The Fatal Message

CHARACTERS:

MR. THADDEUS PERKINS, in charge of the curtain.
MRS. THADDEUS PERKINS, cast for Lady Ellen.
MISS ANDREWS, cast for the maid.
MR. EDWARD BRADLEY, an under-study.
MRS. EDWARD BRADLEY, cast for Lady Amaranth.
MR. ROBERT YARDSLEY, stage-manager.
MR. JACK BARLOW, cast for Fenderson Featherhead.
MR. CHESTER HENDERSON, an absentee.
JENNIE, a professional waitress.

The scene is laid in the library of the Perkins mansion, on the
afternoon of the day upon which an amateur dramatic performance is to
be held therein. The Perkins house has been given over to the
dramatic association having the matter in charge. At right of
library a scenic doorway is hung. At left a drop-curtain is
arranged, behind which is the middle hall of the Perkins dwelling,
where the expected audience are to sit. The unoccupied wall spaces
are hung with paper-muslin. The apartment is fitted up generally to
resemble an English drawing-room; table and chair at centre. At rear
stands a painted-canvas conservatory entrance, on left of which is a
long oaken chest. The curtain rising discovers Mrs. Perkins giving a
few finishing touches to the scene, with Mr. Perkins gazing curiously
about the room.

Perkins. Well, they've transformed this library into a scene of
bewitching beauty--haven't they? These paper-muslin walls are a
dream of loveliness. I suppose, as the possessor of all this, I
ought to be supremely happy--only I wish that canvas conservatory
door hadn't been tacked over my reference-books. I want to look up
some points about--

Mrs. Perkins. Oh, never mind your books, Thaddeus; it's only for one
night. Can't you take a minute's rest?

Perkins. One night? I like that. It's been there two already, and
it's in for to-night, and all day to-morrow, I suppose. It'll take
all day to-morrow to clean up, I'll wager a hat. I'm beginning to
rue the hour I ever allowed the house of Perkins to be lured into the
drama.

Mrs. Perkins. You're better off than I am. I've got to take part,
and I don't half know my lines.

Perkins. I? I better off? I'd like to know if I haven't got to sit
out in front and watch you people fulfil your diabolical mission in
your doubly diabolical way, and grin at the fearful jokes in the
dialogue I've been listening to for weeks, and make the audience feel
that they are welcome when they're not. What's been done with my
desk?

Mrs. Perkins. It's down in the laundry. You're about as--

Perkins. Oh, is it? Laundry is a nice place for a desk. Plenty of
starch handy to stiffen up a writer's nerve, and scrubbing-boards
galore to polish up his wits. And I suppose my papers are up in the
attic?

Mrs. Perkins. No; they're stowed away