Ninety-nine per cent of the people in the world are fools and the rest of us are in great danger of contagion. But I wasn’t always free of foolishness as I am now. I was once young, which was foolish; I fell in love, which was foolish; and I got married, which was foolish; and for a while I was poor, which was more foolish than all the other things put together. Then my wife died, which was foolish of her; I grew older, which was sensible of me; then I became a rich man, which is as sensible as it is rare. Since you see I’m a man of sense, I guess you were surprised to hear that I’m planning to get married again. Well, I’ve two reasons for it. In the first place, I like my house run with order, comfort and economy. That’s a woman’s work; but even a woman can’t do it well if she’s merely being paid for it. In order to run a house well, a woman must have the feeling that she owns it. Marriage is a bribe to make a housekeeper think she’s a householder. Did you ever watch an ant carry a burden twice its size? What excitement! What patience! What will! Well, that’s what I think of when I see a woman running a house. What giant passions in those little bodies—what quarrels with the butcher for the best cut—what fury at discovering a moth in a cupboard! Believe me!—if women could harness their natures to something bigger than a house and a baby carriage—tck! tck!—they’d change the world. And the second reason, ladies and gentlemen? Well, I see by your faces you’ve guessed it already. There’s nothing like mixing with women to bring out all the foolishness in a man of sense. And that’s a risk I’m willing to take. I’ve just turned sixty, and I’ve just laid side by side the last dollar of my first half million. So if I should lose my head a little, I still have enough money to buy it back. After many years’ caution and hard work, I have a right to a little risk and adventure, and I’m thinking of getting married. Yes, like all you other fools, I’m willing to risk a little security for a certain amount of adventure. Think it over.

Exit back center.

AMBROSE enters from the street, crosses left, and whistles softly. ERMENGARDE enters from left.

ERMENGARDE:

Ambrose! If my uncle saw you!

AMBROSE:

Sh! Get your hat.

ERMENGARDE:

My hat!

AMBROSE:

Quick! Your trunk’s at the station. Now quick! We’re running away.

ERMENGARDE:

Running away!

AMBROSE:

Sh!

ERMENGARDE:

Where?

AMBROSE:

To New York. To get married.

ERMENGARDE:

Oh, Ambrose, I can’t do that. Ambrose dear—it wouldn’t be proper!

AMBROSE:

Listen. I’m taking you to my friend’s house. His wife will take care of you.

ERMENGARDE:

But, Ambrose, a girl can’t go on a train with a man. I can see you don’t know anything about girls.