His wife's place : an adaptation of the story by Clarence Buddington Kelland

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Baughman
His Wife's Place

THE LIBRARY

OF

THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA

LOS ANGELES

GIFT

$ lawmaker

Written by Students of the University of North Dakota

as Glass Work in the Course in

DRAMATIC COMPOSITION

Edited by
FRANZ RICKABY

aaiataiit Professor of English
University of North Dakota

No. 4

HIS WIFE'S PLACE

Series E

(An Adaptation of the Story by Clarence Buddington Kelland)

by
Ruth L. Baughman

Published

by

THE DAKOTA PLAY MAKERS

of the
University of North Dakota

University of North Dakota

The Playmaker Plays are copyrighted, 1920, by The Dakota
Playmakers, of the University of North Dakota.

There is for the present no royalty fee attached to the produc
tion of these Plays. The Playmakers ask, however, that in the case
of every production suitable public recognition be given the Uni
versity and the writer of the play.

The story of which this play is an adaptation, is used by per
mission.

Copies of the Plays may be obtained, at the rate of fifty
cents each, from the Dakota Playmakers, University, North Dakota.

35-03

THE PLAYMAKER PLAYS

A GENERAL FOREWORD

As indicated on the cover of this pamphlet, the Playmakei
Plays represent the collaboration of the Dakota Playmakers, the
dramatic organization at the University of North Dakota, and the
University course in Dramatic Composition, offered first by Pro
fessor Frederick H. Koch in 1915, and for the past two years by
the editor of this series.

These plays make no pretentions to surpassing excellence in the
various elements of dramatic writing. They are merely little ex
periments done as laboratory work in a course which has as its chief
purpose, not the immediate fashioning of playwrights, so much as the
steady recruiting of the ranks of those who can appreciate drama from
each of the several angles of appreciation.

The purpose behind publication in this case is the supplying of
high-school societies and other amateur groups in the territory which
this University serves, with these examples of native drama. This
purpose had its birth in frequent queries, from outsiders who had
seen or heard of the University productions, or from graduated
Playmakers who had taken part in them, as to whether or not the
plays, were available for general use. They were not. Quite com
monly there was no extant copy of the play in question. It will be
impossible to include in this series any of the plays written previous
to 1918-19, among them some excellent ones, because the manu
scripts are not now available.

It is a source of warm satisfaction to the editor that literally
scores of citizens of this state will feel a deep and living interest in
these plays, for having either written them or acted in them, or for
bearing some peculiar relationship to those who did. These are
truly "our little plays"; we conceived them, and we have acted them.
They are not masterpieces, but they are clean, and they have enter
tained our neighbors and friends. Some of them picture North
Dakota men and women in the business of living; all of them repre
sent the North Dakota student in the business of adapting and
building.

To the cause of Native American Drama the Playmakers dedi
cate their plays, and bespeak for them the attention and interest of
all who like to hear a story and take sides in a conflict, and who at
the same time believe in beginnings. Encouragement alone will
beget more and better plays. For those who would be too harshly
critical we might quote a line from one of our earlier plays, the
words of an old Scandinavian mother to her newly returned super
cilious and over-educated son: "Vel, Alf, dis is all ve got!"

F. R.

STAGE PLOT

' '"Mtt&r »

CHARACTERS: CARTER PA VAN, A returned army officer.
MARY PAYAN, His wife.
MR. HENRY SEARS, A bank president and old

friend of the Payans.
A MAID.

4

SCENE: Living room of the Payan apartment.
TIME: 1918. Five o'clock one winter afternoon.

His WIFE'S PLACE was presented by The Playmakers on their
Play-Stage at the University on the evenings of April 15 and
16, 1920, with the following cast of characters:

CARTER PAYAN RICHARD L. BAUGHMAN

MARY PAYAN RUTH L. BAUGHMAN

MR. SEARS WILLIAM HAGEN

A MAID . ..EDNA HESKETH

HIS WIFE'S PLACE

The rising curtain discloses the living room of a richly and
tastefully furnished apartment in New York City. There is a
draped archway at the center back which opens obviously into a hall.
On the walls are a number of good pictures. Several comfortable
chairs, a beautiful rug, a davenport before the lighted gas grate att
the right , and floor lamp near the upper end of the davenport. To
the left is a large library table and a leather-upholstered armchair.
On the table is the button of ait electric bell. There is a single
door at the left.

CARTER enters through the center doorway, tall, good-looking,
but rather arrogant appearing. He is at present distinctly out of
sorts and looks as though he not only had his feathers ruffled the
wrong way but also as though he might soon become distinctly angry.
He takes off his coat, hat and gloves, at the same time looking the
room over with a sneer on his face. He examines a couple of pictures
on the wall, touches the hangings contemptuously, throws his things
on a chair up-stage mid sits on davenport before the fireplace.
Clenches hands, resting his head on them, and stares grimly into the
fire.

MARY enters from the left. She is a pretty, capable looking
little lady in a business woman's garb; a modish suit skirt and a
simple white blouse. She seems both sweet and sensible. She goes
enthusiastically toward CARTER. ..Speaks.) Oh, Carter, I beat you
home tonight. It's been the best day! You'll never guess the big
surprise I have for you. (CARTER doesn't respond in any way.) Why,
Carter, what's the matter? (Goes closer to him. Rings for the maid.)
Aren't you well, dear? (CARTER still doesn't respond. Enter MAID.
MARY indicates that she is to remove CARTER'S wraps. Exit MAID.
MARY goes toward CARTER solicitously.) What have you been doing
with yourself all day?

CARTER — (Shortly) Thinking.

MARY — Did you see Mr. Whitney this morning?

CARTER — (More shortly) Yes.

MARY — What did he say?

CARTER — (Bitterly) Offered me my old place — at twenty-two
hundred and fifty.

MARY — (With enthusiasm) Oh splendid! That's a raise, isn't
it. So many of the returned men are having to take less, or are even
finding it hard to get places at all.

CARTER — (Resentfully) Splendid! Anybody would think I was
your half-witted brother that you were praising for being able to earn
a quarter mowing a lawn.

MARY — (Surprised at his tone) Why Carter! It is splendid. I
mean it. Between the two of us we're earning over $6,000! Why
we're rich. And when I tell you about the wonderful surprise —

CARTER — (Rising and confronting her suddenly) Mary, do you
mean to say that you are going on working? Do you think I shall
let you go on working?

MARY — (Bewildered and hurt) I don't see why not. There's
no reason why I shouldn't. There are just the two of us —

CARTER — (Breaking in harshly) Just the two of us can live on
what I earn.

MARY — Of course we could, but the way I have it planned —

CARTER — Yes, the way you have it planned you'd have me the
laughing stock of all the men. (Changing his voice to imitate his
conception of the mincing voice of gossip) "There's Carter Payan.
pretty soft for him, what? Wife earns twice what he does. Won
der how much she allows him for spending money?" — That's the
kind of thing everybody'd be saying about me.

MARY — That's perfectly silly, Carter, and vou knov, it is.

CARTER — I know it isn't. Why, every man of the old gang I saw
today said practically that very thing. Old man Summers comes
up, slaps me on the back, tells me how glad he is to see me safe
home and then says, "Just saw your wife over at the office. Pretty
soft, old scout, pretty soft! It isn't the first cost of a wife with
most of us that bothers; it's the upkeep; but you've solved it Car
ter. Great stuff ! Get married and two can earn more than one.
If either one of you has to stay home and wash the egg off the
breakfast plates, it'll have to be you. If you aren't careful Mary'll
be the best man in the family." — That's what I've got all day. It's
what they're all saying and thinking about me already.

MARY — (Evenly) Nonsense; Mr. Summers is an old, old friend
of both of u,s, and you know he was only teasing you.

CARTER — (Warmly) Teasing nothing. He was saying what
he believed.

MARY — (Nettled by his attitude, speaks defiantly) Well, what
of it?

CARTER — (Angrily) Just this. You quit your job tomorrow and
stay home where a woman belongs.

MARY — (Taking herself firmly in hand) Now, Carter, try to be
reasonable. It isn't sensible to throw away all that money just
for your silly pride. You know that I'd rather be in my home tend
ing to a woman's duties, her house and her children. You know I
want all that, but it can't be until we are able to suitably provide for
a home in the truest sense of the word. I want my children to grow
up with all the education and advantages that make for a broad and
beautiful life untouched by the restrictions that poverty im-

poses. The fact that I'm getting* more money than you is all a
sort of accident, but we would be foolish not to profit by it. You
know very well that in ordinary times I couldn't earn half what you
do. But the war — and all. If nearly every man in our office hadn't
enlisted or been drafted, I should be getting a quarter of what I am.
But they had to have somebody. I needed something to do to keep
my loneliness at arm's length. I applied for the position, I got it,
and I — I was lucky enough to make good. It's no reflection on you.

CARTER — It is a reflection on me. Would you like to be told
that your wife was the best man in the family?

MARY — I could stand to be told a lot for four thousand dollars
a year — when I knew it was not so.

CARTER — Well I can't and shan't. You quit tomorrow.

MARY — (Angered at last) I'll quit when I'm good and ready.
I've a right to work if I wish. I'm your wife, but you don't own
me. I've some rights. There's no reason why I shouldn't help out
when I can, and I'm going to. When there's a chance to save a lot
of money and get into a position where we're safe, I have a right
to insist that we profit by it, and I'm going to insist. (Stopping
suddenly] Oh, Carter, here we are quarreling like two children
and Mr. Sears will be here any moment. I've invited him to dinner.
Come let's dress for dinner and when we've both cooled off I'll
tell you about a wonderful opportunity and we'll talk it over
quietly.

CARTER — (Raging] By heavens, we won't wait. We'll settle
this thing now — now. Do you understand that?

MARY — (Coldly) It isn't necessary for all the neighbors to hear
you.

CARTER — (Sneeringly) You're mighty careful of the neighbors.
What the devil do I care about a few neighbors when the whole town
is talking about me? I've heard nothing else all day. (Strides sav
agely up and down the room) I've had enough. I'm through. I've
pleaded and begged you to act the way a wife ought to, and you've
refused; now I'm going to tell you. I'm your husband and what I
say goes.

MARY — (Holding herself in check) Carter, go and get ready
for dinner. Mr. Sears will be here any moment. When you are
reasonable we'll talk.

CARTER — We'll talk now. This thing is going to be settled
before 1 move from this spot. You're my wife — anyhow I thought
you were. I've tried to be a decent sort of husband, even if I
haven't been able to buy you expensive pictures with which you've
adorned the walls since 1 left for France. 1 won't be treated like
this. I won't stand it. An old friend tells me you're the best man
in the family ; an old hen stenographer in the office twits me that
you can earn more than I do. All my friends grin and tell me
what a soft snap I have. How would you like that? Would you
stand it?

—5—

MARY — Nobody thinks anything disagreeable, Carter. You're
unnaturally sensitive. Try to look at this sensibly. There isn't a
man who has spoken to you who doesn't wish his wife were doing
what I'm doing. Nobody's twitted you.

CARTER — (Roughly} What I want to know is, what are you
going to do?

MARY — (Coldly calm) — I'm not going to talk about it while
you're in this state of mind.

CARTER — You're mighty independent. Four thousand dollars a
year makes for a lot of independence, doesn't it? You don't need
me any more with my piker's salary. You'd just as soon I cleared
out, I suppose.

MARY — (Distinctly, and with intention. There are limits to
even a woman's endurance.) — I don't know but I'd rather, if you're
going to act this way.

CARTER — Are you going to quit that job?

MARY — No.

CARTER — ( Threateningly ) Mary !

MARY — (With chill in her voice) If you're going to have dinner,
please dress.

CARTER — You're not going to obey — ?

MARY — (Turning on him furiously) Obey! I'm going to do ex
actly as I want to. Obey! Do you think you can order me about
like a servant? I've had all I can stand of this. Either be quiet
and dress for dinner, or I'm going to leave this room.

CARTER — (Bellows) Are you going to quit that job?

MARY — I'm going to keep my position as long as I can hold it.
Now you know. And that's final. (She brushes*past CARTER and out
the door at left, banging it behind her. CARTER starts toward door,
turns furiously and paces up and down the room, frowning and biting
his lips. At last stands in front of fireplace with his back to center
door.

MAID — (Enters at the back to announce) Mr. Sears. (CARTER
turns. MR. SEARS enters through center door. He is a genial old
man in the neighborhood of sixty years; rather stocky in stature,
with hair and mustache well grayed. He wears a dark gray business
suit. He strides up to CARTER and seizes his hand, holding and shak
ing it through the next two speeches.)

SEARS — Well, Carter, my boy, I'm glad to see you safely back.

CARTER — (Pulling himself together and shaking hands) Thank
you. I'm glad to be back, of course.

SEARS — We're all proud of the way you helped clean up on the
Kaiser. (He sits in the chair by the table; CARTER sits on the lower
end of the davenport) Bless my soul, when you were a kid I never
thought I'd see the day you'd be leading a comp'ny of soldiers to
France !

CARTER — (Rapidly thawing in the warmth of his old friend's
reminiscent mood] To tell the truth, I never thought I would
myself.

SEARS — (Rather quieter] By gracious! The day you left I'd have
given anything if your dad and mother had been living, to see you.

CARTER — Dad was a great lover of the army.

SEARS — Well, I should say so! You weren't any more than a
yard high when he bought you a wooden sword and a pop-gun. Your
mother used to be scared to death you'd hurt yourself with 'em,
but your dad would watch you by the hour marching up and down
and around, playing soldier.

CARTER — Well, there wasn't much playing at soldier this time,
I'll tell you.

SEARS — I'll wager not! But Jove! I wish I'd been twenty years
younger. And Sally said, when you went, she wished she was in
Mary's place. There's nothing of the slacker about Sally either.

CARTER — I hear she was in charge of a good deal of our Red
Cross work all during the war.

SEARS — (Affectionately} Yes; lind I don't know how many-
refugee garments she's made with her own hands.

CARTER — She's a wonderful woman.

SEARS — She is that. And you've got a wife just like her. I'll
wager you're glad to get back to the little lady. My boy, she was
a wonder while you were gone!

CARTER — (Moves uneasily, as though about to be touched on a
tender spot.} Yes.

SEARS — She's a wife to be proud of ; she's the best little business
woman I know. By gracious, Carter, between you and me, a wife
like that is a man's greatest asset. My wife was just like her. We
married on nothing. I was a grocer's clerk and she was a dress
maker.

CARTER — (Astonished.) Mrs. Sears a dressmaker!

SEARS — (Solemnly.) A dress maker. We made a partnership
of it for the first few years, both of our backs to the wheel. You
see, we knew it wouldn't do to have children if we were going to
be grubbing along all our lives, so the quickest way to make a home
was for both of us to work together. We saved enough so, at
twenty-five, I could start a tiny grocery in a country town. She
helped. Every cent she made we saved, and when the store was
started she kept the books and worked behind the counter on Satur
days. When our children came we had enough money to surround
them with the beautiful things of life, our home was perfectly har
monious, my wife was free from all worry and anxiety over financial
matters; she was fret- to expend her time on the training and edu
cation of her children. Those years we worked together seemed
the most worth-white years of our life. Those were different days —
in those days marriage was a real partnership, and both parties gave

—7—

to it all they had. It seems to be different now. It does my heart
good to see you two young folks pulling together so well.

(Carter winces at the last few sentences of this speech.}

CARTER — Your wife a dressmaker and keeping books in a coun
try store. Well, sir, one would never believe it to look at her now,
a leader in society, always —

SEARS — Yes, sir, it's a fact; and if it hadn't been for her I'd
never been what I am today. It wasn't her savings alone, but the
force she put behind me. She made me succeed, and it looks to me
as if your wife were the same sort.

CARTER — (Weakly.} Times have changed though. I'm twitted
about my wife working.

SEARS — By imbeciles! I know it irks a little. It irked me to
have my wife making dresses. But who cares for that today?
The trouble with so many youngsters is that today is so darn im
portant. It amounts to nothing. The day that counts is ten years
off. (Breaking off} Well, well, I suppose I might get down to
business. Of course your wife has told you all about my proposition,
but as she was kind enough to invite me for dinner, I thought I
could go over it with you myself just to clear any little details.

CARTER — (Bewilder edj uncomprehending, but ashamed to (live
himself away) Er — oh, yes, certainly.

SEARS — (Getting papers from his inside pockets) What's your
opinion of it?

CARTER — (Fighting confusion} Why — I think — the — yes — so
far as I have thought it over, we think it's — all that anyone could
ask for —

SEARS — (He looks at the papers, and we see that he is near
sighted — fortunately for CARTER) Rate of interest suits you all
right ?

CARTER — Yes — oh yes — Mary, thinks so too!

SEARS — (Chuc'kling} Your wife certainly was on the job. She
may not have mentioned this (speaking confidentially to CARTER)
but it wasn't five minutes after the wire came telling of Wethrell's
death till she was in her boss's office asking him if you could have
his agency for their cars.

CARTER — (Feeling his way carefully} It's a pretty good posi
tion, isn't it —

SEARS — Good position ! Say, Wetherell's profits last year were
upward of $15,000.

CARTER — That's a lot of money, isn't it —

SEARS — -It surely is, my boy, and Buffalo isn't so far from New
York, you know. Mrs. Pay an can run down and spend every week
end with you. And even then it won't be so very long until you
get the note reduced to $5,000, so that she can give up her position
and you'll be together again — and on easy street.

CARTER — (Startled, afresh but resolved nut to (jive up the ship)
Yes — the note — er —

—8—

SEARS — It's the best I can do. You see, as your wife told you,
it takes $10,000 to swing the deal, and we have to have some security
on loaned money. Your wife thought the terms were fair enough.
We lend you $10,000 on your note provided she holds her position
until the note is reduced to $5,000, and your business has proved a
success. And you'll make a success of it, I've no doubt. Mrs.
Payan's salary will provide living expenses and there will still be
plenty to pay up on the note regularly. You'll have all your time to
make good in the new field and in a few years you should be in
dependent.

CARTER — It sounds good.

SEARS — It is good, boy. Take it. I'm loaning this money on
two grounds — your excellent reputation for industry and honesty,
and your wife's influence. If you will let her, young man, she will
make you as my wife made me.

CARTER- — But I hate to think of my wife providing for the
family.

SEARS — My dear boy, while you are thinking, remember that a
family consists primarily of two persons, husband and wife. Re
member that it is the duty — the plain, unvarnished duty of each to
contribute all he has to the whole. You cannot think as individuals,
but as a unit. One for all and all for one, as Dumas has it.

CARTER — Mr. Sears, I'll have to confess that I have been think
ing more lately of all for one and nothing for the whole! You ex
pressed a wonderful conception of the family just now. It's honest,
and sound, (musingly) The family. (Rousing himself) Mr. Sears,
I'll call my wife to endorse that note.

SEARS — Fine!

CARTER — (Goes1 to center door and calls.) Mary! Mr. Sears
is here. (MARY appears dressed for dinner and goes to greet MR.
SEARS.)

MARY — (Graciously.) Do pardon my rudeness in not being
here to greet you when you arrived. I arrived home rather late
this evening. Will you accept that as an excuse for my tardiness?

SEARS — (Heartily) No excuse is needed, Mrs. Payan. For a
few moments I was afraid Carter was loathe to become a million
aire, so I've just been pointing out a few of the advantages of his
new position.

MARY — (Glancing furtively at CARTER.) Oh.

CARTER — (Going to MARY and gazing at her humbly and be
seechingly.) Yes, Mary, and he's been telling me about his wife who
was almost as wonderful as you are, dear. Mary, will you endorse
this note — now?

M ARY — (Happily.) Really, Carter? Oh, indeed I will! (She
signs the note.) Carter, I'm so proud of you!

CARTER — Mary, I've learned to appreciate you. But I'm not
proud of you. You musn't be proud of me either. What we've got

—9—

to do is to proud of us. I've waked up. There isn't such a thing as
you or I. There's just the family.

SEARS — That's the idea.

MARY — (With shining eyes, going to CARTER.) I just love the
family.

CURTAIN.

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