Alexander Key
Boys Will Be Boys: Very Easy Pantomimes and Entertainments for Boys

    To Thomas S. Huntley, Author, Editor, Teacher.

    Chapter 1: A Word About Plays
    Chapter 2: The Scalping Party
    Chapter 3: Professor Perfecto
    Chapter 4: The Last Round-up
    Chapter 5: The Pirate’s Treasure
    Chapter 6: Aladdin and His Lamp
    Chapter 7: The Adventures of Colonel Ketchum
    Chapter 8: The Astounding Doctor Scorpio
    Chapter 9: The Mystery Man
    Chapter 10: When Halloween Comes
    Chapter 11: An All-American Thanksgiving
    Chapter 12: A Christmas Jamboree
    Chapter 13: Follow the Arrow
    Supplement: Willie, Beware!

Chapter 1: A Word About Plays
    There are three bugaboos in the production of the average amateur play. One is finding the right play. The second is obtaining experienced supervision. The third is locating an adequate place in which the play can be given.
    All the plays and entertainments in this collection are within the scope of any group of boys: boys’ clubs, Scout troops, Sunday School and high school classes, or boys at summer camps. They will require no experienced supervision whatever. You who wish to give a play can elect your own leaders and managers, and if you throw yourselves wholeheartedly into the spirit of the thing, you can put on lively performances that will give you as much pleasure as the audience.
    The majority of these titles have no spoken parts to memorize, all the action being explained by a hidden reader. Likewise, many of the plays can be given anywhere, since only a few of them require much preparation, or interior settings and artificial lights. Certain ones like “The Scalping Party,” “The Last Round-up,” and “The Pirate’s Treasure” can easily be given out of doors, with a campfire for lighting and a tarpaulin or two for a backdrop.
    If a school or church auditorium is not available, almost any large empty hall, garage, or barn will do.
    Perhaps, somewhere in your community, there is an unused barn which the owner will allow you to use as a clubhouse, and which you can decorate as did the Jenkins Barn Club mentioned in the last few chapters. These last, by the way, are suggestions for indoor and outdoor entertainments by which you can liven up many a dull day or evening – without benefit of an audience. Three are planned for specific holidays, but it is not necessary to wait for holidays to carry them out.
    Granting that you have picked a place for your play, whether indoors or elsewhere, let us think about the production itself.
    First elect a manager. He should be a chap with a quick eye and a talent for getting things done. He supervises the rehearsals, and during the actual performances he stands behind the scenes and acts as a prompter. Keep your eye on him, and obey him implicitly. He gives you the cue to go on, and sees to it that all action, lighting tricks and sound effects are given at the proper moments.
    Next appoint a committee to handle stage decorations and sound effects. Most of the stage settings are simple, and the few more elaborate scenes can be prepared easily and at practically no cost if you follow the suggestions mentioned in the individual plays. The committee, however, should be blessed with imagination. It is not the working materials that count – it is what you can do with them.
    Sound effects are extremely important. If they are given a few seconds too soon, or too late, a vital scene may be ruined. Watch the prompter. All the common noises, poundings, stampings, yells, groans and the like will cause you no trouble. Other sounds, and how to make them, are explained for each play.
    The mainspring of the seven plays is the reader. He is always hidden from the audience, but he must not be so well hidden that his voice is muffled. A megaphone placed in a fold of the curtains will solve this problem.
    Pick your reader carefully. If you have someone with an exceptionally good set of vocal chords in your group, with a clear, carrying voice capable of registering all the emotions, then you are lucky. It will be a great advantage if he can improvise at odd moments, especially when the action on the stage runs slowly, or somebody has forgotten his cue, or otherwise managed to delay or confuse matters. But, above all, be sure that your reader can be heard.
    Watch your timing. By that it is not meant that every scene must be played with mechanical, clocklike precision – such a thing is almost impossible in most of the plays given here. Timing is the business of keeping in the rhythm of the play. That rhythm must not be broken. Poor timing means slow or disjointed action, and lack of cooperation between reader and players. When the reader has spoken a line or two, and paused, action on the stage must take up the thread of the play instantly. There must be no dull moments.
    And the acting? That should be the least of your worries. Every healthy, normal chap has a talent for lively, boisterous pantomime. Limber up. Get into the spirit of the thing. Have some fun. That is all that is required.

Chapter 2: The Scalping Party
    How would you like to produce a comedy that is easy to act, that requires little preparation, and, above all, has not a single spoken line to memorize? All right. Here it is. It has been given dozens of times in dozens of places, and has never yet failed to put the audience in an uproar.
    For stage properties and costumes you will need a pair of deer antlers, a toy hatchet, a sunbonnet, a feather duster and a few extra bunches of feathers, and a rag doll (the kind that squeaks when you press it). And for actors, you should have about ten boys – more if you wish – who are able to walk on their knees and keep sober faces. The main participant of the play is never seen. He must be one with a strong, solemn voice who is able to imitate an old-fashioned speaker and get a great range of feeling in his tone. He sits behind a curtain and reads the explanation of the action on the stage.
    Now, the actors are ready to appear; the curtain, if any, goes up, and the Reader, in a very sad, slow, and emotional voice, begins. At times he shows tremendous excitement.
    Reader: Ladie-e-es and gentlemen, it was a dark and stormy night. The trees were shivering because their limbs were bare and the wind was howling through them. [Somebody howls dismally off-stage.] Three lone and weary travelers, folks, were coming ’round the mountain on their way to their little grey home in the West. All right, folks, here they are!
    [Two boys walk slowly out upon the stage. Their heads are down, their feet are dragging. The one behind is wearing the sun-bonnet and has something concealed under his long coat.]
    Reader: Three lone and weary travelers, folks. Why, that’s funny! I can’t see but two of them! [Instantly the second boy squeezes the doll he has hidden under his coat and makes it squeak loudly.]
    Reader: Ah, I knew there were three travelers! You see, ladies and gentlemen, you’d hardly know them in their nice new store clothes, but they’re really ole Daniel Boone, his wife, and ole Daniel Boone’s little infant daughter. They haven’t six white horses, but they’re coming ’round the mountain just the same. Ole Daniel, believe it or not, is lost, and he’s trying to find the trail again.
    [The two boys walk slowly across the stage, the doll squeaking, and they disappear on the left.]
    Reader: There they go, folks; ole Daniel is leading them ’round the mountain – they’re on the other side now. And he’s in very grave danger, but doesn’t know it yet. Say! Who’s this?
    [Another boy walks across the stage in the same direction as the others. He has a feather duster tied to the back of his head, and his face is streaked with charcoal. In his hand is a tiny toy hatchet. When he reaches the center of the stage, he begins whirling around and slashing out with his hatchet.]
    Reader: Why, this is old Chief Standing Funny on the warpath! He’s fighting for his life! A dozen enemies have attacked him and they’re trying to take his scalp! Just look at him swing his mighty tomahawk and make the varmints bite the dust! Three at a blow – there they go! No, folks, you’re all wrong. He’s just trying to protect himself against a platoon of horseflies that came to smell his warpaint!
    Reader: But watch out, ole Daniel Boone! Big Chief Standing Funny’s on your trail, and he’s out to get your hair! [Chief Standing Funny disappears after Daniel Boone.]
    Reader: This is the deep, dark, dank and wild and woolly wilderness, folks. [A boy comes prancing upon the stage with the pair of antlers tied to his head. He is bent down, walking on his hands. He stops in the center, sniffs, raises his head, glances back, then bounds quickly away.] See, there’s a great big toughlooking deer out to sniff the night air!
    [Daniel Boone and family hurry on around the backdrop and appear where they first entered. They walk furtively, and keep looking backward.]
    Reader: Here’s ole Daniel Boone and his family again, folks. He’s gettin’ mighty scared, ’cause he knows the Injuns is after him! [Someone gives a loud war-cry behind the scenes, easily made by yelling and slapping the hand to the mouth. The Boone baby squeaks again.]
    Reader: She knows this is no place for children, folks. [Mrs. Boone takes the doll out and slaps it.] The little Boone baby’s name is Bab. Babboon is a sweet child, but if her papa ain’t keerful, Big Chief Standing Funny is going to raise her scalp. Here he comes now! [The Indian appears, waves his tomahawk, and chases the Boones off the stage. The Boone family run quickly around the backdrop and come on again at the right.]
    Reader: Ladies and gentlemen, ole Daniel Boone is gittin’ scareder and scareder. He’s come to the bank of a great big river and doesn’t know what to do. Ah! He’s found a canoe! See, he and Mrs. Boone and little Babboon are getting in. Now they are paddling away!
    [The Boones get down upon their knees, one behind the other, and begin moving across the stage. With each movement they swing their arms first to one side and then to the other as if they were using paddles. In this manner they cross to the other side and disappear as before. Better wear knee-pads, fellows – this is rough going! And practice the paddling so you can keep good time.]
    Reader: Here come the Redskins! Old Chief Standing Funny’s picked up a boy friend; they see poor ole Daniel and Mrs. Boone and little Babboon paddling down the river, and they’re looking for a canoe. There! They’ve found one! Watch out, Daniel! The Injuns are coming!
    [The Chief and a second Indian, with a few feathers tied to his head, start paddling across the stage. As soon as they are on the other side, the Boone family arrive at the starting place again. They are on their knees as they enter stage, and they paddle quickly across. The Reader keeps cheering them.]
    Reader: Hurry, Daniel! Step on the gas! Lean on the old paddle! They’re gittin’ closer!
    [Now there are loud war-cries, and this time three Indians paddle in from the right, Chief Standing Funny in the lead as usual. For the best effect, the action must be rhythmical, the boys close together, their knees and arms working in unison.]
    Reader [with rising excitement]: It looks bad for poor ole Daniel and Mrs. Boone, and little Babboon, folks! Old Chief Standing Funny’s picked up another boy friend down the river and they’re all out for scalps. I wonder who’s going to get little Babboon’s scalp?
    [The Indians disappear. Instantly the Boones come paddling on again.]
    Reader: Oh, Daniel, this sure looks bad! Look, folks, he’s weakening. He’s a-gittin' pretty tired. Reckon he’s been paddling miles now!
    [Again there are loud warwhoops backstage, fust as the Boones disappear, the Indians paddle into view. There are four of them at this appearance – each one, of course, with feathers in his hair.]
    Reader: Looks like Chief Standing Funny has lots of boy friends, folks, and they’re all out for trouble. But I can’t figure how they’re going to divide three scalps among four Injuns. Better hurry, Daniel! They’re gittin’ closer!
    [The Indians paddle off. The Boones come paddling on again. Loud war-cries as before.]
    Reader: Look, folks, you can see poor ole Daniel’s scalp a-twitching. He knows he’s going to lose it in a minute! Say! What’s this? [The Boones have stopped. They are frantically moving their hands about the floor.]
    Reader: Oh! This is terrible! Little Babboon has fallen overboard!
    [Mrs. Boone slips the doll out of sight to one side and begins pressing it, making it squeak continuously. Finally she snatches it out of the “water,” holds it up, slaps it, and stuffs it in her coat. Now they begin paddling furiously off the stage. The Indians appear again. Five of them now.]
    Reader: Poor ole Daniel! Pore ole Daniel! Ain’t this terrible, folks? How do you think they’re going to divide those scalps? It’s going to take a good pie-cutter to satisfy five Injuns!
    [The Indians cross the stage. The Boones come on again. When they are half-way across, the Indians appear, paddling very close behind them. They are six this time. The Reader carries on with an appropriate patter of remarks, repeating some of the phrases he has used before. This action can be kept up as long as the audience continues to cheer, another Indian being added to the “canoe” every time they come paddling upon the scene. Each time, though, the Indians should approach closer to the Boones. The grand climax arrives when the Indians and the Boones leave the stage almost together.]
    Reader: Something awful’s going to happen, folks. Poor ole Daniel! Poor ole Daniel, and little Babboon! Oh! [He shrieks.] Hear them? Hear them? They’ve got the Boones! They’re scalping them!
    [As the players leave the stage for the last time, a terrific yelling, din and clatter rises from behind the scenes. Tin pans and washtubs come in handy for this. As the noise dies away, the Boones come walking majestically out again. Daniel is fanning himself with the Big Chief’s feather duster, and Mrs. Boone has the head-feathers of all the other Indians hung on her arm. The doll is squeaking loudly.]
    Reader: I always knew Daniel was an Injun fighter! Hooray for Daniel!
    [Just before the curtain falls, the deer comes prancing forth. He has a feather in his mouth.]
    CURTAIN

Chapter 3: Professor Perfecto
    Have you a big fellow in your group – or one that is something of a heavyweight? If you have, then you are all set to put on a roaring farce that will bring the merry tinkle of money into the club coffers. Your chief actor in this soul-stirring drama should be a hefty chap with a waistline of some fifty inches. Lacking this, you can very easily bring him to the required proportions by stuffing a pillow or two in the proper places. He should be further embellished with a mustache, a hat many sizes too small (tied on with a string), a flowing bow tie, a smock, and an ornate walking-stick.
    The fat gentleman, Professor Perfecto, has nothing to do but thump grandly up and down the stage, point his walking-stick wand, and look as noble and pompous as possible. Neither he nor any of the other players has to speak a word, since the entire action is explained by a reader concealed behind a Curtain.
    The hour has arrived. The stage is prepared with a big box on one side decorated with bright paper. A large hat is placed on top, Someone behind the scenes strikes a gong eight times. The curtain rises. The hidden reader begins to speak in a loud and solemn voice.
    Reader: Ladies and gentlemen, we have with us this evening the greatest magician of a-a-all time, the illustrious, impeccable, incomparable Professor Perfecto.
    [Professor Perfecto walks grandly on and bows three times.]
    Reader [while the Professor is bowing]: Prepare yourselves, kind friends. Professor Perfecto has magical powers surpassing those of all other magicians! Tonight you will witness things that will cause your eyes to pop in wonder, cause your very breath to . . .
    [Professor Perfecto is rapping his cane smartly upon the floor.]
    Reader [in an awed voice]: Watch carefully, folks, even now his magic is working. [A boy, sitting on a stepladder behind the scenes, lowers a glass of water tied to black threads suspended from the end of a bamboo pole. The magician seizes glass, takes a swallow, dashes rest of water on the floor, bows again.]
    Reader: Just cooling his brain, folks, just cooling his brain . . .
    [The Professor raps with his cane again.]
    Reader: All right, assistants. Hurry on, the old man is calling you!
    [From opposite sides of the stage two assistants come on, each dragging a chair behind him. They are dressed alike in overalls and flowing bow ties. The Professor points his cane at audience.]
    Reader: A volunteer – a volunteer! The Professor is going to do his Great Petrified Man act. We want a volunteer for the Petrified Man!
    [A boy, sitting somewhere in the audience, hurries down aisle and climbs upon platform. The Professor glares at him, makes strange motions with his hands and finally points his stick at him with a grand gesture. Instantly the boy stiffens, closing his eyes.]
    Reader: Just look, people! The Professor has petrified him! He’s turned to stone! Oh, this is terrible!
    [The Professor raps his cane, waves hands at assistants. One of them goes behind the petrified boy, holds him behind the head with both hands and lowers him to the floor. If you practice this beforehand, you can do it easily. Just keep your body and arms as rigid as possible. The effect will be startling.]
    Reader [while Professor is rapping his cane]: If you don’t believe the poor fellow is positively petrified, just watch this!
    [One assistant raises the rigid boy by his head while the other pushes a chair under his shoulders. His feet are raised next and placed upon the second chair. He remains rigid for several seconds between the two chairs until the Professor points his stick at him.]
    Reader: Marvelous . . . marvelous!
    [The Professor finishes his grand bows, whirls and points his stick at Petrified Man. Instantly he sags in the center until he touches floor. The Professor points his stick at the chairs and they begin to move away and disappear. This is done by two boys jerking strings which have previously been tied to the rear legs of each chair.]
    Reader [while the Professor is strutting up and down the stage, bowing]: Ladies and gentlemen, you have witnessed only a small part of Professor Perfecto’s incomparable genius. Next we are to be presented with the Great Gumdrop Mystery. Watch carefully! Watch carefully!
    [The Professor raps his cane again; an assistant appears with a dish piled high with what appears to be bright-colored gum-drops. He raps his stick three times, and with each rap a boy comes marching on the stage. They stand in a row, marking time until the Professor stamps his foot. The Professor takes the dish from his assistant and places a gumdrop in each boy’s mouth. They grin and begin chewing, rolling their eyes and showing great delight. The Professor glares at them and finally points his stick grandly at the first boy, who immediately stops chewing. Now, with magnificent gestures, the Professor plucks something from the first boy’s lips and begins to walk backward. He keeps on walking and pulling, and an endless ribbon seems to come from the boy’s mouth. This can be merely a roll of narrow cellophane which the boy holds concealed between his teeth.]
    Reader [while the Professor is pulling yards and yards of ribbon from the mouths of the other two boys]: Horrible . . . horrible! Is there no end to this? Why, he’s practically pulling them inside out! But perhaps, folks, you too would like to have a taste of those magical gumdrops.
    [As the Professor waves his stick and bows, the assistant climbs down and begins to pass the rest of the candy among the audience. These, of course, can be real edible gumdrops.]
    Reader [after the stage is cleared, and the Professor begins rapping his stick]: Ha! You ain’t seen nothin’ yet! The old man is getting himself all wound up for something stupendous. It’s his famous E PLURIBUS UNUM disappearing trick. Get that? E PLURIBUS UNUM! Hurry up, assistants!
    [The two assistants appear on stage carrying a huge box with a curtain tacked across the front of it. The rear end, which is open, is kept away from the audience. The Professor acts very particular about the placing of the box. The assistants drag it around to a number of positions, bowing to the Professor each time, and the Professor becomes more and more excited. At last the box is placed against the rear curtain of the platform at a place previously arranged. Now the Professor smiles, raises curtain of the box and pokes inside of it with his stick to show that it is empty. With a handkerchief he blindfolds one of the assistants, bows to audience, and forces assistant into the box. The curtain once more covers the front.]
    Reader: Keep your eyes peeled, folks. This is the great E PLURIBUS UNUM disappearing trick. When Professor Perfecto strikes the magic cabinet with his wand, the cabinet will be as empty as a last year’s bird’s nest. All right, watch! Here goes!
    [The Professor looks pompous and strikes cabinet with a grand gesture. He bows, then slowly raises curtain. No, the box is not empty. A boy crawls out – but he is a different boy from the one who entered, although he, too, is wearing overalls, a flowing tie, and has a handkerchief tied over his eyes. If he is much taller or shorter than the first boy, so much the better. The Professor chases him off-stage with his stick. Again the Professor raps the box, bows, lifts curtain, and another boy, dressed the same way, crawls out to be immediately chased off. This is repeated half a dozen times, until at last the Professor totters to the front of platform, levels his stick at the box, and boys begin erupting from behind the curtain in a steady stream, all dressed alike and all having handkerchiefs over their faces.
    The trick is easily performed by having a slit cut in the main curtain behind the box, the line of boys merely running around curtain and out through box again. Of course, the audience will know how it is done, but the fun will be in the unexpectedness of the steady stream of identical figures rushing from the box. The Reader should continue shouting exclamations like: “Hurray! Hurray! Look at them come! E PLURI-BUS UNUM! One out of many! It ought to mean many out of one! Hurray!”]
    Reader [after things have quieted down and magic cabinet has been removed]: Well, folks, that was pretty tough going. I think he put too much magic on that cabinet and the thing went wild. But Professor Perfecto is now ready to show you the contents of his hat which you see sitting there on the table. It’s just an ordinary hat, but it’s got most magicians' hats beat forty ways.
    [There is a loud knocking off scenes.]
    Reader [continuing]: No, we’re not buying anything today. Do your stuff with your hat, Professor.
    [The Professor bows and begins taking small objects from the hat in the center of the table and tossing them about the platform. He is interrupted each time by a loud knocking. After several minutes of this, he glares with great indignation in direction of knocking and raps his stick.]
    Reader [exasperated]: All right, you! Come on in!
    [A skinny boy, dressed in soiled tatters as a bum, enters. He looks longingly at the Professor, wringing his hands.]
    Reader: It’s just a poor knight of the road, folks. Weary Willie himself. From the looks of him, he’s been through dust storms, hail storms, mud storms, and a tornado or two. Dig down in the old hat, Professor. Maybe you can find some new duds for him!
    [The Professor begins taking things out of hat, handing them to bum, while reader speaks.]
    Reader: A collar! A necktie! A shirt! Shoes! More shirts! etc. [The Reader enumerates each object as it appears. You can go the limit on all kinds of odd clothing here – male and female. modern and old. When the bum’s hands are overflowing, and things are piled around him on the floor, the Professor thrusts his entire arm into hat and begins to pull. He tugs and jerks, and part of a long red garment appears.]
    Reader [excited]: Long underwear! Pull hard, fellow! Come on! Put some steam in it! [The Professor is having fits. He tugs, jerks, jumps up and down as Reader cries:] Hooray! Attaboy, Professor! I’m betting on you! Get a move on! This is your act, Professor! Hurry! There – there – you’ve almost got it! Ye-e-e-ow! Watch out!
    [With a final tremendous effort, the Professor lunges back with the garment, upsetting himself and the box – revealing the boy hidden beneath it who has been thrusting objects up through the hole in the top, into the hat nailed there – which also has a hole in it. A wild scramble ensues, and the Professor, bum and boy have a tug-o'-war for the garment while the reader shouts encouragement for each.]
    CURTAIN

Chapter 4: The Last Round-up
    Here is a rip-roaring farce of the good old West, and it should furnish as much fun for the players as for the audience.
    The entire action is explained by the hidden Reader speaking through a megaphone. Except for giving cowboy yells at the proper moments, the players have no spoken parts to memorize. The success of the stunts will depend upon the players keeping full of life, and the Reader’s timing of explanations to suit the action. Ability to improvise occasionally will add to the fun.
    Now, the big night has arrived; there have been careful rehearsals, and the hidden Reader is in his place at one corner of the stage.
    Reader [in a strong, drawling, Western voice]: Ladie-e-e-es and gentlemen! We’re mighty glad to have you all with us tonight an’ we’re shore aimin’ to show you some sights you ain’t never seen before. [Curtain rises; across rear of stage are several rails to represent a "corral.” A saddle, as in illustration, will give atmosphere.] Here we are out on the lone prairee-e-e, folks, where even the earth worms chew cactus spines to keep themselves tough. Before us is the corral of the Double Cross Ranch – and here come some of the Double Cross boys headed for the big round-up.
    [There are loud yells to one side. Cowboys come on, riding broom horses. They are dressed as in the illustration, wearing "chaps” of oilcloth or heavy paper held on with safety pins.
    Each has vest, bandana, rope, and large straw hat creased like a sombrero. Every rider whips his “hoss” and goes bucking across stage.]
    Reader [introducing riders]: Ride ’em, cowboy! Here’s Gringo Charlie, Mexican Pete, Broncho Billy, Two-gun Smith – the worst hoss thief in Texas – Dead-eye Jones – [He makes up as many names as there are club members for players. At the last of the column comes someone leading a toy-wagon piled with groceries.]
    Reader: It’s just the “chuck” wagon, folks, takin’ the grub to the round-up. I guess that’s all the Double Cross crowd. No, here comes something else – [Loud noises are now heard. Someone cries, “Git up, you ole crow-bait!” Now the fattest boy of the club rides out on the smallest horse. This boy is padded with pillows to make him look as large as possible.]
    Reader: Why, folks, this shore is a surprise! Powder-River Slim himself! The greatest cowboy in the West! The greatest rope-thrower and bronco-buster of all times! Give ’im a hand, folks! Hurray for Powder-River Slim!
    [Slim is having a terrible time with his “hoss.” It prances and bucks, while the Reader shouts encouragement. Slim is thrown three times, falling with tremendous crashes on platform. Each time he falls, the broom “hoss” seems to leap into the air and neigh. This is done easily by having a thin wire tied to the broom, which can be manipulated by someone standing on a ladder behind scenes. On the last toss Slim follows the broom out of sight, unable to catch it.]
    Reader: Now, folks, while the Double Cross gang is rounding up a few steers, Gringo Charlie, Mexican Pete, and a couple of others will tighten up their harmony strings and give us a few tunes.
    [These can be a quartette of good singers in the club. If such are Jacking, well – just come on and bawl the words of a song until the house is in an uproar. You can have your choice of any of a dozen Western songs, from “The Last Round-up” to “I’m From Montana.”]
    Reader [after applauding singers]: What’s that goin’ on out yonder on the range? Sounds like rustlers or a stampede or something!
    [There are shouts, ringing of cow-bell, a “bang! bang!”, stamping of feet, and some terrific imitations of bellowing cattle. Abruptly a wild steer comes bouncing on, madly chased by cowboys.]
    Reader [excited/y]: Keep yore seats, folks, keep yore seats! Hold tight an’ everything will be all right. This is the terrible wild longhorn that’s been loose on the range for fifty years. Every year he’s been gittin’ wilder and meaner. But this time the Double Cross boys will catch ’im. Come on, Powder-River Slim! Do yore stuff!
    [The steer runs erratically around the stage, bellowing. To make him, study the illustration, then use your imagination. Wrap a sheet around a boy, tie the corners about his arms and legs, and fasten two large paper cones, representing horns, to a painted sack that fits over his head. He runs about monkey-fashion on his hands and feet.]
    Reader [screaming orders]: Rope ’im! Tie ’im! Bull-dog ’im! Stop ’im! Don’t let ’im git away!
    [You can make this as wild a scramble as you wish. Everybody jumps, yells, throws his rope, but the ropes should always miss the steer and catch someone else. The worse the tangle, the better the effect. The steer must turn on the cowboys finally and chase each one off the stage. Only Powder-River Slim is left.]
    Reader: Come on, Powder-River! We’re bettin’ on you! Rope that steer! If he breaks down the corral, everybody’s life will be at stake! He’s a man-killer! Oh, what’ll we do, what’ll we do? Look – Powder-River’s been tossed off his hoss! Everything is lost! No, there he goes! He’s goin’ to bull-dog ’im!
    [Powder-River and the steer circle each other warily, suddenly slam together, wrestle. It ends by Powder-River riding crazily away on steer’s back.]
    Reader [dramatically]: Well, folks, that was something! You just saw the great Powder-River Slim tackle and conquer the toughest, meanest, an’ worst fire-eating wild longhorn in the West! But if you think that was exciting, just wait till you see the surprise our friend Gringo Charlie has for you. You know, there’ve been lots o’ good hoss trainers in the world, but Gringo Charlie has ’em all beat! Hurry on, Charlie!
    [There are loud “whoa’s!” behind scenes, stompings. Gringo Charlie backs on, tugging at a rope. A horse finally appears, and rope is untied. The horse is made by two boys covered with sheets, as in illustration. The boy in front holds the horse’s head, formed by stuffing and painting a small sack, which is fastened on a stick.]
    Reader: Well, well! This is a surprise! Behold, ladies and gentlemen, the world-famous educated Arabian bronco, Cerebellum! Cerebellum has so much brains he has to keep part of them in the chuck wagon. He understands Einstein’s theory, and he’s eaten diplomas from twelve universities.
    [Cerebellum nods his head, sighs, sits down, and begins to snore. You’ll have to practice this, fellows!]
    Reader: First of all, Cerebellum, we’d like to ask a few questions. Just how old are you? Tap it out with your foot.
    [Cerebellum gets up, begins striking floor with his forefoot.]
    Reader [counting]: One! Two! etc. [After twenty or more, the reader calls a halt.] Just hold on, old fellow! You may be a hundred from the way you look. Just tell us when you were born.
    [Cerebellum sighs, scratches himself with hind foot, then gives one tap.]
    Reader [amazed]: What? You were born in the year one! Well, you look it, so I guess it’s close enough. Now, folks, Cerebellum was a great race hoss in his day, and he claims to have won the Kentucky Derby on a pint of oats. Just how many years ago was that, Cerebellum? Five? Ten? Fifteen?
    [Cerebellum shakes his head each time.]
    Reader [counting]: . . . twenty-five? Fifty? Seventy-five?
    [Cerebellum nods.]
    Reader: Seventy-five years ago! Was it a hard race, Cerebellum? [Cerebellum hee-haws.] No? Well, you might tell us how many hosses ran against you that day.
    [Cerebellum turns around and taps out ten with his hind foot.]
    Reader: So you ran against ten other hosses, eh? All right, now tell us how you came in at the finish.
    [As Reader counts, Cerebellum taps out fifteen.]
    Reader: What! You ran against ten hosses and you finished fifteenth! Say, that’s what I call some powerful runnin’! I know now that all these here good people would like mighty well to see just how you ran that day. Come on, old fellow, show us how you won the Derby!
    [Cerebellum sighs, scratches with his toot, and ambles slowly across stage. He braces his feet, hee-haws, and suddenly runs backward. He hee-haws again, then bows to audience.] Reader: So you ran backward, and won the Kentucky Derby, eh? Huh! Take’ im away, cowboys, take ’im away!
    [Cowboys appear, a halter is tied on, and they try to lead Cerebellum off. He balks, lies down, and begins to snore. Everyone lends a hand, but Cerebellum keeps on snoring. Finally one boy comes on with a handful of hay, holds it under Cerebellum’s nose. He raises his head, gets up slowly, hee-haws, and suddenly gallops off after hay.]
    Reader: While the rest of the Double Cross boys are busy at the round-up, Deadeye Jones has kindly offered to give you all a few lessons in rope-throwin’.”
    [Deadeye comes on, walking bowlegged and looking tough. He is loaded down with ropes. If you have someone who really knows how to handle a rope, so much the better. If not, he can try some of the following stunts.]
    Reader [loudly and dramatically, while Deadeye is warming up by swinging a loop]: This hard-bitten cowboy, folks, once won the prize for long-distance throwin’. He’s caught three jack-rabbits on the run a mile away, and last year he heaved a noose over a cyclone and dragged it clean across the state of Texas. He’s got that cyclone home now, all stuffed and mounted and looking twice as natural as the day he caught it. Come on now, Deadeye, an’ show us how far you can throw a rope!
    [Deadeye gives a mighty throw and sends rope out of sight behind scenes. He seizes the end and begins tugging mightily. After a long struggle and a final terrific pull, the object – which someone has quickly tied on – is pulled slowly upon the stage. It can be any kind of a pole.]
    Reader: “Well, I’ll be hog-tied and branded! Deadeye Jones threw clean to the Arctic Circle and roped the North Pole! If you don’t believe it, take a good look!
    [Deadeye holds up pole and makes magnificent bows. After this he begins throwing ropes in both directions behind scenes and dragging in queer objects from far places. Meanwhile the Reader continues with dramatic explanations.]
    Reader: Great thunder – look! That’s a war drum from Africa! An’ there’s a washtub from China! Good grief! That time he threw too high an’ caught Halley’s Comet! Here comes an iceberg from the North Atlantic! Aw, shucks, the doggone thing melted before he could drag it through Kansas! Come on, Deadeye! Catch us another cyclone.
    [Deadeye gives two final throws and begins tugging at both ropes for all he is worth. Now everyone in cast is pulled on, cowboys, steer and horse, all struggling and tangled in the ropes.]
    Reader [shouting as Cerebellum bucks and steer runs wild through the seething mix-up on stage]: It’s the last round-up, folks! It’s the last round-up! Hey! Watch out! The wild steer is loose! Cerebellum’s on the rampage! Catch ’em! Catch ’em!
    [Curtain, as Cerebellum and steer run crazily down aisles, ropes trailing.]

Chapter 5: The Pirate’s Treasure (A Nautical Comedy)
    Here is an unusual, swash-buckling play requiring ten or twelve mostly silent (but very active) players, and a reader concealed behind a curtain. All the players should wear something nautical – white sailor pants, sashes, ragged white shirts, and possibly colored rags tied about the head. Everyone must walk with a rolling, sailor’s gait. The reader must have a loud voice which fairly drips with all the emotions.
    Everything is ready. In the center of the stage are two bags covered with a sheet. The curtain begins to rise. The hidden reader speaks in a loud melancholy voice.
    Reader: Ladie-e-es and gentlemen! It is a black and stormy night. The wind is howling its tonsils out. The palm trees are rattling and Old Man Sea is lashing his tail all over the Spanish Main. Before you, dear sheltered people, you see a little coral island, and a poor man who has been marooned upon it and left to die.
    [Peg-leg, the Pirate, rises from behind the sheet. He is equipped with a wooden leg and has a patch over one eye. He walks around and around the stage, thumping his wooden leg and the big stick he carries.]
    Reader: Why, this is poor old Peg-leg, the Pirate! For forty days and forty nights he’s been walking round and round the beach of this little island, watching for a ship to come sailing by.
    [A strange creature comes hopping upon the stage. He is made by two boys tied together with a sheet. Each boy wears a beard. They hop around in-a circle after Peg-leg.]
    Reader: Great jumpin’ horn-spoons! What horrible thing is this? Why, it’s the four-legged, two-headed, rip-roaring Old Man of the Sea! Watch out, Peg-leg! He’s coming to find out where you’ve hidden your gold.
    [The Old Man of the Sea begins to chase Peg-leg around the island. They are joined by another figure, a boy entirely draped with a black cloth, and wearing a long beard.]
    Reader: Why, that’s old Davvy Jones himself! He’s after Peg-leg, too! But it’s not his gold he’s after. He’s thinking of all the good ships that Peg-leg has scuttled and sunk, and all the good sailors he’s hanged from a yard-arm or made to walk the plank. [Shouts.] Hop to it, Peg-leg! Those fellows are out for blood!
    [The three figures chase each other around in ever decreasing circles. As the reader talks, they gradually draw nearer the center of the stage.]
    Reader: He may have only one leg, folks, but he’s leading them a wild chase. See, he keeps going around the mountain in the center of the island. Every time he goes around he gets nearer to the top. Look, he’s climbing higher! He’s climbing higher! He’s almost there! It’s a tough climb, folks, and it’s a tall mountain. Just look at his chest heaving and his legs wobbling!
    [The three figures are going slower now, taking short, high steps as if they were climbing. They keep moving in smaller circles as if they were nearing the mountain-top, Peg-leg using his stick to push himself along.]
    Reader: It’s too bad, Peg-leg, you’ve made a mistake. When you reach the top of the mountain, they’ve got you. There’s no escape. Watch out, Peg-leg, here they come!
    [The three figures are moving in a tight circle as they reach the “mountain-top.” Suddenly Peg-leg lifts a corner of the sheet covering the bags and crawls underneath. The other two figures follow him. From beneath the sheet are heard groans, gurgles, and loud thumpings.]
    Reader [shouting all the while]: Why, there’s a cave at the top of the mountain! See, Peg-leg is going inside! Yes, sir! It’s a cave, and that’s where Peg-leg has his gold hidden. Oh! They’re following him inside! Boy, o’ boy! I’d hate to be up in the top of that old mountain with company like that!
    Reader [as noise subsides]: Well, folks, I guess the worst has happened! But say, what’s that I see? Something's moving out yonder on the horizon! Yes, sir! It’s a sail!. [Shouts.] Sail ho! Three points off the starboard bow!
    [Slowly, a ship full of sailors comes upon the stage. This can be a small rowboat on wheels, or it the platform is quite small, several boxes nailed together, with roller skates fastened underneath. It should be rigged with a big sail made from a sheet, with “Bouncing Betsy” painted on either side. The sailors are having a hard time. Some can be in the “water” pushing, others wielding paddles. The big sail keeps swinging back and forth. It the stage is large enough, the ship can be made to sail around it several times.]
    Reader: It’s the good ship, “Bouncing Betsy, folks, and they’ve come to find Peg-leg’s treasure! But they’re having a terrible time. There’s a gale roaring and they’re caught in the very teeth of it! Look at those big waves slashing over her decks.
    [The sailors rock the boat, fight with the sail, slam their paddles on the floor, and grunt and groan as if they are having a fearful time and will be wrecked any moment. Remember, fellows, to look serious!]
    Reader [shouting advice]: Do your stuff, Captain Barnacle! You can save her yet! Batten down the rudder, clew up the hatches! Take a reef in the bowsprit! Heave ho. boys! Cut away the mizzen-mast and drain the scuppers! Hang on to that wheel, sailor!
    [After fighting the gale several minutes, along with much advice from the hidden reader, the ship stops at one side of the stage. Three at a time, the sailors get out and sit in a line on the floor as if they were in a rowboat. Swinging their arms as if they were using oars, they “row” to shore. Practice this carefully at first to get the trick of it. While the Reader explains, the entire crew “rows” to the “beach."]
    Reader: Well, folks, they’ve come into a snug harbor at last, and now they’re safe. See, they’re getting into the boats! There they go, rowing to shore! Ah, it’s fine to feel that good old land under your feet again!
    [The sailors, single file and keeping step, begin walking in a large circle around the island. The circle grows smaller as they start winding around the mountain, “climbing” near the top of it.]
    Reader: Ladies and gentlemen, we are now witnessing the beginning of a great treasure hunt. These sailors just can’t wait.
    They’ve got gold on the brain, and they’re all rarin' to climb up the mountain and find old Peg-leg’s treasure. There they go winding around it, climbing higher! Be careful, Captain Barnacle, keep an eye on your men! There’s trouble and danger ahead! Old Peg-leg’s in his cave in the middle of the mountain somewhere, and he’s got two tough customers with him. I wouldn’t want to be out on a desert island on a dark night with Davvy Jones and that two-headed Old-Man-of-the-Sea skulking about somewhere waiting to test my blood! No, sir-ree!
    [The sailors at last reach the sheet-covered bundles marking the “mountain top.” They bend down as if to examine the opening of the “cave” and Captain Barnacle, the leading sailor, lifts one corner of the sheet. Meanwhile, the Reader has been speaking excitedly.]
    Reader : They’re getting closer! They’re getting closer! There, they’ve come to the top of the mountain! Watch out, Captain Barnacle, don’t you go into that cave where Peg-leg has buried his treasure! [Screams.] WATCH OUT!
    [Instantly, amid yelling and thumping, Peg-leg bounds from under the sheet. He is carrying the two bags which have been there all the while. The hags can be pillows, or flour sacks stuffed with straw, and both should have large dollar signs on each side. Peg-leg begins running in a circle, going back down the “mountain." The sailors, frightened by the growling and screaming coming from the “cave,” start out after Peg-leg. Behind them is Davvy Jones, followed by the Old Man of the Sea. Thus the entire group begins milling in circles about the stage, shouting continuously. Remember that Peg-leg, in going down the “mountain," must keep thumping around in ever widening circles, those behind following his lead. The effect will be like a whirling human corkscrew.]
    Reader [greatly excited]: Come on, Peg-leg! Hop to it, big boy! Look, folks, he’s got his two bags of gold he’s hidden in the cave at the top of the mountain. Now he’s burning up the trail getting back to the beach. But that’s a big mountain, and it’s a long way down to the bottom of it. Hurry up! Don’t let Davvy Jones catch you, fellows!
    [Peg-leg reaches the “beach." He drops his bags of gold, gives a jump as if he were diving, then begins moving his arms in a swimming stroke. In this way he moves off the platform.] Reader: Look at the bloody pirate! He’s reached the beach! He’s dropped his gold! He’s taken to the water! He’s swimming away! Just look at him swim! Regular old he-porpoise!
    [As the sailors reach the “beach,” they sit down in the “boats” and begin “rowing” frantically to the ship.]
    Reader: Here come the sailors! They’re taking to the boats! There they go, rowing back to the ship! Captain Barnacle’s forgotten all about that gold he came so far to get! Hurry up, Captain, before Davvy Jones hooks his fingers in your scalp!
    [With much fuss and noise, the ship gets under way again, and Captain Barnacle and his sailors move off the stage. Davvy Jones has just reached the “beach.” He plunges into the “water” and “swims” after them. The Old Man of the Sea is still coming down the “mountain.”]
    Reader: There goes Captain Barnacle and his good ship, the “Bouncing Betsy!” Good luck, Captain, and may you keep clear of that fellow Davvy Jones! Too bad about the gold!
    [The Old Man of the Sea finally hops down to the “beach.” Each “half” of him picks up one of the bags.]
    Reader: Well, Old Man of the Sea! You’ve chased off all trespassers, and now you’ve got that gold you wanted! What are you going to do with it, bad boy?
    [The Old Man of the Sea is jumping up and down excitedly. Finally the two boys begin fighting each other with the bags.] Reader: You see, folks, he’s got two heads and four legs. He can’t make up his mind which way to go, and each head claims all the gold. Go to it, bad boy! That’s something you’ll have to settle with yourself!
    [The curtain comes down with each half of the Old Man of the Sea fighting to settle the question.]

Chapter 6: Aladdin and His Lamp
    Here is an entertainment that requires only one good player, and he never has to speak a word. He should be one of the smallest members of the club, have a decided talent for pantomime, and be able to keep a serious face throughout the action. Many other players take part, just as many as your club has members, but practically all they have to do is to make loud noises and romp across the stage at proper intervals.
    The action of the play is explained by a reader concealed from the audience. He should have a carrying voice, capable of a great range of feeling. For accessories you will need a huge tin can with a shade of an old reading lamp tied to it (a big oil can will do); a small stick; a dinner bell; and a police whistle. The last three named, Aladdin has concealed on his person. Other objects will be brought on by the slaves.
    The reader is in his place and the curtain is rising. The stage is empty save for a small box in the center.
    Reader [loud and with great feeling]: Ladie-e-e-s and gentlemen! Tonight you are about to witness one of the greatest drammers of all-l-l time. The sweet and beautiful story of little Aladdin and his mar-r-r-velous lamp!
    [Instantly Aladdin comes sneaking upon the platform, lamp in hand. His face is dirty, his shirt tails are out, he has on a pair of trousers far too large for him. He keeps looking backward, stumbles over the box with a loud crash, sits down nervously.]
    Reader: I guess you’d be scared, too, folks, if you were a little tyke like that, all hungry and homeless and with a dangerous lamp in your hand. Look, he’s rubbing the lamp! You know what’s supposed to happen when Aladdin does that, don’t you?
    [There are loud noises, bangings and groans behind the stage. Aladdin looks expectantly behind him. Immediately, the biggest boy in the club comes tiptoeing out and bows six or eight times before Aladdin. He wears a black mask and a turban made of bath towels.]
    Reader: This is one of the slaves of the lamp, folks. He’s supposed to do whatever Aladdin tells him. I bet the poor little fellow is going to order a bushel of ice cream and a roast ox, he looks so hungry. See, he’s pointing to his mouth and rubbing his tummy.
    [Aladdin must burlesque this pantomime and go through many agonizing motions to show how hungry he is. The slave runs off, brings an apple, and disappears.]
    Reader [while Aladdin is eating the apple]: Believe me, folks, if I had that lamp I wouldn’t waste time on apples. Why, I’d make myself the big chief of the universe. Golly, there’s so doggone much a feller could do . . .
    [Aladdin sits up interestedly, blinks, begins to rub the lamp vigorously. The noise backstage is louder this time, and two slaves appear. All slaves must have bath-towel turbans and black masks. They bow profusely upon entering, and always seem to have great trouble in understanding Aladdin’s wishes. Each time the slaves appear, Aladdin must go through a long silent rigmarole trying to explain just what he wants.]
    Reader: I can’t quite make this one out, folks, but it looks awfully important. He’s a mighty particular little cuss, you know . . .
    [The slaves hurry away and reappear with a suit of long underwear, which they hold up. Aladdin throws it aside, has a tantrum, and goes through more pantomime explaining. Now the slaves appear with a fancy blanket which they drape over Aladdin’s shoulders. They go out.]
    Reader: Oh, I see, folks, Aladdin wants to be a king, and they’ve brought him a royal robe lined with ermine! I suppose next he’ll be wanting all the fixings and trimmings to go with it.
    [In quick succession – during lamp-rubbing and pantomime – the slaves bring a tall cardboard crown which is slammed roughly down on Aladdin’s head, and a big packing case with a chair on the top. Aladdin is seized and practically thrown up into the chair. By this time, there are five slaves on the platform – an extra one appearing whenever Aladdin rubs the lamp. They disappear, of course, the instant any one of Aladdin’s wishes have been fulfilled. During this performance the Reader has filled in any silent intervals with shouts and explanations like: “Atta boy, Aladdin!’’; “treat him rough, fellows,” etc.]
    Reader: Well, well! It’s beginning to look, folks, like little Aladdin has been bitten by a royal get-rich-quick complex. He’s got his royal robe, his crown, and a throne to go with it. I wonder what the little heathen will want next?
    [Aladdin, sitting on his throne, is briskly rubbing his lamp and looking expectantly for the slaves. They do not appear, so he begins beating the tin-can lamp with a stick. With the sound there are loud stompings and groanings again and six slaves appear.]
    Reader: If our king doesn’t watch out, dear people, he’s going to have his hands full. Look! What is it he wants this time? Can you make it out? Wiggle your thumbs, kiddo, make it clearer.
    [The slaves go into a huddle. There are murmurs among them; they go out and reappear in a body, carrying something between them. Aladdin is handed a tiny toy boat.]
    Reader: Hooray! Bright boy! He ordered a yacht. It’s just a mere trifle for His Royal Highness – and the Atlantic Ocean’s far, far away. Well, folks, it looks like he made a fox pass or something. Say! Look at him go for that lamp again!
    [Aladdin rubs his lamp, bangs on it with a stick, climbs down from the throne and stamps his foot. At last slaves appear. There are seven this time. They make the usual bows, and Aladdin has more trouble than ever explaining his wishes.]
    Reader [amazed, as slaves appear carrying a tub of wafer]: Well, I’ll be a bat-headed, double-jointed lolla-palloosa! That’s what I call service! Aladdin won’t go to the ocean, so the ocean comes to Aladdin! Just rubs his lamp, and there’s the broad Atlantic at his feet!”
    [Aladdin gets down and sails his boat a while in the tub. At last he jumps up, looks noble, and begins rubbing his lamp.]
    Reader: Ladies and gentlemen, my candid opinion is that all this power has gone to his head. I’m getting to be terribly, terribly afraid of what might happen.
    [Aladdin is having a great deal of trouble this time making the slaves appear. He beats the lamp with his stick, stamps his foot, listens. After several minutes of this, he takes out a dinner bell and rings it loudly. Amid violent noise, eight slaves appear. Then begins the long pantomime all over again, Aladdin trying to explain what it is he wants.]
    Reader: I can’t make out what it is the little fellow’s got his heart set on, but I know that the slaves of the lamp are getting out of patience with him. His Highness, the great Aladdin, seems awfully particular. Just see how he’s describing the details. Well, bring it on, fellows – and make sure you get it right!
    [The slaves rush out and reappear with a little bird house.]
    Reader: A palace! A monstrous, shining, golden palace! Well, that ought to satisfy the greedy little idiot. No, I’ll be bum-boozled if he doesn’t want something else! Just notice that ravenous look on his face, that glitter in his eye, while he tubs the lamp. Spit on your hands, kid, and rub harder! I reckon the slaves must all be asleep. They’ve had a pretty hard time chasing up and down the world trying to keep you satisfied. Better ring that bell again if you want some service.
    [Aladdin begins ringing the bell. He rings it a long time, then stops and listens.]
    Reader [laughing]: You better try a new stunt, old boy. This is getting serious. I wonder what’s happened.
    [Aladdin climbs down from his throne, takes out police whistle and blows one shrill blast. Then he waits, a scowl on face, hands on hips, head lowered and feet spread apart. There is a mighty noise behind the scenes. Nine slaves appear and go through their paces of bowing and listening while Aladdin gesticulates wildly.]
    Reader: Watch your step, Aladdin. Even a slave has his limitations – and these fellows look like they belong to a union. Ladies and gentlemen, I’m not certain, but I’m afraid His Royal Highness, the great lamp-patting Aladdin is asking for a trifle too much this time. He wants that famous creature of poetry and myth, that fabulous, impossible, unbelievable quadruped of quadrupeds! He wants [as the slaves appear again] the horse of horses! PEGASUS HIMSELF! Okay, bronco-buster!
    [The slaves hand Aladdin a child’s hobbyhorse – or it can be simply a broomstick with a horse’s head cut from cardboard tacked upon it. Aladdin beams sweetly, stands astride it, grasps the reins, and begins hopping around the stage.]
    Reader: Ride ’im, cowboy! Ride ’im, cowboy! Hooray! Look at ’im buck!”
    [As soon as the audience has had enough of this, Aladdin kicks the horse aside and mounts his throne again. He sits thinking deeply, occasionally removing his crown and scratching his head while the reader speaks.]
    Reader: Dear, kind ladies and gentlemen, you would think that our royal pet has had enough of this business – but no, there is a greedy light in his eye, and his clutching fingers are fairly itching for new possessions. I suppose the next thing he’ll want will be a fur-lined bath-tub or a trip to the moon. Why, just look at him perk up when I talk about the moon! I wish I hadn’t said anything – I’ve gone and put a bug in his ear now, and I’m fearfully afraid of the consequences.
    [Aladdin has begun to rub his lamp with all his might. At last he beats on it with the stick, then jumps down from his throne and kicks lamp across platform. Now he stamps his foot, ringing the dinner bell. The slaves have not yet appeared, so, still stamping and ringing the bell, he commences to blow the whistle. There is a rising murmur from behind the scenes. The noise grows louder and louder, and amid yells and the bangings of tin cans, the entire body of slaves – as many as possible – erupt upon the stage. Aladdin’s blanket and crown are snatched away, the throne is overturned and kicked aside, and the squirming Aladdin is picked up bodily, held high overhead, and carried out in a mad rush.]

Chapter 7: The Adventures of Colonel Ketchum
    This play requires considerably more preparation than any of the others, but it will furnish everyone, including the actors, all kinds of fun. Decorate your stage jungle fashion with leafy branches, cornstalks and the like, and tack together a rough screen of building paper. It should have holes near the top large enough to thrust your heads through, as well as silhouettes of queer birds painted below the holes. The entire action is explained by a reader concealed in a big box, placed on the right of the stage in front of the curtain. He talks through a megaphone fastened in the side of the box. On the box is painted “Colonel Ketchum’s Wild Beast Circus, Congo, Africa.”
    Now, you have been through two careful rehearsals, the big night has arrived, and you are all ready for the curtain. The Reader begins shouting in a loud, bombastic voice through the megaphone.
    Reader: Fellow Americans! I am the fa-a-mous and re-nown-n-ned Colonel Ketchum, and I am speaking to you by radio from darkest Africa! I regret that I cannot fulfill this engagement in person, but I have sent my animals ahead to be with you. Have no fear, kind friends; these creatures, though strange and fearful to behold, have been rendered harmless by my hypnotic eye. Among the most interesting creatures in my collection of rare and savage beasts are the singing hoolagoola birds, the like of which no man has ever seen before. I fought them, I caught them, I tamed them! I caught them single-handed in the crater of a roaring volcano, in the middle of the Sahara Desert! Hoolagoolies, do your stuff.
    [The curtain rises. In the center of the stage, heads thrust through the holes in the painted screen, is the hoolagoola chorus. These can be any four good singers among you; each boy can begin shouting the word of a different song he knows. After several songs, they can walk sideways off the stage, sliding the screen in front of them.]
    Colonel Ketchum: Incredulous people, I know you will not believe the things you will see tonight, but you must remember that I am the foremost authority on Africa-mania and jungle-phobia.
    [As he speaks, a big box, turned upside down, on the opposite side of the stage, begins to shake and horrible howls come from it. Painted upon it are these words: “The Headless Howzitt. Beware!”]
    Colonel Ketchum: Pay no attention, folks, to the headless thing in the cage. He is the only dangerous creature I have, but I assure you he cannot escape. Like all of the other animals present, he was found in an impossible place that only a man of my resource and cunning could penetrate. Perhaps you would like to know how I caught and tamed the howling jamborees, the eagle-tongued slink-o-lepodon, and others too numerous to mention. So, in all modesty, I will tell you a small bit of my miraculous experiences and hairbreadth escapes.
    Although I cannot exactly be with you in person tonight, perhaps I can project my stupendous personality upon you to such an extent that you can actually see me with some degree of reality as I relate my experiences. Ahem – look hard! Think deeply! Do you visualize me now?
    [A boy strolls leisurely upon the stage, impersonating the Colonel. He is dressed carefully in white, with an explorer’s sun hat and a cane. He carries a butterfly net.]
    Colonel Ketchum: Aha! Here we are! Well do I remember myself, and that horrid day when, after a bitter march through the steaming jungles, half dead with starvation and bleeding from a thousand spear wounds, I sucklenly beheld before me the flying dingbat!
    [Instantly someone behind the scenes thrusts forward a long fish pole, on the end of which dangles a huge cardboard butterfly tied to a black thread. The explorer rushes upon it with his net, but with every thrust the creature is jerked beyond reach, while the holder of the pole gives an idiotic laugh.]
    Colonel Ketchum: I fought this monster back and forth for hours, and only my nimble feet and superhuman strength saved me from instant extinction from his razor-like claws. Suddenly, however, the five o’clock whistle blew and the dingbat went home for supper. I sat down exhausted.
    [The explorer sits in middle of stage. Behind him from either side strange, masked forms are creeping. You will have to use your ingenuity here, fellows. You can paint your faces, wear masks, and dress in anything you wish to look funny or unusual. Six or eight of you will be enough.]
    Colonel Ketchum: Almost in a flash, dear people, I realized that something was wrong, that some nameless terror stalked me in the undergrowth. Slowly I got up and looked around. What I saw would have been a ghastly sight to weaker men, but the great Colonel Ketchum is never afraid.
    [Here the explorer begins to tremble mightily. He totters to the howzitt’s box and is just hiding behind it when the howzitt begins to shake the box and howl. The explorer shrieks, bounds off front of stage, runs down through center of audience. He returns behind the scenes via the rear entrance.]
    Colonel Ketchum: No, kind people, I refused to be daunted by mere thoughts of personal danger – but I realized suddenly that I had forgotten to bring a cage with me wherein to keep any of the creatures, should I catch one, so I started off quickly to camp.
    [The masked creatures have crawled back behind the scenes. The explorer comes on again, knees shaking, a big stick in his hands.]
    Colonel Ketchum: But I had gone only a few steps when I came face to face with the very animal which had drawn me to Africa in the first place; a beast which every great animal-snatcher since the time of Noah has been seeking to add to his collection.
    [The fishing pole is again thrust forward; from two threads on the end of it dangles a piece of cardboard cut like a wriggling serpent. It is spotted.]
    Colonel Ketchum: This, ladies and gentlemen, was none other than the spotted whippersnapper – and I tore into him for all I was worth, to throttle him, put salt on his tail, anything to preserve him for posterity!
    [Explorer drops stick, turns to run. Snake is thrust ahead of him. He turns the other way, is again confronted by snake. They wove rapidly back and forth for some time.]
    Colonel Ketchum: I fought the greatest fight of my life, then, gentlemen, to catch that beast so the world might see him. When I almost had him in my hands, something frightened him and he turned to run. In that instant I saw behind me again a great flock of those howling jamborees watching the fight, so I knew I had better hurry to camp for a carload of cages.
    [The masked creatures have crept upon the stage again; the explorer dashes off behind scenes with jamborees after him. He enters again from other side, shrieks, and bounds off front of stage, running down the aisles. The jamborees bounce to their feet with fearful howls, and follow him.
    [While they are returning to their places behind scenes the headless howzitt is shaking his box and growling.]
    Colonel Ketchum [continuing]: As I have said before, ladies and gentlemen, only a man of dauntless spirit and great resource could have accomplished what I did. I raced back to camp, put a slice of limburger cheese in each one of my cages, and when the jamborees came to eat, I locked the cage doors upon them. I, the great Colonel Ketchum, conquered them all through their weakness for limburger!
    [The explorer enters again, strutting and bowing to audience.] Colonel Ketchum: No sooner had I placed the jamborees safely under lock and key, when the jungle around me echoed with a strange and terrible sound.
    [The boys behind the scenes begin striking one foot down in unison, grunting together with the motion. The explorer stoops, listening, craning his neck.]
    Colonel Ketchum: I, the great Colonel Ketchum, knew instantly what caused that noise. It was the beast of beasts,
    the varmint of varmints, the greatest monster of all time! Noah, I believe, was the first man to see him, for he followed the ark for days to eat the leftovers from the table.
    [The explorer is making an attempt to run away, but his feet keep tripping in his fright.]
    Colonel Ketchum: This beast, ladies and gentlemen, was none other than the monstrous, eagle-beaked slink-o-lepodon! And I, believe it or not, tamed him with one glance from my hypnotic eye! I looked at him, I scowled at him, and I tamed him!
    [The noise becomes louder. The slink-o-lepodon enters. The explorer succeeds in crawling off opposite side on hands and knees.]
    * * *
    The slink-o-lepodon is easily made by having all the boys in the club stoop in line, holding on to the belt of the boy in front. Before facing audience, some one covers the entire line with sheets, thus giving the effect of a long, dragon-like creature with many feet. The boy in the lead can wear a mask, or hold in front of him a pillow with a face outlined upon it in black. His arms, wrapped with a sheet, form the neck. The slink-o-lepodon, with everyone grunting loudly and keeping step, moves slowly across the stage. As the head boy reaches the rear of the backdrop, he grasps the last boy in line and pulls the sheet over him.
    Thus the slink-o-lepodon will be able to move continually – an endless monster. Before the curtain comes down, the headless howzitt begins to prance about the stage with only his feet showing beneath the box. His feet should be painted red.
    CURTAIN

Chapter 8: The Astounding Doctor Scorpio (A Futuristic “Drama”)
    This futuristic “drama” is complete from time machine to visitors from Mars. If you can forget yourselves and get the spirit of the thing, you need have no worries about a successful performance. All the action is explained by a hidden reader at one corner of the stage. He should be a chap with a loud voice whose ambition is to broadcast baseball games and deliver political speeches. If he can improvise at proper moments, so much the better.
    The stage must be decorated to look like a laboratory of the future. Tack white paper upon large grocery boxes and packing cases of various sizes, and pile them around the backdrop. On the front of the largest box fasten every kind of wheel, dial, and lever you can find or invent. There is a table at the right. Use your imagination to give the entire ensemble a scientific look. You will be able to “fake” many of the decorations out of cardboard, though the “space gun” will have to be a large piece of furnace pipe borrowed from the hardware store. You will find all the tricks here easy to do if you practice them carefully.
    The first night has arrived. The players are ready and the curtain slowly rises. Let’s go!
    Reader [loudly]: Friends, enemies, countrymen! Tonight we have with us an amazing and stupendous personality! The greatest scientific brain of modern times! Allow me to present the astounding Doctor Scorpio!
    [Doctor Scorpio appears, bowing. The smallest member of the class, he should be rigged out in a suit many times too large for him. A false mustache and a high silk hat will add to the effect. He carries a cane, and continues to bow grandly while the reader finishes.]
    Reader: Ladies and gentlemen, Doctor Scorpio was born ten thousand years ahead of his time. He not only taught Einstein his theory, but he knows the alphabet backward and has written seventeen volumes on the life of the earthworm. Tonight, my friends, Doctor Scorpio is going to perform experiments which will dazzle you, amaze you, make you cross-eyed for a month! He will take you on a breathless journey far into the future! He will show you things . . .
    [Scorpio has laid aside cane, pulled up his sleeves, and gone to one of the boxes in rear. A huge clock face is painted upon it and there is a large wooden hand. The numerals should read from 100 to 1200. Scorpio fights and struggles with the hand to turn it forward.]
    Reader: Say, look at him! What in the world! Oh, I get it! [Dramatically.] He’s moving time forward!
    [Scorpio begins to have difficulties caused by a boy concealed inside the box who keeps moving hand back. The boy rings a bell – old-fashioned dinner variety – during struggle.]
    Reader: Look how time flies! One hundred years! Two hundred years! But it keeps bouncing back! Come on, Doc, we’re all betting on you! I know it’s hard when you’re fighting against time!
    [Scorpio places hand at 600 years. He starts away, turns, and hand bounces back to 500 as bell rings. He looks startled, shrugs, wipes face with immense handkerchief made from part of an old sheet.]
    Reader: All right, folks, here we are, five hundred years ahead of ourselves. Well, Doctor, what’s life like in this advanced century? Do people eat, sleep, act like they used to?
    [Scorpio shakes his head.]
    Reader [alarmed]: What? They don’t eat, don’t sleep? That’s terrible! What do they do?
    [Scorpio goes to table and holds up one of several bottles containing jelly beans. He points to his mouth and then to his stomach.]
    Reader [slowly, amazed]: Oh, I see! They take pills! And what wicked looking pills!
    [Scorpio is thumping cane on floor. Instantly two boys appear carrying a third boy on a stretcher. All wear shorts, gloves, and tin cans tied upon their heads with strings.]
    Reader: Remember, folks, this is the year 2500. If they look kind of queer, just think how you’d look to your ancestors. But what have they got here? Oh, it’s an accident case! He was out playing polo in a rocket ship and he fell seventy-five miles to the ground! Every bone in his body was broken. Look! The Doc’s giving him a pill!
    [Scorpio gives patient pill and pats his head. Patient suddenly comes to life, bounces off stretcher, jumps up and down, swinging his hands, yells. There is a mad scramble to catch patient and all three boys disappear. Scorpio wipes face with handkerchief, taps with cane, and reaches for another pill as one-legged boy comes in on crutches.]
    Reader: Wow! Those pills are great stuff. I know a lot of people they would help. But what’s this? Just a poor fellow who got in the way of the Jupiter Express and lost his leg. Don’t fool me, Doc! You can’t grow a new leg with a pill!
    [The boy has come in sideways, thus concealing the foot which is tied to his belt behind him. Scorpio gives him pill, and at the same time reaches behind him and releases bow knot holding up foot. Boy swallows pill, shouts, kicks out new leg, throws crutches aside, and bounds off stage. Scorpio taps cane again. Instantly two boys appear dragging a third between them. His eyes roll and he is so weak he collapses when he tries to stand by himself.]
    Reader: Oh, this is terrible! Poor fellow! He was lost in the stratosphere and he’s had neither food nor sleep for seven months! Quick, Doc! A pill!
    [With pill, boy bounds up, takes pose as strong man, starts playing with two grocery boxes with 10,000 pounds lettered on each in large numerals. Reader continues ejaculations.]
    Reader [after strong man’s exit]: Wonderful pills, Doctor Scorpio! But they must be child’s play compared to some of your other achievements. Have you finally learned the secret of controlling the weather?
    [Scorpio nods, puffs out chest, struts as it tremendously pleased with himself.]
    Reader: You have! Great Caesar! I don’t believe it! All right, if you’re so smart, let’s see if you can bring on a thunder shower!
    [Scorpio strides grandly to box covered with wheels and levers, as he struggles with controls, a bell clangs, lights begin to dim, and there are sounds of thunder and hail in rear. Produce this by beating on big drum and pouring pebbles on a sheet of tin. Now lights are flashing on and off to booming of drum and boys run on stage with umbrellas upraised.]
    Reader [screaming]: Stop it! Stop it! Do you want to blow the house down? I’ve had enough. I’m soaking wet already. Quick, give us a dry spell!
    [Thunder storm stops and lights come on. Scorpio struts about, bowing. Boys fold umbrellas and leave.]
    Reader: Marvelous, Doctor! Magnificent! Unbelievable! Stupendous! Smash! Colossal! I suppose next you’ll say you can eliminate time and space, even abolish it entirely! How about it, Doc?
    [Scorpio smiles; he pounds his swelling chest, and bows several times.]
    Reader [excitedly]: What! You can? You mean you can telegraph people as well as words? [Scorpio nods.] Telegraph them from one place to another? [Scorpio nods again.] If I happened to fail in my Algebra exams and wanted to get to South Africa in a hurry – do you mean you could telegraph me there?
    [Scorpio nods and taps cane. A boy appears, and salutes.]
    Reader [with feeling]: Ladies and gentlemen, watch this carefully. The unbelievable and the impossible will be accomplished before your eyes. Time and space will be utterly eliminated. It will be abolished entirely! This handsome young gentleman, standing before you so fearless and trusting, will be telegraphed to the ends of the earth. All right, folks, speak up! Where shall we send him? South America? Australia? The North Pole? Ah, there is a place! Telegraph him to the North Pole, Doc!
    [Scorpio is making preparations, gives boy pill, pats him on the head, has a fur coat brought in and helps boy into it. Now boy stands in middle of stage, hands upraised while Scorpio goes to control box.]
    Reader [excited]: Watch carefully! Watch carefully! A human being is to be telegraphed – telegraphed to the North Pole!
    [Scorpio seizes lever, begins clicking it rapidly as though it were a telegraph key. There is a clanging and jangling of scrap iron in the rear, lights begin flashing alternately oft and on, giving boy chance to disappear. Finally lights come on again and Scorpio bows.]
    Reader [horrified]: But you can’t leave him up at the North Pole! He’ll turn to a block of ice! Bring him back! Hurry! He’ll freeze his toenails off!
    [Scorpio runs to control box. Again the hocuspocus and darkness. When lights come on again four or five boys are in center of stage, steadying a pole. Clinging to the top of it is the boy in the fur coat. This will be a good number if practiced carefully.]
    Reader: Dear, kind, incredulous people, you think you’ve seen things, but you ain’t seen nothin’ yet! Even now, the great Doctor Scorpio is preparing to have time become visible before your eyes. See – he sets the hand of the Time Machine! Now he is turning on the power! He is getting ready to throw the switch which will bring the distant planets passing in review before you! Let’s go, Doctor!
    [Bell rings, lights flicker. As Scorpio pretends to work controls, a strange figure glides across platform. This is simply a boy, masked and in costume, on roller skates. Make the costume as queer as you wish, of anything you wish. If boy is drawn by a piece of picture wire which he holds in his hand, it will add to the effect.]
    Reader [awed and dramatic]: But what’s this! Why – why – it makes my brain go into a tail-spin! We’re seeing Time and the Future! This is a visitor from Mars come to visit us Tomorrow!
    [More queer figures on skates pass on review.]
    Reader [as each one passes in review]: And here comes the Man in the Moon! That funny-looking egg is a taxi driver from Venus! And there’s a politician from Neptune! Etc., etc.
    [Scorpio has been bowing dramatically. When “Visitors" have gone, one rushes wildly back to the platform and interrupts Scorpio's bowing,]
    Reader: Something’s wrong! That’s the little fellow from Halley’s Comet! He got tripped up in space and can’t get home! Quick, Doctor! Send him back by telegraph! What? No telegraphic communications to Halley’s Comet? Oh, what’ll we do? What’ll we do?
    [Scorpio is tapping cane for assistants. Two boys appear carrying a sheet. They begin winding it around visitor from comet.]
    Reader [greatly excited]: This is stupendous! It is colossal! Super-colossal! He’s going to use the space gun! La-a-adies and gen-n-ntlemen! The great Doctor Scorpio is going to send our friend home by shooting him from the space gun! Watch carefully! See, they’re loading the gun – now they’re putting him inside – Doctor Scorpio is taking aim at Halley’s Comet, forty billion miles away! In another minute you will see a human projectile hurtling through space to the tail of Halley’s Comet!
    [The boy has been “rammed” with large ramrod into the big tin pipe which has “Space Gun” lettered on it. Lights dim. As Scorpio aims and jerks a lever, the drum is struck loudly. A white thing is seen to streak out of “gun’s” muzzle. This is simply a strip of cloth fastened by small rings to a wire on other side of “gun.” The wire, invisible to the audience, leads to some point off-stage. As gun “booms,” someone quickly jerks cloth along wire by means of a fine fishing line. The effect is quite realistic.]
    Reader: He’s done it! He’s done it! [Bell starts to ring, boys groan and stamp their feet, rattle cans, iron, and make an orgy of noise. The “Time” hand whirls madly. Reader continues screaming.] Something’s happened! The Space Gun did it! It upset the balance of the universe! Quick! Run! The worlds are falling!
    CURTAIN

Chapter 9: The Mystery Man
    Our club had reached the doldrums. Furthermore, the treasury was empty, and it began to look like our rosy plans for a summer camp for the bunch would come to nothing.
    “Golly, we’ve got to do something!” fumed Jim Mason, our president. “If we only had an idea that would bring in some money and pep things up at the same time...”
    Someone then laid a huge poster upon the table. We all stared at the glaring letters Bill Hanley had painted upon it, and at his drawing of a face in a black mask.
        THE MYSTERY MAN!
        WHO IS HE? WHAT CAN HE DO?
        WHAT CAN’T HE DO?
        Come and see him next Friday
        night at__
        Admission 25c
        Come One! . . . Come All!
    We gaped at the thing in downright amazement and then Bill was snowed under with questions.
    “Hey, wait a minute,” he said. “I’ll explain. It’s just a little stunt I’ve been thinking about for some time. Here’s the idea.: We put on this business, and every member here will pledge himself to sell a certain number of tickets. We can have ’em printed for a dollar. If the thing’s a success, it’ll solve all our troubles and earn that camp money...”
    “Yeah!” someone growled. “But what’s all this Mystery Man business?”
    “Easy,” said he. “I’ve got the entertainment all mapped out, and if every one of you will just promise to help...”
    We started in. We were all a bit doubtful, but Bill took charge and kept us busy for a week. An afternoon was spent in
    painting other posters and hanging them all over the neighborhood, and two long evenings were given to rehearsals. In the meantime we made the rounds with the tickets. The sales were good, for people were curious, and they didn’t mind helping us when we told them what we were going to do with the money.
    When the big night came, the old hall was packed. Everyone was bursting with curiosity about the Mystery Man. To save time, we will take you behind the scenes right away and tell you what we did, and how we did it. The entertainment was all so simple and easy that we know you will wish to try it.
    To begin with, Jim introduced the Mystery Man and gave a fine talk on the marvels he could perform. Bill was “it.” When he appeared wearing a long, white smock and a black cloth mask completely covering his head, you could have heard a pin drop.
    In a deep, hollow voice, and making motions with his hands, he promised to do the most stupendous disappearing act of the century. I came out upon the stage with a large gunny sack in my hand. The Mystery Man held it for all to see, and called some of the audience up to examine it, and prove it was intact.
    I crawled inside, and Bill tied it up tight by means of a short rope laced through the top. To all appearances, I could not possibly get out of the sack without help.
    Bill then placed a small, folding screen in front of me, pronounced a lot of hocus-pocus, pointed out that it would be impossible for anyone to slip behind the screen unobserved and help me. With that, he made several bows and left the stage. The piano began to play.
    In a few minutes (just time to get people worked up) the Mystery Man suddenly appeared from behind the screen. He folded it up, and picked up the empty sack, still tied, and made a big to-do about untying the tightly-knotted rope. He then held the sack to show that no one had tampered with it. The crowd thundered applause.
    The trick was so simple the audience did not understand it. While the sack was being tied, I had merely grasped a loop of the rope inside and held several inches of it in my hand. When I turned it loose, there was enough play for me to slip my hand through the top and untie the knot. I then got out, tied the sack up tightly again, and put on another mask and smock, like Bill’s, that had previously been hung on the back of the screen. I was about Bill’s size. Thus in the same hollow voice, I directed the next trick, and no one suspected the two of us had changed places.
    The next trick was good, and easily worked. A large, widemouthed jug was placed on a table. I picked up a pitcher of water, waved a stick over the jug, and poured water into it. All the while I declared that the secrets of the Orient were an open book to me, and that I could make a plant grow and bloom right then and there. As I watered the “soil” in the jug, a big carnation in full leaf burst up in plain sight! It appeared miraculous to the audience, though there was nothing to it but a cork on the bottom of the stem, and a wire frame inside the jug to hold it straight. The water raised the cork, and the flower grew – and people thundered applause.
    Later Bill and I exchanged places again. This time he crawled into a big box which I locked with a padlock. I left the stage, and the Mystery Man appeared as before from behind the screen, with the box still locked, to everybody’s delight. The box trick was simple, too. The lid had the hinges inside, and were fixed so Bill could take the pins out, raise the lid, unlock the box with a duplicate key, replace the pins, and lock the box again. The mask and smock (his this time) were hanging on the back of the screen as before. Of course, he moved the screen and unlocked the box to show everyone it was empty.
    Another trick was quite silly, but it brought a laugh. The Mystery Man decided he would change his size and shape! Five of the members brought out the screen again, and we worked it so the smallest member, just half Bill’s size, was left unnoticed behind it. No one caught on because Bill was doing some clowning with a hat to distract attention. He had filled it with a lot of confetti and made one of us put it on.
    Anyway, the Mystery Man walked behind the screen and appeared immediately on the other side of it, much shrunken in size! I thought the roof would come down. Little Peewee Johnson wore the other smock and mask. The two exchanged places a few minutes later after Peewee had cut a few capers and pulled several of his favorite stunts..
    I wish there was room here to tell you everything we did that night, but most of the tricks were the simple, easy kind you can get from any book on the subject. Some of the fellows knew stunts of their own, and we filled in between acts with these to make the show last longer. We gave several performances in the next two weeks, and each one got better as our “timing” improved and we forgot our fear of the audience.
    But here are two things to remember: Everything we did was accompanied by a lot of “patter” by the Mystery Man of the moment, and we took plenty of time on the disappearing acts to build up suspense. As soon as we finished one act, we went quickly on to the next subject on the program before the audience had time to see through anything. The “patter” worried us at first, because it’s awfully hard to memorize a lot of hocus-pocus, speak it naturally, and make it fit. But after we got wound up, we found it was very easy to improvise a lot of silly sayings as we went along. We just pretended, you see, that we were real magicians, then the words came without thinking. Try it during rehearsals, and see how it works.
    Did we earn the money for our summer camp? I’ll say we did!

Chapter 10: When Halloween Comes
    When Halloween comes, all the younger boys will be out with their masks and lanterns, but the rest of us are going to have some real fun, and have another party like the one of last year.
    I will have to tell you what we did, for you might want to try it yourself.
    Bill Hanley, who thinks up most of our club ideas, declared, “There’s no reason why we should be old-fashioned and do the usual thing. Now, the Indians had a harvest festival, too. I won’t let you in on the secret. Just meet with the rest of the bunch at Jenkin’s barn. Be there at eight and wear your old clothes. And bring ten feathers.”
    Ten feathers! That sounded funny.
    On the night of Halloween, however, I was there, ten turkey feathers in my hand. Bill took one for admission.
    I will have to tell you first about Jenkin’s barn. That might give you an idea, too. It was no longer in “commission” and the owner had let us fix it up as a clubhouse. We had built a fireplace at one end, and equipped it in regular style with old chairs, a table, bookshelves, and even a few bunks along the walls. One end was rigged up with burlap curtains so we could put on an occasional play.
    When all the gang arrived Bill had the place decorated: A crackling fire burned in the fireplace, Indian blankets draped the bunks, the lanterns were lit, and I was surprised to see a big cornstalk tepee built in one corner.
    “Why all the Injun business, Bill?” asked someone. “Are you the Heap Big Chief of the evening?”
    “No. Only the Medicine Man. The Big Chief is the fellow who wins the most ‘coups.’ From now on, we’re going to do things. Every winner earns a feather – which stands for a ‘coup.’
    “But first, we’re going to play a funny little game so I can take some of your feathers away from you. I’ll speak an Indian name, at the same time pointing to somebody. Whoever I point out has to snap right back with another Indian name, or forfeit a feather. The names have to be real, and you’ve got to give a new one every time you reply.
    “Tuskaloosa!” he cried, pointing to me. “Oshkosh!” I snarled back. Everybody laughed. “Minnehaha!” he said, pointing to another. “Colorado!” came the reply. “Wrong,” he said. “That’s Spanish. Gimme a feather.” Now: “Suwanee!” “Er-er-okee-woogie-oogie—” “No good. You’re making it up. A feather, please.”
    Thus the game went, everybody howling at the names. When Bill had made the rounds several times, he held a big handful of feathers. “Next,” he said, “we’ll wrestle Indian style for ‘coups’.” He marked a six-foot ring upon the center of the floor. Calling upon a member, he showed us how it was done. The two wrestlers faced each other in the circle, their right hands clasping. Their right feet were in the center of the circle, touching side by side. Their left feet were braced backward on the edge of the circle. The object, Bill explained, was to make the other fellow lose his balance and move a foot. The wanner could take one “coup” from the loser. If the loser were thrown clear of the circle, the winner could claim five “coups.”
    The game was exciting, both to play and to watch. It took quickness and skill instead of strength or weight to give the other fellow a jerk and make him move. The best player was little Peewee Johnson. He was lithe and quick, and he won, receiving a big handful of feathers. He had already survived the naming game better than the rest. Those who had no feathers left had to crawl into the cornstalk tepee and mark a black line on their faces with charcoal that Bill had placed there.
    When we saw that Peewee was getting the better of us, we cried for a change. Bill gave a big whoop. “All out for the tomahawk throw.” We lined up in front of the fireplace. At the other end of the barn was a big target made of boards covered with a thick layer of cardboard in the middle. On it was a bull’s-eye and a ring painted around this. Bill produced a tomahawk, which had been whittled from white pine. It was heavy at the lower end, projecting to a metal point, and it felt like a dart in the hand. It was easy to throw. To touch the target and make it stick there was not so easy. To make it stick inside the ring counted five “coups,” and a bull’s-eye counted twenty. Bill paid these with the feathers he had taken from us. Those who missed the target altogether had to crawl into the tepee for a black mark. We all laughed at little Peewee when he went into the tepee for the charcoal.
    Next came the lance tournaments. Each opponent was equipped with a six-foot bamboo lance, the point of which was wound with a big ball of cloth. The lancers faced each other across a ring, toes on the line. They crossed lances, and when Bill held up his hand, they started pushing and poking to make the other fellow move from his tracks. The balls, of course, kept anyone from being hurt. The winner received five feathers and had the right to rub a black mark from his face.
    At last we counted “coups,” subtracted our black marks, and proclaimed Peewee the Heap Big Chief. When the fun was over, Bill grinned and said, “There’s nothing an Indian likes better than a roast at a feast. Here we are!” He opened up a big package of wieners and passed out sticks so we could roast them over the fire. To make the party complete, in Indian style, we parched and popped corn. While we ate, we each told yarns of the great deeds we hoped to do.

Chapter 11: An All-American Thanksgiving
    “Did you know,” asked Bill Hanley, who thinks up most of our club ideas, “that Thanksgiving was our first real American holiday? That’s why I like it better than any of the rest – it’s all American from start to finish, even to the turkey and pumpkin pie we celebrate it with.
    “Why all the history?” I asked.
    “Just gives me an idea,” grinned Bill. “After you’ve gone the limit from soup to nuts on Thursday, wander on down to the barn. The rest of the fellows will be there.”
    “Okay,” I replied, wondering what he had up his sleeve. In case I have not told you about it before, Jenkins’ barn is an old place on the edge of town that the owner had allowed us to fix up as a clubhouse. We had decorated it in grand style, with a fireplace and everything.
    After Thanksgiving dinner, I did as Bill suggested. I was afraid he had a hike in mind. A hike did not appeal to me just then. No need to tell why. The rest of the bunch were there, all feeling lazy and sleepy like myself.
    Bill surveyed us solemnly. He was standing beside the crackling fire, a piece of black crayon in his hand. Near him was a rough easel covered with big sheets of blank newspaper he had gotten from the printer. Carefully, he tore off the lower third of the first sheet and two-thirds of the sheet underneath. Folding these back, he began drawing something on the upper part of the third sheet. We watched him curiously, disinterestedly, but we could not see what he was making, for he had turned the easel around, and as soon as he was through he pulled the short second sheet back down so the work was hidden.
    “All right,” called Bill. “One of you come and draw the neck and the body of something below this head I’ve drawn. Whatever it is, it’s got to be American – and don’t take up more than the center third of the paper. When you’re done, cover it with the top sheet until somebody else draws the feet. No fair peeking till the whole thing’s done. Now, the thing I’ve started has scales, toenails and a tail, and there are six letters in its name. Neckties are forfeit if you make a mistake.”
    We started in. Peewee Johnson wound up with the last third and, grinning, he turned the easel around and pulled back the two upper sheets. We stared. Everybody woke up and started howling. Bill had drawn a fine turkey head, Jim Bates had added a lizard body, and Peewee had finished it with the lower part of a turtle. Nobody had thought of turkeys having scaly feet. I tell you, the drawing was a “riot,” it was so silly. You would not think big fellows like us would fall for it, but we all forgot everything else.
    After we were thoroughly wide awake, Bill said, “If all of you are thorough-going Americans, you’ll certainly know a thing or two about your own country. Now, each of us in turn has got to make a sketch of something native to this country that originally was found nowhere else in the world. It’s got to be something very valuable and important – and you can’t draw the same thing twice. You’ll have a chance to win your neckties back, but the fellow that fails is going to get a ducking to wake him up. That,” he laughed, “is an old American custom; they used to duck people back in New England.”
    Of course, that raised a lot of objections and queries, but Bill would not tell us anything else. The thought of the ducking, though, sort of put an “edge” on things, and we were mighty careful when we went to the easel. We made the rounds once without trouble, and there were pictures of squash, tomatoes, pumpkins, corn, turkeys, and several strange-looking American animals all over the paper.
    Soon I made the mistake of drawing a turnip. Turnips were not found in America. Bill and another fellow grabbed me Sternly, blindfolded me, and dragged me to a little storage room in the back of the barn. They closed the door.
    “Now,” Bill hissed, making me stand on a chair. “There’s a big tub of cold water at your feet, and when I count three, you’ve got to hop in – clothes and all!” With that, he stirred the water so I could hear it. A terrible moment! The room was cold, and I knew the water was colder. Suddenly, I had an idea. When Bill counted, I jumped as far as I could, thinking I could land past the tub. Imagine how I felt when I went tumbling down upon a heap of straw and blankets! The tub was a hoax! Bill had a little water in a bucket to fool me, but of course he had set it safely aside.
    To keep up the joke, though, I took off my shoes and socks, rolled up my trousers, and went shivering back to the fire with a blanket about me. The rest of the crowd looked pretty serious.
    Before we were through, everybody made a trip to the back room for a “dip.” Those who had been there before came along to watch the fun and splash the water so it would sound real. Peewee Johnson, it turned out, was the last to pay the penalty. This time we tried the stunt in the main room. We nearly had to pull the chair out from under him, and when he did jump he gave a big leap that would have played havoc with a world record. Did we howl!
    Peewee was not to be laughed down. He stuck out his chest, went to the easel and started in. The first picture was a fat face with a fez on its head. There was a key beside it. “All right, you fellows,” he barked. “Name it!”
    “Turkey!” we all howled back. That took some of the puff out of him, but he went to work again. This time the drawing looked something like the outline of a dress, and beside it was written: “The last syllable is a substitute for noise.”
    “Dressing!” we yelled back, deflating him a second time. “You must think this is the kindergarten, Peewee!”
    He scratched his head. Now he wrote the word “Wood,” placing “Mass” directly beneath it. He drew a line between the two words and whirled around. “Just figger this one,” he growled. “A man once got a Thanksgiving turkey addressed to him this way.”
    All we could do was puzzle over it and glare back. “I’d hate to have been near that package when it was opened,” Bill said.
    “The turkey,” said Peewee, sweetly, “was addressed to Mark Underwood, Andover, Massachusetts.”
    We all rushed at him the same moment.

Chapter 12: A Christmas Jamboree
    Two nights before Christmas I hurried along, shivering from the cold, wondering what was going to happen at Jenkins’ barn that evening. Jenkins’ barn is an old place on the edge of town that our club had fixed up for a meeting place.
    Under my arm was a battered mandolin. Just what it was for, I could not imagine, but Bill Hanley, our club director, had told every member to bring some kind of musical instrument, whether he could play it or not. We were to have our annual Christmas celebration and Bill had a way of planning a lively time.
    A big blaze was roaring in the fireplace when I arrived. Pine boughs decorated the walls, candles burned in the windows. The fellows were draped about on the bunks and chairs, tuning up an odd assortment of noise producers, ranging all the way from an Indian drum to a zither. It was a strange sight. “Huh!” I snorted. “Starting a curiosity shop or something?” Bill grinned broadly. “You forget this is the time for merrymaking. Now, everybody in turn has to get up in front of the crowd and furnish us with a little musical entertainment of some sort. You can have your pick of any instrument in the room, and you’ve got to try to give a creditable performance.” He pointed to four big packages on the floor. “Those are the prizes. The winners will be decided by popular vote. No monkey business, now. We’ll also vote on the fellows that don’t deliver the goods – and they’ll have to come down in the morning to cut firewood and clean the place out. Okay?”
    “Okay!” we shouted.
    “Hey, wait a minute!” yelled little Peewee Johnson. “That’s not fair. We’re not all musicians!”
    “Of course not,” Bill grinned. “So use your imagination. Anything goes!”
    The table was moved over by the fireplace and all the instruments, more or less in tune, were placed on top of it. Jim Mason, oldest in the bunch, was called first.
    He rummaged around for a while and finally picked up the zither. No one had an idea he could really play it. He struck a few false notes, then everyone sat up when, expertly, he began picking out the tune of “Silent Night, Holy Night.” Before he was through, we were all singing to the music. We found out later that he had been practising on the thing in secret, but had been too ashamed to admit it.
    After the two regular musicians had been disposed of, the fun began. No one could imagine what would happen next, and the place was kept in an uproar most of the evening. Bub Sanders started it when he seriously tried to play the Indian drum. He made the mistake of prancing up and down and trying to imitate a war whoop. Peewee Johnson then piped up shrilly, “He thinks he's a heap big Injun, but he’d be a lot better as head janitor in the morning.”
    “Janitor! Janitor!” we shouted in chorus, and Bub was howled back to his seat.
    When I was called, I had no idea of what I wanted to do. I looked over the instruments, shook my head, then reached in my pocket. Inspiration came. I jerked out my pocket comb, found a piece of paper, and was soon making the thing hum to a lively tune. At least I thought it was good, till someone yelled, “Janitor!”
    Of course, it was Bub. They took a vote, and I just managed to get by, so the rest of the fellows declared.
    Hank Evarts was next. He boldly chose a guitar, and by the look on his face you would have thought he was doing us a favor. Something was certainly wrong with his technique, and in a minute the bunch were yelling “Janitor” again. Hank took it badly. “Why,” he exclaimed, “you don’t know good music when you hear it! I’ve been playing privately for two months!” Well, that nearly brought the roof down!
    Finally, everyone had performed except Bill and Peewee, and we had more than enough helpers for janitor service. When Peewee was called, he ducked behind a screen, emerging presently as a far different individual.
    His face was blackened with charcoal, he walked shufflingly, and there was something in his hand that looked like a pair of bones. They were.
    “Mistah Bill,” he said, “you all done said anything goes, long as ah gives a critterable puhfo’mance. Unbend yo’ ears!”
    With that he hopped into the middle of the floor, his bones clicking rhythmically, his feet tapping to the time. He sang:
        “I’se broken an’ black an’ decrepit,
        But mah feets is a-itchin’ ter step it—
        So give me a hand
        Wid de ole string band
        An’ Ah’ll hikkity, hakkiiy, heppit!”
    Peewee put one over on us, for we had forgotten that his folks were from Georgia. Our two musicians began to help him with a banjo and harmonica and the place went wild. Peewee had a dozen encores before someone remembered that Bill had not performed yet.
    Bill put one over on us, too. Grinning, he removed a box, which was covering something on the table. Beneath the box was a small, new radio. He turned a dial and Christmas music invaded the room. “My only accomplishment,” said Bill. “Dad presented this to the club for Christmas!”
    We voted on the prizes. Naturally, Peewee won first place. He opened his box, which proved to be candy. It did not last long, but Peewee got two pieces. The second and third prizes went to Jim and the harmonica player. One was a rubber pig that squeaked and the other was a giant lollipop, wrapped in yards of paper to make it look bigger. They gave me the booby prize – which was in the largest box of all. After untying more than twelve packages, done up inside of each other, I came to the present. It was a wishbone!
    Refreshments followed. Someone had brought a bowl of cranberry sauce and Bill produced a handful of wire skewers and a package of pork and bacon cut in small pieces. We skewered the meat, alternating the pork with the bacon until there were a dozen little squares on each wire, and then roasted it over the fire. Try it yourself and see how good it is.
    “Now,” declared Bill, when we had eaten, “we have three good musicians – so let’s go around town and sing a few Christmas carols!”
    Snowflakes were beginning to drift downward as we strolled through the streets.

Chapter 13: Follow the Arrow
    “The last time the bunch met,” declared Jim Mason, our club president, “the party was a washout. But this time I’m going to try something different. Pass the word around for the fellows to meet here at the clubhouse at two, Saturday afternoon. Tell ’em to dress for a hike.”
    “The weather’s pretty chilly,” I said.
    “Sure. But it whet's your appetite, and we ought to enjoy the out-of-doors all we can. I’ll take care of the grub and settle with the treasury later.”
    Promptly on the appointed day we were ready to go. The idea of a hike must have appealed to the bunch, after all, for every member was present. Jim appeared with two six-foot bows and a half-dozen arrows in his hands.
    “What’s the idea?” we all asked.
    Jim grinned. “Just this. We’re going to split up into two groups and hike to the forest preserve. The catch is to see which group can get there first. I drove out a little while ago and left our grub. The losers have to cook dinner and wash up while the rest of us take it easy.
    “Each group has a bow and three arrows. Out on the edge of town, each group will separate some distance and when I wave my hand someone on each side takes a shot in the direction of the forest preserve. Every time an arrow is fired, each group follows up quickly to the place where their arrow falls before taking another shot. The groups have to move forward in the direct line in which their arrow travels, and everybody takes a turn at the bow in regular order.”
    “There’s some pretty rough traveling between here and the forest preserve, unless we follow the roads,” somebody said, doubtfully. “What are we going to do when an arrow is lost?”
    “Either find the arrow or go back to where it was fired and shoot another. It’s sort of like following the leader,” Jim added. “You’ve got to watch where you shoot or you’ll get into all kinds of difficulty.”
    Still doubtful, though curious, we chose sides and captains, and started out. At the stubble fields on the edge of town we separated.
    “Fellows,” declared Bill Hanley, captain of our group. “Jim’s idea isn’t so bad after all. It’s going to take some pretty clever work to beat him and the other bunch. This is a little like golf, only the hazards are greater.”
    Ahead of us were two stubble fields, separated by a creek and an overgrown ridge. Behind that, I knew, was a long, low marsh and a dense woods. Beyond the woods and a brush-tangled valley was the forest preserve. One look at our route, and I saw what Bill meant.
    Jim, ahead of the other group, held up his hand and the first arrows were discharged. We dashed out over the stubble field. Jim’s bunch were heading to one side, toward a winding path leading to the woods. Bill Hanley had determined upon a direct route across country.
    The other group recovered their arrow and by the time we had found ours Jim’s bunch were in the lead. I guessed correctly. They would work toward the trail bridge over the creek. Without warning, Bill took a long chance, and sent an arrow directly across the creek in front of us!
    Maybe we did not have a time crossing it at that point! We worked quickly, piling rocks in the stream, and made a safe crossing with only a few wet ankles for our trouble. The others had not reached the bridge yet.
    We managed to pass the ridge and the next field easily, with Jim’s crowd far behind at the right, taking long shots in an effort to catch up with us. In the marsh beyond the field we came to grief. Someone shot the last arrow too hard and it was lost in the rank growth of cattails. The other crowd began to gain.
    We had to go back then to try a new arrow. “Take it easy now, fellows,” cautioned Bill. “I know a way through the marsh and if we use short shots we’ll beat ’em across.”
    We found the going hard, but at last we made it. The others were just beginning to cross on the higher ground far up the marsh.
    In the woods, one of the fellows pulled too hard upon the bow and the arrow was lost in a thicket. That put Jim’s group ahead of us, for we had to go back and shoot our last arrow.
    Late that afternoon we came to the hill marking the forest preserve. We had made very slow progress, but we still had our final arrow. Jim’s group, we were sure, had already beaten us and climbed the hill, for when last seen they were far in the lead in a distant fringe of the woods.
    Finally we reached the grove at the top of the hill. Piled under a tree were the lunch baskets. No one was in sight!
    We had won after all, and by a good margin. Jim’s group had lost the last of their arrows in the thick underbrush lining the trail.
    The game was a success. The losers grinned, built a fire, and while we warmed our damp shins they roasted small steaks over the flames. I will have to tell you how they cooked those steaks, for they certainly tasted good.
    First they were rubbed with seasoning, then impaled on the ends of sharp sticks and held right in the tips of the flames. The sticks were turned continually and every minute or two someone went the rounds with a big bottle of olive oil and poured a little on each steak. It must have been the combination of the open fire and the olive oil that did the trick, but when they were done, well – try it yourself if you want to know how good they were.
    Jim’s new game, “Follow the Arrow,” was so much fun that we all voted to try it again another time.

Supplement:
Willie, Beware!
By Sally Coulter

Scene I
    A white picket fence runs along at right, with gay flowers growing in front and a hollyhock or two behind it. There is a flowering tree at left.
    Percy enters carrying a sign, children’s circus – 2¢, which he sets in front of the fence.
    Willie, a shabby little boy, enters.
    Percy. Hey, you can’t come through here!
    Willie. I can, too. I’m going to the store for my mother.
    Percy. You cannot. This is the circus grounds and—
    The Magician appears, a queer little man in a worn frock coat and a high silk hat with silver stars and crescents on it. He feels around in his pockets and locates an address book, which he peers at for a moment nearsightedly.
    Magician. Excuse me, but I’m a stranger here and—
    Percy. [crossly] Go away – you, too! We don’t want any tramps in our neighborhood.
    Magician. Indeed, I’m not a tramp. I’m a magician, and I’ve come to New Rodhelle to attend the Magician’s Convention.
    Willie. Oh, that’s up the street – two blocks and turn to your right.
    Magician. Two blocks, then turn to the right. Yes, yes, thank you kindly. [Magician turns to exit.]
    Percy, [to Willie] Now you – you just scram out of here!
    Willie. You leave me alone!
    Magician. [who has returned] Excuse me— [The boys are scuffing.] Did you say to go to the left or the right? Oh! Ow! Isay. Ow! [Percy has stepped on his foot.]
    Percy. Well, it serves you right, you—
    Magician. [holding his foot] You rude boy, you forgot who I am. I’m a magician and you’ve stepped on my sore toe.
    Percy. A magician? Oh, I didn’t – I didn’t do it. He was the one. [pointing to Willie] He did it on purpose.
    Magician. [turning on Willie] Oh, you did, did you? Well, I’ll teach you not to step on a magician’s foot again! What do you want to be changed into – a lion, louse, or lizard?
    Willie. Oh, please don’t – give me another chance! Please!
    Magician. No, I never give one of anything. It isn’t a magic number.
    Willie. Two, then; two chances, please.
    Magician. No, two isn’t magic either, but I’ll give you three chances and court this as your first one.
    Willie. Oh, thank you.
    Magician. Two more after this. Then if you get into trouble again I shall turn you into a spotted toad.
    Willie. A toad? Oh, dear!
    Magician. Say this verse if you need me—
       Uggley, uggley, uggley, ump.
       Spotted toads around me jump.
       One, two, three! One, two, three!
       A spotted toad soon I shall be!
    I’ll come just two more times. Then for the fun! [Magician exits.]
    Joe enters carrying a soapbox and a sign – Cash Only.
    Willie. Are you going to have clowns in your circus?
    Joe. Oh, sure, and wild animals, too. You’re coming, aren’t you?
    Willie. I’d love to, but I haven’t any money.
    Joe. Not even two cents? It’s only two cents.
    Willie. No, I haven’t.
    Joe. Why, I never heard of such a thing. Say, Percy, let’s let this boy in free. He looks like a nice fellow.
    Percy. Free! I should say not! He’s doesn’t even belong in our neighborhood.
    Willie. Oh, I don’t wait to get in free. I want to work my way.
    Joe. Well, maybe he could do some work. He could water the tiger and hold he horse for Lady Pompom.
    Percy. If you let him in, I’ll take out my wild animals and leave the show flat!
    Willie. Oh, don’t mind me. I don’t want to break up your show. (Willie exits.]
    Joe. Say, Percy, which do you want to be, the manager or the policeman?
    Percy. Oh, I want to be the policeman so I can swing my club at people. [They see some of the children arriving and both hurry off to get ready to open the circus.]
    Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Zilch enter, Mrs. Smith wheeling a baby doll and Mrs. Zilch carrying one. They are dressed in their mother's clothes out of the attic.
    Mrs. Smith. I think it’s lovely, Mrs. Zilch, that we’re to have a contest for the most beautiful child, don’t you?
    Mrs. Zilch. Yes, but I hope my Esmeralda doesn’t get chosen again. She’s won so many beauty contests.
    Mrs. Smith. [eyeing Esmeralda coldly] I really think she looks a little pale today.
    Mrs. Zilch. Naturally. I had her operated on this morning.
    Mrs. Smith. [greatly impressed] Oh, you did? What for?
    Mrs. Zilch. Well, the doctor said it was appendisawdust – a very serious case, too.
    Mrs. Pancake enters with a doll. They talk over the contest and comment on their neighbor, Mrs. Fuzzy Wuzzy, and the terrible way she brings up her child, feeding her peppermint sticks at all hours of the day and night.
    A boy enters beating a drum. Joe struts behind him wearing a derby, loud vest, and long pants. Percy swings his club, steps on people's toes, and shoves so much collecting the admission that Mrs. Zilch threatens to hit him.
    Joe steps up on the soapbox and ballyhoos the circus, announcing that for the small price of two cents they are about to see the greatest show on earth, or almost the greatest, anyway. Joe presents each act of the circus.
    Hula Maidens
    Tarzan, the Mighty Weight Lifter
    Lady Pompom, on her gray rocking-horse, Silver
    Toto, the Clown
    Bring ’em in Dead Dudley, who displays his man-eating grizzly bear, and Thomas Topaz, the only tiger in captivity with stripes going in the wrong direction.
    Kate, the cowgirl.
    During the applause, Willie enters carrying a parasol which he has found. Lady Pompom says it is hers and wants to give Willie a reward which he refuses. Lady Pompom smiles as she thanks him. Percy chases him out.
    Mrs. Fuzzy Wuzzy tears in with a doll in her arms. Mrs. Fuzzy Wuzzy. Am I too late? Has the contest started?
    Percy. The contest? No, it hasn’t begun yet. Two cents, please.
    Radio Commentator enters with radio equipment which he set up.
    Commentator. This is Station NRJS, Tommy Lowell speaking. This is a warning sent out by the National Coast Guard to advise you that there is a dragon lying off Glen Island. Scientists have discovered that dragons always appear when mothers quarrel over their children. All mothers are hereby warned to bring their children indoors. All fishermen, baseball players, Indian chiefs and the Junior G-Men are asked to report in Joe Brown’s back yard to defend the mothers. This is Station NRJS signing off.
    Mrs. Smith. A dragon, did you say? Oh, my poor precious!
    Mrs. Pancake. That’s what comes from fighting. You started it!
    Mrs. Smith. I did not! You said that—
    Mrs. Zilch. My mama said that if we quarreled something dreadful would happen.
    Mrs. Fuzzy Wuzzy. My darling Glorianna – to think you will be eaten!
    Joe suggests that they all gather to decide what to do, but first they must choose someone to stay and guard the children. Lady Pompom suggests that Willie, the nice boy who found her parasol, might do it. Willie agrees. Percy pretends to make friends with Willie and gives him a chocolate bar before he follows the others offstage.
    Willie eats a bit of the candy and falls asleep. Percy returns, makes sure that Willie is asleep and steals Lady Pompom’s doll. As he exits, the others re-enter.
    Mrs. Smith. Look! The boy’s asleep!
    Mrs. Zilch. Oh, dear! One baby’s gone!
    Mothers. Whose is it? Is it mine? Oh, my darling, you’re safe! Poor Lady Pompom!
    Lady Pompom. My darling Patricia! What shall I do?
    Joe. [shaking Willie] Here, wake up!
    Percy. [entering] What happened?
    Willie. [awakening] What happened? Where am I?
    Dragon’s Secretary enters, a serious-looking boy with spectacles.
    Dragon’s Secretary. Good morning! I’ve come to collect the dragon’s breakfast.
    Percy. Take this fellow! The dragon can have him for breakfast.
    All. Yes! Yes! Serve him right!
    Secretary. A boy? Oh, that will be fine. I’ll take him along.
    Willie. To the dragon? Oh, please don’t!
    All. Yes! Yes! Throw him to the dragon!
    Willie. Oh, where is the Magician? If I could only remember that verse. Oh, now I remember.
       Uggley, uggley, uggley, ump.
       Spotted toads around me jump.
       One, two, three! One, two, three!
       A spotted toad soon I shall be!
    Magician. [entering] Well, well, what now?
    Willie. My second chance, please.
    Magician. Well, you’ll be a toad yet. Here goes your second chance, only one more left. Let him go, boys.
    Willie. Oh, thanks a lot.
    Secretary. But the dragon’s hungry.
    Magician. Oh, I’ll fix that. Here, boy – [to Percy] go to the store and order him a carload of ice cream cones, vanilla and chocolate mixed. [Percy exits.]
    Lady Pompom. Now, I must look for Patricia. Where can she be?
    Willie. I’m going to find your child for you, Lady Pompom, and before sunset, too.
    Lady Pompom. That would be wonderful! You’re better than all these others, Willie! [She and mothers go out.]
    Percy whispers with boys. They surround Willie as Percy brings in a sign entitled, a deep hole.
    Percy. Now, you think you’re so smart, we’re going to throw you in. Grab him, boys! [Willie resists but the boys throw him down the hole.]

Scene II
    At one side is a large sign – cannibal island. There is also a palm tree, a flowering tree, and a large black kettle.
    Mama Cannibal is practicing on her drums.
    Papa Cannibal enters with a spear and shield, looking very discouraged. He has had no luck hunting. He has even taken a shot at the neighbors, the ones who didn’t like Mama’s practicing, but they were too quick for him. Mama is getting very hungry. She hates to wake Junior for she’ll cry for her lunch and their kettle is empty. Papa recalls how good the stewed tiger was last week, but Mama thinks it wasn’t half as good as the boiled missionary the week before.
    Mama Cannibal. I think I hear someone coming!
    Papa. It’s about time! I’d begun to give up hope!
    Mama. [greeting Willie who enters] Why, how do you do! I’m so glad to see you!
    Papa. [shaking hands cordially] How nice of you to come! This is certainly a pleasure!
    Willie. Thank you! How do you do, yourself?
    Mama. [calling offstage] Junior! Get up now! We’ll soon have lunch! [She stirs fire and gets the kettle ready.]
    Papa. You should see Junior. She’s such a tomboy.
    Junior. Daddy! [sees Willie] Oh, Daddy, is this our lunch?
    Papa. Shush! I haven’t told him yet. It’s to be a surprise.
    Mama. All ready, now, everybody!
    Papa. [as he and Mama lift Willie into kettle] Upsy daisy! Easy does it!
    Willie. But – what’s this! Ouch! This water’s hot!
    Mama. Now, don’t raise a fuss!
    Willie. Help!

    Papa. [holding Willie to keep him from climbing out] Keep still! I will not have this noise on my premises!
    Mama. [rushing out] Oh, I almost forgot the seasoning!
    Willie. Oh, dear, what s the magic verse? [he recites.]
       Uggley, uggley, uggley, ump.
       Spotted toads around me jump.
       One, two, three! One, two, three!
       A spotted toad soon I shall be!
    Mama. [returning] Which do you prefer, salt or pepper?
    Willie. I’m not speaking to you.
    Mama. You’re a very rude, impolite boy. [She salts and peppers Willie, who sneezes.]
    Willie. The Magician doesn’t answer the magic verse. What can be the matter?
    Junior. White boy, what’s that in your pocket?
    Willie. You mean this? Why, this is a chocolate bar. Won’t you have some? You, too, Mr. and Mrs. Cannibal.
    Mama. Thanks very much. I’d like to try a little.
    Papa. How long before he’ll be done, Mama?
    Mama. Willie? Oh, about half an hour.
    Papa. Goodness, I can’t wait! I’ll eat my candy now!
    Mama. Me, too.
    Junior. I’m going to save mine for dessert.
    Papa. She always does that! The little rascal!
    Mama. Goodness, I feel sleepy! I think I’ll take a little cat nap.
    Papa. Really, I don’t see why – I feel drowsy, too.
    Mama and Papa fall asleep.
    Willie. [to Junior] Will you help me?
    Junior. Of course I will. Say, I’m glad I didn’t eat my candy. I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.
    Willie. [climbing out of kettle] Ugh! I’m all wet! [Junior helps wring him out.]
    Junior. What are you going to do now?
    Willie. Something has happened to the Magician, so I’ll just have to get back to New Rochelle the best way I can.
    Junior asks Willie to stay and play but Willie wants to go home. She runs off and returns with a present for him, which turns out to be Lady Pompom’s doll. It had fallen through the big hole, the same one that Willie came through. Willie, pleased with her kindness, offers to take her to the circus. So off they hippety-hop back to the other side of the world again.

Scene III
    As the curtain rises we see the picket fence of Joe’s yard again. Mrs. Fuzzy Wuzzy appears in great excitement.
    Mrs. Fuzzy Wuzzy. Lady Pompom! Lady Pompom! Come here!
    Lady Pompom. [entering] What is it, Mrs. Fuzzy Wuzzy?
    Mrs. Fuzzy Wuzzy. Do you know what has happened to Willie?
    Lady Pompom. No. What do you mean?
    Mrs. Fuzzy Wuzzy. I heard the boys talking, and they said they had dropped him through a hole in the earth—
    Lady Pompom. Through a hole in the earth? I can’t believe it! Why, he’d be in Africa by this time.
    The Magician enters and greets the mothers. He complains that business is very poor.
    Magician. Yes, I used to get a ruby or an emerald for turning a beetle into a butterfly, but now they want me to do it for half price.
    Percy and his friends enter. Percy recognizes the Magician and asks him if he is practicing magic without a license. The Magician didn’t know that he had to have one, but Percy says he does on Drake Avenue. Percy arrests him. The Magician protests that his customers might need him – Willie, for instance.
    To everyone’s astonishment, Willie enters with Junior Cannibal. Everyone greets him and Willie introduces his friend, Junior.
    Willie. [to Magician] Why didn’t you rescue me? I said the magic verse.
    Magician. [still in Percy’s grasp] I just this minute flew in from South America where there was a bad storm and all my magic was disrupted by the lightning. Now I’m arrested and I can’t even use magic on myself.
    Willie. That’s a shame. I’ll tell you what you do – you take my third chance.
    Magician. Oh, no, no, I really couldn’t. If you gave it to me now, some enemy could turn you into a spotted toad.
    Lady Pompom. Don’t do it, Willie.
    Willie. [to the Magician] No, you take it. You need it more than I do.
    Magician. Well, if you really insist.
       Uggley, uggley, uggley, ump.
       Spotted toads around me jump.
       One, two, three! One, two, three!
       A spotted toad soon I shall be!
    Percy’s hand falls off the Magician’s shoulder at the magic words and the Magician stands free. He thanks Willie for his kindness.
    Willie returns Lady Pompom’s doll to her and she is overjoyed. Willie explains that it was really Junior who found her. Lady Pompom thanks Junior and asks whether she can't do something to show her appreciation. Willie replies that Junior would like to join a circus. Joe suggests that they have their circus over again and that Willie and Junior both take part in it.
    The performers repeat all their stunts.
    Lady Pompom. Now, it’s your turn, Willie.
    Willie. How many of you like rabbits?
    All. Rabbits? Oh, yes. Yes, we like rabbits!
    Willie. Would you like to see one?
    All. Yes! Yes! Of course!
    Willie produces three rabbits, one from Toto’s pants leg, one from Mrs. Smith s doll buggy, and one with a blue satin bow from the Magician’s hat. When Willie is through and has been applauded, he introduces Junior Cannibal.
    Joe. What is the nature of your act, Miss Cannibal?
    Junior. I brought along the seed of a magic tree. It is called the Jelly Bean Tree. Do you all like jelly beans?
    All. Jellybeans? Yes, should say so! Yes, indeed!
    Junior. I’m going to plant it right behind this fence. Here! And when I say
       Ash tabula wishy wee
       Wishy wee
       Wishy wee
       Ashtabula wishy wee
       Here comes the Magic Candy Tree!
    And sure enough, a tree blossoming with pink, green, and black jelly beans has sprung up above the fence.
    All. Oh! Oh! Are they real? Let me see!
    Junior. Of course! Which do you like best – pink, green, or licorice? Help yourselves, everybody!
    All. Oh, they’re delicious! Pink for me! Thank you, Junior! Thanks ever so much! Aren’t they good?
    Lady Pompom. It certainly will be handy to have a tree like this around. You must both come to my party. You’ll come, too, won’t you, Mr. Magician?
    Magician. Why, yes, if you really insist.
    Lady Pompom. Why, of course. We couldn’t think of a party without you
    Magician. Now, that’s awfully nice of you. You know, I think afterwards I might arrange to have the dragon take us all for a ride to Jones’ Beach. It would be no trouble at all for him.
    All. How lovely! Oh. we’d love it!
    Magician. You see, he’s going to leave Glen Island since the doll mothers have stopped quarreling over their children. They have stopped, haven’t they?
    Mothers. Stopped quarreling? Us? Oh, yes! Oh, no, we never fight! [to each other] Oh, yes, I think your child is just beautiful, Mrs. Pancake. And yours, too, Mrs. Fuzzy Wuzzy! I think she should win the prize!
    All this time the rascally Percy has been mulling over the Magician’s warning to Willie.
    Percy. [to the Magician] Say, how did you say a person could turn that fellow into a toad?
    The Magician gives Percy a sharp look, but before he can answer, Percy’s mother enters in great agitation.
    Percy retires backstage hastily.
    Percy’s Mother. Where is Percy? I declare I don’t know what I’m going to do with him. He taught the cat how to fish the gold fish out of the bowl, and now she has eaten them all!
    Magician. Percy, eh? I believe there is a little piece of magic I can practice without a license, and it will solve all our problems. Come close, Madam. [He pulls a hairbrush out of his pocket, as he whispers in her ear, then hands her the brush.]
    Percy’s Mother. Come here, dear.
    Percy. Yes, Mama.
    He come forward happily, but his expression changes as his mother turns him over her knee and applies the brush to the seat of his pants. His dear friends enter into the spirit of it, too, and clap enthusiastically in time with spanks as –  the curtain falls.

    1945

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