CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY. , BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND GIVEN IN 189I BY' HENRY WILLIAMS SAGE Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924027213523 Cornell University Library PN 6112.L67 Contemporary one-act plays: 3 1924 027 213 523 CONTEMPORARY ONE-ACT PLAYS CONTEMPORARY ONE-ACT PLAYS WITH OUTLINE STUDY OF THE ONE-ACT PLAY AND BIBLIOGRAPHIES BY B. ROLAND LEWIS Professor and Head of the Department of English in the University of Utah; Author of "The Technique of the One-Act Flay" CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS NEW YORK CHICAGO BOSTON >1 COPTBZGHT, 1922, BT CHARLES SCRIBN£R*S SONS Printed in the United States of America The plays in this book are fully protected by coi^ri^t and the professional and amateur stage rights are reserved by the authors. Applications for their use should be made to the respective authors or publishers, as designated A 11)10 TO THE MEN AND WOMEN WHO SO KINDLY HAVE PEHMITTED ME TO BEPKlira THESE ONE-ACT PLATS PREFACE This collection of one-act plays appears because of an in- creasingly large demand for such a volume. The plays have been selected and the Introduction prepared to meet the need of the student or teacher who desires to acquaint himself with the one-act play as a specific dramatic form. The plays included have been selected with this need in mind. Accordingly, emphasis has been placed upon the wholesome and uplifting rather than upon the sordid and the ultra-realistic. The unduly sentimental, the strikingly melodramatic, and the play of questionable moral problems, has been consciously avoided. Comedies, tragedies, farces, and melodramas have been included; but the chief concern has been that each play should be good dramatic art. The Dramatic Analysis and Constntotion of the One-Act Play, which appears in the Introduction, also has been prepared for the student or teacher. This outline-analysis and the plays in this volume are sufficient material, if carefully studied, for an understanding and appreciation of the one-act play. B. BoiiAKD Lewis. CONTENTS PAOK Introduction 3 LIST OF PLAYS The Twelve-Pound Look . . . Sir James M. Barrie 17 Tradition George Middleton . . 43 The Exchange AUhea Thurston . . 61 "Sam Average Percy Mackaye ... 85 Hyacinth Halvet Lady Augusta Gregory 103 The Gazing Globe Eugene Pillot .... 139 The Boor Anion Tchekov . . . 155 The Last Straw Bosworth Crocker . . 175 Manikin and Minikin Alfred Kreymborg . . 197 White Dresses PaTd Greene .... 215 Moonshine Arthur Hopkins . . 239 Modesty Paul Hervieu .... 255 The Deacon's Hat Jeannetle Marks . . 273 Where but in America .... Oscar M. Wolff . . . 301 A DoU/AR David Pinski .... 321 The Diabolical Circle .... Beulah Bornstead . . 343 TVii! Far-Away Princess .... Hermann Sudermann 365 The Stronger August Strindberg . . 393 5 X CONTENTS BIBLIOGRAPHIES PAQS Collections of One-Act Plats 405 Lists of One-Act Plats 406 BiBLIOGRAPHT OF ReFEBENCE ON THE OnE-AcT PlAT . 408 BlBLIOORAFHT ON HoW TO PbODUCE PiATS 409 INTRODUCTION THE ONE-ACT PLAY AS A SPECIFIC DRAMATIC TYPE The one-act play is with us and is askmg for consideration. It is challenging our attention whether we will or no. In both Europe and America it is one of the conspicuous factors in pres- ent-day dramatic activity. Theatre managers, stage designers, actors, playwrights, and professors in universities recognize its presence as a vital force. Professional theatre folk and ama- teurs especially are devoting zestful energy both to the writing and to the producing of this shorter form of drama. The one-act play is claiming recognition as a specific dramat'c type. It may be said that, as an art form, it has achieved that distinction. The short story, as every one knows, was once an embryo and an experiment; but few nowadays would care to hold that it has not developed into a specific and worthy literary form. This shorter form of prose fiction was once apologetic, and that not so many years ago; but it has come into its own and now is recognized as a distinct type of prose narrative. The one-act play, like the short story, also has come into its own. No longer is it wholly an experiment. Indeed, it is succeeding in high places. The one-act play is taking its place among the significant types of dramatic and literary expression. Artistically and technically considered, the one-act play is quite as much a distinctive dramatic problem as the longer play. In writing either, the playwright aims so to handle his material that he will get his central intent to his audience and will pro- voke their interest and emotional response thereto. Both aim 3 a 4 INTRODUCTION at a singleness of impression and dramatic effect; both aim to be a high order of art. Yet since the one is shorter and more con- densed, it foUows that the dramaturgy of the one is somewhat different from that of the other, just as the technic of the cameo is different from the technic of the fuU-sized statue. The one-act play must, as it were, be presented at a "single set- tmg": it must start quickly at the beguming with certain defi- nite dramatic elements and pass rapidly and effectively to a cru- cial movement without halt or digression. A careful analysis of any one of the plays in this volume, like Anton Tchekov's The Boor, or like Oscar M. Wolff's Where But in Amerwa, will reveal this fact. The shorter form of drama, like the short story, has a technical method characteristically its own. It is a truth that the one-act play is well made or it is nothing at all. A careful analysis of Sir James M. Barrie's The Twelve- Pound Look, Paul Hervieu's Modesty, Allhea Thurston's The Exchange, will reveal that these representative one-act plays are well made and are real bits of dramatic art. A good one-act play is not a mere cheap mechanical tour deforce; mechanics and artistry it has, of course, but it is also a high order of art product. A delicately finished cameo is quite as much a work of art as is the larger statue; both have mechanics and design in their struc- ture, but those of the cameo are more deft and more highly spe- cialized than those of the statue, because the work of the former is done under far more restricted conditions. The one-act play at its best is cunningly wrought. Naturally, the material of the one-act play is a bit episodical. It deals with but a single situation. A study of the plays in this volume will reveal that no whole life's story can be treated ade- quately in the short play, and that no complexity of plot can be employed. Unlike the longer play, the shorter form of drama shows not the whole man — except by passing hint — ^but a sig- nificant moment or experience, a significant character-trait. However vividly thb chosen moment may be interpreted — and INTRODUCTION 5 the one-act play must be vivid— much will still be left to the imagination. It is the aim of the one-act form to trace the causal relations of but one circumstance so that the circumstance may be intensified. The writer of the one-act play deliberately isolates so that he may throw the strong flashlight more search- ingly on some one significant event, on some funda;mental ele- ment of character, on some moving emotion. He presents in a vigorous, compressed, and suggestive way a simplification and idealization of a particular part or aspect of life. Often he opens but a momentary little vista of life, but it is so clear-cut and so significant that a whole life is often revealed thereby. The student must not think that because the one-act play deals with but one crisis or but one simplified situation, it is therefore weak and inconsequential. On the contrary, since only one event or situation can be emphasized, it follows that the writer is obliged to choose the one determining crisis which makes or mars the supreme struggle of a soul, the one great change or turning-point or end,of a life history. Often such moments are the really vital material for drama; nothing affords so much op- portunity for striking analysis, for emotional stress, for the sug- gestion of a whole character sketched in the act of meeting its test. The one-act play is a vital literary product. To segregate a bit of significant experience and to present a finished pictiure of its aspects and effects; to dissect a motive so searchingly and skilfully that its very roots are laid bare; to detach a single figure from a dramatic sequence and portray the essence of its charac- ter; to bring a series of actions into the clear light of day in a sudden and brief human crisis; to tell a significant story briefly and with suggestion; to portray the humor of a person or an incident, or in a trice to reveal the touch of tragedy restmg like the finger of fate on an experience or on a character — these are some of the possibilities of the one-act play when handled by a master dramatist. 6 INTRODUCTION THE PROPER APPROACH TO THE STUDY OF THE ONE-ACT PLAY To read a one-act play merely to get its story b not in itself an exercise of any extraordinary value. This sort of approach to any form of literature does not require much appreciation of literary art nor much intelligence. Almost any normal-minded person can read a play for its story with but little expenditure of mental effort. Proper appreciation of a one-act play requires more than a casual reading whose chief aim is no more than getting the plot. If the shorter form of drama is to be appreciated properly as a real literary form, it must be approached from the point of view of its artistry and technic. This means that the student should understand its organic construction and technic, just as he should understand the organic construction and technic of a short story, a ballad, or a perfect sonnet, if he is to appre- ciate them properly. The student should know what the dramatist intends to get across the footlights to his audience, and should be able to detect how he accomplishes the desired result. It must not be thought that the author lu-ges a study of con- struction at the expense of the human values in a play. On the contrary, such a study is but the means whereby the human values are made the more manifest. Surely no one would argue that the less one knows about the technic of music the better able is one to appreciate music. Indeed, it is not too much to say that, within reasonable limits, no one can really appreciate a one-act play if one does not know at least the fundamentals of its dramatic organization. In fact, students of the one-act play recognize in its construc- tive regularity not a hindrance to its beauty but a genume power. This but lends to it the charm of perfection. The sonnet and the cameo are admirable, if for no other reason than their superior INTRODUCTION 7 'workmanship. The one-act play does not lose by any reason of its technical requirements; indeed, this is one of its greatest assets. And the student who will take the pains to familiarize himself with the organic construction of a typical one-act play will have gone a long way in arriving at a proper appreciation of this shorter form of drama. DRAMATIC ANALYSIS AND CONSTRUCTION OF THE ONE-ACT PLAY I. The Theme of the One-Act Plat The one-act play, like the short story, is a work of literary art, and must be approached as such. Just like a painting or a poem or a fine public buUding, the one-act play aims at making a sin- gleness of effect upon the reader or observer. One does not judge a statue, or a poem, or any other work of art, by the appearance of any isolated part of it, but by the sum-total effect of the whole. The fundamental aim of a one-act play is that it shall so present a singleness of effect to the reader or to the assembled group who have gathered to witness a performance of it, that the reader or observer will be provoked to emotional response thereto. Thus, when a student reads a play like George Middleton's Tradition, he is made to see and feel that the life of a daughter has been handicapped and the longings of a mother smothered because of the conventional narrowness of an otherwise loving father. This is the singleness of effect of the play; this is its theme. This is precisely what the author of the play wished his reader or observer to see and feel. When one reads Bosworth Crocker's The Last Straw, one feels that a reasonably good and worthy man, because of his sensitiveness to criticism, has been driven to despair and to a tragic end by the malicious gossip of neighbors. One's sense of pity at his misfortune is aroused. This is what the author intended to do. This idea and effect is the theme of the play. And when the student reads Paul Her- 8 INTRODUCTION vieu's Modesty, he feels that a woman, even though she may lead herself into thinking she prefers brutal frankness, instinctively likes affection and even flattery. This is the effect produced by the play; this is its intent; this is its theme. In approaching a one-act play, then, the veiy first considera- tion should be to determine what the purpose and intent of the play is — ^to determine its theme. This demands that the play be read through complete at one sitting and that no premature conclusions be drawn. Once the play is read, it is well to sub- ject the play to certain leading questions. What has the author intended that his reader or hearer shall imderstand, think, or feel ? What is the play about ? What is its object and purpose ? Is it a precept or an observation found in life, or is it a bit of fancy? Is it artificially didactic and moralizing? With what fundamental element in human nature does it have to do : Love ? Patriotism? Fear? Egotism and self -centredness ? Sacrifice? Faithfulness ? Or what ? A word of warning should be given. The student should not get the idea that by theme is meant the moral of the play. A good play may be thoroughly moral without its descending to commonplace moralizing. Good plays concern themselves with the presentation of the fundamentals of life rather than a creed of morals, theories, and propagandas. Art concerns itself ^with larger things than didactic and argumentative moralizing. n. The Technic of the One-Act Play Once the student satisfies himself as to the singleness of effect or theme of the play, he will do well to set himself to the task of seeing just how the dramatist has achieved this effect. He should keep in mmd that the playwright is a skilled workman; that he has predetermined for himself just what he wishes his audience to think, feel, or understand, and has marshalled all his materials to that end. The way by which he accomplishes that end is his technic. Technic is but the practical method by INTRODUCTION 9 which an artist can most effectively convey his message to his public. In a play the materials that the dramatist uses to this end are character, plot, dialogue, and stage direction. If he is skilled he will use these elements in such a way that the result will be an artistic whole, a singleness of effect, an organized unit that will exemplify and express his theme. A. The Chahacters in the One-Act Plat. — Generally speaking, drama grows out of character. Farce, melodrama, and extravaganza usually consist of situation rather than of charac- ter. In any event, the student should avail himself of every means to understand the characters in the play under discussion. His real appreciation of the play will be in direct ratio almost to his understanding of the persons in the drama. Any attention given to this end wUI be energy well spent. The student should get into the very heart of the characters, as it were. Thus, Adonijah, in Beulah Bornstead's The Diabolical Circle, is a narrow, self-centred, Puritan egotist who has little about his personality to appeal to the romantic and vivacious Bettt. Lady Sims, in Sir James M. Barrie's The Twelve-Pound Look, is a woman who really is pathetic in her longing for some human .independence in the presence of her self-centred husband, "Sir" BDiBRT Sims. And Manikin and Minikin, in Alfred Kreym- borg's Manikin and Minikin, are conventionalized puppets rep- resenting the light yet half-serious bickerings, jealousies, and quarrellings of human nature. The student will do well to characterize the dramatis personce deliberately and specifically. He should not now value himself for working fast; for things done in a hurry usually lack depth. He must not be content with vague and thin generalities. In analyzing a character it might be well to apply some specific questions similar to the following: Just what is the elemental human quality in the character ? Loving? Trusting? Egotis- tic? Superstitious? Revengeful? Treacherous? Selfish? Dis- contented? Optimistic? Romantic? Or what? How does the 10 INTRODUCTION dramatist characterize them: By action? By dialogue? By spirit of likes and dislikes? By racial trait ? By religion? By peculiarity of manner, speech, appearance ? Are the characters really dramatic: are they impelled to strong emotional reaction upon each other and upon situation? Do they provoke one's dramatic sympathy ? Do they make one feel their own point of view and their own motives for conduct? B. The Plot of the One-Act Plat. — Plot and character are integrally interlinked. Plot is not merely story taken from, every-day life, where seldom do events occur in a series of closely following minor crucial moments leading to a climax. The dram- atist so constructs his material that there is a sequential and causal interplay of dramatic forces, ending in some major crisis or crucial moment. Plot may be said to be the framework and constructed story by which a dramatist exemplifies his theme. It does not exist for its own end, but is one of the funda- mental means whereby the playwright gets his singleness of effect, or theme, to his reader or hearer. From the story ma- terial at his disposal the playwright constructs his plot to this very end. Careful attention should be given to the plot. The student should question it carefully. Do the plot materials seem to have been taken from actual life ? Or do they seem to be invented ? Is the plot well suited to exemplif jring the theme ? Reconstruct the story out of which the plot may have been built. Since the plot of a one-act play is highly simplified, determine whether there are any complexities, any irrelevancies, any digressions. Does the plot have a well-defined beginning, middle, and end ? 1. The Beginning of the One-Act Play. — ^Having but a relatively short time at its disposal, usually about thirty minutes and sel- dom more than forty-five minutes, the beginning of a one-act play is very short. It is characterized by condensation, com- pactness, and brevity. Seldom is the beginning more than a half-page m length; often the play is got under way m two or INTRODUCTION 11 three speeches. The student will do well to practise to the end that he will recognize instantly when the dramatic background of a one-act play has been laid. Whatever else may characterize the beginning, it must be dra- matically effective. Instantly it must catch the powers of per- ception by making them aware of the initial situation out of which the subsequent dramatic action will develop. A good be- ginning makes one feel that suddenly he has come face to face with a situation which cannot be solved without an interplay of dramatic forces to a given final result. Thus, when one reads Althea Thiu-ston's The Exchange, one is made suddenly to feel that human beings are discontent with their shortcomings and possessed qualities, and that they always feel that they would be happier if they possessed something other than what they have. The Judge, who handles the cases as they come in for exchange, is disgusted with the vanities of hiunankind, and is ready to clear his hands of the whole matter. Here is a situation; it is the beginning of the play. In the begin- ning of Lady Gregory's Hyaeirdh Halvey one is brought suddenly to the realization that Hyacinth ELalvet instinctively rebels against the highly colored and artificially created good name that has been unwittingly superimposed upon him. This situa- tion, suddenly presented, is the begioniag of the play. Out of this initial situation the subsequent dramatic action evolves. Is the beginning too short? Too long? Does it make the initial dramatic situation clear ? How has the playwright made it clear and effective ? Just where is the end of the beginning ? . Although the beginning and the subsequent plot development are well blended together, so that there is no halting where the beginning ends, usually one can detect where the one ends and the other begins. It is a good idea, for the purpose of develop- ing a sense of the organic structure of the one-act play, to draw a line across the page of the play, just where the one ends and the other begins. 12 INTRODUCTION The setting of the play is a part of the beginning. Is the set- ting realistic ? Romantic ? Fantastic or bizarre ? Are the de- tails of stage design, properties, and especially the atmosphere and color scheme in harmony with the tone of the play itself? Is the setting really an organic part of the play or is it something apart from it ? Note that the setting is usually written in the third person, present tense, and in italics. 2. The Middle of the One-Act Play.— The middle of a one-act play is concerned primarily with the main crucial moment or climax and the dramatic movement that from the beginning leads up to it. A good play consists of a series of minor crises leading up to a major crisis or crucial moment. It is for this crucial moment that the play exists; it is for this big scene precisely that the play has been written. Indeed, the play succeeds or fails as the crucial moment is strongly dramatic or flabbily weak. This is the part of the play that is strongest in dramatic tension, strongest in emotional functioning. A study of Sir James M. Barrie's The Twelve-Pound Look shows that the crucial moment comes at the point where "Sm" Harry Sims in his self-centred egotism discovers that his wife's, Ladt Sims's, heart-longing could easily be satisfied if she were permitted no other freedom than merely operating a typewriter. In Althea Thurston's The Exchange the crucial moment comes when the several characters, who unwittingly had exchanged one ill for a worse one, find that they can never re-exchange, and that they must endure the torments and displeasure of the newly acquired ill throughout life. Just where is the crucial moment or climax in the play under consideration ? Determine the several minor crises that lead up to the crucial moment. Is the crucial moment delayed too long for good dramatic effect ? Or is it reached too soon, so that the play is too short and too sudden in reaching the climax ? Does it make one feel that some vital result has been attained in the plot movement ? Is it characterized by strong situation and by INTRODUCTION 13 strong emotional reactions of character on character or of char- acter on situation ? For purposes of impressing a sense of the organic structure of a one-act play, it is a good plan to draw a horizontal line across the page at the close of the crucial moment. Keep in mind, however, that the crucial moment is not the end of the play as it appears on the printed page or as it is acted on the stage. 3. The End of the One-Act Play. — ^The end of the one-act play is an important consideration. Too often it is entirely lost sight of. It is the part that frequently makes or mars a play. When the crucial moment or climax has been reached, the plot action of the play is completed, but the play is not yet completed. The play needs yet to be rounded out into an artistic and dramatic whole. In life the actual crisis in human affairs is not often our chiefest interest, but the reaction of characters immediately after the crisis has occurred. Thus, in a play, the emotional re- action of the characters on the crucial moment and the more or less sudden readjustment between characters after the crucial moment must be presented. For this very purpose the end of the one-act play is constructed. The end is of need very short — usually even shorter than the beginning. Usually the end consists of but a speech or two, or sometimes only of pantomime that more effectively expresses the emotional reactions of the characters on the crucial moment than dialogue. Thus, in Sir James M. Barrie's The Twelve-Pound Look, the end consists of but pantomime, in which "Sra" Harby expresses his emotional reaction upon his wife's longing for the human liberty that even the operating of a typewriter would provide her. The end of Bosworth Crocker's The Last Straw comes im- mediately after the pistol-shot is heard in the adjoining room and Mas. Bauer's voice is heard: "Fritz! Fritz! Speak to me ! Look at me, Fritz ! You didn't do it, Fritz ! I know you didn't do it! "etc. Is the end of the play under consideration in terms of dialogue ? 14 INTRODUCTION In pantomime? Or both? Is it too long? Too short? Is it dramatic ? Is it 'conclusive and satisfying ? C. Dialogue op the One-Act Piat. — ^Dialogue, like plot and characterization, is another means whereby the theme of the play is got to the reader or audience. Good dramatic dialogue is constructed to this very end. It is not the commonplace, ram- bling, uncertain, and realistic question and answer of every-day life. Usually good dramatic dialogue is crisp, direct, condensed. It is the substance but not the form of ordinary conversation. Its chiefest characteristic is spontaneity. The highest type of dramatic dialogue is thai which expresses the ideas and emotions of characters at the points of highest emotional functioning. It wiU readily be seen, then, that not all dialogue in a play is necessarily dramatic. In truth, the best dramatic dialogue occurs in conjunction with the series of minor crises, and the crucial moment that go to make up the dramatic move- ment of the play. Often there is much dialogue in a play that essentially is not dramatic at all. In analyzing dramatic dialogue it is well to inquire whether in. the play it serves (1) to express the ideas and emotions of char- acters at points of highest emotional functioniug, (2) to advance- the plot, (3) to reveal character, or (4) what. Is it brief, clear» direct, spontaneous? Or is it careless, loose, insipid? Wit, repartee? Didactic, moralizing? Satirical, cynical? D. Stage-Business and Stage-Direction in the One-Act Plat. — ^The stage-business and stage-direction, usually printed in italics, of a play are an essential part of a drama. They must not be ignored in either reading or staging a play. The novel or short story generally uses narration and description to achieve its desired result; a play, on the contrary, uses dialogue and con- crete objective pantomime that may be seen readily with the eye, A play is not a story narrated in chronological order of events, but it is a story so handled and so constructed that it can be acted on a stage by actors before an audience. It is a series INTRODUCTION 15 of minor crises leiiding to a major crisis, presented to a reader or to an audience by characters, dialogue, and stage-business and pantomime. For purposes of indicating the pantomimic action of the play, the dramatist resorts to stage-busiaess and stage- direction. Does the stage-direction aid in making (1) the dialogue, (2) the plot, (3) the dramatic action, or (4) the character more clear? Does it shorten the play ? Does it express idea, emotion, or situ- ations more effectively than could dialogue, if it were used ? And, finally, do not judge any play until all the evidence is in, until you have thoroughly mastered every detail and have fully conceived the author's idea and purpose. It is not a question whether you would have selected such a theme or whether you would have handled it in the same way in which the author did; but the point is does the author in his way make his theme clear to you. The author has conceived a dramatic problem in his oton mind and has set it forth in his own way. The question is, does he make you see his result and his method ? Do you like the play ? Or do you not like it ? State your rea- son in either case. Is it because of the author ? Is it because of the theme ? Is it because of the technic — the way he gets his intent to his reader or audience ? Is it because of your own likes or dislikes; preconceived notions or prejudices ? Is it because of the acting ? Of the staging or setting ? Does it uplift or de- press ? Does it provoke you to emotional functioning ? "Though old the thought and oft expressed, 'Tis his at last who says it best." THE TWELVE-POUND LOOK BT Sm JAMES M. BABBIE The Twdve-Pound Look is reprinted by permission of Charles Scrib- ner's Sons, the publisher in America of the works of Sir James M. Barrie. For permission to perform, address the publisher. Sm JAMES M. BARRIE Sir James M. Barrie is rated as the foremost English drama- tist x)f the day; and his plays, taken together, make the most significant contribution to English drama since Sheridan. Prac- tically his entire life has been given to the writing of novels and plays, many of the latter having their heroines conceived espe- cially for Maude Adams, one of America's greatest actresses. He was bom in Kirriemuir, Scotland, in 1860. He received his education at Dumfries and Edinburgh University. His first work in journalism and letters was done at Nottingham, but soon he took up his work in London, where he now resides. Sir James M. Barrie's literary labors have been very fruitful. His The Professor's Love Story, The Little Minister, Qiuility Street, The Admirable Crichton, Peter Pan, What Every Woman Knows, and Alice Sit-by-the-Fire are well known to every one. In 1914 there appeared a volume of one-act plays. Half Hours, the most important of which is The Twelve-Pound Look. And in 1918 appeared a volume. Echoes cf the War, the most impor- tant one-act play therein being The Old Lady Shows Her Medals, Barrie is a great playwright because he is so thoroughly human. All the little whimsicalities, sentiments, little loves, and heart- longings of human beings are ever present in his plays. He is no reformer, no propagandist. He appeals to the emotions rather than to the intellect. He continues the romantic tradi- tion in English drama and gives us plays that are wholesome, tender, and human. And with all this, he has the added saving grace of a most absorbing humor. While Barrie is not a devotee of the well-made play, his The Twelve-Pound Look is one of the most nearly perfect one-act plays of contemporary drama. His interest in human person- alities is not more manifest in any of his plays than in Lady Sims and "Sm" Habbt Sms in this play. CHARACTERS "Sib" Habbt Sims Lady Sims Katb ToMBES THE TWELVE-POUND LOOK* If quite convenient (as they say about checks) you are to conceive that the scene is laid in your oum house, and that Habrt Sims is you. Perhaps the ornamentation of the hmbse is a trifle ostentatious, hut if you cavil at that we are willing to redeco- rate : you don't get out of being Hahbt Sims on a mere matter cf plush and dados. It pleases us to make him a city man, hut (rather than lose you) he can he turned with a scrape of the pen into a K.C., fashionable doctor. Secretary of State, or what you will. We conceive him of a pleasant rotundity vnth a thick red neck, but we shall waive that point if you know him to he thin. It is that day in your career when everything went wrong just when everything seemed to be superlatively right. In Harry's case it was a woman who did the mischief. She came to him in his great hour and told him she did not admire him. Of course he turned her out cf the house and was soon himself again, hut it spoiled the morning for him. This is the subject of the play, and quite enough too. Harry is to receive the honor cf knighthood in a few days, and we discover him in the sumptuous "snuggery" of his home in Kensington (or is it Westminster?), rehearsing the ceremony iDith his wife. They have been at it all the rnoming, a pleasing occupation. Mrs. Sims (cw we may call her for the last time, as it were, and strictly as a good-natured joke) is wearing her jtresentation gown, and personates the august one who is about to dub her Harry knight. She is seated regally. Her jewelled shoulders ■proclaim aloud her husband's generosity. She must * Copyright, 1914, by Charles Scribner's Sons. All rights reserved. 21 %% SIR JAMES BABRIE he an extraordinarily proud and happy woman, yet she has a drawn face and shrinking ways, as if there were some one near her of whrm she is afraid. She claps her hands, as the signal to Habrt. He enters homing, and with a graceful swerve of the leg. He is only partly in costume, the sword and the real stockings runt having arrived yet. With a gliding rrwtion that is only delayed while one leg makes up on the other, he reaches his wife, and, going on one knee, raises her hand superbly to his lips. She taps him on the shoulder with a paper-knife and says huskily : "Rise, Sir Harry." He rises, hows, and glides about the room, going on his knees to various articles of furni- ture, and rises from each a knight. It is a radiant domestic scene, and Hakbt is as dignified as if he knew that royalty was rehearsing it at the other end. Sm Hahrt. [Complacently.] Did that seem all right, eh? Ladt Sims. [Much relieved.] I think perfect. Sir Habrt. But was it dignified ? Lady Sims. Oh, very. And it will be still more so when you lave the sword. Sib Haebt. The sword wUl lend it an air. There are really the five moments — [suiting the action to the word] — ^the glide — ^the dip — ^the kiss — ^the tap — ^and you back out a knight. It's short, but it's a very beautiful ceremony. [Kindly.] Anything you can suggest? Ladt Sims. No — oh, no. [Nervously, seeing him pause to kiss the tassel of a cushion.] You don't think you have practised till you know what to do almost too well? [He has been in a hlissfvl temper, but such niggling criticism would try any man. Sir Harry. I do not. Don't talk nonsense. Wait till your ■opinion is asked for. Ladt Sims. [Abashed.] I'm sorry, Harry. [A perfect huder ^appears and presents a card.] ' ' The Flora Typewriting Agency." THE TWELVE-POUND LOOK 23 Sm Habht. Ah, yes. I telephoned them to send some one. A woman, I suppose, Tombes ? ToicBES. Yes, Sir Harry. Sib Haekt. Show her in here. [He has very lately become a stickler for etiquette.] And, Tombes, strictly speaking, you know, I am not Sir Harry till Thursday. Tombes. Beg pardon, sir, but it is such a satisfaction to us. Sib Haekt. [Good-naturedly.] Ah, they like it down-stairs, do they? Tombes. [Unbending.] Especially the females. Sir Harry. Sm Harbt. Exactly. You can show her in, Tombes. [The bwUer departs on his mighty task.] You can tell the woman what she is wanted for, Enuny, while I change. [He is too rnodest to boast about himself, and prefers to keep a wife in the house for that purpose.] You can tell her the sort of things about me that will come better from you. [Smiling happily.] You heard what Tombes said: "Especially the females." And he is right. Suc- cess! The women like it even better than the men. And rightly. For they share. Fom share, Zody Sims. Not a woman wiU see that gown without being sick with envy of it. I know them. Have all our lady friends in to see it. It wiU make them ill for a week. [These senUmenis carry him off light-heartedly, and presently the disturbing element is shoicn in. She is a mere typist, dressed in uncommonly good taste, but at contemptibly small expense, and she is carrying her typewriter in a frierudly way rather than as a badge of slavery, as of course it is. Her eye is clear ; and in odd contrast to Lady Sims, she is self-reliant and serene. Kate. [Respectfully, but she should have waited to be spoken to.] Good morning, madam. Ladt Sims. [In her nervous way, and scarcely noticing that the typist is a little too ready with her tongue.] Good morning. [As a first impression the rather likes the vxrnian, and the woman. 24 SIR JAMES BARBIE though it is scarcely worth jnentioning, rather likes her. Ladt Sims has a maid, for buttoning and unbuttoning her, and probably another for waiting on the maid, and she gazes with a little envy perhaps at a woman who does things for herself.] Is that the typewriting machine ? Kate. [Who is getting it ready for use.] Yes. [Not " Yes, madam," as it ought to be.] I suppose if I am to work here I may take this off. I get on better without it. [She is referring to her hat. Ladt Sims. Certainly. [But the hat is already off.] I ought to apologize for my gown. I am to be presented this week, and I was trying it on. [Her tone is not really apologetic. She is rather clinging to the glory of her gown, wisffuUy, as if not absolutely cer- tain, you know, that it is a glory. Kate. It is beautiful, if I may presume to say so. [She frankly admires it. She probably has a best and a sec- ond best of her own; that sort of thing. Lady Sims. [With a flush of pride in the gown.] Yes, it is very beautiful. [The beauty of it gives her courage.] Sit down, please. Kate. [The sort of woman who would have sat down in any case.] I suppose it is some copying you want done ? I got no particulars. I was told to come to this address, but that was all. Lady Sims. [Almost with the humility of a servant.] Oh, it is not work for me, it is for my husband, and what lie needs is not exactly copying. [Swelling, for she is proud of Hahry.] He wants a number of letters answered — ^hundreds of them — ^letters and telegrams of congratulation. Kate. [As if it were all in the day's viork.] Yes ? Lady Sims. [Remembering that Hahhy expects every wife to do her duty.] My husband is a remarkable man. He is about to be knighted. [Pause, but Kate does not fall to the floor.] He is to be knighted for his services to — [on reflection] — ^for his services. [She is conscious that she is not doing Harby justice.] He can ex- plain it so much better than I can. THE TWELVE-POUND LOOK 25 Kate. [In her Jmsinesslike way.] And I am to answer the congratulations ? Lady Sims. [Afraid that it vnll be a hard task.] Yes. Kate. [Blithely.] It is work I have had some experience of. [She proceeds to type. Lady Sims. But you can't begin till you know what he wants to say. Kate. jOnly a specimen letter. Won't it be the usual thing ? Lady Sims. [To whom this is a new idea.] Is there a usual thing? Kate. Oh, yes. [She continues to type, and Lady Sims, half^mesmerized, gazes at her nimble fingers. The useless woman watches the usefid one, and she sighs, she could not tell why. Lady Sims. How quickly you do it ! It must be delightful to be able to do something, and to do it well. Kate. [Thankfully.] Yes, it is delightful. Lady Sims. [Again remembering the source of all her greatness J\ But, excuse me, I don't think that wiQ be any use. My husband wants me to explain to you that his is an exceptional case. He did not try to get this honor in any way. It was a complete sur- prise to him Kate. [Who is a practical Kate and no dealer in sarcasm.] That is what I have written. Lady Sims. [In whom sarcasm would meet a dead walL] But how could you know ? Kate. I only guessed. Lady Sims. Is that the usual thing? Kate. Oh, yes. Lady Sims. They don't try to get it? Kate. I don't know. That is what we are told to say in the letters. [To her at present the only important thing about the letters is that they are ten shillings the hundred. Lady Sims. [Returning to surer ground.] I should explain 26 SIR JAMES BARBIE that my husband is not a man who cares for honors. So long as he does his dut y Kate. Yes, I have been putting that in. Lady Sims. Have you ? But he particularly wants it to be known that he would have declined a title were it not Kate. I have got it here. Ladt Sims. What have you got? Kate. [Reading.] "Indeed, I would have asked to be al- lowed to decline had it not been that I want to please my wife." Lady Sims. [Heavily. ] But how could you know it was that ? Kate. Is it? Lady Sims. [Who, after all, is the one with the right to ask ques- tions.] Do they all accept it for that reason ? Kate. That is what we are told to say in the letters. Lady Sims. [Thoughtlessly.] It is quite as if you knew my . husband. Kate. I assure you, I don't even know his name. Lady Sims. [Suddenly showing that she knows Am.] Oh, he wouldn't like that ! [And it is here that Hahky re-enters in his city garments, looking so gay, feeling so jolly, that we bleed for him. However, the annoying Kathebine is to get a shock also. Lady Sims. This is the lady, Harry. Sir Hakby. [Shooting his cuffs.] Yes, yes. Good morning, my dear. [Then they see each other, and their mmiths open, hut not for words. After the first surprise Kate seems to find some hurruyr in the situation, but Habby loioers like a thunder- cloud. Lady Sims. [Who has seen Twthing.] I have been trying to explain to her Sib Haery. Eh— what? [He controls himself.] Leave it to me, Emmy; I'll attend to her. [Lady Sims goes, with a dread fear that somehow she has vexed her lord, and then Harry attends to the intruder. THE TWELVE-POUND LOOK 27 Sir Hakht. [With concentrated scorn.] You ! £ati:. [As if agreeing with him.] Yes, it's funny. SiH EL&BBT. The shamelessness of your daring to come here. Kate. Believe me, it is not less a surprise to me than it is to you. I was sent here in the ordinary way of business. I was given only the number of the house. I was not told the name. Sir Harrt. [Withering her.] The ordinary way of business ! This is what you have fallen to — a typist ! Kate. [Unwithered.] Think of it ! Sm Habrt. After going through worse straits, I'll be bound. Kate. [With some grim memories.] Much worse straits. Sib Hahbt. [Alas, laughing coarsely.] My congratulations ! Kate. Thank you, Harry. Sib Habet. [Who is annoyed, as any man wovM be, not to find her abject.] Eh ? What was that you called me, madam ? Kate. Isn't it Harry ? On my soul, I almost forget. Sib Habrt. It isn't Harry to you. My name is Sims, if you please. ELate. Yes, I had not forgotten that. It was my name, too, you see. Sib Habrt. [In his best manner.] It was your name till you forfeited the right to bear it. Kate. Exactly. Sib Habbt. [Gloating.] I was furious to find you here, but on second thoughts it pleases me. [From the depths of his moral nature.] There is a grim justice in this. Kate. [Sympathetically.] Tell me ? Sib Haeby. Do you know what you were brought here to do ? Kate. I have just been learning. You have been made a knight, and I was summoned to answer the messages of congratu- lation. Sir Habet. That's it, that's it. You come on this day as my servant ! Kate. I, who might have been Lady Sims. Sib Habbt. And you are her typist instead. And she has 28 SIR JAMES BARRIE four men-servants. Oh, I am glad you saw her in her presenta- tion gown. Kate. I wonder if she would let me do her washing. Sir Harry ? [Her want of taste disgusts him. Sib Habbt. [With dignity.] You can go. The mere thought that only a few flights of stairs separates such as you from my innocent children [He will never know why a new light has come into her face. Kate. [Slowly.] You have children ? Sib Habbt. [Inflated.] Two. [He wonders why she is so long in answering. Kate. [Resorting to impertinence.] Such a nice number. Sir Harry. [With an extra turn of the screw.] Both boys. Kate. Successful in everything. Are they like you. Sir Harry? Sib Habbt, [Expanding.] They are very like me. Kate. That's nice. [Even on such a subject as this she can be ribald. Sir Habbt. Will you please to go. Kate. Heigho ! What shall I say to my employer? Sib Habry. That is no affair of mine. Kate. What will you say to Lady Sims ? Sib Habbt. I flatter myself that whatever I say. Lady Sims will accept without comment. [She smiles, heaven knows why, unless her next remark ex- plains it. Kate. Still the same Harry. Sib Habbt. What do you mean ? ELate. Only that you have the old confidence in your pro- found knowledge of the sex. Sib Habbt. [Beginning to think as Utile of her iniellect as of her morals.] I suppose I know my wife. Kate. [Hopelessly dense.] I suppose so. I was only remem- THE TWELVE-POUND LOOK 29 bering Uiat you used to think you knew her in the days when I was the lady. [He is merely wasting his time on her, and he indi- cates the door. She is not siefficienUi/ the lady to retire worsted.] Well, good-by. Sir Harry. Won't you rmg, and the four men- servants will show me out ? [But he hesitates. Sm Habet. [In spite of himself.] As you are here, there is something I want to get out of you. [Wishing he could ask it less eagerly.] Tell me, who was the man ? [The strange woman — it is evident now that she has always been strange to him — smiles tolerantly. EJLTE. You never found out ? Sm Habbt. I could never be sure. Kate. [Reflectively.] I thought that would worry you. Sm Harht. [Sneering.] It's plain that he soon left you. Eate. Very soon. Sm Haekt. As I could have told you. [But still she surveys him with the smile 0/ Monna Lisa. The badgered man has to en- treat.] Who was he? It was fourteen years ago, and cannot matter to any of us now. Kate, tell me who he was ? [It is his first youthful moment, and perhaps because of that she does not wish to hurt him. Kate. [Shaking a motherly head.] Better not ask. Sm Habbt. I do ask. Tell me. Kate. It is kinder not to tell you. SiB Habbt. {Violently.] Then, by James, it was one of my own pals. Was it Bernard Roche ? [She shalces her head.] It may have been some one who comes to my house still. Kate. I think not. [Reflecting.] Fourteen years! You found my letter that night when you went home ? Sm Habbt. [Impatient] Yes. Kate. I propped it against the decanters. I thought you would be sure to see it there. It was a room not unlike this, and the furniture was arranged in the same attractive way. How it all comes back to me. Don't you see me, Harry, in hat and 30 SIR JAMES BAERIE cloak, putting the letter there, taking a last look round, and then stealing out into the night to meet Sm Haeht. Whom? £1a.ti:. Him. Hours pass, no sound in the room but the tick- tack of the clock, and then about midnight you return alone. You take Sir Henet. [Gruffly.] I wasn't alone. Kate. [The picture spoiled.] No? Oh. [Plaintively.] Here have I all these years been conceiving it wrongly. [She studies his face.] I believe something interesting happened. Sm Hahrt, [Growling.] Something confoundedly annoying. Kate. [Coaxing.] Do tell me. Sns Hahkt. We won't go into that. Who was the man? Siu-ely a husband has a right to know with whom his wife bolted. Kate. [Who is detestably ready with her tongue.] Surely the wife has a right to know how he took it. [The woman's love of bargaining comes to her aid.] A fair exchange. You tell me what happened, and I will tell you who he was. Sir Hakrt. You will ? Very well. [It is the first point on which they have agreed, and, forgetting himself, he takes a place beside her on the fire-seat. He is thinlcing only of what he is to tell her, hut she, womanlike, is conscious of their proximity. Kate. [Tastelessly.] Quite like old times. [He moves away from, her indignantly.] Go on, Harry. Sib Hakht. \Why has a manful shrinking from saying any- thing that is to his disadvantage.] Well, as you know, I was din- ing at the club that night. Kate. Yes. Sm Hakrt. Jack Lamb drove me home. Mabbett Green was with us, and I asked them to come in for a few minutes. Kate. Jack Lamb, Mabbett Green? I think I remember them. Jack was in Parliament. THE TWELVE-POUND LOOK 31 Sib Haebt-. No, that was Mabbett. They came into the house with me and — [vnth sudden horror] — ^was it him ? Kate. [BewUdered.] Who? Sir Hahrt. Mabbett? Kate. What? Sm Harry. The man ? Kate. What man? [Understanding.] Oh, no. I thought you said he came into the house with you. SiB Harrt. It might have been a blind. Kate. Well, it wasn't. Go on. Sib Harrt. They came in to finish a talk we had been hav- ing at the club. Kate. An interesting talk, evidently. Sib Habrt. The papers had been full that evening of the elopement of some countess woman with a fiddler. What was her name ? KIate. Does it matter ? Sir Habrt. No. [Thus ends the countess.] We had been discussing the thing and — [he pulls a vyry face] — and I had been rather warm Kate. \With horrid relish.] I begin to see. You had been saying it served the husband right, that the man who could not look after his wife deserved to lose her. It was one of your fa- vorite subjects. Oh, B[arry, say it was that ! Sib Habbt. [Sourly.] It may have been something like that. Kate. And all the time the letter was there, waiting; and none of you knew except the clock. Harry, it is sweet of you to tell me. [His face is not sweet. The illiterate woman has used the. wrong adjedive.] I forget what I said precisely in the letter. Sir Harrt. [Prdverimig' her.] So do I. But I have it still. Kate. [Not pulverized.] Do let me see it again. [She has observed his eye wandering to the desk. Sib Habbt. You are welcome to it as a gift. 32 SIR JAMES BARRIE [The fateful letter, a poor little dead thing, is brought to light from a locked drawer. Kate. [Taking it.] Yes, this is it. Harry, how you did crumple it ! [She reads, not toithout curiosity.] "Dear husband — ^I call you that for the last time — ^I am off. I am what you call making a bolt of it. I won't try to excuse myself nor to explam, for you would not accept the excuses nor understand the explana- tion. It will be a little shock to you, but only to your pride; what will astound you is that any woman could be such a fool as to leave such a man as you. I am taking nothing with me that belongs to you. May you be very happy. — ^Your ungrateful Kate. P.S. — ^You need not try to find out who he is. You will try, but you won't succeed." [She folds the nasty little thing up.] I may really have it for my very own ? Sib Habht. You really may. Kate. [Impudently.] If you would care for a typed copy ? Sib Haeet. [In a voice with which he used to frighten his grandmother]. None of your sauce! \Wincing.] I had to let them see it in the end. Kate. I can picture Jack Lamb eating it. SiE Haert. a penniless parson's daughter. Kate. That is all I was. SiE Haret. We searched for the two of you high and low. Kate. Private detectives ? Sib Habbt. They couldn't get on the track of you. Kate. [Smiling.] No ? SiB Hajrbt. But at last the courts let me serve the papers by advertisement on a man unknown, and I got my freedom. Kate. So I saw. It was the last I heard of you. SiE Habey. [Each word a blow for her.] And I married again just as soon as ever I could. Kate. They say that is always a compliment to the first wife. THE TWELVE-POUND LOOK 33 Sir Habrt. [Violently.] I showed them. Kate. You soon let them see that if one woman was a fool, you still had the pick of the basket to choose from. SiK Habbt. By James, I did. Xa.te. [Bringing him to earth again,] But still, you wondered who he was. Sib Habbt. I suspected everybody — even my pals. I felt like jumping at their throats and crying: "It's you !" Kate. You had been so admirable to me, an instinct told you that I was sure to choose another of the same. Sm Habbt. I thought, it can't be money, so it must be looks. Some dolly face. [He stares at her in perplexity.] He must have had something wonderful about him to make you willing to give up all that you had with me. Kate. [As if he was the stupid one.] Poor Harry. SiB Habbt. And it couldn't have been going on for long, for I would have noticed the change in you. Kate. Would you ? SiB Habbt. I knew you so well. Kate. You amazing man. Sib Habbt. So who was he ? Out with it. Kate. You are determined to know ? Sib Habbt. Your promise. You gave your word. Kate. K I must — [She is the villain of the piece, but it must be conceded thai in this matter she is reluctant to pain him.] I am sorry I promised. [Looking at him steadily^ There was no one, Harry; no one at all. Sir Harbt. [Rising.] If you think you can play with me Kate. I told you that you wouldn't like it. Sir Harbt. [Rasping.] It is unbelievable. Kate. I suppose it is; but it is true. Sib Habbt. Your letter itself gives you the lie. Kate. That was intentional. I saw that if the truth were known you might have a difficulty in getting your freedom; and 34 SIR JAMES BARRIE as I was gettmg mine it seemed fair that you should have yours also. So I wrote my good-by in words that would be taken to mean what you thought they meant, and I knew the law would back you in your opinion. For the law, like you, Harry, has a profound imderstanding of women. Sib Hakky, [Trying to straighten himself.] I don't believe you yet. Kate. [Looking not unkindly into the soul 0/ this man.] Per- haps that is the best way to take it. It is less unflattering than the truth. But you were the only one. [Summing uj> her life.] You sufficed. Sib Hakbt. Then what mad impulse Kate. It was no impulse, Harry. I had thought it out for a year. Sib Habbt. A year? [Dazed.] One would think to hear you that I hadn't been a good husband to you. Kate. [With a sad smile.] You were a good husband accord- ing to your lights. Sib Habbt. [Stofutiy.] I think so. Kate. And a moral man, and chatty, and quite the philan- thropist. Sm Habbt, [On sure ground.] All women envied you. Kate. How you loved me to be envied. Sir Habbt. I swaddled you in luxury. Kate. [Making her great revelation.] That was it. Sm Habbt. . [Blankly.] What? Kate. [Who can be serene because it is all over.] How you beamed at me when I sat at the head of your fat dinners in my fat jewelry, surrounded by our fat friends. Sm Habbt. [Aggrieved.] They weren't so fat. Kate. [A side issue.] All except those who were so thin. Have you ever noticed, Harry, that many jewels make women either incredibly fat or incredibly thin ? Sib Haert. [Shouting.] I have not. [Is it worth while to THE TWELVE-POUND LOOK 85 argue with her any longer f] We had all the most interesting so- ciety of the day. It wasn't only business men. There were poli- ticians, painters, writers Eate. Only the glorious, dazzling successes. Oh, the fat talk while we ate too much — about who had made a hit and who was slipping back, and what the noo house cost and the noo motor and the gold soup-plates, and who was to be the noo knight. Sir Haert. [Who it will he observed is unanswerable from first to iosi.] Was anybody getting on better than me, and conse- quently you ? Ka.te. Consequently me ! Oh, Harry, you and your sublime religion. Sib Habet. [Honest heart.] My religion ? I never was one to talk about religion, but TCatb. Pooh, Harry, you don't even know what your religion was and is and will be till the day of your expensive funeral. [And here is the lesson that life has taught her.] One's religion is whatever he is most interested in, and yours is Success. Snt Harry. [Quoting from his morning paper.] Ambition — it is the last infirmity of noble minds. Kate. Noble minds ! Sm Hahbt. [At last grasping what she is talking about.] You are not saying that you left me because of my success ? Kate. Yes, that was it. [And now she stands revealed to him.] I couldn't endure it. K a failure had come now and then — ^but your success was suffocating me. [She is rigid with emoticni] The passionate craving I had to be done with it, to find myself among people who had not got on. Sm Harbt. [WUh proper spirit.] There are plenty of them. Kate. There were none in our set. When they began to go down-hill they rolled out of our sight. Sib Habrt. [Clenching it.] I tell you I am worth a quarter of a million. Kate. [Unabashed.] That is what you are worth to yourself. 36 SIR JAMES BARBIE I'll tell you what you are worth to me: exactly twelve pounds. For I made up my mind that I could launch myself on the world alone if I first proved my mettle by earning twelve pounds; and as soon as I had earned it I left you. Sm Hakrt. [In the scales.] Twelve pounds ! Kate. That is your value to a woman. If she can't make it she has to stick to you. Sm Habkt. [Rememhering perhaps a rectory garden.] You valued me at more than that when you married me. Kate. [Seeing it also.] Ah, I didn't know you then. If only you had been a man, Harry. Sir Habkt. A man? What do you mean by a man? Kate. [Leaving the garden.] Haven't you heard of them? They are something fine; and every woman is loath to admit to herself that her husband is not one. When she marries, even though she has been a very trivial person, there is in her some vague stirring toward a worthy life, as well as a fear of her capac- ity for evil. She knows her chance lies in him. If there is some- thing good in him, what is good in her finds it, and they join forces against the baser parts. So I didn't give you up willingly, Harry. I invented all sorts of theories to explain you. Your hardness — ^I said it was a fine want of mawkishness. Your coarse- ness — ^I said it goes with strength. Your contempt for the weak — ^I called it virility. Your want of ideals was clear-sightedness. Your ignoble views of women — ^I tried to think them funny. Oh, I clung to you to save myself. But I had to let go; you had only the one quality, Harry, success; you had it so strong that it swal- lowed all the others. Sm Hakhy. [Not to be diverted from the main issue.] How did you earn that twelve pounds ? Kate. It took me nearly six months; but I earned it fairly. [She presses her hand on the typewriter as lovingly as many a woman has pressed a rose.] I learned this. I hired it and taught my- self. I got some work through a friend, and with my first twelve THE TWELVE-POUND LOOK 37 pounds I paid for my machine. Then I considered that I was free to go, and I went. Sib Haeht. All this going on in my house while you were living in the lap of luxury ! [She nods.] By God, you were de- termined. Kate. [Briefly.] By God, I was. Sm Haeht. [Staring.] How you must have hated me. Kate. [Smiling at the childish word.] Not a bit — after I saw that there was a way out. From that hom: you amused me, Harry pi was even sorry for you, for I saw that you couldn't help yoiu-self. Success is just a fatal gift. Sir Habbt. Oh, thank you. Kate. [Thinking, dear friends in front, of you and me perhaps.] Yes, and some of your most successful friends knew it. One or two of them used to look very sad at times, as if they thought they might have come to something if they hadn't got on. Sm Hahbt. [Who has a horror cf sacrilege.] The battered crew you live among now — ^what are they but folk who have tried to succeed and failed ? Kate. That's it; they try, but they fail. Sm Habbt. And always will fail. Kate. Always. Poor souls — I say of them. Poor soul — they say of me. It keeps us human. That is why I never tire of them. Sm Habbt. [Comprehensivdy^ Bah! Kate, I tell you I'll be worth half a million yet. Kate. I'm sure you wiU. You're getting stout, Harry. SiB Haeht. No, I'm not. Kate. What was the name of that fat old fellow who used to fall asleep at our dinner-parties ? Sib Habbt. If you mean Sir William Crackley Kate. That was the man. Sir William was to me a perfect picture of the grand success. He had got on so well that he was very, very stout, and when he sat on a chair it was thus [her hands 38 SIR JAMES BARBIE meeting in f rota of her]— as if he were holding his success together. That is what you are working for, Harry. You wiU have that and the half million about the same time. Sm Habrt. [Who has surely been very patient.] Will you please, to leave my house? Kate. [Putting on her gloves, soiled things.) But don't let us part in anger. How do you think I am lookmg, Harry, com- pared to the duU, inert thing that used to roll round in your pad- ded carriages ? Sir Habht. [In masterly fashion.] I forget what you were like. I'm very sure you never could have held a candle to the present Lady Sims. Kate. That is a picture of her, is it not ? Sib Habkt. [Seizing his chance again.] In her wedding- gown. Painted by an R.A. Kate. [Wickedly.] A knight? Sib Habey. [Deceived.] Yes. Kate. [Who likes Lady Sims — o piece of presumption on het part.] It is a very pretty face. Sib Habey. [With the pride cf possession.] Acknowledged to be a beauty everywhere. Kate. There is a merry look in the eyes, and character in the chin. Sib Habby, [Like an auctioneer.] Noted for her wit. Kate. All her life before her when that was painted. It is a spirttueUe face too. [Suddenly she turns on him with anger, for the first and only time in the play.] Oh, Harry, you brute ! Sib Habby. [Staggered.] Eh? What? Kate. That dear creature, capable of becoming a noble wife and mother — she is the spiritless woman of no account that I saw here a few minutes ago. I forgive you for myself, for I es- caped, but that poor lost soul, oh, Harry, Harry. Sib Hakby. [Waving her to the door.] Til thank you — If THE TWELVE-POUND LOOK 39 ever there was a woman proud of her husband and happy in her married life, that woman is Lady Sims. E1&.TE. I wonder. Sib Hakkt. Then you needn't wonder. Kate. [Slowly.] If I was a husband — it is my advice to all of them — ^I would often watch my wife quietly to see whether the twelve-pound look was not coming into her eyes. Two boys, did you say, and both like you ? Sib Haert. What is that to you ? Kate. [With glwterCing eyes]. I was only thinking that some- where there are two little girls who, when they grow up — the dear, pretty girls who are aU meant for the men that don't get on ! Well, good-by. Sir Harry. Sib Habby. [Showing a little human weakness, it is to be feared.] Say first that you're sorry. Kate. For what? SiB Hakbt. That you left me. Say you regret it bitterly. You know you do. [She smiles and shakes her head. He is pet- tish. He makes a terrible anrunmcement.] You have spoiled the day for me. Kate. [To hearten him.] I am sorry for that; but it is only a pin-prick, Harry. I suppose it is a little jarring in the moment of your triumph to find that there is — one old friend — who does not think you a success; but you will soon forget it. Who cares what a typist thinks ? SiB Habbt. [Heartened.] Nobpdy. A typist at eighteen shillings a week ! Kate. [ProvMy.] Not a bit of it, Harry. I double that. SiH Habby. [NecAly.] Magnificent! [There is a timid knock at the door. Lady Sims. May I come in ? SiE BLiEBY. [Rather appealingly.] It is Lady Sims. Kate. I won't tell. She is afraid to come into her husband's room without knocking ! 40 SIR JAMES BARBIE &m Haekt. She is not. [Ux