Writing for Vaudeville Part 80

PHIL: (Completely puzzled.) Well, I can't say I feel just full yet.

DUDLEY: Go on, take a bite of roll.

PHIL: Thank you! (He takes one bite--as he goes for second bite, DUDLEY holds his hand--as they all count ten. Looking from one to another.) Say, what is this--a prize fight?

MRS. SCHUYLER: (Looking at him closely.) (DUDLEY takes roll from PHIL.) It's all right--he still lives--I feel better now.

PHIL: I'm glad of that. (He starts to take another spoonful of soup.)

MRS. SCHUYLER: Mousta, bring my rakoush. (Just as PHIL gets spoon to mouth, MOUSTA grabs it out of his hand and crosses with soup and roll to MRS. SCHUYLER, saying to PHIL in Persian: "Rekkra milta suss.")

PHIL: Say, isn't there some mistake? I understood that was my rakoush.

MRS. SCHUYLER: No, dear boy--it's ours. (She starts to eat.)

PHIL: I guess that's what they call to paflouka.

MRS. SCHUYLER: Oh, it tastes good.

PHIL: It sounds good.

MRS. SCHUYLER: Now, Mousta, my bird and salad. (He exits.)

PHIL: I hope the bird's an ostrich. (He hears MRS. SCHUYLER drink soup.) (Enter MOUSTA--crosses with bird to MRS. SCHUYLER.)

MRS. SCHUYLER: No--place it before him.

PHIL: Yes--put it down--put it down.

MRS. SCHUYLER: No one can cook a bird like Princey.

PHIL: A bird? It looks like an insect! (He sees them approaching him as before and grabbing the bird in his hand starts to make off with it--they seize him and throw him into chair.)

PHIL: (As DUDLEY s.n.a.t.c.hes bird from him.) Say, what kind of a game is this anyhow?

MRS. SCHUYLER: I'll explain. The chef is enraged at me, and as he's under suspicion of having put poison in a lady's food that killed her in ten seconds--

PHIL: (Jumping up in alarm.) Poison?

MRS. SCHUYLER: (With DUDLEY'S help setting him down again.) Yes, so we got you to try my food on--

PHIL: Oh, I see--I'm the dog.

DUDLEY: Precisely. Now go on--taste that bird.

PHIL: No, thanks--I've had enough.

ALL: (Together.) Go on--commence! (Business of making him taste bird.)

MRS. SCHUYLER: One--

PHIL: (Finis.h.i.+ng counting for her.) Two--(To nine.) (As he reaches ten, he sneezes.)

MRS. SCHUYLER: I'm afraid to look. (Business of PHIL tasting bird, then getting idea of pretending to be poisoned, he commences to get a fit.) Help! Bring a chair! (They finally get his feet on chair.) Well, we got him on the chair anyhow.

DUDLEY: He's poisoned--

LETTY and BETTY: We've killed him.

MRS. SCHUYLER: Come on--let's beat it--(They all run off. PHIL gets up to grab all the food, when DUDLEY is heard off, calling "Lena."--He flops back with a jump to same dead position on floor.

Finally gets up, grabs all the food and exits. MRS. SCHUYLER re-enters.)

MRS. SCHUYLER: He's gone and he's taken all the food with him.

Quick, Mousta, clear away all these things. (Paul enters.)

PAUL: Mrs. Schuyler, I'm really in love with Rose. (DOWLEH enters now in Persian dress clothes.)

DOWLEH: Ah, Fatima--can I see you alone? (DUDLEY enters.)

DUDLEY: Oh, Lena, could I see you alone?

MRS. SCHUYLER: If any more turn up, I'll scream. (LETTY and BETTY run on, carrying a note.)

LETTY: An important letter.

MRS. SCHUYLER: (Opening it.) From my husband.

BETTY: I'm afraid it's bad news.

MRS. SCHUYLER: Bad news! P'raps he's coming home earlier than I expected. (Reads:) "Dear Becky!"

ALL THE MEN: Becky!

MRS. SCHUYLER: Yes, we met at Arverne! "I have heard of your carrying on with four old sweethearts: Had it been _one_, I would have killed him quietly and let the matter drop, but four are too many. I shall kill them all and divorce you. Expect me at ten.--Hamilton." Oh, gentlemen, this is awful--Hamilton is unlike most men--he means what he says--

PAUL: (Following.) But surely you can find a few more to help us defend ourselves.

MRS. SCHUYLER: Ah, you don't know Hamilton. When he's angry, an army couldn't withstand him.

DOWLEH: If your husband kills, I will kill him.

MRS. SCHUYLER: Ah, that doesn't worry me--but he may cut my allowance.

DUDLEY: (Following.) We _must_ save you from such a fate.

MRS. SCHUYLER: Save me? You could! If there was one among you brave enough to say: "I am the only guy here ever loved your wife.

Kill _me_, but don't cut her allowance."