New England Theater, Monologues by Beatrice Herford

 

Beatrice was an American actress and vaudeville performer born in England born in 1868 – Beatrice Herford’s monologues were well received on the New York and London stages, and she numbered among her friends the royalty of English-speaking theater. For over 30 years, her tiny theatre was open only to her friends, who performed for each other, often taking roles they would never have essayed in their public personas as stars of the legitimate stage.

Beatrice Herford and her friends built a small theater on her husband’s property in Wayland, Massachusetts. She named it Beatrice Herford’s Vokes Theatre. In 1937 Beatrice gave the theater to the Vokes Players, a group of actors who refurbished her theater. Her theatre is a Massachusetts historical site and houses a notable collection of theater memorabilia and photographs, in addition to remaining in vibrant and active use as the home of the Vokes Players.

Whenever the Vokes Players perform Herford’s own material, her monologues continue to entertain modern audiences. The material shows her to be an artistic pioneer and a precursor to such renowned monologists as Ruth Draper, Lily Tomlin, and Whoopi Goldberg.

Miss Herford’s inimitable monologues, being each the apotheosis of some typical Bromide—a shop-girl, a country dressmaker, a bargain-hunter and so on—become, through her art, intensely sulphitic. They are excruciatingly funny, just because she represents types so common that we recognize them instantly. Each expresses the crystallized thought of her particular bromidic group. Done, then, by a person who is herself a Sulphite par excellence, the result is droll.

 

3 Monologues by Beatrice Herford

A SOCIABLE SEAMSTRESS

MORNING – dull day, ain’t
it ? Don’t know as it’ll act-
ually rain, but I brought
my umbrella in case it
should. {Drops her um-
brella and picks it up.) That’s all right,
no harm done – these ivory handles do
break so! Pretty handle, ain’t it? I
don’t care for it myself – I like a good
round handle that you can get a grip on
myself – but my husband took a fancy
to that ivory monkey, and of course being
a birthday present I wouldn’t say any-
thing and didn’t.

I’ll just lay off my things. {Unbuttons

long cloak and takes it off, also gloves,
hat and veil.) Those the goods you’ve
got to trim with ? Ain’t very pretty, are
they ? Maybe they’ll make up pretty –
we’ll see; and I don’t believe there’ll be
enough either – but you can run right
down and get some more, if there ain’t.
{Folding up her veil.) They get so
mussy if you don’t fold ’em up.

Did I leave my apron ? Oh, yes, there
it is — don’t look very good – kind of
mussy, but no matter. Now I’ll go right
to work on the skirt – we got on so nicely
with it the other day – maybe I can
finish it right up. Needle and thread ?
{Bites off thread and threads needle.)
Why, there’s my thimble! {Goes to work
at the skirt on her knee.)

My goodness! these goods are going

to fray dreadfully! What say? They
told you they wouldn’t at the store ? I
know, that’s what they always say. My

niece is in a dry-goods store.

Yes, the one that had her finger taken off

last year. Yes, indeed, she

misses it considerably; but she says they
go on that principle. The manager of
her store, he says it’s no good telling
any one the worst. But she ain’t like
that at home – she’s brought right up to
the truth, the whole family are – they’re
just as nice as they can be.

Of course I go down there as often as
I can – but I can’t go down as often as
she’d like. She says “come down Mon-
day.” I says Monday’s an inconvenient
night for me. She says “how’s Friday ?’ 3

 

I says Friday I can’t come down. So

she says “come down some Sunday.”

Well, I says Sunday my sister and her

husband usually come up. He’s kind of

tired the first part of the day, but the

last of the afternoon he gets spirited up,

and then they come up our way. And

I’m real glad to have ’em. She says

“come when you can.” I says I will

and do. She’s real nice.

She tells me Mrs. Tyler’s daughter

never’ll be any better. Why,

you know Mis’ J. S. Tyler, up on the

hill — yes, that one. She’s got a lot of

daughters and they’re all at some art or

other. And this one – of all things –

she’s taken up sculpturing! As I told

her mother, it ain’t no thing for her to

do – I presume it takes a master hand to

handle one of those marble figures, but

she would do it. She’s undertaken a
great big one – and she’s broken right
down under it.

For my part I ain’t partial to statuary
– of course I know it’s a beautiful gift –
kep’ in the garden — that’s the place for
it. When you once begin bringing those
marble figures into the house, there’s no
end to it. I think there’s nothing pleas-
anter or more appropriate than to come
around a low bush or shrub right into
the presence of one of those figures.
There’s some folks I presume no amount
of book study will bring to a realizing sense
of those ancient gems, but brought up sud-
den with ’em that way ycu never forget it.

I don’t go as far as my sister does –
she wouldn’t have one for anything!

 

Well, they did have one, now I come to
think of it. They didn’t mean to, but if
I recollect rightly they got it in a lottery
at a fair – and when they put in their
money they thought they was putting it
in for a pair of those life-size stuffed
owls on a frosted ground, but when it
come home it was this figure of a —
{bites off thread) well, I shouldn’t call
her a lady, myself.

But, as I told my husband, those old
goddesses were brought up quite differ-
ent from what we are — and there’s no
good making a fuss about it now and I
wouldn’t be the one to begin.

But sister felt terribly about it and
she’s very handy with her needle, and
you know I am – so I went down there

one day and together we rigged her up

a real neat kind of a tea-gown. But

preserve me from fitting one of those
old goddesses again. My goodness – fit!
there ain’t no fit to it.

Your folks all well ? — What say ? —
Who ? — Your brother – my goodness!
You don’t say — down all those stairs ?
Must be considerable of a bump. —
Back stairs ? — My, I always think they’re
the worst. I heard of a boy the other
day just about the age of your brother,
similar case – back stairs and all. —
What say ? Oh, I ain’t going to tell you
about it – it’ll only discourage you.

Getting on nicely, is he ? I’m glad of
that – that’s what they thought about this
boy, but he’s never been the same since.
Some say he never was the same before,

I don’t know how that is. Did you

ever try a fish poultice ? Never did ?

Yes, indeed, it’s fine for anything with the
head – you see my husband being in the
fire department, we’re quite up in bumps.
Yes, indeed, it’s a grand profession!
but it takes a sight of courage. When he
went into it he said, ” I shall have to take
courage,” and has. And he’s very brave
about it – although I think he goes too
high. I said to him the other night, I
says, ain’t three or four stories high
enough for you to go with a wife and
children ? But he didn’t answer. I says
I sha’n’t ask again, and didn’t. It is
wearing, too, — the way that man’s hair
has come out the last year! My good-
ness, it’s awful to see. Of course, I don’t
feel like bothering him about it too much,
but I feel I must speak about it from

time to time. So I said to him, I says,

Mr. Mooney, do give it a chance, try a
little of Dr. Higgins’s Hair Enticer. But
he didn’t answer. As I say, he’s taken
that way sometimes. I presume he gets
it from his father, and I concluded to
stop urging, and have.

But my goodness, I ain’t got no cause
to complain — he’s real good. Now, if
he was like my sister’s husband! I don’t
know what I should do. Yes, stingy —
well, stingy ain’t in it! He’s awful, but
she gets along nicely, better than a good
many would. She’s so handy with her
needle — makes the children’s clothes
and all that. Of course, they don’t

always look just right, but still.

Now she’s just made her little boy his first
little pair. Well, of course, it’s a beau-tiful spirit, but my goodness you can’t

tell which way that child’s going.

She’s very handy with her paint-brush,
too, — didn’t you know that ? Yes, in-
deed – she’s got a complete command
over the paint-brush that few have.
She’s just finished an elegant flower
piece. I never saw anything like it, —
it has the image of most every flower I
ever saw or heard of – and more too. I
said to her when she was all through —
she always wants me to look it over —
I says, well, I think it’s lovely but there’s
only one thing: I never saw a blue tulip.
Well, says she, I never did either, but it
looked so nice in with those peonies and
other things so I thought I’d leave it,
’cause you never can tell what they have

in Europe. Well, I says, that’s per-

fectly true and I’d leave it ’cause that

dew-drop on it is going ahead of Nature.
It had a glisten to it that you don’t often
see on a real dew-drop.

Now I’m going to drape this on you if
you’ll stand up. That’s a nice skirt
you’re taking off, I hope this one will
hang as well. {Hands the skirt and takes
the other, laying it over the back of a
chair.) Look out for your hair! No,
it’s that second hook – no, the second.
Don’t bust it out now — it’s only basted.
Now if you’ll just step off and I’ll get
some pins. {Gathers up some pins from
the table, puts them in her mouth and in
the front of her dress.)

That’s right. Step off a little more,
please, and turn slowly – keep turning –
round to the left – no, to the left. {Stands

off with her head on one side looking at

the skirt.) Mrs. Billman’s little girl’s

real pretty, have you seen her?

Whose eyes ? She’s got one of father’s
and one of mother’s. Yes they’s real
pleased. Yes, they’ve named her –
‘Manda, sweet name, ain’t it? — Middle
name ? — No, well his folks were set on
one, but her folks didn’t want it, and
they’d have these fearful arguments about
it -they go down there Sundays; so
finally they’ve made a compromise and
put in an initial. She’ll be Amanda G.
Billman. It looks well and it’s pleasant
all round. And if they think of any-
thing to go with the G. after a while,
they can put it in. That dips a little
bit on that side. {Takes pins from her
mouth and pins round the band.) Now,

there’s just one place here.– {Puts a

pin in and starts suddenly.) Was that
you ? Well, I’m real sorry – you must
tell me when I prick you. Now that’s
going to look real nice – what say ? — No,
my dear, you couldn’t have that a mite
fuller. I’m skimped as it is – that’s what
comes of being stingy with the goods.

Now you can slip that off, and I’m
going to run over to my sister’s to lunch.

Oh, you’re very kind – but I’d

rather go over there because I want to
see her new house – she’s got most
settled and it’s going to be real nice.
She’s got some elegant wedding gifts.
{Taking up her cloak and putting it on.)
Some things, of course, I don’t care for
myself – still it ain’t my house, so it ain’t
for me to say. She’s got a good many

duplicates and that’s always awkward.

(Puts on her hat.) I should think they’ve
got as many as six inkstands and they
ain’t a writin’ family at all. But I pre-
sume they’ll use some of ’em for standin’
flowers in – you can do that. Did I have
a veil ? They blow round so – oh, here
it is. That’s all right. (Puts on veil –
looks for her gloves, takes them from cloak
pocket and puts them on.)

But she’s got two things I do admire.
They’re a pair of mantel ornaments that
beat anything I ever saw – a pair of those
china dogs taken as young spaniels in
opposite directions. There’s one taken
this way, looking off, with the spaniel
ear falling in repose and touched with
orange, and the other one the same,
looking the other way — those rich

spanielled ears. Then they have those

gold chains and lockets around the neck
just nestling in the fur — they look so
neat on a dog. Well, I think they’re
quite exceptional in every way — they
have a far-away-off look in the eyes, too,
that they don’t often catch in china.
My umbrella, I mustn’t drop it this time.
{Takes up umbrella.) And then their
tails, well, I didn’t go around to the back,
but I presume they’re there and touched
with orange. Well, I must run, I’ll see
you later.

 

THE BAZAAR

(Scene: The Fancy Table)

 

HOW do you do ? I hope
you’re going to buy lots

of things. Oh, you

don’t want men’s things,
you want things to give to
ladies. Now here’s a lovely sachet-bag,

isn’t that sweet ? No, of course

you wouldn’t know what to do with it,
but you can give it to your mother or

Ida. Oh, what an unnatural

brother!- It’s only two dollars.

You mean thing! Now, here’s an awfully

pretty pen-wiper – – you don’t ? Why, I

couldn’t get along without a pen-wiper.

Yes, you might as well take

the sachet-bag — oh, that’s good. Two
dollars more, Ethel. Now you have got
started, you’re all right. Don’t you want

a sofa pillow ? Well, you are very

lucky, we never have too many.

Yes, that’s very pretty, isn’t it ?

Well it would do for either. — You
will ? Oh, that’s fine! They are so hard
to get rid of. They are the sort of thing
nobody wants.

Have you seen these pictures of the
Rector? The frames are really very
handsome, and you can put another
picture in if you like.

How do you do ? How are you get-
ting on ? Oh, that’s good. We’re

doing very well; all those ugly baby

jackets have gone, except that fearful
purple-and-red one, and I think Mrs.
Tucker will take that, she’s rather blind
you know.

Well, have you found anything else
you like ? How about a paper-cutter ?

Well, you can’t have too many

paper-cutters, can you ? I think these
are very cunning things, so odd, such a
good idea. — Oh, they are just meat
skewers gilded and a bow tied on them

don’t you know, when things get

stuck in anything and you want some-
thing sharp pointed, they’re called poker-

etts. Oh, you’re hopeless. I am

sure your mother would be delighted
with them.

Too bad she couldn’t have the auto-
graph-book table. Have you seen it?

They’ve got a great lot of books. I
sent twelve copies of the ” Tormentor ”
to Richard Haverley to write his name
in, I mean her – it’s a woman, you know.
I heard she was sick in bed and I thought
it would amuse him to pass the time
writing in them. Now don’t you want
this afghan ? I know your mother likes
green, it’s really awfully cheap for ten

dollars. Now, that’s fine! What

a lovely new ten-dollar bill! Thanks
ever so much. Yes, that’s all right.
Don’t you want me to wrap them up
for you ? – – Oh, you are ? All right – –
yes, I’m glad, I hate doing up bundles.
Good-by.

Ethel, look, he took that awful afghan
of Mrs. Harris’s. Won’t she be de-
lighted ?

No, the cake and candy table is ‘way
over there next to the lemonade. I think
that lemonade pump is the most splendid
idea, the little boys are all crazy about it.
Oh, Mrs. Brown, how much do you

think I ought to mark this for?

Yes, it has just come, I don’t know what
it’s for, but it’s rather pretty and it looks

very useful no, Edith made it.

She said she had the velvet and the se-
quins and her mother gave her the lace.
What do you think ? – – two dollars and
a half? All right.

Hello, Jessie, pretty bazaar, isn’t it ?
Have you been to the tea garden yet ?

It’s awfully pretty no, thanks, I

can’t leave now, you ought to see it
though, it’s great, the waitresses are all
in Greek costumes. They look so lovely,

but poor Miss Hibley has spilt salad
down the front of hers – such a pretty

idea – lobster oh, they’ve tried it, it

only rubs it in.

Oh, Mrs. Tucker, there you are.

Yes, there’s just one left, pretty little

jacket, isn’t it? Yes, it’s rather

bright but it seems warm, doesn’t it ? —

How old? Well, if it’s little

it will grow into it, and if it’s big they

pull over somehow, don’t they ?

Thank you. Now, is there anything else
you’d like ? Did you see this rustic
stove ? It’s so original, you put pots of
flowers in the holes and then some kind
of a vine in the back and twine it up the

pipe. I don’t know where it was

made. Mrs. Dale sent them, she’s very
much interested in that kind of thing —

this is the only one that’s left. Mrs.
Baker took one, she’s crazy about it.

Yes, it would be lovely for ferns.

Oh, yes, I can do it up nicely in

some tissue paper, I can put it in a box.

Yes, it’s two seventy-five. I’ll

put the jacket right in the stove

there, now that’ll be very easy to carry,

the stove is very light. Thank you

ever so much. Yes, that’s your change.

Who ? Young Mrs. Fry ? Yes,

she’s on the kitchen table, she’s in a
cook’s costume, it suits her splendidly

well, you know what I mean.

Tommy Hooper! You boys must not
run against this table like that. Dorothy,
don’t touch those frames, darling, your
fingers are so sticky — they are two dol-
lars –no, I don’t think I’ve got any-

thing for ten cents. No, that

necklace is three dollars. Don’t touch

it no, we haven’t any necklaces

for ten cents. Now, Tommy, you’ve
knocked down that picture, don’t pick it
up, you’ll get it covered with candy.
Dorothy, you’ve got a piece of peanut brit-
tle right in your hair, – – I don’t know,

we haven’t counted lately. I say

I don’t know, we haven’t counted. Now
run away, you can get a grab for ten
cents, Dorothy.

We might count the money again,
Ethel, there must be a lot more by this
time. You count the silver, and I’ll

count the bills well, you count

the bills, then, and I’ll count the silver.
We shall have to have a bigger box soon.
Goodness! There is hardly any change!

What has happened ? There was such a

lot. Of course, it’s in the bills.

But it never seems the same, does it?
Well, here’s a dollar eighty and I owe the
box fifty-seven cents, I’ll call it sixty, it
will be easier to add. {Counts.) Sixty and
a dollar eighty are what? Two sixty?

No, two thirty! You’re sure it’s

two forty ? All right, now how many

bills have you got ? Why, my

dear, there must be more than that,
we had eighty-five dollars ever so long
ago, and I sold that rustic stove since
then, and those baby jackets, and heaps
of things, and that awful afghan. Let
me count; ten and ten is twenty, and five is

twenty-five, and ten is well, I guess

I’ll count all the tens first and then the
fives please don’t talk to me.

Oh, there comes Captain Carter, make

him buy that sofa pillow tell him

Miss Farley made it. {Goes on count-
ing.) ‘-Ethel, I’ve got too much

now. We couldn’t have had a hundred

and fifty dollars, could we ? Oh,

Captain Carter, are you good at count-
ing? Don’t you want to count this for

us ? Oh, thanks ever so much —

don’t talk to him while he is

counting don’t you hate to be talked

to when you’re counting ? I do, I can’t
count very well anyway and if any one

talks to me oh, excuse me, I’m

awfully sorry. Didn’t you skip

then ? Weren’t there two fives sticking

together there ? I thought I saw

no, I see all right, don’t let me inter-
rupt you. Have you been

to see the vaudeville yet ? Oh, ex-
cuse me! I was afraid you hadn’t heard

about it. They say it’s very good.

You make it a hundred and thirty, do
you ? I should think it was all right,
don’t you, Ethel ? That’s fine, oh, no, we
don’t want to count it. I guess that’s all
right, thank you ever so much, you’ve
been so good we won’t make you buy a
thing.

Oh, do you really want that sofa pillow ?

Yes, we can add five dollars to

thirty all right. Oh, yes, we’ve

been awfully busy. Yes, Mrs.

Harris and Miss Newton are on this
table too, but it’s rather hard on us, they
keep going off to have their fortunes told
or have some ice cream, and we have to
do all the work. Why, we would

simply love to, Captain Carter, but we
can’t leave now, you see.

Those are fifty cents yes, they

are very pretty, aren’t they ? Those are

a dollar fifty. Yes, for the pair.

Ethel, how much is this squash-pie

pincushion ? Oh, yes, three dol-
lars, you can use it for a paper-weight
too. Yes, I think those candlesticks are
very pretty. Did you see that little
racing-car saltcellar ? That ought to
appeal to you. Oh, yes, I for-
got, they have all gone; it’s too bad, they
were awfully cunning. Mrs. Hibbard
sent those, she sent the racing-cars and
those copies of “The Simple Life” too.
She said if the racing-cars weren’t sold,
she wanted them all back, I don’t think
she cared about the other things.

Well! -Did you ever know anything
like those people ? They never bought a
thing, they are as bad as Kitty Morrison.
Why, you know, Captain Car-
ter, she’s so stingy she won’t buy anything,
so she comes with a lot of packages
all done up and every one who isn’t on
to it, thinks she’s bought a lot of things.

Oh, Mrs. Harris, are you going to stay
here ? Because we’ve been invited to go
and have some ice cream. There’s the
money-box, and there isn’t much change,
but you can often make people take a
few more things to make their money
come out even. And Mrs. Richards
owes two dollars for the things she got,
so if she comes you will know, and you’d
better mark down anything you think
you can sell. There are more of those

tomato paper-weights under there if you
want them. They aren’t marked, they’re
two dollars. And Mrs. Allen says those
plush thermometers are accurate. And
if Mrs. Williams comes, tell her I’ve put
her baby jacket in the pulpit, with her
cake and rubbers.

A PROFESSIONAL BOARDER

{Enters and takes a seat at the table, nodding and
saying “Good-morning” to the other boarders.)

ERY disagreeable morning,

isn’t it ? No, I don’t

think I shall venture out
to-day. I guess it’s three
or four days since I’ve
been out; it looked so like snow yester-
day, and Saturday it was so muddy, and
Friday I expected my sister all day.
There’s such a wind to-day; I think it’s
colder than any day we’ve had yet.

You think Thursday was colder, Mr.
Bates ? No, I don’t either, Miss

Brown. I don’t think Thursday was as

cold as some days we’ve had.

Do you? Well, I don’t go by a ther-
mometer; I have a heavy sacque with an
interlining, and I know I was too warm
in it Thursday.

You won’t venture out with your cold,

Miss Parker, will you ? Oh, I think

you’re foolish! Aren’t you afraid you’ll

add to it? Well, I wouldn’t go out

just for that; it’s two weeks to Christmas,
you’ll have time enough to get them. I
think I’ve got most of my things now.
I’m not going to give much of anything
this year anyway. I always send the
things just as soon as I get them, too.

Oh, I don’t mind when they

open them, as long as I’ve got them off
my mind. {Turning to waitress.) Hominy.

I wish you would tell me something
for a man. You ought to know, Miss
Parker, with all your gentleman friends.
-They never use the things you give
them anyway. – – Now last Christmas, I
gave my nephew some neckties. I chose
them very carefully; I didn’t get him any-
thing but what Td wear myself. He’s
always in a hurry, so I got them all
bowed up ready; there was a kind of
buff-colored one with a blue sprig on it.
But he never wears them.

Yes, I know, I gave him one last year,
I gave him that “Gems of Thought”
calendar, but he used to pull a whole
week off at a time to use for shaving.

I’ll trouble you for the salt, Mr. Tay-
lor, before you go how’s Mrs. Tay-
lor this morning ? it’s right in front
of you did I say salt ? I meant

sugar – – she don’t seem to throw it off
at all, does she ? I thought she looked
dreadfully yesterday. I wish she would
try something my sister uses. She’s a
constant sufferer, so she ought to know
what’s good for it. Good-morning, tell
Mrs. Taylor I hope she’ll be better soon.
She never will be as long as she’s so set.
Now I was in her room last night, while
my bed was being taken down, and I
should think I talked to her over half an
hour, telling her what she ought to do,
but it’s no use; you see she’s worse this

morning. I don’t see why some of

her own family don’t come and stay with
her; they can’t care much about her.
What do you say, Miss Per-
kins ? Oh, you’re acquainted with

them ? Where ? – Well, are they

all in Europe? Oh, there’s only her
mother and sister. Well, they can’t care
much about her.

Some cold bread, please, Katie, — gra-
ham. No, I thank you, I can’t

eat any hot biscuit. I thought I was
better a while ago, but I found I had

this {Tapping her chest.) I’m

better without it. If I had my way, I
wouldn’t have it on the table at all. I
think every one would be better without
them.

That reminds me, I forgot my medi-
cine. Katie, Katie! Will you please go
up to my room, and on the bureau, back
of that plush frame on the right, you’ll
see a tall, fat bottle, and right side of it
you’ll see two little bits of bottles; well,

it’s the one farthest from the large bottle
I want.

I hear Mrs. Phillips is coming back.
No, she’s going to have the fourth floor,
back. I’m rather glad, because she’s
always said a good deal about never
having anything but a first floor, front. I
presume she’ll say she prefers it now on
account of the view.

Yes, Mrs. Watson’s keeping her old
room – 1 know because I heard some
one say they heard Mrs. Prescott telling
some one that she was very much dis-
appointed, she had a chance to let the
whole floor for the winter. I suppose
she had the refusal of the room, but I
should have told her she couldn’t have
it. (Takes pills and drinks some water

quickly.)

Katie, please bring me some hot milk,
this coffee is entirely too strong.

Where my sister boards she says the
table’s splendid. She has a small room,
but she says the coffee is just like home-
made; of course she isn’t in it much,
and as I tell her I’d rather have a small
room where the table is good — and
then she says the other boarders are all
so unusually pleasant.

Good-morning, Mrs. Watson; good-
morning, Daisy, going to school this
morning? Do you like your teacher?
Well, I guess you haven’t any tongue.

Oh, Daisy! that’s not pretty. Well, I
suppose you wanted to show me you had
one. {Turns to lady at her left.)

Well, some children talk too much.

My brother’s children are dreadful! It’s

no pleasure to be with them in their own
home. He wasn’t brought up that way
and doesn’t approve of it, but my sister-
in-law has no more idea of bringing up

children than . They are very

different when they are with me; but of
course, she won’t listen to anything I
say.

What are you drinking, Daisy ? Don’t
you like milk ? Tell Mamma she oughtn’t

to let you have coffee. Yes,

I suppose it’s very weak, but it seems
as if she was very young to have it.

What did you say, dear? Oh, going

to have your picture taken, is that so?

Where do you go, Mrs. Watson?

Oh, no, I don’t care for his pictures at

all. I had mine taken there, and I

wanted to burn them all up – but they

cost so much – so I gave them all away
to my relations.

Do you think they were good, Miss

Clark ? I don’t see how you can

say so. Well, every one thought

they were good. I don’t think they
looked like me in the first place.

No, I don’t care for those artistic pho-
tographers. You see they won’t let any
one into the room with you, and of course
they don’t know your worst side as one
of your family does. The day I went,
my sister went with me, and two cousins
of mine, and I thought if they all came
in I should feel more natural, and they
could tell him how to take it. But he shut
the door right in their faces, of course
everything he does is considered so ar-
tistic, but I thought it was awfully rude.

And then I fixed my hair on the side I
thought he was taking, and when it was
finished it came out the other and was
all drawn tight and looked horrid.

Good-by, Daisy; I hope you’ll sit
nicely for your picture.

Not a pleasant child at all, is she ?
Very badly brought up. I should think
her mother would want to have a good
picture of her, she’s very delicate looking.
She’s very healthy looking, the mother —
yes, Mrs. Watson, it’s a pleasure to see
her eat, isn’t it ?

If you haven’t any appetite yourself,
it’s a comfort to see others enjoy their

food. Trouble you for the toast,

Miss Bates (No ds to Miss Park-
er, who is leaving the table.)

You take my advice, Miss Parker, and

don’t go out with your cold. (To lady
opposite.)

Very nice young lady that Miss Parker.
(To lady opposite.) Do you know any-
thing about her family ? Oh, no, I

don’t, I only wondered if you did, she
always seems very nice, but I don’t
know, a young lady all alone in a board-
ing house, that way it always seems

a little (Drinks her coffee.)

Good-morning, Mr. Walker – – no, you
are not the last. I suppose you were
pretty tired this morning, I think I
heard you come in rather late last night
– – didn’t I ? Well, I heard some one
about half-past one, I thought it was
your door.

Did you get your letter ? I noticed
there was one for you, because the post-

mark was Marshville, and my sister used
to live there. I wondered if you knew
any one there that I did.

Oh, you haven’t been there ? Well
did you ever hear your friends speak of
the Rices ? Very large family, lovely
family. Or any of the Grays, or Parsons,
Dennises, Updikes ? Mr. Updike is a

fine -looking man, isn’t he? Oh,

you’ve never lived there! Of course.

Who ? No, I’m not acquainted with

them, but of course I’m familiar with the

name, several sons Oh, aren’t

there? Well, it’s a good while since
my sister lived there. It’s a lovely place,
the residential section is very handsome,
some beautiful homes there, and new
homes being built all the time. The li-
brary is very fine, isn’t it ? Of

course, I keep forgetting you haven’t been
there.

Well, I guess I’ll go along. (Folds her
napkin and gets up.) Katie, give me a
glass of milk, please, and I guess I’ll take
up an orange. Is there any of that

celery, Katie ? Well, if you’ll see,

please. Charlie is so fond of celery, I

thought I’d take him a piece.

Oh, he’s better, thank you, come in and
see him some time. He don’t look very
well. Yes, he’s moulting.