I I UC-NRLF B 3 3M5 im OME OUT OF HE KITCHEN THOMAS MUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th St, New York MRS. PARTRIDGE PRESENTS Comedy la 8 acta. By Mary Kennedy and Buth HaW" thorne. 6 males, 6 females. Modern eostumee. 2 inteyior& Plays SH hours. * The Gharacters, scenes and situation* ara thoroughly iip-to* ififtte in this altogethor delightful Ameriean comedy. The heroine is a woman of tremendous energy, who manages a business — as ahe manages everything — with great success, and at home prd- aides over the destinies of a growing son and daughter. Her struggle to give the children the opportunities she herself had liiissed, and the children's ultimate revolt against her well-meant raanagement — that is the basis of the plot. ' The son v.h© is east for the part of artist and the daughter who is to go on the st^ga offer numerous opportunities for the development of the comic possibilities in the theme. The play is one of the most delightful, yet thought-provokii American comedies oi recent years,, and is warmly reeommendc to all amateur groups. (Royalty on application.) Price, 75 Cent IN THE NEXT ROOIVI Melodrama in 3 acts. By Eleanor Robson and Hariie*; Ford. 8 nialea, 3 females. 2 interiors. Modern costumes- Plays 234 hours. "Philip Vantine has bought a rare eopy of an original Boy cabinet and ordered it shipped to his New York home from Paris When it arrives it is found to be the original itself, the po»=> session of which is desired by many strange people. Before the mystery concerned with the cabinet's shipment can be cleared tip, two persons meet mysterix)us> death fooling with it and th© happiness of many otherwise happy actors is threatened" (Burns Mantle). A first-rate mystery play, comprising all the elements of suspense, euriosity, comedy and drama. "In the Next Room" 18 quite easy to stage. It can be unreservedly recommended tt Ugh schools and colleges. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Oentt 8AMUSI. FBiStrCH, 2S West 45th Btreek, Vvw York Hm^ Vew and BzpUcit Descriptive Oatalog«» MalleA Tree on %«qiie«? Come Out of the Kitchen A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS By A. E. THOMAS Based on the Story of the Same Name by Alice Duer Miller All rights reserved CAUTION — Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that "COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN," ■being fully protected under copyright laws of the United States, Great Britain and Canada, is subject to a royalty, and anyone presenting the play without the consent of the owners or their authorized agents will be liable to the penalties by law provided. Appli- cations for amateur acting rights must be made to ■Samuei. French, 25 West 45th Streel;, New York. Applications for professional acting rights must be made to Henry Miller, Henry Miller's Theatre, 125 West 43rd Street, New^ York. New York SAMUEL FRENCH Publisher 5 West 45th Street London SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 26 Southampton Street STRAND *'Come Out of the Kitchen*' All rights reserved Copyright, 1913, by the International Magazm^e Com- pany (Harper's Bazar) Copyright, 1916, (in Novel Form), by the Century Company Copyright, 1921, by A. E. Thomas 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, representa- tion, production, recitation, or public reading, or radio broadcasting may be given except by special arrange- ment with Samuel French, 25 West 45th Street, New York. This play may be presented by amateurs upon pay- ment of a royalty of Twenty-five Dollars for each per- formance, payable to Samuel French, 25 West 45th 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 fol- lows: "Section 4966: — Any person publicly performing or representing any dramatic or musical composition for which copyright has been obtained, without the consent of the proprietor of said dramatic or musical composition, 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 dollars for every sub- sequent performance, as to the court shall appear to be just. If the unlawful performance and representation be wilful and for profit, such person or persons sha'] be guilty of a misdemeanor, and upon conviction shall be imprisoned for a period not exceeding one year."— < U. S. Revised Statutes: Title 60, Chap. 3. Printed in tht United StAtet of America by Tn mxsMMOKti Hikb IUOOK0I RjeMMONO Htkk, H* f. The following is a copy of the play-bill of the first performance of "COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN." at the George M. Cohan Theatre, New York, October 23, 1916. GEORGE M. COHAN THEATRE HENRY MILLER PRESENTS RUTH CHATTERTON With Bruce McRae and a Strong Cast IN COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS BY A. E. THOMAS (Based on the story of the same name by Alice Ducr Miller.) CAST OF CHARACTERS Olivia Dangerfield, Alias Jane Ellen . .Rvtji Chatterton Elizabeth Dangerfield, Alias Araminta. .Barbara Milton Mrs. Falkener, Tucker's Sister Marguerite St. John Cora Falkener, Her Daughter Alice Lindahl Amanda, Olivia's Black Mowwty..MRS. Charles G. Craig Burton Crane, From the North Bruce McRae Thomas Lefferts, Statistical poet Harry Mestayer Solon Tucker, Crane's Attorney and Guest — William H. Sams Paul Dangerfield, ^/faj Smith field . .Cuarles Trowbridge Charles Dangerfield, Alias Brindlebury Robert Ames Randolph Weeks, Agent of the Dangerfields — Walter Connolly Time. — The Present. Place. — The Dangerfield mansion in Virginia. T4^3 f: 403 SYNOPSIS OF SCENES ACT I. Drawing-room of the Dangerfield man- sion. NOTE: During this act the curtain will be lowered for ten sec- onds to indicate the passing of four hours' time. ACT IT. The kitchen — afternoon — two days later- ACT III. The dining-room- — just before dinner on the same day. k Come Out of the Kitchen ACT I Scene: See photograph. Drawing-room of the Daingerfield mansion — a rather stately, big, old family homestead of the typical Virginia coun- try sort. There's a fireplace at R., two windows at L. The entrance, l.c, is from the hall at rear. When the door is opened the foot of the staircase is seen. All the furniture and appoint- ments, while originally high-class and still beautiful in their simple colonial way, show signs of long use. Over the fireplace hangs, on R. wall, a portrait of Grandfather Daingerfield in a Lieutenanfs uniform of the Confederate States of America. On the mantel is a clock set and a little miniature of a young girl in the dress of 1840. It is beautifully set in gold frame. At Rise: Elizabeth, Charles and Paul Dain- gerfield are discovered. Charlie is at r.c. Elizabeth is zvearing her hat (seated l.c.) and a walking-suit. Paul is standing c. In short, the family is evidently ready for departure. Paul is the oldest of all the Daingerfield chil- dren, being about twenty-four. He is a tall, 7 s coMe out of the KrrCHEN slim, grave young man, thoughtful but with little initiative,. Elizabeth is a year or so younger, inclined to plumpness — not a bad sort, but a little sulky by nature. Charlie is the youngest of the group, being a lad of scarcely seventeen, quick-moving, spirited and rather merry. After the curtain rises, the three are silent a moment. Presently Paul looks at his watch, evidently expecting someone. Charles seated chair r. c. Paul. (Before speaking, moves up stage, then down ngain c.) Reckon the old place is going to miss us? (A pause.) Been a long time since there weren't any Dangerfields at all under this roof. (A pause.) Grandfather Daingerfield looks a little re- proachful, doesn't he? Never mird, never mind, old boy. Of course, it's pretty hard being left alone in the old house with a confounded Yankee millionaire, but after all, it's only for six weeks. So for Heaven's sake, cheer up. Charley. That's the idea, Grand-dad. That's the idea, but (Looks at painting over fireplace.) Well, anyhow, dear Grandma don't look so grumpy. We're not leaving you for long, and we don't like it any better than you do — but we need the money. Paul. Need the money ! I should say we do. Elizabeth. (Breaking her rather sullen silence for the first time) I don't like it. I don't like it at all. I've said so from the beginning. Paul. Heaven knows you have, Bess. You've said it and said it and said it until I'm beginning to get sick of the sound of your voice. Elizabeth. I don't believe father and mother would approve of it for a moment. Paul. (Seated armchair r. of table R.J Well, COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN c, weVe got to do the best we can. If poor old dad had his health it would be different. Do you real- ize he and mother have been abroad almost a year ? Charles. (Coming to back of chair c.) Year next week. Paul. Traveling around from Wiesbaden to Marienbad and from Marienbad to Carlsbad — and poor dad getting worse all the time. Charles. Going from bad to worse, so to speak. Elizabeth. (Rises, moves up c.) Charlie, how can you joke about such a thing? Charles. (Turns up c, stopping her) Sorry — I didn't mean it. Td give my right arm for dad if it would help him, and you know it. Elizabeth. (Crosses to l. side of Paul sud- denly, as if struck by a brilliant idea.) Paul, why can't we mortgage the place? (Crosses to back of table R.) Charles. Oh, (Laughs.) Paul. (Laughs) You know perfectly well there's a mortgage on this house that weighs a ton. Charles. That's why it leaks so when it rains. (Comes down and sits R. of table l.) Paul. When this house was built they put a mortgage on it before they put the roof on. And that mortgage got married and raised a big family and they're all alive still. Randy Weeks told me you couldn't raise another cent on this place to save your life. Elizabeth. If only dad hadn't quarrelled with Uncle Jefferson ! Paul. Yes, I know, it's bad luck that dad should have fallen out with the only Daingerfield that has a cent, but he did and now Aunt Josephine's got to take us in out of the wet for the next six weeks, and the poor old dear can't afford it, either. Elizabeth. Well, — I don't like it. (Stamps foot, 10 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN moves to back of chair l. of table to CharlieJ I don't like it. I say it again, what will people say? Paul. What'll they say if we don't pay our bills? Charles. Ah, now, Bess, what's the use of kick- ing? It's too late now, anyhow, and think of the $5,000. Elizabeth. $5,000 for six weeks! Why, Paul, the man must be crazy ! It's bad enough to rent the place to a Northerner — but this man's evidently a lunatic as well. Paul. Not at all. He's just a rich man who doesn't care what it costs him so long as he gets what he wants. And just now he wants to live in an old-fashioned Southern country house for the next six weeks in the height of the hunting season. Elizabeth. (Moves to chair L. of table R.c.j Well, I don't like it. Charles. (Rises. Exasperated. Goes up c.) Go on and hate it, then. Have a good hate, only for heaven's sake, dry up. Elizabeth. You know perfectly well you don't like it yourself. (Sits chair l. of table.) Paul. Of course we don't — we only (Rises and goes to mantle.) Elizabeth, (c.) You wouldn't have consented to it at all if Olivia hadn't talked you into it. It's all her doing. Charles. Well, is it her fault if Livy's got more sense than all of us put together? Here's father and mother abroad fighting for father's life and here we are at home dead broke and not one of us got the gumption to raise a dollar till Livy up and shows us the way, and just because you don't think it's dignified — (Goes back of Elizabeth, digging her in shoulder. Elizabeth exclaims.) — to rent the old place, you sit around and sob. Dignified! Paul. (Goes to Charlie and taps him on fi. COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN n shoulder.) Hush! Charlie! Hush! That's enough. (Turns up above table r.c. j Charles. (Not heeding him, moves back to mantel) Of course it ain't dignified, neither is starving. Elizabeth. Oh, I reckon we shouldn't starve. Charles. We'd starve, or beg, or sponge. Which would you rather do? Elizabeth. Well, I tell you, I don't think Charles. (Throwing up his hands) Oh, Bess, for the sake of heaven — please! (Elizabeth rises as Olivia enters.) (Enter Olivia at rear. This is the third Dainger- field in point of age, being a year or two older than Charlie. She is of medium height, very slender and graceful, with blue-grey eyes, light hrozvn hair and mobile features. She is clearly the beauty of the family — arch, dainty, piquant, a bit of a flirt, humorous, quick, impulsive, in short a distracting young person. She, like the others, is dressed for going away and is just finishing putting on her gloves.) Charles, (Up R.c.j Hello, Livy. Thank the Lord, you've come! Olivia, (c.) What's the matter? Charles. Sit on Bess, for heaven's sake; no- body else can do it. (Moves to golf clubs.) Olivia. What is it, Bess? (Comes to front of table L.c.j Elizabeth. I was only saying what I've said a dozen times before: I don't like turning the old place over to a strange Yankee, and I don't think father and mother would approve, either. Olivia. (Crossing to Bess.j No, dear, I reckon they wouldn't. I reckon they don't approve of T2 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN earthquakes. Are you all ready? (Goes to L.c. to back of table L.cJ Paul. Just waiting for Jack Curley to turn up with his wagon-load of servants. (Goes up R.J I thought he could take us back to town on his re turn trip. We'd only have an hour to wait for the up train and will get to Aunt Josephine's for din- ner. (Closes door, then down c. over to R. of Olivia.J Elizabeth. That's another thing. I wouldn't mind leaving the place so much if we were going to leave it in the care — (Meeting Olivia, who comes to her, L.C.J — of our blessed old darkies, but this turning it over to four white servants from Wash- ington — persons we've never seen in all our lives — well ! Paul. (Crosses to mantle) Oh, they're all right. They've the best of recommendations. Elizabeth. Well, all I've got to say is that any Yankee who doesn't know that Virginia negroes are the best servants in the world has a lot to learn. Olivia. Yes, dear. (Then she adds, obviously to create a diversion) I don't think your hat is quite straight. Elizabeth. Humph! (However, she goes promptly to the nearest mirror, l. between zvindows,) Charles. (Coming to back of chair) Bess makes me sick. You'd think to hear her talk that the rest of us had been sitting up nights trying to find some way to drag the family honor in the dust, and Olivia. (Seising his hand and inspecting the fingers closely) What's this? Charles. What? Olivia. Cigaretes again ! Charles. (Chagrined) Well, I can't help it. (Goes up R.c. Olivia follows up a bit.) COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 13 (Enter Amanda at rear. This is a short, fat, typi- cal old negro mammy, formerly Olivia's nurse and absolutely devoted to her. She carries a small bag that bears Olivia's initials. She is evidently much depressed.) Amanda. Honey child Olivia. Well, Mandy! Amanda. Here's youah little grip sack, Miss Livy. Olivia. Set it down by the door, please. Amanda. Ya'as, Miss Livy. (Puts bag on chair L. of c. door and drops apron and duster.) Olivia. Have all the others gone? Amanda. (Turning c.) Ya'as, Miss Livvy. Dey all done gone. Olivia. Sam and Wash and Jeff and Liza? Amanda. (A step c. to Oliviaj Ya'as, Miss Livy, all of 'em. Olivia. You understand, now, you're all to stay at the cabins until you're sent for. Amanda. Ya'as 'm. Olivia. You're not to come within half a mile, of the house — not one of you — ^you understand? Amanda. Miss Livy, honey child, how — ^how- long dish yer banishin' gwine foh to las'? Olivia. About six weeks. Amanda. Ain' I done gwine foh to see you-all foh six weeks ? Paul. (Crosses down r., leans on mantel) No, Mandy, we're all going to stay with Aunt Josephine. Amanda. Mighty funny, Ah calls it — mighty — Olivia. (Reproving her) Mandy! Amanda. Ya'as 'm. (A pause.) Olivia. (Going ta her) You mustn't worry, Mandy, we'll all be back soon. ^ 14 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN Amanda. (Drawing Olivia's head down to her capacious bosom) Oh, Honey! My li'l lady baby. Olivia. There, there, you old dear, it's all right — it's all right. There, now — there — you just run along — and don't forget to feed my doves. Amanda. No'm, Ah ain* gwine fergit nothin'. (Going.) Olivia. Good-bye, Mandy, good-bye. Don't you worry, now. Amanda, (c.) No, Miss Livy, I ain't goin' worry needer — but all I got to say is — dish yer Yankee man he mus' be funny Yankee man — don't want niggahs round w'en his folks all done come down here fob to sot us free. An' oh, Miss Livy, I ain' gwine let you go widout me. I jus' cain't do it ! Paul. (Sternly, at l. corner of fireplace) Mandy ! Amanda, (c. Turns to OliviaJ Yes, sir. Ah ain' nevah been 'way fum yer befoh, not since you was a li'l baby what I could lif wid one finger. W'en you-all went to New Yawk wid yoh paw an' maw, didn' I go' long too? W'en you-all was in Washin'ton w'en yoh was makin' all dem big laws, in the White House, didn' I go' long too ? Wha' fob cain't I go wid you dis time, too? Olivia, (r. of AmandaJ I've told you, Mandy. Aunt Josephine's hardly got room in her little hovel for us. There wouldn't be any place for you. (Goes to L. of chair, sitting on arm.) Amanda. Listen, honey, listen. Ah doan tak' up much room. (All laugh.) Ah'd jes' as soon sleep on de flo'. Olivia. (Kindly but firmly) Mandy, that's enough. It's all settled. (Goes to Mandy.) Amanda. Oh, Ah doan' want to leave you, Miss Livy. I doan' want to leave mah li'l lady baby. Olivia. Now, don't be silly, Mandy. (Taking COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 15 her hands.) It*s all right. I'll soon be back. Now, honey, you run along. (Pushes Amanda and moves L. to above chair r. of table l.c. Looks at minia- tures, then sits chair l.c. J Amanda. Tm gwine. Oh, Miss Livy. (Goes a few steps. All turn.) Ah done hab a terrible bad dream las' night — ah Olivia. Ha! Ha! Ha! Get along with you. You're always having bad dreams. Run now, — I mean it I Amanda. (Going) Yas, Miss Livy. But dish yer dream Ah done hab las' night (Coming down.) Olivia. Run now, I mean it. Don't you forget a thing I've told you. Amanda. I cain't forget nuthin'. I never forget nuthin'. (Takes letter from skirt pocket. Laughs.) Oh, I clean forgot dis here letter what Sam got over at de post-office dis morning. But I never forgits nuthin', honey . . . never. (Amanda laughs and exits. Charlie closes door after Amanda' j* exit.) Elizabeth. What's your letter? Olivia. (At chair l.c. Looking at it for the first time.) Why, it's from mother. (Crosses to armdtai*' R.c. and sits. The others crowd eagerly abouf her.) Charles. Where's it from? (Coming down to Olivia's l. shoulder.) Olivia, (Who has torn it open) Vienna. Paul. What's she say? (Sitting on back of fable, leaning over Olivia. J Elizabeth. How's father? (Brings chair from L. and sits on the left side of Olivia.J Olivia. (Beginning to read) Vienna, Oct. 23d. My Darlings : You will doubtless be anxious to hear how your 10 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN father and I are faring^ in this strange land. You must have already received my last letter written on the day of our arrival. Well, since then, your father has been examined by the specialists at the hospital. I ought not to conceal from you that they think his condition very serious. In short, they think an operation is the only chance. But it will not be for a fortnight yet, as they want to build up his strength. And now some business. (Olivia pauses in the reading and gulps down a lump in her throat. The others also show their grief. Presently she goes on.) Paul. Business ? Olivia. — some business. Enclosed is your father's check for $2,895. Ask Paul to send it at once (that's underlined), at once to John R. Charles, Washington agent of the New York Life Ins. Com- pany. Your father hasn't the address, but you will find it in the top drawer of his desk in the library. Don't fail in this — because if things should — ^because if things should — if things should go wrong, — the in- surance money would at least keep us all together for a little time to come. And now, my dears, don't worry too much. We are all in God's hands. Your father suffers little pain. He sends his love to all of you — and so do I. I will send you a cable when the time comes. God bless and keep you all, my dears. Mother. (A pause follows the reading of the letter, while the little group struggle dumbly with their sorrow. At length Olivia rises, moves to window L.j Paul. Let me see it. COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 17 (Olivia gives him the letter and the check and goes to the window and looks out. There is a glimpse of a little pocket handkerchief as she dabs her eyes. Elizabeth sits in chair r.c. Paul goes c, looking at the check.) Paul. Two thousand eight hundred and ninety- five dollars. Whew! Olivia. (Near window l.) How much will that leave in the bank? Paul, (c.) About two hundred and fifteen. Charles. When's the interest on the mortgage due? Paul. Next month. Charles. The Yank pays his rent in advance, doesn't he? Paul. Yes, thank God. Charles. That'll make $5,215, thanks to Livy. Some difference, eh? Olivia. (At window l. j Isn't it time Jack Cur- ley was getting here? Paul. (Crosses to l.c. Looking at his watch) More than time. Can't see what's keeping him. Olivia. (Turning back to the zvindow) Here's somebody in a Ford. (Paul crosses to window.) Oh, it's Randy Weeks. Let him in, Charlie. (Crosses c.) No servants left, you know. (Olivia crosses to Bess. Charles goes out, leaving door open.) Wonder what Randy wants. Elizabeth. (c. Significantly, looking at Olivia, putting her chair back l.c. j Reckon I could guess without trying more than once. Olivia. (Smiling) Oh, you, hush now ! Elizabeth. (Teasing) Going to take him, Livy ? Olivia. Nonsense 1 Elizabeth. Why don't you take him or leave him? iB COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN Paul. (Comes behind table, between them and stands l.c.) Don't ask silly questions, Bess. Why does a fisherman use a rod and reel and an almost invisible line when he could yank *em out with a net ? Because it's more fun. Elizabeth. Humph! Not for the fish. (Crosses in front of tahl^ R.c.J Olivia. Oh, yes, but that's what he gets for being- a fish! (Crosses to l. Paul goes up stage a little,) (Enter Randolph Weeks and Charlie. Weeks is a nice but commonplace young Virginian of thirty years or thereabouts. Paul goes up and greets Weeks, then comes l. Charles goes r. of Weeks at c.) Elizabeth. Hello, Randy. Weeks. Hello, Bess. Olivia. The birds are just flitting, you see. Weeks, (c.) Yes, I'm glad I caught you in time. You see, I'm afraid I've bad news for you. I was down at the station and only two people got off the Washington train — a Baltimore drummer and a dar- key with one leg. All. Well, what on earth, etc. (Ad lib. Eliza- beth sits L. of table, Charlie a step forward.) Weeks. And now I just got a telegram — (Pro- duces telegram) — from that Washington intelligence office. (Elizabeth pushes Charles and takes his place.) Olivia. Those servants not coming? (Stands l. of L. table.) Weeks. No — seems they changed their minds at the last moment. Paul. (Coming down by Weeks — Charles goes R. to mantel.) But why? Why? 1 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 19 Weeks. Didn't say. Too far from the city, per- haps. Paul. But this is terrible — leaving u« all in the lurch at the last minute. Weeks. Yes — I know it is. Olivia. Look here, Randy. This is a mighty serious thing for us. Mr. Crane — or whatever his name is — is arriving almost any moment, isn't he? Weeks. Yes — he's coming in his motor. Charles. (At mantel r.) And not a servant in the house. Elizabeth. Good thing, too. Only one thing to do. Get our blessed old darkies back. Olivia. Bess, you know that's no good (Sits chair l. of table l.c.J Weeks. Livy's right, Mr. Crane was very par- ticular about that. A full staff of white servants and no darkeys around the place — that's what he said. It's in the lease, too. Paul. (Comes to Weeks j But it's not our fault. Don't you think that, under the circum- stances, he Weeks. No, old boy, I don't. The matter of the servants was the only thing he was particular about, but he made it quite clear that if his wishes in that line were not respected he would not spend a night in the place. Of course, I dare say that within a few days we could round up another bunch. Mean- time Elizabeth. Couldn't you telegraph him not to come for a week ? Weeks. I reckon not. He's on his way here now — and he's asked two or three guests. (Moves to back of table r.) Paul. Well, I reckon it's all off, then. (Crosses and puts l. arm around Olivia. J We've done our best, (Goes to window.) '20 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN Charles. (Crosses to fireplace. Elizabeth joins him at mantel) $5,000 gone up the flue. Phew! Weeks. (Back of table rJ I'm mighty sorry. It's a dirty trick and so I telegraphed 'em. Charles. Much good that does. We're $5,000 out and all we get is the privilege of sassing 'em. And we can't say what we think over the wire, any- how. Olivia. (Rises, crosses to l. of Weeks c. Very soberly) Look here, Randy, you know what a facer this is. You don't suppose we'd have consented to rent the old place if we hadn't been pretty near rock bottom, do you ? Weeks. You don't have to tell me. I reckon I know. Olivia. It's — it's kind of hard to talk about. Poor old dad's over there fighting for his life, that's all he can do — and the rest of us are pretty close to the wall. This $5,000 would have kept us going quite a while. (Olivia goes up c, sees Amanda's apron, picks it up and looks at it. Also picks up duster. Bess sits R.c.j Weeks, ("r.c.j Don't I know it? That's why I boosted the price up on him till I felt like a highway robber. Oh ! I know a real estate agent is supposed to have a hide like a hippopotamus ; but $5,000 for six weeks (Gives low whistle.) I could be arrested for that! (Comes in front of fable L.) Paul. (At l., gloomily) Well, you needn't worry. You're safe now. Weeks. (Approaching Paul and taking his hand) I'm horribly sorry, old boy — really I am. Paul. Thanks, Randy, thanks — ^you did your best for us. (Crosses to chair l. between windows L. Pause.) Olivia. (Puts on apron, curtseying) Well, what you-all wants for dinner? COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 21 Paul. Now, Livy, is this a time for your non- sense ? Olivia. Does I look like the cook or doesn't I? Elizabeth. Livy, for goodness' sake Charles. But surely, Livy, you're not thinking of Weeks. Hold your horses. Livy's not joking. She's got hold of something. Olivia. Randy, there were four of those serv- ants, weren't there? Weeks. Yes, four. (Charles comes down r. Elizabeth comes front of table r. j Olivia. What were they? Weeks. (Front of table l.J Why, a butler, an upstairs girl, and a sort of all-around boy for the boots and errands and so on — and a cook. Olivia. What you-all wants for dinner? Paul. Olivia, is this a time for your nonsense ? Olivia. Does I look like the cook or doesn't I? Charlie's the usual boy. Charles. I'm the what ? Olivia. (To Elizabeth J You're the upstairs girl. Elizabeth. Me ! Olivia. Paul's the butler! Paul. I'm the butler! Olivia. And I'm the cook. (Weeks has not moved since speaking. He now moves up l. and across back to mantelpiece.) Paul. Nonsense! (Crosses to Olivia c.) Elizabeth. (Collapsing on chair r.) Well, did anybody ever hear Paul. (Comes down R. of table l.c.J Livy, you don't mean it. Charles. (Crosses in front of table to Olivia^ Olive ! Olivia. Now don't call me Olive, That's not my 23 COkE OUT OF THE KITCHEN name and I don't like it. An olive is nothing but an Italian prune. Charlie. But, Livy (Sits l. of table rJ Weeks. Look here, Livy, you don't mean it? You're not really serious? All. See here, Livy, what in the name of — etc., etc. (^Olivia comes down. Paul comes to her be- low table.) Olivia, (c. Quieting them) Hsh! Hsh! Please! Now, look here. (Weeks gets around back to mantel R.J When mother and dad went abroad they took $6,000 with them. Most of that's gone. They left $5,000 in the bank for us. When the life insurance policy is paid there'll be $215 of that left, and the unpaid bills are a foot high. Every stick and stone and living creature is mortgaged to the last cent. Horses, hunters, cattle, sheep, every- thing but the dog, and we'd have mortgaged him if he hadn't had the mange. There's not a soul that we can turn to — not a soul — ^there's only ourselves, and what can we do ? Nothing — not a thing ! Paul. But Livy ! (Advancing to her) See here, there must be some other way. Olivia. Oh, Paul ! I'm not complaining, but you see, we've never learnt how to do anything. Bess and I particularly — just entertained girls, and Charlie hardly out of school. (Exclamations from Charlie, Elizabeth rises and goes up to Weeks by mantel.) And you, Paul, are going to do wonr derful things, I know, when you've finished your law course ; but — meantime here's a chance to make good. Charles. Make good? (Moves r. and stands below table.) Elizabeth. Make what? (Com^s below table COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 23 Paul. That's all very well, Livy, but I don't exactly picture myself as a domestic. Olivia. Why not? You'd look a dream — (All laugh. She slips duster through his arm. Eliza- beth joins Charles front of table.) Bess, Charlie ! Oh, Paul ! — can't you see, whether we like it or not, it solves our problem, it solves father's problem — it'll be for dad. Can't you understand ? — sick among strangers, and you hesitate. (Weeps.) Weeks. (At mantel. After a pause) Livy, you're wonderful, but I don't quite see how Paul. Same here. Sis. I don't see how we can do it. Olivia. Why not ? Elizabeth. We'd be sure to be found out. (Olivia comes down c.) Charles. Sure. Neighbors would come in — people we know Paul. They'd give us away. Elizabeth. And what would they think? ("Elizabeth and Charles close to table.) Weeks. Yes, Livy. It's a splendid idea, but I'm afraid it wouldn't work. Olivia. Why not ? (Crosses to Weeks r.^ None of us has ever seen Mr. — what's his namei Weeks. Crane — Burton Crane. Olivia. He wouldn't know us from Adam. Paul. But the others, our neighbors — ^people we've grown up with Olivia. Now wait, dear. This is Thursday, isn't it? Weeks. Yes. Olivia. Don't you think you could get a new lot of white servants here from Washington by Mon- day ? Weeks, Yes, it's just possible. 24 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN Olivia. Telegraph, telephone, go yourself, offer them double wages, anything to get them. Weeks. I might, yes, I think it could be done. Olivia. Then don't you see, we'd have only three days for our little masquerade. It would be quite safe. Mr. Yankee Man surely won't be giving a party for a day or two and the third day is a Sun- day. Weeks. And now I think of it, he said he was coming here for a rest. Olivia. (Coming up c. between Elizabeth and Paul.j There — don't you see, Paul. Charlie — Bess — just three days of it and it's all right. Elizabeth. I — I don't believe I could. (Sits front of table R.) Olivia. Bess — Boys — not for dad ? (They re- main silent for a moment, Olivia comes c. to r. of Paul.; Paul. So, I'm the butler. Olivia. Oh, Paul, you will ? You darling! (She gives him a kiss.) Paul. Now hold on, Sis, I haven't said yes. Olivia. Charlie ! Charlie. Oh, all right ... me for the boots — but how do you do it ? Olivia. But you will ! And me for the kitchen. And I can cook — thank Heaven ! It's the only thing I can do! (Pushing Weeks to c.) Randy, do go and look out of the window. (Weeks crosses to l. lower window. Olivia crosses to h.) Paul. Yes, but how does one buttle? Olivia. Oh, it's quite simple. You open the door, answer the bell, wait on the table and wear a dress suit in the day time, so they can tell you're not a gentleman. (Charles sitting all the time.) Elizabeth. (Sitting front of table r.) Yes, but I don't know how to be a maid. COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN ' 25 Olivia. All you have to do, child, is to set the rooms to rights, and make the beds. Elizabeth. Yes, but I never made a bed. Olivia. (Laughing) Oh, poor Mr. Yankee Man! Before weVe done with you we shall have avenged the South! (All laugh except BessJ (Horn heard off.) Elizabeth. I — I think it's awful ! Olivia. Quick! He's here! Quick! Upstairs, all of you. (They all rush for their different he- longings, Charlie up r. of door c. for golf sticks. Elizabeth crosses l. for hag, colliding with Paul as he is crossing for his hooks, and all making for door up c.) There's a lot of old things up in the garret, Paul — dress suit, you know. Charlie — apron, something of that sort. (They exit up staircase, exclaiming,) Charles. I know — just watch me! Elizabeth. I don't know where a thing is. (Horn heard off ad lih.) Weeks. Sh! — ^look out, Livy. Olivia. Is he here? Weeks. (Looking from window) Yes, just get- ting out of the motor. (Both move to window.) Sh! — look out, Livy. Olivia, (c. Peeping from the window) He doesn't look so poisonous — at a distance. Weeks. The other man's the chauffeur. Olivia. You'll have to let him in, Randy. (Opens door up c.) Tell him anything you like — keep him 26 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN busy a few minutes — I've got to go and make up the cook. (She starts to go.) Weeks. But I — I won't be mixed up in it. Olivia. But, Randy, dear, you are mixed up in it. (At door.) Weeks. I tell you, I won't have anything to do with it. Olivia. Don't be silly, Randy. You can't give us away and you know it. Weeks. What'll I say to him? Olivia. Tell him anything you like. Ha, ha, ha ! Poor Mr. Yankee Man! Well, anyhow, he will have good things to eat. (Olivia goes out r. When Olivia runs upstairs, knocker heard off R. Weeks zvalks down R. When Weeks is down r., knocker again. When Weeks up c. again, knocker again. Weeks exits c. to l. After a pause Weeks returns and with him Crane. The latter is tall, good-look- ing, dark, young man of 28 or 30. He wears a heavy motor coat and carries a motor cap in his hand.) Crane. (They enter c. from "l.) Awfully good of you, Mr. Weeks, to be here to welcome me in person. (Takes off the motor coat and drops it on the chair L. of c. door.) I suppose this is the draw- ing-room. (Looking about him.) Ah, yes, the usual family portrait, I see. (Weeks at door c. Crane picks up the miniature.) Oh, I say, this is delightful. Weeks. Yes, it's a sort of heirloom. (Closes door c. He crosses to chair l. of table l.c.^ Crane. (Looks about and crosses to chair l. of table R.C.J Rather nice furniture. COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN .27 Weeks. Yes, it's all very old. (Crosses to chair L of table L.cJ Crane. I believe you. Quite sure it's safe to sit on? Weeks. Oh, certainly. Crane. All right. Let's try it. (They both sit down.) I understood you to say the place has never been rented before. Weeks. Never, sir. Crane. (With a quizzical smile, looking about him) It seems quite likely. Weeks. (In his professional manner) I am sure the place will please you — it's delightful colonial flavor Crane. It's historic dilapidation- Weeks. Its boxwood garden — its splendid lawns — its stables, accommodati'^g twenty-five horses. Crane. (Smiling) Yes, I appreciate the place, all right, but I do not consider it in good repair. However, it's only for a short time. Oh, by the way, how about the servants? (Weeks rises.) Now that I think of it, I haven't seen any servants. (He looks at Weeks, who obviously balks at entering upon a career of mendacity.) Mr. Weeks, — (Rises.) — you haven't forgotten the stipulation of the lease regarding servants? Weeks. (Quickly) Oh, no, sir, no, no, indeed. Crane. Well, what about 'em — where are they? (Moves to c.) Weeks. (Making heavy weather of it) Why — ah — really, I — er — I don't exactly know — I Crane. Don't know? Weeks. That is — I mean to say — I reckon they must be upstairs. You see, they arrived only a few minutes before you came, and I — er — daresay they must be up in their rooms— er — sort of getting used to their new — ah — circumstances. 28 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN Crane. Oh, I see. YouVe sure they're all right? (Crosses r.) Weeks. Oh, yes, certainly. I've — ah — known them a long time. Crane. (At mantel, laughing) I see — ^personal friends of yours! Weeks. Well — ah — ^yes, in a way. Crane. No reason why not . . . my valet's one of my best friends — convalescing from influenza — so I couldn't bring him along. Poor devil — had a hell of a time, too. (Laughs and moves to c.) W^eeks. (Gets well to the l., his eye on the door. Moves up c.) Oh, yes, I understand. Now, Mr. Crane, I think I'll have to be running along. Crane. (Stopping him) Oh, don't go. Stay and share my first dinner here. Weeks. Really, I'm afraid I (Edging toward door.) Crane. Come, come, do, now, like a good fel- low. I'm expecting three guests — Mrs. Falkner and her daughter and Mr. Tucker, my attorney — but they may not get here till after dinner, and I'd hate to dine alone. Besides, you engaged the cook and if she turns out to be rotten, the least you can do is to share my sufferings. Come, now, — what do you say? Warn CURTAIN Weeks. Well, really, Mr. Crane, I — er (Enter at rear Olivia, now quite made up in her character of cook. Her object is to retrieve her handbag on chair l.c. without being seen.) Crane. Ah, you will, eh ? Weeks. Thank you, yes. Crane. Fine — then that's settled. And now (Turns and sees Olivia just as she has almost es- COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 29 caped with the hand-bag.) Hello (She stops.) Who's this ? (Up a little.) Who are you ? Olivia. (Turning and speaking with a marked brogue) Faith, I'm the cook. CRAKii. (Opening his eyes at her beauty) God bless my soul, are you, indeed ? Olivia. Yes, your honor. Crane. And what are you doing in here ? Olivia. Faith, then, I was just after comin* in to get me luggage. Crane. Luggage ? (Weeks waves to her that initials are showing. She turns bag. Crane watches business.) Olivia. I was afther leavin* it in here before your honor arrived. (She glances at the bag, sees the initials "O. D." are painfully suspicious, and in- stantly turns the bag so as to hide them.) Crane. Oh, I see. All right. Olivia. Thank yez, sor. (Going.) Crane. Oh, cook. (Obviously smitten and wish- ing to see more of her, moving up stage a little.) Are you a good cook? Olivia. (In doorway) Sure, and I never heard anyone complain about me cookin' yet. Crane. What are your specialties? Olivia. Me what, sor? (Pretending not to un- derstand.) Crane. Excuse me, I mean what do you do best? Olivia. Faith, then, 'tis all one to me, sor, so long as it's vittles. 'Tis meself can take the sole of your honor's shoe and turn it out so's it'll melt in your honor's mouth. Crane. (Laughing) Heavens I I hope you won't do anything like that. \ 30 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN Olivia. Sure, I didn't say I would, sor. I said I could. And full well it is Misther Weeks himself is afther knowin' I could, if 'tis the simple trut* he*d be speakin*. Crane. How about it, Mr. Weeks? Weeks. (Somezvhat sulkily) I — er — really — well — she — she can cook. Olivia. (Apparently nettled by this grudging testimonial) Ha! Cook, is it! Cook, indade! Sure I can cook. If anybody's after saying I can't cook — it's a liar I'd be calling- Crane. (Interrupting) Well, that's all, I think. Olivia. Thank you, sor. (Turning.) And is there any little thing- your honor'd be likin' for din- ner, this day? Crane. Why, yes, you might find a whiskbroom, stew it up so I'll think it is a terrapin a la Balti- more. Olivia. Faith, then, I c'u'd do that aisy if I had only the whiskbroom — but I'm that strange in the house yet I don't know where anything is. Thank you, thank you. (She makes a little curtsey and goes out.) Crane. Well, I'm darned ! Is that the cook ? Why, she's a Dresden China shepherdess. . . She's a figure off a Grecian urn. I say, Weeks, couldn't we dine in the kitchen? CURTAIN SCENE 11 (Curtain falls to indicate the passage of four hours. It rises again in half a minute,) (Chandelier lights, demi-tasse service for two per- sons and spirit lamp alight on table R.cJ (When the curtain rises, the time is after dinner. Mrs. Falkner and her daughter Cora are sit- ting, drinking their after-dinner coffee. They are both in evening gowns. Mrs. Falkner is a stout old warrior of fifty odd years with a narrow mind of her own and no objection to speaking it. Her daughter is a handsome girl of twenty-five or twenty-six, a big, strong, healthy creature of the Amasonic type, straight- forward and likeable and rather clever.) Mrs. Falkner. (Seated armchair r.c. as curtain rises. With demi-tasse cup in hand) Now, Cora, there*s sense in what I say. You can't deny it. Cora. (Seated r. of table h.c, reading "Vogue**) No, Mother, Fm not denying it. Mrs. Falkner. Burton Crane's a very fine fel- low, isn't he? Cora. Of course — of course. Mrs. Falkner. And if I do say it, you're a very pretty girl, aren't you ? 31 33 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN Cora. Well, really, Mother (Protesting.) Mr??. Falkner. Oh, piffle 1 Triple piffle ! Mod- est \'s all very well — but not when practiced to ex- cess ! Crane's a fine fellow. You're a fine girl. I see no obstacle whatever to your happiness. Do you? Cora. Hush, Mother, they'll hear you. (Glances apprehcfisively ot the door.) Mrs. Falkner. Nonsense! This isn't a New York flat. Besides, it's time. You're settled. I must say your marriage will be a great relief to me. Cora. Oh, Mother ! Mrs. Falkner. It was all well enough when you were a child, but the income your poor father left me was never sufficient for two grown women brought up to subsist exclusively ni">nn necessary luxuries and luxurious necessities. ' have a little talk with your ITncle Solon ab-ii -..v ! '■ ->(' our bank account. If you are the sensiM take you for, it will accelleratc your progress lo me altar. (Drinks coffee.) Cora. But, Mother, you speak as if all I had to do was to give Burton a chance to propose. He's had plenty of chances. Mrs. Falkner. A proposal is never a matter of chance. It's a matter of calculation. He needs more than a chance. He needs a push. Well, that ought to come easy now. Oh, don't look so shocked. He comes of a good stock. He's not difficult to look at — and if he is as rich as mud, why, three rousing cheers for that. So, co-operate, niv dear. co-operate, sympathetically Cora. (Sighs) Very well, Mother. (Rises, lays magasine on tn^^^'^ "'"'s in front of same,) Mrs. Falkn uspiciously) Cora Cora. Yes, .Mother? Mrs. Falkner. Come here, please. COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 33 Cora. Yes, Mother. (She does so. Crosses be- low table L.c. to c. and stands.) Mrs. Falkner. Don't tell me you are still al- lowing yourself to think of that — that person. Cora. What person. Mother? Mrs. Falkner. You know very well whom I mean. Tom Lefferts, of course. Cora. Why, Mother! Mrs. Falkner. Once and for all, I wont have it. The man's a trifler, and, what's worse, a pauper; you can't contradict me. Cora. No, Mother, I'm not contradicting you. (Turns and comes l. j Mrs. Falkner. Calls himself a poet! Cora. Oh, no. Mother, it's other people who call him that. Mrs. Falkner. Well, has he ever denied it? WTien an honest man's called a thief, he denies it, doesn't he? Cora. Must we go over all that again? (Front of table.) Mrs. Falkner. Not a dollar to his name ! How- ever, I merely wish to be understood once and for all that I won't have it. Cora. Very well. Mother. (At window.) Mrs. Falkner. Look here, Cora, it strikes me that you're suspiciously submissive all at once. You haven't been seeing that man ? Cora. Why, of course not. Mother, how can you? (Comes to back of table l., joining Weeks, who enters.) (Tucker and Weeks come in from the dining room. Weeks is dressed as we saw him before, the others are in evening dress. Tucker is a mid- dle-aged lawyer, cautious, crafty, and self-im- portantly dignified. They are both smoking.) k 34 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN Tucker. (Coming to l. of Mrs. Falkner^ My dear, do you mind if we finish our cigars in here? Mrs. Falkner. Of course not. To tell the truth, I'm dying for a cigarette myself. Crane. Of course, of course. (He gives her a cigarette, then offers case to Cora. J Cora? Cora. No, thanks. fR. of Weeks. J Mrs. Falkner. Oh, take one, Cora. Now-a- days, not smoking makes a woman look so conspicu- ous. (Tucker, hack of table R., holds spirit lamp while Mrs. Falkner lights cigarette. Tucker. (Stands r. of Mrs. Falkner after placing spirit lamp on tray.) What a fine old room this is! Mrs. Falkner. Oh, yes — it has its atmosphere. Cora. (Who has been wandering about, picks up the miniature) Oh, look, Mother 1 How lovely ! Look, Uncle Solon. (Crosses to Mrs. F. Shows it to her.) Mrs. Falkner. Ah, yes, to be sure. Tucker. All little frills. Weeks. (Down l.) It*s the grandmother of these people here. Cora. What delightful clothes ! Mrs. Falkner. Ah — ^yes — delightful. Glad we don't have to wear them. (Rises. Goes to R. and stands by mantel.) Though I did once — at a cos- tume ball. I looked a sight! (^Tucker crosses up R.) Weeks and Tucker. Oh, no, no (Cora takes the miniature back to its place on the little table. She sits in chair r. of table l.c. Enter Burton Crane, door c.) too <2 ee, Smithfield Smithfield. Yes, sir, I can't seem to break that boy of the habit of exag-geration. (Tucker glares at Smithfield and walks furiously up stage to R. of door c.) Crane. You'll dismiss the boy at once. (Smith- field protests.) See that he packs up and is ofiF the premises in an hour. And now I want to speak to the cook. (Goes up stage to dresser. He looks towards door leading to the ice-box L.3E.J Smithfield. Here, sir? Crane. Certainly. Smithfield. (Fllows up r.c. a little) Beg par- don, sir, but cook is lying down. Crane. (Having seen Jane through door) Eh, who did you say was lying? Smithfield. (Blandly) Cook, sir. Lying down to rest, sir. Crane. Ah, in the ice-box, I suppose. (Enter Jane-Ellen from L.3E. Goes to range and examines saucepans.) Smithfield. Beg pardon, sir. My mistake, sir. Crane. That will do, Smithfield. Smithfield. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. (He retires, hut is seen behind swinging doors R.3.E., lis- tening.) Tucker. (Comes down stage) Shall I stay and assist you, Burton? Crane. No, thanks, Tuck, please go. Tucker. Oh, very well, very well. (He starts to go.) Crane. (Sees a man's handkerchief in the chair L,c., looks at it. This your handkerchief, Tuck? i^. CO COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 67 Tucker. (Examines it and gives it back.) No, Burton, no, no — "R. W/' As you see, those are not my initials. (He goes out.) (Crane examines the initials, starts, controls him- self, glances at the cook and puts the hand- kerchief into pocket. He leans COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN Smith FIELD. (Cow4S on whistling and dancing j Beg pardon, sir. Crane. Smithfield, I have dismissed Araminta. Smithfield. Dismissed 1 Crane. (Amoving to top of table) For wearing one of Miss Falkner*s hats. She has it on now. Jane. (Coming to below table, l, of Araminta^ Oh, no, sir. I can explain that. The hat was given her by Mrs. Crossley-Billington, she thinking it a trifle too young for her, she being a lady now pos- sibly Mrs. Falkner's age, though hardly looking forty-five by candle-light, sir. Mrs. Falkner. Really! Jane. Faith, ma'am, if I may make so bould, 'twas the first night afther ye came here, an' Ara- minta'd been unpackin' ye, sure wasn't it in the same kitchen she was afther tellin' us Miss Falkner has a bonnet the dead spit Crane. (Trying to stop JaneJ Yes, yes — ^yes — yes. Now don't get excited. Jane. — av her own, and we was all advisin' her fer not to be a-wearin' her own till ye was off the place, so we was now. (She continues her explana- tion ad lib.) Smithfield. (Speaks on cue of which Jane continues) Just so, milady, exactly what I was go- ing to say. (At this point Cora enters c, goes to c.r. of Crane, wearing a hat which is tlie exact duplicate of Araminta's.J Cora, Burton, aren't you coming? (A step in- side door.) Crane. Mrs. Falkner, look! (Indicates the two hats. They all stare from Cora's hat to Aramin- ta's and back again.) COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 8i Jane, (u of AramintaJ Faith, I said it Tht dead spit I (Smithfield moves up stage.) Crane, Araminta, an apology seems to be due to you. I have great pleasure in offering it,^ though I must say if you had been a little more civil, the whole matter could have been cleared up at once. (Comes around r. of table.) Mrs. Falkner. I think it outrageous that a serv- ant should wear a hat which cost forty-five dollars ! (Down R.) Araminta. (Crosses to c, facing Mrs. Falkner. Breaking out) Indeed ! And now I'll tell you what / think is outrageous, and that is tliat women like you, calling themselves ladies, should be free to browbeat and insult servants as much as they please. ^CoRA a little down l.c.J Smithfield. Araminta, be quiet ! (Coming for- ward.) Araminta. No, I won*t! No one knows what I've put up with from that old harridan! Mrs. Falkner. (Gasping and moving forward) Burton! Stop her! Araminta. And now Fm going to say what I think. Crane, (^r. of table) No, you're not. We're all very sorry this has happened, but you really can't be allowed to talk like that. Smithfield, take her away. Pay her off and don't let us see her again. (Smithfield takes the protesting Araminta off R.3E.; Crane. (Advancing to Mrs. Falkner very apol- ogetically) Really, Mrs. Falkner, you can't think how sorry I am that Mrs. Falkner, (isi.c.) Yes, yes, no doubt — ^no doubt. Jane. Don't ye be aagry, ma'am. (Apparently 83 CQME OUT OF THE KITCHEN trying to mollify her.) Couldn't I be afther show- in' ye the ice box or somethin' ? Mrs. Falkner. The idea! Come, Cora, let us leave this place at once. (Majestically she turns to march off, and with the utmost dignity mistakes the door at r.2E. for the door at r.c. and so opens the closet door, discovering a white man and a colored woman. Mandy bounces out like a rubber ball, bumping into Mrs. Falkner. Mrs. Falkner, with a shriek, backs out into the kitchen, going down R.J Crane. What's this? What's this? Jane. God bless us and save us! (Mandy emerges from the closet, staggers across stage as Jane opens door for her. Mandy exits L.iE. Then Lefferts appears in doorway of the closet, hat in hand, and stands panting.) Cora. (When laugh is over, coming down r., below cupboard) Tom Lefferts! Lefferts. (With broken straw hat, disarranged tie, wilted collar and a sickly smile) Er — how do you do? Mrs. Falkner. (Crossing to c.) Burton, may I ask what is the meaning of this? Crane. I haven't the slightest idea. Perhaps Jane-Ellen will explain. Jane. Faith, sor, an' I never set eyes on ayther av thim before. (Exits through door up L.J Crane. Cora, you seem to know the young man. Cora. Er — ^yes — allow me, Mr. Lefferts — this is Mr. Crane. Lefferts. Er — delighted to meet you. How are you? Crane. May I ask to what I owe this unexpected honor? COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 83 Lefferts. W^y — er — the fact is — that is to say — ah Mrs. Falkner. (Interrupting) The fact is. Burton Lefferts. (Rallying and making a fight for it) Allow me, Mrs. Falkner. (Crosses to Mrs. Falk- ner c.) As the injured party Mrs. Falkner. The injured party ! (Crosses to Cora r.) Lefferts. (c.) Precisely. I appeal to you, Mr. Crane. Had I or had I not the right to assume that if there was one place on earth where I would be safe from Mrs. Falkner's pursuit it would be the kitchen cupboard? Crane. Well, really — Vm not in a position to answer that. Lefferts. (c. Warming up to his subject) Of course. Certainly, any right-minded person would say as much. Well, sir, secure in my confidence, I retire to my closet for rest and — er — seclusion. Do I get it? I do not. First of all — I am forced to share my closet, quite against my will, with a stout, elderly female person of color. And as if that weren't bad enough, who should burst in on me but Mrs. Falkner. It's intrusion. That's what I call it — unwarrantable intrusion. And now, Mrs. Falkner, I should like to know what the devil you mean by it? (During the above speech Mrs. Falkner is talking and scolding Cora, who is inclined to laugh.) Mrs. Falkner. Mr. Lefferts ! Lefferts. Why the devil can't you keep out of my cupboard? Mrs. Falkner. (Crosses to Crane l.c.J Burton, this wild nonsense has gone far enough. This man has pursued my daughter for over a year, despite the fact that I have forbidden him to see her or to communicate with her in any way. My judgment S4 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN of his character is, I trust, sufficiently confirmed by this latest outrage. He calls himself a poet. What he and that colored person were doing in that closet, I leave it to him to say. (Lefferts goes up to door c, protesting.) Cora. Oh, Mother ! (Half -laughing, she goes up and joins Lefferts near door c.) Mrs. Falkner. (Without stopping) And now, Burton, my daughter and I have trespassed suffi- ciently on your hospitality. We will return to Wash- ington by the first train. Kindly have the motor ready to take us. Cora, come with me. (She starts to go. Going to cupboard again, she opens it and slams it, exclamation of disgust. Hesitating) Will some one be good enough to show me the way out ? Come, Cora. (Exits door R.3 at back.) Lefferts. With the greatest of pleasure, ma'am. ^Mrs. Falkner exits R.3 and Cora, after throwing kiss to Lefferts. Crane and Lefferts look at each other and then fall to laughing quietly.) Lefferts. (At length controlling himself) I take it that things are fairly clear to you. That woman is really a terror and I did want a word with Cora Crane. Of course, I understand. It*s all clear enough. I'll do my best to square you with her. (Lefferts moves down a little r.) Lefferts. I'm afraid it can't be done. The devil of it is I'm little better than a pauper and Crane. I take it you're staying in the neighbor- hood? Lefferts. Oh, yes— only a mile away — ^with the Randolphs. Ckane. (Thoughtfully) Well, then, come over COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN ^5 to dinner to-night and I'll try and make Mrs, Falk- ner see reason. We'll see what can be done. Lefferts. (Going c.) You're awfully good, but Crane. Not a bit of it. Lefferts. Well, if you're going to square me in that quarter you'll need all the time there is, so per- haps I'd better run. (Starts to door down l.) Crane. (Stopping him) Oh, come this way. I will have my chauffeur take you over. Lefferts. Thanks, thanks ! (Goes up to door c.) Crane. Oh, Mr. Lefferts, are you really a poet? Lefferts. Well, sometimes I have a jingle pub- lished, but my real job is assistant editor of a thing called the "Statistician." I merely write the jingles as an antidote. (Goes up to the door c.) Ah, ah, what does the good book say — "What is whispered in the closet shall be proclaimed from the house- tops." How true! How true! (Ej\rit c.) Crane. (Calling after him) I'll be with you in a moment. (At exit of Lefferts, Crane walks down stage c, as if waiting for Jane, who after a pause en- ters from L.3E. and comes down between table and stove.) Crane. Jane-Ellen, I have a most unpleasant task to perform. Perhaps you know when I leased this house it was arranged with Mr. Weeks to fur- nish a competent staff of white servants. Now you, Jane-Ellen, are a most excellent cook and Smithfield is competent enough, but as for the other two, you know how competent they are. I shall pay you and Smithfield six weeks* wages and I shall cancel the lease and leave the house to-morrow. If the Dain- gerfields want their money they can sue me for it as long as they please. 86 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN Jane. (Goes up c. Very softly) Sure — ^ypu don't mean that? (Moving round to R. of table.) Crane. I do. (Coming toward her.) Jane. Mr. Crane — Mr. Crane — you won't be breaking the lease. Shure, there's no trouble at all after once you get Mrs. Falkner out of the place. Oh, Mr. Crane, please (She comes to r. of table toward him slowly.) Crane. Oh, Jane-Ellen — Jane-Ellen. You know, you're a very strange girl. You are quite sure there is not something you want to tell me? (She puts out her hands, which he instinctively tries to take, and she, almost without knowing, withdraws them.) Jane. (Whispering) No, sir, no Crane. Because if there is, I feel sure you could trust me to — to understand. You seem to be in some sort of trouble, and, if I can, I'd like, oh so very much, to help you. Jane. You're very kind, sir. But there is nothing you can do. (Pause.) Nothing. Crane. Are you quite sure you cannot tell me? Because, you see, Jane-Ellen, when you look like that it seems somehow I just have to do something about it. Jane. You are very kind, sir. Crane. Now wouldn't it make it easier if you could think of me just for a moment not as your employer — but just as a decent chap who would do anything in the world to make you smile once again, because you know, Jane-Ellen, when you smile — (Jane smiles) — that's it! Come now, don't you think you could tell me ? (Pause.) Jane. No, sor. . Crane. Why not, Jane-Ellen ? (Pause.) Jane. Well, sor, this is the way of it: Suppos- ing — supposing you was in a bad fix; supposing those you loved, your very dearest, was to be sick COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN ^,7 and in trouble ; suppose you picked out the grandest plan to save them, and then, after you had done your very best, everything was to go smash — well, sor, that's the time there's nothing left to do but just to creep into your own heart and shut the door. Crane. (Patting her hand) I'm sorry, Jane- Ellen. I'm sorry (Crane exits door c. without stopping. Jane he- gins to cry softly. Goes up to door c, leaning her head against it, and when Mandy enters, turns her hack so the tears will not be evident, Mandy enters door l.ie.J Mandy. Say, I done found dat Why, honey chile, is you cryin', hun' — honey lamb, child, now don't you go spoilin' your blessed blue eyes. (Goes to Jane at c.) Jane. (With her hack to Mandy j It's nothing. Mammy — nothing ! Mandy. (Standing in front of chair l.c, ready to seat herself later) Well, I done found that letter that Mr. Randy Weeks done gib me. He say it's a cable. Jane. (Turning slowly to front) A cable? Mandy. Yas'm, honey. Jane. (Taking cahle, opening it, hut not looking at it) Mammy, — I'm afraid. Mandy. Dear, dear — honey chile! Jane. Oh — oh — mammy! (She slowly opens cablegram and reads. She drops it and puts hands to her face.) Mandy. Honey chile, what's the matter? Jane. Oh, it's daddy ! — the surgeons have oper- ated on him. Mandy. Oh, he's gwine to be all right, honey. Jane. They don't know, they don't know — it's 88 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN too soon to tell. Oh, mammy, mammy, if he shouldn't get well, what will I do, what will I do? Oh, mammy, oh, mammy, if he shouldn't get well! (Weeping Jane falls into Mandy's arms and Mandy seats herself in the chair l.c, lifting Jane on her lap and rocking her to and fro, as a child.) Mandy. My little lady baby, my little lady baby. SLOW CURTAIN ACT III Scene: The dining room. See photograph. Time: Just before dinner on the same day as ACT IL The room has two windows at L. They are low French windows opening on a practical veranda. The entarnce from the hall is at rear l,c. The entrance to the butler's pantry is at r.c. This door to the butler's pantry entrance has a screen in front of it. Just below this door R. a serving table stands against the r. wall. A beautiful old mahogany sideboard stands r. against the wall at R. The dining table that stands at c. is oval and not very large — just big enough for four persons, in fact. There are lighted candles on the sideboard. The room is lighted by chandelier c. See light plot. Discovered: At rise, Smithfield is just finishing setting the table. He stands at back of table. Enter Brindlebury at r.c. His get-up is totally different. He wears a grey wig, very suspicious-looking, grey side-whiskers and a suit of nonedescript clothes much too big for him. Brindlebury. (Poking his head around the screen ) Hist ! 89 90 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN Smithfjeld. Look here, Charlie, didn't I tell you to lie low ? Brindlebury. (Coming in around screen) Yes, but Livy says Smith FIELD. I don't care what she says. You've got to keep out of sight as much as possible or it'll be all up. Brindlebury. Aw, say, Paul, they'll never sus- pect. Didn't I help take the old lady's trunks down- stairs right under her very nose ? Smithfield. Yes, I know, but Brindlebury. (At upper end of the sideboard R.J And say, just look at this. D'ye ever see a finer limp? (He stumps up and down r. with the walk of a man with a stiff leg.) Smithfield. (c.) It's a good enough limp — but your make-up's rotten — (Crosses to r., near screen) — and your voice is worse. Don't you ever get near enough for Crane to speak to you. Keep away under cover, not that it makes much difference, I reckon. Brindlebury. Why, what do you mean? Smithfield. Oh, nothing. You'll know soon enough. (He goes out at r.c. Brindlebury goes r.J (Enter Crane from the hall door l.c. He wears a dinner coat.) Crane. Oh, Smithfield. Brindlebury. Eh? (Hand to ear.) Crane. (Seeing Brindlebury, who is upstage above sideboard) Here, I say (Brindlebury stops,) What's your name ? Brindlebury. (In a thin, squeaky voice) Yes, sir. I'm lame. Been so ever Crane. (Standing l. of table c, shouting) No, no. I asked your name. COME OUT OF THE KITGHEN 91 Brindlebury. When I came? Oh, this after- noon, sir. Mr. Smithfield he telephoned to my wife — sir — he says "Susan," he says, "Susan '* Crane. (Sternly) Come here. Brindlebury. Hey? Crane. Come here. Let me look at you (At this Brindlebury limps slowly to l., helow table c, and jumps out of the lozver French window and dis- appears,) Here! What's the matter with you? (He dashes out of the window in pursuit,) Come here! (Mammy enters, sees Crane and Brindlebury exit, she roars with laughter. Enter Paul.) Mandy. (Near window down L.) For de good Lawd's sake, foot carry me fast! I wonder what's dat? (Feels about for cable. Enter Paul r.c.j Paul. (Crossing to c. front of table) What are you doing here, Mandy? Mandy. Ne' mind, ne' mind, is you-all alone, honey ? Paul. Yes, Mandy, what is it? Mandy. Marse Randy — he done give me another one of them — cable-ums. (She gives him cable- gram,) He told me to fetch it right up to you-all. Lordy Massa, Paul, Fse just full o' cable-ums. Heah yo' is. (Hands him cablegram.) CPaul reads it, standing c, in front of chair.) Paul. (Softly) Mandy, Mandy! Thank God! Mandy. About yo' paw, Marse Paul ? Paul. Yes, Mandy. Father's out of danger, thank God! 92 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN Mandy. Ain't de Lawd good ! (Quickly) Where my lir white baby? (Crosses to R.c.) Paul. In the kitchen, Mandy. Mandy. Marse Paul, Miss Livy she's worryin' her Httle heart out. You give me dat cable-um. I just tote it down to her. (He gives it to her. Crosses to R.c.J Dis mammy want her baby to get his blessed news fast ! (Going) Oh, ain't de Lawd good? Ain't de Lawd good? (Exits door R.c.j (Smithfield moves r., takes up and looks at cable envelope. Tucker enters door l.c.J Tucker. (Comes to r.c. above table.) Smith- field, have you seen Mr. Crane anywhere? Smithfield. No, sir. Oh, here he is. (Exits door R.c.j Crane. (Appears at window, enters room and sits on window-sill.) Phew! Haven't run so fast since I was in college. Tucker, (r.c.) May I inquire? Crane. Certainly. I've been chasing Brindy. Tucker. Brindy ! Crane. (Going up c.) No less. There's his wig. (Tossing wig to Tucker^ who catches it,) Tucker. Good gracious ! Then Crane. Precisely. The aged servitor with the stiff leg — Brindy Tucker. (Above table r. end of same) Good Lord ! I shouldn't be surprised if we were all mur- dered in our beds. Crane. Which leads us to the next step. (Takes wig from Tucker as he crosses to r.c. Tucker moves L.) (Enter Smithfield from rx. with cigar tray.) COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 93 Crane. Smithfield Smithfield. Yes, sir. (SuiruFmLH approaches Crane.j Crane. I fear your new useful man won*t do. He seems to me a bit too ancient. Smithfield. (At r. below Cranej Oh, sir, he's not so old as he looks. Crane. I thought not. Smithfield. Only 66 his next birthday. Crane. Sixty-six ! Smithfield. Or 7. Crane. Surprising, eh. Tuck? Tucker. Very. Crane. Is he married? Smithfield. Not yet, that is — he's a widower of many years' standing. His poor wife dying when her first baby was born — that's Mr. Crosslett-Bil- lington's present chauffeur, sir. Crane. The baby? Smithfield. Yes, sir — no, sir. That's how I happened Crane. That's enough, Smithfield. Your aged friend is Brindy — who Brindy is, God knows. Don't stop to pack. Mr. Weeks will send your things. Get out of my house at once. And if you want a testimonial I will write you one saying that you are the most competent liar of my acquaintance. And there's a souvenir for you. (Tosses wig to Smith- field. Smithfield looks at the wig, rolls up his sleeves as one in anguish, and swallows hard once or twice.) Smithfield. Thank you, sir. (With a gulp) Will that be all, sir? (Goes up a little.) Crane. Quite all. Smithfield. Thank you, sir. (Goes up and takes salver from sideboard, placing wig in it. He goes out at r.c.^ 94 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN Crane. Well, Tuck, we seem to be shrinking. (Sits in chair R. end of table c.) Tucker, (l. of table, leaning on chair L. of table end) In the course of a long and varied experience at the bar Crane. Yes, yes, to be sure. Now will you oblige me by telephoning Mr. Weeks to come out here at once? I think we'll end this episode imme- diately. The ladies have left us, one in tears the other in wrath — three out of four servants have de- parted. The roof'll be falling in next. Tucker. (Going) I'll telephone Mr. Weeks at once. (Starts tozvard door L.c. Stops.) Crane. Good ! Tucker. (Pause) Oh, but it's nearly dinner- time. Crane. Ask him to dinner, then. Tucker. Very well. Burton. Crane. I asked Lefferts, too. Tucker. That man ! Really Crane. Oh, come off. Tuck. Stop that bad imi- tation of your sister. Lefferts is a fine chap and you know it. Run along, please. Tucker. (At door l.c, turning) By the way. Burton, who's going to serve this dinner? Crane. Oh, that's what I'm going to see about now. (Tucker exits door l.c. Crane rises and goes to pantry door, stops, then rings bell cord at man- tel and comes dozvn to back of armchair, r. end of table, and stands waiting. Jane appears R.c. After a pause.) Crane. Jane-Ellen, come here. COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 95 (Jane is very gentle and rather wistful, but confi- dent of the kindly reception which she does not get.) Crane. (Severely) Jane-Ellen- Jane. (Standing on his r.) Oh, sor, this time, faith I know what's afther makin' ye scold. Crane. (Stiffly) I am not going to scold. Jane. (Smiling good-naturedly) Sure, sor, an' that's a wonder, so it is. (She gets no answering smile.) Ah, now, Misther Crane, sure an' I couldn't be afther givin' Smithfield away over that nonsense about the boy, now c'u'd I ? Crane. Really, I haven't considered the matter at all. Jane. Why, Misther Crane, what's come over ye? Crane. Be good enough not to ask questions. I wish to give some orders. Jane. Orders? (Stiffens herself and freezes.) Indade, sor? Crane. Two gentlemen are coming to dinner — that makes four in all — and as Smithfield is gone, you will have to serve dinner as well as cook it. Jane. (Folding arms) No, sor, certainly 111 not. Crane. What ! Jane. Faith, 'tis a cook I am and not butler at all. Crane. You will do as you are told. Jane. Ill do no such thing, then. Crane. Jane-Ellen, you will serve dinner. Jane. Misther Crane, I will not. (There's a brief pause.) Crane. We seem to be dealing with the eternal problem between employer and employed. (Crosses to L.C. front of table c.) You're not lazy, the work 96 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN is nothing, yet you deliberately choose to stand on your rights on a purely technical point. Jane. I'm doin' nothin' of the sort, then. Crane. I should like to know what you call it. Jane. Sure, I'm making myself just as disagree- able as I can. 'Tis charmed I'd be fer to oblige a gintleman that asked me nice an' polite like, but whin a man talks about orders an' me doin' as I'm told, all I got to say to that man is he'd ought to be thinkin' av thim things before he's dismissin' me two brothers, so he'd ought. Orders ! Humph ! Crane. Your brothers ! Do you mean to tell me Smithfield is your brother, too ? Jane. Well, sor, I wasn't meanin' to tell ye, but 'tis a fact. Crane. Rather unusual for an Irish girl to have English brothers, isn't it? Jane. (After a pause) Faith, the two av thim was raised in London from a couple av kids. Crane. Whereas you were brought up in Ire- land? Jane. I was, then — God forgive me! Crane. And Miss Olivia Daingerfield has known you all her life? Jane. Sure, she was on'y writin' a testimonial. You know what them things is. Crane. Say, why didn't you tell me before that Smithfield was your brother? Jane. Faith, I can't see what difference it makes at all. Crane. (Now suddenly high-spirited) Why, it makes all the difference in the world. If he's your brother he's got a perfect right to (Coughs and moves to l. several steps.) Jane. To what? Crane. (Returning to c.) Ah — er — that is to say, I apologize for everything I've said since you COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN ^^7 came in here, and I ask you most humbly if you won't be so kind as to help me out. You are going to be an angel and serve dinner, aren't you? Jane. Didn't I say I would if I was asked polite- like ? Crane. Thank you, thank you, ah ! Indeed, Jane- Ellen you are an angel. (He exits door L.c. Jane^ follows around to L.c.J (After a moment, Smith field peeks in, around screen,) Smithfield. Hist ! Jane. (Starting. Goes to back of table c.) Oh, Paul! You frightened me. Where's Bess and Charley ? Smithfield. Up in the garret playing checkers. Jane. The poor dears must be starved. Tell them not to make any noise. I'll slip up after din- ner and bring you a bit, if there's any left. Now be quiet, all of you! (Crosses down to chair l. of table.) Smithfield. Yes! But what are you going to do? Jane. I told you. Smithfield. But it's no use. The game's up. Jane. All the same, I'm going to stay and see the last card played. Smithfield. What's the good? He's going to break the lease and get out to-morrow. I heard old Tucker telephoning to Randy to come over at once. You can't do anything. Come on. Let's all get away. Jane. No, indeed. Smithfield. (Going toward her. Easy) You're not going to go on, doing this man's work ? Jane. He may change his mind. 98 CbME OUT OF THE KITCHEN Smithfield. Livy- Jane. Besides, the poor man's got to eat. Smithfield. Now look here, Livy, I think yon Jane. Hsh ! Somebody's coming ! (Drops down R.c. to sideboard.) (Smithfield hastily goes out at r.c. Tucker comes in from the hall door h.c.) Tucker. Ah, Jane-Ellen Jane. Good evenin', Misther Tucker. Tucker. (Close to her) The time has come sooner than we thought when I can be of assistance to you. Jane. Yes, indade, sor. (She thrusts a carving knife and fork into his hands.) 'Tis a dale of work for a poor girl. Will ye kindly put them at Mr. Crane's place? Right over there. (He hesitates, then awkwardly puts knife and fork ends toward armchair l. end of table.) Tucker. (Starting toward her) Vm very sorry indeed that things have happened so. But you see, Mr. Crane Jane. (Waving him back) Oh, sor, not that way. Niver turn the point av a knife toward the chair. 'Tis bad luck, sor. Tucker. Oh, indeed! (Places knife and fork properly.) But, as I was saying (Jane blows out candles down R. end of the sideboard R.J Jane. FaUh, 'tis a wicked bad butler ye'd make, an' no mistake. Tucker. (Returning to her at the sideboard ) There is something I want to say to you before any- one comes in. Jane. Have ye a match about ye, now? (She holds candelabra bettveen Tucker and herself. \ COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 99 Tucker produces a gold match-box.) Av course. Sure ye're a match for anywan, so ye are now. Will ye kindly be lighting 'em for me? Tucker. (Lights candles as Jane holds th^ni up.) I suppose you know Mr. Crane is leaving to- morrow. Jane. So IVe heard, sor. Tucker. And you are about to lose your place. Jane. Yis, sor. Tis the first wan I iver lost. Tucker. (Insinuatingly) Why not make it the last? (Candle and nose business.) Jane. Sor? Tucker. Why not come to me? I could offer you a position you need never leave. Jane. Please leave me pass, sor. Tucker. Not till youVe heard me. (She rings silver dinner bell violently with her left hand, hold- ing candle in right.) Ah, my dear child (He moves toward her, looking very much as if he in- tended to embrace her. She avoids him.) Jane- Ellen, what are you doing? Jane. Faith, sor, I can't be runnin* all over the house callin' people to dinner. Tucker. There's something T want you to — tell (Enter Crane hastily door l.c. Tucker crosses front of table to L.) Crane. (Coming to c, back of table. To Tucker, who looks rather sheepish) What the deuce are you doing- here. Tuck ? Tucker. I — ah — I was assisting Jane-Ellen to set the table. (Jane-Ellen laughs and exits through screen door.) Crane. The devil you were ! K)o LOME OUT OF THE KITCHEN TucKEE. Do you mean to say you question my word? Crane. You bet I do! Tucker. (At door) And may I ask what you think I was doing? Crane. Well, I don't think you were picking daisies. (Tucker exits indignantly at door l.c, closing it after him.) Crane. Jane-Ellen — Jane-Ellen! Jane. (Entering) Yis, sor. Crane. Was Mr. Tucker making love to you? Jane. Well, sor, I couldn't be sayin' for sure. Crane. Nonsense ! Don't you know ? Jane. Faith, then, how's a poor girl to know? The gintlemen have so many ways of makin' love. Crane. (Turning to look at Jane, who stands up R. of the screen. Crane is l. of it.) The trouble with you is, Jane-Ellen, that you are a damn sight too pretty. Jane. Oh, Mr. Crane, stop yer blarney. Crane. (Imitating her brogue) As if every man you know for the last five years had not been saying the same thing to you. Jane. (Giving him a sidelong look) Sure, sor, none av thim was' iver afther sayin' it quite like that, sor. (Swiftly she turns and is gone into the butler's pantry. Crane laughs and watches her off. She changes to maid's black dress.) (Voices of men are heard in the hall. Crane turns as Lefferts and Weeks enter door l.c.J Crane. Ah! Mr. Weeks! Mr. Lefferts! Glad you could come at such short notice, Mr. Weeks. COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN loi Weeks. (At mantel) Well, Vm not far away, but I couldn't have made it without the little Ford. Lefferts. (Near window l.) Yes, it's the motor car that makes country life possible. Crane. Yes, and it's the Ford makes it prob- able. (Laughs. Goes to sideboard.) Lefferts Very true — ^but tell me where are the ladies ? Crane. (Who has busied himself at the side- board.) Oh, didn't Tucker tell you? Lefferts. No. Crane. They were suddenly called away. Lefferts. Called away? Crane. Yes. Fm sorry — but one of them felt that both of them must go. Lefferts. Humph! (Crosses to front of table R.) No need to ask which one. Crane. I think not. And one of them left a note for you. (Gives Lefferts a note.) Lefferts. (c. Delighted. Opens letter and moving l. a little) Thank you. Crane. (At sideboard. A pause while Lefferts opens his note and reads.) By the way, Mr. Lef- ferts, as a professional statistician, youVe probably heard of a periodical called "The Financier." Lefferts. Oh, yes. (Puts letter in pocket.) Crane. Well, I own it. Never read it, but I own it. Don't know a damn thing about it. I inherited it. T need an editor. Could you do it? Lefferts. I ? (Going a little up to Crane, very surprised.) Crane. Yes — ^present editor's leaving. He doesn't know it, but he is. Like the job ? Lefferts. Would III! (Weeks moves back to mantel.) Crane. (At sideboard, pouring sherry from de~ Tucker. (Coldly Lefferts. Favor Tucker. From n Crane. Well, he the statistician. (A Weeks. Don't k to it. (All laugh a Crane. Oh, an} right. Lefferts. (Smc that's something like Tucker. (Puttin c. behind table) V very good. (To Wi Mr. Weeks? Weeks. Oh, we < (During the last t-n Lefferts the h Second Act. A some fun with i Crane. Oh, by th I think. (He takes and gives it to Weei nd gives it to Weei Weeks. (Coming to his r., Tucker going down .) Mine? COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 103 Crane. Yes. — "R, W." — your initials, aren't they? Weeks. (Rattled, taking handkerchief ) Why, yes — yes — it must be mine. (Moves l.c.^ Crane. I found it in the kitchen this afternoon. (Lefferts laughs.) Tucker. (Looking at Weeks, then to CraneJ Where? Crane. In the kitchen. (Tucker turns a glare of illumination on Weeks, Then Tucker goes up stage.) Weeks. (Moving down l.) Yes — ^yes — thank you very much — er — awfully warm for this time of year. Crane. Very. Pray be seated, gentlemen — Mr. Weeks, Mr. Lefferts, Mr. Tucker. (Lefferts sits r. end of table; Weeks sits with back to audience. Tucker sits at back of the table, facing Weeks.j Tucker. I am ready, for one. Crane. (All seated.) Always, Tuck, always. (Jane Ellen enters with soup plates. She crosses to Crane as if to put them on the table. Crane jumps from his chair, taking the soup plates from tray. He watches Jane-Ellen exit.) Lefferts. Wonderfully attractive country around here, Mr. Weeks, isn't it? Weeks. Glad you appreciate it, Mr. Lefferts. Is this your first visit down here? Lefferts. Yes. I am — as you've probably guessed, a Northerner. 104 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN (Tucker turns, sees Crane holding plates and gazes toward the butler* s pantry.) Tucker. Burton, what are you doing with the soup plates? (Crane, rather annoyed, sits down, putting soup plates in front of him.) Weeks. I hope this wont be your last visit, Mr. Lefferts. Where are you staying? (Jane Ellen brings on soup tureen. Takes it to Crane. He removes it from tray and places it in front of him.. Starts to serve.) Lefferts. I am staying with some friends, the Randolphs — friends of yours, I believe. Weeks. Yes. Jack Randolph and I went to school together. Tucker. (To Leffertsj May I trouble you for the olives, please? Lefferts. (Passing them) Yes, I think I heard Jack speak of you. Weeks. We had three years at school together at Charlottesville. You are very fortunate to be here this season of the year. Lefferts. How's that ? Weeks. This is our hunting season, you know. Tucker. Will you please pass me the almonds? Lefferts. Oh, yes. (Passes them, rather an- noyed.) (By this time Jane-Ellen has served soup to Weeks. Weeks has not noticed that it is Jane- Ellen who is serving the table. As she puts the soup plate down he sees her hand and arm COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 105 are obviously not those of Smithfield. His eyes follow her arm up till they come to her face. He is horrified. Jane-Ellen makes a face at him and turns back to get soup for Lefferts. Passes soup to LeffertsJ Tucker. (As Jane passes soup to Lefferts^ Will you please pass me the salt ? (This time Lef- ferts passes him salt, pepper, the butter-dish, but- ter knife, and anything else he can think of. Jane- Ellen has given soup to Tucker. Exit Jane-El- len, returning almost immediately. Men start to drink their soup.) Crane. How is the soup, Tuck? Tucker. Excellent, Burton, excellent. (Jane stands with tray in hand tmth back to the screen.) Lefferts. Very soothing. (Pause.) Weeks. Just right. Just right. (Pause.) Crane. You can't beat these people down here for soup. (Crane signals to Jane, who removes soup plates, going to Weeks first, then Lefferts second. As Jane takes Lefferts' plate he looks up at her, and as she exits with plates to pantry it is almost as if he was drawn out of his chair by her charm. He takes a few steps toward the pantry, then turns, facing the audience, saying,) Lefferts. By jove! that must be the face that launched a thousand ships. Crane. I beg your pardon. (Lefferts sits down again.) Tucker. No, it's the cook — and youVe seen her before, too. Lefferts. Oh, yes, oh, yes! Very lovely little person, don't you think so? io6 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN Tucker. (In a superior manner) I confess I have not been able to take much interest in the per- sonal appearance of servants. Crane. Really, Tuck? Lefferts. I say beauty is beauty wherever you find it. (Jane brings in plate of corn bread and places it c. of table. She takes up tureen and exits into pantry.) Tucker. Such a preoccupation with beauty has always struck us as decadent. Lefferts. What, exactly, Mr. Tucker, is your definition of decadent? Tucker. Decadent — is — decadent is — it is simple enough, I think — decadent is Crane. Yes, Tuck, what is it? Tucker. I shall trouble you for the almonds. Lefferts. A very comprehensive definition. Tucker. During a long and varied experience at the bar Lefferts. Anyhow, the soup was delicious. (Jane enters with the roast chicken on platter and places it before Crane, then goes with vege- tables on tray to serving table.) Crane. Mr. Lefiferts has been complimenting your soup, Jane-Ellen. Jane-Ellen. Thank you, sor. Weeks. Look here, Mr. Crane, what I should like to ask, is what has become of Smithfield ? Crane. (Carving chicken) Smithfield— oh, Smithfield is indisposed. Weeks. You — ^you mean he is sick ? GOME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 107 (Jane hands plates to three men — Weeks, Lef- FERTS and TuckerJ Crane. No, no, no, I am jick. Sick of him. (Tucker laughs and guffaws with his mouth full.) Crane. (Continuing) I have discharged him, also the boy Brindy and the housemaid, Araminta. Weeks. What ! Crane. Yes, Mr. Weeks. Weeks. You mean — er — er — you mean to tell me that you and Mr. Tucker and the cook are alone in this house ? Crane. I regret to say that Mr. Tucker also leaves me this evening. Weeks. But — but — but (Jane goes to serifs ing table for vegetables.) Crane. Not now, Mr. Weeks, a little later. Af- ter dinner, for the present let's enjoy ourselves. Tucker. Yes, yes, yes, will you please help me to some butter? (He discovers butter where Lef- FERTS placed it. Jane serves the vegetables,) Weeks, Certainly, by all means, but what I should like to ask you, you can't mean, you don't intend to Crane. I won't trouble you with my particular plans. My experience, Mr. Weeks, has been that nobody cares anything about anybody else's trifling, little plans. Their small, domestic complications. Lefferts. Oh, come now, I'm not so sure. It strikes me Mr. Weeks is very much interested, aren^t you? Weeks. (Stammering, hut determined) Yes — yes — I am — extremely — sincerely. You see, I know what would be said in a community like this — what would be thought. You — ^you get my idea? io8 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN Crane. Not exactly, and what is more, what people think is a matter of small consequence to me. Weeks. Yes — yes — as a rule, of course — but in this case I'm sure you'd agree with me if I can only Crane. Doubtless, doubtless, but what is it ex- actly that you do mean? Lefferts. It's perfectly clear. Mr. Weeks means that in such a small community as this if a young woman should find herself in a position considered compromising by all the most prominent novelists and dramatists, she would (Jane-Ellen, in passing the vegetable dishes, man- ages to rub hot dish against Tucker's neck.) Tucker. (Leaping to his feet zvith something like a curse) Oh ! Ouch ! What the devil are you doing? Jane. Oh, sor, an' I'm so terrible sorry. Tucker. Sorry ! Huh ! (Mopping at his neck.) Jane. I'm not much used to waitin' on the table. (Puts vegetables down, gets bottle of claret and crosses.) Crane. Tuck! Tuck! It's all right, Jane-El- len. Don't give it another thought. (Sees Tucker, whose face is twisted with anger.) Mr. Tucker has forgotten it already, haven't you, Tuck ? Tucker. (Angrily) Oh, yes, yes, of course. (Tucker sits again.) Lefferts. (Looking about) What a fine old house this is. I'd like to know its history. Tucker. Well, sir, it belongs, as you perhaps know, to a family named Daingerfield, who held a highly honored place in the history of this country until they unfortunately espoused the wrong side of I COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 109 the Civil War. (Ja'ne indignant at this. She turns away without serving Tucker with wine.) Tucker. Here, here! Burton, she has omitted me. Crane. Jane-Ellen, you have omitted Mr. Tucker. Jane. Oh, yes, sir. (Fills Tucker's glass and exits.) Weeks. (Angrily) In this part of the country, sir, we are not accustomed to thinking it the wrong side. Tucker. (Bowing slightly) I believe, sir, that I am voicing the verdict of history. Crane. (Lifting his glass to stay the quarrel) Gentlemen, I am very pleased to see you all here. (All raise their glasses and take a sip.) Lefferts. (Having started an embarrassing topic, is now anxious to turn the talk to safer chan- nels) Anyhow, the present generation of Dainger- fields seems to be an amusing lot. (Jane enters and goes to serving table.) Lefferts. Randolph was speaking about them only last night. He says one of the girls is par- ticularly enchanting — now what was her name? Such a pretty one — oh, yes, Olivia. Jane. (From the serving table) Yes, sor? (Weeks is terrified at this. Jane-Ellen serves vegetables again to Lefferts. j Crane. No one spoke to you, Jane-Ellen. (He continues to look at her.) Jane. No, sor. Lefferts. Randolph said she was a wholesale fascinator — engaged to three men at one time last summer. no COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN Weeks. (Springing to his feet) Mr. Lefferts, I'd be obliged to you, sir, if you'd tell Mr. Randolph with my compliments that that's not true. Lefferts, Oh ! Isn't it ? Well, I'm sorry. Weeks. Oh, I don't blame you. You're a stranger here, but I do blame him for circulating this groundless gossip about one of the loveliest young ladies in this State. Jane. (Presenting vegetables) Potatoes, sor? (Weeks and Jane exchange bitter glances.) Weeks. Thank you, no. (Jane-Ellen goes to sideboard. Exits with vegetables on tray.) Lefferts. Awfully sorry, Mr. Weeks, but really I thought it all rather to the lady's credit — espe- cially in a neighborhood where it must be rather dull if you don't care for hunting. Weeks. (In great exasperation) That's not the point! The point is that it's not true! Lefferts. (Conciliatory) As you say, just as you say. (Enter Jane. She takes Lefferts' plate into pan- try, then to Crane's plate and Weeks'.^ Weeks. (Nozu much excited) Miss Olivia Daingerfield is one of the most admired and re- spected young ladies in Virginia, — I may say in the entire South. I have known her and her fam- ilv since they were children, — er Tucker. Eh ? Weeks. Since she was a child — and I should certainly have k-^own if anything of this ki^d had been the case. (Jane-Ellen exits into pantry with Crane's plate.) Lefferts. Undoubtedly you are right, Mr. Weeks, undoubtedly. Yet I confess I never heard of a girl announcing more than one engagement at a COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN in dmc, though once or twice I have known girls who (During Lefferts' speech, as Jane-Ellen passes behind Tucker, he drops his napkin. While he stoops to pick it up, she takes his plate away. When he discovers the loss of his dinner it is the last straw. He looks first at the table, won- dering where his dinner has gone. Then he looks after Jane-Ellen as she exits, partly with anger and partly with pathos.) Tucker. (Exclaiming) Burton, my dinner Crane. Excuse me. She's not used to serving, but she's doing quite well. (Crane and Jane, with ice cream, meet face to face R. Crane rises and crosses to door r.c. with chicken and platter, meeting Jane zvith the ice- cream bozvl. She puts down bowl and takes platter from Crane, putting it in pantry.) Crane. Pardon me, Mr. Lefferts, I interrupted you. We were speaking of (Returns to table and sits.) Lefferts. I was speaking of the fascinating idea of a young lady being engaged to three men at the same time. Crane. Perhaps that is the coming fashion. Lefferts. (Interrupting) I think perhaps you might tell us, Mr. Weeks, what the great beauty of the country looks like. Weeks. I can't think this is the time or place for retailing the charms of a young lady — as if it were a slave market. (Jane-Ellen takes ice-cream bowl to Weeks.J Jane. (To Weeks ^ Ice cream, sor? 112 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN Weeks. (Helping himself) Thank you. Lefferts. It does not seem to me that I have spoken at all disrespectfully of the lady. Tucker. Certainly not! Certainly not! Crane. It seems to me, Mr. Weeks, if you'll pardon my saying so, that you couldn't be any more touchy about it if you yourself had been one of the young lady's simultaneous fiances. (Jane turns slightly up c, laughing.) (Tucker has been looking with admiring eyes at the ice cream, and when Lefferts has helped him- self he naturally thinks he will be served next, and turns, almost putting his hand out to take the spoon, when Jane-Ellen deliberately passes him and goes to Crane.J Weeks. Nothing of the sort, sir. Nothing of the sort Crane. Oh, of course not. Nobody says you were. Still, I see no reason why you shouldn't give us a hint as to whether Miss Daingerfield is blonde or brunette, tall or short. (Jane, on Crane's l., offers him ice cream.) Weeks. (Now thoroughly wretched, with a glance at Jane- Ellen) Perhaps, perhaps I see reasons that you do not. (Jane now passes cream to Tucker.^ Crane. Perhaps. Well, I'll tell you. Jane-El- len is well acquainted with Miss Daingerfied. (Jane takes ice cream off,) Weeks. Oh, no — no. Crane. What? Have you forgotten the excel- lent testimonial the lady gave our cook? Weeks. Eh? COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 113 Crane. I think you were present when Mrs. Falkner read it aloud. Weeks. Oh — oh^ — yes — certainly. (Jane enters and goes to sideboard.) Crane. (Rising) Jane-Ellen, you've often seen Miss Olivia Daingerfield ? Jane. (At sideboard. Takes taper from cigar tray and lights taper at candelabra down R. and lights spirit lamp on the cigar tray.) Yes, sor, now and thin. Crane. Tell us, what was she like ? Jane. (Coming forward, thoughtfully) Well, sor, it's not for the likes av me to say a word ag'in' a young lady that Misther Weeks admires so much. ('Weeks flicks his napkin tvarningly below table to JANEJ AH the same, I got me own reasons for thinkin' there was more in thim yarns about her bein' numerous engaged than what Misther Weeks appears to be thinkin'. Servants picks up a good deal, sor, an' they do say that Miss Daingerfield, she Weeks. (Bursting out) Olivia! Jane, Yis, sor. Miss Olivia Daingerfield. There bein' two av thim, Miss Olivia an' Miss Elizabeth, and as fer looks, now (Reflecting) Well, she was a very tall — a little taller than yourself. Crane. With flashing black eyes, perhaps. Jane. Yis, sor, an' heaps av blue-black hair. Crane. And a deep contralto voice — a perfect goddess, in fact. Jane. Oh, yes — ^yes — ^a perfect goddess, except for a bit av a cast in wan eye. (Lefferts laughs.) Weeks. Nothing of the sort! Nothing of the sort! Jane. Well, sor, of coorse, 'twas no more than a little wee wan, an' ye couldn't be seein' it at all, un- less ye was very close to tl^ young lady. Mebbe 114 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN that's why Misther Weeks was niver afther seein' it. Weeks. Nothing of the sort. Jane. An* she had a terrible, dig-nified way wid her — oh, terrible dignified! She'd make you shake in your shoes, she would. (Gets cigar tray from sideboard.) Crane. Jane-Ellen, we're very much obliged to you. It was perfect. I feel almost as if Miss Olivia Daingerfield were standing here this moment before me. Jane. (Stands r. with tray in hand, then moves to L. of Lefferts.I Faith, sor, if she was, wouldn't it be you that'd be standin' ? (Lefferts takes cigarettes and lighter which she places on table. Jane crosses to sideboard and blows candles out.) Crane. For my part, I had imagined her as quite diflFerent. I had supposed her, for instance, of me- dium height, soft blue eyes, soft light brown hair, and a mouth (Jane exits to pantry. Crane hesitates and looks at Jane-Ellen as if for an in- spiration.) Weeks. (Remains seated.) I regret to say, Mr. Crane, that if this conversation continues to deal disrespectfully with the appearance of a young lady — (He rises angrily) — for whom (Jane-Ellen re-enters from, pantry with after-din- ner coffee. Jane- Ellen serves coffee, serving as follows — Lef^ferts, Weeks, Crane and Tucker. As she puts down Tucker's cup she also puts sugar bowl down. As Tucker puts out his hand to take sugar, she pushes it to Lefferts. The men take cigars and cigarettes. COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 115 Jane exits into pantry. The men now settle down to smoke, leaning hack in their chairs. Taking the cue from Crane^ all expel a cloud of smoke from their mouths at the same mo- ment. There is a slight pause.) Crane. Disrespectfully! Nonsense! Now, I leave it to you, gentlemen, whether anything disre- spectful has been said of Jane-Ellen's old employer. (Murmurs from all, ''No! Certainly not!") i(jANE, having finished, exits into pantry. Ad lib. talk and bus. of cloud of smoke from each of the. four.) Lefferts. (Having finished) Ah ! That chicken was delicious and those sweet potatoes, Southern style — um! Can't get *em up North. Crane. Mr. Weeks, youVe eaten nothing. Weeks. No — I — I wasn't very hungry. Lefferts. (Solemnly) Late luncheon, Mr. Weeks? Weeks. Yes — rather. Lefferts, Nothing the matter with your appe- tite, Mr. Tucker. Crane. No, Tuck, in all the excitement, I believe you never missed a stroke. (Tucker hurriedly places coffee down and jerks hb chair angrily back.) Lefferts. (To TuckerJ You're a friend of the kitchen. (All laugh at Tucker, j Tucker. Possibly — possibly. (Pointedly) How did you like our kitchen yourself? (Lefferts a bit jarred, coughs.) Crane. (Coming to his rescue) How do you like it, Tuck? (TvcKWSi coughs. To Weeks) Nice kitchen, isn't it, Mr. Weeks? (Weeks iy just drink- ing coffee and some of it goes the wrong way.) n6 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN (Jane enters and goes down to the sideboard.) Weeks, Oh, the kitchen's all right, I reckon. Crane. (Rising as he sees Jane re-entering) Gentlemen, stand. (All rise, glasses in hand,) To the — ah — kitchen ! (Jane exits quickly into pantry.) Lefferts. (All seated again) By the way, where are all these Daingerfields, anyhow? Crane. I understand Mr. Weeks to say that Colo- nel and Mrs. Daingerfield were abroad. (Jane re- enters and goes to sideboard.) The ColoneFs quite ill, I believe, or am I wrong? Weeks. Yes, that's true. Crane. Not seriously, I hope ? (Jane-Ellen, at the sideboard, closely watched by Crane, follows the conversation with the ut- most anxiety as she puts liqueur glasses on tray. Weeks. Unfortunately, yes. There has been a very serious operation recently in Vienna. In the absence of the family, I, as their agent, receive their telegrams and mail. Just before I came here this evening there was a cable to say that the Colonel was out of danger. Crane. Oh, I'm so glad. (Jane exits into pantry again.) Of course you have forwarded the good news to the children? Weeks. Oh, yes — ^yes — I have. Lefferts. Where are they, did you say? Crane. Yes, Mr. Weeks, where are they ? Weeks. (Who has reached the limit of endur- ance) I regret — Fm not at liberty to say. (Weeks rises and crosses to R.J COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 117 Lefferts. Oh, I'm very sorry. Really, I — wouldn't have asked for the world. Weeks. And what is more, Mr. Crane, I'm afraid I am pressed for time. I understood Mr. Tucker to say over the 'phone that you wished to see me on business, so if Crane. (Rising) Certainly — of course. I say, Lefferts, would you and Tucker mind finishing your cigars in the drawing-room? (Crosses up to door L.C.J Lefferts. (Rising) Of course not. Tucker. (Rising) With pleasure, Burton. Crane. You don't mind ? You and Tucker have so much in common — ^kitchens and things. Eh, Tuck ? (Going to door, opening it and standing r. of door.) Tucker. Possibly — possibly — but I understand that Mr. Lefferts specializes in closets. (He goes out with an air of dignified triumph.) Crane. (To Leffertsj Sorry to bother you, but I shan't be long. Lefferts. Fairy God- father, you may be just as long as you like. Besides — I've a letter to read. (Produces it.) By the way, you said five thousand a year, didn't you ? Crane. Yes, didn't you understand me? Lefferts. Yes, but I love to hear you say it. (Lefferts exits door l.cJ Crane. {Waving Weeks to chair r.J Please sit down, Mr. Weeks. (Closes door and sits in his own chair, facing audience.) Mr. Weeks, I shall leave this place to-morrow. Weeks, What? Crane. I have decided to break the lease. Weeks. Break the lease? Crane. Exactly. Weeks, On what grounds ? What* do you mean ? iiB COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN CuANE, The lease stipulated that you were to provide a staff of competent white servants and you are my witness that to-night I have nobody left but the cook. Weeks. Oh, come now. We only agreed to pro- vide the servants. We could not guarantee that you would not dismiss them. Crane. And why did I dismiss them? I'll tell you — the housemaid for calling one of my guests an old harridan — to her face, mind you — I could have overlooked it if it had been behind her back — ; the boy for attempting to assault another guest, and the butler for re-introducing this same violent boy into the house disguised as an old man. I really ought to have them all arrested. I rather think I will. Weeks. Oh, I hope — I hope you don't mean that, Mr. Crane. Crane. I shouldn't like to feel I had allowed a dangerous gang to be turned loose on the country- side. Weeks. I give you my word they are not that. I know all about them. Crane. None the less, there is a good deal to be explained. For example, how comes it that you are — I will not say a welcome — but at least an assured and certainly a surreptitious, visitor to my kitchen? Weeks. (Rising, much embarrassed, moves around above chair.) I do not feel called upon to explain my conduct to anyone. Crane. You refuse to answer? Weeks. I do. Crane. Upon statutory grounds? Weeks. What do you mean, sir? Crane. Upon the ground that to answer might tend to incriminate or degrade you. Weeks. (Angrily) No, sir! Certainly not, sir! And if you think you can COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 119 Crane. Tut I Tut I Another thing; I should like to ask you how an Irish girl like Jane-Ellen can be a full sister to a pair of more or less Eng- lishmen like Smithfield and Brindy ? Weeks. Nonsense ! Crane. Yet that's the case. Weeks. Who said so? Crane. (Quoting Weeks j One of the most ad- mired and respected young ladies in Virginia, I may say in the entire South. Weeks. What's her name? Crane. That, my dear sir, is what I want you to tell me. (Rises.) Well, sir, what have you to say ? (Comes round back of table.) Weeks. Nothing. Crane. Do you deny that Brindlebury and Sniith- field and Jane-Ellen are brothers and sister? Weeks. I — I don't see what that has to do with it. Crane. You don't deny it ? Weeks. No — ah — and I don't affirm it. Crane. And you don't explain it ? Weeks. No. (Crosses to l. end of table.) Crane. And for all I know, Araminta is — ^by Jove ! (Enter Jane-Ellen from pantry. Crane moves R.c. behind table.) Jane-Ellen (She stops on the .-way to the sideboard.) Come here, please. Jane-Ellen, is Araminta your sister? Jane. (Hesitates, glances at W^eeks, then hack to Crane. j Well, sor, ye see, I feel as if she was — we've been that long togither, sor — an' she always so swate and obligin' to me an' everythin' the like o' that an' oh, sor, ye'll be excusin' me jist the half av a minute, sor. I got some apples bakin* in the shtove. (She bolts from the room into the pantry.) Crane. (Looks at Weeks a momentj then com^s 120 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN down R. of table.) There are four Daingerfield children, I think you said? Weeks. Yes, four. Crane. Two boys and two girls? Weeks. Yes. (A psiuse.) Crane. Mr. Weeks, have you the assurance to stand there and tell me, as a Southern gentleman, that you think I have been treated down here with all the consideration I deserve? Weeks. I think, on my honor, sir, that you have been treated with unparalleled distinction, sir. Crane. Well, I have lived in one continuous three-day riot, if that's what you mean. Have you anything else to say? Weeks. No, sir — nothing. Crane. In that case, I've no more to say except — ^good evening. Weeks. Good evening. (Moving up.) Crane. (Moving to mantel c.) I shall break the lease. If you and the Daingerfields feel your- selves aggrieved, you have my permission to sue. Weeks. But — but — my dear sir, if — if you only knew Crane. Perhaps — but I don't — and you won't tell me. Weeks. I — I — oh! I can't — I can't, and that's the truth! Crane. Then good evening, Mr. Weeks. (Weeks is about to go, but returns.) Weeks. (Up to CraneJ One more thing — it's about you and — and Jane-Ellen — staying here all alone. Crane. Oh, yes, you're concerned about the cook's reputation. Weeks. Ye-es, I — I am, sir. COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 121 Crane. Really, Mr. Weeks, don't you think this IS carrying Southern chivalry rather far? Weeks. No, sir, I don't. Crane. (Ringing the bell) Very well, we'll let let the cook decide for herself. If she likes she can go and stay the night with my chauffeur's wife. Weeks. (Scandalised at this, too) Mr. Crane! Crane. Dear me! Mr. Weeks, you seem very hard to please. (Ent^r Jane-Ellen from pantry.) Crane. Jane-Ellen, in a little while you and I are to be the only persons left under this roof. This idea strikes Mr. Weeks as undesirable. How do you feel about it? Jane. Me, sor? Crane. \Vould you like to go and sleep with my chauffeur's wife? Jane. Faith, sor, an* I don't think I would. Sure, I'm much oUiged to Misther Weeks, but I'm not afraid. Weeks. But think — think — what will people say? Jane. Faith, Mr. Weeks, they'll know nothin' at all about it, av you was to hould ye're tongue. (She goes to sideboard.) Crane. You see, Mr. Weeks. Anything else ? Weeks. (Almost purple with indignation) I — I. shall go at once and find her brothers. (Going,) Crane. (IVith a cry) Ah ! Then you do admit it! Weeks. Admit what? Crane. That they are her brothers. Weeks. '^Shouting a mixture of rage and grief) No, I don't! (With this he rushes from the room, closing door L.c. after him. Pause. Crane goes down L.) 122 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN Crane. Please sit down, Jane-Ellen. Jane. Thank ye, sor, but I'd rather be standin*. Crane. Just as you please. I shall be leaving right after breakfast. Jane. What, sor? (Crane moves to c. in front of table.) Crane. I have told Mr. Weeks tl.at I've decided to break the lease. Jane. Sure, ye could get more servants in a day or two. Misther Weeks was goin' to do that, any- way. An' I'd be stayin' on till ye cou'd Crane. It isn't that — so much, Jane-Ellen. The thing has not turned out as I had — er — expected. My guests have all left me — in various stages of anger — and — well, my holiday's spoiled I shall go. Jane. Sure, 'twill be cruel bad news for — for the young Daingerfields, I'm thinkin*. Crane. I daresay they won't mind my going. Jane. Ah, sor, 'tis worse than thai — far worse. They'd never have been rentin' the old place if they hadn't been near starvin*. Crane. (Kneels on chair) You're very much at- tached to them, eh, Jane-Ellen? Jane. Ye might say that, sor. Crane. Especially to the old Colorel, eh ? Jane. Yes, sir. Crane. But the tall, dark-eyed Miss Olivia, you don't care much for her ? Jane. Well, sor, if the truth was known she's got her points. Crane. But you couldn't stand tht woman any longer. Jane. What's that, sor ? Crane. You were tired of seeing her around the place. Didn't you say so? Jane. Oh, well, faith I didn't care what I was sayin' to that ould — to that Mrs. Falkner, beggin' your pardon, sor. COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 123 Crane. Jane-Ellen, something was said at dinner that distressed me deeply. Jane. Who was it said it? Crane. You. Jane. Me, sor? Crane. I was sorry to hear that you believed in Miss Olivia's triple engagement. Jane. What is it to you, when ye've not afther knowin' her at all ? Crane. Oh, yes, I know her. (A pause.) Jane. Sure I'm sorry I said anything about a friend av yours, sor. I was supposin' she was quite a shtranger to ye (She drops her eyes.) Crane. (Pause) I wonder if I shall ever really know her. At times she seems very near, as near as you are to me — and, again, suddenly, like a sprite, she dances far away. Why does she do that, Jane- Ellen? Jane. Belike, sor, belike 'tis only her way. Crane. I was afraid that perhaps it was because she didn't trust me. Do you think it could be that ? Jane-Ellen, I love her. (Kneels in chair c. toward her. Catches her hand. A pause) Will you tell her when you see her ? (Pause.) Jane. You must take a poor girl's advice an' don't be hasty. Indade, she's a good bit av a minx. (Pause.) Are ye quite sure, now Crane. Yes, yes. She's the most adorable crea- ture I ever saw. And if she will not love me Jane. (After a little pause, taking half a step toward him) Faith, your honor, an' what then — if she will not love you? (Crane drops hand.) Crane. Jane-Ellen, were you ever abroad in the early morning in the springtime — ^just before the sun had risen? Jane. Faith, then, I was. Crane. Well, then, you may remember that the 124 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN trees, the flowers, the grass, the water, the sky — all the earth — seemed waiting, hushed, with its fingers on its lips — waiting — for the dawn. All my life*s been like that, Jane-Ellen, waiting, watching, for the loveliest, the sweetest thing to happen. And now — now when it's so near Jane. (After a pause) Sure. 'Tis very deep — an' chilly — at that hour o' the mornin*. Crane. (In despair turns down l. a little.) Ah, you're making fun of me ! Jane. Not me, your honor. Faith, 'tis not me- silf c'u'd iver be that bould. Crane. Jane-Ellen, in a little while, when I pass through that door, it may be for the last time, and though I may never see her unforgetable face or hear her blessed voice again, all that I am and hope for is hers. And though her heart may never turn to me I still shall bless her name because it is so wonderful to- know that anything so lovely as herself can be. And that's my last message to her, Jane- Ellen. Do you think vou can remember to tell her that ? Jane. Sure, then, I'll try. Only — only she's that conceited there'll be no livin' wid her at all, at all. Crane. But you must tell her just the same. You will? Jane. Faith, then, I will. Crane. Thank you. (He puts out his hand for- mally. She lets him take her hand. Suddenly he lifts it to his lips, then lowers her hand and turns to go.) And now, good-bye, Jane-Ellen, good-bye. (She pulls him hack to original position.) Jane- Ellen! Jane. (With a little curtsey) Did you really like me cookin*? Crane. Olivia! (They embrace.) CURTAIN Of to "** /^A L 1 s 1 • V "• / r> V_^ o 2 po ^ t» 1 C -2 ti 5 -i m OS |o 51 ~n w 1 -ii ^ , W JQ Ss 1 H >■ :5^ 2 lo :l en Of 1 cL ^^ v^---^'"^ 1 ACIl Three framed pictures (2 still life. 1 portrart). One bell pull fastening. One tapestry bell pull, braes end pieces. Two brass curtain rods (12 rings on each). Four brackets, supports for same. Two pairs of grey curtains. Large Axminster carpet (fawn). Two Axminster rugs. One Persian rug (brown). One large blue and white vase. One mahogany bracket clock. One large painted satinwood settee. Four small painted satinwood chairs. Two arm painted satinwood chairck One Chesterfield. One round painted satinwood table. Three cushions (2 tapestry, 1 black satin). One gilt French clock. One Adam brass and iron fire grate. One painted and inlaid satinwood writing desk. Two coffee" cups and saucers. Two coffee spoons. Electro-plated spirit lamp. Small silver cigarette box. Coffee. Matches. Cigars. Cigarettes. Letter (with cheque). Letter (reference). Two small ash trays. One French footstool. One circular gilt mirror with eagle. One brass fender. One set brass fire-irons. - One embroidery fire screen. Two blue and white china bowls. Two blue and white china vases (straight). Three blue and white china vases with lid« (1 not tiueSl^u Artificial roses. Artificial chrysanthemums. American magazines. Miniature in oval gilt frame on table L. CS. Bag of golf clubs by door. Attache case. Strap. Books. Blotting pad. Pen-tray. Ink pot. Pens. Handbag with Initial* O. D. Duster. Motor horn (Klaxon). Door knocker. Small round salver. 127 o o 2 m O c H X m -; N Oft , . 1^ 1 « In ' 1 ■ o K :< - § >( i ?• 2: ACT n White Stone sink, with plug on bras* chain and waste pipe. Stand for sink. Draining board with hinged trestle. Iron pump (secured with bolts). Board packing for pump with bolts to secure to flat. Shelf with attached brackets (pin hinges to cupboard backing). Six bells with pendulums on board; three bella wired, clips to attach whole to flat. Green blind to window, clips to attach. Two small rush-seated arm chairs. Kitchen table covered American cloth. Dresser with shelves. Small kitchen table. Pot rack with hooks, clips to attach to flat. Kitchen range. Towel roller and supports. Clip to attach to door« Small flour barrel on dresser. Coal scuttle. Ice cream freezer. Picture in- frame (Geo. Washington). Two roller towels. Scrubbing brush. Dish mop. Iron cauldron. Dustpan. Hand brush. Two brooms. Mop. Bannister brush. Seven tins (provisions). Enamel tray. Plates to break. Broken plate. Six dishcloths- Box containing boot-brush, pair of boots. Two Willow pattern disiies on dresser. Twelve Willow pattern plates on dresser. Threa ,^ugs. One enamel mug. Two large bowls. Two basins. Tin of baking powder. Sieve. Packet of quaker oats. Ironing board. Two copper saucepans with lids. Two small frying pans (copper). Two large frying pans (copper). Five baking pans. Grid iron. Five wooden spoons. Kitchen clock. Iron holder. Pepper pot 129 130 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN Salt Shatter. Sugar dredsrer. Kettle (larg* Irem). Plat Iron. Potato knife. Kitchen knife. Kitchen fork. Plate. Jam pot. Stone bottle. Nutmeg grater. Three white cups. White bowl. Blue and white cup. Two lace collars. Chicken. Blue, white and grilt dlahc Two enam.el bowls. Blue and white jug. Tin bowl. Grease. Flour. CornmeaL Doughnuts. Butter. Treacle. Sherry. Nutmeg. Parsley. Eggs. Milk. Handkerchiftfo. Letter. Cablegram. 1 m 1 j ^^^^^^^^^^^^HH^''*^" F ; 1 !».,.,,,._ CO u < ui Ui z UJ u r o X I AOXIO OvAl dining table. Six small chairs. Persian rug. liarg-e Sheraton sideboar4L Mahogany serving table. Mahogany firescreen. Two mahogany knife boxes. Square Turkey carpet. Butter tray stand. Green folding screen. Oak fender. Steel fireirons set with stand. Bell pull fixing. Printed linen bell pull, brass ende. Bronze and marble clock. Two bronze and mar1>le ornamenta Half round mahogany side table for between wind Two pairs brackets for curtain rods. Two curtain rods and rings doubled from A«ifc 5= Two pairs green silk brocade curtains. Iiarge blue and white vase. White table cloths. Table napkins. Two three armed candelabra. Carving knife and fork. Dinner bell. Set of six dish mats. Two wine decanters. Four sherry glasses. Four large wine glasses. Small plated salver doubled from A«t S, Two plated forks. Seven plated table spoons. One plated soup ladle. Four plated tea spoons. Four plated coffee spoons. Four large knives. Four small knives. Blue and white flower bowl doubled from A«i T Artificial roses. Plates, bread basket. Two glass salt cellars. Two plated salt spoons. Glass and plated butter dish. Plated butter knife. Glass dish. Plated pepper pot. Glass and plated salt shaker. Wine basket. Water bottle. Four glass ice plates. ^Plated dish with lid. Plated spoon. Small oak tray. Cigar box. Silver cigarette box. Spirit lamp doubled from Aet M. COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN IBS Four soup plates. Five meat plates. Three vegetable dishet. One meat dish. Oak butler's tray. Cut glass bowl. liarge plated tray. Four coffee cups and assm9SfSti» (2 doubled from Act I>. Plated sugar basin. Plated sugar tongs. Plated cream j»g. Almonds. Olives. Salt. Sherry. Port. Bottle of «tor«t. Coffee. Sugar. Soup. Batter. Bread. Corn bread. ClUcken. Doughnuts. Vegetables, Soe cream. Cigarettes. CSgars. Matches. CSablegraa. Xietter. Wig and wlal(!^S«rtr MRS. WIGGS OF THE CABBAGE PATCH Dramatization in 3 acts, by Anne Crawford Flexner from the novel by Alice Hegan Bice. 15 males, 11 femalee. 1 interior, 1 exterior. Costumes modem and rustic. Plays a full evening. A capital dramatization of the ever-beloved Mrs. Wiggs and lier friends, people who have entered the hearts and minds of a nation. Mrs. Schulta and Lovey Mary, the pessimiitie Miss Hazy and the others need no new introduction. Here is characteriea- iion, humor, pathos, and what is best and most appealing in modern American life. The amateur acting rights are reserved for the present in all cities and towns where there are stock companies. Royalty will be quoted on application for those cities and towns where it may be presented by amateurs. Price, 75 Cents. THE FOUR-FLUSHER Comedy in 3 acts. By Caesar Dunn. 8 males, 5 females. 2 interiors. Modern costumes. Plays 2% hours. A comedy of hustling American youth, "The Four-Flusher" is one of those clean and bright plays which reveal the most appeal- ing characteristics of our native types. Here is an amusing story of a young shoe clerk who through cleverness, personality, and plenty of wholesome faith in himself, becomes a millionaire. The play is best described as "breezy." It is full of human touches, and develops a most interesting story. It may be whole-heartedly recommended to high schools. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 76 Cents. PALS FIRST Comedy in a prologue and 3 acts. By Lee Wilson Dodd. 8 males, 3 females. 1 interior, 1 exterior. Modern cos* tumes. Plays 2% hours. Based on the successful novel of the same name by F. P. Elliott, "Pals First" is a decidedly picturesque mystery play. Danny and the Dominie, a pair of tramps, enter a mansion and persuade the servants and friends that they belong there. They are not altogether wrong, though it requires the intervention of a judge, two detectives, a villain and an attractive girl to un- tangle the complications. A most ingenious play, well adapted to performance by high schools and colleges. (Royalty, twentj- five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West IStb Street, Kew York Otty Kew ftad Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailecl Free on Segaeat I^LYANNA **The glft3 play," in 3 acts. By Catherine Chisholm Ctishing. Based on the novel by Eleanor H. Porter. 5 males, 6 females. 2 interiors. Costumes, modern. Playa 2% hours. The story has to do with the experiences of an orphan girl •who is thrust, unwelcome, into the home of a maiden aunt. In. fipite of the tribulations that beset her life she manages to find aotnething to be glad about, and brings light into sunless lives. Knafly, Pollyanna straightens out the love affairs of her elders, and last, but not least, finds happiness for herself in the heart of Jimmy. "Pollyanna" is a glad play and one which is bound to give one a better appreciation of people and the world. It reflects the humor, tenderness and humanity that gave the story ro«h wonderful popularity among young and old. Produced at the Hudson Theatre, New York, and for two sea- sons on tour, by George C. Tyler, with Helen Hayes in the part of • 'Pollyanna." (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. THE CHARM SCHOOL ji comedy in 3 acts. By Alice Duer Miller and Robert Milton. 6 males, 10 females (may be played by 5 malea and 8 females). Any number of school girls may be used in the ensembles. Scenes, 2 interiors. Modern costumes. Plays 2V2 hours. ^'he story of "The Charm School" is familiar to Mrs. Miller's resdevs. It relates the adventures of a handsome young auto- mobile salesman, scarcely out of his 'teens, who, upon inheriting a girls' boarding-school from a maiden aunt, insists on running it fcfanself, according to his own ideas, chief of which is, by the viBy, that the dominant feature in the education of the yoxmg girts of to-day should be CHARM. The situations that arise are t«8c»iptive CA»talogite Mailed Ftee on Beattefll FRENCH'S Standard Library Edition George M. Cohan Winchell Smith Booth Tarkington Wtiliam Gillette Prank Craven Owen Davis Austin Strong A. A. Milne Harriet Ford Paul Green Jamc5 Montgomery Arthur Richman Pbiiip Barry Qe«rg;e Middleton Cbanciln^ Pollock Oe*rge Kaufman Martin Flavin ViMor Mapes Kate D9uglaks Wlffgln Rida J*hn5on Young Margaret Mayo R«i C«*per Megrua Jwin Webster G««r-c Broadhurst €«*rge Hobart Frederick S. Uham Fred Ballard Percy MacKave WiWard Mack Jerome K. Jerome R. C. Carton William Cary Duncan Sir Arthur Conan Dayle Includes Plays by Augustus Thomas Rachel Crothers W. W. Jacobs Ernest Denny Kenyon Nicholssn Aaron Hoffman H. V. Esmond Edgar Selwyn Laurence Housman Israel Zangvyill Walter Hackett A. E. Thomas Edna Ferber John Henry Mears Mark Swan John B. Staplet*n Frederick Lonsdale Bryon Ongley Rex Beach Paul Armstrong H. A. Du Souchet George Ade J. Hartley Manners Barry Conners Edith Ellis Harold Brighouse Harvey J. O'Hlggkis Clare Kunimer James Forbes WHIIam C. DeMllle Thompson Buchanan C. Haddon Chambers Richard Harding Darls Ge«rge Kelly Louis N. Parker Anthony Hope Lewis Beach Guy Boiton Edward E. Rose Marc Connelly Frederick Paulding Lynn Starling Clyde Fitch Earl Derr Diggers Thomas Breadhnret Charles Klein Bayard Velller Grace L. Furniss Martha Morton Robert Heusum Carlisle Meere Salisbury Field Lo* DIetricbsteiii Harry James Smith Bddi Pbillpetts Branden Tynan Clayten Hamiltes Edward Sheldon Richard Gantheny Julie Lippman Paul Dlekey Frank Becen Edward Paulten Adelaide Matthews A. E. W. Masen Cesme Gerden-I Catherine Chishelm Cushing J. C. and Elllett Nugent Edward Chiids Carpenter Justin Huntley McCarthy Madeline Lucctte Ryley Josephine Preston Peabedy French's International Copyrighted Edition contains i»Uiys, ceaie