“MAN PROPOSES”
Scene.—Morning room in city house,—doors l. and b. Fireplace with fire l. c. Writing-desk, with matches, pens, ink, paper, and handbell back centre—chair at desk. Down stage l., easy-chair, and an ottoman or light chair c. At extreme down stage r. corner, a bay window, with practical curtains, and a divan seat. On mantel a clock which strikes ten as soon as curtain rises.
Polly (coming down wearily). Mercy, how tired I am! And no chance of rest for at least six hours (drops into chair c.). Dinners and balls may be fun for those who do the eating and dancing, but it’s death on us poor servants. I’m worked hard enough usually, in all conscience’ sake, but Miss Agnes has given me just the hardest day I’ve ever seen! (Imitates Agnes giving orders.) “Polly, is my bath ready?” “Polly, give me my dressing-gown.” “Polly, bring me my coffee.” “Now dress my hair, Polly.” “Get me my habit, Polly.” (Rises.) “While I’m in the park, Polly, sew the ribbons on my two dominos.” “Oh, and I’ll be too busy to-day to write acknowledgments for the bouquets, Polly, so you may write to Mr. Stevens and Mr. Van Tromp and Mr. Newbank, and any others that come, thanking them for their lovely flowers, which are now filling my room with sweetness!” From seven till eight it’s been nothing but “Polly, do this,” and “Polly, do that,” and “Where’s Polly?” And no one so much as said “Polly, want a cracker?” I haven’t had a chance to sit down since I got up. I even had to eat my dinner off the laundry tubs (mimics eating with pen and paper-cutter at desk) standing, because the caterers were everywhere, getting the dinner and ball supper ready. Miss Agnes says she’s all “worn out.” I wish she could try my work once in a while. How I should enjoy telling the rich and sought-after Miss Agnes Wortley to (mimicking) “button my shoes,” (sticks out foot) or (waves her hand) “fetch me my gloves!” I would give a month’s wages if I could only take her place just for to-night at the masked ball. (Speaking with excitement.) When she decided that she must have two dominos, so that she could change in the middle of the ball, I thought to myself: ‘What’s to prevent your slipping on the domino she isn’t wearing, and going downstairs?’ (Muses.) If I only dared! I could easily slip out before she wanted to change! (Pause.) No! I mustn’t even think of it or the temptation will be too great.
Polly. It would be such fun! Think of being Miss Agnes for one evening and dancing with all her admirers! Oh, my! Supposing one should propose! Mr. Newbank! (Laughs.) Or Mr. Van Tromp! (Laughs again.) I’d know what I’d say to them! Mr. Stevens? I wonder if she cares for him.
Stuart. And how about Mr. Stuart?
Polly (springing up, flustered). Oh, Jiminy! Oh—I beg your pardon, Mr. Stuart, I was—I—
Stuart (laughing). Poking the fire, eh? Is this room free territory?
Polly. Yes, Mr. Stuart. It’s Miss Wortley’s boudoir, but she thought it would be a nice place for people to come when they were tired of dancing downstairs.
Stuart (calling out r.). This way, Fred. Here’s a quiet nook saved from the universal ruin and bareness of downstairs.
Stuart. Isn’t this luck?
Fred (gloomily). There isn’t any such thing! Or if there is, I never get any.
Stuart. Now, Fred, you can’t say that after this. You and I don’t want to stay and smoke with the men. Neither do we want to join the ladies. The other rooms are as bare and uncomfortable as waxed floors and camp-chairs can make them. I suggest trying upstairs, and when I discover and pilot you to this oasis in the desert, you at once begin to grumble.
Fred. I’m sorry I’m bad company, Mr. Stuart; but if I’m so to you, just think what I must be to myself.
Stuart. There is something in that.
Fred. And you only see me occasionally, and I’m with myself day and night.
Stuart (laughing). Pity you can’t hire some one to kill your disagreeable companion. I wonder if a jury wouldn’t bring in a verdict of justifiable homicide, if you drowned or hung him.
Fred. I’d like to!
Stuart. Curious. Such a dinner, even when I know it’s to be followed by a ball, always puts me in a beatific state of mind.
Fred (wearily). I thought it very long and tedious.
Stuart. And what is worse, you looked it. You looked as glum all through as if you were waiting for the last trump.
Fred (crossly). It wasn’t the last trump I was waiting for. I was—
Stuart (interrupting). No, I misworded my sentence. You were waiting for the last of Van Tromp.
Fred. Oh, pshaw!
Stuart (laughing). You don’t seem to enjoy my pun?
Fred. Oh, if it pleases you, go ahead.
Stuart. Fred, you make a mistake to go into society while you are in this mood. Take a friend’s advice and cut it till you are better tempered.
Fred (impatiently). I don’t go because I enjoy it.
Stuart (sarcastically). Ah! You go to make it pleasant for others.
Fred. No, I go because she goes.
Stuart (laughing). Will you tell me why a woman’s reason is always a “because,” and a man’s is always a “she”?
Fred. She‘s an excuse for anything!
Stuart. Even for Charlie Newbank?
Fred (rising angrily). Look here, Mr. Stuart, I’ll take a good deal from you; but there is a limit.
Stuart (soothingly). Excuse me, my boy. It is brutal in me, but I am trying to see if I can’t laugh you out of it.
Fred (sits chair l. as if discouraged). No use! As they say out West, it’s come to stay and grow up with the country.
Stuart. Oh, I didn’t mean your love for Miss Wortley. She’s a sweet, unspoiled girl, in spite of her own and her papa’s money, and I hope you’ll win her. I was only trying to cheer you out of your dumps, and make you look at the golden side of things.
Fred. That’s just what I see all the time, and what comes between us. I can’t forget her money.
Stuart (springing to his feet). There! That goes to prove a pet little theory of mine, that it is rather hard for a rich girl to marry well.
Fred. I should think you needed a confirmatory evidence.
Stuart. You are just like the rest! You take the conventionally superficial view of it.
Fred. Very well, turn lawyer and argue your case before referee Mr. Frederick Stevens, junior member of the celebrated firm of Mary, Green and Hart.
Stuart. You fire my ambition. Well, (rising and imitating legal style) your honour, and gentlemen of the jury, a priori and imprimis we start with the postulate that the party of the first part, otherwise the girl with money, is usually so spoiled that most fellows won’t care for her. But we will leave that out of the argument and say that she is a nice girl. Well, by her parents, her friends, and her reading, she is taught to think that every man who is attentive to her may be a fortune-hunter. The consequence is that she is suspicious, and may say or do something to wound or insult a fellow who cares for her, and so drive him off.
Fred. That’s one point for your side.
Stuart. But even if she is not made suspicious by her money, (points at Fred) he is. A decent man dreads to have his motives misjudged. He’s afraid that the girl, or her father, or her mother, or her friends, or his friends, will think he is fortune-hunting.
Fred. I should think he did!
Stuart. Finally, her money draws about her a lot of worthless fellows. As a consequence, she is always beset and engaged. You must remember that in this country a man, if he amounts to a row of pins, is a worker, and not a drone. He cannot, therefore, dance the continual attendance that is necessary to see much of a society girl nowadays. This can only be done by our rich and leisured young men, who are few and far between; by foreign titles, who are quite as scarce; and by the idlers and do-nothings, who, if the girl is worth winning, are as distasteful to her as they are to the rest of mortal kind. (Sits chair c.) I submit my case.
Fred. Mr. Stuart, you entirely missed your vocation. Allow me to congratulate you on your maiden argument. But at the same time the referee would call your attention to the fact that you have failed to take the relatives into account. They can overcome all this by heading off the undesirables and encouraging their choice.
Stuart. But that’s just what they won’t do, and which I don’t think they could to any extent, even if they tried. How much can Mr. Wortley and Mrs. Van Tromp control Miss Agnes’ companions at the dinners and dances and other affairs, which are practically the only places where she meets men?
Fred. Here they can.
Stuart. But they don’t. You say Mr. Wortley favours Newbank and Mrs. Van Tromp encourages her brother-in-law. Naturally, then, they don’t approve your very evident liking for Miss Agnes. Yet I see you here quite as often as either of the favoured ones. Do you think if this system of exclusion were possible, it would not have been practised long ago?
Fred. If you ask it as a conundrum I give it up. But I know that neither of them want me to marry Miss Wortley. Mr. Wortley wishes Newbank’s millions to add to the family. Mrs. Van Tromp hopes to graft Miss Wortley on the fine old stock of Van Tromps.
Stuart. And what does the person most concerned want? In this glorious country of ours, where children always know more than parents, the girl’s consent is really the only requisite. What does Miss Wortley want?
Fred. I only wish I knew!
Stuart. Well, how does she treat you compared with the other men?
Fred. At first she was very nice and friendly, but latterly she’ll have nothing to do with me.
Stuart. A girl of taste!
Fred. I’m in the mood to enjoy such friendly jokes.
Stuart. It was meant kindly, Fred, as you will see in a moment. Now, my boy, I’m going to give you a talking to, and if you resent it, it will only be further confirmation of another little theory of mine, that a man’s an ass who concerns himself in other people’s affairs.
Fred. Go ahead. I’m blue enough to like anything sour or disagreeable.
Stuart. Now, there at once you give me the text to preach from. (Walks behind chair l. and leans on back, speaking over it down r.) About a year ago a certain gentleman named Fred meets a certain lady named Agnes. We’ll say he met her at a dance—
Fred. No, it was yachting.
Stuart. Ah!—excuse my lack of historical accuracy. Well, on a yacht—he met her; then at a ball—he met her; then at a cotillion—he met her; then at a dinner—he met her. In short, he met her, and met her, and met her.
Fred (gloomily). Yes, and what is more, he spent hours trying to.
Stuart. Well, she was pretty and charming and—I’m short of an adjective, Fred.
Fred. Of course you are! There isn’t one in Webster’s Unabridged which would do her justice!
Stuart. That should have been said to her and not wasted on me. Well, we’ll say the girl is plu-perfect. The fellow is rather good looking—eh, Fred?
Fred. I don’t know.
Stuart. He talks and dances well; and is, in fact, quite a shining light among her devotees.
Fred (irritably). Oh, cut it, for heaven’s sake!
Stuart (laughing). Excuse me,—the story-teller never cuts; it’s the editor who does that.
Fred (angrily). Oh, go on.
Stuart. Well, at first this masculine paragon whom I have so meagrely described seems to be doing well. She likes his society and shows it. (To Fred.) Right?
Fred. I thought so.
Stuart. But as he gets more interested, he changes. He makes his attentions and feelings too marked—something no girl likes. Then he is cross and moody when she does not give him most of her time and dances. He is inclined to be jealous of every Tom, Dick, and Harry who comes near her, and absurdly tries to dictate what she shall do and not do; which she resents. In short, the very strength of his love makes him an entirely different kind of a man. He is neither companionable nor entertaining; he is both surly and passionate. Do you blame her for repulsing him?
Fred. No, you are right. I know I’ve given her reason for turning me the cold shoulder.
Stuart. Then if you’ve known this, why haven’t you behaved yourself?
Fred. I’ve tried to, over and over again; but when I see such cads as Van Tromp and Newbank and the rest of the pack around her, I get perfectly desperate.
Stuart. And why? Now, Van Tromp is not only a fool, which I suppose is the fault of his ancestors, but he is so impecunious that every girl who has money must suspect his motives. Newbank is wealthy, but is the kind of man who makes one think of Wendell Phillips’ remark, that “the Lord showed his estimate of money by the people he gave it to.” Why should you be jealous of such rivals? You stand at least as good a chance as they.
Fred. No I don’t. Look here, I’ve just been made a member of the firm. That will give me something like $4,000 a year at first. How can I ask a girl living as she does to try and get along on that?
Stuart. You forget her own income.
Fred. That’s just what I can’t do. I’ve tried to tell her that I love her, but her money makes the words stick in my throat.
Stuart. And yet Van Tromp, who hasn’t a cent in the world, and never will have, if he has to make it himself, will say it as glibly as need be.
Fred. It’s that makes me desperate. I try to be good company, but I feel all the time as if it weren’t an even race, and so I can’t.
Stuart. My dear boy, no race in this world is even. If it were anything but a woman’s heart in question, I would bet on you as the winner; but as that commodity is only to be represented by the algebraic x, I never wager on it.
Fred (scornfully). How learnedly a bachelor does talk of women’s hearts! One would think he had broken a lot in order to examine their contents.
Stuart (a little angrily). I never lost a girl through faint heart,—or lost my temper with both her and my best friend.
Fred (apologetically). There! Of course you are right and I am a fool.
Stuart (looking at watch). There being no dissent to that opinion, and the ladies being now ready to see us, you had better go downstairs and show Miss Wortley that the Fred Stevens of a year ago is still in the flesh.
Fred (going to b. d.). And you?
Stuart. I’ll stay here and have a cigar.
Stuart (taking out cigar-case). How that poor fellow does carry his heart in view! (Takes match from desk.) No wonder Miss Wortley keeps hers to herself, with such an example!
Stuart. Hello! One minute, please. Whose domino is that?
Polly (halting). I mustn’t tell, sir.
Stuart. No, of course not. Quite right. (Tosses away match and jingles coins in his pocket.) Perhaps, though, you can tell me to whom you are carrying it.
Polly (coming down). Perhaps I might, sir.
Stuart (taking out money). Well?
Polly. I was carrying it to Mrs. Van Tromp’s room, sir.
Stuart (giving money). Thank you. (Takes domino and mask from her.) Mr. Stuart told you Miss Wortley wanted you to come at once to her, and so you left these in this room—understand? (Gives more money) Now be off to your mistress.
Polly. Yes, sir.
Stuart. It’s better to be born lucky than rich. (Pats domino tenderly, and arranges it neatly in chair c.) You’re luckier, though, for you belong to the dearest and most heartless woman in this world. (Looks at mask.) And you! She doesn’t need you to mask her feelings, confound and bless her inscrutable face! You’ll be pressing against it ere long. (Kisses mask.) Take that to her.
Mrs. V. T. (outside). No, I sent Polly for my domino, but she hasn’t brought it.
Stuart. Speaking of angels— And she mustn’t discover that I know.
Mrs. V. T. Shall it be a cigar or my society? “Under which king, Bezonian? Speak or die.”
Stuart (throwing match in fire). That goes without saying. The cigar is my slave; I am Mrs. Van Tromp’s!
Mrs. V. T. Was that impromptu?
Stuart. Coined for the occasion, and needing only the approval of your majesty to make it gold in my eyes.
Mrs. V. T. I am too good a queen to help stamp worthless money, and that’s what a compliment is. As the French say, “Fine words cost nothing and are worth just what they cost.”
Stuart. Anglisé in “Fine words butter no parsnips.” You know, I’ve always wanted to send that proverb to Delmonico. He takes something uneatable, and by giving it a sauce and a high-sounding French title, deludes the public into ordering it. You pay five cents for the basis, ten for the sauce, and the other thirty-five for the French, which no man can understand or pronounce.
Mrs. V. T. He didn’t serve this evening’s dinner.
Stuart. Far be it from me to suggest that there was anything wrong in the cuisine to-night. The only criticism I could possibly make on the dinner was that there were twenty-four too many people.
Mrs. V. T. (counting on fingers). Twenty-four from twenty-six—that leaves two?
Stuart. Let me congratulate you on your mental arithmetic.
Mrs. V. T. Have you actually reached that time of life when one ceases to enjoy dinners?
Stuart. I hope not. I was even flattering myself that my tastes were becoming more juvenile.
Mrs. V. T. In what does that show itself?
Stuart. In wanting something I can’t have. I believe it’s considered infantile to want the moon.
Mrs. V. T. You want the moon? Then you must be in love! I’m so sorry I can’t stay and let you tell me all about her. I came upstairs for my domino and mustn’t tarry.
Stuart (standing between her and the door). One moment, Mrs. Van Tromp. I’ll not bore you with my own love affair, but I should like to ask your help in another.
Mrs. V. T. (turning and coming down l.). I promise my assistance. I love to help on—other people’s love affairs.
Stuart. There is a poor fellow downstairs who is eating his heart out with love for your cousin Agnes. He thinks you are against him.
Mrs. V. T. You mean Mr. Stevens?
Stuart. Yes.
Mrs. V. T. Why, Mr. Stuart, I like Mr. Stevens, and he would be my second choice—
Stuart (interrupting). For yourself?
Mrs. V. T. (laughing). No, for Agnes. But surely you don’t expect me to work against my brother-in-law?
Stuart. But Agnes is your cousin. Do consider her!
Mrs. V. T. Mr. Stuart, I married Alexander Van Tromp without caring that (snaps her fingers) for him. Yet we hit it off together very nicely. He obtained income and I won social position. By it I have been able to introduce my uncle into good society, and give Agnes her pick of the best. Do you think I do her wrong in planning the same kind of a marriage for her?
Stuart. Has Cupid no rights?
Mrs. V. T. He can come later. The Van Tromps are too old a family for the members to live long. So I am only giving Agnes a few years of matrimony, like my own; and then—well, you know whether my life is gloomy or otherwise.
Stuart. Mostly otherwise, I should say.
Mrs. V. T. No girl of nineteen knows enough to pick out the man she can breakfast with three hundred and sixty-five days in the year for half a century. Moreover, a young girl cannot have a large enough choice. She can only say “yes” or “no” to those who ask her. On the contrary, a woman of—we’ll say twenty-eight—picks out her man and fascinates him. To quote the French again: “A girl of sixteen accepts love; a woman of thirty incites it.”
Stuart. As you have been doing?
Mrs. V. T. Agnes shall sample matrimony with Regie; see just what it is like; and then be prepared to select a second time with wisdom and discrimination—like her aged and venerable cousin.
Stuart (hesitatingly). Will you pardon the question,—but was Mr.—was, ah, the brother of Reginald anything like, ah, his brother?
Mrs. V. T. (laughing). Very!
Stuart (confidentially). What did you do with him?
Mrs. V. T. On the day we married, he put a ring on my finger; I put one through his nose. Then he led very nicely.
Stuart. And is that your ideal of a husband?
Mrs. V. T. Unless I find a man capable of not merely doing the leading, but by whom I shall wish to be led.
Stuart. And how is this man to prove his capacity?
Mrs. V. T. Oh, it’s merely a matter of cleverness or mastery. Let a man outwit me, and I will (curtseys) ever after sign myself, “Your obedient, humble servant.”
Stuart. Don’t you see that you are bribing your own undoing?
Mrs. V. T. How so?
Stuart. Why, your conditions are almost in the nature of a challenge. Now you know, of course, Mrs. Van Tromp, that I don’t love you, yet you make me want to enter the rather formidable competition just to see if I couldn’t get the better of you.
Mrs. V. T. (laughing). Well, I have no wish to balk you. But it must be a game of forfeits. If you fail, you must pay a penalty.
Stuart. Isn’t failure to win Mrs. Van Tromp penalty enough?
Mrs. V. T. Not to so confirmed a bachelor as Mr. Stuart. Come, if you beat me, I will do any one thing you wish; if you are beaten, you must do the one thing I wish. Is it a bargain?
Stuart. Done! (Kissing Mrs. V. T.’s hand.) Perdition have my soul!
Mrs. V. T. And now for my domino.
Stuart (at l. d.). But, Mrs. Van Tromp, you haven’t told me in what I am to beat you?
Charlie. Thith ith better than down thairth, Mith Wortley, ithn’t it?
Agnes (sinking into chair c. with sigh). Oh, much!
Charlie. I’ve been wanting to thuggeth it before, Mith Wortley, but that bore Van Tromp wath alwayth round, and if he heard me, he would intrude hith thothiety upon uth.
Agnes. Why. Mr. Newbank, I thought you were friends.
Charlie. We uthed to be, till the fellowth came out thuth a thnob.
Agnes. That is where you men have such an advantage. Now we girls have to put up with every donkey that comes near us.
Charlie. That ith hard, Mith Wortley. But it theemth to me that you might thave yourthelf by a little diplomathy.
Agnes (eagerly). Do tell me how!
Charlie. Why don’t you get rid of Van Tromp?
Agnes. Why, I can’t be rude to him. You must remember he is a relation.
Charlie. I didn’t mean rudneth.
Agnes. What then?
Charlie. Why, he athkth you to danth; you are out of breath or tired. He thitth down by you; you want a glath of lemonade, or thomething elth, it dothn’t matter what.
Agnes (aside). Does he really think that’s an original idea? (Aloud.) How clever!
Charlie. Yeth, I rather think thatth a good nothon.
Agnes. Isn’t it warm here?
Charlie. Very. I’ve thought of thuggethting that we open a window.
Agnes. Oh, I’m so afraid of drafts. Did you see where I left my fan?
Charlie. No,—unleth you left it down thairth in the library.
Agnes. Won’t you see if I did?
Charlie (going up l. b.). With the greateth of pleathure.
Agnes. And, Mr. Newbank, (Charlie turns) don’t tell Mr. Van Tromp I’m here. [Reg. appears at b. d.
Charlie. I’ll tell any lie thooner. (Turns.) Ah!! (Politely.) Mither Van Tromp, Mith Wortley ith fatigued and wanth to retht a little.
Reg. Aw! Then she shows gweat good sense in sending you away.
Charlie (angrily). Thir, you thouldn’t inflict your thothiety on a lady who hath juth been athking me how to get rid of you.
Reg. (coolly). I hope you told her it was by keeping you about her.
Charlie. If thatth the cathe, I’ll be back very thoon.
Reg. Aw, I’m deucid sowy that boah Newbank has tired you, Miss Wortley. You weally should not be so awfully good natured, don’tcher know.
Agnes. Oh, we have to be, and he’s no worse than a lot of others.
Reg. I jolly wish, you know, that I could save you fwom it.
Agnes. Don’t you think it warm here?
Reg. Weally, but it is, pon honour.
Agnes. And I’m so thirsty. Would it trouble you too much to get me a glass of water?
Reg. (rising and going up l.). Chawmed, I assure you.
Reg. Aw, I thought you were going to allow Miss Wortley a little west.
Charlie. Thatth why I wath coming back. I didn’t think the would thend you away.
Reg. I’ll be back soon, deah boy.
Charlie. I’m thorry, Mith Wortley, but your fan ith not in the library.
Agnes (aside). Tell me something I don’t know. (Aloud.) Have the rest of the men finished their cigars?
Charlie. Yeth.
Agnes. I suppose I ought to go down.
Charlie. Yeth, we’ll go together, and tho ethcape Van Tromp.
Agnes (aside). What a pity some glue company can’t buy those two and melt them down into mucilage! (Aloud.) Yes, but first won’t you see if I didn’t leave my fan on the piano in the music-room?
Charlie. Why, thertainly.
Agnes (aside). While you’re gone I’ll get into my domino, and if you catch me afterwards, it’s my fault.
Charlie (outside). You donkey, you ran into me on purpoth, and thpilled that water on me.
Agnes. Do for once temper the wind to the shorn lamb!
Reg. (outside). I beg pawdon, but it was you who wan into me. Cawnt cher see where you are going?
Reg. I’m deucid sowy, Miss Wortley, but that clumsy fool has spilled most of the water (coming down). One can always tell the nouveaux wiche by their gaucherwies. (Finds chair empty—starts, and looks round room.) Pon honour, if he hasn’t dwiven her away!
Charlie. I met your maid, Mith Wortley, and the thaid your fan wath in your room, (coming down r.) and that the’ll get it. (Discovers Agnes’ absence.) Now then, I hope you are thatithfied with having driven her away.
Reg. Oh, I dwove her away, did I?
Charlie. Yeth.
Reg. (laughing). That is wich!
Charlie. Well, thath more than you are!
Reg. Cholly Newbank, you get worse form everwy day.
Polly. Here is the fan, Mr. Newbank.
Charlie (taking fan). Can you tell me where Mith Wortley ith?
Polly (starting to go). No, sir.
Charlie. One moment, girl. (To Reg.) Mither Van Tromp, will you oblige me by leaving the room?
Reg. By Jove! The bwass of the man would start a foundwy.
Charlie. Thir, in the future I thall refuth to recognith you.
Reg. Thanks, awfully.
Charlie (taking bank-note from pocket). Girl, do you thee thith?
Polly. Oh, yes, sir.
Charlie. What ith Mith Wortleyth domino like?
Polly. Oh, indeed, sir, I don’t dare to tell you.
Charlie. Nonthenth! The’ll never know who told. You might ath well make five dollarth.
Polly. But Mr. Van Tromp might tell.
Reg. (with extreme dignity). Mr. Van Tromp is too much of a gentleman to either bwibe or tell tales.
Charlie. But he’ll lithen all the thame!
Polly (fearfully). She’s going to wear a white silk one with cardinal ribbons, and a black lace veil.