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).  I’ll get a hammer. [Exit.

Mrs. Perkins (aside).  I must explain to Thaddeus.  He’ll never forgive me. (Aloud.) Thaddeus is so forgetful that I don’t believe he can find that hammer, so if you’ll excuse me I’ll go help him. [Exit.

Bradley.  Wonder what’s up?  They don’t quarrel, do they?

Mrs. Bradley.  I don’t believe any one could quarrel with Bessie Perkins—­not even a man.