Title: The Quiet Hotel - A Farcical Sketch in One Act
Author: Dumont, Frank
Language: English
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  The Penn Publishing Company
  226 S. 11th Street, Philadelphia



  _The Quiet Hotel_

  A Farcical Sketch in One Act

  BY
  FRANK DUMONT

  Author of “HOW A WOMAN KEEPS A SECRET”,
  “THE DEPOT LUNCH COUNTER,” etc.

  [Illustration]


  PHILADELPHIA
  THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
  1912



COPYRIGHT 1912 BY THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY



The Quiet Hotel



CHARACTERS


  MISS CALCIUM           _An actress, looking for rest._
  SUSAN                      _Who runs the Quiet Hotel._
  RUBBER-NECK    _Colored porter and general assistant._

NOTE.--Rubber-Neck may easily be played as a white character part if
preferred.

TIME:--Twenty-five minutes.



STORY OF THE SKETCH


Susan and Rubber-Neck keep a country hotel advertised as “very quiet.”
Miss Calcium, an actress, comes with her wardrobe in one suit-case.
“You may stay just one day on that baggage.” Rubber-Neck wants to be an
actor. Miss Calcium’s attempt at tragedy scares Rubber-Neck and Susan.
“This is a quiet hotel.” She shows them how to do it. “You are tied to
the track.” “Hold on, maybe dat train don’t stop here.” The thrilling
rescue scene. Rubber-Neck’s train of cars. “You’re both real actors.
We’ll do a sister act in vaudeville.” “All right; it’s better than
keeping a quiet hotel.”



COSTUMES


MISS CALCIUM. Traveling suit and hat, very pronounced and dashing in
style. She may be anywhere from twenty to forty in age.

SUSAN. Smart chambermaid’s costume, with rather short skirt, and a neat
little apron. Age, twenty to thirty.

RUBBER-NECK. Black face (or white, if preferred). May be of any age.
Wears dark trousers, gingham shirt, and a uniform cap with word
“Porter” on front. Costume may be made comic as desired.



PROPERTIES


For Miss Calcium, dress-suit case and umbrella. For Rubber-Neck,
child’s train of cars, dinner-bell, whistle. For Susan, call-bell.

The noise of an approaching train is easily imitated behind scenes
with a piece of sheet-iron which is struck with two beaters similar to
egg beaters. This effect may, however, be omitted if preferred, as the
action does not absolutely depend on it.



The Quiet Hotel


SCENE.--_Any plain interior will serve. Entrances R. and L. Table up C.
May be furnished, if preferred, as a country hotel office, with table
C., counter up L., with ink-bottle and pen, and bell. Posters on walls
advertising county fairs and circuses, sales of stock, etc. A few old
wooden armchairs scattered about._

(_Curtain rises on empty stage. After a slight pause enter MISS
CALCIUM, R._)

MISS C. Well, this place is well named. It’s the Quiet Hotel, all
right. It ought to be a fine rest cure for my tired nerves. (_Calls
musically._) Hello! (_Listens._) My, just hear that echo! (_Calls
again._) Hello! Hello! No answer. I never before saw a house so
completely full of emptiness. (_Calls._) Landlord! Clerk! Bell-boy!
Telephone operator! Waiter! Chambermaid!

(_Each time she calls she raps on counter or floor with umbrella._)

(_Enter SUSAN, L., leisurely, with hands in apron pockets._)

SUSAN. Oh, good-morning! Er--were you looking for any one?

MISS C. (_loudly_). Looking for---- Say, is this really a hotel?

SUSAN. Certainly. A little less noise, please. We’re not used to it.

MISS C. Oh, indeed. And who are you, please?

SUSAN. Who, me? Oh, I’m it.

MISS C. It?

SUSAN. Sure. The main squeeze, the high guy, the whole works; in fact,
I’m the hotel.

MISS C. I don’t understand. You----

SUSAN. Why, I’m understudy for the landlord, that’s all, and
incidentally I’m clerk, bookkeeper, chambermaid, manicure,
stenographer, head cook and bottle washer. In fact, I’m the whole
force, except the porter.

MISS C. (_dazed_). Oh, except the porter. I see. So you are in full
charge of the hotel?

SUSAN. Am I! If I quit the place it will have to close up and move to
(_name near-by town_).

MISS C. You must be a very important person in this hotel.

SUSAN (_calmly_). I am. I own it.

MISS C. (_surprised_). You own it?

(_Enter RUBBER-NECK, R. He sneaks with exaggerated quietness toward the
suit-case which is behind MISS C. She does not see him. As he is about
to snatch it SUSAN frowns and shakes her head at him, and he hastily
retreats to door R. His head, however, remains in sight, and he keeps
his eye on the suit-case._)

SUSAN. Yes. You see they owed me so much in wages it was cheaper to
just give me the hotel than to pay up in cash.

MISS C. Well, you’re lucky. (_Looks about._) It looks like a fine place.

SUSAN. Best in the country. You get three meals a day here, and at each
meal four kinds of meat--ram, lamb, sheep and mutton.

MISS C. But I don’t like mutton.

SUSAN (_firmly_). Now don’t tell me what you like or what you don’t
like. You like meals, don’t you?

MISS C. Certainly, but----

SUSAN. Well, that’s what you get here--meals, just plain meals.

MISS C. I don’t think I’ll like it here. When is the next train?

SUSAN. The next train just left.

(_RUBBER makes another quiet dive for the bag, but SUSAN shakes her
head and he scrambles back to door R._)

MISS C. What were you doing when I came in?

SUSAN. Oh, just sweeping down the halls and stairs, making the beds,
checking up the accounts, doing up my hair, shifting two bureaus,
setting the dining-room tables, and making an apple pie.

MISS C. Oh, is that all?

SUSAN. Yep--nothing to do till to-morrow. This is a very quiet, restful
place.

MISS C. Well, I guess I’ll try it. The doctor has ordered me to take a
rest for a week.

SUSAN. A week, eh? I suppose you have lots of money?

MISS C. Well, no. You see, I’m an actress, and I’ve just closed one
engagement and am waiting now for another.

SUSAN. Humph! Then you’re out of a job?

MISS C. Er--yes, temporarily. What are your rates? Won’t you call the
porter and have him take my bag to a room?

(_RUBBER starts toward bag again hopefully, but SUSAN checks him with a
gesture._)

SUSAN. Well, I---- What have you got in the bag?

MISS C. That bag contains my wardrobe.

(_RUBBER disappears._)

SUSAN. Well, I guess you can stay one day on that baggage if you pay in
advance. (_Taps bell and calls off R. and L._) Porter! Porter! Ain’t
the help something awful nowadays? You can’t never depend on them.
Porter!

RUBBER (_rushing in R. all out of breath_). Yas’m, yas’m. Here I is.

SUSAN (_severely_). Where were you? What do you mean by keeping this
lady waiting?

RUBBER. Well, I was jest out to the gay-rage, fixin’ up the limousine,
an’----

SUSAN (_loftily_). Well, you know I prefer the electric runabout in the
afternoons. Show the lady up to Room 948.

RUBBER. Yas’m. (_Scratches head doubtfully._) You said Room 948?

SUSAN. Yes, and be quick about it.

(_RUBBER starts L. with bag, but returns._)

RUBBER. Yas’m. Excuse me--but is that de back room or de front room?

MISS C. Oh, any room will suit me. We actresses have to get used to all
sorts of accommodations.

RUBBER (_setting bag down L._) Oh, is you an actress?

SUSAN. Certainly she’s an actress. She’s played in Uncle Tom’s Cabin,
haven’t you, Miss--Miss----

MISS C. Miss Calcium. I’d better sign the register. (_Goes to counter
and writes in book._) Yes, I’ve played Topsy and Little Eva. And I’ve
supported John Drew.

RUBBER. Oh, my, oh, my, she supported John Drew. I’m goin’ to tell his
wife.

SUSAN. She means on the stage, stupid. You’re a blockhead.

RUBBER. Guess I is. Every time I brush my hair I gets my fingers full
of splinters. So you is an actress?

(_Walks around her admiringly._)

MISS C. Certainly.

RUBBER. Well, I’m certainly pleased to meet you. I was on the stage
once.

MISS C. Oh, were you? Then we are fellow Thespians.

RUBBER (_uncertainly_). Yas’m, I guess so. What secret society is dat?

MISS C. Thespians--actors, you know. How long were you on the stage?

RUBBER. About twelve hours a day.

MISS C. Twelve hours a day! You ought to belong to the Actors’ Union.
Where was it?

RUBBER. Oh, right heah, right heah. I drove the stage from heah to
(_name small town_).

MISS C. (_laughing_). Oh, I see.

RUBBER. My, it’s certainly been de dream of my life to meet an actress.
(_Poses._) I’ve always thought I’d be an actor.

SUSAN. You’d be a bad actor. You couldn’t do it. You need talent to be
an actor.

RUBBER. No, all you need is cheek. I got lots of cheek. And then, look
at my shape. (_Poses._) I’m goin’ to join a show de first chance I get.

SUSAN. No you don’t, Rubber; no you don’t. I need you right here in the
hotel.

RUBBER. Well, I made up my mind I’m goin’ to do it.

SUSAN. Well, then, I’ll have to confess. I’m an actress myself. I’ve
been taking a course in the Theatrical Correspondence School.

MISS C. (_laughing_). Oh, dear! What could you do on the stage?

SUSAN. Walk on and make a bluff at it--the way I see lots of them do at
(_name local theatre_).

RUBBER. And put on lots of paint.

MISS C. I never paint.

SUSAN. Neither do I. I belong to the Kalsominers’ Union. If you paint
you can’t fool a woman for half a minute, but you can fool almost any
man for nearly two minutes.

MISS C. Well, I’m thankful to say there’s nothing false about me.

SUSAN. Is that your own hair?

MISS C. Yes, every curl and puff.

SUSAN. How much did you pay for it?

MISS C. Nature gave it to me. I have only to pull out a few hairpins
and it falls down to my knees.

RUBBER. If you’d pull ’em all out it would fall down to the floor.

MISS C. You’re a rude person. But we actresses have to meet all kinds.

RUBBER. Oh, my! I guess I better apologize. If I said anything I should
be sorry for I’m glad of it.

SUSAN. You must excuse him. He never had any bringing up. Where was
your father born?

RUBBER. In San Francisco.

SUSAN. And your mother?

RUBBER. In Boston.

SUSAN. Well, that accounts for it.

RUBBER. For what?

SUSAN. Your Chicago accent.

RUBBER. Now, don’t go springing jokes like that on me.

MISS C. Oh, you’ll hear jokes a good deal worse than that when you get
on the stage. So you both want to act, do you?

SUSAN. I’m crazy about it.

RUBBER (_strutting around_). Just try me, dat’s all. I’m willin’ to
play anythin’ from Hamlet to pinochle.

MISS C. (_thoughtfully_). Well, I have been thinking lately of forming
a little vaudeville company.

SUSAN (_edging up close to her, ecstatically_). Yes, yes--go on.

RUBBER (_edging up on the other side_). Uh-huh! Go on, gal, I’m
a-listenin’.

MISS C. And you’re sure you’d like acting?

SUSAN.  }
        } Yes, yes.
RUBBER. }

(_Slight pause. MISS C. slowly walks R. The others stand L._)

MISS C. (_suddenly_). Ah, ha! There he stands--(_pointing to RUBBER_)
the man who murdered my father----

RUBBER (_scared_). Go ’way, woman, I don’t know your father.

MISS C. (_continuing rapidly and tragically_). Then forced open the
safe and took the jewels and the money.

RUBBER (_dodging behind table badly scared_). Now listen at dat woman
lyin’ about me. You can’t prove it.

MISS C. (_turning on SUSAN_). And you--you helped him in his dastardly
work. (_Goes L._) You poisoned the child--muh--muh poor little che-ild.

(_She weeps. SUSAN retreats around table, but RUBBER pushes her away._)

RUBBER. Go on away. Don’t you touch me. You poisoned a kid. I always
knew you was that kind of a woman. My, ain’t you ashamed of yourself?

MISS C. (_to both_). Then you destroyed the will and set fire to the
house.

SUSAN. The woman’s crazy!

RUBBER. Oh, let me out of here! Police! Fire! Murder!

MISS C. (_making a sudden movement toward RUBBER_). Villain! Your time
has come. Scoundrel--you cannot escape me.

(_Makes a rush for the table. RUBBER and SUSAN both dive under it._)

SUSAN (_under table_). Oh, dear, I’m sorry I let her stay.

RUBBER (_under table_). She’s crazy as a June-bug--that’s what she is.
She’s sufferin’ with the heat.

MISS C. (_laughing silently--then continuing in tragic tone_). I have
tracked you at last. I am that old man’s daughter.

RUBBER. Say, lady, all the money I got’s in the pocket of my other
pants out in the stable. Won’t you take it and leave here?

MISS C. Money! What do I care for money now! The law could not reach
you--but I will.

(_She seizes RUBBER and drags him from under the table, and throws him
L.; then pulls out SUSAN, crying, “You, too,” and throws her R. They
sit on floor, frightened. MISS C. sits on table C., fanning herself._)

RUBBER. Honest, lady, I never done it.

SUSAN (_crying_). Oh, please go--please go.

MISS C. (_laughing_). Well, how do you like acting now?

RUBBER (_rising_). Was that acting?

SUSAN (_rising_). You don’t mean it?

MISS C. Certainly. That is a scene from my great part in “A Woman’s
Secret; or, Foiled by Fate.”

SUSAN. And people paid real money to see that?

MISS C. Of course. We played to capacity houses for weeks.

RUBBER. Gee! (_He picks up suit-case and runs out R._)

SUSAN. Well, if people are as easy as that I guess I can get their
money. What do you have to learn first?

MISS C. Well, the first thing is the voice. You must have a good,
strong voice to be an actor.

(_Enter RUBBER, R., swinging a lantern._)

RUBBER (_in a loud singsong voice mostly in one note_).
Train--goin’ west! Buffalo--Cleveland--Chicago--Omaha--Denver--Salt
Lake--Yellowstone Park--Seattle--Tacoma--Alaska--and all way
stations!--Train--goin’--west! Al-l-l-l aboard!

MISS C. (_putting hands over ears_). Mercy, his voice is strong enough.

RUBBER. I can do it louder. (_Begins again, more loudly._) Train
goin’--east--Chicago----

MISS C. (_hands over ears_). That will do! I thought this was a quiet
hotel.

SUSAN (_grabbing RUBBER and stopping him_). Cut it out. We know you can
do it.

MISS C. So you liked that acting, did you?

SUSAN. Show us how to do it and you can board here for nothing.

MISS C. Well, that’s very bad acting. I’m not going to do any more of
it.

RUBBER. Not on me, you won’t.

MISS C. But I’ll show you how to do the real thing. When you’ve once
begun, stick to it, and you’ll win. Persistent effort--that’s the key
to success.

RUBBER. That’s me. Hard work’s my middle name. Yas’m, I kin stick to it
all right.

MISS C. Very well. I see--I see you both have talent, and can stand
hard knocks. (_To SUSAN._) We’ll go into vaudeville. You and I will do
a sister act.

RUBBER. Oh, won’t you let me be a sister to you?

MISS C. I’ll think about it. I’ll arrange a part for you in a
melodramatic sketch I have written. I call it “The Special Train.”

RUBBER (_starting across stage calling as before_). Train--goin’--north!
Nottingham--Newbury--Newport--Noblestown--Norwood--Nux Vomica, and New
York! All-l-l aboard!

(_SUSAN and MISS C. try to stop him._)

MISS C. Don’t do that again; do you hear?

RUBBER. Yes’m. Tell me about dis “Special Train.”

MISS C. All the managers are crazy about it.

RUBBER. If you stay here much longer I’ll be as crazy as they are.

MISS C. Now this sketch is very simple and easily rehearsed. Here are
the railroad tracks.

(_Points to floor. RUBBER peers at floor, then taps his head._)

RUBBER. She’s seeing things again!

MISS C. There is the ticket office! (_Points R._)

SUSAN. That’s the barber shop.

MISS C. And I am--the villain!

RUBBER. We know that.

MISS C. (_to RUBBER_). I take you and tie you to the railroad track.

RUBBER. Good-night! (_Starts R._)

MISS C. Wait a moment!

RUBBER. No, ma’am! You are too dangerous for me.

MISS C. But no harm comes to you; for as the special train comes
dashing along----

RUBBER (_interrupting_). Wait a minute! Wait a minute! Maybe dat train
don’t stop at dis station--then it’s good-bye nigger for me!

SUSAN. Don’t be a coward! You can die but once.

RUBBER. Well--once is enough for me! I don’t know how to die. I ain’t
had no practice.

MISS C. Then I will not call upon you to lie upon the track--I will lie
there myself.

SUSAN (_heroically_). And I will save you.

RUBBER. And I’ll get the reward.

MISS C. Now, then, to business. I am tied to the track. (_To RUBBER._)
You’ll be the train. You go and get a locomotive!

RUBBER. Say! I done told you that woman ain’t right. Where am I going
to steal a locomotive?

MISS C. Oh, get a train of cars! Now don’t stand there talking. Do as I
tell you. Get the train! Get the special train!

SUSAN (_imitating_). Get the train--get the special train. Ask Willie
for a train of cars.

MISS C. (_pushing RUBBER L._). Go on. Get the train. Get the special
train!

(_SUSAN and MISS C. push RUBBER off L. 2 E., as he protests._)

SUSAN (_laughing_). The idea! He doesn’t know where to steal a little
thing like a locomotive!

MISS C. Now to business! I lie here upon the tracks. (_Lies with head
toward footlights._) When I scream for help, you come and pull me off
the tracks. Remember your cue.

SUSAN. All right! (_Runs up R. C._) What’s my cue?

MISS C. Save me--some one--save me!

SUSAN. All right. Save me--some one--save me!

MISS C. Ah! The train is coming at the rate of sixty miles a second.

SUSAN (_shouting_). Save me--some one--save me!

MISS C. (_sitting up_). Wait until I say it. The special train is
coming at the rate of sixty miles a second. (_Music hurry. Whistle of
train is heard in distance with noise of train. See properties. The
noise grows louder and nearer. MISS C. screams._) Save me! Save me! Who
will save me? (_SUSAN is hopping about, not knowing what to do, and
MISS C. repeats the cue several times, and then shouts over the din._)
Come on and save me! That’s your cue! (_Just as SUSAN is about to drag
MISS C. from the supposed tracks RUBBER prances on from L. 2 E., with a
small tin or toy locomotive and cars to which a string is attached. He
is ringing a dinner-bell and blowing a whistle, which he holds between
his teeth. He goes across the stage making a detour to avoid running
over the others. At R. he pauses and looks back at them, still ringing
bell. MISS C. rises._) Oh, dramatic art! What crimes are committed
in thy name! (_To RUBBER._) Stop ringing that bell. (_She stands C.,
SUSAN L. RUBBER stops ringing and begins to blow whistle._) Stop that
whistling!

(_MISS C. snatches whistle from RUBBER._)

RUBBER (_grieved and surprised_). Didn’t you done tole me to stick to
it, when I once begun?

SUSAN. Certainly she did.

MISS C. (_laughing_). Yes, I did, but----

RUBBER. Well, I’m a-stickin’. (_Rings bell._) And you said this is the
special train, didn’t you?

MISS C. Yes, but this is a quiet hotel, and----

RUBBER (_firmly_). It’s goin’ to be still quieter. If you’re goin’ you
better git on. Al-l-l aboard--special way train for the subway, the
Great White Way and Broadway. (_Blows whistle._) Al-l-l aboard!

SUSAN. That’s it--that’s the way I’m going. No more hotel for mine!
(_Dramatic gesture._) It’s me for the footlights.

MISS C. (_C., with others either side of her_). You’re both all right.
Hereafter we’re the Calcium Comedy Company, Unlimited! We’ll take the
Quiet Hotel to Broadway and make a noise with it they can hear half-way
to San Francisco!--All-l-l aboard!

(_The sketch may be ended with a song or other specialty if preferred._)


CURTAIN



Practical Elocution

By J. W. SHOEMAKER, A. M.

300 pages

Cloth, Leather Back, $1.25

[Illustration]


This work is the outgrowth of actual class-room experience, and is a
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The work includes a systematic treatment of Gesture in its several
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Sold by all booksellers, or sent, prepaid, upon receipt of price.


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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:


Italicized or underlined text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.



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