--that holds all my loose prints, Bess. By Jove! I
can't have that, you know. You amateur counterfeiters have got to
understand just one thing. I'll submit to the laundering of my
manuscripts, the butler's-pantrying of my Cruikshanks, but I'll be
hanged if I'll allow even a real earl, much less a base imitation of
one, to wallow in my engravings.

Mrs. Perkins. You needn't worry about your old engravings. They're
perfectly safe, I've put them in the Saratoga trunk in the attic.
(Rehearsing.) And if you ask it of me once again, I shall have to
summon my servants to have you shown the door. Henry Cobb is the
friend of my girlhood, and--

Perkins. Henry Cobb be--

Mrs. Perkins. Thaddeus!

Perkins. I don't care, Bess, if Henry Cobb was the only friend you
ever had. I object to having my prints dumped into a Saratoga trunk
in order that he may confront Muddleton and regain the lost estates
of Puddingford by hiding in my chest. A gay earl Yardsley makes,
anyhow; and as for Barlow, he looks like an ass in that yellow-
chrysanthemum wig. No man with yellow hair like that could track
such a villain as Henderson makes Muddleton out to be. Fact is,
Henderson is the only decent part of the show.

Mrs. Perkins (rehearsing). What if he is weak? Then shall I still
more strongly show myself his friend. Poor? Does not--

Perkins. Oh, I suppose it does--(Bell rings.) There comes this
apology for a real earl, I fancy. I'll let him in myself. I suppose
Jennie has got as much as she can do sweeping my manuscripts out of
the laundry, and keeping my verses from scorching the wash. [Exit.

Mrs. Perkins. It's too bad of Thaddeus to go on like this. As if I
hadn't enough to worry me without a cross husband to manage. Heigho!

Enter Perkins with Yardsley. Yardsley holds bicycle cap in hand.

Yardsley. By Jove! I'm tired. Everything's been going wrong to-
day. Overslept myself, to begin with, and somebody stole my hat at
the club, and left me this bicycle cap in its place. How are you
getting along, Mrs. Perkins? You weren't letter perfect yesterday,
you know.

Mrs. Perkins. I'm getting it all right, I think. I've been
rehearsing all day.

Perkins. You bet your life on that, Henry Cobb, real Earl of
Puddingford. If you aren't restored to your estates and title this
night, it won't be for any lack of suffering on my part. Give me
your biking cap, unless you want to use it in the play. I'll hang