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Jacobs, W.W. (William Wymmark) 
The Ghost of Bundler 





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French's International Copyrighted (in Kneland, her Colonies, an. 
t'niu-d Stales, Edition oi the Works of the Best Authors. 


> 1 

- ! 

o i 




No. 138 








! () \ Prof< -.-ionaU and Amateurs are hereby 
warned that "Tm-: (limsi OF 

being fully protected under tin- copyright laws 
of the L'nitcd Staie>, is .subjer* to a royalty, 
and an\- tin4 the plav withntu tl 

rlu- t)\vin.-rs . r their author; .11 be 

liable to the penalties by law provided. Applications 

,-ssionals and Amateur acting rights must be 

:;uiel l : rench. t 45th Street, 





c. 1 



-e\v York : 

\< II 

London : 

26 Southampton Street 


A mystery thriller in 3 acts. By Arnold Ridley. Pro- 
duced originally at the Eltinge Theatre, New York. 7 
males, 4 females, i interior scene. Modern costumes. 

The story is laid in a peaceful village in Maine where there lives 
a superstition of twenty years standing about a ghost train which 
flashes by in the dead of night, swinging the scythe of death. Rum- 
runners use this superstition to their own advantage in the transporta- 
tion of liquor from Canada. As the night train draws into the small 
station, some passengers get off and the train moves on. These 
passengers are compelled to wait all night, for they have missed con- 
nections. And what a night they spend. When the decrepit old 
station-master tells them about the terrifying "Ghost Train," bring- 
ing death to all who observe it, they just poo-pooh the idea. But 
everything happens as forecast. The station-master is stricken dead 
mysteriously. The signal bell rings. The engine whistles. The train 
roars through the junction and one who rashly gazes upon it appar- 
ently succumbs. Lovers of mystery plays will find here a piece to 
their liking. 

"If you want a hair-raising, seat-gripping ride, buy your tickets 
early for 'The Ghost Train.' " New York Mirror. 

(Royalty, fifty dollars.) PRICE 75 CENTS. 


A mystery play in 3 acts. By Fulton Oursler and Lowell 
Brentano. Produced originally at Channin's Forty-Sixth 
Street Theatre in New York. 21 males, 3 females. 5 in- 
terior scenes. Modern costumes. 

Here is a novelty, if there ever was one, replete with chills and 
fevers. The authors have represented the dastardly murder of Carring- 
ton, not on the stage, but in the audience. While Alexander, assistant 
to Chatrand the Great, is reading the initials on your watch the 
lights go out, a shot is fired and when the lights go up again Car- 
rington is discovered mortally wounded on a runway over the 
orchestra pit ; and immediately the theatre is loud with excitement. 
Who fired the shot? As the play goes on through the succeeding 
scenes, bringing doctors and policemen up the aisles, bidding the 
audience to remain seated, and posting officers at every exit to pre- 
vent escape, suspicion rests on the magician, the girl and others. 
Shots bark here and there. House lights go on and off. Ghastly 
objects swing across the darkness; strange faces and eerie voices. 
And all in good time the slippery scoundrel is discovered. 

(Royalty, thirty-five dollars.) PRICE 75 CENTS. 






CAUTION: Professionals and amateurs are hereby 
being fully protected under the copyright laws 
of the United States, is subject to a royalty, 
and anyone presenting the play without the consent 
of the owners or their authorized agents will be 
liable to the penalties by law provided. Applications 
for professional and amateur acting rights must be 
made to Samuel French, 25 West 45th Street, 
New York, 

New York : 

25 West 45th Street 

London : 


26 Southampton Street 



Especial notice should be taken that the possession of 
mis book without a valid contract for production first 
having been obtained from the publisher, confers no right 
or license to professionals or amateurs to produce the play 
publicly or in private for gain or charity. 

In its present form this play is dedicated to the reading 
public only, and no performance, representation, produc- 
tion, recitation, or public reading, or radio broadcasting 
may be given except by special arrangement with Samuel 
French, 25 West 45th Street, New York. 

This play may be presented by amateurs upon payment 
of a royalty of Five Dollars for each performance, 
payable to Samuel French, 25 West 45th Street, 
New York, one week before the date when the play is 

Whenever the play is produced the following notice must 
appear on all programs, printing and advertising for the 
play: "Produced by special arrangement with Samuel 
French of New York." 

Attention is called to the penalty provided by law for 
any infringement of the author's rights, as follows. 

"SECTION 4966: Any person publicly performing or rep- 
resenting any dramatic or musical composition for which 
copyright has been obtained, without the consent of the 
proprietor of said dramatic or musical composition, or his 
heirs and assigns, shall be liable for damages thereof, such 
damages, in all cases to be assessed at such sum, not less 
than one hundred dollars for the first and fifty dollars for 
every subsequent performance, as to the court shall appear 
to be just. If the unlawful performance and representation 
be wilful and for profit, such person or persons shall be 
guilty of a misdemeanor, and upon conviction shall be im- 
prisoned for a period not exceeding one year."- :U. S. 
Revised Statutes: Title 60, Chap. 3. 


Cast at Ube tmpmarfeet ZTbeatre. 

SEPT. 9, 1902. 

HIRST Mr. Cyril Maude. 

rKNioi.n. Mr. George Trollope, 

MALCOLM Mr. Lewis Broughtoa 

SOMKRS Mr Marsh Allen. 

r.r.i DON Mr. H. Norton. 

DR. LKKK Mr. Wilfred Forster. 

GEORGE (a waiter) Mr. Charles Rock. 

NOTE. Pen fold, Malcolm, and Beldon represent different 
types of Commercial Travellers. 

<Dri0inal Cast. 

PENFOLD Mr. Holman Clarke. 

MALCOLM Mr. Holmes Gore. 

HIRST Mr. Cyril Maude. 

SOMERS Mr. Frank Gillmore. 

DOCTOR LEEK Mr. C. M. Hallard. 

F.i.i.PON Mr. Cecil Ramsay. 

GKORC.K (a waiter) ... Mr. Mark Kinghorr-e. 

, >7. James's Tlieatre, London, June 20, 1899. 

/,'7/W. 11. r .lA/> *///'* 77/r<///v, J>ine 20, 1902. Same cast 
lit .]//. Fr<inl- (fi/fniftrf. ir/iw fHU't ir,i* jf<i>/,<! by 
Ifr. C/t<irlm nrk. Tin- 11, rum i, M,rir,i!c Ji> -H, tit Mot i nee. 

Ifai/it t <irJ,;f Timlin: S<jit. 0,1902^ Ran 100 performance* 
Avenue Theatre. Dec. 20, 1902. an88j>erformanca*. 


SCENE. The Commercial Room in an old-fashioned 

Jute I iii d small country town. An air of old-fashioned 
comfort ts in evidence everywhere. Old sporting prints 
on the walls. 

On the table up c. are half a dozen candlesticks, old-fash' 
ioned shape with snuffer attached. Two pairs of car- 
pet slippers are set up within fender. Red curtains to 
window recess. Shutters or blinds to windows. Arm- 
c'lair and about six other chairs in the room. One 
old- fashioned settle. O'te small tabk. Clock. De- 
canter of water, Jialf a dozen toddy tumblers. Matches, 
etc. The only ligJit is a ruddy glow from the fire. ' Ket- 
tle on hob. Moonlight from R. of window when shutter 
is opened. Pnictical chandelier from ceiling or lights 
at side of mantelpiece. DOCTOR'S coat and muffler on. 
chair up L., his cap on mantelpiece. 

All lights out, dark stage. Opening music. Curtain 
rise ticking of clock heard. M'ind^ then church flock 
chimes, the Lights come very slowly up, when the red 
glow is seen in the fireplace, the low murmurs of the 
characters heard) and gradually get louder as lights 
come up to when SOMKRS' voice tops all. 

{T/ic stage occupied by all characters except GEORGE the 

Vr. /V.Qvrvv,/, l'r.\i 01 i>, sitting in arm chair L. 

of fin\ al'orc it. Doriou I.KKK standing above fire 

and leaning on mantelshelf. HIRST sitting on settle 



below fire and nearest to audience. SOMERS seated on 
settle with him but above him. MALCOLM and BEL- 
DON on chairs R. c., facing fire. ALL are smoking, 
and drink from their respective glasses from time to 
time. SOMERS has just finished a story as Curtain 
rises. ) 

OMNES. Oh, I say, that sounds impossible, etc. 

SOMERS. Haunted or not haunted, the fact remains 
that no one stays in the house long. It's been let to 
several tenants since the time of the murder, but they 
never completed their tenancy. The last tenant held 
out for a month, but at last he gave up like the rest, 
and cleared out, although he had done the place up 
thoroughly, and must have been pounds out of pocket 
by the transaction. 

MALCOLM. Well, it's a capital ghost story, I admit, 
that is, as a story, but I for one can't swallow it. 

HIRST. I don't know, it is not nearly so improb* 
able as some I have heard. Of course it's an old 
idea that spirits like to get into the company of human 
beings. A man told me once, that he travelled down 
by the Great Western, with a ghost as fellow passenger, 
and hadn't the slightest suspicion of it, until the in- 
spector came for tickets. My friend said, the way that 
ghost tried to keep up appearances, by feeling in all its 
pockets, and even looking on the floor for its ticket, 
was quite touching. Ultimately it gave it up, and with 
a loud groan vanished through the ventilator. 

(SOMERS, MALCOLM and LEEIC laugh heartily^) 

BELDON Oh, I say come iiow, that'll do. 

PENFOLD (seriously}. Personally I don't think it's 
a subject for jesting. I have never seen an apparition 
myself, but I have known people who have, and I con- 
sider that they form a veiy interesting link between us 
and the after life. There's a ghost story connected 
with this house, you know. 


OMNES. Eh! Oh? Really! 

MALCOLM (rising atnl going to mantelpiece, takes up 
his glass of toddy}. Well, I have used this house for 
sonic years now. I travel for Blennet and Burgess 
wool and come here regularly three times a year, and 
1'vr never heard of it. (Sits down again on his chair , 
holding glass in his hand.) 

LKKK. And I've been here pretty often too, though 
I have only been in practice here for a couple of years, 
and I have never heard it mentioned, and I must say I 
don't believe in anything of the sort. In my opinion 
ghosts are the invention of weak-minded idiots. 

PENFOLD. Weak-minded idiots or not, there is a 
ghost story connected with this house, but it dates a 
long time back. 

(GEORGE, the waiter , enters D. L. with tray and 

Oh, here's George, he'll bear me out. You've heard of 
Jerry Bundler, George ? 

GEORGE (c.). Well, I've just 'card odds and ends, 
sir, but I never put much count to 'em. There was 
one chap 'ere, who was under me when fust I come, he 
said he seed it, and the Guv'nor sacked him there and 
then. (Goes to table by window r , puts tray down, takes 
up glass and wipes it slowly.) 

(MEN laugh.) 

PENFOLD. Well, my father was a native of this 
town, and he knew the story well. He was a truthful 
man and a steady churchgoer. But I have heard him 
declare that once in his life he saw the ghost of Jerry 
Bundler in this house ; let me see, George, you don't 
remember my old dad, do you? 

(GEORGE puts down glasses orer table.) 

No, sir. I come here forty years ago 
next Easter, but I fancy he was before my time. 


PENFOLD. Yes, though not by long. He died when 
I was twenty, and I shall be sixty-two next month, but 
that's neither here nor there. 

(GEORGE goes tip to table c. tidying up and listening.) 

LEEK. Who was this Jerry Bundler ? 

PENFOLD. A London thief, pickpocket, highway- 
man anything he could turn his dishonest ha/)d to, 
and he was run to earth in this house some eighty 
years ago. 

(GEORGE puts glass down and stands listening.) 
He took his last supper in this room. 

(PENFOLD leans forward. BELDON looks round to 
L. nervously) 

That. night soon after he had gone to bed, a couple of 
Bow Street runners, the predecessors of our present 
detective force turned up here. They had followed 
him from London, but had lost scent a bit, so didn't 
arrive till late. A word to the landlord, whose descrip- 
tion of the stranger who had retired to rest, pointed to 
the fact that he was the man they were after, of course 
enlisted his aid and that of the male servants and 
stable hands. The officers crept quietly up to Jerry's 
bedroom and tried the door, it wouldn't budge. It was 
of heavy oak and bolted from within. 

(OMNES lean forward, showing interest.} 

Leaving his comrade and a couple of grooms to guard 
the bedroom door, the other officer went into the yard, 
and, procuring a short ladder, by this means reached 
the window of the room in which Jerry was sleeping. 
The Inn servants and stable hands saw him get on to 
the sill and. try to open the window. Suddenly there 
was a crash of glass, and with a cry, he fell in a heap 
on to the stones at their feet. Then in the moonlight, 


they saw the face of the highwayman peering over the 

(OMNES move uneasily.) 

They sent for the blacksmith, and with his sledge-ham- 
mer he battered in the strong oak panels, and the first 
thing that met their eyes was the body of Jerry Bundler 
dangling from the top of the four-post bed by his own 

(OMNES sit back, draw their breath, and arc generally 
uneasy. Slight paused) 

SOMERS. I say, which bedroom was it ? (JSamestfy). 

PENFOLD. That I can't tell you, but the story goes 
that Jerry still haunts this house, and my father used to 
declare positively that the last time he slept here, the 
ghost of Jerry Bundler lowered itself from the top of 
his four-post bed and tried to strangle him. 

UELDON {jumps np, gets behind his chair, twists 
chair round ; nervously). O, I say, that'll do. I wish 
you'd thought to ask your father which bedroom it 

PENFOLD. What for ? 

BELDON. Wt. 11, I should take jolly good care not 
to sleep in it, that's all. {Goes to back.) 

(PENFOLD rising, goes to fire, and knocks out his pipe> 
LKKK gets by arm-'-hair.) 

PENFOLD. There's nothing to fear. I don't believe 
for a moment that ghosts could really hurt one. 
(CiK.ouc.K li^/its candle at table.} In fact, my father 
used to say that it was only the unpleasantness of the 
thing that upset him, and that, for all practical pur- 
, Jerry's fingers might have been made of cotton 
wool for all the harm they could do. 

hands candle, gets to door and holds it open.) 

That's all very fine, a ghost story is a 
ghost story, but when a gentleman tells a tale of a 


ghost that haunts the house in which one is going to 
sleep, I call it most ungentlemanly. 

fl/aces his chair to L. of table R. PENFOLD goes 
up to c. LEEK sits in ar^ chair. BELDON goes to 

PENFOLD. Pooh ! Nonsense. (At table up C.). 
(During his speech GEORGE lights one of the candles.) 

Ghosts can't hurt you. For my own part, I should 
rather like to see one. 

OMNES. Oh, come now -- etc. 

PENFOLD. Well, I'll bid you good-night, gentlemen, 

(He goes towards door L. GEORGE opens it for him ; ht 
passes out as they all say.) 

OMNES. Good-night. 

(HIRST rises , crosses to L. c.) 

BELDON (up R., calling after him). And I hope 
Jerry'll pay you a visit. 

MALCOLM (rises, goes to fere]. Well, I'm going to 
have another whisky if you gentlemen will join me. I 
think it'll do us all good after that tale. George, take 
the orders. 

(GEORGE comes down with salver to table R., gathers up 

SOMERS. Not quite so much hot water in mine. 
MALCOLM. I'll have the same again, George. 
BELDON. A leetle bit of lemon in mine, George. 
LEEK. Whisky and soda for me, please. 
HIRST. Whisky ! 

(GEORGE goes to table R., collects glasses, crosses to door 
L. speaks.) 

GEORGE (to MALCOLM). Shall I light the gas, Mr. 
Malcolm ? (At door. \ 


MALCOLM. No, the fire's very comfortable, unless 
any of you gentlemen prefer the gas. 

OMNES. No, not at all etc. 

MALCOLM. Never mind, George. {This to GEORGE 
as no one wants the gas.) The firelight is pleasanter. 

(Exit GEORGE for orders L.) 
(BELDON gets c.) 

MALCOLM (at fire). Does any gentleman know 
another ? 

SOMERS (seated R.). Well, I remember hear- 

BELDON (/// c.). Oh, I say that'll do. 

(OMNES laugh.) 

LEEK. Yes, I think you all look as if you'd heard 
enough ghost stories to do you the rest of your lives. 
And you're not all as anxious to see the real article as 
the old gentleman who's just gone. 

HIRST (looking to L.). Old humbug 1 I should 
like to put him to the test, (c.) (Bus.) I say, suppose 
I dress up as Jerry Bundler and go and give him a 
chance of displaying his courage ? I bet I'd make the 
old party sit up. 

MALCOLM. Capital ! 

BELDON. A good idea. 

LKKK. I shouldn't, if I were you. 

HIRST. Just for the joke, gentlemen (c.). 

SOMERS. No, no drop it, Hirst. 

HIRST. Only for the joke. Look here, I've got 
some things that'll do very well. We're going to have 
some amateur theatricals at my house. We're doing a 
couple of scenes from " The Rivals," Somers, (point- 
ing to SOMERS) and I have been up to town to,get the 
costumes, wigs, etc., to-day. I've got them up-stairs 
knee-breeches, stockings, buckled shoes, and all that 
sort of thing. It's a rare chance. If you wait a bit. 


I'll give you a full dress rehearsal, entitled "Jerry 
Bundler, or the Nocturnal Stranger." (At door L.). 

LEEK (sneeringly). You won't frighten us, will 

HIRST. I don't know so much about that it's a 
question of acting, that's all. 

MALCOLM. I'll bet you a level sov, you don't 
frighten me. 

HIRST (quietly}. A level sov. (Pauses.} Done. 
I'll take the bet to frighten you first, and the old boy 
afterwards. These gentlemen shall be the judges. 
(Points to LEEK and BELDON.) 

BELDON (up c.). You won't frighten us because 
we're prepared for you, but you'd better leave the old 
man alone. It's dangerous play. (Appeals to LEEK). 

HIRST. Well, I'll try you first. (Moves to door and 
pauses.') No gas, mind. 

OMNES. No ! no ! 

HIRST (laughs). I'll give you a run for your 

(GEORGE enters, holds door open.) 
(Exit HIRST.) 

(GEORGE passes drinks round. Five drinks. SOMERS 
takes the one ordered for HIRST and puts it on the 
table R. BELDON sits R. c. GEORGE crosses to table, 
puts two drinks down, goes to fire and gives drinks, 
then up to table, puts tray down, takes up glass and 
begins to wipe it, gets down L. for lines.) 

LEEK (to MALCOLM). I think you'll win your bet, 
sir, but I vote we give him a chance. Suppose we 
have cigars round, and if he's net back by the time 
we've finished them I must be off, as I have a quarter 
of an hour's walk before me. (Looks at watch.) He's 
a friend of yours, isn't he ? 

SOMERS. Yes, I have known him a good many 
years now, and I must say he's a rum chap ; just crazy 


about acting and practical joking, though I've often 
told him he carries the hitter too far at times. In this 
case it doesn't matter, but I won't let him try it on the 
old gentleman. You see we know what he's going to 
do, and are prepared, but he doesn't, and it might lead 
to illness or worse ; the old chap's sixty-two and such 
a shock might have serious consequences. But Hirst 
won't mind giving up that part of it, so long as he gets 
in opportunity of acting to us. 

LKKK. (knocks pipe on grate r Well, I hope he'll 
burry up. It's getting pretty late. (To SOMKRS.) 

MALCOLM. Well, gentlemen, your health 1^ 

SOMERS. Good luck. 

LEEK. Hurrah 1 

BELDON. Chin-chin ! 

LEEK. By the way, how is it you happen to be 
here to-night ? 

SOMERS. Oh, we missed the connection at Tolles- 
ton Junction and as the accommodation at the Railway 
Arms there was rather meagre, the Station Master ad- 
vised us to drive on here, put up for the night, and 
catch the Great Northern express from Exton in the 
morning. (Rises, crosses to L.) Oh, George, that 
reminds me you might see that ' Boots ' calls us at 7 

(BELDON rises t goes up to them to fire.") 

GEORGE. Certainly, sir. What are your numbers ? 

SOMERS. 13 and 14. 

GEORGE. I'll put it on the slate, special, sir. (Goes 
to door L.) 

LEEK. I beg pardon, gentlemen, I forgot the cig- 
ars ; George, bring some cigars back with you. 

BELDON. A very mild one for me. 

GEORGE. Very well, sir. (Takes up tray from side- 

(Exit L.) 



MALCOLM. I think you were very wise coming on 
here. (Sits on settle R.) I stayed att he Railway 
Arms, Tolleston, once never again though. Is your 
friend clever at acting ? 

SOMERS. I don't think he's clever enough to frighten 
you. I'm to spend Christmas at his place, and he's 
asked me to assist at the theatricals he spoke of. 
Nothing would satisfy him till I consented, and I 
must honestly say I am very sorry I ever did, for I 
expect I shall be pretty bad. I know I have scarcely 
slept a wink these last few nights, trying to get the 
words into my head. 

(GEORGE enters backwards, pale and trembling?) 

MALCOLM. Why! Look what the devil's the 
matter with George ? (Crosses to GEORGE.) 

GEORGE. I've seen it, gentlemen. (Down stage 

L. C.) 

OMNES. Seen who ? 

(BELDON down R. edge of table R. LEEK up R. c. 
SOMERS up R.) 

GEORGE. The ghost. Jer Bun 

MALCOLM. Why, you're frightened, George. 

GEORGE. Yes, sir. It was the suddenness of it, 
and besides I didn't look for seeing it in the bar. 
There was only a glimmer of light there, and it was 
sitting on the floor. I nearly touched it. 

MALCOLM (goes to door, looks ojf, then returns to 
others). It must be Hirst up to his tricks. George 
was out of the room when he suggested it. (To 
GEORGE.) Pull yourself together, man. 

GEORGE. Yes, sir but it took me unawares. I'd 
never have gone to the bar by myself if I'd known it 
was there, and I don't believe you would, either, sir. 

MALCOLM. Nonsense, I'll go and fetch him in. 
(Crosses to L.) 

GEORGE (clutching him by the sleeve). You don't 
know what it's like, sir. It ain't fit to look at by your- 


self, it ain't indeed. It's got the awfullest deathlike 
face, and short cropped red hair it's 

(Smothered cry i< he ird) 
What's that ? (Backs to C and leans on chair!) 

(ALL start, and a quick pattering of footsteps is heard 
rapidly approaching the room. The door flies open 
and \\.\KSV flings himself gasping and shivering into 
MALCOLM'S arms. The door remains open. He has 
only his trousers and shirt 0/1, his face very white 
with fear and his own hair all standing on end. 
LEEK lights the gas > then goes to R. of HIRST.) 

OMNES. What's the matter ? 
MALCOLM. Why, it's Hirst. 

(Shakes him roughly by the shoulder.) 

What's up ? 

HIRST. I've seen oh, Lord 1 I'll never play the 
fool again. (Goes c.) 

OTHERS. Seen what ? 

HIRST. Him it the ghost anything. 

MALCOLM (uneasily}. Rot ! 

HIRST. I was coming down the stairs to get some* 
thing I'd forgotten, when I felt a tap (He breaks ojf 
suddenly gazing through opc?i door.} I thought I saw 
it again Look at the foot of the stairs, can't you 
see anything? (Shaking LEEK.) 

LEEK (crosses to door peering down passage). No, 
there's nothing there. (Stays up L.) 

(HiRST7zw a sigh of relief ) 

MALCOLM (L. c.). Go on you felt a tap 
HIRST (c.). I turned and saw it a little wicked 

head with short red hair and a white dead face 


(Clock chimes three-quarters.) 

(They assist him into chair L. of table R.) 


GEORGE (up c.). That's what I saw in the bar 
'orrid it was devilish. (Coming c.) 

(MALCOLM crosses to L. HIRST shudders.} 

MALCOLM. Weil, it's a most unaccountable thing. 
It's the last time I come to this house. (Goes to R. of 

GEORGE. I leave to-morrow. I wouldn't go down 
to that bar alone no, not for fifty pounds. (Goes up 
R. to arm-chair.) 

SQMERS (crosses to door^. then returns to R. c.). It's 
talking about the thing that's caused it, I expeet 
We've had it in our minds, and we've been practi- 
cally forming a spiritualistic circle without knowing it. 
(Goes to back of table R.) 

% BELDON (crosses to R. c.). Hang the old gentleman. 
Upon my soul I'm half afraid to go to bed. 

MALCOLM. Doctor, it's odd they should both think 
they saw something. 

(They both drop down L. c.) 

GEORGE (up c.). I saw it as plainly as I see you, sir. 
P'raps if you keep your eyes turned up the passage 
you'll see it for yourself. (Points.} 

(They all look. BELDON goes to SOMERS.) 

BELDON. There what was that ? 

MALCOLM. Who'll go with me to the bar! 

LEEK. I will. (Goes to door} 

BELDON (gulps}. So will I. (Crosses to door L 
They go to the door. To MALCOLM.) After you, (They 
slowly pass into the passage. GEORGE watching them. 
All exit except HIRST and SOMERS.) 

SOMERS. How do you feel now, old man ? 

HIRST (changing his frightened manner to one of as- 
surance}. Splendid ! 

SOMERS. But (a step back} 

HIRST. I tell you I feel splendid. 

Til i: ( ! H< >ST OF JERRY BUNDLER. 15 

SOMKRS. Hut the ghost (Sfr/>s back to c.) 

1 1 IKS i'. \\V11, upon my word, Somers you're not 
as sharp as I thought you. 

SOMKRS. What do you mean? 

HlRST. Why, that I was the ghost George saw. 
(Ov/.v.\v.v to L. c.) By Jove, he was in a funk 1 I fol- 
Unu'd him to the door and overheard his description 
of what he'd seen, then I burst in myself and pretended 
I'd seen it too. I'm going to win that, bet (VOICES 
heard. Crosses to R.) Look out, they're coming back. 

SOMKKS. Yes, but 

HIRST. Don't give me away hush I 

(I>Ki,DON and GEORGE # up to back c.) 

HIRST. Did you see it? (/// his frightened man- 

MALCOLM (c.) I don't know I thought I saw 
something, but it might have been fancy. I'm in the 
mood to see anything just now. (To HIRST.) How 
are you feeling now, sir ? " 

HIRST. Oh, I feel a bit better now. I daresay you 
think I'm easily scared but you didn't see it. 

MALCOLM. Well, I'm not quite sure. (Goes to 

LEEK. You've had a bit of a shock. Best thing 
you can do is to go to bed. 

HIRST (finishing Jiis drink). Very well. Will you, 
(tises) share my room with me, Somers? 

(GEORGE lights two candles) 

SOMERS (crosses to L. c.). I will with pleasure. 
(Gets up to tab!.: r. and gets a candle}. Provided you 
don't mind sleeping with the gas full on all night. 
(Goes to door L.) 

LEEK (to HIRST). You'll be all right in the morn- 


HIRST. Good night, all. (As he crosses to door) 
OMNES. Good night. 

(ALL talking at fire, not looking to L. as HIRST and 
SOMERS exeunt, HIRST chuckles and gives SOMERS a 
sly dig.} 

SOMERS. Good night. 

MALCOLM (at fireplace). Well, I suppose the bet's 
off, though as far as I can see I won it. I never saw 
a man so scared in all my life. Sort of poetic justice 
about it. (LEEK with revolver in his hand, is just 
putting it into his pocket. Seeing him.) Why, what's 
that you've got there ? 

LEEK. A revolver. (At fire) You see I do a lot 
of night driving, visiting patients in outlying districts 
they're a tough lot round here, and one never knows 
what might happen, so I have been accustomed to 
carry it. I just pulled it out so as to have it handy. 
I meant to have a pot at that ghost if I had seen him. 
There's no law against it, is there ? I never heard of 
a close time for ghosts. 

BELDON. Oh, I say, never mind ghosts. VJ\\\ you 
share my room ? (To MALCOLM.) 

(GEORGE comes down a little, holding candle). 

MALCOLM. With pleasure. I'm not exactly fright- 
ened, but I'd sooner have company, and I daresay 
George here would be glad to be allowed to make up a 
bed on the floor. 

BELDON. Certainly. 

MALCOLM. Well, that's settled. A majority of three 
to one ought to stop any ghost. Will that arrangement 
suit you, George ? 

GEORGE. Thank you, sir. And if you gentlemen 
would kindly come down to the bar with me while I 
put out the gas. I could never be sufficiently grateful, 
and when (at door) we come back we can let the 
Doctor out at the front door. Will that do, sir ? 


I.KKK. All right; I'll be getting my coat on 
(GEOKC.E gets to door. They exit at door \.. LI-KK picks 
up his coat off chair up i.., puts it on and then turns up 
trousers, footsteps heard in flies, then goes to the win- 
dow* R. ,///r curtain aside and opens tlie shutters of the 
window nearest the fire. A flood of moonlight streams 
in from R. Clock strikes twelve.) By Jove, \vhat a 
lovely night. That poor devil did get a fright, and no 
mistake. (Crossing down to fireplace for his cap which 
is on the mantelpiece. MALCOLM, BELDON and GEORGE 
return the door closes after them.) Well, no sign of it, 

fh ? 

MALCOLM. No, we've seen nothing this time. 
Here, give me the candle, George, while you turn out 
the gas. 

LEEK. All right, George, I'll put this one out. 
(Turns out gas below fire) 

(MALCOLM and BELDON are /// at sideboard, GEORGE 
having put the other gas out, goes up to them and is 
just lighting the candles for them. The DOCTOR is 
filling his pipe at mantel-shelf, and stooping to get a 
light with a paper spill. LEEK whistles and lights 
spill. The handle of the door is heard moving. 
O.MNES stand motionless MALCOLM and BELDON 
very frightened. They all watch. The room is lit 
only by the fire-light which is very much fainter than 
it was at the beginning of the play, by the candle 
which GEORGE holds, and by the flood of moonlight 
from tJic window.) 

( r i7ie door slowly opens, a hand is seen, then a figure ap- 
pear* in dark breeches, white stockings, buckled shoes, 
white shirt, very neat in every detail, with a long white 
or spotted handkerchief tied round the neck, the long end 
hanging down in front. The face cadaverous, with 
sunken eyes and a leering smile, and close cropped red 
hair. The figure blinks at the candle, then slowly 
raises its hands and unties the handkerchief, its hsad 


falls on to one shoulder, it holds handkerchief out at 
arm's length and advances towards MALCOLM.) 




[Just as the figure reaches the place where the moon~ 
beams touch the floor ; LEEKyfrn 1 he has very quietly 
and unobtrusively drawn his revolver. GEORGE drops 
the candle and the figure, writhing, drops to the 
fioor. It coughs once a choking cough. MALCOLM 
goes sloivly forward, touches it with his foot, and 
kneels by figure, lifts figure up, gazes at it, and pulls 
the red wig off, discovering HIRST. MALCOLM gasps 
out "DOCTOR." LEEK places the revolver on chair, 
kneels behind HIRST. MALCOLM is L. c., kneeling. 
At this moment SOMERS enters very brightly with 
lighted candle]. 

SOMERS. Well, did Hirst win his bet? (Seeing 
HIRST on floor, he realizes the matter). My God, you 
didn't I told him not to. I told him not to ! 1 I 
told him -falls fainting into arms of GEORGE. 




(kneeling) (seated (kneeling) (at door L.) 
on fioor) 

NOTE. When played at The Haymarket the piece 
finished with a different ending as given below. MR. 
CYRIL MAUDE fearing the above tragic termination would 
be too serious. 


from SOMERS' entrance. 

SOMKRS enters w ; th lighted candle, and exclaims very 

SOMERS. Well, did Hirst win his bet ? 
Slight pause. 

HIRST (suddenly sitting ///). Yes. (Turning to DR. 
LEEK.) You're, a damned bad shot, Doctor. (Then 
& MALCOLM.) And I'll trouble you for that sovereign, 

The rtmwwig Characters express astonishment. 



A comedy in 3 acts. By May Tully. Produced originally 
at the Bijou Theatre, New York. 6 males, 4 females, i in- 
terior, i exterior scene. Modern costumes. 

This brisk and peppery farce is one of the cleanest and most hilari- 
ously amusing plays of recent years. It is the story of ambitious but 
impecunious youth. "Doc" Hampton, without a patient, "Stocksie," 
a lawyer devoid of clients, and "Chub" Perkins, a financier without 
capital, are in a bad way. In fact, they are broke and it is a real 
problem for them actually to get food. Mary Jane Smith is the 
heroine with the ankle. The three pals meet her first as a solicitor of 
funds for the poor and again as the victim of an automobile accident. 

A rich relative, "Doc's" uncle, inclined to be a tightwad but good 
at heart, comes upon the scene and seeing Mary, immediately takes it 
for granted that she is his nephew's wife, having been informed by 
a bogus wedding invitation that the ceremony had just taken place. 
The fictitious wedding had been arranged by the boys in a moment 
of need in order to get "Doc's" family in the West to send on wed- 
ding presents that could be pawned. As his wedding present, the 
Uncle insists that "Doc" and Mary accompany him to Bermuda. The 
situation is tense, but Mary has a sense of humor, and saves the day. 

(Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) PRICE 75 CENTS. 


A comedy in 3 acts. By William Ford Manley. Pro- 
duced originally at the Times Square Theatre, New York. 
30 males, 15 females. 4 interior scenes. Modern costumes. 

A rollicking farce about what transpires behind the microphone of 
a broadcasting studio. The most popular singing artist in Station 
WWVW is Roy Denny. Through some mischance it comes about that 
the Denny "golden voice" is really John Duffy. Duffy, being a 
nervous lad, has always failed miserably from microphone fright 
whenever he has attempted to sing under his own name. When he 
croons under Denny's name he kindles the divine hope in female 
breasts clear across this palpitating country. But Denny receives all 
the credit. This hoax destroys Duffy's personal love life and results 
in a conspiracy inside Station WWVW. As a sort of undercurrent to 
the narrative it introduces satiric bits about the buncombe of radio 
broadcasting. The play offers fine opportunities for the introduction 
of musical numbers and comedy acts. 

(Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) PRICE 75 CENTS. 


A farcical comedy in 3 acts. By Ian Hay and Stephen 
King-Hall. Produced originally at the Times Square 
Theatre, New York. 9 males, 6 females. Modern costumes 
and naval uniforms. 2 interior scenes. 

During a reception on board H. M. S. "Falcon," a cruiser on the 
China Station, Captain Randall of the Marines has become engaged to 
Fay Eaton, and in his enthusiasm induces her to stay and have dinner 
in his cabin. This is met with stern disapproval by Fay's chaperon, 
Charlotte Hopkinson, who insists that they leave at once. Charlotte, 
however, gets shut up in the compass room, and a gay young Ameri- 
can widow accepts the offer to take her place, both girls intending 
to go back to shore in the late evening. Of course, things go wrong, 
and they have to remain aboard all night. By this time the Captain 
has to be told, because his cabin contains the only possible accommo- 
dations, and he enters into the conspiracy without signalling the Ad- 
miral's flagship. Then the "Falcon" is suddenly ordered to sea, and 
the Admiral decides to sail with her. This also makes necessary the 
turning over to him of the Captain's quarters. The presence of the 
ladies now becomes positively embarrassing. The girls are bundled into 
one cabin just opposite that occupied by the Admiral. The game of 
"general-post" with a marine sentry in stockinged feet is very funny, 
and so are the attempts to explain matters to the "Old Man" next 
morning. After this everything ends both romantically and happily. 

(Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) PRICE 75 CENTS. 


A comedy in 3 acts. By Myron C. Pagan. Produced 
originally at the Vanderbilt Theatre, New York. 4 males, 
5 females. 2 interior scenes. Modern costumes. 

Nothing is really private any more not even pajamas and bedtime 
stories. No one will object to Nancy's private affair being made public, 
and it would be impossible to interest the theatre public in a more 
ingenious plot. Nancy is one of those smart, sophisticated society 
women who wants to win back her husband from a baby vamp. Just 
how this is accomplished makes for an exceptionally pleasant evening. 
Laying aside her horn-rimmed spectacles, she pretends indifference and 
affects a mysterious interest in other men. Nancy baits her rival with 
a bogus diamond ring, makes love to her former husband's best friend, 
and finally tricks the dastardly rival into a marriage with someone 

Mr. Fagan has studded his story with jokes and retorts that will 
keep anv audience in a constant uproar. 

(Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) PRICE 75 CENTS. 


A comedy in 3 acts. By Nat N. Dorfman. Produced 
originally at the 48th Street Theatre in New York. 
7 males, 6 females, i interior scene. Modern costumes. 

Few of us have escaped getting our fingers burnt in the crash of 
the stock market, and even those of us who have, have heard enough 
about it to take a sympathetic and amused interest in the doings of 
Henry Merrill when he tries to buck the game and grow rich. The 
play starts just two months before the crash. Henry, of the local 
soap works, is so heavy an investor in an oil stock that he is made 
a thirty-sixth Vice President of the Corporation. Not being the kind 
of fellow who would forget his friends in this time of good fortune, 
he lets them all in on the good thing. Being humanly greedy, the 
friends jump at the chance to profit. ... In the second act, after 
Henry's daughter has eloped, the friends are presenting Henry with 
a diamond-studded wrist watch, as a token of their esteem, when 
news comes of the Wall Street upheaval and all are wiped out. Things, 
however, are not as bad as they look, for Henry, who has an invention 
to revolutionize the soap industry, sells the idea for a large price and 
everything is all right again. 

(Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) PRICE 75 CENTS. 


A comedy in 3 acts. By Myron C. Pagan. Produced 
originally at the Gaiety Theatre, New York. 8 males, 6 
females, i interior scene. Modern costumes. 

This delightful comedy concerns one Peter Turner who caddied 
for the Morgans, the Kahns and the Guggenheims on the links at 
Miami. It was during one of these rounds on the golf links that 
Peter fell over and killed a stray dog. The local paper built the story 
up so that Peter becomes a nation-wide hero who saved the lives of 
many people by strangling a mad canine. By the time the story 
reaches his home town, Rosedale, New Jersey, Peter has become the 
boon companion of all the money kings at least in the public mind 
and Peter does his best to foster the deception. Carried away by 
his imagination he pretends to be a friend of the great, persuades his 
brother-in-law to buy an option to a ninety-acre lot on the assump- 
tion that "Guggenheim" is to build a golf course there, obtains 
$10,000 from the local banker and then becomes badly involved in his 
deceptions. After Peter endures the ridicule of his townsfolk and 
the ire of the banker there suddenly appears on the scene a represen- 
tative of "Guggenheim" who wants the acreage not for a golf course 
but an air field, and promptly turns over a check for $75,000 for 
a part of it. 

(Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) PRICE 75 CENTS. 


A character comedy in 3 acts. By Pauline Phelps and 
Marion Short. 6 males, 5 females, i interior. Modern cos- 

This modern comedy deals with the advent of elderly Uncle Job 
into the home of the Benson family, already struggling to make 
both ends meet, and who therefore extend him a somewhat grudging 


Uncle Job, blithely unconscious of being considered an intruder, 
.< . ith the belief that he is about to make a fortune in 
some mysterious way which he declines to Cantankerous and 
irritating, he proceeds to antagonize the Iknsons' rich aunt, the 
only one able to befriend the family in case of need, and whose 
good will has been carefully cultivated. 

Just when Uncle Job's actions become so erratic that the aunt 

he be sent to an asylum, the Benson boy gets into a serious 

md to the surprise of the entire family, it is Uncle Job who 

comes to the rescue, in a comical though highly practical way. 

Later, Uncle Job makes good on his apparently chimerical scheme 

for achieving wealth, and becomes the savior of the family. 

(Royalty, ten dollars.) PRICE 50 CENTS. 


A comedy in 3 acts. By Marie Doran. 5 males, 8 
females, i interior, i exterior. Modern and fancy cos- 

The story deals with young people in a co-ed school where a 
substantial tuition is charged. The heroine, Doris Green, is anxious 
to enter the school to complete her studies, after which she hopes 
to engage in social service work. Doris, an orphan living with her 

rinds all her ambitious plans are interrupted when the family 
income is abruptly cut off. Doris calls at the school not for the 
purpose of entering Miss Frascr's class, but to bid good-bye. The 
story of her disappointment reaches friendly ears, as well as some 
who are not so well disposed toward Doris. The friends rally to aid 

.dy to combat the opposition, and the battle is on. But it's 
not such j rough war it has many kind and humorous incidents. 
The cumedv i^ developed around this situation, with our heroine the 
central figure in the clash. Sympathetic efforts to overcome knotty 
difficulties result in some very original scenes with amusing schemes 
on the part of the hero, Richard Hunter, his pal Phil Martin, and 
funny Willy Bright. 

Any number of young people may appear in the fancy dress 
scene, and singing and dancing may be introduced. 

(Royalty, ten dollars.) PRICE 50 CENTS. 


A comedy in 3 acts. By Wilbur Braun. j males, 6 
females, i interior. Modern Costumes. 

When Samuel Phelps returns to his home after a business trip 
bringing with him one of the greatest baseball players in the United 
States, interest runs riot. Especially since "Dizzy Wynne," the base- 
ball player in question, has saved Phelps' life. "Dizzy" has been 
invited to stay for dinner, but after catching a glimpse of charm- 
ing Lois Phelps he decides to make it an extended visit. Russell Swade, 
a typical American youth, is in love with Lois, but poor fellow 
what chance has he got against the famous "Dizzy"? You will thrill 
with surprise at the novel last act wherein a baseball game is 
enacted before your very eyes. You will howl with glee at Minnie 
Hanks, the maid in Phelps' household, at Mrs. Lavinia Phelps who 
has never seen a ball game in her life, and who is superstitious to 
a degree, you will chuckle heartily at the supreme egotism of 
"Dizzy" Wynne. Sure to be one of the most popular plays of the 

(Royalty, ten dollars.) PRICE 50 CENTS. 


A comedy in 3 acts. By Charles George. 4 males and 7 
females, i very simple interior setting. Modern costumes. 

The Cooper family consisted of a widowed mother and her two 
children, Katharine, aged eighteen, and William, aged sixteen. Their 
entire life had been a struggle for a bare existence. Mrs. Cooper 
made and sold potato chips and Katharine made a candy that had 
achieved fame in their town as "Kitty's Kisses," which were sold 
at a local candy store run by a young man, whom everyone sup- 
posed Kitty would marry one day. But he had ideas of wealth and 
social position and had shifted his affections to the daughter of a 
wealthy man. Life seemed colorless and drab for Kitty, when sud- 
denly they were informed that their father's brother had .died in 
the far West and that they were the heirs to his fortune. In an 
instant, everything changed for the Coopers. Shops begged them for 
accounts. They had arrived. During a stay at a summer camp, Kitty 
had met a young man whom she liked. He was a quiet, unassuming 
chap, presumably very poor. 

A later will left by the Coopers' uncle is discovered, wherein all 
his money is left to charity and they are right back where they 
started. Their credit is withdrawn and their newly made friends cut 
them. They face life, once again, with poverty staring them in the 
face when the poor boy turns out to be the son of a very wealthy 
family, and learning of their misfortune, proposes to Kitty and all ends 

(Royalty, ten dollars.) PRICE 50 CENTS.