there are so many carriage-folk going to see Irving that if we don't start early we'll find ourselves on the end of the line, and the first act will be half over before we can reach our seats. Mrs. Perkins. I'm so glad we've got good seats--down near the front. I despise opera-glasses, and seats under the galleries are so oppressive. Perkins. Well, I don't know. For The Lyons Mail I think a seat in the front row of the top gallery, where you can cheer virtue and hiss villany without making yourself conspicuous, is the best. Mrs. Perkins. You don't mean to say that you'd like to sit up with those odious gallery gods? Perkins. For a melodrama, I do. What's the use of clapping your gloved hands together at a melodrama? That doesn't express your feelings. I always want to put two fingers in my mouth and pierce the atmosphere with a regular gallery-god whistle when I see the villain laid low by the tow-headed idiot in the last act--but it wouldn't do in the orchestra. You might as well expect the people in the boxes to eat peanuts as expect an orchestra-chair patron to whistle on his fingers. Mrs. Perkins. I should die of mortification if you ever should do such a vulgar thing, Thaddeus. Perkins. Then you needn't be afraid, my dear. I'm too fond of you to sacrifice you to my love for whistling. (The front-door bell rings.) Ah, there is the carriage at last. I'll go and get my coat. [Mrs. Perkins rises, and is about to don her wrap as Mr. Perkins goes towards the door. Enter Mr. and Mrs. Bradley. Perkins staggers backward in surprise. Mrs. Perki