COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT Twenty Contemporary OneAct Plays (AMERICAN) Selected and Edited by FRANK SHAY STEWART & KIDD CINCINNATI. LL S. A. Second Impression CINCINNATI STEWART KIDD COMPANY PUBLISHERS Copyright, 1922 STEWART KIDD COMPANY All Rights Reserved These plays are fully protected by copyright in the United States, Great Britain and Colonies, and countries of the Berne Convention. First Printing, September, 1922 Second Printing, November, 1922 Printed in the United States of America The Caxton Press's 'Everybody for Books." This is one of the Interlaken Library APR 25 "23 C1A705109 \\ / TO EUGENE O'NEILL FOREWORD The present collection of short plays must be considered as a supplementary volume to Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays issued early in 1921. The same conditions surrounded its development and completion. The lot of the anthologist is not a happy one. He must either select his plays because of the fame of the authors, or, he must use a trace of critical judgment and include only those plays, regardless of the literary standing of their authors, which he feels are the best that have come to his attention. Whatever his course may be, it is always open to criticism. The editor has read several hundred one-act plays since the previous volume was completed. Indeed he has become so inured to meeting per- sons who have plays they want published that he is inclined to fly every time a person appears with a manuscript under his arm. So many merely good one-act plays are being written and acted these days the editor early concluded that selecting the best was not so much of a task as eliminating the almost good. In this collection I have ignored individual fame and have selected the best plays I could find. I would like to include Eugene G. O'Neill's 5 FOREWORD The Emperor Jones, and Edna St. Vincent Mil- lay's Aria da Capo. The former is so tied up in copyrights that it could not be used. In the bib- liography, which is appended, the reader will find the play easily accessible to all interested. Miss Millay's play,, fortunately or unfortunately, was included in the Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays. These two are unquestionably the out- standing plays of the last year. They mark, in no small way, the high accomplishments of the art theatre in America. F. S. New York, April, 1922. CONTENTS PAGE Foreword 5 Mirage George M. P. Baird 9 Napoleon's Barber Arthur Caeser 41 Goat Alley Ernest Howard Culbertson 63 ^^Sweet and Twenty Floyd Dell 97 Tickless Time . . . Susan Glaspell and George Cram Cook 1 27 The Hero of Santa Maria, Kenneth Sawyer Goodman and Ben Hecht 163 All Gummed Up Harry Wagstaff Gribble 201 Thompson's Luck Harry Greenwood Grover 231 Fata Deorum Carl W. Guske 251 Pearl of Dawn Holland Hudson 269 -^■—'Finders-Keepers George Kelly 3 1 1 Solomon's Song Harry Kemp 353 ^^Jatinata Lawrence Langner fay JChe Conflict.* Clarice Vallette McCauley 403 Two Slatterns and a King. . .Edna St. Vincent Millay 443 ^Thursday Evening Christopher Morley (a?5) ^The Dreamy Kip Eugene O'Neill 487 Forbidden Fruit George Jay Smith 519 Jezebel Dorothy Stockbridge 541 Sir David Wears a Crown Stuart Walker 571 Bibliographies: Books About the Theatre 617 Plays of The Little Theatre 6j8 >*l MIRAGE A PLAY IN ONE ACT by George M. P. Baird The first performance of Mirage was given at the University of Pittsburgh by the Pitt Players on the evening of April ii, 1916, with the following cast: Polaina, a Hopi Girl, - Harriet Smith Grayson Stone, an Ethnologist, - Riddel Cramblet Christine, his Wife, - Irene Garrison Hormek, a Psychiatrist, - - Daniel T. R. Dickson First Hopi Woman, - Augusta Schmeltz Second Hopi Woman, - Claudia Chambers Scenery, costumes, and properties designed by the author and executed by the Pitt Players. Copyright, 1922, by STEWART KIDD COMPANY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Applications for permission to produce Mirage must be made to the author, who may be addressed in care of the publishers, Stewart Kidd Company, Cincinnati, Ohio. MIRAGE CONCERNING THE PEOPLE OF THE PLAY Polaina, 1 the niece of Chief Loloamai, is a nine- teen-year-old daughter of an ancient Amarind tribe, and heir to a civilization different from, but in no essential sense inferior to, that of the paler peoples who have invaded its demesne. She is a 11 child of nature" perhaps, but by no means a simple one. Passion and stoicism, intellectual curiosity and superstition, frankness and guile, craving and custom, struggle within her. She is neither a pathetic fool nor a sentimental wanton, but a strong woman with an intense desire for hap- piness, an ardent love of life, and the courage to attempt their satisfaction whatever the cost. Po- laina is dressed in a wrapper-like, blue, cotton gown which reaches slightly below the knees. Her right shoulder and arm are bare, and a scarlet blanket is flung over the left shoulder and fastened beneath the right armpit. There are brightly beaded moccasins upon her feet, and her legs are wound about with strips of white cotton cloth. Her blue-black hair is parted in the center and rolled in elaborate "butterfly" coils above her ears. These coils, together with the yellow squash blos- 1 Polaina = Butterfly, II MIRAGE soms which ornament them, are a badge of virgin- ity among the Hopi Indians, Her necklace, bracelets, and large, square ear-pendants are of hammered silver set with raw turquoise. The First Hopi Woman is a middle-aged squaw, while the Second Hopi Woman is probably about ten years her senior. The faces of both are wrinkled with a thousand little lines. Their hair is stiffly braided, and their garments are similar to those of Polaina, though much more subdued in color. These women are the sibyls of the play, their func- tion being not unlike that of a Greek chorus. Grayson Stone is a tall, somewhat emaciated man, about thirty-five years of age. He is suffering from amnesia, superinduced by sunstroke and exposure, and has reverted to type. His hair and beard are brown in color and quite unkempt, while his face, arms, and bare feet are deeply tanned. He is dressed, Hopi fashion, in a faded blue shirt and nondescript tan cotton trousers. He wears a band of red cloth about his head, Christine is a well-poised, good-looking young woman, blonde as to complexion, and obviously Back Bay as to social status. She wears an ecru pongee motor coat over a blue summer frock, sun- hat, tourist veil, and stout walking boots. Dr, James Hormek is a short, somewhat stout per- son, who would be singled out anywhere as a suc- cessful physician. He has a generous, senti- mental nature which he tries to disguise by a brusque manner and clipped, incisive mode of 12 MIRAGE speech. He is dressed in tweeds, golf cap, and tortoise-shell glasses, and carries motor gauntlets. The action takes place upon the roof of an adobe house, which forms one of the higher terraces in a Hopi pueblo. To the right and left the walls of an- other course of dwellings rise and are lost to sight in the flies. At the rear is alow battlement of sun- baked bricks, beyond which the silent desert and the purple waste of space stretch illimitably. A rude ladder leans against the wall, right, and the top of another can be seen projecting above the battlement. It is the hour before dawn on an August morning. Polaina is discovered at a stone corn-trough, down- stage, left. polaina {grinding corn and singing) I-o-ho wonder-water, I-o-ho wonder-water, Life anew to him who drinks! Look where southwest clouds are bringing rain; Look where southeast clouds are bringing rain; Life anew to him who drinks! I-o-ho wonder-water, I-o-ho wonder water, Life anew to him who drinks!* {Two Hopi women bearing water-jars upon their heads enter from the left, rear. They put down the jars and squat beside them?) first woman (wearily) Dry! * See note on page 40, 13 MIRAGE SECOND WOMAN The rock pools are empty. FIRST WOMAN The Well of the Eagles has failed. POLAINA But the spring beneath the yuccas, at the foot of the mesa? Even in the moon of thirst it has always given sweet water. FIRST WOMAN Dry, too. The clay bottom is a crust of mud burned like adobe. SECOND WOMAN Only the poisoned pool yields its palmful of bad medicine. POLAINA The old men say that there has never been so parched a summer; never so great a drouth in all the years since the gods, our fathers, fled to this mesa from the falling mountains. first woman {taking a gourd bottle from the folds of her blanket) I have brought the witch-water from the poi- soned pool. polaina {surprised) What will you do with that? second woman {significantly) The thirst will soon be upon us. This is the milk of forgetfulness from the breasts of Death. first woman {nodding assent) When the throat is afire and the tongue hangs H MIRAGE like a blackened bean-pod between cracked, swollen lips, swift death will be good medicine. polaina {cheerfully) Do not speak of death; the rains must come soon. Uncle Loloamai and the priests have been three days in the Kivas below the earth, weav- ing the ceremonial cords of many colors and binding feathers upon the sacred bahos. 1 When the yellow line brightens in the east we shall plant them upon the edge of the mesa toward the dawn, and the climbing sun will bear our prayers for rain aloft. second woman {skeptically) Bahos ! What virtue is there in prayers breathed to the turkey feathers and eagle feathers upon a painted stick? POLAINA Last year the Blue Flutes danced, the women planted bahos in the white dawn, and at sunset the rain clouds kissed the painted desert with a crystal kiss. second woman {looking sharply at Polaina) Some say it was not Hevebe, the Rain Lord, but the White Bahana 2 , who brought luck, for it was on that day that our herdsmen found him nearly dead with thirst in the desert, and brought him to the pueblo. FIRST WOMAN The Great Spirit behind the sun had touched him, and the Drouth Demons feared him. The Heyapo, the rushing clouds, followed the trail 1 Bahos = votive prayer-sticks. 2 Bahana = white man. i 5 MIRAGE of the mad white stranger. {Touching her head.) The queer are good medicine. SECOND WOMAN Polaina, this Bahana is your lover. Can you not make him work his strong rain-charm again ? POLAINA He says that he makes no medicine, that he has no power. He does not even know whence he came, or his name, or the home of his people. FIRST WOMAN The sun brings forge tfulness. SECOND WOMAN He is not a man, but a child of the sun. POLAINA He is a man! {Enigmatically.) It is not well that a woman should be spouse to the child of a god. FIRST WOMAN Then you are to be his woman? polaina {touching the great wing whorls of hair on the sides of her head) I would cast aside the blossom of the squash for no other. For him alone would I let down these coils of maidenhpod and plait them in wifely fashion. SECOND WOMAN The white corn and the red corn do not grow on one stock. POLAINA No, but they are ground in the same trough, and when the pika 1 is baked it is as sweet as bread from unmingled meal. 1 Pika = cakes — "paper bread. 16 MIRAGE FIRST WOMAN You know nothing of the Banana's tribe. What if the gods should give back his memory and he should carry you far from your people to the Eastland, where the sun grows cold with cloud? POLAINA I should be happy anywhere with him. FIRST WOMAN Perhaps he already has a white woman for wife. Some day he may remember. The eagle flies far; but when the blood of dying day is red upon the canyon crest, he returns to his nest among the rocks. POLAINA For my Bahana there are no yesterdays. He was born again of the desert and the sun. The past is a mirage. Nothing is real but our love, and in it are all the to-morrows. SECOND WOMAN (dully) Unless the rains come there will be no to-morrow for the children of Muyinguava. 1 (A pause, Polaina continues at her work. The First Woman points toward the east, where the first light of dawn is brightening^) FIRST WOMAN The spirits of the dawn are bending a yellow line in the east like a string to the great bow of the sky, and soon the blazing arrow of the sun will shoot upward to the cloudless heavens. (From below and at some distance comes the 1 Muyinguava = life-giving god — spirit of growth and fertility. 17 MIRAGE rhythmic chant of the men as they file up from the Kivas or council chambers to make invocation to the Great-Spirit-Behind-the-Sun for the life-giving rains. They approach slowly. Their song in- creasing in volume for a time dies gradually as they move eastward toward the edge of the mesa. 1 ) {pray son Stone climbs halfway down the ladder, right, and stands silent for a moment, a dark silhouette against the growing light. He speaks slowly, almost colorlessly.) STONE May you have good in your hearts, O women ! POLAINA AND WOMEN May you have good in your heart, O Bahana! (He descends.) STONE Will there be rain to-day? polaina (approaching him) Listen! The men are marching to the eastern cliff to pray for it. If the Demons keep the breath of the prayer-sticks from the Great- Spirit-Behind-the-Sun, the young men and the Antelope Priests must dance the dance of the rattlesnake to-morrow. Then surely there will be rain. SECOND WOMAN There will be no rain. STONE The sun is still beneath the rim of the desert, but it is already fever-hot. Give me to drink. 1 Chant should be accompanied by drum (tom-tom) and Indian flute. 18 MIRAGE FIRST WOMAN The springs are dried up. We have no water. POLAINA Is it true, my Bahana, as these women say, that in your country it rains many times and the sun is as pale as the moon? STONE My country! I have no country but this. I remember nothing earlier than my first sight of you as you bent above me and poured the living water, drop by drop, upon my tortured tongue. I have tried to recall the past, for I know that I have not lived here always. I must be of another — another tribe. But it's no use. When I strive to remember, I am like one in the darkness of a strange house where still things and living things are vaguely sensed, but are not seen or known. POLAINA Some day you will remember; and in that day I shall be forgotten. stone {takes her hand) I must go on trying, but I shall never pierce the darkness. Yet, even if the lost should come back to me, if I should learn to remember, it would make no difference in our love, Polaina. POLAINA Are you sure, Bahana? That is a fear that is with me always. The call of the tribe is strong and blood will answer blood. STONE No, my Butterfly, love is a mightier magic, greater than all the powers, stronger than death l 9 MIRAGE itself. You are my tribe, and when my arms are about you I embrace my only people. Love sits with us in the Council Kiva of Life, and who shall dare to make evil medicine where he abides? O little Butterfly, have you begun to doubt me? Have you ceased to trust my love? POLAINA No, no, I trust you ! . . . And yet I am afraid. Though the coyote-cub be suckled by a dog on the roof of a chief's house, time comes when the ancient longing for the wide waste of moonwhite desert leaps in his heart and he answers the sum- mons of the far-off pack. STONE I am not a wolf, but a man. I shall remain upon the roof of the chiefs house. POLAINA You say that because you have not come to re- member. Perhaps you once loved another wo- man, and when the thought of her returns I shall be left alone. STONE There can be no other woman, Butterfly. POLAINA The wells fail, the Demons are angry, and we must die of thirst unless the rains come swiftly. If you heard the call to return to the land of cloud and rivers, the call of life and love and your own people, you would go. STONE In life or death you are mine; I would not go. {Pause,) Come, you shall plant a baho for me on the edge of the mesa. 20 MIRAGE POLAINA You are a white man, a Bahana! Can you be- lieve in Hopi magic? STONE Our souls are of one tribe, and I believe in you. Come! {They go off stage, right, hand in hand.) first woman {grinding corn) I grind the red corn and the white corn in one trough. SECOND WOMAN Meal is not bread until it has felt the fire. FIRST WOMAN How lies the corn in the Kivas on the Altar of the Six Directions? second woman {sorting corn) A yellow ear to the north, and a blue ear to the west, a sugar ear for the zenith of the sun, and a black ear for its nadir, a red ear to the south, and a white ear to the east. It is a powerful charm to lay them so, but to mingle them is bad medicine. {The southern dawn has come swiftly, and the desert begins to glow with the growing warmth of the sum- mer sun. The light and heat increase in intensity throughout the rest of the action?) {Christine and Br. Hormek enter, left.) FIRST WOMAN A red ear to the south and a white ear to the east; an evil charm and a bad medicine if they be mingled. 21 MIRAGE Christine {advancing) Good-morning. WOMEN May good be in your hearts! Christine {illustrating her words with gesture and raising her voice as one does when one thinks the hearer unfamiliar with one's language) We wish to buy pottery — jars, you know. ( The women indicate that they understand.) SECOND WOMAN We have many beautiful pots. We will show. {The First Woman goes off stage, right.) DR. HORMEK Now, don't be long, Christine. It's hot on this roof already, and in an hour it'll be unbearable. CHRISTINE Five minutes will be long enough, Dr. Hormek. dr. hormek {humorously petulant) That's what you said at Acoma, and it took two hours. O, you women! When the bargaining instinct gets you, the devil himself couldn't drag you away. Christine {bantering him) You'll remember, doctor, that I didn't ask you to come with me. hormek O, you didn't, eh? I suppose I'm to let you go wandering all over this godforsaken desert alone! I never should have permitted you to leave Havordton. 22 MIRAGE Christine {tossing her head) Do you think that you could have prevented my coming? HORMEK No, I suppose not. But you'll have to admit that the whole thing has been a wild-goose chase. Now, hasn't it? Christine {seriously) I have not given up hope. HORMEK Ah, but you have! I can see it in your eyes. Your voice cries out, "No hope," even when you are protesting the opposite. Come, Chris- tine, give up this silly business. It can mean but unhappiness for both of us. CHRISTINE I shall not give up until I have found Grayson, or have conclusive proof that he is dead. HORMEK Proof! Great Scott! Haven't you the word of the guides and the government agent for it? Your brother, who spent months searching the desert for him, believes he is dead. No man could live without food or water through an August week in these wastes. CHRISTINE The very fact that they found no trace of him convinces me that he is still alive. HORMEK For quixotic obstinacy, go to a woman, especially a married one! Here am I, trailing you all over this damned — I beg your pardon — this infernal country like a love-sick crusader when I ought 23 MIRAGE to be back home with my patients. Many of them are not half so crazy as I am. CHRISTINE {coolly) Well, why not take a train to-morrow? By starting now you will have plenty of time to reach the railroad. HORMEK I shan't leave without you; you know that. Christine {banteringly) For quixotic obstinacy, go to a man, especially an unmarried one. HORMEK I'm not good at repartee. Hang it all, Christine, I want to marry you, can't you understand that? {She smiles.) Oh, it's damned humorous, no doubt, and I'm making seven kinds of an ass of myself, but I can't help it. It's enough to make any red-blooded man fighting mad, to have a woman like you within his reach and be denied her by this gho — {He is about to say "ghost" but changes it to) — this romantic fancy of yours. Christine {serious again) Please don't say any more. HORMEK I shan't, if it pains you, dear, but honestly now — CHRISTINE There, you're beginning all over again! HORMEK Well, let me have my word out now, and I swear I won't trouble you again. We've been at every pueblo and white settlement in this benighted MIRAGE region; you're ruining your health, and still no word of Grayson. I want you to promise that you'll go back home with me at the end of this week. {He seizes her hand.) Will you, Chris- tine? {The First Woman returns with a back-load of pottery.) Christine {hesitant) I — I don't know. SECOND WOMAN Pots of the butterfly and pots of the eagle, bowls of the rain-beast, and jars with the sign of Hevebe. first woman {displaying her wares) Paint cups, corn bowls, and water-jars. Christine {examining the collection with the eye of a connoisseur) The burning is not so good as that of Acoma. {Holding up a small bowl.) How much? FIRST WOMAN Three dollar? CHRISTINE One. second woman {protesting) The lady knows the best. Three dollar it is little. Christine {firmly) One. FIRST WOMAN Two dollar? HORMEK Give it to her and let's get out of here. {Takes two silver dollars from purse.) 2 5 MIRAGE CHRISTINE It's not worth that much. {Hormek is about to give the coins to the woman.) She means two dollars Mexican; one of those is sufficient. {Hormek pays; Christine turns to go.) first woman {taking a small jar out of a larger one and holding it up) Good medicine! hormek {taking the jar) I say, Christine, look at this one! Red and white, Greek fret, and {Examining it closely) , by George, Greek letters — Alpha, Pi, Sigma! Christine {as if stricken by a blow) Why, so it is! {To woman) Where did you get this? It's not Hopi. SECOND WOMAN We make; Bahana paint. HORMEK Who? FIRST WOMAN Bahana, white man. HORMEK How'd he come to paint it? Who is he? first woman {touching her forehead significantly) A child of the mirage touched by the Great-* Spirit-Behind-the-Sun. SECOND WOMAN The forgetful one who gives us luck. CHRISTINE Oh, if it is he! 16 MIRAGE HORMEK Bring him here. {Second Woman nods and goes out, right.) CHRISTINE How long has the white man been with you? FIRST WOMAN Since this time last year. We found him dying in the desert just before the rains came. HORMEK And he remembers nothing? FIRST WOMAN His mind is like a bowl before it is painted. Christine {moving impulsively toward the right) I must go to him! hormek {detaining her) No, stay here. Try to calm yourself. It may be a mistake. It may be someone else. Christine {hysterically) Let me go! You don't want me to find him, you, you — HORMEK Good God, Christine! Do you think I'm such a cad? You're getting hysterical. Brace up, girl, I don't fancy having a collapse patient on my hands in the middle of this blasted desert. {Stone and Polaina enter slowly, right. His arm is about her waist?) Christine {rushing to Stone and embracing him) Grayson ! hormek {the sentimentalist) O faith of woman! 27 MIRAGE polaina {interposing and pushing Christine away) Go 'way, white woman! CHRISTINE He is my husband. {She attempts to seize Stone's hands.) Speak to me, Gray! (Grayson stands dazed and embarrassed and gives no sign of recognition. Polaina looks at him questioningly, and then turns scornfully to Chris- tine^) POLAINA Let him choose! stone {oblivious of the newcomers) Come along, Butterfly. {Polaina smiles in triumph and puts her arm about him. Christine sinks to a seat on the ground and sobs hysterically) hormek {professionally) Brace up, I need your help. It's a case of fugue, I think. Pull yourself together and we'll save him yet. {Stone and Polaina move of. Christine stiffens and sits with tensely clasped hands. Hormek seizes Stone's arm and forces him to look at the "Greek" jar.) HORMEK Did you paint this? stone {slowly) Yes. . . . Yes, I painted it. hormek {pointing to the design and speaking in the even, deliberate tone which one uses with a hyp- notic subject) 28 MIRAGE Greek! Does that suggest anything? Alpha, Pi, Sigma! Greek! {Stone traces the letters with a labored finger and speaks dreamily) STONE Alpha . . . Pi . . . Sigma . . . Greek . . . Greek letter. HORMEK Fraternity. STONE My fraternity . . . We . . . there was a girl . . . We danced there. HORMEK Our last college dance. Do you recall the girl's name? Christine? stone {groping) I think, I think it was Christine. . . . Yes, that was it, Christine. HORMEK It was in May, our commencement night. stone {piecing the ideas together laboriously) Christine, . . . moonlight, . . . Campus trees, . . . elm trees . . . Commencement . . . Christine ... I asked her and she . . . she promised to marry me. {Christine is about to cry out, but is stopped by a warning gesture of Hormek) HORMEK You married her. You married Christine. stone {very slowly, as one emerging from sleep) Yes, I married her. {Showing interest for first time.) Where is she ? Where am I ? 29 MIRAGE Christine (throwing her arms about him) Here I am. Don't you know me, Gray? stone (his voice and manner changing to that of an alert> cultured man) Of course I know you. Why shouldn't I ? How did you get here? (Looking about.) I don't re- member coming to this pueblo. Where's the rest of the expedition ? hormek (soothingly) In good time, in good time, old man. YouVe been very sick, y' know. Sunstroke. STONE Nonsense! Never felt better. What's the joke? How did you get here, Chrisie? CHRISTINE I came to find you. HORMEK And the devil's own time she's had of it. stone (impulsively seizing Hormek 1 s hand) Why, Jim Hormek, you old villain! You here, too? So I've been sick. How long have I been here? Christine (caressing him) A year, dearest. stone (incredulously) A year? Surely not! Why, it was only this morning I left camp to look for a poison pool the natives told me of. HORMEK A year ago these Indians found you dying of thirst out yonder in the desert. CHRISTINE We have been searching for you ever since 3° MIRAGE Brother Jack reported your disappearance, and at last . . . Thank God! {She clings to him .) {Pause.) HORMEK I had given you up for dead. STONE And yet you kept up the search, like the faithful old friend you are. hormek {looking at Christine) Selfishness often travels the same road with love. You have only Christine to thank. CHRISTINE I could not have restored his memory; that part was yours. HORMEK Let it be for my atonement. STONE What have I been doing here? I remember nothing. HORMEK Living the life of a native, I should think; eating, sleeping . . . {He stops abruptly and looks at Polaina. Christine does the same. Hormek and Christine exchange glances.) stone {apparently seeing Polaina for the first time) Why do you look at that girl so strangely? {There is an embarrassing silence. Hormek and Christine are evidently trying to think of the dip- lomatic thing to say. Christine succeeds first and says gently — ) CHRISTINE I — I think she has been very good to you, Gray. 3 31 MIRAGE STONE Has she? Strange that I can't remember her. (Polaina clutches at her heart). second woman {grinding corn) The eagle returns to his nest. first woman (sorting corn) A white ear to the east, a red ear to the south, and an evil medicine if they be mingled. Christine (weakly) I feel faint. (She sways; Stone supports her.) HORMEK The heat is becoming unbearable. (To the wo- men) Any water there? (They nod denial.) You've both been under a big strain. Let's get out of here. STONE Yes, but first I must thank these Indians. (Feels for money, but discovers that he is wearing the pocketless clothes of the Hopi.) Have you any money with you, Jim ? hormek (handing Stone a purse) I'll take Christine down into the shade. We'll start for civilization as soon as you can make your adieux. Don't linger, now. STONE Trust me, I shan't be long. (He kisses Chris- tine.) Wait for me, dearest. CHRISTINE I shall wait for you. (Christine, supported by Hormek, goes out.) (Stone goes over to Polaina.) 3 2 MIRAGE stone {formally) I have you and your people to thank for my life, and I am truly grateful. Take this, not in payment, but as a poor token of my gratitude. {He closes her hand about the purse. She puts her hands behind her back, the purse drops unnoticed.) What is your name? POLAINA You called me Butterfly. stone {indulgently, as to a child) Did I? What a pretty name! POLAINA You are going away? stone {in a matter-of-fact voice) Yes, I must go back to my people. POLAINA The coyote answers the summons of the pack. The eagle circles low at the she-eagle's call. stone {somewhat puzzled) You mean that the white lady is my wife, and that I am going back with her? POLAINA Yes. What of me? stone {mystified) You? I'm afraid I don't understand. polaina {passionately) Am I not your people, am I not your woman? Have you forgotten your oath, have you for- gotten the kisses of Polaina? You loved me, and I gave you all my love — all! all! stone {starting back) I kissed you? I said I loved you? I can't re- member. No, no, I never did that! 33 MIRAGE polaina {unwinding her maiden coils of black hair) Look! it was for you that I came out from among the maidens. FIRST WOMAN She spoke truly. SECOND WOMAN She was his woman. stone {suddenly realizing her meaning) Not that! O, my God! What have I done? POLAINA In the sight of your gods and of my gods, I am your woman. STONE How shall a man atone for a sin he never willed to do? {An agonized pause.) What do you wish? POLAINA You, your love. STONE Whatever may have been, that is impossible now. I am already married. POLAINA She has no children? STONE No, but— POLAINA Judge then, which of us is more truly your wife. STONE I must go to her. I must go to her. polaina {strangely stoical) Yes, you must go. It is useless to fight against 34 MIRAGE the spell of blood, but in the eyes of the gods you will always be mine. stone (torn with remorse) Is there nothing I can do, nothing that will give you back your life, your happiness? POLAINA The wells have failed, and the rains are not yet. A little while and I, with all my people, must journey to the country of the dead. My suffer- ing is less than yours, for you must live with your thoughts. (A new light comes into her eyes, her body stiffens with purpose. Stone is too busy with his trouble to discern the change in her. She smiles.) STONE Yes, life is often more cruel than death. polaina {lifting the gourd bottle) This is the last water I shall ever taste. Will you drink it with me for good-bye? STONE I cannot take it, when you need it so much. It may keep you alive until the rain. polaina (coaxingly) Will you deny me this last little joy? Drink, drink! {Stone drinks, hands the gourd to Polaina and she, too, drinks.) first woman {springing up) They have drunk the — second woman {drawing her down) Peace! The milk of forgetfulness. It is better so. 35 MIRAGE (Polaina raises and lowers her arms rhythmically toward the heavens. Her lips move rapidly as in prayer?) FIRST WOMAN She is praying to the Master of the Rods of Life, she is praying for the rains. SECOND WOMAN No, she does not face the East. She is praying to the Demons against the rains. She wishes to die. (Polaina regains her composure. She seats her- self and motions for Stone to sit beside her. He obeys.) polaina (calmly) Forgive me. The sun has made me mad. (She touches Stone's forehead.) You, too, are fevered. STONE Yes, I feel as if I were in a burning forest. polaina (slowly , in a soothing voice > almost like ail incantation) Your head throbs, your lips are like charred embers. STONE My throat is parching. POLAINA The morning wind is dead. STONE My eyes burn. POLAINA The desert is burning. It is wrapped in the flame of the sun. 36 MIRAGE STONE The heat curves and wavers. The air stifles me. POLAINA You are very thirsty, very thirsty. STONE Yes, yes! POLAINA Your tongue thickens, your throat is a tor- tured coal. Thirsty, thirsty. STONE The sun beats like — like a thousand hammers on my head. I think I am dying. POLAINA Come, I will shade you with my blanket. {She draws him to her and puts her blanket about him,) You are very thirsty. stone {weakly) I must go; they are waiting. POLAINA You wish to drink, to drink, to drink. You are thirsty, very thirsty. STONE Water! Water! polaina {her arms about him, holds the gourd to his lips) Drink! {He drinks.) STONE My brain reels. {He struggles to rise, but is re- strained by Polaina.) I — must — go to — to — to drink! to drink! to DRINK! POLAINA No, not yet, my Bahana. You thirst. But you will not go. 37 MIRAGE stone {dreamily and in his first manner) Come, we will find cold water, and you shall plant a baho for me on the edge of the desert. POLAINA You have no wife. You have no wife, and you are thirsty. No wife, only Polaina. stone {wandering) A wife? Don't tease me! You are my wife, Polaina. POLAINA The white woman is waiting, but you will not go. You will stay with Polaina, for you are very thirsty. STONE I know no woman but you. Water! Water! polaina {passionately) Kiss me. {He kisses her.) Have you forgotten your people? stone I have no people. {He claws at his throat.) I'm dying with thirst. Water! polaina {holding the gourd upside down) There is no more water. stone {frenzied) No water? You lie! {Getting to his feet un- steadily and pointing into the desert.) Look! The lake! Water! The lake, the lake ! polaina {laughingy but without mirth) Mirage, like our lives. STONE No! No! It's real, I tell you. Water! Water! Come. {He moves to the left.) 38 ' MIRAGE polaina (triumphantly) The desert gave you to me; the desert is my mother. I will go. We shall die in the beautiful desert! STONE We shall not die. We shall live our love beside the sweet waters. po lai n a {ecstatically) Our love shall not die. It shall laugh on the wind of the desert, when the morrow's sands drift over us. Come, my Bahana. stone {embracing her) Butterfly! {They go out, left, in each other s arms. The voice of Hormek is heard below, of stage, right) HORMEK Ready to leave, Grayson? FIRST WOMAN The desert has conquered. They follow the mirage. second woman {grinding corn) White corn and red corn are ground and mingled. The pika smokes on the oven stones. first woman {in benediction) May good be in their hearts! SECOND WOMAN May good be in their hearts! voice of Christine {calling) Gray, ho Gray! 39 MIRAGE first woman {rising and turning her water-jar up- side down) Tenkia! It is all finished. second woman (following her example) Aye, Tenkia! (They pass out slowly toward the left as the cur- tain falls.) MUSIC Polaina's song is the "Laguna Corn-grinding Song," while the Men's Chant is the "Lene Tawi" (Hopi Flute Song.) The words and music are to be found only in "The Indians' Book," by Natalie Curtis [Natalie Curtis Burlin]. 4° NAPOLEON'S BARBER A PLAY by Arthur Caesar CHARACTERS Napoleon Josephine Barber Pierre Copyright, 1922, by ARTHUR CAESAR ALL RIGHTS RESERVED No performance of this play may be given without the written permission of the author, who may be ad- dressed at 359 Clifton Place, Brooklyn, N. Y. NAPOLEON'S BARBER Place. — The village of Plombiers, about two kil- ometres outside the city of Dijon. Time. — Late one evening in the latter part of the eighteenth century ', just before Napoleon s Spanish campaign. Scene. — An eighteenth-century barber shop in a small French village. Leading from the shop, upstage, are three short steps which one mounts to enter the living quarters of the Barber. The shop is divided from the dwelling quarters by portieres, which are almost always left undrawn so that the Barber s wife may know all that goes on in the shop. With rise of curtain the Barber is observed pacing to and fro in his shop, ges- ticulating wildly and reading from a manuscript a poem of his own composition. barber {reciting his poem in a loud voice and with wild gesticulation) To arms! To arms! my braves! Are ye but slaves? The tools of knaves? Such you are. Napoleon lives. {With the commencement of the reading, the Barber s wife stands in the doorway of the living chambers, listening to the Barber. The Barber, knowing she is there, pretends not to notice her, and goes on louder than ever with his poetry, ex- pecting the approval of his wife.) 43 NAPOLEON'S BARBER Napoleon, beware! Tyrant, have a care! Had I you in my power, I'd cut you ear to ear! wife (smiling, descends into the shop) That I believe. Some poor innocent client will be found here some day by the police, headless or earless or both, if you don't stop being a poet and reformer of France. BARBER There you go, defending Napoleon. WIFE Bah! Defending Napoleon! I never said any- thing about Napoleon. What have I to do with the business of kings and emperors? I leave them to the perfumed ladies of Paris. They can take care of them very well. I mar- ried a barber, who told my parents he was the best in Dijon, and could earn a real respectable livelihood, and now woe is me. I find I have been tricked. He has become the worst poet in France, and has made a business of being Napoleon's best enemy. BARBER Madame, you do not understand. A woman never understands. La Belle France is in danger. A tyrant is sapping its life's blood — (Grows very emotional and stutters) We must arouse the people of France to — to — t — to — WIFE To look after clients and save France by ceas- ing to chase away your patrons with long speeches and bad haircuts. (Goes to him and puts her hand on his shoulder^) Forget the 44 NAPOLEON'S BARBER stories of your ne'er-do-well brother in Paris. If he had something profitable to do, he wouldn't know nor care how many times a day a man beats his wife, even if that fellow were Na- poleon. You were the best barber in France, and now you are merely the worst rhymester in the world. Give it up, I beg you. BARBER I can't — {Very emotional) I can't. Do you remember General Du Bois? WIFE Yes, the kind old man in charge of the Dijon section. BARBER Exactly. He is dead. A suicide. WIFE Dead! A suicide? Why? BARBER Napoleon insulted him. WIFE Poor man. BARBER Yes, he found him off duty. Is that such a crime, I ask you? And told him in front of several people, after recalling that he had dec- orated him with the Legion of Honor, he would shoot him in the very field where the old gen- eral had received the decoration, and with as much ceremony, if he found him away again without permission. Is that the way to talk to an old soldier? WIFE Well, I don't know, dear, but it seems to me that the General ought to have been soldier 45 NAPOLEON'S BARBER enough to stick at his work, even as you ought to be barber enough to shave, shave, shave. BARBER My God, woman, are you in love with that devil? Oh, if I could have him here now, I would cut his neck from ear to ear! I would, may God help me! {During this speech the door leading from the street into the shop has been quietly opened \ and in the doorway , listening, stands a private sol- dier. He is unshaven, his shoulders are stooped, and his hair in the back is noticeably long.) NAPOLEON {bows) Pardon. May a tired soldier of France be shaved here? {Madame makes a hasty exit up the steps which lead to the living quarters, enters the dwelling chambers, and draws the curtain. The Barber fumbles nervously with the manuscript and then thrusts it into his blouse?) barber {nervously) Eh, good day, my friend. Certainly, gladly. Seat yourself. You must be tired. napoleon {goes to chair and sits in it with a great sigh of relief) I am tired. War is very hard work. It is very hard for me, because I don't like seeing blood. I hate red. If I could but stop for a moment marking time for Fate. Destiny is a hard master. He punishes and rewards you within the minute; he ruins you while you sleep. To him, a lost minute is eternity. 46 NAPOLEON'S BARBER {Stretches and sighs.) Ah, but for a rest, with- out anxiety and fear. barber (with cup in handy and not quite under- standing) Without fear? Poor fellow! Do the officers beat you? NAPOLEON Yes, sometimes, when I'm not paying atten- tion. When I'm off guard. barber (putting down the cup) Ah, it must be a hard life for you. Nothing to do but kill and avoid being killed. NAPOLEON You talk as if death were the thing to be feared. Ah, no; ah, no. It is life which holds out the promise of tomorrow. Death is the messenger of yesterday. I know of Caesar and Rome, but what do I know of tomorrow? BARBER Oh, yes; quite right. Tomorrow you may be dead, poor fellow — NAPOLEON Do you read the stars? Is this prediction — BARBER I hear of men dying in the thousands. I hear strange stories of their blessing him who sends them to their death. (Gets excited.) Why? Sir — for whom do they die? NAPOLEON It is true, they bless him as they die — but why they should bless him as they die, I cannot say. (Napoleon noticeably affected.) I will never forget the lad who stood beside him, a messenger, in one of the battles of our last campaign. He was 47 NAPOLEON'S BARBER hardly fifteen, a child from the province of Dordogne, a dispatch carrier. I saw him shot through the heart, but still grasping the mes- sage, he saluted the Emperor: "God bless you, sire, your generals are victorious/' {Shakes his head.) Poor lad, why should he have died blessing him, I wonder? BARBER Why, indeed, poor son of his miserable parents — Why, indeed, for a ridiculous little man they call Napoleon a tyrant, sucking the life's blood of France ? NAPOLEON Quite right. A nooody, a ridiculous little man, the son of a bandit, bred in a bandit cave, who walked hungry through the streets of Paris, making promises to his stomach that it would sometime be fed power. The tears which flowed down his cheeks from his sleepless eyes watered this will to power. barber {very much encouraged. At last he has found a client who agrees with him^ he thinks) Ah, how well you put it! Such elegant lan- guage! You should be a journalist. He is a traitor, too; we mustn't forget that. He betrayed the Revolution. NAPOLEON Traitor, traitor; that's it. He cut off the hot heads and heated the cold ones. He turned the tide of blood-stained reason from suicide to system and order. And for such a reward; for a ridiculous eagle no handsomer than Han- nibal's, but weighing a good deal heavier. 4 8 NAPOLEON'S BARBER Traitor, indeed! He should be murdered in a bathtub by some kind mistress. BARBER Or a barber shop. Would it were mine. NAPOLEON You really hate him ? You must know him well. BARBER Know him? Know him? I certainly do. He beats his wife, hates children, insults his gen- erals, kills innocent soldiers for sport. NAPOLEON What does this monster look like who feeds on the blood of men ? BARBER Just like the devil. Short, with popping eyes which burn into you like hot coals; a big head like a cabbage. Sometimes he looks like an imbecile and sometimes like a bloodthirsty monster whose compressed lips hide carniv- orous teeth. NAPOLEON {sighs) You know him well, very well. A few mistakes in observation here and there, but for the rest you know him like a poor relation. BARBER Ah, then you know him, too. NAPOLEON Not too well. BARBER You served under him? NAPOLEON I served for him. I was his bodyguard; aye, his soul guard, too, if you please, for I saw to it that naught got to him which would inter- 49 NAPOLEON'S BARBER fere with his course for a moment. I knew that there was ever present the germ of his own destruction in himself. He is sentimental and sensitive. barber (with much awe) Then you were close to him? NAPOLEON So near to him I could hurt him with a word, a look. I could have permitted jealousy to smuggle its vicious sting into his consciousness, or dangerous doubting, or perhaps, the most destructive of all, indigestion. But I chal lenged them all. BARBER Yet you are still a private. What was your reward from the ungrateful one? NAPOLEON Reward was ever present in the game. The harder I watched, the greater his warning to watch harder, more carefully. The smaller the danger the greater was my carefulness. "For Fate," he would say, "lurks in strange places, and Destiny chooses strange moments for his practical jokes." BARBER Did he never say a kind word to you, the tyrant? NAPOLEON Yes, I remember one night when he was very kind to me. He reviewed his entire life for me. We had been in retreat for several days. Dur- ing this time we had not tasted meat. The first day we had settled ourselves more or less 50 NAPOLEON'S BARBER permanently, he ordered a full-course supper. When the cook served it to him he ate it ravishedly. That night he was sick. He sighed and groaned and tossed about. BARBER Oh, had he died, what a blessing that would have been. NAPOLEON Early that morning I heard him call my name. "What is it, sire?" I asked. "Indigestion," he replied, "my worst enemy. Listen, soldier. Some day I shall lose all I have worked for be- cause of my stomach. I have mastered all elemental passions and emotions, but my desire to eat, my ravishing desire to eat." Then, pointing to his stomach, he said: "There lies the source of victory and defeat; there lies the fate of England and the world and Napoleon. Achilles has bequeathed me his vulnerable heel and I have swallowed it." BARBER I would have relieved him of his misery quickly, the vicious dragon. NAPOLEON I think his ravishing appetite is responsible for his speaking nights. BARBER His conscience, my friend. How can one rest when he is responsible for the bloody deaths of thousands? His heart must be as heavy as lead — NAPOLEON {sighs) Nearly crushed, I should think. 5i NAPOLEON'S BARBER BARBER What does he say in his sleep? {Anxiously) What does he do? NAPOLEON He is usually weeping. "Ah, woe is me!" he cries, "woe is me. My generals lie to me; they betray me. They promise to bring me the hearts of ten thousand enemies, and I only get one thousand." barber {disgusted) Hearts of men, the snake! napoleon {continues) Then he calls the names of his marshals. "Ney," he cries, "bring me the Colosseum. This day, BKicher, spare no children! General, bring me the Pope's ring this noon!" barber (very much excited) Heathen! Devil! No respect for God or man! Oh, I could make short of him! May God appoint me his executioner! napoleon (reaches his climax in these gross exag- gerations now. He draws the barber nearer by speaking very quietly and dramatically) That is not the worst, for it is in the early morning that he sends a chill running up and down my spine. He repeats this tale every night. I think it is a fixed thought with him. barber (anxiously) What is it? NAPOLEON You know how fond he is of the Orient. It appeals to his dramatic sense — the pomp and ceremony. Well, he has planned for himself a gorgeous Oriental funeral. He directs that his 52 NAPOLEON'S BARBER successor gather together five thousand French- men. They must represent every trade and profession — mechanics, tradesmen, lawyers, doc- tors, and barbers. Every small village is to give up its quota in barbers, et cetera. These are to be buried with him in Oriental fashion to keep him company. "I love France and Frenchmen!" he cries. "I must have them in death even as in life." BARBER Horrible ghoul! What an idea! Phew! (Gets very excited.) Oh, if I only had him here — NAPOLEON Seeing you so excited, my dear friend, about the trials of La Belle France, makes me a little bit afraid that you might cut me. barber (very proudly) Not at all; not at all. I am the best barber in Dijon. (Now very profoundly) And, besides, shaving has nothing to do with revolution. I keep them separate. One is an ideal and the other a job. You understand. NAPOLEON Except when you have Napoleon for a cus- tomer. I suppose then the ideal and the job meet. (Napoleon and the Barber laugh. The Barber proceeds to lather Napoleon's face. He has one side completely lathered when he suddenly stops and searches through his blouse for the poem.) BARBER I am going to read you my revolutionary masterpiece. 53 NAPOLEON'S BARBER NAPOLEON Do you mind completing the art you have already commenced? The soap is drying on my face. barber {pays no attention to him, but wildly ges- ticulating, recites the poem, while Napoleon smiles and squirms uncomfortably in his chair. Starts to lather Napoleon' s face again, and this time begins the shaving of him) In those funeral arrangements did he include barbers? Are you sure he expects to get one at least from every village? NAPOLEON Quite sure. I remember his distinctly saying barbers. Sometimes he would miss a doctor or a lawyer, but a barber never. BARBER Oh, if the man who shaves him only knew! If I were his barber — oh, if he were my customer, I would give him his funeral. NAPOLEON What can a barber do to Napoleon? barber {very much surprised. He gives his razor an energetic honing, lifts the head of Napoleon by the chin a little higher so that the head is thrown back, exposing the neck advantageously, then he turns his razor so that the blunt edge meets the neck of Napoleon) Look. Just this — {runs the blunt edge across Napoleon's neck from ear to ear) and no more Napoleon, no more tyranny, and a barber is the saviour of France. 54 NAPOLEON'S BARBER NAPOLEON True. A freak stroke of fate, and a barber suc- ceeds where kings and emperors fail. (Napoleon throws his head back and shuts his eyes and the Barber completes the shaving of Napoleon, whistling Revolutionary tunes as he proceeds?) barber (pats Napoleon on the face) Ah! Now you look like a young bridegroom all ready for — (Whispers in Napoleon's ear and laughs. Napoleon has an accommodating smile.) My Josephine likes me smooth-shaven. She says she does not like me unshaven; it scratches her skin. Vain women. They are strange, aren't they? napoleon (startled, repeats) Josephine — Josephine. BARBER Yes, that's the name of my wife, the woman you saw here when you entered. NAPOLEON Josephine — your wife? BARBER Certainly, my good friend. Are you dreaming? Certainly my wife. napoleon (more to himself, with his back to the Barber. He has turned about in the chair and looks out into the dirt path which leads to the barber shop. The sun is setting and it is growing darker) Strange what images the sound of a name can conjure up. The mention of that name has driven from my mind the plans of empire, 55 NAPOLEON'S BARBER wiped from my will the ambitions of a lifetime. I am one with him, just male, just male, crowded with sentimental yearnings of love and father- hood and — BARBER Speaking to yourself? napoleon {pays no heed. Still to himself, while the Barber hones a razor) Strange how the years are destroyed by that name. There she stands, in that drawing- room, surrounded by the pampered pale aris- tocracy of Paris. She, an Amazon in their midst. The heat of the southern sun which colored her ancestors gave her the passion of its soul. Oh, Josephine, {quietly) Josephine, you are mine in Egypt, on the battlefield, in my tent in Italy, in victory and defeat, Jose- phine. BARBER Pardon. Have you ever heard Napoleon speak of his Josephine? The poor woman does not miss him and his beatings, I suppose. Do you think he ever gives a thought to her — the devil? I hear because of him she is not invited to the salons of Paris. She is left lonely, poor woman. napoleon {with much disgust) Insects creep without much sense of honor or loyalty. Today they ignore her, but to- morrow they will fawn at her feet and, like lice, feed on the bounty and glory which she may be able to bestow upon them. Phew! Weep if you will about the destruction of thousands on the battlefields. To one strong 56 NAPOLEON'S BARBER oak there are thousands of fungi which must be destroyed before the strong can serve. barber {slowing growing conscious of a great per- sonality. He takes sidelong looks at his patron as he hones his razors. He speaks little now, but keeps constantly honing a razor, listening and testing its sharpness) Don't lose your kindness, sir. Perhaps it's because of her recent caprices with a young army lieutenant. napoleon (has heard this rumor before. He rises in the chair in a rage. The Barber hones) Lying lepers, slimy things which lie awake in the still night, planning the destruction of the fittest. Vultures, whose claws dig deepest when one is most helpless. Dark scientists of tears and laughter who study the human emotions, will, and intellect for their cowardly profit. They know to the gram the kind of stuff to feed the emotions until such time when it will in its desperation ride wildly over the will and intellect, destroying the victim of their un- scrupulousness. But they shall eat the entrails of the weaker great, not the really great, for such caliber of food is too rich for their flutter- ing hearts. (The Barber listens to this speech not really meant for his ears, honing his razors and testing them. A look of suspicion has come into the face of the Barber. Napoleon knows he has be- trayed himself. There enters from the street Pierre, the Barber s son. He is about ten years old, and is singing a French song. He spies the SI NAPOLEON'S BARBER soldier and runs to him. Napoleon takes him up in his lap and kisses him.) PIERRE Hello! Are you a soldier with Napoleon? NAPOLEON Yes, my little friend. PIERRE I want to be a soldier with Napoleon. NAPOLEON Do you? And why? PIERRE I like to fight, to sleep in tents, to march to the drum. {The Barber looks disapprovingly at his son y but continues to hone razors?) NAPOLEON You may be a general some day. PIERRE My father doesn't like generals. NAPOLEON Why? PIERRE I don't know. He says they murder people. But mother says they sometimes make real men out of what look like people. NAPOLEON {laughs) That's true. PIERRE I can recite. Napoleon {pressing the boy closer to his breast) What? PIERRE Egalite, fraternite — liberte. 58 NAPOLEON'S BARBER NAPOLEON That's fine — a soldier in their name. A good sentiment. {From behind the portieres is heard the calling of the name "Pierre") PIERRE I must go now. Mother will want an explana- tion for my staying so long after school was out. But I played war and won the battle. (Pierre by this time has gotten off Napoleon s lap and is walking toward the steps which lead up to the living quarters?) NAPOLEON Fine boy. PIERRE Goodbye, father. (Barber, continuing to hone, says goodbye to the boy rather absent-mindedly.) NAPOLEON Wait a moment, Pierre. Did you say that you won that battle? PIERRE Yes — the battle of Dijon. NAPOLEON Come here, my general! (Pierre approaches Napoleon. Napoleon fumbles in his coat for a medal of the Legion of Honor, pins it on him, kisses him, and salutes him. Pierre runs up the steps shouting.) PIERRE Mother! Mother! See what I have! 59 NAPOLEON'S BARBER {The Barber has watched this proceeding with great awe. By this time he has laid out all his razors with their blades extended.) BARBER But, sir, only he can do this — give the medal of the Legion. Are you — NAPOLEON Whom? {Both men look at each other intensely. There is in the face of the Barber a knowledge of the cer- tain identity of Napoleon, Napoleon seems to read the thoughts of the Barber as he gazes at the newly sharpened razors.) napoleon {runs his hands over his neck) You have not quite finished. My neck here — it is a little rough in spots. It will take but a moment. barber {anxious and nervous) Only a minute, sir. {Chooses one of the newly sharpened razors, hones it again, pulls from his head a hair, and tests it. A smile of satisfaction lights up his face. Napoleon watches him intensely. He lays his head back, staring firmly up into the face of the barber. The Barber grows more and more nervous as he commences to shave Napoleon s neck. Napoleon watches him intensely. His eyes hold those of the barber firmly fixed upon him. The hand of the Barber shakes noticeably^) napoleon {just audibly) No accidents, my friend. This requires will- power. I cannot be the victim of accident. 60 NAPOLEON'S BARBER barber (throws his razor to the ground, falls to his knees before him, and shrieks in a high pitch nervously) My God! I can't! You are too human! I can't! You are too strong! You are the Emperor! Forgive me. {Enter from the living quarters the Barber s wife and her son. They hear the last words — "You are the Emperor." The Barber s wife falls to her knees; Pierre runs to Napoleon's side.) WIFE Forgive him. He is a good barber and a good husband, but a fool. napoleon {holding Pierre's hand) Rise, madame. You are forgiven for marrying a fool. You are punished beyond measure. BARBER Forgive me. I did not mean to preach revolu- tion. I did not know you were a man. I thought you were a devil. I did not mean to preach revolt. Forgive me. napoleon {acting up to the situation, feigning anger) Forgive you? Listen, Barber. You held the fate of France in your hand; aye, perhaps the entire world, and you had not the courage to go on. That, Mr. Barber, is the real difference between us — personality, the will to power. I can forgive you your revolutionary rantings. I love those who hate me; they prove my in- vincibility. I am too vain to hang those that oppose me. The spirits of Hannibal and Con- stantine, Alexander and Caesar live within me. NAPOLEON'S BARBER I cannot hang barbers for opposing me, but listen: The next time you take the imperial name in vain to rhyme with an impossible word, you have my word that you will hang for it. I can forgive bad shaving, but bad poetry never. {He turns swiftly on his heels in military fashion. It has grown quite dark now y and there is just barely seen the figure of Napoleon disappearing through the street door.) barber {as he rises to his feet exclaims to his wife) Think of it, Josephine! Think of it! I have been honored by the Emperor! CURTAIN 62 GOAT ALLEY A PLAY IN ONE ACT by Ernest Howard Culbertson CHARACTERS Lucy Belle Dorsey "Slim" Dorsey, her Brother Aunt Rebecca, an Old Negress Lizzie Gibbs, a Mulatto Woman Sam Reed, alias "Mule" Reed Fanny Dorsey, ) -,..,, Israel Dorsey, J Children Policeman A Young Baby Goat Alley is here published as a One-Act Play. It was later re- written and made into a long play. The extended version may be had from the publishers, Stewart Kidd Company, Cincinnati, Ohio. Copyright, 1922, by ERNEST HOWARD CULBERTSON ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Applications for permission to perform this play should be addressed to the author, Ernest Howard Culbertson, Society of American Dramatists and Composers, 148 West 45th Street, New York City, No performance may be given without his written consent. GOAT ALLEY SCENE The curtain rises on the sitting-room of a negro's squalid dwelling in Goat Alley, Washington , D. C. At the Right Back there is a door giving directly on the street^ and when it is open one gets a glimpse of the miserable, tumble-down houses on the oppo- site side. At Left Back is a window >, one pane of which is broken out and an old shirt stuck in the hole. The one or two filthy rag-carpet rugs which lie on the floor serve only in a small measure to cover its bareness. Several old y broken, and bat- tered chairs stand here and there about the room. At Left Center is a door leading into the other room of the house. Between it and the wall at Back is a door opening into a closet. IS! ear the door. Left Center ; and toward the front stands a battered table on which lie, in disordered array, papers and one or two dog-eared books with their backs off. It is night and a lighted oil lamp, with the chimney badly smoked, rests in the center. The wick is turned low, and the guttering flame causes count- less shadows to disport themselves eerily about the room. Flamboyant lithographs, a gilt-framed picture of Jack Johnson, wearing his golden smile, an engraved portrait of Abraham Lincoln, and several grotesque crayon portraits, presumably of members of the family {crassly inexpressive), adorn the dirty and discolored walls. An old cor- set, a half -eaten roll, and a doll, with the head off, 65 GOAT ALLEY lie about on the floor, A horseshoe is nailed over the center of the door, Back. Aunt Rebecca, an old, coal-black negress, enters, Back, with a shawl thrown over her shoulders. She has the appearance of an animated mummy. Her eyes are small and bead-like, and shine with an uncanny lustre; her hands, long and bony y re- sembling the talons of a hawk. She glances about inquiringly, gives an impatient grunt, then turns and slowly closes the door. aunt rebecca (in high-pitched, raspy tones, as she moves to the Center) Lucy Belle! Oh, Lucy Belle! lucy belle (from the next room) Yassum! Jes' a minute. (Aunt Rebecca moves slowly about the room, mumbling to herself. Presently Lucy Belle enters, Left, wearing a black straw sailor hat, badly misshapen, and carrying a basket of washing. She is a frail, light-brown, young negress of about twenty-eight. She has a nervous, hesitating man- ner.) LUCY BELLE Oh! I'se so glad yo's yere. Yo' kin stay a while, kain't yo'? (Aunt Rebecca grunts and nods?) I wants yo* ter stay wid de chillen while I runs out wid dis yere washin'. Only take a minute — 'roun ter Miss Erminie's. (Lucy Belle deposits the washing on a chair.) Seem mighty good ter have yo* so handy onct more. Jes' like ole times. Les' see — how long yo' all been way? 66 GOAT ALLEY aunt rebecca {reflectively ', as she sits,) Um! Um! {Puts a hand to her head.) Dat gin got m ah h aid all tangle up. Um! I keep tellin' G'orge whiskey suit me bettah — but he like gin. How long? Um! Um! Gawd-a-massy! Be two yeahs in Feb-wary! {Lucy Belle exclaims incredulously.) Sho' has ! I was a yeah in Cum- berlan' wid Sadie — she's de slim yallar one, yo' know — got a mole on her right cheek. Some say dat reason she so lucky — an' den mos' six mon's wid Em'ly — she dat lil' fat, brown gal. {Lucy Belle nods.) An' den fo' mon's in Frederick wid Henry. {Shaking her head proudly.) Henry a great big fine lookin' niggah. Am' so lucky dough. Bawn in de da'k ob de moon. LUCY BELLE I 'member him. I 'member seein' him w'en his fawther died — ole Uncle Henry. AUNT REBECCA {scornfully) Dat niggah wasn't his fawther. No indeedy! Dat lil' scrootchin' monkey wasn't calc'lated ter be de fawther ob no boy like Henry. {Lucy Belle gives an exclamation of surprise. Aunt Re- becca sits in perplexed preoccupation for several moments. At length she speaks slowly.) 'Deed, chile, I kain't seem ter 'member who Henry's fawther was. Dat gin got mah haid all tangle up. lucy belle {turning and moving toward Left) I reckon I bettah bring dat baby out yere. No tellin' what dem chillen liable ter do to it. {She hurries out, Left. In a moment or two she returns, carrying a very young negro baby.) 6 7 GOAT ALLEY AUNT 'REBECCA Yo' want me ter hoi' him? LUCY BELLE I reckon yo' might as well. (She places the baby in Aunt Rebecca s arms.) (Fanny Dorsey, a little negro girl of "eighty and Israel Dorsey, a little negro boy of six, run in. Left. Both wear nightgowns.) FANNY Mamma! Where yo' all gwine? ISRAEL Mamma! Git me some candy! lucy belle (harshly) Yo' all hush! Git right back ter bed! Go 'long! fanny (whimpering) I'se scar't ob de night doctahs. LUCY belle Hush, chile! Night doctahs ain' gwine ter git yo' in yere. Go 'long! (Threateningly.) Do yo' wan' me ter beat yo'? ISRAEL Mamma! Git me — (Lucy Belle grabs them roughly and pushes them through door. Left, closing it after them. Their cries are heard for several moments and then grad- ually ceased) LUCY BELLE Some day I'se gwine ter git good an' mad an' knock dere haids off! (propping into a chair and drawing a hand across her forhead.) I ain' nevah had no luck. Some gals gits by widout no trouble at all. I ain' one-a dem kin'. Nuffin' 68 GOAT ALLEY I evah done come out right — nuffin at all! Ef I starts ana' thing its boun' ter go wrong. I — I'se cunjuhed fer life! AUNT REBECCA Hush, chile! Don' git down in de mouf like dat! Yo' luck liable change any minute. Min' did aft ah I gits rid-a dem warts. LUCY BELLE I am' got no business wid all dese chillen. Fse a fool — Gawd knows I is! Am' only one niggah evah treated me decent. AUNT REBECCA Who dat? LUCY BELLE Sam Reed. Gawd knows he treated me right! An' now he's in jail! AUNT REBECCA Honey ! LUCY BELLE I loves him. He's de onliest niggah I evah did love! I thinks 'bout him all de time! (A mo- ments pause. She stares into space.) AUNT REBECCA How long he been in jail? LUCY BELLE I reckon it's been pretty near two yeahs. Weren't long aftah yo' lef I knows. AUNT REBECCA Is he yere? lucy belle {shaking her head) Down at Moun-'sville. He kain't write, an' so I don' nevah yere from him. {A moment's pause.) 6 9 GOAT ALLEY AUNT REBECCA (cautiously) What did he do? lucy belle (disconsolately, as she stares into space) Cut a man. (With feeling?) He done it fer me! Jim Bisbee come foolin' roun' aftah me — mos' alias drunk — an' one day Sam seen him — aw, dere wasn't nuffin' to it. Jim, he blubbered like a baby. He was so scar't he didn't know what ter do. Deed he was a sight ! AUNT REBECCA An' de ^>o-lice git him? lucy belle (sadly) Yas, indeed. (Rises slowly and takes up the basket?) I am* nevah gwine ter meet up wid anoder niggah like Sam. He's de bes' ole buddy in de worl' ! AUNT REBECCA How long did dey send him up fo' ? LUCY BELLE Fo' yeahs. (A silence. She moves toward door, Back.) lucy belle (at door) I ain' gwine ter be gone but a minute. (Aunt Rebecca nods. Lucy Belle passes out, Back. Aunt Rebecca chants in a low monotone to herself?) AUNT REBECCA Um — aum — a — um — a — um — a — um — a — um! Trouble in mah soul! Um — a — um — a — um — a — um — a — um — a! Trouble in mah soul! (high treble) Um — a — um — a — um — a — um — a! (Footsteps and someone whistling are heard off- stage, Back. Aunt Rebecca stops and listens. The door opens and "Slim" Dorsey enters, Back. He 70 GOAT ALLEY is a tally slender, light-colored \ young negro of about twenty-jour. He wears a cap and old rag- ged suit of clothes?) SLIM Hello, Aun* Becky. What yo' all doin' yere? AUNT REBECCA Mindin' de chillen fo' Lucy Belle. SLIM Whar she? AUNT REBECCA Takin' washin' roun' ter Miss Erminie. {Slim proceeds to roll a cigarette.) SLIM Dat gal am' no good. She'd make twict as much ef she was ter wuk out. AUNT REBECCA What kin' a brudder is yo'? Dat ain' no way ter talk. What would she do wid de chillen? slim {licking the cigarette) Ter hell wid dem. AUNT REBECCA Shame on yo' — shame on yo' — talkin' like dat! She doin' de bes' she kin! An' yo' all ies' lay roun' an* let her keep yo\ SLIM Dat's a lie! I wuks a damn sight harder den she do. AUNT REBBECA Where yo' wuk? SLIM On de wharf — shuckin' oysters. AUNT REBECCA Dat steady? 7i GOAT ALLEY SLIM Steady in season. I fishes w'en I am* wukkin dere. Dat's why we move ovah yere — ter be handy ter de rivah. Don* yo' all go lyin' 'bout me livin' off Lucy Belle. {Aunt Rebecca glowers at him and remains silent for several moments?) aunt rebecca {suddenly to Slim and nodding toward Left) What niggah de fader dese chillen ob Lucy Belle's? SLIM Dat gal Fanny is Ed Cales'. {Shaking his head.) Gawd knows who's de fader ob de oder two. {A moment's silence. Slim lights the cigarette.) AUNT REBECCA She got too many children. SLIM Ain' nobody knows dat bettah den I do. No niggah ain' gwine ter take up wid her now. Ed Cales was crazy fo' ter marry her one time. Huh — he wouldn't look sideways at her ef he was ter see her in de street. ( The wind blows and whistles through the cracks. Aunt Rebecca sits erect and the whites of her eyes show.) aunt rebecca {in low, frightened tones) Gawd — a — massy! Yo' ain' gwine ter git me — yo' ole hussy! SLIM What's matter? 72 GOAT ALLEY AUNT REBECCA Dat's Lil Mundy tryin' ter git back at me. slim (with a laugK) What fer? AUNT REBECCA Fer kickin' dat ole dog ob hern off my do' step. (Lucy Belle enters, Back, at this point, carrying the empty basket) aunt rebecca (exclaiming) Lan' sake, chile! It ain' takin' yo' long. LUCY BELLE Yo' don' see me wastin' no time on a night like dis. Hello, Slim. slim (jumping up) "Luce," Sam's yere! lucy belle (dropping the basket with a cry) What d' yo' mean? SLIM He's back yere in Wash'nin. lucy belle (with a gasp) Oh, Gawd! SLIM "Mink" Hall jes' tol' me. He's lookin' fo' yo'. LUCY BELLE Sam! SLIM Yas. Yo' see he done los' track of us since we move. LUCY BELLE (huskily) How — how did he git out so soon? SLIM Got his sentence cut short fo' bein' good. 73 GOAT ALLEY lucy belle {agitatedly) Does Mink Hall know whar we live? SLIM He didn\ I jes' tol' him. lucy belle {with a cry of anger) Yo' was a damn fool ter do dat — widoat comin' an' tellin' me! Oh! {Moves agitatedly about.) SLIM No use ter keep my mouf shet. Sam gwine ter find out somehow or 'nother. LUCY belle Yo' am' got no sense! Nevah did have no sense! Damn yo'! slim {moving toward door, Back) Keep on talkin' ef yo' wan' ter Ian' in de hos- pital. lucy belle {imploringly) Slim — Slim — ef — ef yo' see him duck — duck. I'se gwine over to Mag's fo' a few days — in de mawnin\ I — I don' want ter see him fo' a day or two. SLIM I ain' botherin' 'bout him. LUCY BELLE Slim — yo'll duck, won't yo? Won't yo' 3 honey? {Slim slowly nods, then turns and passes out, Back.) lucy belle {slowly removing her hat and coat) Oh, Gawd! I didn't have no kind-a idea Sam 'ud git out so soon. {Rapturously.) Sam! Mah, Sam! {Then fearfully.) But I kain't see him yet awhile. 74 GOAT ALLEY AUNT REBECCA What's de mattah, honey? lucy belle {wringing her hands) I tol' yo' I nevah had no luck! What kin a po' gal like me do? Yo' — yo' see I got dat baby. It — it's free months ole now. Ef he sees dat — Oh, Gawd! AUNT REBECCA Yo' reckon — LUCY BELLE He'd kill me! Sho' as yo' bawn! Yo' see — Oh, Gawd! Ef he could only know what I been up against! I — I promised him I wouldn't look at a niggah while he was gone. Ef I'd a had any kind-a luck, nuffin' in de worl' would a made me break it! I loves Sam — I loves him bettah den anybody. He knows I does. {A moment's pause. Her eyes rove space.) Las' wintah I couldn't git nuffin' much ter do — an' Slim he didn't have no job — an' Chick Avery, he come 'roun'. Chick is a barber an' makes good money. Him an' me went ter school togeder. {Slowly.) I let's him stay yere fo' a while. {A moment's pause, then she points at the baby.) Dat's his chile. aunt rebecca {shaking her head) Yo' po', po' chile! LUCY belle When Sam an' me fust met he says: "Lucy Belle, I don't care nuffin' at all 'bout what yo' done fo' I knowed yo'. Dat's all pas' an' some'fin' yo' an' me ain' gwine ter boder our haids 'bout." {She stares into space.) But den 75 GOAT ALLEY he said he'd kill me ef I evah had anything ter do wid anoder niggah. AUNT REBECCA Nevah min'! He am' gwine ter do nuffin' like dat! Don' yo' worry! lucy belle (smiling faintly) He's de onliest niggah dat evah done an'thing much fo' me. He done mos' eva'thing I ask him. Take me downtown on pay day an' buy me clothes. Onct him an' me was rested fo' gittin' drunk — an' he lies off an' takes all de blame hisself. (A moment's pause.) An' — an' yo' see he's comin' right back ter me now he's out. AUNT REBECCA Yas, indeed! lucy belle (clenching her hands) Oh, Gawd! AUNT REBECCA Don' yo' worry, honey! LUCY BELLE Sam nevah boder his haid 'bout oder gals — not since he know me. Long, long time ago he wen' wid ole Lizzie Gibbs. Yo' know dat hard, ole yallaw gal? (Aunt Rebecca nods.) De whole yeah fo' he wen' ter jail she keep aftah him all de time! Nevah did see nuffin' like it. He don' care no mo' fo' her den he do a rat! But I'se scar't a her. She'd blackguard me in a minute ef she thought she had some'fin on me. (Fear- fully.) Dat's de onliest thing I'm scar't of — is dat niggahs will lie an' blackguard on me! aunt rebecca (indicating the baby) Who all know yo' got dis yere chile? 76 GOAT ALLEY LUCY BELLE Only Slim an' Mag an' yo\ Mag's mah sister dat lives ovah in Anacostia. Yo' see we move from Carter St. ovah yere ter Goat Alley — an* we didn't tell nobody where we was gwine. Dat's why Sam cain't fin' me. AUNT REBECCA Ef I didn't have dem gran'chillen I'd keep de baby fo' yo\ LUCY BELLE No, no! Wouldn't wan* yo' ter do nuffin' like dat. AUNT REBECCA What do yo' calc'late yo' do? lucy belle {pacing about agitatedly) I don' know, I don' know! I am' done no mo' den oder gals — an' — an' Sam gotta fo'give me! (A knock sounds on the door, Back. Lucy Belle starts?) lucy belle (in a low voice to Aunt Rebecca) Take him in dere. (Points off, Left.) (Aunt Rebecca rises, carrying baby, and hurries out, Left.) lucy belle (as she disappears) Come in! (The door, Back, opens and Lizzie Gibbs enters. She is a large, voluptuous, loud-mouthed mulatto. She has straight hair and a sinister countenance. She wears no hat, but has a light shawl thrown over her shoulders.) lizzie (slouching in) Hello! 77 GOAT ALLEY lucy belle {starting back) Hel — hello, Lizzie. LIZZIE How is yo'? LUCY BELLE I'se all right. LIZZIE Thought I'd fin* yo' flyin' 'roun* wid yo* eyes popin' out-a yo' haid. lucy belle {with studied complacency) No, indeed! I don' know what yo' all talkin' 'bout. lizzie {with a sarcastic laugh) Ha! Ha! Am' got nuffin' on yo' min', eh? LUCY BELLE Not a thing! LIZZIE A good frien' of yo's is back in town. LUCY BELLE Now yo' said some'tin*. Who ? lizzie (darkly) Dat's right — preten' yo* don* know nuffin' 'bout it — yo* damn little hussy! LUCY BELLE {hotly) Don' yo* call me no hussy! lizzie Don* yo' stan' up dere an* tell me yo* don* know Sam Reed am' home. lucy belle {simulating surprise) Sam! No! Is yo* seen him? lizzie {mysteriously) Ha! Ha! I guess he don' fergit ole friends. lucy belle {sharply) Huh! I bet he ain'! I bet yo' all I got he ain'! 78 GOAT ALLEY LIZZIE Yo' all got de idee yo' got some kin' of a strangle hoi' on Sam, ain' yo? LUCY BELLE I knows damn well he ain' gwine ter fool 'roun' an' ole wench like yo' ! lizzie {menacingly) Ef yo' say anything like dat agin I'll bus* yo* in yo* mouf. {Lucy Belle laughs.) Lemme tell yo', gal, I knows a thing or two 'bout yo'. LUCY BELLE Nuffin' but what yo' make up out-a yo' own haid. LIZZIE Gawd knows how many times I seen yo' on de street las' wintah wid Chick Avery. LUCY BELLE {quickly) Yo'nevah! Yo' lie! lizzie {with a laugh) Oh, yas, yo' little angel-face! Yo' nevah done nuffin' wrong in yo' life! {Darkly.) Lemme tell yo' one thing — keep yo' han's off dat niggah. If I yere he's been foolin' 'roun' yo' all, I'se gwine ter raise some hell. {She turns toward the door.) LUCY BELLE Yo' won't do nuffin'! lizzie {turning for a moment) Ask anybody dat knows me ef I don' alias make good. I'll clean up fo' yo' all! I'll fix dat face ob yo's so it won' nevah look de same! LUCY BELLE Yo' ain' gwine ter do nuffin'! 79 GOAT ALLEY lizzie (at the door) Am' I? Yo' wait an' see? I'se gwine ter make dat face-a yo's look like a piece-a sausage. Don* yo' come tryin' ter play any ob dat doll-baby business wid me! Ha! Ha! Yo' damn HP hussy, yo' ! (She passes out. Back.) (Lucy Belle stands gazing angrily after her. Presently, Aunt Rebecca enters, Left.) AUNT REBECCA Whew-me! Gawd-a-massy! Sweah out a war- rant fo' her! Go 'long! Don' yo' let no niggah blackguard yo' like dat! LUCY BELLE I'll git her mahse'f! Ef I don', Slim will. (Fiercely.) Some night I'll ketch her alone an' I'll knock her haid off! AUNT REBECCA Low down yallaw wench! LUCY BELLE* I am* gwine ter stan' fo' no niggah talkin' ter me like dat! (Moving agitatedly about.) 'Deed I ain'! What she anyway? Stuck up kase she got straight hair. Nevah done a lick-a wuk in her life. AUNT REBECCA Hush, honey! Ain' no use ter git all wukked up! lucy belle (with an hysterical laugh) Ha! Ha! She think she kin keep Sam away from me! I like ter see her! I like ter see her! AUNT REBECCA Nevah min'! Nevah min'! (A knock on the back door. Lucy Belle and Aunt Rebecca start.) 80 GOAT ALLEY lucy belle (calling in tremulous tones) Whodat? sam (off, Back) Me! lucy belle (with a gasp) It Sam! (She motions to Aunt Rebecca to leave the room. The latter hurries out. Left.) (Lucy Belle hesitates a moment, then goes to door, Back, and opens it. Sam Reed enters. He is a big, powerful negro — brown in color — of about thirty-five. He wears an old ragged suit of clothes, an old felt hat, and no collar?) sam (with a cry of joy) Gal! lucy belle (rushing to him) Sam! sam (taking her in his arms and smothering her with kisses) Honey baby! Honey baby! lucy belle (murmuring softly) Baby! Baby! SAM Yo' am' forgot yo' ole Sam, is yo'? LUCY BELLE No, no! Oh, Sam, Sam! Mah ole Sam-boy! (Clutching him tight?) Oh, I'se so glad ter see yoM Gawd bless yo'! SAM Honey baby! Honey baby! LUCY BELLE Ole Sam-boy! Fse so glad ter see yo'! SAM Yo' all didn't 'spec' me, did yo'? 81 GOAT ALLEY LUCY BELLE No, no! Didn't have no idea in de worl' I'd see yo' so soon! Not until jes' a minute ago! Slim come an* tol' me! Mink Hall tol' him. Ah, Sam-boy! Yo' ain' nevah gwine ter leave me agin, is yo' ? SAM No, indeedy ! Not unless dey takes me away in a box! LUCY BELLE Yo's de bes' ole baby in de worl' ! SAM Seem ter me I only had ter shet mah eyes — night or day — an' see yo' face. Only thinkin' 'bout yo* kept me from killin' everybody in sight when I'se breakin' mah back on dem rock piles. Yo' don' know what kin'-a hell I been through, gal. Kin'-a hell dat sets a man crazy — 'less he's careful. LUCY BELLE I know, I know. Mus' — a been tumble — tur- rible. Oh, Gawd! SAM What made yo* all move? LUCY BELLE (quickly) It's nearer fo' Slim — nearer to de rivah. SAM Nobody knowed whar yo' was. LUCY BELLE No, no! We sort-a los' track of all dem ole niggahs ovah dere. SAM Yo' lookin' mighty thin. 82 GOAT ALLEY LUCY BELLE I'se been wukkin' hard, Sam. 'Tain't easy fo' a gal alone an' — an' wid two chillen. SAM I reckon not. Yo' po' kid! LUCY BELLE Sam — Sam-boy, le's yo' an' me go to Baltimo'. SAM Baltimo' ! LUCY BELLE Yas. Dey's mo' wuk ovah dere. Everybody say so. An' — an* dey pay bettah wages. SAM I don* know, honey. LUCY BELLE De po-\icQ be aftah yo' all de time. SAM No, dey won't. LUCY BELLE Dey will — yo' know dey will. Eva' time dey's a little trouble dey'll pick yo' up. An' — an' I ain' nevah had no luck in dis town. SAM I'll study 'bout if fo' awhile. LUCY BELLE Am' near de chances ter git wuk dat dere is dere. SAM What put it in yo' haid ter go dere? LUCY BELLE I wants ter git away. I gotta feelin' dat things am' nevah gwine right long as we stay yere. SAM Wait until de fust of de week — an' den maybe I'll go. 83 GOAT ALLEY LUCY BELLE Baby, it's bes' — I knows it is. Yo' an' me nevah had no luck in dis town. SAM All right, honey baby. Ef dat's what yo' wants to do we'll go. lucy belle (throwing her arms about him) Baby, baby! Gawd bless yo'! Mah Sam-boy! Mah Sam-boy! {Aunt Rebecca enters. Left.) lucy belle (breaking away from Sam) Oh, Aim' Becky! sam (rushing forward and shaking her hand) Aim' Becky! Glad ter see yo'! AUNT REBECCA Sam! Gawd bless yo'! SAM How yo* all been? AUNT REBECCA 'Tolable! Tolable! I kain't complain. Fse mighty glad yo's out. SAM Fse mighty glad ter be out. AUNT REBECCA Mus' 'scuse me. I got ter git home an* cook some supper fo' mah ole man. LUCY belle Don' run away, Aun* Becky. AUNT REBECCA Mus', mah chile ! See yo' some mo'. SAM Good-bye. (Aunt Rebecca passes out, Back.) 8 4 GOAT ALLEY lucy belle {moving toward Left) Honey baby, 'scuse me a minute. SAM Whar yo' gwine? lucy belle (nodding toward Left) In yere. I'll be right back. (Sam nods. She passes out, Back. Sam moves slowly about the room. Presently, there is a loud knock on the door, Back. Sam starts toward the door. As he nears it, it opens and Lizzie rushes in.) iazzik (halting abruptly) Sam! SAM What in hell are yo* doin* yere? lizzi e ( ingratiatingly) Sam, kid — come on wid me! SAM Go 'long! Ef yo' keep foolin' 'roun' me yo's gwine ter git hurt. LIZZIE Sam — Sam, ole baby — what did I evah do ter make yo' treat me like yo' have? SAM Go 'long! D' yo' yere me? lizzie (her manner gradually changing) Yo's a damn fool fo' stickin' ter dis gal. sam (menacingly) Yo' shet up! LIZZIE She don' care nuffin' 'bout yo'! sam (stepping toward her) I bet I'll bus' yo' in de mouf. 85 GOAT ALLEY LIZZIE Sam — I'se gwine ter git a good job uptown — Monday. I'll keep yo' dis wintah, Sam. Yo* won' haf ter do no wuk. I don' want ter see no fellah like yo' git tied up wid a wench like her. SAM Git out-a yere — d' yo* yere me? 'Go long! lizzie (nastily) Yo's a great big stiff ter let a gal like her take yo' in! (The door, Left, opens slightly and Lucy Belle can be seen listening?) sam (hotly) Shet up! lizzie She been runnin' 'roun' wid Chick Avery — evah since yo' lef. Ha! Ha! SAM Dat's a lie! LIZZIE So help me Gawd, dat's de tru'f — an' I kin prove it! sam (menacingly) It's a lie! LIZZIE She'll bleed yo* ter deaf an' den tu'n yo' loose. Dat's what I'm telling yo'! sam (hitting her on the jaw) Shet up! lizzie (shrieking) Murder! Murder! Po-lice! Po-lice! Murder! (Sam darts out the door, Back. Lucy Belle closes the door, Left. Hurried footsteps are heard at 86 GOAT ALLEY Back. Lizzie glances out of window. Back, gives a little gasp, hesitates a moment, then darts into the closet, Left Back, closing the door after her. A policeman enters, Back.) policeman {calling out) What's the trouble here? {He stands surveying the room for a moment or two, then advances toward door, Left. The door suddenly opens and Lucy Belle enters.) policeman {gruffly) What's the matter? LUCY BELLE Nuffin' — nuffin' at all, sir. POLICEMAN There was so ! {Marching over to her.) Who was that yellin' ? LUCY BELLE I — I don , know, sir. It wasn't yere. POLICEMAN I know better! LUCY BELLE No, no! Hones' to Gawd! POLICEMAN Don't try to give me any gaff like that! {Strid- ing over to the door, Left.) Who's in here? LUCY BELLE Jas' mah chillen. {He passes in. She stands watching him. He re-enters in a moment.) policeman {moving toward Back) I've a good mind to lock you up anyway. lucy belle {With a wail) Oh — Oh, please, sir — I nevah done nuffin'! 87 GOAT ALLEY policeman {hesitating at the door) You'd better look out. I ain't goin' to stand for any monkey business around this neighbor- hood. (He passes out, Back, closing the door after him.) (Lucy Belle stands gazing after him for a moment or two. Eventually she turns and passes hurriedly out y Left. She re-enters immediately, carrying the baby. Fanny — in her nightgown — runs in. Left-) FANNY Mamma! LUCY BELLE Hush, chile! FANNY Whar yo' gwine? LUCY BELLE I'se gwine ter take de baby ovah to yo' Aun' Rebecca's. Yo' go right back ter bed. Go 'long! (Fanny turns and runs out. Left, closing the door after her. Lucy Belle starts toward Back. Lizzie steps out from the closet.) So dat's yo' baby, is it? lucy belle (with a cry) Oh! Oh,mahGawd! LIZZIE I knowed I'd git yo'! Pretendin' ter be such a little angel! Ha! Ha! Been up ter all kin'-a tricks, ain' yo'? 88 GOAT ALLEY lucy belle {commanding herself) Git out-a yere! lizzie {slouching slowly toward Back) I got yo' numbah, now! Ha! Ha! LUCY BELLE What in hell d' yo' mean? It am' mah chile! LIZZIE Ha! Ha! Ha! Am' yo' chile! Am' yo' chile! Yo's a good little liah, am' yo? lucy belle {defiantly) No, it ain' — yo' blackguardin' hussy! LIZZIE Ha! Ha! It certainly do look like Chick — jes' 'zactly. Wait until I tells Sam. He's one-a dem kin' dat ain' so particular. He don* min* accidents now an* den! Ha! Ha! {She slouches out> Back, laughing fiendishly,) {Lucy Belle stands staring to the front. Suddenly a look of desperation comes over her face and she dashes out, Back. In the course of a moment or two Aunt Rebecca enters, Back, and moves about the room.) AUNT REBECCA (calling) Lucy Belle! Oh, Lucy Belle! {Fanny runs in, Left.) FANNY Mamma's gone ovah to yo' house wid de baby. AUNT REBECCA Mah house! FANNY Dat what she say. 8 9 GOAT ALLEY AUNT REBECCA 'Deed, chile, yo' all mus' been dreamin'. fanny (with a whimper) Den — den I don' know whar she is. AUNT REBECCA Yo' been dreamin\ Go 'long back ter bed. (Fanny reluctantly passes out y Left. Aunt Re- becca sits down in a chair and chants to herself.) AUNT REBECCA Devil gwine ter git yo* ! Um — a— um — a— um — a — um — a — um — a! Devil gwine ter git yo'! Um — a — um — a — um — a — um — a — um — a ! Devil gwine ter git yo' ! (Suddenly Slim rushes in, Back, wild-eyed.) slim (breathlessly) Aun' Becky! AUNT REBECCA Yas! Yas! SLIM Lucy Belle drown de baby! aunt rebecca (jumping up with a shriek) Oh! Oh, mahGawd! Oh, oh! slim (rapidly) I seen her runnin' ter de rivah an* I follows her. She th'u' it in an' den run in behin' dem coal chutes. I stop an* see ef I could save it. Wasn' no use 'dough — it was too dark. I believe she gone plum crazy. AUNT REBECCA Oh, mah Gawd! Dat po' chile! I knowed somefin tumble gwine ter happen! 90 GOAT ALLEY SLIM Come on ! Le's see ef we kin fin* her. {Aunt Rebecca and Slim rush out, Back. In the course of several moments Lucy Belle steals in y Back. She wears a terrified expression and moves agitatedly about the room, twining and intertwin- ing her fingers. Presently Sam enters, Back.) SAM Lucy Belle! lucy belle {in tremulous tones) Sam-boy! SAM I wasn't gwine ter take no chances. lucy belle {avoiding his gaze) No, no! Honey baby! Mah ole honey baby! I'se so scar't I didn't know what ter do. sam {darkly) Did yo' yere what she was tellin' me? lucy belle {lying) I yere jes' a little — sam {fiercely) She say yo' all been gwine 'roun' wid Chick Avery. LUCY BELLE Dat's a lie! Am' a wud of truf in dat! sam {grabbing her) Have yo' ? LUCY BELLE No, no! Sam! Fo' Gawd's sake! Yo' don' be- lieve a devil like her, do yo' ? SAM Ef I ketch yo' runnin' wid anybody else I'se gwine ter kill yo' 9i GOAT ALLEY LUCY BELLE Sam-boy! Hones' to Gawd — I am* had nuffin' ter do wid nobody since yo' been gone! Nuffin' at all! {Lizzie enters, Back.) lizzie {with a cry of triumph) I knowed I'd git yo' numbah! SAM Git out-a yere! D' yo' want me ter kill yo'? lizzie Sam — Sam — she got-a baby! It Chick Avery's. It's yere! Dat's de way she treat yo' all! Ha! Ha! Makin' a damn fool of yo' ! I alias knowed yo's an easy mark! lucy belle {screaming) It's a lie! It's a lie! No, no! {Sam starts for Lizzie. She backs out of the door) lizzie {outside) Itol'yo'I'dgityo'! I tol' yo' I'd git yo' ! Ha! Ha! {Sam starts to rush out after her. He hesitates, however, and finally bangs the door shut and turns to Lucy Belle.) sam {between his teeth) Yo' yere what she say? lucy belle {palsied with fear) It ain' so! It's a lie! Yo' know she couldn't tell de truf! Yo' don' believe her, do yo'? sam {gruffly) Lemme look 'roun' yere! 92 GOAT ALLEY LUCY BELLE Yo' won' see nuffin'! Yo' won , see nuffin', Sam! sam {shoving her aside roughly) Lemme look! {Starts toward Left.) FANNY Am' nobody but Fanny an' Israel in dere! sam {shouting) Ef yo' try any funny business wid me I'll kill yo'! Damn yo' heart to hell! {He passes out, Left, followed by Lucy Belle. The door stands open and their voices can be heard?) LUCY BELLE {off, Left) See, Sam — ain' nobody but Fanny an* Israel. Don' wake 'em up! Jes' mah clothes, Sam-boy! Aw, yo' believe me — don' yo' ? Yo* don' be- lieve an ole hussy like her ! sam {savagely) Chick Avery been comin' yere? LUCY BELLE No, no! I swear ter Gawd he am' nevah been in dis house! No, no! It's all a dirty lie! See, Sam — see — ain' no baby 'roun' yere! Lizzie alias has blackguarded me — don' yo' know she has — evah since yo' an' me met up! She jealous of me ! She say anything — anything at all ter git back at me! {They re-enter. Left.) sam {grabbing her by the shoulder) Yo' has seen Chick Avery! 93 GOAT ALLEY LUCY BELLE No — no — I ain' — I swear ter Gawd I ain , ! Aw, Sam, yo' believe yo' honey baby, don* yo' ? (A tense pause. He stares into her face?) sam (at length) Ef she keep on blackguardin' yo' I'se gwine ter kill her! LUCY BELLE No, no, Sam-boy! Yo' an* me wants ter git away from dis town. It'll be bettah fo' us bo'f. We am' nevah had no luck yere! (Caressingly.) Bes' ole buddy in de worl' ! I wants yo' Sam, — jes' yo' — nuffin' else. sam (muttering) I'll clean up fo' dat gal! LUCY BELLE Yo' loves me, don* yo' — don' yo'? sam (impulsively takes her in his arms and holds her tightly) Kid, yo's all I got in de worlM Ef yo* fools me I'll tu'n bad fo' life. LUCY BELLE Sam, baby, mah ole Sam-boy baby! Am' nuffin' on Gawd's ear'f I wouldn' do fo' yo'! (Looking up into his face.) Yo' an' me's gwine ter Baltimo', am' we? (Sam nods.) SAM Honey baby! Honey baby! Jes* mah UP gal! Yo's mine — mine fo' life! (Aunt Rebecca rushes in excitedly. Back.) 94 GOAT ALLEY AUNT REBECCA Lucy Belle! Mah Gawd! Lucy Belle! Is yo' crazy? Dey fish him out — de baby! Oh, mah Gawd! {Lucy Belle gives a stifled cry and breaks away from Sam,) sam {exclaiming savagely) Baby! What d' yo' mean? {A tense silence of a moment or two. At length Sam divines her meaning. Aunt Rebecca staggers back> realizing what the consequences of her reve- lation are likely to be. Lucy Belle stands at one side, moaning softly. Sam rushes at Aunt Rebecca, hits her and knocks her out through door, Back. She screams. He rushes over, closes the door, and locks it.) sam {rushing at Lucy Belle) Damn yo' black heart to hell! {She gives an unearthly scream?) Yo' will double-cross me! Dis is de way yo* pays me up fo' all I done fo' yo'! lucy belle {dropping to her knees) Sam — Sam-boy — listen! Lemme tell yo'! Oh, Gawd! It am* — sam {grabbing her) I'll show yo' how ter play dat kin' of a game! luch belle {s creaming) Sam! Sam! 95 GOAT ALLEY SAM I'll fix yo'! {He takes her by the throat and slowly chokes her to death. She struggles frantically to release her- self. At length she grows quiet and her body limp. He throws her on the floor, stands gazing at her for a moment or two, grabs up his hat, slinks to the door, Back, opens it cautiously and passes out, closing it after him.) CURTAIN 96 SWEET AND TWENTY A COMEDY IN ONE ACT by Floyd Dell First produced by the Provincetown Players, New York City, January 25, 191 8, with the following cast: The Young Woman, - Edna St. Vincent Millay The Young Man, - Ordway Tead The Agent, - Otto Liveright The Guard, .__.-- Louis Ell Copyright, 1921, by STEWART KIDD COMPANY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Sweet and Twenty is fully protected by the copyright law, all re- quirements of which have been complied with. No performance, either professional or amateur, may be given without the written permission of the author or his representative, the Stewart Kidd Company, Cincinnati, Ohio. Sweet and Twenty Scene — A corner of the cherry orchard on the coun- try place of the late Mr. Boggley, now on sale and open for inspection to prospective buyers. The cherry orchard, now in full bloom, is a very pleasant place. There is a green-painted rustic bench beside the path. . . . (This scene can be effectively produced on a small stage by a back-drop painted a blue-green color, with a single conventionalized cherry branch painted across it, and two three-leaved screens masking the wings, painted in blue -green with a spray of cherry blossoms). A young woman, dressed in a light summer frock and carrying a parasol, drifts in from the back. She sees the bench, comes over to it and sits down with an air of petulant weariness. A handsome young man enters from the right. He stops short in surprise on seeing the charming stranger who lolls upon the bench. He takes of his hat. ' he Oh, I beg your pardon! SHE Oh, you needn't! I've no right to be here, either. HE (Coming down to her) Now what do you mean by that? SHE I thought perhaps you were playing truant, as I am. 99 SWEET AND TWENTY HE Playing truant? SHE I was looking at the house, you know. And I got tired and ran away. HE Well, to tell the truth, so did L It's dull work, isn't it? SHE I've been upstairs and down for two hours. That family portrait gallery finished me. It was so old and gloomy and dead that I felt as if I were dead myself. I just had to do some- thing. I wanted to jab my parasol through the window-pane. I understood just how the suf- fragettes felt. But I was afraid of shocking the agent. He is such a meek little man, and he seemed to think so well of me. If I had broken the window I would have shattered his ideals of womanhood, too, I'm afraid. So I just slipped away quietly and came here. HE I've only been there half an hour and we — I've only been in the basement. That's why our tours of inspection didn't bring us together sooner. I've been cross-examining the furnace. Do you understand furnaces? {He sits down beside her) I don't. SHE Do you like family portraits? I hate 'em! HE What! Do the family portraits go with the house ? ioo SWEET AND TWENTY SHE No, thank heaven. They've been bequeathed to the Metropolitan Museum of Horrors, I un- derstand. They're valuable historically — early colonial governors and all that sort of stuff. But there is someone with me who — who takes a deep interest in such things. HE {frowning at a sudden memory) Hm. Didn't I see you at that real estate office in New York yesterday? SHE Yes. He was with me then. he {compassionately) I — I thought I remembered seeing you with-^ with him she {cheerfully) Isn't he just the sort of man who would be in- terested in family portraits? he {confused) Well — since you ask me — I — ! SHE Oh, that's all right. Tubby's a dear, in spite of his funny old ideas. I like him very much. HE {gulping the pill) Yes. . . . SHE He's so anxious to please me in buying this house. I suppose it's all right to have a house, but I'd like to become acquainted with it grad- ually. I'd like to feel that there was always some corner left to explore — some mystery IOI SWEET AND TWENTY saved up for a rainy day. Tubby can't under- stand that. He drags me everywhere, explain- ing how we'll keep this and change that — dormer windows here and perhaps a new wing there. ... I suppose you've been re- building the house, too? HE No. Merely decided to turn that sunny south room into a study. It would make a very pleasant place to work. But if you really want the place, I'd hate to take it away from you. SHE I was just going to say that if you really wanted it, Td withdraw. It was Tubby 's idea to buy it, you know — not mine. You do want it, don't you? HE I can't say that I do. It's so infernally big. But Maria thinks I ought to have it. (Ex- planatorily) Maria is — she (gently) She's — the one who is interested in furnaces, I understand. I saw her with you at the real- estate office yesterday. Well — furnaces are necessary, I suppose. (There is a pause y which she breaks suddenly) Do you see that bee? HE A bee ? (He follows her gaze up to a cluster of blossoms.) SHE Yes — there ! (Affectionately) The rascal ! There he goes. (Their eyes follow the flight of the bee across the orchard. There is a silence, in which 1 02 SWEET AND TWENTY Maria and Tubby drift into the Umbo of forgotten things. Alone together beneath the blossoms^ a spell seems to have fallen upon them. She tries to think of something to say — and at last succeeds.) SHE Have you heard the story of the people who used to live here? HE No; why? SHE An agent was telling us. It's quite romantic — and rather sad. You see, the man that built this house was in love with a girl. He was building it for her — as a surprise. But he had neglected to mention to her that he was in love with her. And so, in pique, she married an- other man, though she was really in love with him. The news came just when he had finished the house. He shut it up for a year or two, but eventually married someone else, and they lived here for ten years — most unhappily. Then they went abroad, and the house was sold. It was bought, curiously enough, by the husband of the girl he had been in love with. They lived here till they died — hating each other to the end, the agent says. HE It gives me the shivers. To think of that house, haunted by the memories of wasted love! Which of us, I wonder, will have to live in it? I don't want to. she {prosaically) Oh, don't take it so seriously as all that. If 103 SWEET AND TWENTY one can't live in a house where there's been an unhappy marriage, why, good heavens, where is one going to live? Most marriages, I fancy, are unhappy. HE A bitter philosophy for one so — SHE Nonsense! But listen to the rest of the story. The most interesting part is about this very orchard. HE Really! SHE Yes. This orchard, it seems, was here before the house was. It was part of an old farm where he and she — the unhappy lovers, you know — stopped one day, while they were out driving, and asked for something to eat. The farmer's wife was busy, but she gave them each a glass of milk, and told them they could eat all the cherries they wanted. So they picked a hatful of cherries, and ate them, sit- ting on a bench like this one. And then he fell in love with her. . . . HE And . . . didn't tell her so. . . . (She glances at him in alarm. His self-possession has vanished. He is pale and frightened r , but there is a desperate look in his eyes, as if some unknown power were forcing him to do something very rash. In short y he seems like a young man who has just fallen in love.) 1 04 SWEET AND TWENTY she (hastily) So you see this orchard is haunted, too! HE I feel it. I seem to hear the ghost of that old- time lover whispering to me. . . . she (provocatively) Indeed! What does he say? he He says: "I was a coward; you must be bold. I was silent; you must speak out." she (mischievously) That's very curious — because that old lover isn't dead at all. He's a baronet or something in England. he (earnestly) His youth is dead; and it is his youth that speaks to me. she (quickly) You mustn't believe all that ghosts tell you. HE Oh, but I must. For they know the folly of silence — the bitterness of cowardice. SHE The circumstances were — slightly — different, weren't they? he (stubbornly) I don't care! she (soberly) You know perfectly well it's no use. HE I can't help that! 105 SWEET AND TWENTY SHE Please! You simply mustn't! It's disgraceful! HE What's disgraceful? she {confused) What you are going to say. he (simply) Only that I love you. What is there disgrace- ful about that? It's beautiful! SHE It's wrong. HE It's inevitable. SHE Why inevitable? Can't you talk with a girl in a cherry orchard for half an hour without fail- ing in love with her? HE Not if the girl is you. SHE But why especially me? HE I don't know. Love — is a mystery. I only know that I was destined to love you. SHE How can you be so sure? HE Because you have changed the world for me. It's as though I had been groping about in the dark, and then — sunrise! And there's a queer feeling here. (He puts his hand on his heart) To tell the honest truth, there's a still queerer 1 06 SWEET AND TWENTY feeling in the pit of my stomach. It's a gone feeling, if you must know. And my knees are weak. I know now why men used to fall on their knees when they told a girl they loved her; it was because they couldn't stand up. And there's a feeling in my feet as though I were walking on air. And — she {faintly) That's enough! HE And I could die for you and be glad of the chance. It's perfectly absurd, but it's abso- lutely true. I've never spoken to you before, and heaven knows I may never get a chance to speak to you again, but I'd never forgive my- self if I didn't say this to you now. I love you! love you! love you! Now tell me I'm a fool. Tell me to go. Anything— I've said my say. . . . Why don't you speak? SHE I — I've nothing to say — except — except that I — well — {almost inaudibly) I feel some of those symptoms myself. he {triumphantly) You love me! SHE I — don't know. Yes. Perhaps. HE Then kiss me! she {doubtfully) No. . . . HE Kiss me! 107 SWEET AND TWENTY she {tormentedly) Oh, what's the use? HE I don't know. I don't care. I only know that we love each other. SHE {after a momenfs hesitation, desperately) I don't care, either! I do want to kiss you. {She does. . . . He is the first to awake from the ecstasy.) HE It is wicked — she {absently) Is it? HE But, oh heaven! kiss me again! {She does.) SHE Darling! HE Do you suppose anyone is likely to come this way? SHE No. he {speculatively) Your husband is probably still in the portrait gallery. . . . SHE My husband! {Drawing away) What do you mean? {Thoroughly awake now) You didn't think — ? {She jumps up and laughs convul- sively) He thought poor old Tubby was my husband!! HE {staring up at her bewildered) Why, isn't he your husband? 1 08 SWEET AND TWENTY she {scornfully) No!! He's my uncle! HE Your unc — SHE Yes, of course ! {Indignantly) Do you suppose I would be married to a man that's fat and bald and forty years old? he {distressed) I — I beg your pardon. I did think so. SHE Just because you saw me with him? How ridiculous ! HE It was a silly mistake. But — the things you said ! You spoke so — realistically — about marriage. SHE It was your marriage I was speaking about. {With hasty compunction) Oh, I beg your — HE My marriage ! {He rises) Good heavens ! And to whom, pray, did you think I was married? {A light dawning) To Maria? Why, Maria is my aunt! SHE Yes — of course. How stupid of me. HE Let's get this straight. Are you married to anybody? SHE Certainly not. As if I would let anybody make love to me if I were! 109 SWEET AND TWENTY HE Now don't put on airs. You did something quite as improper. You kissed a married man. SHE I didn't. HE It's the same thing. You thought I was married. SHE But you aren't. HE No. I'm not married. And — and — you're not married. (The logic of the situation striking him all of a sudden) In fact — ! (He pauses, rather alarmed.) SHE Yes? HE In fact — well — there's no reason in the world why we shouldn't make love to each other! SHE (equally startled) Why — that's so! HE Then — then — shall we? SHE (sitting down and looking demurely at her toes) Oh, not if you don't want to! HE (adjusting himself to the situation) Well — under the circumstances — I suppose I ought to begin by asking you to marry me. . . . SHE (languidly, with a provoking glance) You don't seem very anxious to. no SWEET AND TWENTY HE {feeling at a disadvantage) It isn't that — but — well — she {lightly) Well what? HE Dash it all, I don't know your name! SHE {looking at him with wild curiosity) That didn't seem to stop you a while ago. . . . he {doggedly) Well, then — will you marry me? she {promptly) No. he {surprised) No! Why do you say that? she {coolly) Why should I marry you? I know nothing about you. I've known you for less than an hour. he {sardonically) That fact didn't seem to keep you from kissing me. SHE Besides — I don't like the way you go about it. If you'd propose the same way you made love to me, maybe I'd accept you. HE All right, {propping on one knee before her) Beloved! {An awkward pause) No, I can't do it. {He gets up and distractedly dusts off his knees with his handkerchief) I'm very sorry. 8 III SWEET AND TWENTY SHE (with calm inquiry) Perhaps it's because you don't love me any more? he (fretfully) Of course I love you ! she (coldly) But you don't want to marry me. ... I see. he Not at all! I do want to marry you. But — SHE Well? HE Marriage is a serious matter. Now don't take offense! I only meant that — well — (He starts again) We are in love with each other, and that's the important thing. But, as you said, we don't know each other. I've no doubt that when we get acquainted we will like each other better still. But we've got to get acquainted first. she (rising) You're just like Tubby buying a house. You want to know all about it. Well! I warn you that you'll never know all about me. So you needn't try. he (apologetically) It was your suggestion. she (impatiently) Oh, all right! Go ahead and cross-examine me if you like. I'll tell you to begin with that I'm perfectly healthy, and that there's no T. B., 112 SWEET AND TWENTY insanity, or Socialism in my family. What else do you want to know? he (hesitantly) Why did you put Socialism in ? SHE Oh, just for fun. You aren't a Socialist, are you? HE Yes. (Earnestly) Do you know what Socialism is? she (innocently) It's the same thing as Anarchy, isn't it? he (gently) No. At least not my kind. I believe in mu- nicipal ownership of street cars, and all that sort of thing. I'll give you some books to read SHE Well, I never ride in street cars, so I don't care whether they're municipally owned or not. By the way, do you dance? HE No. SHE You must learn right away. I can't bother to teach you myself, but I know where you can get private lessons and become really good in a month. It is stupid not to be able to dance. HE (as if he had tasted quinine) I can see myself doing the tango! Grr! SHE The tango went out long ago, my dear, 113 SWEET AND TWENTY HE {with great decision) Well — I wont learn to dance. You might as well know that to begin with. SHE And I won't read your old books on Socialism. You might as well know that to begin with! HE Come, come! This will never do. You see, my dear, it's simply that I cant dance, and there's no use for me to try to learn. SHE Anybody can learn. IVe made expert dancers out of the awkwardest men! HE But, you see, IVe no inclination toward danc- ing. It's out of my world. SHE And IVe no inclination toward municipal owner- ship. It's out of my world! HE It ought not to be out of the world of any in- telligent person. SHE {turning her back on him) All right — if you want to call me stupid! HE {turning and looking away meditatively) It ap- pears that we have very few tastes in common. SHE {tapping her foot) So it seems. HE If we married we might be happy for a month — 114 SWEET AND TWENTY SHE Perhaps. {They remain standing with their backs to each other?) HE And then — the old story. Quarrels. . . . SHE I never could bear quarrels. . . . HE An unhappy marriage. . . . SHE {realizing it) Oh! HE {hopelessly turning toward her) I can' t marry you. SHE {recovering quickly and facing him with a smile) Nobody asked you, sir, she said! HE {with a gesture of finality) Well — there seems to be no more to say. she {sweetly) Except good-bye. he {firmly) Good-bye, then. {He holds out his hand?) SHE {taking it) Good-bye! HE {taking her other hand — after a pause, helplessly) Good-bye ! SHE {drawing in his eyes) Good-bye! {They cling to each other, and are presently lost in a pas- sionate embrace. He breaks loose and stamps away, then turns to her.) "5 SWEET AND TWENTY HE Damn it all, we do love each other! SHE {wiping her eyes) What a pity that is the only taste we have in common! HE Do you suppose that is enough? SHE I wish it were! HE A month of happiness — SHE Yes! HE And then — wretchedness. SHE No — never! HE We mustn't do it. SHE I suppose not. HE Come, let us control ourselves. SHE Yes, let's. {They take hands again.) HE {with an effort) I wish you happiness. I — I'll go to Europe for a year. Try to forget me. SHE I shall be married when you get back — perhaps. HE I hope it's somebody that's not bald and fat and forty. Otherwise — ! 116 SWEET AND TWENTY SHE And you — for goodness sake! marry a girl that's very young and very, very pretty. That will help. HE We mustn't prolong this. If we stay together another minute — SHE Then go! HE I can't go! SHE You must, darling! You must! HE Oh, if somebody would only come along! (They are leaning toward each other, dizzy upon the brink of another kiss, when somebody does come — a short, mild-looking man in a Derby hat. There is an odd gleam in his eyes). the intruder (startled) Excuse me! (They turn and stare at him y but their hands cling fast to each other.) she (faintly) The Agent! THE AGENT (in despairing accents) Too late ! Too late ! THE YOUNG MAN No! Just in time! THE AGENT Too late, I say! I will go. (He turns.) THE YOUNG MAN No! Stay! 117 SWEET AND TWENTY THE AGENT What's the use? It has already begun. What good can I do now? THE YOUNG MAN I'll show you what good you can do now. Come here! {The Agent approaches) Can you un- loose my hands from those of this young woman ? THE YOUNG WOMAN {haughtily releasing herself and walking away) You needn't trouble! I can do it myself. THE YOUNG MAN Thank you. It was utterly beyond my power. {To the Agent) Will you kindly take hold of me and move me over there? {The Agent propels him away from the girl) Thank you. At this distance I can perhaps make my farewell in a seemly and innocuous manner. THE AGENT Young man, you will not say farewell to that young lady for ten days — and perhaps never! THE YOUNG WOMAN What! THE AGENT They have arranged it all. THE YOUNG MAN Who has arranged what? THE AGENT Your aunt, Miss Brooke — and {to the young woman) your uncle, Mr. Egerton — {The young people turn and stare at each other in amazement^) THE YOUNG MAN Egerton! Are you Helen Egerton? 118 SWEET AND TWENTY HELEN And are you George Brooke? THE AGENT Your aunt and uncle have just discovered each other up at the house, and they have arranged for you all to take dinner together to-night, and then go to a ten-day house-party at Mr. Eger- ton's place on Long Island. {Grimly) The reason of all this will be plain to you. They want you two to get married. GEORGE Then we're done for! We'll have to get mar- ried now whether we want to or not! HELEN What! Just to please them? I shan't do it! george {gloomily) You don't know my Aunt Maria. HELEN And Tubby will try to bully me, I suppose. But I won't do it — no matter what he says! THE AGENT Pardon what may seem an impertinence, Miss; but is it really true that you don't want to marry this young man? helen {flaming) I suppose because you saw me in his arms — ! Oh, I want to, all right, but — the agent {mildly) Then what seems to be the trouble ? HELEN I — oh, you explain to him, George. {She goes to the bench and sits down?) 119 SWEET AND TWENTY GEORGE Well, it's this way. As you may have deduced from what you saw, we are madly in love with each other — HELEN {from the bench) But I'm not madly in love with municipal ownership. That's the chief difficulty. GEORGE No, the chief difficulty is that I refuse to enter- tain even a platonic affection for the tango. helen {irritably) I told you the tango had gone out long ago! GEORGE Well, then, the maxixe. HELEN Stupid! GEORGE And there you have it! No doubt it seems ridiculous to you. the agent {gravely) Not at all, my boy. I've known marriage to go to smash on far less than that. When you come to think of it, a taste for dancing and a taste for municipal ownership stand at the two ends of the earth away from each other. They represent two different ways of taking life. And if two people who live in the same house can't agree on those two things, they'd disagree on ten thousand things that came up every day. And what's the use for two different kinds of beings to try to live together? It doesn't work, 1 20 SWEET AND TWENTY no matter how much love there is between them. GEORGE {rushing up to him in surprise and gratification, and shaking his hand warmly) Then you're our friend. You will help us not to get married! THE AGENT Your aunt is very set on it — and your uncle, too, Miss! HELEN We must find some way to get out of it, or they'll have us cooped up together in that house before we know it. {Rising and coming over to the Agent) Can't you think up some scheme? THE AGENT Perhaps I can, and perhaps I can't. I'm a bachelor myself, Miss, and that means that I've thought up many a scheme to get out of marriage myself. helen {outraged) You old scoundrel! THE agent Oh, it's not so bad as you may think, Miss. I've always gone through the marriage cere- mony to please them. But that's not what I call marriage. GEORGE Then what do you call marriage? HELEN Yes, I'd like to know! 121 SWEET AND TWENTY THE AGENT Marriage, my young friends, is an iniquitous arrangement devised by the Devil himself for driving all the love out of the hearts of lovers. They start out as much in love with each other as you two are to-day, and they end by being as sick of the sight of each other as you two will be twenty years hence if I don't find a way of saving you alive out of the Devil's own trap. It's not lack of love that's the trouble with mar- riage — it's marriage itself. And when I say marriage, I don't mean promising to love, honor, and obey, for richer, for poorer, in sick- ness and in health till death do you part — that's only human nature to wish and to at- tempt. And it might be done if it weren't for the iniquitous arrangement of marriage. GEORGE {pUZzled) But what is the iniquitous arrangement? THE AGENT Ah, that's the trouble! If I tell you, you won't believe me. You'll go ahead and try it out, and find out what all the unhappy ones have found out before you. Listen to me, my chil- dren. Did you ever go on a picnic? {He looks from one to the other — they stand astonished and silent) Of course you have. Everyone has. There is an instinct in us which makes us go back to the ways of our savage ancestors — to gather about a fire in the forest, to cook meat on a pointed stick, and eat it with our fingers. But how many books would you write, young man, if you had to go back to the camp-fire 122 SWEET AND TWENTY every day for your lunch ? And how many new dances would you invent if you lived eternally in the picnic stage of civilization? No! the picnic is incompatible with everyday living. As incompatible as marriage. GEORGE But— HELEN But— THE AGENT Marriage is the nest-building instinct, turned by the Devil himself into an institution to hold the human soul in chains. The whole story of marriage is told in the old riddle: "Why do birds in their nests agree? Because if they don't, they'll fall out." That's it. Marriage is a nest so small that there is no room in it for disagreement. Now it may be all right for birds to agree, but human beings are not built that way. They disagree, and home becomes a little hell. Or else they do agree, at the expense of the soul's freedom stifled in one or both. HELEN Yes, but tell me — GEORGE Ssh! THE AGENT Yet there is the nest-building instinct. You feel it, both of you. If you don't now, you will as soon as you are married. If you are fools, you will try to live all your lives in a love-nest; and you will imprison your souls within it, and the Devil will laugh. 123 SWEET AND TWENTY HELEN (to George) I am beginning to be afraid of him. GEORGE So am I. THE AGENT If you are wise, you will build yourselves a little nest secretly in the woods, away from civilization, and you will run away together to that nest whenever you are in the mood. A nest so small that it will hold only two beings and one thought — the thought of love. And then you will come back refreshed to civiliza- tion, where every soul is different from every other soul — you will let each other alone, forget each other, and do your own work in peace. Do you understand? HELEN He means we should occupy separate sides of the house, I think. Or else that we should live apart and only see each other on week-ends. I'm not sure which. the agent (passionately) I mean that you should not stifle love with civilization, nor encumber civilization with love. What have they to do with each other? You think you want a fellow student of economics. You are wrong. You think you want a dancing partner. You are mistaken. You want a revelation of the glory of the universe. HELEN (to George ', confidentially) It's blithering non- sense, of course. But it was something like that — a while ago. 124 SWEET AND TWENTY george {bewilder edly) Yes; when we knew it was our first kiss and thought it was to be our last. the agent {fiercely) A kiss is always the first kiss and the last — or it is nothing. helen {conclusively) He's quite mad. GEORGE Absolutely. THE AGENT Mad ? Of course I am mad. But — {He turns suddenly •, and subsides as a man in a guard's uniform enters?) THE GUARD Ah, here you are! Thought you'd given us the slip, did you? {To the others) Escaped from the Asylum, he did, a week ago, and got a job here. We've been huntin' him high and low. Come along now! GEORGE {recovering with difficulty the power of speech) What — what's the matter with him? GUARD Matter with him? He went crazy, he did, readin' the works of Bernard Shaw. And if he wasn't in the insane asylum he'd be in jail. He's a bigamist, he is. He married fourteen women. But none of 'em would go on the witness stand against him. Said he was an ideal husband, they did. Fourteen of 'em ! But otherwise he's perfectly harmless. Come now! 125 SWEET AND TWENTY the agent {pleasantly) Perfectly harmless! Yes, perfectly harmless! (He is led out.) HELEN That explains it all! GEORGE Yes — and yet I feel there was something in what he was saying. HELEN Well — are we going to get married or not? We've got to decide that before we face my uncle and your aunt. GEORGE Of course we'll get married. You have your work and I mine, and — HELEN Well, if we do, then you can't have that sunny south room for a study. I want it for the nursery. GEORGE The nursery! HELEN Yes; babies, you know! GEORGE Good heavens! [curtain] 126 TICKLESS TIME A COMEDY IN ONE ACT by Susan Glaspell and George Cram Cook First performed by the Provinceiown Players, New York, December 20, 191 8, with the following cast: Ian Joyce, Who Has Made a Sun-dial, James Light Eloise Joyce, Wedded to the Sun-dial, Norma Millay Mrs. Stubbs, a Native, Jean Robb Eddy Knight, a Standardized Mind, Hutchinson Collins Alice Knight, a Standardized Wife, Alice MacDougal Annie, Who Cooks by the Joyces' Clock, Edna St. Vincent Millay Copyright, 1920, by SMALL, MAYNARD & CO. Production of this play must not be made except by written permission of the authors, who may be addressed in care of Small, Maynard & Company, Boston, Mass. TICKLESS TIME scene: A garden in Provincetown. On the spectators right a two-story house runs back from the pros- cenium — a door towards the front, a second-story window towards the back. Across the back runs a thick-set row of sunflowers nearly concealing a fence or wall. Back of this are trees and sky. There is a gate at the left rear corner of the garden. People entering it come straight toward the front \ down the left side and, to reach the house door, pass across the front of the stage. A fence with sunflowers like that at the back closes off the left wing of the stage — a tree behind this left fence. The sun-dial stands on a broad step or pedestal which partly masks the digging which takes place behind it. The position of the sun-dial is to the left of the center of the stage midway between front and back. From behind the tree on the left the late afternoon sun throws a well-defined beam of light upon the horizontal plate of the sun-dial and upon the shaft which supports it. On this shaft is the accompanying diagram: two feet high and clearly visible. On the plate of the sun-dial stands the alarm clock. A huge shovel leans against the wall of the house- corner at the back. Ian is at the sun-dial. He sights over the style to some distant stake left rear, marking the north. He then sights over the east and left line toward the six 129 JAN ^ *) mar K y * PI< /./ ■» ::(:::: JUN ,\ na — ;& — AUG Ay SEP V/ OCT-ty' NOVjfl DK _^,___ TICKLESS TIME o'clock sun. Looks at shadow. Looks at alarm clock. Is intensely pleased. ian (turning toward the house and calling ex- citedly) Eloise! Oh, Eloise! eloise {inside house) Hello! IAN Come quick! You'll miss it. eloise (poking her head out of the second-story window; she cranes her neck to look straight up in the air.) What is it? IAN Come down here quick or you'll miss it. eloise (disappears from window. A moment later comes running out y one braid of hair up and one braid down. Again looks wildly up in the air.) Where is it? ian (absorbed in the sun-dial) Where's what? eloise The airplane. IAN Airplane? It's the sun-dial. It's right. Just look at this six-o'clock shadow. (She goes around to the other side of it.) It's absolutely, mathe- matically — you're in the way of the sun, Eloise. (She steps aside.) Look! the style is set square on the true north — this is the fifteenth of June — the clock is checked to the second by telegraph with the observatory at Washington, and see! 130 TICKLESS TIME the clock is exactly nineteen minutes and twenty seconds behind the shadow — the precise differ- ence between Provincetown local time and standard Eastern time. ELOISE Then the sun-dial's really finished — and working right! After all these words! Oh, Ian! {She embraces him.) IAN It's good to get it right after all those mistakes. {With vision.) Why, Eloise, getting this right has been a symbol of man's whole search for truth — the discovery and correction of error — the mind compelled to conform step by step to astronomical fact — to truth. eloise {going to it again) And to think that it's the sun-dial which is true and the clock — all the clocks — are wrong! I'm glad it is true. Alice Knight has been here talking to me for an hour. I want to think that something's true. IAN That's just it, Eloise. The sun-dial is more than sun-dial. It's a first-hand relation with truth. A personal relation. When you take your time from a clock you are mechanically getting in- formation from a machine. You're nothing but a clock yourself. ELOISE Like Alice Knight. IAN But the sun-dial — this shadow is an original document — a scholar's source. 131 TICKLESS TIME ELOISE To tell time by the shadow of the sun — so large and simple. IAN I wouldn't call it simple. Here on this diagram I have worked out — ELOISE Dearest, you know I can't understand diagrams. But I get the feeling of it, Ian — the sun, the North star. I love to think that this {placing her hands on the style) is set by the North star. (Her right hand remains on the style, her left prolongs its line heavenward.) Why, if I could go on long enough I'd get to the North star! ian (impressively) The line that passes along the edge of this style joins the two poles of the heavens. (Eloise pulls away her hand as one who fears an electric shock.) Look at this slow shadow, and what you see is the spin of the earth on its axis. It is not so much the measure of time, as time itself made visible. eloise (knitting her brows to get this — escaping to an impetuous generality) Ian, which do you think is the more wonder- ful — space or time? ian (again sighting over his east and west lines. Good-humor edly) Both are a little large for our approbation. eloise (sitting on the steps and putting up the other braid) Do you know, Ian, that's the one thing about them I don't quite like. You can't get very intimate with them, can you? They make you 132 TICKLESS TIME so humble. That's one nice thing about a clock. A clock is sometimes wrong. IAN Don't you want to live in a first-hand relation to truth? ELOISE Yes; yes, I do — generally. IAN I have a feeling as of having touched vast forces. To work directly with worlds — it lifts me out of that little routine of our lives which is itself a clock. eloise (catching his exultation) Let us be like this ! Let us have done with clocks ! IAN Eloise, how wonderful! Can the clocks and live by the sun-dial? Live by the non-auto- matic sun-dial — as a pledge that we ourselves refuse to be automatons! ELOISE Like Alice Knight. (She takes clock from dial and puts it face downward on the ground.) I shall never again have anything to do with a clock! IAN Eloise! How corking of you! I didn't think you had it in you. (Raising his right hand.) Do you solemnly swear to live by the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth? eloise (her hand upon the sun-dial) I swear. IAN Bring them! 133 TICKLESS TIME ELOISE Bring — ? IAN The clocks! Bring them! {Seizes the spade over by the house; begins to dig a grave behind the sun- dial^) Bring every one! We will bury the clocks before the sun-dial — an offering, a living sac- rifice. I tell you this is great, Eloise. What is a clock? Something agreed upon and arbitrarily imposed upon us. Standard time. Not true time. Symbolizing the whole standardization of our lives. Clocks ! Why, it is clockiness that makes America mechanical and mean! Clock- minded! A clock is a little machine that shuts us out from the wonder of time. {A large ges- ture with the shovel.) Who thinks of spinning worlds when looking at a clock? How dare clocks do this to us ? But the sun-dial — because there was creation, because there are worlds out- side our world, because space is rhythm and time is flow that shadow falls precisely there and not elsewhere! Bring them, Eloise! I am dig- ging the graves of the clocks ! {Eloise, swept up by this ecstasy, yet frightened at what it is bringing her to, hesitates, then runs to house. Ian digs with rhythmic vigor. A mo- ment later Eloise is seen peering down at him from window, in her arms a cuckoo clock. It begins to cuckoo, startling Eloise?) IAN That damned cuckoo! {A moment later Eloise comes out, bearing a cuckoo clock and an old-fashioned clock. Ian y s *34 TICKLESS TIME back is to her; she has to pass the alarm clock, lying where she left it, prone on the ground. She hesitates, then carefully holding the other two clocks in one arm, she stealthily goes rear and puts the alarm clock behind the sunflowers. Then ad- vances with the other two.) ian (while digging) Into these graves go all that is clocklike in our minds. All that a clock world has made of us lies buried here! (Eloise stands rather appalled at the idea of so much of herself going into a grave. Puts the old- fashioned clock carefully on the ground. Gingerly fits the cuckoo clock into the completed grave. With an exclamation of horror lifts it out of the grave. Listens to its tick. Puts her ear to the sun-dial; listens vainly?) ELOISE The sun-dial doesn't tick, does it, Ian? IAN Why should it tick? ELOISE Do you know, Ian, I (timidly) — I like to hear the ticking of a clock. (No reply. Eloise holds up the cuckoo clock.) This was a wedding present. IAN No wonder marriage fails. (He moves to take it from her.) ELOISE I wonder if we hadn't better leave the cuckoo until tomorrow. IAN Flaming worlds! A cuckoo! 135 TICKLESS TIME ELOISE Eddie and Alice gave us the cuckoo. You know they're coming back. I asked them for dinner. They might not understand our burying their clock. IAN Their failure to understand need not limit our lives. {Puts the cuckoo clock in its grave and be- gins to cover it.) eloise (as the earth goes on) I liked the cuckoo! I liked to see him popping out! ian (kindly) You will grow, Eloise. You will go out to large things now that you have done with small ones. ELOISE I hope so. It will be hard on me if I don't. (Ian reaches for the other clock.) eloise (snatching it) Oh, Ian, I don't think I ought to bury this one. It's the clock my grandmother started house- keeping with! ian (firmly taking clock) And see what it did to her. Meticulous old woman ! (Puts it in its grave.) ELOISE You were glad enough to get her pies and buck- wheat cakes. IAN She had all the small virtues. But a standard- ized mind. (Trampling down the grave.) She lacked scope. And now — a little grave for 136 TICKLESS TIME little clocks. {Takes out his watch, puts it in its graved) Your watch, Eloise. eloise (holding to her wrist watch) I thought I'd keep my watch, Ian. {Hastily,) For an ornament, you know. IAN We are going to let truth be your ornament, Eloise. ELOISE Nobody sees the truth. {With afresh outburst.) This watch is my graduation present! IAN Symbolizing all the standardized arbitrary things you were taught! Commemorating the clocklike way your mind was made to run. Free yourself of that watch, Eloise. {Eloise reluctantly frees herself. Ian briskly covers the watches. Moves to the unfilled grave.) Is there nothing for this grave? {Eloise shakes her head.) Sure — the alarm clock! eloise {running to the sunflowers and spreading out her skirts before them.) Oh, Ian, not the alarm clock! How would we ever go to Boston ? The train doesn't run by the sun. IAN Then the train is wrong. ELOISE But, Ian, if the train is wrong we have to be wrong to catch the train. IAN That's civilization. {Stands resolutely by the grave.) The alarm clock, Eloise. The grave awaits it. 137 TICKLESS TIME eloise {taking it up, her arms folded around it) I wanted to go to Boston and buy a hat! IAN The sun will fall upon your dear head and give you life. eloise {about to cry) But no style! It ticks so loud and sure! IAN All false things are loud and sure. ELOISE I need a tick! I am afraid of tickless time! {Holding the clock in both hands she places it against her left ear.) ian {spade still in his right hand, he places his left arm around her reassuringly) You will grow, Eloise. You are growing. (He takes the clock as he is saying this. She turns her head backward following the departing clock with surprised and helpless eyes. Dis- consolately watches him bury it.) eloise (an inspiration) Ian! Couldn't you fix the sun-dial to be set and go off? ian (pained) "Set and go off?" (Pause; regards the sun.) Sine sole silio. ELOISE What did you say, Ian? IAN I said: Sine sole silio. ELOISE Well, I don't know what you say when you say that. 138 TICKLESS TIME IAN It's a Latin motto I've just thought of for the sun-dial. It means, "Without sun, I am silent." Silence is a great virtue. {Having finished the grave, he looks around, making sure there are no more clocks. Joyously.) Now we are freed! Eloise, think what life is going to be! Done with approximations. Done with machine thinking. In a world content with false time, we are true. eloise {sitting on the steps) Yes, it's beautiful. I want to be true. It's just that it's a little hard to be true in a false world. For instance, tomorrow I have an ap- pointment with the dentist. If I come on sun- time, I suppose I'll be twenty minutes — ian {eagerly. Going to the sun-dial and pointing) If you will just let me explain this table — {Eloise shrinks back. Ian gives it up.) Oh, well, tell him you are living by the truth. ELOISE I'm afraid he'll charge me for it. And when we ask people for dinner at seven, they'll get here at twenty minutes of seven. Or will it be twenty minutes after seven? ian {smoothing down the graves) It will be a part of eternal time. ELOISE Yes — that's true. Only the roast isn't so eternal. Why do they have clocks wrong? IAN Oh, Eloise, I've explained it so many times. You — living in Provincetown, three hundred miles to the eastward, are living by the mean solar 139 TICKLESS TIME time of Philadelphia. {Venomously^) Do you want to live by the mean solar time of Philadel- phia? ELOISE Certainly not. {An idea?) Then has Phila- delphia got the right time? IAN It's right six miles this side of Philadelphia. ELOISE We might move to Philadelphia. {Enter, through gate y Mrs. Stubbs y a Province- town "native") MRS. STUBBS Now, Mr. Joyce, this sun clock — is it running? IAN It doesn't "run," Mrs. Stubbs. It is acted upon. MRS. STUBBS Oh ? Well, is it being acted upon ? IAN As surely as the sun shines. mrs. stubbs {looking at the sun) And it is shining today, isn't it? Well, will you tell me the time? My clock has stopped and I want to set it. ian {happily) You hear, Eloise? Her clock has stopped. MRS. STUBBS Yes, I forgot to wind it. eloise {grieved to think of any one living in such a world) Wind it! IAN Do you not see, Mrs. Stubbs, where the shadow 140 TICKLESS TIME falls? {She comes up the steps.) From its mil- lions of spinn — You're in the way of the sun, Mrs. Stubbs. {She steps aside.) Its millions of spinning miles, the sun casts that shadow and here we know that it is eight minutes past six. MRS, STUBBS Now, ain't that wonderful? Dear, dear, I wish Mr. Stubbs could make a sun clock. But he's not handy around the house. Past six. Well, I must hurry back. They work tonight at the cold storage but Mr. Stubbs gets home for his supper at half past six. {Starts away, reaching the gate) eloise {running to her) Oh, Mrs. Stubbs! Don't get his supper by sun time. It wouldn't be ready. It — {with a hesitant look at Ian) might get cold. {Mrs. Stubbs stares.) You see, Mr. Stubbs is coming home by the mean solar time of Philadelphia. mrs. stubbs {loyal to Mr. Stubbs) Who said he was? eloise {in distress) Oh, it's all so false! And arbitrary! {To Ian.) But I think Mrs. Stubbs had better be false and arbitrary, too. Mr. Stubbs might rather have his supper than the truth. mrs. stubbs {advancing a little) What is this about my being false? And — arbitrary? ELOISE You see, you have to be, Mrs. Stubbs. We don't blame you. How can you live by the truth if Mr. Stubbs doesn't work by it? 141 TICKLESS TIME MRS. STUBBS This is the first word I ever heard said against Johnnie Stubbs's way of freezin' fish. ELOISE Oh, Mrs. Stubbs, if it were merely his way of freezing fish! IAN Since you are not trying to establish a direct re- lation with truth, set your clock at five minutes of six. The clocks, as would be clear to you if you would establish a first-hand relation with this diagram, Eloise, are slow. MRS. STUBBS You mean your sun clock's wrong. IAN All other clocks are wrong. ELOISE You live by the mean solar time of Philadelphia. MRS. STUBBS I do no such thing! ELOISE Yes, you do, Mrs. Stubbs. You see the sun can't be both here and in Philadelphia at the same time. Now, could it? So we have to pre- tend to be where it is in Philadelphia. MRS. STUBBS Who said we did? ELOISE Well, (after a look at Ian) the Government. MRS. STUBBS Them congressmen ! ELOISE But Mr. Joyce and I — You're standing on a grave, Mrs. Stubbs. (Mrs. Stubbs jumps.) The 142 TICKLESS TIME grave of my grandmother's clock. {In reply to Mrs. Stubbs' s look of amazement.) Oh, yes! That clock has done harm enough. Mrs. Subbs, think what time is — and then consider my grand- mother's clock! Tick, tick! Tick, tick! Mess- ing up eternity like that! mrs. stubbs {after failing to think of anything adequate) I must get Mr. Stubbs his supper! {Frightened exit.) ian {standing near house door) Eloise, how I love you when feeling lifts you out of routine! Do you know, dearest, you are very sensitive in the way you feel feeling? Sometimes I think that the way to feel feeling is greater than to feel. You're like the dial. Your sensitiveness is the style — the gnomon — to cast the shadow of the feeling all around you and mark what has been felt. {They embrace.) {Eddy and Alice open the gate.) EDDY Ahem! {He comes down.) Ahem! We seem to have come ahead of time. ELOISE Oh, Eddy! Alice! {Moving toward Eddy but not passing the dial.) We are living by sun time now. You haven't arrived for twenty minutes. EDDY We haven't arrived for twenty minutes? {Feel- ing of himself .) Why do I seem to be here? alice {approaching dial) So this is the famous sun-dial? How very interesting it is! 143 TICKLESS TIME ELOISE It's more than that. ALICE Yes, it's really beautiful, isn't it? ELOISE It's more than that. EDDY Is it? ELOISE It's a symbol. It means that Ian and I are done with approximations arbitrarily and falsely im- posed upon us. EDDY Well, I should think you would be. Who's been doing that to you? ELOISE Don't step on the graves, please, Alice. alice {starting back in horror) Graves ? eloise {pointing down) The lies we inherited lie buried there. EDDY Well, I should think that might make quite a graveyard. So the sun-dial is built on lies. ELOISE Indeed it is not! ALICE Does it keep time? IAN It doesn't "keep" time. It gives it. eddy {comparing with his watch) Well, it gives it wrong. It's twenty minutes fast. {Van and Eloise smile at one another in a superior way.) 144 TICKLESS TIME ALICE You couldn't expect a home-made clock to be perfectly accurate. I think it's doing very- well to come within twenty minutes of the true time. IAN It is true time. ELOISE You think it's twenty minutes fast because your puny, meticulous little watch is twenty minutes slow. ALICE Why, is it, Eddy? {Comparing watches across the sun-dial?) No, Eddy's watch is right by mine. IAN And neither of you is right by the truth. e lo i s e {pity ingly) Don't you know that you are running by the mean solar time of Philadelphia? EDDY Well, isn't everybody else running that way? ELOISE Does that .make it right? EDDY I get you. You are going to cast off standard time and live by solar time. ELOISE Lies for truth. EDDY But how are you going to connect up with other people ? IAN We can allow for their mistakes. 145 TICKLESS TIME ELOISE We will connect with other people in so far as other people are capable of connecting with the truth! EDDY I'm afraid you'll be awful lonesome sometimes. ALICE But, Eloise, do you mean to say that you are going to insist on being right when other people are wrong? ELOISE I insist upon it. ALICE What a life! EDDY Come, now, what difference does it make if we're wrong, if we're all wrong together? IAN That idea has made a clock of the human mind. {Enter Annie.) ANNIE Mrs. Joyce, can't I have my clock back now? I don't know when to start dinner. ian {consulting dial) By true time, Annie, it is twenty minutes past six. eloise {confidentially) By false time it is six. ANNIE I have to have my kitchen clock back. {She looks around for it.) IAN We are done with clocks, Annie. 146 TICKLESS TIME ANNIE You mean I'm not to have it back? ELOISE It lies buried there. ANNIE Buriedl My clock buried? It's not dead! IAN It's dead to us, Annie. annie {after looking at the grave) Do I get a new clock? ELOISE We are going to establish a first-hand relation with truth. ANNIE You can't cook without a clock. IAN A superstition. And, anyway — have you not the sun? annie {after regarding the sun) I'd rather have a clock than the sun. {Returns to her clockless kite ken.) IAN That's what clocks have made of the human mind. eddy {coming to Ian) Of course, this is all a joke. IAN The attempt to reach the truth has always been thought a joke. EDDY But this isn't any new truth! Why re-reach it? IAN I'm reaching it myself. I'm getting the impact — as of a fresh truth. 147 TICKLESS TIME ALICE But hasn't it all been worked out for us? IAN And we take it never knowing — never feeling — what it is we take. ELOISE And that has made us the mechanical things we are! annie {frantically rushes in, peeling an onion) Starting the sauce for the spaghetti. Fry onions in butter three minutes. {Wildly regards sun- dial — traces curved line of diagram with knife. Looks despairingly at the sun. Tears back into the housed IAN You get no sense of wonder in looking at a clock. ALICE Yes, do you know, I do. I've always thought that clocks were perfectly wonderful I never could understand how they could run like that. ELOISE I suppose you know they run wrong? EDDY What do you mean "run wrong?" ELOISE Why, you are running by the mean solar time of Philadelphia. And yet here you are in Provincetown where the sun is a very different matter. You have no direct relation with the sun. EDDY That doesn't seem to worry me much. 148 TICKLESS TIME IAN No, it wouldn't worry you, Eddy. You're too perfect a product of a standardized world. {Eddy bows acknowledgment.) annie {rushing out to look at dial.) Add meat, brown seven minutes. {Measures seven minutes between thumb and finger, holds up this frag- ment of time made visible and [carries it carefully into the housed) EDDY That girl'll get heart disease. IAN Let her establish a first-hand relation to heat. If she'd take a look at the food instead of the clock — ! EDDY Trouble is we have to establish a first-hand re- lation with the spaghetti. {Eddy now comes down and regards the sun-dial. Moralizes?) If other people have got the wrong dope, you've got to have the wrong dope or be an off ox. IAN Perfect product of a standardized nation ! eddy {pointing with his stick) What's this standardized snake? IAN That's my diagram correcting the sun? EDDY Does one correct the sun? eloise {from behind the dial) Ian ! Correcting the sun! IAN You see, there are only four days in the year 149 TICKLESS TIME when the apparent time is the same as the aver- age time. eloise (in growing alarm) Do you mean to tell me the sun is not right with itself? IAN I've tried to explain it to you, Eloise, but you said you could get the feeling of it without un- derstanding it. This curve (pointing) marks the variation. Here, today, you see, the shadow is "right" as you call it— that is, average. It will be right again here in September, and again on December twenty-first. ALICE My birthday! ELOISE Ian, you mean to say the sun only tells the right sun time four days in the year? IAN It always tells the "right" sun time, but here the said right sun time is fifteen minutes be- hind its own average, and here it is sixteen minutes ahead. This scale here across the bot- tom shows you the number of minutes to add or subtract. eloise (with bitterness) Add! Subtract! Then you and your sun are false! IAN u ■ m _ No, Eloise, not false. Merely intricate. Merely not regular. Machines are regular. eloise You got me to bury the clocks and live by the 150 TICKLESS TIME sun and now you tell me you have to fix up the sun. IAN It was you who said bury the clocks. ELOISE I suppose you have to do something to the North star, too! IAN Yes, the North star is not true north. (He starts to point out its error , sighting over the style of the dial.) ELOISE What is true? What is true? ian (with vision) The mind of man. ELOISE I think I'd better have a clock. (A new gust.) You told me I was to live by the sun, and now — after the clocks are in their graves — what I am to live by is that snake. (She points at diagram.) IAN You are a victim of misplaced confidence, Eloise. Sometimes when one feels things with- out understanding them, one feels the wrong thing. But there's nothing to worry about. The sun and I can take care of the sun's irregu- larities. EDDY Take heart, Eloise. It's a standardized sun. IAN It's not a blindly accepted sun! annie (who comes as one not to be put aside) What'll I do when it rains? 151 TICKLESS TIME IAN You'll use your mind. ANNIE To tell time by? {Looking to Eloise.) I think I'd better find another place. alice (coming forward, regarding this as a really serious matter) No, don't do that, Annie. eloise (tearfully) You don't know the wonders of your own mind! ANNIE No, ma'am. (After a look at the sun, becomes terrified.) It's going down ! EDDY Yes, it goes down. ANNIE How'll we tell time when it's dark? IAN Sine sole silio. ANNIE Is that saying how we'll know when it's time to go to bed? IAN The doves know when to go to bed. ANNIE The doves don't go to the pictures. eloise (hysterically) You'll grow, Annie! ANNIE I'd rather have a clock. (Exit.) IAN She'd rather have a clock than grow. ALICE Now, why can't one do both? 152 TICKLESS TIME IAN One doesn't — that's the answer. One merely has the clock. I'd rather be a fool than a ma- chine. EDDY I never definitely elected to be either. IAN One can be both without electing either. ELOISE I want to hear the ticking of a clock! EDDY It's a nice thing to hear. The ticking of a clock means the minds of many men. As long as the mind of man has to — fix up the facts of nature in order to create ideal time I feel it's a little more substantial to have the minds of many men. ALICE As I've told you before, Eloise, you can't do better than accept the things that have been all worked out for you. IAN You hear them, Eloise ? You see where this de- fense of clocks is leading? ELOISE Ian, I'm terribly worried — and a little hurt — about the sun. {As one beginning a dirge.) The sun has fail'ed me. The North star is false. ian {going to her) I am here, dearest. ELOISE Sometimes you seem so much like space. I am running by the sun — that wobbly sun {look- ing at it) and everyone else is running by Phila- delphia. I want a little clock to tick to me! *53 TICKLESS TIME IAN You will grow, dearest. ELOISE There's no use growing. The things you grow to are wrong. {Pressing her hands to her head.) I need a tick in time! ian {striding savagely from her) Very well, then; dig up the clocks. eddy Now you're talking! {Eloise springs up.) IAN Dig up the clocks! And we spend our lives nineteen minutes and twenty seconds apart! {Eloise is arrested, appalled. Dreadful pause.) ELOISE You mean we'd never get together? IAN Time would lie between us. I refuse to be re-caught into a clock world. It was you, Eloise, who proposed to give up the clocks and live in this first-hand relation to truth. ELOISE I didn't know I was proposing a first-hand re- lation with that snake! IAN It's not a snake! It's a little piece of the long- winding road to truth. It's the discarding of error, the adjustment of fact. And I did it my- self. And it puts me on that road. Oh, I know {to Eddy and Alice) how you can laugh if you 154 " TICKLESS TIME yourself feel no need to feel truth. And you, Eloise, if you don't want to feel time — return to your mean little clock. What is a clock? A clock is the soulless — (The alarm clock enters a protest. Smothered sound of the alarm clock going of underground. Eloise screams.) ELOISE The alarm clock! It's going off! ALICE Buried alive! ELOISE Oh, no — oh, no! How terrible! Ian, how ter- rible! {She runs to him. Alarm clock, being intermittent, goes off again.) IAN Eloise, if you listen to the voice of that clock — ! EDDY How bravely it tries to function in its grave! ALICE The death struggle — the last gasp! {JVith another scream Eloise snatches spade, be- gins to dig; alarm clock gives another little gasp; spade is too slow for her: in her desperation, goes to it with her hands. Gets it and, as she holds it aloft, the alarm clock rings its triumph.) eloise {holding it to her ear) It's ticking. It ticks! It ticks! Oh, it's good to hear the ticking of a clock! {As he hears this, Ian, after a moment of terrible silence, goes and unscrews the plate of the sun- dial. All watch him, afraid to speak. He takes 155 TICKLESS TIME it off, holds it above the grave from which the alarm clock has been rescued?) ELOISE Ian! What are you doing? (He does not an- swer, but puts the sun-dial in the alarm clock 's grave.) Ian! No! No! Not that! Not your beautiful sun-dial! Oh, no! Not that! (Ian, having finished the burial of the sun-dial, sees the alarm clock, and puts it on the pedestal from which the sun-dial has been taken. IAN We bow down, as of old, to the mechanical. We will have no other god but it. (He then sits on the step, sunk in gloom.) (Annie appears, in her hand a panful of water?) ANNIE This liver has to soak five minutes. I'll soak it here. (Sees the alarm clock; with a cry of joy.) My clock! My clock! (Overcome with emotion.) Oh! My clock! My clock! Can I take it in the house to finish dinner? eloise (in a hopeless voice) Yes, take it away. (Beaming, Annie bears it to her kitchen. Eloise now kneels behind the grave of the sun-dial?) EDDY Let us leave them alone with their dead. (Leads Alice to the corner of the house; they look of down the road.) (Eloise and Ian sit there on either side of the i 5 6 TICKLESS TIME grave, swaying a little ', back and forth , as those who mourn.) eloise (looking at grave) I had thought life was going to be so beautiful. IAN It might have been. eloise (looking at empty pedestal) I suppose it will never be beautiful again. IAN It cannot be beautiful again.. . (Suddenly, with a cry, Eloise gets up and darts to the house: comes racing back with the alarm clock, snatches spade, desperately begins to dig a graved) ELOISE Ian! Ian! Don't you see what I'm doing? I'm willing to have a first-hand relation with the sun even though it's not regular. (But Ian is as one who has lost hope. Eddy and Alice turn to watch the re-burial of the alarm clock. Annie strides in.) annie (in no mood for feeling) Where's my alarm clock? eloise I am burying it. ANNIE Again? (Looks at sun-dial.) And even the sun clock's gone? EDDY All is buried. Truth. Error. We have re- turned to the nothing from which we came. 157 TICKLESS TIME ANNIE This settles it. Now I go. I leave. {Firm with purpose, re-enters the house.) alice {excitedly) Eloise! She means it! eloise {dully) I suppose she does. {Continues ner grave dig- ging.) ALICE But you can't get anybody else! You can't get anybody now. Oh, this is madness. What does any of the rest of it matter if you have lost your cook? {To Ian.) Eloise can't do the work! Peel potatoes — scrub. What's the difference what's true if you have to clean out your own sink? {Despairing of him y she turns to Eloise.) Eloise, stop fussing about the moon and stars! You're losing your cook! {Annie comes from the house with suitcase, shawl-strap, and hand-bag on long strings. Marches straight to left of stage, makes a face at the sun, marches to gate left rear and off.) ALICE Eddy, go after her! Heavens! Has no one a mind? Go after her! EDDY What's the good of going after her without a clock? ALICE Well, get a clock! For heaven's sake, get a clock! Eloise, get off the grave of the alarm clock! {Eloise stands like a monument. To Eddy.) Well, there are graves all around you. i 5 8 TICKLESS TIME Dig something else up. No ! You call her back. I'll — {Snatches spade \ which is resting against sun-dial pedestal^ begins to dig,) eddy {stands at back, calling) Annie! Oh, Annie! Wait, Annie! alice {while frantically digging) Say something to interest her, imbecile! eddy {stick in one hand, straw hat in the other, making wild signals with both.) Come home, Annie! Clock! Clock! {Giving up that job and throwing of his coat.) You interest her and I'll dig. {They change places.) ALICE She's most to the bend! Eddy, don't you know- how to dig? {Eddy, who has been digging with speed and skill, produces the clock with which Eloise' s grand- mother started housekeeping. Starts to dash of with it.) eloise {dully) That clock doesn't keep time. Annie hates it. ian {as if irritated by all this inefficiency) What she wants is the alarm clock. Get off the grave, Eloise. {He disinters alarm clock and with it runs after Annie. Alice draws a long breath and rubs her back. Eddy brings the clock he dug up and sets it on the pedestal. Then he looks down at the disturbed graves.) EDDY Here's a watch! {Lifts it from the grave; holds 11 159 TICKLESS TIME it out to Eloise; she does not take it. He puts it on the pedestal beside the clock.) Here's an- other watch. {Holds up Ian's watch.) Quite a valuable piece of ground. (Now is heard the smothered voice of a cuckoo.) alice (jumping) What's that? ELOISE The cuckoo. I suppose it's lonesome. alice (outraged) Cuckoo! (Pointing.) In that grave? The cuckoo we gave you? (Eloise nods.) You buried our wedding present ? (Eloise again nods. Eddy and Alice draw together in indignation) Well, I must say, the people who try to lead the right kind of lives always do the wrong thing. (Stiffly.) I am not accustomed to having my wedding presents put in graves. Will you please dig it up, Eddy? It will do very well on the mantel in our library. And my back nearly broken digging for your cook! (She holds her back.) (While Eddy is digging up the cuckoo , Annie and Ian appear and march across from gate to house, Annie triumphantly bearing her alarm clock, Ian — a captive at her chariot wheels— following with suitcase, shawl-strap, and long strings of bag around his wrist. A moment later Ian comes out of the house, looks at each dug-up thing, stands by the grave of the sun-dial. Enter Mrs. Stubbs.) 1 60 TICKLESS TIME MRS. STUBBS Oh, Mr. Joyce, I've come to see your sun clock again. Mr. Stubbs says he 11 not be run from Philadelphia. He says if you have got the time straight from the sun — (Sees that the sun-dial is gone) Oh, do you take 'it in at night? IAN The sun-dial lies buried there. MRS. STUBBS You've buried the sun-clock? And dug up all the wrong clocks ? (With a withering glance at Eloise.) That's how a smart man's appreciated! What did you bury it for, Mr. Joyce? (Eddy gives the cuckoo clock to Alice.) IAN It cannot live in this world where no one wants truth or feeling about truth. This is a world for clocks. MRS. STUBBS Well, / want truth! And so does Johnnie Stubbs! If you'll excuse my saying so, Mr. Joyce, after you've made a thing that's right you oughtn't to bury it, even if there is nobody to want it. And now that / want it — (Mrs. Stubbs takes the spade and begins to dig up the sun-dial. Ian cannot resist this and helps her. He lifts the sun-dial, she brushes it off, and he Jits it to its place on the pedestal.) Now, there it is, Mr. Joyce, and as good as if it had never seen the grave. (She looks at the setting sun.) And there's time for it to make its shadow before this sun has gone. 161 TICKLESS TIME IAN The simple mind has beauty. eloise {coming to him) I want to be simpler. MRS. STUBBS Now what time would you say it was, Mr. Joyce? IAN I would say it was twenty minutes of seven, Mrs. Stubbs. . mrs. stubbs (looking at Eddy and Alice and the cuckoo clock) And they would say it was twenty minutes past six! Well, / say: let them that want sun time have sun time, and them that want tick time have tick time. (Annie appears at the door?) annie (in aflat voice) It's dinner time! Curtain 162 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA A RIDICULOUS TRAGEDY IN ONE ACT by Kenneth Sawyer Goodman and Ben Hecht CHARACTERS Nathan Fisher, known as "Nate" Martin Fisher, known as "Marty" Elmira Fisher, Edward Martin Fisher, known as "Toady" James Merryweather Hines, known as the "Squire" or "Heinie" Bernard P. Foss Theodore Q. Wilkinson The Hero of Santa Maria was originally presented by the Washington Square Players, at the Comedy Theatre, New York, on the night of February 12, 1917. Copyright, 1920, by FRANK SHAY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Production of this play must not be made except by written permission of the authors, who may be addressed in care of the publishers, Stewart Kidd Company, Cincinnati, Ohio. THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA The Scene is the living-room of the Fisher home. A scrupulously neat room of the late horsehair and wax flower period. At the back is the "front door," and near it a win- dow looking toward the street. At the left is a door leading into Marty s bedroom, and at the right a door leading into a room sacred to Nate. Over Marty s door is a printed sign, "Trespassers will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law." On the right wall is a crayon portrait of Nate in G. A. R. uniform. The uniform is draped with small American flags. In the center of the room is a table with two stiff chairs beside it. There are other articles of furni- ture, including another small table with a drawer in it. Among the knick-knacks on the center table is a plush-covered family album. The time is about ten in the morning of a pleasant spring day. When the curtain rises the stage is empty. Imme- diately the street doors open and Marty peers cautiously into the room. He then enters and closes the door behind him. MARTY Hey! Anybody home? {He listens, then goes cautiously to the door at the right, opens it, and 165 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA listens again.) Hullo, Nate! Are y' in there? {Evidently satisfied that the room is empty, he tiptoes across to the door at the left, stands before it y and raps softly and with precision. He then squats down and addresses the occupant of the room through the keyhole.) P-s-s-s-t! Toady! {Receiving no response, he looks about anxiously and again speaks into the keyhold in a slightly louder voiced) P-s-s-s-t! Toady! a sleepy voice {from inside) What d'you want? MARTY Open the door. It's me, Uncle Marty. THE VOICE Oh! {A bolt is shot, and Toady Fisher stands on the threshold, rubbing his eyes. Marty produces two bottles of beer and a paper bag, which he places on the center table?) toady {stretching his arms) Oh hum! MARTY Wake up. . . . I've brought yer breakfast. toady {glancing at the clock) You took yer time about it. MARTY If Ed snuck so much as a doughnut out of our own kitchen yer Aunt Elmira'd been wise to us in a minute. She's tighter than the skin on a prize pig, she is. TOADY Well, what you got? 1 66 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA MARTY A couple of bottles of beer and a fried egg sandwich from Hopper's Hotel. toady {examining the supplies) Huh, is that all? marty {looking into his hat, which he takes off for the first time) I had a pair of fried fish-cakes in the top of my hat. Guess I must have lost 'em when I tipped it to Mrs. Sprudder down by the corner. toady {pulling up a chair to the table) Say, get me a glass and a plate, can't you ? marty {seizing his arm) No you don't; not out here. They'll spot you sure. TOADY Rats! Pa wouldn't have me arrested. MARTY You ain't lived with him for sixty-seven years like I have. TOADY He can't pin it on me that I ever seen his fifty dollars. MARTY I reckon everybody knows it left town along about the same time you did. toady {beginning to eat the sandwich) Well, I ain't got it now, that's a cinch. MARTY Look here, who's running this family recon- ciliation, me or you? toady {his mouth full) Aw, can the prodigal son stuff, can it. 167 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA MARTY Now, Toady, don't go and spoil it all. TOADY I wouldn't have stopped off in no flea-bitten burg like this, only I was sick of bumming my way on freights. All I want's enough coin to get me to Chicago like a gentleman. MARTY You don't know how much I've missed you. Why, I can't even take a couple of drinks no more without crying. Go on in there like a good boy, and mebbe I'll run up to the barber shop and borrow the Police Gazette for you to read. toady {getting up) I give you fair warning. I ain't going to sit in that hole all day. MARTY You'll be safe. Even Elmira daresn't put her foot in my room. toady {picking up one of the beer bottles and the sandwich and moving toward the door at the left) Aw, all right! All right! MARTY I'll steal something nice for your dinner, honest to Gawd I will. Some cold banana pudding. toady {wearily) All right! All right! {Marty pushes Toady ' through the door and closes it.) MARTY Now lock it on the inside. An' don't you open your head except I give you the high sign. 168 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA toady {from inside) All right! (The bolt is shot. Marty listens a moment > then goes back to the center table and picks up the re- maining bottle of beer just as the street door opens and Elmira Fisher enters. She has a letter in her hand?) elmira (in a rasping voice) Well, what are you doing home at this time of day? (Marty, startled, turns and switches the bottle of beer behind him.) MARTY Eh? ELMIRA You heard what I said. MARTY So help me, I — ELMIRA YouVe been drinking. I can smell it on you from here. MARTY That's a nice way for a sister to talk, ain't it? ELMIRA I'd like to forget I was your sister. MARTY I ain't laying nothing in the way to hinder you trying. (He makes a move toward the street door.) ELMIRA Where you going now? 169 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA MARTY Mebbe I'm going back to sweep the court- house, and then again, mebbe I'm going fishing. ELMIRA Fishing! Huh! MARTY Well, fishing's respectable, ain't it? It's men- tioned in the Bible, ain't it? I guess that'll hold you. The Lord said to his disciples, "Go out and dig bait," or something — ELMIRA Martin Henry Fisher, you're a blaspheming good-for-nothing — MARTY Aw, dry up! ELMIRA You'll lose your job, and serve you right, too. MARTY Needn't let that wear on your nose. I'm a political appointee, I am. I've got influence in Forkville. elmira {turning on him) Influence! You've got influence, all right. Bad influence, that's what you've got. It was your influence made a thief out of your own nephew Edward and damned his immortal soul for him. MARTY I ain't responsible for Toady. He ain't my son. ELMIRA It don't matter whose son he is — MARTY Aw, lay off! 170 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA ELMIRA What's that you're hiding under your coat- tails ? marty {realizing that further concealment of the beer bottle is useless) Just a plain bottle of beer, registered under the Pure Food Act, to contain five per cent alcohol. ELMIRA I knew it! So that's what you keep hidden in that pig-sty of a room of yours. {She advances toward the door at the left.) marty {in alarm) Hold on there. Where you going? ELMIRA To bust in that door if I have to take an axe to it. I'm going to clear this house of every drop of devil's rum you've had the indecency to bring into it. marty {getting between Elmira and the door) No you don't! I own one-third of this house the same as you and Nate. Take a squint at that sign over my door. "Trespassers will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law." You keep out of my place and I'll keep out of yours. Don't have nothing more to do with me than you can help, and I'll return the favor, all right. But, by cricky, if you so much as set one of your flat feet acrost that sill, I'll have a war- rant out for you. {Marty has backed up against the door, and Elmira stands glaring at him. Nathan Fisher enters from the street unnoticed in time to hear the last line.) 171 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA elmira {to Marty) You — you viper! nate {gruffly) Here, what's going on? MARTY Howdy, Nate. I was just going out. ELMIRA It would be a God's mercy if you'd go for good. nate {coming toward the table) It ain't likely he'll oblige us that far. What can't be helped has got to be endured. MARTY Amen ! That goes for both sides of the family. nate {picking up the letter from the table and peering at it) When did this come? ELMIRA I just fetched it from the post-office. nate {feeling in his pockets) I must have left my specks in my other coat. Here, Marty, where's it from? {He hands the letter to Marty and sits down.) marty {reading from the corner of the envelope) Fourteen eighteen F Street, Washington, D. C. NATE Huh! ELMIRA Give it here to me. MARTY Don't get in a twitter. I'm doing this. NATE Well, why don't you open it? 172 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA {Marty deliberately tears open the envelope and shakes out the letter?) marty {reading from the letter) Mr. Nathan Fisher, Forkville, Indiana. Dear Sir: Our Mr. Gray has again looked into the evidence upon which you propose to base your fourth application for pension as a veteran of the Civil War, and we regret that, in our opinion, it is not sufficient to warrant us in going further with the case. The records clearly show that you were drafted into the army March 14, 1864, and had not left training camp at the close of hostilities. There is, however, one possibility, to which we call your attention. We understand that the Honorable Bernard P. Foss is a fellow-citizen of yours. Mr. Foss is doubtless well known to you, and if willing to bring his personal influ- ence to bear in your behalf could undoubtedly induce the Board of Pensions to take favorable action. We herewith enclose bill for services to date, trusting that they have been entirely satis- factory and that our suggestion in regard to Mr. Foss will prove helpful. Yours respectfully, Dodson & Griffin, Attorneys-at-Law. nate {with bitter resignation) That settles it, consarn 'em! Old Foss wouldn't lift a finger if I was drowning. ELMIRA How much is the bill? 173 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA MARTY Eighty-seven dollars. ELMIRA The robbers! nate (between his teeth) That's it, robbers! The hull country's in the hands of a bunch of dirty political crooks. If fellers like Squire Hines and Ted Wilkinson had an ounce of red-blooded patriotism they wouldn't stand to see a soldier of the Rebellion turned out of his nation's history. MARTY Haw, haw! ELMIRA You act like you seen something funny in pay- ing out eighty-seven dollars for nothing. MARTY I reckon it takes a smarter liar than Nate to fool 'em in Washington. NATE Who's a liar? Ain't I marched in every Deco- ration Day parade for forty years? Ain't I a member of the G. A. R. Post Number Ninety- two? ELMIRA Not to count being a deacon and an officer of the Sunday school MARTY Being a Bo's'un in the Baptist Church don't entitle you to nothing this side of the Golden Gate. ELMIRA You're a low-down blaspheming likker snake. 174 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA MARTY Well, as Toady used to say, mebbe it's better to be soaked in rum than vinegar. (Elmira begins to whimper?) NATE I told you never to mention that scalawag's name in this house. Ain't it enough misfortune to be cheated out of sixteen hundred dollars back pension and a regular pension twice a month without you forever reminding me that I'm the father of a thief? marty {glancing apprehensively at the bedroom door) You hadn't ought to be so hard and unforgiv- ing. Like as not Toady'll turn out a credit to the family yet. nate (bitterly) I never had an ounce of comfort out of him all the days of his life, and I never expect to. MARTY Supposing he was to come home — I'm only saying — supposing? nate (bringing his fist down) I'd have him in jail, that's where I'd have him. He's a liar and a drunkard and a thief. There ain't anything bad enough to call him, nothing! MARTY Hold on! You don't have to yell. ELMIRA There's Squire Hines now. NATE Eh! Who? 175 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA ELMIRA Squire Hines. He's coming up the walk! nate (confused between his anger at Toady and his anger over the pension) He's another one of 'em, damn 'em! They're all of a piece, conspiring to keep a man out of his rights. Darn the hull pack of 'em! ELMIRA Nate! NATE He'd better keep out of here. I got scores to settle with him. MARTY You ain't thinking of the editorial he wrote the time Toady was up for throwing the dead calf down Eben Fosdick's well ? The one where he said the father was responsible for the sins of his son ? NATE I ain't saying what I'm thinking — MARTY 'Cause you'd oughtn't to blame a newspaper editor for thinking things out in an uncommon way. {There is a knock at the door. Elmira hesitates and looks at Nate. The knock is repeated?) nate {to Elmira) You heard him knock, didn't you? {Elmira opens the street door. Squire Hines enters pompously with his hat in his hand. The others regard him suspiciously without speaking) 176 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA NATE Well? HINES Mr. Fisher, sir, I realize that under ordinary circumstances I would not be a welcome visitor in your home. MARTY I guess you re about right on that. HINES I feel, however, that in view of what has so recently and unexpectedly transpired, all petty rancors and animosities should be swept aside. I come, friends, as the bearer of sad, but glorious news, which to-night will thrill the national conscience and set the hearts of every man and woman in the State beating high with pride and sorrow. ELMIRA Well, we re listening to you. HINES To be as brief as possible, my paper has just received a dispatch from the Associated Press, dated this morning. MARTY No wonder you're excited. I bet it's about the first time the Bugle's had a piece of news less than a couple of days old. hines {impressively) Your levity, sir, is ill-timed. The dispatch to which I refer recounts the heroic death of your brother's only son, Edward Martin Fisher. MARTY Eh? 177 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA nate {taken back) How's that? ELMIRA It's all a mistake. Toady wasn't the kind to expose himself. HINES So I thought myself, Miss Fisher, but I was wrong. Toady, as you so lovingly call him, showed himself, when the crisis came, to be a man of honor fit to take his place beside the heroes of the past. marty {with a glance at the bedroom) Say, you could knock me down with a feather! NATE Where did it happen? HINES At Santa Maria del something-or-other, on the Mexican border, the Company of United States Cavalry in which your son had enlisted — ELMIRA Now I know it's a mistake. Toady never rode a horse in his life. hines {ignoring the interruption) I repeat, sir, his company crossed the river under a murderous fire to dislodge a party of snipers. At the very foot of the enemy's posi- tion Edward gloriously gave up his life for our beloved flag, the first American killed. marty {wiping his face with his handkerchief) Phew! NATE You're sure of what you're saying? HINES When you have been duly informed of your i 7 8 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA bereavement by the War Department, the re- mains will be shipped here for interment, via El Paso, Texas. MARTY I never was a funeral fan like Elmira, but this here corpse is one I'll take a heap of interest looking at. elmira (to Marty) You're a callous, unfeeling reptile. HINES I have no wish to add to your burden of afflic- tion, but I warn you in advance that the features have been mutilated beyond recognition. He was identified only by the card sewed in his uniform. marty {slapping his knee as a light suddenly dawns on him) Haw, haw, haw! So that's it? elmira {seizing Marty by the collar) So that's what? MARTY Take your hands off me. I got a right to be upset by my grief the same as the rest of you, ain't I? HINES If I may be allowed to say so, your grief ought to be somewhat tempered by the knowledge that your loss has given the youth of America an example of noble and self-sacrificing courage. NATE I knew it. MARTY Eh? 179 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA NATE Any son of mine was bound to have the right stuff in him. Yes, sir, I knew it all along. MARTY Well, I'll be damned! NATE And it's about time the nation waked up to what me and mine has done for it. HINES That's just the point I was coming to. We have decided, with your permission, Mr. Fisher, to hold a large public demonstration of Pride and Sorrow, a military funeral, the expenses of which, I am authorized to say, will be borne jointly by the Bugle, Congressman-elect Foss, and the Honorable Theodore Q. Wilkinson, our Democratic candidate for sheriff at the coming county elections. MARTY Seems to me the offer ain't to be sneezed at. HINES To be perfectly frank, that's the way I look at it. NATE No! ELMIRA You mean you ain't going to let them? NATE They can't pay me off cheap and make a good thing out of it for themselves at the same time. HINES Am I to understand — NATE You're to understand you can't make nothing 1 80 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA off me. I've suffered enough for my country and been disowned by it. I ain't going to sit by and see my own son's funeral turned into a rally for the Democratic party that wouldn't lift a finger to get me my just rights. No, sir! He'll be buried with only family members and close personal friends attending, and if there's any credit coming, it ain't going to the bunch of political shysters that has turned me down. HINES I give you my word, Mr. Fisher — MARTY Nate's right for once. If he lets you pull votes for Ted Wilkinson and boom the circulation of the Bugle, there ought to be something in it besides brass bands and immortelles. NATE I've given my own flesh and blood that might have been a comfort and a support to me in my old age. ELMIRA It's no more'n right they should do something for him. HINES I'm deeply pained by your attitude, deeply disappointed. MARTY It don't seem exactly fair we should deprive the Squire of a chance to make a couple of speeches. HINES The committee are at the Bugle office now, drafting a set of resolutions which we had in- tended to present later in the day. I feel, how- 181 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA ever, that under the circumstances any further offer from us might be misunderstood. MARTY You needn't be shy about making a proposi- tion. This ain't a sensitive family. hines (to Nate) In that case may I venture to suggest that if Mr. Foss would undertake to push your own claim for a pension, and that if the Bugle would draft and circulate a petition endorsing it?— ELMIRA Do you mean that? MARTY There's sixteen hundred dollars of back pension due him, according to his own reckoning. HINES I dare say the Government will not be niggardly in its recognition of your brother's patriotic service when the facts are presented by the proper persons. NATE I ain't saying it's a bargain. ELMIRA If there was some way of fixing it so as Nate's pension was mentioned in the resolutions, and Mr. Foss couldn't crawl out of it afterwards. MARTY I always said that woman had ought to been a lawyer. HINES Well? NATE Mebbe, if you could fix it like Elmira says. 182 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA hines (glancing at his watch) Done! A public funeral it is, then. (He has lost his unctuousnesS) and the others have ap- parently lost sight of the gravity of the event upon which they are basing their bargain^) I'll be back in fifteen minutes with the committee. NATE I ain't promising nothing yet. hines (genially) That, sir, to put it vulgarly, is up to us. Good morning, all. (He goes briskly out at the street door. Elmira goes to the window and looks after him.) elmira (thoughtfully) Eighty-seven dollars from sixteen hundred — MARTY I never thought twenty minutes ago I'd be the uncle of a hero and the brother of a bonyfidy pensioned veteran. (He fills his pipe.) ELMIRA Well, it won't benefit you none. You'll pay your keep out of what you can earn for vou- self, same as ever. MARTY Mebbe so, and then again, mebbe not. (He strikes a match.) ELMIRA Don't you dast light that pipe in here! MARTY Aw, close your face! NATE It's hard enough to lose an only son, without hearing you two jawing each other. 183 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA MARTY Yes, and mebbe it's a darn sight harder'n you think to lose a son like yours. ELMIRA What d'you mean by that? MARTY There's a little piece of business has got to be settled amongst ourselves before the Squire gets back with them resolutions. nate {suspiciously) Eh! marty {going to the bedroom door and opening it) Hey! Come out of there. {Toady appears in the doorway. Nate and Elmira regard him in speechless consternation^) TOADY Howdy, Pa. nate {bitterly) So! You wasn't killed, after all? MARTY At least his face ain't any worse mutilated than usual. Come on, Toady; don't be bashful. You ain't buried yet. ELMIRA I might have known there was some mistake. NATE Mistake nothing! It's a game they put up on me, the two of 'em. Yes, and Hines was in it, and Foss, and the hull damn bunch, like as not. TOADY No they wasn't. MARTY This here is just a quiet family funeral. {He 184 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA begins turning the pages of the family album on the tabled) NATE I'll — I'll get even with you. I'll — TOADY There's gratitude for you. ELMIRA I like your impudence. TOADY It ain't every son has done as much for his old man as I've done for you, pa. NATE I'll call the constable and have you in jail. Yes, sir, and I'll have Marty — MARTY You needn't pay no further attention to me. (He extracts a photograph from the album and goes to the small table, where he opens a drawer and takes out a hammer and some tacks?) nate (to Toady) You heard what I said. Now git! TOADY I ain't in no particular rush. You can't pin nothing on me. I'll tell 'em Aunt Elmira swiped your fifty dollars for the Baptist mis- sion. (Marty draws a chair to the side of the room, climbs on it, and begins tacking up the photo- graph in a conspicuous place.) ELMIRA You're a deserter from the United States Army. They'll get you for that, anyhow. i8 5 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA TOADY Say, you make me laugh. When I heard old Hiny shooting off that bunk about me wading acrost the Rio Grandy with a flag in my mit, you could have butchered me with a dish rag. marty (pointing with his hammer to the flags over Nate's crayon portrait) Will you reach me them flags, Elmira, please? elmira (turning) Eh? Land of Goshen, what are you doing on my best chair. MARTY Just putting up an old photo of the dear de- parted for his loving relatives to admire. (He gets down from the chair and goes for the flags himself.) TOADY That's right. You'd ought to have a decorated picture of the Hero of Santa Maria. I guess you can't jump over Uncle Marty for a sob artist. elmira (advancing on Toady) I'm going to get to the inside of this, if I have to shake the skin off you. TOADY Hold on, will you? I'm busy. (He turns to Marty, who has returned with the flags and has begun adjusting them.) Say, Unk, you're stick- ing them flags a little crooked. NATE If Hines and Foss ain't putting up a game on me, how'll I look when they find out? 1 86 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA TOADY I guess that's something you got to figure out for yourself. NATE You've fixed my chances for a pension. It's a conspiracy! ELMIRA Yes, and Marty was in it. MARTY So help me, I never laid eyes on Toady till he came tapping at my window last night. ELMIRA You needn't tell me. TOADY If you all shut up, I'll give you the straight dope. On the level, I will. MARTY Make it short if you don't want your pa to have apoplexy. TOADY I met a feller in the park one night last winter. ELMIRA What park? TOADY Madison Square Park, New York City. He was a little red-headed feller with bow legs, and say, but he had a bad eye, believe me! His name was Christian Dane O'Houlihan. ELMIRA What's that got to do with it? TOADY For cat's sake, who's telling this, me or you? NATE Let him alone. 187 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA TOADY "Gee," I sez to him, "if I had a flossy label like yours, I bet I wouldn't have to be no free lunch hound." "If you like it," he sez, "you're welcome to it. You can't do no worse with it than what I've done. If I had a nice, plain name like Edward Martin Fisher, I'd go and enlist in the cavalry with it." "Go ahead," I sez, "you're on." So we swapped names, and I got a job washing dishes in a dairy lunch. MARTY And the red-headed feller's getting shipped from Santa Maria, via El Paso, Texas, to be buried at the expense of the local option Dem- ocrats of Forkville, Indiana. TOADY I guess that's about the answer. My name was more unluckier than his'n. ELMIRA What did you come back for? Why couldn't you let the only sensible thing you ever done stay done? TOADY Oh, I got a heart, all right. I almost had a mind to light out and keep my mouth shut when I saw how puffed up Pa was over having me killed. I'd have done it, too, only I heard you driving that bargain with Hines about my funeral. ELMIRA Well, what do you want? I know you want something. TOADY I give you just one guess. 188 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA NATE No, sir, I don't give him a cent. I'll be doing my country another service by putting a crook like him behind the bars. toady {cheerfully) All right. Turn me up, and blooie goes the pension. MARTY You sort of owe it to the family reputation, Nate, to keep him dead. ELMIRA If your pa gives you twenty-five dollars, will you get out and leave us be? TOADY Come around to the other ear. You don't talk loud enough. NATE I tell you I won't be a party to no fraud. ELMIRA That ain't the question. When he's gone, we can decide what's best according to our own conscience. MARTY I'd like to put some money on the way 'Miry's conscience'll jump. elmira {to Toady , paying no attention to Marty) Suppose he makes it fifty dollars? TOADY What d'you take me for, a boob? I guess I know what me and the red-headed feller has done for Pa, all right. Twenty-five per cent cash. Them's my best terms. {He turns and surveys the decorated portrait.) Say, Uncle Marty, that looks swell. 189 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA ELMIRA I never heard such gall in my life. TOADY I want four hundred dollars, or I'll walk down the street to Hopper's Hotel, and get drunk where the hull town'll see me. NATE That's a fine way for a son to talk to his father. Here's Hines and Foss, come around to do the right thing, after ten years' crookedness, and just when it's all fixed up for me to get my just deserts — MARTY Hold on! ELMIRA Yes, and mebbe your pa'd have got his pension long ago, except for your carryings on, putting everybody against us. TOADY Don't make me laugh. Everybody's heard how Pa tried to buy a substitute when he was drafted, only he couldn't raise the coin. NATE That's a lie, you blackmailing young skunk! TOADY I got my feelings the same as other people, and just for that word "skunk" it'll cost you an extra hundred before I leave this house. MARTY They'll be back here any minute with them resolutions. nate {rising) I'll— I'll— 190 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA MARTY You'll get your regular thirty a month all the same. nate {to. Toady) I'll — I'll — take a stick to you. I'll beat you till there ain't a hull bone in your carcass. {He seizes his stick.) TOADY All right, sail in. I could lick you with one hand, but I'll let you beat me if you want to. (Nate makes a move toward Toady.) ELMIRA For the love of heaven, Nate, be careful. TOADY Only for every belt you give me I'll holler like the Bull of Basham. We'll have all the neigh- bors in here to see you basting the Hero of Santa Maria. {Nate stands trembling with rage, the stick clutched in his hand.) MARTY Walloping the corpbe back to life'll settle things quick enough. {A band is heard faintly in the distance. Elmira puts her hand suddenly to her heart.) ELMIRA Glory be! What's that? {They all listen a moment.) MARTY It's Heinie coming back with his bandwagon load of Pride and Sorrow. 13 191 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA toady {cheerfully) Well, Pa, what's the good word? NATE You — you — TOADY I meant to be easy on you, but when they turn the courthouse corner, I'll have to make it eight hundred for the suspense you're causing me. nate (inarticulate with rage) You'll— you'll— (The music grows suddenly louder?) MARTY There they go around the corner into Main Street. elmira (wringing her hands) You better give in, Nate. Three-quarters is better'n nothing. TOADY It ain't three-quarters any longer. I've been reasonable and honest, but you've kind of pushed me too far. I've got to have eight hundred cold, iron dollars. ELMIRA We ain't got four hundred to our names, let alone eight hundred. (The band stops , and there is only the sound of the drums tapping a slow march,) TOADY I'll take one hundred in cash and Pa's note for eight hundred, six months at seven per cent in- terest. Seven hundred to the order of Christian 192 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA Dane O'Houlihan, that's me, for services rendered, and the rest to Uncle Marty for acting as my agent. How's that, Marty? MARTY Sounds fair to me. TOADY Marty can hold the notes, and if they ain't taken up on the dot, I'll come back and we'll all get jugged together for defrauding the Government. marty {at the window) You better decide pretty quick, Nate. They're almost in front of the house. NATE No, by God! You can't rob a man that's been honest all his life. I'll — MARTY They're stopping in the gate. Foss has got his plug hat on. NATE They ain't here any too quick to suit me. I'll have the both of you up for robbery and black- mail. ELMIRA You'd better think what you're doing, Nate. NATE That's fine advice for a deaconess to give, ain't it? ELMIRA I'm only thinking what's best in the end. NATE No, sir! I'm honest, and I'll see you all damned before I'll— 193 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA toady {soothingly) It's all right, Pa. I know you ain't yourself. I'm going back in Uncle Marty's room, and if you want to go through with it, the stuff's on. I mean it. I'll skin out tonight and stay a corpse. {He picks up the bottle of beer from the table.) Of course if you want me to come and get pinched, all you got to do is call me. nate {sullenly) I ain't saying what I'll do. {There is another knock. Toady goes into the bedroom and closes the door softly. Elmira goes to the street door and opens it, disclosing Foss y Hines, and Wilkinson. Foss wears a frock coat and carries a silk hat in one hand and a roll of papers in the other. The three dignitaries ad- vance into the room. Behind them is a group of neighbors framed in the doorway. Wilkinson shakes Nate by the hand rather abruptly and awkwardly?) Wilkinson {attempting to come at once to the point) Howdy, Mr. Fisher. The Squire's {he indicates Hines with a hitch of his thumb) already put you wise to what we're here for. hines {cutting in on Wilkinson and taking Nate's reluctant hand) Quite so! {He points to the decorated portrait?) See, gentlemen, what loving hands have al- ready done. Nothing we can say or do more sincerely voices the poignancy of this moment than those simple flags and that simple photo- graph. 194 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA foss {taking Nates hand in turn) In this room, sir, where the hero of Santa Maria so recently lived and had his being, {Marty glances apprehensively at the bedroom door) our sympathy must seem a poor and in- adequate thing — NATE I ain't said I wanted your sympathy, I — elmira {cutting in) Don't mind what he says, Mr. Foss. He's been that upset — foss {still wringing Nate's hand) Spartan firmness, M'am. I admire him for it. WILKINSON IT1 just leave some of my campaign cards on your table, in case the neighbors — {Hines shoots him an ugly look.) FOSS We will not intrude on you long, Mr. Fisher. I have delegated myself — WILKINSON Been delegated. FOSS Been delegated by the citizens of Forkville to act as their spokesman on this solemn occasion and to read you these er — {He adjusts his eyeglasses.) WILKINSON You'll find them O. K., Mr. Fisher. HINES We have inserted a clause explicitly recogniz- ing your own patriotic services. 195 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA MARTY D'you hear that, Nate? NATE Yes, I hear it. But I got something to say first. (E/mira plants a chair against the bedroom door and sits down in it.) foss (unrolling his document) Spare yourself, my friend. We all know the strain you've been laboring under. Perhaps, later at the public demonstration — (Nate glances at him.) HINES The Governor and Senator Tinblatter have wired us — WILKINSON Say, that's a fine stunt. A little talk, eh? Telling the folks how Edward was always a good Democrat. (Nate glares at him.) HINES The Governor and Senator Tinblatter have wired us, promising to speak. Perhaps after that. ELMIRA D'you hear, Nate? The Governor and Senator Tinblatter. NATE I ain't said there'd be no demonstration. MARTY You'll be getting telegrams from Washington next. 196 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA WILKINSON You bet! Joe Finks is on the piazza now with a fist full. {A man steps forward from the group in the door- way and hands Nate a packet of yellow envelopes. Nate looks at them helplessly?) MARTY The hull Democratic party's going to see this thing done up right. foss {clearing his throat and reading from the paper) We, the citizens of Forkville, Indiana, offer the following: Whereas, this day has become for us a day of er — marty {under his breath) Pride and sorrow. elmira {to Marty) Shut up! FOSS Whereas, facing his country's foes on foreign soil, Edward Martin Fisher, son of our respected citizen, Nathan Fisher, himself an intrepid de- fender of our national existence in the Civil War, yesterday gave up his life; Whereas, by his courageous death and ex- ample, the said Edward Martin Fisher has per- formed an inestimable service to each and everyone of us — MARTY That's right! FOSS Be it resolved, that we evidence our esteem and gratitude to the bereaved father by cir- 197 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA culating an endorsement of his own claim to the proper and lawful pension heretofore un- accountably denied him by the National Gov- ernment. And be it further and finally resolved, that Edward Martin Fisher be buried with full military honors and all other tokens of love and respect of which this city and the Sovereign State of Indiana are capable. (Signed.) Bernard P. Foss, Member of Congress, James Merryweather Hines, Theodore Q. Wilkinson, Committee on Arrangements. (Foss rolls up the paper. Elmira, unable to stand the tension, sobs in partial hysteria. Nate's face has undergone various changes during the reading. He is rapidly losing his desire for re- venge on Toady under the influence of the adula- tion of his neighbors. He stands undecided^ crumpling the telegrams in his hand?) WILKINSON I guess that about covers it. (They all regard Nate as if expecting a definite answer.) marty (seeing that Nate has practically given in) You better say something, Nate. NATE I — I don't know exactly how to put it, gentle- men — MARTY You was mighty keen to talk a minute ago. 198 THE HERO OF SANTA MARIA elmira (between her sobs, afraid that Marty may spoil everything) Let him alone, can't you? NATE It's all come on me sort of sudden-like, but I guess I know what I done for the United States — yes, and what my son Edward done for 'em, too. THE CROWD IN THE DOORWAY Hear! Hear! NATE I'd kind of set my heart on a — a — MARTY A quiet family funeral — FOSS Exactly, but under the circumstances — NATE It ain't for me to set myself up against what's expected of me. Wilkinson (extending his hand) Put it here, Mr. Fisher. HINES Then we're to understand? NATE I reckon I got to accept your resolutions. foss (shaking Nate by the hand) I can see how, sir, that your son was a chip off the old block. MARTY That's about the truest thing anybody's said yet. CURTAIN 199 ALL GUMMED UP A SATIRICAL COMEDY by Harry Wagstaff Gribble CHARACTERS George Bartlett, a Liver Specialist Minter, his Assistant Henrietta Tremayne, Geoffrey Tremayne, her Husband^ a Pianist Gloria Bartlett, George's Wife Time: The Present Scene: Bartlett' s Consulting Room Copyright, 192 i, by HARRY WAGSTAFF GRIBBLE ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Applications for permission to produce this play should be addressed to Harry Wagstaff Gribble, 168 Waverley Place, New York City. No performance may be given without his written consent. ALL GUMMED UP scene: There is a door leading into the ante-room up R. Another door leading to another part of the house up L, at the back. A desk over L. C, with a desk- chair behind it. Fireplace at the back, C. A settee over R. C. An armchair to L of fireplace and a small chair to R of fireplace. To the L of the settee and slightly above it is a smoker s table and set. Behind the settee is a small table with a lamp on it. The window is over L, behind the desk. On the desk are a cigar ash-tray, writing materials, a desk-lamp, and a note pad, and at the rise a small, oblong tin box. As the curtain rises, Bartlett is discovered asleep in the chair behind his desk, with his feet up on the desk. Enter Minter. Minter crosses and pulls down the window shade. He puts a tin box in a drawer of the desk. MINTER Seven o'clock, Mr. Bartlett. {Bartlett does not answer. Shaking Bartlett.) Mr. Bartlett! BARTLETT Eh? What? MINTER Seven o'clock. {Minter switches on desk-lamp.) BARTLETT Morning or evening? 203 ALL GUMMED UP MINTER Evening. (Minter crosses and tidies cushions on settee ', afterwards switching on lamp behind settee.) BARTLETT Have I had my supper? MINTER Yes. BARTLETT Well, I'm still hungry. How do you account for that? MINTER It's your liver. BARTLETT You can't tell me anything about my liver. minter (^re-crossing to desk and taking ash-tray and shaking ashes into fireplace) If I could, I should be a liver specialist and you my assistant — instead of vice versa. BARTLETT My wife's going to the theater tonight, isn't she? MINTER Yes. And you are going with her. BARTLETT Who said so? MINTER She did. BARTLETT She's usually right. MINTER Her choice is excellent — with a few exceptions. {Glancing at him,) 204 ALL GUMMED UP bartlett (not noticing the "dig") Theaters, for instance. She likes those noisy plays that won't allow one to sleep. MINTER It would take several brass bands to keep you awake. BARTLETT What's the use of keeping awake ? Nothing ever happens nowadays. MINTER Doesn't it? You're too sleepy to notice any- thing. BARTLETT What do you mean? MINTER Did you ever realize that people suffer from love as well as from liver? BARTLETT Who the dickens is in love? MINTER {going) Keep awake and you'll find out. BARTLETT Minter, do you know why I continue to employ you? MINTER Because I continue to stay with you. BARTLETT You haven't even mentioned leaving. MINTER I shouldn't mention it. I should go. BARTLETT I think you had better go. You are getting too fresh. 205 ALL GUMMED UP MINTER What time for breakfast? BARTLETT Breakfast won't concern you. MINTER It never does. I don't take it. What time for yours ? BARTLETT Minter, you're discharged. Here's your salary. MINTER Well, we'll say eight o'clock. BARTLETT Do you mean that you refuse to be discharged? MINTER You had better get dressed for the theater. BARTLETT Minter, you are almost impertinent. Try to re- member the difference in our stations. {Door- bell rings.) MINTER There's the door-bell. Will you answer it? BARTLETT What do you mean? MINTER That's the difference in our stations. (Exit.) bartlett (rising and walking slowly to fireplace, where he puts on a pair of slippers) Life would be very pleasant and peaceful if it were not for Minter. But he's an evil — an evil necessity. (Re-enter Minter.) MINTER A lady to see you, Mr. Bartlett. BARTLETT I'm not consulting. It's after hours. 206 ALL GUMMED UP MINTER Sorry. Too late. Here she is. {Enter Henrietta Tremayne.) BART LETT How do you do? HENRIETTA How do you do? bartlett {bringing small chair from fireplace to R of desk) Won't you sit down? MINTER The lady is not a patient. BARTLETT You can go, Minter. MINTER Sorry I spoke. Thought I'd put you wise. BARTLETT I'm waiting. MINTER All right. But don't forget. It isn't liver — it's love. {Exit Minter.) BARTLETT Please pardon this exhibition of ignorance. I'm getting rid of him shortly. HENRIETTA Oh, please don't. He's such a nice fellow. So handsome, and so alert. BARTLETT He's very alert in answering the door-bell; but he can't even do that without boasting about it. HENRIETTA He understood me at once. BARTLETT Urn! 11 207 ALL GUMMED UP HENRIETTA I know it's a scandalous hour to call on you, but I told him that it was a very important matter and he showed me in. BARTLETT Um! What can I do for you? HENRIETTA Of course, you know my husband. BARTLETT I haven't even the pleasure of knowing you — as yet. HENRIETTA My name is Tremayne. My husband is Geoffrey Tremayne — the musician. BARTLETT Oh, yes. I believe my wife took me to hear him sing one day. HENRIETTA No, no. Play the piano. He's a very fine pianist. BARTLETT Oh! My impression was that he sang. Per- haps someone else did. Music always confuses me. HENRIETTA Well, it was about Geoffrey that I came to see you. BARTLETT Quite so. Pianists are frequently troubled with liver complaint. Chiefly owing to the sedentary life they lead. He should take a course in danc- ing, and after every sixth scale, or arpeggio, should do a buck and wing, or a little Russian 208 ALL GUMMED UP ballet. If you had time you could shimmie with him — that would be better still. HENRIETTA Oh, no, his liver is perfectly all right. BARTLETT Then your husband cannot interest me, madam. I specialize in the liver solely. HENRIETTA He's as sound as a bell, physically. It's his mental condition I want to talk to you about. You see, he's desperately in love. BARTLETT Don't do anything for it. It will cure itself. HENRIETTA Oh, perhaps you think he's in love with me. Not at present. Just now he's in love with your wife. BARTLETT Well, that's a perfectly natural and healthy sentiment. My wife is a very attractive girl, and anyone who was immune to her beauty would probably be suffering from some liver complaint. HENRIETTA Then you have no objection to their affection for each other. I'm so glad. BARTLETT "Their affection" — I was not aware that my wife reciprocated the attachment. HENRIETTA No, I thought not. Well, she does. BARTLETT I think there must be some mistake. My wife 209 ALL GUMMED UP is always most confidential, and she hasn't even mentioned the matter. HENRIETTA Well, Geoffrey is a very straightforward boy. He never lies to me, and he wouldn't tell me it was so if he weren't sure. BARTLETT What is the program? Do I blacken your hus- band's eye, or do you tear my wife's hair? HENRIETTA It was to avoid those very things that I came to see you. My husband is coming to call on you, and I want you to promise not to injure him in any way. I shall behave wonderfully to your wife. BARTLETT But shouldn't we be committing a social error by taking it so calmly? HENRIETTA The only way for us to cover up their social error is by committing one ourselves. Besides, why should they corner all the publicity? We should create a sensation by remaining perfectly calm. BARTLETT You seem quite certain that you and I should make a good partnership in this affair. I hope your proposals are strictly businesslike. HENRIETTA Absolutely. Don't you see that directly we in- troduce emotion we lose our calm. In fact, our calm is essential to balance their emotion. BARTLETT You have somewhat relieved my mind. 210 ALL GUMMED UP HENRIETTA Of course, we could have a little intrigue on the side, just to amuse ourselves, and to complicate matters for them. BARTLETT I begin to be frightened again. HENRIETTA Please retain your calm. I wouldn't have sug- gested an intrigue had I not thought I could trace an element of sport in you. (Rising, and crossing to sofa, where she sits at head of it.) BARTLETT Oh, my dear lady, did you ever hear of a sporty liver specialist? HENRIETTA No; I never expected you to be like this. bartlett (crossing C) Er — of course, if we enter into this agreement, we do it for the sake of our respective conjugal partners — not for each other's — nor for our own. HENRIETTA Absolutely, it's entirely unselfish. BARTLETT My wife, Gloria, is a very delightful girl, and the only reason I specialized in livers was to be able to shower her with the fees from my wealthy liverish clients. HENRIETTA Oh, that's nothing. I have sued every street- car company, and several of the Railroads, for self-inflicted sprained ankles, and obtained damages in each case, merely to provide Geoffrey with European musical vacations. 211 ALL GUMMED UP BARTLETT What a noble woman ! We certainly have some- thing in common. {Sitting by her.) HENRIETTA Oh, you are quite different from what I ex- pected. BARTLETT I think you are the first woman who has really interested me — except Gloria. HENRIETTA You are almost the only man who has ever at- tracted me — except Geoffrey. BARTLETT What was it in me which suggested to you sport or intrigue? HENRIETTA Oh, now you are getting inquisitive. BARTLETT Very inquisitive. HENRIETTA Well, I'll tell you. It's in your eye. BARTLETT Really! HENRIETTA Yes. It's more in the way you look at a person. You seem to search one's very liver — er, I mean soul. BARTLETT I'm trying to search you now for your idea of an intrigue. HENRIETTA You are dying to be a sport. 212 ALL GUMMED UP BARTLETT It isn't the intrigue itself — it's your idea of one — which interests me. HENRIETTA Then I'll tell you. For a long time I have been looking for someone to share with me a secret passion. I believe you are the person. BARTLETT You amaze me. HENRIETTA It's no ordinary passion. The famous sirens, adventuresses, and vampires never experienced a desire such as mine. Their cravings were by comparison as mild as a child's longing for sweets. BARTLETT I really think that I had better back out. HENRIETTA Oh, please don't. The force of my craving is all in the desire — the object is very simple — merely gum. BARTLETT Gum? HENRIETTA Yes, gum — chewing gum. Plain, ordinary gum will do, but I delight in the fancy kinds — the refreshing spearmint, the sensuous clove, the juicy tutti-frutti. My husband knows of my passion, and thwarts me at every turn. He won't have a piece of gum in the house. He would rather I eloped to Honolulu with a bar- tender than chew one little morsel of gum. But, now that he is seeking his independence, don't you think my emancipation is justifiable? 213 ALL GUMMED UP BARTLETT Why, yes, and the amazing coincidence is just this, that I, too, have the same craving, and am thwarted by my wife in the same manner. HENRIETTA Oh, I knew I had come to the right man. Di- rectly I saw you I knew you were my chewing- gum mate. bartlett {going to desk and opening drawer, takes out box of gum) I'm almost afraid to show this to anyone. I have kept it hidden so long. {Showing ^er the box.) HENRIETTA Oh — oh — how marvelous! Give me some! BARTLETT Be careful! Gloria might come in at any mo- ment, and then there would be a terrible scene. HENRIETTA Oh, what do we care for Gloria, or Geoffrey, or anyone. Let's be rash — let us abandon our- selves to our delight. {She takes a piece and un- wraps it, handing it to Bartlett. He does the same thing for her.) Oh, what rapture! BARTLETT It has a wonderful thrill, hasn't it? HENRIETTA This publicity will never do. We must meet in some secret place. What about the subway? BARTLETT You are right. There is no secrecy like the se- crecy of a crowd. 214 ALL GUMMED UP HENRIETTA A long trip. Just you and I and our gum. Say to the Bronx Zoo. BARTLETT Oh, no. The animals stare so. They always remind me of my aunts at a prayer-meeting. HENRIETTA Well, then Van Cortlandt Park BARTLETT It shall be. {Enter Minter.) MINTER Better break away — the third party is here. {Bartlett and the Lady rise.) BARTLETT What the — How dare you interrupt without knocking? MINTER For the simple reason that if I had knocked he would have known that you were here. I wanted to warn you. You had better beat it. I think he has a gun. BARTLETT Who? MINTER Her lawfully wedded husband. BARTLETT Oh — show him in. MINTER What? BARTLETT Show him in. MINTER On second thoughts I'll take my salary. {Bart- lett gives him some notes.) Here's my gun. {Takes 215 ALL GUMMED UP his gun out of his pocket.) Good-bye. {Exit. Bartlett puts gun in drawer?) BART LETT Are you nervous? HENRIETTA Of Geoffrey ? Not now that you know my secret. {Re-enter Minter with Geoffrey.) MINTER Mr. Tremayne. Geoffrey {to Bartlett) How do you do ? {Seeing Henrietta.) Henrietta ! What is the meaning of this ? HENRIETTA Oh, Geoff, you bad boy, you've come out with- out your overcoat. MINTER It's all right. I'm keeping it for him. HENRIETTA Thank you so much, Mr. Minter. MINTER Not at all. I'm delighted to do anything for you. BARTLETT Minter, you can go. MINTER I know it. {Exit.) BARTLETT Please be seated, Mr. Tremayne. GEOFFREY No, thank you. Henrietta, what are you doing here? BARTLETT Mrs. Tremayne had the goodness to call on me with reference to her liver. 216 ALL GUMMED UP GEOFFREY That's not true. She has no liver. BARTLETT Dear, dear! That makes her still more interest- ing. GEOFFREY Henrietta, you're chewing! HENRIETTA Just a little, dear. GEOFFREY How disgusting, Mr. Bartlett; I must apologize for my wife. BARTLETT Not at all. You find me in the same condition. In fact I gave it to her. Geoffrey (to Henrietta) You had better leave me alone with Mr. Bart- lett. HENRIETTA Certainly. Where shall I wait? BARTLETT Oh, please stay. All the other rooms are so draughty. HENRIETTA I don't mind draughts. I'll go and talk to Mr. Minter. Now, Geoff, take care of yourself, and Mr. Bartlett, don't upset him, will you? {Exit.) GEOFFREY My wife leaves me in a very awkward position. BARTLETT Well, sit down and make yourself comfortable. GEOFFREY I don't wish to be comfortable. I have a very serious matter to discuss. 217 ALL GUMMED UP BARTLETT Quite so. I'm always more serious myself when I'm uncomfortable. GEOFFREY I hope you will not make fun of me. It's a very difficult situation. What was my wife telling you? BARTLETT About what? GEOFFREY About me — and my affairs? BARTLETT Oh, she said you sold pianos — GEOFFREY No, sir. I play them. BARTLETT I knew you did something to them. GEOFFREY Was your wife's name introduced — BARTLETT In connection with the pianos? GEOFFREY No, no — in connection with me? BARTLETT Now, let me see — GEOFFREY Well, if my wife tried to influence you in any way with regard to a matter which she knows I intend to put to you, I warn you not to let it have any weight. BARTLETT No — of course not. GEOFFREY Because, sir, I am adamant. 218 ALL GUMMED UP BARTLETT You are. Have a cigar? GEOFFREY No, thank you. BARTLETT A cigarette? GEOFFREY No, thank you. BARTLETT How is the piano game? GEOFFREY What piano game? BARTLETT The piano game in general? GEOFFREY Look here, Mr. Bartlett, you are evidently in the dark as to my mission here. BARTLETT A man of your charm needs no mission. GEOFFREY I have one just the same — Er — Er — I think you will admit to yourself, if not to me, that you are by nature, profession, and tempera- ment entirely unsuited to your wife's society. BARTLETT Absolutely unsuited. Geoffrey {taken aback) I'm glad to find you honest about so personal and yet so obvious a matter. BARTLETT We married men should be very thankful to be unsuited to our wives. A woman sticks to a man she can't understand. 219 ALL GUMMED UP GEOFFREY Are you sure? BARTLETT Yes — as long as no one else understands him. GEOFFREY I think I understand you. BARTLETT You re very clever. I don't understand my- self. GEOFFREY Do you understand your wife? BARTLETT Heaven forbid. She is the greatest study of my life. GEOFFREY Perhaps again I am clever — I think / under- stand Gloria. BARTLETT Well, you are accustomed to intricate mechan- ism. The piano must be very complicated. GEOFFREY Are you comparing Gloria to a piano? BARTLETT A piano has its limits. Gloria has none. Geoffrey {rising) She has reached her limit, Mr. Bartlett. BARTLETT For heaven's sake, has she exhausted all the plays and cabarets ? GEOFFREY Ah! that is your idea of Gloria — You have simply a superficial knowledge of her appetites. Let me tell you, you haven't begun to study her 220 ALL GUMMED UP soul! And while you have been neglecting her, I have studied and understood her soul. BARTLETT How interesting! Would you mind putting your result on one of my diagnosis forms? GEOFFREY Don't joke about it, Bartlett. This is a serious matter. Yes, to be brief, we are so suited to each other that it would be almost criminal for us to remain separated. BARTLETT Who? You and I? GEOFFREY No, no. Your wife and I. BARTLETT Oh, yes. GEOFFREY In fact it is essential for us to be together to fulfill our destiny. It would be useless for you to oppose us, for we should simply elope. BARTLETT Oh, yes. I remember now, your wife mentioned something of the sort. GEOFFREY She did? BARTLETT And then we began discussing a very important matter and it passed out of my mind. GEOFFREY Is your wife's future not an important matter? BARTLETT It is so important to have had a good past, and so interesting having a good present, that the future is bound to take a third place. 221 ALL GUMMED UP GEOFFREY Do you mean to say that you're countenancing my proposal? BARTLETT You said it was useless for me to oppose you. GEOFFREY You have no objections to a man coming into your house and taking your wife from under your very nose — a perfect stranger. BARTLETT I know nothing against you. You seem a nice clean-cut young man. If I knew you better I might have some objections to you. GEOFFREY But this is preposterous — it's — it's outrageous - — it's absolutely immoral. Surely you will put up some fight for your wife ! BARTLETT Well, Minter loaned me his revolver to defend myself against you. Now, I never used one of these things. Do you know how they work? GEOFFREY Are you trying to make an ass of me? BARTLETT No, no. I assure you, if it is the proper thing to do I'll shoot you. Where would you like to be shot? You see, if I kill you, you will be of no further use to Gloria. On the other hand, if I wound you severely, you will again be out of luck, because Gloria is an atrocious nurse. GEOFFREY I never heard anything as abominable in my life. I shan't waste another moment here. I 222 i ALL GUMMED UP shall go and fetch Gloria and take her away from you at once. BARTLETT Try and be back by June 20th, will you ? I al- ways take Gloria to visit my aunts at French Lick. She amuses them while I give them a liver treatment. GEOFFREY I've tried hard to control myself, Bartlett; but your utter contempt for the common decencies, your lack of appreciation of your wife, and your general unsoundness of mind are more than I can bear. Let me tell you that of all the inane idiots I have ever met — I have never in all my life — {Enter M inter.) MINTER Excuse me, but Mrs. Tremayne says not to strain your voice as you have to lecture tomor- row — also not to bang your fingers on the table, as that will spoil your touch. GEOFFREY What the devil are you doing out there with my wife? MINTER I was telling her of my troubles since I started taking care of other people's wives. GEOFFREY Oh, get out ! MINTER Don't forget about the voice. {Enter Gloria Bartlett.) GLORIA Good evening, Minter. Georgie, it's time to start for the theatre. Why, there's Geoff. How 15 223 ALL GUMMED UP are you ? {Goes over to him and pats his face. To Bartlett.) Darling! You aren't ready, and you know I like to hear the overture. He's a terrible trial, Geoff. I'll never be able to train him. GEOFFREY Gloria, come away from your husband. GLORIA From Georgie, why? Oh, I see. You've been chewing again! How bad of you! Throw the horrid stuff away! BARTLETT Yes, dear. {Throws his gum in waste basket.) GEOFFREY Gloria, what do you mean by this familiarity with that man? Do you realize why I came here tonight? GLORIA To meet him, I suppose. Have I interrupted a consultation? Oh, I'm so sorry. Geoff, there's nothing wrong with your liver, is there? GEOFFREY Do you suppose I should come to your husband about my liver ? GLORIA I can't think of anything else you would want to see him about. GEOFFREY Not even about you? GLORIA My liver's all right, isn't it, Georgie? GEOFFREY Have you gone out of your senses, or are you 224 ALL GUMMED UP trying to fool me, because it won't work — I tell you — it won't work! GLORIA Whose liver won't work? Georgie, who's ill? What's the trouble? BARTLETT I think you have forgotten an appointment you had with Mr. Tremayne. GLORIA Oh dear, have I? BARTLETT He seems to think you made an agreement to elope with him. GLORIA Oh, that's perfectly true, I did. Yes, dear, we had a long talk the other evening and we de- cided it would be quite the latest thing for us to do. When shall we start, Geoff? GEOFFREY Heavens above — am I really the only honest person left? Am I to stay here and listen to a wife tell her husband that she is going to elope with me? GLORIA Well, Geoff, I'd have told him before, only I forgot. GEOFFREY I think you are the most impossible people I ever met; I wouldn't elope with you if you went on your knees and begged me to. You aren't worthy! And as for you, Bar tie tt, you're a hip- pant flypocrite. {Enter Henrietta.) BARTLETT Your liver must be in a wonderful condition. 225 ALL GUMMED UP Would you let me use you as a standard type in my new book? HENRIETTA No — No! I absolutely refuse! Geoffrey isn't a standard. Everything about him is original and I'm sure his liver is no exception. What have they been trying to do to you, Geoff? GEOFFREY Oh, leave me alone, Henrietta; are you trying to make a fool of me, too? HENRIETTA How could you ask such a thing ? {To the others.) Have you made a fool of Geoffrey ? That's very unkind of you. BART LETT I must apologize for my wife. Through a lapse of memory she omitted to mention the fact that she was about to elope with your husband. She has upset his plans and he refuses to reconsider the matter. HENRIETTA And I don't blame him. He has a sensitive na- ture, and though big things might slip his memory, he is very particular about trifles. GEOFFREY Trifles! GLORIA I seem to have made an awful mess of things. HENRIETTA We know you didn't do it intentionally. Come, Geoff, dear, we had better go. bartlett {to Geoffrey) I hope you are not tired, and I do hope we shall 226 ALL GUMMED UP meet again. I should like to hear you play Wag- ner on our Church organ. GEOFFREY Oh, that's the last straw! Your wife trifles with my emotions. You outrage my sense of de- cency. Henrietta defies my independence, and now you cap it all with a request for Wagner on an organ! Do you realize that an 8o-piece or- chestra can only begin to interpret Wagner — and you ask for him on an organ ! — Where's my coat? HENRIETTA Minter has it, dear. GLORIA Come to dinner some night and bring your wife. GEOFFREY If we were on a desert island, and you two had the only cocoanut, I wouldn't chew a piece of the fibre. {Exit.) BARTLETT What a splendid fellow! HENRIETTA Oh, he's just splendid in his own way. Some day he will compose a symphony which even the critics will understand. Good-bye, Mrs. Bart- lett. GLORIA Good-bye. HENRIETTA Good-bye, Mr. Bartlett. BARTLETT I'll see you to the door. {Following her.) 227 ALL GUMMED UP HENRIETTA (at door) Oh, please don't trouble. (Bartlett makes a sign to her.) bartlett (handing her the box of chewing gum) One day next week — subway — bring the gum with you. (Sotto voce.) HENRIETTA (sotto VOCe) I'll wait for a message from you. BARTLETT I'll send Minter. (Exit Henrietta.) gloria (holding up a piece of paper with Bartlett' s chewed gum on it) George, where did you get this chewing gum? BARTLETT (confused) The woman tempted me and I did eat. GLORIA Did she give it to you? BARTLETT Y-u-yes, dear. GLORIA Och! The cat! (Throwing it back into basket.) BARTLETT Now don't get angry, darling. GLORIA I had far rather you had bought it yourself and been honest about it. (Going up stage.) BARTLETT Oh! (Enter Minter, with box of gum.) MINTER Did you give this to Mrs. Tremayne? BARTLETT Certainly not. MINTER I thought not. I caught her trying to get away 228 ALL GUMMED UP with it. I didn't think she was that kind of person. {He puts box back in drawer.) BARTLETT What are you putting it there for? MINTER It belongs there, doesn't it? BARTLETT What makes you think that? MINTER I ought to know. I've had enough of it. {Going right.) BARTLETT Minter, there's your gun, go shoot yourself. MINTER If I did, your business would go to the devil. I'm the only lasting impression anyone gets from a consultation with you. GLORIA One moment, Minter, you are a witness that my husband lied to me. George, you shall pay for this — you shan't take me to the theater. BARTLETT Oh, dear! GLORIA I shall go, and just to spite you I shall sit bv myself. BARTLETT Oh, dear! MINTER Perhaps I could be of assistance to you, Mrs. Bartlett. GLORIA Oh, thank you, Mr. Minter, you shall take me. 229 ALL GUMMED UP BARTLETT No — no — I object! I absolutely object to your going with Minter to the theater. You should have more regard for my feelings. GLORIA Had you any regard for my feelings when I found you chewing in my house with another man's wife? BARTLETT Just the same, I absolutely refuse to let you go with Minter. gloria {turning and going) Oh, we shall see — BARTLETT But think, dear! gloria Think what? BARTLETT I shall have to answer the door-bell. {Exit Gloria, angry, with Minter. Bartlett settles him- self into his chair, with his feet on the tabled Oh, dear! What an uneventful life! CURTAIN 230 THOMPSON'S LUCK A TRAGEDY IN ONE ACT by Harry Greenwood Grover The author acknowledges his indebtedness for the central idea of this play to Ben Ames Williams, whose story, "They Grind Exceeding Small," suggested the play. CHARACTERS Stephen Thompson Jane, his Wife Waterman Holmes Hiram Pratt \ Neighh Copyright, 1922, by STEWART KIDD COMPANY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Application for permission to produce Thompson's Luck must be made to Harry G. Grover, 278 Carmita Ave., Rutherford, N. J. THOMPSON'S LUCK SCENE The interior of a very plain farmhouse kitchen, forenoon of a gray winter day. At the right there is a kitchen range, with tea kettle and iron pot. Right front door to pantry. Back center the sink in front of a window; a pump at right end, large water-pail at the other, with tin dipper hanging over it; at left, shelves, and along the wall at right more shelves and a corner cupboard. A plain table is in center of room, with two equally plain chairs by it. There is a door, back left, which reveals, as it opens later to admit the neighbor, that it is the only one leading outdoors, although it must be through one of those shed-like contrivances, so fre- quent in New England, that stretch from house to barn, for, when the door opens, only a darkening results. On the left wall there is a door which leads to the "down-stairs" bedroom; near this door is an old-fashioned wooden cradle; the hooded sort, with rockers. It is turned with head towards audience. At the rise, a thin, faded, small woman of thirty- five is washing dishes at the sink. When she walks, she is a little twisted over to one side: one limb is drawn up a little so she stands on her toes. An oldish-looking, gray-haired, stoop-shouldered, and sharp-faced man, sunken, small, gray eyes, bushy overhanging brow, is seated in the center pulling off rubber boots; and, as the conversation proceeds, 233 THOMPSON'S LUCK putting on black, shiny, greased, knee-length leather boots. The woman turns round from her work, looks at him and sighs. THOMPSON Want anything to the store? mrs. Thompson {sadly) Are you going to town to-day? THOMPSON Yes. {Sharply.) What's going to hinder? mrs. Thompson {turning and wiping dish as she talks, half apologetically: as if she did not feel it her right to question or dispute with her lord and master) I thought mebbe that the going and the — THOMPSON The going? When did going ever stop me? MRS. THOMPSON Yes, I know. {Falteringly, as if she had more to say, but doesnt get any further?) Thompson {vigorously) I guess so. No storm is going to stop me from getting to town; there is two men owe me in- terest money that will be in to-day to my office. That's how I got my money, putting it out and taking care to get it back. {He laughs very slightly, a little cackling, thin laugh without any joy in it.) MRS. THOMPSON Aren't you afraid it's going to storm? THOMPSON No, I'm not afraid of anything! It isn't my luck to have a storm. Don't you believe what folks around here tell you about Thompson's 234 THOMPSON'S LUCK luck. Mebbe some of my folks was unlucky, but it don't follow me. {He chuckles a little, holding one boot in his hand; he looks at her.) You know yourself what folks said when I mar- ried you. {Mrs. Thompson turns with a pained expression, as if she does not care to hear what she knows so well. Thompson continues looking away so that he doesn't see the look of pain!) Thompson's luck again! Waited until he was an old man, then married a crooked stick. {He chuckles again, not seeing the look of hatred on her face; pulls on his boot and looks up towards her.) But we fooled 'em. {He rises, goes over to the cradle, kneels before it, and looks in, pushing away a bit of the blanket that covers the child within!) Who's got a finer boy than Steve Thompson? {Turning to her anxiously!) What makes him sleep so much? MRS. THOMPSON He's got cold. THOMPSON Pshaw, why should he have a cold? {Rising.) He'll be all right. I won't have him sick! MRS. THOMPSON Don't you think you better get the medicine? He seemed worse last night. {Thompson goes over, takes a coat from a hook by the door, and takes things from its pockets and puts them into another coat, which hangs there. While he is fumblingly doing this he goes on with his talking.) Thompson Didn't I buy medicine last week? 235 THOMPSON'S LUCK MRS. THOMPSON But that was another trouble. We can't use that for this, THOMPSON He won't be sick. mrs. Thompson (sighing) I hope not, but I am afraid. THOMPSON You ain't afraid to spend money, I notice. MRS. THOMPSON But, Steve, if he needs it, you wouldn't mind spending money? THOMPSON But he'll be all right, I say. Can't anything happen to my boy! (Knock at the door is heard.) Thompson (without looking around) Come in. (There enters a quiet, smiling man, smooth, red face, soft voice, bundled up in a big coat, with heavy mittens, a cap pulled over his ears. He is younger looking than Thompson) holmes (quietly) So you're going, are you? Thompson (sharply) Didn't I just telephone you I was? holmes (smiling) Well — (and seeing Mrs. Thompson over in the corner) Good morning, Miss Thompson. MRS. THOMPSON (nods) Don't you think it's going to be a blizzard? 236 THOMPSON'S LUCK holmes {doubtfully) I don't know. THOMPSON She's afraid of Thompson's Luck. Guess she heard of it before she ever came over here to keep house for me. Wouldn't think she'd marry me, would you ? {Bitterly, fumbling in his pocket and not looking up.) Old man and crooked stick! MRS. THOMPSON Steve! Thompson {laughing, turns to Holmes) Have you seen my boy? HOLMES Not since yesterday. {Smiling.) Is he grown up? {He looks at Mrs. Thompson, who smiles faintly.) {Thompson going over to cradle, pulls back the quilt a little; although Holmes has followed him, he speaks to himself.) THOMPSON A fine boy! A fine boy! {He gets up.) Thomp- son's luck! It never hit me! holmes {dryly) It never does hit more than once, does it? Thompson {angrily) You believe in it, too, do you? holmes {quietly) Oh, no, I don't believe in any luck. I think, as a man sows, he will reap. THOMPSON Hump! {Contemptuously.) You think my grandfather was struck by lightning just be- 237 THOMPSON'S LUCK cause, after the big tree in the yard was split to kindling, he said, "Now, try Thompson!" HOLMES Well, I don't know. THOMPSON I do! But they don't hit me, I tell ye. {He has by now dressed, and goes into the pantry, of right, returning with a basket into which he looks, turn- ing to his wife.) Only two dozen eggs today? Why, I brought in seven yesterday. mrs. Thompson {meekly) I sold a dozen day before yesterday. THOMPSON You did! {Winking at Holmes.) Where's the money? mrs. Thompson {not seeing the joke) You said I might keep it. THOMPSON That's why I asked; to see if you keep it or spend it. {He laughs a cynical laugh in which no one joins him. Holmes looks uneasy^) Well! {To Holmes) Come on. {He goes to the water- pail at the sink, takes down the tin dipper, drinks from it, puts back the dipper, draws from his trousers* pocket a black plug of to- bacco, from which he bites, and returns it to his pocket?) mrs. Thompson {who has been standing nervously wiping a pan over and over again, now gets up her courage to speak?) Don't you think you better get the medicine? If anything should happen — Thompson {interrupting) Nonsense! I'm going to town to get money, not 238 THOMPSON'S LUCK to spend it. He isn't sick. I won't have him sick! {Turns to go, takes the latch of the door in his hand y then back over his shoulder with) Take good care of my boy! Keep him warm! Care and warmth is what he needs. {He goes out, followed by Holmes who simply nods as he goes through the door.) mrs. Thompson {stands by the sink, looking out the window, until there is heard outside, Thompson's voice calling, "Whoa! hold up!" Then there is a sharp jingling of sleigh-bells succeeded by quiet, and she moves a step or two, evidently to follow bet- ter with her eyes, the retreating sleigh. She me- chanically puts down the pan which she has con- tinued to hold and wipe, and stands there with the dish-towel in her hand. She turns and looks toward the cradle, then out of the window suddenly as if he had come in sight again on some far hill- top. She raises her hand threateningly and ex- claims:) It will be your fault! {She limps over to the cradle, kneels by it, remains there as if listen- ing. She gets up quickly, goes to the table with great determination; makes something in a cup, goes back to the cradle and exclaims feverishly:) I won't let him die ! His boy, and he won't spend a penny for medicine! He's my boy, too, and I won't let him die. {She puts the cup back on the table, goes to the stove, takes a brick from the top of the stove, wraps it in a large piece of cloth, carries it to the cradle, pulls up the covering at the foot, and, while putting it in, talks frantically .) His baby! I'll show him! He wouldn't have i6 239 THOMPSON'S LUCK him die! I will not let him die! His mother will save him. He's my boy! Another crooked stick! {She shrieks hysterically; buries her face in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably.) SCENE II The curtain falls for an instant to rise on the same scene with this difference. The room is filled with queer shadows made by the light from a poor, little lamp on the table. There is a large rocking-chair near the table which has been moved to the middle of the room. The shades are drawn. The cradle is over near the stove. The oven door is open and Mrs. Thompson propped up in the chair with a red, faded shawl over her shoulders seated before it. She wakens with a start at some distant, low call heard outside. MRS. THOMPSON Oh! {She steps over near the cradle and listens; looks up at the clock on the mantle over the stove.) Half-past twelve. {A weak knock is heard at the door. She rises quickly, limps over to the door, and, with her hand on the bar, which locks the door, she calls timorously:) Who's there? {A weak man's voice is heard outside?) It's me. {To which Mrs. Thompson adds with assurance and eagerness:) Hiram Pratt? {Before the "yes" comes she has taken down the bar and with it the door is opened, disclosing a thin, tall, stooped man; clad in a poor-looking, old, faded overcoat; a cap pulled down over his narrow head; a big strip of cloth wound round his thin, long neck?) MRS. THOMPSON Well, I'm glad you've come. 240 THOMPSON'S LUCK pratt {staggers to the chair at the left of the table; sits down as if exhausted; in a weak voice says) Baby worse? MRS. THOMPSON Yes, awful; but I'll save him with the medicine. {Pratt begins unbuttoning his coat; then another beneath it; and, at last, painfully draws some- thing out of his trousers side-pocket, which Jane reaches eagerly for.) PRATT I didn't fetch it, Miss Thompson. I'm sorry! {His speech is broken off by a spasm of coughing. Her hands have fallen limp at her side, and from now, during the recital, she stands mute and some- times as if unconscious of his story or presence, until he comes to the part Thompson had played; at which, for a moment, she shows signs of a re- pressed rage, which suggests strength that lies hidden beneath her pitifully weak, habitual ex- terior.) You see! {He holds out a small, dirty, white canvas bag, such as country men use to carry loose change.) I put that dollar bill you gave me to buy the medicine in here with my money and tied this tape around it just as I always do. {He shows the bag folded securely, with the open end turned in and a soiled piece of white tape turned around it.) It couldn't have got lost, could it? {Appealing to Mrs. Thompson.) Do you see how it could? mrs. Thompson {shakes her head) No! PRATT I thought I'd do my interest business first, be- 241 THOMPSON'S LUCK fore I went to the store to trade. I got my mortgage on my place from Mr. Thompson, you know. MRS. THOMPSON No, I didn't know. PRATT Yes, so I went right to the office. My! but it was warm up there; up those stairs. You know how it is. MRS. THOMPSON No, I've never seen it. PRATT Hain't seen it? MRS. THOMPSON No, I never go to town. PRATT Come to think of it, I don't know as I ever did see you there; but I supposed mebbe the old man took you sometimes. MRS. THOMPSON No, he never has room. PRATT I see he had Waterman Holmes. MRS. THOMPSON Yes, Waterman went. (Weakly.) But the baby was sick. PRATT Waterman was there when I went in; though I was kind of blinded when I first got in, I soon made out who it was and I knew his voice. I felt so kind of queer up there, climbing the stairs and the heat and all, and my fingers were so cold, I couldn't scarce count my money. But I finally got out the $11.40 that I had. It was 242 THOMPSON'S LUCK not enough, but Mr. Thompson took it and let me have a little more time for the rest. {He coughs terribly.) This has been a tough winter, all the children sick with colds and one thing or another. {He sighs, shakes his head.) I don't know. {He remains silent for what seems a long time, until brought back to his story by the cold voice of Jane.) MRS. THOMPSON And then ? pratt {starting up) Oh, yes! Well, I thought it wouldn't do any harm as long as I had so much bad luck, poor crops and a calf that died, and so on, to ask Mr. Thompson if he wouldn't let me off a little. {He sighs again) mrs. Thompson {quickly and mechanically) What did he say? PRATT I suppose I can't complain. I told him I had a big family and had lots of sickness, and he said he had a family, too, to look out for. "I know," says I. {He pauses, looks at the cradle and around the room?) So I got up and come out, and when I got over to the store for the medicine the dollar bill was gone. {He pauses and looks at Jane as if looking for some sharp scolding or word of question, perhaps of sympathy, but, seeing nothing but a stare on her face, he con- tinues pitifully?) I always put my money in that bag, but I thought I might have put it in some back pocket, seeing it wasn't my money. MRS. THOMPSON And you couldn't find it in your pocket? 243 THOMPSON'S LUCK PRATT I hunted in every pocket I've got. Zack Turner finally spoke up and asked me if I had come to town to clean out my pockets. I couldn't find that dollar, Miss Thompson. I'll pay you back soon as I can. Mebbe in a month I'll get it. Will that be all right? I'm sorry. (He rises, be- gins fumblingly buttoning his coat.) mrs. Thompson (as if awakening to reality) It ain't the money; it's the medicine. (She goes over and kneels by the cradled) What will become of my boy? (She sobs.) pratt (weakly) I guess he'll be a right. Harriet could come over tomorrow and help you, mebbe. MRS. THOMPSON Tomorrow ? PRATT Well, if it stops snowin'. mrs. Thompson (as if to herself) Mebbe Steve bought it and will bring it. PRATT Steve won't be out tonight. MRS. THOMPSON Oh, yes, he will. He would have telephoned to find out about the boy if he didn't mean to come home. PRATT Telephoned! There hain't three lengths of tele- phone wire between here and Bates ville. MRS. THOMPSON Then he'll come. (Faintly, as if she did not be- lieve it.) I guess. 244 THOMPSON'S LUCK PRATT If there's anything I could do — I'm afraid he won't come. MRS. THOMPSON You got through. PRATT Yes, but I had to. There was Harriet and the children. MRS. THOMPSON He's got a family, too. PRATT Yes, but he can afford to stay in town. He can go to the hotel. MRS. THOMPSON Not him. He sleeps in his office sometimes when he's kept in late. (She looks at the cradle.) But he'll come before mornin'. (As if 'to herself.) He said he wouldn't let him die. PRATT Humph! He don't believe in Thompson's luck. Well, I hope not. (Turning to go.) I'm sorry, Miss Thompson. I must be going. (He goes, and she mechanically bars the door after him. Now she seems awake, as if she realizes that the child has no hope but her resources. She wraps up another brick taken from the stove, takes the one from the cradle, and puts in the freshly heated one. Her every movement is feverish; at times, frantic. She stoops over very close as if to listen for the breathing of the child. She rises, limpingly fetches the lamp; kneels by the cradle, turns up the wick until it smokes and seems to peer into the face of the child within. She puts the lamp back on the table, mixes at the table something in a cup, 245 THOMPSON'S LUCK puts it down, goes over to the telephone, takes down the receiver, and, after a pause, calls faintly:} MRS. THOMPSON Hello! (Paused) Hello! (A longer pause in which she moves nervously, as if she heard strange sounds or perhaps no sound in the receiver?) Hello ! ( Then, frantically) Hello ! Hello ! Hello ! (The receiver drops full length of the cord from her hand, she turns slowly round; falls into a chair and laughs hysterically?) It's coming now. Thompson's luck! Curtain SCENE III When the curtain rises after a brief interval, it is to disclose the kitchen flooded with a dazzling sun- light reflected from the snow-covered world outside. It is mid-forenoon of the day following the previous events. The table is still out in the center of the room, but the cradle is gone. The back door opens and in walks Thompson, followed by Waterman Holmes. Thompson {over his shoulder) You might as well come in. We'll have some- thing hot to drink. (Loosening their coats, they sit at the table; Thompson toward the stove and away from the bedroom door. From the bedroom door Jane comes quickly. She has a strained look, is pale, with deep circles under her eyes.) MRS. THOMPSON At last! 246 THOMPSON'S LUCK Thompson (not looking at her; speaking over his shoulder) This isn't late. We're early. (Looking at his watch.) Only ten o'clock. Give us a cup of cof- fee, will you? (Mrs. Thompson, without answering, goes over to the shelf by the window, takes a spoon, a jar of coffee, and puts water from pail into the coffee- pot.) Thompson (continuing) It turned out to be a big storm. I didn't see any good spending money to telephone. I see the wires are all down anyhow. I knew you would be all right; you aren't afraid. (Jane pauses in her preparations, looks at him with a sudden look of hatred coming over her face, but says nothing^) Thompson (continuing) Never see such drifts, did you, Waterman ? Holmes No! THOMPSON Couldn't have got through last night no more than you could fly. MRS. THOMPSON Some did Thompson (turning around and looking at her) Who? MRS. THOMPSON Hiram Pratt. Thompson (laughing his dry, cackling laugh) He couldn't do anything but go through. No 247 THOMPSON'S LUCK place to stay and no money to put up at the hotel. {Turning to Waterman.) Mebbe that dollar bill he dropped at my table was his hotel expenses. {He slaps his knee and laughs so he doesn't hear the coffee-pot come down with a thud on the shelf at the side of the sink, when Jane's nerveless hand lets it drop as she hears "dollar bill" Waterman Holmes looks around, but, as Jane manages to pick it up and go on, he turns back. Thompson continues to Jane, who now stands with her back to him.) He was into my office yesterday afternoon to pay up his interest and dropped a dollar bill on the table while he was counting out his chicken feed to make up his $11.40. {Turning to Holmes.) Guess he must have saved all the change he's seen for the last six months. He did have two silver dollars, though. {He laughs again and then resumes to Jane.) Well, sir, he's got so little brains that, while he was counting and recounting his small change to make sure he wasn't giving me too much, he let a dollar bill slip out on the table, and, with his eyes looking straight at that table, setting there as near as Holmes and I are to this one, he never saw me cover it up with my hand {imitating on table) and put it in my pocket. {He bursts out laughing. Holmes smiles a little, but stops as he perceives Jane's queer look when she hears "dollar bill") HOLMES It was too bad, though. Thompson {snorting) Too bad, nothing! Dum fool! Why didn't he take care of his money? He ain't got brains 248 THOMPSON'S LUCK enough to carry him around the corner let alone borrow money. (Bitterly to Jane.) How did you know he got back last night? MRS. THOMPSON He stopped here. THOMPSON What time? MRS. THOMPSON About half-past twelve. THOMPSON What for? MRS. THOMPSON I asked him to do an errand. THOMPSON Can't I do your errands? mrs. Thompson {doggedly) You wouldn't. THOMPSON Shucks! MRS. THOMPSON I asked you to buy the medicine and you said No! THOMPSON Pshaw! Did he get it? MRS. THOMPSON No, he couldn't. THOMPSON Why not? mrs. Thompson (looking defiantly at him) He lost the money I gave him. THOMPSON Lost the money? Stole it, you mean. How much did you give him ? 249 THOMPSON'S LUCK mrs. Thompson {defiantly ', looking sharply at him) A dollar bill! {Holmes stands up; Thompson jumps to his feet, starts toward the bedroom door, stops, turns around and asks, with a tremor in his voice:) THOMPSON How's my boy? mrs. Thompson {pointing to the door of the bed- room) Go and see! Thompson {goes slowly, but before he reaches the door turns again and says) How's my boy? MRS. THOMPSON Dead! CURTAIN 250 FATA DEORUM A POETIC PLAY IN TWO SCENES by Carl W. Guske CHARACTERS Marius, a retired General Decius, a Philosopher and Slave to Marius A Messenger from Rome A Suevian Prisoner Two Roman Soldiers Copyright, 1922, by STEWART KIDD COMPANY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Application for permission to produce this play must be made to the author, who may be addressed in care of the publishers, Stewart Kidd Company, Cincinnati, Ohio. FATA DEORUM Time: About 15 A. D. Place: Near Rome. scene one. A room in the home of Marius. Discovered: Marius, sitting perfectly rigid and staring blankly into space. Enter: Decius and Messenger. DECIUS Stay yet awhile, for I divine that soon This morbid melancholia, Corroding fast the basis of his reason, Will abate. Then in the trenchant wrath That will ensue, as surely as the night Succeeds the day, it is more like we'll find A chance to broach the subject of thy message. MESSENGER 'Tis well; I'll stay awhile, and pray the Gods May soon repel this death incipient! See how he stares with fixed gaze into Vague miles of distance, and nor hears, Nor sees, nor knows what 'round him stirs. Poor soul! How long hath he thus been af- flicted? DECIUS Since his retirement, and day by day Grows worse. Of nourishment he scarce par- takes. Moreover, when to soothing sleep at last 253 FATA DEORUM He doth succumb, 'tis not for long, but starts With sudden, wild, incisive shriek, and cries: "Oh, Claudius, oh, Claudius, my son!" And then he writhes, and moans, and weeps, as though His heart were being cleft. Then follows wrath, Mad, turgid wrath, when all about him he Would tear asunder. Yet I fear it not — Not half so much as when he sinks into This melancholy spell. 'Tis so like death; I am afraid! MESSENGER Alas, he was Rome's bravest general. Even to-day The Emperor proclaimed him such when he Dispatched me here and said: "I would that he Were well again." Where is the scroll I brought? DECIUS I left it there before him. Look, he wakes. The Gods be praised! MESSENGER The Gods be praised! MARIUS Where art thou, Decius? DECIUS Here, master, here. MARIUS Say if I slept a moment since, or woke. DECIUS Master, I do not know. Thou wert as rigid As a stone, and yet thine eyes were opened wide. MARIUS 'Tis that accursed, hideous dream that haunts me 254 FATA DEORUM Even while I wake. It hangs on me, As if a sorrow bitterer than I've Yet known were threatening. But no, it seems As though it were a shadow of long past Calamity, which I in state of blissful Ignorance escaped. How strange it was, And yet I saw them plainly — myriads On myriads came staggering up a hill, It seemed, and I was at the top. Plodding, plodding, slowly plodding, nearer, Nearer they approached; clad in scanty Filthy rags, fast rotting in the dampness Of their foul, unearthly home. Poor souls ! though some were blind and toothless, yet they grinned Like fiends from hell. And one there was more gruesome To behold than all the rest; he stretched His arms to me in dire passion as He passed. Gods, what a sorry sight! And what a sound their harsh, hoarse croaking, Moaning, wailing, laughing, crying, All at once: "Unclean, unclean, unclean!" Why am I tortured thus? Is 't not enough That I must bear? Why do the Gods their fury Wreak upon the head of one poor mortal Here below? I had a son — where is He now? He's gone, I know not where. Not e'en the comfort of his death is mine. Relent thy vengeance, mighty Gods. You've racked Enough this wretched heart; now succor it, Lest it should rise in mutiny, and, fraught With curses rank, defy thy punishment! 17 *55 FATA DEORUM DECIUS Oh, master mine, thou work'st thine own de- struction. MARIUS What sayest, fool ? That is a lie. The Gods, The Gods — I am a victim of their mills; Oh, how they grind! "Thou work'st thine own destruction ?" Lie, lie, I say it is a lie. The Gods Have planned it all, and I am doomed. They laugh To scorn my fervent prayers, whilst I, full help- less, Bear their cruel blows. Whence came this scroll ? DECIUS 'Twas brought to thee by yonder messenger From Emperor Tiberius. MARIUS Then read it, Decius. My temples rock, mine eyes Are almost blind! Read what Tiberius says. decius {reading) "Rome greets thee, Noble Marius: Now hast Thou rested forty days, and hope runs high In Rome that soon thy health will be restored. Thou mayest know how keen our forces Feel thine absence, when that we do send to thee, While still thy pulses rage, this matter for at- tention. The Gods have dealt us graciously the capture Of a Suevian prisoner — the charge 256 FATA DEORUM 'Gainst whom, in full, the bearer will impart to thee." MARIUS Where is the prisoner? MESSENGER Without, my lord. MARIUS Go, fetch him in. Come hither, Decius, {Exit Messenger) Come, sit thou here; I would a while consult With thee. For years and years I've trusted thee With duties sacred in my household. Thy wisdom I regarded high enough To make thee tutor to mine only son — Who now is gone. Thus, and in various other Ways, I've shown thy judgment great respect, Albeit thou art a slave. And now that I Am ill, I place still greater import on Thy wisdom. Tell me, Decius, what thinkest Thou of my misfortune? Is't not too great? Have not the Gods abased me much? DECIUS 'Tis truly great. Would thou could'st heap it all Upon my head; most willingly I'd bear it. So I love thee, master mine. MARIUS And yet, A moment hence thou did'st remark: "Thou work'st Thine own destruction." DECIUS 'Twas an idle word. 257 FATA DEORUM MARIUS 'Twas not an idle word. Thou hast a mind Which anyone might envy thee. Now come, How dost thou mean I work mine own destruc- tion? DECIUS I fear, oh, master, thou wilt be offended. MARIUS 1*11 be offended at thy prudish dalliance, Which rears obstructions to mine understand ing. Thou art a good philosopher; come, I'll forget thou art a slave. Come, come, speak out. DECIUS Hast ever thought that in the world to-day We dam the torrents of our grief until they wax So turbulent, we turn with dazed Reasoning to blame the rancour of The Gods, when we ourselves have been the source? For when the worst within us has o'ercome The best, and when to poignancy weVe yielded, All the best seems but an atom in a Sea of gall, wherein we float, and blindly Groping, fall still lower in the bitter Flood, which greedily devours us. So thou dost only live in memory Of sorrows thou hast known, and yield to moods That fain would eat thy very soul away — MARIUS And should I smile when that from battle I Returned one day to find mine only son Was no more here? 258 FATA DEORUM DECIUS Not so; but now that he is Gone, thou multiplyest much thy grief, by dwelling On it over-long. MARIUS Ah, "over-long !" Into eternity would scarcely be long Enough! I loved my child, my Claudius, My son. DECIUS MARIUS And even I — His father, I — DECIUS And I, his slave. MARIUS Indeed thou art a wise Philosopher! Hast ever helped to bring Into this world an offspring of thine own, That thou might'st know the ties that bind a father To his child? Hast ever felt the sweetness Of paternal cares that wax as time Goes on, as doth the grief that comes when such Cares end? No, no, that hast thou not; and yet Thou counsel'st thus ? Out of my sight; be gone Thou fool; out of my sight, be gone, be gone! (Decius retires to the background. The Mes- senger enters, followed by the Suevian prisoner be- tween two Roman soldiers.) MESSENGER Most noble sir: This is the leader of 259 FATA DEORUM A damned tribe that thrice hath ravished our Cities, resting in the quiet of the Night, with ne'er a thought of harm impending. So the last atrocious deed was done At Samaris, where scarce a peristyle Remains, but that is smeared with blood which once In veins of youth and noble manhood ran ! Not even helpless children did they spare, And many a Roman maid, despondent grown In pregnancy, now ends her life, ere yet Her bastard Suevian offspring may be born! And Samaris will not alone the mark Of Suevian menace bear, for twice before Hath Rome heard cries of mad despair, Rising amid the smoke and flames Of other devastated cities! But, Each time the fiends had fled into the darkness Of the night, before our soldiers could Arrive. And now we have the leader of Their tribe, with whom the Emperor hath sent Me here, to say that Marius alone Can justly treat so dastardly a crime. Rome cries to thee from out the depths of shame, That she should let such deed e'en once occur. Avenge thou her, remove the tarnish from her name! MARIUS What hear I now? My breath, my breath, it fails! 'Though all the rage that mortal could possess Now sears my soul, and kindles up a flame Of keenest hate, I count myself too much a weakling still 260 FATA DEORUM To punish thee. Thou hellish Monster, thou — for every drop of Roman Blood that thou didst spill, thy body shall Receive a slash while hanging by its toes, And for the Roman womanhood thou didst Deflow'r, thy slashes shall be strewn with burn- ing Sulphur! Now, my Suevian friend, how likest Thou the wrath of Rome? PRISONER Thou slanderest Rome To say thy shameful passion is her wrath. MARIUS My shameful passion then; how suits it thee? PRISONER Well, Roman, well; since I bear guilt of actions Such as thine, I'm pleased to die. MARIUS Oh, thou Germanic dog! 'Twas never known of Rome To murder children in their sleep. PRISONER We even murder babes and women in Their sleep, since murder deals a gentler bloM Than banishment to leprosy. MARIUS Ah, banishment to leprosy. So, now I understand — My reputation travels fast. PRISONER Ne'er had our tribe an unfair battle waged, And calmly were we e'er resigned to fates Of honest war. But once because our loss Was not so great as yours, and but a score 261 FATA DEORUM Of Suevian prisoners you had won, thy glut- tonous Enmity thy reason stole and with A fiendish mania thou didst condemn Them to a living death, there in The barren vales of that secluded isle, With naught but cold gray hills to gaze upon, And scores of wretches falling joint from joint. 'Twas then we swore that naught should stay our just Revenge, not e'en the foulest trickery. My daughter, too, was in that lot. Now she's Unclean ! Sweet child of rarest innocence ! Oh, how I wish that I might clasp her to My heart just once again — just once again! Now thou dost know why we bear guilt of damned Deeds as black as thine. MARIUS Thou dar'st stand there And damn what I have done ! Since thou hast so Declared thyself, I'll grant thy boon, that thou May'st clasp thy daughter once more to thy breast. Thou, too, shalt be unclean! Go drag him hence, And when 'tis done, bring word in person here to me. {Exeunt the prisoner, messenger, and soldiers?) Now, Decius, put out the torch; The moonbeams pierce the deep tenebrous clouds, To woo the latent sorrow in my heart. Now go; I'll count, alone, the tedious hours 262 FATA DEORUM That languish in the stillness of the air — Creating vivid likenesses of pangs of Passions ancient-born. Curtain SCENE TWO Same as Scene One. Night. Discovered: Marius. MARIUS When that the Gods So prudently had wrought to manly youth The only offspring of my flesh and blood — I see him now, with head held high, darting On nimble limbs as swift as winds that toss His dark, abundant, curly hair; With eyes a-sparkle, boyish smile, and gentle Stroke of tender hand to smooth the time-worn Furrows on my brow — my cup was filled ! Drunk with the joy of happiness supreme, Unheedful of the source from whence it came, I angered the immortal Gods, and reaped The harvest of their quick and fearful doom! And now my soul has fled to hazy spheres Of everlasting memories, where happy Dreams reiterate dear days that were But are no more. Oh, Claudius, my son, Return thy father's hideous gloom to cheer, Or bid the Gods to open wide the black doors Of foul mystery that thy dear presence Doth conceal. I'd let the soothing zephyrs Of the south waft thee my lamentations, But the stream that yonder flows might rise 263 FATA DEORUM Enticing to my woeful words, and drown Them in its buoyant waters. No, I'll face The east; mayhap the first bright gleam of Morning light will bring me hopeful word of thee, Or thou, thyself, wilt come again, dear son ; Yes, yes, thou'lt come, I know, I know thou'lt come! (Decius and the Messenger have entered and over- heard part of Mart us' so/i/oquy.) DECIUS You hear? And thus all through the night. And Now this news. I fear, I fear, and yet It must be done. Stand thou apart. (Decius cautiously approaches Marius.) Oh, master. marius (after gazing about him in a dazed manner addresses the messenger) What's in thy look that leers with mockery, The while thy features ache with frowns and fear? MESSENGER Oh, gruesome, soul-devouring sight that I Beheld. Thy doom is sealed, and I the sealer, Bound by thy command! MARIUS What is my doom ? Speak on, I am prepared for anything. MESSENGER We traveled fast and sped our sails, so that We reached the wretched isle ere yet the sun Had set, by whose slow-dying rays the peaks Of those cold hills seemed steeped in gore. 264 FATA DEORUM The Suevian never spoke a word on all the way. But once he said in tones that still are ringing In mine ears: "He'll rue this day. For every act Of violence we commit, we pay a ten-fold Penalty before we quit." And then He smiled, and entered fearlessly the heavy Gate, which yawned and swallowed him. I was about to turn and leave, when standing There before me, at spear's length, I saw A pair, now scarcely human as they looked, She, from his fond embrace, sprang with a shriek And fell into a heap before the prisoner, Crying 'mid rasping sobs, "My father! Pity, Gods!" The boy then came to me and when He spoke, his tainted breath rose thiough the air And stifled me. So frightfully distorted Was his face, 'twas torture when he tried To smile, which plainly I discerned, though low He bowed his head. He dragged his limbs as if To drop them would remove a weight of pain, And bulging from their sockets with a piercing Glare, his eyes shone through the lifeless strings Of hair about his face. Sir, 'twas your son! The girl whom he had followed there no earthly Power could tear from him, nor him from her, For so they loved — and so they went from life to death. I knew him not, but he knew me. Oh, how I longed To clasp him to my heart, and fold his swollen hands 265 FATA DEORUM In mine, but he's a thing unclean, unclean, un- clean ! He asked with trembling lips concerning thee, And quickly came the thought to me to lie. I told him thou didst die in battle here Of late; again he tried to smile and thanked The Gods that thou should'st ne'er behold him in That piteous plight. And then he asked con- cerning Decius; and once again I lied, And said thou gavest him his freedom at Thy death; therefore I knew not where he was. Then falling with his face upon the ground, He clasped his hands in prayer, and thus I saw Him lying still, while from the stern of our Reluctant-moving barge I watched the scene of sorrow fade. MARIUS Thy work is done, and well; return to Rome. {Exit the messenger.) Oh, God, a thing unclean, unclean, unclean! And thou almighty Gods, art satisfied? Oh, ne'er to come again, never again. Ye Gods, ye mock me so. My heart doth break, And breaking still doth live. Can ye not still Its beating, Gods? Why must it beat and break ? No, no, I know thou'lt never come again, dear son; Ne'er more shall we behold thee! Decius, When I am gone, what wilt thou do, and I Thy freedom give to thee? 266 FATA DEORUM DECIUS Ah, master mine, I'll stay with thee till thou Art gone, and then I'll join my master Claudius, To lave his wounds, and pray for comfort in His last declining days of misery. MARIUS I'm faint — go, Decius, and fetch me wine. {Exit Decius.) Each twinkling star laughs at my sorry plight Each flower its perfume sends to throttle me Each fleeting cloud but mocks my waning life While each cool breath of breeze but fans the mad, Devouring flame that in me burns. Ye triumph, Mighty Gods. {He takes a sword from the wall.) Be not afraid, oh, sword, of this poor heart, Tis but a broken fluttering thing that fain would die. Thou wilt disturb no feeling there, for all Is gone, and thou art truly welcome — come! {He stabs himself and dies.) {Enter Decius.) DECIUS Here, master mine, take drink this wine, And follow me, so that we three — {He sees that Marius is dead) Now, Claudius, my master, I will come. FINIS 267 PEARL OF DAWN A FANTASY IN TEN SCENES by Holland Hudson CHARACTERS Haroun al Raschid, Caliph of Bagdad^ surnamed "the Good" His Vizier His Favorite His Chief Eunuch Ali A li, a Merchant ', also called "the good' His Eldest Wife His Youngest Wife Hazan, his Brother-in-Law A Robber Captain His Lieutenant Guards, robbers, wives, houri, ad lib. ORDER OF SCENES I. A Street 6. A Room in the Caliph's 1. In the Shop of Ali the House Merchant 7. A Street 3- A Street 8. Ali's Shop 4- Ali's Shop 9. A Street 5- A Street 10. Ali's Shop rvz, ? entire action takes place in one night. Scenes 3 to p comprise the story within the play. Copyright, 1922, by STEWART KIDD COMPANY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Applications for permission to produce Pearl of Dawn should be addressed to Frank Shay, in care of the publishers, Stewart Kidd Company, Cin- cinnati, Ohio. No performance may be given without his consent. PEARL OF DAWN AUTHOR S NOTE "Pear/ of Dawn" was written to provide a pic- torial one-act play, neither tragic nor highfalutin, which might afford opportunity for rapid move- ment and adventure in a small compass of time and space. I have therefore placed the story in a period and a country about which the rising gen- eration knows comparatively little, and have de- liberately shifted the action constantly from street to shop or palace and back again. Scenically, the street is a painted front curtain, and the shop a cyclorama drape. The palace scene is simply the shop, with different light, and its properties changed. scene one: A Street in Bagdad. Night. hazan {comes down the street, making his way with difficulty, swaying with weakness. His clothes are shredded to ribbons. He has bandaged him- self, here and there, with fragments of his gar- ments) Allah, be merciful! Let me die! Let me die! Allah — {He falls unconscious.) a li {runs out, carrying a lantern. He bends over the prostrate man and tries to rouse him.) hazan {sprawls on his face, and his back, upon which no clothing remains, is revealed striped with marks of a whip?) 18 271 PEARL OF DAWN ALI Ah, poor man ! Poor man ! hazan {recovering consciousness , rolls over on his side, looks up) Ali! ALI What, you know me? Who are you? HAZAN You do not recognize me? I am Hazan. (He faints again.) ALI Hazan, good brother; wake again. It is I, Ali, Ali. I don't remember which wife it is whose brother you are, but I know you. Come, wake up, dear brother, you are much too heavy for me to carry. (Nevertheless, he manages to pick up Hazan and stagger out with him, leaving his lantern behind?) haroun al raschid (enters from the opposite di- rection, with his Vizier, who carries a lantern) You say the man who carried him into that shop is Ali the good? the vizier (salaaming) So people call him. As he is a merchant — you may believe it if you like. HAROUN Stop salaaming. I wish to remain incognito. So that is the man to whom they give my title? Not Haroun al Raschid the Good, but Ali the good! A merchant of women's wear for a rival! VIZIER The moon does not rival the sun, but reflects it. HAROUN But if he is called "the good," why does he now 272 PEARL OF DAWN give aid and comfort to a wretch who has been publicly whipped for violating his neighbor's harem ? VIZIER Perhaps All's own harem is a little too much for him. HAROUN That is the most cynical thing you have said this evening. I shall have to present you with a brace of wives. VIZIER That is the most cynical threat you have made today. To keep you from remembering it, let me tell you that the man who was whipped is All's brother-in-law. Further, Ali undoubtedly does not know yet what he was whipped for. His wives keep all the scandal to themselves. HAROUN I should like to see this merchant sell his wares and yet earn his title of "the good." vizier You should have that opportunity soon. The guardian of your harem asked me where your favorite might buy some silks this evening at a reasonable price and I told him of Ali's shop. They may be there now. HAROUN And be defiled by the presence of Hazan the unclean! Let us go there quickly. (They hurry off, Haroun taking AWs lantern.) A patrol passes. The lights fade out. The scene changes. 273 PEARL OF DAWN scene two: The Shop of Ali Through the open doorway at the back one sees the sky of early night. In the foreground a cur- tained divan is lighted by a small lamp concealed in the canopy. The center of the shop is lighted by a brass hanging lamp. Under it Alls wives are displaying silks to a veiled lady, who is guarded by Harouns Chief Eunuch, a gigantic Nubian with a naked sword across one arm. THE ELDEST WIFE Lady, the silk is worth fifty pieces of silver, and it is yours for thirty. HAROUN AL RASCHID's FAVORITE It does not interest me. THE YOUNGEST WIFE Lady, we could not cheat you. You are in the shop of Ali the good. THE ELDEST WIFE We are commanded to cheat no one and to speak to our customers no untrue word. THE YOUNGEST WIFE These are the commands of Ali the good. THE FAVORITE Is the merchant really so good? THE ELDEST WIFE I, the eldest wife, acknowledge it. THE FAVORITE Then he must be good, indeed. Are you sure this silk is of the best quality? THE YOUNGEST WIFE Lady, it is the jewel of China, whence it came. 274 PEARL OF DAWN ali {appears in the doorway carrying the uncon- scious Hazan) One of you, a cup of water, quickly! THE ELDEST WIFE But see, a customer, a great lady! ALI But I have found a brother — not yours? Well, a brother of one of you. Make haste! {He brings Hazan down to the curtained divan.) the youngest wife {brings a cup of water.) the eldest wife {attends to her customer, screen- ing her from seeing more of the intruder.) THE FAVORITE Is that the merchant, Ali? THE ELDEST WIFE Ali the good, lady. You must forgive him. He is so tenderhearted that he forgets all busi- ness to help any creature in distress. THE FAVORITE What a wonderful husband he must be! THE ELDEST WIFE He is wonderful. Only sometimes we wish his heart would harden a little to the distress of others that he might take more thought for his own affairs. ali {taking the cup from the Youngest Wife) Oh, he's your brother? THE YOUNGEST WIFE Dear husband, do not call him my brother again. Let him tell you for what he was beaten. {She rejoins the Eldest Wife.) ali {lifts Hazan and gives him a drink.) 275 PEARL OF DAWN hazan (not fully conscious) You may kill me if you like. It is the will of Allah. ALI Why should I kill you, brother? HAZAN Ah, it is you, Ali. Where have you brought me? ALI To my house. HAZAN No, no! You must not. (Attempting to rise.) My own sister, your youngest wife 3 would have me driven out. ALI What have you done, brother? HAZAN I was found — in the harem of my neighbor. ALI With his — wives? HAZAN His favorite. \LI Alas, brother, why did you do this? HAZAN Ali, you are too good; you do not know sin. ALI Do I not? Have I not eyes, brother? HAZAN I do not know, myself, why I sinned. ALI That is sin, indeed. HAZAN Yes, I have sinned and I have been caught, wounded with swords and beaten with whips. 276 PEARL OF DAWN Then, when the breath came back into my body they stood before me with her — my be- loved — and struck off her head before me so that I was blinded with her blood. Oh Allah! Allah! {He weeps.) ALI Shall I not arm you against them that did this? hazan {regaining some of his self-control) No, dear brother; it was done by decree of the Caliph, Haroun al Raschid the Good. ALI Alas, then your case is hopeless. hazan {struggling up on one elbow, his eyes bright with fever) No, it is not. ALI Indeed, I can see no hope for you. HAZAN Allah is merciful. I have learned it here in your shop. That is why he would not answer my prayers for death. That is why I shall leave your house at once with my wounds healed. {He struggles to his feet.) ALI A miracle? HAZAN The miraculous mercy of Allah! Listen, brother — neither the sharp edges of the swords nor the blows of whips have robbed me of my golden hour. You say to yourself "but one hour?" Why, it might have been but a minute. It is written in the book of man's life that such things shall not last long; we should then lose our inter- est in heaven. And look — 277 PEARL OF DAWN A LI Where, brother? HAZAN Just before me. ALI I see nothing. HAZAN Ah, you cannot see her, but I do, and I shall never lose sight of her image while I live. I shall go to the desert, where my disgrace will not be known, and her ghost will lead the way and comfort me. Allah is merciful! ALI No! Do not go! the youngest wife {has come down to them with a bag and a large cloak) Dear husband, I bring a cloak and food for this unfortunate man. You, dear husband, are Ali the merchant, and have a duty to your cus- tomers. Let the unfortunate man, who was my brother before his sin, go his way lest your cus- tomers think evil of Ali the good. ALI No, no ! HAZAN The Youngest Wife is right, O Ali the good ! Let me go my way in peace. {He puts on the cloak, takes the bag and starts for the door.) haroun and his vizier {enter the shop, coming down toward Ali.) hazan {turning in the doorway) The blessings of Allah on this household! {Then to the moonlight outside.) Lead on! {He leaves the shop.) 278 PEARL OF DAWN HAROUN To whom did he speak the last words? ALI To a ghost. The unfortunate man has sinned and suffered. HAROUN Too bad, too bad! ALI Isn't it, now? HAROUN Don't you think the Caliph was too cruel? ALI Yes, of course. He has to be. People expect it of a man in his position. ... I suppose that, personally, he is as merciful a man as any of us. VIZIER I am sure the Caliph would like to hear himself so well commended. HAROUN You are the merchant, Ali the good? ali {simply) I am the merchant, Ali. THE FAVORITE I have been shopping in the bazaar all after- noon, and I am very tired. I must rest. ALI Conduct the lady to a place of rest. the eldest wife {leads the Favorite to the curtained divan^ ali {to the Youngest Wife) Show her silks. Do not lose the sale. Is coffee ready ? 279 PEARL OF DAWN THE YOUNGEST WIFE All ready to be poured. That Egyptian fabric — I cannot find it. the eldest wife {joins her in the search) a li {handing a cup of coffee to Haroun) May I offer you gentlemen a cup of coffee, since the Caliph has outlawed more stimulating hos- pitality? the vizier Do you mean to tell us that you have nothing in your cellar? A li {giving him coffee) I am unfortunate. My house was built without a cellar. THE VIZIER Then you are, perforce, Ali the good. a li {absently filling a third cup) So I am called. the favorite {who has removed her cloak and veil) Do I smell coffee? the wives {busy with their search, do not hear her.) ali {comes down to her with the third cup.) the favorite {snatches up her veil with a little start, then, lowering it with a smile, takes the coffee, which she sips) How nice of you ! ali {devouring her with his eyes) I am richly rewarded. O, how unfortunate are the blind! haroun {signals to the Chief Eunuch, who tiptoes stealthily toward Ali.) THE FAVORITE Tell me more. 280 PEARL OF DAWN A LI Pearl of Dawn! THE FAVORITE But this is evening. ALI A night of miracles! Oh, that I — THE FAVORITE Be careful. We are watched. (She raises her veil circumspectly.) Has your shop ever been robbed?) ALI No, lady. My besetting vice is covetousness. I wish for what is my neighbor's. I dream of a jewel in a prince's turban. THE FAVORITE Such wishes sometimes come true. You should find ways. the wives {come down with a piece of white silk.) THE FAVORITE No, I want color. Show me all you have. {She goes up with them to the other side of the shop.) the nubian {stands regarding Ali y darkly.) ali (gazes y rapt, at the cushions where the Favorite rested. He becomes conscious of the Nubian, turns and smiles at him) Your master's lady is safe within my shop, good swordsman. (He rejoins the Caliph and the Vizier.) haroun (picking up the goods originally offered to the Favorite) This piece of silk. Is it good? ALI Gentlemen, no. That silk is of domestic make. the eldest wife (signals frantically to Ali.) 281 PEARL OF DAWN a li {disregarding her) It will turn yellow in a short time and the fabric will split. VIZIER Why, then, is it for sale in the shop of Ali the good? ALI Because it is cheap. The price is but ten pieces of silver. If you want silks for your turbans, buy this. If you do not find it good you may have, for the asking, another fabric or your money again. THE FAVORITE I will buy'some new veils. And, mind you, do not try to cheat me again. This is the shop of Ali the good. the wives {all talking at once) We would not think of cheating you. Our husband knows the stock. We made a mistake. It takes an expert to tell the goods apart. {Grouped about the Favorite, they remove her outer cloak. One holds a mirror for her, the other a box of veils , which she tries on , frequently allowing her face to be seen by Ali.) HAROUN Ali, you are a righteous man. Yet I have seen that you have compassion for the sinner. Can you not tell us why one man is righteous and an- other wicked? ali {attempting to give his attention to the question, but letting his eyes stray frequently to the Favorite) No two men sin for the same reason. Some sin because they are stupid, which is a sin of itself. 282 PEARL OF DAWN Others sin because they live many years behind, or ahead, of the age in which they are born. Still others sin because all their lives they have cherished a dream, perhaps not a good dream, but the dream of their lives. When the chance comes for the dream to come true they do not stop to consider the consequences to the others, nor even to themselves. Sin has intrigued the philosophers of every age and nation. As for myself, I know that I might sin, and in this wise. Suppose two robbers met upon the street in Bagdad — {As he talks the lights fade out.) The scene changes. scene three: A Street. A ROBBER CAPTAIN" AND HIS LIEUTENANT {enter from opposite directions — both carry lanterns.) CAPTAIN Well, how many purses ? LIEUTENANT None, yet, but I have news. Haroun al Raschid the Good is in the shop of the merchant Ali, also called "the good." CAPTAIN "The good ,, — to be cursed with a title like that! Was the Caliph spending freely there? LIEUTENANT He will, no fear. Ali is a shrewd merchant. CAPTAIN The more he spends, the more for us to take. But he doesn't spend fast enough. I wish I had force enough to swoop down on his treasury. 283 PEARL OF DAWN LIEUTENANT It is well guarded. CAPTAIN Well guarded — yes, so is he. And well he need be, for banishing wine from Bagdad. My throat's dusty as a carpet in the bazaar. Who are these? LIEUTENANT The Caliph, his Vizier, and his Favorite. Hide quickly, the patrol will follow them. {They hide at the end of the street?) the nubian (enter s and passes along the street, fol- lowed by the Favorite, carried in a tiny palanquin, with a lantern in its canopy?) the caliph and his vizier (follow a few paces be- hind, also carrying lanterns?) THE VIZIER You paid him too much for the silk. HAROUN I paid, not for the silk, but for the man. Such honesty is priceless. Had I more of it in Bag- dad, I might dispense with guards and patrols. THE VIZIER Until you get it, though — ah, here they come. the patrol {enters, standing, ready to follow the Caliph?) HAROUN Do you think he knew me for the Caliph ? the vizier Of course he did. I have told you a thousand times that your incognito deceives no one but yourself. (They disappear, followed by the patrol?) 284 PEARL OF DAWN the robber captain (comes out, with his Lieu- tenant ,J c rom their hiding-place) There goes the robber of wine. . . . Our way is clear. Call the men. We'll fall upon the Ali the moment his harem is alseep — be careful not to wake the women — they're worse than any dog — a bone will not silence them. The lights fade out as they leave scene four: The Shop — The lights are dim. ali (is discovered, standing beside the curtained divan, lost in thought, alone?) the wives (from another room) Good-night, good-night! ALI Good-night! (He draws the curtain across the doorway to the street and comes down to the spot where the Favorite tried on the veils. He finds on the floor the veil which she wore, which he takes to the chest in the center of the room, upon which he sits with the veil at his lips, and is presently lost in dreams.) (A naked arm appears at the curtain to the street and pulls it aside a little?) THE ROBBER CAPTAIN AND THE LIEUTENANT (steal into the room. They have left their cloaks outside and their knives gleam wickedly in the dim light. They waken Ali, presenting their knives to his ribs to prevent outcry?) ALI Mercy! 285 PEARL OF DAWN THE CAPTAIN Tell us where your treasure is hid and no harm shall come to you. ALI In the box I sit on. the robbers (dump him unceremoniously of the chest and open it.) the captain {lifting a bottle) By the beard of the Prophet, wine ! ALI Even so. the captain Sly dog! Ali the good! Why, he has twenty varieties of bottled drunkenness ! lieutenant But how if it be poisoned? THE CAPTAIN In these days of forbidden wine, make the giver drink with you. Come, merchant. (He fills a cup.) ALI As I put by the wine, myself — may we all live to be extremely wicked ! (He drinks?) LIEUTENANT The man is moonstruck! captain (chuckling) Ali the good, extremely wicked? (He drinks — wine dribbles down his chin?) ali (mopping it up with a napkin from the chest) Don't waste it, good Captain. There isn't much left. CAPTAIN Enough for the evening, good merchant. (Pours himself another drink.) 286 PEARL OF DAWN ALI And after that? CAPTAIN After that, who cares? {He drinks.) ALI Could I but catch that thought ! {He drops the Favorite's veil.) lieutenant {snatches it up with a ribald exclama < Hon,) ALI Give it me! CAPTAIN I told you he was a sly dog! Ali the good, a ha- rem robber, a beauty snatcher! Ah, old fox! LIEUTENANT Let it be, merchant, or I'll give you the knife in- stead. {He thrusts at Ali.) ali {with a wrestler s trick, throws him on the floor. He retrieves the veil as the man sprawls.) CAPTAIN Serves you right. Shouldn't interfere with an- other man's souvenirs. What's she like, mer- chant? ali She is the Pearl of Dawn ! CAPTAIN Marvelously accurate description! Identify her immediately. Where's she live? ALI That is my secret. CAPTAIN Must find this out. {He places the point of his knife between Alis ribs.) lieutenant {does the same on the other side.) 19 287 PEARL OF DAWN ALI It is the will of Allah. I will tell ... All my life I have been seeking for naughtiness. CAPTAIN AH the good! {He laughs boisterously.) ALI That name was not of my own seeking. I own the largest library of forbidden books in Bagdad. CAPTAIN Some day when I am sober ALI If you are ever sober you may look at them. I assure you they have been a great disappoint- ment. None of them really come up to their reputations. CAPTAIN But the censors ALI The censors wouldn't know real naughtiness if they met it. And I have wasted my substance to see all tne dancers and nautch girls of Turkey and Egypt. the captain (rubbing his hands) Ah, an epicure! ALI Very, very stupid and not at all naughty. Dis- appointments, every one. So I have thought a great deal about naughtiness, and Allah has given me the key to the riddle. the captain Well? ALI Naughtiness is like the kingdom of Heaven. It lies within you. I have tended the naughti- 288 PEARL OF DAWN ness in my heart like a poppy garden until to- day — THE CAPTAIN To-day you re a bolder fellow than I am, you were going to say. LIEUTENANT Captain, he's tricked you. He's led you away from the secret. captain (his knife at Alls ribs) Quickly — where does she live? ALI It is the will of Allah. She lives in the palace of the Caliph. CAPTAIN Ah, the sly dog! No wonder he is vain! ALI The Pearl of Dawn ! captain (after emptying his cup) What would you give to hold the Pearl of Dawn — to have her, perhaps. ALI Anything! CAPTAIN Now, perhaps, it might be managed if you — No, no; it won't do. (He finishes another cup.) ALI Try me. CAPTAIN You are determined? Listen, then. About the Caliph's house there is one place where the wall may be reached from a neighboring roof. Once inside, the harem is but one door away. The treasury — but that is my affair. You have the 289 PEARL OF DAWN courage to climb that wall upon the shoulders of my men and let a rope down after you ? ALI Command me! CAPTAIN Come, then! ALI A moment only. A letter for my wives, lest they grieve too loudly for my absence. captain {looking over Alis shoulder as he writes) "Am held captive by robbers. Give no alarm, but send two thousand sequins at once to the old gate of the city." Ah, sly dog! Lead on, O Prince of Evil! (The three men go out into the street after putting out the light.) women's voices (rise in the next room from a mur- mur to an argument.) the youngest wife (coming from behind the cur- tains in her nightdress •, with a lantern) But I'm sure I heard voices. (She goes to the divan> and> finding it empty ', begins to search the room.) Husband is not here! The chest is open! A letter! (She reads it and screams^) the other wives (run in; they all talk at once) Let me see it! How can I when you — But I don't understand. It can't be true. But think — robbers in here and gone without noise. I knew there was something wrong. You told me to be quiet. What shall we do ? Ali says to give no alarm. But they may murder him. Two thousand sequins! Let's call the patrol! Allah be merciful! Help! Robbers! Thieves! 290 PEARL OF DAWN {Their chatter rises to a shriek, and the Youngest Wife goes tearing out into the street, followed by the others, all screaming?) The lights fade out. The scene change 's scene five: A Street. A patrol passes. The Captain, Ali, the Lieu- tenant, and sundry robbers enter warily, watching the patrol. captain {stopping in a peevish, alcoholic reaction) I don't like it. Something will go wrong, I know. Bagdad is alive with patrols. Tomorrow night — a li {with bravado — also slightly alcoholic) Tomorrow — why, tomorrow I may be Myself with ten thousand yesterdays. CAPTAIN Stop quoting that damned Persian! His verses are full of wine, and they make me thirsty. {Struck by a happier thought.) Let's go back and have another drink! a li {not budging, but pointing ahead) Have you forgotten the Caliph's treasury? Haroun al Raschid may feel generous in the morning and give half of it away to somebody. Think of taking, in one night, all the gold your men could carry! CAPTAIN Being wicked in large doses, aren't you? ALI I have been good for a long, long time. lieutenant {starting sharply) What's that — 291 PEARL OF DAWN ali (laughing) Your shadow on the wall. What a bold company I have joined! captain (roaring) Coward! Learn courage from this brave mer- chant, Ali the good! Let all brave men follow me. (He struts off.) ALI I follow (The party goes out — A patrol passes. From one side comes a murmur which swells in volume to the shrieks of Alls wives y who now appear in their night robes.) the wives (all at once) Help, help, help! Thieves, thieves, Watch ho! Watch ho! Thieves! Thieves! Watch ho! Watch ho! Help! Help! Watch ho! Watch ho! Help! Help! Help! Thieves ! the patrol (returns on the run.) the wives (loudly and all at once) Ali the merchant has been stolen by robbers while we slept, etc. Robbers have kidnapped Ali the good for ran- som, etc. My husband is in the hands of robbers! He left this note, etc. ONE OF THE PATROL (bawling) One at a time — one at a time! the wives (all at once^ though less stridently) While we slept, robbers broke into our house. They broke into my husband's chest and stole. 292 PEARL OF DAWN Not content with that they have taken him for ransom, forcing him to leave this note here. What shall we do? You must help us to find our husband, etc. How can you stand here and do nothing? Don't you understand that robbers have entered our house and stolen and taken away our hus- band? If we do not pay the ransom they will kill him; and we can't pay it because all our money is stolen, etc. I shall die if you don't save him. Scour the streets! Go at once! Spread the alarm! He is our husband. If he dies our hearts perish also! Draw your swords ! Read the letter! Save him from the robbers! the patrol {puts its hands to its ears?) The lights fade out. The gabble subsides to a murmur ; but does not stop, swelling again as the lights come up on the next scene. scene six: The Favorite's Chamber. On the right, a draped bed. Cushions at intervals on the floor. Several colored lamps hang from the ceiling. As the lights come up the noise turns out to be the chatter of three houri seated in the center of the room. three houri {all three at once) First: I don't see why on earth she paid fifty sequins for that veil. I wouldn't trade at that shop anyway. They're cheats. She doesn't use 293 PEARL OF DAWN any judgment at all in her shopping. That's why her clothes never look like anything. Second: Did you smell the perfumery she bought? When the Caliph smells it, someone else will be the favorite until his nose gets well. I don't know how she gets away with it — a per- son with no more taste than that. Some women have all the luck. Third: Then the Persian said to me, "Why are you content to be a maid for the Favorite? You should be favorite yourself. Run away with me and I will make you favorite over forty wives. The idea! I gave him one look and I told him — " chief eunuch {appearing in the doorway) Silence. (The chatter ceases abruptly?) The hus- band comes! the houri (prostrate themselves on the floor?) haroun al raschid (enters, followed by the Vizier) That will do, girls. Get up. Take them away, Captain. thehouri (go out, salamming, followed by the Chief Eunuch?) haroun (sighing as he sits on a cushion) They're always underfoot. VIZIER Shall I have a hundred of them beheaded? HAROUN No, the executioner already complains of over- work. VIZIER I might give them away to the Bashaw. HAROUN No. No other potentate has my serene patience. 294 PEARL OF DAWN I must endure them. It is the will of Allah! {He looks toward the canopy.) vizier {claps his hands.) HAROUN She sleeps. vizier {chuckles audibly) HAROUN You do not trust her. VIZIER I trust her to make an effective entrance always. HAROUN She sleeps. I will waken her. {He strikes a bell.) VIZIER Two more. haroun {strikes the bell again twice. On the third stroke the curtains of the bed part, disclosing the Favorite, becomingly costumed and well-lighted by a lamp within the canopy?) the favorite {affects to rub her eyes, then, seeing Haroun, sinks gracefully to the floor and kisses his slipper?) haroun {to the Vizier) Well? VIZIER Perfect — I knew she would be. haroun Could you resist her? VIZIER In your place, I couldn't. In mine, I have to. FAVORITE That's the nicest thing he has said to me. HAROUN Doesn't he like you? 295 PEARL OF DAWN FAVORITE Ask him. HAROUN Well? VIZIER There is no lady in Turkey more delightful — favorite {squeals and claps her hands.) vizier {finishing) — To look at. haroun {fondling the Favorite) That's all you know about it. the chief eunuch {enters, prostrates himself before Haroun and hands him a parchment, which Haroun passes to the Vizier, who reads it and rises.) HAROUN Well? VIZIER Robbers are at work in the city. haroun {abruptly drops the Favorite sprawling on the cushions, and jumps up) I thought I had rid Bagdad of those vermin! Here is work for us. My chainmail and my sword! {He rushes out, the other men following.) favorite {much injured, gets up and adjusts her hair) Allah make me faithful to such a husband! {She shakes her head, then dismisses the matter from her mind and disappears behind the bed curtains. A garment or two is flung out onto the cushion.) {A rope drops from an unseen window in the top of the corridor. Ali comes down the rope, looks into the room and then around the turn. At his signal, the Robber Captain also descends the rope.) 296 PEARL OF DAWN THE CAPTAIN You're as good as your word. Well, your treas- ure is in here. {Indicating the room.) I'll let my men in by the door in the passage here. Allah be with you! We all go out by this door. {He disappears around the corner?) a li {lifts the veil to his lips. As he lowers it \ his eye falls on the garments lying on the cushions. He lifts these also to his lips and holds them there, intoxicated.) the chief eunuch {tiptoes around the corridor, a bloody scimitar in his hands. Seeing Alt, he comes behind him and lifts his weapon?) the favorite {looks out from the canopy) Behind you! ali {turns and so does the Chief Eunuch. Ali pulls the Chief Eunuch' s feet from under him.) the favorite {still comparatively clothe 'd, hands Ali scarves to bind the Chief Eunuch. When he is neatly trussed up, she says) I knew you'd come! ALI Pearl of Dawn! {A great tumult is heard in the corridor?) the favorite They are coming this way. Quickly, in the bed! {They pick up the Chief Eunuch and hide him under the canopy. The Favorite pushes Ali in after him and sits hastily?) haroun {enters, brandishing a sword and driving a robber before him, who is fighting desperately for his life. Haroun finishes him with a thrust, and, kicking him, wipes his sword on his sash.) 297 PEARL OF DAWN The devils are in the palace. Have they dis- turbed you? FAVORITE I haven't heard a sound. HAROUN Guard! Guard! a guard (runs in, panting) HAROUN Where are the rest? GUARD Fighting in the Treasury. HAROUN Remove this carrion ! (He storms out.) guard (drags the corpse out by its feet.) favorite (looks around the corridor) Now! . a li (comes out from behind canopy) Pearl of Dawn ! the robber captain (darts infrom the corridor and hides in the shadow at one side.) the favorite (s 'creaming, disappears under the canopy.) A guard (dashes into the room.) the captain (springing on him, stabs him in the back and hides again as.) two guards (run in. Seeing Ali, they attack him.) two houri (run in, screaming, and seeing the melee run out again.) ali (has picked up the sword of the robber whom Haroun killed, and defends himself. He kills one guard. The other guard disarms him. He springs under the other guard's sword and they both go down with a crash.) 298 PEARL OF DAWN the captain (finishes the guard with his knife, and pulls him of Ally whom he shakes) Come quickly! I left the door open. a li (pulls himself up painfully on one elbow, much the worse for his fall?) the captain (pulls the Favorite from behind the curtains and carries her off, struggling vigorously.) ali (staggers to his feet, looks under the canopy, and steps over the dead bodies) Must find her — must find — (He disappears in the turn of the corridor.) haroun (storms in, followed by the Vizier) I thought we had killed all of them, and look here! (He darts to the bed and parts the curtains. The Chief Eunuch, bound and gagged, is sitting on the edge of the bed. Haroun releases him.) HAROUN Where is she? the chief eunuch (points to the corridor.) three houri (run in screaming and throw them- selves at Haroun' s feet.) haroun Out, out of my way! (He flings them off. He tears out, followed by the Vizier and the Chief Eunuch?) The lights fade out. The scene changes. scene seven: A Street. Enter the Robber Captain, carrying the Favorite, whom he sets unceremoniously on her feet, THE CAPTAIN Stand awhile! Oof! What does Haroun feed his women to make them so heavy? 299 PEARL OF DAWN THE FAVORITE Nobody asked you to carry me. THE CAPTAIN Oh, ho! You would have walked it, eh? THE FAVORITE With the right man. THE CAPTAIN I'm the right man. Ali thinks he is, but I brought you off and / keep you. What do you say to that? THE FAVORITE If Ali lets you keep me, then you are the right man. THE CAPTAIN What a mind you have! I like you better all the time. THE FAVORITE See, here comes Ali. ali {enters hurriedly) The chase is close behind. We must hurry. THE CAPTAIN We must? Go on, no one will hinder vou! ALI Do you mean — then you don't — THE CAPTAIN You led me into a trap. My men are dead. THE FAVORITE He led you ? THE CAPTAIN To find you. The treasury was full of armed men. ALI I could not know that. Do you forget that I, too, have fought — I, too, have stolen? 300 PEARL OF DAWN THE CAPTAIN Stolen what? ALI The Pearl of Dawn. THE CAPTAIN Ha! It was my arms that carried her. I shall keep her myself. You — what does she want with you, a merchant — a dreamer? I am a man of action! She will come with me and of her own accord. ali (to the Favorite) Speak! THE FAVORITE I go with him who takes me. ali (stabs the Captain without warning and, strad- dling his body, lifts the Favorite in his arms) Pearl of Dawn ! THE FAVORITE I knew you would! (The pursuit sounds close at hand.) ali (hurries off with the Favorite.) haroun al raschid (enters, running with drawn sword, and with his retinue strung out behind him. He comes upon the captain s body) Lights! Lights here! the vizier (holding a lantern to the Captain s face) It is the captain of the robbers. Now all of them are dead. HAROUN What have they done with her? Where is she? THE VIZIER She has possibly hidden from them. Did you search the palace? 301 PEARL OF DAWN HAROUN I tell you, she is stolen from me! THE VIZIER This man's alive yet. He's trying to speak. haroun {leans close to listen?) THE CAPTAIN Find— AH — {summoning his strength for a final sneer) the good! {He dies.) HAROUN Ha! He goes tearing off, followed by his retinue, as the lights fade out. scene eight: The Shop. ali {enters, badly out of breath, carrying the Favorite, whom he puts down as soon as they are inside?) the favorite {not altogether pleased) Is this where you were taking me? ali I know of no other place to go. I have thought of — this sort of thing — before, but I never got this far with it. {His hand on his stomach?) All this murder has upset me a little. THE FAVORITE I thought you were a man! Now, what are we to do? ali {sitting down on the chest, one hand on his stomach, ready to weep) I'm sure I don't know, THE FAVORITE Listen! {The pursuit is heard in the street out- side.) The guards! They're coming here! Save me! 302 PEARL OF DAWN ali {rising uncertainly and pointing to the divan) Hide over there ! {He staggers up to the doorway, taking a sword from the chest.) haroun al raschid {dashes through the door, his sword whirling before him in vicious circles?) ali {defending himself as best he can, backs down into the middle of the room?) the vizier {following closely, strikes Alls sword from his hand?) ali {recognizing his antagonist) Mercy on a poor merchant, O Haroun al Rtschid the Good! HAROUN Where is she? ALI There, quite safe, and very angry. the favorite {is very angry, indeed, and beats the pillows with her fists?) haroun {steps down to look at her.) the Nubian {elevates his sword over the prostrate merchant?) THE VIZIER Stop! Let the Caliph give the word for his death! ali {weeping) Sir, that was most unkind. I had already re- signed myself to dying, and now I will have it to do all over again. haroun Take him to the street. Let him first be whipped with Hvg hundred lashes. Then let one hundred lashes be laid upon the soles of his feet. After that, slit his tongue, cut off his hands and feet. After that, drag him through the 20 303 PEARL OF DAWN streets at the tail of a wild horse. When he dies, cut his body in twelve pieces and feed it to the lions. THE VIZIER Is that all? HAROUN No. Do all this in the streets of Bagdad at dawn, and do not begin until I give the word. ALI It is the will of Allah! (He marches out, followed closely by the Vizier ; the Nubian, and the guards?) haroun (turning on the Favorite) You! the favorite (yawning) Why be angry with me? I've lost a whole night's sleep on account of the filthy robbers. Your house should be better guarded! haroun (partly mollified, but still suspicious) You and this dog of a merchant! THE FAVORITE He is a disappointment, isn't he? See, it is al- most day. Let us go and see him whipped. (As she speaks, she takes him by the hand and goes out talking to him,) The lights fade out. The scene changes. scene nine: A Street. ali (lies on the ground, with his hands bound behind him. The Vizier stands watching him. The Nubian stands ready with a whip?) THE VIZIER Are you sorry, merchant? 304 PEARL OF DAWN ALI I shall be able to answer that truthfully only after I am dead. THE VIZIER That would be unusual. ALI Any truthful answer to that question would be unusual, sir. When men are sorry they pretend a defiance they do not feel and deny it. When they are not sorry they pretend repentance in the hope of getting off easier. THE VIZIER Can I do anything for you, merchant? ALI Yes. Persuade Haroun al Raschid, if you can, to leave out that part of my punishment in which the wild horse was mentioned. I shall be as dead by that time as I am ever going to be, and there is no need to annoy the poor horse with my domestic shortcomings. haroun {enters with the Favorite, who has reached the climax of a long and thrilling tale.) THE FAVORITE Then the robber captain carried me off, fighting and struggling every step of the way. He must have carried me a thousand cubits. Then we heard steps behind us. The robber captain put me down and turned. Ali the merchant came running up with drawn sword. "Dog!" he shouted in a voice of thunder, "you have stolen the favorite of Haroun al Raschid the Good. Release her or perish." Then they fought and the merchant killed the robber captain. Then, as he fell, we heard others running up the street. 3°5 PEARL OF DAWN The merchant did not know whether they were friends or enemies, so he carried me to his shop, which was the nearest place of safety. haroun {looking at All doubtfully) But why did he fight me? THE FAVORITE You came in with a rush, and he did not know whether you were friend or foe. HAROUN Merchant, why didn't you tell me this? ALI How could I expect Haroun al Raschid the Good to believe anything so improbable? HAROUN I don't see yet, though. (To the Vizier?) Do you believe it? THE VIZIER I? HAROUN Why do I ask you? You never believe any- thing! Merchant, what shall I believe? ALI Believe what you would like to. That is the true secret of happiness. HAROUN Just one question — How came you with the robbers ? ali's wives {come tearing in, all talking at once, at the top of their voices. One of them holds the letter.) the vizier {shouting) Silence! haroun {reading the letter) Held for ransom! Merchant, I have done you a great injustice. Come to my house this after- 306 PEARL OF DAWN noon, when I have had time for sleep, and you shall be richly rewarded. Unbind him. {The Vizier liberates Ali.) THE ELDEST WIFE Then he is not to be whipped? HAROUN By no means. Go to your home. It is not seemly for the wives of Ali the good to go out on the streets unveiled and unclad. the wives {salaam and run out, very conscious of their attire?) the favorite {steps into her palanquin and is car- ried off, followed by all of the retinue but the Vizier, who stands back, watching Ali.) haroun {walking beside the palanquin) Try to get some sleep, merchant. ali {salaams, then rises quickly to watch the Favorite.) THE VIZIER I perceive that you are a man of some imagina- tion. ALI That has always been my undoing. It is forever leading me into trouble. THE VIZIER And what led you out of it this time? ALI I don't know — it sounds like a riddle. THE VIZIER It is a riddle, merchant. I leave it you to think upon. The answer is: Your imagination led you into trouble — and your innocence led you out. {He leaves.) ali {looking after him) Innocence? 307 PEARL OF DAWN a muezzin {shrieks his call to the faithful from a nearby tower.) ali {assumes the posture of a Mussulman at prayer) Allah il Allah! Allah il Allah! Make me bad! Make me bad! The lights fade out. The scene changes. scene ten: The Shop. Exactly as at the close of Scene Two, except that the Nubian has fallen asleep. Ali's voice is heard before the lights come up. ali {concluding his tale) Allah il Allah! Make me bad! And thus I might pray until the last muezzin had called the faithful from his tower and further sin might follow unless — the nubian {snoring) Z — z — z — z ! ! THE VIZIER He has no interest in sin. HAROUN Poor fellow, it is past his bedtime. {He rises and throws a purse to Ali.) Bring that piece of silk tomorrow afternoon to my house. And think of other sins you might commit, were you not Ali the good. ali {rising and looking at the Favorite) The thought shall not leave my mind. the vizier {giving Ali a purse) And do not forget to bring something from your library. ALI Gentlemen, your pardon. I must ask the way to your house. 308 PEARL OF DAWN haroun {delighted) What, you do not recognize me ? (To the Vizier.) I told you; I told you. (To Ali with a flourish.) I am the Caliph Haroun al Raschid. ali and his wives (salaaming) Haroun al Raschid the Good! haroun (in the doorway) The blessings of Allah on this household. (The party goes out.) the favorite (last to leave) And bring, yourself, the veils I have selected. (Gives Ali a pursed) ali (salaaming) Pearl of Dawn! the favorite (rouses the Nubian with a kick, and leaves.) ali (rises, jingling the purses) A fine night's business! And more tomorrow! He! He! He thought we didn't know him! the eldest wife (grimly) Whom were you thinking of while you told that story? THE YOUNGEST WIFE Just what I want to know! ali (slipping his arms about them and displaying the purses) Of new clothes for both of you, my loves. It is written that the want of money is the root of all evil. CURTAIN 309 FINDERS-KEEPERS A PLAY IN ONE ACT by George Kelly Finders-Keepers was presented at the Palace Theatre^ New York City, on Monday, October 233 1916, with the following cast: Eugene Aldrid Mr. George Kelly Mrs. Aldrid, his wife Miss Anne Cleveland Mrs. Hampton, a neighbor Miss Nora O'Connor The action of the play takes place in the living-room of Eugene Aldrid's home, which is located in an outlying suburb of the City of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The time is about five o'clock of a late-September afternoon. All curtains are of quiet cretonne, and there are sheaves of autumn-leaves about. The garden, through the window at the back, t is bright with scarlet sage. NOTE. — The form of the present manuscript is exactly that in which this play was presented continuously for a period of three years in the principal Keith and Orpheum Theatres of The United States of America and The Dominion of Canada. — Author. Copyright, 1922, by STEWART KIDD COMPANY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Application for permission to produce Finders-Keepers must be made to the author, in care of the publishers, Stewart Kidd Company, Cincinnati, Ohio. FINDERS-KEEPERS SCENE After a second's stillness , a door closes out at the right, and immediately Mrs. Aldrid enters through the archway, carrying several parcels, which she hastens to deposit on the center-table; then she straightens up and draws a deep breath. She is a trim blonde, in her late twenties, wearing a tailored coat-suit of fawn-colored serge, a toque of champagne silk, and a waist of very pale pink silk. Her slippers and stockings are of the lighter shades of brown, and she wears a quite long string of freakish black-and-yellow beads. Before she has had time to take the second breath, the bronze clock on the mantelpiece, at the left, strikes five. She glances at it. MRS. ALDRID Heavens! five (/clock! (She hurriedly removes her coat and hat, lays them on the sofa in front of the mantelpiece, and, with a glance at herself in the mirror over the mantelpiece, vanishes through the door at the left. Then there is a slight pause; and Eugene Aldrid enters through the archway from the right, carrying a roll of blue-prints in one hand, and the evening paper in the other. He is a tall and thin, very intelligent-looking man of perhaps thirty-three, wearing a dark-blue, double-breasted business suit, dark shoes, and a dark tie. He sets the roll of blue-prints down on the center-table, and 313 FINDERS-KEEPERS then Mrs. Aldrid speaks to him from the room out at the left) Is that you. Gene ? aldrid (looking toward the left, and then starting over towards his desk at the right) Yes. MRS. ALDRID You must have been right behind me. aldrid {laying the newspaper on his desk.) Did you just get in? mrs. aldrid {coming into the room from the left, adjusting a bungalow apron) This minute, — I've been in town shopping; I had no idea it was so late. aldrid {picking up a telegram from his desk, and opening it) It's after five. MRS. ALDRID I know it is; and there isn't a thing ready; you'll have to wait a while for your dinner. aldrid {with an exaggerated sigh of resignation) Ah — ho! {Reads the telegram.) MRS. aldrid Did you come out on the four-fifty-three? aldrid {without looking up) Yes; you weren't on it, were you? MRS. ALDRID No, I'd intended coming out on the train, but — something happened that made me change my mind. aldrid {looking straight ahead, thinking; and tap- ping the telegram, which he has finished reading, against his hand) Spaulding. {Turning suddenly to Mrs. Aldrid?) What? Why — what happened? 314 FINDERS-KEEPERS mrs. aldrid (assuming an air of great confidence) Wait till I tell you! (She steps to the back of the room and looks keenly out into the hallway, to as- sure herself that no one is within hearing — then comes down to the left of her husband, who watches her curiously?) You know, I went into town this afternoon to get some Georgette Crepe for that new blouse of mine. ALDRID Yes. MRS. ALDRID Well, — as I went into the Market Street en- trance of Blum's — you know, there's a glove- counter right inside the Market Street door. (Aldrid nods?) Well, I went over to ask the saleslady where I could get the Crepe; and, as I leaned over to ask her, I stepped on some- thing: it felt like a bracelet or something — rather soft — and yet it was metallic. ALDRID Yes. MRS. ALDRID Well, I didn't pay any attention to it at first, — I thought it might be a joke or something, — you know, they're always doing that sort of thing in those Department Stores. ALDRID Yes, I know. MRS. ALDRID But, as I started away from the counter, I just glanced down at the floor; and, what do you suppose it was? ALDRID What? 315 FINDERS-KEEPERS MRS. ALDRID A purse — one of those little gold, mesh purses. ALDRID Anything in it? MRS. ALDRID Well, now, wait till I tell you. I didn't open it right away; I was afraid someone might be looking; so I waited till I got up to the writing- room before I opened it: and, what do you sup- pose was in it? ALDRID What? MRS. ALDRID Four — hundred — dollars. aldrid {after a slight pause) Four hundred dollars ? MRS. ALDRID Hum — hum. aldrid {incredulously) Where is it? MRS. ALDRID In my pocketbook. ALDRID Well, are you sure it's real money? MRS. ALDRID Of course it is; I'll show it to you in a minute. You know, I could scarcely believe my eyes at first; because, you know, IVe never found any- thing in all my life; and then to suddenly pick up eight fifty-dollar bills. Positively, Gene, I don't know how I ever got home. ALDRID Were they all fifties? 3 J 6 FINDERS-KEEPERS MRS. ALDRID Hum-hum; and brand-new ones at that; they look as though they'd just been taken out of a bank. aldrid {turning suddenly and leaning on the chair in front of his desk, then looking at her) Can you imagine losing that ! MRS. ALDRID Losing it? Can you imagine finding it? I thought I was seeing things. (She starts towards the door at the left?) ALDRID Did you say anything about it? mrs. aldrid {stopping, and turning to him) How do you mean ? ALDRID At the "Lost and Found"? MRS. ALDRID No, of course I didn't; what do you think I am. ALDRID You might have gotten in touch with the owner. mrs. aldrid (smiling indulgently) Positively, Gene, you talk like a boy from the country. aldrid Why so ? mrs. aldrid (with a touch of impatience, and com- ing to the left of the center-table) Because you do! Don't you know that if I were to turn that amount of money into a "Lost and Found" desk, I'd stand just about as much chance of ever seeing it again as I would of see- ing the North Pole? 317 FINDERS-KEEPERS ALDRID Well, you wouldn't expect ever to see it again if it were returned to the owner? MRS. ALDRID And, how would I know that it had been re- turned to the owner? ALDRID Oh, everybody isn't dishonest! (Glances through the telegram again,) MRS. ALDRID Well, you let people get their hands on four hundred dollars — you'll find out how many of them are honest! Turn that amount of money over to one of those "Lost and Found" clerks — he'd soon find an owner for it, believe me! {She starts for the door at the left.) aldrid {crushing the telegram in his hand) What are you going to do with it? {She stops at the door and looks back at him. He gracefully tosses the telegram overhand into the waste-paper basket below his desk.) MRS. ALDRID I'm going to keep it! ALDRID Ho! mrs. aldrid {surprised that he should ask such a question) What do you suppose I'm going to do with it — throw it away? It's as good in my pocket as it is in anybody's else ! {He turns and looks at her in a way that disconcerts her slightly ', but, as he withdraws his eyes in turning to his desk, she re- gains herself, and comes a step or two farther into 318 FINDERS-KEEPERS the room?) I can get awnings for this whole house for that — and a Victrola, too! aldrid {coming over to the center-table for his blue- prints , after looking for them on his desk) You'd better not count your chickens before they're hatched. mrs. aldrid {after looking at him for a second) What do you mean? aldrid {picking up the roll of blue-prints from the table > and speaking rather abstractedly) Why, there'll very likely be an ad for it in one of the morning papers. MRS. ALDRID Well, what if there is ? aldrid {looking at the blue-prints) Nothing, only you'd simply have to return it, that's all. mrs. aldrid {after thinking for a second, and with an expression of sullen calculation) I don't see why I should. {He raises his eyes from the blue-prints and looks at her quizzically?) ALDRID You don't see why you should return lost prop- erty to the person who lost it? MRS. ALDRID That depends. aldrid {in a level tone) Upon what? mrs. aldrid {looking straight ahead) Whether or not I was sure he'd lost it. aldrid Couldn't you make sure? mrs. aldrid {after turning and looking at him) How? 319 FINDERS-KEEPERS ALDRID Identification. MRS. ALDRID Not in this case. ALDRID Why not? MRS. ALDRID Because there isn't a solitary thing about it, Gene, by which it could possibly be identified: not a card or a paper of any kind! ALDRID How about the purse? MRS. ALDRID There are a million exactly like it; a plain, gold, mesh bag. {Indicating the desk at the right.) I've had one in that top drawer there for the past year. ALDRID Couldn't the money be described? MRS. ALDRID That wouldn't be any identification. ALDRID Why not? MRS. ALDRID Why, because — money is simply money! — un- less it's marked; and this isn't, because I've ex- amined it very carefully. aldrid {resting one end of the roll of blue-prints on the table y and leaning his elbow on the other end) So you don't see any possible way by which this money could be returned to its owner? MRS. ALDRID Not unless I took his word for it; {turning and 320 FINDERS-KEEPERS looking at him) and, really, I don't see why I should do that. aldrid {evenly) What are you trying to do, make yourself be- lieve it belongs to you? mrs. aldrid (turning her head away) I found it. ALDRID And somebody else lost it. MRS. ALDRID I suppose so. ALDRID Possibly some poor man or woman. mrs. aldrid (with a little toss of her head) Now, don't get sentimental, please! aldrid (with a touch of impatience, and taking a couple of steps in front of the table towards her) That isn't sentiment at all! mrs. aldrid (turning to him sharply, and speaking incisively) No very poor man or woman has any eight fifty-dollar bills to lose. (She turns away, and secures a hairpin at the back of her head: he looks at her steadily.) And no matter who lost it, it'll be a very good lesson to him to be a little more careful in the future. aldrid I see. Well, why should he pay you four hun- dred dollars for that lesson ? MRS. ALDRID Nobody's paying me any four hundred dollars. ALDRID You've often lost things yourself, haven't you? 321 FINDERS-KEEPERS mrs. aldrid {turning to him quickly) Yes, and I never got them back, either! ALDRID Whose fault was that? mrs. aldrid (turning away again) I don't know whose fault it was. ALDRID Well, try and think. MRS. ALDRID Unless the people who found them weren't hon- est enough to return them. (The door out at the right closes.) Who's that? (She starts for the archway at the right, tossing her apron onto the sofa as she goes.) aldrid (turning and crossing to his desk) Somebody at the door. mrs. aldrid (in a lowered tone) Don't say anything about this. (She reaches the archway.) Oh, it's you, Mrs. Hampton! (Al- drid half glances towards the archway, then picks up the evening paper and flips it open.) mrs. hampton (in the hallway) Yes, it's me. mrs. aldrid (rather effusively) Come right in ! (She extends her arm and hand, and leads Mrs. Hampton into the room. Mrs. Hampton is a dark woman, with a pale but lovely face, and a certain Madonna quality about her generally. She is of the sa?ne build as Mrs. Al- drid, and, apparently, of the same age. She wears a coat-suit of good black, a white-silk waist, with a little string of purple beads at her throat, and a medium-sized hat of very dark, purple-colored 322 FINDERS-KEEPERS straw, trimmed with an ornament of itself. Her slippers and stockings are black.) MRS. HAMPTON Good-evening. MRS. ALDRID Good-evening, dear, how are you? ALDRID Good-evening, Mrs. Hampton. MRS. HAMPTON Oh, good-evening, Mr. Aldrid, I didn't see you. I hope you'll both excuse me for coming in with- out ringing. aldrid {tossing his paper onto the desk) Don't mention it. mrs. aldrid {standing back of the center-table) Saved me the trouble of answering the door; it's the girl's day out. MRS. HAMPTON Well, I do hope I haven't intruded. MRS. ALDRID You haven't at all, dear, really; I've just gotten in from town. MRS. HAMPTON I've been in the city, too; I came out on the four-fifty- three. aldrid {placing a chair, which he has taken from above his desk, about mid-way between the center- table and the archway) Won't you take a chair, Mrs. Hampton ? MRS. HAMPTON No, thank you, Mr. Aldrid, I can't stay a mo- ment. 323 FINDERS-KEEPERS ALDRID I'm sorry. (He moves down to his desk again and picks up the paper?) MRS. ALDRID Why not? mrs. hampton (obviously troubled about something) Oh, I'm too upset. MRS. ALDRID Are you ill, dear? MRS. HAMPTON No, — but — I'd like to ask your advice about something. MRS. ALDRID Well, do sit down for a minute. (Mrs. Hampton hesitates, then sits. Mrs. Aldrid takes a chair from the back, and, placing it above the center- table and slightly to the left of it, sits also. Aldrid stands at the lower corner of his desk, reading the paper. There is a slight pause) What is it? mrs. hampton (speaking directly to Mrs. Aldrid) IVe lost some money. (Aldrid lifts his eyes over the top of his paper and looks straight out; Mrs. Aldrid looks straight into Mrs. Hampton *s eyes for a second, then rises quietly, still holding her eyes, and moves to the center-table?) MRS. ALDRID Much? MRS. HAMPTON Quite a bit, yes. aldrid (without turning) Where did you lose it, Mrs. Hampton? mrs. hampton (turning to him) I haven't an idea; (Mrs. Aldrid has been looking intently at her, but, at this, she shifts her eyes to 324 FINDERS-KEEPERS Aldrid, with a shade of relief.) but I think it was in town. (Aldrid turns and glances at his wife, but she shifts her eyes back again to Mrs. Hamp- ton?} ALDRID How much was it? MRS. HAMPTON Why — MRS. ALDRID (quickly) I suppose you don't know the exact amount, do you, dear? mrs. hampton (turning to her) Four hundred dollars. (Aldrid looks at his wife, but she's looking blankly at Mrs. Hampton?) Isn't that dreadful! Of course, I know it would only be an item to some people, — but, to me! I feel terrible about it! (She breaks down and cries. Aldrid turns and looks at her; then, tossing his paper onto the desk, and thrusting his hands into his trousers-pockets, he turns and strolls towards the back of the room, looking significantly at his wife?) mrs. aldrid (advancing and placing her hands on Mrs. Hampton s arms) Now, don't cry, Mrs. Hampton, it isn't that bad. MRS. HAMPTON Oh, I think it's dreadful to lose all that money! MRS. ALDRID I know it is, dear; I don't wonder you feel bad. MRS. HAMPTON Eight fifty-dollar bills! (Mrs. Aldrid is frozen into stillness. Aldrid steps forward eagerly from the archway, where he has been standing.) 325 FINDERS-KEEPERS ALDRID Eight fifties? MRS. HAMPTON Yes. aldrid {straightening up, and looking at his wife with an ingenuous smile) Eight fifties. MRS. HAMPTON And brand-new ones, too! It's awful! {She be- gins crying again.) aldrid {to his wife, voicelessly, and indicating Mrs. Hampton with a nod) Why don't you tell her? {Mrs. Aldrid lifts her chin and looks at him icily; whereupon he indicates Mrs. Hampton again, with an austere point of his finger) mrs. aldrid {choosing the better part of valor, and leaning over the back of Mrs. Hampton's chair) Come now, Mrs. Hampton, you may not have lost it at all! {Aldrid, who has been watching his wife narrowly, breaks slowly, and goes to his desk, where he espies a large scribbled note fastened to the desk-light, to attract his attention. Detaching this, he sits on the lower corner of his desk and reads it.) mrs. hampton {tearfully) Oh, but I have, Mrs. Aldrid! MRS. ALDRID I know, my dear, but, you know, sometimes we think weVe lost a thing, and we find out later that we haven't lost it at all. MRS. HAMPTON But, I've looked everywhere, and it's lost, I tell you! 326 FINDERS-KEEPERS MRS. ALDRID But, you may find it again, honey. MRS. HAMPTON Oh, I don't think so! MRS. ALDRID Or someone else may find it. MRS. HAMPTON But, that wouldn't do me any good. MRS. ALDRID It would if the person who found it were honest. MRS. HAMPTON I'm afraid very few people are honest, if it cost them four hundred dollars. {Aldrid finishes reading the note, and sits looking out, thinking^) MRS. ALDRID Well, now, it may be one of those very few who has found it. MRS. HAMPTON I don't expect ever to get it again. ALDRID Nonsense, Mrs. Hampton! MRS. HAMPTON I don't. ALDRID Nonsense! Now, you wait and see. (There is a pause: Mrs. Hampton touches her handkerchief to her eyes.) mrs. aldrid {looking away off) Of course, you'll have to advertise. {There is a second before Aldrid grasps what she has said; then he turns his head sharply and looks at her; but she is still looking away of.) MRS. HAMPTON Yes, that's what I wanted to see Mr. Aldrid 327 FINDERS-KEEPERS about; {She turns to him.) which would be the best paper for me to advertise in. {He sits look- ing at his wife until she turns and meets his eyes: then he abstractedly extends his arm and hand in a gesture of interrogation , to which she responds by a sudden and taut pressing of her closed hand against her breast. He rises, to divert the atten- tion of Mrs. Hampton, and, after leaning for a second upon the back of his desk-chair, starts slowly across the room in front of the center-table. As he passes Mrs. Hampton, she rises also.) Now, don't let me worry you, Mr. Aldr;d! aldrid {abstractedly) No, no, it isn't that — I was just — wondering — mrs. hampton {turning to Mrs. Aldrid) If I'd thought it would bother you folks, I shouldn't have told you at all. MRS. ALDRID That's perfectly all right, dear. MRS. HAMPTON But I was so troubled when I got home, I simply couldn't stay in the house! I just had to come out and tell someone! And, my dear, I don't know how I'm ever going to tell Frank when he comes home tonight; because he said to me this morning, when I told him I was going to town — he said, "Can I trust you to deposit this money for me?" And I said, "What do you think I am, a thief?" "Well," he said, "you're always losing things!" "Well," I said, "there's no danger of my losing four hundred dollars." "Well," he said, "I hope not, or we'll get a guardian for you!" {Starting to cry again.) And then I go straight into the city and lose it! 328 FINDERS-KEEPERS {She cries a little, Mrs. Aldrid stands watching her; and Aldrid, who is leaning on his elbow on the mantelpiece, over at the left, watches Mrs, Al- drid.) And, mind you, to make sure that noth- ing would happen to it, I didn't even put it with my other money! mrs. aldrid {eagerly, but without moving) Where did you put it ? MRS. HAMPTON In one of those little, gold, mesh purses. {Al- drid accidentally tears the note-paper which he still has in his hand?) ALDRID Mrs. Hampton! MRS. HAMPTON Yes? ALDRID Where did you first miss this money? MRS. HAMPTON When I was going up the steps into the bank. ALDRID Which bank? MRS. HAMPTON The Franklin National. MRS. ALDRID Where's that? ALDRID Broad and Chestnut. Where had you been be- fore that? MRS. HAMPTON Why, when I came out of the station, — after I got off the train, — ALDRID Yes? 329 FINDERS-KEEPERS MRS. HAMPTON I went over to Wanamaker's — to get some gloves. (Aldrid looks at her keenly?) MRS. ALDRID Wanamaker's? mrs. hampton (turning to her) Yes. (Mrs. Aldrid gives a significant look at Aldrid \ but he is looking at Mrs. Hampton.) But they didn't have my size in what I wanted at Wanamaker's, so I crossed over to Blum's. aldrid (quietly) Blum's glove-counter? MRS. HAMPTON Yes. (Aldrid glances at his wife, but she is coughing into her handkerchief . He moves rather thoughtfully to the left of the center-table ', and, picking up a book, stands it on its end on the table and leans upon it. Mrs. Hampton is stand- ing on the opposite side of the table, and Mrs. Al- drid has moved quietly down to a point in front of Aldrid 's desk.) ALDRID You hadn't missed this money up to that time? MRS. HAMPTON No, and I'm quite sure I had it up to that time; because I hadn't opened my pocketbook from the time I left the house; and the money was in the big pocketbook. ALDRID I see; and you went directly from there to the bank? MRS. HAMPTON Yes, directly. 330 FINDERS-KEEPERS ALDRID Then you think it was somewhere between Blum's glove-counter and the bank steps that you lost it? MRS. HAMPTON It must have been: I imagine I must have pulled it out without knowing it, when I was paying for the gloves at Blum's. ALDRID Very likely. MRS. HAMPTON Or else, possibly, someone opened my pocket- book and took out the little purse {turning to Mrs. Aldrid) when I wasn't looking. {She be- gins to cry again , as she turns back to Mr. Aldrid.) You know they do that, Mr. Aldrid. aldrid {abstractedly) Yes, I know they do. mrs. aldrid {standing at the rights quietly toying with her beads , and looking straight ahead, with a calculating expression) There wasn't a card or a paper of any kind in the purse, was there? mrs. hampton {turning to her) No, there wasn't a thing in it but the money. MRS. ALDRID That's too bad: {Aldrid watches her narrowly?) no initials on it? MRS. HAMPTON No, I've always been going to have my initials put on it, but, — Oh, I don't know, — I never seemed to get round to it. MRS. ALDRID That makes it bad. 33i FINDERS-KEEPERS mrs. hampton {with the threat of a few more tears) Dear me, I wish I had, now. mrs. aldrid {turning to her suddenly ', with a kind of forced sincerity) Yes, because if someone find it, and answer your advertisement, he'll naturally expect you to be able to identify it — definitely; that is, be- fore you could reasonably expect him to return it to you, I mean. MRS. HAMPTON Yes, I suppose he would; but, then, I could de- scribe the purse and the money. mrs. aldrid {with a tolerant smile) I know, my dear; but there may be a million purses exactly like it — MRS. HAMPTON That's true, too. MRS. ALDRID And, as far as the money is concerned, why, — money is simply money; unless it's marked; and this isn't, {checking herself) as you say. MRS. HAMPTON No, it isn't. MRS. ALDRID So that, really, a person would be more or less obliged to take your word for it, wouldn't he? MRS. HAMPTON I'm afraid he would. MRS. ALDRID And that's rather a lot for us to expect of people, isn't it, dear? MRS. HAMPTON Too much, I'm afraid. 332 FINDERS-KEEPERS MRS. ALDRID Especially, when there's four hundred dollars in the bargain. (She gives a little mirthless , self- conscious laugh, and settles the lace on Mrs. Hampton's lap elle. Aldrid y who has been watch- ing her steadily ^ turns his head away slowly , and his eyes wander about the floor.) mrs. hampton (turning to the chair from which she arose) You're right, it is rather a poor prospect. (Sits down.) MRS. ALDRID Oh, well— MRS. HAMPTON Unless someone who is really honest find it. mrs. aldrid (looking curiously at one of the beads in her necklace) Of course, the only thing you can do is to adver- tise. mrs. hampton (rising) Yes, I must, right away. (Moving to the right of the center-table.) Which paper do you think it would be best for me to advertise in, Mr. Al- drid? (He doesn't hear her.) Mr. Aldrid? aldrid (turning to her suddenly) I beg your pardon, Mrs. Hampton, what did — MRS. ALDRID She wants to know which paper you think it would be best for her to advertise in? aldrid (directly to his wife) None of them — (To Mrs. Hampton, with a change of tone) until she hear from me. mrs. aldrid (quickly, and laying her hands on Mrs. Hampton's shoulder and arm) 333 FINDERS-KEEPERS He means, he'll look up the circulations later. {Aldrid looks at her for a rather long pause, but she avoids his eyes; then, as Mrs, Hampton turns and looks at him, he speaks.) ALDRID I'll telephone you after dinner, Mrs. Hampton. {He starts towards the back of the room.) MRS. HAMPTON Well, that's very charming of you, Mr. Aldrid. ALDRID Don't mention it. {He passes out through the window into the garden; then stops abruptly, makes a taut, general movement of desperate ir- resolution, turns, and steps back in through the window again; where, gripping the draperies in his hands, he stands watching his wife with an expression of stony suspicion.) mrs. hampton {to Mrs. Aldrid) And I really feel that I owe you both a genuine apology for bothering you with my troubles. {Starting for the archway at the right.) mrs. aldrid {turning, and following her) That's what neighbors are for, dear. MRS. HAMPTON Good-bye, Mr. Aldrid. aldrid {coming a step or two out of the window- alcove) Good-bye, Mrs. Hampton. MRS. HAMPTON I'll be waiting to hear from you. aldrid Right away, I'll call you. 334 FINDERS-KEEPERS mrs. hampton (turning at the archway) And, be sure and ask for me, when you telephone, won't you? ALDRID Yes, I shall. MRS. HAMPTON Thank you very much. ALDRID You re very welcome. mrs. hampton {going out into the hallway at the rights followed by Mrs. Aldrid, who has been stand- ing at the back of the room, just to the left of the archway. I don't want Frank to know anything about this, if possible. MRS. ALDRID No, there's no need of annoying him. MRS. HAMPTON I suppose he'll have to be told soon enough. {Aldrid, standing at the back of the room, watches his wife out into the hallway; then he turns sharply, and comes forward several steps, in a panic of indecision. Suddenly the impulse to recall Mrs. Hampton whirls him round into a literal spring in the direction of the hallway, bul^ at this point, the definite closing of the front door arrests him, and he stands taut and still for a sec- ond, gripping the back of the chair which Mrs. Aldrid occupied earlier in the action of the play. Then he shifts his position; and, gripping the chair with the other hand, leans upon it, and waits for his wife to come back from the door. Presently she darts into view between the archway portieres, and stands regarding him with an expression of 335 FINDERS-KEEPERS amused calculation. But he doesnt see her: so, after a glance over her shoulder into the hallway, she speaks?) MRS. ALDRID Did you see that? aldrid {in a repressed, ominous tone) What? mrs. aldrid [with a nod toward the hallway) She must have heard. ALDRID Have you told anybody? mrs. aldrid [coming a little farther into the room) No! ALDRID I suppose the walls have ears? MRS. ALDRID Not necessarily. aldrid [turning to her sharply and searching her with a look) Then, how would she know? MRS. ALDRID She must have heard me — there in the hallway! aldrid [mercilessly) When? mrs. aldrid [becoming slightly disconcerted under his gaze) A few minutes ago — when I was telling you I'd found a purse. aldrid [after a fractional pause, and tilting his head a bit on one side, to look at her more quizzic- ally) How would she overhear you — she wasn't in the hallway? 336 FINDERS-KEEPERS MRS. ALDRID Wasn't she! aldrid (whipping the chair upon which he is lean- ing out the way ', and coming forward in a trem- bling rage) You know very well she wasn't! {She crosses the back of the room towards the left, watching him. He stops in the middle of the room and for- ward, and continues speaking, but without looking at her.) What are you trying to do, kid your- self, or me! (He goes towards his desk at the right, and she comes forward at the left.) mrs. aldrid (picking up her apron from the sofa) I suppose you didn't take notice of the fact that she came in without ringing, did you? ALDRID Well, what of it, what of it, what of it! mrs. aldrid (taking his tone) Nothing! Only just think it over while I'm get- ting your dinner! (She starts towards the door at the left.) aldrid (leaning on the back of his desk-chair) You needn't get me any dinner. (She stops and looks back at him.) MRS. ALDRID Why not? ALDRID Because I don't want any. MRS. ALDRID Don't you want anything at all? aldrid (turning sharply, and looking at her) Yes! (Starting across towards the back of the center-table, and indicating the departed Mrs. Hampton with a wide gestured) I want to know 337 FINDERS-KEEPERS whether or not you intend to return that wo- man's property? MRS. ALDRID Her property? aldrid {enraged, and lifting his voice) You heard me! mrs. aldrid (lifting her hand to silence him) Sh— sh! aldrid {disregarding her gesture) I want an answer, yes or no! mrs. aldrid {flinging her apron back onto the sofa, and stepping up very close to him) What's the matter with you, Gene, are you blind? aldrid {stonily) Not now; but I'm beginning to think I have been — terribly blind. mrs. aldrid {turning away from him, and taking a couple of steps to the left) Well, I'm glad something has happened to open your eyes. {She feigns to be occupied with her right cuff. He crosses to her rigidly, and, seizing her by the arm, turns her sharply to him and hoks knowingly into her eyes?} aldrid {after a pause) If my eyes are not opened after this, it isn't your fault. {She attempts to move, but he pins her to his side with another quick grip. She shows a trace of fright.) I want to know whether or not you intend to return that money? mrs. aldrid (with a mingling of fright and con- ciliation) When I find the owner, yes! 338 FINDERS-KEEPERS aldrid {breaking from her in a wrath, and going towards the back of the room) Ah! more hedging! Speaking together — aldrid {turning at the back of the room, and coming forward again) God! how I hate that attitude! mrs. aldrid {holding her right upperarm as though he had hurt her) I'd like to hand over four hundred dollars to every Tom, Dick, and Harry that says he lost it. You must think I'm a — aldrid {whirling fiercely upon her, as he passes in front of the center-table) Please! {She is instantly silenced.) Don't drive me out of the house! {He goes blindly up towards the hallway.) mrs. aldrid {regaining herself, and half crying) What do you think I am — some school-girl! aldrid {stopping abruptly just inside the archway) No! {Turning to her.) I think you're a thief! mrs. aldrid {freezing with resentment) Do you, really? ALDRID More contemptible than the out-and-outer, for he at least doesn't try to justify himself. MRS. ALDRID And I'm not trying to justify myself either. ALDRID You couldn't! There is no justification for your attitude. MRS. ALDRID There doesn't need to be any. 339 FINDERS-KEEPERS ALDRID And there isn't — among honest people! mrs. aldrid (sarcastically) So you don't consider me honest? aldrid (moving a little nearer to her) You're like a million other people in this world, honest, as long as you don't lose anything by it; but as soon as you see where the principle of honesty is going to cost you a dollar, you begin to hedge! — just as you've been doing in this. MRS. ALDRID I've been doing nothing of the kind! aldrid (bitterly) You've been tinkering with honesty. mrs. aldrid (advancing a step or two towards him) I never took a cent in my life that didn't belong to me! ALDRID There are rafts of people can say that. But they wouldn't walk back a block to return ten cents overchange that some clerk has given them. (She sniffs contemptuously, and turns away?} Pat themselves on the back, as I've heard you do, — when the conductor on the trolley doesn't ask them for their carfare! (Swings down towards his desk.) MRS. ALDRID The trolley companies have enough! ALDRID There you are! (Turning to her.) That's the psychology of a thief! (He goes up to the French window at the back of the room, and, after glancing out to see that no one has heard them, closes it.) 340 FINDERS-KEEPERS mrs. aldrid (ready to cry with madness) Have I ever stolen anything from you? (Evi- dently, he doesn't hear her, and starts back down towards the right of the center-table. She advances a bit towards him.) Have I? aldrid (stopping on a line with her, and looking at her witheringly) Now, don't start that, please. (He continues on down to the right of the center-table, and stands, leaning upon it.) mrs. aldrid (stepping to the left of the center-table, and striking her fist upon it) Answer me! Have I ever stolen anything from you? (There is a slight pause; then he sits down on the edge of the table — very weariedly — as though weighted with the conviction of having mar- ried an inferior woman.) aldrid (with a complete change of tone) Listen to me! (He takes his left hand in his right, and looks at the back of it, with a kind of vacant curiosity; then he drops his clasped hands onto his leg and looks up and out and away of.) A man's home, in the majority of cases, is founded upon his belief in the honesty of his wife; you've stolen that from me to-night. MRS. ALDRID What? ALDRID That belief — that I had in you, as an honest woman. (With an impatient toss of her head, she crosses over in front of the table to the desk, and straightens the desk-pad; then stands with her back to him, with one hand resting on the back of the desk-chair, and the other on her hip.) You 34i FINDERS-KEEPERS know, there's a line in a book somewhere that says: "What a little thing makes the world go wrong! A word too short, or a smile too long: Then comes the mist, and the blinding rain, And life is never the same again." Your — {He feels for the word?) attitude — in this affair to-night is that mist and blinding rain: it has shown me that my wife is not strictly hon- est — for the sake of being so; and honesty is such a passion with me that, as far as you are concerned, life will never be the same again; because I could never — absolutely trust you again. (He rises slowly ', and moves around in front of the table?) Never. (He continues to the window at the back, then stops and turns to her.) I'm very sorry we found that out — (He steps into the window-alcove and quietly pushes the window open; then, after glancing out, he leans against the side of the window-alcove and says, half to himself and half to her — ) I'm sorrier — than if I had lost a million dollars. (There is a rather long stillness; then Mrs. Aldrid, who has been finding it difficult to encompass the situation, abandons the effort and crosses the room towards the door at the left?) mrs. aldrid (as she turns and starts across the room) Well, Gene, if you hadn't been so strictly honest all your life, we might have had a million dollars now. aldrid (picking her up) Very true; but we'd have gotten it the way you are getting that four hundred. 342 FINDERS-KEEPERS mrs. aldrid {about to leave the room, and with a re- turn to her former manner) And the way I'm going to hold on to it, inci- dentally. {She starts to go out at the left.) aldrid {in a sudden rage, and seizing the telephone at his right) All right! Listen to this! Wait! {She stops, and turns to him.) I want you to hear this! {He works the telephone hook violently.) Give me Wayne one — three seven — D. — Wayne. Please? {She recognizes the number, evidently, and takes a couple of frantic steps towards him; but he meets her startled expression with a look of quiet defiance, so she stops dead and turns away, waiting^ Hello! Hello? {He lowers the tele- phone again, and there is another pause: then, suddenly, he is answered?) Hello ! — Mrs. Hamp- ton? — Is this Mrs. Hampton? — Mr. Aldrid. {Mrs. Aldrid turns, and their eyes meet?) I have some very good news for you. mrs. aldrid {advancing in a panic) If you tell her I found that money, I'll deny it! aldrid {into the telephone, and bitterly) Your money has been found! mrs. aldrid {raising her arms and hands helplessly, and turning to the center-table) Oh, you silly fool! aldrid {into the telephone) I found it. mrs. aldrid {looking frantically among her parcels on the center-table) Well, if you did, you'll pay it! aldrid {into the telephone, and half smiling) I wanted to give you a lesson. 343 FINDERS-KEEPERS MRS. ALDRID For I'm very sure I won't! {Glancing under the center-tabled) Where's my pocketbook? (Hurries over to the desk and looks.) aldrid (into the telephone) I know, but I imagine you must be rather care- less to drop that much money. mrs. aldrid (hurrying back to the table, and be- coming more excited every minute) Where's my pocketbook? aldrid (into the telephone) All right, Mrs. Hampton, come ahead — it's here for you. (Hangs up, and sets down the telephoned) mrs. aldrid (turning to him excitedly) Listen! Have you seen anything of my pocket- book? aldrid No. mrs. aldrid (looking among her parcels again, breathlessly) I can't find it! ALDRID Where'd you have it? MRS. ALDRID Right here among these parcels! aldrid (disinterestedly) I haven't seen anything of it. (He comes down to his desk.) MRS. ALDRID My God ! I wonder if I've lost that ! (She looks again for a second, then stops dead and taps the table as though she has suddenly come to a con- clusion.) I wonder if she could have taken that — 344 FINDERS-KEEPERS aldrid (turning to her) Who? MRS. ALDRID Mrs. Hampton. ALDRID I'll ask her that — when she comes over. MRS. ALDRID Don't you dare! aldrid (bitterly) Hum-hum. (He shakes his head from side to side.) MRS. ALDRID Well, it's gone! ALDRID Maybe you left it in the trolley-car. MRS. ALDRID Oh, wouldn't that be awful! — And that four hundred dollars is in it ! (Aldrid gives a short, dry sound of amusement, and, thrusting his hands into his trousers-pockets, starts across the room towards the left.) I don't see anything to laugh at! (He throws his head back and makes another little sound of intensely derisive laughter.) And twenty-six dollars of my own! (He laughs again.) God! what's the matter with me? aldrid (turning in front of the sofa) Maybe you dropped it out there in the hallway. MRS. ALDRID Call up the Rapid Transit "Lost and Found," and see if a lady's pocketbook has been turned in. I'll look out here. (She vanishes into the hallway at the right. Aldrid stands still for a sec- ond, then picks up the telephone.) 345 FINDERS-KEEPERS aldrid {into the telephone) Information, please. (To Mrs. Aldrid) Do you see anything of it? mrs. aldrid {in the hallway) Not a sign! ALDRID Why don't you light that light? (He stands looking into the hallway until a light is turned on: then into the telephone) Hello? Information? What is the number of the Rapid Transit "Lost and Found ?" Yes. Kensington one three — hundred? Will you ask the operator to ring it, please? If you please? (He lowers the telephone ; and Mrs. Aldrid appears at the entrance to the hallway , searching frantically. Aldrid laughs dryly?) mrs. aldrid (glancing up) Funny, isn't it! (She disappears again into the hallway ', and immediately there is the sound of a chair being knocked over, as though she had flung it aside in her anger. Aldrid looks sharply toward the hallway, then shakes his head slowly and conclusively}) aldrid (shifting his attitude, and sighing rather wearily) Ha, ho-ho — (Into the telephone) Hello? Infor- mation? (Glances toward the hallway?) Oh, this is "Lost and Found?" I'd like to know whether or not a lady's pocketbook has been turned in there this evening? mrs. aldrid (rushing in from the hallway) Oh, it isn't out there! What do they say? (He silences her with a gesture; then, after a slight pause, speaks suddenly into the telephone again?) 346 FINDERS-KEEPERS ALDRID This minute? MRS. ALDRID It has been turned in? aldrid (to her) Yes. mrs. aldrid (turning and sinking onto the chair at her hand) Oh, thank God! aldrid (into the telephone, No, my wife did. mrs. aldrid (turning to him) A regular, lady's, black-leather pocketbook! aldrid (into the telephone) Well, can you wait a minute ? Please ? ( To Mrs. Aldrid) They want to know whether or not you can identify this? mrs. aldrid (impatiently) Oh, certainly I can! It's a regular, lady's black- leather pocketbook, with my initials E. A. on the outside! ALDRID Yes. mrs. aldrid (illustrating with her hands) There's a small, gold-mesh purse inside, with four hundred dollars in it; and, in the side pocket, there are twenty-six dollars. Then, there's — aldrid (to Mrs. Aldrid) Wait a minute. (Into the telephone) Hello ! MRS. ALDRID A gold, mesh purse, with — aldrid (to Mrs. Aldrid) Wait a minute! (Into the telephone) A lady's 347 FINDERS-KEEPERS black, leather pocketbook, with the initials, E. A., on the outside. There's a gold — E. A. No, no, no, no! E! — Yes. — Well, that's right. Why — {He looks at his wife.) MRS. ALDRID A gold, mesh purse — aldrid {into the telephone) A gold, mesh purse, with four hundred dollars in it; and in the side pocket there are twenty- six dollars — of her own. {Mrs. Aldrid looks at him suddenly?) MRS. ALDRID Five fives and a one. aldrid {into the telephone) In bills, yes. {He looks at her y and she nods con- firmation.) Five fives and a one. One minute. {To his wife) What else? — quick! mrs. aldrid {becoming very nervous) Why, there's a silver vanity case — aldrid Yes. MRS. ALDRID And a gold bracelet— with the clasp broken — {He makes a movement of interruption, but she continues) and a tax receipt, and a — Aldrid and Mrs. Aldrid, speaking together — aldrid {to Mrs. Aldrid) Wait a minute, now, till I get that! {Into the telephone) Hello? MRS. ALDRID Sample of Georgette Crepe, and a face veil, and a handkerchief, and two packages of hairpins, and — 348 FINDERS-KEEPERS aldrid (to Mrs. Aldrid) I can't remember all those! (She stops, and re- laxes; then he speaks into the telephone) Hello! There's a silver vanity case and a bracelet — MRS. ALDRID Broken ! aldrid (into the telephone} Broken! — A broken bracelet. (JVith a touch of annoyance.) The bracelet is broken. Yes. And there's a — (He stops gradually and listens attentively — his eyes wandering to his wife's.) I see. mrs. aldrid (rising slowly and apprehensively) What is it? aldrid (silencing her with a deft gesture, and con- tinuing into the telephone) Why, yes, that is rather funny. mrs. aldrid (impatiently) What does he say? aldrid (into the telephone) How about tomorrow afternoon? No, no, I'll call for it myself. Well, if you will, please? Tha — nk you, very much. Thanks. (He sets the telephone down.) MRS. ALDRID Is everything all right? ALDRID Yes. mrs. aldrid (sighing with relief, and leaning upon the center-table) Oh! — can you imagine if I'd lost that! aldrid (coming down thoughtfully towards his desk) Everything but the money. 349 FINDERS-KEEPERS mrs. aldrid {turning and looking at him) What'd you say? aldrid (without meeting her eye) He says that, evidently, the person who found your pocketbook took all the money out of it before turning it in. mrs. aldrid (aghast) What! aldrid (indifferently , and turning to his desk) That's what he says. mrs. aldrid (morally and physically indignant) Can you imagine anybody being that con- temptible? aldrid (turning and going up to the archway) Please don't make me laugh — I'm not in the mood. MRS. aldrid You won't laugh when you have to pay that woman four hundred dollars out of your own pocket! aldrid (turning to her sharply) I'd have had to do that anyway! — there didn't seem to be very much chance of getting it away from you! MRS. ALDRID Well, you're not going to give her four hundred dollars of your own money? ALDRID That'll do! And, when she comes here, don't make it necessary for me to tell her who found her money. Now, be wise. (He looks out the hallway, starts slightly, then steps quickly towards his desk.) Where is that gold, mesh purse of yours ? 35° FINDERS-KEEPERS MRS. ALDRID There in that drawer — what are you going to do ? aldrid {speaking directly to her in a level tone) I'm going to give you a lesson in honesty. Where is it? (Opens the middle drawer of his desk.) MRS. ALDRID Right where you're looking: what do you want it for? aldrid {whipping a little gold, mesh purse out of the drawer) Never mind! Is this it? MRS. ALDRID Yes; what are you going to do? {He slams the drawer shut, and, simultaneously , there is a sharp ring at the front door. He lays his hand on Mrs. Aldrid 's arm, and they stand still for a second) ALDRID There she is. {Then turning and urging Mrs. Aldrid across in front of the center -table towards the door at the left.) Go up to my money-box and get me eight fifty-dollar bills — the newest you can find; and, hurry! {He starts back towards the archway.) mrs. aldrid (recovering herself) I'll do nothing of the kind! aldrid (whirling upon her, and indicating the left door with an imperative gesture) Quick! Now, youVe lost enough tonight, I think! mrs. aldrid (turns and goes to the left door, then stops again, defiantly) I will not! 351 FINDERS-KEEPERS ALDRID Very well, then; I shall be obliged to tell this woman the particulars. mrs. aldrid (bitterly) Oh, I'll get them! But I never knew, Gene, that you were such a fool! {She starts to leave the room.) ALDRID Wait! {She stops and looks at him.) Wait a minute. {He starts across towards her, passing back of the center-table.) I'll get them myself. MRS. ALDRID Why can't I get them? aldrid {looking at her steadily as he passes above her and out the door) Because I'd rather get them myself. {She stands very still, realizing the implication, until the doorbell has rung three times; then with a rather slow, general gesture of sullenness and defeat, she moves up and across towards the arch- way to answer the door?) THE CURTAIN DESCENDS SLOWLY 352 SOLOMON'S SONG A PASTORAL TRAGI-COMEDY IN ONE ACT by Harry Kemp CHARACTERS Shamgazar Abishag MlLCAH ABIATHAR Solomon Copyright, 192 1, by HARRY KEMP ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Applications for permission to produce Solomon's Song should be addressed to Harry Kemp, in care of Brentano's, 225 Fifth Ave., New York City. No performance may be given without his consent. SOLOMON'S SONG Time: The most flourishing period of Solomon's rule: about iooo b. c. scene The Throne-Room of Solomon s royal palace, built in that quarter of Ancient Jerusalem called Millo. The Throne-Room is a vast affair. The walls, from the floor to the ceiling, are covered with cedar wood and adorned with gold fretwork. In the center stands Solomon s world-celebrated throne, of massive ivory, overlaid with gold. It is elevated on a platform, and a bronze lion stands on each side of it. An ascent of six steps leads up to it, and on each side of each step stands a bronze lion. They face toward the front, twelve in all, symbolizing the twelve tribes of Israel over which Solomon holds sway. In the back, at the center, is an open balcony, giv- ing on a garden of trees beneath. The tops of the trees come up to the edge of the balcony. Enter Abishag. She is a young and slender, brown-bodied girl. She is dressed in simple shep- herd costume, which consists of a skirt to the knees. Her legs and arms are bare. She has an agile girlish beauty that belongs to open fields and free hilltops. Stepping slowly and carefully about, she follows the contour of the room, with outspread 355 SOLOMON'S SONG palms against the walls, like one seeking escape. Her anklets and armlets make a tinkling sound. Coming on the balcony ', in the back, she looks out, as if about to leap into the near tops of the trees. But, in all her movements, she has been stealthily followed, by the Chief Eunuch, Shamgazar, who now, coming close to her, clutches her by the right arm and slowly swings her back to the center of the room. Abishag is brought to a kneeling position; she pulls away from Shamgazar. SHAMGAZAR Amend thy folly, girl! There is no maiden From the Euphrates to the river Nile But sorrows for the lack of what is thine, Yearns all her girlhood for the thing thou hast — The love of Solomon ! ABISHAG I sought it not! Let him have many maidens, yea, as many As almond blossoms putting forth in Spring, So that he come not nigh me with his arms, Nor touch me with the lips of his desire! shamgazar {impressively) Abishag, he is ruler of the world! ABISHAG Good — so he be not ruler of my heart! (She turns and looks out into garden.) SHAMGAZAR Ten thousand bearded men guard Solomon; About his palace wait ten thousand men With shield and sword. Then, who can bring thee help? Be wise; accept the great king's love. 3tf SOLOMON'S SONG {Dropping down disconsolately, A bis hag seats herself on the first step of the throne. A pause. Then, the words inaudible, a song is heard with- out) ABISHAG I am Abiathar's, and his alone, Shamgazar! {Softer.) That song — how could I hear it and say else? SHAMGAZAR 'Tis Solomon's song of one and perfect love. ABISHAG It is the song we sang among the hills, Tending our sheep. . . . SHAMGAZAR The world is singing it From Tyre to Elath. ABISHAG 'Twas our one hearts' song At even, when the sheep were folded safe. SHAMGAZAR Put by all dreams of shepherds and green hills A thousand towns and cities walled with stone Have sent the whitest of their maidens hither, And from the flower of these hast thou been chosen, The one bud to break into bloom for him. . . . But wherefore trouble I my heart with thee? Thou art a maiden, and thou dost but fear What thou hast never known. {Clapping his hands.) Come hither, Milcah! 357 SOLOMON'S SONG {Enter Milcah, who is to be handmaid to Abishag. Milcah is tall. She is paler than Abishag, with the pallor that comes from living an indoor life, in the palace. She is dressed elaborately after the Egyptian fashion, the style having been set by the Egyptian Princess, daughter of King Psusennes, for whom, a year previously, Solomon built a great house, for her own private use, after her marriage to him.) SHAMGAZAR (to MUcaK) Attend the Queen ! (Shamgazar goes out.) milcah (rushing up to Abishag and embracing her) Abishag! Thou! abishag [returning the embrace) As my soul liveth, Milcah of the Plains! What dost thou here? MILCAH I am handmaid to the King. . . . (Lower?) And hast thou thanked Jehovah yet? ABISHAG I pray, With every thought, for my deliverance. milcah (astonished) For thy deliverance! Art thou not glad? abishag (dumfounded) Glad, Milcah? milcah (reprovingly) Yea, that thou art chosen queen To sit by Solomon on a throne of gold! . . . Why, I, who was his but a day, rejoice! abishag (smiling confidently) Didst know Abiathar? 358 SOLOMON'S SONG milcah {surprised) That tall, ill-favored shepherd lad? abishag {severely) The same — but comely as the tents of Kedar MILCAH Thou lovedst him — but yet — abishag {fervently) I'll have none other. milcah {looking about her, with a frightened air) If thou wouldst live Then hold thy peace, lest thou be overheard. ABISHAG Nay, I'll speak out, ev'n if my words bring death. MILCAH Doubt not but thou shalt die, thwarting the King. But be to him the thing that he desires And he will make thy pathways delicate And all thy goings-out and comings-in As soft as wool. . . . Music will wait upon thee Of divers instruments, and all the world Will bow before thee. . . . Tyre will bring thee purple; All Egypt will be raiment unto thee; Ivory and apes and gold will come by ships, Crowding the sea with white like cloud on cloud, While peacocks draw their fans down jacinth courts And make a sound like wind among blown leaves. . . . abishag {vehemently angry) Milcah, thou speakest with an harlot's tongue. Go from me; I command thee, being Queen. 359 SOLOMON'S SONG {Milcah goes out. Solomon s Song again comes from the garden under the balcony. But now a man's voice sings.) I saw one star grow in the sky, I bent in worship to its light — Then star on star, and star on star Drew here and there my sight; The moon rose — to the moon I bowed; In its great light the stars were gone — The moon, that, graying to a ghost, Went out before the sun. . . . Women are many, thou, but one — The lights of heaven are but three, The stars, the moon, and then — the sun! . . . O Love, make day for me ! {The singing ceases.) abishag {recognizing Abiathar s voice, and leaning over) Abiathar! abiathar {faintly, from below) Abishag! {Abiathar is seen climbing in the very top of a tree near the edge of the veranda. Abishag reaches out her hand and helps him in. Abiathar holds her at arm's length, fondly gazing at her. Then they embrace?) ABISHAG How earnest thou Through all those eyes and spears that hedge with death The gates and gardens of King Solomon ? 360 SOLOMON'S SONG abiathar {laughing boldly) Simple the deed was as the words that tell: When the bright moon swam forth, I hid, and when It hid, I ran, and slid from tree to tree, From shade to shadow, climbing guarded walls, Unseen, until, by chance, I heard your voice — And then I sang! ABISHAG 'Tis strange that thou alone Couldst do so great a deed. . . . And didst thou fear not, Singing? abiathar {quickly) There is no hope for us but death ! ABISHAG The prophets say that God is merciful. ABIATHAR The king, I think, is not. ABISHAG He has concubines, And seven hundred wives. ABIATHAR Yet the new gift Is ever prized the most — till others come. {Trumpets without; cries of "The King," "King Solomon.") abiathar {showing dagger) Now death must take Another, beside us! ABISHAG Thou slay the King! 361 SOLOMON'S SONG ABIATHAR Aye, even Solomon, that mighty king. . . . And wherefore not? What pity hath he for thee, Or me, thy lover? herald {approaching from without) Make way for Solomon ! abishag (hurriedly) Convey thee hence behind yon throne and hide thee; Then, after I have sought the uttermost — abiathar {embracing her) — The dagger! {Going.) I will slay him with one thrust! herald {entering, crosses stage in stately and pomp- ous fashion, as he chants:) Make way for Solomon, that mighty king! Wiser than Ethan, the famed Ezrahite, Than Heman, Chalcol, and the sons of Mahol, Is Solomon, the Chosen of the Lord. . . . Hath he not made of songs a thousand and five? Hath he not spoken proverbs twice a thousand? {Abishag seats herself on lower step to throne and waits. Herald chants as he disappears:) Make way for Solomon! Make way for Solo- mon! {Trumpets are heard again. A momentary si- lence. Solomon appears. He is a tall, rather stout man. He wears a turban, starry with jewels. It is green. He has flashing black eyes and a black beard. When he smiles his teeth flash white. He walks as if with a sense of his own greatness 362 SOLOMON'S SONG and magnificence ', with his arms folded. Yet his smile shows that, in spite of his unlimited power, he is, when he wills, whimsically human.) solomon {standing over A bis hag, and looking down at her) Abishag, lovest thou me? ABISHAG {looking Up) I love thee not, nor will I bide thy wish. SOLOMON Others have vowed the same, nor kept that vow. abishag {with slow determination) I have not vowed. I have no need of vows To keep me from the thing I hate. {Solomon ascends throne and sits down on it, rest- ing his chin on his hand. From this position he studies Abishag, who remains seated on the lower step of the ascent?) SOLOMON Thou hast Another lover? ABISHAG Nay, I know but one. solomon {leaning down, seriously) One more, Abishag, than I've ever known! abishag {looking up into his face with sudden vivacity. She is curious and would hear further) Nay, but the great King points a jest at me? SOLOMON Would it were so. Yet could I somewhere find That love's perfection I have ever sought, And never won, my seven hundred wives 3^3 SOLOMON'S SONG Would I return to their far tribes again, On seven hundred camels, royally. {Softly.) Abishag, hast thou ever heard my song, "O Love, Make Day For Me?" ABISHAG All but the deaf have heard it, mighty king: solomon {sadly dreaming) Yea, lovers sing it underneath the moon, And in the latticed twilight it is sung, Charming the evening air all hushed and still; It is the world's one word of happy love, The love which, hapless, I have never known. {Sighing.) A dream I shaped from a far dream's desire ! abishag {searching his thought) But thou hast gold from Ophir, and the wealth Of twenty kingdoms ready at thy wish! SOLOMON But who has bought love since the world began? ABISHAG Yet, after God, thou hast the highest place. SOLOMON So 'tis the power I wear, not I, is loved. ABISHAG God gave thee wisdom passing all the world. SOLOMON Women love neither Wisdom nor the Wise. abishag {with wonder and incredulity) Thou never hast been loved? SOLOMON By those I loved not, The which is worse than hate. 364 SOLOMON'S SONG abishag (with swift firmness) Thou hast said my thought. solomon (rising and coming down to her) Handmaid, I will not reason with thee longer. (She rises, facing him.) Thou hast been sent to me as any gift, And as a gift I'll use thee. If thou yield not Thou shalt be made a handmaid to my hand- maids. Yielding, thou shalt possess an equal throne. And I have gold from Ophir and the wealth — abishag (laughing) Nay, who hath bought love since the world be- gan? SOLOMON Yet, after God, mine is the highest place. ABISHAG Then would I love thy power and place, not thee. SOLOMON God gave me wisdom passing all mankind. ABISHAG Women love neither Wisdom nor the Wise. SOLOMON Thou mockest me? ABISHAG Thy wisdom I repeat! solomon (entranced and flattered) Brown-bodied little woman from the hills, Is there no way by which to win thy love ? ABISHAG None but to be indeed the man I love. 365 SOLOMON'S SONG SOLOMON What man is he? ABISHAG A shepherd of my tribe. . . . I'll tell of him no further lest thou send Those who will come with swords and seek him out. solomon {scornfully) And make a slave my rival in men's eyes? abishag (admiringly) Ah, thou art wise, great king, in all but love. SOLOMON What man knew woman since recorded time? ABISHAG But thou, the wisest — SOLOMON Nay, I know them less Than my least slave, for, seven hundred times, I have shown lack of wisdom, marrying. ABISHAG And still thou seekest love in me, great king? solomon {earnestly) For thou 'rt the only woman I have loved. ABISHAG A lie repeated seven hundred times. SOLOMON Nay, for now It springs, a living glory, born of truth: Not words lip-said, but brought deep from the heart As divers fetch up pearls from dangered seas. . . . {A paused) Yea, and if thou wilt not come unto me Then I shall find ways out to bend thy will. . . . 366 SOLOMON'S SONG Even now, even now thou livest at my word. . . . Put by all thoughts of shepherds and green hills. . . . A thousand towns and cities walled with stone Have sent the whitest of their maidens hither, And from the flower of these hast thou been chosen, The one bud to break into bloom for me. . . . ABISHAG J am Abiathar's, and his alone . . . I will speak out, ev'n if my words bring death. solomon {angrily) Doubt not but thou shalt die, denying me: {Persuasively.) But be to me the thing that I desire, And I will make thy pathways delicate, And all thy goings-out and comings-in As soft as wool. . . . Music shall wait on thee Of divers instruments, and all the world Will bow before thee. . . . Tyre will bring thee purple; All Egypt will be raiment unto thee; Ivory and apes and gold will come by ships Crowding the sea with white like cloud on cloud. {Abiathar now suddenly and silently steps from behind throne. Thrice he lifts dagger to stab the King, and each time lowers it. As he is lowering it the third time, Solomon turns, with slow im- perial dignity, and laughs in his face) SOLOMON Abiathar, thou son of Zeruel, Put up thy unsheathed dagger; 'tis a toy 367 SOLOMON'S SONG Too perilous for youth to play with so. . . . Here! Give it me! {He reaches for it. Abiathar draws back?) What, child, thou thinkest to slay Solomon? ABIATHAR Aye, to slay Solomon, who steals my love. SOLOMON Thy love — ? And darest thou rival Israel's king? ABIATHAR We have gone hand in hand since childhood, sire. solomon {admiringly) Thou art a bold youth. ABIATHAR Love hath made me so. SOLOMON So thou wouldst slay me? But what held thy hand? . . . Thrice thou assayedst. . . . ABIATHAR Thou art God's Anointed. . . . {Kneeling?) So to the merciful be merciful. . . . If not — even yet — SOLOMON And thinkest thou, bold young man, That I was not aware? Rash boy, I knew The moment that thou wentest from thy tent, Thy solitary tent among the hills, Where thou didst guard thy flocks nigh Dabe- rath, 368 SOLOMON'S SONG On Tabor's morning heights ... how thou didst track The caravan which brought Abishag hither By Harod's Well, Rabbith, and Lebonah. . . . My secret watchers held thee in their eye At Bethel, Beeroth, and Gibeon. . . . And when thou didst assay the guarded walls 'Twas at my laughing wish the Watch with- drew . . . Yea, in the light of intermittent moons, And from the sinking of the day till dawn, And through each golden passage of the sun, Eyes watched thy goings-out and comings-in — And, but I had reserved thee for my sport, Thou hadst gone down to the forgotten Dark Ten dawns ago. abiathar {firmly) Do with me as thou wilt. (Kneeling^ he offers up his dagger to King.) abishag (also kneeling) And do with me as thou wilt do with him. solomon (triumphantly) Behold the wisdom of the King's device! (He waves his hand. The wall to the right slowly opens, and five bearded and armed men are seen. Another wave of the hand, and the wall closes again.) Thou art taken fast like any silly bird That drops upon a twig and finds a net. . . . (A pause. They still kneel, unspeaking.) Lovest thou not life, that thou dost rush on death? . . . Bethink thee, thou art young, Abiathar! 369 SOLOMON'S SONG ABIATHAR Without love life is naught. ... It was thy song — (Choking.) (Solomon's face grows alit with sudden interest. He leans forward) Thy song — that taught me so ! solomon (pleased) How, boy? . . . My song? ABIATHAR Thy song that oft I sang on silver eves And in the soft, rose-dappled dawns. . . . abishag (taking up) Thy song That thou didst make, of One and Perfect Love . . . (In a soft, sweet voice.) How oft we sang that song among the hills Tending our sheep. . . . (Solomon's face is bright with childlike pleasure) It was our hearts' one song At even, when the sheep were folded safe And the long shadows marched down from the hills. solomon (smiling imperially) And so he won thee with (fondly) those words of mine? abishag (joyfully) 'Twas so he won me. And, as with us, so is it With all of Israel! solomon (leaning forward eagerly) "With all of Israel!" What meanest thou? abiathar (confidently answering for Abishag) Under the spell and music of thy song, 37° SOLOMON'S SONG The world has turned to walking two by two In perfect love, in simple happiness solomon (half musing) That happiness which never will be mine, That love, which, hapless, I shall never know — Ah, Dream I shaped from a far dream's desire! abishag (with a woman s quickness, pressing the perceived advantage) Thou hast taught all the world this strange, new thing — That faithful love holds only room for two, That every man, each woman, must create, Anew, the garden of God's paradise By walking hand in hand, like Adam and Eve, Before mankind became a multitude. . . . solomon (full of ecstasy at his fame) Abishag and Abiathar, arise! (They stand before him.) There's something makes my soul compassion- ate. . . . I know not what it is — but ye may go Back to your hills! (They fall at his feet.) Aye, ye may go — (Sadly; half to self.) 'Tis I that am the one caught in a net. . . . Nay, what am I, before this youth and love? My only empire is an empty heart, My lifted sceptre, but a gilded boast; The glory that I have possesses me; I am weighed down with splendor to my death, Am sickened by the wasting of desire 37i SOLOMON'S SONG For what my wisdom, seeking, cannot find — And all is vanity of vanities! . . . {A pause . . . then , with a proud \ ringing voice?) Yet have I made a song that all men sing! CURTAIN 372 MATINATA A PLAY IN ONE ACT by Lawrence Langner Matinata* was first produced by the Provincetown Players at the Playwrights' Theatre, New York, November I, 1920, with the following cast: Columbine Norma Millay Pierrot James Light Harlequin Sydney Powell * Owing to the general mispronunciation of the original title, "MaHi- nata," I have anglicized the spelling of the Italian word. — L. L. Copyright, 1921, by LAWRENCE LANGNER ALL RIGHTS RKSERVED Applications for permission to produce Matinata should be addressed to Mr. Lawrence Langner, 55 Liberty Street, New York. No performance may be given without his written consent. MATINATA SCENE A small room in a large city, in which Pierrot and Columbine make their home. The room is neither kitchen, bedroom, nor living-room; but it serves as all three; it is, in fact, a room of a char- acter which is denied to the rich. There is a bed-couch, left front; door leading to the bathroom, left rear; window, left center wall, bed-couch against center wall; kitchen sink and gas stove, right center wall; cupboard with dishes and chest of drawers against right wall rear; and door leading to staircase to street, right front. In the center are a small table and a few chairs. AT RISE Pierrot is in bed; his head lies near the window. Columbine is bustling around, setting the table on which she has already placed some of the breakfast dishes. columbine (to Pierrot) Breakfast is nearly ready, Pierrot! Do wake up. (Pierrot takes no notice. Columbine goes over to sit on the bed.) Don't you want some coffee? (Pierrot grunts.) I'm making a lovely breakfast for you, Pierrot. pierrot (sleepily) All right, dear! I'm getting up. (She waits expectantly; he rolls over and goes back to sleep.) 375 MATINATA COLUMBINE I'm going to stay here and bother you until you get up! See! I'm a mosquito! I'm buzzing around you! Buzz, buzz, buzz!!! {She kisses him.) I'm going to bite you! {She attempts to bite him.) PIERROT Do go away, dear! Can't you see I'm making up my mind to get up? It takes time. {He turns over so that his head is covered up, and all one can see of him is his hunched-up back.) COLUMBINE You'll never make up your mind! You know you've lots of things to do today. Please get up, Pierrot ! Please do ! {She begins to pull the bedclothes of him.) PIERROT Do leave me alone! I'm getting up. {He winds the covers around him.) COLUMBINE But breakfast! PIERROT I don't want any breakfast. {He settles down in the bed in a determined manner.) COLUMBINE {hurt) Very well! {She goes over to the gas stove and pours hot water into the coffee-pot. She looks over at Pierrot to see whether her new attitude will make any difference. It does not. She pulls up the blinds. She puts the coffee-pot on the table with a thud and sits down, moving her chair 376 MATINATA noisily. She pours herself a cup of coffee. Pier- rot raises his head.) pierrot {cheerfully) Hello! {Columbine drinks her coffee with great intensity?) pierrot {shouting) Didn't you hear what I said? columbine {coldly) What did you say? PIERROT I said, "Hello'!" COLUMBINE I've heard you say that before. Do you know what time it is? PIERROT No! COLUMBINE It's nearly eleven o'clock. PIERROT Now, why did you tell me that? I've slept only — let me see — six hours. You're very irritating! COLUMBINE I meant to be. PIERROT Very well. I shall go back to sleep. {He lies back on the bed.) COLUMBINE I don't care. Your company isn't so charming, after all. PIERROT I have a lovely idea for a song. If I could write it, I might be able to sell it for a hundred dol- lars. 377 MATINATA COLUMBINE If only you could! PIERROT What couldn't we do with a hundred dollars! I know! We could go to a hotel and have break- fast, lunch, and dinner served in our room so we could stay in bed all day. I wish I could re- member that song. Confound you, Columbine, why did you bother me! I was half dream- ing of it — and now you've made me forget it. {He sits up.) It was a song to the dawn — "Matinata"! COLUMBINE What do you know about the dawn ? PIERROT There is a great mystery about the dawn. It is seen only by people with very good habits, or by people with very bad habits. COLUMBINE It isn't difficult to see where you belong! PIERROT Isn't it? Well, I've never seen the dawn — that is, not for years! COLUMBINE You were out all night last Monday. Didn't you see it then ? PIERROT No, I was playing poker. I think I shall get up. COLUMBINE I've finished my breakfast. pierrot {gaily jumping out of bed) Isn't that fine! Just in time to get me mine! columbine I shall do nothing of the sort. 378 MATINATA pierrot {pleading) But, Columbine, dear! I'm so hungry. I've had nothing to eat since two o'clock — and now it's eleven. COLUMBINE You should have gotten up when I called you ! PIERROT My Columbine angry with me? Don't be angry, sweetheart. Your mouth is like a red rosebud when you smile — but when you're angry it gets thin, like a long, red worm. COLUMBINE Ugh! How can you say my mouth's like a worm! pierrot (struck with the thought) A worm may hide in the reddest rose! columbine I'm angry with you! PIERROT I didn't say your mouth was like that. {Gaily) I meant I wanted you to smile — to be happy. It's morning, the sun is up! COLUMBINE It's been up for hours. pierrot {jumping out of bed) And so am I! Here is your penitent Pierrot! If you'll only forgive me, I'll go to bed early, sleep all night, get up with the dawn, and bring you your breakfast in bed! Won't you like that ? {He takes off his pyjama jacket, disclosing his costume underneath.) COLUMBINE It would be lovely — but it'll never happen! Goodness me, you've slept in your clothes! 379 MATINATA PIERROT Yes, I was too tired to take them off. Do they look bad? COLUMBINE The coat's creased terribly. I shall have to put the iron on. You can't go out looking like that! {She goes over to the stove and puts on an iron.) pierrot {pulling on his stockings) Columbine, you are a dear! I don't deserve you. I know I don't. {He looks around helplessly.) Where are my shoes? COLUMBINE I don't know. I didn't take them off. Look where you least expect to find them. {Pierrot looks in his bed, under his pillow, and finally under the bed, where he finds them.) PIERROT What are you going to give me for breakfast? COLUMBINE Would you like boiled eggs ? pierrot {with disgust) Eggs! Oh, Columbine, how could you suggest eggs? I want something dainty, something with a French name that will just waft its way gently into my insides. COLUMBINE I suppose you've been drinking! PIERROT Not more than was necessary! COLUMBINE I'll make you an omelette. 380 MATINATA PIERROT The French name! And it must be a frothy one — clusters of air bubbles coated with egg! columbine {sighing) I shall have to dirty three extra dishes. PIERROT That makes me think of something. I knew! I haven't washed! columbine {breaking the eggs into a dish) Hurry, please! You'll begin to dress yourself just when I have everything ready for you. PIERROT Don't hurry me. Columbine. There should be something dignified about the way a man pre- pares himself for the day. If he hurries and skurries, it makes him fretful and nervous. A great opportunity may come to me today, if I preserve a calm in my soul. Would you have me miss it, just so as not to keep breakfast waiting for a few moments? COLUMBINE But you said you were hungry! PIERROT I am hungry. (Rises.) But I have a dignified hunger. I shall enter the bathroom with a stately air. Thus shall I begin the day and so shall I end it. (Exit Pierrot, bathroom door.) (Columbine sighs, takes the egg-beater, mixes the omelette and pours it into pan. She puts the coffee-pot back on the stove. Enter Pierrot, mopping his face with a towel. He dries it, then stands up and exercises listlessly for a few moments, using knife and fork as dumb-bells. 381 MATINATA He then tries rising up and down, hands on hips, body stiff; gets down but fails to rise; he staggers up. He repeats this twice, and finally falls into a chair at the table.) PIERROT Well! Where's the omelette? COLUMBINE It isn't ready yet. PIERROT I'm hungry. COLUMBINE Eat some bread. PIERROT Where is it? COLUMBINE Over here. PIERROT Well, why don't you bring it to me? COLUMBINE Can't you get it yourself? PIERROT Don't you see I'm sitting down to my break- fast? You've been hurrying me the whole morning, and now I'm here it isn't ready—. COLUMBINE It is ready. See, the omelette is done. {She puts it on his plate.) PIERROT Where's the salt? COLUMBINE Here you are! 382 MATINATA PIERROT And the bread. Do bring the bread! {She hands him bread.) COLUMBINE You are bad tempered this morning. PIERROT I'm not. {He eats the omelette ravenously.) columbine {sitting at the table) Do you like the omelette? PIERROT It's all right. I nearly had that song. Listen : — "Rose-colored Dawn, My heart's forlorn — Do you like that? COLUMBINE I don't. First of all, a dawn's not rose-colored; and, secondly, the idea's absolutely unoriginal! PIERROT You do tell the truth terribly! COLUMBINE You need someone to tell you the truth. PIERROT Those weren't the words I was thinking of in bed. If you don't like them, it's your own fault for waking me up. What I said just now was inspired by the omelette. COLUMBINE Don't be stupid, Pierrot. If I waked you up, it was because I had to. I've worked all the week and now it's your turn. There isn't a thing in the place to eat. PIERROT Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could school 383 MATINATA ourselves to live without food; one could do it gradually. After all, material functions are merely matters of habit. COLUMBINE I wish you'd get the habit of working! pierrot (hopelessly) Oh dear ! (He stretches?) COLUMBINE You kicked me — right on the leg! pierrot (indifferently) Did I? columbine Yes. You might say you're sorry. pierrot (sharply) I suppose I am sorry. Is it necessary to say so? columbine (indignantly) It certainly is! pierrot (equally indignant) I might say equally, why did you have your leg in my way? My desire to stretch was frustrated — and by your leg! columbine Do you mean you're not sorry ? PIERROT I mean that if your leg hadn't been there, I wouldn't have kicked it. columbine (angrily) Where should I put my leg? pierrot (more angrily still) Somewhere where it wouldn't be in my way! columbine (rising) Look here, Pierrot, I've just about had enough of you. You don't care what you do, or what you say! 384 MATINATA pierrot {angrily) I suppose I don't! Well, I'm going. {He puts on his hat.) columbine {alarmed) Where are you going? pierrot {bitterly) To work. To sell my immortality for a mess of pottage. COLUMBINE But I haven't ironed your coat — it is all creased. You look disreputable. PIERROT I don't care how I look. COLUMBINE And you haven't finished your breakfast. PIERROT I'm not going to finish it. {He goes out, slamming the door. Columbine sits at the table and weeps. After a pause > enter Harlequin. He stands at the door.) harlequin {with aplomb) Good morning! columbine {through her tears) Hello, Harlequin! HARLEQUIN Is that all you say to me, just "Hello"? Aren't you glad to see me ? columbine {tearfully) Yes, Harlequin! {Harlequin approaches her.) HARLEQUIN What's the matter? You're crying. 385 MATINATA columbine (tearfully) Yes, Harlequin. HARLEQUIN Why are you crying? It's not over me, is it? COLUMBINE No, Harlequin. harlequin (disappointed) No ? Oh ! I thought it was ! COLUMBINE Why, Harlequin? HARLEQUIN Well, I know I haven't been very nice to you lately. But it's all over now, Columbine. Tell me what you've been crying about. COLUMBINE I don't know. {Harlequin takes her hand?) harlequin {sympathetically) Won't you tell Harlequin? Perhaps he can help you. columbine Oh, Harlequin, it's — it's Pierrot! (She weeps again?) HARLEQUIN It's too bad, dear. Pierrots are the same the world over. You may thank your stars that wherever there's a Pierrot you'll always find a Harlequin for consolation! columbine I'd like you to console me, Harlequin, but I don't think it would be right. HARLEQUIN Oh, yes it would. Harlequins are quite neces- 3 86 MATINATA sary to the world. The Pierrots would be quite unbearable without them. And now tell me, what has Pierrot been doing? columbine (tearfully) It's what he hasn't been doing. HARLEQUIN Oh! Neglecting you! COLUMBINE Neglecting himself. Wasting his time. Going to parties, staying up late, working only when he has to. He's so — so inefficient with him- self. HARLEQUIN Not with himself, Columbine, but with you. Columbine dear, if you were my wife, how I would devote myself to you! It would be the greatest pleasure for me to do little things for you, to make your life easier, instead of com- plicating it as Pierrot does. You make yourself a slave to him; you spoil him. COLUMBINE I know I do. He went away just now and left everything for me to do. The dishes aren't washed, the beds aren't made. He didn't get up 'til eleven o'clock! HARLEQUIN Eleven o'clock! (With immense satisfaction.) I've been up since five. What a way to treat you! Well, dear, I shall help you. Nobody can call Me inefficient! COLUMBINE How I wish Pierrot had some of your qualities! 387 MATINATA harlequin {with still more satisfaction) He never will have. {Jumps up.) Shall we be- gin? COLUMBINE Begin what? HARLEQUIN Tidying up. I hate to sit in a room that's dis- orderly. columbine {coaxing) Oh, let's talk for a while. I don't feel like tidy- ing up yet. HARLEQUIN Don't you move! You stay right there. I'll do it. You've worked enough this morning. columbine {catches his arm) You are a dear to want to help me. HARLEQUIN There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you, Columbine. {He bends his head down to her and kisses her.) columbine {with a little cry of pleasure) Oh, Harlequin! harlequin {taking her hand) Columbine, dear, I love you. It's breaking my heart to see you so unhappy, to see your dear hands so hardened and stained by working and scrubbing for Pierrot, who doesn't ap- preciate you in the very least little bit. columbine {weeps) It's true. He doesn't. HARLEQUIN He stays out night after night, drinking and gambling, and when he's so tired that he can do nothing else, he comes back to you and offers 3 88 MATINATA you the dregs of himself. Columbine, you are too wonderful to be wasted on such a man. columbine {weepingly) I am ! I know I am ! HARLEQUIN Then leave him ! columbine {amazed) Leave him? harlequin Yes, come with me. columbine {enthusiastically) Oh — an elopement! HARLEQUIN This wouldn't be an elopement exactly. We should have to go through the form of a legal separation. columbine {disappointed) But an elopement! IVe always wanted an elopement! HARLEQUIN I know, dear, but you must really leave this to me. An elopement is very romantic and all that, but a legal separation is really the most sensible way of doing it. columbine {pouting) Very well, if you say so. I'm not sure I'm very keen about a legal separation. It sounds so — so — harlequin {interrupting) Practical. And that's just what it is. columbine {admiringly) You are practical, Harlequin. What do I have to do? 389 MATINATA HARLEQUIN Sit right down and leave everything to me. I shall attend to every detail. COLUMBINE You are a dear, Harlequin. (She sits down on a chair by the tabled) Kiss me, sweetheart. (Harlequin bends over and kisses her.) harlequin (still bending over her) This isn't very comfortable. columbine (rising) You sit here and let me sit on your lap. (Harle- quin sits down, and she sits on his knee.) Tell me, Harlequin, how was it you came to fall in love with me? harlequin (starting) Oh, dear, I've put my sleeve in the omelette I'm covered with egg. Do you mind if I clear off the table? (Columbine jumps off his knee and Harlequin rises.) columbine (anxiously) Let me help you. harlequin (wiping his sleeve) No, I can manage, dear. COLUMBINE But Harlequin! HARLEQUIN But Columbine! COLUMBINE Oh, very well. (She sits down.) HARLEQUIN I'll clear them all off in a second. 390 MATINATA {He piles all the dishes on one arm, and in a jew seconds has carried them all ojf> like an expert waiter.) columbine {admiringly) How clever you are. Harlequin! HARLEQUIN While I'm up, I think I'll fix the beds. COLUMBINE But, Harlequin, what about the elopement? harlequin {rather sharply) The legal separation? COLUMBINE Yes, when shall we get started? HARLEQUIN When will Pierrot return ? COLUMBINE I don't know. HARLEQUIN Didn't you ask him, dear? COLUMBINE No! HARLEQUIN That was rather thoughtless of you. COLUMBINE But, Harlequin, I didn't know we were going to elope when he left this morning. HARLEQUIN Of course you didn't, but on general principles, if you're living with a person constantly, Colum- bine, you ought to know just about what his habits are, and how long he may be expected to be away. 39 1 MATINATA COLUMBINE But Pierrot has no habits. HARLEQUIN That's true. I suppose you'd better get packed, so we can leave before he returns. Where is your suitcase, dear? columbine {pointing) Under the bed. harlequin (pulls out the suitcase) Lord, what a state it's in! Have you a duster? COLUMBINE Let me do it. HARLEQUIN Please, Columbine. Tell me where you keep the duster. COLUMBINE Please let me do it. HARLEQUIN Now, Columbine, didn't you say you'd leave everything to me? COLUMBINE But I want to do it! HARLEQUIN Very well, I know what we'll do. You pack the suitcase and I'll tidy the room. (Columbine takes the suitcase and dusts it with her handkerchief^) Using your handkerchief, dear? COLUMBINE I have no duster. HARLEQUIN No duster? 392 MATINATA COLUMBINE No! harlequin {expansively) When you are living with me, dear, we shall have large piles of dusters! We shall have small, striped ones, large tea cloths, dishcloths, towels, and washrags, and every kind of brush, broom, and cleaning appliance! COLUMBINE How wonderful! harlequin {begins making Pierrot's bed) Does Pierrot sleep in this bed? COLUMBINE Yes. HARLEQUIN I thought so. Nobody but Pierrot could stand such sheets. columbine {alarmed) They're clean, aren't they? HARLEQUIN Yes, but cotton and such cotton! When you live with me, Columbine, you shall sleep on linen. What's this? {He takes out a photograph of Columbine in a silver frame from under pillow?) columbine {taking the picture) Where did you find it? HARLEQUIN Under his pillow. COLUMBINE Silly Pierrot! HARLEQUIN Silly's too mild a name for a lazy sentimentalist like Pierrot. Sleeps with his wife's photograph! 393 MATINATA COLUMBINE Hadn't we better hurry? HARLEQUIN We can't go away and leave the place untidy — though I suppose Pierrot would never notice it. COLUMBINE No — I don't think he would. {Columbine begins to bundle her underwear and clothes into the suitcase. Harlequin continues making up the bed.) harlequin {making the bed) Do you tuck the quilt under the mattress on both sides, or only on the left-hand side? columbine {carelessly) Oh, any old way. harlequin {dogmatically) The correct way is to tuck it under on the left- hand side only. {Columbine attempts to close the suitcase. Harlequin sees her.) Don't do that, Columbine. You're liable to strain yourself. Let me do it. {Harlequin begins to struggle with the suitcase but fails to close it.) You have too much in it. Do you mind if I open it? columbine But, Harlequin, we must hurry. Pierrot may come back any moment. HARLEQUIN We can't go away with all your things trailing out of the suitcase, dear ! {He opens it and turns to Columbine reproachfully.) Columbine! COLUMBINE Yes, it is untidy, isn't it? I was so excited I just pushed everything in. 394 MATINATA HARLEQUIN No wonder I couldn't close it. Columbine, dear, just leave this packing to me, will you? Look, here's a magazine. \(He gives it to her and guides her to chair.) You sit down there and read it for a few minutes, and I'll have your suitcase packed like lightning. COLUMBINE But I feel so useless ! harlequin {reproachfully) Columbine! columbine I do. HARLEQUIN But you want to go away with me, don't you, dear ? columbine {dubiously) I suppose I do. HARLEQUIN You suppose? Don't you know, Columbine, darling? COLUMBINE Yes, of course I know. HARLEQUIN Very well. Leave everything to me and there won't be any hitch. {He begins packing up her clothes, which he has dumped out of the suitcase onto the floor. He is an expert packer; everything is folded up into the tiniest space. Columbine watches him appre- hensively over the top of the magazine. Harlequin begins to fold up a very frilly nightgown.) 395 MATINATA COLUMBINE Please don't look at that, Harlequin! HARLEQUIN Why not? COLUMBINE It embarrasses me. HARLEQUIN I've seen loads of them. COLUMBINE Harlequin ! HARLEQUIN In shop windows. But isn't this rather a stupid one? COLUMBINE Pierrot doesn't think so. HARLEQUIN It is rather stupid, though. Look at aU that frilly lace on the shoulders! It means that the gown lasts half as long. You are always liable to catch cold wearing it. Then again, the laundering is always more difficult, and conse- quently more expensive, and it often scratches your skin when they put too much starch in it. {His voice full of promise.) I'll buy you some simple, practical ones, without any frills and fripperies. COLUMBINE But I like that one. {Harlequin has another frilly garment in his hand. She jumps up and takes it away from him.) harlequin {amazed) Columbine, you don't mean to tell me you wear those! 396 MATINATA columbine {puzzled) Yes, I do; why not? HARLEQUIN Goodness me, they're mid- Victorian. You take me back to the days of my grandmother. COLUMBINE What's the matter with them? HARLEQUIN I shall have to buy you an entirely new trous- seau! COLUMBINE I don't know that I want a new trousseau! HARLEQUIN Indeed you do. You need a new dress badly, too. When you live with me, I shall work hard and buy you loads of wonderful clothes. I shall select them myself. I want everybody to admire you and say what a faultlessly dressed woman you are! There! Everything's in, and there's room for a whole lot more. Are you sure you have everything? columbine {putting on coat and hat) Quite sure. Come along. HARLEQUIN Did you remember to put in your rubbers ? columbine {puzzled) Rubbers — on an elopement? HARLEQUIN Yes, why not? It might rain. COLUMBINE Well, I won't put in rubbers! HARLEQUIN If it rains, you'd take cold without them. 397 MATINATA COLUMBINE I will not take rubbers. HARLEQUIN Columbine, I insist on rubbers. columbine {sarcastically) Very well, I have no rubbers. But I have an umbrella — perhaps you'd like me to take that! HARLEQUIN That would be an excellent idea! columbine (getting angry) And how about a small medicine chest with mustard plasters, hot water bottles, and all the necessary equipment for treating small wounds, sprains, bruises, burns, and chapped hands? HARLEQUIN Columbine, I believe you are angry with me. COLUMBINE Angry with you? No, Harlequin, I'm not angry with you. I'm angry with myself. Imagine eloping with a man who insists on packing rubbers and an umbrella. Oh, Lord! HARLEQUIN My dear, I'm simply trying to be practical! columbine (scornfully) Practical! Why haven't you brought a lawyer with you ? Why haven't we signed the necessary legal documents? Why haven't you brought a doctor in case we have an accident, and a trained nurse, and a hospital, and an ambulance? Why haven't you been really practical? HARLEQUIN Columbine, you're making fun of me! COLUMBINE No, I'm not! If I elope, it must be with a 398 MATINATA practical man, not an amateur. I want him to bring along railroad trains and seaside hotels and ocean liners ! HARLEQUIN You are making fun of me! Columbine, I shall not go away with you. columbine {points to sink) How could you go away with me when the dishes aren't washed ? {A noise is heard outside.) Hist ! It's Pierrot! HARLEQUIN What shall I do? COLUMBINE Something practical! HARLEQUIN I'll hide in the bathroom. {Exit Harlequin, bathroom door. Columbine takes of her hat and coat and passes Harlequin's hat and walkingstick into the bathroom. Enter Pierrot. He carries a small straggling bunch of flowers.) pierrot {penitently) Columbine, dear, these are for you! COLUMBINE Pierrot, dear! {They embrace.) PIERROT Forgive me, darling! COLUMBINE There's nothing to forgive, dearest. PIERROT I was rude to you! 399 MATINATA COLUMBINE It was my fault, Pierrot. I had my leg in your way! PIERROT No, dearest, I was wrong in kicking my foot against you ! I know I was. So I went out into the fields and picked these flowers for you. Then I sat on the grass and looked at them, and do you know, Columbine, dear, that the song came back to me, the one I was dreaming about when you woke me up this morning — "Matinata " I called it — so I wrote it down on a piece of paper and took it to the song publishers and would you believe it — they paid me ninety dol- lars and forty-seven cents for it! columbine {amazed) And forty-seven cents! PIERROT Three dollars and seven cents a line! Look, here's the money ! {He pulls out the roll of bills and shows them to her.) Do you know what I'm going to do with it? I'm going to buy half a dozen of the laciest of lace nighties for you! The ones you have are nearly worn out. columbine But, darling, they are so impractical! PIERROT They're beautiful! And then I'm going to bring you half a dozen pairs of — columbine {glancing apprehensively at the bath- room door) Never mind, Pierrot! PIERROT And with the rest of the money we'll go on a 400 MATINATA little trip together! You'll have to pack your suitcase! columbine {shows her suitcase) It is packed! PIERROT How did you come to do that ? columbine {hesitating, then lying heroically) Woman's intuition! The moment you said those few lines at the breakfast table, I just knew the publisher would buy the song! PIERROT Have you any room for my things? columbine {opens suitcase) Lots! pierrot {admiringly) How neatly you packed it! Here, drop these in. {He throws in some clothes and shuts the suitcase, stamps on it and goes to the door, right. Columbine puts on her hat and picks up the suitcase^) PIERROT Columbine, you look charming in those old clothes. People will think we're eloping! {They kiss. Exit Pierrot. The bathroom door opens and Harlequin peeps through.) columbine {calls dowstairs, looking at Harlequin) Pierrot, dear, shall I bring rubbers ? {Exit Columbine. Enter Harlequin. He looks out of the window, sighs, goes over to the table, shrugs his shoulders, and begins to wash the dishes,) CURTAIN 401 THE CONFLICT A DRAMA IN ONE ACT bv Clarice Vallette McCauley The Conflict was first produced at the Vagabond Theatre, Baltimore, Monday evening, December 6, 1920. CHARACTERS Emelie, Mrs. J. A. Dushane Penniman Bess, {%"?**£ 9 ( Harriet Gibbs Bob, John Steuart Mother, Mrs. S. Johnson Poe Produced by May Standish Rose. Setting by the Vagabond Workshop Copyright, 1920, 1921, by CLARICE VALLETTE McCAULEY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Originally published by The Norman, Remington Company as No. 6 of the Vagabond Plays, The Conflict is included in this collection by special arrangement with the author. Application for permission to produce this play should be made to Clarice Vallette McCauley, Columbia University, New York City. THE CONFLICT characters {in the order of their appearance) : emelie, the elder daughter of the house, who has already tested her wings in a first flight. bess, seventeen — just beginning to be aware of the worlds outside. bobs, thirteen — a vigorous young animal with no wings to speak of as yet. the mother, guardian of the nest, and very jealous of the world — where her brood is concerned. scene: The kitchen of an old-fashioned farmhouse. time : Late afternoon of an April day. In the back wall, well to the right, is a door leading into the garden. Left of center a broad window curtained in crisp white muslin. In the right wall — down stage — a door leading to the living-rooms at the front of the house. Just opposite — in the left wall — a door which, when opened, reveals a narrow flight of stairs which turn and disappear — evidently the back stairway leading to the rear bedrooms. In the upper left-hand corner a built-in kitchen range with copper preserving kettle above it. In the upper right a small sink with pump attach- ment — a little oak-framed mirror over it — a roller towel on the wall beside it. Further down, on the 405 THE CONFLICT right, a cupboard filled with old-fashioned china — a nest of yellow bowls — a pan of apples. A drop-leaf table down right of center is covered with a pretty blue and white cloth — a cane-seated rocker on the right of it — on the left a straight chair to match. Between outer door and window is a little table with a workbasket on it — a clock hangs on the wall above it. Near the window a chair — on the sill potted geraniums in bloom. The window is open and through it you get a glimpse of a white lilac bush in flower. The square of sun- shine on the floor is gradually cut off diagonally — as though by a slanting roof — //// near the end it disappears entirely. {Note. — The room should suggest by every detail of its cheery, wholesome orderliness a certain sym- pathetic plea for the mother. Otherwise ', if the home were unattractive, there would at once be furnished a reason for the children s wish to leave it; but there is no fundamental reason — other than the primordial urge to try our wings, which gets us all, sometime; and which no mother can success- fully deny without forever crippling her child. In contrast to the crisp, clear-cut details of the kitchen is the vague, hazy sunshininess of the garden out- side the door.) As the curtain rises Emelie is discovered seated at left of the center table writing a letter. On this table stands a small black traveling-bag, and scat- tered around it gloves, purse, a few letters. Emelie is a tall girl of about twenty-three, not ex- actly beautiful, but with a certain nobility of pur- 406 THE CONFLICT pose in her face that lends her distinction, and the lines of her slender figure in its solemn black are full of allurement. Her face quivers as she writes, and she stops a moment to wipe her eyes. There is the cheery, impudent call of a robin in the garden, and Bess enters from the living-room. Bess is a girl of seventeen. She is not in mourning like her sister, but her white skirt and middy - blouse are set off by a black tie, and a black ribbon on her hair. She has emptied a vase of withered flowers on to a newspaper, and carries them care- fully before her. emelie (looking up and referring to the flowers) Gone — are they? BESS Yes — lilacs droop so soon. I cut these for you to take with you on the train. emelie {absent-mindedly , looking at her letter) I'm sorry, Puss — BESS I'm not; I'm, oh, so glad — you stayed! (She has stopped back of the chair to give her sister a hug.) You can't think how much even two days more means to us. You're surely going this time? EMELIE Yes. bess (going up towards window) Then I'd better cut you some more. The white ones by the window — they're in bloom now — and they last longer, I think. Do you like them just as well? 407 THE CONFLICT emelie {writing) Just as well, dear. bess {raising the lid of the range and emptying news- paper) My! It's good I looked at this fire. It's almost gone. {Reaches into wood-box and puts wood on fire as she speaks^) And Mother told Bob to tend to it, but, of course, he's out — as usual — dear knows where. {There's the sound of a rapidly passing train , and the sky above the window is darkened — as is the square of sunlight on the floor. Bess looks at the clock.) There goes the express now. I suppose you'll take the 5.05? EMELIE Yes. BESS Well — You'll want supper before you go. EMELIE No, Bess, don't bother. I'm not hungry — I can get tea on the train. bess {coming down) Sister, you haven't changed your mind? EMELIE No. BESS You're really going to New York? EMELIE Yes. BESS Does Mother know? {Emelie nods.) But she doesn't believe you'll do it? EMELIE I suppose not. j.08 THE CONFLICT BESS And when Mother sets her mind against any- thing we want to do — you know how it is — even Father always gave in to her — in the end. Don't you feel afraid — she'll persuade you not to go? EMELIE I hate to vex her, dear, but — well — neither of you quite understand. My whole future, my very life depends on this. {Under her breath.) More than my life, perhaps. bess {who has caught the last phrase, looks at her searchingly) Sister — {Coming down back of the table.) you know that talk — we — had — last night? After we had gone to bed? EMELIE Yes — I kept you awake till all hours. BESS It was I kept you. Well — you know what you said — about how, sometimes, when you wanted something that wasn't good for you and didn't feel very strong — how it was awfully foolish to hang around in sight of it, and how it was much, much wiser to run away from temptation ? EMELIE Yes. bess {coming around and kneeling softly beside her) Are you — running away — from temptation ? EMELIE Little sister, dear little sister, what are you say- ing? bess {with the frank persistence of a child) Are you? 409 THE CONFLICT emelie (frames the earnest face in her hands , and as she stoops to kiss her, whispers) Sh — yes. BESS Oh, I was sure of it! Then that's why you're not going back to Boston. I knew it — I knew it — It's those letters! (Reaches towards them.) emelie (checking her) Darling! You don't know what you're talking about. Those letters are from a very, very dear friend bess (convictingly) In Boston! EMELIE Well, yes BESS And they always make you cry — such funny tears ! EMELIE They spoke of Father — of our loss, dear. If they made me cry it was because they were so full of tenderness — of sympathy BESS You think so much of him, sister? EMELIE So much, dear. He's the best, the truest friend I ever had. bess (puzzled) Then why? EMELIE Don't, darling. I've no right I don't dare Oh, I can't explain bess (jealously) Well — just the same — I'm glad you're going to 410 THE CONFLICT New York instead. I wish I were. Is that really an honest-to-goodness contract — that long one? {Indicating envelope.) emelie {laughing and abandoning hope of writing for the time.) Not exactly. It's an offer, though — from one of the biggest magazines in New York — suggesting subjects for four of my kiddie pictures. If they like them — and they shall like them — they'll produce them in colors. And then — it's up to the public. If the public likes them — if it laughs — and applauds — and clamors for more — why, then I can ask, oh, just anything I want for my work — in reason, of course — and they'll give it to me. That's the way of the world. BESS Isn't is splendid? And that's when you'll send for me ? EMELIE Yes, dear — if Mother will let you bess {despairingly) Oh, Mother EMELIE Don't cross bridges, Honey. You know I must first be very sure that I can take care of you — before I talk to Mother. BESS You don't think I'll be too old, by then? EMELIE For music? You goosie, of course not! If you don't strain those sweet little vocal cords of yours, you'll be just right to begin. Pussy, run along now and cut the lilacs, won't you? — while 411 THE CONFLICT I finish my letter. And send Bobs if you see him about. I want him to mail this for me. bess (going) I shouldn't wonder if that's where he's gone — to the post-office. Shall I raise the shade? EMELIE Yes, dear; and leave the door open — the air's so good to-day. bess (taking a large scissors from a hook near the door — wistfully) I wish I was going to New York. (Goes out, leaving door open?) (Through the open door the sun falls in a tessel- lated square — as though through a trellis — across the threshold. Emelie resumes her letter-writing. Bess is seen through the window at the lilac bush. There is no sound for a moment but the twittering of birds and a little dry sob from the girl at the table. Then a boys clear whistle is heard, to which Bess replies, and presently a boy's shadow falls across the threshold, and an instant later he is ap- parently joined by Bess, who has gone to meet him. By this time Emelie has sealed her letter and is ad- dressing it.) emelie (calling) Bobbie! bob (from outside) All right. Sis! I'm coming. (Entering.) Bess said you wanted me. (Bobbie is a boy of twelve or thirteen — perfectly clean but barefooted, and in the boyish dishabille of a fellow that lives close to the ground. There is no subtlety about Bobbie — he's just plain Boy.) 412 THE CONFLICT EMELIE Yes, I — goodness, Bobs! Bare feet, so early in Spring! Won't you catch cold? BOB Cold! Forget it! D'ye think I'm a girl? Say, Em! You're sure some letter writer. Gettin' 'em and sendin' 'em every mail — must keep you busy. Don't you want a secr'tary? EMELIE If I did, I wouldn't hire you — you fourth-grader, you! bob {good-naturedly) Gee, what a wallop! Don't I make a pretty good fist at corresponding, though? Oh, well! Who wants to write, anyway? I got no use for a pen; but gimme a hammer an' saw an' some nails, an' I'll make you own up that I can't be beat turnin' out chick'n-coops. Ain't that right? emeue (laughing) It surely is; but, good gracious, Bobs, haven't you any ambition? Don't you ever think what you want to be when you're a man? BOB Sure I do! I'm goin' to stay right here and have the best little chick'n-farm in the county. Nothin' but Wy'ndottes an' Barr'd Rocks in mine! Well — mebbe some Leghorns f'r the eggs. emelie (smilingly) Oh, well! In that case, it's all right, I suppose. It's a good thing one of us wants to stick to the old place. If it were only Jim, now By the 413 THE CONFLICT way, Bobs, where is Jim? I haven't seen him all day. BOB Off with the gang, I guess. EMELIE Oh, dear! That isn't right. He ought to cut that out! — that's how he got into all that trouble. BOB You got it doped out wrong. Cutting it out's what got him in Dutch! EMELIE Bob! What do you mean? I don't understand. bob {loftily) No, and nobody takes the trouble to understand a fellow around here. EMELIE Robert! I don't think that's quite fair — not to me! BOB Oh, well, it makes me sore. Jim's all right — even if he does get pretty bossy sometimes. And Jim never got a square deal in this mixup - — never, from nobody. Seems to me anyone could understand that you can't go out with fellers one day an' cut 'em out the next — just like that ! (He makes a little perpendicular chop- ping-off gesture with one hand.) But you know how Mother is! When she says cut it out — it means cut it out — just like that! Not to-morror', or th' next day — or lettin' 'em down easy — but now! Well, the night she said "No more of it!" the gang was meetin' at Dutch Heinie's for a game o' cards 414 THE CONFLICT EMELIE Oh, Bobbie! BOB Oh, well — they'd been meetin' all winter — nothin' to it! But somebody must've got wind of it — an' the whole crowd gets pinched! — an', of course, just 'cause Jim had cut it out so sud- den and shamefaced-like, they thought he was the squealer — and mebbe they didn't have trouble planted for him from that on. Say, he didn't any more break into Martin's show-case than I did. EMELIE Of course he didn't! My own brother! Don't I know that, Bobs? BOB Well, if you'd heard Mother questioning him — you'd a thought he was a liar as well as a thief. EMELIE Sh — Bobbie! That's the unfortunate part of it. That's what he got for going with bad company. BOB Well — he sure had enough of 'em. When he got out didn't he just beg Mother to let him get away from here? He knows they're no good — but in a little place like this what's a fellow goin' to do? He wanted to go to Fall River; Uncle Zack'd a got him a job there. But Mother said he was too young to be breaking home ties. EMELIE Oh, Bobbie — you don't understand, dear. Mother didn't want him away then, with Father sick. 27 415 THE CONFLICT bob {sullenly) No, and she won't let him go now, with Father {He stops, gulps, and turns away suddenly, brushing his eyes with his coat-sleeve.) emelie {going to him) There, there, Bobbie — I know! It does seem as if everything was set against his getting a chance. But we will have to think hard — and stand together — and just be patient a little longer. BOB Well, I'll tell you something! It wouldn't sur- prise me none if he'd run away and enlist some day. EMELIE He can't! He's too young. BOB What's the matter with lying? EMELIE Bobby! BOB Oh, well, Jiminy Crickuts! If I wanted to get out of a place as bad as Jim does out 'a this one my brain 'u'd get so cracked I'd forget my name — let alone my birthday. Where's Mother? Out? EMELIE I think she's taking a nap, dear — she went up to lie down. You know she's all worn out with nursing bob {nodding and speaking quickly) Does she take it all right — you're going? 416 THE CONFLICT EMELIE Bobs, dear! I don't like to hear you speak of Mother that way. BOB Aw, gee! EMELIE Well, I don't. It sounds so disrespectful. And you love her. BOB Course I do — you know it! EMELIE Sure I know it. Why, just think! You are her baby! bob {slyly) Say, I don't get no chance to forget that neither. emelie {shaking him) Bobbie, you're incorrigible. bob ( purposely as ungrammatical as he knows how to be) I ain't never goin' to get no chance to grow up! I'm like that guy — what's his name? Peter Pan! That's me! Well, where's this letter you wanted me to mail? {Going to table?) EMELIE You haven't been to the post-office? BOB No. {Half sheepishly?) Mrs. Lane's. She prom- ised to have something for me. {Picks up letter?) Bostinti, eh? Well — Jumpin' J^-hosa- phat! What do you want to mail this here for? Why don't you take it along? EMELIE I'm not going that way. 417 THE CONFLICT BOB You ain't going by the 5.15 to Boston. EMELIE No, dear youth — I take the 5.05 to New York. bob (whistles) Mother know? {Enter Bess with lilacs.) EMELIE Yes, she — knows. BOB Well, I'm off. (To Bess.) Shall we show her what I got? (Exit.) bess (explaining Bob's last speech) Pansies, Emelie. EMELIE Oh, for Father. (Taking the lilacs from Bess.) Thank you, dear — they're beautiful — and like you. They'll go along to take care of me, Sweet- heart. (Re-enter Bob with a broad, shallow basket filled with pansy plants.) BOB Pansies! Ain't they beauts? Mrs. Lane gave 'em to me. It looks so rough up there — no sod, nor nothin' growin'. Bess an' I were goin' to set 'em out this afternoon, but they can wait till morning. I won't have more'n time to get to the post-office and back before your train goes. Well — you don't have far to go — that's one com- fort. Comes in sort o' handy this havin' a pri- vate railroad station at your back door, eh? Well— I'm off. 418 THE CONFLICT EMELIE Wait, Bobbie. I don't want you to come back here. BOB What! Not to say good-bye? EMELIE I can't say good-bye to you children that way. I don't want either of you here when — they're going to be so hard — these last few moments with Mother. Bess will take the pansies and wait for you — you know the little siding where the train almost stops? I'll wave good-bye to you there; and after the train's gone, why, you two can go to the cemetery together, and all the way to New York I'll be seeing you setting out the pansies on Father's grave. BOB Don't, Em! Funny how a feller misses him — though he hardly ever said much Aw' Gee ! {Disgusted with himself for showing emotion.) Take care of yourself, Em. Write soon ! {Rushes blindly off.) {The two girls stand for a moment in each other's arms, then they break away with a guilty look at the clock.) BESS Do you think she's sleeping? EMELIE No. BESS Then why EMELIE Oh, it makes it so hard for me! It's her way, 419 THE CONFLICT you know Will you go up and tell her, dear, that I'm almost ready to go — and that there isn't much more time? bess {crossing towards the door to the back stairway) Yes. What did you do with your suitcase. Sister? EMELIE I sent it over early this afternoon. And Bess — I don't want to go up to the room again — you might just bring my hat and coat, dear — I have everything else. {Bess runs up the back stairway ', leaving the door swing open behind her. Efflelie gathers up her writing materials, dropping the letters into the little satchel. One of these she stops to re- read; in the midst of it, with a little sob and a gesture of renunciation, she tears up the letter and drops the pieces into the fire. Coming back she stops and picks a pansy which she slips into the book on the table before she drops that into the satchel, too. Bess comes down the stairs carrying Erne lie's hat and coat) BESS She'll be down in a minute. {Then, in reply to the question in Emelie's face) She was up — looking out of the window. EMELIE What did she say? BESS Only that she thought you'd given up going. EMELIE {sighs) Good-bye, dear. 420 THE CONFLICT BESS You won't forget you're going to send for me? EMELIE I won't forget. bess {taking up basket) Bobs and I'll be at the siding. EMELIE And I'll be sure to lean out of the window and throw you kisses as far as I can see you. bess (tremulously) Good-bye. (She goes out waving her hand and is seen passing the window?) EMELIE Good-bye, little sister — and God keep you, dar- ling — as you are. (Emelie turns and sees Mother, who during the last speech has come down the stairway. She has taken down the kitchen apron that is hanging on nail inside of door, and is put- ting it on. There is a moment's embarrassed pause, then Emelie speaks.) Mother — I hated to disturb you; but I was beginning to be afraid you might not waken till the last minute. mother (placidly) I wasn't asleep. I thought you'd reconsidered going. EMELIE Mother — you make it so hard for me MOTHER I mean to make it hard — very hard. (She goes to the dresser and takes from it a large pan of apples, a knife, and a bowl. Then she draws the cane-seated rocker to the left of the table and pro- ceeds to peel the apples in long, thin, unbroken 421 THE CONFLICT curls — possibly only for the woman with a steady hand and no troublesome nerves?) For that mat- ter, IVe never said that staying right here was going to be the easy thing for you to do; but you can't get out of the fact that it's your duty, Emelie. (The rocker stops a moment, as though its occupant expected a reply; then, as there is none, 'it continues its placid rhythmic swing, as the Mother resumes her argument?) You can't al- ways have things the way you want them — and I don't think it would be good for you if you could. (Emelie, who has come down behind the table, makes a sudden sharp movement as though to speak, then closes her lips firmly. She picks up one of her gloves, examines it mechanically for a moment — and then goes up stage to the work basket, and stands there finding needle and thread, etc., during next speeches. Meanwhile all the mother s attention appears to be centered on the careful coring and quartering of the apple in her hand. She leisurely selects another before con- tinuing.) Now that you've got used to your freedom and your own way, it's asking a sacri- fice of you — I realize that; but you'll have to make lots of them before you're as old as I am. emelie (with a sudden lift of her head, and in a tone — crisp, clean-cut, that somehow shows the fight is on) It's your idea of life, isn't it, Mother? MOTHER Making sacrifices? EMELIE Yes. 422 THE CONFLICT MOTHER Well, it's a pretty big part of it — as you'll find out. EMELIE I'm a poor scholar. MOTHER When you don't like the lesson ? EMELIE Yes. For nearly twenty years I've tried to learn it, but — I can't do it. MOTHER How you exaggerate, Emelie. {There is nothing impetuous in the speech of these women — there is power — repose — at bottom both are very much alike.) EMELIE Oh, no, I don't. Stop and think. I was three years old when Robert was born. I was ex- pected to grow out of babyhood right then and there. And when he died — there was James to do for — and give in to. Do you remember what a naughty child I used to be? Poor little tempestuous mite — always being punished — hardly ever understanding what for MOTHER Well, you did have a bad temper. EMELIE And, of course, that had to be sacrificed! {At the little exclamation of surprise from her mother she continued hastily?) Oh, I know that must sound absurd to you, because you don't — per- haps you can't see it as I do; but all the little things you didn't like about me — had to be 423 THE CONFLICT lopped off, even if I was as surely maimed thereby as though you had cut off my arms and legs. Dear Mother! I know you meant every- thing for the best — always! You were de- termined I should be unselfish — well-disciplined — and self-controlled — cut out and fashioned by a pattern on your nail; weren't you? {She has come down right of table during this speech, and on the last two words, to soften the unfilial tone of it, reaches out and just touches her mother s hand.) mother {not hurt at all by the criticism — and equally untouched by the caress) Do you think you're any the worse for it? EMELIE Who knows? MOTHER [/ I don't think you understand, Emelie. Just what do you mean to complain of? EMELIE I don't mean to complain of anything, dear. You loved us all devotedly — no one could have been a better mother — if only — {She hesitates, then finishes whimsically.) If only you could have individualized us a bit, dear, instead of lumping us all together as just "your children." mother {her hands idle for a moment, she revolves what seemed to her an absurd arraignment; then, surrendering to the apparent need for justification) I suppose you will admit, Emelie, that you were a very jealous child? EMELIE Oh, undoubtedly! Frightfully so! Did you think you had cured me, Mother? 424 THE CONFLICT MOTHER I tried EMELIE On the contrary, you fed the flame — don't you see? You exercised the unlovely thing till it grew strong. I learnt jealousy as a fine art at the mature age of seven. It frightens me to think how I used to feel — how I could feel now if any {She catches herself up and finishes rather lamely — as she goes back to the sewing- table) anyone gave me cause. mother {looking back after her a moment — then down at her work) Emelie! You've never told us — me — much about your friends. emelie No? {She lingers a bit unnecessarily over the smoothing out of the gloves, but finally places them beside her hat and coat and comes slowly down to her mother s side.) What is it you would like to know, Mother? MOTHER Something about the way you're living now — the people who have helped you in your work. That girl you roomed with first — for instance; what's become of her? EMELIE I don't know. I never see her any more. MOTHER Why not? EMELIE Mother! Let's not go into that. It's a long story — and it would have no bearing on the subject we are discussing. 425 THE CONFLICT mother {mildly) I thought that was settled. emelie {her eyes flashing ominously ', but her voice quiet) Did you?_You thought that all my life to come was to Be narrowed within the limits of your "NO;" that I'd give up my plan to go to New York, to forego all the splendid opportunities this year is holding out tome, just because you believe my duty is here. And after all, is that your real reason, Mother? Isn't it rather that you're afraid — that you distrust your child — and your teaching? If not, why is it that you seem to resent each problem that I dare to solve for myself, each step I take unaided, each fresh proof that I'm no longer a child at your apron- strings? MOTHER Emelie ! EMELIE Yes, Mother, I beg your pardon. I know I'm going to hate myself presently for talking to you like this — but can't you see that I've got to fight you? All my life with you has been a fight — a fight to keep true to myself — a constant con- flict of wills — ideals and principles that clash and clash — it's terrible — terrible! Can't you see {She stops to get hold of herself.) MOTHER Can't I see what, Emelie? emelie {more gently) Can't you see that you can not hope to always have the ordering of your children's lives? We grow up; it is the way of children, Mother. We 426 THE CONFLICT have adult responsibilities — problems of our own which we have a right to face ourselves; and to each one of our battles we bring all that we have inherited from our parents — and all the teaching weVe got at their hands — but something of our own besides. And, Mother — {She kneels beside her.) that something is the God within us! Forever to do violence to that something is to kill the individual. Can't you — can't you try to understand before it's too late? Jim — Bess — Bobs, even, will have his future some day to decide for himself. MOTHER That's just why you're needed at home; you're the eldest. You always were more like a boy than a girl — Jim'll listen to you. EMELIE It took me a long time, Mother, to realize how exacting your love was. Do you remember Row^you opposed the idea of my studying in Boston? Why, if I had not gotten that first scholarship at the art school, I'd never have had my chance at all — and then I had to go with the bitter thought of your displeasure at my heart like a stone all summer long. mother {rather proudly) You had it in you! You'd have gotten there just the same — no matter where you studied — if a little later > perhaps. EMELIE Yes, but that's such a tragedy! The joy of bat- tle and achievement belongs to youth! / want it now! Not when Fm forty. And you know that if I hadn't made good — right from the very 427 THE CONFLICT start — I should have had to come home. Not because my people couldn't afford it — that I would have understood — but just because Fate — in your own person — said "No!" Talk about signs from heaven! I fairly worshiped those first checks. Why, fifty dollars was a fortune that meant room-rent for a month — yes, and food, too. It took so little to live in a hall bed- room with the aid of a twenty-five-cent gas stove and the delicatessen around the corner. mother {dryly) No wonder you've ruined your digestion. EMELIE Digestion depends upon the frame of mind, Mother. Mine was better in the hall bedroom than it has been here in my father's house, bottling up my sorrow and fighting your dis- pleasure. (The girl's lips quiver pitifully. The Mother rises y and, on her way back to the sink with the apples ', she stops with a half clumsy caress and says gently) MOTHER You're a good girl, Emelie, lots of ways. You mustn't think I'm always finding fault with you. It's strange how you've taken your father's death harder than any of the other children — though you were away from home so much — and never his favorite. EMELIE I guess there's no grief quite so bitter as the loss of someone we have loved imperfectly. Oh, it's all so irrevocable — and it's such a pity. Father — working, slaving all his life for us — unrecom- pensed, unappreciated. 428 THE CONFLICT MOTHER Why, Emelie! I think we all did our duty by father. EMELIE Duty? Oh, yes. Duty — weighed — measured; so much politeness, so much service, so much tolerance of individual likings — with a sort of affection, too, of course. We all loved Father — Oh, as a father, all very much according to the letter of the law — but did any of us ever try to understand him — as an individual, like our- selves? And now it's too late! Oh, Mother, dear, I do wish we could understand each other a little better before I go. mother (in the act of crossing to the range with the saucepan of apples) But I thought you'd come to see it my way — about going. emelie (with a little wail of hopeless desperation in her voice) Yes, yes, I know you did! And the pity of it is that you'll keep on thinking so till the whistle blows. We talk round and round in a circle — and my train will be here in fifteen minutes. Couldn't you just give in once — kiss me good- bye and wish me success? It takes lots of strength to travel the hard, lonely road in a strange city. (The Mother is through with her work. NOW they will have it out. She turns her back definitely upon the range, and for the first time speaks di- rectly to the girl. All through the preceding scene she has made you feel that Emelie and her problem 429 THE CONFLICT must take second place to this dish of apple sauce > the duty of the moment.) MOTHER That's another thing I don't understand. You might as well be frank with me, Emelie. I've never liked secrecy — and you re mighty close about your affairs. You were perfectly content with Boston when you came here a month ago. What's changed you — why, this sudden notion for going to New York, instead? emelie (half-heartedly) We'll all need more money now that Father's gone — and Jim's not making much yet. I think I can earn more in New York. MOTHER And spend more, too. A year ago you were de- lighted with your place.. EMELIE That was a year ago. Now, the drawing of in- sipid faces and faultless figures in absurd gowns seems intolerable — because I've grown and my work has grown. Fashion-work was just a means to keep me in food and lodging while I studied. MOTHER Suppose you don't get anything to do — what then ? EMELIE I'm pretty sure to fall into something. If I fail, there's always the fashion-work to fall back on. But I have offers — good ones. MOTHER Who from? 430 THE CONFLICT EMELIE Friends who have faith in me. MOTHER That's another thing I don't like. You never talk about your friends. 'Tain't natural — un- less you re ashamed of them. EMELIE Mother! MOTHER L/I don't care — it doesn't look right. You've had letters and sent some every day — even the day of the funeral — but I notice how careful you were not to let them lie around none. lS emelie {looks nervously around the room — her eyes light on the clock) Mother, we're wasting time. You've known all along that I couldn't stay on here indefinitely. MOTHER I can't see why not. Why is one place any better than another to make pictures in? The boys are away all day. You needn't be afraid I'd expect much housework of you. emelie (looks at her mother in silence for a moment. There grows in her face a determination to force the issue, yet she reads the unspoken trouble at her mother s heart and her sense of justice counsels her to be very patient under the probe) Mother, suppose we quit fencing like this — get down to facts. Just why are you so determined to keep me here? MOTHER I don't trust you, Emelie, and that's the truth. You are changed somehow. You're older and more world-wise — and nervous — and there's 28 43 ! THE CONFLICT something going on that you don't tell me. You never were one to talk much, but you don't give me your confidence at all, now. EMELIE And you think you can force it? Have I ever given you any real cause for not trusting me? mother {reluctantly) Not as I know of. EMELIE Am I necessarily guilty of something unless I continually prove myself innocent? MOTHER I don't like it. You're not frank with me. EMELIE I'm all right, Mother. Oh, why should 1 worry you with my problems? I can't do it — though I love you, dear. {She flings her arms impulsively around her mother s neck; but the whole unyielding figure is so prohibitive ', so keenly censorious ', that the next moment her hands fall limply to her side) Well — what is it you want to know, Mother? mother {grasping at the permission, without no- ticing what she pays for it) This man you've been getting letters from — who is he? EMELIE A gentleman I met through my work, Mother. He's been very good to me — in a business way — MOTHER Yes, but it don't look like just business to be writing letters back and forth every day EMELIE Then it would be safe to conclude that there was more than just business between us. 432 THE CONFLICT MOTHER What's his name? emelie {flinching) Is that necessary? MOTHER Are you ashamed of him ? EMELIE No. mother (after a dissatisfied pause) What's he do? EMELIE He's — he's on a magazine, Mother — what they call "Managing Editor." MOTHER That how you came to meet him? EMELIE Yes. I illustrated some articles for him. mother (not looking at her) Known him long — do you see much of him ? EMELIE About a year. Yes, I see quite a great deal of him. (The girFs steady eyes have never wavered from her mother s face. There is a cold, bitter little smile about her lips. She could quicker un- derstand a storm of passionate, anxious scolding than this inquisitorial skirmishing that keeps getting closer and closer to the vital question, but that dreads to ask it.) MOTHER I suppose he takes you out — sometimes? EMELIE Frequently. MOTHER You go — alone — with him? 433 THE CONFLICT EMELIE Usually. MOTHER Of course — he's single? EMELIE No,,.. MOTHER What! emelie (stiffening against the table — her nervous hands fingering the edge of the cloth, her coat, her gloves) He's married. I don't think I am hurting his wife. She does not care. mother (indignantly) How do you know ? EMELIE They have not lived together for years; she's abroad most of the time. mother (speaking the word as though it were sacri- lege) Divorced ? EMELIE No — there's a child — a girl, just reaching wo- manhood. For her sake — well, they've never just happened to MOTHER And you run around with him like this — you ? I want to know — he says he loves you? emelie (laughing shortly) Yes. MOTHER And you? 434 THE CONFLICT EMELIE I love him — yes. {The last speeches have been spoken almost flippantly. Her attitude during the earlier part of the scene has been that of a child whistling in the dark. Now that her secret has been dragged boldly, nakedly into the daylight, her attitude becomes one of impregnable, hurt defiance. In her anxiety the mother is blind.) MOTHER I can't grasp it! IVe felt there was something like this in the wind all along — yet I couldn't believe it of you, Emelie. Mind you, I'm not saying you've done anything really bad *' EMELIE Thank you. {There is a flash of gratitude in her face, but it fades into bitterness as her mother quite unconsciously spoils it.) MOTHER l/You've had too good training for that — but I didn't think you'd cheapen yourself so. How_caj believe this man EMELIE Because belief is the very life of love — some- thing you've never learnt, Mother. You kill love by doubting it. MOTHER Can't very well believe in a married man who makes love EMELIE Mother! Might I suggest that you do not know either the man or the circumstances? mother {very emphatically) There aren't any circumstances that can make wrong right. 435 THE CONFLICT EMELIE Oh! {Pause.) Very well. Then, since you've judged me, what do you propose to do? MOTHER I am trying to think. You want to go to New York. Why? EMELIE I told you MOTHER You didn't! You told me a lot of nonsense. You never gave me the real reason. EMELIE Which is MOTHER This man ! He lives in New York — or he's going to live there. Ain't that why you want to go? {The girl looks at her mother incredulously — her whole attitude one of helpless aloofness. It is as though she looked across an ever-widening gulf at the dead.) emelie {with a gesture of hopelessness) Well MOTHER Do you think I can't put two and two together? Those big envelopes you got from New York yesterday and again today — and you walking about like one in a dream! He's on ar magazine r you say — and look at you — so sure of getting work in a strange city. Well, why don't you speak? Isn't it so? EMELIE What's the use of speaking? You can't expect to extract truth with a probe — and get it out 436 THE CONFLICT undamaged. You have chosen to put your own construction on appearances — go on! I'm anx- ious to see what you're going to make of it. Just what you will do to my life. (The train is heard whistling in the distanced) MOTHER You shall not go to New York tonight. EMELIE No? Well, that looks exceedingly probable. I should have to run now to catch the train. Yet I could make itfKQuick, Mother! I know all that's worrying you. But of what good was your training if you can't trust me? I've made my choice — I want to abide by it. Just say that I may. MOTHER \J You see! Why are you so set on going by this very train if it isn't an appointment? If you are so determined on leaving home to-night it will have to be for Boston. You're playing on the brink of a precipice — and you don't know it! EMELIE Take care, Mother, that you don't push me over — MOTHER Oh, yes — I know you're stubborn — but after all, you're my child! Maybe when you've had a night to think (The unwonted stimulus of opposition has aroused the Mother quite out of her quiet calm. All the majesty of outraged motherhood is in her bearing as she sweeps to the outer door and locks it. After the first little cry of "Mother, 437 THE CONFLICT don't do that!" the girl makes no protest. List- lessly she goes to the sink; as in a dream she washes her hands and dries them on the roller- towel^ and at the little mirror studies her face cu- riously while she fastens on her hat. While she is doing this the smoke of the New York train dark- ens the window. The girl parts the curtains and stands watching. You hear the grinding of brakes, the hissing of escaping air, the momentary por- tentous silence, the clang of the bell, the exhaust — and then the throbbing of the departing south- bound train. The girl slips into her coat and picks up her bag as the mother moves stolidly over to the door and throws it open. Once more a shaft of sun- light — a long, pale one this time— falls across Jhe threshold, and the birds break out into a joyous twittering. The girl joins her mother in the door- way, and for a moment they stand there in silence, 1 so incongruously out of it all— all that the spring/ would tell them if they could but hear?) EMELIE Well, Mother — good-bye. MOTHER T suppose you'll have to go now. You wouldn't care to stay till morning? EMELIE Hardly. mother {flustered by the girl's steady eyes, takes refuge in a commonplace) I'd a thought you'd have more pride, Emelie. I had when I was your age. You'll write? EMELIE I don't know — it depends. 438 THE CONFLICT MOTHER On what? EMELIE I can't see the outcome of this, Mother. But, whatever happens, I want you to feel that I'll not hold you 'responsible for my decisions. MOTHER Emelie ! EMELIE FunnyJ__ You believe in predestination — don't you, Mother? I never did — before. I never could see Fate as a cat playing with a mouse — I never believed that God played with us in wanton sport, but what's the difference if he lets His creatures do it for Him? MOTHER You mustn't talk like that — I don't understand. EMELIE I hope you never will. mother {drawing her quickly to her in alarm) Emelie ! EMELIE Oh, don't! Please don't! {In a sudden burst of anger she tears herself brusquely out of her mother s arms.) You've faith in no one but yourself! Well, you can sleep tonight very sure of how beautifully you've managed everyone's life. {Train whistles.) Let me go! I don't want to miss my train. {Emelie goes quickly out of the door and down the walk without a backward look.) mother {making a movement after her) Emelie! What a way for a girl to speak to her mother! {Muttering to herself.) Well, she 439 THE CONFLICT needn't feel so bitter about it. I'm sure I did it all for her own good. But that's the way with children. {Coming down.) They never under- stand — till it's too late. She's forgot her flowers. Well, it's too late for them, too. I wonder what she meant by (Bess is heard calling from right, "Emelie!" Oh, Emelie! Where are you?" She runs excitedly in at the door down right, and takes in her mother s appearance with an evident start of dismay. Train is heard stopping.) BESS Why, Mother! Where's Emelie? Didn't she go? We waited for her at the siding. I'm sure she wasn't on the train, for it stopped an awful long time there. We ran all the way back. I came cross-lots and through the front because Bob got a bob (who has run around the house is seen passing window and runs in at kitchen door) Didn't she go? (Train is heard going rapidly in distance?) mother (after a pause) Yes — she went. BESS To New York? MOTHER No — to Boston BESS Oh! I wonder what made her change her mind. BOB Shucks! And I found this telegram for her at 440 THE CONFLICT the post-office, too! That chump of a green kid of Sweeny's put it in our mail box. MOTHER A telegram? BOB Yes; do you suppose it's anything important? MOTHER Give it to me. I'll see. {She opens it — reads — looks stunned. Still clutching the envelope, in a dazed sort of way she drops the telegram, and crosses unsteadily towards the door, left.) Emelie! My girl! Oh, why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell me? {She goes heavily, brokenly up the stairs, muttering.) I — I didn't under- stand her — she said Oh, my God — my God! What have I done? BOB Why, whatever's the matter with Mother? What's in the thing, anyway? {Picks up tele- gram.) That's funny — I don't see anything in this- bess {faintly) What's — it say, Bobs? BOB Why, all it says is — "You can't mean to go out of my life like this. Think how I need you. I shall be waiting at South Station for you to- night, with what anxiety you can imagine. Don't fail me. Devotedly Craig." Who's Craig? Do you know? Well, anyway, it's from Boston. I don't see anything the matter with that. She'll meet him O. K. since she got that train. {Goes to stairway.) Oh, Mother! It's 441 THE CONFLICT all right! That telegram was from Boston, you know. {Waits a moment; then starts up the stairs.) Say, Mother! What's the matter? Ain't you goin* to have any supper? bess {staring down at the forgotten flowers, and speaking in a low, frightened voice) She — didn't take — my lilacs. CURTAIN 442 TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING A MORAL INTERLUDE by Edna St. Vincent Millay PERSONS The King Chance, The Vice Tidy, The False Slattern Slut, The True Slattern The Prologue and the Epilogue are spoken by Chance. Two Slatterns and a King was first produced at Vassar College. Copyright, 192 1, by STEWART KIDD COMPANY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED No amateur or professional use permitted of Two Slatterns and a King without written authorization first obtained from Stewart Kidd Company, 121 East Fifth Street, Cincinnati, O., to whom all applications should be addressed. Two Slatterns and a King PROLOGUE I am that cunning infidel By men called CHANCE, — you know me well. It is through me you met your wives ; Through me your harvest blights or thrives; And one and all, through me, to-day Hither you came to see the play, Which if your favor still you lend, As now, so on until the end, You shall be taught what way a King Though a sublime and awful thing And even wise, may come to be A laughing-stock, — and all through me ! (Exit) (enter king) KING I am the King of all this land: I hold a sceptre in my hand; Upon my head I wear a crown; Everybody stands when I sit down. (Sits) chance (Appearing to audience; he is invisible throughout the play to the other players in it.) Excepting me, — please bear in mind I sit whenever I feel inclined. (Sits) KING Although my lands are wide and long, My walls right thick, my armies strong, I am not wholly satisfied. 445 TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING CHANCE That is because you have no bride. KING Who speaks ? — Come forth and, if you dare, Say once again what causes my care ! Why I am discontent with life ! CHANCE It is because you have no wife. KING A woman in my royal house ! A woman ! A wife ! A bride ! A spouse 1 Bold stranger, this is not the cure, For a woman I could never endure ! CHANCE Per-CHANCE to-morrow you will find You have altered your imperial mind. (Exeunt king and chance severally) (enter tidy) TIDY I am TIDY, I have been All my life both neat and clean. From my outside to my in Clean am I unto my skin. Every day into a bucket My hands I dip, my head I duck it; And if the water plenty be I sometimes wet some more of me. This is my kitchen, where you will find All things pleasant and to your mind ; Against the wall in orderly pairs — One, two, — one, two, — observe my chairs. 446 TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING In the middle of the room my table stands : I would not move it for many lands. My basins and bowls are all in their places; The bottoms of my pots are as clean as your faces. My kettle boils so cheerily, It is like a friendly voice to me ; About my work I merrily sing, And I brush my hearth with a white duck's wing. Oh, full is every cupboard, sharp is every knife ! — My bright, sunny kitchen is the pride of my life ! (Exit tidy) (enter slut) SLUT I am SLUT ; I am a slattern, You must not take me for your pattern. I spend my days in slovenly ease; I sleep when I like and I wake when I please. My manners, they are indolent; In clutter and filth I am quite content. Here is my kitchen, where I stir up my messes, And wear out my old shoes and soiled silk dresses. My table sags beneath the weight Of stale food and unwashed plate ; The cat has tipped the pitcher o'er, — The greasy stream drips onto the floor; Under the table is a broken cup — I am too tired to pick it up. (Exit slut) 447 TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING (enter king) KING Now I will no longer tarry For I think that I will marry. Now the one thing in my life Is to marry me a wife. But I will not be content With a wench that's indolent, Or take a slattern for a spouse, — I will go from house to house, Unheralded — that there may be No cleaning up because of me — And that maid whose kitchen's neatest Will I have to be my sweetest. (Exit king) (chance appears) 1 CHANCE That I am absent do not fear For that you have not seen me here, For know, I oft invisibly Do move among the things you see ; And to confuse and thwart the King Through Slut and Tidy, is a thing Dear to my nature, — therefore heed, And you shall see a show indeed ! (Exit chance) (Enter tidy in great disorder) TIDY Oh, dear, oh, dear, what shall I do ? Oh, such a plight I never knew ! Though I arose as is my way An hour before the break of day, 448 TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING Here it is noon, and nothing done ; The milk has soured in the sun, And the sweet, pretty duck I broiled A neighbor's dog has dragged and spoiled; I beat him with my hands and wept ! Straight through the window then he leapt, And through the window after him, With scratched face and bruised limb, And on through mire and briar and bog Hours and hours 1 chased that dog, Stumbling, uttering awful cries — While into my kitchen swarmed the flies ! I came back at half-past ten! Oh, what a sight did greet me then ! My fair white sheets I hung so fine Down in the black muck under the line ! And out of the oven from cakes V pies 'n' Beautiful tarts the thick smoke risin' ! I knelt down my tarts to remove, And my quince jelly that stood on the stove Up did boil, and, as you see, Boiled itself all over me ! — All over the floor, all over the room, — Whereat I ran to fetch the broom — The broom ! The broom — instead of the mop ! To fetch a broom to wipe up slop ! And with its handle smashed the clock's face, Getting glass all over the place, And knocked the dishes off the shelf, And fell to my knees and cut myself, And wept and cried and when I would rise Could not see for the tears in my eyes; So tripped on a chair and, to save a fall, Caught at the table, then flat did sprawl, 449 TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING Dragging the table down with me, And everything on it, as well you may see ! I cannot live in such a state ! But where to begin is past my pate ! {Enter king) KING I am the King of all these lands : Down upon your knees and hands. Wishing to marry me, I have said That the tidiest maiden I would wed In all my realm, wherefore I go From kitchen to kitchen, that I may know And judge for myself what maid is worth To sit at my side in feasting and in mirth. Untidy Spill-time, it is easy to see That my fair bride you never will be. TIDY Oh, great King, hear me when I say This has been a most unusual day ! It is by chance alone you see In such a state my kitchen and me ! I can set us both to rights in a minute ! KING In vain ! I have set a trap and caught you in it Vain, wench, your lies and your pretense ! I see what I see and I hie me hence ! {Exit king) (Exit tidy, weeping) (enter slut) SLUT Lest you know me not in this disguise I tell you I am SLUT, and I tell you no lies. 450 TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING My face and my hands are clean and neat; Fresh is my frock, trim are my feet. But I assure you you are not wrong To think that so tidy I shall not be for long. And if the story you wish from me, I will tell you how this came to be : Dull was the day and tedious my book; I saw no pleasure wherever I might look; I had done everything that I knew how to do, And I could think of nothing new. But at last I thought of one Thing that I had never done. And I said, "I will take a broom, And I will sweep this room! I will wash this floor !" I had never washed it before — "All things in order will I arrange, Although I hate order, for it will be a change." So here I am, as you can see — I and my kitchen as clean as can be. But in a room as clean as this My bones ache and I find no bliss. So watch, and soon it will appear Much less orderly and drear. {Enter king) king Down upon your knees and hands ! I am the King of all these lands. Wishing to marry me, I have said That the tidiest maiden I would wed In all my realms, wherefore I go From kitchen to kitchen that I may know — Yet stay ! This kitchen is so tidy, I think that you must be my bridey ! 45 1 TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING As far and wide as I have been So neat a kitchen I have not seen; Therefore I say you are my wife, For the remainder of your life. SLUT (aside) To point him out his error at first I intended, But least said is soonest mended. {Exit king with slut) (Enter tidy) TIDY Now once again with me All is as it is wont to be. Now once again you see me stand The tidiest lady in the land. If the King should see me now He would tell a different tale, I trow. (Enter king) KING Oh, lovely lady, who are you, That I am a talking to ? TIDY She am I whom you did scorn This very day at morn. KING It may not be as you have said, For you would I gladly wed ! TIDY I thank you for the favor, but They tell me you have married slut! 45 2 TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING KING Oh, cock's bones ! And strike me dead ! Is it a Slut that I have wed? (Enter slut dressed as at first) SLUT So here you dally whilst I sit at home ! Never any more abroad shall you roam, But sit at home with me for the rest of your life, For I am your lawful wedded wife ! KING Oh, woe is me, what a life will be mine ! SLUT It is too late now to repine : Home with me you come for the rest of your life, For SLUT is your lawful wedded wife ! (Exit slut with king) TIDY A slattern is a fearful sight, — ah, me ! What pleasure it gives so tidy to be ! (Exit tidy) EPILOGUE Now that the play is at an end, By chance you have enjoyed it, friend; By chance to you his sweet was gall; By chance you slumbered through it all. Howe'er it be, it was by chance The king was led so merry a dance, By chance that tidy met disgrace, By chance alone slut washed her face; 453 TWO SLATTERNS AND A KING From morn to eve the whole day long It was by chance that things went wrong. Wherefore, good friends, t' escape derision, Be not o'er hasty in your decision, For he who heedeth not this rule BY CHANCE HE WILL BE CALLED A FOOL I 454 THURSDAY EVENING A COMEDY IN ONE ACT by Christopher Morley Thursday Evening was first produced by the Stockbridge Stocks, New York City, in November, 1921, with the following cast: Gordon Johns, a Young Business Man, Hubert Teitman Laura, Mrs. Gordon Johns, Eleanor Coates Teitman Mrs. Sheffield, Laura s Mother, Rachel Lyman Field Mrs. Johns, Gordon's Mother, Lysle Clark Copyright, 1922 by CHRISTOPHER MORLEY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED All stage rights, professional and amateur, reserved by the author, and will be strictly protected. Application to produce or reprint this play must be made to the author, in care of the publishers, Stewart Kidd Company, Cincinnati, Ohio. THURSDAY EVENING SCENE A small suburban kitchen in the modest home of Mr. and Mrs. Gordon Johns. A meal has re- cently been cooked, as is shown by a general con- fusion of pots and pans and dish-cloths. At the rear, an icebox standing in the corner. Rear, center, two shelved cabinets, one containing grocer- ies and household sundries, the other dishes and glassware. Rear, L, an oil range. Some baby linen and very small shirts {such as would be suit- able for a child of about ten months) are hanging on a clothes-horse near the stove. Door R leads out to back porch; there are two windows in R wall, one each side of door. Door L to dining- room. At the corner in the rear, L, door opening on back stairs, which ascend to upper parts of the house. Down stage, L, against side wall, a sink and oil-cloth covered drain-board or shelf beside it. In the center of stage a small table covered with oil-cloth. A kitchen chair in corner, down R. When the scene opens, GORDON and LAURA are carrying in soiled dishes through door, L. They come in and out several times, making me- thodical arrangements for cleaning up. They pile the dishes on the. shelf by the sink. Gordon takes dishpan from a hook under the sink, and fills it with hot water from the kettle on the stove. LAURA, who is an attractive little person, aged about twenty-three, is in that slightly tense con- 457 THURSDAY EVENING dition of a young hostess who has had a long and trying day with house and baby, and has also cooked and served a dinner for four. GORDON All right, Creature, just wait till I light my pipe and we'll polish this up. {Lights pipe and rolls up shirtsleeves.) laura {taking an apron from chair in corner) Put this on first. That's the only decent pair of trousers you've got. {Enter Mrs. Sheffield, carrying dishes.) MRS. SHEFF Now you children run along and take it easy. I'll do all this. LAURA No, no, mother. You go and talk to Mrs. Johns. {Pointedly.) Don't let her come in here. mrs. sheff {ultramaternally) Poor baby, she's tired. You've been on your feet all day, now let Mother wash up for you. That was a big dinner to cook. LAURA No tireder than you are, Mother darling. You cooked lunch. GORDON Both of you clear out; I can get this done in no time. mrs. sheff {patting Laura s cheek) Busy with the baby all afternoon, and then cooking such a delicious dinner — Dearie, won't you let Mother do this for you? 458 THURSDAY EVENING LAURA There isn't room in this kitchen for everybody — {Enter Mrs. Johns, carrying dishes.) MRS. JOHNS Gordon, you and Laura go and rest. Let the two grandmothers — GORDON Now listen, little people, this is my job. I al- ways wash up on Thursday evenings — MRS. JOHNS You go and read your newspaper. I can see you're all fagged out after that long day in the office — mrs. sheff {to Laura) Please go and lie down, Baby. You're so tired. laura {with waning patience) You two go and amuse yourselves; Gordon and I'll attend to this. {They gently eject the two mothers-in-law.) GORDON Come on, now, the good old system ! {He takes the small table from center of stage, and puts it carefully midway between sink and dish cabinet. Takes chair from corner, down R, and sets it beside table. Laura sits down on chair and wipes silver- ware and dishes as he hands them to her after washing.) LAURA The silver first, while the water's clean. GORDON Right. We make a pretty good team at this, don't we? 459 THURSDAY EVENING laura {holds up a small silver jug) That darling old cream jug. Mother used that when she was a little girl. GORDON I love our little Thursday evening suppers. I think they're more fun than any other night. LAURA I'm glad, Gordie. GORDON We get better grub on Thursdays, when Ethel goes out, than we ever do when she's in. LAURA I tried to have everything specially nice to- night. Some visitors are very critical. GORDON It was lovely. I'm afraid it was hard for you, Creature, to have Mother come just now. {A short paused) Especially when your Mother was here. LAURA Didn't she know Mother was here? GORDON No. I hadn't told her. You see your Mother is here so much more often. I didn't know your mother would still be here. I was afraid Mother might be a little hurt — LAURA Mother helps me a great deal. I think it's a queer thing if a wife can't have her mother stay with her once in a while — Gordon {aware of danger ■, changes the subject) Ye Gods, Ethel has cracked the Copenhagen 460 THURSDAY EVENING platter. {Laura is silent.) That's one of the set Mother gave us when we were married. LAURA It's a stock pattern. You can get another at any department store. GORDON I'll bet that coon didn't empty the icebox pan before she went. I never saw a cook yet who could remember to do that — LAURA If you had to go out and hunt for them you wouldn't be so particular. She's better than no one. Gordon {goes to icebox and removes a large, brim- ming pan from under it) What did I tell you! {The water slops over from pan as he carries it gingerly to sink and empties it. He replaces the pan under icebox.) LAURA You'd better heat some more water. You've poured that ice-water into the dishpan. Gordon {getting a little peevish; refills kettle and puts it on stove) It's perfectly absurd not having any pantry to keep the icebox in. In here, the heat of the stove melts the ice right away. {Goes back to icebox and slams its doors shut.) Of course, she never keeps the doors properly closed. {He re- turns to sink and resumes dishwashing.) It's a funny thing. LAURA What is? 461 THURSDAY EVENING GORDON Why, that a presumably intelligent coon can't understand the doors of an icebox are meant to be kept tight shut, to save ice. What does she suppose those little clamps are for? {Laura is silent. There is a pause, while Gordon scrapes portions of food of the soiled plates. He examines some of these plates rather carefully, and picks out several large pieces of meat, lettuce, butter, etc., which he puts on one plate at one side. Then he seems to resume his good humor and relights his pipe.) Well, it's jolly to have both the grand- mothers here together, isn't it? LAURA Gordon, dear, put the silver away in the side- board before it gets wet again. {He gathers up silver from the table in front of hen and exit L. Laura steps outside door R, and returns, bringing garbage can, which she puts down by the sink. She begins to wash dishes, and sees the plate of odds and> ends which Gordon has carefully put to one side. She scrapes its contents into the garbage pail. While she is washing, Gordon enter, L.) GORDON Now, Creature, let me do that. You don't want to spoil those pretty. hands. {Takes them, with an attempt to be affectionate.) LAURA I guess it isn't any worse for them than washing the baby's things. GORDON Come on, old man, let me. {Gently removes her 462 THURSDAY EVENING from sink, and pushes her to the chair by the table. She sits down and wipes dishes as he hands them to her.) It doesn't take long when there are two of us. LAURA Gordie, these dishes aren't properly clean. You can't get that grease off without hot water. GORDON I guess that kettle's hot by now. {To stove, feels water in kettle.) Give it a minute longer. {Stands by stove and puffs at his pipe. In a mo- ment of false security, he foolishly reopens a dan- gerous topic.) You know, I'm a little worried about Mother. laura {putting away dishes) Why? GORDON I don't think she's as well as usual. She hardly ate any of her salad. laura {turns as though about to say something, but checks herself and pauses a moment. This time it is she who tries honorably to avert the gathering storm) Oh, Gordie, I forgot to tell you! Junior drank out of a cup to-day — the first time! GORDON He did! The little rascal! LAURA Look, here's the cup. {Shows a small silver cup.) Gordon {affectionately, putting his arm around her) Well, well. {Looks at cup.) What cup is that? I don't seem to remember it — 463 THURSDAY EVENING LAURA Why — Mother brought it with her. She used it when she was a baby. GORDON Where's that nice old Christening mug of mine? I think Junior would like to use that once in a while, too. LAURA I put it away, dear. I was afraid Ethel might dent it. Gordon {takes kettle from stove, goes hack to sink) I hope Mother isn't feeling poorly. I noticed at supper — LAURA When hot meat is served, refined people usually call it dinner — Gordon {looks at her cautiously, and suddenly seems to realize that they are on the edge of an abyss) Now, honey, you're tired. You go and rest, I'll finish up here. LAURA No, thank you. I like to see that everything gets cleaned up properly. Someone might come snooping out here, and then there'd be hints about my housekeeping. Of course, I'll admit I wasn't brought up to be a cook — Gordon {seeks inspiration by relighting his pipe, and takes up a handsome silver coffee pot) One thing I never can make out is, how to pre- vent coffee grounds from going down the sink. (He talks desperately, trying to tide over the mutu- ally realized danger point?) Perhaps if I could 464 THURSDAY EVENING invent some kind of a little coffee-ground strainer I'd make our fortune. That coffee was delicious, Creature. LAURA Take care of that urn, it's one of the few hand- some things we have. GORDON It is a beauty. LAURA Jack Davis gave it to me — Gordon (puts it down with distaste) I guess I'd better attend to the garbage. laura (nervously) It's all fixed. GORDON I always like Thursdays because that's the one evening Ethel doesn't get a chance to throw away about five dollars' worth of good food. LAURA I fixed the garbage. You can put the pail out- side. Gordon (hunting among plates on the shelf beside sink) Where's that plate I put here? There was a lot of perfectly good stuff I saved — laura (blows up at last) Well, if you think I'm going to keep a lot of half- eaten salad your Mother picked over — Gordon (seizes garbage pail, lifts it up to the sink and begins to explore its contents. His fuse also is rapidly shortening.) My Lord, it's no wonder we never have any 465 THURSDAY EVENING money to spend if we chuck half of it away in waste. {Picking out various selections.) Waste! Look at that piece of cheese, and those potatoes. You could take those things, and some of this meat, and make a nice economical hash for lunch — LAURA It's a wonder you wouldn't get a job as a scav- enger. I never heard of a husband like you, rummaging through the garbage pail. GORDON {bloWS Up) Do you know what the one unforgivable sin is? The sin against the Holy Ghost? It's Waste! It makes me wild to think of working and work- ing like a dog, and half of what I earn just thrown away by an ignorant coon. Look at this, just look at it! {Displays a grisly object.) There's enough meat on that bone to make soup. And ye gods, here's that jar of anchovy paste! {Holds it up.) I thought you got that for me as a little treat. I wondered where it had gone to. Why, I hadn't eaten more than just the top of it. LAURA Well, you left it, and left it, and it got mildewed. GORDON Scrape it off. A little mildew won't hurt any- body. There'll be mildew on my bank account if this kind of thing goes on. {Still examining garbage pail.) Look here, about half a dozen slices of bread. What's the matter with them, I'd like to know. 466 THURSDAY EVENING LAURA I think it's the most disgusting thing I ever heard of. To go picking over the garbage pail like that. You attend to your affairs and I'll attend to mine. GORDON I guess throwing away good, hard-earned money is my affair, isn't it? LAURA You're always quick enough to find fault. I know Ethel's careless, but she's the best I can get out here in this godforsaken suburb. Maybe you'll be good enough to find me a better serv- ant. A well-trained girl wouldn't work in this old dump, where there isn't even gas. You don't seem to know when you're lucky. You come back at night and find your home well cared for and me slaving over a hot dinner, and do you ever say a word of thanks? No, all you can think of is finding fault. I can't imagine how you were brought up. Your Mother — GORDON Just leave my mother out of it. I guess she didn't spoil me the way yours did you. Of course, I wasn't an only daughter — LAURA I wish you had been. Then I wouldn't have married you. GORDON I suppose you think that if you'd married Jack Davis or some other of those profiteers you'd never have had to see the inside of a kitchen — 467 THURSDAY EVENING LAURA If Junior grows up with your disposition, all I can say is, I hope he'll never get married. GORDON If he gets married, I hope it'll be to some girl who understands something about economy — LAURA If he gets married, I hope he'll be man enough not to be always finding fault — GORDON Well, he wont get married! I'll put him wise to what marriage means, fussing like this all the time — LAURA Yes, he will get married. He shall get married! GORDON Oh, this is too absurd — LAURA He shall get married, just to be a humiliating example to his father. I'll bring him up the way a husband ought to be. GORDON In handcuffs, I suppose — LAURA And his wife won't have to sit and listen to per- petual criticism from his mother — GORDON If you're so down on mothers-in-law, it's queer you're anxious to be one yourself. The ex- pectant mother-in-law! LAURA All right, be vulgar. I dare say you can't help it. 468 THURSDAY EVENING GORDON Great Scott, what did you think marriage was like, anyway? Did you expect to go through life having everything done for you, without a little hard work to make it interesting? LAURA Is it necessary to shout? GORDON Now let me tell you something. Let's see if you can ratify it from your extensive observa- tion of life. Is there anything in the world so cruel as bringing up a girl in absolute ignorance of housework, believing that all her days she's going to be waited on hand and foot, and that marriage is one long swoon of endearments— LAURA There's not much swooning while you're around. GORDON Why, I believe you actually think your life is wrecked if you aren't being petted and praised every minute. You pretend to think marriage is so sacred and yet you're buffaloed by a few greasy dishes. I like my kind of sacredness bet- ter than yours, and that's the sacredness of common sense. Marriage ought not to be per- formed before an altar, but before a kitchen sink. • laura {furiously) I ought to have known that oil and water won't mix. I ought to have known that a vulgar, selfish, conceited man couldn't make a girl happy who was brought up in a refined family. 469 THURSDAY EVENING I was a Sheffield, and why I ever became a Johns is more than I can imagine. Johns — I suppose that's camouflage for Jones. You're too com- mon, too ordinary, to know when you're lucky. You get a charming aristocratic wife and expect her to grub along like a washerwoman. You try to crush all the life and spirit out of her. You ought to have married an icebox — that's the only thing in this house you're really at- tentive to. GORDON Now listen — laura (will not be checked) Talk about being spoiled — why, your Mother babies you so, you think you're the only man on earth. (Sarcastically.) Her poor, over- worked boy, who tries so hard and gets all fagged out in the office and struggles so nobly to support his family! I wonder how you'd like to run this house and bear a child and take care of it and shuffle along with an ignorant coon for a maid and then cook a big dinner and be sneered at and never a word of praise. All you can think of is picking over the garbage pail and finding fault — Gordon (like a fool) I didn't find fault. I found some good food being wasted. LAURA All right, if you love the garbage pail better than you do your wife, you can live with it. (Flings her dishtowel on the floor and exit, L.) 470 THURSDAY EVENING (Gordon stands irresolutely at the sink, and makes a few gloomy motions among the unfinished dishes. He glares at the garbage can. Then he carefully gathers those portions of food that he had chosen as being still usable, contemplates them grimly, then puts them on a plate and, after some hesita- tion, puts the plate in the icebox. He takes the garbage can and puts it outside door, R. He re- turns into the kitchen, but then a sudden fit of anger seizes him.) GORDON It's always the way! (Tears off apron, throws it on the floor, and exit R, slamming door.)' (After a brief pause, the door at the rear, opening onto the back stairs, is cautiously opened, and Mrs. Sheffield enters quietly. She takes one swift look around the disordered kitchen, picks up dish- towel and apron from the floor, and seti to work rapidly to clean up. Then the back stairs door is again opened in the same stealthy way, and Mrs. Johns enters. The two ladies seem to take each other s measure with instinctive shrewdness, and fall into a silent, businesslike team-play in putting things to rights. Mrs. Johns takes charge at the sink, and the remaining dishes spin under her ca- pable hands. Mrs. Sheffield takes them from her, rapidly polishes them, and puts them away on the shelves. There is unconscious comedy in the trained precision and labor-saving method of their actions, which are synchronized so that every time Mrs. Johns holds out a washed dish, Mrs. Sheffield is moving back from the cabinet, ready to receive 47i THURSDAY EVENING it. They work like automatons, for perhaps two minutes not a word is said, and the two seem, by searching side-glances, to be probing each other s mood.) MRS. JOHNS If it wasn't so tragic I'd laugh. {A pause, during which they work busily.) MRS. SHEFF If it wasn't so comic I'd cry. {Another pause.) I guess it's my fault. Poor Laura, I'm afraid I have spoiled her. MRS. JOHNS My fault, I think. Two mothers-in-law at once is too much for any young couple. I didn't know you were here, or I wouldn't have come. MRS. SHEFF Laura is so dreadfully sensitive, poor child — MRS. JOHNS Gordon works so hard at the office. You know he's trying to get promoted to the sales depart- ment, and I suppose it tells on his nerves — MRS. SHEFF If Laura could afford to have a nurse to help her with the baby she wouldn't get so exhausted — MRS. JOHNS Gordon says he wants to take out some more in- surance, that's why he worries so about economy. It isn't for himself, he's really very unselfish — mrs. sheff {a little tartly) Still, I do think that sometimes — {They pause and look at each other quickly.) My gracious, we'll be at it ourselves if we don't look out! 472 THURSDAY EVENING {She goes to the clothes-horse and rearranges the garments on it. She holds up a lilliputian shirty and they both smile.) MRS. JOHNS That darling baby! I hope he won't have poor Gordon's quick temper. It runs in the Johns family, I'm afraid. I was an Armstrong before I married Gordon's father — I didn't know what temper was until I married — either my own or his. MRS. SHEFF I was a Thomson — Thomson without the P, you know, from Rhode Island. All families are hot tempered. All husbands' families, anyway. MRS. JOHNS Gordon's father used to say that Adam and Eve didn't know when they were well off. He said that was why they called it the Garden of Eden. MRS. SHEFF Why? MRS. JOHNS Because there was no mother-in-law there. MRS. SHEFF Poor children, they have such a lot to learn! I really feel ashamed, Mrs. Johns, because Laura is an undisciplined little thing, and I'm afraid I've always petted her too much. She had such a lot of attention before she met Gor- don, and was made so much of, it gave her wrong ideas. MRS. JOHNS I wish Gordon was a little younger, I'd like to 473 THURSDAY EVENING turn him up and spank him. He's dreadfully stubborn and tactless — MRS. SHEFF But I'm afraid I did make a mistake. Laura was having such a good time as a girl, I was al- ways afraid she'd have a hard awakening when she married. But Mr. Sheffield had a good deal of money at that time, and he used to say, 'She's only young once, let her enjoy herself.' MRS. JOHNS My husband was shortsighted, too. He had had to skimp so, that he brought up Gordon to have a terror of wasting a nickel. MRS. SHEFF Very sensible. I wish Mr. Sheffield had had a little more of that terror. I shall have to tell him what his policy has resulted in. But really, you know, when I heard them at it, I could hardly help admiring them. {With a sigh.) It brings back old times! MRS. JOHNS So it does ! {A pause.) But we can't let them go on like this. A little vigorous quarreling is good for everybody. It's a kind of spiritual laxative. But they carry it too far. MRS. SHEFF They're awfully ingenious. They were even bickering about Junior's future mother-in-law. I suppose she's still in school, whoever she may be! MRS. JOHNS Being a mother-in-law is almost as painful as being a mother. 474 THURSDAY EVENING MRS. SHEFF I think every marriage ought to be preceded by a treaty of peace between the two mothers. If they understand each other, everything will work out all right. MRS. JOHNS You're right. When each one takes sides with her own child, it's fatal. mrs. sheff {lowering her voice) Look here, I think I know how we can make them ashamed of themselves. Where are they now? mrs. johns {goes cautiously to door L y and peeps through) Laura is lying on the couch in the living-room. I think she's crying — her face is buried in the cushions. MRS. SHEFF Splendid. That means she's listening with all her ears — {Tiptoes to window ', R.) I can't see Gordon, but I think he's walking round the garden — MRS. johns {quietly) If we were to talk a little louder he'd sit on the back steps to hear it — MRS. SHEFF Exactly. Now listen! {They put their heads to- gether and whisper; the audience does not hear what is said.) MRS. JOHNS Fine! Oh, that's fine! {Mrs. Sheffield whispers 474 THURSDAY EVENING again? inaudible to the spectators^) But wait a moment. Don't you think it would be better if / praise Laura and you praise Gordon? They won't expect that, and it might shame them — MRS. SHEFF No, no! Don't you see — (Whispers again , in- audibly.) MRS. JOHNS You're right. Cunning as serpents and harm- less as doves — {They carefully set both doors , L and R> ajar.) MRS. SHEFF I only hope we won't wake the baby — (They return to the task of cleaning up, and talk very loud, in pretended quarrel^) MRS. JOHNS Where do these dessert plates go? MRS. SHEFF On this shelf. MRS. JOHNS You're here so much more often than I, nat- urally you know Laura's arrangements better. MRS. SHEFF It's a lucky thing I am here. I don't know what poor Laura would do without me at such a dreadful time — MRS. JOHNS Poor Laura ! I should say she's very fortunate, such a good husband — MRS. SHEFF I think it's rather sad for a girl who has had as much as she has, to come down to this — 476 THURSDAY EVENING MRS. JOHNS It's perfectly wonderful how Gordon has got on in business — MRS. SHEFF He ought to, with such a lovely home, run like a clock — MRS. JOHNS Yes. An alarm clock. MRS. SHEFF Well, I'm not going to see my daughter's happi- ness ruined — MRS. JOHNS I always knew he'd make some girl a fine hus- band — MRS. SHEFF Perhaps. But he seems to have picked the wrong girl. Laura has too much spirit to be bullied — MRS. JOHNS Well, perhaps it was all a mistake. Poor Gor- don, he works so hard. I believe his hair is going white over his ears already. MRS. SHEFF Stuff! That's lather from where he shaved this morning. He's too slovenly to wash it off. MRS. JOHNS It isn't right that a young man should have to slave the way he does — mrs. sheff {apparently in a passion) Do you think that business slavery can com- pare to household slavery? I think it's heart- 477 THURSDAY EVENING rending to see an attractive girl like Laura shut up in a poky little house doing drudgery and tend- ing a baby. Think of it, having to take care of her own baby! Why, it's an outrage. If Gor- don was half a man, he'd get her a trained baby nurse so she wouldn't have to look at the poor little thing — mrs. johns {scathing) Yes, how sad that Gordon should have to en- trust his son to amateur Care when it needs sci- entific attention. MRS. SHEFF Poor darling Laura — she never ought to have had a baby. MRS. JOHNS Gordon is too intellectual to be bothered with these domestic details. He ought to be able to concentrate on his work. mrs. sheff {coming close to Mrs. Johns , feigning great rage, but grimacing to show it is merely acting) Well, if you don't think my daughter is good enough for your son, I can always take her home with me. I guess I can find room for her, and we can put the child in an institution. {Both nearly laugh, but recover themselves?) MRS. JOHNS Don't worry. Til take the child. He's a Johns anyway, not a Sheffield. And you just watch Gordon, when he's relieved of all this family worry and quarreling. He'll make his mark in the world. He's too fine to be. tied down by a wife that doesn't understand him. 478 THURSDAY EVENING MRS. SHEFF Oh, how happy Laura will be to hear this. My sweet, clever, attractive, economical, sensible little girl, free at last. Her married life has been a nightmare. That great, hulking, selfish man has tried to trample all the joy out of her. He shan't do it. MRS. JOHNS I never heard of a young husband as self-sacri- ficing as Gordon. I don't believe he ever goes out for an evening with other men, and he never spends anything on himself — MRS. SHEFF I think the way Laura runs her little home is just wonderful. See how she struggles to keep her kitchen in order — this miserable, incon- venient little kitchen, no gas, no pantry, no de- cent help. I think it's terrible she has had to put up with so much — (They pause, and listen at the door, L. The kitchen is now spick and span. Mrs. Johns makes a gesture to indicate that Laura is taking it all in, of staged) MRS. JOHNS Well, then, it's all settled. MRS. SHEFF Yes. As Laura's mother, I can't let her go on like this. A husband, a home, and a baby — it's enough to ruin any woman. MRS. JOHNS It's only fair to both sides to end it all. I never heard of such brutal hardships. Gordon can't fight against these things any longer. Throwing 479 THURSDAY EVENING away a soupbone and three slices of bread! I wonder he doesn't go mad. MRS. SHEFF We've saved them just in time. (They look at each other knowingly ', with the air of those who have done a sound bit of work. Then they stealthily open the door at the rear, and exeunt up the back stairs?) {There is a brief paws e; then the door L opens like an explosion, and Laura bursts in. She stands for a moment, wild-eyed, stamps her foot in a pas- sion. Then she seizes one of the baby shirts from the rack, and drops into the chair by the table, cry- ing. She^ buries her head in her arms, concealing the shirt. Enter Gordon, R. He stands uncer- tainly, evidently feeling like a fool?) GORDON I'm sorry, I — I left my pipe in here. (Finds it by the sink.) laura (her face still hidden) Oh, Gordie, was it all a mistake? Gordon (troubled, pats her shoulder tentatively) Now listen, Creature, don't. You'll make yourself sick. LAURA I never thought I'd hear such things — from my own mother. GORDON I never heard such rot. They must be mad, both of them. 480 THURSDAY EVENING LAURA Then you were listening, too — GORDON Yes. Why, they're deliberately trying to set us against each other. LAURA They wouldn't have dared speak like that if they had known we could hear. Gordon, I don't think it's legal — GORDON I'm afraid the law doesn't give one much pro- tection against one's mothers. laura (miserably) I guess she's right. I am spoiled, and I am silly, and I am extravagant — GORDON Don't be silly, darling. That's crazy stuff. I'm not overworked, and even if I were I'd love it, for you — LAURA I don't want a nurse for Junior. I wouldn't have one in the house. (Sits up> dishevelled, and dis- plays the small shirt she has been clutching.) Gor- don, I'm not an amateur! I love that baby and I am scientific. I keep a chart of his weight every week. GORDON Yes, I know, ducky, Gordon understands. Soon we'll be able to buy that scales you want, and we won't have to weigh him on the meat balance. LAURA Nobody can take away my darling baby — 481 THURSDAY EVENING GORDON It was my faulty dear. I am obstinate and dis- agreeable — LAURA I'll speak to Ethel about the garbage — GORDON Ethel's all right. We're lucky to have her. LAURA Gordon, you mustn't work too hard. You know you're all I have — (A sob.) since Mother's gone back on me. Gordon (patting her) I think it's frightful, the things they said. What are they trying to do, break up a happy home? LAURA We are happy, aren't we? GORDON Well, I should say so. Did you ever hear me complain? (Takes her in his arms.) LAURA No, Gordie. It was cruel of them to try to make trouble between us — but, perhaps, some of the things they said — GORDON Were true? — LAURA Well, not exactly true, dear, but — interesting! — your mother is right, you do have a hard time, and I'll try — Gordon (stops her) No, your mother is right. I've been a brute — 482 THURSDAY EVENING LAURA I'm lucky to have such a husband — {They are silent a moment.) GORDON I suppose you'll think it an awful anticlimax — LAURA What, dear? GORDON Suppose we have something to eat? laura (happily) Good idea. Quarreling always makes me hungry. (They go to the icebox.) I didn't really get any supper to speak of, I was worrying about everything so — Gordon (opening icebox) You mean dinner ; honey — among refined people! LAURA Don't be a tease. Come on, we'll have a snack — (She discovers Gordon s plate of left-overs.) GORDON Throw out that junk — I was idiotic to save it. LAURA No, Gordie, you were quite right. We must save everything we can. Four or five heads of lettuce would make a new shirt for Junior. Gordon (bewildered) Lettuce? LAURA I mean, if we saved that much, it would make enough money to buy him a new little vest. He's getting so enormous — (She puts plate of left-overs on the table, with some other cold food.) 483 THURSDAY EVENING GORDON There, now, this is better. {They sit down at .table.) laura {thoughtfully) You know, Gordie, we mustn't let them know we heard them. GORDON No, I suppose not. But it's hard to forgive that sort of talk. LAURA Even if they did say atrocious things, I think they really love us — GORDON We'll be a bit cold and stand-offish until things blow over. laura {complacently) If I'm ever a mother-in-law, I shall try to be very understanding — GORDON Yes, Creature. Do you remember why I call you Creature? LAURA Do I not? GORDON There was an adjective omitted, you remember. LAURA Oh, Gordie, that's one of the troubles of married life. So many of the nice adjectives seem to get omitted. GORDON Motto for married men: Don't run short of ad- 484 THURSDAY EVENING jectives! — You remember what the adjective was? LAURA Tell me. GORDON Adorable. It was an abbreviation for Adorable Creature — {Holds her. They are both perfectly happy.) I love our little Thursday evenings. laura {partly breaks from his embrace) Sssh! {Listens.) Was that the baby? CURTAIN 485 THE DREAMY KID (1918) A PLAY by Eugene G. O'Neill CHARACTERS Mammy Saunders Abe, her grandson y "The Dreamy Kid" Ceely Ann Irene Originally produced by the Provincetown Players in 1919 Copyright, 1922, by EUGENE G. O'NEILL No performance of this play may be given without the written consent of, and arrangement with, the author, who may be addressed in care of the publishers, Stewart Kidd Company, Cincinnati, Ohio. THE DREAMY KID Scene. — Mammy Saunders* bedroom in a house just of of Carmine Street, New York City. The left of the room, forward, is taken up by a heavy, old-fashioned wooden bedstead with a feather mat- tress. A gaudy red-and-yellow quilt covers the other bedclothes. In back of the bed, a chest of drawers placed against the left wall. On top of the chest, a small lamp. A rocking-chair stands beside the head of the bed on the right. In the rear wall, toward the right, a low window, with ragged white curtains. In the right corner, a wash- stand with bowl and pitcher. Bottles of med- icine, a spoon, a glass, etc., are also on the stand. Farther forward, a door opening on the hall and stairway. It is soon after nightfall of a day in early winter. The room is in shadowy half -darkness, the only light being a pale glow that seeps through the window from the arc lamp on the nearby corner, and by which the objects in the room can be dimly discerned. The vague outlines of Mammy Saun- ders' figure lying in the bed can be seen, and her black face stands out in sharp contrast from the pillows that support her head. MAMMY SAUNDERS (weakly) Ceely Ann ! {With faint querulousness) Light de lamp, will you? Hits mighty dark in yere. {After a slight pause) Ain't you dar, Ceely Ann? 489 THE DREAMY KID {Receiving no reply y she sighs deeply and her limbs move uneasily under the bedclothes. The door is opened and shut and the stooping form of another colored woman appears in the semi- darkness. She goes to the foot of the bed, sobbing softly, and stands there, evidently making an effort to control her emotion.) MAMMY SAUNDERS Dat you, Ceely Ann? ceely {huskily) Hit ain't no yuther, Mammy. MAMMY Light de lamp, den. I can't see no whars. CEELY Des one second, till I finds a match. {She wipes her eyes with her handkerchief, then goes to the chest of drawers and feels around on the top of it, pretending to grumble.) Hit beat all how dem pesky little sticks done hide umse'fs. Shoo! Yere dey is. {She fumbles with the lamp.) mammy {suspiciously) You ain't been cryin', is you? ceely {with feigned astonishment) Cryin'? I clar' ter goodness, you does git the mos' fool notions lyin' dar. mammy {in a tone of relief) I mos' thought I yeard you. ceely {lighting the lamp) 'Deed you aint. {The two women are revealed by the light. Mammy Saunders is an old white-haired negress about ninety, with a weazened face furrowed by wrinkles and withered by old age and sickness. Ceely is a 490 THE DREAMY KID stout woman of fifty or so, with gray hair and a round fat face. She wears a loose-fitting ging- ham dress and a shawl thrown over her head. ceely {with attempted cheeriness) Bless yo' soul, I ain't got nothin' to cry 'bout. Yere. Lemme fix you so you'll rest mo' easy. {She lifts the old woman gently and m fixes the pi flows.) Dere. Now ain't you feelin' better? mammy {dully) My strenk don' all went. I can't lift a hand. ceely {hurriedly) Dat'll all come back ter you, de doctor tole me des now when I goes down to de door with him. {Glibly) He say you is de mos' strongest 'oman fo' yo' years ever he sees in de worl'; and he tell me you gwine ter be up and walkin' agin fo' de week's out. {As she finds the old woman's eyes fixed on her> she turns away confusedly and abruptly changes the sub- ject.) Hit ain't too wo'm in dis room, dat's a fac'. mammy {shaking her head — in a half-whisper) No, Ceely Ann. Hit ain't no use'n you tellin' me nothin' but de trufe. I feels mighty poo'ly. En I knows hit's on'y wid de blessin' er Gawd I kin las' de night out. ceely {distractedly) Ain't no sich a thing! Hush yo' noise, Mammy! mammy {as if she hadn't heard — in a crooning sing-song) I'se gwine soon fum dis wicked yearth — and may de Lawd have mercy on dis po' ole sinner. {After a pause — anxiously) All I'se pray in' fer 491 THE DREAMY KID is dat Gawd don' take me befo' I sees Dreamy agin. Whar's Dreamy, Ceely Ann? Why ain't he come yere? Ain't you done sent him word Fse sick, like I tole you? CEELY I tole dem boys ter tell him speshul, and dey swar dey would soon's dey find him. I s'pose dey ain't kotch him yit. Don' yo' pester yo'se'f worryin'. Dreamy 'ull come fo' ve'y long. mammy {after a pause — weakly) Dere's a feelin' in my haid like I was a-floatin' yander whar I can't see nothin', or 'member nothin', or know de sight er any pusson I knows; en I wants ter see Dreamy agin befo' — ceely {quickly) Don' waste yo' strenk talkin'. Yo' git a wink er sleep en I wake yo' when he comes. Yo' heah me? mammy (faintly) I does feel mighty drowsy. {She closes her eyes.) {Ceely goes over to the window and> pulling the curtains aside> stands looking down into the street as if she were watching for someone coming. A moment later there is a noise of footfalls from the stairs in the hall, followed by a sharp rap on the door.) ceely {turning quickly from the window) S-s-s-h-h ! S-s-s-h-h ! {She hurries to the door y glancing anxiously to- ward Mammy. The old woman appears to have fallen asleep. Ceely cautiously opens the door a bare inch or so and peeks out. When she sees 492 THE DREAMY KID who it is she immediately tries to slam it shut again, but a vigorous shove from the outside forces her back and Irene pushes her way defiantly into the room. She is a young, good-looking negress, highly rouged and powdered, dressed in gaudy, cheap finery?) Irene (in a harsh voice, evidently worked up to a great state of nervous excitement) No you don't, Ceely Ann! I said I was comin' here, and it'll take mo'n you to stop me! ceely {almost speechless with horrified indigna- tion — breathing heavily) Yo' bad oman! Git back ter yo' bad-house, whar yo' b 'longs! irene (raising her clenched hand— furiously) Stop dat talkin' to me, nigger, or I'll split yo' fool head ! (As Ceely shrinks away, Irene lowers her hand and glances quickly around the room.) Whar's Dreamy? ceely (scornfully) Yo' axe me dat! Whar's Dreamy? Axe yo'se'f. Yo's de one ought ter know whar he is. IRENE Den he ain't come here? CEELY I ain't tellin' de likes er you wedder he is or not. irene (pleadingly) Tell me, Ceely Ann, ain't he been here? He'd be sure to come here, 'count of Mammy dyin\ dey said. ceely (pointing to Mammy — apprehensively) S-s-shsh ! (Then lowering her voice to a whisper — suspiciously) Dey said? Who said? 493 THE DREAMY KID irene {equally suspicious) None o' your business who said. (Then pleading again) Ceely Ann, I jest got ter see him dis minute, dis secon'! He's in bad, Dreamy is, and I knows somep'n I gotter tell him, somep'n I jest heard — ceely (uncomprehending! y) In bad? What you jest heah? IRENE I ain't tellin' no one but him. (Desperately.) For Gawd's sake, tell me whar he is, Ceely! CEELY I don't know no mo'n you. irene (fiercely) You's lyin', Ceely! You's ryin' ter me jest 'cause I'se bad. CEELY De good Lawd bar witness I'se tellin' you de trufe ! irene (hopelessly) Den I gotter go find him, high and low, some- wheres. (Proudly) You ain't got de right not ter trust me, Ceely, where de Dreamy 's mixed in it. I'd go ter hell for Dreamy! ceely (indignantly) Hush yo' wicked cussin'! (Then, anxiously) Is Dreamy in trouble? irene (with a scornful laugh) Trouble? Good Lawd, it's worser'n dat! (Then in surprise) Ain't you heerd what de Dreamy done last night, Ceely? ceely (apprehensively) What de Dreamy do? Tell me, gal. Somep'n bad? 494 THE DREAMY KID irene {with the same scornful laugh) Bad? Worser'n bad, what he done! ceely {lamenting querulously) Oh, good Lawd, I knowed it! I knowed with all his carryin's-on wid dat passel er tough young niggers — him so uppity 'cause he's de boss er de gang — sleepin' all de day 'stead er workin' an' Lawd knows what he does in de nights — fightin' wid white folks, an' totin' a pistol in his pocket — {with a glance of angry resentment at Irene) an' as fo' de udder com- pany he's been keepin' — irene {fiercely) Shut your mouth, Ceely! Dat ain't your business. CEELY Oh, I knowed Dreamy'd be gittin' in trouble fo' long! De low-flung young trash! An' here's his ole Mammy don't know no dif'frunt but he's de mos' innercent young lamb in de worl'. {In a strained whisper) What he do? Is he been stealin' somep'n? irene {angrily) You go ter hell, Ceely Ann! You ain't no fren' of de Dreamy's, you talk dat way, and I ain't got no time ter waste argyin' wid your fool notions. {She goes to the door.) Dreamy'll go ter his death sho's yo' born, if I don't find him an' tell him quick! ceely {terrified) Oh, Lawd! irene {anxiously) He'll sho'ly try ter come here and see his ole Mammy befo' she dies, don't you think, Ceely? 32 495 THE DREAMY KID CEELY Fo' Gawd, I hopes so! She's been a-prayin' all de day — irene {opening the door) You hopes so, you fool nigger! I tells you it's good-bye to de Dreamy, he come here! I knows ! I gotter find an' stop him. If he come here, Ceely, you tell him git out quick and hide, he don't wanter get pinched. You hear? You tell him dat, Ceely, for Gawd's sake! I'se got ter go — find him — high an' low — {She goes out leaving Ceely staring at her in speechless indign atio n . ) ceely {drawing a deep breath) Yo' street gal! I don' b'lieve one word you says — stufnn' me wid yo' bad lies so's you kin keep de Dreamy frum leavin' you! {Mammy Saunders awakes and groans faintly. Ceely hurries over to her bedside.) Is de pain hurtin' agin. Mammy? mammy {vaguely) Dat you. Dreamy? CEELY No, Mammy, dis is Ceely. Dreamy's comin' soon. Is you restin' easy? mammy {as if she hadnt heard) Dat you, Dreamy? ceely {sitting down in the rocker by the bed and taking one of the old woman s hands in hers) No. Dreamy's comin'. mammy {after a pause — suddenly) Does you 'member yo' dead Mammy, chile? 496 THE DREAMY KID ceely {mystified) My dead Mammy? MAMMY Didn't I heah yo' talkin' jest now, Dreamy? ceely (very worried) I clar ter goodness, she don' know me ary bit. Dis is Ceely Ann talkin' ter yo', Mammy. MAMMY Who was yo' talkin' wid, Dreamy? ceely (shaking her head — in a trembling voice) Hit can't be long befo' de en'. (In a louder tone) Hit was me talkin' wid a pusson fum ovah de way. She say tell you Dreamy comin' heah ter see yo' right away. You heah dat, Mammy? (The old woman sighs , but does not answer. There is a paused) mammy (suddenly) Does yo' 'member yo' dead Mammy, chile? (Then with a burst of religious exaltation) De Lawd have mercy! ceely (like an echo) Bless de Lawd! (Then in a frightened half- whisper to herself) Po' thing! Her min's done leavin' her, jest like de doctor said. (She looks down at the old woman helplessly. The door on the right is opened stealthily and the Dreamy Kid slinks in on tiptoe?) ceely (hearing a board creaky turns quickly toward the door and gives a frightened start) Dreamy! dreamy (puts his fingers to his lips — command- ingly) S-s-s-h-h ! 497 THE DREAMY KID {He bends down to a crouching position and, holding the door about an inch open, peers out into the hallway in an attitude of tense waiting, one hand evidently clutching some weapon in the side pocket of his coat. After a moment he is satisfied of not being followed, and, after closing the door carefully and locking it, he stands up and walks to the center of the room, casting a look of awed curiosity at the figure in the bed. He is a well-built, good-looking young negro, light in color. His eyes are shifty and hard, their expres- sion one of tough, scornful defiance. His mouth is cruel and perpetually drawn back at the corner into a snarl. He is dressed in well-fitting clothes of a flashy pattern. A light cap is pulled down on the side of his head.) ceely {coming from the bed to meet him) Bless de Lawd, here you is at las'! dreamy {with a warning gesture) Nix on de loud talk! Talk low, can't yuh? {He glances back at the door furtively, then con- tinues with a sneer) Yuh're a fine nut, Ceely Ann! What for you sendin' out all ober de town for me like you was crazy? D'yuh want ter git me in de cooler? Don' you know dey're after me for what I done last night? ceely {fearfully) I heerd somep'n — but — what you done, Dreamy? dreamy {with an attempt at a careless bravado) I croaked a guy, dat's what! A white man. ceely {in a frightened whisper) What you mean — croaked? 498 THE DREAMY KID dreamy {boastfully) I shot him dead, dat's what! {As Ceely shrinks away from him in horror — resentfully) Aw say, don' gimme none o' dem looks o' yourn. 'T'warn't my doin' nohow. He was de one lookin' for trouble. I wasn't seekin' for no mess wid him dat I would help. But he tole folks he was gwine ter git me for a fac', and dat fo'ced my hand. I had ter git him ter pertect my own life. {JVith cruel satisfaction) And I got him right, you brieve me! ceely {putting her hands over her face with a low moan of terror) May de good Lawd pardon yo' wickedness! Oh, Lawd! What yo' po' ole Mammy gwine say if she hear tell — an' she never knowin' how bad you's got. dreamy {fiercely) Hell! You ain't tole her, is you? ceely Think I want to kill her on the instant? An' I didn' know myse'f — what you done — till you tells me. {Frighten edly) Oh, Dreamy, what you gwine do now? How you gwine git away? {Almost wailing) Good Lawd, de perlice gon' kotch you suah! dreamy {savagely) Shut yo* loud mouth, damn yo'! {He stands tensely listening for some sound from the hall. After a moment he points to the bed.) Is Mammy sleepin' ? ceely {tiptoes to the bed) Seems like she is. {She comes back to him.) 499 THE DREAMY KID Dat's de way wid her — sleep fo' a few minutes, den she wake, den sleep again. dreamy (scornfully) Aw, dere ain't nothin' wrong wid her 'ceptin' she's ole. What yuh wanter send de word tellin' me she's croakin', and git me comin' here at de risk o' my life, and den find her sleepin'. {Clenching his fist threateningly.) I gotter mind ter smash yo' face for playin' de damn fool and makin' me de goat. (He turns toward the door.) Ain't no use'n me stayin' here when dey'll likely come lookin' for me. I'm gwine out where I gotta chance ter make my git-away. De boy is all fixin' it up for me. (His hand on the door knob) When Mammy wakes, you tell her I couldn't wait, you hear? ceely (hurrying to him and grabbing his arm — pleadingly) Don' yo' go now, Dreamy — not jest yit. Fo' de good Lawd's sake don' yo' go befo' you speaks wid her! If yo' knew how she's been a-callin' an' a-prayin' for yo' all de day — dreamy (scornfully ', but a bit uncertainly) Aw, she don' need none o' me. What good kin I do watchin' her do a kip? It'd be dif'frunt if she was croakin' on de level. ceely (in an anguished whisper) She's gwine wake up in a secon' an' den she call: "Dreamy. Whar's Dreamy?" An' what I gwine tell her den? An' yo' Mammy is dyin', Dreamy, sho's fate! Her min' been wanderin' an' she don' even recernize me no mo', an' de doctor say when dat come it ain't but a sho't time befo' de en'. Yo' gotter stay wid yo' 500 THE DREAMY KID Mammy long nuff ter speak wid her, Dreamy. Yo' jest gotter stay wid her in her las' secon's on dis yearth when she's callin' ter yo\ {With conviction, as he hesitates) Listen heah, yo' Dreamy! Yo' don' never git no bit er luck in dis worril ary agin, yo' leaves her now. De perlice gon' kotch yo' suah. Dreamy {with superstitious fear) S-s-s-h-h! Can dat bull, Ceely! {Then boast- fully) I wasn't pinin' to beat it up here, git me? De boys was all persuadin' me not ter take de chance. It's takin' my life in my hands, dat's what. But when I heerd it was ole Mammy croakin' and axin' ter see me, I says ter myse'f: ''Dreamy, you gotter make good wid ole Mammy, no matter what come — or you don' never git a bit of luck in yo' life no more." And I was game and come, wasn't I ? Nary body in dis worril kin say de Dreamy ain't game ter de core, n'matter what. {JVith sudden decision, walks to the foot of the bed and stands looking down at Mammy. A note of fear creeps into his voice) Gawd, she's quiet 'nuff. Maybe she done passed away in her sleep like de ole ones does. You go see, Ceely; an' if she's on'y sleepin', you wake her up. I wanter speak wid her quick — an' den I'll make a break outa here. You make it fast, Ceely Ann, I tells yo'. ceely {bends down beside the bed) Mammy! Mammy! Here's de Dreamy. mammy {opens her eyes — drowsily and vaguely, in a weak voice) Dreamy? 501 THE DREAMY KID dreamy {shuffling his feet and moving around the bed) Here I is, Mammy. mammy {fastening her eyes on him with fascinated joy) Dreamy! Hits yo'! {Then uncertainly) I ain't dreamin' nor seem' ha'nts, is I ? dreamy {coming forward and taking her hand) 'Deed I ain't no ghost. Here I is, sho' 'nuff. mammy {clutching his hand tight and pulling it down on her breast — in an ecstasy of happiness) Didn' I know you'd come! Didn' I say: "Dreamy ain't gwine let his ole Mammy die all 'lone by he'se'f an' him not dere wid her." I knows yo'd come. {She starts to laugh joyously, but coughs and sinks back weakly.) dreamy {shudders in spite of himself as he re- alizes for the first time how far gone the old woman is — forcing a tone of joking reassurance) What's dat foolishness I hears you talkin', Mammy? Wha' d'yuh mean pullin' dat bull 'bout croakin' on me? Shoo! Tryin' ter kid me, ain't yo'? Shoo! You live ter plant de flowers on my grave, see if you don'. mammy {sadly and very weakly) I knows! I knows! Hit ain't long now. {Burst- ing into a sudden weak hysteria) Yo' stay heah, Dreamy! Yo' stay heah by me, yo' stay heah — till de good Lawd take me home. Yo' promise me dat ! Yo' do dat fo' po' ole Mammy, won't yo'? dreamy {uneasily) 'Deed I will, Mammy, 'deed I will. 502 THE DREAMY KID mammy {closing her eyes with a sigh of relief — calmly) Bless de Lawd for dat. Den I ain't skeered no mo'. {She settles herself comfortably in the bed as if preparing for sleeps ceely (in a low voice) I gotter go home fo' a minute, Dreamy. I ain't been dere all de day, and Lawd knows what happen. I'll be back yere befo' ve'y long. dreamy (his eyes fixed on Mammy) Aw right, beat it if yuh wanter. (Turning to her — in a fierce whisper) On'y don' be long. I can't stay here an' take dis risk, you hear? ceely (frightenedly) I knows, chile. I come back, I swar! (She goes out quietly. Dreamy goes quickly to the window and cautiously searches the street below with his eyes.) mammy (uneasily) Dreamy. (He hurries back and takes her hand again.) I got de mos' 'culiar feelin' in my head. Seems like de years done all roll away an' I'm back down home in de ole place whar you' was bo'n. (After a short pause.) Does yo' 'member yo' own mammy, chile? DREAMY No. MAMMY Yo' was too young, I s'pec'. Yo' was on'y a baby w'en she tuck 'n' die. My Sal was a mighty fine 'oman, if I does say hit my se'f. S°3 THE DREAMY KID dreamy {fidgeting nervously) Don' you talk. Mammy. Better you'd close yo' eyes an' rest. mammy {with a trembling smile — weakly) Shoo! Wat is I done come ter, wid my own gran'chile bossin' me 'bout. I wants ter talk. You knows you ain't give me much chance ter talk wid yo' dese las' years. dreamy (sullenly) I ain't had de time, Mammy; but you knows I was always game ter give you anything I got. (A note of appeal in his voice) You knows dat, don' you, Mammy? MAMMY Sho'ly I does. Yo' been a good boy, Dreamy; an' if dere's one thing more'n 'nother makes me feel like I mighter done good in de sight er de Lawd, hits dat I raised yo' fum a baby. dreamy (clearing his throat gruffly) Don' you talk so much, Mammy. mammy (querulously) I gotter talk, chile. Come times — w'en I git thinkin' yere in de bed — w'at's gwine ter come ter me a'mos' b'fore I knows hit — like de thief in de night — en den I gits skeered. But w'en I talks wid yo', I ain't skeered a bit. dreamy (defiantly) You ain't got nothin' to be skeered of — not when de Dreamy's here. mammy (after a slight pause — faintly) Dere's a singin' in my ears all de time. (Seized by a sudden religious ecstasy) Maybe hits de singin' hymns o' de blessed angels I done heah 504 THE DREAMY KID fum above. {Wildly) Bless Gawd! Bless Gawd! Pity dis po' ole sinner! dreamy (with an uneasy glance at the door) S-s-shsh, Mammy! Don' shout so loud. MAMMY De pictures keep a whizzin' fo' my eyes like de thread in a sewing machine. Seems 's if all my life fly back ter me all ter once. (With a flickering smile — weakly) Does you know how yo' come by dat nickname dey alls call yo' — de Dreamy? Is I ever tole yo' dat? dreamy (evidently lying) No, Mammy. MAMMY Hit was one mawnin' b'fo' we come No'th. Me an' yo' mammy — yo' was des a baby in arms den — dreamy (hears a noise from the hall) S-s-sh-h, Mammy! For Gawd's sake, don' speak for a minute. I hears somep'n. (He stares at the door, his face hardening savagely, and listens intently.) mammy (in a frightened tone) Wat's de matter, chile? DREAMY S-s-s-h-h! Somebody comin'. (A noise of foot- steps comes from the hall stairway. Dreamy springs to his feet.) Leggo my hand, Mammy — jest for a secon'. I come right back to you. (He pulls his hand from the old woman y s grip. She falls back on the pillows, moaning. Dreamy pulls a large automatic revolver from his coat pocket and tiptoes quickly to the door. As he 5°S THE DREAMY KID does so, there is a sharp rap. He stands listening at the crack for a moment, then noiselessly turns the key, unlocking the door. Then he crouches low down by the wall so that the door, when opened, will hide him from the sight of anyone entering. There is another and louder rap on the door.) mammy {groaning) Wat's dat, Dreamy? Whar is yo'? Dreamy S-s-sh-h! {Then muffling his voice, he calls) Come in. {He raises the revolver in his hand.) {The door is pushed open md Irene enters, her eyes peering wildly about the room. Her bosom is heaving as if she has been running, and she is trembling all over with terrified excitement,?) irene {not seeing him, calls ouf questioningly) Dreamy ? dreamy {lowering his revolver and rising to his feet roughly) Close dat door! irene {whirling about with a startled cry) Dreamy! dreamy {shutting the door and locking it — ag- gressively) Shut yo' big mouth, gal, or I'll bang it shut for you! You wanter let de whole block know where I is? irene {hysterical with joy — trying to put her arms around him) Bless Gawd, I foun' you at last! 506 THE DREAMY KID dreamy {pushing her away roughly) Leggo o' me! Why you come here follerin' me? Ain't yo' got 'nuff sense in yo' fool head ter know de bulls is liable ter shadow you when dey knows you's my gal? Is you pinin' ter git me kotched an' sent to de chair? irene {terrified) No, no ! dreamy {savagely) I gotter mind ter hand you one you won't forget! {He draws back his fist.) irene {shrinking away) Don' you hit me, Dreamy! Don' you beat me up now! Jest lemme 'xplain, dat's all. mammy {in a frightened whisper) Dreamy! Come yere to me. Whar is yo'? I'se skeered! dreamy (in a fierce whisper to Irene) Can dat bull or I'll fix you. (He hurries to the old woman and pats her hand?) Here I is, Mammy. MAMMY Who dat yo's a-talkin' wid? DREAMY On'y a fren' o' Ceely Ann's, Mammy, axin' where she is. I gotter talk wid her some mo' yit. You sleep, Mammy? (He goes to Irene?) mammy (feebly) Don' yo' leave me, Dreamy. DREAMY I'se right here wid you. (Fiercely to Irene) You git the hell outa here, you Reeny, you heah — quick! Dis ain't no place for de likes o' you, wid ole Mammy dyin'. 5°7 THE DREAMY KID irene (with a horrified glance at the bed) Is she dyin' — honest? DREAMY S-s-s-h-h! She's croaking I tells yo' — an' I gotter stay wid her fo' a while — an' I ain't got no time ter be pesterin' wid you. Beat it now! Beat it outa here befo' I knocks yo' cold, git me? IRENE Jest wait a secon', for de love o' Gawd. I got somep'n ter tell you — DREAMY I don't wanter hear yo' fool talk. (He gives her a push toward the door?) Git outa dis, you hear me? IRENE I'll go. I'm gwine soon — soon's ever I've had my say. Lissen, Dreamy! It's about de coppers I come ter tell you. dreamy (quickly) Why don' you say dat befo'? What you know, gal? IRENE Just befo' I come here to find you de first time, de madam sends me out to Murphy's ter git her a bottle o' gin. I goes in de side door, but I ain't rung de bell yet. I hear yo' name spoken an' I stops ter lissen. Dey was three or four men in de back room. Dey don't hear me open de outside door, an' dey can't see me, course. It was Big Sullivan from de Central Office talkin'. He was talkin' 'bout de killin' you done last night, and he tells dem odders he's heerd 'bout de ole woman gittin' so sick, 508 THE DREAMY KID and dat if dey don't fin' you none of de odder places dey's looking dey's goin' wait for you here. Dey s'pecs you come here say good-bye to Mammy befo' you make yo' git-away. DREAMY It's aw right, den. Dey ain't come yit. Twister Smith done tole me de coast was clear befo' I come here. IRENE Dat was den. It ain't now. dreamy (excitedly) What you mean, gal? IRENE I was comin' in by de front way when 1 sees some pusson hidin' in de doorway 'cross de street. I gits a good peek at him and when I does — it's a copper, Dreamy, suah's yo' born, in his plain clo'se, and he's a watchin' de door o' dis house like a cat. dreamy (goes to the window and, stealthily crouch- ing by the dark side, peeks out. One glance is enough. He comes quickly back to Irene?) You got de right dope, gal. It's dat Mickey. I knows him even in de dark. Dey're waitin' — so dey ain't wise I'm here yit, dat's suah. IRENE But dey'll git wise befo' long. DREAMY He don' pipe you comin* in here? IRENE I skulked roun' and sneaked in by de back way froo de yard. Dey ain't none o* dem dar yit. (Raising her voice — excitedly) But dere will be soon, Dey're boun' to git wise to dat back 509 THE DREAMY KID door. You ain't got no time to lose, Dreamy, Come on wid me now. Git back where yo' safe. It's de cooler for you certain if you stays here. Dey'll git you like a rat in de trap. (As Dreamy hesitates) For de love of Gawd, Dreamy, wake up to youse'f! dreamy {uncertainly) I can't beat it — wid Mammy here alone. My luck done turn bad all my life if I does. irene (fiercely) What good's you gittin' pinched and sent to de chair gwine do her? Is you crazy mad? Come away wid me, I tells you! dreamy (half persuaded — hesitatingly) I gotter speak wid her. You wait a secon'. irene (wringing her hands) Dis ain't no time now for fussin' wid her. dreamy (gruffly) Shut up! (He makes a motion for her to remain where she is and goes over to the bed — in a low voice) Mammy. mammy (hazily) Dat you, Dreamy? (She tries to reach out her hand and touch him.) dreamy I'm gwine leave you — jest for a moment, Mammy. I'll send de word for Ceely Ann — mammy (wide awake in an instant — with intense alarm) Don' yo' do dat. Don' yo' move one step out er yere, or yo'll be sorry, Dreamy. dreamy (apprehensively) I gotter go, I tells you. I'll come back. 510 THE DREAMY KID mammy (with wild grief) O good Lawd! Wen I's drawin' de las' bre'fs in dis po' ole body. (Frenziedly) De Lawd have mercy! Good Lawd, have mercy! dreamy (fearfully) Stop dat racket, Mammy! You bring all o' dem down on my head! (He rushes over and crouches by the window again to peer out — in relieved tones) He ain't heerd nothin'. He's dar yit. Irene (imploringly) Come on. Dreamy! (Mammy groans with pain.) dreamy (hurrying to the bed) What's de matter, Mammy? irene (stamping her foot) Dreamy! Fo' Gawd's sake! MAMMY Lawd have mercy! (She groans.) Gimme yo' han', chile. Yo' ain't gwine leave me now, Dreamy? Yo' ain't, is yo'? Yo' ole Mammy won't bodder yo' long. Yo' know w'at yo' promise me, Dreamy! Yo' promise yo' sacred word yo' stay wid me till de en'. (With an air of somber prophecy — slowly) If yo' leave me now, yo' ain't gwine git no bit er luck s'long's yo' live, I tells yo' dat! dreamy (frightened — pleadingly) Don't you say dat, Mammy! IRENE Come on, Dreamy! 33 511 THE DREAMY KID DREAMY {slowly) I can't. {In awed tones) Don* you hear de curse she puts on me if I does? mammy {her voice trembling with weak tears) Don' go, chile! dreamy {hastily) I won't leave dis room, I swar ter you! {Re- lieved by the finality in his tones , the old woman sighs and closes her eyes. Dreamy frees his hand from hers and goes to Irene. He speaks with a strange calm.) De game's up, gal. You better beat it while de gwine's good. Irene {aghast) You gwine stay? DREAMY I gotter, gal. I ain't gwine agin her dyin' curse. No, suh! irene {pitifully) But dey'll git you, suah! dreamy {slapping the gun in his pocket signifi- cantly) Dey'll have some gittin\ I git some o' dem fust. {With gloomy determination) Dey don' git dis chicken alive! Lawd Jesus, no suh. Not de Dreamy! irene {helplessly) Oh, Lawdy, Lawdy! {She goes to the window — with a short cry) He's talkin' wid someone. Dere's two o' dem. {Dreamy hurries to her side.) dreamy I knows him — de udder. It's Big Sullivan. {Pulling her away roughly.) Come out o' dat! 512 THE DREAMY KID Dey'll see you. {He pushes her toward the door.) Dey won't wait down here much longer. Dey'll be comin' up here soon. {Prayerfully , with a glance at the bed) I hopes she's croaked by den, fo' Christ I does! irene {as if she couldn't believe it) Den you ain't gwine save youse'f while dere's time? {Pleadingly) Oh, Dreamy, you can make it yet! DREAMY De game's up, I tole you. {With gloomy fatalism) I s'pect it hatter be. Yes, suh. Dey'd git me in de long run, anyway — and wid her curse de luck'd be agin me. (JVith sudden anger) Git outa here, you Reeny! You ain't aimin' ter git shot up, too, is you? Ain't no sense in dat. irene {fiercely) I'se stayin', too, here wid you! DREAMY No you isn't! None o* dat bull! You ain't got no mix in dis jamb. IRENE Yes, I is! Ain't you my man? DREAMY Don' make no dif. I don' wanter git you in Dutch more'n you is. It's bad 'nuff fo' me. {He pushes her toward the door.) Blow while you kin, I tells you! irene {resisting him) No, Dreamy! What I care if dey kills me? I'se gwine stick wid you. 5*3 THE DREAMY KID dreamy (gives her another push) No, you isn't, gal. (Unlocking the door — re- lentlessly) Out wid you! Irene (hysterically) You can't gimme no bum's rush. I'm gwine stay. dreamy (gloomily) On'y one thing io me ter do, den. (He hits her on the side of the face with all his might, knocking her back against the wall, where she sways as if about to fall. Then he opens the door and grabs her two arms from behind) Out wid you, gal! irene (moaning) Dreamy! Dreamy! Lemme stay wid you! (He pushes her into the hallway and holds her there at arm f s length.) Fo' Gawd's sake, Dreamy. mammy (whimperingly) Dreamy! I'se skeered! irene (from the hall) I'se gwine stay right here at de door. You might 's well lemme in. dreamy (frowning) Don' do dat, Reeny. (Then with a sudden idea) You run roun' and tell de gang what's up. Maybe dey git me outa dis, you hear? irene (with eager hope) You think dey kin? DREAMY Never kin tell. You hurry — through de back yard, 'member — an' don' git pinched, now. irene (eagerly) I'm gwine! I'll bring dem back! dreamy (stands listening to her retreating foot- 5*4 THE DREAMY KID steps — then shuts and locks the door — gloomily to himself) Ain't no good. Dey dassent do nothin' — but I hatter git her outa dis somehow. mammy {groaning) Dreamy! DREAMY Here I is. Jest a secon\ {He goes to the win- dow?) mammy {weakly) I feels — like — de en's comin'. Oh, Lawd, Lawd! dreamy {absent-mindedly) Yes, Mammy. {Aloud to himself) Dey're sneakin' cross de street. Dere's anudder of 'em. Dat's tree. {He glances around the room quickly — then hurries over and takes hold of the chest of drawers. As he does so the old woman commences to croon shrilly to herself?) DREAMY Stop dat noise, Mammy! Stop dat noise! mammy {wanderingly) Dat's how come yo' got dat — dat nickname — Dreamy. dreamy Yes, Mammy. {He puts the lamp on the floor to the rear of the door, turning it down low. Then he carries the chest of drawers over and places it against the door as a barricade.) 5*5 THE DREAMY KID mammy (rambling as he does this — very feebly) Does yo' know — I gives you dat name — w'en yo's des a baby — lyin' in my arms — DREAMY Yes, Mammy. MAMMY Down by de crik — under de ole willow — whar I uster take yo' — wid yo' big eyes a-chasin' — de sun flitterin' froo de grass — an' out on de water — dreamy {takes the revolver from his pocket and puts it on top of the chest of drawers.) Dey don't git de Dreamy alive — not for de chair! Lawd Jesus, no suh! MAMMY An' yo' was always — a-lookin' — an' a-thinkin' ter yo'se'f — an' yo' big eyes jest a-dreamin' an' a-dreamin' — an' dat's w'en I gives yo' dat nickname — Dreamy — Dreamy — DREAMY Yes, Mammy. {He listens at the crack of the door — in a tense whisper) I don' hear dem — but dey're comin' sneakin' up de stairs, I knows it. mammy (faintly) Whar is yo', Dreamy? I can't — ha'dly — breathe — no mo'. Oh, Lawd, have mercy! dreamy (goes over to the bed) Here I is, Mammy. mammy (speaking with difficulty) Yo' — kneel down — chile — say a pray'r — Oh, Lawd! DREAMY Jest a secon' Mammy. (He goes over and gets his revolver and comes back.) 5 i6 THE DREAMY KID MAMMY Gimme — yo' hand — chile. {Dreamy gives her his left hand. The revolver is in his right. He stares nervously at the door.) An' yo' kneel down — pray fo' me. {Dreamy gets on one knee beside the bed. There is a sound from the hallway as if someone had made a misstep on the stairs — then silence. Dreamy starts and half aims his gun in the direction of the door. Mammy groans weakly?) MAMMY I'm dyin', chile. Hit's de en'. You pray for me — out loud — so's I can heah. Oh, Lawd! {She gasps to catch her breath.) dreamy {abstractedly , not having heard a word she has said) Yes, Mammy. {Aloud to himself, with an air of grim determination as if he were making a pledge) Dey don't git de Dreamy! Not while he's 'live! Lawd Jesus, no suh! mammy {falteringly) Dat's right — yo' pray — Lawd Jesus — Lawd Jesus — {There is another slight sound of movement from the hallway.) THE CURTAIN FALLS 5i7 FORBIDDEN FRUIT A COMEDY IN 1 ONE ACT Based on a Work of Octave Feuillet by George Jay Smith PERSONS Corisanda, a Countess Bettina, her Maid An s elm, her Notary Rosario, a Stranger Mazetto, his Servant First produced at the Bandbox Theater, New York, 191 5, by The Washington Square Players. Copyright, 191 5, by GEORGE JAY SMITH ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Applications for permission to produce Forbidden Fruit must be made to George Jay Smith, 500 Park Ave., New York. FORBIDDEN FRUIT The scene shows an interior, a large living-room in the chateau of the Countess Corisanda. Doors right and left. A large window ', left rear, in flat. A large divan under the window, which is suitably draped with curtains. A small writing desk right, forward. A table left, near the side. A wall mirror near it. Carpet, chairs, etc. At rise, Corisanda is seated, LC, and Bettina is engaged in putting the finishing touches on the Countess' coiffure. CORISANDA Oh, how bored I am! . . . What shall I read, Bettina? — while you are doing my hair? Hand me those verses that silly Marquis addressed to me. . . . {Bettina brings the paper from the writing desk. After glancing at the verses, Cori- sanda throws them impatiently upon the table.) No; go call my notary. {Bettina goes to door, right, and summons Anselm. He enters, ap- proaches and bows.) Good day, Monsieur Anselm. . . . Oh, pardon me, but what does this mean? What's the color of your hair? ANSELM A blond brown, Madame. CORISANDA Ah, this is some joke. Yesterday it was black as a crow. 521 FORBIDDEN FRUIT anselm {embarrassed) Madame the Countess is mistaken. CORISANDA I assure you, Mr. Notary, it was black as a crow. Why should I try to deceive you? — Bettina, haven't you almost finished? BETTINA Almost, Madame. ANSELM Madame the Countess had nothing else to say to me? CORISANDA Oh, I ask your pardon. Please sit there. (He sits.) Take this bundle of papers which came yesterday by post. (She hands him papers from her table?) They are about that law-suit of the Count's for the lands. I spent half the night going over these papers, and do you know what I have discovered? That I have lost! Fifty thousand francs, if you please. anselm (who has opened the papers) Pardon, Madame, but, on the contrary, you have won. corisanda (bursting into laughter) Ah, so much the better! . . . Did I have anything else to say to you ? . . . Ah, no matter. anselm (aside) Can she have seen how I feel? CORISANDA Yes. . . . There is one matter I must speak of. ANSELM Yes, Madame? — (Aside) I tremble for fear my love may be displeasing to her. 522 FORBIDDEN FRUIT CORISANDA I'm going to make my will. ANSELM Your will, Madame? CORISANDA I shall die of weariness tomorrow, or day after at latest. I shall be bored to death. ANSELM Weary? bored? Madame! In this magnificent chateau, beautiful, rich, a widow. CORISANDA Bettina, explain to Monsieur Anselm why I am bored. BETTINA Madame is bored, Monsieur, because she is beautiful, rich, and a widow. These are three very sufficient reasons. She is bored because she has no wish that may not be gratified, be- cause there is no whim that her immense fortune does not permit her to carry out, no man whom her beauty does not make a lover, and no lover whom her liberty does not permit her to marry. corisanda {sighing) Ah, all that is only too true! {Noise of horsemen is heard.) What's that noise, Bettina? A troop of cavalry? bettina {running to the window) Madame, there are two strange gentlemen on horseback — one with feathers on his hat! CORISANDA Is he young, the one with feathers? {Anselm rises.) S 2 3 FORBIDDEN FRUIT BETTINA Young and fine-looking! But his valet has the look of a goose dressed in livery. They're enter- ing the court. corisanda (who has gone to the window) He is handsome, that's true. How unfortunate ! It would be fun to turn his head, but then he'd want to marry me, and what reason could I give for saying no? For, of course, I am a widow. . . . He'd take me for a coquette — he wouldn't know how bored I am. BETTINA That's a case when it would be most convenient to have a husband. CORISANDA Bettina, I can't refuse him hospitality if he asks it. (She reflects a moment?) Yes, that's it. Monsieur Anselm, you are my husband! an s elm (starting) Good heavens! What, Madame! CORISANDA Yes, for an hour or two — for as long as this stranger is in my chateau. Listen now, and you, Bettina, give the word to all the servants. (She comes forward with Anselm and Bettina?) Mon- sieur Anselm, you are General Castelforte, my husband, whom false news reported dead in Bulgaria. . . . Now, then, this young stranger, whatever happens, can ask me nothing that I shall not be in a position to refuse him. Re- member, Anselm, to speak as I speak. ANSELM Yes, Madame. Should I, in the course of con- 5 2 4 FORBIDDEN FRUIT versa tion, call you "my angel" — before this young man? CORISANDA No. Put on this sword. (She goes to the wall, right, and brings a sword and belt.) an s elm (aside) Is all this only a game to make me understand she knows of my love? — Why shouldn't I be the husband for her? I'm the only well-dressed man in the neighborhood. CORISANDA Here, get on your gloves, and give me your hand. (Seizing his hand with a flourish she goes out, left, laughing, followed by Anselm, with the papers, grave, and Bettina.) (Knocking on door, without, right. Re-enter Bettina, who admits the Chevalier de Rosario and Mazetto, his valet. They place their hats on the divan, rear. All three, com r e forward.) ROSARIO Whose is this chateau, my girl ? BETTINA The Countess Corisanda's, sir. ROSARIO Is she young, this Countess? BETTINA Young as one of the Graces, and beautiful as all three. ROSARIO Take this purse for your mythology. BETTINA Thanks, Your Highness. S15 FORBIDDEN FRUIT mazetto {coming closer to Bettind) I must see a little closer here. Oh, good heavens, my child! What is that on your cheek there? {He suddenly kisses her.) Be easy, there's noth- ing there now. ROSARIO You have disgusting bad manners, Mazetto. My dear, will you announce the Chevalier de Rosario to your mistress? bettina {smiling) Yes, Your Excellency. She begs that you will await her here. {She makes a saucy face at Ma- zetto ', and goes out y left.) ROSARIO Explain me one thing, Mazetto: you seem re- markably successful with women. . . . mazetto {laughing) Oh — fairly, fairly, that's a fact. ROSARIO And yet you have the face of a fool. MAZETTO Nothing is more certain; I have. ROSARIO Notwithstanding, you please women — you re- ceive their favors? MAZETTO I should receive them if my master would only give me time enough. Yesterday, when you called me, if you had only given me ten minutes more my happiness would have been certain. ROSARIO You have a crazy idea of always wanting ten minutes more. Your "ten minutes more" is getting to be a little tiresome. But how is it 526 FORBIDDEN FRUIT with a face like that you can win any woman's favor? I can't understand it. MAZETTO Oh, this face of mine gives me positive advan- tages. Women say, "Oh, he's only a poor fool, that Mazetto." And that gives me positively great advantages. ROSARIO That may be. Everything has its good side — except marriage. MAZETTO Oh, that thought torments you, sir! It has be- come a sort of refrain in your talk. ROSARIO But why are women such fools as to wish to bury their lovers in the guise of a husband ? Disagree- able scientists will cut a beautiful flower in the sun to make of it an old dried-up thing in a her- barium. Women are the same way. MA7ETTO Your excellency is not a marrying man, that's all. ROSARIO No, and when I make love to a pretty woman (which, of course, I can't help doing), it's most annoying to have her make an unpleasant scene when she discovers I'm not the marrying sort. MAZETTO Well, you have only to let them think from the first that you are already married. ROSARIO Married? No; that gives a fellow an awkward air. But there's one thing I might do. I'll say I'm a Knight of Malta. Everyone knows that 34 52? FORBIDDEN FRUIT the rule of this Order forbids marriage — that's a great idea! MAZETTO And I — I'll give myself out for a lay brother of of the same Order! We'll both be safe then. ROSARIO Be silent. She's coming. {Bettina opens the door, left, and admits Cori- sanda and Anselm.) BETTINA My lady, gentlemen. rosario {aside) Who's this melancholy fellow with her? — {Aloud) Madame, finding myself this morning on your road here with my valet — CORISANDA Sir, it is a piece of good fortune in this lonely region to — rosa Rio {bowing) To find a hostess so charming. CORISANDA The pleasure, I assure you, is mutual. But without more compliment, pray be seated. {Aside to Anselm.) Remember to back up all I say. {They all sit except Mazetto and Bettina.) rosario {aside) She's very beautiful. — {To Mazetto, apart). Don't forget to enlarge on what I say. bettina {to Corisanda, apart) His lackey is certainly a fool. 528 FORBIDDEN FRUIT rosa rio {aside) I wonder who this silent duffer can be? — {Aloud) Madame, permit me to introduce myself as the Chevalier de Rosario, {insistently) Knight of Malta. mazetto {bowing) Of the holy Order of Malta. CORISANDA Chevalier, let me present General Castelforte, my husband, recently returned from his last campaign in Bulgaria. an s elm {bowing) In Bulgaria. rosario {bowing) General. — {Aside) What an ass he is! But since she's married, the Order of Malta was un- necessary, in fact embarrassing. Bah! she's forgotten it already! CORISANDA Tell me, Chevalier, exactly what is your Order of Malta? I confess my ignorance of it. ROSARIO Oh, Countess, it's an order of knighthood — like all the orders. MAZETTO Except, Madame, that it forbids marriage. rosario {aside) The idiot! When she's married! CORISANDA Ah! — {Aside.) If I'd known that, I shouldn't have bothered with this stupid notary. But, too late now. 529 FORBIDDEN FRUIT rosario {looking furiously at Mazetto) My servant also, Madame, belongs to the same Order, and is bound by the same vows. mazetto {ogling Bettina) Yes, for my sins. bettina {aside) He's rather funny after all, this fellow. CORISANDA Did you choose this profession, Chevalier? ROSARIO Frankly, no, Madame. My father chose it for me, in my boyhood, because I was the youngest of my house. MAZETTO As I of mine. rosario {apart to the Countess) Pardon, Countess. Would you mind sending this valet of mine to the servants' quarters ? CORISANDA Bettina, take this young man and let him have some breakfast — unless his vows forbid food. MAZETTO Oh, no, Madame! {Bettina and Mazetto exeunt, right?) ROSARIO A thousand thanks, Countess! When the boy sees me in peril of temptation, he becomes in- tolerable. Count, you appear troubled; pray, don't let me detain you. . . . CORISANDA You must pardon the Count, Chevalier de Ro- sario. The great suffering he endured in Bul- garia rendered him very taciturn. 53° FORBIDDEN FRUIT ANSELM Very taciturn. CORISANDA He was wounded and made prisoner in a skirm- ish, and, like everyone else, I, for a year, be- lieved him dead. ANSELM Dead. CORISANDA Heaven was good enough to restore him to me one evening in the garb of a pilgrim. ANSELM Of a pilgrim. rosa rio {aside) Good Lord! It's an echo dressed like a man! (Aloud.) General, it's very sad. Madame, will you permit me to express the great admiration I have for your park? — surely one of the most beautiful I have ever seen. It has the coquetry of a lovely woman, always inviting, yet always concealing and evading. I should like to ex- plore this park, Madame. corisanda (smiling) But you would get lost, Chevalier, unless I serve you as guide; and if I guide you I should destroy the solitude. ROSARIO Countess! Do angels destroy paradise? Count, I am truly sorry for your indisposition. corisanda (rising) I take you at your word. Give me your arm. My dear Count, this walk would tire you. (All have risen.) 53* FORBIDDEN FRUIT ANSELM But, my loveliest one. . . . CORISANDA Silence, my dear. No unnecessary gallantry. The Chevalier will excuse you, I say. ROSA RIO Certainly, General. CORISANDA Let us go out, Chevalier, by way of the library. (They go out, left. Anselm remains, pacing furiously up and down.) anselm (alone) I'm their stalking horse, that's plain. I'm play- ing fool to them. This stranger with his pre- tentious talk must think me an ass. But, by heaven! I won't lose them from my sight. I'll make use of the advantage she's given me. It's not delicate, but love knows no law. Where the deuce have I seen that? No matter. After them. (He follows them, going out left. Enter, right, Bettina and Mazetto.) MAZETTO Lovely Bettina! I admired you from the first glimpse I had of you ! bettina (left center) Sorry I can't return the compliment. MAZETTO "Like mistress, like maid" proves true; only, if anything, I like your style a bit better than the Countess'. 532 FORBIDDEN FRUIT bettina {edging away from his arm) Pity you don't share the Chevalier's good looks. What's the matter with your arm? mazetto {trying to embrace her) It's nervous. BETTINA And you a brother of a holy order, too! MAZETTO Ah! But then you understand my vows were not so strict as the Chevalier's. Far from it. BETTINA Evidently^ {He seizes her and kisses her. She runs out, left, followed by Mazetto. Enter ; right, C oris an da and Rosario.) ROSARIO We've eluded him, Countess. CORISANDA Ah, the General is experienced in pursuit. ROSARIO Madame, do you know you are maddeningly beautiful? CORISANDA Pray, Chevalier, admire my park ah you please, but let my face be. ROSARIO Madame, in this world we admire what we must, whether we ought or not. CORISANDA But surely it is not permitted a Knight of Malta .... rosario {hastily) Oh, beautiful Countess! I see you have a little 533 FORBIDDEN FRUIT misunderstood that matter of the vows. {Sht happens to look back to the window, at which the face of An s elm appears?) corisanda (aside) Anselm! The impertinent meddler! rosario {aside, also having perceived Anselm) The Count! Confound him! Fortunately his wife hasn't seen him. — {Aloud) Countess, if you will again enter the library, we may enjoy the view now more at leisure. CORISANDA Certainly, Chevalier. {She looks back at the win- dow, from which the face of Anselm disappears.) This way! {They go out again, left.) {Enter Anselm, right, out of breath and irritated.) ANSELM Where did they go? They have no shame! I'm eaten up with jealousy. {Calling loudly.) Cori- sanda! Oh, Corisanda! — I know well I'll lose the Countess' favor forever, but love doesn't reason. {He calls into the door, left.) Corisanda! Where are you? Corisanda! Oh, you are there, my dear one ! corisanda {entering) You are an insolent fool, Anselm. Go away! What do you mean? anselm {in a loud voice) No, my adored angel! CORISANDA {low VOtCe) What! You deserve a thrashing, you impudent fellow ! anselm {very loud) No, joy of my life! No i 534 FORBIDDEN FRUIT corisanda [low voice) I'll call the Chevalier and let him deal with you. {Calling.) Chevalier, here, if you please! anselm [low voice) Countess! You will involve yourself in great embarrassment. [Enter Rosario, left.) corisanda [aloud) 'Tis well, sir. You are right. A thousand par- dons, Chevalier. The General reminds me of an engagement. Pray excuse me. [Exit, right.) rosario [striking Anselm on the shoulder) What the Countess told me is the fact, Gen- eral ? ANSELM What, sir? ROSARIO Not only that the world believed you dead, but that you yourself shared in this tragic opinion ? ANSELM Maybe so. ROSARIO You thought yourself dead, General? Very strange, indeed. But, shall I tell you? You don't seem to have recovered from that idea. ANSELM Possibly not. rosario [taking of his coat) In that case, wouldn't it be just as well to bury you, by way of precaution? [He takes his sword into his hand.) ANSELM [coldly) Underling! [He goes out hastily, right.) 535 FORBIDDEN FRUIT rosario {stupefied) What! Are you crazy? IVe insulted you and you run away ! Sir, you are ridiculous ! {Louder) General, you are a coward! — {Alone.) Well, I'll be — I never knew the like in all my life — and he a general! {He puts on his coat. Noticing the desk, he sits and writes as follows:) "Madame, I have deceived you: I have made no eternal vow save that of loving you. The union which binds you is monstrous. I will say nothing of the General. Either he is an idiot, or his mind is so far unbalanced that he refuses to fight me. I will rescue you from this bond- age. I will go to Rome, to the Pope. I will do anything that is necessary, but I will recover liberty for you. Then do with me as you will. Your husband or your slave, Rosario." {Calling) Mazetto! {Enter Mazetto, left) Take this to the Countess. {Exit Mazetto, right.) Oh, I am saved in this world and the next, if this woman will marry me. Thanks be to heaven for this second youth which I feel in my veins! O primitive faith, lost and sacred adora- tion, I feel you revive in my soul, and flood my heart! mazetto {returning) Sir, I met the Countess' servant, who was bringing this note from her mistress, and I gave Jier yours. That girl would make a musket fall in love! ROSARIO Goc {Exit Mazetto, left.) — {Reading) "I have deceived you, Chevalier, The Count, my hus- band, is dead. I am free, but you are not. I 536 FORBIDDEN FRUIT will never see you again under any pretext. Adieu." Divine pity! She is free! and she loves me! {The Countess appears at door, right, holding the open letter of Rosario. He perceives her.) Oh, beloved vision! Tears, tears in your eyes! Oh, let me stop them forever! CORISANDA No, no let them flow, Chevalier! They are sweet. Come! {The Chevalier kneels at her feet, LC.) No, my friend, beside me; your hand in mine. Look into my eyes, since they please you. Talk to me of love, since I love you. Oh, my own, my own ! rosario {embracing her) Dear heart, how my mother will love you ! The news that at last I love, love truly, blessedly, will make her happy. Oh, my darling — my life has not been all it should have been. Let me confess to you . . . CORISANDA No — no. It would only be to waste words. Let the past be. The present is enough! ROSARIO Oh, how I love you, love you! Till the end of the world! CORISANDA Some little ceremony is necessary for that, Chevalier. I have a mother, too, and her pres- ence here now would be advisable. Come, sit there, write to your mother; I will write here, to mine. {Rosario sits at the desk, Corisanda at the table.) 537 FORBIDDEN FRUIT ROSARIO It's far away from you, here. CORISANDA Well, in that case, make haste. rosario {writing) "My dear Mother"— corisanda {writing) "Beloved Mamma" — rosario {aside, thoughtful) Yes, yes, I love her, certainly — very probably. I've spoken very feelingly to her. corisanda {aside) We shall be married. He wasn't a Knight of Malta, after all. That probably excited me. rosario {looking at her, aside) Assuredly, she's a beauty. Her mind has some depth, too. corisanda {looking at him, aside) A good-looking man. His foot rather big: but a well-looking man. ROSARIO "My dear Mother."— {Aside.) Who the devil can that pretended general be? She has a rather thin arm, like that of an actress I once knew. CORISANDA "Beloved Mamma." . . . You're not writing, Chevalier? ROSARIO I ask your pardon. But when one wishes to be brief, one seeks the right word, and that takes time. — {Aside.) That shadow on her upper lip, to an indifferent person, would look like a mous- tache. Her arm is certainly thin. {Pretends to write.) 538 FORBIDDEN FRUIT co ri sand a {aside) Somehow I don't feel very sure of him. He's had experiences. Do I really know anything about him ? {Pretends to write.) ROSARIO She has seen life, this widow — for she is a widow ... ' CORISANDA Chevalier, you're not writing? ROSARIO It seems to me we're playing the same game, Countess: your paper is blank, too. CORISANDA Do you know, Monsieur de Rosario, that your hesitation could be given an ill interpretation? ROSARIO How about yours, Madame? corisanda {abruptly , after a pause) Chevalier, you have an enormous foot. rosario {rising) It is a reproach, Countess, which your arm will never merit! CORISANDA Your hat, sir, is on the divan. rosario {bowing) If the dream has been half as agreeable to you, Madame, as to me, you will pardon me the awakening, as I pardon it to you. Mazetto! Blood and death! Mazetto! (Mazetto, redjaced, puts his head in at the door, left.) 539 FORBIDDEN FRUIT MAZETTO My lord, in heaven's name! In the name of all that's most sacred! Ten minutes more! rosario {putting on his hat) Fool! Will you come, or not? mazetto {entering) Oh! my cursed luck! You are harder than rock, sir! ROSARIO There's your hat! We're off! {Exeunt, right.) corisanda {seating herself languidly) Bettina! {Enter Bettina, left.) Hand me a novel, Bettina. . . . {Corisanda regards herself in her hand mirror :) . . . Oh, how bored I am! CURTAIN 540 JEZEBEL A PLAY by Dorothy Stockbridge CHARACTERS Jezebel Melkah Jehu Messenger Two Slaves First produced at Vassar College Copyright, 1921, by DOROTHY STOCKBRIDGE ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Applications for permission to produce this play should be ad- dressed to Miss Dorothy Stockbridge, in care of Hector Mac Quarries' Book Shop, 27 University Place, New York City. No performance may be given without her consent. JEZEBEL SCENE A room in the royal palace in Jezreel overhanging the wall of the city. At back is a great window with steps leading up to it. D. R. is a statue of the Golden Bull on a pedestal. Jezebel is kneeling before it, her forehead bowed on its hoofs, side face to the audience. Melkah, a slave girl, not over young but very handsome, stands in the window looking down on the plain below. There are en- trances through the curtains, R. and L. and a great chair, U. R. As the curtain rises, there is an instant's silence. JEZEBEL He whom I nursed as a child, forget not his name, O Heedless One. He is riding forth into battle, Joram, Joram, my son. With his hundred men of iron he is riding forth, And Ahaziah, King of Judah, is with him, I have served thee well, O thou golden Beast. I have builded unto thee images and temples. I have kept thy prophets, and in this way and in that, Have I slain the priests of Him who would de- stroy thee. (More softly.) Forget not therefore his name, O Heedless One. Joram, Joram, my son. Remember him in the hour of battle. 543 JEZEBEL His coat is red, red as the blood of his heart that I gave him. Thou canst see him afar off. Be thou a shield to his heart, that no harm befall him. (Rises, turning to slave.) Girl, girl, rideth my son bravely? (Taking a few impatient steps, M. C.) Speak! Speak! What seest thou? Hath he goodly following? MELKAH Aye, Queen. He is well attended. But the army of his enemy numbereth many men. JEZEBEL His enemy. Would I knew his name. May he be accursed forever. Tell me, girl, canst thou not see who this man is that dare confront the King, my son ? MELKAH (slowly) Nay, O Jezebel. He standeth too far. (A quiver of excitement in her voice?) But he bear- eth himself well — (softly) well. JEZEBEL Some upstart captain whom Joram trained to war. What color weareth he? MELKAH A green coat. (Turning and facing Jezebel with covert triumph?) And his hair is like flame in the sun. jezebel (venomously) Then it is Jehu. Jehu, the stranger, whom no one knew. Cursed be his name and his house. My son loved him and made him to be his cap- tain, albeit he came none knew whence, and 544 JEZEBEL now he turneth on him to rend him. (Goes to chair and sits down.) MELKAH Aye, he came none knew whence. JEZEBEL And Joram loved him. MELKAH Aye, O daughter of Kings. (Maliciously.) And thou, too, didst love him, ingrate that he is. jezebel (quickly) I? I loved him? MELKAH Aye, Queen, and he hath returned thee this treachery. Cursed be he that could see love in thine eyes and return thee such treachery. JEZEBEL It is a lie, girl, I never loved him. (The murmur oj distant shouting is heard \ softly at first.) MELKAH True, true! Alas, that he should have dared to boast of thy love in the streets of Jezreel and among the captains. jezebel (hoarse with rage) Ah, when I shall have him in these hands! MELKAH He will die, I doubt not, O Queen. JEZEBEL Die! (Breaks of as murmur rises to a distant shout and then dies down again. The tempo, which began at a medium speed, has been slowly decreasing for the last ten lines or so. Now there is a sudden jump to quick tempo in the following lines.) 545 JEZEBEL melkah (at window) The messenger of King Joram hath ridden forth to speak with Jehu. jezebel (hoarsely) What — what — tell me what befalleth, girl. MELKAH A strange chance, truly. The messenger goeth not back to the army of our King Joram, but entereth the host of Jehu the traitor. jezebel (rising) Dogs that they are. And must my son perish at the hands of traitors? — Perish — (Again a shout.) melkah (breaks in) Another messenger rideth forth. jezebel (to the Bull in supplication) Ah, send he may prosper and return. Tell me, girl, dost thou see Joram ? How fareth he ? MELKAH Well, O Queen — well. I see his red cloak shin- ing right bravely among his captains. jezebel He is first of all, first of all. Is it not always so? Men call me proud. Isn't it not so, girl? MELKAH Aye, thou hast the pride of a Queen. jezebel Proud? Proud? Is he not always first? Doth he not bear himself royally? Doth he bow to any, even to me who gave him light? Is he not the man of men whom all envy and admire? Shall I not be proud? (More softly.) Because I bore him under my heart — because I know how small he was and helpless. Because he was the 546 JEZEBEL only one, my only one — and I the only need of his life when he was so small. {Murmur of battle dies away here.) melkah {coming from window and speaking with unexpected sympathy) Ah, Jezebel, my heart bleedeth for thee ! jezebel {scornfully) Bleedeth for me. How, girl, what canst thou know of such things ? {Returns to chair and sits down.) MELKAH What can I know? Hast thou forgotten that once thou gavest me — to him ? jezebel {indifferently) To Joram — Aye, I remember. He fancied thee, I think. Was it not honor enough for thee? MELKAH Aye, Queen, too great honor. My child died, dost thou remember? Since then I have not forgotten the prophecy of the man Elijah. jezebel {startled; to herself, in a terrified whisper) The prophecy of Elijah! {Then, turning to Mel- kah.) Elijah is a prophet of the God of Israel, but no God of mine. MELKAH Who but a fool could believe in a God whom no one hath seen, whom no one can name? Who is everywhere, in the depths of the sea and the ends of the earth, but whom no one hath touched ? JEZEBEL Out on thee, woman, what wouldst thou do to me? 547 JEZEBEL melkah {runs and throws herself at Jezebel's feet) I kiss thy feet if thou art enangered, O Queen. I would ease thy heart, if thou thinkest of the curse as I have thought of it. Hast thou not dreamed of this curse in the night-time as I have dreamed — JEZEBEL I have seen it sleeping and waking, sleeping and waking — we will not speak of it. (Rises.) melkah (standing by chair.) Truly, O Queen, it is best to forget. JEZEBEL Forget! (She paces restlessly about the room, speaking with assumed indifference.) Didst thou see this Elijah? MELKAH Aye, Queen, I was a child then. In all these years I have not forgotten. JEZEBEL A madman, I think he was, crying of wrongs done. There was a story of some wrong, I think. MELKAH Aye, Queen — there was a story of wrong. JEZEBEL I have forgot. (Returning slowly to chair.) melkah (leaning over the chair) Shall I tell thee the whispers of the people, O Queen ? JEZEBEL Nay, Nay! What have I to do with their whis- perings ? melkah (with suppressed passion) They said thou gavest Naboth, the old man, to 548 JEZEBEL death because he would not sell his vineyard to my lord Ahab, thine husband. JEZEBEL Naboth! {Laughing in scorn.) Now I do re- member. He was in his dotage or else mad. My lord was too gracious to him. MELKAH Aye, he would have given him money for his father's acres. JEZEBEL He haggled with him like a merchant when he might have taken his desire like a king. melkah {obsequiously and stepping back a little) As thou wouldst have done. JEZEBEL As I would have done! Truly thou sayest well — Come hither, girl, come hither. {Laughing wildly?) And so I" wrote to the elders and nobles and I said, "This Naboth is a blas- phemer," and they hired men to bear witness against him and he was stoned to death in the market-place. It was so simple, so simple. {Pauses ', and then slowly ', with clenched hands) What sayest thou to that, thou God of Israel? MELKAH And then, O Queen ? JEZEBEL And then Ahab went down and took the vine- yard of Naboth as was his due. melkah {creeping up closer) Aye, he went down and took it. And when King Ahab was in the vineyard, Elijah came — {Leaning near?) Didst thou see him, O Jezebel? 549 JEZEBEL JEZEBEL Aye, I saw him. melkah (going back M C step by step as if in fear before a frightful vision) Ah, Queen, was not his presence a frightful thing? It haunteth me in the dark, and is with me all day long. Had I not seen him, perchance his prophecy would not be to me so black a thing. JEZEBEL Nay, what was there so frightful in him ? I have seen beggars whose look offended me more. MELKAH But the look in his eyes. And he stood like a god or the messenger of a god. Canst thou for- get, O Queen? (Standing with arms raised^ a figure vibrant with passion?) "Hast thou killed and also taken possession? In the place where dogs licked the blood of Naboth shall dogs lick thy blood, even thine. Because thou hast sold thyself to work evil in the sight of the Lord I will bring evil upon thee and will take away thy posterity." jezebel (rising) Nay — do not make an end. There is more to it than that. And when it is finished "the dogs shall eat Jezebel by the wall of Jezreel." When it is finished — (Walking furiously towards Mel- kah.) Why didst thou forget so much, girl? melkah (flinging herself at Jezebel's feet) O daughter of Kings, look not on me so. All, all could I endure but only that. How dared I frame it with my tongue? My child is dead. What have I to fear from the curse ? (The murmur 55° JEZEBEL of distant shouting begins very softly and contin- ues during the next few pages.) jezebel {thoughtfully) Aye, girl, thy child is dead. {Wanders restlessly about, Melkah watching her covertly. For a mo- ment she stops before the image of the bull, then turns impatiently away. Murmur rises to shout- ing and the tempo which has again slowed down becomes very fast.) Tell me, dost thou see my son? MELKAH The army of Jehu advanceth — Ah, grant the curse fall not today. JEZEBEL Be silent. MELKAH Nay, be not afraid. Doubtless there will be yet many years before my lord, thy son. JEZEBEL Silence, girl. Wouldst thou slay me? {An- other shout. During the following lines the noise of distant shouting grows increasingly louder.) What passeth without? MELKAH They are met. They clash in battle, the armies of my lord Joram and of Jehu the traitor. JEZEBEL Seest thou my son ? MELKAH Aye, Queen, I see him. jezebel {rushing to the window behind Melkah) Where, Where? 55 1 JEZEBEL MELKAH There among the plunging hosts and the white horses. JEZEBEL I see Tiim not. MELKAH Dost thou not see the sun on his crown and his flashing blade? There, there in the forefront of battle. See, they press upon him, they sur- round him. JEZEBEL Nay, nay, there is a mist before my eyes. I see naught. {Staggering from the window.) melkah {watching her with furtive intensity) What, dost thou not even see the red cloak of Joram, of Joram the king ? JEZEBEL Nay, nay, I have told thee, girl. I see naught, naught but a cloud of phantoms seething in a mist. {Sinks exhaustedly in a chair, her back to Melkah. Noise culminates in a great shouting and sinks again to a murmur?) jezebel {frozen with fear, not turning in her chair) How fareth my son? MELKAH Well, O Queen, well. {Melkah turns from win- dow with narrowed eyes on Jezebel, but she speaks as though watching the battle below. The murmur of shouting rises very softly from the plain?) He beareth himself royally, yet alas, how doth he defend himself? He is surrounded. Just Heavens! He is master of the sword. It is a wall of light around him. They attack him on all sides. They strike at him — he striketh their 552 JEZEBEL weapons down and goeth unscathed. Yet how can he endure? jezebel {speaking with difficulty) Do they not bring him succour? Where are his captains? {Rising desperately.) Ah, God, were I a man! MELKAH Thou dost well to call on a god. That is wo- man's work and help cometh so. Do thou pray to the Golden Bull — he belike will help thee. {During the following speech the distant shouting is almost inaudible.) JEZEBEL He ? {For a long moment she stands looking up at the golden image. Then suddenly she strikes it with her hand, half laughing, half shrieking hys- terically.) Thou? I strike thee with my hand. What then? My hand bleedeth a little. Bah! Dost thou destroy me? If I gave thee my heart to eat thou wouldst still grin and grin as the smith made thee. Thinkest thou I have for- gotten how thou wert made of my jewels — the jewels King Ahab gave me when I was a bride? {She leans close to the bull.) That jewel that is thine eye — that sparkled on my bosom once. Faugh! Dost think that I do not know that they are jewels and not eyes? These I wore in my ears. Dost thou think I can believe that the goldsmith hath made a god of my vanities? {Raises her arms and strikes down the incense jar from the stand, stamping upon it. Laughs wildly and threatens the beast with her hands.) So much ! {Suddenly louder shouting. To Melkah, who has 553 JEZEBEL crept down from the steps watching her.) To thy place, girl. How fareth my son? melkah {running to window) Surprising well, O Queen. He hath rallied a few of his captains about him. Be not dismayed. He will yet win to the city gates. JEZEBEL Oh, if I could see! If I could see! Those cries are a thousand daggers stabbing my heart in darkness. melkah {leaning toward her from the window) Think not of them, O Queen. JEZEBEL Shall I not think of them ? What shall cause me to forget? Prayers? Girl, girl, thou hast made a mock of me. {Sits in chair. The murmur of shouting dies away altogether.) melkah {craftily) Nay, I would not have spoken, O Queen, but that I feared thy wrath, had I said what it was in my mind to say. jezebel {petulantly) Speak, speak. melkah {slowly and softly, watching Jezebel) In old days I used to think the God of Israel would answer prayer. JEZEBEL The God of Israel! MELKAH Nay, do not listen to those voices of the slain priests, close thine ears to them. JEZEBEL I hear them. 554 JEZEBEL MELKAH But they were servants of a God who was not thy God, O Queen. Indeed, indeed, thou didst right to order their deaths. JEZEBEL There were fifty of them. MELKAH Aye, fifty all told, but they spoke the truth un- wisely; they prophesied unwisely. They spoke against thee, O Queen, and how may a state endure when tongues wag against its Queen ? JEZEBEL True, they were unwise. (In a half-whisper to herself.) But doth He think of that, I wonder? MELKAH Perhaps he doth. I think he doth, O Queen. Do thou call thy name to him and he will not forget thee. jezebel (she does not notice the half-hidden mockery. A pause, and then dully) Aye, so be it. . Keep thou good watch, girl, and tell me what befalleth. MELKAH O Queen, I will. {Jezebel rises , starts toward the bull, covers her eyes as from some horror and crosses to the oppo- site side. Kneels, head bowed on her arms. Si- lence, except for the distant shouting which begins again very softly. Melkah creeps from window watching her.) jezebel (in a low voice, not moving) They cry very loud. 555 JEZEBEL MELKAH It is the noise of battle. jezebel (dully) Nay, nay, it is the voices of the slain priests. I can not hear my praying for their cries. They cry to God against me. melkah {from behind, bending over her malignantly) Look up to Heaven, God will hear thee. jezebel (raising her head slowly. Her senses are dulled. She is conscious only of the turmoil raging within. Her eyes fall on the bull) Nay, that way standeth the Golden Bull like a sign across the sky. I can not see God's face for the glitter of trivial things. MELKAH Call to Him. He will forget the slain priests and the golden idols. (Very slowly.) He is merciful. JEZEBEL Merciful. (Rising, her pride stung to life.) What have I to do with mercy? Shall I, who have given life and death, ask mercy? (Restlessly.) Bah! Mercy is the talk of weaklings and chil- dren. MELKAH Aye, it is true. (Pauses, and, then ventures with malice) The little daughter of Naboth prayed to thee for mercy, O Queen. jezebel (turning sharply) How dost thou know that? MELKAH I have heard it said. jezebel (pausing with her hand before her eyes) No matter, no matter. (Half to herself) I had thought that none knew that. 556 JEZEBEL MELKAH Surely thou hast forgotten so small a thing. JEZEBEL Forgotten! (Laughs oddly.) Doth one then forget? She was very small, not so old as my son — so small. I struck her, I believe. MELKAH That, too, was justice — the daughter of one whom thou hadst condemned. jezebel {laughing) Aye, that was justice. {The murmur from the plain, which has been increasing in volume, rises to a great shouting?) jezebel {frantically) What is that? {Again the sudden rise to very fast tempo?) melkah {runs to the window) Alas, alas, King Joram is down — no, no, he holdeth his own. Ah, dear God, his men desert him — he is alone among his enemies. {With wild exultation?) Pray thou for him, O Queen, pray to God for him or he is indeed lost. jezebel {raising her arms frantically) Pray to God! Fool! God hath spoken his jus- tice against me. And when it is finished, ''The dogs shall eat Jezebel by the walls of Jezreel." Doth He forget? Dost thou think he hath for- gotten that I have slain His priests and blas- phemed against His name? Have / forgotten? Shall I cry against his justice for mercy? {She sinks exhausted into a chair, cowering and tremb- ling convulsively. The tempo grows slower and slower through the next lines until entrance of mes- senger?) I would do as He hath done, if I were 557 JEZEBEL He and had power without limit. I would do it. I would have no thought of mercy. Why, then, should he ? Shall I ask for mercy and be denied — I, Jezebel, the Queen? MELKAH Nay, 'tis not for thyself thou shouldst ask mercy, O Queen, but for the King, thy son. JEZEBEL {softly) "Because thou hast sold thyself to work in- iquity I will bring evil upon thee, and {hardly above her breath) I will take away thy posterity." MELKAH My child died, O Queen. jezebel {furiously) Thy child! What of mine? {The curtain, R, is flung aside, the sound of shouting increases, and a messenger enters, breath- lessly, and flings himself down before Jezebel. Fast tempo, which continues until the song.) messenger Alas! O Queen, the King's army is fled. {A short pause. Jezebel stands as though turned to stone.) JEZEBEL What sayest thou? MESSENGER My lord Joram's captains have fled before the enemy. jezebel {speaking with difficulty in a strange voice) And the King? What of him? messenger The King! {Jezebel sways uncertainly?) Look 558 JEZEBEL to thy mistress, girl, she is ill. {Melkah does not stir.) jezebel {hoarsely) What of the King? Speak, fool! MESSENGER King Joram is taken prisoner in the hands of his enemies. JEZEBEL How knowest thou this? MESSENGER I stood by the King's orders in the gate of the city and saw it befall as I have said. jezebel {raising her arms in futile passion) Traitors ! Cowards ! melkah {speaking slowly in emphatic contrast to the others) What of Jehu? MESSENGER He is riding into the city with his army, bring- ing King Joram with him. JEZEBEL Will he come here, thinkest thou? MESSENGER I fear so, O Jezebel. JEZEBEL Fear! Fear! {Thinks a minute?) We thank thee for thy good service. Now get thee gone. Bid them open the great doors of the palace and receive Jehu, the captain, in my name. And tell my musician, the lute player, I would have him play softly, here behind the curtains, love songs of the ancient gods and heroes. It is my command. 559 JEZEBEL MESSENGER I obey. {He withdraws to doorway ', pauses.) I crave thy pardon, O Queen. jezebel {impatiently) Speak, speak. MESSENGER Would it not be well, O Queen — a small guard — behind the curtain? JEZEBEL Are there still any who will serve me? MESSENGER There are a few men in the palace, O Queen. JEZEBEL Then a guard, an armed guard — behind the cur- tain, there, with all the speed thou knowest, Go! MESSENGER I obey. {Exit. After exit of messenger shouting gradually dies away.) JEZEBEL My robe and crown, Melkah. The jewels and the ointment for my face. {Melkah goes to table.) Quick, girl, quickly. Thou must paint me a new image in the mirror — young as I once was — and of a beauty to find favor in the eyes of Jehu. melkah {brings robe, puts it about Jezebel's shoul- ders and then steps away a few feet. Anxiously?) Most gracious Queen, what hast thou in thy mind to do? jezebel {with a hard, excited laugh) Do? Am I then so old that I may not be loved? What, girl, didst thou not say that this Jehu boasted of my love? Is it not a wine a man 560 JEZEBEL may be drunk withal? The crown, girl. I would receive him meetly. melkah {speaking with real feeling) Queen, thou knowest not what thou dost. JEZEBEL Do I not? Do I not? {She laughs strangely.) Come near me, girl — near to me. Didst thou hear what he said? MELKAH Aye, Queen. JEZEBEL They are bringing my son in — a captive — to the city of his fathers — a captive. MELKAH Alas, it is true. JEZEBEL Shall I not win his safety for him ? melkah {eagerly) Alas, how can that be? JEZEBEL My jewels, girl — bring them to me. The emer- alds like green eyes. {As Melkah brings the jew- els, the sound of a harp softly touched sounds from behind the curtain , R.) Here, clasp them about my neck — so. I will bring love back into his heart. I will make it a flame to devour him — and when he shall lie half fainting at my feet he will give me again the life of my son. {Raising her clenched hands in exultant defiance?) Aye, in the teeth of thy prophets, O thou God of Israel, 1 will have back the life of my son. melkah {softly from behind her) And what of that armed guard behind the cur- tain ? 561 JEZEBEL jezebel (with slow, exultant cruelty) When he hath released to me my son — then they shall speak. (Melkah, standing behind her, draws a dagger from her bosom with swift, menac- ing gesture, then slowly, hesitantly, slips it back again.) Look thou behind the curtains. Are they in readiness ? (Melkah crosses R and holds curtain back for Jezebel to see. Melkah comes slowly back.) It is well. Now the ointment, girl. (She sits in chair. As Melkah kneels to paint Jezebel 's face a voice is heard singing behind the curtain. While the song is being sung, Melkah anoints Jezebel's arms and feet, perfumes her hair and clothes, paints her lips and eyes, etc. This should be done with ceremony and unhurriedly?) Song I have sought her all the night among the dark streets of the city. Her for whose sake sleep hath forsaken me. In the morning I spoke to the watchman at the gates. I asked him, "Hast thou seen her for whose sake sleep hath forsaken me?" The hair of my love is as the cedars of Lebanon, the black cedars of Lebanon: Her eyes shine between her locks like stars among trees, The blood of slain doves hath stained her narrow lip, And her neck is white as the roses of Sharon in the dawn. 562 JEZEBEL JEZEBEL That will suffice. (Melkah puts back the oint- ments. As the song stops, the noise of triumphant shouting commences and continues to the end.) Tell me what passeth without. melkah (in window, looking off, R) They are moving under the gate into the city. O Queen. jezebel (hoarsely) Dost thou — see — Joram? melkah (her voice quivering with passionate excite- ment) Aye, I see him. I see his red cloak clearly. (A louder shout. After the song is over, the tempo should be kept very slow up to this point and then very fast?) What is that? (Running down from steps.) Nay, nay, it cannot be true. JEZEBEL What is it? What seest thou? MELKAH O Queen, yon messenger lied to thee. jezebel (trembling) Lied to me? MELKAH All is not lost. King Joram is riding back at the head of his men. It is Jehu that walketh in chains. jezebel (rising) Jehu in chains! Ah, God, that I should live to hear those words! Girl, thou art slaying me with joy. Is it true? Look again. I could not live if it were false. 5 6 3 JEZEBEL melkah {running back to window) True, Jezebel, as I live. Thou hast arrayed thy- self for thy victorious son, not Jehu the traitor. JEZEBEL Why, it can not be true. What have I ever done that God should repent his words against me? MELKAH Belike thou hast loved thy son. JEZEBEL Loved him — Aye, I have loved him, and none other — all my life — none other. {Very softly.) He grew to life in my life, to childhood in my arms, to manhood under my care — Aye, belike I have loved him. God! God! I can ask Thy mercy for him. Dost Thou care for love, O Thou stern God? {She is weeping softly, hys- terically. Melkah in the window watches her with almost fiendish malignity.) melkah {holding herself calm with difficulty) He rideth into the streets like a King, bearing himself proudly. Now he hath gone around the edge of the palace. I cannot see him now. He will be here soon. JEZEBEL Aye, he will come to me here — to me — I shall hold him in my arms whom I thought was dead. He was dead and is come alive again. MELKAH He is coming, O Queen, he is coming. {Eagerly, running to Jezebel.) Shall I not send the guard to meet him with honor? JEZEBEL Aye, send them that he may know there are still faithful men among us. 564 JEZEBEL (Melkah steps behind curtains , R, for a moment \ and then back to window?) jezebel (pacing up and down, half crying, half laughing) My son, my son ! O God of Israel, I thank Thee if indeed Thou hast brought him back to me. But, indeed, I think it was his own valor that made him victor. melkah (from the window) I have sent them forth. JEZEBEL It is well. Melkah, Melkah, he is returning to me! melkah (in a low voice, following Jezebel with cruel eyes) Aye, Queen. (The shouting rises for an instant.) JEZEBEL Hear them shout! The people love him so. melkah (with irony) Aye, so they do. JEZEBEL How canst thou be so calm, girl? melkah (with rising excitement) I was thinking that belike he, too, had for- gotten me. (Shouting dies away.) jezebel (stopping, D L) He, too? melkah (swift and catlike comes D C) As thou dost, daughter of Kings! (With pas- sionate calm?) Thou hast forgotten that it was I who prayed to thee for mercy long since. Thou hast forgotten it was I whom thy hand struck — 565 JEZEBEL years on years ago when I was a child. {The tempo quickens again.) jezebel {her face filling with horror) Thou! What art thou? MELKAH Thou hast almost forgotten that Naboth had a daughter! jezebel {almost shrieking) Thou the daughter of Naboth! MELKAH Aye, of Naboth whom thou hadst slain — by false witnesses. jezebel {whispering) The daughter of Naboth. MELKAH He died — with blood on his. white hair — stoned to death in the market-place. I saw it. I have never forgotten. jezebel {dully) I, too, have never forgotten. melkah {her excitement at fever heat) And yet, yet I can be glad that thy son re- turneth to thee. {Shouting outside.) Hark! He cometh even now — he cometh. I rejoice that thy son is returned to thee. {She laughs wildly. The shouts grow nearer and nearer. Jezebel faces the door from D L y with a presenti- ment of coming evil. Melkah, C, faces door back- ing down towards Jezebel and speaks in rising voice with unutterable triumph^) He returneth to thee, O Queen — returneth to thee. {The curtain, R, is drawn back. Great shouting outside — "Make way for Jehu." Jehu comes in 566 JEZEBEL from R, trailing the red cloak of Joram in his hand and wearing Joram' 's crown. Two slaves wait at the door. There is an instant's silence. Jezebel stands rigid, swaying slightly. Then Melkah creeps to the feet of Jehu, kissing his hand. The tempo grows slow.) MELKAH Thou art come, O Jehu, my beloved. {His eyes are on the Queen.) JEZEBEL My son — {It is all she can say.) JEHU — Is dead. {He raises the cloak, flinging it D C.) {Jezebel walks slowly over; she stoops wearily after a moment and with a low, crooning moan, gathers the cloak in her arms as though it were the body of her dead son. She straightens up, the red cloak trailing from her side, and looks at Melkah?) jezebel {laughing oddly) Thou hast even sent the guard away. JEHU Will no one take this woman for me, or must I take her with my own hands? {The two slaves start forward, one up stage and one down. Jezebel steps quickly onto the step of the window. They hesitate. Melkah watches, crouched at Jehu's feet?) JEZEBEL Are ye so impatient? God moveth only once and then it is done. It will be all over in a mo- ment. 567 JEZEBEL JEHU Seize her ! {The slaves advance. Jezebel steps back into the window.) JEZEBEL Nay, nay. {At the ring of command in her voice the slaves hesitate again. Then to Jehu.) Once thou couldst have had me for — a word, but thou wouldst not. Now thou shalt not. Take her who was the concubine of the King, my son — my son — take her. {She throws back her head, laughing^) Now I have finished my life. What sayest thou, girl? Have I asked for mercy? {She raises her arms like a prophet.) "When it is finished, the dogs shall eat Jezebel by the walls of Jezreel." {Holding the cloak close to her left side.) Well, it is finished, — {she turns to the right , half 'facing the window) now! JEHU Seize her! {The men advance on her to foot of steps. As they put out their hands to take her she raises her arm, stopping them again by her tremendous pres- ence , and, facing the audience, the cloak held close in her arms she takes the last step back.) JEZEBEL Have I asked mercy, O Thou God of Israel? {She flings herself out of the window. Melkah starts forward with a terrible indrawn scream of horror. The two slaves leap quickly forward, lean out, looking down, and fall back on each side of the 568 JEZEBEL window as Jehu rushes to the top of the steps. This happens almost instantaneously. Then the slaves stand stiffly and indifferently on each side of the window, and Jehu turns slowly away from it.) JEHU So passeth Israel's beauty. She was betrayed of her gods, who gave her pride and moulded her in woman's form. Let her lie where she hath fallen, lest the prophecy go unfulfilled. {Comes down from window and seats himself in the chair. Melkah crouches at his feet.) Lord God, now am I King of Israel as thou hast ordained. The light fades out and the curtain falls on the darkened stage. 569 SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN A PLAY IN ONE ACT (A sequel to "Six Who Pass While the Lentils Boil") by Stuart Walker First produced at the Murat Theatre, Indianapolis, June 24, 1 921, with the following cast: Prologue to the Performance, Tom Powers The Prologue, - Edwin Noel The Device-Bearer, - - James Morgan you-in-the-audience, - - you and others The Population, The Soldiery, The Mime, - The Milkmaid, The Blindman, - The Ballad-Singer, The King's Trumpeter, His Majesty, The King, - The King's Councillor, The King's Great-Aunt, - The Headsman, - Her Majesty, The Queen, Sir David Little-Boy, His Mother, - Aldrich Bowker John Wray Oscar Davisson Helen Burch Walter Vonnegut Stuart Walker Oakley Richey George Somnes Robert McGroarty Elizabeth Patterson McKay Morris Judith Lowry Robert Masters Blanche Yurka The Scene is a gateway to the King's Castle. The Time is when you will. Scenery designed by Stuart Walker and Oakley Richey. Costumes by Frank J. Zimmerer and Wilmot Heitland. Properties by Frank J. Zimmerer. Copyright, 1922, by STEWART KIDD COMPANY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED This play is fully protected by copyright. All public perform- ances are forbidden. All dramatic and producing rights are retained by Stuart Walker, who may be addressed at 304 Carnegie Hall, New York City. An Outline of Six Who Pass While the Lentils Boil While the Boy watches boiling lentils for his Mother, six people pass: The condemned Queen, whom he promises to hide until after the hour set for her decapitation; the Mime, who tempts him to leave his duty; the Milkmaid, who tells him of the reward offered for the Queen and makes him wish he had not made a promise; the Blindman, who shows him why it is best to keep a promise; the Ballad- Singer, who would rather wander all his life than break a promise; and the dreadful Headsman who, outwitted by the Boy, finds the Queen too late. Her Majesty gratefully knights Sir David Little-Boy and takes him in state to the Kings castle. He is free to go, because by this time the lentils have boiled. He has done his duty and he has kept his promise. z < to < > < Q & > i»i* i 14 ""»«"!• "W» «™ **I 44l£fc pbto o SL u&_ — wrf •£ ««"» o fcfifcf Wt A* J TO «*«J| _ 5L_ ... unrf-t ft * 9 O ««« ««ii «« T*«l» 44l&> SL ♦ a ♦ * .a ♦I ens W 8>_ 5.1 A_ '«*• V* m* *& *J8 4 ^ T es") KING Come here! COUNCILLOR He cannot approach your Majesty. ... It is the law. SINGER I can find the Queen, your Majesty! king's great-aunt Off with their worthless heads! They have aided the escape of the culprit! KING No, I decree — king's great-aunt The law! The law! COUNCILLOR Her Highness is right, your Majesty. The law 59 i SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN states that anyone guilty of aiding a culprit to escape must be beheaded. SINGER We did not aid. BLINDMAN No, we did not. king's great-aunt The word of a commoner cannot stand. COUNCILLOR Soldiery, do your duty! king's great-aunt Now, we shall have a beheading after all! soldiery {to Singer and Blindman) Come on, step up! MILKMAID Mercy, have mercy! SOLDIERY Step up. {The Ballad-Singer and the Blindman walk to the side of the block and there the Soldiery binds them together, all the while they protest their in- noce7ue.) {At this moment the Headsman is heard, "Her Majesty the Queen and Sir David Little-Boy, Her Majesty the Queen and Sir David Little- Boyr) {The Headsman, bearing his ax, enters in his own stately way, and with the utmost dignity starts to approach the King, but as he nears the rope, the Soldiery bellows his command, "You can't come inside the ropes." The Headsman stops short, but slays the Soldiery with a glance?) 592 SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN HEADSMAN The King's Headsman, the Winder of the King's Four Clocks — SOLDIERY You can't come inside the ropes, on pain of death. Do you hear? HEADSMAN Yes, I hear. {Then he calls with refined dignity) Her Majesty the Queen and Sir David Little- Boy! (The Queen and the Boy enter. The hoy suddenly becomes very conscious of being in the presence of the King.) king's great-aunt Oh, there you are! KING My Queen! COUNCILLOR It is not etiquette, your Majesty. king {recalling the proper procedure, chants) Who is this before us? queen (chanting) It is your wife, the Queen. king And who stands beside our Queen? BOY I'm— SOLDIERY Silence! QUEEN This is Sir David Little-Boy. 593 SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN COUNCILLOR There is no Sir David Little-Boy in the royal almanac, your Majesty. KING Who is this Sir David Little-Boy, Sir Heads- man? HEADSMAN He helped the Queen to escape. BLINDMAN Is that the little boy who gave me the lentils when I was hungry, and who would not break a promise? SINGER It's the little boy to whom I sang two ballads. BOY Queen, why are my two friends bound to- gether ? QUEEN Sir David, first we must tell them who you are. boy (stepping forward) I— HEADSMAN Address the King. BOY King— HEADSMAN That's not the way. BOY What do I do? HEADSMAN Watch me. (He struts forward and kneels Your Majesty — see, that way. 594 SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN boy {imitating the Headsman as only a little boy can imitate his elders) Your Majesty, I am the little boy who lives in the yellow cottage on the short-cut to the headsman's block. king's great-aunt How does it happen that you are called Sir David, upstart? BOY I'm not an upstart. The Queen called me Sir David Little-Boy. king's great-aunt What right has the Queen to create a knight? Well? QUEEN By the law passed by my great-great-grand- father. king's great-aunt There is no such law. QUEEN Oh, yes, there is, Aunt. COUNCILLOR I think your Majesty's memory fails. QUEEN It does not fail. BOY Queen, I won't be Sir David if it will cause you trouble. QUEEN A Queen has one trouble or another, but this will be my last. 595 SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN king's great-aunt Will you permit this insolence, your Majesty? KING Her Majesty the Queen claims a law. Can she produce the law? QUEEN I can, your Majesty. KING Where is it? QUEEN Here (she takes a scroll from her dress). I found it in the room of the King's Great-Aunt. king's great-aunt By what right does a Queen steal into my apartment? Seize her! (The Soldiery starts to take the Queen.) KING Hands off the Queen! (The Queen takes a step to cross the ropes.) soldiery (bellows) You can't come inside the ropes, on pain of death. Do you hear? QUEEN But I'm the Queen. soldiery (normally) Duty is duty, your Majesty, law is law. (Bel- lowing) You can't come inside the ropes, on pain of death. Do you hear? QUEEN Yes, I hear. 596 SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN KING Sir Headsman, bring me the law. {The Headsman is about to obey.) Soldiery {bellows) You can't come inside the ropes, on pain of death. Do you hear? KING Then I shall go to the Queen. COUNCILLOR Your Majesty, it is not fitting. BLINDMAN I am about to die, oh, Queen; let me give the law. QUEEN About to die? BOY He is my friend! ... If the ropes weren't there could I take the law to the King? QUEEN Surely. BOY Let's take the ropes away. QUEEN Alas, it can't be done. BOY Let's coil the ropes. QUEEN How? BOY So. {He quickly coils the ropes.) 597 SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN soldiery [bellows) You can't come inside the ropes, on pain of death. Do you hear? BOY You can't get inside the ropes! There isn't any inside. que en {going to the king) Here is the law, your Majesty. king {about to embrace her) My Queen! king's great-aunt I protest. COUNCILLOR It is not seemly, your Majesty. . . . I'll take the law. KING Read the law. COUNCILLOR It may be better to discuss it first. KING Read the law! councillor Reading) Whereas, all relatives have had an upper hand in my kingdom for three generations and have passed laws that make it difficult for our Queens; Be it resolved, that all such laws shall stand, because etiquette and discipline are good for all mankind, but should there ever be a Queen who can escape the punishments devised by relatives she shall be absolute, and there- after her word will be the law, for any woman 59 8 SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN who can outwit her husband's relatives is worthy to rule a nation. QUEEN I have escaped. I claim the reward of the law. KING Your word is absolute. Henceforth you are the law. king's great-aunt {feathering her nest) Dearest, mount the throne. queen Nay, I shall mount the Headman's block. {She mounts the Headman's block, and she is very beautiful?) I, the Queen — COUNCILLOR Your Majesty, it is proper to say "We, the Queen"— QUEEN I, the Queen, do first hereby reiterate that this brave knight is Sir David Little-Boy. Second, that — COUNCILLOR You should chant it, your Majesty. queen {still in normal tones) Second, that the office of King's Councillor be vacant; third, that the King's Great-Aunt give up her ring or her ring-toe — king's great-aunt Mercy! I am too old to lose my ring! I should die without my ring-toe! QUEEN Very well, you shall keep your ring and your toe; but when we dance the minuet you must 599 SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN sit on your foot, for in future I shall step when and where I please. ... Sit on your foot! (The Kings Great- Aunt sits on her foot and wails.) king's great-aunt What is the country coming to! (But she is very glad to save her toe.) you (in the audience) Pshaw! this play is just like every other one. PROLOGUE It isn't over yet. You just wait. QUEEN Fourth^ the Soldiery must lay down his arms. soldiery (bellows) You can't come — QUEEN Lay down your arms! SOLDIERY Pardon me, your Majesty, it was habit. (He lays down his lance.) QUEEN Loose the bonds from the Blindman and the Ballad-Singer. (The Soldiery does so.) Sir David, your hand. (The Boy y in a glow of wonder, steps forward.) Here are your friends. KING'S GREAT-AUNT A noble cannot have friends among the com- moners ! QUEEN Quite true. Quite true. . . . Mime, step 600 SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN forward. . . . Kneel. . . . Arise, Sir Mime. Every Friday afternoon you shall have an hour's sport with Sir David Little-Boy. MIME Please, your Majesty, I must wander far away in search of farthings from the crowds of all the world. QUEEN You make men happy with your play. We give you farthings. You will not want. {As she speaks to each of the others^ she makes the gesture of knighting him.) {They kneel together.) QUEEN To you, sweet Lady Milkmaid, I give a spotted cow; to you, Sir Blindman, a cushion and a canopy at the castle gate; to you, Sir Ballad- Singer, a vermilion cloak. Arise. And now, Sir Little-Boy — {She leans over him) to you who saved my life, to you who kept your promise, for your mother I give a velvet gown, a silken kerchief, and a cloth-of-gold bonnet, and for yourself I give a milk-white palfrey, two pails of gold, two finger-rings, a castle, and a sword. Sir Councillor — {The Councillor comes forward and she whispers in his ear.) COUNCILLOR The little one, your Majesty? QUEEN The best one, Sir Councillor! {The Councillor goes into the Castle.) 601 SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN QUEEN Court is dismissed! Your Highness, my hus- band's Great-Aunt, you may go to your room. You have caused us years of anguish; but I forgive you. Trumpeter, lead her Highness away in state. (The Trumpeter blows a little blast and exits , shouting "Make way for her Highness , the Kings Great-Auntr) {The Kings Great- Aunt rises with difficulty and waddles away in defeat^) king's great-aunt (mumbling) I never thought I'd live to see the day — but times have changed. {Exits into the Castle.) QUEEN The Population may go into the gardens. The Soldiery may take a holiday. {The Population and the Soldiery go out arm in arm.) Sir Headsman, you may take your ax to the museum. BOY Queen, can he come back and tell me stories? QUEEN Whenever you may wish. . . . {The Headsman starts to go) BOY Sir Headsman — headsman {magnificent to the end) Sir Headsman — 602 SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN BOY Sir Headsman — HEADSMAN Alas, Sir Headsman, no more. I am now only the Winder of the King's Four Clocks. BOY Sir Winder of the King's Four Clocks, I — headsman (with the ghost of a smile) Sir Winder of the King's Four Clocks ! That is the longest title in the kingdom. There is some consolation in that. . . . Well? boy (looking at the Queen's neck) You said your ax was so sharp it would cut a hair in two. HEADSMAN I did and it will. boy How could it? Headsman Easily. This way. (He swings it downward with all the grace of achieving his swan's song with it.) See? BOY How do you spell hair? HEADSMAN H-A-R-E, of course. How else? BOY Why, H-A-I-R. 603 SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN HEADSMAN I never quibble. (He bows to the Queen, the crowd, and You superbly; and he departs.) PROLOGUE He is going to the Museum where other relics are; but civilization will always respect him and remember his ax and keep it sharp. (The Queen takes her place where the Kings Great-Aunt had sat.) QUEEN And now my friends and friends of Sir David, you may say good-bye. In an hour we shall meet in the banqueting hall for pies and cherry tarts and cakes and things. (The Mime steps forward.) MIME Sir David Little-Boy, I am your slave. (He bows very deeply and lays his hand in the Boy's. When he has gone Sir David finds that he is clasping a golden ball.) (The Milkmaid comes to Sir David.) MILKMAID Isn't it wonderful! (And before he knows it she has thrown her arms around his neck and kissed him and passed on.) (He doesn't know whether to smile or blush, but he does hang his head.) (The Blindman shuffles up to him.) 604 SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN BLINDMAN You only have to close your eyes to make things true. {And passes on.) (The Ballad-Singer comes.) SINGER Hello! BOY Sing me a ballad. SINGER Later — perhaps. BOY No, now. QUEEN Just for us. (The Boy sits between her and the King on the step at their feet. The Ballad-Singer sits close beside him.) SINGER This is the Ballad of the Silver Star and the Crescent Moon. (Sings to the wondering Boy.) Oh, a silver star and a crescent moon Afloat in the sunset sky Can make a smile on a scowling face, Tho' the face be you or I. For the silver star and the crescent moon Are like memories afar — We always dream at the guarded gate And pass the gate ajar. 605 SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN There's a moral to my little song, For hearts bowed down and hearts in tune — The silver star is a distant dream And a waxing hope is the crescent moon. Good-bye. And don't forget that the King's Great-Aunt owes you six pails of gold. Good- bye. (He dashes of.) (The Boy sits in wonder a moment and then looks first at the smiling Queen, then at the pleasant King. He takes the knife from his pouch and shows it to the King.) BOY Have you seen my knife? (The King slips down beside him, which makes the Boy gasp. It isn't everybody who sits beside a King.) KING We had a little boy like you, and he loved his knife. . . . He was a Prince. . . . How would you like to be a Prince? BOY I think— Fd like it. (He is almost breathless, talking to a King!) (The Councillor enters and hands something to the Queen.) KING And would you like to be my son? BOY Yes, sir. 606 SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN QUEEN And mine? (As she sits beside him. Now they are not like King and Queen and a little Knight. They are just three people sitting together.) boy (to the lovely Queen) Next to my mother I like you. KING If you were our little boy, some day you would be a King. BOY Oh — I couldn't be a King. QUEEN Why not? BOY I wouldn't know what to do. KING There are many kings who do not know what to do. QUEEN And think of all the happiness you could make. BOY Could I do whatever I wanted to do? KING If you were wise. BOY Could I give a ring to the Blindman? KING Oh, yes. BOY And ask him in? 39 607 SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN QUEEN Surely. BOY Then — would I have to have a Great-Aunt? KING Not now. BOY Or a Councillor? QUEEN All that is abolished now. BOY Then — you're sure I wouldn't have a Great- Aunt? QUEEN Quite sure. BOY Then — I'd like to be a king! QUEEN All right. Shut your eyes. BOY Oh, I know — the Blindman told me to shut my eyes to make things come true. (He shuts his eyes very tight. The Queen un- wraps the something which the Councillor brought. It is a beautiful crown. She places it on the boys head.) QUEEN Open your eyes! (He opens his eyes and his hands steal up to the crown. He can't believe his touch.) BOY Oh! 608 SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN QUEEN How do you feel? boy {gasping) All right. KING You are a Prince now. {He takes a cape from his shoulder and throws it about the Boys shoulders^) Arise, my Son and Prince. {The Boy stands up, and he looks every inch a little king in his crown and robe.) BOY Am I a real prince? QUEEN As real as the King or I. {The Boy walks a princely step or two, when a voice is heard calling "David! David!" It is the sweetest voice in the world, and it is sad and troubled now. The Boy stops short.) BOY My mother! VOICE David! BOY I am here, Mother. {The mother enters. She is the most beautiful woman in the world — like your mother and mine, but her eyes are wide with fear.) MOTHER David! Oh, I thought I had lost you! My boy! my boy! 609 SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN BOY Mother, I am a Prince. MOTHER Oh, my little dream-boy, you are always my Prince. Why did you run away? BOY I didn't run away. I came to save the Queen. And now I am a Prince. MOTHER The Queen? A Prince! {She sees the King and Queen.) Oh, your Majesties! {And bows very low.) QUEEN Arise, Lady Little-Boy. We have made your boy our son and heir. MOTHER Does that mean — I must — he must go from — me? KING When his country calls he must go. BOY You mean I must leave my mother? KING Some day you must leave her. boy {to his mother) But don't you need me now? MOTHER David, if you are meant to be a king, I want you to be a king. 610 SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN QUEEN We'll leave you here together. You can tell him what you know. (She understands what ail women understand.) KING Farewell, my Prince. QUEEN My little boy! (They leave the mother and the boy together.) MOTHER David, isn't it wonderful! BOY Mother, did they mean I had to leave you ? MOTHER You will be a king. BOY I can't leave you. (He sits disconsolately on the step of the Kings seat.) mother (sitting beside him) You are going to grow up to be a great, fine man, my David-Boy, and you will be a king. Some day you would have to leave me anyway — to go out into the world and seek your fortune. BOY But not so soon. MOTHER I'll be near, and I'll see you every day. You will be a king, my boy! 611 SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN BOY You'll be all alone. MOTHER Oh, no, my boy, never alone. For every hour of everv day I'll think of you and dream of you. BOY Who'll help you work? MOTHER There'll be no work. It will all be play, for my boy is going to be a king. boy {as he leans his head against her shoulder) Oh, Mother, I'm so tired! mother {placing her arm about him) I know. Do you remember how I used to sing a little lullaby to you when you were tired? boy {his eyes are heavy with sleep) Uh-huh. {The mother hums softly as she places her cheek against his head y but the crown interferes some- what.) BOY Sing it out. I like the words. mother {singing) Sleep, Davie, sleep — BOY No, I like the old words — the ones when I was a little boy. MOTHER Sleep, baby, sleep — Close your tired eyes; Here's a kiss from father, To make you wealthy; 612 SIR DAVID WEARS A CROWN Here's a kiss from mother, To make you healthy; And God the Father blows a kiss To make you wise. Sleep, baby, sleep. Close your tired eyes. {The Boy snuggles against his mother and then reaches up and takes of the crown. She carefully places it beside her and continues her lullaby as the curtains close.) you {in the audience) Well, will he be a king or not? PROLOGUE His mother knows. {The Prologue and the Device-Bearer bow and disappear.) {The ladies may arrange their hair and the gen- tlemen may cough to their throats' content.) The Curtains Close 613 BIBLIOGRAPHIES BOOKS ABOUT THE THEATRE BARKER, HARLEY GRANVILLE.— The Exemplary Theatre Little, Brown, Boston. GOLDBERG, ISAAC— The Drama of Transition: Native and Exotic Playcraft. (In preparation.) Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. HUDSON, HOLLAND.— Little Theatre Handbook. (In prep.) Frank Shay, New York. LEWISOHN, LUDWIG— The Drama and the Stage. Harcourt, Brace, New York. MACGOWAN, KENNETH.— The Theatre of Tomorrow. Boni & Liveright, New York. MITCHELL, ROY. — Shakespeare for Community Theatres. Dutton, New York. NATHAN, GEORGE JEAN.— The Critic and the Drama. Knopf, New York. PICHELL, IRVING.— On Building a Theatre. Theatre Arts, New York. STRATTON, CLARENCE— Producing for Little Theatres. Henry Holt, New York. THALER, ALWIN.— Shakespeare to Sheridan. Harvard University Press, Cambridge. WISE, CLAUDE MERTON.— Dramatics for School and Com- munity. (In preparation.) Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. 617 PLAYS OF THE LITTLE THEATRE ANDREYEV, LEONID —He the One Who Gets Slapped. Brentano's, New York. To the Stars. Daniel, London. ATLANTIC BOOK OF MODERN PLAYS: Edited by Sterling Andrus Leonard. Containing: Chapin, Harold. Gregory, Lady. Parkhurst, W. Middleton, Geo. O'Neill, Eugene. Ferguson, J. A. Galsworthy, J. Saunders, L. Dunsany, Lord. Dix, B. M. Mackaye, Percy. Brighouse, H. Synge, J. M. Yeats, W. B. Bottomley, G. Philosopher of Butterbiggins Spreading the News The Beggar and the King Tides He Campbell of Kilmhor The Sun The Knave of Hearts Fame and the Poet The Captain of the Gate Gettysburg Lonsome-Like Riders to the Sea Land of Heart's Desire The Riding to Lithend 4m. iw. 7m. 3w. 3m. 3m. iw. 5m. IW. 5m. IW. im. iw. 14m. 2w. 2m. iw. 5 m. im. iw. 2m. 2w. im. 3w. 3m. 3w. 9m. 9W. BAIRD, GEORGE M. P.— Mirage Atlantic Monthly, Boston. 2m. 4W. Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. BAX, CLIFFORD and RUBINSTEIN, H. W— Shakespeare. A play in five episodes. Houghton, Mifflin, Boston. BEACH, LEWIS.— Four One-Act Plays Containing: The Clod A Guest for Dinner Love Among the Lions Brothers BIERSTADT, EDWARD HALE. 4m. iw. 4m 3m. iw. 3m. Brentano's, New York. -Sounding Brass. 3m. iw. Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. 6l8 BIBLIOGRAPHIES BOTTOMLEY, GORDON.— King Lear's Wife, etc. Containing: King Lear's Wife The Crier by Night The Riding to Lithend Midsummer Eve Laodice and Danae BROOKE, RUPERT.— Lithuania 2m. 7w. 2m. 2w. 9m. 9W. 2m. 5W. im. 8w. Small, Maynard, Boston. 4m. 2W. Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. BROWN, ALICE.— One Act Plays Containing: The Hero Doctor Auntie The Crimson Lake Milly Dear The Web The Loving Cup Joint Owners in Spain The Sugar House A March Wind 3m. iw. 2m. 2W. 8m. 2m. 2w. 3m. 2W. 5m. 9W. 4W. 4m. 3w. 2m. 2w. Macmillan, New York. CHIEF CONTEMPORARY DRAMATISTS. Second Series: Edited by Thomas H. Dickinson. Containing: Bennett and Knoblock. Maugham, W. Somerset. Drinkwater, John. Ervine, St. John G. Dunsany, Lord. Walter, Eugene. Peabody, Josephine Preston. Hazelton and Benrimo. Porto-Riche, Georges de. Rostand, Edmond. Guitry, Sacha. Thoma, Ludwig. Schnitzler, Arthur. Bahr, Hermann. d'Annunzio, Gabriele. Benavente, Jacinto. Gorki, Maxim. Heiberg, Gunnar. Milestones. Our Betters. Abraham Lincoln. Mixed Marriage. King'Argimenes and the Un- known Warrior. The Easiest Way. The Piper. The Yellow Jacket. A Loving Wife. Cyrano de Bergerac. Pasteur. "Moral." Living Hours. The Concert. Gioconda. The Bonds of Interest. The Lower Depths. The Tragedy of Love. Houghton, Mifflin, Boston. 619 BIBLIOGRAPHIES CONTEMPORARY ONE-ACT PLAYS, with outline study of the one-act play and bibliographies by B. Roland Lewis. Containing: Barrie, Sir James M. Middleton, George. Thurston, Althea. Mackaye, Percy. Gregory, Lady Augusta. Pillot, Eugene. Tchekov, Anton. Crocker, Bosworth. Kreymborg, Alfred. Greene, Paul. Hopkins, Arthur. Hervieu, Paul. Marks, Jeannette. Wolff, Oscar M. Pinski, David. Bornstead, Beulah. Sudermann, Hermann. Strindberg, August. The Twelve-Pound Look. Tradition. The Exchange. Sam Average. Hyacinth Halvey. The Gazing Globe. The Boor. The Last Straw. Manikin and Minikin. White Dresses. Moonshine. Modesty. The Deacon's Hat. Where But in America. A Dollar. The Diabolical Circle. The Far-Away Princess. The Stronger. Scribner, New York. COOK, GEORGE CRAM —The Spring 9 m. 2w. Frank Shay, New York. CULBERTSON, ERNEST HOWARD.— Goat Alley. 3 acts. Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. DARGAN, OLIVE TILFORD and PETERSON, F.-The Flutter of the Goldleaf, etc. Containing: The Flutter of the Goldleaf. The Journey. Every child. Two Doctors of Akragas. Scribner, New York. DAVIS, OWEN.— The Detour. 3 acts. Little, Brown, Boston. DELL, FLOYD.— Sweet and Twenty 3m. iw. Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. Also in: The Provincetown Plays. Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati 620 BIBLIOGRAPHIES DRINKWATER, JOHN.— Pawns. Containing: The Storm. The God of Quiet. X-O: A Night of the Trojan War. Cophetua. Houghton, Mifflin, Boston. Mary Stuart. 6m. 2w. Houghton, Mifflin, Boston. Oliver Cromwell. 19m. 3W. Houghton, Mifflin, Boston. FICKE, ARTHUR DAVISON.— Mr. Faust 6m. 2w. Frank Shay, New York. FIFTY CONTEMPORARY ONE-ACT PLAYS: Edited by Frank Shay and Pierre Loving. Containing: von Hofmannsthal, Hugo. Schnitzler, Arthur. Maeterlinck, Maurice. More, Federico. Ancey, Georges. Porto-Riche, Georges de. Ettlinger, Karl. Wedekind, Frank. Bennett, Arnold. Calderon, George. Cannan, Gilbert. Crocker, Bosworth. Dowson, Ernest. Ellis, Mrs. Havelock. Hankin, St. John. Mukerji, Dhan Gopal. Gregory, Lady. Speenhoff, J. H. Biro, Lajos. Giacosa, Giuseppe. Andreyev, Leonid. Tchekoff, Anton. Benavente, Jacinto. Quinteros, The. Strindberg, August. Wied, Gustav. Beach, Lewis. Cowan, Sada. Madonna Dianora. Literature. The Intruder. Interlude. Monsieur Lamblin. Fancoise' Luck. Altruism. The Tenor. A Good Woman. The Little Stone House. Mary's Wedding. The Baby Carriage. The Pierrot of the Minute. The Subjection of Kezia. The Constant Lover. The Judgment of Indra. The Workhouse Ward. Louise. The Grandmother. The Rights of the Soul. Love of One's Neighbor. The Boor. His Widow's Husband. A Sunny Morning. The Creditor. Autumn Fires. Brothers. In the Morgue. 621 BIBLIOGRAPHIES Cronyn, George W. Davies, Mary Carolyn. Day, Frederic L. Flanner, Hildegarde. Glaspell, Susan. Gerstenberg, Alice. Helburn, Theresa. Hudson, Holland. Kemp, Harry. Langner, Lawrence. Millay, Edna St. Vincent. Moeller, Philip. MacMillan, Mary. O'Neill, Eugene G. Stevens, Thomas Wood. Stevens, Wallace. Tompkins, Frank G. Walker, Stuart. Wellman, Rita. Wilde, Percival. Asch, Sholom. Pinski, David. A Death in Fever Flat. The Slave with Two Faces. The Slump. Mansions. Trifles. The Pot Boiler. Enter the Hero. The Shepherd in the Distance. Boccaccio's Untold Tale. Another Way Out. Aria Da Capo. Helena's Husband. The Shadowed Star. He. The Nursery Maid of Heaven. Three Travelers Watch a Sun- rise. Sham. The Medicine Show. For All Time. The Finger of God. Night. Forgotten Souls. Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. FLANNER, HILDEGARDE.— Mansions im. 2w. Stewart Kidd> Cincinnati. FYFE, HAMILTON— The Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory. Daniel, London. GALE, ZONA.— Miss Lulu Bett. Appleton, New York. GALSWORTHY, JOHN— Six Short Ph lys. Containing: The First and the Last 2m. iw. The Little Man 9m. 3W. Hall Marked 6m. 4W. Defeat im. iw. The Sun 2m. iw. Punch and Go 8m. 2w. Scribner> New York. GERSTENBERG, ALICE.— Ten One-Act Plays. Containing: He Said and She Said im. 3W. Overtones 4 w. The Unseen im. 2w. 622 BIBLIOGRAPHIES The Buffer 2m. 4W. Attuned IW. The Pot Boiler 5m. 2W. Hearts 4 w. Beyond IW. Fourteen im. 2w. The Illuminatti in Drama Libre im. iw. Brentano's, New York. GLASPELL, SUSAN —Inheritors. Small, Maynard, Boston. GOLDRING, DOUGLAS — The Fight : for Freedom. 4m. 4W. Seltzer, New York. GREGORY, LADY —The Image and Other Plays. Containing: The Image 5m. 2w. Hanrahan's Oath 3m. 3W. Shanwalla 9m. 3W. The Wrens 4m. iw. Putnam, New York. HARVARD PLAYS : Plays of the 47 Workshop. Third Series. Containing: Manley, William F. The Crowsnest. Kister, M. A., Jr. The Hard Heart. Bray, Louise Whitefield. Mis' Mercy. Ketcham, Arthur. The Other One. Brentano's, New York. HERBERT, A. P.— Wrong Numbers. The Book of Jonah. In "Little Bits of Moonshine." Knopf, New York. HOUSMAN, LAURENCE —Angels and Ministers. Containing: The Queen: God Bless Her! 3m. nw. His Favourite Flower. 2m. 2w. The Comforter 3m. 2w. Possession 2m. 5W. Hareourt, Brace, New York. HUDSON, HOLLAND.— The Sheoherd in the Distance. 10 characters. Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. KOTELIANSKY, S. S.— The Green Ring. 4 acts. 40 Daniel. London. 623 BIBLIOGRAPHIES KREYMBORG, ALFRED.— Plays for Merry Andrews. Containing: Vote the New Moon. At the Sign of the Thumb and Nose. Uneasy Street. The Silent Waiter. Monday. Sunwise Turn, New York. LANGNER, LAWRENCE— Five One-Act Plays. Containing: Matinata. 2m. iw. Another Way Out. 2m. 3w. Pie. 2m. 2w. The Family Exit. 4m. 3W. Licensed. im. 2w. Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. LAWRENCE, D. H.— Touch and Go. Seltzer, New York. LITTLE THEATRE CLASSICS. Vol. IV: Edited by Samuel A. Eliot, Jr. Containing: Shakuntala. The Wandering Scholar from Paradise. All for Love, or The World Well Lost. The Martyrdom of Ali. Little, Brown, Boston. LORD, KATHARINE— Plays for School and Camp. (For Boys and Girls, 10 to 15.) Containing: The Raven Man. 9 characters. Buried Treasure. 8 characters. Kris Kringle Makes a Flight. Large cast. The Three Bears. 5 characters. The Pied Piper. Large cast. The Honorable Miss. 10 characters. Little, Brown, Boston. MACKAY, CONSTANCE D'ARCY— Franklin. 4 acts. Henry Holt, New York. MACMILLAN, MARY— Third Book of Short Plays. (In prep.) Containing: A Weak-End. 5m. 8w. In Heaven. 4m. 111:"." Standing Moving. 2m. 2w. 624 BIBLIOGRAPHIES An Apocryphal Episode. 2m. 2w. The Storm. im. low. When Two's Not Company. 2m. Peter Donelly. im. 3w. Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. A Fan and Two Candlesticks. 2m. iw. Stewart Kidd y Cincinnati. MARKS, JEANNETTE— The Sun Chaser. 4 acts. Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. MARQUIS, DON.— Words and Thoughts 2m. 4 w. In "Carter and Other People." Appleton, New York. MASEFIELD, JOHN.— Collected Plays. Containing: The Campden Wonder 4m. 2w. Mrs. Harrison 3m. iw. The Locked Chest 3m. iw. The Sweeps of Ninety-Eight 7m. iw. The Tragedy of Nan 8m. 5W. The Tragedy of Pompey the Great 17m. 5W. The Faithful 17m. 3W. Philip the King 8m. iw. Good Friday 7m. iw. Macmillan, New York. Esther and Berenice (two plays). Esther 6m. 5W. Berenice 3m. 4W. Macmillan y New York. MASTERPIECES OF MODERN SPANISH DRAMA: Edited by Barrett H. Clark. Containing: Echegaray, Jos6. The Great Galeoto. Guimerd, Angel. Daniela. P£rez-Gald6s, Benito. The Duchess of San Quentin. Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. MILLAY, EDNA ST. VINCENT.— The Lamp and the Bell. Five acts. Large cast. Frank Shay, New York. Aria Da Capo. 4m. iw. Kennerley, New York. {Also in: Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays and The Provincetown Plays. Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati.) Two Slatterns and a King. 2m. 2w. Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. The Princess Marries a Page. (In preparation.) Frank Shay, New York. 625 BIBLIOGRAPHIES MILNE, A. A —Second Plays. Containing: Make-Believe. 3 acts for children. Mr. Pirn Passes By. 3m. 4W. The Camberley Triangle 2m. iw. The Romantic Age 5m. 4W. The Stepmother 3m. iw. Chatto & WinduSy London. MOLNAR, FRANZ.— Liliom. 8 scenes. ■ 19m. 8w. Boni & Liverighty New York. MORLEY, CHRISTOPHER.— Thursday Evening im. 3W. Stewart Kiddy Cincinnati. NO PLAYS OF JAPAN, THE: Translated by Arthur Waley. Knopf, New York. O'DEA, MARK.— Red Bud Women. Containing: The Song of Solomon 2m. 3W. Shivaree 2m. 2w. Miss Myrtle Says "Yes" im. 3W. Not In the Lessons 2m. 2w. Stewart Kiddy Cincinnati. ONE-ACT PLAYS BY MODERN AUTHORS: Edited by Helen Louise Cohen. Containing: Tarkington, Booth. Beauty and the Jacobin 3m. 2w. Dowson, Ernest. The Pierrot of the Minute im. iw. Down, Oliphant. The Maker of Dreams 2m. 2w. Mackaye, Percy. Gettysburg im. iw. Milne, A. A. Wurzel-Flummery 3m. 2w. Brighouse, Harold. Maid of France 3m. 2w. Gregory, Lady. Spreading the News 7m. 3W. Mark, Jeannette. Welsh Honeymoon 3m. 2w. Rogers, Robert E. The Boy Will im. 3W. Synge, John M. Riders to the Sea im. 3W. Dunsany, Lord. A Night at an Inn 8m. Young, Stark. The Twilight Saint 2m. 2w. Egerton, Lady Alix. Masque of the Two Strangers 14 char. Maeterlinck, Maurice. The Intruder 4m. 3W. Peabody, Josephine P. Fortune and Men's Eyes 8m. 2w. Galsworthy, John. The Little Man 6m. iw. Harcourty Brace, New York. 626 BIBLIOGRAPHIES \, O'NEILL, EUGENE —The Emperor Jones The Straw In one volume Different Boni & Liveright, New York. The Emperor Jones Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. Gold Boni & Liveright, New York. Beyond the Horizon Boni & Liveright, New York. OVERSTREET, H. A —Hearts to Mend 2m. iw. Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. PEABODY, JOSEPHINE PRESTON.— Portrait of Mrs. W. Three acts and an Epilogue. Houghton, Mifflin, Boston. PHILLIPS, STEPHEN.— Collected Plays. Containing: Aylmer's Secret. Ulysses. The Sin of David. Nero. Faust. Pietro of Siena. Macmillan, New York. PRZYBYSZEWSKI, STANI SLAW.— Snow. 4 acts. Nicholas L. Brown, New York. REPRESENTATIVE ONE-ACT PLAYS BY BRITISH AND IRISH AUTHORS: Edited by Barrett H. Clark. Containing: Pinero, Arthur. The Widow of Wasdale Head 5m. iw. Jones, Henry Arthur. The Goal 4m. 2W. Wilde, Oscar. Salome I2m. 2W. Sutro, Alfred. The Man in the Stalls 2m. iw. Fenn, Frederick, and Pryce, Richard. 'Op-O'-Me-Thumb im. 5W. Gordon-Lennox, The Impertinence of the Creature Cosmo. im. iw. Bennett, Arnold. The Stepmother. im. 3w. Barker, Granville. Rococo 3m. 3W. Cannan, Gilbert. James and John 3m. iw. Housman, Laurence. The Snow Man 3m. 2W. Houghton, Stanley. Fancy Free im. 3W. Brighouse, Harold. Lonesome-Like. 2m. 2W. Baker, Elizabeth. Miss Tassey 627 5 w. BIBLIOGRAPHIES Robins, Gertrude. Makeshifts. 2m. 2w. Down, Oliphant. The Maker of Dreams 2m. iw. William Butler Yeats. The Land of Heart's Desire 3m. 2w. Synge, J. M. Riders to the Sea im. 4W. Gregory, Lady. Spreading the News. 7m. 3W. Ervine, St. John G. The Magnanimous Lover 3m. 2w. Dunsany, Lord. The Golden Doom 10m. iw. Little, Brown, Boston. SHAW, G. BERNARD.— Back to Methuselah. Brentanos, New York. SHORT PLAYS BY REPRESENTATIVE AUTHORS : Edited by Alice M. Smith. Containing: Sigurjonsson, Johann. The Hraun Farm. 6m. 8w. Marks, Jeannette. The Merry Merry Cuckoo 4m. iw. Masefield, John. The Locked Chest 4m. iw. Tagore, R. The Post Office 9m. iw. Walker, S. Six Who Pass While the Lentils Boil 5m. 2W. Mackay, Constance. The Silver Lining 2m. iw. Fulda, Ludwig. By Ourselves 3m. 2w. Torrence, Ridgely. The Rider of Dreams 3m. iw. Gregory, Lady. Spreading the News 7m. 3W. Tchekhoff, Anton. The Swan Song 2m. Sutro, Alfred. The Man on the Kerb im. iw. MacMillan, Mary. The Shadowed Star. 3m. 4W. Macmillan, New York. STEWART, DONALD OGDEN— For the Freedom of the World. 2 acts. In "A Parody Outline of History" Doran, New York. STEWART KIDD LITTLE THEATRE PLAYS: Edited by Grace Adams. (Published separately.) Tarkington, Booth. The Ghost Story. Bierstadt, Edward Hale. Sounding Brass. MacMillan, Mary. A Fan and Two Candlesticks. Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. STEWART KIDD MODERN PLAYS : Edited by Frank Shay. (Published separately.) Tompkins, Frank G. Sham. Flanner, Hildegarde. Mansions. Hudson, Holland. The Shepherd in the Distance. Overstreet, H. A. Hearts to Mend. O'Neill, Eugene. The Emperor Jones. 628 BIBLIOGRAPHIES Dell, Floyd. Sweet and Twenty. Walker, Stuart. Six Who Pass While the Lentils Boil. Millay, Edna St.Vincent. Two Slatterns and a King. Morley, Christopher. Thursday Evening. Baird, George M. P. Mirage. Walker, Stuart. Sir David Wears a Crown. West, Duffy R. Society Notes. Brooke, Rupert. Lithuania. Gnudtzmann, Albert. Eyes That Cannot See. Prydz, Alvilde. In Confidence. Mackall, Lawton & Bellamy, Francis R. Scrambled Eggs. Loving, Pierre. The Stick-Up. Quintero, Serafin, & Joaquin. The Fountain of Youth. Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. TARKINGTON, BOOTH.— The Ghost Story 5m. $w. Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. TOMPKINS, FRANK G.— Sham 3m. iw. Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. TREASURY OF PLAYS FOR CHILDREN: Edited by Mont- rose J. Moses. Containing: Fourteen plays requiring only children for casting. Little, Brown, Boston. TREASURY OF PLAYS FOR WOMEN: Edited by Frank Shay. Containing: Fifteen plays requiring only women for casting. Little, Brown, Boston. VAGABOND PLAYS: First Series. Containing: The Double Miracle by Robert Garland 4m. iw. On Vengeance Height by Allan Davis and C. C. Vencill 3m. iw. Pan in Ambush by Marjorie Patterson 3m. 4W. Release by Edward H. Smith 5m. Importance of Being a Roughneck by Robert Garland 3m. iw. The Conflict by Clarice Vallette McCauley im. 4W. Norman, Remington, Baltimore. All of the above plays may be had separately from the same publisher. 629 m v, BIBLIOGRAPHIES WALKER, STUART— Portmanteau Adaptations. Containing: Gammer Gurton's Needle. The Birthday of the Infanta. Sir David Wears a Crown. Nellijumbo. Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. Six Who Pass While the Lentils Boil. Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. Sir David Wears a Crown. Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. WEST, DUFFY R— Society Notes 3m. 3W. Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. WILDE, PERCIVAL— Eight Comedies for Little Theatres. Containing: The Sequel. 3m. iw. The Previous Engagement. im. The Dyspeptic Ogre. Large cast In the Net. 4m. A Wonderful Woman. 3m. iw. Catesby. im. iw. His Return. im. 3W. Embryo. 3m. 2w. Little, Brown, Boston. YOUNG, STARK.— Three One-Act Plays. Containing: Addio 3m. iw. Madretta 2m. iw. At the Shrine im. iw. Stewart Kidd, Cincinnati. 63O Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724)779-2111