RAMBLER.
AT A MATINEE: A MONOLOGUE.
Oh Dear! I meant to be very early, people do look so cross when you squeeze by them. I don’t think it is exactly proper, either, when they are men. Here is my seat, No. 10: that girl has piled all her waterproofs on it. Why don’t she take them away quicker? and I wish she wouldn’t grope about my feet for her overshoes.
I never sat right next to the orchestra before. What a convenient railing to hang my umbrella on! Provoking it should rain so to-day. There now! my waterproof is all disposed of, and I know my dress is all right, so I shall enjoy myself.
What a ridiculous girl beside me! Such a bunch of curls! The two young men on the other side look like gentlemen: the one this way especially nice—lovely eyes and moustache. I’ll look round the house as far as I can without moving. Can’t see much, though, for I’m so near the front. Why on earth didn’t brother Bob put me where I could see the people?
Why, there’s Lucy Morris! I can’t bear that girl: her hair is almost the color of mine. A vacant seat beside her, too; so she came with some one. Wonder who it is? I hope she won’t see me.
Oh, how funny! The musicians come up out of a hole just like the tame rats at the Museum, nasty things!—the rats, I mean. The man right in front of me has a trombone. I know what it is, because the name is written on his music. I’m so glad, for I never knew exactly what a trombone was until now. And what a funny instrument! He doesn’t blow at all for ever so long, and then suddenly comes in with two or three toots.
But, good gracious! there’s Dick Livingstone! I saw him come in at that door. I’m so glad I came! He asked me night before last at Mrs. Harris’s if I was coming to the matinee, and of course I said “Yes,” though I didn’t have the slightest idea of doing so until he spoke. But what—! He has taken the seat by that Lucy Morris, and has given her a programme. I hate that girl!