The Bicyclers and Three Other Farces. Bangs John Kendrick

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      MR. ROBERT YARDSLEY, an amiable villain.

      MR. JOHN BARLOW, the amiable villain’s assistant.

      MRS. THADDEUS PERKINS, a martyr.

      MRS. EDWARD BRADLEY, a woman of executive ability.

      JENNIE, a housemaid.

      The scene is placed in the drawing-room of Mr. and Mrs. Thaddeus Perkins, of New York.  The time is a Saturday evening in the early spring, and the hour is approaching eight.  The curtain, rising, discovers Perkins, in evening dress, reading a newspaper by the light of a lamp on the table.  Mrs. Perkins is seated on the other side of the table, buttoning her gloves.  Her wrap is on a chair near at hand.  The room is gracefully over-furnished.

      Mrs. Perkins.  Where are the seats, Thaddeus?

      Perkins.  Third row; and, by Jove!  Bess (looking at his watch), we must hurry.  It is getting on towards eight now.  The curtain rises at 8.15.

      Mrs. Perkins.  The carriage hasn’t come yet.  It isn’t more than a ten minutes’ drive to the theatre.

      Perkins.  That’s true, but there are so many carriage-folk going to see Irving that if we don’t start early we’ll find ourselves on the end of the line, and the first act will be half over before we can reach our seats.

      Mrs. Perkins.  I’m so glad we’ve got good seats—down near the front.  I despise opera-glasses, and seats under the galleries are so oppressive.

      Perkins.  Well, I don’t know.  For The Lyons Mail I think a seat in the front row of the top gallery, where you can cheer virtue and hiss villany without making yourself conspicuous, is the best.

      Mrs. Perkins.  You don’t mean to say that you’d like to sit up with those odious gallery gods?

      Perkins.  For a melodrama, I do.  What’s the use of clapping your gloved hands together at a melodrama?  That doesn’t express your feelings.  I always want to put two fingers in my mouth and pierce the atmosphere with a regular gallery-god whistle when I see the villain laid low by the tow-headed idiot in the last act—but it wouldn’t do in the orchestra.  You might as well expect the people in the boxes to eat peanuts as expect an orchestra-chair patron to whistle on his fingers.

      Mrs. Perkins.  I should die of mortification if you ever should do such a vulgar thing, Thaddeus.

      Perkins.  Then you needn’t be afraid, my dear.  I’m too fond of you to sacrifice you to my love for whistling.  (The front-door bell rings.)  Ah, there is the carriage at last.  I’ll go and get my coat.

      [Mrs. Perkins rises, and is about to don her wrap as Mr. Perkins goes towards the door.

      Enter Mr. and Mrs. Bradley.  Perkins staggers backward in surprise.  Mrs. Perkins lets her wrap fall to the floor, an expression of dismay on her face.

      Mrs. Perkins (aside).  Dear me!  I’d forgotten all about it.  This is the night the club is to meet here!

      Bradley.  Ah, Perkins, how d’ y’ do?  Glad to see me?  Gad! you don’t look it.

      Perkins.  Glad is a word which scarcely expresses my feelings, Bradley.  I—I’m simply de-lighted.  (Aside to Mrs. Perkins, who has been greeting Mrs. Bradley.)  Here’s a kettle of fish.  We must get rid of them, or we’ll miss The Lyons Mail.

      Mrs. Bradley.  You two are always so formal.  The idea of your putting on your dress suit, Thaddeus!  It’ll be ruined before we are half through this evening.

      Bradley.  Certainly, Perkins.  Why, man, when you’ve been moving furniture and taking up carpets and ripping out fireplaces for an hour or two that coat of yours will be a rag—a veritable rag that the ragman himself would be dubious about buying.

      Perkins (aside).  Are these folk crazy?  Or am I?  (Aloud.)  Pulling up fireplaces?  Moving out furniture?  Am I to be dispossessed?

      Mrs. Bradley.  Not by your landlord, but you know what amateur dramatics are.

      Bradley.  I doubt it.  He wouldn’t have let us have ’em here if he had known.

      Perkins.  Amateur—amateur dramatics?

      Mrs. Perkins.  Certainly, Thaddeus.  You know we offered our parlor for the performance.  The audience are to sit out in the hall.

      Perkins.  Oh—ah!  Why, of course!  Certainly!  It had slipped my mind; and—ah—what else?

      Bradley.  Why, we’re here to-night to arrange the scene.  Don’t tell us you didn’t know it.  Bob Yardsley’s coming, and Barlow.  Yardsley’s a great man for amateur dramatics; he bosses things so pleasantly that you don’t know you’re being ordered about like a slave.  I believe he could persuade a man to hammer nails into his piano-case if he wanted it done, he’s so insinuatingly lovely about it all.

      Perkins (absently).  I’ll get a hammer.  [Exit.

      Mrs. Perkins (aside).  I must explain to Thaddeus.  He’ll never forgive me.  (Aloud.)  Thaddeus is so forgetful that I don’t believe he can find that hammer, so if you’ll excuse me I’ll go help him.  [Exit.

      Bradley.  Wonder what’s up?  They don’t quarrel, do they?

      Mrs. Bradley.  I don’t believe any one could quarrel with Bessie Perkins—not even a man.

      Bradley.  Well, they’re queer.  Acted as if they weren’t glad to see us.

      Mrs. Bradley.  Oh, that’s all your imagination.  (Looks about the room.)  That table will have to be taken out, and all these chairs and cabinets; and the rug will never do.

      Bradley.  Why not?  I think the rug will look first-rate.

      Mrs. Bradley.  A rug like that in a conservatory?  [A ring at the front-door bell is heard.

      Bradley.  Ah! maybe that’s Yardsley.  I hope so.  If Perkins and his wife are out of sorts we want to hurry up and get through.

      Mrs. Bradley.  Oh, we’ll be through by twelve o’clock.

      Enter Yardsley and Barlow.

      Yardsley.  Ah! here we are at last.  The wreckers have arrove.  Where’s Perkins?

      Barlow.  Taken to the woods, I fancy.  I say, Bob, don’t you think before we begin we’d better give Perkins ether?  He’ll suffer dreadful agony.

      Enter Mrs. Perkins, wiping her eyes.

      Mrs. Perkins.  How do you do, Mr. Barlow? and you, Mr. Yardsley?  So glad to see you.  Thaddeus will be down in a minute.  He—ah—he forgot about the—the meeting here to-night, and he—he put on his dress-coat.

      Yardsley.  СКАЧАТЬ