ACT II
SCENE—Porch of hotel. Gravel walk across stage in front of porch. Exits R. and L. Main entrance to hotel C. in flat. Full-length windows, R. and L. Wicker chairs scattered about porch. Mr. Fossil and Mr. Bestman discovered seated down L.
Mr. Fossil. (rising) Yes, sir, I say that the young men of the present day are idiots. Yes, sir, brainless idiots. Do you suppose for one instant, sir, that I intend my money to go toward supporting a race of wasp-waisted, deformed, hollow-chested women? (Walking about porch excitedly) Not for my right hand. I would rather see you married to a German peasant with thick ankles and a thick head than to a simpering silly society girl tottering along on her high-heeled, pointed-toed shoes. (Stopping before Tom) Look at that. (Takes a slipper from his pocket) That is the kind of shoe I mean. Now, can you deny that this is the same style of footgear that your charming, lovely Mintra wears? (Takes out a photograph) I found this stuck in your mirror. Look at that waist. No wonder she stands with her back to you. I should think she would be ashamed to show her face. How does she breathe? Where are her lungs? Where is her heart? No, sir, it is time this folly—no, it is worse than folly—this crime, I call it—should be stopped, and I, for one, give no consent toward the encouragement of monstrosities. Now, you have my answer. You can marry your high-heeled, wasp-waisted, narrow-chested deformed ninny if you want to; but if you do, you leave my office at once, and every cent of my money shall go toward the founding of gymnasiums for women.
Tom. But, uncle, you do not expect me to give up the girl I love simply because she does not measure a yard around her waist. What in the world has that to do with her moral character or her lovely, amiable qualities?
Mr. Fossil. It has everything to do with them. A girl that distorts the body the Lord gave her hasn’t proper moral perception, and as for her charming qualities, I suppose you can live on them.
Tom. But, uncle, it is ridiculous to take a dislike to a girl you have never seen. Let me present you, and—
Mr. Fossil. No, and I do not wish to see her. I hope I never shall. I know enough of the species already. I shall go back to the city to-night, and I expect you to go with me.
Tom. Now, sir, that is a little too much. She is just like all girls. I mean she isn’t like all girls, but she has had no opportunity for doing differently because she has had no example before her, and you surely do not expect me to—
Mr. Fossil. I expect nothing, and if her nonsensical style suits you my ideas do not, so there is an end of it. (Exit C.)
(Enter Mintra, R.) Tom, is that you?
Tom. (rising) Yes; what is left of me.
Mintra. Why, what is the matter?
Tom. Oh, nothing but what I shall have to stand. Uncle expects me to go back to the city with him to-night.
Mintra. Well, never mind. You can come back again. Now, Tom, don’t look so glum. You know I want you to stay, but old people are apt to be a bit cranky, and it is best to humor them sometimes, then they get over their little tempers sooner. You should see how I have to manage Auntie. Was he so very angry when you—when you told him about me? (shyly.)
Tom. (savagely) Yes. Confound his impudence!
Mintra. Now, Tom, don’t be so savage. You know “the course of true love,” and if it is only this I don’t mind. As long as you are my own dear boy, the whole world may turn against me. We’ll have him on our side yet, you see if we do not.
Tom. You dear little girl (puts his arm around her), if he could but see you once, he couldn’t help being on your side.
Mintra. Tom, have I such a very small waist?
Tom. Yes, you are quite like a wasp.
Mintra. Oh, you mean thing. I am not like one of those horrid, shiny, blue wasps.
Tom. No, I didn’t mean a wasp. I meant a dear little busy bee.
Mintra. The reason I asked is—but, please promise not to tell any one.
Tom. All right, I promise.
Mintra. You know there is a club organized here, just to fill up this stupid season, and you know how dull it is for me when you are not here, for I cannot write to you every hour in the day. Well, at first I wasn’t a bit interested, but I really am now. You see I had never thought of narrow chests, or little bits of waists being so very injurious. I thought it was just a fad of old people, like Auntie; but when I heard Miss Stein talk—you know she has come down to give us lessons—I was converted at once, it all seemed so sensible. And so I have joined the club for Physical Culture, and—
Tom. (rapturously) You have!
Mintra. Yes. Are you glad? Do you approve?
Tom. Approve! I should think so.
Mintra. I am so glad. Well, now you see, I practice often, oh! real often, and Tom, although you don’t seem to think so, I am ever and ever so many inches larger in the waist. And now the funny thing I was going to tell you is this: I sent to the city for some low-heeled shoes, for I have discarded all my high heels; but last night as I was going to close my shutters, one of them stuck. I couldn’t quite reach the catch, so I took up one of my high-heeled slippers—for the heel makes an excellent hammer—and as the catch sprang suddenly, it knocked the slipper out of my hand and it went flying out of the window. Of course, it was dark, but I told one of the hall boys to try and find it, and this morning he said he had hunted everywhere, but it was not to be seen. Now, who in the world do you suppose could have picked it up?
Tom. Ha! ha! ha! That is funny! Forgive me, my darling, but it is so funny, I can’t help laughing. I think I could tell where it is.
Mintra. O Tom! did you find it?
Tom. Never mind who found it. I have seen it, and that is all I shall tell you. It is perfectly safe.
Mintra. Well! I think you are very mean. Do, please, throw it away where no one can find it. Do, like a good boy. Now I must go. You must not worry, dear.
(Exit, both, L.)
(Enter Mrs. Alljoy, C.)
Mrs. Alljoy. I am so glad no one is here. Now I can practice a little without being heard. (Begins) Ma-za-sca-ah. (Goes through some gestures.)
(Enter Mr. Alljoy, R.)
Mr. Alljoy. Why, Laura, what are you doing?
Mrs. Alljoy. (looking at him steadfastly and seriously) Most men want poise, and more royal margin.
Mr. Alljoy. So they do; so they do. (Aside) Good gracious, now did she hear of that little speculation? I might as well own up. (Aloud) I know, my dear, I should have had more poise; but you know I don’t often lose my head, and a man certainly does need a royal margin when he is dabbling in stocks.
Mrs. Alljoy. Joseph Alljoy, are you crazy?
Mr. Alljoy. No. Are you?
Mrs. Alljoy. Not at all. My mind is perfectly clear.
Mr. Alljoy. I, Joseph Alljoy, being of sound mind—
Mrs. Alljoy. Joseph, you certainly are insane. I presume you have left at the club the small amount of brains you once possessed. Now at my club—
Mr. Alljoy. Ye powers above! She has a club! Clubs are trumps, and we seem to hold a full hand. How fortunate that you are my partner! I thought you always called for diamonds though?
Mrs. Alljoy. Well, I don’t get them if I do—not when you deal.
Mr. Alljoy. Now, Lolly, don’t let’s quarrel. We have done so much of it lately, and you have seemed so like your old self, for the past few days, that I hoped—indeed, I did hope that our old happy days might come back.
Mrs. Alljoy. But you didn’t go to the club, then.
Mr. Alljoy. Neither did you. No, hearts were trumps, and they are best after all. Clubs! They are a man’s refuge
but a woman and a club are about as incongruous as a woman and a base-ball bat. You didn’t need clubs before we were married.
Mrs. Alljoy. Neither did you.
Mr. Alljoy. No; for you were very entertaining then, and did not need to be coaxed to go walking or driving. You cannot go anywhere with me now; but you are well enough to go to clubs.
Mrs. Alljoy. You will be sorry you spoke to me in this way. I meant to tell you all about it, but I shall not now.
Mr. Alljoy. Now, Laura, do.
Mrs. Alljoy. Aha! Curiosity is it?
Mr. Alljoy. Oh! no! But it is your duty to tell me.
Mrs. Alljoy. (scornfully) Duty!
(They walk off, L., talking and gesticulating in an animated manner, as enter Miss Doting and Mr. Fossil, C.)
Miss Doting. O Mr. Fossil! it is cruel of you to leave us so soon, but you naughty men are so uncertain; however, we must try and be contented, for Emerson says “Discontent is the want of self-reliance; it is the infirmity of will.” Now you must promise me again before you go that you will surely return to witness our little attempt to illustrate Physical Culture.
Mr. Fossil. Well, really, Miss Doting, I—ahem!—I do not know whether my business will permit me—but—
Miss Doting. (with a little scream of dismay) O Mr. Fossil! you surely will not disappoint us, I may say, disappoint me. Your presence wanting will cast the gloom of discouragement over us all, for we had hoped our champion would surely support us. You know (coyly) we are only debutantes, and need a great deal of coaxing and petting. (with another little scream) Oh, no! I don’t mean petting. I mean—encouragement. As dear Pet, my niece, says: “Auntie, you will never be anything but a child,” and indeed, as Emerson so beautifully expresses it:
Mr. Fossil. Very true, very true, Miss Doting.
Miss Doting. Now, Mr. Fossil, we can depend upon you, I know. I should so like you to see Pet, my dear niece. We are like sisters, and in this little club of ours she is so in sympathy with me. Fancy the dear child discarding all her pretty slippers, and wearing low heels; fancy her clothing her dear young form in the garb of a true dress reformer. You should see her pretty, graceful movements, free as the bird that wings its way over yon ocean; free as the curling wave that laps the bleaching sand. Oh, those exquisite movements of grace! O Beauty! Beauty! how I adore thee! Yes, Mr. Fossil, you should see my dear, heroic little niece.
Mr. Fossil. I should like to see her, madam. A girl nowadays who is willing to elevate this degenerate race by discarding its follies and vanities, is a girl after my own heart. Miss Pet must be a niece to be proud of, and it speaks well for the teachings of her aunt, that she is so tractable and amiable as to follow her suggestions. I wish my nephew were as obedient.
Miss Doting. You have a nephew, Mr. Fossil?
Mr. Fossil. Yes, madam, my dead sister’s son, to whom I have been a father, and who now despises my counsels and derides my opinions.
Miss Doting. O Mr. Fossil! how can he? One so good, so noble, so truly wise in his judgments should be listened to as we listen to truth.
Mr. Fossil. Thank you, thank you, Miss Doting. I think I must try and manage to get down to your little exhibition, and I anticipate much pleasure in meeting your niece. And now, my dear madam, I must make my adieux, for I fear it is train time.
Miss Doting. Good-bye, Mr. Fossil, or rather, au revoir. (Stands gazing after him as he goes off R. Tom and Mintra appear L. Mintra goes up porch. Tom goes off R., lingeringly, turning back several times, while Mintra waves her hand.)
CURTAIN