PS 3521 :.U64 B7 1 1922 Copy 1 iiiiiHiiiuiniimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiMiniiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiii BRIDGES By CLARE KUMMER All Rights Reserved Copyright, 1922, by Samuel French Price Fifty Cents New York SAMUEL FRENCH Publisher 28-30 West 38th Street London SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 26 Southampton Street Strand, W.C. 2. IIIIHIIIIIIIIUIIIHinilllllllllllllllll IIIIHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMIIimillllllllllMiriltlllllMltHlllllllllllllinilllllllMllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllinillllMIIII IIIIMIIMIIIIIIIIIIIIIII*IIIIIUMIIIIIi BRIDGES BY -Yvih/). CLARE, KUMMER All Rights Reserved Copyright, 1922, by Samuel French New York SAMUEL FRENCH Publisher 28-30 West 38th Street London SAMUEL FRE^XH, Ltd. 26 Southampton Street STRAND "BRIDGES" is fully protected by copyright and is sub- ject to royalty when produced by professionals or ama- teurs. Permission to act, read publidy, or to make use of it must be obtained from Samuel French, 28-30 West 38th Street, New York, and no performance may take place until a written permission has been obtained. Professional and amateur rates quoted on application. Whenever this play is produced the following^ notice must appear on all programs, printing and advertising for the play : Produced by 'special arrangement with Samuel French of New York. ©CLD 03353 JAN 1 ^ fK-^ CHARACTERS Penfield Parker, Jr. — Of Parker and Son, Bridge Builders. Wallie Breen His friend, also in the office. Enid Birdsall — The girl who wants to have a bridge built. Originally produced at the Punch and Judy The- atre, New York, February 13, 1921, with the fol- lowing cast: Penfield Parker, Jr Sidney Blackmer Wallie Breen Roland Hogue Enid Birdsall Ruth Gillmore BRIDGES Scene : The inner office of Parker and Son, on the eighteenth floor of an office building down town in New York City, facing the river. At the back a wide window looking out on the sky, which is deep blue, but changes to rosy sunset light during the scene. There is a door leading into the outer office r.u.e. On wall r. a pic- ture of a suspension bridge. On wall l. a map of the United States. A large table with blue prints scattered about R.c. A smaller table down L. against the wall; on this table a zualk- ing stick and hat belonging to Penfield. Time: About five o'clock on a spring afternoon. On Rise : Penfield and Wallie discovered. They are in the midst of a heated discussion. The rest of the office force has gone. The large table separates the arguing pair. Penfield. (Down l. of table, not looking at WallieJ What's the matter with artists? Wallie. (Above table) I don't know what's the matter with them. They're all right, I suppose. 5 6 BRIDGES Pen FIELD. I should say they are all right — and Tm going to be one. I can pamt, can't I? Wallie. (Grudgingly) I suppose so. Penfield. I know I can paint. Wallie. I know you can build bridges. That's your inheritance. Penfield. A fine inheritance. Bridges to build! Wallie. Well, why not do both ? Penfield. (With scorn) Did you say both ? Wallie. I did — I said both — why not do both? Penfield. Did anyone ever do "both"? Doesn't ever3^body know that doing "both" is responsible for all the failures in the world ? Don't you have to concentrate — to succeed ? Wallie. Well — can't you concentrate on both? Penfield. How can you do two things at once? Wallie. It's perfectly easy — sometimes I do three things at once. Penfield. I'm not speaking of you — who ever did "both" that amounted to anything? Wallie. Well — I'm sure there have been people — only you get me so excited I can't think of them. Penfield. Well, who? Who? Wallie. (Brightening) I've thought of one — he was just what you are too, Pen — an architect — and he broke loose and did something else — Rus- kin. John Ruskin. Penfield. Nothing to do with the case. Ruskin was a writer — pure and simple. Wallie. Well, I don't know how pure and sim- ple he was — but I know he did two things at once — and did 'em darned well. Penfield. I don't want to be an architect — I don't like anything about it — I don't like blue prints. (Taking one up.) I hate the color of 'em. Isn't that horrible — that blue is positively profane — I don't like measuring things. I don't like to think about BRIDGES 7 arches and rivets. I want to paint — that requires a man's life. I'm perfectly willing to give mine. Wallie. And incidentally your father's. Penfield. You don't think it's going to kill the old man, do you, if I leave the office. Wall.e. It might. (Picking up long envelope and document attached.) If your father knew you'd got the commission to build this bridge and thrown it down, I think it would come pretty close to fin- ishing him. Penfield. Well, I won't let him know it. I'll just tear it up right now — give it to me. Wallie. (Without giving up the envelope) Why, Pen, it's tremendous — with all your father's done, he never had anything like this. It puts you right at the top, why a bridge like this — it'll be in all the geographies — it'll change the map of the world. Penfield. The map of the world's all right. I wish people would let it alone. Wallie. And there's something so inspiring about it — a beautiful bridge, spanning a river — ^think what it might mean in war time — think of seeing an en- tire regiment marching across the bridge, in perfect step. Penfield. The bridge falls down if they do that, you know. Wallie. Well — marching any old way as long as they get across. But what's the use — you're going to give it up and I might as well get out before I'm fired. (Lays envelope on table.) Penfield. Fired? Why, they'll need you more than ever. Wallie. Who will? I don't believe there'll be any Parker and Son — anyway, your father only let me in because he thought it would please you. I'll never be anything in this business — I only love it, that's all. 8 BRIDGES Penfield. All? Why, that's the whole thing. That's why I expect to be a good painter, Wallie — because I love it. Wallie. I know — you can afford to expect things — I can't. When you paint your first sunset — that lets me out. Penfield. I promise that you shall stay in this accursed place till you have a long gray beard, my dear fellow, if that's what you want. Wallie. Thanks, but Penfield. My first sunset — it's going to be one that I saw at Marblehead last summer — saffron and mauve — with the sky turquoise and some puffy clouds smudged in with your finger, lined with rose and gold. I don't know where the rose and gold came from, but there they were Wallie. I wouldn't start in on a sunset like that if I were you — I'd try a quiet one. Penfield. I shall start in on the noisiest sunset I can think of. I'll go forth to be- a painter joy- ously, Wallie — with bells ringing and — — (A fable bell in the outer office rings.) Hasn't eyeryone gone? (A knock on the door. Enid opens it.) Enid. I beg your pardon — is it all right for me to come in? Wallie. Certainly — come right in. Enid. I thought perhaps I ought to wait out there until someone asked me who I wanted to see — but there was no one to ask me. Wallie. I should be out there — but, you see, I'm in here, quarrelling with the firm . . . Enid. (To Parker j Oh, are you the firm? Penfield. Pm the "Son" part of it. Enid. (A little troubled) My name is Birdsall — Enid Birdsall. BRIDGES 9 Penfield. Well — can we do anything about it? Wallie. Any relation to Rufus Birdsall? Penfield. Excuse me. (Introducing Walliej This is Mr. Breen. Enid. How do you do. Yes, he was my great uncle. Wallie. How splendid? Enid. (Hesitating a little) You mean — because he's left me all his money? Wallie. No, I didn't. That's splendid, too, but I meant we're sort of related — ^^because he was in my great grandfather's class at college. Enid. Really? I didn't know they had colleges then. Wallie. Oh, yes — they had colleges and campuses and everything. Yes, indeed — why, yes. Penfield. (Wishing to check the garrulous Wallie. J Pardon me for interrupting, but what did you want to see me about? Enid. Well, it may be that I shouldn't have come at all — I mean I'm not sure that this is the sort of place where one asks about such things Wallie. Why of course it is — you can ask about anything here. Penfield. Just a moment, Wallie — what things, Miss — er Enid. Enid — Enid Birdsall. Was it all right for me to ring the bell out there ? I saw it on the table and I — perhaps I shouldn't have rung it. Penfield. Certainly, it was splendid — but that's not what you wanted to ask me about, is it? Enid. No. Why — you see, I want to have a lot of things done, by reliable people, and Uncle Rufus talked so much about you — about — Parker — your fa- ther's name in Parker, isn't it? Penfield. Yes — so is mine — as it happens. Enid. Yes — Uncle Rufus said that everything 10 BRIDGES that Mr. Parker had anything to do with was so splendid Penfield. I hope he included me. Enid. Your father built a suspension bridge when Uncle Rufus was in Congress — and that seemed to — endear your father to Uncle Rufus. Penfield. It probably endeared your Uncle Rufus to my father. Enid. I don't know why a suspension bridge should endear people to each other particularly Wallie. They might have gone through a lot of suspense together. Penfield. But you were saying Enid. Oh, yes — well — you see, I want to make five hundred acres up on the Hudson perfectly beau- tiful as a sort of memorial to uncle — and then I want to make about five acres beautiful, just a little way, for me to live on — myself. And one thing I espe- cially want — is it all right for me to go on? Wallie. Go right on, it's fine. Penfield. (Offering chair) Sit here, won*t you? Enid. (Taking it) Thank you. You see, there's a darling little island just a little way out in the river — with trees and rocks and everything that cats and birds and little animals love. I want to have it fixed up for my pets when they get old. You know pets don't like to be talked about — they don't like to have people say, "Poor old Fido, he must be nineteen, he really ought to be chloroformed" any more than we do. And they know, when people say those things — well, I want to separate them from people. So I thought of the island and having a darling little rustic bridge Penfield. Oh, a bridge. Wallie. I should say a landscape gardener is what you want. BRIDGES II Penfield. (Giving him a severe look) I build bridges, don't I? Enid. Then we can really talk about it? Penfield. Certainly. I'll get a piece of paper and you can describe the place to me. (Goes to table for pad and pencil.) Wallie. It seems queer to do all that for animals. Enid. Does it? But animals are so wonderful. Wallie. I know, but Enid. Animals — are just as nice as they know how to be — but we're not — are we ? I'm so sorry for them, that they have to be with us. Penfield. (Returning) Now — what's the shape of the island? (He sits on l. end of table.) Enid. It's sort of long at one end and round on the other and hilly in the middle. Penfield. (Sketching rapidly as she speaks) Anything like that? (Showing her what he is do- ing.) Enid. (Delighted) Precisely like that. Penfield. You want some sort of a building for the old pets to live in, don't you? Enid. Of course — and I want a lovely fountain — like an Italian fountain — with part of it sunk in the ground for them to drink out of. My idea is that they will become sort of wild — in a nice way — and that they'll prefer drinking under the trees, to hav- ing water-bowls in their house. Penfield. (Sketching) I see. Wallie. Jungle stuff — all meet at the fountain at five. Enid. Yes — the way they do in Kipling's books. Penfield. Are these animals all friendly? Enid. Oh, yes. The cats and the dogs and the birds — there's no trouble about that. Penfield. But do you think they'll remain friendly? Living in this way? 12 BRIDGES Enid. Oh, yes — because they'll all sort of get wild together, you see. Penfield. (Showing sketch) How's that? Enid. (Delighted) Oh, how did you do it all in a minute — it's perfect. And that railing — it's just the kind of a one Gilbert loves to lie on — you're wonderful, Mr. Parker! Penfield. (Suspicious) Gilbert? Enid. He's the oldest cat. Wallie. (Strolling down R.) Are you going to have any pictures in the animal house? Because I know a very fine one of a sunset It's not finished yet, but I think almost any cat that cared for a sun- set would like it. Enid. Pictures ! Why, I don't want pictures in my own house . . . Penfield. (Looking up) See if there isn't a book on Italian fountains in the library out there in the office, Wallie — will you? Wallie. Certainly — excuse me just a moment. (Exit Wallie. J Penfield. (Seriously, laying down pad) Tell me — why don't you like pictures? Enid. Why, I just — don't like to have them around, do you? I mean if the wall is nice. Penfield. But why? Enid. They prevent me from seeing my own pictures, I guess. When life is wonderful — when real things are wonderful that we see ourselves — ^pic- tures are disturbing, don't you think so? Penfield. (Surprised) Oh — disturbing ! Enid. Yes. That was the only trouble with Uncle Rufus. He collected pictures — they were every- where. Strange people's grandfathers and grand- mothers and artist's pictures of themselves and Madonnas and ballet-dancers and girls with oranges — and fish and vegetables — you couldn't get away from BRIDGES 13 them. One evening I remember I sat by the fire in the library. It had been such a wonderful day — and I was living it all over again. I looked up and my eyes rested on the picture of a large pumpkin. A perfect pumpkin — ^you could have taken it and cut it up and made it into a pie — only the trouble was no one had. Think of my beautiful reverie — inter- rupted by a pumpkin — uncle paid thousands of dol- lars for it. Penfield. (Disturbed) But don't you like pictures of the sea — and sunsets? Enid. Why, I've lived by the sea, through nearly all my summers. And my eyes when they're closed are full of sunsets. Penfield. Strange, isn't it — when you came in — I was just talking of becoming an artist. Enid. Oh, don't. That is — don't if you can help it. Penfield. Because you don't like pictures? Enid. Oh, no, not that — but people who paint and write and do those things Well, they're out of it — aren't they? Penfield. Out of it? Enid. Yes — I mean — they miss everything. While they're painting and writing — we're living. When they get through — if they ever do — it's too late. Or they're too tired. They must be — you can't do both — it*s impossible. Penfield. (Looking at her curiously) But you wouldn't have people stop — writing altogether, would you? Enid. No — they have to, of course. And it isn't so annoying anyway — books don't stare at you like pictures. Penfield. What a horrible idea — stare at you. Enid. Yes — they do, don't they? Of course there are times when they might come in — if you had just 14 BRIDGES killed somebody and looked up and saw "J^^ith and the Dagger," it would be all right — or if you'd had fish for dinner and were thinking of it — and looked up and saw a large plate of mackerel and what- ever goes with it, by Who was the wonderful fish man? Penfield. Don't. I beg of you. Enid. No — because I didn't come to talk about pictures — we're not getting on at all. Penfield. (Looking at her with interest) Oh, I don't know Enid. About the plans, I mean. Penfield. Oh — well you know it seems to me that before we can really get anywhere, I must see the place — actually see it. This is all (Refers to sketch) just what we've been talking about — "pictures." It doesn't mean anything — ^how do I know there is an island. I want to see it. Enid. I hoped you would. Penfield. When do you want to start the work on the bridge — and so on ? Enid. I thought in the fall. I'm going to be away — traveling this summer. Penfield. Oh, that's too bad. Enid. Is it? Why? Penfield. Well, only that the best time to build bridges is in the spring They — er — wc^ll, they seem to thrive better, somehow. Enid. Do they ? Well, I don't have to go away — but could you do it this spring? You must be so busy — I don't like to ask you to build my bridge before you do anything else — ^because you must have such important ones to do. Penfield. I haven't anything important — just one small commission that can wait. (Picking up con- tract and laying it down again.) BRIDGES 15 Enid. Well, when could you come? Would to- morrow morning be too soon? Penfield. Why, no — I can't imagine anything sooner — better, I mean. Enid. (Taking card out of her bag) Here's a time-table — and if you're not afraid, I'll meet you at the station. Penfield. I'm afraid — but do it. Enid. I say that because I'm just learning to drive my car. Penfield. (Anxious) Don't without someone with you — promise me you won't — and I'll tell you — if you could only stay over until to-morrow, I could — that is, if you'd let me — I could drive you up in my car Enid. Oh, how splendid — ^but would it be all right? I mean I feel as if I ought to ask someone — and I haven't anyone to ask but you — do you really think it would be all right? Penfield. I know it would. It would be mag- nificent. Enid. You see, I'm all alone in the world — and when I say alone I really mean it. I've no one to be responsible to, but Margaret Hindley, my old nurse. She lives with me and I consult her about everything. It's wonderful because she's such re- spectable ideas and yet she always agrees with me, because she loves me so, you see. Penfield. I see. Enid. She's such a dear — and she's a little deaf, too. . Would you mind if she went up with us, in the car? Penfield. Mind? I should say not — from your description she must be altogether delightful. (They go to window, where the glow of the sunset is deep- ening.) i6 BRIDGES Enid. (Seeing the sky out the window) Oh, what a beautiful sky. What a wonderful sunset! Penfield. Isn't it — now, honestly, wouldn't you like to have a picture of it? Enid. But I have it! (Enter Wallie. They do not notice him.) Enid. (Looking out of window) Oh, look — it's changing — it's getting pinker! Penfield. (tVatching her) Beautiful! ('Wallie exits, rings bell in outer office and enters again.) Wallie. Well — I found a book on Italian foun- tains of the time of Benvenuto Cellini. Penfield. Couldn't 3^ou find something a little earlier — or a little later? Wallie. I might. Enid. (To PenfieldJ But I must go — really I must. I think it's just wonderful of you to do this for me. But I do think it's important to have bridges built right, don't you? Even if they're only little ones. Penfield. Oh, most important. Enid. Big bridges are splendid with trains rush- ing over them and ships sailing under them — but lit- tle rustic bridges are — sweeter, don't you think so, Mr. Breen? Wallie. Sweeter — oh, yes, yes — undoubtedly — and then yours — with all the animals going over to the Old Ladies Home Why, that's going to be a very affecting spectacle. Enid. (To PenfieldJ Good-bye — until to-mor- row. You will hear from me the very first thing in the morning — we must let Margaret decide it, of course — but I'm sure she'll say yes. BRIDGES 17 Penfield. When shall I call for you? Enid. About seven o'clock? Penfield. And where? Enid. At the St. Regis. Penfield. All right — I'll be there. Wallie. (To Penfield, aside) You'll be in bed. Penfield. In case I should be detained, you might call up my house. (Gives her card.) Enid. Thank you — good-bye. I shouldn't have said all those things about pictures. Penfield. I'm so glad you did. Enid. Good-bye. EXIT Enid. Wallie. (Returning to the original argument) Well — are you going to build the bridge? Penfield. (Ecstatically) Wallie, I'm going to build such a bridge as was never seen before — I'm go- ing to have roses on the bank where the bridge takes off — those climbing, spreading, rambling roses. They will reach out to the bridge and they'll climb all the way across it — it will be actually a bridge of roses Wallie. Then what will you do ? Penfield. I'll go and stand on it. WARNING. Wallie. That's not what the specifications call for — I should think it would look funny all covered with those things. Penfield. What bridge are you talking about? Wallie. The bridge for the Government. Penfield. Oh — I'm not going to touch that until fall Wallie. (Delighted) But you will do it then? Hurrah ! Penfield. (Thoughtfully) After all, Wallie, there is something wonderful about bridges. (The hell rings — the door opens — Enid enters.) i8 BRIDGES Enid. (Hesitatingly) Why, the elevators have stopped running — and I want to ask — is it many flights down? Penfield. Only eighteen. (He crosses to table L., takes his hat and stick, returns to Enid, holds the door open for her.) Allow me ! (Exit Enid, followed by Penfield. Wallie looks after them with a benign smile.) CURTAIN THE REJUVENATION OF AUNT MARY. The famous comedy in three acts, by Anne Warner. 7 males, 6 females. Three interior scenes. Costumes modern. Plays 2^ hours. This is a genuinely funny comedy with splendid pajts for "Aunt Mary," "Jack," her lively nephew; "Lucinda," a New Englatid an- cient maid of all work; "Jack's" three chums; the <3;rl "Jack" loves; **Joshua," Aunt Mary's hiied man, etc. "Aunt Mary" was played by May Robson in Ne-s*" York and on tour for over two years, and it is sure to be a big success wherever pro- duced. .We strongly recommend it. Price, 60 Cents- MRS. BUMSTEAD-LEIGH. A pleasiOfe- comedy, in three acts, by Harry James Smith, author of "The Tailor-Made Man." 6 males, 6 femaJes. One interior scene. Costumes modem. Plays 2J4 hours. Mr. Smith chose for his initial comedy the complications arising from the endeavors of a social climber to land heraelf in the altitude peopled by hyphenated names— a theme permitting innumerable com- plications, according to the spirit of the writer. This most successful comedy was toured for several seasons by Mrs. Fiske with cnornaous success. Price, 60 Cents. MRS. TEMPLE'S TELEGRAM. A most successful farce in three acts, by Frank Wyatt and Wil- liam Morris. 5 males, 4 lemales. One interior scene stands through- ot*t the three acts. Coetumes modern. Plays 2J^ hours. "Mrs. Temple's Telegram" is a sprightly farce in which there is an abundance of fun without any taint of impropriety or any cle- ment of offence. As noticed by Sir Walter Scott, "Oh, what a. taagled web we weave when first we practice to deceive." There is not a dull moment in the entire farce, and from the tiaae the curtain rises until it makes the final drop the fun is fast and furious. A "^sery exceptional farce. Price, 60 Cents. THE NEW CO-ED. A cooaedy in four acts, by Marie Doran, authar of "Tempest a&d Sunshine," etc Characters, 4 males, 7 females, though any number ef boys and girls can be introduced in the action of the i>lay. One interior and one exterior scene, but can be easily played in one inte- rior scene. Costumes modern. Time, about 2 hours. The theme ^ this play is the coming of a new student to the col- iege, her reception by the scholars, her trials and final triumph. There are three especially good girls' parts, Letty, Madge and Estelle, but the others have plenty to do. "Punch" Doolitde and George Washington Watts, a gentleman of color, are two particularly good comedy characters. We can strongly recommend "The New Co-Ed" to high schools and amateurs. Price, 30 Cents. (The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) SAMUEL FRENCH, 28-30 West *8th Street, New York City Niw mi Expftett Betsvlpfive Caiaiegae Uailsd fsw sn Hmmst BILLETED. A comedy m 3 acts, by F. Tennison Jesse and H. Harwood. 4 males, 5 females. One easy interior see!!--. A charming comedy, constructed with uncommon skill, and abounds with clever lines. Margaret Anglin's birr success. Amateurs will find this comedy easy to produce and popular with all audiences. Price, 60 Cents. NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH. A comedy in 3 acts. By James Montgomerv'. 5 males, 6 females. Costumes, modern. Two interior scenes. Plays 2J/^ hours. Is it possible to tell the absolute truth — even for twenty-four hours? It is— at least Bob Bennett, the hero of "Nothing But the Truth," accomplished the feat. The bet he made with his business partners, and the trouble he got into — with his partners, his friends, and his fiancee — this is the subject of William Collier's tremendous comedy hit. "Nothing But the Truth" can be whole-heartedly recommended as one of the most sprightly, amusing and popular comedies that this country cvi boast, Price, 60 Cents. IN WALKED JIMMY. A comedy in 4 acts, by Minnie Z. Jaffa. 10 males, '? females (al- though any number of males and females may be tiscd as clerks, etc.). Two interior scenes. Costumes, modern. Plays 2^ hours. The thing into which Jimmy walked was a broken-down shoe factory, when the clerks had all been fired, and when the proprietor was in serious contemplation of sv.icide. Jimmy, nothing else but plain Jim.my, would have been a mysterious figun had it not been for his matter-of-fact manner, his smile and his everlasting humanness. He put the shoe business on i_ts_ feet, won the heart of the girl clerk, saved her erring brother from jail, escaped that place as a permanent boarding house himself, and foiled the villain. Clean, wholesome comedy with just a touch of human nature, just a dash of excitement and more than a little bit of true philosophj' make "In Walked Jimmy" one cf the most delightful of plays. Jimmy is full of the religion of life, the religion of happiness and the religion of helpfulness, and he so permeates the atmosphere with his "religion" that everyone is happy. The spirit of optimism, good cheer, and hearty laughter dominates the play. There is nrt a dull moment in any of the four acts. We strongly recommend it. Price, 60 Cents. MARTHA BY-THE-DAY. An optimistic comedy in three acts, by Julie M. Lippmann, author of the "Martha" stories. S rnales, 5 females. Three interior scenes. Costumes modern. Plays 2^1 hours. It is altogether a gentle thir.g, this play. It is full of quaint hu- mor, old-fashioned, homely sentiment, the kind that people who see the play v/ill recall and chuckle over to-morrow and the next day. Miss Lippmann has herself adapted her very successful book for stage service, and in doing this has selected from her novel the mo'< telling incidents, infectious comedy and homely sentiment for the play, and the result is thoroughly delightful. Price, o'O Cents. (The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) SAMUEL FRENCH, 28-30 West 38th Street, New York City New and Explicit Descriptive Catjiogue IVlaiied Free on Request LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 015 926 145 1