French's International CoPYUioii ;:u (.in England, her 
 
 Colonies, and the United States) Edition of 
 
 THE Works ok the Bi:st Authors. 
 
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 CAUTION: Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that St 
 "A LITTLE FOWL PLAY," being fully protected under the St 
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 tries of the Copyright Union, is subject to a royalty and any- St 
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 their autliorized agents will be liable to the penalties by law St 
 provided. Applications for the professional and amateur acting St 
 rights must be made to Samuel French, 25 West 45th Street, St 
 New York, N. Y. St 
 
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 A Little Fowl Play 
 
 A FARCICAL COMEDY IN ONE ACT 
 
 BY 
 HAROLD OWEN 
 
 Copyright, 1913, by Samuel French, Limited 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 PRICE 30 CENTS 
 
 New York 
 SAMUEL FRENCH 
 
 Publisher 
 25 West 45th Street 
 
 London 
 
 SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 
 
 26 Southampton Street 
 
 STRAND
 
 COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 
 
 A charming comedy in 3 acts. Adapted by A. E. Thomas 
 from the story of the same name by Alice Duer Miller. 
 6 males, 5 females. 3 interior scenes. Costumes, modern. 
 Plays 2^2 hours. 
 
 The story of "Come Out of the Kitchen" is written around a 
 Virginia family of the old aristocracy, by the name of Dainger- 
 field, who, finding themselves temporarily embarrassed, decide to 
 rent their magnificent home to a rich Yankee. One of the con- 
 ditions of the lease by the well-to-do New Englander stipulates 
 that a competent staff of white servants should be engaged for 
 his sojourn at the stately home. This servant question presents 
 practically insurmountable difficulties, and one of the daughters 
 of the family conceives the mad-cap idea that she, her sister and 
 their two brothers shall art as the domestic staff for the wealthy 
 Yankee. Olivia Daingerlleld, who is the ringleader in the merry 
 scheme, adopts the cognomen of Jane Allen, and elects to preside 
 over the destinies of Ih? 1; t'-hen. Iler sister, Elizabeth, is ap- 
 pointed housemaid. Her elder brother, Paul, is the butler, and 
 Charley, the youngest of the group, is appointed to the position of 
 bootboy. When Burton Crr.ne arrives from the North, accom- 
 panied by Mrs. Faulkner, her daughter, and Crane's attorney, 
 Tucker, they find the staff of servants to possess so many methods 
 of behavior out of the ordinary that amusing complications begin 
 to arise immediately. Olivia's charm and beauty impress Crane 
 above everything else, and the merry story continues through a 
 maze of delightful incidents until the real identity of the heroina 
 is finally disclo.sed. But not until Crane has professed his love 
 for his charming cook, and the play ends with the brightest 
 prospects of happiness for these two young i>eople. "Come Out 
 of the Kitchen," with Ruth Chatterton in the leading role, made 
 a notable success on its production by Henry Miller at the Cohan 
 Theatre, New York. It was also a great success at the Strand 
 Theatre, London. A most ingenious and entertaining comedy, 
 and we strongly recommend it for amateur production. (Royalty, 
 twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 
 
 GOING SOME 
 
 Play in 4 acts. By Paul Armstrong and Rex Beach. 
 12 males, 4 females. 2 exteriors, 1 interior. Costumes, 
 modern and cowboy. Plays a full evening. 
 
 Described by the authors as the "chronicle of a certain lot of 
 college men and girls, with a tragic strain of phonograph and 
 cowboys." A rollicking good story, full of action, atmosphere, 
 comedy and drama, redolent of the adventurous spirit of youth. 
 (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 
 
 SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York City
 
 A Little Fowl Play 
 
 A FARCICAL COMEDY IN ONE ACT 
 
 BY 
 
 HAROLD OWEN 
 
 Col-YMGHT, 1913, BY SaMUEL FrENCH, LiMITED^ 
 
 All Rizhts Reserved 
 
 CAtmON: Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that 
 "A LITTLE FOWL PLAY," being fully protected under the 
 copyright laws of the United States of America, the British 
 Empire, including the Dominion of Canada and all other coun- 
 tries of the Copyright Union, is subject to a royalty and any- 
 one presenting the play without the consent of the owners or 
 their authorized apents will be liable to the penalties by law 
 provided. Applications for the professional and^ amateur actir-j 
 rif;'.: :.i.i t 'h r.i.'.di.: to Samuel French, 25 V/e.-it 4";'. :'.rei 
 New York. N. Y. 
 
 New Yobk 
 SAMUEL FRENCH 
 
 pubusher 
 35 West 45th Street 
 
 London 
 
 SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 
 
 26 Southampton Street 
 
 STRAND
 
 ''A LITTLE FOWL PLAY' 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 Eopecial notice should be taken that the possession of this 
 book without a valid contract for production first having been 
 obtained from the publisher confers no right or license to 
 professionals or amateurs to produce the play publicly or in 
 private for gain or charity. 
 
 In its present form this play is dedicated to the reading 
 public only, and no performance, representation, production, 
 recitation, public reading or radio broadcasting may be given 
 except by special arrangement with Samuel French, 25 West 
 45th Street, Nev/ York. 
 
 This play may be presented by amateurs upon payment of 
 a royalty of Five Dollars for each performance, payable to 
 Samuel French, 25 West 45th Street, New York, one week 
 before the date when the play is given. 
 
 Professional royalty quoted on application to Samuel 
 French, 25 West 45th Street, New York, N. Y. 
 
 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 tlie author's rights, as follows : 
 
 "Section 4966 : — Any person publicly performing or repre- 
 senting any dramatic or musical composition for which copy- 
 right 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 hun- 
 dred dollars for the first and fifty dollars for every subse- 
 quent 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 mis- 
 demeanor, and upon conviction shall be imprisoned for a 
 ?Tiod not exceeding one year." — U. S. Revised Statutes : 
 itle 60. Chap. 3.
 
 
 A LITTLE FOWL PLAY 
 
 Played at the Coliseum, London, on Monday, 
 October 28, 1912, with the following cast of charao 
 ters : — 
 
 Gilbert Warren 
 Sybil W'akken 
 Mr. Tolbooth 
 Mary . 
 Boy 
 
 Mr. Charles Hawtrey. 
 Miss Ivy Williams. 
 Mr. Leslie Rea. 
 Miss Gertrude Thoriit&n. 
 Master Noel Coward. 
 
 Scene, — Gilbert Warren's Study, 13, Balfour Mem- 
 sions, Baiitam,
 
 A LITTLE FOWL PLAY 
 
 Scnnt.— OrLBEKT Warren's Study, 13, Balfom 
 Mansions, Bcdham. Evening. 
 
 The room is furnished inexpensively, but in good taste. 
 Books line the walls. The most conspicuous article 
 of furniture is a writing-table littered with papers, at 
 the back, and on it rests a telephone instrument. 
 
 To the left of the writing-table is a double door space, 
 with no doors, but looped curtains drawn across U, 
 and revealing, when open, a fairly wide hall. 
 
 Fireplace L., and below it is another door, used only for 
 one entrance, by Sybil, with, " Well, is the deed 
 done?" 
 
 Immediately opposite, in the right wall, is another door, 
 used mainly by Mary. Lounge seat on the right 
 below door r., and easy chair L. 
 
 Discover Sybil, sitting l., restless, and book in hand. 
 A ring is heard, repeated peremptorily. Sybil 
 closes her book, and rises in agitation. 
 
 Sybil. Oh, dear, oh, dear ! I wonder what fresh 
 trouble this is? {She crosses R.)
 
 • A UTTLE FOWL PLAT. 
 
 {Entef Mary, back.) 
 
 Mart. Please, m'm, a parcel, mum—lroBi th« 
 draper's. ^^ . 
 
 Sybil. A parcel ? Oh, veiy well, Mary. Put it 
 ID my room. 
 
 Mary. But I don't think the boy wiU leave it. 
 without— without you see him, mum. He's got Uw 
 bill with him, m'm. 
 
 Sybil. Then let him take it away. 
 
 Mary. The bill, mum ? 
 
 Sybil. Yes, and the parcel too, if he likok 
 
 (Exit Mary, back.) 
 
 (Sybil crosses l, and sits down, her hands daspd 
 together, in distress.) 
 
 Sybil. Oh, this awful little pinch of poverty! 
 If only one knew it would come right, I could b^ 
 it. 
 
 {Re-enter Mary, back.) 
 
 Mary {speaking as she enters, indignantiy). Saucy 
 wretch I Please, m'm, what about dinner, ni'm ? 
 Just on seven, and no meat come, m'm. 
 
 Sybil. W^at, Mary ? Not even yet ? 
 
 Mary. No, m'm. 
 
 Sybil. I — I don't tmderstand it. 
 
 Mary. Hadn't I better go round and see the 
 butchers, m'm ? Master 11 be blowin' of me iq> again, 
 m'm. 
 
 Sybil {rising hastily). No I Oh, no, Mary ! 
 {with an effort at dignity)' If tradesmen do not choose 
 to execute their orders in proper time . . . wcB, they 
 must take the consequences. 
 
 Mary. Yes, m'm. Serve 'em right, m'ra. Only 
 what about us, m'm? 
 
 Sybil. I feel very angry about it — really most 
 tearfully angry!
 
 A LITTLE FOWL PLAY. § 
 
 Maxt. Yes, m'm. Bat I was only wondering, 
 m'm, whether master mightn't perhaps have forgot 
 to give the order this morning, m'm. 
 
 Sybil {sitting l.). No, impossible — quite impossible, 
 Mary. {Improvising an explanation with difficulty) 
 He said he would be passing the shop when he went 
 out, and as they had forgotten to call for orders he 
 said he would just call and pay the bill . . . and 
 leave the order at the same time. So if he called to 
 do one thing he would hardly forget the other. 
 
 Mary. No, m'm. Not imless he forgot both. 
 There's his key now, m'm. 
 
 Sybil. Ah, well, we shall soon see, 
 
 {Enter Gilbert Warren, hack. He i$ an alert and 
 
 good-looking man of thirty. 
 
 Mary sidles away from the doorway to allow him to 
 enter. He looks from one to the other a little appre- 
 hensively, then kisses Sybil, who has risen to meet 
 him. 
 
 At their kiss, Mary puts her hand over her mouth, with 
 a gesture.) 
 
 Sybil. Mary has just come in, dear, to say that 
 
 the butcher's . . . 
 
 Gilbert. Why, what ? 
 
 Mary {as Sybil does not speak). Forgot the meat, 
 sir. 
 
 Gilbert. Forgot , , . the , . . meat I Impossible I 
 Oh, nonsense, Mary 1 Go and have another look 1 
 
 Mary. There's nothing to look at, sir. I've been 
 waiting a whole hour for it, and the taters all ready 
 to go on. 
 
 (Awkward pause,) 
 
 (Gilbert looks helplessly ai Sybil.) 
 
 Sybil. Very well, Mary. {Signal for her to go.)
 
 10 A LITTLE FOWL PLAt. 
 
 Mary {hesitating. Hadn't I better go round, m'm 
 
 — «jid give 'em a good talking to, sir ? 
 
 Gilbert. No, leave that to me — 111 do the talk- 
 ing. We'll give them another half hour {determined 
 voice) and if nothing happens then .... why, we'll 
 go without dinner rather than encourage such care- 
 lessness. {More cheer jully.) Meanwhile, Mary, since 
 the times are out of joint, put on the vegetables. 
 
 Mary {half apologetically). There's only the taters, 
 m'm. 
 
 Gilbert {covering up his mistake by a blusUring 
 manner). Potatoes 1 Well, aren't they vegetables, 
 girl ? Aren't they vegetables ? 
 
 Mary. Not really by rights, sir — only when it't 
 two vegg's, sir. 
 
 Gilbert. Well, cook twice as many, then I And 
 get out I 
 
 {Exit Mary, r.) 
 
 (Sybil immediately hiirsls into tears. Gilbert, wearied 
 and troubled, passes his fingers through his hair, and 
 then kneels to comfort lier.) 
 
 Gilbert. My darling ... for Heaven's sake ... I 
 
 Sybil {through her hamis, between sobs). Well — I 
 can't . . . stand it, dear ! Of course, the girl knows I 
 
 Gilbert {rising) . Well, we'll get rid of her. In 
 fact, we must, till things turn round. I'd give her 
 the sack on the spot if only — if only I could pay her on 
 the sp^t. {Bending over Sybil.) But don't make it 
 worse for me, dearest. Those tears scald my soul— 
 to quote from my own unpubUshed masterpiece ! 
 
 Sybil {still sobbing). Leave me alone, dear. I must 
 have my cry out. I shall be better then. 
 
 Gilbert {cheery voice, moving centre). Go it, then 
 and get it over I 
 
 {Pause. He rumples his hair in his vexation.) 
 
 Of course, I did call on those danmed butchers tl is 
 morning, Syb.
 
 ▲ LITTLE FOWL PLAY It 
 
 Sybil. Yes, and — and they told you — they 
 WfDwldn't — wouldn't send any more I 
 
 Gilbert. No, I didn't go inside the shop to give 
 them the chance. There was a man swabbing a block 
 otrtside, and I gasped out the order to him and hurried 
 on. But I did think they'd send it after I'd promised 
 them something on account this week I {Another 
 gloomy -pause.) That cursed cashier at the Herald \ 
 I asked him for it as a favour — made an excuse, just 
 to keep my end up — told him I wanted to buy a new 
 set of tyres. " What for ? " he said, " for the peram- 
 btilator ? " The brute ! And I haven't met a single 
 soul all day that I could af^k for a fiver I Joumahsts 
 dress so elegantly nowadays they've no money 
 left to lend their friends ! There ! {moving towards 
 SYBit). I'm glad you're through with it. 
 
 Sybil. I couldn't help it, darhng. I don't mind 
 what we go through ourselves, really, but to have a 
 acarvant ... I Boo-hoo ... I 
 
 Gilbert. Oh, damn the girl I (Pause.) I'd sell 
 the copyright of every book I've written for a ten 
 pound note 1 {m.jklng a cheeky effort). Oh, by the 
 way, dear, I called on the agents, and they said they 
 were very hopeful that North & West will take Twin 
 Souls. They're a new firm in the pubhshing world, 
 you know, and quite on the look-out for hiddea 
 talent . . . 
 
 {He catches sight of Sybil's meLntcholy face.) 
 
 Oh, I know you've heard all that before, but you. 
 might pretend you hadn't I 
 
 Sybil {springing up and putting her arms ahont him).. 
 Dearest I I don't mind I I dare say Shakespeare was 
 hard up to begin with. And we shall have years and 
 years of happiness and comfort in which to look back 
 on these dieadful weeks, and it will all seem so comi- 
 cal .. • {Her effort to be gay breaks down.) 
 
 Gilbert. Comical! Of course it's comical I I
 
 If A LITTLB FOWL PLAY. 
 
 fed the humour of it keenly. Here I am, a man with 
 a high, intellectual brainy brow — in places — and 
 literary talents that would anKiint to genius — except 
 that I am much too sane — and I am three pound four- 
 teen overdrawn at the Bank and haven't the change 
 lor sixpence in my pocket 1 
 
 (Slight pause. He recovers his spirits imtnediaiely.) 
 
 Well, apart from potatoes and stale bread, what is 
 there to eat in the house ? 
 
 Sybil (gaily). The banana ... 
 
 Gilbert. The banana ! Still with us ? That's 
 good ! 
 
 Sybil, A few sticks of macaroni, not quite enough 
 rice for a small pudding, and two apples ! 
 
 Gilbert. H'm I I don't think I'll trouble to 
 dress for dinner ! {Suddenly.) I tell you what. 
 You must make Mary have a night out, and we'U dine 
 like they do on the stage — a lot of conversation and a 
 Dibble now and then I But clear Mary out 1 
 
 Sybil. But I can't I She had her evening out 
 last night ! 
 
 Gilbert. Well, give her another 1 Make her 
 have it I 
 
 (Ring heard off^ 
 
 Who the deuce is this ? Make her have it ! "fell her 
 it's stopped raining and stand no nonsense I And 
 111 take you to the Franco-Swiss restaurant round the 
 corner ! (Ring again.) If I tip the wink to madame 
 —or better still (diving his hand in his pocket), if I 
 could only tip the waiter rather more handsomely 
 than is usual in these parts . . . (counts coin in his 
 hands). Fourpence ! Well, he'll stand on his head 
 for fourpence 1 That'll be all right I 
 
 (Re-enter Mary, back, letter on tray.) 
 liASY (presenting letter to Gilbbrt). The boy from
 
 A UTTLE FOWL PLAY. IS 
 
 the butchers, sir. He says they'd be pleased if you'd 
 kindly give them an answer I 
 Gilbert {taking note). From the butchers, eh? 
 
 {He turns to Sybil as he opens the note,) 
 
 An abject apcdogy, I suppose. But I shan't accept 
 it I [Reading note in a murmur.) " Sir, unless we 
 receive . . . Yes, I thought so. You expect a 
 joint, and tliey send you an apology! (To Mary.) 
 I don't want their apologies . . . won't accept them ! 
 Tell him I'm too indignant to attend to the matter — 
 much too indignant ! Can you remember that ? 
 
 Mary {imptesseJ). Yes, sir {stwnbling over the 
 word). Much too indigent to attend to the matter. 
 
 Gilbert. Indigent I {impaiioiily). Oh, I'U see 
 him mj^self J 
 
 {Exit Gilbert, back.) 
 
 Sybil. You know that I attend to these domestic 
 matters, Mary. You shouldn't worry your master. 
 
 (Gilbert's voice, in anger, is heard off.) 
 
 Mary. Please, m'm, I started blowing of the boy 
 ttp about the joint, m'm, and he said master had 
 remembered to give the order but forgot to pay the 
 biU. 
 
 {Violent door slam lieard off.) 
 
 Sybil. Oh, well, I suppose the two things have 
 somehow got mixed up. 
 
 {Re-enter Gilbert, back.) 
 
 Gilbert {to Mary). Clear out I {He re-pents his 
 tone and calls her back.) Mary I 
 
 Mary. Yes, sir ? 
 
 Gilbert. You've got a friend near here, haven't 
 you ? 
 
 Mary. Yes, or. Medusa Mansions, sir.
 
 U A LITTLE FOWL PLAT. 
 
 Gilbert WeD» you can go and ha^ aa ev«Ma§ 
 
 <mt with Medusa. 
 
 Sybil. But, Gilbert . . . 
 
 Gilbert. No, my dear, I can't put up with any 
 more insolence from these meat-purveying peopk. 
 We win go to the Savoy for dinner, and Mary (m « 
 U>tu of the greatest magnanimity) can go and see her 
 friend I 
 
 Mart. We aren't friends now, sir. 
 
 Gilbert. Oh? Then you can go and make k 
 up with her. An exceUent opportunity. 
 
 Mart. But we've quarrelled over the same young 
 man, sir. {Simper.) Neither of us is friends with 
 her now, sir. She doesn't know how to be'ave like a 
 lady, sir. 
 
 Gilbert. Well, you can devote the entire evening 
 to telling her so. 
 
 {Ring heard off. ExU Mart, r.) 
 
 Sybil. You mustn't do that, Gilbert. The girl 
 will get quite out of hand. 
 
 Gilbert (doggedly). That may be. But she's got 
 to be got out of the way. Either we give the show 
 away by dining on mashed potatoes at home . . . 
 
 Stbil. There's hardly a scrap of butter to mash 
 them with. 
 
 Gilbert. Very 'weQ. Then well dine at the 
 Franco-Swiss restaurant on the nod 1 
 
 Sybil. Gilbert, I couldn't 1 Every morsel would 
 choke met 
 
 Gilbert. Nonsense I The morsels they give you 
 there aren't large enough to choke a fly I 
 
 {Re-enter Mart, parcel in hand.) 
 
 Gilbert throws himself on lounge B., looking peemsk 
 
 and gloomy.) 
 
 Mart. If you please, m'm, a boy wishes to know 
 tf you'd kindly take in this parcel for next door flat.
 
 A LITTLE FOWL PLAY. M 
 
 For nnmber 12. He says he's been twice and can't 
 make them hear nohow. 
 
 Sybil. Very well, Mary. 
 
 Gilbert {looking at pared). What is it ? Taking 
 in people's parcels I This isn't a cloak-room. What 
 is it ? 
 
 Mary {with unction). A chicking, sir. 
 
 (Gilbert starts, and looks from one to Hk ot'ier. There 
 is a pause. Then Gilbert rises and approaches 
 Mary almost stealthily.) 
 
 Gilbert. A chicken did I hear you say ? Let me 
 look at it. 
 
 {He takes parcel — a rush bag — and takes out a chicken.)^ 
 
 Chicken I It's a Surrey capon — four pounds if it's 
 an ounce ! {Reading from label attached.) " 12, Bal- 
 four Mansions. From Cook Sc Co., poulterers. Four 
 and sixpence. Paid I" 
 
 {He hands the chicken to Mary xvith a sigh.) 
 
 Paid! 
 
 Sybil {sadly, but with well-bred composure). Very 
 welJ. Mary. Better put it to keep co<il in the larder. 
 
 Mary. Yes, m'm. {Pauses at Uie door.) It's a 
 very fine bird I 
 
 {Exit Mary, r.) 
 
 (Gilbert and Sybil stand looking at each other altnost 
 guiltily. Not a word is spoken for some time.) 
 
 Gilbert {slowly). I know exactly what you are 
 thinking of, Sybil 
 
 Sybil {starting, as if suddenly detected). No, I 
 wasn't ! 
 
 Gilbert. Oh, y^, you were I And so was 1 1 
 You were thinking how much better it would be to get 
 
 * li any difficulty is experiencerl in getting a chicken, it is 
 aot oecessary for the bird to be taken out of the rush bag.
 
 It A LITTLE FOWL PLAY. 
 
 hot in the oven than to be kept cwol in the larder t 
 
 Sybil. No, I wasn't — not really I I was only 
 . . . envying them I 
 
 Gilbert. Poor little dear I {WaUis about.) Damn 
 the chicken I I wish I'd never ^ seen the thing t 
 {Suddenly.) Look here, Syb, it's a mistake I It ean'i 
 be for Number 12 I They've all gone away I I saw 
 tlie missus and the kids having their holiday boxes 
 shoved on a gKAvler this morning, and it can't be for 
 uVh: . , . well, whatever-hls-German-name-is t No 
 man packs his family off to the sea-side in order to 
 surreptitiously enjoy a chicken — not even a German t 
 It's some mistake, I tell you ! 
 
 Sybil. Then whom do you think it's for ? 
 
 Gilbert. / don't know. And I don't care I But 
 I think it's a Godsend I {Impressively.) And it's a 
 paid for Godsend I They won't come inquiring 
 about it to-night, and to-morrow 111 raise some money 
 somthow and go roimd and say the cat got at it, but 
 that under the circumstances I'm wiUing to pay . . . 
 
 Sybil. Oh, Gilbert, we couldn't I ReaUy, we 
 couldn't 1 It would be criminal I 
 
 Gilbert. Criminal 1 Not at all ! How can it be 
 criminal to take anything on }'our own premises ? 
 If a hen lays an egg in your back garden, whose egg 
 is it? I 
 
 Sybil. The hen's 1 
 
 Gilbert. No, it isn't I It's yours ! There's a 
 celebrated case on the very point — the King v Some- 
 body-or-other — Crown Cases Reserved — ^Times Law 
 Reports . . . 
 
 Sybil {unconvinced). But, Gilbert, a chicken is not 
 an egg! 1 
 
 Gilbert. It was once I Besides, can't yoQ see 
 that to leave that chicken calmly there would be fly- 
 ing right in the face of Providence ? Here we are, 
 two httle ravens waiting to be fed — two hungry 
 ravens — ravenously hungry — and food, sustenance, 
 maima in the wilderness is positivciy thmst on us
 
 A UTTLE FOWL PLAY. If 
 
 fhrou^ the front door I Are we to inquire too dosely 
 into 3ie inscrutable workings of Providence? Are 
 we, when a miracle actually happens, to remain scepCi- 
 cal and imconvinced ? Are we, in the very face of a 
 providential benefaction, to indulge in any hair- 
 spKtting casuistries about the strict legal ownership 
 of a helpless and abandoned bird 1 . . . And a very 
 iat and paid-for bird, too ! 
 
 Sybil But, Gilbert, that Hyde Park oration k 
 all very well, but it isn't OMrs 1 If it were claimed . . .1 
 
 Gilbert. Well, let's face that point. Do you 
 •oppose that in three weeks* time, when Number 
 i£ comes back, they will make any anxious inquiries 
 about it ? In three weeks' time, mind you 1 With a 
 beat wave on I 
 
 Sybil. But you say it can't be lor Niunber 12 1 
 
 Gilbert. Well, so much the better. Then they 
 won't come inquiring about it 1 
 
 Sybil. But I mean we ought to find out who it 
 i$ for. 
 
 Gilbert. Eh ? Oh, let's have dinner first I 
 
 Sybil. No, now ! 
 
 Gilbert. But, my dear girl, be reasonable I I 
 can't be rimning up and down these flats tempting 
 people with a derelict chicken I They might take it — 
 to get rid of me I 
 
 Sybil. But, dearest, you might find the rightful 
 owner. 
 
 Gilbert. Quite so, dearest. But— that's— just — 
 it! 
 
 Sybil. Then if you don't, Mary shall I {She rings.) 
 
 Gilbert. But why be so desperately honest when 
 I'm so desperately hungry ? 
 
 Sybil. Because I want to get it out of the house I 
 
 Gilbert. Ah 1 Poor httle dear I 
 
 {Re-enter Mary, bl) 
 
 Gilbert. Mary, touching this matter of tiiat 
 chicken . . .
 
 li A LITTLE FOWL PLAY. 
 
 Mary. Yes. sir. 
 
 Gilbert. Well, it places us in somewhat of a 
 difficulty. I am anxious at all times to oblige a neigh- 
 bour, but there's the law to be considered . . . 
 
 Mary. Lor, sir I 
 
 Gilbert, And the law is very strict about allow- 
 ing corpses to remain too long on unlicensed premises 
 without being prop)erly disposed of. And that applies 
 equally to chickens. Only, chickens have to be cre- 
 mated — ^that is, cooked I So will you kindly take 
 that body from the larder, ring at No. 12 as a matter 
 of formality, and upon getting no answer, you will 
 immediately descend to No, 11, then to No, lo, and 
 then to No. 9 — ^no further — and you will ask each 'tii 
 tuni if tliey expect a parcel. Don't say what it is . . . 
 
 Sybil. Gilbert ! Let Mary simply ask them if 
 that is their chicken. 
 
 Gilbfkt. Eh? Very well. Only, don't thrust it 
 on them 1 
 
 Mary. No, sir. 
 
 Gilbert. Don't press it on anybody. Start by 
 saying you don't think it can be theirs. Second 
 thoughts — don't actually show it them — ^you know 
 what people are. In fact, don't take it with you at alL 
 Just refer to " a chicken " {casual tone). Say a smail 
 chicken. Or say a small bird — after all, it ts a smali 
 bird compared to an ostrich. 
 
 Mary. Very well, sir. {Repeating, in disdainful 
 tone) " A smaU bird." 
 
 Gilbert. Capital I That sounds hke a sparrow I 
 
 {Exit Mary, back). 
 
 Sybil (hut with no heartiness). There f Youll be 
 better for not having it on your conscience ! 
 
 Gilbert {gloomily). I didn't want it on my con- 
 science I I wanted it lower dowTi ! Still, let's hope 
 lor the best. No 12 isn't there; lo's empty; 9's & 
 bachelor I n — all depends on them I I hope to
 
 A LITTLE FOWL PLAY. 19 
 
 Heaven that Number ii . . , I I say, Sybil, the strain 
 of the thing — the anxiety , , , ! I shan't have any 
 appetite left for the bird. 
 
 (Re-enter Marv, breathless.) 
 
 Mary. Please, sir, twelve won't answer — flat's 
 all dark, sir . . . 
 
 Gilbert {to Sybil). What did I tell you ? 
 
 Mary. ... No more won't ten, sir— ^t's empty, 
 sir. Nine's a bachelor living by himself, sir, and a 
 lady inside laughed when she heard me ask if he was 
 expecting a little bird, sir, and he got very angry . . . 
 
 Gilbert. Well, and Number Eleven ? 
 
 Mary. And Number ii, sir, the maid said that 
 as they hadn't got no company it couldn't be for 
 them ! 
 
 Gilbert. Ah I (graciously). That will do, 
 Mary! 
 
 (Exit Mary.) 
 
 Gilbert (decisively). Well, my dear, we must 
 accept this act of a bountiful Providence in the spirit 
 in which it is offered — ungrudgingly, and in no mean 
 or carping spirit I In fact, I think we ought to say 
 grace to-night. 
 
 Sybil. Gilbert, we can't I We mustn't I (Pause.) 
 Besides, it may be tough I 
 
 Gilbert (imperturbably). WeU, so much the better. 
 It will take us longer to get through it ! 
 
 Sybil. And then, besides, Mary bn't a fool ; if 
 you think she is. 
 
 Gilbert. Mary J Pooh ! I'll soon put things 
 right with Mary ! (Goes to door r.) Mary, bring that 
 chicken here, at once I 
 
 Sybil. If vou do, I shall go out. I can't stay in 
 the room while you are telling horrible lies to Mary ! 
 
 Gilbert. Well, you sUly, I can't teU her the 
 truth 1
 
 20 A LITTLE FOWL PLAY. 
 
 {Ra-enter Mary, r., mlh chicken. Sybil moves to- 
 
 wards door L.) 
 
 Gilbert {addressing Sybil). Stupid of me, do you 
 say ? My dear, I tell you I'd clean forgotten I'd 
 ever ordered the thing ! 
 
 {Exit Sybil.) 
 
 (Gilbert still continues to address the door through 
 which she has passed.) 
 
 I said, " Hang it up for a day or two so that it will be 
 nice and gamey," and I'd clean forgotten the blessed 
 bird ! (Jo Mary.) Mary, this is a very serious 
 matter. 
 
 {^akes chicken from her.) 
 
 Here is a label which distinctly says, " 13, Balfour 
 Mansions " — a number which I beheve is on our front 
 door 1 {Discreet gritnace at Mary.) Perhaps the 3 in 
 13 is not quite as well written as it might be, and I can 
 quite understand that a stupid and half-educated boy 
 might take it for a 2. But I'm surprised a sharp 
 girl like yourself didn't see through it immediately. 
 
 Mary. 1 never gave it a second look, sir. 
 
 Gilbert {taking label and tearing it up). Well, 
 there it is, and you needn't give it a second thought. 
 However, III overlook it this time. But don't kt 
 such a thing occur again. 
 
 Mary {innocently). Well, sir, that would be rather 
 too much to expect, wouldn't it, sir ? 
 
 Gilbert. Mary, in tliis life you never know your 
 luck I {Briskly.) And now shove it in the oven 
 right away 1 Here we are — close on eight . . . 
 {Puis hand in watch-pocket.) Confoimd that watch- 
 maker fellow I Anyhow, jolly late. So look slippy l 
 
 (Mary goes towards door r., then turtiS,)
 
 A LITTLE FOWX PLAY. 11 
 
 . Mary {satm innocmi ait). Well, a bird in \ht 
 hand's worth two in the sliop any day, isn't it, sir } 
 
 {She continues to door.) 
 
 Gilbert. Ah ! {calling her back). Mary, yon 
 can't have a little lamb, because the butcher unfor- 
 tunately forgot to send the joint. But you shall have 
 » very nice slice of thai chicken I 
 
 Mary {at door). Thank you, sir. {Exit.) 
 
 Gilbert. Smart girl, that ! 
 
 {Re-enter Sybil, l.) 
 
 Sybil {witliin doorway). Well, is the deed done? 
 
 Gilbert. Yes, and the chicken's being done. So 
 is the man who owns it ! 
 
 Sybil {coming in). Well, I'm so faint with hunger 
 that I've got no conscience left. But, Gilbert, sup- 
 pose some one were to call for it to-night, when we 
 haven't a penny ! 
 
 Gilbert. Well, if they'll only keep away fcr 
 another hour we shall have eaten the evidence against 
 us. {Ring cff.) Now who the dickens . . . 
 
 Sybil {clinging to him), Gilbert 1 Gilbert I 
 They've come for it ! 
 
 • Gilbert. Don't distress yourself, my dear. I've 
 not gone through the last half-hour for nothing t 
 
 {Re-enter Mary, r.) 
 
 Mary. Please, sir, a boy's come about a chicking. 
 
 Gilbert {calmly). Oh ? How's it getting on ? 
 
 Mary {mth unction). Browning nicely, sir. 
 
 Gilbert. Good. And^ what did you say to the 
 boy? 
 
 Mary. I looked him up and down and said 
 oothing, sir. 
 
 GUJBERT. Quite right. Send him in here. 
 
 {Exit Mary.)
 
 ^ A LITTLE FOWL PLAY. 
 
 Sybil. Oh. Gilbert I whatever shall we do? Y«i 
 see chickens, like curses, come home to roost, ^ 
 Gilbert. No, they come home to roast I 
 
 (Enter Boy, seventeen, apron, back) 
 
 Gilbert {pouncing on him immediately. Boy, 
 what the dickens do you mean by not sending that 
 chicken earlier ? Here we are, half-past ... {Ivand 
 in watch'pocket again) well, half-past something or 
 other ! Do you think we dine at midnight ? Don't 
 let jt happen again. There's twopence for yourself. 
 
 {The Boy, bewildered, accepts the coppers mechanic 
 
 aUy.) 
 
 Gilbert. Well ? 
 
 Boy {gaspinf^ it otU). The chicking, sir ! 
 
 Gilbert. What about it ? Is it a wrong *rai ? 
 Anything the matter with it ? 
 
 Boy. I've come for the one that was left here by 
 mistake, sir. For Number 12, sir ! 
 
 Gilbert. For Number 12 ! But this is 13 1 
 Why didn't you say so before ? You've got my two- 
 pence on false pretences. 
 
 Boy. But the other boy made a mistake, sir. 
 
 Gilbert [soothing tone). Very well, I'll overlook 
 H— I'U overlook it. 
 
 Boy. But it wasn't for Number 12 either, sir. 
 
 Gilbert. Wasn't it ? Then go and tell them so 1 
 Don't come bothering me ! 
 
 Boy. And the gentleman's a-waiting for his dinner, 
 sir. 
 
 Gilbert. Well, so am I, for that matter. We all 
 have to wait for dinner some time or other. You 
 can keep the twopence this time. 
 
 {Exit Boy, back, hustled off by Gilbert.) 
 
 Sybil. How cruel of you! The poor boy may 
 lose his situation !
 
 A LITTLE FOWL PLAY. t| 
 
 Gilbert (cailously). Can't help that I We must 
 keep everybody at bay till we've got four and six- 
 pence in the blessed house ! 
 
 (Ring heard off.) 
 
 Sybil. Oh, dear, oh, dear ! That bell I 
 Gilbert. Go to the door yourself, Sybil. Mary 
 may give the show away ! 
 Sybil {crossing to door and liskning). Mary's gone II 
 
 (Voices heard off. Gilbert goes to the door, listening 
 ai Sybil's side.) 
 
 {Both then steal on tip-toe to the centre again.) 
 
 {Re-enter Mary.) 
 
 Mary. It's that boy again, sir. {Innocently.) 
 He says he can't make Number 12 hear nohow. 
 
 {Exit Mary. Gilbert goes to door.) 
 
 Gilbert {calling). Well, and what do you want 
 this time ? 
 
 Boy {without). Can't make 'em hear, sir. It's aU 
 dark! 
 
 Gilbert. Oh} Perhaps they've gone to the 
 theatre. They're very fond of the theatre, I know. 
 
 Boy {wilnvut). Well, what am I to do ? 
 
 Gilbert. Shut the door — gently. Good night. 
 And let this be a lesson to you. 
 
 Boy {without). Oh, I'm off home I 
 
 Gilbert {comes centre again). Whew I 
 
 Sybil. Gilbert, we are going to get into the most 
 aiwful disgrace for this I 
 
 Gilbert {impatienily). Well, tradespeople should 
 be more careful. They've no right to go about leav- 
 ing chickens at people's doors as though they were
 
 U A LITTLE FOWL PLAY. 
 
 bandbflk. Besides, thirteen's an unlticky ntimb6t 
 ior that sort of thing I 
 
 {Ring heard off.) 
 
 Gilbert. What, another of 'em ! We'll have the 
 lights turned out and open the door to nobody 1 
 
 Sybil. Yes. and this time they won't go away 
 without it ! 
 
 Gilbert. Oh; well if the worst comes to th« 
 worst . . . 
 
 Sybil. Well . . .? 
 
 Gilbert. Why, I shall have to tell some lie or 
 other, for once. Besides, we can put everybody on 
 to Number 12, and they can knock at Number 12 for 
 three weeks, for anything I care. 
 
 {Re-enier Mary, back, followed by Tolbooth. He is 
 
 fijty-jive, corpulent, very polite) 
 
 Mary (showing him up). A gentleman, sir, from 
 
 downstairs. 
 
 (Gilbert af%d Sybil excfuznge anxious glances.) 
 
 (Gilbert gazes at him from behind the lounge, where hs 
 has retired as if to entrench himself.) 
 
 Tolbooth. Good evening — good evening. My 
 name's Tolbooth. Number 2 down in the basement . . . 
 
 Gilbert {prepared for the worst and his self-confi- 
 dence weakened). Ah, good evening I 
 
 Tolbooth. And I learn from the porter down- 
 stairs that you have a telephone here — ^the only one 
 in these flats. Might I crave the kindness to be al- 
 lowed to use the instrument on a matter of some 
 urgency ? 
 
 Gilbert {immensely relieved, with a sudden bursi 
 of joviality). Ah 1 The telephone ! Why, certainly 
 — my dear sir I Dehghted — why the devil didn't you 
 My so before? Delighted 1 Shall we go out?
 
 A UTTLE FOWL PLAY. M 
 
 ToLBOOTH {taking paper from his pockefj. Oh, no, 
 pray I 
 
 Gilbert {handing telephone directory). The book ? 
 
 ToLBOOTH, Thanks, out I have copied the oamber 
 here, 
 
 {He sits at the instrumetU, Gilbert and Sybil 
 exchange reassured glances, and move down stage.) 
 
 Gilbert. Lucky they haven't cut us off yet I 
 
 ToLBOOTH {speaking in instrument). Are you 
 there ? Well, I want to speak to Tooting. I want 
 2222 Tooting 1 Are you there ? I say I want 2222 
 Tooting. Four two's for Too-Tooting. What ? No, 
 I'm not tooting. I said I UHiut T-T-Tooting. Yes. 
 2222 Tooting. What do you say ? Don't say 2222 ? 
 But I must, because that's the number. T-t-t-t-t-t- 
 ... oh, dear ! Eh ? Oh, you want me to say double 
 two, double two Tooting. Very well, my dear girl, 
 anything to get on. Please give me double two 
 double you ... Oh, damn I why do people have such 
 stupid numbers ? Now, please listen very caxefully. 
 I want 2 — 2 — {he bounces in his seat at each figure) 
 2—2 — Toot-Toot-Too . . . {Turning to Gilbert.) 
 Really, this is t-t-t-too awful ! — ^it m-m-makes me 
 st-st-stammer I 
 
 (Gilbert taking 'phone from him.) 
 
 Gilbert. Shall I have a go ? I used to be tutor, 
 so let me have a toot ! 
 
 Tolbooth. No, thanks, I'll sing it/ {In 'phone, 
 itnmusically). Will you kindly give me — now get 
 ready ! — ^Two-and-two and two-tmd-two, Tut-tut-tut- 
 tut Too-ooting ( There ! Are you there ? Are you 
 two-two-two . . . No, I won't begin thai again few 
 anything. Are you Cook & Son, poulterers ? 
 
 (Gilbert and Sybil start violently.) 
 
 Cook & Son, poulterers, I say ? Well, what the 
 <kvil . . .
 
 ^ A LITTLE FOWL PLAY. 
 
 (He turns quickly to Sybil, who is now clinging to 
 
 Gilbert.) 
 
 ToLBOOTH {continuing). I'm sure I beg your par- 
 don, but I'm so used to talking to printers and liter- 
 ary men. {In 'pJwne again.) I say, what the devil 
 have you done with my chicken ? What ? Shut 
 up ? Me shut up ! Oh. the shop. What boy ? 
 Never seen him. What I Left it at Number 12 ? 
 My chicken I And you've sent him back for it ? 
 Gone home I {Screaming it.) Not with my chicken 1 
 Well, I hold you responsible. Apologies ? They're 
 no good to a hungry man ! I want my chicken that 
 you've had my money for 1 
 
 (Puis up receiver and rises, mopping his brow after his 
 
 exertions — he does not notice the agitation 0/ Gilbert 
 and Sybil.) 
 
 {fie then takes nwn^ from his pocket, crosses to 
 Gilbert, and offers him the coins.) 
 
 ToLBOOTH. I'm very much obliged to you, 
 Gilbert {taking coi?is). What's this for ? 
 ToLBOOTH. T-twopence for the t-telephone;. 
 Gilbert. My dear sir, absurd I 
 ToLBOOTH. That makes four and eightpence, and 
 I haven't got my chicken. 
 
 (fig backs away from Gilbert, who proffers the coppers 
 
 unenthusiastically. ) 
 
 Gilbert. Oh, well — ^people in our station of life 
 can't quarrel over coppers, I'll go on the bust with 
 these 1 {Aside.) I mean on the bus. Damned 
 bandy for to-morrow ! {He pockets the coins.) 
 
 ToLBOOTH. I've just been inquiring — as perhaps 
 you heard — about a fowl ... a fowl that has gone 
 astray. 
 
 Gilbert. A fowl I Not a prize hen, I trust {He
 
 A LITTLE FOWL PLAY. If 
 
 does m chanticleer strui). Not a valuable — high-bred 
 bird? 
 
 ToLBOOTH. Oh, no— of the precise value of four 
 and sixpence. But I'm m doubt whether the boy 
 has quite told a straight tale or whether he's gone 
 home with my chicken, or whether . . . 
 
 Gilbert. Ah, I see ! And so you suspect foul 
 play ? That, of course, is merely a play on the word 
 fowl. 
 
 ToLBOOTH. Ha, ha f Or whether, fortunately, it 
 is safely at Number 12 ! 
 
 Gilbert {bustling him otU). Number 12 I Im- 
 mediately opposite, my dear sir, immediately oppo- 
 site ! 
 
 ToLBOOTH. Ah, thanks. {He starts to go and 
 returns.) Thanks. It was really for Number 2 — 
 {same bimness) or I should say {tapping his chest) for 
 Number One. But Number 12 has got no business 
 with it at all. {He starts to go.) 
 
 Gilbert. Of course not. But perhaps they have 
 discovered their mistake by now and are waiting for 
 you to call for it. 
 
 ToLBOOTH {at door). I'm sure I hope so. The fact 
 is, I'm expecting a guest to dinner, and it's very awk- 
 ward. . . . Fortunately, he hasn't turned up, but 
 there's my own dinner to be considered, and the truth 
 is, I'm very hungry. {Same bus.) Thanks, thanks. 
 Good evening. I sincerely hope that Number 12 
 found out their mistake {as he goes out) before anything 
 of a culinary nature happened to my chicken I 
 
 {Exit ToLBOOTH, back.) 
 
 Gilbert. Well, I reckon we've earned our dinner I 
 Sybil. That poor old man I I nearly blurted out 
 
 the truth ! 
 Gilbert. Well, I'm jolly glad you didn't. I have 
 
 done a far, far better thing, for I have sent him to 
 
 Number 12, where there is oo one to tell him the 
 
 dreadful truth.
 
 ■n A LITTLE FOWL PLAY. 
 
 , {Angry voices heard off^ 
 
 Listen 1 Usten i 
 
 {Voiu continues.) 
 
 Sybil. Niimbet Twelve's at home I 
 Gilbert. Good Lord I No ! 
 
 {Amid the noise outside can be distinguished the words, 
 in broken English, " I tell you I know nodings of 
 your shickens! Go away and get sober I Go 
 away I ") 
 
 Sybil. Oh, this is too awful for words I It isn't 
 only stealing ! It might almost lead to murder ! 
 
 Gilbert {grimly). It will 1 How was I to know 
 Ibat that fool of a Nmnber Twelve would come back ? 
 
 (Voices continue.) 
 
 Sybil. Well, let's call the poor old man back and 
 Ihrow ourselves on his mercy I 
 
 Gilbert. If we did that, how could we throw our- 
 aelves on his chicken ? 
 
 Sybil. Gilbert, let's make a clean breast of it! 
 
 Gilbert (Jraniically). How can we, when the 
 dean breast of it's in our oven ! 
 
 {Jie-enier Tolbooth, breathless.) 
 (Sybil clings to Gilbert's hand.) 
 
 Tolbooth. I'm sorry — very sorry — ^but would you 
 mmd coming— to testify before this foreign gentle- 
 man . . . ? 
 
 Gilbert {aghast). If 
 
 Tolbooth. Yes, and swear 5^u heard me being 
 told on the telephone that my chicken was at Number 
 
 lal 
 
 Gilbert. But I didn't hear it I was standing 
 
 ova there I 
 Tolbooth. Yes, but he says he has only just come
 
 A LITTLE FOWL PLAY. tf 
 
 la. and that he's packing up to catch the nine o'clock 
 to " shoin his wive andt familee,** and that he has 
 never seen my chicken I 
 
 Gilbert. Well, perhaps his wife and family have 
 taken it with them. 
 
 ToLBOOTH. No, sir, no i / can smeU it cooking I 
 Can't you ? 
 
 (Gilbert and Sybil clutch each other violently. They 
 
 all sniff.) 
 
 Gilbert. There certainly does . . . seem ... a 
 rather faint. . . . 
 
 (ToLBOOTH goes hack vigorously sniffmg, leuinng them 
 
 standing R.) 
 
 Sybil {half hysterical). Yes, I can perceive ... a 
 faint . . . i 
 
 {She suddenly shrieks, hysterically.) 
 
 Gilbert {at her side). Pull yourself together — ami 
 go and close that kitchen door till I've got hira out 
 of the house 1 
 
 {He pushes Sybil off r., and then goes to stand again ai 
 Tolbooth's side. Tolbooth is still sniffing.) 
 
 Gilbert, No {sniff). No I {decisively). That's 
 not {sniff) chicken ! A duck — {sniff) perhaps. . . , 
 But I don't think it's chicken I 
 
 Tolbooth, I do I And it's my chicken ! 
 
 Gilbert. Well, of course, I don't know what your 
 chicken smells like. But I think it was only your 
 heated imagination. 
 
 Tolbooth {sniff). Certainly, it doesn't seem quite 
 so strong now. I'm so hungry that it would indeed 
 be exasperating if I got nothing of my own chicken 
 but the smell from another man's oven. 
 
 Gilbert {suddenly). My dear sir I My deaf st 1
 
 90 A UTTLE FOWL PLAY. 
 
 A thought strikes mc I A regular merry thought I 
 Why not take pot-luck and dine with us ? 
 
 ToLBOOTH. With you ? But — ^but . , , 
 
 Gilbert. Oh, never mind the huts I You must I 
 (Casual, lofty tone.) We had reaUy thought of going 
 to the Savoy for dinner. But luckily . . . 
 
 ToLBOOTH. Well, I sincerely hope that I and my 
 confounded chicken haven't spoiled your evening I 
 
 Gilbert. Far from it, my dear Mr. Tolbooth— 
 far from it. Then you'll stay ? 
 
 ToLBOOTH. Well, thanks, I'm so infernally hungry. 
 But your wife . . . 
 
 {Re-enter Sybil, r.) 
 
 Gilbert. She'll be perfectly delighted. Sybil, 
 Mr. Tolbooth will do us the honour to join us in our 
 frugal repast. 
 
 Sybil. Gilbert I {She collapses, lounge R.) 
 
 (Tolbooth looks at her, conscious that the invitation it 
 
 not seconded.) 
 
 Tolbooth {regretfully). Thanks — ^but I'm afraid I 
 couldn't impose myself on you. 
 
 Gilbert, Nonsense I My wife is merely reluct- 
 ant to put before you such frugal fare as we have to 
 offer you! 
 
 Sybil {still half hysterical). We shall be delighted, 
 Mr. Tolbooth. 
 
 Gilbert. Exactly ! Pray sit down ! {He pushes 
 him almost violerdly into a chair.) Please let me explain 
 things. Fact is, my doctor has advised me that as a 
 literary man — and — er — subject to — er — attacks of 
 morbid sluggishness of — the — er — cerebral regions — 
 due to gastronomic indiscretions and all that sort of 
 thing — er — I should be well advised to limit the ntmi- 
 ber of my dishes. " Be sparse ! " he says, and sparse 
 it is I And so . . . the . . . er . . . ' By the way, 
 what is the menu to-night, dear ?
 
 A LITTLE FOWL PLAY. ftl 
 
 Sybil {with an effort). Chi-chi ... I mean, a 
 
 bttle fowl ! 
 
 Gilbert. A little fowl I No, really ? How ex- 
 traordinary I Of course ! Tuesdays and Thursdays a 
 little fowl I And the fact is, Mr. Tolbooth, that I have 
 to be very careful in thematterof vegetables, and limit 
 myself to just about one potato — no green vegetables 
 whatever . . . and perhaps just a smattering of maca- 
 roni ... or a little rice ... a very little rice. 
 
 Tolbooth. Plow dreadful ! 
 
 Gilbert. But if a nice juicy chicken. . . . {To Sybil.) 
 I think you said chicken, dear ?— and a few pommcs 
 4 la nature — in other words, plain boile<l — and a 
 lee-tle touch of cheese — 
 
 {Looking ai Sybil, who anxiously shakes her head 
 
 violently.) 
 
 No — no cheese — and then, by way of dessert, a 
 very fine banana and the choice of two apples . . . 
 
 Tolbooth. Oh, pray ... I 
 
 Gilbert. Not in the least I To-night all we have 
 is yours ! {Ringing hell.) 
 
 Tolbooth. Really, you are too hospitable ! Did 
 I hear you say you pursue a literary career, Mr . . . 
 er . . . ? 
 
 Gilbert {pointing to desk). Yes, and there's the 
 litter ! My name's Warren — Gilbert Warren. 
 
 Tolbooth {as if trying to recollect the name). Gil- 
 bert Warren 1 
 
 {Re-enter Mary.) 
 
 Gilbert. Mary ! lay the chicken — I mean the 
 dinner^ — in the other room — for three. (Careless tone.) 
 Only three to-night. 
 
 {Exit Mary.) 
 
 Tolbooth. Gilbert Warren I Now I've got it I 
 WeU, what an extraordinary coinddence !
 
 U A LITTLE FOWL PLAY. 
 
 Gilbert. Why ? . . . What ? . . , 
 
 ToLBOOTH. Really most remarkable! Have yon 
 by chance written any novels, Mr. Warren ? 
 
 Gilbert. Stacks of 'em ! As a matter of fact, 
 they aren't actually published yet. 
 
 ToLBOOTH. And may I ask if a novel called Twin 
 Souls is one of them ? 
 
 Gilbert. Tienn Sotdsf It's my masterpiece I 
 Why, what . . . ? 
 
 ToLBOOTH, Why, I have only this very day recom- 
 mended it most wartrdy to mv firm ! 
 
 Gilbert. What, to North & West I 
 
 ToLBOOTH. Exactly I I read fiction for them I 
 
 Gilbert (rushing to Sybii^. Sybil! {J^arm em- 
 brace.) My dear sir ! 
 
 {Grasps his hands, ard then rushes hack to Sybil, 
 whirling her round in a dance, into which he tJien 
 drags Tolbooth willy-nilly.) 
 
 ToLBOOTH {breaking away). What a festive evoi- 
 Ing! 
 
 Gilbert {suddenly). And how much do you thinlc 
 I can have on account ? 
 
 Tolbooth. Ah ! I never touch the business side; 
 But that book, sir, should bring you fame and fortune. 
 
 Sybil. I think his strong point is fiction, Mr. Tol- 
 booth. 
 
 Tolbooth. Yes, he tells a story remarkably well. 
 
 Gilbert. As you say, Mr. Tolbooth, this is indeed 
 a memorable evening. And my only regret is that 
 , , . owing entirely to doctor's orders ... I haven't 
 « drain of anything in the house to drink your jolly 
 l^ood health in ! 
 
 Tolbooth. My dear Mr. Warren. Listen! I 
 have a bottle or two of choice Burgundy downstaAs 
 that was to have washed my own chicken down . . . 
 
 Gilbert. Burgundy! Mr. Tolbooth! Not Bur- 
 gundy ... I 
 
 Tolbooth. Tes, sir, two bottles of the best And
 
 ▲ LITTLE FOWL PLAY. SI 
 
 if you wiD allow me to send your maid downstairs 
 with a message to my housclceeper . . . 
 
 Gilbert. But, my dear Mr. Tolbooth, you're the 
 universal provider I 
 
 Tolbooth. Not at all. If I share your chickeo 
 you must share my wine ! 
 
 {Re-enter Marv, r.) 
 
 Mary. Dinner is served, sir. 
 Tolbooth. Ah, allow me! {To Sybil.) 
 
 {Exii Mary, r.) 
 
 (Sybil takes Tolbooth's proffered arm, and they gc 
 
 towards door R.) 
 
 {As ihey reach it, Tolbooth turns round towards Gil- 
 bert, speaking over his shoulder.) 
 
 Tolbooth. How very, very fortunate that I called 
 after my chicken ! 
 
 {Exeunt,) 
 
 Gilbert {twirling gaily round on one fcg'). Yes, but 
 I'm jolly glad your chicken called first I 
 
 {A sudden thought strikes him, and he pauses in follow- 
 
 ing them.) 
 
 I wonder whether I dare touch hun ixx that four and 
 ax-i ence 1 
 
 Curtain. 
 
 End.
 
 MRS. PARTRIDGE PRESENTS 
 
 Comedy in 3 acts. By Mary Kennedy and Euth Haw- 
 thorne. 6 males, 6 females. Modem costumes. 2 interiora. 
 Plays 2Vy hours. 
 
 The choraoters, scenes ond sitnations are thoroughly up-to- 
 date In this altogether delightful American comedy. The heroine 
 is a woman of tremendous energy, who manages a business — as 
 •he manages everything — with great success, and at home pre- 
 sides over the destinies of a growing son and daughter. Her 
 struggle to give the children the opportunities she herself had 
 miseed. and the children's ultimate revolt against her well-meant 
 management — that is the basis of the plot. The son who is cast 
 for the part of artist and the daughter %vho is to go on the stage 
 offer numerous opportunities for the development of the comie 
 possibilities in the theme. 
 
 The play is one of the moBt delightful, yet thought-provoking 
 American comedies of recent years, and is warmly recommended 
 t« all amateur groups. (Royalty on application.) Price, 75 Cent*. 
 
 IN THE NEXT ROOM 
 
 Melodrama in 3 acts. By Eleanor Robson and Harriet 
 
 I*ord. 8 males, 3 females. 2 interiors. Modem costumes. 
 
 Pbkys 2% hours. 
 
 "Philip Vantine has bought a rare copy of an original Boulc 
 cabinet and ordered it shipped to his New York home from Paris, 
 When it arrives it is found to be the original Itself, the pes- 
 »«aeion of which is desired by many strange i)eople. Before th« 
 ■aystery concerned with the cabinet's shipment ean be cleared 
 ■p, two persons meet mysterious death fooling with it and toe 
 iMppiness of many otherwise happy actors is threatened" (Bums 
 Mantle). A first-rate mystery play, comprising all the elements 
 •f suspense, curiosity, comedy and drama. "In the Next Room" 
 is quite easy to stage. It can be unreservedly recommended %» 
 Mfli sebools and coUegee. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) 
 
 Price, 75 0«oU. 
 
 SAMUXX. TBJEXCB, 26 West 46th Street, Me* Tork Otty
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 ARE YOU A MASON? 
 
 Farce in 3 acts. By Leo Ditrichstcin. 7 males, 7 fe- 
 males. Modern costumes. Plays 2'/4 hours. 1 interior, 
 
 "Are You a Mason!" is one of those delightful farces like 
 "Charley's Aurit" that are always fresh. "A mother and a 
 daughter," says the critic of the New York Herald, "had hus- 
 bands who account for absences from the joint household on 
 frequent evenings, falsely pretending to be Masons. The men 
 do not know each other's duplicity, and each tells his wife of 
 having advanced to leadership in his lodge. The older woman 
 was so well pleased with her husband's supposed distinction in 
 the order that she made him promise to put up the name of a 
 visiting friend for membership. Further perplexity over the 
 pr'ncipal liar arose when a suitor for his second daughter's hand 
 proved to be a real Mason. ... To tell the story of the play 
 would require volumes, its complications are so numerous. It is 
 a house of cards. One card wrongly placed and the whole thing 
 would collapse. But it stands, an example of ramarkable in- 
 genuity. You wonder at the end of the first act how the fun 
 can be kept up on such a slender foundation. But it continues 
 and grows to the last curtain." One of the most hilariously 
 amusing farces ever written, especially suited to schools and 
 Masonic Lodges. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 
 
 KEMPY 
 
 A delightful comedy in 3 acts. By J. C. Nugent and 
 Elliott Nugent. 4 males, 4 females. 1 interior throughout. 
 Costumes, modern. Plays 2i/4 hours. 
 
 No wonder "Kempy" has been such a tremendous hit in New 
 York, Chicago — wherever it has played. It sna-ps with wit and 
 humor of the most delightful kind. It's electric. It's small- 
 town folk perfectly pictured. Full of types of varied sorts, each 
 one done to a turn and served with zestful sauce. An ideal 
 entertainment for amusement purposes. The story is about a high- 
 falutin' daughter who in a fit of pique marries the young plumber- 
 architect, who comes to fix the water pipes, just because he 
 "understands" her, having read her book and having sworn to 
 marry the authoress. But in that story lies all the humor that 
 kept the audience laughing every second of every act. Of course 
 there are lots of ramifications, each of which bears its own brand 
 of laughter-making potentials. But the plot and the story are 
 not the main things. There is, for instance, the work of tho 
 company. The fun growing out of this family mixup is lively and 
 clean. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents, 
 
 SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York City
 
 ON THE HIRING LINE 
 
 Comedy in 3 acts, by Harvey O'Higgins and Harriet 
 Ford. 5 males, 4 females. Interior throughout. Costumes, 
 modern. Plays 2^4 hours. 
 
 Sherman Fessenden, unable to induce servants to remain for 
 any reasonable length of time at his home, hits upon the novel 
 expedient of engaging detectives to serve as domestics. 
 
 His second vv^ife, an actress, weary of the country and longing 
 for Broadway, has succeeded in discouraging every other cook and 
 butler against remaining long at the house, believing that by so 
 doing she will win her husband to ho-r theory that country life 
 is dead. So she is deeply disappointed when she finds she cannot 
 discourage the new servants. 
 
 The sleuths, believing they had been called to report on the 
 actions of those living with the Pessendens, proceeded to warn 
 Mr. Fessenden that his wife has been receiving love-notes from 
 Steve Mark, an actor friend, and that his daughter has been 
 planning to elope with a thief. 
 
 One sleuth causes an uproar in the house, making a mess of 
 the situations he has witnessed. Mr. Fessenden, however, has 
 learned a lesson and is qnite willing to leave the servant problem 
 to his wife thereafter. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) 
 
 Price, 75 Cents 
 
 A FULL HOUSE 
 
 A farcical comedy in 3 ncl^s. By Fred Jackson. 7 males, 
 7 females. One interior scene. Modern costumes. Time, 
 VjVz hours. 
 
 Imagine a reckless and wealthy youth who writes ardent 
 love letters to a designing chorus girl, an attorney brother- 
 in-law who steals the letters and then gets his hand-bag mixed 
 up with the grip of a burglar who has just stolen -a valuable 
 necklace from the mother of the indiscreet youth, and the 
 efforts of the crook to recover his plunder, as incidents in 
 the story of a play in which the swiftness of the action 
 never halts for an instant. Not only are the situations scream- 
 ingly funny but the lines themselves hold a fund of humor a,\ 
 all times. This newest and cleverest of all farces was writtet 
 by Fred Jackson, the well-known short-story writer, and is 
 backed up by the prestige of an impressive New York success 
 and the promise of unlimited fun presented in the most attrac* 
 tive form. A cleaner, cleverer farce has not been seen for many 
 a long day. "A Full House" is a house full of laughs. (Royalty, 
 tvirenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 
 
 SAMUEL FEENCH. 25 West ^^th Street, New York City