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Table of Contents

Mrs. Jones,		Keeper of a Boarding-House.
Amanda,		Her Daughter.
Mrs. Simperton,	⎫	Applicants for Board
Isadora Malvina,	⎪
Count Henri de Fripon,	⎪
Abigail Trist,	⎬
Zachary Winfield Taylor Scott,	⎪
Jethro Burbank,	⎪
Mrs. Westwood,	⎭
Sheriff.
Mr. Randall.
Bridget.

Scene I.—A room in the house of Mrs. Jones. Mrs. J., R., and her daughter, L., present, both seated.

Mrs. Jones. Well, Amanda, now that we have taken a large house and prepared it for boarders, the next thing will be to fill it.

Amanda. Advertise in the “Herald,” mamma.

Mrs. J. It may be a good plan. We ought to make money; but when I consider that we have a large rent to pay, I can’t help thinking that there is some risk about it. You know we were able to live comfortably on the money your poor father left, and without any care or exertion on our part.

A. (scornfully). Comfortably, mamma! You know how we had to pinch ourselves. I could hardly afford one bonnet a year, and, as to dresses, I had to wear them so long a time I was positively ashamed. Other people make money by keeping boarders, and why can’t we?

Mrs. J. You may be right, Amanda. But about the advertisement. How shall we express it?

(Amanda sits down at the table and writes.)

A. How will this do, mamma? (Reads.)

Wanted.—A few first-class boarders, by a genteel family whose object is to surround themselves by a pleasant social circle, rather than to make money. Address “Boarders,” Herald office.

Mrs. J. But, my dear, my object is to make money.

A. Of course, mamma; but it sounds well to seem indifferent to it.

Mrs. J. Perhaps you are right. (A pause.) I wonder when the advertisement will appear.

A. To-morrow morning, probably, and we may expect applications at any time afterward.

Mrs. J. Then it would be best to fix on a price for board at once.

A. Yes, I suppose so.

Mrs. J. How would twelve dollars a week do?

A. It wouldn’t do at all. We couldn’t pay expenses.

Mrs. J. But I’m afraid if we charge such high prices we shall not be able to fill our rooms.

A. That’s just the means to accomplish it. Many people judge of the style and reputation of a house by the price asked. You ought to insist on at least fifteen or twenty dollars for the best rooms, and a little less for those not so desirable.

Mrs. J. But that won’t correspond with the advertisement, where I say I take boarders for company, rather than to make money.

A. I don’t think that will ever be noticed; but if it should, you can say with truth, that you could not pay your expenses if you charged less.

Mrs. J. Well, I hope we may be successful, for I have made such an outlay in fitting up the house, that our income will this year be far less than usual, and our expenses correspondingly larger.

A. There’s no doubt of our success. Three months from now we shall be able not only to defray our necessary expenses, but also to replace the money which you were obliged to draw to pay for the furniture.

(Curtain falls.)

Scene II.—The same. Amanda, L., present. She is looking over the morning paper. Enter Mrs. Jones, R.

Mrs. Jones. Ah, has the paper come, Amanda?

Amanda. Yes, and the advertisement is inserted, and reads well. (Passes paper to her mother.)

Mrs. J. That seems to be right—(listens—sound of bell is heard). But hark! Isn’t that the door bell?

A. Yes; I hope it may prove an applicant for board.

(Servant ushers in Mrs. Simperton and her daughter, L.)

Mrs. Simperton. This is Mrs. Jones, I believe.

Mrs. J. You are right. That is my name.

Mrs. S. (affectedly). I must introduce myself as Mrs. Simperton. And this is my daughter, Isadora Malvina. (Mrs. J. bows.) We saw your advertisement in this morning’s “Herald,” and when we called at the office, were directed here.

Mrs. J. Yes, my daughter and myself wished for company. It is rather lonely for two persons to live by themselves in a large house like this, with no one near but servants.

Mrs. S. It must be so, and I do not wonder that you wish for companions. My daughter and myself are thinking of boarding this winter, and I wish to make some inquiries concerning your rooms. I suppose they are newly furnished.

Mrs. J. Yes, they all contain new furniture.

Mrs. S. And is it black walnut, with marble tops to the bureau and tables?

Mrs. J. Yes, a part of the rooms are furnished in that style.

Mrs. S. I suppose we could have our meals in our own rooms.

Mrs. J. (hesitating). Well—yes—perhaps it could be arranged so.

Mrs. S. And I suppose we could have them at whatever hour we chose.

Mrs. J. I think so.

Mrs. S. That seems to be favorable. May I ask your terms?

Mrs. J. For my best rooms, with private meals, I should be obliged to charge twenty dollars a week apiece. If the meals came at unusual hours, it would be worth more.

Mrs. S. (with emphasis). Your charge is exorbitant. Such accommodations are not worth more than half the sum you name. Still I am willing to pay twenty-five dollars for both of us.

Mrs. J. I couldn’t think of such a thing. I shouldn’t be able to pay my expenses at such low rates for board.

Mrs. S. I thought you didn’t keep boarders for profit, but only for the sake of company.

Mrs. J. That is very true. I don’t take boarders for profit, but neither do I intend to take them at a loss. I shouldn’t consider their company to be of sufficient value to compensate for that.

Mrs. S. Very well; I see we must look further. I don’t believe we should be suited here. Come, Isadora Malvina. (Goes out, L., with a lofty air, followed by her daughter.)

A. What airs people do put on sometimes! I’m glad she didn’t decide to stay. I shouldn’t want her for a boarder at any price. (Bell rings. Enter Count de Fripon, L.)

Count (with a polite bow). Can madame accommodate me with a suite of rooms?

Mrs. J. I think so. What rooms do you desire?

C. I should like a chambre à coucher—what you call a bedroom; also a parlor in which I could receive my friends.

Mrs. J. You would require board, too, I suppose.

C. Oui, madame,—yes, you are right. I should wish board for myself, and sometimes I might bring a friend with me to dine.

Mrs. J. Certainly. We shall always be glad to see any of your friends. In regard to terms—

C. (with a deprecating gesture). Pardon, madame, but—I never trouble myself with these trifling matters. At the end of every month you will send in your bill to me, and I shall pay it to you at once.

Mrs. J. That will be satisfactory. But what name shall I put down?

C. (with a courtly air). Count Henri de Fripon, madame. Here is my card. (Passes it.)

Mrs. J. (bows, while a pleased smile overspreads her face). And when would you like to come?

C. I shall come to you next Monday, in the morning. I have the honor to wish you good day, madame; bon jour, mademoiselle.

(Exit, L., with low bow.)

Mrs. J. That’s a boarder after my own mind. He never inquired the terms, and will be ready to pay when the bill is presented. I wish we might secure others of the same kind.

A. And he’s one of the nobility, too. His presence will give quite a distinguished air to the house.

Mrs. J. Yes; he’s quite an acquisition. (Bell rings.) Besides, who knows but—(Enter Miss Trist, L.)

Miss Trist. Good mornin’, ma’am. Good mornin’, miss. (Mrs. J. and A. both bow.) I’ve come to see about gettin’ boarded.

Mrs. J. I think we can accommodate you. What kind of a room would you like?

Miss T. It don’t make no sort o’ difference to me. I only want a shelter. ’Taint likely I shall be spared long to need one.

Mrs. J. (with sympathy). Are you an invalid?

Miss T. No, I aint sick yet, but there’s no knowin’ how soon I may be. My mother died young, and died suddenly, too. I expect to go in the same way.

Mrs. J. I hope not. (A pause.) We have rooms which, with board, vary from twelve to twenty dollars per week.

Miss T. My sakes! That’s an awful price, aint it? But then I might as well spend my money for board as to leave it for my relations to quarrel over.

Mrs. J. That certainly is a better way.

Miss T. (mournfully). Perhaps you wouldn’t think it, from my comin’ here to get boarded; but I’ve got three sisters and two brothers, and they’re all watchin’ to see if I aint goin’ to get sick an’ die, so they can have my money.

Mrs. J. You’d better come here to board, then. I dare say it would be the means of prolonging your life.

Miss T. Do you think so? I wish I could believe it, though (dismally) I haint got nothin’ to live for. But then, if I aint to live long, it would be a comfort to spend my last days in peace. I’ve had a great many troubles and trials in my time.

Mrs. J. I am sorry to hear it.

Miss T. Yes, I lost my best friend just six days before we were to be married. If he’d only lived one week longer, I might have been a desolate relict instead of a lonely single woman.

Mrs. J. It must have been a great disappointment.

Miss T. Yes; but then ’twas my luck. I don’t place no dependence on anything now. (Rising.) There’s no knowin’ what may happen; but I’ll come, to stay, next Monday, if I’m alive an’ well.

(Exit, L.)

A. (drawing a long breath). Oh, I’m so glad she’s gone. I hope something will happen to prevent her coming. It’s as dismal to have her round as to be alone in the house on a drizzly day in November.

Mrs. J. We can’t refuse any one who is willing to pay our price. But hark! some one is coming. (Enter Mr. Scott hurriedly.)

Mr. Scott (nervously). I have come to get boarded here madam. (With deprecating gesture.) Don’t refuse me, for I shall certainly commit suicide if you do. You see I’ve set my heart on boarding with you and your charming daughter.

Mrs. J. (benignantly). There is no occasion for my refusing you. We have still a few rooms left that are not engaged.

Mr. S. (in a hurried manner). And what are your terms—though that will make no difference. I shall come, whatever they may be.

Mrs. J. We have one room, at fifteen dollars, that may perhaps suit you.

Mr. S. (with a theatrical air). Fifteen dollars! Ask me not to pay such a paltry sum. I would never pay less than twenty-five.

Mrs. J. Very well, you can pay any sum you choose.

Mr. S. Then I choose to pay twenty-five dollars. But there’s another inquiry that I wish to make. Can I have a piano in my room?

Mrs. J. There is a piano in the parlor, which the boarders are at liberty to use when they feel inclined.

Mr. S. But that will not suit me. Perhaps I should wish to play when some one else was using it. No, I must have one in my own room. (Earnestly.) I’m willing to pay extra for it—five, fifteen, or even fifty dollars a week, rather than not to have it.

Mrs. J. Certainly; if you are willing to pay for it I will have one put into your room for you.

Mr. S. You relieve my mind greatly. I will be here to commence boarding to-morrow. Here is my card. (Passes it.) Good-morning, ladies.

(Exit hastily, L.)

A. What a strange man! It isn’t often that one meets with a person who sets so little value on money.

Mrs. J. His name is as strange as his actions.

A. (with curiosity). What is it?

Mrs. J. Zachary Winfield Taylor Scott.

A. (with interest). Perhaps he is a son of General Scott. I’ve heard it said that the families of great men are often eccentric.

(Bell rings. Enter Jethro Burbank, L.)

Jethro Burbank. I’ve come to see as how, could I get boarded.

Mrs. J. We have some rooms still vacant, if the price is such as to suit you.

J. B. (unheeding her remark). You see, I’ve come all the way from Hatchville, State of Maine, to see if I could get a situation here in the city, and the fust thing is to get a boarding-place. What do you calc’late to charge me now? Don’t set it too high.

Mrs. J. The lowest-priced rooms we have left are fifteen dollars per week, with board.

J. B. Gewhittaker! That’s an all-fired big sum. You don’t mean that’s your lowest price.

Mrs. J. Certainly. This is a first-class house, and we do not take any boarders who can’t afford to pay our prices.

J. B. Wal, I don’t know what you call fust-class boarders, but marm boards the schoolmaster, and the editor of the paper, and I guess they aint second to nobody.

Mrs. J. (smiling). And what does she charge for board?

J. B. Wal, she charges jest two dollars a week. That’s what I call a reasonable price. But I knowed that prices were higher in the city, and I calc’lated I’d have to pay as much as five dollars; but to pay three times that, is more than I can stand. Why, the price of a year’s board would buy me a good farm down to Hatchville.

Mrs. J. Then I’m afraid you’ll have to go back there.

J. B. Wal, I shan’t give it up so. I’m going to try further.

(Exit J. B., L.)

A. It is getting late. I don’t believe we shall have any more applicants to-day.

Mrs. J. You are mistaken, for here is one now.

(Enter Mrs. Westwood, L.)

Mrs. Westwood. Good-afternoon, ladies. Am I too late for a place? Are your rooms all taken?

Mrs. J. No. We have several left. There are two in particular that I think you would fancy. One is a very large and pleasant room. The other is a little smaller.

Mrs. W. Oh, I must have the large one, by all means.

Mrs. J. The larger one, with board, will be twenty dollars a week.

Mrs. W. Very well, I will pay it. I’ve got plenty of money at present. My husband died a year ago, and left me with a large farm and a quantity of stock. But I wasn’t going to be immured in a dismal farm-house—not I. So I’ve sold the farm, and come to the city to board till my money gives out. Perhaps then you’ll take me as a partner in the boarding-house business.

Mrs. J. I find it takes considerable money, even for that business.

Mrs. W. Oh, well, I’ve got enough—a couple of hundred thousand dollars. But I’m not ready to go in yet. I want to see a little of city life first. If I meet a good-looking gentleman that invites me, perhaps I shall become his partner instead of yours. But time will show.

Mrs. J. What time would you like to commence?

Mrs. W. It might as well be now as any other time. I can send for my trunks.

Mrs. J. Very well; I will show you the two rooms, though I think you will prefer the larger one.

Mrs. W. Oh, I am sure I shall.

(Exit Mrs. J. and Mrs. W., L.)

A. (sola). Quite a number of the rooms are already engaged, and I think we may congratulate ourselves on having made a good beginning. How much better it will be to keep a genteel boarding-house than to tend shop or keep school for a living.

(Curtain falls.)

Scene III.—The same. Mrs. Jones present, R. Enter Amanda, L.

Amanda. Did you send for me, mamma?

Mrs. Jones. Yes. I think it is necessary for us to have a consultation about our affairs.

A. (surprised). I thought you were getting along charmingly. I’m sure the house is full of boarders at good prices, and has been ever since we commenced. What more could you wish for?

Mrs. J. Everything would be quite satisfactory if the boarders would only pay up promptly. But Mrs. Westwood and Miss Trist are the only ones that I can depend on. The butcher and baker have sent in heavy bills, and this morning I have received grocery and gas bills, as well as bills for extra furniture that was required. Then, too, a month’s rent is due for the piano in the parlor and that in Mr. Scott’s room.

A. Ask Mr. Scott for the money due you for his board.

Mrs. J. I have done so repeatedly, but he has such a way of evading it that I can’t get anything. Indeed, sometimes he gets so excited that I am almost frightened, and glad enough to leave him, even without my money.

A. But surely the count has paid you.

Mrs. J. Not a cent. I was to send in my bill three days ago, but before I was able to do so he asked for an interview, and said that he had been disappointed about receiving money which he expected, and asked me to wait a week longer. He seemed so sorry about it that I couldn’t help accommodating him.

Bridget (entering, R.). An’ did ye take the silver, mum? I haven’t seen a sight of it since I left it on the table after cl’aning it this morning.

Mrs. J. (surprised). I haven’t taken it away. Was the front door locked?

B. Yis, I thried that same, an’ it was locked as usual. But jist as I went to look if it was fast, the postman came, an’ brought this letter.

Mrs. J. (opening it hastily, and glancing at signature). Why, this is from the count. (Reads.)

“Dear Mrs. Jones: I write to let you know that I have just received the money I expected, and which I was only able to get by selling your silver, which I gathered up this morning for that purpose. As the jeweller said it wasn’t first quality, I got less than I hoped for, so I sha’n’t be able to settle my board bill at present. You will find the silver, also your daughter’s watch and rings, at the shop of Willis and Turner. Yours,

“Count Henri de Fripon.”

A. (excited). What! My watch and rings. How could he have got them?

B. Oh, the murtherin villain! An’ didn’t I tell Kate, the cook, that he had too much blarny about him for an honest man?

Mrs. J. (troubled). What shall we do?

B. Send the perlice after him.

(Enter Miss Trist, L.)

Miss T. Oh, my poor head! I can’t stand it any longer.

Mrs. J. What’s the matter, Miss Trist?

Miss T. That Mr. Scott, whose room is right opposite mine, is all the time playing on the piano. If it was sacred music I wouldn’t mind; but it’s the quickest kind of dancing tunes.

A. Why don’t you knock at his door and tell him how much it disturbs you? There is no one in the parlor, and he can play there all the afternoon if he wishes.

Miss T. Perhaps I will do so, for I’m afraid I shall go distracted.

(Exit, L.)

B. An’ I must tell ye, mum, that Katy an’ me’ll be afther lavin’ here intirely, if our month’s wages aint paid by to-morrow.

Mrs. J. Very well, I will attend to it. You can go now. (Exit Bridget, R.) I’m sure I don’t know what we’re going to do. I have received two letters from Lawyer Snap about the last month’s rent. The second one stated that if it was not paid immediately legal steps would be instituted.

(At this moment hurried steps are heard, L., and Miss Trist rushes into the room, closely followed by Mr. Scott; her cap strings flying, and both hands are placed on her devoted head, as if fearing a blow there. Her companion dashes madly after her, holding a heavy music-book in a menacing way.)

Mrs. J. Miss Trist, Mr. Scott—what is the matter?

Mr. S. (standing still for a moment, speaks in a fierce manner). That woman (looking toward Miss T.) has been tormenting me. I was engaged in improvising music, an opera which would have far exceeded anything that Verdi or Meyerbeer ever composed, and was just arranging one of the most delicate passages, when that woman knocked at my door. (Enter Sheriff and keeper by entrance back of Mr. S.) Of course the interruption was fatal to my opera. And what did she come for? Why, she wanted me to go to the parlor piano, because my music disturbed her. And through her means, that divine opera is lost to the world. (In a loud tone.) I will kill her! (more fiercely) I will annihilate her! I will crush her to atoms! (Amanda faints, Mrs. J. clasps her hands with a deprecating gesture, and Mr. S. dashes after Miss T., who has sunk with a frightened air into a chair in the farther corner. The Sheriff seizes Mr. S. from behind. The latter struggles furiously, but vainly.)

Sheriff. Here, Randall, take charge of this man. He’s that lunatic who escaped from the asylum six weeks ago. They’ve searched most everywhere for him.

Mr. S. (who is quiet for a moment—with a smile). I was too cunning for them. (Again furious.) You shall not restrain me. I must annihilate that woman, and then finish my opera. (Randall takes Mr. S., screaming and struggling furiously, from the room.)

Mrs. J. (to Sheriff). How can I thank you, sir, for delivering us from that madman?

Sheriff. I am happy to have been of service to you in that way; but my errand here was to give you trouble. (Mrs. J. looks expectantly toward him. Mrs. Westwood enters, R.) I have been instructed to levy an attachment on your furniture, on account of your refusing to pay your rent.

Mrs. J. I am sorry it so happens. I depended on the money which I was to receive from my boarders to pay my expenses; but, of fifteen boarders, these two ladies are the only ones who have paid.

Mrs. W. (coming forward). That’s a shame. Mr. Sheriff, what’s the amount of your bill?

Sheriff. Rent $125, and costs $25 more.

Mrs. W. Here’s the money, $150. Now give me a receipted bill.

Sheriff. Here is one, though I didn’t expect to need it (gives bill and takes money). Thank you, ma’am.

(Exit Sheriff, L. Mrs. J. gazes in astonishment.)

Mrs. W. Mrs. Jones, what do your other unpaid bills amount to?

Mrs. J. About five hundred dollars.

Mrs. W. Well, I’ve got a proposal to make to you. In the first place, however, I must explain a little. Do you remember hearing your husband speak of his sister, Sarah Jane, who went to California to become a teacher, some twenty odd years ago?

Mrs. J. Yes; she went away just before I became acquainted with him. He frequently spoke of the circumstance; but the vessel was wrecked, and he supposed, as he heard no further tidings, that she must have been lost with the other passengers.

Mrs. W. Well, she wasn’t lost, but returned a couple of months ago, and now stands before you.

A. And are you my Aunt Sarah?

Mrs. W. Yes. I went, as you know, to San Francisco with the intention of teaching, but on board the steamer I became acquainted with Mr. Westwood, who had started for California to seek his fortune. He and myself and one other passenger were the only persons saved from the wreck. He persuaded me to abandon my original plan, and marry him. I did so, and we went into the country, where he bought a sheep ranch. He was prospered in all his undertakings, and, last year, died, leaving me, by will, all he possessed.

Mrs. J. But why haven’t you written to us in all these years?

Mrs. W. We were intending, from year to year, to come back soon to surprise my brother, but circumstances constantly arose to prevent it. After my husband died, I determined to come at once and seek my relatives; but when I arrived I learned of my brother’s death. I then sought a boarding-place, and in looking over the paper met with your advertisement. Although the name was the same, I had no idea you were his widow till I saw his portrait hanging in the parlor. Though grown older, his features had not yet changed, and I recognized him at once. I engaged board with you, thinking if I enjoyed stopping here I would propose to become a permanent member of your family. I now propose to take the house, pay your debts and all the future expenses of house-keeping, in return for the society of yourself and daughter. What do you say to the plan?

Mrs. J. I should be very glad to have it so, but I am afraid you do not realize what you are taking upon yourself.

Mrs. W. Trust me for that. I know what I am about.

Mrs. J. Then there’ll be no more anxiety and worriment about unpaid bills.

A. And no desire to continue the experiment of Keeping Genteel Boarders.

(Curtain falls.)