bers of the club or cast "came
out strong," were eliminated. So far the Hyacinths were orthodox, but
Rosie Rosenbaum, Prince, President and Censor, went a step further.

"Git busy. Mix her up, why don't you!" she commanded later from the
wings. The other players were laboriously wading through persiflage and
conversation. "You folks ain't _done_ nothin' the last ten minutes only
stand there and gas. Is that actin'? Maybe it's wrote in the book. What
I want to know is--is it actin'?" Burgess sat suddenly erect and his
eyes glowed. Miss Masters half rose to assume authority but he
restrained her.

"You shut up and leave me be," Polonius cried. "Ain't I got a right to
say good-bye to my son?"

"You can say good-bye all right," Rosie reminded her, "without puttin'
up that game of talk. Give him a 'I'll be a sister to you' on the cheek
an' git through sometime before to-morrow. Cut it, I tell you."

This "off with his head" attitude on the President's part delighted
Burgess. But the caste enjoyed it less and when the ghost was docked of
a whole scene it grew rebellious.

"If you give me any more of your lip," said the princely stage manager,
"I'll trow you out altogether. There's lots of people wouldn't believe
in ghosts anyway. Me grandfather seen this play in Chermany and he told
me they didn't use the ghost at all. Nothin' but a green light with a
voice comin' out of it."

"Well, I could be the voice, couldn't I?" the ghost argued; and it was
at this point that Miss Masters took charge of the meeting and
introduced Mr. Burgess.

"Who has offered," she went on in spite of his energetic pantomime of
disclaimer, "to help us with our play."

"That's real sweet of you, Mr. Burgess," said the President graciously.

"Not at all--not at all," he answered. "It will be a pleasure, I assure
you."

"You'll excuse me, I'm sure," the Secretary broke in, "if we go right on
with our woik while you're here. We're makin' our own costoomes, as
much as we can. That was one reason us young ladies chose Hamlet. It's a
play what everyone wears skoits in. It's easier for us and it ain't so
embarrassing, and I guess our folks will like it better. You _have_ to
think of your folks sometimes. Even if they are old-fashioned. Miss
Masters got us pictures of Mr. Marsden's production an' every last one
of the characters has skoits on. Hamlet's ain't no longer than a bathin'
suit, but anyway it's there. I don't think it's real refined, mysel