Writing for Vaudeville Part 53

THE FELLOW: (Pointing with one hand at the right side of her jacket.) I beg your pardon. It seems that you know how to tell 'em, too. What's that, if it isn't a pocket?

THE GIRL: (In embarra.s.sment.) Oh--yes--so it is. (Aside.) I had forgotten that I was wearing Genevieve's suit.

THE FELLOW: Well, turn about is fair play, isn't it? I'm going to search _your_ pocket now.

THE GIRL: You mean to insinuate that I have anything in my pocket of a compromising nature? How dare you!

THE FELLOW: You won't believe ME! Why should _I_ believe you? For all I know, you may be a far different kind of girl than I took you to be.

THE GIRL: (Very angry.) You are insulting, sir. But since I stooped so low as to search your pockets, I will give you the satisfaction of searching mine--and then that will be an end of our acquaintance.

You can then go your way--and I'll go my way.

THE FELLOW: We'll see about that. Hold up your hands.

THE GIRL: (Darting furious glances at him and holding her hands over her head.) Very well, sir. Hurry up, please, and have it over with. (THE FELLOW very deliberately goes to bench, leans the parasol up against it, just as THE GIRL had done before, and imitating the business-like way in which she had gone through his pockets, he comes up to her and pushes up his coat sleeves, as if preparing for a serious piece of business.)

THE FELLOW: (Still mimicing her manner.) I don't suppose you've ever been held up before?

THE GIRL: (Icily.) No--you are the first burglar I have ever met.

THE FELLOW: Promise to hold your hands up until I have finished?

THE GIRL: (Scornfully.) Of course, I'm a girl of my word.

THE FELLOW: All right then. (He deliberately kisses her squarely on the lips, while her hands are held up over her head. She gives a cry and starts to drop her hands and push him away, but he catches her arms and gently holds them up over her head again.) No, no, I'm not through yet.

THE GIRL: You are a brute. You are not worthy to a.s.sociate with a respectable girl. (THE FELLOW thrusts his hands into the pocket of her jacket and puns out a box of cigarettes and a letter. He holds them up before her horrified eyes.)

THE FELLOW: Well. I'll be--(He starts to say "d.a.m.ned," but stops just in time. THE GIRL'S arms drop limply to her sides, and with eyes staring in complete bewilderment she staggers to the bench and collapses down upon it.)

THE GIRL: Good heavens!

THE FELLOW: (Blinking his eyes at the articles which he holds before him.) What innocent playthings! A box of Pall Malls and a letter--no doubt, an affinity letter. (He shakes his head, soberly.) Well, well! And you just said I wasn't fit to a.s.sociate with you.

THE GIRL: (Her breast heaving in great agitation.) Oh, this is a terrible mistake! What could Genevieve have been doing with those things?

THE FELLOW: (Turning on her, quickly.) Genevieve?

THE GIRL: Yes, Genevieve.

THE FELLOW: Genevieve Patterson.

THE GIRL: Yes, Genevieve Patterson--the girl you know--my best friend. Oh, _can't_ you understand? Those things don't belong to me. They are--(She stops abruptly, bites her lips, clasps her hands. Then says, aside.) Oh, what am I doing? I mustn't allow Genevieve's reputation to be ruined. I might as well take the blame and brave it out myself. This situation is frightful. (She turns to him again.) I can't explain, but don't--oh, please don't think that I--that I--(She stops, looking as if she is about to cry.)

THE FELLOW: (Again looking at the articles and shaking his head.) And you always looked like such a nice girl, too. Cigarettes--and-- (He opens up the letter.)

THE GIRL: (Suddenly springing to her feet.) You must not read that letter. It does not belong to me. You have no right to read that letter.

THE FELLOW: But you read the letter that didn't belong to me.

THE GIRL: It _did_ belong to you.

THE FELLOW: It didn't!

THE GIRL: DID!

THE FELLOW: Didn't!

THE GIRL: (Running forward and trying to grab the letter, which he holds out of her reach.) I _forbid_ you to read that letter.

I swear to you, it is not mine.

THE FELLOW: (Still holding it out of her reach and looking it over.) By George! You are right--it is NOT yours. It is MINE!

THE GIRL: YOURS?

THE FELLOW: Yes, mine. It's the very message I sent to Genevieve Patterson yesterday--the letter in which I asked for an introduction to you. (He hands it to her.) Here--read it yourself, if you don't believe me this time. (THE GIRL wonderingly takes the letter and reads it to herself, her lips moving and her eyes wide open in surprise.)

THE GIRL: (As she finishes she looks sweetly up at him.) Then you are NOT such a liar after all. You _did_ tell me the truth.

THE FELLOW: Nothing but the truth.

THE GIRL: But what about that other letter?

THE FELLOW: (Taking her by the shoulder and speaking quickly.) Now, you've _got_ to listen. That other letter was written to Tommy Higgins. I was caught in the shower last night, and had to borrow this suit of clothes from Tommy.

THE GIRL: (A glad smile gradually coming over her face.) O-h-h!

THE FELLOW: But how did you come to have my letter written to Genevieve?

THE GIRL: Oh, _don't_ you understand? (She looks at him beseechingly.)

THE FELLOW: (The truth suddenly striking him.) Oh-h-h-! I see! You got caught in the shower, too. You borrowed that tailor-made suit from Genevieve.

THE GIRL: Can you doubt it?

THE FELLOW: But the cigarettes?

THE GIRL: I can't account for them. I only know--

THE FELLOW: Never mind. I don't care. (He stuffs the cigarettes into his own pocket and grasps both of her hands in his own.) Tell me--you don't think I'm the biggest liar in the world, do you?

THE GIRL: (Archly.) No--not quite.

THE FELLOW: (Slipping his arm around her.) And if you were married--to--to a fellow like me, you'd make him an awfully good wife, wouldn't you?

THE GIRL: (Laughing.). No--I'd try to make HIM a good husband. (He bends over and is just about to kiss her when a MAN'S VOICE is heard off stage to the Right.)

MAN'S VOICE: (Off stage.) Hey, there, Miss--your trunk has come.