CIRCUMSTANCES ALTER CASES.

BY PATTY PEMBERTON BERMANN.

Dramatis Personæ:

Madge.

Bess.

A Stranger.

A Salesman.

A Cash-boy.

Scene.—The Upholstery Department of a fashionable shop. Screens, piles of rugs, sofa pillows, etc., in confusion. Three or four cane-seated chairs placed about at irregular distances. Across left end of stage extends a pole for the display of curtains. Behind these the actors may retire. There should be a second exit opposite, near back of stage. Right of centre an upright piano. As curtain rises, enter slowly, Cash-boy bearing check and small change.

[An impression of space may be produced in two ways, either by hanging a background canvas, whereon is painted a perspective of counters, draperies, potteries, etc., or by the use of mirrors. As scene-painters do not grow on every twig, the better plan is to borrow long mirrors from a house-furnishing establishment, and arrange them so that they reflect a section of the stage behind the curtained pole. This section can be made to look as if sales of small articles were going on at another end of the shop from that in the foreground of stage. But take care that no part of the real stage setting is reflected. A pantomimic repetition of the play would bring down the house, and as certainly disturb the performers. Do not crowd the stage.]

Cash-boy. Now where's 792 gone, I wonder? That's just the way with 'em; always yelling for "check," and when you come racing and tearing, they ain't there. Glad I ain't down-stairs, to have them girls hollering "Cosh! Cosh!" (mimicking) fit to bust your ears. Guess I better chase after 792. (Seats himself, and examines change.) I'll toss up to see where he is—heads, he's skipped to lunch; tails (enter, R., Madge and Bess unobserved), he'll gimme ginger for keeping him waiting.

[Sees girls, closes his hand over penny, and exits, making wry face.]

Bess (sighing). Poor boy! Evidently he has a cruel step-father who ill-uses him.

Madge. His case is less pitiable than ours, for one can at least occasionally escape the society of a man. Besides, men never make things so unpleasant at home.

Bess. "Home!" Oh, Madge! I could weep to think how we have looked forward to a home of our own, after ten years of boarding-school. (Enter, R., Stranger. She pauses on the threshold, listening.) And now to have everything spoiled by this hateful step-mother. It is too bad.

Madge. Papa writes that she is lovely, and will be as much a companion to us as to him.

Bess. Nonsense. Who ever heard of a step-mother being a companion? I am sure she is an ugly old maid who has no sympathy with anything under fifty years of age.

Madge. It was rather nice of her to ask papa to let us furnish our rooms in the new house, though.

Bess. Policy—mere policy. She wants to get rid of the trouble of doing it herself.

Madge. Well, for papa's sake I think we ought to try to like her.

Bess. Oh, you will like her fast enough, but I never, never can!

Stranger (approaching). There seems to be nobody in this department to wait on me; or perhaps a clerk is attending to your orders?

Madge. No; we were so busy talking that we forgot how much we have to do, and did not notice the absence of clerks.

Stranger. Ah! here is some one coming. Let us hail him at once. (Cash-boy loiters from behind curtains, L.) Boy, please bring a salesman as quickly as possible.

Cash-boy. 'Ain't 792 come yet? Well, he is taking a corking feed. Wish I was him.

Bess (compassionately). Do not you have enough to eat at home?

Cash-boy. Do I look like I'm suffering?

Bess. No; but I thought perhaps your step-father—

Cash-boy (thrusting his hands in his pockets and laughing). 'Ain't got no step-father. The old lady, she's a step, though.

Stranger. Don't you think you should speak more respectfully of old persons?

Cash-boy. I'm a jollying you. She ain't much older than you, and she don't act a bit like a step. She's prime, I tell you.

Bess (impatiently). Go call some one to wait on us, and don't stand talking all day.

[Exit Cash-boy, calling "Sales! Sales!"]

Stranger (rising and looking behind curtains, L.). It is provoking to sit idle in this way when one has the furnishing of a house on hand.

Madge. I should think so. With only two rooms to fit up, Bess and I feel our responsibilities weighing on us.

[Moves about among rolls of carpet, keeping near Stranger.]

Stranger. How sweet of your mother to allow you to select everything for yourselves!

Madge (softly). We have no mother.

Stranger. Poor children!

[Lays her hand on Madge's shoulder. They return thus to their seats. Bess walks over to R., and leans dejectedly against piano a moment, then turns impulsively.]

Bess. Have you daughters?

Stranger. None of my own; but I'm going to adopt two in a few weeks.

Madge. Do you love them so much?

Stranger. I shall when we know each other better.

Bess. And they?

Stranger. I fear they are a trifle prejudiced at present, but love begets love, and we shall eventually become friends.

Madge. It would be difficult not to become friendly with you.

Stranger. Thank you, my dear. (Again goes to curtains, L.) Here is our salesman at last, and as we are all on the same errand, we may save time by looking at carpets and hangings together. (To Bess.) You shall have first opportunity, however.

Bess. No, no; you are entitled to take precedence.

Stranger. Age before beauty—eh? Well, then we will collectively examine rugs for your rooms. (To Salesman.) Something in delicate tints, please.

Salesman. What size, madam?

Bess (aghast). Size?

Madge. We did not once dream of measuring the floor.

Stranger. Never mind; we will not worry about such trifles as measurements. Let me see (reflecting); twelve feet square—no, twelve by fifteen will do. (Salesman unrolls two rugs.) That one is charmingly suggestive of spring-time and flowers. Just the thing for a débutante.

Bess. I think I prefer the other. What is the price?

Salesman. A hundred and fifty dollars.

Madge (springing up in surprise). A hundred and fifty! Goodness gracious! Why, we expected to furnish a whole room for less! How much is the other?

Salesman. Twenty-five.

Stranger. Don't let me influence your choice.

Bess. Imagine trampling on a hundred-and-fifty dollar rug.

Stranger. People trample on more valuable things every day.

Bess (aside). Now why should that speech make me uncomfortable? (To Madge.) Aren't we inconsiderate in taking the time of a stranger for our affairs?

Stranger. That depends upon the stranger.

Bess. Then shall we look at curtains? Those are handsome—aren't they?

Stranger. I'm afraid they are more expensive even than the rug. You might try dotted muslin, perhaps. I shall have them for my room.

Bess (reluctantly). Well. What are you giggling about, Madge?

Madge. I was thinking that you said this morning nothing could induce you to have dotted muslin curtains.

Bess. People may change their minds—mayn't they?

Stranger. I trust you may change yours some time when more is at stake. (To Salesman.) Will you kindly find some pale blue draperies that I ordered from the fancy-goods counter down-stairs, and bring them here?

[Exit Salesman.]

Bess (going toward piano). I wonder if we shall have a piano at home?

Stranger (absently). Oh yes!

Madge (surprised). Why, how can you know?

Stranger (recovering herself). On general principles, my dear. Every house must need a piano.

Bess. Of course you play or sing?

Stranger. My repertoire is limited, and not classical. Association with young people has led me to devote more time than I ought to dance-music and light opera.

Madge. Do play us a two-step now, just for fun.

[Stranger seats herself at piano and plays with spirit. The girls hesitate a moment, then push aside rugs and begin to dance.]

Bess (stopping breathless). How sweet of you! Such a fascinating two-step, and played as if you like to take a turn yourself.

Stranger. I was quite devoted to it, but now that I am an old maid I have no sympathy with anything under fifty years of age.

Madge (aside). That's what Bess says about our prospective step-mother.

[Enter Salesman with draperies.]

Stranger. Thank you. Yes, we have finished our shopping in this department. (To girls.) I must say good-by to you, as you probably wish to purchase bedroom furniture, and I will first look after my parlor.

Madge. I am so sorry we cannot go on as we have begun. We shall miss having you to advise and consult with.

Bess. You have been so very kind to help us.

Stranger. Policy, my dear—mere policy.

Bess (aside). How strange! She quotes my very words. (To her.) I will not believe there was a scrap of policy about it.

Madge. Nor I. You were simply lovely to two ignorant girls who thought they knew everything.

Stranger. Well, good-by. Possibly we may meet again some day.

Girls (in unison). I'm sure we hope so.

Salesman (as Stranger starts to leave). To whom shall I charge your curtains and rugs, madam?

Stranger. To Charles Rockwood.

Girls. Why, that is papa's name.

Stranger. Yes? Quite a coincidence—isn't it?

Salesman. The address, please?

Stranger. Thirty-three West Blank Street.

Girls (in great excitement). The number of our new house!

Stranger. Really?

Bess. What does it all mean?

Madge. How perfectly exciting!

Bess. Is it possible that—

Madge. This is our—

Stranger. Future step-mother? Who ever heard of a step-mother being a companion, my dear girls?

Bess. Forgive me. I did not know—

Stranger. The marplot that was to spoil everything when her daughters returned from boarding-school.

[Enter Cash-boy.]

Cash-boy. Sev—en—nine—ty—two!

Salesman. Here, check, take this to the office.

Madge. Wait a moment, boy. You see we have gained a "step," too.

Madge (embracing Stranger). I was sure I should like you.

Bess. And I—

Stranger. Never, never, never can.

Bess (taking her hand affectionately). I thought so once, but now I know that circumstances alter cases.