The Sympathy of the People 
 
 By 
 John Pratt Whitman 
 
 / 
 
The Sympathy of the People 
 
 By John Pratt Whitman 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 The plot of "The Sympathy of the People" was sug- 
 gested and inspired by the naw historic policemen's strike 
 in Boston on September 9, 1919. 
 
 Like all plays and works of fiction there is no attempt 
 to adhere to facts either in the course of events or in the 
 characters portrayed. In the Boston police strike there 
 was no important love affair, no Lucy Knowles, no Dennis 
 Wiggs, no Grimes, and no banks were broken into. 
 
 In Boston today there are many, who like Samuel 
 Gompers, believe the disastrous strike was "framed" in 
 order to allow labor to ride to a fall, as it apparently did. 
 
 No event could have been staged — if it were staged — 
 with greater genius and with results more far-reaching in 
 the struggle between capital and labor. From coast to 
 coast there set in a reaction against labor which did much 
 to carry a conservative president into office, with the" illus- 
 trious governor of Massachusetts for second place. 
 
 Of course, a considerable portion of substantial Boston 
 denies vehemently any preconceived plot to injure the 
 labor unions and the labor movement generally. 
 
 Who is right or who is wrong in the controversy the 
 author does not pretend to say. 
 
 He saw a possible plot ; he took advantage of a great 
 drama enacted in real life ; and he shaped a dramatic story 
 in a faraway town which would make a thrilling and ab- 
 sorbing play. 
 
 Here is an attempt to give amusement; to depict real 
 human characters; to provide wholesome fun; and to 
 mirror deep and absorbing love in artistic and dramatic 
 form— for, after all, "THE PLAY'S THE THING!" 
 
"The Sympathy of the People" 
 
 ^K^ A Drama of Today— In Four Acts 
 
 ^t'^^\ — 
 
 ^ ^ Ov(>* ^*^* °^ Characters: 
 
 GRIMES. Veteran Bookkeeper in Bank 
 
 LIZZIE Woman of All Work 
 
 SAMMIE .Village Newsboy 
 
 LUCY KNOWLES Niece of Banker Knowles, Employed in Bank 
 
 IRA HATHAWAY Special Bank Officer — Guardian of People's Money 
 
 ROBERT P. KNOWLES President and Director of Mapleton Bank 
 
 DENNIS W. WIGGS Farm Hand, Timid in the Dark 
 
 MRS. DENNIS WIGGS Wife of Dennis, and Head of the Family 
 
 JASON Mill Hand 
 
 TONY PATRONI Mill Hand 
 
 TOM WALSH Head of Metal Trades Union 
 
 PRESTON MORTON Manufacturer, and Head of Munition Factory 
 
 JUDGE DAVID HILTON President of Red Lands Oil Company 
 
 BILL KRAMER. . • Editor and Owner of Loganville Courier 
 
 SPIKE . . • Confederate, Crook 
 
 DUMPY Confederate, Crook 
 
 DESPERADO Nameless, and a Bad One 
 
 Pj^L • Devil's Assistant 
 
 BANK CASHIER 
 
 MAGGIE The Crook 
 
 BILLINGS, ANNA SWARTZ, HENNESSY, WIDOW SMITH, ABE MORRIS, 
 
 Mill Hands 
 
 JOE MILLER Sheriff 
 
 CITIZENS, BANK CUSTOMERS, ETC. 
 
 Scene — The Interior of the Mapleton 
 Bank. 
 
 Extending across rear is the grUl 
 with two cashiers' windows. Through 
 the decorative iron work may he seen 
 the outer hank, two large plate glass 
 windows framing a pleasant landscape. 
 At the right of the grill is the large 
 safe. At the left end of grill is a 
 gate connecting the inner with the 
 outer bank. Off left, not in view, is 
 front, door to which is attached a bell. 
 The sound of the opening of door is 
 important. A banker's desk with 
 swivel chair and other chairs are left. 
 On opposite side of room is a desk 
 and typewriter; a tall desk holding the 
 bank ledgers, and by it is a high stool. 
 
 There is a door down left, and two 
 doors right leading to offices. 
 
 It is early morning, the window cur- 
 tains are stiU down, and a night light 
 burns. The door is heard to open, and 
 Grimes, the veteran bookkeeper, ap- 
 pears and enters inner bank. 
 
 He is a man of fifty, iron gray, stoop- 
 ing shoulders, prematurely wrinkled, 
 thin, and apologetic. His dress and 
 entire make-up are scrupulously neat. 
 He has a tired appearance. His hat and 
 coat he hangs on a rack, and he then 
 goes to his ledger to work after turn- 
 ing on the electric light above his head. 
 
 Lizzie, the scrub woman and general 
 cleaner, enters. She has a coal hod in 
 one hand and duster in the other. She 
 is a middle-aged woman, not foreign in 
 appearance, a village personage who 
 has had a common school education, 
 and is the mother of a healthy family 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 of children. She is sympathetic and 
 motherly, and is surprised to see 
 Grimes at his desk so early. 
 
 LIZZIE — You are at your books 
 ear]y, Mr. Grimes? 
 
 GKIMES— (He is rather deaf)— Eh? 
 
 LIZZIE— (Louder)— You are in 
 early, Mr. Grimes. 
 
 GKIMES— My hooks wouldn't bal- 
 ance last night, and I worked till 
 twelve. 
 
 LIZZIE— (Puzzled)— Balance is it? 
 They are sure heavy enough to balance 
 ajiything of their size. What do you 
 mean by balance? 
 
 GRIMES — The books have to show 
 where the money is. If they don't 
 they can't balance. There has to be as 
 much on the books as there is in the 
 safe. There is thirty cents out some- 
 where. 
 
 LIZZIE — Is that all it is? and you 
 working night and day to find it. Why 
 don't you stop looking in those old 
 musty books for it and search the floor 
 and under the rugs? 
 
 GRIMES— What's that? 
 
 LIZZIE — (Loudly, while she gets out 
 her poeketbook.) If it's thirty cents 
 will balance your books, here it is and 
 welcome you are. (Hands Grimes 
 change.) 
 
 GRIMES — (Refusing.) You don't un- 
 derstand, Lizzie; the books show that 
 there is thirty cents more in the bank 
 than these figures account for. You 
 see — 
 
 LIZZIE — Oh, if it would make it 
 any easier, I'll take that extra thirty 
 pennies and say nothin' about it, and 
 you can go home an finish your sleep. 
 
 GRIMES — You can't help in that 
 way. (With a gesture of impatience 
 hands Lizzie a paper upon which many 
 columns of figures have been scribbled.) 
 Lizzie, if you can find where I have 
 missed thirty cents you might become 
 a bank auditor. 
 
 LIZZIE — When I was in school they 
 called me the champion adder. 
 
 GRIMES— (Does not hear what 
 Lizzie has said.) Mr. Knowles is al- 
 ways out of patience when he can't 
 begin the day with the books straight; 
 he gets very angry. It isn't pleasant, 
 Lizzie, not pleasant at all. (Forgets 
 Lizzie, and buric head in books, hears 
 notliing.) 
 
 LIZZIE— (Sitting in chair left.) 
 Shows by face and fingers she is trying 
 
 to add. Aloud.) Four and eight, and six, 
 and two, and — My soul, what a lot of 
 money — oh, I'm all mixed up — and I 
 the grand adder that I was. (Counts on 
 fingers.) It's no use; it's too much to 
 keep in one person's head. 
 
 There is no balance in these figers, 
 Mr. Grimes. Balance, balance — how can 
 anything balance in this bank any- 
 way? 
 
 How does your salary balance w^' 
 that of Mr. Knowles? And how does 
 my daily wages balance with all the 
 money in that safe? You say, Mr. 
 Knowles wiU be angry to learn that 
 thirty cents is gone; he hasn't any 
 balance, that's sure. 
 
 Ten and three is thirteen — there are 
 too many thirteens in these figers; 
 thirteens don't go with me. Eight and 
 six is — there's another thirteen. 
 
 There's a combination in this bank 
 that don't balance — two and two is 
 four; I like figers when they come like 
 that — There is Miss Lucy, Banker 
 Knowles' own niece, workin' here like 
 a slave. I'll begin at the top and run 
 down — eight and nine is seventeen, and 
 six is (counts slowly) twenty-three — 
 another hoodoo. Miss Lucy is one fine 
 young lady, and she's got two grand 
 young men both tryin' to balance with 
 her at the same time. That's a three 
 combination that work's bad for one — 
 I wonder which will be the one — 
 twenty-three and seven are thirty — 
 (Takes pencil from Knowles' desk and 
 copies figures on another page of 
 paper). 
 
 Ned Errickson looks to me as though 
 he was tipping the scales and holdin' 
 Miss Lucy's heart over there in 
 France; there is more glory in killin' 
 folks on the other side of the world 
 than protectin' the bank at home like 
 Ira Hathaway does. Them that stay at 
 home have precious little chance to 
 show whether they are brave or not. 
 
 If Ira could only brace up and show 
 what's in him he might have a show, 
 bein' he's right here on the ground— 
 these fresh figers are better, I can see 
 'em plainer — five and five and three. 
 This looks bad, Mr. Grimes (Looks to- 
 wards Grimes, who has not heard any- 
 thing. She goes over to him and 
 speaks loudly.) Do they balance yet, 
 Mr. Grimes? 
 
 GRIMES— Not yet. 
 
 LIZZIE — I'm sorry for you, Mr. 
 
 2 
 
 DEC 23 1920 
 
 ©CI.D 
 
 5 68 
 
 i i 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 Grimes; and Mr. Knowles comin' any 
 moment. Why don't you go where they 
 wouldn't drive you so hard over thirty 
 cents? 
 
 GRIMES — I have been twenty years 
 in this bank, Lizzie, and Mr. Knowles 
 is a just and honest man even if he is 
 hard at times. 
 
 It is because he is fair that I 
 stay and work for him. I had rather 
 starve than work for a man who 
 isn't square. If Mr. Knowles should 
 ever do anything like that I would 
 send in my — what am I talking about, 
 he never would. Bell rings. Enter 
 Sammie, Newsboy.) 
 
 SAMMIE — Mr. Knowles' paper. 
 Shall I leave it on his desk? 
 
 LIZZIE — (Taking up figures again.) 
 I reckon, but don't bother. Mr. Grimes 
 and I are balancing the books, before 
 the boss comes in and gets mad. Eight 
 and four is twelve, and one — (counting 
 on fingers). 
 
 SAMMIE— If it's addin' figures, I 
 am the man you are looking for. I'm a 
 star mathematician, second year High. 
 
 You say it's got to be done before 
 Mr. Knowles comes in or he'll be 
 peeved. All right, give me one of them 
 — those papers. (Takes paper.) Gee, is 
 all this money in the bank? (In loud 
 voice.) Thirty-two and fifteen is — are 
 — forty-seven, and eleven are fifty- 
 eight, and sixty -five is — (scratches 
 head). (Outside door is heard to open.) 
 
 LIZZIE — Oh, there he comes. Now 
 we'll catch it for not havin' the books 
 balanced. Six and six are thirteen, and 
 two more is two more, and nine is nine 
 more, and, oh dear, I'm all mixed up 
 and don't know which are dollars and 
 what is sense. 
 
 SAMMIE — Twenty and thirty-two 
 are fifty-two and eighteen are — is — 
 
 LIZZIE — Twenty-two and two is 
 twenty-four, and — (counts on fingers). 
 
 LUCY — (Enter Lucy Knowles. She 
 stands smiling and amazed. She is a 
 comely girl with a charming manner^ a 
 girl of culture and education, combined 
 with quick sympathies and executive 
 ability. Her first appearance shows 
 her a friend worth having.) I declare, 
 what is all the figgerin"? Is this a 
 regular arithmetic lesson? 
 
 SAMMIE — We thought you was — 
 were — Mr. Knowles, and the books 
 wasn't balanced, and — 
 
 LIZZIE — It was like this, Miss Lucy. 
 
 Mr. Grimes worked here till twelve 
 last night, and his books wouldn't bal- 
 ance, and he came early to see if he 
 couldn't make 'em come out right, and 
 we was helpin' him. He don't know 
 what has become of thirty cents. 
 
 LUCY— Oh, that's it, is it? (Goes 
 to Grimes, who has not noticed what 
 has been taking place.) Lizzie tells me 
 you are shy thirty cents; can I help 
 you? 
 
 GRIMES — (Looking up with grati- 
 tude.) I should be most grateful. My 
 books show too much, and I can't put 
 my finger on the trouble. 
 
 LUCY — (Runs over figures.) These 
 add all right. Have you yesterday's 
 checks? (Grimes brings package of 
 checks.) (She runs over them.) Here's 
 your mistake, Grimes, and it's really 
 my fault; I meant to warn you yester- 
 day of this check. That is a one, but 
 someone started to make a four, and 
 you copied it as four. Are you sure 
 that your difference is thirty cents? 
 
 GRIMES— (Eelieved.) Thank you, 
 Miss Lucy. You seem to be the one 
 who always puUs me out of a hole. 
 Your uncle never allows excuses. 
 
 SAMMIE — Hurrah! We've balanced 
 the books. Come, Mrs. Mack, I guess 
 you and I can go now. 
 
 LUCY — Hold on, Sammie, I want a 
 paper. (Gives five cents. Boy starts 
 to make change.) Never mind the 
 change, Sam; your work on the books 
 is surely worth three cents. 
 
 LIZZIE — Not much more I guess. 
 
 SAMMIE — Well, your figerin' didn't 
 get you very far. 
 
 LIZZIE — (Nettled.) I was consid- 
 ered the best at figgerertti' in school 
 where I went. (Following Sam out, 
 both disputing about their respective 
 merits in arithmetic. Lucy opens her 
 typewriter desk and dusts machine. 
 Ira Hathaway enters from left. Tall, 
 pleasant appearing man wearing the 
 uniform of a special officer. He limps 
 slightly. He is guardian of the bank 
 and has charge of all details of the 
 building. A responsible position re- 
 quiring intelligence and even courage.) 
 
 IRA — Good morning. Miss Lucy; 
 morning Grimes. (Goes to large win- 
 dows and pulls shades letting in a flood 
 of morning sunshine. He puts out hall 
 light, and then takes his tools and be- 
 gins to fix catch on door into grill. He 
 whistles softly.) 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 LUCY — You are in good spirits. Has 
 the siuishine got into your tongue? 
 
 IRA — Did you ever hear of anyone 
 whistling to keep up his spirits? 
 
 LUCY — You are a fine actor then, 
 and should join our dramatic club. Our 
 play comes off next week, "The Lion 
 and the Mouse. ' ' What kind of a mouse 
 do you think I'll make? 
 
 IRA — (Stopping work and coming a 
 few steps toward Lucy.) I don't ex- 
 actly think of you as a mouse, and I've 
 seen you talking to your uncle in a way 
 quite different from a mouse. No; you 
 are not my idea of a mouse, and I 
 ought to know. 
 
 LUCY — (Looks about with apprehen- 
 sion.) I abominate the little wretches. 
 Do you mean there are mice in this 
 bank? 
 
 IRA — No, I don't remember that I 
 ever saw a mouse here, but in my pal- 
 ace-de-royal over the shed there are 
 plenty. I think some fond mother has 
 set up a nest in my corn husk mattress, 
 by the sound. 
 
 LUCY — That sounds pleasant, but 
 really I am in earnest about our dra- 
 matic club. Since all the boys went to 
 camp and overseas we have the hardest 
 time to get any men to do the male 
 parts. Couldn't you come to the hall 
 next Thursday evening? 
 
 IRA — Are you joking. Miss Lucy? 
 What time do you think an officer like 
 me has to join in good times? My job 
 is here every night in the week, and 
 your uncle ha.s told me more than once 
 that I am to trust to no substitute. 
 
 LUCY — How many hours do you 
 work anjrway? 
 
 IRA — I am on duty from seventy 
 to eighty hours each week, and I hard- 
 ly know a holiday unless someone re- 
 minds me. 
 
 LUCY — That Isn't right; you ought 
 to have at least one night a week to 
 go to a dance, or to a social where you 
 can forget everything but a good time. 
 
 IRA — That sounds fine when you talk 
 abotit it like that, but I have my bread 
 and butter to earn, and then there is 
 mother, so here I am tied to my post 
 with some quiet time to read. The 
 books you have lent me, Lucy, are just 
 like friends. 
 
 LUCY — Have you finished "Co-op- 
 erative Banking " ? I want to read it 
 again. 
 
 IRA — Yes, I'll go and get it right 
 
 now. (Runs out door left.) (Lucy 
 reads her paper.) 
 
 LUCY — Mr. Grimes. (Louder.) 
 
 Grimes, come here a minute. (Grimes 
 comes to Lucy.) Here is something that 
 might interest you. (Shows Grimes ad- 
 vertisement in paper of audi-phone. He 
 shakes his liead skeptically. Reads.) 
 "The audiphone guarantees a distinct 
 sound, and will bring hearing back to 
 nine out of ten. If given a thorough 
 try it will gather up the minutest 
 sounds and transmit them to the audi- 
 tory nerves. Give it a fair try, and if 
 it fails, return the instrument at our 
 expense. ' ' 
 
 GRIMES — I haven't any faith in 
 such a contrivance. 
 
 LUCY — I'll order that for you on 
 trial if you will promise to follow my 
 directions for at least two weeks. 
 
 GRIMES — If you really want the sat- 
 isfaction of seeing it fail, I'll do the 
 best I can to show you it's no use. I'll 
 go through with it I suppose. 
 
 LUCY — It isn't a question whether 
 you will go through it, but whether 
 SOUND will go through it, and that is 
 worth trying. It's a bargain. Grimes? 
 (Grimes shakes hands and goes back to 
 books.) (Lucy starts to write order on 
 typewriter.) Wouldn't it be wonder- 
 ful if you could get your hearing, 
 Grimes? (Grimes does not hear.) 
 (Ira returns with book. Gives it to 
 Lucy.) That's my idea of business, 
 everybody having a share and respon- 
 sibility. 
 
 IRA — It is a wonderful idea. What 
 do you say? Let's start a co-operative 
 bank. You be the banker, and I drum 
 up trade. 
 
 LUCY — We'll make a specialty of 
 financing co-operative movements. We 
 might get an entire village into one 
 big co-operative company and then — 
 
 IRA — And then what? 
 
 LUCY — Be told by the wise bankers 
 like my uncle that we are foolish 
 dreamers. 
 
 IRA — Suppose he should, what dif- 
 ference would it make, if an entire vil- 
 lage shared in the good things instead 
 of one or two families? 
 
 LUCY — I shall lend you no more 
 books, young man, depend on that. No 
 such idealism has a ghost of a chance 
 of realization. Socialism may be an 
 ideal, but (imitating uncle) men are far 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 too selfish to live on any such theory; 
 as my uncle would say. 
 
 IRA — I certainly don't see any op- 
 portunity of carrying anything out in 
 this bank like co-operation. The salaries 
 we get show how much your uncle 
 wants to share his profits with us. 
 
 LUCY — Don't try to get me into an 
 economic controversy. I hear uncle 
 rave so often over what he calls rob- 
 bery by employes, confiscation of legiti- 
 mate profits by labor delegates, hold- 
 ups, he calls them, that I refuse to take 
 sides. 
 
 IRA — But they bring more to the 
 bank. 
 
 LUCY — That is just it; as a banker 
 who takes those savings and loans out 
 money for rates from 5 to 100 per cent, 
 he is not half so angry as he is as part 
 owner in the factory. 
 
 IRA — How does it make you feel, 
 Lucy, when those factory girls, hardly 
 able to speak English, bring in their 
 wages? 
 
 LUCY — Many of them are getting 
 more than I do. Uncle says my job is 
 respectable and worth something be- 
 cause of the position it gives me in 
 Mapleton. I had rather be less respect- 
 able and have more money. 
 
 IRA — That is exactly what I told 
 your uncle, and he grew angry. We 
 bank employes have to take our pay in 
 respectability; about four dollars worth 
 of respectability with every three dol- 
 lars in wages. I have hinted to your 
 nncle, and I have frankly asked him a 
 dozen times to raise my salary, but he 
 won't do a thing. 
 
 LUCY — (Turning: and faeino- Ira.) 
 The trouble with you, Ira, is that you 
 are altogether too meek with uncle. 
 I've heard you speaking about the con- 
 dition of the room he gives you, and I 
 have also heard you putting the matter 
 of wages up to liim. You don't know 
 how to talk to such a man. What he 
 needs occasionally a good bowling 
 out. Such men do not appreciate meek- 
 ness. I advise you to go at him like 
 you meant business. 
 
 IRA — Talk as though I would strike 
 if he didn't pay attention to my re- 
 quests? 
 
 LUCY — Certainly, why not? 
 
 IRA — That's all well enough, but 
 you know perfectly well the reason I'm 
 not in the factory or in the hay field 
 is because I am not physically able to do 
 
 the work. . What job could I get if I 
 left here? If it were not for mother I 
 might take a chance, but as things are 
 I have to stick and make the best of it. 
 
 LUCY — You are too timid, Ira Hath- 
 av/ay, and if you keep on in this mouse 
 fashion you'll never get a raise or a 
 better room. I know that men are the 
 rarest articles in the market just now, 
 and there isn't anyone who could or 
 would take your place. Of course, if 
 uncle wanted to pay mill wages he 
 might get someone, but even then 
 there are few who would work so many 
 hours. You have the whip hand if you 
 only knev/ it and had the courage to 
 fare the music. 
 
 IRA — You have no right to say that 
 I am not brave and lack courage. I'd 
 be in the trenches with Ned Errickson 
 and all the rest of them if they would 
 have accepted me. You know that, 
 Lucy. 
 
 LUCY — It isn't only in the trenches 
 courage is required. If Ned were here 
 at home he would be finding some way 
 to show the red blood that is in him. 
 It isn't only fighting at the front a 
 girl admires. The fact is, I can't bear 
 to think of our village boys killing 
 anyone. I wish war would leave the 
 killing out, and I hope Ned wont have 
 to kiU any of those poor deluded 
 (shudders) enemy. 
 
 Just now the world needs courage 
 at home as much as abroad, and it is a 
 scarce article, Ira. 
 MAIL CARRIER— (Outside). Mail. 
 
 LUCY — There is the mail, bring it in, 
 please, there may be word from Ned. 
 (Ira brings in mail. Lucy looks it 
 over and is disappointed as she finds 
 nothing from Ned. Knowles^ the bank- 
 er, enters and is seen for a moment in 
 the rear of the bank. Ira works indus- 
 triously on his lock, while Lucy ex- 
 amines mail. Knowles enters inner 
 bank and proceeds to take off wraps. 
 Talks to Ira without looking at him.) 
 
 (Knowles is a typical appearing 
 country banker wearing a gray suit. 
 He is gray about the temples and is 
 clean shaven. He is rather thick set, 
 and his every move, look and gesture 
 betrays him to be a money maker and 
 a worshipper of the dollar. When inside 
 the grill he speaks with irritation, im- 
 periously, as an autocrat in his own 
 domain.) 
 
 KNOWLES — What is the matter 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 With the sidewalk, Ira? It's indecent, 
 absolutely indecent with old papers 
 and leaves right up to the doorway. I 
 should be ashamed to have a customer 
 see that iilth. I suppose you know the 
 sidewalk is one of your lookouts? 
 
 IRA — Yes, sir; I was intending to 
 get right at it. 
 
 ICMOWLES— Well, do it at once; 
 and hereafter make it one of your first 
 chores — (looking significantly at Lucy) 
 — and postpone your social calls. (Ira 
 starts to make reply, but thinks better 
 of it and goes out front.) (Knowles sits 
 at his desk.) Come, Lucy, let's have 
 the mail. I ought to be hearing from 
 those oil shares. They tell me the Red 
 Lands are beginning to spurt. 
 
 LUCY — Here are your letters and pa- 
 pers, uncle, and there is one from the 
 Red Lands Oil Company. 
 
 KNOWLES— (Tearing letter open 
 hastily and reading.) No, Higgins says 
 the big day has not yet arrived, but a 
 strike is looked for any moment. 
 There's millions out there, Lucy, and 
 Judge Hilton is one of the shrewdest 
 financial organizers in the world. I 
 told him once he would carry the earth 
 in his vest pocket some day, and he 
 knows how to handle labor better than 
 any man living. (Discovers postal 
 sticking to another envelope.) (Reads.) 
 "We are in the thick of it now, Lucy, 
 
 I can tell you " Hello, what kind 
 
 of business is this? It strikes me as 
 queer banking. It's from Ned Errick- 
 son; so, ho, and it is addressed to Miss 
 Lucy Knowles. (Lucy takes postal 
 eagerly.) I think it would be better, 
 young lady, if your gentlemen friends 
 and soldiers doing duty in France 
 would address you at home. 
 
 LUCY — Oh, uncle, Ned has been in 
 a big engagement, and has come 
 through without a scratch and with 
 honors. How wonderful! He must own 
 a charmed life. 
 
 KNOWLES— (Looking with kindly 
 interest at Lucy.) I am inclined to be- 
 lieve he does own a charmed life, but 
 that particular life may be right here 
 in Mapleton instead of in the trenches. 
 
 LUCY — I don't know what you 
 mean. Ned and I have never been in- 
 timate, but I do admire him for his 
 spirit and courage. Somehow, I like 
 to believe he wouldn't be rough and 
 cruel like some soldiers I have read 
 about. (Ira has entered and stands 
 
 silently in the rear, while Lucy is 
 speaking of Ned and bravery. He is 
 ev'idently much moved. When she fin- 
 ishes speaking he comes down to the 
 banker with determination written on 
 his face, and indicated by his bearing.) 
 
 KNOWLES— (Taking "no notice of 
 Ira.) You needn't hesitate, Lucy. He 
 is one of the finest young men in this 
 town, and with a great future before 
 him. If it's pluck and bravery you 
 like, he's got his full share of both. 
 You can take it from me, if he finds 
 himself in a nest of Huns it will be 
 one sad day for his enemies, or they 
 will find him dead at his post. There 
 isn't a man with his courage in these 
 parts. 
 
 IRA — May I have a word with you, 
 sir, on business? 
 
 KNOWLES— (Nettled at interrup- 
 tion, but seeing that Ira is determined, 
 motions Lucy to her desk.) Must we 
 be alone? Woixld you prefer the young 
 lady retire? 
 
 IRA — I should like to be alone with 
 you, sir. 
 
 KNOWLES — (Looks curiously at 
 Ira, and then motions for Lucy to re- 
 tire.) (She takes her papers and goes 
 out, but gives Ira an understanding 
 look as she does so.) 
 
 LUCY — Very weU, uncle, I shall be 
 in the next room if you want me. 
 
 KNOWLES — (Sorting papers a mo- 
 ment, then looking keenly at the young 
 man in front of him.) Well, what is it? 
 This is a busy morning, as you know, 
 and the mill people will be here with 
 their pay envelopes before long. Be 
 brief. 
 
 IRA — I want to speak about that 
 room of mine again. 
 
 KNOWLES— (With rising anger.) 
 So that's it, is it. What's the matter 
 with that room anyway? I'm getting 
 sick and tired of your complaints. That 
 room over the shed is better than most 
 of the people in this town enjoy, to 
 say nothing of the mill hands. I sup- 
 pose you want quarters in a parlor of 
 the Ritz Carlton or some other New 
 York hotel. 
 
 IRA — No, I do not. I want justice 
 and fair treatment. I make it my busi- 
 ness to guard this bank faithfully, and 
 you trust me, and you know I would 
 not leave my post in the face of dan- 
 ger — you know that. 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 KNOWLES— WeU, that is what you 
 are paid for aren't you? 
 
 IRA — Look here, Mr. Knowles, I've 
 been special of&cer and general superin- 
 tendent of tliis bank for six years, and 
 in all that time you haven't given me a 
 decent room to live in, and you know 
 it. I'm tired of playing meek. I've 
 asked you to give that room a good 
 papering, to put new matting on the 
 floor, and to replace that corn husk 
 mattress with something more com- 
 fortable. There are lots of mice in that 
 shed and worse in the walls. 
 
 KNOWLES — Someone has been put- 
 ting notions in your head, and you bet- 
 ter get rid of ideas which will make 
 you continually discontented. You 
 have got along pretty well in that room 
 and I guess you can continue without 
 much inconvenience as you are; how- 
 ever, I'll go so far as to send Martha 
 down some day to look the place over 
 and report what she thinks should be 
 done. 
 
 IRA — (Exasperated.) Mr. Knowles, 
 you have said that to me at least a 
 half-dozen times, but Martha never 
 comes. I won't be contented with be- 
 ing put off any longer. 
 
 KNOWLES— (Whistles.) You won't, 
 eh? 
 
 IRA — No, sir, I won't; and now we 
 are talking, I might as well relieve my 
 mind on the matter of salary, too. 
 
 KNOWLES — You are coming it 
 strong. What's the big idea now? A 
 palace to live in and a hundred dollars 
 a week? 
 
 IRA — I want a living wage, that's 
 what I want, sir. 
 
 KNOWLES — A living wage. Oh, I 
 know where you got that phrase. From 
 some of those waps who aren't worth 
 fifteen dollars a week, but who are 
 pulling down thirty-five a week in the 
 factory. So, the walking delegates have 
 been talking a living wage to you, have 
 they? 
 
 IRA — I haven't talked to any of 
 them. I don't need to. I tell you I am 
 getting too little from this bank to 
 support myself and my mother proper- 
 ly and in good health. Eighteen dol- 
 lars a week don't buy what it did 
 three years ago, and you know that, 
 sir. My hours are half again as long 
 as the factory hours, and my pay x 
 less. Is that just or right? 
 
 KNOWLES— Yes, it's both just and 
 
 right. Wages, my dear young man, de- 
 pend upon supply and demand, and it 
 would be poor business for me to give 
 a man incapacitated to do a full man's 
 work a full man's pay. If you could 
 go into the factory and work alongside 
 the others, you could command their 
 pay, but as you can't, I'm doing you a 
 favor by keeping you in a position that 
 is respectable — a gentleman's position. 
 
 IRA — I don't care two cents about 
 respectability, as you call it. I want 
 enough to live on, and I want at least 
 one night off in which xo enjoy myself 
 like other young people in the town 
 and factory. 
 
 KNOWLES— (Getting angry.) I 
 have had enough of this, young man. 
 You better understand when you are 
 well off, and cut out demanding this 
 and that. Suppose your hours are long, 
 your work is largely loafing, with 
 plenty of time to read and talk with 
 your friends. You have a snap, you 
 live on easy street in comparison with 
 real workers and producers. I shall not 
 raise your wages, so get along about 
 your work and let me get to mine. 
 (Starts to look over papers as though 
 interview were over.) 
 
 IRA — (Stands silent a moment.) I 
 have made up my mind to leave, sir, if 
 you can't see your way to give me a 
 raise and provide better, cleaner quar- 
 ters. 
 
 KNOWLES — So that is the threat is 
 it? So, the walking delegate has really 
 been talking with you, and whispering 
 his poison in your ear. Very well, you 
 can go when you get ready, and I am 
 inclined to discharge you on the spot. 
 Don't think because the boys are all 
 gone to war, or are working in the fac- 
 tory, that I can't replace you. 
 
 IRA — By next Thursday afternoon, 
 sir, if you still refuse my just requests, 
 I shall have an answer for you, whether 
 I shall leave or not. 
 
 KNOWLES — You are a fine type of 
 guardian, aren't you? You have the 
 duty of protecting the people's sav- 
 ings, and becaiise you think help is 
 scarce you talk to me of leaving your 
 trust. You are that sort of a hero are 
 you? All your boasted devotion to 
 duty melts away because you cannot 
 get what you do not earn. You needn't 
 look for anything from me next Thurs- 
 day, so you had better consider very 
 carefully who there is to give you a 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 job, the easy kind of employment 
 which one of your disability must 
 have. I think I have said my say 
 
 — and you (A young country couple 
 
 enter the bank. Knowles pauses a mo- 
 ment.) You had better think weU be- 
 fore you call a strike in the First Na- 
 tional Mapleton bank, young man. It 
 would look well, wouldn't it, in the 
 Loganville Courier: "The trusted 
 guardian of the Mapleton bank, who 
 for six years has faithfully protected 
 the savings of the people, has gone on 
 strike and left the bank without pro- 
 tection," Think it over, Ira. 
 
 IRA — I have thought it over, and I 
 ask you to do a little thinking also. 
 (Goes out right.) 
 
 (Dennis W. Wiggs and Loretta Gil- 
 gum Wiggs stand at cashier's window 
 waiting to be served. They have the 
 awkward appearance of country newly- 
 weds. Both sunburned. They bear their 
 wedding clothes uneasily, and show 
 they are about to take a journey.) 
 
 KNOWLES — (Going to cashier's 
 window.) Well, well, Dennis and Lo- 
 retta, I suppose the knot is tied, and 
 you are man and wife. 
 
 DENNIS — (Grinning and giving Lo- 
 retta a squeeze.) We be Mr. Knowles, 
 she's promised to love, honor and obey, 
 and I swore to cherish till death do us 
 part. 
 
 LORETTA — You ought to have been 
 at the weddin', Mr. Knowles. Mrs. 
 Avery, she fixed up the parlor some- 
 thin' swell; white ribbons, apple blos- 
 soms, asparagrass and red and yeller 
 paper chrystianthums right over 
 •where we got hitched. 
 
 DENNIS — How do you like our rigs, 
 Mr. Knowles? 
 
 KNOWLES— I can't see, Dennis, the 
 entire effect of your wedding clothes. 
 Suppose you come in and let me have a 
 look at you. 
 
 LORETTA — Come right in where you 
 keep all your money? Ain't you afraid 
 we'll steal some of it? 
 
 KNOWLES— I 'U take the risk. Step 
 right in and display yourselves. (Knowles 
 opens door into baiik.) (Dennis and 
 Loretta enter. They are attired in poor 
 taste, with striking bows, ties, stock- 
 ings, etc., not overdone or too gro- 
 tesque.) You are pretty classy. What 
 can I do for you, Dennis? 
 
 DENNIS — Mr. Knowles, Loretta and 
 I are goin' to see Niagari and to hon- 
 
 eymoon around them Bridal Falls fer 
 about a week. You see hayin' don't 
 begin right away, and Avery giv us 
 both a week to enjoy married life. 
 
 KNOWLES — You have come for 
 some money, have you? How much do 
 you want? 
 
 DENNIS — (With importance.) One 
 hundred dollars — a hundred doUar bill 
 if you've got it. We're goin' it kind 
 o' steep, but mebbe we won't either on 
 us hev another chance for a wedding* 
 trip, and so we are going to hev our 
 fling, ain't we, Loretta? 
 
 LORETTA — It seems like a heap of 
 money to sjiend in one week, but, ez 
 Dennis says, it's just for onct. 
 
 KNOWLES— (Goes to safe.) We'U 
 see what we can find. Here's just the 
 bill, right from the United States 
 treasury. It matches your wedding 
 clothes. (The two look at bill with 
 great interest.) Lucy, come see who 
 we have here? (Enter Lucy.) 
 
 LUCY— What's all this? As I live 
 if it isn't Loretta Gilgum and Dennis 
 Wiggs. What does it mean? 
 
 LORETTA — (With injured dignity.) 
 I am no longer Miss Gilgum. You are 
 addressin' Mrs. Dennis W. Wiggs. 
 (Bows stiffly.) 
 
 LUCY — Dennis, I congratulate you. 
 Loretta, I hope you will be happy. 
 (Sliakes hands.) How fine you both 
 look in your brand new clothes. Come, 
 Loretta, sit down over here by my desk 
 and let me examine your finery. (Lucy 
 and Loretta go riglit, and the two men 
 left.) 
 
 DENNIS — I would like to get a look 
 into that big box where you keep aU 
 them hundred dollar bills. 
 
 KNOWLES — Certainly, come along. 
 (The two examine safe. Loretta also 
 takes a peep.) 
 
 DENNIS — You must have millions of 
 dollars in that big iron chest. I 
 wouldn't mind hevin what you keep in 
 that cupboard, ha, ha, ha. (Knowles 
 and Dennis return to seats.) 
 
 KNOWLES — You will never get it, 
 Dennis, pitching hay for Avery and 
 milking his cows. Are you getting rich? 
 DENNIS — No, I'm not, Mr. Knowles, 
 and it's damned hard work, too, from 
 six in the mornin' till eight at night, 
 and you can't wear togs like these as 
 you kin in a bank. 
 
 KNOWLES — How would you like to 
 have a job in the bank, Dennis? 
 
 8 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 DENNIS — It would suit me all right. 
 It would be easier handin' out hundred 
 dollar bUls and takin' in the cash than 
 sloppin' the hogs. 
 
 KNOWLES — I wasn't exactly think- 
 ing about the position of cashier for 
 you because your experience has hardly 
 prepared you for that, but you might 
 make a good watchman if you have the 
 courage. 
 
 DENNIS — What kind of courage do 
 you mean? 
 
 ILNOWLES — You know, where there 
 is lots of money there may be people 
 about who would like to get it, and 
 who wouldn't care how they got it. 
 
 DENNIS — (Looking about uneasily.) 
 That's right, Mr. Knowles, I've read 
 of desprate characters blowin' up 
 safes and committin' murder on bank 
 offtcers. They told me in the post-office 
 yesterday that there are two or three 
 suspicious character? about town, and 
 a-hangin' about the factory. It may be 
 they've got their eyes on this very 
 bank. I wouldn't be afraid in the day 
 time, but I can't stand the pesky dark. 
 I even git the shivers in the barn at 
 night when I'm out very late. 
 
 KNOWLES — Of course, you could 
 carry a gun. 
 
 DENNIS— That would make a differ- 
 ence, but what about Ira? Ain't he 
 fillin' the job all right? He's been here 
 a good many years. 
 
 KNOWLES — Ira may be leaving 
 next week, and I want a real man, a 
 strong upstanding man, one who could 
 handle any intruder in such a way that 
 he would not call again. You are just 
 the man, Dennis; what do you say? 
 
 DENNIS — (Uneasy and scared over 
 the job.) I'm sorry, Mr. Knowles, but 
 Loretta and I hev set our hearts on this 
 trip to Niagari, and it wouldn't be 
 right to give it up now. I'm much 
 obliged, but they are countin' on me 
 at Avery's to do the hayin'. 
 
 KNOWLES— Oh, I didn't mean to 
 keep you from your honeymoon, but 
 suppose I should send for you to come 
 to be here on Thursday afternoon to 
 begin work. How would that suit? 
 
 DENNIS — (Uneasy.) I ain't got any 
 gun, Mr. Knowles, and I dunno ez I 
 could use one ef I had it. 
 
 KNOWLES — (Laughing.) That was 
 all a joke, Dennis. This bank is per- 
 fectly safe day and night. AH the doors 
 and windows are locked and barred. 
 
 You wouldn't be in the least danger. 
 
 DENNIS — Thursday would be kinda 
 short for Loretta and me to break up 
 honeymoonin'. 
 
 KNOWLES— It might be I could let 
 you stay longer, say, till Friday or Sat- 
 urday. 
 
 DENNIS — I guess I hed better stick 
 to the farm, Mr. Knowles. Fact is, I 
 ain't comfortable in these tight shoes 
 and this derby hat. I b'lieve Avery's 
 cow barn is as far ez — 
 
 LORETTA — (Who has caught the 
 drift of what has been said) — What are 
 you talking about, Dennis Wiggs? Of 
 course you.'ll take the job if Mr. 
 Knowles wants you' We can cut our 
 sugarin' off a day or two if necessary. 
 Ef you would feel safer at night I'll 
 stay with you till ye git used to it. I'll 
 show any burglars that Mrs. Loretta 
 Giigum Wiggs ain't scared to meet any 
 of them. You'll take the Job, Dennis. 
 
 DENNIS — Loretta, didn't that min- 
 ister make you promise to love, honor 
 and obey? It looks like you wuz tryin' 
 to make me do the obeyin'. 
 
 LORETTA— Yes, Dennis Wiggs, and 
 it isn't the last time you will obey me 
 if you don't know for yourself what is 
 good fer ye. We'll take the position, 
 Mr. Knowlss, and come back Thursday 
 if you say so. 
 
 KNOWLES — Does that go, Dennis? 
 
 DENNIS— (Giving- liard looks at Lo- 
 retta.) I suppose so ef Loretta hez got 
 her mind set on being a banker. How 
 much is the job v/uth? 
 
 KNOWLES — What does Avery give 
 you? 
 
 DENNIS — You hev to remember, Mr. 
 Knowles, I've got Loretta to care for 
 now. We couldn't git along on fifty 
 dollars a month and keep. 
 
 KNOWLES— I'U do the right thing 
 by you and Loretta. What do you say 
 to eighty dollars a month and the 
 two rooms over the shed? If Mrs. 
 Wiggs wants to do the scrub — house- 
 keeping about the bank there will be 
 extra money for you. What do you say? 
 
 DENNIS — I reckon. 
 
 KNOWLES— Very well, Dennis, I 
 shall expect you twelve hours after you 
 receive my telegram teUing you to 
 come. (Taking roll of bills from 
 pocket.) Here, Dennis, I want to make 
 you a wedding present. There's two 
 dollars to do what you like with. Don't 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 say anything about your new job until 
 after you get my message to come. 
 
 LUCY— (Taking a five dollar bill 
 from her i)urse) — Loretta, accept this 
 five dollar bill for a wedding present; 
 you may find some use for it when you 
 set up housekeeping. 
 
 LORETTA — Oh, Miss Lucy, you are 
 too good. 
 
 DENNIS — (Still worried over new 
 job, rolls bill absently and sticks it in 
 Vest pocket. Puts on hat and starts to 
 go.) 
 
 LUCY — Haven't you forgotten some- 
 thing, Dennis? Something very impor- 
 tant? 
 
 DENNIS — (Feeling desperately for 
 his hundred dollar bill, when he hears 
 a sob from Loretta.) Wall, I'U be dog- 
 goned; goin' off without Loretta, hon- 
 ey mo onin' — but I would have thought 
 of her before I got to the station, that's 
 a sure thing. (Takes Loretta by the 
 arm.) I hevn't got used to a wife, 
 that's all. Don't take on so, Loretta; 
 it's all right. Good-bye, Miss Lucy; so 
 long, Mr Knowles. (Both go out.) 
 
 KNOWLES — (Gets up and goes over 
 to where Lucy is sitting.) Lucy, take 
 this dictation. (Lucy writes.) Judge 
 David Hilton, Red Lands Oil Company, 
 Red Lands, Arkansaw. Dear Judge: I 
 have a small revolution in my bank. 
 Those fakirs from the wire and muni- 
 tion factory have got to my man, Ira 
 Hathaway, and put all kinds of notions 
 in his head about a living wage and im- 
 proved living conditions. It is a well- 
 known fact that there is not a man to 
 be had to take Ira's place, and what is 
 more, he knows it. There is no doubt in 
 my mind that he is in touch with union 
 leaders, who say they w?U stand behind 
 Mm. His tone has suddtnly become ar- 
 rogant and insulting. The unions will, 
 of course, intimidate anyone who at- 
 tempts to take Ira's place. 
 
 You once wrote me that you knew 
 the head of our Metal Trades Union, 
 Tom Walsh. I anticipate trouble with 
 that fellow, who has, I believe, been or- 
 ganizing everyone into what he calls 
 the "one big union." 
 
 If it were only a matter of my man 
 alone the case would be simple. It isn't 
 hours or wages that are bothering me, 
 it's the principle of the thing. This 
 dictatorial tone employes and labor gen- 
 erally are taking — as though the busi- 
 ness of production belonged to them — is 
 
 reaching a limit. This seems to me a 
 fine time to give the proletariat a black 
 eye right here in Mapleton, and it 
 might be heard of elsewhere with ex- 
 treme satisfaction. 
 
 You, Judge, have been through all 
 this many times, and on a much larger 
 scale, and you know how to handle 
 these radicals who threaten the very 
 foundation of our commercial and po- 
 litical system. I understand the West 
 has hit upon effective methods of treat- 
 ment. 
 
 There is a kind of half-witted farm 
 hand who will come, but he hasn't the 
 courage of a chicken, and would only 
 encourage trouble. 
 
 If I could once get hold of the skunk 
 who stirred my man up to threaten 
 strike I'd make jelly of him. You have 
 my sentiments. Early advice will be 
 appreciated. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 ROBERT P. KNOWLES. 
 Read that last paragraph, Lucy, it 
 may sound a bit strong. 
 
 LUCY- — (Reads.) (Knowles listens 
 tensely and absent-mindedly grasps 
 Lucy's shoulder.) "If I could get hold 
 of the skunk who stirred my man up to 
 threaten strike, I'd make jelly of him" 
 — Uncle, you are hurting my shoulder. 
 
 KNOWLES — I beg your pardon, 
 Lucy. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 End of Act 1. 
 
 Raise the Curtain for Act XL 
 
 ACT IL 
 
 Seene^the same as Act I. 
 
 Time — Noon-hour Saturday. 
 
 (Lucy and Grimes at cashier windows 
 
 receiving deposits and savings from 
 
 factory hands who have been paid off. 
 
 It is the end of the line, and only a few 
 
 stragglers are left. Grimes is busy with 
 
 several meii and a woman while the 
 
 scene with Lucy and her customers is 
 
 in progress.) 
 
 LUCY — -(Jason, a young mill em- 
 ploye, stands before Lucy.) What can I 
 do for you, Jason? You are almost the 
 end of the line. I had given you up. 
 
 JASON — Add five more bucks to my 
 account. (Passes in book, which Lucy 
 signs ami liands back.) 
 
 LUCY — You certainly are doing well, 
 Jason; your little account is growing 
 steadily. 
 
 JASON — We are making the coin, 
 but it costs more to live. (Jason makes 
 
 10 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 way for a stocky little Italian, Tony 
 Patroni.) 
 
 LUCY — More savings, Mr. Patroni? 
 You are a good customer. 
 
 TONY — Worka hard, maka de mon. 
 Pretty soon I send for de woman, and 
 wea buya de house. 
 
 LUCY — That will be splendid. Does 
 Mrs. Patroni want to come to America? 
 
 TONY — You beta, when I send her 
 de mon, and dey giva de pass porta. 
 (Takes printed paper from pay enve- 
 lope and hands it to Lucy.) I found 
 this witha my mon. What does it say? 
 Reada, please? It may be citizenship 
 papers, or what you think? 
 
 LUCY — (Reading paper to Tony. 
 Others stop and listen.) "Workmen 
 produce and prosper. Do you remember 
 those two apple trees by the old stone 
 wall? One bore apples and was laden 
 with fruit every year. The other pro- 
 duced less apples each year. The farmer 
 enriched the roots of the one which 
 produced, and neglected the other, 
 which was finally cut down and made 
 into firewood. Will you be like the first 
 tree or like the second? Will you pro- 
 duce and be enriched?" 
 
 TONY — Yes, I know. I goa buy a de 
 farm, I raisa de fruit. I sella de apples ; 
 then I getta rich, eh? 
 
 LUCY — That is not exactly it, Tony. 
 It means for you to go on producing 
 more in the factory, and then you will 
 get rich. 
 
 TONY — Den de bossa he getta de 
 mon, Tony he getta de wage, eh? 
 
 TOM WALSH — (Strong, large man 
 with intelligent face. Full of assurance 
 and independence of spirit. He is 
 the head of the large metal trades 
 union.) That is certainly a fine sermon, 
 Miss Knowles. We all get something 
 like that in our pay envelopes. Some 
 of us are getting tired producing more 
 fruit for the bosses to pick. We are 
 getting ready to pick our own fruit. 
 
 LUCY — Yes, I know that, and you, 
 Mr. Walsh, are making a lot of trouble 
 for the bosses, as you call them. They 
 are coming to the end of their patience. 
 You had better go slowly in your de- 
 mands. There are forces at work to 
 crush all your unionizing activities, and 
 they are forces that are not accustomed 
 to failure. 
 
 WALSH — I know you to he a good 
 niece of your uncle, Miss Knowles. 
 
 (Counts out bills.) Please add that to 
 the union's account. 
 
 LUCY — Five hundred dollars. Is that 
 right? The union must be prospering. 
 
 WALSH — We are learning as well as 
 the capitalists that money talks. We 
 owe our last raise to the union's reserve 
 fvmd. Where is Ira Hathaway? I hear 
 he is thinking of leaving the bank. 
 
 LUCY — He will be in about noon. 
 
 WALSH — Tell him I am anxious to 
 see him, and I will call around later. 
 
 LUCY— (Earnestly.) He needs a 
 friend of the right kind, Mr. Walsh. 
 
 WALSH — You are a puzzle, Miss 
 Knowles. I wonder sometimes whether 
 you are a banker or a worker. 
 
 LUCY — I believe you go too fast and 
 too far, but I admire yoiur fighting 
 spirit and the way thousands of you 
 people get together and work for one 
 end. I fail to follow you when you 
 talk of changing a whole economic sys- 
 tem, 
 
 WALSH — The time is not far distant 
 when you will change your mind, be- 
 cause there are reasons which will com- 
 pel you to follow us. Don't forget to 
 tell Ira. (Exit.) (All customers leave 
 bank.) 
 
 LUCY — (Grimes and Lucy putting 
 money away in safe.) We have done 
 v/ell today, Grimes. 
 
 GRIMES— What? 
 
 LUCY — (Close to Grimes' ear.) I say 
 the factory people have done well this 
 week. (Lucy goes to her desk and takes 
 out box containing ear trumpet and 
 listening apparatus.) I have brought 
 you something, Grimes. You remember 
 your promise. (Loudly.) Grimes, come 
 here a moment. 
 
 GRIMES — (Coming down slowly and 
 looking with dismay at the instrument.) 
 It's no use. Miss Lucy, I can't hear one 
 word you say. A machine like that 
 might be all right for some, but I am 
 too far gone. I couldn't hear anything 
 you were saying to Tom Walsh or to 
 Patroni. 
 
 LUCY — Now, Mr. Grimes, you said if 
 I would send for this you would try 
 it a month. Here it is and you must 
 begin now. 
 
 GRIMES — My hearing days are over. 
 It will only make me look foolish. I 
 know what your uncle will say — foolish 
 expenditure of money. Must I wear it 
 in the bank? 
 
 LUCY — Of course you must, until 
 
 11 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 you get used to it. (Fastening it on 
 Grimes ' head and adjusting the ear 
 piece.) Now stand over at your desk 
 and listen. (Grimes does as told. At 
 first there is a flush of hope in his face.) 
 Now, can you hear me, Mr Grimes? 
 
 GRIMES — (Putting hand to ear as 
 though in pain. I told you it's no use. 
 Just a lot of rumbling and confusion. I 
 heard my name, that's all. Here, take 
 it back. It would make me ill with 
 worry. (Starts to give audiphone back 
 to Lucy.) 
 
 LUCY — Now, Mr. Grimes, you are not 
 playing fair. You promised to try it 
 long enough to get used to it. The first 
 person who listened through a tele- 
 phone couldn't hear distinctly. You 
 needn't be ashamed. It's small, and 
 uncle will never notice it. If you heard 
 your name you can learn to hear other 
 words. 
 
 GRIMES — It will be torture, but I 
 suppose if I promised I must wear it a 
 little while. 
 
 LUCY — You certainly must. 
 
 GRIMES — I shouldn't like your 
 ancle to catch nie trying this out. He 
 would discharge me for insanity. 
 
 LUCY — All right, we can go into the 
 clerk's office and give it a good test. 
 (Rings electric bell for Ira, who enters 
 immediately from right.) Grimes and I 
 are working in the clerk's room. If 
 uncle comes in and wants us, tell him 
 to ring. 
 
 IRA — Certainly, Lucy. (He exam- 
 ines lock he was fixing and is by grill 
 door when Banker Knowles enters, with 
 a telegram in his hand.) Miss Lucy 
 and Grimes are doing some work in the 
 clerks' room, and she said to ring if 
 you wanted them. 
 
 KNOWLES— It 'sail right, I'd rather 
 be alone for a time. (Ira makes no 
 move to go himself.) I said I would 
 rather be alone. Isn't that plain? (Ira 
 goes out quickly.) (Knowles reads tele- 
 gram again.) The judge is a seven- 
 day wonder. (Takes up telepho'ne.) 
 Give me 15-3^— That you Morton? Can 
 you leave the factory for a few mo- 
 ments? — Yes. Very important; con- 
 cerns us both and the bank. — Thanks, 
 I'll wait for you. (Rings phone again.) 
 438. Is Mr. Kramer in? Tell him I 
 should like to see him right away — yes, 
 matter of pressing importance. — Oh, I 
 beg your pardon, I thought you knew 
 my voice; I'm Knowles of the Maple- 
 
 ton bank. Please tell Kramer to rush 
 right over — Thank you. (Takes news- 
 paper out of pocket and begins to read. 
 After a moment rings for Lucy.) (Lucy 
 enters.) 
 
 LUCY — Did you want me, sir? 
 
 KNOWLES— What do you think of 
 our half-page ad in the Courier, Lucy? 
 
 LUCY^(Looking over uncle's shoul- 
 der.) That ought to bring business. 
 What do you hope for the added ex- 
 pense? 
 
 KNOWLES— I'm fishing for those 
 shoe operatives over in LoganviUe. 
 They are making big wages. 
 LUCY — Mr. Kramer ought to be 
 pretty good to you when you give him 
 so much business. 
 
 KNOWLES— He should, but he's not. 
 
 LUCY — I admire Kramer's independ- 
 ence and courage. 
 
 KNOWLES — He's too damned inde- 
 pendent — I bag your pardon — but the 
 editorials he put out during the last 
 strike in the factory were absolutely 
 disloyal to the country; they were se- 
 ditious, and a body blow at every large 
 and successful corporation. Those strik- 
 ers got enough courage out of that rot 
 to stick until they won. 
 
 LUCY — If you could see the way the 
 deposits were coming in you wouldn't 
 feel so badly. Walsh brought in five 
 hundred dollars today. 
 
 KNOWLES— The deuce he did! More 
 union funds. They are playing a shrewd 
 game, those men. When they get eight 
 or ten thousand they will strike again. 
 Watch 'em. I woiUd rather have that 
 money to distribute among the stock- 
 holders than to have it go in the form 
 of wages among men and women who 
 haven't the slightest idea of the value 
 of money. 
 
 LUCY — You are always preaching 
 thrift, uncle, and now the factory peo- 
 ple are saving more than ever before 
 you ought not complain. 
 
 KNOWLES— Lucy, you talk like a 
 radical. I only hope none of them get 
 hold of you with their propaganda; I 
 believe they would find you fertile soil. 
 
 If Ned Errickson were here he would 
 be rolling up his sleeves and preparing 
 to give Labor such a licking as would 
 set it back to where it belongs, twenty 
 years or more. (Reading ])aper.) Speak- 
 ing of angels, here he is (Reads aloud.) 
 "Lt. Edward Errickson of Mapleton, 
 U. S. A., 114 infantry, while out scout- 
 
 12 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 ing with a troop of French, was at- 
 tacked and siirroTiiided by six Huns. 
 The young American battled like a su- 
 perman and before the Germans had 
 time to know what was happening he 
 had thrust his bayonet into four with 
 the approved twist — (Lucy utters a 
 slight seieam and sinks in chair) — and 
 laid the other two low with revolver 
 shots. 
 
 "When questioned about his exploit 
 he only laughed and said he wished 
 there had been six more. His bravery 
 and prowess is the talk of the trenches 
 and has brought him the honorable 
 Croix de Guerre." 
 
 How's that for fame and a fair lady? 
 (Looking at Lucy, who lias covered her 
 face with her hands.) What's the mat- 
 ter with you, young lady, crying when 
 you should be shouting for joy, and 
 the glory of Mapleton? 
 
 LUCY — I know it's foolish. I wish 
 I hadn't been born with such a vivid 
 imagination. All I can see is Ned 
 standing above those six Germans wip- 
 ing the blood from his bayonet and 
 laughing at the exploit. Perhaps each 
 of those men had a home and children. 
 
 Oh, of course it's war and glory and 
 all that, but how can I ever blot that 
 picture from my mind? If he had shot 
 them it wouldn't seem so bad, but to 
 gore them like an angry bull, and then 
 laugh — ugh. (Covers her face again.) 
 
 KKTOWLES — You are a sentii-iental- 
 ist, Lucy, and I am ashamed of you. 
 Ned's done a big and a glorious thing. 
 I'm glad he isn't here to see how you 
 take it. 
 
 LUCY — I admire bravery and true 
 courage as much as anyone, and I know 
 what it means for those boys to be over 
 there sacrificing their lives for an ideal, 
 but I simply can't think of Ned Errick- 
 son in quite the same way. I wish I 
 could, but I can't. There's something 
 wrong. 
 
 KNOWLES — You are a fool and I've 
 no patience with you. You don't de- 
 serve a man like Ned. (Grimes enters 
 from right.) 
 
 GRIMES — (As he comes in.) It's no 
 use, Miss Lucy; it doesn't work. 
 
 LUCY — (Going quickly to Grimes.) 
 Remember you promised you 
 
 KNOWLES— Hello, what's aU this? 
 What won't work? 
 
 LUCY — (For a moment embar- 
 rassed.) What do you think, uncle? I 
 
 try to introduce an improvement into 
 Grimes' bookkeeping and he refuses to 
 admit any change. 
 
 KNOWLES— You covld be employed 
 to better advantage, Lucy, than trying 
 to change anything that has been run- 
 ning in the same rut for twenty years. 
 You ought to know better. Let the old 
 fossil alone and tend to your own work. 
 (Grimes, who has the hearing instru- 
 ment attached to his ear, looks up, and 
 an expression of pain comes over his 
 face.) (He goes to work on his books 
 and is quite forgotten. Lucy is busy at 
 her desk.) (Morton of the factory en- 
 ters. Knowles opens door into grill and 
 welcomes him.) 
 
 I am glad to see you, Morton. Sorry 
 to bring you away from your mill on a 
 busy morning, but I have something to 
 talk over. Sit down. Have you read of 
 Ned Errickson's exploit, how he put 
 six Huns under the sod? 
 
 MORTON— (Shrewd Yankee type of 
 manufacturer. A man who has worked 
 all his life and expects others to do the 
 same. Tall and angular and a contrast 
 to thick-set, solid Banker Knowles.) 
 Yes, I read that in the Courier; great, 
 v/asn't it? I'm saving a place in the 
 factory for that boy. He is the kind 
 we ar3 looking for, with the courage 
 and manhood to tell Labor a few plain 
 facts in a plain, blunt way. Have you 
 noticed in the New York papers how 
 this revolt of Labor is spreading all 
 over the country? 
 
 KNOWLES— Notice it? I should say 
 I had. The time is fast coming for a 
 show-down between Capital and Labor. 
 We either stop this thing or go out of 
 business. I say stop it now. 
 
 MORTON — It takes a banker to talk 
 big things, but there are limits even to 
 what bankers can do. 
 
 KNOWLES — Sit down, Morton; there 
 will be an important visitor here any 
 moment. (Morton sits.) 
 
 MORTON — This sounds interesting. 
 What's up? 
 
 KNOWLES — Everything is up. Small 
 things become great. Straws show 
 where the stream is running. There is a 
 river needs damning in more ways than 
 one, and I propose to begin right here 
 in the bank. 
 
 MORTON — A vast number of schemes 
 are hatched in the banks. We majiu- 
 facturers know that. The financiers 
 after all are the great world chess-play- 
 
 13 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 ers. What is on your mind? Out with it. 
 
 KNOWLES — I have labor troubles of 
 my own, right here in the bank. Oh, you 
 needn't look surprised. I have a threat- 
 ened strike. 
 
 MORTON — A strike, you? Why, 
 you haven't more than six employes al- 
 together, and one of those is your 
 right-hand man. Miss Lucy there, your 
 own niece. You a strike, ha, ha, that 
 makes me laugh. But if you have, I am 
 glad of it because you have always had 
 such good advice for me with my labor 
 conflicts. Now you are calling on me to 
 give you advice. That is good. 
 
 KNOWLES— You can laugh if you 
 like. But this may concern you more 
 nearly than you guess. You can help me 
 or not as you like. I have always told 
 you that Labor could be beaten if the 
 forces of Capital got together and 
 worked with brains. 
 
 I am going to give you a few pointers 
 about a strike. My man Hathaway has 
 threatened to walk out next Thursday 
 afternoon unless his demands are 
 granted. 
 
 MORTON — A one-man strike; that is 
 better yet. (Laughs.) 
 
 KNOWLES — it now looks to me as 
 though he thinks he can force me to 
 yield, because he has the same people 
 behind him who forced you to their 
 terms. (Morton at ouce interested.) 
 Now perhaps you will be serious. 
 
 MORTON — So! Tom Walsh again. 
 You are in for trouble. 
 
 KNOWLES— So they think. Ira has 
 been with me for six years as gentle as 
 a lamb. Now he demands; now he 
 threatens desertion. They beat you, 
 now they think they can force my 
 hands, Robert P. Knowles. But I'll see 
 them to hell first. 
 
 Here's my man turning impudent, 
 neglecting his work, reading question- 
 able books, and — 
 
 LUCY — (Can stand it no longer and 
 rises at her desk.) I can't sit here any 
 longer and listen to your slander of Ira. 
 (Crosses and confronts her uncle.) 
 
 KNOWLES— You can't, eh? 
 
 LUCY — No, I can't. You know per- 
 fectly well that Ira has been to you 
 over and over again and asked you for 
 a better room and higher pay. He's 
 told you of his mother, whom he sup- 
 ports. You are wronging him when you 
 say he is impudent and unfaithful. You 
 should be fair. 
 
 KNOWLES — (Sits a moment amazed.) 
 Since when, young lady, did you become 
 champion for Ira Hathaway. What's 
 between you? 
 
 LUCY — There is nothing between us, 
 and if there was, you have no right to 
 put such a question now. I ask only 
 for justice and fair play as I would for 
 anyone in your employ. Ira has served 
 you faithfully and deserves better than 
 this. 
 
 KNOWLES — Please, understand, 
 Lucy, that this is a matter between Ira 
 and myself, and we don't need your 
 advice nor criticism. I think it is time 
 you and I came to an understanding as 
 to who shall run this bank. For the 
 present you may take your books into 
 the next room; I shall call if I want 
 you. 
 
 LUCY — Very well, sir. (Takes her 
 papers and goes out right.) 
 
 MORTON — Regular little spitfire, 
 isn't she? Does she see anything in Ira? 
 
 KNOWLES— What! a Knowles see 
 anything in a Hathaway? You are jok- 
 ing. You must think she has lost her 
 mind. 
 
 MORTON — You never can tell. Ira is 
 doing some thinking, and writes well. 
 I've seen several of his letters in the 
 Courier recently which show he has 
 been busy with his books. Kramer told 
 me the boy has brains that might land 
 him somewhere with a little more edu- 
 cation. 
 
 KNOWLES — Don't be misled. Lucy's 
 heart is bound up in the trenches with 
 a boy who has just received the Croix 
 de Guerre. I must admit she didn't 
 seem much delighted over his exploit, 
 however. 
 
 MORTON — I should hate to disillu- 
 sion the young lady, but my boy Ralph, 
 who is in the same company with Ned 
 Errickson writes me that Ned is ter- 
 ribly smitten with a French maid. If 
 there has been anything serious between 
 him and Lucy, it looks bad for her. 
 (Takes letter frcm pocket.) Here, read 
 for yourself. (Knowles reads.) 
 
 KNOWLES — Ned is going it pretty 
 strong. Kind of tough on Lucy, I must 
 admit. I guess the lads are lonely as 
 hell over there, and flirtations are com- 
 mon enough. (Lays letter carelessly on 
 desk.) 
 
 MORTON — Come, Knowles. What is 
 at the bottom of your strike, as you call 
 it, and why am I interested? (Looks 
 
 14 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPT-E 
 
 toward Grimes, who is working on the 
 other side of the room.) 
 
 KNOWLES — Oh, he doesn't count. 
 He's as deaf as a post and as reliable. 
 He's about the most valuaole asset this 
 bank has, because he tends strictly to 
 business and never knows what is going 
 on around him. Ideal employe; I don't 
 kiiow how I could run this bank with- 
 out him, but thank goodness he is un- 
 able to hear the arguments of such a 
 man as Walsh. I am absolutely certain 
 Walsh has filled Hathaway 's head with 
 revolt. That Labor leader is a radical 
 as you know to your cost, and he's 
 planning some kind of a revolution at 
 the right moment. It is Walsh's busi- 
 ness to get everyone into some kind of 
 a big union, and he needs Ira. 
 
 MORTON — I see, you think Ira is but 
 one link in a long chain. Break him, 
 break the big idea; is that it? 
 
 KNOWLES — Yes. Ira represents a 
 force. In this case he is the wedge 
 backed by Labor impersonated by 
 Walsh. Lick them this time, lick them 
 next time, and set up a merry skid for 
 Labor all along the line. 
 
 MORTON— But if Walsh and the 
 whole metal trades are back of your 
 man, what can you do? 
 
 KNOWLES — We can do eversrthing. 
 We can utterly discredit Hathaway, 
 Walsh and the entire union. We can 
 deposit the whole bunch in a way that 
 will make them know it is but the first 
 punch of a ten-round finish. 
 
 MORTON — You forget one important 
 fact, Knowles. 
 KNOWLES— What is it? 
 MORTON— The sympathy of the 
 people. Nothing can be done unless the 
 mass of people are with you. The peo- 
 ple of Mapleton and of the factory, yes, 
 of Loganville, too, will stand back of 
 Ira and make him a martyr. When you 
 discharge him my employes will with- 
 draw their savings. Have you thought 
 of that? 
 
 KNOWLES — Now you have struck 
 the crucial point. I admit the need of 
 backing by the people of Mapleton and 
 of the factory. There must be some 
 way to turn public opinion, and I con- 
 fess I need advice. 
 
 MORTON — You are lost, Knowles, un- 
 less you are wiser in getting the peo- 
 ple with you than I was with my 
 strikes. The whole community wanted 
 to see the employes get more wages, 
 
 and I had to give in. You haven't the 
 ghost of a show unless you can make 
 the people think you are the injured 
 party, and that their interests are en- 
 dangered by your defeat. 
 
 KNOWLES— Now I wUl tell you the 
 real reason why I got you over here 
 this afternoon. There is one man whom 
 I know well, who has put over some of 
 the biggest financial deals this country 
 has known, and who knows more about 
 handling Labor than any other employer 
 on the face of the earth, I believe. He 
 has won strikes over and over again. 
 He has studied this matter of public 
 opinion until he has made a fine art of 
 it. He can turn the trick for us. 
 
 MORTON — You refer to Judge James 
 Hilton, I suppose. 
 
 KNOWLES — You have guessed it. I 
 wrote him of my situation and of what 
 I believe is behind it. I spoke of Tom 
 Walsh, who is the only Labor leader 
 who ever forced the judge to a com- 
 promise. Walsh used to be in Arkansas. 
 My answer from the judge has just 
 arrived in the form of a telegram. He 
 is coming here this afternoon, but cau- 
 Jtioned me not to let it be known. He 
 ^is on his way to Pennsylvania, where 
 f. he has large oil interests and some new 
 I' wells. 
 
 ;. MORTON — I declare, Knowles, you 
 talk as though you had the entire Labor 
 problem on your shoulders, and that you 
 were determined to solve it once and 
 for all. 
 
 KNOWLES — Before we get through 
 with this you will agree with me that 
 the game is not small. When bankers 
 turn their minds to a human problem 
 like this we don't let go until something 
 breaks. 
 
 MORTON— What do you think the 
 judge can do for us? 
 
 KNOWLES — Frankly, I don't know, 
 but if he is interested enough to come 
 here in person, instead of writing he will 
 have something worth, while, depend 
 on it. 
 
 You understand there are three par- 
 ties to this game. You and the judge 
 represent the great employing class, I 
 the bankers who put up the money, and 
 third comes the press, which must do 
 our bidding and sing our songs. When 
 we three go a-hunting there will be some 
 big killing — 
 
 MORTON— (Shocked.) Killing? (As 
 he draws back from the table he acei- 
 
 15 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 dentally sweeps his son 's letter to the 
 floor without noticing it.) 
 
 KNOWLES — Oh, don't get excited. I 
 am not out with, machine guns and that 
 foolish kind of rot. This can he done 
 by less rough methods. 
 
 MORTON — What about the press? 
 KNOWLES — I have telephoned 
 Kramer of the Courier, and he will be 
 over soon. I'd rather he and the judge 
 did not meet, but it would make no 
 great difference; I am sure Kramer can 
 be influenced. 
 
 MORTON — In this case, Knowles, you 
 will find that the press is against us. 
 Kramer is more than half with Labor 
 and he's mighty independent. 
 
 KNOWLES — How much advertising 
 do you give the Courier? 
 
 MORTON — Some weeks three hun- 
 dred; last week it ran as high as four 
 hundred. 
 
 KNOWLES — Good; I do equally as 
 well. The truth is, Kramer is absolute- 
 ly dependent on us. I have looked into 
 his finances carefully as a good banker 
 should. He'd go bankrupt without us. 
 (Outside door is beard to open.) That 
 may be him now. (Knowles jumjis up 
 with evident excitement and goes into 
 outer bank where he meets the judge as 
 he enters.) (The judge is a man of over 
 sixty, quite gray, vigorous and alert. 
 Nothing distinctive about him except 
 his face, which shows at once the judge 
 iii a man of very large affairs, a man 
 who is rather the lawyer and financier 
 tlian the typical captain of industry. 
 His is the command of intellect, balance, 
 experience and calculation, a winner in 
 the game of life.) 
 
 KNOWLES — This is most kind of 
 you, Judge; come right in. You are the 
 one man on the face of the earth I want 
 to see most. (Both men enter inner 
 bank. Knowles takes the judge's coat 
 and hat and hangs them up, talking at 
 the same time.) Allow me to introduce 
 Mr. Morton, president of the Morton 
 Wire and Cartridge factory, and also 
 one of the directors of this bank. He is 
 one of us and knows the predicament in 
 which the bank is placed. 
 
 JUDGE HILTON— Glad to meet you, 
 Morton. I know all about you; twice 
 beaten by your employes led by Tom 
 Walsh. That's a pretty poor record, 
 Morton; makes it harder for the rest of 
 us. (Shakes hands.) 
 KNOWLES— I don't remember that 
 
 Mapleton ever had the honor of a visit 
 from you before. Judge. Won't you re- 
 consider and give the town an oppor- 
 tunity to welcome you in the town hall? 
 JUDGE — (Impatiently taking out his 
 watch.) Knowles, I telegraphed you 
 that I would have about half an hour 
 with you, and that I didn't want it 
 known that I came here. Matters of 
 pressing importance call me to Pennsyl- 
 vania. I am facing labor troubles of my 
 own which makes yours appear like 
 child's play. (Catching sight of Grimes 
 he suspiciously nods his head in that di- 
 rection.) We must be alone; is that dis- 
 tinctly understood? 
 
 KNOWLES — He is as deaf as his 
 books and as faithful and trustworthy 
 as a pet dog. You may feel perfectly 
 free. 
 
 JUDGE — My presence here, I repeat, 
 is strictly confidential, and when I leave 
 you are to forget that I have been here. 
 Your letter reached me as I was about 
 to start east. What you said at first 
 struck me as ridiculously trivial and in- 
 consequential. But I believe we can 
 make it important at a time when the 
 unbridled forces of Labor are fast get- 
 ting out of bounds. 
 
 MORTON — You are right, Judge Hil- 
 ton, discontent is spreading with every 
 workman's victory; take my own case — 
 JUDGE— (Nettled at the interrup- 
 tion.) Yes, you bungled matters as bad- 
 ly as you could, and have done your full 
 share to bring us to our present pass. 
 (Morton starts to reply, but is stopped 
 by the judge with an imperious ges- 
 ture.) Let me do the talking if you 
 please. 
 
 JUDGE — I don't mind letting you 
 know that the entire Labor situation is 
 just about as bad as it could possibly 
 be and production continue. Another big 
 victory would be our complete defeat — 
 that's for you, Morton. Defeat is star- 
 ing us in the face. I'm no alarmist, you 
 know that, Knowles, but I see what em- 
 ployers are up against. Do you mind 
 getting me a glass of water, Knowles? 
 (Pause while the water is brought.) 
 Thanks. We are at locked horns with 
 capital sinking to its knees. Study the 
 strikes over the country for the last 
 month. That's the answer. Detroit, 
 Kansas City, Chicago; I teU you they 
 are coming at us like a race horse. 
 
 KNOWLES — The bankers are alive 
 to what's doing. Even the big bankers 
 
 16 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 down in New York have taken alarm. 
 They don't talk for print, but they are 
 scared. But what's to be done, Judge? 
 MORTON — Yes, Judge, where is this 
 thing going to stop? 
 
 JUDGE — (Rising with slight signs of 
 agitation. Taking several paces up 
 stage, returning and facing the two 
 other men.) It's going to stop right 
 here in the town of Mapleton. (Pauses 
 for it to sink in.) The reason your af- 
 fair is not trivial is because you are 
 dealing with Tom Walsh, the shrewdest, 
 most determined, far-seeing radical in 
 the country. He's the only union man 
 with whom I have had to compromise. 
 I'd go two thousand miles any time to 
 give him the licking that is due him. 
 
 KNOWLES— We are here. Judge, to 
 take our lesson and obey your com- 
 mands. Morton and I have agreed on 
 that. 
 
 JUDGE — I'll hold you to that agree- 
 ment, never fear. I didn't come half- 
 way across the country merely to talk, 
 but to act. A thorough victory here will 
 ease my troubles fifty per cent. This 
 little affair will grow to headlines by 
 the time it reaches my employes. (Turn- 
 ing a keen quick glance toward 
 Knowles.) Are the people with you, 
 Knowles? 
 
 KNOWLES — I am afraid not, if my 
 man Hathaway leaves because his de- 
 mands are not gr-anted, I may lose half 
 my deposits, if not more. 
 
 JUDGE — We can't win without pub- 
 lic opinion. The public is as essential as 
 the air we breathe. (To Morton.) They 
 weren't with you were they, Morton, 
 when you lost your fight? 
 
 MORTON — They certainly were not, 
 sir. Neither the first nor the second 
 time did they have any mercy on me, 
 and the press was bitter in its denuncia- 
 tion of me. I was just telling Knowles 
 that — 
 
 JUDGE — Never mind now what you 
 were telling ; the fact is established that 
 the people of Mapleton, of the factory, 
 yes, and of the county, are an essential 
 factor in the defeat of a strike, in the 
 humiliation of your man Hathaway, 
 Walsh and their followers. 
 
 The people are against you; they must 
 be for you. 
 
 It isn't always easy in these days of 
 large profits and rising prices, but it 
 can be done. It simply means the game 
 
 is more desperate; and more desperate 
 means are required. 
 
 During this conversation Grimes ' desk 
 is so placed that he is facing the audi- 
 ence, shows by changing expressions 
 that he is catching words. At first he 
 thinks only that he is hearing words, 
 and takes no note of the context. His 
 face beams for a time as he gets more 
 and more, but finally as the audiphone 
 clears and full sentences reach him the 
 purport of what he is hearing begins to 
 dawn upon him. He senses the plot, and 
 he realizes that something of secret im- 
 portance is about to be revealed. He is 
 conscience struck, but fears to show 
 that he has heard as much as he has. 
 He does not think to remove his listen- 
 ing instrument, but grows more and 
 more uncomfortable. 
 
 KNCWL±:s— I believe I would walk 
 through hell to win in this affair. It 
 seems to me the entire established order 
 is being threatened, not merely here in 
 my bank, but all over the country, and 
 anything to save it is not only justifi- 
 able, but even moral and legitimate. 
 
 JUDGE — Good! Hell these days is 
 hell only when the means fails to gain 
 the desired ends. If you follow my di- 
 rections you wiU win. For the time be- 
 ing you must look upon me as your gen- 
 eral and obey like soldiers. 
 
 KNOWLES — I don't see how you are 
 going to turn the people. 
 
 JUDGE — It is because I thought you 
 would not know that I am here. We 
 are going to play a trump card. It will 
 take nerve and the plunging spirit, but 
 that should be meat and drink to you 
 and me. (Leaning toT.'ard Knowles and 
 with emphasis.) You have the savings 
 of the county, rich and poor, have you 
 not? 
 
 KNOWLES — I am proud to say I 
 have, and I have built up my business 
 on principles that 
 
 JUDGE — Yes, I know, but that is 
 not the point. Hathaway is the guar- 
 dian of these savings. It is your de- 
 sire to turn the whole population 
 against your man, and thus disgrace 
 and discredit him, and thereby dis- 
 credit those who are associated with 
 him. Is that not 
 
 At ';his point Grimes reaches the 
 breaking point. He starts to take his 
 ledger and leave the room, but in his 
 nervousness drops the book. The three 
 
 17 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 men start to their feet like guilty con- 
 spirators. 
 
 KNOWLES — What's tlie matter, 
 Grimes? (Grimes while picking up his 
 book and papers that fell out of it, 
 manages to take off the auidphone and 
 slip it into his pocket. He is once 
 more completely deaf. Knowles goes 
 toward Grimes and speaks louder.) 
 What happened, Grimes? 
 
 GRIMES — (Apologetic.) I am sorry, 
 sir, but I am afraid I heard some of 
 the words you were saying, so I 
 thought I better not stay. 
 
 KNOWLES — Did you hear who it 
 was we were discussing? 
 GRIMES— Sir? 
 
 KNOWLES— (Louder.) Do you 
 know who we were discussing? 
 
 GRIMES— (Not catching it.) The 
 word hell, sir, distinctly the word hell. 
 JUDGE— (Slowly articulating.) If 
 he heard what we were talking about 
 he should be discharged and sent out 
 of the county. Eavesdropping is a 
 crime which may be punished by im- 
 prisonment, (Grimes hears nothing 
 and shows by his face that he is ut- 
 terly oblivious to the judge's threat.) 
 
 I don't think we need worry. Curi- 
 ous, though, he should have been so 
 disturbed. 
 
 KNOWLES— (Loudly in Grimes' 
 ear.) I've trusted you for ten years, 
 and if you heard anything we said I 
 hope I can still count on you not to re- 
 peat one word. 
 
 GRIMES — I shall repeat no word of 
 what I — of what was said, sir. But I 
 shall feel better to be in the office, and 
 I shall come if you ring. (Exit.) 
 
 MORTON — Curious how he caught 
 the word hell, when he was on the 
 other side of the room, and couldn't 
 get a word of what you were talking 
 to him close to. He is not trying to 
 deceive us, is he, Knowles? 
 
 KNOWLES— I'll vouch for his hon- 
 esty and for his promise that he will 
 divulge nothing, even if he did. Now, 
 Judge, your plan. 
 
 JUDGE — The people must be with 
 you. Fix that in your mind. 
 
 MORTON — Yes, yes, we imderstand 
 that perfectly. 
 
 JUDGE — Something must happen to 
 arouse the whole community. 
 
 KNOWLES— You are right, what 
 shall it be? 
 JUDGE— The private and personal 
 
 interests of half the people of the 
 county must be touched. 
 
 KNOWLES— Exactly, but how? 
 JUDGE — Hathaway deserts Thurs- 
 day at 4 p. m. 
 
 KNOWLES— At 4 p. m. Thursday. 
 JUDGE — Try as you may, no one 
 has been found to take your man's 
 place. You expect someone, but he fails 
 you. 
 
 KNOWLEC— He wiU come when I 
 telegraph. 
 
 JUDGE— (With meaning.) He will 
 not come till Friday morning. Friday 
 morning; understand that perfectly. 
 
 KNOWLES — You are too deep for 
 me, Judge, what are you getting at? 
 
 JUDGE — Sharpen your wits. Thurs- 
 day night the bank is unprotected, the 
 safe is broken into and the people's 
 money taken! 
 
 MORTON — Are you crazy, Judge? 
 It would ruin us. 
 
 KNOWLES— (Turning pale, com- 
 pletely unnerved as he realizes what is 
 in the judge's mind.) I couldn't think 
 of it, Judge. I — I — why, man, I have 
 built up my business and my reputa- 
 tion through years of effort. I should 
 never recover. There must be some 
 
 other way. The press, suppose I 
 
 JUDGE — Suppose you remember that 
 I am your general and superior officer 
 for the time being. You have prom- 
 ised to follow orders.. Now, both of 
 you act like soldiers. 
 
 You are dipping into world finance; 
 you are going to make a move which 
 may do what King Canute couldn't do, 
 turn the tide. This is your country's 
 call; are you ready? 
 
 MORTON— That's a big idea, Judge, 
 but how is it going to be carried out 
 without ruining not only Knowles and 
 me but half the county? 
 
 JUDGE — Did you ever hear of pre- 
 paredness? If you know a thing is go- 
 ing to happen you can prepare, can't 
 you? 
 
 MORTON— (Getting the full force 
 of the judge's plan.) You are a won- 
 der, Judge. Of course, leave but little 
 for the thieves and let them do their 
 damndest. The whole county is 
 aroused, and Hathaway, the deserter, 
 is run out of towL, and Walsh and his 
 gang utterly discredited. 
 
 The next time my factory hands talk 
 of strike the public may have another 
 point of view. Great! 
 
 18 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 KNOWLES — it is all very well for 
 you, Morton, to see big benefit, and the 
 judge may feel the reaction, but where 
 do I come in who allowed such a 
 calamity, who didn't provide for pro- 
 tection. Can I ever regain the posi- 
 tion I now hold? I value the re- 
 spect 
 
 JUDGE — Your wits do not rvin as 
 fast as I thought they would, Knowles. 
 In the first place you need lose very 
 little financially, and if the loss should 
 be greater than expected, I shall be 
 glad to help out. What's a hundred 
 thousand or two in a game like this? 
 Some of your western investments 
 (with significance) — will turn out ex- 
 tremely well, and by much thrift and 
 careful financiering you will be able 
 to pay back your depositors what they 
 lost. 
 
 Of course, you will be censured for a 
 time for gross carelessness in risking 
 a single night, but with the press with 
 you, you can ride that out. 
 
 KNOWLES — But who is going to do 
 the job? You hardly expect me to rob 
 my own bank, do you? 
 
 JUDGE — Absurd, Knowles. Keep 
 your hands and your conscience clean; 
 be virtuously ignorant. Leave such de- 
 tails to me; I have a choice clientele, 
 most of them in New York city. They 
 are ready for anything, strike-break- 
 ing; stone-breaking or safe- breaking; 
 it's all one to them. 
 
 You may have already noticed sev- 
 eral strangers about town who don't 
 seem to have much to do. 
 
 KNOWLES— You don't mean to say 
 you have gone that far? 
 
 JUDGE— Why not? When I make 
 up my mind to strike for oil I mark 
 the hole and don't let the grass grow 
 over the place before setting the drill. 
 (Looking at watch.) My half-hour is 
 about gone. 
 
 MORTON— But, Judge, surely you 
 will go into details. 
 
 JUDGE— That is not my business. If 
 you and Knowles have not brains 
 enough to work it out you ought to 
 fail. 
 
 Make use of the local paper. Oh, by 
 the way, Knowles, there should be an 
 article right away, making the date of 
 Hathaway 's walkout plain, and placing 
 his case in as bad a- light as possible. 
 The press is very important. Here is a 
 rough draft of what should be said; 
 
 the editor can work it out from this 
 skeleton. Make it plain to your editor 
 that nothing favorable to your man 
 must be printed. (Putting on coat and 
 hat, shaking hands.) Write me how 
 things go. You can't fail (Significant- 
 ly) — Knowles, if this succeeds, as it 
 should, it may make you governor — 
 perhaps better. (Exit.) 
 
 The two men sit down dazed with 
 the task before them. 
 
 MORTON — It takes a moment to get 
 one's breath after that kind of a propo- 
 sition. This is just a small incident 
 with him, like moving a pawn. A man 
 who is watching the whole world be- 
 fore making a move; that strikes me as 
 Godlike. 
 
 KNOWLES— I only trust it hasn't 
 anything to do with the other gentle- 
 man who also makes world moves. We 
 certainly have our bit cut out for ixs, 
 Morton. (Takes article which the 
 judge gave him from pocket and looks 
 it over.) Think of his drawing up this 
 article and having it all ready to give 
 the editor. 
 
 MORTON — Are we going through 
 with it? 
 
 KNOWLES — I suppose we are, and 
 the first thing is Kramer. He wiU be 
 here in a moment. These editors some- 
 times think they are independent, and 
 make an unnecessary fuss when told 
 to mind the whip. Kramer is no ex- 
 ception and may need a little prod- 
 ding. (Door is heard to open and 
 Kramer appears.) He is here now. 
 (Kramer, the editor of the Courier, is 
 dressed rather shabbily, baggy trou- 
 sers, hair a trifle long. Has a good and 
 intelligent face with strong jaw.) 
 
 KNOWLES — Come in, Kramer. 
 
 KRAMER — How are you, Morton? 
 This looks like a prearranged gather- 
 ing. What can the Daily Courier do 
 for you, gentlemen? 
 
 KNOWLES — I may want to in- 
 crease the size of my ' 'Ad' ' next week; 
 can you manage that? 
 
 KRAMER — Anything you say, Mr. 
 Knowles. You and Mr. Morton give 
 the life blood to the Courier. 
 
 MORTON — I can't say you always 
 show proper appreciation. 
 
 KRAMER — I know what you refer 
 to, Morton; these articles and edito- 
 rials while your strike was on. I keep 
 my news and editorial policy separate 
 from the business office. Money doesn't 
 
 19 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 buy the Courier's ideas or ideals. That 
 is my motto, and that was my father's 
 motto oefore me. 
 
 KNOWLES— Morton didn't imply 
 that he v/ould inflxience you, but it is 
 only natural he should expect fair 
 treatment, and doesn't think he got it. 
 
 KRAMER— I did what I thought 
 was right, and I trust, gentlemen, you 
 did not invite me here to condemn my 
 editorial policy. 
 
 KNOWLES— Not at all, Kramer; we 
 are sure of your sincerity. We want 
 your advice on an important matter. 
 
 KRAMER — I shall be pleased to be 
 at your service. 
 
 KNOWLES— We heard that you had 
 trouble with your printers. 
 
 KRAMER — That has all been fixed 
 
 up. I was forced to grant a raise, but 
 
 the shop is runioing smoothly now. 
 
 Labor is going it a little strong, I 
 
 admit. 
 
 KNOWLES — It's a shame when you 
 have always treated your men square- 
 ly. There must come a halt somewhere, 
 Kramer. Morton and I think that now 
 is the time. 
 
 MORTON— Yes, that is our opinion 
 and we must have your help. You are 
 the public educator, the dispenser of 
 truth and wisdom. 
 
 KRAMER — I thank you for the com- 
 pliment. The Courier always stands 
 ready to serve the public in any just 
 cause. 
 
 KNOWLES — That's right, Kramer. 
 Here is our situation. My watchman, 
 Hathaway, who has taken charge of the 
 bank for six years is going to strike. 
 The unions are pushing him with the 
 promise of their backing. We agree 
 with you that things are going too far, 
 and we propose to show radical labor 
 where it comes to a stop. 
 
 MORTON — You know, Kramer, that 
 the sympathy of the people of Maple- 
 ton and of the mills will be with Hath- 
 away. Now, it is up to you to tell your 
 readers some facts, and to let them 
 know what's what. They are ready to 
 swear by what they see in the 
 Courier. 
 
 We are going to win this fight as the 
 first of a series of battles looming 
 ahead. Are you with us, Kramer? 
 
 KRAMER — You want me to turn the 
 public against Ira Hathaway. Is that 
 it? 
 
 KNOWLES — This thing is bigger 
 
 than any one man. We ask you to start 
 an educational campaign, and the con- 
 crete question before you is, will you 
 stand back of the bank and factory in 
 showing the public that Hathaway is 
 the kind of a man to desert his respon- 
 sible post as guardian of the people's 
 savings for selfish and sordid reasons 
 that are purely personal? Back of Ira 
 is Tom Walsh and all the heads of the 
 unions. (Kramer starts to speak but is 
 interrupted.) 
 
 MORTON — If you follow us, Kramer, 
 your sheet can head straight for suc- 
 cess. This affair is to have state-wide 
 publicity; we shall see to that, and the 
 Courier can start the biggest ink splat- 
 ter since they deposed the Czar. 
 
 KRAMER — I appreciate your good 
 wishes for the Courier, but I am afraid 
 you have come to the wrong man. I 
 have heard cf Hathaway 's demands, 
 and believe they may be just. I 
 couldn't use my paper to turn the peo- 
 ple against him. No, I could not do it. 
 
 KNOWLES— I tell you, Kramer, the 
 end in this case justifies the means. 
 The critical situation over the country 
 demands action, which in a less dan- 
 gerous period would be called unethi- 
 cal, immoral perhaps, but this kind of 
 revolt is war in its way, and you must 
 be with the forces pushing for the 
 right. Public sentiment is very im- 
 portant, and that you can make. 
 
 KRAMER — You have not only got 
 to have public sentiment, but the con- 
 tinued confidence of the people. If you 
 do wrong to secure a right, or use 
 questionable means the people will 
 eventuaDy see through your camou- 
 flr.ge and your propaganda. I can't ac- 
 cuse a man who is innocent. 
 
 MORTON— Think, Kramer, this 
 country is going through a season of 
 insanity and you have a chance 
 through your columns to help bring it 
 back to what is reasonable and sane. 
 The press has got to work with capital 
 and with the interests or be responsible 
 for a state of anarchy. 
 
 KRAMER — My opinion is that a 
 free, fearless press is the greatest safe- 
 guard the country can have today. 
 
 MORTON — A sensible, far-seeing 
 press is more necessary. Every paper 
 should line up with those who are try- 
 ing to save the foundations of substan- 
 tial American business. 
 
 KRAMER — I don't want to see 
 
 20 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 things go to smash, but how could I 
 turn my editorial guns on one whom 
 I believe is standing courageously for 
 his rights? 
 
 KNOWLES— (Who has reached the 
 limit of his patience, rising.) I could 
 never see much use arguing with you, 
 Kramer. You were always stubborn. 
 We have explained why you should do 
 this, and if you refuse we shall have to 
 look elsewhere. 
 
 KRAMER — What do you mean? 
 
 KNOWLES — I mean we shall find a 
 way to introduce into this county a 
 newspaper which the sound conserva- 
 tive interests can depend upon. Oh, we 
 shall not act rashly, of course, and we 
 will give you plenty of time to think 
 it over. (Handing article to Kramer.) 
 Here is the outline of an article which 
 states the case as we see it. I trust 
 you will find it possible to agree with 
 us. If you print it, we shall know 
 that you have come to your senses. If 
 not — well, that will be time enough to 
 make other plans. 
 
 KRAMER — You have asked me to 
 sell myself — (Kuowles starts to reply.) 
 Oh, don't try to smooth it over. It 
 means ruin to me if I refuse to do this 
 thing; I know it. You have the power; 
 that is the hell of it. You know I have 
 a wife and large family whom I can't 
 see starve — it isn't fair (with emo- 
 tion). If my father were here now 
 he 
 
 KNOWLES— (Interrupting). Take a 
 night to think it over, Kramer. That 
 story is not the terrible thing you seem 
 to think.. Your better judgment will 
 make it an easy matter. This is a crisis 
 and you are not the man to stand in 
 the way of reason with false senti- 
 mentality. Good day. (Holds out 
 hand. Kramer goes without looking 
 back, but has the article in his hand.) 
 
 MORTON — I think we have him on 
 the hook. Now what? 
 
 Bell is heard and two men appear at 
 cashier 's window. Knowles goes quick- 
 ly to the window. 
 ■ KNOWLES— What can I do for you? 
 
 MAN — Will you please cash this ten 
 dollar check? 
 
 KNOWLES — (Examining check.) 
 
 Edward C. Beil. I don't know you, Mr. 
 BeU, but if you can get this signed by 
 two citizens I shall be glad to accom- 
 modate you. Where are you staying? 
 
 MAN — We are working at the muni- 
 
 tion factory here in town, but don't 
 know anyone well enough to get them 
 to sign. (Morton comes up and exam- 
 ines the men.) 
 
 MORTON — You are wrong there, my 
 friends. You have never worked in my 
 mill, and I have never seen you. 
 
 MAN — (Stumped for a moment.) I 
 should say, sir, that we have just ap- 
 plied, and were told to come to work 
 tomorrow. 
 
 MORTON — That will not do either; 
 my manager has had strict orders not 
 to employ anyone for a week. 
 
 KNOWLES — Look here, young men; 
 you are in town for no good purpose. 
 You have been hanging around town 
 for several days, and the quicker you 
 leave the better it will be for you. Now, 
 clear out. (Both men look surlily 
 about and then walk out.) 
 
 MORTON — I wouldn't be too hard 
 on the gertlemen. 
 
 KNOWLriS— Why? 
 
 MORTON — It might ofifend Judge 
 Hilton. However, Knowles, if you take 
 my advice you'll have the combination 
 of your safe changed. 
 
 KNOWLES— (Puzzled a moment.) 
 That is so; you may be right. I 
 think I shall have the safe com- 
 bination changed and take a few 
 other precautions. (Goes to telephone.) 
 Western Union, please. Take this tele- 
 gram: Cascade Hotel, Niagara Falls. 
 Dennis W. Wiggin. I shall expect you 
 to be on duty Friday morning nine 
 o'clock. Take Thursday night train. 
 Robert P. Knowles. 
 
 (Presses desk button for Ira, who ap- 
 pears immediately.) Ira, I am leaving 
 the safe open for the treasurer of the 
 factory, who will be in with some 
 money. When he has deposited it, see 
 that the vault is locked. (To Morton.) 
 You might as well ride up with me and 
 have dinner. (Rings desk bell for 
 Lucy. She enters.) We wiU close now, 
 Lucy. You can go to lunch. (Starts to 
 go and then turns back to Ira.) Have 
 you changed your mind, young man? 
 
 IRA — I stand just where I did, sir. 
 Thursday is my last day unless you see 
 your way to grant my requests. I hope, 
 sir, you will have someone on hand 
 to 
 
 KNOWLES— (Curtly interrupting.) 
 Don't worry, this bank will have ample 
 protectior. (Knowles and Morton go 
 out.) 
 
 21 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 LUCY — (Approaching Ira, who 
 stands by Knowles' desk.) I have 
 brought this trouble on you, Ira, but 
 you have behaved like a man, and I can 
 hardly say I am sorry. 
 
 IRA— You did right, Lucy, to stir me 
 up, and now I am going through with 
 it. Your uncle assures me he will have 
 someone in my place. I wish, Lucy, I 
 could find a way of showing you how 
 much I really do appreciate the inter- 
 est you have shown in my humble af- 
 fairs. It means a whole lot to a fellow 
 who has had tko hard knocks that have 
 
 LUCY — (Seps young Morton's letter 
 telling of Ned Errickson's perfidy, on 
 the floor, picks it up and catches Ned 
 Errickson's name. She reads on, and 
 it is her expression which causes Ira 
 to stop speaking. She reads down, 
 crumples letter in her hand, sinks into 
 chair as though she were about to faint, 
 and then pulls herself together, bites 
 her lips to keep grief and anger back 
 and finally drops her head on desk.) 
 
 IRA — (Coming close behind Lucy.) 
 What is it, Lucy? Is someone dead? 
 (Lucy shakes head.) Has someone 
 wronged you? If they have, give me a 
 chance to show I am not the coward 
 some people take me for. Can't you 
 let me help you, Lucy? 
 
 LUCY — Please, Ira, I want to be 
 alone. This is something for me alone 
 to fight out, only it's hard, dreadfully 
 hard 
 
 IRA — You are not alone, Lucy. 
 Won't you let me show what I think, 
 what I feel? You have done so much 
 for me, you have lifted me — can't I 
 tell you how I — (In emotion lays hand 
 on Lucy's shoulder). 
 
 LUCY — Ira Hathaway, don't you see 
 I want to be alonn? I asked you to go. 
 It isn't fair to take advantage of my 
 grief and persist in annoying me. I 
 want to be alone. I don't believe there 
 are any truly brave and chivalrous men, 
 no, not one. (Ira is overwhelmed with 
 mortification and shame.) 
 
 IRA — I wish someone would cut my 
 tongue out. (Goes out left.) 
 
 LUCY — (Eealizing she has hurt Ira, 
 starts toward door.) Ira, Ira, I didn't 
 mean what I said. I didn't know what 
 I was saying. I do appreciate your 
 ssrmpathy — please forgive me. (Ira has 
 
 gone and the door is closed. Lucy re- 
 turns to chair and looks again at 
 crumpled letter.) And he laughed when 
 he had killed six men; l wonder if he 
 would laugh now. I had a letter from 
 him only yesterday — and he said he had 
 no one to love Mm, and no one to talk 
 to. And I wrote him of his bravery 
 and splendid courage. And SHE is 
 wearing his noble French cross. (Grimes 
 enters from right. Lucy brushes away 
 tears and looks up.) 
 
 GRIMES— (very much disturbed.) 
 You gave me ears to hear. Miss Lucy, 
 and words came to me. At first they 
 were only words, and meant nothing, 
 but all at once I realized what youj.- 
 uncle was saying, and what the other 
 men were talking about. I ought not 
 to have listened, but it seemed as 
 though I couldn't help it. They were 
 the first distinct words I had heard in 
 years, and I blessed you and this little 
 instrument. It was like a blind man 
 gaining his sight. 
 
 And then I heard plots. Miss Lucy, 
 wicked plots. It pains me to say it, but 
 your uncle is not the man I thought 
 him; he is not just, not even fair. 
 
 There is wickedness in this bank 
 
 No I couldn't tell you what. I have 
 promised. Great wrong will be done. 
 And there is something you ought to 
 know, sometliing 
 
 LUCY — Don't say any more, Grimes; 
 I know, I found this letter where it had 
 been dropped. And you heard this, 
 too? 
 
 GRIMES— Don't blame me, Miss 
 Lucy. It was this instrument, this that 
 might have brought joy to me. (Takes 
 audiplione from ear with vicious ges- 
 ture, and in desperation throws it to 
 the floor.) I wish to God I had re- 
 mained deaf. (Takes hat and slowly 
 goes out. Lucy puts on her coat and 
 hat, comes down to waste basket and 
 slowly tears letter to pieces.) 
 
 LUCY — And I wish I had been blind. 
 
 (Rings desk bell for Ira, then goes up 
 to grill door where she stands until Ira 
 conies in. He enters.) I am going to 
 lunch now, Ira. I — I am very, very 
 sorry for what I said. I wasn't quite 
 myself. I want you to forgive me. 
 (Goes out quietly and door is heard to 
 slam before Ira moves.) 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
 22 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 ACT ni. 
 
 Scene — Same as Acts I. and II. Five 
 minutes elapse between Acts II. and 
 III. 
 
 Ira Hathaway is sitting at Knowles' 
 desk reading while his revolver lies 
 near at hand. He is waiting for the 
 cashier from the factory so that he can 
 close and lock the safe. Tom Walsh, 
 head of Metal Trp.des Union, enters and 
 can be seen through the grill. 
 WALSH — Are you in, Hathaway? 
 IRA — No, I'm out searching for a 
 job; don't I look it? 
 
 WALSH — You take it good-natur- 
 edly; you seem even happy over it. 
 
 IRA — I'm a natural born actor. I 
 have been told that by the fairest 
 judge I know, Mr. Walsh. 
 
 WALSH — There are few fair judges 
 nowadays. 
 
 IRA — You haven't seen mine. 
 WALSH — You talk as though you 
 owned a judge, like some other bankers 
 I know about. 
 
 IRA — I wish I did own this one. 
 WALSH — Miss Knowles told me you 
 would be in at this time. I want to 
 talk to you, Hathaway. Can I come 
 in? 
 
 IRA — Can't you drop in later. 
 Knowles wouldn't like to find you here 
 with me. We could meet in my room. 
 
 WALSH — Impossible; you don't ex- 
 pect the boss back this afternoon, do 
 you? 
 
 IRA — No, but Miss Knowles will be 
 back most any time. 
 
 WALSH — She won't make a fuss. It 
 was she who encouraged me to come 
 and see you; she said you needed a 
 friend — of the right sort. 
 
 IRA — (Brightening up.) She said 
 that? 
 
 WALSH— Sure. 
 
 IRA— Well, I'll take the risk, though 
 it's against the rules. (Let's Walsh in.) 
 Be seated. What is it you want? 
 
 WALSH — You are going to leave the 
 bank, I hear. 
 
 IRA — How did you learn that? I 
 haven't talked to anyone about it. 
 
 WALSH — It doesn't much matter 
 how I learned about it; the secret is 
 out, and it is pretty generally known 
 why you are going to go. 
 
 IRA— (Nettled.) What right have 
 you or anyone else to make my personal 
 affairs matter for gossip? It's a pretty 
 pass when one's own business cannot 
 be considered private. 
 
 WALSH — You are wrong, Ira, and 
 I'll tell you why. As industry is run 
 today every wage earner the world 
 over should have personal interest in 
 every other wage earner. Perhaps you 
 were not interested in the strike we 
 had in the factory, and you may have 
 thought it none of your business, but I 
 happen to know at least half the extra 
 wage we got goes right here into this 
 bank. 
 
 IRA — JJven then I cannot see how I 
 am involved. 
 
 WALSH — But we at the factory see. 
 We as wage earners do our part in 
 bringing prosperity to this bank, and 
 then we learn that not one cent extra 
 pay has gone to the employes. We 
 know that is dead wrong, and we stand 
 ready to make a fight for you, even 
 though you haven't a union card. 
 
 IRA — I haven't asked for sympathy. 
 \'Vnien I do it may oe time to talk 
 about it. 
 
 WALSH — Listen, Hathaway. Every 
 last factory worker will be with you in 
 This. And if I am any judge, three- 
 fourths of the citizens of Mapleton will 
 be on your side if the facts are known 
 IRA— That is mighty good of them, 
 but I can't yet see why the whole town 
 and miU should fight my battles for 
 me. It seems to me this is a matter be- 
 tween me and my employer. 
 
 WALSH — Yes, tnat is wnat you bank 
 clerks, and the teachers, and the sales- 
 men, and officers like you have thought 
 for generations, and the result is you 
 are the lowest paid workers in the 
 country. You never would affiliate, and 
 where are you? 
 
 IRA — I am not a radical, Walsh, and 
 I am no revolutionist, as they tell me 
 your are. I have heard that you are 
 dangerous and a menace to the coun- 
 try. I don't know what you are driving 
 at, and I guess I'll keep out of any 
 industrial plots. What would you pro- 
 pose if I should agree to your proposi- 
 tion? 
 
 WALSH — (Moving close to Ira.) You 
 can win your demands because you 
 have the full sympathy of the people. 
 We are all ready to stand behind you. 
 If you say the word I shall see that 
 two-thirds of the depositors of this 
 bank withdraw their accounts at once, 
 or threaten to do so if Knowles doesn't 
 come to reason. 
 IRA— Is that all? 
 WALSH — No. There are twenty or 
 
 23 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 thirty bank employes in this county, 
 all underpaid. I'll procure a charter for 
 you, form a bank employes' union, and 
 two million and a half workers will 
 see to it tha!; you are treated justly. 
 
 What do you think Knowles would 
 do if he were handed such a threat? 
 
 IRA — I have no intention of ruining 
 this bank. Knowles has been unjust to 
 me, but he has kept me all these years, 
 and I wouldn't feel right to force him 
 to the wall for my own personal griev- 
 ances, even if I thought I could. 
 
 WALSH — Force him to the wall; you 
 talk simple. All he has to do is to give 
 you the wage you ask and the living 
 accommodations you deserve. If he 
 isn't willing to do that, he ought to 
 suffer. 
 
 IRA — I have read about this solidar- 
 ity of labor. It looks big, and danger- 
 ous, to me. I am afraid of it. If the 
 wage earners stuck together they could 
 run the world, and who knows where 
 they would run it? 
 
 Individual liberty, initiative and 
 thinking still appeal to me, and I am 
 inclined to believe Knowles is right 
 V7hen he says the men who work out 
 their own careers, independent of large 
 organizations, are the winners in the 
 end. 
 
 WALSH — (Rising with impatience.) 
 You talk like a child, Hathaway. You 
 have read some, but not enough. Have 
 you lived to be as old as you are now 
 and don't know that the biggest and 
 strongest organizations are made up of 
 these very business men who talk the 
 dangers (2 association to their em- 
 ployes? Le t me make a bet with 
 you. 
 
 IRA— What is it? 
 
 WALSH— I'll bet Knowles and Mor- 
 ton have already had their heads to- 
 gether over your case, and I understand 
 Kramer of the Courier was seen coming 
 out of this bank not an hour ago. It 
 wovildn't surprise me in the least to 
 learn that some of the biggest finan- 
 ciers in the country have been consult- 
 ed. Those fellows are watching me 
 closely, and they, no doxibt, think I am 
 with you. 
 
 The big fellows work together like 
 clock mechanism. Don't make any mis- 
 take about that . .(Strange man enters 
 the bank and stands at the cashier's 
 window.) 
 
 IRA — (Going to the window.) What 
 do you want? The bank is closed. 
 
 MAN — I thought I might catch Mr. 
 Knowles before he left. I am very 
 anxious to see him. Can I wait? 
 
 IRA — Mr Knowles has gone for the 
 day, and will not be back until Mon- 
 day. Is there any message? 
 
 MAN — No, it's a personal matter. 
 Good day. (Goes out and door is heard 
 to slam.) 
 
 IRA — (Eeturning to Walsh.) There 
 may be something in what you say, 
 Wa'sh. If the men at the top have the 
 right to scheme and plan together and 
 v;ork as a unit with understanding if 
 not actual affiliation, perhaps the rest 
 of us are foolish to stand alone. 
 
 WALSH — Now you begin to talk like 
 a sensible man. Think it over tonight, 
 Ira, and I shall be glad to see you 
 again with a definite plan for affilia- 
 tion. Here, take some of these pamph- 
 lets, they may help to open your eyes. 
 So long. (While he is talking to Ira 
 the man who pretended to go out ap- 
 pears for a moment behind the grill, 
 and crosses to the right and disappears. 
 Walsh goes out, but fails to latch door 
 into grill.) 
 
 (Ira sits in chair by desk looking 
 over pamphlets Walsh has given him. 
 After a moment of silence the man ap- 
 ] ears and stealthily slii)s into inner 
 bank, revolver in hand. Before Ira 
 knows what is happening he is looking 
 into the dangerous end of a gun. Ira 
 tries to reach for his own revolver, 
 which is on desk, but as the muzzle of 
 the gun is pressed meaningly against 
 his temple he thinks better of it.) 
 
 MAN — Up with your hands. (Ira 
 slowly obeys. He is thinking very hard 
 what to do. He knows the safe door is 
 open four or five inches.) I will kill 
 you if you make a soimd. Go to the 
 safe and unlock the door. Move! 
 
 (The two men cross the bank from 
 left to right. The man keeps his re- 
 volver close to Ira's head all the way. 
 Each eyes the other closely. For a mo- 
 ment they stand in front of the open 
 safe which the man thinks locked.) 
 
 IRA — (Then stooping like a flash to 
 the handle of the sate door he slams it 
 closed, and to make sure, gives the com- 
 bination a turn. He then straightens 
 up and faces the man with teeth set.) 
 Now you can shoot! (It takes a mo- 
 ment for the man fully to comprehend 
 what has happened, and then he knows 
 the game is up and that shooting will 
 do no good. 
 
 24 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 MAN — You damned skunk! (Gives 
 Ira a heavy blow with the butt of his 
 revolver and starts to run out when he 
 meets his pal, who has been keeping 
 watch. Ira falls limp and senseless to 
 the floor.) 
 
 PAL — Where's de swag? 
 
 MAN — The cuss locked the safe in 
 me face; blast him. 
 
 PAL — Did ye croke him? 
 
 MAN — Naw, he'll wiggle his fins 
 soon enough. 
 
 PAL — I told ye it wouldn't do no 
 good trying to double cross the jedge. 
 He's the gams old cock, but he don't 
 take no nonsense. He'll have us all 
 pinched for this. 
 
 MAN — Yas, you're white-livered. 
 You know the judge will do the double 
 crossin'. If we wait till he says when, 
 how much do you spose there'll be? 
 Nothin'. I tell ye, nothin'! If I could 
 liave pulled this off there would have 
 bean something to talk about, but now 
 — (Teleplione rings). 
 
 PAL — We better take a sneak and 
 make a getaway. Beat it. Come on, de 
 "bulls is comin'. (Both run out. After a 
 moment of silence front door opens and 
 Lucy enters, returning from lunch. She 
 first sees the chair upset near her uncle's 
 desk and then discovers Ira apparently 
 lifeless on the floor near safe. She runs 
 to him.) 
 
 LUCY— Ira! Ira! Oh, they have 
 killed him. (Grows hysterical.) Ira, 
 must you go, too? No, it can't be; he 
 mustn't die. Ira, dear, open your eyes. 
 (Lifts Ira's head on her knee and 
 strokes the hair back. Sees blood 
 streaming from his temple.) Someone 
 has struck him. (Places Ira's head 
 on floor and runs out sobbing. Returns 
 immediately with glass of water. While 
 she is out Ira move, slightly. Lucy 
 again takes his head in her lap, and 
 shows by her every motion her real af- 
 fection for liim. She eees his hand 
 move.) Thank God, he is alive. (Takes 
 her handkerchief and tries to tie it 
 around his head, but it is too small. She 
 then takes her white skirt, and after 
 several efforts rips off part of the hem. 
 She binds the wound and bathes his 
 face until finally he opens his eyes.) 
 
 Ira, can't you tell what has hap- 
 pened? (He clutches feebly at her 
 hand.) Who hit you, Ira? Can't you 
 tell? This is terrible. 
 
 IRA— Where am I? 
 
 LUCY — You are right here in the 
 bank. 
 
 IRA — Is the safe locked? 
 
 LUCY— Yes, who locked it? 
 
 IRA — I can't seem to remember. 
 (Tries to lift himself, but his head falls 
 back on Lucy's knee. She smooths his 
 hair.) 
 
 LUCY— Wait tiU I get you some 
 more water. 
 
 IRA — No, don't leave, please. (She 
 begins to feel a little embarrassed.) 
 
 LUCY — Now, can't you remember 
 what happened? 
 
 IRA — (Looking toward safe, then to- 
 ward desk. Intelligence gradually 
 comes into his face.) He — he — made me 
 — go to the safe — he offered to shoot — 
 and I — 
 
 LUCY— But he didn't shoot; he hit 
 you — why? Did you try to open the 
 safe and couldn't? You did not know 
 the combination; that was it. 
 
 IRA — The safe was open when I got 
 there and I couldn't — 
 
 LUCY — (Breaking in). Oh, I see. 
 (Makes a pillow of her coat and places 
 Ira's head on it.) He took the money, 
 then slammed the door, struck you and 
 ran. (She goes to safe and frantically 
 works at combination, almost sobbing.) 
 If all the savings are gone, what will 
 happen to those poor people? It is aw- 
 ful. What will uncle say? (Door to 
 eafe swings open and reveals the in- 
 terior un'^ouched.) 
 
 What does this mean, Ira? Can't you 
 tell me? Not a penny has been dis- 
 turbed. (She looks at safe, then at Ira 
 and desk with revolver on it. She is 
 plainly puzzled. Then it suddenly 
 comes over her.) Do you mean to say 
 that you went to the safe with that 
 man pointing his rovolver at you, and 
 locked ths door in his face? (Runs to 
 Ira again and lifts him a little.) That 
 was it, I know it. He might have shot 
 you, and you knew it. (He smiles but 
 says nothing.) You did a brave deed, 
 Ira. That i"? what I call real courage, 
 and you should be rewarded. 
 
 IRA — You said you admired bravery 
 and that you liked red blood. 
 
 LUCY — But not coming out of your 
 head in streams. You deserve the Croix 
 de Guerre. 
 
 IRA — (Sitting up.) Lucy, I don't 
 want any cross ncr any honors pinned 
 on me, but there is one thing — Help 
 me up, please. I begin to feel strong 
 
 25 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 again. (Lucy helps him to the big 
 chair by Knowles' desk. She places 
 coat behind him.) You are very kind 
 to me, Lucy. 
 
 LUCY — Ira, you have done a big 
 thing for this bank, and if there is any- 
 thing I can get for you, or that uncle — 
 IRA — Your uncle could not help 
 much, but you could; yes, you could, 
 Lucy. 
 
 LUCY — That is strange; I have so 
 little. 
 
 IRA — Oh, I am not asking for any 
 reward; I hope you don't think that of 
 me. I simply did my duty, what any 
 officer would have done. It was part of 
 my day's work. 
 
 LUCY — I heard uncle say you were 
 a coward, and I said I didn't believe 
 there was any real courage left. I am 
 proud of you, Ira. 
 
 IRA — You ought to be if there is 
 anything to be proud of. You have 
 given me inspiration, made me feel that 
 I have powers and possibilities I never 
 dared to believe I possessed. (Spre.nd- 
 ing out arms.) Observe your handi- 
 work. 
 
 LUCY — If that swelled and bleeding 
 head is my work, I think I am a poor 
 moulder. 
 
 IRA— (Putting hand to head.) Do I 
 look so bad? Why, Lucy, where did you 
 get this ready-made bandage? 
 
 LUCY— (Embarrassed.) Oh, I have 
 carried it with me for some time, for 
 emergencies, you know. 
 
 IRA — (Beginning to feel quite him- 
 self.) You have been my teacher, my 
 labor organizer and now my nurse. 
 
 LUCY— (Thoughtlessly.) I have run 
 the gamut, haven't I? There isn't much 
 left for me to be. 
 
 IRA — (Lucy's hand rests on desk, 
 where Ira impulsively grasps it.) 
 There is one more place you might oc- 
 cupy, Lucy. (Fervently.) It is you 
 who have put the manhood in me. It is 
 you who have awakened ambition in 
 me, and shown me a goal I might 
 reach. 
 
 LUCY — I am glad if my humble in- 
 terest has helped you. 
 
 IRA — Helped me? Why, it has made 
 life worth living. The books you have 
 lent me opened my eyes to a new world 
 where there is hope for the masses of 
 mankind. Your ideas have so filled this 
 bank with visions of better things that 
 it has been like a college to me. I 
 
 v/onder how you manage to keep so far 
 above the sordid money schemes of your 
 uncle. 
 
 LUCY — (Drawing her hand gently 
 away.) You are a good deal of a senti- 
 mentalist, Ira. Men always have more 
 sentiment than women. 
 
 IRA — (Pause while he is shaping 
 words which come none too easy.) I 
 admit sentiment, Lucy, and I am proud 
 of it. But I believe I didn't have much 
 before I met you. Sentiment has grown 
 ?Ed grown in me until it is near the 
 breaking point. Will you blame me very 
 much, Lucy, if I tell you most all my 
 sentiment revolves around and centers 
 in one person, and that person is you! 
 LUCY — Why, Ira, what do you 
 mean? That sounds foolish. 
 
 IRA — Foolish? Perhaps it is, and 
 there may not be the slightest reason 
 why I should expect any return from 
 you, but you have your own self to 
 blame. 
 
 LUCY — I to blame, how? 
 IRA — Because you are what you are, 
 interested in everyone about you; never 
 thinking of yourself, but only in see- 
 ing that others develop. If I love you 
 it's because J. couldn't help it. If I feel 
 that I couldn't live away from where 
 you are it is for the reason that every 
 other place looks black. 
 
 LUCY — What are you trying to say, 
 Ira? That blcv/ has unsettled your wits. 
 IRA — I was never more sane in my 
 life. I came near leaving this bank 
 without daring to say v/hat was in my 
 heart, but you keep talking about 
 courage, and so you are to blame again. 
 If you can't possibly ever think of me 
 as I feel toward you, then I am brave 
 
 enough to bear it Oh, Lucy, do yoa 
 
 see how I long for you, how I 
 
 yearn 
 
 LUCY — (Much affected and per- 
 plexed) — I never thought of this turn; 
 truly, Ira, this comes to me as a sur- 
 prise. Of course, any girl is pleased to 
 be — liked. The accident is accountable 
 for this; tomorrow perhaps you would 
 
 feel differently, and then 
 
 IRA — And then — ? 
 LUCY — Oh, Ira, this isn't the time 
 to make love. Only a moment ago you 
 were next to death's door. Let us be 
 thankful that your life is saved. 
 
 IRA — Are you very thankful, Lucy? 
 LUCY — How can you ask? Of course 
 I am. 
 
 26 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 IRA — While I was down there on the 
 floor bleeding, it seemed as though you 
 really cared — cared very much. 
 LUCY— I did, Ira, I did. 
 IRA — It makes me happy to hear you 
 say that, but I am afraid, Lucy, your 
 true heart was far away with someone 
 else, even while you stroked my hair 
 so tenderly. You were thinking of a 
 really brave man. 
 
 LUCY — Yes, Ira. I was thinking of a 
 truly brave man. 
 
 IRA — (Bitterly.) I knew it, and that 
 is why you were so tender to me, be- 
 cause you were thinking of your hero. 
 LUCY — There are not a great many 
 brave men in the world, Ira — I mean 
 truly brave, and you mustn't blame me 
 for feeling — proud of one who is. 
 
 IRA — If they had accepted me in the 
 draft I might have given an account 
 
 of myself, but I know I have been 
 
 a coward, Lucy, but you are always 
 spurring me on to efforts to be courage- 
 ous, and I am going to do the bravest 
 thing a man can ever do. 
 
 LUCY — Now, Ira, how you talk; 
 
 there is nothing braver than to stand 
 
 up before a ruffian with a revolver at 
 
 your head and lock the safe in his face. 
 
 IRA — Yes, there is something which 
 
 takes ten times as much courage. 
 
 LUCY — You don't mean it. 
 
 IRA — I want you to be my wife, 
 
 Lucy. I want to own you, and I want 
 
 j'ou to own me. There, I have said it 
 
 now, and it has been in my heart for 
 
 months. Don't turn away from me. If 
 
 you do not feel that way, I'll be brave 
 
 enough to hear it now. I — I 
 
 LUCY — I appreciate your feeling for 
 me, Ira, but I am frank with you when 
 I say it comes as a real surprise. 
 
 IRA — Surprise, you are not blind are 
 you, Lucy? Is there no hope for me? 
 
 LUCY— Ira, I— I 
 
 IRA — No, don't say it now; I thought 
 I wanted your answer this minute, but 
 think it over a day or two; you may 
 feel differently yet — you might — 
 
 LUCY— I hardly think I shall feel 
 differently, but as you say time does 
 strange things sometimes. You see — 
 (Door bell is heard to ring.) 
 
 (Factor}' cashier appears at grill door 
 with heavy leather bag.) 
 
 CASHIER — Hathaway here? (Ira 
 
 tries to conceal bandage from cashier.) 
 
 LUCY — (Jumping up and going to 
 
 cashier.) Yes, he is here, but he has a 
 
 slight fainting spell. I will attend to 
 your money. 
 
 CASHIER— That is too bad. Thank 
 you, Miss Knowles. Mr. Morton said 
 the safe would be left open, and I see 
 it is. (Talks while Lucy helps him put 
 money away.) I hope you don't leave 
 it unlocked like that very often. There 
 is $20,000 in that bag, and you can't 
 afford to take chances. (To Ira.) Sorry 
 you are going to leave, Hathaway, but 
 I hope you don't go until there is some- 
 one to take your place. This bank 
 m.eans life to many a poor widow and 
 laboring man. 
 
 IRA — Mr. Knowles has made ar- 
 rangements for adequate protection. 
 
 CASHIER — I have to hurry back to 
 the mill. Good luck. (Goes out.) 
 
 (Lucy, who has been impatient for 
 the cashier to go, runs over to the tele- 
 phone and takes up the receiver.) 
 
 IRA — What are you going to do, 
 Lucy? 
 
 LUCY — Telephone uncle about what 
 happened, of course. 
 
 IRA — (Eeaching out hand to stop 
 her.) No, please don't; it was nothing, 
 and you can be sure that man won't 
 come back. Promise me, Lucy, you 
 won't breathe a word of this to youi 
 uncle or to anyone else. Promise, 
 please? Your uncle would think I was 
 playing for sympathy, and that I had 
 staged something for my own ends. You 
 won't tell a living soul, will you give 
 me your word? 
 
 LUCY — I will, of course, if you in- 
 sist, but don't you think you should in- 
 form the sheriff? 
 IRA— Yes, I will. 
 
 LUCY — You are bleeding again; let 
 me fix this bandage right. (Takes off 
 bandage, rearranges it and carefully 
 binds wound again. She talks as she 
 works.) Ira, I don't want you to leave 
 this bank. 
 
 IRA— I have done only what you ad- 
 vised. 
 
 LUCY — I know that, and I fee] re- 
 sponsible. What uncle is wild aboi.t is 
 your affiliation with Tom Walsh and 
 the unions. He thinks you have gone 
 in with those radical organizers. He de- 
 clared he wouldn't think of having a 
 man in his bank taking orders from an 
 outside authority. He is sure you are 
 tiying to get out a charter for bank 
 employes in this county to form a un- 
 ion. 
 
 27 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 IRA — Yoiir uncle is shrewd, but you 
 know I haven't gone very far in that 
 direction. I have had only one inter- 
 view with Walsh, and that you helped 
 to arrange. 
 
 LUCY — I know you haven't, but 
 uncle thinks you have, and so he feels 
 just as angry as though you had formed 
 a union. 
 
 I am almost confident that he would 
 keep you and give you what you ask if 
 he could be assured that you would 
 have nothing to do with Walsh and the 
 others. 
 
 IRA — I don't believe it would make 
 a particle of difference. He has made 
 up his mind to get rid of me just to 
 prove he is master, and what he says 
 goes. 
 
 LUCY — I am as confident he will re- 
 consider and keep you. If I could go to 
 him and assure him that you will have 
 no relations with Walsh and his union 
 scheme, and that you will go on as you 
 have in the past, he would be glad to 
 let you stay. I know he is troubled and 
 worried. 
 
 IRA — Lucy, I begin to think Walsh 
 has a lot of good hard sense, and that 
 his big union isn't much different from 
 the kind of associations the bankers 
 and employers form for their own pro- 
 tection. I am not ready to say he is 
 right and that it would be a good thing 
 to have a bank employes' union, but I 
 am going to learn more about it. 
 
 LUCY — It seems to me he is too ex- 
 treme, and wants to change everything 
 good and bad. But if he wants to ex- 
 periment, let him. You, Ira, can't af- 
 ford to throw away a good position for 
 any such uncertain revolutionary 
 scheme. You have to think of your 
 mother. I ask you to let me go to uncle 
 and tell him you have nothing to do 
 with Walsh and his plan for a charter 
 if he has one. 
 
 IRA — Of course, I should like to stay 
 on here in the bank, where I have real- 
 ly been happy most of the time. You 
 know one very large reason why I want 
 to be here; you know — — 
 
 LUCY — Now, Ira, we agreed to say 
 nothing more about that at present. 
 Will you give me your promise so that 
 I can tell uncle? 
 
 IRA — I still think you are mistaken, 
 but if you really want to intercede in 
 my behalf, I should be ungrateful not 
 to do my part. 
 
 LUCY — Then that is settled, and I 
 know you wiU stay. (Finishes binding 
 Ira's head.) There, that will keep your 
 red blood from spilling. You are going 
 to have need for all you have got. (She 
 takes her hat and coat and goes into 
 office right. Speaks as she exits.) If 
 you have any more callers with guns, 
 let me know. 
 
 IRA — (Watching her ^o, and then 
 taking up telephone.) Give me Sheriff 
 Miller, please. Hello, that you, sheriff? 
 No? When will he be in? Oh, tell him 
 to call Hathaway of the Mapleton bank 
 as soon as he comes in — yes, very im- 
 portant. 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
 Act III. — Scene Two 
 
 Thursday Evening 
 
 The bank is lit up; no one is seen but 
 Grimes working over his books. He 
 looks worried, but at the same time de- 
 *,ermined as thougli preparing for a 
 crisis. 
 
 The outside door is heard to open, 
 and Banker Knowles appeal's with two 
 large dress suit cases. He shows at 
 once that he does not want Grimes to 
 see them, and after hurriedly looking 
 for a place to put them, he opens door 
 left and drops them inside and shuts 
 door. He then sits at his desk and 
 nervously glances at Grimes and then 
 at watch. Grimes closes his books 
 with unusual emphasis. Goes slowly 
 into room right and comes out with 
 coat and hat; puts them on slowly and 
 then approaches the banker standing 
 as erect as is possible with his bent 
 shoulders. He is under some evident 
 emotion. 
 
 Grimes then nervously fumbles in his 
 inside pocket and brings out a sealed 
 envelope which he holds in hand. 
 
 GRIMES — I have written something 
 for you to read, sir. 
 
 KNOWLES— What's the matter, 
 Grimes; have you lost your tongue? 
 (Grimes does not hear and speaks loud- 
 er.) Have you lost your tongue? 
 
 GRIMES — No, sir, but I couldn't say 
 it very well. Mr. Knowles, I have worked 
 for you for ten years, and I believe I 
 have served this bank well. 
 
 KNOWLES— (Puzzled.) There has 
 never been any doubt of that. Grimes. 
 What is troubling you? The bank 
 couldn't run without you, you know 
 that. 
 
 GRIMES — (With emotion.) I have al- 
 
 28 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 ways believed in you, Mr. Knowles, al- 
 ways believed in your sense of justice 
 and fair play. I heard more than you 
 thought I did the other day when you 
 and Mr. Morton and Judge HUton 
 were 
 
 KNOWLES— (Standing up excited.) 
 How did you know that was Judge 
 Hilton? 
 
 GRIMES — I heard you introduce him 
 to Mr. Morton. Yes, sir, and I heard 
 most of what you were talking about 
 in regard to Ira Hathaway; yes, sir, 
 and I heard 
 
 KNOWLES— (Coming close up to 
 Grimes and savagely shouting in his 
 car.) So you have been playing the 
 spy on the bank? Have you been a 
 stool pigeon all these years that you 
 have been pretending to be deaf. And 
 who have you been telling secrets to — 
 Tom Walsh? 
 
 GRIMES — You wrong me, sir. When 
 I realized I was hearing your secrets and 
 your wicked plots; I say wicked plots, 
 I started to leave the room, as you may 
 remember, sir, and I promised to tell 
 no one anything I heard. I always keep 
 my promises, Mr. Knowles. 
 
 KNOWLES— (Calming down.) Per- 
 haps I was too hasty, Grimes. But I 
 don't understand how you could hear 
 then and not at other times. There is 
 some mystery. You mustn't judge of 
 what you heard unless you know what 
 I have had to take from Hathaway. 
 You don't know how he has tried to in- 
 jure me and this bank. 
 
 GRIMES — I only heard what was said 
 and I wish to God, sir, I had been stone 
 deaf, for you have filled me with 
 doubts, with misgivings, sir, and I won- 
 der whether the old-fashioned honesty 
 has gone, sir, yes, completely gone, sir. 
 
 I can say no more, Mr. Knowles. It 
 has not been easy, not easy to speak, 
 and you will find the rest in this en- 
 velope. (Hands letter to Knowles.) I 
 have told no one what I heard, sir, and 
 you may trust me, that I never will. 
 
 Can I be of any more service to you 
 tonight? 
 
 KNOWLES— No, i shaU not need 
 you. (Close to Grimes.) Have you men- 
 tioned Judge Hilton's name? 
 
 GRIMES — No, sir, you need have no 
 fear. Good night. (Exits.) 
 
 KNOWLES — (fcSlowly opening enve- 
 lope when Lucy enters from right of- 
 
 fice. She is prepare "I to go out.) Work 
 all done, Lucy? 
 
 LUCY — All except one matter I have 
 been wanting to lift from my mind all 
 day, but couldn't seem to get a word 
 with you. 
 
 KNOWLES — very well, there is no 
 better time than now. 
 
 LUCY — I hope you will not misun- 
 derstand me. Uncle? 
 
 KNOWLES— Don't I generally un- 
 derstand you? The fact is, Lucy, I un- 
 derstand you better than you under- 
 stand yourself. 
 
 LUCY — Not in this case. Uncle. Sev- 
 eral times lately you have failed to get 
 my point of view in regard to Ira 
 Hathaway. 
 
 KNOWLES— Well, perhaps I was too 
 sensitive, and too ready to accuse you 
 of other purposes than you professed 
 in standing up for that man. But we 
 should forget all that now. Hathaway 
 has gone and shall never darken these 
 doors again. We won't have to quar- 
 rel over him any more. 
 
 LUCY — I hope not, Uncle, because it 
 is of him I want to speak. I should 
 have come sooner, biit you have been 
 so much taken up with business, and 
 out of town three days, that I couldn't 
 seem to manage it. 
 
 KNOWLES— (Impatiently.) I am 
 sorry we have to mention his name 
 again; I thought I was done with that 
 man. 
 
 LUCY — I gathered from what you 
 have said that your chief count against 
 Ira was his actual or supposed aflaiia- 
 tion with Tom Walsh, and his supposed 
 interest in joining some union, possibly 
 a bank employes' union. 
 
 KNOWLES — You are perfectly right, 
 Lucy. No man in my employ, especially 
 one who is the guardian of private and 
 public funds, shall be affiliated with a 
 union of any kind. That is final and 
 definite. 
 
 LUCY — I knew your sentiments, Un- 
 cle, and I have undertaken to straight- 
 en out this unfortunate affair, as least 
 so far as I am able. 
 
 KNOWLES— (Losing all his affabil- 
 ity.) And how, pray? 
 
 LUCY — I have been to Ira, and have 
 told him exactly how you consider any 
 kind of affiliation with trade unions, 
 and he has promised, (Knowles starts 
 to speak angrily.) 
 
 29 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 Please let me finish. He has prom- 
 ised to gi\^ up any ideas he may have 
 of joining vrith Walsh and others. He 
 told me frankly that 
 
 KNOWLES— (Eed in the face and 
 thoroughly angry.) You are going too 
 far in your interest for this man. He 
 is no longer in my employ, and it is 
 the best thing that could happen to this 
 bank. He has left without knowing 
 whether I had anyone to take his place. 
 He has been thoroughly indifferent to 
 what becomes of the people's money. 
 Nothing that you can say, and nothing 
 that he can do would make me change 
 my mind and take him back. Let him 
 go to Walsh and his unions if he likes. 
 I'll best them all, and I will teach 
 them a lesson they 'Reserve, and which 
 they will re:uienibc : for a long time. 
 
 Don't come to me again with your 
 pleadings for Hathaway because I will 
 lot listen. That is final. You can go. 
 
 LUCY— Good night. Uncle. I hope 
 the time will come when you may find 
 your senses and deal more justly. 
 ^ Turns on her heel and walks out.) 
 
 KNOWLES— (In thoroughly bad hu- 
 mor, sits down and continues reading 
 Grimes' note. Reads.) "I cannot work 
 for a man who is not just and fair. I 
 have served you many years, and ex- 
 pected to end my working days with 
 you. It is hard to make a change at 
 my age, but I could not stay and be 
 happy. I should like to leave at the 
 end of a week if that can be ar- 
 ranged." 
 
 Another damned ungrateful 
 
 (Clenches fist and striking it hard on 
 desk.) It's all part of the conspiracy. 
 They are all aft^r old Knowles' scalp, 
 are they? I'll show' em. They will be 
 singing a different tune when I get 
 through with thi) gang of cut throats. 
 (Goes to door left and gets suit cases 
 and crosses to safe with them. He 
 starts to turn the combination and 
 reads the new numbers from a card in 
 his hand, when a woman's cracked 
 \oice is heard singing in oifice right, 
 coming toward innei bank.) Damn, 
 there comees Lirizie. (He goes quickly 
 to his desk, shoves suit cases under 
 desk, places combination card in drawer 
 and locks it, and pretends to be deep- 
 ly engrossed when scrubwoman comes 
 in with pail of suds and floor cloths. 
 She has seen Knowles lock up card. 
 
 MAGGIE — (Typical country scrub- 
 
 woman who has th-3 appearance of oc- 
 casionally taking a nip. An old worn 
 bonnet sits on the back of her head; 
 her shoes are large and loose. She takes 
 no notice of Knowles except for one 
 keen, quick glance. Maggie is in reality 
 one of Judge Hilton 's gang from New 
 York come up to do the job. He is try- 
 ing to find out whether there will be 
 any watchman that night, and whether 
 the safe has been emptied by Knowles. 
 He hopes to get moie than is planned. 
 Sings as she mops floor awkwardly.) 
 
 There was a man m a tattered gown 
 
 And he was wondrous wise; 
 
 He jumped into a petticoat 
 
 And camouflaged the town. 
 
 I see the young man going out with 
 his suit case when I was comin' in. 
 
 KNOWLES — (Looking up sharply 
 sees that woman is not the regular 
 scrubwoman, Lizzie. I don't seem to 
 know you. Why are you here instead of 
 Lizzie? 
 
 MAGGIE — (Awkwardly wringing out 
 mop and allowing half the water to run 
 on floor.) You see I hev been stoppin' 
 with Liz for about s. week. My folks 
 they live in Noo York. It was like this, 
 liz went to a party last night and — 
 (giggles) — I guess she had too much 
 cider, so I said to Liz, said I, I'll scrub 
 the bank for you tonight; so here I is 
 instead of Liz. (Gij^gles again.) 
 
 KNOWLES — See that you do your 
 work decently or Lizzie may lose her 
 job. What is your name? 
 
 MAGGIE — They call me Maggie. I 
 shouldn't want Liz to lose her job. 
 (Scrubs for a minute.) People hev got 
 a lot a sympathy for your man Hath- 
 away; et least thet's what I hears. 
 (Scrubs some more.) It ain't none o' 
 my business, but thet's what they tell 
 me. 
 
 KNOWLES — No, your business is to 
 get this bank scrubbed and clear out 
 as soon as you can. (Lizzie scrubs en- 
 ergetically.) So they think I have 
 wronged Hathaway, do they? Because 
 I am not willing to raise his pay and 
 provide him with a parlor to live in. 
 They will change their minds. 
 
 MAGGIE — Widow Dean, she's all 
 nerved up for fear somethin' might 
 happen to the bank afore you find a 
 man to take Hathaway 's place. I told 
 her you ought to know what ye are 
 about, but she's plumb skeered. (Works 
 herself toward safe as she scrubs.) 
 
 30 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 KNOWLES — I told her not to worry, 
 that there would he ample protection. 
 If you see her, tell her Banker 
 Knowles has the situation well in 
 hand. 
 
 MAGGIE — I thought mebbe the new 
 man would be here by now. Perhaps 
 he won't git hero tonight. (Looking 
 lieenly at Know'.eG.) 
 
 KNOWLES — yen needn't worry. 
 Your business is to get this place clean 
 and then clear out. 
 
 MAGGIE — If I were a man I might 
 volunteer to stay round here tonight, 
 but I s'pose you don't want no women 
 liangin' round and scarin' off burglars. 
 
 KNOWLES— Would you dare? I told 
 you the bank is to be protected. 
 
 MAGGIE — (As she scrubs she exam- 
 ines safe, and begins to dust off the 
 (ombination with great care. Sings 
 tigain.) 
 
 There was a n-an in a tattered gown 
 
 And he was wondrous wise; 
 
 He jumped into a petticoat 
 
 And camouflaged the town. 
 
 And when he found that he was in 
 
 He dipped into a pail of suds, 
 
 And cursed the man who made the 
 duds. 
 
 KNOWLBS — Maggie, you are here to 
 work and r..ot to sing. 
 
 MAGGIE— What did you say? 
 
 KNOWLES — I said you are not here 
 to sing, sing. 
 
 MAGGIE — (The words sing-sing are 
 too much for Maggie, who nearly coi- 
 l-apses against the safe and lets the pail 
 fall to the floor.) 
 
 KNOWLES — Now, what's the mat- 
 ter? 
 
 MAGGIE — You said sing-sing so 
 kind of sternly, I almost fainted. 
 
 KNOWLES— I did mean it. Don't 
 sing any more. 
 
 MAGGIE — (Works a moment and 
 then giggles to self.) 
 
 KNOWLES— Now what's funny, 
 can't you keep your jokes to yourself? 
 
 MAGGIE — I wuz thinkin' how Liz 
 •took her medicine and pills. 
 
 KNOWLES— How did she take 
 them? 
 
 MAGGIE — In cider. (Giggles.) 
 
 KNOWLES — Y'ou have a low form of 
 wit, Maggie. 
 
 MAGGIE — Thet's because of me pro- 
 fession of scrubbing. Mr. Knowles. 
 
 KNOWLES — (Looks with aroused in- 
 
 terest at this humorous scrubwoman.) 
 So you think my man is right to strike 
 and leave the people's savings unpro- 
 tected at a time when it is almost im- 
 possible to find anyone to take his 
 place? 
 
 MAGGIE — One hes to live; things 
 are goin' up, and we wage earners hev 
 to stick together. We hev a scrub- 
 women's union down in Noo York. 
 
 KNOWLES— (Observing the sloppy 
 way Maggie is doing her work.) I 
 thought there must be something of 
 that sort by the way you do your work; 
 the moment the union starts good worK 
 stops. 
 
 MAGGIE — It's better 'n bein' a 
 slave, as Jim Schwartz of the bar- 
 tenders' union said to us. 
 
 KNOWLES — Did your union ever 
 strike, Maggie? 
 
 MAGGIE — Yep, we went out on a 
 sympathetic strike with the bartend- 
 ers just to help 'em out. You see they'd 
 helped us mor'n once. 
 
 KNOWLES— Yes, you look as though 
 they had helped yo" considerably. I 
 suppose you know what is going to hap- 
 pen to my man, Ira Hathaway, because 
 he affiliates with the unions? 
 
 MAGGIE — He'll get another place. 
 A? I told Liz, let him strike when the 
 ira is hot. (Giggles.) 
 
 KNOWLES— (Disgusted.) You'd do 
 better to talk less and work more. 
 Come, get this floor done. I'll go into 
 the next room; knocK on the door when 
 you have finished. (Exits with papers. 
 Maggie jumps up from the floor, goes 
 quickly to Knowles' desk, lifts up skirt 
 to get jimmie from hip pocket, and 
 thereby lets audiencn into secret of his 
 sex, pries open drawer, takes out card 
 raid copies combination on piece of pa- 
 per. Then replaces card and shuts 
 drawer. Quickly he pulls dress suit 
 cases from under desk and makes sure 
 they are empty. He then takes a care- 
 ful look at safe and combination. Then 
 goes to door of office where Knowles 
 is. Knocks. 
 
 MAGGIE— It's did, sir. Takes up 
 jail and goes through grill door into 
 outer bank.) 
 
 KNOWLES— (Comes in quickly to 
 desk, looks cautiously about to see 
 whether Maggie has gone. Draws suit 
 cases from under desk and starts to- 
 ward safe when door bell rings.) 
 
 KNOWLES— What in ! (Shoves 
 
 31 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 suit cases under desk again; outside 
 door slams as Sammie, 15-year-old high 
 school boy, comes in with evening 
 Courier.) 
 
 SAM — Paper? 
 
 KNOWLES — Bring it in, Sammie; 
 any news tonight? 
 
 SAM — JNotnmg much, sir. There's 
 an article about Ira Hathaway leav- 
 ing the bank. 
 
 KNOWLES— (Smiles with satisfac- 
 tion.) What does it say about him, 
 Sammie? Read it to me. 
 
 SAM — (Reading m schoolboy fash- 
 ion, stumbling over long words.) Ira 
 Hathaway, special officer for the 
 Mapleton National bank, who has 
 guarded the people's savings for more 
 than six years, has served notice on 
 Banker Knowles that he will leave his 
 post this afternoon unless demands for 
 increased wages and better living 
 apartments are granted. 
 
 As Hathaway has been seen lately in 
 company with union leaders who are 
 known to have radical tendencies, it is 
 generally believed that he is the victim 
 of unwise and vicious counsel. Indeed, 
 Mr. Knowles believes there is a con- 
 certed conspiracy among extremists to 
 form a union of bank employes of 
 Sara,toga county, and that a charter 
 has already been granted. 
 
 While the banker declares he has no 
 prejudice against unions in general he 
 is absolutely opposed to divided con- 
 trol when it comes to those whose duty 
 it is to guard and protect the people's 
 money. Such employes are truly pub- 
 lic servants, and must under no circum- 
 stances be subject to a strike call. 
 
 The Mapleton bank holds the savings 
 of hundreds of widows and poor peo- 
 ple who would be left in a pitiful con- 
 dition should anything happen to the 
 \aults. The banker, however, will do 
 his best to procure someone in Hath- 
 away 's place and has assured the pub- 
 lic that the situation is well in hand. 
 Mr. Knowles declared this morning 
 that 
 
 KNOWLES— That will do, Sam. 
 
 SAM — Gee! I'm all out of breath. 
 
 KNOWLES — What are people say- 
 ing aboiit it up town, Sam? 
 
 SAM — They say you ought to give 
 Ira more money and better rooms, but 
 they think he has no right to join a 
 union, and they say he ought to stay 
 till you find someone to take his place. 
 
 KNOWLES— Thank you, Sam; 
 here's a quarter for your good reading. 
 
 (Gives money to Sam.) 
 
 SAM — Thank you, sir. Good night, 
 sir. (Exit.) (Knowles is about to take 
 suit cases from under desk, when Mag- 
 gie apjiears in grill door.) 
 
 MAGGIE — I am going now; will you 
 pay me for my work? 
 
 KNOWLES — (Showing disgust at 
 another interruption.) No! What yoa 
 have done isn't worth anything; your 
 floor is a mess. I'll settle with Lizzie, 
 and you needn't come back.) (Maggie 
 goes out. Knowles goes again to safe 
 and opens it when the outer door bell 
 lings violently.) Oh, hell! Who is it 
 this time? (Presses button which opens 
 front door. Chucks suit cases into safe 
 and shuts safe door. Enter Dennis 
 Wiggs and Loretta quite excited.) 
 
 LORETTA — How do you do, Mr. 
 lijnowles; we thought you would be sur- 
 prised. We got your telegram tellin* 
 us to cum and git here Friday, but I 
 says to Dennis thet mebby we better 
 git home a little ahead o' time, and 
 show you v/e ain't the kind what let's 
 the grass grow under our feet. 
 
 KNOWLES — I had rather have em- 
 ployes who obey directions, and who 
 do not think they know better than 
 their employer what to do. I sent 
 word to you not to come until Friday, 
 and you didn't see fit to carry out my 
 directions. Is that good business? 
 
 DENNIS — There, Loretta, didn't I 
 tell you, but you wuz so plum certain. 
 Now mebby Mr. Knowles don't want us 
 and it wud serve us right if — 
 
 KNOWLES— (Evidently much dis- 
 turbed to know what to do with his 
 visitors wlio have come to upset all 
 his ])lans.) Did you just come from the 
 train? 
 
 DENNIS — We walked right here 
 from the station. 
 
 KNOWLES — Did you meet anyone 
 who knew you? 
 
 LORETTA — Nope, not a soul, and we 
 didn't even go into the station, but 
 cum right up here hopin' to find you, 
 and we are in luck. If you haven't got 
 the rooms fixed up we coiild go to the 
 hotel for tonight. 
 
 KNOWLES — Look here, you two. I 
 wired you not to ccme until Friday, 
 and that is what I meant. I am very 
 much displeased that you thought you 
 
 32 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 knew Ijest. I really ought to call our 
 bargain off 
 
 LORETTA — (Beginning to repent to 
 the point of tears.) I am sorry, Mr. 
 Knowles if we did wrong, but we wuz 
 so anxious to take the place that we 
 cum right along, and we have been 
 practicing up, and 
 
 KNOWLES — Practicing up? What 
 do you mean? 
 
 LOEETTA — Well, you see we met 
 my cousin from Albany, who is a cop, 
 and he showed Dennis how to use the 
 stick and how to handle his revolver. 
 Dennis said he wouldn't be af eared of 
 nobody now, didn't you, Dennis? 
 
 DENNIS — I didn't make no such 
 boast, but I says that I could give an 
 j-ccount of myself. 
 
 LORETTA — See, Mr. Knowles, what 
 we got. (Reaches down in her bag and 
 jiulls out a long polished policeman 's 
 club.) I guess thet'll stop most any- 
 thing. 
 
 DENNIS— If it ain't dark; what I'm 
 j-fraid of is that I cs:n.'t see what to 
 hit in the dark, anf: he might hit me 
 first. 
 
 LORETTA — V"v\ never seen Hath- 
 «,way wearir.' a '^s.'J.ge, but my cousin 
 said a badge is as ^cod as a gun some- 
 times, and le*'s '^n know the law is 
 after 'em. Ed gave us one of his old 
 ones. Show it to Mr. Knowles, Dennis. 
 (Dennis turns back lapel of coat and 
 displays an old-fashioned police badge. 
 "With stick in his hand and badge in 
 evidence Dennis begins to feel impor- 
 tant and courageous in front of 
 Knowles, and swells out his chest a 
 bit.) 
 
 KNOWLES — (Looking at his watch. 
 He thinks how he can get rid of Den- 
 nis.) You look aU right, Dennis, but 
 the test cojies when you are facing a 
 gun sometime, held m your face by an- 
 other man. There is not one man in 
 ten thousand who can show courage 
 then. I have a proposal to make to 
 you two. 
 
 DENNIS — You don't mean you want 
 me to look into the muzzle of a gun? 
 
 KNOWLES — You came home before 
 your time was up. I know you thought 
 you would please me, but you didn't; 
 you provoked me more than I can tell 
 you. There is an express to Cincinnati 
 in just 15 minutes, but it does not stop 
 here. I'll give you two another day 
 for your honeymoon, and I shall let you 
 
 have $20 for a real good time. I'll let 
 John run you down to Ridgeway in my 
 car. I do this on condition that you 
 never breathe a word to anyone that 
 you came here tonight. When you come 
 back make believe you came by the 
 way of Cincinnati. Will you promise? 
 
 DENNIS— (Glad of another day's 
 delay.) Of course we will. You're 
 mighty good, and the twenty wiU come 
 in good. 
 
 LORETTA — It's a puzzle to me, Mr. 
 Knowles, but if you want us to go we 
 will. 
 
 KNOWLES— (Taking up phone.) 
 Garage, please? This is Knowles, and 
 I want to speak to John. John, come 
 right round with the car. I want you 
 to take a couple down to Ridgeway to 
 catch the express; you'll have to hurry. 
 (Turning to Dennis.) So, Dennis, you 
 think you are ready for an emergency, 
 do you? 
 
 DENNIS — Yes, sir, it gives courage 
 to a feller to have a good piece of wood 
 in his hand. I guess I have got as much 
 courage as the next one. 
 
 KNOWLES — (Taking revolver out 
 of desk drawer.) Do you think you 
 could use that, Dennis? 
 
 DENNIS — I could learn to bead a 
 man, Mr. Knowles, with a little prac- 
 tice. Is it loaded? 
 
 KNOWLES — Of course, with six per- 
 fectly good cartridges. I am going to 
 try your courage, Dennis, by pointing 
 this at you. 
 
 DENNIS — I know you wouldn't 
 shoot, sir, but I — I 
 
 KNOWLES — Suppose I am a burglar 
 and it is your duty to arrest me. (He 
 backs toward wall where switch button 
 is.) 
 
 LORETTA — (Getting excited.) Now's 
 your chance, Dennis. Remember George 
 Washington and Napoleon and — go 
 after him. (Dennis does not seem eager 
 to go forward.) 
 
 KNOWLES — I am going to shoot, I 
 am going to shoot. 
 
 (Dennis begins to back instead of go- 
 ing forward. Loretta gets behind him 
 and tries to push him forward.) 
 
 LORETTA — Where's your courage, 
 Dennis? Go after him. 
 
 KNOWLES— (By electric button.) I 
 am going to shoot. T Pushes button and 
 the bank becomes perfectly dark.) 
 Take care, Dennis. 
 
 DENNIS— Don't, Mr. Knowles; 
 
 33 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 please don't. Oli, don't shoot. (A 
 
 chair is heard to overturn and there is 
 noise of scuffling about the room.) 
 
 KNOWLES— (Turns on lights. Den- 
 nis is discovered over back of safe with 
 both hands to his ears, the picture of 
 abject terror. Loretta S3es him and is 
 completely disgusted.) 
 
 LORETTA — (Brings, Dennis down by 
 th : arm.) And you said before we got 
 married tha'; you would be my hero, my 
 soldier. (P'ks up stick that Dennis 
 has dropped.) 
 
 DENNIS— (Still weak from fright.) 
 1 giiess I heel better go back to 
 Avery's, Mr Knowles. Milkin' cows 
 and pitchen hay ia my profession, and 
 fighten burglars ain't. 
 
 KNOWLES — I guess you are right, 
 Dennis. (Auto horn is heard.) But any- 
 way take a day to think it over. Here's 
 the money I promised you. (Hands $20 
 bill.) Remember, not one word to any- 
 one. There is the machine, you'll have 
 to hurry. 
 
 LORETTA— (Gathers up her things 
 and starts.) Come on my hero, my sol- 
 dier. (Both go out.) (Knowles, with 
 a sigh of relief goes to safe, opens it 
 and fills both bags with securities and 
 money. Takes out one box, and places 
 a handful of bills in it and places it 
 back in safe. Closes door of safe, but 
 manipulates combination first. Waits a 
 moment and auto horn is heard again. 
 Knowles turns out all lights but one 
 in outer bank, goes out and door is 
 heard to close. Auto heard departing, 
 f.nd horn gives sense of distance. After 
 a few moments quiet a tapping is heard 
 at window; it grows louder, and finally 
 a hard blow smashes the plate glass 
 window, but not in sight of audience.) 
 
 (Three men appear, among whom is 
 Maggie, the crook, in his own man 's 
 clothes. One man climbs over the grill 
 and unlocks grill door. Other two come 
 in. They all make for the safe and 
 begin to work with the idea of blow- 
 ing it open. Maggie, the crook, con- 
 centrates on the combination, and in a 
 moment takes hold of the handle and 
 opens the door wide.) 
 
 SPIKE — Maggie, you're a wonder; 
 how did you do it? (All eagerly ex- 
 amine strong boxes in safe, using jim- 
 mies to pry locks open.) 
 
 MAGGIE — Damn! Cleaned out. 
 Double crossed. I told you. (Boxes 
 
 and papers are thrown out on the bank 
 floor.) 
 
 SPIKE — This will cost someone a. 
 neat little pile; making fools of us. 
 The guy who swept this safe might a 
 left us carfare. 
 
 DUMPY — Hold on, there is some- 
 thing in this box. (Pries open box and 
 takes out handful of bills.) 
 
 MAGGIE— What are they? Thou- 
 sand dollar bills? 
 
 SPIKE — Naw, tenners (counting). 
 Thirty of 'em; a hundred apiece fer 
 doin' the job. Kind of 'em, wasn't it? 
 
 MAGGIE — Riskin' our precious lives 
 for a hundred! Wait till we make our 
 next call. This job is worth a thousand 
 at least. 
 
 DUMPY — The old man was shrewd, 
 and beat us to it. 
 
 SPIKE — (He is the man who held up 
 Ira.) It's a shame I didn't get my fist 
 on any of it when I was so close. 
 
 MAGGIE — What do you say we go 
 up to the old man's house and make 
 him tell us where it is? 
 
 SPIKE — Not on your life; he's got 
 the dough where it's safe. You can bet 
 on that. 
 
 MAGGIE — Suppose I caU. him up and 
 give him a warnin'? 
 
 DUMPY — I dare you, Maggie; be a 
 sport. I'll give you a tenner if you 
 do. 
 
 MAGGIE— lU take the bet. 
 
 SPIKE — You ain't got the nerve. 
 
 MAGGIE — (Looks in phone book for 
 number, takes up receiver.) Give me 
 876 — very important. (Angry voice 
 over plione.) (Maggie puts hand over 
 phone.) He's swearing bloody murder. 
 I'll wait till the storm passes. (In Mag- 
 gie, the woman's, voice.) Is this you, 
 Mr. Knowles? I am Maggie who was 
 doin* your scrubbin' at the bank this 
 evening. What's that? No, I am 
 at Lizzie's. I thought you might want 
 to know what I heard ez I was going 
 home tonight, Ez I cum by a street 
 comer two men was talking kinda low 
 and suspicious, so I hid in a doorway 
 to listen. They wuz saying what a 
 good night it would be to crack the safe 
 in your bank. Yes, honest to God. Yes, 
 I suppose I am foolish, but I thought 
 you ought to know. What's that? The 
 bank will be adequately protected? 
 (Puts hand over receiver. To com- 
 radees. He says the bank will be ade- 
 quately protected. (All laugh.) I am 
 
 34 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 sorry to hev disturbed you, but I am 
 up givin' Lizzie her pills. (Hangs up 
 receiver.) 
 
 DUMPY — Now we better make our 
 getaway before the sheriff is waked up. 
 (All elip out.) 
 
 MAGGIE — (As he goes out looking 
 back at floor). The bank will be ade- 
 quately protected. (Exit.) 
 CUETAIN. 
 ACT IV. 
 Scene One 
 
 Six thirty a. m. Bank is still quite 
 dark. Just before curtain rises distant 
 factory whistle is heard. Mill hands 
 on way to work discover broken win- 
 dow. Voices at first indistinct grow 
 louder and more excited. 
 
 VOICES — Look at the window of the 
 bank. Smashed — How do you suppose 
 it happened. — Someone crawled in 
 there; look at the footmarks. — Burglars, 
 I bet. (Louder voice )^The bank Is 
 robbed; the bank is robbed. 
 
 ANNA SCHWARTZ— They couldn't 
 break in tlie safe, could they? 
 
 JASON BILLINGS — Professionals 
 could do anything. Let's go in. 
 
 ABE MORRIS — Perhaps the safe has 
 been blown open. 
 
 WIDOW SMITH— (Beginning to get 
 excited.) Won't someone go in and see 
 if the money is gone. 
 
 BILLINGS— I'll go in. 
 
 HENNESSY — Take care you don't 
 cut yourself. (Sounds of entering. Sev- 
 eral people secu entering the bank.) 
 Everything looks all right so far. Look 
 out for yourself, they may be in here 
 jet. 
 
 TONY PATRONI— Hava they stola 
 my mon? Alia my mon? Let me in. 
 
 WIDOW SMITH— (Insisting upon 
 coming through broken window.) If 
 my money is gone it will kill me; aU 
 my savings. Oh, my poor children; we 
 may be ruined. 
 
 ANNA SCHWARTZ— Why don't 
 someone climb over and find out wheth- 
 er the safe has been opened. (As the 
 inner bank is in shadow nothing can 
 be seen. The light in the outer bank 
 casts its wierd radiance on the increas- 
 ing crowd of facees outside the grill.) 
 
 JASON — I will go over if somebody 
 holds the chair. (Starts to climb.) 
 
 MORRIS — (Pushes against grill door 
 and it swings open. The whole crowd 
 rush in. Abe turns on electric light 
 near safe and reveals floor of bank 
 
 covered with empty boxes, papers and 
 several empty money bags.) Cleaned 
 out; the safe's empty! 
 
 HENNESSY— (Picking up empty 
 cash box.) Number 83, that's the un- 
 ion's box, not a cint in it. Sure and 
 there'll be heU to pay. (To people 
 crowding around.) Stand back can't 
 ye; there's no use pushing like this. 
 Can't ye see it's all gone? 
 
 JASON — I'll call up Mr. Knowles. 
 (Goes to phone.) Give me Mr. Knowles 
 the banker. Hurry, please. — This you, 
 Mr. Knowles? I have got bad news 
 for you. Your baiilc has been broken 
 into and the safe cleaned out. Yes, sir, 
 the people are frantic. We will wait 
 for you, sir. 
 
 WIDOW SMITH — I'm a beggar 
 again, and I worked all these years to 
 save. What shall I do? 
 
 PATRONI — I sava two, three, four 
 hundred doll to senda my wife, and now 
 they stola my mon. 
 
 HENNESSY— Mr. Morton ought to 
 be called; he's one of the directors 
 of the bank. (Takes up phone.) Give 
 me 15 — ring 3 — I want to speak to 
 Mr. Morton; no, not a minute. Hurry, 
 please? — Mr. Morton, the Mapleton 
 bank has been looted of ivery cint. 
 I thought you ought to know. We 
 found the window broken. In five 
 minutes? All right. (To people.) He 
 will be right over, and he wiU bring 
 the sheriff. 
 
 ANNA — I had two hundred dollars, 
 and it took me two years to save, and 
 now where am I? Whose fault is this, 
 that is what I would like to know? 
 
 JASON — If we can find that out 
 someone will have a big biU to pay. I 
 think I know who is to blame. Hath- 
 away should not have left till Mr. 
 Knowles found someone to take his 
 place. Ira wasn't thinking of us. He 
 wanted a raise, and was wilUng to 
 leave the bank unprotected to gain his 
 ends. 
 
 HENNESSY— (Growing angry.) You 
 are right, Jason. Did you see what the 
 Courier said? Listen? (Takes paper 
 out of his pocket and reads.) "Ira 
 Hathaway, special oflicer for the Maple- 
 ton Bank, who has guarded the people's 
 savings for more than six years, has 
 served notice on Banker Knowles that 
 he will leave his post this afternoon 
 unless demands for increased wages 
 
 35 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 and better living conditions are grant- 
 ed." 
 
 He did leave, and look at the result. 
 (Continues reading.) "The Mapleton 
 Bank holds the savings of hundreds of 
 ■widows — (Widow Smith weeps) — and 
 poor people who would be left in a piti- 
 ful condition should anything happen 
 to the vaults. (The reading stirs up 
 the crowd.) 
 
 ANNA SCHWARTZ— That's enough 
 for me. I thought he had manhood 
 enough to protect our savings until 
 another watcliman could be found. I 
 said he ought to get more pay, but now 
 look at him; he has ruined us. 
 
 JASON — He left the bank unprotect- 
 ed, when he must have known there 
 were suspicious characters in town. 
 
 MRS. SMITH— He must pay me 
 back; I can't lose all my savings; I 
 simply can't. 
 
 PATRONI— I'U be Got damna; I 
 puncha his head. Here I come to 
 Americ, I work hard, I save all my 
 mon and then they com and take it 
 rlla. I say damna. (Noise of approach- 
 ing automobile. Morton and sheriff en- 
 ter. The crowd makes way for the two 
 mon, who examine critically.) 
 
 MORTON— They certainly have made 
 a clean jrb of it, sheriff. 
 
 SHERIFF MILLER— This looks like 
 a professional job, sir. They must have 
 had the combination, or they would 
 have blown the safe. (Looking at safe.) 
 Here's a place where they began to 
 drill. I don't like to think it of 
 Hathaway, but it looks to me as 
 though he may have given the combina- 
 tion numbers. 
 
 MORTON— (Wi*-n emphasis so all 
 can hear.) It is hard to believe Hath, 
 away would deliberately expose to rob- 
 bers all the savings of those whom ha 
 called his friends. But when a man 
 tries by tlireats of a strike to force his 
 employer, then he cannot be trusted; 
 he is a deserter 
 
 VOICEt^ IN CROWD— Yes, a desert- 
 er. (Lucy Knowles enters out of breath 
 as though she had been running.) 
 
 LUCY — I have just heard of this aw- 
 ful thing. To think the bank was not 
 safe for a single night. My poor friends, 
 I am heartbroken for you; I know 
 what it means, Mrs. Smith, and Tony, 
 and all of you. Have you any clue, Mr. 
 Miller? 
 
 SHERIFF— Nothing that would iden- 
 
 tify anybody, but there is always a 
 chance when Hi Miller is on the job. 
 The thing is to round 'em up before 
 ^Jiey spend what they got. 
 
 HENNESSY— The first thing is to 
 find Ira Hathaway and learn what time 
 he left, where he went and whether 
 he was seen around the bank after he 
 was supposed to go. (Lucy is ab- 
 sorbed in looking over the safe that 
 she does not hear the discussion.) 
 
 SHERIFF MILLER — Does anyone 
 know where Hathaway stayed last 
 night? 
 
 JASON — Yes, I do; he took a room 
 at Mrs. Shepherd's, and is there yet if 
 he hasn't skipped out, and left town, 
 
 MILLER— I'U go fetch him. (Exit.) 
 
 MORTON— Friends, I know Mr. 
 Knowles was trying to hire someone to 
 take Ira's place, but you know how 
 scarce help is. I hardly thought Hath- 
 away was the kind of a man to take 
 advantage of a short labor market. He 
 wouldn't have taken such a step if 
 union leaders had not advised him. Now 
 look at the result. 
 
 ANNA — He ought to pay us back. 
 
 PATRONI— I will go to the judga. I 
 will tella him to maka him giva my 
 mon. (Enter Banker Knowles. Ap- 
 pears excited.) 
 
 KNOWLES— To think that such a 
 thing could happen to the Mapleton 
 bank! It is unbelievable. (Sinks into 
 chair.) 
 
 HENNESSY — We are all mined, sor; 
 even the union has lost its funds. 
 (Lizzie the scrub woman enters.) 
 
 LIZZIE — Is It true that the bank is 
 lobbed? And it was you, Mr. Knowles, 
 who told me to save my money and to 
 leave it in the bank. Here I have been 
 slavin' and diggin' for ten years, and 
 never spendin' anything but for neces- 
 sities. 
 
 KNOWLES — I might have had you 
 stay in the bank last night, Lizzie, but 
 you didn't come and sent Maggie in 
 your place, and I didn't dare trust her. 
 
 LIZZIE — Maggie, is it? I don't know 
 any Maggie. 
 
 KNOWLES — Weren't you sick last 
 night, and wasn't it you who sent that 
 woman to scrub the bank in your 
 r-iace? 
 
 LIZZIE — For Lord's sake, Mr. 
 I^owles, what be ye talking about? I 
 was sick, but I didn't send no one, sir. 
 
 36 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 I didn't know the bank had been 
 cleaned. 
 
 KNOWLES— (Puzzled.) Did anyone 
 telephone to me from your house last 
 night? Speak the truth, Lizzie. 
 
 IjIZZIE — I swear, sir. There's been 
 no one at my house but my four chil- 
 dren and me old man, Ben. That's the 
 God's truth, sir. 
 
 KNOWIiES — So Maggie was a crook. 
 (Sheriff enters with Ira. Crowd looks 
 at him with an^er in their faces.) 
 
 MRS. SMITH— Now he wiU have to 
 teU us why he left the bank unprotect- 
 ed for burglars to rob. (Ira has a wor- 
 ried and disheveled appearance. He has 
 his suit case.) 
 
 SHERIFF — There, sir, look at your 
 work. Do you know you are responsible 
 for this? 
 
 TONY — (Losing control of himself.) 
 So you leava the bank; you deserta, 
 you leta the burglars loota the bank, 
 you maka me a beggar. I cannot send 
 for my woman. I could killa you, I 
 
 would (As he rushes toward Ira, 
 
 Sheriff Miller steps between.) 
 
 MILLER — That won't do any good, 
 Tony, only make more trouble for you. 
 But it ain't that he don't deserve it. 
 
 HENNESSY— We aave lost our 
 money, and some of us may have to 
 spend our old age in the poorhouse, and 
 it's you who are to blame, damn you. 
 
 WIDOW SMITH— Did you think of 
 me and my children when you went on 
 strike last night? You did not, you did 
 not. (Weeps.) 
 
 IRA — Friends, I can't tell you how 
 sorry I am that this has happened. I 
 know it looks bad. I was told that 
 everything would be aU right, and I 
 gave plenty of warning that I should 
 go. I was told — (Morton breaks in.) 
 
 MORTON — I know what you were 
 told, young man. Mr. Knowles told me 
 just how matters stood, and how dif- 
 ficult it would be to fill your place. He 
 was in hopes that you would change 
 your mind, and stay on a few days. 
 Why did you listen to Tom Walsh? 
 
 SHERIFF MILLER— Mr. Morton, I 
 searched his rooms and found this. 
 (Takes literature Walsh had given Ira 
 out of his pocket.) This is what he 
 reads: "Revolution," "A New Eco- 
 nomic System," "The Rebel," "Work- 
 ers Arise," "Own the Industries," 
 "End of the Bourgeois," "Victory and 
 
 Votes." What does he care for bankt 
 and for those who save? 
 
 IRA — Believe me, friends, won't you 
 hear what I have to say for my- 
 self? These papers are not mine, but 
 were put in my hands to read. I don't 
 believe most of what is in them. I 
 never stood for revolution. I asked 
 only for what all of your demand, a 
 living wage, and decent rooms to live 
 in. 
 
 I would have cut off my hand rather 
 than to have had this happen. 
 
 MORTON— That sounds well, doesn't 
 it? This man leaves his sacred trust, 
 leaves the bank unprotected. He is 
 caught with wild and radical literature 
 m his room. He says it isn't his, but 
 he had it to read, didn't he? 
 
 ANNA — The Courier called you a de- 
 serter; did you know that? 
 
 IRA — No, Kramer would not have 
 lied about me. He is fair. I know he 
 sympathized with me, and — 
 
 ANNA — (Thrusting paper into Ira's 
 hands.) There, read for yourself. 
 
 IRA — (Beads.) "He shows himself 
 to be indifferent to the welfare of the 
 people of Mapleton; he deserts and be- 
 trays — (Puts hand to head, uncon- 
 sciously touches place where burglar 
 hRd hit him.) My God, friends! Did 
 Kramer write that? 
 
 MORTON— It is in his paper, isn't 
 it? He saw what kind of a public 
 trustee you are, and has spoken pretty 
 frankly to his readers. 
 
 IRA — If Kramer wrote that he has 
 sold his soul and bis press to those 
 who can pay. (Looks meaningly at 
 Morton and Knov/les. Turns to 
 Knowles, who has been apparently 
 numbed by the disaster.) You, Mr. 
 Knowles, why don't you say something? 
 You told me not to worry, that the 
 bank would be protected. Don't let 
 these people think I had no interest 
 in them, and deserted. 
 
 KNOWLES— (Rises from chair in 
 anger.) How can you appeal to me 
 with this safe staring you in the face? 
 I don't believe you robbed these people 
 directly, but you have betrayed those 
 who have been your friends. If you 
 had cared to you could have learned 
 that I had no one to take your place. 
 I did think I had a man engaged, but 
 no one came. I stand for law and or- 
 der, and that is what the citizens of 
 this county stand for, if I know them. 
 
 37 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 I'll have no union dictating over my 
 head when it comes to the safety of 
 the people's savings, and you wiU find 
 that no bank will tolerate the kind of 
 independence you believe in. 
 
 I made a mistake in not staying 
 here in the bank myself last night, and 
 I shall be the one to suffer, because so 
 long as there is breath in my body 
 I shall work to pay back what has 
 been taken. I shall not look for one 
 cent from you though we know you 
 are morally responsible. The people are 
 right. Kramer was right. 
 
 We bankers and manufacturers, yes, 
 and publishers, too, are not going to 
 let such as you and Tom Walsh run 
 this country. Understand that. You 
 will find every sane and good American 
 lined up behind us in a government 
 based on law and order. 
 
 Now you can go, and I think these 
 people will agree the sooner you get 
 out of this town the better it will be 
 for yoii. No one will give you a job. 
 You thought you would have the whole 
 community with you and against me. 
 You have played your cards and lost. 
 I should have fovmd ways of improv- 
 ing your condition if you had re- 
 mained, but now wherever you go they 
 will point to you as one who deserted 
 his trust. 
 
 Hathaway, you have lost your posi- 
 tion, the respect and confidence of the 
 public, and your friends here in Maple- 
 ton. You find yourself absolutely alone. 
 (Lucy who has been in the back of the 
 crowd scarcely noticed now breaks 
 through and takes her stand by Ira's 
 side.) 
 
 LUCY — No, not alone. Uncle. I am 
 going with him. Friends, this man 
 has asked me to be his wife, and I am 
 proud here and now to tell him before 
 you all who are ready to tear him to 
 pieces that I shall be honored to live 
 and work with him. (Crowd amazed, 
 Ira at first astonished and then over- 
 wlielmed.) 
 
 IRA — Lucy, do you mean that? 
 (Grasps her hand with emotion.) 
 
 KNOWLES — You can't mean it, 
 Lucy. You have lost your mind. 
 
 LUCY — No, I was never more sane 
 in my life, but I begin to think it is 
 you who have gone mad. No one feels 
 worse about what has happened than 
 I do, but, friends, it was not Ira's 
 faidt. It may be hard to make you see 
 
 it now, but some day you may under- 
 stand there has been some wicked 
 trickery here somewhere. 
 
 Do you think he willingly left this 
 bank where he has been so long? I 
 tell you within a few days he risked 
 his life to save this bank and your 
 money, but he is too modest to say 
 anything about it. 
 
 It was not Tom Walsh who advised 
 Ira to ask for more wages and to de- 
 mand better rooms to live in; it was I. 
 Yes, I told him it was not manly to 
 go on year after year without making 
 a fight for an American standard of liv- 
 ing. 
 
 (To Knowles) — Why was the bank 
 left unguarded last night. Uncle? You 
 say you were careless; were you not — it 
 is hard for a niece to say it — but I 
 think you were criminal. You told me 
 only yesterday the bank had adequate 
 protection. 
 
 (To the people) — You turn against 
 Ira as though he were a thief, but he 
 is the victim of a power strong enough 
 to crush you if you make great efforts 
 to improve your condition. 
 
 If you are not meek and contented 
 in your work, you, too, may be called 
 radical and dangerour: 
 
 (To Uncle) — You make a mistake, 
 sir, to believe you can continue to de- 
 ceive the people in this way; you know 
 in your heart you covdd have prevented 
 this disaster. 
 
 KNOWLES— (Stepping forward al- 
 most beside himself with emotion.) 
 Lucy, I am your uncle, your employer 
 and I forbid — 
 
 LUCY — (Breaking in) — Just one mo- 
 ment and I am through. You are no 
 longer my employer, and I am ashamed 
 to call you my uncle. You have done 
 your best to ruin this man in order to 
 carry out some larger issue, which you 
 think vital to your business. You 
 have apparently succeeded. But you 
 are taking a foolish course. You have 
 succeeded in making at least two peo- 
 ple more radical than they would 
 have thought of being. You have made 
 me believe there may be a better sys- 
 tem than one which must stoop to such 
 methods as you are willing to use. 
 
 WIDOW SMITH— But aU this fine 
 talk don't bring our money back. 
 (Crowd joins in.) 
 
 CROWD — Naw, talk isn't money. 
 
 38 
 
THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 Let Hathaway bring our savings and 
 then you could give us fine words. 
 
 HENNESSY— Ira left the bank 
 when there was no one to take his 
 place; you can't get around that, Miss 
 Knowles. You can't talk to people who 
 are ruined; it's money we want. 
 
 KNOWLES— (Coming toward Lucy 
 as though to take her by force) — Lucy, 
 you are crazy; I won't let you go with 
 this man. I tell you — 
 
 IRA — (Stepping in front of him.) 
 Stand back, Mr. Knowles. You have 
 no legal hold over this girl. She is a 
 free American citizen and master of 
 her own labor. If she has made up her 
 mind to go with me, you and all the 
 bankers in the country can't prevent 
 her. (To people) — You won't under- 
 stand. I cannot blame you, perhaps, 
 but the time may come when you will 
 learn who the real culprits are, and 
 who are your true friends. (To 
 Knowles) — You say I have lost, do 
 you? You have turned public opinion 
 against me. It looks as though you 
 had won your game, but the day will 
 come when the truth, like murder, will 
 out. 
 
 When you say I am alone you make 
 a mistake. I shall take with me out 
 of this town the best and strongest 
 heart in it. I have gained the love and 
 sympathy of one I value a hundred 
 times more than my job here, and the 
 respectability you, Mr. Knowles, 
 thought you conferred on me. 
 
 I have lost much here in Mapleton, 
 but I have gained a new sense of man- 
 hood, of American independence, of be- 
 lief in myself. 
 
 I am ready to face the world now. 
 Come, Lucy, we'll leave this town 
 where we are not wanted. Some day 
 there will be another shufiile to the 
 cards, there will be another chapter to 
 the story and another scene to the 
 play. 
 
 Come, Lucy, there is a mother wait- 
 ing for us. (Lucy and Ira go out.) 
 
 TONY— (Who has held in as long as 
 he could, not understanding what was 
 said.) But arn't you a-goin' to giva 
 back my mon? I have lost alia my 
 savings, you leta me be robbed. 
 
 WIDOW SMITH— Following Ira al- 
 
 most in hysteria.) Are you going off 
 and do nothing about our money? You 
 don't think of us. 
 
 HENNESSY— We won't let 'em get 
 away so easy. We will go to the sta- 
 tion with them; then perhaps we may 
 find out where our money is. 
 
 CROWD— (Following out of bank, 
 growling and behaving as though they 
 thought Ira could tell them where their 
 money is. It looks threatening for 
 Ira.) 
 
 SHERIFF— I better go along and 
 prevent trouble; I don't want any 
 bloodshed. (Exit.) (Knowles and 
 
 Morton left alone in the bank.) 
 
 MORTON— The Judge is a wonder, 
 Knowles. Did you ever see anj^hing so 
 perfect. When people are aroused that 
 way they never reason. They can be 
 led like crazy sheep anywhere. We 
 must get to the papers and send this 
 story to New York and all over the 
 country. 
 
 As the Judge predicted, the first 
 blow is given, and it should be only 
 the beginning of a whole series of de- 
 feats. They will hardly strike in my 
 factory very soon. This is the biggest 
 thing I ever saw pulled off. 
 
 KNOWLES— I am glad you can feel 
 that way, Morton. But I — I really 
 loved that girl; why, she was like my 
 own daughter. I may have been hard 
 on her at times, but it was for her 
 good. I suppose you know Grimes gave 
 in his resignation. 
 
 MORTON— No, you didn't tell me 
 that. 
 
 KNOWLES— He heard too much of 
 our plans that day. He promised to 
 keep secret, but he left me. This be- 
 gins to look like an empty victory for 
 me. I am growing old, and I am not 
 sure I like to puU the Judge's chest- 
 nuts out of the fire for him. (Telephone 
 rings violently.) Answer it, Morton. I 
 hope nothing has happened to Lucy. 
 (Morton puts received to his ear. The 
 news he hears puts a look of horror on 
 his face. He drops receiver.) 
 
 MORTON— My God, Knowles; 
 Kramer has shot himself. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 The End. 
 
 15 
 
 (Copyright, 19LC'.) 
 39 
 
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