ore guests._)

(_Telegram arrives, announcing that the prima donna has a sore throat,
and will be unable to come. Time passes._)

MALE GUEST (_to another_)--Well, I wish to heaven, something would be
doing soon. This is the deadest affair I was ever up against.

OMNIPRESENT JOKER (_greeting acquaintance_)--Hello, old man!--going to
sing to-night?

ACQUAINTANCE--Oh, yes, going to sing a solo.

JOKER--So low you can't hear it? Ha, ha! (_Guests near by groan._)

VOICE (_overheard_)--Madame Cully? My dear, she always tells you that
you haven't half enough material, and makes you get yards more. Besides,
she never sends your pieces back, though I have--

FAT OLD LADY (_to neighbor_)--I never was so warm in my life! I can't
imagine why people invite you, just to make you uncomfortable. Now, when
I entertain, I have the windows open for hours before any one comes.

JOKER (_aside_)--That's why she always has a frost! Ha, ha!

(HOST _enters, showing traces of hasty toilette--face red, and a
razor-cut on chin._)

HOST (_rubbing his hands, and endeavoring to appear at ease and
facetious_)--Well, how d'ye do, everybody! Sorry to be late on such an
auspicious--

JOKER (_interrupting_)--Suspicious! Ha, ha!

HOST--occasion. I hope you are all enjoying yourselves.

CHORUS OF GUESTS--Yes, indeed!

HOSTESS--'Sh, 'sh, 'sh! I have a great disappointment for you all. Here
is a telegram from my _best_ singer, saying she is sick, and can't come.
Now, we will have the pleasure of listening to Miss Jackson. Miss
Jackson is a pupil of Madame Parcheesi, of Paris. (_Singer whispers to
her._) Oh, I beg your pardon! It's Madame _Mar_cheesi.

DEAF OLD GENTLEMAN (_seated by piano, talking to pretty girl_)--I'd
rather listen to you than hear this caterwauling. (Old Gentleman _is
dragged into corner and silenced._)

YOUNG WOMAN (_singing_)--"Why do I sing? I know not, I know not! I can
not help but sing. Oh, why do I sing?"

(_Guests moan softly and demand of one another_, Why does she sing?)

WOMAN GUEST (_to another_)--Isn't that just the way?--their relatives
are always dying, and it's sure to be wash-day or just when you expect
company to dinner, and off they go to the funeral--

(Butler _appears with trayful of punch-glasses._)

MALE GUEST (_to another_)--Thank the Lord! here's relief in sight. Let's
drown our troubles.

THE OTHER--It's evident you haven't sampled the Smythes' punch before. I
tell you it's a crime to spoil