Three short plays

Contents

Page

An Ancient Dance i

The Wearin' o' the Green 139

ACT I Characters in the Order in which they Appear

A Carpenter

Mrs. John Hitchcock

Dr. John Hitchcock, a retired physician

Dick Harding

Dorothy Pierce

Tom Washburn

Edith LeClere [Mrs. Franklin LeClere]

Franklin ["Bunny"] LeClere

Time: the present, a summer evening. Scene: living-room of the Hitchcock residence at Bournemouth, Long Island.

[Curtain rises, discovering the Hitchcock living-room. Back at c. a very wide doorway opening on a terrace, through this a glimpse of a garden in late afternoon light. Doors in side-walls R. u. and l. u. Mantelpiece in middle of wall R. Directly opposite in middle of wall L. wide and deep bay-window. Room handsomely decorated and furnished in English style, Jacobean period, modified and adapted to an American country-house; dark-panelled walls with built-in book-shelves, substantial stuffed chairs, heavy writingtable in bay-window and number of smaller tables, bright-colored chintz hangings and slip-covers. R. at right-angles to mantelpiece and facing audience a large davenport-lounge. R. D. at other side of mantel, nearer to audience an old-fashioned phonograph with ^^ morning-glory''^ trumpet; in corner by it one of the common golden-oak cabinets for holding the cylindrical wax records which were used with that style of talking-machine. L. u. between door and bay-window a tall, four-fold screen of dark stamped and gilded leather; L. D. against wall at the side of bay-window nearer the audience a high carved and panelled black oak cabinet with doors, drawers, etc. Everything in some confusion, groups of chairs pushed together here and there as if to get them, out of the way, rugs taken up and piled on the davenport; the glass doors belonging to opening at centre-back, taken off their hinges and leaned slanting against the wall at side of the opening; a clean pine plank lying on the floor in front of the fireplace with one end propped on the fender; a workman s coat and dingy soft hat hung on a chair-back; box of carpenter s tools on floor d. c. At rise of curtain a sound of hammering off-stage, which continues for several seconds.] [Noise of hammering ceases. Enter Carpenter through terrace-doors c. Comes down R. business of stooping down and measuring plank with foot-rule ; straightens up, folding rule and sticking it in hip-pocket; considers plank, scratching his head. Finally lifts it and carries it outside to terrace. After a second, sound of sawing commences vigorously.]

[Enter hurriedly L. u. Jackson in butler s livery-waistcoat and black trousers but with alpaca coat and straw hat, carrying package. Crosses to D. R. and in full view of audience unwraps a revolver and two boxes of shells; stands looking about for an instant, evidently at some loss where to put the things, at last lays them on mantel-shelf. During this, sound of sawing ceases and is followed immediately by sound of hammering. A pause of a second or two. Jackson going R. u.]

Carpenter. [Appears in opening c. Calls.] Say!

Jack. [Halts at door r. u. Turns.] What?

Carp. [Enters room.] Ask the lady to come here a minute, will you.? So's she can see if it's fixed to suit her, you know.

Jack. Oh, are you through?

Carp. Uh-huh. [Comes d. c. Looks at watch in pocket of waistcoat hanging on back of chair.] It's six o'clock anyhow. I guess that's a day.

Jack. All right. [Exit r. u.]

[Carpenter business of assembling his tools and placing them in tool-box, assumes coat and waistcoat, whistling softly to himself, puts on hat, lifts tool-box to shoulder.]

[Enter R. u. Mrs. Hitchcock in evening-dress.]

Mrs. H. Oh — ah — you're the carpenter? You wanted to see me?

Carp. Yes, ma'am. I'm done.

Mrs. H. [Goes c] Yes, Jackson said you were. [Steps outside of door, stands facing audience, steps backward, looking up.] Oh, that's very nice! That's just what I wanted! The lattice all around the doorway just that way — I knew it would be pretty! [Re-enters,

4 THREElSHORT PLAY§

coming down c] Tell your — ah — your boss — isn^t that what you call him? — tell him Mrs. Hitchcock is very much pleased. Fm Mrs. Hitchcock, you know. Tell him I say that it's a very nice — ah — job.

Carp. Yes, ma'am. [Going r. u.] Was there anything else, ma'am?

Mrs. H. No, that's all. Oh, the other door, please — that way — [Points L. u.] — Good-day — er — !

[Exit Carpenter l. u. As he goes out, voices heard indistinctly off R. Mrs. H. at c. looks around room, makes a gesture at seeing its disorder, stoops and picks up a shaving. Enter noisily, talking R. u. Dr. Hitchcock, followed by Harding.]

Dr. H. Ah, Martha, are you there? Look who I've got hold of! [Loud, jolly, slapping Harding on the shoulder as he drags him forward.] He didn't want to come but I made him!

Mrs. H. Mr. Harding! Why, how nice! [Advances to meet him, hand outstretched.] I didn't even know that you were in this part of the globe!

Hard. [Hat, cane, light overcoat all over one hand and arm, sets down suitcase with the other hand, smiling, apologetic] Mrs. Hitchcock! I'm afraid this isn't the most convenient of surprises —

[Business of shaking hands.]

Mrs. H. Did the doctor say you actually didn't want to come here? How very ungallant!

Hard. Well, you see me ? [Displays himself humorously,] I'm just this minute off the train —

Dr. H. [Interrupts.] Ran into him at the hotel. "Good Lord, Dick Harding! I haven't seen you for a coon's age! Where did you drop from?" says I. "Timbuctoo!" says he —

Mrs. H. [Interrupts.] Timhuctoo?

Dr. H. Well, some place off the map — it's no matter where. He's just been round the world, you know — [Interrupts himself.] — and by the way, that being the case, why not offer him a chair? [Bustles around.] What's the matter with this room ? — Oh yes, I remember! Never mind the muss, Richard, just sit down anywhere, and make yourself comfortable! [To Mrs. H.] Where's Jackson? Ring for Jackson! [To Hard.] I'll have somebody take your things up, and get a room ready — here, give me your bag! [Seizes the suitcase.]

Hard. [Protesting.] Really, Dr. Hitchcock — I — really —

Dr. H. [Shouting him down.] Now, now, now! Don't say a word! Don't open your mouth! You're our guest, that's all there is to it! Jackson! [Triumphantly gathers up Harding's overcoat^ hat, etc., and exit r. u. shouting.] Jackson!

[Mrs. H., l. c. Hard, follows Dr. H., r. u. a step or two, business of expostulating, returns, faces Mrs. H. with gesture of comic defeat.]

Hard. I'm saddled on you in spite of myself.

Mrs. H. [Warmly.] Now, my dear boy, as if you could be unwelcome in our house! As if we hadn't known you since you were a baby and your father and mother before you! And when you've been away so long, too!

Hard. Oh no, just a year.

Mrs. H. [Apostrophizes the air.] Just a year! He talks as if it were nothing! [To Hard.] When you get to my age, young gentleman, you'll realize that a year is — wdl? it's twelve irrecoverable months out of one's life! Now you must sit down and tell me something about it. [Looks around.] Dear me, did you ever see such a dishevelled-looking place? We're going to have some amateur theatricals — you know what that means! If you'll just tumble those rugs off of the lounge — ?

[Hard, obeys. Mrs. H. subsides on the lounge with a sigh\ Thanks! \Looks up at him, smiling and patting the seat of the lounge beside her invitingly.] Now! I'm sure you must be tired out, if you've only just got back.

Hard. [Sits. Amused.] From my round-the-world trip.f^ Well, not exactly. I landed in dear old Hoboken a week ago.

Mrs. H. It must be scorching hot in the city just now. Deliver me from New York in summer!

Hard. Oh yes, and nothing much doing, you know. I thought I'd run down here to Bournemouth for a few days — only I had no idea of trespassing on you. I fell in with Dr. Hitchcock the first thing at the hotel —

[Enter Dr. H. at R. u. cautiously carrying a tray with bottles of whiskey, seltzer, etc.]

Mrs. H. [Interrupts Hard, amused.] And he pounced on you at once, and took you prisoner! You're a perfect boon to him. A doctor who has been as busy as my husband all his life is lost when he retires from practice. We try to keep the house filled up with young people, and of course there is always more or less going on among the summer colony here, but still — [Breaks off with a gesture.]

Dr. H. [Loud voice from behind them at which they both jump.] But still the truth is, my son, I'd be overjoyed to see an enemy, let alone a friend ! Hey .? Ha-ha 1

[Loud laugh. Comes down c. with tray. Hard, rises, laughing.]

Mrs. H. [Shocked and reproachful.] John! He'll think you're in earnest!

Dr. H. [Winks at Hard.] My dear, I am! Hey, Dick.? Ha-ha! [Same business, laugh. Still looking at Hard, and laughing, business of beginning to set the tray down, evidently expecting to find a table immediately before him. Just as he is about to let go of it, an exclamation from Hard.]

Hard. [Movement.] Look out, doctor! Er — pardon me

Dr. H. [Startled, looks down, stops himself just in time.] Eh.? What the mischief.? Where's the table.? Martha, what's become of the table.? Confound Jackson, what's he done with — oh yes, I remember! Never mind, Dick, everything in the house is upside down — occasionally we even mislay our heads in the excitement. Just slide those things ofF of that chair — .? [Hard, obeys.]

Mrs. H. [Expostulating.] John dear, you'll have everything in a worse confusion than ever. Why didn't you have Jackson bring that?

Dr. H. Jackson's busy. [Sets down tray on seat of chair which Hard, brings forward.] There, help yourself, Richard! [To Mrs. H.] He's setting the table or doing something or other for this dinner this evening.

[Hard, business of mixing a high-ball.]

Mrs. H. Oh yes, to be sure! I told him it would be a little earlier than usual. [To Hard, as he offers her a tumbler.] No, thank you.

Hard. [Glass in hand.] A dinner? Now are you sure I won't throw your table out ?

Dr. H. [Business of helping himself to the seltzer. Interrupts violently.] Not in the least, I tell you! It's not a dinner^ in fact, at all! It's merely something to eat! [Moves about hunting for a chair.] For these young people that are coming here to rehearse, you understand. [Sits L. c] They aren't of the slightest importance! [Drinks.]

Mrs. H. John! [To Hard, with gesture of mock despair.] You know his habit of saying the most awful things !

Dr. H. [Winks at Hard.] Mean 'em, too! [Glances teasingly at Mrs. H. Chuckles. To Hard, in loud, jolly command.] Sit down! You're going to j^ay, that's settled !

Hard. [Amused. Sits on lounge. To Mrs. H.] You say you're going to have some amateur dramatics — ?

Mrs. H. Yes. Some of the people who have summerhomes here like ourselves, the Washburns and Pierces, you know, and some of their guests — they all have house-parties, of course — are getting it up. The object is to raise funds for the Bournemouth Village Improvement Society —

Dr. H. [Interrupts.] Not at all, Dick! The object is to ruin our lawn! They're going to give it here outside on our terrace to-morrow evening. [Gesture towards terrace-doors.] Audience sits on the grass unless it rains in which case they postpone dying of rheumatism and pneumonia until the next moonlight night.

Mrs. H. Don't pay any attention to him, Mr. Harding, he's only too pleased to have them. [Enthusiastic] It's really going to be charming! And hardly any expense at all — everybody giving their services, of course — and no scenery required. I just had the carpenter put up a little lattice-work around the doors there — [Gesture] — I know you'll love it when you see them rehearse this evening! You dance so beautifully yourself.

Hard. [Smiling. Deprecating.] Well, I've been out of all that sort of thing for a year, you must remember. Every dance I used to know must be a back-number now. Is this entertainment to be all dancing?

Mrs. H. No, not altogether. It's — er — [Hesitates.]

Dr. H. [Intervening.] It's a hodge-podge — whatd'ye-call-'em .? Variety-show?

Hard. Oh, vaudeville!

Mrs. H. But this particular performance, the one they're rehearsing here is a — er — a sort of pantomime — a story acted out in the dancing, you know — ?

Hard. Oh yes, like those things the Russian Ballet do.

Mrs. H. [Hastily.] Oh no! That is — well, I — [Reluctantly.] — I suppose it is a little like that — just a little — but nothing quite so — er — [Pauses.]

Hard. [Polite, trying to help her out.] I see. Not quite so — er — [Pauses.]

Dr. H. [Satiric gravity.] Oh, of course, not quite so — er — [Pauses.]

Mrs. H. [Glances severely at Dr. H.] Not quite so extreme, naturally.

Dr. H. [Solemn.] Certainly not. [Suddenly taken with a fit of chuckling which ends in coughing and choking.] Ho-ho! He-he-he — [Coughs] — Ungh! Errunghl [To others as they make a movement of concern.] Never mind — trrungh! Swallowed wrong! Errungh — rungh — rungh!

[Enter Jack. r. u. in butler s full-dress. He advances deferentially, trying to attract Mrs. Hitchcock's attention.]

Mrs. H. [To Hard.] The girls and men are all to be in Pierrot and Pierrette costumes, white with big black pom-poms — so pretty! They're going to put them on for the rehearsal to-night. [Sees Jack.] What is it.?

Jack. If you please, madame — ?

[Mrs. H. rises and goes R. u. with him, stands at door, business of listening to him and giving directions.]

[During above Dr. H. recovering from cough, winks at Hard, and beckons him over with an air of burlesque caution. Both at c]

Dr. H. [To Hard, slightly lowered voice.] The fact is, Richard, this pantomime business has a — what you might call a warm plot! The eternal triangle — hey.? You know — .? [Prods Hard, in the ribs with a knowing glance \ Hey.? Understand me? Ha-ha-ha! [Same business. Chuckles.]

Hard. [Retreats, rubbing his side.] The triangle? [Retreats again, speaking hastily with a wary eye on Dr. H. as the latter makes a motion to prod him again.] Oh yes, I understand. Same old thing, eh? Husband, wife, wife's lover?

Dr. H. Just so! Finally the husband — [Same business.] — eh ?

Hard. [Same business.] Finally the husband gets wise — ?

Dr. H. Just so! Whereupon he very properly hunts up a pistol and kills the lady! Oh, it's quite dramatic, I assure you!

Hard. I daresay! But isn't it rather a queer selection for an entertainment such as this — ?

AN ANCIENT DANCE ii

Dr. H. [Interrupts.] Exactly what I thought and said! But they all stood me down that if you want to attract people nowadays, you've got to have what they call pep! Pep! It means high seasoning, you understand, Dick.

[Mrs. H. business of dismissing Jack. Comes down c]

Hard. [Answering Dr. H.] Yes. Tve — er — I've heard that phrase before —

Dr. H. [Sees Mrs. H. advancing^ interrupts Hard. in a loud, unnaturally casual manner^ The name of it is "An Ancient Dance" — the title of the music they use. It's a piece by some old-time composer. [To Mrs. H.] Who was it that wrote the music, my dear?

Mrs. H. Bach, I think. [Sits r. on lounge.] Very likely the record is on the machine now, if you want to find out. [Indicates phonograph.] Unless Jackson put it back in the cabinet. [To Hard.] Jackson is our orchestra. He's become very expert at running the thing.

[Hard, sits r. on lounge as before beside Mrs. H.]

Dr. H. [To Hard.] They begin — [Sings the air] — Tee-de-lee-deedle-tee-tee ! Tee-doodle-doodle-doo !

[Flourishes his arms in ballet fashion, taking steps on the points of his toes, holds out skirts of coat with finger-tips. Pauses, out of breath.] Something like that, very light and gay. Then the other part comes — [Stands still, holding his hands over an imaginary key-board, and moving fingers in imitation of a pianist] — music rapid and soft, like this — [Sings air] — Teedle-leedle — teedle-leedle-teedle-leedle-leedle-leedle! And it's in the middle of that part that LeClere lets go with his shooting-iron — BANG! — and bowls her over.

[During above the others have business of looking on in open amusement. They begin to applaud, but at mention of LeClere, Hard, breaks off abruptly. Changes position.]

Mrs. H. [Indulgent laughter, clapping hands gently. \ Bravo, John! You're as good as any of them! [To Hard.] Isnt he good, though ?

Hard. [Shifts position again. Speaks with perfunctory enthusiasm.] Fine! Great! [Pauses for a second.] Er — did you say LeClere?

Dr. H. [Sits L. c. out of breath, a little tired, wipes forehead, fans himself zvith a newspaper, etc.] Phew! It's hotter than I thought! Hey.? LeClere.? Yes, he takes the part of the jealous husband. You know him, don't you? It's the one they call "Bunny." Good-looking fellow without any sense.

Mrs. H. [Admonishing.] John!

Hard. [Rises and stands by mantel, resting elbow on it, face slightly averted.] Oh yes, I know Bunny LeClere.

Dr. H. [To Mrs. H.] Can't help it, Martha, the poor fellow hasn't any sense. [To Hard.] If you know him, you'll agree that that's putting it mildly!

Hard. [Same attitude.] Oh, that's rather severe, isn't it, doctor.? I — I always thought Bunny was a very good sort.

Dr. H. Oh, I didn't mean that he wasn't all right everywhere except here — [Taps his forehead.] I must say — [Wags head with a grimace.]

Hard. [At mantelpiece, palpable effort to speak naturally.] I — I shouldn't wonder if I knew some of the others — ?

Dr. H. Oh yes, all of 'em! There's Tom Washburn and the little Pierce girl and Clifford Patton —

Mrs. H. [Interrupts.] But he can't get here this evening. Jackson just told me Mr. Patton had telephoned over not to expect him — some business or something. [To Hard.] So there's his place at table all ready for you, and you needn't have any more scruples about — [Halts a little abruptly, looks steadily at him.]

Hard. [Perfunctory.] You are so kind. [To Dr. H.] You were saying — ?

Dr. H. [Frowns.] I was trying to think who the other one is — there's somebody else — Oh yes, of course! Mrs. LeClere — Mrs. " Bunny" ! She plays the coquettish wife. You know her.

[Mrs. H. glances apprehensively at Hard. Rises and moves to the side of Dr. H.'s chair, with assumption of carelessness.]

Hard. [Same manner and attitude.] Why, yes — I — oh yes —

Dr. H. She was Edith Richardson, you know. Married LeClere here about a year ago, wasn't it? [Jerks head aside.] What is it, Martha? What are you trying to fix? [Feels all around his collar, annoyed.]

Mrs. H. [Quickly.] Your cravat's worked loose. [Puts her hand on his shoulder and glances significantly towards Hard.]

Dr. H. [Not noticing the dumb-show.] Oh! [Business of adjusting cravat. To Hard.] I forget whether that LeClere wedding was just before or just after you went away — it was about that time anyhow — [Testily, jerking away.] Martha, my dear! You don't know how that tickles!

Mrs. H. [Shrugs helplessly. Moves away from him.] Oh well! [Glances at Hard. Hastily.] Er — ah — isn't it lovely weather just now?

Dr. H. [To Hard.] Mrs. LeClere is a beautiful dancer — beautiful — !

Mrs. H. [Interrupts desperately.] Lovely weather! I hope it will be as nice as this to-morrow evening —

Dr. H. [Continues to Hard.] Seems to me I remember now seeing you do some kind of fancy dancing with her, didn't you once ?

Hard. [At mantel, running his fingers mechanically along the shelf, face averted.] Yes. I've danced with her.

[Sky outside beginning to darken from this point on.]

Dr. H. Looking for matches, Dick.? Want to smoke? [Jumps up briskly, crossing R. as he speaks.] There ought to be some there, right under your hand. The place is so upset, though — [Business of feeling for matches.] Ah, here's a box of 'em. [Exclamation.] Hello, Jackson's got the revolver! I told him to go down to the village and see if he could beg, borrow or steal one for us to use in the pantomime. [Takes up revolver, handling it gingerly.]

Mrs. H. [Nervously.] Do be careful, John!

Dr. H. My dear, I don't intend to experiment with it — I'm not one of these didn't know-it-was-loaded fools. [To Hard.] You know how to handle the things, without doubt?

Hard. [Rouses himself with some effort.] Eh ? Oh — why — this way. [Takes revolver and demonstrates.] It's empty now. Here's where the shells go. Then you close it up so — see ? And if you want to kill somebody — [Forces a light tone.] — you do like this. [Shows action of trigger.]

Mrs. H. [Starts and exclaims nervously as weapon clicks.] Oh please! It might go off!

Dr. H. Tst, tst, Martha, don't be foolish! There's nothing for it to go off with just now. [Takes revolver from Hard. Adjusts eyeglass, examining it. Looks up and around. To Mrs. H.] Turn on the Hghts, if you please, my dear, I can't see a thing. [To Hard.] Jackson was to get some blank cartridges — shells — whatever you call 'em. See if there are any there, Dick, will you.?

[Enter Jack. r. u. with arms full of large pasteboard boxes. Mrs. H. business of going about the room, ttirning on electric-lights in lamps, sconces, etc. Pressing button inside doors turns on porch-light illuminating terrace. At u. c. encounters Jack. Business of talking to him. Complete darkness outside. Room brightly lighted.]

Hard. [Searches mantelpiece. To Dr. H.] This seems to be the shells. Two boxes. [Holds boxes one on top of the other, glancing at the top one as he hands it to Dr. H.] Blank Thirty-twos.

Dr. H. [Casual glance at boxes.] Very good. The shells are one of our most necessary properties, you know. Got to have the noise — the report, that is — [Replaces revolver and boxes on mantel as he speaks.]

Mrs. H. [u. c. Calls.] Hadn't you both better go and get dressed.? Everybody will be here presently. They've just sent over the costumes. [Indicates Jackson's boxes by a gesture, coming down c. as Jack, continues across up-stage with load, and exit L. u.]

Dr. H. [Rebellious.] Oh, dress! I don't want to dress, Martha! I wont dress! I'm perfectly clean —

Mrs. H. [Interrupts.] Now, John — !

Dr. H. [Interrupts, stubborn, raising his voice.] I am clean! Look at this waistcoat, Dick, isn't it clean?

Hard. [Retreats, amused, embarrassed.] Why, of course, doctor, of course! But I believe Til just go up — [Going R. u.]

Mrs. H. Never mind him, Mr. Harding, we have this same fuss every evening. [To Dr. H.] Come now, John!

[Exit Hard. r. u.]

Dr. H. [Grumbling and holding hack as Mrs. H. tows him up-stage.] I tell you, Martha, it's all nonsense. Evening clothes for dinner!

[Voices and laughter heard off L. distantly.]

Mrs. H. [Leads Dr. H. r. u. Imperative.] S-sh! There they come!

Dr. H. [Same business.] Let 'em come! Dress for a parcel of young jumping-jacks — !

Mrs. H. Sh-h! [Lowers voice, rapid, worried.] You know, John, I just happened to remember something — I don't know what we're going to do about it —

Dr. H. Hey.?

Mrs. H. [Same manner.] It's going to be frightfully awkward —

Dr. H. [Puzzled.] Huh.?

Mrs. H. I tried my best to stop you talking about it a minute ago —

Dr. H. [Sarcastic calm.] If you'll kindly tell me what we're talking about now — .?

Mrs. H. Why, Edith Richardson — Edith LeClere, that is — and this young Mr. Harding — don't you remember the talk? He was desperately in love with her, and they say they were as good as engaged —

[Halts abruptly as voices and laughter heard off L. much nearer. Both glance alertly in that direction.]

Mrs. H. [Goes on more rapidly.] And then all at once she threw him over and married this Franklin

LeClere. That was why he — [Gesture towards the ceiling.] — went off, round the world —

Dr. H. [Interrupts.] Oh, that's all gossip!

Mrs. H. [Positive.] No, John, it's true! You didn't notice how his face changed when you began to talk about her — I couldn't make you stop —

Dr. H. [Loud, uneasy, but obstinate.] Oh, bosh! Anyhow, there's nothing zve can do —

[Both going r. u. Dr. H. talking, Mrs. H. hushing him.]

Dr. H. Harding might as well face it first as last, —

[Exeunt R. u.]

[Enter l. u. Jack. Business of going about, picking up things and straightening room, putting chairs and tables where they belong, etc. He finds Harding's tumbler on the mantelpiece, Dr. Hitchcock's on the seat of a chair, places them on the tray; as he lifts it, and starts u. enter by terrace-doors Edith LeClere.]

Ed. [Stands on threshold, looking about. Half-turns, looking off-stage l. Calls.] Oh, they've taken the doors down! Everything's all ready! [Turns towards room, sees Jack.] Ah, Jackson! [Comes down c]

Jack. [Pauses, tray in hands. Respectful.] Good-evening, Mrs. LeClere.

Ed. [Business of taking off light wrap, touching hair, dress, etc.] Will you take this, please.? [Holds out wrap, but immediately withdraws it.] Oh, your hands are full. Never mind.

Jack. [Apologetic] In just a minute, if you please, madame — [Going r. u.]

Ed. [Throws wrap on chair.] Oh, it's no matter,

Jackson. [Glances around.] We must be early. Hasn*t Mrs. Hitchcock come down yet?

Jack. [At door r. u.] Oh yes, madame! She's expecting you. [Opens door.]

Ed. [At table l. d. picks up newspaper, glancing over it; casually.] Is Mr. Patton here?

Jack. [Holding door open.] No, madame. He telephoned he couldn't come.

Ed. [Drops paper, exclaims; dismayed.] Cant come? Why, what's the matter?

Jack. [Same business.] I couldn't say, ma'am. He just telephoned he had important business and not to expect him. [Waits a second, patient and respectful; then exit, closing door noiselessly.]

[At same moment, enter by terrace Dorothy Pierce and Tom Washburn.]

Wash. [Speaks from behind Dor. looking over her head.] Hello, all set?

Dor. Isn't that lattice darling! [On threshold, looking around.] Why, where is everybody?

[Dor. and Wash, come down c. Business of beginning to take off wraps.]

Ed. [r. c] They'll come down directly, I suppose, but what do you think? ClifF Patton won't be here!

[Exclamations. Others stop abruptly. Wash, with one arm in sleeve of overcoat. Dor. taking off scarf.]

Wash. Hey?

Dor. He wont? Why?

Ed. [Shrugs.] Don't know. Jackson says he simply telephoned he couldn't come.

[A slight pause; all gaze blankly at one another.]

Dor. [Ejaculates.] Christmas and New Year's! [Drops into chair l. D. fists on arms of it.] Now what shall we do ? [Grimace.]

Wash. [l. Finishes taking off overcoat.] Why didn't ClifF telephone all of us while he was about it?

Ed. [Shrugs.] Maybe he hadn't time. But we can't rehearse without him. And this is our last chance!

Dor. [7*0 Ed.] I'll tell you! Let your husband take ClifF's place. Couldn't he?

Ed. [A little impatient.] Oh, Dolly! You know Mr. LeClere can't dance a step. And besides he couldn't very well act two parts at once. [Goes R. to lounge. Sits.]

Wash. [As she turns her back, to Dor. lowers his voice, grinning.] Well, I'll bet Bunny'd try! [They exchange a glance, business of controlling amusement.]

Wash. [Aloud.] We'll have to press Dr. Hitchcock into service — Oh ! [Interrupts himself as Dor. makes a gesture. Turns up-stage.]

[Enter R. u. Mrs. Hitchcock. All rise.]

Mrs. H. Well, well, good-evening, all of you! [Comes down.] Apologies! Dr. Hitchcock will be down in a second. Is everyone here? [To Ed.] I don't see Mr. LeClere.

Ed. [Somewhat embarrassed.] Why, he stopped to put his costume on. He won't be long.

Mrs. H. [Surprised.] His costume? But the costumes are here, my dear. I thought you were going to dress after dinner. [Looks around at the others who are in ordinary evening-dress, puzzled.]

Ed. [Embarrassed.] All but Mr. LeClere. He — er — he thought it would — er — save time if he came already dressed.

[Ed. and Mrs. H. business of talking together in front of fireplace.]

Dor. [To Wash, low voice.] He's crazy over his costume, you know. He would have put it on for every rehearsal, if Edith had let him. Isn't that just like Bunny LeClere.? [Aloud, as Ed. and Mrs. H. turn in their direction.] You've heard the sad news about ClifF Patton, I suppose, Mrs. Hitchcock.?

Mrs. H. [Coming down c. pauses, startled.] Mr. Patton.? Why, no! What is it? Has anything happened to him } He's not sick .? [Looks from one to another alarmed.]

[Dor. and Wash, burst of laughter, unable to reply. Mrs. H. turns to Ed. bewildered.]

Ed. [Smiles, reassuring manner.] No indeed, Mrs. Hitchcock, don't be frightened. Nothing's happened. Dolly just means that he can't come to the rehearsal.