Yardsley.  I’m sure I don’t know what to do.

Perkins.  Give it up, eh?  What are you stage-manager for?  If I didn’t own the house, I’d suggest setting it on fire; but I do, and it isn’t fully insured.

Mrs. Perkins.  Perhaps Miss Andrews and Mr. Yardsley could do their little scene from Romeo and Juliet.

Mrs. Bradley.  Just the thing.

Yardsley.  But I haven’t a suitable costume.

Perkins.  I’ll lend you my golf trousers, and Bess has an old shirt-waist you could wear with ’em.  Piece it out a little so that you could get into it, and hang the baby’s toy sword at your side, and carry his fireman’s hat under your arm, and you’d make a dandy-looking Romeo.  Some people might think you were a new woman, but if somebody were to announce to the audience that you were not that, but the Hon. R. Montague, Esq., it would be all right and exceedingly amusing.  I’ll do the announcing with the greatest of pleasure.  Really think I’d enjoy it.

Miss Andrews.  I think it would be much better to get up Mrs.
Jarley’s waxworks.

Perkins.  Oh dear, Miss Andrews, never.  Mrs. Jarley awakens too many bitter memories in me.  I was Mrs. Jarley once, and—­

Yardsley.  It must have been awful.  If there is anything in life that could be more horrible than you, with your peculiar style of humor, trying to do Jarley, I—­

Perkins.  Oh, well, what’s the odds what we do?  We’re only amateurs, anyhow.  Yardsley can put on a pair of tight boots, and give us an impression of Irving, or perhaps an imitation of the Roman army at the battle of Philippi, and the audience wouldn’t care, as long as they had a good supper afterwards.  It all rests with Martenelli whether it’s a go to-night.  If he doesn’t spoil the supper, it’ll be all right.  I have observed that the principal factors of success at amateur dramatics are an expert manipulation of the curtain, and a first-class feed to put the audience in a good-humor afterwards.  Even if Martenelli does go back on us, you’ll have me with the curtain—­

Mrs. Perkins.  Thaddeus!

Yardsley.  By Jove! that’s a good idea—­we have got you.  You can read Henderson’s part!

Perkins.  What—­I?

Barlow.  Certainly.

Bradley.  Just the very thing.

Miss Andrews.  Splendid idea.

Perkins.  Oh—­but I say—­I can’t, you know.  Nonsense!  I can’t read.

Yardsley.  I’ve often suspected that you couldn’t, my dear Thaddeus; but this time you must.

Perkins.  But the curtain—­the babies—­the audience—­the ushing—­the fire department—­it is too much.  I’m not an octopus.

Barlow (taking him by the arm and pushing him into chair).  You can’t get out of it, Ted.  Here—­read up.  There—­take my book.

[Thrusts play-book into his hand.

Bradley.  Here’s mine, too, Thaddeus.  Read ’em both at once, and then you’ll have gone over it twice.