LESSON-TALK.

This scene takes place either in the morning or in the early afternoon; therefore, Kitty ought to wear a pretty house dress of some soft material, which will hang in loose folds when she stands at the telephone.

If the reader cares to do so, it is an effective piece of business to come in the room with hat, coat, gloves, and veil on. Pulling off the gloves, rolling up the veil, etc., gives an opportunity for action that will immediately interest the audience. If this is done, Kitty, must give the impression that she has been out for a walk trying to get rid of her misery, but found it impossible. If the reader likes she may add a sentence to this effect.

The great charm of the piece is its naturalness; nothing in it must be forced or affected. Kitty is a bright, impatient, vivacious girl of nineteen who has had the first quarrel with her lover and thinks herself much abused by the universe in consequence.

"Oh, dear!" she sighs deeply. There is a pathetic little droop to the corners of her mouth, and the audience wonders what is to follow. Then looking appealingly at her listeners, she says: "I wonder if there ever was another girl as unhappy as I!"

She goes on rapidly to explain how very unhappy she is. Impetuously, she decides to commit suicide, and then, stopping half way across the stage, with a defiant little toss of her head, she says: "No, I won't." Suddenly the thought flashes over her that perhaps Fred will not care if she does, and she sits down dolefully.

The story of her quarrel is told in a perfectly direct, straightforward way. Even yet she feels satisfaction in the thought that Fred really was jealous; but almost immediately comes the remembrance of his flirtation with Miss Slocum — Miss Slocum, concerning whose hair Kitty speaks really spitefully, and her anger rises. Walking rapidly up and down the stage, with hand clenched, and speaking impetuously she vows she will never forgive him, even if (dreadful thought!) she dies an old maid. Kitty has as many moods as spring, and almost at once she shows in her face that she has changed her mind. The words, "I'm sure I never want to go through another engagement, after what I've suffered," are given with as much feeling as though she had said: "I'm sure I never want to lose another fortune."

Someone outside must make a noise that resembles the ring of a telephone bell. Whoever is to do this must practice with the reader, in order to give the rings at precisely the right moment, and in a natural way.

Impatiently Kitty turns toward the telephone, exclaiming: "Oh, dear, there goes that stupid telephone!" Continuing to look at it, she nods her head emphatically and announces that she knew it would do that way.

Turning away from it, she says, decidedly: "I shan't answer it"; then dolefully: "I've too much on my mind." She grows nervous as the bell continues ringing. This is one of the best touches in the piece, for to one who has never used a telephone the idea of doing so makes her very nervous. It seems so easy and yet there is something uncanny in the way the bell rings on. Looking at the audience with her head tipped on the side toward the telephone and her whole attitude showing that, while she would like to go to it, she dreads doing so, she says: "It must be something important ." Pause, during which she thinks hard. Then, looking up again, she continues: "They wouldn't keep on like that," etc.

The directions for the following sentences are plainly indicated. The only thing to do is to remember that Kitty is nervous, excited, and actually afraid to answer the ring. Everyone knows that a beginner with the telephone always shouts into it, raising her voice higher and higher as the person at the other end begins talking, whereas it is only necessary to use a low, ordinary speaking-voice to be heard plainly: If the reader is not used to the telephone, she ought to make an effort to use it several times before giving this piece, for otherwise she will fail to bring out the funniest effects.

The pantomime that occurs while she is listening may be elaborate or very simple. The latter is probably the better, for one has little chance to express emotion with the receiver held against the ear.

"Thanks, very much" is given in a high sarcastic, voice. Kitty starts to throw her head back indignantly but, finding she can not speak into the 'phone that way, jerks herself forward.

"You needn't try to explain" is spoken in a short, haughty way; " I didn't flirt," etc., with show of great virtue; "Your third cousin?" incredulously; "I wouldn't forgive you now," etc., in an icy manner, but showing that she fairly longs to have him go on. Of course, the "mother-in-law" joke must be clearly brought out.

During this conversation, the reader must make up the answers to her remarks and think them to herself. If she doesn't do this, she will not seem to be really listening. She must be careful to stand with her body turned toward the audience and only her head toward the left.

"Oh, dear, they've shut us off!" is spoken wildly to the front. She must fairly jump up and down in her excitement, "Hold on, Central! Central , I say?"

Everything is clear in the text now, until she thinks she sees a mouse. She now becomes in all truth a girl who needs a protector. She shivers with fright, speaks in short gasps, and gives little screams of terror. "After all, I never was much afraid of mice," is spoken with a sigh of relief at having escaped the danger, but suddenly seeing the curtain move, she screams again and jumps upon a hassock, her eyes wide open with breathless fear. She leans over, pointing at the curtain; her teeth almost chatter during the next few sentences. She is almost ready to cry. "Anyway, they'd get up on this stool" is given most tragically, as though she was speaking of lions. It is the contrast between the fear and the cause of the fear that is so funny.

Holding her skirts about her, she yells into the 'phone. "Oh, I don't know the number — I can't reach the book." This is so like a girl. At "It's a matter of life and death" glance in a frightened manner around at the mouse.

"O Fred, I'm so glad that's you" is a positive gasp of delight. Then she tries to be haughty, but gives it up as a failure and says, solemnly something terrible is the matter.

Everything else is perfectly plain. The ending must be given in a way to make the audience think: "The dear, sweet child! No wonder Fred is in love with her."