The Boston Dip

Eva. A what?

Ida. Assignment? You mean an appointment.

Mrs. M. Well, it’s all the same. I’m going to learn to do that dipper thing, if I die for it.

Eva. I don’t understand.

Ida. She means The Boston Dip.

Mrs. M. That’s it – where you go tipping about, while the fiddlers play Struse’s Beautiful Blue Dan-u-by.

Eva. You, mother, learn to waltz!

Mrs. M. And why not? There’s Mrs. What’s-her-name gets through it, and she’s older and heavier than I. I’m going to learn it. What’s the use of having money if you can’t spin round like other folks. But don’t say a word to your father. Bless me, how he would roar! But he’s safe at home, snoozing in his chair by this time. I’ve arranged it all. I’ve engaged this drawing-room for my own party, and when you’re all dancing in the hall, Munseer A – A – what’s-his-name will slip in here, and practice the waltz with me, and nobody will know anything about it until I’m deficient.

Ida. Proficient, mother.

Mrs. M. Well, what’s the difference? It’s all arranged. I’m not going to make a fool of myself before folks when I can pay for private lessons.

Dasher appears, C

Dasher (loud). Eureka!

Mrs. M. (starting). Good gracious! You what?

Dasher. “Fortune favors the brave.” Like Cæsar, I came, I saw, and I’m overcome. May I come in?

Mrs. M. Certainly, Mr. Dasher. Your presence always adds a charm to our – what’s-its-name – circular.

Ida. Circle, mother.

Mrs. M. Well, what’s the odds?

Dasher. Thank you, Mrs. Mulligrub. You are arrayed like an empress; Miss Ida, your costume is only eclipsed by your charming face; Miss Eva —

Eva. “Last but not least in our dear love,” must of course be divine; so spare my blushes and your breath. (Sits on lounge, R.)

Dasher. Thank you. And now congratulate me. I threw down my pen, after a hard fight with figures, to seek the lonely recesses of my bachelor’s quarters, heartily sick of life, when it suddenly occurred to me that this evening Monsieur Adonis gives one of his charming assemblies. Perhaps, thought I, there I may find rest for my weary brain from the figures of the ledger, which are dancing in my head, in the figures of the dance. But did I dream of falling into such charming society? No; most emphatically and decidedly, no. Therefore, like Cæsar —

Mrs. M. And pray, Mr. Dasher, who is this Cæsar you’re making such a fuss about?

Ida. Why, mother!

Mrs. M. La, child, there’s nobody of that name I’m acquainted with.

Ida. You know, mother, Cæsar was the great Roman general, who —

Mrs. M. La, yes; Mr. Dasher was only speaking metagorically. Cæsar was the man who crossed the what’s-its-name, and was stabbed by a brute.

Eva. Never mind Cæsar. Here’s my card, Mr. Dasher. Of course your name will be the first I shall allow upon it.

Dasher (sits on lounge beside Eva). Am I to be so highly honored. (Takes card.)

Eva. For a waltz, and only one.

Mrs. M. La, child, don’t be so unscrupulous. You’ll dance till you drop if you get a chance.

Ida. Hush, mother.

Mrs. M. Now what’s the matter with you? Mr. What’s-his-name will dance with you, too. Don’t be so anxious.

Ida. O, dear, was there ever such a torment. (Sits on lounge, L.)

Enter Kids, c

Kids (with glass to his eye). Now, weally! Have I stumbled into the bodwaw of a bevy of enchanting goddesses? – have I, weally?