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You'd think; "Here comes a rooral swell."

But my! How quick your mind 'ud flop,
W'en Deakin'd make them hosses stop,

An' yell:

“Hullo,
Climb in an' hev' a lift!”
They's folks who ride in all their pride

In fortune's rig on life's highway-
Us folks who trudge along afoot

Ken see 'em drive past every day;
They baint like Deakin Brown at all;

It makes no odds how tired ye git,
Ye'll never see them wait a bit

An' call:

“Hullo, Climb in an' hev' a lift!”

A PINK PERFUMED NOTE.-ROBERT C. V. MEYERS

[ COPYRIGHT, 1890. )

CHARACTERS.
EDYTHE HINSDALE, a young widow.
John CAMERON, an early friend of Edythe'..
MONSIEUR DU PLANE, from over the way.
ELISE, Mrs. Hinsdale's dressmaker.
Joyce, a maid.
GEORGE JOHN, a laundry man.

BILLY, a page.
SCENE.- Drawing room, clock on mantel. Table at side, front.

JOYCE (searching around the room). Strange I can't find it. I was positive I laid it down somewhere when I began to put the room to rights (rummaging amongst the books on the table). Well, if this is not another “mysterious disappearance of a young man.” It is always the young men who disap pear--at least, such has been my experience. You think you have 'em, when they suddenly vanish. Dear! dear! wh that photograph ? nd he only sent it yesterday, with the tenderest note saying that he wished to see me this afternoon about something important! Important!

*Author of “A Bonnet for my Wife,' in No. 28, "A Game of Chess," in No. 29; and other Comedies and Farces especially suited for Parlor and Amateur Theatricals, which will be found in Dramatic Supplements appended to the car lier Numbers of thie Series A descriptire Catalogue sent free

will you

What is the most important thing a young man wishes to see a girl about? (Laughs.) Oh, how grand I shall feel when he says, with his eyes rolling like the gentlemen on the stage when they have queer sensations (rolling her eyes), “Joyce,

be my ownest own?” I shall draw myself up to a height, and put out my hand gracefully and say in the freezingest tone (exemplifying), “I consent to wed thee." Or maybe I'll be like the lady in the theatre-"Alphonso, my jewel,” I will say passionately-only his name is not Alphonso, but that's his mother's fault not his. And -- but where is his photograph? What can I say when he asks me about it? (Looks about the room.) Where can it be? (Enler Mrs. Hinsdale, unobserved, her bonnet on.) Oh, where is it?

MRS. HINSDALE (coming forward). Where is what? What tre you looking for, Joyce ?

JOYCE (in confusion). A young man -I mean-I mean I was looking for-ah-dust on the furniture, ma'am. Dust! Dusts a chair vigorously.) Dust!

MRS. H. I hope your search will not go unrewarded-regarding the dust. Did any one call in my absence? JOYCE. No, ma'am. That is, yes, ma'am.

Mrs. H. (drawing off her gloves.) What do you mean by "no," and then "yes"? You are strangely confused. I asked you if any one called.

JOYCE. Mr. John Cameron was here, ma'am.
Mrs. H. (frowning, and aside.) The most persistent of

I am glad I went out to escape him.
JOYCE He said he would do himself the honor of calling
at five o'clock this afternoon, ma'am.

MR3. H. (hastily looking at clock.) And it is now half past four. Is the clock right, Joyce?

JOYCE. I set her this morning, ma'am. That's the good of that clock, ma'am,-you set her and she goes. It's a good riddie, ma'am-what's that that sets still, and yet goes all the time?

Mrs. H. Perhaps a ma l's tongue.
JOYCE. That don't set, ma'am-it lies.

Mrs. H. Very likely. Now you can be like the clock,
Joyce, you can go.

JOYCE. Yes, ma'am. (Looks acout her on the way out.) Where, oh where can it be? Where

[Excit

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Mrs. H. (removing her bonnet.) And to think what is before me! John Cameron coming at five! I wonder if his innu. merable brothers are as stubborn as he? And yet I used not to think him stubborn in the old days (in a reverie)-in the dear old days (rousing and shrugging her shoulders)! Ah, well, all that is over and done. Heigho! I know he comes to-day to ask me for the third time to be his wife. How preposterous! He knows that I will not accept him. Have I not told him so ? Not that I care for any one else—(Muses.) No, I will never accept for my husband a man whom I am not positive I care for—have I no bitter memories to taunt me for having done so ? Besides he is a man utterly lacking in romance,

-no sparkle about him, a man I never heard a woman go wild over, the tamest of men. Yet why will he persist that I do not dislike him? As though he knew my heart better than I know it! But I will see him, and have it over. He is coming at five, is he? And I am to see my dressmaker at half-past five. I have it! (Rings bell. Enter Joyce.) Did you tell Mr. Cameron that I have an engagement at half-past five ?

JOYCE. Yes, ma'am. I told him you was getting fat, and your dressmaker was going to let out your seams, and

Mrs. H. (severely.) Did you go into any further particulars and inform him as to the amount of sustenance I take?

JOYCE. Sustenance! No, ma'am, for you never do, being a teetotaler. But he said he'd be here at five (searching, as for a missing article).

Mrs. H. The clock shall be an accessory to my pleasure (going to clock, while Joyce is looking around, and moves the hands to five o'clock). Now he can stay but a little while, at any rate; he will come at half-past five by my clock, and he knows I have an engagement at that time. Joyce, I am going to my dressing-room. I will see Mr. Cameron when he calls—but no one else, mind, no one else. (Aside.) He shall receive his congé at once. So I am growing fat, am I? Fat, and by analogy, old. My seams let out, indeed! [Exit.

JOYCE. Oh, what will the dear boy say when he knows I've lost it. He'll never believe it; he's so jealous he'll think I've been careless with his picture, and (looking at clock). Mercy! how the time flies! Time is like a young man's

come ze

thoughts, it flies to what it loves. I wonder what time loves? I wonder what it goes to when it flies from us (searching)?

[Erik Enter Du Plane. Du P. Ah, I ring on ze door and I knock on ze bell, and nobody knows me to be zare. So I walk in ze house of my neighbor like one assassin. Yet must I have what I seek (looking around the floor). Ze billet doux writ in ze English and for Elise who like ze English. She knows zat I write it, I tell her she have it to-day. I put ze lettaire on ze window, --ze fenestre, while I my face shave. Puff! wind, and ze billet doux fly like one rose couleur angel across ze street into a window of zis house. I must find him, I vill do so, and — Voila! What have I done! I enter ze maison like ze burglaire, and-ah, my billet-doux! somebody comehere is une mademoiselle I did not see. I vill hide myself and my emotion behind ze furniture. (Hides behind sofa.) Ah, Elise, Elise!

JOYCE (entering). What's that? I thought some one was bere.

Enter Mrs. H. with letter. Mrs. H. Joyce, I should like you to give this letter to the page to post at once. (Seats herself at table, and takes up some embroidery.)

Du P. (looking up, aside.) Post ze lettaire! what lettaire ? my lettaire!

JOYCE. Yes, ma'am (going). I wonder why you say "post" a letter? It must be (looking at address on letter)–her brother -it must be that letters usually go to sticks.

Enter George John. GEORGE J. (rapturously.) Joyce !

JOYCE (putting out her hand). I consent to wed thee-1 mean (gruffl») what do you want? Don't you see my mis tress is here?

GEORGE J. I came to speak to her.
JOYCE. What-(Mrs. H. turns around. Exit Joyce.)

GEORGE J. If you please, ma'am (taking pink envelope from his pocket), I thought may be Mr. John Cameron was here.

Du P. Zat is my billet doux, he gives it to her. I will assassinate him.

Mrs. H. (sharply.) Why should Mr. John Cameron be here?

GEORGE J. I knew he often comes, ma'am; I saw him come here a little while ago, and as his hotel is a good way down town, and I had a note to deliver to him, and-and

MRS. H. You took the liberty to deliver his correspondence at my house. It is a very great liberty, indeed. Who are you ?

GEORGE J. I am George John, Mr. Cameron's laundryman, around the corner. My mother keeps the laundry, and I run it. We have seventeen mangles. We do up for all Mr. Cameron's family; Mr. John likes domestic finish, Mr. Robert takes his ivory, Mr. William

Mrs. H. I do not know that I care to hear what diversity of taste prevails in Mr. Cameron's family regarding the laundering of their linen. You had better take the note to its proper destination.

GEORGE J. Yes, ma'am. But, begging your pardon, maybe one of your servants would hand it to Mr. Cameron when be comes. I believe he calls every day

MRS. H. (aside.) Is it possible that his unwarrantably frequent visits are commented on by my neighbors! And this is the man who expects me to care for him! (Aloud.) My servants cannot deliver the letter for you; you will excuse me for asking you to leave the house. (She notices the envelope in his hand.) Ah-on second thought you may put the note on the table there. Mr. Cameron shall have it when he calls this afternoon.

GEORGE J. Thank you, ma'am. (Places the letter on the table.) (Aside.) If I could only see Joyce and tell her how I love her. I'll look for her outside.

[Erit. Du P. My lettaire! I always use ze rose paper, as Elise does. Pst! we buy it from ze boys at ze corner.

MRS. H. (rising and going to table.) A pink envelope! then the letter is not from a man!

Du P. Ah, a lettaire from a lady! Elise is madame's modiste; she write to madame (laughing).

Mrs. H. A charming lady to call in the services of a laundryman to deliver her correspondence.

Du P. I forget ze man (frowning).

Mrs. H. And violently perfumed. A delightful person, truly. The idea of my house harboring her letters! And this is the man I thought so dull, so unsparkling !

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