IT WILL NEVER BE PLAYED.

Western Star, Issue 864, 30 July 1884, Page 3

IT WILL NEVER BE PLAYED.

“By gum!” Mr and Mrs Defoe sat before a. cheerful fire in their home the .o'-her evening. There had been a ldn£ period of silence, when Mr Defoe suddenly exclaimed as above. “ What is it, my dear ?” she responded. “ Say, we’ve got tired of . playing games,-and what do you say to private theatricals?” “How ?’’ “Why, we’ll get three or Four of the neighbours to join in, and we’ll meet at each other’s houses and have regular plays.” “That will be splendid,” she gasped. “ Hanged if it won’t. Wonder we never thought of it before. Twenty dollars will get us all the scenery we want, and each can furnish his own wardrobe. By gum ! We’ve got the idea now !” “ What sort of a play could we play ?” she asked, as he marched up and down with tragic step. “I have it—aha!” he exclaimed as he stopped short. .“ Don’t you remember I started to write a play about five years ago? I’ll finish it, and we’ll bring it out. Now, let’s see how the characters run. There is the Count Dumdoff, who is in love with Geraldine the Pair. I’ll be the Count, as he is the hero. He kills four men, rescues Geraldine from several dangers, and there is a good deal of kissing and lovemaking, and a happy marriage!” “And I’ll he Geraldine.” “ Ton ! Oh, you couldn’t play that part. She must be young and vivacious. Lot’s see. I think I’ll cast you for .Hannah, who keeps a bakery near a park in Paris.” “ I’d like to see myself playing Hannah in a bakery, I would!” she defiantly answered. “If you can play Dumdoff I know I can play Geraldjne.” “ Oh, no you can’t, my love. You are a little stiff in the knees, and ho.v you’d look throwing yourself into my arms as the villains pursue, I sbaU east that little widow D. for Geraldine.” “Then there’ll be two Geraldines of us. If you can play Dumdoff with your lame back and your catarrh, I know I can play Geraldine with this little lameness in my left knee.” “Now, you listen to reason, Mrs Defoe. Ton aren’t built for Geraldine; you are too fat; your feet are too large; you haven’t the voice for it.” “ And you’d make a pretty Count Dumdoff, you would,” she fired hack. “Ton want, to get that crook out of your back, that bald head shingled over, your mouth repaired, and your eyes touched up with a paint-brush. I think I see you killing four yillians ! Ha, ha ha!” “Woman, do not anger me,” he said in a deep-toned voice as be;-rose ;up. “And don’t you anger your Geraldine either!” “Geraldine! Why you don’t know a skye border from a flat.” “Dumdoff I And you don’t know a sbye-terrier from the big fiddle in the orchestra.” “’Tis well! We’ll have no playing here.” “Then you needn’t. When I play Hannah in a bakery, to let you hug the widow D., or any other woman, all over the stage, youll be three or four Count Dumdoffs.” “I’ll burn the play, jealous woman !” “If you don’t I will, vain man!” Then they sat down and resumed their former occupation of looking into the fire, and the disturbed cat went back to her rug and her dreams.—‘Detroit Free Press.’