A Parody Outline of History Part 6

THE VOICE: Auntie!

MRS. BREWSTER: Yes, Priscilla dear.

THE VOICE: Where in h.e.l.l did you put the vermouth?

MRS. BREWSTER: In the cupboard, dear. I do hope you aren't going to get--er--"boiled" again tonight, Priscilla. (Enter PRISCILLA, infinitely radiant, infinitely beautiful, with a bottle of vermouth in one hand and a jug of gin in the other.) PRISCILLA: Auntie, that was a dirty trick to hide the vermouth. h.e.l.lo Miles--shoot many Indians today?

MILES: Why--er er--no, Mistress Priscilla.

PRISCILLA: Wish you'd take me with you next time, Miles. I'd love to shoot an Indian, wouldn't you, auntie?

MRS. BREWSTER: Priscilla! What an idea! And please dear, give Auntie Brewster the gin. I--er--promised to take some to the church social tonight and it's almost all gone now.

MILES: I didn't see you at church last night, Mistress Priscilla.

PRISCILLA: Well I'll tell you, Miles. I started to go to church--really felt awfully religious. But just as I was leaving I thought, "Priscilla, how about a drink--just one little drink?" You know, Miles, church goes so much better when you're just a little boiled--the lights and everything just kind of--oh, its glorious. Well last night, after I'd had a little liquor, the funniest thing happened. I felt awfully good, not like church at all--so I just thought I'd take a walk in the woods.

And I came to a pool--a wonderful honest-to-G.o.d pool--with the moon s.h.i.+ning right into the middle of it. So I just undressed and dove in and it was the most marvelous thing in the world. And then I danced on the bank in the gra.s.s and the moonlight--oh, Lordy, Miles, you ought to have seen me.

MRS. BREWSTER: Priscilla!

PRISCILLA: 'Scuse me, Auntie Brewster. And then I just lay in the gra.s.s and sang and laughed.

MRS. BREWSTER: Dear, you'll catch your death of cold one of these nights. I hope you'll excuse me, Captain Standish; it's time I was going to our social. I'll leave Priscilla to entertain you. Now be a good girl, Priscilla, and please dear don't drink straight vermouth--remember what happened last time. Good night, Captain--good night, dear.

(Exit MRS. BREWSTER with gin.)

PRISCILLA: Oh d.a.m.n! What'll we do, Miles--I'm getting awfully sleepy.

MILES: Why--we might--er--pet a bit.

PRISCILLA (yawning): No. I'm too tired--besides, I hate whiskers.

MILES: Yes, that's so, I remember. (Ten minutes' silence, with MILES looking sentimentally into the fireplace, PRISCILLA curled up in a chair on the other side.)

MILES: I was--your aunt and I--we were talking about you before you came in. It was a talk that meant a lot to me.

PRISCILLA: Miles, would you mind closing that window?

(MILES closes the window and returns to his chair by the fireplace.)

MILES: And your aunt told me that your mother said you would some day marry a military man.

PRISCILLA: Miles, would you mind pa.s.sing me that pillow over there?

(MILES gets up, takes the pillow to PRISCILLA and again sits down.)

MILES: And I thought that if you wanted a military man why--well, I've always thought a great deal of you, Mistress Priscilla--and since my Rose died I've been pretty lonely, and while I'm nothing but a rough old soldier yet--well, what I'm driving at is--you see, maybe you and I could sort of--well, I'm not much of a hand at fancy love speeches and all that--but--

(He is interrupted by a snore. He glances up and sees that PRISCILLA has fallen fast asleep. He sits looking hopelessly into the fireplace for a long time, then gets up, puts on his hat and tiptoes out of the door.)

THE NEXT EVENING

PRISCILLA is sitting alone, lost in revery, before the fireplace. It is almost as if she had not moved since the evening before.

A knock, and the door opens to admit JOHN ALDEN, nonchalant, disillusioned, and twenty-one.

JOHN: Good evening. Hope I don't bother you.

PRISCILLA: The only people who bother me are women who tell me I'm beautiful and men who don't.

JOHN: Not a very brilliant epigram--but still--yes, you ARE beautiful.

PRISCILLA: Of course, if it's an effort for you to say--

JOHN: Nothing is worthwhile without effort.

PRISCILLA: Sounds like Miles Standish; many things I do without effort are worthwhile; I am beautiful without the slightest effort.

JOHN: Yes, you're right. I could kiss you without any effort--and that would be worthwhile--perhaps.

PRISCILLA: Kissing me would prove nothing. I kiss as casually as I breathe.

JOHN: And if you didn't breathe--or kiss--you would die.

PRISCILLA: Any woman would.

JOHN: Then you are like other women. How unfortunate.

PRISCILLA: I am like no woman you ever knew.

JOHN: You arouse my curiosity.

PRISCILLA: Curiosity killed a cat.

JOHN: A cat may look at a--Queen.

PRISCILLA: And a Queen keeps cats for her amus.e.m.e.nt. They purr so delightfully when she pets them.

JOHN: I never learned to purr; it must be amusing--for the Queen.

PRISCILLA: Let me teach you. I'm starting a new cla.s.s tonight.

JOHN: I'm afraid I couldn't afford to pay the tuition.

PRISCILLA: For a few exceptionally meritorious pupils, various scholars.h.i.+ps and fellows.h.i.+ps have been provided.

JOHN: By whom? Old graduates?