I hope you are all enjoying yourselves.
CHORUS OF GUESTS--Yes, indeed!
HOSTESS--'Sh, 'sh, 'sh! I have a great disappointment for you all. Here
is a telegram from my _best_ singer, saying she is sick, and can't come.
Now, we will have the pleasure of listening to Miss Jackson. Miss
Jackson is a pupil of Madame Parcheesi, of Paris. (_Singer whispers to
her._) Oh, I beg your pardon! It's Madame _Mar_cheesi.
DEAF OLD GENTLEMAN (_seated by piano, talking to pretty girl_)--I'd
rather listen to you than hear this caterwauling. (Old Gentleman _is
dragged into corner and silenced._)
YOUNG WOMAN (_singing_)--"Why do I sing? I know not, I know not! I can
not help but sing. Oh, why do I sing?"
(_Guests moan softly and demand of one another_, Why does she sing?)
WOMAN GUEST (_to another_)--Isn't that just the way?--their relatives
are always dying, and it's sure to be wash-day or just when you expect
company to dinner, and off they go to the funeral--
(Butler _appears with trayful of punch-glasses._)
MALE GUEST (_to another_)--Thank the Lord! here's relief in sight. Let's
drown our troubles.
THE OTHER--It's evident you haven't sampled the Smythes' punch before.
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