Mrs. M. Certainly, Mr. Dasher. Your presence always adds a charm to our – what’s-its-name – circular.
Ida. Circle, mother.
Mrs. M. Well, what’s the odds?
Dasher. Thank you, Mrs. Mulligrub. You are arrayed like an empress; Miss Ida, your costume is only eclipsed by your charming face; Miss Eva —
Eva. “Last but not least in our dear love,” must of course be divine; so spare my blushes and your breath. (Sits on lounge, R.)
Dasher. Thank you. And now congratulate me. I threw down my pen, after a hard fight with figures, to seek the lonely recesses of my bachelor’s quarters, heartily sick of life, when it suddenly occurred to me that this evening Monsieur Adonis gives one of his charming assemblies. Perhaps, thought I, there I may find rest for my weary brain from the figures of the ledger, which are dancing in my head, in the figures of the dance. But did I dream of falling into such charming society? No; most emphatically and decidedly, no. Therefore, like Cæsar —
Mrs. M. And pray, Mr. Dasher, who is this Cæsar you’re making such a fuss about?
Ida. Why, mother!
Mrs. M. La, child, there’s nobody of that name I’m acquainted with.
Ida. You know, mother, Cæsar was the great Roman general, who —
Mrs. M. La, yes; Mr. Dasher was only speaking metagorically. Cæsar was the man who crossed the what’s-its-name, and was stabbed by a brute.
Eva. Never mind Cæsar. Here’s my card, Mr. Dasher. Of course your name will be the first I shall allow upon it.
Dasher (sits on lounge beside Eva). Am I to be so highly honored. (Takes card.)
Eva. For a waltz, and only one.
Mrs. M. La, child, don’t be so unscrupulous. You’ll dance till you drop if you get a chance.
Ida. Hush, mother.
Mrs. M. Now what’s the matter with you? Mr. What’s-his-name will dance with you, too. Don’t be so anxious.
Ida. O, dear, was there ever such a torment. (Sits on lounge, L.)
Enter Kids, c
Kids (with glass to his eye). Now, weally! Have I stumbled into the bodwaw of a bevy of enchanting goddesses? – have I, weally?
Ida. O, Mr. Kids!
Eva. You have, weally, Mr. Kids.
Dasher. Lavender, my boy, how are you?
Kids. And will the divine goddesses permit me to entaw, to disturb their tableaw of beauty with my horwid figgaw?
Eva. Yes, trot your horwid figgaw in, Mr. Kids.
Mrs. M. Eva, I’m astonished at such language as those. Mr. Kids, we are delighted to see you.
Ida. Yes, indeed, Mr. Kids. I’ve kept my card for you.
Kids. Divine creachaw, you overpowaw me – you do, weally. (Sits on lounge beside Ida, and takes her card.) Just one waltz?
Eva. As many as you please, Mr. Kids.
Mrs. M. Now that’s what I call generous. I wonder where Mr. – no, Munseer – Adonis can be. (Retires up.)
Eva. Mr. Dasher, how can you tell such falsehoods, when you know, that I know, that you know, we were to be here to-night.
Dasher. What a knowing young lady. It’s one of the frailties of masculine nature, Miss Eva. I’m glad I was not George Washington, for I should certainly have spoiled that hatchet story by a lie. Now I am here, dear Miss Eva, overpowered with the burden of a weighty secret, I am going to disclose it. I – I —
Kids. I say, Dashaw, I’ve had my bwains surveyed to-day.
Dasher. Have you? I didn’t know you had any.
Kids. Yaas, several. Destwuctiveness, combativeness, idolitwy —
Dasher. Ideality.
Kids. Yaas, it’s vewry wemarkable how those phwenological fellaws lay out your bwains, and name them just like – aw – stweets.
Dasher (aside). They must have labeled some of yours “No Thoroughfare.”
Eva. O, don’t talk about brains, Mr. Kids. The discussion of such a subject might fly to your head.
Dasher. And so light is the material there, cause a conflagration.
Kids. Yaas, yaas, like a Mansard woof. And, Dashaw, I’ve got a diwectory of my bwains, and it’s deucedly clevaw; for if an ideah gets into my bwains, I can trace it out in the diwectory, and tell just where it lies, you know, and know just where to find it. Deuced clevaw.
Dasher (aside). ’Twould die of starvation before you found it.
Mrs. M. (comes down). Ah, here’s Munseer Adonis at last!
Enter Monsieur Adonis, r
Mons. A. Charmant, charmant, leedies and gentimen, I kees your hands. You do me proud. I feel ze glow of satisfaction in ze inermost inside of zis bosom, when you do me ze grande honneur to grace my salon wiz your presence. I feel ze glow all ovar.
Mrs. M. O, Munseer Adonis!
Eva. Politest of Frenchmen.
Ida. Paragon of dancing-masters.
Mons. A. Pardon me, charmant medmoiselles and adorable madam, if ze modest blush of shame paint my cheek wiz ze hues of ze roses. I am ze humble instrument of ze divine art which gives ze grace to ze figure, and ze airy lightness to ze beautiful toes of madam and ze charmant medmoiselles.
Eva. Now, Munseer Adonis, we are all impatience. When will the dance begin?
Mons. A. On ze instant. Ze company have assemble in ze grande salon. When madam and her friends make ze grande entrée, zen will ze music strike ze signal.
Ida. We are all ready.
Mrs. M. Munseer Adonis, one word with you.
Mons. A. Wiz ze uttermost pleasure. Am I not ze slave of ze matchless madam (aside) and her money. (They retire up stage, and converse.)
Dasher. Miss Eva, I must have an interview with you this evening. I have much to say. Meet me here in half an hour.
Eva. Certainly. I’ll slip away at the first opportunity.
Dasher. Thank you. The first dance is mine, you remember.
Kids. Aw, Miss Ida, I must speak with you alone; I must, weally. There’s something on my bwain – no – on my bweast, that must be welieved. Don’t go. Stay behind with me.
Ida. And lose the first dance? – No, indeed.
Kids. Weally, I couldn’t ask that. Couldn’t you contwive to meet me here alone?
Ida. At the first opportunity. I’ll do my best. (Rises.) Eva, one moment.
Eva (rises and comes, C.). Well, dear?
Ida. Don’t you think, Mr. Kids wants me to meet him here alone.
Eva. Does he? The same thought must have wandered into his bwain that crept into Mr. Dasher’s, for he expects me to meet him here alone.