The Templeton Teapot Part 1

The Templeton Teapot.

by Grace Cooke Strong.

The Templeton Teapot

SCENE.--_Library in the Templeton home, a comfortable old-fas.h.i.+oned room, reflecting its owner's love for the antique. A door at R. leads into the hall; another door L., opens into an adjoining room. For furniture, a large desk strewn with books and papers, several easy chairs, and shelves containing books. The room is decorated with pieces of old china, dignified candlesticks, and various old-fas.h.i.+oned articles. In a prominent position on the mantel is a quaint silver teapot._

(_As the curtain rises, MR. HORACE TEMPLETON is seated at his desk writing, surrounded by several ponderous reference books. MRS.

TEMPLETON enters L., carrying a large basket packed with cast-off clothing_.)

MRS. T. (_setting basket on floor near door R._). Hilda! (_Goes to L._) Hilda! Horace, have you seen----? (_In despair._) Oh, it's of no use.

Sue! (_Enter SUE, L._) Sue, have you seen anything of Hilda?

SUE. She came in here after dinner.

MRS. T. (_looking out R._). She must have gone out, for her wraps are not in the hall. How unfortunate!

SUE. She will be at home presently. (_Looks at basket._) I wouldn't leave that basket there, Celia. If--if Professor Gates should happen to call this evening he would surely stumble over it; the dear man is so near-sighted.

MRS. T. (_moving basket from door_). It's only a few things that I've collected for poor Mrs. McLaffety. She's to send her boy for them. Did Professor Gates tell you that he was coming this evening?

SUE (_moving about nervously_). Why, no--doesn't he usually call on Tuesday evenings?

MRS. T. (_sitting down_). Yes; and on Wednesday evenings and Thursday evenings and Friday--I declare, I'm so worried about Hilda that I can't keep track of anything.

SUE (_in surprise_). Hilda?

MRS. T. Yes, Hilda. For weeks she has not been herself. I know that she has something on her mind, but I can't find out what it is. Her father is no help----(_Sound of door-bell._) I'm sure that's the evening paper; will you kindly get it, Sue? (_Exit SUE, R. MRS. T. rises hurriedly and goes to desk_.) Horace. (_Pause._) Horace!

MR. T. (_without looking up_). Yes, yes.

MRS. T. (_in exasperation_). Will you give me your attention one moment?

MR. T. (_impatiently pus.h.i.+ng aside his work_). Celia, how many times must I tell you that I'm preparing an article for the press, ent.i.tled, "The Philosophy of our Forefathers as Revealed by their Kitchen Utensils," and that I cannot endure this constant interruption?

(_Resumes work._)

MRS. T. You shall listen to me. Do you ever wonder at the increasing frequency with which Professor Gates calls here?

MR. T. (_impatiently_). Well, Gates is a good fellow--fine family--most distinguished--that sort of thing.

MRS. T. Very true, and moreover, he is in love with Hilda.

MR. T. Nonsense! He's twice her age.

MRS. T. That doesn't matter. Hilda is old for her years; besides, she's in love with him.

MR. T. You must be mistaken.

MRS. T. (_emphatically_). I am not. Didn't you hear me telling Sue that Hilda is unhappy, moody, incomprehensible? Those are symptoms--trust me.

MR. T. Well?

MRS. T. I'm trying to determine your att.i.tude toward this marriage.

(_SUE appears unnoticed in door R., the paper in her hand_.)

MR. T. (_irritably_). You speak as if it were a settled thing.

MRS. T. It is--practically.

MR. T. Well, all I have to say is, if Professor Gates marries Hilda, they shall have the teapot.

(_Resumes work. SUE gives a little cry_.)

MRS. T. (_turning violently_). Sue, you frightened me.

SUE. You were speaking of Hilda's marriage?

(_Lays newspaper on desk. Sits down._)

MRS. T. Yes; we have the prospect of seeing her settled most comfortably.

SUE (_in agitation_). I wouldn't--you mustn't--she's too young.

MRS. T. (_sitting down and picking up the newspaper_). Not at all.

(_Glances through paper._) Of course, since you've never married, you naturally think---- (_Springs from her chair._) For heaven's sake, Horace, the Wentworths were robbed last night of a thousand dollars'

worth of silver!

MR. T. (_rising hastily and seizing paper_). It can't be possible. Let me see!

MRS. T. (_weakly_). Burglars!

SUE. It's the third robbery on this street within a week!

MR. T. (_gloomily_). We shall be the next victims, I am confident. Oh, why have I not carried the teapot to the safe deposit vault?

MRS. T. (_indignantly_). The teapot? I think that we have other articles quite as valuable as the teapot.

MR. T. (_pacing the floor in great agitation_). Celia, are you crazy?

Consider that teapot, which graced the tables of the English n.o.bility in the seventeenth century when tea was first introduced into Europe, which pa.s.sed into the hands of the Puritans in Cromwell's time, and was brought to this country in 1680, and which has been in our family for over two hundred years! Why, it's worth its weight ten times over in gold! (_Picks up teapot and examines it lovingly._)

MRS. T. I'm sure that no burglar would ever want it. My rings are another matter.

SUE. We'll have to sit up all night.

MR. T. (_replacing teapot on mantel_). This shall not stay in the house another day. Fool that I have been to keep it so long.