The Bicyclers and Three Other Farces | Page 7

go out, and as the last, Perkins and Bradley, disappear stiffly
through the portieres, the curtain falls.

A DRAMATIC EVENING

CHARACTERS:
MR. THADDEUS PERKINS, a victim. MR. EDWARD BRADLEY, a
friend in disguise. MR. ROBERT YARDSLEY, an amiable villain. MR.
JOHN BARLOW, the amiable villain's assistant. MRS. THADDEUS
PERKINS, a martyr. MRS. EDWARD BRADLEY, a woman of
executive ability. JENNIE, a housemaid.
The scene is placed in the drawing-room of Mr. and Mrs. Thaddeus
Perkins, of New York. The time is a Saturday evening in the early
spring, and the hour is approaching eight. The curtain, rising, discovers
Perkins, in evening dress, reading a newspaper by the light of a lamp
on the table. Mrs. Perkins is seated on the other side of the table,
buttoning her gloves. Her wrap is on a chair near at hand. The room is
gracefully over-furnished.
Mrs. Perkins. Where are the seats, Thaddeus?
Perkins. Third row; and, by Jove! Bess (looking at his watch), we must
hurry. It is getting on towards eight now. The curtain rises at 8.15.
Mrs. Perkins. The carriage hasn't come yet. It isn't more than a ten
minutes' drive to the theatre.
Perkins. That's true, but there are so many carriage-folk going to see
Irving that if we don't start early we'll find ourselves on the end of the
line, and the first act will be half over before we can reach our seats.
Mrs. Perkins. I'm so glad we've got good seats--down near the front. I
despise opera-glasses, and seats under the galleries are so oppressive.
Perkins. Well, I don't know. For The Lyons Mail I think a seat in the
front row of the top gallery, where you can cheer virtue and hiss villany
without making yourself conspicuous, is the best.

Mrs. Perkins. You don't mean to say that you'd like to sit up with those
odious gallery gods?
Perkins. For a melodrama, I do. What's the use of clapping your gloved
hands together at a melodrama? That doesn't express your feelings. I
always want to put two fingers in my mouth and pierce the atmosphere
with a regular gallery-god whistle when I see the villain laid low by the
tow-headed idiot in the last act--but it wouldn't do in the orchestra. You
might as well expect the people in the boxes to eat peanuts as expect an
orchestra-chair patron to whistle on his fingers.
Mrs. Perkins. I should die of mortification if you ever should do such a
vulgar thing, Thaddeus.
Perkins. Then you needn't be afraid, my dear. I'm too fond of you to
sacrifice you to my love for whistling. (The front-door bell rings.) Ah,
there is the carriage at last. I'll go and get my coat.
[Mrs. Perkins rises, and is about to don her wrap as Mr. Perkins goes
towards the door.
Enter Mr. and Mrs. Bradley. Perkins staggers backward in surprise.
Mrs. Perkins lets her wrap fall to the floor, an expression of dismay on
her face.
Mrs. Perkins (aside). Dear me! I'd forgotten all about it. This is the
night the club is to meet here!
Bradley. Ah, Perkins, how d' y' do? Glad to see me? Gad! you don't
look it.
Perkins. Glad is a word which scarcely expresses my feelings, Bradley.
I--I'm simply de-lighted. (Aside to Mrs. Perkins, who has been greeting
Mrs. Bradley.) Here's a kettle of fish. We must get rid of them, or we'll
miss The Lyons Mail.
Mrs. Bradley. You two are always so formal. The idea of your putting
on your dress suit, Thaddeus! It'll be ruined before we are half through

this evening.
Bradley. Certainly, Perkins. Why, man, when you've been moving
furniture and taking up carpets and ripping out fireplaces for an hour or
two that coat of yours will be a rag--a veritable rag that the ragman
himself would be dubious about buying.
Perkins (aside). Are these folk crazy? Or am I? (Aloud.) Pulling up
fireplaces? Moving out furniture? Am I to be dispossessed?
Mrs. Bradley. Not by your landlord, but you know what amateur
dramatics are.
Bradley. I doubt it. He wouldn't have let us have 'em here if he had
known.
Perkins. Amateur--amateur dramatics?
Mrs. Perkins. Certainly, Thaddeus. You know we offered our parlor for
the performance. The audience are to sit out in the hall.
Perkins. Oh--ah! Why, of course! Certainly! It had slipped my mind;
and--ah--what else?
Bradley. Why, we're here to-night to arrange the scene. Don't tell us
you didn't know it. Bob Yardsley's coming, and Barlow. Yardsley's a
great man for amateur dramatics; he bosses things so pleasantly that
you don't know you're being ordered about like a slave. I believe he
could persuade a man to hammer nails into his piano-case if he wanted
it done, he's so insinuatingly lovely about it all.
Perkins (absently).