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HALF SHEET WINDOW LITHOGRAPHS.

Nos. 1168, 1014, 1024, 404, 850, 468, and 496.

THE BOHEMIANS.

ACT I.

Scene.-JACK BRANDT'S studio. A plain room. Window R. c. in flat; door L. C., also R. and L. 2d and 3d entrance. Piano up stage L. Table at window in flat. Easel with unfinished picture R. I E. Pictures and sketches around room; work basket on table. Music for curtain. Stage discovered empty at rise. Knock outside twice. Then FREDDY SPROUL puts his head in L. C. and looks around; enters cautiously; has a large bouquet of flowers in his hand.

Fred. (looking around). She is not here! Good! For I can now leave my bouquet without any fear of being found out. (Puts bouquet on table.) I wonder if she ever suspects where they come from? Sometimes I almost hope she does. But no, I am sure she has not the slightest idea. For when she meets me, she holds out her hand so carelessly and says, “Goodmorning, Mr. Sproul," so calmly, that she throws me down into the lowest depths of despair again. Twice this week have I screwed my courage up to the sticking point in order to tell her how much I love her, but when she turned her great limpid eyes upon me, blow me if I couldn't feel all of my courage ooze out at the tips of my fingers again. (Starts.) I've got an idea. (Looks around and takes picture out of his pocket.) Here is a small portrait of myself that I have just painted, and I will just place it here in the bouquet (business of putting picture in bouquet) and let it speak for me. There, I have done it at last (MADGE sings outside), and here she is coming now. (Comes down.) Lord! how my heart does beat.

[Entrance music for MADGE, who enters quickly L.C., with a basket of strawberries on her arm. Places basket on table; speaks while taking off hat and wraps. Madge. Ah! Good-morning, Mr. Sproul.

5

Fred. (confused and stammers in speech). Goo-goo-goodmorning, M-M-Miss Hardy. (Aside.) Just the same as usual. [Goes down R. I E.

Madge (goes to table; prepares to pick over her strawberries; speaks during preparations). Waiting to see Jack, I suppose. I am very sorry that he is not in. (Draws chair, seats herself with her side to audience, and begins work on berries.) He has gone to inquire about poor Mr. Warner, who, you know, is lying very ill at his home; but I expect him back now 'most any moment. You don't mind my going on with my work, do you, Mr. Sproul? You see, Noel has not got up yet, but he will be wanting his breakfast when he does rise, so I wish to have those strawberries ready for him. You don't mind, do you? [Laughingly. Fred. (in a confused manner). Why, no-of course, Miss Madge. That is—I mean-oh, yes, go right on. me. (Aside.) I wish I had that picture back again. Madge. Are you having a holiday, Mr. Sproul ? Fred. Oh, no. Why did you ask that?

Don't mind

Madge. Oh, for nothing in particular. I only imagined you must be taking a holiday, else you would not be around so early.

Fred. No! Well-that is-you see, Miss Madge, the matter was I could not sleep; I had a bad toothache all night long, so I thought I'd take a walk, and as I was passing I just looked in. Madge (reproachfully). Oh! But you are losing the best hours of the morning, and that is such a pity. I thought you were determined to become a great artist, like Jack; and how can you do that unless you work hard? Jack, you know, is never idle.

Fred. That is quite true, Miss Madge; and yet he does not seem to make much progress with his great picture up there. [Points to picture on wall L., and crosses over and examines it at conclusion of speech. Madge (turning and looking at it). Ah, true, the poor fellow. [Spoken sadly.

Fred. (examining picture). "Cleopatra Awaiting the Coming of Octavius," I believe he calls it, and (laughing) by the looks of things she seems to have been waiting a long, long time. Why, the picture is actually smothered with dust.

Madge (spirited). And all because I am not tall enough to reach it, and Jack will not allow me to stand upon a chair for fear I might fall and hurt myself. (Spoken more sadly.) And when I speak to him about finishing it, he only laughs and says it can afford to wait. You see it takes all of his time painting those little sketches-pot-boilers, he calls them-in order to get money enough to run the house; and so, you see, in the mean

time his great picture, of which he used to dream so fondly, remains there, forgotten and unfinished.

[Bows her head on table. Fred. (crossing quickly). There, there, Miss Madge, please don't feel so badly about it. I didn't mean anything like that when I spoke. I don't wish to cast a slur upon dear old Jack. Now, don't cry any more; and please say that you will forgive me, for, 'pon my honor, I didn't mean anything.

Madge (drying her eyes). I am sure you didn't. (Rises.) And there is my hand. (Offers hand, which FRED. takes.) I feel a little bit nervous this morning. But don't mind me; and now that I have my strawberries all picked, Noel can get up as soon as he pleases. (Is crossing to L.; noise outside; she turns and runs to door L. C.) And here comes Jack now, I believe. [Opens door, L. C.

Enter SMILEY and DALE.

Smiley. Good-morning, Miss Madge. Can we come in? Madge. Why, certainly. Come right along.

[They both point at FRED., who is down R.; then both go down, one on each side of him, slap him on the back and grasp his hands. Business ad libitum.

Smiley and Dale (together). What, old chappie! Delighted to meet you.

Madge. Oh, boys, please don't make such a noise. Noel is asleep.

Smiley and Dale (run up towards back, L., with FRED. between them). Then we will wake him up.

Madge (stopping them). Oh, no; you mustn't do that, for you know it always makes him cross and irritable to rouse him from his sleep in that manner, and then you know how very sensitive he is.

Dale. Oh, yes, we know, and for your sake, Miss Madge, we will not disturb his dreams, more especially when a fellow has such dreams as he does.

Smiley (who has been examining picture on wall L.). I say, Dale, old man, come here and look at this. By Jove, how it progresses. How hard the old boy does work.

Madge. That makes the second time this morning that Jack's picture has been held up to ridicule for his lack of industry. But, you see, Jack's work is for the present, not for the future.

Dale. There, Miss Madge, you are down upon us like a ton of brick. We really did not mean to underrate Jack's good intentions. Now, I confess that I am a lazy, idle fellow myself; but, really, what is the use of one killing one's self in these degenerate days of taste in art? Now, why did I leave my sculptor's studio ? Was it for lack of patronage? Oh, no; but

because the people who came to see me insisted upon my accomplishing the most absurd things. I must straighten this one's nose, I must give that one an eye for the one it had lost, and I must put the face of a Greek god in the place of the one brought me to work from, which, perhaps, was so ugly that it gave you a pain in the face to look at it. Now, for instance, suppose that Fred. Sproul there should order a bust of himself. What on earth could I do with such material?

I

You

[Crosses R. to FRED.; business. Smiley. And as for me, Miss Madge, when I offered my compositions to a brainless public, they failed to understand either my music or my lines or the message which they intended to convey. Thus things went on until I was actually reduced to a state bordering upon beggary; until one day Dale came into my rooms, where I was hard at work upon a new composition, and throwing down a bundle of doggerel rhymes upon the table, said to me, "Smiley, old man, I have a bright idea. have thrown down the sculptor's mallet and chisel forever. have always praised my singing powers and have urged me to go on the stage. I have at last made up my mind to follow your advice. Compose for me some light, catchy music to those verses that I have written myself, and I will make you immortal." Dale. And most nobly have I kept my word, for to-day our songs are sung by stage artists all over the world, and in every music store you will find our compositions, whilst in the homes of the rich and poor alike our names are household words. And that brings us to the object of our visit here this morning. We have just completed a new three-act comic opera, and knowing your talent as a singer and also your eagerness to find something to do that will help lighten Jack's load of care, we wish to make some arrangements with you, if possible, to play the leading rôle in the first presentation of the piece next month.

Madge. Oh, I am so grateful to you both for your kindness. But you know that while, thanks to Noel, I am in your estimation good enough to trust the leading singing rôle to, I know nothing about acting.

Smiley. So much the better. The less you know about a thing nowadays the better you are appreciated.

Dale. Oh, no, Miss Madge, you possess a charm more potent with the public, and to which it pays a much higher tribute nowadays than it does to the art of acting.

Madge. And what is that, pray?

Smiley. First, a pleasing and well-cultivated voice.

Dale. A very pretty face.

Smiley. Third and last, but by no means least-in fact, it is the most potent of all the other charms you possess put together -you have an elegant figure.