DINNER FOR ONE

Nib

Or, Who Will Dine at the Hanburys?

MRS. JACK MORRIS' boudoir in fashionable Gotham. A room perfumed like a rose, tinted and tapestried in the prevailing fashion, Wanamaker-Dubarry. Outside, the pale, electric, New York night. A clock chimes quarter past seven. At the dressing-table young Mrs. Morris is engaged in her daily wrestle with old age. That is to say, Louise, her maid, is doing Madame's face, while Madame herself cultivates the rested look, and dreams. The telephone rings...

LOUISE (answering it).—Hello? Yes, Mrs. Morris is here now. (She gives the receiver to Mrs. Morris.) Mr. Rives, madam; he called up three times this afternoon.

MRS. Morris.—Hello! Yes, how are you? Of course I want to see you . . . I'm dying to, but ... (a knock at the

door, followed by the entrance of her husband, causes Mrs. Morris to terminate her conversation in a somewhat altered vein.) Asparagus . . . yes, and . . . lettuce . . . and two

quarts of strawberries. That's all. (She hangs up the receiver and turns sweetly to Morris.) Hello, darling.

Mr. Morris is a well-sculptured study of a tired New Yorker. He ignores his wife's purr and glares at a card which he holds in his hand.

Morris.—I say, Bertha, this is about the end of the limit! . . . Another one of those rotten dinners to-night! This makes the fourteenth time, straight, that we've dined out!

MRS. MORRIS (brightly).—Sixteenth . . . isn't it?

Morris.—Well, if you're proud of it I'm not . . . {He

flings himself on a chair, boosting a rose-ribboned dog to the floor, and frowns at his wife.) Every night it's the same story. I come home tired as thunder. What do I find? Rest? A fireside? That Noah's Ark convention known as "domestic life?" Not a bit of it. I find a card in my mirror telling me that we're dining with the Lord-knows-who, and that I must buck up and be dressed at eight. That's all. Ye gods, what an existence!

MRS. MORRIS (very blithe).—rDress . . . dine . . . dance; business of life! You should thank me for booking you. But, of course, if it's only a conjugal pot-au-feu you want . . .

{she goes over to the chair and administers a soothing pat or two). There! Have a cigarette . . . {She offers him one, lights

one herself and drops down in a chair beside him.)

MORRIS (comfortable, but continuing with his grievance).— Once, before I die . . . just once ... I should like to eat a chop under my own roof, converse with my own wife, see my own children, smoke my own cigars and go to bed when I want to. Go to bed {desperately) without having to execute all the native folk-dances of Brazil and the Argentine.

MRS. MORRIS (immensely amused).—Poor abused lamb! Listen, Jack {stifling a yawn), I'm not very keen about going to-night. Morris—Can't we chuck it?

MRS. Morris.—A dinner? ... at the last minute? {Reflecting) Still ... I don't know. It's one of the Hanburys awful affairs of forty people.

Morris.—Why not have Brooks call up and say we can't come? Dead, or something!

MRS. MORRIS (slowly, after a moment's thought).—I believe I will. (She presses a button and, presently, the butler knocks and enters.) Brooks, will you telephone to Mrs. Edward C. Hanbury . . . she's in East Seventy-second Street . . . and say

that Mr. Morris and I will not be able to dine with them to-night, on account of illness. We are most sorry. Call up right away, please. And Brooks, tell the cook that we will be dining at home and that she must give us something very simple.

Brooks.—Very good, madam.

As the butler goes out he glances at Morris with concern.

Morris.—Now, for once in your life you've done a Christian act. Gad! I was never so glad to get out of anything in my life!

A little later, on the way to his room, Morris meets the butler in the hall.

Morris.—Have you telephoned to the Hanburys?

Brooks.—Yes, sir, just this minute sir, and {in a lowered and confidential tone)—beg pardon, sir, but I was waiting to speak to you, sir. This afternoon around four o'clock Mrs. 'Enry Heustis called hup. She wanted me to tell you, sir, that it was hall hoff for to-morrow, sir; her son is hill at boarding school and she's a leaving for Boston to-night, hon the midnight train, sir . . . right hafter the 'Anb'rys.

Morris.—After the Hanburys! Did she say Hanbury?

Brooks.— Yes sir . . . that's what she said—'Anb'ry.

MORRIS {after a somewhat lengthy pause).—Now, Brooks, listen to me; this is very complicated and I want you to get this straight . . '. Get Mrs. Hanbury herself on the wire and tell

her that Mr. Morris will dine with her to-night, but not Mrs. Morris. Do you get that, Brooks? And Brooks . . . change the order for dinner. Make it for one.

In the interval Mrs. Morris has profited by her husband's departure to resume her interrupted conversation on the telephone.

MRS. Morris.&emdash;{at the receiver) -Give me Murray Hill, 3240. {pause) . Yes, (a fair delay) Mr. Rives {a long pause) . Hello, Arthur . . I had to drop you a moment ago because Jack came in and . . . you understood {laughing) . . Oh, about the asparagus . . wasn't I? . . To-night? . . . Why, we were going to the Hanburys, but Jack came home in a mood, and, as I knew it would be hideously dull . . What? No? Not really? You are going to the Hanburys? . . Of course not . . I never dreamed you were asked . . Isn't it? . . But wait a minute, I'll tell you what I'll do. Perhaps the butler hasn't telephoned. . . Oh, well, anyway I'll arrange it. You trust me. I'll see you at the Hanburys! {Hangs up.)

MRS. MORRIS {speaking very quickly).—Louise, listen to me, go and see if Brooks has telephoned to Mrs. Hanbury: If he has, now listen, Louise, this is very important and I want you to be sure and understand, call up again; get Mrs. Hanbury herself and say that Mrs. Morris is coming to-night, but not Mr. Morris . . And Louise, change .the order for dinner . . make it for one.

Morris enters the boudoir again. He finds his wife screwing pearls in her ears with great animation and humming "Un Peu d'Amour."

Morris.—Look here, I've been thinking it over and we both mustn't chuck the Hanburys. It looks bad. I've decided . . .

MRS. MORRIS (interrupting).—You're quite right, Jack. It's awfully bad form, really, the way people in New York chuck at the eleventh hour. I'm glad you think so as I've decided that I really ought to go. You can stay at home . . . and rest.

MORRIS (after a brief but busy silence).—My dear girl, I wouldn't think of allowing you to go alone, not for a minute. I'm not one of these chaps who let their wives go floating around loose in society. You feel you ought to go! Well! I'll go with you.

MRS. MORRIS (after a pause—a little vexed).—You're a darling, Jack; you are so tired, and it's such a bore. Are you up to it?

MORRIS (patiently).—Umm . . . Yes, dear.

His wife gives him a little kiss and he puts his arm around her. This touching tableau is terminated by the entrance of Louise, the maid.

LOUISE (in some excitement).—I told Mrs. Hanbury that Madam was coming alone to-night. She is very sorry, madam, but she says that Mr. Morris telephoned that he was coming alone and she has asked a lady to fill your place, Madam, and . . .

MORRIS (interrupting, and trying to shift the blame).—Why this altered decision, and why, oh, why, this sudden zeal? {A brilliant idea strikes him). Louise, tell me, did Mr. Arthur Rives call up a little while ago?

LOUISE (hesitating).—Yes, sir, several times, sir!

Morris.—That's all, Louise. {Louise disappears, somewhat agitated). Arthur Rives? this is a charming surprise. I saw him at the club; he never told me he was going to the Hanburys.

BROOKS (appearing at the door).—Beg pardon, sir, Mrs. Heustis has just telephoned. Master Heustis is not so well, sir. She's very sorry, but she won't dine at Mrs. 'Anb'ry's; she's taking the eight o'clock to Boston, sir. {Exit, somewhat agitated.)

MRS. MORRIS (icily).—Mrs. Eustis? Really? What a charming surprise.

Morris.—My Lord! ! Think of it! Arthur and I, marooned at the Hanburys.