THE LOLLARD A SATIRICAL COMEDY
EDGAR ALLAN WOOLF
Author of “Youth,” “Little Mother,” “Mon
Desir,” “The Locks at Panama,”
“Lady Gossip,” Etc., Etc.
ANGELA MAXWELL HARRY MAXWELL FRED SALTUS MISS CAREY
SCENE: The apartment of Miss Carey, a hardworking modiste about 45 years of age, rather sharp in manner, very prudish and a hater of men.
TIME: About 2 A.M.
When the curtain rises, the stage is dark. First, “feminine snores” are heard, then a sharp ringing of bell. Then MISS CAREY from her bed in next room (curtained off, but partly visible) calls out:
MISS CAREY: Who is it?
VOICE: (Off stage.) It’s me. Open!
MISS CAREY: (Poking her night-capped head out of curtains.) Well, who are you?
VOICE: (Off stage.) You don’t know me.
But that’s all right.
Please let me in—hurry! Hurry!
MISS CAREY: (Rising and getting into a kimono.) Well—whoever you are—what do you mean by waking me at two in the morning? I’ll report this to the janitor. (She turns up light and opens door. ANGELA MAXWELL rushes in—in fluffy peignoir—her hair in pretty disorder—her hands full of wearing apparel, etc., as if she just snatched same up in haste. An opera coat, a pair of slippers, etc.)
ANGELA: (Rushing in—closing door after her and silencing MISS CAREY by the mysterious way she seizes her by the wrist.) Listen, you don’t know me, but I’ve just left my husband.
MISS CAREY: (Sharply.) Well, that’s no reason why I should leave my bed.
ANGELA: (Reassuringly.) You can go right back again, dear—in fact, I’ll go with you and we’ll talk it over there.
MISS CAREY: I don’t wish to talk it over anywhere, and—
ANGELA: Well, surely, you don’t think it was wrong of me to leave Harry—now do you?
MISS CAREY: I never blame any woman for leaving any man.
ANGELA: See, I knew it. After I fired the Wedgewood vase at him—and just for doing it he was brute enough to call me “Vixen,”— I snatched up as much as I could that was worth taking, and left him forever. (Suddenly, as she sees dress on model.) Oh, what a lovely little frock. (Back to other tone.) Yes, forever; and it was only when I stood out in the cold hall that I realized it would have been better to have left him forever when I was all dressed in the morning. (Beginning to shiver and weep.) Take my advice, dear, if you ever leave your husband, never do it on a cold night.
MISS CAREY: (Sharply.) I’m not married.
ANGELA: (Weeping copiously and shivering.) Well, then, you needn’t bother, dear, about the weather, ’cause you never will be married.