960 
 R32.49 
 
 I9Z2 
 
 UC-NRLF 
 
 B 3 3Me EflE 
 

DEAR ME 
 
 By LUTHER REED and HALE HAMILTON 
 
 SAMUEL FRENCH, 28-30 West Seth St, New York 
 
Golden Days 
 
 A comedy of youth, in four acts, by Sidney Toler and 
 Marion Short 7 males, 10 females. Three interior 
 scenes. Costumes modern. Plays 2^ hours. 
 
 "Golden Days" is a play with all the charm of youth. 
 It enjoyed a run of sixteen weeks in Chicago with 
 Patricia Collingre in the leading: role, and was then 
 brought to the Gaiety Theatre, New York, with Helen 
 Kayes in the part of "Mary Anne." Price, 75 cents. 
 
 Come Out of the Kitchen 
 
 A charming comedy in 3 acts, adapted by A. E. Thomas 
 from the story of the same name by Alice Duer Miller. 6 
 males, 5 females. Three interior scenes. Costumes, 
 modern. Plays 2% hours. 
 
 "Come Out of the Kitchen," with Ruth Chatterton in 
 the leading role, made a notable success on its produc- 
 tion by Henry Miller at the Cohan Theatre, New York, 
 rt was also a great success at the Strand Theatre, Lrf>n- 
 don. A most ingenious and entertaining comedy, and 
 we strongly recommend it for amateur production. 
 
 Price. 75 cents 
 
 His Majesty Bunker Bean 
 
 A farcical comedy In four acts. By Lee Wilson Dodd, 
 from the novel by Harry Leon Wilson. . 12 male-s, 6 
 females. Four interior scenes. Costumes, modern. Plays 
 2% hours. Those who have laughed immoderately at 
 Harry Leon Wilson's story will be greatly amused by 
 the play, which tells the story of a cowed and cred- 
 ulous youth w+iio became kingly when he was tricked 
 into believing himself a reincarnation of Napoleon. "His 
 Majesty Bunker Bean," with Taylor Holmes in the title 
 role, was brought to the Astor Theatre, New York, 
 after a run of 25 weeks in Chicago. A delightful and 
 wholesome farce comedy with no dull moments. 
 
 Price, 75 cents 
 
 A Full House 
 
 A farcical comedy in three acts. By Fred Jackson. 
 7 males, 7 females. One interior scene. Modern cos- 
 tumes. Plays 2% hours. This newest and funniest of 
 all farces was written by Fred Jackson, the well-known 
 .short story writer, and is backed up by the prestige 
 of an impressive New York success and the promise of 
 unlimited fun presented in the most attractive form. 
 A cleverer farce has not been seen for many a long 
 day. "A Full House" is a house full of laughs 
 
 Price, 75 cents 
 
 (The AboY« Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) 
 
 fetAMUEIi FRENCH, 28-30 West 38th Street. New York City 
 
 New «nd Explicit Descriptive Catalo^i^rue Mailed 
 
 Free on Request 
 
DEAR ME 
 
 (or APRIL CHANGES) 
 
 AN OPTIMISTIC COMEDY 
 IN THREE ACTS 
 
 BY 
 LUTHER REED and HALE HAMILTON 
 
 Copyright, 1921, by Luther Reed & Hale Hamilton 
 
 G)PYRIGHT, 1922, BY LUTHER ReED & HaLE HAMILTON 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 lUTION : Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned 
 that "DEAR ME," being fully protected under the copy- 
 right laws of the United States, Great Britain and Can- 
 ada, is subject to a royalty, and anyone presenting the 
 play without the consent of the owners or their author- 
 ized agents will be liable to the penalties by law pro- 
 vided. The amateur acting rights of this play are strictly 
 reserved and amateur performances may not be given 
 anywhere without permission first having been obtained 
 in writing from Samuel French, 28-30 West 38th Street, 
 New York City. For professional productions write to 
 John Golden, 139 West 44th Street, New York City. All 
 unauthorized performances will be prosecuted. 
 
 New York 
 
 SAMUEL FRENCH 
 
 Pubusher 
 
 58-30 West 38th Street 
 
 London 
 
 SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 
 
 26 Southampton Street 
 
 STRAND 
 
Especial notice should be taken that the possession of 
 this book without a valid contract for production first 
 having been obtained from the publisher, confers no right 
 or license to professionals or amateurs to produce the play 
 publicly or in private for gain or charity. 
 
 In its present form this play is dedicated to the reading 
 public only, and no performance, representation, produc- 
 tion, recitation, or public reading may be given except by 
 special arrangement with Samuel French, 28-30 West 38th 
 Street, New York. 
 
 This play may be presented by amateurs upon payment 
 of a royalty of Twenty-Five Dollars for each perform- 
 ance, payable to Samuel French, 28-30 West 38th Street, 
 New York^ one week before the date when the play is 
 given. 
 
 Whenever the play is produced the following notice must 
 appear on all programs, printing and advertising for the 
 play: "Produced by special arrangement with Samuel 
 French of New York." 
 
 Attention is called to the penalty provided by law for 
 any infringement of the author's rights, as follows: 
 
 "Section 4966 : — Any person publicly performing or rep- 
 resenting any dramatic or musical composition for which 
 copyright has been obtained, without the consent of the 
 proprietor of said dramatic or musical compositions, or his 
 heirs and assigns, shall be liable for damages thereof, 
 such damages, in all cases to be assessed at such sum, not 
 less than one hundred dollars for the first and fifty dol- 
 lars for every subsequent performance, as to the court 
 shall appear to be just. If the unlawful performance and 
 representation be v^ilful and for profit, such person or 
 persons shall be^ guilty of a misdemeanor, and upon con- , 
 viction shall be imprisoned for a period not exceeding one i 
 year."-— U. S. Revised Statutes: Title 60, Chap. 3. ' 
 
R33L-H 
 
 JOHN GOLDEN <M^(U 
 
 presents i A ji a 
 
 Grace LaRue and Hale Hamilton l^ASi 
 
 in 
 "DEAR ME" 
 (or April Changes) 
 AN OPTIMISTIC COMEDY 
 by 
 LUTHER REED and HALE HAMILTON 
 As presented at the Republic Theatre, New York, 
 January 17, 1921 
 
 April Blair Grace LaRue 
 
 Anthony Turner James G. Morton 
 
 Edgar Craig Hale Hamilton 
 
 Herbert Lawton George N. Price 
 
 Manny Siebold Robert Lowe 
 
 Clarence T. Kodama 
 
 Dudley Quail '. Baker Moore 
 
 Maid Eula Guy 
 
 Wilbur Oglevie /. K. Hutchinson 
 
 Shelly Willis Albert Mattison 
 
 Robert Jackson George Spelvin 
 
 Gordon Peck Mart E. Heisey 
 
 Joseph Renard Robert Fischer 
 
 Mrs. Carney Camilla Crume 
 
 SYNOPSIS 
 
 Act. I — The Amos Prentice Home for Artistic and Lit- 
 erary Failures. 
 Act II — Home of Craig and Renard in New York City, 
 
 one year later. 
 Act III — Scene 1 — April's Dressing-room. 
 
 Scene 2 — Prentice's Apartment, New York City. 
 
 Accompanist to Miss LaRue, Joseph M. Daily. 
 
 Kimball Piano Used. 
 
 Staged by Hale Hamilton. 
 
 Gowns Worn by Miss LaRue from Harry Collins. 
 
 Production Designed by Wade Douglas. 
 
 Scenery constructed by the Vail Construction Co. and 
 
 painted by the Physioc Studios, New York. 
 
 EXECUTIVE STAFF FOR JOHN GOLDEN 
 
 A. H. Canby Manager 
 
 P. E. McCoy General Stage Director 
 
 Mart E. Heisey Stage Manager 
 
 3 
 
 fl 360 
 
CHARACTERS 
 
 (In the order of which they speak) 
 
 Wilbur Oglevie 
 Shelly Willis 
 Robert Jackson 
 Gordon Peck 
 Joseph Renard 
 Mrs. Carney 
 April Blair 
 Anthony Turner 
 Edgar Craig 
 Herbert Lawton 
 Manny Bean 
 Clarence 
 Dudley Quail 
 Maid 
 
 SYNOPSIS 
 
 Act I — The Amos Prentice Home for Artistic 
 
 and Literary Failures. 
 Act II — Home of Craig and Renard in New 
 
 York City, one year later. 
 Act III — Scene i — April^s dressing-room. 
 
 Scene 2 — Prentice's apartment, New 
 
 York City, 
 
DEAR ME 
 
 ACT I 
 
 // you walk four miles out the main road from a 
 nameless but characteristic little New York 
 State town, you will come to something that 
 looks like a mediocre farm. But it isn't a farm 
 at all, as closer inspection will reveal. There is 
 no thriftness whatsoever about the fields, and 
 what is left of the orchards fails utterly to com- 
 mand respect. The house seems to be on the 
 verge of final decay also. 
 
 This feeling does not come so much from the physi- 
 cal aspect of the place, which is fairly fit, but 
 from the atmosphere. If one were a failure, it 
 would be a zvonderful place to spend the remain- 
 ing days. It gives that sort of a feeling be- 
 cause — it is that sort of a place. 
 
 A closer inspection of the tarnished brass plate at 
 the gate post reveals this legend: 
 
 THE PRENTICE HOME FOR LITERARY 
 AND ARTISTIC FAILURES. 
 
 and there is no 'Welcome" written below to add 
 an ironical touch. 
 Nor is there any welcome in the large downstairs 
 room of the house which s$rves for library, 
 5 
 
6 DEAR ME 
 
 limng and dining-room to the unfortunate in- 
 mates of the Home. 
 
 As the curtain rises, this room is serving as the din- 
 ing-room, and even the soft Spring air and the 
 slanting rays of the setting sun cannot brighten 
 up the chill of the room. Nor does this lustrous 
 moment of the late May evening seem to cheer 
 the elderly wrecks who are stuffing themselves 
 with food which is equally meager in quality and 
 quantity. 
 
 Around the table sit — we shall begin with the plump- 
 est one, who is by the same token the noisiest — 
 Oglevie, Willis, Lawton, Turner, Peck and 
 Manny Bean, who they are and what they have 
 been is not to be explained here, for they do 
 that themselves in their own manner. 
 
 But something of the room. If we entered from the 
 yard, we would come in through a large window, 
 just outside of which sits a measly box of 
 struggling geraniums. Standing there and look- 
 ing across the room, we would see, on our left, 
 a fireplace, in which no fire has ever burned. 
 Over the mantelpiece, a picture of a benign old 
 gentleman about whom is every aspect of suc- 
 cess. Further on, past the fireplace, a swing 
 door leads to the kitchen. On the opposite wall 
 an old-fashioned sideboard leaning heavily be- 
 tween the corner and the stairway that creaks 
 nightly under the weight of the old gentlemen 
 going to bed. 
 
 On our right is a newspaper rack, loaded with char- 
 ity newspapers, which means that none bears a 
 date later than a month ago. 
 
 In the centre of the room is the table, loaded with 
 heavy crockery that is light in food. The chairs, 
 as well as the rest of the furniture, are of the 
 ''horsehair^' period. 
 
 J 
 
DEAR ME 7 
 
 When the sun has ceased to illumine, the Prentice 
 Home depends on gas. 
 
 The "inmates'^ for they even refer to themselves as 
 that, eat without lost motion or conversation — 
 then one of their number, one who is usually 
 palid and frail, coughs. His companions glare 
 relentlessly and take no notice of the look of 
 apology he gives. Especially resentful is 
 Oglevie. But it is no use. Lawton coughs 
 again and this precipitates us into the beginning 
 of our play, for Oglevie dashes his napkin 
 down among the rick-ribbed crockery and rises, 
 stuttering in his anger. And he says: 
 
 Oglevie. Gentlemen, I rise to ask: Is this a 
 home for failures or a sanitarium? 
 
 Peck. Now, be reasonable, old man; he can't 
 help it. 
 
 Oglevie. And I can't help listening. As the one 
 real failure among you, I ask you: do I have to 
 stand that? 
 
 Lawton. I beg your pardon — I'm sorry! 
 
 Oglevie. (Sits) Well, then, all right! 
 
 (Lawton coughs again, and Oglevie begins to froth 
 and boil, but Turner and Peck quiet him down, 
 and they begin to eat again. Renard enters r. 
 with his old violin, same being wrapped in an 
 old piece of flannel. He stops in doorway, looks 
 at the diners, and bows slightly,) 
 
 Renard. Gentlemen 
 
 Peck. Where have you been? 
 Renard. I didn't know I was late. 
 Bean. Supper's most over! 
 Lawton. Mrs. Carney thought something had 
 happened to you. 
 
 Renard. Really ? Well, something has ! 
 
8 DEAR ME 
 
 Several. Yes? What is it? Tell us, etc. 
 
 Renard. (Pauses slowly) You would not find 
 it interesting. (Goes up to put his fiddle on the 
 mantel,) 
 
 Oglevie. Ha! He's been taking his fiddle out 
 for an airing! 
 
 Renard. (Turning quickly) You are right, sir. 
 I try my violin to-day for the first time since — since 
 I come here. 
 
 Bean. (Great interest) You can play again? 
 
 Renard. (Shakes head) No, but scrape a little — 
 more than I ever thought I'd be able to do ! 
 
 Peck. Well, say! That's wonderful! 
 
 Renard. (Sitting) Yes, and it would never have 
 been but for April — what I owe to that dear child ! 
 
 Oglevie. Ha, dear child ! If the dear child would 
 look after waiting on table and not- 
 
 Peck. And pay a little attention 
 
 Renard. (Quickly) Sh — ^h 
 
 Lawton. Mrs. Carney ! 
 
 (Mrs. Carney enters. She is a pompous, aggressive 
 matron, who is always annoyed, and from the 
 standpoint of 'failures/' is probably more eligi- 
 hh for the Home, of which she is the resident 
 manager, than any of the inmates.) 
 
 Mrs. Carney. (Com^s down to the table, gives a 
 quick glance about) Everything all right? 
 
 Oglevie. (Rises, swells up, as he puts down his 
 napkin) I thought I might suggest . . . 
 
 Mrs. Carney. Is everything all right? 
 
 Oglevie. (As he subsides, crestfallen) Perfect- 
 ly! Except . . . 
 
 Mrs. Carney. Except what? 
 
 Oglevie. Except — we have no one to wait on us ! 
 
 Mrs. Carney. (Looking around) Where's 
 April? 
 
55i 
 
 CO 
 
 < 
 
 Q 
 
DEAR ME 9 
 
 Oglevie. (Looking at Renard sarcastically) 
 The ''dear child" hasn't honored us with her pres- 
 ence since we sat down. 
 
 Mrs. Carney. (Angry) What? 
 
 Bean. (Excusing her) She's looking out for our 
 new arrival, I think. 
 
 Mrs. Carney. The new man — ^is here? 
 
 Bean. Yes, he came while we were all out on 
 our walk. No one's seen him except April. 
 
 Lawton. She said something about serving his 
 supper in his room. 
 
 Mrs. Carney. Supper in his room? We'll see 
 about supper in his room mighty quick ! (Starts out 
 toward the kitchen.) 
 
 (April enters with tray. The door closes after her. 
 As she gets to second step down l., Mrs. Car- 
 ney speaks very sharply.) 
 
 Mrs. Carney. Where are you going with that 
 tray? 
 
 April. The new gentleman's supper; I said I'd 
 take it up to him. 
 
 Mrs. Carney. Oh, you did! Put that tray 
 down! 
 
 (April goes up l. and puts down tray,) 
 
 Mrs. Carney. Now you attend to this table — do 
 you hear? 
 
 (April looks at table a minute; then goes l., gets 
 water-pitcher, fills Peck-'s and Bean's glasses, 
 then puts water-pitcher on table up l., and then 
 lights two lamps.) 
 
 Mrs. Carney. (Goes to stairs and calls) Mr. 
 Crmg! You will kindly come down to the dining- 
 
lo DEAR ME 
 
 room at once! (Turns on April. J Put his supper 
 over there ! (Turns to men, and, without more than 
 taking breath) And I hope, gentlemen, that having 
 failed at everything else, you will try to succeed at 
 being polite and considerate to the new guest! 
 (Exits into kitchen.) 
 
 (April gets chair, and makes a place at end of table 
 for Craig; bus. with tray, etc.) 
 
 Oglevie. Anyway, gentlemen, we have one thing 
 to be thankful for — this Home does not admit lady 
 failures. 
 
 Bean. Women never admit their failures ! 
 
 Oglevie. You are right there, Manny; when a 
 woman doesn't get everything she wants, she just 
 reaches out — ^grabs one of the struggling male specie, 
 and like the coward she is, marries him, and he has 
 a Home for little failures of his own to support. 
 (Sees April. J / want my coffee! 
 
 (Mrs. Carney enters.) 
 
 Mrs. Carney. What do you want? 
 
 April. Coffee ! 
 
 Oglevie. (To Mrs. Carney J If it isn't too 
 much trouble ! 
 
 Mrs. Carney. (Glares at him) Get this old man 
 his coffee — and be quick about it ! 
 
 (April exits with Oglevie's cup up l. Enter Craig. 
 He stops on stairs. Mrs. Carney turns and 
 looks at him angrily; she is surprised at his 
 youthful appearance and stands taking him in 
 curiously. Those at the table look at him with 
 interest.) 
 
DEAR ME II 
 
 Craig. (Looks at Mrs. Carney with a half- 
 smile) Mrs. Carney? 
 
 Mrs. Carney. I am Mrs. Carney — ^yes! 
 
 Craig. You — er — ^you sent for me? 
 
 Mrs. Carney. No — I called for you. (The men 
 at the table laugh at this remark,) 
 
 Craig. I see. 
 
 Mrs. Carney. You are half an hour late for 
 supper, Mr. Craig; the others have nearly finished. 
 
 Craig. I'm sorry — I expected to (Points up- 
 stairs.) 
 
 Mrs. Carney. Meals here are served in the din- 
 ing-room, except in cases of illness. 
 
 Craig. I see. 
 
 Mrs. Carney. You are not ill, I trust? 
 
 Craig. No, thanks — not particularly ! 
 
 Mrs. Carney. I'll trouble you for your card ! 
 
 Craig. (Feeling in various pockets) I fear I 
 haven't one with me. 
 
 Mrs. Carney. You should have! 
 
 Craig. Oh, should I? 
 
 Mrs. Carney. Each failure is given a card — 
 when the Trustees have decided that he is worthy 
 of admission 
 
 Craig. Oh, that card? I didn't understand. 
 (Takes card from pocket.) Allow me ! 
 
 Mrs. Carney. (Taking card from him) Thanks ! 
 
 (Oglevie puts on his glasses, turns in chair and 
 tries to see what is written on card.) 
 
 Mrs. Carney. (Reads) "Edgar Craig, born New 
 York City, 1882. Six feet; one hundred and seven- 
 ty-nine ; light brown ; failed at " (Looks dozm- 
 
 ward — pushes card under Oglevie^s nose — he turri^ 
 sheepishly and starts eating.) "Signed: James B. 
 Smythe, Secretary." It seems to be all right. Wei- 
 
12 DEAR ME 
 
 comi to the Home! Your place at the table is there. 
 (Points to end of table.) 
 
 Craig. (Interrupting) Do I have a number? 
 
 Mrs. Carney. This is Mr. Oglevie ; he will make 
 you acquainted with the other old men! (Sweeps 
 out of the room, up the stairs,) 
 
 Oglevie. (Looking after Mrs. Carney; rises) 
 As the senior resident here, Mr. Craig, it is my cus- 
 tom, upon welcoming a new guest, to first introduce 
 him to that glorious old gentleman! (Goes up c.) 
 — the founder of this Home — Amos Prentice! 
 
 (Craig starts to sit, but rises as Oglevie starts to 
 talk; again takes piece of bread with him,) 
 
 Oglevie. His son, Edgar Prentice, went to Paris 
 to study Art, but failed and vanished. The old 
 gentleman never heard from him again, and died, 
 leaving this memorial to his son as a haven for others 
 who had failed in the artistic and literary world. 
 They — (Craig sits,) — ^have placed here, beneath the 
 portrait, a tablet. (Goes up to mantel at back.) If 
 you please, Mr. Craig! 
 
 Craig. (Rises, goes up to mantel at back, reads) 
 "In memory of my son : No man who ever tried is a 
 failure in his own heart, and to such men belong a 
 better fate than my son suffered." 
 
 Oglevie. I should like to further explain 
 
 Craig. Thank you, but Mr. Smythe explained 
 everything to me thoroughly. (Comes down to L.j 
 
 Oglevie. Oh . . . (Comes down to l. end of 
 table) Then let me present Mr. Willis, who was a 
 very successful sign painter, but failed after a dis- 
 astrous career as a 
 
 Willis. A portraiteur! 
 
 Oglevie. One who paints portraits, but does not 
 necessarily sell them. And Mr. Turner, who has 
 several trunks full of unpublished manuscript*^ 
 
DEAR ME 13 
 
 his sole legacy to the world! (Turner rises and 
 bows,) Mr. Lawton — ^but Mr. Lawton can best ex- 
 plain himself ! 
 
 Lawton. (Rises) Have you ever been in Reli- 
 ance, Ohio, Mr. Craig? 
 
 Craig. That is a pleasure so far denied me ! 
 
 Lawton. In a remote park stands my one and 
 only statue. I felt convinced that it was a genuine 
 work of art, but the Committee on City Decorations 
 disagreed with me — ^and 
 
 Oglevie. It was upon their recommendation that 
 he obtained admission to this Home. 
 
 Lawton. But, Mr. Craig, my heart is buried in 
 that statue ! 
 
 Oglevie. This is Mr. Peck. Mr. Peck is not a 
 failure in any special line — he has failed success- 
 fully at everything. 
 
 Peck. (Rises) I am an architect, Mr. Craig; it 
 
 is the greatest art of them all (Movement from 
 
 others,) 
 
 Oglevie. (Interrupting) All the arts are repre- 
 sented among us, even the theatre. Here we have 
 
 I Mr. Manny Bean 
 
 ^ Bean. (Rises) Who built a little theatre for 
 
 artistic and literary plays; you know, high-brow 
 stuff. I thought I knew more about what the public 
 wanted than they did themselves; you see, I was 
 mistaken. (He hows to Oglevie, who takes up the 
 conversation,) 
 
 Oglevie. And Joseph Renard 
 
 Renard. No, never mind — please! (Rises.) 
 Some day I tell Mr. Craig. (Pulls out chair at R. 
 end of table.) 
 
 Oglevie. As you please. (Comes down to l. end 
 of table.) And now my most painful duty — ^to ex- 
 plain myself! (Very pompous.) I was a poet, Mr. 
 Craig— a writer of verse — and I failed. But it was 
 not that which brought me among these derelicts: 
 
14 DEAR ME 
 
 my failure, I might say my colossal failure, was — 
 matrimony! I married a woman for her money and 
 never got a cent! 
 
 (Enter April u.l. with tray and six cups of coffee; 
 puts tray on table at back and hurries to Ogle- 
 vie^ giving* him his cup,) 
 
 Oglevie. (Goes up l. of April) Ah ! One mo- 
 ment! Just one more introduction, Mr. Craig, be- 
 fore I've finished. You now have before you the 
 
 Home's most magnificent failure (Holds up 
 
 cup,) The coffee! (Sips the coffee,) My God! 
 This stuff is not coffee — it's mud! 
 
 April. I'll get you another cup if it will keep 
 you quiet ! 
 
 Oglevie. And bring a saucer. 
 
 April. Try drinking it out of the cup once! 
 (Exits with cup. All laugh, Craig laughing first 
 and loudest.) 
 
 Oglevie. When I go raving mad, thank her! 
 
 Renard. (Sincerely) We should all thank her, 
 Mr. Oglevie — thank her every day of our lives — ^not 
 one of us but is made more comfortable and con- 
 tented here by her thought and consideration! 
 
 Oglevie. Thank her? For her incompetency — 
 her impertinence? (All except Bean, Craig and 
 Renard agree with Oglevie ; they say, ^'He's right'' 
 — ''She is fresh'' — ''Yes, and lazy, too," etc. Con- 
 tinuing) Let me warn you, Mr. Craig, never allow 
 that girl to become familiar; keep her in her place 
 or she'll make your life miserable. 
 
 Craig. No, she won't. Mr. Oglevie, I've done 
 that for myself. And might I ask how many serv- 
 ants do we have in our little home ? 
 
 Renard. She is the only one, Mr. Craig. 
 
 Craig. What! To do everything? 
 
 Renard, Everything! Mrs. Carney — ^she only 
 
DEAR ME 15 
 
 gives orders ; April — she do it all ; she works like a 
 slave, and she gets nothing for it — nothing but 
 abuse! 
 
 Craig. Well, what does she do it for? Why 
 does she stand it? 
 
 Renard. Her father died here, Mr. Craig; he 
 had been a great thinker — a philosopher. When he 
 was old and broken he was taken into this Home, 
 and April allowed to come with him; and for that 
 she thinks she owes them a great debt ! 
 
 (Enter April. ^ 
 
 Craig. Oh, I see. 
 
 April. (Has a cup of coffee; she takes it to 
 Oglevie.^ I have plenty of fresh coflfee now! 
 (Giving him small milk pitcher.) Would you like 
 another cup, Joe? (Above the table, hooking about, 
 takes Peck's plate up.) 
 
 Renard. No, no, thank you! 
 
 (April catches sight of Craig, who is looking at her 
 intently. She pauses, keeping her eyes on his, 
 then speaks a little shyly.) 
 
 April. Would you, sir ? 
 
 Craig. No — ^this is fine, thank you ! 
 
 April. (Goes above him to newspaper rack, 
 speaks as she goes in rather low tone,) I'm sorry 
 I couldn't bring your supper up. 
 
 Craig. I'm glad you couldn't. I'd never have 
 suggested it if I'd known how much you had to do ! 
 
 (April, whose back is to Craig, turns with surprise 
 and looks at him — is about to speak — doesn't — 
 smiles at him and turns back to paper file — no 
 suggestion of flirting in the smile,) 
 
i6 DEAR ME 
 
 Craig. (After she's turned away) Have you had 
 your supper yet? 
 
 April. Oh, I don't (Turns to reply,) 
 
 Lawton. (Breaks in — loud voice) See here, 
 April, why the deuce do you 
 
 Craig. Why the deuce do you interrupt when 
 we're talking, Mr. Reliance ? y 
 
 Lawton. My name^is Lawton — Reliance is the 
 place where my statue is standing. 
 
 Renard. (To Lawtonj Mr. Craig is right — 
 you should never interrupt a man when he is talking 
 to a young lady — especially if she is a pretty young 
 lady! 
 
 Lawton. April — ^pretty? Good Heavens! 
 
 Renard. You do not think she is pretty? 
 
 Lawton. No ! 
 
 Craig. (Looking at Lawton J Now I know your 
 statue is rotten! (Bean and Renard laugh. The 
 others resent Craig's words.) 
 
 Renard. (Laughing) Good, Mr. Craig! 
 
 Lawton. I heard her again yesterday talking to 
 you, Renard. 
 
 Oglevie. Yes — Renard — she's always talking to 
 you! 
 
 Turner. "You're wonderful," she told him — 
 "wonderful" — and "Oh, how I wish you and I were 
 out there in the free, fighting world." 
 
 Oglevie. Ha! ha! The world! As if the world 
 wouldn't gobble her up in an instant. The world 
 that has crushed such spirits as ours, gentlemen! 
 
 Craig. Well, at least, she isn't crushed yet! 
 
 Oglevie. I don't get your meaning, Mr. Craig! 
 
 Craig. I mean Miss April isn't here because she 
 is a failure. We've had our chance ; her little cam- 
 paign against those millions out there hasn't even 
 started ! 
 
 Renard. Bravo! I like such talk. Like to fill 
 my lungs with it— like the fresh air. Why can't you 
 
DEAR ME 17 
 
 all have a little consideration? Think — ^think what 
 she has to do! 
 
 Oglevie. Has to do? Look! (Points to April. 
 All turn and see April going up stage, carrying her 
 box of geraniums; she is evidently on her way to 
 the kitchen.) 
 
 Peck. Ha ! Her geraniums ! (All laugh,) 
 
 (April puts the geraniums on top of tray up l., gets 
 water from l. and waters them,.) 
 
 Oglevie. Exactly — ^geraniums ! The all-important 
 task of her life is to bother and fuss with those 
 damned geraniums! 
 
 Craig. (Rising) If the latest failure to be added 
 to this little delightful circle may be permitted to 
 express his opinion . . . 
 
 April. Please, Mr. Craig! I don't mind what 
 they say. 
 
 Craig. Oh ! 
 
 Renard. April is right, Mr. Craig ; you will soon 
 learn that it is useless to waste your temper on these 
 remnants ! 
 
 Oglevie. (Ignoring Renard^ You were about 
 to offer an opinion, Mr. Craig? 
 
 Craig. Well, I was going to say that it's always 
 been my opinion that the lowest form of failure was 
 the man who tried to be a gentleman and didn't 
 succeed. But I've found there's one variety lower 
 — and that's the man who doesn't even try ! (April 
 serves Renard and Craig dessert.) April, would 
 you be kind enough to tell Mrs. Carney that I'd 
 like to see her a moment, if it's convenient. 
 
 April. Why, yes, sir, certainly. (She goes up- 
 stairs. There is an ominous silence for a second. 
 Oglevie appears about to speak, when Craig bright- 
 ly proceeds.) 
 
 Craig. Now that we are alone, gentlemen . . , 
 
i8 DEAR ME 
 
 (Takes out envelope,) I have here a letter that the 
 Trustees asked me to deliver to you. 
 
 Oglevie. a letter for us? 
 
 Craig. I understood it was in answer to a "round 
 robin" that you gentlemen had sent to the Trustees, 
 complaining of Mrs, Carney and her supervision of 
 the Home. 
 
 All. Oh, our round robin ! The answer is here, 
 at least ! What does it say, etc. 
 
 Oglevie. I wrote the round robin, Mr. Craig ! 
 
 Peck. And we all signed it. 
 
 Renard. No, not all — I did not sign it ! I have 
 no complaint. For every mouthful of food, for this 
 roof over me and my violin, I am grateful to that 
 old man. (He gets his hat and fiddle.) 
 
 Craig. You don't care to hear this letter, then? 
 
 Renard. It has nothing to do with me, Mr. Craig. 
 And I must go to the Post Office — it is most impor- 
 tant — April expects a letter. (Looks at others in 
 disgust,) 
 
 Oglevie. But Joe! Joe! 
 
 Renard. Oh, you meddlers — ^you with your let- 
 ters and your complaints ! (Exits,) 
 
 Oglevie. You may give me the letter, Mr. Craig. 
 May I ask what you are waiting for? 
 
 Craig. (Sweetly) For Mrs. Carney ! (All show 
 fear and rise from table.) 
 
 Oglevie. Mrs. Carney ! Good Heavens ! You're 
 not going to show that letter to her? 
 
 Craig. (Still sweetly) Oh, yes. When the Trus- 
 tees gave me my credentials, they told me to deliver 
 this reply and wished it read to you in Mrs. Carney's 
 presence. 
 
 Lawton. I think I'll go to the Post Office too ! 
 
 Peck. I'll go with you. 
 
 Oglevie. Wait — we'll all go ! 
 
DEAR ME 19 
 
 (Mrs. Carney enters from stairs; wears hat and 
 coat; carries umbrella.) 
 
 Mrs. Carney. Well! (They all stop.) What's 
 wrong now? 
 
 Craig. I have here a letter from the Trustees, 
 which they thought might interest you. 
 
 (April enters from stairs, stops and stands listen- 
 ing.) 
 
 Craig. (Reads letter) "Gentlemen of the Pren- 
 tice Home: The Trustes have given careful con- 
 sideration to your round robin, and its complaint of 
 and against Mrs. Carney. Mrs. Carney came highly 
 recommended, and your statement that she must 
 have come from some Penal Institution is entirely 
 without foundation. Her administration has been 
 careful, conscientious and economical. The Trustees 
 hope that these small differences will be adjusted, 
 in order that the home shall be what its founder in- 
 tended — a haven for men who have failed at a high 
 calling. It is not befitting gentlemen of the calibre 
 admitted to the Prentice Home to refer to Mrs. 
 Carney as an "aged harpy." (All the men gather 
 around Oglevie in fear. He reassures them that he 
 will fix it with Mrs. Carney.j 
 
 Mrs. Carney. Ingrates! (They all slink back a 
 little.) Who could work for such a lot of old fos- 
 sils without becoming a — a harpy ? A letter of com- 
 plaint against me ! This is my reward for all I have 
 done for you — for all my little kindnesses . . . 
 
 Oglevie. Kindnesses? Mrs. Carney . . . 
 
 Mrs. Carney. Yes — everything that April does 
 for you is something I've thought of and told her 
 to do! 
 
 April. (Before she realises what she's doing, not 
 too loud) Oh! 
 
20 ' DEAR ME 
 
 (Mrs. Carney turn^, notices she is in the room, 
 April quickly goes up stage, as Mrs. Carney 
 glares at her.) 
 
 Oglevie. Surely it wasn't you who told her not 
 to wait on the table to-night? 
 
 Mrs. Carney. No — ^but did you complain of her 
 in your letter? 
 
 Oglevie. No, but — er — we 
 
 Mrs. Carney. No ! Very likely she was in league 
 with you. 
 
 Oglevie. Mrs. Carney, I 
 
 (The others are slowly disappearing,) 
 
 Mrs. Carney. Well! (Going toward him,) 
 
 Oglevie. I speak for these gentlemen when I 
 
 say (He turns, sees they have all gone — turns 
 
 hack.) Excuse me ! (Exits.) 
 
 Mrs. Carney. (Returning to Aprilj See here, 
 young woman, Fm not going to be blamed because 
 you neglect your work. 
 
 April. What work have I neglected ? 
 
 Mrs. Carney. Don't be impertinent — spending 
 half your time around that fiddler — ^holding his hand. 
 
 April. (Angry) Oh! I only rub his wrist — 
 where it was hurt! 
 
 Mrs. Carney Don't talk back! And no more 
 meals in rooms without my orders! And now I'm 
 going to the village; and I want to find this room 
 cleared and your kitchen work done up by the time 
 I get back; so be lively. Start! (April begins 
 work around the room. Mrs. Carney goes to door- 
 way, turns, glances at Craig, speaks frigidly) Good 
 night, Mr. Craig! 
 
 Craig. (Looki/ng up, speaking sweetly) Eh? Oh, 
 good night, dear Mrs. Carney! (Mrs. Carney 
 glances at him in surprise, turns and exits.) 
 
DEAR ME 21 
 
 (Aftsr a pause, when Craig and April are left alone, 
 during which Craig is thinking of the scolding 
 she has had for trying to bring up his supper, 
 and April is beginning to get the room to rights 
 she looks up at him and suddenly speaks, as 
 Craig drinks coffee,) 
 
 April. (Putting napkin in ring) If your coffee's 
 cold, ril warm it. 
 
 Craig. (Glances at her a moment, then smiles) 
 I like it cold. (Lowers his head to cup.) 
 
 April. Sort of getting in training, eh? (Goes 
 on with her work. After sweeping a moment, she 
 stops, looks front, thinking, then begins work — then 
 stops, thinking again, and looks at Craig. J Mr. 
 Craig. 
 
 Craig. Yes ? 
 
 April. (Goes to c.) Just what is a — a harpy? 
 
 Craig. (Assumed seriousness) A harpy was an 
 ancient sort of an animal with the body of a bird 
 and the head of a woman. 
 
 April. (Taking napkins to sideboard) Is that 
 all they called her ? 
 
 Craig. (Laughing suddenly) What do you call 
 her? 
 
 April. I don't call her anything, but if I did I'd 
 find something better than "harpy." (Slight pause.) 
 
 Craig. (Looking at April J You know, it's a 
 shame to have her talk to you that way. 
 
 April. Oh, I don't care! 
 
 Craig. (Smiles, swings chair around toward 
 table) You know, it was all my fault — asking you 
 to serve my supper upstairs. 
 
 April. (Not knowing what to say) Oh, that's 
 all right. (Pause.) You'll find that chair more com- 
 fortable. (Points to easy chair. Picks up maga- 
 zines and puts them, on hat-rack.) 
 
 Craig. (Rising) Thanks! (He walks around 
 
22 DEAR ME 
 
 above the table, sees box of geraniums.) Nice, 
 aren't they ? (He goes to chair and sits down l J 
 
 April. Do you like flowers? 
 
 Craig. I like those! 
 
 April. (Takes three glasses to sideboard; comes 
 back to table, puts end of cloth up, goes and gets 
 box and places it on the table.) They were failures 
 when I brought them here. 
 
 Craig. They certainly look successful now! 
 
 April. All they needed was someone to care for 
 them. Why, I've dug around them with my fingers 
 — I watered them and I put them in the sun . . . 
 
 Craig. That's fine! And Renard's hand — what 
 did you do to that? 
 
 April. (Puts doivn the box) I'll show you! 
 (Takes his hand.) Just like that . . . (Bus, with 
 Craig'^s hand. Craig, mystified, watches her.) And 
 it won't be long before he's the great Joseph Renard 
 again! (Picks up geranium, box and puts it on l. 
 end of the table.) And he'll always think of me and 
 thank me — he told me he would — that will be my 
 reward. 
 
 Craig. What was it — paralysis ? 
 
 April. Didn't they tell you — at the table ? 
 
 Craig. No — he wouldn't let them. 
 
 April. He's proud — but he wouldn't mind if I 
 told you. You see, Joe — I'm kind-a tired . . . 
 (Takes chair and sits L. front of table.) Joe was 
 born and brought up to play the violin — ^he couldn't 
 do anything else. Why, when he was only twelve 
 years old he played before all the kings and things 
 in Europe, and when he was twenty he'd played 
 every place in the world but America — and he's told 
 rne what success in America would have meant to 
 him. It was his dream to play in New York — at the 
 Carnegie Library. Finally, his chance came; the 
 night before he was to appear, some friends gave 
 him a dinner; they stood him on the table to drink 
 
DEAR ME 23 
 
 to his success, and then something happened; the 
 table wasn't strong — and when they picked Joe up 
 from all the broken glass on the floor, his wrist, Mr. 
 Craig . . . (Shows Craig her wrist.) All the ten- 
 dons were cut. And the greatest violinist Europe 
 ever sent to America was ruined! Thafs what the 
 papers said. Have you finished? 
 
 Craig. Yes, thank you ! 
 
 April. (Takes his cup, continuing as she gets 
 busy about the table) IVe seen the articles in his 
 scrap book ; he'll show it to you, if you ask him, but 
 not when the others are around — ^they make fun of 
 him! 
 
 Craig. It's a shame ! I'm sorry ! 
 
 April. Don't be sorry! It isn't sympathy he 
 wants — but friendship ! Try to like him, Mr. Craig ! 
 He's real — he's worth it ! 
 
 Craig. Like him ? I did the moment I saw him ! 
 
 April. (Takes tray from small table and puts 
 knives and forks on it) That's fine ! You like Joe 
 — and I like Joe — and I like you — and Joe likes — 
 me. So we're sort of a — you know — where three 
 people like each other . . . 
 
 Craig. Well — a trinity! 
 
 April. (Stops working and looks at him) Did 
 you understand all I said? 
 
 Craig. Yes. 
 
 April. Then — ^it's a — 2. trinity. (Starts clearing 
 off table again, places chair l. in front of table at l. 
 end of table,) 
 
 Craig. You've been kind enough to say you liked 
 me, but are you sure Joe will ? 
 
 April. Sure! Who I like, Joe likes! What I 
 like, Joe likes! Before you came, we were a two- 
 nity! (Starts working again piling plates.) But 
 we've stuck together, Mr. Craig, because it's hard 
 here for Joe sometimes, mighty hard, especially when 
 
24 DEAR ME 
 
 he gets blue and discouraged, and think's he'll never 
 get a chance to go back again. 
 
 Craig. When he gets that way, April, just tell 
 him: 
 
 "No star was ever lost that once was seen, 
 We still all may be what me might have been." 
 
 April. (Stops working) Say that last part 
 again ! 
 
 Craig. "We still all may be what we might have 
 been." 
 
 April. Do you believe that ? 
 
 Craig. (Forgetting for the moment to he non- 
 enthusiastic ) I certainly do ! 
 
 April. Then, what are you doing here? 
 
 Craig. I — why — Vm a failure. 
 
 April. At what ? 
 
 Craig. (After a pause) Life! 
 
 April. I don't believe that — tell me — I'll under- 
 stand. 
 
 Craig. I see — you want to put me in with Joe 
 and the geraniums ? 
 
 April. Now you're making fun of me . . . 
 
 Craig. No, I'm not ! 
 
 April. What did you do before you came here? 
 
 Craig. Nothing. 
 
 April. You must have tried something and failed 
 — to get in here. 
 
 Craig. (Rises, heads her off) Would you really 
 like to know? 
 
 April. Yes, I would. 
 
 Craig. I tried to write a play. 
 
 April. No ! 
 
 Craig. You're right — no! But I tried 
 
 Have you ever been in New York ? 
 
 April. No. 
 
 Craig. Then you've never walked down Broad- 
 way just at theatre time! I wanted to be the idol of 
 that Alley of Ambition. I wanted to see my name in 
 
DEAR ME 25 
 
 electric lights — and hear people whisper, "There — 
 there goes Edgar Craig, the great playwright !" 
 
 April. Didn't they ever whisper ? 
 
 Craig. If they did I never heard them. I tried 
 to accomplish something worth while. I tried, and I 
 tried and I tried, but nobody cared — after a time I 
 didn't care — and I was a failure at — happiness! 
 
 April. Didn't you ever love anybody? 
 
 Craig. No — I can't even blame it on a woman. 
 
 April. (Puts knives and forks down) Oh, I 
 didn't mean that kind of love ! I mean — the kind of 
 love that makes you want to do something for some- 
 body else; the kind of love that makes you happy 
 when somebody else is getting ahead, even if you're 
 not ! People who know that kind of love aren't un- 
 happy — they don't fail — ^they can't! (Gets plates 
 and puts them in tray.) 
 
 Craig. It seems to me you ought to open an office 
 — a sort of consulting surgeon to failures ! 
 
 April. (During the following speech she places 
 tray with knives and forks on r. end of table, places 
 three chairs back of table against fireplace.) 1 could 
 — I've had enough experience here. While I've been 
 washing the dishes and sweeping the floors, I've 
 figured it all out — I could tell a lot of people, but 
 who'd come to consult me? 
 
 Craig. I would! 
 
 April. You would? 
 
 Craig. Certainly ! 
 
 April. (Adjusting chairs) Dr. April Blair'' s 
 office is now open. Hours, when Mrs. Carney isn't 
 around! (Craig knocks on imaginary door, opens 
 it, enters and closes it, takes off imaginary hat.) 
 Come in! 
 
 Craig. Good morning. Doctor. 
 
 April. (Assumes a professional air, and stares 
 coolly at CraigJ You wish to consult me? 
 
 Craig. Yes. I'm a failure! 
 
26 DEAR ME 
 
 April. Do you wish to be cured? 
 
 Craig. I failed because 
 
 April. I don't waste time with patients who glory 
 in their shame. 
 
 Craig. Yes — I wish to be cured. 
 
 April. (She takes imaginary hat) Your hat. 
 Be seated, please. 
 
 Craig. (Sits) All ready. 
 
 April. How old are you ? 
 
 Craig. (Hesitating) Thirty-nine. 
 
 April. Married? 
 
 Craig. Single. 
 
 April. Any brothers or sisters? 
 
 Craig. None. 
 
 April. Mr. Craig, did you ever send any flowers 
 to a Hospital? (Craig nods ''Yes/') For the poor- 
 est, the sickest, the lonesomest person there? 
 
 Craig. Well, no, I have never done that. 
 
 April. Now tell me, did you ever do something 
 for somebody else and never let it be known to a 
 single living soul outside of yourself? 
 
 Craig. No, I never thought of it. 
 
 April. That's it — you're selfish, Mr. Craig! 
 Now, some people fail at things they are not quali- 
 fied to do ; but everybody is qualified to find happi- 
 ness. But you have to earn it — some people have to 
 work harder than others ! 
 
 Craig. Well, Doctor, what remedy do you pre- 
 scribe for me? 
 
 April. My advice to you is to go out into the 
 world again and work — work hard for happiness, 
 but for the happiness of somebody else. I don't 
 care who he — or she — is — when you have made them 
 happy you'll find youVe been cured. 
 
 Craig. You mean? (He is absorbed.) 
 
 April. I mean that you're a success when you 
 are happy, and you're happy when you make some- 
 one else happy; that's my religion. 
 
DEAR ME 27 
 
 Craig. (Rises, l. to c, gets imaginary hat) Your 
 fee? 
 
 April. Do you think it's worth a fee ? 
 
 Craig. It's made me happy ! 
 
 April. Then — that's my fee. 
 
 Craig. Good morning, Doctor! 
 
 April. Good morning! 
 
 (Craig goes out imaginary door, closing it, putting 
 on hat J 
 
 Craig. You know, I think it might do the others 
 good to consult you. 
 
 (Renard^s violin is heard in the distance.) 
 
 April. I'm afraid it wouldn't, because I don't 
 think it was in any one of them to be as great as 
 they were ambitious. As father used to say: "If 
 it's in you to do something artistic, nothing human 
 can stop you. (Music.) If you didn't paint your 
 art, you'd write it — if you didn't write it you'd carve 
 it or build it." (Goes r. She indicates Renard's 
 music out the window; it has grown closer.) 
 
 Craig. (Goes up r. and looks off, as though he 
 is seeing Joe playing) Why, that's Joe ! I thought 
 he couldn't play! 
 
 April. He doesn't call that playing — ^but he com- 
 poses. Oh, the most beautiful music! (Song — just 
 a snatch, as Renard finishes the melody he plays 
 as he enters.) 
 
 Craig. (At end of song; shows amazement at 
 AprilJ Well, where did you learn to do that? 
 
 April. You like it? 
 
 Craig. Like it? And Fve heard them all. 
 
 April. You have? 
 
 Craig. Yes. What was it? 
 
 April. That's just a little song Joe taught me. 
 
28 DEAR ME 
 
 Craig. Oh, why, it's lovely ! Fd like to hear it 
 all. (Renard enters.) 
 
 Renard. No, no! 
 
 April. Mrs. Carney 
 
 Craig. She's gone to the village — please ! please ! 
 
 Renard. April 
 
 Craig. What— one of the Trinity tell on the 
 Twonity ? 
 
 (Song, At end of song Craig goes to April, takes 
 her hand. Renard slaps him on the back.) 
 
 Craig. Sing something else. 
 
 April. That's all I know. 
 
 Renard. (r.c.) I am glad you like it. I can't 
 play very well — my . . . (Holds out hand.) 
 
 April, (uc.) He knows, Joe, he knows; I've 
 told him — he understands. 
 
 Renard. fR.c.j Oh, you understand? Then so 
 much for that! And now, mademoiselle — the post- 
 man — ^he have arrive — ^your letter. (Gives April a 
 letter.) 
 
 April. Oh, what a surprise! I needed — to hear 
 from her to-night. (Exclaims with surprise and 
 takes the letter.) 
 
 Renard. You're luckier than the rest of us. We 
 all go to the Post Office every night — hoping — ^but 
 we never gtt any letters. 
 
 April. ("l.c.J You could — ^you have just as dear 
 a friend as I have. 
 
 Craig. ("r.J I thought you were alone in the 
 world ? 
 
 April, ("l.c.j I am, but I can write. 
 
 Craig. I don't understand. 
 
 Renard. I let you in on a little secret. She 
 writes to herself, and when we haven't any money 
 
DEAR ME 29 
 
 for stamps — well, I just carry the letter around in 
 my pocket for a little while. 
 
 Craig. Now I understand. 
 
 April. Mr. Crai^, you won't laugh at me, will 
 you? 
 
 Craig. I should say not! 
 
 April. See, Joe — he is one of us now. 
 
 Craig. Tell me something about these letters — 
 you know — are they intensely personal? 
 
 April. Oh, yes! 
 
 Craig. Something that I should not see ? 
 
 April. Oh, no, you may read it. (Hands letter 
 to Craig.J I've got to put these things away! 
 (Exits, taking pile of plates.) 
 
 Renard. When she is bad, she scolds herself. 
 When she is good — sometimes I think she sends her- 
 self a little bouquet. Now, what does the best 
 friend have to say this night ? 
 
 Craig. (Reading letter) 
 "Dear Me: 
 
 "I take my pen in hand to tell you that I do not 
 like the way you lost your temper with Mrs. Carney 
 yesterday. It didn't do anybody any good; Mrs. 
 Carney is just the same, but you are worse off. 
 
 "I walked down the road the other day and saw a 
 garden; it was full of flowers. Now, you have a 
 garden — it isn't in somebody's back yard — but in 
 your own mind. The flowers in it are the things you 
 think, and the weeds are the nasty, mean little things 
 you do. And, Dear Me, your garden is full of weeds 
 to-day. 
 
 "Now it is time to go to bed ; but before I go, let 
 me give you some advice! If you hoe carefully 
 among your thoughts (just as you do among your 
 geraniums) maybe somebody will see a flower and 
 want one ; but who wants weeds ? 
 
 "Now, I hope I won't have to write to you again 
 
30 DEAR ME 
 
 on this subject. With kindest regards to dear, dear 
 Mrs. Carney and all the nice gentlemen, I close, 
 "Hopefully yours, 
 
 "Myself/" 
 "P. S. — I hope you notice I pulled out two weeds 
 by saying such lovely things about the old inmates 
 and their keeper." 
 
 Craig. She's a wonderful girl, Joe! 
 
 Renard. Mr. Craig, she's more than that ! Now, 
 let me tell you 
 
 Craig. Sh-h-h ! 
 
 (April enters, smiling.) 
 
 April. Well, what do you think of my dear friend 
 "Myself" ? (Goes to work at table, gets glasses to- 
 gether, etc.) 
 
 Craig. (Looking at her) I think you have a re- 
 markable friend — I'd like to have one like her. 
 (Hands letter to April. J 
 
 April. You can — that's easy. 
 
 Craig. How ? 
 
 April. Just take your pen in hand. 
 
 Craig. (Laughing) I may try that some day. 
 (Takes out a cigarette and nmtch, strikes the match.) 
 
 April. It does me a lot of good. 
 
 Craig. Smoke, Renard? 
 
 Renard. (Jumps for CraigJ No^ — no! Mon 
 Dieu ! Not that, Mr. Craig — not here. It's against 
 Mrs. Carney's rules. (Indicates the kitchen.) She 
 has the nose of a bloodhound; you would not take 
 two puffs before — annihilation! 
 
 Craig. Is there a — a smoking room? 
 
 Renard. Yes — the wide world — outside — but stay 
 far away from the house. 
 
 Craig. I see — then I shall seek the wide world. 
 Will you excuse me, April? (April, fascinated by 
 these manners, nods.) And you, Joe? 
 
DEAR ME 31 
 
 Renard. Avec plaisir. (Pauses.) 
 
 Craig. My first name is Edgar. 
 
 Renard. With regret, Edgar. 
 
 Craig. I thank you, Joe and April. (Exits.) 
 
 (April and Joe stand watching as he goes out of the 
 door.) 
 
 April. (Turns to Renardj Joe, did you hear 
 what Mr. Craig said when you played and I sang? 
 (During this talk April walks to porch to shake 
 table-cover.) He said, "Sing some more." He 
 wanted to hear me sing again, Joe, and he knows! 
 
 Renard. I know, too, oh, mon enfant! With 
 work — some day you will sing ; you shall have your 
 chance ; some day you will leave this place . . . 
 
 April. Oh, Joe, don't say it, because I can't — 
 ever — so long as I'm needed here. 
 
 Renard. Oh, what you owe them for their care 
 of your father will soon be paid, and then — work — 
 out there in the big world. 
 
 April. Oh, Joe, if I only could. If I only could! 
 
 Renard. You will, but have patience! And 
 then (He bursts into his native tongue.) 
 
 April. (Sings and works, goes to table, takes all 
 glasses, puts them on sideboard at l. By this time 
 the table is well cleared of dishes.) Joe, Joe — do 
 you like Mr. Craig? 
 
 Renard. Do you ? 
 
 April. Yes-s-s ! 
 
 Renard. Then that's enough for old Joe. (Studies 
 his wrist a moment.) Maybe he's better than an 
 old fiddler with a broken wrist . . . 
 
 April. (Going over to him like a flash — takes his 
 hand in both of hers) I'm ashamed of you for even 
 thinking such a thing. Why, there isn't another 
 person in the world like you! (Takes him arovmd 
 the neck.) 
 
32 
 
 DEAR ME 
 
 Renard. That's good for the world — and this 
 home is good for the world, too. Like the attic, 
 where people put all the old rubbish ! 
 
 April. But, Joe, you're not rubbish. You are 
 not like the others! When that accident happened 
 you didn't stop — ^you began something else — ^you 
 said you'd be a composer — and you will ! Now, look 
 at the others — they're here because they're lazy — 
 they're the rubbish — not you! 
 
 (All enter talking ad lib. — ''It won't do any good'' 
 — "Their letter settles if — ''If someone would 
 poison the old crank, they^d have to find some- 
 one else'^ etc. Nothing to he heard, just a jum- 
 ble of voices. Oglevie enters with Lawton on 
 one side of him and Peck on the other. Ogle- 
 vie sees April and Joe and turns back to the 
 others.) 
 
 Oglevie. (Turning at door) Here they are — 
 together as usual! 
 
 Lawton. What they find to talk about beats me. 
 
 Renard. Oh, let her alone ! 
 
 April. (Angrily, taking them all in) I was talk- 
 ing about you ! 
 
 (Oglevie crosses c.) 
 
 Peck. You were, were you? Well, well, she was 
 talking about us, gentlemen — and what were you 
 saying about us ? 
 
 April. That you're cheats! 
 
 Oglevie. (Astounded) Cheats ! Well, upon my 
 soul! 
 
 xA^PRTL. Well, you are! All of you! You were 
 all put on earth to do something — ^but because of 
 this Home and that old man's misplaced kindness, 
 you don't even try to do anything. You're cheating 
 
DEAR ME 33 
 
 him; you're cheating the rest of the world — you're 
 cheating God — ^btit, worst of all, you're cheating 
 yourselves ! 
 
 Bean. Ha, that's funny ! I never thought of that 
 before. 
 
 April. You never thought, Mr. Bean, and you, 
 Mr. Oglevie, and you, Mr. Lawton, nor any of you ! 
 You've never thought that this Home has given you 
 an excuse to stop, and you've taken it. Have any 
 of you ever thought that there might still be a chance 
 out there — have you ? 
 
 Turner. I have, April. Sometimes I work writ- 
 ing at my book, and I've tried to hope that per- 
 haps . . . 
 
 April. That's it — perhaps! (Lawton coughs.) 
 
 Oglevie. That's right, Lawton, cough. (Comes 
 down in front of table c. — to AprilJ There may 
 be something in what you say, but I don't like the 
 way you put it. If you care to offer a little apol- 
 ogy .. . 
 
 April. I haven't any apology to make. I work 
 for my living, and I can look any of you — and him 
 — (Pointing to portrait) — straight in the eye ! That's 
 more than any of you can do ! (Places Joe's violin 
 in hag.) 
 
 Oglevie. (Hesitates for a moment) Well, I may 
 have failed, but no one ever said before that I was 
 dishonest ! 
 
 April. Well, you are! All of you, except Joe! 
 There's something for every one of you to do out 
 there — why don't you do it? 
 
 (Mrs. Carney has come in on the end of this speech 
 from door r., and Craig has come into the en- 
 trance to the porch.) 
 
 Mrs. Carney. (Coming c.) And why don't you 
 do your work instead of talking to these old Round 
 
34 DEAR ME 
 
 Robin writers — (Peck and Bean exit quickly l,) — 
 and keeping them from going to bed ? 
 
 (April starts moving chairs.) 
 
 Oglevie. Quite right, Mrs. Carney; we were just 
 going up. (Crosses l., offers her candy. All the men 
 move toward stairway.) They say *'sleep before 
 midnight makes for health — and beauty.'' 
 
 Mrs. Carney. Well, I never get to bed before 
 midnight — with you on my hands. 
 
 Oglevie. (As he turns at the entrance to the 
 stairs) That's funny — somehow I felt you stayed 
 up late. Good-night, good-night. (Exits l. The 
 others follow with mumbled good-nights.) 
 
 (Mrs. Carney waits, not saying a word. April, a 
 little frightened, begins to fuss about the table. 
 Craig stands unnoticed in the doorway. Renard 
 down L.J 
 
 Mrs. Carney. (Glancing about room — then at 
 April, glaring) Now, young lady, why isn't your 
 work finished? 
 
 April. I was talking to Mr. Craig. (Crosses 
 back to tray.) 
 
 (Craig saunters on and slowly gets up c.) 
 
 Mrs. Carney. Talking — that's what you're al- 
 ways doing. You're like that father of yours — 
 that's what landed him here — talking! 
 
 April. Oh — (In great anger) — ^you'd better stop, 
 Mrs. Carney! 
 
 Mrs. Carney. How dare you talk to me like 
 that — you Insignificant cattle! 
 
 April. (Lets tray of dishes fall) Oh! How 
 dare you talk like that to me ! 
 
DEAR ME 35 
 
 Mrs. Carney. Pick up those dishes — pick them 
 up— or ril 
 
 April, Or you'll what? Come on — ^youVe been 
 threatening me for years — ever since I could re- 
 jmember almost — now what are you going- to do? 
 
 Mrs. Carney. Do ? I'll show you ! (Raises her 
 hand as though to strike her, when Craig quietly 
 steps between them, Mrs. Carney sees him and 
 stops.) 
 
 Craig. (Smiling at Mrs. CarneyJ I wouldn't 
 do that, Mrs, Carney — ^you'll get yourself all tired 
 out! 
 
 April. I'm not afraid of her, Mr. Craig! 
 
 Craig, (Seeing he has stopped her) Oh, all 
 right. (Puts hands in pockets and walks up stage, 
 leaving Mrs. Carney and April glaring at each 
 other.) 
 
 Mrs. Carney. (Low, menacing tone) Now you 
 get out of here ! 
 
 April. What do you mean ? 
 
 Mrs. Carney. I mean you're through — dis- 
 charged! (She goes to stairs, turning at the stairs.) 
 And if your clothes aren't out of here by morning, 
 ril burn them! (Exits.) 
 
 (April stands looking after her, in a daze. Craig 
 up c, looking on curiously. Renard comes 
 slowly to ApRiL.j 
 
 April. Oh! Oh! Mrs. Carney— thank you! 
 
 Renard. April ! 
 
 April. Joe, did you hear? (Renard nods.) 
 Think what it means — I'm free — free! There's 
 nothing between me and the great big world out 
 there ! 
 
 Renard. Then the time has come 
 
 April. (Gleefully) Of course, didn't you hear 
 her tell me to go ? 
 
36 DEAR ME 
 
 Renard. Then we go together. Get ready — old 
 Joe goes with you! 
 
 April. Joe! 
 
 Craig. Don't you think it would be a little more 
 sensible to wait until to-morrow? 
 
 April. To-morrow! My life has been nothing 
 but waiting for to-morrow — what counts with me is 
 now! I want to start where my father stopped, and 
 / will! 
 
 Craig. But where are you going? What are 
 you going to do ? 
 
 April. Work, Mr. Craig, work ! My chance has 
 come and I'm going to take it ! 
 
 Craig. Well — ^good luck — ^and good-bye! Good- 
 bye, Joe ! (He waves his hand to Renard.J 
 
 Renard. Good-bye, Edgar! 
 
 Craig. (To April J Oh — shall I take care of 
 the geraniums for you ? 
 
 April. I'd like to have you. (Craig exits up- 
 stairs.) Our trinity didn't last very long, did it? 
 (Shakes it off.) Come, Joe, we can't waste any 
 more time. (Gets upon chair l., hack of table.) I'm 
 so afraid something will happen to stop us. How 
 long will it take you to pack? 
 
 Renard. (Indicating violin, which is vurapped 
 up) I'm packed! (Renard and April turn out 
 lights on chandelier.) 
 
 April. I'll get my things right away. You wait 
 for me here, and don't be long! (Renard exits l. 
 April starts, puts out the two lights over the mantel; 
 as she turns out the last light she exits quietly into 
 kitchen.) 
 
 (Craig, who cannot he identified hy the audience, 
 comes downstairs and crosses to the portrait. 
 As he is crossing the clock — offstage — strikes . 
 nine. He stops in front of the portrait, strikes 1 
 a match, looks at portrait for a moment, then 
 
DEAR ME 37 
 
 goes over, with match still burning, to gerani- 
 ums, looks at them. Suddenly he hears foot- 
 steps; blows out the match. April enters from 
 the kitchen, closing door carefully behind her. 
 Renard enters from stairs,) 
 
 April. Joe ! 
 
 Renard. Yes ! 
 
 April. All ready! (Bumps into Craig.J Oh! 
 
 Craig. Fm sorry! 
 
 April. Mr. Craig! It wasn't any use coming 
 down. If I don't go now, I might never go. Please 
 don't try to stop me! 
 
 Craig. (At back of table) I'm not going to try 
 to stop you — Fm going with you! 
 
 April. Say that again! 
 
 Craig. (Half imitating April, half meaning it) 
 I'm going to try to make somebody happy ! 
 
 April. You have ! Isn't that a wonderful begin- 
 ning! 
 
 (Craig comes down l. of table.) 
 
 Renard. Look, April, he's bringing the gerani- 
 ums! 
 
 April. O-o-o-oh ! (All three start to exit.) 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
ACT II 
 
 Scene I — When Edgar, Joe and April snmked out 
 of the Home they came to New York, which is 
 a great place for people to fail and equally a 
 great place for failures to succeed. 
 
 For those on the up-grade, if they haven't any money 
 — or, more important, don't want people to 
 think they have any money — a couple of rooms 
 in a West Forty-fifth Street rooming-house 
 make an excellent headquarters. 
 
 In just such a place Edgar Craig led his two failures 
 — if you want to refute him. and call April one. 
 For a year they lived there. Du/ring that time 
 strange things happened. 
 
 Out of nowhere Craig enjoyed a neat little income. 
 Nothing great, but enough so that presently an 
 old-fashioned piano made its appearance, so that 
 April's voice could be trained under the loving 
 care of old Joe, and the melodies that lingered 
 in Joe's brain, since those rash days in Poland, 
 could find expression. For himself, Edgar ob- 
 tained a flea-bitten typewriter. At this he 
 slaved, while Joe was out with April seeing 
 New York, its museums and its theatres, and 
 above all its life. 
 
 So all three grew, and all their lives I don't think 
 they will ever forget those mornings when April 
 would have her lessons with Joe, zvhile Edgar, 
 at his typewriter, played a telegraphic obligato. 
 
 When they had been living in their modest estab- 
 
 38 
 
DEAR ME 39 
 
 lishment kept neat by April — for the lessons 
 of Mrs. Carney were not forgotten — the gen- 
 eral room of their unpretentious apartment 
 looked not unhomelike. The old piano was set 
 beside the one window that looked out over 
 Forty-fifth Street. What sun there was first 
 hit the geraniums before it fell across the key- 
 board. And, by the way, the geraniums were 
 thriving monstrously. 
 
 Across the back of the room was the door to the 
 hall. And just across the hall was the door to 
 April'^s room. On the other wall was the door 
 to the kitchen. A few chairs, Edgar^s type- 
 writer table, which also served as the general 
 carry-all for the three of them, and some funny 
 little pictures, served as the furnishings — but 
 the place was so cheery you instantly forgave 
 its seeming bareness. 
 
 At Rise — and it is particularly cheery this morning, 
 April is singing and Renard playing her ac- 
 companiment. Craig is speeding along at his 
 machine — we have no interest at present in what 
 he is doing. Neither has he, apparently, for he 
 stops to listen to April, and if you look sharply 
 you may detect something more than an ama- 
 teur interest in music in his gaze. 
 
 (April takes a high note — and not to Renard's 
 liking, for he stops the scale he is playing and 
 hits the note sharply on the piano. April tries 
 again — still she is flat, so flat that even Craig, 
 idolising her as he does, cannot help but re- 
 mark.) 
 
 Craig. Little flat, isn't she, Joe? 
 Renard. Perhaps you like to give her the lessons 
 and let me play on the typewriter. 
 Craig. I beg your pardon. 
 
40 DEAR ME 
 
 Renard. If you don't spell something right, do 
 we stop you? Then maybe when we dpn't sing 
 something right, you give us the same consideration. 
 
 Craig. I beg your pardon. I did not want April 
 to "get oflf on the wrong foot." 
 
 Renard. I have nothing to do with her foots. 
 
 April. He doesn't mean anything ; he is just in- 
 terested in my career. He wants me to get a good 
 start. 
 
 Renard. Oh, Edgar, is that what you mean? 
 I . . . 
 
 April. Joe, don't annoy him. (She starts toward 
 Craig to see what he is writing. He does not see 
 her, but Renard calls her back and explains.) 
 
 Renard. April, perhaps he has a wonderful idea ! 
 
 April. (Is curious, and walks over to Craig J 
 What are you doing, Edgar, working on your great 
 play? 
 
 Craig. Yes. 
 
 April. Let me see it? 
 
 Craig. No, no! (Covers the machine with his 
 arms.) 
 
 April. Oh, my ! I let you listen when I sing, so 
 why can't I read your play ? 
 
 Craig. Nothin' doin', April ! This is my secret ! 
 (April pouts.) 
 
 Renard. (At piano) Now, come here; like a 
 busy little bee, making hay while the sun shines. 
 Now the song, and watch your foot ! (April sings.) 
 
 April. Oh, it's ten o'clock ! Got to quit now ! 
 
 Renard. Quit? Quit? (He is amazed.) You 
 will never succeed unless you persevere. Look at 
 Tetrazzini ! 
 
 April. (Going toward the door) I will look at 
 Tetrazzini some other time. Just now this prima 
 donna has to clean her white shoes. 
 
 Renard. Clean her white shoes! Mon Dieu! 
 
DEAR ME 41 
 
 Such an ambition ! (He plays a strain of the song, 
 ''Dear Me/') 
 
 April. (Stops to listen) What is that, Joe? 
 
 Renard. Just an idea for a new melody. You 
 like it? 
 
 April. I think it is terrible! 
 
 Renard. (Rising from piano and walking across 
 room, angry in his own volatile manner) Now this 
 is the end ! Now I quit ! 
 
 April. You quit ? 
 
 Renard. I quit! Q-u-i-t! etc. 
 
 April. But, Joe, you will never succeed unless 
 you persevere ! Look at Paderewski ! Such an am- 
 bition! (And she goes into her room across the 
 hall,) 
 
 Renard. Oh ! Now, just for that I will make her 
 rehearse to-morrow for ten hours ! 
 
 (Craig at table typewriting. Telephone on table 
 beside the machine rings, Craig pays no at- 
 tention, Renard walks back to the piano,) 
 
 Craig. Answer the 'phone, Joe! 
 
 Renard. Answer it yourself ! 
 
 Craig. (Takes down receiver) Hello ! Well — 
 who do you want? Mr. Prentice? Who is this? 
 Manny Bean ! How many times have I told you not 
 to call me up here? If you want to talk to me, call 
 me up at my house up-town. If she ever hears about 
 my doing all this for her, you're fired ! 
 
 Renard. If she don't hear, she's deaf ! 
 
 Craig. Close the door! (Over 'phone) Now 
 
 you can go ahead; yes, of course Then ask 
 
 her to come down to the office and talk about a con- 
 tract, and you give her five times as much as she 
 asks. 
 
 Renard. She is not worth that much! 
 
 Craig. How much ? 
 
42 DEAR ME 
 
 Renard. Five times as much as she expects ! 
 
 Craig. If she finds out . . . (April enters, and 
 Renard digs Craig in the ribs, Craig speaks in a 
 more impersonal tone,) She was here a moment 
 ago. Here she is now! 
 
 April. Who is it, Edgar? 
 
 Craig. Manny! Manny Bean from the Home! 
 You got a letter from him to-day. 
 
 Renard. Let me talk to him. (Picking up tele- 
 phone, Craig holding receiver to his ear.) Hello, 
 Manny! This is Joe — ^Joe Renard — talking. You 
 need some music for your show? What you say? 
 
 I can't hear you (He then realizes he has not 
 
 the receiver,) 
 
 Craig. Yes, he needs some music. (To 'phone) 
 Well, Manny, when are you going to start rehears- 
 als? So soon? 
 
 April. (Walking to the table) Oh, Edgar, I 
 wish you would treat me as though I were of some 
 importance ! 
 
 Craig. Well, are you? (In 'phone, as though 
 talking to Bean.J 
 
 April. Well, I must be, when a regular manager 
 sends me a note and then telephones me. 
 
 Craig. (Handing over telephone) Well, he has 
 been waiting while you were talking. 
 
 April. (To 'phone) Yes ! I have been awfully 
 excited since I received your note! Oh, Manny, I 
 mean, Mr. Bean. You will? Yes! Yes! Well, I 
 think so. I will be right over. Oh . . . 
 
 Renard. Well, tell us what did he say? 
 
 April. It's work, Joe! It's work at last! He 
 said to come right over and sign a contract for a 
 part in a new play. At last my chance has come. 
 (Turning to Craig J If he would send for you! 
 
 Craig. Oh, some other day. 
 
 April. But never mind, when I am a success I 
 
DEAR ME 43 
 
 promise never to play anything unless you write it, 
 and never to sing a song unless Joe writes it ! 
 
 Renard. But how are we going to eat till then ? 
 
 April. That won't be long! Up to now Tve 
 only been the tiny angle of our triangle, but from 
 now on I am to be the principal corner-stone. We've 
 lived nearly a year on Edgar's little income. Now 
 it's my turn to do something, and I'm going to show 
 him and you, and all of you — (Looking into purse 
 and finding it empty) Who has carfare? 
 
 Craig. Here you are, April. 
 
 April. I will make good, you'll see if I don't! 
 Just watch me! (And she goes out in a flurry of 
 joy.) 
 
 Craig. It looks as though we have started some- 
 thing. 
 
 Renard. It looks as if someone else is going to 
 finish it! (Craig smiles at him,) 
 
 (Joe returns to the piano and begins to play the 
 chorus of ^'Dear Me/* Craig is still thinking 
 about April, but now the lilt of the melody 
 catches his ear. He listens for a second and 
 then dashes down to his table — there he begins 
 to write, after he has said over to himself some 
 words. His idea is a good one — he turns to 
 Renard, and with enthusiasm says) 
 
 Craig. Joe, play that over again. (And Renard, 
 bless his heart for not asking questions, starts to 
 play it again. Craig makes sure his metre is cor- 
 red and then stops Renard. J Listen, Joe! Play it 
 again ! I've got it ! Now see if you don't like this. 
 (And as Renard begins again, Craig starts to sing.) 
 
 "Dear Me, I'm writing to you 
 
 To ask you do you . . ." etc. 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
SCENE II 
 
 After the curtain has been down a few seconds it 
 rises again, but something has happened to our 
 room. 
 
 The table is cleared off and the piano covered, and 
 it has the air of not having been occupied for 
 some time. The curtains are down and on a 
 chair. Mere skeletons of their former selves 
 are the dead geranium plants, which later find 
 their way back to the window ledge. 
 
 Then we hear a key in the door, and when it opens a 
 spick little Japanese servant who answers, we 
 shall see, to the name of Clarence enters. He 
 has a handbag with him which he takes into 
 the kitchen. He is whistling and merry as he 
 makes the room habitable again, opening the 
 window, replacing on the ledge the box of ger- 
 aniums, uncovering the piano, and preparing 
 some writing materials for someone. Hardly 
 finished this job when 
 
 Craig enters. He is not the Craig we have seen 
 before — the rather drab fellow in a dressing- 
 gown and muffler. No, indeed. His clothes 
 are of the Avenue, so is his hat and his general 
 air of radiant prosperity. He is not Edgar 
 Craig, the failure, but Edgar Prentice, the 
 wealthy young romancer without whom we 
 should never have had this play. But he does 
 not long remain in this latter character. Even, 
 as through the action, he changes back into 
 Edgar Craig, no m^ere alteration of clothes 
 could hide his happiness — something important 
 is occurring — but we shall have to wait to see 
 what it is. 
 
DEAR ME 45 
 
 Room in lodging-house on second floor. It is neatly 
 furnished; window r. Tvith curtains. Door in 
 flat R. of c. showing another door across the 
 hall; door l.u.e. 
 
 Rug on floor; library table l.c, with legal paper, 
 pencils, match-holder and trey, theatrical papers 
 and wastebasket front of i':. Chairs r. and l. 
 of table; chair at back of table; baby grand 
 piano R. What-not u.r. corner with bric-a- 
 brac. Small table at back r. of door; on it is 
 sheet music, magazines and a violin case. 
 
 Bookcase with books on wall at back l., lounge under 
 it. Chair l. of door; chair down r., beside 
 piano. Table desk down l. against the wall; 
 on it small writing-pad and writing materials, 
 books, small clock, photos and music-roll. Chair 
 L. beside the desk; hat-rack in corner u.l. Pic- 
 tures on wall; gas bracket on wall R. and l. 
 Gas bracket on wall R., beside the door r.c J 
 
 Clarence. (As Craig enters) Good-morning, 
 Mr. Prentice. 
 
 Craig. Mr. Prentice? 
 
 Clarence. Oh, excuse. Here — Mr. Craig. 
 
 Craig. Ah, that's better. 
 
 Clarence. You going to work to-day? I have 
 nice paper, pencils, all right. 
 
 Craig. No, we are not going to work to-day. 
 Somebody's coming to town. (Clarence laughs.) 
 And if you ask me who it is, I'll fire you ! 
 
 Clarence. Mr. Prentice (Craig stops him 
 
 short.) Oh, Mr. Craig, you rich man to-day, or 
 poor man ? 
 
 Craig. Rich man or poor man? Poor man to- 
 day, Clarence. Now, get the poor man's things! 
 Hurry up ! And when you go to the house, tell the 
 cook there'll be five for dinner — four and myself! 
 
 Clarence. (Grins) Oh, yes, sir ! 
 
46 DEAR ME 
 
 Craig. (Laughing) What are you grinning at? 
 
 Clarence. (Grinning broadly) Excuse. (There 
 is a knock on the door.) 
 
 Craig. Come in! (Manny Bean enters,) 
 Hello, Manny Bean! 
 
 Bean. (Excitedly and happily) Well, well, well, 
 well! How are you, Mr. Prentice? I was on my 
 way up to your house, then I had a hunch I might 
 find you here. 
 
 Craig. (Looking at his watch) I thought you 
 were just leaving Hartford? 
 
 Bean. I came ahead of the company. 
 
 Craig. Oh! Well, how did the show go last 
 night ? 
 
 Bean. Immense ! It goes bigger with every per- 
 formance. YouVe some writer, Mr. Prentice — hon- 
 estly, you're a wonder ! 
 
 Craig. (Shaking his hand) Well, then, we agree 
 upon one thing. Seriously, though, it's too good to 
 believe. (Goes up l.J I'm going to wake up some 
 day, Manny, sure! 
 
 Bean. You have waked up, Mr. Prentice. 
 
 Craig. And before I went to the Home I couldn't 
 write a success. 
 
 Bean. Oh, well, that was diflferent! 
 
 Craig. How, diflferent? 
 
 Bean. (Uncertainly) Well, then you were trying 
 to write a show; this time you were thinking of a 
 part for a girl. 
 
 Craig. (Coming down l. of c.) You mean I 
 was doing it for somebody elsef 
 
 Bean. Yes, sure! 
 
 Craig. (Facing front, thinking) That's funny! 
 
 Bean. What's funny? 
 
 Craig. I had a tip to try that? 
 
 Bean. A tip? Who from? 
 
 Craig. From — from a doctor. But you wouldn't 
 understand. 
 
DEAR ME 47 
 
 Bean. A doctor told you to write a show for 
 April? 
 
 Craig. Well, not exactly, but that was the idea. 
 Before my other plays were terrible, but this one — 
 well, we mustn't crow too soon. (Sits l. of table c) 
 
 Bean. I tell you it is now ! 
 
 Craig. How did they like April in Hartford? 
 
 (Clarence enters with clothes,) 
 
 Bean. Just killed them, that's all. All her nerv- 
 ousness is gome now — she's as steady as a clock 
 when she's on there — you'd think she was born on 
 the stage. 
 
 (Clarence gets coat, comes down L.j 
 
 Craig. She's wonderful ! 
 
 Bean. That's right, but look at the part she's got. 
 
 Craig. Oh, yes. 
 
 Bean. She don't appreciate that ! 
 
 Craig. Oh, yes, she does. (Rises, takes coat.) 
 And the score — ^Joe's music goes as big as ever? 
 
 Bean. Immense. Of course Joe ain't satisfied. 
 
 Craig. No ? 
 
 Bean. But that's the way he is — nothing he ever 
 does satisfies him! 
 
 (Clarence exits,) 
 
 Craig. (Goes up l,) That's why he's an artist, 
 Manny ! 
 
 Bean. Well, we're all right for the New York 
 
 opening if you are 
 
 Craig. What do you mean — "if you are?" 
 
 Bean. I mean, will that new theatre of yours be 
 ready? 
 
 Craig. It's ready now! 
 
48 DEAR ME 
 
 Bean. It is? My hat's off to you! I thought 
 you were crazy to get that old failure, Peck, as your 
 architect. 
 
 Craig. You don't think so now, eh? 
 
 Bean. Not so much — no. The theatre is beau- 
 tiful, all right. Of course it's a little old-fashioned. 
 
 Craig. What do you mean, old fashioned? 
 
 Bean. Well, there's that post in the balcony, 
 and 
 
 Craig. I like posts in the balcony. 
 
 Bean. You do? 
 
 Craig. Yes ! When I was a kid all the theatres 
 had posts in the balcony. 
 
 Bean. All right, Mr. Prentice, it's your theatre. 
 It's certainly brought Peck a new lease on life, and 
 those decorations of Lawton's in the lobby are — 
 say, all right. Say, Mr. Prentice, you just saved 
 those fellows from the Home — and April — well, she 
 didn't do no harm the day she balled out those guys ! 
 
 Craig. Those guys ? 
 
 Bean. Well, us guys! 
 
 Craig. That's better. You're sure she doesn't 
 suspect? She still thinks you're the real manager? 
 
 Bean. Say, she just touched me for five hun- 
 dred! 
 
 Craig. She thinks you're the manager, all right ! 
 
 Bean. You know, I get scared sometimes she is 
 liable to find out it is you that's done It all! 
 
 Craig. If she does, Manny, you're booked to go 
 back to the home! 
 
 Bean. Yeh? But she worries me to death asking 
 questions. When are you going to tell her who you 
 are, Mr. Prentice? 
 
 Craig. That's my business, Manny ; all you have 
 to do is to keep your mouth shut! 
 
 Bean. Yeh, but 
 
 Craig. I know it's hard, but that's what you're 
 
DEAR ME 49 
 
 paid for ! (Shakes hands with Bean. Bean starts 
 toward the door.) What's your hurry? 
 
 Bean. I don't want April to find me here . . . 
 
 Craig. April? Why, she's with the company, 
 isn't she ? 
 
 Bean. No, she's in town . . • 
 
 Craig. What? 
 
 Bean. She motored in! 
 
 Craig. Motored in? (Crosses to window R.j 
 
 Bean. Yes ! Oh, yes, you can sell a half-interest 
 in the show for a lot of money if you want to ! 
 
 Craig. (Pleased) What makes you think so ? 
 
 Bean. Because there's a young fellow named 
 Quail — loaded with dough — wants to buy an interest. 
 He motored April in this morning. He's just crazy 
 about her. Want to sell him an interest ? 
 
 Craig. No! (Bean exits hurriedly, laughing.) 
 ^' Quail!'' — (Thinks of it again.) — ''Quail!'' (He 
 is very sore.) 
 
 (Clarence enters.) 
 
 Clarence. I go now, Mr. Craig — something else? 
 
 Craig. Yes. 
 
 Clarence. What? 
 
 Craig. Nothing! (Clarence in fog of amaze- 
 ment, stands waiting.) Well, what are you waiting 
 for? When you are finished, why not go? (Clar- 
 ence remains silent, crosses to h.) Get out! 
 
 Clarence. (Struts toward door, stops) Five for 
 dinner, seven o'clock. 
 
 Craig. No, I'm not going to dine at home — the 
 dinner's off! 
 
 Clarence. Very well, sir ! (Exits,) 
 
 (Craig stands still; bus. ad lib. There is a knock at 
 the door. Craig, hoping that it may be April, 
 
50 DEAR ME 
 
 goes quickly to the door and opens it; he is dis- 
 appointed to find it is Joe RenardJ 
 
 Craig. Hello, Joe! 
 (Renard enters, speaking almost absent-mindedly.) 
 
 Renard. Ah, so you are here ! (Goes to piano.) 
 
 Craig. (Crosses to him; slightly hurt) Well, so 
 are you! 
 
 Renard. It was lucky — I did not have my key. 
 (He hums and plays three or four notes, then takes 
 from his pocket a flexible music pad or book and jots 
 down a note or two as the scene proceeds.) 
 
 Craig. Say, what's the trouble with you, any- 
 way? 
 
 Renard. Oh, Edgar, my damn composition! 
 (Then brilliantly) In the taxi I got the idea. 
 (Rises, crosses to Edgar.J 
 
 Craig. Your music is great, Joe. Why, the open- 
 ing night in New Haven, when I sneaked in, they 
 were all whistling it ! 
 
 Renard. For the first time in my life, it gives me 
 pleasure to hear the American people whistle. (Then 
 with a worried air.) But I am just thinking of a 
 counter-melody, running pum — ^pum — pum against 
 
 the "Dear Me" number; you understand (He 
 
 is back at the piano again.) Pum — Pum, and against 
 it pum — ^pum — pum — ^you see — it is running counter 
 against the other pum — pum. 
 
 Craig. You have nothing running against me, 
 have you ? Where's April ? 
 
 Renard. (Crosses to table c.) April? April 
 and I we do not speak ! 
 
 Craig. (Sees up and back of table) What? 
 
 Renard. We eat together — ^yes! But not even 
 "please pass the salt" do we say ! 
 
 Craig. What's the trouble? 
 
 Renard. Well, when we are alone she is all right. 
 
DEAR ME SI 
 
 When she is on the stage and Vm in the pit direct- 
 ing — to hell with Joe! I am a disgrace! 
 
 Craig. (Comes down front) Wait a minute, 
 Joe! You're liable to bust this trinity right down 
 the middle. Now tell me, where is April? 
 
 Renard. (Rises, goes r.) I am her director, not 
 her nurse-maid ! 
 
 Craig. Oh, Joe, you must be a little reasonable. 
 
 Renard. (Turns toward Craig. j I am the soul 
 and body of reason, but I am a musician ! 
 
 Craig. What's she? 
 
 Renard. A woman! That much I learn many 
 times. 
 
 Craig. I understand what's wrong! Now, Joe, 
 look me in the eye. I'm right — I see a little green — 
 right in the corner of the eye ! Confess, Joe, when 
 you hear them all applaud April that way — don't 
 you think, perhaps, you're just a little bit jealous? 
 
 Renard. I — ^Joe — jealous of April? (Laughs) 
 Oh, that is impossible ! (Laughs; sits.) 
 
 Craig. Beware, Joe, of the green-eyed monster! 
 Why, jealousy (Bus,; going up stage ;^ then re- 
 covering himself, comes down,) Who is this — 
 Johnnie you picked up on the road? 
 
 Renard. Johnny — pick up? 
 
 Craig. You know who I mean — name is Quail 
 or something — wants to buy an interest in the show ! 
 
 Renard. Ah! Hm! Hm! 
 
 Craig. Yes — Hm! 
 
 Renard. I'm not the one who is jealous, I think 
 — ^it's you ! 
 
 Craig. Me! Jealous of that damned fool? 
 
 Renard. (Rises, crosses to Craig. J Jealous of 
 anyone who wants the girl you love! (Craig turns 
 quickly; this is the first time it has been acknowledged 
 between them,) You love April ! 
 
 Craig. I ? 
 
 Renard. Yes ! She don't know it, but Joe knows 
 
52 DEAR ME 
 
 it ; I know it all the time. You can't fool old Joe ! 
 (He pats Craig on the back.) 
 
 Craig. That's right, Joe. 
 
 Renard. (Murmurs) Huh! (Turns to go.) 
 
 Craig. (Takes his arm and holds him fast while 
 he continues) When I went up to that Home that 
 Dad built in my memory, I went up to see how the 
 old codgers were making out, but I found something 
 else — I found April . . . (Joe starts hack to 
 piano.) And she made me realize that something 
 was missing — happiness — ^and I found that happi- 
 ness with her. But now, she's been away from me 
 
 for ten days — ^and I miss her Oh, Joe, you 
 
 don't know how I miss her! 
 
 Renard. (Is hack at piano, thinking of his mu- 
 sic) Sure — sure I do! 
 
 Craig. (Following him up) No, you don't. I've 
 sort of stopped living for myself, and if I thought 
 she'd never care for me, I'd never want to live 
 again. And the day she says: "I love you," I'll 
 be the happiest man in the world — ^if she ever says 
 it ! Now you can go ahead — do what you want, I'm 
 finished. 
 
 Renard. (Looking up from the music he is writ- 
 ing) Oh, she'll say it the minute she finds out who 
 you are and what you've done for her. (He plays.) 
 
 Craig. Ah, that's exactly what I donH want! I 
 don't want her to love Edgar Prentice, because he 
 has built a theatre, written a play and given her a 
 chance — I want her to love Edgar Craig, the failure ! 
 
 Renard. Oh, I see. (He sings pum-pum-pum, 
 etc., and nods his head keeping time.) 
 
 Craig. (Trying to get his sympathy, crosses to 
 c.) Now you can understand why I went up in the 
 air about this fellow — this Johnnie ! 
 
 Renard. (Rising from piano) Edgar, how long 
 since you see April ? 
 
DEAR ME 53 
 
 Craig. Ten days! You know as well as I do. 
 Why, what's that got to do with it? 
 
 Renard. She change! 
 
 Craig. April — changed ! How ? 
 
 Renard. She isn't the old April — she's the whole 
 damn calendar. (Turns to window.) Look, her 
 geraniums — ^they have die. 
 
 Craig. Well, she's been away ! 
 
 Renard. They die before she go. 
 
 Craig. (Thoughtfully) Yes, I suppose she's for- 
 gotten all about them. 
 
 Renard. She forget more than the geraniums ! 
 
 (Without knocking April enters, handsomely 
 gowned. She stands in the door for a moment 
 or two trying vainly to hide the fact that she is 
 pleased with the effect that she is creating upon 
 Craig.) 
 
 Craig. April ! 
 
 April. (Coming down c.) And all the morning 
 papers said: "Scarcely in the history of this city 
 has such an ovation been accorded as April Blair 
 received last night." There are my Bridgeport, 
 Hartford, New Haven and Stamford notices. 
 (Hands an envelope to Craig. J 
 
 Renard. Ugh ! 
 
 April. (Tosses her head at Renard's remark 
 and turns to CraigJ And you never came to see 
 me play ! 
 
 Craig. (Softly) I wanted to. 
 
 April. Well, why didn't you ? Ah, forgive me — 
 you couldn't afford it, and I thought it was because 
 you didn't care! 
 
 Craig. Didn't care — why, I By George, you 
 
 look wonderful! 
 
 April. Did you miss me ? 
 
 Craig. Miss you ? Did I ! 
 
54 DEAR ME 
 
 April. Now that rm back, I wish I'd written 
 oftener. (Sits,) 
 
 Craig. The postcard from Bridgeport — ^with the 
 picture of the City Hall — was appreciated. 
 
 April. I sent you one from New Haven, too ! 
 
 Craig. Never got it. 
 
 April. Oh, I didn't send it! 
 
 Craig. Maybe that's why I never got it ! 
 
 April. But I was awfully busy in New Haven. 
 A lot of people came back stage and you know, Ed- 
 gar, everybody wanted a photograph. I think I'll 
 send them one. Manny said we should keep our ad- 
 mirers, and the easiest way is to send them photo- 
 graphs. You know, he thinks I ought to go into 
 moving pictures. 
 
 Renard. (Turns at this) Mon Dieuf 
 
 Craig. You are not thinking of doing it? 
 
 April. I haven't thought of anything. I've been 
 so busy rehearsing with Joe! 
 
 Renard. Oh — you're a baby ! 
 
 April. I'm not a baby ! (Joe and April start in 
 ad lib. fight.) 
 
 Craig. Now, just wait a minute — ^you two can't 
 go on this way. 
 
 April. Fm not going on — it's Joe ! 
 
 Renard. Hear her ! 
 
 Craig. Now, just what is the trouble? (Both 
 start in noisily.) We'll hear from April first. 
 
 April. Well, I'll tell you, Edgar ! In the second 
 
 act there's a song Come here, Joe — play for 
 
 Edgar. (Goes to piano.) 
 
 Renard. Play, play ! Play it yourself ! I'll have 
 nothing to do with this — ^this demonstration ! 
 
 Craig. But you realize you should be ashamed of 
 yourself, don't you? I see you do! Now help 
 April! 
 
DEAR ME SS 
 
 (April starts to pick a note or two, then looks at 
 JoE^ as if asking him to play it,) 
 
 Renard. (Going to the piano) Oh — ^a piano was 
 invented by the devil ! 
 
 April. Now, no more fighting — we'll leave it to 
 Edgar ! 
 
 Renard. That suits me ! (Starts to play, finishes 
 the vamp, and April begins to sing.) 
 
 Craig. (After s^ong) Is that the way she sings 
 it on the stage? 
 
 April. Yes, of course that's the way I sing it on 
 the stage. 
 
 Renard. No ! That is the way I wanted her to 
 sing it ! 
 
 Craig. Then you're both right — ^now then, come 
 here — come here. (Renard crosses to Craig.) And 
 you, April! (April comes over.) Now, then, say 
 you're sorry! 
 
 Renard. (Puts his arms around AprilJ April ! 
 
 April. It's all right, Joe, I forgive you ! 
 
 Craig. Ah, the trinity! 
 
 April. The trinity! 
 
 Craig. Enjoy your motor trip? 
 
 April. (Breaks away) Oh, I forgot! Good 
 heavens ! (Goes to window.) Edgar, do you mind 
 if I bring up a friend? 
 
 Craig. Certainly not — why should I? 
 
 April. (Leans out and calls) Oh, Dudley! 
 Dudley! 
 
 Renard. (He and Craig exchange a significant 
 look) April's fool! 
 
 April. Dudley — ^hoo — ^hoo ! (Comes back in the 
 room, looks around for something to throw down.) 
 He can't hear me . . . (Sees the geraniums — pulls 
 out one plant.) 
 
 Craig. April! The geraniums! 
 
S6 DEAR ME 
 
 April. Oh, they're dead! (Turns and flings it 
 down.) 
 
 Craig. Throw him a book and let him read ! 
 
 April. Come up, Dudley — second floor front! 
 (Turns into the room, brushing the dirt from her 
 dress and hands.) 
 
 Craig. Dudley ? 
 
 April. Dudley Masters Quail! And his father 
 has all the money in Connecticut! 
 
 Renard. Johnny Pick-up! 
 
 April. Joe, I wish you wouldn't speak about him 
 that way. Edgar, he isn't half bad. I've really 
 brought him here to meet you, because if he should 
 take a fancy to you, with all his money there's no 
 telling what he mightn't do for you! 
 
 Craig. Where did you meet him? 
 
 April. In Bridgeport — Mr. Bean introduced him 
 to me. 
 
 Craig. Mr. Bean? Oh — he did! 
 
 April. But you'll like him ! (Knock at door; all 
 turn.) 
 
 Craig. There's no question about my liking him ; 
 if he's your friend he's my friend. I can hardly 
 wait for him to come in that door. I want to say 
 "welcome" ... 
 
 (Dudley enters.) 
 
 April. He's so different from other men . . . 
 
 Craig. (To Joe j So he is ! 
 
 April. Dudley, I want you to meet Mr. Craig — 
 I've told you about him ! 
 
 Dudley. (To April, sotfo voce) Oh, the fail- 
 ure fellow ! How are you ? 
 
 Craig. Oh, I'm failing pretty well to-day — ^how 
 are you failing? 
 
 Dudley. (Crossing to RenardJ Hello, Joey ! 
 
 Craig. Hello, Joey? He is getting on. I beg 
 
DEAR ME 57 
 
 your pardon. (To Dudley j Won't you sit down ? 
 
 Dudley. (Gazing about the ceiling) Thanks — 
 oh, thanks awfully! 
 
 Craig. (After he has followed Dudley's gaze for 
 a moment) If you are looking for the leak, it's 
 over here. And the chairs are here ! 
 
 Dudley. Course it is. Thanks. (Sits.) 
 
 April. Dudley, this is where we got our start; 
 we used to call it the "workshop," didn't we, Edgar? 
 
 Edgar. Yes, we used to. 
 
 April. Oh, those were wonderful days — ^and 
 sometimes we had to make a bottle of milk go a long 
 way. 
 
 Renard. Those days are over, thank the Lord! 
 
 April. I don't think I shall ever forget them, 
 even after the opening, when I'm a famous star and 
 Joe's a great composer — and Edgar — dear old Ed- 
 gar — when you have one of your plays produced. 
 
 (There is a moment of silence, then as, Craig opens 
 a box of cigarettes and passes them to Dudley J 
 
 Craig. Smoke ? 
 
 Dudley. What are they? 
 
 Craig. Cigarettes. 
 
 Dudley. (Examines the cigarettes, then sinks 
 back) No, thanks, I have my own ! 
 
 Craig. We all have our peculiarities. I'm very 
 sorry I haven't something alcoholic to offer you! 
 
 Dudley. I seldom drink, thanks. 
 
 Craig. Maybe a little tea would buck you up? 
 
 April. Splendid idea, Edgar, I'm glad you thought 
 about it. 
 
 Renard. A good idea, Edgar. I make it ! 
 
 Craig. Perhaps I'd better help you — I know 
 where the things are ! 
 
 Renard. (Starts toward the door) I find him 
 even in the darkness. (Exits,) 
 
S8 DEAR ME 
 
 (Craig to r. of stage, turns to look at April and 
 Dudley. They are having a little private con- 
 versation, looking at a photograph in kodak al- 
 bum, and animated.) 
 
 Craig. (Regards them for a moment) It's a very 
 early Autumn we're having, isn't it? 
 
 Dudley. (Annoyed) What? 
 
 Craig. I said the Autumn ! 
 
 Dudley. Oh, yes. 
 
 Craig. Did I understand you to say you came 
 from Bridgeport, Mr. Quail — Bridgeport? 
 
 Dudley. Connecticut ! 
 
 Craig. I thought you said Bridgeport. I used 
 to have some friends — I say I used to have some 
 friends, I still have some friends — very dear friends 
 — who had a summer home . . . 
 
 Dudley. (With contempt) That's not so odd — 
 millions of people have summer homes ! 
 
 Craig. That's so — just a slip of mine — I hadn't 
 thought of that ! (Crash heard off stage,) Joe, mak- 
 ing tea ... (Ad lib. conversation — Craig standing 
 at L., Dudley and April on opposite side of table 
 in ardent conversation, paying no attention to 
 Craig's presence. Craig's ^'rambling'* follows.) 
 You see, Joe's French — he came from the South of 
 France — if you remember your geography as well 
 as I recall mine, you will recall that France is shaped 
 like that. Joe lived about there — down in the South- 
 ern part. In the little town where Joe comes from 
 the natives as a rule drink coffee ! (Laughs — alone.) 
 Ah, you can't catch me like that — I didn't say all, 
 I said, "as a rule they drink coffee." (Laughs 
 again.) So, you see, Joe's knowledge of tea-making 
 is very limited, so naturally when we have friends 
 drop in unexpectedly of an afternoon, as you 
 dropped in to-day, why, I have been the one to make 
 the tea; but on this occasion Joe thought it would 
 
DEAR ME 59 
 
 be nice if I stayed out here — and talked a while to 
 myself. But if you'll excuse me — ^you'll excuse me? 
 (Stands for a moment, no reply; after another mo- 
 ment, and with a killing look, he exits.) 
 
 (April and Dudley converse about nothing for a 
 moment.) 
 
 April. (Laughs, turns, surprised at Craig^s de- 
 parture) Why, Edgar's gone ! 
 
 Dudley. I say, April, if Tm going to make you 
 the sort of a star you deserve to be, you really ought 
 to cut this sort of thing out. 
 
 April. Why, Dudley, these people are old friends. 
 
 Dudley. That's very pretty sentiment, but it isn't 
 business. People judge you by where you go ; what 
 would mother say if she could see you trapsing out 
 of this awful place? Let's make our excuses and 
 go! 
 
 April. But, Dudley, they've asked us to tea! 
 (Takes his hat and stick and puts them on the piano.) 
 
 Dudley. All right; but I'll bet they have con- 
 densed mJlk for tea, and I hate it! You can't be 
 anybody — or get anywhere — if you have dependents 
 like these people. Suppose I had some smart friends 
 from Bridgeport at the stage door some night, and 
 your old failure fellow should take it into his head 
 to come around — how would you feel — ^how would I 
 feel ? You really should give them up ! 
 
 April. Give up the trinity? 
 
 Dudley. As we advance we pass the more lowly, 
 and you — you have advanced. (Goes to her.) 
 
 April. (Rises, crosses to c.) Yes, I have. 
 
 Dudley. (Crosses to her) And I'm going to put 
 you on the highest rung — if I have to spend all of 
 mother's money. But, April, I can't wait until you 
 really arrive to tell you . . . 
 
6o DEAR ME 
 
 April. Now, Dudley, stop! I know that tone! 
 You're about to propose to me again. 
 
 Dudley. (Crosses to her) I was! And Vm 
 going to keep right at it ! 
 
 April. Dudley, please ! I'm not going to tell you 
 again that love and I are far apart. Do you remem- 
 ber that line of Kipling's — "He travels fastest who 
 travels alone!" 
 
 Dudley. But, April, you promised you'd give 
 me your answer. 
 
 April. On Wednesday night, after the opening, 
 when I know the verdict. 
 
 (Renard enters,) 
 
 Renard. Oh, here comes the handsome waiter. 
 Clear off the corner of the table, April ! (There is a 
 general movement. The tea paraphernalia is set out 
 as the following happens; when Renard is pouring 
 the tea he has can of condensed milk in his other 
 hand.) Now we have some wonderful French-Rus- 
 sian tea! (Turning to Dudley. J You like lemon 
 in your tea, Mr. Quail? 
 
 Dudley. Yes, indeed ! 
 
 Renard. Oh, a lot of people do. But we use 
 condensed milk. 
 
 April. (When all are seated, waiting for tea) 
 Oh, Edgar, are there any more of those cunning 
 little cakes ? (Gives Renard his tea. Renard goes 
 to piano.) 
 
 Craig. I haven't made any since you've been away. 
 
 Dudley. Do you cookf 
 
 Craig. Well, not professionally, Mr. Bird — Quail 
 — ^but I cook ! 
 
 Dudley. That is an accomplishment! 
 
 Craig. I'm sure I want to thank you for looking 
 after Miss Blair. 
 
 Dudley. Greatest pleasure in the world. 
 
DEAR ME 6i 
 
 Craig. Really? 
 
 Dudley. Really, quite. (Sips tea, makes grim- 
 ace.) 
 
 Craig. Killed him ! 
 
 Dudley. (Goes r. to piano, gets hat cmd cane 
 and comes back to April, j But we must be toddling ! 
 (To Craig^ As I've an appointment with Mr. Pren- 
 tice. 
 
 Craig. Mr. Prentice? 
 
 Dudley. Yes, the author of the little girl's show. 
 
 Renard. You have an appointment with Mr. 
 Prentice ? 
 
 Craig. You have an appointment with Mr. Pren- 
 tice? 
 
 Dudley. Yes — yes ! I'm going to his house with 
 — er — Mr. Bean. I expect to buy an interest in the 
 play ! 
 
 Craig. (Goes up c. a little) Oh, you do, eh? 
 
 Dudley. (Crosses to AprilJ Yes, I thought I'd 
 take April along and introduce her. (Crosses to 
 Craig.J Odd thing, you know, she's making all 
 kinds of success in his show, and she's never seen 
 him. 
 
 Craig. (To Renardj That is odd! (To Dud- 
 ley J Do you know Mr. Prentice? 
 
 Dudley. Oh, yes . , . (Craig winks at Re- 
 NARD.J That is, when I say I know him I don't 
 exactly remember meeting him, but so many of my 
 friends are his friends, that it's just the same as 
 knowing him, don't you think? 
 
 Craig. (Mutters something, nodding his head) 
 Better than knowing him. 
 
 Dudley. Charming fellow — no end of money, 
 and all that. We'll he sure to find him in at tea 
 time. 
 
 Craig. (To Renard, crossing l.j Always home 
 at tea time — bring your condensed milk, Joe. We'll 
 drop in. 
 
62 DEAR ME 
 
 Dudley. Come, April. We'll miss Mr. Prentice 
 if you don't hurry ! 
 
 April. All right. Oh, Dudley, I want to show 
 you my old room. It's across the hall. Joe and 
 Edgar live in here. I suppose I'd still be living 
 here if Manny hadn't insisted I go to a fashionable 
 hotel. 
 
 Dudley. The only thing, April ! 
 
 April. Of course. This place wouldn't do any 
 more, but we did have good times. Good-bye, Ed- 
 gar! 
 
 Craig. Good-bye ! 
 
 April. (To Craigj I'll try to run in to-mor- 
 row ; that is, if I can. (To JoeJ I'll see you at the 
 theatre, Joe. You understand what's taking me 
 away, don't you, Edgar? 
 
 Craig. Oh, yes, I understand what's taking you 
 away! 
 
 April. Good-bye ! 
 
 (Dudley and April exit, Craig and Renard watch 
 her go; then Craig stands looking down at the 
 desk, tearing up a piece of paper. Renard goes 
 up to door and closes it.) 
 
 Craig. You understand what's taking her away, 
 didn't you, Joe? 
 
 Renard. Yes, and it serves you right ! 
 
 Craig. Why? 
 
 Renard. Because you're a fool — you make me 
 angry with you. Why didn't you tell her who you 
 are? 
 
 Craig. I don't want her gratitude ? 
 
 Renard. (Sits r. of table c) God knows what 
 you want — I don't! 
 
 Craig. (Crosses up c.) Well, I do ! 
 
 Renard. You do? What is it? 
 
 Craig. (Comes down r. of RenardJ Well, I'll 
 
DEAR ME 63 
 
 tell you what it is. I wanted her to be glad to get 
 back to us. Of course I know she couldn't stay 
 here now, but I did hope that she'd want to. Oh, 
 well (Goes up to r.) 
 
 Renard. Oh, well ! Now you make me mad all 
 over again! 
 
 Craig. Well, what do I care whether you're mad 
 or not ? 
 
 Renard. (Rises, crosses to him) Oh, Edgar, I 
 ask you — do try to have a little sense ! Don't go on 
 expecting the impossible! April isn't an angel — 
 she's just human. A month ago she was nobody. 
 Now, in a minute, you make her famous — ^you turn 
 her head all around and then expect her to want to 
 come back here. Now why don't you tell her who 
 you are ? 
 
 Craig. No, not yet — not yet! 
 
 Renard. Well, if you don't tell her who you are, 
 then tell her you love her. 
 
 Craig. How ? 
 
 Renard. Say, April, you are a success — I am a 
 failure, but my God, how I love you ! If you don't 
 tell her, I tell her everything ! 
 
 Craig. Oh, no, you won't! 
 
 Renard. I will if you don't tell her you love her. 
 
 Craig. Oh, you will? All right, I'll tell her I 
 love her. 
 
 Renard. You promise? 
 
 Craig. (Goes up l.) Yes, I promise, if she ever 
 comes back! 
 
 Renard. (Seeing the notices, goes to table) She 
 will. Oh, not to see you. 
 
 Craig. (Goes down to table) What? 
 
 Renard. These! Her press clippings! (Craig 
 looks puzded.) Her first press clippings! Right 
 now she's hunting for them, and Dudley's turning 
 his pockets out. Maybe she wants to show them 
 to the taxi driver 1 
 
64 DEAR ME 
 
 Craig. Maybe you're right, but I don't think so. 
 Clarence ! Oh, I let him go. Well, who's going to 
 wash the tea things ? 
 
 Renard. I will. 
 
 Craig. Oh, no, you won't ! We do it like every- 
 thing else — fifty-fifty ! (Takes out coin,) We'll toss 
 — ^heads you wash them, tails I wash them. (Tosses 
 coin, looks at it, picks up dishes.) This has been 
 my lucky day, all right ! (Exits. Big crash of dishes 
 heard off stage. Off stage) Ha, ha ! I don't have 
 to wash them now ! 
 
 (Renard at piano working on composition. April* 
 enters. She stands for a moment.) 
 
 Renard. (Handing her the clippings) Here are 
 the dear babies ! 
 
 April. (At first gives him an angry glance; then 
 smiles and takes clippings) Oh, thank you! Did 
 Edgar read them? 
 
 Renard. No — ^he was too busy! 
 
 April. (Looks at him a moment, then goes up to 
 door) Where is he? 
 
 Renard. Do you want to speak to him? 
 
 April. Well, I'm in quite a hurry. I don't want 
 to keep Mr. Quail waiting. 
 
 Renard. That doesn't sound like the old April! 
 
 April. Old April ! You don't mean that person 
 who used to work for Mrs. Carney? 
 
 Renard. That's what I mean ! 
 
 April. You're right ! Please don't ever mention 
 her again. 
 
 Renard. Who — Mrs. Carney? 
 
 April. No — the old April ! Ugh ! That's like a 
 bad dream! 
 
 Renard. Maybe I mean the April who used to 
 come here every morning to water the geraniums — 
 eh? ' 
 
DEAR ME 6s 
 
 April. (Crosses up, takes look at them, comes 
 down to RenardJ Joe, I wish you wouldn't be so 
 annoying — why do you say these things? What are 
 you thinking about? 
 
 Renard. Vm thinking about our friend — Edgar. 
 
 April. Ah — I understand! You have decided 
 that I am ungrateful! Well, Vm not! If you care 
 to know, Vm very grateful ! And all I wish is there 
 was some way I could show it! 
 
 Renard. I guess maybe there is! 
 
 April. Then, for Heaven's sake, tell me what 
 it is! 
 
 Renard. I don't suppose we see you so very 
 much any more — from now on? 
 
 April. Oh, no, that's it. You want me to come 
 back here and live in that — that hole across the 
 hall? 
 
 Renard. It ain't a hole ! 
 
 April. Oh, why do you pester this way? For 
 months I heard nothing from Edgar except, "Work, 
 work hard now, so you can get ahead ; run up to the 
 Museum so you will be able to say something worth 
 while about art; come to this concert, go to that 
 play" — and why ? He wanted me to get ahead, didn't 
 he? 
 
 Renard. Sure ! But 
 
 April. And now that I'm up, and getting ahead, 
 you tell me to forget it and come back here. (Rises.) 
 My life is my life, and I can only live it one way! 
 Now do you want me to close the show and come 
 back here? Will that show how grateful I am? 
 (Goes R.) 
 
 Renard. April! April! 
 
 April. Well, for Heaven's sake what shall I do? 
 I'll give it up if only to make -ou stop harping! 
 (Ad lib. April and Renard.J 
 
 (Craig has entered during her last speech, and he 
 
66 DEAR ME 
 
 stands listening. Now he steps out and in a 
 careless way, coming down c.) 
 
 Craig. Hello ! 
 
 April. Oh, Edgar! Listen! Am I ungrateful? 
 
 Craig. Ungrateful! Certainly not! 
 
 April. (Crosses to RenardJ You see — he says 
 I'm not ! 
 
 Renard. Ugh! He says! He says! He is a 
 fool ! (Exits into next room.) 
 
 April. Oh ! 
 
 Craig. Now what's the trouble? 
 
 April. I'm so unhappy! (Sits l. of table c.) 
 
 Craig. Why, April, what's ifall about? 
 
 April. Well, do^you want me to be a success ? 
 
 Craig. Don't you know I do ? 
 
 April. And you don't think I ought to give it all 
 up and come back here to live ? 
 
 Craig. What are you talking about? 
 
 April. If I tried to make the most of myself 
 would I be ungrateful? 
 
 Craig. Ungrateful ? To whom ? 
 
 April. To you and Joe — for what you've done ! 
 
 Craig. Certainly not! 
 
 April. Then that's what I'm going to do — make 
 the most of myself ! 
 
 Craig. That's what I always hoped you would 
 do. 
 
 April. And you won't say any mean things, like 
 Joe does, if I'm too busy to see much of you? 
 
 Craig. I won't say mean things ! 
 
 April. Oh, it's such a relief to talk to you. You 
 seem to understand so much better than anyone else ! 
 
 Craig. I do. 
 
 April. Well, then, I must be going. 
 
 Craig. Oh, April! 
 
 April. I have so many things to do. (Goes up 
 
 R.) 
 
DEAR ME 67 
 
 Craig. April, you just said that I understood 
 better than anyone else. Have you ever wondered 
 why? 
 
 April. No — why, no! Fve never thought any- 
 thing about that. I suppose — it's because . . . 
 
 Craig. Because I love you! 
 
 April. Why, Edgar, I didn't expect you to say 
 that! 
 
 Edgar. Didn't you want me to? 
 
 April. It's wonderful to know there is some- 
 body you can reach out to for sympathy — for en- 
 couragement! And to me you've been that person. 
 Let's keep it that way ! 
 
 Craig. And would that make you happy ? 
 
 April. I think so. 
 
 Craig. Well, then, that's the way it will be ! 
 
 April. Oh, I'd give anything if this hadn't hap- 
 pened! It makes me feel as though we had come 
 to a sort of a parting of the ways. I'm going 
 ahead . . . 
 
 Craig. While I'm staying here! 
 
 April. Oh, Edgar! 
 
 Craig. I mean I'll have to stay so you'll know 
 where to find me if you feel like "reaching out for 
 encouragement." 
 
 April. (Long pause, then she opens her pocket- 
 hook, takes out letter) Oh, Edgar, all this has made 
 it so difficult for me to do what I've been thinking 
 
 about for days. I've written you a note (Craig 
 
 starts to open same.) No, don't open it now — not 
 until I've gone. 
 
 Craig. Why ? 
 
 April. Oh, I couldn't be here when you read it. 
 
 Craig. Oh ! 
 
 April. And promise you won't misunderstand 
 what I've written? 
 
 Craig. I promise! 
 I Dudley. (Off stage) I say — April ! 
 
68 DEAR ME 
 
 April. Coming, Dudley! (Exits.) 
 
 (Craig stands dazed for a moment; then he looks 
 at the letter in his hand and weighs it. He is 
 afraid to open it, being a mortal coward. He 
 crosses slowly and stands considering it. 
 Renard enters; he is delightfully curious; he 
 looks out, then looks at Craig^ who does not 
 notice his entrance.) 
 
 Renard. Well, did you tell her? 
 
 Craig. Yes. 
 
 Renard. Well, what did she say? 
 
 Craig. (Regarding the letter) Nothing ! 
 
 Renard. What did she do? 
 
 Craig. Left me this ! 
 
 Renard. This note? (Craig nods.) What did 
 she write? 
 
 Craig. I don't know. She told me not to open 
 it until she had gone — ^and then not to be "mis- 
 understood." 
 
 Renard. But she's gone — why don't you open it ? 
 
 Craig. Because I'm afraid! 
 
 Renard. Afraid of what? 
 
 Craig. Of what she's written. 
 
 Renard. What are you talking about? 
 
 Craig. She's gone, Joe, gone ! And I don't think 
 I'll ever see her again! 
 
 Renard. What? 
 
 Craig. That is — here! 
 
 Renard. Yes, you will! (Starts off.) 
 
 Craig. Wait a moment, Joe! Where are you 
 going? 
 
 Renard. I'm going to get April and tell her every- 
 thing ! 
 
 Craig. No, you're not ! Joe, I want you to prom- 
 ise me one thing — never tell her who I am. On 
 your word of honor. (They shake hands.) Thanks, 
 
DEAR ME 69 
 
 Joe. She told me not to misunderstand. Well, I 
 won't ! But I am not man enough to open that fool 
 letter and settle one thing in my own mind ! 
 
 Renard. ril open it! (Makes as if to take the 
 note.) 
 
 Craig. No, you won't ! I'll open it ! (Sits, stares 
 at the note, still reluctant, Renard goes up stage, 
 pours a glass of water at the tea things, comes back 
 to Craig^s side with it. Craig looks at the water,) 
 What's that for? 
 
 Renard. I'm thirsty! (Drinks.) 
 
 (Craig rips open the note. It contains a fifty-dollar 
 bill and a theatre ticket. They may either fall 
 to the floor or Craig may take them and place 
 them on the table, as best proved in rehearsal. 
 Then Craig reads the note, and suddenly begins 
 to laugh almost hysterically. Renard regards 
 him with wonderment.) 
 
 Craig. Well, I'll be damned! 
 Renard. Sure, why not? 
 
 (Craig starts to laugh, then tries to control himself 
 and reads the note, then laughs again.) 
 
 Renard. What is 
 
 Craig. Look — what's that? (Holds out bill.) 
 
 Renard. Money — fifty dollars ! 
 
 Craig. Right you are ! (Starts to read the note, 
 then starts to laugh.) Now, listen to this ! (Reads) 
 "Dear You : 
 
 "The enclosed fifty dollars is only a loan, please 
 don't think anything else. But buy yourself a dress- 
 suit and come to my opening like a regular first- 
 nighter. P. S." (Speaks) She never wrote a note 
 without one! (Reads) "The ticket is the best I 
 could gtt — even with all my influence." (Picks up 
 
70 DEAR ME 
 
 the ticket. Renard is a little sore.) Wait a mo- 
 ment, Joe, before you get angry about nothing. I 
 want you to do something for me — look at that 
 ticket ! (Holds it off at arm's length, while Renard 
 peers at it.) I know it is the balcony — ^because it's 
 green — but tell me, what's the number — careful, 
 now — the seat number — don't make a mistake ! 
 
 Renard. It says — C. 
 
 Craig. I knew it — but the seat number, Joe, the 
 seat number! 
 
 Renard. Fourteen — 14 ! 
 
 Craig. (In a final burst of laughter) I knew it 
 — I knew it! My own theatre, my own show, and 
 she sends me the only seat in the house behind a 
 post! (Sits, weak with laughter, but he is midway 
 between mirth and breaking down. Renard sees 
 the joke; begins to laugh.) 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
ACT III 
 
 Scene I — The dressing-room at the Fifty-first Street 
 Theatre. 
 
 It is the star's dressing-room, set in the c. of the 
 stage with black drops on each side. It is set 
 on casters, or so it can he struck very quickly. 
 The entrance is in the c. hack. There is a door 
 off L. leading to another dressing-room. Be- 
 side the dressing-table there is a screen across 
 one corner; hack of this hang April''s costumes, 
 etc. 
 
 The action he gins at the end of the Second Act. The 
 lights he fore the dressing-tahle are hlasing; 
 there are flowers in the room, a profusion of 
 them. 
 
 The Maid is husy ah out the dressing-tahle ; from 
 off stage comes the muffled applause; the Maid 
 stops, listens, then goes to door and opens it. 
 The applause grows louder. She closes the 
 door and hurries on with her business of get- 
 ting ready for the change. She is much busier 
 now, for April imll he coming in a moment. 
 
 When April does not appear the Maid rather sub- 
 sides; she cannot understand this delay. She 
 goes to the door, opens it and is met by another 
 burst of applause. This rather astonishes her. 
 She goes hack, tries to busy herself, expecting 
 April any moment; she is slightly concerned 
 now. She goes to the door again — another 
 burst of applause as she opens the door. Then 
 
^2 DEAR ME 
 
 she begins to preen herself; she is a little strutty; 
 
 she is again busying herself about nothing when 
 
 the door bursts open and 
 April enters. She shuts door behind her and starts 
 
 across to the dressing-table. The Maid follows 
 
 her. As the Maid starts to take off something, 
 
 April flings her hands aside. 
 There is a knock at door. Maid goes to answer. 
 
 Enter Maid. People passing door. "Yes, right 
 
 in there.'' Usher enters, talks to Maid. 
 
 April. What did the usher say ? 
 
 Maid. He said nobody occupied the seat ! 
 
 April. Go tell Mr. Bean I want to see him ! 
 
 Maid. But (Seeing anger of April, she 
 
 starts toward door.) 
 
 April. (Seeing note on dressing-table) What's 
 this? 
 
 Maid. (Gives note to AprilJ It was just sent 
 back. He is waiting for a reply. 
 
 April. (Takes note and begins to read) Is Mr. 
 Quail there — ^himself? (Maid nods ''yes.'') Well, 
 tell him I have another engagement. He knows 
 that ! Tell Dudley — I mean Mr. Quail — I can't pos- 
 sibly see him, and explain again I'm going to sup- 
 per with the author. And — and — oh, tell him to 
 call me at my hotel to-morrow — or the day after — 
 I don't care ? But first I want to see Bean ! (Maid 
 starts to exit.) Jean! (Maid stops at door.) Has 
 any other note come for me ? 
 
 Maid. No, Mam'selle, but 
 
 April. Jean, will you go ! 
 
 (Maid exits. April goes to dressing-table; picks 
 up a bundle of notes, telegrams, etc., begins to 
 look them over hastily. While this is happen- 
 ing, we hear off stage the voices of Maid and 
 Renard, as Renard begins excitedly to tell her 
 
DEAR ME 73 
 
 about the great success. April looks up an- 
 noyed, then crosses swiftly as the voice con- 
 tinues, and speaks sharply.) 
 
 April. Jean 
 
 Maid. (Off stage) Right away, Miss Blair! 
 
 (There is a knock at the door.) 
 
 April. (Tense; turns) Come in! (Renard, 
 resplendent in evening clothes, comes in. He is full 
 of suppressed emotion, and is taking off his white 
 gloves.) Oh, you ! What do you want? 
 
 Renard. What do I want? I want to kiss your 
 hand ! And 
 
 April. (Holding her hand out) All right, Joe, 
 kiss it! 
 
 Renard. (As he takes her hand) April, what 
 is the matter? 
 
 April. Joe, don't sympathize with me — I'll go 
 mad or something ! Leave me alone ! 
 
 Renard. You want me to go away ? 
 
 April. Yes! (Renard starts for door.) No, 
 Joe, don't go ! Stay ! Please stay ! Only don't talk 
 — ^and don't ask questions! 
 
 Renard. (Mollified) Oh ! So the nerves — they 
 are like a fringe! 
 
 April. Joe, are there any extras out? 
 
 Renard. Extras? Extras? Oh, April, you are 
 a funny girl. Do you think that they get out a 
 special newspaper for your opening ? No, no ! Like 
 the other poor people, you will have to wait until you 
 get to the party. 
 
 April. I'm not going to the party ! 
 
 Renard. But see here, April, you must go to 
 this party. The author is giving it for you! You 
 want to see him, eh? 
 
 April. No ! If he hasn't enough interest to come 
 to his own show — to make himself known — I don't 
 
74 DEAR ME 
 
 care anything about him! He can stay a mystery! 
 
 Renard. But you must! 
 
 April. No, I'm not going! Joe, have you 
 
 (Knock at the door.) Come in! (Maid enters,) 
 Well, Where's Mr. Bean? 
 
 Maid. They telephoned him — ^he was with the 
 author. He will come back at once ! 
 
 April. I didn't tell you to telephone ! I told you 
 to get him! What's 
 
 Renard. April ! 
 
 April. I'm sorry — I didn't mean (Knock 
 
 on door. Maid exits,) Come in! (Bean enters; 
 he is in evening clothes, busy and harrassed.) 
 
 Bean. Well, well, now that you're a celebrity, I 
 suppose (He is in bubbling spirits,) 
 
 April. Have you been out in front all evening? 
 
 Bean. Have I? 
 
 April. In the balcony? 
 
 Bean. Both of them — and they're crazy abcfut — 
 
 April. That seat — ^you know, the one you had 
 to "steal" for me 
 
 Bean. Sure ! 
 
 April. Find out if anyone occupied it! 
 
 (Renard looks up and begins to take a great in- 
 terest.) 
 
 Bean. Find out? Come, April, we'll be ringing 
 up on the act in ten minutes. You've got 'em going 
 — ^and if we make 'em wait 
 
 April. They'll wait all night if you don't find 
 out about that seat ! Ask the ushers, or the people 
 in the next seats — anything — I don't care ! 
 
 Bean. Now, don't fret! I'll find out— if it'll do 
 any good. 
 
 April. He wasn't there in the first act. (Bean 
 crosses to Renard, ad lib.) Find out if he's been 
 there at all — ^and hurry ! 
 
DEAR ME 75 
 
 Bean. I'm hurrying! Joe, it was great! (Ad 
 lib.) 
 
 April. (Comes to door) Manny — will you please 
 go? 
 
 Bean. I'm on my way ! (Exits.) 
 
 Renard. (Looks at his watch, listens out the 
 door) Well, I guess I go pretty quick, too. 
 
 April. Please stay! Don't leave me! 
 
 Renard. No! I got to walk — the nerves — ^they 
 jump ! 
 
 April. (Crosses to table and sits, begins to do 
 something) Could anything have happened to him ? 
 
 Renard. I don't know. 
 
 April. An accident ! He may be in a hospital ! 
 Or — dead — ^Joe! dead! Maybe the police . . , 
 
 Renard. Here, here, April — don't take on like 
 this! 
 
 April. I can't help it! Oh, why didn't he come 
 — or send some message ? 
 
 Renard. Didn't he ? 
 
 April. Not a word! 
 
 Renard. That's funny, I should think he would. 
 Why, when I saw him 
 
 April. Saw him? Oh, Joe, why didn't you tell 
 me instead of letting me worry to death? 
 
 Renard. Why, I thought you knew. He ap- 
 plauded louder than anybody else in the house. 
 
 April. Edgar? 
 
 Renard. No. Dudley! 
 
 April. Oh, what do I care about Dudley ! You 
 knew I meant Edgar all the time ! He didn't send a 
 note — not a flower! Everybody remembered — even 
 Mr. Prentice, but not Edgar! What's become of 
 him? 
 
 Renard. (Shrugs his shoulders) How should I 
 know? I haven't seen him since the day we came 
 back from Stamford. 
 
 April. Why not? 
 
^(> DEAR ME 
 
 Renard. Too busy! How can I be successful, 
 the great Joe Renard, and have time to 
 
 April. Shame, Joe ! 
 
 Renard. When did you see him last? 
 
 April. (Subsides) Why, it was the same day — 
 but you — ^you must have seen him — ^you live with 
 him! 
 
 Renard. You bet I've seen him — every day. I 
 don't forget! I stick until this morning. 
 
 April. What happened this morning? 
 
 Renard. He go away ! (Sits.) 
 
 April. Where ? 
 
 Renard. Why should I tell you? Why this sud- 
 den interest ? 
 
 April. Joe, if you know, tell me! Don't let me 
 suffer ! 
 
 Renard. Suffer! You suffer! What about? 
 What do you care where he is? You're famous — 
 you'll be successful and rich! 
 
 April. Where is he? 
 
 Renard. You'll have a hundred men ready to go 
 to hell for you . . . 
 
 April. Oh ! Listen to that ! 
 
 Renard. Rich men, clever men, bad men — and 
 good men! Suffer? You'll forget — him and me — 
 and the home — ^because you don't care ! 
 
 April. I do care, Joe — I do ! 
 
 Renard. Then you've kept it pretty well hidden 
 under your indifference. 
 
 April. Indifference? What do you mean? 
 
 Renard. Well, then, neglect! Do you under- 
 stand that? 
 
 April. I — neglect? 
 
 Renard. Yes, neglect! You've tossed him off 
 like an old shoe ! 
 
 April. Does he think that? 
 
 Renard. He knows it! He came out of that 
 Home to make you happy, and he did! 
 
DEAR ME ^^ 
 
 April. Yes, Joe, he did! 
 
 Renard. Until you passed him, and then 
 
 (Sits on sofa.) 
 
 April. Joe, if you have any feeling for me — 
 stop ! Just tell me where he is ! (Leaning her head 
 against his.) Have a little pity — ^you're not the old 
 Joe! 
 
 Renard. And you're not the old April! She 
 changed ! 
 
 April. Where is he? 
 
 Renard. Well, he tried to make you happy — and 
 he failed! 
 
 April. No, he didn't fail — ^he didn't fail! 
 
 Renard. He thinks he did, so he's gone back to 
 the Home! 
 
 April. (Starting up) Back to the Home? 
 (Knock at the door.) Come in. (Bean enters.) 
 Well 
 
 Bean. The seat's empty ! Somebody turned the 
 ticket in to the box office at nine o'clock. 
 
 April. (Walking rapidly to R. door) I knew it ! 
 Jean ! Jean ! Get me my street hat and coat ! 
 
 Bean. Street hat? Say, what's 
 
 Renard. April ! What are you going to do ? 
 
 April. There is a train leaving Grand Central 
 at half-past ten — and Fm going to be on it ! (Exits 
 into room. Renard and Bean stare at each other.) 
 
 Bean. Train? My God, where are you going? 
 
 April. (Off stage) You ought to know ! Where 
 you both came from — the Prentice Home! 
 
 Bean. (To RenardJ In the name of God, 
 what's the matter? 
 
 Renard. It's my fault — my fault. Get Prentice, 
 quick! He's the only man who can stop her! 
 (Pushes Bean toward the door. Bean tries to ask 
 a question,) Hurry! (Pushes Bean out. Turns,) 
 
78 DEAR ME 
 
 (April enters, dragging a cape in one hand, her hat 
 in the other, Renard hacks against the door, 
 April stops when she sees she cannot pass him,) 
 
 April. Don't stop me- 
 
 Renard. April, think a minute ! 
 
 April. Stand away from that door — Renard ! 
 
 Renard. (Hurt) Renard? April, the curtain 
 will go up in five minutes! 
 
 April. In five minutes I'll be on my way! 
 
 Renard. But think of the play ! 
 
 April. What do I care for the play ? 
 
 Renard. Think of your success ! 
 
 April. Success! Do you call this success? A 
 moment ago you said I wasn't the old April. You 
 were right ! But I'm the old April now ! It's hap- 
 piness I want, and it's happiness I am going to go 
 after! Get out of my way! 
 
 Renard. Wait, April — and I'll tell you ! Edgar 
 Craig is 
 
 (April flings Renard aside and pulls the door open, 
 then steps back amazed. Craig, dressed fault- 
 lessly in evening clothes, stands in the doorway, 
 Bean peering over his shoulder. April stands 
 for a second as her cape and hat fall unnoticed 
 to the floor. This holds until April changes 
 and, almost childish, says) 
 
 April. And you got all that for fifty dollars! 
 
 (Takes him in from the head to foot, then almost 
 timidly, as though wanting to make sure he is 
 not an apparition, goes up to him, almost touches 
 him, then holds out both hands. He holds out 
 his hands. She takes them and pulls him into 
 the room. They advance as Renard comes 
 
DEAR ME 79 
 
 down behind them. April and Craig are too 
 engrossed in each other to notice.) 
 
 Craig. (Smiles at her) Don't you think you'd 
 
 better be getting (Takes out watch and looks 
 
 at it during speech.) 
 
 April. (Puts her hands on his shoulders and 
 forces him down into seat) Yes — Fll hurry — I'll be 
 ready — ^they won't have to wait for me, because 
 everything is all right — now! (Turns toward table.) 
 
 Craig. (Starts to rise) Then perhaps I'd bet- 
 ter 
 
 April. (Turns and sits him down again) Sit 
 right where you are! I don't go on for fifteen 
 minutes, and I'm all ready except for changing my 
 dress. 
 
 Craig. Well, in that case 
 
 April. (Gazing about and noticing a screen in 
 the room) We can fix it in just a minute. Now, 
 you sit there and we will put this — (Indicating the 
 
 screen) — right like this. Nozi} (Goes to table, 
 
 gets busy, Maid adjusting the gown.) I can't un- 
 derstand why they don't let the Fifth Avenue busses 
 run through the Park! But of course they'd have 
 to trim so many of the trees or make everybody ride 
 inside. But it would be wonderful ! Don't you think 
 — Edgar ? I was thinking that we ought to go to the 
 seashore thi^ next summer 
 
 Craig. Well, you are the most remarkable girl I 
 ever met in all my life ! If this were my opening, I 
 certainly wouldn't be able to talk about busses and 
 seashores ! 
 
 April. Well, what can we talk about? 
 
 Craig. You! You're a sensation — absolutely! 
 
 April. How do you know? 
 
 Craig. Why, I was the first one in the theatre 
 to-night ! 
 
 April. (With sudden exasperation) Oh, you 
 
8o DEAR ME 
 
 make me so — so exasperated! Why didn't you sit 
 
 in the seat I gave you instead of Where did 
 
 you sit? 
 
 Craig. Some friends coaxed me into a box. 
 April. Which one — the one with three ladies and 
 the two men? (Craig nods.) Yes — I suppose that 
 was much nicer; but just the same, I wish you had 
 taken the seat I gave you. Then I wouldn't have 
 become so temperamental. 
 
 Craig. You — temperamental ? 
 April. Yes. It's wonderful — ^gets you anything 
 you want! 
 
 Craig. And what, might I ask, did you so specially 
 want? 
 
 April. Edgar, I wish you'd give up trying to 
 
 understand me, and'^just 
 
 Craig. Just what? 
 
 April. Just think I'm the most 
 
 Craig. Wonderful girl in the world! 
 April. That's it — ^but I don't want you to say it 
 just now! 
 
 Craig. All right — but after the theatre to-night. 
 April. (Slumps in her chair) Now I'm unhappy 
 again ! 
 
 Craig. What's wrong now ? 
 
 April. Well, to-night I have to go (Stops 
 
 as she has an idea.) Edgar, do something for me ? 
 Craig. Anything ! * 
 
 April. Remember how we used to go out late 
 some nights and go to Childs? 
 
 Edgar. Sort of good old days' idea, eh? 
 April. Yes! Now, after the show, meet me 
 down at the corner — don't wait at the stage door 
 because I'm not coming out that way — and well go 
 to Childs — ^just you and I. (Knock on the door.) 
 Yes! 
 
 Bean. Curtain's up, April ! 
 April. Call me in time, Manny. 
 
DEAR ME 8i 
 
 Bean. All right! 
 
 Craig. But, April, you're going to a party! 
 (April looks at him — how did he know? Quickly) 
 So — Joe said! 
 
 April. Given by the author. (Makes a grimace,) 
 Whom I don't know and don't care to know. 
 
 Craig. Don't say that! 
 
 April. I can see him now! I suppose he'll pat 
 me on the cheek and call me "little girl," and tell me 
 how lucky I am to have him notice me. (Rises and 
 mimics him.) But what do I care? You liked me, 
 didn't you? 
 
 Craig. Like you! 
 
 April. And I pleased you, didn't I ? Tell me ! 
 
 Craig. You did! 
 
 April. Then what do I care what the author says ! 
 And we're going to Childs — we're going to Childs ! 
 
 Craig. No! You must go to the party! 
 
 April. I won't! 
 
 Craig. Haven't you any curiosity? 
 
 April. Yes! I want to see what Childs is like 
 — on an opening night ! 
 
 Craig. But 
 
 April. 
 
 Childs ! 
 
 Craig. 
 
 Now, listen ! 
 
 April. 
 
 Childs! 
 
 Craig. 
 
 But suppose 
 
 April. 
 
 Childs! 
 
 Craig. 
 
 Wait a minute! Suppose I couldn't go 
 
 to Childs- 
 
 —to-night? 
 
 April. 
 
 I understand! The third woman in the 
 
 box! 
 
 
 Craig. 
 
 No! 
 
 April. 
 
 I see ! Somebqjdy else — some other lady ! 
 
 Craig. 
 
 Well, since you must know — I'm going 
 
 to that party ! 
 
 April. 
 
 You ! Oh,. Edgar ! But how ? 
 
 Craig. In my little old fifty-dollar suit! I've 
 
82 DEAR ME 
 
 never told you, but the author is one of my friends. 
 I hope you will like him ; he is a very clever chap, 
 and Tm very fond of him! 
 
 April. Isn't that wonderful! All right, I'll go 
 to this party, on one condition — ^you must take me! 
 
 Craig. But Joe's going to do that ! 
 
 April. I want to go with you ! 
 
 Craig. No, you must go with Joe ! 
 
 April. Must If (Craig nods.) Well, then, 
 that's settled ! But just the same, you're not keeping 
 your promise! 
 
 Cra.ig. Promise — what promise ? I've kept every 
 promise I ever made you, and every one I've made to 
 myself about you! 
 
 April. I know you've done all that, and I'm very, 
 very happy ! But I wasn't a while ago. To-night I 
 wrote me — a new me — a letter. Want to read it? 
 I was going to mail it after the show. 
 
 Craig. May I ? (Takes letter and reads) "Dear 
 Me: Of course I wish you every success to-night; 
 but I ask you, as me to myself, do you deserve it? 
 You're selfish, April Blair, selfish! P. S. — 'He trav- 
 els 'fastest who travels alone,' but I don't want to 
 travel alone — I'm not in a hurry. Disgustedly, 
 Myself." (April tears up letter.) Don't do that! 
 
 April. That's one letter I'll never keep because 
 ju^t now I'm disgustedly happy ! 
 
 Craig. Well, that's something! 
 
 April. Haven't you been happy? 
 
 Craig. Why, yes, of course I have ! 
 
 April. Look up at me, Edgar. (Lifts his face,) 
 You aren't happy! 
 
 Craig. Oh, yes, I am, April, in a way ! The way 
 of a million others. You see them on the streets, or 
 in their automobiles, or the subway. They have 
 everything the other fellow has, but they've just 
 missed! I'm like that — I've just missed ! 
 
DEAR ME 83 
 
 April. Couldn't you tell Doctor Blair what you've 
 missed ? 
 
 Craig. April ! 
 
 April. (Puts out her hands) I love you, Edgar 
 Craig ! 
 
 Craig. (Rises, electrified, as he sees in her eyes 
 that she loves him. Then he pushes her hands back,) 
 Say that again. 
 
 April. I love you! 
 
 Craig. No — all of it! 
 
 April. I love you, Edgar Craig! 
 
 (Craig is about to take her in his amis when Bean 
 enters.) 
 
 Bean. Say, if you're not on there in a minute 
 you'll make a stage wait. 
 
 Craig. (Without releasing April ^ Let me worry 
 about that! 
 
 Bean. But, Mr. Craig (Looks at him, 
 
 amazed.) 
 
 Craig. And if you don't get out of here I'll fire 
 you! (Bean bolts.) Darling! 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
SCENE II 
 
 The reception-hall of Edgar Prentice's apartment 
 in East Sixtieth Street, 
 
 Entrance dozmt l. leading to the private elevator en- 
 trance; back c. a wide doorway to dining-room, 
 with doors. On the r. high window, from floor 
 to ceiling, to give somewhat the effect of a studio 
 apartment. The furnishings are of the finest, 
 not extravagant, but those of a bachelor whose 
 taste is excellent. 
 
 At Rise: The table is set and brilliantly lighted; 
 an overhead dome light, also the reception-hall 
 is well lighted. Everything is cheery and ready 
 for the party. In the room on back wall l. is 
 the portrait of Amos Prentice which we saw 
 over the fireplace at the Home. The floral deco- 
 rations are generous and are of geraniums. 
 
 Large library desk l., imfh paper and writing ma- 
 terials. Photo of Prentice on r. end of desk. 
 Chair at l. and back. Armchair r. on stage. 
 Piano up back at r. Consol table r. with box of 
 geraniums from Act I. 
 
 As lights go up, Craig and Clarence are at the 
 table, Clarence making a finishing touch here 
 and there. Craig looks up at the portrait, 
 straightens it, then turns.) 
 
 Craig. Clarence, I think I heard the elevator 
 door. 
 
 (Clarence comes out of dining-room, exits r. 
 Craig comes dozmt into the room. Peck and 
 Bean stick their heads in from hall.) 
 
 84 
 
?5, 
 
 ^ 
 
 < 
 
DEAR ME 85 
 
 Bean. May we come in — am I forgiven? 
 Craig. Come in — ^glad to see you! 
 
 (Peck and Bean, in fine evening clothes, enter. 
 Bus. shaking hands, etc., during the following.) 
 
 Bean. Is she here yet — are we in time? 
 
 Craig. Plenty of time, gentlemen! Will you 
 have a slight sniffer? 
 
 Peck. Not for me. What an exquisite room, 
 Edgar. I could get inspiration here. (Lodks around 
 room.) 
 
 Craig. Help yourself — take all the inspiration 
 you want ! And how is the rising architect ? 
 
 Peck. Wonderful! Frightfully busy, though! 
 Didn't know how I was going to make it to-night, 
 but I wouldn't have missed it if Yonkers never got 
 a new City Hall ! 
 
 Craig. City Hall? 
 
 Peck. Certainly! You must have heard. But 
 tell me about April ! 
 
 Bean. She was to-night what her name implies — 
 a breath of Spring ! And yet, as I sat and watched 
 her, she took me back to the Home. 
 
 Peck. Well, Fm glad you went alone ! (Closing 
 of elevator can be heard.) IVe never forgotten what 
 she said. Remember, Craig and Bean? 
 
 Bean. If I ever forget — I'll fail again! 
 
 Peck. "God or somebody put you on earth to do 
 something, but you cheated him and didn't do it." 
 
 (Lawton and Turner enter,) 
 
 Bean. Why, even now I blush when I remem- 
 ber it. 
 
 Lawton. Hello, boys, are we tardy? 
 
 Craig. Lawton! And Turner — congratulations 
 on your new book! This is wonderful — and look- 
 
86 DEAR ME 
 
 ing like a million dollars! (Shakes hands, as do 
 Bean and Peck. Bean grabs onto Turner and 
 they start away,) 
 
 Peck. I've just finished reading your book. My 
 word, Turner, I haven't ridden in the subway for 
 the last month but what every shop-girl has had a 
 copy! 
 
 Craig. (Talking with Lawton and Peckj It's a 
 fine book, but I must say, Turner, you did us a mean 
 trick ! 
 
 Bean. Putting us all in a book that way ! 
 
 Turner. I have hit the happy recipe for a suc- 
 cessful novel — make fun of your friends ! 
 
 Craig. Yes, but have you seen Oglevie since the 
 book was published? 
 
 Turner. Good Lord, no! Not to speak to ! But 
 I've ducked into several basements when I saw him 
 coming. 
 
 Craig. (To LawtonJ We may have some fire- 
 works, then, when Oglevie arrives . . . 
 
 Lawton. It will make us all homesick if those 
 two get at it. But let me congratulate you, man. 
 It was wonderful! And April! She is superb! 
 Oh, when I think how she has gotten back at us — 
 many people have a theory about life, but few can 
 prove it! 
 
 Craig. Oh, I don't know — ^you seem to be prov- 
 ing her theory — to judge from the crowd I saw 
 around the statue the other day. 
 
 Lawton. Did you read what the critics had to 
 say? 
 
 Craig. I certainly did, and I congratulate you !, 
 
 Oglevie. (Off stage) Wait here, and I shall re- 
 turn anon. (Oglevie enters, looks all around, sees 
 everybody but Turner. He is the soul of affluence 
 and pomposity. To Lawton and others) Ah, gen- 
 tlemen, what a climax to a wonderful evening! 
 (Turning to Craigj Coming from a cheerful 
 
DEAR ME 87 
 
 theatre — and now to find myself surrounded by the 
 warmth and prosperity of my intimates who have 
 shared happy days with all thoughts of the past 
 driven from our memory, and now (Sees Tur- 
 ner crouching behind the rest.) And now 
 
 (Walks over toward Turner J 
 
 Turner. Hello, Ogie! 
 
 Oglevie. Not so many days ago I read a book, 
 
 written by one Turner (He looks toward the 
 
 door.) In it I discovered a character — fat, puffy, a 
 veritable buffoon — in which my friends detected a 
 vulgar attempt to caricature none other than myself. 
 
 Craig. Why, you don't mean the bold duffer in 
 Turner's book? Why, you couldn't suppose that 
 was meant to be you 
 
 Oglevie. No, indeed. I — could see nothing simi- 
 lar! 
 
 Craig. But there, what's a book among cronies ! 
 
 Oglevie. Quite right! Come to my arms. Tur- 
 ner! I'm glad to see you — prospering so 
 
 (Starts over to the men, scattering cheers and ad 
 lib. his greetings. Craig looks at his watch.) 
 
 Peck. But, Ogkvie, tell us about yourself — ^we 
 have had our little meetings, Craig and the rest of 
 us . . . 
 
 Lawton. How do you come by this look of pros- 
 perity — what success has befallen you? 
 
 Craig. Pardon me, just a moment! 
 
 Oglevie. Certainly, dear fellow. (Craig exits.) 
 
 Mrs. Carney. (Off stage) Oh, Mr. Prentice! 
 Is April, the dear little thing, here yet ? 
 
 Peck. I knew it ! I can never forget that voice ! 
 
 Lawton. Mrs. Carney! What's she doing here? 
 
 Turner. The skeleton of the feast! 
 
 Bean. It's an ambush! (They all talk ad lib.) 
 
 Oglevie. Cease! Gentlemen! Remember, we 
 are guests! 
 
 Lawton. That won't be any protection ! 
 
88 DEAR ME 
 
 Oglevie. Stop, I tell you! (Mrs. Carney en- 
 ters. Oglevie crosses to her and in honeyed man- 
 ner takes her hand and grandly turns to the others.) 
 Gentlemen — my wife! (Turner sits in chair r.c. 
 All stand, embarrassed and uncertain.) 
 
 Mrs. Carney. Why, Turner — Peck — Lawton! 
 Manny ! How do you do ? 
 
 Bean. How do you do, Rosie! 
 
 Mrs. Carney. This is amazing! How well you 
 all look! (All gather around her ad lib.) 
 
 Lawton. (Crossing to her) No, Mrs. Carney, 
 ah, hm! Mrs. C. Oglevie^ — ^how well you look . . . 
 
 Mrs. Carney. Thank you ! (Crosses ad lib.) 
 
 Lawton. Oglevie, you always were a lucky dog! 
 (Coughs, shakes hands.) 
 
 (Enter Craig, also Clarence, who serves cocktails 
 and exits.) 
 
 Oglevie. That's right, Lawton, cough. Now I 
 feel perfectly at home! 
 
 Mrs. Carney. Wilbur will have his little joke! 
 
 Oglevie. (With much affection) Moonbeam! 
 
 Craig. Before we have supper, I'd like to say 
 just a word, if you don't mind. I want you to drink 
 a toast — to that old man — (Points to portrait) — and 
 I'm going to explain how I'd like to have you feel 
 when you drink it. He died unhappy because I was 
 a fool — ^because I failed in a boyish ambition and 
 hid away to protect my pride. To my memory he 
 founded the Home, and in his memory I have des- 
 troyed it, with the help of April. I don't know 
 whether he knows anything about what we've done, 
 but if he does I want you all to hope it quiets his 
 soul. To my Daddy! (They all drink, Clarence 
 enters.) 
 
 Clarence. Mr. Prentice, Miss April and Mr. 
 Joe J 
 
DEAR ME 89 
 
 Craig. She doesn't know you are all here — I want 
 to surprise her! 
 
 Mrs. Carney. Wasn't she wonderful to-night? 
 But then, she always did everything right ! 
 
 Craig. Yes, yes ! I want you all to hide in that 
 room, and we'll surprise her ! (All together in door- 
 way and talk.) Now, keep quiet, or it won't be any 
 surprise at all. Ssh ! 
 
 Oglevie. And, Lawton, don't cough! 
 
 (Craig goes in and closes door behind him. Enter 
 April and Renard. She looks at room, crosses 
 and sits at r., then sees geraniums, starts back l., 
 sees picture over door c., then picture on table, 
 picks it up, looks at both, then sits and writes, 
 reading same as she writesl) 
 
 April. 
 "Dear Me : 
 
 "I lake my pen in hand to ask you how you could 
 be so stupid, so blind and so selfish. 
 
 "Sadly, 
 
 "Just Me." 
 
 "P. S. I want to thank the author for all he has 
 done for me !" (Lawton coughs off stage.) 
 
 Oglevie. (Off stage) Shut up! 
 
 Craig. (Off stage) Ssh ! 
 
 (April goes to door; as she gets there the door is 
 opened. Craig enters, goes down l. Others 
 enter and take April down stage l. and to c. 
 Ad lib. Oglevie comes down c. Mrs. Car- 
 ney down R.c. April has her back to them.) 
 
 Oglevie. April ! 
 
 April. Why, Mr. Oglevie! 
 
 Oglevie. April — ^my wife! (April turns R.) 
 
90 DEAR ME 
 
 Mrs. Carney. (Takes April in her arms) Oh, 
 April! 
 
 (April almost collapses. All talk ad lib. Craig 
 takes April r.^ kisses her. Clarence enters.) 
 
 Clarence. Supper is served! (All cross and 
 sit at table.) 
 
 Oglevie. (After all are seated) I want my 
 coffee! 
 
 Mrs. Carney. All right, angel, you'll get your 
 coffee! (Song starts, piano.) Listen — why, that's 
 the song April sang to-night. Sing it again, won't 
 you, dearie ? 
 
 Oglevie. Yes, won't you, dearie? 
 
 All. Yes, dearie ! 
 
 (April sings.) 
 FINIS 
 
BILLETED. 
 
 A comedy in 3 acts, hf F. Tennison Jesse and H. Harwood. 4 
 males, S females. , One easy interior scen'i. A chartning comedy, 
 constructed with uncommon skill, and abounds with clever lines. 
 Margaret Anglin's brT s»cces». Amateurs will find this comedy easy 
 to produce and poptjiar witk all audieneefi. Price, 69 Cents. 
 
 NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH. 
 
 A comedy in 3 acts. By James Montgomery. 5 males, C females. 
 Costumes, modern. Two interior scenes. Plays 2J^ hours. 
 
 Is it possible to tell the absolute truth — even for twenty-four hours? 
 It is— at least Bob iennett, the hero of "Nothing But the Truth," 
 accomplished the feat. The bet he made with his business partners, 
 and the trouble he f ot into — with his partners, his friends, and his 
 fiancee — this is the subject of William Collier's tremendous comedy 
 hit. "Nothing But the Truth'* can be Whole-heartedly recommended 
 as one of the most sprightly, amusing and popular comedies that this 
 country c^ boast. Price, 60 Cents. 
 
 IN WALKED JIMMY. 
 
 A comedy in 4 acts, by Minnie Z. Jaffa. 10 males, 2 females (al- 
 though any number of males and females may be used as clerks, 
 etc.). Two interior scenes. Costumes, modern. Plays 2^ hours. 
 The thing into which Jimmy walked was a broken-down shoe factory, 
 when the clerks had all been fired, and when the proprietor was in 
 serious contemplation of suicide. 
 
 Jimmy, nothing else but plain Jimmy, would have been a mysterious 
 figure had it not been for his matter-of-fact manner, his smile and 
 his everlasting humanness. He put the shoe business on its feet, won 
 the heart of the girl clerk, saved her erring brother from jail, escaped 
 that place as a permanent boarding house himself, and foiled the 
 villain. 
 
 Clean, wholesome comedy with just a touch of human nature, just 
 a dash of exeitement and more than a little bit of true philosophy 
 make "In "Walked Jimmy" one of the most delightful of plays. 
 Jimmy is full of the religion of life, the religion of happiness and 
 the religion of helpfulness, and he so permeates the atmosphere with 
 his "religion" that everyone is happy. The spirit of optimism, good 
 cheer, and hearty laughter dominates the play. There is not a dull 
 moment in any of the four acts. We strongly recommend it. 
 
 Price, 60 Cents. 
 
 MARTHA BY-THE-DAY. 
 
 An optimistic comedy in three acts, by Julie M. Lippmann, auther 
 ©f the "Martha" stories. 5 males, S females. Three interior scenes. 
 Costumes modern. Plays 25-^ hours. 
 
 It is akogether a gentle thiflg, this play. It is full of quaint hu- 
 mor, old-fashioned, homely sentiment, the kind that people who see 
 the play will recall and chuckle over to-morrow and the next day. 
 
 Miss Lippmann has herself adapted her very successful book for 
 stage service, and in doing this has selected from her novel the most 
 telling incidents, infectious comedy and homely sent'ment for the 
 play, and the result is thoroughly delightful. Price, 60 Cents. 
 
 (The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) 
 SAMUEL FRENCH, 28-30 Wei t 3Sth Street. New York City 
 
 NfV Md ExplSctt Bsscriptive Catilogiif MatM fm w Kt^mi 
 
rHE REJUVENATION OF AUNT MARY. 
 
 The famous comedy in three acts, by Anne Warner. 7 males, 6 
 females. Three interior scenes. Costumes modern. Plays 2% hours. 
 
 This is a genuinely funny comedy with splendid parts for "Aunt 
 Mary," "Jack,'* her lively nephew; "Lucinda," a New England an- 
 cient maid of all work; "Jack's** three chums; th© Girl "Jack" love»; 
 "Joshua," Aunt Mary's hired man, etc. 
 
 "Aunt Mary" was played by May Robson in New York and on tour 
 for over two years, and it is sure to be a big success wherever pro- 
 duced* We Strongly recommend it Pri<5c, 60 Cents. 
 
 MRS. BUMSTEAD-LEIGH. 
 
 A pleasing" comedy, in three acts, by Harry James Smith, author of 
 **The Tailor-Made Man." 6 males, 6 females. One interior so<MM. 
 Costumes modern. Plays 2% hours. 
 
 Mr. Smith .chose for his initial comedy the complications arising 
 from the endeavors of a social climber to land herself in the altitude 
 .peopled by hyphenated names — a theme permitting innumerable com- 
 1 plications, according to the spirit of the writer. 
 
 This most successful comedy was toured for several seasons by Mrs. 
 Fiske with enormous success. Price, 60 Cefttt. 
 
 MRS. TEMPLE'S TELEGRAM. 
 
 A most successful farce in three acts, by Frank Wyatt and WM* 
 Ham Morris. 5 males, 4 females. One interior scene stands throu^- 
 ©Ut the three acts. Costumes modem. Plays 2J^ hours. 
 
 "Mrs. Temple's Telegram" is a sprightly farce in which there is 
 an abundance of fun without any taint of impropriety or any ele- 
 ment of offence. As noticed by Sir Walter Scott, "Oh, what a 
 tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive," 
 
 There is not a dull moment in the entire farce, and from the time 
 the curtain rises until it makes the final drop the fun is fast and 
 furious. A very exceptional farce. I!rice, 60 Cents. 
 
 THE NEW CO-ED. 
 
 A comedy in four acts, by Marie Doran, author of "Tempest and 
 Sunshine," etc. Characters, 4 males, 7 females, though any number 
 ci boys and girls can be introduced in the action of the play. One 
 interior and one exterior scene, but can be easily played in one inte- 
 rior scene. Costumes modern. Time, about 2 hours. 
 
 The theme of this play is the coming of a new student to the col- 
 lege, her reception by the scholars, her trials and final triumph. 
 
 There are three especially good girls* parts, Letty, Madge and 
 Estelle, but the others have plenty to do. "Punch" Doolittle and 
 George Washington Watts, a gentleman of color, are two particularly 
 
 Eood comedy characters. We can strongly recommend "The New 
 !o-Ed" to hiz}* schools and amateurs. R^ce, 30 Cefitfl. 
 
 (The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Producedl 
 SAMUEL FRENCH, 28-30 West 38th Street, New York City 
 
 nm and Explicit Otioriiirjvi Catai«|iii MUM fm M fiMnH 
 
The Gharm School 
 
 A fascinating comedy in three acts by Alice Duer ivfill- 
 ^.r and Robert Milton. 6 males, 10 females, (May be 
 played by 5 males aAid 8 females). Any number of school 
 g^lrls may be used in the ensembles. Scenes, two inter- 
 iors. Costumes, modern. Plays 2h^ hours. 
 
 The story of "The Charm School" is familiar to Mrs. 
 Miller's readers. It relates the adventures of a hand- 
 some young automobile salesman scarcely out of his 
 'teens who, upon inheriting- a girl's boarding school from 
 a maiden aunt, insists on running it himself, according to 
 his own ideas, chief of which is, by the way, that the 
 dominant feature in the education of the young girl of 
 today should be CHARM. 
 
 The situations that arise are teeming with humor — 
 clean, wholesome humor. In the end the young man 
 gives up the school and promises to wait until the most 
 precocious of his pupils reaches a marriageable age. 
 
 "The Charm School" has the freshness of youth, the 
 inspiration of an extravagant but novel idea, the charm 
 of originality, and the promise of wholesome, sanely 
 amusing, pleasant entertainment. We strongly recom- 
 mend It for high school production. 
 
 "The Charm School" was first produced at the Bijou 
 Theatre, New York, and then toured the country. Two 
 companies are now playing it in England. Price, 75 cents. 
 
 Daddy Long-Legs 
 
 A charming comedy in four acts, by Jean Webster. 
 The full cast calls for 6 males, 7 females and 6 orphans, 
 but the play, by the easy doubling of some of the char- 
 acters may be played by 4 males, 4 females and three 
 orphans. The orphans appear only in tire first act and 
 may be played by small girls of any age. Four easy 
 interior scenes. Costumes modern. Plays 2*^ hours. 
 
 The New York Times reviewer, on the morning fol- 
 lowing the Broadway produetion, wrote the following 
 comment: 
 
 "If you will take your pencil and write down, oob be- 
 low the other, the words delightful, charming, swe^t, 
 beautiful and entertaining, and then draw a line and 
 add them up, the answer will be *Daddy Long-Legs/ 
 To that result you might even add brilliant, pathetic 
 and humorous, but the answer even then would be just 
 what It was before — the play which Miss Jean Webster 
 has ma6i6 from her book, 'Daddy L^ong-Liegs,* and which 
 was presented at the Gaiety last night. To attempt to 
 describe the simplicity and beauty of 'Daddy Long-Liegs* 
 would be like attempting to describe the first breath of 
 Spring after an exceedingly tiresome and hard Winter." 
 
 "Daddy Ltong-Legs*' enjoyed a two-years' run in New 
 York and was then toured for ov^r three years, and is 
 now published in play form for the first time. 
 
 Price, 75 cents. 
 
 (The AboT«! Are Subjeet to Royalty When Produced) 
 
 «AJMPirEIi FREIN^CH. 28-30 West 38th Street, IVew York CItjr 
 ]VeT?r nnd Bxplfcit Desorlptlve Cataloccue Mailed /^, 
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 Sir Arthur Conan Doyle 
 
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 R. C. Carton 
 
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 Sir Arthur W. Pinero 
 
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 Robert Hou&um 
 Charles Kenyon 
 C. M. S. McLdian 
 
 W. W. Jacobs 
 
 Madeleine Lucette Ryley 
 
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