E KJ TCHEN FRENCH, 25 West 45th SU New York Come Out of the Kitchen A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS By A. E. THOMAS BASED ON THE STORY OP THE SAME NAME BY ALICE DUER MILLER All rights reserved CAUTION Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that "COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN," 1>eing 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 SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, 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 25 WEST 45TH STREET on LONDON SAMUEL FRENCH, LTD. 26 SOUTHAMPTON STREET STRAND Ms ptey payable to 00* Los Angeles Office SAMUEL FRENCH FINK APTS BLDO.. 811 WEST 7i C "Come Out of the Kitchen" All rights reserved COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE 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 shall 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 the United States of America by THE RICHMOND HILL RECORD. RICHMOND HILL. N. Y. 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 Duer Miller.) CAST OF CHARACTERS OLIVIA DANGERFIELD. Alias Jane Ellen . .Rum 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 Mammy . .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, Alias Smithfield. .CHARLES TROWBRIDGE CHARLES DANGERFIELD, Alias Brindlebury ROBERT AMES RANDOLPH WEEKS, Agent of the Dangerfields WALTER CONNOLLY TIME. The Present. PLACE. The Danger-field mansion in Virginia. 2115034 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 II. The kitchen afternoon two days later- ACT III. The dining-room just before dinner on the same day. 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 v 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 Lieutenant's 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 wearing 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 8 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 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 again 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 mind, 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, 9 we've 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. I'd 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.J 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 fact, io COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN moves to back of chair L. of table to CHARLIE.J 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 thts 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.) 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 R. COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN II shoulder.) Hush! Charlie! Hush! That's enough. (Turns up above table R.C.) 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 brozvn 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.cJ 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 12 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.) 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.,) 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.) 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. betiueen windows.) 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 & 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 OLIVIA,) 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. Am* 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 to her) You mustn't worry, Mandy, we'll all be back soon. 14 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN AMANDA. (Drazving 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 foh 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 OLIVIA^ 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' foh cain't I go wid you dis time, too? OLIVIA. (R. of AMANDA ) 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.) AMANDA. I'm 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 ! 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'.? 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 armchair R.C. and sits. The others crowd eagerly about 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 table, leaning over OLIVIA.) ELIZABETH. How's father? (Brings chair from L. and sits on the left side of OLIVIA.) OLIVIA. (Beginning to read) Vienna, Oct. 23d. My Darlings : You will doubtless be anxious to hear how your 16 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 dwtnbly 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 Lj 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 window) 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.) Reckon I could guess without trying more than once. OLIVIA. (Smiling) Oh, you, hush now ! ELIZABETH. (Teasing) Going to take him, Livy ? OLIVIA. Nonsense ! ELIZABETH. Why don't you take him or leave him? i8 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN PAUL. (Comes behind table, between them and stands L.c.j 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 table 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 B. to mantel.) But why ? Why ? COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 19 WEEKS. Didn't say. Too far from the city, per- haps. PAUL. But this is terrible leaving us 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 WEEKSJ 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.) 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 R.) 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. fR.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 table 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 ) 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 Rj Well, did anybody ever hear PAUL. (Comes down R. of table L.cJ 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 22 COME 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 won.- 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? (Comes 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? C 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 name? 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 nj OLIVIA. Bess Boys not for dad? (They re- main silent for a moment. OLIVIA comes c. to R. of PAUL.J 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 L.,) 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 Rj Yes, but I don't know how to be a rnaid. 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 we've done with you we shall have avenged the South! (All laugh except BESS.,) (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 be- longings. CHARLIE up R. of door c. for golf sticks. ELIZABETH crosses L. for bag, colliding with PAUL as he is crossing for his books, 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 lib.) 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 walks 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.cJ 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.C.) 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, accommodating 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. You're 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.) WEEKS. (Gets well to the L V 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. CRANE. (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 "0. D." are painfully suspicious, and in- stantly turns the bag so as to hide them.) CRANK. 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 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. (Somewhat 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 II (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.c.J (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 Amazonic 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 L.C., reading "Vogue") No, Mother, I'm 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 32 CORA. Well, really, Mother (Protesting.) MRS. FALKNER. Oh, piffle ! Triple piffle ! Mod- esty'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 apprehensively at 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 upon necessary luxuries and luxurious necessities. Better have a little talk with your Uncle Solon about the state of our bank account. If you are the sensible girl I take you for, it will accellerate your progress to the 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, my dear, co-operate, sympathetically CORA. (Sighs) Very well, Mother. (Rises, lays magazine on table, goes in front of same.) MRS. FALKNER. (Suspiciously) Cora CORA. Yes, Mother? MRS. FALKNER. Come here, please. H D o HJ 2 O C 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? When 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.) 34 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN TUCKER. (Coming to L. of MRS. FALKNERJ 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. (R. of WEEKS. ) MRS. FALKNER. Oh, take one, Cora. Now-a- days, not smoking makes a woman look so conspicu- ous. (TUCKER, back 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 ! 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.) COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 35 CRANE. Well, Mrs. Falkner, our cook can cook, can't she? (Crosses to R.C. and lights his cigarette with spirit lamp on table R.C.) MRS. FALKNER. She's too good to last. (WEEKS is back of table L.cJ CORA. (Seated R. of table L.cJ It was a delicious dinner, wasn't it, Uncle Solon? TUCKER. (At back of chair R.C. Moves to c. of stage) Well, it's a little early to decide. My ex- perience is that you can tell more about a dinner two hours after you've eaten it. CRANE. (Standing back of table R.J Once a lawyer, always cautious. (All laugh. MRS. F. goes back of small table.) TUCKER. (At c.) Not at all. My contention is that to assume that a dinner is a good dinner merely because it has an agreeable taste is leaping to a con- clusion which has not as yet a sufficient foundation in known facts. CORA. You're asking a good deal of a cook, Uncle. (MRS. F. flicks ashes from cigarette.) CRANE. I should say so. (Crosses to TUCKER at c., -who goes up, looking at portrait R. of door.) Of course, I'm delighted to have you here and I shall do all I can to insure your comfort, but really I shall have to ask you to digest your own dinner. (All laugh.) Eh, Mr. Weeks? WEEKS. (L. of table L.cJ Seems fair to me. MRS. FALKNER. (Sitting in armchair again) The trouble with my brother, Mr. Weeks, is that he's a lawyer first and a gourmet afterwards. By the way, my dear Burton, you were good enough to say you wished me to assist in supervising your domestic menage. (TUCKER crosses at back to back of table R.) CRANE. (Comes down to her c.) Did I ? 36 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN MRS. FALKNER. Then the sooner we begin the better. Will you kindly ring? CRANE. Oh, certainly, of course. (Crosses front of table to bell cord below fireplace and pulls once. No sound heard off stage.) But why? MRS. FALKNER. I wish to inspect the staff at once. CRANE. (Stands in front of mantel smoking ciga- rette) Oh, but do you think that's necessary, just now? MRS. FALKNER. I think it desirable. CORA. (Seated L.c.J Oh, Mother, couldn't it go over till morning? TUCKER. (Moves to c. a step or two.) The sooner the better, I should say. Let 'em know you're not to be trifled with. (Turns to CRANED They're probably a pack of shirkers. WEEKS. (Indignantly, back of table L.C.) Mr. Tucker ! I assure you TUCKER. Oh, yes, of course, Mr. Weeks, you picked 'em out, didn't you? Still, just as well to give 'em to understand you've an eye on them. (Goes' to back of table R.cJ (WEEKS sits chair L. of table L.C. Enter SMITH- FIELD (formerly PAULJ. He is in the conven- tional butler's garb, with the exception of a pair of patent leather boots. His hair is parted in the middle clear to the back of his neck and is brushed forward from his ears. He gives the best imitation of an ultra British butler that he can muster.) SMITHFIELD. (Leaving door open) I think you rang, sir? CRANE. Oh, Mrs. Falkner MRS. FALKNER. Come here, my man. What is your name? COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 37 SMITHFIELD. (c.) Smithfield, milady. MRS. FALKNER. Ah, yes, of course. All I could think of was Jones SMITHFIELD. Yes, milady. MRS. FALKNER. Ask your fellow servants to come to the drawing-room at once. SMITHFIELD. Very good, milady. (Turns to go.) MRS. FALKNER. And don't call me "milady." I lay no claim whatever to that title. SMITHFIELD. Yes, milady er I beg your par- don but having served the nobility for a number of years perhaps madame will understand. MRS. FALKNER. Yes yes of course run along. Oh, Smithfield! (He turns.) Oh, no I think that's all. SMITHFIELD. Thank you, milady damn! (Turns up c. to door.) MRS. FALKNER. Eh, what? SMITHFIELD. (Going to her) Madame. (He goes out, making grimace at WEEKS. Goes out ma- jestically closing door after him.) MRS. FALKNER. Really, the man has an excellent manner. Where did you say you got these servants, Mr. Weeks? WEEKS. (Seated L. of table L.C. Not having thought of such an inquiry, is badly stumped by it, but he does the best he can.) Why er from the Billingtons. The Crosslet-Billingtons, of whom, no doubt, you have heard? MRS. FALKNER. No never never in my life. Do you know them, Burton? CRANE. Never heard of 'em. Do you know them well? WEEKS. Er as well as anybody, I think. One of our Southern families very nice people. MRS. FALKNER. And how did the Crosslet-Bil- lingtons come to part with these priceless gems? 38 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN WEEKS. The the family is now abroad, but I assure you I had much difficulty to arrange it. Irf- deed, it was not until almost the last moment however, I sincerely hope it will all turn out for the best. (SMITHFIELD returns with ARAMINTA (formerly ELIZABETH) and BRINDLEBURY (formerly CHARLES). ARAMINTA is costumed as an up- stairs girl and is half-frightened and half-sulky. BRINDLEBURY wears a red neckerchief, a green baize apron and leggings, and his hair is tousled. He looks like a Dickensian horse-boy. SMITH- FIELD comes into the room. The other two stay in doorway.) SMITHFIELD. I beg pardon, Milady- Cook will be here directly. MRS. FALKNER. You haven't been long in this country ? SMITHFIELD. No, Milady. MRS. FALKNER. It's quite obvious Not long enough to be corrupted, I should say. You under- stand, of course, that you are responsible for the discipline below stairs. (CRANE and WEEKS are at fireplace.) (CHARLES cannot restrain his mirth. ELIZABETH calls him to order. Seeing MRS. FALKNER glaring, he turns laugh into a cough.) SMITHFIELD. Oh, yes, Milady. I beg pardon. I never 'ave any trouble of that sort. MRS. FALKNER. Burton, I think Smithfield will do. CRANE. Very glad to hear it. (SMITHFIELD steps up stage R. of door.) COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 39 MRS. FALKNEK. Let the young woman come here. (ARAMINTA steps forward below MRS. FALKNER. CHARLES gives her a slight push, which she re- sents.) MRS. FALKNER. What is your name ? ARAMINTA. (In a tone of deep annoyance) Ara- minta! (The name jolts WEEKS and SMITHFIELD severely. She gives WEEKS a look. CHARLES laughs guiltily up C,) MRS. FALKNER. Araminta! What a name! CRANE. What's the matter with it? MRS. FALKNER. (CHARLEY starts toward the miniature on table L.cJ Might as well be Gwendo- lyn. Young woman, some sensible person should have restrained your silly parents. My daughter and myself are to be called at 8 after you have drawn our baths. Breakfast in our rooms a half- hour later. (ARAMINTA, about to go up, stops as MRS. F. continues) And see here, my girl, you keep your hands off my silk stockings you under- stand? I don't know if you're aware of it, Burton, but the average housemaid has a perfect passion for silk stockings they simply can't resist 'em. (Con- temptuously) And now I wish to speak with that boy. BRINDLEBURY. (Anxiously) Yes, ma'am. (In- stead of approaching her, however, he backs close up to WEEKS and the audience sees that he is trying to pass him something 1 behind his back.) MRS. FALKNER. Let the boy come closer. (PAUL comes down on CHARLES' L,.) BRINDLEBURY. Yes, ma'am, certainly, ma'am. (He now approaches her for inspection.) MRS. FALKNER. (Pompously) What is your name? 40 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN BRINDLEBURY. I, ma'am, am the useful boy, as they say at 'ome. SMITHFIELD. You'll find him h'excellent with the boots, Milady. BRINDLEBURY. (Gaily) Boots! Ah, boots, ma'- am, to me partickerly a ridin' boot, now (Whistles and waves duster.) MRS. FALKNER. (Checking his enthusiasm) Boy ! Answer when you're spoken to. What is your name? BRINDLEBURY. (Looks at WEEKS for help, but gets none.) My name, ma'am, is B-R-I-N-D-L-E- B-U-R-Y. (Everybody amused.) MRS. FALKNER. Brindlebury! BRINDLEBURY. Pronounced Brindy, ma'am the old Sussex name, ma'am, with which I 'ave no doubt, you, as a student of history MRS. FALKNER. (With deep disapproval) Bur- ton, I think you'll have trouble with that boy. CRANE. (Looking at the boy and exchanging a smile of involuntary sympathy) I think I'll find him all right. MRS. FALKNER. Brindy! It's a preposterous name. I think I shall call you just "boy." BRINDLEBURY. Thank you, ma'am. (Starts to go.) MRS. FALKNER. And, Boy, as for the boots ! BRINDLEBURY. Yes, ma'am. MRS. FALKNER. Take care you don't remove the trees from mine. I'll have no hands inside my boots but my own or feet, either. That will do. BRINDLEBURY. Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am. MRS. FALKNER. (She waves them away. BRIN- DLEBURY and ARAMINTA are sent off c. by SMITH- FIELD. They exit laughing.) And now, Smithfield, send up the cook at once. COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 41 SMITHFIELD. (At door c.) I beg pardon, ma'am. Here comes the cook. (OLIVIA comes in. Her kitchen garb has in no way diminished her charms. Quite the con- trary, in fact. SMITHFIELD exits after OLIVIA is well on.) MRS. FALKNER. (Sitting up, convulsively, and levelling a lorgnette at her) You are the cook ! OLIVIA. (In her best brogue) Faith, then, I am, ma'am. MRS. FALKNER. (Staring at her) Bless my soul ! (CoRA unconsciously draws nearer, and TUCKER also, clearing his throat somewhat loudly. WEEKS is clearly nervous.) And what is your name? (OLIVIA hesitates.) I say, what is your name? (WEEKS conies to the rescue and they speak to- gether.) OLIVIA and WEEKS. (Together) Jane (Al- most together) Ellen. MRS. FALKNER. There seems to be a difference of opinion. OLIVIA. (In a dovelike voice) Me name is Jane- Ellen, ma'am. MRS. FALKNER. Well, Jane-Ellen, I suppose you have references. WEEKS. (Hastily interposing) Oh, the very best, I assure you. MRS. FALKNER. (Not relishing the interruption) Mr. Weeks, if you please WEEKS. From the Crosslet-Billingtons, Mrs. Falkner, but unfortunately I have left them at my office. To-morrow, if you wish OLIVIA. (Taking a paper from her apron pocket and timidly handing it to MRS. F.) Here's me character, ma'am. 42 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN (TUCKER takes it from OLIVIA, takes reference from envelope and hands former to MRS. FALKNER, who snatches it.) MRS. FALKNER. (Holding out at arm's length and reading it) "To whom it may concern : This is to certify that I recommend the bearer, Jane Mc- Sorley, as a reliable girl and a competent cook. I have known her since her birth. She is leaving 1 me for reasons of her own. But she is the best cook I have ever employed. Olivia Daingerfield." Ahem ! It is a flattering testimonial, and who is Olivia Daingerfield? Mrs. Daingerfield, I suppose? (Hands paper back to TUCKER, who hands it to OLIVE A. ) WEEKS. Er no no. Mr. and Mrs. Dainger- field are in Europe, I believe. MRS. FALKNER. Your friends travel a good deal, don't they? WEEKS. Miss Olivia Daingerfield is one of the daughters. MRS. FALKNER. Oh! (To OLIVIA,) And may I ask what were these "reasons of your own," my girl? OLIVIA. Excuse me, ma'am! MRS. FALKNER. Why did you leave Miss Dain- gerfield's service? OLIVIA. Must I be af ther tellin' ye that, ma'am ? MRS. FALKNER. I think so. OLIVIA. Faith, then, I couldn't stand the woman any longer. I was sick and tired of seein' her around the place. MRS. FALKNER. Indeed ! (To OLIVIA) My girl, let me see your hands. (WEEKS goes up R. Re- luctantly, OLIVIA approaches and holds out her hands for inspection. MRS. F. stares at them.) Humph! COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 43 Manicured! So you couldn't stand seeing her around any longer, eh? OLIVIA. Indade, ma'am, I could not, then. Sure, she was wan av them meddlin' females always pokin' her nose into things was none av her business. (MRS. F. winces slightly. CRANE and TUCKER en- joy the dig.) MRS. FALKNER. Ahem ! And you went from her to the Crosslet-Billingtons ? OLIVIA. Who, ma'am? MRS. FALKNER. That was the name, wasn't it, Mr. Weeks? WEEKS. (Hastily, behind table L. of OLIVIAJ Yes, yes, from the Daingerfields to the Crosslet-Bil- lingtons. Didn't you, Jane-Ellen ? OLIVIA. Maybe I did, sor. I could never be get- tin' that quare name straight in me head. MRS. FALKNER. (Bluntly) My girl, have you ever been married? OLIVIA. God forbid, ma'am. MRS. FALKNER. (Not heeding her) Or engaged ? OLIVIA. Faith, ma'am, has that same anything to do with me cookin'? MRS. FALKNER. Jane-Ellen, don't be imperti- nent. OLIVIA. No, ma'am. 'Tis a sin we sh'u'd all pray fer strength to avoid. (MRS. FALKNER starts. CRANE and TUCKER smile.) MRS. FALKNER. Jane-Ellen, will you answer my question? Have you ever been engaged? WEEKS. If you'll excuse me, Mrs. Falkner, for saying so, I really MRS. FALKNER. Kindly do not interfere, Mr. Weeks. OLIVIA. (Short pause) Oh, ma'am, 'tis not that 44 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN I've anything to conceal. I was engaged wanst Pat Conlon his name was as fine a broth av a boy as iver came out av Ireland. We was to have mar- ried lasht June, on'y, d'ye see, there was a quarrel an' I I jusht can't bear to think av it every time me mind gets runnin' on it, it just seems like (Goes a few steps up L. She pulls out a handker- chief and begins to sob quietly. The men all gather round her to comfort her. CORA rises.) CRANE. Oh, Jane-Ellen, please, please don't cry. Nobody wants to hurt your feelings TUCKER. Look here, my girl, don't do that. (OLIVIA murmurs inarticulately through her sobs.) MRS. FALKNER. Well, really, I've had enough of this. (Rises.) CRANE. (Rather stiffly, down R.J My dear Mrs. Falkner, I think perhaps we all have for the pres- ent. MRS. FALKNER. (Angry) Oh, well, come, Cora. I think I'll say good night. (She goes out at rear in high dudgeon, TUCKER opening door for her c.) CORA. (Coming down c.R. of OLIVIA ) Oh, Jane- Ellen, you mustn't cry. Mother didn't mean to hurt you. (Going.) She shouldn't have said that. (A fresh burst of quiet sobbing comes from the hand- kerchief.) Oh, well, J suppose I'd better go, too. Good night. (CORA goes out. TUCKER hurries down to OLIVIA.,) TUCKER. (L. of OLIVIA, to comfort her) I'm quite sure my sister did not mean to be unkind. There, now there there. (Pats her shoulder.) (MRS. FALKNER re-appears 1 at door c., saying im- peratively) COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 45 MRS. FALKNER. Solon! TUCKER. Yes, my dear. (MRS. FALKNER exits c. to R. Reluctantly TUCKER goes out, leaving CRANE alone with JANE-EL- LEN. CRANE goes to right, then turns sud- denly to c. and intercepts WEEKS as the latter is about to speak to JANE-ELLEN, unseen by CRANE. CRANE shakes hands with WEEKS, who exits door c. After a pause, outside door L. slams.) CRANE. Now, see here, Jane Ellen, please don't cry please just just as a favor to me. Mrs. Falkner has gone. Warn CURTAIN JANE. Gone, has she ? (Suddenly showing a face quite innocent of tears, rather roguish, in fact.) Faith, I'm feelin' better already. CRANE. Jane! What in the name JANE. Sure, then, I suppose herself 'u'd V been askin' me was me hair all me own next or was me gran' father a dhrinkin' man an' what was me fa- vorite flower. CRANE. Well, God bless my soul! JANE. Faith, an' hope he will, sor. Was there anything else, sor? CRANE. No o. (JANE goes up c.) CRANE. (Hastily) I mean yes yes! JANE. Yes, sor. (She returns to c.) CRANE. Now, Jane Ellen, just one thing. I should like you to feel perfectly happy here. JANE. Faith, sor, 'tis mesilf that's hopin' to. CRANE. So if there's anything I can do to to 46 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN make you feel er happier, I want you to promise you'll let me know. JANE. Anything, sor? CRANE. Yes, anything" at all anything. JANE. Yes, sor. (Starts up c., opens door, then returns as CRANE continues.) CRANE. I mean don't send the butler, come to me you yourself er personally and tell me. Will you? JANE. Sure an' I might. CRANE. No, but will you? JANE. Yes, sor. CRANE. That's fine. Now now . . . I'm sure we shall get on splendidly together, you and I. Shan't we? JANE. Faith' that's as may be, sor, but we might. CRANE. Might? What do you mean by that? JANE. Sure an' ye niver can tell. CRANE. Eh ? JANE. Sure, sor, we must always be hopin' for the best. But we might, sor, aye, we might. Thank ye, sor. (Going up to door, she exits.) CRANE. (Running up to door, calling) Oh, cook, cook ! JANE. (Appearing at door R. side) Yis, sor? CRANE. (Standing in door L. side) About break- fast I I shall want some breakfast. JANE. Yis, sor. Not till the mornin', I suppose, sor? CRANE. No, no yes certainly, not till in the morning. JANE. Some fruit, coffee, toast an' eggs, sor? CRANE. Yes, of course, eggs eggs. JANE. About three minutes, sor? CRANE. Yes three minutes. JANE. An' belike a bit av bacon, sor? COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 47 CRANE. The very thing. JANE. Just broiled to a crisp, sor? CRANE. Just as I like it. JANE. Very good, sor, an' ye said the eggs ten minutes, sor? CRANE. Yes ten minutes. (She closes door suddenly and is out of sight. Bus. of pulling door back to place finds JANE on the other side of the knob.) No no three minutes. JANE. Very good, sor, but ye can just as aisy have thim ten minutes as three. Tis the water does the b'ilin' not me, sor. Good-night to you, sor. (Exits door c. to R., leaving door open this time.) CRANE. (In the doorway c., looking after her) Good-night, Jane-Ellen. JANE. (Outside ~R.) Good-night and the top of the morning to ye. CRANE. Well, God bless my soul ! (Turns, fac- ing audience, with a pleased laugh.) CURTAIN ACT II SCENE : The kitchen. TIME: Two days later in the afternoon. The kitchen is a cheery apartment zvith one window R.C. looking into the garden. There is a door c. into the garden, which remains open through- out the act. On the R. are swing doors. Then there is a kitchen cupboard, then below that down R. a sink. A jingle bell indicator with numbers one to six hangs over the swing doors. When the door of the kitchen cupboard is open one sees brooms, mops, etc., and the shelves full of tinned things. At the sink is a hand pump and drainage to carry away water. Up stage L. is a door which opens on a passage which in turn leads to the larder. Below it is a kitchen range, upon which stand several saucepans and kettles, steam going in some of them. Down L. is the kitchen back door and upon it hangs a roller towel. Between the c. door and the L. corner of the kitchen is a dresser covered with copper utensils, baking pans, etc. Down L.C. is a biff kitchen table. Small cane- bottomed chair between the dresser and the pot rack. Big cane-bottomed chair R. of table. Be- tween the door and the windovv a small cane- bottomed chair and a boot box containing brushes, rags, etc. There is a shelf over the fireplace for salt, etc. The curtain rises on a few strains of "Liza Jane" 48 H D o ta 8 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 49 DISCOVERED: BRINDLEBURY washing dishes at sink. He throws out water from dishpan, pumps it full again from the hand pump, and starts wash- ing more dishes. PAUL at rise is drying dish with dish towel, which he places on the drain- ing board of the sink. He then takes tray which is leaning against tipper end of sink and holds it while BRINDLEBURY places the washed and dried dishes on it. JANE-ELLEN is standing L. of table, slicing sweet potatoes into baking pan. When tray is full, PAUL starts to go, but is stopped by BRINDLEBURY. BRINDLEBURY. Hold on, butler. You can take one more. SMITHFIELD. Look here, I'm no juggler. Always room for one more is your motto. First thing you know, you'll make me spill the lot. CHARLES. Oh, run along now, and don't talk back. SMITHFIELD. Well, if we smash many more there won't be enough to go round. (CHARLES drops a dish in the sink.) Lord ! Save the pieces ! (He goes out R-3E.J JANE. (L. of kitchen table L.C V slicing sweet po- tatoes into baking pan.) Charley! Mother's best china ! You must be careful ! BRINDLEBURY. Gee! I couldn't help it. The darn thing slipped. (They resume their work. Pause.) Heard anything from Randy? JANE. (Goes to stove L., looking at soup in the pot) No, and we ought to. It's been two days already. BRIND. I reckon he don't dare to telephone. JANE. (Back at table) I rather thought he might try to sneak in and see us. (Puts butter on potatoes.) 50 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN BRIND. He'd better hurry up. I'm beginning to feel as though I needed an understudy. JANE. (L.C. between table and stove ) You! Oh, I'm not worried about you. It's Bess that bothers me. BRIND. Oh, Bess! She's all right. She (He drops another dish, crashing into the sink.) JANE. Charley! Well, really BRIND. Gee ! I'm sorry ! JANE. I don't want you to be sorry. I want you to be careful. It's a good thing you don't have to earn your living washing dishes. BRIND. Is that so! What am I doing now, I'd like to know? (Breaks another plate in sink.) JANE. You're breaking up housekeeping. (Enter ARAMINTA, door R-3E., carrying two or three lace collars.) JANE. Hello, Sweetness. What's the matter now, honey? (ARAMINTA gets an ironing board from L. cupboard and slams it down on the table, then goes to the stove for a flatiron. She gets a holder from upper end of mantel L., picks up the iron, and goes to the ironing board and begins to iron the collars.) And how's the dragon to-day? ARAMINTA. (Ironing) I'd like to wring her neck. (Slams down iron on collar.) BRIND. Oh, naughty! naughty! ARAMINTA. You shut up! (CHARLES, startled, drops plate in sink.) I guess you'd be cross too if you had to wait on that old hen all day and all night. Nothing ever suits her. This is the third time I've ironed these collars. I hope they choke her! (JANE-ELLEN pours syrup in potatoes. SMITH- FIELD re-enters with an empty tray and pro- COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 51 ceeds to fill it up with more freshly washed dishes.) JANE. But, Bess, dear! ARAMINTA. (Imitating MRS. FJ "My good girl" this and "my good girl" that! If she's what they call a lady up North, I'd like to see what they call the other thing! (To JANE, who goes to the stove L., business with pots, kettles, etc.) Oh, I'm in it because you dragged me in, but I give you fair warning, if Randy Weeks doesn't produce those servants pretty quick, I'm through. I can stand just about twenty-four hours more of that old hen, and that's all. SMITH. (Coming up a little R.cJ See here. Bess, you don't seem to understand ARAMINTA. Oh, dry up! All you have to do is to serve her meals. How'd you like to hook her up? (CHARLEY laughs. JANE-ELLEN fills a cup with hot water from kettle and pours it on potatoes.) JANE. (To upper end of table, to ARAMINTA) I know, honey, I know it's very hard, but it wont last long. And I daresay you are rather trying. You always forget the tea strainer from her break- fast tray, or you don't remember to call her at eight or something. You're not very competent. (Goes to door L. and wipes her hand on towel.) ARAMINTA. Competent! Of course I'm not. Why on earth should I be competent ? JANE. No, dear, of course not. Only, you see, she doec"'* know that. And I do think you might remember the tea-strainer. ARAMINTA. Well, it's more trouble to me than to her. Don't I have to chase downstairs and get it? Competent! (She slams the flatiron viciously on the table.) I wish I had her here, I'd iron her! JANE. Bess, dear, I don't see how you can 52 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN when you know what's at stake. Why, at this very moment dear old daddy may be (She chokes up and stops and puts the towel hanging on door L.IE. to her eyes.) SMITH. I say, sis, that's a towel, not a hand- kerchief. ARAMINTA. (Going to her in contrition) Oh, I know, Livy. I'm a pig but if I'm a pig, she's a cat! (JANE puts pan of potatoes in oven.) BRIND. She's a dragon, a hen, and a cat. Some menagerie ! (A bell rings.) SMITH. (Looking at the indicator on the wall) Number 4, Bess. ARAMINTA. (Puts down iron, starts across to door R.3E .) There she goes again ! I don't see how that bell stands it. (Seizing the collars, now ironed, and starting for the door.) If she doesn't look out, I will steal her silk stockings. (She goes out R-3E. angrily. JANE resumes work at table.) SMITH. (About to depart with the dishes) She sure is a pretty nasty old party and no mistake. BRIND. She's no worse than old Tucker. I'd like to poison him. JANE. (Ironically) Things run in the family, don't they? Now we're all so good-natured, aren't we? (The bell rings again. To SMITH J That's your bell, Paul. (Takes tray from SMITHFIELD.^ SMITH. (Looking at the indicator) Number 2. (Assuming his servant's manner) Very good, sir. You said "Go to hell," sir? Thank you, sir! Af- ter you, sir. (He goes out, R-3.J JANE. (CHARLEY breaks plate in sink.) Oh, Charley! Take this tray into the butler's pantry, and for heaven's sake, don't drop it ! (As BRINDLE- BURY goes out he stumbles. After exit rattling of plates heard off.) And please do try not to break any more. (Left alone, she puts the ironing board COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 53 back up L.C. and puts iron back on stove. RANDY WEEKS furtively opens the kitchen door down L. and walks in. JANE crosses to L., above table to stove.) Randy ! WEEKS. (Comes to c.) Hello, Livy! JANE. Any news? Have you got them? Are they coming? Oh, do say they are! (She clutches his arm excitedly.) WEEKS. Yes, I think so! JANE. Oh, Randy, you are a darling ! (She goes out door up L. for a moment.) WEEKS. But not 'till Tuesday. (Crosses to R. of table.) JANE. Tuesday? That's three days more. (Re- turns with chicken and puts it on kitchen table.) WEEKS. Couldn't get 'em a minute sooner, and I think you're lucky at that. White servants willing to come to the country are scarce this season. How are things going? JANE. I reckon we'll pull through if Bess doesn't explode. She doesn't care very much for the chap- eron. (Takes baking tin from lower shelf of pot rack and puts it on kitchen table.) WEEKS. (Laughs.) Don't blame her. Snob! I say, Livy, are you glad to see me? JANE. Never gladder to see anybody. (Putting chicken in baking pan.) WEEKS. Prove it. JANE. All right. As a mark of my special favor, I will allow you to freeze the ice cream. (Points to freezer on the floor, table end at L.J WEEKS. (Sarcastically) Livy, that's perfectly splendid of you. (Taking freezer.) JANE. Now, don't grumble. Go to work ! (Takes pepper and salt cellars from lower end of mantel- piece and places them on table.) WEEKS. I don't know that I'm so crazy about $4 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN freezing Crane's ice cream. (Sits in chair R. of table. Takes out his handkerchief to hold freezer handle.) JANE. And Mr. Tucker's, too. Don't forget him. WEEKS. (Beginning to turn the crank of the freezer) Tucker ! Humph ! JANE. (Relapsing into her brogue and beginning deliberately to tease him) Faith, then, he's my fa- vorite. He's what you might call a verile, dominat- ing personality. (Salts and peppers chicken. But- ters chicken.) WEEKS. Humph ! (He turns the crank angrily.) JANE. No, no, no, no! (WEEKS stops turning.) Don't ye be turnin' so fast, ye'll be spoiling the des- sert entirely, so ye will. WEEKS. Look here. Do you mean to say this man Tucker comes into the kitchen? JANE. Not yet. (Gets flour in cup from flour barrel up L.c.J WEEKS. Not yet ! (Jumps up.) JANE. A strong man, me dear. Sure, he looks like the husband on the stage wid a dash o' powder over the ear. (Flours the chicken.) WEEKS. (Leaving the freezer and going to JANE above table) My dear girl, you're not going to let this man make love to you? JANE. Sure it's not always aisy to prevent. (Gets cup of hot water from kettle.) WEEKS. (Above L. table) You've always pre- vented me as often as you wanted to. JANE. Often but not as often as that. WEEKS. Oh, come now, drop the Irish. (He makes a movement toward her.) JANE. Sure, I need the practice. Now, then, you get along back to the ice cream. (Pours water in chicken pan.) Sure, if all's not well with the din- COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 55 ner, that awful ould woman'll be havin' us all frown out, so she will now. WEEKS. (Turns freezer slowly) They say Crane is supposed to be engaged to her daughter. JANE. (After slight pause she puts chicken in oven.) Faith, then, I don't envy him his mother- in-law. (Slams the oven door.) WEEKS. Er what do you think of Crane? (A pause and stops freezing.) I say what do you think of Crane? (Leans both elbows on table cor- ner.) JANE. Oh, the man's well enough. (Puts dishes she has been using in sink.) WEEKS. You know, you're a funny girl. Now, I always thought (Rises.) JANE. (Waving him to the freezer) Freeze freeze! (WEEKS sits again.) WEEKS. Eh! (With a sigh) Oh, Lord! You know perfectly well you can do anything in the world with me. (He turns the freezer jerkily. JANE crosses to closet R.2E. and gets Royal Baking Powder can and cooking spoon. She returns to table L.cJ JANE. Oh, dear ! Oh, dear ! Not that way. It ought to be a steady and even here let me show you (She kneels R. of him by the freezer and begins to turn the crank.) See like this slow like (As she turns, WEEKS looks admiringly at her.) Then like that. Do you see what I (WEEKS puts his handkerchief on his knee. As she turns, he kisses her. With a swift, savage move- ment she breaks from his arms and stands pant- ing and glaring at him. WEEKS drops initialed handkerchief near table L.cJ JANE. (With cooking spoon in hand after a pause.) Randy Weeks, you go home, and don't ever come back ! (Crosses to R.) WEEKS. (L.C.) Oh, my dear 56 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN JANE, (n.c.) Go home! (She stamps her foot.) WEEKS. Do you mean it? (WEEKS half turns to go.) JANE. I do oh, I do ! (TUCKER is strolling past door c., hears voices, stops and listens. He cannot see WEEKS.) WEEKS. The fact is, you're a cold, heartless little flirt, who thinks of nothing but herself. You don't care a bit what other people suffer. Bess is worth ten of you. JANE. Go and kiss her, then. WEEKS. She wouldn't stand it. She's not that sort. JANE. (A few steps toward him, furious) But I am! I stand it, do I? If I could, I'd thrash you. As it is, I hate you ! WEEKS. (At bottom of table, sulkily) It's your own fault. You tempted me. JANE. Tempted you! WEEKS. Yes, and you know it. JANE. How did I know you were going to be so silly? WEEKS. You've always pretended to like me. JANE. That's just what I did pretend. WEEKS. You'll be sorry for saying that (Crosses to L.J JANE. I won't! WEEKS. Yes, you will. I pity the man who mar- ries you ! JANE. You'd marry me to-morrow if you could. WEEKS. I would not ! JANE. You would! WEEKS. Not if you were the last woman in the world ! COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 57 JANE. Randy Weeks, you go home! (WEEKS exits L.IE. and slants door.) (JANE laughs and picks up handkerchief that WEEKS has dropped, looks at it and tosses it into chair L.C. Puts freezer under table, crosses in front of table. TUCKER, hearing the door slam on WEEKS' exit, thinks of entering kitchen. He looks cautiously to R. and L. Just as he has made up his mind to enter, OLIVIA drops WEEKS' handkerchief Into chair, and CHARLIE enters R-3 with pair of boots. TUCKER steps back.) CHARLIE. I forgot the old geezer's boots. (TUCKER glares at him and exits to R., giving him another look of disapproval as he passes win- dow. While CHARLIE polishes boots with brush and rag which he takes from boot box under window, he whistles "Liza Jane" JANE- ELLEN goes out of door up L., returning and bringing a bowl of cornmeal and a bowl of eggs and, lastly, a jug of milk. These she places on kitchen table.) JANE. Is that all? (At this moment No. 3 bell rings. CHARLIE slams down lid of boot box and exits, polishing one boot on seat of his trousers. JANE-ELLEN takes syrup jar from table and crosses R. to cup- board and puts it on shelf. Then to range. As she crosses, TUCKER, seeing she is alone, comes into kitchen. JANE-LLEN has been singing "Liza Jane," but seeing TUCKER out of the cor- ner of her eye, changes to "The Pretty Girl 58 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN Milking the Cow." At the end of the verse she turns and smiles at TUCKER J TUCKER. Good afternoon, Jane-Ellen. JANE. The top av it to you, sor. (Turns from stove, small saucepan in hand, to L. of table.) TUCKER. (Down a step) I hope I don't intrude. JANE. Oh, sir, I see 'tis an optimist ye are. (Takes a wooden spoon from table and stirs sauce- pan.) TUCKER. (At c., with a superior smile) Ahem! What can you possibly know of optimists, my girl ? JANE. Sure, an optimist is a man that looks after your eyes. (Brings saucepan to table, still stirring.) TUCKER. (Going to table, putting his L. hand on it, leaning toward her) Jane-Ellen, I fear you have a frivolous mind. JANE. Oh, sor, indade an' indade, I hope not. (As she speaks, she stops stirring sauce pan and straightens up with the spoon in her hand. Puts spoon on TUCKER'S hand.) TUCKER. (Starting with the pain) Ouch! (Moves to L.C., round chair to upper corner table.) JANE. Oh, sor, an' did I burn you? Tis that sorry I am, sor! (Puts saucepan back on stove, stirring sauce.) TUCKER. It's nothing! It's nothing! I was go- ing to say that despite a certain lamentable tend- ency towards frivolity which I observe in your nature I well, I am an older man than your employer. (Moving up to back of table.) JANE. (Cheerfully) Oh, yes, sor, much oulder. TUCKER. Ahem! Well, older, at all events. I have seen more of life and perhaps understand more thoroughly the difficulties which beset a young and, I must say, pretty woman. COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 59 JANE. (At stove, innocently) Why must you say that, sor? TUCKER. Why, Jane-Ellen, because it is the truth. (Moves above table.) Ah, my dear child (He approaches her. She seises a steaming copper kettle from stove and hands it to him.) JANE. Will ye kindly be holding that? The stove is that crowded. (As he hesitates.) (TUCKER takes kettle. Finding it hot, changes it from one hand to the other. Going c., JANE busies herself at stove. TUCKER looks anx- iously out of door to see if anybody is likely to catch him, in that predicament.) JANE. Yes, sor, ye were about to say TUCKER. (Going to back of table) Oh, yes! Merely that if any little trouble should arise in the household, I would like to know that you look upon me as a friend. I should be glad to do you a good turn. JANE. Indade, then, you can do me that same good turn right now. TUCKER. (Beaming at her) My dear child, you have only to name it. JANE. Ye can be afther turnin' yer back on me. TUCKER. You you wish me to go? JANE. Sure ; the kitchen is no place for the likes of a gintleman. TUCKER. (Chuckles a moment, and then says) Did you think so ten minutes ago? (He looks at door through which WEEKS made exit. She gives him a quick look before she answers.) JANE, (Going towards the stove) Sure that sauce is b'iling over. The divil and all is in that stove. The minute I turn me back something b'iles over. Will ye be holdin' this, sor? (She thrusts 60 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN copper saucepan into his L. hand and begins to stir it.) TUCKER. I'll try. JANE. (Tastes the contents of the saucepan) Sure I'm thinkin' 'twill be needin' a trifle more salt. (She sprinkles salt into pan and, unseen by TUCKER, sprinkles salt over his L. shoulder and L. arm.) TUCKER. Really, I (TUCKER realises his undignified position and looks R. and L.j JANE. Oh, sure, your honor's got a bit of a dab av soot on yer face. Hould still while I git a rag and wipe it off. There. (Gets burnt cork with a cloth from the stove she gives his R. cheek a dab with the holder and now he has indeed a black smear on his cheek.) TUCKER. (Both hands full, cannot help himself) Thank you, thank you very much, Jane-Ellen. JANE. God bless us an' save us, sure there's an- other little bit on your honor's chin. (She gives his other cheek a smear of black.) There, now . . . TUCKER. Look here, young woman, really, I thank you very much. JANE. Don't mention it, sir. Faith, someone'd sure to be askin' where your honor'd been with that face on you. TUCKER. Yes, yes, yes exactly. That's why if you don't mind taking these (TUCKER, still holding bowls, reminded that some one might come in and catch him.) JANE. Sorry, sor, I will but just half a minute, sor (Enter BRINDLEBURY at BRINDLEBURY. I say, Livy (He advances R., stops short as TUCKER turns, then bursts into a giggle at the sight.) COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 61 TUCKER. (Crossing majestically to him) May I ask what is the cause of this unseemly mirth? BRINDLEBURY. (Leaning against sink, convulsed with laughter) Yes, sir, certainly you may ask. Mr. Crane is just coming 1 up the drive in the motor. TUCKER. (Stiffly, frightened at the idea of CRANE catching him) I do not see the connection. (Goes to table L.J But perhaps I had better go and meet him. (Puts kettle and pot on table L. and goes up c.) BRINDLEBURY. (Near stool R., now no longer amused, but getting angry. Looking at his sister) Yes; I think I would if I were you. It seems to me there are altogether too many men in this kitchen. TUCKER. (Starts to leave the room c., then stops near door c., with as much dignity as he can muster) Boy BRINDLEBURY. Well ! (Threateningly,) TUCKER. Are you speaking to me? (Mildly) (JANE moves to R. of table. Has small saucepan in hand.) BRINDLEBURY. Yes. (Goes up to TUCKER, his fists clenched. Very pointedly) I just wanted to tell you that Jane-Ellen is my sister. TUCKER. Indeed ! Well, Brindy, I can't confess to taking any deep interest in your family relations. (Down c. a step,) BRINDLEBURY. Apparently you've taken enough interest in one of 'em to come to the kitchen to talk to her, and I won't have it. JANE. (Motions reproof unseen by TUCKER,) Brindy, don't TUCKER. (Comes down) How dare you talk to me in this 62 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN BRINDLEBURY. (Raising his fist and stepping forward as if to strike TUCKER^ You get out of this kitchen, or I'll JANE. Brindy, what are you doin'? (Crosses and pushes BRINDLEBURY down Rj BRINDLEBURY. I know what I'm doing, all right. (Sulkily going down R.) JANE. (On R. of TUCKER,) Faith, sor, 'tis very ashamed I am an' all but your honor will plaze to remimber he's nothing but a lad. TUCKER. (L.) He is quite old enough to know better. BRINDLEBURY. (Turning on him) How about you ? You old chimpanzee ! JANE. Sure, sor, I hope ye can see yer way to forgivin 1 him an' him on'y a poor, hard-workin' lad like he is, an' an' so sorry an' all TUCKER. (Up c.) He doesn't look very sorry. BRINDLEBURY. No, and I'm not sorry, either. TUCKER. There, you see. (Walking up to door.) I shall certainly report him to his em- ployer. JANE. Now see what you've done. TUCKER. Precisely. BRINDLEBURY. I don't care. I'm glad of it. JANE. Glad of it. BRINDLEBURY. I don't care. D'you reckon I'm going to have that old chimpanzee coming in here making love to you? TUCKER. (Indignantly) Old chimpanzee! JANE. Oh, I suppose, if Mr. Crane was to come in now, ye'd be throwin' the flatirons at him. I reckon I can be takin' care av mesilf. Faith, don't ye suppose I've iver been made love to before? BRINDLEBURY. We ell, yes, I reckon you have! CRANE. (Off) Hullo, fuck? COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 63 (JANE-ELLEN runs of through door up L. CRANE and CORA appear on the veranda. They are about to pass by when CRANE glances in and sees TUCKER. CRANE and CORA enter the kitchen. As they do so BRINDLEBURY says "Oh, gee!" and dashes out at R-3EJ CRANE. Well, Tuck, we've been searching thq house for you. (TUCKER moves to lower end of table, facing audience. CRANE puts his hat on chair R. of door c. They come down c.) TUCKER. (Embarrassed) Have you? and I've been looking for you everywhere. CRANE. (Accusingly) Even in the kitchen. (CRANE and CORA see his smut-covered face and begin to laugh.) TUCKER. (Indignantly) I beg your pardon? CRANE. Good Lord! Tuck, what have you got on your face? CORA. (Crosses to TUCKER,) Oh, Uncle Solon! Have you been in the coal-bin? TUCKER. (Very angry) What is it? What is it? What is it? CRANE. Have you been kissing the stove? TUCKER. Really, Burton (Starts to go to CRANE, but is stopped by CORA.,) CORA. Why, Uncle, you're all smeared up. Here, do let me wipe your face. (She wipes away the soot with handkerchief which she has taken from his coat pocket, making it worse.) There there that's better! ( TUCKER, thinking it better, resumes his dignity.) CRANE. Really, Tuck! Where have you been? TUCKER. I er really, I can't imagine. (To CORA,) I am obliged to you, my dear. (Goes L. 64 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN Suddenly remembering BRINDLEBURY'S insult) I have something to say to Burton that I think you'd better not hear. CORA. Oh, how interesting! I'll go, anyway. I promised mother I'd go for a walk. (She goes up to doorway) CRANE. May I go, too? (Moves up c. near door.) CORA. Of course. CRANE. Good, I won't be long. CORA. All right, Burton. (She goes out on the veranda and disappears m..) CRANE. Well, Tuck? (Coming down c to TUCKER.) TUCKER. I must ask you to dismiss that boy at once. CRANE. Who, Brindy? TUCKER. Yes. CRANE. Good Lord! What for? TUCKER. He has been grossly insolent to me. CRANE. Really ! TUCKER. In addition to which, he attempted to strike me. CRANE. Tuck! You don't mean it? TUCKER. Unfortunately, I do! CRANE. My dear Tuck! (He is torn between his displeasure with the boy and 'his exasperation at TUCKER. ) Well, of course, the boy'll have to go. How did it happen? TUCKER. (Moving a bit down L., then up to CRANE,) Well you see, I I was in the kitchen Do you know, the boy somehow acquired the ex- traordinary idea that I had been making love to the cook. CRANE. Absurd ! TUCKER. Naturally ! CRANE. A man of your age! o o U COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 65 TUCKER. (Not altogether pleased) I beg your pardon. And you may be interested to know that he distinctly stated that the cook was his sister. CRANE. Nonsense, she can't be. She's Irish! (Moves a little down stage R.) TUCKER. (Turning and going up stage, looking through door L.j E yes maybe she is maybe. (Moves down to end of table.) CRANE. Look here, Tuck, what the devil were you doing in the kitchen? TUCKER. (Coming L. to CRANE, embarrassed) Well, I happened to be passing the kitchen door, when I heard the voices of Jane-Ellen and some young man who, I am sorry to say, was making love to her. CRANE. Anybody you know? TUCKER. Well, I was unable to identify him, but I fancy that he er must have kissed her. CRANE. The lucky dog! (Turning down R.) TUCKER. (Severely) I do not think that this is quite the proper attitude for you to take. CRANE. What do you suggest? (Turning to TUCKER. ) TUCKER. The girl should be dismissed, of course. CRANE. Oh, you think so? TUCKER. Certainly I do. (Turns down L.) CRANE. I see. SMITHFIELD. (Enters R.$E.) Beg pardon, sir. (SMITHFIELD comes* down R. to sink.) CRANE. Smithfield, Mr. Tucker tells me that Brindy attempted to strike him, after using insult- ing language. By the way, Tuck, what did he call you precisely? TUCKER. Ahem! I ah I believe he referred to me as an old chimpanzee! (SMITHFIELD laughs and busies himself at sink.) 66 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN CRANE. (Choking down a laugh) You see, Smithfield SMITHFIELD. Yes, sir, I can't seem to break that boy of the habit of exaggeration. (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 off 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..$E.) 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, but 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? 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 on back of chair.) JANE. (Moving to L. of table) Yourself was afther wantin' me, Misther Crane? CRANE. Er yes Jane-Ellen, the fact is, I (Sees SMITHFIELD peeping through pantry door.) That will do, Smithfield. SMITHFIELD. Er yes, sir, certainly, sir. (He goes out reluctantly.) CRANE. Jane-Ellen, I suppose you can guess what I am going to say? JANE. The luncheon was not satisfactory, sor? CRANE. It was perfect. The trouble is about what happened after luncheon. JANE. Oh, sor, an' was it my fault now that Mr. Tucker would be comin' in the kitchen? CRANE. I'm not talking about that. You had a previous visitor, I believe. JANE. Yes yes, sor. ('L. of table.) CRANE. (Hesitates throughout scene) Jane- Ellen, I do not approve of young men coming into my house and kissing the cook not well, not strangers, anyhow. (Moves to c. a little.) JANE. Yes, sor, 'tis meself quite agrees with your honor. CRANE. You mean to imply, perhaps, that it was not your fault? JANE. I'm thinkin', sGr, that in your class of life, sor, no gintleman is iver kissin' a girl against her will. 68 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN CRANE. Ahem! Well, he shouldn't. I don't want to seem to offer you advice JANE. Faith, then, I should be pleased if ye would do that, sor. Advice is wan av the few things- a gintleman may offer a girl in my position an' she accept wid a clear conscience. CRANE. Ahem! Well, then, if I were you, I wouldn't have a young man like that hanging around unless he intended to marry you. JANE. Sure, sor, there's no doubt av his inten- tions. CRANE. (R. of table) Then he's proposed to you? JANE. (~L. of table) Almost every time he sees me till to-day. CRANE. But not today? Eh? JANE. To-day, sor, faith to-day he said he'd not wed me if I was the last woman in the world. CRANE. And what did you think of that? JANE. Sure, sor, I thought it wasn't true. CRANE. (Turns back at R.cJ Ahem! I ... I ... daresay you were right. Still, I can't see why you let him kiss you, if you didn't . . . JANE. (She comes front of table end) If your honor pleases, 'tis not always possible to prevent. You see, sor, I'm not so terrible big. CRANE. Ah, yes, that now that you mention it that is true. Is the young man able to support you? JANE. I think he is, sor. CRANE. And yet you don't JANE. No, sor. Ye see, sor, I've not the honor to love him. CRANE. (Steps on two to R. side of table) Do you mean you'd rather work for your living than marry a man you didn't love? JANE. (Solemnly) Faith, sor, I would rather COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 69 Granvilie-Barker n pelts Dunning George Abbott Dorothy Parker Ferenc Molnar Hatcher Hughes Avery Hop wood Ring Lardner Tom Gushing Elmer Rice Maxwell Anderson The Qulnteros Lynn Rlggs Susan G la spell Rose Pranken John van Druten Benn W. Levy Martha Stanley John Gulden Don Marquis Beuiah Marie Dlx Zona Gale Alfred Kreymborg P. G. Wodehouse Noel Coward Ian Hay J. B. Priestly Mary Roberts Rinehart Ashley Dukes George M. Cohan Augustus Thomas Wlnchell Smith William Gillette Frank Craven Owen Davis Austin Strong A. A. Milne Harriet Ford Paul Green James Montgomery Edward Childs Carpenter Arthur Richman George Middleton Channing Pollock George Kaufman Martin Flavin Victor Mapea Kate Douglas Wlggln Roi Cooper Megrue Jean Webster George Broadhurst Madeline Lucette Ryley Plays by Fred Ballard Percy MacKaye Willard Mack Jerome K. Jerome Mark Swan Rachel Crothers W. W. Jacobs Ernest Denny Kenyon Nicholson Edgar Selwyn Laurence Housman Israel Zangwill Walter Hackett A. E. Thomas Edna Ferber Justin Huntley McCarthy Frederick Lonsdale Rex Beach Paul Armstrong George Kelly Booth Tarkington George Ade J. C. and Elliott Nugent Barry Conners Edith Ellis Harold Brighoiise Harvey J. O'Higglns Clare Kummer James Forbes William C. 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