om start to finish, and if any one of
'em ventures to interfere I'll drop thee on their most treasured
lines. They little dream how much they are in the power of you and
me!

Enter Jennie.

Jennie. Mrs. Perkins says aren't you coming to dinner, sir; and Mr.
Yardsley says the soup is getting cold, sir.

Perkins. In a minute, Jennie. Tell Mrs. Perkins that I am just
learning the last ten lines of the third act; and as for Mr.
Yardsley, kindly insinuate to him that he'll find the soup quite hot
enough at 8.30.

[Exit Jennie. Perkins sits down, and, taking up two books of the
play, one in each hand, begins to read.

[CURTAIN]

A PROPOSAL UNDER DIFFICULTIES

CHARACTERS:

ROBERT YARDSLEY, } suitors for the hand of Miss Andrews.
JACK BARLOW, }
DOROTHY ANDREWS, a much-loved young woman.
JENNIE, a housemaid.
HICKS, a coachman, who does not appear.

The scene is laid in a fashionable New York drawing-room. The time
is late in October, and Wednesday afternoon. The curtain rising
shows an empty room. A bell rings. After a pause the front door is
heard opening and closing. Enter Yardsley through portiere at rear
of room.

Yardsley. Ah! So far so good; but I wish it were over. I've had
the nerve to get as far as the house and into it, but how much
further my courage will carry me I can't say. Confound it! Why is
it, I wonder, that men get so rattled when they're head over heels in
love, and want to ask the fair object of their affections to wed? I
can't see. Now I'm brave enough among men. I'm not afraid of
anything that walks, except Dorothy Andrews, and generally I'm not
afraid of her. Stopping runaway teams and talking back to impudent
policemen have been my delight. I've even been courageous enough to
submit a poem in person to the editor of a comic weekly, and yet here
this afternoon I'm all of a tremble. And for what reason? Just
because I've co-come to ask Dorothy Andrews to change her name to
Mrs. Bob Yardsley; as if that were such an unlikely thing for her to
do. Gad! I'm almost inclined to despise myself. (Surveys himself
in the mirror at one end of the room. Then walking up to it and
peering intently at his reflection, he continues.) Bah! you coward!
Afraid of a woman--a sweet little woman like Dorothy. You ought to
be ashamed of yourself, Bob Yardsley. _She_ won't hurt you. Brace
up and propose like a man--like a real lover who'd go through fire
for her sake, and all