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 gp (Denfoorii 'Royalty r Play^ C mP 
 
 Cinderella 
 of the Storm 
 
 Oviduct Uulton & 
 Louis W<eslyrv> 
 
 HT. S. T)eni son & Company 
 
 ^Publishers • Chicago 
 
 (Price 50 Cents 
 
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CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE 
 
 STORM 
 
 oA Comedy-Drama In Three oA&s 
 
 <By 
 
 MAUDE FULTON and LOUIS WESLYN 
 
 /£=^? 
 
 Mffll 
 
 P 
 
 CHICAGO 
 T. S. DEN1SON & COMPANY 
 
 Publishers 
 
 I. 0, 
 

 WARNING, IMPORTANT 
 
 HIS Play is fully protected under the 
 Copyright Laws of the United States of 
 America, the British Empire, including 
 the Dominion of Canada, and all other 
 countries included in the Copyright 
 Union. 
 
 The purchase or possession of this book conveys 
 no right whatever to give any performance of the 
 Play either public or private, for gain or for 
 charity. 
 
 For AMATEUR presentation, whether admis- 
 sion is charged or not, a royalty fee of ten ($10.00) 
 dollars for each performance must be paid in ad- 
 vance to the publishers, T. S. DENISON & COM- 
 PANY, 623 South Wabash Avenue, Chicago, 
 Illinois, whose royalty receipt serves as a license 
 for each performance. The following notice must 
 appear on all programs: "Produced by special 
 arrangement with T. S. Denison & Company of 
 Chicago, Illinois." 
 
 Violations of the Copyright Law are punishable 
 by fine or imprisonment, or both, and anyone par- 
 ticipating in an unauthorized performance is guilty 
 of an infringement. All such violations will be 
 vigorously prosecuted. 
 
 For PROFESSIONAL terms application should 
 be made to the publisher's. 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY MAUDE FULTON AND LOUIS 
 WESLYN, UNDER TITLE OF "TO-MORROW" 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1928, BY T. S. DENISON & COMPANY 
 MADE IN U. S. A. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 Cinderella of the Storm (r\ qj H v^ti]} 35202 
 
 DEC26'28 TMpg6 _ CC6446 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 FOR THREE MEN AND FIVE WOMEN 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 (In order of their first appearance) 
 
 Enid Fownes Oliver's sister 
 
 Mrs. Helen Quayle Oliver's elderly cousin 
 
 Leslie Quayle Mrs. Quayle' s daughter 
 
 Tilden Derry Leslie's fiance 
 
 Evelyn Hempstead Enid's friend 
 
 Harry Fownes Enid's husband 
 
 Oliver Theophilus Keane, M.A., Ph.D., F.R.A.S.. 
 
 Devoted to science 
 
 May Jessamine Ricketts (Ricky) 
 
 Maid in Enid's home 
 
 Time — Early autumn* 
 
 Place — The neighborhood of the Park Country 
 Club. 
 
 Time of Playing — About two and a quarter hours. 
 
 SYNOPSIS OF ACTS 
 
 Act I. Drawing room of the Fownes country 
 place. A night in autumn. 
 
 Act II. Living room of Oliver's house on the 
 hill. Dawn of the following morning. 
 
 Act III. Same as in Act II, a moment later. No 
 intermission between Acts II and III. 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 COSTUMES AND CHARACTERISTICS 
 
 Enid — Aged about twenty-five. She is nervous 
 and petulant. Her husband keeps her constantly 
 worried by his drinking. She is alternately weepy 
 and dignified. Throughout the play, she wears a 
 modish evening gown, over which she wraps a man's 
 raincoat during Act II. 
 
 Mrs. Quayle — Aged about forty-five. She is a 
 snobbish society woman with a decided superiority 
 complex. She is the kind that would consider it low- 
 ering to her dignity to say, "please" or "thank you" 
 to a servant; an egotistical, querulous woman. 
 Throughout the play, wears an elaborate evening 
 gown. In Act II, she is wrapped in shawls. 
 
 Leslie- — Aged nineteen, though her mother passes 
 her as fifteen. Apparently a demure, unsophisticated 
 child. She is sweet and lovable until she shows her 
 deceitful nature, proving herself a contemptible 
 little rotter. Throughout the play, she is daintily 
 dressed in a modish evening gown, over which a 
 shabby bathrobe is worn in Act II. 
 
 Derry — Aged about thirty, though boyish and 
 sprightly. He is devoted to Leslie, to whom he is 
 engaged. Wears evening clothes throughout the 
 play. 
 
 Evelyn — Typical vamp type, aged about twenty- 
 six. She plays up the characteristics of the type for 
 nothing else than to keep up her courage, for she 
 has long ago found the mistake she made early in 
 life and is weary of the whole game. She is sophis- 
 ticated, poised, and clever, but her cynicism is largely 
 a pose. Throughout the play, she wears a smart 
 evening gown, with diamond bracelet and a few other 
 jewels, donning a sports coat for Act II. 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Harry — A typical society rounder, aged about 
 thirty. He is perpetually under the influence of 
 liquor. The part should not be over-played. In 
 Act I, wears evening dress, coat, and top hat. At 
 end of Act I, changes to pajamas, and is assisted 
 into an overcoat. In Acts II and III, he still wears 
 pajamas and overcoat. 
 
 Oliver — A tall young man of about twenty-eight. 
 He is a serious student of astronomy, timid, reticent, 
 and absent-minded. Silence has become a habit with 
 him. The hair at the sides of his head is prema- 
 turely gray, and his horn-rimmed spectacles give him 
 an owlish appearance. In Act I, wears evening 
 clothes, coat, and top hat. In Acts II and III, ex- 
 changes evening coat for an old smoking jacket, dis- 
 carding hat and retaining rest of costume of Act I. 
 
 Ricky — Aged about seventeen. A quaint and 
 charming personality buried under the handicaps of 
 hard work and loneliness ; more numbed than dumb. 
 She is not afraid to speak her mind when she feels 
 it is necessary, but usually she is too tired to care. 
 In Act I she wears a simple, old-fashioned dress, but- 
 toning up the back but worn hind side to, with white 
 cotton stockings and worn black shoes, and a queer, 
 though dainty little hat. At her first entrance in 
 Act II, the hat is discarded and she dons a man's 
 velveteen hunting jacket and man's shoes too large 
 for her. Toward end of act, she changes to a plain 
 white dress, clumsily made to resemble a robe, also 
 white shoes. In Act III, wears same costume, soon 
 changing back to dress of Act I, and donning same 
 hat for her last entrance. 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 PROPERTIES 
 
 Act I 
 
 Grand piano with bench 
 
 Two sets of glass-enclosed bookshelves 
 
 Writing desk and chair 
 
 Divan 
 
 Two armchairs 
 
 Four straight-backed chairs 
 
 Footstool 
 
 Stone fireplace with mantelshelf 
 
 Logs and red electric bulbs for fire 
 
 Card table 
 
 Telephone 
 
 Box of poker chips in desk drawer 
 
 Cushions for divan and window seat 
 
 Ornaments for mantel 
 
 Table lamp 
 
 Two floor lamps 
 
 Electrolier 
 
 Box of candy 
 
 Playing cards on table 
 
 Pencil and score pad 
 
 Workbag containing knitting 
 
 Book resembling a textbook 
 
 Several coats and sweaters in closet under stairs 
 
 Silk drapes for window 
 
 Scarf for piano 
 
 Two large rugs 
 
 Several small, bright-colored rugs 
 
 Thunder sheet, wind machine, and rain box for 
 
 storm off stage 
 Auto horn to honk off stage 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 9 
 
 Acts II and III 
 
 Large, rather shabby library table 
 
 Couch 
 
 Armchair 
 
 Rocking-chair 
 
 Three straight-backed chairs 
 
 Footstool 
 
 Fireplace 
 
 Logs and red electric bulbs for fire 
 
 Clock on mantelpiece 
 
 Traveling case containing hair brush 
 
 Rugs 
 
 Pictures 
 
 Window shade and curtains 
 
 Study lamp with green shade 
 
 Books, papers, and memoranda of various sorts 
 
 on table 
 Cigarette case 
 Pipe, tobacco, and matches 
 Cushions for couch 
 Bell to ring for clock, off stage 
 Blue cluster lights off stage over window, for 
 
 dawn effect 
 Amber cluster lights off stage, for sunrise effect 
 
 For Enid — Wrist watch; slice of bread and but- 
 ter; cracked cup filled with tea. 
 
 For Leslie — Diamond engagement ring. 
 
 For Derry — Tray with glass supposed to contain 
 a high-ball ; cigarettes in case, and matches. 
 
 For Evelyn — Book; diamond bracelet. 
 
 For Harry — Tray with glasses and bottles; 
 pitcher of water. 
 
 For Oliver — Piece of note paper and pencil in 
 
10 
 
 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 pocket; armful of firewood; watch; handkerchief; 
 horn-rimmed spectacles ; gold ring. 
 
 For Ricky — Two hatboxes ; several large bundles ; 
 white poodle on a leash ; broom ; mop ; scrub bucket ; 
 cup of tea on a saucer ; complete coffee set including 
 two cups and saucers, on a tray ; coffeepot filled 
 with coffee; white dress and white shoes rolled into 
 a bundle. 
 
 SCENE PLOT 
 Act I 
 
 INTERIOR BACKING 
 
 QCMAIR 
 
 DOOR TO 
 FRONT HALL 
 
 □chair. 
 
 «P\ |OCHA.ff 
 
 RIGHT 
 
 Acts II and III 
 
 INTERIOR- BACKING 
 
 RIGHT 
 
 LEFT 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 11 
 
 STAGE DIRECTIONS 
 
 Up stage means away from footlights ; down stage, 
 near footlights. In the use of right and left, the 
 actor is supposed to be facing the audience. 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 First Act 
 Scene: Drawing room in the Fownes' country 
 home. It has four doors: one to the front hall up 
 left, a second into the dining room down right, a 
 third in the shape of a flight of stairs with a landing, 
 up center, leading upstairs, and a door up center 
 left leading into a closet under the stairs. A large 
 recessed window is in left wall a little down center, 
 with a window seat underneath it piled with cushions. 
 The room is luxuriously furnished. On each side of 
 the window are shelves of books behind glass doors, 
 and up left near the hall door is a writing desk, on 
 which are a telephone and writing materials. A 
 chair is beside the desk. A box of poker chips is 
 in its drawer. Down left, well out from the wall, 
 stands a grand piano with its bench, and between the 
 piano and the wall is an upholstered armchair with 
 a footstool in front of it. Against the wall at center 
 right is a rough stone fireplace with mantelshelf and 
 suitable ornaments, and drawn up in front of it half 
 facing the audience is a large divan with cushions. 
 On the hearth a fire is burning (red electric bulbs 
 under stationary log). Near the divan down right 
 is a card table, with three chairs drawn up around 
 it: one at right, another at left, and a third behind 
 it facing the audience. A similar straight-backed 
 chair is up right near the stairs. An upholstered 
 
 13 
 
14 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 armchair is down extreme right. Handsome rugs are 
 on the floor, pictures are on the walls, a fancy scarf 
 is draped over the bach of the piano, rich silk drapes 
 frame the window, and two or three bright-colored 
 rugs hang on the railing of the stair landing up cen- 
 ter. In the closet under the stairs are a number of 
 sweaters and coats hanging on hooks. A box of 
 candy is lying among the cushions of the divan. The 
 room is lighted by a central electrolier, a table lamp 
 on the writing desk, and two floor lamps — one at left 
 of piano and one up right behind divan. All are 
 lighted except the desk lamp. The chairs are pushed 
 a little back from the card table, which is littered by 
 a jumble of playing cards. On the table also are a 
 score pad, pencil, a book, and Mrs. Quayke's work- 
 bag containing her knitting, with ball and needles. 
 It is almost midnight of a stormy night in autumn. 
 
 At rise of curtain, the stage is unoccupied. After 
 a short pause, Enid enters at center in evening dress. 
 Coming downstairs, she crosses to up left, sits at the 
 writing desk, and takes down the telephone receiver. 
 
 Enid. 
 {Speaking crossly into mouthpiece.) 
 Center 7999. '(Pause's.) Hello! Country Club? 
 (Pauses.) This is Mrs. Fownes. Will you page Mr. 
 Fownes for me, please? I'll wait. (She taps her 
 foot and bites her lip impatiently as she waits.) 
 He just left? Thank you. Is there much alarm out 
 there over this end-of-the-world scare? (Pauses.) 
 I say, is there much alarm over to-morrow? 
 (Pauses.) Yes; it is silly; isn't it? Good-bye! 
 
 As Enid hangs up receiver, Mrs. Quayle enters, left. 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 15 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 {Very sweetly.) 
 And has our dear Harry arrived as yet? 
 
 Enid. 
 {Crossly.) 
 No! He is not at the club. I don't know where 
 he is. 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 There is no virtue as beautiful as patience, Enid. 
 You must learn to be patient with Harry and to re- 
 member that he is young and full of spirits. 
 
 Enid. 
 Of course he is. That is why he didn't come home 
 for dinner. 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 Do you mean to say that he indulges in intoxi- 
 cants ? 
 
 Enid. 
 He swims in the stuff — plain stroke, Australian 
 crawl, and fancy diving. And he can stay under for 
 hours. 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 But where does he obtain it these days? 
 
 Enid. 
 I don't know, and I don't care. 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 Oh, oh! Such a sweet boy! 
 
 Enid. 
 He is nothing of the kind! He's a drunkard and 
 
16 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 a rounder, and if men hadn't been scarce the year I 
 came out, you may be sure I'd never have chased 
 around after him with a net. {Throws herself petu- 
 lantly on the divan.) I hate all of them — the beasts ! 
 They haven't a thought beyond the filling of their 
 stomachs. {Selects a bonbon from the candy box 
 lying on the divan and eats it.) If I had my way, 
 I'd wipe every one of them from the face of the earth, 
 and should there be anything in this to-morrow busi- 
 ness, I hope that is just what happens to them. Serve 
 them jolly well right! 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 {Remonstrating gently.) 
 Who would pay your bills then? 
 
 Enid. 
 I wouldn't have any. Don't you see? If all the 
 men were done away with, there would be no more 
 silly bookkeeping going on in the shops, and I'd buy 
 what I pleased. 
 
 What with? 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 
 Enid. 
 Good heavens, Helen! You are as bad as Oliver. 
 {Turns her back on Mrs. Quayle.) 
 
 (Mrs. Quayle takes her workbag from the card 
 table and seating herself on divan beside Enid, gets 
 knitting from bag and begins to work.) 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 There is one word in the English language that 
 does not fit Oliver, Enid, and that word is "bad." 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 17 
 
 Enid. 
 (Sighing.) 
 It's rather a pity; isn't it? He would be so much 
 more interesting. As it is, he bores me to extinction 
 with his everlasting figures about stars and moons 
 and suns and all that rot ! My word ! The gas and 
 electric bills are bother enough. 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 I am extremely fond of Oliver, yet I remember 
 that he was never particularly bright ; and I fail to 
 understand why and how he managed to go through 
 one university after another and win degrees in all 
 of them. 
 
 (A faint rumble of thunder is heard. ) 
 
 There it is! 
 What? 
 
 Enid. 
 ( Rising agita tedly. ) 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 
 Enid. 
 The storm ! The newspapers predicted a storm at 
 midnight and then the end of the world at six o'clock 
 to-morrow morning. Some old fool of a scientist 
 claims that a planet has got loose and is kicking up 
 no end of a row. How annoying! 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 My own life is perfectly blameless, but it might be 
 in good taste to offer up a few short prayers. 
 
 Enid. 
 Don't be absurd! The telephone operator of the 
 
18 CINDER ELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Park Club assured me that there was not the slight- 
 est danger. 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 Shall we get hold of Oliver and make sure? 
 
 Enid. 
 What could Oliver do but poke a stupid telescope 
 at the thing? For myself, I shall ignore it utterly. 
 (She crosses to window, up right. There is another 
 rumble of thunder slightly louder than the first.) 
 Evelyn will adore this. She loves bizarre things. 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 (Sweetly.) 
 I do not like to criticize your guests, Enid. You 
 know how broad-minded I am. But Evelyn Hemp- 
 stead is fast becoming impossible. This house seems 
 to be the only social refuge she has left, and if you 
 do not wish to be classed with her you should not 
 invite her. 
 
 Enid. 
 
 I didn't. 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 Oh, oh ! How forward of her ! 
 
 (A patter of rain is heard on the roof. Enid turns 
 an anxious face to Mrs. Quayle.) 
 
 Enid. 
 Do you suppose that crazy old astronomer could 
 possibly be right? It is midnight, or nearly so, and 
 here is his ridiculous storm just as he said! (Mrs. 
 Quayle puts her knitting on table and rising, joins 
 Enid at the window. A flash of lightning causes her 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 19 
 
 to dodge back hastily.) You see! Even you are 
 afraid. 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 The pure of heart need fear nothing, but there are 
 two things I never fancied : boiled cabbage and light- 
 ning. (She returns to the fireplace and reseats her- 
 self.) 
 
 Leslie and Derry enter at right. 
 
 Derry. 
 (Cheerfully.) 
 The river is rising. 
 
 Enid. 
 (Alarmed.) 
 That frightens me more than the storm does. 
 
 Derry. 
 Why? (Goes up to fireplace with Leslie.) 
 
 Enid. 
 We are quite low here, not quite two feet above the 
 water level, and if the river rises it won't be safe to 
 stay. I do wish Harry would come. 
 
 Derry. 
 I don't believe Harry has any more influence with 
 the river than we have. 
 
 Enid. 
 Suppose we should be flooded out? Swept away? 
 Had we better start making rafts and things? 
 
 Derry. 
 If we have to swim for shore, I can manage you 
 one at a time while Harry saves the wine cellar. 
 
20 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Enid. 
 (Beginning to sniffle.) 
 You can be sure he wouldn't think of me or my 
 poor little dog! He'll pay no attention to us. He 
 never does. Even when he is home, he spends every 
 moment he has down in the cellar puttering around 
 some horrid old contrivance that gives out a per- 
 fectly atrocious smell. 
 
 Derry. 
 (Laughing heartily.) 
 By Jove ! I'll bet a dollar it's a still. 
 
 Enid. 
 (Startled.) 
 What ! I am going right downstairs this instant 
 and find out if that is what he is doing. 
 
 Leslie. 
 How can you tell, Enid? 
 
 Enid. 
 (Weakly.) 
 I don't know. Besides, he keeps the door locked. 
 (She bursts into tears.) Wretch! 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 
 (Smoothly.) 
 
 Now, now, Enid! Have you forgotten so quickly 
 
 what I told you about having patience? Harry is 
 
 your husband. You must overlook this boyish prank 
 
 of his. His nature was ever a playful one. 
 
 Enid. 
 (Weeping.) 
 Playful, indeed! He does everything he can to 
 make me miserable. He conceals everything from 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 21 
 
 me! Everything! His actions, his thoughts, all the 
 little sacred things a husband and wife should share. 
 And this is the last straw. He makes whisky, and 
 he doesn't even show me how ! (She turns up center.) 
 I shall be down directly when I have conquered this 
 headache. I can stand just so much and then — 
 (Her voice breaks, and with a sob she goes on up the 
 stairway and exit upstairs.) 
 
 Derry. 
 Poor old kid! She has had a hell of a life with 
 Harry. 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 (Shocked.) 
 My dear boy! (Rises and goes up center to 
 stairs.) 
 
 Derry. 
 (Remorsefully.) 
 I'm sorry. 
 
 Mrs. Quayle goes up the stairway, passing 
 Evelyn, who is on her way down. Evelyn is hum- 
 ming a gay French song. Mrs. Quayle glares at 
 her, and draws aside. Evelyn smiles her sweetest, 
 but when Mrs. Quayle turns her back and disap- 
 pears upstairs, she makes a little grimace, shrugs, 
 and comes jauntily down to the fireplace. Leslie 
 and Derry, who have been holding hands, unclasp 
 fingers at her approach. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Airily.) 
 Got a cigarette, Tilly? 
 
 (Derry takes cigarette case from his pocket and 
 
22 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 offers it to her. She takes a cigarette, and he lights 
 it for her.) 
 
 Derry. 
 Where do you want to sit — or do you? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 I don't. I prefer corns to a large waist. If you 
 knew what we vampires have to suffer ! 
 
 Leslie. 
 {Sweetly, to Evelyn.) 
 I thought vampires were such dreadful people, and 
 you seem rather nice. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 
 Thank you ! As a matter of fact, I am not nice 
 at all. I smoke, gamble, paint, and flirt. No home is 
 completely broken up without me. Ask Till. 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Turning to Derry suspiciously.) 
 Has she been after you, too? 
 
 (Both Evelyn and Derry laugh heartily.) 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Cheerfully.) 
 Bless your heart, no ! I have no charms for Till ! 
 You see, he knows me. Till, if you will insist on 
 standing up, get me a drink. 
 
 Derry. 
 
 Sure thing! What kind? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 Any kind that's deadly. And put lots of fun 
 into it. 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 23 
 
 Derry. 
 (Crosses up to right door and turns in doorway, ad- 
 dressing Leslie.) 
 You won't mind, honey, if I have one, too? 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Brightening.) 
 And I'll have one ! 
 
 Derry. 
 (Hesitatingly.) 
 Let's wait awhile. Shall we? I'm not really 
 thirsty. (Exit at right.) 
 
 Evelyn. 
 How stupid it is to be in love ! I suppose you are? 
 
 Leslie. 
 Oh, yes, very much. Till adores me. (Sits on 
 divan. ) 
 
 Evelyn. 
 And you? Are you in love? 
 
 Leslie. 
 
 (Demurely.) 
 
 I suppose so, although I'm too young to know a 
 
 great deal about it. Mamma is so strict with me 
 
 that I might as well be in a convent. Isn't Till a 
 
 dear? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Slouching into chair bach of card table, half facing 
 fireplace. ) 
 Uh-huh! (Meaning "yes. ) 
 
 Leslie. 
 And so good-looking! 
 
24 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Evelyn. 
 ( Yawning. ) 
 Isn't he? 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Sharply.) 
 I hope I'm not boring you. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Laughing.) 
 
 Certainly you are. It's just my luck to have to 
 listen, hour after hour, to newly engaged couples, 
 and of course you're that. 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Puzzled.) 
 What? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 I say, of course you're engaged. 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Demurely.) 
 
 Yes ! How did you know ? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 I didn't until you told me. 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Admiringly.) 
 How clever you are ! Mamma doesn't like you in 
 the least, but I do. I really do. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Laughing.) 
 Don't say that in front of Till. He doesn't ap- 
 prove of me any more than the Leviathan does. 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 25 
 
 Leslie. 
 The what? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Carelessly.) 
 That's what I've named your mother. Nice old 
 party, though. 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Giggling.) 
 You are terrible ! If mamma ever heard you call 
 her the Leviathan, she'd promptly kill you. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Rising.) 
 She couldn't hurt me. Nobody can. (Comes to 
 window at left.) 
 
 Leslie. 
 I can't endure the thought of to-morrow and the 
 world coming to an end, because I've just got the 
 sweetest gown from Lucille's. All full of tiny rose- 
 buds, and perfectly darling on me ! I mean to wear 
 it Tuesday if we're not dead. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 No such luck. 
 
 Leslie. 
 You say that because your life is practically 
 through. (Evelyn looks at her sharply.) But I'm 
 young ! I'm only nineteen, and you must be at least 
 thirty. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Sighing.) 
 Yes. I'm failing fast. 
 
26 CI N DERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Enter Derby at right, with a high-ball on a tray. 
 As he goes up to fireplace, a slight patter of rain is 
 heard. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 It looks as if we might have rather a wet Judgment 
 Day. How disgusting! I shall have to marcel my 
 hair again. 
 
 Leslie. 
 Let Ricky do it. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 One maid to four women. Can you imagine it, 
 Till? (Comes to fireplace and takes glass from tray, 
 which Derry deposits on the mantel.) Poor little 
 devil ! 
 
 Leslie. 
 She's frightfully stupid, and so slow about helping 
 me dress that I could scream sometimes. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 Perhaps she could, too. (She raises her glass.) 
 Bonheur, mes enfant si (Drinks with relish.) 
 
 Strong enough? 
 Heavenly ! 
 
 Derry. 
 Evelyn. 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Enviously.) 
 I don't see why I'm not allowed any fun! 
 
 Derry. 
 Honey, it isn't good for little girls. 
 
CINDER ELLA OF THE STORM 27 
 
 Leslie. 
 I'm sick of being held down and forbidden to do 
 things, and when I'm married I shall do as I please, 
 so I shall. 
 
 Derry. 
 {Soberly.) 
 But you wouldn't deliberately go against my 
 wishes; would you? I'm older and I know what is 
 best for you. Won't you take my word for it? 
 
 Leslie. 
 {Lisping.) 
 Of course, silly! 
 
 {He picks up her hand and kisses it affectionately.) 
 
 Evelyn. 
 {Casually, to the pair.) 
 Would you rather I vanished into thin air? 
 
 Leslie. 
 Oh, don't go ! You are so amusing ! 
 
 {There is a rumble of thunder as the storm grows.) 
 
 Derry. 
 Poor old Harry will be soaked! 
 
 Evelyn. 
 If you must bring up unpleasant subjects, do try 
 to present them in a new light. I loathe bromides. 
 
 Leslie. 
 
 {Giggling.) 
 
 I saw some on your dressing table only to-day. 
 
28 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Carelessly.) 
 I hope you didn't sample them, dearie. There was 
 just enough left for another night's sleep. 
 
 Derry. 
 Aren't you going it a bit heavy, old girl? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Plaintively.) 
 
 I'm doing my best, but a fast reputation is so 
 hard to live up to, once you've got it safely estab- 
 lished ! Being just bad doesn't get you anywhere 
 socially. You've got to be entertainingly bad; and 
 you have no idea what technique it requires. 
 
 , Leslie. 
 (Delightedly.) 
 Till! Isn't she delicious? 
 
 Derry. 
 ( Disapprovingly. ) 
 That is hardly the thing to say, Eve, before a 
 young girl. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 She must learn values some time. Mayn't I be the 
 terrible example? Who knows but what I shall 
 eventually commit suicide in a perfectly fascinating 
 manner and point the moral? 
 
 Derry. 
 (Gravely.) 
 Am I supposed to laugh at that? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (In a gale of laughter.) 
 My dear Till ! You are so gorgeously serious ! 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 29 
 
 Why not laugh? Isn't life one long delirious chuckle 
 from start to finish? (There is a noise off left as if 
 a motor were driving up.) If that is Harry, I do 
 hope he isn't alone. I haven't made eyes at a man 
 for two days. 
 
 Leslie. 
 Mr. Fownes wouldn't object if you practiced on 
 him. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 I said "man," darling! 
 
 Leslie. 
 
 {To Derry.) 
 
 Well, you can't have my Till. Can she, lovey? 
 
 Derry. 
 
 (Grinning.) 
 
 She turned me down once. Isn't that enough? 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Startled.) 
 She did! When? 
 
 Derry. 
 (Still laughing.) 
 When was it, Eve? About six years ago? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 ( Yawning. ) 
 Mercy ! Don't expect me to remember every little 
 thing that happens. 
 
 Enter Harry Fownes, up left. He is mildly intoxi- 
 cated and speaks thickly. 
 
30 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Harry. 
 
 Hail ! Hail ! Gang's all here ! 
 
 Derry. 
 Hello, there ! 
 
 Harry. 
 ( With an air of secrecy. ) 
 Sh! I brought you somepin' pretty. (He mo- 
 tions off stage.) Come on in, ol' kid! Nobody's 
 goin' bite you. 
 
 Oliver Keane enters at left, in evening clothes and 
 pauses diffidently near door. 
 
 Harry. 
 (Waving his hand toward Oliver.) 
 Ain't it pretty? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 Oliver Theophilus Keane ! Come here this minute ! 
 
 Oliver. 
 
 (Stiffly.) 
 
 How do you do? (Comes down stage and is about 
 
 to sit on divan with Leslie, when Derry puts out his 
 
 hand in greeting. Oliver absently gives him his 
 
 coat and hat and reaches in his pocket for a tip.) 
 
 Derry. 
 You haven't forgotten me, Keane? 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Peering at him.) 
 Most assuredly not. Though it escapes me who 
 you are. 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 31 
 
 Derry. 
 Derry! Till Derry! 
 
 Oliver. 
 Ah, yes ! (He sits beside Leslie without seeing 
 her. Derry laughingly takes his coat and throws it 
 on piano.) 
 
 Derry. 
 You are something of a stranger, Keane. Where 
 did you find him, Harry? 
 
 Harry. 
 He found me. Didn't you, oP kid? Walked right 
 into the club, and there I was. The world's very 
 small place. I'll get you 'nother drink, Ollie. (He 
 crosses to right door.) 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Laughingly, to Oliver.) 
 You! Drinking with Harry at the club? 
 
 Oliver. 
 
 (Starting from a reverie.) 
 
 To be sure. Yes. It — it occurred to me rather 
 
 forcibly that I had been remiss in my duties toward 
 
 Harry and toward my sister Enid, and I resolved to 
 
 devote my last day to them. 
 
 Leslie. 
 Going away, Cousin Oliver? When? 
 
 Oliver. 
 To-morrow ! 
 
 Leslie. 
 Where ? 
 
32 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Oliver. 
 I do not know. 
 
 Harry. 
 {Standing in right doorway.) 
 By thunder! That's right. He's got somepin' to 
 tell you. Tell 'em about Cupid, Ollie. 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Blankly.) 
 Cupid? 
 
 Harry. 
 Yeh. That's the l'il' guy. (Exit at right.) 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Sitting, back of card table.) 
 This is going to be interesting. So you are in love 
 at last? 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Startled.) 
 I? This is rather confusing. I — I feel — 
 
 Evelyn. 
 Of course you do. It's quite natural. 
 
 Oliver. 
 I feel sure that Harry is referring to Eros. Yes. 
 In all likelihood it is Eros. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 A pretty name. Who is she? 
 
 Oliver. 
 Eros is a star. 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 33 
 
 Leslie. 
 {Excitedly.) 
 On the stage? How wonderful! Do tell us more 
 about her, Cousin Oliver. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 Is she young or old? 
 
 Oliver. 
 Quite old. Perhaps many millions of years. Eros 
 is really a planet. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 I am faint from the shock. May we hear more? 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Brightening.) 
 I shall be most happy to give you the details — 
 that is, if figures appeal to you. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Yawning.) 
 Indeed they do. I am thrilled to heaven over them. 
 
 Derry. 
 (To Oliver.) 
 Have you seen those crazy articles in the news- 
 papers? That end-of-the-world stuff? 
 
 Oliver. 
 Yes. 
 
 Derry. 
 What do you know about them? 
 
 Oliver. 
 I wrote them. 
 
 (There is a general exclamation,) 
 
34 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Evelyn. 
 
 {Cynically.} 
 
 Come now! You don't really believe it? 'Fess up ! 
 
 You've been a hermit so long that you simply had to 
 
 step out into the limelight for a moment and get some 
 
 attention. 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Bewildered.) 
 My dear lady, I merely told them I saw a planet 
 speeding at the rate of two hundred miles a second 
 toward the neighborhood of Mars and its two moons, 
 also the eclipse of the earth by this planet Eros, 
 to-morrow morning at six o'clock. 
 
 Leslie. 
 (With a slight scream.) 
 What is going to happen? 
 
 Oliver. 
 That will depend upon whether Mars will attract 
 Eros or whether we, by reason of our closer prox- 
 imity, will draw the planet in upon us. There is no 
 doubt of the latter event. 
 
 Derry. 
 I say ! You know that is a bit serious ! 
 
 Evelyn. 
 Jolly little idea, isn't it? Where is Eros? 
 
 Oliver. 
 It is not visible, because of electrical disturbances. 
 
 Derry. 
 Would you mind explaining it technically to us? 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 35 
 
 Oliver. 
 Delighted to do so. (He rises and stands before 
 the fireplace, clearing his throat and joining his 
 fingertips after the manner of a professor in a class- 
 room.) The minor planet Eros, hitherto charted, 
 and erroneously so, as an asteroid, rotating ellip- 
 tically in an elongated orbit which, at its aphelion, 
 touches a suppositious point, basing the figures of 
 the problem on the given mean equatorial long hori- 
 zontal solar parallax, directly — 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Interrupting. ) 
 Oh, do tell us what a parallax is. I've never seen 
 one. 
 
 Oliver. 
 A parallax has to do with the change produced in 
 the apparent place of an object when viewed from 
 a point other than that of reference. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 No wonder they are so rare ! (In pantomime bor- 
 rows another cigarette and match of Derry.) 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Resuming.) 
 The sidereal system is complicated and varied in 
 structure and in the same region of the stellar depths 
 coexist stars of — 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Interrupting. ) 
 But, Cousin Oliver, we want to know what is go- 
 ing to become of us if the crazy old thing hits us ! 
 
 Oliver. 
 At the moment of collision the temperature of the 
 
36 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 colliding bodies will be raised thousands of degrees, 
 and we shall expand into a huge mass of thin gas 
 which will gradually cool and assume the form of a 
 rotating spiral nebula. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 ( Rising. ) 
 I shall loathe being a nebula, especially a spiral 
 one. Thanks, Oliver. I'll leave you now and look in 
 on Enid. (She pauses to light her cigarette.) 
 
 Derry. 
 You are quite right, of course. 
 
 Oliver. 
 Can reason itself, apart from scientific figures, of- 
 fer you anything in the way of proper proof? 
 
 Enter Harry at right, carrying tray of glasses and 
 bottles. 
 
 Harry. 
 Got it right here, Ollie. Best stuff y' ever tasted. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (To Leslie.) 
 Shall we go over our wardrobes for some light 
 milky-way costumes? (Leslie joins her and they go 
 up center to foot of stairs.) 
 
 Harry. 
 
 (Clinking the glasses on tray.) 
 
 Looky what Santa Claus brought you, girls. Ain't 
 
 it pretty? (They start past without answering.) 
 
 Come on back and join li'l' Maypole dance. You're 
 
 good fellah, Eve, Wha'sa matter with you? , 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 37 
 
 Evelyn. 
 We must run up and see how Enid is. 
 
 Harry. 
 {Blankly.) 
 Enid! 
 
 Leslie. 
 Your wife, Harry. {Exit Leslie upstairs. 
 Evelyn goes as far as the first step and pauses.) 
 
 Harry. 
 {Chuckling.) 
 Tha's one on me ! By thunder ! Tha's about the 
 richest thing I ever said. Forgot my wife's name ! 
 {He tries to concentrate. The tray begins to tip.) 
 Wait ! There was somepin' else I had to remem — 
 remember. What was it? Very 'mportant ! (Derry 
 goes up, takes the tray away from Harry, and comes 
 back with it to piano. Evelyn laughs and goes on 
 upstairs, leaving Harry deep in thought. He ad- 
 dresses the spot she has just left.) Eve, tha's too 
 bad. Can't — {He looks around for her.) Acts 
 like a damn ghost ! Try to carry on a polite conv'sa- 
 tion with her, and she ain't where she ought to be. 
 Tha's bad manners. {Comes down stage. Demands 
 of Oliver in a roar.) Ain't it? 
 
 Oliver. 
 I beg pardon? 
 
 Harry. 
 
 I said, "Ain't it?" 
 
 Oliver. 
 Isn't what? 
 
38 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Harry. 
 {Fretfully.) 
 I don't know. Got me all mixed now. {He slaps 
 Oliver on the back. Addresses Derry, who is mix- 
 ing a couple of drinks at the piano.) Funny Til' 
 fellah, ain't he? 
 
 Derry. 
 ( Good-humoredly. ) 
 High-ball, Keane? 
 
 Harry. 
 Sure ! We spent whole af noon lappin' 'em up. 
 Didn't we, ol' kid? 
 
 Oliver. 
 You may not have noticed, but I was drinking 
 Apollinaris. 
 
 Harry. 
 {Astounded.) 
 What ! D'you mean to say you swallowed all that 
 stuff, and it didn't make you sick? 
 
 (Derry pours a glass and hands it to Oliver, who 
 reseats himself on divan.) 
 
 Oliver. 
 I feel quite normal, thank you. 
 
 Harry. 
 Can you beat that? All that water! {He tries 
 to concentrate.) Wait! 'Bout to remember — very 
 'mportant thing — Oh, rats! What's difference? 
 Here's how. {Raises his glass, and they drink.) 
 
 Derry. 
 {Gasping.) 
 Holy smoke! 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 39 
 
 Harry. 
 (Delighted.) 
 Ain't it great stuff? 
 
 Oliver. 
 May I ask what it is? 
 
 Derry. 
 I'm darned if I know. What is it, Harry? 
 
 (All set empty glasses on piano.) 
 
 Harry. 
 (Mysteriously.) 
 Sh! (He tiptoes to right door, turns the key and 
 comes back.) Made it myself! Right downstairs in 
 my own cellar! Got a still big 'nough to turn out 
 coupla quarts a day. Didn't know y'r l'il' brother 
 is a moonshiner; did you, Ollie? Ollie's astronomer. 
 I'm moonshiner. Tha's pretty good. Let's have 
 game of stud poker. (He clears the card table by 
 brushing everything off it in one sweep; then crosses 
 to writing desk and rummages in drawer.) 
 
 Derry. 
 (To Oliver.) 
 Do you play? 
 
 Oliver. 
 I have never played at anything. 
 
 Derry. 
 (To Harry.) 
 Don't get the chips. We can't have a game, with 
 only two of us. 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Trying to be congenial.) 
 While it is true I do not know poker, still I shall 
 
40 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 be very glad to keep the score or mark the various 
 moves as they occur. (Looks around him for a pen- 
 cil and paper.) 
 
 Harry. 
 Tha's right ! Every time I say, "What have you 
 got?" you give me ten points. 
 
 Derry. 
 Don't be a chump, Harry. We can't play — just 
 you and I. 
 
 Harry. 
 (Coming down to piano with the box of chips, he 
 draws Derry aside and speaks in a loud whisper.) 
 Sh ! Show the ol' kid a good time. 
 
 Oliver. 
 (As he picks up pencil and score pad from floor, he 
 ■finds a book, which he examines.) 
 This is extraordinary ! My first school book on 
 astronomy! Do you mind if I take it with me? 
 
 Harry. 
 (Arranging card table.) 
 Take anything in the house. D'you like dogs? 
 (Confidentially.) There's a white one upstairs that 
 barks at you with a fuzzy tail that I don't. 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Puzzled.) 
 I beg pardon? 
 
 Harry. 
 
 (Sitting at table.) 
 Don't apologize, ol' kid. Le's go. (Derry also 
 sits. Harry sets out poker chips in stacks on table 
 and deals the cards. Oliver, book in hand, looks 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 41 
 
 on.) Now look what I got here, Ollie: a king and 
 a queen. Better put that down. 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Writing on score pad.) 
 Two members of royalty. 
 
 Harry. 
 (Pointing to Derry's cards.) 
 He's got an ace, and I can't see what else. Under- 
 stand ? 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Writing.) 
 Visible, a small one-spot. Let X represent the 
 unknown quantity. 
 
 Harry. 
 (Roaring with laughter, to Derry.) 
 Can you beat that? Picks it up right away. 
 
 (He and Derry bet, and Harry deals another card.) 
 
 Oliver. 
 What relation have the colored disks to the game? 
 (Indicates poker chips.) 
 
 Derry. 
 They are to bet with. (He bets again, and so 
 does Harry.) 
 
 Harry. 
 (To Oliver.) 
 A bean is ventured. 
 
 Derry. 
 (As Harry deals him another card.) 
 Aha ! Another little ace. Going up ! 
 
42 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Harry. 
 
 Y'see, Ollie, he raises me, and I'm going to raise 
 him. 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Writing.) 
 Both players arrive at an equal altitude. 
 
 Harry. 
 (Dealing.) 
 By thunder ! We got our third queen, Ollie. Look 
 at that ! We'll skin him alive. 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Writing.) 
 Desperate measures resolved upon. 
 
 Derry. 
 
 (Laughing.) 
 
 How do you know what I've got tucked away? 
 
 Harry. 
 
 (To Oliver.) 
 
 Did you hear that? He's keeping somepin' from 
 
 us. (He bets.) Bet you ain't got it. (Derry bets. 
 
 Harry bets again.) Once more. Now watch, Ollie. 
 
 I'm betting him he ain't got another ace. See? 
 
 Oliver. 
 But if he is quite certain that he has it, why specu- 
 late? 
 
 Harry. 
 
 (Putting down his cards solemnly.) 
 
 That is the point, Ollie. That's what I've been 
 
 leading up to all the time. Wait till I get 'nother 
 
 drink, and I'll explain the whole thing in all its 
 
 pristine beauty. 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 43 
 
 (As he rises, a rumble of thunder is heard.) 
 
 Derry. 
 
 (Turning over a card.) 
 
 I did have it. Your three queens were no good. 
 
 Harry. 
 I wouldn't put that down, Ollie. No use to give 
 the Bolsheviks somepin' else to talk about. (Pours 
 a drink.) 
 
 Oliver. 
 ( Writing. ) 
 Closing commentary edited. See footnote. 
 
 Derry. 
 (To Harry.) 
 Don't drink any more of that stuff. It's got a 
 terrible wallop. 
 
 (There is a sudden flash of lightning from off left.) 
 
 Harry. 
 
 (Who has taken a swallow just as the lightning 
 flashed, now takes the glass from lips, alarmed.) 
 I sh'd say it has ! Didn't know it was that strong. 
 
 (He sits on divan, anxiously feeling his head.) 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Tears page from tablet, folding the slip of paper 
 and handing it to Derry.) 
 You may wish to keep the official report of the 
 game. 
 
 Derry. 
 We were just fooling. That wasn't poker. 
 
44 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Puzzled.) 
 You were not in earnest? 
 
 Derry. 
 Harry knew you didn't have any idea of it, so he 
 thought he'd have some fun with you. Wasn't that 
 it, Hal? 
 
 Harry. 
 (Drowsily.) 
 Huh? Wha'sa matter? 
 
 Derry. 
 (Rather embarrassed. ) 
 I tell Keane we were only stringing him. 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Hurt.) 
 I see. (He retires into his book.) 
 
 Harry. 
 (Mumbling.) 
 Give him a good time, poor ol' kid ! Poor ol' stick- 
 in-the-mud! (Closes his eyes.) 
 
 Evelyn comes downstairs, center, and pauses on 
 landing. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Leaning over the railing.) 
 Harry ! Enid wants you ! 
 
 Harry. 
 (Rousing.) 
 Let her wait outside. Very busy dictatin' 'mpor- 
 tant letter. 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 45 
 
 Evelyn. 
 
 (To Derry.) 
 
 Make him come up. Enid is all shot to pieces. 
 
 Harry. 
 (Struggling up, terrified.) 
 My God! What a terrible tragedy! (He clings 
 to Derry, who assists him up stage.) 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Rising.) 
 May I see her for a moment? I just want to say 
 good-bye. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 I wouldn't bother her if I were you, Oliver. She 
 knows you're here, and she doesn't care to talk to 
 anyone. 
 
 Harry. 
 (As he and Derry go up to stairs.) 
 Tell me one thing. Was she happy to the very 
 last? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Sharply.) 
 You ought to know whether she was happy or not. 
 
 Harry. 
 Tha's good. At least I'll have that to r'member. 
 Wait! I mustn't forget — What is it I mustn't 
 forget? 
 
 Derry. 
 (Urging him up the steps.) 
 Buck up, old sport! 
 
46 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Harry. 
 (Pausing on landing.) 
 If you're going the same way I am, f'r heaven's 
 sake, walk straight. This ain't a two-step. 
 
 Evelyn follows them, and all three exeunt up- 
 stairs. Oliver's book slips from his hand to the rug. 
 He stares into the fire absently. Then he crosses 
 to the piano for his hat and coat and goes to left 
 door, reaching it as Evelyn comes down the stairs. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 Please stay ! 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Awkwardly.) 
 It is nice of you to say that. I believe it is the 
 first time I have ever heard it. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 Surely not! 
 
 Oliver. 
 No one, as a rule, seems particularly to notice 
 whether I am here or — that is to say — there. (He 
 attempts to laugh.) 
 
 Evelyn. 
 
 (Rather touched.) 
 
 A man as interesting as you, Oliver Theophilus? 
 
 Oliver. 
 I — I wish I could reply to that flattering state- 
 ment with a bit of light banter. Any other — er — 
 man — would doubtless think quickly and seize upon 
 some trifling persiflage as — as charming as the orig- 
 inal remark, which had the basic qualities of both 
 grace and kindliness. 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 47 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Choking with laughter.) 
 Oliver ! Do you know that you are perfectly ridic- 
 ulous ? 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Slowly.) 
 Yes. I know it. Good night! 
 
 (He bows precisely and opens the door up left. 
 There is a crash of thunder, and a streak of lightning 
 shows outside. He closes the door.) 
 
 Evelyn. 
 
 (Anxiously.) 
 
 Open it again. I believe I saw — (He reopens 
 
 the door for an instant and again closes it. Evelyn 
 
 clutches his arm.) Look! Nothing but water. It's 
 
 up to the steps. 
 
 Oliver. 
 Quite true! Shall we notify the others? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Sharply.) 
 Of course! (Runs to foot of stairway and calls 
 upstairs.) Till! Till! Come here! (She speaks 
 to Oliver.) The river is rising! There must have 
 been storms north of us that we knew nothing about. 
 Did you know? 
 
 Oliver. 
 I predicted them. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 Why didn't you ring up and tell us that we were 
 in danger? 
 
48 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Oliver. 
 I telephoned yesterday. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 Enid said nothing of it. 
 
 Oliver. 
 She was in the midst of a game of bridge and would 
 not listen. 
 
 Derry comes running downstairs, center, 
 
 Derry. 
 What's the row? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 Open the door a crack, and you'll see. 
 
 Derry. 
 (Opening door at left a little, whistles in astonish- 
 ment.) 
 We're being flooded out, by Jove! 
 
 Evelyn. 
 What shall we do? We've got to do something 
 quickly. 
 
 Derry. 
 (Still peering through crack in door.) 
 It's almost to the hub of the car, Eve. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 The car! That's it. We'll get away in the car 
 and go some place. But where? The hotel is closed 
 for the season, and everyone has gone back to town. 
 Where can we go? 
 
 Oliver. 
 I have a home on the top of the hill. 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 49 
 
 Evelyn. 
 Can we get to it in a car? 
 
 Oliver. 
 You may have to climb the last stretch of road on 
 foot. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 I'd rather climb than swim. (She starts for the 
 stairs and turns.) It's good of you to take us un- 
 der your wing, Oliver. Have you room for seven 
 people? Although it doesn't matter. Nothing mat- 
 ters if we only get on some sort of dry land again. 
 I'll sound the alarm. (Exit, up the stairs.) 
 
 (Derry opens door of closet under the stairs and 
 begins to pull out a pile of sweaters and coats. The 
 storm grows in violence.) 
 
 Derry. 
 What a rum thing to happen ! Makes you almost 
 believe the stuff about to-morrow. (Pauses, then 
 turns to Oliver.) I say! Suppose that crazy planet 
 of yours struck the moon first. Would that give us 
 a chance to get our affairs straightened up and inter- 
 view a preacher or two? 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Gravely.) 
 Let us see. (He goes to fireplace, sits, and begins 
 to figure on a sheet of paper, which he takes from 
 his pocket.) 
 
 Derry. 
 I would like time enough to make a few good reso- 
 lutions even if I broke 'em later. 
 
50 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Oliver. 
 I think I can fully reassure you on that point. 
 You would have, judging from these hasty figures, 
 three hours and nineteen minutes. 
 
 Derry. 
 (Disgustedly.) 
 Huh ! Not long enough to get a manicure. 
 
 Oliver. 
 On the other hand, in event that the planet Mars 
 attracts Eros before the impact drives them both 
 toward us it is probable you would have — shall we 
 say — (He breaks off, absorbed in his figures.) 
 
 Mrs. Quayle and Leslie run down the stairs, fol- 
 lowed more slowly by Enid and Evelyn. Derry 
 hands each of them a garment from the pile he has 
 brought from the closet, and they hastily wrap them- 
 selves up. 
 
 Enid. 
 (Briskly,) 
 Are we all here? Where is Harry? 
 
 Harry stumbles downstairs in pajamas. He pauses 
 on landing. 
 
 Harry. 
 Up, men. The dam has burst! 
 
 Enid. 
 Shut up, dearest, and get down here. 
 
 Harry. 
 (Pained and surprised.) 
 Did that sound come from my little wifie? 
 
CIN DERELLA OF THE STORM 51 
 
 Enid. 
 (Exasperated.) 
 Hurry ! Do you want me to go up there after you, 
 my darling? 
 
 Harry. 
 (Humbly.) 
 No, sweetheart! (He comes on down the stairs, 
 and Enid bundles him impatiently into an overcoat 
 which she takes from Derry.) 
 
 Derry. 
 Everybody ready? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Pointing to the absorbed Oliver.) 
 We must not forget our host. 
 
 Enid. 
 (Sharply.) 
 Oliver ! Are you so unfeeling that you can sit 
 there and say nothing? 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Rising hastily.) 
 Er — quite extraordinary weather, isn't it? 
 
 (The lights suddenly go out, leaving only the fire- 
 place glow. There are startled exclamations from 
 all.) 
 
 Derry. 
 We are just in time. That shows the cellar is 
 flooding. Let's make a dash for it. 
 
 Harry. 
 Wait ! I mustn't forget something about the cel- 
 lar. Very important. 
 
52 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Enid. 
 Idiot! Open the door, Till! 
 
 (Derry opens door up left. A howl of wind greets 
 them, and there is an amazing peal of thunder. All 
 seven rush out, and the gale sweeps the door shut be- 
 hind them with a bang. There are an excited gabble 
 of voices off lefty the honking of an auto horn, then 
 silence. ) 
 
 Enter Ricky, center, with her hat over one ear, 
 where she has thrust it in her fright and haste. She 
 comes down the stairway slowly and with difficulty, 
 owing to an enormous load of bundles, bandboxes, 
 and a ridiculous poodle which she has on a leash. 
 On the last step she trips slightly and says under her 
 breath, "Damn dog!" Once down, she rests her 
 bundles on the newel post and looks about the room. 
 
 Ricky. 
 (In a small, timid voice.) 
 Mis' Fownes? (She piles the things in a heap, 
 leaves the dog, and comes down, looking about.) 
 Mis' — ? (The silence makes her uneasy, and she 
 repeats the name loudly and hoarsely.) Mis' 
 Fownes ! (Realizing she has been left behind, she 
 runs to left door arid opens it. The sight and sound 
 of the storm terrify her. She closes the door and 
 leans against it, trembling.) My goodness! Oh, my 
 goodness! What'll I do? (She begins to wail, 
 mingling broken sentences with her sobs.) They 
 didn't wait fer me ! That ain't right. It ain't right ! 
 I never done anything to them. I got f-feelings, too, 
 same as they have, but they don't care ! Makes me 
 s-sick ! (Her sobs having gradually spent them- 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 53 
 
 selves, she relapses into apathetic weariness with 
 an occasional sniffle of indignation. She turns back 
 into the room and, her eye lighting on the poodle, 
 she addresses him.) Lookit what they done to you, 
 Leo. I guess you won't be so stuck up, after this. 
 You always treated me like I was dirt under your 
 feet, when if 3^ou'd acted like a lady maybe you 
 wouldn't be so sore at yourself now. See? That's 
 what you get ! Yes, sir ! Now it's my turn, and 
 I'm going to cut you dead. (She xvanders about the 
 room aimlessly. As if to keep up her courage, she 
 whistles a few notes. The sound causes her to jump 
 and look behind her. She goes to fireplace and 
 stretches her arms in an exhausted yawn.) I guess 
 it must be pret' near to-morrow. (The significance 
 of it strikes her, and she repeats the word apprehen- 
 sively.) To-morrow! (She looks thoughtfully at 
 the poodle.) You and me better make it up, Leo, 
 before the horn blows. What say? If you won't 
 mention to nobody about the time I slapped you, I 
 won't give you away, either. You know what I 
 mean ! You do so. Come here and get warm. (She 
 goes up and gets the poodle and returns to the fire- 
 place, curling up on the rug with it in her lap.) 
 Why can't we be friends like this all the time? 
 Wouldn't you rather? I'd rather have a kind word 
 fer you than to chase all over heaven, roasting the 
 tar out of you. Then why wasn't you nice to me? 
 There's lots of evenings we might have had together 
 when none of us would have been lonesome, especially 
 me. I know fairy stories about doggies and kitties, 
 and how they chased each other and both got et up, 
 and the New Testament, and "Curfew shall not ring 
 to-night." I don't guess you would understand the 
 
54 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 New Testament, though. It's pretty deep in spots. 
 (She gazes into the fire awhile.) I wonder what God 
 will look like? He'll be big and tall, and he'll have 
 whiskers — long white whiskers, because he's getting 
 kinder old now. My goodness ! Six thousand years ! 
 I should say he would have whiskers ! (She pauses 
 and regards the poodle anxiously.) The New Testa- 
 ment ain't got any chapter on dogs, Leo. What 
 about it? You better think pretty quick. I don't 
 know. You couldn't have much fun if the streets are 
 all gobbed up with milk and honey. (She sighs.) 
 Oh, don't look to me like I was in for any good time, 
 either. I don't know a note on the harp. I would 
 enjoy flying, for a change, and getting off my feet. 
 And if my folks goes there, I will have somebody to 
 talk to. They think I'm all right. (She sees the 
 book Oliver has dropped on the rug, picks it up and 
 opens it at the fly leaf.) "Oliver The — Theo-file — 
 us Keane." (She embraces the book impulsively, 
 then bends over and speaks in a stage whisper to 
 the poodle.) It's his! Look! I wouldn't string 
 you, Leo. There's his name all wrote out. Can't 
 you read nothing? 'Course you can't. Well, I guess 
 I will read to you, then — something out of his book. 
 Something beautiful and elegant and sad. Sh ! (She 
 opens the book and reads.) "As 57 angle M is to 
 89-3 angle B, so is 4000 miles BL to the perpendicu- 
 lar LM." (She closes the book.) Hm! Well, any- 
 way, they lived happy ever after. (She rises.) Or 
 would if — if to-morrow wasn't going to settle every- 
 body's hash. That's what he says, and if he says 
 so, it is! (In the act of stretching her arms again, 
 she chances to look down at herself and exclaims.) 
 My goodness, Leo ! Why didn't you tell me I had 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 55 
 
 my dress on hind side before? For all you care, 
 I could walk down Pearl Street or Diamond Street 
 looking like a simp ! (She unbuttons the dress down 
 the front, starts to take off one sleeve, stops, goes 
 behind the divan, where she is hidden from audience, 
 and turns her dress front side first. Only her head 
 is visible as she talks to the poodle.) I don't want 
 you to see what I got on under here, Leo, because 
 you might up and start some low gossip. (Pauses 
 and struggles with dress.) I guess my dress is good 
 enough to sit on any white cloud with. (From off 
 left comes a tremendous honking of an auto horn. 
 Panic-stricken, Ricky screams.) Leo! It's to-mor- 
 row! (Tremblingly she hurries out from behind the 
 divan, trying to fasten the top button of her dress,, 
 fails, falls to her knees, and gathers the poodle in her 
 arms protectingly.) 
 
 Oliver, indistinctly outlined in the shadows, enters 
 at left, pausing at door. 
 
 Ricky. 
 ( Quaveringly. ) 
 Let me take him with me ! He's so little ! 
 
 Oliver. 
 
 (Absently.) 
 
 I left a book here. (He sees it on the hearth, 
 
 comes forward and retrieves it, starts again for the 
 
 door, and turns.) Yes. I remember. They said you 
 
 were to come along. 
 
 Ricky. 
 
 (Painfully.) 
 I can't. I ain't buttoned up the back. 
 
56 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Oliver. 
 A small matter. Turn around. 
 
 (Dazed, Ricky obeys. Tucking the book under one 
 arm, he buttons her dress.) 
 
 Ricky. 
 ( Uncomfortably. ) 
 The third buttonhole is tore. 
 
 Oliver. 
 We shall omit the third buttonhole. The seventh 
 button is absent. What shall we do about that? 
 
 Ricky. 
 I meant to sew it on, but I lost it. 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Finishing.) 
 Quite logical. There! (He sits on chair near 
 writing desk, opens his book, and reads.) 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Awkwardly.) 
 Thank you. 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Politely.) 
 Of no consequence, I assure you. (He becomes 
 engrossed in the book. There is a great crash of 
 thunder.) 
 
 Derry. 
 (Off left, honking auto horn and shouting.) 
 Keane, hurry up ! 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Starting up.) 
 Er — shall we be going? 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 57 
 
 Ricky. 
 Yes, sir. (She hesitates. ) When he made all that 
 noise the first time, I thought it was God. 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Absently tucking the book wader his arm.) 
 Did you? 
 
 Ricky. 
 
 (Looking up at him adoringly.) 
 Yes ! I thought it was only God, but it was you ! 
 
 (As they go out at left door — ) 
 Curtain 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Second Act 
 Scene: The living room of Oliver's home, at 
 about five o'clock the following morning. It has 
 three doors: one up center leading outdoors, another 
 down right leading to kitchen and outdoors to the 
 other shack, and a third door up left leading to the 
 rooms upstairs. A curtained window is up right. 
 The room is meagerly furnished and is somewhat dis- 
 ordered. A large library table is at center, with a 
 chair at right of it arid another behind it, facing 
 audience. A fireplace, with mantelshelf, is in the cen- 
 ter of the left wall, with a fire blazing on the hearth 
 (red electric bulbs under several sticks of wood). An 
 old-fashioned rocking-chair is down left, with a foot- 
 stool close beside it. Against the table, facing the 
 footlights is a couch with a few faded pillows on it. 
 An armchair is up right near window, and a plain 
 chair is down right. A few rugs are on the floor, 
 the largest being in front of fireplace, and several 
 pictures, of little charm and value, are on walls. On 
 mantelshelf is a small clock, with the face so turned 
 that it is not clearly visible to audience. Its striking 
 is simulated by ringing a bell off left. The center 
 table is littered with books, papers, memoranda, 
 pipe, matches, pouch of tobacco, case containing 
 cigarettes, a woman's traveling case containing a 
 hair brush, also a plain study lamp with a cheap 
 
 59 
 
60 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 green shade-, which, with the glow from the fireplace, 
 provides rather poor lighting for the room. Foot- 
 lights should be on during this act, and blue lights 
 just outside the window should be used on cue to 
 indicate the coming of dawn. 
 
 At rise of curtain, Enid, with a raincoat of 
 Oliver's about her bare shoulders, sits cross-legged 
 on the hearth of the fireplace, eating bread and but- 
 ter and sipping tea from a plain white cup. Evelyn, 
 a sport coat over her everting gown, is in a chair 
 drawn up to the center table, book in hand. Mrs. 
 Quayle, well swathed in shawls, is asleep in the rock- 
 ing-chair, down left, and Leslie sits on the footstool 
 with her head in her mother's lap. She, too, is asleep, 
 a frayed bathrobe about her. Harry is stretched 
 out asleep on the couch at center, still in pajamas 
 and overcoat. 
 
 The right door, leading into the kitchen, opens 
 cautiously and Ricky enters with broom, mop, and 
 bucket. She wears a velveteen hunting jacket of 
 Oliver's and a pair of his shoes. Enid turns at the 
 sound, and Ricky, as if suddenly remembering an 
 important engagement elsewhere, vanishes back to 
 the kitchen. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 {Looking up from her book.) 
 What was that? 
 
 Enid. 
 Just Ricky. She has been bobbing in every five 
 minutes all night long, and I fully believe she means 
 to clean the place if we ever go to bed. I'll say it 
 needs it, too. Have some tea? 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 61 
 
 Evelyn. 
 ( Yawning. ) 
 No, thanks. I'm trying to work up an appetite 
 for sleep with this. (She holds up her book.) 
 
 Enid. 
 What is it? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Reading title on front of book.) 
 "Perfect Poise and How to Attain It." (Enid 
 laughs.) There is another very racy one here called 
 "The Relation of Calm to Eternity.'*' 
 
 Enid. 
 They are Oliver's. When he was about nineteen, 
 he went in for all that sort of thing because he stut- 
 tered so badly. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 Oliver stuttered? 
 
 Enid. 
 Terribly, my dear. Funny old chap, isn't he? No 
 end odd. Not a bit like the rest of the family, so 
 we have rather left him to himself. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Dryly.) 
 I can see that with the naked eye. 
 
 Enid. 
 He has never cared a straw for bridge or flirting 
 or any of the really vital things of life. (Sighs.) 
 But what estranges me from him more than anything 
 else is his lack of soul. 
 
62 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Sitting up and yawning daintily.) 
 Am I missing something? 
 
 Enid. 
 Why don't you and Helen go upstairs? There 
 are plenty of perfectly good beds up there. 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Rising and joining Enid at fireplace.) 
 Mamma wants to wait down here until to-morrow, 
 so that she can see what's going to happen. 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 (Waking petulantly and looking about her.) 
 What time is it? 
 
 Enid. 
 (Consulting her wrist watch.) 
 It is after five. 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 (Groaning.) 
 Such a night ! I don't believe I shall be able to 
 keep awake another minute ! What is that you are 
 drinking, Enid? 
 
 Enid. 
 (Rising.) 
 Tea! Have some? 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 Yes. It may help my poor head. 
 
 (Enid crosses and goes out at right door.) 
 
 (Harry raises himself on his elbow with some dif- 
 ficulty, and his glance falls upon Mrs. Quayle.) 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 63 
 
 Harry. 
 {Angrily, to Mrs. Quayle.) 
 What are you doing in ray room? 
 
 Enter Enid at right. 
 
 Enid. 
 Now that you are up, Harry, you'd better join 
 the boys. 
 
 Harry. 
 (Holding his hand to his head.) 
 No ! Not another drop. 
 
 Enid. 
 (Crossing to him and speaking with sharp exaspera- 
 tion. ) 
 Don't be a stupid fool and an idiot, sweetheart! 
 
 Harry. 
 (Clasping her hand beseechingly.) 
 Do you still love your poor faults in spite of his 
 husband? 
 
 Enid. 
 (Severely.) 
 Certainly, my darling. Now get up and get out 
 of here. 
 
 Harry. 
 (Tearfully.) 
 I'm no good. There's no use to argue the matter. 
 (He weeps.) 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 (Complainingly. ) 
 I shall never find relief for my poor head at this 
 rate. 
 
64 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Ricky enters at right with a cup of tea, on a 
 saucer, which she holds out to Mrs. Quayle, who 
 pays no attention. Ricky, her eyes closing from 
 time to time exhaustedly, continues to hold the cup 
 toward Mrs. Quayle. 
 
 Harry. 
 (To Mrs. Quayle, angrily.) 
 Then what are you arguing for? 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 
 (Indignantly.) 
 I am not arguing! I agree with you fully and 
 always have done so. It was my poor aching head 
 that caused my remark. 
 
 Harry. 
 You needn't think you've got the only head in 
 captivity. 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 I have no intention of submitting to further insult 
 from you, Harry Fownes, and neither Leslie nor 
 myself shall ever step across your threshold again 
 either formally or in a playful spirit. Heaven knows 
 I've given you no occasion to prove, as you are now 
 doing, what a low, unprincipled, irresponsible, heart- 
 less — 
 
 Ricky. 
 
 (Absently.) 
 Oh, shut up ! (She is so startled and frightened 
 at her own words that she drops the cup and saucer 
 with a crash of breaking china.) 
 
 Enid. 
 (Sharply.) 
 Ricky! 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 65 
 
 (Mrs. Quayle rises majestically.) 
 
 Ricky. 
 (On her knees, picking up the pieces.) 
 I'm sorrjr, Mis' Quayle. I just thought out loud. 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 Come, Leslie. I am going. (Goes up left, Leslie 
 following her.) 
 
 Enid. 
 (Alarmed.) 
 Where ? 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 (Loftily.) 
 To bed! (Goes out at left, followed by Leslie.) 
 
 Ricky. 
 (On her knees.) 
 I'm sorry, Mis' Fownes. I'm sorry, Mr. Fownes. 
 
 Harry. 
 (Reaching out a hand and laying it dramatically on 
 her head.) 
 Rise, little one ! Ere to-morrow's dawn sinks 
 slowly to rest this rock shall fly from — 
 
 Enid. 
 (Catching him by the elbow.) 
 Go into the kitchen, Ricky. 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Rising obediently, carrying pieces of china.) 
 Yessum ! 
 
 Enid. 
 (To Ricky as she reaches the door.) 
 Have you a place to sleep out there? 
 
66 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Ricky. 
 Yessum ! There's a nice soft sack of potatoes, and 
 me and Leo'll keep each other warm. 
 
 Enid. 
 Have coffee ready at nine o'clock. 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Hesitatingly.) 
 You better have it now, Mis' Fownes. It'll soon 
 be six o'clock, and that's to-morrow — 
 
 Harry. 
 (Rising.) 
 
 Wait ! There was something I had to remember. 
 
 Enid. 
 Run along, Ricky. 
 
 (Exit Ricky at right.) 
 
 Harry. 
 No. That wasn't it. 
 
 Enid. 
 (Impatiently.) 
 Evelyn and I want to go to bed, Harry. Go out 
 with the boys. 
 
 Harry. 
 Where are they? 
 
 Enid. 
 In the other shack where the telescope is : Oliver's 
 study. (Harry crosses to right door, muttering. 
 Enid continues sweetly.) Lover, don't you want to 
 apologize to Eve before }^ou go? 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 67 
 
 Harry. 
 ( Turning. ) 
 What for? 
 
 Enid. 
 For making such an ass of yourself, pet- 
 
 Harry. 
 (Shouting at Evelyn angrily.) 
 I'm sorry. (Exit at right.) 
 
 Enid. 
 ( Wearily. ) 
 Shall we go upstairs? I am so tired that I could 
 sleep on a barbed wire fence. (Goes to door up left.) 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Looking up.) 
 Even that couldn't tempt me away from this de- 
 licious gossip about souls that yearn to be free. 
 
 Enid. 
 (Yawning.) 
 It impresses you; does it? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 I shall stop wearing tight shoes to-morrow. 
 
 Enid. 
 (With another yawn.) 
 To-morrow is almost with us. I suppose it will 
 be as stupid as any other day. Good night ! (Exit 
 at left, going upstairs.) 
 
 (Evelyn puts down her book. Her head falls 
 back against the chair. A look of unutterable 
 weariness comes over her face.) 
 
 The door at right opens cautiously, and once more 
 
68 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Ricky enters with broom, mop, and pail. She drops 
 the broom with a crash. Evelyn starts. 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Patiently.) 
 Ain't you ever going to sleep? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Rising.) 
 I wonder! 
 
 Ricky. 
 
 You better get in a few licks before the horn blows. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 What about you? 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Wearily.) 
 
 Me? I ain't through with my work yet. I got 
 to get this place swept up and cleaned around the 
 edges so they won't think he didn't have anybody \o 
 look after him. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 "He" is Oliver, of course; but who are "they"? 
 
 Ricky. 
 Gabriel and all that gang. I don't want to let 'em 
 have one chance to make any low cracks about him. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 Certainly not ! (She begins to take the pins from 
 her hair.) Could you spare me a moment to brush 
 my hair? Perhaps it would make me drowsy. 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Putting down broom, mop, and pail.) 
 You'd ought to work harder, and then you'd sleep. 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 69 
 
 (She dries her ■ hands on the velveteen coat, as 
 Evelyn searches in a traveling case on table.) 
 Sleep is the easiest thing I have to do. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Handing her a brush and reseating herself.) 
 This is good of you, Ricky. Would you mind not 
 talking? 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Hurt.) 
 No'm. I'm used to it, but I was in hopes that 
 before to-morrow set in, I would have just one con- 
 versation. (She brushes Evelyn's hair.) 
 
 Evelyn. 
 Not to-night, please. (Closes her eyes.) I'm too 
 frazzled to utter a word. 
 
 Enter Derry at right. On seeing Evelyn, he halts 
 abruptly. 
 
 Derry. 
 Pardon! Didn't know anyone was up. Did I 
 leave my cigarette case here? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 ( Vivaciously. ) 
 Do come in ! I'm dying for some one to talk to. 
 
 (Ricky, hurt, continues her brushing. Derry 
 crosses to table and lights a cigarette from his case, 
 which he finds among the litter.) 
 
 Derry. 
 Harry made such a row coming in that he woke 
 us both, and for a minute I felt like chucking him 
 into the bushes. 
 
70 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Evelyn. 
 I doubt if even Harry could add to this scenery. 
 
 Derry. 
 Why aren't you in bed? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Smiling.) 
 Same old reason. Can't sleep. 
 
 % Derry. 
 
 What have you got on your conscience? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Still smiling.) 
 You! 
 
 Derry. 
 (Laughing.) 
 I? When and why? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 I was very unkind to you once, and I said some 
 horrid things about your being poor and inefficient 
 and without enough brains to make a living for your- 
 self and — for us. 
 
 Derry. 
 ( Good-naturedly. ) 
 Oh, that ! It was true — every word ! It ought to 
 please you enormously to think that you were per- 
 fectly right. Time has proved it. I'm still poor, 
 still without brains — same old Till! 
 
 Evelyn. 
 But you are nice ! There are so few men that are 
 nice. 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 71 
 
 Derry. 
 Thanks! It's never got me anywhere. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 No. It's rather a handicap to a man unless he 
 has some one to encourage him — some one to fight 
 for. 
 
 Derry. 
 (Enthusiastically. ) 
 And I've finally got that, Eve — that encourage- 
 ment. I think I'd have made a lot of progress in my 
 work if I'd only met a woman like Leslie sooner. 
 
 (Ricky lays down the brush and glares at Derry. 
 Evelyn looks up inquiringly, and Ricky resumes, 
 muttering, however, under her breath.) 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Slowly.) 
 Needless to say, I am very glad. 
 
 Derry. 
 I knew you would be when you heard it. You and 
 I were greater pals than any two people I ever saw. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 Yet I failed you. 
 
 Derry. 
 Good Lord, Eve ! I didn't blame you. Don't get 
 it into your head that I did. Why on earth should 
 you, with your charm and love of life, tie yourself 
 to a pauper and live in a kitchen? You did the 
 sensible thing and turned me down. Good for you ! 
 
 (Ricky, much interested, stops brushing, and 
 
72 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 stci7ids listening, with her hands on her hips. The 
 others are too preoccupied to notice her.) 
 
 Evelyn. 
 
 (Dryly.) 
 Instead of casting my lot with you, I wanted to 
 better myself. So I married Jack Hempstead ! 
 (Laughs, as if greatly amused.) 
 
 Derry. 
 (Laughing also.) 
 It wasn't so funny then, but I can laugh now, too. 
 What a chump I was ! 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Sharply.) 
 I wasn't laughing at you. At times you are as 
 stupid as Oliver. 
 
 (Ricky, as if galvanized into action, raises the 
 hair brush threateningly, thinks better of her evident 
 idea to assassinate Evelyn, and resumes brushing.) 
 
 Derry. 
 ( Cheerfully. ) 
 Well, no matter. It's all over now — all over and 
 forgotten. Don't you have me on your conscience, 
 Eve old dear. (He reaches out a hand, which she 
 clasps warmly in silence.) I am as happy as a fel- 
 low can be who didn't expect much and gets more 
 than he deserves. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Earnestly.) 
 You have never had half a chance at what is really 
 coming to you, Till. You will be a big man when 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 73 
 
 3'ou get started. I know it. Do believe in yourself ; 
 won't you? 
 
 (Ricky excitedly goes down left and brings the 
 footstool to Evelyn's side, sits upon it, and listens, 
 watching them eagerly.) 
 
 Derry. 
 I'm afraid there isn't much of anything there to 
 pin faith to. You see, I'm not clever. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 Cleverness doesn't count, my dear. Any rotter 
 can be clever. They usually are. People like me, 
 for example, and it's nothing at all. The big thing 
 that matters is to have a heart and a soul; and 
 you've got both. Till, the fight is yours if you just 
 go after it and stick to it and scrap. 
 
 Derry. 
 {Enthusiastically. ) 
 And you've no idea what it means to have some one 
 by the side of you. I tell you it makes me mighty 
 confident when I think that a sweet youngster like 
 Leslie has the spunk to step out in line and meet 
 the world shoulder to shoulder with me. That's love, 
 Eve! 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Slowly.) 
 Of course it is, and it's coming to you — that sort 
 of love — the real kind! (She gives his hand a final 
 friendly pressure and releases it.) 
 
 Derry. 
 (Conscience-stricken. ) 
 Here I am, drooling along about myself when you 
 
74 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 should be in bed! But it's done me no end of good 
 — this little chat. Things always seem plainer when 
 you point them out. Good night, old dear. (He 
 impulsively bends and kisses her awkwardly on the 
 top of her head.) I'll leave these for you. (Lays 
 his cigarette case on table before her and crosses to 
 right door. Evelyn remains motionless.) Good 
 night. (Exit at right.) 
 
 (Ricky drops to her knees and opens her arms 
 speechlessly to Evelyn, who, without a word, buries 
 her head on Ricky's shoulder and sobs.) 
 
 Ricky. 
 Miss Eve ! My goodness, don't ! Don't, honey ! 
 Lookit 3 7 our pretty eyes getting all swole ! He needs 
 you, only he's crazy; that's all. She ain't his kind, 
 and he don't know it. He'll find out like you did. 
 You see if he don't. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 
 (Lifting her head.) 
 
 Thank you, Ricky. (She sits up and wipes her 
 
 eyes.) It's this wretched insomnia that shakes me 
 
 to pieces. Ordinarily I can laugh myself out of it 
 
 as I laugh at everything. 
 
 Ricky. 
 I like you better this way. (She opens her arms 
 invitingly.) Come on! Cry some more. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 
 (Regaining control of herself.) 
 
 No. That is quite enough. (Pats Ricky's hand 
 
 and rises.) And don't imagine a lot of things that 
 
 are not so. Anyone who hasn't slept for a week is 
 
 apt to be silly and hysterical over nothing. Here! 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 75 
 
 (Strips a diamond bracelet off her arm and offers it 
 to Ricky.) You are to say nothing whatever about 
 this. Do you understand? 
 
 Ricky. 
 
 (Rising and speaking sharply.) 
 I don't want any pay just because I felt sorry for 
 you. (Crosses to right door.) 
 
 Evelyn. 
 Ricky ! 
 
 Ricky. 
 
 (Opening door.) 
 Keep your ol' bracelet! (She is very near tears 
 herself. ) 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Following her to door.) 
 I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, Ricky. 
 
 Ricky. 
 Go on ! Hurt 'em ! Everybody does. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Considering her thoughtfully.) 
 After all — you are a woman, too; aren't you? 
 
 Ricky. 
 
 (Harshly.) 
 
 No. I ain't. I'm a doormat for people to scrape 
 
 their feet on, and I tell you right now the "welcome" 
 
 on it is damn near wore off! (She sniffs forlornly.) 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Hesitatingly.) 
 I'm extremely sorry that I misjudged you. I 
 really am, my dear. (Turns and goes up left.) 
 
76 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Ricky. 
 
 (Without turning.) 
 I'm sorry I snapped you up, Miss Eve. You're 
 the only one that's treated me like I was white. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Turning back to Ricky.) 
 Then you will take the bracelet? Please do. Ac- 
 cept it as a little gift from me. 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Longingly, as she goes toward Evelyn a few 
 
 steps.) 
 No, ma'am. Thank you. But if you was to stay 
 and talk to me awhile — only maybe ten minutes — 
 I'm pretty lonesome — five minutes even — 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Plaintively.) 
 Oh, Ricky, anything but that. I'm dead! Good 
 night! (Exit at left.) 
 
 (Ricky crosses to fireplace and stands, arms akimbo, 
 looking into it.) 
 
 Ricky. 
 (With an attempt at cheerfulness.) 
 Well, here we are again. Hello, fire ! You and 
 me has been keeping company quite some time now; 
 ain't we? 
 
 As she speaks, the right door opens, and Oliver 
 enters with an armful of wood. He crosses, and she 
 stands shyly aside while he drops the wood, and 
 bending over the fire, builds it up. Ricky, stricken 
 quite dumb in his presence, tiptoes to her broom and 
 pail, picks up the broom, and starts sweeping. 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 77 
 
 Oliver, unconscious of her presence, consults his 
 watch, crosses to table, sits, makes a few figures, 
 stops, arranges his papers and books neatly and 
 crossing to window up right, throws up the shade, 
 folds his arms, and stands waiting. 
 
 Ricky. 
 (On her knees, cleaning under the table.) 
 Have I got time to wipe up? 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Startled.) 
 
 Who spoke? 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Rising.) 
 It's only me. 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Peering at her shortsightedly.) 
 Do I know you? 
 
 Ricky. 
 Miss Ricketts. May Jessamine Ricketts. (He 
 stares at her, puzzled, not recognizing her.) Mis' 
 Fownes help. Ricky ! 
 
 Oliver. 
 Ah, yes. I buttoned your dress last night. 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Embarrassed.) 
 Yes, sir! (Drops to her knees and resumes clean- 
 ing. ) 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Crossing down to table.) 
 May I ask what you are doing under there? 
 
78 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Ricky. 
 Cleaning! I thought I better get the place tidy 
 before the angels started to track it all up. 
 
 Oliver. 
 You mean — ? 
 
 Ricky. 
 To-morrow ! I guess it's pret' near here. 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Gravely comparing his watch with the clock on the 
 mantelshelf. ) 
 We still have twenty minutes. 
 
 Ricky. 
 {Rising, broom in hand,) 
 What do you want me to do first? 
 
 Oliver. 
 Let us omit the cleaning. Shall we talk? 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Dropping the broom with alacrity,) 
 Yes, sir. 
 
 Oliver. 
 Where would you like to sit? 
 
 Ricky. 
 I'm uster to the rug than any place. 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Drawing rocking-chair from down left up to fire- 
 place. ) 
 And I shall sit here. 
 
 (Ricky sits cross-legged with her back to the 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 79 
 
 fire, facing Oliver in his chair. There is a long 
 silence, on his part a musing one.) 
 
 Ricky. 
 ( Wriggling uneasily. ) 
 I wish I was a mind reader. 
 
 Oliver. 
 {Absently.) 
 Beg pardon? 
 
 Ricky. 
 Then you wouldn't have to speak a word to me if 
 you didn't want to. 
 
 Oliver. 
 {Rousing himself.) 
 I must ask your forgiveness. You see, I am alone 
 so much — all of the time practically — that silence 
 is a habit with me. 
 
 Ricky. 
 
 It's bad for you not to talk once in a while. Talk- 
 ing lets the poison out. 
 
 Oliver. 
 {Interested.) 
 And what poisons you? 
 
 Ricky. 
 People! I hate 'em. They're nasty-minded and 
 mean. You've got to wait on 'em from morning till 
 night, and then they — look down on you because you 
 never had a chance to go to school like they did. 
 And the men is always putting their arm around you. 
 
 Oliver. ' 
 I thought women rather fancied that sort of thing. 
 
80 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Ricky. 
 From the right one, yes. Now if you — {Pauses 
 abruptly.) You wouldn't do that. You're different 
 from other men. 
 
 Oliver. 
 {Sadly.) 
 I am afraid I am. 
 
 Ricky. 
 Afraid ! My goodness ! If the whole world was 
 like you — 
 
 Oliver. 
 {Rising.) 
 What a stupid place it would be! Eh? A place 
 full of books and figures and dusty facts — and lonely 
 days and lonelier nights. 
 
 Ricky. 
 {Surveying him shrewdly.) 
 You been poisoned, too. 
 
 Oliver. 
 {Rises and goes to table, where he fills the pipe lying 
 there and lights it.) 
 I daresay. However, it doesn't matter now. {He 
 hesitates at a confidence.) 
 
 Ricky. 
 {Softly.) 
 
 Tell me. 
 
 Oliver. 
 
 {Capitulating to her sympathy.) 
 
 I used to stutter. In my childhood the habit was 
 
 quite pronounced and afforded me no little painful 
 
 embarrassment. My family was ashamed of me. I 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 81 
 
 was ashamed, too. (Laughs cheerfully and crosses 
 back to stand before the fire.) 
 
 Ricky. 
 Don't! It makes me hurt all over. 
 
 Oliver. 
 During my boyhood, I learned to protect myself 
 in a way : by saying nothing. It simplified the whole 
 affair but did not tend to endear me to my relatives. 
 In fact, they grew to dislike me. They thought me 
 sullen, bitter, impossible. I don't believe I was. And 
 being left alone, I began to conquer the thing slowly 
 but surely. First, I analyzed myself, and found that 
 I was too enthusiastic, too easily excited, that I 
 cared too much about people and what they said and 
 did. So I practiced a lack of interest. I fixed my 
 thoughts on the abstract instead of the personal. 
 And — just when I got the whip hand and could hold 
 up my head among my fellow men, I fell in love. 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Clapping her hands delightedly.) 
 And she loved you for being so brave! 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Gravely.) 
 She laughed at me. 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Painfully.) 
 Laughed ! 
 
 Oliver. 
 You see — I cared then. And caring, I lapsed 
 again into my old habit of stuttering. I forgot my 
 studiously cultivated poise, my detachment. I loved 
 
82 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 her, and because I loved her I stuttered when I asked 
 her to marry me. (Throws back his head in a genu- 
 ine laugh. Ricky suddenly buries her face in her 
 hands.) Shortly after that, desperately in need of 
 something, I found a book on astronomy — just a 
 child's primer. I have it now. (Crosses to table and 
 rummages among the papers there.) Yes. Here 
 it is! (Absently he turns the leaves, sees a para- 
 graph of interest, becomes absorbed, sits in chair 
 right of table, and reads.) 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Rising, after a short pause.) 
 Thank you for telling me. 
 
 Oliver^ 
 
 (Starting up.) 
 
 I say ! It isn't at all nice of me to forget you. 
 
 Ricky. 
 That's all right. I'm used to it. 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Coming down left.) 
 Let's be friends. 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Ecstatically.) 
 Oh! 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Putting out his hand.) 
 We haven't much time, and I'm rather sorry. 
 (Ricky puts her hand in his.) I haven't talked so 
 much in years. It's been quite delightful. 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Tensely.) 
 I wish that to-morrow would never come so that 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 83 
 
 I could work for you and take care of you all my 
 life long, to — to make up for what the others didn't 
 do. 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Touched.) 
 My dear ! 
 
 Ricky. 
 Don't say that! I couldn't bear it. (They un- 
 clasp hands. She backs away, confused.) I got 
 some hot coffee on the stove for you. 
 
 Oliver. 
 Shall we have it together? 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Delightedly.) 
 We? Everything's ready. I'll bring it in. 
 
 Ricky crosses stage and, runs out at right. 
 Oliver stares thoughtfully at the fire, then goes to 
 table, picks up the book in which he has been recently 
 interested, closes it decisively, smooths his hair, and 
 removes his horn-rimmed spectacles. Ricky reenters 
 at right with a complete coffee set, with two cups and 
 saucers on a tray, and crosses to fireplace, depositing 
 it on the rug. 
 
 Ricky. 
 Now! (Squats beside it.) 
 
 Oliver. 
 This is quite — er — jolly! (Looks down at the 
 tray.) It seems such a distance down there. Am I 
 expected to fold up like a tent and collapse beside 
 you? 
 
84 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Merrily, as she -fills the cups,) 
 You are funny! 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Sitting cross-legged on the rug beside her.) 
 Thank you ! 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Bewildered, looks at him.) 
 But — what did you do while I was away? All of 
 a sudden, you're different ! 
 
 Oliver. 
 Possibly it was the spectacles. 
 
 Ricky. 
 That's what it is ! I ain't afraid of you any more. 
 Oh, don't ever put 'em on again because you got such 
 nice eyes. There's twinkles in 'em. 
 
 Oliver. 
 I assure you there isn't a twinkle left. 
 
 Ricky. 
 
 (Excitedly.) 
 
 Yes! There was one just then looking at me! 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Gallantly.) 
 Then it saw a very charming little person. 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Looking back of her.) 
 Where? Who? 
 
 Oliver. 
 Miss — er — Ricky! I believe I shall call you 
 Rikki-tikki-tavi. 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 85 
 
 (They sip their coffee.) 
 
 Ricky. 
 That's pretty! Where'd you get it from? 
 
 Oliver. 
 A story of Kipling's. Rikki-tikki-tavi was a mon- 
 goose. 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Evidently crushed by this.) 
 The goose part fits me. But what does "mon" 
 stand for? 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Laughs heartily for the first time.) 
 Never mind ! Nothing whatever that should of- 
 fend you. Another cup of coffee, please. 
 
 Ricky. 
 ( Uncomfortably. ) 
 Don't look at my hands. They ain't nice and 
 smooth like other ladies' hands. 
 
 Oliver. 
 The serviceable hand is the most beautiful, Rikki- 
 tikki! 
 
 Ricky. 
 
 (Surveying herself consciously.) 
 I must be a sight, with your shoes on and every- 
 thing, but I brought some other clothes with me — 
 some pretty good-looking ones if they're pressed out. 
 (Absently rubs the back of her hand against her 
 cheek and unconsciously leaves a smear of soot 
 there. ) 
 
86 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Oliver. 
 
 (Observing her critically.) 
 
 You have picked up a bit of soot. Have you a 
 
 handkerchief? (Ricky feels in the pockets of his 
 
 coat without finding one. He offers her his.) Take 
 
 this ! 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Rubbing her cheek.) 
 
 Is it off? 
 
 Oliver. 
 Not yet. (Again she scrubs.) Let me have it. 
 (Rising to his knees, he rubs at the spot.) 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Humbly.) 
 Don't bother about me, Mr. Keane. 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Interested in the scrubbing process.) 
 Turn your face toward me a trifle more. There! 
 I believe it's gone. (He pokes her cheek with an 
 experimental finger.) Do you know — you are very 
 soft and — and pleasing? (Ricky is stricken dumb 
 again. ) I shouldn't mind doing it all over. You are 
 really quite — quite magnetic to the touch, little 
 Rikki-tikki! (He leans toward her slowly as the 
 clock strikes the three-quarter hour. Oliver starts 
 up, dazed.) Fifteen minutes to six. I had forgotten. 
 (Ricky slumps wearily, her hands folded in her lap, 
 Oliver goes to window up right, and looks out. Pale 
 blue lights off up right indicate the break of dawn.) 
 Shall we arouse the others? 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 87 
 
 Ricky. 
 I wouldn't. Let 'em go out the way they are and 
 not wake up. No use to scare 'em. 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Turning back.) 
 Are you frightened, Rikki-tikki? 
 
 Ricky. 
 
 (Hopelessly.) 
 No. I ain't afraid. I'm glad. I've got pretty 
 tired these last few years. (Sighs.) Maybe some 
 place else I will get a square deal, and somebody will 
 learn me the things I'm crazy to know : books and 
 embroidery and all that. Or I would like a farm 
 with flowers on it where I could work outdoors in the 
 wind and let it blow me every which way. 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Gently.) 
 I hope you find your farm. 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Hopefully.) 
 Which direction are you going? 
 
 Oliver. 
 I don't know. 
 
 Ricky. 
 I wish you did. We might go at least part of the 
 way together, and neither of us would get lonesome 
 then. There's just one thing I'm sorry about: I 
 never got engaged. Not a single person ever said, 
 "Will you?" and I said, "Yes." And it's too late 
 now. I guess I will never get engaged or have chil- 
 dren or anything. (Oliver absently inspects a ring 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 on his finger. Ricky rises.) I'd better get into my 
 Judgment Day dress. My mother will have a fit 
 when she sees the way I cut it over. It was hers. 
 (Starts to right.) 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Crossing down right with a queer smile, he meets, 
 her and holds out the ring.) 
 Will you? 
 
 Ricky. 
 Will I what? 
 
 Oliver. 
 You — you made the remark that nobody ever said, 
 "Will you?" So I shall say it. Will you? 
 
 Ricky. 
 ( Trembling. ) 
 You ain't asking me to marry you, Mr. Keane? 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Awkwardly.) 
 I believe I am. Yes. I'm quite positive that I am. 
 
 Ricky. 
 But you don't mean it. It's only a joke! 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Gravely.) 
 It is scarcely the time to accuse me of being light 
 and frivolous. Look at me (Ricky faces him diz- 
 zily) — and tell me what you see. 
 
 Ricky. 
 
 (Unsteadily.) 
 They ain't any more twinkles. 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 89 
 
 Oliver. 
 What else? 
 
 Ricky. 
 And you're lonesome and tired. 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Picking up her hand and slipping his ring on her 
 finger. ) 
 Take this with you to your farm, and if I can find 
 you, I will, Rikki-tikki! Would you like me to? 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Adoringly.) 
 Oh! 
 
 Oliver. 
 You wouldn't think me a dusty, musty bookworm 
 or an awkward clown? Or laugh at me? You would, 
 as a woman, consider me just a man and be patient 
 with my mistakes and my timidity? 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Breaking away from him,) 
 Please don't! 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Misunderstanding her action.) 
 After all, it is rather too much to expect. (He 
 goes to the fire and relights his pipe, then crosses to 
 right door.) I'll be back in five minutes, and we'll 
 face the thing together. I'd like you to wear the 
 ring, anyway, if you will. (Exit, right.) 
 
 (Ricky, with a sob crosses slowly and exit, right.) 
 
 After a short pause, Evelyn enters at left, crosses 
 to table, and restlessly lights a cigarette. By acci- 
 
90 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 dent she drops the cigarette case on the -floor. After 
 a moment, Leslie enters at left, pausing in doorway. 
 
 Leslie. 
 {Brightening.) 
 Eve ! What luck to find you up ! And where did 
 you get the cigarettes? I've been dying for one all 
 evening. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (None too cordially.) 
 They were here. Why didn't you take one? 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Crossing to table, picks up cigarette case, takes out 
 a cigarette, and lays case on table.) 
 You know mamma. And not only mamma but 
 Till. He loathes women to smoke. (She lights a 
 cigarette and puffs it.) I'm so glad you can't sleep. 
 I want a little chat with you. (She settles herself in 
 the chair by the table, as Evelyn roams the room 
 nervously.) I have never met anyone I admire as 
 much as you. You don't mind my saying so, I'm 
 sure. And I want some pointers from you. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Stopping short and surveying her curiously.) 
 About what? 
 
 Leslie. 
 Life in general. It's dreadful to be young and not 
 to know how to play the game. I mean to learn, and 
 learn it cleverly, you can rest assured of that. Just 
 as yet, I've had no thrilling experiences such as 
 you've had, and it makes me furious. How can one 
 be well poised unless one knows values? 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 91 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Crossing and standing over her.) 
 I don't believe I understand what you're driv- 
 ing at. 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Laughing.) 
 Of course you do ! I think I made myself quite 
 plain. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 How old are you, Leslie? 
 
 Leslie. 
 I'm nearly twenty, and a girl of twenty these days 
 is nobody's fool. You know that. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 But — you are just out of school; aren't you? 
 
 Leslie. 
 What if I am? Do you suppose I learned nothing 
 there but French and German verbs? How ridicu- 
 lous ! When the teachers' backs are turned, we 
 smoke and gamble and flirt the same as women of 
 your kind do, and while we're not recognized adven- 
 turesses or vampires, don't think for a minute we're 
 slow ! Indeed not ! 
 
 (Evelyn puts out her cigarette and sits in chair 
 back of table, studying Leslie.) 
 
 Evelyn. 
 What does Till think of it? 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Airily.) 
 He doesn't dream of it. Mon Dieu! Nor mamma, 
 
92 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 either. I'm a simple shrinking violet to them, and 
 it's clever of me to play the part so well. At least I 
 won't have to learn that. You see, that is exactly 
 why I admire you so tremendously. You're up on 
 those things, every little trick of manner and speech, 
 and you must teach me all you know. You must! 
 
 Evelyn. 
 {Slowly.) 
 I'm very dense to-night or else my nerves are play- 
 ing weird jokes on me. Just what is it that you think 
 I know so much about? 
 
 Leslie. 
 Men, of course! How to attract them and make 
 them perfectly crazy over you, how to hold them even 
 if you don't care a lot yourself, and to get rid of 
 them gracefully, once you are through with them. 
 It must be wonderfully fascinating sport ! 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Roughly.) 
 Do you realize what you are saying? 
 
 Leslie. 
 Certainly I do. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 You can't. It isn't possible. 
 
 Leslie. 
 I mean every word I have said, and you needn't 
 treat me like a child or pretend you don't under- 
 stand. I know your reputation, Eve Hempstead. 
 (Evelyn rises and crosses to -fireplace, where she' 
 stands an instant in silence. Finally she laughs, and 
 at some length. Leslie rises and comes down to 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 93 
 
 curl up on couch.) How silly of you to try to pull 
 the wool over my eyes ! Now that you've stopped 
 bluffing, we can talk seriously, as one woman to an- 
 other. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 {Trying to control her laughter,) 
 Yes. Can't we? 
 
 Leslie. 
 And personally I consider I'm paying you quite 
 a compliment. There aren't many women as fast as 
 you are that I'd have anything to do with. But you 
 are so brilliant! 
 
 Evelyn. 
 
 Thank you! 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Reflecting.) 
 Let me see. What shall I ask you first? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Gravely.) 
 We must make no mistake there. A first lesson 
 badly given does unspeakable harm to one's art. 
 
 Leslie. 
 So I've heard. Suppose you start me on some- 
 thing simple like lying, for example. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Doubtfully.) 
 That remark betrays what an amateur you really 
 are. You see, lying is a separate study in itself. 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Seriously.) 
 Is it, indeed? 
 
94 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Evelyn. 
 It requires not only a good memory, but a most 
 delicate technique. As a rule, I teach lying as a 
 post-graduate course. 
 
 Leslie. 
 ( Worried. ) 
 How unfortunate, when I need it so badly right 
 now! But I'll tell you later about that. What 
 would you suggest for beginners? Flirting? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Crosses and sits beside Leslie on the couch.) 
 Excellent ! Tell me what you know. 
 
 Leslie. 
 I've been quite successful with bachelors. The 
 married men seem more difficult. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 As a matter of fact, they are the simpler of the 
 two. Just say, "Yonr wife has a sweet face. What 
 a pity she dresses her hair that way !" 
 
 Leslie. 
 I see. But why hair? W T hy not clothes or man- 
 ners ? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 Because a married woman's hair is no secret to 
 her husband. Either she goes to bed with it done up 
 in hideous curlers, or it strings out untidily of morn- 
 ings. Any mention of his wife's hair to a married 
 man touches him on a sore spot. 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Delightedly.') 
 Splendid ! I'll not forget ! Is there anything in 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 95 
 
 particular you would like me to remember in regard 
 to bachelors? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 Wind them up and let them talk about themselves. 
 When they threaten to run down, say, "Oh, how in- 
 teresting ! And then what did you do ?" 
 
 Leslie. 
 I could hug you for all this valuable information ! 
 And you will be proud of me when you see what prog- 
 ress I'll make. But to go back: you must teach me 
 to lie gracefully even if it's only a teeny bit of a les- 
 son. Otherwise, how can I handle Till? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 Do you mean you want to know how to get rid 
 of him? 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Laughing.) 
 No! I am going to marry him, silly! 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (After a pause.) 
 I thought you loved Till. 
 
 Leslie. 
 Don't be old-fashioned, Eve ! I'm fond of him, of 
 course. He is a perfect old peach, and, thank 
 heaven, not the suspicious kind who would snoop 
 around and try to find out things about me ! The 
 truth of the matter is that I'm awfully fond of a 
 good time, and I want the freedom it takes to enjoy 
 one's self thoroughly. Mamma won't give it to me, 
 so I shall have to marry to get it. I've plenty of 
 money ; so that doesn't worry me. All that I want is 
 
96 CINDERELLA OF THE STOR M 
 
 to be free — free to do as I please when and why I 
 please ; and poor old Till will be the goat. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Ris'i7ig, speaks furiously.) 
 You little rotter! 
 
 Leslie. 
 {Jarred out of her complacency, surveys Evelyn 
 shrewdly. ) 
 Ah ! You do care ! 
 
 Evelyn. 
 {Trying to be nonchalant.) 
 Certainly I care. Till and I grew up together. I 
 won't have you play him for a fool if I can help it. 
 
 Leslie. 
 {Sweetly.) 
 What can you do to prevent it? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 If necessary, I will tell him the whole thing. 
 
 Leslie. 
 And do you think he would believe you and not 
 me? I'm just an innocent little girl, you see. You 
 are not — quite — that ! 
 
 Evelyn. 
 {After a pause, speaks crisply.) 
 You are perfectly right. I must use other tactics. 
 You've no heart to appeal to and only a selfish tinkle 
 of a brain ; so I'm rather at a loss. 
 
 Leslie. 
 ( Yawning. ) 
 Don't trouble. I shan't change my plans in the 
 least. 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 97 
 
 Evelyn. 
 
 (Sitting again.) 
 See here, Les. Be fair. Till has a future, and 
 that future will be ruined if you kill his faith in you. 
 
 Leslie. 
 I don't intend to. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 He would know instinctively if you deceived him. 
 He loves you. To him you represent the ideal woman 
 — sweet, helpful, clean-minded — a woman to fight for 
 and to protect. 
 
 Leslie. 
 It isn't a particularly difficult role to play. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 Play it with some else, but not Till. He is square 
 and fine and sincere. If you can't be that, break the 
 engagement. Let him go. 
 
 Leslie. 
 ( Rising. ) 
 So that you could have him? (Goes up to table 
 and lights another cigarette.) 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Humbly.) 
 Lord, no ! I'm not his kind. 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Puzzled.) 
 Then why are you interesting yourself so in his 
 affairs? I rather fancied you were in love with him. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Sim ply.) 
 I am. 
 
98 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Leslie. 
 You had a chance to marry him once. Why didn't 
 you take it? Why didn't you help him build up this 
 future of his that you speak of? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 Because I was a coward. I was afraid of being 
 poor. I'd always been poor, and I was afraid of it. 
 So I failed him. 
 
 Leslie. 
 Yet you expect me to do something you wouldn't 
 do. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Rising.) 
 
 I didn't realize how much it meant to him or to 
 me until later — much too late to do anything about 
 it, and I haven't had a moment's peace since then. 
 I fly from place to place and from one giddy adven- 
 ture to another, trying to forget. I go and go until 
 I'm ready to drop. I'm dizzy and worn out with 
 going. I'm deadly, deadly tired — (She regains her 
 poise and finishes monotonously.) All this is quite 
 beside the point. Till deserves the best there is. 
 Will you be the one to give it to him? 
 
 Leslie. 
 
 (Fretfully.) 
 
 It would bore me into an early grave, Eve. I 
 
 appreciate how you feel about it. In fact, I'm rather 
 
 sorry for you. But why put it up to me? What 
 
 can I do? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 Let him alone. Disappoint him if you must, but 
 don't lead him into a trap and then torture him. 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 99 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Peevishly.) 
 I shall marry Till ; that is certain, even if I divorce 
 him five minutes later. And you have no right to 
 speak of me as if I were a dreadful brigand or a 
 highwayman. I wouldn't know how to torture any- 
 one. I'm just a child. (Evelyn stares at her a 
 moment and breaks into a laugh — a laugh that fairly 
 convulses her. She clings to the back of the couch 
 for support. Leslie takes this laughter as a com- 
 pliment and smiles.) Although I do say some bright 
 things; don't I? (This threatens Evelyn with a 
 fresh attack, and she can only nod, with her handker- 
 chief pressed to her mouth.) I am sure we shall be 
 better friends than ever now. So run along and 
 finish your nap. (Evelyn, unable to speak, goes up 
 left.) Good night, darling! 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Chokingly.) * 
 Good night, my angel ! (Exit upstairs, left, still 
 laughing. ) 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Disgustedly.) 
 Flippant thing! (Lights another cigarette and 
 inhales the smoke luxuriously. As she turns her back 
 to go up stage — ) 
 
 Ricky enters at right in white dress and shoes, paus- 
 ing in the doorway. 
 
 Ricky. 
 
 ( Ominously. ) 
 You better start gnashing your old teeth. 
 
100 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Leslie. 
 {Turning sharply upon her.) 
 You were listening to us. Why aren't you in bed? 
 
 Ricky. 
 ( Solemnly. ) 
 I'm waiting for to-morrow. 
 
 Leslie. 
 I shall tell Mrs. Fownes what an eavesdropper 
 you are. 
 
 Ricky. 
 
 She can't do nothing then. She'll be pretty busy 
 her own self, and so will you. I guess in two more 
 minutes you will be flapping around, wishing for a 
 big cake of ice to set on. 
 
 Leslie. 
 What are you talking about? 
 
 Ricky. 
 And I hope they ain't even a soda fountain down 
 there ! 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Furiously.) 
 You are a stupid, impertinent little fool! (Exit 
 at left.) 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Under her breath.) 
 You're another. (Thinking better of this, she 
 runs up left and calls off anxiously.) But I forgive 
 you (continues absently to herself) — as we forgive 
 others who trespass — (She goes to the fireplace 
 and stirs the half-dead coals. In the silence, she 
 becomes unnerved with sudden fear. She makes a 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 101 
 
 dash across stage to door at right and reaches it 
 as — ) 
 
 Oliver enters, right. 
 
 Oliver. 
 Where were you going? 
 
 Ricky. 
 
 (Hoarsely.} 
 
 To find you. I'm afraid. I'm terrible afraid! 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Kindly.) 
 Don't be, little Ricky! (He opens his arms, and 
 she goes to him.) You have done your best; haven't 
 you? (She nods, her face pressed against his coat.) 
 You have fought a very hard battle — because that 
 is what life is: a battle. And you've fought against 
 great odds and with no encouragement. There is a 
 sure reward for bravery; there must be. And there 
 will be a place where lonely, tired, bruised souls may 
 stop awhile and find rest and be comforted. (Pauses 
 a moment.) Will you — will you say, "I love you"? 
 I have never heard it. 
 
 Ricky. 
 
 (Sobbing.) 
 I love you ! I do ! 
 
 (He stoops to kiss her. The clock on the mantel- 
 shelf very slowly starts to strike six. At the second 
 chime — ) 
 
 Curtain 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Third Act 
 Scene: Same as in Act II, a moment later. 
 
 At rise of curtain, the clock is just finishing the 
 last stroke of six. Ricky is still in Oliver's arms, 
 with her head buried on his breast, and he is staring 
 over her head toward left, tensely expectant. They 
 hold this position a moment in silence. By degrees, 
 the room grows lighter as day breaks. Lights off 
 right change to yellow, and stage lights gradually 
 come on during the ensuing scene. 
 
 Ricky. 
 (In a frightened, muffled tone.) 
 What happened? 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Dazed.) 
 Nothing ! 
 
 (As they listen intently, the silence grows oppres- 
 sive and they instinctively grip each other more 
 tightly. After another moment of rigid suspense on 
 the part of both, Ricky unclasps her arms and 
 moves away from him an awkward step or two.) 
 
 Ricky. 
 
 Well — (A desperate embarrassment seizes them. 
 They avoid each other's eyes.) I bought these slip- 
 pers last summer. 
 
 103 
 
104 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Also looking floorward.) 
 I wear boots. 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Politely.) 
 Are they hard to break in? 
 
 Oliver. 
 Not when you buy them large enough. (They 
 both essay a light, casual laugh, which dies a chill 
 death.) 
 
 Ricky. 
 ( Unhappily. ) 
 I guess I will be going. It must be getting pretty 
 late. 
 
 Oliver. 
 I have the time here. It is just (he pulls out his 
 •watch) — five minutes past — six! (With a start, he 
 compares the watch with the clock, goes to table, puts 
 on his horn-rimmed spectacles, and catching up a 
 sheet of paper, consults it. He speaks to himself 
 wonderingly.) The figures are correct. (He stares 
 unseeingly at Ricky.) Is there a cosmic law of at- 
 traction and repulsion that transcends human de- 
 duction ? 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Humbly.) 
 
 I don't know. 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Absently.) 
 It would prove conclusively the omnipresence of 
 an attentive intelligence — an infinitely higher one 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 105 
 
 than ours. (He slowly tears the paper to bits and 
 goes to the window.) And kindlier! 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Dully.) 
 It's morning. (Her former apathy settles upon 
 her. ) 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Looking out of the window.) 
 Nature has slept quietly and trustfully, and now 
 it wakes refreshed. All the little creatures venture 
 forth in search of food and drink. 
 
 Enter Harry at right, with a pitcher of water. He 
 stares at Ricky's white gown. 
 
 Harry. 
 What's the idea? Trying to slip over a little party 
 on me? 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Sullenly.) 
 No! 
 
 Harry. 
 
 ( Warningly. ) 
 
 Papa spank ! Little girls must always ask papa 
 
 when they want to go to a dance. Then maybe he'll 
 
 go, too. (He chucks her under the chin, and she 
 
 drazvs away shudderingly.) 
 
 Oliver. 
 ( Gravely. ) 
 I assure you we were not dancing. 
 
106 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Harry. 
 (Surprised.) 
 Have you been up very long? 
 
 Oliver. 
 I have not been to bed. 
 
 Harry. 
 What ! (He looks at them both and suddenly 
 roars with laughter.) That's pretty good, that is! 
 Old Ollie ! (His aching head, jarred by the laughter, 
 causes him to sit suddenly on the couch and put a 
 hand to his brow in pain.) 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Puzzled.) 
 Miss Ricky was kind enough to keep me company. 
 
 Harry. 
 
 (Leeringly.) 
 She's a good-hearted little kid. Always willing to 
 please. Ain't that right? (Ricky bolts for right 
 door, as he takes a swallow of water from the pitcher. 
 He calls after her.) Hey! Make me some coffee! 
 Damn strong. And hurry ! 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Drawing a shaky breath of rebellion and despair.) 
 
 Yes, sir ! 
 
 (Exit Ricky at right.) 
 
 Oliver. 
 (To Harry.) 
 Need you speak in that tone? 
 
 Harry. 
 
 (Flippantly.) 
 If I want to. I'm paying her — not you. Don't 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 107 
 
 spring any of that hero slush on me, Ollie, because 
 the old roof won't stand another chuckle. Have a 
 heart ! 
 
 Oliver. 
 {Slowly.) 
 I can't believe that you would imply that I — that 
 she — You didn't mean that; did you? 
 
 Harry. 
 (Chuckling in spite of the pain.) 
 Aw, get out, Romeo ! I'm on to you quiet ones. 
 
 (Oliver walks away and comes back to him. Harry 
 drinks.) 
 
 Oliver. 
 {Mildly.) 
 
 Shall you be sober by ten o'clock? 
 
 Harry. 
 {Groaning.) 
 Hope so. Why? 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Mildly.) 
 Because if you are, I intend to knock you down. 
 
 Harry. 
 (Bewildered.) 
 Me? Knock me down? 
 
 Oliver. 
 As many times as you have strength enough left to 
 get up again. I may also step on you. I shall de- 
 cide that later. 
 
108 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Harry. 
 
 (Still bewildered.) 
 Something tells me you are angry with me, Ollie. 
 
 Oliver. 
 On second thought, I believe the present time is the 
 more propitious. (Removes his spectacles, lays them 
 on the table, and rolls up his sleeves. Harry watches 
 him anxiously. Oliver suddenly roars at him.) 
 Stand up ! 
 
 Harry. 
 (Cringing.) 
 Ouch! Don't yell at me. (He holds his head in 
 both hands.) 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Startled at his own tone.) 
 What remarkable vibrations the voice may be cap- 
 able of! (He growls experimentally, seems pleased 
 at the volume, advances on Harry, and shouts.) 
 Get up, you swine ! 
 
 Harry. 
 ( Rising, s tupified. ) 
 See here, Ollie : if I've said anything to offend you 
 — damn me if I know what it was ! — but if I said it, 
 I apologize. 
 
 (Oliver, prepared for action, is now rather at a 
 loss.) 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Puzzled.) 
 Is that all there is to it? 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 109 
 
 Harry. 
 (Grumbling.) 
 It's enough ; ain't it? I apologize, and that ends it. 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Rolling down his sleeves.) 
 After all, it's quite simple. (He is apparently re- 
 gretful and at the same time pleased with himself. 
 He expands visibly, turns sharply on Harry, and 
 once more roars at him.) Sit down ! (Harry obeys. 
 Oliver gets pipe and tobacco from table, swaggers 
 to fireplace, and fills pipe.) 
 
 Enter Mrs. Quayle at left. 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 (Alarmed.) 
 Surely I heard voices raised in anger. (She be- 
 comes angry herself.) Have you no consideration 
 for those of us who are trying to snatch a few mo- 
 ments of rest before to-morrow? 
 
 (Oliver's inflated pride collapses at her reference 
 to "to-morrow" Mrs. Quayle comes down left.) 
 
 Harry. 
 (Laughing.) 
 By thunder! To-day's the day. Where's your 
 star, Ollie? Where's the little cut-up that was going 
 to jolt us off the map? 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Simply.) 
 On its way back to the sun. 
 
 Harry. 
 Slipped up on you, eh? Gave you the once-over 
 
110 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 and said, "I'm going to show this smart guy up and 
 make a fool of him." 
 
 Oliver. 
 ( Gravely. ) 
 Exactly. 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 (Who has been looking from one to the other, now 
 attacks Oliver.) 
 Did you write that ridiculous article? 
 
 Oliver. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 I have no patience with you, Oliver — I, who am so 
 tolerant of the failings of others, so broad-minded, 
 so considerate ! But this ! This last visionary prank 
 of yours is too much for me, and I am obliged to take 
 drastic steps as a means of protection. Henceforth 
 you may consider me as a complete stranger. (She 
 sits on the couch majestically.) 
 
 Oliver. 
 I was quite sincere. I hope you will believe that. 
 (A chuckle from Harry and a snort of disdain from 
 Mrs. Quayle. Oliver consults his watch.) In my 
 calculations there may possibly be some element of 
 resistance that I overlooked, in which case it is not 
 yet too late for the catastrophe to occur. 
 
 Mrs. Quayle and Harry. 
 (Alarmed, in concert.) 
 What! 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 111 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Still consulting the watch.) 
 We shall not be safe for some moments. 
 
 (The pitcher in Harry's hand begins to shake.) 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 (Timidly.) 
 You know so much more about it than we do, dear 
 Oliver. Tell me, is there no way we could send avia- 
 tors out to frighten off the thing? Surely it would' 
 not dare to approach if it realized our unfriendly 
 attitude. 
 
 (Oliver, unconscious of their presence, moves his 
 lips frowningly as he calculates. There is an instant 
 of silence and then, off stage, the didl, heavy roar of 
 an explosion. This sound may be produced by drop- 
 ping a heavy metal or stone weight, following the 
 crash immediately by sound of the thunder sheet.) 
 
 Harry. 
 (Dropping the pitcher and jumping to his feet.) 
 Good God! 
 
 (Mrs. Quayle sinks on the couch with a scream. 
 Oliver runs to the window and looks at the sky. 
 His gaze searching the landscape, lowers to the val- 
 ley.) 
 
 Oliver. 
 Fownes ! Your house has been blown up ! 
 
 Harry. 
 (Slowly and tragically.) 
 I forgot it ! I forgot to put the fire out under the 
 big tank. 
 
112 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 (Shocked out of her fright.) 
 What are you talking about? 
 
 Harry. 
 
 (Dazed.) 
 My still ! For God's sake, don't tell Enid ! (He 
 staggers to the window to look.) 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 (Rising.) 
 
 Your evil ways h&ve found you out, Harold. It is 
 a judgment upon you. For myself, I hope I never 
 see any of you again. 
 
 As she sweeps up stage around right end of table, 
 Enid and Leslie enter at left. 
 
 Harry. 
 (Agonized.) 
 Sh! 
 
 Leslie. 
 Oh, what was that noise? 
 
 Harry. 
 Some blasting in the valley. 
 
 Enid. 
 (Going toward the window.) 
 Where? (She speaks sharply to Harry.) Get 
 away from there, sweetheart, and let me look. 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 (Pausing on upstage side of table.) 
 Your home, Enid, your beautiful home is in ruins. 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 113 
 
 Enid. 
 What ! 
 
 Mrs. Qitayle. 
 And it's all Harry's fault. 
 
 Enid. 
 
 {Facing Oliver angrily.) 
 
 Nothing of the sort ! It is Oliver's fault. If he 
 
 hadn't dragged us up here in that silly storm of his, 
 
 we'd have been there to look after it. I shall never 
 
 forgive you, Oliver. 
 
 (Without a word, Oliver detaches himself from 
 the group at the windozv, crosses to left, picking up a 
 book from the table as he goes, and sits in rocking- 
 chair dozen left to read.) 
 
 Harry. 
 (To Enid.) 
 My poor little wife ! 
 
 Enid. 
 (Tartly.) 
 Oh, shut up, darling ! I never liked the place, any- 
 way, and you'll have to buy me a better one now. 
 
 Leslie. 
 Mamma, it isn't in ruins. Just the windows on 
 this side have been shattered ! Look ! 
 
 Enid. 
 Probably there isn't a mirror or a piece of glass- 
 ware left (as the thought strikes her, she says 
 pointedly to Harry) — or a bottle! 
 
114 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Harry. 
 My wine cellar! (He comes forward and drops on 
 the conchy his head in his hands.) 
 
 Enid. 
 (Sweetly.) 
 And you'll not be able to get any more, lover. 
 You know that; don't you, you poor thing? 
 
 Harry. 
 (Gravely.) 
 All that wine! 
 
 Leslie. 
 
 (Giggling.) 
 
 You can thank Oliver for making you reform. 
 
 Harry. 
 ( Viciously. ) 
 He and his "to-morrow" ! Blockhead ! 
 
 (Oliver reads on without having heard.) 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 (Takes a few steps up center toward left.) 
 Come Leslie! 
 
 Ricky, having changed back to the dress worn in 
 Act I, enters at right and stands listlessly in the 
 doorway. 
 
 Ricky. 
 Coffee ! 
 
 (Mrs. Quayle, up center left, turns back around 
 left end of table.) 
 
 Enid. 
 Set the table in here, Ricky. Have you a table- 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 115 
 
 cloth, Oliver? (Oliver does not hear.) It doesn't 
 matter. Clear off this stuff and bring in the cups 
 and saucers. No plates. 
 
 Ricky. 
 Yessum! (She sets dully about clearing the table.) 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 
 (Sits on left end of couch.) 
 
 We may as well have breakfast before returning 
 
 to the city. Is it possible to get a car here? Leslie 
 
 cannot be seen in an evening gown at this time of 
 
 the day. 
 
 Enid. 
 I'm in the same fix. And Harry would look rather 
 quaint himself. Wouldn't you, dearie? 
 
 Harry. 
 (Grumbling.) 
 All that good wine! 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 I shall not blame Oliver for the loss of our ward- 
 robe, although a check might not be unwelcome, since 
 we owe the disaster entirely to him. 
 
 (Ricky throws her a look of hatred.) 
 
 Leslie. 
 Mamma! It was only a trifle of seven or eight 
 hundred dollars. 
 
 Enid. 
 
 Oliver's bank account won't stand too heavy a 
 
 strain. (She laughs.) I fancy he'll have trouble 
 
 disposing of any future magazine articles. One 
 
 doesn't forget a mistake of that sort — and such a 
 
116 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 positive mistake! Oliver! Oliver! (Oliver starts 
 up.) Didn't you predict the end of the world to- 
 day ? 
 
 Oliver. 
 I did; yes! 
 
 Enid. 
 And give the statement out to the press? 
 
 Oliver. 
 Yes. 
 
 Enid. 
 (Sweetly.) 
 Don't you feel too silly for words? (Ricky bites 
 her lip and utters an exclamation under her b?*eath.) 
 What is it, Ricky? 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Sullenly.) 
 Nothing! (Exit at right.) 
 
 Oliver. 
 I was mistaken. 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Laughing.) 
 How ingenuous you are, Oliver ! For all the world 
 like a big, awkward schoolboy ! 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 (Severely.) 
 What a pity he didn't study longer and acquaint 
 himself with his subject more thoroughly! It is 
 criminal to speak with authority unless one is abso- 
 lutely sure. 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 117 
 
 Ricky reenters at right, with a heavy tray on 
 which are cups and saucers, also cream pitcher and 
 sugar bowl. Oliver crosses and relieves her of it. 
 She attempts a smile and goes out again at right. 
 Oliver sets tray on the table, takes off dishes, and 
 puts cups and saucers around at each place. 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Apologetically.) 
 A scientist is apt to blunder. There are so few 
 tangible facts to work with. 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 (Irritably.) 
 Then why be a scientist? Could anything be 
 plainer than that? 
 
 Derry enters at right. 
 
 Derry. 
 Good morning! Everybody up? 
 
 Ricky follows him in, carrying a large pot of cof- 
 fee which she sets on the table. Derry crosses to 
 warm himself before the fire. 
 
 Enid. 
 (Crossly.) 
 I hope you are not going to be cheerful before 
 breakfast, Till. I can't bear it. 
 
 Derry. 
 
 ( Laughing. ) 
 I expect to find all of you greeting the glad morn 
 with chirps of joy. You are still on earth; aren't 
 you? 
 
118 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Enid. 
 (With contempt.) 
 Oh! (Enid, Mrs. Quayle, and Leslie look at 
 Oliver with an expression of disdain.) You didn't 
 think for a moment we believed that idiotic rot! 
 
 Derry. 
 (Kindly, sensing Oliver's unhappiness.) 
 Well, better luck next time, Keane ! 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Humbly.) 
 I find I know so little that I shall not attempt to 
 express myself or teach again. 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 (Sharply.) 
 What will you do to make a living? 
 
 Oliver. 
 My needs are simple. I shall have everything I 
 want — almost everything. 
 
 Enid. 
 Don't hope for anything from me. 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Without malice.) 
 I never have hoped for anything from you. 
 
 Derry. 
 Coffee! Jove! It smells good, too. (He crosses 
 to table.) 
 
 (Ricky is patiently waiting in background, a little 
 up right of table.) 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 119 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 (Querulously, nodding toward coffeepot.) 
 Are you never going to pour it, Enid? 
 
 Enid. 
 Oh, Helen! Have a little patience, for the love 
 of heaven ! 
 
 (All gather about the table, with the exception of 
 Oliver, who crosses to fireplace, Harry, who still 
 holds his head in dull sorrow, and Ricky, who keeps 
 her position up right.) 
 
 Derry. 
 (To Leslie.) 
 'Morning, little girl ! Did you get any rest? 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Smiling roguishly.) 
 I slept the whole night through like a baby. 
 Didn't I, mamma? 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 (Fondly.) 
 My angel ! 
 
 (Enid pours the coffee, and Ricky passes the cups, 
 cream, and sugar to each in turn.) 
 
 Derry. 
 What's the matter with Harry? 
 
 Harry. 
 (Groaning.) 
 I paid one fifty a case for it — a hundred and fifty 
 dollars a case! 
 
 Enid. 
 Harry's still just blew up the house. He is en- 
 
120 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 joying a little grouch party just because he lost all 
 his wine and he will have to buy me that five-acre 
 place next the Robertsons'. 
 
 Derry. 
 Is that what the noise was? {Laughs heartily.) 
 
 Harry. 
 If Ollie hadn't hustled us off, it wouldn't have 
 happened. Blame him ! 
 
 Enid. 
 For once you are right, sweetheart. 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Sweetly.) 
 
 What a lot of mistakes grown-up people make! 
 
 Enid. 
 Not all the grown-ups are fools, Leslie. 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 (Pushing back her cup in sudden alarm.) 
 Merciful heavens ! Has it occurred to any of you 
 how this disgrace will rebound upon us as members of 
 his family? 
 
 Leslie. 
 We can say we don't know him, mamma! 
 
 (Derry looks at her in surprise.) 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 (Indignantly.) 
 I, his cousin, must suffer for his folly! 
 
 Enid. 
 I fancy we needn't worry. Oliver won't dare 
 show himself in public for quite some time. 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 121 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Raspingly.) 
 Gimme a cup of coffee. 
 
 Enid. 
 (Staring at her, displeased, before she answers.) 
 Please! You will wait until we have finished. 
 
 Ricky. 
 I don't want it for myself. I want it for him. 
 (She indicates Oliver, and Enid unwillingly pours 
 the coffee and gives the cup to Ricky.) 
 
 Enid. 
 (Acidly.) 
 If he had any manners he would sit at the table 
 with us. Do you take cream and sugar, Oliver? 
 Oliver ! 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Turning to her.) 
 Cream, thanks ! 
 
 Enid. 
 There isn't any more. You will have to do with- 
 out. (Ricky crosses to him with the cup, which he 
 accepts absently. She hesitates and crosses slowly 
 toward right door.) Come here and sit down like a 
 gentleman. I'm sick of your clownish ways. 
 (Oliver starts toward the table obediently.) 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Whirling about quickly and speaking in a choked, 
 furious voice.) 
 Don't do it ! You're too good for 'em. 
 
 (There is a startled movement from, all the others.) 
 
122 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Enid. 
 (Rising.) 
 That will do, Ricky ! You may go. 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Blind with rage.) 
 I'll go when I get good and ready ! 
 
 Enid. 
 You must be mad ! 
 
 Ricky. 
 If I am, you drove me to it, picking on him the way 
 you been doing! Ain't you got any heart, any of 
 you ? 
 
 Enid. 
 (Furiously.) 
 Leave this room ! 
 
 Ricky. 
 Don't you s'pose he knows he made a mistake? Is 
 that any reason why you should rub it in like this 
 and kick him when he's down? That ain't fair. He 
 done the best he could. They ain't one of j r ou that 
 ain't made mistakes — worse ones than he ever 
 thought of making, because he's white! 
 
 Enid. 
 ( Ominously. ) 
 What do you mean by this? 
 
 Ricky. 
 I mean you — and you and you! (Turns to one 
 after another.) The whole outfit of you. You 
 (looks at Enid) ain't got any right to live with your 
 husband and hate him like you do. Ain't that a 
 mistake? And she (pointing to Mrs. Quayle) 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 123 
 
 thinks she's a good woman when she's nothing but a 
 nasty-minded old hypocrite! 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 (Rising.) 
 You little beast! 
 
 Ricky. 
 
 (Rushing recklessly on.) 
 And she's (pointing to* Leslie) a rotter. Miss 
 Eve said so last night when she heard her say she 
 was going to marry him (pointing to Derry) and 
 make a goat out of him ! 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Jumping to her feet.) 
 It's a lie ! 
 
 Ricky. 
 
 You know it ain't a lie. 
 
 Derry. 
 (Rising uneasily.) 
 You are going a bit too far, Ricky. 
 
 Ricky. 
 Don't you make a mistake, Mr. Derry. 
 
 Harry. 
 
 (Rising and addressing Ricky savagely.) 
 Get out ! 
 
 Ricky. 
 
 (Turning on Harry.) 
 You ! You've tried to kiss me for the last time ! 
 
 Oliver. 
 Rikki-tikki ! 
 
12 4 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 (Ricky, brought sharply out of her fury, looks 
 first at hi?n and then at the others. Her chin quivers 
 impotently.) 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Facing the table.) 
 I'm sorry. 
 
 Enid. 
 (Coldly.) 
 You may go at once. I shall not need your serv- 
 ices after to-day. 
 
 Ricky. 
 
 Yessum. Thank you. (Exit at right with drag- 
 ging footsteps. Oliver places his cup of untouched 
 coffee on the mantelshelf and stares after her.) 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 I have never been so startled in my whole life. Is 
 the child crazy? 
 
 Enid. 
 Ungrateful imp! After all I've done for her. 
 (Comes down and takes Harry by the arm angrily.) 
 Is it true, darling? 
 
 . Harry. 
 Is what true, my love? 
 
 Enid. 
 What she said about your trying to kiss her? 
 
 Harry. 
 (Indignantly.) 
 No! 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 125 
 
 Enid. 
 How disappointing! I should have got a sable 
 coat out of you. 
 
 Derry. 
 (Who has been watching Leslie gravely.) 
 What on earth gave her such an idea about you? 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Innocently.) 
 I can't imagine unless she dreamed it. (She 
 throws him a hurt, beseeching glance.) You — you 
 believe it ! 
 
 Derry. 
 (Patting her hand.) 
 No, honey ! Don't I know you? 
 
 Leslie. 
 
 (Going to her mother tearfully.) 
 
 Mamma! Till doubts me! I am so unhappy! 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 (Gathering her in her arms and turning dramatically 
 to Derry.) 
 Tilden! Would you, can you suspect this pure 
 lily? 
 
 Derry. 
 (Genuinely ashamed.) 
 I am a cad. Forgive me, baby. 
 
 Leslie. 
 ( Waving him away. ) 
 No ! You have hurt me too deeply. Perhaps — 
 in time — 
 
126 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Enid. 
 Oh, let's break away from here and go back to 
 town ! This thing is getting on my nerves. 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Trying to be hospitable.) 
 Don't rush! I'm sure I've enjoyed — 
 
 (Enid sniffs coldly.) 
 
 Harry. 
 Can we get a car? 
 
 Derry. 
 Ours is all right. I went down the road this morn- 
 ing and looked it over. There is plenty of gas and 
 everything. 
 
 Enid. 
 Then for heaven's sake, let's go ! This place gives 
 me the creeps ! 
 
 Oliver. 
 Is there anything I — ? 
 
 Enid. 
 (Shortly.) 
 No! (She goes up center.) Everybody ready? 
 
 Derry. 
 Where is Eve? 
 
 Enid. 
 (Coming down again.) 
 I hadn't missed her. (Crosses to right door and 
 calls.) Ricky! 
 
 Ricky enters listlessly at right. 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 127 
 
 Ricky. 
 Yes, ma'am? 
 
 Enid. 
 (Peremptorily.) 
 Call Mrs. Hempstead ! We are leaving. 
 
 Ricky. 
 Yes, ma'am. (Crosses up to left door and exit 
 upstairs.) 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 That is always the way with women who claim to 
 suffer from insomnia. They sleep until noon. 
 
 Leslie. 
 But mamma! Poor Eve didn't get to bed until 
 after five. Neither of us — (She catches herself.) 
 Neither of us slept because she woke me up coming in. 
 
 Enid. 
 If Eve gadded about less, she would be as normal 
 as any of us. They say her wildness actually killed 
 poor Jack. He gave her everything, too. Eve was 
 a pauper and should have appreciated a noble soul 
 like his, even if he did take drugs. 
 
 Harry. 
 I don't do that. (To Enid.) Do I, dearest? 
 
 Not yet, sweetie ! 
 
 Enid. 
 ( Sharply. ) 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Dimpling.) 
 How strange this big, beautiful world is ! 
 
128 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Derry. 
 (Humbly to Leslie.) 
 I hope you will always stay just a little, little girl. 
 
 Leslie. 
 You don't want me to be — clever — like Eve? 
 
 (Derry hesitates.) 
 
 Enter Ricky at left, panic-stricken. 
 
 Ricky. 
 She's dead ! 
 
 (This announcement has the effect of paralyzing 
 the others for a moment. Then Derry leaps to his 
 feet.) 
 
 Derry. 
 My poor old girl ! (He runs up left, brushes 
 Ricky aside, and goes out at left door.) 
 
 Enid. 
 Phone for a doctor, Oliver. (Oliver hurries out 
 at center, and his voice is heard in an indistinct mur- 
 mur, vainly trying to get the operator.) Where did 
 you find her, Ricky? What was it? What did she 
 do? 
 
 Ricky. 
 ( Trembling. ) 
 I knocked on the door, and they wasn't no answer. 
 Then I opened it a teeny bit and seen she was asleep. 
 I was going to close it again, only she scared me the 
 way she was lying on the bed with her hands crossed 
 like a — like somebody dead. And she was so still ! 
 Next thing I seen a little bottle on the table by her. 
 It had folded white papers in it like headache pow- 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 129 
 
 ders, and some of 'em was gone. I run over and tried 
 to wake her. She — she — she — (Unable to go on, 
 she sobs.) 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Sharply.) 
 Suicide ! 
 
 (Enid leaves the group and goes out hastily at left.) 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 Whatever could have prompted such an action? 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Blazing at Leslie.) 
 You made her do it ! 
 
 (Leslie, genuinely frightened, backs toward her 
 mother for protection.) 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 (Throwing an arm about Leslie.) 
 My child? 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Contemptuously.) 
 She ain't a child. She knows enough to be a 
 wicked ol' grandmother! 
 
 Leslie. 
 Mamma ! Don't let her say such things ! 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 (Drawing herself up and speaking commandingly to 
 Ricky.) 
 Cease ! 
 
 Ricky. 
 And when she gets to be a grandmother, I hope 
 she don't even have children! 
 
130 CI NDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Enid and Derry, supporting Evelyn on either 
 side, enter at left. Ricky flies to flx tine couch. 
 Evelyn is pale and stupefied. She essays a smile. 
 
 Evelyn. 
 Please don't bother. 
 
 Enid. 
 (To Derry.) 
 Get her to the couch. Some water, Harry! 
 (Harry crosses and goes out at right. She raises 
 her voice and calls.) Oliver! 
 
 Oliver enters at center, 
 
 Oliver. 
 Central doesn't answer. How is she? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 Quite all right. Just — tired! (She sits on the 
 couch, her head dropping against the back of it. 
 Ricky, kneeling in front of Evelyn, chafes the tat- 
 ter's hands. Oliver pours a cup of coffee and 
 brings it down to her. Derry takes it from him and 
 bends over Evelyn, offering it to her.) 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 (To Enid in a lowered voice.) 
 What was it? 
 
 Enid. 
 Veronal ! 
 
 Leslie. 
 A drug fiend ! How dreadful of her ! 
 
 (Derry looks at Leslie with sharp displeasure. 
 Evelyn begins to laugh weakly.) 
 
CIN DERELLA OF THE STORM 131 
 
 Derry. 
 (To Evelyn, commandingly.) 
 Drink this down ! (He holds the coffee to her 
 lips.) 
 
 Evelyn. 
 I don't want it, Till. I want to sleep; that's all. 
 
 Derby. 
 
 You are not going to sleep. Understand? Drink 
 this. (Obediently she drinks.) How much of that 
 stuff did you take? 
 
 Evelyn. 
 Only ten grains. I'd never taken any before. I 
 was so tired, perhaps that is why it — (Her voice 
 trails off drowsily.) 
 
 Derry. 
 
 (Relieved.) 
 Ten grains isn't enough to hurt her. Another cup 
 of coffee, Keane. (Oliver takes the cup and refills 
 it. Derry sits beside Evelyn and draws her head 
 to his shoulder.) Listen, honey! Don't you know 
 you shouldn't frighten us like this? Remember: We 
 love you. 
 
 (Evelyn laughs again weakly.) 
 
 Evelyn. 
 Love! (Suddenly hides her face against his coat 
 and sobs brokenly.) 
 
 Derry. 
 (Holding her close.) 
 Sh ! Eve dear ! 
 
132 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Angrily, to Derry.) 
 Do you expect me to stand calmly by and watch 
 this maudlin exhibition? What right have you, my 
 fiance, to hold another woman in your arms and tell 
 her that you love her — a woman whose affairs are 
 known from the Country Club to the Exchange? 
 
 Derry. 
 (Catching Leslie up sharply.) 
 That will do ! 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Furiously.) 
 A woman who had the effrontery to tell me, not 
 two hours ago in this very room, that she was in love 
 with you and had always been ! 
 
 Derry. 
 Eve? (Rises.) 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Mockingly.) 
 Eve! Telling me how to flirt and lie and deceive 
 you! 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Seated on the floor and speaking to Leslie.) 
 You asked her to. 
 
 Derry. 
 (To Leslie, looking from one to the other.) 
 Then you were down here in the night. 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Biting her lip.) 
 Certainly I was. 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 133 
 
 Derry. 
 (Sternly.) 
 Why did you lie about it ? Don't you know that I 
 shall suspect you from now on — that I'll doubt every- 
 thing you say? 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Tearing the ring from her finger and throwing it on 
 the floor.) 
 You'll not get the chance ! Take your cheap ring! 
 I've always been ashamed of it. 
 
 She flounces up center as Harry enters at right with 
 a glass of water. 
 
 Mrs. Quayle. 
 (Surveying the others forbiddingly.) 
 I bid you good morning. (Sweeps up stage to 
 join Leslie.) 
 
 Enid. 
 (Exasperated.) 
 
 Good-bye! (To Harry.) Take them to the sta- 
 tion in the car, darling, and hurry! Good-bye, 
 Leslie ! 
 
 Leslie. 
 (Coldly.) 
 Humph ! 
 
 (Exeunt Leslie and Mrs. Quayle at center, fol- 
 lowed by Harry. Derry, dazed, reseats himself at 
 Evelyn's side.) 
 
 Enid. 
 (Sharply.) 
 Get up, Ricky! (Ricky scrambles up hastily.) 
 
134 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Take out those cups and saucers and the coffeepot. 
 We've got to clear up this place and get into town. 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Timidly.) 
 Are you going to let me go back with you? 
 
 Enid. 
 (Crossly.) 
 Certainly not! Didn't I discharge you? 
 
 Ricky. 
 I don't know if I could walk to the station. It's 
 pretty far. 
 
 Enid. 
 You should have thought of that before being so 
 impertinent. 
 
 Ricky. 
 
 Leo will miss me. 
 
 E*NID. 
 
 Do as I tell you. 
 
 Ricky. 
 
 Yessum ! 
 
 (She goes to the table to gather up a tray of 
 dishes. Oliver follows her with the evident idea of 
 saying something comforting. His mouth opens once 
 or twice, but he remains awkwardly silent. Ricky, 
 her head bent in humiliation, does not see this. He 
 follows her to right door, as she exits. Meanwhile 
 Derry and Enid give their attention to Evelyn.) 
 
 Enid. 
 Get her up, Till. She can sleep in the car going 
 back. We'll go down the road and meet Harry. 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 135 
 
 Derry. 
 (Gently.) 
 Eve! 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (Making an effort, raises herself and speaks wearily 
 but happily.) 
 It was nothing. I am wide awake. 
 
 Derry. 
 (Significantly. ) 
 And so am I — now! (He kisses her hand and 
 helps her to her feet. They go slowly around left 
 end of couch and up center left, with his arm around 
 her. Enid is about to follow them, then pauses and 
 looks back.) 
 
 Enid. 
 Oliver! (Oliver, who is still gazing blankly at 
 right door, starts to her.) I suppose we must make 
 some return for your hospitality. There is room in 
 the car. Come with us for lunch. 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Formally.) 
 Will you excuse me? An old chum of mine, the 
 Rev. Bartley Summers, wrote me he would be here 
 before noon. Naturally I didn't expect him, on ac- 
 count of — of — 
 
 Evelyn. 
 (At center doorway.) 
 To-morrow? Thank you for this to-morrow, 
 Oliver ! 
 
 Derry. 
 
 (Coming down center, shakes hands with Oliver 
 
 heartily.) 
 
136 CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 
 
 Good-bye, Keane ! It was Cupid, after all! (He 
 and Evelyn go out at center.) 
 
 Enid. 
 (Disgustedly, as she goes up to center door.) 
 Cupid! The fat little beast! (Exit at center.) 
 
 Oliver makes a hasty movement toward right 
 door, and at the slow opening of it, retreats in a 
 panic of embarrassment toward the fireplace. Ricky 
 enters at right, leading Leo. She is wearing her hat. 
 Her bundle containing the white dress and shoes is 
 under her arm. 
 
 Ricky. 
 ( Timidly. ) 
 Good-bye, Mr. Keane! 
 
 Er— 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Awkwardly.) 
 
 Ricky. 
 Yes, sir! Thank you, sir. (Crosses up center, be- 
 hind table, turns, drops Leo's leash, and, leaving him, 
 comes back to Oliver. Her embarrassment is equal 
 to his.) I got something that belongs to you. I 
 ain't giving it back the way Miss Quayle did to Mr. 
 Derry because I — I— didn't have any right to it in 
 the first place. (Takes his ring from her finger.) 
 Only that you was lonesome and thought it was all 
 up with both of us made you do it. I know that. 
 So you don't need to say, "I'm sorry," or "Wasn't 
 I the durn fool?" or anything else. Just take it, and 
 I'll pretend like I ain't looking. It's a pretty ring. 
 (Holds it out, and automatically he takes it and 
 
CINDERELLA OF THE STORM 137 
 
 looks at it dumbly. She hesitates painfully and then 
 blurts out.) I hope the woman that gets it some day 
 will be just the kind of a party you want. I wish to 
 goodness it was me, but it ain't. {Turns and goes 
 very slowly up to center door.) 
 
 Oliver. 
 (Desperately.) 
 Rikki-tikki ! D-d-d-don't g-g-g-go ! 
 
 Ricky. 
 (Turning back and speaking before the words are 
 out of his mouth.) 
 All right! 
 
 Curtain 
 
Sweetwater Trail 
 
 BY 
 
 Larry E. Johnson 
 
 COMEDY in 3 acts; 7 men, 6 women. Time, 2% 
 hours. Scene: 1 interior. 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 Captain Terry O'Rourke A secret service man 
 
 Colonel Randolph 
 
 An officer of the Royal Mounted Police 
 
 Mrs. Sheldon A widow- 
 Pomona The Randolph's hired girl 
 
 Gabby Lon Peters Foreman of the Marlow ranch 
 
 Jo Grosjean The Canuck cook at the Randolph's 
 
 Dan Marlow A ranch owner 
 
 Jeffrey Benson. . . .A lieutenant in the Mounted Police 
 
 Annie Crowfoot An educated Indian girl 
 
 Vera Randolph The Colonel's daughter 
 
 I'eC SSSSS? } Vera ' s bridesmaids 
 
 Wully McCallum. . . .A sergeant in the Mounted Police 
 
 Unless Vera Randolph is married by midnight of 
 the day before her twenty-fourth birthday, she must 
 forfeit a large estate, left to her in a freak will, and 
 the property goes to the young lieutenant of the 
 Royal Mounted Police, a black sheep, whom she is 
 planning to marry. At the eleventh hour the groom- 
 elect exhibits his natural caddishness, and the bride 
 promptly breaks off the marriage, only to discover 
 that her precious lieutenant had not intended to 
 marry her, anyway. Furious at being double-crossed, 
 she hastily digs up another bridegroom, a young 
 rancher from up Sweetwater Trail, and a midnight 
 wedding is solemnized. Fireworks! The double- 
 crosser finding himself double-crossed in his efforts to 
 seize the coveted fortune, attempts to break the mar- 
 riage, and is fought at every step by the doughty 
 young rancher. Bad blood between the two men cul- 
 minates in an apparently fatal quarrel, but a sudden 
 surprising twist in the action turns a would-be tragic 
 ending into comedy. A breezy drama of the Canadian 
 Northwest, full of stirring situations and typical 
 Johnson humor. 
 
 Professional stage rights reserved and a 
 royalty of fifteen dollars required for ama- 
 teur performance. Price, Per Copy, 50c 
 
 T. S. Denison 8C Company, Publishers 
 
 623 South Wabash Avenue CHICAGO 
 
The Winding Road 
 
 BY 
 
 Lillian Mortimer 
 
 COMEDY-DRAMA in 3 acts; 5 men, 5 women. Time, 
 2% hours. Scene: 1 interior. 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 Camilla Ray An orphan in search of a mother 
 
 Billie Ray Her brother, ditto 
 
 Pansy Black An ebony treasure 
 
 Mrs. Lily Mason (Mother) 
 
 A good imitation of the real thing 
 
 Dick Mason, alias Johnny Harrison 
 
 Not what he seems 
 
 Sheriff Theodosia Flicker The law in petticoats 
 
 Skidwell Flicker (Skid) The sheriff's husband 
 
 Kay Elliston With a problem and a secret 
 
 Ralph Gladden In love with Kay 
 
 Jim Smith An ungrateful ( ?) son 
 
 "Wanted: a Mother!" Thus runs the newspaper 
 advertisement inserted by the orphans, Billy and 
 Camilla Ray, in their search for a good old-fashioned 
 mother to take the place of their own lost parent. 
 And what a dear, motherly old soul it is that answers 
 the advertisement! Billy and Camilla are enraptured 
 with her. She is also welcomed by their friend, the 
 genial old village philosopher. In reality, however, 
 she is the wife and accomplice of a notorious crook — 
 none other than the good village philosopher himself, 
 who has settled in this quiet country town in order 
 to establish an alibi, preparatory to making a rich 
 haul among the New Year's Eve crowds in Philadel- 
 phia, with her aid and that of their son. Their daugh- 
 ter, who has run away from home to escape a life of 
 crime and now earns her living by honest work, enters 
 upon a dramatic struggle with her crooked parents, 
 urging them to abandon their life of crime, and man- 
 ages to win her brother over to her side. Suddenly 
 the hand of fate decides the contest. An almost fatal 
 accident turns the old couple from their shady career. 
 A stirring play, breathless with suspense and full of 
 strong heart interest, with two charming love affairs 
 woven into the plot. 
 
 Professional stage rights reserved and a 
 royalty of ten dollars required for ama- 
 teur performance. Price, Per Copy, 50c 
 
 T. S. Denison 8C Company, Publishers 
 
 623 South Wabash Avenue CHICAGO 
 
What Anne Brought 
 Home 
 
 BY 
 
 Larry E. Johnson 
 
 COMEDY in 3 acts; 5 men, 4 women. Time, 2V 2 
 hours. Scene: 1 interior. 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 Sam Bennet A small-town lumber merchant 
 
 Mrs. Hattie Bennet His wife 
 
 Alma Bennet His youngest daughter 
 
 Herb Hardcastle. . .Alma's young man, with ambitions 
 
 Henry Bennet Sam's brother 
 
 Anne Bennet Purdy Sam's second daughter 
 
 Dudley Purdy What Anne brought home 
 
 Nina Bennet Sam's eldest daughter 
 
 J. T. Raymond 
 
 ....General manager of an electric power company 
 
 Fresh from a prosperous run on Broadway and a 
 remarkably successful career in professional stock, 
 this capital comedy of small-town life well deserves 
 its popularity with the theater-going public. What 
 Anne brings home from Valpo, to the consternation of 
 her family, is a brand new husband, with whom she 
 settles down in an already overcrowded household. 
 Henceforward, Dudley, the young husband, has to 
 sleep with the cranky Uncle Henry and endure the 
 gibes of his in-laws, who make no secret of their 
 contempt for him and sneer at his pet project of 
 establishing a fish farm. The truth is that as a go- 
 getter Dudley is a total loss. Nevertheless he per- 
 sists in the fish farm enterprise, in the interest of 
 which he secures an option on some property of his 
 father-in-law, thereby temporarily blocking the sale 
 of the land to a power-company magnate and in- 
 curring the wrath of not only the in-laws but Anne 
 herself. How he finally manages to put over a big 
 deal with the magnate, straighten out two tangled 
 love affairs, placate the in-laws, and square himself 
 with Anne are details of as vividly human and humor- 
 ous a story as ever delighted an audience. Cast has 
 a rich variety of comedy types including Anne's mat- 
 ter-of-fact mother; her dryly humorous father; Herb, 
 the swaggering go-getter; and the irascible Uncle 
 Henry, whose particular bug is "cramberry" culture. 
 
 Professional stage rights reserved, and a roy- 
 alty of twenty-five dollars required for every 
 amateur performance. Price, Per Copy, 50c 
 
 T. S. Denison 8C Company, Publishers 
 
 623 South Wabash Avenue CHICAGO 
 
HILARIOUS FARCE COMEDIES 
 
 >4 Busy Honeymoon 
 
 Farce-comedy in 3 acts, by Laket E. 
 Johksok; 6 m., 6 w. Time, 2*4 hrs. 
 Scene: 1 interior. Princess Alma of 
 Deleria, on a visit to the United States, 
 outwits her scheming royal mamma and 
 elopes with a young crown prince, there- 
 by starting a chain of thrilling events. 
 Uproariously funny. Royalty, fifteen 
 dollars. Price, 30 Cents 
 
 %e Absent-Minded Bridegroom 
 
 Farce in 3 acts, by Larbt E. Johksok ; 
 6 m., 6 w. Time, 2% hrs. Scene: 1 in- 
 terior. Tim Shea, to escape impending 
 marriage, pretends to lose his memory 
 and assumes a false identity. The per- 
 sistence of the bride and the appearance 
 of a pseudo-wife and three children pile 
 up trouble for him and laughs for the 
 audience. Royalty, ten dollars. 
 
 Price, 50 Cents 
 
 Ihe Mummy ami the Mumps 
 
 Farce in 3 acts, by Larky E. Johksok ; 
 5 m., 5 w. Time, 2 x / 2 hrs. Scene: 1 in- 
 terior. To evade quarantine for the 
 mumps, Sir Hector Fish has himself ex- 
 pressed to the ladies' seminary, in which 
 he is to teach, inside the mummy case he 
 is bringing from Egypt, only to find an- 
 other Hector in the field. Hilarious 
 complications arise. Royalty, fifteen 
 dollars. Price, 50 Cents 
 
 T.S.DeniSOn 6Comr>kinv 0>ut>tiahers 
 
 633 Jou+h Webo«h Ave. CHICAGO 
 
 T— 1228 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 016 103 315 7 
 
 Venisons IIIII 
 
 Royalty 
 
 F>leLys 
 
 — have been carefully selected for their 
 high degree of dramatic strength and 
 their practicable acting qualities. The 
 majority of them have been specially 
 written for amateurs by experienced 
 playwrights with professional successes 
 to their credit. The plays have been 
 edited with unusual care, particularly 
 as to stage directions, which are so 
 complete, clearly expressed, and easily 
 understood that they almost direct 
 themselves. Above all, the Denison roy- 
 alty plays have the swift movement, the 
 humor, and the emotional qualities that 
 appeal strongly to young players and 
 grip the attention of audiences 
 throughout an evening's entertainment. 
 
 T.S. Den i son & Company Pullishen 
 
 623-S. Wabash Ave. Chicago