The Bicyclers and Three Other Farces Part 20

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 wis.h.i.+ng 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 b.u.t.ton-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 pa.s.sing 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.