MILES DIXON A PLAY IN TWO ACTS FOUR PLAYS BY GILBERT CANNAN JAMES AND JOHN - - - - one act. MILES DIXON . ... - two acts. MARY'S WEDDING - - - - one act. A SHORT WAY WITH AUTHORS, one act. MILES DIXON A PLAY IN TWO ACTS BY GILBERT CANNAN Boston LE ROY PHILLIPS Publisher .o^ K^f .0 All rights reserved Entered in the Library of Congress on July 25, 19 13 Copyright, 1920 Le Roy Phillips ©C1A564900 M}1 ■ Produced at the Gaiety Theatre, Manchester, November, 19 lo CHARACTERS John Baisbrozun - Mr. Herbert Lomas. Ellen Baisbrozun - Miss Irene Rooke. Miles Dixon - - - Mr. Milton Rosmer. Jan Baisbrozun - - Mr. Frank Darch. Janie Baisbrozun - Miss Hilda Bruce Potter. CHARACTERS John Baishrown. Ellen Baishrown. Miles Dixon. Jan Baishrown. Janie Baishrown. Act I. The Yard of Brimmerhead Farm at night. Act II. The Kitchen of Brimmerhead Farm. Twenty years elapse between the two acts. MILES DIXON Act I The scene is the yard of a farm. A rough waU at the right is broken by a gateway leading into a field, across the brow of which the top of^ a church tower is seen, and above this is the line of the fells. At the left is a little low house, two storied, with a third room buiU on to it, approached by a rough outside staircase. It is a wild night and very dark. In the window of the little room a light shines. The window is thrown open and the head of a woman is shown for a moment before the light is extin- guished. The window is shut and the key of the door is turned in the lock. There is silence for some time, and the white walls of the little house loom mistily through the darkness. . . . Presently a man comes through the gateway, floundering in the muck of the yard, and gropes his way up the staircase. He tries the door, and curses when he finds it locked. He knocks and knocks again. Then he comes down, strikes a match to^ look for pebbles on the ground, and the light is for that moment shown on his face. It is a dark. 8 MILES DIXON [act striking face, zenith the eyes too close together, the lips a little too thin, the jaw a little too long and narrow, and the nose not quite long enough. He gropes about and picks up some pebbles, which he throws at the window of the little house, then waits. He stands muttering and cursing. He throws pebbles again at the window and looks round in the direction of the farmhouse. Over on the other side of the valley a light shines and then is gone. The clock in the church tower strikes one. MILES One . . . \He throws pebbles again and stands cursing. The window is pushed open and the woman appears. ELLEN Why must you come on this wild night? MILES 'Tis t' wild night that t' crazy man is craziest and t' thing that calls to 'im calls longest and loudest. ELLEN And you'll not be content? MILES I'll never be content. ... To sleep cold and lonely out on t' fells, wet and cold under a wall or wet and cold in a ditch, wi' t' scent o' yer 'air and t' touch o' ye in my mind for i] MILES DIXON 9 all t' warmth that I 'ave. ... By God! . . . 'Twas a bad night for me when I furst coom to ye. ELLEN And a bad night for me that ever I was false to my man and give myself to a wild tramp the likes o' you. . . . MILES Ha' done. . . . I've that to tell you that I cannot stand bawling and crying for t' folk in t' big 'ouse to 'ear. ELLEN 'Tis late and you'd best be going away. ... I left t' light for ye 'till I thought ye never was coming. T' beasts are asleep and t' childer are asleep and t' town folks int' house are asleep. . . • Ye'd best be goin' away. MILES And where will I sleep.? ELLEN Where ye've slept these years since the curse came on ye and there was never a 'ouse int' dale wouid let ye bide in it. . . . Ye'd best be goin', for I must be early stirrin' and there's no knowin' . . . MILES And where will I sleep, I say.? 10 MILES DIXON [act ELLEN Where yeVe slept these long years since yer ain kin turned from ye . . . wet and cold, as ye say, under a wall, or wet and cold in a ditch, or crept to a byre for warmth or curled up in t' 'ay in a barn, to steal away in t' dawn like t' wild lone thing that ye are. ... It were best ye'd drowned yerself in t' beck before ever ye coom creepin' round wi' yer light love words and yer talk o' stars and yer creepin' soft ways that brought me to t' madness that was in me. . . . MILES Let me in to ye. ELLEN Ye'd best be goin' for t' bad thing that ye are and t' light thing ye've made me be. . . . Ye're t' waste o' t' world, ye are, and I'll never a word from ye. . . . MILES I've a mind to go from t' fells. I've a mind to sleep no more on t' fells but to go where there's lights an' warm 'ouses, where there's rich folk and gay folk and folk that 'ave never a care in t' world for t' strong 'ouses they live in and t' soft raim.ent they wear and t' pretty gems and t' gold things and their pockets full and full o' money, and their cellars all filled wi' bags o' gold. . . . I've a mind to go where there's never a 'ill i] MILES DIXON II and love words is as easy as scything thistles and light as thistledown on t' air. I've a mind to leave ye for t' drab that ye are and go where t' scent o' yer 'air will 'aunt me no more, and I'll clean forget t' touch o' ye, and clean forget t' bad day when I took ye and lost my peace and t' light 'eart that I 'ad. I've a mind to go as other men 'ave gone to make a fortin' and a great name, and not to stay where t' name o' me stinks and is a whispered thing, though there was never a 'armful thing that I did. ELLEN An' if ye will not make yer fortin', and if in all t' world yer name stinks and is whispered for an un'oly thing .^ MILES Then I'll go to t' sea and swim out into it 'till I can swim no more . . . and I'll stand wi' t' other dead men at bottom o' t' sea and talk to 'em o' t' rottenness o' women, for 'tis all o' that that dead men talk. ELLEN And 'tis o' t' cruelty and savagery and great beastliness o' men that dead women tell, and 'tis you'll be in t' mouths o' all on us for t' worst beast o' them all and for t' black 'ate that ye brought into t' 'earts o' us, that 'ad never a true word on your lips nor a true thought in your 'ead nor a true beat o' t' 12 MILES DIXON [act 'eart for a one of us. . . . An' what was given ye gladly ye spoiled in t' takin'. . . . You to talk o' losin' your peace and t' lightness o' 'eart that ye 'ad! . . . When ye come lightly and ye go lightly and 'tis all to ye like eatin' till ye be full or drinkin' till there's no thirst left in ye . . . and not one o' us is more to ye than another. . . . MILES Ye lie an' ye lie an' ye know that ye lie, for . there's none but you . . . ELLEN 'Ere. . . . But ower t' fells there's this and that and t'other one, an' always a new one comin' up t' road and you leapin' down t' fells to meet 'er. MILES 'Tis another world ower t' fells and me another man that ye take no count on and never will know. ELLEN And that's t' badness in ye. . . . Ye'd best be goin'. MILES And if I go 'twill be never to come to ye again . . . and me come down fro' t' fells to tell ye that I was goin' out into t' world away fro' t' fells and t' madness in 'em and to say would ye come wi' me to keep t' wind o' t' fells beatin' in my face and to keep t' sights i] MILES DIXON 13 and scents and sounds wl' me in all t' places where we may come. . . . ELLEN For t' likes o' you to leave my man and t' fine 'ouse 'e gives me and t' childer and go out wi' ye, wi' never a stick nor stock between us, and never a 'ouse to live in and wander ower t' cold world. . . . Fine under t' stars on summer nights. . . . Oh, ye'd best be goin'. . . . MILES And you that put t' light in yer window for to tell me yer man was gone to t' town, ye're now for tellin' me to be gone.^ 'Twas to tell ye that that I brought ye' ere wi' t' light i' my window. . . . I've a mind to get back to t' woman that I was and forget that ever you coom slinkin' to destroy t' good life that I 'ad. MILES And ye'll not let me go so lightly wi' never a kiss o' yer lips an' never a touch o' yer 'ands. ELLEN Ye came lightly and lightly ye can go, and I'll not 'ave a kiss o' yer lips and I'll forget that ever there was such a thing as you. . . . [Miles has been standing immediately under the window, and they have been up to now 14 MILES DIXON [act talking in lozv voices so as not to be heard in the house on the other side of the yard. Miles springs back now and raises his voice. MILES Then I'll not go till all t' folk in t' dale know ye for t' woman that ye are, for t' rotten, lying thing that ye are; an' 'tis you, when I'm striding ower t' world, '11 be out there on t' fells, sleepin' wet and cold under a wall or wet and cold in a ditch an' alone ... an' me stridin' ower t' world. . . . An' ye'll never forget. . . . ELLEN Go. [She shuts the windozv. MILES Huh! ... Ye trull. . . . And you, when yer man's in t' town, to set light to draw t' likes o' me to beat Hke a moth again t' panes o' yer window, and would draw me into t' flames 'till my wings be scorched and me fall broken to t' ground. . . . I'll come to ye. [He runs up the stairs and tries the latch, but finds it fast. He shakes the door furi- ously. His tone changes. MILES 'Tis foolishness that I said. ... D' ye 'ear.? 'Tis foolishness an' all that cooms fro' sittin' alone on t' fells wi' t' thoughts in me MILES DIXON IS windin' about and about, and never a thought but comes back to you and t' wonder o' you. [He listens.] For there was never t' Hke o' you since t' world began, and you t' lovely mate for me, that, for all that my name stinks and is a whispered thing, am a larger man and a freer man and a braver man and a properer man than any that goes sellin' theirselves for t' little livin' they need, an' toilin' and moilin' like slaves for t' small livin' that is all that t' masters '11 give em up yon int' quarry and down yon in t' fields. . . . [He listens.] D' ye 'ear.? 'Tis foolishness that I said and all that cooms to a man fro' t' great misery o' lovin' a woman that 'e canna take and show to t' world for t' wonderful mate that she is. . . . 'Tis foolishness that I said for t' black jealousy that comes ower me in t* long hours when I sit out yon and think o' you livin' along o' t' fools that 'ave never an eye for t' sights o' t' world and never an ear for t' sounds . . . and so thick and muddy as they are, can keep and 'old ye when ye should be wi' me, lovin' me and t' world so's ye can 'ardly bear it. . . . [He listens again.] Ayl Ye 'ear me, ye 'ear me, and fear makes ye as still as a mouse. . . . 'Tis a lonely life I live, but better to live like that, kin and comrade wi' t' stars, and t* fells, and t' runnin' streams, than among men that are slaves an' starved and lonely i6 MILES DIXON [act each one of 'em for t' fear that is in them. . . . And 'tis t' 'ardness o' thinkin' o' you, so wonderful as you be, livin' wi' t' slaves and t' small things when there's no treasure in t' world that ye might not come by if ye'd come to t' wild 'awks life wi' me. . . . An' you t' most soft and lovely thing in t' world. . . . You're beautiful and live wi' men that 'ave never an eye among 'em to see ye. . . . Grubbin', tunnellin' moles they be. . . . Bat-blind. . . . And there's only me to see t' wonder o' ye. [john baisbrown appears in the gateway, sees miles and stands stock still.] Open to me ... I can 'ear ye . . . and you 'ungry for every word that comes fro' my lips. . . . 'Tis known that I canna give ye a fine 'ouse and never a fine dress, but I can take a great 'ill in t' 'ollow o' my 'and and give it you, and I can reach up and pluck a star out o' 'eaven for to shine in yer 'air, and I can give yer a river to sing to ye as never man nor woman can sing o' t' wonder o' t' world . . . and I can give ye sights to see and sounds to 'ear that else 'Id be 'idden from ye all yer days. . . . Let me come to ye. . . . 'Tis dark and never a moon and 'ardly a star, but I can make t' night so light as ever t' crawling men make dark the day. . . . [The key turns in the door, miles clicks the latch and thrusts the door open, when JOHN, without moving, speaks. i] MILES DIXON 17. JOHN Is it you, Miles Dixon? [miles snaps the door to and turns. He stands with never a word, peering through the darkness^ Is it you. Miles Dixon? and is it so ye come crawlin in t' dead o' night like a rat for to suck the eggs o' my 'ens? MILES Is it you, John Baisbrown? JOHN Come down 'ere an' let me set my fingers to yer throat an' choke t' rotten life out o ye^ ... Or will ye wait while I turn my back and skip an' run away to yer 'ole in t' fells and never let me set eyes on ye more. • • • MILES And you, John Baisbrown? ... Is it you stand- in' there in t' dark so's I can see only t great ugly shape of ye? JOHN Ay. MILES You and me and 'er was schooled together, John Baisbrown, an' d'ye mind ow I beat t bloody nose on ye till ye ran owlm ; and d'ye mind 'ow I was ever t' first and ye come lumberin' be'ind? [baisbrown moves heavily forward. i8 MILES DIXON [act JOHN Will ye come down, ye gowk, or will I knock ye down ? MILES Ye'll stand there and we'll talk peaceable 'ere in the dark, you standin' there in t' muck an' me wi' my feet at t' height o' yer 'ead. JOHN Come down. MILES Ye'll stand there and ye'll learn o' t' way o' a man wi' a woman what ye shut yer eyes to an' took for a sinful thing or ye'd never be standin' now, you in t' muck and me wi' my feet at t' height o' yer 'ead . . . and 'er a cowering be'ind t' door fer to 'ear what we say and to 'ear what ye do to me. . . . What will ye do, John Baisbrown? JOHN For every word that ye say I'll break a bone in your body, and for t' while that ye keep me standin' 'ere in t' muck an' cold o' t' yard I'll pitch ye to 'ouse wi' t' swine in whose likeness you're made. MILES And what will ye do to t' woman .^ JOHN There's you to be broken first, and there's no other thought in me. i] MILES DIXON 19 MILES I canna see ye right, but is yer great fingers twitchin' to be at my throat, and is yer breast 'ot in yer, and yer mouth dry, and a catch in yer throat? . . . I've more words than ye can reckon, and I've a mind that ye should learn t' way of a man wi' a woman, and 'er listenin' be'ind t' crack o' t' door o' a woman's way wi' a man . . . for 'tis that ye learn out on t' fells when ye're that strong ye can step fro' one 'ill-top to another and devil a care for t' dale beneath, and you look down and see a maggoty lot o' little black things scrattin' t' earth and breakin' t' earth and thinkin' theirselves mighty fine, and a maggoty lot o' Httle black things that creep about wi' their eyes down to t' earth, scared and feared, feared o' t' sun and t' wind and t' rain and most feared o' their- selves and their kind, like it's you's feared on me now, ye maggoty little black thing that I look down on wi' my feet at t' height o' yer 'ead, as I looked down on ye from t' top o' t' fells and seed ye scrattin' t' earth and breakin' t' earth for t' lovely thing that ye'U never find there ... for while ye run fro' sun and wind an' rain ye never will find it. . . . 'Tis a four-fold thing and there's no fear in it. . . . And you's afeard. JOHN You've talked enough and too much. 20 MILES DIXON [act MILES And when yeVe broke t' bones i' my body what will ye do to t' woman? JOHN 'Twill be enough for her to know what I does to you. MILES Ye're not so blind . . . and ye're not so far fro' bein' a man and ye're not so far fro' lovin' t' woman that ye know t' way to 'urt 'er. . , . JOHN It's you that 'ave come between me and 'er and et's you that I'll break in my 'ands like a carrot. MILES 'Tis a fine lad to be broke in two by a strong man as thinks there's law on his side. . . . But for all that you're a poor fool, John Bais- brown, for ye never 'ave been together, you and 'er that's cowerin' be'ind t' door, else not me or any other thing could h' come between ye, and so 'tis you that is t' bad man and t' wicked man to take t' woman and come between 'er and t' brave things o' t' world. And 'twas a foolish thing, for 'tis what never a man can do to come between a woman and t' brave things o' t' world; you's not t' first man to try it and you's surely not t' last man to fail . . . and by many and many you's not t' first to set I] MILES DIXON 21 yourself above a woman, and by many and many more you's not t' last man to find out t' fraud o' yerself. . • • There's more words that I 'ave for ye, but 'appen that s enough to stick i' yer gizzard. JOHN Come down 'ere. MILES And you wi' a great stick in yer 'and.? I'll not. [jOHN throws his stick away. JOHN Now will ye come? MILES And if I come down will ye keep yer 'ands to yerself.? ... For I've a mind to climb to 111 Bell and see t' dawn comin' up through t' mists and to stand wi' t' cold wind blawin'^ through and through me and blawm' all t dirtiness o' you and t' likes o' you out o' me. JOHN Heh! And will ye take t' woman wi' ye to be blawn through and through and t' dirtiness blawn oot o' 'er? MILES I'll not. For she's that weak wi' bearin' wi' you I'd 'ave to carry 'er likely, and there's no wind fro' t' four quarters could blaw^ t' dirtiness o' you and t' likes o' you oot o' 'er. 22 MILES DIXON [act JOHN 'Tis moonspun madness ye 'ave in yer 'ead, and to 'it ye would be like smashing yer fist in a babby's face. ... Ye can go. [miles runs lightly down the stairs. And if I go, what will ye do to the woman now that she'll not 'ear what ye've done to me.'* JOHN She'll 'ave what she's always 'ad and no more. [miles suddenly strikes a match and holds it wp to John's /<3r^ until it burns his fingers, when he drops it with an oath. MILES 'Tis a face like a great 'am wi' little black buttons in it for eyes. 'Tis a man's face and belongs to what in this world, God save us, is called a man. . . . We'll both be dead in the wink of an eye and the world none the wiser for the two of us, and she there listenin' be'ind t' door, if she be livin', well quit o' t' two of us. [A light appears in the woman^s window.] Whoosht! [The door is opened slowly and ellen appears holding a lantern high over her head. She has dressed herself hastily in bodice and skirt and has her hair loose. She stands looking down at the two men. i] MILES DIXON 23 MILES She's beautiful. . . . T' dawn comin' up through t' mists. ELLEN Is it you, John, standing there wi' that waste o' t' world.? JOHN Are ye come for to go out to live in t' wide cold world an' to 'ave done wi' takin' 'im to my bed.? ELLEN I 'ave prayed for this night, John, an' every night that 'e's come to me and me turned soft in my bones and weak to let 'im come, I've prayed for you to come and set 'ands on 'im and break t' rotten life in 'im. . , . An' I've prayed for strength to tell ye so's ye might keep 'im away. . . . An' now that ye've come will ye let 'im go, and are you that's a man and strong as soft wi' 'im as me that's a woman.? MILES Ye lie and ye lie and ye know that ye lie! ELLEN Take 'im for that, John, take 'im and do as ye said, and for every word that 'e's said to ye break a bone in 'is body, and for those that 'e's said to me take 'im and whip the life out o' 'im. 24 MILES DIXON [act i] MILES She's t' fit mate for you, John Balsbrown, you wi' the lies o' yer deeds, and 'er wl' the lies on 'er lips. And when I'm gone — for I'm goin' out into t' world to make a fortin' and a great name where there's rich folk and gay folk and folk that 'ave never a care in t' world — when I'm gone ye'U sit and sit and watch each other wi' strange eyes and ye'U wonder and wonder what there is of truth in each other, and never a moment will she forget and never a moment will ye be rid o' t' thing that was between ye before ever I come — t' wall o' lies; and ye'U sit and sit until ye're dead, and ye'U both be glad when it comes for t' long, long thing ye've made o' yer lives. . . . T' life I live is fit for t' likes o' me, and t' life you live is fit for t' likes o' you. . . . I've a mind to climb to 111 Bell to see t' dawn comin' up through t' mists, and fro' there I'll leap to t' world and go stridin' over it 'till I be weary, and then I'll swim out to sea until I can swim no more. . . . And God blast the souls o' the two of ye. [The clock in the church tower strikes again.] 'Alf past one. [He turns and goes off through the gate at a run. ELLEN takes up her lantern and goes into her room. She leaves the door open, and john moves towards the stairs. CURTAIN MILES DIXON 25 Act II The scene is the kitchen of the farm, twenty years later. In the back wall is a window looking out on to the yard and across at the little house. In the left wall is a huge fireplace, over which hangs a stewpan in which is a mess of fruit. ELLEN BAiSBROWN is Stirring with a great wooden spoon. On the table in the centre of the room are piles of fruit — damsons and plums. In the right wall is a press built into the wall and carved. It is midday. ELLEN has lost her looks. She is just a comely, buxom farm-woman set on the business of the moment, janie, her daughter, a girl of twenty- three and as beautiful as her mother was, is picking over the fruit, settifig aside that which is fit for preserving and dropping the bruised and the rotten into a basket at her feet. JANIE 'Tis a grand year for fruit. ELLEN And a bad year for us. JANIE I don't know what's come to our Jan sin' feyther died. . . . 'E never was afraid o' feyther for 26 MILES DIXON [act all t' fights and quarrellin' they 'ad used to 'ave, an' feyther was a strong man. [ellen makes no reply,] 'E was a strong man, feyther? ELLEN 'E was a hig man, an' a broad man, an' there's no knowing what 'e was and what 'e was not, same as there's never any knowin' what any critter is and is not. JANIE I don't know what's coom to our Jan. 'E's like he saw new things and 'card new things and smelled new things and 'is 'ead all filled wi' strangeness. . . . Was there ever a man called Miles Dixon, moother.^ [ellen drops her spoon and turns for a moment to janie, then turns away again and goes on with her work. ELLEN Who's been tellin' you them fairy-tales.? An' what did they tell ye.? JANIE Was there ever such a man, moother.? ELLEN There was, but 'e's gone out into t' world long since and likely 'e's dead. JANIE It's Jan is full o' 'im and strange tales. . . . Old Peter Foot o' Kirkstone's been a tellin', ii] MILES DIXON 27 and that's where our Jan goes to in t' days when we never sees him fro' dawn to dusk; and 'e cooms to me in my bed and sits and tells o' t' wunnerful man that 'e was. . . . 'E could run an 'undred miles in a day and there wasn't a river 'e couldn't leap, and 'e could wrestle wi' ten men all at once, and 'e could swim like a fish under water, an' 'e could talk wi' birds and beasts; an' 'e got weary o' t' fells for they werena' big enough for 'im, and 'e went out into t' world, and when 'e went there was sick 'earts in t' women, and there was an 'undred and fifty went out into t' world to look for 'im, and it's such a man that our Jan would be. . . . Was there ever such a man.? ELLEN There was such a man, and 'e was that bad there was never a 'ouse int' dale would let 'im bide in 't, and 'e lived out on t' fells, wet and cold under a wall and wet and cold in a ditch. . . . But I never 'eard tell of any woman that 'e 'ad. JANIE And is it long ago since 'e lived out on t' fells.? ELLEN 'E was schooled wi' yer feyther and me. And 'tis true that 'e went out into t' world, but I never 'eard tell o' a 'eart that was sick for 'im or o' women that went out into t' world to look for 'im. 28 MILES DIXON [act JANIE Jan says 'e was like a buzzard 'awk, and Jan says that 'e '11 be such a man, and 'tis for that that our Jan's out and away and leavin' you and me to do all t' work, [ellen empties pan and janie brings a fresh lot of fruit for her to boil.] There was a strange man coom last night, moother. ELLEN A strange man? JANIE I was in my little room yonder and t' light set in t' window, and there coom pebbles a' thrawed oop. ELLEN What like o' man? JANIE A weary thin man. . . . And 'e said, " Is it you?" And I said, " Yes, it's me." And 'e said, "And John Baisbrown?" . . . And I said, " John Baisbrown's dead." ELLEN And . . . ? JANIE What is it, moother? ELLEN And what did 'e say else? ii] MILES DIXON 29 JANIE He stood like a gowk, an' in a soft silly voice 'e said: " T' scent o' yer 'air and t' touch o' ye 'as been wi' me ower all t' world, and there's never t' like o' you not east nor west nor north nor south," ELLEN What like o' man was 'e? JANIE Just a thin scarecrow wi' a bowed back and rags on 'im what 'ardly would 'old together. And 'e said: " For all t' brave sounds o' t' world there was ever t' sound o' yer voice ringin' in my ears." ELLEN An' you? JANIE I said, *' Yer daft," and banged to t' window, and then 'e coom an' 'e talked through t' door silly like, such soft talk fro' such an owd man, till I laughed out loud at 'im and 'e went away. ELLEN And ye was not afeard.^ JANIE What call 'ad I to be afeard, wi' t' door locked.? 'E was just a tramp like they often cooms . . . on'y not all on 'em is so daft. ... I just laughed, for 'tis funny to 'ear such 30 MILES DIXON [act words comin' up in an owd weary voice. ..." You and t' scent o' yer 'air. ..." And yet there's never a lad in t' dale could 'av said such words, 'cept only it mught be our Jan. . . . And I couldn't 'elp thinkin' 'ow feyther would a gurned at such a man, same as he gurned at our Jan for bein' aye wi' t' lasses, though there's never a lad in all t' dale that our Jan couldn't thraw in t' wink o' an eye. . . . But feyther 'e 'ad a great scorn o' women, 'im bein' such a strong man. ELLEN There's t' lads' dinners to be took down to croft. [jAN comes up through the yard. He draws a live rabbit from his pocket.] Are ye come fro' t' croft, Jan.? JAN Me.f* . . . Naw. . . . That's what I been a-doin' of. . . . Caught 'im I did wi' my two 'ands an' nowt else. Comin' down Wansfell out o' t' bracken 'e runs and me after 'im; this way and that 'e turns until I took a great leap on to 'im like a buzzard 'awk. . . . And you'd 'ave me stoopin' and crampin' wi' a scythe or a rake. . . . Show me another can do that! . . . You got my broothers slavin' like cattle, an' I say 'tis not good enough for t' likes o' me. ELLEN Will ye take an' kill itf ii] MILES DIXON 31 JAN Kill it? . . . I'll let it free. . . . 'Tis only to show what I can do, when my broothers be that slow they'd likely never set 'ands to a urchin. . . . Take 'un wi' ye, Janie, and set 'un free, [janie takes the dinner-cans on one arm, holds the rabbit by the ears, and goes out] I'm goin\ moother. ELLEN Where will ye go? JAN I been up beck to where 'e cooms bubbling out o' t' ground, and I've been down beck to where 'e goes into t' lake and out o' t' lake and down past towns and cities to t' sea. And I be like beck, moother. I be like sprung out o' t' ground and I must go out and out growin' wider and wider, and I be grown so wide that there be no room for my body between Wansfell and 111 Bell. ... D' ye not see 'ow big I be grown? ... I feel that strong that if ye set me to t' ploughin' I'd 'ave t' old field turned and turned too deep wi' just t' touch o' my 'and, and if ye set me to t' reapin' I'd swing t' scythe so's all t' corn 'd be scattered to t' winds and t' point o' t' scythe 'd stick into 111 Bell and coom through and out into Yorkshire. . . . You got my broothers and my sister, and what's for them is not for me, so gi' me your blessing an' a pocketful o' money and I'll 32 MILES DIXON [act go out into t' world an' make a fortin' and a great name . . . an' a fine lady mebbe for a wife. . . . ELLEN A fortin' and a great name an' a fine lady mebbe for a wife! . . . What's coom t' ye, Jan? JAN I've a mind to be a man, moother, and not just a ox or a ass or any poor beast that works in t' fields, and not to be t' sort o' man that my feyther was, that 'ad no eye for t' sights o' t' world and no eye for its loveliness, but only for crops and crops, and 'ad no love for t' earth but only for t' money 'e could make out o' 'er. . . . You got two sons t' like o' feyther and one that never will be. ELLEN [Facing him suddenly.] I got two sons dear to me as their feyther was, and one that's dearer to me than all t' world; two that's good sons to me and one that I love so dearly that t' greatest joy I 'ave in 'im is a pain, and I'm glad o' t' pain and the sorrow that 'e brings me, as I was glad o' t' pain and sorrow in t' beginning. JAN That's strange. ELLEN And if you go 'twill be a lonesome life for me, for there's only you that my eyes love to see. ii] MILES DIXON 33 JAN But there's two sons that's as dear to you as my feyther was. ELLEN And that's nothin' at all. . . . For it's true that 'e 'ad no eyes for t' sights o' t' world and no eye for its loveliness, and 'e never 'ad no eye for t' loveliness o' me, and 'e 'ated you that I loved most dearly. . . . JAN That's strange . . . and 'tis true that 'e 'ated me, and true that I 'ated the sight o' 'im. . . . And those two that's like 'im 'ate me, and I 'ate them, and it 'as always been you and me against t' rest o' 'em. . . . And 'tis that 'as made me so strong. . . . There's three o' them against one o' me, and though I could take and crush t' three on 'em, there is that strength in a man that makes 'im gentle and soft. And It's t' weak men wantin' t' strength they never can 'ave that is so 'arsh and cruel, and 'tis t' strength in women like you, moother, that makes me so gentle and soft. . . . And if ye'd bide . . . JAN If ye took beck and tried to make 'im live In a bucket ye'd not be tryin' a more foolish 34 MILES DIXON [act thing than to make me live 'ere on t' farm like any other one in t' dale. . . . Give me your blessing, moother, and a pocketful of money, and let me go out into t' world for to see its wonders and it to see me for t' wunnerful man that I am. [ellen goes to the press, and after groping in a jar corner of it produces an old Toby jug, jrom which she brings a stocking. She pours out the contents oj it on the table. JAN I'll catch a fine lady Hke I caught lile rabbit, an' . . . an' . . . an' I'll not let 'er go free. . . . And I'll give 'er all t' wonder o' t' world, and all t' lovely things ye can find for t' seekin' and cannot come by other ways. . . . For I'm wise, and I'm strong, and I'm swift, and I'm sure. ELLEN There's a fourth o' t' savings that yer feyther made. JAN There was a man like me in t' dale once, moother, and 'e went out into t' world, and there was never t' likes o' 'im again till me. . . . ELLEN And 'im dead, likely. . . . 'E never coom back. ... I never 'eard tell o' any glory that 'e coom by. ii] MILES DIXON 35 JAN And was 'e a man like me? ELLEN As much as a beech-tree is like an elder-bush. . . . But a man . . . like you. JAN Then 'e zvas a man.^ ELLEN 'Appen. . . . Ye'U 'ave yer money in yer bag.? And what'll ye do when 'tis all gone JAN Likes o' me don't live by money. . . . 'Tis like pretty things to play with. . . . 'E never 'ad money, did 'e? ELLEN Never stick nor stock. [jAN pours the money from one hand to the other. JAN 'Tis pretty. . . . Buttercups and daisies. . . . And won't tha just go rollin' and rollin'. . . . It'll be a grand man that cooms back to ye, moother, for if all t' world is full o' such blind fools as is 'ere there's nowt t' likes o' me canna do. ELLEN Ye'll learn. . . . Wise and strong and swift and sure ye may be, but . . . ye'll learn. 36 MILES DIXON [act . . . T' blind fools Is many, and t' man wi' eyes to see Is one In thousands. It's many against one. JAN And If they get In my way . . . I'll set foot on 'em. [j4 pedlar comes past the window^ a ragged man with pack on hack. He is weary and thin. He knocks at the door, and ellen opens. The pedlar stands in the door and begins to take his pack from his back. ELLEN knows him at once for miles DIXON, but she gives no sign. He stares intently at her, but gives no sign, jan is not particularly interested, but goes on counting out his money and playing with it across the table. MILES Good day to ye. ELLEN Good day to ye. MILES Can I show ye what I 'ave.? ELLEN Come In and show me. [miles comes in and lays his pack on the table. JAN Sixteen pounds. . . . Are ye come from t' world t ir] MILES DIXON 37 MILES God knows v/here I be not come from, young master. JAN An' I be just goin' out into it. MILES Ye'd best bide 'ere. JAN So moother's sayin'; but she never 'ave seed what I see an' she never 'ave knowed what I know. . . . MILES And what like o' place d' ye think t' world to be, young master? JAN Just a great wide place wi' a city 'ere and a city there and room for a man that's growed too wide to live between fell and fell. . . . MILES [Fiercely.] 'Ave ye ever 'ad th' 'unger in yer belly, young master.^ JAN N-naw. MILES It's that ye'U 'ave in t' world. . . . 'Ave ye ever 'ad th' 'unger i' yer soul, young master.? JAN N-naw. 38 MILES DIXON [act MILES It's that ye'll 'ave in t' world, young master, an' ye'll be no more than a drop o' water in t' wide sea . . . and one man just Hke an- other. . . . And ye'll be sick for a bed to lie on, and sick for a fire to warm ye, and there'll be never a day but ye'll curse t' day ye ever set foot on t' road, and ye'll learn that ye can never turn back, and ye'll be brought to envy o' bird and beast and tree and 'ate o' men, for ye'll not find charity or kindness or any good in 'em once ye turn yer back on yer ain kin and kind . . . and so I tell ye. JAN Is it such a fearful place .^ MILES 'Tis a place the like o' this, between fell and fell, and t' man that winna be shaped to it is broke. . . . For there's no place in this world where a man can be free, and freedom and t' great life and all t' things that come into a young man's thoughts wi' t' wind are not in t' world but in 'is 'eart. . . . What will ye buy.^ ELLEN [Choosing.] This and this and this. JAN 'Ave ye a pretty thing for me to give to my moother before I go. . . . I've a great lot o' money. „] MILES DIXON 39 MILES Ye've a mind to go? JAN Aye. . . . What's been done to t' likes o' you will never be done to t' likes o' me. MILES Are ye that strong.^ JAN And swift ... I can catch a rabbit wi' my 'ands. MILES Can ye run a 'undred miles in a day.? JAN N-naw. MILES Can ye leap every stream in t' country.? JAN N-naw. MILES Can ye wrastle wi' ten men all at once.? JAN N-naw. MILES Can ye talk wi' birds and beasts.? JAN N-naw. MILES Can ye pluck a star out o' 'eaven for to shine in a woman's 'air.? 40 MILES DIXON [act JAN N-naw. MILES Nor me. . . . But there was a day when I could do every one o' these things. JAN An' you . . . MILES And off I went out into t' world greedy for t' sights and scents and sounds of it, and look at me what I am, just a ragged, broken man. . . . And I said that when I was weary I would swim out to sea until I could swim no more. When I was weary I did swim out, but back I coom to my weariness and took my pack on my back and come by a long, long road to see t' fells that wasna big enough for me and t' folk that was too small for me and too blind. . . . And what pretty thing will ye buy.^ JAN And you was a strong man and a wise man, an' a swift man, and a sure man.'' MILES I was. JAN And you was like a buzzard 'awk.^ [ellen has turned to her stewpan. MILES I was. ii] MILES DIXON 41 JAN And was you Miles Dixon? MILES I was. [jAN dives into his pocket and brings up his money. JAN My feyther was a stronger man than you. [He takes up his cap and goes, turning at the door.] Moother, I be goin' down to croft. [He goes. ELLEN It's a 'ard life you've 'ad of it. . . . MILES Aye. ELLEN 'Tis a 'ard life I've 'ad of it. MILES 'E was a stronger man than me. . . . Was 'e bad to ye.? ELLEN Never. . . . And never again was your name on his lips, but there was never a day but t' thought o' you coom to 'im, and I was just a woman livin' in 'is 'ouse, and 'e 'ated t' sight o' that lad. ... Ye come last night.? MILES Aye. 42 MILES DIXON [act ELLEN I'll 'ave this and this. [She takes money from her purse and pays him. MILES And 'im dead. . . . ELLEN And 'im dead, and me not loneHer than I was wi' 'im in t' 'ouse. . . . And you.? MILES And me wi' no restin' place and a sick soul that will not let me bide; often 'unger i' my belly and always 'unger i' my soul for takin' you that never was mine. . . . And if there was never a day but t' thought o' me come between 'm and you, there was never a day but t' thought o' you come between me and t' world. . . . And if ye'd give me to eat. [ellen sets food and drink before him. ELLEN It come to me that there was nothin' int' world so dear to me as that lad, and 'im you've saved for me. MILES T' scorn 'e 'ad of me! ELLEN Will ye be goin' now.? ii] MILES DIXON 43 MILES I'll live t' way I've lived these long years. [He shoulders his pack.] You're not t' woman that was so beautiful. . . . ELLEN And you're not t' man that coom to me out o' t' night, so fine and strong. . . . MILES We're queer cattle. [He goes out and through the yard, ellen returns to her work, janie comes and stands at the door. janie Why, moother, that's t' man that stood in t' dark last night and said they silly soft things. ... ELLEN See what I bought from 'im. janie Oh, t' pretty things. [ellen restores jan's money to the Toby jug in the press. CURTAIN Repertory Plays The plays in this group are intended for stage pro- duction and have satisfied highly critical and fastidious audiences. Some modern plays are good reading. That so many of the Repertory Plays gain, rather than lose, on the printed page is a tribute to their literary merit, style, and construction. Unless otherwise stated, the Repertory Plays are in one act. 6x4 inches, wrappers, net 40 cents each. Baker, Elizabeth Miss Tassey Brighouse, Harold Converts Lonesome-Like Maid of France Price of Coal, The Calderon, George Fountain, The (three acts) Little Stone House, The Cannan, Gilbert James and John Mary's Wedding Miles Dixon (two acts) Short Way with Authors, A Chapin, Harold Augustus in Search of a Father Autocrat of the Coffee-Stall, The Dumb and the Blind, The Muddle Annie CoLQUHOUN, Donald Jean REPERTORY PLAYS Down, Oliphant Maker of Dreams, The Also in large paper edition, with incidental music by Beatrice Patterson. Cloth, $i.oo. Egerton, Lady Alex. Masque of the Two Strangers, The Everyman A morality play Ferguson, J. A. Campbell of Kihlmor GwEN, John Luck of War The Shepherd KONI, TORAHIKO Kanawa: The Incantation Maeterlinck, Maurice AUadine and Palomides Death of Tintagiles, The Interior Intruder, The Maxwell, W. B. The Last Man In Palmer, John Over the Hills Price, Graham Absolution of Bruce, The Capture of Wallace, The Coming of Fair Anne, The Marriages are Made in Heaven and Elsewhere Perfect Housekeeper, The Song of the Seal, The Published by LE ROY PHILLIPS, Boston GALLANT CASSIAN A Play in One Act By ARTHUR SCHNITZLER Translated from the third edition of the original by Adam L. Gowans. Bound in Cloth. Net 90 cents. To name the Author of this Play suggests much. He has made brilliant contributions to the more Modern Drama. The Translator has made a point of reading all of Schnitzler's Plays and holds the opinion that " Gallant Cassian " is his most distinctive work. There are but four characters — three male and one female. The dialogue between the Adventurer, Cassian, and his conceited Cousin Martin is intense. To show the effect of Cassian's gallantries on the mind and conduct of the infatuated Sophy is the author's intention. While intended for stage production, the play loses none of its brilliancy on the printed page. COLUMBINE A Fantasy in One Act and Other Verses By REGINALD ARKELL With some Drawings by Frederick Carter Paper wrappers. Net 75 cents. This pastoral drama is as clever and sentimental as its title suggests. Its wit, mingled with wisdom, adapts it for stage production as well as for reading. " Columbine " was first performed at Clavier Hall, Lon- don, in 191 1. Mr. Arkell's Fantasy has since been a special favorite with the amateur and semi-professional dramatic societies of England. There are five charac- ters. Four are male, but Columbine herself gives the Play a more than feminine touch. Published by LE ROY PHILLIPS, Boston BETWEEN SUNSET AND DAWN By HERMON OULD Paper wrappers. Net 75 cents. A play in four scenes of an East-end " doss-house," dealing with a runaway wife and her lover, and ending with a powerful climax. Produced at the Adelphi Theatre in 1912, this play, by a new writer, made a great impression and caused much discussion. THE WAY THE MONEY GOES By LADY BELL Paper wrappers. Net 75 cents. A play in three acts. The story of the simple-minded excellent woman caught by the wiles of the street " bookie " and the sneaking pedlar is humorous and also pathetic. THE FLASH-POINT By FLORIDA SCOTT-MAXWELL Paper wrappers. Net $1.00. A play in three acts. This is a comedy, or perhaps a tragi-comedy, of the struggle of Jean Barker against her mother, grandmother, and aunt. After attempt- ing to hold a public meeting unknown to them, she is accidentally locked in all night in the hall with Vernon, her fiance; and this produces the denouement of the play. THE WALDIES By GEORGE J. HAMLEN Paper wrappers. Net $1.00. This play in four acts was first performed by the Incorporated Stage Society at the Haymarket Theatre, London, in 1912. The spirited and brilliant dialogues make it conspicuous among the plays available for amateurs and professionals alike. Published by LE ROY PHILLIPS, Boston