Bradley (looking at his watch).  By Jove, Emma, it’s after eleven!

Mrs. Bradley.  After eleven?  Dear me!  I had no idea it was as late as that.  How time flies when you are enjoying yourself!  Really, Edward, you ought not to have overlooked the time.  You know—­

Bradley.  I supposed you knew we couldn’t pull a house down in five minutes.

Perkins.  What’s become of the clock?

Mrs. Perkins.  I don’t know.  Who took the clock out?

Barlow.  I did.  It’s under the dining-room table.

Mrs. Bradley.  Well, we mustn’t keep Bessie up another moment.  Good-night, my dear.  We have had a delightful time.

Mrs. Perkins.  Good-night.  I am sure we have enjoyed it.

Perkins (aside).  Oh yes, indeed; we haven’t had so much fun since the children had the mumps.

Yardsley.  Well, so-long, Perkins.  Thanks for your help.

Perkins.  By-by.

Barlow.  Good-night.

Yardsley.  Don’t bother about fixing up to-night, Perkins.  I’ll be around to-morrow evening and help put things in order again.

[They all go out.  The good-nights are repeated, and finally the front door is closed.

Re-enter Perkins, who falls dejectedly on the settee, followed by
Mrs. Perkins, who gives a rueful glance at the room.

Perkins.  I’m glad Yardsley’s coming to fix us up again.  I never could do it.

Mrs. Perkins.  Then I must.  I can’t ask Jennie to do it, she’d discharge us at once, and I can’t have my drawing-room left this way over Sunday.

Perkins (wearily).  Oh, well, shall we do it now?

Mrs. Perkins.  No, you poor dear man; we’ll stay home from church to-morrow morning and do it.  It won’t be any harder work than reading the Sunday newspapers.  What have you there?

Perkins (looking at two tickets he has abstracted from his vest-pocket).  Tickets for Irving—­this evening—­Lyons Mail—­third row from the stage.  I was just thinking—­

Mrs. Perkins.  Don’t tell me what you were thinking, my dear.  It can’t be expressible in polite language.

Perkins.  You are wrong there, my dear.  I wasn’t thinking cuss-words at all.  I was only reflecting that we didn’t miss much anyhow, under the circumstances.

Mrs. Perkins.  Miss much?  Why, Thaddeus, what do you mean?

Perkins.  Nothing—­only that for action continuous and situations overpowering The Lyons Mail isn’t a marker to an evening of preparation for Amateur Dramatics.

Enter Jennie.

Jennie.  Excuse me, mim, but the coachman says shall he wait any longer?  He’s been there three hours now.

[CURTAIN]

THE FATAL MESSAGE

CHARACTERS: 

MR. THADDEUS PERKINS, in charge of the curtain. 
MRS. THADDEUS PERKINS, cast for Lady Ellen. 
MISS ANDREWS, cast for the maid. 
MR. EDWARD BRADLEY, an under-study. 
MRS. EDWARD BRADLEY, cast for Lady Amaranth. 
MR. ROBERT YARDSLEY, stage-manager. 
MR. JACK BARLOW, cast for Fenderson Featherhead. 
MR. CHESTER HENDERSON, an absentee. 
JENNIE, a professional waitress.