The Dearest Thing in Boots

Teachers are discovering that no matter how much novelty there is in their entertainment, how well it is arranged, how thoroughly drilled, if they want to hold the active interest of the audience they must use the best of songs. The songs must be real novelties. The words must be interesting as well as decidedly clever. The music must be catchy and abounding in rich melody. With these things in mind we have prepared this list of superior song novelties for our patrons. All are in regular sheet music form.

[1]

[2]

The Dearest Thing in Boots

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Time of Playing, about forty-five minutes. ——————

COSTUMES

[3]

The Dearest Thing in Boots

SCENE

The front room of Mr. Wilson’s store used for fitting shoes. A long table piled with boxes is down stage L, a small table with cash box, books, paper and cord down stage R, a couple of chairs and foot rests at C, doors at R and L. Mr. Wilson is discovered leaning against table at R while Jack is straddling a chair.

Mr. Wilson: It’s been a whole week, Jack, since you first came into the store, so if you’ve been keeping your ears and eyes open, you will have caught on to some of my methods.

Jack: Take it from me, dad, I have. They are in a class by themselves. Summed up briefly, as the minister says, they are [checks each point on fingers]: Firstly, soak a customer for all she’s worth, or you think she’s worth. Secondly, if a shoe is too expensive, take off a cent or two. Thirdly, if it is too cheap, which doesn’t happen very often, take it to the rear where you change the price but not the shoe, bring it back and tuck on a dollar or two. Fourthly, always side in with everything a customer says, even if she insists that the moon is made of green cheese. Fifthly, always, always,—oh, what does my thumb say, dad? I’ve run out.

Mr. Wilson: Never fail to make a sale, that’s what it says.

Jack: That’s it. I knew it was something like that. Do you want me to start on the other hand, now?

Mr. Wilson: No, that will do to begin with. I’m glad you’ve been keeping your ears and eyes open so well. Now, I hope you use your tongue to as good advantage. Since the only way to learn the shoe business is to stand firmly on your own feet, I’m going to let you get your first experience this afternoon in waiting on customers, by yourself. I will not interfere unless I see that you are going to lose a sale.

Jack [kicking over footrest]: Lose a sale? Not on your life! Just see me put it all over the dears until they’ll[4] be tumbling over each other to buy. Leave it to your Uncle Dudley. [Fixes footrest and resumes former position.]

Mr. Wilson: Don’t be so sure, young man. There’s many a spill between the dollar and till and women are pernickety things to handle at any time. [Bell tinkles.] Here comes your first customer. Good luck. [Exit door L.]

Jack [cranes neck towards door R.]: If it isn’t Betty Moffat, the dearest thing in boots. [Jumps up hastily, overturning chair.] I’m going to sell her the peachiest shoes in the whole establishment, the little queen!

Enter Betty door R.

Betty: Why Jack, are you here? I didn’t even know you had started to work.

Jack [replaces chair]: Well, I like that! I’d like you to know that I have worked more or less all my young life.

Betty: Principally less. I’d imagine.

Jack [hits his head]: Did you say this was a slammy day? Well, I have started to work in earnest this afternoon for dad has given me the job of waiting on all the customers and you’re the first.

Betty: Am I really? I’m so glad.

Jack: The pleasure is all mine and—the shelling out all yours. [Draws himself up pompously.] And what can I do for you, madam?

Betty [giggles]: Oh Jack, you’re too funny for words. I want to buy a pair of dancing slippers. Have you any nice ones?

[5]

Jack: It’s a mighty good thing you asked for the nice ones because we’re out of the other kind. Then you’re going to the dance tonight? Save me a dozen or two, won’t you?

Betty [leans parasol against table R. It falls down and both collide in picking it up]: Oh, look at my hat! It’s all crooked. [Fixes it.] Is it on straight now?

Jack: No, it’s tilted a little to the left side.

Betty: Then it is on straight. [Takes mirror from vanity bag and tilts hat farther.] There, it’s all right now.

Jack [aside]: I never knew that crooked meant straight before, but one is always learning. [Aloud.] You didn’t say whether you’d save me those dances.

Betty [coquettishly]: I may save you one or two, I’ll think about it.

Jack: Put your whole mind to it, then. Now just take this chair. I’m the doctor. And what size do you take?

Betty: Two’s and a half.

Jack: By jove, but you have mighty dainty little feet!

Betty [pleased]: Do you think so?

Jack: I don’t think, I know. It will be no feat to fit them. [Takes a box from table and brings it over.] Here is just the very thing you want. [Takes out slippers.] Aren’t they classy? Let me try one on.

Betty [kicks off pump]: They are rather nice, aren’t they? [Puts foot on footrest. Jack tries to put slipper on, but fails.]

Jack: These are too small, Betty. You’ll need a half size larger. [He starts to go towards table L.]

Betty [indignantly]: They’re not a bit too small. I never take a larger size than that. [Jerks slipper on.] There, you see I can get it on. I think you’re real mean, trying to make out that I have big feet.

[6]

Jack: Upon my soul. [Hits sole of boot.] Betty, I’m not doing anything of the kind. You have the dearest little feet I have ever seen, but you can see for yourself that that slipper is too tight. I’d hate to have you get a horrid corn for somebody to trample on and—

Betty [jumps up angrily]: The very idea! There’s only one boy I’ve danced with who’s ever trampled on my feet and you’re not going to get the chance tonight, so there! [Stamps foot with slipper on, grimaces and hops on one foot.] Ouch!

Jack: What’s the matter?

Betty: I—I—oh, I turned on my ankle. It’s weak you know.

Jack: It wasn’t the slipper’s fault, was it?

Betty [indignantly]: Of course it wasn’t; the very idea, as though it could hurt anything. [Goes behind his back, takes off slipper and rubs her toes.]

Jack: But that slam you gave me, you didn’t mean what you said, did you?

Betty: What about?

Jack: Why, my dancing, and—

Betty: I do, I mean every word of it.

Jack: Well. I’m sorry, Betty, if I have offended you. Take these if you want to. All I can say is that I’d hate to have to stand in your shoes.

Betty: I tell you they’re not too small, they’re not, they’re not, they’re not! But I’ll not take them nor any other either. [Sits down, takes off slipper and puts on her own.] You can keep your old slippers.

Enter Mr. Wilson from door L.

Mr. Wilson: You’ll have to make allowance for this new clerk of mine, Miss Moffat. You see you’re his first[7] customer so he’s pretty green at the business. Let me try this slipper on. [Picks it up.] Jack, did you use a shoe horn?

Jack [sulkily]: No, I didn’t. Should you?

Mr. Wilson: Of course. No wonder you had trouble putting it on. [Puts it on her foot.] There, it fits perfectly, Miss Moffat. You have such pretty feet, it’s a pleasure to fit them.

Betty: I’m glad you think so, Mr. Wilson. I’ll take them. How much are they?

Mr. Wilson: They’re twelve dollars, Miss Moffat, but seeing that you’ve had so much annoyance with our new clerk, I’m going to let you have them for eleven, ninety-five. [Wraps them up.]

Betty [gathering parasol, purse, etc.]: Thank you, Mr. Wilson. Charge them to dad. [Takes parcel and goes towards door R.] Good-bye.

Jack [rushes to open door]: Good-bye, Betty. I’ll see you at the dance.

Betty [haughtily]: You’ll not fail to see my big feet, at any rate, Mr. Wilson. [Exit.]

Jack [sinks into chair]: The dearest thing in boots! And now I’ve made her so mad that she’ll never speak to me again. All over a measely half-size in slippers. Who’d think a girl could be so silly!

Mr. Wilson: Eight women out of ten want boots too small for them and won’t take anything else. That’s why women can endure pain better than men; they get used to it, breaking in tight shoes.

Jack: The Chinese have nothing on them, believe me! [Shakes finger at father.] And you old fraud you, you side in with them and then later on sell them corn plasters and bunion-easers and arch-supports and all the rest of the instruments of torture.

[8]

Mr. Wilson: That’s the great idea, my son. You’re learning fast. But you must confess that my method is better than sending a customer away angry, and it has put you through college, besides, remember that.

Jack: I do, dad. Rule number six—always tell a woman that you’re sure she takes a half-size smaller boot than you know she does.

Mr. Wilson: That’s it. As a rule it tickles them all to pieces. And you get their money and their good-will to boot. [Bell tinkles.] Here’s another customer. Better luck this time. [Exit Mr. Wilson. Jack busies himself at table.]

Enter Miss Firmrock.

Jack: How do you do, Miss Firmrock, and what can I do for you today?

Miss Firmrock: Young man, before I buy anything from you, I must know how you stand on the woman suffrage question. Do you believe that women should take an active part in politics now that they are given the vote?

Jack [taken back]: Do I believe what?

Miss Firmrock: That women should mix up in politics. [Emphasize words by pounding floor with umbrella.]

Jack [aside]: Now what in the dickens does she want me to say? From her wording, I’d say she was agin the petticoat government. [Aloud grandiloquently.] My dear Madam, the woman’s place is in the home, cooking the meals, keeping the house clean,—er—er—making the children’s dresses er—er—winding up the cat and putting the clock out. Why should women need to enter into politics? Is not her influence greater at home? Who has not heard that beautiful and noble sentiment—“The hand that rules the cradle rocks the world.” [Aside.] Gee, I didn’t know I was such a speaker. [Starts to strut.] I hope dad got that.

[9]

Miss Firmrock: I knew as soon as I looked at you that you were one of these lordly males, who believe in keeping women a slave, a household drudge, with no more rights than the criminal, the child and the imbecile. If women do not help to do the governing, who is going to make decent laws? Who is going to see that the bachelor pays twice as much in taxes as the man who has a family to support? Who is going to make this beautiful country of ours a decent place to live in? The men? [Scornfully.] They’ve had their try at it ever since Columbus discovered America. And what have they accomplished? [Snaps her fingers.] Not that! I want nothing from you sir. I shall buy only in a store where woman is not trodden upon. [Starts to go.]

Jack [aside]: Imagine me treading on the likes of her? But good-night! I’ve backed the wrong horse. How in the world am I going to fix it? [Taps his head.] I’ve got it! A little bit of soft soap goes a long way. [Aloud.] Miss Firmrock, one moment, please. [She turns at door.] I had never given the matter any thought or I certainly wouldn’t have said what I did. But you have enlightened me. [Bowing.] You have made me see that women must enter the political arena to fight the beasts of bachelor’s vice and—and—no—backed dresses! You have shown me that men as uplifters are failures, that women alone can reform the world. Miss Firmrock, how can I thank you?

Miss Firmrock [comes back to C, shakes his hand]: It gives me great pleasure to know a man who is so open to convictions as you are, Mr. Wilson; and I will feel that I have accomplished something in life since I have converted you to our cause. But really, Mr. Wilson, I never knew that you were such an orator. I am going to put you down for a speech at our Women’s Club next Wednesday evening. How will this subject suit you, “The Failures Men Have Made”? [Takes out note-book and writes.]

[10]

Jack [aside, pretending to faint against table]: Suffering cats, what next! [Aloud.] My dear Miss Firmrock, [aside] Gee, it sounds like a proposal. [Aloud.] I’ve never made a speech in public in all my life and I—

Miss Firmrock [interrupts]: Then it’s time you were beginning.

Jack [desperately]: Oh, really, I can’t possibly go that night; I have another engagement; I—I—you see I have to go to prayer meeting.

Miss Firmrock: To prayer meeting! I’ve never seen you there in my life, so you can put off your starting for another week.

Jack [aside]: If I don’t have nervous prostration by then, there’s nothing for it but to get myself smashed up in an auto accident. [Aloud.] Well, I’ll do my best, Miss Firmrock. Were you wanting to buy anything?

Miss Firmrock: Yes, a pair of boots.

Jack [pulls chair out]: Now just sit here, Miss Firmrock and I’ll fit you. What size do you take?

Miss Firmrock: Six and a half.

Jack [aside as he gets a box from table]: Now, let me see; the rule I’ve learned by bitter experiences is, “Tell the dears they have such little feet you’re sure they should take a smaller size.″ Very well, I’ll just do that little thing. [Aloud.] Now let me try these sixes on you, Miss Firmrock. I’m sure you can’t take a larger size than that, you have such little feet. [Gets down on knees to fit shoe. Miss F. boxes his ears and he tumbles over.]

Miss Firmrock: How dare you make fun of my feet? [Whacks him with umbrella. Jack jumps up.] I know they’re large and I’m proud of it. The only people capable of having big ideas in their heads are the ones with feet large enough to give them a good understanding. [Grabs parcels.] I’d like you to know that I’m not a[11] silly, giggling fashion-plate who insults her feet by sticking them into shoes far too small for them and then minces along with her heels raised on stilts. I can see you can’t suit me so I’ll try another store, and you needn’t bother about that speech, either. We can manage without it. [Goes towards door R.]

Enter Mr. Wilson.

Mr. Wilson [goes forward and shakes hands]: How-do-you do, Miss Firmrock. Allow me to congratulate you on the excellent work you did in the prohibition campaign. It’s women like you who are bringing about the reforms that are so badly needed in this country. And did you get the boots you wanted?

Miss Firmrock: No, I didn’t, this son of yours insulted me, sir.

Mr. Wilson: Oh, I’m sure he didn’t do it intentionally. But it is his first day at the shoe business and he hasn’t gotten onto the hang of it yet. It is a pair of boots you were wanting?

Miss Firmrock [appeased]: Yes, a good sensible boot that I don’t have to be thinking about all the time.

Mr. Wilson: We have the very thing. [Takes box from table and shows her a very large boot.] This size is seven as it doesn’t come in half sizes. You see it has a low heel, wide last, cushion sole, everything that tends for comfort. The price is twenty dollars and thirty cents.

Miss Firmrock: I like the boot immensely, but I wouldn’t think of paying such a price. It’s exhorbitant.

Mr. Wilson: Not for this boot, Madam. This is a very special boot, designed for broadminded women by the greatest suffragette leader the world has ever known. [Impressively.] Madam, this is the Pankhurst boot you see before you. We are not allowed to sell it to anyone who has not done something for the great cause. You have proved yourself worthy, Miss Firmrock. [Bows.]

[12]

Miss Firmrock [flattered]: Oh, Mr. Wilson, do you really think so? I’ll take them and [gushes] every time I wear them, I’ll feel as though they were a bond uniting that noble woman and me—and I’ll recommend them to every woman I know.

Mr. Wilson: In that case, I’ll give them to you for twenty and a quarter. Would you like to try them on?

Miss Firmrock [pays]: Oh no, I’ll wait until I get home. [Takes boots.] Good afternoon, Mr. Wilson. I hope you’ll be able to make something out of your son some day. He certainly doesn’t seem to take after you.

Mr. Wilson: No, I can’t say that he does. He is just like his mother. [Exit Miss Firmrock.]

Jack [mops his brow]: Good lord, dad. If I have any more of this, I’ll be a stark, staring lunatic by tonight. [Shakes finger at him.] And I’ll never trust your old rules again. Look what that one did for me.

Mr. Wilson: But there’s an exception to every rule, and if you knew anything about feminine psychology, you would know at a glance that Miss Firmrock was the exception, the one out of a thousand.

Jack: Hang feminine psychology and feminine vanity and feminine feet and feminine everything else! A gents’ establishment for mine! [Brightens up.] But this last failure of mine has saved you a mighty lot of money and worry, dad.

Mr. Wilson: How do you make that out?

Jack: It has prevented you from having your car smashed to pieces and your son in the hospital. [Bell tinkles.] By jove, here’s another customer. This is a Jonah day for son Jack, all right.

Mr. Wilson: That’s a queer name to apply to a busy day.

[13]

Jack: Well, I’m having a whale of a time, aren’t I?

Exit Mr. Wilson, laughing, at door L. Enter Mrs. Atkins at door R.

Jack: Good-morning, Mrs. Atkins, and what can I do for you this afternoon?

Mrs. Atkins: Will you show me your litest style in boots?

Jack [puzzled]: Lightest? Do you mean boots with thin soles?

Mrs. Atkins: No, it’s good ’eavy walkin’ boots I want, but they must be in the litest style. I always gets the litest in everything. Me ’usband, ’ee tells me I hain’t anything if not stylish.

Jack: Is it something in white you were wanting? That is the lightest color we keep. [Gets white boots.]

Mrs. Atkins: Oh, no. I want black so that I can wear them every day.

Jack: But you said you wanted the lightest—

Mrs. Atkins: Yes, the litest in black.

Jack [aside]: The lightest in black! The woman must be crazy!

Mr. Wilson comes to door. Mrs. A. examines boots.

Mr. Wilson [aside to Jack]: Latest, latest, you chump! Don’t you know she’s English?

Jack [aside]: I get you! [Aloud.] Oh, you mean the latest, Mrs. Atkins?

Mrs. Atkins [tartly]: Isn’t that what I said, the litest in black?

Jack [hurriedly]: Yes, certainly, Mrs. Atkins, and we have the very latest here; never keep any other kind, in fact. [Places chair for her.] Just take this chair, please. [Aside.] Now, which class does she belong to, the size smaller or size larger? Blest, if I know. I’ll try her[14] on dad’s Pankhurst dope first. Shouldn’t wonder but she would fall for that when she’s so English. [Takes shoe from table and holds it up.] Here, madam, you have before you the very latest thing in boots, no other than the Pankhurst, designed by the celebrated suffragette leader herself and— [Mrs. Atkins knocks boot out of his hand.] Why, what’s the matter?

Mrs. Atkins [vehemently]: Don’t you dare to sell me a boot that horrid woman’s ’ad anything to do with.

Jack [aside]: Struck it wrong again. Oh the contrariness of woman. [Aloud.] But my dear madam, surely you’re an admirer of the woman who was the greatest pioneer in fighting for the vote for women?

Mrs. Atkins [jumps up excitedly]: That’s the very reason I ’ate ’er. Votes for wimen! What does wimen want with votes? Us women ’ave enough to do to cook our ’usbands’ meals and tend the childrens’ noses and clean up the ’ouse after the man’s gone to work, leaving hashes and mud all over the floor, the way he does. [Looks at boots on table.]

Jack [aside, indicating fourth finger]: This finger says, Agree with everything a customer says. [Aloud.] That’s my idea, entirely, Mrs. Atkins. I agree with you there.

Mrs. Atkins [turns on him]: What do you know about it, young man?

Jack [confused]: Why, I—I—