_Charlotte_. That name alone on the programme would be worth the price
of admission.

_Victoria_. Well, who's going to bell the cat?

_Miss James_. Beg your pardon? What cat?

_Grace_. She means who is going to ask that scowling
ever-with-a-cigar-in-his-mouth musician to play for us.

_Miss James_. I prefer not to. I have not been introduced, and mamma--

_Grace_. Will you, Miss Sommerfield?

_Miss Sommerfield_. Oh yes, I have been introduced.

_Grace_. Is he French?

_Victoria_. No; unmistakably Italian.

_Helen_. Or Polish, or Russian, or some sort of a Slav.

_Miss Sommerfield_. Russian, I think. He speaks English and French.

_Ida_. Did you talk French with him?

_Miss Sommerfield_. Yes.

_Ida_. I wish I could speak French. I can't even conjugate avoir.

_Miss James_. It is easy: _j'ai, tu es, il_--

_Ida_. Oh, please, Miss Sommerfield, go now, there's a dear, and speak
English, so that you can report what he says.

_Miss Sommerfield_. All right. I go. There's no time like the present.
[_Exit._]

_Grace_. Madge, she's a darling.

_Madge_. I knew you would like her.

_Charlotte_. Girls, let's go on with our rehearsal. Has any one found a
poem, or written one, for this occasion?

_Olive_. I have found a dainty thing on sea-weeds. Will you hear it?

_Madge_. Please, dear.

_Olive_ (_reads_):

The violet gems the forest,
The daisy stars the field,
And every wayside bank and brook
Their fragrant treasures yield.
Oh, sweet the air of summer,
With thoughts of God in flowers!
For bloom and beauty hand in hand
Walk down the passing hours.

But naught, dear child, is fairer,
Nor lovelier tinting shows,
Than those fair things which cradled are
Where oft the storm-wind blows.
The sea-weed's hues are rarer
Than painter's art can trace;
And only fairy looms can weave
The sea-weed's floating lace.

_Helen_. Why, Olive, that's just sweet. Where did you find it?

_Olive_. In my mother's day-book. Mother writes a poem now and then, and
locks it up in her drawer. She says it isn't good enough to publish.

_Victoria_. It is good enough. The magazines print a lot of things not
so good as that.

_Olive_. Thank you.

_Victoria_. Girls, do you want anything funny? My brother Charlie dashed
off some rollicking lines for me last night.

_Charlotte_. Oh yes. Let's have something funny.

_Victoria_. It's arrant nonsense.

_Madge_:

"A little no