The Tailor-Made Girl/Echoes from the Boxes
ECHOES FROM THE BOXES.
A Roland for an Oliver.
Miss Décolletée.—It is quite a brilliant house.
Mrs. Décolletée (raising her lorgnette).—Yes, rather.
Miss Décolletée.—Quantities of men.
Mrs. Décolletée.—A ballet, my dear. Freddie Gauche has his glass on you, and Captain Goldbraid is in the Sanger box.
Miss Décolletée.—They'll both be here directly.
Mrs. Décolletée.—Doubtless. I hope you'll remember that a New York house and a Newport villa are considerably pleasanter as places of residence than a frontier fort.
Miss Décolletée.—Dear mama, I should not be your daughter if I did not.
Mrs. Décolletée.—I think I may trust you, this being your fourth season.
A Brilliant Conversation.
Miss Débutante (all animation).—Isn't this perfectly lovely!
Young Mr. Callow.—You like the opera, Miss Débutante?
Miss Débutante.—Oh, yes; I just adore it.
Young Mr. Callow.—It is quite nice, I think myself.
Miss Débutante.—Do you really, now? I am so glad (laughs ecstatically and shrugs her shoulders).
Young Mr. Callow.—Oh, yes; I do—the lights, you know, and the ballet and—and the pretty girls in the boxes.
Miss Débutante (stacking her fan and shaking it playfully).—Oh, you men are so amusing!
Young Mr. Callow (delighted to be taken for a man).—Oh, no, really, 'pon honor.
Miss Débutante (rushing her vinaigrette up to her nose, and shaking her head coquettishly).—Oh, but you are!—I insist upon it!
A Point of View.
Mrs. Société.—You don't like the ballet, Professor X.?
Professor X.—Not especially.
Mrs. Société.—I can quite understand your feelings. I find that I enjoy those operas best where the ballet divertissement is wanting—and yet I am no prude.
Professor X. (glancing at her corsage and shoulder straps).—I am sure of that, Mrs. Societe. You are a woman of too liberal natural endowments to be a prude.
Mrs. Société.—Oh, really, Professor X., you are quite too kind.
***
Col. Plunger (a heavy swell).—A charming ballet!
Mrs. Société.—Charming, indeed! Coppélia is even more delicious than La Sylvie of last year.
Col. Plunger.—Oh, ya-as—quite the hit of the season; fellows all talking about it in the smoking-room.
Mrs. Société.—Ah, then, its success is assured!
Col. Plunger.—Ya-as; I cahnt understand, you know, how some people object to this sort of thing, you know.
Mrs. Société.—It is generally a case of "honi soit qui mal y pense." Look at Swanilda, now! every movement is the perfection of grace and rhythmic motion.
A Marital Infelicity.
Crœsus Père (angrily).—I tell you, I won't stand it much longer. I've sneezed three times already.
Crœsus Mère (soothingly).—Go out into the smoking-room for a little change.
Crœsus Père.—I won't! This is the worst seat in the box; but it's a seat, and I'll hang on to it.
Crœsus Mère (remonstrating behind her fan).—My dear, do—
Crœsus Père.—I won't—whatever it is! I pay a big price for this box, and every time we come, I'm ousted out of a comfortable position by these young Darwins who pay a dollar to get in, and then sponge seats out of their box friends.
Crœsus Mère.—I don't know what you can expect. We should be a laughing stock if our box were empty.
Crœsus Père.—You and the two girls and myself fill it very comfortably, I think.
Crœsus Mère.—Naturally, you know, the girls attract their society friends.
Crœsus Père.—I guess it's the seats that attract. Anyhow, I'll give that young De Winkle to the end of this song to skip before I—
Crœsus Mère.—Oh, you will not say—
Crœsus Père.—I will say: "Be good enough to change seats with me;" and I'll let him cool the back of his neck in this draught as I've been doing for the last hour! There, I'm going to sneeze again!
Not a Bad Idea.
A Reigning Belle.—How very odd it must seem to sit down there—among the people.
One of the Men She Knows.—You wouldn't like it.
Belle.—I should stay away. What in the world, now, do you suppose they come for?
Man.—Oh, possibly the music, you know.
Among the People.
Young Woman.—There is such a pretty girl up there in that box. I wish I dare look at her through my glass.
Her Escort.—Do, by all means. She's come to be looked at.
***
First Bohemian (finishing a survey of the house).—A fine show all round.
Second Bohemian.—Yes; the monkeys are jumping bravely to-night.
