Yardsley.  He doesn’t want to make it too plain, however, so I was right after all.  His villany is to come as a painful surprise.

Mrs. Perkins.  But what are we to do?  Have you got anybody else to take his part?

Yardsley.  Yes.  I telegraphed right off to Bradley, explained as far as I could in a telegram without using all the balance in the treasury, and he answered all right.  Said he’d bone at the part all day, and would be here at five letter perfect.

Mrs. Perkins (with a sigh of relief).  Good.  He’s very quick at learning a thing.  I imagine it will be all right.  I’ve known him to learn a harder part than that in five hours.  It’ll be pleasanter for Emma, too.  She didn’t like those scenes she had as Lady Amaranth the adventuress with Henderson.  He kept her off the middle of the stage all the time; but with her husband it will be different.

Perkins.  I’ll bet on that!  No good-natured husband of a new women ever gets within a mile of the centre of the stage while she’s on it.  She’ll have stage room to burn in her scenes with Brad.

Mrs. Perkins.  I think it was awfully mean of Mr. Henderson, though.

Yardsley.  Disgusting.

Perkins.  It was inconsiderate.  So hard on his grandmother, too, to be compelled to knock under just to get him out of a disagreeble situation.  She ought to disinherit him.

Yardsley.  Oh, it’s easy enough to be sarcastic.

Perkins.  That’s so, Bob; that’s why I never am.  It’s commonplace. 
(Bell rings.) Ah, there’s the rest of the troupe, I guess. [Exit.

Yardsley (looking at his watch).  It’s about time.  They’re twenty minutes late.

Mrs. Perkins (rehearsing).  So once for all, Lord Muddleton—­ (derisively)—­ha, ha!  Lord Muddleton! that is amusing.  You—­Lord Muddleton!  Ha, ha!  Once for all, Lord Muddleton.  I acquaint you with my determination.  I shall not tell Henry Cobb what I have discovered, since I have promised, but none the less he shall know.  Walls have ears—­even that oaken chest by yinder wonder—­

Yardsley (irritated).  Excuse me, Mrs. Perkins; but really you must get that phrase right.  You’ve called it yinder wonder at every rehearsal we’ve had so far.  I know it’s difficult to get right.  Yonder window is one of those beastly combinations that playwrights employ to make the Thespian’s pathway to fame a rocky one; but you must get over it, and say it right.  Practise it for an hour, if need be—­yonder window, yonder winder—­I mean, yonder window—­until it comes easy.

Mrs. Perkins (meekly).  I have, and it doesn’t seem to do any good.  I’ve tried and tried to get it right, but yonder window is all I can say.

Yardsley.  But yinder window is—­I should say, yonder window is correct.

Mrs. Perkins.  Well, I’m just going to change it, that’s all.  It shall be yonder casement.