><^- c^. > ' .\^ ■'- '^oo^ ■^^:.^ v^^ -0 •>i." V \V .\^" ^ .^^ <^ c^. 0^^ .'X^^ - 1^- c. c'^^. -V. *^ ^ .-^^^ ^ "^ „., ^ / ?-, ,-0^ c> %• s-f .V .'^^^ ,\V ■^^ c^ ■.r> c^ O o % \ ^"^ V ^^■^^. ).X' -^^c *■ f> *■■ I . '^^^ 4 'V ''ri j:^ ^\ - J .^ -^^ v' ^ '^ V ^0 O, ■/• > <^ 0^ - '? ■> .^-^ ^*. -V . axy^'^ X ^^ -^ ir 11 0>' V Oo^ C; ^2.^ ^ ;^^\;^^,^ o^ "^' cA-. /u <-- . ,^^ > ^^. *-. c-'^ ^^,^^' ..%^ '' 0' >% ,A' .0 0^ ► * 8 1 \ > >NJ-' <\ ■^- 0' «. ^'^ -^ t/> ,^ -^'^^^^^^\^\^ . C^^ t-^^ ^>^ ,:^ - N C , ^- ^ ^ •^^'y' ,x^^' '^ U 1.0 °< 0, \ ^^.'^ ,0- ■A- •/>, •^^ ■ ^ '^^^ ■^^*. a 0^ L-* '^^ OO^ DRAMAS. THE REBEL'S DAUGHTER. (By .J. G. Woerner and Chas. Gildcliaus.) INTO THE OPEN. IN THE OZARKS. ^ BY CHAS. GILDEHAUS. ST. LOUIS: PRINTED BY THE AUTHOR. J903. THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. Twc Copies Received MAY t6 1903 C\J^SS^^ XXc No. COPY B. A A -e^^ S"" \ r ^ V Vx ^< Copyright, lUOH, by Charles Gildchaus. All rights reserved. NIXON-JONES PTQ. CO.. 210 PINE ST., ST. LOUIS. "THE REBEL'S DAUGHTER" A DRAMA IN 5 ACTS, . BY J. G. WOERNER and CHAS. GILDEHAUS. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Victor Waldhorst, in love loith Nellie May. Leslie May, payiiig court to Pauline Waldhorst. Ralph Payton, a suitor to Nellie. Professor Rauhenfels, a doctor of iJhilosophy. AuF DEM BuscH, a well-to-do merchant. WoLDEMAR, his son. Skip, a slave of Leslie. Nellie May, a Southern belle, Leslie's sister. Pauline Waldhorst, Victor's sister. Mrs. May, mother of Nellie and Leslie. Cressie, an octoroon, Nellie's slave. LiSE, a servant at Auf dem Busch's. Officers, Guards, Soldiers, Messengers, TIME: 1861-65. SCENE: Act I. The home of Auf dem Busch. Act II. Camp Jefferson. Act III. A hotel in a Southern city. Acts IV and V. Colonel May's HOME AT BrOOKFIELD. An interval of 6 months between Acts 1 and 2. An interval of 3 years between Acts 3 and 4. An interval of 6 months between Acts 4 and 5. ACT I. SCENE. — A Dra wing-Room in Auf dem Busch's House. (LisE arranging vases with floiDers.) Lise. We are going to have a fine party to-nigbt. All afternoon I've been washing the old dishes what stands in the glass cases. It's the first time we ever used them since I'm here, and that's already almost ten years. — But the table cloth with the pictures in was too short, be- cause we put all six boards in the table. Miss Auf dem Busch wanted only five boards, but Mr. Auf dem Busch, he wants six ; because he says, he wants plenty room. — Such a party makes much trouble in the house. Miss Auf dem Busch had a fuss with Hannah, our cook, be- cause she came into the kitchen to tell Hannah about fix- ing the snipes. Hannah says, she cooked for this family fifteen years, and what's good enough for us was good enough for the company. Enter Skip. Skip. Hello, gal ! Is Marse May h'feah ? Lis. I don't know who is Marse May. The geutlemens what's here for company is in the library with Mr. Auf dem Busch. 8 THE rebel's daughter. Skij)' I guess he gwine come 'long dis way putty soon. Lis. You kin wait for him outside on the shteps. Ski2'>. And I kin wait fo'm right heah too. I's f om ole Koiituck, I is. Marse May's de finest gemman in dis heah Ian', an' Marse May's best nigger don't have to go sittin' on no do' steps. Lis. All right, you kin stand there till you get white. iSkip. Look a heah, gal. My Marse father, Colonel May, he's a congressman, an' wha's mo' he gwine to be a senator, an' wha's mo', one cr dese heah fine days he'll be president er dis heah whole 'Nited States. I's f'om ole KcnUick, I is. Wha's you f'om? Lis. None of your business. I come from Westphalia. Skijy. Dey's got some pow'ful good ham in West- phalicn. Lis. Wlitit you know about Westphalia Mams? Skijy. I done eat 'em in de White House. Lis. Nigo;ers ou^ht to eat in black houses. Skij). Hi, hi! — I's not been drivin' de Colonel's carriage in Washington fo' nuffin' dese heah fo' yeahs. De Colonel, he call on de president, and Skip he call on Sall}^ 'roun' de bnck way. An' da's wha' he git de ham. Lis. In this house we get just so much to eat as the president. Mr. Auf dem Buscli got a big grocer}^ on Main Street, and there we git ever3^dings we want and all for nodding. Skip {nosing about). Wha's you gov' nor keep his cigars ? Lis. He keeps 'em locked up so the niggers can't steal 'em. THE rebel's daughter. 9 Skip. Mighty po' man to work fo'. Lis. {taking a rose from a vase and fixing it in her hair). He's good enough for roe. Skip. Dem roses is po' fo'm at dis time o' yeah. Dat's wha' Miss May call a cracknonism. — Gimme a pin, gal. I's gwine to steal one er dese heah odder flow's {pins a chrysanthemum to his coat). Chrysanthebums, dey's de style fo' November. I's f'oin ole Kentuck, I is. Enter Leslie May. Les. What are you doing here? Skip. 'Scuse me, Marse May. I wan' know if I's gwine coming back heah to call fo' you. Les. No, send Sum here to wait with the carriage. Do you bear? Skip). Yes, Marse. {Ex. Skip and Lise by separate doors. Enter Auf dem Busch and Woldemar. A. d. B. Too bad, too bad! Already since a long time am I eager to meet Colonel {pronounce as spelled) May, and now misfortune makes us again a stroke through the reckoning. Les. Father, I know, regrets it no less than you. He has heard so much of you and yours through Victor and myself, that he felt himself accepting the invitation of an old friend rather, than of a stranger. But here's the message : he could not well ignore it. A. d. B. {reads). "Come to Brookfield by to-night's 10 THE rebel's daughter. train. Agreement ready. All here. Marshall." And who is Marshall? Les. Mr. Marshall is father's secretary. A. d. B. And commands like a corporal. In this re- spect, Mr. May, we merchants are better off ; when out- side business calls, we send a clerk or a salesman, and remain ourselves at home. Is it not so, Woldemar ? Wol. Yes: from morning early until evening late, it is always business, business, business. One might think the entire universe were contained in the boxes and barrels of Auf dem Busch & Son. A. d B. Till 6 p. m., Mr. May. Then we hang our business on a nail and recreate ourselves. Business for business hours, Mr. May ; that is the maxim to which I owe my success. But after the clock has struck six, you cannot buy of me a barrel of sugar or a sack of coffee, — not for a dollar a pound. Les. We lawyers cannot keep time so well. A. d. B. Just so well, my young friend, just so well. Only the weak man lets himself be governed by circum- stances, the strong man governs them. It depends alone on us, whether it be so or so. Wol. It seems to me that we pay dearly for our leisure evenings, spending our days at the office entertaining storekeepers and peddlers ; all of them uncultured, and most of them unwashed. A. d. B. You talk without experience, my son. No doubt, it is quite beautiful to read Latin, and to know the history of the whole world ; and this to learn, I sent you to the University in Berlin. But, notwithstanding, THE rebel's daughter. 11 I could name you some of our customers that are smart men, very smart men, Woldemar, although they know not Latin nor history. And for your second objection, the uncleanness, a little soap will wash it off, if it be merely on the outside. The main thing is, that they be clean on the inside and pay for what they buy. Hundred cents on the dollar; that's the main thing. Is it not, Mr. May? Les. I don't know much about the grocery business, Mr. Auf dem Busch, but it would be excellent advice for some of my clients. A. d. B. Yes, yes : I expect you can sing a little song too, of what is due, and still unpaid. — (To Woldemar) My son, guard yourself against pride. When you shake hands with a customer who makes his living with some- thing else than a lead pencil, forget not, that his hand may be greasy from handling the molasses and the fish on which he has already paid us a profit. When I was young, my hands were not so soft as yours ; for a long time I lifted boxes and rolled barrels myself. And what's more, I'm not ashamed of it. Wol. That I believe without a shadow of doubt. A. d. B. It was not always signing checks and drink- ing wine and beer with good customers, that I assure you. Les. Would it be impertinent, Mr. Auf dem Busch to inquire, whether these two delightful occupations complete the circle of your commercial duties? Wol. Oh, no: father also does the heavy thinking for the firm. 12 THE rebel's daughter. A. d. B. That is right, young men ; laugh at me all you please. Forty years ago I laughed at my old boss for the same thing, and I hope both of you will have the good luck to be laughed at in the same way in forty 3'ears from now. The old man who sits behind a desk piled up with telegrams and letters, may not seem to the draymeu and the porters to be a busy man, but he is. I can say it without boasting, Mr. May, that no man ever gave me anything. On every dollar I possess, Mr. May, there hangs a drop of sweat. Les. Your own, Mr. Auf dem Busch? A. d. B. What, my own money? Les. No, your own — sweat? A. d. B. Woldemar, Mr. May is a sharp lawyer. We will give him a case to try liis wits on by and by. But where are the ladies, Mrs. May and Miss Nellie? Ex- cuse me, gentlemens, I must find the ladies. {Exit A. D. B. Les. Your father is a fine man, Mr. Auf dem Busch. I like him. He doesn't wear many fringes on his clothes, but they fit him like the paper on the wall. Sup- pose we help him find the ladies. {Exeunt Les. and Wol. Enter Mrs. Mat and Nellie. Mrs. M. This whole affair, Nellie, is one of my son Leslie's political schemes, and he ought to be ashamed of himself to make a tool of his mother. Nel. For father's sake, mother dear. Mrs. M. I do hope a time, will come when men will be able to manage their own affairs, as we do ours, by THE rebel's daughter. 13 themselves. Here we are invited to dine with people whom I never met in my life. There's our host now. I'm sure he's looking for us. {Exit Mrs. May. Nel. Senator May ! That's the theme. Father must win. To accomplish this, I'll play the part assigned to me so well, that men, and women too, shall clap and call me before the curtain. Faintly I see what Leslie wishes me to do. It is a part to my liking, and 'tis easily done. 'Tis done already {knockiyig at the door). Come! Enter Leslie. Les. Ah ha, a disappointment, am I not? Nel. Why a disappointment, Les.? I'm your sistei, the only girl in this wide world who may indulge her love for Leslie May, and not be disappointed. Les. Ralph Pay ton has been invited, too. I met him in the corridor. How stand things now between you? Nel. In statu quo. Les. Ralph Payton will make his mark. Nel. And would you make a match? Les. That's woman's work. Nel. Then let me make one for you. How would you like a little fair-haired girl with ^merry dimples and rosy cheeks ? With eyes as blue as the deep sea, and a heart as true and faithful as that of King Cymbeline's daughter? Les. Pauline Worldhorst ! Nel. How well you guess. Les. But what makes you think of her? Nel. Oh, I can see with my mind's eye, Horatio, what kind of creature is most likely to attract a man who for 14 THE RESELLS DAUGHTER. these many summers swims like a bubble on the sea of sopiety. Les. And what do you think of her? NeL She's too good ; at least too good for you. Les. You speak as if I wished to marry her. And uncle Auf dem Busch, what do you think of him? Net. Uncle, is it? You travel at no snail's pace. Les. It's all sport, Nel. You see, this Mr. Auf dem Busch has a son, a monstrously conceited only son, who was raised abroad, and imagines that we Americans are all either Indians or buffaloes. Now, this fellow, " made in Germany, " dotes on his cousin Pauline, but is so proud that he will never take her, unless she comes to him on her knees. Nel. Is that the German fashion ? Les. If it is, I'll show him how we do it here in America. Nel. To which Miss PauHne, of course, offers no objection. Jjes. Objection! Not a bit. You see, Pauline is a bit proud herself. Seems to be a sort of family trait. Her brother, Victor, is another specimen. I shall never forget that night when years ago we played mock- marriage, and you to favor him selected him for your bridegroom, and he refused. — He, who worshipped you with every breath of his life, and refused ! My, with what a tongue- lashing you dismissed him. But to him, a mock-marriage with you seemed sacrilege. Nel. Is he so rigorous still? Xes. Old Victor ever ; his conscience is his God. THE KEBEL's daughter. 16 Net. He's firm with us? Les. We've elected him to the legislature. He's pledged to vote for father, whom you know he loves as well as we do. Nel. And he'll not backslide? Les. Not unless his ticklish conscience troubles him. He may have scruples. Nel. What, regarding slavery ? Les. He comes from a stock opposed to slavery on principle, but having lived in the South, he knows that slavery is a blessing to the blacks. Nel. What, then, do you fear? Les. Simply this : before the Democratic caucus meets to nominate its candidate for the United States senate, one State at least will promulgate secession. Nel. {eagerly). At last! Thank Heaven! Les. Listen to me, sister. Nel. Let us be men, and fight or die for 't! Jjes. The battle's ours unless we split in caucus. Nel. Yes, I see. Les. We must keep Victor Waldhorst in the traces, or else we'll not pull through. Nel. Indeed? This bashful, blundering boy has be- come a mighty power in the land ! — (^Refiectively) Is Victor Waldhorst absolutely necessary to father's election ? Les. Absolutely. Nel. Then send him to me. He shall vote for father, as sure as I was christened Eleanora. Les. But do not commit yourself to folly. 16 THE rebel's daughter. Nel. He'll vote for father! Les. Hsh, I see Payton coming. Nel. Send Victor to me, Les. ! Enter Payton. Les. 'Tis a queen's levee, Ralph. I've had my audi- ence. You're next. {Exit Leslie. Pay. Thank you {joyously). Miss Nellie! Nel. Permit me, Mr. Payton, to shake hands with my friend, the congressman. How feels one when one is an honorable? Pay. In my case, I feel the honor outweighs the merit. With Colonel May's indorsement, any man in our dis- trict could have been elected as easily as I. Nel. You modest man. Take courage from the fact, that you would not have been elected unless my father considered you fit for the place. Pay. Ah, yes, I'm his debtor beyond all paying, and what's more, Nellie, I expect, by your permission, to be- come his greater debtor, still. When shall il be? Nel. {lightly). To-morrow or day after ; or next week or next month — but Ralph, not now. Pay. Then may I hope? Nel. Why not? " Hope springs eternal in the human breast," 3^ou know. And though the naughty poet adds, *'Mau never is, but always to be blest," why, you are to be blest in that you hope ; and that makes hope a bless- ing, does it not? Come, Ralph, these are not the days for love and dalliance. There is much to do, ere my THE rebel's daughter. 17 ambition's topmost round is climbed. I would be daughter to a senator. Pay, Could I not work with better grace, if I were working for a promised father? Nel. In-law, why don't you add? No, sir. Why, every word of praise you spoke for my father would be all misconstrued by the world at large. Would the peo- ple not smile and chuckling say, " Young man, we see your game. These feathers you would gather are not for the Colonel's nest, but for your own? " No, Ralph, work as if you worked purely out of love for my father ; or better still, as if you meant it all for the country's good. Pay. Ah, cruel Nellie! Nel. What shall I do? Pay. Become my wife. Nel. The time's inopportune. WL Pay. Why is the time inopportune ? Nel. Because my father would be senator, and — Pay. And? Nel. And I'm his daughter. Pay. What am I to understand by that ? Nel. That when the sea runs high, and danger threat- ens, the crew and captain have no appetite for love and roses. Pay. I beg your pardon. Nel. There's no offense. When father is once safely seated, we shall find time for plan's beyond, Ralph. Till then no more of this. Pay. You'll break my heart. 2 18 THE rebel's daughter. Nel. I warrant you it will not break ; neither yours nor mine. We're both too — wise for that. Like the fiber of slow growing oaks, hearts grow tough with time. Let us be friends, Ralph. Here's my hand. Pay. You are sheer incorrigible. Nel. The worst may mend. See, there comes Leslie, and, as I live, Victor Waldhorst! Enter Leslie and Victor. (Payton goes aside loitlwut greeting Yic.^ but observes them intently.) Les. Nel., who's this? Nel. That's Victor Waldhorst. I am glad to see you. How you have changed. I'd not have known you if we had met by chance. Vic. (Deeply moved at the sight 0/ Nellie.) I might say the same of you, Miss May. Les. Be careful, Vic, she's almost twenty-three, an age at which it becomes ticklish to tell a lady that she has altered since — since — she was younger. Nel. Leslie, I'm suprised. — Avoid him, Mr. Wald- horst ; he is one who proves the saying that a fresh young man delights in stale old jokes. Vic. He loves to tease. But I still maintain, Miss May is taller than when last we met. Nel. A little, yes. You too have grown. Not tall, but more complete. Les. Come, let us measure. So, back to back. Yes, Victor is the taller. And yet I'll wager, she'll outgrow the difference, if fashion so commands. THE rebel's daughter. 19 Vic. How so? Nel. Hsh, Leslie! Les. By wearing hair and heels a little higher. Nel. Leslie, I wish you'd find mother. I haven't seen her for ever so long, and I fairly yearn for her. Fay. {aside). She wishes to be alone with Waldhorst. By and by, she'll send me like her brother on some errand. This must be looked to. Did she but now put me off in order that she might greet Waldhorst with an unpromised hand? I'll stay to hear what follows (i^icks up a book and pretends to read). Les. Hello, there's Ralph Payton! And with a book. Tell me, what says the master? Pay. The author writes: " Salutation blows more bub- bles over the greeting of two acquaintances that have not met for a term of years, than at the meeting of the best of friends." I think it true. — ( Tb Victor, coolly) Good evening, sir. Vic. (coolly). Good evening. Les. Come, Ralph ; the little girl has lost her mamma. Let's find her, or she'll cry. {Exeunt Leslie and Payton. Nel. This Leslie is a torment, is he not? Vic. I envy him his nimble spirit. Most men must creep to favor ; your dashing brother wins her in a dance. Nel. Do you see much of Mr. Payton? Vic. No ; very little. Nel. Why? Vic. O, I know of no good reason, unless it be that we are not congenial. Nel. He was not even civil to you now. 20 THE rebel's daughter. Vic. I can pardon that. A better friend of mine than Mr. Payton might feel provoked to be interrupted as be was by Leslie and myself. Nel. At times he presumes to lord it over me like a man that had some claim. Presumptuous fellow! But let him rest: I'm glad we're rid of him. — And now, Vic- tor, since we still have a little time before dinner, I invite you to offer me your arm and escort me to a quiet nook in your uncle's library. And there you must tell me all about yourself. I want to know your whole history. Vic. (^ELhiE acceptmg his arm). My story is quickly told, and dull at that. I had far rather hear yours than tell you mine, Miss May. Nel. (taking her arm from Victor). Please now, do not Miss May me, or you may miss to please me. Smile, that's proper. It was a stupid pun. But since you dared to laugh, you must be punished. Henceforth, if you address me as Miss May, I will no longer call you Mr. Waldhorst ; nor Mr. Victor ; no, nor even Victor, but simply Vic. Vic. That were capital punishment, indeed. Nel. I don't believe you'd like it. (Exeunt arm in arm. Enter A. d. B. and Mrs. May. A. d. B. You see, madam, your son has qualifications what mine has not, and I wish he had. Mrs. M. And yours is rich in many qualities wherein mine is poor. A. d. B. That is likewise so. If we could mix the THE rebel's daughter. 21 two together like the English mix their ale and porter what two fine fellows they would make. Mine should give yours one-half of his heaviness, and yours give mine one-half of his lightness. Mrs. M. And yet perhaps it is better as it is. A. d. B. Yes, yes, I guess so too. An average man is none at. all. All excellence lays in extremes. Mrs. M. And I have heard my husband argue that extremes meet. A. d. B. But here, like has found like, as the German saying goes. We elderly persons moralize, and see, the young folks have likewise found themselves, and — let us not disturb them. (^Exeunt A. d. B. and Mrs. May. Enter Leslie and Pauline. Les. But, Miss Pauline, not now. Paid, Yes, now. Les. A rose, out in the open air, at this time of the year ? Paul. Yes. Les. Will you play April fool jokes with me in No- vember. Paul. But this is true. Les. Who ever heard of November roses in the open air? Paul. It grows between the stable and a wall where the cold winds cannot reach it. Les. May I be convinced by seeing it myself? Paul. Certainly, will you go now? 22 THE rebel's daughter. Les. I shall be delighted to go with you. Paul. It's nothing wonderful: it happens every year. Les. But not to me. It is the first time I've ever had the pleasure, and that alone is something, is it not? Paul. The newness soon wears off. Les. How do you know? {Exuent Leslie and Pauline. Enter Woldemar having observed Leslie and Pauline. Wol. This jackanapes of a lawyer seems smitten with Pauline. Poor fool, he doesn't know how modest women detest a trifling man. And how prettily Pauline smiled on the coxcomb. The little rogue! Was that intended as a hint for me! I think she knew I was watching them. Well, well, my little mouse, next time we meet I'll relieve your suspense, and with a word I'll bring to pass what has long been understood. Enter A. d. B. A. d. B. What, all alone? Well, may be you find that the best company of all. I tell you, Woldemar, these Americans have a polish, that is just unresistiblc. Wol. Of course. These Mays are descendants from the old colonists of Virginia, and boast a pedigree almost two hundred years old. A. d. B. Let it count for what it is worth. My ex- perience teaches me to follow the Bible : prove all things ; hold fast that which is good. I have of late years become what the Greek philosophers call an eclectic. THE rebel's daughter. 23 Wol. Say, rather, you have become electrified. And here comes the battery : now mark how she applies the current. Enter Nellie. Nel. Have you seen Victor, Mr. Auf dem Busch ? A. d. B. Victor? I thought you had him under your wing. Nel. (^laughing). Why, yes, so I had ; but he has flown. Or, rather, he was sent for. We were seated in your library, and he was in the midst of his story, when a servant interrupted us with a message, saying some one wished to see Mr. Waldhorst in the parlor. Do you know who it is? A. d. B. If my fears have ground, beautiful lady, Victor is now under the ban of a magician, from which not even all your beauty can set him free. Nel. And what's the lady's name ? A. d. B. The lady is a man. Nel. Is she? Oh, if it is but a man, one half my fear is gone. Wol. I'll wager, it is Doctor Rauhenfels. Nel. What's he? Wol. He's a philosopher. Nel. Yes, yes. I think my brother mentioned him. What sort of man is he ? Wol. I said he was a philosopher. That one word defines him better than a whole dictionary of adjectives. Nel. Philosopher means a friend of wisdom. Wol. It meant that formerly ; now it means conceit and confusion. 24 THE rebel's daughter. A. d. B. My son, you have to remember that a real philosopher is one who finds fault most with himself. Net. Little boys that flounder in the water are not apt to praise an expert swimmer. And so, perhaps, some of us dislike philosophy because we have none. Wol. Do you propose to learn ? Net. I'll guard my speech, Mr. Auf dem Busch, until I have caught a husband. For who can tell, but that some day I'll be much in love with a man who does not love philosophy at all. Until then I must not commit myself — {to the elder A. d. B.) will you help me find Victor, Mr. Auf dem Busch ? A. d. B. It shall give me the greatest pleasure. Come with us, Woldemar. Wol. I thank you ; no. A. d. B. {to Nellie}. This way, please. Nel. Thank you, sir. {Exeunt A. d. B. and Nellie. Wol. That's a speciman of an American woman : frivolous and mannish. Ten to one, she never cooked a meal nor sewed a stitch. Yet one of these days she'll marry and make some stupid fellow miserable. If I had anything to say,, they would soon follow the fashion of civilized countries, where the woman wears an apron and not pantaloons. She's as sly as a serpent, and played upon me with her sparkling eyes as if she had set her cap for me, too. But I'll be mighty careful, my dear young lady. I don't propose to wake up some morning and find myself defendant in a breach of prom- ise suit, {Exit Woldemar, THE kebel's daughter. 25 Eyiter Victor and Nellie. Nel. And so you have become an editor, one of the powers that shape the policy of parties and of men ? Vic, We try to do it. Nel, What are my father's chances? Vic. Unless some miracle happen he is bound to win. Nel. O Victor, these many years, I have been the daughter of a Congressman, and now I crave promo- tion. You will lend a helping hand to raise me, will you not? Vic, My vote is all I have. But it, myself and all that I can do by word, act or example, is pledged to your father's support. Nel. I thank you deeply for this promise, Victor. Vic. There is no occasion for thanks. Where our duty pairs with our pleasure, the task becomes delight- ful. For your assurance. Miss Nellie, I'll go so far as to say that my endeavors had been enlisted in fealty to your father even against your pleasure. Nel. Victor Waldhorst ! Beware lest you make little of my friendship; it is hard to win, and since I am a woman, it is easily lost. Vic. Is there a better way to emphasize the love I bear your father, than to assure you, that I would for his sake willingly sacrifice what I cherish most? Nel. And that most, am I ? Vic. I mean — Nel. Nay, nay, you'v§ said it noWo Most fortunate 26 THE rebel's daughter. for you, that father and myself are not opposed in this. If some strange chance had made us enemies, then your duty had been besieged by a woman's wit ; by pleading eyes, soft words and glistening tears ; by clinging touches, and wringing of white helpless hands. Believe me, a duty that men's iron cannot shake, a woman's weakness bends it. Vic. So it may. Nel. But happily our duty is not divided ; a singleness of purpose binds us all. My father loves us both ; in turn, I honor him, and likewise honor you ; whereas you think much of my father, and more of mc — than my deserts. Vic. I'll not subscribe to that. Nel. Oh, yes, you will. Vic. Will you repeat it for me? Perhaps I did not follow — Nel. Mr. Waldhorst, grant me a favor ? Vic. Anything. Nel. Forgive the rudeness I committed when years ago I left you in anger. I have long since repented, but my conscience will be ill at ease till it receive forgiveness from the lips of him that I offended. Vic. Oh, don't do that. Miss Nellie. Do not, I beg you, ask my pardon. Be like yourself, proud and mag- nificent. Destroy me with your anger, but do not rob my fond heart of his divinity. I am a proud slave and can serve none but the proud: a queen or none at all. Nel. I see, you are old Victor still: biilittling self and aggrandizing others. But you'll forgive me? THE rebel's daughter. 27 Vic. (^warmly). Aye, ten thousand times ; and if hence- forth you sin ten thousand times, I shall ten thousand times forgive — {checking himself) I must go. 'Tis late, and I am not well. Nel. Oh, no, you cannot go like that. Why, you've been invited here to dinner. If you go, I sh^U be sorry that I came. For my sake, stay. (Victor's expression shows that he relents.) That's kind of you. It will seem like olden times to have you next to me at table. Vic. You must be lenient with me, the misery of my youth, this fault, to be so ill at ease, wears slowly off. Nel. Self-conscious men are men of lesser conscience than those whose heart we see. Vic {smiling). That's comforting. Nel. If you are sick of too much honesty, Victor, I'll be your doctor and prescribe against it. Yes, nor will I physic you with bitter pills. Vic. Of too much honesty ? Nel. That's your disease. But I can cure you. Shall I tell you how ? Come every day to see me, be my escort to balls, to banquets, and the theater. We'll walk about in crowded streets, and ramble side by side in the lonely paths of the forest. It matters not where, so we be together. There I will teach you how to prevaricate, to seem and pose : to wreathe your face in welcQjne when you are bored to death : to show indifference, while your heart leaps with joy. But all in sport. How 3011 frown on me, as if I were a monster that meant to steal your soul. I'm not so wicked, for, look you, the fees for this medical attendance shall be a most unheard of quid pro 28 THE rebel's daughter. quo. I'll teach you how to fib, and, in return, Victor, you shall teach me to tell the truth. Is it a bargain ? Vic. A bargain which no mortal, least of all I, could resist. It only grieves me that your friendliness is lavished on one who lacks even the tact to say, I thank you. Nel. Now you've said it. Vic. Let me speak, Nellie. To my disgrace I stand here before you like a stupid fellow — do not contradict me — and yet in your eyes, I am most eager to be es- teemed. Ever since I was a boy, ever since first I saw you, your presence makes me awkward and confuses me. 'Tis humiliating to confess it, and on sober second thought, perhaps I had not done it. But your kindness emboldens my heart and prompts my tongue to speak. I am no fool, although my behavior proclaims me one. Although you spurned me once, and with angry eye turned your back on me, you were still the angel that hovered over the dreams of my imagination. When to-day your brother told me, that I might come and speak to you, the long wish realized, destroys my self-possession and disconcerts me. My dream was fair, but now as I gaze upon it with waking eyes, the truth transcends it. Nel. Ah, Victor, if man's variable mood finds constant relish in one woman's favor, this shall be but the A, the initial letter, precursor of an entire alphabet. Oh, Vic- tor, human life brims o'er with sweets, to those that with the faculty of bees, sip honey from the perfumed flowers of time. Let fools drink poison! If you love me, Vic- tor, help to elect my father to the senate, and you shall THE rebel's daughter. 29 be our guest in Washington from opening unto end. You shall command Eleanora May in all your wishes, and she'll obey you. Vic. Doubly then I pledge : doubly, for you, though singly for your father had been enough. JSfel. I hear some one approaching. Come, let us go in together. (Victor remams.) Victor, come! {Exit Nellie. Vic. This is the ground I step on, this my hand, This is the truth, though stranger far than fiction, Reality more wondrous than a dream ! I tremble what to do, lest what I do Undo what's well done. No, this is no dream! My goddess walks on earth and speaks to me : I saw her lips, her eyes, I touched her hand, And it was warm as mine. Her amorous breath Fans the long smouldering passion into life, Burn, burn my heart, she yet shall be my wife. CURTAIN. 30 THE rebel's daughter. ACT II. SCENP]. — Camp Jefferson. The city in thk back- ground. Tents to the left: Sentinels. On the right, the overhanging limb of a tree projecting FROM THE scene: TaBLES, CHAIRS, ETC., UNDER IT. Discovered : A squad of gaily uniformed soldiers with brightly polished arms being drilled in the manual of arms b}^ a sergeant ; after a few manipulations they are marched out of the way. Captain Payton, in full uniform, looks on from the entrance to the foremost tent. As the soldiers leave, he turns to the interior of the tent and calls out : Pay. Skip ! Enter Skip. Skip. Yes, Marse? Pay. Run around to Captain May's tent and tell him to report to me. Skip. Yes, Marse {turns to go). Pay. Stay ! Deliver to him this order {writes on a sheet of 2)(iper and hands it to Skip). Skip. Yes, Marse. {Exit with military salute. THE rebel's daughter. 31 Fay. That scamp puts on airs as if he belonged to the service. Leslie must teach him to remember his place. Come to think, I might have sent an orderly with the message or even an adjutant. It would have been in better military style. " Discipline," the General would say, " discipline is the soul of an army. Without dis- cipline an army is a mob." And now, that I am com- mandant of Camp Jefferson, it behooves me to remem- ber my dignity. I wonder whether Captain May has heard. I shall insist on his giving me my full title as commanding General. Enter Leslie in full uniform. Les. Good morning, Ralph. Pay. {with pomposity). Sir, you forget. We are in service. Les. {saluting). Pardon, Captain Pay ton. Pay. General, sir : General in command. Les. {saluting^ ivith a slight smile). Pardon, General Pay ton ! Pay. {saluting gravely). Colonel May. Les. General, I have the honor to report in obedience to your order as Captain May. Pay. Ah, Colonel, you have not heard. The General and all the regimental officers have been summoned to a conference with the Governor. Between ourselves, I would not be surprised if an attack on the arsenal w^re ordered in a day or two. One hundred and sixty thou- sand stands of arms there. Enough to arm our whole 32 THE rebel's daughter. militia, and carry the State into the Southern Confeder- acy in spite of itself. Les. You think so? Pay. Meanwhile in the absence of the General and of every staff otficer belonging to the camp, the command devolves upon me, as the senior captain of the first regi- ment of the brigade. As you are next to me in rank, the command of the regiment falls to you, and so you have the right to be addressed as Colonel. Les. A rapid promotion. I go to my bunk as Captain and leave it as Colonel. Fay. It beats Colonel Melnotte in the play. Les. And our glory will last about as long as a play. Pay. As long as it lasts, I mean to make the most of it. Les. What do you propose to do? Pay. I mean to order a regimental drill. Les. By Jove! In honor of the visitors we expect? Pay. Just so. Les. Well, then you ought to be about it, for they will soon be here {consults his watch). They named the hour of twelve. Pay. I have already given the necessary orders for the usual dress parade : the drill may follow or precede it. Les. What a pity you have no general's uniform to put on. It might open Nellie's eyes to your military ac- complishments. Pay. And an eagle on your shoulders, would, I dare say, interest Miss Waldhorst more highly than the double bars you wear. Les. Pauline takes interest in the man, not in the THE rebel's daughter. 33 uniform. But I am afraid she will be shocked to see me in gray. Pay. Never mind ; our boys in gray will so impress her with their gallant and soldierly behavior, that her heart must relent. But we must entertain the ladies with something beside dumb show. Do you think I may draw on the commissary department for some wine.? Les. Is there such a thing in the camp ? Pay. There must be some left over from the banquet last night. Ho, there, Skip! Skip (withiny Yes, Marse? Pay. That darky of yours puts on airs as if he were a corporal. Enter Skip. Pay. {to Skip). Say, is there any wine left in the store ro®m from yesterday's banquet? Skip. N'ar'y drop, Marse. Didn't see no wine 'bout 't all. Les. What, no wine at the officers' banquet? Pay. Scamp, do you mean to tell me there was no drinking yesterday ? Skip. Lots o' drinking, Marse, but no wine. Dey didn't drink no wine, 'cause dey had none. Les. They didn't drink water, did they? Skip. No, Marse, 'cept dis mawnin. Yest'day dey done drink pain. Pay. What, pain? Les. {severely). Skip, don't poke off your old chest- 3 34 THE rebel's daughter. nuts on us. Do you pretend not to know what cham- pagne is? Skip {brightening). Dat's it, Marse May: dat what dey call it: sham pain. Says one o* de cap'ns, say 'e, stand'n up: shampain to my real frien's an' real pain to my sham frien's. An' dey all drink an' larf an' say, good, good. Les (smiling). Well, even chestnuts may be good on fitting occasions : the pun may have been as good as new to some of the boys. Skip, if the champagne yesterday was as dry as your joke to-day, I should like to have some of it. Skip (laughing). No joke, Marse May, fo' some of de cap'ns mighty dry dis mawnin'. An' no sham 'bout deir pain. Pay. But is there any of the champagne left? That is a question more to the purpose. Skip, Guess dere's some in a box. It's just like de boxes de big black bottles come out. Les. A whole box of wine left after a drinking bout of heroes thirsting for military glory? There must have been a good supply. Skip, 'Twas'nt none ob deir fault, hya, hya! Dar would 'nt o' been none lef, Marse May, if dey had 'a seen it. Pay. Scoundrel ! Did you hook it? Skip (indignant). Hook it? What you think, Marse? I's f'om ole Kentuck, I is. Der was a pile ob straw come off'n de bottles 'n empty boxes piled on, an' no- THE rebel's daughter. 35 body knowed noth'n 'bout dis yere box till I cleaned up de camp dis mawnin'. 'N den I found it. Les. All right, Skip ; trot along, now, and bring the box here for the General's inspection. Hurry up. Skip {lingering), Ya — as, Marse. Must 1 bring it out heah? I'll — I'll open de box an' bring de bottles. Pay. Stir your stumps. Les. Say, Skip, you need'nt mind opening the box. Just bring it as it is. (Skip exit^ scratching his wool. Pay. How about glasses. Colonel? We can't ask the ladies to drink out of the bottles. Les. Let Skip alone for finding glasses. He'll not grudge us those, however he may hate to part with the wine. {Noise in the tent as of hammering at a box.) Pay. What's that? What is the rascal doing? Les. He's opening an open box. Pay. What do you mean? Les. You'll see in a minute. {He-enter Skip with ayi open case of wine on his shoulder^ ivhich he sets down.) Skip. Dar', Marse May. I jis done op'n de box 'cause de hatchet was handy. Les. {examining the straw around the bottles). Ah ha, the hatchet was handy this "mawnin," was it? And the champagne knife was handy too, eh? But look here, Skip, I guess you made a mistake, didn't you? Did you intend to bring us an empty bottle ? {Holds up an empty bottle from which he has stripped the straw.) Skip. Dat dar bottle empty, Marse May? Golly, it must 'a leaked. 36 THE rebel's daughter. Les. Yes, Skip, I guess it must 'a leaked. How do you suppose did it come to leak? Skip. Could it 'a been rats, Marse r I done seen some pow'ful big rats round de camp. Les. It was a powerful big rat. Skip, that sucked the wine out of this bottle. The rest of them appear all right. Pay. It was you, you thieving scoundrel! How dare you lie to us in that outrageous fashion ? Les. General, you ought to know our darkies better. To a Northerner it would appear, of course, that Skip has lied ; but I know that he was only showing his politeness. Pay. Politeness? Enter an Orderly, saluting. Ord. {to Payton). Two ladies and two gentlemen de- sire admission. They gave a curious name, but I have forgotten it. Pay. AufdemBusch? Ord. That is it. Pay. Let them enter. {Exit Orderly. Les. Skip, while we attend to the visitors, do you pre- pare the table, and fix up a snack to eat. Skip. Yes, Marse. Pay. Lay plates for six, and put the wine on ice. Skip. Yes, Marse — {aside) If dar ain't Miss Nellie! Eiiter 'Nellie, Pauline, AufdemBusch and Woldemar. Pay. {advancing to meet the visitors'). Ladies and gentlemen, you honor us, and I am happy to welcome you in our camp {shakes hands all around). THE rebel's daughter. 37 Les. (bowing to all^ and shaking hands with Pauline). This is an honor ; and what a treat to us. Nel. I dare say it is a relief in your monotonous, lazy life to have somebody to admire your military play- school. A. d. B. I make you my compliment, Mr. Payton — ])ViVV-don! Mr. Captain! — at the military spirit in your camp. Wol. Yes, your sentinel put on the gravity of a veteran grenadier when he accosted us. Nel. (^mimicking). "Halt!" "Who goes there?" " A friend," says Mr. Auf dem Busch. " Advance, friend, and give the countersign." " Auf dem Busch," says Mr. Auf dem Busch. " False. The countersign is Beauregard. Say Beauregard, or I'll shoot!" {^Laughter by Patton and A. d. Busch. ) Paul. What a lovely place you have chosen for your — bivouac^ do you say in soldier parlance? Les. I have never seen the place so lovely as I find it since you have called my attention to it. And I would cheerfully bivouac here for the sake of such delightful company. A. d. B. Bivouac, my child, sounds like it is French. It is, however, not. It is how the French say '* biwake" (^pronounce bewaak-a). The Dutch say so to camp under guard. Have I right. Captain May? Pay. Colonel May, sir! Colonel in command of the regiment. A. d. B. Colo-nell ! Ah, how soon you climb. Shall you be general to-morrow? 38 THE rebel's daughter. Nel. How is this, — General — Colonel? — Where is your General? Les. Behold, his Excellency, General Payton, com- mandant of the Post. Wol. What sanguinary battle has made such havoc among your officers? Yesterday, you were both cap- tains, as I understood. Tell us the history of this swift promotion. Have your superiors all fallen? Skip (aside, laughing). Fallen under de tables: battle wif de bottles. Les. The Governor has called his wise men to a coun- cil of war, and so the camp, depleted of its staff, is left in charge of such lesser lights, as myself and {bowing to Patton). Nel. For shame, Colonel: General Payton is your superior officer. Les. Yes : he ranks me by five minutes. His commis- sion as captain is just that much older than mine. Paul. Five minutes ! Is that all the difference between a colonel and a general ? Wol. Such is the chance of war, even in play. Pay. Play, do you think, Mr. Auf dem Busch? — Some of these days we may meet again: and then, perhaps, you may find that we pla}^ here to some purpose. Paul. Will there really be war, Mr. May? Les. Why, yes, I hope so. Would it not be too bad if we had gone to all this trouble for nothing? Shall we have no opportunity to show off our military prowess? A. d. B. It is right to make ready for war. Because when we get ready for war, it shall be often that we have THE rebel's daughter. 39 none. And so, Pauline, if these young warriors be ex- cellent soldiers, they may scare off war. Pay. Be not too sure of that, Mr. Auf dem Busch. There are conditions under which peace becomes less honorable than war. Les. Give the word, General. Skip's batteries, I see, are in position. Pay, Yes ; and meanwhile we will show the ladies and these gentlemen, that we have lost no time in fitting our- selves for a warlike profession {^writes and then calls). What, ho ! Enter Guard. Take this order to Captain Gray (gives the order to guard). We are ready to review the troops. (Exit Guard. Nel. A dress parade, General? Did you ever see one, Pauline ? Paul. No, I never did. Nel. It will be a grand sight. (Drum and fife behind the scenes.) Paul. Oh, there they come ! ( While they seat them- selves, Skip pours and presents the wine. The drum and fife approach nearer. If deemed best, there may noiv be a drill of the soldiers, either wholly or partly on the stage: if on the stage, Payton gives some orders; if not, the words of command are only heard. ) Pay. Let us, ladies and gentlemen, drink this to our country. A. d. B. Our country, the glorious Union ! I have 40 THE rebel's daughter. better right as you to say mine : it is mine from choice, yours only from chance. Les. Good for you, Mr. Auf dem Busch ! You have us there. Nel. And yet, Mr. Auf dem Busch, we are the natural children of our country: you but her foster child. A. d. B. Yes, and fostered she has me well. Les. The child has been fostered into a pretty sub- stantial man, according to Bradstreet and Dun (^command from without). Paul. Oh, see how they swing around! Just like the spokes of a wheel. Wol. You ought to see the Prussian fall maneuvers. Thousands upon thousands moving to the word of com- mand like one piece of perfect mechanism. Nel. Yes, it is marvelous, indeed. But if our boys in grey had one half the drill, I'd back th^m against the crack regiments of Europe. Wol. {surprised). What, have you been to Europe, Miss May? Nel. {keeps her eyes on the parade while speaking to Wol). With your permission, yes. Wol. And how does America compare with Europe? Nel. Well, what shall I say. We did all Europe in one summer and had a good time. Do you still care for my opinion? Wol. Yes, go on, please. Nel. Then give me Europe for six months or a year: America, for all my life. THE rebel's daughter. 41 Wol. strange perversion ! Europe teems with culture. America has hardly put forth a leaf. Nel. For my part, I prefer spring to summer. Wol. And crudeness to culture? Nel. (turning to Wol). Manhood to abject cringing. Mr. Auf dem Busch, to me it was a piteous spectacle to see the great mass of a nation crawl in the dust before the titled few. Counts, barons, dukes, lords — I've seen them all, spangled like gypsy women, and about them the multitude gaps reverence. Wol. These titled few have acquired the skill to rule, from father to son, through many generations. Nel. Why should one man hold privilege over another by virtue of some ancestor's good deed? Is it more enlightened to acknowledge rule in the chance of birth than in the proofs of merit? Which of the two is the better credential? Thank heaven, that here we rule, not by the grace of God, but by the votes of men. (Nellie crosses to opposite side.) A. d. B. {clapping hands). Bravo! Aha, Woldemar, what will you say to that? Wol. (crossing]toward Nellie without noticing A. d. B. ). Yes, by men who vote, not as their judgment prompts, but as directed by demagogues and tricksters, who bar- ter office for cash or pledges to the highest bidder. In well ruled states, the foremost duty of a citizen is his obedience. Net. To himself alone, through those whom he selects, — to others, none. Yours is the standard by which men govern slaves : obedience, or the lash ! 42 THE rebel's daughter. WoL Indeed? And is your negro not entitled to free- dom as well as the white man? Nel. That depends. To those who theorize upon the subject in Yankee States and German schools, no doubt he is. But to us Southern people, who wear him — please excuse the homely phrase — next to our skin, I don't believe he is. Wol. Oh ho! Your freedom's logic has a flaw. Nel. Suppose it has. And should therefore the seal- skinned Esquimo compel the Hottentot to wear his furs? WoL You lecture like a school ma'am. Nel. Thank you, sir. I wish I might accept your compliment: but since I have not the honor to be a school ma'am, I must decline. Wol. School ma'ams are a forward institution one rarely meets in Europe. Nel. So I hear. Wol. The're millions of them in America! Nel. That need not trouble your supremacy. For Europe has a formidable off-set in a hundred thousand barmaids serving beer. You see, we girls are coming to the front, and choose professions, chacun a son gout — or rather, each one does as best she can. There beer- mug, here a book. Pay. Skip, fill em up again! {Drum and fife playing Dixie heard in the distance.) Here's to the American girl, the pink of creation! {A file of soldiers approach to the tune of Dixie, ) Nel. And the boys in gray, her gallant defenders! {Enter a file of soldiers: while they cross the stage,, Nellie THE rebel's daughter. 43 sings: " Away down South in the land of cotton, etc." (Patton, Leslie and Pauline join in the chorus. The music marches oj^.) Wol. This tune seems to strike a popular chord here. It is a nimble tune to dance a jig by. But will it march? (Star-spangled Banner played by a brass band is heard in the distance.) Paul. Listen ! Les. What is this? Is this music by your order, General ? Pay. No. Les. What, — not by your order? Pay. No. Paul. Look, they break ranks, — they scatter. A. d. B, Can it mean that a misfortune has happened ? Nel. See, the whole camp is in uproar. What men are those marching in long file from the hills yonder? Pay. Skip, my field-glass — quick. Skip. Yes, Marse. {^Exit quickly. Les* (^jumping on the table). By Jupiter, there is a column advancing from this side, too ! A. d. B. And there ! Re-enter Skip. Pay. (^taking the glass from Skip). We are sur- rounded — blue coats — by heaven! Les. I'll see what it means. Pay. Stay, Colonel May. Net. See those horsemen riding towards us across the valley. 44 THE rebel's daughter. Pay. A flag of truce {flourish of trumpets zoithout). Les. What on earth can it mean? Eriter Rauhenfels, attended. Chorus. Rauhenfels! Bau. Who commands here? Pay. Address yourself to me, sir. Bau. I am sent by General Lyon to demand surrender of this camp. Chorus. Surrender? Bau. Within ten minutes. Les. And what authority has General Lyon to interfere with troops assembled here by order of the State? Bau. My business is with your commander. Pay. Make known then your authority to me. Bau. For one thing, sir, we want the arms that you have stolen from the government. Pay. Sir, what arms? Bau. The arms unloaded here this morning, plundered from the federal arsenal at Freeburg, and which this very night you mean to use in an assault upon the arsenal here. Pay. Sir, if you came here to insult us, remember that I am in command. Bau {smiling). No longer, sir. You and your fellow conspirators are not in command, but prisoners. While you gossipped over your wine here, you have been sur- rounded by ten thousand men and twenty batteries. Pay. Infamous! Les. Some day, I hope, you will regret this outrage. THE rebel's daughter. 45 Nel. Cowards! You come like thieves in the night. Shame on such warfare ! Rau. Cleaning out a nest of rebels, fair lady, makes no pretense to warfare {taking out his watch). Five minutes more, gentlemen: shall I have your swords? Or shall I report your refusal to General Lyon? Pay. Sir, there are ladies present here, and honored guests. For their sake I would not have blood shed {surrenders his sword). Les. {to Nellie). It would be madness to resist {surrenders his sword). Rau. {writes on a paper which he hands to A. d. B). Mr. Auf dem Busch, this will take you and your son and the ladies safely through the lineSc {Exeunt ladies, A. d. B. and Woldemar. Rau. {to his attendants). March them off. {Exeunt Payton, Leslie, and Attendants. Enter Victor and an Officer, attended. Rau. (io Victor). Hello, Victor — what brings you here? Vic. A message from the general — {to the officer) This is Colonel Kauhenfels. Off* {saluting, hands a sealed letter to Rauhenfels which R. reads). Rau. {Looks at Victor and motions the officer and at- tendants to withdraw). And what have you to do with this? Vic. Nothing. The General requested me, as one well acquainted with you, to point you out to the officer. — What success here? 46 THE rebel's daughter. Bau. It's all over. The commandant has surrendered : he and all the camp are prisoners. Do you know the content of this paper ? Vic. No. Rau. Then listen — {reads) " I have unquestioned proofs that Colonel May is implicated in the removal of arms from the government arsenal — " Vic. Can this be possible? Bau. All things are possible. Vic. But Colonel May — he cannot be a traitor. Rau. Why not he? He is supposed to be in this camp, and this warrant commands his arrest. He is known to be a prominent member of Congress, and his punishment will furnish an example. Vic. Thank God, he is far away. Rau. How do you know? Vic. He left last night, and is by this time many miles from here. Rau. He must have smelt a rat. Vic. But he cannot, cannot be a traitor! Rau. The tide runs high, and will ingulf many a thou- sand that to-day stand firm. Vic. Be merciful, great heaven ! Do not constrain me to choose between two hells. If Colonel May prove traitor, what of me ? It cannot be — it must not, shall not be ! Rau. Come, Victor, calm yourself. Vic. I cannot grasp it yet. It falls like thunder out of a cloudless sky. Rau» What falls like thunder? THE rebel's daughter. 47 Vic. To think that Colonel May should connive with avowed enemies of the government ! Why, this is trea- son, down-right treason ! JRau. The North and South stand on the ragged edge : and any moment may bring news of bloody work. Vic, Is it not horrible ! Rau. To you or me, whom it may cost an arm or leg, 'tis very bad. But man is an animal whose history will not dispense with war. Vic. Great God, if Colonel May turns traitor, then, in a common man, rebellion is no crime. Bau. Yet let us hear the man's defense before we judge him. Vic. Defense ! What defense is there for a man who would sacrifice his country for his party ? Bau. What is his country? Vic. This United States. Bau. Well said. But mark you, he was born in the South. There all his interests lie, his family and his friends. His lofty station, he holds it from his State: and for his State, if he's a man, will sacrifice all these. Vic. Although his State is in the wrong ? Bau. According to the creed of a States Rights Dem- ocrat, the State is never wrong. Vic. Then there is no criterion for right and wrong? Bau. Oh, yes: you have heard Decatur's motto: Our country ! May she ever be right : but right or wrong, our country! Vic. Am I to understand, then, that in case of civil war North and South can both be right ? 48 THE rebel's daughter. Rau. Even so : and both be wrong. Young man, the vice and virtue of this world are not distributed i:i distinct flocks, like sheep and goats, so that one could point with his finger, and say these are the sheep and these the goats. Vic. But right is right, and wrong is ever wrong. Rau. Just so: and in the end the right will win. Vic. Meantime, we shall sit by and see our Union dis- rupted into petty States. Rau. Who told you that? Vic. Your words imply as much. Rau. No, sir. For as the South claims Colonel May, the North claims us. We by inheritance, by custom and by nature, are opposed to property in man. That in us, however, is no particular virtue : for half the vil- lains think just as we do. Our comfort is, that when the war god plays this game, that you and 1 will be among the cards he deals to the winning side. Vic, Are you sure of that? Rau. As sure as there's development in man. It is a piece of ancient barbarism to hold that men may be the property of other men. Let us be thankful, Victor, that our conscience chimes with our inclination. Colonel May is not so fortunate. He knows full well, that if the South insists on unrestricted slavery or secession, that both will fail. Let us think of him in pity, not in anger. Vic. Rauhenfels, cannot this be averted? Cannot slavery wear slowly off, like a contemned custom that men will learn to hate? THE rebel's daughter. 49 RaiL. No, my young friend. Beside the principle there is involved some thousand million dollars. The South, by statute and by constitution, holds clear title to her slaves, as good a title as you and I can hold to any chattel, or to a farm and houses. True it is, that free- dom for all men, white and black, is to be wished ; but those at whose expense this human betterment is to be purchased, will fight this betterment with tooth and nail. The North, were things reversed, would do it us hotly as the South. Vic. Then must the Colonel be my enemy? Rau, Unless yourself turn traitor to yourself. Vic. Not so! For if his course be honorable, I may in honor follow where he leads. Rau. How easily you say it. Vic. O Rauhenfels, you stand upon the frigid peak of reason and placidly look down upon mankind. I cannot reason : my heart and soul is centered in this man. Rau. And in his daughter. Vic. Aye, and in his daughter! You, that abide in the unpassioned clouds would govern this flame-beaten heart of mine with sceptered icicle. O, logic, logic! thou indisputable and sovereign monarch, thy kingdom is a desert ! (^Firing of musketry in the distance ^faintly heard. Tumult behind the scene.) Rau. What, will the fools attempt a rescue of the pris- oners? What can this hubbub mean? (^Starts to go out^ passing Victor who takes no notice. People running across the rear of the stage, as if in panic.) 4 50 THE rebel's daughter. Filter Nellie. Bau. Why, here is Miss May. What brings you here, and alone? Nel. Sir, have you not heard the volleys of musketry poured by your brave soldiers into the crowd of unarmed men and women? Rau. If they presumed to attempt a rescue of the prisoners, they must accept the consequences. Nel. They surely must. And women and children lie weltering in their blood, the victims of your military prowess. Bau. What has become of your escort? Nel. Gone : I know not whither — {seeing Victor) What, you here, too? Vic. {Gazing at her vacantly.) Nel. What is the matter, Victor ? Vic. Pray let me look at you. ^e^. What ails you, Victor? Vic. {gazing on her intently). Nothing, nothing, — Nellie. Strange fancies enter in the dreams of men: 'tis foolish to indulge them, yet how can I denounce the dream-god, when his golden promise lives in the ken of my material eje! Nel. Something of moment stirs you. Let me know it: it may affect me, too. Vic. 'Tis mine alone! The fiends of hell have stretched me on the rack, and all the host of heaven cannot free me! {Starts to go.) Nel. Victor! THE rebel's daughter. 51 Vic. Farewell! Nel. {commandingly) . Stay, Victor! (Exit Victor. (Nellie stands gazing after Victor.) Eau. {after a pause). He is gone. Nel. Can you explain this odd behavior? Bau. His conscience pricks him. Nel. Why, — what has he done ? Rau. Nothing, but what he will undo again. Nel. Shall I infer from this, that your despotic rule compels this man to retract the pledges given Colonel May? Rau. You see, my riddle was an easy one. Nel, {regarding Jiim with a frown. After a pause slowly). My father told me, that it is not wise to meddle with what concerns us not. Rau. Ah, but this concerns me. Yes, I almost envy Victor Waldhorst this opportunity to prove himself — Nel. A promise-breaker ? Rau. {taking the paper from his pocket and flourishing it). I have known some people do worse than break dis- honorable pledges ! {Reyiewed tumult and shooting in the distance. ) CURTAIN- 62 THE rebel's daughter. ACT III. SCENE. — May's apartments at a hotel in the city. Nellie {discovered). I have not slept all night. This Rauhenfels, I cannot banish him. Throughout the night I fancied Victor sitting at his desk writing the leader for his morning paper, and at his back the demon Rauhen- fels dictates what he must write. From Victor's pen streamed burning letters, from his eyes, hot tears: and as his lips twitched in the agony, the devil shouted, write ! {A knock at the door — Nellie startled.) Who's there? O coward: now migbt a baby fright me. (^Another knock at the door.) Come! Enter Payton. Nel. {recomposedly). Now surely, this is a morning call. Pay. Excuse the hour. Where is Leslie? iVeL, Why this haste? Pay. You've seen the papers? Nel. No. Pay. Not Waldhorst's? Nel. No. 4> THE rebel's daughter. 53 Fay. Then look at it (^gives her the paper). Nel. Your face alarms me, Ralph. What can have happened? Pay. Read it yourself. The editorial, there. Nel. Double-leaded, too. And Victor's signature in full (Nellie reads intently from here on) Pay. Translate it please ; I cannot read this Dutch. Nel. (^without taking notice of Payton). That's Rauhenf els : no other icy hand could chill so fiercely ! Pay. Loud, I pray you. Nel. Wait! Pay. Judas! Nel. (reads): " With heavy heart" — Pay. The hypocrite! I never did trust these for- eigners, and least of all these crackbrained Latin Dutch. Kicked out of Germany for their fantastical notions of liberty, they come to us and preach sedition here. Tell me, what does he write? Nel. (reading to herself). One moment. Pay. Damn his soul! If he makes trouble, I'll make it my duty to punish him. Nel. (Jetting the paper fall from her hands). He is gone! Pay. I'll pinch him for it. Nel. Leave that to me. There is nothing in those lines that offends you more than it offends ten thousand others. What private umbrage I may take at it, I'll champion that myself. Pay. Indeed! I'll tell you, Nellie, where the trouble lies : His German readers, they insist upon our perse- 54 THE rebel's daughter. cution. Waldhorst writes for pay: he must write to please the Dutch, or else they'll stop his paper. There*s the rub. Nel. It is not that. Pay. What then? Nel. 'Tis Rfiuhenfels. Pay. But this is Waldhorst. Nel. Waldhorst' s evil angel. Pay. It shows poor judgment on your part to have placed such confidence in Waldhorst. Nel. How, confidence? We needed him, that's all: and therefore tried to use him. Pay. (aside). Is it so? Why, there's a crum of comfort. Nel. What he writes is held by many : it represents the views of a large faction but one step removed from being friends. We meant to win this faction by holding Waldhorst. Pay. He's a slippery eel. Nel. As late as yesterday, I would have laid my jewels against a siring of beads, that he was ours. Pay. I'll attend to Mr. Waldhorst — he'll not be like to trouble us in future {starts as if to go). Nel. Touch him not, Payton! If you do, you'll lose me. If my regard for you be worth the having, leave him to me. Let Victor Waldhorst' s treachery inspire you lil^e the curse that wrought a blessing — be you more true than he {offers her hand to Payton). Pay. Let Ralph Payton die, when he no longer con- THE rebel's daughter. 55 siders it a privilege to die for you {drops on his knees and kisses her hand). Nel, Well said. Now I will bring this news to father. {Enter Leslie.) Leslie, what shall we do? Les. Let's think of that before the evening papers bring it in English. By three o'clock, a thousand news- boys yelling through the streets will publish our defeat. Nel. How will this end? {Walks to a table and writes. ) Les. Most vexed loss. Destruction kills but once, but when a friend joins the enemy, he's doubly mortal. Pay. Do not overrate him, Leslie. Of course, you must know best ; but for myself, I am right glad that Waldhorst shows his colors. Les. Strange joy. Pay. My dear friend Leslie, let me tell yoil this : The sooner we make up our minds to run this country without assistance from these foreigners, the sooner we'll suc- ceed. You're a pretty shrewd fellow, Leslie, and I'm surprised you did not see, what this outlandish upstart meant to reach by working for your father. Les. That I saw. But for the life of me I cannot see why he should balk at the very gate of his paradise. Pay. What do you mean ? Les. That some people are fools on principle, and others, fools by nature. Nel. {hands Payton a dispatch). Ralph, I wish you would send this message to father. Pay. With pleasure. I'll be back as soon as possible to hear what more develops. 56 THE rebel's daughter. Nel. Come again — this evening, or to-morrow. Pay. Thank you. {Exit Pay ton. Les. Nellie, this Payton is not what I took him for. Nel, Neither is Victor. Les. No ; but foolish Payton would make us believe he saw it long ago and often warned us. All he knows about Victor is, that he too aspired to win you as his wife. These many years Payton looked down upon his rival, but nowi since Victor has grown to be a man of consequence, he's good enough to spit at. Nel. Jealousy ! What indiscreet and stupid things men do, when they are jealous. O Leslie, since we are done with him forever, a faint and far off possibility, what-might -have-been-perchance — but let it pass. What must be done ? Shall this ingratitude of Victor's succeed , and father fail? Les. The dice are cast. Victor here or there, I care not which. Six months from now we shall have another senate, and then our father will be senator in Richmond, Nellie. Nel. Victor then is lost? Les. No god can save him. Look what he says (reads from the paper)-. " We still maintain: first, that slavery is a question for the States to regulate, each for itself: second, that the slaves are guaranteed by Con- gress and Constitution, the lawful property of their owners." Nel. The very heart and soul of our true cause. Les. True, Nellie ; but when a man of Victor's intel- ligence and Victor's conscience utters words like these, THE rebel's daughter. 57 and then concludes by saying {reads): " No State nor States are vested with lawful power willfully to alter their relation to the remaining States or to the Union. The Constitution can be amended only in the manner pre- scribed by the Constitution," — time's wasted on such a man! _Nel. Still you trusted him. Les. And could have held him until after the election, but for this Rauhenfels, who poisoned him with methods of his damned philosophy. Nel. What is his method ? Les. A trick of speech, that's all. A subtlety by means of which men like Rauhenfels prove any argument of their opponents to be fallacious. Nel. Well now, that is something. Les. But not all. For on the other hand, this Rau- henfels will make the mest absurd, unheard-of proposi- tions, and prove them valid. Nel. Still more wonderful. If it did not concern us all so nearly, one might be tempted to laugh at it. But this ingratitude of Victor Waldhorst amazes me. I wonder where he is? Les. Oh, he'll not hide. Nel. Ah, would that I might meet him. By Heaven, I'd hold a mirror to his face would make him blush hot crimson! ( A knock at the door.) Come! Les. That's he. {Eyiter Victor). A man may easily step to the front if he regards not what he tramples on (^picks up the paper). This is your paper, and the article which makes you to-day the most talked of man in 68 THB REBEL *S DAUGHTER. the city, we both have read. I volunteer thus much, because your visit, painful to us all, should be a brief one. You may therefore pass the contents of your editorial, and at once proceed with what no doubt you came here for, your explanation. Nel. Or perhaps he came to ask forgiveness. Vic. Both. Les. Then out with it! Explain your course of action like a man. This hangdog visor of dejected sancti- mony sits ill on one whose rank effrontery committed this (^clutches the paper) ! Vic. I'm very sorry if — Les. Stand forth ! For if you slink into a corner like a whipped cur to whine for pardon, we'll think this act of yours not merely hateful, but likewise despicable. Vic. Leslie May, your sharp tongue stings a heart that gave it's all to be not despicable. Nel. Gave it's all to slab his benefactor in the back! Les. Waldhorst, whatever progress you have made in climbing fortune's ladder, you have mounted from round to round alone by our assistance. Vic. And therefore did I well nigh worship you. Les. With Hell's religion! Like a sycophant you smiled and fawned on your sustaining friends, until well poised yourself, you spurn the hands that lifted you on high. Nel. Ingrate! Vic. (^controlling himself). Miss Nellie — Les. Waldhorst, speak to me. THE rebel's daughter. 59 Vic. You will not hear me. I come to you to ask for- giveness for a course that pains me more than you. Les. If that's your comfort, sir, it's no excuse. Vic. (^with suppressed agitation). I offer no excuse, and ask of you the justice to distinguish between sincere regret and penitence. Your friendship I deservedly have forfeited, not your respect. It is on this account I come to you, lest I should be misconstrued and con- sidered a man of guilty conscience. Les. Now, by Jove, you are good at guessing. Vic. But I am none such, and would in face of my hard condition, repeat what I have done. You see me here, because my private woe is not a matter for public news. What you see printed there, reads like the score of a winner's game, but fails to tell how dearly it was bought. Nel. Speak your mind freely. Nothing you can say shall anger us: yes, I will promise it shall not even in- sult us. But tell the truth. Tell what you were when first you came to Brookfield, and give due credit for the difference 'twixt then and now. Tell, how my father took you, an awkward boy that stood behind a counter bungling with calico and spools, and gave you free access to his books. Tell, how his children received you as a brother : how their friendship made you an honored and a welcome guest at every house in Brookfield. Tell, moreover, how father tutored you in state affairs : tell that he gave his secrets in your keeping as if you had been his own born natural son. Tell of my father's 60 THE rebel's daughter. boundless faith in you, and in the end, tell how you thanked him for it with boundless treachery. Vic. For honor's sake. Pardon the boast. Not my vanity, your torture wrings my heart. But that you force me to play the braggart, I had far rather cut this tongue out of my mouth, than let it tell you, that Victor Waldhorst flung his world away to save his honor. Les. Say, to smutch it rather. Vic. Leslie, beware you tempt me not too far. 1 will be patient when you call me ingrate, base, heartless and devoid of fealty; but when you charge that I have pawned my honor, then, sir, you lie. (Leslie makes a motion to strike Victor. Nellie interferes. ) Les. {after a pause). Oh, for a definition of this word honor! Here a man breaks oaths, betrays his party and his friends, and then stands horror-struck because we doubt the pureness of his honor. Vic. Leslie May, these words of yours, although bitter in themselves, ease me in this, that they have turned the tables, and leave it now a case of little doubt who should ask pardon. Les. Mr. Waldhorst! Nel. Leslie, let him speak on. Vic. There is no more to say. If conscience be a slave to serve our uses, I have mistook it. Let my ignorance abide with me. Les. Still, you might give us your notion of it. Vic. (^pointing to the paper). There's my argument. Les. We have read it all twice over. THE rebel's daughter. 61 Vic. Then you have read all I have to say. Les. Still, since you came, one might infer — Vic. Your inference, Mr. May, that I have further reasons than there stand writ, is inference drawn in error. Ii's my vocation, sir, to speak in print, and doit so, that what I write requires no glossary of speech. Les. Ingratitude. Vic. Towards you? Les. Towards father. Vic, I shall seekyoui father, and speak with him of my ingratitude. That's my affair and his. I owe you nothing. Les. Except the treatment due a gentleman: that I'll insist on. Vic. That, sir, you shall have, whether you will or no. Les. Are you not pledged to vote in caucus for my father as candidate for the senate? Vic. I am. Les. Are you not pledged in case he be nominated to vote for him in the general assembly ? Vic. I am. Les. And will you do it? Vic. Certainly: if Colonel May will stand as candi- date for senator of the United States, I'll work and vote for him. Les. Now mark the sequel, Nellie. Vic. But, if Colonel May intends to be a senator of some disrupted portion of our union, I'll work and vote against him. Les. Sophistry. Vic. Do not imagine, that my honor sullies, because 62 THE rebel's daughter. your plans miscarry. I am with you while you proceed in union, for the union : and therefore when you instigate secession, do not mistake your falling-off for mine, nor soil my name with blots of treachery. If there be any traitor in the camp, 'tis you, not I. Les. (^sneering). Professor Rauhenfels is a great man. Come, Nellie, let us go. We are done with him. Vic. One word more. Les. With us? Vic, No, with Miss May. Les. With her alone? Vic. Yes, if she please. Les. (io Nellie). Shall I remain or go? Nel. {to Leslie) I am almost afraid to be alone with him, Leslie. There is something in his demeanor for which his tongue has yet found no utterance. Les. {to Nellie). I'll stay. Nel. (io Leslie). And yet, what should I fear. No, Leslie, go. Les. {to Nellie). I'll stay where you may call me. Nel. {to Leslie). My fear is gone. He will find him- self well matched if he attempt hot words. Go, Leslie, go, and do not interrupt unless I call. Les. (io Nel.). Do not try to win him back; he will never vote for father. Nel. Let me be. {Exit Jjeslie.) (To Victor): Well, sir, 1 am at your service. I can't imagine, what you have to say in private to me. This affair concerns my father and my brother. Vic. Your father is away : your brother spurns me. THE rebel's daughter. 63 You alone are left to listen to me. If in happier days, you looked upon me as a trusted friend, who by his humble merits and your bounty hoped yet to win a dearer name than friend — Nel. Presumptuous fellow 1 how dare you assume that even the faintest notion of affection possessed my heart for you? ViC' It was no fault of yours: my unschooled soul, so glad to be deceived, led me in error, and taught my fond unreasoning heart to cherish a smile of yours more than the proffered passion of any woman else. Nel. Misguided man, what did I say? Vic. Say? Oh, you said no more than any sister might have said to her own natural brother. But you said it in such a way, that any man alive and not your brother, must have grown love-sick at it. 'Tis now six months ago since first we met, after so many years. And in that brief six months, whose end came yesterday, did you not let me revel, day after day, in joys unspeakable? O Nellie May, you but recall the tenor of your words, but not the voice that musically lent soft utterance to the indifferent syllable ; you but recall the tenor of your words, but not the eyes that eloquently spoke of things unknown to the vocabulary of the poor beggar, speech : those eyes, wherein you gave me leave to gaze until I read unbounded promises of joys to come. You but recall the tenor of your words, but not the breath that fell upon my cheek ; you but remember that 1 took your hand, but, not the touch that set my soul on fire — Nel. (^interrupting him) , Tictor! 64 THE rebel's daughter. Vic. O God, that paradise should dwell in fitful clouds ! That nature's exquisites, the tip and pinnacle of all per- fection, should still elude me like the waving fruits of Tantalus in hell. O tyrant conscience, how dar'st thou burst into my sanctuary, and dash my idols toppling down the hill! What kind of god art thou, most mighty con- science, that for an abstract principle compels me to yield this concrete world ! Nellie, farewell ! And if at times you choose to think of me, remember one who loved you so completely, that he preferred to lose you, than become unworthy of you ! Nel. Strange enthusiast! Vic. 'Twill pass. There is surcease for every sorrow. And so I'll bear, that I have lost your father, and lost your brother, two heart-woven friends. Nor will I falter when my memory chides me with my ingratitude, — I'll bear that, too. I have much patience, and will pray for more. But who, alas, will save me from despair, when mockery takes me in a feeble hour, and in derision shows my bleeding heart the trick that conscience played me, aud calls me, fool, fool, fool! {Exit Victor. Nel. Leslie, Leslie ! ' Enter Leslie. Les. Where is the villain ? Nel. Victor is no villain ! Les. What is he, else? Nel. A man! CURTAIN. Cries of newsboys behind the scenes : ' ^Here's your extra. All about the secession of South Carolina.'' THE rebel's daughter. 65 ACT IV. Scene: The mansion and grounds of Mat's Plant- ations NEAR BrOOKFIELD. MaNSION TO THE RIGHT: A LAWN EXTENDING TO A GROVE OF TREES ON THE LEFT: VIEW OF THE PLANTATION IN THE REAR. VeRANDA AND BALCONY. Discovered : Nellie, Pauline and Cressie, seated about a basket filled with beans which they are stringing. Skip gathering beans in the background. Nel. If you stay a month longer, Pauline, some man will some day owe you thanks for making a good house- keeper of me. Paul, It is not much that I can teach you, Nellie. Only such little things. Nel. Yes, there was a time when to me they indeed seemed little. But this incessant foraging by friend and foe teaches me better. Three years and more since this war is on. Paul. But it will be over soon. Nel. I hope so: for unless it is, it will soon be over with us, I fear {hrightening up after a pause). But will these green things be really good to eat all winter? 5 66 THE RESELLS DAUGHTSR. Paul. Why, of course. We'll pack them in a crock with salt, and then they'll keep till spring. Why, don't you remember, that you ate them at our house, when you took dinner with us ? Nel. What a clever girl you are, Pauline. Remember it, Cressie, with salt: for I may forget and put them up with sugar, like the pears and quinces we preserved last week. — Cressie, see whether Mr. Leslie wants anything. Cres. Yes ma'am. Nel. And — (^dropping her knife and rising) — bring me some court plaster. {Exit Cressie. Paul. Did you cut 3-our finger ? Let me see. Nel. A mere scratch. " Not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door," you know: but 'twill do for the beans. Now, that I am wounded as well as Leslie, you will be compelled to stay, Pauline. Enter Cressie — hands the court plaster to Nellie and then exit. Nel. You will not surely think of going home and leaving ttvo patients here to their fate? Paul. I am sure you are patient enough to take very good care of the other patient. Besides, he is getting impatient — Nel. No, no, Pauline: I have never known him so patient in his life. How fortunate for us, that you were here when he was brought home wounded. I hardly know what we would have done without you. You must stay just a week longer, indeed you must, Pauline, Leslie, you know, is not nearly well yet. THE rebel's daughter. 67 Paul. Yes, I know that, for all he makes so light of his wound. Yet he chafes at confinement : he feels that he is needed in the field, although he is forever joking about the good time he is having at home. Nel. Skip, I see Tim driving up the lane. Run and see whether he has brought any mail. Skip. Yes, ma'am. {Exit Skip. Nel. This is a poor place for mall, isn't it, Pauline? We haven't had a letter or a paper for a week. Paul. I hope there has been no fighting to interfere. I am beginning to be really anxious about my folks at home. Nel. Why, here comes Skip with quite a bundle. Enter Skip bringing mail. Nellie hands Pauline a let- ter^ takes up a paper and reads, while Pauline sits on a bench reading her letter. Skip. Missis! Nel. {without looking up). Well? Skip. Tim say he meet Marse Pay ton down de road. Nel. Indeed? Is he coming here? Skip. Yes, ma'am. He came heah wid all his sojers. Tim say, he seed 'em loadin' all de meal f'om Brown's mill inter some wagons what dey tuck f'om de ole Dutch- man what lives on de crick. Nel. I suppose, Mr. Pay ton paid for it all? Skip. I — I 'spose so, too. Nel. {looking up from her paper). Well? Skip. Dey's takln' good many hogs, too. Nel. Yea, Skip, a great many {reads). 68 THE rebel's daughter. Skip. De fellers what's ketched de hogs done tuck none ob our'n. Nel. (^Looks at Skip.) Skip. Marse Payton tole 'em dey mus'nt take any ob de May hogs. Nel. That is very kind of Colonel Payton (reads). Skip. Missus! Nel. Well.? Skip. 'Spose Marse Payton gwine pay fur de hogs, too? Nel. Can't tell, Skip. But you had better tell Tim to kill ours, because the next troop may not be so respect- ful to the May hogs. Skip. Yes ma'am. Nel. And bring this to Mr. Leslie (gives Skip the mail). Skip. Yes ma'am. (Exit Skip. Nel. Well, Pauline, what news? Paul. Just as I thought, Nellie. Uncle writes, my time is up : and since the country hereabouts is too full of soldiers for a lady to travel alone, he and cousin Woldemar are coming in person to take me home. Nel. Really? Too bad! Paul. The letter, I see, is a week old, and so I may expect them any day. Enter Payton. Pay. Good morning, ladies ! Nel. Good morning, Ralph ! Paul. How do you do, Mr. Payton? THE rebel's daughter. 69 Nel. And what brings you here with your regiment? Pay. There's something in the wind. How is Leslie? Nel. Doing nicely. Pay. Good {sees the beans) ! Hello, what is this ? Some new game, I suppose? Nel. Yes, and a dangerous one. Look at this {shows him her finger). Pay, {taking her hand). Well, that's a bigger wound than I have got, and I am in the business now for three years. How is everything? How many niggers have you left ? Nel. They are all gone but a few: Cressie, who wor- ships me, and Skip who — Pay. Who can steal more here, than he can honestly earn elsewhere. Nel. You think so? Skip just told us something about stealing, and commended your forbearance towards the May hogs. Pay. The rascal ! So he has betrayed me to you ? Nel. Bat you will forgive him, Ralph? Pay. Is Leslie in the house ? Nel. Yes, let us go in. Pay. By all means. Nel. Come, Pauline, break your news to Leslie. I am afraid he will not relish it: and it is some satisfaction to see, that you likewise are not overcome with joy (takes Pauline's arm and turns to go). Pay. {aside, looking after them). I don't like this in- timacy at all. Arm in arm. Can Victor's sister be 70 THE rebel's daughter. here to heal the breach between him and Nellie? No, she will never forgive him. (^Exeunt Nellie, Pauline and Patton. Enter Auf dem Busch and Woldemar. A. d. B. At length are we here. Wol. It is the hardest hundred miles I ever traveled. A. d. B. Yes: and if Rauhenfels and his army had no^ marched happily our way, where would we be now? Wol. Yes: and when they arrive here, where will the rebels be? A. d. B. Happen what will. General RauhenfciS will not let May's house come to damage. Wol. And I will see to Pauline's safety myself. A. d. B. You have right: you ought to have done it long ago. Utilize your chance now to declare yourself. Wol. Do you think that jackanapes of a lawyer, that Leslie May, has made an impression on Pauline ? A. d. B. He had much chance thereto, and may be did. He knows to go about with women folks, and finds quicker out what he wants than you. Besides, he is not fallen on the head, and it would not wonder me if he becomes a great man. Wol. Bah ! Leslie May a great man ? A. d. B. Undervalue him not, my son. He will give you much trouble if he resolves himself to be your competitor. Enter Nellie aiid Paulikb. Nel. {at the door, looking backward). Come, Pauline. THE rebel's daughter. 71 Mr. Payton and Leslie have evidently some business of importance. They will join us, I am sure, as soon as they can. {Turning, perceives A. d. B. and Wol.) Why, Mr. Auf dem Busch! (Extends both hands to A. d. B. who takes them cordially.) And Mr. Woldemar Auf dem Busch, too! (^Gives him her hand: then turns to A. d. B.) It is indeed a pleasure to welcome you, gentlemen, to May Meadows: and yet, I am sorry, too: for I know you come to take away Pauline. Paul. How do you do, Cousin Woldemar? O Uncle, how glad I am to see 3^ou (^embraces him). A. d. B. (disengaging himself, and holding Pauline at arm's-length). Well, my little stranger: homesickness has not bleached the roses on your cheeks. This country air does 3^ou well. Wol. We have missed you more, Pauline, than you seem to have missed us. A. d. B. (to Nellie, taking her hand). Ah, Miss Nellie, it is not to wonder: because m your society one cannot help to forget both friends and home. Nel. How very good of you, Mr. Auf dem Busch! But your conduct shall decide between your gallantry and your candor. Subject yourself to my fascination for a week, will you? A. d. B. It would make me more glad than anything, if I only could, but — Nel. I knew it. You men always escape by an if and a but. But step into the house, gentlemen, and partake of such poor hospitality as we have to offer. 72 THE rebel's daughter. A. d. B. Is young Mr. May still at home? Pauline did write he was badly hurt. Nel. Yes, indeed ; but he is much better now. (^Exeunt Nellie and A. d. B. side by side. (Pauline starts to follow with Woldemar. ) Wol. Pauline! Paul. Well, cousin? Wol. May I detain you for just a little while, before we go into the house? I have something pleasant to say to you. Paul. Why, certainly, Cousin Woldemar. But, if it be of a pleasing nature, why not let uncle and Miss Nel- lie hear it, too? Wol. No, no, no! It is to you alone I would speak. Can you not guess what it is that I want to say? Paul. Why, no, Cousin Woldemar: I haven't the least idea. Wol. Strange, that you should not think of what con- cerns us both so deeply. Paul. {Shrinks.) Wol. Be not afraid, I am not going to scold you, although some people in my place might take umbrage at the impropriety of your extended visit at this house. Paul. Impropriety? What do you mean? Wol. Oh, nothing in particular. Let it go. I was about to say — Paul. But wherein have I been guilty of impropriety? I have a right to know. Wol. Well, — I mean, of course, your toleration of the THE rebel's daughter. 73 shameful way in which this hot-headed young rebel has been paying court to you. PomI. Shameful, Cousin Woldemar? What has he done unworthy of a gentleman? Wol. Oh, I dare say, he was polite and courteous enough, — to you at least. But do you believe it con- sistent with maidenly modesty, for one who is to be the wife of another, to accept such attention? Paul. Was I to be the wife of another? If so, it is strange that no one ever told me of it. Wol. Oh, well, the matter has not been put in shape of a written contract: but you know as well as I, that it is my father's wish that I should marry you. Why then do you let this fine-spoken gentleman play with you as if you belonged to him ? Paul. I am glad. Cousin Woldemar, that yow throw all the blame on me, for that acquits Mr. May. I doubt that he, or any one, could infer from your conduct, that I was to be your wife, or that you loved me. Would you have deemed it maidenly modesty^ if I had given Mr. May to understand that any but a cousinly relation ex- isted between you and me? Never, by word or conduct, had you hinted such a thing. Wol. But I do love you : I love you with all my heart, and I came here to tell you so. Forget these rude words of mine : you are good and wise, Pauline, and will for- give me, will you not? All will be well between us, now, that you know I love you. (fiTe tries to seize her handy which she withdraws. ) Paul. I have nothing to forgive, Cousin Woldemar. 74 THE rebel's daughter. That I should marry you, I knew to be your father's wish, but not your wish. You never loved me: you do not love me now. If it be your intention to marry me, it may be, because you are angry with Mr. May: or, because you wish to please your father: or even because you wish to please me. That is kind and generous of you, Cousin Woldemar : but it is not love. Wol. Ah, Pauline, how can you speak so cruelly? How can you doubt my passion, when every fibre of my heart throbs with intense yearning for your love ? Les. {from luithin). Pauline! Paul, {starts to go). Wol. {startled; defiantly). Stay! Before you go to him, speak to me. Paul, {in slow ^ measured accents). Then listen. Cousin Woldemar. — You do not love me, and I know now, that I do not love you, and that I never did love you {starts to go). Wol. {detaining her). Tell me, when did you learn that you can never love me ? Paul, {proudly). You have no right to ask me such a question. But I will tell you. When I became aware, that you did not love me, then I knew that I could not, and that I would not accept your hand or your fortune, as a beggar accepts an alms. Wol. Out upon such hypocrisy! Did ever any per- son think of you in connection with a man, and that man not I ? Did any person ever think of me in connection with a woman, and that woman not you? And now THE rebel's daughter. 75 with bland and childlike innocence you profess igno- rance of my affection. Paul. When a man means to marry a woman, he should speak as well as think. Wol. Of all things God ever made, there is nothing more casual than a woman. And to find you no better than the rest! That our lightwinged butterflies of fashion change their affection like their finery, follows like an effect from its cause. But that you, Pauline, a girl brought up in an atmosphere of decency and deco- rum, that you should grow to be a flippant and deceit- ful woman reflects poorly on the honest instinct of the whole sex. Paul. Go on. Wol. I did not court you in accordance with the com- mon frailty of women. I considered you above such nonsense. Had I gushed and written silly love-letters, had I sent you bouquets and candy, had I fallen on my knees and vowed by all that is holy, that I would drown myself unless you married me — perhaps I had been more successful. Paul. But you did not {turns to go). Wol. (ZooA;s ai Pauline^. Disgusting! {Exit WOLDEMAR. Enter A. d. Busch from the house, meeting Pauline. A. d. B. Hello, Pauline, — wnat has Woldemar? Paul. Can you forgive me, uncle? A. d. B. Forgive you? What? Gave you him the mitten? 76 THE rebel's daughter. Paid. Are you very angry with me, uncle Auf dem Buscb? A. d. B. You feel that I have right to be angry, not? Paul. Oh, uncle, I am so sorry, so sorry. A. d. B. And you have right to be sorry, not? Paul. It makes me so miserable to displease you, dear uncle. A. d. B. Nonsense! If you are sorry, all will be yet right. Woldemar is not a fool, so as he has acted. He will try over, and then you speak so you are not sorry. Paul. But, oh, dear uncle, I cannot speak so that you will not be sorry : for I must say, no, dear uncle, indeed I must. A. d. B. So, so. You must say, no. Is not Wolde- mar good enough for you? Paul. Oh, Woldemar is good enough for anybody. A. d. B. Why then, love you him not? Paul. Because, dear uncle, he did not ask me. A. d. B. So an ass! But did he not ask you just now? Why said you no, just now? Paul. Because — he asked me — too late. A. d. B. Whew? That is the time of day, is it? Too late. You are then already bespoken? Paid. O, no, no, no. Do you mean that lam engaged? Oh, no: I am not engaged, dear uncle. A. d. B. Not engaged? Why then spoke Woldemar too late? You like him, you say he is good enough for anybody, you are not engaged — then why spoke Wolde- mar too late? THE rebel's daughter. 77 Paul. Because I know now, that I cannot love him. It would be a lie if I promised to love him. A. d. B. More and more stupidness. Woldemar acted an ass. He has been in Germany and learned stupidness. But you have not been in Germany : you have been here with me : I am proud of your good sense. What is it makes you a fool now? Paul. I could not do otherwise: indeed, I could not. A. d. B. Women and mystery! But why will you not marry Woldemar? Paul. Because it would be wrong to marry a man whom I do not love. A. d. B. But why not love Woldemar? Paul, (^ecstatically). Oh, uncle, do you not know that Love comes not for the asking ? That he laughs at the poor, silly heart that would compel him? When Love comes, he knocks not at the door: he takes possession, and tyranically rules the heart. The senses are in league with him: the affections center in him: he glo- rifies our very being : he elevates us to the pinnacle of bliss. A, d. B. Well, Pauline, if you are not engaged, may be it is time you ought to be. It is a case of much stupidness. Enter Leslie, with his arm in a sling. A. d. B (^perceiving Leslie). Here comes somebody who may be knows too something about love. And so I go and console with poor Woldemar. (Exit. 78 THE kebel's daughter. Les. Ah, Miss Pauline, so here you are. Your uncle must have closely engaged your attention. Paul. You ought not walk, Mr. May : the doctor has forbidden all exertion. Sit on this bench. Les. Then must you join me, for no gentleman will sit in presence of a lady standing (^iliey sit down on the bench). There is no end of wonders in the world. You can't imagine how I felt, Miss Pauline, when I recovered consciousness, and found myself, in bed, at home, and at my side what shall I say, — an angel ? Paul. If so, you must have been delirious. Les. A fairy then : the same that I see now. Paul. Delirious still. A fairy is an unsubstantial thing, as thin as air — Les. And how much do you weigli ? Paul. That is the fairy's secret. Les. I can guess within a pound. Paul. What, guess a fairy's weight? Les. My fairy weighs precisely — one hundred and twenty pounds. Paul. Then I excel your fairy by just twelve pounds. Les. Then on your own showing, are you an excellent fairy. Look, Miss Pauline, do you know I am half afraid, your uncle will suspect this wounded arm of mine a mere ruse to keep you here. Paul. How should he, Mr. May? Uncle knows, that if you had wished to see me, you might have called on us at any time within the past three years. In all which time your arm was sound and well. THE rebel's daughter. 79 Les. Do you forget that I was in the Confederate serr- ice, a soldier in the field? Besides, Victor must haye told you what clouds have come between us. Father loved him as his own child, and Victor betrayed him. Paul. Victor can do no wrong. Les. Pardon me, Pauline. I mentioned it merely to show that it was not my privilege to call on you : how- ever much I have wished to do so. Paul. I know not what befell that dreadful day. But, whatever loss it brought to you, Victor's loss was still greater. If you could see him, you'd not be angry, you would pity him. Les. Since we cannot alter what is done, Pauline, let us banish and forget it. What a strange freak of For- tune, to inflict this wound on me, just at the time when you were here with Nellie. Paul. You were not sorry to see me here ? Les. I know no spot on earth where I would rather be than where I am. And yet, it is humiliating to present myself in this sad plight before my enemy. Paul. Am I your enemy ? Les. Why, of course, Pauline. You belong to the North : your people are in league with the Yankees : and I am a deep dyed rebel, — a red hot, fire-eating Southerner. Paul. I am not to blame for that. Les. {laughing). Why, surely, no. Pauline, you speak like a philosopher. Have you been tutored by the learned doctor ? Paul. He treats me like a baby, strokes my cheek, and asks with absent mind what school I go to. 80 THE rebel's daughter. Lea. And yet the oracle finds time to stroke and kiss you? Paul. But he is a pliilosopher, and father told me that I might let him kiss me as often as he pleased. Les. Would your father grant me the same permission, if I were a philosopher? Paul. Yes, perhaps, if — if you were old. Les. Pauline, do you know it was this same Rauhenfels who first made trouble between your brother and my sister ? Paul. Ah, he sets great store by Victor and Nellie: and knows what you and I and everybody knows, that Victor loves your sister. Les. And do you know Pauline, I half suspect that Nellie is as much in love with Victor, as Victor is with her? Paul, {iji rapturous delight). Oh,* do you think so? Les. Keep it a secret, Pauline : when last they met he conquered her. You see how humble she has grown ; her spark of life burns faintly like a nun's. l^aul. {rising). Oh, if this were so! Les. Come here, Pauline: I cannot speak so loud {takes her hand and draws her to his side). But I can whisper softly. Suppose, my sister's brotlier loved both your brother's sister and your uncle's niece, — which of the two — Paul. What, love two — {catches herself and drops her eyes). Les. Two names, Pauline. What do you say? Paul. Nothing. Les. But you will listen to me ? THE rebel's daughter. 81 Paul. Yes. Les. And take me, too? {Kisses her,) Paul. O Leslie, you must first get well. Les. (elated). But I'm so well in being sick, Pauline, that I'll be sick as soon as I am well. My doctor's diagnosis is all wrong. He called my wound a scratch, but I know better. Men have often died from lesser hurts, for lockjaw may set in, or poisoning of the blood. Why, I once knew a case where but the skin was scratched — Paul. Oh, you shall have a dozen other doctors if you wish. Les. A dozen doctors. Then you may as well buy me a shroud and coffin. But, Pauline, don't go to trouble for another nurse. I think, you'll answer. Enter Nellie. Pauline and Leslie seated on the bench. Les. Why, there's sister Nel (To Nellie) : What do you say to this? Nel. I don't know what to say. Les. That's my fix, too. Nel. Pauline will tell me (the women go to one side). Les. (aside). Will she ? Now by Jove, here's value for you. Not a speck of tinsel, but every inch pure gold. Those lips and eyes serve not as curtains to conceal a soul, for through these crystal windows her spirit shines like heaven's honesty. She is Victor's sister. I wonder whether she too has a temper so giant-like as his. I'll not disturb it until we are married ; but then the sparks 6 82 THE rebel's daughter. shall fly. A face like hers will look most beautiful when flushed with anger. I can hardly wait. {Loud) Good nurse, this bandage is not tight enough. (Pauline adjusts the bandage). A little more. There, thank you, that will do. You must excuse me, sister, but my wound requires her constant care. Nel. Leslie, you are not well. Les. No man is more convinced of that than I. I think it must have been a cannon-ball. 'Twill be at least three months before I can walk — I mean, three months till I can ride again. As luck would have it, just my left arm, too. How shall a fellow lead his regiment without his bridle arm? The devil take it. A leg or two had made no difference, my horse has four of those. But just my arm. Had 1 been shot right straight into the heart, it could have been no worse. Nel. No, just about the same: for there's where you are hit. Enter Auf dem Busch. Nel. I have been looking for you, Mr. Auf dem Busch : where have you been ? A. d. B. I sat on a garden bench. Nel. And where is Mr. Woldemar? A. d. B. He sits yet on a garden bench. Nel. I'll fetch him, for it is about time we were having some lunch. A. d. B. May be you better not. Nel. Why? THE rebel's daughter. 83 A. d. B. Woldemar feels not well. (Nellie looks sig- nificantly at Leslie and Pauline.) I have told my driver to hitch up. May be Mr. May would like to ride out. The weather is beautiful. Les. Why, that's capital. But, alas, how shall I drive? A. d. B. Take Jacob along. Paul. Let me drive, uncle. A. d. B, What, ray sorrels, that almost ran away with me? Paul. I often use them when you are up town. A. d. B. Indeed. Paul. Come, Nellie, join us. Nel. No: you go, and Leslie. Meanwhile I shall have your uncle all to m3^self. A. d. B. You make me a compliment. Miss May. Nel. Don't stay too long, Leslie. A. d. B. Be careful. Maybe Jacob drives better. Paul. Why, no, uncle. Between us we have three hands, and Jacob has but two. (^Exeunt Pauline and Leslie. Nel. Mr. Auf dem Busch, I want you to tell me something about Professor Rauhenfels. A. d. B. Rauhenfels? Oh, that is an interesting man, and my best friend. Of him I could talk the whole day long. I hold him as the wisest man I know, and he is my best friend, and I am his best friend. Nel. I do not like him: he looks so much like Mephistopheles. A. d. B. He's a good man. Nel. I hope so. (^Exeunt A. d, B. and Nellie. 84 THE rebel's daughter. Enter a Confederate Courier, out of breath. Cour. This is the house. There's no time to be lost {knocks at the door). Enter Ckessie. CoxLr. I have a message for Colonel Payton. May I see him? Gres. Yes, sir: walk in. {Exeunt Cressie and Courier. Enter Patton, folloioed by the Courier. Patton holds the message in his hand. Pay. Try to find Mr. May. He is about here some- where. Tell him to come. I must see him instantly. {Exit Courier. Pay {reads) : " An enormous wagon train of the enemy is approaching on the Great Bend road. Our pickets report it poorly guarded. What shall I do? Hastings, commanding." Enter Leslie. Les. Ralph, you have cheated me out of the happiest hour of my life. Lucky for you that Pauline is not the girl you are after. Pay. When you are through, look at this {gives him the dispatch). What shall we do? Les. Do ? Corral them like a herd of sheep and drive them across the river at Davis' Ford. How many men have you ? THE rebel's daughter. 85 Pay. Eight hundred. Les. All mounted ? Pay. Every one. Les. Brave men, too. I fought with them at Ma- nassas. By God, Ralph, it is the chance of a lifetime. Pay. Suppose the train is followed by a body of troops which our pickets did not see? Les. If it comes to the worst, set fire to the wagons and take the mules. Pay. It's a hazardous thing, Leslie. I'll send some scouts to investigate. Les. There's no time for that. Will you go? Pay. I'll go in and bid farewoU to the ladies. Xes. Ladies? Hell! (^SeizesVAYTOii's saber and rushes off. As he goes, he tears off his bandage and Jlings it on the stage. ) Pay. The man is mad. (^Exit Payton. Enter Nellie and Pauline. Nel. I can't imagine where they can be. Paul. The soldier said, Colonel Payton must see Leslie instantly, and so he left me without a word. Nel. I am sure there is some trouble. Let us go up to the balcony, Pauline ; from there we can overlook the whole valley. (Nellie goes out and appears on the balcony — Pauline looks about as if for Leslie. ) Nel. There's going to be a battle, Pauline. Paul. O Nellie, how can you look on such horrors. Nel. There's a provision train coming down the road 86 THE rebel's daughter. {counts rapidly). One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten — hundreds of wagons, Pauline. Paul. I am so afraid, Nellie. Nel. If our boys let that fat prize escape, I don't know them. Thc^^e poor mule drivers do not realize what is going to happen in the next five minutes. Paul. O Nellie, please come down. Nel. There's Pay ton's cavalry on the slope of the hill all drawn up in line. — How bright their drawn sabers flash in the sunlight. — {in a low voice) like soldiers in a picture, so still and silent. — {Shouting without) There they go! My, how those drivers lash their mules. — It's a hot race, but the odds are against the Yankees this time. — Come, come, Pauline, you never saw anything like this in your life. — Hurrah ! our boys are upon them ! Paul. O Nellie, Nellie, how can you — Nel. Now everything is hidden in a cloud of dust. — Now I see them again. {Cannon heard) My God, there's the enemy's artillery, and cavalry, too, Paul. {Spies l^^%^.lJL's> bandage. Shrieks.) Nel. What is it? Paul. Leslie's bandage {faints). Nel. Yes, there he is. I see him. I could recognize that white horse of his in a million. — There he goes, galloping at the head of his troops, without hat or coat, directly upon the approaching foe. — Glorious man, how proud I am to be your sister. — There they meet, hand to hand. O God! — Now the dust hides all. (During Nellie's Prayer the din of battle and trumpet signals are heard.) O Heavenly Father, that with unfaltering THE rebel's daughter. 87 justice metes to man defeat or victory, let glory crown my injured South. Let not her gallant sons bleed need- lessly, for since time's course began man never battled in a holier cause. — I can see nothing, nothing. {After a pause Nellie descends. The reflection of a fire is seen. ) Nel. (below). L^ok Pauline, they have set the wagons on fire. — I fear, I fear — Enter a soldier. Nel. What news? {Soldier hands Nellie a message. Nellie reads.) " We are overwhelmed by numbers. Our only safety is flight. Good bye! Kiss Pauline. Leslie." ( The women embrace. As the curtain falls the glare of the fire grows brighter. ) 88 THE rebel's daughter. ACT V. SCENE. — Mat's house in Brookfield. Enter Nellie, veiled, and Payton in civilian clothes. Fay. For God's sake, Nellie, quick. The Yankees will be here in less than an hour. Nel. {raising her veil). Shall I abandon house and home ? Pay. Had you done that last fall when we made our dash on the enemy's wagon train, you would not now be in danger. Nel. Poor Leslie : I have not seen him since. Pay. He is well enough. It is you I came to save. Nel. Did I preserve our homestead then, that I might now leave it to the mercy of our enemies? Pay. But here you are yourself at their mercy. These cut-throats consider neither age nor sex. Nel. Father and Leslie are in the field. Who will protect our home, if like a coward 1 leave it in the lurch? I'll stay. Pay. For Heaven's sake, dear Nellie, I have left my regiment, I have set my honor on the hazard to save you. Come, fly with me. THE rebel's daughter. 89 Nel. No, Ralph, I shall remain. Instead of persuad- ing me to fly, return to your regiment and persuade your enemies to fly. I must see to the house. Fare- well. (^Exit Nellie. Pay. Hell and damnation! Have I come here for nothing? Have I for nothing left my regiment? For nothing set my honor on the hazard? And Rauhenfels with twenty thousand men comes quick upon us. And Victor comes with him. And Nellie will not fly. If she meet Victor, who knows what may happen. (^Military music in the distance.^ Hark, there they are. Nellie, farewell! Now Payton, save yourself. (Payton ^wr/is to go. On opening a door he is met by a federal cor- poral with a squad of soldiers.) Cor. Your weapon. Halt. If you resist, you are a dead man. Pay. O cursed luck! The dog has caught me, caught me like a rat. {Soldiers take Payton' s iceapons and lead him off. ) ' Enter Victor in uniform of a lieutenant. Vic. How all respects of peace turn topsy turvy in the chance of war. Else I would shrink to step with spurs and boots across a temple's threshold. (^Uncovers his head.) Hallowed place, familiar as the songs my mother sang ; methinks your fixed and dumb inhabitants have each a tongue, that eloquently chides this rash intrusion. Peace, I'll go again. My soldier hands, rude and un- mannerly, shall think you each a saint and touch you not. — Near yonder window I have sat a hundred times 90 THE rebel's daughter. in seeming study over some ponderous book, while she, bright angel, flitted here and there, unconscious of her still idolater, who worshipped, and with seeing eyes, unseen, cast furtive glances and was satisfied. {Enter Rauhenfels in the uniform -of a General, U7iseen by Victor. ) There hangs a landscape that I helped her draw ; and as we traced the lines that signify a mill-race tumbling over his busy wheel, she took the pencil from me and exclaimed, " O Victor, what a lazy brook is that, I'll make it run much faster." Mau. Come, that's enough, monsieur melancholy. Do not forget, that you are a soldier. You have practiced warfare with unflinching hands these four years. Have you become so weary of the bloody business, that now you run to water? Come, my boy: we have good news this morning. Everywhere, our arms are flushed with victory. Here is quite a batch of news {throws a bundle of papers on a table). So this is where your good friend, Colonel May, lived in halcyon days. I am not a total stranger in these parts, for here it was where some six months ago, that dare-devil, Leslie May, set fire to my wagons. And the hotspur escaped us, too. Of the six men I sent on his trail, but two came back, and they without him. — A handsome house: I shall make my headquarters here. " Up with my tent, as hunchbacked Dicky said, " here will I lie to-night." Vic. How ill your humor becomes the tragedy whose scenes were cast where we now stand. Eau. Dull gosling ! Have you lived with me so long, THE rebel's daughter. 9l and are still so stupid? Shall a bridegroom weep, because every tick of the clock counts a funeral ? Men never laugh until other men shed tears, and nature keeps this law so rigidly, that were it not for death no man would live. Why, this truth is old as Adam. — I have here another matter. Vic. Wheresoe'er she be, may angels guard her with protecting wing. JRau. {commanding). Lieutenant, sit. (Victor seats himself.) My soldiers have arrested a man by name of Payton. Vic. What, Ralph Payton, our old acquaintance? Mau, I have not seen him, but I think it is he. The sergeant whose report 1 have before me, says his arrest was made on mere suspicion, and nothing guilty found. Vic. Then why detain him ? He is too well known to play the spy here in Brookfield. Eau. Stop, not so fast. The sublest knavery is often performed in guise of boldest front. Do you think he stands close enough to Colonel May, or rather. General May is the title we owe him now, I believe, that he might be intrusted with dispatches from or to the gCD- eral's friends? Vic. I think so, yes. Bau. I'll summon him. Holla! Enter Guards. Bring me a prisoner by the name of Payton. {Exeunt Guards. 92 THE rebel's daughter. Vic. With your permission, let me be excused. I would not like to meet Mr. Payton. Rau. So. Yes, yes. I remember. Well, you may go. But stay where you can be found, for I may need you. Vic. Very well. {Exit Victor. Rau. Now we shall see how Mr. Payton stands fire. If he gives proof to be a man of mettle, I will not obstruct him : but no coward shall outface my Victor {reads from a report). " There came with him a woman closely veiled, above the average height, erect and slender, and from her gait we judge that she is young.'* That description applies to the lady's octoroon, as well as to the lady. They are as like as twin peas. But no matter, either will fetch. Enter guards loith Payton. Sir, you may sit. (Payton scornfully retains his feet.) Rau. {to the guards). Leave us. {Exeunt Guards. Your name is Payton, I believe. Pay. Yes, sir ; an unoffending citizen, arrested — Rau. Hold. Your office is to answer, not to make comment. What you are, we know, in part at least, a rebel: what you are besides, we shall soon discover. , We learn, that you are sent with secret messages to Gen- eral May. Pay. Your soldiers found them on me, I suppose? Rau {rises angrily). No, sir; if we had found the documents, we'd switch you to the gallows, Mr. Payton. Pay. The gallows! THE rebel's daughter. ^ 93 Rau. Shake not. What should be the fear? Your person bore no guilty evidence. Pay. Then set me free. Rau. We are not quite through yet (^reads), " There came with him a woman closely veiled ; above the average height, erect and slender, and from her gait we judge that she is young.** Where is this lady.? Pay. Sir, this is too much. Grant, that a lady traveled in my care, grant likewise, that the lady is a rebel, and grant besides, she bears the messages which you supposed I carried, I'd be a cur that every man should kick, if I betrayed her name or place of safety. Rau. That's a matter of sheer sentiment and not to the point. Where is the lady? Pay. You have no right to make me answer that. Rau. My rights are mine. For you it is ail-sufficient that I have put the question. Pay. Then in return, let it for you be likewise all-suffi- cient, that I cannot remember. Rau. That is bad. For I must know, and you must tell me. Perhaps, I can refresh your memory: and to that end I will give you time to find her: ten minutes, by the watch. Your guards will help you to make the search. I'll leave you for the present {starts to go and stops at the door). Be sure you find her: when the time is up I shall return, and unless you bring her to me, and in her pres- ence tell me, this is she, off you swing. Good evening. {Exit Rauhenfels. 94 THE rebel's daughter. Enter Guards. Pay. {aside). I am caught between two millstones ; all my choice lies cramped between death and shame. Is there no other way? If I persist in ignorance he will hang me. On the other hand, if I deliver Nellie, will he dare to injure her? No. For unless he finds proof of her guilt, and that he cannot, it were atrocity most damnable to crook one hair of hers. She is a woman, and even a German General will not dare, here in America, to lay his hand upon a helpless woman that is innocent. Which- ever way I look upon the matter, the danger is mine, for Nellie there is none. And therefore I will not indulge the foolish boast to risk my life for nothing. Enter Nellie and Cressie. Nel. {to Patton). Is it true, as Cressie reports, that soldiers guard our house? That General Rauhenfels has made his headquarters here? That you are a prisoner and that I am looked on with suspicion ? What is the mat- ter? {To one of the guards) : Sir, what is your business here? Chia. A soldier, madam, I — Nel. Quit the house. Gua. I stand here on command. Nel. On whose command? Begone. I am mistress here. Qua. 1 must not, lady. Nel. Payton, put him out. Shall men in arms stand THE rebel's daughter. 96 at my father's door, and point their bayonets at me? Saucy fellow, make room, and let me pass. Gua, Here is no passage. Pay. Storm not so, Nellie : this discourtesy is none of his. Net. (io the guard) : Call your commander, I would speak to him. Cres. Dear mistress, do not anger them, or they will do you harm. Pay. Be sensible: such is the course of war; you can- not change it. My time is precious, come and listen to me. Nel. What, more offense? Kill, and be done with it. Pay. Listen, I pray, my life is in your hands. Nel. Then you shall live. Say on. Pay. We both were seen entering this house. You were not recognized, but I have been made a prisoner and am commanded on pain of death to deliver you to the commanding general, for he thinks that we are sent with secret messages to General May. Nel. And am I now delivered ? Pay. For you there is no particle of danger, for you can swear that you are innocent. Nel. And he will believe me? Pay. Whether he does or not, it makes no difference. Until he finds the proof, you are not guilty. Nel. But, I am delivered? Pay. Merely to humor him. Were he the devil, he would not dare to lay his hand on you until your offense is proven. 96 THE rebel's daughter. Nel. But — I am — delivered. Enter Rauhenfels ; remains in the rear. Pay. (^observing Rauhenfels) Yes. Nel. Come, Cressie, you are now all that is left me. Ah, Victor, Victor, the more I see of men, the more I recognize your lofty spirit. Honor was to you life's ele- ment, and not a stock in trade to sell for uses. Gres. Mistress, I am sure, if Mr. Waldhorst were in this man's place, he would not so betray you. Nel. Ah, good girl, you too, perhaps, may some day be apprised that all men are not Victors. Do not think my danger grieves me. I have lost so much, that like a beggar I miiy laugh at thieves. Come, Cressie, where is 3'our courage? Ran. Prisoner, your time is up. Which of the women here is your accomplice? Nel. I, if any, sir. Rau. Answer my question, prisoner. Nel. It is answered. Rau. Nay, and you mean to have some sport with me, 3'ou will find the laughter on the other side. Pay. May God in Heaven strike me instant dead, if she be guilty. Rau. That was not my question. Cres. {aside). The General does not appear to know whether it was she or 1. If I am guilty, she is innocent. (^Exit Cressie. Nel. Spare him the answer, sir. It was I who came to Brookfield in your prisoner's company. THE rebel's daughter. 97 Ran. He shall corroborate. Is that the truth ? Speak, or the gibbet. Pay. Yes, it is the truth. But God in Heaven — Rau. Silence. Convey him, guards, beyond our outer lines, and let him run. Mr. Fayton ! Pay. Sir? Rau. I would like to be the owner of a life, that is worth as much as you are paying for yours. {Exeunt guards with Payton. NeL Let me know what accusations have been raised against me, that I may prove them false. Rau. I hope you will, and be assured that every doubt we shall construe in your favor. — General May, I am right glad there are not twenty such to lead the rebel armies, is your father. Nel. If that is an accusation, I confess that I. am guilty. And to help you fix identity more certain, I'll in- form you, that I am kin to yet another May, one Leslie May, whose exploits in the South have made him worthy of his parentage, and he, sir, is my brother. Rau. That we know, and that is one more suspicion. — If you have in your possession any information to or from either of these rebel chieftains, your father or your brother, I demand, in duty bound, instant delivery. Nel. I cannot, sir. I have no messages. Enter Cressie, burning papers as she enters. Rau. Look to the woman, there (guards seize Cres- sie). 98 THE rebel's daughter. Cres. {struggling). Too late, too late! Burn, tire, burn. These are the messages, and I have burned them. Ran. Let me see tlie ashes. (Rauhenfels inspects the ashes and sends out a messenger). Nel. How stupid, Cressie, to accuse yourself of an offense that is not. Your self-sacrifice will injure more than help me. {To Rauhenfkls): Sir, your pardon, but I would speak a word. Rau. I am listening. NeL This girl is my maid, so foolish fond of me, that in her fear, she seized upon this most unhappy means, to shift the guilt and save her mistress. Those ashy remnants were no messages. {Messenger returns loith a book lohich he gives to Rauhhnfels. ) Eau. No, but three pages from a valued book which I ]eft on a table in the adjoining room. Come here, girl. (Cressie approaches^ hanging her head.) Such vandalism cannot be dismissed without punishment. And you will therefore, from month to month, bring me one-tenth of your wages, until the sum buys such another book. Now stand aside. Once more to what is in hand. Miss May, continue. If, as you declare, you bear neither letters nor dispatches, explain, as best you can, why my suspicion is not well founded. Nel. Sir, it is well founded. And being who I am, 1 cannot see, how anything I spoke in my behalf could help to clear me. What right have I to ask that you consider what I say to be the truth? Yes, I'll be free to say, that if I had some news, some information of benefit THE rebel's daughter. 99 to my father or bis son, or to our cause, I would not hesitate to lie and steal to see it safe delivered. Man. I like your honesty. Such candor is of service in a world where those who lie most are most prone to sa}^ I swear it, on my honor — well, continue. Nel. If I could be of service to my father, you would not find me idling here in Brookfield. But since, alas, I am unable to be of use to him, I will clear myself of what I wish far more I had been guilty. This is my home, I live here with ray mother, and have no wish to leave it. If you choose to set a watch on me, I am content, that all my correspondence shall be done under your supervision. Mau. Well and good. I will send you my Lieutenant, a most considerate man, whose aim will be to please you to the very verge of duty, though not an inch beyond. Miss May, remain: all others quit the room. Nel. Let Cressie stay with me. Hau. But no more pyrotechnics. (^Exeunt all hut Nellie and Cressie. Cres. Miss Nellie, this gruff man is not so savage as he seems. Nel. I do not fear him, Cressie: still I have good cause to hate him. This is Rauhenfels, my evil spirit, and the cause of all our misery. Ores. But, my dear mistress, it is evident he bears no hatred now ; for whenever he turned to speak to you, his voice grew gentle. Did you not observe it ? Nel. No, Cressie. Ores. But it is true. Perhaps he feels remorse for LofC. 100 THE rebel's daughter. his ill deeds, and now intends to make atonement by some restoration. Nel. How child? Cren, You will not be angr}' if I tell you all that 1 know? Not by mere knowledge, mistress, but what my soul divines? Nel. In prophecy? Cres. (^mysteriously). Rauhenfels is a magician, dear mistress, and Mr. Waldhorst fell a prey to his black art. Else how could Mr. Waldhorst have changed so quickly ? When our staunchest friend becomes overnight our enemy, it is sorcery, and not in natural order. Nel. Cressie, talk not so foolishly, or 1 must think your blind old granny speaks. Ores. Oh, listen. Miss Nellie; it was she who told me that these evil men by magic can undo what they have done. Nel. And so you think, that Rauhenfels could, if he would, bring Victor back to me? Cres. Yes, and what is more he will. Nel. Come, hold your tongue, and let me speak to you. Your willingness to bear my burden in adversity, induces me to speak to you of that which hitberto no breath gave utterance. It is not Rauhenfels, as fondly you would have me think it was, that cost me Victor. She who bears the loss is she who bears the blame. I was ambitious. My father, then a member of the House, looked to the Senate and to bring him there, I recked not what I did. As you remember, Victor was near to us, and in my zeal to bind him firmly to my father, I played THE rebel's daughter. 101 .upon the strings of bis affection, and so misled him. For he loved me, Cressie, with that fine passion whose own purity deems all else pure. It was not much I said, and yet when he rehearsed the part I played, I blushed at my corruption. Cressie, Cressie, learn from your mistress what it is to lose a true man's love — there lives not one in thousand. If Providence is kind to you, perhaps, you too some day will be as rich as I was. Until then, Cressie, let not vanity employ your beauty for entangling men. If nature used you kindly, do not stale her dear perfections to the eyes of the world, but guard them chastely until you find a man, who makes you feel there are no other men. On him let fall the proofs of your affection, unstinted, like a copious summer cloud lets fall its blessed flood. Enter Victor. Cres. (^seeing Victor, starts to her feeC). Look, Miss Nellie, look. l^el. Victor ! (Nellie and N\Q,TO\\^gaze on each other iixedly.) Stand not so dumb, inanimate. Speak, speak to me. Bless me or curse me, Victor, but speak ! Vic. O Nellie, Nellie! {They fall into each other's arms.) {Exit Cressie. Vic. {after a pause). This is you. This arm, this hand, these lips I kiss are yours. All, all is you. Nel. O Victor, 1 have sinned so much, so much. Vic. No, I was but a fool. Nel. Nay, do not flatter me. Speak as you think; tell me the truth. I'll bear no middle course. For you 102 THE rebel's daughter. must either hate me past all hope, as I deserve, or love me as of old. Vic. I have no life, but what you give me. Gazing on your face, as I do now, I trace familiar lines, lines which the exile of my desert years have graven on ray heart. There is not a feature in all this bright perfection of yourself, but my imagination has rehearsed it a hundred thousand times. Nel. Can you forget all that I was, and love me as I am? Vic. Whatever you are is you: what you are not, is nothing. Enter Rauhenfels, Rau. {(iside). Now by Saint Cupid's bow, this officer of mine shall be promoted. — Lieutenant Waldhorst! Vic. {confused). Pardon. By your leave this is Miss May. Jiau. I have had the pleasure. Vic. What? And how is this? Itaic. We have had an interview without an introduc- tion. Nel. Yes, indeed. And such it was, that soft society would blush at it. Eau. And to my mind, I came off second best. Ktl. Do you hear that, Victor? Be you on your guard: my woman's tongue outmatched the general even. Mau. And yet we managed well. Nel. Oh, excellent. A soldier's etiquette cuts off the THE rebel's daughter. 103 roundabouts of full-dressed men, and talks straight home. (^Shouting tvUhout. Enter a messenger running with dispatches for Rauhenfels.) Vic. What may this shouting mean ? Rau. It means that spurs and boots are out of fashion ; that silken hose and shoes of patent leather, shall make more conquests than the guns of war. Vic. Oh, jest not, tell me is the struggle done? Mau. Done, Victor, finished. Ring the curtain down : for now we shift into the scenes of peace. Nor shall I escape the metamorphosis : my uniform shall be a dress- ing gown, my sword a pipe, and musty books shall be my charts of war. Enter messenger with dispatches for Rauhenfels. Enter Cressie. Cres. O mistress. Master Leslie has come home, and he is married, and his wife is here, and Master Leslie's father : no, no, not his father, but his wife's father, that big jolly man, — oh, what's his name, — don't make me stop to think, — you know who it is, and — Eater Leslie and Pauline. Leslie greets Nellie, Victor greets Pauline. Then Pauline embraces Nellie. Les. (approaching Victor). Let us have peace. Vic. Forever and forever. {They embrace.) Nel. (^to Pauline). And so you are married? Paul. Yes. 104 THE rebel's daughter. Nel. My brother's wife. How strange that sounds. Paul. I'll call you sister now. Are you not married yet? Nel. No. Paul. And why not? Nel. Because nobody wants me. Paul. Nellie, Nellie, I am not so simple as I used to be. There is Victor: I see it in bis face, that both of 3^ou may be congratulated. Nel. Hush, hush, you little windmill. Would you make nie the butt and laughing steels of all these peo- ple? Please hold your tongue, for Victor has not }et pro|)osed to me. Paul. That is mere forgetfulness. Don't mind it, sister Nellie, for you see, he is a pupil of Rauhenfels, and Raulienfels is a philosopher, and these philosophers know everything except what is proper and conventional. (Victor and Leslie join Nellie and Pauline.) Enter Auf dem Busch and Mrs. May. Ran. Holla, friend Auf dem Busch, I am glad to see you. A. d. B. And so am I. How goes it, Mr. Meddler? Mrs. M. Whoever would have thought that this would be the end. Ran. This, madam, is the happiest of all ends. A. d. B. Of course, of course, he did it all himself. Enter a messenger with dispatches for Rauhenfels. Rau. And still they come. Rejoice, our wars are done. THE rebel's daughter. 105 And yet I cannot help to think how often Will men with tongues refight what has been done. Take either side, but fix it in your soul, The part cannot be greater than the whole. Les. And so the chance of war has gone against us : our cause is lost. Paul. No, Leslie, you have won. For we have won, and since you are mine, have you not likewise won? Les. Why, so I have. The rarest jewel in all Yankee- land I captured from the North. Pauline is mine. Nel. O Victor, now my bright star of the South Pales in the rays of your victorious sun. The mightier North o'erwhelmed the weaker South, And fortune makes him master over all. Vic. No, Nellie, no, your stars shall not decline: In purer lustre you will see them shine: For what to you now seems like sad defeat Welds North and South into one land complete. Nel. May God grant respite to my wearied South, And give us faith in those that conquered us, As I have faith and confidence in him, Who conquered me, my Victor. END. INTO THE OPEN A DRAMA IN 4 ACTS. CHARACTERS. John Wimpleton, President of the Wimpletoyi Grocer Go. Clement, his son. Mildred, his daughter. Bayard McGregor, b^tsiyiess associate of John Wim- pleton. William Lowe, aporter at the Wimpleton Grocer Co. Mart Lowe, Jiis wife. Jeannette, ) .7 . , J. > their daughters. Susan, ) Maggie and Hinie, age 12 and 8, children of William ayid Mary. P. Henry Monmouth, a traveliyig salesman. Jackson Formerly, a rustic merchant. Pete Striker, a young mechanic. Police Officer: Messenger: Bookkeepers: Office Boy: Servants. SCENE: A Large Western City. TIME: Present. Acts 1 and 8. — William Lowe's House, Act 2. — Office of Wimpleton Grocer Co. Act 4. — John Wimpleton' s House. An interval of 6 months between acts 2 and 3. ACT I. SCENE: — A room in William Lowe's house, which serves as kitchen, dining room and living room. poorly furnished. a cook-stove l. b. a bare kitchen table l. f. a worn sofa r. f. Mrs. Lowe. Mrs. L. {o7i her knees scrubbing the floor; dock strikes). Seven! Well, if them girls don't show up pretty soon, there'll be a high old time when the old man comes. He's had pancakes for supper on Fridays for twenty years ; but this here floor is going to be scrubbed, pancakes or no pancakes {scrubs energet- ically). Enter Pete and Susan with a large bundle B. C. Mrs. L. You know what time it is? Sus. Time for supper. Pete. Hello, Mrs. Lowe ! Still at work .? You women ought to organize, and then you could quit at five o'clock. Mrs. L. And who'd scrub the kitchen? Pete. There's lots of women looking for a job. 112 INTO THE OPEN. Mrs. L. Yes, and I'll go hire one quick enough, if you give me the money. Here I've been waiting since half past six for somebody to come home and fix supper, with half a dozen hungry kids hollering for something to eat. S^is. What did you give 'em? Mrs. L. Gave 'em some bread and sausage and sent 'em to bed. Sue, get a move on yourself and fix supper: the old man'U come any minute. Sus. Not much! It's Jennie's turn to-night. She can turn up her nose at me on the outside, but here in the house, I am just as good as she. Mrs. L. That's all right, Sue, but if you did as much work for me as Jennie, it would be heap easier for me. While you go gallivanting with your fellers, Jennie sits up at night and patches the children's clothes. Besides, she gives me fifteen dollars a month, and you only give me ten. Sus. Yes, but how does she get it? Flirting with a cigarette dude, and working him for a job in his father's office. Stemming tobacco at five dollars a week ain't so high-toned, but it's a good deal more respectable. I'ete. Bully for you. Sue! You're a spunky girl. That's just the way I feel about it. Where Sue and I work, we lay down the law to the bosses. It's just so many hours, and just so much pay, or we tie up the factory. Mrs. L. You didn't do much tying up last summer, when you struck in the planing mill. Pete. That's because a lot of dirty scabs took our INTO THE OPEN. 113 place. But we did a good [many of *em up all the same. Sus. I give you all the money I earn except ten dollars a month, while Jennie keeps twice as much on her own showing. Besides, I don't believe her when she says she gets only forty dollars a month. Pete. A good looking stenographer can make seventy- five dollars a month, if she keeps her eye peeled for the right kind of a place. Sus. And Jennie is just slick enough to work it for all there's in it {looks out of the ivindoiv). There she comes now in Clem Wimpleton's buggy. That's right, drop her off at the corner, Mr. Dude. It wouldn't be nice to stop at this shanty with your high-toned rig. Now watch her lie when she comes in. Of course, she came so late, because she had to walk all the way. Enter Jeannette neatly drpssed in contrast to the others, B. O. Jeayi. {takes of her gloves, hat and wrap, lohich she hangs on a nail). Good evening! Good evening Pete. Pete. Good evening! Hello! What has the People's Friend got to say? {Picks up a paper ayid sits on the sofa. Mrs. L. You know what time it is ? Jean. Yes, it's late, I know. But there was much to do: Mr. McGregor kept me taking letters long after six. Sus. {loith a knowing glance.) Did you ride home in the cars? 8 114 INTO THE OPEN. Jean. No, Mr. Wimpleton was good enough to drive me home. Sus. To the corner, you mean. Jean. Yes, 1 know what you mean (puts on an apron and tucks up her sleeves to prepare supper). Is Susan going to remain at bome to night, mother? Sus. No, ma'am. Mrs. L. What do you want to know that for? Jean, Because I accepted Mr. Wimpleton's invitation to an entertainment tliis evening. But, no matter; he'll not come before nine, and I can be ready by that time, I think. Where's the lire shovel? Mrs. L. Hinie broke it on the dog. Sus. Pete and me are going out, too. And you bet, it's none of them affairs, where people's got to eat standing up, wiihaplate in one hand and a glass in the other. And we don't have to lie when we go home and say, we had just a lovely' lime. Jean. ( Takes a piece of paper to protect herjingers^ and places some pieces of coal on the fire. ) Sus. Oh, my! Mrs. L. What's the matter? Sus. She's afraid of hurting the coal. Mrs. L. (throivs down her scrub brush and shoves Jean. aside). Get out my way! It'll be time for breakfast, before you'll get supper ready at that rate (energeti- cally picks up the coal scuttle, puts on coal, and noisily sets a pan ivith some bacon on the stove). Jean. Please let me make the pancakes, mother. Mrs. L. No time for pancakes to-night. INTO THE OPEN. 115 Jean. It will take but a few minutes. Mrs. L. Don't bother me! Set the table. Jean. (^Shrugs her shoulders and obeys. Is occupied setting the table xmtil William enters,) JSus. Wonder what dad '11 do, when he gets no pan- cakes to-night {washes her hands in the scrub pail). Say Pete, these suds takes the dirt off good. If you'll step over this way, I'll wash your face so clean, your own mother won't know you. Fete. Keep off, or I'll smack you. Sus. You will, will you? {Throws suds i7i his face.) Pete, {seizes Susan and kisses her). Thanks for your invite {resumes his seat and reads). Jean. {Looks at Susat!^ ivith an expressio7i of disgust.) jSus. He didn't kiss you, did he? Jean. No. Mrs. Ij. Stop your monkeying, Sue. Sus. {dries her hands on her dress). The other night, when some of the feilers was around, Pete grabbed her from behind, and tried to kiss her. Didn't you, Pete? Fete. Yap. Sus. But you didn't, did you? Fete. Nop. Sus. Why didn't you? You had a good grip on her. Fete. Guess, she wouldn't let me 'cause I was chew- ing. Sus. Strikes me, a good many mouths what chaws ter- baccer is cleaner than some what smokes cigarettes. Fete. Just listen to this {reads): "The president of 116 INTO THE OPEN. the Sugar Trust has given orders to close down all the sugar works in New York and Brooklyn, throwing twenty thousand working men out into the street to starve." {Theatrically and ivith gestures.) That's the way monopoly sets its iron heel on the breast of the peo- ple. But, I tell you, a day of reckoning will come, and then the down-trodden slaves of our boasted land of liberty — Sus. {interrupting seriously). Will rise in their de- spair and throttle the lives out of these blood sucking tyrants ! Mrs. L. Are you making a speech, Pete? Jean, {smiling). What paper is that? l*ete. The People's Friend ; the only honest paper in the city. Sus. {to Jean). What are you laughing at? Jean. At Pete, and his People's Friend. Siis. Well, if you're so smart, why has one man got the right to starve twenty thousand? Jean. He hasn't. Pete. Then why has this bloated monopolist got the right to throw out twenty thousand men? Jean. You mean, why the refineries have stopped making sugar? Pete. Yes. Jean. Simply because the people don't eat more sugar. It's your fault, Pete, as much as anybody's. Pete, {disgusted). What are^you giving us? Jean. Pete Striker, here's the chance of your life. You claim to be something of an organiz=^r, do you not? INTO THE OPEN. 117 Pete. Ask some of the blokes in the first ward what got dumped at the primaries. Jean, Good. Now you organize the people of the United States to use double the quantity of sugar in their cakes and coffee, and I'll warrant you, the sugar refineries will soon be running day and night. It's a small matter, too, fifty cents a head per annum will do the whole business. SiLS. Did you have to go to the high school four years to learn that, or did you hear it from your friend, Clem Wimpleton on the way home? Pete. I guess she got that from Mr. McGregor, who's one of the biggest monopolists in the city. Jean. He subscribed ten thousand dollars to the new library. Pete. How did he get the ten thousand ? These fellers rob the people of a million, and then give them a thousand back again for charity. Sus, I can't see, why this Mr. McGregor wants to be so stuck on himself, anyway. If he's old man Wim- pleton's partner, why don't he get his name on the sign? Jean. He is still young and very modest. Mrs. L. Let me tell you, because you're working for a rich concern, it's no sign you're rich yourself. Sus. (^approaching Jean). And let me tell you, that sitting beside a fast young man in his private office, is going to make a poor girl still poorer. Jean. And let me tell you^ that a stupid young woman who runs away from school to work in a tobacco factory, who spends her Saturday nights and Sundays at public dance halls with the scum — 118 INTO THE OPEN. Sus. Who's a bum? Fete. That's me. Sus. Do you call me a bad girl? Jean. You're a stupid girl. Sus. I do it open and above board, and you do it on the sly, that's the difference. Mrs. L. Quit your fussing, or I'll give you both a licking, if ytai are of age. Enter Wii-liam somewhat intoxicated B. C. Wil. Sui)[>ei" done? (^l^atsJiis 2)ipe on tlie table and sits down.) Pete, (^to Sus.) I'll be back for you in ten minutes. Get those duds on (piick, Sue. It's going to be a swell ball. I worked the brewery for three kegs. Some of the boys are down at Jake's; I am going over to get a little lunch, and be right back. Sus. All right, Pete. J*ete. Put her on decollete and sleeveless. Sus. I can stand it, can't I, Pete? Pete. You bet your life you can. {Exit Pete B. C. Mrs. L. {places some chairs at the table). Come to supper, Sue. Sus. 1 don't want none. Pete's going to call for me in ten minutes, and I've got to dress. Mrs. L, Don't wake up the kids. Sus. They won't wake up, if they had enough to eat. {Exit Sus. with her bundle 11. G, INTO THE OPEN. 119 (Mrs. Lowe, Wiiliam and Jeannette sit down at the table.) Wil. Where's the panacakes? Mrs, L. The young lady didn't have time to make 'em. Jean. Why, mother! Wd. Then Yi\iy don't you make 'em? Mrs. L. You eat what's on the table. What's good enough for us is good enough for you. Wil. (^angrily). I git panacukes every Friday night for twenty years. Mrs. L. Well, you don't get 'em to-night. Wil. {ivith suppressed rage). Then I go where I can get 'em. {Exit Wil with his pipe B. C. (Jean and Mrs. L. continue to eat.) Jean. Father is drunk again. Mrs. L. That won't hurt him. Jean. But it hurts me. Mrs. L. Don't be running your father down behind his back. He's good enough for me, and so he's good enough for you. He never gets drunk in the daytime except Sunday's. He's not like Dick Lusher and Jim Keg, and that's the reason lie don't get tired. He's had a steady job for twenty years, and Mr. Wirapleton told me hisself, that Bill could work for him all his life. They started in business together, and they's going to stay in business together as long as they live. That's what old man Wimpleton told me hisself, and he ought to know. It's the money he spends wl.at hurts me. Nearly all his wages goes for beer. 120 INTO THE OPEN. Jean. Has he ranch money with him ? Mrs. L. He had two dollars this morning. Jean. When that's gone, he'll go to the store again and sleep on the coffee sacks. Mrs. Jj. Well, supposen he does? Jean. Mr. McGregor does not know that father goes to the store at night. Mrs. L. Hasn't he got a key? (Jean, rises ((y. {looking up, extends his hand). There, say no more about it. All's well that ends well. Jean. Still, I feel I owe you an explan;ilion. When you called on me last ni<;ht, I was insensible to tiie charitable nature of your visit ; I saw in it only a superior and di9<]juised effort to prevent a mesalliance. I have grown a year wiser since yesterday. My illusion has l)een dispelled. Bay. I fail to comprehend, how a girl of your mental caliber could permit so shall jw a man as Clem Wimpleton to lea«i her by the nose. Jean. Until last night Mr. Wimpleton's conduct towards me had been always that of a gentleman. Bay. That is a comforting bit of imforraition. Miss Lowe. Jean. Thank you. My conscience demands that I be INTO THE OPEN. 155 perfectly open to you, Mr. McGregor. It was my wish to marry Mr. Wimpleton. Bay. You speak of that in a rather matter-of-fact way. Jean. And you despise me for it, I know. But I came to you to speak the truth. I do not wish you to think otherwise of me than I am, no matter what the consequence may be. Bay. You wished to marry Mr. Wimpleton for his money? Jean. That is forcible, Mr. McGregor, but hardly fair. I am not ignorant of the fact, that a high-minded woman would spur her ambition to a loftier goal, than the mere riddance of penury. I lay no claim to such virtue, but I do claim to know the difference between poverty and wealth, for I see both, and know whereof I speak. The rich cannot comprehend the poor. In their eyes it is un- pardonable presumption, that the poor should strive to be as they are. But I am wasting your time with a tedious harangue. — Last night, I resented my dismissal from your service : now I see it is best so, and I thank you. Bay. What do you propose to do? Jean. Follow your advice ; teach little children their A. B. Cs. and be humble. Bay. I thank you for that. I am quite sure the little children will profit by your instruction. Bat, as to your humility, I sincerely doubt that you will ever achieve distinction in that direction. Jean. When may I go? Bay. Whenever you wish. 156 INTO THE OPEN. Jean. Then I will go to-day, after I have done my un- finished work. Bay. If I can assist you in obtaining a position in the pubHc schools, let me do so. Jean. Miss Wimpleton was kind enough to promise her endeavors in my behalf. I shall take the liberty to trouble her (^puts her desk in order). Bay. If you consider it no breach of confidence, I should like to have the notes of Mr. Monmouth's dicta- tion. Jean, Why, you overheard him, did you not? Bay. Only in part. Jeaji. {tears some leaves from her loriting jiad). Here they arc. Have them deciphered ; they will serve to show what miserable things men Skve {Bxyxhd folds the leaves carefully and puts them in his pocket). Enter Formerly attired old fashionedly, carrying a carpet bag, L. F. Jean. Some one wishes to see you, Mr. McGregor. Bay. {Turns and observes Formerly. To Jean.) Be- fore you go, 1 would like to see 3'ou for a minute. {To Formerly) Good morning, sir. Form. Don't know me, do 3'ou? Bay. Yes, I think I do. You are from — na — what's the name of that place. There are three towns in your State, that have almost identical names, and I cannot for the life of me keep them apart. Form. Swamp Hollow. Bay. Yes, that's it. Swamp Hollow, of course, now there's Swamp Hill and Swamp Prairie — INTO THE OPEN. 157 Form. Never heard of them. Bay. Have a seat, Mr. Formerly. Form. Well, now, you do know my name, don't you? Bay. Oh, yes, I never forget any man's name after I have seen him once. Form. But you never saw me before. Bay. That's doing better still. My name is McGregor, Mr. Formerly, and I'm very happy to meet so old a friend of our house. Form. Been buying groceries here, 'fore you were born, I reckon. Bay. But you don't come to see us often. Form. Used to come down twice a j^ear. But now- adays you fellers keep so many drummers after us, a man ain't got no chance to come to the city to buy any- thing. Bay. Still, I am glad to say, we hear from 'you quite regularl3\ Form. I guess that's all you care for. As long as you get my orders and my money, it don't make much difference whether you see me or not. Bay. How are you getting on ? Form. Pretty well. I'm the boss in those diggins. There's nothing going on in Swamp Hollow, but what Jackson Formerly has got a hand in it. Bay. Have a smoke, Mr. Formerly? {Takes a box of cigars out of his desk.) Form, Haven't got quite so high toned yet. But, if you'll give me some tobacco, I'll light my pipe. Bay. (calls). Will! Bring Mr. Formerly a package 158 INTO THE OPEN. of our Private Growth Tobacco. (Jean, zvrites on her machine. Formerly follows her with his eyes and is per- plexed. Office Boy brings tobacco to Formerly, luho has taken out his pipe luhich he Jills). Form. (To O. B.) Do you smoke, boy? 0. B. No, sir. Form. What do you want to be lying to me like that for? You city kids all smoke cigarettes, don't you? (Bo.y loUhdraws loithout reply.) That boy will never be president. Bay. What makes you think so? Form. Got no spunk. Bay. Here's a match. Form. What's the best coffee worth? Bay. Twenty-one and a half. Form. That's kind'er high, ain't it? Bay. Let me show it 'to you. Form. No, never mind. Where's John? Bay. (calling). Will! Go upstairs to Mr. Wimpleton, and tell him, an ohl friend of his, Mr. Formerly, is here. (To Formerly) : He'll be glad to see 3'ou. Form. Hey, boy! (Boy stops.) You tell John, that I came all the way from Swamp Hollow to buy a bill of goods from him, and that I want to buy it from the old man himself. Do you hear? 0. B. Y'es, sir. (Aside) He's a lulu from way back. (Exit O. B. R. F, Bay. How long do you propose to remain in the city? Form. Can't tell. I brought Maria and two of the girls down with me. The girls never was in the city before. INTO THE OPEN. 159 I guess, I'll have to show them the town. By the way, does Henry Monmouth come around this way any more? He's my nephew, you know. Bay. Indeed? Why, yes, he was here this morning, not more than half hour ago. Form. I want to talk to that young fellow. I gave him two hundred dollars to pay a dry goods bill for me about three months ago, and the bill ain't paid yet. What do you think of him. Is he straight? Bay. I don't know much about him. Form. He wrote me a letter last week, saying he's going to marry a rich girl, and then he'd fix it up. But the girl had better keep her eyes open ; Hal's a pretty gay bird. Bay. How so? Form. Why, I had no sooner given him them two hun- dred dollars, than he runs off with a girl from Swamp Hollow. Her folks thought they were married, but the girl turned up again about two weeks later, and if Hal Monmouth ever shows his phiz in the county, they'll dress him in a coat of tar and feathers. Bay. I glad to have met you, Mr. Formerly. Enter Jno. Wimpleton, R. F. Form. Hello, John ! Wim. How do you do, Jack. Looks like old times to see you here. How have you been ? Form. Tollable, tollable. Bay. {aside). That tobacco isn't as good as I thought it was {retires to rear of office). 160 INTO THE OPEN. Form. John, you are getting old. Got any trouble ? Wim, No, none in particular. Well, Jack, let's get to work. Form. All right (takes off his coat). I told your clerks that I was going to buy this bill from the old man himself. Wim. That's right. Sit down here, and we'll see what we can do for you. Form. Say, John. IFm. Well? Form. Come liere a minule (takes him aside where he whispers in a loio voice). I've heard all along, that you had grown so ail-powerfully rich. Is that all stuff, or are you so busy, that you've got to get your women folks to help you out ? Wim. How so? Form. Over there. Wim. That's a stenographer. Form. Daughter, yes, that's what I thought. Wim. No, not my daughter. She's a clerk. She writes with a machine (YoR^i¥.vi\.Y appears surprised). I have another one upstairs. Form. Say, does your wife know it? Win. I sui)po3e so, although I do not remember ever having told her. Form. Say, John ; that's pretty nice. Wim. Sit down, Jack. Form, (takes a chair, with Wimpleton hi-tioeen him- self and Jea.n. Stares at Jean absent-mindedly). Give me five sacks of the best green coffee. INTO THE OPEN. 161 Wim. {writing). Any roasted coffee? Form. No sir-ee. The women in Swamp Hollow ain't too lazy to brown their own coffee (still looks at Jean. who is at work with her machine). What's yellow clari- fied sugar worth? Jea7i. (sotto voce). Four twenty-five. Wim. Four twenty-five. Form. Give me two barrels. Send me some that isn*t as hard as a rock. I had to use a crowbar on the last barrel I got. Wim. Why don't you buy granulated sugar? Form. Don't want none of your artificial stuff. I don't sell none but genuine goods. What's nails worth? Jean, {sotto voce). One ten. Wim. One dollar and ten cents. Form. Give me ten kegs spikes, and about three kegs shingle nails, and two kegs clapboard nails, — better make it three kegs. Jim Crow is building a new barn, and he wants a good many. And, mind you, don't send me any more of those new fangled wire nails. They're no good ; they got no heads on 'em. I want the genuine old style cut nail. Wim. I can sell you those for — Jean, {sotto voce). Ninety. Wim. Ninety cents. Form, {seems to have heard Jean.). Send me some brown wrapping paper, large size. Wim. Any paper bags? Form. Not much. We buy the paper and make the bags ourselves. I don't believe in throwing money away 11 162 INTO THE OPEN. for things I can make myself. What's baking soda worth ? Jean, {sotto voce). Three. Wim. Three cents, Jack. Form. Say, John, the young lady wishes to speak to you. IFim. {ivith a knowing look at Jean.). What is. it, Miss Jennie? Jean. I beg your pardon, I was figuring aloud. Wim. Go ahead, Jack, what's next? Form. Let — me — see. Wim. Did'nt you bring a list of what you want? Form. Not much, John. I'm not so weak-minded yet. I've got my business in my head. — Let — me — see — Wim. I'll tell you what' we'll do. Jack. We'll go across the street to get a drink, and finish up afterwards. Form. That's a good idea. Come to think of it, Maria will be down to see you to-morrow anyhow. I've been letting her run the little things about the store, and she might as well have the fun of buying them {takes up his coat). Wim. Just leave your coat here. Will, put Mr. Formerly' s coat and satchel in the wardrobe. Form, {to O. B.). Hands off, my boy. {To Wm.) I feel better when I've got them with me. {Exeunt Wim. and Form, carrying his coat and satchel, L. F. (Bayard comes forward from rear office). INTO THE OPEN. 163 Bay, {standing by the side of Jean.). From now until the beginning of the next school year, is almost SIX months. Shall I find you a suitable position for the interim ? Jean. No, Mr. McGregor, I must accept no more favors from men. That was my great mistake. Bay. All men are not alike. Jean. Nevertheless, I desire to shift for myself. Above all others I wish to place myself right with you, Mr. McGregor, by proving that I am no worse to-day than 1 was yesterday. I have lost your respect, but I will redeem it. If you really feel an interest in my welfare, you can best prove it, by con- sidering me out of the world. Bay. On condition that you will send for me when you need me. Jean. When I need you, yes. Bay. May I not drop around some evening to see how you are getting along with your humility? Jeaii. You had better not do that, Mr. McGregor. The atmosphere of a house, where the parlor is in the kitchen, will not prove so congenial to your refined taste, as the luxuries of your club, or the velvet settee of some mansion in the west end. Bay. You are caustic, Miss Lowe. Jean, {extends her hand). Goodbye! {Exit Jean. L. F. {Bayard follows her with his eyes, and then sits at his desk gazing absent-mindedly at his balance sheets.) 164 INTO THE OPEN. Enter Clem B. C. Clem, (looking over Bat.'s shoulder). Well, any luck? Bay. {starts}. It looks bad for Bill. Clem. It seems he often spends his nights at the store. Baij. Yes, he admits that. Clem. Do 3^ou find that any goods are missing? Bay. I'm on a scent. Clem. What class of goods are short? Bay. Cigars, I think. Clem. Then it's Bill beyond doubt. He and I carry the onl}' keys to the cigar room, which shows no sign of having been forced. I'd have him arrested at once. Bay. (slowly). No, I don't believe I'll do that. Clem. Why not? He was found here last night, and this morning the receiving book can't be found. The stupid fellow thought that if he burnt the book — Bay. Did he burn it? Clem. I suppose so. The book being destroyed, he thought we could not tell whether any cigars were stolen. Bay. Then you think that cigars are stolen? Clem, I thought you said so. Bay. I said I thought so. Well, it will be an easy matter to ascertain the quantity, but you may find it more difficult to prove that Bill is the thief. I have dis- cliarged Bill, so there is no further danger from that direction. Clem. What are you going to do about it ? Bay. Nothing. I think it will be best for all concerned INTO THE OPEN. 165 to pass it in silence. Tiiere's a certain pride at stake. Clem. How so? Bay. Business pride, I mean. Should this affair leak out, some of our competitors would make sport of our methods which permit such things to occur. I would not even mention it to the old gentleman. Clem. Yes, that's so. It would merely irritate him, and do no good an3'^way. Bay. Exactly. And a civil action against Bill would not lead to recovery of the cigars. Clem. But the thief ought to be punished. Bay. That's true. But in the present case, you must see yourself how disagreeable that would be. Clem. We'll consider the matter closed, then? Bay. Unless circumstances arise, that necessitate opening it up again. Cltm. I see, two of the boys are assisting you with these sheets. Can they be impressed with the necessity of silence? Bay. Tho^Y never speak. Clem. 1 didn't think you would take it so coolly. As I am not a partner in the firm, the loss is half yours and half the old man's. I am, so to say, a looker-on {laughs). But it's right, I ought not laugh about it. Good-bye. Enter a messenger ivith a telegram L. F. (Clem, signs for the message, and is about to open th same, when he sees it is for Bayard. Thereupon he 166 INTO THE OPEN. passes it to Bay. , ivho holds it in his hand unopened until Clem, is out.} Clem. It's for you. Bay. Sit down here, a minute {draws up a chair for Clem.) Clem. Well? Bay. You took the sjirl to the ball last night? Clem. Yes, and we had a great time. Bay. Miss Lowe has quit. Clem. Is that so? I'm sorry for that. She was a good worker, but I guess she can be replaced. Bay. Did you see her this morning? Clem. I did. Bay. Did you observe her closely? Clem. She's got what my German friend. Count Schwamm, calls katzsnjammer. We all get that way when we drink too much. Bay. Then you are conscious of the ravages your night of sport wrought in the features of a bright and innocent girl? Clem. Your pathos doesn't impress me. Bayard. I told you last night, and I repeat it now, that I shall do with Jennie Lowe just as I please. Bay. {rising). No, Clem Wimpleton, not now. Yes- terday perhaps, but not to-day. What you will now do, is to give me your word of honor, that you will hence- forth hold aloof, and nevermore by slightest word or act molest the girl. Give me your word. Clem. And if I refuse? Bay. If you refuse — INTO THE OPEN. 167 Clem, (laughs). You'll tell my father that 1 robbed his store. Bayard, you are welcorae to that. But permit me to remark that you are undertaking a big job. Bay. I'm afraid you are right in that. Clem. Make my father believe that I am a thief? Ha, ha, ha. I wouldn't be able to do that myself. (Exit Clem. L. F. Bay. (opens the telegram). " No such concern here. Speedy." Of course not. Why need there be. Mr. Monmouth simply writes out a bill, Clem marks it O. K., and we pay it. Why, it's as easy as lying. And to divert suspicion, they do what Bill would most likely have done, had he been the thief, they destroy the book. Mon- mouth deserves the prison, but I cannot proceed against him without exposing Clem, and I cannot expose Clem for his father's sake. But no matter for that, thank God, Jeannette, you are safe. The wretch may, at his peril, destroy your reputation, but he cannot ruin you! ACT III. SCENE. — William Lowe's Hodsb. William and JNIrs. Lowe. William sits stolidly at a table smoking his pipe, ivith an empty beer kettle before him. Mrs. Lowe washing dishes. Mrs. L. (calls). Maggie! Enter Maggie R. G. Mrs. L. Maggie, run to the grocery and get a gallon of coal oil and a pound of the best coffee! and if he's got any nice peaches, you can bring ten cents worth of them too — there's the basket in the corner. Mag. Where's the oil can? Mrs. L. Out in the shed. Here's the book {hands her the grocer' s passbook). {Exit Mag. R. G. Mrs. L. Isn't it about time you are getting a job? Wil. I git one pretty soon. Mrs. L. That's what you always say, but I don't see it. You say Mr. McGregor didn't discharge you, but only laid you off for letting the store open. That's six months ago. INTO THE OPEN. 169 Wil. You tell me that every day. Mrs. L. Jennie has sold all her good clothes to keep us going. Wil. That don't make no difference. She got no more use for them fine clothes anyhow. Putt3^ soon I go to work again. Mrs. L. Till then we can starve. Where's the rent money going to come from, I'd like to know. Enter Maggie luith oil can and basket R. G. Mrs. L. Ain't you going pretty soon? Mag. I was there already. Mahaffy says he can't give us no more credit until we paid up (Jiands Mrs. Lowe the hook). Mrs. L. The dirty miser. He was willing enough to take our money while we had it, and now when we're hard up, he won't trust us. Don't you go over in his store again. — Here's a nickel. The Lord knows it's about the last I've got. Now, you go to Schmidt's store, and buy five cents' worth of coal oil, and if he want's to trust us, you can get the peaches and the coffee too. {Exit Mag. B. G. Mrs. L. You haven't done a lick for six months. Wil. I work every day for twenty years, now I can rest a little. Mrs. L. And I can go out washing again. (HiNiE pokes his head through the door R. G.) Wil. Come here, Hinie ! 170 INTO THE OPEN. Enter Hinie, E. G. Wil. You are papa's boy, ain't you {takes him on his knee) ? Hi7i. If you gives me something. Wil. What are you going to be, when you're a big man? Hin. I's going to be a dog-catcher. And when the kids open my wagon to let the dogs out I throw my lasso over their heads. Jimmie Mullen got cauorht this morn- ing, but he hollered, and they let him go. Mrs. L. Get a bucket of coal, Hinie. {Exit Hinie tvith the scuttle R. C. Wil. Jake Faucet told me last night that he bought a big boarding house on the Levee, and that he needs some girls to clean up. If Jennie can't get a better job, he'll take her for a chambermaid and give her ten dollars a month and board and lodging. Mrs. L. The place that Jake Faucet bought is nothing but a low dive for niggers and roustabouts. That would be a pretty place to send your daughter to. Wil. Decent people won't have nothing to do with her. She's had four different places, but they all send her off when they find out who she is. Mrs. L. Somebody is doing her dirt. Whenever she gets a place, somebody writes a letter to her employer that she was with the fast women at the ball, and that settles it. The goose won't deny it, and then they send her off. But next week school begins, and then Jennie'll teach again. Wil. Maybe she will, and maybe she won't. INTO THE OPEN. 171 Enter Hinie carrying a coal scuttle much too heavy for him, R, G, Enter Maggie with oil can and basket B. G. Mag. Here's the coal oil. Schmidt says he can't give us no credit until we pays Mahaffy. Mrs, L. Even the peanut stands are making trusts against the poor people. Get me some kindling, Hinie. Hi7i. There ain't no more in the shed. Mrs, L. Then go to that new building in the next block and get some plaster laths. Hi7i. I can't get no more. Dey's watching 'em. 3Irs. L. Well, you can find some wood, somewhere, I guess. Hurry up ! {Exit HiN, B. G. Mrs. L. Maggie, you shine up the stove. I've got to 20 out to see if I can find some work for to-morrow. CD {Exit Mrs. Lowe R. G. Wil. Maggie, here's a dime ; get me some beer. But don't you go to Alec's again ; he gives you short measure. When I send you for beer, I want you to go to Jake's, he gives nearly twice so much. Mag. I don't want to go to Jake's. Wil. But I want you to. Mag. {crying). I. don't want to go to Jake's. Wil. Why not ? Mag. {blubbering). When 1 went there yesterday, some men lifted me on the counter and made me dance and pinched my legs. And Billy the barkeeper never lets me out of the saloon, unless I let him kiss me. 172 INTO THE OPEN. Wil. Well, you just go to Jake's again, aud if anybody hurts you, I'll fix 'em (falls asleep). (Exit Maggie with beer kettle B. C. Filter Mrs. Lowe, Clem, and Monmouth E. C. Mrs. L. There he is (^goes to Bill and shakes him). Wake up! Mr. Wimpleton wants to see you. Wil. I didn't steal nothing. Clem. Much obliged. Mrs. L. Anytliing else you want. Clem. No, thank you. (Exit Mrs. Lowe H. C. Clem, (shakes Bill). See here, Bill, I want you to sign this paper. Wil. I didn't steal nothing. Cl€7n. I know you didn't. Mon. I know it, too. Wil. Will you let me come back now? Clem. Listen to what I say. Wil. I didn't steal nothing, Mr. Wimpleton. I never stole a nickel in all my life. Clem. Keep still. You may be as innocent as a baby, and get to the pen for all that. Mon. There is more than one man in the penitentiary who was sent there by the thief who did the stealing. Wil. Can they lock me up even if I didn't steal nothing ? Clem. Yes, they can. Now, look here. This paper states, that the goods were stolen on the night you left INTO THE OPEN. 173 the store open. If you sign it, I will give you fifty dollars. Wil. I dida't steal nothing {rises). Clem. There's the paper. If you don't sign it and bring it to the offioe by to-morrow noon, I'll have you arrested {gives paper to Bill). Wil. 1 didn't steal nothing. (Exit WiL. R. C. Clem. That'll fetch him, I think. Mon. Clem, I don't see what I've got to do with this. That article in the paper was a piece of fool business. The jig is up, and I am going to get out. Clem. And leave me in the lurch? If I had known you were that kind of a man, I'd never have gone in with you. You were the one that proposed the scheme. Mon. Yes, I know. You are the weak, misguided youth and 1 the deep-dyed villain. Clem, you're a chump of the first water. The whole affair had gone asleep and everything had been forgotten. Bayard didn't move, because he thought you had dropped the girl. And now you stir the whole damn thing up again by publishing a fool article in the paper, which will cause Bayard to pounce on us like a wild cat. You see if he doesn't. Clem. I've got it in for the girl. Mon. Damn the girl. Besides, what show have I to marry your sister if Bayard proves that you and I are thieves. Clem. He can't. Mon. Well, I think he can. He's on to us long ago, 174 INTO THE OPEN. and has kept it dark for your father's sake. You ought to be kicked. Clem, I want you to go with me to your sister, and I want to go right now. When she hears about the cigar business, I'm doomed. Clem. I'll go with you to-morrow. Mon. I wish to go now. Clem. She's not at home now. Bill's declaration will clear us. He'll be considered guilty of negligence, that is all. Mon. You should have thought of that six months ago. It's too late now. Enter Mks. Lowe R. C. Clem. Where do you think your husband went? Mrs. L. To Jake's, I guess. Enter Maggie ivith beer kettle B. C. Mrs. L. What you got there? Mag. Papa sent me for some beer. Mrs. L. Give it here. {Exit Maggie listlessly R. C. Mrs. L, Have some, gents? Mo7i. Much obliged (Mrs. Lowe drinks out of the kettle). Mon. Say, Mrs. Lowe, isn't that Miss Jennie I saw in the next room ? Mrs. L. Yes, sir! Do you wish to see her? I'll call her, for she likes to see high-toned gentlemen, a good deal more than her ugly old father and mother (calls.) Jennie! Jean, {from without). Mother! Mrs. L. There's a gentleman here wants to see you. INTO THE OPEN. 175 Enter Jeannette, poorly clad to indicate straitened circumstances R. C. Seeing the men remains at the door. Mon. (^approaching Jean.). Hello, Miss Jennie. We called to see your father, but since he is out, I shall be happy to receive a welcome smile from you. Mrs, L. My, how fine he talks. His words are as handsome as his clothes. No wonder the ladies takes to such men. Mon. Won't you say good evening to me, Jennie? A penny for your thoughts (^whispering). What are you thinking of, sweetheart? Jean, (^intensely). I am complaining to heaven that it lias given me neither father nor brother to spurn a con- temptible cur out of the house. (^Exit Jean. R. G. Mrs. L. Why, Jennie, Jennie ! Mon. Your daughter is not well, Mrs. Lowe. Perhaps she was at another ball last night. (^Exit Mrs. Lowe R. C. Mon. She's one too many for me. Clem. You had more conversation with her just now in two minutes, than I've been able to get since the day she quit our oflSce. Mon. Better give her up and try something else. Clem. That's not my way of handling these things. When I once set out, it's either bend or break. Mon. She doesn't seem to bend. Clem. No ; my letters are returned unopened, and she point-blank refuses to speak to me. Now I'm working 176 INTO THE OPEN. on the other tack. I've had her discharged from three different places in three months. Did you observe her clothes? They look as if she might be ready to surren- der. She's been banking on entering the schools, but when she sees the evening papers I guess she'll think it is time to knock under. Mon. Knock under? Nothing. That piece of fool business will knock you and me under. Clem. It had to be done, Hal. She wouldn't bend; now she's broken. Let us go to Jake's and have another talk with Bill. {^Exeunt Clem, and Mon. R. G. Enter Jeinnette and Mrs. Lowe R. C. Mrs. L. Why, Jennie, what's the matter? Jean. Nothing. Mrs. L. That other gentleman is a fine man. I like him better than Mr. Wirapletoa ; he's more friendly like. Jean. He's a viper, whose acquaintance is a vice. Mrs. L. I thought he was just the kind of a man you were hankering after. Jean. Yes, yes. I suppose I have given you cause to think so. But let us change the subject, mother. I wish to talk to you about something else. I've been dis- charged again. Mrs. L. Why? Jean. Same old story. But don't worry, mother. In two weeks school begins, and then all will be well. I can often be home by four o'clock in the afternoon then, and have all day Saturday to help you with the children. I'm going to be good to you and father INTO THE OPEN. 177 and the little ones. I've been spending too much money on my clothes. I can get along with half that much, and if I save the rest, you will not have to hire out any more. Mrs. L. You've got one of your spells again. Jean. No, mother. If I do not keep my word, I do not hope to live. I feel ashamed of myself, when I see what I am. O mother, I have been so bad, so bad (^weeps and falls in her arms). Mrs. L. The girl is sick, sure. Jean. I am going to be so good to you, mother, that you will love me again, as you did, when I was a baby. Look at your hands and look at mine. Can you forgive me, mother? Mrs. L. I can forgive you easy enough, but I can't understand you. Jean. Whenever I am not at school, mother, we will do all our work together. Mrs. L. I'm afraid you'll soon get tired of it. You won't be in love with this old shanty any more than I am. Jean. I shall try hard, and you know I have a hard head. Where are the children? Mrs. L. Playing in the alley, I guess. Jean. Let us call them in ; I bought some candy for them. Mrs. L. I'm afraid she's going crazy. (^Exeunt Jean, and Mrs. L. R. C. Enter Susan and Pete B. C. Sus. There don't seem to be nobody here. 12 178 INTO THE OPEN. Pete. Kind of cold reception they're giving us. It's worse than in the picture what they call, " Bringing Home the Bride." Sus. It's bringing home the groom this time. Fete. Say, Sue, suppose we say nothing about it for a while. Let's keep it dead until we get a kind of used to it ourselves. Sus. That's not my style, Pete. Can't say I've not any reason to be particular proud of you, but since I'm your wife, the world might as well know it now as later. Pete. Then I'll tell you what we'll do. You impart the joyful tidings to your father and mother, while I go to Jake's and break the news to the boys. Sus. All right, Pete, my darling. Give me a kiss {kisses Pete). Be back here inside of half an hour, and, if you know what's good for you, coma home sober. This here bumming business has got to stop. I'm none of your lachrymosical women, what gits hysterics every time her old man gets full. I'm going to profit by my mother's experience. I remember, that many years ago, when I was a little kid, and father used to come home drunk, that my mother used to sneak oft in a corner and cry. And all she got for it most of the time was a lick- ing. If she had been smart enough to tear things up a bit, and show him what kind of a low-lived critter he was, she'd probably had a better time of it. So, now I guess, you know what I mean. Pete, Strikes me, you are starting rather early to make a feller walk the chalk line. Svs. You can walk it or not, just as you please. INTO THE OPEN. 179 Only remember that I'm not going to be anybody's chump. Pete. So long. {Exit Pete 7^. 0. Sus, It was a hard pull, but I landed him just the same. My, this dress looks as if it had been pulled through a threshing machine. It's six months since I got it. Well, I guess I won't wear it twenty-four hours hand running again so very soon. I owe five dollars and interest on it yet: wo^iderif it is worth that much now (yawns). Oh, my: I'm tired {drops in a chair). One thing is certain, this family is not going to get any more of my stuff. Now comes Jennie's turn sure enough. I wonder if she'll quit blowing in her dough for tan shoes and elbow gloves, if mother wants her money to buy bread for the kids. Oh, well; Ciem Wimpleton is still after her. I guess he won't mind, if she strikes him for an extra ten once in awhile {calls). Ma! O Ma! Enter Mrs. Lowe R. C. Mrs. L. So you've come back, have you? Sus. Yes, I've come back. Mrs. L. You're a pretty sight. Sus. {laughs). That's what all the boys said last night. Only they meant what they said, and you don't. Mrs. L. Ain't you ashamed of yourself? Sus. What for? Mrs. L. Did you ever hear of a decent girl staying out all night with a man? Sus, But suppose the girl is married, and the man is 180 INTO THE OPEN. her husband? Sort of takes j'Ou off your feet, don't it? Well, it's a fact all the same. You've got a son-in-law now, sure enough. Me and Pete's married. Mrs. L. Stop your fooling. Sus. We've been to the priest and here's my license. Mrs. L. I didn't think Pete would have married you. Sus. Well, he did. And since you are my mother, I'll tell you all about it. The way things had gone, I made up my mind, there was going to be a wedding or a dead Irishman. When I explained this to Pete, he thought first I was joking; but when he saw I meant what I said, he told me it was rather sudden, and that we had better wait awhile. But when I told him, the train had to leave on time, and that he was going on board dead or alive, it did not take him long to see it my way. Pete's got good health, and preferred going to his own wedding alive, than to his own funeral dead. That's the whole story in a nut shell, and the less fuss we make about it the better it'll be for us all. It's nobody's business any way. Mrs. L. And now, since you are married what are you going to do? Pete can't make a living for himself. Sxis. Don't you worry about Pete. He can work when he wants too, and I'll make him want to. Mrs. L. The Lord knows I won't stand in 3^our way (^embraces her). But what will the old man and Jennie say ; {calls) Jennie ! Sus. The old man won't say nothing, and Jennie '11 turn up her nose. INTO THE OPEN. 181 Enter Jeannette R. C. Mrs. L. What do you think, Jennie, Susan's got mar- ried to Pete Striker. Sus. Come on, Sis ; you might as well congratulate me. He's not a man after your notion, but then it's me what married him, and not you. Jean. I do not propose to congratulate you. Time alone can prove whether you have done well or not. But I do wish to offer you a sister's love. We have not been to each other what sister's ought to be ; let us do better hereafter (kisses her). Sus. {laughing). Why, Jennie, that's the first kind word you have spoken to me in five years. Jean. Perhaps I'm not alone to blame for that. Mrs. L. If them two girls can love each other, per- haps there's a good time coming for me, too. Enter a Messenger B. C. Mess. A letter for Miss Jeannette Lowe (Jean- nette takes letter). (Exit Mess. B. C. Sus. Whenever it's Jeannette, it comes from above. (Jean, opens the letter, reads and exhibits agitation. — Susan steals up softly and snatches the letter from Jean.'s hands. ) Jean. The letter is mine. Give it to me ! Sus. You can have it back as soon as I've read it (reads). " It grieves me to inform you, that your application has been rejected, for reasons which you 182 INTO THE OPEN. probably already know. I will see you personally later in the evening. Do not despair. Cordially, Mildred Wimpleton " {throwing the letter on the floor) -. Pshaw, it's only from a woman. Jean. Are you satisfied now? Sus. No, I'm disappointed. I thought it was from a man. Mrs. L, You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Sue. Sus. What difference does it make if I read her let- ters? She's always writing and writing, and writing, and getting letters; but it don't seem to do no good. The best thing sh.; can do is to get married like 1 did (Jean, with tears in her eyes looks scornfidly and bitterly at Sus. ). Oh, I know, you don't like Pete, and that's the reason I don't like you. The trouble is, you're too stuck up, and that makes me mad. But that's all right. I don't envy you, if you are trying to be high-toned. It's a good deal more respectable to marry an honest working man, than to flirt with a dude what sucks a cane. Mrs. L. Stop your fussing, Sue. Sus. I'm not fussing. But when she puts on airs I'm not going to stand it. Look how she's got her hair done up again; just as if she was a millionaire. Mrs. L. You can put yours up the same way if you like. Sus. You don't catch me aping rich people. Jennie's been loafing now for six months. She used to be blow- ing she could make her living with her head. If that's played out, why don't she work with her hands like honest people? INTO THE OPEN. 183 Mrs. L. Where's your husband, Sue? Sus. He's down at Jake's breaking the news to the boys (Jean, picks up the letter and sitting at the sofa stares at it vacantly). Enter Pete B. G. Pete. Hello, folks! {Kisses Mrs. Lowe and then Jean., the latter remains unmoved.) Sus. She don't mind letting you kiss her now. Don't forget it's for the family's sake, Pete. I can never for- get how she flopped you on the mouth when you tried to kiss her at our party last spring. Mrs. L. {to Jean.). You can't get in the school.? (Jean, shakes her head.) Sus. Then she'll have to do something else. This family gets no more money from me. After a girl's married, she can't spend any money on her relatives, even if they are poor. Mrs. L. Oh, my! what will become of me and the children? The old man won't work, Susie's married, and Jennie can't get into the school. Not a cent coming from anywhere. Well, I guess we'll not be the first what starved {sinks into a chair). Sus. What's the use of being down in the mouth? What's the matter with your pet daughter, Jennie? You've got her yet, haven't you? She's always been playing the weak one what couldn't stand hard work ; but it's all sham. If you look at her hands, you won't see any signs of work ; only ink spots which she gets from writing letters to her beaux. She's so infernally 184 INTO THE OPEN. modest, that nobody ever saw her bare arms, but they're as big and strong as mine. Pete. Perhaps they got that wa}^ from fencing in the gymnasium with the dudes. Sus. Well, just let her buckle down for a while. If she ever gets humble enough to confess, that she can't make it, why me and Pete will come to rescue. Ain't so, Pote? Pete. Yap. Saj^ did you see the latest? Just listen to this {takes a paper from his pocket) : now mind, Jennie, this isn't " The People's Friend, " but your high-toned evening paper, " The Times Purifier." Sus. Why, there's Jennie's picture as big as life (Jean, starts to her feet). Where did you get it? Pete. One of the boys give it to me in the saloon. Just listen to the head lines. {Reads): "Cool gall. A sporting girl makes application to teach in the public schools." (Jean, seizes the paper ^ and after reading a moment breaks down. Sds. takes up the paper and reads.) Mrs. L. Read out loud, Susie? Sus. Say, this is pretty tough. Pete, I think you could get a divorce on the strength of this. Pete. Jake Faucet said I married into a pretty gay family. Sus. Jake Faucet better keep his mouth shut. If he knows what's good for him, he won't say nothing about me. Mrs. L. i^ead out loud, Susie? Sus. It's too long. Let Jennie read it to you; she's INTO THE OPEN. 185 got more time. I've got to go over and fix things up. The furniture is there by this time. Mrs. L. Where are you going to live? Pete. We rented two rooms over Jake Faucet's hall. Mrs, L. Where did you get the money to buy the furniture ? Sus. If one's up to date, and knows where to go, it don't take much money to buy things. Pete. Hurry up, Sue. Sus. Come over a bit after a while, mother. Jake is going to give us a wedding reception, and all as wants to come is welcome. Pete. You see, we didn't want to trouble you with a lot of people, so I got Jake to take the matter off our hands. He's a good friend of mine ever since I helped to elect him to the city council. Sus. That's all right, Pete. Don't let Jake Faucet give you a stiff like that. He'll make enough money out of the beer he sells to-night, to make up for his trouble. Pete. Jennie can come too, if she feels like. Sus. I don't know about that. After she's got herself in the paper like that, I guess she'd better stay at home awhile. There's not much love lost between us, but for all that she's my sister, and I wouldn't like to see her snubbed in public. Jake Faucet isn't over particular, but he's got to draw the line somewhere. Good bye, mother (kisses her). Good bye, Jennie! {Exeunt Sus. and Pete B. G. Mrs. L. {after a pause). Jennie! (Jean, pa^/s no 186 INTO THE OPEN. attention hut remains as before loith her head bowed on the table.) Jennie, I've been studying it all over, and the more I think of it, I believe it would be best to make up with Mr. Wimpleton again. Jean, (slowly). What do you say? Mrs. L. I say we must live. Jean, {sighing). Yes, we must live. Mrs. L. We are going to be in a terrible fix, your father won't work, Susan will not give me half her wages anymore, you can't get any place at all, and we sold your last good dress this morning. Jean, (calmly and resigned). Here's a little stick pin, and the gold medal I won at school (takes the medal from her neck, and the pin from her collar, thus exposing the white throat). Mrs. L. And then? Jean. Then, then '' He that doth the ravens feed, and providently caters for the sparrow " — Mrs. L. And all this happens when I'll have to stop going out to work soon for a while. What's going to become of the children when I'm sick in bed? Some- thing's got to be done. Jake Faucet is willing to take you for a chambermaid in his new boarding house, but I think its more pleasant to keep company with a fine gentleman, than to do all sorts of dirty work in a liquor dive on the levee. If you write a friendly letter to Mr. Wimpleton, and make up with him again, I'm sure he would do something for us. And if he is too angry, I know the other gentleman what was here would be good to you. INTO THE OPEN. 187 Jean. Are you my mother? Mrs. L. (^approacJiing Jeatu.). Don't be angry, Jennie. Jean. Don't touch me! I would have been glad to wash and scrub and labor for you night and day, but a mother who bids her daughter — Mrs. L. Jennie, Jennie! Jean. Come not near me! You will never see me again. Mrs. L. (stops her). Where are you going? Jean, (extricating herself). Into the street, to the bot- tom of the river ; anywhere, away from here, away from mj^self. (^Exeunt Jean, and Mrs. L. R. C' Enter Bayard, Mildred and Will, following B. C. Bay. That was her voice, Mildred, quick, over there. (Exit Mil. rapidly B. G. Bay. Promise or no promise, I shall speak to her now. See, who is there. Bill. (Exit Bill, R. C. Bay. My offer of marriage and the proof that she was slandered, should be sufficient to satisfy her pride. Enter Bill R. C. Bay. Who is there? Wil. Jennie and the lady. Bay. Thank God, then, she is safe. Wil. The lady says you should go home. Bay. (aside). Mildred is her angel, and I can wait. Now, Bill, let me see that paper you spoke of. WiL (hands the paper to Bay.) They want me to 188 INTO THE OPEN. bring it to the office to-morrow, or they'll arrest me. If I sign it, I get $50.00. Bay. (^examining the papers). What are you going to do about it? Wil. I didn't steal nothing. Bay. This paper says, you saw the robbers take the goods and ran after them, but couldn't catch them. Wil. I don't know nothing about it. If I sign it I get $50.00, and if I don't I get arrested. Bay. Well, you had better let me attend to it {puts the paj)er in his x>ocket). Wil. I didn't steal nothing. Bay. Where's your wife? Wil. I don't know. Bay. Here's a piece of paper and here's a pencil {tears a leaf from his note book). Now you write on that, " I have gone to the country to look for work." Don't talk but write. (Bill writes). There'll be neither bribing nor arresting. How many children have you. Bill? Wil. Eight of 'em, besides the four best ones what's dead. Bay. That's a good many. Wil. They are all healthy. But the two oldest girls ain't no good. I can't do nothing with them, neither can the old woman. Bay. I'll see to it, that none of them starve while you are gone. Now, Bill, we'll put this note where your wife will find it, and then I'll put you on the train. Wil. On the train .? INTO THE OPEN. 189 Bay. Yes, on the train. I want you to go to our stock-farm at Greendale, and help our manager there with the horses. I've telegraphed him to meet you at the station. You'll arrive there about three in the morn- ing. Now, mind you, nobody is to know where j^ou are, and you are to stay there until I send for you. If you come back before, you'll be arrested. Do you understand? Wil. All right. Bay. Put on your coat. And, remember, if you come back before I send, I'll wash my hands of you. Wil. {lights his pipe). If I like the place I won't come back at all. Bay. We'll see about that later. Have you any mone}^ ? Wil. I've got four dollars yet. Bay. That's plenty ; there's nothing to buy in Green- dale. Wil. {puts on his coat). My girl Jennie ain't no good, Mr. McGregor. Bay. What's the matter with her? Wil. She used to run after Mr. Wimpleton, and now when he runs after her, she won't have nothing to do with him. I told her I was going to tell you what a fool she was, and she said that if anybody told, she would kill herself. And so we all had to shut up. {rummages about to find some tobacco and matches). Bay. {aside). Then he has been tempting her all along, and, enraged at his failure, he prints this in the paper. 190 INTO THE OPEN. Well, Mr. Wimpleton, we'll attend to your case in the morning. Wil. Jennie tries to be a lady. But, I guess, when she has to scrub and clean down at Jake Faucet's she won't be so stuck on herself any more. Bay. You'll be mighty proud of her some day yet, Bill. Wil. You don't know nothing about her, Mr. Mc- Gregor. A girl what's ashamed of her father and mother ain't no good. Bay. (aside). I don't blame her (looks at his watch). Come, Bill, it's time to go. (Exeunt Bay. a?id Bill B. C. Enter Mildred 7^. C. Mil. (peeps into the room). Tiiey have gone, Jennie. (Exit Mil. R. C. Enter Mildred and Jeannette, R. C. Mil. It is not like Jeannelte Lowe to fear while her conscience is clear. Jean. Is it clear? Does not my conduct teach my very mother to think basely of me? In her clumsy way of speech, she told me, your soul is rotten, your only value now consists in a little physical beauty. Sell it while you can ; it will not last long. 3fil. She does not understand you. Jean, (excitedly). Does anyone else? It was all a mis- take! It was all a mistake! My education, my ambition. INTO THE OPEN. 191 my career ; all, all wrong ! Had I from infancy been kept in a dark room, 1 should have never known that a bright sun gladdens the heart of the world ; and I should not have missed it. I should have been taught nothing but to walk with bowed head and eyes fixed in the dust. Had I been left alone, to grovel in the earth with blind eyes and horny hands, like my parents and grandparents, and God knows how many generations that went before, then this cup of gall had not come to my lips. Is it my fault, that God gave me eyes to see, to esteem, and to yearn for that which is above me? Mil. Do you love my brother ? Jean. I detest him. Mil. But you did love him ? Jean. I respected your brother, for he led me to believe that his intentions were honorable. Mil. And you were willing to marry him without love .? Jean. Oh, let us not talk about that, Mildred ; it will lead to nothing. Had he been the man of honor I took him for, my circumstances as his wife, would have been such, that to love him would have been an easy task. I am not of the faith of those who believe, that for each of us women, fate has ordained some one particular man. Take yourself for instance. However wide your social circle, your acquaintance among men numbers not one in a hundred thousand ; and yet, out of this small fraction you will some day receive your husband, and all will most likely be well. This one or none love, is the hyperbole of novelists and poets. I am free to confess, that in this one city alone, 192 INTO THE OPEN. there are a hundred men, any one of whom could make me happy, and any one of which hundred could be happy with me. Mil. Mr. McGregor, for example. Jeayi. Ah, yes, Mr. McGregor. I have lost his good opinion, too. And there was a time he thought well of me. Mil. He does so still. Jean. I forbade him to come until I sent for liim ; {sighing) and he kept his word. Mil. But now he has broken his promise, Jeannctto, and is here. Jean. No, no, no, let him not come in {clings to Mil.) ; 1 could not sec him now. I would sink into the ground before his eyes, for look what they have done with me {j^icks up the neiospaper). Mil. You have been indiscreet. .Tean. So I have. Mil. A woman's reputation is easily smirched. Jean. And a man's never. On the contrary, the more he rakes and riots, the greater he grows in the eyes of his fellow men. Every escapade that costs him a couple of dollars and casts a women into perdition, is an ad- ditional feather in his cap. He may beguile youth, betray confidence, trample rough-shod on chastity and honor, the world winks at it and lets him go unscathed. Storms of scandal cannot shake his social standing ; while a woman, ah, that is different. Let calumny but touch her and she falls. There's the injustice, that cries to heaven for redress. But why blame the men, when INTO THE OPEN. 193 the contemptible spirit of women makes men what they are? How can they help regarding our whohi sex with con- tempt? What man would take a woman as his wife that is not pure, and what woman ever took a man for a hus- band, and dared demand as much of him? No, instead of that, she spurns her fallen sisters, and worships the hero who felled them. Bride and groom, look where they come up the broad aisle of the decorated church. The lights glitter, the organ peals, little girls scatter flowers on her path, the priest stands ready to perform his holiest function, and a thousand friends have come to grace the glorious triumph of the bride. Conquest, forsooth, most high, to fasten the chains of matrimony about a man who has severed a garland of roses, five, ten, twenty times! (Becomes hysterical.) But what of that: she's a light-hearted girl and it is customary ; yes, it is customary. (^Laughs hysterically.) Mil. Don't go on like that, Jeannette. I came here to take you with me. I saw the paper, and knew you would need some one. So, come with me. Whatever happens, I shall always be your friend. Jean. Can you take up one that has been forsaken by all? Mil. Not by all, Jeannette. Jean. These are coals of fire, Mildred. For many months I spurned your friendship, and, in revenge, you seek me in my misery like an angel of relief. Mil. If my brother's arm was raised against you, his sister's arm shall raise you up. Come! Jean. How can I go to the house where he lives? 13 194 INTO THE OPEN. Mil. Clem hasn't lived at home for six months. Jean. I am innocent, Mildred, I swear it! Mil. Do you believe I would take j'ou to my father's house unless I were convinced, that you are as good as I am? Jean. But rcy mother and the children ; what will become of them ? Mil. Never mind ; leave that to me. Jean. There was a time, when, conscious of my strength, I defied the world. But, O Mildred, the world is stronger than 1. Mil. Come ! ACT IV. SCENE: A room in John Wimpleton's house. {Appointmeyits indicate refinement and wealth.) Enter Mildred and Clem R. B. Mil, Don't speak to me. You're a wicked man, and I'm sorry you are here. Clem. Why, sister, I haven't been in this house a dozen times, since I moved my quarters to the club, and that's almost half a year. Nor am I here on my account now. It is for your sake I came. Mil. So. Clem. Yes ; your friend Mr. Monmouth — Mil. My friend, Mr. Monmouth? Clem. Came here with me this morning, and wishes to speak to you. Mil. And you came — Clem. To inform you, that his nervousness indicates, he is about to ask a momentous question. Mil. Comical, you mean. Clem. Let him down easy, Millie. Mil. I'll have nothing to do with him. Clem. Oh, that won't do, sis. As a recognized 196 INTO THE OPEN. acquaintance, be is entitled to an interview. I have promised him that, and you cannot with decency refuse it. Mil. Very well, then ; ask him in. (Exit Clem L. B. Mil. My friends have told me, that the heart flutters on the eve of an expected proposal. I appear to be quite calm, and yet it will be the first time any man will have asked to marry me. Perhaps, Mr. Mon- mouth's eloquence will rouse me. Here he comes. I must fetch something; a souvenir for Mr. Monmouth. (Exit Mil. hurredly R. B. Enter Clem and Monmouth L. B, Clem. Take a seat over there. She'll be here in a minute. Mo7i. (Sits. Keeps his hat in his hand. Nervous and timid. ) What — do — j'ou — think ? Clem. You don't suppose, she confides tiie inmost secrets of her heart to me, do 3'ou? Mon. No, but — I — thought — perhaps — Clem. She's not of a jrushino: nature. No one will ever learn of her love for you except yourself. I have arranged to bring you face to face. Mon. Yes, that is really all you could do. Clem. And in return, you agree to testify against Jennie Lowe, whenever I ask it. Is that right? Mon. That was our bargain. Clem.. Here comes my sister {shakes hands with him). Good luck to you. {Exit Clem L. B. INTO THE OPEN. 197 Ewie?\ Mildred holding a folded sheet of paper R. B. Man. Good morning, Miss Wimpleton. Mil. How do you do ? Pray, have a seat. Mon. Thank you, I ask your pardon for this untimely intrusion ; but, Miss Wimpleton, I came — Mil. Take this chair. Mon. No, truly, I prefer to stand. Miss Mildred, I've often wanted to speak, but you are so much en- gaged, that I have found it difficult to meet you. I came — (^Mildred drops her eyes). Ah, I see you divine my intention. Will you be mine, Mildred? {Tries to seize her hand.) Mil. (^steppiitg hack). This is sudden, Mr. Mon- mouth. Mon. (with his usual buoyancy). That's what all gir's say. But there's no hurry. I'll not press you for an answer. Think it over and I'll come back. New York is a magnificent place {loalks up and doivn, elated ivith joy.) Mil. But I must keep house for m}^ father. Hon. We'll take him along. Mil. But he can't leave his business. Mon. Then I'll come here. When may I have your answer ? Mil. I could give you an answer now, but that good form demanded I pretend to require time. You know, even a watch-maker will not set you right while you wait. Mon. That's right; that's right. After you're gone, 198 INTO THE OPEN. they fix it in a raiuute, and when you come back they charge you for a whole day's work. Mil. What day of the week is it, Mr. Monmouth? Mon. Friday (^aside in great glee). Friday is my lucky day. Mil. Ah, yes. Let me see. It is now ten o'clock. At eleven I have a class ; at one, 1 lunch with some friends, and at four I am to try a new horse. So, I really can't tell you when I'll be back. Mo7i. {eagerly). I can come at any time. Mil. Very well, then; come at any time, and if you do not find me at home, call for my maid, Minnie, and ask her for my decision. I'll tell it to her, and she can tell it to you. Mon. (^someiuhat dazed). 1 am very much obliged (starts to leave). Mil. And here is a little souvenir for you. It is not the original, but an authentic copy, the original of which was discovered in my father's office on a shorthand i)ad, about six months ajro. Mon. {^Receiving the copy of his dictation, makes a long face and loalks to the L. F., hainng forgotten where he entered.) Mil. The door is here, Mr. Monmouth. {As Mon- mouth leaves, his and Mildred's eyes meet. The expres- sion of their faces is indicative of the frame of mind re- sultant to each from the interview.) {Exit Mon., L. B. Mil. Conceit, thy name is man ! INTO THE OPEN. 199 Enter Wimpleton, witJi his cigar and morning paper R. F. Wim. Who was that? Mil. Nobody, father, absolutely nobody {starts to leave). Wim. Here, here ; don't run away. Mil. What is it you wish ? Wim. I wish you to sit down here and explain. Mil. Explain? Explain what? Wim. You ought to know that better than I. Mil. (^rising, with contempt). Oh, he's a fool! Wim. Who's a fool? Mil. Mr. Monmouth. Wim. Mr. Monmouth? Yes, of course, I know that. Of course he's a fool. Mil. But it was really comical, father. Did you hear us? {^Laughs merrily.) Wim. Sit down there. I didn't come here to crack jokes about Mr. Monmouth. Mil. It was too ridiculous. What do you tiiink father, Mr. Monmouth wants to get married. Wim. Marry him then, and be done with it. Mil. You don't think as much of your daughter as I do. Wim. That's enough now. Listen ; you've had Jennie Lowe in your room with you last night. Mil. {soberly). I did. Wim. Wasn't it a bit imprudent to take the girl into our house? Seems to me some quiet hotel, or perhaps your refuge, would have been a more appropriate place. 200 INTO THE OPEN. Mil. Not at all. Our family, or at kast a iiicmltcr uf our fauiih^ has attempted gross injury on this youDg woman, and I consider it the solemn duty of our family to set her right before the world. 1 propose to make her cause my own ; if society cuts her, it will have to cut me too. Do you object.^ 117m. Object? Weil, no. I haven't objected to any- thing you do for ten 3ears. Still, I dare say, you would not relisli having your name associated with the scandal in yesterday's paper. 1 could suggest some catch}^ head- lines for a second cha[)ter. For instance; " Wronged and Rescued." " Pigstye and Palace. Miss Wimi)lc ton takes a girl wronged by her brother from the slums into her palatial home." How would that do? Mil. Father, if you knew no more about banking and groceries, than you know about women, you would be smoking a clay pi[)c instead of that inipcjrted cigar. The machinations of men cannot prevail iigainst a woman of Jeannette Lowe's spirit. As soon will a drop of rain shatter the plate glass of yonder window. Wim. She's as bright as a new dollar, I know that. Why, Millie, she hadn't been at the office more ihan three mouths, before she knew the prices of goods so well, that she used to help me out, whenever an old customer came in, and insisted on buying his goods from the old man. The old man has forgotten almost every- thing he once knew about the grocery business, but it wouldn't do to let that appear. Yes, the girl is as smart as they make them. Mil. And proud as Lucifer. I have quietly given Mrs. INTO THE OPEN. 201 Lowe a little money and some clothes for the children, but when I go to Jeannette, she rejects all help and incessantly repeats, give me my place at school. When yesterday that last hope was shattered, the shock almost killed her. If I had not taken her with me last night, she would have committed suicide. Enter Mrs. Lowe L. B. Mrs. L. My child, my child, where is my darling child.? She's dead, I know, she is dead. Mil. Be calm, madam, Jeannette is with me, and is perfectly well. Mrs. L. Where is she, where is she? I must see her with my own eyes. Mil, I'll take you to her in a minute. Father, this is Mrs. Lowe, Jeannette's mother. Wim, Ah, have a seat madam ; you appear to be exhausted (brings her a chair). Mrs. L. And indeed, I am. It's a hard time we are having, mister. My husband is gone, my daughter, Susan, has got married, and if Jennie leaves me, there'll be nobody at home, but myself and a lot of hungry children. Wim. Don't let that trouble you, madam. We'll man- age to feed the children, though you had half a dozen. Mrs. L. You've just guessed it, mister. There's just six of them ; six little ones, and Jennie and Susan. Wim. What age are they? Mrs. L. Last year they were all odd, and this year they are are all even. 202 INTO THE OPEN. Wim. You misunderstand me, madam, I intended to ask how old the children are. Mrs. L. Last year, they was eleven, nine, seven, five, three and one. This year, they are twelve, ten, eight, six, four, two and — Wim. Yes, yes, I see, I see. {Aside)'. There's nothing like a little regularity for keeping account of things, (^xlloiid)'. Now, Mildred, suppose you take Mrs. Lowe to the pantry, and fix up a bit of something for the little ones. (Mildred rings). Enter a Maid Servant, tuith luhom Mildred, wldspers^ R. B. Mrs. L. And I want to see Jennie. 31il. Come this way, Mrs. Lowe. Wim. Keep on the good side of my daughter, Mrs. Lowe, and you be well taken care of. (Exeunt Mrs. Lowe and Servant M. B. Wim. These poor people are of little use as taxpayers, but they swell the census, and keep the price of lal)or down. But, my God, Mildred, that's going too far. You cannot place yourself on a parity with such truck as this. And eight children. Mil. Besides the four best ones what's dead. I didn't invite Mrs. Lowe. Wim. No, but as long as you keep the girl in the house, you'll have the whole. raggamuffin outfit in your back yard from morning until night. Mil. They shall not trouble you. Wim. This charity work renders you indifferent to INTO THE OPEN. 203 vulgarity, but to me it is absolutely offensive. I'll not have it ; at least not in my own house. Mil. May I bring Jennie in? Wim. No. Mil. Yes, I'll bring her in for you to see {caressingly). Why, father, you were always fond of pretty women. Wim. What do you know about that ? Mil. You'll learn to love her as much as I do, for Jeanette Lowe, born in a hovel and raised in the slums, is one of the most remarkable women I ever met. JVim. I didn't know that. Enter a Servant with Bayard's card L. B, Wim. {taking the card). Bayard. Mil. {to Servant). Ask the gentleman to wait a few minutes. {Exit Servant L. B. Mil. Father, since you have been so good to permit me to bring Jeannette in to see you, I am going to tell you a secret. Wim. If it's another horror, you had belter keep it to yourself. Mil. {softly). When cousin Bayard comes in, ask him what he thinks of Jeannette. Wim. What do you mean? Mil. He intends to marry Jeannette. Wim. Heavens and earth ! Is he as crazy as you ? A scrubwoman's brat the wife of my Bayard? Mil. That was his opinion, too, once upon a time. But he thinks differently now. Wim. Does this siren propose to capture all the men 204 INTO THE OPEN. ill the family? First Clem, now Bayard, and me next, I suppose ! Mil. No, I think she'll conclude with Bayard. Wmi. And she, she of courso is despeiately in love with him. {Bitterltj). I don't blame her! Mil. A smart girl like Jeannetle knows that to let a man see you love him, is a sure way to lose him. Wi7n. Indeed, and how is a man to know whotlier a woman loves him or not? Mil. He must first confess his love to htr, and then he may ask for hers. Wim. You ap[)ear to be well versed in these delicate affairs, but — 3/^7. You keep me so busy, father, tiiat I have no time to think of other men. Bayard has i)een in love with the girl all along, and l)ut for ber surjoundijigs, would have married her along ago. Wim. You women have a keen sight. You can see thinizs even wlien they do not exist. But Bayard — why, Millie, 1 liad a faint hope, that you and he — Mil. {interrupting'). Now, there's nn instance, father, where you saw something that did not exist. I will now tell Bayard that you are ready to receive him, and then I will bring you the finest little woman you ever saw. {Exit Mil. E. B. Wim. I wish she were in Halifax! {Fumes for a min- ute, and then as if suddenly recalling another matter.) And that's not the worst of it. Bayard has come to tell me, my son is a thief ; he prepared me for it last night. Thank the Lord, Clem confines himself to pilfering from INTO THE OPEN. 205 me. He's done that before. But this is the straw that breaks the camel's back. I'm ready for revolution now from the roots up. Enter Bayard L. B. Wim. (^gruffly). Good morning. How much is it (Bay. hands him a slip of paper) 9 Six thousand two hun- dred and thirty-six dollars. Charge it to me, How was it done? Bay. A commonplace swindle, that may occur in any business, where a dishonest man has authority to audit accounts. About once a month, this man Monmouth sent a bill for ten thousand cigars. Clem then entered the cigars in the receiving book, although, of course, no cigars were received, O. K'd the bill, and the cashier paid it. Wim. But the house Monmouth represents stands high and would not be party to such fraud. Bay. Yes, but these cigars are billed by a fictitious firm. There the checks were sent, and from there Mon- mouth took our checks, cashed them, and divided with Clem. Wim. When did you make this discovery? Bay. Six months ago. Wim. Why did you keep it from me? Bay. I did not wish to disgrace a son in the eyes of his father. But that cowardly assault in the paper deserves no mercy. It would have been more than human to shield him after that. TFi'm* Damn rascal ! 206 INTO THE OPEN. Bay. Two damn rascals. Wim. If I could reach that scoundrel, Monmouth, without hurting Clem, I'd send him up the road for ten years. Bay. But you can't do that. Besides, Clem is the worse of the two. Wim. It's all Monmouth's fault. Such a trick would never have entered my boy's head. Bay. May be, but I have made up my mind to one thing. Wim. You need not tell me ; I know what you wish to say. Either you or Clem would have to quit. Bay. Just so. Wim. You're right, you're perfectly right. If a nom- inal secretaryship with a salary of three thousand and no work, isn't enough for a man, tliere's no room for him in the grocery business. I settled all that before you came. Clem is going to Europe ; he shall never come into the shop again. He's got no mercantile ambition, that's the trouble. He would have done better at some profession ; in money matters he's weak. Bay. Yes, he lacks the faculty of distinguishing be- tween mine and thine. He should have been a genius, or a politician. ( Takes a newsjmper from his pocket. ) You've seen this, I suppose. ^ Wim. Yes. Bay. A scurvy trick. Wim. Why don't you make them retract such slander? Bay. I have done so. An apology will appear tliis afternoon. But what satisfaction is there in that? INTO THE OPEN. 207 Wim. Yes, it is like lianging a man one day and declar- ing liim innocent on the next. But, Bayard, remember, Clem is my only son ; do not disgrace him in public. Bay. I'll do what I can. But there is something more at stake than your son. Clem is the instigator of this article which belies and slanders an innocent woman. He must retract publicly over his own signature ; if not, I shall proclaim him broadcast over the land. Wim. I'll attend to that. Bayard. Leave that to me, leave that to me. Enter Mildred and Jeannette R. B. {As Jean, sees Bay., whose back is turned, she hesitates, but, on Mildred's urging, enters. Jean, is dressed in a delicate white wrapper gown of Mildred's, showing her to advantage. ) Mil. Father ! {Joins Batard. ) Wim. {seated). Ah, good morning, Miss Jennie. Jean. Good morning, sir. Good morning, Mr. Mc- Gregor. Bay. Good morning, Miss Lowe. Jean. I hope Miss Wimpleton has apologized for my pi^esence. I ought not be here. Wim. {Seated. Takes her harid and retains it.) My dear young lady, of course I cannot tell where you pre- fer to be, but I do know that nowhere would you be more welcome. Mil. {aside). How these men do lie. First Halifax, and now he would like to give her a fatherly kiss. Jean. I should have gone without greeting you, Mr. 208 INTO THE OPEN. Wimpleton, but that I did not wish to appear a coward. I am the recipient of so much kindness from Miss Wim- pleton — Mil. Why don't you call me Mildred, as you do when we are alone? Wim. (still seated and holding her hand). That's right ; call her Mildred. Jean. I owe her ever3'thing, sir. Even tliis gown I wear belongs to her. Wim. It is certainly very becoming. I did not know Mildred had such pretty clothes. Jea7i. (extending her free hand to Bat.). And Mr. Mc- Gregor, 1 wish to thtuik you, too, for your kindness. Bai/. (^taking her hand). S[)cak not of ray kindness, Miss Lowe, si)eak rather of your own cruelty, your cruelty towards yourself. Had you not banished me from your presence, I might have done much to miiigate your suffering. For you have suffered ; Mildred has told me all — (Jean, droj^s her eyes) and 1 have eyes to see. Jean. I would not suffer, if it were your conviction and not your charity that prompts you to speak well of me. Wim. Cheer up, Jennie! Don't you see we are all in love with you? Jean. I thank you, Mr. Wimpleton. You have all been so good to me. Believe me, sir, I shall not always be as ungrateful as I have been. Wim. Why, my dear cliild, I have never done any- thing for you ; but I would like to well enough. If I have anything you want, just ask for it and its yours. INTO THE OPEN. 209 Jean. But he who holds my fate in his hands, will not speak as you do. Wim. Come, Bayard, speak the word. Jean. No, not Mr. McGregor. He has done me no ill, and can do me no good. Your son, Mr. Wimpleton, it is he who made me what I am, and he alone can make me what I was, respected in the eyes of the world. Wim. And he shall do it before the sun sets. Bay. If not, then I — Wim. No, that's my business. Stick to the bargain, Bayard. Til send for Cleai, straight. Mildred, you and Jeanneite take a walk, while I speak a word with our friend. Bayard. (^Exeunt Mil. and Jean R. B. {Bayard lualks up and down. Wim. seated.) Wim, (after a pause). That girl and her mother are a queer com'oination. They remind me of a painting I once saw, which had for its subject, a rose blooming in an ash barrel. (^Another pause.) This Lowe family are very common people, arc the}' not? Bay. Very ! Wim. And the olde?;t girl Jennie, how about her? Bay. Well now, Mr. Wimpleton, do you ask that question for your sake or for mine? Wim. How so? Bay. Is it to satisfy your curiosity or to warn me against disg-race? Wim. That's about it. Bay. In reply to that, I can only say, that I shall not refuse to pick up a jewel, merely because I happen to find it in a heap of rubbish. 14 210 INTO THE OPEN. Wim. One doesn't find jewels in rubbish. Bay. I did. Wim. And why in the world does such a jewel of a woman want a husband ? Bay. For power, possibly for love. Wim. For money. Bay. That is power. Wim. Well, your prospects for wealth are certainly fair, but when she finds 3'our present assets somewhat inside a hundred thousand, will not this jewel which you propose to pick out of the rubbish, decline to sparkle on your bosom? Bay. If you will pardon my vanity, no. Wim. But her family. Bayard ! Bay. Trifles. Wim. But Jeannette Lowe is the daughter of her father and mother. You can not make a silk purse out of a sow*s ear. Bay. Ancestry and inheritance ! Ye Gods, I have made them my special study. You cannot measure men's cal- iber by the length of their pedigrees, unless you do it backward. The man resultant from ten generations of grandparents is apt to be a smaller man, than he who has some doubts even about the identity of his own father. Wim. And j^et blood will tell. Bay. Your son, for instance. I beg your pardon. Come, now, Mr. Wimpleton, you saw Jeannette, and now tell me in all candor, would 3'ou not advise me to take the risk? INTO THE OPEN. 211 Wim. Yes, yes, but -I bear Clem's footsteps in the ball. Leave me alone with him, but remain in the house After I have given the young man a piece of my mind, we'll drive to town together. ( Exit Bayard B. B Wim. Strange, I did not notice the ^irl before, and she was employed at our office for six months. I am not surprised Clem took to her: but it seems he ran up against a snag this time. Damn Clem, anyhow. If I had SIX like him, I'd be in the poor house. I've got the honor of being father to the swellest young buck in town, but the fun comes high, and I am about sick of it. Ah, here he comes. Enter Clem L. B. Wim, You're just the man I am looking for. Sit down. I wish to speak to you. Clem. And I wish to speak to you. Do you know that our former typewriter, Jennie, spent the night here in the house with Mildreth? Wim. Yes, I know all about it. Clem. I don't believe you do. This girl is not a proper person to associate with your daughter. Wim. Do you ask me to appoint you guardian over Mildred's morals? Strikes me, that we're putting the cart before the horse. Clem. You're a gullible set, all of you ; when you see a girl's pretty face, you can see nothing else ; and Mil- dred — Wim. No danger, Clem ; your sister is well steeled against contamination. She spends half her life trying 212 INTO THE OPEN. to alleviate the misery for which you and such like you are responsible. Clem. Yes, that's all very well from the standpoint of a looker-on. Slumming is a fashionable fad just now. But that is altogetlier different from installing one of the ilk into your own house. Wim. That is a matter you must dispose of with j^our sister. She rules this house, and, to my mind, rules it well. I've got nothing to say here, and, neither have you. Some day, perhaps, you'll save enough money to run an establishment of your own, which then you can conduct along the lofty line of morals which have always been so dear to 3^ou. Clem. Very well, since you propose to treat the affair as an opera bouffe, I shall be obliged to lake charge of the legitimate myself. Wim. What 3^ou had better do, is to stop, stop right here. Your peculiar transactions have placed you in Bayard's power. You change color. Clem. Who dares accuse me? Wim. Better not say anything about it. The sum is charged lo my personal account, and the transaction is closed. If an itemized account of the little game would give you pleasure. Bayard can give it to you. You ought to be asliamed of yourself, Clem. Since you were a bo3% I have devoted my life to make a man of yon, and in return, I reap nothing but mortification, and fear for your next scandal. Clem. I've heard that before. What does Bayard propose to do? INTO THE OPEN. 213 Wim. He will drop the matter on condition that you retract that article in the paper. Don't be a fool, Clem, do it, and then go to Europe for a year or two. Clem, I trust you will not consider me hard. I have some hope, that when you are away from your present asso- ciates, you will come to your senses, and recognize, that your life will be a failure, unless you turn over a new leaf. Clem, {aside). First of all I'll get square with that little minx. She's the first one that ever gave me trouble. I'll teach her what it means to defy Clem Wimpleton. Wim. What do you say ? Clem. I say, that if you are willing to let Bayard dis- grace your son, that is your business. My business at present consists in removing the halo from a pretentious saint. Wim. She doesn't look like a bad girl, Clem ; although perhaps you ought to know. Clem. I know it, and what is more, I am going to prove it. Advise Mildred, that I'll be here inside half an hour with a witness that will tell her more than she will listen to. Wim. And you will retract the article ? Clem. No. Wim. Then Bayard — Clem. Never mind Bayard. All you have to do is to tell Mildred, and keep the girl in the house until I return. I'll be back in ten minutes. 214 INTO THE OPEN. Wim. Damn it, will this never end. {Exit Wim. li. B. Clem, (sits on a table, one foot on a chair, and lights a cigarette). I might as well see the thing through. Father knows all, and Bayard dare not open his mouth, against my father's wish. If only Monmouth doesn't lose his nerve. Enter Jeannette B. C. Jean, (standing at the entrance; in a low lone of voice). Mr. Wimpleton. Clem, (loith an air of amused surprise). Well, good morning, Jennie. Jean, {begins low and slowly). I come a supplicant to you, Mr. Wimpleton. I overheard what you said to your father, and am here to beg for mercy. Have you not punished me enough for my presumption? Was it so very wicked, that my hopeful heart misconstrued your attention? Will you persecute me to the grave, because I loved my honor more than was compatible with your desire? Forgive my insolence, Mr. Wimpleton, forget the harsh words I uttered : I was thinking only of my- self, and could not know what vengeance you would wreak upon me for an act which your proud spirit con- sidered an affront. How could I know that, Mr. Wim- pleton? Clem. 1 told you so, myself. Jean. But I was ignorant then. Clem. No use, Jennie; it's too late now. Jean. No, it is not too late. You have but to speak INTO THE OPEN. 215 the word and I am free. Let not my misery appeal to you in vain ; speak that word. The chance of fortune has played my life into your hands ; you are my only witness to testify, as to my conduct at the Forest Inn. Heaven knows the depths of humility that cast me here at your feet to beg of you the restitution of my good name. 1 have never done you any harm. If I was de- ceived in the hope that you loved me, will you make me an outcast for that .? (^Seizing his hand.) Think of me, Clem, not as the woman who denied your unholy suit, but think of me as the woman who believed you, when you swore that you loved her. Clem, (withdrawing his hand). Jennie, I made greater exertion to reconcile you, than any six girls I ever squabbled with before. You are too headstrong to make a docile playmate. It's too late; I can't use you now (starts to go). Jean. (Horrified: rises.) Use me! Clem. Yes, use you. (Jean, faints. Clem, regards her prostrate form cyni- cally^ then rings for a servant.) Enter a Female Servant R. B. Clem, (to Servant). The lady has fainted. Take her to Miss Mildred. (Exeunt Servant loith Jean R. B. Clem, Now, I'll fetch Monmouth. (Exit Clem L. B. Enter Wimpleton and Bayard B. C. Wim. Damn it, Bayard, there is something wrong here. 216 INTO THE OPEN. You extol the girl to the skies, propose to make her your wife, while Clem has just gone to fetch evidence, that she is a strumpet, and ought to be kicked into the street. Bay. Th^nk God, I'm here. Wim. Keep your temper, Bayard; make no scene, for here they come. Enter Clem, and Mon. L. B. Clem. {Surprised. Aside): Bayard. {Loud). You are not at the otlice at the usual hour. Bay. I have been there. Cle7n. Father, will you please ask sister to come in? Wim. She declines to be present. Clem. I don't know as it makes much difference, Mr. McGregor will answer as well. Before Mr. Mon- mouth speaks, father, I wish it distinctly understood, that his presence is prompted by no wish of his ; he comes at my special request. Bay. For what? Clem. I am speaking to my father. Bay. 1 beg your pardon. Mon. {aside ^oClem.). What's he doing here? Clem, {aside to Mo^.). He cuts no figure. Give it to her hot, and then we are even with her. 3fon. {aside to Clem.). He's lia])le to knock me down right hiTc on tlie spot. Clem, {aside to Mo^s.). Coward! Mon. {aside to Clem.). If he touches me I'll shoot him like a dog. Clem, {aside to Mon. ). Don't play the baby. {Loud) : INTO THE OPEN. 217 Father, Mr. Monmouth came to assist me in purging this house of an adventuress, who has tried to inveigle mc, and is now about to weave her toils about my sister ; tell him what you know, HaL Mo7i. (his hand on his hip xoocket). This woman, Jen- nie Lowe — Bay. (interrupting). One minute. Miss Lowe, I believe, is here in the house. Wim. She is. Bay. In view of the fact, that she is to be arraigned, Mr. Wimpieton, do you not deem it proper that she be summoned, in order that the charge may be preferred in her presence? Wim. Certainly. I'll fetch her. (Exit Wm. B. G. Bay. Miss Lowe's presence, will, I hope, not embar- rass the prosecution. (While Clem, and Monmouth con- verse^ Bayard occasionally looks R. G. awaiting the ap- pearance of Wim. and Jean. ) Mon. (aside to Clem.). I don't like his looks. What is there in this for me? Glem. (aside to Mon.). Revenge. She turned you down as well as she did me. Mon. (aside to Clem.). I don't care a snap of my finger for that. I'm not going to risk my life for nothing. Your sister made sport of me. Told me to call again, and said she would leave her answer to my offer of marriag^e, with the servant orlrl. And then she o;ave me a copy of that damn dictation. Glein. (aside to Mon.). Bayard got it from the girl, I guess, and gave it to Mildred. Bayard spoilt that for 218 INTO THE OPEN. you. {To himself): That's the first thing Bayard ever did that pleased me. Mon. {to himself). And Miss Wimpleton is worth a hundred thousand in her own name. {Aside to Clem.): Perhaps he is in love with 3'our sister himself. Clem, {aside to Mon.). Shouldn't wonder. Now get even with him. He spoilt it for you, now you spoil it for him. Mon. {aside to Clem.). I hear Bill has been spirited away. And that package of dummy bill heads — Cle7n. {aside to Mon.). What do we care for Bill or the billheads. Brace up. Moil. I am going. Good bye ! {Bayard in the mean- time has locked the door by which Clem, and Mon. entered). He has locked the door! Bay. {returns to where he stood R. C). Yes, sir, if either of the gentlemen wish to leave the room, tliey can pass in front of me out of this door. Clein. Whose house is this? Bay. The owner will return presently. Enter Wimpleton and Jeannette It. C. (Jeannette clad in Mildred's goion. Is timid in the presence of the men^ and goes to the forward right of the stage.) Bay. As counsel for the accused, I beg a few words with my client. (Bay. joi/is Jean. Tr/ii7e Bay. a7id Jean. converse, Clem, and Mon. are in whispered couversaliori, from which it must appear that they cannot agree. Wim. looks at one group and then on the other with great iyiter- INTO THE OPEN. 219 est.) (Aside to Jean.): I must speak to you now, Miss Lowe, or never. Jeannette, I want you to be my wife. You cannot be surprised, Jeannette, you know that I love you as well as I do. Jemi. Mr. McGregor, do you know what you are doing? Bay. I know it well. Jean, I am a fallen woman in the eyes of the world. Bay. What care I for the world ? I want you. Trust me Jeannette ; say yes. Time is precious, for these men have come to defame you in the presence of your best friends. Jea7i. (flashing a look of anger at Clem, and Mon.). (Aside to Bay.): And you believe in me? Bay. I'll stake my life on your honor. I think I can clear you ; but whether I can or not, I have faith in you. You tremble, Jeannette. Say yes ; be mine. Jean. And is my father a thief, Mr. McGregor? Bay. No, there stand the thieves. (Jean is about to fall about Jiis neck, when he seizes her hands) : O Jeannette, but that I must shame these villains before I go, I would clasp you in my arms and bear you off, where nothing but my passion and my devotion should touch you. Be brave, my love; but a minute longer. (Leaves Jean. and goes to the rear right of the stage. With effort at self- control) : If the gentlemen please, we are ready. Mon. (Aside to Ci.^M.) : There's a desperate look in his eye. When a man looks like that, he'll stop short of nothing. I'm going this minute, and if you implicate me with the girl, I'll give the cigar business away. 220 INTO THE OPEN. {Crosses over to j)as5 out in front of Bay, with his hand in hispoehet. When he is nearl^w., the latter with a dexter- ous movement, wrenches Monmouth's 2yistol from him). Bay. You may 8(ay awhile. Clem, {to MoN.) Vou're an ass as well as a coward. {To the others) : As 1 snid before, Mr. Monmouth is here to testify, that on the night of April 12th, at the Forest Inn, he and this prl occupied — Bay. Clem Wimpleton! Wim. Let Mr. Monmouth speak for himself, Clem. Bay. Lest I be goaded into an act of violence, I think the time has come for me to speak. I'll begin by stating that, in regard to Miss Lowe's conduct on said night at the Forest Inn, I hereby brand even the slightest insinu- ation against her character as a base and malicious lie ! Wim. Had you not better let Clem speak? Bay. When I have done. But he will hardly wish to do so. True it is, that on said night. Miss Lowe com- mitted an egregious foil}', when she accepted your escort, Clem Wim[)lelon. In her defense let it be said that she trusted a man whosti subsequent behavior proved that his manhood was defunct. True it is, no doubt, that you and the pitiful semblance of man there beside you, would gladly have done that whicli you came here to say you did. But it is likewise true, that from the time j'ou and Miss Lowe entered the dance hall of the Forest Inn, until the moment she fled down the staircase to escape your villainous clutch, she was not so much as one minute out of my sight. (Jean, is startled at this revelation.) In disguise of that Mephistopheles, whom INTO THE OPEN. 221 once or twice in jest commanded " hands off! " I was ever near, and ready to forestall whatever villainy you might attempt. The coachman who with your horses took Miss Lowe to her home, and afterward drove both of you to a certain wholesale grocery house on Market street, was not John Brown, but was Bayard McGregor. (Jean, utters a cry of amazement and exultation.) Here's a bundle of papers I found in the hack {tJiroics the pack- age to Mon. ). That's something of a surprise, isn't it? But both of you were so beastly drunk that you couldn't tell a white man from a nioorer. You did not know what you were doing then, and you cannot recall it now. I tell you, Clem Wimpleton, those two hours, from ten to twelve, where the most desperate of my existence. You owe your life to but the one fact, that I considered you my rival. I should have taken her out of the disrepu- table atmosphere as soon as she entered, but for my self- ish motive to instill her woman's soul with an eternal loathino: of the man on whom I knew she at one time looked with favor. Clem. And what is she to you ? Jean. (^Rushes to his arms). Bay. My wife. Clem. That, of course, I did not know. Wim. Nor I. Why Bayard ! That doesn't agree with what j'^ou told me. Bay. I have her word, Mr. Wimpleton, and to me her word is as good as the priest's ceremony. Mon. That doesn't look as if he was in love with your sister. 222 INTO THE OPEN. CUm. Pop, I'll accept your offer to go to Europe. Tell your cashier to get me a letter of credit. Bay, And will you pablicly retract the article in the paper ? CUm. With pleasure. Write it out yourself and sign my name to it. Ba3'ard, I ask your pardon. Bay. My soul is so complete with joy, that I could easily forgive a baser wretch than you. Clem. Miss Lowe, can you likewise forgive? Jean. No, sir. Clem. Then I shall have to go without. {Exit Clem. B. C. Mon. If the gentlemen please, I wish to confess my guilt, and to give the full inside history of the stolen cigars. Bay. Never mind, Mr. Monmoulh, we know all about it. For your satisfaction, however, I will tell you, there were no cigars stolen at all. You charged the cigars, we paid the cigars, l)ut there were no cigars. Wirn. I have likewise, for Clem's sake, concluded not to prosecute you, Mr. Monmouth. Mon. Thank you. If ever I strike it rich, I'll restore my share of the [)luuder. May I go now? (Bayard throws him the key.) And my gun, please. (Bayard gives him his revolver.) I thank you, gentlemen, I am very much obliged to you for letting me down so easy. Mr. Wimpleton, kindly excuse me to Miss Mildred. I liad permission to call on her this evening, but — Wim. Here she comes now {rises to meet Mildred). INTO THE OPEN. 223 Moyi. I don't think you will ever have the pleasure of seeing me again. Good-by, everybody. {Exit MoN. L. B. Enter Mildred, R, B. Jean, {on seeing Mildred, rushes to embrace her,) Mil. Why, Jeannette Lowe, you told me only yester- day, that the man you loved would never marry you. Jean, {slowly as if trying to find some a]pt repartee). Did I say that? Mil. Yes, you did. Jean. Well, well, what stupid things we women some- times say. Mil. Father, what do you say now? Wim. I say that you are the best girl a man ever called his daughter. But with Bayard's permission, that will not prevent me from loving Jeannette, too {kisses Jean.). Well, well, we've been traveling so fast, I am out of breath. When I get time to think, I shall try to figure whether this game leaves me ahead or behind. Bay. {Embracing Jean.) I'm ahead. Jean. But the big winner am I. IN THE OZARKS, OR PULASKI'S LAKE. A COMEDY DRAMA IN 3 ACTS, BY CHARLES GILDEHAUS. Id CHARACTERS. Pulaski Phelps, alias Trusten Keene. Felix Plenty, a Capitalist. Jessamine, 1 > sisters; Nieces to Felix. Lilt, j Professor Beide, Friend to Felix. Alan Idle, married to Jessarnme. Archibald Upper, in love with Lily. Hannah Phelps, mother of Pulaski. Daisy Phelps, her daughter. Abe Homespun, a native of the backwoods. George, negro body servant to Felix. A Notary. Act I. An apartment in Plenty's house, in the city. Act II. A room in Hannah Phelps' house in the country. Act III. Grounds and piazza of Han- nah Phelps' house. TIME; Present. SKETCH OF CHARACTERS. Pulaski Phelps: Age, 28. Tall, slender, sinewy. Of bright mind, and unflinching purpose. A temper well governed, though subject to brief bursts of passion. Totally absorbed and carried by the great goal of his ambition, his lake and his love. Indifferent to all else. Felix Plenty: Age, 60. Large, ruddy, well-pre- served. Of practical mind, jovial disposition, and quick wit. Fond of worldly enjoyments, proud of his great wealth, but arrogant only on provocation. Liberal towards his family and friends, familiar towards his juniors and inferiors, severe in his views of all that is unworthy, and appreciative of merit wherever found. Jessamine: Age, 25. Dark, pale, well formed. A rich soul, crushed and humiliated by an unworthy alliance. Endowed with a pronounced faculty for love, whose pent- up passion hurls her rapturously into the arms of the strong man, who loves her no less than she loves him. Lily: Age, 19. Fair, slight, graceful. A temperament frothy, superficial, high-spirited and yet weak. Well schooled, quick-witted, gay, thoughtless. Reared in luxury. A goldfish in the social swim. A butterfly in the best sense of the word. Professor Beide: Age, 55. Spare, gray, small. Able, unostentatious, and loved by all. The boon 230 IN THE OZARKS. companion of Felix, the confidant and effective friend of Jessamine and Pulaski, the beloved tutor of Lily, and the respected friend of Archibald. Alan Idle: Age, 25. Short, stout, genteelly dis- sipated. Unworthy of Jessamine, and unconscious of her worth. A base mind, embittered by Felix Plenty's severity and contempt. Low and degenerate and shrewd. Archibald Upper : Age, 22. Slight, fair, well-dressed. A society youth of the upper ten. Strictly honorable, polite, polished, affable, and harmlessly impressed with his own importance. His chief characteristic, an inno- cent though ludricous family pride. Hannah Phelps : Age, 50. Large. Simple in dress. Uneducated, talkative, well-meaning and whole-souled. Cheerful, familiar and candid, although somewhat incon- siderate, and brisk of speech. Daisy Phelps: Age, 16. Fair, strong, rustic. Unso- phisticated, good-natured, willful, and, like her brother, resolute, courageous and self-possessed. A jewel, but unpolished. Abe Homespun: Age, 25. Broad-shouldered, uncouth. A backwoodsman, untouched by civilization. Simple, and in physique like the sycamores of his native haunts. George W. Age, 25. A rich man's body-servant. ACT I. SCENE. A RICHLY FURNISHED APARTMENT IN FeLIX Plenty's mansion. A ball in progress. Through a WIDE portal C. D. F., the view opens into other chambers and halls, brightly illuminated. Occa- sional couples pass the open door. Music in the distance. Enter Felix and Beide, C D, F, Fel. This house is not mine to-night, Professor. I've turned it over to fifty of the giddiest youngsters that ever had parents to buy them fine clothes. My bed- chamber looks the green room of the Fifty Blondes Com- pany, and smells of cigarettes, as if a junk-shop were a-fire. Bei. Trusten has returned from the lake and promised to report to you this evening. Fel. Did he bring Mr. Phelps ? Bei. I didn't ask him. But he brings word that the lake is done. Mr. Phelps will close the floodgates on the night of the next full moon {consults his note-book). Fel. Unlaid eggs are uncertain chickens. 232 IN THE OZARKS. Bei, Let me see when that will be. On the 23d, ten days from to-day. Fel. And then will Mr. Phelps stand on the ridge of his embankment, like a little tin god, and command, let there be water ! Bei. And there'll be water; sixty thousand acres of it. Fel. Of big words and feathers many go to a pound. Bei. To build a hundred square miles of water in a State, that hasn't a puddle big enough to drown a cat — Felix Plenty, that is creation. That is more than human, that is divine ! Fel. Yes, divine and invisible. In that respect, your hero, Pulaski Phelps, is just like the Lord; much talked about and never seen. Have you met my girls to-night, Professor? Bei. I just came from Jess. Had quite a serious little chat with her. Ah, it's a great pity. Fel. Yes, I know that as well as you; but I've quit crying over spilt milk. Bei. I have always wondered, Felix, how it came, that you, a bachelor, adopted these nieces of yours. Fel. That's a close question, Professor, but I am not ashamed to answer. Jessamine is every inch her mother, and her mother was my cousin, and the only woman I ever loved. I am old now, Professor, but I was loved, dearly loved, and by a woman just like our Jess. It's a sad story, but it's quickly told. Her father objected to our marriage, bundled her off to Europe, and gave his fortune to marry her to a nobleman, who squandered the money and abandoned the woman. She died, or killed IN THE OZAKKS. 233 herself, I know not which, and among her papers was found a letter addressed to me: " My two little girls, I bequeath them to you, Felix: they should have been yours. Be to them as a father for my sake" — Qmuse). But no more of that. Life is too short to weep. A hundred years hence we shall all be bald. Bei. You are not doing right by your nieces. Plenty. A surfeit of money and go as you please, never yet got a girl a good husband. Fel. Let them enjoy their lives ; they are young but once. If they're not raised right, Professor, it's your fault as much as mine. Bei. My dear old man, if you expected me to make well-balanced women out of two willful girls, whose every whim is gratified, whose every prank is applauded by a doting old uncle, if you expected that, I have not earned my salary, according to your view. Fel. You're a pessimist. Bei. Look at Jess. Fel. Didn't she marry the man she loved? Bei. She married the man that loved her money, or rather, your money. Fel. Did he get it?. Ha, ha. Bei. No, and on that account he maltreats her. Fel. As man and wife, that's their own affair. Alan gets no money from me. If my son-in-law is a man, he'll earn his own living or die in the attempt; if my son-in-law is nothing but son-in-law, he may sleep in my house, and feed at my table, free of charge. To that extent he is a privileged character, like the grave- 234 IN THE OZARKS. digger's cow, that may graze in the cemetery. But he gets none of my money. Bel. Have you ever suggested a divorce? Fel. More than once ; but lilie a woman, she hesitates, and doesn't know what she wants. Bei. It's bound to come. And, to my mind, the sooner, the belter. Fel. I'll give no more advice. The demand must come from her. Bei. She dreads the notoriety. Fel. Well, you can't make pancakes without breaking eggs. Come, Professor, (rises) let us drown our sorrows in a tumbler of wine. After all, men and women are but a kind of cattle, in respect, that every one must keep the flies off with his own tail. (^Exeunt Beide and Prof. L. U. E. Enter Lily, C. D, F., evening dress. Lil. (^iieeps through the draperies of the door, and waiting until Bei. and Fel. have disappeared, she crosses to the piano, near L. 2d E. and plays). Enter Archibald, C. D. F. , evening dress. Arc. {looks about carefully, and then on tip toe approaches Lil.). Lil. Hello! what do you want here? Arc. Didn't you call me? Lil. No! Arc. Oh, I thought you did. Lil, you're the sweet- IN THE OZARKS. 235 est creature on God* earth, and I love — (^seizes one of her hands). Lil. Let go! I can't play this thing with one hand. (Arc. steps hack. Lily continues to play, while Arc. regards her admiringly. She turns her face to him in- vitingly, and he kisses her very gently. ) Lil. {her face still turned up to his). Archibald Upper, you are taking liberties. Since the 4th of July, you have kissed me at least a hundred times. Arc. And in all that time, you have kissed me but once, and therefore still owe me ninety-nine, — make it even hundred {kisses her, she not ohjectiyig). Lil. You are trying your level best to run me in debt. First thing I know, you'll declare me bankrupt, and apply for a receiver. Arc. Are there any other creditors, Lil ? Lil. That's what you'd like to know, isn't it? Arc. Are there? Lil. Well, I wouldn't tell you if there were. Arc. You see, if I am the only creditor, I can have myself appointed as receiver, and the receiver can do with the bankrupt property whatever he pleases. Lil. Please, as the court directs. Arc. I am going out now to find your uncle {starts). Lil. Why, what's the matter? Arc, This very minute I am going to ask his consent to marry you. Lil. No, you are not. Arc. Why not? Lil. Because you're afraid. 236 IN THE OZAKKS. Arc. Afraid ? My great-grandfather loved the daugh- ter of a general, and when the old fire-eater told my great-grandfather that he wasn't good enough to marry his daughter, then my great-grandfather simply sent him a note, stating; "I regret exceedingly, that you compel me to marry your daughter against your will." Lil. {interested). And did he marry her? Arc. Did he? Here I am. Lil. Ah, but he was a soldier bold. Arc. And I am his lineal descendant. O Lil, you girls don't know how desperately a man can love {tries to embrace her). Lil. No, no, no! Further off, please. Stand over on the other side of the piano. Arc. How long? Lil. Two hours. Arc. Two hours? Lil. Two minutes. Arc. And then may I sit beside you on the bench? Lil. Yes. Arc. And hold your hand ? Lil. Yes, if you promise to behave (as Lil plays, Arc. gradually draws nearer, and seats himself beside her on the piano bench. He slijys his right arm about her tuaist, and she her left arm about his. They continue to play very softly^ she with her right, he with his left hand). Enter Felix G. D. F. Fel. (aside). Well, I'll be— (^omcZ) What are the wild waves saying? (Archie s^aris and turns the leaves of the music hurriedly.) Well? {Looks at him sternly,) IN THE OZARKS. 237 Arc. Yes, sir ; as well as can be expected. Lil. {turning suddenly with a great sigh). Uncle, how you scared me I Fel. Did I? I suppose that's the reason you held on so tight {sits R. ; after an awkward pause). Well, Mr. Upper, is there anything you wish to say to me ? Arc. Yes, sir, there is. Your niece, Miss Lily, loves me, and I wish her to become my wife. Will you give her to me? {L.) Lil. {rushes to embrace her uncle, E.). Say yes, uncle; (i?.) dear, sweet uncle, do say yes. You have always been so good to me, and I love you more than my life {round his neck). Fel. Do you hear that, young man? She loves me more than her life. Lil. But I love Archie more than my life and your life put together. Fel. Oh, do you. Not too fast (to Archie). Sit down, sit down! (Arc. sits) So; {sits) nothing should be done in a hurry excepting catching fleas. {To Arc.) Can you suppor'^ a wife.? What are your means of subsistence? Arc. I'm clerking in the First National Bank for $75 a month, with the prospects of an early raise. Fel. I may guarantee the raise {Bus. foot). Arc. Besides, I have a wealthy aunt, and I am her only heir. Fel, How old is the aunt? Arc. {vexed). Nobody knows; she is a maiden aunt. 238 IN THE OZAKKS. Fel. Well, $75 isn't bad for a young fellow of your ability. Lil. Uncle, you told me more than once, that your papa and mamma lived on ten dollars a week when they mar- ried. And everything is so much cheaper now. Fel. Yes, diamonds, and horses, and tailor-made clothes, and — Lil. We can rent a little flat, and I can do all my own work. And when it comes to clothes, I've got whole trunks and closets full of clothes ; enough to last me at least — Fel. Until Archie's aunt dies. Arc. My aunt has documents to show that my ances- tors came over on the Mayflower. Fel. Has she? Well, I shall think no less of you on that account. Arc. {rises). Mr. Plenty, I pray you, do not lead me to believe that you value nothing in this world but money. I'll be candid and confess that it has always been my ambition to marry a wealthy girl without a name. If I exchange my name for your niece's million, I trust you will consider it a profit on both sides (^approaches Lil.). Fel. prises). Wait a bit. If she does not get your name before you get my million, she'll go without. I have my own views on money matters, and I'll herewith agree to give you at the end of every year, ten tinoes the sum you save out of your own earnings. If you save one cent, I'll give you ten cents ; if you save a hundred dollars, I'll give you a thousand dollars; if you save a million dollars, then — well, then I'll borrow some of IN THE OZARKS. 239 you. But if you turn out to be a worthless scamp, like the fellow who married Lily's sister, your treatment at my hands will be just as his. He is married to Jess five years, and has the first dollar still to save. You can then come here like he, play son-in-law, pure and simple, live on me free of charge, and be looked on with contempt by the stable boy who blacks your shoes. Fair words alone don't feed the cat, Mr. Upper. But, if you can come to me at the end of the first year, and say, uncle, here is my book, I have saved one hundred dollars out of my nine hundred salary, then you will be on the high road, not merely to my fortune, but likewise to your own happiness (^sits). Arc. You speak to me, as if I were a schoolboy. Do not forget, that I consider myself a man and your equal. Lil. {stops him). Don't Archie, don't. Arc. Fully your equal, sir. Fel. I am glad of that, glad of that. Arc. My forefathers were the founders of this glorious country. Fel. All my goods are silver and gold, said the boaster, even my copper kettles. Arc. And framed the constitution, under whose pro- tection you have amassed your wealth. Fel. I revere them for it, Mr. Upper, and when I meet them on the other side, I shall doff my hat, and bow to them in sincere reverence. But I cannot com- prehend how any merit of yours could have given dis- tinction to your forefathers. 240 IN THE OZARKS. Arc. Two of my ancestors signed the Declaration of Independence. Fel. He who tickles himself, may laugh when he pleases. (X. C). Now listen to me. When I was at school, we had a priggish, puffed-up youngster in our class, to whom the teacher one day said, that, '' mules, mules, make a great fuss about their ancestors having been horses." Take that to heart. You may go now (X.Z.). Lil. (^to Fel.). Bat, uncle, you have forgotten to give us your blessing. Fel. So. Lil. {embraces and kisses him affectionately). Fel. Well, I shall take the case under advisement. In the meantime, you may kiss him. {Pushes Lil. ivho runs to Arc. and kisses him. C.) Tut, tut, tut, that will do — before me. Arc. (going up). He's a barbarian. Lil. He is my dear, good uncle. (Exeunt Arc. and Lil. B. D. F. arm in arm. Fel. (starting to exit L. U. E.). He can't lay eggs, but he can cackle. Enter Trusten L, U. E. loith paper in his hand. Fel. Hello, Trusten! When did you get back? Tru. Just arrived. Fel. Did you bring Mr. Phelps? Tru. No, sir, Mr. Phelps — Fel. (mocking). Mr. Phelps! Trusten, I don't want to hear any more of Mr. Phelps, I want to see him. I IN THE OZARKS. 241 have implicit confidence in you and in the professor, but the money you get from me for Mr. Phelps represents a large sum. It's the same old story ; let the devil into the church, and he'll mount the altar. (22.) Tru. It will come back to you tenfold. Fel. If Mr. Phelps is an honest man. Tru, I'll vouch for him. As fast as he acquired the land he has sent us the papers; franchises, deeds, titles, patents, privileges, — all the documents are securely housed in your vaults. Fel. But they are all in his name. Tru. It was on that condition only, that he revealed his plan. Had any of these lands been recorded in your name, the plan had become public and therefore impossi- ble. He gave me here a new map and several sheets of details. Fel. Why doesn't he give them to me? Tru. He also said, tell Mr. Plenty, that I beg the honor of his presence at Lake Pulaski on the 23d, between midnight and morning. Fel. (^emphatically). We shall be there! And if on that day, I do not meet Mr. Phelps in the flesh, I shall have nothing more to do with his ghost. Ten days more then, that's my limit. Tru. The question is not whether you trust Mr. Phelps, but whether you trust me. Fel. You know that, you know that. Ten years ago I found your photograph on a dresser in Jessie's room. *' One of my beaux, a schoolmate," she said. I liked your face, I sent for you, I raised you, I made you 16 242 IN THE OZARKS. what you are, the confidant and right hand of a million- aire. Trusten Keene, I have had many a rough time with men, and as the professor loves to quote, " the more I see of men, the better 1 like dogs," but if my judgment errs in you, if you turn out a thief, then I want to be robbed and swindled out of every cent I've got. Yes, Trusten, if ever you deceive me, I'll turn my back on mankind, and like Timon of Athens, I'll take to the woods, and root for a living, like a hog! No, no, I trust you, Trusten {shakes hands). {Sounds of music in distance.) Fel. There, I must show myself to the young people. {starts up, then turns). But why are you not in tlie ball-room, among the dancers? Tru. I have not been asked, Mr. Plenty. Being your clerk, does not endow me with social standing. Fel. Social fiddlesticks ! Tru. I had no grandmother, Mr. Plenty. Fel. Neither had I. If you had worked half as hard for one of my girls as you worked for me, you might have had either of them. They are both gone now. Tru. Both? Fel. Yes ; Lil is going to marry Mr. Archibald Upper. After the wedding I shall purchase a portrait of General Washington, and have it inscribed, " my ancestor by marriage." Look me up before you go. {Exit C. I). F. Enter BEroE, L. U. E. Tru. {eagerly seizing Beide's hands). May I see her? IN THE OZARKS. 243 Bei. I hate to deny you, Trusten, and yet it were a pity to be discovered now. Tru. May I see her ? Bei. Your agitation will betray you, Trusten, and she will discover who you are. Tru. Have I not kept my secret from Felix Plenty these many years? You, Professor, are the only living being who knows that Keene and Phelps are one ; that Pulaski ran away from home at the age of twelve, and called himself Trusten, to prevent his being found. You, who picked me up from the street, gave me food and shelter, and sent me to school. My only confidant are you. Bei. Then keep it so. Tru. Fear nothing, I have a head as well as a heart. Bei. Then avoid her. Tru. No, no, no. Let me see her. I cannot go in there. Professor ; I visit Mr. Plenty on business purely, and have no social passport. Bring her to me. Profes- sor ; let me look into her face, let me hear her voice. Grant so much to my famished soul. Bei. Wait, wait. Tru. I know she is unhappy. Bei. In a week, or a month, maybe, you can tell her all. Tru. And, maybe, never. I promise you, that since she is the wife of another, no syllable of my love shall pass my lips. I will eat my heart out first. Go, go- Bei. (shaking his head). I fear, I fear. 244 IN THE OZARKS. Enter Jessamine, L. U. E. Jes. {from tvithout to Beide). So I've found you at last, have I? {Enters.) Why did you give me the slip? — Ah, Mr. Keene ; good evening {extends her hand). Tru. Good evening, Mrs. Idle. Jes. This is, indeed, a pleasant surprise. Won't 3'ou come in with us? Trii. No, thank you. Jes. Professor, did you know that Mr. Keene was my first beau? Bei. Yes, yes, you told me more than once. Jes. We went to school together, and like a courteous knight, Mr. Keene carried my books {tuith a sigh)- That's a long time ago, isn't it, Mr. Keene? Tru. I remember it well. Bei. Mr. Keene has just returned from the lake. Jes. The Professor has often spoken to me aV)out Mr. Phelps, and if everything claimed for that gentleman be true, Mr. Phel[)S will some day be a great man. Bei. He's a great man now ; {to Trusten) give me the map. Ten days hence, Pulaski's Lake will be born {hangs the map on an easel, and moves it forward). There it is. Jes. Beautiful ! And how picturesque, with all these hills, and these islands. Bei. And it is all yours, Jess. Jes. {Looks from one to the other in surprise.) Tru. Your uncle owns the majority of the stock. IN THE OZARKS. 245 Jts. How delightful ! BqL Suppose you select a site for your summer villa? Jes. If I had my choice, I would build here on this island, to the right of the bluff (points with her fan). Bei. Now you have picked the only spot on the Lake you can't have. Jes. Why? Bei. This island, Mr. Phelps has reserved for himself. You participate in the name, however, for he has chris- tened it Mount Jessamine. Jes. For me? Bei. As if you were the only Jessamine. Jes. In honor of his wife ? Bei. How is that, Trusten? Tru. Mr. Phelps is not married. Jes. Oh, then he loves some woman by the name of Jessamine, and woos her in this true lover's fashion. She'll not refuse him now, will she, Professor? Bei. She doesn't know that he loves her yet. Jes. I'll wager she'll know it as soon as she sees this map. Bei. All women are not as keen as you. Jes. Nor as dull as you suppose they are. Why, here it is marked in tiny letters. Mount Jessamine. Bei. {adjusting his glasses). So it is. Jes. Mr. Keene, you may as well prepare for your friend for what is in store for him ; for if his Jessamine be human, she'll fly about his neck as soon as she sees this and him. Bei. (aside; with a sigh). How easily that is said 246 IN THE OZARKS. {walks aside and seats himself near L. 3 E. in meditation^ and appears to pay no attention to lohat folloios). Jes. Tell me something more about this new world's wonder. Where is it, and how was it done? Trit. I wish Pulaski Phelps could now talk to you instead of Trusteu Keene. If I were to speak as he feels, you would think me affected. Jes. As his faithful co-worker, it is but natural that you share his enthusiasm. Tru. {abashed, regards her silently). Jes. Well? Tru. {loith forced indifference). From this lower dam to the proposed upper end of the lake, is a distance of thirty miles {points to map). Jes. Take my fan. Tru. Thank you {takes fan). If there are no errors in the survey, we shall have an area of about one hundred square miles of water. The only engineering found necessary, is this lower dam, and two minor embankments constructed here to the right. The river and the mountains were furnished free by nature. It will appear as you see it here, after the flood-gates are closed {takes another map from his pocket). This shows you how it looks to-day. Jes. {crosses L. seated attractively on the piano bench; attends Trusten closely). One would hardly think that possible. Tru. We know it, Mrs. Idle ; it cannot be otherwise, unless, of course, the pressure of the water forces an underground passage through some invisible cavern. IN THE OZARKS. 247 But that is unlikely ; every suspicious spot has been tested. Jes. But tell me, how did the idea originate with Mr. Phelps? What was his object? Tru. A summer resort, Mrs. Idle! A large body of water like this, within a hundred miles of the city will attract thousands of people, who now spend their summer at the northern lakes or the seaside. We expect to sell the water front about the lake for a hundred times what we paid for it. Bei. There, Trusten, 1 think you have told her about enough. Jes. I wish to know it all, Professor. Did you meet Mr. Phelps there? Tru. I did. Jes. And you learned his secret ? Tru. He could not well keep it from me. (X. R. ) Jes. And you helped him ? Trii. As best I could. Bei. If it had not been for your uncle's money and Mr. Keene's diplomacy, Pulaski's Lake would never have existed elsewhere than in Mr. Phelps' imagina- tion. Jes. But the idea, Professor, the creative faculty, belongs to Mr. Phelps. Bei. Certainly, no one can gainsay that. Jes. How uneasy he must have been all the time he was testing the feasibility of his thought. I am inter- ested in the man. Tell me something more about him, Mr. Keene. 248 IN THE OZARKS. Tru. For many months he labored in these hills and valleys with his instruments, and at night by the flicker- ing camp-fire he made his computations. From day to day he added to the area of his lake, and had it failed, his life would have gone with it, for the lake had become his passion, his one and only love. Jes. And now his lake has a rival. Tru. No ; but for his Jessamine, Pulaski Phelps could not have built his lake. It was his love for her that gave him strength and courage. With her image burn- ing in his mind he will conquer success. Were I to tell you the frightful chasm that yawns between this man and the woman he loves, j^ou would say, Pulaski Phelps, you are a fool. And he would smile at you, if you did. He holds himself a chosen child of God, whose utmost ambition will come to pass. There he has built a para- dise to the woman of his passion, and there he means to possess her, let come what will. (Trdstkn crosses to li. Jessamine follows him tvith a trace of suspicion and regards him intently. Tru. averts his face to hide his emotion. After a pause^ he turns and they look upon each other in silence. Neither observes the entrance of Alan.) Enter Alan G. D. F. Evening dress, intoxicated, a cigar in his hand, from which he knocks the ashes as he enters, and a silk hat on his head. Stands at the entrance and supports himself by holding the portiere. Al. (^coming forward L. slightly unsteady). Hello! There's the Dutch professor. IN THE OZARKS. 249 Bei. (^approaches Alan; takes himby the sleeve^ moves forioard with him and speaks slowly. Alan puffs smoke in the professor's face). Mr. Alan Idle, if a Dutchman is a man who knows German, then I am a Dutchman, but if a Dutchman is a man who knows no English, then you are a Dutchman. Al. (^ivalks forward and clumsily tries to embrace Jes. ). Jes. (^starts, sotto voce.) Drunk! {Involuntarily steps to the side o/Tkusten.) Al. Put away your maps, Trusten, or somebody'll see them. (To Jes.) Come here; I want to see you. {Seizes her by the arm^ and rudely takes her L. G. Aside to Jes.) Did you ask your uncle for some money, as 1 told you? Jes. No! Al. But I must have it. Unless I can raise a hundred by to-morrow my credit will be advertised in the papers. Jes. I can't help it. Al. Haven't you any pins, bracelets, lockets, rings? Anything will do. Jes. {showing her bare fingers). You have taken them all. Al. Have I? H'm. There's Trusten Keene. He's rich. Play soft on him. Tell him you're in trouble, and he'll loan you some. Jes. {Regards him with scorn.) Al. Very well, then, we'll have ourselves advertised. I can stand it, if you can. {Turns to go out.) Say, Pro- fessor, what do you think of my wife? She's the best looking woman in the whole crowd. And those clothes 250 IN THE OZARKS. set her off well. But it isn't all clothes, is it, Jess? Come, there's the music ; let's dance this waltz. {As he unsteadily approaches Jess., Trusten steps between.) Hello, Trusten, coming between man and wife, are you? Well, I don*t care ; then you go dance with her. I'm tired, anyhow. I'll go with the Professor, and crack another bottle. (Ta/ces Beide's arm. Turning to T\^\^.) Take her, and have all the fun you want. I'm liberal. Enjoy yourself. And while you are dancing, don't forget, you've ■ got your arm around the finest woman in the world. Tru. (Takes J Es.' hand.) Good night. (Starts to go.) Bei, Trusten ! Al. Why don't you let him have a good time with Jessie? Bei. Alan, you take Trusten out to crack your bottle. To tell the truth, I have had about as much as I can stand. Al. Want to lie down, eh? I thouglit you were acting kind of funny. Come along, Trusten; just as leave drink with you as anybody else. (Takes Trusten's arm. As they are near the exit L. U. E. Alan turns.) And one thing more. Professor. When you meet that old skinflint, Felix Plenty, you tell him, I've got something to sell him ; cheap for cash. You just tell him, it's a thousand dollars, or the lake don't go. (Exeunt. Al. a^rf Trus. L. U. E. Jes. (Breaks doivn at the table R. G. her face in her hands., sobbing violently.) Bei. Patience, patience, my child. This shall not con- tinue much longer. IN THE OZARKS. 251 Jes. {Herxely). By heaven, I will not suffer it one day more ! For years, 1 have endured my shame in silence, and now his loose tongue, shouts it to the winds. My life is one great lie ! I must sing, laugh and be merry, must appear an object of envy to the world, when in truth, I am the most pitiful thing that lives. QPiteously). If my father and mother lived, this could not have hap- pened. (X. L.) Bei. My dear Jess, from what I know of your dispo- sition, you would have married Alan Idle, although ten fathers and mothers had advised you to the contrary. Jes. (lamenting). What can a girl of eighteen know about men? I'll not blame you nor uncle nor anybody ; only myself and fate. (Angrily). To insult me here, in the presence of Mr. Keene, to make me cheap in the eyes of a man who respects me, to pass me, his wife, over to another man like a paid woman. (^Resolutely). But I am glad of it, glad of it. It gives me courage to do that, which, until now, I did not have the heart to do. I shall leave him. The law shall rid me of him. I shall never look upon him again (after a pause ^ to the professor gently). I'll go with you to the lake, and if by some chance, I drown in it, Pulaski Phelps' good fortune will also be mine (crosses R.). Bei. I don't approve of the drowning, Jess ; when one is dead, it's for a long time. But, in the other matter, I'll help you all I can. Jes. Why did not fate make me the wife of such a man as Pulaski Phelps .? Since I heard Mr. Keene speak of him, my life appears one insignificant patchwork of trifles. 262 IN THE OZAKKS. I want to meet this Mr. Phelps, and the woman fortunate enough to be so loved, and by such a man. Do you know this namesake of mine, whom he hopes to win as his wife? Bei, I know her well. Jes. Is she homel}" or handsome, short or tall, dull or bright enough to comprehend the greatness of his soul? But, no matter; she is to be his Jessamine. For her, he, like a god, creates a world! {Up C.) Enter Trusten, L. U. E. You must acquaint me with this girl, Professor. If the man loves her, he shall have her {observes Trusten). Good night! {Exit Jes. O. D. F. Bei. {down C). She doesn't know what she is talking about. Tru. Great God, Professor, can this be true? Bei. Slowly, slowly, my boy ; I am afraid we are traveling too fast. Tru. She said Pulaski Phelps shall have his Jessa- mine. Bei. Theoretically. Tru. I'll find her, and tell her who I am {starts up). Bei. Fool! It isn't you, she is after. It is all figment of her mind. When she finds who you are, I am afraid she will be mightily disappointed. Tru. What shall I do? Bei. Nothing. Keep cool, and avoid her You have talked too much already. Did you pump Alan ? What did he say. Tru. He muttered some incoherent nonsense about IN THE OZARKS. 263 the lake ; I paid no attention ; I was thinking of Jessa- mine. Great God ! Bei. What did you do with Alan? Tru. I was tempted to crush the life out of the ribald cur. Bei. But what did you do with him ? Tru, A colored man took him away from me. Said he would give him a hot bath, and then he'd be as good as ever. Bei. That isn't much. Tru. {still walking restlessly). That such a man should possess such a woman. Think of it, Professor, think what that means. Ah, but you cannot, for you are old, and at your age the blood no longer burns ! Bei. He doesn't seem to care much for her. Tru. {vehemently). No! and I would crawl to the earth's end for another touch of her hand, — I loved her ever since she was a little girl {sits L.). Bei, And when the little girl grew up to be a big girl, she mnrried Alan Idle. Yes, it was a great pity (i?.). Tru. {rising abruptly). Great God, what shall I do? Bei. You heard how she feels towards the man who is building the lake? Tru, Yes, yes, yes! Bei. Then build the lake, and leave the rest to time, — and to me. If I have any influence in this family, and I think I have, then Jessamine may not remain the wife of Alan Idle, forever. Tru. {veliemeyitly). She may never be mine, but, I swear it, Alan Idle shall never lay hands on her again ! 254 IN THE OZAEKS. Bei. You have no right — Tru. I have no right, but Alan Idle shall never lay hands on her again ! Enter Felix C. D. F. After Felix enters^ Trusten is seated at the t&ble. M. C. Fel. What's the matter? (0.) Bei. We were speaking of Alan. Fel. Well, what of him? Bei. He was here, and drunk. Fel. You startle me ; I thought you were going to say, sober. Bei. In his rambling he mentioned the lake. Said, he had something to sell you for a thousand dollars. Fel. How is that, Trusten ? Trri. Nonsense. He knows nothing worth knowing. Fel. He is a knave, Trusten, l)ut no fool. Tru. The rankest fool on earth. Bei. His last words were: "Tell Uncle Felix it's a thousand dollars or the lake don't go." Fel. That looks like him. But I'll not give him the satisfaction of blackmailing me. How do you stand with him, Trusten? What arc 3'ou laughing at. Professor? Bei. {chuckles). Nothing. Fel. You buy him off, Trusten ; you'll get it cheaper. Tr^i. There's nothing to buy. Fel. It is worth something to know that. Let me think a minute (goes to L. and sits). A wise man does at first what a fool must do at last. Tru. But for the faint possibility of an underground escape, I'd stake my life on the lake. IN THE OZARKS. 266 Fel. A dog's kennel is not the place to keep a sausage. Alan evidently knows something, and it is asking too much of the cat, that she should sit by the milk and not lap it. Tru. What can he do? Fel. Fools ask, what's o'clock? A wise man knows his time {after a pause). Why, of course. Now, my friends, listen, and don't you ever say old Felix Plenty hasn't got a good head. Trusten and I must quarrel, and the Professor must find Alan, and place him behind the portiere to overhear us. Bel. On what subject could you two quarrel? Fel. Trusten is to ask me for the hand of my niece. Tru. Your niece? Fel. Yes, my niece. And in reply, I'll give you such a dressing down for your impudence, that even Alan will take pity on you. I shall score you most unmercifully, young man, and when, for a finale, I set my foot upon the viper, that haS/Crawled into my bosom to steal away my child, I shall leave the room like King Henry after he gets through with Hotspur. That will be your cue to storm and swear revenge. This will draw Alan from his hiding-place, and you will have no difficulty in hatching a little plot, that is to beat me out of my lake. Why it's as easy as watering stock. Now, lively. Professor, I'll teach the scamp, it's a bold mouse that makes her nest in the cat's ear. When you are ready, trip on a rug, or make any other sort of noise, and we'll know it is time to begin. (Exit Beide L. U. E. I've got a large fortune in this venture, Trusten, and 256 IN THE OZARKS. cannot now stop for a paltry sum. You must pluck out the heart of his secret. One rotten egg spoils the whole pudding. Buy him as cheap as you can, but buy him. Here is a handful to start him (offei's him a roll of bills). Tru. Never mind, I have some. Fel. Now sit down there, {B.) and study out your part. Mine is ready. (X.). I am curious to see how skill- fully you can play the lover, Trusten. Make it good and hot. Tell me that you love my niece more than your life, and tliat you will drown yournelf unless I let you have her. These phrases are shop-worn, 1 know, but no matter ; every generation will use them over and over again. It will do Alan good to hear, that I have no more use for j^ou, than I have for him. {A noise in the hall.) There they are! Now beg for Lily as hard as you know how. Tru. (^serious). Mr. Plenty, I love your niece, and have come here to seek your approval. Fel. Young man — Tru. Before you speak, let me assure you, that I am resolved to win her for my wife ; with your consent, if I can ; without your consent, if I must. Fel. Young man — Tru. Mine is not the fleeting appetite of a boy, but the constant and matured passion of a man. From the briglit star that my j'outh worshipped from afar, she has developed into the full ideal, the possession of which alone can make my life worth living. I have worked for 3^ou, worked hard; len years have I been in your em- IN THE OZARKS. 257 ploy and you have paid me like a prince. You have con- fided in me, and I have never betrayed your confidence ; you have intrusted me with the great affairs of your business, and I have proven worthy of the trust. Fel. (^seated L. with his back to Trusten; aside). Wiiy in the devil didn't he ask for her before that damn little " Mayflower " got her. Tru. I have struggled for success and power regard- less of my fellowman, in order to be able to surround my soul's idol with every delight and luxury of life. Fel. {brushes a tear from his eye; aside). He's a man after my own heart. I hate to do it, and yet I must. Tru. Whatever I did, I did it solely, that some day I might come to you and say, Mr. Plenty, give me your child. I will work for her, watch for her, pray for her, make her the envy of every one she meets. Give me your answer. Will you help me to win your niece, or shall I number you among my foes, and win her against your will? Fel. {aside). It's all sham anyway ; {aloud) Young man, your impudence dumfounds me. You have no claim on me whatsoever. I paid you for all the work you did for me, and paid you well. I have raised your wages oftener than you dared ask for it, until now your salary is greater than the governors of three States put together. You carry the keys to my private safes, Mr. Keene, but these same keys do not unlock the sanctuary of my home. Do you think I have amassed a fortune in order to cast my child away upon an upstart from the 17 258 IN THE OZARKS. slums? No, sir ; my niece is to be the wife of Archibald Upper, a scion of one of the first families in the land. Two of his ancestors signed the Declaration of Independ- ence, and a third was kennel-keeper of George Washing- ton's hounds. I married my Jess to the laziest loafer that stands on two feet (aside), that for Mr. Alan (aloud), and I want no more such unancestored fellows as you are. Trii. Mr. Plenty — Fel. Enough, sir! You stand there a self-convicted hypocrite ; your seeming service in my behalf was but a mask to screen a sinister ambition for my wealth. Call at my office in the morning, and receive your pay in full to date. I shall set my foot upon the viper that crawled into my bosom to steal away my child. {Exit Felix C. D. F. Enter Alan, L. U. E., sits on the piano bench unseen by TiiusTEN. Tru. (facing C. D. F.) My pay in full. Yes, I shall get my pay in full and more too. I can make a beggar of you, Felix Plenty. Al. (Plays on the piano, " Over the Fence is Out " ; turns to Trusten, who now likeivise faces him.) How do you feel? Tru. What's that to you? Al. Oh, nothing, only I've been there myself. Tru. You've been eavesdropping, have you? Al. You hollered so loud, I couldn't help hearing. Tru. I'll have her if I go to hell for it ! Do you bear IN THE OZAEKS. 259 me, Alan, sbe*s mine and I'll bave her {dutches Alan by the throat). Do you hear me, she is mine, mine! . AL Let go! (Shakes him off.) That's not the old man's throat you've got hold of. Tru. You are right, you are right. {Walks excitedly up and down. Confused with his thoughts of Jess ; speaks somewhat absent-mindedly. ) Al. 1 hate him as much as you do. He is a miserable miser. Had you come to me, I could have told you what would happen, when he found you were after his money. I've been in the family for five years, and haven't seen the first dollar of his money yet. If he wasn't expected to die some day, I couldn't get enough credit to buy a neck-tie. Tru. I don't want his money. Al. That's where we differ, I do. Then what would you give for the girl ? Tru. My life. Al. H'm. I can't spend that. I mean in dollars and cents. Tru. I don't understand. Al. Well, then, will you give a thousand dollars to get even with him. {Intensely.) Tru. Yes. Al. Will you give five ? Tru. Yq^. Al. Ten? Tru. No. Al. {aside). I went too fast. I'll try over again. {Aloud) Will you give five ? 260 IN THE OZARKS. Tru. Yes. Al. Six? Tru. No. Al. {aside). He's not drunk enough {Aloud). Five, then? Tru. I said five. Al. It's a bargain. {Offers his hand to Trusten, who takes it after a moment's hesitation. Al. ivalks up to C. D. F. to see whether anyone is near. In a confidential tone). Will lie be permitted to flood any land but bis own? Tru. No. Al. What will stop bim? Tru. Injunction. Al. You are sure of that? Tru. No question. Al. Well, then, I can furnish the title to forty acres of land, without which that mud hole of his in the moun- tains will be knocked into a cocked hat. Tru. I don't believe it. The rights and titles to every foot of that land are locked in our vaults. Al. I don't know anything about his vaults. He hasn't given me the combination. Tru. Well, my offer stands ; forty acres, five thousand dollars. Al. You ought to make it ten, Trusten, for I know you'll squeeze the old man for at least fifty. Tru. {sarcastically). I may choose to make him a present of it. Al. {snickers.) Yes, so you might. IN THE OZARKS. 261 Tru. Go ahead. What am I to do? Al. {low and confidential.) Get me five thousand in cash, large bills, and the forty acres are yours. One thousand I must have before I start, the balance when I deliver the deed. Tru. When? Al. To-morrow noon. Tru. Where? Al. At the lake. Tru. I can't be at the lake before the twenty-third ; to-day's the thirteenth. Al. I'll wait, then, until the twenty-third. Tru. I will be there. Al. On your honor ? Tru. On my honor. (Al. offers Jiis hand, Tru. re- jects it, Al. shakes his own other hand.) {Exit Al. L. U. E. Enter Felix G. D. F. Fel. {coming down to the R. o/Tru.). I beg your par- don, Trusten, but you know it was all in fun {extends his hand, luhich Trusten takes). Tru. {slowly). Yes, I know {ivith quivering voice and tioitchiyig lip), it was all in fun. (Felix regards Trusten with surprise. The latter turns to one side {L.) his face exhibiting keen anguish. Retains Felix' hand. CURTAIN. ACT II. SCENE. — The large living room of Hannah Phelps' HOUSE, located ON THE SIDE OF A HILL NEAR THE HANK OF THE Pebble river. The furnishing substantial and sim- ple. Walls decorated with skins, antlers, stuffed BIRDS and fishes, NETS, RODS, GUNS, AND OTHER LIKE PARA- PHERNALIA. On the right, a china closet and an easy CHAIR. A latticed WINDOW IN CENTER OF FLAT. DoORS IN R. F. AND L. U. E. In the center of the room, a HEAVY UNPOLISHED OAK TABLE ; TO THE RIGHT OF THE TABLE, A BENCH. In the LEFT NEAR FRONT, A LARGE, MODERN ROLLER-TOP DESK, AND REVOLVING CHAIR, IN PRONOUNCED CONTRAST TO THE REST OF THE FURNISHINGS, WHICH ARE OLD- FASHIONED. R. D. F. LEADS INTO THE OPEN ; L. U. E. INTO KITCHEN. Strings of dried apples under the ceiling. Hannah and Alan. Al. 1 have offered you a good fat price for your land, Mrs. Phelps, but I'll not buy if you mention it to a soul before the deed is signed. I will be back in half an hour with the deed and the notary. Han. And the money, young feller. Al. Sure. {Exit Alan R. D. F. IN THE OZARKS. 263 Ha7i. {calls L. U. E.). Daisy, keep up a good fire, and chase the chickens out of the kitchen. {Down L.^ I declare, that girl is never satisfied unless she is feeding something. That's a good price for the land. Don't want nothing said about it, eh? Well, I'll just kinder feel my way anyhow. May be the price of land is riz. Enter B. D. F. Felix, Beide, Archie, Jessamine, Lily, and George. All attired in outing costume. Felix in corduroy y carrying a gun. Fel. {stamping gun). Here we are! Han. Welcome you are, Mr. Plenty. Fel. George, tell the drivers to go ahead. Let them pitch the camp on the gravel-bar at the foot of Goat Bluff. We'll be there to-morrow: to-night we'll stop here. Geo. Yes, sir. {Exit George E. D. F. Fel. Mrs. Hannah, I've brought my girls with me. This is Jessamine, and this is Lily. {The tvomen greet Hannah.) While we men are in the woods, you can keep the girls here and teach them something. They know nothing about housekeeping: can't tell a squash from a pumpkin. Had no mother, you know. Jes. Professor, where is Mr. Phelps? Bei. There's his mother, ask her. Jes. Does he resemble her? Bei. He is younger. Jes. How odd. Fel. {sits at B. of table). Where is Daisy, Mrs. Han- nah.? I brought her a new saddle. 264 IN THE OZAEKS. Ean. (/>.)• ^^ ^^'9 one of them one-sicUd affairs, she won't wear it. She rides like a clothespin, one leg on each side of her horse. Lil. (ioARc). Look at all those queer bugs strung up under the ceiling. Ean. Them's no bugs, child; them's dried apples. Fel. A la Yankee. Wholesome food, too; purifies the blood. Han. You shall have them for every meal as long as you are here. Fel. Thank you. To-morrow at daybreak we go into camp {lights a cigar). Bei. Suppose we have a little game before dinner? Fel. Good idea. Get the cards and chips {the profes- sor brings a jxick of 32 cards and chips). Is there any bottled beer in the house, Mrs. Hannah? Ilaji. I knew you were coming, Mr. Plenty. There's six bottles hanging by their necks in the well. Fel. Smart woman, you are, Mrs. Hannah. If we were twenty 3'ears younger, I'd set up to you. You are the kind of a woman that makes a man live long. Han. There's older fools than us been getting married. Filter Daisy L. U. F. Dai. {at the door). Get out of there, you three legged thief. Han. What's he been doing? Dai. Fido's done chawed the end off one of the cheese bags, you hung out the window. {Exit Daisy L. U. E. IN THE OZARKS. 265 Fel. Come in here ! Enter Daisy L. U. E. carrying a bunch of v:ildilov:ers. Fel. Hello, Daisy ! Come and give Uncle Felix a kiss. (Takes Daisy on his kjiee, 7)?<^s his arm about her icaist and kisses her.) Han. Daisy is getting too large to be kissing men. Fel. Never too old to kiss Uncle Felix, are you Daisy? Dai. I'm willing, as long as Abe don't care. Fel. Who is Abe? Han. He is a big good-for-nothing fellow, that would rather get up at three in the morning to look for a flock of wild turkeys, than get up at six and chop wood. Dai. He can lick any fellow in the county. Jes. Does he like to fight? Dai. He's got to. Jes. Why? Dai. Cause every time a fresh gang of wood choppers comes through here, the boys tell them that Abe's the best man in the State ; and then some sixfooter that's got more spunk than sense, gets a licking. There's no man living can stand up before Abe Homespun. Han. That will do, Daisy. Take the ladies out, and show them around. Dai. Come on. I'll let you ride my horse. Fel. Be careful not to roll down the bluff into the river. (Exeunt Jes., Lil. R. D. and pass icindoiv. Fel. (to Arc. ivho is about to Join the women). Heigh! Archie, you stay (points to the table). Two can't play. Yes, I know it's pretty hard on you. You would rather 266 IN THE OZAEKS. go with the girls than play cards. But, about two weeks ^nOj you told me, it was your ambition to become my son-in-law, and now you must accept the con- sequences. This is one of them ; by-and-by there may be others. (Bel, Fel. and Arc. sit about the table to play. B F {To Han.) Mrs. Hannah, will you see whether the beer is cold? (To Bei. and Arc.) Cut! {They cut.) Archie deals. Arc. {deals; 10 cards to each hand and 2 blind). Have you any buttermilk, Mrs. Phelps? Han. I'll bring you some. {Exit. Han. L. U. E. Fel. Why don't you order champagne? Arc. Had enough of that for a while. Fel. {to Arc). Put your chips on your left where they belong. Arc. {shoving his chijjs). The professor isn't going to steal them. Bei. Archie, my bo}', love your neighbor, but don't pull down the fence. Enter Hannah L. U. E. {Brings tivo bottles of beer, and a pitcher of buttermilk. Pours milk for Arc. and IN THE OZARKS. 267 beer for the others. She will have ample time to do this as the bidding and accepting is to proceed deliberately. Bei. Is it ten? Fel. Always. B&i. Twenty? Fel. Certainly. Bei. Twenty-four? Fel. Yes, sir. Bei. Thirty. Fel. Why not? Bei. Forty? Fel. Pass. Arc. Pass. Bei. Clubs. Your lead, Plenty. Han, Mr. Plenty, what's such land as this round here worth ? Fel. {to Bei.). Wait a minute. What did you say, Mrs. Hannah? (Han. questioning confuses Fel. The game proceeds: Fel. takes the first three tricks, Bei. the balance.) Han. What's such land as this round here worth? Fel. What land? Han. This here land on the hills around here. Fel. Isn't worth much; the big wood is all cut out. Han. Would you give five dollars an acre for any of it? Fel. No, ma'am ; I bought thousands of acres of it on the other side for two dollars. Is there any for sale round here ? 268 IN THE OZARKS. Han. None's I know of. Fel. Damn it, Archie, why didn't you play that ten spot on the other trick? (^As he says this he strikes the table with his fist^ and taps the fatal card violently with his forefinger.) He's won it now; you ought to pay for both. Bei. Forty-eight, please. Arc. Oh, I'll never learn this Dutch game. Bei. My boy, Skat is the finest game on cartli intakes the chips the others have j^assed to him). Fel. {dealing). Especially with the cards you always get. Bei. lie plays best wlio wins {to Arc). Great game, my boy ; whist and poker rolled into one. Enter Abe E. D. F. Abe. (Jroni loithout at window). Is Mr. Plenty in here? Ilan. That's Abe. Come in here. Enter Abe. Abe. {at door). Good morning, Mrs. Hannah. Han. Good morning. There's Mr. Plenty. Fel. Well, sir? Abe. I'm the man what brought your ice down from Summersville. Fel. I don't want it here. Our camp is at Goat Bluff. Take it there. Abe. I can't, Mr. Plenty, it's melted. Fel. Melted? IN THE OZARKS. 269 Abe. Yes, sir. You see, the commissary boat couldn't get over the shoals, so your men hired me to haul the ice overland by wagon. Been on the way 18 hours, and as the weather is kind'er warm, there was no ice left, when I got here, — but I brought you two turkeys and a jack-salmon. {Exit Arc. quietly B. D. F. Han. That's why the ice got thawed. Just as like he went prowling after the birds, and left his wagon stand in the sun. Bei. to Fel. Come here, and play your hand. I'm not sitting here to catch flies. There's plenty more jack- salmon in the Pebble, but there's not another hand like this in the whole pack. Fel. Where's your third man? Bei. {calling). Mr. Upper, O Mr. Upper! {Exit Bei. R. D. F. holding his cards. Fel. One hair of a woman's head pulls stronger than ten yoke of oxen. {To Abe). Weil, what are you wait- ing for? Abe. For my money ; four dollars. Fel. What for? * Abe, Hauling the ice. Fel. No, sir ; you get no money from me for hauling ice. Abe. Then may be, you'll give me four dollars for a telegram which the operator gave me as I crossed the track at the station. Fel. That depends. Some telegrams are worth four dollars, and then again I've had some, that were worth a 270 IN THE OZARKS. darn sight less than nothing {takes telegram from Abe, goes to L. C.and opens it with a penknife). Good news for Jess. I'll find her. (To Abe). Here's your money. This one is worth it. {Exit Fel. R. D. F. Han. Now Abe, take them birds in the yard and pick 'em. (Abe hesitates). If you can find Daisy you can tell her to help. Abe. {brightening). All right, Hannah. {Exit Abe R. D. F. Han. And mind you, it's no spoonin I want; I want them birds picked. Abe. {from loithout, at loindoiu). All right, we'll pick 'em. Enter Jes. L. U. E. Jes. Was that Mr. Phelps ? Han. Lord, no. Where's the rest of you ? Jes. They have gone down to the river. You see, they are all young folks, and I am an old married woman. Han. Oh, yes; you're the one that's got the good-for- nothin husband. I've heard tell of him. What's your name? Jes. Call me. Jessamine. Can I help you, Mrs. Phelps? You know, uncle wishes me to learn something, and I suppose you are ver}^ busy. Han. Not so very busy. But, if you are aching to do something, there's a dish pan of turnips on the kitchen table. {Exit Jes. L. U. E. There's a knife on the window-sill. {During this IN THE OZARKS. ' 271 scene Han. is occupied clearing the table and cutting shelf paper for the chain closet. ) Enter Jes. with a dish of turnips. Han. Sit down on that bench and slice them. (Jes. sits and begins to cut the turnips.) You'll spoil your new dress ; wait a minute. (Han. ties an apron to Jes. and tucks Jes.* sleeves up above the elbow. ^ There, that's more like. You have got a pretty large arm, for a woman that's never worked. Jes. That comes from play-work, Mrs. Phelps. (Han, looks puzzled.) Don't know what that means, do you? Han. Play-work ? Never heard of it before. Jes. Horseback riding, for instance, and tennis and golf and fencing. Han. Fencing? Jes. Indeed. Han. That's no decent work for a woman. Out here the men folks build the fences. Got any children ? Jes. {seriously). No, Ma'am. Han. Well, don't let that worry you. You are better off without 'em. They're lots of bother. Jes. Is your son, Mr. Pulaski Phelps, at home? Han. He'll be here by sundown, they say. That's his desk over yonder. High-toned, isn't it? Jes. I'm sure it's big enough. Han. (goes to the desk). Locks all by itself. He just slams down the lid, and the whole fixing's locked, drawers and every thing. And the chair just spins round and round. Look ! (Sits in chair and spins.) 272 IN THE OZARKS. Jes. Mrs. Phelps, are you acquainted with a young woman, by the name of Jessamine, who lives in this vicinity? Han. I know everybody as lives within twenty miles around, but there's none by that name. Why? Jes. Jessamine is my name, too. Uan. Well? Jes. I've been told, that a young lady by the name of Jessamine is a good friend of your son. Han. Friend of Pue? Don't you let them fool you. Pue ain't got no friends. When there's a dancing party, and Pue's around, he always i)icks the ugliest girls, just to spite the good-looking ones. Jes. How good of him. Do you live here all the year round, Mrs. Phelps? Han. All the year round. You're cutting them turnips too fine. Jes. Docs your son stay here all the time, too? Han. I don't believe he's slept in this house twenty times in two years. He travels all over the State. Jes. What does he do ? Han. Don't ask me, child. If I wasn't his mother, I'd say he was born without a tongue. He never opens his mouth except w^hen he eats. Nobody knows anything about his business; sometimes I think he doesn't know hisself. But I've heard tell he's making heaps of money. But what good is money to a man, that doesn't care what he eats and what he wears? If you'd run across him in the woods, you couldn't tell him from a sixty- cent a day wood chopper. But he's got a fine IN THE OZARKS. 273 horse. He took some gentlemen from New York through these parts some time back, and I heard one of them offering him $500. Cost me $600, Pue says. Now, mind you, I don't believe that; but he didn't sell him. Jes. Must be a fine horse. Han. Pue and he is alone in the woods together for weeks at a time. Pue says, he likes his horse better than men and women, because the horse is honest and doesn't jabber nonsense. But Pue is good to his mother. The only fusses we ever have is about the hired girl. Jes. I haven't seen her yet. Han. No, and you never will. Next year, I'll be all by myself. Pue is going to take Daisy to the Ceme- tery. Jes. Cemetery? Han. Yes ; it's a kind of a school. Pue says Daisy is got to be a fine lady like you. Jes. Why, Mr. Phelps has never seen me. Han. He hasn't? Well, I wonder if Abe is picking them turkeys. You just go on with them turnips; if we don't get them for dinner, we'll eat them for supper. {Exit Mrs. P. L. U. E. Jes. I wonder whether I shall ever meet this myste- rious Mr. Pulaski Phelps. Han. {ivithout, calling) Pue, O Pue! Jes. {startled). There he is! {Listens.) Han. {without, after a pause). I don't understand {another pause). All right, all right. Don't get mad about it. Jes. I wonder what is the matter. 18 274 IN THE OZAEKS. Enter Trdsten R. D. F. with a bundle of papers. Jes. Ah, Mr. Keene. Tru. Mrs. Idle. You did not expect to see me here, did you? Jes. I thought it was Mr. Phelps. Tru. {at his desk). Are you disappointed? Jes. 1 am. Tru. Too bad. You see, Mr. Phelps is the star actor in this play, and the star ought not to appear as soon as the curtain rises. Jes. If this keeps on, I'm afraid the audience will have a show without a star. Tru. That's what we call an all-star performance now- adays {unlocks the desk and removes a sprig of Jessamine from the lapel of his coat). Jes. I thought that was Mr. Phelps' desk. Tru. So it is. But you see, I am authorized. I carry his kej's. Jes. You must be very intimate. Tru. I am his best friend. You'll pardon me, if I work here a little while ? Jes. Certainly. You see, I am busy myself. Tru. {occupied at his desk loith an account hook., his hack to Jes.). I'll be through in a few minutes. Jes. If you prefer, I'll leave the room. Tru. No, no, don't do that. This work is merely mechanical : I can talk to you at the same time. Jes. {after a pause). Will all this land be under water when the lake is made? IN THE OZARKS. 275 Tru. Oh, no. We are upon the ridge, more than two hundred feet above the river. Jes. Does Mrs. Phelps know of her son's plans? Tru. Nothing whatever. (^After a pause ^ turns in his cliaii\ rises and approached Jes.). You haven't spoken to her in reference to it, have you? Jes. I was instructed to speak of it to no one. Tru. Mrs. Phelps is one of the best women in the world, but, as you have no doubt observed, she is, what shall 1 say, — rather animated. It would not be right to trust her with the keeping of an important secret (^sits at desk, back to Jes.). Jes. You are a conceited man, Mr. Keene, and there- fore speak ill of women. I dare say, you know very little about them. Trie. I am learning fast. But I have likewise met some women that misjudge men. Jes. Does that refer to me? Tru. Yes. Jes. What do you mean?. Tru. For instance, that you are mistaken in me. Jes. In you, Mr. Keene? Why, I have never given you a thought. Tru. Oh, yes, you have. Jes. Then, please tell me what I think of you. Tru. You think, Mrs. Idle, that I am not honest. You think that Mr. Phelps would not give the keys to his private papers to another man. You think I have no right to do what I am doing. Jes. Now that you have said it, I confess that you 276 IN THE OZARKS. have guessed correctly. Mr. Keene, when you entered you wore a sprig of yellow jessamine on the lapel of your coat. Why did you remove it ? Tra. The woods are full of them hereabouts. Jes. Now, Mr. Keene, unfortunately, that is not true. Yellow jessamine neither grows nor blooms in the Mis- souri woods, in any place or at any time. Tru. {shrugs his shoulders.) Jes. You bought them at a florist's in the city, and I am going to punish you for this fib {very sloivly), by telling Mr. Phelps that you are wearing his lady's colors. Tru. I see you are not to be deceived. I bought them for you. {Crosses to Jes., and gives her the Jiow- ers.) Your name, too, is Jessamine. Will you wear them for me? Jes. {Fastens the flowers in her bosom.) I will let it pass at that, this time, Mr. Keene ; but you must promise, never to do it again. Tru. That is asking too much. — When you are through with the {looks into the dish) turnips, and have no objec- tions, I should like to take you to the top of the hill, and show you the landscape {reticrns to his desk). Jes. Shall we meet Mr. Phelps there? Tru, You make me jealous, Mrs. Idle. Jes. {cuts her Jlnger and drops the knife. Cries) Oh! Tru. {after closing his desk). What have you done? Jes. Nothing; cut my finger {holds her hand high to check the bleeding). Tru. {C). Let me tie it up {takes out his handker- IN THE OZAKKS. 277 chiefs looks at it and puts it back again; tears a strip from Jes.' apron). That's better. Jes. What extravagance! Just like a man. Have you no court plaster? Tru. No. (Sloiuly ties up Jes.' Jinger with considerable siiperjluous linen, so that the ends are long enough to be wound and tied about her wrist. (Jes. smiles at his awkwardness). * Jes. Not so tight. You are not buckling a saddle girth on your horse. Enter Hannah, L. U. E. Han. What are you doing ? Tru. Playing doctor. Jes. I cut my finger, Mrs. Phelps. Han. (^coming forward). May be you did. But there weren't no call to rip a piece off my best apron. Tru. Charge it to me. Han. {looks at them someivhat surprised, and goes to a cabinet for court plaster). Let me look at it. {Pushes Trustsn aside, and unties the bloodstained bandage, ivhich she hands to Trusten, who now stands behind the table.) Throw it out! Tru. ( Goes to window as if to throw out the bandage, but puts it into his pocket.) Han. {holds a piece of court plaster to Jes.' lips). Lick it. Jes. Thank you. That's ever so much better. Tru. Will you go with me now? Jes. With pleasure. {As she turns to take her hat, 278 IN THE OZARKS. Trdsten with a gesture, his finger on his lips, admonishes Mrs. Phelps not to discover him. Jes. draivs down her left sleeve.^ And shall we meet Mr. Phelps? Tru. Well, if we meet Mr. Phelps, it will be all over with Trusten Keene. Jes. {Tries to draw down her other sleeve , but her cut finger interferes.) Tru. Permit me. Jes. Is Mr. Phelps such a handsome fellow? Tru. So, so. Jes. Better looking thauj^ou? Tru. Oh, no. {Exeunt Jes. and Tru. R. D. F. Han. {looks after them in loonder). That boy is crazy and that woman is in love with him as sure as I p.m alive. Pue always was kind of queer. He ran away from me when he was a boy, because he wouldn't work on the farm. But he's done better, so I reckon he was right {takes up the dish of turnij^s). Lord, not done yet I {Exit L. U. E. Enter Daisy, Alan and a Notary li. D. F. Dai. She was here a minute ago. Al. The coast seems to be clear. Dai. {calls and runs L . U. E). Mother! Enter Hannah. Han. (from luithout). What do you want .'* Dai. Two gentlemen here as wants to see you. Han. {L. U. E.) Daisy, you go out in the kitchen IN THE OZARKS. 279 and finish them turnips. Our help from the city has taken to the woods with your brother. Dai. Is Pue here, mother? Han. No, he isn't; at least wise, he don't want to be. So better keep your mouth shut. {Exit Daisy L. U. E. Al. Mrs. Phelps, this is Mr. Blank, a notary who is to witness the C9nveyance of the land. Have you the deed, Mr. Blank? (^Notary hands the deed to Al.) All you have to do is to sign your name here on this line. (^Takes fountain pen from his pocket.) Here's a pen. {Motions to the place for the signature ayid gives her the pen.) Han. (calls). Daisy! Run upstairs to Pue's room and get me the ink bottle. AL There's ink on the pen. Han. (calls). Never mind, Daisy; you needn't (examining pen). That a pretty good pen. Keeps the ink bottle from spilling all over the table. Al. Right here, madam. Han. (to Notary). Right here? Al. Yes, right here. 280 ' IN THE OZARKS. Han. Hadn't I better read it first? Al. Certainly. Han. It will take me half a day to read all this. Sign here ? Al. Yes. Han. {hesitates, then determinedly). Gentlemen, I think ril let my son Pue read it. If it suits him, I'll sign it (folds the deed). Al. Just as you please, madam. This gentleman is a sworn olficer of the law, under bond to the State. He is a notary public, appointed b}'' the governor for just such business as this. It's a three hour drive to the station {looks at his watch), and unless we can get through quickly, we shall be obliged to lie over until to-morrow. Not. Madam, this instrument merel}" sets forth in legal phrase that you convey to Mr. Trusten Keene forty acres of land for a consideration of twelve and a half dollars an acre ; total, 500 dollars. According to the description the laud lies just west of the strip on which this house stands, and extends from the road down to the Pebble river. Han. {to Al.). Trusten Keene ; is that your name? Al. No, madam, I am buying for a friend. Here is the money ; ten fifty-dollar bills {lays the money on the table). Han. {handing the money to the Notary). Forty times twelve and a half, does that make five hundred ? Not. Yes, ma'am. IN THE OZAKKS. 281 Han. (^counts the bills). There's tern of them. It's a big piece of land for such a little pile of money. AL The bills are large, madam. Han. Any larger than the regular fifty-dollar bills ? Al. (laughs). No. Han. (to Notary). You count them. Not. (counts the money and returns it to Han.). Five hundred dollars. Han. All good money ? Not. All good money. Han. (takes the peniuhich Al. offei's, is about to ivrite, then lays down the pen). Before I sign this, I want to know just one thing more. Why does Mr. Keene want to pay me twelve and a half dollars an acre for a strip of rocky land, without a single stick of good timber on it, when an expert testimony told me only an hour ago, that it ain't worth more than two dollars an acre? Can you answer that? Al. Well, Mrs. Phelps, I don't know, that it is any of your business. If you are willing to sell, and we are willing to buy, that's all there is to it. Perhaps we have discovered a gold mine on it. Han. Such things have happened before. But you are on a cold scent if you're hunting for gold. Pue has inspected every acre of land we own, and where he didn't find gold, such as you can't even find dirt. Al. Well, there's no secret about it, Mrs. Phelps. Mr. Keene is a wealthy gentleman, who comes here to fish and shoot ; he intends to build a sort of permanent camp here. 282 IN THE OZARKS. Han. {signs the jiaper and pushes it over to Al.). There's your land. AL Thank you, madam Q^uts the deed in his pocket) . To be honest with you, Mrs. Phelps, I am entirely of your opinion ; Mr. Keene is payinof too much for this land. A smart man would have got it for less thun five thousand dollars. Han. Five hundred, you mean. Al. Yes, of course, five hundred. Good morning. (Exeunt Al. and Not. E. D. F. Han. (sits on the bench, counts the money once more and p)laces it in the bosom of her dress. Reflectively). The best offer Pue ever got for his land was six dollars, and here I've sold half of mine for twelve and a half, and the barrenest piece in the whole tract, too. When Pue hears of this, he'll say, mother, I believe I inherited all my smartness from you. That's what he alwaj^s says, when I show m}" good sense. But the first man's going to see this money is Mr. Plenty. (Contempt- uously) Two dollars an acre. (Calls) Daisy! (No answer.) Then I'll send Abe to find him. (Calls 1 U. E.) Abe, Abe! Enter Felix R. D. F. the telegram in his hand. Fel. Mrs. Hannah, I'm looking for Jessamine. Here's a telegram. Have you seen her? Han. Oh, yes. Fel. Where did she go ? Han. She is admiring the landscape with — (catches herself). IN THE OZARKS. 283 Fel. With whom? Han. With a gentleman. Fel. I did not know you had any out here? Han. Oh, yes; got one; one besides you. Say, did you meet two men as you were coming in? Fel. No, ma'am. Only saw Abe and Daisy sitting on the ^toop at the kitchen. Han. Mr. Plenty, is this good money? Fel. (^examines the bills and exhibits alarm). Where did you get it? Han. That's not the question. I want to know if its good money? Fel. Yes, it's good money. Han. Give it to me {restores the money to the bosom of her dress). Fel. How in the world did ten fifty dollar bills ever stray into this neck of the woods ? The biggest I ever saw around here was a silver dollar. Han. {arms akimbo, with aii air of superiority). You think you're smart, don't you? I've heard Pue tell, you had as many millions as I've got cats ; but if you'd take me to a big city where there's any money around, I'd bet, this old woman would beat you yet! Fel. I am afraid, Mrs. Hannah, that you have done something stupid. Han. If selling two dollar land at twelve dollars and a half is stupid, I'd like to know what you call smart? Fel. Why, you stupid old woman, don't you know that the house alone, without the land, is worth twice as much as you got there? The trouble is, you never saw 284 IN THE OZARKS. a fifty dollar bill before, and the sight of ten of them set you crazy. Han. Go slow, Mr. Plenty, go slow. I didn't sell him no house. Fel. Doesn't the house go with the land.^ Han. No. Fel. Going to move it? JIan. Ain't going to move it either. The house stays ri^ht where it stands. What I sold, was the forty acres longside, which vou said wasn't worth two dollars, and which I sold for twelve and a half to Mr. Kecne. Fel. Mr. Keene? Han. Sold them to Mr. Trusten Kecne. Fel. Was he here ? Han. No, he couldn't come hissclf, so he sent a friend to buy in his name. Trusten Kcene is the name what appears in the — insterment ; yes, that's what he called it, insterment. Fel. What kind of a looking man was his friend? Han. Kind'cr nice looking, with a big ring on his finger. Fel. Alan! Well, there's no use talking about it any further. Next time you sell any land, consult your son, or some other male friend before you close the deal. Ha7i. I shall do nothing of the kind. If I had told you about it this morning, you would have said, Mrs. Hannah, let me attend to this business for you. You'd turned the money over to me and said, the land's worth only two dollars, but I'm so all-fired smart, that I sold it for you for twelve and a half. That's what you would have IN THE OZARKS. 285 done, Mr. Plenty. No, sir ; when Hannah Phelps has the ingernuity to turn a penny, she doesn't only want the money, but she wants the credit for her smartness, too. Ftl. {aside). Trusten must have been a little off, when he told me he had all the land. How could he have overlooked this most necessary tract of all. Well, we've got it now. I wonder how much Trusten paid Alan for it. I'll just keep quiet and let them fight it out. {Aloud) Where is your son ? Han. He's been around here all morning. No, no, no, that's a mistake ; he told me, he Vv^asn't here at all. I don't know anything about him. Fel. How does he look? Han. With two eyes, Mr. Plenty. Fel. Isn't it odd, that I should never have seen your son in all my life ? Han. But isn't it odder, that I should never have seen my son in all my life, either? If you want him, you'll have to find him. I'll not show him to you. Fel. As long as geese have any feathers, they will be plucked. Han. What are you snarling at? Fel. At your ''ingernuity," Mrs. Hannah. Solomon in all his wisdom, was a blockhead compared to Hannah Phelps. (Exit Felix E. D. F. Han. {looking after him). The old fellow is getting jealous of Hannah Phelps ; thinks he's the only one's got a right to make money. I wonder if Pue's the same way? 286 IN THE OZARKS. Enter Trusten L. U, E. (unlocks his desk, and dur- ing the next j^cissages, takes the bandage from his pocket, folds it carefully, and after sealing it in an envelope, locks it in a small compartment of his desk). Han. Mr. Plenty is looking for you. Tru. I can't see him now ; I am very busy. In fact I must have this room all to myself for awhile. Han. Pue, I want to ask you something. Tru. (locks his desk). Not now, mother dear; I have no time {kisses her). There, now, go into the kitchen. Han. I'd like to know — Tru. You can ask me this afternoon, or this evening, and then I'll tell you all about it (^gently urges her out). Han. But it's burning me — (Exit Han. L. U. E. Tru. This is the day and the hour. I've gone over the papers again ; every inch of the land is ours. He got my thousand dollars three days ago, and may be in Can- ada or Mexico before now. He'll never come for the other four. He simply played me for a thousand. But what of it? (Looks out of the windoio.) I'd give fifty thousand to have him gone for good. (Quickly draios the shades and curtains, and locks all the doors.) (Some one knocks R. D. F.) Come in ! ( Unlocks the door.) Enter Alan R. D. F. Tru. I thought you had forgotten all about our little deal (locks the door). Al. Oh, no. I couldn't afford that. This is the 23d, is it not? IN THE OZARKS. 287 Tru. Yes. Have a seat. Al. Thanks {sits). Tru. {sits). Have you the deed? AL {takes the deed from his j^ocket). Oh, yes. Tru. {extends his hand). Let me see it. Al. {places the deed on the table., and puts his hand on it). Have you the money? Tru. Here it is {places a package of bills on the table and puts his hand on it), Al. You don't seem to trust me. Tru. Nor you, me. Al. {throivs him the deed). Take it {reaches for the money). Tru. Hands off ! ( Opens the paper, and luhen he sees the name of his mother, he controls himself with diffi- culty. Rises.) Hannah Phelps ! Al. {rises). Is the money mine? Tru. { Throws the package of bills to Alan's side of the table, and occupies himself reading the deed.) Al. {puts the money in his inside coat pocket). I'll take your word for the count. It's not the money alone I'm after. Uncle Felix is divorcing me from my wife, and that cuts me off from his fortune. I've put him in 288 IN THE OZARKS. your power. You can make him poor, or force him to give you his girl. That's my revenge. Now let me out. Tru. The sum here mentioned is five hundred dollars. I gave you five thousand. Al. Five thousand. Tru. That's a good day's work, Mr. Idle. Al. Trustcn, I want to get out of here. The old woman — Tru. {severely). Mrs. Phelps, if you please. Al. She'll do nothing quicker than tell her boy about the fine trade she mide, and then it wouldn't be good for my health to meet Mr. Pulaski Phelps. Tru. Pulaski Phelps shall do you no harm. Al. (^growing uneasy at Trusten's formal manner). I wish to leave. If you don't unlock the door, I'll go through the window {advaiices toward the icindoio). Tru. {stops him). One moment. You stand right there. {Leads hfm to the i2. , unlocks the door to the kitchen and calls.) Mother! Al. {frightened). Mother! {Takes a revolver from his hip pockety and puts it into Jiis side coat pocket.) Enter Hannah L. U. E. Ilan. {ivithoiit), I'm coming. Al. I did not know that, Trusten ; I swear to God, I didn't. Tru. Mother, how much land did you sell this gentle- man.'* Ilan. {gleefully). Lord, he knows it already. IN THE OZAEKS. 289 Tru. How much land did you sell him ? Han. (^firmly). I sold him the forty acres 'longside, aiid he gave me five hundred for it. Here's the money. Tru. Forly acres in all? You didn't sell him the other forty ? Han. No. Tru. Th it's good (^aside, looking at the deed). If he had bought the other forty also, I'd have to buy it now by the foot instead of the acre. (^Aloud). How many times did you sign your name? Han. Only once. Tru. This is the paper you signed? Han. Yes. Tra. You are positive this is all. Han. Yes. (Tru. examines the conveyance.) Han. I suppose the young feller is sick of his bargain. If he'd a asked Mr. Plenty, he could have found out it was only worth two dollars. But a bargain's a bargain. The money is mine, and the land is his'n. I mean what I say, Pue, and I'll not give the money back, though you stand on your head for it. Tru. {still reading). I've just bought the land, mother. It's mine now. Five thousand dollars. Han. Five thousand dollars ! You crazy fool ! Why didn't you ask me? I'd a given it to you for nothing. Here! Here! {urges her money on Tiiu.) Make him give your money back, Pue. Five hundred is all it's worth. Here! here! Make him give it to you back; make him give il to you back ! 19 290 IN THE OZARKS. Al. A bargain's a bargain, Mrs. Phelps. You said so yourself. Han. Make him give it to you back ! (Tru. crosses to desk.) AL If he does, he'll have to run faster than I can. {Moves rcqndly t02oard kitchen.) {Exit L. U. E. Han. What have I done, what have I done! Tru. There, mother {kisses her). Say no more about it. It was my fault more than yours {throws aside cur- tains a7id unlocks door R. D. F.). This has taught me a lesson which is worth as much as I paid for it. Come, now ; get your dinner ready ; our guests will shortly return. Ha7i, Oh, the villain ! {Exit Hannah, weeping^ L. U. E. (Trustkn sits down at his desk in silence. He is dis- turbed in his reverie by a knock at the door, R. D. F. Tru. {indifferently). Come! Enter Jessamine R. D. F., Trusten's flowers in her bosom. Appears alarmed. Jes. I'm so frightened, I thought I saw him here. Trie. He was here a moment ago. Jes. If he hears of It, he'll return. Tru. No, 1 think not. He's got five thousand dollars in his pocket. Jes. {incensed, aside. ) So, that is the way it was done. They paid him money to let my suit go by default. {Aloud) Did you give him the money? Tru. I did. IN THE OZARKS. 291 Jes. What right had you to do that? Tru. Your uncle instructed me to buy him off. If he had not sold for five, I would have paid him ten. My instructions were to buy him off as cheap as I could. Jes. Cheap or not cheap, my uncle has no right to make me a chattel for buy or sell. I did not wish to obtain my liberty by bribe or blackmail. My course is righteous and requires no underhanded means. Five thousand dollars. So that's my price (^sarcastic). Well, I'm glad my uncle thinks so much of me. Tru. You are making me your confidant. Jes. Not I, but my uncle. Tru. How so? Jes. Did he not show you this telegram ? Tru. (^extending his hand for the telegram). No! Jes. {alarmed). Then — why — the — money? Tru. The money I gave him was for a strip of land. Jes. (^stares at Trusten chagrined and agitated). Tru. (^drops on his knees beside her). Pardon me, pardon me, for what I have done. I had no right to let you speak ; but every syllable pertaining to your freedom sent such thrills of joy to my heart, that I could not desist from letting you speak, what I had no right to hear. Jes. Mr. Keene! Tru. Stay, stay, until I have told you all {seizes her hand). I know it is sinful in a man to speak thus to a woman who is the wife of another. Through blunder and blindness you are linked to him, but I know, I see, I feel, that by every law of God and nature, you are mine 292 IN THE OZARKS. (Jes. tries to release herself). You were born for me, Jessamine, and mine you shall be, though all the race of man should try to wrest you from me. Jes. Mr. Kcene, are you mad? Tru. Mr. Keene, no longer. To you the truth — Jes, Stop! (after a pa^cse) Your name is — Tru. Pulaski Phelps ! Jes. O! {liaises her hands towards him in amazement then shrinks from him, and turns with bowed head.) CURTAIN. IN THE OZAKKS. 293 ACT III. SCENE. — Piazza, and grounds of Hannah Phelps' HOUSE, piazza on THE LEFT. In THE BACKGROUND, A GLIMPSE OF THE RIVER. On THE RIGHT A LARGE BOULDER PROJECTS FROM THE RISING GROUND. ThE FULL MOON IS VISIBLE THROUGH THE TREES IN THE RIGHT BACKGROUND. A RIDGE OF HILLS IN THE DISTANCE. As THE ACT PRO- CEEDS, THE WATER RISES, AND THE MOON, THEN SUFFI- CIENTLY HIGH, ILLUMINES THE LAKE, CLEARLY BRINGING INTO VIEW, ISLANDS, BAYS, PROMONTORIES, ETC. Beide, and Jessamine vjith Trusten's ypJlow flowers in her hair seated on the trunk of a tree^ B. Enter Lily and Arch, from the house, L. 2 E. Bei. Coming out to drink a little moonlight, eh ! Well, if you don't learn to hold each other's hand on a night like this, you never will. Lit. Professor, I thought your lady-loves were all be- tween the covers of your books. Bei. (rises). Yes, I suppose you and Archie imagine, that you are the first to discover the art of love-making. I tell you, Lil, when I was about Archie's age, I was con- 294 IN THE OZARKS. sidered quite a dashing fellow. (Takes her hand) I can remember having kissed a hand as white and slender as this. Lil. Come with us, Jes. We are going to the top of the bluff to watch the moon. Jes. (seated). I can see from here. Lil. Won't 3'ou really go? Jes, Do you really wish me to go? LiL and Arc. Why, certainly we do. Bei. {again seated by the side of Jes.). Don't you see she's ensaged? Jes. You proceed ; I may join you later. Bei. If 3^ou need a chaperone, why don't you call Mrs. Hannah? LiL Unless the Professor moves half a yard to the left, I shall call Mrs. Hannah to protect Jes. Good-bye! {Exeunt Lil. and Arc. R. U. E. Jes. Has anybody seen Mr. Phelps to-day? Bei. {regards Jes. curiously). I am going down the road now to look for him. Come with me. Jes. No, I must see uncle Felix. Good-bye. (Jes. at R. I. E. Beide at Z. U. E.) Professor, if you do not find Mr. Phelps and wish to see him real badly, ask Mr. Keene. Bei. So. {Exit Beide L. U. E. Jes. Why should I grieve longer? The law has set me free. {She holds a telegram in her hand.) Have I been a slave of misery so long, that I dare not look felicity in the face? No! My past life shall be as the past, dead and forgotten. {Exit R. 1 E. IN THE OZARKS. 295 Enter Abe and Daisy from the house L. U. E. (Abe sits on the trunk of the tree R. 2 E. smoking a pipe. Daisy on the stoop of the piazza, meyiding a min- now seine. Utensils, such as the dish-pan, the cheese bag, etc, seen in Act II may he displayed on the piazza and the ivindow sill, to show that this is the exit from the kitchen in Act II.) Abe, Been down in the big dam, these days, Daisy? Dai. No. Abe. It's built up solid. All the water in the river has got to run through a couple of holes in the dam, no big- ger'n a railroad tunnel. Dai. This river ain't much for water nohow. You ought to see the Missouri. Abe. Pebble river will never crawl though them there holes when the winter rains come down the mountains. Dai. Why don't you tell Pue about it? Abe. I told him long ago. I told him when they first began buildin', that a bridge would be a good sight safer for a railroad than a dam with a couple of holes in it. Dai. What did Pue say ? Abe. He said, railroading and turkey prowling was two different things. Dai. Pue thinks he's awful smart. Abe. Well, 1 quess he is, Daisy. Leastwise all the people says so. But all the same, if them there holes ever gits stopped up with a lot of ties and drift-wood there'll be a good many drowned rabbits in the bottoms. Dai. There, I guess that will do (throws him the 296 IN THE OZAKKS. minnow seine). It's not as even as it might be, but it's the best I can do by moonlight. Abe, Much obliged, Daisy. It's not so perticilar as broidering slippers. Dai. How do you know I'm broidering slippers? Abe. Cause I seen you more than once, through the window. Dai. Well, they're not for you, I can tell you that. Abe. Yes, they are ; I can tell by the size. Dai. Say, Abe, you've got to fight again. Abe. Fight? Who's a itchin' for it now? Dai. You know that city nigger what Mr. Plenty brinsjs along? Abe. I'm stuck on that necktie of his'n. Dai. So am I. Now listen. He's been teasing me about you all d.iy. He 'lows you might be tollable strong, but he says you haven't been trained, and got no science. Abe. I never fit with a nigger. I've heard tell, they've got awful hard heads. Dai. But they're weak in the shins. Abe. Can't hit a man below the belt, Daisy. Dai. Well, it's too late now. You've got to lick him. I bet him a turkey against his red necktie, that you could lay him out with one hand, and he took me up. You can't go back on me, Abe. Abe. When's he want to fight? Dai. First time he sees you. (Abe knocks the ashes out of his pipe and goes towards house. ) IN THE OZARKS. 297 Dai. Where are you going? Abe, To look for the nigger. Dai. And I'll call the city folks ; they can watch you from the piazza. {Exit Abe into house L. 2 E. Enter Trusten, L. U. E. Tru. (^points to Abe). Who was that? Dai. Abe. Tru. You've had about enough of Abe for one day. Better go to bed now. Dai. {goes towards the house and turns at door). It I were in your place, I'd treat my little sister mighty nice ; specially when she knows something. {Exit L. 2 E. into house. Tru. {following to door). Daisy! Dai. {from ivithout). Never mind; it's all right. Enter Alan R. U. E. Al. I'll wait here till she comes again. Well, I'm forty-five hundred ahead, and I'll get my revenge besides {peers about ^ and looks in at loindoio). Tru. Who are 3^ou looking for? Al. {retreating). Not you ; I'm on to you. You stood in with the old man and steered me up against a cold deck. But I've got another string to your lake. Tru. Take care, that the end with the noose does not get around your neck. Al. You've got all the land now, sure enough, but you have'nt got the lake, not yet. Here's my forty- five hun- 298 IN THE OZABKS. dred. I'm going to move my address. If you want me, write to Paris, France. Tru. Don't be in a hurry, Alan; the law can't touch you. Unless you are a coward, you'll stay here until I can give you a thrashing (^advances), Al. (jetreating). Not to-day ; some other day. {Exit Alan L. U. E. Al. {fro7n luithout). Your lake's in the hole! Trie. Idiot! {ExitTnmTEV U. 1 E. Enter Daisy from the houses Alan L, U. E. Al, {softly). Sis! Hello, Sis! Dai. My name's Daisy. Al. Where's Abe, Daisy? Dai. I'm looking for him myself. Al. I want him to take me down to the station in a boat. Dai. Abe ain't here now. And if he was, he couldn't take you. He's got to fight. Why don't you go by the road ? Al. I've tried that and lost my way. Crossing the valley, my horse got into the water up to the stirrips, and I had to return. Day. {sits 07i the fallen tree). What are you giving me.'* There ain't been any water in the valley since the big overflow two years ago last December. There is no train now, anyhow; you'll have to wait till to-morrow. Al. There's a freight at midnight. Dai. It's a through, and don't stop. Al. I must go, Daisy; I've got to. Can't you take me? I'll give you ten dollars if you do. IN THE OZARKS. 299 Dai. You must be having some mighty good reason for wanting to get away. Al. I have. I had some trouble with your brother, this morning, and by the look he gave me, I know he will kill me if he finds me here. Dai. If Pue wants to kill you, maybe you ought to be killed. What's it about? Al. I've no time to tell you, Daisy. Help me to find a boat, and show me the way. Here's ten dollars. Dai. I don't want your ten dollars. If I take you at all, I'll take you for nothing. But what does Pue want to kill you for? If you're too mean to tell me, I'll just be mean enough not to take you. Al. (aside). Now heaven inspire me with some plausible lie. Dai. Not as I am inquisitive ; if you don't want to tell me, you can leave it alone. Al. It's all about a girl, Daisy; a girl in the city. Pue and I are both in love with her, and because she likes me better than him, he's jealous and wants to kill me. Dai. That's too thin. If my brother, Pue, and you were sitting up to the same girl, you'd have no show; he'd get her every time. Al. Girls are mighty queer about those things. Dai. But they're not so crazy as that. Al. {frightened). I hear him coming. Dai. Come along then. I don't want nobody killed. ( Exeunt R. U. E. 300 IN THE OZAEKS. Enter Trusten and Beide R. 1 E. Bei. Well, Trusten, what do you think of it? Tru. I have given my engineer the final orders. There's nothing more to be done than wait, wait {throws himself carelessly on the stoop). Bei. You are gloomy, Trusten. A man in your place should be fairly drunk with joy. Tru. I am tired, Professor, that is all. My horse and I have traveled twenty miles since I saw you. Bei. Don't try to deceive me. Something troubles you. Tru. {walks restlessly up and down) Nothing, nothing, Professor. I wish it were to-morrow. Bei. And wh}' to-morrow? Tru. A strange foreboding weighs heavily uponnie; I can hardl}' breathe. Tlie stillness of the forest frights me. My thoughts flutter like the birds of the wood before a storm. I have never hesitated, never doubted, never dreamed of anything but success, and yet — I can hardly breathe. The air stifles me. Do you not feel it, too? Bei. {looks toivard the ivater with a pair of field glasses). I think it is one of the finest nights I ever saw. Not a leaf stirring, and the moon shines, as If it had been polished for the occasion. {The waters begin to rise.) Tru. An ominous calm, Professor. My nerves quake in anticipation of some dread event. As I galloped IN THE OZARKS. 301 through the forest, methinks I saw the genii of the wood streaming from the inundated valleys up into the hills. When they spied nae, they shouted with a myriad voices : " There he goes, there he goes, the spoiler of our homes. Kill him, kill him, drown him in his own sinful flood! " They tugged and pulled and tried to drag me out of the saddle, and then a woman's voice cried "Give him to me! '' Bei. By George, Trusten, I think I can see the waters spreading already. Here, look at it {offers Mm the glass). Tru. (pays no attention to the water). Plenty had a telegram from the city. What was it? Bei, I don't know. Perhaps in reference to Jessie's suit for divorce. Tru. Has the suit been filed ? Bei. Yes. Tru. Will Alan let it go by default? Bei. He can't help himself. Tru. Suppose he replies and makes defense? Bei. He can't. Tru. But if he does? Bei. Then I will take the stand and tell them truths. I will rehearse a series of offenses, witnessed by my own eyes, which will make that wretch, Alan, jubilate if he escapes with his life. I have lived in the house since she was married, and have witnessed deeds of shame and villainy that would set an icicle on fire. Neglect, humilia- tion, profanity, violence — Tru. Violence? 302 IN THE OZARKS. Bei. Violence; physical, bodily violence. I came upon them once, when he had choked her into a swoon, and was wrenching the rings from her fingers. I myself helped her to her room, and washed the blood from her lacerated hand. Tru. {with great effort at self-control). I beg of you, Professor, let me alone. I must think. Bei, Since which occurrence, they have been married in name only. Tru. How long is that? Bei. Six weeks after the wedding. Tru. Five years! {Down R.) Great God! Bei. Here comes Uncle Felix. {Exit Trusten, L. U. E. Enter Felix /rom the house L. 2 E. Fel. {crosses R.). Nobody here? Enter Lily, Arc. folloiving R. U. E. Lil. Keep away from me ; don't touch me. I am done with you forever (0. ). Fel. Come here, my child. Lil. O Uncle Felix, I am so unhappy {Jlings herself in Felix' arms). Fel. {carressing her). There, there. {To Arc.) What have you done to my child? Arc. {on porch tapi^ing his shoe with a switch). Nothing, Mr. Plenty. I assure you that I am not responsible for this burst of temper. Lil. {turns to Arc. ivith snapping eyes). I am glad I IN THE OZARKS. 303 found you out in time, Mr. Upper. Burst of temper! You've got a burst of temper. He is trying to tyrannize me already, uncle, and wants to lay down rules for my conduct. Arc. My aunt is an authority on good form, and she holds that when a girl is betrothed, she ought no longer accept attentions from other men. Lil. And when I consented to meet him half way, he's as stubborn as a mule, and won't budge an inch. I am willing to give up two out of my four engagements, but I am not going to give up the opera with Mr. Wagner, nor the races with Mr. Derby. Bei. It appears, Archie, that you are beginning rather early. Arc. The standing of our family, Professor, demands that the woman to whom I am aflBanced be punctilious in observance of accepted usage. My aunt opines, that from the moment a woman is promised in marriage, she should be dead to the rest of the world. Lil. {with spirit). I could name you a dozen young ladies, who would give their little fingers to get the invitations which you want me to regret. But, that's not the worst of it, uncle. He flatly told me that he would not permit — permit, that's the very word you used, Mr. Upper — that he would not permit me to go to Europe with you next summer, to buy my wedding trousseau. {To Arc). Do you suppose I am going to buy my trousseau at the Blue Front Bargain Store down at the station, where this morning I couldn't find a lilac ribbon to match my hat? Yes, you'll see me walking up 304 IN THE OZARKS. the church-aisle {imlks) looking like a fright, and all the best people of the city crowded in the pews and poking fun at mc. Fel. Don't worry, Lil. I'll attend to tUe wedding: you shall have everything that money can buy. Lil. I knew you would think as I do. You dear old uncle. And you'll take me to Paris once more to get my trousseau, won't you? Bei. By your leave, 1 would suggest, that the young people take another walk up the hill. Perhaps, they will now be better able to formulate a treaty. Arc. I am not captious, Professor, but m}^ aunt holds, that young people engaged to be married, should come to an understanding in regard to these matrimonial preliminaries right in the beginning. My aunt — Fel. She isn't going to marry your aunt. Lil. Nor him either, if he persists incessantly to quote Jiis anti-antiquarian aunt. Arc. {rising). Miss Lily, I must beg of you to speak of my aunt only in terms of respect. Bei. 1 advise you both not to speak of her at all. Fel. My child shall have a wedding like a princess, Mr. Upper. Arc. (to Beide). I do not propose that our ancient family shall be entirely ruled and overrun by Ihe erratic whims of newly-gotten wealth. Fel. If that remark is intended for me, sir — Arc. I am addressing the Professor, whose wisdom enables him to look on both sides of a question. No one appreciates the necessity of money more than I do, IN THE OZARKS. 305 and I'll freely confess, that I would not marry a poor girl were she as wise as Pallas and as beautiful as Helen. But money is not everything in this world. There are some things, that cannot be bought or sold, and among the&e, are the unwritten laws of propriety and tact, which every gentleman and every gentlewoman intuitively feels without being told. Bei. He who has no money in his purse, should have honey in his mouth. Arc. Money is not everything, Professor. Fel. Right you are, my boy, money is not everything ; and I truly envy your noble ancestor, who gave up his life to free our country from the yoke of England a hundred years ago. Yes, I would gladly exchange my millions for the privilege of having been shot by the British redcoats at Lexington bridge, like your great- grandfather. But what has that to do with you? You did not die there any more than I did. All your greatness lies yet before you, still to be achieved. And as to the age of your family tree, Mr. Mayflower, your pedigree dates back precisely as far as mine, or my niggers ; for according to Scriptures we all sprang from Adam. Lil. {goes from Fel. to Arc. lolio appears deeply offended). Don't answer him, Archie. I'll give up the opera, unless you take me ; but you must let me go to the races with Mr. Derby just to spite the other girls. Do, let me, please. (Arc. kisses Lily). Lil. (^gleefully). And, uncle, while you are speaking 20 306 IN THE OZARKS. of money, Archie has a little book he wishes to show you. Show it to him, Archie. (Aug. exhibits signs of displeasure.) (LiL. takes a memoranduyn book out of Archie's pocket.) (Arc. takes the book from Lil.) Fel. Let me see it. Arc. (^the book in his hand). On the night I asked your consent to marry your niece, you gave me a lot of good advice. Fel. Yes, sir ; good advice. Arc. And interlarded the same with a promise to give me ten dollars for every one I saved. Fel. Yes, sir. Arc. If you have no objection to let the agreement operate ex post facto from the beginning of the present year — Fel. Young man, you are not as stupid as you — Arc. The ins[)iration comes from her, Mr. Plenty. Lil. It's no more than fair, uncle, for Archie and I have been engaged for over a year (C). Fel. So ! And 1 hear of it only two weeks ago. Give me the book. (Lil. takes the book from Arc. and hands it to Fel.) Arc. The book contains memoranda of my income and expenses. Fel. According to which you have saved a trifle over one hundred dollars. Lil. {looking into the book from behind him). One hundred and six dollars and twenty cents, uncle. IN THE OZARKS. 307 Fel. The book is complete and correct? Arc. Yes, sir. Fel. And you have no debts ? Arc. No, sir. Fel. (^examines the book and reads). " Flowers, thea- ter, carriage, tailor, supper." Hem! Next year it will be rent, coal, doctor, nurse, baby-carriage. Enter Abe, George, Hannah, L. U. E. Han. You can't do no fighting here. Fel. Who's going to fight? Han. Abe and your nigger. Fel. What are the stakes? Han. Abe's betting a wild turkey against the nigger's red neck- tie. Fel. Well, that's worth while. Han. You ain't going to fight here. Abe. I won't hurt him much. Fel. Let 'em fight, Mrs. Hannah; they'll not kill each other. Arciiie, you act as referee. Lit. Go ahead, Archie ; I'll stand on the piazza with Mrs. Phelps. I've always been dying to see a real prize- fight. Fel. George, you've got your nerve with you. Arc. Queensbury or London ? Abe. Anyway, till one of us is knocked down or hol- lers enough. Arc. {to Geo.). You stand over here. (To Abe) and you here. — Time! (George and Abe spar for aiohile. Geo. is imable to 308 IN THE OZARKS. reach Abe, who hits Geo. repeatedly on the head without result), Bei. No use hitting him on the head. Han. Kick him in the shins, Abe. (After further sparrijig, Geo. runs at Abe anc? butts him in the stomach; Abe falls.) Abe. Enough. Geo. I've been trying to think of that the last five minutes. Fel. {coming up). Foul. Geo. Judgment! Ha7i. {on porch). That ain't fair, that ain't fair. Arc. (stepping between). George wins! Abe said everything goes, and he went. Abe. (rising). I did not know I was going up against a goat. Geo. (ont of breath). Where's my turkey? Abe. He's roosting in the woods yet, but you'll get him before sunrise, as sure as I can pull a trigger. Geo. If it's all the same to you, Abe, get me a possum. (A scream is heard.) Abe. That's Daisy. (Exeunt all but Lil. R. U. E. Hannah throtus aside a large shawl. Enter Trusten L. U. E. Tru. What's the trouble? Lil. O, Mr. Keene, I'm so glad you came. I believe somebody has been drowned. IN THE OZARKS. 309 Tru. Drowned? Who? Lil. We heard a noise from down there; just as if someone had fallen into the river, and then a scream. Abe said it was Daisy, and they all rushed off. Tru. If it was Daisy, don't fear. She'll not drown. She has swam the river with me more than once when it was bankfull. But it may have been some one else. (A noise of crackling branches is heard.) Tru, Who's there? Dai. {from without). It's me ! Lil. Thank the Lord, she is safe. Tru. {to Dai.). What's the matter with you? Enter Daisy, R. U. E, Dai. {hurrying towards the house). I'm wet. Lil. Here! {Throws the shawl, large enough to cover her completely, about Daisy's shoulders.) Dai. Ugh ! but the water is cold. Tru. What has happened ? Dai. {sits on the stoop and takes oj her muddy shoes) Give me a chance to catch my breath. When ma comes, Pue, tell her I'm all right. {Exit Daisy into the house L. 2 E Lil. I hope she'll not catch cold. {Trij . takes the glasses andlooks at the lake.) What did she call you, Mr. Keene? Tru. Pue. LiL Pue? What a funny name. Tru. It isn'tas pretty as Lily or — Jessamine. Lil. Is it a nickname, or what they call an alias? Tru. Neither. If you wish to see something, take 310 IN THE OZARKS. theso glasses and get up on the boulder. Look over there. {Gives her the glasses.) Lil. Thank you, Mr. , may I call you Pue, for short, too? Tru. If you do, I shall call 3^ou Lil. -Bnier Felix, Beide, Archie, Hannah, II. U.E. Han. Is she here? (^Calls) Daisy! Ti'u. She's all right. She went in to put on some dry clothes. Enter Daisy from the house. JSits on the stoop to tie her shoes. Hannah opens her hair to let it dry. Fel. You gave us a bad fright, Daisy. Abe and George just got through with their fight. Dai. Who won? Fel. George. Dai. I don't believe it; you're fooling. Fel. George is a scientific pug, he fights with his head. Han. How did you come to fall in the river? Dai. I didn't fall in the river. There was a man come along here and said he had to go to the station rjo^ht away quick. I told him there was no train till to- morrow, and he said, he would flag the midniglit freight. He meant what he said, for he offered me ten dollars to take him. Tru. Did he tell you why ? Dai. Said you would kill him if you caught him here. Tru. What's his name? IN THE OZARKS. 311 Dai. Don't know. He's been round here all day. Fel. Heigh, Trusten ! Don't bullyrag that young lady, if you please. You're not her elder brother. Tru, What has become of him? Dai. Give me a chance. To cut it short, we got in the boat, and I pulled about a hundred yards down stream, when I saw there was something wrong with the river, for you can believe me or not, it's a running up hill. If you don't believe I'm telling you the truth you can go down to the landing, and look at it yourself. Tru. Never mind, go on. Dai. It's no use, says I to him, we can't make it. Says he, we've got to go, and then he offered me a hun- dred dollars. I pulled with all my might but I couldn't get no headway to save my life. He was awful excited and I was getting afraid of him. I'd given a good deal to be on shore again, I can tell you. But Daisy Phelps ain't no fool. Says I to him, we'll cross over and go down on the other bank. I couldn't have pulled across that river any more than fly ; but he didn't know that. So I turns the boat round and pulls right back to where we started. I knew what he would do as soon as he found out what I was after, and so I hugged close to the bank. When he saw we were near the landing again, he jumped at me and tried to take the oars away from me. That made me mad, and I wouldn't let him. When he found out he wasn't strong enough to get the oars, he struck at me, and then the boat upset. Lil. Heavens ! Dai. I swam to some willows and crawled out. It 312 IN THE OZARKS. wasn't more than ten yards, but I tell you, swimming with skirts and shoes, isn't as easy as swimming without them. I am glad I got out. Tru. And where is he? Dai. If he can't swim, I guess he's drowned. Abe's gone to look for him. Come along. I'll show you the place. {Exeunt all but Tru. R. U. E. Enter Jes. R. 1 E.^ Trusten's Jioioers in her hair. Jes. Mr. Keene! Tru. Yes. Jes. What a rare night. {Up-) See how the moon ligbts up the crests of yonder hills. It grows as bright as day. Tru. (aside). My flowers in her hair. Patience, pa- tience, Pulaski ; if you lose her now, you lose her forever. (Remains at some distance from Jes.) Jes. (turning toivards Trusten). When did 5'ou close the dam, Mr. Keene? Tru. At sundown. Jes. (cUmbs on the boulder R. and looks towards L.). Tru. (aside). What shall I say to her? I feel that whatever I say will ruin me. Jes. Look over there. See, how the waters have spread ; it was but a slender thread a little while ago (Trdsten looks as she directs, but does not move). 1 can- not understand how you can look on so indifferently while this, your life's great work, is there evolved. How can you stand there idle? If something should go IN THE OZARKS. 313 wrong. {Comes down near Tru.). Why are you not down at the dam? Tru. (^Turns toward her. Emphatically). Because I am here ! Jes. {regards him intently and then drops her eyes. Suddenly). My^ uncle should know of this, and the Professor, and ajl the rest of my people. You told me, we were all to be here, to see the rising flood. I will call them. {Noise as of distant thunder.) Jes. It is thundering. We are going to have a storm. {Runs up on the piazza, then turns.) Come in! Startled). Look, Mr. Keene, look at the water! ( The ivater sloivly subsides. ) Tru. {mounting the boulder). Great God! I felt it would end thus. Jes. What has happened ? Ti'u. The water has forced an underground passage. The lake is lost ! Not a vestige of it will remain. I knew it. I knew it! The elements hate the meddling hand of man. Jes. Can you not mend it ? Is there no hope ? Tru. None, none! Like a rash gamester, I have staked my life's labor on the cast of one die, and here I lose, lose all ! Jes. No, no ; not all ! Tru. Jessamine! {He embraces her.) Jes. {extricating herself). But the lake! Tru. What care I for the lake. The world is full of lakes. It was but a trick, a toy. Let it go back to nature, whence it came. 314 IN THE OZARKS. Jes. But you must go and try to save it. Tru. I would not stir an inch to save a wilderness of lakes I My life, my love, even so to-day, I held you once before. Jes. And now it is I that holds you. 1 am not in my right mind, Pulaski: I know not what I am doing. I am a poor, weak creature, that in a few brief days has be- come as wax in your hands. But you must love me, Pulaski. Tell me, tell me, that you will love me until the end of time ! TnL. {kisses her rapturously). O Jessamine, Jessa- mine ! Jes. You are great and brave and strong ; and your greatness will bo mine, and your power, and your strength, and your courage ! Enter Beide R. U. E. Bel. {starts). Shall I go or stay? Jes. Look at the lake, Professor. Bei. Am I blind? Where is it? {Mounts the boulder.) For God's sake, Pulaski, what has become of it? Tru. Vanished, vanished like a fairy vision in a dream. Bei. And you here, idle? For shame, Pulaski, saddle your horse! Your place is at the dam. I'll guard her until you return. Perhaps it is not a subterranean break ; it may be something else. Go, Pulaski, while there's life, there's hope. Jes. Go, go, Pulaski! If not for your sake, go for mine! IN THE OZARKS. 315 Tru. Farewell! (^a;^i Tru. L. U. E. Jes. That is the way love rides ! Bei. But I pity the horse. Jes. (^mounts the houlder). Oh, for a pair of wings, that I might fly. Bei. Come, now Jess, that's enough. If I had known you were going to play such pranks, I would have tied you hand and foot, and left you at home. Jes. You couldn't have done it, Professor, you couldn't have done it. Bei. {leads her from the boulder). My dear girl, it is time you were coming to your senses. Jes. Did you see how he rides? Like the storm! And his arms, Professor, all oak and iron. I never knew until now what a man is like. And he loves me, Professor, loves me with all his courage and power. He held me in his arms, and I am his, and he is mine, and we are one. Bei. Perhaps it will sober you up, if I remind you, that you have a husband. — Jes. {elated). Spyak not to me of a husband. I have no husband {throws him the telegram). Speak to me only of him ; or if you cannot speak of him, do not speak to me at all I {Exit Jes. L. 2 E. into house. Bei. {picks up telegram and reads). The divorce has been granted. Enter Felix R. U. E. Fel. Look there, look there, Professor I Look, look ! The lake, the lake ; the lake has gone to hell. Bei. So it seems. 316 IN THE OZARKS. Fel. A million, Professor. What will my friends on change say? Huge joke on Felix Plenty. Dropped a million in a blind pool. That rogue, Pulaski Phelps, has made a beggar of me ; stolen every cent I've got. Bei, I'd be right well content with what still remains to you. But the rogue has stolen something. Fel. And you knew it? Bei, Just saw him do it. Fel. Saw what? Bei. Saw him steal your elder niece. Jess and Pulaski Phelps have sworn eternal love. Fel. You'll drive me mad. Where is he? I'd like to lay these hands on him. But he's as slippery as an eel's tail. I've never so much as seen the villain. Bei. Here comes your niece. Enter Jes. from the house L. 2 E. Fel. What's that I hear? The Professor tells me you have met this man Phelps, and want to marry him. Jes. The Professor always tells the truth. Fel. Not if I know it. Not this time. I have hardly drasfo'ed you out of the frying pan, and now you want to jump into the fire. I tell you, Jessamine, if you marry this rogue, Phelps, I'll disown you, I'll disinherit you. Instead of leaving you a million, I'll cut you off with a cent. Bei. Why, Felix, I thought yjur money was all gone? Fel. Speak to me, Jess. Jes. Please, not now, uncle {goes to him). Fel. Don't try to wheedle me. Speak! IN THE OZARKS. 317 Jes. Some other time, uncle. You are too excited, now. There are some men in the kitchen asking for Mr. Phelps. Has he returned, Professor? Fel. No, and he never will. He isn't here, and he wasn't here, and he never will be here, nor anywhere else, either. If this ignis-fatuus ever dares — Jes. {laughing). Oh, he'll dare. {Exit Jes. L. 2 E. Enter Hannah and Daisy E. U. E. Fel. Did you find him ? Han. No, but here's a coat that Abe found in the willows {gives the coat to Felix). Dai. It's his'n. He took it off when he tried to take the oars from me. Bei. Search the pockets. Fel. Whoever it was seems to have been pretty well fixed {takes a package of bills from a pocket). Ail fifties ; brand new from the press. Bei. Is there anything else ? Fel, A letter. For Mr. Phelps. Bei. I'll give it to him. Fel. { Throws the coat to Beide, and viciously tears open the letter.) Bei. That's against the law. Fel. Damn the law. {Reads.) "Mr. Keene Phelps: How do you Hke the lake? I spoilt it's face, didn't I? Well, I am sorry for the lake, but I had to do it to get even with dear old uncle Felix. Allen Idle. P. S. Had I known who you were, I could have sold you something 318 IN THE OZAEKS. besides forty acres of your own land. Likely you'll get her for nothing now! " {Puts letter into his pocket.) Bei. Here's another letter, and for Jess. Fel. I'll take that too (Tears the letter open and reads.) "Jessie, old girl, good bye! You will never see me again. I've worked the old man for five thousand, and have the money in m}^ pocket." Have you? I think I've got the most of it right here. {Reads.) " It's more than I ever expected to get out of him. I guess, you are glad to get rid of me. If you ever feel lonesome for a second husband, I know where 3'ou can get a good one for nothing. If you don't know whom I mean, just ask Pulaski Phelps." — I am glad Alan Idle is dead! JIan. That is not a Christian wish, Mr. Plent3^ Fel. Well, if it isn't, it ought to be. Enter Abe and George holding a rough looking man whom they hustle on the stage. Abe. Here's the fellow what did it. Fel. So we've found him at last, have we? {Ruhhing his hands in demonic glee.) Well, I'm very glad to see you, Mr. Pulaski Phelps. Han. For the land's sake, Mr. Plenty, you think that's my boy, Pue? Fel. Who else can it be? Bei. Plenty! Abe. It's the fellow what blowed up the dam with dynamite. (Felix makes a rush for the man.) IN THE OZARKS. 319 Don't spoil him, Mr. Plenty; we want to keep him good and fresh for Mr. Pue. Geo. I found this in his clothes. ( 6r wes Plenty some •money. ) Fel. Two fifties. Geo. He says a gentleman gave him the hundred to blow up the dam. Fel. (^Comparing the money with that found in Alan's coat.) Exactly. The serial numbers fit to a unit. (^A galloping horse is heard to approach.) Enter Trusten. Tru. {from without). Safe! Safe! The lake is mine! Dai. That's Pue!- Tru. {eiitering embraces his mother, sister and then the Professor). Rejoice with me, the lake is mine ! Pro- fessor, the lake is mine ! Mr. Plenty, your lake is safe ! Fel. Safe? Hell! It's blown up with dynamite. Tru. Dynamite! Ha! Ha! What care we for a handful of dynamite! (To the man.) You damn rascal: I almost feel like hugging you too. Fel. What's the matter with you, Trusten? Tru. Nothing, absolutely nothing. Fifty thousand dollars will rebuild the dam, and the clouds are full of water. I never dreaded the puny villainy of man, but 1 trembled with the fear, that God and nature were my foes. Where's Jessamine, Professor? Bei. I'll call her. {Approaches house.) Jessamine! Vt\r\ t 320 IN THE OZARKS. Fel. Profes3or, come along. Let us miike one final search for Mr. Phelps. {Exit L. 1 E. Tru. (Calls.) Jessamine! Enter Jessamine. Jes. {from ivithout.) I'm coming. Tru. {to Jes.) The lake is safe ! {They rush into each other's arms.) Enter Felix L. 1 E. Fel, Trusten Keene! Man alive! Ha! ha! ha! Good for vou, Trusten, good for j'ou. {Laughs vehe- mently. ) Good for you ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! Bel. Do you see anything funu}'? Fel. {Pointing.) There, there! {Takes I^vadv. aside softly.) Say, Professor, that's a good one on Pulaski Phelps. Truaten's got her now. {They chuckle, but softly !i0 as not to disturb Trusten's subsequent lines.) Tru. (7^0 Jes.) Yonder crest is named Mount Jes- samine. Thtre I will build my home, and there 1 will take you, and there you shall be my queen. Bei. {Leading Fel. up by the hand.) Mr. Plenty, per- mit me to introduce you to Mr. Pulaski Phelps. Fel. {Collapses on the stoop of the piazza.) Well, I'll be— H. CURTAIN. DRAMAS. THE REBEL'S DAUGHTER. (By J. (t. Woerner and Ohas. Gildehaus.) INTO THE OPEN. IN THE OZARKS. BY CHAS. GILDEHAUS. 716 H .-A -f., ^^, .y v^ ^j. 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