SCENE I. (_MR. L. and his wife on the stage; MR. L. dressed for his work,

and about to go._)

_Mrs. L._ Albert, I wish you would give me seventy-five cents.

_Mr. L._ What do you want seventy-five cents for?

_Mrs. L._ I want to get some braid for my new dress.

_Mr. L._ I thought you had material enough on hand for that.

_Mrs. L._ So I thought I had; but it looks rather plain with no trimming at all. You know I was intending to trim it with that fringe; but it looks too gray, come to try it by the side of the dress.

_Mr. L._ Haven’t you something else that will do?

_Mrs. L._ No. But, then, braid is cheap; and I can make it look quite pretty with seventy-five cents.

_Mr. L._ Plague take these women’s fashions. Your endless trimmings and thing-a-ma-jigs cost more than the dress is worth. It is nothing but shell out money when a woman thinks of a new dress.

_Mrs. L._ I don’t have many new dresses. I do certainly try to be as economical as I can.

_Mr. L._ It is funny kind of economy, at all events. But if you must have it, I suppose you must.

(_Takes out his purse, and counts out carefully seventy-five cents, and puts his purse away, angrily. He starts to go; but when at the door, he thinks he will take his umbrella, and goes back for it. Finds his wife in tears, which she tries hastily to conceal._)

_Mr. L._ Good gracious! Kate, I should like to know if you are crying at what I said about the dress.

_Mrs. L._ I was not crying at what you said, but you were so reluctant to grant the small favor! I was thinking how hard I have to work. I am tied to the house. I have many little things to perplex me. Then to think—

_Mr. L._ Pshaw! What do you want to be foolish for. (_Exit._)

(_In the hall he was met by his little girl_, LIZZIE.)

_Lizzie_ (_holding both his hands_). O, papa, give me fifteen cents.

_Mr. L._ What?

_Lizzie._ I want fifteen cents. _Please_ give me fifteen cents.

_Mr. L._ What in the world do you want it for? Are they changing books again?

_Lizzie._ No. I want a hoop. It’s splendid rolling; and all the girls have one. Mr. Grant has some real nice ones to sell. _Please_, can’t I have one?

_Mr. L._ Nonsense! If you want a hoop, go and get one off some old barrel. I can’t afford to buy hoops for you to trundle about the streets. (_Throws her off._)

_Lizzie_ (_in a pleading tone_). Please, papa?

_Mr. L._ No, I told you!

(_She bursts into tears, and he goes off muttering, “Cry, then, and cry it out.”_)