worth having a sack specially sent round for it. To keep it company I collected an assortment of clothes. It pained me to break up my wardrobe in this way, but I wanted the bidding for my opera-hat to be brisk, and a few preliminary suits would warm the public up. Altogether it was a goodly pile when it was done. The opera-hat perched on the top, half of it only at work.
* * * * *
To-day I received from Mr. Bennett a cheque, a catalogue and an account. The catalogue was marked "Lots 172-179." Somehow I felt that my opera hat would be Lot 176. I turned to it in the account.
"_Lot 176--Six shillings_"
"It did well," I said. "Perhaps in my heart of hearts I hoped for seven and sixpence, but six shillings--yes, it was a good hat."
And then I turned to the catalogue.
"_Lot 176_--Frock coat and vest, dress coat and vest, ditto, pair of trousers and opera hat."
"_And opera hat._" Well, well. At least it had the position of honour at the end. My opera hat was starred.
LITTLE PLAYS FOR AMATEURS
[~Note~.--_There are only six plots allowed to us who are not professionals. Here they are. When you have read them, then you will know all about amateur theatricals._]
XL. "FAIR MISTRESS DOROTHY"
_The scene is an apartment in the mansion of Sir Thomas Farthingale. There is no need to describe the furniture in it, as rehearsals will gradually show what is wanted. A picture or two of previous Sir Thomas's might be seen on the walls, if you have an artistic friend who could arrange this; but it is a mistake to hang up your own ancestors, as some of your guests may recognise them, and thus pierce beneath the vraisemblance of the scene._
_The period is that of Cromwell--sixteen something._
_The costumes are, as far as possible, of the same period._
Mistress Dorothy Farthingale _is seated in the middle of the stage, reading a letter and occasionally sighing_.
_Enter_ My Lord Carey.
~Carey.~ Mistress Dorothy alone! Truly Fortune smiles upon me.
~Dorothy~ (_hiding the letter quickly_). An she smiles, my lord, I needs must frown.
~Carey~ (_used to this sort of thing and no longer put off by it_). Nay, give me but one smile, sweet mistress. (_She sighs heavily._) You sigh! Is't for me?
~Dorothy~ (_feeling that the sooner he and the audience understand the situation the better_). I sigh for another, my lord, who is absent.
~Carey~ (_annoyed_). Zounds, and zounds again! A pest upon the fellow! (_He strides up and down the room, keeping out of the way of his sword as much as possible._) Would that I might pink the pesky knave!
~Dorothy~ (_turning upon him a look of hate_). Would that you might have the chance, my lord, so it were in fair fighting. Methinks Roger's sword-arm will not have lost its cunning in the wars.
~Carey~. A traitor to fight against his King.
~Dorothy~. He fights for what he thinks is right. (_She takes out his letter and kisses it._)
~Carey~ (_observing the action_). You have a letter from him!
~Dorothy~ (_hastily concealing it and turning pale_). How know you that?
~Carey~. Give it to me! (_She shrieks and rises._) By heavens, madam, I will have it! (_He struggles with her and seizes it._)
_Enter_ Sir Thomas.
~Sir Thomas~. Odds life, my lord, what means this?
~Carey~ (_straightening himself_). It means, Sir Thomas, that you harbour a rebel within your walls. Master Roger Dale, traitor, corresponds secretly with your daughter.
(_Who, I forgot to say, has swooned._)
~Sir Thomas~ (_sternly_). Give me the letter. Ay, 'tis Roger's hand, I know it well. (_He reads the letter, which is full of thoughtful metaphors about love, aloud to the audience. Suddenly his eyebrows go up and down to express surprise. He seizes_ Lord Carey _by the arm_.) Ha! Listen! "To-morrow when the sun is upon the western window of the gallery, I will be with thee." The villain!
~Carey~ (_who does not know the house very well_). When is that?
~Sir Thomas~. Why, 'tis now, for I have but recently passed through the gallery and did mark the sun.
~Carey~ (_fiercely_). In the name of the King, Sir Thomas, I call upon you to arrest this traitor.
~Sir Thomas~ (_sighing_). I loved the boy well, yet----
(_He shrugs his shoulders expressively and goes out with_ Lord Carey _to collect sufficient force for the arrest._)
_Enter_ Roger _by secret door R._
~Roger.~ My love!
~Dorothy~ (_opening her eyes_). Roger!
~Roger.~ At last!
(_For the moment they talk in short sentences like this. Then_ Dorothy _puts her hand to her brow as if she is remembering something horrible._)
~Dorothy.~ Roger! Now I remember! It is not safe for you to stay!
~Roger~ (_very brave_). Am I a puling child to be afraid?
~Dorothy.~ My Lord Carey is here. He has read your letter.
~Roger.~ The black-livered dog! Would I had him at my sword's point to teach him manners.
(_He puts his hand to his heart and staggers into a chair._)
~Dorothy.~ Oh, you are wounded!
~Roger.~ Faugh, 'tis but a scratch. Am I a puling----
(_He faints. She binds up his ankle._)
_Enter_ Lord Carey _with two soldiers._
~Carey.~ Arrest this traitor! (_Roger is led away by the soldiers._)
~Dorothy~ (_stretching out her hands to him_). Roger! (_She sinks into a chair._)
~Carey~ (_choosing quite the wrong moment for a proposal_). Dorothy, I love you! Think no more of this traitor, for he will surely
