PUSSY WANTS A CORNER.-W. ALEXANDER STOUT. [COPYRIGHT, 1890.] CHARACTERS. DR. PAUNCEFORT, a model of constancy for his sex. ROBERT DUCKWORTH, a young man who believes in himself. HORACE DUCKWORTH, rather precipitate, and generally unlucky MISS ADELINE BARKER, an elderly lady who has not outlived tender passion. SCENE. A handsomely furnished room. Closet and window back, large chair, sofa, table and chairs. Kuvert discovered. ROBERT. Well, this has been a red-letter day in my calendar. Miss Barker (Heaven bless her!) has just given her consent to my marriage with her niece. I feared she would consider my proposal adversely, but, on the contrary, she could not have been more gracious and pleasant. Without the slightest hesitation, she agreed to my suit, yet Elsie is as beautiful and good as an angel, an heiress in her own right when of age, while I haven't a cent in the world except what I earn. My friends and relatives used to say I was born to good luck; and now I believe it. (Enter Horace, dejectedly, with a black eye.) Hello, Hod! You are just the youngster I want to see. I have a piece of news for you,-good news. HORACE (disconsolately). I hope so. (Takes seat at table.) ROBERT (taking opposite chair at table). Well, you know this is the day we agreed upon, each of us, to screw up our courage and ask Miss Barker to give us Elsie and Gussie for life. HORACE. Yes, well? ROBERT. So I came here late this afternoon, and found the old lady among her ferns in the conservatory. I marched up to her like a man, and she was just as sweet and pleasant to me as could be. Said I, “Miss Barker, I have long loved your niece, Elsie. I have her own word that she reciprocates my affection, and only your consent is needed to complete our happiness." I don't exactly remember just what more was said, but the consent was given, and so readily, I was surprised. "Take her, Robert," said she, "and my blessing. But I charge you to be good to her, for I love her dearly." Then she asked me to stay and take dinner. So the affair is fixed to come off in six months, and I am happy as a lord. HORACE (extending his hand). My dear Bob, allow me to congratulate you,-on the dinner you have already enjoyed, and the bride you are to possess. ROBERT (taking the profered hand). Thank you. Why, I say, Hod, what is the matter with your eye? (Seriously.) You haven't been fighting, I hope. HORACE. Oh, no, nothing of the sort. I met with a slight accident over in Terrington this morning,-fell over a pile of stones,-that's all. Yes, my dear fellow, I not only congratulate you, but I envy you, for this afternoon early, I attempted the same thing and ignominiously failed. ROBERT. You don't mean to say you proposed for Gussie? HORACE. Yes, and the old lady sat down on me like a thousand of bricks, figuratively speaking, of course. ROBERT. Well, you are an idiot if you presented yourself with that face. You know, well enough, the old lady has a prejudice against you and thinks you get into more fights and scrapes than necessary. Why didn't you meet me as you appointed? (Rises, very much irritated and walks up and down room.) You know you have never taken an important step in your life but you have first come to me and got me to set you straight. I have always had to watch you as if you were a baby. If I didn't part your hair occasionally and brush your clothes you wouldn't be tolerated in decent society. What work of art in the shape of a necktie have you got on to-day? Is it purple and green, or red and yellow? Lift up your head and and let me see. Ah! I observe it is a combination of solferino, brown and orange. (Resumes seat at table.) Forgive me, old man, I am talking like a brute, but I cannot understand your want of tact and sense. It provokes me to see you go off like a squib with such a waste of powder. Ha! Ha! Excuse me for laughing, but really, Hod, I can't help it; you look so ridiculous. HORACE. I know I was a fool. But I thought I had a good opportunity. I was coming up the road that runs along by the kitchen-garden when I spied Miss Barker giving orders to her man about the tomato vines. Said I, "Miss Barker, may I have a moment's conversation with you in private." She looked at me rather strangely, I thought, and said curtly, "Yes." Then I took her around under the shade and told her I wanted to marry Gussie. You ought to have heard her. She would have made you shiver. She said she could never think of such a thing, that Gussie is too young in the first place, and doesn't know her own mind, and she will not entertain the subject for three or four years at least, which in the old lady's lingo means never. ROBERT. Poor fellow. I don't wonder you feel badly. HORACE. So, I have made up my mind. You remember Tom Brightly who went to Colorado, don't you? Well, his uncle, or cousin, or somebody, has a big sheep-ranch out there. Tom has an interest in the concern aud he wants me to come out and help him. I'm first choice, but there's another fellow he knows who is ready to snap at the chance if I don't accept. I received a dispatch from Tom to-day; he wanted an immediate answer, and I have just replied, "yes." So, I've come here this evening to kiss Gussie good-bye. Then I'll go home, pack my duds, and be ready to leave Hopewood on the five-fifteen train to-morrow morning. I might as well bid you good-bye too, old fellow, for a little while, maybe a year or so, maybe forever. ROBERT. O Hod! Haven't you been in too much of a hurry? Why, just think of Gussie. It will break her heart. HORACE. What good would it do her if I was to stay here. The old lady would never let me see her. ROBERT. I know, but she might be induced to alter her decision (putting hand on Horace's shoulder). Oh, my dear fellow! You don't know how sorry I feel for you. This news has clouded my spirits; it makes me feel mean and selfish to be happy when you are so miserable. Is there anything I can do for you? Just say the word. I will hunt the girls up, and if I see Gussie, shall I send her to you? HORACE. Yes,-no. I can't stay here. Tell her she may find me in the garden. I'm going down to cool off. ROBERT. Very well. (Goes to door but returns and bends over Horace.) Keep up a good heart. Who knows what may turn up next? [Exit. HORACE Lucky dog! How singular it is. He has had everything to go right with him from his cradle, but for me it has just been the reverse. Well, I suppose it is fate. Enter Elsie carrying a pasteboard box which she lays on table. ELSIE. Why, Horace! I didn't know you were here. Does Gussie know? HORACE. No. Where is she? ELSIE. Up in her room, I think, lying down. She went out for a walk this afternoon and returned tired out. (Goes towards door.) I'll tell her you are here, and she will be down in a second. HORACE. No, don't disturb her. I'll walk around the garden for awhile. When you see her tell her I'm going away and would like to speak with her. If she can't come down, tell her to go to the window and wave her handkerchief. Then I'll climb up the trellis and talk to her on the veranda. ELSIE. Oh, Horace, that would be dreadful. Suppose auntie should get to hear of it. But it would be fun,-just like Romeo and Juliet. Anyhow if you do, be sure you don't step on my pansies; they are directly under the arbor. Mind, if anything happens to them, I'll never speak to you again as long as I live. HORACE. I'll be careful. [Exit. ELSIE. Poor fellow, he looks awfully down-hearted. Could auntie have been lecturing him when I saw them together this afternoon? I wonder what is the matter with his face,it's all black and blue. (Goes to table.) I am alone at last. Now for a peep at dear, darling-(Enter Gussie.) Why Gussie, how you startled me! Horace Duck worth was here just now. He is going away, and wants to see you. I think he has said something to auntie about you know what, and she has objected. GUSSIE. Oh, dear! where is he? ELSIE. He has gone down in the garden, and when you are ready to see him you are to go to the window, and wave your handkerchief. GUSSIE. What can be the matter? (Rushes to window, waves handkerchief, and calls softly "Horace.") Why, no, Elsie! he is not there. Are you positive that is what he told you? ELSIE. That is exactly what he said. You had better try it again in fifteen minutes or so. But come here, Gussie. I have something to show you. It's a secret,- but you may guess. What do you suppose is in this box? GUSSIE. I don't know. Ruching? ELSIE (with disgust). No. this is my present for him. To-day is Robert's birthday, and GUSSIE. Let me see it. You have raised my curiosity. GUSSIE (peeping in box). Why it's a cat! ELSIE. Yes, listen and I will tell you. Late one evening, about two weeks ago, I was walking along the pike, when I saw something curled up in the root of a tree. At first, I thought it was a squirrel, but when I came up close, I found it was a poor, sick little kitten. It looked at me so sweet and piteous that I fell in love with it. Then this idea suggested itself to my mind. Suppose I take this kitten, fatten her up, and give her to Robert for a birthday present. I had nothing else to give him but a miserable old glove-box which I knew would look awful mean in me when he is sure to give me something nice and expensive on my birthday. So, I wrapped Kitty up in my handkerchief, and took her over to Mrs. O'Flanagan, who has nursed her and brought her to. This afternoon I tied a red ribbon around her neck, and had Mike put her in this box. I intend to hand it to Robert, and ask him to take off the lid. Wont it be fun? GUSSIE. Y-e-es, but are you sure he will like her? You know men don't usually care for cats. ELSIE. Of course he will. Why, he loves them. He has often told me he thinks they are too cute for anything. I have given her a lovely name,-Rosalind. Don't you like it? GUSSIE. "As You Like It." ELSIE. But, don't you think she is pretty? GUSSIE (sarcastically). Very. (Peeps in box.) My! how savagely she glares at us! ELSIE. Well, no wonder. She don't like to be tied up in a box. Poor little pussy, tied up in a nassy old box. Never mind, it wont be long. Why, Gussie, you don't know how bright she is. Only yesterday I was feeding her, and she scratched my hand till it bled. GUSSIE. The dear little thing! Gracious, how her bones stick out! ELSIE. Well if you had been sick, like her, I want to know if your-but, Gussie, I think it's very unkind in you to talk in that style about a poor, unfortunate, little kitten. GUSSIE. I don't see how you can touch it. (Waves hand in mock disgust.) Throw it away! Throw it away! ELSIE. You are a mean, spiteful, little wretch. (Begins to cry.) GUSSIE (going up to Elsie, and putting arm around her waist). Now you know I was only in fun. I didn't intend to hurt your |