They're All Like That!

Another Demonstration of the Fact that Husbands (and Wives) are Just Children, After All

PATRICIA COLLINGE

SCENE I: The dining room in the apartment Mr. and Mrs. Murray Hamilton.

MRS. HAMILTON (who has been suspiciously charming through a more than usually delightful dinner): Laura Jay called me up this morning. She has some wild idea of dragging us to a party in about two weeks; one of those crazy balls—costume, of course. But I told her that you had sworn never to go to another. I told her how you hated public balls and hated dressing up, and hated all balls, anyhow. She says this one isn't really a public ball; it's given by the Society of Something or Other, and you have to have invitations; but, of course, any one can go. She's wild about the idea—says, if you go with your own crowd, it's perfectly all right. And I suppose it might be fun. But I told her how you felt.

MR. HAMILTON: Well, then, that's that.

MRS. HAMILTON: Yes, dear. (Long pause.) It's funny how you hate to dress up! Because I don't know any man who can wear fancy dress better! Honestly, dear, you were the handsomest thing I ever saw at the Illustrators' masquerade. Laura said the same thing. She said, "If my husband looked half as well as yours does in costume, I'd be a happier woman. Peter generally just looks silly, and yet he adores dressing up; although any one can see with half an eye that nature never intended him to wear tights."

MR. HAMILTON: Any more coffee?

MRS. HAMILTON (serving it) : You know, I thought, the other day, if we ever did go to another masquerade, it would be fun to go as Mr. and Mrs. Valentino—in that Tango costume of theirs. You would look gorgeous in it. You know what the man's costume is, don't you, dear? Very baggy trousers, and a soft white shirt, and a sort of Spanish hat, and a great, wide belt—it's simply marvelous!— and so comfortable to dance in. Of course, not every man could wear it.

MR. HAMILTON: Cigarette?

MRS. HAMILTON: Thanks, dear. (She smokes a moment, delicately, charmingly.) I told Laura. She was crazy about the idea. She said, that if you were only a vain man, you'd never let the chance slip by; but I told her you didn't know the meaning of vanity. (She pauses; then brushes the tiresome subject to one side, and turns to better and brighter things.) Well, did anything exciting happen downtown today?

MR. HAMILTON: When is this dance?

(Mrs. H. begins to dream dreams and to see visions.)

SCENE II: A costumer's shop, ten days later. Mrs. Murray Hamilton and Mrs. Peter Jay are vainly seeking to be waited on.

MRS. HAMILTON: And then I told him about the Valentino costume; and, my dear! his eyes positively glistened! If ever there was a man who likes to get himself up in fancy clothes and pretend he's Mephistopheles or Marc Antony, or something, it's Murray. I didn't have to say another word.

MRS. JAY: Of course not. They're all just alike. Pete fussed a little; but I murmured "Romeo", and all was over. Isn't this a wild looking place? I wish some one would wait on us. There's a man now. Oh, I want to look at a costume!

MRS. HAMILTON: Aren't they rude here? There's another man! Please, we'd like to look—Well!

(After some time, a man with the air of one who has seen everything and found it wanting, becomes a reluctant ministrant to the wants of Mrs. Hamilton and Mrs. Jay.)

SALESMAN : Whatchawant?

MRS. HAMILTON AND MRS. JAY (in chorus ): I want a costume for my husband—

SALESMAN (bitterly): Want Pierrots?

(The ladies explain, separately and together, what they want. The descriptions arc long and detailed. The salesman disappears and returns, conveying an overwhelming odour of mothballs and two Pierrot costumes.)

MRS. JAY: I'm afraid you didn't understand. We don't want Pierrots—we want— (Once more, Romeo and Rudolph are accurately and painstakingly described.)

SALESMAN: We gotta coupla black Pierrots.

MRS. JAY AND MRS. HAMILTON: We don't want Pierrots at all!

(The man goes away again and stays for a long, long time. We don't know, but we think he takes a short nap; because, when he returns, he looks less bitter—and something has stirred in the old grey matter. He displays two costumes. They are not what were asked for, but they arc not Pierrots. All may yet be well.)

MRS. HAMILTON: Yes, those are lovely; but they're not quite what we want.

SALESMAN: You want two make-ups? Say, we gotta donkey costume—takes two to wear it. Want a see it?

(Time and patience prevail, however; and, one hour later, the costumes wanted arc produced, hired, and borne home by two weary but triumphant wives.)

SCENE III: The Hamiltons' apartment. It is D the evening of the party, and Mr. Hamilton is garbed like Valentino. He is apparently indifferent about it all; but there is more than a suspicion of the peacock in him. He strolls carelessly about the living room, glancing at himself in the mirrors. He pulls his hat to a more rakish angle, clicks his heels together to hear his spurs rattle, adopts a more swaggering walk, lets his cigarette droop knowingly from the corner of his mouth, tries his hat at another angle, affects looking bored, then essays a step or two of the Tango. He wishes his mother could see him. Mrs. Hamilton enters. She wears the costumer's conception of a Spanish lady. It is chic, but abbreviated.)

MR. HAMILTON: My God, Amy!

MRS. HAMILTON (coldly): What's the matter ?

MR. HAMILTON : You're not going to wear that, are you?

MRS. HAMILTON: Murray Hamilton, if you're going to start that again! You say the same thing every time. It's more comfortable to dance in this way; and, good heavens, why shouldn't I, anyhow? You said, yourself, I had very pretty legs—and you know it!

MR. HAMILTON: Well, I don't see why every one else should know it.

MRS. HAMILTON: Oh, well, if you're going to talk like a husband. I'm simply not going to this thing at all! I've got much more on than I wear at the beach, and the whole world sees me there. I haven't noticed that you get particularly excited over that!

MR. HAMILTON: That's not the same thing at all. My point is—

(The doorbell rings. Enter, the Peter Jays. Mrs. Jay's costume is also chic, but, if anything, shorter than Mrs. Hamilton's. Mr. Jay is somewhat self-conscious as Romeo, but he seems to like the little hat with the feather—particularly, the feather. Out of the genera! hubbub of greetings and exclamations, "Look who's here!", "Darling, you look sweet!" etc., etc., conies Mrs. Jay's plaintive, wail to Mr. Hamilton: "Murray, do you think my dress is too short?")

MR. HAMILTON: Short? Nonsense! Lots more comfortable for dancing that way. After all, you wear a great deal less on the beach— and nobody gives a darn there.

(Mrs. Hamilton and Mrs. Jay exchange the glances that only married women can interpret. Cocktails are served by the Hamiltons' Presbyterian butler—a high-minded man, with a soul above costume balls. He tries desperately to seem to notice nothing, and yet to take in everything. He succeeds only indifferently. The cocktails are drunk, and the revellers set forth.)

SCENE IV: At the ball. In the men's dressing room.

MR. HAMILTON (to Mr. Joy): Now, there's just one thing that I must make clear. I've got to leave early. Tomorrow's a hard day at the office, and we'll just dance a couple of dances, and then beat it. You and Laura can stay as long as you like; only, you won't mind if we go early, will you?

MR. JAY (who has been realizing more and more that, while the cap with the feather is all very well, there are other things about the costume that are not so good—in other words, what in hell is he going to do wit It his pocket flask?): No, can't stay late myself. You haven't the only office in the world. Two or three dances will see the exit of Mr. Peter Romeo Jay. May as well be sensible. Between ourselves, I don't care for all this fancy-dress stuff—only do it to please Laura. Funny, how women love to dress up.

MR. HAMILTON: Same here—wouldn't go at all, if it weren't for my wife. Amy has such a darn good time. No fun for me to put on a lot of fool clothes!

(They both gaze long and earnestly at themselves in the pier-glass.)

MR. JAY: Women are funny, anyway— nothing but children.

MR. HAMILTON (with a last look in the glass): Guess that's the answer. That's all they are—just children!

SCENE V: In Mrs. Hamilton's apartment the next afternoon. Mrs. Hamilton is at the telephone.

MRS. HAMILTON: My dear Laura, I'm positively dead! But I had a heavenly time. . . yes, I knew they would. . . they always say that. . . Murray always wants to leave after two dances—till he gets on the floor. Then you can't drag him away. . . Well, it was six-thirty when we got home, and you were still there when we left. . . My dear, you looked sweet. . . not a bit too short. Was mine?. . . Oh, they always do; it's just because they're husbands. . . Murray did look nice though, as Rudolph Valentino, didn't he?. . . You know, I really go because he has such a good time. Funny, how men love to dress up. . . I know it. . . You're right, my dear; that's all they are, just children.