Scene VI Apartment at Bob Cratchit’s
(Mrs. Cratchit, Peter, and the two younger Cratchit’s discovered. Candle lighted. The Spirit enters, followed by Scrooge.)
Scr. As through the old familiar streets we passed, I looked in vain to find myself, but nowhere was I to be seen.
Mrs. C. (Laying down her work. Mourning.) The colour hurts my eyes, and I wouldn’t show weak eyes to your father. It must be near his time—he walks slower than he used, and yet I’ve known him walk, with Tiny Tim upon his shoulder, very fast indeed—but he was very light to carry, and his father loved him, so that it was no trouble—no trouble——
Enter Bob, l. h. Mrs. C. advances to meet him—the Children crowd around him.
Bob. There, wife, I’ve returned at last. Come, you have been industrious in my absence—the things will be ready before Sunday.
Mrs. C. Sunday! You went to-day, then?
Bob. Yes, my dear! I wish you could have gone—it would have done you good to see how green a place it is. But you’ll see it often—I promised him I would walk there of a Sunday—my little—little child—(With much emotion.)
Mrs. C. Don’t fret!
Bob. Fret! I met Mr. Scrooge’s nephew just now, who, seeing that I looked a little down, asked me what had happened. Ah, he’s the pleasantest spoken gentleman you ever heard—he told me he was sorry for me and for my good wife—but how he knew that I don’t know!
Mrs. C. Knew what?
Bob. Why, that you were a good wife! and he was so kind—it was quite delightful! He said he’d get Peter a better situation—and, mark me, whenever we part from one another, I am sure we shall none of us forget poor Tiny Tim, shall we, or this first parting that was among us?
Omnes. Never! never! (The Children crowd around their Parents, who kiss them tenderly. A medium descends and hides the group.)
Scr. Spectre, something informs me that our parting moment is at hand—tell me, ere you quit me, what man that was whom we saw lying dead? (The Spirit points onward slowly traverses the stage.) Still he beckons me onward—there seems no order in these latter visions, save they are in the future. Through yonder gloom I can see my own dwelling—let me behold what I shall be in days to come—the house is yonder—why do you point away? Ah! that house is no longer mine—another occupies it. Ah! why is this? (The medium is worked off, and discovers.)
SCENE VII.—A Churchyard. On slab centre, is engraved “Ebenezer Scrooge.”
Scr. A churchyard! Here, then, the wretched man who’s name I have now to learn, lays underneath the ground! (The Spirit points to centre slab. Scrooge advances, trembling, towards it.) Before I draw nearer to the stone to which you point, answer me one question. Are these the things of the shadows that will be, or are they the shadows of the things that may be only? (The Spirit still points downward to the grave.) Men’s courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in they must lead—but if the courses be departed from the ends will change—say is it thus with what you show me? Still as immovable as ever! (Draws nearer to grave.) “Ebenezer Scrooge!” My own name! (Sinks on his knees.) Am I that man who lay upon the bed? (The Spirit points from the grave to him, and back again.) No, Spirit! Oh, no, no! (See Plate, page 150. The Figure remains immovable.) Spirit! (Clutching its robe.) Hear me! I am not the man I was—I will not be the man I must have been but for this intercourse! why show me this if I am past all hope? (The hand trembles. Scrooge sinks on his knees.) Good Spirit, your nature intercedes for me—assure me that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me, by an altered life! (The hand trembles still.) I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year—I will live the past, the present, and the future—the spirits of all three shall strive within me—I will not shut out the lessons that they teach—oh tell me I may sponge away the writing on this stone! (In his agony he catches the Spectre’s hand—it seeks to free itself—his struggles become stronger in his despair—the Spirit repulses him—he sinks prostrate to the earth—the Spirit disappears, as the medium is worked on. Clouds roll over the stage—they are worked off, and discovers.)
SCENE VIII.—Scrooge’s Chamber. Same as Scene I, Act I. It is broad day—the fire is nearly extinguished—the candle nearly burnt down to the socket. The stage arrangement in other respects, precisely the same as at end of Scene I, Act I.
Scrooge discovered, sleeping in his chair. He appears restless and uneasy, then starts up, exclaiming.
Scr. Pity me! I will not be the man I have been! Oh, no, no! (Pauses, and looks around him.) Ah! here! Could it all have been a dream! A dream—ha, ha, ha! A dream! Yes! this table’s my own—this chair’s my own—this room’s my own—and happier still, the time before me is my own to make amends in! I will live the past, the present, and the future! Heaven and the Christmas time be praised for this! I say it on my knees—on my knees! My cheek is wet with tears, but they are tears of penitence! (Busies himself in pulling on his coat, throwing off his cap, etc., and speaking all the time.) I don’t know what to do—I’m as light as a feather—I’m as happy as an angel—I’m as merry as a school-boy—I’m as giddy as a drunken man! A merry Christmas to every body—a happy new year to all the world! Hallo, there! Whoop! Hallo! there’s the jug that my gruel was in—there’s the door where the ghost of Jacob Marley entered. It’s all right—it’s all true—it all happened—ha, ha, ha! I don’t know what day of the month it is—I don’t know how long I’ve been among the spirits—I don’t know anything—I’m quite a baby—never mind, I don’t care—I’d rather be a baby! Hallo! Whoop! Hallo, here! (Runs to window—opens it.) Here, you boy! what’s to-day?
Boy. (Without.) Why, Christmas Day!
Scr. Ah! I haven’t missed it! Glorious! I say—go to the poulterer’s round the corner, and buy the prize turkey for me!
Boy. (Without.) Wal-ker!
Scr. Tell ’em to send it, and I’ll give you half a crown. He’s off like a shot! I’ll send it to Bob Cratchit’s. How astonished he’ll be. (Coming down.) I’ll write a cheque for that society that they called on me about yesterday. Oh, I’ll make every one happy, and myself, too! (Knocks heard without.) That must be the turkey! (Opens door.) As I live, it’s Bob Cratchit!
Enter Bob Cratchit, 2 e. l. h.
Bob. Excuse my calling, sir, but the fact is, I couldn’t help it. That worthy gentleman, your nephew, is ruined. I said, ruined, sir——
Scr. I’m glad of it!
Bob. Glad of it! There’s an unnatural cannibal!
Enter Frank, 2 e. l. h.
Frank. Oh uncle, you know all! I come not to ask your assistance—that would be madness—but I come to bid you farewell. In three days’ time, with my unfortunate family, I shall quit England.
Scr. No, you shan’t. You shall stay where you are!
Frank. You mock me!
Scr. I say you shall stay where you are! (Writes at table.) There’s a cheque for present use—to-morrow I will see how I can make up your losses, and at my death you shall inherit all my wealth—but I don’t mean to die yet, you dog!
Frank. This generosity——
Scr. No thanks. I’ll dine with you to-day, Frank—and as for you, Bob, Tiny Tim shall be my care, and your salary’s trebled from this hour.
Bob. Oh, this can’t be my master! Oh, I’m quite sure it must be somebody else. Yes—it is him, too! He must have gone mad! I’ve a great mind to knock him down with the ruler, and get Mr. Frank to help me to fit him on a strait waistcoat! Well, I never!
Scr. A merry Christmas, Frank—a merry Christmas, Bob—and it shall be a merry one. I have awoke a better man than I fell asleep. So may it be with all of us! Oh, may my day dreams prove as happy as my night ones? (As he speaks, the gauze medium is lit up behind, and the Ghost of Christmas Past, the Ghost of Christmas Present, and the Ghost of Christmas to Come, with the other characters in the Miser’s dream, are seen in separate groups.) Their remembrance haunts me still. Oh, my friends—forgive but my past, you will make happy my present, and inspire me with hope for the future!
THE CURTAIN FALLS.
The Bat
A mystery play in 3 acts. By Mary Roberts Rinehart and Avery Hopwood. Produced originally at the Morosco Theatre, New York. 7 males, 3 females. 2 interior scenes. Modern costumes.
Miss Cornelia Van Gorder, a maiden lady of sixty, has leased as a restorative for frayed nerves, a Long Island country house. It had been the property of a New York financier who had disappeared coincidentally with the looting of his bank. His cashier, who is secretly engaged to marry Miss Van Gorder’s niece, is suspected of the defalcation and is a fugitive. The new occupants believe the place to be haunted. Strange sounds and manifestations first strengthen this conviction but presently lead them to suspect that the happenings are mysteriously connected with the bank robbery. Any sensible woman would have moved to the nearest neighbors for the night and returned to the city next day. But Miss Van Gorder decided to remain and solve the mystery. She sends for detectives and then things begin to happen. At one time or another every member of the household is suspected of the theft. The audience is kept running up blind alleys, falling into hidden pitfalls, and darting around treacherous corners. A genuine thriller guaranteed to divert any audience.
(Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price 75 Cents.
The Haunted House
Comedy in 3 acts. By Owen Davis. Produced originally at the George M. Cohan Theatre, New York. 8 males, 3 females. 1 interior. Modern costumes.
A newly married couple arrive to spend their honeymoon in a summer cottage owned by the girl’s father, who has begged them not to go there, because he claims the house is haunted. Almost immediately after their arrival, strange sounds are heard in the house. The bride leaves the room for a few moments and when she returns, her husband is talking very confidentially to a young woman, who he claims has had trouble with her automobile down the road, and he goes out to assist her. But when he comes back, his wife’s suspicions force him to confess that the girl is an old sweetheart of his. The girl is subsequently reported murdered, and the bride believes her husband has committed the crime. A neighbor, who is an author of detective stories, attempts to solve the murder, meantime calling in a prominent New York detective who is vacationing in the town. As they proceed, everyone in the action becomes involved. But the whole thing terminates in a laugh, with the most uproarious and unexpected conclusion imaginable.
(Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price 75 Cents.
Louder, Please
A comedy in 3 acts. By Norman Krasna. Produced originally at the Masque Theatre, New York. 12 males, 3 females. 1 interior scene. Modern costumes.
The breathless and amusing comedy has to do with the efforts of Criterion Pictures to keep one of its stars, Polly Madison, before the public gaze, and Press Agent Herbert White is called in to promote the necessary ballyhoo. He conceives the brilliant but ancient idea of having Polly get “lost at sea” in a motor boat. There is a law making it a punishable crime to fake a false news report to the press, but what is a law to Herbert if he can get over the necessary publicity? He broadcasts the news that Polly has strangely disappeared and is lost at sea. Consequently the forces of the law get busy, the Coast Guard sends out a fleet of airplanes to rescue the lost film star, with the result that the front pages of the papers are loaded with stories of the frantic search for the actress, and the world at large is on its ear. Detective Bailey becomes suspicious of the fake and puts the Criterion staff through a stiff third degree. A prison cell looms up for Herbert White and he has to resort to the most desperate measures to make the fake story appear true.
(Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price 75 Cents.
Skidding
Comedy in 3 acts. By Aurania Rouverol. Produced originally at the Bijou Theatre, New York. 5 males, 5 females. 1 interior. Modern costumes.
A fresh, sincere picture of American family life, showing Marion Hardy, a modern college girl who falls ecstatically in love with Wayne Trenton just as a career is opening up to her, and the difficulties she has in adjusting her romance. Then there are the two pretty young daughters who chose to marry before they finished their education and want to “come home to Mother” at the first sign of trouble. Mother Hardy is so upset at the modern tendencies of her daughters, that she goes on strike in order to straighten out her family. Young Andy Hardy is an adorable adolescent lad with his first “case”—a typical Booth Tarkington part. He keeps the audience in a gale of merriment with his humorous observances. Grandpa Hardy touches the heart with his absent-mindedness and his reminiscences about Grandma; and the white satin slippers he makes for Marion to be married in, have a great deal to do with straightening out her love affair. Humor is blended with pathos and a deliciously garnished philosophy makes “Skidding” more significant than the average comedy. It is life. “Skidding” is one of our most popular plays for High School production.
(Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price 75 Cents.
Author of Fair Rosamond, Fairinelli, The Dream of Fate,
Author of Fair Rosamond, Farinelli, The Dream of Fate,
CHRISTAMAS CAROL.
A CHRISTMAS CAROL.
Easy chair Table with candlestick upon it, etc., etc.
Easy chair, table with candlestick upon it, etc., etc.
(Binds wrappr round its head once more—slowly
(Binds wrapper round its head once more—slowly
either—nor ony of your family, Bob Cratchit. At
either—nor any of your family, Bob Cratchit. At
Mrs. C. Sunday! You went to day, then?
Mrs. C. Sunday! You went to-day, then?