Hearts and clubs

SCENE I—A seaside hotel. Mrs. Alljoy’s sitting-room, prettily furnished. Table and chairs R. Sofa L. Doors R. and L. At rise of curtain Mr. Alljoy is discovered seated R. of table reading a newspaper. Mrs. Alljoy is lying upon sofa.

Mrs. Alljoy. (sighing) O dear!

Mr. Alljoy. (looking over top of paper) What is the matter now, Lolly?

Mrs. Alljoy. The same old thing, this pain in my side, and there is a strange feeling in the back of my head. I wonder what it is!

Mr. Alljoy. Oh, you want something to distract you. Come, jump up, and let us go down-stairs and hear the music. You might as well be at home as moping up in this room. Come, it will do you good.

Mrs. Alljoy. O Joey! I couldn’t possibly dress and go down to-night. Just suppose I should faint!

Mr. Alljoy. Well, suppose you do; you are not likely to, you know. You would soon get over it, and you wouldn’t be a mile from your own room.

Mrs. Alljoy. You are so heartless. I think it is cruel of you to talk that way. Even if I didn’t faint, those parlors are so draughty, and the music always makes my head ache.

Mr. Alljoy. Very well, we needn’t go. (Silence, excepting the rustling of the paper.)

Mrs. Alljoy. Joe, can’t you read without making such a noise with the paper? It does distract me so. My poor nerves cannot stand much.

Mr. Alljoy. I cannot very well spend my evening spelling out the advertisements on one side of the paper. (Sarcastically) Perhaps I may be able to find a newspaper of a single sheet only—one of those patent-inside arrangements—if so, I certainly shall take it. (Getting up) Since I am so unpleasantly distracting, I had better leave you in peace. They don’t mind speaking above a whisper at the club. (Throws down paper and takes up his hat) Good-night; don’t sit up for me. (Goes out, R.)

Mrs. Alljoy. (burying her head in the pillow and sobbing) There he goes again to that hateful old club, leaving poor forlorn me all alone. Oh, these heartless men! (A knock at the door, R.)

(Enter Mrs. Frisk.)

Mrs. Frisk. Why, Lolly, what is the matter?

Mrs. Alljoy. (sitting up and wiping her eyes) O Anna! I am so glad you came in! It is the same old story, of course. Joe has gone over to the club, leaving me alone with nothing to do; I cannot do fancy work, it makes my back ache; I cannot read, for it makes my head ache, and so here I am deprived of everything, even my husband’s society. I am a perfect martyr.

Mrs. Frisk. (laughing) Laura, you do make me laugh, you are so bent upon being miserable. Now, don’t put on that injured look. I have something to tell you.

Mrs. Alljoy. (brightening up) Have you? What is it? I am dying to hear.

Mrs. Frisk. First, look at me. Do you see this new gown?

Mrs. Alljoy. Yes. How well you look in it.

Mrs. Frisk. (triumphantly) That is just it. I am one inch longer in the waist than I was two months ago, and it is all due to physical culture.

Mrs. Alljoy. Physical culture?

Mrs. Frisk. Yes. You have no idea what it does for one, and it would be just the thing for you.

Mrs. Alljoy. Oh, no! I never could swing those dreadful Indian clubs and jump over a rope four or five feet high or squirm in and out of little square places like a snake. As for a trapeze, I have a perfect horror of one.

Mrs. Frisk. Nonsense! That isn’t what you have to do. Why, it is as simple as can be, to begin with, and has cured more headaches and backaches than I could begin to tell you of. See, I will show you a few of the first exercises. (Rises, and goes through a few movements rather awkwardly) There, now, that isn’t so dreadfully hard, is it? Come, Laura, say you will join our club.

Mrs. Alljoy. Club! Did you say you had a club?

Mrs. Frisk. Yes; one must do something in Lent, and it is awfully stupid down here, so we have organized a club, the X. Y. Z. The culmination of knowledge, you see, as opposed to A. B. C. The X. Y. Z. Club, composed of about a dozen ladies who are seeking different ends through the same means; I, for instance, am bent upon decreasing my size; even “add a cubit to my stature,” and it would not come amiss if I were able to stretch up to it and out of my avoirdupois. Mrs. Bodkin, on the contrary, pines for flesh, for breadth of chest, and mightiness of muscle. Miss Doting, the dear soul, thinks the movements “such lines of beauty,” and her prophetic eye sees herself, though spare of flesh, an undulating, willowy figure, gliding before some hero’s vision and into his heart; while dear Mintra, her niece, who has come down here with her, does it all “just for the fun of the thing.”

Mrs. Alljoy. Well, I really believe I will join you, since Mr. Joe is so absorbed in his club, and I will show him that I can have a club, too. Yes, I really will join you.

Mrs. Frisk. (delightedly) That is right. We meet to-morrow in Mrs. Bodkin’s rooms at three o’clock. Now I must go. Good-night. Don’t get up.

Mrs. Alljoy. Oh! I feel better already. I will go to the door with you. (They go toward door, L.)

CURTAIN

SCENE II—Mrs. Bodkin’s drawing-room, handsomely furnished. Large table with lamp down R. Doors R. and L. and C. in flat. Ladies are all present and are preparing for a meeting of the Club. Mrs. Frisk and Mrs. Alljoy down C.

Mrs. Frisk. Now, Lolly dear, you see us as we are, absolutely afraid of our teacher, each other, and our own selves. Mrs. Bodkin, (addressing Mrs. B., who stands near) do you know I have lost a whole pound, and I am at least an inch longer in the waist.

Mrs. Bodkin. Really? Well, I have found your pound, and am triumphantly wearing it; and, as for your inch, I have added that to my chest measure.

Mrs. Alljoy. You have? What is that Mrs. Pallide is saying, “Ma za?” Is she seeking a rhyme?

Mrs. Frisk. (laughing) No, that is for exercising the muscles of the mouth, and so is the sentence she is practicing now, “Most men want poise and more royal margin.”

Mrs. Alljoy. Do you suppose we really need to exercise the muscles of our mouths? I fancy our husbands will hardly think so.

Mrs. Frisk. Rank treason, my dear! Do they not need to exercise their biceps?

Mrs. Alljoy. Do look at Miss Doting. Is she invoking Juno?

Mrs. Frisk. No, she would never invoke any one but Venus, my dear.

Miss Doting. (who has been going through some of the arm movements most extravagantly, shakes her finger at the three ladies as she approaches) Ah, my dears, I see you laughing at me, but as that dear Emerson says in his ode to “Beauty,” “Unmake me quite, or give thyself to me.” And, oh! (clasping her hands in a soulful way) I do so long for “Beauty;” not the tender tints of spring, not the rose flush of June, but the beauty of autumn. Oh, surely, surely I may consider that I am not too late in seeking that aftermath.

Mrs. Alljoy. Oh, surely, surely not too late, Miss Doting.

Mrs. Frisk. You look so well to-day.

Mrs. Bodkin. That is a most becoming costume.

Miss Doting. Oh! do you think so? Pet laughed at me, and though she is too dear a child to say so, I know she thinks me too old to wear pink; but, as I said to her, “Beauty is its own excuse for being,” and the rosy streaks of sunset are as beautifully tender as the auroral glow of morn. And why may I not be clad like the sunset?

Mrs. Frisk. Why, of course you may. (Aside) There is no one to say you may not; but can you, and not look like a guy, that is the question. (Aloud) Speaking of Pet, is Mintra not here? Ah, there she is.

(Mintra enters and Mrs. Alljoy meets her, goes front; other ladies go through different gestures very awkwardly, laughing and talking with one another.)

Mrs. Alljoy. Mintra, dear, I want so much to see you for a moment. I must enlighten you in a matter upon which I happen to be informed, and you do not. Old Mr. Fossil is here.

Mintra. (starting) Is he?

Mrs. Alljoy. Yes, and Tom Bestman told my husband—you know what old friends they are, and you will forgive it, I know—he told my husband that his uncle was furious with him. Your aunt does not know of your engagement, does she?

Mintra. No, indeed; I have told her nothing about it. She has only seen Tom twice, and doesn’t know he has an uncle. You know mamma could not have told her, for she did not stop in Philadelphia at all.

Mrs. Alljoy. Well, Tom’s uncle vows he shall never marry any one but a strong-minded daughter of the soil; at least—not exactly that—but he advocates only sensible women, as he calls them, and objects in the most strenuous manner to high heels, small waists, and society foibles and follies.

Mintra. Well!

Mrs. Alljoy. Not at all well. You dear, silly little goose (putting her arm affectionately around her), do you know what that means? Why, it means that your dear Tom is thrown off to shift for himself, and instead of having a very comfortable berth he will have nothing at all; and though he is by no means a fool, yet it will be years before he is in a position to marry, if he doesn’t marry to please his uncle, and his uncle has conceived a frantic dislike to you.

Mintra. Me?

Mrs. Alljoy. Yes, “me” (mimicking her), and “me” must go to work and disabuse the old gentleman of his ridiculous ideas.

Mintra. But how?

Mrs. Alljoy. My dear goosie, you see the means before you. Physical culture, of course. Send to the city for low-heeled shoes; increase your waist measure at least four inches; be an enthusiastic walker; stand up straight; give him the idea that your one aim in life is to be sensible, that your ideal of perfection is a healthy peasant, and—well, that is all.

Mintra. (enthusiastically) I’ll do it.

Miss Doting. (approaching) Ah, Pet, dear! you see I was right to wear my pink gown. I have received many compliments, I assure you. “I builded better than I knew,” as dear Emerson says. I want to tell you something, I met such a charming man just before I came upstairs.

Mintra. (indifferently) Who was it, auntie? You meet so many “charming men.”

Miss Doting. (coquettishly) Now, Pet, how can I help it if they make themselves charming to me? Surely I do nothing to attract them, and you know how terribly soon my ideals vanish. But this time!—O Pet! (theatrically), “When half gods go, the gods arrive!” and Mr. Fossil is Jove-like in his dignity.

Mintra. (excitedly) Mr. Fossil?

Miss Doting. Yes, Mr. Fossil; and O Pet! he is so interested in our club, and he asked me—well (coyly), perhaps he should not have done so upon so short an acquaintance; but when I told him that we proposed giving an exhibition of our talent to the guests of the house, at a later date, he asked me (giggles), he asked me if he might come, and I said yes.

Mintra. (laughing) Well, auntie, I don’t think that was so terribly forward. I shall not object, for one.

Mrs. Bodkin. O Mrs. Frisk! do you know your lesson? (Proceeds with a stanza of “Young Lochinvar,” hesitates and breaks down.) There! I knew I could not do it.

Mrs. Frisk. Oh! never mind. You will be all right. At any rate, there are plenty to keep you company. I wonder where Miss Stein is.

Mrs. Pallide. She will be a little late, I think, for I saw her talking to Mr. Fossil, and you know his hobby. Do you know I cannot remember that neck movement to save my life.

Several. Oh! can’t you? Why, this is it. (All proceed to show her, differently.)

Mrs. Pallide. I don’t see that I am any wiser than I was before. However, I will ask Miss Stein to show me. Do, somebody see if I say this correctly. (Begins another stanza of “Lochinvar,” but stops to giggle) Now, Mrs. Frisk, if you look at me in that way I cannot say it. I’ll tell Miss Stein of you. There she is now. (All rush up to Miss Stein, who enters the room, C.)

CURTAIN