The Bicyclers and Three Other Farces, John Kendrick Bangs [best short novels of all time .txt] 📗

I'll tell her; it's no trouble to me.

Dorothy. Of course not, and she can get some one to take your place.

Yardsley (desperately). Oh, don't say anything about it. Fact is, she--ah--she hasn't invited me.

Barlow. Ah! (Aside.) I knew that all along. Oh, but I'm clever!

Dorothy (hastily, to relieve Yardsley's embarrassment). Have you seen Irving, Mr. Yardsley?

Yardsley. Yes.

Barlow (suspiciously). What in? I haven't seen you at any of the first nights.

Yardsley (with a grin). In the grill-room at the Players.

Barlow (aside). Bah!

Dorothy (laughing). You are so bright, Mr. Yardsley.

Barlow (forcing a laugh). Ha, ha, ha! Why, yes--very clever that. It ought to have a Gibson picture over it, that joke. It would help it. Those Gibson pictures are fine, I think. Carry any kind of joke, eh?

Yardsley. Yes, they frequently do.

Dorothy. I'm so glad you both like Gibson, for I just dote on him. I have one of his originals in my portfolio. I'll get it if you'd like to see it.

[She rises and goes to the corner of the room, where there stands a portfolio-case.

Yardsley (aside). What a bore Barlow is! Hang him! I must get rid of him somehow.

[Barlow meanwhile is assisting Dorothy.

Yardsley (looking around at the others). Jove! he's off in the corner with her. Can't allow that, for the fact is Barlow's just a bit dangerous--to me.

Dorothy (rummaging through portfolio). Why, it was here--

Barlow. Maybe it's in this other portfolio.

Yardsley (joining them). Yes, maybe it is. That's a good idea. If it isn't in one portfolio maybe it's in another. Clever thought! I may be bright, Miss Andrews, but you must have observed that Barlow is thoughtful.

Dorothy (with a glance at Barlow). Yes, Mr. Yardsley, I have noticed the latter.

Barlow. Tee-hee! that's one on you, Bob.

Yardsley (obtuse). Ha, ha! Yes. Why, of course! Ha, ha, ha! For repartee I have always said-polite repartee, of course--Miss Andrews is--(Aside.) Now what the dickens did she mean by that?

Dorothy. I can't find it here. Let--me think. Where--can--it--be?

Barlow (striking thoughtful attitude). Yes, where can it be? Let me do your thinking for you, Miss Dorothy. (Then softly to her.) Always!

Yardsley (mocking Barlow). Yes! Let _me_ think! (Points his finger at his forehead and assumes tragic attitude. Then stalks to the front of stage in manner of burlesque Hamlet.) Come, thought, come. Shed the glory of thy greatness full on me, and thus confound mine enemies. Where the deuce is that Gibson?

Dorothy. Oh, I remember. It's up-stairs. I took it up with me last night. I'll ring for Jennie, and have her get it.

Yardsley (aside, and in consternation). Jennie! Oh, thunder! I'd forgotten her. I do hope she remembers not to forget herself.

Barlow. What say?

Yardsley. Nothing; only--ah--only that I thought it was very--very pleasant out.

Barlow. That's what you said before.

Yardsley (indignantly). Well, what of it? It's the truth. If you don't believe it, go outside and see for yourself.

[Jennie appears at the door in response to Dorothy's ring. She glances demurely at Yardsley, who tries to ignore her presence.

Dorothy. Jennie, go up to my room and look on the table in the corner, and bring me down the portfolio you will find there. The large brown one that belongs in the stand over there.

Jennie (dazed). Yessum. And shall I be bringin' lemons with it?

Dorothy. Lemons, Jennie?

Jennie. You always does have lemons with your tea, mum.

Dorothy. I didn't mention tea. I want you to get my portfolio from up-stairs. It is on the table in the corner of my room.

[Looks at Jennie in surprise.

Jennie. Oh, excuse me, mum. I didn't hear straight.

[She casts a languishing glance at Yardsley and disappears.

Yardsley (noting the glance, presumably aside). Confound that Jennie!

Barlow (overhearing Yardsley). What's that? Confound that Jennie? Why say confound that Jennie? Why do you wish Jennie to be confounded?

Yardsley (nervously). I didn't say that. I--ah--I merely said that-- that Jennie appeared to be--ah--confounded.

Dorothy. She certainly is confused. I cannot understand it at all. Ordinarily I have rather envied Jennie her composure.

Yardsley. Oh, I suppose--it's--it's--it's natural for a young girl-- a servant--sometimes to lose her--equipoise, as it were, on occasions. If we lose ours at times, why not Jennie? Eh? Huh?

Barlow. Certainly.

Yardsley. Of course--ha--trained servants are hard to get these days, anyhow. Educated people--ah--go into other professions, such as law, and--ah--the ministry--and--

Dorothy. Well, never mind. Let's talk of something more interesting than Jennie. Going to the Chrysanthemum Show, Mr. Barlow?

Barlow. I am; wouldn't miss it for the world. Do you know, really now, the chrysanthemum, in my opinion, is the most human-looking flower we have. The rose is too beautiful, too perfect, for me. The chrysanthemum, on the other hand--

Yardsley (interrupting). Looks so like a football-player's head it appeals to your sympathies? Well, perhaps you are right. I never thought of it in that light before, but--

Dorothy (smiling). Nor I; but now that you mention it, it does look that way, doesn't it?

Barlow (not wishing to disagree with Dorothy). Very much. Droll idea, though. Just like Bob, eh? Very, very droll. Bob's always dro--

Yardsley (interrupting). When I see a man walking down the Avenue with a chrysanthemum in his button-hole, I always think of a wild Indian wearing a scalp for decorative purposes.

[Barlow and Dorothy laugh at this, and during their mirth Jennie enters with the portfolio. She hands it to Dorothy. Dorothy rests it on the arm of her chair, and Barlow looking over one shoulder, she goes through it. Jennie in passing out throws another kiss to Yardsley.

Yardsley (under his breath, stamping his foot). Awgh!

Barlow. What say?

[Dorothy looks up, surprised.

Yardsley. I--I didn't say anything. My--ah--my shoe had a piece of-- ah--

Barlow. Oh, say lint, and be done with it.

Yardsley (relieved, and thankful for the suggestion). Why, how did you know? It did, you know. Had a piece of lint on it, and I tried to get it off by stamping, that's all.

Dorothy. Ah, here it is.

Yardsley. What? The lint?

Barlow. Ho! Is the world nothing but lint to you? Of course not-- the Gibson. Charming, isn't it, Miss Dorothy?

Dorothy (holding the picture up). Fine. Just look at that girl. Isn't she pretty?

Barlow. Very.

Dorothy. And such style, too.

Yardsley (looking over Dorothy's other shoulder). Yes, very pretty, and lots of style. (Softly.) Very--like some one--some one I know.

Barlow (overhearing). I think so myself, Yardsley. It's exactly like Josie Wilkins. By-the-way--ah--how is that little affair coming along, Bob?

Dorothy (interested). What! You don't mean to say--Why, _Mister_ Yardsley!

Yardsley (with a venomous glance at Barlow). Nonsense. Nothing in it. Mere invention of Barlow's. He's a regular Edison in his own way.

[Dorothy looks inquiringly at Barlow.

Barlow (to Yardsley). Oh, don't be so sly about it, old fellow! _Every_body knows.

Yardsley. But I tell you there's nothing in it. I--I have different ideas entirely, and you--you know it--or, if you don't, you will shortly.

Dorothy. Oh! Then it's some one else, Mr. Yardsley? Well, now I _am_ interested'. Let's have a little confidential talk together. Tell _us_, Mr. Yardsley, tell Mr. Barlow and me, and maybe--I can't say for certain, of course--but maybe we can help you.

Barlow (gleefully rubbing his hands). Yes, old man; certainly. Maybe we--we can help you.

Yardsley (desperately). You can help me, both of you--but--but I can't very well tell you how.

Barlow. I'm willing to do all I can for you, my dear Bob. If you will only tell us her name I'll even go so far as to call, in your behalf, and propose for you.

Yardsley. Oh, thanks. You are very kind.

Dorothy. I think so too, Mr. Barlow. You are almost too kind, it seems to me.

Yardsley. Oh no; not too kind, Miss Andrews. Barlow simply realizes that one who has proposed marriage to young girls as frequently as he has knows how the thing is done, and he wishes to give me the benefit of his experience. (Aside.) That's a facer for Barlow.

Barlow. Ha, ha, ha! Another joke, I suppose. You see, my dear Bob, that I am duly appreciative. I laugh. Ha, ha, ha! But I must say I laugh with some uncertainty. I don't know whether you intended that for a joke or for a staggerer. You should provide your conversation with a series of printed instructions for the listener. Get a lot of cards, and have printed on one, "Please laugh"; on another, "Please stagger"; on another, "Kindly appear confused." Then when you mean to be jocose hand over the laughter card, and so on. Shall I stagger?

Dorothy. I think that Mr. Yardsley meant that for a joke. Didn't you, Mr. Yardsley?

Yardsley. Why, certainly. Of course. I don't really believe Barlow ever had sand enough to propose to any one. Did you, Jack?

Barlow (indignant). Well, I rather think I have.

Dorothy. Ho, ho! Then you _are_ an experienced proposer, Mr. Barlow?

Barlow (confused). Why--er--well--um--I didn't exactly mean that, you know. I meant that--ah--if it ever came to the--er--the test, I think I could--I'd have sand enough, as Yardsley puts it, to do the thing properly, and without making a--ah--a Yardsley of myself.

Yardsley (bristling up). Now what do you mean by that?

Dorothy. I think you are both of you horrid this afternoon. You are so quarrelsome. Do you two always quarrel, or is this merely a little afternoon's diversion got up for my especial benefit?

Barlow (with dignity). I never quarrel.

Yardsley. Nor I. I simply differ sometimes, that's all. I never had an unpleasant word with Jack in my life. Did I, Jack?

Barlow. Never. I always avoid a fracas, however great the provocation.

Dorothy (desperately). Then let us have a cup of tea together and be more sociable. I have always noticed that tea promotes sociability-- haven't you, Mr. Yardsley?

Yardsley. Always. (Aside.) Among women.

Barlow. What say?

[Dorothy rises and rings the bell for Jennie.

Yardsley.