Class £^^523 Book,_©X3L_G 3:l3 C£P»RIGHT DEPOSIT. A play in four acts by Sidney Toler and Marion Short Copyrighted 1919 by Samuel French All rights reserved Samuel French, Agent 28-30 W. 38th St., New York, N. Y. Duly Copyrighted in Canada by Samuel French August, 1919 A play in four acts by Sidney Toler and Marion Short Copyrighted 1919 by Samuel French All rights reserved Samuel French, Agent 28-30 W. 38th St., New York, N.Y. P5 3537 ©QLD 52572 THE GOLDEN AGE CAST. LLOYD HENDERSON "TEDDY" FARNUM WILLIAM BARCLAY RICHARD STANHOPE (IIARLIE MASON MRS. DREXEL KIRKLAND ELAINE JEWETT TRELLA WEBB BATTY ELLISON SARAH APPLEGATE SLIi^SY BETSY SCROGGINS MRS. JOHN SIMMONDS MARY^ ANNE SIMMONDS ROGERS - ... - FELICE . - - . Of New Y'ork's Social 400. Of Farindale. Conn. - - A Butler. Mrs. Kirkland's Maid. SYNOPSIS OF SCENES. ACT I. . Sitting Room in the Simmonds.-Home. Farmdale, Conn. June, 1916. (The Bud) ACT II. Parlor of the New Hotel at Farmdale. That evening. (The Blossom.) ACT III. A Room in Mrs. Kirkland's Plome, New York. June, 1917. (A full ])lown Rose.) ACT IV. Same as ACT.L June. 1919. (The perfume of Romance.) TIME— 1916-1919. THE GOLDEN AGE ACT I. SCENE — Sitting room in the Simmonds' home in the country near Farmdale, Conn. Up C. stands an organ, on either side are ivindoivs which look out onto the yard and landscape. Doors are R. and L. in 2. R. leads to the stairs and dining room, etc. L. leads to the porch. This stands open with a stone to hold it. Outside on the porch may he seen the edge of a tea table and chair. Through the window L.C. a sign on a post reads Tea Room. The furniture is of the old fashiuned mixed horsehair and Mission. The floor carpeted. A fireplace R.I. ivith a large armchair before it. Table C. ivith two chairs and oil lamp with fancy shade. L. a sofa or settee. Old fashioned crayon family portraits on the wall and bric-a-brac in gen- eral keeping. A whatnot stands up in the R. corner. A curio case in L. corner. On the mantel of the fireplace, a clock, several pieces of ornaments and an old fashioned stone tohacco jar. AT RISE— It is afternoon of a bright sunny day in June, 1916. DISCOVERED — Mrs. Simmonds and Betsy with sleeves rolled, are dusting the furniture and putting things to rights. Miss Slissy, the village milliner and dressmaker is seated on the sofa L. putting the finishing touches to a rath- er garishly trimmed hat which she has designed especially form Mary Ajine. She is dressed rather extravagantly her- self and carries her sewing bag ivith her. MRS. SIMMONDS — (Continuing the conversation) — And she gave me no warning at all, jiist telegraphed this morning she'd be here this afternoon; and I'd calculated to hoiise-clean for a whole week. MISS SLISSY— Dust is terrible this time of year, es- pecially with the automobiles. No sooner does it settle from one when another comes along. — (She holds the hat up viewing it critically.) MRS. ^niMO^Ty^—'( Attacking another piece of fur- niture) — You'll excuse me for going right ahead, won't you, Miss Slissy? MISS SLISSY-^Certainly, I didn't come over to set for the afternoon, although I have been here a couple of THE GOLDEN AGE hours. I'm glad I got this hat done in time for Mary Anne — there, that ought to look real cute on her. MRS. STMMONDS— My sister will be here most any- time now and — MISIS SLISSY-^Well, you ain't askin' me to go home, be you ? MRS. SIMMONDS— Of course I ain't. MISS SLISSY — ^Besides, I know your sister and I want to see what she's wearin'. In my business I try to keep up with the New York styles right along. MRS. ISIMMONDS— She'll be right glad to see' you, I'm sure. MISS SLISSY— I like to hear the news too. I thinJ? it's folks duty to find out what's goin' on in this world. How 're you go'in' to have anything to talk about if you don't. — (Betsij carries off a filled scrap hasket L.) MRS. SIMMONDS— Yes, I supipose. MISS ^lA^^Y— (Gazing at the /(aO— There, that's finished. Where's Mary Anne? MRS. SIMMOND'S— Gatherin' some lilacs for her Aunt's room. Mariah's dreadful fond of them. MISS SLISSY— Dear me, suz! All that decoration just fer a relative, though I s'pose her aunt havin' so much monev does make a difference. MRS. SIMMONDS— fii'espnf.s the idea)— No, it does not. We'd fix up just the same if she didn't have a penny. MISS SLISSY— Well I didn't mean to be snipity. MRS. SIMMONDS— Mary Anne simply worships her Aunit Mariah — and she her, — Land! Why, wby don't Betsy come back 'to help me? — (Moves over L. a little, look- ing off French window) — Betsy ! — (Turns to Miss Slissy) — That girl's the laziest mortal that ever drew the I)reath of life. — (Calls again) — Betsv ! BET/cA';— Funny— my calling you — the chauffeur. DICK— Miss Simmonds, you may call me anything you like, even to hard names. — (Mary Anne s)niles and liotds the door open R. They exit.) MRS. SIMMONDS— He's a comical cuss, ain't he? MRS. KIRKLAND— My dear, his father is wortli millions and millions. MRS. SIMMONDS— Land sakes! MRS. KIRKLAND— He's my pet of all the younger set in New York. He has the greatest sense of humor -and not a bit affected, just — a real boy. MRS. SIMMONDS— Is he with that crowd that are giving the hop at the hotel tonight':' MRS. KIRKLAND— I think he did speak about the hop. MRS. SniMONDS— They say the new hotel is the last word in sumptiousness. MRS. KIRKLAND— Fa rnulale has needed it sorely I'm afraid. THE GOLDEN AGE 15 MRS. SIMMONDS— Goodness I should say so. I've heard the Automobile folks talk about the other one. MRS. KIRKLAND— Why are the young folks from the city particularly interested in Farmdale's new Hotel? MRS. SIMMONDS— I think it was Billy Barkley's Pa 's money that built it. MRS. KIRKLAND— Indeed ! Well, that's something to his credit. The Barkley's have made a lot of money in tlie last two years. MRS. SIMMONDS— Yes,' and there's an old sayin' tliat some folks can't stand prosperity. MRS. KIRKLAND— Farmdale a little too small for them now, eh? Has it alfeeted them much? MRS. SIMMONDS— Some. Especially their son. MRS. KIUKIjANB— (Laughs)— WeW, that's one thing they'll never be able to say of Dickie Stanhope. ' MRS. SIMMONDS— He's a nice appearin' l)oy. Real kind of him to give you a lift. MRS. KIRKLAND— I did the same thing for him one day last summer so we're even. — (Dick and Marij Anne enter R.) DICK— f To Mrs. Kirkland)— Any further orders, ina'am? MRS. KIRKLAND— You're not going back to town tonight are you? DICK — No, staying over at the new hotel. Billy Barclay is giving a little party there. There's a whole crowd down from town. Henderson, Farnum, Patty Elli- son, Trella Webb. Elaine Jewett. MRS. KIRKLAND— Um^the butterflies. Well, thank you ever so much. DICK — Not at all. Charmed to have met you Mrs. Simmonds, Miss Simmonds. — (Dick exits off L.) MRS. SIMMONDS— There, I might have asked him to have a cup of tea. MARY ANNE— Yes, why didn't we? MRS. KIRKLAND— Oh ! some other time will do, but I'll have some, Amanda — no not in here, let's go in the kitchen and I'll help nuike it. Come on, Mary Anne. MRS. SIMMONDS— r^s they all move to R.)—Now .Mariah, you never will let me help you — MRS. KIRKLAND— No, and you never shall. I'm here to help myself. — (3Irs. Simmonds exits R.) — Mary 16 THE GOLDEN AGE Anne, it was sweet of- you to pick all these lilacs for me and I love them so. MARY ANNE— The yard's jnst full of them Aunty, wait till you see, and a fine bed of tulips — and the nas- turtiums are coming along too; they'll be blooming in an- other week — (They exit R. closing the door. After a brief pause Elaine Jewett enters at eloor L. followed by Trella Webb. They are both ultra fashionable girls, about 18 and 19. TJte stand in the doorway.) ELAINE — Doesn't seeni to be anyone here. TRELLA— Isn't there a bell or anything? ELAINE — I don't see any. I wonder who that was drove away as we came up. TRELLA — Looked like Diek Stanhope. He's coming down you know. ELAINE— But what was he doing here? TRELLA — I don't know. It says tea room on the sign post there. ELAINE— I wonder if this IS the girl ? TRELLA— This is where Billy said she lived. He's coming up as soon as they fix that tire for him. ELAINE — "A little country Rose," he said she was — um, and to think he came near marrying her. TRELLA — I don't think you need worry: Billy Bar- clay's no fool; he'll marry his social equal, you can be sure of that. Why — (the door R. opens a)id Manj Anne enters.) :\IARY ANNE— Why, Miss Jewett, I didn't know that you were here. ELAINE— Goodness it's the girl I met here two sum- mers ago. My dear, the sign said a "Tea Room" we looked for a bell to call someone — oh — ^this is Miss Webb. :\rARY ANNE— rro Trella)— How do you dof TRELLA— I'd be better if I had some tea. :\IARY ANNE— ( Sweetly )—rn call Betsy. ELAINE — And don't forget to come back, I'd like to speak with vou for a moment. MARY ANNE^Certainly.— flfor.v A)nK <.rits R.) TRELLA— She certainly "is pretty. ELAINE — Let me talk to her alone will you? TRELLA — ^What are you going to say ? P^jAINE — I want to find out for sure about Billy. TRELLA— Why you don't think he'd prefer this little country thing to you, do you? THE GOLDEN AGE 17 ELAINE — Then what's he coming up here for? TRELLA— What does any boy do anything for? He used 'to live in this town, they went to s&hool together. Naturally he must say how do you do to some of his old friends. ELAINE — Yes, but she was more than a friend, she was. — (Mary Anne enters R.) MARY ANNE — Tea will be here in a moment. ELAINE — Tliank you. Miss — Miss — I beg your par- don, I have forgotten .vour name. MARY ANNE — Mary Anne Simmonds. TRELLA — (Laughing) — Don't tliey have ithe oddest names in the countrv ! MARY ANNE^r^l Uft^<' ojfended )—0h\ Is it odd? ELAINE — Trella, stop. Don't pay any attention to her Miss Simmonds, she'd laught at anything. Come over and sit with me on the sofa I want to ask you something. TRELLA— fLoo/>-.s' out the door L.j— That hammock looks cute and cosy ! Please serve my tea out there when it comes. — (She exits L. Mary Anne goes and sits L. with Elaine. Elaine is beautifully gowned and Mary Anne forms a poor .contrast to her.) MARY ANNE — What was it you wanted to ask me, ]^Iiss Jewett ? ELAINE — How did you come to remember my name so well? MARY ANNE — It's onl,y 'been two summers since you were here, and then I've heard your name often since — ELAINE— Since when? MARY ANNE — Since I heard you were coming here to spend the summer in the Barclay cottage. 'ELAINE^ Innocently) — Oh, you know Billy Bar- clay then? MARY ANNE— Quite well. We used to go to school together. I've known him all my life. ELAINE — Then I imagine you're just the one to tell me what I want to know. MARY ANNE— Why, what ? ELAINE — It's something I can't very well ask Billy about myself — ^Was there anyone around here he used to l3e — well in love with? A chum of his hinted as much. :\IARY ANNE— rA little coldly)— Why do you wish to know that, Miss Jewett? 18 THE GOLDEN AGE ELAINE — Wei], naturally before a girl makes up her mind to accept a young man, she wants to find out all she can about his former atfairs. MARY ANNE— (hi a low voice)— Oh\ I under- stand. ELAINE— Tlien there WAS a girl he was fond of? MARY ANNE — There was a girl who thought he was fond of her, but she kno'ws better now. ELAINE— Oh ! MARY ANNE— (Reflectively)— Bui she hasn't any hold on him; none in the least. There'll never be any scenes, no reproaches; I suppose (that's what you wanted to feel sure of, isn 't it ? ELAINE — Of course. This other girl — who was she ? MARY ANNE— I hardly think I ought to tell her name. ELAINE — But at least you can tell me what she looks like. MARY ANNE— You'd call her a little country bump- kin I suppose. She wore gingham dresses and her hair in pigtails, when he first knew her. When she believed every word he said to her as if it were the gospel truth. — (Out .side on the porch can he heard a soft gurgle as if Trella was suppressing laughter. Mary Anne hears it and rises to C. past the table.) ELAINE — (Tries to mahe it appear she has not heard this) — iPoor little thing. Pigtails and gingham, eh? Well, things have changed for Billy since then. His people have become so very rich, she can't expect him to iiq^^jie- h< much, now that his father has a 'home in Newport, as \^ they were just the Barclays of Farmdale. y \^ , MARY ANNE— No, I suppose not. ELAINE — What became of this little countrj^ bump- kin. Did she fall in love with some farmhand in overalls and a blue flannel shirt? MARY ANNE— That's what she should have done, perhaps, but she didn't. She just kept on loving him and believing in him and hoping that someday — (She Ireals off to hide Iter emotion) — But she knows now that it's ov- er. She doesn't laugh quite as much as she did in the pig- tail days but outside of that you'd scarcely notice any change in her at all. THE GOLDEN AGE V.) ELAINE — Of course she won't like the idea of losii.ig him. A fellow with liis iivoney isn't picked up every day. MARY ANNE — Slie never thought o'f his money, not once. Besides when they were engaged, he didn't have a penny, he — ELAINE — Oh, you're getting quite excited over it. MARY A^'S'E—(R('aJizing that she is and fh(stered) Oh, that's natural. You see, slie was quite a good friend of mine. ELAINE— Indeed. MARY ANNE — (Luoking for a chance lo escape) — I '11 hurry Beitsy with the tea. ELAINE — Make it three, Billy Barclay is going to join us here in a few minutes. MARY ANNE— fPaju"c-5/ric/.e»;— Mr. Barclay— he- he's coming here"? ELAINE — Yes, you have no ohjections, I hope. MARY ANNE— Yes— 110— that is— of course not. I'll hurr^' Betsy. — (Mary Anne exits R. Trella enters from L. Site has overheard it all.) TRELLA— She's the one all right. ELAINE — T just wanted to he sure. He's talked of her all winter, I 've heen crazy to see what she looked like. Humph! A "Rose" he called her. TRELLA— Yes, she is, a "Tea Roi^.e:'— (Trella laughs loudly. Betsy enters with tea tray, service for three and biscuits. Trella looks at her.) — Goodness! What's this? BETSY— Tea. ELAINE— ^Poiwfs C.j^Serve it there. BETSY — Ain't going to have it in here are vou? ELAINE— Why not ? BETSY— Cause the tea tahle is all on the porch. We only hring 'em in when it rains. ELAINE — But we prefer it here. — (They pause looJx- in gat each other.) BETSY — G^oing to eat it standin' up or sittin' down. TRELLA— rLrt/fr///.s^j— Isn't she funny. Eh Am'E~^( Points to the center table. )-^F\\t it there. BETSY — Yes, 'um. — (Betsy puts the tray on the or- gan stool and moves things from the center table, then takes a small cloth from the tray and lays the table center ivith the simple service. The two girls stroll to the door L. look- 20 THE GOLDEN AGE ing ojf. There is a pause. Then Betsy speaks.) — This tea is made just the wav HE likes it. ELAINE— He ? Who ? BETSY— The liired man. TnEhhA-^( Laughing)— r\\ die. I know I shall.— (An auto horn is heard off L.) ELAINE— fro Trella)—! think he's coming. BETSY — No'm he ain't. He's down in the pasture. ELAINE— rTo 5e%;— Who? BETSY— The hired man. ELAINE — <( Haughtily) — I wasn't referring to any hired man. I haven't the honor of one's acquaintance. BETSY— Would you like to meet him? ELAINE — No. Good Heavens! — (Trella nearly col- lapses.) BETSY — No. I suppose not. He wouldn't either. He 's as bashful as you are — Mary Anne told me to ask if there was anything else you wanted. ELAINE — No, thank you. — (Betsy pauses, not going. Elaine thinks she will get rid of her.) — You'd better go back to the kitchen I think I smell something burning. BETSY— Mebbe it's that cake I'm bakin' for dinner. (She goes slowly to door R.) — Ain't that too bad after all my work. TRELLA — Isn't she killing. — (Goes to the table and looks at the food) — These biscuits look good. — (Elaine joins her. Pours tea. Henderson enter L. Henderson first.) HENDERSON— f(7a/?7:».g off L.)^Oome on, Billy, here they are. TUkhhA— (Playfully)— YOV are just in time, but not expected. — (Barclay enters L.) HENDERSON— r'^acA: of the center table)— My nose not counted ? ELAINE — Only three cups. BILLY — I don't want any. HENDERSON— I'm for it. BILLY— f To the girls)— ^ee Mary Anne yet? ELAINE — She was here a while ago. BILLY — Did you tell her I was coming? ELAINE — Yes, and she ran away. BILLY— Ran away? What for? Hmm ! It WILL seem a little strange to meet her again. — (The others are partaking of the tea by this time.) ELAINE — Oh, you expect to meet her? THE (iOLDEN AGE 21 BILLY^Naturally, of course. Why? Doesn't she wamt to see me? ELAINE— ('»S7(/-(^.f7s her shoulders)— ^he didn't say. BlLhY— (Walking about at hack) — The old house looks just the same. There's the old fireplace and the or- gan. ELAINE — (SarrasfiealJij) — Where she used to sing ' ' Sweet Genevieve. ' ' TRF^hhA— (Laughing)— li- Iry thongh not exaggerated, with the terrible Slissy Millin- ( ry creation on her head. Trella bur.'its out laughing, but intnu diatehi smothers it.) .MARY AIS^NE— (Drawing l)ack)— Oh, I thought the others had — BILLY — (Going to her awlnvardly, afraid of the oth- (rs) — Hello, Marv Anne. MARY ANNE— f8/(!y//yj— I was afraid you had for- gotten me — Mr. Barclay. BILLY— f^/amm Mrs. 8inunonds)—Yes, they're gone. MRS. SIMMONDS— I ain't objecting to trade, except when it's trade yon ain't looking for, and don't want, then it's npsetitin'. BETSY— Yes, nm. :\IRS. SIMMONDS— What did that Jewett girl want to come np here for after what Miss Slissy just told ns about her. BETSY— What did Miss Slissy tell you? MRS. SIMMONDS— r To/,- (^ money on ta1)le)— Betsy, I ain't talkin' to vou. l^ETSY— Yes, urn. ]\IRS. SIMMONDS— I was talkin' to myself. Take away these tea things. — (Betsy gathers them up. Betsy laL-es the tray up on the organ stool. Mrs. Kirtdand and Mary Anne enter R. Mrs. KirJiland Jias her arm ahout her. Mary Anne is cryinej.) MRS. KIRKLAND— Now, Mary Anne, you tell me what's troubling you. Don't say there's nothing, for I felt it the moment I came into this house. Amanda, I found her crving in the pantry. MARY A}^^E—(KSobhing. She sits R. uf table C.)— 1 was feelin' a little downcast over — something. But 1 didn't mean to show it. MRS. KIRKLAND— No. you're not— much. MRS. SIMMONDS— I think it was that Jewett girl comin' licre. that upset her. MRS. KIRKLAND— Elaine Jewett? MRS. SIMMONDS— Yes, and Billy Barclay too— MARY ANNE— Mumsey. dear, please let's not talk about him any more. MRS. SIMMONDS— Well, J\liss Slissy— THE OLDEN AGE 25 MARY ANNE— Miss Slissy is the worst gossip in the neighborhood, she'll repeat what you said, everywhere. MRS. KIRKLAND— High, ho! High, ho! What's all this? Billy Barclay"? and Elaine Jewett? What's in the air? — (No one answers, Mrs. Kirkland continues) — Well, what is it Amanda, can't you speak? Mary Anne, What is all this about Billy Barclay ? Are you crying on account of him. MARY A^NE—(Nods, still sobbing )—T]m— MRS. KIRKLAND— What! MARY ANNE — I was engaged to Billy Barclay once. MRS. KIRKLAND— Why you never told me. When? MARY ANNE — Summer before last. We made a sort of boy and girl compact to keep it secret, I don't know why. MRS. KIRKLAND— ITm — so he's here on your ac- count. MARY ANNE— No, Auntie, he's forgotten all about me and I didn't want everyone to find it out. MRS. >SIMMONDS— i recon mebbe he's got it in his liead that Mary Anne's beneath him. MARY ANNE — No, mother, I'm sure it isn't that. — (To Mrs. Kirkland) — Something happened, and he stopped writing little by little, then altogether. I don't know why. And when he was here just now — (Betsy has remained un- noticed up hy the organ.) MRS. KmKhA^D— (Indignant)— Yon mean to tell me, Amanda, that any man has had the etfrontry to jilt my niece? MARY ANNE— You forget. Auntie, he is William Barclay of New York and Newport, now. MRS. KIRKLAND— And I am Mrs. Drexel Kirkland of New York and Lennox, and you are my sister's child. MARY ANNE — Perhaps it was natural that he should grow tired of me. MRS. KIRKLAND — I resent anyone growing tired of my relations. — (To Mrs. Simmonds)— But he was here just now — Why did lie come; if — BETSY-^He came to ask' Mary Anne to go to the ])arty tonight, but the others wouldn't let him. MRS. SIMMONDS— Wouldn't let him^i— (To Betsy) How do you know? BETSY — I was list'ning at tJie keyhole and I heard 'em talkin' about it. 26 THE GOLDEN AGE MRS. KIRKLAND— What did they say? BETSY— That Jewett girl said she couldn't meet Mary Anne as a social equal, 'cause she was waitin' on the taible here — and that was a lie, 'cause I do it myself. MRS. KIRKLAND— (Boiling)— Oh, she said that, did she? BETSY— And they made fun of Mary Anne's clothes. MARY ANNE— There you see, that's the whole trouble. When I look at Elaine Jewett and myself, I realize how hopelessly countrified I am. MRS. KIRKLAND— You're worth four of her. MARY ANNE— She's beautiful. Look at me with my brown arms and face. My country made dresses — tliis hat. MRS. KIRKLAND— (Mrs KirMand is fussing)— Miss Slissy should get twenty years for making that hat. MARY ANNE — Elain's hats and gowns come from Paris. — She is 'beautiful, cultivated. No, I've no right to expect him to think of me now, and I'm a fool to care. MRS. SIMMONDS— Cultivated? I'll bet she don't know a thing more than you do. Professor Saunders of the High School, says that when Mary Anne gets started there ain't a finer conversationalist in Farmdale. MARY ANNE — Auntie, I'm sorry. You must think I'm silly. I know, but it did upset me a little especially after what happened two summers ago. But what hurt me the most was, I KNEW they were laughing at me. — (.She hursts into tears again and buries her face in kef arms on the table C.) MRS. SIMMONDS— M^ a tip from Mrs. Kirkland)— Betsy, I think I hear the hired man a callin' you. BETSY — Yes'um. He 'wants his boots I recon. — (She exits R. with the tea tray.) MRS. KIRKLAND— So, Billy Barclay came up to ask you to go to the party and then lost his nerve because 'they twitted liim, eh ? MARY ANNE — I couldn't go anyhow, Auntie, I woudn't go. MRS. KIRKLAND— I know the Jewetts like a book. She's just like her mother. MARY ANNE — "Mary Anne," I suppose he even thinks the name is ridiculous and out of date, while "Elaine" is beautiful and poetic. MR^.KIRKLAND— (Contemptuously)— Fiddlesticks. THE GOLDEN AGE 27 MARY ANNE — I don't blame him now that I have seen her again. I'm homely, dowdy in comparison. MRS. KIRKLAND— My dear, you imagine you care for Billy Barclay, just because you've never seen anyone else. MARY ANNE— No. It was just because— MRS. KIRKLAND— Well? MARY ANNE — Just because — it was Billy. MRS. KIRKLAND— Um— I'm afraid It's a bad case. Well, there's no reason you can't have him if you -want him. MARY ANNE— How can If He doesn't want ME. He's HERS. MRS. KIRKLAND— How do you know he is? MARY ANNE— She said so. MRS. KIRKLAND— They're not engaged. MARY ANNE— But— MRS. KIRKLAND— Nonsense, I know the Jewetts. If they were, Elaine's mo'ther would be megaphoning it to the whole outside world. What did he say, when he wrote In-eaking it off with you? MARY ANNE— He didn't write, that's just it. If he had, I would have known, and not been kept waiting like a silly lit'tle fool. I don't think he meant to be cruel. It was just as though I were a little mouse he wanted to drown, but didn't have the courage. — (Betsy enters R.) BETSY — That foreign French girl wants to know — MRS. KIRKLAND— You tell that foreign French girl to come here at once. BETSY— Yes, 'um. MRS. KIRKLAND— And is that nice gentleman who gave you the dollar still playing with the dog in the l)ack yard? Tell him to come. BETSY— Yes, um. It was two dollars. MRS. KIRKLAND— Well, tell him to come twice. BETSY— Yes, \im.—(Betsij exits off R.) MRS. SIMMO'NDS— Land sakes, don't tell her to say that, she'll do it. MRS. KIRKLAND— I'll see about this jilting busi- ness. MARY ANNE— Auntv, what do you intend to do? .AIRS. KIRKLAND— I'm going to New York. 28 THE GOLDEN AGE MARY ANNE — You're surely uot going to let my foolish trouble drive you away; I'll :brace up and be cheerful, I promise. Mother, make her stay. MRS. SIMMONDB— (Alarmed)— ri\ kill the best chicken on the farm for your dinner and we'll have — MRS. KIRKLAND— I'm going to New York and Mary Anne's going with me. MARY AN'NE— (Astounded)— Me ! ! MRS. KIRKLAND— You.— r/^e/ice enters R. She is followed by Dick, who goes over I. and Betsy.) — Felice! Don't unpack, we are going away the first thing in the morning. FELICE— Qui, Madame. MARY ANNE— But I don't understand. DICK— r^o Mrs. KirMand)— Want me. MRS. KIRKLAND— Yes.— fr/iew musingly)— What a hardened old sinner I've been; I've loved Mary Anne so, as she was, a little country bloissom, I hated to see any- thing different. Forgetting all the while, that a girl sees things with other eyes. I shall DO something now. MRS. SIMMONDS— But Mariah, you said you were all run down and needed a rest. MRS. KIRKLAND— Did I? Well I was mistaken, what I need is excitement. MARY ANNE- What do you mean. Auntie? MRS. KIRKLAND— The excitement of backing you against Elaine Jewett and seeing which will come out .Q [t P Q (^ MARY ANNE— Why, Auntie ! MRS. KIRKLAND— Yes, and we'll have one good fling at them before we go. Dick, j^ou're going to the party at the hotel tonight. DICK— I know I am. MRS. KIRKLAND— Yes, but what you don't know is, you're going to take Mary Anne and me. BICK— (Grins)— Fine. MARY ANNE— But Aunty, I have no clothes— this— MRS. KIRKLAND— I'll fix that.— f To Dick)— What time is it? DICK — (Looks at his watch) — ^Four o'clock. MRS. KIRKLAND— How long would it take a careful driver to l)ring a motor car full of gowns down here? MARY ANNR— (Gasps)— Oh ! DICK — (Calmly) — About three hours. eful i THE GOLDEN AGE 29 MRS. KIRKLAND— Get Madame Blanche on the long distance for me, like a good boy. The number is Plaza 3800. DICK— Sure.— rZTe goes up stage and takes the phone ivhich stands on the organ.) MRS. KIRKLAND— I'll give Elaine Jewett something to talk nho\\t.—( Contemptuously )— Waiting on the table indeed ! MARY ANNE— Auntie ! I can't realize that you— MRS. KIRKLAND— Wait till they see you at that party tonight on the arm of Dickie Stanhope. Dickie, you make love to Mary Anne tonight all you know how. BICK— (At phone grinning) — Fine. MRS. KIRKLAND— Violent love. MARY A^^E— (Embarrassed)— Oh. Auntie ! MRS. KIRKLAND— We'll make Billy Barclay so jeal- ous he'll want to fight; and Elaine Jewett so envious, she'll want to scream. DICK — (In phone) — Toll operator, I want to get 3800 Plaza, New York 'City. — (The following scene hetiveen Mrs. Kirkland and. Felice is spoken in rapid French, both gesticulating wildly with their hands. Mrs. Kirkland places a chair C. and. seats Mary Anne between them.) MRS. KIRKLAND— Felice ! Regardez— F¥AjICE— (Coming down) — ^Oui, Madame. MRS. KIRKLAND — Je voudrais que vous vous char- giez coinpletement de la toilette de cette jeune dame. Nous choisirons les robes les plus belles et a la mode, sans regard au prix. FELICE — Ah ! Mademoiselle, en crepe de chine de "sole blanche, seulement avec un collier de perles. Sa coiffure a la Rosaire, Ah ! Madame, elle serait charmante. MRS. KIRKLAND — Qui, oui, et les escarpins, il ne faut pas oublier les esearpins. Et le manteau, le manteau. Seulement un pen de bleu Tourquoise dans quelque part. Ne pensez-vous pas? FELICE— Ah! Oui, Madame, Oui. MRS. KIRKLAND — Je vais demander une douzaine de combinations et nous choisirons les plus appropriees, blauc et rose qui sont toujours joilies ou bien blanc et bleu avec un pen de rose. FELICE— Ah! Oui, oui. 30 THE GOLDEN AGE MRS. SIMMONDS— fW/!o has lecn listening in open- mouthed amazement now breaks in) — Land sakes, Mariah, what ARE you jab'berin' about in that foreign tongue? DICK— (In the phone)— Is this 3800 Plaza? MRS. SIMMONDS— And a body not understandin' a word you're sayin'. I declare I never heard such goin's on in all my life. — (Mary Anne has been listening in amaze- ment looking from one to the other. Mrs. Kirkland touches Mary Anne's hair, paying no attention to her sister, con- tinues the conversation with Felice.) MRS. KIRKLAND— ,Sa coiffure a la Rosaire ? Je ne suis pas sure si cela me plairait. Sa figure est un peu legere, peut etre quelque chose de plus simple irait mieux. (Felice expostulates in a loud burst, Dickie is speaking at the phone, and amid this babble of French and English the curtain descends. Mrs. Kirkland going to phone-) CURTAIN. NOTE — The following is the English translation of the foregoing scene between Mrs. Kirkland and Felice. TRANSLATION OP THE END OF ACT I. MRS. KIRKLAND— Felice! FELICE— Yes; Madame. MRS. KIRKLAND— I want you to take full charge of this young lady's toilet, we will select the most beautiful and becoming frocks regardless of expense. FELICE— f/n ecstasy at the thought)— Ah, Madam- moiselle in white crepe de chine, with just a necklace of pearls ; her hair, a la Rosaire ; Ah, Madame she would be exquisite. MRS. KIUKL AND— (Rapidly with a shrug)— Yes yes, and the slippers,; we must not forget the slippers ; and the cloak, the cloak. Just a touch i(/;— No, thank you, I'm afraid not. You see, the next train won't get me home till after eleven and I couldn 't think of walkin ' up from the station unprotected. MRS. KIRKLAND — Marion would be glad to see you and — MISS SLISSY — Thank you, there ain't of course nothin' I would like l)etter, but it's too risky. You can tell Mary Anne I was here to try and cheer her up a bit. MRS. KIRKLAND— It's too bad she's missed it. MISS SLISSY — Would you mind my peekin' in that other hat box, seein' as I am here to get the styles. I saw all the others. MRS. KIRKLAND— Not at all— (Miss Slissij opens the fourth box and takes out the hat. She holds it up crit- ic all i/.) MISS SLI SS Y— You 'n ? MRS KlUKhA^D— (Shakes her head)— Marion's MISS SLISSY— r^mi/es knowingly)— Thought it looked a little "pert" for you. Which one's your'n? MRS. KIRKLAND— They're all Marion's. MISS SLISSY— All four? MRS. KIRKLAND- Yes. MISS SLISSY — Land ! I suppose you give about $40.00 for this. MRS. KIRKLAND— Eighty-five. MISS ^hlSSY— (Shakes her head pitijingly )— Row they do cheat you people in the city. I can duplicate it for eighteen. MRS. KIRKLAND— With difficulty, I'm afraid. MISS SLISSY— Well, the silk IS a little better than I'm used to usin'. What's she want with four hats all to once ? MRS. KIRKLAND — She never wears more than two at the same time. MISS SLISSY — You mean to say she wears a couple of hats on her head to once? MRS. KIRKLAND— I said she never wore MORE than two. MISS SLISSY— Well the more I see of city folks and their ways, the less I understand them. I'm thankful I don't live in the city. MRS. KIRKLAND— We all have much to be thankful for. 60 THP] GOLDEN AGE MISS SLISSY— Now, that's the first comfortin' thmg I've heard you say since I been here — that sounds natural and makes me feel to home. MRS. KIRKLAND— I'm sorry. MISS SLISSY — -It's just what our preacher says when he's visitin' around. "We've a lot to be thankful for" he says, "TOO much, I'd think HE'D think. Seein' rs how he's got ten children now and goin' on eleven. Well, I guess I'd better be startin'. MRS. KIRKLAND— Don't you think you can possibly stay for tea? MISS iSLISSY— No, I don't tliink.— ^Mari/ Anne en- ters R.CJ. in a very stylish mannish riding suit with breeches, Iter hat off and flushed ivith exercise.) — Land Sakes! MARY ANNE— Hello ! Miss Slissy. MISS SLISSY— Mary Anne Simmonds! What on earth have you got on ? MARY ANNE— My riding suit, of course. Don't vou think it's pretty'? MISS SLISSY— Pretty? It's shockin'. Do you mean to say you ride straddle? MARY ANNE — I ride a man's saddle, it's much eas- ier and safer. How's every one at Kome and mother and the chickens and — . MISS SLISSY— If you 'IL wait till I get my breath after seein' you in them clothes, I'll answer. I suppose you know you're showin' your — My Goodne.'^s! Your mother's well as could be expected, seein' she has all the work to do. Betsy not :bein' any help at all she's so head over heels in love with the hired man. MRS. KIRKLAND— r To Mary Anne)— I received a letter from your mother this 'morning. I left it on your dressing table. She's well and hap.py. Misses you, of course, it's only natural. MARY ANNE — I've been too happy to be homesick, but I've missed her a lot too. — (To Miss Slissy) — Won't you take off your things and — MRS. KIRKLAND— I've asked Miss Slissy to remain to tea, but she's in such a hurry to catch her train. MISS SLISSY— My visit's almost up seein' I've been here nearly a half hour already, waitin'. MARY ANNE— I 'm sorry. If I had known— MRS. KIRKLAND— Have you a tari ? THE GOLDEN AGE 61 MISS SLISSY— Land! No, I can't ride in them things. It gives me heart failure to watch the meter. MRS. KIRKLAND— ("Pre-sses a hutton over R.)—Vl\ send you to the station in the limousine. MISS SLISSY— You'll- MRS. KIRKLAND— I'll have Randolph take you to the station in the limousine. MISS SLISSY — I never rode in one of them things in all my life. MARY ANNE — Give my love to Mumsey — and every- l>odv who cares, and to "Skeeters" — how is Skeetersf ^MISS SLISSY— That dog of your'ai? About the same. He always is. MARY ANNE — ^Kiss him for me, on his old wooly head. MISS SLISSY— Kiss a dog's head? I will not. Mary Anne, you're runnin' wild. MARY ANNE — Figuratively, I mean. MISS 'SLISSY— I won't kiss a dog anyway.— f/^or/- gers enters R.I., a servant of 60. Male.) MRS. KIRKLAND— Rodgers, tell Randolph to bring the limousine around, and take Miss Slissy to the Grand Central Station. RODGER— Yes, ma'am.— ("Fe exits R.I.) MISS SLISSY— That's awfully kind of you. MRS. KIRKLAND— Not at all, I'm delighted. MISS I^IA^^Y— (Going R.)—l never rode in a limou- sine before. MARY ANNE — I hope you have a pleasant journey home. MRS. KIRKLAND— And a SAFE one. MISS iSLISSY— Oh, I ain't afraid when I get there in the daytime. MRS. KIRKLAND— Give my love to everybody. Rod- gers will put you in the ear. MISS SLISSY— Thanks. I always did mention you to the folks at home as being real nice. — (She pauses at the door) — Mary Anne, I say your hats — ^^some of 'em's real chic and ought to 'be becomin' but that ridin' suit!!!! — of course, I won't say a word to anybody else — but WAIT I tell your mother. Good-bye. MARY ANNE AND MRS. KIRKLAND— Good-bye. etc., etc. — (Miss Slissy exits R.I.) 62 THE GOLDEN AGE MARY ANNE — (To her aunt, laughing) — Dear me, and I walked right into it. MRS. KIRKLAND— I've had a trying quarter of an hour, but she's so funny I can't be angry with her. MARY ANNE — She's almost tormented mother to death with questions about me, ever since I've been away, now she'll pester her with my riding suit. I'll have to write at once and forestall that. I 'm afraid, Auntie, you 've found it difficult to keep from saying things not printed in the book entitled "How to be polite." MRS. KIRKLAND— She's the most exasperating fe- male I ever met in all my life. However, I took the wind out of her sails when I sent her to the station in the car. The village will get a 'good report of me when she gets back. MARY ANNE— You're so wise. MRS. KIRKLAND— Did you enjoy the ride? MARY ANNE— Oh, Auntie, it was wonderful. I've known how to manage a horse ever since I was a little tot, so high, and I love it. I love it. And Dickie said — MRS. KIRKLAND— That was rather daring of you to steal Dickie away right under our very noses for a horse- back ride. He has such a short time — MARY ANNE — But it maybe our last ride for a long time, Auntie. And besides Dickie himself proposed it. But it was such fun. We sneaked away and not a soul but you knew it. Dickie said I'm riding now like one born to an English sadddle. But who couldn't ride on Hunter? He's just kind of a mount I like. He prances like a half broken colt with the spirit of youth and recklessness in his blood. A rush down the Bridle path, the wind blowing in my face, my hair tumbling down my back, my heart keeping time with the rythm of his leaps — Oh, it was glorious, glorious. MRS. KIRKLAND— Billy Barclay's here. MARY ANNE^Yes, I know — ^he was here before I left. (She gig gles)-r- A-antie — ^^he's so jealous of Dickie he can't see straight. MRS. KIRKLAND— Yes, that's quite obvious. MARY ANNE— I'm a little disappointed in Billy that he's not in uniform. MRS. KIRKLAND— Give him a chance, he will be. MARY ANNE — Yes, when they make him. Dickie does look so wonderful in his. THE GOLDEN AGE 63 MR8. KIRKLAND— You bad your French lesson this morning ? MARY ANNE— Oh, yes, indeed. Mon. Devoe says I am improving wonderfully. I can say "What eolor is the hat of my Father" so perfectly, that he can ALMOST understand rae. MRS. KIRKLAND— f^mi7in5f;— Hum ! MARY ANNE — Dickie can understand my French. Almost everything I say. MRS. KIRKLAND— Indeed. MARY ANNE — (A shadow on her face) — Oh, Auntie! Do you suppose they will be comfortable over there in France? They'll have to live in tents and all that sort of thing, won't they? MRS. KIRK — I think you will find comfortable quart- ers have 'been provided when not on active service. There's little luxury there I 'm told. MARY ANNE — (Musingly) — It's terrible. And now that we're in it, so many will be going. ;MRS. KIRKLAND — Don't forget your music lesson. MARY ANNE — (Brightly, not suspecting Mrs. Kirk- land is leading her away from the subject) — Oh, I won't forget that I 'm crazy about it. MRS. KIRKLAND— And the dancing. MARY ANNE— "Dickie's" a better teacher than Mr. Porter. MRS. KIRKLAND— "Dickie's one of the best danc- ers I ever saw. MARY A^NE— (Sadly)— There won't be many dances soon, with all the boys away. Henderson, Charlie Mason, even Teddy Farnum is going. Who knows when we shall ever see them again. — (Sadly) — ^^"Dickie" told me this morning they leave from a port somewhere in Canada. That's all he knows. MRS. KIRKLAND— Well cheer up now. You must hurry and change. All your friends are here, and Billy's waiting. Your time may come this afternoon who knows. The chance you've been waiting for so long. MARY ANNE— Chance? MRS. KIRKLAND— Yes, Billy Barclay. MARY ANNE— Oh— Oh, yes. MRS. KIRKLAND— You're not regretting the step you've taken? You've been happy here with me, haven't you? 64 THE GOLDEN AGE MARY ANNE— Happy? Auntie, it's been wonderful. I'll never forget all you've done for the crude, awkward little country "Jay", I was. MRS. KlRKLAND-^Crude and awkward? Nothing of the kind. You were a bit dowdy in your dress, and no wonder, with that brainless Miss Slissy in charge. But you don't make as much of your beautiful hair as I should like. Stand off there and let me look at you. Take off your hat. MARY A^NE— (Moves as she is told)—Wmf. Like the mannikins do it. — (She moves gracefully about lil-r the girls in the hig shops when showing ojf a costume.) MRS. KIRKLAND^Splendid my dear, among other accomplishments you're a mimic. MARY ANNE — ( Humoroiishj ) — Note. — ^perfect poise and command. MRS. KIBKLANB— (Laughing)— Ch&rmmg. MARY ANNE — Look, Auntie, I'll give you an imita- tion of Trella Webb, buying a gown. Exhibit A. — the model. — (Mary Anne moves gracefully about as a Manni- kin displaying a gown. Mrs. Kirkland smiles.) — Exhibit B. — Trella. — (She alters her attitude to- one of lazy indol- . encc and looks at the place where she formally stood, thru' imaginary lorgnette. Then turns and speaks to an imagin- ary companion.) — Did you ever see such a mess? My dear, it's a "Ford" creation, with a Limousine price.— f31rs. Kirkland laughs and Mary Anne joins her.) — Oh, that girl; I don't believe I was ever half as funny to her as she is to me. MRS. KIRKLAND— Not even when you wore the Slissy hat MARY ANNE— I '11 take it back Auntie, I must have been. MRS. KIRKLAND— It made me laugh that day when I came in and found you crying in it, in the pantry. MARY ANNE— I'll never forget that day, how foolish I was. That's the day I called Dickie your Chauffeur. — (Both laugh) — He looked so funny when you said, "Place it there, Watkins. " — (Her laughter fades) — 'Poor old Dick- ie, he's been so good to me, and now he's going — (She panses) — Auntie, I saw Sallv Merton again this morning. MRS. KIRKLAND— Your little Salvation Army friend? THE GOLDEN AGE 65 ]iIARY ANNE — Yes. She too is leaving soon to go over seas. She looked so sweet -and wistful in her little uni- form. She made me feel, somehow — so small beside her. I wish I eould do something big to help. :VIRS. KIRKLAND— Why chdld, you are. Doing all lliat's expected of you. You're devoting hours to Red Cross work and — MARY— But tliat seems so little to what she is doing. She's devoting her whole life. She's going over there, to be with them, near them. MRS. KIRKLAND— They'll never let the Salvation Army into France, I'm afraid. MARY— She says they are going to try. If they al- low the others, they must allow them. MRS. KIRKLAND— It's mau's work. MARY ANNE— But aren't women needed too? 3IRS. KIRKLAND — Of course, nurses and the like of that, l)ut the Salvation Army is a — is a — :\I ARY— What ? MRS. KIRKLAND— Well, I'm blest if I know. I've contributed funds to it whenever they ask, but I always thought they worked in the slums and among the lower classes. ^lARY ANNPj — Sally says they work everywhere, where others fear to go. They are not afraid to go into the blackest hole in the slums of a city to help the- fallen, they will not be afraid to go into the darkest trench to bring comfort to the dying. MRS. KIRKLAND— Yes, I know they've done a wor- thy work here, and in every large city, but I never thought of them as doing anything on the field of battle. MARY ANNE — Sally seemed very much in earnest, and knowing she was to be over there- with — with so many of the boys whom I knew — it sort of made me cry — a little. MRS. KIRKLAND — Oh, come, come, all your friends aren't going, and most of those who are, will be back be- fore you know it.— (Dick enters R.I. He is in uniform.) DI'CK— Hello, haven't vou changed yet? MRS. KIRKLAND— Oh, you bad boy, stealing her away like that. DICK — We had a great ride, didn't we Marion? MARY ANNE— Wonderful. DICK — Last chance I'll have for sometime. I can see myself riding in a box car in a month or two. 66 THE GOLDEN AGE MRS. KIRKLAND— Well, I must see how the young people are getting along. Don't monopolize Marion too long, Dickie, she must change and dance with at least one of the boys before they go. DICK — Billy Barclay's been watching like a hawk ever since we came back. If you see him, Auntie Kirk, tell him where I am. MRS. KIRKLAND— You wretch, you're making that boy 's a life a burden. DI'CK — Well, you put me up to it. I'm trying to do my best. MRS. KIRKLAND— I know I did. Well, don't keep her too long. — (She exits R.I.) MARY ANNE— Was he following you ? DICK — ^He was but I lost him. He thinks I went into the dining room. MARY ANNE— (Giggles)— Isn't it funny. DICK — He always tries to appear so innocent when he catches us too, so. ^'Oh, I beg your pardon I didn't know you were here" kind of an attiture. MARY ANNE— (Laughs again) — Let's wait up here and see if he'll find us. DICK— Oh, he will, trust him. MARY ANNE— And Elaine, too, it's kept her busy watching Billy. DICK — (Laughs) — iPoor Elaine; she little knew what was coming to her. MARY ANNE— (Wondering )— Yon don't think I'm wicked to do this 1 DICK — Not at all. You were first by rights. She's the one who is wicked, if any. What she did was deliber- ately planned. MARY ANNE — (Apprehensively) — She might come up too. DICK— I hadn't thought of that— sh— ("He looks R. and wJiispers to Mary Anne) — Someone's coming up the stairs now, maybe it's Billy. — (They both move quickly to the Divan C. and sit close together, he in a very attentive attitude. They hold this for a moment especially posed for Barclay's entrance. No one enters. Dick turns his head slowly and looks R. then rises and looks down the stairs.) No, I was mistaken, it's no one. MARY ANNE— (With a sigh of relief )--'Phew— don't give me a fright like that again. THE GOLDEN AGE 67 DICK — (Sitting beside her) — What was I saying? MARY ANNE— About Elaine,— DICK — Oh, yes. It will be all the better if she does come looking for Barclay ; I '11 leave you alone with him and — ^then — (A good thought strikes him) — I'll BRING her up. MARY ANNE— fA^a/'med;- Oh goodness, no! don't do that. DI'CK— Why not ? MARY ANNE— It— it looks so deliberate. DICK — Yes, she might suspect something. Sometimes I think she does already. We went some until I had to go to camp, didn't we? MARY A^^^— (Musingly)— IndieQdi, we did. I've felt sorry for you sometimes. DICK— Sorry for me ? Why ? MARY ANNE — You made yourself such a martyr to the cause. DICK — (Smiling) — Don't mind me, I like it. MARY ANNE — It's been theatres, dances, Country Club dinners, horseback rides; you've taught me to skate. Oh, it's been glorious, but hard on you. DICK — Never Jiad so much fun in all my life. MARY ANNE — And now you're going away. It's cruel — this war — spoiling all our — :Do you think you'll have to stay over there a long time. DICK — You can never tell. They may leave me there. MARY ANNE— Oh, don't say that— DICK — Well, you never can — (Looking R.) — Sh — -here he comes. Sure this time. — (They assume positions once more on the Divan in intimate conversation.) MARY ANNE— Oh, wait a minute.— (She gets up and runs to the mantel and gets an eukala — Hawaiian musical instrument — and brings it to Dick who sits with her idly strumming. Billy enters R.I.) BILLY — (Apologetically) — Oh, I beg pardon, I didn't know anyone was here. mCK~( Briskly)— Oh, hello Billy, come in. Just sneaked up for a cigarette. Have one 1 — (Offers a case.) BILLY— No, thank you. DICK — Marion of course doesn't smoke. 68 THE GOLDEN AGE BILLY — I'm glad of that. I don't approve of it in women. — (He moves across to L. hack of the taMe.) — 'Pret- ty room this, isn't it. MARY ANNE— This is Auntie's den. You've been here before haven't you. BILLY — (Looks at her) — Not often. Looks comfoi-t- able. DICK— This sofa's lovely. BILLY— It looks it. DICK — Oh, it is. You must try it sometime. BILLY— I hope to. MARY ANNE— Aren't you dancing? BILLY — Isn't anybody to dance with. Some of the boys have started a bridge game. I thought maybe you'd like to play, Marion. MARY ANNE— I understand it so little. DICK — Why you were doing finely the last time that we — MARY ANNE — I make so many mistakes, and I never can remember what's trumps. DICK — I don't remember so many mistakes. — (To Billy) — I gave her lessons — ^privately. All last winter. MARY ANNE— But I liked to be out of doors, skating or riding the best. BILLY — (To Marij Anne) — You've been booked up pretty well ;all season. MARY ANNE— rWif/) a sigh of happiness)— l\e had a wonderful time. DICK — It certainly has been a glorious winter. BILLY — Colder than usual, I think. DICK— (Innocenthj)— Bid you find it so? I didn't. Did you Marion? MARY ANNE— No, I thought it was lovely. BILLY — Little too much snow to suit me. MARY ANNE— I love the snow.— (Suddenly to Dick) That snow-shoeing party — at Catskill ! DICK— Wasn't it wonderful? MARY ANNE — And the dinner at the log cabin in the woods, what a dinner that was. DICK — I ate so much I could hardly snow-shoe back. Do yo-u ever snow-shoe, Billy ? "^ BlLhY~( Slowly )—l didn't last winter. DICK — (Rises and puts his cigarette on the ash tray on the table) — Well, don't lose sight of it all together it's THE GOLDEN AGE 69 great sport. If you two will excuse me, I think I'll go see if the others are behaving themselves properly. You'll excuse me Billy? BILLY— Oh, just a minute.— ("DicA^ stops.) DICK— Well?— BILLY— I want -to ask you a question Dick, before you leave the U.S.A. — a question I wouldn't ask except that you ARE leaving and that the answer's important to a fellow I know. MARY ANNE — Then I'll skip away and leave you two together. BIIjLY — Stay — ^^please — ^it concerns you too. MARY AN'N'k—( Puzzled )^Concerns mel— (Returns) Oh! BILLY — Elaine Jewet made the statement to me just now that all the other fellows except you, Dick, that have been hanging around Mary Anne have been making bally fools of themselves — that you're secretely engaged to her — MARY ANNE — (Frightfully eml)arrassed)—0\\, but he's not! Billy — how can you? Why, Dick and I are just good friends — splendid friends — Elaine shouldn't say things like that — it's — it's dreadful. — (Puts hands to her cheeks and turns away.) BILLY— r^o Dick)— Then— on the level— there's nothing between you? DICK — Mary Anne has just answered your question — hasn't she? STie's told you we are just friends — splendid friends. I'm glad she has spoken out — It is only fair to the fellow she might really care for and — and to other fellows to know just where she stands. I'll go hunt up Auntie Kirk. MARY ANNE— rA.5 he starts away)— Oh, Dick— in these last few minutes you have to remain, I don't want you running away — ^Please stay. DICK— Oh, that's all right. Don't mind me.— (^f fccted gayetey) — You see— we've put it across — splendidly — YOU know — that's the important thing — Don't mind me. I'll see you -again — after vou've had a little talk with Billy. MARY A^^'R— (marts to follow /u'mj^But Dick— BILLY — ^Mary Anne — please! — (Dick exits. - She turns hack.) MARY ANNE — Oh, how could you ask Dick a ques- tion like that — if-^if we were engaged — right before me — 70 THE GOLDEN AGE I — I thought I'd die. Oh, what do you thiuk a girl is made of ? BILLY — What do you think a fellow's made of — that's what I'd like to know. I'm glad I said what I did and got at the truth. Better late than never ! MARY ANNE— The truth ? BILLY — Yes — ^that you've been "putting across" something — you two — a little game. In other words he was in calioots with you to wake me up — 'Coax me along — I've suspected what was back of 3^our great friendship more than once — MARY ANNE — I — I 've loved my friendship with Dick for itself — BILLY — iCome now — no more playing with me, Mary Anne. "We're down to brass tacks now. You care for me and he knows it. MARY ANNE— f Low.' voice)— I— I haven't said I cared — BILLY — Long ago, you said it, you little tease — and Dick said it again for you just now. You'll promise to marry me, won't you? I want his congratulations before he goes — From what he said — MARY ANNE— You— he— I'm dazed— ^Billy— let me think. BILLY — ^^Here's a nice little ring for you while you're thinking — Tiffany's latest — (She turns away) — I don't wish to boast, but a certain other girl I could mention wouldn't have to be coaxed to put it on — but you're the girl for me! You've played for me and got he — Here — (Tries to take her hand.) MARY ANNE— .No, not now. BILLY — Well, you ARE a cold one. You don't deny do you, that you and Dick deliberately tried to make me jealous — keep me on the frying pan — MARY ANNE— No— I don't deny— anything— but— BILLY — You want to play fair, don't you? MARY ANNE — Yes, yes, to myself — to everyone! BILLY — Then you're mine and I'm going to kiss you ! MARY ANNE— No, no ! BILLY— Yes, yes! MARY ANNE— Don't you dare— or Fll never speak to vou again ! THE GOLDEN AGE 71 BILLY — Now stop fooling — (He kisses her in spite of protest. Mary Anne breaks away angry.) MARY ANNE— Oh, how dare you do that to me? How dare you, you've no right, you — (Trella is heard out R.I.) TRELLA — Oh, come on Elaine — just one. MARY ANNE— Trella !— Elaine I— Oh— (She starts for the arch L.C., hut sees she won't have time so changes her mind and hides hack of the curtain at the window L.I. Billy is looking R. and thinks Mary Anne has left the room. Trella enters R. folloived hy Elaine.) TRELLA — (To Elaine) — Come on, there's no one here and I must — (Sees Billy) — Oh, no, here's Billy. ELAINE — Oh, I wondered what had become of you. What are you doing here all alone. BILLY — I haven't been alone. Dickie Stanhope and Mary Anne were here but — ELAINE — (Spitefully) — ^But Dickie took her away as usual. I should think you'd be tired by this time of making a silly of yourself. You promised to dance with me and you promised to play Bridge — (He moves to R. She goes to him pleading) — 'Aw — 'Billy, now listen. BILLY — Oh, let me alone. You're always saying something nagging Elaine. If you can't say anything good, don't talk. ELAINE — Well, aren't you going to dance? BILLY — No, I'm sick and tired of this place, I'm going home. ELAINE — Billy — (He hrushes her aside — exits. She flounces on the divan C. Trellu lights a cigarette from her case with a match at the tahle C. Elaine continues.) — Oh, I hate him sometimes so I do. He's always doing something to make me look and feel so ridiculous. TRELLA— You don't hate him. ELAINE— I do. I do. And I hate myself too. TRELLA — Sh — ^don't talk so loud, someone might hear. ELAINE — He treats me like a fool. And it's all that Marion Simmonds fault. 'She tries to turn his head every time he comes near her. TRELLA — Well, if he wants to go — why don't you let him? ELAINE — Because — Because— TRELLA — Because your mother won't let you, is that it? 72 THE GOLDEN AGE ELAINE — (Buries her face in the pillows sobbing) — Son.ietimes I wish that I were dc ad, it wouhi be lietter than this TRELLA — Your mother wants you to marry Billy Barclay. Must it be the Barclay money? There are plenty of other men who would be glad of a chance to — ELAINE — Yes, old Dryfuss. Or that brainless young Ridge way — no thank you, I'd rather take the consequences. TRELLA — Is it as bad with your father as they say ? ELAINE — Oh, Trella, it's only a questioti of days, mother says. The war has ruined him. I could see it com- ing myself, for a long, long time. First it was Father's worried look ; then night after night he stayed at the office instead of coming home; and next morning when I'd meet him at breakfast^he'd look — pale and haggard and worn out. Oh, I feel so sorry for him; and we'll have to give up .everything, home, society, friends, everything. TRELLA — I'm sorry Elaine. ELAINE— Mother said I could get Billy -if I tried hard enough. And I was willing to try because — TRELLA— Because you loved him a little too. ELAINE — And he loved me — ^he told me so. I thought I was going to win for Father's sake — but I'm not. I'm going to lose, Trella, I'm going to lose. Now that Dickie's going away it will be worse than ever. TRELLA — (Hears someone coming R.) — Sh — (Mrs. Kirldand enters R.) MRS. K IRELAND— What's this, deserted the party — Now Trella, dear, you're not. smoking? TRELLA— Oh, Mrs. Kirkland, I had to. I was dying for one. And I knew you would object to it down there. MRS. KIRKLAND— Trella, I had l9. Some of the girls were indulging one day when the minister was an- nounced. TRELLA — His wife smokes. MRS. KIRKLAND— Good gracious, you don't tell me. TRELLA — Did before they were married. Mother said so. MRS. KIRKLAND— Well, let's hope she's been cured. Has anyone seen Marion? TRELLA— Not I. ELAINE — She was here just liefore we came. 'HE goli)p:n age T^ MRS KIRKLAND— In her room, I suppose. Better go down; they're asking for you. The boys are getting ready. TRELLA— Don't want to uiiss the Grand Finale.— (SIic goes R.) MRS. KlIi.KhAm:)—( Noticing Elaine's manner as she ,.i^^.g) — Don't you feel well, Elaine? ELAINE— A slight headaehe, that's all. MRS. KIRKLAND— I'm sorry. Can 1 get you any- thing? ELAINE— No, thank you. It will pass. MRS. KIRKLAND— Go down and help entertain the hovs, I '11 be there presently. TRELLA— Righto.— ('£:/aJ«f and TreJla exit R. Mrs. Kirktand moves to eloor L.C. as she passes the fireplace. Mary Anne parts the curtains and 3Irs. Kirldand sees her. Man) Anne is a picture of misery and sadness.) MRS. KIRKLAND— Why, Mary Anne, what is it? What in the world are you hiding for, like that? MARY ANNE— I couldn't help it. Auntie, I didn't mean to. ' It was an accident. — (Mary Anne sways a little — Mrs. Kirk comes to her anxiously.) MRS. KIRKLAND— Why, Marion, what's the matter? MARY ANNE— Dick had left me alone with Billy Barclay — and he— well — then I heard Elaine coming — I couldn't bear to see — ^^to meet— Well, before I knew what I was doing, I ran back of the curtains. MRS. KIRKLAND-^Well. of all things ! MARY ANNE — I wouldn't have done it for the world if — but I'm glad now that I did. . MRS. KIRKLAND — You must have heard some love- ly things about yourself from those two. MARY ANNE— I'm not thinking of that; I'm think- ing — Oh, Auntie, I wonder if you would do something for me? MRS. KIRKLAND— Why, anything child, in reason, you know that. Anything possible. MARY ANNE— I think it's possible, and it would make me feel so much better. MRS. KIRKLAND— Why, what in the world is it :' MARY ANNE — Elaine's father is facing some terrilile financial trouble; couldn't something be done to help him? MRS. KIRKLAND— If it hasn't gone too far. He 74 THE GOLDEN AGE was on the wrong side of the copper market several months ago. MARY ANNE— Oh, Auntie, if you could only do something, for my sake, I'd try to make it up in other ways; I'll do without — without the won'derful future you had planned for me, without hats — and fine gowns and all — MRS. KIRKLAN— Good Heavens ! That girl as much as slapped you in the face, and yet 3^ou — MARY ANNE— I'm sorry "for Elaine. Sorry that I have been wicked and teasing her. MRS. KIRKLAND— Sorry you have been teasing Billy Barclay too? MARY ANNE — I don 't know what 's the matter with me, I don't feel the same about him as I did — I don't like — MRS. KIRKLAND— You don't feel the same about Billy Barclay ? MARY ANNE— No, he— (Dick Stanhope hursts into the room from R.) DICK — Mary Anne Simmonds. If you don't hurry up and change those clothes, I'll be dancing down 5th Avenue with a gun on my shoulder and then you'll be sorry — MARY ANNE— Oh, Good Gracious, Dickie— I'll hur- ry, I'll hurry — (Mary Anne hurries out L.C. anel up stairs.) DICK— Excuse me. Auntie Kirk, won't you, I'm a. verv busy man. — (He dashes off R.) ' MRS. KIRKLAND— Good Gracious! What is all this. — (Patty enters R.I.) PATTY— What on earth is the matter with Dickie ? MRS. KIRKLAND— Excited, the time is growing so short. Well where did you come from? FATTY— (Smiling)— W&sh'mgton. MRS. KIRKLAND— I understand your mother to say the family wouldn't follow for at least a month. PATTY — Mother never knows what we're going to do until I tell her. — (She moves over L.) MRS. KIRKLAND— f(7a.sh'ngf her eyes heavenward) The Modern girl. PATTY— Any how, Washington is as lonesome as the Gatacombs without Marion. And Teddy was becoming fractious. , MRS. KIRKLAND— Meaning— ? PATTY — Jealous. Since he's donned the uniform I can't do a thing with him. Accused me of staying on there, THE GOLDEN AGE 75 just for the fun of making "goo-goo" eyes at the Washing- ton celebrities. MRS. KIRKLAND— f La//(//( ing)— You % 1 '! PATTY — Remembering that there are stacks of girls just waiting around the corner to console a jealous soldier- man, I thought I'd better hurry back and interrupt the proceedings. MRS. KIRKLAND— Of course, I had forgotten. Are you sorry he's going? PATTY — No, I'm proud of him. I think it's wonder- ful. 1 bet papa a box of candv he wouldn't go, but he is. MRS. KIRKLAND— (Laughing )^One of the first too. PATTY — He looks two inches taller since he's going to war. I'm so proud of him, 1 just stand off and gasp. 1 can't realize it's Teddy at all. MRS. KIRKLAND— It's in the blood my dear. His Grandfather was with Grant, his Great-Great Grandfather, a General in the war of 1812. PATTY— Um— How's Marion? I'm crazy to see her, MRS. KIRKLAND— Splendid. PATTY— How is the Billy Barclay affair coming along? MRS. KIRKLAND— Well, she puzzles me sometimes. I don't see why she keeps Billy waiting— and dangling so long. Still I suppose she knows what she's doing. She's had him on the point a half dozen times, I know it. FATTY~(LaugJiing)—Whait fun. MRS. KIRKLAND— I think something will be settled very soon. When a girl wants to do something very plea- sant for 'another girl, it's a prettv good sign she wants to soften A BLOW to that OTHER girl— You know what I mean. FATTY— (Smiling)— 1 think so. TEDDY FAUNVM— (Outside RJ— What Ho, What Ho, within. PATTY— There's my Teddy Bear. Come in Armv. TF.DDY— (Enters i^./ J— Hello, Mrs. Kirkland, I'm awful late but I had so much to do and — (He glares at Patty) — I've been hanging around the Penn. Station wait- ing for you for two hours. PATTY — Have you Teddy darling? TEDDY— fro Mrs. Kirkland)— What do you ihink of her? Going to allow a perfectly good fiancee to go to 76 THE GOLDEN AGE France without the joy of pressing her to his heart For the last time. PATTY^r-Couldn't reach your heart, you're too rhick. TEDDY — You'll be sorry when I come back all cov- ered with medals. • PATTY— Honest, Teddy, I missed the Penn. and had to come ion the Reading. TEDDY — No wonder I waited. — (Henderson, Mason and TreJIa enter at B. Henelerson first.) HENDERSON— May we come in? MRS. KIRKLAND— Certainly. MA)SON — It's a foraging party of late comers in quest of tea and things 'to eat. TEDDY— I feel like an empty ship. ]\IRS. KIRKLAND — Why you poor boys of course you shall have it. — (SJie presses the button on wall up C. three times) — 'Come in and make yourselves comfortable, every- one. Where's Dick? HENDERSON — Smoking on the verandah when I saw him last. We've only a few moments left. MRS. KIRKLAND— Then we must hurry. TEDDY — Where is the radiant Marion Simmonds? MRS. KIRKLAND— ^Changing her dress. HENDERSON — She needn't have changed on my account. I think she's stunning in that nifty little riding habit. TEDDY— Tell her to keep it on, I didn't see it. HENDERSON— Isn't it grand we fall in at the cor- ner of 85th ? MASON— Just a step away. PATTY— (Looks at her wrist wateh)— Yon have 10 minutes yet. TRELLA — Why are none of the girls allowed at the station ? TEDDY — Our tender hearts cannot stand their tears. MASON — You can watch us depart from yonder win- dow. HENDERSON— Yes, and see that you are all there. The Overseas Glee Club is in charge of the music. — (Hen- derson takes a tuning fork from his pocket, strikes it and puts it to his ear, then emits a tone. Teddy, Henderson and Mason crowd together. In harmony, they sing a chorus of "Merrily we roll along, etc.) THE GOLDEN AGE 77 PATTY — If we have to listen to that, I won't be there. TEDDY— Oh, we have others, that are far worse. MASON— Why doesn't Marion cornel— (With Teddy leading the three hoys, all chorus together in college yell.) TEDDY, MASON, HENDERSON- Why doesn't Marion come? We want Marion! — (Marion enters L.C. She is in a dainty afternoon frock.) MARY ANNE — Who's taking my name in vain?— (The hoys all crowd, ahout her.) (In Chorus.) Ah I— (Teddy-) I am the guilty party. — (Mason.) We have been wishing for you. — (Henderson.) We bow before you. — (Teddy.) MARY ANNE— r^S'ees Patty )-^Faity. FATTY— (Running to her.)— Marion dear, T'm so glad to see you. MARY ANNE — ^We were afraid you weren't coming. TEDDY — Yes, WE were. She . brings great news, Marion, the White House is still white. PATTY— I ^ot here just as soon as I eould, dear. MARY ANNE — I'm sorry I wasted so mueh time dressing. MRS. KIRKLAND— The boys only have a short time, Marion, We are going to have tea up here. — (Teddy and the hoys have heen maTcing hows, etc. and othenvisc trying to attract Mary Anne's attention.) TEDDY — (Still salaming) — As I have said — we bow before you — MARY ANNE— frap.9 him on the head)— Where's Dick? — (The hejys howl in mock rage.) TEDDY— That's what WE get. MARY ANNE— What time does the train leave? MASON— Six. MARY ANNE — (Looking at her wrist watch) — You leave at the corner at 5, it's 15 minutes of that now, Where's Dick? TEDDY— Why the anxiety about Dick? MARY ANNE— Well, I—" MRS. KIRKLAND— They've been such good friends — she has — ^a little gift for biin on leaving, tliat's all TEDDY— Lucky Dickie. 78 TiHE GOLDEN APE PATTY — Teddy Parniim, didn't I g-ive you a wrist watch 'I TEDDY — Bless your little heart, so you did. — (SJiows a to the company.) — Behold. MASON— I got one too. HENDERSON— So did I. A year ago I'd have been afraid to wear it. MRS. KIRKLAND— Nonsense, the most useful thing a man can have. — (Rodgers enters R.I. with Felice and the tea service.) MASON— Ah ! TEDDY— The eats. MRS. I^YRKIjA^Y)— (Rodgers hows and exits R.I.)— Boys, pile those hats underneath the table. HENDERSON— Right. TEDDY— We rush. MASON — (Takes one out) — Dainty confection, eh, what ? PATTY— Yours, Marion? MAHION— (Nods)— \Jm—( Teddy takes the hat from Mason and puts it on his head.) PATTY— Teddy Farnum, take that hat off, this in- stant. TEDDY — Am I not an alluring creature? PATTY— Yes, you are— not.— (All laugh at this. Ted- dy puts the hat hack in thehox, the hoys have .stacked them hehind and under the tahle.) MRS. KIRKLAND— Tea is ready. Teddy, give that to Patty. T¥Ayj)Y— (Takes a cup to Patty )—Gri{cions lady. FATTY— (Accepts i^— Thank yon.— (As Teddy takes the cup to Patty, itenderson goes over with one for Mary Anne.) TEDDY — (Points to the cup in her hand where a small sandwich rests on the side.) — Arrow points to the sand- wich. MARY ANNE— f To nenderson)—Vm not a bit hung- ry, you have that. — (Dick Stanhope enters R.I.) DI€K — Am I missing something. TEDDY — You never miss anything. I>ICK-^(Goes L.) — I missed a dance that was coming to me. MARY ANNE— I'm sorry— it took me so long to dress. DIOK — I'll forgive you this time. THE GOLDEN AGE 79- MARY ANNE— I'll get you some tea. DICK — Tha>nks.—( Marij Anne goes over for tea and sandwich. Her manner full of suppressed excitement. Dick is with Patty at the window. Far away in the dis- tance a hand is heard playing. Dick looks out of the win- (^ou?;— It's getting close to ns.— (Outside a low murmur as of the crowd of hoys growing impatient. Some cheering.) PATTY — Jolly crowd. X)iCK — They won't be so jolly two days out on the ship. I know I won't. HENDERSON— I 'm ready now for anything. TEDDY— I've heen ready for a month. — (Mary Anne hrings the tea to Dick at window L. Patty joins Teddy. Trella is with Henderson. Mason near Mrs. Kirkland.) MRS. KIRKLAND— Dickie, you must take good care of all my boys. DICK— Trust me.— (To Mary Anne for the tea.)— Thank you. — (Dick sits on the arm chair. Mary Anne on the window seat heside him.) MARY ANNE— ('/S'ad%;— You haven't much time. DICK — Not a great deal. — (They lapse into silence. It is taken up on the other side.) TEDDY — These sandwiches are great. PATTY — How many have you had ? MRS. KIRKLAND— Let him have all he wants. PATTY— That's his usual number. MASON — ^We won't have this again for some moons you know. TEDDY — iSpeaking of moons; I wonder if the moon over there is as white and round as the one over here. PATTY — Yes and makes men just as silly, so you be careful. TEDDY— ^To Patty)— Don't you trust me? PATTY — I do. But I'm going to have the boys watch you just the same. HENDERSON— We'll see that none of those little dark-eyed French girls steal him Patty. — (Outside there is a cheer and a hum of noise, a muffled order given as though distant. A far away hand is heard.) DICK — That's it. — (The hoys move, so does everyone.) MRS. KIRKLAND— And don't forget to drop a line whenever you can, all of you. We shall be interested in every step you take. MASON— We will. 80 THE GOLDEN AGE MRS. KIRKLAND— Where are your kits? TEDDY— My folks took mine to the station in tlie car. HENDERSON— Mine too. MASON — Me too. My mother insisted on saying good ])ye at the train. MARY ANNE — The boys are getting into line. — (Mason goes over to Mary Anne and shakes hands. — (Hen- derson says goodbye to Mrs. Kirk. Patty to Teddy.) PATTY — Now remember Teddy, you telegraiph nio from wherever that boat leaves. — (Felice and Rodgers have rolled the tea ^service up stage and exit R.I. Dick says goodhye to Trella.) MASON— Goodbye, Mary Anne. MARY ANNE — Good bye, and God speed. — (Hender- son goes over to Mary Anne, Mason, Patty and Teddy form group R.) HENDERSON— I want to be in on that, Mary Anne. MARY ANNE — I almost wish I were going with you. HENDERSON— I guess we all wish that to^o.— (Ted- dy comes over to Mary Anne, Henderson to R.) MARY ANNE — 'Come back all covered with medals, Teddy. TEDDY— Wait till you see me. I'll look like the hero of a Mexican revolution. — (They sliake hands.) MRS. KIRK— We'll go down with you. TEDDY— Coming Dick ? DICK — I'll be right behind you. HENDERSON— We'll walk on slow. TEDDY— Gee ! I feel funny. HENDERSON— So do I. MASON — I hope nobody cries at the station. TEDDY— So do I, I'm too close to it myself.— fi?.;; this time, Patty, Teddy, Henderson, Mason and Mrs. Kirk- land are out the door R., leaving Dick and Mary Anne. She is at the window L. Dick moves near the Divan np C.) OICK— Well, Mary "Anne, our little make-believe ro- mance has come to an end; I've got to go too. MARY ANNE— f*S*af/%j— Yes, I know. DICK— At any rate we've had great times together. MARY ANNE— Yes.— ^¥ar?/ Anne and Dick hoth pause and then start to speak Utgefher.) — Well I — DICK— Do you think— (Together.) p]xcuse me — you were saying — THE GOLDEN AGE 81 J^ARY ANNE— No, I— I interrupted you— didn't I— DICK— No. Of course I'd like— (Pauses, choking awJiwardhj.) MARY ANNE— There's so much one wants to say. DICK— Isn't there. MARY ANNE— Yes. BOTH — (Sim nJtaneousJy) — So much. MARY ANNE— So MUCH— one can't think of— of anything. DICK — Bui the bully good times we've had', Mary Anne. MARY ANNE — And how kind you've been. DICK — No, how kind — how — how kind you've been. MARY ANNE — You'll take' good care care of your- self f DICK— Yes— oh sure! T\m\\\LS.—(Pause)—l can't realize I'm really going to war, can you? MARY ANNE— No, I can't realize \i.— (Pause. Mary Anne is turning away a little. Dick comes near her.) DICK— Of what are you thinking? MARY ANNE— Of that war— DICK— Oh, I'll be all right. MARY ANNE — But it's real — there are no dreams — no fancies. The danger is real — hideous. — (She pauses) — We've been such good friends — I shall be thinking of you over there. DICK — (Earnestly) — And I shall be thinking of you, Mary Anne. 'tEDBY— (Outside E.)— You've got just three min- utes, Dickie. DICK— I'm condng. MARY ANNE— Oh, wait— they mustn't go till I've given you your presents. DICK— 'For me 1— (She runs to the small tahle L. of the fire place and brings down the boxes unwrapped. They sit on the Divan C.) MARY ANNE— A sweater, see? I made it mvself. DICK— Oh, that's great. MARY ANNE— And the muffler— and mittens. I hope the trunks are large enough. — (Hands each separate- kj-) DICK— Oh, sure. :\IARY A}^NE~( Disclosing the big surprise)— And here, a little kit bag and medicine chest combined. See 82 THE GOLDEN AGE there, needle and thread. A pair of scissors. Thiags to shave with. — (Points to bottles) — That's quinine, this is flaxseed — for poultices, you know. And put in your eye if you get anything in it. This is Peroxide, Antiseptic. Isn't it complete? DICK — This is great. You did all this for nie? MARY ANNE— Of course. I tried to think of every- thing. DICK — (SoftJy) — There's only one thing you forgot! Something I would like above all these. MARY ANNE— What ? DICK — Your picture — This wouldn't be complete without a picture of you. MARY A^"^^— (Flustered)— A picture of me? Good gracious. Really? — (She looks about helplessly. She sees an ivory miniature of herself on the mantel up G. She gets it.) — iHere, you may have this one. It belongs to Auntie, but she won't mind. DICK — (Looks at it tenderly) — Thank you Mary Anne, I — I shall keep it with me for good luck. — (He puts it in his breast pocket, she gathers the. things together and ties them quickly. Dick rises) — We won't say goodbye — just Au Revoir. — (Mary Anne rises and hands him the package.) MARY A^^^— (Trying to ^-mi/e;— Yes— just Au Revoir — (She puts her hand in his. A nearer hand begins "Over There." There are cheers.) TEDDY— ('Oi/isiV/e;— Come on T>\ck.—(Dick looks at Mary Anne. He resists a desire to crush her in his arms and bends over and kisses her hand instead, turns and exits out of the door B. quickly, taking his presents with him. Mary Anne stands dazed looking at her hand which he has kissed. The sound of the music becomes louder, the parade is Hearing the corner. Outside R., Mrs. Kirkland is heard as Dick passes her.) MRS. KIRKLAND— Au Revoir, Dickie boy, better hurry, you'll be court martialled. — (Mary Anne turns and at the window L. Patty and Mrs. Kirkland enter B. Mrs. Kirkland speaks to Mary Anne as she passes to the window L.) — Come dear, we can see them from here. PATTY — (Puts her arm about Mary Anne and takes her to -L.;— Isn't it wonderful?— ("'' Over There" is now quite Forte, a strong stirring march tempo, as the Trio stand at the window.) thp: golden age n^ MRS. KIUKLAND— (Excitedly)— There's Hender- son. He's waving his hand at us. — (Tiie trio wave their handkerchief in return.) PATTY— (After a pause. Excitedly.)— There's Ted- dy. There's Teddy. — (They wave their handkerchiefs frantically. Then Patty wipes a tear from her eye-) MARY ANNE — (Suddenly excited.) — There goes — (She pauses) — There goes — (She m-oves a little C.) — Dick! Oh, my God! — (Mary Anne falls C. in front of the Divan. Mrs. Kirkland turns and sees her, goes to her cjuickly.) MRS. KIRKLAND— Marion.— fLooAi- out of window, then back to Mary Anne, then the meaning of it all comes over her — she utters one word.) — Dick! — (Patty is still waving at the window — the music is Forte.) CURTAIN. 84 THE GOLDEN AGE ACT IV. SCENE— Same as Act I. June, 1919. At rise Betsy is standing at the window B.C. looking out R. She has a rag in her hand and a pail of tvatep stands on the floor. Miss Slissy enters the door L.2. She has her sewing hag on her arm with materials, etc. MISS SLISSY— Where's Miz Simmonds? BETSY— Out to the hen house I think. MISS SLISSY — I came to finish that new waist 1 'in making for her. Do you know what she done with the pattern? BETY — It's on the sewing maeliine in her room up- stairs. MLSS SLISSY— What you lookin' at? BFjTSY— (Staring out R. at the ivindow )—l^ntinn\ MISS SLISSY — (Goes up to the window L.C. and looks out R.) — Humph! Henry 'd be flattered if he could hear that. — (She comes down) — Mary Anne's expected home today, ain't she? BETSY— Yep. MISS SLISSY— Toll Operator stopped in a moment (Ml her way from lunch and she said tliat Mr;^. Kirkhmd had a long distance call from New York sayin' Mai-y Anne was on her way down here by automobile. Her ship got in from Prance early this morning. BWrSY~( Nodding )—immh. MISS SLISSY — It's about time she was comin' home. She ain't writ her mother very often since she's been away. Tlie Rural Delivery was tellin' me only yesterday, that he's only brought her Ma seven letters from France in a year and a half, and three of 'em were censored. BETSY— She had eight. MISS SLISSY— Well one more or less don't make much difference. Of course I ain't sayin' it wasn't patri- otic of her to go over with that '^alarmy unit and help nurse, but I do think she ought to have writ her Ma oftener and given her more news. BETSY— She ain't nursin'. MI'SS SLISSY— Wbat's she doin' then? BETSY — She's in a Canteen or somethin', MISS SLISSY— Well, it's all the same thing. One gives 'em medicine to make 'em well and the others gives 'em chocolates to make 'em sick again. It's funny her THE GOLDEN AGE 85 goin' with that Salarmy unit. I can't find anybody who ever heard 'of it. What's the matter with you Betsy you're lookin' kinda droopy lately? BETSY — I dunno, I guess it's because I'm sleepy. I had to sit up till half past nine last night waiting for Mrs. Kirkland to get here. MIS'S SLISSY — Yes, there's nothin' like losing sleep to cause a girl to fade. You'd better be careful cause you're the kind that fade early. BETSY— What are the kind that don't? MISS SLISSY— Well, take me for instance. I look just the same now as I did ten years ago. BETSY — I didn't see you ten years ago. MISS SLISSY— Of course you didn't but I do just the same. Where did you say Miz Simmonds left the pat- tern. BETSY — On the sewing machine. MISS SLISSY— Well, I'd better get started if I ex- pect to get anywhere. — (She goes to door R.) — ^Tho' I must say it ain't the kind of sewin' I prefer. — (Miss Slissy ex- its R. Betsy looks out of the window and smiles and, nods to someone, and coyly wipes the window ledge with the rag. Mrs. Simmonds enters L. The door stands open, set hack ivith a stone.) MRS. SIMMONDiS— I do nothing but drive that spreckled rooster out of the geranium bed. There he was struttin' through it for the seventh time today. I made a grab for his tail and scared him as bad as if I had pulled some of the feathers out. — (Loks at Betsy.) — Mary Anne hasn't telephoned again, has she? BETSY— No 'm. MRS. SIMMONDS-^She ought to be here by now, I declare I'm getting so nervous I can hardly keep still a minute. BETSY— Miss Slissy 's upstairs. MRS. SIMMONDS— What did she want? BETSY— That new waist she's makin'. MRS. iSIMMONDS— Oh. If she could only make it without bavin' to try it on me so much. I'd be thankful. She nearlv talks me to death when she gets me standin' so I'll listen. BETSY — I suppose she wants to be here when Mary Anne comes. 86 THE GOLDEN AGE MRS. SIMMONDS— There's no supposin' almut that. I wonder how she found it out. BETSY— Telephone operator told her. MRS. SIMMONDS— Land ! Little chance to have any secrets in this town. Wipe 'off that ohair Betsy, sister Mariah will be down in a minute and if she noticed there was a speck of dust on anything it would give me nervous prostration. — (Betsy jabs at a chair standing R. corner, misses it and hits the whatnot.) — The chair I said, child. What does possess you to fuss around that window. You'd think there was a cii^cus parade or something. BETSY— The hired man— MRS. SIMMONDS— Oh, Goodness, about every so often you have these mooning spells. Is it the hired man again ? BETSY— Yes 'urn. MRS. SIMMONDS— What's he doin' that you can't even turn vour head this way when I'm talkin' to you? BETSY— Smilin'. MRS. SIMMONDS— Urn— stopped work to show his teeth T s'pose. 'He's got just about enough brains to keep that speckled rooster from fallin' off the fence and no more. Will you wipe off that chair or won't you? BETSY — Yessum. — (tike wipes the chair kneeling hut manages to keep an eye out of the window.) — A speckled rooster ain't so bad, scratchin' around makin' a livin' for a family. MRS. SIMMONDS— Sometimes Betsy, you say things so idiotic that they almost sound sensible. — (Betsy contin- ues riihhing, Mrs. Simmoncls ivatches her.) — Do you realize tliat you keep rubbin' just ONE leg of that chair as if it was all the poor thing had. BETSY — (Pulls the chair to her and rubs the top part and the seat.) — I'm absent minded in the spring of the vear. MRS. SIMMONDS— 'Taint only in the spring, child. Tho' I do notice that you're slacker than usual in the last few days. What's the reason? BETSY — (Drawls, staring out to R.) — I dunno. MRS. SIMMONDS— I think you're lookin' at it now, and I don't intend to stand any more of it. — (She moves to tvindow L.C. and calls ojf i^ J— Henry ! Stop the hoen' and go out to the barn and clean off the horses till I tell you to stop. An' if the horses is cleaned off already, clean THE GOLDEN AGE 87 off the cows. Do somethin' to take you out of sight of this house. VOICE— rO# L.;— Yes'm. MRS. SIMMONDS— f To Betsij)—l^o\v mebhe yon can tend to your work. BETSY — Yes sum. — (She ruhs again. Then pauses tJt inking.) — ^Mrs. Siinmonds, if it was the spring of the year and you was a single girl, and you had loved the hired man for three years and he had loved you, and wouldn't ask you ; what would you do ? MRS. SIMMOND'S— That liired man loved you for three years ? BETSY — Yes'm and he's too bashful to poip. MRS. SIMMONDS— Then I'd take him by the ear and souse his head in the rain water barrel until he did. — (Betsy stops and stares at her) — 'For the land's sakes, don't look at me as if you was thinkin' that over. You've got no more sense of humor than — (Mrs. Kirkland enters R. 2.^— That's enough Betsy, take the scrubbin things out- side. — (Betsy picks up the pail and exits R. 2. Mrs. Kirk- land moves to R.C. and sits in the arm chair.) MRS. KIRKLAND— No sign of Mary Anne yet ? MRS. SIMMONDS— Not a thing, and she ought to have been here at least a 'half hour ago. MRS. KIRKLAND— We must allow a reasonable time for stops — ^^gasoline — a tire sometimes. MRS. SIMMONDS— Land! How I have missed that child. I'll never let her go away from me so long again, war or no war. MRS. KIRKLAND— Mary Anne deserves great credit for what she's done, and some day I'm going to ask her pardon for speaking disrespectfully of the company she went over with. MRS. SIMMONDS— Do you know, Amanda, that's one of the tliin'gs I am dying to find out. I've read of most every kind of service over there in France and I've never yet met a person except yon who ever heard of the Salarmv Unit. MRS. KIRKLAND— The what 1 MRS. SIMMONDS— The Salarmy unit. That's what you wrote mo she went with. MRS. KIRKLAND— The Salvation Armv. MRS. SIMMONDS— Land sakes, is that it 1 88 THE GOLDEN AGE MRS. KIRKLAND— Of course, I thoug^it you under- stood. MRS. SIMMONDS— Well, you wrote just Sal Army and I thought it was one word. She's written me about Sal so much and I thougJit all the time it was the name of some girl chum or something. Well, of all things, how'd she come to go with them ? MRS. KIRKLAND— Did she ever mention Billy Bar- clay to you after she came home. ^ MRS. iSIMM'ONDS— Only once. MRS. KIRKLAND— What did she say? MRS. SIMMONDS— Nothing, except that lu''d asked her and she'd refused him. I can't understand that child, she don't know her own mind. Carried on for months to get him to ask her, then when she can have him, don't want him. MRS. KmKhAND— (Slowly)— And did Mary Anne never hint that someone else had come into her life instead? MRS. SIMMONDS— Never! Mv land, was that it? MRS. KIRKLAND— Yes, and I felt it was all my fault — ^having thrown them together in every possil)le way — beginning with that folish game I put them up to play- ing. Yes, it was Dick Stanhope — 'but not until the day he marched away with his regiment and Marion went to pieces, did I realize it was he she had cared for all along. MRS. SIMxMONDS— I noticed she seemed sort of dreamy when she came home on that visit, but she never told me a word about a sweetheart. She talked of nothing ])ut the war. MRS. KIRKLAND— Because Dick was in it—more than for any other reason. Why, when he was reported wounded and among the missing — she cried for days — un- til it came out they'd got the wrong name. And even then I thought the child would die — she missed him so. Then the Merton girl came along. MRS. SIMMONDS— The Merton girl ? MRS. KIRKLAND— Of the Salvation Army forces. She was just about to go overseas and Mary Anne thought the quickest and best way she could ge there herself was to go with her. It couldn't be arranged right at once, however, but one day Marion received a letter from Lon- don. If she could manage to join here there she could ar- range for her to go to Prance with the Salvation Army. Marion jumped at the chance. Of course there was no use THE GOLDKN AGE 8!) arguing, the girl was broken-hearted, I wired you and then arranged transportation. MRS. SIMMONDS— The Salvation Army. Well, I declare. MRS. KIRKL AND— They've done wonderful work. :\IRS. SIMMONIOS— Yes, I've read about the dough- nuts they made for the boys. Well, if I do say it myself, if Mary Anne made doughnuts for those boys like the kind she used to make at home, no wonder they talked about 'em in the papers. MRS. KIRKLAND— Amanda, no doubt it was the very same receipt and I expect Marion furnished it. MRS. SIMMONDS— What about this Dick Stanhope. Did she ever see him over there? She's never written me a Miing about it. Letters have been scarce, goodness knows, and if it hadn't been that I knew the war was over last November and she was no longer in danger of bein' killed, I couldn't have stood it. MRS. KIRKLAND — After she arrived in France she learned that he had only been wounded and was out of the hospital. Of course she was overj'oyed — then she wrote me another time that s>he had heard from him, but after that not a single word— (31 iss Slissjj enters R. 2nd noiselessly. Mrs. Kirklancl warns Mrs. Simmonels.) — Sh — (It is ap- peirent from Miss Slissy's attitude that she has been trying fo listen at the door but has been unsuecessful.) MISS SLISSY— Talkin' about Mary Anne? MRS. SIMMONDS— No, we wasn't, Sairy Applegate Slissy. we were talking about Betsy and the hired man. MIS'S SLISSY— Goodness knows, I'll be glad to see Mary Anne when she gets here. I s'pose she'll have a wonderful lot of tales to tell. — (To Mrs. Simmonds) — Do you mind seein' if this waist is the right width across the back? MRS. SIMMONDS- 1 reckon not, tho' you measured me twice yeiiXerd-Ay~( M iss Slissy moves over to Mrs. Sim- monds who rises and turns to her-) MRS. KIRKLAND— Do you wear those felt slippers for comfort. Miss Slissy or merely for the pleasure of slipping in unobserved ? MISS i^hm^Y~(Putterinej with the waist)— Well, I always was too kind-hearted and considerate to interrupt folks when they're tellin' anything interestin' and confi- 90 THE GOLDEN AGE dential. Gracious me, Mrs. Simmoiids, I believe you grow l)roader 'throug'h the shoulders right along. I 'm afraid I '11 have to set a piece in. — (Pins the waist to Mrs. Simmonds as slie measures.) MRS. SIMMONDS— Oueh ! You needn't puncture my spine. I need it. MISS SLIS'SY— Excuse me.— r^o Mrs. Kirkland)— I'm so used to stickin' myself I think other folks don't mind it. — (Continues her work.) — I hope Mary Anne's goin' to France wasn't on account of some serious set back. MRS. KIRKL AND— Nothing that need worry the vil- lage, Miss Slissy. MISS SLISSY-^Please stand still Miz Simmonds, I almost stuck you again. Of course personally I always thought it was on account of Billy Barclay, him being en- gaged now to be married to that Elaine Jewett ; there are folks as have been unkind enough to say so. But then I don't think we ought to believe all we hear, do you? MRS. KIRKLAND— Not always. Some say that you have an unfortunate habit of interesting yourself in aflfairs which don't concern you but then I wouldn't believe it for the world without proof. MISS SLISSY— Now that's right. I'm glad to hear you say it. I s'pose you heard that Elaine. Jewett 's pa came near losing all his money winter before last. MRiS. KmKhA^D— (Ignoring her)— I like the way vou laid out those nasturtium beds this summer, Amanda. MISS SLTSSY— Sometimes I wish I lived in New York, where you can get the news first hand. Some say tliat Billy Barclay's money helped Old Man Jewett to start up again. MRS. KIRKLAND— The lilacs ought to be out in a week, don't you think? — (Betsy enters from L. over the porch: site is wet and excited.) ^BET^Y— (Breathlessly )— It's all right, Mis Sim- monds, it's all right. MRS. SIMMONDS— What's all right? BETSY— The hired man says he'll marry me, but I liad to duck liim in the rain-water barrel twice before he'd pi-'omise. — (Wrings the water out of her sleeve. Mrs. Kirk- Ja}id lauglts.) MRS. ^IMUONDB— (Horrified)— For the _ land's sakes, she did it. She actually went and did it, just be- THE GOLDEN AGE 01 cause I told her to! She ain't got any more sense of humor than a motherin' duek tryin' to teach a two day old chicken to swim. BETSY— He kicked somethin' awful, but I held him. Don't you reckon I'd ought to have a new dress to get married in? MISS Shl^^Y— (Folding up Mhs. Simmonds waist) If yon 're askin' my opinion, I do. Time was when I wouldn't sew for hired girls, but work is slack just now, and trooso's is my specialty. BETSY — Thursday is my afternoon off, if you want to fit me then? SIMMONDS-^Betsy, if you'll take Miss Slissy to your room to ifinish bastin' my waist, you can have the rest of her time for the afternoon or until she's ready to go. MISS SLISSY— Dear me, Mis' Simmonds, that cer- tainly does prove you're kind-hearted, in spite oif most everybody say in' you're growin' cranky in your old age. BETSY — ^^Come on. Miss Slissy, I'm goin' to plan a ^wedding dress, a goin '-away dress and a stay-at-home dress. An' mebbe a silk nightgown, that's all crawly ^\''hen vou put it on. MRS. KIRKLAND— I'll furnish that, Betsy. Come up to my room after supper, there are several things you may have. " BETSY— Oh. thank you, Mis' Kirkland.— fy'o Miss Slissy.) — An' you can make a necktie as my weddin' pre- sent to the hired man. [ MISS SLISSY— ^Betsv, where is that rain-water bar- rel? BETSY— Back of the house. Wliy ? MISS SLISSY— It's not a bad idea, I want you to show me liow you done it. BP]TSY — What do you Want to know for? MISS SLISSY— Well, the Rural Delivery has been hanging fire for— is it a little barrel or a big one']— (Theu r.rif off R. 2.) MRS. KIRKLAND— I do believe that woman had her ear to the keyhole listening to everything we've said. — (A motor horn is heard out L.) MRS. SIMMONDS— There's a motor now. .AIRS. KIRKLAND-^Perhaps it's Marion.— r77^r/y rush to the door L.) 92 THE GOLDEN AGE MRS. SIMMONDS— They've stopped at the gate. MRS. KIRKLAXD— There's Patty and Teddy Far- uum, Billy Barclay and Elaine — Trella and Jack Hender- son, but I don't see Marion. MRS. SIMMONDS— What's Billy Barclay coming here for? MRS. KIRKLAND— I hope nothing's happened.— (She exits out the door. Mrs. Simmonds stands in the dor. There ■are confused sounds of greeting outside L. Then Mrs. Kirkland enters with Patty, Elaine and TnUa.) — ■ What on earth is it all about ? MRS. SIMMONDS— Where's my Mary Anne? PATTY— She's a mile or two behind us. Charley Mason is bringing her in his car. She doesn't know we're coming. We took a short cut and speeded up so as to get here ahead and give her a surprise. — (Teddy, Billy and Henderson enter L.) MRS. SIMMONDS— Well of all things. BILLY— Hello, Mrs. Simmonds. MRS. SIMMONDS— How do you do. Billy, I haven't seen you in a long time. MRS. KIRKLAND— This is Miss Jewett and Miss Webb, Amanda. — (Introducing Elaine.) — This is my sis- ter, Mrs. Simmonds. MRS. SIMMONDS— I'm pleased to meet you. ELAINE— Thank you. MRS. KIRKLAND— And Mr. FARNUM and Mr. Henderson. TEDDY— Delighted Mrs. Simmonds. Hope you'll for- give this little surprise party but we couldn't resist the temptation. MRS. KIRKLAND— How does Marion look? PATTY— I haven't seen her but Jack and Trella have. HENDERSON— She's a dream in that Khaki uniform. :\IRS. SIMMONDS— She ain't wearin' a poke bonnet, is she ? TRELLA — Not a bit. The cutest little overseas cap you ever saw. BILLY— She just landed early this morning, we fixed it witli Mason to bring her down and the rest of us would come on ahead and surprise 'her. THE GOLDEN AGE 93 MRS. SIMMONDS— She'll be awfully surprised, but goodness me I haven't got a thing in the house fit to eat for a surprise, except a — HENDERSON— Don't worry about that Mrs. Sim- ra'onds. Marion will be here in a little while. You let the girls hide in the kitchen. We'll run the car in behind the barn, then when Marion 's in tbe house we '11 sneak down to the village and get a couple of gallons of ice cream and some cake, just enougli for sociability's sake, that's all the party will want. We'd better hurry if we want to get that car out of sight. TEDDY — All right, excuse us Mrs. Simmonds. — (They exit L. 2. Billy, Ted and Henderson.) MRS. KmK—(To Elaine)— '^0 you and Billy are en- gaged. ELAINE— Oh, yes. Have been for nearly a year. MRS. KIRKLAND— I'm delighted. Has anyone seen or heard anything of Dick? FATTY~(Hesitates)—Oh, yes, Dick's in New York, been here for four days. MRS. KIRK— Have you seen him ? PATTY — Yes — we saw iiini — for just a few moments — MRS. KIRK— Did he— (A Jiorn is heard in the dis- tance.) PATTY— There's Marion now, that's Charley's car, I know 'the horn. The boys will just about make it. MRS. SIMM'ONDS-^Good, gracious, I'm so excited, I don't know if I'm standin' on my head or my heels, come on girls if you want to hide. MRS. KIRKLAND— Don't eome till I give the signal. TRELLA — Don't give the signal till the boys get back. — (The whirr of motor is heard L.) MRS. SIMMONDS— You can stay in the dining room there. PATTY— We'll go into the kitchen, then we can watoli for the boys out the back way. ELAINE— fro Mrs. Kirk)— Don't vou let on now MRS. KIRKLAND— Not a word.— fT//e girls exit R. Mrs. Simmonds rusehes to door L. and out on the porch Mrs. Kirkland stands C.) MARY AnNE— (Outside)— Oh, Mumsey— Mumsey— MRS. SIMMONDS— rO^i.s'iVZe;— My little chicadee— W THE GOLDEN AGE my little lambkins. — (Tlieij enter L. Marion is in the Khaki iniiform of the Salvation Army.) MARY ANNE— Auntie!— fAS'Af runs to her.) MRS. KIRKLAND— Well you poor dear little darling. It seems like you have been gone for years and years. MARY ANNE— Two years Aunty— two wonderful- terrible years. An experience I wouldn't have missed for anything in the world — 'that 1 hope never happens in the world again. — (She goes to her mother.) — You dear old Mumsey, I could almost eat you alive. — (Mrs. Simmonds begins to erg.) MRS. SIMMONDS— Mary Anne how eould you go away and leave your mother all this time? MARY A^^Y^— (Consoling her.)— Now, Mumsey, 1 know you wished me to be where willing hands and hearts were needed most. MRS. SIMMONDS— But, if anything had happened to you — MARY ANNE— (Smiling)— DRiigerl— I felt so little compared to the Great Big Work going on around me. I just knew a bullet or a piece of shrapnel would have hard work to find me, why the helmets of some of the lassies were all dented witb hits. Mine has only a little, ploughed scrateb from a bullet — wait till it gets here, 111 show you. SIMMONDS— Child, you were near the bullets? MARY ANNE — ^iSometinies I was — ^but it was mostly the ones older than I wlio Vere the luckiest and got the chances to serve the most. I 've iseen them do some wonder- ful things Mumsey, and make some great sacrifices. The watclTword of the ^Salvation Army was, no task too hard, no duty too unpleasant, no hours too long. They were not afraid of storms or cold, hunger or darkness — ^fire- or blood. They went nearer to the front than any others in the war zone. They cooked sometimes within one half mile of the firing line, standing in mud up to our ankles. MRS. SIMMONDS— rW^/.*/;— You- were there, Mary Anne. MARY ANNE— Oh, it wonderful. Mumsey. Wonder f ul ! If we were in danger and suffering, think what the boys had to endure, and we were helping them. Once — with four other girls I passed one entire night in a half- THE GOLDEN AGE 95 flooded cellar, our gas masks adjusted — lit was a terril)le night, I thought it would never end. MRS. SIMMONDS— And you didn't catoh a cold? MARY ANNE — Not a bit. In the morning we were out in a tent again, the Bosche having blown our hut to atoms. MRS. SIMMONDS— I can scarcely believe it's my Mary Anne talking. MARY ANNE— Oh, but it is Mumsey. It is and I'm safe and home with you again. MRS. SIMMONDS— Thank God. MRS. KIRKLAND— We've been so proud of you. MARY ANNE— Not of me, Auntie, I really did so very lit'tle. I saw the others doing so much and all I could do was ti'y and help them a lit'tle. None of the really great things happened to me. MRS. SIMMONDS— You just say that. MARY ANNE— Oh, but it's true, Mumsie, and such heart l)reaking things happened sometimes. — I saw one little girl crouched on the ground beside a wounded soldier, his 'head in her lap. He was GOING WEST and she knew i't. She told me afterwards, it was her own brot'her and she hadn't even known he was in Prance till she found him — there. MRS. KIRKDAND— The pity of it all. MARY ANNE— (Brightening)— 1 was too small they said to bear many of the heavier burdens except when ne- cessity compelled. I spent much of my time at tlie sewing machine — mending s'hirts and patching pants — MRS. SIMMONDS— Mary Anne ! MARY ANNE— Oh, I did, Mumsey, great big patches, sometimes within the reach of the poison gas and the booming thunder of the guns. MRS. KIRKLAND— And we used to make fun of the Salvation Army. It always has been a wonderful institu- tion but the world has just awakened to the fact. MARY ANNE — The world in which we live, Auntie, but the world of the poor and unfortunate have known its greatness for many years. MRS. KIRKLAND— You're right, child. I'm sure of it. 96 THE GOLDEN AGE MARY ANNE— Mumsey, I'm hungry. May I have some bread and jam? 'Good graeious, I've forgotten all about lOharley Mason, he drove me here and — MRS. KIRKL AND— He'll be in soon. I saw him driving around into the yard as you came in the house. MRS. SIMMONDS— rLooA;s at Mrs. Kirkland )—Vll get you a islice of bread and preserves. I just opened a jar of quince this morning. You talk to your Aunt, I'll ])ring it to you. Bless your little heart, but it's good to have you home again. — (Mrs. Simnionds emhraces Mary Anne and exits R. 2.) MARY ANNE — Well, Auntie, how is everybody and everj'thing. I've talked so muc'h about myself, I've given you no chance at all. MRS. KIRKLAND — ^The world is normal once more. Teddy Farnum and Jack Henderson have been home a long time and mustered out of service. MARY ANNE — Yes, Charley told me. He came back with them. MRS. KIRKLAND— Teddy and Patty are married. MARY ANNE — ^Bless their hearts — I'm dying to see them. MRS. KIRKLAND— Trella Webb and Lloyd Hender- son are engaged to be married and so are Billy Barclay and Elaine Jewett. MARY ANNE— Yes, I knew that. And I'm so glad. MRS. KIRKLAND— All your old friends have beei; 'accounted for but — Dick. — (She pauses.) — He has been back in New York four days — You wrote me you had heard of him or from 'him once. MARY ANNE— (Sadly )--Yes I heard from Dick once. I received a letter when I was near Chateau Thierry. Auntie, that letter almost killed me. MRS. KIRKLAND— Why, child ! What could he say— MARY ANNE — I loved Dick and no matter what he thought of me, I couldn't live knowing that he was in danger and I not near to help him. I didn't know if he wanted me — I didn't care, I had to go, something made me. I was in France a long time before I had news of him. I had heard he was wounded and dead, but I wouldn't believe, I watched and waited and searched — questioned everyone I met until some thought I was mad — THE GOLDEN AGE !»7 a little. I always had a fear that perhaps I should find him as that little girl had found her brother. I pictured myself holding him in my arms and whispering words of comfort to him — even — love. Sometimes again, I would imagine our meeting on a dusty road, and I would cry out, Vive r America — ^and he not knowing who I was, would come over and speak to me in the kind Prenoli we used to practice, when we rode together in the park, then I would turn and laugh and say — don't you know me — It's Mary Anne — (Sadly) — We never met. Auntie — But I did receive a letter. If it hadn't been that my life just then was filled so much with the suffering of others, I don't be- lieve I could have endured the humiliation of that letter. MRS. KIRKLAND— Wihy child. W'hat did he say? MARY ANNE — He wrote that he had learned of my presence in Prance, and thought he understood the reason. That by accident he discovered I was near Chateau Thier- ry and he was then in hospital some twenty-five miles ilistant. He was sorry our little game had turned out so unfortunately for me. He said he knew I had quarrelled wit>h Billy and refused him and feared that he had been the cause of it. MRS. KIRKLAND— Marion ! MARY ANNE — 1 never answered the letter. The next day we moved on twenty miles or more and I never heard of him again. Here is the letter, I don't know why I've never burned it. — (She takes a well worn letter from her locket