Welling: “Margaret?”
Mrs. Campbell: “Well, Miss Rice, then—”
Welling: “Miss Rice?”
Mrs. Campbell, with dignity: “Oh, I’m sorry if we seem to presume upon our acquaintance with the matter. We couldn’t very well help knowing it under the circumstances.”
Welling: “Certainly, certainly — of course: I don’t mind that at all: I was going to tell you, anyway: that was partly the reason why I came instead of writing—”
Campbell, in an audible soliloquy: “I supposed he had written.”
Mrs. Campbell, intensely: “Don’t interrupt, Willis! Well?”
Welling: “But I don’t see what Miss Rice has to do with it.”
Mrs. Campbell: “You don’t see! Why, isn’t Margaret Rice the one—”
Welling: “What one?”
Mrs. Campbell: “The one that you’re engaged — the one that the note was really for?”
Welling: “No! What an idea! Miss Rice? Not for an instant! It’s — it’s her friend — Miss Greenway — who’s staying with her—”
Mrs. Campbell, in a very awful voice: “Willis! Get me some water — some wine! Help me! Ah! Don’t touch me! It was you, you who did it all! Oh, now what shall I do?” She drops her head upon Campbell’s shoulder, while Welling watches them in stupefaction.
Campbell: “It’s about a million times nicer than we could have expected. That’s the way with a nice thing when you get it started. Well, young man, you’re done for; and so are we, for that matter. We supposed that note which you addressed to Mrs. Campbell was intended for Miss Rice—”
Welling: “Ho, ho, ho! Ah, ha, ha! Miss Rice? Ha—”
Campbell: “I’m glad you like it. You’ll enjoy the rest of it still better. We thought it was for Miss Rice, and my wife neatly imitated your hand on an envelope and sent it over to her just before you came in. Funny, isn’t it? Laugh on! Don’t mind us!”
Welling, aghast: “Thought my note was for Miss Rice? Sent it to her? Gracious powers!” They all stand for a moment in silence, and then Welling glances at the paper in his hand. “But there’s some mistake. You haven’t sent my note to Miss Rice: here it is now!”
Campbell: “Oh, that’s the best of the joke. Mrs. Campbell took a copy” — Mrs. Campbell moans— “she meant to have some fun with you about it, and it’s ten times as much fun as I expected; and in her hurry she sent off her copy and kept the original. Perhaps that makes it better.”
Mrs. Campbell, detaching herself from him and confronting Mr. Welling: “No; worse! She’ll think we’ve been trying to hoax her, and she’ll be in a towering rage; and she’ll show the note to Miss Greenway, and you’ll be ruined. Oh poor Mr. Welling! Oh, what a fatal, fatal — mix!” She abandons herself in an attitude of extreme desperation upon a chair, while the men stare at her, till Campbell breaks the spell by starting forward and ringing the bell on the table.
Mrs. Campbell: “What are you doing, Willis?”
Campbell: “Ringing for Jane.” As Jane appears: “Did you give Miss Rice the note?”
IV. JANE; MRS. CAMPBELL; WELLING; CAMPBELL
Jane: “No, sir; I gave it to the man. He said he would give it to Miss Rice.”
Campbell: “Then it’s all up. If by any chance she hadn’t got it, Amy, you might have sent over for it, and said there was a mistake.”
Jane: “He said Miss Rice was out driving with Miss Greenway in her phaeton, but they expected her back every minute.”
Mrs. Campbell: “Oh, my goodness! And you didn’t come to tell me? Oh, if we had only known! We’ve lost our only chance, Willis.”
Jane: “I did come and knock on your door, ma’am, but I couldn’t make you hear.”
Campbell: “There’s still a chance. Perhaps she hasn’t got back yet.”
Jane: “I know she ain’t, sir. I’ve been watching for her ever since. I can always see them come, from the pantry window.”
Mrs. Campbell: “Well, then, don’t stand there talking, but run at once! Oh, Willis! Never tell me again that there’s no such thing as an overruling providence. Oh, what an interposition! Oh, I can never be grateful and humble enough — Goodness me, Jane! why don’t you go?”
Jane: “Go where, ma’am? I don’t know what you want me to do. I’m willing enough to do anything if I know what it is, but it’s pretty hard to do things if you don’t.”
Campbell: “You’re perfectly right, Jane. Mrs. Campbell wants you to telegraph yourself over to Mrs. Rice’s, and say to her that the letter you left for Miss Rice is not for her, but another lady, and Mrs. Campbell sent it by mistake. Get it and bring it back here, dead or alive, even if Mrs. Rice has to pass over your mangled body in the attempt.”
Jane, tasting the joke, while Mrs. Campbell gasps in ineffective efforts to reinforce her husband’s instructions: “I will that, sir.”
V. MRS. CAMPBELL; WELLING; CAMPBELL
Campbell: “And now, while we’re waiting, let’s all join hands and dance round the table. You’re saved, Welling. So are you, Amy. And so am I — which is more to the point.”
Mrs. Campbell, gayly: “Dansons!” She extends her hands to the gentlemen, and as they circle round the breakfast-table she sings,
“Sur le pont d’Avignon, Tout le monde y danse en rond.”
She frees her hands and courtesies to one gentleman and the other.
“Les belles dames font comme �a; Les beaux messieurs font comme �a.”
Then she catches hands with them again, and they circle round the table as before, singing,
“Sur le pont d’Avignon, Tout le monde y danse en rond.
Oh, dear! Stop! I’m dizzy — I shall fall.” She spins into a chair, while the men continue solemnly circling by themselves.
Campbell: “It is a sacred dance:
“Sur le pont d’Avignon—”
Welling: “It’s an expiation:
“Tout le monde y danse en rond.”
Mrs. Campbell, springing from her chair and running to the window: “Stop, you crazy things! Here comes Jane! Come right in here, Jane! Did you get it? Give it to me, Jane!”
Welling: “I think it belongs to me, Mrs. Campbell.”
Campbell: “Jane, I am master of the house — nominally. Give me the letter.”
VI. JANE; MRS. CAMPBELL; WELLING; CAMPBELL
Jane, entering, blown and panting, through the open window: “Oh, how I did run—”
Mrs. Campbell: “Yes, yes! But the letter—”
Welling: “Did you get it?”
Campbell: “Where is it?”
Jane, fanning herself with her apron: “I can’t hardly get my breath—”
Mrs. Campbell: “Had she got back?”
Jane: “No, ma’am.”
Campbell: “Did Mrs. Rice object to giving it up?”
Jane: “No, sir.”
Welling: “Then it’s all right?”
Jane: “No, sir. All wrong.”
Welling: “All wrong?”
Campbell: “How all wrong?”
Mrs. Campbell: “What’s all wrong, Jane?”
Jane: “Please, ma’am, may I have a drink of water? I’m so dry I can’t speak.”
Mrs. Campbell: “Yes, certainly.”
Campbell: “Of course.”
Welling: “Here.” They all pour glasses of water and press them to her lips.
Jane, pushing the glasses away, and escaping from the room: “They thought Mrs. Campbell was in a great hurry for Miss Rice to have the letter, and they sent off the man with it to meet her.”
VII. MRS. CAMPBELL; WELLING; CAMPBELL
Mrs. Campbell: “Oh, merciful goodness!”
Welling: “Gracious powers!”
Campbell: “Another overruling providence. Now you are in for it, my boy! So is Amy. And so am I — which is still more to the point.”
Mrs. Campbell: “Well, now, what shall we do?”
Campbell: “All that we can do now is to await developments: they’ll come fast en
ough. Miss Rice will open her letter as soon as she gets it, and she won’t understand it in the least; how could she understand a letter in your handwriting, with Welling’s name signed to it? She’ll show it to Miss Greenway—”
Welling: “Oh, don’t say that!”
Campbell: “ — Greenway; and Miss Greenway won’t know what to make of it either. But she’s the kind of girl who’ll form some lively conjectures when she reads that letter. In the first place, she’ll wonder how Mr. Welling happens to be writing to Miss Rice in that affectionate strain—”
Mrs. Campbell, in an appealing shriek: “Willis!”
Campbell: “ — And she naturally won’t believe he’s done it. But then, when Miss Rice tells her it’s your handwriting, Amy, she’ll think that you and Miss Rice have been having your jokes about Mr. Welling; and she’ll wonder what kind of person you are, anyway, to make free with a young man’s name that way.”
Welling: “Oh, I assure you that she admires Mrs. Campbell more than anybody.”
Mrs. Campbell: “Don’t try to stop him; he’s fiendish when he begins teasing.”
Campbell: “Oh, well! If she admires Mrs. Campbell and confides in you, then the whole affair is very simple. All you’ve got to do is to tell her that after you’d written her the original of that note, your mind was so full of Mrs. Campbell and her garden-party that you naturally addressed it to her. And then Mrs. Campbell can cut in and say that when she got the note she knew it wasn’t for her, but she never dreamed of your caring for Miss Greenway, and was so sure it was for Miss Rice that she sent her a copy of it. That will make it all right and perfectly agreeable to every one concerned.”
Mrs. Campbell: “And I can say that I sent it at your suggestion, and then, instead of trying to help me out of the awful, awful — box, you took a cruel pleasure in teasing me about it! But I shall not say anything, for I shall not see them. I will leave you to receive them and make the best of it. Don’t try to stop me, Willis.” She threatens him with her fan as he steps forward to intercept her escape.
Campbell: “No, no! Listen, Amy! You must stay and see those ladies. It’s all well enough to leave it to me, but what about poor Welling? He hasn’t done anything — except cause the whole trouble.”
Mrs. Campbell: “I am very sorry, but I can’t help it. I must go.” Campbell continues to prevent her flight, and she suddenly whirls about and makes a dash at the open window. “Oh, very well, then! I can get out this way.” At the same moment Miss Rice and Miss Greenway appear before the window on the piazza. “Ugh! E — e — e! How you frightened me! But — but come in. So gl — glad to see you! And you — you too, Miss Greenway. Here’s Mr. Welling. He’s been desolating us with a story about having to be away over my party, and just getting back for Mrs. Curwen’s. Isn’t it too bad? Can’t some of you young ladies — or all of you — make him stay?” As Mrs. Campbell talks on, she readjusts her spirit more and more to the exigency, and subdues her agitation to a surface of the sweetest politeness.
VIII. MISS RICE, MISS GREENWAY, and the OTHERS
Miss Rice, entering with an unopened letter in her hand, which she extends to Mrs. Campbell: “What in the world does it all mean, Mrs. Campbell, your sending your letters flying after me at this rate?”
Mrs. Campbell, with a gasp: “My letters?” She mechanically receives the extended note, and glances at the superscription: “Mrs. Willis Campbell. Ah!” She hands it quickly to her husband, who reads the address with a similar cry.
Campbell: “Well, well, Amy! This is a pretty good joke on you. You’ve sealed up one of your own notes, and sent it to Miss Rice. Capital! Ah, ha, ha!”
Mrs. Campbell, with hysterical rapture: “Oh, how delicious! What a ridiculous blunder! I don’t wonder you were puzzled, Margaret.”
Welling: “What! Sent her your own letter, addressed to yourself?”
Mrs. Campbell: “Yes. Isn’t it amusing?”
Welling: “The best thing I ever heard of.”
Miss Rice: “Yes. And if you only knew what agonies of curiosity Miss Greenway and I had suffered, wanting to open it and read it anyway, in spite of all the decencies, I think you would read it to us.”
Campbell: “Or at least give Miss Rice her own letter. What in the world did you do with that?”
Mrs. Campbell: “Put it in my desk, where I thought I put mine. But never mind it now. I can tell you what was in it just as well. Come in here a moment, Margaret.” She leads the way to the parlor, whither Miss Rice follows.
Miss Greenway, poutingly: “Oh, mayn’t I know, too? I think that’s hardly fair, Mrs. Campbell.”
Mrs. Campbell: “No; or — Margaret may tell you afterwards; or Mr. Welling may, now!”
Miss Greenway: “How very formidable!”
Mrs. Campbell, over her shoulder, on going out: “Willis, bring me the refusals and acceptances, won’t you? They’re up-stairs.”
Campbell: “Delighted to be of any service.” Behind Miss Greenway’s back he dramatizes over her head to Welling his sense of his own escape, and his compassion for the fellow-man whom he leaves in the toils of fate.
IX. MISS GREENWAY; MR. WELLING
Welling: “Nelly!” He approaches, and timidly takes her hand.
Miss Greenway: “Arthur! That letter was addressed in your handwriting. Will you please explain?”
Welling: “Why, it’s very simple — that is, it’s the most difficult thing in the world. Nelly, can you believe anything I say to you?”
Miss Greenway: “What nonsense! Of course I can — if you’re not too long about it.”
Welling: “Well, then, the letter in that envelope was one I wrote to Mrs. Campbell — or the copy of one.”
Miss Greenway: “The copy?”
Welling: “But let me explain. You see, when I got your note asking me to be sure and come to Mrs. Curwen’s—”
Miss Greenway: “Yes?”
Welling: “ — I had just received an invitation from Mrs. Campbell for her garden-party, and I sat down and wrote to you, and concluded I’d step over and tell her why I couldn’t come, and with that in mind I addressed your letter — the one I’d written you — to her.”
Miss Greenway: “With my name inside?”
Welling: “No; I merely called you ‘darling’; and when Mrs. Campbell opened it she saw it couldn’t be for her, and she took it into her head it must be for Miss Rice.”
Miss Greenway: “For Margaret? What an idea! But why did she put your envelope on it?”
Welling: “She made a copy, for the joke of it; and then, in her hurry, she enclosed that in my envelope, and kept the original and the envelope she’d addressed to Miss Rice, and — and that’s all.”
Miss Greenway: “What a perfectly delightful muddle! And how shall we get out of it with Margaret?”
Welling: “With Margaret? I don’t care for her. It’s you that I want to get out of it with. And you do believe me — you do forgive me, Nelly?”
Miss Greenway: “For what?”
Welling: “For — for — I don’t know what for. But I thought you’d be so vexed.”
Miss Greenway: “I shouldn’t have liked you to send a letter addressed darling to Mrs. Curwen; but Mrs. Campbell is different.”
Welling: “Oh, how archangelically sensible! How divine of you to take it in just the right way!”
MR. WELLING EXPLAINS.
Miss Greenway: “Why, of course! How stupid I should be to take such a thing in the wrong way!”
Welling: “And I’m so glad now I didn’t try to lie to you about it.”
Miss Greenway: “It wouldn’t have been of any use. You couldn’t have carried off anything of that sort. The truth is bad enough for you to carry off. Promise me that you will always leave the other thing to me.”
Welling: “I will, darling; I will, indeed.”
Miss Greenway: “And now we must tell Margaret, of course.”
X. MISS RICE; then MR. and MRS. CAMPBELL, and the OTHERS
Mis
s Rice, rushing in upon them, and clasping Miss Greenway in a fond embrace: “You needn’t. Mrs. Campbell has told me; and oh, Nelly, I’m so happy for you! And isn’t it all the greatest mix?”
Campbell, rushing in, and wringing Welling’s hand: “You needn’t tell me, either; I’ve been listening, and I’ve heard every word. I congratulate you, my dear boy! I’d no idea she’d let you up so easily. You’ll allow yourself it isn’t a very likely story.”
Welling: “I know it. But—”
Miss Rice: “That’s the very reason no one could have made it up.”
Miss Greenway: “He couldn’t have made up even a likely story.”
Campbell: “Congratulate you again, Welling. Do you suppose she can keep so always?”
Mrs. Campbell, rushing in with extended hands: “Don’t answer the wretch, Mr. Welling. Of course she can with you. Dansons!” She gives a hand to Miss Greenway and Welling each; the others join them, and as they circle round the table she sings,
“Sur le pont d’Avignon, Tout le monde y danse en rond.”
THE END
MISCELLANEOUS FARCES
CONTENTS
THE ALBANY DEPOT
BRIDE ROSES
THE ELEVATOR
EVENING DRESS
THE REGISTER
THE ALBANY DEPOT
I. MR. AND MRS. EDWARD ROBERTS; THE CHOREWOMAN
Mrs. Roberts, with many proofs of an afternoon’s shopping in her hands and arms, appears at the door of the ladies’ room, opening from the public hall, and studies the interior with a searching gaze, which develops a few suburban shoppers scattered over the settees, with their bags and packages, and two or three old ladies in the rocking-chairs. The Chorewoman is going about with a Saturday afternoon pail and mop, and profiting by the disoccupation of the place in the hour between the departures of two great expresses, to wipe up the floor. She passes near the door where Mrs. Roberts is standing, and Mrs. Roberts appeals to her in the anxiety which her failure to detect the object of her search has awakened: “Oh, I was just looking for my husband. He was to meet me here at ten minutes past three; but there don’t seem to be any gentlemen.”
Delphi Complete Works of William Dean Howells Page 1130