Читать книгу That Awful Letter - Edna I. MacKenzie - Страница 4

THAT AWFUL LETTER

SCENE I

Table of Contents

(Sitting-room in Neilson’s house, well furnished. Margaret overdressed, is sitting reading a magazine. She looks up impatiently and throws it down in disgust.)

Margaret—(crossly.) There’s no use in my trying to read or do anything else when I’m so provoked. I don’t see why dad can’t (the bell rings) Oh, drat that bell! I don’t want to see any person. I wish people would stay at home. (Goes and looks out.) Oh! it’s Helen! I wonder what she wants now. She is always running over and I’m sure I’m never over there any more than four times a day at the most. (Helen comes in and Margaret rushes to embrace her.) Oh Helen, you dear girl! I’m so glad to see you. I was just wishing you would come over. Do take off your hat and stay awhile. I’ve just been so mad I could boil over or bite somebody or do something awful.

Helen—Why, what is the matter with you? What are you mad about? (Aside, It seems to me she is always in hot water or a stew about something.)

Margaret—Well, sit down and I’ll tell you about it. (They sit down on a couch.) It seems that dad has some country relations somewhere in the backwoods. He’s had them ever since he was born but he’s just remembering them now. Well, it seems that there’s a girl about my age and dad was looking over some old photos last night and came across one of her when she was six years old. That picture put him into the notion that he would like to see that girl and nothing will do but I must write and ask her up.

Helen—That won’t hurt you, will it? I think it would be nice to have a girl visiting you. I know when Marian Staddon was visiting me, we had a dandy time—parties, dances, and heaps of things.

Margaret—Yes, but can’t you get anything into your head? This is a cousin from the backwoods and just imagine the kind of figure she’d cut in our set! Why, she’ll likely have the oddest clothes and speak most horrible English and, and—not know beans. And then that would spoil all our plans for getting in with Edith Browning. The Brownings, you know, are such an aristocratic family and are the whole cheese since they moved to the city. I’m just crazy to get in with them, but of course if they saw me with that girl, that would spoil everything. Edith would know that my father had sprung from common ordinary farmers and we have just succeeded in making people think we had very important ancestors.

Helen—(aside) Gee! but isn’t she some snob. Well, nobody is deceived I can vouch for that. (aloud.) I know Edith Browning is the whole thing just at present. I’ve met her several times and think she is lovely, (pause) not a bit stuck up, you know. Of course we want to get in with her, especially this winter when Beth Norton is going to visit her, for everybody will be having parties and things for her.

Margaret—And pray, who is Beth Norton?

Helen—Don’t you know? Why, she is the girl that all the girls at Erskine College were just crazy about. Why, they say there’s never been a girl there before who was as popular. And act! Why, she took the chief parts in all their plays and the girls said she had any professional actress beaten all to pieces. Oh yes, we must manage to get in with them if we can. Now about your cousin, say, why can’t you have her up for just a couple of days and keep her out of the way?

Margaret—Dad is bound that I’ll invite her up for two weeks anyway. I can generally manage him pretty well, but this time he’s as obstinate as a mule. I’m glad I didn’t inherit his bad qualities.

Helen—(aside) I think she has all of his and some of her own to boot, (aloud) I have an idea. Write her such a letter that if she has any sense at all she’ll know she’s not wanted and then perhaps she won’t come.

Margaret—(jumping up) That is a good idea! Let’s write it now. What shall we put into it? (goes to a table where there is paper and ink, sits down to write)

Helen—(going to the table) Tell her that,—oh, I don’t know. You ought to be good at that sort of thing. (Margaret looks up sharply). Writing letters I mean. You can write such splendid ones, you know. (Margaret writes awhile while Helen looks over her shoulder.)

Margaret—(rising) There, that ought to do the trick. What do you think of it?

Helen—Well, if she can’t take the hint from that that she’s not wanted, she must be as dense as a—a fog! (goes to put on her hat.) I must go for I promised to stay only a few minutes. Good-bye (goes towards the door) I hope your cousin won’t be too boorish if she does come.

Margaret—Good-bye. We’ll trust to luck. (Helen disappears. Margaret comes to centre of stage) Well, that letter is a good stunt, but my, wouldn’t dad be angry if he knew! But I’ll chance it that he doesn’t find out. Now for a toast. (Pretends to drink.) Here’s to the refusal of my invitation to my country cousin.

CURTAIN