, Jack. I'll fix it. See here,
Bradley. This is the place you are thinking of. When Cobb says to
Lady Ellen "Fenderson Featherhead," you enter the room, and in a
nervous aside you mutter: "What, he! Does he again dare to cross my
path?" That's the way of it.

Barlow. Certainly--that's it, Brad. Now get off, and let me go on,
will you?

Mrs. Perkins. I'm sure it's a perfectly natural error, Mr. Bradley.

Mrs. Bradley. But he's right, my dear Bess. The others are wrong.
Edward doesn't--

Bradley. I don't care anything about it, but I'm sure I don't know
what else to do. If I am to play Fenderson--

Barlow (in amazement). You?

Yardsley (aghast). Fenderson? By all that is lovely, what part have
you learned?

Bradley. The one you told me to learn in your message--Featherhead,
of course.

Barlow. But that's my part!

Mrs. Perkins. Of course it is, Mr. Bradley. Mr. Barlow is to be--

Mrs. Bradley. But that's what Edward was told. I saw the message
myself.

Yardsley (sinking into a chair dejectedly). Why, Ed Bradley! I
never mentioned Featherhead. You were to be Muddleton!

Bradley. Me?

Mrs. Bradley. What?

Yardsley. Certainly. There's nothing the matter with Barlow, and
he's cast for Featherhead. You've learned the wrong part!

Bradley (searching his pockets). Here's the telegram. There (takes
message from pocket), read that. There are my instructions.

Yardsley (grasps telegram and reads it. Drops it to floor). Well,
I'll be jiggered!

[Buries his face in his hands.

Mrs. Perkins (picking up message and reading aloud). "Can you take
Fenderson's part in to-night's show? Answer at once. Yardsley."

Barlow. Well, that's a nice mess. You must have paresis, Bob.

Perkins. I was afraid he'd get it sooner or later. You need
exercise, Yardsley. Go pull that curtain up and down a half-dozen
times and it'll do you good.

Bradley. That telegram lets me out.

Mrs. Bradley. I should say so.

Perkins. Lets us all out, seems to me.

Yardsley. But--I wrote Henderson, not Fenderson. That jackass of a
telegraph operator is responsible for it all. "Will you take
Henderson's part?" is what I wrote, and he's gone and got it
Fenderson. Confound his--

Mrs. Perkins. But what are we going to do? It's quarter-past six
now, and the curtain is to rise at 8.30.

Perkins. I'll give 'em my unequalled imitation of Sandow lifting the
curtain with one hand. Thus. [