Class Book- VX.I^ GoB#tW COFffilGHT OEFOEm HARVARD PLAYS EDITED BY GEORGE P. BAKER PROFESSOR OF DRAMATIC LITERATURE, IIARVARD UNIVERSITY PLAYS OF THE 47 WORKSHOP c \st ssM-: THREE PILLS IN A BOTTLE By Rachel Lyman Field "THE GOOD MEN DO" By Hubert Osborne TWO CROOKS AND A LADY By Eugene Pillot FREE SPEECH By William L. Prosser NEW YORK BRENTANOS 1918 Copyright, 1918 By Brentanos JUN 20 1918 THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. Qa ° 488U a |^ 1^0 | Attention is called to the penalties provided by law for any infringements of the dramatist 's rights, as follows : "Sec. 49GG: — Any person publicly performing or representing any dramatic or musical composition for which copyright has been obtained, without the consent of the proprietor of said dramatic or musical composition, or his heirs and assigns, shall be liable for damages therefor, such damages in all cases to be assessed at such sum, not less than one hundred dollars for the first and fifty dollars for every subsequent performance, as to the court shall appear to be just. If the unlawful performance and representation be wilful and for profit, such person or persons shall be guilty of a misdemeanor, and upon conviction be im- prisoned for a period not exceeding one year." — U. S. Revised Statutes, Title 60, Chap. 3. INTRODUCTION All the plays in this volume were originally produced by The 47 Workshop, — not " The 47 Workshops " as one or two newspapers, appar- ently recalling Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, have called the organization. The somewhat homely title means just what it suggests. This is a " Workshop," because anyone who believes he has ability in any of the arts connected with the theatre — acting, scene or costume designing, lighting, directing, or playwriting — may here prove his quality. It is " The 47 Workshop " because it grew from a course in playwriting, English 47, for many years offered by the Depart- ment of English of Harvard University. The 47 Workshop, however, is not in the usual sense a theatre. It has no wish to revolutionize anything. It masks no scheme for a civic or community theatre. Its main purpose is to try out interesting plays written in the courses in Dramatic Technique at Harvard University and Radcliffe College. Though it does reserve the right from time to time to revive some classic like " Maitre Patelin," some curiosity like the " Revesby Sword Play," or to produce some not- able foreign play not likely to be seen on the pro- fessional stage of this country, such as the Ice- landic " Eyvind of the Hills," its usual order of [vii] INTRODUCTION election is: first, plays recently written in one of the courses ; second, plays written by a past mem- ber of these courses within five years after com- pleting study at Harvard or Radcliffe; third, any other plays by Harvard or Radcliffe graduates ; fourth, revivals of dramatic classics or curiosities, or productions of foreign plays. The 47 Workshop was founded in 1912 to meet a need steadily more evident in the courses in dramatic composition. Plays of real merit and evidently ready for professional production found an opening sooner or later, but each year others were written, full of promise, but not likely to find a ready market because of their unusual subjects, some peculiarity of treatment, or technical faults which the author, in spite of class criticism, could not see. What was needed to prove the availabil- ity of some of these for the general public, or to round others into final shape, was merely an op- portunity to see the play adequately acted before an audience, sympathetic yet genuinely critical. Just because The 47 Workshop, a local response to a wide-felt need, began in the simplest way and has grown into admitted effectiveness under con- ditions often very unfavorable, its history may be useful to persons who are dreaming of some such place for trying out plays, or are wondering why some experimental theatre in which they are inter- ested is not succeeding. The 47 Workshop began with a guarantee for one year of five hundred dollars, given by past members of the courses in dramatic composition. For that sum three long original plays were pro- [ viii ] INTRODUCTION duced, — six performances in all. The theatre, seating comfortably only some two hundred at each performance, was put at the disposal of The Workshop by Radcliffe College at the expense only of lighting and service. The small stage is really a lecture platform, originally surrounded by steel-girdered walls which have been slightly readjusted to make giving plays a little less diffi- cult. Dressing rooms have been inadequate. Any painting of scenery must for lack of space be done away from the theatre. Because this was avail- able for only two rehearsals before each perform- ance, such work must for some years be done in a room the floor space of which bore no relation to the stage to be used. In other words, The 47 Workshop began much as any organization will begin which, having no special building, must give its plays in a hall on a stage primarily intended for lectures, must rehearse where it can, and must store its belongings here and there. The fundamental principle of The 47 Workshop — and to this it has held steadity throughout its history — has been that everyone from director to stage hands must cooperate in putting the play upon the stage as the author sees it. A play is not accepted unless in itself worthy and not until the director believes the author has done all he can for it at the moment, and needs a production if he is to round it into final shape. Before any final plans as to setting, costuming, and lighting are made, the author is carefully consulted, as he is in regard to the casting of the play, — though the director has the last word in this matter, [ix] INTRODUCTION The author is expected to be present at all re- hearsals, and between each rehearsal and the next to keep the director informed as to any sugges- tions he may have to make. Except by special permission, he is expected to deal with the actors, only through the director. If he has had experi- ence in coaching plays, he is asked to take charge of some of the rehearsals, usually the earlier, when the actors are studying the broader aspects of their characters and the general atmosphere of the piece. When a play is once approved for pro- duction, changes are avoided in order that the author may make them not because advised so to do by anyone immediately connected with the pro- duction, but because he is convinced by the con- sensus of opinion in his audience that such changes are imperative. In other words, any attempt to relegate the author to the position of some one doubtless necessary in the writing of the play but thereafter more desirable absent than present, is frowned on. Unquestionably a producer knows best how to get the effects an author desires, but just what these effects are the author surely knows best. The result of this policy has been great loyalty to The Workshop on the part of its authors. It is a corollary of what has just been said, that The 47 Workshop believes " The play 's the thing." The curse of many an experimental theatre is amateurishness — the spirit which makes the play merely an occasion for social meetings ; which puts the actors ahead of the play ; and which treats lateness and irregularity in at- [x] INTRODUCTION tendance, noisy rehearsals, and a superficial study of a part as quite natural. Most amateurs speak lines; they do not act, in the sense that they re- make themselves into the characters of the play. Ask most amateurs to sacrifice something to the ensemble, or to play in a scene which they believe could easily be bettered, and they are likely to be discontented or rebellious. Such an organization as The 47 Workshop could not, of course, be main- tained by actors with any such standards. It was necessary therefore slowly to gather together a group of actors who would regard the play as of first importance. Harvard and Radcliffe were, of course, most frequently called on, but anyone who has cared to offer his or her services, and who could show some previous experience, has been given an opportunity. Little by little, as these persons — they range from children to people of middle age — have proved their competence, they have been invited to become members of The 47 Workshop Company. When elected to this, a member agrees to act when called on; to do his utmost in helping to produce the play as the author sees it; to play any part the director as- signs ; not to act elsewhere without permission ; and when acting elsewhere, to see that he is ac- credited on any program to The 47 Workshop. The election comes by recommendation from the executive committee to a sub-committee composed of the director and two representatives from the company. The decision of this sub-committee is final. Two members of the company, one man and one woman, represent it in the executive com- [xi] INTRODUCTION mittee, which governs The Workshop. To-day members of standing in the company can be de- pended upon to see that any neophytes strictly regard the traditions which have been built up as to promptness and quiet at rehearsals, speedy learning of parts, and subordination of self to the ensemble. The loyalty and the growing skill of this company, some thirty in number, are largely responsible for whatever success The 47 Work- shop has had. Early in the history of the organization it be- came evident that there should be an artistic director who, after preliminary conference with the author and the director, would supervise the setting, costuming, and lighting of each produc- tion. Immediately the desirability of this step was proved by the disappearance of clashing colors, costumes that did not accord with the set- ting, and other artistic flaws previously caused by carelessness, differing tastes among the actors, and even some native obstinacy. As the organiza- tion has grown, it has become necessary to put some one in charge of the increasingly large amount of scenery, who shall be able to say at a moment's notice what is in hand which may be used as it is or when made over, and what must be specially built and painted. It is now possible to paint within The Workshop practically all the scenery used. The person in charge of this work, like the person in charge of costumes, and the per- son in charge of lighting, works under the super- vision of the artistic director. It has become neces- sary to put some special person, made responsible [xii] INTRODUCTION to the stage manager, in charge of small proper- ties, who gives out and replaces all stock proper- ties and catalogues the new. It has been possible slowly to replace hired stage hands by volunteers, and to shape them into a group analogous to the company, chosen by election after proved service. They are represented on the executive committee by the stage manager, and from them stage man- agers and property managers are first chosen. In other words, paid assistance has been eliminated slowly, so that from the writing of the play to the dropping of the final curtain — through acting, directing, scene and costume designing or making, lighting, make-up, and scene-shifting — The 47 Workshop now depends upon its own members. An executive committee, composed of the direc- tor, the secretary-treasurer, and the heads of all working committees, as well as two representatives from the company, guide and control the fortunes of The Workshop. Naturally the heads of the various departments change from year to year, and sometimes oftener, but a small group of three or four have worked together from the very be- ginning and thus have been able to see that, while there has been growth, there has been no danger- ous departure from the original purposes for which The Workshop was founded. Membership rests on one of the basal principles of the organization. The audience is confined by seating conditions to four hundred — for each evening, two hundred. Membership comes through an election committee. Candidates for the audi- ence must be proposed and seconded by members, [ xiii ] INTRODUCTION with a statement of qualifications, for every regu- lar member before admission is supposed to have shown some special interest in the kind of pro- ducing and plays which The Workshop provides. Persons who might come, as do most audiences at amateur theatricals, to admire and praise un- thinkingly their friends among the actors; per- sons who are interested only in seeing their own plays, or plays of a similar kind ; persons who cul- tivate the bizarre in plays or indeed any one par- ticular kind of play — all such are not welcome. On the other hand, people who care deeply enough for the theatre to be interested in seeing plays of promise rounded into shape; people who are in- terested in all kinds of experimentation in the arts of the theatre — all such are very welcome. Every member is expected to contribute something. In the first place, he agrees to hand in a written com- ment on each production, within a week of the final performance. Secondly, he marks on a mem- bership card the one or more activities of The Workshop in which he is willing to share. Here he is given a wide choice. These conditions mean that, even apart from the criticisms, a large por- tion of the audience annually cooperate in the work of producing the plays. All criticisms are handed in signed. When the director has read them, the names are removed and the comments handed to the author of the play in question. In later conference with the director, the author decides what changes must be made in his play in the light of the criticisms. These are as a group always helpful. Every play [xiv] INTRODUCTION in this volume has been thus rewritten, and the Craig Prize play, " Between the Lines," as well as the Washington Square success, " Plots and Playwrights," both originally produced by The 47 Workshop, were before professional produc- tion rewritten under these conditions. As the possessions of The 47 Workshop in the way of scenery and properties became too numer- ous and cumbersome to be stored away in odd places, Harvard College put storage and rehearsal space at its disposal. All plays are now prepared for nearly three weeks in a rehearsal room and then transferred to the theatre at Radcliffe for two dress rehearsals and two performances. For two nights before the first dress rehearsal the stage manager and his force are fitting the set- tings to the stage, and seeing that all properties are on hand and in place. The aim is to have the stage, so far as scenery, properties, and lighting are concerned, in such condition that the director can at this first dress rehearsal really rehearse, without long waits for the setting of scenery or the right placing of properties. Of course, this desired result is possible only when there is a spirit of complete cooperation on the part of the artistic force and all who are working under the stage manager for the desired total result — the best production of the play in question that The Workshop force can give. People who wish, cost what it may to the author or the play, to exploit themselves or their special gifts in settings, cos- tuming, lighting or any other form of stage-craft, have no proper place in work of this kind. They [xv] INTRODUCTION should have their own theatres, to which the audi- ence admittedly comes to see their work. One of the chief difficulties in the way of most experimental theatres is their financing, for a theatre easily becomes a place of extravagance and waste. Experience has shown clearly that The Workshop, with its system of trained volunteer aid, can give an adequate performance of a three- act to five-act modern play, for approximately three hundred and fifty dollars. A program of three or four one-act plays or a costume play naturally costs somewhat more. That is, with an annual income varying from twelve hundred dol- lars to never more than two thousand dollars at the most, The 47 Workshop has been able during a season to produce four programs at the least — one of these of short plays — and at the most five programs, two of these of short plays ; a total of, say, three long plays and seven one-act plays. This has meant in recent years no painful economy such as any organization might be unwilling to undergo, but merely careful cooperation to see that no money is wasted. No one is asked to pay a membership fee, for it has seemed to the execu- tive committee that regular dues might lead mem- bers to feel that their preferences in types of plays to be produced should be considered. This com- mittee has felt that only with an absolutely free hand could they treat with equality the many different kinds of play written in the courses in playwriting. However, members, knowing that the means of the organization have always been limited, have sent in contributions when they [xvi] INTRODUCTION pleased for the amount they pleased. As a re- sult, since the first year The 47 Workshop has been supported by large and small gifts from its members, only to a very slight extent solicited. These solicited subscriptions have come from mem- bers who, individually, have guaranteed particular productions by subscribing the three hundred and fifty dollars necessary. With the approval of the executive committee, such a giver has named the production for someone in the past connected with The 47 Workshop, or if he preferred, for some noted actor or actress. The history of The 47 Workshop has proved that what is vital in such experimentation is not a large sum of money, but enough to pay expenses without a scrimping that cheapens the artistic results, until such time as three or four hundred people become convinced that the organization stands for something they wish to see and is thriftily managed. They will then readily provide what funds are necessary. In order to produce this desired state of mind, the play should be made of chief importance, first, last, and always. This means that the acting, the scenery, the lighting, and the costuming must as soon as possible be made adequate, and soon thereafter imaginative and contributive. What kills experimental theatre after experimental thea- tre is waste where there should be judicious econ- omy and a desire to branch out too soon into all the possible activities of a theatre. The experi- ence of The Workshop in its six years of existence has shown that, if the main emphasis is kept on the play, an audience will permit a slow growth [ xvii ] INTRODUCTION toward desired ideals. It will allow, too, a shifting of the chief accomplishment — from acting to set- ting, to lighting, or to some other activity — as special conditions in a particular year make it necessary to develop one department more than another. Do the best that conditions permit with the play in question, and an audience which comes for the purposes which bring the Workshop audi- ence together will be both loyal and appreciative. The 47 Workshop is, of course, merely one type of several which have developed in the recent rapid evolution in experimental theatres. Like many others, it probably would never have been founded had not the Abbey Theatre, Dublin, under the brilliant and wise guidance of W. B. Yeats and Lady Gregory, shown how much may be done from the smallest beginnings, if courage and wisdom assist. Of course, it has had to adapt to its conditions many ideas given it by the Dub- lin company. In turn, its history has led directly or indirectly to the forming of a number of similar organizations, such as The Theatre Workshop of New York, The Playshop in Chicago, The Vassar Workshop, etc. Just because there has been wide- spread interest in possible adaptation of its methods to conditions elsewhere, general to a com- munity or special to school or college, it has seemed not immodest to give its history with the detail of this introduction. Surely it is undeniable that such a laboratory is indispensable for the swift training of young dramatists or possible stage directors. Without it a dramatist waits to see his work in action until he [ xviii ] INTRODUCTION is fortunate enough to get a professional produc- tion. In many cases this means that all the weeks before the play is brought into New York or one of the leading cities are spent in reshaping the play by what the author and others are able to guess the audience thinks of the play. A large proportion of these changes, if not all, may be forestalled in such an experimental theatre, for most of them concern matters of clear exposition, right emphasis, convincing motivation, confused structure, or strong prejudices on the part of any audience overlooked by the author. When a play professionally produced has a dubi- ous reception, everyone from call boy to actor falls to guessing why — and few guess rightly. There is no guessing involved in rewriting with the aid of such an audience as The 47 Workshop provides. There people trained in the theatre, amateurs of the theatre, specialists in different arts connected with the theatre, persons entirely competent to stand for " the general public," all make their individual comments in their individual ways. From the total result, even if at first it may seem confusing to the author, there come definite impressions as to what must be done with the play to make it serviceable for a larger public. Ask any author who has had the experience and he will tell you that this is true. Undoubtedly other changes may become necessary when such a play is put into professional performance before a larger public, but only a very small proportion of change will be necessary as compared with what otherwise would have been the case. After a [xix] INTRODUCTION famous play contest a manager said, " The plays are divisible into two great groups — those tech- nically well written with nothing to say that is fresh or significant, and those containing admir- able subject matter, with good characterization and dialogue, but so little fitted for the stage that they cannot be considered." Think what a num- ber of organizations like The 47 Workshop, scat- tered over the country, might do for inexperienced dramatists ! What might they not save in pro- found disappointment to the authors who try rapidly to remake their plays before the public, what in exasperation to managers who have vainly risked tinkering a play into shape before it meets the New York public. History has shown that though certain men and women prefer to do their revising before the general public, most are con- fused, and some are even made sterile by the sense that so much is at stake and by the intense pressure. Do not the six years of The 47 Work- shop show that such an experimental theatre is worth attempting wherever a group of people honestly more interested in the arts of the theatre than in any personal exploitation may be gathered together, and do they not show that with patience and unwillingness to grant defeat their organiza- tion is likely to win, after a few years, its place in the community? It will not hurt any ambitious young playwright to try his hand at every one of the activities con- nected with such an organization as The 47 Work- shop, though it is not easy to make him under- stand this. If he has shifted scenery, he will [xx] INTRODUCTION make few, if any, unnecessary demands for elabo- rate and heavily constructed pieces. When he has had his part in the handling of stage proper- ties, he will not call for them to an unnecessary extent, nor will he clutter his stage with what is artistically undesirable. When he has assisted in lighting, he will be less likely to ask the light man to provide the atmosphere and the subtler gradations of feeling which it is his business to provide by his text. Studying rehearsals, he will better understand the value of the spoken word, and will come to see why it is not wise, as a rule, merely to sketch in his characters, trusting that he can be provided with so admirable a cast that each actor will fill out his part in a way perfectly satisfactory to the somewhat lazy author. In- deed, he will learn a hundred and one details as to the absolute essentiality of writing with actors in mind rather than for a reading public. Never learning all this, many of our authors find them- selves relegated to the closet. Of course, such an experimental theatre is at best merely a bridge from inexperience to the wider and still more en- lightening experience of production in the profes- sional theatre, but a bridge is a quicker and far more convenient method of crossing a stream than jumping as best one can from stone to stone. The latter way often means a ducking. Similarly, though probably not to the same ex- tent, such an experimental theatre is of large value to the young man or young woman who hopes ultimately to become manager of a theatre. On a small scale the rudiments of the business may [xxi] INTRODUCTION be learned, and he who would run a theatre effec- tively and without undue waste must at some time come to understand the elements, at least, of the various arts called on whenever any play is suc- cessfully produced. Nothing could be of better promise for the American drama of the next gen- eration than that all over our country young men and women who have learned the rudiments in some experimental theatre should, after necessary years of intervening experience in subordinate positions of the professional theatre, pass on into profes- sional managements. We need badly to develop in this country a group of men and women as nearly corresponding as our conditions will permit to the intend ants and regis seurs of the conti- nental theatres — men and women managing theatres because from their youth they have loved and studied the theatre and the drama; people of cultivation, determined, while they keep the public thoroughly entertained and amused, to give it as much of the best in the past and the present of the drama as their public can be induced to accept. These are the conditions which most speedily will give us American drama able in the number and quality of its plays to hold its own with the drama of older nations. It is for these reasons that the rapid growth of experimental theatres in this country for the past ten years, in spite of some bad mistakes and many failures, has been the most encouraging theatrical sign of the times. One result from this rapid growth is already clear. These theatres have greatly encouraged the young American dramatist : first, by giving him a [xxii ] INTRODUCTION chance to see many plays he would not otherwise have seen which have helped him to standardize his work; and secondly, by offering him an opportun- ity he would not otherwise have had to be heard and to learn by his mistakes. All this is particu- larly true of the one-act play. Not long ago we knew it as the curtain-raiser or the after-piece, and all theatrical wiseacres felt sure that a group of one-act plays could not make a successful program. To-day the one-act play in this country is popular, particularly with audiences of the experimental theatres. It is trying to phrase many moods and varied conditions of life. It is attempting many forms, even the freest, in order exactly to put before an audience what the author feels about his subject. Already there is a considerable group of one-act plays written in the last ten years which hold their own reasonably well when compared with the general output in the same period of time of European one-act plays. The contents of this volume are offered in no way as masterpieces or even as models. They, like the contents of the companion volume of plays first produced by the Harvard Dramatic Club, are certainly interesting as plays originally written in a course in dramatic composition, and after trying out, rewritten under the conditions of The 47 Workshop. They are offered to the general public as a small contribution to the widespread recent accomplishment of the one-act play in this country. They have at least stood the ultimate test of a play — they have been widely given and weil liked - George P. Baker. [ xxiii ] THREE PILLS IN A BOTTLE A FANTASY IN ONE ACT BY RACHEL LYMAN FIELD CHARACTERS Tony Sims The Widow Sims, his mother A Middle-Aged Gentleman His Soul A Scissors Grindeb His Soul A Scrub Woman Heb Soul First produced by The 47 Workshop, November 16 and 17, 1917. Copyright, 1917, by Rachel Lyman Field. Permission for amateur or professional performances of any kind must first be obtained from The 47 Workshop, Harvard College, Cam- bridge, Mass. Moving Picture rights reserved. Attention is called to the penalties provided by law for any infringements of the dramatist's rights, as follows: "Sec. 4966: — Any person publicly performing or representing any dramatic or musical composition for which copyright has been obtained, without the consent of the proprietor of said dramatic or musical composition, or his heirs and assigns, shall be liable for damages therefor, such damages in all cases to be assessed at such sum, not less than one hundred dollars for the first and fifty dollars for every subsequent performance, as to the court shall appear to be just. If the unlawful performance and representation be wilful and for profit, such person or persons shall be guilty of a misdemeanor, and upon conviction be im- prisoned for a period not exceeding one year." — U. S. Revised Statutes, Title 60, Chap. 3. THREE PILLS IN A BOTTLE Time: Now or then. Place: Anyzvhere or nowhere. Scene: A room in the Widow Sims' house. The stage is dim when the' curtain rises, but gradually it grows brighter, till the room is full of yellow sunlight, falling in sharp, fantastic patches on floor and walls. The day is so warm that the two windows, a small, high one at the left, and a large one at the back which overlooks the street, are open. Through this we see rows of houses opposite, their poim\ted roofs and faded colors making a brave showing in the hot sun- shine of the street. At the right is a door, open- ing on the street, and at the back a substantial cupboard with two doors is built into the left corner. Over this is a shelf, containing various small articles — a few toys, some bits of china, etc. A wooden washtub, large and green, stands in the other corner. The only pieces of furniture are a table and two chairs, and a larger chair drawn* up close to the window at the back center. In this, Tony, the Widow Sims' little ten-year- old boy is sleeping, cm old patchwork quilt wrapped about him. His cheeks are very red and there are dark circles under his eyes. At intervals he moves restlessly, muttering vaguely. Presently the Widow Sims comes tip-toemg in. She is a small, colorless person, with an habitual ■ [3] THREE PILLS air of apology for something — she is not quite sure what! The door creaks to after her, and Tony opens his eyes. Widow Sims [bending over him regretfully] Dear, dear, 't is a pity that squeakin' door should 'a waked you. I thought you 'd be sleeping all the morning while I 'm out workin'. [She kisses him.] Tony. Oh, I 'm not sleepy, only hot [turn- ing his head slowly toward the window], and all the houses over there are making faces at me! Widow Sims [shaking her head] What a child ! [She sighs and fumbles in her pocket. Then her face brightens as she pulls out a small glass bottle.] Never mind, Tony, the Doctor 's just been giving me a fine cure for your fever — three days now, and you '11 be well. Tony. Three days ? That 's a long time to wait ! Widow Sims. It 's a very wonderful cure he said. Three pills, one for each day. [She holds out the pills on the palm of her hand.] Tony [peering at them] Yes, I can see them, but what will they do to me? Widow Sims. He said the yellow one will take away all the pain from your head [dropping it in the bottle']. Heaven be praised for that! The red one will make you grow tall and strong [put- ting back the red one], Tony. Tall enough to reach the moon, mother? Widow Sims. When you take the brown one your eyes will no longer ache [putting back the [4] . IN A BOTTLE brown pill] and the near things and the far things will both look very clear. Tony [sitting up and reaching for the bottle] When can I take them? Now? Widow Sims. No, no, I 'm to give you one each night the fever lasts [she crosses and puts the bottle on the shelf] — first the red, then the yellow, and then the brown. [Tony turns away wearily, and the Widow goes to the table, putting some sewing materials in a bag.] Widow Sims. They 're very grand pills, Tony, and I paid two pounds for them. That 's a great deal for a poor woman like me to pay ! Tony. Is it? Widow Sims. Three years I 've been saving that, but you don't get much sewing all day, when you 've never a man to come home after a day's w r ork w T ith the silver in his pockets. Tony. I 've got silver in mine. [He takes out imaginary money, pretending to pile it on the sill. Widow Sims starts at his words and takes a step towards him, then stops sadly, and goes back to the table with a sigh.] Widow Sims. Well, well, I must be off now [gathering up her things and going toward him] . Tony [catching her hand as she passes] Where are you going to-day? To the big house that is so high up you can see the hills humping them- selves up on top of each other, and farther away the sea that stops just where the sky begins? Widow Sims [half to herself] Was ever such a boy for remembering? [Kneeling by him, and [5] THREE PILLS wrapping the quilt about him more carefully.] No, it 's not there I 'm going. And what '11 you be doing while I'm gone? Do you want your picture-book? [Tony shakes his head.] Or your glass marble? [Tony shakes his head again.] Or your tin whistle? Tony. No, I don't want any of them. I 'd rather play with my friends. Widow Sims. Friends? Tony [absently] I have so many friends. Widow Sims [with a glance of despair] Out of his head again. [She strokes his forehead.] It 's the fever makes him so queer. [Brightening a little] Oh, well, the pills will soon be setting him right! [She kisses him and turns to go.] I'll be back in time to get your dinner. Good-bye, Tony. Tony. Good-bye, mother. Widow Sims [from the doorway] Mind you keep the coverlet wrapped round you ! [She exits reluctantly. The sound of her key locking the door is distinctly heard. Tony waves his hand to her as she passes his window, and she throws him a kiss. He sits staring out into the street. Presently steps are heard on the pave- ment, and the sound of a cane tapping.] Tony [listening] Oh, someone 's coming — someone with a cane. I can hear it tap-tapping. [He leans out to stop the passer-by, who, as we see him through the window, proves to be a tall, portly, middle-aged gentleman of fifty or more, dressed in a beautiful blue coat with wide capes, a green vest over which a gold watchchain is [6] IN A BOTTLE draped conspicuously, and a high hat. His air is commanding, and he starts sharply as the little boy accosts him.] Tony. What a beautiful cane ! And the sun shining on its gold top ! [Remembering his man- ners] Good-day to you, sir. Gentleman [annoyed] Good-day, yourself. Tony. Won't you come in and play with me? I 'm all by myself, no one would disturb us. Gentleman. Most extraordinary young ras- cal ! Do you think I can stop and chat with every impudent little boy I meet? Indeed, no, I have a great deal of business on hand ! [He starts to move on.] Tony. What do you have to do? Gentleman [not entirely without pride] I have to settle my accounts. Tony. What does that mean? Gentleman. Well, counting my money for one thing. That takes a long time let me tell you ! Tony. You must have a lot of money — as much as two pounds? Gentleman [backing away] Two pounds? Two pounds, indeed ! Two tkousand, and more — Tony. How did you find it all? Gentleman. I did n't find it. I worked for it — worked hard all day long. [Shaking his cane emphatically.] When the lazy fellows were out dancing on the green, or lying on their backs in the meadows, / stayed indoors and added long columns of figures, and now, when they have hardly a copper in their pockets, I have nothing to do but count my money ! [He moves away. ] en THREE PILLS Tony. Please come in and play? Gentleman. Certainly not ! God bless my soul. I have other things to do! [He turns to Tony. Your — your soul? Why, that wouldn't be busy counting the money, too. would it? Gentleman. God bless my soul. i> the boy crazy? [Turning on his heel, and laughing skep- tically.] I don't possess such a thing! Tony. Oh. but you do. You said so twice. — you said [imitating him], u God bless my soul." Gentleman. That was merely an ejaculation. Tony. I never heard of an ejac — an ejac- — , but mother says everyone lias a soul. Gentleman. Rubbish! Tony [leaning foncard rcith both hands on the sill] Oh. it you only would — you won't be using it, you know ! Gentleman [pounding his cane impatiently] Rubbish, I said, rubbish ! Tony [putting his hand out to detain him] I '11 promise not to keep it long. Gentleman [is about to push the hand aside, then seeing Tony's face he pauses and speaks grudgingly in order to get away] Well. yes. yes. 5, then, but I say frankly I don't know what you mean by all this, and what 's more. I don't believe you do, either! ; Turning icith an impa- tient jerk, and a puzzled shrug of the shoulders] Good-day to you. Tony [calling after him] Good-bye. The Gentleman pi!s*cs on up the street, grum- bling, thumping his cane and flapping his hand- [8] IN A BOTTLE kerchief in annoyance. As he disappear a from sight a feeble little cough somtds outside, the door is pushed slowly open, and a little man in dilapi- dated garments pauses timidly on the threshold. He shuffles in uncertainly, an undersized, under- fed, moth-eaten specimen. In his tattered gar- ments he is a ludicrous and half fearful sight. His clothes must, at one time, have resembled the Middle-Aged Gentleman s, but they have fallen vn\to decay; his coat is in rags, the tails of it trail behind him forlornly, and one bare toe pro- trudes pathetically from his worn shoes. For a moment Tony is half afraid of him.] Gentleman's Soul [querulously] Well? [Tony is still too nonplussed to reply.] [Gentleman * Soul, watching him anxiously.] What are you going to do with me? [Triumphantly] I 'vc got away from him anyway ! Tony. I say, you don't belong to the gentle- man who just passed by? The one who has all that money? Gentleman's Soul [vn> a thin, complaining whine] I should say I do, and if ever a soul had a stingy, cross, cantankerous — Tony. But you can't be his Soul ! He was big, and he carried the most beautiful cane with a gold top, and you — why, you 're all in rags and tags like a beggar. You 're so little and twisted, your knees knock together, and you 're very pale! Gentleman's Soul [in a plaintive whine'] Well, whose fault is it if I 'm not handsome? I can't help that! [9] THREE PILLS Tony. I 'm sorry, but you did surprise me so ! Won't you sit down ? [The Gentleman's Soul seats himself gingerly, m order not to tear his very tender garments, on a chair. He huddles his knees close together in an effort to hide his rags, tries to smooth his few wild, straggling locks of hair, and wheezes a little, his breath being short.] Gentleman's Soul. Oh, you don't know the suffering I undergo with that man ! Why, you 'd scarcely believe it, but he has n't given me any- thing to eat for days. Consequently, my whole system is in a state of collapse. If you had n't happened to invite me in to-day, I think* I really think, I could n't have kept on being his Soul any longer! Tony. It must be very hard. Can't you make him do anything for you? Gentleman's Soul [drawing his chair nearer Tony] I used to try — when we were younger — before I got in this run-down condition, but he was always thinking of his investments — whether to buy this, or sell that, and adding up one col- umn and then down it again ! Even in my younger and healthier days, I could n't distract him, and now — [He sobs brokenly, and waves his hands in feeble protest.] Tony [still puzzled by his strange attire] And your clothes are n't a bit like his ! Gentleman's Soul. I guess I know that! If you had to wear them, you 'd realize what I en- dure! [Pointing to his decadent trousers] When they first began to get shabby, I begged him to [10] IN A BOTTLE make me some new ones, but instead he began patching them — see ! [Displaying several faded patches] That was bad enough, but now he has n't touched them for so long they 're all worn out. I shall be indecent soon ! [His voice breaks pathetically.] Tony. I 'm so sorry. Can't we make him do something? Doesn't he ever notice you? [Gen- tleman's Soul shakes his head dolefully.] Gentleman's Soul. Never ! I 'm going into a decline. [He coughs consumptively , thumpmg his chest.] All for lack of food and clothes, and — and encouragement ! Tony [affected by seeing him so completely unmanned^] You would n't be so bad if you could just grow sl little. Gentleman's Soul. Ye-es, but I 'm getting thinner and weaker every day. Tony [struck with a bright idea] If you got bigger and stronger than he is — then he 'd have to notice you ! Gentleman's Soul. Oh — oh, when he was a boy we were just the same size and we had the pleasantest times together. That was before he took to making money. Tony. What did you do? Gentleman's Soul. He let me show him things out of doors — squirrels playing in and out of the branches [he tries feebly to imitate their caperings and the result is pathetic], and the silk inside chestnut burrs, and pictures in the frost at the roadsides. We could always tell stories, too, — not on paper, you know, but here [ii] THREE PILLS [tapping his forehead meaningly]. Oh, those were delightful days ! Tony [enraptured, repeating his former thought] Now if you grew to be his size, you and he could be like that again. Gentleman's Soul. What 's the use? [In an abandonment of woe] Look at me ! Tony [perplexed] There ought to be some way. There 's Doctors — they make people well — they give them pills to take. [At the word " pills," he catches his breath, and glances at the bottle on the shelf.] Gentleman's Soul. Well, a lot of good that does me, when I have n't any pills. Tony [pointing eagerly to the shelf] But I have! I have a pill that makes people big and strong — Gentleman's Soul [beating his hands together in tremulous excitement] Are you sure? Tony [nodding] Mother told me it would. You '11 grow so tall that at night you '11 be able to reach up and pick the stars that have caught in the branches of trees ! Oh, I 'm glad I re- membered. [Poiiiting to the shelf] You '11 have to climb on a chair to reach them — there in that glass bottle. With difficulty the Gentleman' s Soul drags over a chair, clambers on it feebly, and brings the bottle to Tony. Tony. A red one she said. [Taking it out] Yes, here it is ! Gentleman's Soul [taking it in his hand and scrutinizing it] You 're a very kind little boy. [12] IN A BOTTLE Tony. You 're welcome to the pill, and thank you for playing with me. Gentleman's Soul [bowing shakily] Perhaps, when I 've got my growth, and he \s all nicely trained again, we '11 be coming to pay you our respects. Tony. Good-bye. [The Gentleman's Soul has scarcely gone out, clasping the pill in his hand, and the sound of his little cough has hardly died away, when a buzzing noise sounds nearby, mingled with the cry: " Knives to grind. Scissors to grind." This grows louder and Tony, alert m an instant, leans out the window. A Scissors Grinder appears, a lean, bent fellow, doubled over from the weight of his machine. His face is cracked and brown, with small black eyes; he wears a worn leather apron, a gay handkerchief round his throat, and a battered cap pulled over his forehead.] Scissors Grinder. Knives to grind. Scissors to grind. Bring out your knives and scissors ! [He stops by the boy a