That Awful Letter

These songs can be used in all manner of entertainments. The music is easy, and both music and words are especially catchy. Children like them. Everybody likes them. Sheet music. Price 25 cents each. Five copies, $1.00.

WE HOPE YOU’VE BROUGHT YOUR SMILES ALONG. A welcome song that will at once put the audience in a joyous frame of mind and create a happy impression that will mean half the success of your entire program. Words, bright and inspiring. Music, catchy.

WE’LL NOW HAVE TO SAY GOOD-BYE. This beautiful song has snap and go that will appeal alike to visitors and singers. It is just the song to send your audience home with happy memories of the occasion.

WE’VE JUST ARRIVED FROM BASHFUL TOWN. This song will bring memories to the listeners of their own bashful school days. Words, unusually clever. Music, decidedly melodious. A capital welcome song, or it may be sung at any time on the program with assured success.

MY OWN AMERICA, I LOVE THEE. A song that will bring a thrill of patriotism to the heart of every one who hears it. The children and grown-ups just can’t resist the catchy music. It makes a capital marching song.

COME AND PARTAKE OF OUR WELCOME CAKE. A merry welcome song and a jolly one, too. The audience will be immediately curious about the Welcome Cake, and the children will love to surprise the listeners with the catchy words. Music, easy and tuneful.

LULLABY LANE. The music and words blend so beautifully that people will be humming the appealing strains long after they hear this charming song. A wonderfully effective closing song, whether sung by the school or as a solo by a little girl, with a chorus of other little girls with dolls.

JOLLY PICKANINNIES. Words by Elizabeth F. Guptill. Music by Edna R. Worrell. This spicy coon song will bring down the house, especially if you use the directions for the motions which accompany the music. The black faces and shining eyes of the pickaninnies will guarantee a hit. The words are great and the music just right.

THE LITTLE BIRD’S SECRET. Here is just the song for those two little folks to sing together. They won’t have to be coaxed to sing it, especially when they find that the whole school is to whistle the chorus. This is a decided novelty, and will prove a rare treat to your audience.

A GARDEN ROMANCE. This is a dainty little song telling of the romance and wedding of Marigold and Sweet William. It is just the song for dainty little girls to sing.

COME TO THE NURSERY RHYME GARDEN AND PLAY. Here is something different for the little folks to sing. The Nursery Rhyme Folk are so familiar to children, it will be no trick for them to remember the words. The music has a most captivating swing.

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[2] [3]

CHARACTERS

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SCENE I

(Sitting-room in Neilson’s house, well furnished. Margaret overdressed, is sitting reading a magazine. She looks up impatiently and throws it down in disgust.)

Margaret—(crossly.) There’s no use in my trying to read or do anything else when I’m so provoked. I don’t see why dad can’t (the bell rings) Oh, drat that bell! I don’t want to see any person. I wish people would stay at home. (Goes and looks out.) Oh! it’s Helen! I wonder what she wants now. She is always running over and I’m sure I’m never over there any more than four times a day at the most. (Helen comes in and Margaret rushes to embrace her.) Oh Helen, you dear girl! I’m so glad to see you. I was just wishing you would come over. Do take off your hat and stay awhile. I’ve just been so mad I could boil over or bite somebody or do something awful.

Helen—Why, what is the matter with you? What are you mad about? (Aside, It seems to me she is always in hot water or a stew about something.)

Margaret—Well, sit down and I’ll tell you about it. (They sit down on a couch.) It seems that dad has some country relations somewhere in the backwoods. He’s had them ever since he was born but he’s just remembering them now. Well, it seems that there’s a girl about my age and dad was looking over some old photos last night and came across one of her when she was six years old. That picture put him into the notion that he would like to see that girl and nothing will do but I must write and ask her up.[5]

Helen—That won’t hurt you, will it? I think it would be nice to have a girl visiting you. I know when Marian Staddon was visiting me, we had a dandy time—parties, dances, and heaps of things.

Margaret—Yes, but can’t you get anything into your head? This is a cousin from the backwoods and just imagine the kind of figure she’d cut in our set! Why, she’ll likely have the oddest clothes and speak most horrible English and, and—not know beans. And then that would spoil all our plans for getting in with Edith Browning. The Brownings, you know, are such an aristocratic family and are the whole cheese since they moved to the city. I’m just crazy to get in with them, but of course if they saw me with that girl, that would spoil everything. Edith would know that my father had sprung from common ordinary farmers and we have just succeeded in making people think we had very important ancestors.

Helen—(aside) Gee! but isn’t she some snob. Well, nobody is deceived I can vouch for that. (aloud.) I know Edith Browning is the whole thing just at present. I’ve met her several times and think she is lovely, (pause) not a bit stuck up, you know. Of course we want to get in with her, especially this winter when Beth Norton is going to visit her, for everybody will be having parties and things for her.

Margaret—And pray, who is Beth Norton?

Helen—Don’t you know? Why, she is the girl that all the girls at Erskine College were just crazy about. Why, they say there’s never been a girl there before who was as popular. And act! Why, she took the chief parts in all their[6] plays and the girls said she had any professional actress beaten all to pieces. Oh yes, we must manage to get in with them if we can. Now about your cousin, say, why can’t you have her up for just a couple of days and keep her out of the way?

Margaret—Dad is bound that I’ll invite her up for two weeks anyway. I can generally manage him pretty well, but this time he’s as obstinate as a mule. I’m glad I didn’t inherit his bad qualities.

Helen—(aside) I think she has all of his and some of her own to boot, (aloud) I have an idea. Write her such a letter that if she has any sense at all she’ll know she’s not wanted and then perhaps she won’t come.

Margaret—(jumping up) That is a good idea! Let’s write it now. What shall we put into it? (goes to a table where there is paper and ink, sits down to write)

Helen—(going to the table) Tell her that,—oh, I don’t know. You ought to be good at that sort of thing. (Margaret looks up sharply). Writing letters I mean. You can write such splendid ones, you know. (Margaret writes awhile while Helen looks over her shoulder.)

Margaret—(rising) There, that ought to do the trick. What do you think of it?

Helen—Well, if she can’t take the hint from that that she’s not wanted, she must be as dense as a—a fog! (goes to put on her hat.) I must go for I promised to stay only a few minutes. Good-bye (goes towards the door) I hope your cousin won’t be too boorish if she does come.[7]

Margaret—Good-bye. We’ll trust to luck. (Helen disappears. Margaret comes to centre of stage) Well, that letter is a good stunt, but my, wouldn’t dad be angry if he knew! But I’ll chance it that he doesn’t find out. Now for a toast. (Pretends to drink.) Here’s to the refusal of my invitation to my country cousin.

SCENE II

(A country kitchen. Elizabeth in middy and skirt, enters slowly toward centre of stage, examining an envelope.)

Elizabeth—(still examining envelope.) I wonder who this letter’s from. I don’t know the writing and it’s from New York City. But there’s lot of people I know there. Perhaps it’s from one of those little girls at Erskine College that were always getting a crush on us bigger girls and bothering us to death with their gushing. Now, who is it from anyway? (laughing.) Say, I never thought of it, but perhaps if I opened it I’d find out. (Opens and glances over it, and seems amazed and reads very slowly aloud.)

Father wished me to write and ask you to visit us for a couple of weeks. I know that you really wouldn’t want to come as you’d feel so shy and awkward in a city home and among the girls in our set and doubtless you have no clothes suitable for the city; but as he wished me to ask you, I have done so.

[8]

(Elizabeth looks up bewildered.)

Elizabeth—What a queer letter! I wonder if any of the girls are playing a trick on me. (thinks.) Now, I have it. I’ve heard mother mention her brother, Jerry Neilson, who went to the city and his aristocratic wife made him cut his country relations when they got rich. So this must be from my cousin. But how could any girl write such a rude, insolent letter like that! She certainly was forced to write against her will. I bet her father never saw that letter. It would serve her right if I sent it to him. I’d feel out of place in a city home and in her set! Well, (laughing) that’s a joke, when I’ve been in some of the best homes in New York City. I wonder what Edith Browning would say to that and a lot of the other girls at dear old Erskine. Well, my dear cousin, I’ll just write you a polite note of refusal.

(Goes to table and writes, then reads aloud).

“Miss Edith Norton regrets with pleasure the sincerely cordial and hospitable invitation of Miss Margaret Neilson.” Oh, (suddenly jumping and clapping her hands.) I’ve an idea! I’ll accept my kind and hospitable cousin’s invitation since she’s so anxious to have me and since she expects me to be such a queer freak from the backwoods, it would be too bad to disappoint her, so I’ll dress and act the part of the poor country cousin she’s looking for. Oh, (dancing around) it will be heaps of fun. I’ll stay there a day and then I’ll pay Edith Browning that visit I’ve promised her for ages. (Going towards the exit.) The girls at Erskine always said I was a born actress and now I’ll have the chance to prove whether they were just flattering me or not. (Stops and glances at the address, 14 Riverside Drive.)[9] Why, Mildred Ewing lives just a couple houses from there. I’ll dress there and just slip over when the coast is clear. There’s some of my masquerade costumes up in the attic. I’ll run and see if I can find something suitable for my new

role. Say, but won’t I lead my dear cousin a merry dance! (Laughs and runs off the stage.)

SCENE III

(Sitting room in Neilson’s house. Margaret is seated doing fancywork. Helen comes in and Margaret rushes to meet her.)

Helen—Say, what’s up now that you had to have me come over in such a hurry? Have you any startling news? (Both go towards centre.)

Margaret—Oh Helen, I’m in a terrible fix and all over that awful letter you made me write to—

Helen—(interrupting indignantly.) I made you write!

Margaret—Yes, to Elizabeth—or Lizzie as I guess she’s called. Would you ever think she’d accept that invitation?

Helen—No, she hasn’t, has she?

Margaret—Yes, she has and here’s her answer. (shows her a letter written on some very brightly colored paper or wrapping paper.) Just look at the spelling and the style! Wouldn’t it crimp you? And just wait until I read it to you (begins to read, while Helen follows her over her shoulder and giggles all through the reading of it.)[10]

I’ve been wanting ter visit the city ever since I was skin high to a grasshopper, but didn’t know I had any kin in the city that I could visit. It’s awferlly kind of youse to ask me and I’ll be there as sure as guns this coming Wednesday. I jest got some new clothes made by Susannah Sparks and they’re mighty stylish, I kin tell yer. I aint a bit bashful so youse kin invite all the people in youse like. I’d like ter meet yer friends awful well. Remember me to yer pap.

(throws the letter down on the table in disgust and makes a face.) Isn’t that perfectly awful? That means she’ll be here to-morrow and oh, she must be dreadful! And what if she should tell dad about that awful letter we wrote! Oh, why did I do it, and whatever will I do? (Sinks down in chair and begins to cry.)

Helen—(going over and putting her arm around her.) Oh, cheer up! Things might be worse. You can manage to avoid the girls for awhile and you can give Lizzie books to read or something to keep her in the background and out of mischief.

Margaret—(drying her eyes.) It’s a good thing she isn’t coming today for you know I’ve invited Edith Browning for tea and I want to be on my best behavior and be as nice as I can so as to make a good impression. If Lizzie were here, I would be mortified to death. (bell rings behind stage.) Oh, there’s the bell. It’s too early for Edith. I wonder who it is. (goes to the door and looks out.) There’s[11] Nora answering the door now. (throws up her hands in horror.) Good heavens, who can that awful person be!

Helen—What person? (Goes and looks too and giggles.) Goodness, I bet she’s escaped from some asylum. But listen, Nora’s going to settle her. (both listen at door.)

Nora—(behind the scenes) Yez can’t come in here. This is no place for the likes of ye. Ye’d better thry the asylum where ye belong.

Elizabeth—(behind the scenes) Yer’d better go there yerself. Let me tell yer that I kin come in if I want ter. I’ve come to visit my Uncle Jerry and yer needn’t think a red-haired freckled flip of a thing like yer can stop me. Now stop making a door of yerself and let me through or I’ll tell my cousin Maggie on yer.

Helen—Good heavens, here she comes! (Drags Margaret to front of stage where they both fall limp into chairs.)

Margaret—Merciful powers, it’s Lizzie! Isn’t she—(Elizabeth appears at door, dressed in a most ridiculous fashion and carries an old-fashioned telescope and a big satchel. Both girls sit staring at her.)

Elizabeth—(Rushing up to them and throwing down her telescope) Helloa, girls! Be one of youse my cousin Maggie? I’m Lizzie Norton. I got a chance ter come up a day earlier so I didn’t think it would make any odds. (The girls have jumped to their feet thunder-struck.)

Elizabeth—(looks from one to the other) Say, what’s the matter with youse? Be youse both deef and dumb?[12]

Margaret—(extending her hand which Elizabeth seizes) I’m Margaret Neilson so I suppose you must be my cousin Lizzie. We were not expecting you until to-morrow. (Aside to Helen.) Oh, Helen, isn’t she perfectly dreadful?

Helen—(aside to Margaret) Well, I should say! And her clothes sure are the latest style as there’s never been any like them—yet!

Elizabeth—(tugging at the elastic on her hat) Well, youse didn’t tell me ter take off my hat, but I guess I’ll make myself ter hum. (Takes off her hat and throws it on the couch and stares around.) My, aint everything here perfectly grand! (Goes around the room.) Youse folks must be pretty stylish. Now, ter home us folks aint never seen such nice things. (Turns suddenly.) Say, how’s Uncle Jerry, Maggie?

Margaret—If you’re referring to my father, his name is J. Ernest Neilson, so please call him Uncle Ernest. As for myself, I detest the name of Maggie. Do call me Margaret.

Elizabeth—Oh, yer rather peppery aint yer? I’m sure Jerry is just as good a name as yer kin find anywhere. Why, we named our old white horse that and a better horse yer couldn’t have. As for Maggie, our black and white spotted cow is called that and she gives more milk than any of them. (Margaret looks more and more disgusted and Helen amused.) Say, aint you going to interduce me to your friend? At hum we always interduce everybody to everybody else.

Margaret—I beg your pardon. This is my friend, Miss Helen Montgomery. (Helen raises her hand very high and Elizabeth pulls it down and shakes it heartily.)[13]

Elizabeth—Please ter meet you, Helly. I suspect I’ll get real acquainted with yer before my visit’s over. Yer don’t look quite as stuck-uppish as my cousin there. (Margaret makes a face while Helen laughs.)

Helen—I feel greatly complimented, I’m sure. (Aside) She’s summed up Margaret pretty well for a green country girl.

Elizabeth—(examining the girl’s clothes) Say, girls, yer dressed up mighty swell. Be yer going to a party?

Margaret—(proudly) Why, no, these are just our every-day clothes.

Elizabeth—(in surprise). You don’t say! (Smoothing down her own dress proudly.) Don’t you like my new dress? (Margaret looks disdainful.) I was bound to have Susannah make it stylish and put in all the pleats and frills she could. I think she made a real good job of it, don’t youse?

Helen—(sarcastically) Why, yes, I think it is beautiful (looking at Elizabeth’s hat) and what a lovely hat you have and so becoming. (Turns her back to laugh.)

Elizabeth—(getting the hat and turning it around in her hand) Yes, I think it mighty nice and so should it be for it was awferlly expensive. I paid $1.98 for the shape itself at (names a local milliner) and I trimmed it myself. (Puts it back on sofa. Helen and Margaret sit down.)

Helen—(aside) It wouldn’t need a detective to make that discovery, that’s one thing sure.

Elizabeth—(unfastening satchel and taking out a gaily colored centre-piece) Now, I’ll jest set down and work at[14] this centre-piece. (Sits down in rocking chair and works.) I’m going to give it to you, Mag—Margaret, I mean, for yer parler table.

Margaret—(aside) Oh, gee, imagine that on our highly polished table. I guess it will be more likely to adorn the attic. (aloud) Oh, that’s very nice of you. By the way, how did you find your way here?

Helen—Oh yes, how did you when you had never been in the city before?

Elizabeth—Well, now, I did have a mighty hard time of it at first. I asked one of them policemen if he could tell me where Uncle Jer—where Mr. J. Ernest Neilson lived and he just laughed at me. (She keeps rocking.)

Helen—Well, I should think he would. Didn’t you know any better than that?

Elizabeth—(still sewing) Why, I was told that them policemen could answer any kind of a question. At hum everybody knows where everybody else lives so I thought it would be the same here. (Both girls laugh.) Anyway he asked what his address was and I showed him the top of yer letter.

Margaret—(in horror) You didn’t show him my letter!

Elizabeth—Sure and he must have got a good squint at what was in it, too, for he looked so funny. Well he told me to get into one of them street car things, and the feller who was all dressed up in brass buttons and took the tickets told me when to get into another so it was real easy. But I think the people here are dreadfully imperlite. They kept[15] giggling and giggling. I asked one what the joke was and she grew awfully red and didn’t answer. I think it’s mighty rude not to tell other folks the joke, why down to hum—(looks up just as the girls are turning up their noses). Say, what’s the matter with your noses? Have they nervous twitches in them? Get a bottle of Dr. Cure-all’s syrup of tar at (name of local druggist) and it will soon stop that for it cured my cold. (Rising and throwing fancy work on chair.) Laws a me, I’m awfully thirsty. Where’s the kitchen (goes towards door, Margaret starts up). Never mind coming. I’ll just use the dipper so you don’t need to get me a glass.

Margaret—Well, tell Nora to get you a drink. (Exit Elizabeth). Oh Helen, I never saw anybody so common—

Helen—(interrupting). Why she’s the most uncommon specimen I ever met in all my life.