place in New York City.

THE FOOL

ACT I.

Scene: The Church of the Nativity. New York.

The set, representing only the chancel, is as deep as possible, so that, even when its foreground is brightly illuminated, the detail back of that is lost in shadows. Pierced by three fine stained glass windows, the rear wall looms above the altar, on which the candles are not lighted. In front of that is the sanctuary, and, in front of that, the communion rail, with three steps to the stage. Just right of these steps is a very tall and beautiful Christmas tree. The tree has been expensively trimmed, and has a practical connection for an electric-lighted ornament still to be placed at its top. Down R., a door to the choir room, and, down L., a door to the parish house and the street. These doors are exactly alike. Down L., two folding wooden chairs that have been brought in for temporary use. A tall stepladder L. of the tree, facing front. Down R., two wooden boxes of ornaments, that on top open and half emptied. There is a pile of tissue-wrapped and ribboned packages under the tree, and a general litter of gifts, boxes, and crumpled paper everywhere. The Church of the Nativity is fashionable and luxurious; the effect of the set must be that of a peeping into a building spacious, magnificent, and majestic.

At Rise: Christmas Eve, 1918. The act begins in bright day-light—about half past three in the afternoon—so that the early winter twilight may have set in before its end. The sun's rays now come through a stained-glass window above the door L., so that the R. of the stage is bathed in white, the C. in blue, and the L. in a deep straw. Two women and a girl are discovered. Mrs. Henry Gilliam, bending over the box down L., is fat, forty, rich and self-satisfied. Her daughter, Daffodil, commonly called "Dilly," perched upon the ladder, is a "flapper." As regards her mind, this means that, at twenty, she is wise and witty, cynical and confident, worldly and material beyond her elders. Physically, she is pretty, and, of course, has not hesitated to help out nature wherever she has thought it advisable. Considering what has been spent on her education, she is surprisingly ignorant and discourteous, particularly to her mother, who bores her dreadfully. Leila Thornbury is a divorcee; thirty, smart, good-looking, with something feverish in her face, in her eyes, in her movements. Deliberately attractive to men, she is disliked, in proportion, by women. All three are very expensively dressed. Mrs. Thornbury has laid aside a fur coat on the cost of which twenty families might have lived a year. She is at the end of the stage, concerned with a number of dolls and other toys.

Mrs. Gilliam

[Turning with some ornament, on a level with her eyes she observes a generous view of Dilly's nether limbs]: Dilly, for pity's sake, pull down your skirt! [As Dilly pays no attention, she continues to Mrs. Thornbury] I don't know what skirts are coming to!

Dilly

They're not coming to the ground, mother. You can be sure of that!

Mrs. Gilliam

What I can't understand is why our young women want to go around looking like chorus girls!

Mrs. Thornbury

Perhaps they've noticed the kind of men that marry chorus girls.