeton, I wont stand this any longer! (_One side of her face covered by a thick plaster the other shockingly red._) My face is on fire.

MAD. P. But, Miss Terwilliger, patience. You will look like a baby when I am done with you.

_ENTER MRS. C. puffing, D. F._

MISS T. I’m burning up. (_Hands to face._)

MRS. C. Throw water on her, she’s afire!

MAD. P. Water, indeed!

MRS. C. She looks like a boiled lobster now! Did you ever see such a face?

MISS McF. But the process is painless?

MAD. P. Quite so, her nerves are unstrung, poor thing. (_MISS McF. writing in note book._) What are you writing there?

MISS McF. Only your address.

MISS T. (_Rubbing face._) Oh, my face! Will it ever look right again?

MAD. P. Don’t rub it!

MISS T. But I can’t help it!

MAD. P. My dear, you will look like a June rose.

DICKIE. And my hand, look at the great horrid black spot. (_Exposes hand._)

MAD. P. It’ll all come off in a month.

DICKIE. A month, did you say! Oh, I can’t endure it that long.

MRS. C. Humph, I’ve been starving that long. Some people make a great fuss about nothing!

DICKIE. But I must go to the charity ball next week!

MAD. P. Mrs. Compton, you have thirty minutes yet. The rings are next.

MRS. C. Oh sugar! Maybe you think I’m a fool! I’m done with your old machine. I smashed it with the Indian clubs.

MAD. P. Smashed the machine! You shall pay for it. Indeed, you shall.

MRS. C. Oh, I’ll pay. And what’s more, I’ll eat if I have to weigh 300 pounds.

MAD. P. That’s what you will weigh.

MRS. C. (_Spiritedly._) Well, I wont get fat to please you. I am not going to eat if I die for it.

DICKIE. Oh, that stain! It’ll never come off I know.

MISS T. Oh, my face!

MRS. C. Oh, my stomach!

MAD. P. (_Emphatically._) Oh, my patience!

MISS McF. Yes, your patients. (_Writes._) Quite an interesting lot.

MAD. P. (_Sternly._) Young woman, what _are_ you writing?

MISS McF. Just a little item. I am a reporter for the “Daily Fudge.”

ALL. A reporter! (_Excitement_, “oh’s” and “dear me’s.”)

DICKIE. My name in the papers! Papa will never forgive me! (_Darts out R., MISS T. darts out L._)

MRS. C. Mr. Compton will be furious. To think! Our names in the paper.

MAD. P. (_Glaring._) Do it if you dare, young woman. She doesn’t dare. I’ll sue the “Fudge” for damages.

MRS. C. (_To MISS McF._) I’m as weak as a cat, or I’d choke you, you horrid thing! Yes I would. (_Glares at MISS McF. who stands coolly writing._) My name in the “Daily Fudge!” And that horrid Anti-fat!

MAD. P. After all ladies like their names in the papers. It wont hurt anything. It advertises business.

TABLEAU.

_R._ _C._ _L._

MISS McF., SUSAN, MRS. C., MAD. P.

QUICK CURTAIN.

A DUDE IN A CYCLONE

A FARCE

BY T. S. DENISON

_Author of_
Odds with the Enemy, Initiating a Granger, Wanted, a Correspondent, A
Family Strike, Seth Greenback, Louva, the Pauper, Hans Von Smash,
Borrowing Trouble, Two Ghosts in White, The Pull-Back, Country Justice,
The Assessor, The Sparkling Cup, Our Country, Irish Linen
Peddler, The School Ma’am, Kansas Immigrants, An Only Daughter,
Too Much of a Good Thing, Under the Laurels, Hard Cider,
The Danger Signal, Wide Enough for Two, Pets of Society,
Is the Editor In? The New Woman, Patsy O’Wang, Rejected,
Only Cold Tea, Madam P’s Beauty Parlors, Topp’s
Twins, A First-Class Hotel, It’s all in the Pay-Streak,
The Cobbler, A Dude in a Cyclone, Friday Dialogues.

_Also the Novels,
The Man Behind, An Iron Crown, etc._

CHICAGO:
T. S. DENISON, PUBLISHER,
163 RANDOLPH STREET.

A DUDE IN A CYCLONE.

COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY T. S. DENISON.

CHARACTERS.

MAJOR TOWNSLEY, Proprietor of hotel.
JIM FUNK, a “wild and wooly” Texan.
SOLOMON ISAACSTEIN, insurance agent and “bromoter.”
ADOLPHUS PUTERBAUGH, from the Manhattan Club, New Yawk.
MRS. TOWNSLEY.
PATTIE BAGGS.
JACK AND TOOTSIE.

_Time of playing, twenty minutes._

NOTE—The only difficult part in this play is that of Sol. Isaacstein. He is a Jew of the extreme type. The best study is that of the typical Jew traveling man who is not native born. Isaacstein’s dialect is of course exaggerated, as all dialect must necessarily be in farce. One useful hint may be given, i. e., try to get an easy swing to it. To pronounce _der_ gombany with nicety of precision spoils the effect entirely. _Der_ is not plain _dare_ in English. It is more indistinct so that the _d_ may be nearly a _t_. The same remarks apply to the dialect of Adolphus.

A DUDE IN A CYCLONE.

SCENE—_Cyclone cellar in Texas. One door R., blank walls, bench
back, all characters discovered, as curtain rises, in state of
confusion, some holding lighted candles; footlights out, stage
dark._

TOWNSLEY. Is everybody in? (_Closing door and barring it._)

MRS. T. Oh John, I’m afraid they’re not all in. Jack are you there, an’ Tootsie?

JACK. I’m O.K. maw, Tootsie, too.

SOL. I. Boot me down O.K. (_O gay_) too. I set my ziglone alarm, greatest invention of the age. Wendt off an hour ago. Macher, I’ll sell you some stock; 50 per zent down, balance—

MRS. T. Where’s Pattie Baggs?

MRS. B. I’m here, Mrs. Townsley. And I’m dyin’ o’ fright. Oh, I wish John was here!

MRS. T. Do you want him here to be blown to fiddle-strings in the cyclone?

MRS. B. But he’s on the cyars and it may blow the train off the track.

SOL. I. Tear laty, regomment him to my ziglone ogsident bolicy!

MRS. B. Oh, I shall faint if you go on that way.

ADOLPH. Deah me, is the stom so vewy violent as that?

JIM F. Well, I should say, Puterbaugh! Last cyclone there was an old goose on a nest under the barn. It blew those goose eggs, would you believe it, right through the brick chimney. Holes in the brickwork looked as if there had been a cannonade.

ADOLPH. Dweadful! I’m sowwy (_sorry_) I evah left New Yawk!

SOL. I. Mine frent, Nye Yorick vas a great blace, but it ish not in it gombared to Dexas.

JIM F. That’s what, Isaacstein. A cyclone’s not bad. It’s a little exciting, but rather enjoyable when you get used to it.

ADOLPH. Weally, you don’t say! It must be vewy twyin’ on the nerves.

MRS. T. Townsley, is the door barred securely?

TOWN. Yes, my dear.

MRS. T. John, put something more against it. (_A pause._) You men lean against it.

TOWN. Let the door alone, can’t you!

MRS. B. Oh my nerves, they’re twitchin’ forty ways for Sunday.

MRS. T. Pattie Baggs, can’t you keep still? This is a serious time.

SOL. I. Mine frent, vat becomes of dot goose?

JIM F. Oh the goose, that was the strangest thing ever heard of. The cyclone blew that barn all to fliggets and scattered it over half the county and it actooally left that old goose settin’ on the same spot with not a feather on her, an’ nary an egg under her.

ADOLPH. Did you evah heah the like?

MRS. T. (_To PATTIE._) Jim Funk couldn’t stop tellin’ stories if old Nick was at the back door; he had ought to be ashamed of himself.

SOL. I. (_Taking out note book to write._) Dot was a stranche (_strange_) phenomenon. I will write dem insurance gombanies to stop wridin’ bolicies on parns oont wride dem on gooses. Der gombany safes monies oont I get a gommission.

JIM F. A capital idea! Why, it blew so hard last time—

MRS. T. (_Petulantly._) Major Townsley, can’t you men stop talkin’. It’s a solemn occasion.

TOWN. Madam, I haven’t said a word.

MRS. T. But Dizzie Jim an’ that Jew—

TOWN. My dear, they are guests of the hotel. I can’t tell ’em what to say. Jim Funk, this is a serious matter.

JIM F. You bet it is, major.

MRS. B. Oh my nerves—is it comin’? (_Bright flash of lightning._)

TOWN. (_Peeps at crack in door._) Dark as Egypt and roarin’ like Tophet.

MRS. B. Oh! oh! I shall smother.

MRS. T. Pattie Baggs, keep quiet. Hollerin’ aint goin’ to stop it. My land, where’s Bridget an’ Susan. (_Looks round._) They aint in; Townsley, do go an’ fetch them.

TOWN. It’s too late now. I guess they have run out the back way and got in Smith’s cellar.

MRS. T. But maybe they haven’t an’ they’ll be killed sure.

MRS. B. Oh goodness! If you talk of killing, you’ll kill me dead, and John—

TOWN. (_Severely._) Mrs. Townsley, who is talking now?

MRS. T. But you don’t do anything. You just stand there as unconcerned.

TOWN. What can I do?

MRS. T. I wish I was a man.

ADOLPH. This is puffickly dwedful!

SOL. I. If you blease, macher, a little petter light. (_Getting closer to candle._) I wrides dem ogsident gombanies to put a goupon on der bolicy, “Not good unless der barty vas in der zellar.” Dem gombanies safes monies oont I get a gommission.

MRS. T. (_Suddenly._) Where’s Tootsie?

TOOTSIE. I’m here all right, maw.

JACK T. Yes, I fetched her, you bet. (_JACK goes to door to peep out. Lightning and fierce crash of thunder. MRS. T. and MRS. B. scream in concert. ADOLPH starts and stumbles, falling, drops candle._)

JIM F. Hello there, Puterbaugh. (_Helps him up._) Lightning strike you?

ADOLPH. Weally I cawn’t say. I feel so shook up. (_Feels his arms._)

JIM F. You’re all right. That ain’t a marker to what we’ll get. Why, last cyclone the lightning fell in great balls, as big as your head, that danced round the ground among the hailstones and melted away slowly—them that didn’t explode. (_Lightning and another crash of thunder._) I saw a chunk of it in the chimley corner next day.

ADOLPH. (_Jumping._) Weally, I cawn’t stand that, don’t you know. I wish I’d nevah left New Yawk.

SOL. I. Mine frent, you was nerfous. Haf you an ogsident bolicy? I’ll write you up. You vas a goot risk, seein’ you was in der zellar.

ADOLPH. Weally, my fwend, you aw impawtunate. I have me insurance, don’t you know, always cawy it same as me cane.

SOL. I. Dot Nye Yorick insurance vas no goot in Dexas. It hasn’t got der ziglone goupon.

JACK. (_Going to door._) Oh Tootsie, come an’ look. It’s just splendid. Black as ink, an’ way off yellow as can be. (_TOOTSIE runs to door._)

TOOTSIE. Aint that just tip top?

MRS. T. (_Severely._) Major Townsley, do you see those children?

TOWN. My dear, I see them.

MRS. T. Do you want them killed?

TOWN. Fiddlesticks! Keep still, can’t you.

MRS. T. Send them away from that door—if anything happens!

TOWN. (_Goes to door._) Go, my dears, back to the far corner! (_Looks out._) Something will happen! It’s a grand sight! It’s coming like a race-horse!

MRS. B. Oh, Major Townsley, do you want to frighten us all to death!

MRS. T. (_Sarcastically._) It’s no use trying to keep men still.

JIM F. I hope it wont blow this cyclone cellar out of root. (_Fearful hissing of wind with lightning._)

ADOLPH. Gwacious! do you think it’ll do that?

JIM F. No tellin’! Last cyclone—

MRS. T. (_Severely._) Jim Funk, can’t you keep still?

JIM F. Why yes, if it is the wish of the company. (_Sits on bench back._)

ADOLPH. _I cawn’t_ keep still, I say now!

SOL. I. Dot gomes from hafin no insurance! Bedder dake a ziglone bolicy. Dot helps der nerfs bedder.

ADOLPH. (_Scornfully._) Go away, fellah, weally you annoy me. I’m used to pwivacy.

SOL. I. (_Puts up note book._) Zome beoples always stands in der vay of der own lidght. (_Taking out book suddenly._) Say, lantlort! (_No reply._) Macher Downsley, dis zellar vas boorly lidghted, vy ton’t you but in elegdrick lidghts? (_Increased roaring of wind._) He toesn’t hear. (_Goes to T. who is near door, speaks very loud in his ear._) Macher Downsley!

TOWN. What are you yelling about?

SOL. I. I’ll dake a gondract to lidght dis zellar from basement to addig mit elegdrick lidghts. (_Aside._) I can get a small gommission from der gompany. (_Clap of thunder._) He gan’t hear. It vas a drifle noisy for peesness.

TOWN. Isaacstein, you had better sit down. (I. _sits on bench back._)

MRS. T. Townsley, how does it look outside?

TOWN. Roaring like all the fiends. The roof of the hotel will go in a minute. There goes the chimneys now!

JACK. (_Runs to door._) Oh paw, let me see!

TOOTSIE. An’ me, too! (_Going._)

JACK. Go back, Tootsie! (_Pushes her away._) It aint fur girls.

TOOTSIE. (_Pushing._) Paw, Jack’s pushin’ me.

MRS. T. (_Severely._) Come here, both of you. Major Townsley, do you see those children? And at such a time! Humph, you aint fit to be the father of a family! No more government than a cat—(_clap of thunder._) Oh! oh!

MRS. B. Save me! save me!

MRS. T. I guess ye aint gone yet.

TOWN. (_To children._) Run back dears, to the far corner. (_They go L., holding hands._)

TOOTSIE. Jack, I’m afraid.

JACK. Don’t be skart, Tootsie. Paw an’ me’s here.

ADOLPH. (_Who will not sit down, suddenly._) Oh, I say, majah, say, don’t you know! (_Goes to TOWN._) He cawn’t heah. Majah!

TOWN. Speak louder!

ADOLPH. (_Shouting in T.’S ear_) Me twunk!

TOWN. (_Gruffly._) What’s the matter now?

ADOLPH. I fohgot me twunk, don’t you know.

TOWN. Trunk! What on earth do you want with your trunk?

ADOLPH. It contains all me linen and things. Let me out! I must have it! (_Looks at watch._) It’s the houah to change me tie.

TOWN. (_Restraining him._) Mr. Puterbaugh, you can’t go out in that storm. Hear the roaring. (_Groaning of the wind loudly._)

ADOLPH. But I change me linen twice a day, don’t you know.

JIM F. (_Jumping up._) I’ll loan you a shirt!

ADOLPH. Thanks awfully, but I nevah weah flannel, besides what would you do, I say now?

JIM F. Do you think I have only _one_ shirt!

SOL. I. (_Jumping up._) Mine frent, my vardrobe vas limited, but it is at your disbosal.

ADOLPH. Thanks, awfully, but I cawn’t weah percale, it’s two dweadful! (_To TOWN._) Don’t you think I could dwag me twunk into this cave? (_At door._)

TOWN. (_Pushing him away._) Why, you lunatic! you wouldn’t risk your life for a trunk would you?

ADOLPH. (_Hopping round._) I’m dwedfully nervous! I haven’t been so excited since the day I thweatened to cane Gawge Bowkah in the Manhattan Club. Insulted me, the cad! They had to westwain me, and all that. Adolphus Putehbaugh was the hero of the houah. Got hauled up befoah the diwectahs and all that. Made me a weputation as a dangewous man, don’t you know—(_Clap of thunder._) Gwacious! that’s comin’ it stwong!

SOL. I. (_Rushes forward._) Mine frent, vil you dake dot bolicy now? No dime like der bresent. Telay is tangerous. I tell you vot I’ll do. (_Whispers in his ear._) Half der gommission! (_Begins writing._) Gristian name Adolphus—Age?

TOWN. (_At door._) There goes the roof! (_All jump up._)

MRS. B. Land sakes, I’m goin’, too!

MRS. T. (_Jerking her back on seat._) No you aint! Patty Baggs, don’t be a fool.

MRS. B. Oh, if John were only here!

SOL. I. My tear laty, in dis case distance vas der pest bolicy—exzepting always der ziglone bolicy.

MRS. T. If the roof is gone how will we manage for dinner, I’d like to know?

TOWN. (_Snorting._) Dinner! That’s like a woman.

MRS. T. Yes, and it’s like a man to say nothing till he’s hungry as a wolf, and then he expects it in two minutes.

JIM F. Never mind, Mrs. Townsley, we’ll get along somehow.

MRS. T. Humph! There aint a man in the county that has a better appetite than you have.

JACK. Maw al’ays said ’at Dizzy Jim was a dandy to eat!

TOWN. Boy, keep still there.

SOL. I. (_Peering out._) Macher Downsley, dot roof was gone sure enough. Say, I’ll dake a gondragt to repuild dot hotel on a scale of magnifizence suitable to dis greadt state of Dexas.

TOWN. You a contractor, too? I thought your line was insurance.

SOL. I. Haf you not my gardt alretty? (_Gets card._) Read dot gardt. “Solomon Isaacstein, Bromoter.” I bromotes eferyding from ziglone bolicies to hodels oont shtock gombanies. Wherefer dere was gommissions dere was Isaacstein retty for peesness.

TOWN. Wait till we find out the damages.

SOL. I. Mine frent, der bresent is der only dime. Der bast was brotested oont der future disgounted. I’ll figger on dot gondragt now oont have an esdimate ven der ziglone subsites. (_ADOLPH drops his candle._) Dem gandles vasn’t equal to such an occasion as der bresent. Macher, haf you consiteret dot broposition for elegdrick lights in dis ziglone zellar? (_Tremendous flash and splitting thunder._)

ADOLPH. (_Who was nervously trying to light his candle drops it panic stricken._) I say now this is gettin’ to be a beastly boah.

SOL. I. Frent Puterbaugh, allow me. (_Lights match._) You vas standin’ in your own lighdt, my tear sir.

ADOLPH. I should say that I’m standing in me own dark. (_Laughs._) Aw, wathaw good joke that, best I’ve made since I left New Yawk. You cawn’t make a good joke in this blawsted country. Climate so vewy depwessing. We’re an awfully witty lot of chaps in the Manhattan Club.

JIM F. (_At door._) How is it outside, major? (_JIM and T. look out intently._)

SOL. I. (_Lighting A.’S candle after some trouble._) Der glimate vas hart on matches in Dexas. Mine frent, a goot shoke is ter best donic for te nerfs excebt a ziglone bolicy—

ADOLPH. I say now Mistah—ah, I cawn’t quite wecall youah name.

SOL. I. Solomon Isaacstein, Bromoter, Nye Yorick oont San Franzisco. (_Confidentially._) Let me make a broposition, der macher vas a little slow.

ADOLPH. He keeps a beastly place heah, don’t you know.

SOL. I. (_Enthusiastically with the Jew gestures of the comic papers._) Ogzactly, ogzactly, but petter oxpressed dan I could oxpress it. Dis blace vas not up mit der dimes even for Dexas. It needs elegdrick lights (_suddenly struck by idea_) oont, py chorge, (_slaps A.’S shoulder till latter staggers_) vat you say to pilliarts in dis zellar?

ADOLPH. By Jove! Good idea, don’t you know.

SOL. I. Sugchest it to Macher Downsley. My prudder Abe Isaacstein makes pilliart dables. He gives a tiscount of dwenty per zent to der drade, put I makes Abe gif me sefenty-fife per zent. I’ll tifide dot gommission. (_Crash of thunder, lightning._) Himmel, vat a noise.

MRS. B. I know we’ll all be killed.

MRS. T. Pattie Baggs, are you hankering to be killed?

MRS. B. Oh Mrs. Townsley, how can you talk so?

MRS. T. Keep still, then. (_Aside._) That poor dude’s nearly scared to death already.

JIM F. (_At door._) There she goes.

MRS. T. The hotel?

JIM F. No, the stable. (_Enthusiastically._) Look at that!

CHORUS. What is it?

JACK. (_Runs._) Lemme see.

TOWN. Sit down, will you, boy.

JIM F. Aint that great! Aint it?

MRS. B. Do tell us, Jim. (_Pause._)

JIM F. Why, that old brindle mule. When the stable went it riled him so he’s got his grit up an’, dumme, if he aint just kickin’ the cyclone to strings right an’ left; he’s splittin’ it wide open.

ADOLPH. Gwacious me!

JIM F. But it’ll git the better of ’im, I ’low. He’s gittin old an’ short-winded an’ that cyclone holds a full hand. There goes a cabin. Look at it, major. Why, I’ll be shot if there aint three coon skins nailed on the door an’ a nigger smokin’ a pipe, as cool as patent ice.

ADOLPH. Gwacious, my twunk!

SOL. I. Oont no inzurance? No? I’ll write an emerchency bolicy for fifty per zent extra.

TOWN. Jim, you’ve a good eye to see coon skins in that light.

JIM F. (_Looks again._) Hanged, if I wasn’t mistaken. It’s fox skins. Might a knowed that by the rings on the tails. Old Brindle’s knocked out! No, he isn’t. He’s taken a hitch round an apple tree with his tail. There goes the tree, roots an’ all, an’ the mule holdin’ on by his tail. The cabin’s out o’ sight now.

MRS. B. Mercy me, Jim, d’ye see any cyars? John’s in the cyars.

JIM F. No, Mrs. Baggs, I don’t see no cyars, but if there doesn’t go half a mile o’ track sailin’ along over the tree tops.

MRS. B. Mercy on us! I’ll bet the cyars is wrecked an’ John’s hurt. Oh Jim—

JIM. Don’t be skeared, mom! The cyars didn’t get into the cyclone, only the locomotive. It’s still runnin’ nateral as life. The fireman’s heavin’ in coal.

ADOLPH. I weally cawn’t get back to New Yawk without me twunk.

SOL. I. Ton’t co pack py Nye Yorick yet, mine frent. You haf not seen half ter peauties of dis great gountry alretty.

JIM. T. There it’s about over now. Major Townsley, I’ll bet three to one that old mule doesn’t get back inside three days. It took him two days last time an’ he’s gittin’ old an’ stiff. (_Gets lighter._)

SOL. I. (_To ADOLPH._) Mine frent, dot was a coot pet. We’ll make up a little zindigate oont dry it. Jim, I dakes ten tollars vort of dot pet, hants town. (_Gets daylight again._)

MRS. T. Townsley, is the hotel gone?

TOWN. (_Unbarring door._) No, only the roof and the chimneys. Jim has been exaggerating slightly.

SOL. I. I suspected oxacheration. I’ve pin dere pefore. (_Struck with idea._) Py cracious, I’ll ket up an oxacheration bolicy for dis gountry. It would be a vortune broperly hantled. (_T. opens door._)

MRS. T. (_Going toward door._) Roof gone and dinner ruined.

ADOLPH. And my twunk gone to the bow wows, an’ it’s half an howah pawst the time to change me linen. (_All going R., SOL. last, making notes._)

SOL. I. (_Calls._) Mr. Bewterpaugh! Mr. Bewterpaugh! (_OVERTAKES A._) I’ll find dot drunk for a slighdt atvance, cash town.

QUICK CURTAIN.

It’s All in the Pay-Streak

A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS

BY T. S. DENISON

_Author of_
Odds with the Enemy, Initiating a Granger, Wanted, a Correspondent, A
Family Strike, Seth Greenback, Louva, the Pauper, Hans Von Smash,
Borrowing Trouble, Two Ghosts in White, The Pull-Back, Country Justice,
The Assessor, The Sparkling Cup, Our Country, Irish Linen
Peddler, The School Ma’am, Kansas Immigrants, An Only Daughter,
Too Much of a Good Thing, Under the Laurels, Hard Cider,
The Danger Signal, Wide Enough for Two, Pets of Society,
Is the Editor In? The New Woman, Patsy O’Wang, Rejected,
Only Cold Tea, Madam P’s Beauty Parlors, Topp’s
Twins, A First-Class Hotel, It’s all in the Pay-Streak,
The Cobbler, A Dude in a Cyclone, Friday Dialogues.

_Also the Novels,
The Man Behind, An Iron Crown, etc._

CHICAGO:
T. S. DENISON, PUBLISHER,
163 RANDOLPH STREET.

IT’S ALL IN THE PAY STREAK.

COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY T. S. DENISON.

CHARACTERS.

JOHN LAWTON.
FLOSSIE, his young daughter.
HERBERT, his son, an outcast.
HARVEY VANCE, Flossie’s accepted lover.
JIM ROGERS, alias “Pay Streak,” a rustler.
MOLLIE BAKER, alias “The Rocky Mountain Grouse.”
RACHEL, old family servant of Lawton’s.

_Time of playing, one hour, forty minutes._

PROPERTIES.

Ring for Florence, money, architect’s plan, two pistols, dishes, towels, skillet, stove for cabin, gun, card tray, card, oranges in basket, two cots, blankets, newspaper, cartridge belt.

COSTUMES.

The costumes of this play are all “of the day” except the make-up of ROGERS and VANCE in the mountains, Act II. These are: Brown coarse overalls and blouse or roundabout. (Blue will answer, but is not right.) Cartridge belt when worn is heavy and full of cartridges; slouch hats, black or white, to taste; very heavy boots (not shoes), very dusty; overalls may be in boot tops or not; for variety, one each way will do. VANCE may have very long whiskers or stubble. PAY STREAK is more juvenile and may be shaven. Face very brown. Clothing greasy and smeared with clay.

HINTS ON PRESENTATION.

This play has been written from mining life and hotel life as the author has actually found it, except that miners employ a very energetic and picturesque profanity which can not be reproduced in a play. One caution is necessary in the characters of “Pay Streak” and the “Rocky Mountain Grouse.” The man is not a _clown_ and the girl is not _coarse_. Miners are serious people, and however ludicrous their conversation and actions may appear to outsiders, to themselves it is earnestness. A man who will stand up and die in defense of his claim must be an earnest man. The other characters need no special elucidation. Great care must be taken, in the duel scene, to use blank cartridges. Any mistake here may prove real tragedy.

BILL OF THE PLAY.