CHARACTERS.

Scene:—The principal aisle of a fashionable shop. Mrs. Neverby and Mrs. Sampelle discovered sauntering along near a prominent counter strewn with rich woollen dress-goods. Mr. Newcome, as they pause for an instant, makes a dash forward toward the ladies: the seven other salesmen for a moment seek to restrain his ardor; but he refuses to be restrained, and instantly holds up to the gaze of the shoppers a piece of cloth with a most alluring air. They pause—halt—whilst the chorus, withdrawing, sing, in a low, melancholy voice—

Chorus.

[Chorus retire and busy themselves with other remote customers and goods, keeping, however, a wary and observing eye fixed upon Newcome.

Newcome (gushingly). What can I show you this morning, ladies?

Ethel (sweetly). Oh, thank you, we are merely looking as we pass by.

Maude. Oh yes, that is all.

Newcome. It will do no harm to show you these goods, I am sure, ladies. These double-width, all-wool, imported French suitings, in all the latest shades, reduced, marked down only half an hour ago from two dollars and a half a yard to—one-fifty!

Ethel (takes a step nearer to the counter). That blue is lovely, isn't it, Maud?

Maud (also taking a step counterward). Yes, it is lovely.

Newcome. Is blue the color that you are looking for, madam?

Ethel. Oh, not specially.

Newcome. Now just allow me to show you these blues: ten different tones,—the navy, Marie-Louise, slate, Russian, Princess of Wales, robin's-egg, army, cobalt, indigo, steel,—all of them exquisite, and very fashionable!

[Brings down pieces of goods and displays them.

Maud. They are lovely.

Newcome. All at the same price, one dollar and fifty cents, reduced from two and a half only this morning.

Ethel. Why are they so low? (Fingers goods). Is there any imperfection?

Newcome (ecstatically). None in the world, madam—none in the world. They are just an importer's surplus stock that our buyer got at a tremendous reduction, and we are selling them at this absurd price merely to get rid of them before taking stock.

Maud (eying the goods behind the counter on shelves). Ethel, that gray is too sweet for anything; it would just match your chinchilla furs perfectly!

Ethel. So it would!

Newcome (tossing aside the blues with a jubilant air). Gray, did you say, madam? We have a line of grays not to be found anywhere else in the city; every possible tint and tone. Is it for yourself, madam?

[Gazing at Ethel as he moves heavy pile of grays from shelf to counter.

Ethel. Oh no; we are, as I told you, merely looking (glances at Maud) for a friend.

[Chorus of clerics, softly and with a semi-sarcastic, semi-melancholic demeanor, advance and sing:

[Chorus retire and again busy themselves with other customers.

Maud. Yes, an invalid lady who is unable to go out at all; we thought if we could take her some samples.

[Chorus groan weakly.

Newcome. Certainly, madam.

[Opens drawer and hands forth any number of packets of samples.

Ethel. Oh, how good you are! Thank you. Say, Maud, isn't that green, up there, the top of that left-hand pile, isn't it too lovely and chic for anything?

Maud. Perfect.

Newcome (abandoning the search for more samples). Green—did you say green, ladies?

Ethel. Oh, never mind!

Newcome (struggling with the greens, which threaten to topple over on him). No trouble at all, madam—none (lands the greens successfully on the counter). We have, as you see, a complete line of the greens—the most fashionable and stylish color of the season. Do be seated, madam, and just let me show you these unparalleled goods, one-fifty only a yard, reduced from two and a half, all-wool, warranted imported French dress material. We sell no domestic goods in this establishment.

Maud. We might look at them, dear.

[Approaches seat.

Ethel. Well (approaches seat)—I suppose we might; we promised her we would look at everything, you know, and report this afternoon.

Newcome (displaying goods). There, ladies! I am sure there is not to be found anywhere in the city, or indeed out of it, such a selection of greens; all tones and shades to suit every taste and complexion. Is it for yourself, may I ask, madam?

Maud. Oh no, no, no—for a friend.

Newcome. And what complexion is the lady, light or dark? We have tints to suit all.

Maud (to Ethel). Would you call her fair or dark, dear?

Ethel. Oh, dark, of course.

Maud. You would! Why, I thought she was just about my complexion.

Ethel. So she is, love, exactly.

Maud. Why, darling! I am not dark, surely; I am considered to be very, very fair for a person with such dark hair and eyes.

Ethel. Now, I would call you a perfect brunette, dear.

Maud. How funny! Why, I'm just exactly your complexion.

Ethel. Oh, my love, only reflect—my hair is yellow and my eyes are blue!

Maud. I know, dearest, but you have an olive skin.

Newcome (who has been patiently holding up the greens at the risk of breaking his arms). There, ladies! I am sure we have a selection of shades in these greens that must suit the most fastidious.

Ethel. They are beautiful!

[Sits.

Maud. Lovely!

[Sits.

Newcome (warmly, and much encouraged by the ladies having taken seats). Oh, I can always tell at a glance what will suit a customer. Now, what you desire is not the common grade of colorings, but something elegant and yet not conspicuous—like this new reed-green, for example.

[Holds up the goods.

Ethel. How sweet!

Maud. Isn't it?

Ethel. Do you really think she would like green?

Maud. I don't know; she is so particular, you know.

Ethel. Yes, I know. Didn't she— It seems to me she said something or other about brown—didn't she?

Maud. Why, yes, to be sure, I believe she did.

Newcome (casting the greens into a reckless oblivion). Brown? We have a selection in all the browns that is not to be found elsewhere, I am confident. (Struggles with great pile of browns; grows warm with effort; pauses to mop his brow with handkerchief; finally brings down huge number of browns and lands them on counter). Our—assortment—of—browns—is (heaves a deep sigh), I may say, unequalled.

Ethel. What a sweet shade that is!

Maud. Isn't it?

Ethel. Are these the same price as the others?

[Fingers the browns.

Newcome. Exactly the same, madam; one dollar and fifty cents a yard, reduced from two and a half; all-wool.

Maud. Are you sure they are all-wool? This piece feels rather harsh to me.

Newcome. Every thread, madam; that I will guarantee. We are not allowed to misrepresent anything in this establishment. You can see for yourself.

[Recklessly frays out a few inches of the brown.

Ethel (also fingering goods). Yes, they are all-wool; French, did you say?

Newcome. Every piece imported. We keep no domestic woollen goods whatever. We have no call for anything but the foreign goods.

Maud. How wide did you say?

Newcome. Double width, madam—forty-four inches.

Ethel. Five, seven—let me see, it would take about—how much do you usually sell for a costume?

Newcome (with hilarity, holding up the browns). From eight to ten yards, madam, according to the size of the lady. For your size I should say eight yards was an abundance—a great abundance.

Ethel. She is just about my size, isn't she, Maud?

Maud. Just about. It wouldn't take eight yards, I shouldn't think, of such wide goods made in Empire style.

Ethel. No, I suppose not; but then it's always nice to have a piece left over for new sleeves, you know.

Maud. Yes, that's so.

Newcome. An elegant shade, ladies, becoming to anyone, fair or dark. I am sure any lady must be pleased with a dress off of one of these—serviceable, stylish, the height of fashion.

Ethel. Is brown really so fashionable this season?

Newcome. I am sure we have sold a thousand yards of these browns to ten of any other color.

Maud. Is that so?

Ethel. I do wonder if she really would prefer brown. What do you think, dear?

Maud. Well, it depends somewhat, I think, on how she is going to have it made.

Ethel. True. Well, I think she said in directoire.

Maud. Plain full skirt?

Ethel. Yes, smocked all around—no drapery at all.

Maud. Candidly, love, do you like a skirt without any drapery at all?

Ethel. Well, no, I can't say I do. Do you?

Maud. No. I like a little right in the back, you know—not too much. But I think a little takes off that dreadfully plain look. Don't you?

Ethel. Yes.

Maud. How are y— I mean how is she going to have the waist?

Ethel. I don't know. I heard her say that she was going to have a puff on the sleeve.

Maud. At the elbow?

Ethel. No, at the shoulder.

Maud. And revers, I suppose.

Ethel. Yes, those stylish broad ones.

Maud. Of velvet?

Ethel. Velvet or plush.

Newcome (who has been manfully holding the browns up above his head, permits them to gently descend). We have a full line in plushes and velvets, ladies, to match all these shades.

Maud. How nice!

Ethel. So convenient!

Newcome (mildly). Do you think you'll decide on the brown, madam?

Ethel. Oh, dear! I don't know. It is so hard to shop for some one else!

Maud. It is horrid.

Ethel. I vow every time I do it that it shall be the last. I am always so afraid of getting something that the person won't like.

[Sighs.

Newcome. Any lady must like this brown, madam. Just feel the texture of this piece of goods, and take the trouble to examine the quality. Why, I have never in all my experience sold a piece of goods of such a class at a cent less than two dollars a yard—never.

Maud. It is very fine.

Ethel (vaguely eying the goods behind the counter on the shelves). Is that a piece of claret-colored that I see up there?

Newcome (lays down the browns with a faint sigh of reluctance). Yes, oh, yes.

Ethel. Never mind to get it down.

Newcome. No trouble in the world to show anything; that's what I am here for. (Sighs as he attains the clarets and fetches them to the counter.) Rich shades; ten tints in these also, calculated to suit any taste.

Maud. I always did like claret.

Ethel. Yes, it is so becoming.

Maud. It has such a warm look, too!

Ethel. Now, that—no, this one—no, please, that darker piece—yes. Maud, dear, that made up with plush and garnet buttons and buckles—Oh, did I tell you I saw some such lovely garnet trimmings at Blank's last week, only seventy-five cents a yard, just a perfect match for this. Wouldn't it be too lovely for anything?

Maud. Indeed it would. I am almost tempted myself. Claret is my color, you know.

Newcome. A splendid shade, madam, and only just two dress lengths left.

Ethel. Is this the same goods as the others?

Newcome. The very same; all-wool imported suitings, forty-four inches wide, reduced from two-fifty a yard to only one dollar and a half.

Maud. Wouldn't that be just perfect with that white muff and boa of mine, dearest?

Ethel. Too startling, love. Do you know, I think you made a mistake in getting that white set.

Maud. Why?

Ethel. Too striking.

Maud. Do you think so?

Ethel. Yes. Of course it's lovely for the theatre and opera.

Maud. It's awfully becoming.

Ethel (to Newcome). Now, do you really sell as much claret color as you do green or brown this season?

Newcome. Oh yes, madam; if anything, more. You see claret is one of the standards, becoming alike to young and old. Why, a child might wear this shade. Claret will always hold its own; there is a change in the blues and the greens and the browns, but the claret is always elegant, and very stylish.

Maud. I think so too.

Ethel (meditatively). I do wonder if she would like claret better than brown.

Newcome. I can show you the browns again, ladies.

Ethel. Oh, never mind.

Newcome. No trouble in the world. (Holds up browns and clarets both.) Now you can judge of the two by contrast.

Maud. Both lovely.

Ethel. Which do you like best, love?

Maud. My dear, I don't know.

Newcome. You can't go amiss, madam, with either of those, I am sure. Any lady must like either of them.

Ethel. Oh, dear! I wish people would get well and do their own shopping; it is so trying!

Maud. Horrid!

Newcome. An elegant piece of goods, madam; will wear like iron.

Ethel. What would you do, dear?

Maud. I really don't know what to say. When does she want to wear it?

Ethel. Dinner and theatre.

Maud. By gaslight, then?

Ethel. Yes, of course.

Maud. Does the gaslight change the shade much?

Newcome. Just a trifle, madam; it makes it richer.

Maud. Darker?

Newcome. Just a half a tone.

Ethel. Then that must be considered. Oh, dear!

[Sighs plaintively.

Maud. Why not look at it by gaslight, love?

Ethel. Oh, I hate to give so much trouble!

Newcome. No trouble in the world, madam—a pleasure. I will gladly show you these goods by gaslight, for I am confident you will only admire them the more. Here, boy (calls boy, and hands him a pile of goods), take these to the gaslight-room. This way ladies, please. (They cross the aisle and enter the gaslight-room, preceded by the boy, who sets down the goods and retires.) There! look at that! Isn't that a rich, warm, beautiful color!

[Displays clarets.

Maud. Lovely!

Ethel. Yes, lovely—but (dubiously) I am so afraid she won't like it.

Maud. It is very perplexing.

Ethel. Yes. Oh, how sweet those browns do look in this light! Don't they?

Newcome. Ah, I just brought over the browns, madam, for I thought you might care to see them too.

[Displays browns.

Maud. How they do light up! Don't they?

Newcome. Newest tints, every one of them. Not been in stock over a few weeks, and those browns have sold like wildfire.

Ethel. For my own part I always did like brown.

Maud. Yes, so do I.

Ethel. It's so ladylike.

Maud. Yes, and it's a color that is suitable to almost any occasion.

Ethel. Yes. Now that lightest piece would be just too sweet, wouldn't it, made up with that new Persian trimming?

Maud. Exquisite! Say, do you know I priced some of that trimming the other day.

Ethel. Did you? how much?

Maud. Awfully expensive! Five dollars a yard.

Ethel. How wide?

Maud. Oh, not more than four inches.

Ethel. It wouldn't take much, would it?

Maud. That depends on where you put it.

Ethel. Well, just on the bodice and sleeves and collar.

Maud. About two yards and a half.

Ethel. Fifteen dollars?

Maud. Yes.

Newcome. This brown trimmed in the manner you mention, ladies, would be very elegant.

Maud. Yes, so it would. I wish now that I had looked more particularly at the browns out by the daylight.

Newcome. It is easy to look at them again, madam, I am sure. Here, boy, carry these goods back to the counter where you got them. (Boy crosses, laden with goods; Newcome and ladies follow.) That's it. (Boy retires.) Now, madam, just look at that shade by this light. Isn't that perfect?

Ethel. Yes, it's lovely, but—

Maud. Did she say she wished a brown especially, dear?

Ethel. No, she left it to me entirely.

Maud. How trying!

Ethel. Yes. I—I really, you know. I don't dare to take the responsibility; would you?

[Newcome's arms falter slightly in upholding the goods.

Maud. Frankly, my love, I think shopping for anyone else is something dreadful.

Ethel. It is so trying and so embarrassing. I don't dare really to get either (Newcome's arms fall helpless; he sighs) one of them.

Maud. They are lovely, though; aren't they?

Ethel. Yes, if (Newcome revives a little) I thought she would really be satisfied.

[He essays once again to hold up the browns.

Maud. But, dear, they never are.

[His arms again droop.

Ethel. No, never. No matter how much trouble you take, or what pains you are (he sighs feebly) at (he totters), they are so ungrateful.

Maud. Yes, always.

Ethel. Well, I believe we can't venture to decide this morning (he staggers) about the shade. We will very likely return to-morrow.

[He raises a weakly deprecating hand.

Maud (aside, as the two ladies are going). Well, we got off quite nicely.

Ethel. Yes, didn't we! I wouldn't be seen in either of those horrid things; would you?

Maud. No.

[Newcome falls to the earth with a groan of despair; the Chorus rush forward and gently raise him in their arms. As they bear him off, they sing, in a doleful and yet half-malicious fashion:

Chorus.

[They retreat, C., as the ladies exeunt, R., L. Music pianissimo as curtain falls.

Fannie Aymar Mathews.