A PROPOSAL UNDER DIFFICULTIES
The scene is laid in a fashionable New York drawing-room. The time is late in October, and Wednesday afternoon. The curtain rising shows an empty room. A bell rings. After a pause the front-door is heard opening and closing. Enter Yardsley through portière at rear of room.
Yardsley. Ah! So far so good; but I wish it were over. I've had the nerve to get as far as the house and into it, but how much further my courage will carry me I can't say. Confound it! Why is it, I wonder, that men get so rattled when they're head over heels in love, and want to ask the fair object of their affections to wed? I can't see. Now I'm brave enough among men. I'm not afraid of anything that walks, except Dorothy Andrews, and generally I'm not afraid of her. Stopping runaway teams and talking back to impudent policemen have been my delight. I've even been courageous enough to submit a poem in person to the editor of a comic weekly, and yet here this afternoon I'm all of a tremble. And for what reason? Just because I've co-come to ask Dorothy Andrews to change her name to Mrs. Bob Yardsley; as if that were such an unlikely thing for her to do. Gad! I'm almost inclined to despise myself. (Surveys himself in the mirror at one end of the room. Then walking up to it and peering intently at his reflection, he continues.) Bah! you coward! Afraid of a woman – a sweet little woman like Dorothy. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Bob Yardsley. She won't hurt you. Brace up and propose like a man – like a real lover who'd go through fire for her sake, and all that. Ha! That's easy enough to talk about, but how shall I put it? That's the question. Let me see. How do men do it? I ought to buy a few good novels and select the sort of proposal I like; but not having a novel at hand, I must invent my own. How will it be? Something like this, I fancy. (The portières are parted, and Jennie, the maid, enters. Yardsley does not observe her entrance.) I'll get down on my knees. A man on his knees is a pitiable object, and pity, they say, is akin to love. Maybe she'll pity me, and after that – well, perhaps pity's cousin will arrive. (The maid advances, but Yardsley is so intent uponhis proposal that he still fails to observe her. She stands back of the sofa, while he, gazing downward, kneels before it.) I'll say: "Divine creature! At last we are alone, and I – ah – I can speak freely the words that have been in my heart to say to you for so long – oh, so long a time." (Jennie appears surprised.) "I have never even hinted at how I feel towards you. I have concealed my love, fearing lest by too sudden a betrayal of my feelings I should lose all." (Aside.) Now for a little allusion to the poets. Poetry, they say, is a great thing for proposals. "You know, dearest, you must know, how the poet has phrased it – 'Fain would I fall but that I fear to climb.' But now – now I must speak. An opportunity like this may not occur again. Will you – will you be my wife?"
[Jennie gives a little scream of delight.
Jennie. Oh, Mr. Yardsley, this is so suddent like and unexpected, and me so far beneath you!
[Yardsley looks up and is covered with confusion.
Yardsley. Great Scott! What have I done?
Jennie. But of course it ain't for the likes of me to say no to —
Yardsley (rising). For Heaven's sake, Jennie – do be sensi – Don't – say – Jennie, why – ah – (Aside.) Oh, confound it! What the deuce shall I say? What's the matter with my tongue? Where's my vocabulary? A word! a word! my kingdom for a word! (Aloud.) Now, Jen —
Jennie (coyly). I has been engaged to Mr. Hicks, the coach gentleman, sir, but —
Yardsley. Good! good! I congratulate you, Jennie. Hicks is a very fine fellow. Drives like a – like a driver, Jennie, a born driver. I've seen him many a time sitting like a king on his box – yes, indeed. Noticed him often. Admired him. Gad, Jennie, I'll see him myself and tell him; and what is more, Jennie, I'll – I'll give Hicks a fine present.
Jennie. Yes, sir; I has no doubt as how you'll be doin' the square thing by Hicks, for, as I was a-sayin', I has been engaged like to him, an' he has some rights; but I think as how, if I puts it to him right like, and tells him what a nice gentleman you are (a ring is heard at the front-door), it'll be all right, sir. But there goes the bell and I must run, Mr. Yardsley. (Ecstatically kissing her hand.) Bob!
Yardsley (with a convulsive gasp). Bob? Jennie! You – er – you misun – (Jennie, with a smile of joy and an ecstatic glance at Yardsley, dances from the room to attend the door. Yardsley throws himself into a chair.) Well, I'll be teetotally – Awh! It's too dead easy proposing to somebody you don't know you are proposing to. What a kettle of fish this is, to be sure! Oh, pshaw! that woman can't be serious. She must know I didn't mean it for her. But if she doesn't, good Lord! what becomes of me? (Rises, and paces up and down the room nervously. After a moment he pauses before the glass.) I ought to be considerably dishevelled by this. I feel as if I'd been drawn through a knot-hole – or – or dropped into a stone-crusher – that's it, a stone-crusher – a ten-million horse-power stone-crusher. Let's see how you look, you poor idiot.
