CURTAIN

NOTES ON COSTUME, SETTING, AND PRESENTATION

Costumes

Pepper. Scarlet coat, khaki trousers, high black boots. Silk hat. He wears a mustache, and carries a long whip with a scarlet bow.

Acrobats. (Hopkins and Limber Jack.) Long stockings, puffed trunks, and running-shirt, or undershirt, dyed to match. White bathing-shoes, or "sneakers." Any colors may be used. Light blue for Jack, and yellow for Hopkins are effective. Hopkins's ballet dress is made of innumerable skirts of white tarletan, sewed to a low-necked and short-sleeved waist of same material as his trunks, bespangled with tinsel. This should be carefully put together and equipped with buttons and button-holes, to slip on over the acrobat's clothes, so that Hopkins's "lightning change" can really be made in the least possible time. Woman's light yellow wig (or, if the boy is fair, a dark wig), dressed in the extreme of style.

Clowns. Pierrot costumes. White with red spots, and yellow with blue. Faces whitened with the usual red marks. Heads bald and white. White soft Pierrot hats. They may provide themselves with "slapsticks," and other properties incidental to their tricks and jokes.

Minstrel. Usual minstrel make-up. Black-face, large collar, gaudy tie and vest. Flowered or large-checked trousers and dress-coat.

Dutch. Khaki hat and trousers, shirt-sleeves, velvet vest, stuffed to make him very rotund. Should be a short, roly-poly boy. He carries by a strap over his shoulders a tray with bags of peanuts, rolls of popcorn, etc. (Which will probably need to be kept under lock and key until time for its use.)

Animal-Trainer. Dress suit and silk hat. Carries a riding-whip.

Tim. Red flannel shirt, old trousers, very old felt hat, boots. May double with

Farmer Simpson. Old overcoat and straw hat. Red hair and chin beard.

Dog and Monkey. It is best to rent these costumes from a costumer, though, if preferred, close-fitting suits of brown and black canton flannel, with long tails, may be made, and the heads only, rented. Chain for monkey, leash for dog.

Bub and Sonny. Overalls, sneakers, and big straw farm hats.

Setting

Tent. A most effective circus-tent can be made by fastening strips of unbleached muslin above the stage-arch, and sloping them down to a wire stretched five feet above floor at back of stage, then dropping straight to floor. Back the entrances to the other tents with more canvas, to represent a straight-sided passage.

The Circus Performance

A great deal of liberty may be allowed here. This play having been written for a boys' club, the boys were intrusted with the duty of working up the individual "acts," which they did very successfully, with a little oversight and revision from those in charge.

The tricks by the Dog and Monkey were seesawing, boxing with gloves, dancing, fighting a duel, etc., etc.

The Clowns introduced an "elephant walk," a race, juggling with balls, and other tricks.

The Minstrel collected the latest and snappiest stories he could find, and told them with zest.

The boys' own list of acrobatic feats, which will be understood by boys doing work in a gymnasium, was as follows:

• 1. Roll. Back and forth.
• 2. Roll and frog leap.
• 3. Short dive.
• 4. Long dive.
• 5. High dive.
• 6. High dive over man.
• 7. Weight-lifting.
• 8. Two-man dive.
• 9. Double roll.
• 10. Pyramid.

They also included turning flip-flaps, walking on the hands, swinging clubs, etc. The Pyramid, at the end, was formed by the whole troupe, on hands and knees, the lightest boys on top, and at a given signal all fell flat on the mattress.

The bareback riding of Hopkins and the dance of Zarah are fully described in the text.

Music

A good two-step, rapidly played, will serve for the galloping horse, and Zarah can adapt herself to any modern dance-music.

For this play a carol or hymn is not appropriate, but rather a jolly song embodying the idea of "Christmas comes but once a year."

MINTY-MALVINY’S SANTA CLAUS

PLAY IN ONE ACT

CHARACTERS

MINTY-MALVINY’S SANTA CLAUS

Adapted from the story in Wide Awake by M.E.M. Davis.[32]

Time: Christmas Eve and Christmas morning.

Scene: LeBreton’s room in Madame Clementine’s handsome lodging-house in the Rue Bourbon, New Orleans.

Curtain rises showing a comfortable room, strewn with a bachelor's possessions. [R.] a fireplace[33] with wood fire, brass dogs, a large armchair, and footstool on the hearth-rug. [L.], curtain indicates an alcove with a bed. Near curtain, an old-fashioned low-boy with toilet articles before the mirror,—military brushes, cologne, etc., etc. Lighted candles here, and also on each side of gilt mirror above mantel. Shaded lamp on center table, littered with books, papers, a box of cigars, ash-tray, etc. LeBreton seated in the easy-chair. Laura leaning over the back.

Laura [affectionately stroking her brother's hair]. Oh, Henri, you can't guess how good it is to be at home again!

LeB. Oh, yes, I can! What do you suppose it has meant to me to have you and Louis and the children wandering over the face of the earth all these months? I've been a lost soul without you, and your home to go to.

Laura. Traveling's all very nice and interesting, but it does pall! I grew tired to death of it—I just pined to come home again, Henri. [Sits on arm of chair.]

LeB. And here you are at last, in time to save your poor old brother from utter desolation at Christmas time.

Laura. Oh, but I wish the house had been ready for us—it hardly feels like Christmas anywhere but in the dear old place. But Louis said it wouldn't do to hurry the workmen too much.

LeB. No—they'd only make a botch of it. But you are comfortable here, aren't you?

Laura. Yes, indeed—you've taken such nice rooms for us, Henri. It's just the sentiment of it, you know, and I oughtn't have spoken. And Madame Clementine does everything to make us feel at home and comfortable.

LeB. How about the service—are the maids attentive, Laura?

Laura. Ask such a question about darkies just before Christmas? Henri, you are a dear old silly! Of course they are. And so many of them—I see a new one to provide with a "C'ris'mus gif'" every day, I think. To-day I noticed another—not exactly a maid, that is, but a funny little oddity of a pickaninny who seems to live just to "fotch an' carry."

LeB. Yes, I've seen that little monkey—does she really belong here?

Laura. I'm not sure—I must ask Madame Clementine about her.... Henri, if we are to make that call, I must get my things at once.

LeB. This is so cozy—do you think you must rout me out?

Laura. Poor dear, his conscience has come home again! [Rises.] Yes, I think we really ought. I've been at home three days, you know, and the Percivals are such old friends, and Helen has been ill—— [Goes to door.] I'll only be a moment.

LeB. [going to ring bell]. Very well, Madame, I'm at your service. If you are my conscience, sis, you certainly manage to sweeten my duty.

Laura [laughing]. That's just your flattery!

[Exit. LeBreton goes to find gloves. Enter Alphonse.

Alph. Did you ring, M'sieu Henri?

LeB. Yes. Get me my coat, Alphonse. Madame Courvoisier and I are going out for a while. [Alphonse brings coat and silk hat, which he brushes, then helps LeBreton into coat.] I shan't be late. [Goes to door.] But maybe you've calls to make yourself? [Alphonse puts on a conscious smirk.] Well, you needn't wait for me—Christmas Eve, you know. [Exit, putting on gloves.]

Alph. Thanks, M'sieu Henri. [Looks about room, sees cane, which he catches up and hurries after LeBreton.] M'sieu Henri!

[Exit. Minty-Malviny appears at door.
Looks cautiously after Alphonse. Enters
and minces about.

M.-M. [sings].

[Goes to window and looks out.] Hit am plumb dark! Old Santa Claus mus' be a-hitchin' up dem plow-mules o' hisn by dis time. My lan'! de white folks is havin' er good time, I 'low! [Goes to fire and sits on a stool.] Dem dolls, an' dem doll cheers, an' dem rollin'-pins in de show-winders is mighty fine. [Sighs, and continues meditatively.] Pow'ful scrumptious dey was! Dass de kin' o' C'ris'mus gif' whar ole Santa Claus gwine ter fotch ter all de white chillen in dis yer town in de mawnin'! Santa Claus ain't got no 'quaintance wid niggers, dat I knows on—lessen it am niggers on de sugar-plantations;—he ain't never hearn tell o' town niggers. My lan', whyn't de Lawd mek me white whilse He 'uz about it! Hit mus' be jes' ez easy fer de Lawd ter mek er white chile ez er black chile! [Rests her head disconsolately on her knees for a moment. Suddenly, as a great idea dawns upon her, she lifts her head and claps her hands.] Hi! I got it! [Springs to her feet and begins to dance a double-shuffle with all her might, shouting.] Sho's you bawn, I'ze gwine ter do it! I'ze gwine ter mek m'se'f er white chile! I'ze gwine ter do it, sho'!

[In the midst of her wild dance, Alphonse
appears in doorway, and stands transfixed
with horror.

Alph. [furiously]. Bête! Wat you do here, in M'sieu Henri LeBreton's room? Ah'm a-goin' to keel you! [He darts after, and they dash about the room at top speed, Minty-Malviny always just out of his reach.]

M.-M. I ain' 'fraid o' no French nigger lak you! [She leads him a dance, but finally rushes out at door. Alphonse recovers his dignity, and goes to attend to fire. Minty-Malviny appears before door again, walking up and down with mincing steps and singing with a meaning air.]

M.-M.

[Alphonse listens, rattles irons angrily, then
runs to door with poker in hand. Minty-Malviny
promptly takes to her heels.

Alph. "Walk jes' so!" An' if you don't walk jes' so, I'll show you how, gamine! [Goes about arranging room for the night. Lays LeBreton's dressing-gown and slippers by the fire, puts out candles on mantel, then goes to dresser, where he pauses to admire himself. Minty-Malviny slips in, a small brown paper bag in one hand and a very ragged stocking in the other. She hides behind the easy-chair, but manages to keep a sharp eye on Alphonse, with scornful mouth, for his vanity. Alphonse struts complacently before the glass, moistens his handkerchief with his master's cologne, puts out the candles, goes to table, where he helps himself to the cigars, puts out light, and exit. Minty-Malviny comes out from hiding-place, makes sure he is really gone, and relights candles.]

M.-M. [with deep scorn]. Dar! I knowed dat French nigger 'u'd steal! I gwine ter tell on him in de mawnin' de minit I get er chance. [Sits down on her heels before the fire, screwing up her mouth and chuckling with glee.] Now, now, I'ze gwine ter mek myse'f inter er white chile. [Opens bag in which she carries a dab of flour, with which she proceeds to powder her face as liberally as the bag allows. Then she produces the stocking and examines it with care.] Co'se hit's holey, but den Santa Claus kin stuff er gob er candy er sumpn in de toe-hole, an' er bannanner, er o'ange, in de heel-hole, and some reesins er a'mon's in de res' o' de holes. [She gets up to hang the stocking.] Hump! dis is sump'n lak a chimbly, dis is! Santa Claus ain' gwine ter hu't hisse'f comin' down a stovepipe. Some white folks is funny. [She catches sight of herself in the mirror above the mantel.] My lan'! Kingdom come! I is tu'ned inter er white chile, sho'! An' ole Santa Claus gwine ter be fooled, sho' as I is er nigger!... Now I gwine ter scrooch down on de rug hyar an' watch. [Settles herself comfortably.] I gwine ter hol' my eyes open [yawns aloud] ontwel I see ole Santa Claus crope down dis yer chimbly. Den I gwine ter ax him howdy, an' den I gwine ter p'int out what I bleedge ter hev fer C'ris'mus. Ca'se I ain' gwine ter be er white chile fer nuffin. [This with some energy, but she grows more and more drowsy.] I gwine ter ax fer er wax doll lak whar in der show-winder, an' er cheer, an' er cradle—— [Minty-Malviny falls asleep.]

[After a moment, enter LeBreton, quietly.
Turns on light, goes to dresser, sets down
hat, and drawing off gloves, tosses them
into it. Crosses to fire, and sees Minty-Malviny.
Stirs her gently with his foot.

LeB. [not unkindly]. Here, you little imp, get up! What are you doing here? Who are you, anyway?

M.-M. [springing to her feet, then falling on her knees on the rug]. I ax you howdy, Mister Santa Claus! I hope you's feelin' pretty peart?

LeB. [to himself]. Oh, Mister Santa Claus, am I?

M.-M. [hurriedly]. I'ze name Mint—I'ze er white chile, Mister Santa Claus, an' I'ze name Miss Ann. I'ze er white chile sho's you bawn, Mister Santa Claus!

LeB. [laughing]. Oh, are you? And your name is Miss Ann?

M.-M. [with assurance]. Yes-sir. Law, Marse Santa Claus [laughs hysterically and rocks herself back and forth on her knees], I'ze mos' sho' dat I seed you clammin' down de chimbly jes' now! An' I has been settin' up all night jes' ter ax yer howdy, an' ter ax yer ter fotch me er gre't big wax doll lak whar in der show-winder, an' er cheer, an' er cradle, an' some cups an' sassers wid blue on de aidge lak whar ole Mis' had on de sugar-plantation whar me an' Mammy come f'um. An' dat stockin' whar I is done hung up, hit am pow'ful holey, I knows. But I ain't got no Mammy ter men' it, an' ef er gob er candy wuz in de toe-hole, an' er o'ange in de heel-hole,—oh, Mister Santa Claus, Marse Santa Claus, I is er white chile! Cross my heart, I is! [Bursts into tears, as LeBreton takes hold of the stocking and looks it over, trying hard to restrain his laughter.] Oh, Marse Santa Claus! [Wails.] You is knowed all de time dat I wuz lyin'! I ain't nuffin but er good-fer-nuffin li'l' black nigger whar is name Minty-Malviny.

LeB. [almost overcome with laughter]. Now I am surprised!

M.-M. An' I ain' fitten fer ter hev no C'ris'mus gif'.

LeB. Hush! [Takes off his light coat, pushes her down on the rug, and throws the coat over her.] Lie down and go to sleep. [With mock sternness.] If you're not asleep within two minutes, I'll—— [His threat ends in a growl.]

[Minty-Malviny sobs for a moment or two,
but quickly falls asleep, breathing deeply
and quietly. LeBreton comes forward
and stands perplexed.

LeB. Well, I reckon Santa Claus will have to call for help. Laura can't have gone to bed yet.... I'll get her. [Exit, returning almost at once with Laura.] That's good! Come in a moment.

Laura [anxiously]. Oh, Henri, what is it?

LeB. [laughing]. A trifle! [Puts his hand on her shoulder.] My pack has given out, and I'm 'bleeged to have a big wax doll, like whar in de show-winder, and a cheer, and some dishes, lak ole Miss's on de plantation; and all for a 'spectable young cullud pusson named Minty-Malviny!

Laura [mystified]. Henri! I don't understand.

LeB. No, but you will in a moment. See what I found when I came in. [Leads her over to rug, lifts corner of coat, and discloses Minty-Malviny fast asleep.] Isn't this your little waif, Laura?

Laura. Yes. But what in the world has she been doing to herself?

LeB. Sh-sh! Don't waken her! [They speak in lowered voices.] Why, she was waiting for Santa Claus, and her past experience of the old gentleman's impartiality seems to be responsible for an experiment. Anyway, she popped up and assured me that she was er white chile sho's I was bawn, and her name was Miss Ann. But it stuck in her throat——

Laura [laughing]. No wonder!

LeB. And she presently broke down and wailed that she warn't fitten ter hev no Christmas gift. Now, do you suppose you can find anything for her?

Laura. Certainly I can, poor little soul. Such a lot of things have come—ever so much more than the children need. I'll look them over. [Going.]

LeB. Wait a minute—have you any fruit in your rooms?

Laura. Yes—a whole dish. I'll bring it. [Exit.]

LeB. [rummaging about on dresser]. Er gob er candy fer de toe-hole. Ah—this will do nicely. [Finds box of candy. Enter Laura with fruit.]

Laura. Here, Henri, fill her stocking with these. I'll get some toys. [Exit. LeBreton takes dish, and sits down to fill stocking.]

LeB. [working busily]. Er gob er candy—there, that's it. An' er o'ange fer the heel-hole. Good! Here are the nuts an' reesins for all the other holes—and bananas for the leg! [Enter Laura. LeBreton holds up stocking proudly for her inspection.] There! I flatter myself I'm good at the business, though you may say that that leg is hardly as fat as Minty-Malviny's own.

[Laura laughs approval, and busies herself
arranging doll in armchair, with other
toys about her. LeBreton tries to hang stocking.

LeB. Oh, hang it!

Laura. What, the stocking?

LeB. Yes—no—yes, that's exactly what I can't do! Come and help me, will you? [They struggle with it together, making some noise.]

Laura. Hush, Santa Claus, you'll wake her! [The stocking is hung, the toys arranged, they stand surveying the display, and putting last touches.]

LeB. Oh, Laura, this is gorgeous! But you mustn't be too generous.

Laura. Nonsense, the children will never miss them. [They stand looking down at the coat. Laura lifts the edge and kneels beside Minty-Malviny.] She's too funny—poor little monkey! Oh, Henri, when we are back in our own home, I should like to take this poor little neglected thing and give her a home and look after her a little. Do you suppose I could?

LeB. I don't see what's to prevent. She looks perfectly friendless. [They rise and go to door.]

Laura. You are a good heart, Henri.

LeB. The good heart is yours! I'm Marse Santa Claus—and I intend to put Minty-Malviny in your stocking! [Both laugh heartily, but quietly, and exchange good nights. Laura goes. LeBreton comes back, standing at table a moment.]

LeB. I believe I rather envy the old gentleman! [Puts out light and goes towards alcove, his dressing gown thrown over his arm.]

[Curtains are drawn for a moment, to indicate
the passing of the night. When they open,
daylight has come, the fire is dim, Minty-Malviny
is waking.

M.-M. [catching sight of toys, as she sits up and stretches]. Ow! Wow! Wow! [She fairly yells, beside herself with joy.] Ole Santa Claus done come down de chimbly sho' 'nuff, lak I seed him! An' he done fotch me er wax doll, an' er set o' dishes, same ez ef I wuz er white chile! Oh, Lawdy, Lawdy, Lawdy! [Jumps up and gets down stocking, feeling it, and peering through the holes.] Er gob er candy in de toe-hole, and er o'ange in de heel-hole. [Pauses suddenly, her arm thrust into the stocking.] Lawd, I is glad I didn' try ter stick ter dat lie about bein' er white chile whar name Miss Ann! [Continues her ecstatic rummaging.] My lan'! I jes' ez lief be er nigger ez er white chile! An' er heap liefer!

[Enter Alphonse, with an armful of firewood.
Stands horrified on the threshold,
then rushes forward.

Alph. Ah-h-h-h! 'tite diablesse! va-t-en! I'm goin' to shake the life out of you, singe!

[A boot whizzes past his ear, from the direction
of the alcove.

LeB. [imperiously]. Let her alone, you rascal! If you dare to touch her I'll thrash you within an inch of your life!

Alph. [obsequiously]. Yaa-as, M'sieu Henri.

M.-M. [maliciously, half whispering]. Walk jes' so! [Makes a face at Alphonse. Aloud.] I'ze dat gemplum's nigger whar is dar in de bade, an' I gwine he'p mek he fiah. [Alphonse goes viciously to work to make the fire, frustrating Minty-Malviny's attempts when possible, snatching the poker away from her, etc. She is exasperatingly pleasant and superior.] You ain' bresh de hearf. [He does so, and gathers up the rubbish with one last grimace.]

Alph. [at door]. Singe!

[Exit.

M.-M. [tossing her head and chuckling]. Dat French nigger don' dass say nuffin to me, no mo'!

[Enter LeBreton from alcove, tying the
cords of his dressing gown.

LeB. Good-morning, Minty-Malviny—Merry Christmas to you!

M.-M. [bobbing little courtesies to him]. Mawnin', Marse Henry—same to you, suh! [Looks at him with puzzled half-recognition, head on one side, like a bright little bird.]

LeB. [to himself, sitting near table]. She's nearly sharp enough to know me! [To her.] Minty-Malviny, what are all those things? Where did you get them?

M.-M. [diverted from her study, turns to the toys]. 'Deed, Marse Henry, I didn't took 'em f'um nobody. Ole Santa Claus done come down dis yer chimbly an' fotch 'em heself.

LeB. You don't say so! How do you know he did?

M.-M. Done saw him, Marse Henry.

LeB. You did? Did he scare you?

M.-M. Laws, no! I'ze erspectin' him, co'se, an' I jes' 'membered ma manners an' ax him howdy, an' he gib me all dese gran' C'ris'mus gif's.

LeB. All those for you, Minty-Malviny?

M.-M. [coming closer]. Yes, Marse Henry, I is some s'prised myse'f. I didn't s'pose no li'l' nigger could hab no such gran' C'ris'mus—I 'lowed 'twar on'y fer de white folks. [Squats near him, on the floor, hugging her knees.]

LeB. [aside], I 'low white folks do have the lion's share, myself. [To her.] See here, Minty-Malviny—where's your Mammy—who owns you, anyway?

M.-M. Laws, Marse Henry, ain' got no Mammy. She brung me in f'um ole Mis's plantation, an' den she jes' up an' lef me.

LeB. Who takes care of you?

M.-M. [with dignity]. Takes cyah ob myse'f—don' need nobody to min' me.

LeB. Do you mean you earn your own living?

M.-M. Co'se I does! I runs a'rons fo' Mam' Dilcey—dat's you-all's cook—an' I does chores. An' Mam' Dilcey she treats me pretty good—dat is, mos'ly. [Rubs her ear reminiscently.]

LeB. Where do you sleep?

M.-M. Oh, mos' anywheres. [Sidles nearer to him.] I lak yo' hearf-rug fust-rate, Marse Henry.

LeB. Oh, you do? [Aside.] Part of the C'ris'mus gif', I suppose. [To her.] Well, Minty-Malviny, my sister, Mrs. Courvoisier, is here now. In a few weeks she will be going to her own home—a fine great house, with a big garden—more like your ole Mis's plantation, you know. How would you like to go and live with her, and wait on her, and help mind her baby?

M.-M. Dat do soun' mighty scrumptious! But—Marse Henry—— [looking at him shyly from the corners of her eyes] ef it's all er same to you—I'd er heap druther be yo'r li'l' nigger. [Suddenly turns and kneels at his feet.]

LeB. [taken aback, turns away and walks down stage]. Well—this turn of affairs looks rather more like my sock than Laura's stocking! [Turns to her again.] But what about Alphonse?

M.-M. [with concentrated scorn]. Dat French nigger! Why—— [very rapidly] he cain't eben mek a fiah!

[There is a rush from the door. Enter the
children, followed by Laura. The children
throw themselves upon LeBreton
with enthusiastic shouts.

Children. Christmas gift, Uncle! Christmas gift!

Philip. We caught you, we caught you!

Laura. Merry Christmas, Henri!

LeB. I've no breath left to say Merry Christmas, you young bears! [Shakes them off, laughing.] Unhand me, villains! I want to tell you something. There is somebody else here. Minty-Malviny, this is my sister, Mrs. Courvoisier [Minty-Malviny courtesies to them all, with little bobs of her head], and these are my nieces, Miss Louise and Miss Annette. And here is my nephew, Master Philip Courvoisier. [Sits down, with Philip on his knee.] Children, when you go home, Minty-Malviny is going with you, to look after you, and play games, and tell stories.

Philip. Can she tell stories? Oh, goody!

Louise [aside]. Oh, Mother, how ragged she is!

Annette. Goody! I like stories, too!

Louise. Are those your Christmas presents?

Philip. Was your stocking just awful full?

Annette. Just plumb full? Ours were.

M.-M. Yes'm, hit sho'ly wuz!

Louise. What nice things—did Santa Claus leave them for you?

M.-M. Yes'm. Ole Santa Claus done brung 'em, an' I never 'lowed he'd gib 'em to no pickaninny [with lowered voice], so I powd'ed myse'f up an' let on lak I'ze er white chile!

Annette. You did! What fun!

M.-M. An' den he come down dat chimbly an' seed me.

Philip. Right down this chimney? [Slips off LeBreton's knee, and runs to look up chimney. LeBreton rises and stands by Laura.]

M.-M. Sho's you bawn, honey!

Louise. And you saw him?

M.-M. 'Deed I did, Miss Louise. [The children gather close, and Minty-Malviny tells her story with effective drops in her voice, followed by sudden and startling crescendos.] When he crope down dat chimbly, an' sot he eyes on me de fust time, he knowed I wa'n't no white chile. Ca'ze he eyes uz big ez yo' maw's chiny plates! But he didn' keer! He jes' up an' tuk dat wax doll, an' dem dishes, an' dat cheer, an' dat table, an' dat cradle out'n de ba-ag whar he had on he back, an' gun 'em ter me jes' de same ez ef I 'uz white ez you-alls. But I mos' sho' dat he wouldn' er lef 'em, ner stuff dat stockin' full er goodies, ef I'd er kep' on tellin' him dat lie about bein' er white chile whar name Miss Ann! My lan' [this with an air of great virtue and pride], I is glad ole Mis' l'arnt me to tell de troof!

Philip. What did Santa Claus look like?

Louise. He brings us things, but we never saw him.

Annette. No, he always comes when we are asleep.

M.-M. Wa-al, he 'uz sump'n lak yo' Unc' Henry, on'y not er leas' mite gooder-lookin' dan Marse Henry, caze Marse Henry he de bestes' gempm'n on dis yearth! But he 'uz sump'n lak yo' Unc' Henry. 'Cep'n he's hade touch de top er de house! [Makes a quick and startling motion with her hand and rolls her eyes.] An' he voice big an' deep, an' growly lak a gre't big b'ar. An' de foot he kicked me wif, 'uz big ez de kitchen stove. [Resumes her ordinary voice.] Ya-as, chillen, ef Marse Henry 'uz mo' bigger, an' mo' higher, he 'u'd look jes' eszactly lak ole Mister Santa Claus!

CURTAIN

NOTES ON COSTUME AND PRESENTATION

Ordinary modern costume. LeBreton should have an iron-gray beard. Laura and her children daintily and attractively dressed.

Alphonse, mulatto servant, very dandified and vain.

Minty-Malviny, a black pickaninny, in rags and tatters, nondescript and faded. Her wool braided into little pigtails tied with odd bits of ribbon and string.

LeBreton, Laura, and Alphonse, by adults. Laura's children, five to nine years. Minty-Malviny, ten years old. This part could be played by a boy.

Music. During the moment when the curtain is drawn for the passing of the night, "Holy Night," or some other well-known Christmas hymn, is very softly played off stage. LeBreton hums the same air while filling the stocking, and moving about stage before this interim.

THE HUNDRED

A PLAY IN ONE ACT

CHARACTERS

THE HUNDRED

Adapted from the story by Gertrude Hall.[34]

Time: Christmas Eve.

Scene: Mrs. Darling's dressing-room. Dressing-table, with elaborate and glittering toilette articles, and a large and rather showy photograph of the late Mr. Darling, also a smaller one of Mrs. Darling's cousin, the Reverend Dorel Goodhue. R., an alcove hidden by curtains, containing a couch on which repose The Hundred dolls. Stage requires two entrances, one communicating with Mrs. Darling's bedroom, the other with the rest of the house.

[Enter Catherine, with two carriage wraps,
which she surveys critically.

Catherine [sniffing at one of the wraps, with a sharp glance at the bedroom door]. Humph. If there's the merest smidgeon of camphire about this, I'll hear from it! It's been airing 'most a week, too. [Lays them carefully on couch or chair, then stepping softly, surveys the dressing-table and its appointments. Takes up newspaper from chair, and glances over it while expressing her sentiments.] I'll just take this down with me till it's called for. What with Mr. Jackson the butler, and Sally the kitchen-maid always going home nights, and Cook slippin' off to her bloomin' family every chance she gets, it's likely to be lonesome for me this evening. I'll be bound Mrs. Bonnet'll be off with some friend or other, the minute Mrs. Darling's out of the house. Not that her company's over-pleasant. I'd rather stay alone any time. It's good luck for every other soul in the house when Mrs. Darling dines out. But I never come in for the extras.

[Enter Sally with fur-lined carriage shoes,
which she places beside the wraps.

Sally. Mrs. Darling wanted those warmed in the kitchen. I sh'd think all these fur fixin's 'd be warm enough without no stove.

Catherine [sullenly]. You going, too, I suppose?

Sally. Why, yes. Ain't I done everything? There's no need of me staying, is there?

Catherine. No, I don't suppose there is. I just thought you might be, that's all.

Sally. Tell you what I'd like to do!

Catherine. What'd you like to do, Sally?

Sally [confidentially]. That's to come back again after I've been home for just a minute.

Catherine [looks up, unable to conceal her interest]. You don't mean just to oblige, do you, Sally?

Sally. Well, I'd do it in a minute, for nothing else beside, but that ain't quite all I was thinking of, just this once. Miss Catherine—— [hesitates, then continues enthusiastically] ——have you seen 'em in there? The whole hundred of 'em laid out in the alcove here. [Draws back curtain a little, partly disclosing the couch with an array of daintily dressed dolls. They pick up one or two, and look them over admiringly.] I saw 'em last night when Mrs. Bonnet she sent me up for the lamps to clean, and I've been thinkin' about it ever since. Law! wouldn't any child like to see a sight like that! There's a little girl in my tenement, she'd just go crazy. Do you think there'd be any harm in it, if I was to bring her over and let her get one peep? She's as clean a child as ever you saw. She comes of dreadful poor folks, but just as respectable. She never seen anything like it in her life. Law, what would I have done when I was a young one, if I'd seen that? I'd thought I was dead and gone to heaven. I say, Miss Catherine, do you think anybody'd mind?

Catherine [callously]. How'll they know? Look here, Sally; you go along as fast as you can, and fetch your young one. And when you've got back, perhaps I'll step out a minute, two or three doors up street, and you can answer the bell while I'm gone. Now hurry into your things. I'll give you your car-fare.

Sally. Miss Catherine, you're just as good as you can be, and I'll do something to oblige you, too, sometime. [Exeunt.]

[Enter Mrs. Darling from bedroom in evening
dress. Takes her cousin's photo from
dressing-table and holds it at arm's length.

Mrs. Darling. Well, sir, does your charming cousin reach your standard of feminine appearance? Or is she still far from that pinnacle of elegance to which she aspires? She should be perfect indeed when she is to pose before the world as the highly-favored of the distinguished Mr. Goodhue.... And all the time, I know perfectly well that he prefers Quaker gowns, or hospital caps and aprons.... Well, I'm not exactly a lily of the field, but when it comes to Solomon in all his glory!... The morning papers will say so, at least. "The Reverend Dorel Goodhue, accompanied by his cousin, Mrs. Darling," and so forth. Oh, sometimes I do grow so tired of it all! It's such a farce!... Now, this won't do at all. The Reverend Dorel Goodhue may preach to me on Sunday mornings, from a properly elevated pulpit, in a proper and decorous and conventional manner, but—— Just be kind enough to turn your reproachful face away, sir, and let your cousin finish her prinking. [Replaces photo face down.] Bonnet, why don't you come and do my hair?

[Enter Bonnet, slowly waving a hot curling iron.

Bonnet. Yes, Mrs. Darling.

[Mrs. Darling sits before mirror beautifying
her finger-nails, while Bonnet curls
a few straggling locks of hair.

Mrs. D. [diligently polishing, murmurs]. Mind what you are about.

[Bonnet removes tongs and catches the lock
with greater precaution.

Mrs. D. [louder, with a warning acid in her voice]. Mind what you are about!

[Bonnet begins again, after a pause to make firm
her nerve, catching the hair with infinite solicitude.

Mrs. D. [almost screams]. Mind what you're about! Didn't I tell you to be careful? You've been pulling right along at the same hair! Do consider that it is a human scalp, and not a wig—you are dealing with! Bonny, you're not a bad woman, but you will wear me out. Come, go on with it; it's getting late. [She turns the photo face out once more, and after a moment, as if the sight of it made her repent, she rolls up her eyes angelically to the reflection of Bonnet's face in the mirror.] Bonny, do you think that black moiré of mine would make over nicely for you? I am going to give it to you. No, don't thank me—it makes me look old. Now, my fur shoes.

[Bonnet brings the shoes and begins to struggle
with them.

Mrs. D. [bracing herself against Bonnet's efforts]. I suppose—I suppose I have a very bad temper! [Laughs in a sensible, natural way.] Tell the truth, Bonny; if every mistress had to have a certificate from her maid, you would give me a pretty bad one, wouldn't you? But I was abominably brought up. I used to slap my governesses. And I've had all sorts of illnesses; trouble, too. And I mostly don't mean anything by it. It's just nerves. Poor Bonny! I do treat you shamefully, don't I?

Bonnet [expanding in the light of this uncommon familiarity]. Oh, ma'am, I would give you a character as would make it no difficulty in you getting a first-class situation right away; you may depend upon it, ma'am, I would. Don't this shoe seem a bit tight, ma'am?

Mrs. D. Not at all. It's a whole size larger than the old ones. If you would just be so good as to hold the shoe-horn properly. There, that is it. [Rises and stands surveying the two wraps.] Which shall I wear? [Bonnet draws back for a critical view, but dares not suggest unprompted.] The blue is prettier, but the gray with ermine is more becoming. Oh, Bonny, decide for me quickly, like a tossed-up penny!

Bonnet. Well, I think now I should say the blue one, ma'am.

Mrs. D. [musing]. Should you? But I look less well in it. Surely I would rather look pretty myself than have my dress look pretty, wouldn't I? Give me the gray, and hurry. Mr. Goodhue will be here in a second.... Bonnet, you trying creature! Didn't I tell you to put a hook and eye in the neck of this? Didn't I tell you? Where are your ears? Where are your senses? What on earth do you spend your time thinking about, I should like to know, anyway? I wouldn't wear that thing as it is, not for—not for—— Oh, I'm tired of living surrounded by fools! Take it away—take it away! Bring the other one.... Now, button my gloves. [Looks at herself in the glass, passively letting Bonnet take one of her arms to button the glove. Murmurs.] Ouch! Go softly; you pinch! [Bonnet changes her method, and pulls very gently. Louder.] Ouch! You pinch me! [Bonnet stops short, looks helplessly at the glove, casts up her eyes as if appealing to heaven, then tries again.]

Mrs. D. [screams]. Ouch, ouch, ouch! You pinch like anything! I'm black and blue! [Tears her arm from the quaking Bonnet, fidgets with the button, and pulls it off.] Bonnet, how many times must I tell you to sew the buttons fast on my gloves before you give them to me to put on?... No, they were not! [Pulls off the glove and throws it far across the room. A knock at the door.]

Man's voice [respectfully]. Mr. Goodhue is below, ma'am.

Mrs. D. [humbly, like a child reminded of its promise to behave]. Get another pair, and let me go. [Tucks a final rose, or bunch of violets into the bosom of her dress, turns to leave the room, then pauses to draw back the curtains and look at the dolls. Speaks gushingly.] Aren't they lovely, the hundred of them? Did you ever see such a sight? One prettier than the other! I almost wish I were one of the little girls, myself!

Bonnet. Them that gets them will be made happy, surely, ma'am. I suppose it's for some Christmas Tree?

Mrs. D. They are for my cousin Dorel's Orphans. Pick up, Bonny. Open the windows. Mind you tell Jackson to look at the furnace. I shall not be very late—not later than twelve. [Exit.]

[Bonnet moves briskly about, straightening
the room, with no affectation of soft-stepping.
She digresses from her labors
to get a black skirt from the bedroom,
which she examines critically, then replaces. A knock.

Man's voice [only a shade less respectful than before]. Miss Pittock is waiting below, ma'am.

Bonnet. Very well, I'll be down directly. [Exit, and re-enter at once with a rather old-fashioned cloak and bonnet, which she dons before the glass.] I hope I haven't kept Miss Pittock waiting. [Looks contemptuously at her wrap.] She looks quite more than the lady in her mistress's last year's cape. They say the shops is a sight to behold this year—I haven't a minute to get a look at them myself—and it do seem as if people made more to-do about Christmas than they used. I wonder what kind of shops Miss Pittock'll fancy most. I'd rather see the show-windows in the Grand Bazaar first. They do have the most amazing show there. Anyway, we've got plenty of time. Her lady won't be home before twelve, and no more will mine. [Turns down gas, and exit.]

[Enter Catherine, in a coat, with jet spangles
and a hat with nodding plumes.
Turns up gas, and looks about her while
drawing on a pair of tight gloves. Enter
Sally and Tibbie in outdoor wraps,
shawls, and "comforters."

Sally. Oh, Miss Catherine, I didn't know where you was. I thought maybe you was gone.

Tibbie [hanging back]. You didn't tell me! You didn't tell me!

Catherine. Now you'll be sure she don't touch anything, Sally. [Looks Tibbie over.]

Sally. Naw! She won't hurt anything. I've told her I'd skin her if she did.

Catherine. Are her hands clean? You'd better give them a wash, anyhow.

[Tibbie drops her eyes, a little mortified.

Sally. All right. I'll wash 'em.

Catherine. Did she scrape her boots thoroughly on the mat before she came up?

Sally. I looked after all that, Miss Catherine. Just you go along with an easy mind.

Catherine. Well, I'm off. I won't be long gone. Why don't you give her a piece of that cake? It's cut. But don't let her make any crumbs. Here, give me your things. I'll take 'em down to the kitchen. Good-by, little girl. I guess you never was in a house like this before. Good-by, Sal. Is my hat on straight? [Exit with coats.]

Sally. She's particular, ain't she?

Tibbie. I'd just as soon wash them again, but they're clean. I thought you said she was gone off to a party, and going to be gone till real late.

Sally [plumps down to contort herself in comfort]. Law! She thought it was Mis' Darling herself! Law! Law! [Tibbie laughs, too, but less heartily.] Now what'll we do first? Do you want the treat right off?

Tibbie. Oh, lemme guess, first, Sal, and tell me when I'm hot! Is it made of sugar?

Sally. No, it ain't.

Tibbie. But you said it was a treat, didn't you, Sally?

Sally. I did that. But ain't there treats and treats? There's goin' to the circus, for instance. That hasn't any sugar.

Tibbie. Is it a circus, Sally? Is it a circus?

Sally. No, it ain't a circus, but it's every bit as nice.

Tibbie. Is it freaks, Sally? Oh, tell me if it's freaks! It isn't? Are you sure I'll like it very much? It's nothing to eat, and it's nothing I can have to keep, and it's not a circus. What color is it? You'll answer straight, won't you?

Sally. Oh, it's every color in the world, and striped, and polka-dotted, and crinkled, and smooth. There's a hundred of it.

Tibbie [rapturously]. Oh!

Sally [takes her hand]. Come along now, I'm going to wash your hands in Mrs. Darling's basin. Ain't it handsome? [Pokes the scented soap under the nose of Tibbie, who sniffs delightedly.] Flowers on the chiny, too. [Washes Tibbie's hands while they talk.] Did you get anything for Christmas yet, Tibbie? [Tibbie moves her head slowly up and down, absorbed in the process of washing.] What did you get?

Tibbie. A doll's flatiron an' a muslin bag of candy. I put the iron on to heat and it melted. I gave what was left to Jimmy.

Sally. Who gave them to you?

Tibbie. Off the Sunday-school tree. But there weren't no lights on it because it was daytime. Sally, I know something that has a hundred——

Sally. What's that? Let's see if you've got it now?

Tibbie [shamefacedly]. A dollar—is a hundred cents.

Sally. Well, and would I be bringing you so far just to show you a dollar? This is worth as much as a dollar, every individual one of them. Tibbie, it's just the grandest sight you ever seen—pink and blue and yellow and striped——

Tibbie [after looking her fixedly in the face, now almost shouts]. It's marbles!

Sally. Aw, but you're downright stupid, Tibbie! I don't mind telling you I'm disappointed. You're just a common, everyday sort of a young one, with no idear of grandness in your idears, at all! And you don't seem to keep a hold on more than one notion at a time. First it's a dollar. Is that pink and blue? And next it's marbles. Is marbles worth a dollar apiece? Now tell me what's the grandest, prettiest thing ever you saw——

Tibbie. ... Angels.

Sally. D'you ever see any?

Tibbie. In the church-window, painted.

Sally. Well, this is as handsome as a hundred angels, less than a foot tall, all in new clothes, with little hats on.

Tibbie. Sally, I think I know, now. Only it couldn't be that. There couldn't likely be a hundred of them altogether, for it isn't a store you brought me to! You didn't tell me we were going to a store.

Sally. No more it is. We're going to stay right here in Mrs. Darling's house, and no place but here.

Tibbie [faintly, looking all about]. But where is there a hundred of anything?

Sally. Oh, this ain't it, yet! This is only like the outside entry. Now, Miss Tibbs, what kind of scent will you have on your hands?

Tibbie. Oh, Sal!

Sally [at dresser]. Shall it be Violet, or Roossian Empress, or—what's this other?—Lilass Blank? or the anatomizer played over them like the garden hose? [They unstop the bottles in turn, and draw up great, noisy, luxurious breaths.]

Tibbie. This, Sally, this one with a double name, like a person. [Sally pours a drop in each hand, and Tibbie dances as she rubs them together.] Why are the little scissors crooked? [Busily picks up things one after the other]. What for is the fluting-irons? What for is the butter in the little chiny jar? What's the flour for in the silver box? Oh, what's this? Oh, Sal, what's that?

Sally. It's to make you pale. It ain't fashionable to be red. [Picks up powder-puff, and gives Tibbie, who draws back startled and coughing, a dusty dab on each cheek, then applies it to her own. The two stand gazing in silent interest at themselves in the mirror, gradually breaking into smiles. Sally suddenly hitches first one shoulder, then the other, and brushes her face clean, Tibbie faithfully aping her movements. Then they look at themselves again.]

Tibbie. But I ain't pale, anyhow.

Sally. Law! that you ain't!

Tibbie. Who's the gentleman, Sal, in the pretty frame?

Sally. That's Mrs.'s husband. He ain't been living some time.

Tibbie. Oh, he ain't living.

Sally. Now, Tibbs, I'm going to get you that cake before I show you the Hundred. You wait here. But don't you hurt anything, or I'll skin you sure, like I told Miss Catherine. And whatever you do, don't you look behind that curtain till I come back.

Tibbie. Is the Hundred there?

Sally. Yes, it's there. [Exit.]

[Tibbie looks at the curtain for a moment,
then turns to examine other wonders.
Strokes the soft cushions, etc., with the
palm of her hand, which she frequently
stops to smell. Gazes at the photo of the
Reverend Dorel.

Tibbie. He looks like a real kind, good man. I'm going to ask Sally if she knows him. [Sits down on the floor and strokes the fur rug. Enter Sally with cake-box. Tibbie chooses gravely, then speaks with her mouth full.] I never tasted any cake like this before. M-m-m-m! Say, Sally, this big thing's 'most as good as a dog. It's so soft I'd like to sleep on it.

Sally [with feigned coldness]. Oh, all right! I don't think we'll bother any more about seeing The Hundred.

Tibbie. I had forgotten, honest, Sally.

Sally. Eat your cake, and come along, then.

Tibbie [jumping up]. Can't I take it, in my hand?

Sally. No, for when you see 'em, you'll drop it quick all over the floor.

Tibbie [hurrying it down]. All right. I will.

Sally. Wait a minute. You turn your back, and I'll go and open the curtains. When I sing out, you turn around.

[Tibbie stands facing audience, hands clasped
tightly in impatience.

Sally. Ready!

[Tibbie gives one bound, then stops short
quite overcome.

Sally [expectantly]. Well, ma'am? [Tibbie stands gazing, unable to speak.] Well, I never! Don't you like 'em? What on earth did you expect, child? Well, I never! Well, if it don't beat all! Why, when I was a young one—— Why, Tibbie, girl—don't you think they're lovely?

Tibbie [whispers]. Yes. [Nodding her head slowly, then letting it hang.]

Sally [understanding]. Aw, come out o' that! Come, let's look at 'em one by one, taking all our time. Come to Sally, darling, and don't feel bad. We'll have lots of fun. [Takes Tibbie's hand and draws her nearer the dolls, then sits on the floor and pulls Tibbie down into her lap.]

Tibbie. I had almost guessed it, you know, when you said like angels with hats on. But I couldn't think there would be a hundred unless it was a store. What has the lady so many for?

Sally. Bless your heart! They ain't for herself! They're for orphans in a school that a minister cousin of hers is superintendent of. She's been over a month making these clothes. Every Wednesday she would give a tea-party, and a lot of ladies come stitching and snipping and buzzing over the dolls' clothes the blessed afternoon. And I washed the tea things after them all!

Tibbie. They are for the orphans. Are there a hundred orphans?

Sally. Oh, I guess likely.

Tibbie. Suppose, Sally—suppose there were only ninety-nine, and some girl got two!

Sally. Well, we two have got a hundred for to-night, Tibbie, so let's play, and glad enough we've got our mothers. Look, this is the way you must hold them to be sure and not crumple anything. [Sally slips her hand under a doll's petticoats, and they peep at the dainty underclothes. Sally spurs on Tibbie's enthusiasm by the tones of her voice, making the wonder more, to fill the child's soul to intoxication. Tibbie easily responds, fairly rocking herself to and fro with delight.]

Sally. My soul and body! Did you ever see the like! [Sighs.] And not a pin among 'em. All pearl buttons, and silk tying-strings, and silver hooks and eyes; and, mercy on my soul! a little bit of a pocket in every dress, with its little bit of a lace pocket-handkerchief inside. D'you see that, Tibbie?

Tibbie [breathlessly]. Oh, Sally! Oh, Sally!

Sally. Come on, Tibbie; let's choose the one we would choose to get if we was to get one given us. Now I would like that one in red velvet. It's just so dressy, ain't it, with the gold braid sewed down in a pattern round the bottom. Which would you take?

Tibbie. I should like the one all in white. She must be a bride; see, she has a wreath and veil and necklace. I should like her the very best. But right after that, if I could have two, I should like this other in the shade hat with the forget-me-nots wreath, and forget-me-nots dotted all over her dress. And, see! the sky-blue ribbon. If I could just have three, then I would take this one, too, with the black lace shawl over her head, fastened with roses, instead of a hat. She has such a lovely face! And after her I would choose this one in green—or this one in pink; no, this one here, Sally; just look—this one in green and pink. And you—if you could have more than one, which would you choose, after the red one?

Sally. Well, I guess I should choose this one in white.

Tibbie. Oh, no, Sally, don't you remember? That is the bride, the one I said the very first. You can have all the others, Sally dear, except the bride. But let's see, perhaps there are two brides. Yes!—no!—that is just a little girl in white, without a wreath. Should you like her as well? I was the first to say the bride, you know.

Sally. Law! I wouldn't have wanted her if I'd known she was a bride! I take this one, Tibbie—this one with feathers in her hat. Ain't she the gay girl in red and green plaid? And this purple silk one, and this red and white stripe, and this——

Tibbie. Wait! That's enough; Sally, that makes four for you. It's my turn now. If I could have five, I should take one of the rosebud ones—no, two of them, so's to play I had twins. Say, Sally, what if we could choose one apiece—first you one, and then me one, till we'd chosen them all up, and got fifty apiece!

Sally. What if we could! Wouldn't that be just grand! Tell us some more you'd take.

Tibbie [pointing and speaking at first slowly and meditatively, then more and more quickly]. I'd take this darling blue girl, and this yellow one, and this cunning little spotted one, and this, and this, and this, and this, and this—— Oh, Sally, if it was only real, and not just let's-pretend! Now it's your turn.

Sally [placing her forefinger pensively against the side of her nose]. For my fifth one, I choose her—her with the little black velvets run all through.

Tibbie [promptly]. Taken already.